#in case it’s not clear they’re arms are tucked behind their head | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

somekindofpoet · 1 year

Text

La Petite Mort - La Fin

Summary: We get closure

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language

A/N: Okay so this is the end of the story line for LPM. I will continue to write one shots and headcanons, though don't freak out! Also, there was a drabble I'll link here that happened between Part V and this one.

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part IV LPM Part V Drabble

The drive to Big Bend was like living in a dream. Between the motel stop and the scenic viewpoint stop, you’re beginning to wonder if Lorraine actually wants to get to where you’re going. You know she’s excited about her newfound freedom, and you are too, but a serious conversation needs to be had.

You glance over at her and watch as she holds her hand out the window, catching the wind and then cutting through it like a surfboard. She looks content, grounded. You figure she should be; she just came in the backseat of your truck less than an hour ago. But you still need to make sure she’s happy. That she’s sure she made the right choice. For now, you choose to live in ignorant bliss, enjoy the drive and start the talk later.

The gas gauge catches your attention, riding low over the E.

“We gotta stop for gas, you seen any signs for a pump station?”

She turns toward you, nodding, “Saw a sign a few miles back. There should be a few stations comin up.”

You smile as she reaches for you, taking your right hand and holding it between hers. She scoots closer to you, tracing her fingers up your forearm, giving you goosebumps. Her head rests against the seat, and you can feel her watching you, can see the small smile on her lips through the corner of your eye.

“You’re gonna have to stop doin that, if you ever want to get out of this truck,” you say, your voice hoarse.

She smirks, “I’m not doin anything, I just want to be close to you is all.”

You lift your arm, inviting her to slide into the middle seat. When she does, you let your arm rest across her shoulders, pulling her in close to you. You kiss the top of her head, your eyes not leaving the road. She hums, lets her head rest on your chest.

It’s so easy to find moments like this with her. Small pockets that exist outside of the world, no influence or judgment. Just you two. But it’s also easy for those moments to shatter when reality comes crashing in, loud and screaming.

The gas station is a small one, a family operation from the looks of it. It has two gas pumps that look like they’ve seen better days and a store tucked under the awning. You pull the truck and the trailer under the sunshade and park it.

“I’ll get us the gas, run inside and grab some snacks, will ya?”

Lorraine nods and slides out of the truck, stretching her arms over her head when her feet hit the ground. Your eyes follow her shirt when it rides up, and you laugh to yourself, shaking your head. You pump the gas and watch her walk into the store, her shorts even more distracting now than they were in the truck.

“Oh buddy, you’ve got it bad,” you say to yourself, turning back to the truck.

When the gas pump clicks, you return the hose and make your way into the station to pay. Lorraine has an armful of snacks, and you gesture with your head to the counter. She drops her loot there as you grab a case of beer and carry it over. The tv on the counter is blaring a church sermon, and the attendant is watching it with obligated interest.

You slide the goods over and clear your throat, “Filled up on pump two.”

The woman behind the counter narrows her eyes, making it clear you are inconveniencing her by asking her to do her job. She slides the snacks and beer over with one hand, taking her time. She tells you your total, and you hand a bill over to her, trying not to take note of her attitude toward you.

As you’re packing the snacks into a brown paper bag, two men walk into the store. They’re rugged cowboy types, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up. You’d been around their type your whole life, working ranches and rodeos and everything in between. They can be trouble, or they can be extremely cordial. Unfortunately for you, these two are the trouble type.

They make a show of looking you up and down, letting their eyes take their time as they travel over you. Lorraine comes to your side, and both men raise their eyebrows at her. You flex your jaw, trying to find an easy way out of what you already know is going to be an uneasy interaction.

One of the cowboys whistles around the tobacco in his lip, the other laughs.

“Ladies,” he says, “what’s got you so far out in the country?”

You hand Lorraine the bag of food and hoist the case of beer under your arm.

“Work,” you answer, moving toward the door.

The man on the tv starts yelling about sexual deviance. The cowboy with the dip in his mouth leans in the doorframe, blocking your exit. He takes his hat off his head, smirking at you.

“What kind of work?”

You watch him, aware of the other man making his way down one of the aisles to your right. Lorraine inches closer to your side.

“Ranchin,” you say, keeping it as short as possible.

The man is still blocking the door, so you stop, look up at him. He grins down at you, his teeth yellow with flecks of tobacco stuck in his gums.

“I don’t know of any lady ranchers round here,” he says, his eyes leaving you and moving on to Lorraine. “George, you know of any lady ranchers?”

The man at the back of the store laughs, “No I can’t say I do, Nate.”

Nate tilts his head, “So if you’re not ranchin, what’re you doin?”

“Did you miss the trailer with the horses in it on your way in?” Lorraine mumbles, and you close your eyes, inhaling deeply.

Nate laughs, “Okay, spitfire! What’s your name? You ladies look like you could use some company.”

You try to casually step in front of her, hiding her with your body as much as you can. “We need to get goin, you gentlemen have a nice day.”

You step toward the door, but he doesn’t move. You stare each other down for what feels like an eternity, sizing each other up. He’s tall, but he’s skinny. You could scrap with him if you needed to, but his friend would make it nearly impossible for you to win. Your revolver is in the truck, too far to be much use now. Plus, these two have guns of their own; there’s no doubt about that.

The tv on the counter goes quiet, and a woman’s voice breaks the tension.

“Leave them girls alone, Nate, or your momma will tan your hide.” The gas station clerk finally turns herself away from the tv, glaring daggers at Nate.

He evaluates his choices, and his fear of his mother wins out. He leaves the door frame and pushes past you, grumbling as he goes, “I’s just bein friendly, Marge. No need to threaten anyone.”

As soon as he’s out of the way, you hustle out of the store, making sure Lorraine is on your heels. You jump in the truck, and as soon as she’s in, you’re driving off.

“God, I fucking hate Texas,” you growl, your eyes flicking to the side view mirrors to see if anyone followed.

Lorraine sighs, resting her head against the window, “So let’s go. Let’s get out of here for good.”

“We can’t leave your parent's ranch, Raine. They need us there.”

“They really don’t, plus we could visit.”

“Do we tell them about us?”

She bites at her lip, thinking it over, “I think they already know, truth be told. But we probably should tell them.”

“I suppose we should figure out what we are before we go tellin them about it, though.”

The statement is bait, a question for Lorraine to decide on. You think you’re sly, dropping it out there the way you had, but when you turn your head toward her, Lorraine’s expression is amused.

“Is that you, askin what we are then y/n?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. You can feel your face heating up, embarrassed that she saw through your veiled question.

“I know it’s probably not the best time to ask. You just left your boyfriend yesterday.”

“I haven’t been in love with RJ for a long time. It just took being with you for me to accept it.”

You nod, gulp. You don’t take your eyes off the road.

“I meant what I said to him, you know.” She reaches out, places her hand on your leg.

“What’s that?” You say, your voice cracking.

“I love you.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, your heart racing. You can feel your hands want to tremble and squeeze the steering wheel tighter.

“Can you give me one hour to get us where we’re goin, set up camp, and say that to me again so I can respond appropriately?”

She giggles, her thumb sweeping over your leg, “Of course.”

Lorraine keeps her hands to herself, for the most part, for the rest of the drive. You think about the conversation to come, the interaction with the cowboys at the gas station, and everything that happened with RJ. It all brews in your mind, mixing and melding into a feeling of uneasiness in your belly. There’s a strong undercurrent of happiness tied in with it, pulling you back to Lorraine every time you freak out.

The camp is isolated, large enough for your truck, trailer, tents, and horses. The daylight is quickly fading, so after the camp is set up, you let CB and Pearl out to wander the grounds. You drag a stack of hay from the trailer for them, but they both beeline to a patch of green grass at the edge of camp.

You busy yourself with getting a fire going, listening to Lorraine hum as she finishes getting the tent set up. Just being out here with her is enough for you, but a small voice in your head is already screaming for more. An apartment that has two toothbrushes in it. Closets with clothes that are mostly not yours. A life intertwined even more than it already is. You know it’s a lot to ask for.

“You’re thinkin' real hard on somethin,” Lorraine says, standing over you.

You turn up and grin at her, “Just how damn good I am at makin' fire.”

She smiles at you, her expression telling you she doesn’t believe that for a minute. She turns away from you and unrolls a blanket next to the now raging fire, and sits delicately. She pats the spot next to her.

“Let’s talk.”

Your stomach flips. You sit in the spot she’d invited you to, feeling a lot like a dog on a leash.

“Right, okay.”

“So, I know it’s not the best look in the world, breaking up with RJ and running off with you,”

“It’s a look I’m growing pretty fond of,” you joke, smiling at her.

She shakes her head, but you can see the smile she’s fighting, “I just want to make sure we’re clear. Getting out of one relationship to jump into another is-“

“So we’re in a relationship?” You interrupt her.

“Oh, um, are we not?” She twists her fingers, anxiety washing over her.

You scramble to make the situation more clear, taking one of her hands in yours.

“I was hoping so, but I wasn’t sure what you wanted. If you need time, I can give you time.”

She shakes her head, “I’ve had enough time. I love you, y/n. I think I have for longer than I realized.”

You feel giddy, lightheaded when you finally say, “I love you too, Raine. But I can’t promise an easy life. I can’t promise the suburbs or a family. What kind of life would that be?”

She leans over, taking your face in her hands, “It would be a life with you.”

The fire crackles as she kisses you, soft and sweet, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. Her lips are slow, deliberate. She lies back, pulling you with her, your hands planted on either side of her body.

Cicadas and crickets chirp in the dark around you, the air cool and still. The oak trees circling your campsite tower over you, rustling in the occasional breeze. Lorraine’s body envelops you, warm, welcoming. You’ve never felt more at home than you do in her arms. You figure you should thank her for it, now and every day in between.

You sit up, pulling your shirt off, and she follows suit. You unbutton your pants, taking your time, each movement intentional. Having sex with her now feels heavier, in a good way. It carries more meaning than it ever has before.

You’re both naked under the stars when you lean back over her, your hands touching as much skin as they can. You kiss her lips, then move to her jaw, down her neck. She can feel the gravity of the moment, her hands gentle and her breathing soft. Your hands run up her ribs, and your mouth works your way down to her chest. You lick her nipple, bite it gently and suck it into your mouth when she gasps.

She pulls you back to her lips, her legs hooking around your waist and anchoring you in place. Your tongue slides across her lips, and you rock into her, your body applying pressure between her legs. She moans through her nose, her tongue running over yours, her hands around your jaw.

You descend to her neck again, silently coaxing her grip around your waist to loosen. She gets the message and drops her legs from your hips, allowing you to kiss down her chest again. You kiss her stomach, avoiding the ticklish spot on her side that will make her laugh. The skin below her belly button is soft and sensitive; you take some time there teasing her. She lifts her hips, her eyes dark as she looks down at you. Her hand winds its way into your hair, and she bites her lip as you kiss her where she wants it most.

She’s not used to you teasing, and for some reason, of all the times to start, you choose now to begin. You lick softly at her clit, not hard enough to be satisfying, just a ghost of pressure. Enough to make her moan and tighten her grip on your hair. You sink lower and tease at her entrance, tasting her on your tongue. She’s better than anything you’ve ever had, ever will have, and you know it. So you savor it, close your eyes and enjoy yourself.

You turn your head to kiss her thigh, and she whines. You look up at her to find her face full of want, almost to the point of tears.

“Please,” she whispers, making your heart race.

You consider toying with her, but you want it as bad as she does at this point. You run your tongue from the inside of her thigh all the way down to her slick folds. Done with teasing her, you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, earning the most delicious noises of approval from her. You alternate licking and sucking until she’s arching into your mouth, the muscles in the stomach rippling and flexing from the exertion. You lick her with a flat tongue while she cums, making it last even longer until she’s shivering and trying to stop you with her legs around your head.

She sighs, and you slowly kiss your way up her body, taking extra time on the ascent. You forgot about the ticklish spot, and you accidentally make her laugh, which in turn makes your heart feel like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

Your fingers are already inside of her when your mouth meets hers, the gasp of pleasure coming from her making your eyes roll back. You fuck her slow, each movement intentional in its goal. Every stroke playing the chords of her body, never out of tune. She doesn’t let you any lower than her throat, wanting to keep pulling you up to kiss you after she moans your name.

She lasts longer than usual, hanging on to every move you make, her hands all over you. She doesn’t want to be done, you can tell, and it makes you smile.

“You have me for as long as you want me,” you tell her, “I love you.”

Like clockwork, she cums on your fingers, dripping onto the blanket and around your wrist. She holds your head to her chest as she gasps for air, her whole body shaking and rolling. You pull back, wanting to watch her ride her orgasm, see the shape her mouth takes when it’s open like this, the color on her cheeks, the sweat on her brow. When she’s done, she pulls you down, squeezing you around your shoulders. When you try to pull away, she squeezes you tighter, shaking her head.

“You said as long as I want,” her voice is low and quiet, her breathing beginning to shallow.

You chuckle into her chest, kiss her skin, resolve to become part of the earth there if she wishes it.

——

Today is the day. The day you tell the Days about your intentions with Lorraine. A day with the Days, for your Day. You can do this.

You look at yourself in the mirror, your apartment bathroom cramped but comfortable with Lorraine’s things making their migration. As if on cue, her hands slide around your waist, her head ducking under your arm.

“Are you freaking out?” She asks you.

“No,” you lie.

She grins, “Lie.”

You nod, “A big one.”

She looks at you in the mirror, a reassuring smile on her face, “You know you’re going to be fine. They love you. Plus, I’m pretty sure they know.”

Your eyes dart around the mirror, looking for anything to distract you, “I know. I know. I can do this.”

“We can do this,” she says, squeezing your waist.

You sweat through your button-up shirt on the drive over. Lorraine is at ease; she doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. You are terrified. Scared Mr. Day will throw you on your ass and tell you to never come back to his ranch again. Horrified at the thought of Mrs. Day looking disappointed, heartbroken because of you.

They're on the couch in the living room when you get there. Lorraine called ahead to let them know you had something important to talk about so they were prepared. Mrs. Day sets a tall glass of sweet tea in front of you as you sit on the loveseat across from them. You clear your throat, and pull on the collar of your shirt. Lorraine sits close to you, closer than she usually would in front of her parents. If they notice, they don't mention it.

You pick up the glass of sweet tea and lift it, nodding your head at Mrs. Day, “Tha-thank you,” you say and gulp from the cup.

You wince; there's a hefty amount of liquor in the tea. She smiles at you and says, “Thought you might need it.”

You frown at her, confused as to why she would think you'd need liquor at noon. You gulp from the glass again. Mr. Day just watches you, his face impassive.

“So, I’ve asked to talk to you both today because….” you clear your throat again, wipe your sweaty hands on your pants, “well, because I have something important to tell you.”

Mrs. Day nods encouragingly, Mr. Day smiles under his mustache, his eyes soft.

“See, the thing is, I…well…I uhm,”

Lorraine rubs your back, nodding at you. The intimacy in front of her parents is lost on you; you’re too far into your panic to notice.

“I’m in love with your daughter. And I would like for her to live with me.” You say, your words tumbling out of your lips.

Mrs. Day covers her mouth with her hands, but it's not horror she's hiding. It's a laugh. Mr. Day stands, extends his hand. You stand and take it.

“We know, kid. We’re happy for you both, sincerely. Just take care of her.” His gruff voice is as soft as its ever been, his eyes sparkling.

Your mouth drops open, and you fall back onto the couch when he releases your hand. You close your mouth, open it to speak, close it again. Take another gulp of the tea. Lorraine giggles at your side.

“I…how? How?” You stammer.

Mrs. Day drops her hand, her smile still stretching her cheeks, “Oh, honey. You know, when you were about nine, you told me you loved Rainey. You were very serious about it. And you had the same look today. I’ve always assumed it would end up this way.”

“Just took our ray of sunshine a bit longer to come around. Forced me to put up with that boy for years.” Mr. Day grumbles.

Mrs. Day smacks his shoulder with the back of his hand as Lorraine yelps out, “Hey!”

You laugh, fully agreeing with him. Lorraine pulls your arm over her shoulder, and it takes you a moment to ease the tension that automatically shoots up your spine in front of her parents. You relax, smile at the Days.

“I do need you to do me one favor though, y/n, if you could.” Mr. Day says, leaning back on the couch, his leg crossed over his knee.

“Whats that sir?”

“Stop havin sex in my barn. It spooks the animals, and if I nearly walk in on you one more time, I may have to shoot you in the ass.”

Lorraine cringes and hides her face in your arm, and you gulp back a laugh. Mrs. Day lets hers rip, and you can feel Lorraine giggle into your side.

“Yes sir, I promise.” You say, your fingers crossed behind your back.

#lpm #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #lorraine day x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n

806 notes · View notes

sugrhigh · 2 months

Text

FAMILY TIES - ( m.s & c.s )

REQUESTED**

summary- you, matt, and chris go to a bruins game with the kids

warnings- none i don’t think!

girl dad!matt and boy dad!chris

a/n: i tried so hard to write this well and im still not sure if im satisfied, but i hope u enjoy!! kinda short but i think after this weeks podcast we all need a bit of fluff lol

@cutenote @rootbeerworshiper @bb-1s-blog @rileysturniolo @mbbsgf @sturnlova @angelworldspost @l9vesick @st7rnioiossblog

“it’s ridiculous that you always wear my clothes better than i do.” matt speaks, interrupting you as you stare at yourself in the full-length mirror.

you’re in one of his many bruins sweatshirts, which is a little too big for you so you have one side tucked into the pocket of your jeans.

you pad over to give him a quick kiss, hand pressed to his chest. “you still look very handsome.”

“thank you, babe.” he gives you a tiny pat on the ass, which still to this day makes your cheeks ignite.

your daughter, eve, comes flying around the corner into your bedroom moments later, almost running right into her dad. she’s all dressed up for the occasion too, clad in her mini bruins jersey.

“woah, slow it down there partner.” he scoops her up into his arms easily, and her eruption of laughter makes you smile.

“can we go now?” eve says through giggles.

“you don’t want to wait for uncle chris and parker?” you ask knowingly, and she sighs, leaning her small head against matt’s chin.

“i guess.”

as if on que, there’s a loud pounding on the front door, and you hear it open. eve’s face lights up, and she claps her hands together in excitement.

“they’re here, they’re here!”

“we’re here evie!” chris calls back, and the smile is clear in his voice.

matt sets your daughter down so she can run for the stairs, the both of you following closely behind her.

parker is hiding behind chris’s legs, one hand grabbing onto his dad’s black cargos for safety. the second eve comes rushing toward him, though, he opens right up as always.

they hold each other tightly for a second as you finally reach the bottom of the grand staircase, which gives you time to pull chris into a quick embrace too.

“good to see you, as always.” you grin, and he matches your expression.

“i can never turn down some family time.”

matt chuckles a little, clapping his brother on the back as they hug next. “you just want an excuse for me to drive so you can get a drink.”

“well, i can’t turn that down either.” chris jokes back.

“alright, who’s ready for some hockey?” you ask, mainly to eve and parker, who both bounce around with each other happily.

“me!”

“me too!”

you herd everyone into the car and get the kids situated in their respective booster seats beside chris. there’s always an extra in your vehicle, just in case parker is around, which is often.

you love the little guy. he really is like a mini version of his dad, and chris’s wife is gorgeous too, which also shows in his face. you were so upset when you found out she was sick, but she insisted you guys needed to go enjoy without her, so here you are.

most of the drive to the garden is spent singing along to the radio and keeping eve and parker in check. as cute as they are together as cousins, they’re also trouble. to be fair, they’re only three, so it’s in their nature.

you used to think that eve got her rebel streak from her father, but matt insisted it’s a trait that came from you. as the time went on, you realized that she’s definitely inherited it from your side of the family.

thinking about it makes you grin a little bit to yourself. she’s definitely equal parts of you and matt.

eve’s voice interrupts your thoughts, almost like she knew what was going on in your brain.

“are we there mommy?”

“almost, i promise.”

“pinky?” parker chimes in next.

“oh, of course.” you fully lean across the center console so you can extend your pinky finger to him.

he loops his own little hand with yours and shakes it, and you do the same with eve.

it seems like only seconds later you’re pulling into the arena’s parking deck, and the kids start kicking in their seats eagerly.

chris unbuckles them and helps them out into the chilly air as you round the corner of the car. thankfully they’re both all bundled up in their outfits, even complete with their little matching bruins beanies that matt had picked out months ago.

the whole walk toward the entrance, chris and matt take turns swinging parker and eve between themselves, and you’re all still laughing as you approach security.

matt scans the tickets and suddenly you’re meshing with the crowd, keeping the kids close as you head for concessions first.

the rink is all lit up as you finally make your way to your seats minutes later, equipped with two beers, two sodas, and two tubs of popcorn.

the kids munch happily from their seats as they watch warm-ups, just a couple rows back from the glass. you can’t help but beam, sneakily taking pictures of the two of them together because it just warms your heart.

“looking at the two of them kind of makes me want more, you know.” matt leans over from the seat on the other side of you, breath tickling your ear.

you nudge him playfully, though it makes your pulse skyrocket as you turn to look at him.

“just say the word.”

it’s his turn to go slack-jawed, and he has to clear his throat to force himself to stop thinking about the possibility of more children with you, the woman he fucking adores.

you’d never really talked about it after eve, since you were both so hyper-focused on her as new parents. plus, she’s always had her cousin every step of the way.

but maybe she’d like having a little brother or sister of her own.

“maybe they can stay at chris’s place tonight?” matt thinks out loud.

“let him drink that beer a little longer and i’m sure you can convince him.” you grin as you take a sip of your own.

a few minutes later the arena gets dark as the announcer hypes up the crowd, and you’re (mostly) all on your feet cheering once the bruins skate onto the ice.

parker is piggy-backing on chris’s shoulders, arms flung around his neck as his dad supports him. you’ve got eve on your hip so she can get a good view as well, watching the players while the spotlights focus in on the rink.

her eyes are as wide as saucers, like she’s totally entranced by the noise and the movement.

“daddy, look!” eve points at them excitedly, leaning in your arms so she can glance over at matt.

“i know baby! isn’t it cool?” he feeds into her enthusiasm with a wide grin.

your heart soars as you transfer her into matt’s arms, watching as he ruffles her beanie a little bit so she shrieks with laughter. it’s precious, watching him treat her like the little princess she is.

the national anthem plays shortly after, and the game officially begins. you watch as he points out players to eve, telling her different fun facts about each of them.

chris is bopping parker around on his back to the beat of the music, and he smiles along with his dad.

for a moment, you’re completely consumed by your own thoughts, so thankful for this little found family of yours. you turn your head to look at matt, and he meets your eyes immediately.

“i love you.” you mouth, unable to contain your smile.

“i love you more.” he mouths back.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #dad matt #dad chris #dad au #sturniolo fluff #fluff #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo

231 notes · View notes

ceruleancattail · 10 months

Text

Stray Cat Au

File:Heartsabyul

Ace

A crooked smile, hat tipped to the side. Ace’s often found on the streets, newspaper tucked underneath his arm. His eyes gleam with mischief, a heart painted on his eye. It wiggles as he laughs, beating with every chuckle.

The local newsboy, he always seems to be drawn to you. Arm slinging around your shoulders, pulling you towards him. Warmth surges into your skin, a comforting feeling.

Where are you going in such a hurry, detective? Is the game afoot?

Ace mocks, but he’s genuinely curious. After all, it’s not everyday you get to talk to a detective. More often then not, he’s tagging along for your cases. He’ll come up with a hundred excuses.

Oh, he needs to boarden his selling area! Business, y’know?

There wasn’t anything to do, so he decided to follow you around.

Even with all his bluster, you can’t help but feel a little relieved. As snarky as Ace can be, he’s loyal. Whenever you confront the culprits, Ace’s hand is pressed against the small of your back, encouragingly. Whenever you falter, he’s right there by your side, winking slyly.

It’s a comfort to know that someone’s got your back. Especially if it’s Ace.

Deuce

You’ll find him in the town square, waving around sheets of newspapers. He’s hollering like a salesman, shouting the day’s headlines. His hat is straight on his head, locks of deep navy blue tucked under. A spade is painted over his eye, delicate curves highlighting the blue within his pupils.

He greets you with a smile, beaming brighter then the sun. You’ve made it a habit to get two coffees everyday. One for yourself, and one for him. Sometimes, your fingers brush against his when you pass the cup to him. It’s an odd, tingly feeling that has Deuce’s cheeks glowing a faint pink.

He’s a rather reliable person. Day and night, working as hard as ever. Anyone in the town would eventually come across him. Which is why Deuce’s a gold mine for information… when he remembers stuff.

You drag him on cases. Your reasoning? An eye witness would help in identifying the criminals, and make your life easier. Although, you notice that you seem to seek out Deuce even if there aren’t cases to solve.

There’s a certain… warmth, that comes with his company. You can’t say you don’t enjoy that feeling.

Trey

As the editor of The Heartsabyul Times, he’s rather busy. You can find him in the Heartsabyul office, manuscript in hand. Pencil tucked behind his ear, glasses resting on the top of his head.

Yet no matter how weary he is, Trey always seems to have a smile just for you. Whenever you step into the office, Trey’s lips slip up ever so slightly. He’s clearing the table, pulling out boxes of pastries. Trey bakes them himself, although he gets… carried away sometimes.

Nudging them towards you, Trey tells you to help yourself. Although you can’t help but notice that they’re all your favourites…

Sometimes, when you’re stuck on a particular case, you come over to the office to seek his help. Trey looks forward to these visits. Anything is a welcome break from checking drafts. Pouring over cold cases with you, laughing at the more ridiculous theories both of you come up with… it’s a rather pleasant experience.

And he does look forward to seeing you, detective.

Do pop on by more often,hm?

He’ll have a fresh box of pastries, just for you.

Cater

The bright, impressionable journalist of The Heartsabyul Times. A social butterfly that has his fingers in a million pies, no one’s more suited for fieldwork then him. Cater’s quite literally the life of the party, buzzing around for the next big, bold headline.

It’ll make sense why he hones onto you. A detective, slowly rising in fame. Clicking his pen, he’s trailing after you, chirping away. Cater pokes and pries, trying to get some tidbits of information away from those pretty lips of yours.

Aw, come on! Just let him interview you for awhile? He’ll make it worth your while~

As a journalist, he has certain connections that could be the key of cracking your cases right open. The most prestigious business events? With a snap of his fingers, Cater has two invites printed and ready to use.

So just come to him if you need anything, detective. Cater would gladly assist you… well, if The Heartsabyul Times gets exclusive rights to your story, that is.

Heck, drop on by anytime!

It’s always a joy to chat with you.

Riddle

The head of the Heartsabyul Times. The tyrant of the news world, ruling over the town with an iron fist. With all the rumours about how strict Riddle can be, it’s a surprise that he treats you so warmly.

Inviting you in for a cup of tea, nimbly setting down cups of twinkling porcelain for your use. Riddle knows that information is give and take. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, so to speak. So when a detective comes knocking on his door, he’ll make full use of this opportunity.

He never expected you. The way you smiled, introducing yourself with a firm handshake. You didn’t bother beating around the bush, before launching into a relay of questions.

Riddle could hear the passion in your voice, that steely glow in your eyes. The way you were ever so determined to find the truth, regardless of how devastating it could be.

Well, looks like the local detective wasn’t a force to be trifled with. He has to admire that courage, to be able to question the head of Heartsabyul himself that boldly.

Question away, detective. Although you’ll pardon him for asking some questions of his own.

You intrigue him, truly.

420 notes · View notes

fluentmoviequoter · 4 months

Text

Undo It

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You get abducted on your way home and won't talk to anyone after you're saved. Deacon vows to undo all the damage done to you.

Warnings: angst, descriptions of injury/threats/torture, SWAT!reader is abducted and held hostage, Deacon gets very protective, fluff.

Word Count: 5.2k+ words

A/N: One scene in this is inspired by Criminal Minds episode "Riding the Lightning" (1x14). I also don't know how to play poker, so I kinda rushed through that. This is completely self-indulgent; the idea came to my mind while watching season 3 of SWAT and I had to write it. Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! :)

Picture from Pinterest

“Two more women have been reported missing from central Los Angeles. The Los Angeles Police Department has not yet commented on whether the recent missing persons reports – of which there have been sixteen in as many days – are connected.”

Deacon mutes the television as Hicks enters.

“They’re all over us,” Hicks mutters. “But that’s not why I’m here. We got an anonymous tip from one of Luca’s neighbours. There’s a drug buy going down around the corner from his house. You up for it?”

“Who called in the tip? Same guy as last week?” Luca interjects.

“Probably.”

“We’re in. Worst-case scenario, it’s another false alarm,” Hondo says.

“That’s the worst-case scenario?” you repeat. “What’s your idea of a good case scenario, walking into the middle of a drug buy?”

“My arrest record is lookin’ a little thin. Let’s roll,” Hondo teases, patting your shoulder as he walks by.

You roll your eyes, smiling at Deacon as you fall in line behind him. Deacon puts himself on your team for the breach, and you find yourself tucked behind him as he enters a bedroom.

“L.A.P.D., on the ground!” he yells.

You follow him in, placing handcuffs on the two men inside. Hondo and Tan clear the other side of the house while Chris and Street enter from the back. No other suspects are inside, but there is a bathroom filled with drugs.

“Looks like you forgot to flush,” Hondo taunts as he raises a small plastic bag.

Once back in Black Betty, you remove your helmet and lean against Deacon’s side. You keep your head up, and the touch isn’t visible to Tan or Chris across from you, but Deacon welcomes it.

“Need a ride home?” Deacon asks as he offers a hand while you exit Black Betty.

“No, I’m going to walk. I could use the air. Thank you though,” you reply.

“It’s getting late,” Deacon argues.

“I’ll be okay, I promise, Deac.”

Deacon watches you go and considers following you to ensure you get home safe, yet when you promise to call Chris when you get home, he decides he’ll text you later to confirm everything is alright.

✯✯✯✯✯

The last block separating you from your house seems darker than usual. Speeding up, you reach for your back pocket to pull your phone out. None of your team members would mind staying on the phone until you get home, but your mind immediately goes to Deacon. He’d not only answer but probably be in his car before you finished telling him you were concerned or uneasy. Once your phone is in your hand, you watch as someone steps out of the shadows.

“Evening,” you mutter, nodding once as you step to the side.

“It’s a good one now,” he responds. “I’m Matt.”

You ignore him, but when his hand wraps around your arm, you turn quickly, throwing a punch against his jaw.

“Oh, I told you she’d put up a fight,” a second voice says before two hands land on you from behind.

“Night, night,” Matt says, holding his face as a cloth is pressed to your face.

You fight until everything goes dark, and as your head drops, you see your phone on the sidewalk. You know that Deacon will save you… or die trying.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, Chris,” Deacon says as he answers the phone.

Chris says your name, sounding out of breath, before continuing, “Have you heard from her?”

“No. I offered to drive her home, but she wanted to walk. Why?”

“She didn’t call like she said she would. She always calls. And now she’s not answering my calls.”

Deacon takes a deep breath, rubbing his jaw as he attempts to deduce where you could be.

“Something’s wrong,” Chris adds.

“I know, I know. Call the team; I’ll drive by her house and meet you there. Hey, Chris,” he waits for her to hum to finish, “we’ll find her.”

Deacon is at your house faster than usual, slowing as he drives past your driveway. A small light is evident on the sidewalk, the only evidence of life in a strip without a streetlight. He parks, jumping out to run across the road and pick it up.

“No,” he whispers, looking at your phone.

What makes finding your phone abandoned on the side of the road worse, he thinks, is that his contact is open. You tried to call him, and based on the new crack across the screen, you needed help. You needed Deacon, and he wasn’t here.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Find anything?” Chris asks when Deacon walks in.

“Her phone,” Deacon answers, laying your phone on the table. “It was unlocked, lying on the sidewalk less than a block from her house.”

“The light-less dead zone?” Luca guesses.

Deacon nods, his jaw tightening as he confirms. He should have insisted on driving you home or been on the phone talking to you the whole time.

“I should’ve just gone with her,” Chris mutters.

“Don’t do that,” Street says, “we had no way of knowing something would happen. Any one of us could be blamed for this, but that won’t help us find her.”

Hondo nods but doesn’t say anything before Hicks rushes in.

“I didn’t see it until now,” he mumbles, opening the computer. “I don’t know how we missed it.”

20-David watches as he navigates to the missing persons' page, a collection of women gathered at the top. Hicks opens the most recent reports, and Chris exhales a sharp sigh.

“They are connected,” she says.

“Yeah,” Hicks answers. “Somehow, we missed the physical appearance connection. Our guys were so interested in the victimology that they probably never even looked at the pictures.”

“They look just like her,” Luca whispers. “It’s uncanny.”

“Do we have any ideas? Suspects? Leads?” Hondo asks. Hicks shakes his head, and Hondo slaps an open palm onto the table. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“I know that Hondo, but without an idea as to who, what, or why, we don’t have anything to go on. LA county is big, we can’t just start searching aimlessly.”

“First responders,” Deacon says, his eyes and his focus on the screen. “They all work as first responders. Firefighter, EMT, 911 operator. Every one of them. Where were they taken from?”

“Uh, within a mile of their homes,” Street reads. “Six of the six-seventeen, now, visited the Los Angeles county court to inquire about getting restraining orders.”

“Against?” Deacon asks.

Street clicks through the reports before looking up at Deacon. “Asher Nolan.”

“All six against the same guy,” Hondo begins, clicking his tongue, “that’s a lead.”

“I’ll get a warrant,” Hicks says, turning toward his office.

Deacon watches as your picture is added to their list. He knows the team only has 24 hours to find a real lead, or they risk never seeing you again.

“Don’t, Deacon,” Hondo says lowly, standing beside Deacon. “It’s not our fault, not your fault."

“I offered to drive her home, tried to insist, but she promised she would be safe.”

“You didn’t know, Deac, you couldn’t have helped her.”

“I could have!” Deacon drops his voice, looking away from your picture to admit, “She tried to call me. When I found her phone, my contact was open. If she had pressed it, or if I had called sooner, she might have been okay.”

“She will be.”

“She better.”

Deacon walks out, unable to look at your smiling face any longer. Hicks comes back quickly with a warrant, and Deacon tries to detach himself from the case. He can’t, not when it’s you.

✯✯✯✯✯

The clock in the room reads 11:58 p.m. It’s only been four hours since you left S.W.A.T. HQ, though it seems a distant memory. The door opens, and you are still against the bed you’re chained to.

“You know, I miss when you would talk to me,” Matt says, laying his hand across your throat. “What happened? I know you help people, so help yourself.”

He laughs at his dumb act, amused by the fact that he knows why you fell silent. Your skin burns against his touch, and the cough you want to release feels trapped in your throat. Faint bruises are barely visible in the bright light, but you know that the marks they’ve left are deeper than any bruises that may appear. Assuming you survive, of course.

“Since you’re giving me to cold shoulder,” Matt adds, dragging his hand across your collarbone to rest on your shoulder, “maybe I should return the favor.”

His other hand raises, covered in an oven mitt, as he reaches into a cooler and removes a large chunk of dry ice. You pull your lower lip between your teeth, determined not to scream. The ice meets the bare skin of your shoulder, though you’re unsure when he moved your sleeve. Alternating between burning and freezing, stabbing pain, you fight to remain conscious.

“Functional lessons,” the second man muses as he walks in. “I like it.”

An alarm goes off, and Matt and the man whose name you’ve yet to learn walk out. The ice is left against the skin of your upper arm, melting too slowly against you and the bed.

“I almost forgot,” Matt’s voice echoes before something pricks your arm and everything goes dark as the pain finally fades.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Cameras,” Street points out. “They know we’re here.”

“Then let’s show ‘em why,” Hondo says. “Chris, Tan, Luca, go right. Deacon, Street, you’re with me.”

When Deacon feels Street touch his shoulder, he lays his hand on Hondo’s. He wants to get in and get you out as quickly as possible. Many things could happen, too many variables, but Deacon is prepared to risk his life to save yours.

“Gun,” Hondo calls, pushing back against Deacon as they enter a hallway.

“Took you long enough. When my buddy said LAPD was incompetent, I didn’t realise I’d be able to get so much done before you found me,” Matt calls.

“Let’s talk about this,” Hondo yells. “There’s a chance to walk away from this.”

“You mean like Abby?” a second voice joins.

“24-David,” Chris’s voice crackles through the radio, “We got eyes on one.”

“30-David, we have eyes on one east of the front door,” David replies.

“Abby didn’t walk away, though,” Matt says before laughing.

“Neither did Chelsea, or Bailey.”

“Or that pretty little officer. They saved everyone except themselves.”

Deacon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to stay calm when they bring you up.

“See, that’s where you messed up,” Hondo announces. “You took one of us. Surrender and maybe the DA will work with you, find the other girls and get a reduced sentence.”

“Or, what? Go down in a blaze of fire? Better than ice.”

Hondo peeks around the corner, aiming his weapon. “Last chance, Asher. Put the gun down.”

“Asher? Oh, you mean my boss. He said not to do that.”

Matt raises his gun, and Hondo takes the chance to fire. He rushes out while Deacon covers him.

“Where is she?” Hondo demands as he presses a hand to Matt’s wound, kicking his gun away.

“Frozen by now.”

Matt’s eyes close, and Hondo gestures toward the other hallway as he radios that one of the suspects is down. Deacon nods, leading Street into the hallway.

“Clear,” Deacon says, exiting a bedroom.

“Closet only,” Street informs, opening a door on the other side.

Deacon opens the last door and lowers his gun to his side before he rushes into the room. Street turns in the doorway, covering him.

“24-David, the second suspect is down. It’s not Asher,” Chris radios.

Street turns into the room, joining Deacon by the bed.

“Is that-“

“Dry ice,” Deacon finishes as he knocks it onto the floor.

He removes his glove to find your pulse, elevated but steady. Your skin is colder than it should be, and you don’t respond to Deacon’s prodding or whispered pleads.

“C’mon, come back to us,” Deacon tries again.

“Ambulances are here,” Street says.

You jerk harshly, and Deacon rolls onto the bed, raising you into a fireman’s carry before navigating through the hallways. He feels you continue moving against him, but all he can do is get you help and pray.

“We’ve got her,” the EMT says, helping to lower you onto the gurney. “Hit the sirens.”

“I’m coming with,” Deacon says, climbing into the ambulance.

Hicks appears at the door. “Go. She needs you, Deacon. Keep us updated.”

“Narcan?” one EMT suggests.

“No, at least not yet.” The ambulance lurches into motion as they strap an oxygen mask over your face. “Brain, I think, not drugs.”

They glance toward Deacon, who says, “I’m a trained medic, I get it. Just do your jobs, please.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon paces the waiting room for nearly an hour before sitting in a chair and letting his head hang toward his knees.

“Sergeant Kay?” a nurse asks.

Deacon’s head snaps up as he stands.

“The doctor is in her room now. Wants to talk to you.”

Deacon is silent as he walks down the hallways to reach your room. When he enters, seeing you hooked up to several machines and your arm wrapped tightly, his breath catches.

“I’m David Kay – Deacon,” he introduces, shaking the doctor’s hand.

“She owes you her life, Sergeant Kay. Much longer and the frostbite would have been incredibly severe.”

“And the tests?”

The doctor sighs, looking over at you before answering. “Yes, we ran several tests. MRI, CAT scan, and a few others. Her brain isn’t responding like it should.”

“Will she regain consciousness?” Deacon interrupts, his focus aimed at final answers.

“As far as I can tell, yes, sir, she will. When I say not responding like it should, I suppose I should reword. Her brain is responding, there’s no sign of a lack of oxygen or direct brain damage, but she may never recover fully, and will likely never be the same as the woman she was before. Her brain waves aren’t behaving like a woman of her age and health should be.”

“Thank you.”

Deacon shakes his hand and moves to the corner of your room, typing a short text to Hicks: Get down here when you can. This will be easier in person.

He knows it sounds like you’re dying, but the idea of never having the real you back seems just as dire.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your eyes blink open slowly against the harsh fluorescent lights. A man is standing above you, and you jerk backwards, pulling against the chain on your hand and the unseen weight holding you down. Prepared to defend yourself, you move to the edge of the bed and let the adrenaline numb your pain while fueling your fight.

“Doc, take a step back for me, please,” Deacon says calmly.

When you hear Deacon’s voice, your guard drops slightly, and your shoulders lose some tension as you locate Deacon. You watch Deacon while the doctor stops beside him, whispering something on his way out.

“She’s not herself, just try to give her space and time. Like I said, this may be temporary, or it may be her new normal,” the doctor reminds Deacon, unheard by you.

The hand that you pulled away from the doctor moves jerkily toward Deacon, and he glances down at your hand and the IV you ripped out. He turns and waves to a female nurse. He stands by your bed, and you watch him, tensing as the nurse touches you to insert a new IV.

“Do you want to be alone?” Deacon asks when the nurse exits.

You don’t speak or nod, but your hand moves closer to Deacon. He smiles, taking it as a yes, before sitting in the chair beside your bed. Deacon knows the doctors’ concern but would do anything to hear your voice again.

When a doctor walks by, you lean harshly against the rail on your bed, and Deacon realises you are uncomfortable around men. Although, for some unexpected reason, you seem fine with him. Deacon stands and closes the blinds on your window, and when it feels like he is the only other person in the world, you fall asleep. Deacon is concerned that you’ll be nervous around him, too, when you wake. Later, when you do wake, your eyes find him, and your body stays relaxed, proof that your relationship with Deacon was not impacted by whatever those monsters did to you.

He looks down at his phone to read a message from Hondo: We got a warrant and a location for Asher. You in?

Deacon apologises as he tells you he has to go. “The team is going after him, and I want to be there. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

You don’t respond, but Deacon taps the edge of your bed as he leaves, only inches from your fingers. While he’s gone, you don’t sleep. The night passes, and by mid-day, when you’ve gone a whole day, 24 hours, without sleep, the nurses give you a dose of melatonin to help you relax. You drift off, falling asleep against your will, and your mind goes to Deacon.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon is still gone when you wake, but there’s a computer sitting in the chair he previously occupied. You pull it onto the bed, catching the SD card that slides off the top. After you insert the chip and see only one video on it, you start it after looking out the door.

It’s the men who took you, Matt and the other one, standing over you, threatening you before growing bold enough to carry out some of their threats. When they start touching your throat and talking about your voice, you slam the computer closed and rip the memory card out.

Standing from the bed, you pull the IV cart with you to the cabinet. Your tattered clothes are still in the patient's belongings bag, but someone also brought your backpack from S.W.A.T. HQ. You look out the door again before changing and stay close to the heart rate monitor and IV cart. Once dressed and ready, you duck beside the door, waiting for a large enough group to walk by. When one appears, you rip your IV and pulse-ox off, falling into step behind them. You walk out unnoticed and set out without a real destination in mind. Sticking to the shadows, you find yourself in a familiar neighbourhood.

✯✯✯✯✯

When your heart rate plummets, the machine beeps, and several nurses abandon their stations to run into your room. They check the bathroom and the far side of the bed before finding your commander’s phone number.

“Hicks,” he answers.

“Commander Hicks, she’s gone.”

Hicks hangs up on the nurse but walks into the room less than ten minutes later. He looks through everything, noticing that your bag is gone and your IV was ripped out intentionally. Hoping to find something before your team comes back, Hicks opens the computer on your bed. While Hicks is searching, Deacon walks in with a small bag of your favourite snacks and a book to pass the time.

“Calm down, Deac, we’re gonna get answers,” Hicks begins.

“Where is she?” Deacon demands.

“I don’t know. The nurses called as soon as her heart rate stopped tracking, so she can’t be more than thirty minutes ahead of us.”

“I’m going to find her.”

“Deacon, stay with me. We’ll call in the team and-“

“I can’t; I think I need to be alone for now.”

Deacon leaves, setting the bag in his passenger seat and wishing it were you instead. He’s lost you twice in the last few days, and once he finds you, he will do everything in his power to keep you close forever.

Walking into his house, Deacon slows when he sees a pair of shoes under the rose bush in his front yard. He pulls his gun and demands the person come out slowly.

You slide toward him with your hands up and your eyes on him rather than his gun. When he sees your face, he holsters his gun quickly and squats to your level.

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly.

You give your first answer since waking in the hospital: you nod.

Deacon helps you stand, keeping an arm around you as he leads you inside.

“Help yourself to anything, okay?” he offers as he closes the door. “You can shower, take clothes, whatever you need to be comfortable.”

You pull away from Deacon and disappear down his hallway. He hears the water turn on in his shower and pulls his phone out, his finger hovering over Hicks’ number before deciding to find out why you left the way you did.

When you reemerge, with wet hair and dressed in Deacon’s clothes, you join him in the kitchen and stand closer to him than he expected. He sets two cups before you: a mug of your favourite tea and a glass of ice water.

“Are you hungry?” Deacon asks. You shake your head, and Deacon adds, “Hey, you’re in charge right now. Whatever you want, whatever you say, goes.”

You pick up one of the glasses and look toward the couch. Deacon chuckles as he picks up the other, placing a hand on your back and leading you to the couch. Once you sit, you keep your free hand in your lap as you drink. Deacon wants to take your hand, hold it, and tell you how sorry he is, but you aren’t ready, as far as he can tell.

Suddenly, though, you turn toward him, and he recognizes the look in your eyes, shaking his head and chuckling before he begins talking. His voice has always been soothing to you, his presence like a safe house. You fall asleep to the sound of his voice, and your head falls onto his shoulder.

Deacon remains perfectly still throughout the evening as the sun sets, unwilling to disturb you, even at the cost of his comfort. His phone begins ringing in the kitchen, and he moves out from under you to answer. You wake when you feel his absence, looking around until you find him.

“Hey, Commander,” Deacon greets. “Yeah, I know… I’m worried, yeah.”

You stand and walk away silently. Deacon watches you, staring down the empty hallway as he says goodbye to Hicks.

Entering his bedroom, you find your backpack and pull the memory card out. You reappear with the small envelope containing it, and Deacon waits until you nod, wringing your fingers together, to take it. He finds his computer and inserts the card; his headphones are plugged in, and he decides to use them, unsure of what’s on the card.

Waiting, you stand beside the couch, holding your hands together. You can’t hear the video, but Deacon's facial expressions tell you which part he’s watching.

“Where’d all that fight go, huh?” Matt asks, pushing against your throat until you nearly lose consciousness.

You can’t fight back, and they’re enjoying it too much.

“You said one word and then nothing. What am I supposed to think? Maybe you don’t want to talk. Maybe you shouldn’t. That’s why we told the others. And we made sure they believed it before… well, you know.”

“They didn’t even scream,” the other man adds. “Silence is beautiful on women.”

“What if,” Matt begins, drawing a large blade from a case beside the bed. “We made sure you couldn’t talk again? Cops have to be able to use the radio, so at the least, we’ll know you can’t call for help.”

The blade lays against your throat, and your eyes close, silent but physically preparing to fight.

Deacon’s eyes slide to yours before returning to the screen briefly to close the computer. He moves to sit on the arm of the couch before you and looks up at you with big brown eyes. You want to talk to him so badly, but you can’t. Deacon raises his hands, and you don’t hesitate to lay yours in his. He rubs circles on the backs of your hands, your callouses and warmth melting together.

“Everything they said was wrong,” Deacon begins.

Deacon notices that you lean in toward him with each word he says. He stands slowly, concerned that his size or the proximity will overwhelm you, but you keep your hands in his and follow his eyes as he stands. With the new angle, Deacon can see the bruises forming around your neck, from your collarbone up to your jawline. Deacon’s hands raise to rest on your shoulders, bringing your hands along in his. His thumbs rest gently above your collarbone.

“What they said, what they did, was terrible.” And Deacon plans to undo every word and touch, even if it takes forever.

You lean into Deacon’s touch, trusting him with most of your weight as his phone rings again. He moves an arm around your shoulders, leaning back against the couch as he answers.

“Hicks. I only have a minute. She’s here, at my house. She’s safe… Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on her… See you then.”

“Thank you,” you whisper against Deacon’s chest, your voice rough after not using it.

His eyes widen as he wraps his other arm around you. “It’s no problem,” he promises.

You point to the bedroom, and Deacon nods before releasing you. He watches you walk away, and the echo of your voice wraps around him like a warm blanket.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Deacon rises for work the following morning, he has a message from Hicks inviting him to stay home with you if he needs or wants to. Walking into the kitchen, you’re standing in your own clothes with your backpack at your feet.

“Can I go with you?” you ask, voice barely audible.

Deacon doesn’t have the heart to tell you no, so he takes you back to work. As he walks to the car, he texts the team a quick heads-up that they may need to be quieter around you because you’ve been through a lot, and slow behaviour seems to be the key to making you comfortable. He hopes your new unease around men doesn’t extend to the other men who saved your life.

The team tries to follow Deacon’s advice, but when you hear an obnoxious yell from a beat cop, you tuck behind Deacon and grab his fingers. 20-David knew you had feelings for Deacon but seeing him be your safe space like this is a whole new element for them to witness.

✯✯✯✯✯

You, Deacon, and Hondo are watching Hicks interview Asher Nolan. They can’t tie him to any of the abductions, but he seems to know too much about some of the other women who were taken. Hicks is getting nowhere and is ready to walk out.

“I’ll go in,” you tell Hondo. “But only if you come with me,” you add quietly, looking at Deacon.

“She only goes in if I go too,” Deacon adds protectively, looking at Hondo.

As you walk in, Asher’s eyes find you.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he croons.

“Don’t look at her,” Deacon snaps.

Asher’s eyes move to Deacon long enough to ask, “Do you ever smile?”

“No.”

“Well, you should be with someone who smiles, sweetheart. Come closer and I’ll show you how nice my smile is,” he tells you.

“Tell us where the other women are,” Deacon demands.

“Oh, that kind of information needs to be earned, don’t you think? I have an idea, though, we play poker. You win, and I tell you what you want to know.”

“And if I win?”

“I get to smell her hair,” Asher answers, staring at you.

“No deal.”

You know you need the evidence. Finding the other women is the key to getting a conviction.

“Okay,” you say.

Looking over at Deacon, you hope your look conveys your thoughts: ‘Please win.’

You look at Deacon’s hand, hiding your smile when he tucks a card behind another to disguise his winning hand. The moment Asher shows his cards, asking you to come to his side, you let your lips raise slightly.

“Oh, looks like I missed a card,” Deacon deadpans, revealing his royal straight flush, all spades.

Asher slaps the table, his handcuffs creating a sharp echo. Deacon stands, and you follow, standing behind him.

“Mulholland Drive, by the dam,” Asher admits. As Deacon approaches the door, he says, “I’ll find a better place for you; the best for the last.”

Deacon tries to lunge for Asher, but you step between them and push Deacon out of the interview room.

“Thank you. For winning and keeping him away from me,” you whisper, your hands still pressed against Deacon’s chest.

“I’ll always protect you.”

Hicks steps out, asking to speak to Deacon, and you nod before walking the other way. Deacon meant it, and you know he will do anything to protect you.

✯✯✯✯✯

You enter the locker room, surprised to find it empty. Sitting on the bench before your locker, you drop your head into your hands. The quiet is nice but also allows your thoughts and memories to run rampant. One thought of Deacon silences the dangerous and painful thoughts, and you will your mind to remember what it was like to be held by him.

Deacon finds you waiting alone in the locker room and moves silently to join you. He sits beside you, and you turn toward him, taking his hand and tracing his fingers.

Your touch is magnetic, and Deacon never wants to let you go.

“I- I know you watched the video, but I want to talk about it. If that’s okay,” you begin, looking at Deacon’s hand.

“Of course.”

“They told me to stop talking, not to scream, and I listened. I’m sure they were lying, but they made me believe that last girl, Melissa, was still alive, so I thought – hoped – that if I listened, they’d let her live. Focus all of their time and energy on me, you know. Then they started touching my neck and pressuring me to talk. When I didn’t they started hurting me, choking me and laying knives across my neck before leaving.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know Hicks was at the hospital and found the computer, and I don’t know if they recorded it, but they threatened to pull my vocal cords out and put the knife in my mouth. Talking just- it felt like I was betraying her, I guess, even after I knew they were in custody.”

Deacon moves to his knees in front of you, keeping your hand in his as his other hand raises to cup your jaw. He ducks his head and kisses your neck, wiping away the memories of their touch with each gentle movement. When he reaches your jaw, you lower your chin and meet his lips, kissing him.

He knows this is real, not just something to distract you. He doesn’t, however, know that you know that, too. You have loved Deacon for a long time, and…

“Thinking of you kept me alive. You kept me alive, Deacon. I’ve been in love with you for years and being away from you made me realize just how much. I never want to be away from you again,” you confess, holding his hand and heart.

Deacon knows you will be uncomfortable around men for a while, but never around him. He vows to continue his mission of undoing their words and actions, but he will love every version of you along the way.

“They found Melissa, she’s still alive,” Hicks announces in the doorway.

As the door closes, Deacon kisses you again. You saved Melissa, he saved you, and now he knows it.

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #david deacon kay #deacon kay #swat cbs #fem!reader

128 notes · View notes

ghostlychief · 10 months

Note

I am on my hands and knees BEGGING for a Joel and Ellie type relationship with Captain John Price and reader oneshot (and fic recs if anyone knows of any). Like the found family shit, I live for it. 😭

thanks for requesting! hope you enjoy

John Price/reader; Joel and Ellie type relationship

wc: 800+

warnings: none

You were running. You don’t think you’ve ever run this fast before in your life, but you had to get away. Your lungs were on fire, and your shins ached as you pushed yourself further through the forest.

Unfortunately, you could still hear the footsteps of the infected behind you. You frantically looked around looking for any hiding spot you could find some respite from your marathon.

Your eyes caught sight of some sort of crevasse in the ground, which was partly covered by the large roots of the tree it was under.

Bingo.

You sprinted in that direction, and slide yourself under the roots and brush. Tucking your knees up against your chest you waited for them to find you.

Though, that moment never came. You sighed and leaned your head back, finally catching your breath.

You reach in your pack digging around in it and you realize you’re running low on supplies. You didn’t really want to leave the confines this burrow, but you knew you had to keep going.

Lifting yourself out of the hole, you quietly step out of the cover, and look around, listening for any signs of the infected near you. You seem to be in the clear, they must have moved on.

You had a general idea of where you were going, but you took our map out just in case. You’re trying your best not to make any noise as you continue through the woods. You’re hoping to come across a road which will hopefully lead to a town.

You may have been walking for 30 minutes or so when you hear a screech off into the distance. By now, you know damn well who made that sound and sweat drips down your temple. You put your map away and take out your hand gun.

Your aim was still more or less shit, but hey, it provided you with some semblance of comfort.

The screeching gets louder and louder and before you know it, you’re running again. Every once in a while, you glance back to see if they’re still following, and yup, they are.

You were looking behind you now, and still running at a full sprint, when you slam into something hard. At first you think it’s a tree, but you realize it moved when you hit it, so definitely not a tree.

You hear, “What the fuck?”

You look up to see a man with a beard glaring down at you. He’s tall, maybe 6’2, and he has this sort of roughness about him that oddly leaves you feeling safe. He looks like he’s in his mid-forties.

“What where you’re going, yeah?” He’s still glaring at you but you don’t care.

You probably look crazy but you grasp him by the shoulders and scream, “They’re coming! Please, they’re coming.”

You see him look behind you and when his eyebrows quirk up you know that he’s seen them. Meaning, it’s only a matter of time before they reach you and this man.

“Get behind me.”

You start to say, “But-,” though he cuts you off, and with a sterner tone says, “Get behind me.”

You fight the urge to scoff but listen to the stranger, and you place yourself behind him. He slightly outstretches his arm, as if blocking you from standing beside him or in front and he raises his rifle up. You failed to notice he had one to begin with.

As the infected pour into the clearing, the loud shot of the rifle pierce through the woods, bullet after bullet as this man takes down the clan of infected.

“Damn, you really know how to shoot. Can you teach me by any chance?” He glances back at you, and your pistol is resting in your palm ad you have a hopeful smile on your face.

Making sure there’s no more infected, he finally turns around to face you. “How old are you kid?” The glare is back in his eyes as he talks down to you.

You glower back at him, “Old enough to have a gun.”

He has the audacity to scoff, “Doubt it.”

He places his hands on his hips and you hear him let out a long drawn-out sigh. “Who are you with?”

You just shake your head, “No one. I’m on my own.”

He curses under his breath.

Before he can say anything else, you jump to say, “Is there any chance you could help me get supplies? Please, I just need to get some more water and matches. Then I’ll be out of your hair.” He lets out another sigh.

This man really likes to sigh, you think.

He shifts on his feet, contemplating your ask. “Fine. But then we’re done.”

You grant him a big smile, “What’s your name?”

His gruff voice trails across the air, “Price. I go by Price.” --

#this is my first price fic lmao #hope i did it justice #john price fic #captain john price fic #inspired by Joel and Ellie #John Price imagine #John Price request #mw2 john price #mw2 price #mw2 price fic #cod john price #cod price #cod price fic #request #mw2 fic #mw2 cod fic #John price x reader #captain John price x reader

86 notes · View notes

bumblepony · 2 months

Note

Are you still taking requests for the kiss ficlets? If so, can you write a Joel/Tess one for #34, “we can’t do this” kiss?

Thank you, anon, for this request. I had a great time writing this. I'm gifting this to another Tess/Joel Truther Glitter_Gecko. , who loves the little scene from TLOU Part 1 that I put in her as much as I do.

“Ellie, stay here. I gotta talk to Tess for a minute. Do you understand?” Joel points to a space on the ground in the small clearing they’d decided to bunk down in for the night after trekking out of Boston.

“Yeah, sure.” Ellie folds herself down onto the ground in a way that only a teenager can and then shoots a glare at them. “You’re not gonna fucking leave me here, right?”

“No, we ain't gonna fuckin’ leave you here, alright. Just stay put,” Joel grates, rolling his eyes. He pulls off his jacket and hands it to Ellie before taking Tess by the arm and leading her toward an opening in the trees. Tess doesn’t miss the small tremor in his hands when he gives Ellie the jacket or the way he kept grinding his teeth the whole way out here from the statehouse. Joel was holding on to something, and they were about to have it out. Tess sighs and makes her way in the direction he motioned to. They go a far enough distance that Tess knows the girl won’t be able to easily hear them, and then she turns, words already on the tip of her tongue, to try and forestall the argument she knows he is fixing to start.

But she doesn’t even have a chance to open her mouth before his comes crashing down against hers. He crowds her up against the nearest tree, her back slamming into the trunk with enough force to knock a gasp from her. He presses into her fast, his hands moving over her like he hasn’t touched her in years. She’s been caught off guard, but she dives in quick as soon as she understands where his head is at.

Their kisses are messy and heated, teeth clacking, tongues clashing, lips clinging. Joel’s hands are up under her shirt, pushing her sports bra over her breasts as she reaches down to undo his belt buckle. His fingers roll and pinch her nipples as his mouth moves down her jaw, teeth leaving sharp nips, which he then soothes with a swipe of his tongue. Her hand slides down into his boxers, and her fingers wrap around his already half-hard cock. He grunts as she gives him two firm pumps, and then he's grappling to unbutton and pull down her jeans. She helps him get them down her slim hips, and then she’s hopping on one foot as he tugs one of her boots off and a single leg of her pants, leaving the jeans dangling from her other leg still just in case they need to get dressed in a hurry. Once she’s free, she only has a moment before he’s hoisting her into the air, her legs wrapping around his waist and her arms going around his neck. He presses her back up against the tree as she reaches between them to pull him loose and line him up with her entrance. He’s just about to slide inside when they both hear a branch break somewhere in the forest around them.

They freeze, their chests heaving, mouths open as they try to pant as quietly as possible, and they listen. Suddenly, a rabbit shoots out from behind them, and they both groan in relief. They lean their foreheads together for a moment as they try and catch their breath, and then Tess cups his face and places a gentle, lingering kiss on his mouth and says against his lips, “ We can’t do this.”

“I know.” Joel sighs and kisses her softly back while carefully lowering her to the ground. He tucks himself in, then helps her get her jeans and boots back on. Once they’re both put back together, he leans into her and cups her face. “Tess, I thought I was going to lose you today. We was this close,” Joel says, holding his thumb and pointer finger up, held only centimeters apart.

“I don’t know what I woulda done If… shit Tess. This fuckin’ close.” His hands shake as he pulls her body tight against his. She wraps her arms around his back and presses her palms firmly against his shoulders, trying to show him the best way she can that she’s still here, still very much alive. She remembers the feeling of the clicker’s hands on her shoulders dragging her in, its hot, putrid breath wafting over her face, teeth gnashing in its mouth. Second away from biting down, Joel had pulled it off her and planted a bullet in its head. She had been so close to leaving the earth without ever telling this man what he means to her. But now is not the time, not when they had a kid waiting for them, not 30 feet away. No, it would have to wait. They would have to wait.

“Joel, it’s going to be okay. You didn’t lose me,” Tess whispers into his ear placing small kisses down his jaw. He lets out a ragged breath and takes her lips with his once more. This kiss is delicate, careful, his breath mingles with hers, and she melts into it. His tongue runs along her bottom lip, and he moans softly when her tongue comes out to mingle with his.

Joel pulls away reluctantly, chuckling, “We gotta stop, or I’m gonna put you up against that tree again.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, honestly. Not that I wouldn’t mind the experience, but I’d also like to avoid your back going out when we have a five-hour hike in front of us tomorrow,” Tess laughs as she steps away, patting him on the chest.

“That was one fuckin’ time,” Joel grumbles under his breath as they head back to their makeshift campsite.

“Well, it was pretty memorable, cowboy. It's not often I have to knock on your brother's bedroom door to ask for help getting you to the couch from the floor while we’re both half-naked,” Tess says, dodging a root on the forest floor.

“I told ya to at least put my jeans back on.”

“Really? After you whined and bitched the whole time I was helping you get your boxers back on, no, thank you. You were lucky I covered you with a blanket after that,” Tess scoffs, and Joel huffs with fake indignation.

After a few moments of silence, Joel says, “You know we ain't been out here in a while.” Then he moves ahead of her a little so he can push a branch out of the way.

“It's like we're on a date,” Tess says sarcastically.

“Well, I am the romantic type.”

“You got your ways,” Tess smirks and raises an eyebrow at him as they shuffle back into the clearing where Ellie sits nervously fidgeting against a tree.

“He’s got his ways with what?” Ellie asks, nose scrunching up in confusion.

“Nonya,” Joel grits.

“Excuse me?” Ellie’s brows scrunch down to meet her nose in bewilderment.

“It’s Nonya business,” Joel quips in response. Tess can’t help laughing as Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Oh, har har,” Ellie says, giving him the two-finger salute. Joel just waves her off, turning his back so he can rummage through his bag. Tess catches just the hint of a smile curving his lips as he shakes his head at the girl's antics.

Tess suppresses her own smile as she thinks maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.

#joel and tess #joel x tess #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #joel miller #tess servopoulos #ao3 #smut #tess lives #ellie williams

12 notes · View notes

yesimwriting · 1 year

Text

First Rule

A/n this is my first time writing for The Last of Us and for Joel Miller and i have not played the game!! i’ve only watched the show so far (might have to watch someone playing it on youtube or something to know what happens next sooner 😭) so if the characters feel a little off i’m sorry!!

writing new characters and finding their voice/securing their vibe is a process :))

Summary: Literally just a drabble, i debated making it longer but bc it was so impulsive i didn’t want it to get lost in the drafts and it’s pretty late rn,, i have a clear idea for a part 2 bc it was going to be longer (part 2 is the only way the title makes sense 😭) so if you’d be interested in that let me know :)) feedback sustains me

this is basically just reader meeting joel and it’s set after the pandemic/outbreak

----

It’s hard to watch. The stranger did everything right enough to get by until he didn’t. Not to say that his operation was flawless, you picked up on it almost instantly, but in his defense, you know how to look. It’s as much a skill as the ability to turn a blind eye, only a lot less evolutionarily appropriate.

Because seeing often leads to thinking (or, in your case, not thinking), which leads to doing, which usually leads to the worst result of all--involvement.

So now you’re here, watching someone that’s likely a smuggler doing their best to act like they’re anything else while dealing with a FEDRA officer. You know better than most that FEDRA’s iron exterior is a poorly constructed allusion. Some like catching smugglers because of the promise of a bribe. Hell, you know some of them are regular customers.

But the man you don’t know is tense, rigid in his steady stance. And the officer’s uniform is too polished, too new and ready to be stained in blood. He’s untrustworthy.

This has nothing to do with you. The two men are in their own standoff, and you’re tucked away between two buildings, You could disappear further into the shadows, or you could just walk forward, onto the street behind them. You’re not used to being in a situation in which you really haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing to lie or feel cagey about.

You’re untethered.

With a low sigh, you give into the itch that you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist by reaching into your bag’s front pocket. The contraption feels small between your fingers, perfect for the type of distraction you’re going for. A dramatic person would call it an explosive; you like to think of it as a small set up of gun powder and a few other things. A glorified version of those snap things children used to throw at each other’s feet on Fourth of July.

You twist your body, bending your knees slightly before heaving the small cylinder over your head and far to the right. You duck down before it makes contact. The bang is effective. A sharp, crackling boom that makes your body tense.

The officer snaps his head back, looking above you. You can practically feel his thoughts. Your opinion on the Fireflies are pretty set in stone, but you can’t complain about the cover they’ve provided. Every crack, pop, and boom has anyone with authority abandoning whatever they’re doing in a second. And it’s not like you’re a monster about it. You don’t take the easy way out if you think there’s any chance that it’ll hurt someone.

After a second of weighing their options, the FEDRA officer turns sharply and runs off. You hear his footsteps disappear somewhere away from you, but you still hesitate to stand straight again. A minute passes and you decide you’re safe enough to move. You walk forward slowly, planning on running in the opposite direction of the man.

You’re out just enough to round the corner before it happens. One second you’re walking, stepping forward like normal, and the next there’s a hard touch on your arm and the wall shifts to from beside you to against your back. You thrash instinctually, stepping on the man’s foot hard enough to bruise. He curses under his breath and pushes you a little harder.

“What--” A voice that’s cutting in its irritated indifference. “What was that?”

Mind running a mile a minute, you struggle to form a sentence. You didn’t think you’d have to talk to him. It was a good dead. A hushed fuck you to one of those asshole officers.

The man pauses long enough to take you in. You imagine he doesn’t see much, because blending in and seeming harmless enough is what you know. And you’re not much--not now, cursing your recklessness and just standing there with wide eyes. His hold doesn’t exactly loosen, but his touch on your arm becomes less intense. Less demanding.

You push your back against the wall firmly and he lets you. It’s a small shift that makes no real difference, but it’s space, it’s the illusion of independence. Your eyes flit forward, meeting his. There’s a sharp crease between his eyebrows and an unforgiving focus behind his dark eyes. His features are amplified by an ingrained tiredness, but that doesn’t take away from his attractiveness.

Wow--okay, that last thought is enough to scare you out of your analysis. You tilt your chin downwards, snapping yourself out of whatever manipulative trance was. The man notices the subtle motion and drops his arm but makes no move to step away. It’s clear that you’re still caged in.

“You with the Fireflies?” The shake of your head is instinctual. “So you just have bombs you like throwi--”

“No,” It’s too defensive and you shrug within your limited space. “And that thing wasn’t a bomb. It had less gunpowder than a firework and less than a tablespoon of silver fulminate and even less ammonium nitrate.”

The explanation feels awkward and you have no idea why. It’s a fair explanation. He takes in the information and waits a beat before replying, “Why did you have a bomb?”

A correction bubbles in your chest--not a bomb. The distinction matters to you more than it should, but something about the gruffness in his voice feels more like an accusation than a question.

“Y’know I did a nice thing when I saved your ass from getting busted. A reasonable person would have just accepted that and not asked any questions.” You frown, the amount of allotted kindness in your body suddenly running low. “Actually a reasonable person would offer me a cut of whatever they’re smuggling or what they’re getting for it.”

Your statement is relatively bold. You don’t know this man, you don’t know if he’ll perceive what’s meant to be a sad attempt at a deterrent as a threat. But something in you tells you that you’re still on steady ground. That this stranger knows when there’s an actual fight.

It works, the man’s posture straightens in what you assume is his version of a bristle. Though small, the motion creates enough space for you to narrowly slip past him.

You’re free now. Free enough to run off, though some gut feeling tells you he’d keep at it if he had any reason to want to chase you. He won’t, though. Some gut feeling in your chest is sure of it. It’d be bold to call it trust, but it feels more stable than optimistic intuition. It’s an understanding.

One step backwards, you don’t turn around. Not yet. Assumed understanding or not, you’ve done enough without thinking today. He watches you back, equally silent. And then you end the standoff with a tilt of your chin.

You turn on your heels, walking forward with even paced steps. He’s given you no reason to run, and sudden, panicked movements might trigger a break in the uneasy peace.

“You make them.”

He’s not asking, but you turn just enough to shrug at him anyways.

#joel miller #the last of us #the last of us x reader #joel miller x reader #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou hbo max #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

60 notes · View notes

myveryownfanfiction · 4 months

Text

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @cassieuncaged

warnings: swearing, mention of blood and menstruation

I sat in the chair Jenkins had brought into the annex, knees tucked up to my chest as I looked over the information Cassandra had brought in. The clippings book lay open on her most recent mission. It had been quiet since she got back. Everyone finally had a moment to relax. The pain in my gut made me lean my head against my knees. A soft hand on my back made me breathe out shakily.

“I’m ok.” I said, lifting my head to meet jenkins’ eye. “I’m ok.” He nodded as Flynn came bounding into the room.

“Hello.” He said, smiling at Jenkins and kissing me on the cheek. I gave him a shaky smile as Jenkins withdrew to his section of the table.

“hi.” I whispered as Flynn perched on the arm of the chair. “What’s got you back so soon? Thought you were still looking for the library.” He shrugged as he tried to get me to lean into him. Instead, I winced and got up quickly. Realizing my mistake, I wrapped my arms around myself and hurried off to the bathroom. I could just hear Flynn ask Jenkins what was wrong with me.

“they’ve been in so much pain they’re nauseous.” I heard Jenkins say. I made it to the bathroom and pulled the trash can closer just in case. I inspected my jeans as I sat on the toilet, willing everything to stop. I frowned when I saw a patch of red on my underwear and slowly shuffled my way out of the soiled garments. Opening the door under the sink, I smiled to myself to see the replacement pairs the annex knew I needed.

“thanks.” I whispered to the empty room. After the pain and nausea had passed, I left the bathroom and made my way back. “Sorry.” I muttered as I took up my previous position. Flynn wrapped his arms around me from behind and kissed my head. Jenkins smiled softly at me and left the room.

“I’m going to say it aloud. Since we both know it.” Flynn started. “I don’t have much experience with this. My relationships never really turned this serious or lasted long enough that I…” he cleared his throat awkwardly. I rubbed his hand where it rested on my collarbone. “Jenkins filled me in. Why are you still working here if you are in that much pain? Go home. I would have come to you.”

“everyone else needed me.” I responded. “Jake is checking into something on his own. Ezekiel needs someone to stop him from stealing every priceless artifact. Cassandra…” I trailed off. “Jenkins always needs help cataloging and researching. Eve went off looking for you. And you…” Flynn kissed my head. “Someone had to be here to keep the light burning.”

“we’re going home.” He said softly. “Come on. Jenkins already fixed the door.” I took his hand and stood up slowly. “You’re going to have to help me through your routine and making sure that you feel ok. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help.” I nodded as Flynn set the dial and our apartment appeared on the other side of the door.

“thank you.” I muttered as Flynn and I walked through, being forced to bed as soon as we closed the door. Flynn kissed me softly again before running off to get whatever it was Jenkins had told him would help.

#flynn carsen #flynn carsen fanfiction #flynn carsen fanfic #flynn carsen x reader #flynn carsen imagine #noah wyle #noah wyle fanfic #noah wyle fanfiction #noah wyle imagine #Noah wyle x reader #The librarians #the librarians fanfic #the librarians fanfiction #the librarians imagine #monthly series

10 notes · View notes

nyehilismwriting · 2 years

Note

[BEHIND] w rhaxa?? tysm... 🥰

[ BEHIND ]: upon entering the same room as the receiver, the sender steps behind them, and winds their arms around the receiver’s waist, drawing them close against them.

CW for alcohol/drinking

Your drink is too sweet, leaves your mouth feeling sticky, sickly, as you swallow it down. You’re not even sure what it was; you’d pointed to one of the bottles, viscous and electric blue, and with the aftertaste burning your throat, you’re starting to regret that. It doesn’t stop you from drinking it, though.

The room’s starting to take on a haze, dim blue lights and sweat and heat blurring together as you stretch out your neck, aching muscles protesting. At least your drink is cold. That’s really all you can ask.

The evening’s starting to wind down, the music slowing, the bartender wiping down the sticky countertops - she looks exhausted, bags under her eyes, her smile growing dimmer as the night goes on; you’ve got her down to a hand gesture to refill your drink, no conversation needed, and if you’re feeling unsteady on your stool- that’s no-one’s business but yours.

It’s almost quiet in the bar when the doors open, and you don’t need to turn and look to know who - what - has just walked in. The bartender pauses, swallows, puts down the glasses she’s collecting and clears her throat.

“Can I help you?”

“Don’t worry.” You drain your glass, hand it across the bar to her. “They’re cool.”

There’s a movement behind you, a cool weight on your crown as Rhaxa rests their head on top of yours. You raise a hand, feel the cool arch of their neck, their claws a solid ridge down your back as they tuck themself against you.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi.” Their voice echoes through your chest, a quiet purr as their hands slide over your shoulders, their cheek brushing yours. “Are you okay?”

“Mm.” You - a little unsteadily - lean against them, let them take your weight as you slouch. Predictable as ever, Rhaxa lets you, claws shifting to be more comfortable as xe tucks xir face into your neck, nudging your cheek with xir nose. “Tired.”

“Drunk,” Rhaxa corrects you, tail wrapping around your ankle.

“Well, you’re late.”

“I got distracted.”

“Uh-huh.” You can’t resist raising a hand, dragging your palm across their riverbed-smooth scales, the ridge of their jaw, turning your head to press a kiss to the underside of their head. “I’m pissed at you. In case you were wondering.”

“I was.” They return the kiss, brush a claw over your cheek. “Sorry.”

“Was it important? It better have been important.”

Their voice is too serious, orange eyes gleaming as their wings twitch. “Not as important as you.”

Maybe you melt a little. You choose to blame that on the drink.

“That’s lame, dude.”

“Uh-huh.”

They picked that sarcasm up from Nash, you’re sure of it. No way they got it from you.

“Seriously. You can’t sweet-talk your way out of this.”

“Wouldn’t try.” They’re dragging their fingers slowly along the tendons of your neck, a gentle, hypnotic drag that has you twisting in your chair, letting your head fall to the side to let them run their claws along your hairline, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Their claws dip below your collar, cold and sharp, and you shiver, arching your spine against them.

“You’d better.”

#sorry for the break i forgot how to write #anon #snippets

129 notes · View notes

wellthebardsdead · 11 months

Text

The loved & the forgotten pt16

Part 15 here

———

Vivienne: *hidden from prying eyes with the ring of khajiiti, only his under cloth and Kaidans cape covering his blood soaked skin as he runs through the bulwark and out into the ash wastes, covering his mouth as he sobs, feeling disgusting from being touched by a man who’d used him so viciously in the past, feeling disgusting for being used at all and daring to find love thinking he’d ever be worthy of it, and feeling disgusting as the blood painting his beautiful body dries and sticks uncomfortably to every crevice it can* I need- I need to be clean I need a bath I need to be clean- *chokes in a mouthful of ash as he hyperventilates as a panic attack wracks his body and the sounds of his loved ones calling his name ring in his ears* I need to be clean in- *coughs and sobs as his foot finds clay amongst the dry earth* wh-what?… *looks up slightly to see a small stream, babbling down the hill from a waterfall tucked away behind rocks and trees* … *walks to it and gasps softly, seeing it forming a large pond, filled with giant lotus leaves and blossoms towering taller than even Kaidan, and the water itself, guarded by the cliff face and towering trees, free from ash fall and so clear he can see goldfish the size of his head swimming beneath its surface* … *drops the invisibility and sheds Kaidans cloak and his under cloth before stepping in and shivering at how cold it is, reasoning it must come from the snow near the Skaal village* f-fuck… *wades his way in and slowly stares down at his reflection rippling in the crystal clear surface… his reflection… his face, stained with blood not his own* …I’m not Vivec… but… who are you?…

*meanwhile*

Kaidan: *standing with the group by the abandoned farmhouse theyd first met captain Veleth at* The suns going down he’s only got my cloak and his spear he must be terrified out of his mind and he’s caked in blood! Predators will hunt him from all the way across the island if they catch a whiff of him!

Taliesin: kaidan he’ll be okay we’ll find him-

Kaidan: There’s werebears on this island! Dragons to- where’s miraak?

Miraak: *suddenly flies overhead on sarhrotaar followed by other dragons loyal to him*

Taliesin: searching by the air…

Veleth: it’s no good us searching as one group. I’ll lead my men past the standing stone and see if he went that way.

Kaidan: *sighs* okay, Tali, you’re with me.

Taliesin: *nods sadly just looking so tired and worried* okay.

Kaidan: hey… *gently strokes his cheek* we’ll find him…

Sero: I’ll stick with inigo and Lucien so they don’t get lost. Solstheim is even more dangerous after dark.

Kaidan: Aye, we’ll meet back at the bulwark in 3 hours. Everyone keep a torch spare in case you get lost so miraak can find you yeah?

Everyone: *nods*

???: If we may, we’d like to help too.

Everyone: *turns to see nerevar & voryn both approaching, dressed in their armour and looking more suited than everyone (except teldryn) to handle the islands elements*

Kaidan: oh I- I don’t mean to ask for your help again sir but, we really need it.

Nerevar: *nods* no no please it’s no burden we… We knew him… when he was Vivec… I know we did not have a chance for proper introductions before and time is of the essence now but, I am Indoril Nerevar and this is my husband, councillor and guard, Voryn Dagoth.

Voryn: *nods* …He’s calming down…

Taliesin: what?

Vivec: oh he’s attempting to scry on him but it’s as if somethings blocking him… he’s calming down then?…

Voryn: …I hear water… search near water.

Kaidan: …Were on a focking island.

Taliesin: *slaps his arm* They’re trying to help!

*an hour later*

Vivienne: *scrubbed himself clean all over, quietly hiding away amongst the lotus leaves and flowers as he hears dragons fly over head, too fragile and tired to fight, too scared to face his friends, too ashamed to face his beloveds, and too cowardly to face the beautiful mer from his memories of vivec* … *looks at the golden hue casting over the rocks and trees, blanketing the ashy landscape in long shadows and a fiery sunset as the sun gleams its last light* … *sighs and turns back to the waterfall and flowers, gently patting the fish as they swim up to him and away again, not noticing the two figures casting a shadow by the stream as they follow it all the way up to his little hiding place…*

Voryn: *gently pulls nerevar behind a rock* stay here, I’ll speak with him-

Nerevar: Ryn… please… *holds his hands gently in his* let me try…

Voryn: … *sighs* okay… I’ll wait here…

Nerevar: *gently kisses his helm where his lips would be and steps out, approaching cautiously trying not to make too much noise, only to audibly gasp as he takes in the vision before him* gods…

Vivienne: *a good few hundred years younger than him, his body smaller and slender in build but still fit and somewhat muscular, like a well toned dancer. His clean white hair falling into damp curls and waves over his shoulders and face, and his blue and gold skin sparkling in the water, looking like a painting come to life as he stands amongst the water flowers* …huh? *ear twitching hearing nerevars awestruck whisper*

Nerevar: *bends down a little, hands up where they can be seen, wanting to appear as friendly and non threatening as possible* Vivienne?…

Vivienne: *spins around, eyes wide as he backs up in a panic, clinging to the wet rocks near the waterfall* g-GO AWAY! L-LEAVE ME ALONE!! *screams and tries to claw his way out of the water but can’t get any grip*

Nerevar: *immediately backs up seeing he’s still in shock* easy, easy shhh shhh… *removes his sword and shield and sets them down* shhh, im a friend-

Vivienne: NO YOURE NOT!! *sobs* shaking his head* You’re here to punish me for what I did to azuras shrine! For what I did to boethias shrine! You’re here because you think I’m Vivec! I’m not Vivec! I’m not a monster I’m not! I’m not him! I wasn’t the one who killed you it wasn’t me! Please just leave me alone I won’t bother anyone I won’t! I won’t ever bother anyone again please- p-plea… *looks up feeling a warm towel suddenly wrap around his shoulders to see nerevar standing in front of him, still in his armour but unarmed* I…

Nerevar: I brought some clothes you can wear… im sure you’d like that more than your partners cape yes?…

Vivienne: *visibly trembling and staring up at him as vivecs memories flash through his mind* v-vivec is sorry…

Nerevar: I… what?… *looks down at him confused*

Vivienne: v-Vivec told me he’s sorry for what h-he did to you- I promise I’m n-not lying- im not crazy or a liar he told me himself in a dream please b-believe me- I don’t want to be sent back to work in a-a b-brothel I don’t want to be in jail again.

Nerevar: shhh shhh. *pats his hair gently seeing another panic attack starting up* you’re not in trouble, you’re not crazy either… I believe you…

Vivienne: wh-why? I sound I-insane it doesn’t sound real I sound like I’m lying…

Voryn: *steps into view holding a warm blanket* I have the clothes ready…

Nerevar: *smiles back at him then looks back at Vivienne* because someone else close to me experienced the exact same thing…

#voryn dagoth #Vivec #vivienne dragonborn #nerevar #Kaidan skyrim #skyrim taliesin #lucien flavius #inigo skyrim #teldryn sero

21 notes · View notes

marchtothefuckingsea · 2 years

Text

Ace of Clubs: Chapter VIIII

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Canon violence (if any).

They'll kill you, and I'll be here in the woods all alone and abandoned.

“You’re not going to believe what we found.” Nick said in awe. His voice was static and faded in and out horribly.

"What?"

"Glühenvolk. A pair, we're thinking."

"What? Aren't they supposed to be extinct?" I asked in disbelief. They had been one of the most interesting wesen to me upon discovering my father's books. They had also been one of the few he couldn't tell me any stories about, since he had never seen one. They were thought to have been 'hunted to extinction', one might say.

"We're trying to track them down. There's a hunter, he keeps talking about UFOs and aliens but we found his trailer-"

"Please tell me you didn't find one of them."

"We didn't, thankfully, but we did find some other wesen. He knows exactly what he's doing."

"And he's using the whole conspiracy theorist thing as a cover." I finished. "Holy shit. I can't believe this." I breathed out, beginning to pace. "I'll meet you at the spice shop?" I asked. "We are looking for them, right? We can't let this guy get to them."

"I know, we won't. We'll be here." Nick agreed. I hung up, almost forgetting Renard was still sitting at the table behind me. Confusion was written across his face as I hurriedly shrugged my jacket on.

"Where are you going?" He questioned, standing up.

"Do you know of Glühenvolk?" I asked excitedly.

"Yeah, they're extinct. Why?"

"They're not. Nick thinks they've found a pair of them and some asshole is trying to hunt them down."

"Woah wait. You're not helping out on any cases, you're still recovering."

"This isn't a police case, this is grimm business," I argued. "And I'm not missing the chance to see these people and help them out if I can." I ducked past him and out the door.

"Nick?" I called out as I entered the spice shop, the now-familiar bell ringing as I did.

"Back here!" His voice answered from the back. I heard more voices, seeing Rosalee and Monroe as I entered.

"I still can't believe this." I breathed out after Nick had brought me up to speed with everything they knew. "That's a hundred percent Glühenvolk. No doubt. These were my favourite wesen when I was younger." I recalled fondly, tracing the sketched image on the book.

"It was supposed to be good luck to see one." Rosalee told me and I nodded in agreement.

"I can't believe they were literally hunted to extinction just for their skin."

"It's awful."

"That's why we have to help them." Monroe insisted.

"I don't know about helping a murderer." Nick frowned.

"Nick, they might be the last of their species." I argued. "He did it for the baby."

"If nothing else, you can't deny that the baby is innocent." Rosalee added. Nick sighed reluctantly.

"Fine."

"Is this where the trailer is?" I asked as we pulled up to a clearing in the woods. It was several hours later, and now dark out

"It's close by." Nick said, pulling flashlights out of the trunk. I ducked back into my car, pulling a knife out of the glove box and tucking it into my pocket.

"Alright. No need to split up then right?"

"Nope."

"Follow me." Monroe said, sniffing the air before starting off in another direction.

We soon came up to the trailer. I had been following close behind Monroe, and I bumped into him when he held his arm out as a signal to stop, smelling the air again. "What is it?" I asked.

"It's clear." He nodded at Nick, then me. as if I had any idea what he meant. I suddenly realized he was talking about the hunter.

"Rosalee and I have already been in there." Nick said. "You go ahead, I'll keep watch." He nodded over to me and Monroe. I nodded, ducking inside the trailer after Monroe. I looked around cautiously, shining my flashlight over the contents of the trailer.

"Holy shit." I said under my breath when my flashlight shined across a skinning knife with still-wet blood glistening on the blade. "Monroe."

"No way." He muttered, his head suddenly turning and focusing on something on the opposite side of the trailer. "Hey is that-" He trailed off as he picked the vial up. "It is."

"It's what?" I asked, looking over his shoulder. The label on the plastic bottle he held read 'Sauver Sa Peau'.

"Isn't that what they use to keep wesen woged after they die?"

"Only for a few hours." Monroe corrected me.

"There's bullets with it too, I think." I pointed out.

"We've definitely gotta take this stuff. He cannot have this."

"Agreed. I'll take the bullets." I tucked them into the pocket of my trench coat.

"We found a bottle of Sauver Sa Peau." Monroe announced to Rosalee.

"And bullets." I added.

She shook her head. "He's definitely a hunter."

"What the fuck is wrong with him?"

"Yeah, they're endangered. They might even be the last of their kind! What's wrong with this guy?"

"I don't know, but we're going to dump that." Rosalee unscrewed the cap off of the bottle, pouring the clear contents onto the ground.

"What about the bullets?"

"I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind having the skin of whatever the fuck this hunter guy is." I held up my hands in defense as everyone turned to look at me. "What?"

"Hold onto them." Nick finally said. "It can't hurt."

"I'm pretty sure you need a special gun to fire these. A regular one might break them."

"Either way. Hang onto them."

"Souvenirs." I joked, nodding and tucking them back safely into my pocket.

"Wait, I think..Is that a cottage?" I suddenly asked.

"Where?"

"There." I pointed. "Can't you see it?"

"..No?"

"Damn it, I forgot." I muttered under my breath. "Follow me, let's check it out."

"I smell smoke." Monroe said as we neared the cottage. The others could see it now as well. "And fire."

"Those are literally the same thing." I deadpanned.

"They're not. They're completely different smells."

"Uh huh. Sure, wolfman." Monroe turned back to glare at me half-heartedly. A shot suddenly rang through the silent darkness of the night, causing all of us to jump. "What the fuck was that?" I asked quietly.

"I think he might have found them before we did." Nick muttered with a visible wince as another gunshot pierced the air. After a precautionary sniff from Monroe, we took off running towards the cabin, sticking to the treeline. I quickly fell behind as my lungs ached for air and my ribs protested sharply. The wounds in my side were the last thing on my mind as I fell to my knees gasping for breath and clutching my arms to my ribs.

"Ace!" Rosalee hissed, running back to my side.

"I'm fine." I panted, struggling to my feet with her help. "I'm fine."

We were about the same height, and so she looped my arm around her shoulders easily. I inhaled sharply at the pain in my ribs, but gave her no other indication as to how bad it was. She helped me hastily to the cabin. We both crashed through the door.

"Where's your partner? What did they do to him?" Nick was questioning a blond woman on the floor. She looked very pregnant, and was sitting on the floor in a pile of blankets by the fireplace. A pained, frantic expression was on her face before she woged.

She turned a brilliant blue, her glowing skin illuminating the entire cabin. I gazed at her in awe.

"Don't hurt my baby." She pleaded frantically, her eyes darting between me and Nick.

"Don't worry, we're here to help you." I attempted to soothe her.

"You're beautiful." Rosalee said in awe.

"There's someone hunting you. We need to find him."

"Vincent." She murmured, returning to her human form.

"Vincent?"

"He's out looking for food- I heard the gunshots. Please- Don't tell me that was him?" Her voice rose in panic.

"I'm sure it wasn't." I lied. "He-" I was cut off when she doubled over in pain.

"What's going on??" Monroe panicked.

"She's going into labor." Rosalee said, quickly kneeling beside her. "We need some kind of medical supplies. Anything."

"There's a first aid kit in the bag." She gasped out. I hurriedly unzipped the bag, rifling through it until I found a small plastic box.

"Is this going to be enough?" I asked, handing the first aid kit to Rosalee.

"This'll have to do." She pursed her lips.

Everyone's heads snapped up at the noisy arrival of a man in the doorway. I stepped in front of the woman in labor, pulling a dagger from my hip.

"Vincent." She gasped out. I stood to the side with a hesitant nod, still watching. He eyed me cautiously, kneeling beside her.

"I'll keep watch outside." I excused myself, stepping out the door. The room suddenly felt suffocating. I leaned against the doorframe, favoring my injured sides, and crossed my arms across my chest. I watched the darkness intently, tucking my arms closer to my body when a chilly breeze blew over me.

I heard the cry of a baby, and everyone murmuring in admiration. I leaned around the door, peering in with a small smile on my face, watching the glowing baby.

I was suddenly caught off guard when someone shoved me to the ground, catching and twisting my ankle painfully, and causing me to choke out a noise of pain and shock. I rolled onto my side, scrambling back up to my feet as my attacker rushed into the house. By the time I had made it to my feet and stumbled in behind him, he was marveling at Rosalee's woged form, muttering something about how much a Fuchsbau was worth.

"How much is a grimm worth?" I hissed. He immediately swung around, woging into a Raub-Kondor. I tackled him to the ground, rolling across the floor in his grip with a grunt of pain. I paid no mind to my torn stitches as I pinned him to the floor and slammed his head into the ground. He growled. Flipping me onto my back, he began to do the same to me, gripping my shoulders forcefully, gaining much more of a reaction because of my still-healing injuries. My entire body screamed in pain.

A gunshot rang out, and the trophy hunter fell off to the side of me with a thud, still in woge. I looked up, taking Nick's free hand that he offered. He held the hunter's gun in the other, breathing heavily.

"Thanks." I said appreciatively, glancing at him with an arm around my abdomen.

"I wasn't expecting this much excitement, I'll be honest." I commented as we headed back to our cars.

"I probably should've warned you about that." Nick said sheepishly. "I figured you'd want to see them, though."

"Don't worry about it. I would have come along regardless. You know me."

"You're still healing, aren't you?" He frowned.

"Yeah. Got an even longer way to go now." I brushed it off with a laugh, wincing.

He cast me a sideways glance. "No more cases for a while."

"Unless you find a Dämonfeuer or a Seltenvogel…" I trailed off jokingly.

"Actually, I have seen a Dämonfeuer, and a Seltenvogel."

"No way." I stopped in my tracks, looking at him with a dead stare. He met my gaze just as seriously. "No fucking way. You've gotta tell me about that sometime." I looked up as I heard the opening of a car door, realizing we had made it.

"I will." He suddenly grinned at me, giving me a nod and slamming his door shut. I nodded at Monroe and Rosalee before starting my own drive back 'home'.

Renard was waiting for me in the living room with a glass of liquor in his hand. He stood as I shut the door behind me.

"You shouldn't have done that." He scolded me

"Too late, I already did." I muttered, limping into the room. He met me halfway, putting his hands tentatively on my shoulders. I tensed, and tried to hide my wince, not noticing the bruising I had gotten from the fight.

"Sorry if I made you wait up." I sighed tiredly. I was exhausted and in pain, but the genuine concern on his features made me realize I shouldn't have been taking it out on him.

"You didn't." He paused, finally taking in my condition. "You look like shit." He told me.

"I know." I muttered, turning my gaze to the floor and trying to push past him. He held me in place firmly and I met his eyes with a tired glare.

"You're exhausted." He commented.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"So..how were they?"

"What?" I asked in surprise.

"The Glühenvolk."

"They're not extinct.." I hesitated before continuing. "Sean, you should have seen them. They were beautiful." I murmured.

"I'm sorry for running out on you like that this morning, but I couldn't have passed that opportunity." I apologized.

His gaze softened. "I know. Just don't do it again. You need rest more than anything."

I nodded in agreement as he finally let me limp past him. I turned back to bid him a goodnight, only to find he had already sat back down with his legs crossed and the glass of liquor in his hand. A fond smile unknowingly crossed my face, one that I quickly scrubbed off before crossing the hall and passing out.

60 notes · View notes

loopielupie · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 18 - Alt prompt: Panic

Missing scene, post Taklamakan Desert Fight - Season 1 , Episodes 14 & 15

Xxxxx

“You’re dismissed. Go get some rest, full debrief will be at 12:00 tomorrow.”

Setsuna doesn’t wait to see what his fellow pilots do, turning and walking out of the briefing room. His skin is on fire, itching and writhing under his tight flight suit. As soon as he makes it into his designated room, he scrambles for the zip, making a choked off noise when it gets stuck in his uncoordinated attempt. He manages to pull it free and pushes it down to his waist. But it’s not enough. He grips his rash guard and yanks it over his head, stumbling when he’s momentarily blinded and suffocated by tight, sweat-soaked fabric clinging to his face. Disoriented, he smacks his hip into the corner of the desk and bites back a pained grunt before tossing his rash guard behind him and scrambling for the balcony door. It slams loudly on its runners but Setsuna doesn’t care as he slides down the glass and gulps lungfuls of crisp sea air, squeezing his eyes shut against the sting.

Goosebumps spread across his arms and torso and he shivers at the sudden temperature change, his skin is still singing with anxious overstimulation. He tucks his knees to his chest to block some of the wind and ground himself and stares out at the sparkling sea below as he tries to settle himself.

He’s not aware of anyone else on the balcony until a green-clad leg enters his peripheral vision and he looks up to find Lockon there, his own flight suit similarly pulled down to his waist. Setsuna loosens his grip on his legs a little, an old reflex in case he needs to run. There’s this urge to do so, to escape the island entirely, go back to his apartment where he can be alone, even though he knows Lockon, trusts Lockon. Because he doesn’t want anyone to see him lose it like this. But Lockon doesn’t mention anything about it, just offers him one of his usual smiles and a casual wave like they didn’t just spend close to 24 hours under continuous assault:

“Mind if I sit here?”

Setsuna pulls his attention back to the sea rather than say anything; he’s not sure he can actually speak right now. Thankfully, Lockon seems to understand and settles against the second panel of glass. He doesn’t crowd him and Setsuna feels his shoulders climb down another inch at the realisation. Lockon doesn’t say anything else and a quick glance to the side to see him leaning back against the glass, eyes closed and quiet, suggests he won’t.

For all the world, he looks like he's just taking a late-morning nap.

Setsuna, though, can see the dark shadows under his eyes and the minute tremors that run down his arms and into his hands, even where they’re pressed together between his legs. Setsuna can feel his own hands shaking, too. Lockon is not fine, no matter how much he pretends to be.

Setsuna’s just about to maybe try and ask a question, not “are you ok” because that’s stupid: none of them are, but something when Lockon opens his eyes. Setsuna feels himself flinch at being caught watching but Lockon doesn’t seem to notice and just heaves himself to his feet with a tired groan.

“C’mon, Setsuna,” he says, inclining his head towards the door. “We need to eat and drink something before we turn in and I dunno about you but I need a shower.”

His voice is light but the exhaustion is clear. Setsuna can feel the old sweat stinging his skin and the way his hair sticks to the back of his neck and shudders. So he nods in agreement and follows Lockon back inside, turning towards the shower room to try and scrape the previous 24 hours off his skin.

It doesn’t really work; the steam of the hot water is stifling, too reminiscent of his suffocating cockpit. Setsuna fumbles to turn it to cold, bracing against the shock but welcoming the different kind of sting.

#whumptober2023 #no.18 #altprompt #no.11 #panic #gundam 00 #fic #panic tw #setsuna f. seiei #missing scene

3 notes · View notes

mirrorballmika · 1 year

Text

midnight rain (2/5) (ao3)

He comes to her window that night.

She somehow feels him there before seeing him, the hair on her neck rising seconds before the familiar tap-tap-tap against the glass. Maybe she’s like Miles and is finally getting another power. Or maybe it’s a power she gained from him and being with him. Maybe she just thinks too much. Either way, she opens the latch with shaking hands and tries not to show that her stomach has plummeted to the ground.

He sits on the sloped roof beneath her window as she opens it, a thick hoodie keeping away the cold. His dampened hair is now a shade darker and the ends curl around each other like ivy. He smiles at her, the same dimples and gap in his teeth as always, but this time it comes with red-rimmed eyes and spiky eyelashes. As he climbs in through the window, the overhead light catches the dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

She once joked to him that she’d put anyone who made him cry in a hospital. It never occurred to her back then that her worst enemy could end up being herself.

She wraps her arms around him before he can even open his mouth. Everything they said and everything she thought still sits over her skin like a thick coat of dust on a bookshelf; it clogs her airways and threatens to suffocate her. They need to talk about it, but more than that, she needs his arms around her and his cheek on her head. She needs to feel like it’s going to be okay, even when she knows it’s not the case.

God, I’m going to miss this.

They stand like that for longer than they intended, but at the same time he lets go far too soon. The dampness from his hoodie now rests on her shoulders, creating a phantom of his embrace.

“You okay?” he asks. Their hands join between them, the warmth from his hand seeping into her cold ones.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine.” She clears her throat.

“Is ‘I’m fine’ some sort of code for ‘I’m actually not fine at all?’” he asks quietly. He avoids her eyes and swings their hands. She swallows thickly, her throat tightening as the rain outside gets heavier.

“Why?” she asks hoarsely. He squeezes her hands, and for a few seconds, her heart stops altogether.

“Because I think I’m fine too.”

She makes a small, strange noise, something between a laugh and a sob. She tugs on his hand and pulls him over to the windowseat. The rain drums on the glass behind them as they sit down, her with her legs tucked beneath her and him pulling his favourite of her cushions onto his lap. Just like they always do.

A memory flashes through her mind; the first time her mom caught them here. That one twist of fate that put everything in motion, set her on for what felt like the best thing that could have happened to her after Danger Force. Before now, she’d looked at that moment as the beginning of everything. But now, as she shifts her weight on the cushioned seat, all she can think of is that moment paving the way for her biggest heartbreak.

If she knew then what she knew now, would she still go through it all? Knowing that they were heading here?

Bose’s fingers slide over hers. She looks over and finds him with his other arm wrapped around his knees, his mouth pressed into thin line. He sits with his shoulders hunched over, like the impossible weight of what they’re about to do pressed against them.

“How do we do this?” he asks. “What-what are we doing?” She shakes her head, the gesture so small she doubts she actually did it. It’s funny, between Bose leaving her at the cafe and right now, she had a million thoughts racing around her head, all battling for her attention. But now that he’s in front of her, it’s like she’s standing on a deserted road, waiting for something to come to her.

So she waits, and sifts through everything he said until something finally catches her.

“What did you mean when you said you’re outgrowing everything?” she asks. “I know-I know we’re both outgrowing the Force. But you said…” She bites her tongue. “You said it wasn’t just that.”

“Yeah,” he says. He runs a hand through his hair, his hand curling into a claw as he does so. “I mean… I guess I meant it like that. We’ve been doing this our whole lives. I mean, not our whole whole lives, but I guess it feels like that. How old were we when we started?”

“Thirteen,” she mutters. He wasn’t looking for an answer though. “We were thirteen.”

“And now we’re 18,” he says flatly. “That’s a lot of time. And sometimes it feels like a lot of time we missed.”

Mika bites her tongue, battling against the rising exasperation. The funny thing about her and Bose is that, despite Bose’s more unconventional wisdom, they’re actually on the same page a lot of the time. Or at least, one the same side. But now she’s looking down at the gaping chasm between them, trying to reach through the vast distance to meet him.

“Sometimes I… I look at pictures of myself from before the Force,” he tells her. “And I look at them, and I’m like, ‘who the hell is that?’. Like I know it’s me, because it looks like me, but it doesn’t feel like me. I don’t remember being that kid and it freaks me out.” He looks up at her, his hair falling into his eyes. “Do you ever do that?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” she says. Except she doesn’t. She sees pictures of herself before, but she remembers all too well what it was like to be that kid. She remembers the constant buzzing through her body, the endless nights spent reading and writing. The stream of challenges she’d set herself when the assignments ran out. She remembers counting every A, every positive descriptor on her report cards, and deciding it meant something. Danger Force, for all its faults, took that flailing livewire of a girl and gave her direction.

Why would she want to go back to before that?

“Bose,” she says gently. “We-we can’t go back. You know we can’t.”

“Yeah, I do.” He moves his gaze to the window, the droplets of rain reflect in his dark eyes. “This isn’t about going back. This is about the future.”

“I thought we were the future.” She doesn’t mean to say it, nor does she mean for it to sound like an accusation. But she did both, so all she can do now

is bite her tongue until it bleeds.

She wasn’t wrong though. The past year especially, all the signs were pointing to them staying together. Sure, the plans weren’t exactly concrete, but they were there. Talks about vacations next summer with Bose’s family. Mika had asked him if he’d mind spending Thanksgiving with her family at some point. Jokes about their future shared bedroom that carried the serious implication that they’d live together someday. That their future, in Swellview or anywhere else, was with each other.

Bose is still looking out the window, but this time it’s with guilt creasing his face. Mika curses under her breath and reaches for his hand, but she lets it fall back to her side. Nothing she thinks to say is good enough, so she lets the rain fill the silence. She watches droplets fall from her window frame and wipes at the similar shaped drops on her cheeks.

“I don’t want to look back in five years and not recognise myself again,” he says after a while. He closes his eyes, his chest heaving as he inhales. “I want to wake up in the morning and still know who I am.” His face scrunches up, his fist curled so tightly she fears the bone will break through the skin. “And that’s why I can’t go to Dystopia with you.”

And there it is. A year’s worth of half-made plans and hazily-focussed ideas blown away and replaced by a truth etched in rock; she’s leaving, and he isn’t coming with her.

The air rushes from her lungs. She blinks, slowly, as a small but persistent noise hums in her ears.

“What do we do now then?” he asks.

Mika presses her fist into her palm. She’s spent all day going through every option, perfectly matching them to each scenario. She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to use this one, stupid blind hope she knows better than, but here they are.

Because this isn’t just a regular long-distance relationship. This is their tightly woven path finally splitting apart.

“There’s only one thing we can do.”

She glances up. Bose blinks for a moment, unsure, but then the heavy realisation dawns on him. His eyes widen, he shakes his head like a little kid being told to go to bed.

“No.”

“Bose-”

“No,” he says again. “No, no, no! We’re not…. We can’t!” He pushes himself away from her and presses against the wall, as if trying to run away from it will make it stop. “We can’t just break up. I mean… after everything-”

“Bose, don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she interrupts. “We can’t stay together either. You know we can’t.”

“We can,” he insists. “You don’t… you can stay in the Force. You can become a superhero here. Or somewhere else. But you don’t have to go to Dystopia.”

Something blooms in her chest at that, something angry and ugly, familiar and unfamiliar.

He should know a voice whispers in her mind. He should know how important this is.

What makes it scary isn’t the words itself; it’s how she doesn’t know if they’re her own thoughts or something else. Maybe they’re a sign that things were never going to work out anyway.

“I do. You know that I do.” Her voice is like a tightly coiled wire, trembling with the effort of keeping together. “I can’t stay here. And you know that we… if we’re doing this… then we can’t stay together.” She presses her nails into her palm. “You don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who wants what you want.”

“Do you deserve that too?”

She doesn’t answer. The way she feels right now, like jagged metal is scraping at her chest, makes her feel like she doesn’t deserve anything. Least of all him. She avoids his gaze and lets the quiet settle like dust in the wake of a bomb. He keeps waiting for an answer, and she lets her silence speak for itself.

“But I love you,” he says finally, pain cracking through each word.

“I know,” she replies. She presses her head into her knees. “I love you too.”

“I thought… I thought ‘I love you’ would be enough,” he tells her. “I thought it was enough.” Her blood runs cold, her heart crumbling and falling through the cavern that’s become of her chest.

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say.

He doesn’t say anything more and she doesn’t look at him. Instead, she feels the seat shift as he moves from his side to hers. His arm slides around her frigid shoulders, shielding her from the cold air seeping through the cracks in her window. She feels the gentle warmth of his lips against her temple, a gesture that’s as familiar to her as her morning coffee. In a moment of either weakness or desperation, she clings to his hand as if she can hold them there, in that moment, forever.

He leaves a small icy patch on her cheek when he pulls away. His tears drip onto her shoulder but she doesn’t dare look at him. Because she knows that if she does, she’ll stop everything and stay here instead.

And she can’t. Because she plans of her own and because she’s selfish and because she’ll make him miserable if she does. She’s got a roster of excuses, but none of them are worth the feeling of his hand slipping out of hers.

“Bye Mika.” Her breath hitches, an unknown reply stuck in her throat. If Bose hears it, he doesn’t show. He just gives her one last “I love you” before he opens the window again. He jumps out into the rain, taking shared bedrooms and family thanksgivings with him.

The window creaks closed behind her. Thing is, it only closes from the inside. She leaves it for a minute, because what if she turns and he’s waiting on the other side of the glass? What does she do then?

So she waits, and lets the rain pelt her back. When she does finally turn around, it’s when it’s so dark she wouldn’t know if he’s still out there. All she sees is her reflection, spotted with raindrops and the tears she doesn’t deserve to shed.

She plans to wait a bit before telling Ray. Bose doesn’t show up to the Man’s Nest again after that night, and according to Ray his excuses are getting weaker and weaker. She and Schwoz share a knowing look after the third unanswered call. She’d never clocked Bose as the type to ghost, but then she never thought of herself as the type to break hearts. They’ve grown up now. Maybe there were sides to him she never saw.

Schwoz throws the same looks her way too, when he thinks she can’t see. The first time she catches it is when she’s picking herself up off the training room floor, having perfected yet another shoulder roll. She dusts herself off, and with a chance glance at the mirror, there he is. Standing at the opposite wall, he watches her with a resigned, almost mournful gaze.

“So,” he says quietly as they clean out the Man Buggy. “Where are you headed?”

She freezes. She could lie, of course, and say she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Or playfully deflect and say she’s going home after this, where’s he headed. But when she looks up at him, he sees right through everything. He always was wise, Schwoz. Unconventionally so, but wise all the same.

“Dystopia,” she tells him. “My flight’s in two weeks.”

She doesn’t know what she expected him to do; congratulate her or scold her or hug her. He doesn’t do any of that. What he does do though, is laugh, and spray a little extra cleaner on the Buggy.

“Would be you, wouldn’t it?” he says.

The time comes when she can’t avoid it any longer. She gets emails about her upcoming flight. She and Miles spend two days packing up her room into boxes and the attic becomes cluttered with the pieces of her old life. Her mom takes her shopping and buys her pots and pans and even a freaking AirFryer, “just in case”. Henry emails her with the fine details of the apartment and then one day she gets an envelope with a set of keys inside. Her presence in Swellview grows smaller and smaller. The future is staring her straight in the face, and everyone except the person responsible for it knows.

God. Ray, responsible for this. That’s an idea she doesn’t want to let linger.

It does linger, however, as she sits down to write her final letter. Small bunches of paper pile up on her desk like jagged snowballs; her words fail her every time she picks up a pen. If she were the poetic type, she’d say it’s a reflection of her own, ever-complicated, ever-changing feelings toward her mentor. Her thoughts about Ray and her time in Danger Force feel too big to compress into one letter; how can she thank him for giving her a purpose and scream at him for never listening to her all on one page? How can she tell him that she’d never be where she is without him, and he’s made her life better and worse? That she owes him a drink, but runs the risk of throwing it in his face?

She understands now why Chapa made such a hasty exit. The letter takes three hours and five coffees to write, and she grits her teeth as she signs her name at the bottom.

“Mika/Shout Out”.

She doesn’t proofread it; instead she puts it in the envelope and seals it before she can change anything else.

She decides she’ll deliver it face-to-face. She can tell herself it;s because of some sentimental bullcrap, that she wants to end where she started, but deep down, she knows it’s nothing more than her stupid pride. She wouldn’t be able to take it if she leaves things open ended with him. She has to know how he reacts, otherwise she’ll drive herself insane not knowing. And, if possible, she has to have the last word.

God, she thinks to herself, what a petty reasoning.

The lights are off as she climbs the last stretch to the front door. It would once have been an odd sight, and probably a cause for panic too. But recently the Man’s Nest has spent as much time closed down as it has lit up. Especially now with two-soon to be three-of its occupants gone. Rumours have started circulating Swellview that it might close for good. Mika tried to not pay much attention, convinced Ray would tell them before telling anyone else.

She pushes the heavy door open. It scrapes against the tiled floor, the sound shooting through the empty air. She tries to adjust her eyes as she clicks it shut. She doesn’t recall it ever being quite this dark before; the once-vibrant room now feels painted in greys and blacks, not even the emergency lights or the light from the monitor breaking it. She creeps silently across the floor, her pace slowed by the stillness in the air. It feels fragile, like a glass pushed precariously to the end of a table. Any move, no matter how slight, could send it all crashing down.

It’s only when she’s almost at the wall herself that she notices Ray. A laptop screen turns his face blue in the sea of grey, and in the minimal light Mika makes out the outline of his hand buried in his hair. The closer she gets, the sharper the details become, until she sees the tight clench of his jaw and the glow of the screen reflected in his glistening eyes.

She waits for him to notice her. It takes longer than she’d like, long enough for the silence to settle over her like dust, but it happens. Ray looks up, red-rimmed eyes and sunken cheeks. He look at each other, mentor and mentee, and then the extraordinary happens. There, in the near-total darkness, Ray understands. After years of her shouting to be heard, all it takes is the silence and her apologetic face for him to listen.

“You too huh?” he asks weakly. He moves over and she slowly arranges herself beside him; sitting cross-legged on the cold floor and placing the letter on the space between them. He chuckles softly as he picks it up, and her thundering heart provides background music as she watches him. His eyes scan it slowly, his face barely moving besides the clench of his jaw. She waits, ready to pounce on any reaction he gives, but he plays his cards too close to his chest. D Ray Manchester hands her back the note with an unreadable expression, and it’s scarier than any villain she could fight.

It does occur to her that the e-mail open on his laptop must be from Bose. It also occurs to her that she could read it while he’s distracted. No-one would ever know. She could find out how he broke it to Ray. After weeks of silence from him, she could hear his voice, even if it’s just in her head.

(She doesn’t do it).

Ray makes a hard, strangled noise and drags his hand across his face. Mika pulls herself closer to him, and it’s there she realises that his hair has grown recently and that it falls into a curtain in front of his face. What really gets her though is the dark shadows under his eyes, making the indestructible man look inexplicably weak. Like one small shout from her would make him crumble into nothing.

Once, a thought like that might have excited her. Now though, it just causes guilt to crawl over her chest.

“You’re heading to Dystopia then?” His voice is flat like someone took a knife and stripped it of its trademark bravado. It’s unsettling, more so than the cold darkness that surrounds them. This place felt otherworldly when she first came here, like Dorothy stepping into Oz. Now she taps her fingers against the wall and it feels like just another wall.

“Yeah,” she replies. “I leave the day after tomorrow.” She’s about to tell him about Henry and his apartment and everything, but she holds back. If he wanted Ray to know, he’d tell him himself. Some lines she knows better than to cross.

“They’ll be lucky to have you,” he tells her. “Dystopia could do with someone like you.” She looks down at the clasped hands in her lap.

“Thanks.” Somewhere, deep down, the same twelve-year-old who’s been digging her heels in over leaving now jumps for joy, giddy and breathless in a way she could never be now. Because she got it. She got what she’s always wanted. At least it matters to one part of her.

“I did my best, you know, '' Ray says after a while. “I did my best with you kids.” Mika bites her tongue, unsure if the tears pricking her eyes are angry or sad. Hell, she isn’t even sure if he’s talking to her. All she’s sure of is the weight of their history hanging between them, and her scooting forwards to rest her head on his shoulder.

“I know,” she says, because it’s true. He did his best, and it so happened his best wasn’t enough. “I know.”

She flies out in the early morning. She planned it out that way, initially because it would give her most of the day in Dystopia to unpack, to get used to her new environment, to scope out her new turf. But when she’s sitting on the plastic benches by her gate, she realises she might have had another motive. Because her parents couldn’t get up this early to drive her to the airport, so all the messy goodbyes were over within one night. She allowed her parents to cook her food and hug her and tell her how proud they are of her. Even Ray appeared on her doorstep, with a new jacket for her and a (rejected) offer to drive her to the airport. She sat and basked in it, because she’s an asshole and because for a few hours it drowned out everything else.

She almost called Bose last night. It was one of the many times she bolted awake with uncertainty fizzing through her like a livewire. Late nights do that to her sometimes, knock over the meticulously crafted shelves in her mind. And that was the worst one yet, the voices in her head telling her over and over to call him. Nothing else, not telling her what on Earth she could say to him. Just to call him. Because some part of her still craves the sound of his voice, despite her best efforts to forget him.

She didn’t do it, and she doesn’t know if she regrets it. Maybe once she’s out of Swellview it’ll be easier, that the doubt clouding her mind will clear and the guilt will ease. Maybe tonight, when she’s laying in Henry’s old apartment, she won't be haunted by what-if’s and won’t throw her phone at the wall to stop herself from calling him.

Her finger traces the crack in the screen as she stands and falls into line with the few others heading to Dystopia. It occurs to her as she watches them that in just a few weeks, she could be saving these people. That they’d be her new Swellview. Or she could be fighting them, because Dystopia works like that. It’s that thought that finally puts a smile on her face, the pieces of her new life finally slotting into place.

She leans into it, leans into the expanse of blue sky as she boards the plane and how her toes curl as she fingers Henry’s keys in her pocket. The tightness in her chest gives way to breathless giddiness as the plane begins to lift off, and she watches with wide eyes and fog on the windows.

It’s good that she didn’t call Bose, she decides. Because then she might have stayed and been miserable in Swellview, or he’d have come with her and been miserable in Dystopia. This way, he’s free to live the quiet life he wants in Swellview, and she’ll make her own name in Dystopia. This way, they both get what they want.

She believes that so strongly that when she changes her phone number during the first month, she doesn’t tell him. He doesn’t need it now.

#danger force #bomika #bomika ff #mika macklin #bose o'brien #ray manchester #schwoz schwartz #you guys thought chapter one was bad? baby we just getting started

11 notes · View notes

made-ofmemories · 1 year

Text

When Life Tears You Asunder, But You’re Not Alone

(Chapter 17/19)

General Warnings/tags: Found family, implied Wayne/Susan in future chapters, Max & Eddie have a sibling like relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, Lumax and Steddie make appearances throughout the chapters but the primary focus is on the familial bonds between characters

Chapter specific warnings/tags: Quite a lot of Steddie in this chapter, a hint of ronance, El and Robin make a guest apperance, lots of fluff and not much else

Word count: 2081

Summary: Billy was a pretty shitty brother, there was no denying it, but Max still finds herself mourning for the sibling relationship they never got to have. With him gone she thinks so are her chances of ever having the big brother figure she’s always wanted. Then in a turn of events that she never saw coming, Eddie Munson waltzes into her life. Or more like, almost runs her over.

Notes: We have a special chapter that will be posted on Tuesday, before we return to our regular Friday posting schedule for the last chapter... (or two).

Co-written with the wonderful @ladydorian05 and crossposted on AO3.

Series masterlist

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

Eddie has grown used to Max waltzing into his trailer as if she owns the place. El accompanying her, however, is a new development.

“Hey.” He greets. He’s scribbling down lyrics in the little leather-bound notebook he keeps specifically for this purpose, his guitar propped up against the couch beside him.

“Hi,” El says, returning his greeting with a wave and a smile.

“We’re bored,” Max announces. Which is how the 3 of them end up at Family Video not half an hour later at Eddie's suggestion.

It’s a Saturday, but still early enough in the day that the rush of customers usually accompanying the weekend hasn’t arrived yet. El drags Max off to the romantic comedy section as soon as they step through the double glass doors and to Eddie's surprise she doesn’t even grumble about it. Robin had been behind the counter when they walked in. She smiles at him and then heads off to assist the girls, leaving him to browse the horror section on the other side of the store alone.

He runs his fingers across the spine of a VHS case. He’s not really looking for anything in particular, just wasting time until Max and El have picked what they want to watch.

“That’s a good one, have you seen it?”

Eddie jumps a little startled and turns to see where the voice is coming from just to see Steve with his back to him, stacking a shelf on the opposite side of the aisle.

“Yeah.” He replies, taking a quick glance back to the tape he’d been looking at, “I didn’t take you for a horror fan.” He’s seen the type of movie Steve usually chooses during group movie night, it’s never horror.

“Dustin.” He says and Eddie chuckles, that’s all the explanation he needs, “So,” Steve continues, finally looking over his shoulder at Eddie once he’s placed the last tape on the shelf, “Anything I can help you with?”

There’s a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of Steve’s nose, not his usual sunglasses, no these ones have clear lenses with a thin wire frame. It takes Eddie by surprise and he tries his hardest not to stare, he fails.

“Uh.” He says, momentarily forgetting the question. Right, movies, help, does he need help looking for a movie, “Nah, I’m good. Just waiting for the girls.” He explains with a nod in their direction.

“Looks like they might be a while.” Steve smiles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Eddie says, following Steve’s gaze over to Max and El. They’re still in the rom-com section with Robin giggling about something or other, “Nice glasses by the way, Stevie. They suit you.”

“Oh, Thanks. I forgot I was still wearing them.” He replies, taking them off and sheepishly tucking them into his pocket much to Eddie’s dismay.

“They look good, you should wear them more often.” Eddie comments, offering a little smirk as he bumps his shoulder with Steve’s.

“Really?”

“Really.”

There’s a beat of silence before Steve continues, “Hey are you sure I can’t interest you in a movie? We just got some new stuff in, not even on the shelves yet. I can give you first choice.”

He really hadn’t been kidding when he said he was just here to wait for Max and El, but he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to spend more time with Steve. Besides, how is he supposed to say no to those pretty brown eyes?

“Sure, show me what you got.”

Eddie follows Steve over to the counter and he can’t help but hide his slightly surprised expression when he plucks the first movie from the top of the pile Steve has pulled out from the shelf beneath the cash register. He holds it up in Steve’s direction with raised eyebrows.

“That’s a good movie.” Steve states when faced with the copy of Top Gun Eddie is currently holding in front of him.

“Military propaganda and a cheesy romance?”

“Come on, I know even you aren’t that cynical, Eddie.” Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully as he snatches the VHS back from him, “It has everything, action, drama, romance.” He explains, with a wiggle of his eyebrows at the word romance which is so ridiculous Eddie can’t help but laugh, “Which is not cheesy, thank you very much.”

Eddie hums, pretending to think about it as if seeing Steve’s face light up as he talks hasn’t already sold him on the movie a thousand times over, “Well, I guess there’s got to be a reason Nancy likes it so much right?”

“Nancy likes it so much because she’s had a Tom Cruise poster on her wall since 9th grade.”

The VHS is on the counter between them and Eddie takes another look at it, studying the printed image on the cover once more before coming to his conclusion, “He’s an attractive man. She has good taste.”

Steve looks surprised for half a second before he composes himself. The matter of Eddie’s sexuality has yet to come up, but he’s been far from subtle about it hoping that Steve would figure it out for himself. Robin didn’t have a lot of faith in the plan, but Eddie was still holding out hope it’d work.

“Yeah.” Steve says, looking at the VHS cover just as Eddie had a moment ago, “He’s not really my type though.” Eddie doesn’t think anything of the look Steve gives him after that. Steve’s type is women, that’s probably all he meant he assures himself.

“Tom Cruise is everyone's type,” Eddie replies and Steve just shakes his head, hiding a small smile that tugs at the edges of his lips.

“Y’know,” Steve drawls as he scans the barcode on the back of the box, “My shift ends in a couple of hours if you wanted to come by mine later and watch it there?”

“Sure.” He says it maybe a little too quickly and a little too eagerly he realizes just a second too late to stop himself.

That small smile that had been lingering on Steve’s face develops into something bigger, but they’re interrupted when Max and El come charging over right as Steve hands over the VHS. They’ve picked a movie, or rather a whole stack of them. Eddie pulls out some more crumpled bills from his pocket and hands them over to Max without a word, he knows neither of them have brought cash with them and this was his idea after all, then trades places with them and heads over to Robin.

“Well,” Robin says when she sees him approaching, “That was painful to watch.”

“What was?” He asks with a frown. Usually it was Max reminding him how gross he was, but this time he swears he hasn’t even done anything.

“You and Steve trying to flirt.”

He rolls his eyes, “We were not flirting.” Ok maybe he was, just a little bit, but no more than usual and Steve didn’t feel the same way so the whole thing was pointless anyway.

“Please, do you know how many times I’ve had to watch him pull that same routine with just about every girl that walks through those doors? Trust me, I know what Steve Harington’s dire attempts at landing a date look like.” She lets out an amused huff.

“We’re friends.” Eddie emphasizes, though he doesn’t sound as sure of that as he might have been a few minutes ago… Robin was starting to make him question things and his brain was busy ticking over trying to make sense of it all, “Steve isn’t into me like that…. Is he?” If anyone would know it would be Robin, She knew Steve better than he knew himself some days.

“You spend so much time together I’m surprised you haven’t morphed into one shared consciousness at this point. And didn’t he just invite you to watch Top gun with him? Alone? At his place? Do the math, Munson!” She pats him on the shoulder as she moves past him and flits off between the rows of neatly stacked VHS tapes as if she hasn’t just turned his entire world upside down and broken his brain in the process.

She wasn’t exactly entirely wrong. But all that stuff had started after his incident with Jason, they’d been friends before and that had just brought them closer it was just a friend helping a friend. At least that’s what he’d been telling himself, but his injuries were long healed now and he still found Steve a consistent presence in his life.

“Wait, but Steve isn’t-” He takes a quick glance around the store for anyone who might be in earshot, there’s a woman possibly a couple of years older than him a few rows over and Eddie drops his voice to be sure she can’t hear, “he’s not… like me.”

“That is something you should discuss with Steve.” She says with a meddling smirk on her face as she darts off again, narrowly avoiding bumping into one of the shelves as she makes her escape. She doesn’t get far before he catches up.

“Speaking of,” He says, close on her heels, “How’s Nancy?”

That catches her off guard and she falters for a second, “How is that even related to this conversation?”

“You know how.” Now it's his turn to smirk.

He hadn’t seen Nancy since Winter break, but she called on occasion. Had someone told him even just a year ago that he’d consider Nancy Wheeler one of his closest friends he’d have laughed in their face, but now he looks forward to their little chats whenever they’re possible.

He knew she spoke with Robin even more frequently than she did him, he knew about the letters, though Nancy had refused to tell him about the contents despite his begging, and the last time he had spoken to her he’d convinced her to confirm his suspicions about the crush she’d been harboring on Robin for months. Judging by the vibrant shade of red coloring Robins cheeks at the moment, it was reciprocated.

“She’s… good.” Robin squeaks. Max and El choose that moment to round the corner, saving Robin from further interrogation as they all but drag Eddie back to the van.

“Is Steve your boyfriend?” El asks out of nowhere just as they’re pulling out of the parking lot.

Eddie chokes on thin air, “What?” He splutters out once he’s remembered how to breathe again.

“Is Steve your boyfriend?” She repeats. Nope, hadn’t misheard her.

He sends a quick glare in Max’s direction, she’s seated in the passenger seat with her hand pressed firmly over her mouth in an attempt to suppress her obvious laughter. He knows she wouldn’t tell anyone about his little crush on Steve, or even that Steve is someone he would ever be interested in in the first place, but he’s also very confused about where all of this is coming from.

“Jonathan told me that sometimes dudes like dudes and girls like girls.” El elaborates, “And Steve always looks at you the same way couples in movies look at each other.”

Eddie is pretty sure this is karma for teasing Robin. Maybe he deserves it, he briefly thinks as he tries to put together a response and pointedly avoids thinking about the way Steve looks at him.

“Uh, no. No we’re not- he’s not my boyfriend, kid.”

“He should be.” Is all she says before turning her attention back to the tapes she and Max had picked out.

Eddie discovers a few hours later just how difficult it is to pay attention to a movie at Steve’s place. With Steve. Just the two of them. With Steve sitting right beside him, despite the fact that there is so much space on Steve’s big-ass couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn.

The movie isn’t all that bad, he ends up liking it, even if he did spend more time watching Steve than the screen. He leaves Steve’s house with even more questions and regretting not having the courage to ask not even one of them before he leaves.

If he buys Berlin’s single ‘Take my breath away’ the next time he goes to the record store because it resonates with him so much and the way Steve truly leaves him breathless sometimes, that’s no one's business.

Until Max finds the tape and relentlessly teases him about it for a whole week.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eleven #el hopper #max mayfield #robin buckley #stranger things

5 notes · View notes

out-of-control · 2 years

Text

REMEDY

PREVIOUS: PLACE

NEXT: STARGAZER

words: 2739

warnings: none

summary: NOTE: this is posted out of order. The morning after Jim’s first night in Jax’s apartment.

Jim wakes in an apartment. He’s not sure where, or whose, exactly, until his arm is moved ever so slightly as it’s draped over the side of Jax’s rising and falling ribcage, and he feels Jax’s breath on his chest through his shirt, and he remembers. Jim pulls back a little to look at him, to see that he’s still sound asleep.

Jim looks over Jax’s prone form, to the room, atmosphere completely changed by the morning light streaming in the window compared to the dim streetlights from the night before. It feels warm, even despite the dinginess. It’s weird. Jim’s fuckable, sure, but he isn’t one to stick around after. He isn’t really the kind of guy people tell to stick around after, and when he does, it’s because he isn’t in the condition to go anywhere else– in which case, he feels a little obligated to get the fuck out of their way as soon as possible. Half of him wants to stick around this time. The other half is telling him that’s a bad fucking idea. The second half wins.

Carefully, Jim separates himself from Jax, maneuvers himself off the bed, and retrieves his jacket off the back of Jax's chair.

"Hey," Jax's voice comes, as Jim reaches for the door handle. Jim flinches a little and turns back to him sitting up in the bed.

"Shit, sorry," Jim says quietly.

Jax squints at him, something unreadable passing across his face for a few awkward, silent seconds. His chest is bare, sheets pooling at his waist. "You don't, uh," he starts, tucking one of his sidelocks behind his ear, "You don't have to clear out like that. I mean, you're not bothering me." He clears his throat, looking pained. “You’re my friend, you know?”

You’re my friend, you know. Well, they hang out. Jim likes being around him. Apparently Jax likes being around him, too. It's pretty stupid, now that Jim thinks about it; obviously they're friends. He had to go and make it weird by just leaving. Now he's making it even weirder by staring. "Right," he blurts, after a few seconds. "Duh."

Jax’s brow creases, and he swings his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. “If you’ve got somewhere to be, I mean,” he coughs out, and pulls on a shredded pair of jeans, “then go, but if not… I was gonna make coffee.”

“I can stay,” Jim says, because otherwise he would be lying.

Jax looks visibly relieved. “Cool.” And he passes Jim, out the doorway and into the kitchen, glancing behind him like he’s making sure Jim is following. Jim looks down to his jacket in his hand and hesitantly throws it over the arm of the couch.

“How’d you sleep?” Jim asks after a bit, because he has no fucking idea what else to say.

“Uh, really good, actually,” Jax says, busying himself with the coffee machine. “You?”

“Well I think my spine is the straightest it’s ever been around you,” he muses, moving closer to lean back against the counter. “So, pretty good.” The coffee maker beeps.

Jax's head is turned away as he shuffles through the cabinet, but Jim can see the corner of his mouth curve up. "Glad to hear it, man. Pink or black?"

Jim huffs a small laugh. “I feel like you just asked me if I’m a prep or a goth.”

Jax shoots him a glance, fully grinning at him now. "Actually," he says, faux-serious, "It was a test to see if you're comfortable in your masculinity, or still beholden to the constraints of society." He brings two mugs out, pink and black, and sets them on the counter.

“I think you just wanna see me with a gay little pink mug.” Jim squints at him and tilts his chin up. “But you failed to consider maybe I just wanna see you with a gay little pink mug.”

"I love this mug," Jax says. "I'm offended you think I wouldn't love this mug. My coworker got it for me. It has the word 'bitch' on it. Are you saying you don't love this mug?"

Jim snorts. “Well, now I can’t morally come between you two.”

Jax grins wide at him. "Oh, such a gentleman," he cooes, and hands Jim a plain black mug. "The gentleman can pour his own fuckin' coffee, though," he says, filling the pink mug himself and whisking it away to the couch.

"Chivalry is dead,” Jim sighs, pouring his own fuckin’ coffee. “You got any sugar?”

"No," Jax's voice comes, sounding unapologetic.

Jim tuts and moves over to the couch, taking a seat on the other side. “This guy has a whole apartment and he doesn’t even have sugar.” Jax shifts on the couch and kicks gently at Jim's shin, careful not to spill his coffee. Jim smirks, but stays quiet as he settles in. Without really thinking, he pushes the hair out of his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Jax glancing at him, sneaking a look, and suddenly Jim feels jarringly exposed. Jax hasn’t really seen Jim in the daylight much, and when he has, it’s been Jim in the driver’s seat, scars hidden away on the other side of his face, under his clothes. Jim clears his throat and looks down at his mug, letting his hair fall back over his face, and rubs his arm against his knee to shimmy his sleeve over his wrist. He takes a sip. It might be the worst coffee Jim’s ever tasted; gritty and bitter and unsweetened. He makes a face at it, without meaning to.

Jax snorts. "Yeah, I've basically conditioned myself to tolerate it."

"You masochist," Jim says, looking dismayed at his cup before taking another sip.

Jax shakes his head. "You gotta leave the dirty talk in the bedroom, man, or I'll never get anything done."

Still looking down, ever so slightly, Jim smiles. “Well, how else am I supposed to get you into the bedroom, then?”

“Like you have to fuckin’ try,” Jax says easily, leaning back and putting his legs in Jim’s lap.

Jim hesitates before he rests his arms on them. He blushes, just a little. “Yeah, whatever,” he huffs. “Gaylord.”

Jax grins, the tip of his tongue sticking out through his teeth. “I should compliment your ass more. See if I can make your face match my mug.”

Jim wrinkles his nose. “I can think of a few ways to shut you up if you try it.”

Jax raises his eyebrows, and then twists his body to set his mug on the ground. He looks back up at Jim. “Put your coffee down,” he says. Jim gives him a confused look, and Jax flaps a hand at him. “Just put it down somewhere, I don’t care.” Jim leans forward and sets it down on the milk crate coffee table. Jax is grinning ferociously now, and barely trying to hide it. He folds his legs up and shifts, kneeling over Jim’s lap. “I sure fucking hope you don’t have anywhere to be this morning,” Jax says, hands on Jim’s shoulders, and then he starts kissing Jim's neck.

“Woah,” Jim exhales, hands settling on Jax’s waist, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. “I didn’t even have to do any of ‘em. You’re really never getting anything done,” he murmurs, sharp-toothed, impish smirk spreading across his face.

“With you on my couch, looking like this?” Jax says, biting at Jim’s ear. “I’d be stupid as hell not to take advantage of the situation.”

“Just taking advantage, huh?” Jim shifts, gripping Jax’s hips and shoving him down on the couch with Jim still between his thighs. “Well when you put it that way.” He runs a palm up Jax’s bare torso, peering down at him.

“I think the real question is can you handle me again so soon,” Jax says smugly, even as he shivers underneath Jim’s hands.

Jim dips down, hovering just above Jax’s face. “Can you?” he asks in a low voice, teasingly.

“Well,” Jax murmurs, reaching up to run his knuckles along Jim’s rib cage, “I had a really good night’s sleep.” Then he curls his fingers in the hem of Jim’s t-shirt and starts tugging it up. A twinge of panic courses through Jim, and before he can stop himself, he roughly grabs Jax’s wrist and pulls it off, pressing it into the couch. Fuck. You idiot. Jim tilts his face away, choosing to look at his own hand’s betrayal instead of Jax’s eyes. Maybe if he doesn’t say anything he can play it off like he didn’t just freak out a little.

Jax doesn’t try to break Jim’s grip, but his eyebrows draw together. “Hey,” he says, sounding suddenly uncertain. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Fuck,” Jim grits out. He lets Jax go, but still refuses to meet his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Jax sits up on his elbows. “No, seriously, what’s up?”

Jim may just kill himself. He sits up fully, shifting his gaze to the ceiling instead. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he says quietly, after a beat.

“Okay,” Jax says. His face is caught somewhere between bemused and concerned, but sliding rapidly towards the latter as Jim keeps trying to evade his probing. “Forgiven. Dude, are you good?”

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just.” He lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. “It’s like, fucking bright in here, or whatever, I don't know. You’ve never, like,” he takes his hand away to gesture vaguely at himself, and pauses. “Seen me,” he says quietly.

Jax blinks at him. “Dude, I had your dick in my ass last night. I feel like we’re kind of past modesty?”

“It’s not about fucking modesty,” Jim says, giving Jax a distasteful look. “I know, it’s stupid.”

Jax frowns. “I mean, we can knock it off,” he says, “But, like, whatever it is–” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. “–I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t care.”

“I know,” Jim sighs. “It’s fine, really, we don’t have to stop.” He’s going to rip one of his own teeth out. “It’s just that, like, people, kinda get weird. About. The scars. And… I don’t know. I guess I do too.” he rambles. It doesn't usually get to him this much, but he actually really cares what Jax thinks.

Jax's face goes stony and inscrutable for a few moments, and then he surges up to meet Jim where he sits. His hands find their way back around Jim's waist. "Hey," he says softly, slipping just the tips of his thumbs underneath Jim's shirt. "You can take it off for me."

Jim freezes. He sits there, studying Jax. It’s kind of mortifying; the fact that a boy is having to guide Jim through stripping his own fucking clothes off right now. But Jax is right. Jim can do it for him. He reaches back, and pulls his shirt over his head.

Jax doesn't hesitate. The instant Jim is uncovered, he runs his hands across Jim's torso, over muscles and tattoos and, yeah, scars, without a single word. He dips his head to mouth at Jim's neck, and then, dragging his lips down slowly, he presses them to the ridge of tissue rippling across Jim's collarbone. Again, not a word.

A profound sigh escapes Jim, and he brings a hand up to the back of Jax’s head, lacing his fingers through Jax’s hair. Jim’s skin jumps under Jax’s touch as the blush returns to his cheeks. He's never been touched so intently, so tenderly. He thinks Jax might just be able to kiss him better; right here, right now. He works his jaw to say something, but the words abandon him.

Jax picks his head up, carefully touches their lips together. "Cool?" he murmurs, against Jim's mouth.

Jim swallows. “Yeah,” he breathes, shutting his eyes. This is too much, part of him thinks, too intimate, that he needs to leave. The rest of him is stuck here, frozen on this couch, at Jax’s mercy.

A hand on the side of Jim’s neck, thumb pressing ever so gently against the scar traveling down Jim’s throat, and Jax opens his mouth wider, coaxing Jim in as he leans back, down to the couch cushions again. “Don’t freak yourself out, man,” he says, breaking the kiss to look Jim in the eye. “Just–” Whatever else he was going to say is lost as he tips his jaw up to kiss Jim again. He doesn’t need to say it. Jim kisses back slow and deep, shifting a little to get closer, pressing skin to skin. He runs a hand down the outside of Jax’s thigh, gently pulling it up and hooking Jax’s leg over his hip as their tongues slide together. As Jim lowers his head to mouth along Jax’s jaw, Jax starts laughing quietly, a little breathless. Jim pulls back a bit, gives him a questioning look.

Jax shakes his head, tries to suppress his laughter, and fails utterly. “I just– I thought you were gonna say something crazy, like you had a third nipple or something.”

Jim gives him a weird look, somewhat amused. “What the fuck?”

“Not that it would be a dealbreaker,” Jax wheezes, sincerity undercut by the fact that he’s still kind of losing it. “Hell, it might be a– dealmaker. Extra– erogenous zone–” He looks like he might be going red from lack of air.

Jim huffs. “Well,” Jim kisses the dip in his collarbone. “Shame you don’t either,” he murmurs, and moves downward. He presses his lips to a nipple, takes the ring between his teeth and tugs. Jax’s breath hitches, cutting a laugh off right in the middle, and he squirms, generating friction between them.

“I think–” he gasps, “–that I’m doing pretty fucking well with my current ones.” And he casts about until he finds one of Jim’s hands, and grips it tight. “Let’s desecrate this couch.”

Jim smiles against Jax’s chest as he laces their fingers together and pulls Jax’s arm up, above his head, against the cushions. He sits up a little, looks down at Jax. “I guess there are worse ways to wake up in the morning.”

“Yeah, like my fucking coffee,” Jax replies. Jim smirks, undoes Jax’s jeans with his free hand.

It ends up that Jim doesn’t leave until five.

Not that they spend the whole time screwing. But afterwards, it becomes a little difficult for Jim to remember why he was in such a hurry to leave before, and Jax doesn’t seem to mind letting him lounge around the apartment, so Jim stays. And when the clock starts approaching five in the afternoon, it only makes sense for Jim to offer to drive Jax to the Prosecutor for his shift. It’s not a long drive; Jim is almost disappointed when it’s over.

“Thanks, man,” Jax says, unclipping his seatbelt.

"'Course," Jim replies, and pauses. "Thanks for letting me stay."

Jax smiles at him. “No problem,” he says. “Anytime.”

Jim chews on a fingernail, looking Jax up and down for a brief moment, sitting next to Jim in his passenger seat. After hesitating, he says: "Thanks for… everything else."

Jax’s smile fades, but he still sounds good-natured when he says, “Like I said, man.” He opens the door. “Anytime.”

Jim winces a little. "I didn't mean– the sex. I mean. Yes, the sex. But the. Christ." Jim rolls his eyes at himself and waves a hand dismissively. "Whatever. You know," he says defeatedly, putting his hands back on the wheel and leaning his head back.

Now Jax is staring at him, brow creased. “Okay,” he says slowly. “You’re welcome.” There’s the barest hint of a question mark curling the end of the word up.

Christ. Vibe sufficiently squandered. Jim picks his head up, glances over at him. "I'll see you around," he says simply.

“Ditto,” Jax says, exiting the car. He turns and gives Jim a two-fingered salute, and then he’s gone.

Jim exhales, and grinds his palms into his eye sockets. Smooth, Jim. Real smooth. He digs in his pockets for a cigarette. He lights it, blows a cloud of smoke out the window, drumming his fingers on the gear shifter. He doesn’t really have anywhere to be, anything to do, anyone to see. He shifts the car into drive. He’ll find one of the three. He always does.

—

#words

8 notes · View notes