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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

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Walk Me Home

Summary: Jared is hosting a small dinner party and introduces his new co-star to his old one where they seem to hit it off...

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Square: Quote B “Tell me what I can do to help”

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, small accident, mention of smut

A/N: Enjoy! Written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo!

________

“Hey, sorry I was late,” said a guy ducking in through the front door. You turned your head from where you sat at the counter with Jared, the two of you talking with Gen while they cooked dinner. He smiled when he saw you and you watched the slightly curious look spread across his face. “Hi, I’m Jensen.”

“Y/N,” you said, shaking his hand as he stepped over.

“Oh wow,” he said, looking past you to Jared. You raised an eyebrow and he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m...frazzled right now. You’re gonna be in Walker, right? Jared’s told me a little about you.”

“Yeah. I’ll be playing Kit, Walker’s kid sister,” you said. “Have some bourbon, relax a little.”

“Bourbon? I like her. She can hang out with us,” said Jensen as he walked around the island, getting a glass from the cabinet like he knew where everything was. “Kid sister huh? How many siblings Walker got anyways?”

“Well, I can’t spoil anything but just the two. Not that I’m getting sister of the year award,” you laughed. Gen was smiling as she worked over a pot and Jared excused himself to help her with something. Jensen used some of the orange peel you’d cut up and put it in his drink and took a long sip. “You like it? I can’t cook so I figured I’d bring some booze and dessert.”

“This is good,” he said. “Really good. I want some for myself. Also, did I hear dessert?”

“I made pull apart pumpkin cinnamon bread. It’s like a cinnamon roll but bigger,” you said.

“You and me are gonna get along great,” he chuckled. He moved around the island and stood on the end just to your right, looking you over quickly. “What have you been in? I’ve not heard of you before.”

“Not much. I did one commercial when I was twenty and I was an extra in a TV show about two years after that. I haven’t had my break through yet. Well, until now. This is...this is huge. I’m kind of terrified to be honest.”

“I worked with him for a very long time,” said Jensen, nodding to the far end of the kitchen. “It’s gonna be a good set, good environment. A few people from our old crew are gonna be working on Walker. You’re gonna fit right in no problem.”

“I hope so,” you said. “Jared’s really been great. He even answered all these questions I had about moving down here and areas and stuff when he didn’t have to. He and Gen have been really amazing. I think I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be fine. He must like you,” he said.

“Oh I’m just...single and know zero people here,” you said. “I might get a dog? I think my apartment allows them.”

“Well now you know me too,” he smirked, taking a sip. “Or getting to know at the very least.”

“So what were you doing?” you asked. He cocked his head and you smiled. “Being late and all.”

“Who says I was late?” he said, smiling back. “Just frazzled. Also late but mostly frazzled.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Not your fault. My ex was claiming she left something at my house. I was oh so thrilled to see her and her husband there to pick it up,” he said.

“Oh. She moved on fast, huh?”

“She started to see him before we were quite done. He’s an idiot that thinks she’s amazing and he’s richer than me so she’s happy. That’s all she wanted. Wish I’d figured that out in the first place. Glad we never married though,” he said. He shrugged but he didn’t seem too upset by it. He finished off his drink and poured another. “Where are you staying?”

“I’m renting a house just north of the city in some suburb. Jared said there’s nothing to the east and the south ain’t great and I can’t afford west so, north it was,” you said.

“North’s not bad. Your commute shouldn’t be too bad. You got a driver or you taking yourself?”

“Myself. I’m not the star or anything.”

“It doesn’t have to do with that. You work a late night, call an uber. Hell call me. Better than getting in an accident,” he said. “By second season, you’ll be making enough to afford one.”

“Assuming I get on in the second season,” you said. You quickly shut your lips, Jared chuckling to himself.

“Jensen worked for the same company for a long time. Don’t worry about your non-disclosure agreement with him,” said Jared. “Y/N might get killed off at the end of the season. We’re not sure yet.”

“This may or may not have an impact on our friendship,” you said with a laugh.

“Oh, come on, Jare. Look at that face. You really gonna kill her off?” said Jensen, turning you towards Jared. You saw Jensen pout and put on one of your own.

“I told you getting those two together would be a good thing,” said Gen. Jared rolled his eyes but bit his bottom lip.

“The powers at be haven’t made up their minds yet. I’d personally love it but storyline might get changed which I’m okay with. If fans love you, I’ll get my way,” said Jared. “You guys want to head out to the patio? We’re almost done cooking.”

“We can help,” you said, Jared shaking his head.

“We got it,” he said. You shrugged and followed Jensen out a back door to a covered patio area and took a seat at the table.

“He’s up to something,” chuckled Jensen. “Not sure what yet.”

“They’re just playing good host,” you said.

“Nah, those two are scheming. I can tell,” he teased. He took the seat beside you and leaned back in his chair.

“You check me out a lot,” you said. He quickly looked at his glass and made a small shrugging motion. “You like me?”

“I don’t know. I barely know you,” he said, still averting your gaze.

“I didn’t mean to make you shy. I’m not opposed to you checking me out. I just wasn’t expecting it. I heard you were dating someone,” you said.

“Rumor. Put it out there so people would leave me alone,” he said. “I’m not shy around you either, you know.”

“Alright.”

“At first I am with most people. I mean, I can act like the life of the party and like the coolest guy in the room.”

“Act would be the key word there,” you said, taking a sip from your glass.

“Yeah well, most people put up some kind of front with strangers or people they don’t know that well.”

“Very true. I do it myself,” you said.

“So like I said, I ain’t shy.”

“Like I said, shy boy is attracted to me. When the confident boy that is really a shy boy is interested, laid back girl will become confident flirty girl very quickly if you understand,” you said.

“Are you saying you’re attracted to me?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Considering you’re attracted to me, I don’t see how this is a problem.”

“You are something else,” he said, some of his confidence returning.

“Yes I-” you said, Jared walking out with his phone to his ear. He looked worried and you both put your full attention on him.

“Shep just fell. He and Tom were jumping off the bunk bed and…” said Jared. “Looks like he might have broken his arm.”

“Is he okay?” you asked, Jensen echoing the sentiment.

“Yeah. We just…”

“Tell me what I can do to help,” you said.

“Everybody relax,” said Jensen as he stood up. “You guys take Shep to get taken care of. Y/N and I will watch the other munchkins.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Dinner’s in the pot on the stove. Eat it up. No need to waste it.”

“Text us to let us know how it goes,” you said.

“Sure thing. I owe you guys one,” he said.

“No, you don’t. Go,” said Jensen. You both ducked back inside and five minutes later they were gone. Tom was feeling pretty bad about what happened but Jensen gave him a talk and put him to bed while you packed away some leftovers for Jared and Gen.

“How’s he doing?” you asked, sticking the tupperware in the fridge.

“He’ll be alright. Wasn’t his fault. They were just being kids,” he said. He helped you find the plates and you dished yourself up the rest of the food, eating at the kitchen counter quietly. “That was nice of you, to be so concerned.”

“They’ve been nothing but kind to me. Besides, it’s a kid,” you said. “I don’t mind staying.”

“You don’t have to. They’re both fast asleep. I can stay until they get back.”

“I said I’d stay. I’m gonna stay,” you said. He licked his lips and hummed, cleaning up his plate before you.

“Say you had a point earlier. I’m not saying you did but hypothetically speaking,” he said.

“Go on.”

“Say my frazzledness was because when I saw you, my head sort of short-circuited, hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” you said, finishing with your food.

“Say that happened and say you were good with that, happy about that...where exactly would this go seeing as I hypothetically have never been the hook up guy. Never actually done it but I’m now questioning it for the first time. Hypothetically, what’d your response to that be?”

“Well, if that were the case,” you said as you took your plate and put it in the dishwasher, “I would tell you not to hookup with me simply for the fact that sex for you is very likely part of being in a relationship and something you do when you feel comfortable with a person which I completely respect and understand. I wouldn’t want you to change how you treat sex just for me. Hypothetically.”

“But what if I said I’d never felt that kind of attraction to anyone before, at any stage in a relationship, not to that level. Not that floor you kind of overwhelming sensation.”

“I would tell you the attraction is reciprocated and while I would very much like to see what you are capable of and what we’re capable of doing together, I would tell you that you’re not the hookup guy and you’re not about to start being one. You should continue to have sex with your romantic partners and that’s all. It means more to you. A hookup will leave a sour taste in your mouth and I’d rather we don’t think of each other like that seeing as we’ll likely be spending more time together.”

“It’s not just physical you know. It’s that, it’s that logic and that kindness and compassion.”

“I get it. I would. I really, really would. But I’m breaking your record. I don’t want to be the girl that breaks that record, Jensen.”

“If we dated though, that’s different.”

“I don’t date to get sex.”

“Neither do I.”

“So you want to date?” you asked. He leaned back against the counter and smiled to himself. “It’s an easy question.”

“I wanted to date you the second I saw you but that comes off as a little strong,” he said.

“I personally believe it’s important that people click when it comes to dating and relationships,” you said.

“So is there a click?” he asked. You walked in front of him and smiled, bringing your lips just an inch away from his.

“There’s a click but there’s got to be something else,” you said, Jensen’s lips parting. “After my last failed relationship and it sounds like yours too, it’s important.”

“What’s that?” he asked quietly, not moving an inch.

“I want to be friends with my next boyfriend, someday when I find whoever I’m gonna be with. It’s always miserable when you’re not friends,” you said.

“Who says you didn’t just meet your best friend for the rest of your life tonight,” he said.

“Now that’s a strong statement,” you said.

“It is. I don’t like the sentiment though that there’s gonna be a somebody else after me. I’m not filling time with this,” he said.

“Neither am I,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He leaned in a hair closer and his lips tugged up into a grin. “I’m going to heat up that pumpkin roll you brought and then play video games while not kissing you. I’d be very happy if you joined in.”

“Tease,” you said. You took a step back and went to the container you brought. “Can you preheat the oven for me?”

“Sure thing,” he said. “It looks amazing.”

“It’s not the only thing,” you said, flashing him a wink.

“I see how it’s gonna go.”

“You started it,” you said.

“Yes, yes I did. Now how high do you need it?”

Four Hours Later

“Thanks again guys,” said Jared as you and Jensen stepped outside.

“It was no problem. We saved dinner and dessert for you guys in the fridge,” said Jensen.

“I’ll make something for Shep and drop it by. He like chocolate?” you asked.

“Yeah, he loves it. You really don’t have-”

“Jared, like Jensen said, it’s all good. We’ll see you,” you said.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Tell me when you two get together.”

“Already late on that one,” said Jensen with a smirk. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“You better. Night guys. And take her home like a gentleman,” said Jared.

“Yeah, yeah. Night,” said Jensen. Jared locked up and you wandered over to your car, Jensen smiling as he stood by his truck. “So I guess this is good night.”

“It could be a good night,” you said as you started to yawn. “Maybe tomorrow though.”

“Tomorrow maybe,” he smirked. “Text me when you get home.”

“Why?”

“Cause I worry about my friends,” he said. “Please?”

“Alright. So...tomorrow…”

“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Maybe I can cook you dinner. Bring a bathing suit, we could go for a dip in the pool maybe.”

“Maybe,” you smirked back. “I’ll see you tomorrow Jensen.”

“You too. Oh and Y/N? Might want to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I got a feeling you’re gonna be up late tomorrow night,” he said, winking at you.

“Oh really? We’ll have to see how a good a cook you are first.”

“I guess we will. Drive safe, Y/N,” he said, voice soft and sweet.

“You too, Jensen. You too.”

_______

#spn #tell me a story bingo #supernatural #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #rpf #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #au #jensen ackles x reader #one shot

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

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Just A Dream Away

Chapter 4/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Steve doesn’t know why he does this to himself.

It’s been, god how long has it even been since the funeral? Almost a year now according to the calendar, though in his head it’s only been weeks.

Time doesn’t really have much to do with it though. Unless they found a way to go back, Billy would still be gone, and he’d still go back to the cemetery each morning just to pretend he wasn’t, leftover alcohol in his system from the night before melding each passing day into a jumble of numbness.

And Steve, as he falls deeper into this routine of self torture, he’s becoming exhausted. Where he was once optimistic, or at least trying to stay focused on looking for the positives and back on the good times, now he's just empty.

He can’t pretend he’s not depressed anymore, and he can’t pretend things are going to be okay either.

As much as he is still hurting, Robin doesn’t let him just mope. If she knew what was making his heart ache, he thinks she might let him have a little more room to grieve, but she doesn’t know, she doesn’t even know how bad he truly gets when she’s not around, so she had made him accept the video store’s job offer they’d left for when his time as representative was finished.

Work is something to do to take his mind off of things, sure, and it’s a way to get him out of the house, but the only reason he accepted was because halfway between his house and the family video is the cemetery, and every day, whether he drives it or walks it depending on if he’s sober enough to take the car, he stops to pay his boyfriend a visit.

Most often he brings flowers, maybe blows a tearful kiss to the ground and moves on, but some days, like today, he feels a heaviness in his heart that tells him to show up hours before he’s due at his shift, ready to talk it out until he absolutely has to leave.

Maybe it’s a habit from the hospital, starting when he used to be cheerful and sit in the grass to talk about happy stories and good things that happened in his day to make Billy feel better. But a year into talking to the dirt instead of his lover had left him bitter, and he was far past that optimistic point, all that’s left now is guilt, remorse, all the feelings about the loss he’d thus far kept bottled up.

This particular morning, he’d awoken from a nightmare, what happened at the mall never leaving his memory, the flashes of sorrow and pain and death lingering behind his eyes when he tries to get even a moment's peace; everyday is hard, but when he wakes up with tears in his eyes, he knows what kind of day it’s going to be.

So he comes out to Hawkins cemetery, no gift in hand today except his company, and kneels in the muddy grass, damp from an overnight storm that contributed to his plagued rest and left him running on an hour, maybe two, of good sleep, and he just starts talking.

He starts with the basics, the generic greetings and declarations of love that he promises each morning, but his emotions quickly rise to the surface. Reaching out to trace his fingers over the indentations in the upright stone, his voice wobbles slightly, and he shifts from venting to what he came here for:

“Billy. Baby, I’m so sorry. I’ve been pretending things will be okay, but I know they won’t. I failed you. I wasn’t there for you and it’s my fault what happened to you. I don’t even deserve to sit here and cry with you. I know Max has but, have you forgiven me? I don’t know where you are now, but I don’t want you to hate me. I love you so much.”

The silence in response is daunting. Makes him want to scream so loud he could tear the earth apart looking for his Billy, but instead he just repeats his apologies and promises again and again until his tears slow. Eventually, when he’s run out of things to say, he stands, stray tears dripping from the end of his nose and rewetting the soil, and leaves.

Drives away to his job like nothing happened, strolling in some thirty minutes late for his shift. Because today is the premiere of some mainstream pop culture film that’s gone way over Steve’s head on video, the Family Video is packed.

“Hey, dingus. Could’ve used you at the start of your shift.” Robin shouts over the shop noise as he strolls past to his post.

Steve shrugs, an over-exaggerated gesture in case she can’t hear him over the crowd, “Well I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t see you working. I need help restocking once those shelves are cleared out.”

“Yes ma’am.” Steve does a mocking salute, the grimace on Robin's face making it clear she can see through his overdone gestures that he’s hiding something, overcompensating for the emptiness he feels.

She doesn’t have the chance to bring it up though, because the both of them get whisked off into separate duties working the over capacity video store. Only, while Robin handles it like she would any other day, with mild annoyance and enough spite to get through it alright, Steve is too fragile. All he can register is commotion, chaos: the buzzing neon lights in the ceiling, surging crowds bumping into him, chatter and bustle filling his ears, and he starts to break down.

But because he’s Steve, he tries at first to just power through. Tries to block it out and resume productivity, but he is already knee deep in a panic attack, so he pushes back through the customers, probably a little too roughly, to tell Robin with that lilt of fear and upset to his tone, “Robin, I can’t be out here.”

She barely looks up as she kindly responds, “I get it, Steve. Go take your break, I’ll handle the rush.”

That’s exactly what he does, is go straight to the back room, but instead of his standard fifteen allotted by the overheads, he stays in the back for an hour, and then another, leaving behind customers arguing over who should get the last copy of the new movie, people in line out the door, tapes knocked off of the shelves, all while people are in trying to do their normal returns and rentals. It’s again total chaos out there, only made worse by the fact that Robin is now alone at the counter.

She would also have to clean up once the rush died, and maybe even replace some tapes if people weren’t going to start watching where they’re walking, and as much as Steve wanted to feel bad for disappearing into the back room for the past hour and a half and leaving her with all of that, he can’t be bothered with coming back out, his morning at the cemetery having taken too much from his emotional threshold to be productive, or remorseful even, now.

There are two big plush chairs and a couch in the back, a much nicer room than the icebox that was the Scoops break area, but Steve sits on the floor instead, his back pressed to the door and his stained up knees drawn to his chest. From where he is, the endless noise and bustle drifts down the short hall to the break room, but he’s too in his head, thinking about nothing and everything to pay it any mind.

It takes probably another an hour and a half for all the crowd to die down, the line clearing out and Robin chasing away most of the stragglers after explaining for the hundredth time that until the already rented out copies were returned, they wouldn’t get any more in and that no, they weren’t hiding any in the back.

Steve can hear her cleaning up a little before she gets too behind, cardboard boxes being broken down and the irritating scrape of broom bristles against dusty tiled floors, followed quickly by loud boot steps toward the door that make his chest ache, pretending it was the echoes someone else instead of his best friend.

The break room is locked behind him, something that is forbidden by company policy, but Steve felt necessary, and Robin beats on it with the palm of her hand, startling him out of the half dazed, half alert state he’s been in all day, “Harrington, what are you doing in there? I just did a whole rush by myself, asshole.”

He can’t father the words to respond, tears welling up and choking anything he might say off in his throat. So Robin calls again, the door knob rattling like she’s trying to get in, her voice more concerned, “Steve? You alive in there?”

“Steve.” She tries again, more desperate, and Steve finally finds it in himself to say something, sniffling and responding weakly, “‘M’fine Rob.”

“Can you let me in?” Robin suggests, just on the side of hesitant, making Steve feel something like guilt for shutting her out, both emotionally and in the literal sense, so he stands, shaky and unbalanced, and unlocks the door for her.

He must look as bad as he feels, because Robin's pinched face of concern melts into one of sympathy as soon as she lays eyes on him.

She steps into the back room with him, after a moment of pause which Steve had come to hate, knowing that meant whoever was speaking was going to take pity on him, asking, “You doing okay in here, buddy?”

“What does it look like?” There’s sarcasm and bitterness in his tone, though it’s muffled by his tears. He doesn’t worry about offending Robin, she’s been dealing with his breakdowns for a long time now, and she knew how he could get.

Patiently, in spite of his snappiness, she asks, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Steve’s not sure how that’s even a question anymore.

What happened was fighting monsters at the Byers. Was getting tortured in the Starcourt mall. Was losing his Billy.

To say that those things had a huge impact on him was a gross understatement. Hell, even Robin was affected too, the both of them incredibly emotionally fragile these days with about a thousand things that could trigger them, both were plagued by nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks at random points in time. It shouldn’t be a mystery what was wrong now.

But having two hour long breakdowns in the employee lounge, Steve had to admit that was new, and Robin was obviously scared for him because of it.

So he lies, “It’s nothing, Robs. Just the same old stuf.” Steve isn’t a very good liar though, he can’t hold eye contact and his voice trails off, revealing him every time.

“Steve.” It was an attempt to appeal to him, maybe to ground him so he’d open up to her, “Please talk to me.”

An attempt, which he shuts down with, “We’re at work right now.”

Robin frowns, a crease in her eyebrow. He’s never seen her look more frustrated as she says, halfway between an insult and a joke, “No, I’m at work. You’re crying in the break room on the floor.”

But again, Steve is having it, “I’m serious, I don’t wanna talk about it here.”

He feels bad about being harsh with Robin, but his grief, this breakdown, it’s not for the general reasons she thinks, it’s specifically because of his visit to Billy’s grave this morning. The heavy realization of everything he’d vented to that cold stone that stood in place of the beaming face, the beautiful boy that always knew what to say, who he loved and still hadn’t told her about, that was what had pushed him over the emotional threshold.

“Alright, well, we’ve got like, an hour left before our shift is over, so you can just veg out back here or you can come and do some work.” Robing announces with a quick glance at her wrist watch, standing and patting the top of Steve’s head just to mess up his hair like he hated before walking out of the room.

At least she was trying.

It takes him a few minutes to find the will to follow her out, but eventually he does sidle up beside her at the front counter, his posture weak and his muddy shoes dragging on the ground, but he’s there, earning a taunting flash of Robins biggest and snarkiest grin as she slides him a stack of tapes that need rewinding.

They don’t get many customers after the initial rush of the early afternoon where he was out for, but he can tell Robin was still keeping her eye on him, just in case he needed a break, or in case he did break himself. Anymore, and much to his dismay, it doesn’t take much to get him overwhelmed, especially not if he was already upset, but he makes sure not to let that show now, putting on a mask like everything is okay, and he is managing it just fine.

Because the thing is, he isn’t managing anything, he’s still grief stricken and he’s drinking himself half to death and he has no future ahead but more sadness, but he’d be damned if he let anybody figure that out. Let anybody worry about him, when he was still living. In his eyes, it’s selfish to expect pity, when you’ve already survived the worst.

He thinks though, by the time their work is almost done, that Robin is starting to suspect something, because the second their shift is over, before the guys to cover the closing shift even show, she’s dragging him out of the store, snatching the keys for the BMW out of Steve's back pocket.

It goes without discussing anymore that on bad days, Robin doesn’t take Steve back home, which is to say, the two of them had been pretty much sharing her dinky little duplex apartment, the two of them living in the right side with a nosy older lady in the other. They both were afraid of what he could do when he was home alone, and, Robin didn’t really know this, but Steve was also afraid of what his father might say the day the dozens of rooms in that house weren’t enough to avoid him, when he realized how pathetic a state his son was in.

The living arrangement didn’t change much though. Steve still wasn’t very good at talking through his problems, and he still wouldn’t eat or shower or sleep regularly. He knew it scared Robin, because it scared him too, but he had other things to worry about.

Maybe it was true that he was so sensitive that it took practically nothing to send him over the edge, but it's not a big deal, he’ll be alright, how are you doing anyway? Robin always has to fight so hard just to get him to talk to her, his best friend who he all but lives with, because all he is worried about is other people. Something to do with losing the one person he was always caring for, trying to make up for not being able to save Billy’s life, or help him through his hardest moments. He knows that, but it doesn’t matter why he’s selfless, as long as he is, right?

Further, he reasons, so what if he’d had a concussion so bad that he still gets migraines that leave him bedridden at times? His friend is hurting and he needs to be there for her. Who cares if he has nightmares so intensely vivid he can’t sleep for weeks at a time? Robin has panic attacks in crowded places, and each time he has to fret about it for days.

It makes her worried sick all the time, knowing that Steve all but refuses to tell her if he needs something, but he doesn’t like feeling studied, can tell she is always looking for signs that something is wrong, watching him to make sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t. All she wants is for him to just stop bottling everything up, because she claims she had and it made everything easier for her to cope with, but he’s stubborn.

That just isn’t the way his brain works, and she’s probably sick of trying to get through to him. Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, he knows she’s not far from a breakthrough with him, his own coping mechanisms exhausting him to the point he might consider external help, but she doesn’t have to know that yet. For now, she sticks to what she always does in place of these tougher conversations, and that’s to make Steve tea and try to work him down to the point where he’ll talk to her. Today, it’s not going to take much convincing.

The second day he’d ever come over here, she tried to make a pot of coffee for a little chat like this, and Steve had started crying like a baby just from the way it smelled. It reminded him of his mother, of diner dates with Billy and nurses bringing him breakfast, so she had to switch to tea. He could tell it would always bother her when he wouldn’t tell her why something like that was making him so upset, but as Robin would have to come to realize the more he stayed with her, that was just the first of many things she didn’t understand about Steve Harrington.

There were endless triggers that set him off that she witnessed, and when she comforted him, he could tell she understood some of them, like when the lights would flicker when Dorothy ran her vacuum and he’d stop breathing, or when a siren would start up in the distance and he’d get so dizzy and his hands would shake so badly. But it was those overly specific things, like the smell of coffee, that she was sure had nothing to do with what they went through, and her confidence through those breakdowns would be noticeably a lot lower.

Pine tree air fresheners, the click of stilettos on tiled floors, leather car seats, the busy tone of the telephone, cigarette smoke, rose scented perfume, hairspray, crystalline ash trays. The list of things that reminded him of his parents and the utter helplessness of growing up alone and scared, and of his Billy, of everything he had lost when he died. To Robin, who didn’t have the context of his feelings, it just felt like every day there was something new that would set Steve back ten steps in the progress he’d made, and he knew it was making Robin feel so helpless and guilty.

She was getting better while he was still so thoroughly depressed, and she would take missteps on purpose to not get too far ahead of him. He was sabotaging his best friend with his own misery.

The thought draws stinging tears to his eyes, and Steve sits down at the table without saying a word to Robin, knows his composure will crack the moment he opens his mouth.

She finishes making their tea, specifically lemon flavored with two spoonfuls of honey and one of sugar, sliding him his tea in a tacky mug she’d bought him from a yard sale as a sort housewarming gift, an invitation to stay as long as he needed, and sits in the unbalanced chair across from him. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

Steve taps his fingers on the side of his mug, eyes trained on the paint stained and scratched surface of the table, “What do you want me to say? I freaked out at work, nothing new.”

Robin sighs shakily, and it makes Steve feel a pang of guilt in his chest. Despite her best efforts, he gets so defensive all the time anymore, the careless goof he was before Starcourt buried underneath all that was depressing him, and that he wouldn’t share with her. He was an awful friend, spending so much time with his past actions and losses, he’d forgotten how to live in the present.

“But there’s something you haven’t been telling me, Steve.” She bumps their knees together under the table to get him to look at her, “I’m not trying to be nosy or intrude, really, I just want to help you.”

“I don’t need help.” Steve raised his mug to his face, mumbling into it, “It’s supposed to get worse before it gets better, right?”

That same worried crease above her eyebrow appears, “Who told you that?”

He doesn’t answer, staring into the swirling mug before him. A sign for her that he still wasn’t ready to talk. She must decide that she would do most of the talking then, because she puts her mug down, takes a deep breath before saying, “Listen, you don’t have to tell me everything, I just want you to get better and I don’t think you should do it on your own. I haven’t, and I think it’s time I try to be there for you live you’ve been for me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve didn’t know what to say, the plastic clock Robin had taken from her grandmother’s kitchen ticking away the seconds, the minutes that passed before Steve swallows hard and looks up from the spot he’d been focusing on, trying and failing to find the right words again before he explains himself, “I just think.. I feel like everyone moved on way too fast.”

“From Starcourt?” What she meant didn’t need to be said. She didn’t need to specify the torture, the battle with an interdimensional monster, the fall out afterwards, for him to understand, but that wasn’t it, and he shakes his head no.

Confused, Robin clarifies, “Then from what?”

“All those people that day, Robs, they died and life is just supposed to go on like normal. We still have holidays and we got jobs again, but all those people, they-“ There are tears in his eyes so he cuts himself off, hoping that Robin got the point anyways.

From the look of clarity on her face, she does understand now where this is coming from. Steve had been struggling with survivor's guilt, Robin knew that because he insisted upon attending each and every funeral he could with his schedule at the hospital, and she’d reluctantly driven him to them without question, no matter how unhealthy it was for him.

He had even told her once, when he was drunk off his ass and knocking on her bedroom door in the early hours of the morning, that he didn’t think it was fair that he didn’t die, but all those other people did. She had never gotten an answer out of him when she asked why he thought he deserved to die, and he hoped she’d have forgotten it by now, but now he was cracking, and she was going to figure it out, so he keeps going.

“It’s just, how are we supposed to go back to normal when there’s so many people who can’t? They died, a-and they left behind their families and friends and partners.” He sniffles, tears starting to roll down his colorless face for the second time that day, “How can we act like nothing ever happened when it’s our fault?”

That makes Robin pause, her eyes going wide, “What?”

Steve freezes, hadn’t meant to say that, and he stays quiet until she asks him a second time, “How is it our fault, Steve?”

“Because we were so caught up with that stupid transmission that we missed our chance to help them. And for what? I was just trying to play the hero for Dustin, but I could’ve stopped it if I wasn’t so stupid.”

“What could you have stopped?” Asking so many questions made her sound like a pushy therapist, and it’s making Steve increasingly frustrated, answering harshly, “The-The shadow, Robin! The Mind-Flayer!”

“Okay, I’m sorry. But Steve, I really don’t think there’s much we could have done.”

Steve just shakes his head, insists, “If I hadn’t been so-so focused on doing something I thought was important, I could’ve done something that actually mattered before it was too late. I wasted so much time in the mall. But they needed me and I-I failed them. You feeling bad for me and telling me it’s not my fault doesn’t change that.”

“Steve, if we hadn’t been down there, nobody would’ve known about the gate, and the mind flayer wouldn’t be dead now.” Robin comforts, a deep frown on her tear tracked face, “There wasn’t anything anybody could’ve done.”

It’s not what Steve needs to hear.

“Stop saying that.. I could’ve saved him, and then none of this would’ve happened.” A sob wracks through his body as soon he finishes, the gut wrenching sound echoing through Robin's tiny apartment kitchen.

“Who?” Robin asks, reaching across the table and taking his shaking hand in her own, “Steve, who could you have saved?”

Through his tears he’s able to stutter out the answer, accented with a pointed sob, “Billy. I could’ve saved Billy..”

She doesn’t say anything in turn, occupied with putting the pieces together, though she’s still missing the larger context, instead pushing her chair back on the scratched kitchen tiles, pulling Steve up out of his own chair into the tightest hug she’d probably ever given anybody. They stand like that for a long time, Steve crying into Robin’s hair and her trying to comfort him through her confusion until his tears slow, or at least the hyperventilating is under control.

When eventually he does pull away from her, he wipes at his eyes and whispers, “Can I tell you something else? It’s about him.”

“Of course.” Robin answers quickly, something like relief, an unfamiliar look on her face anymore, written behind her eyes, making Steve yet again feel a twinge of guilt for hiding so much from his best friend.

He speaks quickly, struggling to get the right words together again, “You know how I said that the only time I was ever in love was with Nancy Wheeler?”

“Yeah?” Robin frowns, and Steve can see it in her face that she’s trying to work through it, what his love life has anything to do with his grief, but it’s a lot harder for him to admit than it is even for her to understand.

“I lied.” He chews on his lip, the faint and bitter taste of blood on his tongue, “And you know how when Dustin asked if we were together, I told him that you weren’t my type and we laughed about it because I’m definitely not yours either?”

“Steve I told you-“ Contemplation is replaced with fear, but he quickly cuts her off, “No, no, it’s not like that. I-I’m not done.”

Steve takes a deep breath, “You sort of are my type, but it was always someone else with-with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes and freckles all over that I was in love with.”

“I don’t understand. Who?”

Steve’s realizing he’s come full circle in this conversation, almost identical to the one they had on the bathroom floor over a year ago now when Robin can out to him, his tone and the distress in his features softening, “Robin.”

The pieces click into place, a whole range of emotion from shock to confusion to finally, sympathy, crossing Robin's face, “Oh, Steve. I’m so sorry. When did you…”

“Christmas Eve last year. Night of the snowball he apologized for being an asshole, and a few weeks later he kissed me.” Six months. The time that they’d had together was now as long as he was in the hospital, and since then how long Steve had been grieving him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She sounds almost hurt by it, the realization that her best friend didn’t come to her with this, especially when she of all people would be understanding. But Steve doesn’t have an answer to that, he doesn’t really know why.

All he does is shrug in response, tired of talking it out anyways, so with a forced sigh Robin tells him, “Well anyways, I’m glad you told me now. You shouldn’t have been doing this on your own for so long.”

Steve smiles weakly and lies, just as he’s been lying for so long, “It’s okay Robin. I’ve been getting better.”

But it doesn’t have the effect on Robin he wants, because she insists, for the first time not just letting him stew in his guilt and bottle everything up, “I don’t think drinking your life away and breaking down more often than ever really counts as doing better.”

Of course he tries to defend himself, anyone would against that, “Come on, Rob-“

But Robin cuts him off, “No, Steve. I’m serious. You need to get help.”

“I’m not going to a therapist.”

“Okay, but you still need to come to me with this stuff.” Steve looks away, and Robin’s tobw gets more desperate, “Steve, please. You can’t do this by yourself. I understand, I’m your best friend. I just want to be there for you.”

“I’ll.. think about it.” Is the last thing he says before he turns to leave, stopping short when he hears Robin sniffle, even on her worst days almost never seeing her cry, “Shit.. Robs.”

“No, no. I’m done talking about it Steve.” Robin shakes her head, her face flushes red as she fights back tears she doesn’t want him to see, biting her knuckles, “Just.. go ahead. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Numbly, he does. He turns and goes up the stairs to the used to be closet Robin turned into a room for him when he comes over.

~~~~

Billy doesn’t know how long he’s been in this hell.

His hair is getting longer, almost down his back now. It’s a matted mess that’ll never brush out even if someday he gets back to water that runs clear and his Gee conditioner he used to slip Susan a few bucks to buy for him, but he can’t bring himself to cut it.

He does shave though. Takes a knife to his face and does his best to use broken and grimy windows and mirrors for accuracy. It seems pointless, and for the most part it is, but his dad used to grow a beard in the winter, and the very last thing he wants is to look like him. Seeing him again would be one thing, but becoming him? That’s something Billy's willing to take a few knicks from a rusty old blade to avoid.

He used to keep track of the days, measured by the patterns in the storms constantly churning overhead, with a notch in the dying bark of a tree he passed between the convenience store and his house, the two places he’d been able to call his safe haven since he found himself trapped.

But then the dogs, as he’d come to call them now, changed. They used to circle the woods, patrol the other side of town, blocking his access to the downtown areas, like the hospital, the police station, Steve’s house. Then suddenly, they started closing in on his side, and from the many encounters he’s had from strays and crossing their invisible boundaries, he knew he couldn’t stay in that place.

So he’d lost his home, the ghost of his family that had been keeping him grounded, gone as he salvages anything he can, and leaves.

For a while, it feels like relief almost. The burden of how long he’d been here and how alone he was lifted, but he knows that’s just a way of comforting himself. He’s actually devastated.

He wants to be able to sleep on his back porch and he wants to be able to look at all the damaged family photos inside the overtaken house, no matter how fake the smiles and poses are, and he just wants to be home. Not that the building means much, home is the feeling, being with the people who he cares about and who care about him. He’s not sure he ever had the sense of what that really meant, but he’d take any dysfunctional upbringing over this.

The best he had for a while was Steve’s place.

Steve is never there, in the physical sense or in that freaky, spiritual, can be heard but not seen way. Inside the mansion is somehow pristinely kept, even in all of this wreckage that destroyed the rest of Hawkins. Mrs. Harrington would be proud of the intact decor and the spotless floors. Whatever those white particles were, which were slowly making it harder and harder for Billy to breath, were the only blemish, everything coated in at least an inch of the stuff.

Outside is another story entirely. The lawn is ripped up, the chairs and lawn ornaments are mangled or missing, and the pool is completely drained, in the place of water gangly vines and more sticky decomposition than he’d seen in even the most remote areas.

He remembers Barbara Holland. He remembers Steve saying she drowned accidentally in his pool when she got brought up. He remembers the fear in his eyes when they were out at night, the way those honey browns would scan the treeline for danger, on his worst days drawing the curtains and refusing to go out back for anything.

He starts to wonder, if maybe the vines mark the victims. His house, Steve’s pool, both completely overtaken. Heather’s house is only a street over from Steve’s, but he can’t will himself to go in there and see if his theory is correct. Same goes for the steelworks, or the community pool.

But, nice as it was, Steve’s house didn't last long as a refuge. He only stays there for a couple of weeks before he again has to grab what he can and abandon it, the dogs having followed him and cut another chunk out of his territory. There was a pack of them wandering the yard, a couple breaking off to charge at the back doors, and Billy has to decide between holing himself up in that hideously wallpapered room that had come to be another definition of home, and running for his damn life.

He chose the latter, scaling the shed roof from the upstairs bathroom window just as the monsters break the glass double doors. Down the rattling drain pipes he prayed would hold his weight, and into the shed to regroup. He’d gotten out with almost nothing of Steve’s, not that polo shirts and nike shoes were great for apocalyptic survival gear, but he wished he could’ve nabbed anything more, a picture, a coat, a bag, at least something he could use.

All he made out with though was a red bandana, which, if he ever gets out of this hell, he has to ask Steve about that, no way his reformed prep was freaky enough to walk around Hawkins advertising his preference for taking it elbow deep, an empty notebook, a pair of scissors as a just in case weapon, and an old banged up Bic which was out of fluid anyways.

The bandanas alright, paisleys not his pattern of choice and he’s more of a navy blue and grey guy than red, but it’d do well enough to keep that nasty shit in the air out of his lungs. Everything else he grabbed is basically useless to him though, so he scours the shed instead, sneaking in through the back door with a sharp eye on where the dogs broke into Steve’s.

In there he gets a little better of a haul, most of it still just junk he can repurpose for tending injuries, but on the back wall, held up by a barely standing shelf, is the golden find, a machete the length of his arm. Brand new and sharpened, a little worn from the rot but clearly never used, the Harrington’s had a gardener to trim back the branches, and everything in here was just for show so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t feel emasculated by not doing any work but answering phone calls and yelling at underpaid workers anyways, so Billy grabs it, finally having more than an old mower blade and a collection of knives from decorative to army to kitchen, most of which were all too small and almost got his arm torn off.

It’s that machine he’d stumbled upon that bittersweet day that he carries now, dripping with the oozing blood of one of the dogs, slightly bent now because another got it between its teeth and more dull from cutting through rubbery skin. The damn thing has saved his life though, many times over as the territories shift again in quick, unpredictable cycles, this last time ending with him cornered in the hospital's courtyard.

He was over there raiding for bandaging and medicine, anything that might help in the long run, but of course, it would have to come in handy just a little sooner, silly Billy for thinking about the future, because the monsters find him.

Thankfully, none of them actually get him, though one is particularly disgusting, it’s head, for lack of a more delicate way to put it, basically explodes when he stabs through it, another damn pair of his jeans getting ruined by the sticky, reddish spatter. The only worry he has time for before he has to kill, or scare off in most cases, the rest of the dogs that step forward, is the damned stain.

There aren’t too many, and those whose brains aren’t dripping off of his weapon, or as annoying as it is, his clothes, run off quickly, leaving Billy himself to move on.

First Cherry Lane, then Steve’s, and now the hospital. Guess it’s time to fucking leave again.

Hawkins is deceptively big for a country bumpkins paradise. The town and its shops and the surrounding neighborhoods only make up some half of the city, even he used to live on the edges of the civilized part, the rest of town stretching on for miles and miles of rural farmland, a couple of houses here and there the deeper you get into the country.

He’d never been over that way except maybe once when Max flipped the map upside down and they got lost on the way to Cherry for the first. That wasn’t much help now, but he was otherwise out of options. It was getting lost in the woods trying to find the more hidden houses, or it was being dinner for the dogs, which he could still hear chittering somewhere nearby, regrouping for the next attack probably.

The decision isn’t hard for Billy. He grabs whatever he’s salvaged and just bolts, bandana mask around his neck, machete in the bag on his back so he doesn’t cut himself up and make all this surviving for nothing, just getting the hell out of there before they decide they want to fight him again.

Because frankly, after as long as it’s been, his energy is getting low. He doesn’t know what he’s surviving for anymore, let alone if he’s going to be able to for much longer. His lung capacity is getting lower by the day, he’s got old wounds that won’t heal. The dogs probably aren’t too far from finishing him off if he gets attacked too many more times, so he’s just not chancing it.

Billy runs and he runs, coughing up a little blood in the process, until he ends up in a neighborhood he’s never seen before. Right now, that’s good news, so he slows his pace and takes his machete back out, just in case he let his guard down too soon.

Over here it’s a little brighter, a little less destroyed maybe, but still not right. Houses still slump and there are still pulsing vines all over, the roads still dusted with toxins. But there are a lot of houses, and that’s usually good news for avoiding the monsters.

As nice an area as it is, there's still something bigger drawing Billy to this area. Immediately he thinks back to the cemetery, how he’d felt and heard Steve that day, an event he’d come to think, after so long without a repeat feeling, had been only in his head, and he panics, for just a moment.

He knows he can’t let him slip by this time. Closing his eyes, he tries to pinpoint the feeling in his chest, like an arrow that can guide him in the direction of this, a compass pointing straight to his love.

Trusting that this feeling isn’t a warning, and he’s not about to walk into a nest, he follows it, slowly at first but with more fervor when he hears two echoing voices at the same time his chest clenches. He recognizes one as a vague face in his memory, Steve’s best friend, the one Heather never had the guts to tell about the crush she had on her, Robin maybe was her name. The other voice, well, the other voice is Steve’s.

They’re coming from a rotten duplex with no doors or windows. It looks a lot like a marked house, and he wonders if Robin knows she got a discount because the owner of the house was dead, melted into a monster that has tried to kill her along with the rest.

Approaching the house, he doesn’t know what to expect, if maybe they’ll be inside, or if this is just some delusion from a lack of oxygen to his brain. It doesn’t really matter. He steps up, careful to avoid rickety spots in he steps, and goes inside.

First, he leans his machete against the mushroom wall. There’s two reasons he never brings the weapons all the way in, first being that any mess he made in the house always had to be cleaned up by his step mother, so outside of the deepest throws of teenage rebellion, he always did what he could to minimize dirt in he house, and that included bringing a machete dripping with brains inside, even if there wasn't anyone around to see it, it was a habit built by thankful glances and praise, albeit somewhat backhanded, from his parents, so it was one he continued to honor.

Second, he harbors a deep respect for the houses he’s stayed in, despite the lack of doors on this one, each and every home he’s entered, no matter if it was for five minutes to steal some food or upwards of weeks where he slept there, these buildings were his shelter, and he feels the need to respect them, so, weapons stay at the front door. So far, the dogs haven’t followed him inside.

Looking around, he can tell Steve isn’t here either. The house is definitely abandoned just like the rest, and his heart sinks just a little, until he hears it again. A vague whisper that’s just barely audible to his ear.

He knows he’s in the right place. Every inch of him aches for Steve, but he can’t see him. He tries again to call out for him, an echo of the cemetery, “Steve? Can you hear me?”

No response comes.

“I don’t understand, why can’t you hear me?”

Things have gone silent on the other side, and Billy feels hopeless. A bout of frustration turns him around, the urge to forget about his stupid rules and just tear this house apart until he finds his Steve, curbed by seeing the wall phone.

He’s not stupid. He’s been over here long enough to realize he’s not in Hawkins, not the real one anyhow, that they, Steve and his family and everyone else are instead. The how and the why are another story entirely, but he has the basic understanding that he is alone, and they are parallel to him. Coexisting in different planes.

And if that is the case and he’s not on the worst trip of his life or just completely off his rocker, him and the dogs he kills an Agave and Pentheus type situation, then he can contact the other plane, say, by telephone even.

Luckily for him, Robin is forgetful, and there’s a list of numbers taped to the wall by the phone, only slightly worn with black gooey rot. He picks up the phone and listens to the emptiness, no dial tone in his ear. His hands are shaky as he slowly, hesitantly punches in the numbers, the three and the eight buttons getting monster blood on them from his fingers.

He raises the phone to his ear, the sound of his own ragged breathing echoing back in his ear as he waits for someone to answer, the line ringing, and ringing, and ringing.

#harringrove big bang 2021 #harringrove #billy x steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #robin buckley #tw blood #ej writer #story by ej!#more tags on ao3

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taylorinthetardis · 4 years

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Wallflowers - A Henry Cavill x Reader fic

So I did a thing! Rather than continue to work on my larger, more complicated Pride and Prejudice fic, I decided to make a fanfic out of the fantasy I had at work the other day!

There will most likely be a part two to this, I just thought I was at a good stopping point and wanted to see what you guys thought about it.

Full disclosure: I didn’t mean for this to whole ass turn into a Bath and Body Works ad, but it kinda did. For those of you reading in countries that do not have Bath and Body Works, its basically just a body and home care store. In the US their scents are legendary. Pretty much every young girl went through a BBW phase where that was all they used for soap and perfume. That all being said, in the interest of further disclosure and covering my ass, I own neither Bath and Body Works nor any of the trademarks on the scents listed herein. I also do not own Henry Cavill because owning human beings is a crime.

This is my first Henry fic so be gentle with me! It’s a bit longer than I had anticipated and un-beta’d.

Warnings: just a lot of fluff. some self-deprecation. loads of swearing. don’t know if I should warn for slight bashing of the religious but I will anyway so no one gets mad at me.

Wallflowers

It was shaping up to be another boring ass day at Bath and Body Works. I had started working here during the Pandemic after I was laid off from my job at the movie theatre. I had planned on it only being temporary, but even after things got better and I got my theatre job back, I decided to stick around. What can I say; a bitch is broke. Nothing wrong with double-dipping.

There was something about Sunday mornings in the mall. Probably because people around here still went to church in the mornings. Like it matters. Sunday mornings are always so slow, here and at the theatre, but the day always picks up after 1, when morning church services finish. It was me and Samantha up in the front room this morning, working out the leftover boxes from yesterday’s shipment. She was one of the first people I really bonded with here, both of us being super into both Marvel and DC, specifically Sebastian Stan and Henry Cavill. They had just started filming the next Superman movie and they were going to be shooting scenes up in Michigan again, like they had for Dawn of Justice.

“I’m just saying, we should really consider asking for a few days off and just going up there and scoping it out. I mean, it’s Henry fucking Cavill. He’s less than an hour away from us. Right now. Less than an hour. When is that ever gonna happen again? I can use some of my vacation time at the theatre, so at least I’m not missing out on money from them. It’ll be a blast. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? We don’t see him? I mean at least we’d have tried. I’d rather try than stay down in stupid Ohio with the knowledge that he’s that close.”

“Do you really think Ann’s going to give us time off to stalk Superman?”

“We ain’t gonna tell her what it’s for! Just lie, c’mon now.” I laughed. I dropped a box of Gingham body cream into the understock drawer and broke the box down. Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement, oh goodie, a customer. Samantha was quicker to greet them.

“Welcome to Bath and Body… OH MY GOD!” I turned around and was met with the sight of none other than Henry fucking Cavill, sheepishly running his hand through his now jet-black curls, obviously embarrassed at having been recognized. Damn, am I glad I put make-up on this morning. Alright Y/N, this is your fucking chance. For once in your damn life, be fucking cool. You can do this. You look good, you smell like Champagne Toast, you’ve got this. I pulled my hair down from its messy bun and shook it out a bit before walking over to where Samantha was still trying to collect herself. The store radio started playing Halsey’s Bad at Love and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from bursting out laughing at the absurdity of the situation we were now in. Not five minutes ago we were talking about seeking him out and now here he was in all his brick-shithouse-ness. I looped my arm through Samantha’s in a show of support.

“What a wonderful coincidence! We were just talking about you and now here you are! It’s crazy how the universe works, isn’t it? I’m Y/N, this is Samantha; what can we help you with today, Henry?” I smiled my most adorable smile at him, the one that makes my little cheek dimple pop out, and, honestly, they both looked shocked. Samantha was clearly surprised that I was more capable of speech than she was, and to be honest so was I, and Henry seemed shocked that I would openly admit that we had been talking about him before he got there, which probably wasn’t a great thing to say, but I panicked.

“Well, I was told this was the best place to go for candles and air freshener-y type things. The house I’m renting just has this odd odour that I can’t get rid of. I’ve been airing it out during the day, all the windows open, and I come home and it still smells funky. I know I could just find a different place, but it’s close to a park and that’s been nice for Kal and I don’t want to make a fuss, so…” Henry sort of shrugged, the buttons on his plaid shirt straining with the movement of his broad shoulders, and gestured around the store as if to say “that’s why I’m here”.

“Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place. All of our home care is in the second room, grab a basket, I’m sure we can find you some scents you’ll like.” He walked over to the basket tower to grab one as a couple more customers walked in. Samantha nudged me towards the second room; I was going to have to handle Henry alone for now, it seemed. He followed me over to the Wallflower wall. “So, these are our Wallflowers. They’re sort of like the Glade Plug-ins, I don’t know if you’ve seen those, you plug this diffuser into any power outlet and screw the fragrance bulb in and it diffuses the scented oil into the room. They last for about a month or so. These’ll probably be the best option for you, well these and maybe a room spray or two to start with. The candles are good, but obviously the scent is gonna be strongest when they’re burning and it’s probably not a great idea to light a bunch of candles and then leave for the whole day.”

He chuckled. “No, I’d say you’re right about that. I definitely don’t want to burn the place to the ground. Are there any scents that you’d recommend?”

“Well, I mean, it obviously all depends on your personal preferences. I like sweet scents. I like my space to be smelling like a bakery or a candy shop at all times, so I tend to go for anything like that. We actually still have some of our holiday scents that we’re trying to get rid of and there’s this really great one in that line called Spiced Apple Toddy. It smells like apple pie. I love it. It’s only out during fall and winter so I stocked up. I need it all year long, honestly. I still have so many other scents at home, but like I’m probably never gonna get sick of it, for real, it smells so good. Or I might go every other month swapping between that and Black Cherry Merlot because that’s awesome too. And then there’s Champagne Toast, I mean, that one might be a bit too feminine for you, but I love it. It’s sweet and just a tiny bit citrusy. I can’t do any of the floral or like, outdoorsy scents, they set my allergies off. And honestly there’s some of these that I smell them and I’m like, who is putting this in their house? Like, what nutjob thinks this scent is good? How many people have senses of smell that are this screwed up?” At this point I was rambling, talking excitedly and with my hands, handing him testers to smell and trying to gauge his reactions to know what to hand him next. He didn’t have any bad reactions to anything I gave him until I handed him the tester for Fresh Balsam. His nose scrunched up in the most adorable way and he very carefully set the tester down on the counter as far from him as he could manage. He handled my word-vomit good-naturedly, with a small smile on his face, nodding and chuckling when he thought something I had said was funny. Our fingers brushed a few times as I handed him the testers and after the third time, I began to feel like it was deliberate on his part, but it couldn’t have been, could it? He couldn’t really be interested in me. He’s Henry Cavill. I’m just, well, I’m just me.

Me, with my two minimum wage jobs, still living with my parents, inching ever closer to 30 years old. Why would he want any of that? Why would he be interested in me physically either? I mean, he’s literally flawless and I’m short, overweight, I eat like shit, I don’t exercise, hell, I barely know how to put on make-up correctly. Yeah, I look good today, but that’s not par-for-the-course.

He put a few each of Cinnamon & Clove Buds, Black Cherry Merlot, Limoncello (for the bathrooms, he said), and Laundry Day (for the laundry room, obviously) in his basket along with enough of the plugs so he’d have one in each room. He also grabbed a Black Cherry Merlot and a Limoncello room spray off the shelf next to the Wallflower display before turning back to me. “So then, where do you keep this Spiced Apple Toddy that you like so much, or did you hide them so you could have them all to yourself?”

I chuckled nervously and ran my hand through my hair, sort of disbelieving that he was actually paying attention to what I had said. Boys never listen to me when I talk, I always have to repeat myself, but I guess that’s because I usually end up talking to the dumb ones. Henry’s not dumb. He really is just fucking perfect, isn’t he? Pretty and he listens? That shouldn’t be such a difficult combination to find, but for me it had been. “They’re on the table over here with the rest of our leftover Christmas stuff. Hopefully the tester is still there somewhere.” I put my hands in my apron pockets and I could feel the jolt of confidence I had had just minutes before leaving my body. His charm had worn me down, bringing me back to my normal, anxiety-ridden self. I caught the toe of my boot on the corner of one of the other tables as we walked towards the center of the room. I stumbled, but before I could fall his arm was already out to steady me, wrapping around my waist to keep me upright.

“Are you alright Y/N?” A look of genuine concern was on his face and I swear to God I swooned. Like, fuck, I just stubbed my stupid toe, it’s not that serious. I mean yeah, I stubbed my toe and then almost fell into a table covered with candles in glass holders, but like, I didn’t fall, you caught me, please stop looking at me like you care. You can’t give me that much hope. It isn’t fair. And goddamnit I love the way my name sounds coming out of your mouth. Like, fuck it’s never sounded so good. This isn’t fair, why is this happening?

“Yeah, Henry I’m fine, just a stubbed toe. Thank you for…you know.” I gestured down to his arm, which was still around my waist. The sound of me bumping into the table drew the attention of the rest of my co-workers, however, who were now coming out of their various positions to see what was going on and to make sure no one had broken anything. Samantha popped her head in from the front room and Kelynn and Mira came out from the cashwrap with Pilar and walked to the edge of the third room to peek in. All they saw was me, blushing profusely, with Henry Cavill’s beefy-ass arm still wrapped around my fucking waist. “Everything’s fine guys. I promise.”

“Holy shit, is that…”

“Mira!”

“But Kelynn that’s fucking Superman!”

“You can’t cuss in front of him Mira, he’s a customer!”

“Will you guys cut it out? You’re embarrassing us in front of the hunky British dude!”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about we all pretend like this isn’t happening right now? Pilar can go back to the cashwrap, you two can go back to whatever it was you were doing, and I’ll go back to what I was doing, namely making a damn sale!” I extricated myself from Henry’s grasp so I could shoo them back towards the cashwrap. They turned and walked away, bewildered looks on their faces. I turned back to Henry who was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his curls, leaving them messier than they were before. An errant one fell over his forehead and I wanted to brush it out of the way, but he just left it.

I walked over to the table that I was originally heading for and found the Spiced Apple Toddy Wallflowers. There wasn’t that many left, but there was still a tester. I grabbed it and spun around to bring it to him, assuming he hadn’t followed me, but as I turned, I found myself going face first into his massive chest. I put my unoccupied hand up to steady myself and pushed on his chest to force him back. He was just too close. Why was he so close? He opened his mouth to say something but I beat him to it. “Here. This is what I have in my bedroom right now, this is Spiced Apple Toddy.” Oh god, why did I say it like that? The one I have in my bedroom. Jesus Christ. He quirked his eyebrow at me and cocked his head to the side, smirking a little. Instead of taking the tester from me, he took my much smaller hand in his, guiding it up towards his face so the tester was close to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A serene smile spread across his face and I felt my face get hotter. He opened his eyes, looking down into mine. Fuck I could drown in those ocean eyes.

“Oh, I like that very much. You were right. I think that one’s my favourite.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #my first henry fic #fluff #unintentional bath and body works ad #be gentle

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cyhyr · 3 years

Text

Summer of Whump Day 30: Lashing Out

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Mizuki/Umino Iruka; Uzumaki Naruto & Umino Iruka

WC: ~1900

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con; Underage

Notes: Mizuki makes good on his threat to involve Naruto while Iruka is out. Iruka comes in before any touching happens, but it's implied that things could have been happening before he showed up. Naruto is 9-10 years old in this fic. Canon-typical violence.

A/N: If this needs more notes, tags, warnings, ect. PLEASE reach out and tell me. I'm garbage at tagging and even though I've been an active writer for over a decade I'm still figuring out what, exactly, needs a warning.

Iruka sluggishly drags himself up the stairs to his apartment, his eyes closing involuntarily every few steps. The kids today had been rude and mean and loud, and for once Naruto wasn’t among the few he had to keep after class for detention. It’s the only saving grace for the day.

He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder. One more flight.

Maybe Naruto will be over tonight and the two of them can have dinner and watch TV for the evening. His eyes close in exhaustion, but his lips turn up in a smile. Naruto’s pretty much moved in with him now. They keep the rent paid at his old apartment, but just last week he stood beside the kid as he mailed in the request to have his power and heat shut off. They moved the rest of his things over that same afternoon and had ice cream for dinner.

Now if only Mizuki would make up his mind about whether or not he wants to live with them…

Iruka stops at his door, fishing in his pocket for the key with one hand while the other hovers over the wards and—oh, it’s unlocked. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and opens the door. The only other person with a key is Naruto; he walks into their home with a tired grin.

“I’m home!” He drops his bag by the door and toes off his sandals, waiting for a response.

But nothing comes.

He looks down, registering the two other sets of sandals in the genkan. One is definitely Naruto’s. He’s been meaning to buy the kid another pair, these ones are worn. He doesn’t recognize the other set of sandals, as they are a standard uniform pair, but he can tell that they belong to an adult. Iruka puts a hand on the wall, feeling for the wards again. They had indeed been released by friendly chakra—there are only three signatures coded into these wards: his, Naruto’s, and Sandaime-sama’s. And Sandaime’s been asking him recently if he’d be willing to test for tokubetsu-jōnin based on his fūinjutsu, so he knows they’re solid.

“Naruto? Are you here?” He sets a kunai in his opposite palm and keeps a hand on the wall as he turns to face his home. Still, no response.

He could be hyper-focussing, Iruka tries to assure himself. He might not be able to hear anything.

The wards and seals in the apartment flow around him as he walks through the rooms. Living room, spotless; kitchen, signs of life (leftovers from breakfast, but also crumbs from a snack on the counter); hallway, noises.

More specifically, voices.

He follows the hallway quietly, until he can make out Naruto’s voice coming from his room. “I don’t know, it doesn’t… this doesn’t—”

“Would I lie to you, Naruto-kun? You’re just as much a little brother to me as you are to Iruka.”

Mizuki.

What’s he doing in Naruto’s room? He’s made it clear that he doesn’t like Naruto, several times over. And worse, he’s even once threatened to—

Oh, gods no.

Iruka is suddenly there, slamming open Naruto’s door with a hard kick just below the handle. The seals barely had time to react to his chakra before releasing and letting the door swing open with his physical strike. If it had been anyone else (save for Sandaime-sama or Naruto himself), the door would have held fast.

Mizuki is sitting on Naruto’s bed, fly open and dick out in his palm. Naruto sits beside him, hand outstretched like he had been about to touch, but with the door opening and Iruka stalking in he pulls away, relieved like someone told him he doesn’t have to stick his hand in a pile of coals.

Iruka fights down the vomit, fights the urge to kill, and says quietly, deadly, “Naruto, go into my room and lock the door like I’ve taught you. Don’t open it for anyone. I’ll come get you.”

Naruto, thank the gods, doesn’t try to debate him. He scurries by Iruka and takes a left outside his door, following orders and shutting himself in Iruka’s bedroom. The wards on his bedroom illuminate the hallway a brief, bright red—he can see them activate out of the corner of his eye.

He hasn’t stopped glaring at Mizuki.

Mizuki, who is sitting bare-assed on Naruto’s frog-print bedspread. Mizuki, who is casually stroking his dick and clearly checking Iruka out like he has the right to fucking do that after assaulting his—his—fuck!

“Put your godsdamned dick away before I cut it off,” Iruka snarls.

“You don’t have the—”

Mizuki stops talking as the kunai, which had been in Iruka’s hand, plants itself in the wall beside his head, grazing his cheek. Iruka slips another kunai out of his pouch and twists it into his palm.

“I won’t ask again, Mizuki.”

He heeds the warning this time, lifting his hips and tucking himself away. He leaves his fly unzipped, though, and then Iruka makes a lifting motion with his kunai. Mizuki groans, waves his hand flippantly.

“Baby, really, I’m just saving us some time later.”

“You actually think,” Iruka takes a step forward, kunai leading, “that after I catch you with your pants down, dick out, around the kid I’ve as good as adopted as my son—that I’m doing anything with you that doesn’t involve, at minimum, kicking you out of my home?”

“Well—”

“Do you really think I would do anything with you after you’ve sexually assaulted my kid???”

“When you put it that way—”

“You fucking sick fuck, I thought—gods, I don’t know what I thought, but I certainly never expected you to actually try to attack A FUCKING CHILD.”

“Iruka, really, ‘attack’ is such a strong word.”

Iruka throws the second kunai, this time catching Mizuki in the shoulder. He gasps in pain, reaching up and cradling his shoulder, and looks up at Iruka with a curled lip. “You fucking bitch—”

“You are lucky to still be breathing. Don’t argue semantics with me right now.” A third kunai finds its way into his hand; he has one more in his pouch, plus a set of six shuriken. And that’s just in his pouch. He has more scrolls in his vest.

For once, Iruka feels like he has the upper hand.

He knows he has the upper hand.

“What’re you going to do, Ruka? Kick me out? Report me? Kill me?” Mizuki laughs. “As if you could.”

“You’re the one who’s unarmed,” Iruka points out.

“But you’re the weak one.”

Iruka hides his wince—not well enough.

Mizuki laughs. “Oh, baby, this is hilarious. C’mon now. How about this,” he stands up, still cradling the kunai in his shoulder, “I’ll go to the hospital, say this little thing is just a training accident. They’ll stitch me up, I’ll come back, and when I do you can teach that fucking monster how to suck my cock just right and—”

Iruka throws the third kunai. It hits Mizuki in the stomach.

He screeches, bowing over and falling to his knees. Blood starts to drip onto Naruto’s floor. Iruka will deal with it later.

“Go to the hospital. It’s a training accident, this time,” Iruka seethes, quiet and low like he had been before when telling Naruto to leave the room. “If I ever see you alone with Naruto again—with any child again—you’ll wish that I had brought you before Sandaime-sama instead.”

“And what,” Mizuki gasps, lip curled like he’s trying to snarl but in too much pain to really manage, “do you plan on doing when I come back tonight to fuck you?”

“You’ll have stitches in your abdomen, Mizuki,” Iruka said, sickly-sweet kindness lacing his words—for once, he’s the one with the threat and the power. “You won’t be fucking anyone for at least a week, not until those stitches heal. Besides that,” his voice darkens, and he reaches back and pulls his fourth and final kunai from his pouch. “You are no longer welcome in my home. Get. Out.”

“Excuse the fuck out of me?”

“You heard me.” Iruka points to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

“You don’t get to tell me to leave,” Mizuki spits. “I own you.”

“You lost the right to say that when you dropped your pants in front of my son.”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Someday,” Iruka concedes, “maybe. Not today. Today, you take one wrong step and I will gladly surrender my security deposit in the name of protecting both myself and Naruto. Who knows, though; maybe I’ll be able to clean up quickly enough that your blood won’t have a chance to stain my floors.”

Mizuki finally reaches down, leaving the kunai in his shoulder, and zips his fly one-handed. He goes back to holding both kunai gingerly as he steps past Iruka. Together, they walk down the hall, past the kitchen, through the living room, and stop in the genkan long enough for Mizuki to slip into his sandals. He looks up at Iruka with venom in his eyes.

“Hospital, Mizuki,” Iruka murmurs.

“Like you care.”

“If I didn’t care, you’d be dead.”

“Fuck you.”

Then he leaves his home; Mizuki leaves his life.

Iruka closes the door behind him, locks it, activates the wards, and falls to his knees in the genkan. He puts his face in his hands and cries, and he’s not sure why. Mizuki didn’t touch him, didn’t hurt him—hell, he hurt Mizuki!

Slowly, he starts laughing. His chest hurts. His face is sticky with tears. He hugs himself tight and rocks back and forth on his knees.

Gods, what has he done?

“Iru-nii?”

He looks up, and Naruto is standing a few paces away, hesitant and wary like he wants to come closer but he’s not sure if Iruka’s okay with touch right now. Iruka smiles, laughs wetly, and says, “You were supposed to stay in the room until I came for you.”

“I heard him leave. And I felt the wards activate.” Naruto takes two steps. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Iruka shakes his head. “He’s gone, Naruto,” he whispers. “He’s. He’s gone. I kicked him out. I—fuck he’s gonna—”

Naruto crosses the leftover distance and throws himself into Iruka’s chest. Iruka, instinctively, catches him and cradles him, one hand around his back and the other diving into bright golden hair. “For real? You did?”

“I… Yeah, Naruto. I did.”

“That’s amazing!” Naruto pulls his head back and looks up at him, stars in his eyes. “That must have taken some guts, kicking your boyfriend out like that!”

“Well,” Iruka flushes, “I mean.” He was never my boyfriend, he thinks; it’s not a bridge he wants to cross with Naruto at the moment. “I was just so angry. Naruto, you know that what he did—or, almost did—shit, we have to talk about this—”

“Not right now,” Naruto mutters, suddenly quiet. “Please, not right now.”

Iruka pets Naruto's hair. “We’ll stay home from school tomorrow. I’ll send for a substitute. You and me and some heavy wards and a big carton of ice cream.”

Naruto nods. Iruka lets himself indulge and pulls the kid in for a tight hug. Naruto hugs him back and it’s wonderful.

There’s still blood on the floor throughout the apartment, and a kunai in the wall in Naruto’s room. He should fix Naruto’s door. But for now… he holds his son, he holds back the tears, he lets himself feel the relief of not wondering if Mizuki is coming back.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump30 #lashing out #fanfic #umino iruka #mizuki #uzumaki naruto #my writing #my wriitng

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123goth · 3 years

Text

The syndicated man

“Oh, I swear to God, if you don’t start spinning this goddamn instant, I’m gonna smash your glass in and make the toaster watch.” Gripping the edges of my microwave, tightly enough to feel its corners digging into my palms, I growled and gave it a hearty shake. This animalistic roar echoed off my kitchen’s green floors, and another mighty peal of thunder sounded outside.

A flash of lightning painted the room a strange shade of white-olive, the tile catching the glint, and all at once, I felt as though I were the god of storms, speaking my almighty willpower into the microwave that night.

The appliance whirred. It bent to me. And dully, the light came on. The timer blinked. And the leftover pizza began to twirl. And that was that. I sighed, deeply, slumping back against the countertop as the sky finally opened.

The patter of rain filled the building.

This routine could not have come from a sane man, I realized. Sane men did not anthropomorphize their microwaves. They did not threaten to kill their microwaves. They did not inflict psychological torture on their toasters.

Crash!

I jolted. It was that special time of night when the dude in the apartment above seemed to trip and knock everything over. Clank. Bang. Thud! Kaboom! I winced. Was he okay?

“Shut up!” My voice was hoarse. With a long-practiced motion, I pulled the broom from the nearby wall and gave the ceiling four good thumps. And then silence.

I caught my reflection in the oven door. There I stood, armed with a broom, with my shoulders hunched like the world’s worst action figure. I came with a super-hydraulic striped bathrobe, patchy facial hair, and a crooked lip, which healed badly after some guy clocked me in high school.

The microwave beeped. And leaning the broom against the wall, I tugged it open with a grunt to pull out the bubbling grease sponge I was going to eat that night.

I grimaced, knocking the microwave closed with my hip, flicking off the light, and dragging myself into the living room, where I dropped down on the sofa in front of the TV.

The sofa was old, covered in faded brown flowers, and in truth, the television was not much newer. I got them both at the same thrift store—although the attendant would not give me a deal. I wrote them a pretty nasty review that night.

But placing the plate on the cushion to my left, I scooped up the slice in one hand and shoved it into my mouth. My nostrils flared at the sour sensation on my tongue, my taste buds screaming: “No, no, not like this. Anything but this. Just drink actual poison or something.”

I dropped the pizza back onto the plate with a grunt. So much for dinner. I would starve to death.

Michael had been the cook. That night, two years ago, when I sunk into a chair at our kitchen table, my tie already undone, something was boiling on the stove. He had even arranged the alphabet magnets on the fridge to say cutesy shit like, ‘bake the world a better place.’

He did that a lot. I thought it was stupid and told him so, but he was good with words. And I wasn’t.

The little television on the counter was playing a Password rerun.

I should have said something that night. I should have said that whatever was boiling smelled great, or looked good, or that he had worked hard on it. But I didn’t.

“The prick finally did it, Mikey,” I mumbled instead. “He fired me.”

“Oh…oh, it’s okay! We’ll figure it out. You’re good at so many things. You’ll land on your feet.” And he draped two arms over my shoulders, squeezing them tight. But we did not figure it out, and I was not good at anything. And I realize now those were the only two times Michael had ever lied to me.

But screw him. And screw that job. And screw that fridge. And screw the fancy cheeses he kept in it. And screw how much rent that place was asking. And screw me for taking it out on him.

I sighed again. All I did these days was starve and sigh and fight with the microwave. And it was my damn fault. So, I would sit here and feel sorry for myself and mourn for the rest of my life.

Leaning forward, my bones creaking, I manually clicked on the television. Another flash of lightning sparked outside, and the screen came to life in a flurry of static and snow.

Click.

I moved through the channels, one hand on the dial and one on the antenna, twisting it left and right.

Click.

“Romance. The new fragrance….”

Click.

“Italia right in your microwave! New pizza from….”

Click.

“Welcome back to our 24-hour Buzzwords! marathon!”

I could barely see the picture through the fuzz, but the program was some game show from the 70s, complete with a mustached host in a plaid suit.

He dragged around a narrow, wired microphone and made his way through a bright studio, shimmering orange, utterly, sickeningly orange, while a young woman with a sparkling smile, the fabulous Carla, showed off a deluxe dinette set.

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms as I slumped back into the cushion.

And all at once came another mighty crash of thunder, a rumbling noise punctuated by dude upstairs, who dropped another pot, perhaps as startled as I had been by the sound.

The rain reached a climax as if it might break the windows. Something bright darted across the darkened sky, an airplane maybe. I wonder if it had been struck by lightning. And I cried out as, with a mighty surge, the television screen flashed and sputtered out, fried.

“Oh, Christ!” I growled, throwing back my head. The microwave did this, I decided. It had gotten all its little technology buddies to act out.

I slammed the thing with my palm, once, twice, three times, each responding with only a hollow thud. And when this scientific effort failed, I climbed to my feet and dropped to all-fours to crawl around the television’s rear. The frayed carpet dug into my knees as I tugged the extension cord from the wall.

Well, at least it wasn’t smoking, I mused, something of a crude smirk finding its way to my face. Because this was funny. In a sad tragicomic kind of way, this was funny.

Even now, I could find humor in how utterly pathetic I looked, crawling around on my knees with my boxers hanging out, all because I wanted to watch lesser-known game show reruns.

“Work or I’m gonna go back in that kitchen and throw your commander out the window, you hear me?” Leaning backward and sitting on my legs, I waved the cord deliberately before the television screen. And with that, I ducked back down and plugged it into the wall.

I blinked. And all I saw was light, a strange, fluorescent glow that consumed every inch of my vision.

Oh my God, I thought. I’m dead.

I electrocuted myself, and I’m dead.

My feet were planted on the ground. I was standing. I had crawled around to plug the television into the wall, but somehow, I was now standing. And I could not remember getting up.

“Welcome back to Buzzwords!”

I blinked again, and at that moment. I realized the blinding light was not white at all, but utterly, sickeningly orange. And there I was, like a moron, standing at a podium with a smile plastered across my face.

In truth, I wanted to scowl or grimace or something, but I couldn’t. My muscles ignored me. And on their own, my hands came up to applaud.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m your host, Buddy Guy. And we have a great show for you tonight.”

The hell?

“Let’s meet our contestants and get the game underway.” Buddy smiled broadly and walked in my direction.

I found my mouth opening of its own accord.

“Hi, Buddy! My name is John Smith. I’m from Columbus, Ohio, and I want to say hello to my wife, Betty.” These words spilled from me as if rehearsed, without my input, as though I were a passenger in my head (or, as it turned out, someone else’s).

And the absolute worst was that I could not cringe. I could not roll my eyes. I could not grunt or groan at just how saccharine I sounded, nor at the fact that my name was John Smith.

“Welcome, John. Good to have you.” Buddy Guy moved past me like an automaton, introducing a waitress from New York and a wannabe actor, who lived with his beloved roommate William of five years in Los Angeles.

And if I had to choose someone to be from this panel, it probably would have been him, because then at least I would not have a wife named Betty.

But this could not be happening; it certainly was not happening. I was not miming the motions of John Smith from Ohio. It was not 1970-whatever. And so, I truly must have been dead.

This whole illusion was that thing, that thing where synapses fire because your brain is pissed about non-existence. And if I could turn my head, which I could not, I would have peered into the audience to look for departed relatives.

But John stared forward, and so did I.

“Tonight, our contestants are competing for a stunning new kitchen set. Tell them all about it, Jack.”

An announcer from offstage began singing the praises of the sparkling refrigerator, oven range, and microwave that appeared from behind a velvet curtain. The audience lightning-sparkedooo’d and ahh’d.

And by now, Carla had emerged to point at everything, but I barely saw her. Even from this vantage point, unable to move on my own, I could catch my reflection in the oven door.

John Smith was, well, a man, yes, but in a strange, overly generic way. He, and by extension, I, had an average build, brown hair, brown eyes, and a decidedly uncrooked lip, one nobody had ever socked in.

He was the sort of person you might see in a department store catalog, I thought, or in a stock photograph of an office: unassuming and smiley.

But I could not look long.

My head was turning as the unflappable Buddy Guy made his way once again in my direction.

“Let’s reveal our first puzzle,” the host smiled, and taking this cue, Carla pulled out a marker, as if from nowhere, and drew a crude approximation of a gallows on the refrigerator door.

Spinning in a little circle, red gown flashing, she then tugged open the microwave to allow a multicolored pile of alphabet magnets to spill forth from within.

It was just goddamn Hangman, I realized. And I didn’t even get to spin a wheel or anything.

“How about a letter, John?”

“V!” I cried against my will.

Oh great. John sucked at this game.

“Sorry. No ‘V’s.’”

And so, it went.

The waitress guessed a “Y,” and scored a few points. Fishing the letters from the microwave pile, Carla stuck the magnets to the fridge. The actor guessed a number in the form of a question.

I unironically said the phrase “Oh, gee!” when there were no “X’s.”

And at this rate, it took us two whole commercial breaks to get to the unimpressive:

Y_ _ M_D_ Y_ _ R B _ D. N_W LI_ IN I_

By now, the hanging man was missing only his feet.

This was hell, I thought. I had died, and I had gone to hell.

And I would be terrible at this word game forever, and that was my punishment for being mean to the dude in the apartment upstairs.

And writing that bad review of the thrift store.

And for Michael, who had only ever lied to me twice.

“I’d like to solve it, Buddy!” I grinned.

“Go ahead, John.”

“You made your bed. Now lie in it!”

There were buzzers and bells, and the audience cheered.

“That’s right, John. You made your bed. Now you’re lying in it.”

Buddy smiled at me, and for a moment, a crack appeared, something sharp and sinister behind his cheery expression. His lip twitched, and a flicking tongue, snakelike, nipped the lower part of his mustache.

“I deserve to lie in it, Buddy!”

And somehow, this was pretty goddamn funny. If I could, I would have laughed.

“Onto our next puzzle,” Buddy cut in as Carla knocked down all the letters, leaving them on the floor. She used her bare hand to smudge off the marker.

“Can I have a ‘Y,’ Buddy?”

Jesus Christ, John. How about an actual letter or something? Whatever happened to “A?”

I sighed internally. But to my surprise, Carla reached into the microwave and retrieved the red letter, placing it on the refrigerator door. John did it. He got one. I felt excited for him.

I squeezed the podium. My hands were working, I realized, and so, overcome, I squeezed, just as tightly as I had the microwave that night, finding again the sensation of willpower.

But by now, Buddy was busy with the waitress and the actor, the former somehow earning a double penalty, which made Carla draw both a head and a body on the gallows.

But when play returned to me, I was able to speak up.

“What the hell is going on?”

The host narrowed his eyes, sniffing the air.

“Guess a letter, John.”

“I don’t know. An ‘A!’”

Sifting through the alphabet pile, Carla placed two magnet letters on the fridge, but she too was giving up her pretense. There was no pointing and smiling. She stared at me with a dour, annoyed expression, as if she could not believe my gall.

“It’s ‘Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here,’” I said.

Which was a cliché, but I was realizing now that if kitsch was going to be my hell, I could at the very least lean into it.

“Well, all right. Thank you for tuning in, ladies and gentlemen. After this important message, John will be moving to the bonus round,”

Buddy said to the camera. “Are we at commercial?”

No one responded. He marched over to me, twirling the microphone cord around his hand. I looked at it and realized it may very well have been the noose with which the poor loser might be strung up.

“You’re not playing by the rules, John,” he said nonchalantly, beginning to use the wire to bind my hands together, tighter and tighter, around my wrists, his grip surprisingly firm.

“Hey! Hey!” I retorted, trying to pull away.

“Don’t be a jerk. You’ll make this harder if you resist.”

“But that’s my problem. I’m here because I’m a jerk. You can’t damn people and expect them not to be jerks.”

“Do you think you deserve to be damned, John?” the host asked me. He cocked his head to one side.

“I think your show is stupid. But I’m finding that making fun of it and John’s wife Betty probably won’t help me win it.”

“You can’t win it, John. The outcome’s already set. This marathon’s just reruns. Your life is just rerun. The same thing over and over forever. Wake up. Eat. Sleep. And you lose every time. So why should this be different, hm?” Buddy dropped his voice low, but all at once, the studio lights flared, and he spun around to face the audience. “And we’re back!”

The soundstage went dark. The cheers stopped, and it was just me and Buddy, caught in a silent spotlight. Another lamp, mounted on a ceiling somewhere in the expanse of shadows above us, shined straight down, casting the refrigerator, the microwave, and the letters, in its fluorescent glow.

“It’s just us now, John. This is the bonus round. You get four letters. You have one chance to go up and complete the puzzle. And that’s it.”

_ F _ R _ _ _ _ M _ S _ _ _

I cast my gaze at Buddy, wavering a moment, before stepping uncertainly forward into the expanse. Although I could not see the floor beneath my feet, just deep darkness, I felt its steady weight as I moved to stare at the blanks.

An eternity passed as I stared. And maybe it had. At this moment, in this place, seconds and minutes and moments, they seemed to mean so little.

I forfeit my soul.

That was it. That was the joke.

I had already done it, I knew. I had become so wrapped in the misery of my own making that I had forfeited my very self to it. And willingly.

Choice. That was it, wasn’t it? I, willpower personified, exerting it in every wrong direction. And so, moving for the pile of letters, hands still bound, I pulled them out the microwave one at a time.

I stuck the magnets in place, whispering the words aloud as they appeared on the refrigerator. And only then, with a definitive nod, did I step back to see my handiwork.

I FORGIVE MYSELF

I awoke on the floor beneath the TV with a sudden, painful gasp.

The dude upstairs dropped something. I stared a good few seconds at the ceiling. And with that, I pressed back onto the carpet and laughed, a full hearty noise, the television set’s extension cord wrapped around my fingers.

Wrestling them free, I checked my reflection on Paula sparked the screen to be safe.

And taking a few more steadying breaths, I moved for my apartment door. I tugged it open to poke my head into the hallway, craning it up the stairwell to the sole unit above mine.

“Hey, pal? Do you need help up there?”

#science fiction

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squeeneyart · 4 years

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 17

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Phone calls will have to do.

Martin has an uneventful Friday night.

“Just- what am I supposed to do, wait for you all to save up for a holiday?”

Martin felt silly, pacing back and forth on the beach and yelling into his phone. A whole day spent too nervous to say anything in that horrible building and there was no keeping it down now, even for his mother. So there he was, outside and cold and freaking out a bit.

Tim sighed. “Look, we’re working on it, but when we got back here we had a mountain of work waiting for us. It’s not the first time this has happened, but if I were the paranoid one I’d say Elias is trying to keep us busy.”

Pinching the skin between his eyes, Martin said, “I know, I know, it’s not your fault.” Except for all of the stress they’d caused him, all of it for nothing- “Where does it all leave me, though? What can I do?”

“Stay put and do what you’ve been doing. We’ll work things out on our end, but if Evan is… missing, then it’s best you keep your head down. Maybe that’s what he’s doing now that Peter’s back.” Tim paused. “I suppose taking a quick holiday isn’t in the cards?”

“No, not really. Besides, I’d like to still be there in case, I dunno, something happens? Be the man on the ground?”

Tim snorted. “Well, ‘man on the ground’, do your best to stay there. We still don’t know what all that Fairchild business was about, either.”

“Right. Yeah.” Martin took a moment to tilt his head up at the sky, almost entirely dark. “So, you’ll be the one to contact if things start going sideways?”

“Seems like it, though I’ll see if we can set up a group text or something. We used to have one for the three of us, but for reasons I will not explore here it was unjustly deemed ‘superfluous’.” Tim seemed to cover the receiver for a moment. “I stand corrected. According to Sasha, it was ‘a gratuitous distraction that only served to flood our notifications with garbage’.”

“...Was it?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Tim’s grin was so audible to be infectious.

Martin laughed a little. “That’ll work. Just in case you can’t be reached.”

“I’ll let you go for the night and give you the details on that once I’m done with all this homework.” There was an exaggerated sound of papers rustling. “Really, I can’t describe the amount of work he’s piled on us. It almost loops back around to Elias being normal Elias.”

“Sure. Good luck.”

“Same to you. And sorry again for the raincheck on dinner!”

“It’s fine. Nothing you could’ve done.”

Click.

Pocketing his mobile, Martin rubbed his face with both hands and willed himself to calm down. It was unfair to be angry at them for needing to do their actual jobs, but if rent needed to be paid then they shouldn’t have promised anything. All he had at that moment was the hope that eventually, long after he was thrown in with Evan, one of them would have the courtesy to come back and record the event for posterity.

“Statement of Ms. Blackwood, regarding the disappearance of her son at his place of employment,” Martin mumbled, kicking at some stones on the ground. “Ugh, that’s morbid.”

Martin looked out over the dark sea, but all that served was to sting his eyes and push his mood down even further. What a horrible habit. Look from the lighthouse, look out to sea, for there is no-

Best to keep his eyes down for the foreseeable future. Unless he’s high up, at which point he’ll keep his eyes anywhere but down. And if he’s stuck in some secret, impossible room, well, he won’t remember which way to look anyway.

He was at the table, microwave steamed vegetables and some leftover something or other plated in front of him. Across the table his mother ate in silence save for the dull chewing sounds no one could possibly help. At that moment they were making Martin’s teeth grind.

A quiet meal could be so aggravating with the wrong person. The tiniest sounds, chewing, breathing, sighing, a cacophony of what should be inoffensive signs of life grating on the ears.

He’d often heard about the bad effects television during meals could have on family. There had never been one visible from the kitchen, but he could think of many reasons why having one would’ve been a blessing in that house. Even if the one they had could be heard from the other room, there was still nothing to look at but his own plate, the terrible window view, and his mother.

“Is it a porch night?” Martin asked, poking at a sad-looking slice of carrot with his fork. “It’s gotten colder, and darker. Before long it’ll be dark before I get home each day.”

His mother took another bite, a sigh escaping her lips. “Yes.”

“We can’t stay out long,” he warned.

One of her nostrils twitched, but she said nothing.

“I mean it. You never cover your face.”

“I know what’s best for myself.”

“So do I. It stings my eyes.”

“You won’t outgrow that sensitivity by avoiding it.”

Martin scoffed. “I don’t avoid it.”

This earned him a dainty sniff. “If that were true it wouldn’t sting anymore.”

“Would you-”

“Go get tea started. You’ve let your mouth run enough for one night.”

Martin stood with a sudden force that made him feel like an incensed child who hadn’t gotten his way. He bit his tongue and did as he was told, leaving her to finish her meal.

The filled kettle was placed gently onto the stove with shaking hands. After switching the stovetop dial, Martin stood with his back to the rest of the kitchen. Tea was made and served in quiet, the tremor still clinging to his hands. The warmth of the cup did nothing to quell the shakes, but if it was noticeable she made no remarks.

Now it was the low sound of her blowing on her tea. The loud sipping noise as she tested the taste. Lip smacking, fingers tapping, everything dragged at the back of his skull, why do people make such noise when they do things?

Finally, he was able to take the cups, his own almost entirely full, and fill the room with clattering and the rush of water out of the sink. It would be enough to rinse for the moment. There would be plenty of time to wash things at any other time.

When the time came, her hand just barely touching his arm, they prepared themselves and went outside. Her breaths were long and loud, in and out through her nose. Though Martin covered his face as best he could, his eyes watered all the same.

How could she enjoy this?

The walk back indoors, the removal of shoes, the slow movement to her room. Martin just barely stopped himself from slamming her door behind him after getting her to bed, though he had no doubt she’d make a comment on his impatience the next day. There was nothing left but to turn in early himself. What else could he do?

The staircase towered before him, each step upon it harder than the last despite his long legs, but he didn’t look up. Martin could learn from his mistakes if he tried, and he was trying.

Could she hear him taking his sweet time? Did every creak of the steps set her teeth on edge as she tried to fall asleep?

Martin made it upstairs eventually, and to his bedroom after, though by that point he knew sleep wasn’t coming for him just yet. Checking his phone, he found no new messages or calls, as if he hadn’t kept the thing on vibrate to be alerted of anything new. He dropped the thing on his bedside table after flipping his alarm off. There was work to be done the next day, but he didn’t owe Peter an early start on a Saturday.

As Martin sat on the edge of his bed, the day washed over him and he slumped forward, forearms pressed against knees. He gently tugged his hair out of its elastic, not that it had been all that held back by the end. Running fingers through it, brushing it back and scratching at his scalp, Martin let himself sulk for one more horrible minute.

If they’d stayed, he probably wouldn’t have been able to go out to dinner with them anyway. Irresponsible to have thought otherwise, really. Now there was no reason to worry about it.

Apparently this was what the evening would be: Martin Blackwood feeling snappish and awful.

He would apologize the next day, he thought. His mother, while not helpful, hadn’t actually done anything to make him cross besides exist nearby, and Tim certainly didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of Martin’s panic and frustration. Only one person deserved that, but chewing out Peter was a sure way to get himself disappeared. So, the options were limited.

He was lucky Jon wasn’t the one who had to call him. How was he not supposed to be angry after Jon worked harder than anyone to convince him that things would work out? The man had outright promised to help Evan even though they had no real plan on how to do that. Sure, it had been heartfelt and sweet, and determination did nice things to his face-

Martin groaned, pulling down at his cheeks. No, anything but that. He wanted to be angry and petty and upset about his possible upcoming death, not disappointed that his one-sided thing was even more doomed than before. Sure, after a bit he would get over it, but it had been a while since he’d fancied someone a little. It was a nice feeling.

It was even better writing material. Perhaps that would help, writing. At the very least it could prevent another weird scene at the dinner table. What was that line that popped into his head earlier? Could be the start of something cathartic, even if it ended up being complete rubbish.

Reaching down to his nightstand, Martin jumped at the sound of his phone buzzing against wood. From his hunched position he could see an unknown number. He grimaced. Of course he’d get a weird spam call during all this. He let it ring and grabbed his notebook and pencil. There had been a thought earlier, some lines that had a nice cadence despite being off the cuff. A bit boring, but perhaps they could be worked with. Look from the lighthouse-

“Hello, Martin. I’m calling- right, this is Jonathan Sims? From the Magnus Institute? I had Tim give me your number but I’m realizing now that he might not have told you yet. I-”

Scrambling for the phone, Martin dropped the notebook right onto his toes. “Shit-”

“-wanted to discuss some things with you. Let me know if-”

Finally, Martin managed to press the right button and answer the call. “Sorry, hi, it’s Martin. I didn’t-”

“Oh- yes, hi. Am I interrupting, or-”

Quickly, Martin said, “No, no, I just don’t usually answer unknown numbers, so-”

“Right, right, I thought that might be the case. Glad I caught you, then.” Jon cleared his throat. “So, how are you, ah, holding up?”

He thought he could sense an attempt in Jon’s tone to be casual. Martin’s mouth quirked downward. “Fine, I guess. Still here.”

“Good. Tim said you’d had some concerns, so-”

“Not much anyone can do about them, is there?” Jesus, could he not be snippy at someone for five minutes? “Sorry, it’s… it’s been a long day. Tim told you, then?”

“Yes, he did. We’ll do our best to get at least one of us back there soon, if not the whole team. Elias wasted no time getting us back to work. For now, phones will have to do.”

Martin waited for a few seconds, but there was nothing after. “So… is that what you called for? To go over what Tim and I talked about?”

“What? No. I thought we could... Well, we have some other business that would be best kept between us. Establishing contact felt like the best next step on that front.” Again, there was a strangely long pause, but before Martin could think of anything to say, Jon continued. “And because the goodbyes were relatively abrupt this morning, I didn’t have the opportunity to apologize.”

Sighing, Martin rubbed his eyes. “Well, you didn’t say it for twenty-four hours, so I suppose you get half credit?”

Jon huffed. “I misread the situation and Elias. I hadn’t expected him to downright deny us an extension without discussion, and I certainly never pegged him as the type to have us pack up and leave with barely any notice. We were as shocked as you this morning.”

Not likely. “So, what now? How long do you think…”

“Honestly, I don’t know yet. I want to keep an eye on Elias after all of this strange business, but of course he’s not here.” Martin could feel the scowl on Jon’s face. “It may take some time for any of us to make a trip out there outside of work. I’m afraid you’ll be on your own for the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh.” Closing his eyes, Martin let himself fall back onto the bed. “Okay.”

Quickly, Jon said, “Not much longer than that, I hope. I tend to work on my days off which should cover the extra assignments more quickly, and Sasha or Tim may be able to make a trip out there sooner than I could.” At the end, Jon’s reassuring tone dropped into an irritated grumble.

Martin smiled a little and fought back a yawn. “Worried they’ll fix things up before you get here?”

“That’s not- I wouldn’t say- I’m sure they’re capable of doing so, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy sitting on my hands while real work needs to be done,” Jon said, recovering from his indignant sputtering. “I’ve only looked at some of the new assignments, but most of them are guaranteed to be either misunderstandings or blatant lies.”

“You can’t know that just by skimming them.”

“You haven’t had to read some of these things,” Jon said with a tinge of disdain. “No, people love to waste my time and keep me both from my personal research and more pressing situations like your own.”

Martin looked up at his window. “Okay, but mine would probably sound fake on paper though, right? ‘Oh, the lighthouse I work at is tall and makes me dizzy, also I think an old classmate is trapped in the walls?’, or something like that. I wouldn’t believe it.”

“But it’s demonstrable,” Jon said. “And if you’d chosen to put more time and effort into it, you’d have put in the more compelling details. Not that we don’t get statements like that. Some read like a trite pitch for the script someone is workshopping rather than a true paranormal experience.”

“And that’s what’s keeping you busy now.”

“I’m sure you’re glad to hear that important things are happening while you wait. If by the time we return you’ve already been trapped in an impossible lighthouse prison, we’ll have plenty of entertaining material to refill your vocabulary.” A silent, awkward moment passed between them. “Right, okay, not funny.”

“Not really, no.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s… fine.” It really wasn’t, but Martin wasn’t in a state to argue anymore that day. “What kind of fake stuff is it, then? That’s so important you just had to be back?”

Jon groaned. “Don’t get me started. There’s one from a man who claimed to be seeing the same strange fellow at the park everyday, as if he doesn’t also visit that park everyday and by his own logic could be a supernatural creature himself.”

In a way that Martin felt must’ve been some breach of confidentiality, Jon proceeded to lay before him complaints of monsters (“Particularly loud raccoons”), doppelgangers (“Plenty of people look like other people”), and other phenomena that Jon found particularly ridiculous. They were so unconvincing that Martin had to wonder whether Jon was leaving out the spookier details.

But that was fine, Martin found. Why would he want to hear about anything other than people in ordinary circumstances when his own were decidedly not? And if Jon was happy to talk Martin’s ear off about frivolous things, it worked out well enough for both of them.

Like before, it didn’t take much to keep the man going. In the middle of a peculiar story of shifting room layouts, Martin asked, “Okay, but there could’ve been something weird about the building, right? Probably not, but-”

“Well, we gave her the benefit of the doubt and Sasha looked into it. It turned out the woman had confused her own flat with the one next to it and unwittingly trespassed through an unlocked door. She was happy enough to drop the whole thing in embarrassment.”

Pushing his glasses up, Martin pressed a hand over his eyes. “Oh God, I would’ve died on the spot.”

“Ultimately she was happy to not have wandered into an alternate universe. I believe Sasha also saw to it that the neighbors practiced proper lock safety without giving the whole thing away.”

“Happy ending, then.”

“For now. Can’t say it won’t happen again, but it won’t be our problem.” From the other end, Martin heard a muffled voice. “Sorry, hold on.”

“Sure.” The call was put on hold, and Martin checked his screen.

Oh god, they’d been on the call for over an hour. When had that happened? Had he been loud enough for his mother to hear him this whole time? What had he even said for that long? He must’ve been saying something.

Jon’s voice came through again. “Sorry, I’m staying late tonight to get a head start on things. It seems Elias is back, so I’m going to have to let you go. Thank you for your understanding earlier.”

Internally, Martin let out a thankful sigh. “It’s no problem, really. Thanks for checking in.”

“And about the other issue. If there are any questions-”

“It’s fine. We’re all fine here.”

Jon cleared his throat again. “Good. Good night, Martin.”

“Night.”

The call ended, and Martin found himself in the weird place of adding a new contact and staring at the slightly longer list of names.

Jon had asked for his number.

For the purpose of talking about Martin’s mother, obviously, but that had only come up two times. The rest of the conversation had been primarily an outlet for Jon’s work frustrations. It hadn’t exactly been a professional call, had it?

No, no, no, that was enough and he was going to bed immediately.

#tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #breathe in the salt

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musedblues · 4 years

Text

Born To Love You [Part: 5]

summary: When Gwilym ropes you into a lie, the truth becomes painfully obvious. When Joe makes things harder, there’s no telling if he even has a clue.

w/c: 5k

a/n: I hear a lot of you wishing and hoping for a happy ending but it's just not coming... yet. I AM sorry in advance. And I'm also in love with everyone who's stuck around so far and said such lovely things. Thanks as always, dears! Can't wait to hear what you lot think of this one 💖

Part 6

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Wait, just one second!" Gwilym jogged across the car park, slinging the bag he carried off of his shoulder in a hurry to find it's contents. Simultaneously, he stopped Joe in his meander off the set. Gwilym hoped his friend's slow pace meant he didn't have anything better to do.

"I need you to do me a favor." Gwilym addressed the auburn-haired fellow, close enough by now to bypass standard greetings. Joe nodded, wordlessly accepting whatever it was while Gwilym dug around in his bag until he found what he was looking for.

"Y/n knows I'm off with Ben, but we've got to go a bit earlier than planned. Can you please take these things back to her?" Gwil started, unveiling a much smaller bag full of toddler essentials, some of which you'd be missing if Gwil left town with them.

"Sure thing," Joe agreed, albeit pensively. Gwilym let out a breath and a thank you as he clasped his bag back together, in a rush to see a game with Ben a few towns away.

Ben had invited you on the surprise sports venture, too. But Olive hadn't been easy to handle the past few days. And you knew you'd be spending most of the game toting the kid around the parked cars to keep her whines from upsetting spectators.

Cold rain had come to stay, and your best attempts at keeping the babe from going stir crazy were wearing thin. When there was a knock at the door, you figured Gwilym was there to trade goodbyes with Ben in tow. But no one came hurling in after the polite warning, and you opened the door to find a slightly more pleasant surprise.

"Hi." Joe shrugged, not quite smiling. Seemingly not quite sure why he was there. "Gwil and Ben just left. He wanted me to bring you this." Joe extended the small tote of emergency toys and distractions.

"Oh, thank God." You sighed. The majority of your time spent with Gwilym had usually included trading such things back and forth. You thanked the heavens that Joe was the middle man, taking the bag from his grasp. Inside were two teething toys you'd been missing all day long. You'd give them to Olive as a last-ditch attempt to soothe this evenings lackluster.

But when you glanced down to the babe at your feet, she was using your legs to steady herself as she stood, waving to Joe with a smile on her face. Hardly a trace of her moodiness remained as Joe let his brooding smile bloom into a real genuine one as he waved back to your daughter.

"I just picked up dinner. Let me fix you some?" You suggested, offering without thinking. It was your nature to extend such invitations at times like this one. But everything was always different with Joe. You couldn't tell up from down when he stood just near. And he didn't even try and put up a fight, even though it looked like he wanted to for a nanosecond. He agreed. When Joe stepped past the entrance and into your rented living room, whether he knew it or not, he crossed a very real line.

As you led him toward the kitchen, you rambled only about the things nearly finished cooking in the oven. A mix of veggies you'd never whipped up before. A dish, according to Joe, he'd always wanted to try. You joked for a while about fate, and how everything seemed to always happen for a reason, from dinner plans to trips to London.

When the time came to eat, you noshed between conversation, leafing through topics with ease. You'd done this before, together. And you realized your heart hadn't tried to beat out of your chest the whole time he was near, that afternoon. Because ever since Joe's birthday, you'd never shaken the steady ache for him. You'd settled into the feeling now, and having Joe around was strangely a comfort, his presence aided your pain, now, even though he caused it all the same.

Olive was finally content, for the first time in a week, with the toys you'd finally got your hands on. It wasn't always that you felt fine enough to leave her be in front of the telly, but she was perfectly gratified watching an old film, curled against the pillows and blankets you set up for her. And because you could see her perfectly well from the balcony, and the air was surprisingly warm for an autumn evening, you invited Joe to step out for a drink.

He followed your lead with caution, watching where you moved before he moved too. Joe thanked you for the drinks and settled across the tiny table in the only other chair you weren't occupying.

And yet, past the anxious glares, held breaths, and hidden blushes, your conversation never faltered. He asked about your life, you asked about his. You complained about silly things, he joked along with you. Olive fell asleep against her throne of blankets as you sipped your drinks, afraid for the bottles to empty, surely signaling the end of the evening.

The time on your phone read one in the morning, but you pretend you don't notice. And if Joe did, he pretended he hadn't, either.

The fun (if that's what you could call it) ended only when the front door creaked open and Gwil crept inside. He turned his gaze toward the patio as if he'd been expecting to see you and Joe there all along.

"I should go. It's late." Joe hummed, resting his drink on the table between the two of you.

But Gwil popped his head out into the warm night with a sweeping wave of his hand.

"No, no it's fine, finish your beer. I'm knackered. G'night." Gwilym spoke as if he'd rehearsed the line one too many times, his voice flat and dull. He hadn't even looked right at you the entire couple minutes he'd been home. As he shut the sliding door and turned to head to bed, the man gave a little expression of assurance that was too obviously forced. Your fake husband's hurry off to bed without you, and his strange insistence for Joe to stick around was barely coy.

As you and the man with fossil toned eyes settled back against the patio seats, an awkward silence nearly suffocated you. It was not suddenly strange. It had always been strange. Only unavoidable, now.

"Is everything... okay?" Joe dared to ask in a low, wavering tone.

"Everything... is simply not as it seems. Much worse, really." You laughed a little, barely, but it wasn't funny. And Joe clearly realized just how serious you were.

But instead of asking or pushing you to go on, Joe just gave a micro nod, as if he already knew. And when you changed the subject, giggling over something Lucy said, Joe let himself laugh too, as you both took the last sips of your drinks.

When Joe left, he lingered in the doorway as you said goodbye, and he exchanged the exact same parting phrase. And when he walked away, you let yourself wish for a nanosecond that he wasn't leaving.

///

"I'm going out with Ben again! Don't know when I'll be back, okay bye!" Gwilym spun out of the door, dressed to the nines, offering no explanation.

And all morning long, between a lazy breakfast and a lethargic movie marathon with your daughter clamoring from one lap to another, you and Gwilym never spoke much about anything to each other. While you realized there wasn't much more to discuss or argue over than hadn't already been hashed out, you hadn't expected Gwilym to just up and leave without a good reason or proper goodbye.

You cursed his name under your breath as you turned off the telly. As you ate lunch alone, you noticed the sun was peeking through the clouds for the first time in forever, and Olive was waking up from her nap with a bored cry.

You could go out too, ya know?

///

"Here, some leftovers." You extended a neatly wrapped plate of food to Joe, who stood wide-eyed in his maroon doorway. You'd never been to his Airbnb before now. You'd had rules you wouldn't let yourself break, before now.

Joe took the plate with a meek thanks, then asked if everything was alright.

"Yeah, yeah. I simply couldn't finish those by myself," You explained. Gwilym was missing dinner, again. "And it's finally nice out. Is there a park around here?" You wondered, shifting Olive in your arms.

"Uh... uh yeah. Just a block away actually. That way." Joe pointed, stuttering in place. You looked in the direction he pointed and hummed. As you turned slightly, planning to go enjoy yourself for once, you looked back to Joe.

"You comin'?"

"Oh, uh, ye-yeah. Sure. Hang on." Joe looked to the plate of food in his hand and nodded before spinning inside, leaving the front door wide open.

You totted Olive back to the rented car Gwilym had left behind, biting back a smirk.

Joe came out moments after you'd situated Olive in her seat, sporting an old sweatshirt and a curious expression. He gave you directions to the park he knew was around the corner while your knuckles went white around the steering wheel.

How was something so easy, so hard? Being around Joe was like choking on a breath of fresh air.

And while you subconsciously relished the sound of his voice telling you where to go, you were both disappointed when you arrived. The park was small and flooded with rainwater from the week long downpour. Joe started to apologize on behalf of mother nature. You just backed out onto the road and said something about knowing a better place, offering to bring him along if he still so desired.

Joe didn't say no. He slumped deeper into the passenger seat, glancing to the buildings and people rushing by with umbrellas. His lips curled into a smile every time Olive babbled from the back. You noticed her in the mirror, and encouraged the girl to go on pointing things out in her own watered-down language.

By the time you made it to the park you'd become most acquainted with on your trip, you'd let yourself stop questioning the peace that had washed over the day, and tried your damnedest to embrace it.

Olive was content, truly happy as you pushed her in a swing just her size. Joe took photos of the slowly setting sun, painting the sky in streaks of gold and purple. And when he settled by your side once more, you picked up on one of those conversations the two of you had so easily. There was almost nothing you couldn't talk about. Almost. But your chatter wasn't enough to keep you warm when the wind picked up and turned Olives nose red.

Joe stayed with her while you went to search the car for an extra layer to keep your daughter warm, but you came up short. He was holding her close when you stepped onto the mulch, and it was Joe who insisted you go back to your rented flat to fetch another jacket or two.

You apologized on the ride, saying something about how you just wanted to have a good day. How you felt badly for dragging Joe into poorly made plans just because you didn't have anything better to do. Leaving out the bit about how you were secretly scared this would be one of the last times you'd get to be around the guy before you went home.

Joe just chuckled, assuring that you had nothing to apologize for, saying something about the spontaneous trip being a pleasant surprise, how he was still having a nice time. You couldn't understand why.

When you made it back to your rented flat, you wrestled Olive into a sweater, and asked Joe if he fancied a cup of tea before you ventured back out. He happily accepted the offer, sitting on your sofa like he was actually comfortable in the place that belonged to neither of you.

"Where is Gwilym tonight?" Joe asked through a humorless laugh. You rolled your eyes, looking back to see your daughter had roped Joe into helping her set up a team of blocks. He worked deliberately to balance a few, not looking your way.

"Your guess is as good as mine." You sighed, moving the kettle full of water and turning the burner on. Olive handed Joe more blocks, and he asked for her help arranging them. You pulled your phone from your pocket to distract yourself from the feelings sprouting in your chest; and to confirm your suspicion.

"He left forever ago and hasn't answered my texts." You sighed, glancing at the couple messages you'd sent Gwilym before you'd left on your own, simply wondering when he'd be back, hardly caring where he'd run off too. He'd seen your messages, leaving hours to pass without a response.

When you rested your phone on the counter with a huff, Joe stood.

"Are you okay, y/n?" He asked, stepping over toys to meet you in the kitchen. You ran your hands through your hair, resisting the urge to pull it all out in a frustrated fit.

"I don't know. I really don't know." You admitted. How had you ended up here? "I don't know where Gwilym is. And I don't know why I'm so upset about it. I should be used to it! We've never spent this much time together. But he just had to tell-"

You stopped rambling just in time, casting your furrowed brow to your feet as you let out a laugh to disguise your desire to scream. After your vexation hung in the air for a beat too long Joe spoke up again.

"You don't have to tell me anything. It's not my place... I shouldn't have asked-" Joe started to take back his concern. You hated the way he subtracted the value of his words when he assumed they didn't sit well with you.

"I wish you knew how badly I want to tell you the truth." You stupidly confessed, looking up to Joe, exhausted by the effort it took to keep your eyes from locking with his.

Joe didn't ask what you meant or urge you to say anything further. He just clenched his jaw and seemed to make a decision. You watched him blink, just before he pulled you into a hug. A real one. Nothing like the sorry embrace he dealt you before you all left the woods, last weekend.

And you let yourself hug him back now, as you'd always wanted too. Because somewhere deep down you knew this was it. Maybe not the last hug, but certainly the best by far. Maybe not the embrace you wished you could convey your feelings through, but the closest you'd allowed yourself to come, yet. The closest you might ever be allowed.

"I'm sorry... for whatever it is," Joe spoke, in a low soothing rumble.

"I'm more sorry, trust me." You replied, voice muffled against his warm sweatshirt. You hated lying to Joe. Even though you hadn't known another reality since the day you met, it felt worse every day.

He was the first to break, moving away slowly like maybe he didn't want to. And you couldn't even fool yourself into believing you'd been imagining things. Not with the way Joe lingered so close, still. Not with the way his hand delayed on your arm, fingers nearly curling into a clutch. Joe was barely an inch from you. You could feel when he held his breath. You watched his focus zero in on your lips and you felt your jaw slack ever slightly. You watched him start to drift closer. And then the tea kettle whistled to life.

The hiss of steam became louder as your senses adjusted back to reality. Joe had yet to break his stare on you, but the spell had been broken, for good. Joe's breath felt colder, and your future seemed less bright than moments ago.

"I should go. I'm going."

He stepped back, yanking your heart out.

"Let me give you a ride." You breathed, turning off the stove and glancing to where you tossed the keys as Joe kept moving toward the door.

"No, that's okay. I'll get a ride." Joe nodded your way reaching for the handle.

"Joe," You spoke his name in a plea to stop him, though you didn't know why. Your stomach twisted in knots the longer you looked at him.

"Goodnight, y/n." Joe offered, before opening the door and closing it behind himself before you could follow and stop him in time. His absence was sudden and hung heavy in the air. Olive stood from her place on the floor and fixated her stare on the door, much like yours. When she realized Joe wasn't coming back, the babe broke into cries like she did when one of her parents abandoned her with the other.

Now everything was fucked. You'd truly and utterly fucked everything all the way up.

///

After putting Olive to bed, the quiet home made your thoughts much too loud. Instead of going on tossing and turning, you shuffled into the living room and flipped through telly channels. Hardly paying attention, just looking for the right noise to drown out the racket running through your mind.

The only sound that broke through your self-pity was the door creaking open. You didn't need to look at a clock to know it was the witching hour. Gwilym tried to keep quiet as he shut the door, but jumped in surprise to see you curled on the sofa, still mindlessly pressing the remote buttons.

"Christ, you're still up?" He asked, shedding his jacket and leaving it to hang by the door. You didn't respond.

"I'm sorry I never texted. I know I should have." Gwilym sighed. He was right, but your anger with him had long fizzled away.

"It's okay." You said simply, keeping your eyes on the screen in front of you.

"What's wrong?" Gwilym asked in a worried manner, moving to sit on the opposite end of the sofa, turning to face you. You glanced his way, considering his genuine expression, and then turned back to the telly, because you couldn't look at Gwil as you started to tell him about your night.

You left out most of the details, but you told Gwilym what happened. How you and Joe nearly kissed. How he left in a flash. How none of it mattered because you and Olive were leaving in a couple of days. You'd be out of the way and Gwilym could go on making his film without worrying about you muffing up the act he kept up off the set.

Gwilym chanted apologies as you retracted back inside your head. You stayed quiet, curled against a throw pillow while your fake husband offered to do something to make this all better. And while Gwilym decided your silence was submission, you both knew there was no use. Not anymore.

///

The next day you stayed in until the very last minute you were meant to be on your way to fetch Gwilym from the set. When you got there, you hurried in with your head down, taking the quickest route to his trailer.

Luckily, Gwilym was already on his way out, greeting you with an oddly excitable smile.

"What?" You asked anxiously, watching Gwilym reach out to your daughter in your grasp, tucking back a bit of her growing hair

"This was always meant to be our last big night out and I think we should still go to have a nice, big dinner. But I was thinking maybe you could stay another week or so. I've been thinking we could-"

"Gwilym. Please don't make this harder than it has to be." You grinned with a sorry shake of your head, moving to walk out with him.

"It doesn't have to be hard." Gwilym insisted, keeping his pace in time with yours.

"We have to go home!" You made yourself clear, stopping to look up at the guy with pleading eyes. He couldn't possibly want to keep this up, either.

"I can't do this anymore." You implored. You'd met your wits' end. Your heart was no longer on the line. It was crushed.

You turned away from Gwil with tears in your eyes, in a hurry to make it back to the car. But it was too late. Ben came floating around the corner, his bright smile faltering when he noticed you, asking what the matter was. You shook your head out of fear if you opened your mouth, you'd only burst into sobs.

And as Ben moved away, he called out in concern to the guy who was meant to be following you.

"Gwilym, mate, why is your wife crying? Is everything-"

Gwilym's immediate and booming response stopped you in your tracks.

"We're not married!"

The battered up remains of your heart slammed to the ground as you froze in place. Oh shit.

"I lied. I'm at fault here, so don't go thinking less of her." Gwilym spoke to Ben, who went silent. As you stalled, stunned, Olive burst into tears, and a hand fell feather-light against your shoulder.

Lucy came into your view, and with one silent look, she escorted you further from the boys and out of the heavy stage doors.

Just as you turned to exit, you spotted a familiar face a few feet away. Joe was standing near the empty stage holding a canvas bag over his shoulder and looking at you with a slack jaw. You hadn't seen him since he fled your kitchen. And now, you knew he'd finally understood what you were trying to say to him that night. He'd clearly heard what just happened.

You were quick to snap your gaze away from his, and follow Lucy out of the place. Olive was crying in one ear, and you could hear Gwilym begin some sort of impassioned speech in the distance. The sun was bright, but not on your side, today.

Lucy slipped into your passenger seat as you buckled a fussy Olive into her car seat. She immediately settled when you handed her one of your old tshirts that was always a Godsend during times like these. Your daughter was subdued to tired whines as you shut the back door and hurried to the driver's side.

"What the fucking hell is going on, darling?" Lucy gave you a bewildered smile as you rested your head against the seat with a sigh. You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, pushing tears away. Lucy should be fumming. She should be in the middle of shouting horrid things at you. But she was reaching out to you. She was still a better friend than you, or most anybody deserved.

"Are you ready for a really long and stupid story?" You raised your brows toward Lucy who was literally on the edge of her seat.

You started with how you met Gwilym at one of your flatmate's wild parties. How you both got to know each other over summer bashes and started hooking up when you were both drunk enough. How you and Gwil gave each other a sober shot. You explained your decision to keep the baby you'd accidentally brought along, and how good Gwilym was to you. How you'd settled into a strange little family who slept in different places but spent every other minute together.

Lucy stopped you every now and again to ask questions and laugh out loud. Because the story was ridiculous. And you laughed too. Somehow Olive fell asleep to the tune of your storytelling, but Lucy was hanging on your every word.

"So you're not even really together then, are you?" Lucy realized, giving you a look.

"Never have been, no." You groaned. "He shouldn't have lied. But it's always been easier to leave all explanations aside. The lines were already blurred. We always sat too close together and held hands in crowded spaces. But we shouldn't have gone on lying." You began, turning further to face Lucy.

"I stooped to his level to save his ass. That's all that really happened. And I'm so sorry for it." You explained. Lucy offered you a sip of the iced coffee she'd brought along and placed in the cupholder between the two of you. You gratefully take a swig.

"So that's why everything exploded then. Because you're not meant to truly be together." Lucy spoke like she'd seen the light. But that wasn't exactly it. You and Gwil already knew there was no chance for the two of you. But you'd been friends and co-parents long enough to function as a pair.

"Gwil and I probably would have kept up lying without a hitch if... well, if it wasn't for Joe." You swallowed your nerves as you shot Lucy a timid smile.

"Oh my God." Lucy gave a hint of a nod as she gaped your way. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. The awkward air between you and Joe must have been noticeable. But to a girl who had become your friend, it was clear as day, now.

Slowly, and with a great deal of caution, you began to explain your scattered feelings. And describing your situation to someone who wasn't involved lifted a weight off your shoulders. It wasn't a heavy secret to carry anymore. But a broken puzzle full of pieces that weren't made to fit together.

"Well, shit." Lucy sighed, once you'd laid everything on the table. Your friend raised a brow and looked to you for one more answer.

"What now?" Just as she asked, you spotted Gwilym walking up to the car, sporting a long face.

"I go home." You glanced toward Lucy. She made a frustrated grumble as she opened the door and hopped onto the solid ground.

"Well keep me updated, please," Lucy asked. "And if you don't come to tell me goodbye tomorrow, I'll be pissed!" The blonde hissed, grabbing her iced coffee, and kissing the air in your direction.

"I love you." You giggled with relief.

Lucy left the passenger door open as Gwilym dragged his feet towards where she left. She stopped Gwil in his tracks with a hand in his shoulder. He seemed to brace himself, and you wondered what the others had said to Gwilym that left him in such a disposition.

Lucy simply brought each of her index fingers to Gwil's cheeks and turned the corners of his mouth up in a foe smile. She gave an approving nod before skipping back inside the studio where no one else had yet to come out.

Gwilym clamored into the passenger seat without a word. The smile Lucy gave him had slowly deflated and he looked to you with a thousand words on his lips that he couldn't yet form.

"Let's have that nice dinner, huh?" You offered softly, starting the engine to the car.

///

"How's things?" You greeted Gwilym in his trailer for the last time, asking one thousand questions in one. He was wearing that silly wig and eyes you might have mistaken for sleepy, if you hadn't known how vapid he'd been feeling the past twenty-four hours.

"Lucy is waiting for you outback. There's a bonfire." Gwilym flashed you a tired smile, taking Olive from your grasp. You realized he was staying put, and that you were only on set to fulfill your promise to Lucy. You nodded toward Gwil in thanks, and hurried out of the trailer, around the back lot to find the blonde girl dancing around a burning fire with a few of the stagehands. They each greeted you warmly, just like always.

And when she saw you, Lucy spun to throw herself in your arms.

"As the lovers collided so did the ocean waves." Lucy pretended to swoon hanging off of you. "Oh, did she heave-ho."

"My dearest darling, what will my heart beat for in your absence?" You smiled, holding Lucy up as she lost her balance in your arms. With a shared giggle, she was on her feet once more, looking you dead in the eye. The time for cheesy romance lines had long gone.

"I know I asked for a goodbye, but I've changed my mind. I want you to promise I'll see you again soon. Honestly." Lucy arched her brows and nodded your way. It wasn't a sweet sentiment. It was a genuine demand to keep your friendship afloat. You'd already RSVPed for her sister's gallery opening, anyhow.

"I promise." You agreed, clinging to her slim shoulders.

"Good. Because you have an event to attend in January." She pulled you into a tight hug, as the other's voices dissipated, leaving the fireside.

When you pulled away from your hug, everyone had slowly tricked away. But someone was approaching the abandoned party, stalling to stand alone. It was Joe.

Lucy noticed your perturbed gaze and gave you a final nod, before skipping away from the bonfire. How silly to let something burn with no one around to enjoy it, you thought, scanning the now-empty space. Joe was in his normal clothes, a tshirt, and jeans. He kept an unreadable gaze on you as he came to a standstill a couple of steps away.

"Where's Olive?" He asked like he was genuinely concerned by her absence.

"With Gwil." You sheepishly noted, daring to look Joe in the eye. You knew he knew everything. You even figured he might have known some things you didn't realize. This was your first exchange since he nearly kissed you. Since you nearly let him. The space between you now was just as cool as it wound up being that night.

"Well, I've got a train to catch." You decided because withering under Joe's frighteningly undecipherable gaze was about to make your chest cave in.

"I guess this is goodbye then, huh Mrs. Lee?" Joe's tone was mixed up, sad, and angry and confused all at once. Your heart plummeted at the sound of the name you asked him never to call you.

"I'm really fucking sorry for lying to you." You spoke up a little louder in an effort to keep your voice from cracking. "You don't deserve to ever be lied to. I wish we met differently, Joe. I'm so fucking sorry." You slowly backed away from the bonfire light and Joe took one step toward you, as if to ask you to wait up.

That's when Ben suddenly appeared, fuming. "Gwil deserved the family you lied about having, you know?"

You jumped a little, surprised by his appearance as he cursed at you. You hadn't heard or seen him coming. He was just there with balled up fists and a windblown wig. And Ben was right. Gwilym deserved the perfect life. The same one you'd always envisioned for yourself. He was a trophy father. And a damn good friend. You weren't.

"Whoa, Ben-" Joe spoke up, stepping a little closer to you, with actual fire reflecting in his glossy gaze. Your hurt feelings were ever so slightly numbed by his protective stance. But Ben was right.

"I know, Ben." You nodded. "I'm so sorry. Don't let my stupid actions affect your relationship with Gwil. He loves you, for real."

Your throat grew tight as you spun in a hurry to leave. The gravel crunched under your feet while you stormed back around the trailers to find Gwilym.

But you'd seen Rami first. He was still dressed as Freddie, and chattering to his assistant in a thick accent, past a fake mustache. You knew that somewhere past all the method acting, that Rami knew about everything that happened in the past 24 hours. Because Lucy knew. She knew everything.

You cast your eyes toward your feet, praying you wouldn't catch Ramis glare if he chose to look at you. Even though you knew he'd never broken his character from Freddie on set, you could feel Rami notice you.

"You're leaving?" The dark-headed man stopped you in your tracks, gently grabbing your shoulders and dropping his accent. The shift in character chilled you to the bone.

"Yeah, I gotta go home." You whisper looking into Rami's starry eyes. You could see he wanted to talk, but you could only pull him into a very tight, very brief hug. And it was then that you realized you were leaving this place. And these people. You tried to hide the tears building up in your eyes as you gave Rami a very weak goodbye and scampered off to the trailer you left Gwilym in.

He was changed back into glasses and a ball cap, packing Olives toys back in her bag. You didn't even realize that you'd let a couple of tears fall until Gwilym glanced up and gave you a look you recognized from days gone by...

"I'm so sorry Y/N." He opened his arms toward you. How was he to know that his castmates were going to become his very best friends? How was he to know you'd fall in love with them all as well? He was only thinking of himself. He was selfish. He hated to see you cry.

"Me too." You rang. Gwil had only panicked. He wasn't perfect. And you did love him. You tried your best to make that work. But it wasn't enough. You'd let him down and he uttered the truth from rock bottom, last minute. All you could do now was fall against Gwil's chest and reign your sniffles in. His heart broke as his hands carded through your hair. He didn't want you to leave like this.

But you did. You had too. Neither of you said very much as Gwilym helped you load up your luggage. Fuller, with gemstone decorated handbag Lucy gifted you the first night you met, and Olives new oversized plush penguin from the aquarium.

Gwilym held your hand on the rainy ride toward the train station. He hugged his daughter goodbye and promised you both he'd be home for Christmas. You clung to Gwilym before your train rolled in. You would miss his comfort in the months to come. Even when he was the one who caused you such trouble, he was the first to try and make it better. And his attempts were usually successful.

You watched him watch you leave, feeling all too much like something bigger than what the two of you shared had broken and shattered with your parting.

Olive usually cried on long rides away from Gwilym. Now, she slept soundly at your side while the roles reversed, tears staining your cheeks before the train was too far from the city.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

taglist: @sonic-volcano @imtheinvisiblequeen @redspecialty @itscale @stardust-killer-queen @joemazzelo @dancetohotspace @kiwi-hardy @joeneslee @borhapqueen92@im-an-adult-ish @johndeaconshands @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye@beepbeephardy @slutforbritdick @joemazzmatazz @almightygwil @sadhwstudent @freakibanana @lelifesaver @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band

#joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello imagine #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine

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storyofmychoices · 4 years

Text

Coordinates

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist]

Characters: Bryce Lahela, Olivia Hadley (OC), Keiki Lahela

Prompt: Memory - @choicesjunechallenge

This takes place after Room Warming. Bryce and Keiki have found a new apartment to move into, but they want a certain pediatrician to move in too. ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Are you nervous?!” Keiki teased, watching her brother continue to fiddle with his outfit, the end result each time, looking exactly the same as before.

His fingers ran through his hair once more. He shook his head, his hair naturally falling to the side as it did the ten times prior. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? If you’re not, I won’t go through with it.”

“I want you to be happy. She makes you happy.” Keiki hugged him quickly. “Just, do me a favor, when you show Olivia the apartment, don’t be all weird and cryptic about it like you did with me. I know you were hoping for mystery and intrigue, but it was weird.”

He rolled his eyes. “I question how I manage my life before you got here.”

She shrugged. “I wonder the same thing!”

Bryce let out a low chuckle as he gazed at his not so little sister. “Even if she says no, thank you for this.”

“She won’t!” She offered with a reassuring smile before shifting her attention back to her phone.

“There are leftovers in the fridge for lunch. I’m only working one shift today, so I shouldn’t be back too late.” Keiki barely looked up from her phone. “Don’t leave the apartment and call the hospital if you need anything.”

“Mmhmm,” she mumbled, laughing at something on her phone that was far more interesting than him.

“Oh, and... feel free to use your excess free time to box stuff up!”

She gave him a curt salute. “Aye, aye.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“Thanks for meeting me.” Bryce handed Olivia her regular coffee order that he had picked up for her.

“I won’t ever turn down sharing a morning cup of coffee with you before work.” Olivia happily sipped her cold brew coffee as they began their walk through the park. It took a few extra minutes this way, but they never minded that, plus it was worth it for the view.

He tried to hold back his smile. He was hoping they could have coffee together every morning and not need to make a special plan to do it. “I took your advice and found a two-bedroom apartment.”

“Bryce! That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you and Keiki. Where is it?” She asked warily, hoping it wasn’t too far away.

“It’s actually in my building. One of the top floor apartments opened up. It’s a little bigger than we need, but I was able to get a good deal on the rent.” His fingers absentmindedly thumbed the small box burning a hole in his pocket.

A sigh of relief slipped out of her lips. With their busy hospital schedules, their limited time was precious. She was grateful he would still be close by. “That’s wonderful! Keiki must be so excited!”

“She’s thrilled, she’s already mapped everything out. After this, I won’t be surprised if she decides to be an interior decorator. She’s been looking things up on Pinterest and making moodboards, or something, for each room,” he shrugged. “It keeps her busy and out of trouble, at least.”

Olivia laughed softly. “I’m sure it will look amazing when she’s done. You could do with a bit more style. When can you move in?”

“Officially? Next week. But my landlord let us start moving boxes yesterday,” he responded.

“This is definitely a cause to celebrate!!! I’m making you both a special dinner in your new apartment to commemorate this event. We can bring what we need and sit on the floor if we have to. I want your first memory in the apartment to be extra special,” she declared. “Any special requests or shall I surprise you?”

He tapped the box once more. Now was as good a time as any. He guided her off to the side. “Actually, just one.”

“Of course, anything!”

Bryce handed her the black box. “I got you something.”

“What’s the occasion?” She questioned curiously, slowly opening it, revealing a small keychain. She brushed her fingers over the words “I will love you forever” underneath which were a set of latitude and longitude directions. “What are the coordinates to?”

“Our first apartment...”

She could hear the uncertainty in his normally confident vibrato. She shook her head, her nose and brows wrinkling in confusion.

“At least I hope it is.” He took a key out of his pocket. “Olivia, will you move in with me?”

“YES!” Olivia carefully wrapped her arms around him, trying not to drop the box nor spill her coffee.

“Really?” He hesitated momentarily before returning her embrace.

“Of course, you idiot!” She nudged him as she pushed him away. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that key would look much better on my new favorite keychain than in your hand. Don’t you think?”

Bryce borrowed the keychain and slipped the key onto it, handing it back to her. “A perfect fit.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself!” Olivia gave it one last look, then, placed it safely in her purse. “Are you sure Keiki is okay with it? I know this is new with her, I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your relationship with her. She’s too important to you.”

“How did I get so lucky?” He questioned, taking her hand in his own, as they continued on their way. “Keiki said the same thing about you!”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Perma tags: @lilyoffandoms ; @raleighcarrera ; @mfackenthal ; @the-soot-sprite ; @virtuallytakenby ; @zeniamiii ; @kaavyaethanramsey; @choicesobsessed; @xjustin-ethansgirliex ; @caseyvalentineramsey; @trappedinfandoms; @anotherbeingsworld ; @obsessed-with-humans

Bryce // Open Heart Tags: @thearianam ; @burnsoslow ; @mvalentine ; @rookie-ramsey ; @missmiimiie; @jamespotterthefirst ; @adrianadmirer

#Bryce Lahela #Bryce Lahela x MC #Open Heart #Open Heart 2 #Keiki Lahela #bryce x keiki #Bryce x Olivia #Olivia Hadley #fan fiction

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Something Left (Part 1 of the series Is There Anything Left of Patton?)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Virgil & Logan, Logan/Patton(?)

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Patton(?)

Summary: Virgil has been living in Logan’s house for 3 months and they get along pretty good. Their abilities seem to balance each other out making them a good team for the apocalyptic world outside their door.

Then he finds the secret in Logan’s basement... He almost wishes that secret was as simple as he first thought it was.

In which I set up a world where Logan is probably crying like 85% of the time.

Notes: Zombie Apocalypse AU, Past major character death(?), Look it’s a zombie AU so you can probably guess why there’s a question mark after everything involving Patton.

Three months. It had been what passed for a normal three months, a good three months even. Especially when compared to the three months before it and even more to the three months before that. Don’t even get him started on the three months before that; those months had been the shittiest months. Those three months had started out with him working at a coffee shop trying to pay rent while look for a better job and ended with him almost dying because he had to jump off a bridge into running water to save himself from a pack of zombies.

These last three months had been good comparatively. This was mostly because he’d been living in Logan’s house for almost the entire time. Logan’s house had actually been his (as far as Virgil could tell) from before. That or he’d bothered to lug cases of old college textbooks with his handwriting scribbled in the margins and boxes of photographs with him in them through the zombie apocalypse.

It was a nice house even now and sat on the outskirts of what used to be a town. Virgil had no idea how he’d managed to hold down the fort during the outbreak or how he’d managed to not get overrun after it. He imagined that the population of the dead in the vicinity of his house was a lot smaller now than it had been at onset, but it was still sizable enough that Virgil had almost gotten eaten while scavenging in a neighboring house. That is how his met Logan.

Virgil had been certain he’d been about to die since he’d just barely been holding back teeth from chomping his face, when a single bullet had gone through the zombie’s head and embedded itself right to the left of Virgil’s own skull. Even just the one gunshot, of course, alerted every mindless carnivore in the area of their location, so they’d scrambled into his house to wait it out.

Virgil had just… not left. He’d never really been invited, but he’d also never been asked to leave so he’d just stayed. He contributed of course. Virgil was pretty good with the little garden out back while Logan seemed to have… whatever the opposite of a green thumb was. He seemed to appreciate Virgil taking it over. Virgil was pretty sure the plants themselves cried in relief.

Despite his lack of skill in the gardening department, Logan was pretty good at things like hunting (managing to only kill the zombie and not also shoot Virgil had not been a lucky shot) and keeping the house structurally sound. They both were okay at scavenging which was much easier with two of them and they worked well together.

Also, Logan was nice to talk to, especially since Virgil had been alone for a long time during the last year. He was a good guy if a bit eccentric. He’d disappear for hours into the maze that was his house and Virgil often found him reading in odd places, but he was chill and smart.

Well.

At least, that’s what Virgil had thought.

“God dammit. You’re one of those people. Fuck.” Virgil said.

“It,” he said standing in his secret, fucking, dead body prison basement, “It isn’t like that.”

“You know, Logan,” Virgil said. “That’s what they all say.” He gestured at the thing in the cage. Even though he knew there was nothing going on in its head, Virgil couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity for it all trussed up like that in the corner, squirming and making horrible sounds behind a gag. “So, what? Huh? Is it someone you think you care about too much to put out of its misery even though it might kill anything it comes into contact with? Are you keeping it for some sort of last-minute defense for your house? Do you do science experiments on it out of some perverted need to know more about them? Tell me, because I’ve honestly run the gambit of crazy assholes in the last year.”

“No,” Logan said. “I…” he sighed. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I don’t understand?” Virgil scoffed. “Why don’t you explain it to me? Why do you have a zombie in the basement of your house. The house I lived in for the past three months without you thinking to tell me about this?”

Logan looked at him for a moment. “Very well.” He grabbed a set of keys on the wall and moved over to the enclosure.

Virgil lunged forward to grab his arm when he moved to put the key in the lock. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Logan didn’t try to pull away from his hold. He just spoke calmly, face neutral. “He is restrained well on the other side of this cell. I will lock the door behind me. You won’t be in danger.”

“You’re fucking nuts,” Virgil spat. “What am I supposed to do. Just stand on the other side of the bars and watch you get ripped to shreds by that thing?”

“I will not get ripped to shreds,” Logan promised. “I’ve been in that cell many times. I know how to deal with him. Please let me explain myself.”

Virgil cursed, but released him. He took a few long steps back while Logan unlocked the cage. His warry eyes went to the creature who was stirring at the noise, but it did seem well restrained. As he had promised, Logan locked the door behind himself.

The thing grew more agitated as Logan approached, straining against its bonds and making sickening noises behind the gag. Logan went to his knees in front of it, a sad smile on his face. “Hello Patton.” Logan reached for the handcuff locks.

“You’re so fucking nuts!” Virgil said, but it did not deter the other man and it was not like Virgil could stop him from the other side of the bars. He didn’t even have the keys if he wanted to enter the cage. When Logan released the thing’s arms, it reached forward, its fingers grazing Logan’s cheeks in a move Virgil recognized. He’d seen people get pulled in with motions like that. Mindless dead fingers grabbed and grabbed, pulling you toward deadly teeth so they could tear you apart. The only thing keeping Logan from being a snack was the gag in the things mouth, but as Virgil watched, he reached up a hand to take that out. From experience, Virgil expected it to lunge directly towards Logan’s neck, but it… but it didn’t.

It continued to reach for him, and the raspy moans got even more haunting without the gag smothering them, but it did not attack. Despite all rational thought, Virgil felt himself draw closer to the bars of the cell to watch. Logan calmly set the gag to the side as though he was not being clawed at by a mindless dead thing and then, he reached up to press the inside of his wrist to the creature’s mouth. “I don’t know why,” Logan said, very much not being bitten. The creature seemed discontented with this new thing covering its mouth and titled its face to get away. “Perhaps it is a different strain of the virus or something went wrong with the turning. Maybe it’s just him. He was a good man in his life. He wouldn’t even let me kill bugs he found in the house. Perhaps there is an echo of that leftover that keeps him from hurting people. Or maybe it’s just me; I wouldn’t risk anyone else to test out if he’d attack another. That’s why I keep him restrained here.”

“I…” Virgil said. “Fuck.”

Logan looked up and Virgil was shocked to see that despite the level tone he’d been using the whole time, there were tears leaking from his eyes. “You can see why I can’t just finish him off though. Even if perhaps I should. I just…” and his voice finally wavered as he gave an aborted sob. The creature reached and reached mindlessly for him, brushing his face again and again with its fingertips. Logan grabbed its hands and held them between his own. “I-I don’t know what you want, dear,” he whispered. The creature wiggled and pulled against the grip. Logan cleared his throat. “Virgil would you perhaps mind sliding me the first aid kit on the table over there?”

Virgil obeyed, grabbing it and sliding it through the bars to him. He took it and opened it with practiced ease. “You’ve hurt yourself again,” Logan said at a volume that made Virgil sure it was not meant for him. “Here, I’ll fix you right up. It’s okay.” There was a minute pause in the sounds it made. A reaction to the words? To the tone of them? Or did it just finally need a breath? Virgil could not be sure. It did not pause in the reaching, and the moaning started full force again right after. Logan rubbed some sort of cream into a mark near the creature’s elbow.

“Does that work?” Virgil asked. Most zombies he’d seen didn’t appear like they ever healed. They were often rotted and limping.

“He’s still living in some sense of the word. He heals if wounds are properly treated and he has enough nutrition. In fact, he seems to heal faster than before.”

Nutrition. “And uh, what do you feed him?”

“Meat. He doesn’t seem to have a preference for cooked or raw. He won’t eat anything else. Well, except for baked potatoes for some reason.”

“Backed potatoes?”

“He won’t eat mashed or fried.”

The creature stopped reaching for Logan in favor of attempted to get at the cream on its skin with its mouth. “No,” Logan scolded. It did not respond. He pushed its head back and picked up bandages to start wrapping the area.

“You know this is crazy, right?” Virgil asked.

“I do, but what do you expect me to do when there is something left of him?”

“I. Fuck,” was Virgil’s response. “Fuck.”

Want to read more? This is now part of a series! Click below for the next part of this story.

Someone You’ll Never Meet

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #adriana writes #zombie au #past major character death #angst #italop

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ethelphantom · 4 years

Text

perhaps the worst of timings and ideas (but I’ll still do it ‘cause I’ll do it with you)

Uh yeah I know this is day late but it’s still the prompt fill for day 22, wedding because well. It was meant to be a drabble but then seemed to decide that no, it wanted to be an actual, almost 3k oneshot. Maybe you’ll survive. The first almost 1,5k are just some people making Jon and Adrien’s life insufferable.

Ao3

______

So, perhaps they should have thought it through before all… this.

Whether that meant Marinette and Damian or Adrien and Jon, well, no one was sure.

If it was Marinette and Damian, then this would be about how much they regretted agreeing to help with the wedding, that they both promised to be the Best Woman and the Best Man of their respective best friends. The stress the organisation caused was endless, and that on top of their hero work and university was a lot to handle.

But, as it is, talking about how stressed someone is is rather boring, so no. Maybe we should talk about why Jon and Adrien regretted ever asking their best friends to do any of this instead. They should have just asked them to attend the wedding and perhaps do a short speech.

Not that they didn’t do the speeches anyway. Marinette simply didn’t make a short one and Damian, well, Jon was wishing he had explicitly told his best friend to just keep his mouth shut. To make matters worse, the two of them were doing the speech together, because how else.

“Dear everyone here, it’s certainly lovely to see you all here celebrating these two dumbasses who only took three years to ask each other out after mutual pining and our suffering. It’s certainly a little surprising that after seven years of telling them they actually like each other and goddamnit Adrien yes Jon is genuinely in love with you alright, now can you please propose to him so we’ll be done with your worries, we’re finally here at their wedding reception,” Marinette had said at the very beginning of their speech, earning groans from the happy just married couple and laughs from most of the audience. That, and a “moan all you want about how unfair this is, Adrien, but she’s right, we did have to suffer for years!” from Chloé, along with affirmative nods from Kagami who sat next to her.

Yeah, the only ones invited there who were from Paris were Chloé, Kagami, Marinette, Luka and Félix. Everyone else had at last announced out loud they weren’t friends a few years back, and neither Marinette or Adrien had looked back. Alya was definitely going to call them once she heard Lois Lane was at the wedding as well, but neither cared. It wasn’t like they were going to even answer to her.

“I’m honoured Jon made the mistake of letting me speak at his and Adrien’s wedding,” was how Damian had started. At that point, Jon had already looked like he was ready to run away from his own wedding, or perhaps it would work better if he just threw Damian out.

Not that either of those actually happened.

“As my lovely girlfriend already said, we indeed had to spend years watching these two dance around each other before they even asked one another out. It took us less time to start dating, and we actually met through them — which reminds me, perhaps I should thank you, Jon. If you hadn’t tried to break through my window and hurt yourself at the process when you wanted to moan about how he brought his ‘cute girlfriend’ with him to the States, I might not have ever met the love of my life you at the time thought was dating her very much platonic best friend.”

Dick started laughing (“so that’s why little D asked us to replace his windows with something unbreakable while muttering something about idiot best friends from under his breath”) and couldn’t stop before Kagami threatened to drag him out by his ear to calm down. It was clear the happy couple wanted the Earth to swallow them alive, preferably right that second.

Then the two ended up giving yet another set of shovel talks to their respective best friends’ husbands, and perhaps the only reason they hadn’t been dragged off the stage and away from the microphones one and half minutes into it was probably the fact neither Jon or Adrien were capable of standing up from their embarrassment and both the Paris Crew and the Batfamily and Conner, Clark and Lois were having too much fun listening to it.

Well. If that wasn’t all, once they got out of the main hall they were using as the dining room, the wedding reception started to look more like a chaos than anything. Nothing bad happened, really, but it was bemusing and a little frustrating, the least to say.

One of the main halls was filled with fake rats, as a very confused Clark tried to explain to his son and son-in-law, and by saying “filled”, he really did mean filled — even Mar’i could only barely fit into the room what with all the stuffed toys in there. Dick was absolutely baffled as he dragged his baby brother (“I’m not your baby brother, you dick”, Jason had yelled as he was being pulled by his collar towards the toom) to help him empty the room.

There were supposed to be filled water glasses in the cafeteria area of the mansion ready to just be taken and drunk. Instead, over half of them were upside down — yet filled with water — along with a computer written note “Have fun cleaning up! Or, try to turn them around without spilling any water. Love you!”

Needless to say, the mess that followed was enormous. Adrien wanted to fling himself off a cliff or maybe a window, but Jon stopped him just in time.

Then there was the area just in front of most of the toilets. Filled with plastic cups full of water, all of them.

Adrien buried his head in his hands, resigning to his fate.

Once they did get to the toilets, some of the soaps were coated in dried clear nail polish. The only reason they figured it out was because Chloé was there and she was able to recognise it without missing a beat.

One of the smaller dining rooms was covered with rather embarrassing pictures of Adrien and Jon. Chloé, Luka, Dick and Tim were all immediately able to find some that they had taken in the past years. It threw Bruce completely off because then who was the culprit?

By then Jon was ready to follow Adrien to jump down from the highest room in the mansion.

Alfred sat them both down, gave them two glasses, a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolate and tissues.

Conner found out some of the caramel apples were replaced by caramel onions.

Neither Adrien or Jon were ever told about it to save them from more chaos.

No one knew who to blame for all of this.

By the time they got back to the main dining hall, two of the biggest tables were covered in post-it notes — and it seemed that all the leftover post-it notes had been attached to the windows lazily once the culprit got bored. Cass took one look at it before she turned around and simply left to breathe some fresh air, dragging Stephanie with her.

Turns out, that was rather impossible since all their jackets were taped to the ceiling — which was rather high up there — and only Kagami and Cass could really get them since everyone else that was a superhero or a vigilante had to play normal nothing-to-see-here to the few non-superheroes in the entire celebration.

And finally, in the very back cold room they found a gorgeous wedding cake — more beautiful and definitely bigger than any of them had ever seen — waiting, which Tim approached with high alert. It was suspicious as it was not supposed to be there, but well. It was a cake. Then again, considering everything else that had happened, it was still far too dangerous to go without being careful. There was a note attached to the wall next to it.

Sorry. Maybe this compensates for all the other stuff. No pranks this time, I swear. Just a delicious cake baked by yours truly. Your favourite flavours. Sorry again. We just needed a getaway plan. Love you, and Adrien, do not try to find us or you’ll find your apartment in less than perfect condition once you visit it again~

You two must be baffled by now, but I have to say I do not find myself too apologetic right now. You’ve caused us enough suffering in the past few years, this is merely a simple payback of equal value, is it not? Have a lovely rest of the evening, Jon. You may want to keep your husband from trying to race to wherever we may be in approximately ten seconds, and it would be preferable if you didn’t try to do so as well.

A beat.

Then, a confused whisper full of suspicion echoed in the dark room, “…where are Marinette and Damian?” It was soon followed by two loud, irritated and frustrated screams of “Marinette! Damian! Get back here!” which could be heard throughout the mansion they rented and the forest surrounding them.

⬷۵⤐

“Thanks Kaalki, here are some sugar cubes for you as thanks,” Marinette said smiling tiredly and yawned. Then her eyes landed on the flowers she had taken with her and she laughed.“I wonder how long it will take them before they realise I stole Adrien’s bouquet before he can throw it over his shoulder.”

Marinette leaned against her boyfriend and let him pick her up to carry her to the bedroom. It had been a stressful and tiring few weeks, and considering it was past midnight in Paris already, she decided that it was completely reasonable for them to go sleep already. Even if they had just spent the past two weeks in Gotham and Metropolis and her internal clock should correspond to theirs instead of Paris’.

They had first gone to The Seine to calm down and to breathe for a while. Damian had searched up the exact coordinates of their wanted location before simply taking the Miraculous from Marinette and transforming himself. There was no way he could have let his far too exhausted girlfriend to handle this — there was a good chance they’d end up in The Seine instead of next to it.

After that, Damian had transformed once more to take them to Adrien’s apartment, and the only reason they ended up in front of the building instead of inside it was because Marinette had insisted she wanted to open the door with the keys Adrien had given her the previous summer. Both could have bet he was regretting doing that more than anything right now, but that was fine.

Damian set her gently to the bed before helping her change into her pajamas so that they could just go to sleep. He had plans for the day that his best friend had almost ruined for him by deciding he wanted to get married the day before, and now that Damian had a chance to go through with his plans anyway, there was no way he was going to let his Angel exhaust herself even more. He needed her awake for the morning.

Once he was sure Marinette had fallen asleep, he took both their phones and simply turned them off, knowing that soon enough they would be blown up with messages and he would rather not have his Father or Drake to hack their phones to turn up the volume again. After all, there was a real chance they would do just that. Harder to do it to a phone that’s just simply off.

⬷۵⤐

“Good morning, habibti. I hope you slept well. I made breakfast, please dress and get to the kitchen,” Damian said, waking her up from her peaceful slumber. He kissed her forehead gently before turning around and leaving to give her some space.

Marinette buried her face to her pillow before smelling the amazing scent that came from the kitchen. Damnit. Now she really couldn’t just continue sleeping. Damn her boyfriend for being a sneaky bastard and making sure she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.

So, Marinette opened one of the luggage, not really caring which one of them owned it, and took the first sweater she could find and pulled it over her head. Then she stood up and walked to the kitchen, following the wonderful scent in favour of ignoring the need to brush her teeth.

“Good morning, mon tresor,” she said, leaning against the door frame and watched her dear boyfriend cook them something to eat. Once he turned around, he simply stopped in his tracks, staring at her. “What is it? Did I dress up in something dirty?”

Damian shook his head and smiled at her. “No, it’s not that. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes,” he replied, taking a few strides across the room to get to her. He swept her up into his arms and squeezed her. “You’re too adorable for your own good,” he told her as blush crept to her cheeks.

When Damian finally returned her back to her feet, she pulled him down by his collar and pressed a kiss on his nose, only then letting him return to whatever it was he had been doing. Marinette rubbed her still sleepy eyes, yawning before she slumped on the chair closest to her. Burying her head to her arms, ready to fall asleep at the table again, she sighed happily as Damian reached out to comb her hair a little. It was nice and comforting. Well, up until he found a tangled area and had to use a little more force to untangle it. Marinette winced and stiffed, only relaxing when Damian kissed her head.

“I apologise, love. I did not mean to cause you pain,” he said, his hands never leaving her hair.

“It’s alright. Just, please, be more careful.”

“I will.”

Damian continued for a short while more before declaring he was done and went to get her a plate full of food. She sighed happily at the delicious smell of it all. Without thinking, Marinette put a forkful of the scrambled eggs in her mouth, only to then realise it was still hot. Damian laughed at her as he went to fetch her a glass of cold water.

As they ate, they talked about the previous day. Marinette wondered why she hadn’t gotten any messages from them — they should have realised she was a part of the scheming, unless they hadn’t found the cake — but then Damian told her it was because he had turned both their phones off. But, perhaps there weren’t that many messages from everyone waiting for them. Hopefully, anyway.

“Isn’t this our third anniversary already?” Marinette suddenly asked. Damian nodded.

“Yes. Isn’t it strange how time flies?”

“Yep, definitely. Especially since it feels like we’ve been together forever. I honestly cannot get over how a few years back I wanted to learn your name and now I’m having breakfast with you in your sweater,” Marinette said chuckling and leaned against her palm. She watched how he stared at her before digging something from his pocket.

Damian walked around to her and cleared his throat. “I understand the sentiment,” he said, playing with a strand of her hair. “Personally, I can not believe how miraculous it is I got the first date and even the first year, let alone these wonderful three years I’ve now had with you.”

Then he dropped on one knee and showed her what he had taken out of his pocket. A beautiful silver ring with a sapphire and a double halo. Marinette gasped and felt tears prickling in her eyes, all of the exhaustion gone from her. “So, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, habibti, my dearest angel, will you do me the honour and stay by my side until death do us part?”

“Yes! A thousand times yes!” she breathed out and launched herself at her boyfriend — fiancé? —, tackling him to the ground as she embraced him.

Damian returned the embrace, squeezing her tight against his chest as she kissed his forehead, hair, eyes, nose, anything she could easily reach.

Her fiancé had a horrible sense of timing, but that was fine with her. So what if they ended up getting engaged the day after their best friends got married? They would live.

A few hours later, they finally turned their phones on to tell their families of their engagement. As they had guessed, they had hundreds of notifications, both worried and frustrated messages. And about three hundred missed calls each. Oops?

If they had hoped telling them of their engagement would have helped them calm down, they were horribly wrong.

The messages that followed that absolutely flooded their phones.

Maybe the akumas could wait a little until Adrien was less done with her, and the villains in the states could wait until Jon was ready to face Damian without wanting to launch him directly at the sun and his family was ready to not start a screaming match about him proposing to her somewhere they could not see it happen.

Perhaps they should stay away from all of them for the next few days… or weeks.

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

__________

@ladysblackcat @daminett4life @tinyterror333 @annabellabrookes @7-sage-7 @theyellowfeverexperience @thethirdwheelfriend @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @kris-pines04 @daminette-december2019 @bluerosette23

#daminette #daminette december #damian x marinette #maridami #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #damian al ghul #fanfic #fanfiction #ml x dc #DC #ml #miraculous ladybug #Ethel's writing

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hadestownmodern · 4 years

Text

Fight (2/?)

Hi! Here’s part two! You can find part one here

-Danielle

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

“This is ridiculous.” Persephone paces back and forth across the empty bar, a force of anger and unruly curls. Junie lay asleep upstairs with Orpheus, who’d asked to take her for the night to keep him company. She’d pictured him doting on her, singing her special bedtime song and tucking her in with a kiss on the cheek and his forehead pressed to hers. She’d felt maddened-distraught that her sweet boy had been dealt the card of a runaway girl who chose to pick fights.

Where she once held absolute belief in Eurydice now lay only distinct anger.

“Seph,”

“What?” She whips around on her heel, stares Hermes down with darkened eyes and crossed arms. “You said yourself that you saw her leave with a bag. I came here and you were watching him try not to cry. Hermes, you have to agree with me here.”

“I’m not doing anything, Persephone.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“You think I like to watch him be so upset? You think I wasn’t worried when he was late today? My eye’s on our boy every day-I can notice a change in his mood faster than I can with myself. But he’s an adult now; he has to learn how to handle these things on his own. If we keep doing things for him, he’ll never learn.”

“What, like pay his rent?” It’s the first time Persephone’s eased up on her facial expression, smirking at Hermes in a teasing sort of way.

“He pays heat and electric. I’m teaching him while letting him live comfortably. What about his full ride to college?”

“I was teaching there long before he decided that’s where he wanted to go. I might have nudged him a little bit but am I ashamed? No. And his wallet isn’t either.”

“Which is why he’s the best choice of parent for this child.” Hades speaks up from his place at the counter, where he’s been exceptionally silent-brooding. Persephone hadn’t seen a look like his since college, when he’d unintentionally been the ‘mysterious, intimidating’ figure on campus. Papers are spread out along the bar top, books and bound stacks of research.

“I thought you weren’t doing any work tonight. We’re talking about our boy, Hades.”

“And I’m trying to help him. Who says she’s not just going to up and run fully? Who says she’s not going to try and take that baby with her? I’m building a solid case for him, and if this continues I’m bringing in a friend from the district. He’s not about to lose this baby.”

“Both of you sit down.” Hermes raises his voice just slightly, enough to get Hades tow swivel in his stool, for Persephone to hop up on the bar, nursing a glass of ice water. “We can’t go assuming things just yet. She’s just a girl. She’s young. And whatever she said to Orpheus…you’ve seen how closed-off she is. Persephone, you know her better than both of us. We don’t even know what she did to Orpheus. Is going after her with every weapon we have really the solution we want to teach him?”

“If it gets him his baby, then yes.” Hades speaks up, gathering his paperwork from the bar and stacking it neatly back into his bag. He rises, shaking his head. “You be the one to tell that boy we have to fight for him to keep the only thing he’s ever wanted.”

“I’m going to talk to him.” Persephone makes a beeline for the stairs, but makes it only a few steps before Hades and Hermes stop her in her tracks.

“Just let him have his time-talk to him in the morning. He’s got your baby sleeping, and I’m sure at this point he’s sleeping too. Let him process things.”

The next day brings Persephone back into her classroom, shuffling papers around and writing the beginnings of discussion points on the board. She doesn’t hear the young girl make her way in, find her seat quietly. She doesn’t even notice Eurydice until she turns around.

Her face is ghostly, distinct dark circles and the slight twinge of nausea twisting her lips. She has her head in her hand, her eyes only rising once to offer a hesitant, silent greeting.

“I’m working.” Persephone bites, and Eurydice lowers her head again.

Class passes painfully slow, Eurydice attempting to focus and answer questions with a hand in the air that never gets called on. It’s unusual-typically there’s a long string of banter between them, discussion based on facts and intellect that the other members of the class witness as an open space of time to relax and take note. After half an hour of attempting to participate, Eurydice lowers her head again. The nausea seems to be worse in her second trimester if possible, and the panic within her isn’t helping the situation. She stays seated dutifully against her own body’s will to get up and wander, to attempt to quell the sickness. She’s sure Persephone knows what happened-has already cut her off with a painless ease. Time moves forward. Eurydice’s notes are scattered, gaps within them indicating the places she’d shut down, unable to focus on anything more than breathing-fighting her lurching stomach-attempting to convince herself that everything will be alright.

“And my office won’t be open other than my designated office hours. That’s all, you can go.” Her words are short and precisely aimed. Eurydice feels their sting as she gathers her bag, ignores the crowd of faces that have clearly picked up on the change in energy.

The extra early morning shift she’d picked up at the diner had brought her just enough of a tip for a sandwich at the coffee shop.

She keeps the crumpled bills in her pocket and sits alone in the common instead, attempting to read through notes for her next class. A folded up square of paper falls into her lap as she flips through her notebook, and she knows what it is before she chooses to unfold it, bracing herself.

Orpheus had written her a song in the coffee shop one morning early on; before the news of a baby, when they’d been more naïve to how quickly they’d become so unintentionally serious. He’d been so shy, scribbling in the music manuscript journal. One hand covered his work-the other brushed occasionally against hers. She’d asked him teasingly to show him her work and he’d refused, blushing, it’s not done yet his most-used phrase until they’d had to go their separate ways.

She’d found the music in her backpack later on, tucked within the deli paper and twine of a sandwich she hadn’t ordered-her favorite that the shop carried. He’d drawn a little heart on the white wrapping, and she’d smiled at the carefully thought out gesture. She’d learned back then that these things were common with Orpheus, yet they never ceased to take her by surprise.

Reading the song again after months of seeing him-after the news of a baby and a ring on her finger-Eurydice swallows back the lump of emotion in her throat. With two more classes left in her day, she packs up her things and walks away from campus.

Eurydice can barely keep herself together as she hops from stop to stop on the subway, suddenly hyperaware of her stature and her youthful face combining with the obvious symptoms of her pregnancy and the fact that she’s very much alone. When she’d executed this trek as an older teen tasting freedom for the first time it had felt exhilarating. Today, there is sadness-humiliation.

She lowers herself down to her bed with shaky arms, the distance from standing to floor level nearly too much for her to handle. Eurydice covers herself with her scratchy sheets and closes her eyes against the world.

---

Orpheus paces. The world around him is quiet, lonely. His thoughts are trained on Eurydice-if she’s eaten, what she’s doing on her own. He hasn’t felt this sense of isolation since Hermes had moved out, taken his things uptown and instructed Orpheus in paying heating and electric, working the little fuse box in the backroom of the bar. This is different; he cooks her favorite meal, forgets to make far less than he had been. He doesn’t need to pack the leftovers, although he’s tempted to leave them with Persephone for her anyway. He talks himself out of it, keeping a Tupperware of extra food in the fridge. A piece of him holds onto the hope that she might come back tonight. The newer bit of himself works to talk himself into reality; she needs time. She needs space.

He wonders if she’s still wearing her ring.

Persephone stops by, Junie in tow, with a box of warm cookies.

“Hades made these,” She nurtures. “He thought you might like them.”

Orpheus is unable to bring himself to sit, even after Persephone asks Junie to find her bin of dolls he keeps in the spare room. Instead he paces, doing the dishes leftover from dinner. Persephone is uncharacteristically quiet. She leans against the counter, feigning a casual mannerism as she watches him. He’s heavier on his feet, more methodical in his labors. Gone is his typical chatter, replaced with the sound of utensils against the metal of the sink.

“Do you want to talk?” Her deep alto is low and sweet, and he turns to her with misty eyes.

“She didn’t come home last night. She’s not coming home tonight.” The thought sinks in as he puts his head in his hands, sinks his tall body down to the couch in finality. “What if she never comes home?”

“Then we fight as hard as we can for your baby.”

“It’s…what? She would never do that to me. Why would you even say that?” He’s so sure of himself-so sure of her-that Persephone feels herself cringe at the sentence. She’d watched him struggle through his shift at the bar just the day before. He doesn’t seem to take that into account. “What I’m worried about…what if she decides she doesn’t want to be with me anymore?”

“If she decides she doesn’t want to be with you anymore than that’s her own loss-it’s her own problem. And I’m telling you that of course we’re going to fight. If it came down to it-and it could come down to it…Orpheus, what happened yesterday?”

He recounts the situation to her as if it were a dream-in a way, he still feels as though none of this is real. He’d been so focused on her feelings in the moment that what she’d been saying hadn’t completely registered until he’d taken the time to replay it. Living the situation over again, he recounts the way Eurydice’s expression had dropped when he’d mentioned Persephone’s offer to take them shopping, the way she’d completely folded in on herself before turning cold, unresponsive. He mentioned the way she looked at all the frilly little dresses with adoration first, and then a passive sort of sadness.

“And then she said something about us not being thirty year olds with a perfect life. She told me she’s sorry I’m stuck with her. And then-it’s my fault, it really is,”

“-it’s not your fault.”

“I asked her if she only said yes to marrying me because of the baby.”

Persephone’s eyes widen, thought flooding with each potential answer Eurydice could have given. By the way Orpheus had been so distraught the day before she immediately goes to the worst answers-wonders what sweet, gentle Orpheus would do with the ring once they got it back for him. She anticipates a long conversation with Hades and Hermes, gets herself set for battle. For a moment, she feels bad for the young, frightened mother that had become so close to them-she wouldn’t be able to win, not against Hades and his airtight logic. However, Eurydice had hurt her son; Orpheus came first.

“And she told you the baby is the only reason.”

“She…she didn’t answer. And then I got upset that she couldn’t just say no. Why would she have to think about that? If she married me for more than just the baby shouldn’t she just be able to say that to me?”

“My sweet boy,”

“I’m tired.” For the first time Persephone can recount, Orpheus brushes off her affection. “You can stay as long as Junie wants to play. Can you just lock the door when you go?”

She watches as he dips into the spare room, brushes a gentle hand along Junie’s hair, kisses her forehead. He waves at Persephone before shutting his bedroom door, and the only sounds in the apartment are Junie’s tiny footsteps.

#hadestown #hadestown fic #hadestown au #hadestownmodern #orpheus #eurydice #orphydice #danielle writes

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rocksandrobots · 4 years

Text

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 10 - Gogo

Disclaimer: So, this story is PG. Basically anything you might see come up in an old 90s sitcom, like Boy Meets World, Fresh Prince, Save by the Bell ect, is liable to show up along with anything that the parent shows cover. Nothing unsuitable for family entertainment, but clearly covering more mature subjects than the original source material, including today’s chapter which discusses alcohol.

Varian was hot. The sun beat down on the back of his neck and sweat began to trickle down his forehead. He couldn't remember experiencing a hotter day. In Corona the temperature wouldn't rise more than a balmy 15 degrees Celsius normally, but today, here in San Fansokyo, it had to be close to 20 or more. His phone said it was 73 degrees Fahrenheit specifically, but he was still getting used to the different measurements Americans typically used. All he knew was that he had worn the lightest clothes he had, a tank top and athletic shorts, and he was still burning up.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere to escape from the oppressive heat. He was standing on the sidewalk next to a stranger's house while Gogo worked on their car. She did repair work on vehicles as a side job. Often exchanging her services for a cheaper price to other students which in turn gave her more flexibility in what jobs she took and when.

Right now she was helping out another student whose car wouldn't start and didn't want to call a tow to take it to a mechanic. Varian had expressed an interest in learning how automobiles worked, so she had agreed to letting him come along and teaching him some basics. However, there was nothing for him to do at the moment. Gogo was under the vehicle on a rolling board and there wasn't enough room for both of them down there. So all Varian could do was standby and watch, which was difficult as he couldn't really see what she was doing from the position she was in now.

Instead he surveyed the street and surrounding buildings. There were the tightly packed three story townhouses behind them and on the other side of the street were clothing shops, apartments, a bank on the far street corner, and a single restaurant that read ‘Maggie’s Pub and Grill’. Varian licked his lips at the thought of drinking something cold and wet to stave off the blistering heat. He dug his hands in his pockets to check if he had any cash. He still had a fiver leftover from the twenty Wasabi had given him two weeks ago at the mall.

“Hey Gogo, I’m going to go get a drink, you want anything?” He loudly asked the girl lying under the car.

“Uhhh, a soda would be nice. Maybe some Mr. Pep.” Gogo yelled back at him, never leaving her position or stopping her work.

“I don’t know if they sell that there, but I’ll ask” and with that he walked away and headed across the street.

“Just knock on the door and ask Ashley if she has any...” Gogo said distractedly, not noticing that Varian was no longer there. After a moment or two without hearing an answer, Gogo suddenly rolled out from underneath the vehicle.

“Wait.” She said to no one in particular as she stared up at the sky and began to put together what had just happened.

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

Varian squinted his eyes as he walked into the dark pub. The establishment was empty save for the barkeep at the other end wiping down the counter. This surprised Varian. In his world a place like this would be packed at this time of day, filled with field workers and sheepherders stopping to take their mid-day break. Practically his whole village would be gathered at the local tavern to eat, drink, and share gossip before going back to work. Varian had figured it would be even more crowded here given the larger city and the heat of day.

He shrugged his shoulders. Oh well, maybe the food here wasn’t all that good. Didn’t matter, all he wanted was a drink. He walked over to the bar.

“Hi, do you sell any, what was it she asked for,” Varian waved hello at the man on the other side and then cupped his chin in thought as he tried to recall what it was Gogo had wanted. “Pep?” He finished.

The large man didn’t answer him back, only to wordlessly reach under the counter and pull out a can of the soda and set it down.

“Oh, yes, that’s it. Also I’ll have your darkest ale, please.”

“I.D.” The man said deadpan.

“Excuse me?” Varian asked, not sure what the man was requesting.

“I need to see your officially licensed identification.” The man explained tiredly, as if he had to recite this often.

“Uh, I have my student I.D. if that’s what you want.” Varian said, confused, as his hand went back into his pocket to dig out his wallet and money.

The big man gave a heavy sigh and pointed to a sign placed in front of the cash register. ‘In Accordance to Federal Law all Patrons must be 21 or older to purchase alcohol and must show valid I.D.’ It read.

“You need a government issued license or passport, kid.” The barkeep said with annoyance, clearly believing Varian was there to try and pull some scam.

Varian, however, could only stare at the sign in bewilderment, still frozen in place with his hand in his pocket. His mouth hung open in astonishment as he tried to process what was going on. The amount of reliance on forms and identification in this world was odd enough but now there were laws against beer? That was practically all anyone drunk in his world. Coffee, tea, and cocoa were expensive and meant as a treat, and the only drinking water to be had were from the community wells, the river being brackish that close to the sea, and you still had to take time to draw the water. Which you didn’t want to do every time you were thirsty. And while this world did have running water, less expensive hot beverages, and that sugary soda in abundance; he still couldn’t figure out why that would be the cause for preventing anyone from buying an ale, let alone people under such an arbitrary age.

“But… but why?” He whined in confusion.

Just then Gogo burst through the door, stormed to up to the front counter, and before Varian could complain to her about this dumb rule, she grabbed him by the ear and proceeded to drag him back outside.

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

It wasn’t until they had made it back across the street did Gogo relinquish her grip on Varian.

“What were you thinking!” She whirled on him angrily.

Varian only stood there and looked at her, still befuddled and ruefully rubbing his ear where she had pinched it.

“You’re only sixteen!” She yelled, as if this was the most obvious explanation for her righteous anger.

“So? You’re only eighteen.” He retorted back. As if she had any right to berate him in such a manner when she was only two years older.

“I’m an adult,” She explained. “But that’s not the point. You’re a child. You don’t need to be drinking or trying to trick bartenders that you’re older.”

“I’m not a child!” Varian responded, properly angry now himself. “What makes you any different?”

“I can hold down a job, pay rent, buy groceries, I can vote.” She began to list off what she thought were requirements for adulthood.

“Sooo can you drink?” Varian interrupted as he pointed back to the bar.

“Well, no.” She admitted, temporarily tripped up by that question. However, the smug look on Varian’s face renewed her annoyance with him. “You can’t even buy a hamburger without someone’s help.”

“Just because I’m new to this world, doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself.” He said, deeply offended by that last remark.

“Oh really, and when’s the last time you had to buy your own food, or clothes, or live on your own?” She asked skeptically.

“I’ve been on my own since I was fourteen!” He snapped.

Then just as suddenly he stiffened with surprise, he hadn’t meant for that to come out. Both he and Gogo stared at each other, herself equally in shock by his revelation. He quickly turned his head away, bit his lower lip, and stuck his hands in his pockets. He just stood there awkwardly unwilling to look her in the eyes.

For Gogo’s part, she felt her heart drop the moment he had said it. What did he mean ‘on his own’? Who’d leave a fourteen year old to fend for themselves? Didn’t he say he had a dad? But before she could ask for some clarity, Varian spoke again.

“Look, I’m sorry,” He said defensively, “I didn’t know about the alcohol rule. It won’t happen again.” He put his hands up in defeat and then walked away from her and the conversion. Making his way back to the car, he picked up a wrench and began to tighten a socket. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing but anything to keep himself busy and to avoid any more uncomfortable arguments.

Gogo watched him with increasing worry. She wanted to know more, to help him, but she could tell from his stance and his behavior that he wasn’t willing to talk about it. She knew all about avoiding feelings and bottling up one’s problems. Not that long ago she had been a moody teenager who shoved people away, too. Heck, she still was a moody teenager that shoved people away. Though she had gotten better since she started college. It was amazing how much difference only two years could make.

Before she had met Tadashi and her other friends, she had been a pretty lonely person. Constantly bullied in grade school and struggling with depression, she was considered the weird emo kid that always sat quietly in the back of the class. However, no matter how bad things had gotten, no matter how many fights she got into at school, nor now many times she cried into her pillow at night, she had always, always had her dad to turn to. Even now she still relied on the man, rushing to him to bare her soul when Tadashi had died, unable to bring herself to talk to anyone else about her recent loss.

Who did Varian have? She wondered. If his father wasn’t there for him, then who did he turn to for help? Why had he even been left alone?

Her thoughts were broken when Varian let out a yelp of pain. He had burned his hand on the hot metal and proceeded to stick his fingers in his mouth to suck on the injured digits, still not looking at her, embarrassed by his clumsiness.

She let out a weary sigh. He was a mess. But so was she, and she didn't know how best to reach him. What would dad do? She thought. Try to get her to open up about a subject that she did enjoy or distract her with a project, she decided.

"Sooo, Wasabi tells me you want to learn how to drive." Gogo said, changing the subject while she slowly made her way over to stand next to him.

"Yeah." Varian agreed quietly, keeping his eyes on the engine, still choosing to not look at her. "But because I just moved here I wouldn't be able to get my license for another six months. I'm not sure I'll still be here by then." And with that he ducked back under the hood.

This didn't sound encouraging to Gogo. If he truly was on his own then what was he going back for? But she knew bringing her doubts up would only push him away further.

"Well, if you are still here in six months, you'll need a car to drive around in." She suggested instead.

This grabbed Varian's attention and he finally stopped to look back at her. "Whatd'ya mean?"

"Well it's just, if you want to still learn how cars work, then perhaps we can build one, together. That way if Wasabi helps you get your license then you'll have your own vehicle to ride in." She continued slowly.

"You… you mean it?" Varian hopefully asked.

"Sure, we can work on it in our free time." She said encouragingly.

"Yeah? Yeah! That... that’d be great. I'd really like that." Varian agreed.

He smiled appreciatively at Gogo and she returned it in kind.

"Of course the first thing you'll need to learn is what socket you need to tighten or not." She gently teased, pointing to the socket he had busied himself with for the past few minutes to no avail.

"Oh, right." He laughed in embarrassment and finally stopped trying to use the wrench.

"Here, let me show you how to check the oil." She said and thus the day passed without further incident, just the two of them laughing and bonding over cars.

#varian #GoGo #tangled the series #BH6 the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tangled #big hero six #bh6 #tts #rta #of rocks and robots

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artsoupsoupart · 4 years

Text

Chrave Fic: A Night In

Title: A Night In

Pairing: Raven and Chelsea

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters or ideas to That’s so Raven or Raven’s Home.

A/N: I have no shame for writing this lol. This not my first fic ever, but my first time writing something in a LONG time. I wanted to have this up on Valentine's Day, but I never make the deadlines I set for myself lol. I've recently started to kinda ship these two bc of some posts i saw on tumblr and this story came from it. Also, I’m lanassupport group on here, but on Ao3 I’m artsoupsoupart.... it’ll probably always be like that.

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822261

It’s not too often that they get nights like this, where the house is quiet, candle light bouncing off the walls, smooth jazz playing on the stereo, utter peace and serenity. The kids, all four, are gone for the weekend on a school trip to Washington D.C., and while there is a certain sadness about their apartment not being filled with the sounds of video games being played or practiced steps for a music video, the two moms can’t help but feel absolutely relaxed and content.

Raven and Chelsea make their way to the kitchen hand in hand, both clad in satin pajamas after an eventful bubble bath. Chelsea’s emerald green teddy pairs well against her fair skin and ember hair while Raven dons a two piece pants set, in a fabulous blush pink and gold pattern.

They sit down at the moveable island in the middle of their kitchen where their dessert is spread out. They had moved the stools from the partition that separates the living room from the kitchen in order to feel a bit closer to each other. Chelsea’s the first the break into a marvelous smile and she nudges Raven with her shoulder. She receives a small chuckle from the other woman and a squeeze of her hand.

“Wow, Rae, I think I could get used to this.”

“Only for you. Though, the kids are definitely going to be back sooner than we expect.”

The redhead grimaces a little, a frown forming on her face. “Yeah!”

“You miss them, don’t you?”

“No, no, no!” Her eyes widen as she fibs. “Psh... we’ve been so relaxed and been able to focus on each other. It’s.... great.”

Raven smirks at her best friend, lips pursing. “But you miss them.”

“Oh God, yes, Rae!” The two break out into a laugh. Chelsea continues. “So.... what have you prepared for me now?”

This was all Raven’s doing, the ambiance, the dinner, the hot bubble bath. It’s been her motivation to show Chelsea how much she truly cares for her. She felt as though, for so long, she didn’t really value Chelsea’s company or even the work that she does around the house. Raven vowed to herself and to any God that may have been listening at the time, that she would never take Chelsea for granted, never wonder when she’d finally not burn a meal, when she’d contribute to the rent, because the redhead delivered so much more.

She delivered love and compassion, a dizziness that only Chelsea Daniels-turned-Grayson could ever produce. It was beautiful. There were moments, whether with the children or not, that Chelsea brought an entirely different view to whatever Raven or the kids were going through.

“Well, we first have a mini-sweet treat.”

The dark-haired beauty brought forth a plate of toasted bread and sweet apple jam. She took a small slice with a scoop on it and held it up to rosy lips. Chelsea took a bite with a soft hum and Raven couldn’t help but follow her lead. The moan was beautiful, almost intoxicating to the point where she needed more.

“That’s delicious! What is it?” she asked. Raven told her, let her know exactly where she brought the bread and jam and the brand name. Her eyes never left Chelsea’s face though. They focused on the way dark eyelashes fluttered, the way her pink tongue poked out to capture the remaining jam on her list. All Raven felt was lust.

“Did you make this bread yourself?”

It’s a beat before she responds, still lost in her own images in her mind. “Mom taught me. It’s a special recipe that doesn’t need a lot of time for the bread to rise”

“Perfect for a late-night snack” Chelsea grins as she sees a smirk pull at the corners of her brunette lover’s mouth. Raven turns to her then she gives her a light but teasing kiss to the lips.

“You didn’t have to go through so much trouble to impress me, you know?” the redhead smiles, millimeters away from another kiss waiting for her on plump lips.

“It was no trouble. Plus, you deserve the best of the best. The finest jam and the most delicious bread.” Raven moves to move the dessert that had been baking from the oven to cool.

Chelsea responded after taking a deep whiff of the scent that surrounded her. “That smells good.”

The brunette looks up from inspecting the pie, dipping her finger in it briefly after it had cooled a bit. “Just about ready. Do you want a taste?”

Chelsea leans over and captures the covered finger between her lips. She hums as she pulls away, making sure to give it a small suck when she reaches the tip.

“Mmm… that’s amazing. What’s your secret?”

“Love?”

“Aw, Rae! Good answer.”

Raven smiles at her as she removes the pie from its pan to cool better on the rack. She takes this moment to pour them both a glass of wine.

“We are surrounded by kids and work 24/7. It’s amazing and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, but it does tend to mean that our moments are shared with others.” Chelsea hums in agreement, her eyes sparkling with affection that is only reserved for the raven-haired beauty in front of her. “I also like doing this for you myself… especially since you do so much.”

“It’s so sweet of you, Rae.”

Chelsea leans over and kisses her. It’s so soft yet holds so much passion behind it. If it weren’t for the dessert before them, Raven would carry her off to their bedroom immediately. Instead she returns the kiss, and another, and another, then licks her lips as she pulls away. Raven moves to plate a piece of pie and a dollop of vanilla. She puts it before her love and hands her a spoon. Chelsea grins wide and does a small happy dance as she scoops up the dessert. She raises it to her lips and takes the bite, gentle brown eyes fluttering close as the taste mixes and mingles on her tongue. She hums softly and Raven simply looks on at her.

“I hope I’m not enjoying this alone,” she smirks.

“Never, just enjoying the view.” Raven returns the smirk, mimicking Chelsea’s earlier words and picks up her spoon.

The duo sits and talks as they polish off their dessert and wine, even sneaking another scoop of ice cream to share. They exchange kisses and spoonfuls of the cold treat. The conversation continues on and on, flirty little jokes being passed between the two. Their dessert is long gone, two glasses, a bowl and two spoons forgotten in the small space between them as they get lost in each other’s lips. The kiss is soft, firm, but just as passionate as any other one they’ve had. It isn’t until Raven pulls away that they realize they’re still in the kitchen.

“We should move this somewhere more comfortable.” Chelsea smiles brightly, lip caught between her lips as she winks.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Raven takes a moment to deposit their empty dishes in the sink, that was tomorrow’s problem, and put away the leftover ice cream so that is doesn’t melt. She rounds back around to her best friend and takes her hand, leading her to their bedroom.

They barely make it, lips locking just as the door opens and they stumble in. Raven kicks it closed with her foot and walks the redhead back to the bed where they fall into a fit of giggles. Hazel eyes meet brown and Raven’s hands find Chelsea’s waist while the other woman’s push a lock of ebony hair behind her ear. They look at each other for a moment, the briefest of seconds before capturing the others lips all over again, this time with a renewed fever.

Raven’s hands make their way under the Chelsea’s night gown, fingertips dipping against unusually warm skin (the woman was usually freezing cold). She gives her waist a light squeeze before grabbing the fabric in her hands and pulling it upward. Chelsea shifts, assisting in getting the pesky clothing off. Her lips reconnect back to her love’s, moving to her chin then down her neck. She focuses on a spot, just above Raven’s collarbone, eliciting a low moan from the brunette. Pink lips smile against skin as she makes her way lower and lower, removing pants to find nothing underneath (a sight that has her gasping), but skipping over where Raven wanted her most.

The brunette whimpers in protest. “Tease,” she breathes out.

Chelsea frowns playfully at that, clicks her tongue and takes a swipe of her girlfriend’s warm center. It elicits the exact response she wants, a slightly loud whisper and a small twitch. She does it again, slower this time, and again, and again until Raven is pent up, hips desperately rolling for more friction. Chelsea tosses her hair over her should and she props herself up on one forearm, sending a dazzling smile up to Raven. She holds up two fingers to brown lips and Raven follows her silent directions, wetting the digits with her mouth.

“Good girl, Rae,” the redhead whispers as she slides slim fingers into her girlfriend, her pace torturously slow.

Raven makes the comment again and her girlfriend throws her a look saying Patience, Rae. She doesn’t make her wait too long as she increases the speed of her fingers, curls them upwards, pressing them at just the right angle. Raven moves with her, her own breathing becoming rapid. She’s on the brink of her orgasm, Chelsea can feel it, has learned her body so well in the past two years. Pink lips attach themselves to a throbbing clit and sucks to the beat of her heart and Raven’s hips roll against her mouth. Moans and gasps and whimpers fill the air. The brunette grabs at the sheets, grunts, pleads, and Chelsea has no problem giving her exactly what she wants. Her body tenses and she gasps, losing control of herself as she releases.

Chelsea lets her ride out her orgasm, smiling and humming as she massages her girlfriend down. She places a lasting kiss to her core before feeling hands pull her upwards. Raven instantly finds her; hands raising to cup her face and smash their lips together. The taste of herself on Chelsea’s lips make her hum hungrily. She turns them so that they’re on their sides, a single hand reaching to stroke down a fair leg to toss over her hip. They’re a tangle of legs and kiss, of arms and caresses. She wedges her hand in the small space between them and feels just how ready Chelsea is, how she always is when she starts them off.

Had they not been in the position they were, Raven would have placed persistent kisses to the redhead’s core. Tangled together, she simply stokes at her girlfriend’s pussy, the wet heat causing her to let out a moan of her own. It’s intoxicating, she’s intoxicating. She moves her hand back and forth back and forth, rubbing, caressing, stroking. She captures Chelsea’s swollen bud between her fingers and circles it gently, adding pressure when she hears the grunt that comes from the woman against her. Her lips take Chelsea’s and she kisses her while moving her own hips in time with her fingers. It is when she dips two then three fingers into her warm center that she gets the loud groan she’s been dying to hear all night. It’s her favorite sound, one that spurs her on, gives her the fever she so desperately desires. Chelsea herself gets her bearings and snakes her hand between the two of them.

“With me,” is all the redhead can grunt out.

Raven had been rocking against her and hadn’t been expecting the joining of her love. She accepted slim fingers willingly, nods her head as she tips the redhead’s chin up to connect her lips to a pulsing pressure point in her neck. The moans coming from the other woman have her wetter than ever. Stroke after stroke after stroke has both women clinging to each other, gasping, whining, moaning, cursing into the air between them as they both tip over the edges of their orgasms.

They bring each other down, their breaths slowing and the lethargy starting to set in. Brown eyes meet hazel in the pale light of the moon. Smiles are exchanged, kisses too, with a side of soft caresses and murmured I love you’s. Hands find themselves around the other woman in stead of between them as they slight chill of the room starts to replace the heat of their lovemaking. They move under the covers and reconnect; final kisses being placed to plumped lips as they drift off to sleep.

When morning comes, the sun beams down on the duo. Chelsea tries to hide from it by burrowing into Raven’s back, having shifted their position during the night. The brunette murmurs they should get up, the kids will be at the school soon, they have to pick them up. All Chelsea does is groans, never a morning person, choosing to stay in bed for five more minutes.

The couple finally gets out of bed and ready for the day. Raven showers first, stating that if they did together, they’d be late. While she’s occupied Chelsea makes the bed, straightens up, cleans up the kitchen from the night before, putting things back in order. She then takes over the restroom, in her own process of getting ready.

They figure they’ll get breakfast with the kids so the forego making it themselves and head out the door to the school. Still high on their weekend alone, they trade kisses until Chelsea notices the large charter bus pull into the parking lot. Raven pops the trunk and the two of them get out to greet their children.

It’s a rush, a rapid change from the calm from the past two days but they smile anyway as Booker already starts recounting the weekend, help the kids put their bags in the trunk. The four of them squish into the back seat and Raven and Chelsea return to their front. They share a look before pulling out of the parking lot and making their way back to the apartment, back to normal.

#raven x chelsea #chelsea daniels #raven baxter #chrave #raven's home #that's so raven #ravens home #thats so raven #fic

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years

Text

No Such Thing

Summary: The reader has been having a hard time after an accident leaves her on her own. But when a man shows up at her door claiming to be her father, her life may start to change...

Pairing: Jared x daughter!reader

Word Count: 8,600ish

Warnings: language, angst, mention of death

A/N: The reader is 18 for this one...

You’d been dreading the knock at the door all week. You knew you were getting evicted finally. It’d been two months already and you were behind. The landlord had been forgiving last month but you knew you wouldn’t be getting just a warning today.

You braced yourself as best you could, sighing when you opened the door. A very tall man that was most definitely not your landlord was standing there, giving you a half smile, half grimace.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said quietly, already glaring at him. He took a step back, giving you a sad tilt of his head, his eyes going up and down. “Get lost creep before I-”

“No. No. I...I’m you dad,” he said quietly.

“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “I don’t have a dad.”

“Is that what Sarah told you?” he said softly. You scowled and slammed the door in his face. There was a soft knock after a moment.

“Get lost!” you shouted through the door. “My dad is dead or a loser. Either way, you aren’t him.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know you existed until about five hours ago,” he said. You leaned your head back against the door.

“Go away before I call the cops,” you said, sliding down the door, resting your chin on your knees.

“I sort of just flew halfway across the country,” he said. “I’m Jared.”

“Fuck off, Jared,” you snapped.

“What’s going on?” you heard the landlord say out in the hall. You stood up and opened the door. “You’re late on rent. Again.”

“I know. I-”

“You got 24 hours to get out,” he said. “I’ll cut you a break on the back rent owed cause you and your mom were good customers but-”

“I get it. Thank you,” you said. He left, Jared on the other side of the hall, biting his bottom lip. “I’m sorry pal but I’m not your kid. You’re barely old enough to be my dad. I’m 18 and you do anything but leave me alone-”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said.

“Me too,” you said, glancing away for a few seconds. “It’s been three months. I did the whole grieving depressed thing. I got shit to do so if you don’t mind-”

“Let me...just call Officer Kensaw. He’s the one that called me this morning,” said Jared. “I’m staying at the Marriott near the airport. Jared Padalecki. When you’re ready, stop by and we’ll go get a bite or something. I’ll be there as long as you need me.”

He turned and walked away as you sighed and pulled your phone out of your pocket.

“Thanks,” you said, glancing at the officer in the hotel lobby.

“It’s not a problem,” he said.

“I meant...why’d you even try to find my dad? As far as I knew, he was dead,” you said.

“It’s my job to help people,” he said.

“We were in a car accident though,” you said.

“I know. I just...I’m only a few years older than you. I...I don’t know if I could have held myself together as well as you,” he said.

“I was supposed to start college this month,” you said. “Now I’m homeless and-”

“We’ll get you someplace. Maybe even with your dad, I promise,” he said. You hummed as you saw the elevator doors open and Jared step out, a bit hesitant as he approached. “Mr. Padalecki.”

“Officer Kensaw,” said Jared, shaking hands with him. “I uh, I’m not really sure what we do from here.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to show up today,” he said. “I think the three of us should sit and we can figure out the best way to handle this situation. There’s a diner not too far.”

You were mostly quiet as you picked at your leftover fries, Jared listening intently to everything Kensaw told him. You were 18. You weren’t a minor. You had a part time job, had for a long time, and were looking for full time. You’d pretty much been on your own since the accident a few months back.

And apparently, Jared was on your birth certificate, even though he never signed it, even though he didn’t even know you existed until that morning.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” you said to yourself. “Mom, why…”

“I don’t know, Y/N. If she had let me know, I would have been there in a second. I would have...I don’t know. I wish I did,” said Jared.

“Did you mean to-” you said, Jared shaking his head.

“No, no,” said Jared. “I remember using protection. There’s always a risk though,” he said.

“Awesome,” you said, dipping a french fry in ketchup.

“Officer, can we have a moment alone?” asked Jared. He nodded and got up, taking his coffee over to the bartop. Jared gave you a nervous smile, wincing a little.

“You got no idea what you’re doing,” you said.

“Not really, no,” he said.

“Well you missed the first 18 years. Don’t really matter if you miss more,” you said with a shrug.

“It matters to me,” he said. You lifted your head, tilting it at him. “Your life doesn’t look like it’s going so hot right now.”

“Nope,” you said, eating another fry.

“I know I’m a stranger-”

“Yup,” you said.

“...There’s always a place for you with me. I live in Texas. It’s a bit warmer than here but you don’t have to grow up so fast,” he said.

“Sorry. I already got the whole, dead mom and college dropout thing going on for me right here so I’ll pass,” you said.

“You go to college?” he asked.

“...I was going to start my first year in a few weeks. I can’t afford it,” you said. “I was supposed to be job hunting tonight and apartment hunting and-”

“I can help you,” he said.

“Dude. Don’t fall completely into the stereotype. I don’t want you to pay for jack shit,” you said. “I appreciate you coming out here or whatever so you don’t feel guilty but I’m done with this little family reunion. I got a life to figure out if you don’t mind.”

“You’re stubborn,” he said. “And hard headed and scared to death. I am not...right now I’m just your father and I get that. Give me the chance to be your dad.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you said.

“I didn’t come here so we could read bedtime stories and play candy lane,” he deadpanned.

“Why did you come?” you said.

“Because I have a daughter. And today’s one of the best days of my life. But you need help and part of being an adult is knowing how to accept it. I was a lot older than you when I learned that. I’m not saying you have to do anything. I’m just offering,” he said.

“Offering what?” you scoffed. “I already said I don’t want your money.”

“What about a family?” he asked.

“I had a family, thanks,” you said.

“Officer Kensaw says you have no other blood family out there besides me,” he said.

“I said had, dumbass,” you said. You glared at him, his face softer than you were expecting. “I’m not your kid. I don’t need you.”

“You are my kid. We don’t-”

“Would you shut-”

“No one wants to be alone, Y/N. No one. And if you are anything like me in that regard, being alone will be the worst thing for you. Why don’t...why don’t you come visit for a few days? We can get to know each other. I’ll pay for it all. If you decide you never want to speak to me again, want me out of your life, I’ll respect it,” he said.

“I will give you three days and not a second more,” you said.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You didn’t have much and thankfully were able to stow everything in your car for the time being. You weren’t thrilled with the idea of travelling with a strange man but the officer had done a background check on him and he was a perfectly normal guy it seemed. Still, he offered to call a few times while you were away to make sure it was going good.

“So...did you tell your wife you had some other kid?” you asked on the drive to his house.

“Yeah. How’d you know I was married?” he asked.

“Wedding ring,” you said, leaning your head against the window. “It’s too hot here.”

“You get used to it,” he said, quiet for a few minutes as he drove. “I have other kids.”

“Forget to wrap it up for those chicks too?” you scoffed.

“They were planned with my wife and they are young. Please watch the language around them,” he said.

“I’m not an idiot,” you grumbled. You didn’t talk for the rest of the drive, your eyes wide when you saw the neighborhood he lived in, jaw dropping when he drove down a driveway. “How rich are you?”

“Just come on,” he said with a sigh. He got your bags before leading you through a garage door and into a house. He set them down, a pitter patter of little feet running on the floor before you saw him bending down and handing out a few hugs. “I missed you guys too.”

There were two boys and a girl, the three of them soon looking up at you. You caught a woman in the kitchen giving you a smile.

“Guys, this is Y/N. She’s going to hang out here for a few days with us,” he said.

“Hi,” said the tallest and oldest looking one. “I’m Tom.”

“I’m Shep!” said the other boy, a little smile on his face. The littlest one gave you a smile and hugged your leg. “That’s Odette. She doesn’t talk a lot yet.”

“Hi,” you said, giving her a smile before she peeled off, off to do something else it seemed. The boys stayed put though, your gaze going to Jared. “So…”

“Guys, why don’t you go play with Odette in the family room?” he asked. They looked at one another before they wandered through the kitchen, a few sounds of playing reaching the kitchen area. “Y/N, this is my wife, Gen.”

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” you said back, giving her a nod, looking over your shoulder at Jared. “You got two and a half days left. I’d get on it if I were you.”

There was tension all day long and it wasn’t until the kids were in bed that you saw Jared’s cheery facade start to crack.

“Can I ask why you aren’t excited to find out you have family?” asked Jared, sitting on one end of the long couch.

“Because you might have made me but that doesn’t automatically make you my family,” you said. He paused but nodded, leaning his head against the couch cushion. “Obviously this isn’t working. Why don’t I just get a flight back home tomorrow, okay?”

“So you can get back to your shitty life even faster?” he said.

“I do not have a-”

“Yes, you do,” he said.

You stared him down, Jared giving it right back until you heard Gen come in and clear her throat.

“She’s as stubborn as you, Jare,” she said. “You’re both tired. Go to bed, you can spend the day tomorrow getting to know each other.”

“Sure,” he said, giving you a smile, waving you up the stairs. You veered off down a hall to their guest room, sighing when you shut the door. A quiet knock came five minutes later, Gen standing there when you pulled it open.

“Hi,” you said. She stared at you a moment, giving you a nod. “What?”

“This is a bigger shock than you may realize, to all of us. I think you should remember that his first instinct when he found out he had a daughter was try to help you,” she said.

“Alright,” you said, giving her a shrug.

“He loves you,” she said.

“He doesn’t know a thing about me,” you said.

“He still loves you. If you decide you want to be part of this family, all of us will love you too,” she said.

“Thanks but I already had a mom and she’s dead so goodnight,” you said. She turned and left you, your hands already shutting the door the second she was out.

You changed and crawled into the bed with a sigh, pulling the covers up tight. You didn’t want to think about anything, just get some sleep and forget the rest for now.

“Good morning,” said Jared, finding you sat at the kitchen table with a glass of water. “Did you get yourself something to eat yet?”

“No,” you said.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he said, tapping his finger on the countertop. “Can we at least try to talk to one another today?”

“We’re talking right now,” you said.

“Let’s go outside, sit on the back porch,” he said. You sighed as you followed him outside, taking a seat on some nice patio chair, Jared sitting down next to you. “It’s not so hot out this early in the day.”

“Yeah,” you said.

“You an early riser?” he asked.

“No. Just don’t sleep much lately,” you said.

“Promise me something, please,” he said. He turned his body closer, watching you for a few seconds. “If you decide to leave, know you can always come back. It could be a week, it could be ten years. There’s always a place for you here.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty,” you said, Jared blinking at you. “Neither one of us knew. I’m not blaming you for missing my childhood or anything. So don’t.”

“Alright,” he said. It was quiet outside, Jared pursing his lips after a minute. “I’m sorry I said you had a shitty life last night.”

“It’s the truth,” you said, rubbing your hand against your head, gazing out at the yard.

“Can I ask you what’s back there you want to go back to?” he asked.

“Besides a car full of stuff, nothing,” you said.

“Then-”

“You can’t buy me off, Jared. My mom worked hard for everything we had. The second I was old enough to start working to help, I did. Nothing is free, nothing. I’d rather not owe you so sorry but-”

“Owe me what?” he said.

“Money or...I just don’t…” you said, Jared looking to his lap. “Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Why are you so against this?” he said.

“People like you don’t just exist. You want this to help your career or something? I’m not buying it,” you said. He scrunched up his face and shook his head.

“I’m on a break and I don’t care about that stuff. I’m your dad. I want to try and be your dad. That’s all I want,” he said.

“I’m sorry but I don’t want a dad,” you said. He nodded, staring down at his lap. “I think I should go.”

“Maybe this was too fast. I...maybe we can talk on the phone, ease into it more?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. “If I decide I want to talk, I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“Alright,” you said as you got up. “I’m going to go pack up.”

“I can drive you to the airport then I guess,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said.

“Yeah. No problem.”

You sighed when you were back home. Jared had refused to let you leave without giving you some money. A pile of money sitting in the bottom of your backpack in the back footwell of your car. You were stretched out as comfortably as you could be in the backseat, a blanket pulled over top of you as you sighed.

You’d gone from your well off father’s million dollar home the night before to the backseat of your used car, parked in an alley.

“He felt guilty,” you mumbled to yourself, shifting to your other side. You sat up and beat your pillow again, laying down with a huff. The car was cool and a buckle was digging into your back. You grumbled again and rolled over, jumping straight up when something knocked on the window. A flashlight stared you in the face, moving away just so when you caught site of Officer Kensaw.

You pushed open the door, Kensaw sighing when you pulled on your shoes and stepped outside.

“What are you doing back here?” he asked. “I thought you moved down to your dad’s.”

“It didn’t work out,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “What, you keeping tabs on me or something?”

“You’re in a no parking zone,” he said, moving his flashlight over to one of the walls. “He an asshole or something?”

“No,” you said, rubbing your bare arms. “It’s cold out. Can I go back to sleep?”

“In that car, no,” he said. You rolled your eyes and he threw his head back. “Y/N. I am not letting you sleep in an alley. Come on.”

“I am not going to a shelter or a home or...I will be just fine,” you said.

“Clearly,” he said.

“Don’t pity me,” you snapped.

“I am not the bad guy,” he said. You took a deep breath and nodded, Kensaw rubbing his temple with his free hand. “I got a real bed and someplace safe for you to stay if you want.”

“I’ll move my car, park somewhere else,” you said.

“I wasn’t asking, kid,” he said.

“Said the kid,” you said. “You’re barely old enough to drink.”

“Shut up. Get in your car and follow me. I wasn’t asking.”

You grumbled when you parked behind a police car in a driveway, exiting to Kensaw getting out of his own car.

“You live here?” you asked.

“Since I was born. Come on. You can crash in the guest room,” he said. You shook your head, his eyes squeezing shut. “It’s after midnight. I’m off duty. Just get in the house.”

“I don’t need help, Kensaw,” you said.

“Officer Kensaw,” he said.

“You’re off duty,” you said.

“Fine. I’m regular Owen right now and right now, get inside,” he said.

“No,” you said.

“Why are you so averse to people helping you,” he said. “And why the hell did you come back here? Your dad is a good guy from what I looked up. He really seemed to want a relationship with you.”

“I don’t need him to feel sorry for me or you,” you said.

“I’m a cop. My job it to protect people and sorry but leaving an 18 year old girl to sleep in a sketchy alley by herself didn’t scream safe to me,” he said. “I should drop you off someplace or take you in honestly.”

“Then why don’t you,” you shot back. “You don’t even know who I am. Why would you even let me in your house?”

“Tomorrow you’re going back to Texas,” he said. “You’re moving there, back with your family, or I will start filing paperwork to get you placed somewhere. I don’t care if you’re 18. You’re not capable of taking care of yourself right now. Understand?”

“Good luck with that,” you said, getting back in your car and driving off.

You grumbled when you saw Kensaw show up at your work. You kept your head down as you scanned his items, putting them in a bag.

“Twenty three seventy four,” you said quietly.

“You’re off of work in ten minutes. I want to talk,” he said. You sighed as he paid, his cruiser parked out front with him leaning against it when you exited work. “So what are we going to do?”

“Leave me alone, Owen,” you said.

“I knew your mom, Y/N,” he said when you started to walk away. You spun around, Owen nodding. “Ms. Y/L/N. She was my third grade teacher.”

“She was lots of people’s third grade teacher’s,” you said.

“She didn’t want this for you, Y/N, I can guarantee that,” he said. “Your dad...he’s a fresh start.”

“He can’t buy my love,” you said.

“I don’t think this guy gives a rat’s ass about money. When I contacted him, he immediately asked if you were okay, all these questions about you. This guy already loves you. He can help you,” he said.

“I can do it alone,” you said.

“I’m sure you can,” said Owen, giving you a nod. “But you don’t have to.”

“...I’ll go if you leave me alone,” you said.

“Good,” said Owen. “Good.”

Two Days Later

“Hi,” said Jared, picking you up from the airport. You nodded and climbed in the passenger seat of his truck, setting your bag down by your feet. “We got all your stuff at the house already. Shipped in this morning.”

“All three whopping boxes,” you said, closing your eyes. You’d sold your car. It wasn’t worth much but it gave you a little extra money in your pocket. “I’m not exactly here because I want to be. As soon as I’m able to, I’m gone.”

“I can understand that,” he said, forcing a smile on his face. “Do you want to head home or did you want to stop somewhere first?”

“Your house is fine.”

“Y/N, dinner!” you heard shouted from downstairs. You pushed aside your computer from where you’d been filling out job applications all day.

Downstairs the kids were seated and a plate was set for you, some kind of chicken dish on top of it. You kept quiet as they talked about their day, plans for the next, who was taking who to school and daycare.

Jared didn’t say anything when you excused yourself after your meal and retreated back to your room. It was starting to get later when there was a knock at the door and Gen came in, setting a packet down on the small desk in there.

“That’s some information on the local colleges and universities around here,” she said. “I have a friend who works at one of the universities, said as long as you meet the qualifications, you might be able to transfer in before the semester starts up.”

“Thank you but I don’t think I’ll be going to school,” you said. “I’ve been job hunting all day.”

“Oh. Did you change your mind on school?” she asked, almost sitting down on the end of the bed but pausing when she looked at you.

“It’s a lot of money and would have been a waste of a degree. Maybe someday when I have my feet under me,” you said.

“What were you going to go to school for?” she asked. “If that’s okay.”

“Education. I thought of being a teacher, like my mom,” you said, pasting your resume into another job application.

“Oh. It must run in the family,” she said. You raised an eyebrow. “Jared’s mom was a teacher. Jared’s entertained the idea of trying it since he’s between jobs right now but I keep trying to convince him to write a book. I think he’s going to give that a shot.”

“That’s nice,” you said.

“So you don’t want to be a teacher anymore?” she asked.

“Nope. Should probably get a business degree or something in a few years,” you said. She sat down at that. “People change their minds all the time.”

“Why’d you change yours?” she asked.

“Teachers make barely enough to get by. I’m not living the rest of my life that way,” you said.

“Well, I think you should still end up doing something you enjoy. Take a look at the colleges around here. There might be one that sparks your interest,” she said.

“Sure,” you said as she stood up.

“Y/N,” she said. “I am very sorry about your mom.”

“Me too,” you said.

“Talk to Jared some tomorrow. Please. It’d mean the world to him if you just said hello at breakfast,” she said.

“Alright. Goodnight.”

The house was quiet when you got up. It took you a moment to realize the kids must have been gone already for the day. You thought maybe you’d do some job searching on the back patio since it wasn’t obnoxiously warm yet. Jared wasn’t downstairs when you got there but with how still everything was, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you were the only one there.

After making yourself a cup of coffee, you slipped outside and settled in on the patio, finding a nice shady spot. You hummed as you got your computer up and open. It was quite beautiful there, their house privately tucked away in suburbia. You couldn’t imagine living in a place like that all the time.

“Hey,” said a voice you didn’t recognize. You looked right and saw a guy in a baseball cap step onto the patio from around the corner of the house. You swallowed, the guy pausing and giving you a nod. “I’m Jensen, a friend of your dad’s. I’m helping him move some stuff in the garage this morning. He around?”

“I don’t know. Actually yeah, he is,” you said. He smiled and looked around.

“Alright. I’m making you uncomfortable so I’m going to leave. You see your dad around, tell him to text me and I’ll swing back,” he said. He nodded his head and you caught his hat before he spun around.

“Hey. Where’d you get that hat?” you asked.

“Why? You want one? I only got a gajillion,” he said with a laugh. “Come on.”

He walked away and you cautiously followed him around and to the driveway, the guy climbing in a back seat and coming back with another hat, this one all black.

“Keep it,” he said, tossing it over to you. “I give ‘em away to friends and family all the time.”

“Why do…” you trailed off.

“Cause this is my brewery, silly,” he said.

“Really? I just applied for a job there last night,” you said.

“I see,” he said. “How old are you and I know the answer by the way.”

“It’s like the best paying job though without a degree and-“

“And you’re not 21. Can’t do it, kid. Sorry,” he said. “But I might be able to convince the powers at be to not put up that other posting. We need someone help to run social media and organize events on the weekends. You interested?”

“Depends on what it pays,” you said.

“Same as the other gig plus five percent. You want it?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, for sure,” you said.

“Cool. When he gets back, have him give me a call and we’ll get you signed up to start working next week if you want,” he said.

“Great, uh…” you trailed off.

“Jensen,” he said with a smile. “You’ll be seeing me a lot. Oh and, I don’t know a ton about your situation, not my place and all until we get to know each other a bit better, but Jared’s a good guy. If he’d known, he would have been there for you. I guarantee it.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” you said. “I’ll let him know you came by.”

“See you around, Y/N,” he said, giving you a wave as he slipped into his truck. He was gone down the driveway like that and you went back to the patio, wondering how best to kill some time now that you apparently had landed a decent job.

“Hey,” you heard when you were halfway through your coffee, busy wandering around the backyard. You spun around and saw Jared standing there, covered in sweat. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you said, wrinkling up your nose. “You kind of smell.”

“Sorry, run went longer than expected. You didn’t see a guy hanging around the house at all did you?”

“Jensen. Yeah, I met him. He gave me a job at his brewery,” you said. Jared lit up, a big smile on his face.

“That’s awesome! I’m sure he’ll be super flexible with whatever your fall semester ends up looking like too,” he said.

“I’m not going to school,” you said. He nodded, looking around.

“Probably a good idea. It starts up in a week or so. We’ll get you in for the spring semester. It’ll give you time to settle in, get used to Austin,” he said.

“I don’t want to go school,” you said. He started to gnaw on his bottom lip, giving you a slow nod.

“I think you should think about it more. If you decide in a few months you don’t want to then that’s okay too. I know you quit because of everything that happened with your mom but I’m guessing she was proud of you and excited for you to go,” he said.

“I’ll think about it,” you said. He smiled, rocking back on his feet for a moment before he turned around. “Jensen said to call him?”

“Alright, thanks,” he said. You sighed when he jogged back up to the house to get cleaned up.

“Why am I out here?” you grumbled, Jared and Jensen moving some boxes around in his garage.

“What else do you have to do?” asked Jensen, grabbing his hat from earlier you’d left out there, pulling it down on your head. “Come on. Show your new employer some work ethic.”

“We’re just packing up a few things to donate,” said Jared, carrying a box out and setting it in the trunk of his SUV.

“Like…”

“Baby toys, clothes the kids never wore. Stuff that’s better used elsewhere,” he said.

“We’ll go on, grab a box,” teased Jensen. You rolled your eyes behind his back when you picked one up. Something sharp dug into the back of your hand and you dropped it, backing away fast as they both spun around. You saw something long start to slither away from the back of the box and out onto the driveway, your eyes wide. “Just a garden snake. I think you pissed it off though.”

“Garden snake!” you said. Jared shook his head and walked over, holding up your hand.

“Non venomous. Probably hurts and will be a little sore but you’re fine,” he said. “Garden snakes are normally very gentle. I think you just scared it is all.”

“Yeah, well it’s still an asshole,” you said. Jensen chuckled and grabbed the box for you, Jared going inside and coming back with some ointment and a bandage.

“Let’s just be glad it wasn’t one of the bad ones,” he said.

“Bad ones?” you asked.

“Rattlers, water moccasins...scorpions...spi-“ said Jensen before you didn’t want to hear the rest.

“I got the picture, Jensen, thank you,” you said, shaking yourself out.

“General rule is to look in dark places first. There’s special first aid in the kitchen, top leftmost cabinet if you or anyone else ever needs it,” said Jared.

“God, why did I move here,” you mumbled.

“Hey, Jared, you take the kiddo out to Torchy's yet?” asked Jensen.

“To what?” you asked.

“You like tacos kid? You’ll love it.”

“How’s your lunch?” asked Jared as you sat on a bench in the park, right in the middle of the city.

“Good,” you nodded, taking a bite while Jensen ordered his food. “Is Jensen your neighbor or something?”

“You didn’t look up much about me, did you,” said Jared softly. You shook your head, a smirk crossing his face. “Well, yes, Jensen is our neighbor, just a few streets away. I’ll show you on the way home. He and I used to make a show together. Like for fifteen years. He’s one of my best friends, like another brother to me. We’re pretty close.”

“Oh,” you said.

“Family’s important to me, Y/N,” he said. “I know you don’t...I know you’re not here because you want to be. Officer Kensaw told me the ultimatum he gave you and I know you’re looking to get out of the house and away from us as fast as possible. Just let me have one chance though. Please.”

“Why do you want me to be your kid so bad?” you asked.

“Hey,” said Jensen, frowning at you as he sat down next to Jared. “Cut him some slack. He’s your dad, that’s why.”

“Jensen,” said Jared. Jensen held up his hands, eating silently. He got up to toss out his trash and you did the same, hoping you could go home soon.

“Hey,” he said, stopping you in the way back. “I get that you’re going through something right now but don’t forget, so is he. He’s not expecting you to be bubbly and excited but you will treat him with some respect and kindness, got it?”

“You got no idea how hard life can be,” you said.

“Don’t assume things about people,” he said. “I know him. He’s scared shitless on what to say so I’ll say it for him. Knock it off. You’re 18. You’re an adult. Act like one,” he said.

“You’re right. I am an adult and there is absolutely nothing keeping me here now,” you said.

“Oh, stop with the front. Just stop, kid,” he said. You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes.

“Forget what I said earlier. I don’t want to work for you,” you said.

“It’s your choice if you want to or not but answer one question first. If your mom saw you right now, right now in this park, the way you act towards him and me and everybody else, what do you think she would think of you?” he asked.

“You didn’t know my mom,” you gritted out.

“No. But I know when a Padalecki isn’t dealing properly. Jared is scared of saying the wrong thing, frankly I’m scared for you. Life and your family isn’t who you share blood with. He’s not even related to me and he’s my brother so by default I’m your Uncle and-“

“What’s your point?” you shot back.

“He loves you. Give him the chance to show it,” he said. You stared him down, eventually sighing. “Good. I still expect to see you ten am sharp on Monday at work.”

“Lovely,” you mumbled. He headed back ahead of you, talking briefly to Jared before he took off towards his truck parked down the block.

“Things looked a little heated over there,” said Jared when you returned.

“It’s whatever,” you said. “Can we leave now?”

“Is there anything you’d like to do?” he asked.

“Actually, yeah.”

“You want to buy that car? It’s falling apart,” said Jared.

“It’s what I can afford and I’m getting it,” you said.

“If you need a car, you can always use one of ours,” he said.

“I want my own,” you said.

“Well let me go half on it with you, get you something built this century at least,” he said. You rolled your eyes but had a feeling you weren’t getting out of there with a car unless you did what he said.

Two hours later, you had a slightly beat up old outback in the driveway at home.

And Gen was not happy about it if the sounds coming from the kitchen were anything to go by.

“Is that thing even safe? Why didn’t you get her something newer?”

“She barely let me do it as it was,” he said as you listened in from the top of the stairs. “We’ll get something better for her soon. She’s still…”

“Jare, she likes you,” she said.

“Pretty sure that’s a hard no. Pretty sure she bought the car so she can run off soon too,” he said.

“It’s a lot of change at once. She really should have a better car though,” she said.

“It’s got a few dents but no accidents. It’ll do for now. Just...by easy. I don’t want to scare her. She already doesn’t like Jensen. I don’t need her to not like you too,” he said.

“I’m sure she likes him. He just gets protective of you,” she said.

“Do you want to go out to eat tonight? Maybe that’ll help spark a conversation?” he asked.

“Sure, baby. That sounds great.”

“Did you enjoy dinner?” asked Jared when you got home that night. You hummed and headed upstairs, one of the boys stopping in front of you.

“Do you want to play before bed?” he asked.

“Um...sure,” you said. He lit up and grabbed your hand, tugging you to a part of the house you hadn’t been in yet, a playroom for the kids set up. You played some kind of made up game that he and his brother seemed to understand perfectly, Gen eventually coming in and sending them off to bed.

“Thanks for coming to dinner tonight,” said Jared, giving you a forced smile when you headed upstairs.

“Thank you for it,” you said, giving him a nod. You didn’t change for bed though. This wasn’t working. He was getting more and more uncomfortable and all you wanted was to be left alone.

You jotted down a note, promising to pay back the other half of the car when you could, and left it on the bed in the guest room. You waited until after midnight to slip outside. You didn’t want this and you were tired of everyone trying to force you into it.

He wasn’t your family and you weren’t his.

You drove about half an hour out of town, finding a park to stay in for the night. The new car was way more comfortable for sleeping in at least.

You woke up early and stretched out, your phone not going off probably a sign they hadn’t seen the note. You ended up going for a walk, finding a bridge over a small stream a little ways in. You hopped up on the railing, everything so quiet.

“Well hey stranger,” you heard. You whipped your head around, a sweaty Jensen in a tee and shorts coming to a stop at the bridge. “You an early riser? Only time I can get a run in without melting to death.”

“Uh, couldn’t sleep last night,” you said. “Why are you here?”

“The brewery is a few minutes away. Sometimes I wake up early, do some work and a run before the kids get up,” he said, looking you up and down. “You on a walk or something?”

“Yeah. Just want some quiet,” you said.

“I get that,” he said. “I’m a quiet guy myself.”

“You literally don’t shut up, ever,” you said.

“Well that must mean I feel comfortable around you,” he chuckled, leaning over the railing. He gave you a half-smile, blinking a few times. “You’re 18. You’re a legal adult. If you want to run away, run towards something else, okay. I’ll respect that. Don’t run away because you’re afraid of getting hurt again. Life is weird. It is. But think of that police officer who found Jared for you, in his own free time. Think what your mom wanted for you. I got this feeling you were this great kid, nice kid, probably a little sarcastic but a good kid that family meant the world to her. It still can.”

“I’m…” you said, pursing your lips.

“Y/N. Go home to your father and your family. Your mom is not being replaced. I promise,” he said. “It’s never too late to change things.”

“I’m used to being on my own,” you said. “I don’t want to get attached. I just want to go.”

“I want you to stay, and be brave and strong. Do it for your mom at the very least. Talk to Jared. Learn about him, who he is. Please,” he said.

You stared at him for what felt like five minutes, Jensen’s face blank as he let you.

“Okay,” you said with a small nod. “Okay.”

“Go home kid before they realize you snuck out. Come home with some coffee and muffins or something, say you got up early to grab some,” he said.

“You’re really not going to tell them?” you asked.

“Tell them what? You got up early, went for a walk, got some breakfast food on the way home?” he asked, offering you a big smile.

“Do you know why Jared’s so quiet around me?” you asked.

“I think he feels incredibly happy right now but there’s a lot of guilt bubbling up in him,” he said. “Go talk to him. Ease some of that for him.”

“Okay,” you said, climbing back on the bridge. “I didn’t use to be so…”

“No hard feelings, Y/N. We’re good. Go on home now.”

You were glad you followed Jensen’s advice and came home with some coffee as Jared was already up with the kids.

“Good morning,” you said, setting the bag down on the kitchen counter, Jared giving you a friendly smile. “I brought home muffins.”

“Oh. That was very thoughtful of you,” he said. You hummed and skirted upstairs, finding the note untouched.

You quickly grabbed it and ripped it up, tossing it in the trash. You bumped into Gen in the hall, getting a smile as she popped in the room and started to tear off the sheets.

“Sleep okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. I can do my own laundry if you show me the washer. I don’t mind,” you said.

“Eh, I got to do all the sheets today anyways but I’ll show you. Feel free to do your stuff anytime,” she said. You hummed and followed her down the hall and another, finding the kids rooms on that side of the house and a nice laundry room tucked away. “You got anything you want me to toss in with your stuff?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll do it later,” you said. You went back downstairs, Jared covered in a bit of applesauce, Odette wearing more on her face.

“Y/N,” asked Tom. You glanced over to the kitchen table, giving him a smile where he munched on some toast. “Do you go to school?”

“Not right now no. But I think I’m going to try to go to college somewhere around here in a few months,” you said.

“Cool. Are you my sister?” he asked. Somehow that was the first time it crossed your mind that you were actually related to the kids. You had siblings.

“Uh, yeah. I am. Half-sister but yeah,” you said. “Jared’s my dad too.”

“That’s a funny thing to call him,” he said.

“Tom,” said Jared, definitely a dad voice if you ever heard one.

“It’s alright,” you said. Tom dropped it though and went back to eating, Jared back to helping Odette.

Fifteen minutes later the kids were out the door with Gen, Jared looking like he was about to make himself scarce.

“Hey, Jared. Um,” you said, stopping him in his tracks. “I was thinking of checking out a few of those colleges around here today if you’re not busy...you could come.”

“Okay,” he said, a big smile on his face. “Sure thing. I’ll drive.”

“I think I liked UT the best,” you said. “They had a lot of options for majors.”

“It’s a good school,” he said on the drive home that afternoon. “Y/N. Can we talk? About the letter?”

You felt your heart skip a beat and you were pretty sure Jared saw it. He pulled over near a park, giving you a soft smile when you got the courage to look at him.

“I know I’m not dad material yet, to you at least. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. I’m not sure why you came back but I’m glad you did,” he said.

“I talked to someone this morning,” you said. “They made me admit to myself what I was doing, what I’ve been doing the past few months. This isn’t who I am and I can’t imagine what you or your family thinks of me.”

“What have you been doing?” he asked gently.

“Pretending I’m okay,” you said with a shrug. “I knew I could get back on my feet in a little while once I got a better job and maybe some roommates or whatever. But I feel...I don’t know how to describe it even. Bad’s not the right word for it.”

“Can I try to help you feel better?” he asked.

“How?” you asked.

“Trust me.”

Three Months Later

“Hey, slacker,” said Jensen, popping his head in the back. He glanced at his watch, giving you a head tilt. “What are you still doing here? Your shift ended over an hour ago.”

“Trying to figure why some idiot planned out inventory this way. It’s a waste of time and money,” you said.

“I planned out the inventory,” he said. You bit your bottom lip, Jensen shaking his head. “Just messing with you. How bad is it?”

“You order in new material third week of the month right? You’d save money doing it the fourth. End of the month, it goes on sale, every single time,” you said.

“Huh. If you weren’t going to school in January I’d hire you full time right now,” he said. “Nobody here caught that.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, looking back at the computer.

“I appreciate the hard work but there’s like nobody else here and can you go home so I can go home? Please? Don’t you have father daughter time tonight anyways?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said as you stood up. “I’m going, I’m going. I got my schedule finalized for the semester so I should be able to sit down next week and rework it with you.”

“Hey, whatever you’re good with we’ll make work,” he said. “Now shoo.”

“Hey Jared,” you said, meeting him in the city a short while later.

“How was work?” he asked.

“Good. Is it okay if we ditch the movie tonight and go hangout instead?” you asked.

“Sure. Want to grab a bite?” he asked.

“I was thinking food trucks?” you said. He nodded and followed after you, making small talk about the day until you both found a spot in the park to settle down with your food.

“How you feeling today?” he asked between bites.

“Okay,” you said. “Better than I was before. I still miss mom.”

“I think you’ll always miss mom, honey,” he said.

“I know. I don’t think she’d worry about me so much now though,” you said.

“I got a call from Officer Kensaw today. He said he’s coming down to Texas to visit family this weekend. He was wondering if we could meet up with him, let him see how you’re doing,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s cool with me,” you said, twirling your plastic fork around. “I never really understood why he cared about me so much. I’m glad he did and all. Just never got it.”

“He didn’t tell you?” said Jared. You shook your head, Jared smirking. “Your mom’s accident...that was his very first call, his first day of work. He’d never done that before or dealt with it. I’m pretty sure the kid found it really easy to put himself in your shoes.”

“I never knew that about Owen,” you said.

“Oh, but we know his name’s Owen,” teased Jared.

“Shut up, old man,” you said.

“Old man? Yeah, right,” he said with a smile. “So you excited for thanksgiving next week?”

“Nervous,” you said.

“Your extended family would really like to meet you if you’re okay with it. We can still always stay home though if you changed your mind,” he said.

“I want to go. I’m ready,” you said. “If they’re like you, I’ll be okay. Just watch my back.”

“Always. I’m glad you stuck around and gave us a shot,” he said.

“I mean...I could have wound up with a worse dad,” you said. “A lot worse. I don’t know. I guess that image of you being some deadbeat that didn’t give a shit was hard to get over. You just didn’t know about me was all.”

“I would have been there for you. I would have,” he said.

“I know. You’re here now,” you said. “That’s good enough for me.”

“I feel like I owe a thank you to whoever convinced you to come back,” he said. “Let us have this.”

“I’m sure he knows,” you said. “Hey you want to try mini-golf tonight?”

“That sounds fun,” he said. “There’s a great one back closer to home.”

“Awesome,” you said. “Maybe ice cream after?”

“Ah, yes. There’s the proof you’re my child. The love for ice cream runs strong,” he said, finishing off his food. “Want to stop home quick to drop off your car?”

“Sure,” you said, taking your last bite and gathering up your trash. “I’ll meet you at home then?”

“See you at home, kiddo.”

#jared x daughter!reader #au #rpf #spn #supernatural #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #jared fanfiction #one shot

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