#that i actually managed to cut a tiny piece of bone from my elbow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ao3theskyisblue · 3 years

Text

Take it easy

Summary:

“Are you looking to get infected?” Nancy raises an eyebrow, smiling when TK snorts. “Because I’m pretty sure I can make that happen.”

“I see you’re just going to be a pain in my neck both on shift and off shift, huh?” TK teases, the words said without an ounce of heat, and Nancy shrugs, grinning smugly.

“My lungs are dying, TK. I think I have complaining privileges.”

Written for Day 4 of @911lonestarangstweek : Sickfic + “You need to rest.”

Read on AO3

“Tell me I did not just hear from that lovely nurse Melody say what I think she just said.”

Nancy forces back a loud groan, knowing that she would just be coughing up her lungs again. Looking up from her Instagram feed, she spies TK leaning against the entry of her hospital room, looking less than impressed. She parts her lips to reply, but TK holds up a hand.

“That was a rhetorical question. I forbid you to say even a single word.” The words sound like a warning, but Nancy has worked and gotten to know her partner long enough to see how worried he was underneath the whole tough façade. His arms were crossed, trying to mask how he was itching to wring his hands together, and she could see the residual trembling as he fought back the urge to tap his feet against the linoleum flooring.

“I could have my lungs taken out and still have enough air to fight you, Strand.” Nancy croaks, wincing when she hears how bad she sounds through all the mucus and dry throat, but TK doesn’t bat an eye. She follows him with her eyes as he tentatively closes the distance between them to sit by the chair at her bedside, obviously ignoring the warnings the hospital personnel gave about personal space.

“Are you looking to get infected?” Nancy raises an eyebrow, smiling when TK snorts. “Because I’m pretty sure I can make that happen.”

“I see you’re just going to be a pain in my neck both on shift and off shift, huh?” TK teases, the words said without an ounce of heat, and Nancy shrugs, grinning smugly.

“My lungs are dying, TK. I think I have complaining privileges.” She coughs to the side that TK is not currently occupying, the brutal hacking sound making her entire chest feel on fire as she gratefully accepts the spit tray offered to her along with the glass of water.

“Which is exactly why you are not coming back to work. Did you seriously think the doctors would discharge you like this?” TK lifts an eyebrow skeptically, running a gentle hand down her back as she tries to breathe in without coughing all the air back out again. When she feels no more incoming coughs, she straightens to look at him.

“I can flash my badge and get a discharge back home. Then I’ll just slap on a mask and go back to work. I didn’t break my legs, TK, I have pneumonia. I’m perfectly fine.” Nancy gripes, narrowing her eyes at TK’s scoff.

“You need to rest. Need I remind you why you’re in the hospital in the first place?” TK sighs, lifting his hands up before dropping them down on his lap. “You already had a cold before that call, and then you decided to leap off the side of a bridge like Prince Charming in that third Cinderella movie. Into the lake. Which was freezing, by the way.” TK shuddered, as if taken back to that scene, and Nancy held back a laugh because that would not help her coughing get any better.

“Oh, silly me. I should have dipped my toes in the water one-hundred feet up in the air to test the temperature before trying to save that little girl’s life. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind and grow longer legs in my next lifetime to do just that.” Nancy says drily, and she just smiles innocently as TK glares daggers at her.

“And you say I’m the impulsive one.”

“You literally jumped in right after me, so that argument’s invalid.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t catch pneumonia after, did I?”

They stare at each other blankly, before their lips twitch upwards at the same time as laughter fills up the room. Nancy tries to hold her own giggles back, but it was difficult when she had a partner that gave as good as he got, which made her want to strangle him half the time, and the rest of the time hug him and never let go.

“I still remember the double death glares from the captains,” Nancy manages to get out between their laughter with coughs mixed in between, and TK lifts a hand to cover his face, a wide grin peeking out from between his fingers.

“Little Amelia must have been so confused. I mean, there we were, soaked to the bone holding her in between us while our entire station just glares at us and planning the best way to murder us both.” TK snorts, and Nancy feels a new bout of laughter threatening to come out when she remembers the six pairs of eyes that just stared at them incredulously.

“You’re lucky Carlos wasn’t there. I’m surprised he hasn’t already been lugging around a portable doghouse for you to climb into next time this kind of thing happens.” Nancy snickers, laughing at the face TK makes at that.

“Oh, he chewed me out thoroughly when I got home. In between tucking in blankets and not letting me leave the couch in my homemade burrito, I couldn’t so much as go to the washroom without him glaring at me for even trying to get up.” TK rolls his eyes fondly, and Nancy feels her smile soften at the affection shining through every single one of his words.

“Love looks good on you, Strand.” Nancy nudges him lightly with an elbow, and receives a gentle squeeze on her arm. She knows she’s not going to like the next words that come out of TK’s mouth when his eyes suddenly sparkle mischievously.

“Speaking of love,” Nancy shoots him a glare at that, because she knows exactly where this conversation was going and that was not to describe what it was. “How’s that thing that we were discussing a few days ago going?” TK wiggles his eyebrows teasingly, and Nancy sighs in exasperation.

“It’s not going. Anywhere. We’re friends,” Nancy shrugs, looking down at the hospital linens, slowly picking at them with her hands. It was the truth, they were friends. So what if her insides feels a little weird when they were in a room together, it didn’t mean anything. “And she hasn’t spoken a single word to me since this happened.”

She let out a few quiet coughs, remembering how Marjan had hovered over them – over her at the scene, but then after she got admitted into the hospital, nothing. Not a peep. Not even a text or the occasional meme they send to each other over Instagram.

Maybe she had just been deluding herself the whole time.

Maybe her heart was slowly splitting into tiny pieces.

Asking for the moon was sometimes easier than wishing someone would stay.

TK falls silent next to her, and just when she tries to put on her best smile and change the subject, she feels a hand squeeze hers.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. You and I both know Marjan wouldn’t give someone the radio silence treatment without a reason. And, she has the night off today.” TK trails off, the suggestion lingering in the air and Nancy sighs.

She just wants to forget.

“You’re right, I’m just a little-” Nancy cuts herself off, pursing her lips at the frenzied thoughts circling her mind.

“-Sick and just want to see the person who makes your heart feel all funny for a while?” TK proposes, and Nancy turns to shoot him a playful glare, ignoring the heat slowly seeping into her cheeks.

“Okay smartass, turn down the notch on cocky bastard a little, will you?” Nancy grins as TK laughs, and she feels a brief moment of satisfaction when he doesn’t move away from her swat to his shoulder. “Now, I know for a fact that you brought food with you. Give me my offering.”

With a small tsk and a quiet mutter of “of course, since you asked so nicely,” TK hands her a cloth bag. She slowly takes out a metal container along with a spoon wrapped neatly in paper towels, lifting the lid curiously. Her eyes widen in surprise at what’s inside, smiling at how pretty it looks.

“Tofu?”

“Tofu pudding,” TK adds, smiling. “Carlos has been into Chinese cuisine lately and found this off the internet. You usually eat it cold, but we thought warming it up a little might be better for you. You get your daily dose of protein while actually enjoying the food, it’s a win-win.”

Nancy picks up the spoon and dips it into the soft pudding, admiring how smoothly the spoon slides through. She lifts it up to her mouth, and although a little bland (though she couldn’t really eat any heavily seasoned food for a while anyway), it was delicious.

“If you don’t marry your boyfriend, I’ll do it for you.” Nancy takes another bite of the soothing goodness, smiling around her mouthful when TK blushes.

“High praise, I’ll keep that in mind.” TK chuckles, and Nancy grins before taking another bite, loving how easy it was to swallow.

Then, another thought crosses her mind.

“Wait, how did you get in here, anyway? I thought they were barring visitors.” Nancy narrows her eyes at TK suspiciously, wondering how the nurses hadn’t come in to kick him out yet. TK just smirks, leaning back against the chair and crossing a leg over the other.

“You clearly don’t know me very well if you think that’s going to stop me.”

Nancy hums, though she really couldn’t complain. He brought her food, after all.

“Fair point.”

Nights were the worst.

She has been a paramedic for close to seven years, and still, she could never stop being offended by her own body betraying her at the most crucial time of the day when she needed to rest without wanting to tear her lungs out and dunk them in an ice bath.

Sighing to give into her fate of a sleepless night yet again, she opens her eyes slowly, blinking against the dim lighting of her secluded room. Picking up her phone, she lets her eyes adjust to the change in brightness before a small smile slowly makes its way on her lips at the cute Buttercup video Mateo sent her a little earlier.

“Can’t sleep?”

Nancy jumps, a muffled shout coming out followed with a series of long coughs, making her wince.

Ugh, even the coughs at night were worse.

“Whoa, hey, easy. Sorry.” A warm hand rubbed her back in soothing circles, much like what TK had done earlier, but these hands left a lingering heat that didn’t disappear when they retracted hesitatingly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Marjan repeats quietly, her brown eyes stretched wide as she looks at her worriedly, and Nancy tries to smile, waving her off.

“It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting anyone.” Nancy lets out another cough before clearing her throat, gratefully accepting the water Marjan offers her. She takes a few sips, cringing at how her throat burns with each swallow.

The burn provides a welcome distraction from how Marjan was currently standing beside her hospital bed, wearing a simple green long-sleeved turtleneck and matching hijab, with a soft smile that brightened every single room she walked into.

She suddenly felt self-conscious about her own appearance, no doubt sporting dark eye-bags from the lack of sleep and looking paler than a ghost from not eating much other than the food TK or Captain Vega brought in for her. Paul had also swung by a few times, along with the other members of the 126 but she didn’t have the heart to tell them and their openly kind expressions that she couldn’t really stomach a lot right now. That, and how ingesting anything, including water, felt like swallowing porcupine quills.

Still, the urge to hide behind her hair was strong.

“How did you even get in here?” Nancy asks instead, frowning when she remembered that visiting hours were long over, and yet, here Marjan was.

She noticed Marjan shifting nervously, and it was definitely something new. She wasn’t sure she’s ever seen Marjan being awkward or nervous, and certainly not around her.

“TK pulled some strings. And I may have had a little…conversation with the nurses.” Marjan winced a little, and Nancy couldn’t help quirking her lips up in a small smile.

“Conversation, huh?” She hums absently, biting back a laugh at Marjan’s nervous glances back at the nurse’s station. “Is that what you called the ripping-into you gave the tattoo artists?” She couldn’t help tease, her smile widening at the spots of colour spreading across Marjan’s cheeks.

“Well it definitely seems like you’re feeling a little better.” Marjan sighs in fond exasperation, the awkwardness dissipating between them, and Nancy follows her figure as she sits down tentatively on the chair beside her.

“Do firefighters just have no concept of ‘I’m infectious?’ Aren’t you also a qualified medic?” Nancy asks playfully, her heart doing a little jump at Marjan’s wide grin.

“In sickness and in health,” Marjan shrugs, as if she hadn’t just quoted wedding vows at her, and Nancy just stares at her blankly. Marjan lifts her gaze, and she fidgets slightly when she feels those eyes staring straight through her.

“I’ve never seen you with your hair down,” Marjan comments quietly, and Nancy starts, lifting a hand self-consciously to run her fingers through it. “It’s usually always in a bun or a ponytail. You look…different.”

Okay, that fills her with mild panic.

“I can always tie it back up? My mother always hated how long I would let my hair grow, so I always have a hair tie ready-”

A hand grasps her wrist gently before she can tug the hair tie off her wrist, and she looks up to see Marjan looking at her warmly.

“It’s a good different.” Nancy lets out a small puff of air at that, slowly lowering her hands back onto the thin covering. She couldn’t help but notice Marjan still not letting go of her wrist. Something conflicting passed by her expression, and Nancy noticed that she kept on parting her lips to say something before holding back.

Leaning back slowly against the ridiculous number of pillows, turning her head to clear her vision of a few loose strands of hair, Nancy waited.

“I’m sorry.”

Okay, that was something she hadn’t been expecting.

She snaps her head up, turning to look at Marjan in surprise.

Why was she apologizing?

“…for what?” Nancy asks cautiously, frowning when Marjan shifts her hand to squeeze her arm. Her other hand is pinching on the edges of her clothes, and Nancy wonders if it’s a nervous tick.

There’s a sharp laugh, though it was lacking all humour that cuts through the quietness of the room, and Nancy wants to smooth out the creases between her eyebrows as she scowls sadly.

“I gave you the silent treatment. I ignored you when– I just, I’m sorry.” Nancy feels her shoulders relaxing, and suddenly, she wants nothing more than to hug the woman looking like the human version of a kicked puppy beside her.

“But you came,” Nancy says softly, waiting until Marjan looks up before continuing. “You still came, and that’s all that matters.” In a sudden burst of courage, she covers the hand that’s on her arm with her own, smiling at the look of surprise that greets her.

Marjan blinks at her, then down at their hands. With a small smile, she squeezes hers.

And Nancy lets her.

“You know,” Marjan starts, her eyes looking a little distant as if she was re-living a memory. “When you just leaped off the side of the bridge without a second thought, the first thing I felt wasn’t fear.”

Nancy feels her heart drop to her stomach at the look of sheer terror resonating in her eyes, but Marjan still doesn’t look up fully.

“Instead, it was a strong pull, screaming at me to jump in after you, a never-ending urge to make sure you were safe,” Marjan says lowly, squeezing their hands tighter. “So, when I couldn’t do that, when Paul had to physically shove me back, that was when the fear hit.”

Nancy suddenly couldn’t feel the burning pain in her throat. She couldn’t feel the constant ache in her chest, or the little prickles of pain every time she breathed.

No, she couldn’t feel anything other than the warmth of Marjan’s hand in hers, and how hard she was squeezing it.

“There was- there was a moment where I wondered if I would ever see either of you again,” Marjan’s breath hitches at the end, and Nancy feels her own heart break at the way her eyes shine brightly.

“I have so much I want to know about you,” Her heart stuttered at the three words, said without an ounce of hesitation. When Marjan looks up at her with shining eyes, she forces back the urge to wipe away the tears that hadn’t fallen.

“I’m here. And I’m safe. A little battered and bruised, but I’ll be just fine.” Nancy whispers, smiling reassuringly, and feels lighter when Marjan smiles back, albeit a little weakly.

Still, it was a genuine smile nonetheless, and there was nothing Nancy enjoyed more in the world than to witness Marjan’s brilliant smile every day.

“Besides, I’ve already been pushing the doctors to release me already.” Nancy shrugs, ignoring the glare immediately sent her way.

“You need to rest,” Marjan shoots back without a beat, and Nancy rolls her eyes.

“First Strand, now you? I’m fine.” Nancy scowls, though the little sniffle she lets out after doesn’t really help her case. Still, she glares up at the female firefighter in front of her, daring her to comment on it.

They’re locked into one of their usual staring contests, where their eyes speak more than any words they could say. Nancy was determined to not be the one who broke this time, but the piercing look of seriousness was starting to make her squirm.

Marjan finally blinked, making her feel a brief sense of victory before it quickly disappeared when she says, “You don’t need to push yourself so hard all the time.”

Nancy scowls.

Pushing herself, huh?

She thinks back to her years in college, to all the people who didn’t believe. To her parents, who had tried to be encouraging, but she could still see the tiny flickers of doubt. After all, a paramedic? Long hours, average pay, and no account for the danger?

She knows there were many other reasons that she tried her best to shove into the deepest recesses of her mind, but she had gotten where she was today by working hard, without once looking back.

Sitting back from a job she’s known and wanted her entire life didn’t feel right, even when she could barely take in a breath without coughing up her lungs or ingest anything other than water.

There’s another squeeze of her hand, and Nancy is shaken out of her thoughts as a pair of eyes watch her carefully.

“We all see you,” Marjan says softly, and Nancy swallows past the pain. “We all love you, Nancy, and we just want you to feel better before you hurt yourself even worse.”

In the dim lighting of the room they were in, surrounded by the smell of sickness and the low humming of the heater, Nancy suddenly feels lighter.

She squeezes the hand she hadn’t let go of, a quiet chuckle breaking free.

“You all love me, huh?” She couldn’t help tease, but instead of flushed cheeks and the anticipated stuttering, Marjan just looks at her with resolution in her eyes.

“Without a doubt.”

Without a doubt.

#911 lone star fic #Nancy and TK friendship #Nancy and Marjan friendship #911lsangstweek #Lol can be read as Nancy/Marjan #Hints of feelings from Nancy

32 notes · View notes

lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Text

*sweats* yeAH i know the one gbdfjgh. It’s very much a Halloween-centered piece so I was incredibly sad tumblr decided to end its life the one time i actually hit a deadline i’d set for myself, but it’s been kind of just...marinating in my docs folder since then. I might post it formally on FFN eventually, but in the meantime, i’ll post it on here below the cut!

“Guys, you will never guess what’s running around Ninjago City."

Jay’s announcement is met with a distinct lack of reaction, which is pretty disappointing, because it’s the kind you drop for a dramatic pause and reaction. And he did — try to, at least.

However, instead of reacting properly, like anyone in their right minds would, his team is woefully un-reactive. Nya continues to snore into the couch, her face pressed against the couch pillow in a way that’s gonna leave a spectacular mark later, and Cole’s too busy referee-ing Lloyd and Kai, who are in the middle of their sixth round of Dance Dance Ninja Revolution, which Jay can’t really blame him for, because they chose a Rihanna song this round and they’re getting a little too into it.

“How did you get that bonus and I didn’t!”

“You gotta pop your hip on that last move, like this—"

“What, and crack my spine in half?”

“I mean, your bones are pretty fragile.”

“Fragile?!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re so old.”

“I’ll crack your spine, you tiny brat—"

Zane is the only one to actually acknowledge him, even if it’s a slight cock of his head from where he’s video-chatting Pixal, making him the only one of these terrible people Jay actually likes right now, unless Kai manages to make a comeback and beat out Lloyd, in which case he’ll celebrate with him.

But it’s looking unlikely.

“Are you talking about the vampire rumors?” Zane asks.

Jay’s expression sours. Never mind, he retracts his appreciation of Zane now. Way to steal his thunder.

Kai snorts from where he’s waving his arms in a butchered kind of Macarena. “Seriously, Jay? Those rumors crop up every year. There’s no vampire.”

Jay glares at him, mentally switching his loyalties to Lloyd, as it looks like he’s going to wipe the floor with Kai anyways, because he’s just snatched that one difficult bonus Kai usually wins where you hair-flip like a diva.

“This is for real, though,” Jay argues. “It was reported on the police scanner. Someone’s running around biting people!”

“Maybe they’re just into that,” Nya yawns, burrowing her face further into the couch pillows. “Don’t be so judgmental, Jay.”

Jay colors, and Kai chokes. Lloyd gives a triumphant crow of victory, doubling his score at the last minute, leaving Kai solidly in the dust. Kai makes a sour face, collapsing on the couch and crossing his arms.

“You cheated.”

“Not my fault you got distracted,” Lloyd shrugs. He turns to Jay, wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead and looking curious. “Wait, they’re really reporting that someone’s out there biting people?”

“Or something,” Jay says, quickly seizing on the attention. “Something bloodthirsty that goes around biting people’s necks, which obviously has to be a vampire.”

“It says here it steals their wallets, too,” Zane remarks, scrolling through the news article.

“A wallet-stealing vampire,” Jay amends.

The others look decidedly unimpressed, which is rather insulting and extremely disappointing. Geez, you fight one giant stone titan and a few mythical, apocalypse-bringing monsters and suddenly no one’s impressed by anything anymore.

“Sounds like petty crime, not our thing,” Kai yawns. “Besides, vampires don’t exist.”

Jay sputters. “Are you kidding me?” he exclaims. “They totally exist!”

Cole raises an eyebrow at him. “You know those vampire books are fiction, right?”

Jay presses his lips together tightly. “Are you telling me,” he says, stiffly. “That after everything — everything we’ve seen — which includes and is not limited to warriors made up of tiny snakes, a walking eldritch horror that’s actually another realm, and living skeletons — you don’t believe vampires can exist?”

“Well, yeah,” Kai says, simply. “Because those other things are real. Vampires aren’t.”

“You didn’t even think the Serpentine were real!” Jay accuses, because Kai’s opinion is clearly trash here, and he obviously should’ve started by attacking Cole, or Nya.

“Jay, chill,” Lloyd says, rolling his eyes. “Whatever it is, it’s not a vampire, unless someone stumbled off the set of a B-movie horror film. They don’t exist, Jay."

Jay opens his mouth, prepared to fire back, because of all the people to argue with him, Lloyd has no right at all, he’s a walking eldritch mutant himself — when Lloyd suddenly continues.

“It’s clearly a werewolf, if anything.”

Jay stops, his mouth half-open. He blinks. “Wait,” he narrows his eyes at him. “You don’t believe in vampires, but you’re game for werewolves?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd shrugs. “Werewolves make sense.”

“And vampires don’t?!”

Lloyd shrugs. “I mean, after Akita and the Formlings, you know?” He pauses, eyes widening as he contemplates something. “Wait. Is Akita technically a werewolf?”

Jay seizes the opportunity. “If she counts as one, then Oni count as vampires,” he argues.

Lloyd frowns at him. “What? No. That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Oh yeah?” Jay counters. “Then explain why they both have fangs. And glowing eyes. And drink blood.”

“I don’t drink blood!” Lloyd exclaims, indignantly. “And neither do Oni!”

“How would you know?” Jay challenges. “You’re just a tiny little quarter Oni.”

Lloyd glares at him. “A quarter Oni with teeth that can bite you—"

“Okay, okay!” Cole says hastily, shouldering between them. “No one’s biting anyone, geez. I’m taking this opportunity to declare it time for bed.”

“Aw, but I didn’t get to trash Kai yet,” Nya yawns, waving absently at the still-scrolling game on the television. Zane quickly turns it off.

“We can trash each other tomorrow, after six a.m. practice,” Cole huffs. Everyone groans in unison at the reminder.

“We should start getting skip days,” Kai grumbles into the pillow. “Like, mandated days we get to just sleep in instead.”

“You would use that every day,” Zane sighs, tugging him up. Jay watches as they slowly pack up, preparing to head off to bed.

Unbelievable.

“Wait, so we’re just gonna let this thing run loose?” he exclaims, waving his arms in the air. “Ignore our civic duty for sleep?”

Cole pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Jay, there’s one article about it, and these kinds of things crop up every year,” he sighs. “It’s just some Halloween pranksters using it as an excuse for petty crime. The police can handle it, okay?”

“But a vampire,” Jay bemoans. “What if it’s real?”

“Or werewolf,” Lloyd corrects. Jay would elbow him for that, but — aha. Lloyd has that spark in his eyes, the one that means trouble. Jay’s hooked at least one person then, even if it’s for the totally wrong reason.

“Whatever it is, according to reports, it will still be here tomorrow,” Zane says. “Halloween isn’t for another day, and it usually strikes then. If it means that much to you, we can look for it then.”

Jay squints skeptically at him. Kai and Cole are both wearing expressions that say they will not be helping with that particular excursion, and Nya’s already halfway into her room, clearly writing him off as well. Hmph.

“But by then, we won’t have a sighting to follow,” Lloyd says, hesitantly.

“Good,” Kai grumbles, apparently done with the conversation. “Then we can forget about make-believe monsters.”

Jay is pleased to find that he and Lloyd are still just as effective at giving people the stink-eye in perfect unison as they’ve always been.

“Drop it, guys,” Cole warns, his dark eyes tired. “You can argue over this in the morning. When we’re all dead tired at dawn practice.”

Jay scowls, but he nods. He knows a lost cause when he sees one.

However, he also knows when a cause isn’t lost. He trades looks with Lloyd from the corner of his eyes, and Lloyd gives him a tiny, imperceptible nod. Halfway into their bedroom, Kai suddenly turns on them.

“And you guys better not sneak out to hunt it down by yourselves,” he says, his eyes narrowed. “The police have it covered. There’s no such things as vampires or werewolves, but if I wake up at three a.m. tonight and find out you guys snuck out, you’re gonna wish one had already killed you.”

“Geez, overreact much?” Jay mutters.

Lloyd rolls his eyes. “We’re not gonna sneak out just to chase down a few rumors, Kai,” he scoffs. “We’re not stupid.”

Kai eyes them both. Jay can almost see him mentally scrolling through Lloyd and Jay’s Best Hits, Screwing-Up Edition, in his brain, and he doesn’t like it. Like Kai has room to talk about dumb decisions.

Kai finally shakes his head, sighing as he heads for his bed. “I swear,” he mutters to himself. “If I have to fish you out of a river later…”

“You won’t!” Lloyd promises cheerfully. “Word of honor.”

**************

As it turns out, Lloyd’s word of honor is garbage. But so is Jay’s, so he’s not gonna judge.

“Okay, the reports said it was last sighted over in the east sector in the sewer tunnels, so I vote we start here,” Jay tells him in a hushed voice, as they plot their path from one of the city rooftops, the dim streetlights blinking down below. “There’s a bunch of bars and stuff around, so if I was looking to steal someone’s wallet by biting them, I’d go here. Down for a stakeout?”

“I’m game,” Lloyd says, slightly muffled through his mouth of—

Jay blinks at him incredulously. “Are you eating our garlic bread right now?”

Lloyd freezes, shifting guiltily and quickly swallowing. “No-o?”

“Lloyd!” Jay hisses. “We need that for the vampire!”

“Then you should’ve gotten actual garlic,” Lloyd hisses back. “I got hungry, and we’re carrying around garlic bread! Can you blame me?”

“Hmph.” Jay glares at him, then snatches the bag Lloyd had been hiding behind him. Lloyd makes a face.

“S’not like we need it anyways,” he mutters. “Garlic doesn’t work against werewolves.”

“It’s not a werewolf,” Jay retorts. “And even if it was, it’s not like we have any silver.” He frowns. “Wait, doesn’t silver work against vampires too? Maybe I should’ve gotten us some…”

“Got it covered,” Lloyd says, pulling a small ziplock bag from his sweatshirt pocket. They’ve opted to wear civilian clothes tonight, as one, they’re trying to be inconspicuous, and two, it’ll make it a lot more difficult for Kai to claim that they were out breaking their promise if they aren’t in very distinctive, undeniable gis.

“I snatched a pair of Nya’s earrings earlier,” Lloyd continues. “Sterling silver counts, right? ‘Cause they even have these little bits on the back you can stab people with.”

Jay blinks rapidly. “You snatched her—"

Well, actually, on second thought, it’s not the worst thing they’ve ever stolen from each other. And it’s definitely not the worst purpose for such a theft, either.

“Okay, nice, we got silver,” Jay says instead, trying not to think about what Nya’s reaction to finding out her earrings were used as lethal injections for a vampire is going to be.

“The better prepared, the lower the chances of dying horribly,” Lloyd says, cheerfully.

“Please don’t phrase it that way.”

“You literally said that exact same thing to me last week, on the Metallonia mission—"

“You must’ve had water in your ears,” Jay waves him off, knowing full well he did say that but having zero intent of admitting it. “Anyways, it’s just one vampire. We can handle this, easy.”

“Or one werewolf,” Lloyd says, pointedly.

Jay takes a very long breath, then lets it out. If it were Kai or Cole, maybe he’d pick the fight. But it’s Lloyd, and he’s risking Unholy Big Brother Wrath as it is.

“Fine,” he half-surrenders. “If it’s a werewolf, we can handle that too. But it’s not, because it’s clearly a vampire.”

“That’s what it wants you to think,” Lloyd grouses.

Jay rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of their supplies back in his ratty old backpack. He cranes his head over the edge of building rooftop, watching the evening crowds just beginning to flood into the bars.

“Now what?” Lloyd whispers, materializing next to him.

Jay, with his reflexes as sharp and well-honed as they are, does not nearly jump off the roof at Lloyd’s sudden appearance. He doesn’t squeak, either, the look Lloyd is giving him is just — Lloyd being a terrible gremlin.

“Now,” Jay clears his throat instead, taking on an air of expertise, because he is an expert. “We wait.”

**************

In the excitement, Jay has, tragically, forgotten how absolutely boring stakeouts are.

Really, he should’ve brought a board game or something.

“—somethin’ strange, in your neighborhood. Who you gonna call.”

Jay punches his hand in the air without enthusiasm where he lies on his back, yawning, “Ghostbusters.”

“Dun dun, dun dun, du-du-dun—" Lloyd continues humming the bridge, staring up at the sky where he’s got his arms beneath his head, sprawled out next to Jay.

“You know, I still swear I heard the ghosts playing this back at Styx,” Jay murmurs.

Lloyd’s humming halts, and he snorts. “Maybe they had a sense of humor.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Jay frowns. “So wait, this is your favorite holiday song? The song about ghosts? Really?”

Lloyd nods. “I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” he sings.

Jay makes a face at him, then shrugs. Well, he guesses he doesn’t have room to judge people’s coping mechanisms. He still deals with spiders by blowing the entire room up. “That’s one way to deal with it, I guess.”

“I like the irony,” Lloyd continues, with a lopsided grin. “Also, like, do any of us deal with our issues?”

“Ye—" Jay pauses, considering. Huh. He knows they’ve all been putting off therapy, but sometimes they, like…cry all over each other? At three in the morning? That counts, right?

He supposes that doesn’t quite equate.

“I stress-baked eight batches of brownies with Cole one night and ate half of them after the Oni thing?” he offers weakly.

Lloyd stuff a fist over his mouth, holding back a laugh. “I ate a whole container of frosting with Nya after the SOG thing.”

“That’s where it all went?” Jay snaps his head up, his eyes accusing. “Lloyd, that was our only cream cheese frosting! I was going to use that for a meltdown!”

“Oops,” Lloyd says, unapologetically. Jay digs his foot into his side, and Lloyd jerks away, giggling.

“You, I’d expect, but Nya…” Jay grumbles, processing this betrayal. “That’s like, cliché teenage heartbreak coping there.”

“Well, I mean,” Lloyd says, his smile suddenly painfully forced. “Kinda…was. A bit.”

Jay frowns. “Wha — oh.”

Oops. Too late, Jay realizes that he has accidentally stumbled into a mine zone. He should know better, seriously — Lloyd probably does not want to talk about teenage heartbreak right now. Or any time…soon, considering his last and only romantic excursion kind of…stabbed him in the back and got crushed by a building. Amongst other things.

“So!” Jay quickly says, trying to cut through the sudden awkwardness and turn the conversation to something better. “How is, uh, your life going, in that…area…?”

Never mind, Jay’s mind screeches at him. Abort, abort, this is going somewhere worse—! Maybe if he’s lucky the vampire will just come attack them now. That would probably go better.

Lloyd’s expression screws up, like Jay’s forced him to eat a lemon, or a ghost pepper, or like, swallow pure Venomari venom. “You mean my love life?” he spits, as if the word love is a personal insult.

“Not necessarily,” Jay says quickly. “I mean, no, but also…yes?”

“Nonexistent as usual, which is probably the best I can hope for,” Lloyd mutters, kicking at the ground.

Jay bites his cheek in sympathy. His poor baby brother. His voice finally stops cracking and he immediately decides to swear off love for life.

“Look,” Jay says tentatively, feeling like he should at least try to impart some wisdom on his kid brother. “Have you thought about like, I dunno, trying to meet new people? Just like, you know, being open to, uh, the idea of trusting someone…like that?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd grinds his teeth. “I’ve also thought about getting ‘love is a joke’ tattooed on my wrist as a nice reminder because that’s about how well it tends to go for me.”

Jay cringes. “Aha,” he breathes. That is — that is bad. Yikes, that’s…bad bad, maybe they should book a therapist. One of these days. Probably sooner than later, going by that statement.

Lloyd sighs, suddenly deflating. “I dunno, Jay. I just…maybe someday? I don’t really wanna think about it.” The edge of his mouth twists wistfully. “It’d be nice to just be a kid again, so I could stuff my face with candy instead.”

“Hey,” Jay says, elbowing him. “Who says you can’t stuff your face with candy now? We can totally hit up the store on the way home, you know. Zane can’t stop us if he’s not here.”

Lloyd cracks a grin, and Jay is infinitely pleased with himself. “After we catch the werewolf?” Lloyd asks.

Jay glares at him. “After we catch the vampire, and I prove all you heathens wrong,” he grinds out. Lloyd snickers.

“You’re fighting a losing—"

A piercing scream rings out from the streets below, and Lloyd and Jay jolt to their feet in well-experienced unison. Jay sweeps his eyes across the street below, his head whipping widely back and forth as he tries to spot—

“There!” Lloyd calls, already sliding down the fire escape. Jay follows his arm, and spots a disheveled man now crumpled in the street, other partygoers crowding around him. Lloyd’s hand is pointing just beyond, though, locked on the shadowed, dark figure fleeing into the alleyway.

Jay grins viciously at him. Lloyd grins back.

Normally, they’d have Zane at their backs, insisting on safety and such nonsense, but tonight it’s just Lloyd and Jay, who gold-medal at being an awful combination of adrenaline junkies. So by the time they’ve finished hurling themselves off the building and surfing down a couple of unfortunate clotheslines, they land in perfect synch just behind the fleeing figure. They immediately break into a sprint, following their quarry down the dark alleyways and gaining rapidly.

One of the few perks to being the smallest on the team — Jay and Lloyd are fast.

The figure jolts, finally realizing it’s being pursued, and suddenly takes a hard left. Jay yelps as he almost overbalances, his momentum nearly toppling him before Lloyd catches his arm, yanking him upright. They follow where the figure’s fled into an abandoned tunnel, one of the ones Jay recognizes leads to the sewer.

“Why in here?!” he gasps between breathes, as their feet splash through dirty rainwater the deeper they go. Ugh, he hates these tunnels — they’re too small and close and dark.

Lloyd doesn’t grace him with a reply, simply lifting his hand up in an eerie, makeshift green flashlight that lights up the tunnels around them.

“They went that way!” He hurls the bright globe of energy down the tunnel, throwing green shadows up all around, and illuminating their prey far ahead.

Darn it, Jay curses to himself. He forgot vampires are supposed to be fast, too. They need a way better plan then just running after it.

“Trap, we need a trap,” Jay pants. “What do they do in Scooby-Doo to catch the vampire?”

Lloyd glances at him incredulously as he runs beside him, his hair dyed a white-green in the eerie light where it bounces around his head. “Scooby-Doo?!” he exclaims. “There aren’t any vampires in Scooby-Doo!”

“Uh, yeah there are,” Jay argues, ducking under a rusted pipe. He almost has to pause to swipe his own hair out of the way before he gets blinded by falling curls. Mental note, book a haircut later. “Remember that movie with the bands and stuff?”

“Oh. Right,” Lloyd huffs, sliding through a puddle of water. “Forgot about that. Don’t they die or something?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you! Come up with a plan, you’re leader!”

“Not right now, I’m not!”

“You can’t do that — you’re our designated team captain, live up to your role!”

“Only in big crisis situations!”

“This is a crisis!”

“Fine! Here’s me leading — I order you to come up with a plan.”

“Oh for — what kind of Green Ninja even are you, huh?”

“Oh yeah, static for brai—agh!”

Their argument is cut short as the floor suddenly decides to take the day off, and drops neatly out from beneath their feet. Jay screams, Lloyd shrieking beside him as they both go tumbling down the sloping sewer tunnel, sliding through broken rock and upturned stone. The sharp slope finally evens out, leaving them to roll to a graceless stop in a heap of limbs and freezing rainwater.

“Ew,” Jay scowls, swiping at his hair as he kneels, supporting himself on one hand. “Sewers are the worst.”

“Ge’off me,” Lloyd wheezes, hitting his shoulder. Jay belatedly realizes that he’s got one elbow and a knee digging into Lloyd’s middle, and pulls back quickly.

“Whoops,” he says, cheerfully. “Hey, no broken bones, at least!”

Lloyd just makes a face, straightening his hoodie. He pushes himself to his feet, offering a hand to Jay and hauling him up. Jay brings a crackle of lightning up in his fingers, squinting around the tunnel they’ve fallen into. Lloyd finally remembers to pull out their actual flashlight, and shines it warily around the tunnel, lighting up the old, molding stone around them.

“D’you think they fell, too?” Lloyd questions, taking a hesitant step forward as he brandishes the flashlight like a weapon.

Jay shrugs. “Vampires aren’t normally clumsy,” he says, starting down the tunnel. “But who knows.”

Lloyd pauses for a moment, reluctant, then quickly hurries to catch up, falling into step beside him.

“Ninja aren’t normally clumsy either,” he huffs.

Jay snorts. “Have you seen us?”

Lloyd eyes him. “I control your training schedule, you know.”

“A heinous abuse of power which never should have been given to you,” Jay sniffs.

Lloyd’s eyes narrow. “I’ll stick you on stair sprints. Endless. Stair sprints.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jay retorts. “You’re too chicken to do that. Too soft.”

“I am not!” Lloyd says, offended. “I’ll make you run a gazillion stair sprints, watch me.”

“Oh yeah? Whatcha gonna do when I start tearing up on you, Mr. Marshmallow Heart?”

“My heart is not a marshmallow,” Lloyd grinds out. “It’s—"

“More like cotton candy,” Jay nods. “‘Cause you hit it with one tear and it melts all over the place.”

“I will trip you face-first into sewer water,” Lloyd threatens. “And stop using candy metaphors. I’m starving, and you won’t let me eat the garlic bread.”

“That’s ‘cause we need it for the vampire!” Jay huffs.

“Werewolf.”

Jay throws his hands up. “Do you need glasses or something? Because tell me, please, if that looked anything like a were—"

Jay cuts off abruptly as he and Lloyd freeze. Directly across from them, a mere ten feet away in the connecting tunnel, the hooded figure they’ve been chasing freezes as well. For a beat, the three stare at each other, the only sound the steady drip-drip of the sewer tunnels around them.

Then—

“It’s the vampire! Grab it!” Jay yells.

He and Lloyd dart forward just as the vampire makes to run, turning for the tunnel. Jay side-steps, using the wall to push himself up and flip neatly over the vampire’s head, landing in the tunnel before them and neatly cutting them off. “Gotcha,” he grins.

The vampire’s eyes widen from beneath their hood, and they backtrack, only to nearly run into Lloyd, who points the flashlight threateningly at them.

“Stand down,” he orders. Jay rolls his eyes. Oh, now he decides to sound like a leader.

The vampire makes a hissing noise of frustration, shaking their head. Lloyd goes to move forward, a familiar green glinting at the edges of his fingertips—

When the vampire suddenly snaps into action, rushing at Lloyd. Before Jay can blink, they snap a leg up to kick the flashlight from Lloyd’s grasp, snag him with their forearm, bare two glinting teeth, and—

Snap. Lloyd gasps sharply, his eyes going wide as the vampire bites right into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Jay shrieks. “Lloy—!”

His scream cuts off, trailing into a gaping wheeze.

Jay is not entirely sure what — no, he’s not sure why what happen next happens. Maybe Lloyd panics. Maybe he forgets he’s a god-powered elemental with the capability of blasting people to heck with his hands for a second. Maybe both his Oni and dragon instincts decide to suddenly kick in and overpower the human. Or maybe he’s just so ticked at getting bit in the neck that his childish side comes out with a vengeance.

Either way, not even half a second after the vampire bites him, Lloyd snaps out his own too-sharp teeth and bites right back, firmly chomping down on the forearm pinning him in place.

The vampire gives a muffled scream, releasing Lloyd as they stumble backward, frantically clutching their arm. Jay takes this chance to send a bright bolt of lightning after them, just barely missing as they turn and flee, skittering away down the tunnels. Any other time Jay would give chase, but he’s got a slightly more pressing concern right now, and by that he means a big fat bad concern, because his brother is currently sporting a bleeding neck and trying to hack his own lung up.

“Oh god, the vampire bit you, Lloyd, the vampire bit you,” Jay babbles frantically, dancing around Lloyd as he doubles over, coughing and spitting frantically.

“—freaking — gross—"

“But —but then you bit the vampire,” Jay pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “So does that like — negate it?”

“—need hand sanitizer in m’a mouth—"

“Or does the vampire turn into an Oni?” Jay rubs his head. “Wait, wait no — you both swap, because you bit each other, so—"

“—tastes like battery acid—"

“Either way your neck is bleeding and why didn’t you just use your powers!” Jay shrieks at him.

“I panicked, okay?!” Lloyd cries in defense, wiping his mouth as he sticks his tongue out, clearly trying to rid himself of the taste. “Ugh — gimme that garlic bread, this is awful—"

“No way,” Jay snatches his bag away. “We definitely need it now.” His eyes narrow down on the two sluggishly bleeding marks on Lloyd’s neck, that he should really be patching up, actually, but first—

“Besides, garlic could be toxic for you right now! Since you might be turning into a…a vampire.”

Lloyd turns two smoldering, angry red eyes on him, and Jay swallows. Oh FSM, he’s already turning into a vampire, his eyes are red—

Oh wait, right, Lloyd’s eyes are red anyways.

“I am not turning into a vampire!” Lloyd hisses. He winces, clapping a hand over his neck. “I probably have like, rabies or something though,” he says, half-panicked.

“I don’t think vampires have rabies,” Jay tries to assure him, finally shaking himself into action, pulling his jacket off and pressing one of the sleeves against Lloyd’s bleeding neck. Lloyd jerks away on instinct, before letting Jay examine it.

“I can’t turn into a vampire,” Lloyd says, an edge of fear in his voice. “Kai’ll kill me if I turn into a vampire.”

“That’s your main concern?” Jay exclaims, swiping blood away — the bite doesn’t look too deep, and it seems like it won’t need stitches, or anything. He suddenly pauses, considering Lloyd’s words. “Okay, I will admit you have a valid point there,” he concedes.

Lloyd nods tightly, then makes a face before spitting again.

“So gross.”

Jay watches him, then speaks up hesitantly. “I mean…you have to admit that it’s definitely a vampire now, right, haha? Like, not to say I told you so, but—”

Lloyd turns his head, ever so slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits as he does.

“I will kill you.”

“Duly noted.”

**************

In a noble sacrifice of true brotherly love, Jay lets Lloyd get his weird mutant blood all over his hoodie as he uses it as a makeshift bandage.

“Rude,” Lloyd mutters, sounding wounded.

“Weird mutant blood is cool,” Jay assures him. “You Oni-dragon-hybrid, you.”

“I don’t even get any of the cool stuff, like shapeshifting or wings.”

“Yeah, that is a pretty lame tradeoff,” Jay admits. He pats his hoodie where it’s wrapped around Lloyd’s neck once more, nodding. “There. We’ll just…dump an entire bottle of sanitizer on it when we get home.”

“Can’t wait,” Lloyd sighs. His eyebrows furrow into determination. “After we catch this thing, though. It’s personal now.”

“Agreed,” Jay says. “But we definitely need a plan this time, ‘cause like, the biting thing worked, but it worst-case-scenario worked, you know? We need something a little less primitive, like, say, um…”

“Like this?”

Jay turns to Lloyd where he’s bent over one of the canal drains. He lifts the object he’s fished out, revealing a soaked but intact fishing net, likely abandoned from one of the boats.

A grin spreads across Jay’s face. “I have a plan now,” he says.

“Good,” Lloyd breathes in relief.

“You’re bait.”

Relief successfully obliterated. “Wait—"

**************

Jay’s wristwatch glows a dim 3:30 in the morning by the time their vampire finally takes the bait.

Said bait is very put out at being bait, granted, and is doing a frankly awful job at it, if anyone asked him, but he supposes that’s the best he can ask out of Lloyd when he’s been denying him their garlic bread the whole night.

“Oh no,” Lloyd intones dully, kicking through the tunnel water half-heartedly. “I’ve lost my way, whatever am I going to do with all this money in my wallet.”

“Boo,” Jay hisses at him, where he’s perched atop of a broken sewer pipe. Lloyd pauses his melodramatics to glare at him.

“I’d like to see you do better.”

“Oh no, you’re a much better damsel in distress than I am,” Jay assures him.

Lloyd looks furious. “Listen—"

He might’ve finished, but then the vampire jumps him from the shadows, and they both go tumbling as Lloyd’s voice turns to a shriek.

“Don’t die!” Jay hollers as he jumps down onto the vampire, startling a shriek out of them as he desperately tries to yank them off of Lloyd. “Roll, roll, get out of teeth range!”

“I’m trying!” Lloyd yelps, twisting himself free from the vampire’s grasp. The vampire makes to grab him, but Jay is already pouncing, tossing the net out so they run smack into it and go flailing to the floor, twisting themselves further and further into the rope webbing.

“Oh, thank FSM,” Lloyd mutters into the ground, where he’s yet to move. Jay ignores him, giving a cheer of triumph as he finishes knotting off the net.

“We got it!” he gasps, stepping back and surveying their struggling captive. “We caught the vampire!” He turns to Lloyd, grinning brightly in victory.

“Everyone else is gonna eat their words.” Lloyd nods, and Jay holds his hand out, slapping it against Lloyd’s before knocking their fists together.

Who’s stupid now, Kai? he thinks triumphantly.

Striding forward, he places his hands on his hips, smirking down at the vampire where it writhes against the net they’ve caught it in. He bends over, yanking their hood down.

“No use struggling. We got you now, you malevolent creature of the ni — ight, wait.” Jay blinks rapidly, staring at their quarry. “You’re….not a vampire?”

“No, you ssstupid human.”

Oh. Oh. Jay is incredibly, massively, thoroughly disappointed to realize that the figure on the ground glaring daggers at him, is not, in fact, a vampire. Not unless vampires come in Serpentine flavors.

“A Serpentine?” Lloyd blinks rapidly, looking as colossally disappointed as Jay is. “Aw man, we both lose, then.”

“A weird Serpentine,” Jay frowns, leaning closer. “This one’s got hair. Why do you have hair?”

The Serpentine — who is a she, from the looks of it — rolls her eyes. “I’m part human,” she hisses. “Ssso I do not look like other Ssserpentine. You humansss are just ssstupid enough to think I am a vampire.”

Jay opens his mouth, then shuts it. “Ah,” he says. He then brightens, glancing at Lloyd. “Oh hey, you have that in common, then! Lloyd’s a freaky mutant anomaly of nature, just like you.”

“Hey!” Lloyd exclaims, looking offended. “A freaky mutant anomaly?”

“I mean it in love, Lloyd.”

“Would you let me out of thissss infuriating net.”

“Uh, yeah, no can do, pal,” Jay replies to the furious Serpentine. “We aren’t letting you off the hook just ‘cause you told us what you were. You’ve been running around and biting people in the neck and stealing their wallets.”

“You bit me,” Lloyd accuses, glaring hotly at her.

“You bit me back,” the Serpentine snarls at him.

“You bit me first!”

“Guys, guys, it’s not a contest,” Jay laughs, a little nervously. “Please. Calm your mutant anomaly selves.”

Lloyd looks as if he’s going to smack him — which he probably should, all honesty, Jay’s been pushing him — but the Serpentine just frowns.

“How issss he one?” she scoffs at Lloyd. “He looksss like a normal human. Maybe with rabiesss.”

Lloyd looks incredibly offended. “Like you can talk.” He shakes his head, sighing. “I’m…part Oni. And dragon. A bit.”

The Serpentine's mouth drops open, and the color leeches from her face. “O-Oni?” She stammers. She looks at the hastily bandaged wound on her arm in alarm. “Did you poissson me?”

“Wha—no!” Lloyd exclaims. “Oni aren’t poisonous!”

He pauses. So do Jay and the Serpentine, leaving the tunnel in silence for a beat.

“I don’t….think?” He turns to Jay, eyebrows furrowed in question.

Jay shrugs. He’s not the one with a bunch of inhuman relatives. “I mean, she hasn’t gone all, y’know — grey-skinned, purple-eyed, turned-to-stone, so?”

This does nothing whatsoever to quell the look of fear on the face of— Jay frowns. “Hey, what’s your name, by the way?”

“What, ssso you can tell the copsss?” their Serpentine hisses dully.

“Well, you’re a criminal, so,” Jay shrugs. “But look at it this way — I won’t call you Elvira Vampira, Terror of the Night, the whole way back instead.”

The Serpentine rolls her eyes, but she does look mildly threatened at being called Vampira for the rest of the evening.

“My name is Sssiri,” she finally admits, looking put out.

“Siri?” Lloyd blinks. “Like the phone voice?”

The Serpentine makes a face as if he’s called her the scum of the earth instead. “I hate that ssstupid company,” she hisses. “And their ssstupid phone voicesss. I hate them.”

“That’s nice,” Jay tells her. He exhales, placing his hands on his hips. He glances at Lloyd, who looks every bit as tired.

“Time to drag her to the police?”

“Time to drag her to the police,” Lloyd sighs, sounding disappointed, if not a bit vindictive.

**************

The cops are nice, at least, and the guy whose wallet got snatched thanks them profusely, so the night doesn’t end up being a total bust. Everyone looks pretty relieved that there isn’t an actual vampire running around, though, which Jay feels a little resentful at, because he’s losing a bet here.

“Hey, cheer up,” Lloyd tells him, elbowing him lightly. “At least no one ever has to know about it.”

“True,” Jay admits. He gives a sigh of melancholy, watching as the cops lead a put-out Siri into the car. He glances at Lloyd, then grins wickedly.

“Hey!” he calls quickly, waving at Siri. He slaps a hand on Lloyd’s shoulder, shaking him. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you? Because this guy here is a hundred percent single and looking to ack—"

Jay’s idea is immediately torpedoed by Lloyd viciously throttling him in front of the entire crime unit.

“Jay what the heck!” he whisper-shrieks, sounding on the verge of an aneurism.

“I’m trying — to get you — back in the game—" Jay croaks out.

“With a neck-biting criminal?!”

“I wouldn’t be oppossssed,” Siri remarks, cocking her head as she studies Lloyd.

Lloyd goes an odd purple-scarlet color, then immediately turns on heel, marching away and looking not a little bit like his father storming off to destroy a village.

“He’ll call you!” Jay mouths at Siri, before hurrying after Lloyd. “Well, I’d call that a mild success, at least.”

“I am not calling her,” Lloyd grinds out, as he stomps down the street.

“Oh, obviously,” Jay says. He snickers. “Can you imagine Kai’s reaction, though? He’d blow five blood vessels at once.”

Lloyd remains stubbornly stoic, glaring forward. Jay winces. Oops, crossed a line. Still too sensitive. Maybe he can try again in like…a year.

“Hey, on the bright side,” Jay tries. “We can eat the rest of the garlic bread now?”

Lloyd’s pace slows. Jay holds out half of the buttery loaf they have left. Lloyd eyes him for a second, but Jay can see his resolve quickly dying. Lloyd finally snatches it, sighing.

“Tha’ is a bright side,” he says, through a mouthful.

“Garlic bread solves half y’er problems,” Jay nods through his own bite, pleased to find that it’s still good, even if cold.

They walk in silence for a minute, quietly chewing at the rest of the bread. Then Lloyd speaks up.

“Like….can you imagine being a real vampire though? And you couldn’t eat garlic bread?”

“Oh yeah, that would suck.”

“Seriously. I wonder if it’s maybe like, a lactose intolerance thing, where they can have a little bit before breaking into vampire hives or something?”

“Or maybe it’s like a peanut allergy thing, where their throats swell up and they have to use like, vampire Epipens.”

“If I was a vampire, I’d risk it either way.”

“Oh yeah, same. Totally worth it.”

“Totally.”

**************

The thing people tend to overlook about Jay is that, despite how loud he can be — and yeah, he’s admitting it, he can be a big enough person to recognize that he can get a bit worked-up sometimes — anyways, despite how everyone seems to think Jay has one default mode, he is, in fact, one of the best people on the team at sneaking. It’s one of the perks of being small — he’s learned to be light enough on his feet that even Zane can’t pick him up. And everyone expects him to come in all excited and loud anyways, so Jay’s got that advantage. No one expects him to be quiet.

And it is, of course, a trait he’s dutifully passed on to his little brother, who already has experience from sneaking around Darkley’s and lurking in Serpentine tombs, so by the time the alarm is an hour away from going off, Lloyd and Jay are safely back in bed, snoring quietly with the others, who are none the wiser.

Granted, Jay’s got the worst eye-bags ever in the morning, and Lloyd’s running a record for how long he can get around without actually opening his eyes — but Cole doesn’t say anything, and Zane isn’t looking at them suspiciously, so voila! They are off the hook.

Jay supposes he has the usual array of night terrors to thank for that. Always a good cover for sleeplessness, those.

He does have to drag Lloyd to the bathroom first so they can fix his gi collar high enough to hide the rather incriminating bite marks. Jay doesn’t even want to think about explaining those, because any plausible excuses he can come up with for them are just more likely to make Kai barbecue Jay on the spot.

“Good to see you this morning,” Cole tells him pointedly, as he joins the team around the breakfast table. Jay resists the urge to shoot him a gesture, and grabs for the coffee pot instead.

“Did you sleep alright?” Kai is asking Lloyd from across him, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Jay can’t really blame him, seeing as Lloyd keeps falling asleep in his cereal, dark circles vivid beneath his eyes.

“Jus’ tired,” Lloyd yawns. “Didn’t sleep that well."

Kai pats him lightly on the shoulder, looking sympathetic. “Take a nap or something later,” he tells him. “For my sake.”

Lloyd nods, and Jay leans back in his seat, sipping contentedly at his coffee. As he said, no one suspects a thing. All’s well that ends well.

And then Zane turns the radio on.

“—the neck-biting thief was caught early this morning by the Ninjago City Police, with the aid of two accomplices—”

Jay goes pale.

“Huh, isn’t that what you guys were talking about last night?” Nya remarks.

Jay and Lloyd look at each other, their eyes wide. In a desperate grab for survival, Jay dives for the radio, fully prepared to hit it with a lightning bolt if it means turning it off before—

“—special thanks, of course, to the green and blue ninja, looking out for us as always.”

Jay finally smacks the radio off, plunging the kitchen into silence. There is a long, ominous pause of utter dread. Kai slowly turns to look at Lloyd.

“You went after them—"

“We didn’t!” Lloyd says quickly. “That’s not what we were doing!”

“Oh yeah?” Kai says, and uh oh, that’s a scary look. “You’d better have a heck of an excuse, then.”

“We do, we have a really good excuse,” Jay defends quickly. “We were out there for something way more important.”

“Oh?” Cole says, looking close to blowing a gasket. “And what was that, exactly?”

“Well,” Jay says, looking Kai dead in the eye. “We were trying to get Lloyd a hot date.”

Then, before anyone can react, Jay grabs a sputtering Lloyd by the hand and runs.

#answered #my fic #i forGOT how long this one was gndjfgk

189 notes · View notes

actress4him · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 - Day 20

So, I basically set this fic in BBC’s Merlin, minus any of the actual characters. Any fellow fans out there? Anyway, I wasn’t sure what to do for today’s prompt for a while before this idea came to me, then I got to spend an afternoon researching. ;) Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Day 20 - Medieval

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: restraints, death mention, torture, dislocation, broken bones, mild blood, mild gore

The city of Prakkus was stuck in medieval times. At first, they thought it was just the architecture, which really did look like a citadel straight out of the Earth Middle Ages. Lance, Hunk, and Pidge had started in on the “dragons and knights in shining armor” comments right off the bat, which Keith had listened to with silent amusement.

Then they actually got inside, and the natives - a pink-skinned, mostly humanoid race that called themselves Dornads - were all dressed in long gowns, tunics, and robes. It really did look like they had stepped into the pages of a history book. Even Keith caught himself looking around in awe at everything, and the Garrison trio’s commentary just became even more animated.

It wasn’t until later, though, that they’d realize just how stuck in the medieval era these people were. Not until they were greeting King Uster and discussing an alliance, and Pidge brought up a holographic screen from her gauntlet, and the throne room exploded with shouts of treason.

Not until they were being accused of sorcery and dragged down deep below the castle, into a real-life dungeon lit only by torches along the walls and guarded by Dornads wearing polished armor.

Their own armor was taken, leaving them with no easy way out of the cell they were all thrown into. The only good news was that their flight suits still managed to keep out the chill, since in true medieval fashion there was no heating in the dungeon.

Bright and early the next morning, they were woken by a guard banging on the bars of their cell door.

“You.” He pointed a gloved finger straight at Keith. “You are the leader here, are you not?”

Hunk’s hand gripped his arm, but he shook it off and stood before anyone else could protest. “I am.”

“Come with me.”

The others scrambled to their feet, firing off questions about where he was being taken and why, but Keith just followed the guard’s directions and stuck his hands out the gap in the door so that thick iron shackles could be clamped around his wrists. “It’s okay, guys. We’ll get all of this figured out.”

“Just tell them the truth, Keith,” Allura urges. “It may take some work, but surely they will understand if you explain it to them.”

Right. Because he had always been so good with words, with explaining. That was her job, and Shiro’s job, not his. It was one of the many reasons he sucked at being the leader.

But he could do this part. He could take responsibility for his team, take whatever they wanted to throw at him just to make sure the others stayed safe and unhurt.

He was led all the way back to the throne room they had been in the day before, and shoved to his knees in front of King Uster. The man looked down at him in disdain from underneath his golden crown.

“Black Paladin of Voltron. You kneel before this court today accused of the crime of sorcery. Do you recant?”

“Sir, with all due respect, I think there has been a misunderstanding. What you saw yesterday wasn’t magic, it was just an electronic -”

“Do you recant?”

Pressing his lips together, Keith tried his best not to be annoyed at the interruption. “There are other planets and races that are more technologically advanced th-”

“Do you recant?” The King was practically shouting now. “Your crime has already been pronounced.The penalty for practicing sorcery is death. However, if you recant on behalf of yourself and your associates, there will be no further punishment.”

Keith furrowed his brow. “So wait, you’re just gonna kill us without a trial? Without even listening to an explanation?”

“You really expect to need a trial after your crime was witnessed by so many, including myself? I suggest you recant now.”

“And if I don’t?” he shot back.

The King’s three eyes narrowed. “Then, Black Paladin, you will return to the dungeon to face the honed skills of my punisher until you do recant. Then you and your associates shall all be executed.”

So, torture. Right. Not something he was looking forward to, but what he was hearing was that the other choice was to admit to something he didn’t do and immediately get him and his team killed. If he refused, then he got tortured, but they all got to live in the meantime. That was more time for someone to come up with an escape plan, or for Coran to realize something was amiss and figure out how to get them out.

He lifted his chin. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

King Uster leaned back in his throne and flicked a dismissive hand. “Take him away.”

The trip back down was rougher than the trip up. The guard pulled him so quickly that his feet could barely keep up, almost dragging him down the stone steps. He had hoped that the torture would be happening in a separate area from the cells so that his teammates would be none the wiser, but unfortunately it was in an open space just down the hall. Down the hall past the cells.

“Keith!”

“Keith, what’s going on?”

He threw the best smile he could muster their way as he was yanked past. “It’s okay. Just...keep thinking.”

He hoped they’d know what he meant. It was all he had time to say, and he didn’t want any extra suspicion on them. But he really needed them to figure out a way to escape.

The torture room looked exactly how he imagined it would. There were chains dangling from the ceiling, clamps and knives and various devices of unknown use hanging on every wall. Keith was led straight to something that he was pretty sure he recognized before they even began strapping him down to it.

It was a table of sorts, sitting at an incline. The shackles were taken from his wrists, only to be replaced with the metal cuffs attached to ropes on the higher end of the table. Identical cuffs at the low end were put around his ankles - after his boots were removed - so that he was lying on his back with his arms stretched up over his head. Though he knew stretched wasn’t really the word to describe it, not compared to how they were about to be.

Sure enough, the guard stepped to the crank on one end of the table, and a newcomer, the “punisher”, he assumed, took the place by his feet.

“All you must do is recant to make this end.”

The cranks began to turn. The rope tightened. It went just past pulling taut to the point of putting pressure on his limbs before they stopped.

“Do you recant?”

“We didn’t do anything wrong.”

The ropes went tighter. A mild ache started up in his joints.

“Do you recant?”

“It’s called science.”

Another turn, and his knees and elbows began to creak.

“Do you recant?”

“No.”

His knees and elbows were dangerously close to pulling out of their sockets, and his hips and shoulders were popping.

“Do you recant?”

Keith swallowed a groan. You can’t scream. You can’t scream. They don’t need to hear this, you can’t scream.

The crank turned. His knees and elbows dislocated with a loud crack.

He screamed.

“Keith!” he could barely hear from down the hall. Other shouts accompanied, but they all blurred together.

“Do you recant?”

Another turn brought the ropes tight again, and his dislocated joints cried out. His back arched, as if it could somehow relieve the pressure.

The punisher walked away for a moment, only to return holding a small piece of wood with round holes cut through it. He fit the holes over the toes of Keith’s right foot, then produced a wooden chisel and a hammer.

Keith didn’t know what was coming for sure, but he knew he wasn’t going to like it.

“Do you recant?”

“Just do it,” he growled.

The chisel was wedged into the hole housing his smallest toe, then the hammer slammed into the end of it. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose as the bone broke, but managed not to make anymore noise.

He didn’t, in fact, through all the other toes, until it was the big toe snapping. Then he let out a moan through his teeth that he hoped was too quiet for the others to hear.

“Do you recant?”

“No!”

Back to the cranks again. His shoulders weren’t going to last much longer. It took another two turns, and agonizing pain in his already destroyed joints, for them to simultaneously pop out of place.

He screamed again, and his team echoed their own cries right back.

How hard would it be, his traitorous mind started to think, to confess to using magic? That’s all it would take to make him stop.

But the sound of his friends’ voices kept him from giving in. He had to stay strong. He had to. Otherwise they’d be dead by tomorrow.

“Do you recant?”

His hips were next, and hopefully last, to go. If they went any further, it would be his spine, and he was pretty sure they didn’t want to kill him. Yet. Though the pain was making his brain so fuzzy, he wasn’t even completely sure about that anymore.

The punisher leaned over him. “Do you recant?”

Keith couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to.

The cuffs were removed from his wrists and ankles, and he was jerked up from the rack with more force than necessary. A strangled cry ripped from his throat. The guard marched him across the room, though it was less a march than a series of stumbles on Keith’s part. His legs and toes were in more pain than he realized was possible, but if he fell then they’d just drag him by his also ruined arms.

A coffin-shaped structure loomed before him. Two doors swung open from the front, revealing an interior filled with short spikes.

“Perhaps a night spent with the Iron Maiden will change your mind.”

The guard shoved him forward and adjusted him until he stood in the tiny space in the center. All his weight settled onto his dislocated hips and knees. Tears sprang into his eyes unbidden, but he gritted his teeth and refused to look away as the heavy, spiked doors came swinging in toward him.

Then it was dark. Completely, pitch black dark, and the only sound he could hear was his own labored breathing.

But he didn’t have to see the metal spikes to know they were still there. He could feel them, pricking at his skin every time he swayed the slightest bit in any direction. His legs hurt, so badly. He wasn’t even sure how he was standing on them at all, and had a feeling that it wouldn’t last for much longer. If he could raise his arms, he could brace himself against the walls somehow, but even if he had been able to get them past the spikes without shredding them he couldn’t will his shoulders to move.

Slowly, over the next...he didn’t even know, because time was impossible to mark in the darkness and silence...Keith found himself sinking backwards and to one side. He couldn’t help it. Yes, the spikes were embedding themselves into his flesh. Yes, it hurt. But at least it took his mind off the rest of his pain, just a bit.

And as gruesome as it was, the spikes were helping to hold him up, by his ribs if nothing else, taking some of the pressure off his hips and knees.

It felt like hours and hours later when the doors opened again, leaving a barely conscious Keith to groan and squint his eyes shut against the torchlight that filtered in. There was a flurry of voices and movement, multiple pairs of hands grasped his arms, legs, and torso, and he was gently eased off of the spikes and out of the metal box. He whimpered as blood began to flow from the newly opened holes.

“I know, Keith, I know,” a voice whispered. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

A gentle hand was stroking his hair. His eyelids fluttered open, and he could just make out the blurry face that hovered over him.

“‘llura…you...got out.”

She smiled tightly. “Yes. I just wish it had been sooner.”

“Why’d you do it, man?” He knew Lance’s voice, though he couldn’t will his head to turn to see him. “Why’d you let them do this to you? You could have just told them what they wanted to hear!”

“They were gonn’...” Keith clenched his teeth as a wave of pain washed over him, “ex’cute everybody. Had t’...stall. So you could get out.” The corner of his mouth turned up as he returned Allura’s worried gaze. “I’m the leader. ‘s my job t’ protect you.”

“Well, now I’ve officially made it our job to protect you.”

“No arguments here.” Lance stood. “I see Hunk and Pidge coming back with our armor. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Allura stood, too, picking Keith up in her arms. He bit back a groan. “Popsicle stand? What is a popsicle, and why are we blowing its stand?”

Keith let his eyes slip shut. “I could eat a po’sicle right now. Soun’s good.”

Lance chuckled and ruffled his hair softly. “Soon as we get back to the Castle, I’ll make sure Hunk makes you as many popsicles as you want.”

21 notes · View notes

consumedkings-archive · 3 years

Note

12) ‘things you said when you thought I was asleep’ w John x Ell 🥺

u know what jess? i was gonna say sorry about the fact that this is primarily john being horny and that i slapped that request right at the end, but u brought this on urself!!!

set ancient names adjacent, not that it matters too much--there’s hardly any plot in here lmao.

explicit sexual content under the cut, along with some softness. but mostly 2.1k words of john being a ho and liking when el lets him take the lead. (ꈍᴗꈍ)✧･ﾟ

send me a prompt + a couple and i’ll procrastinate with a oneshot or blurb!

John liked to talk.

A lot.

It was one of his more endearing qualities. And frustrating ones too, all things considered; but it was a good way for Elliot to gauge what was going on in his head. John tended to talk for a plethora of reasons; including, but not limited to, lying, getting caught in a lie, trying to be charming, trying to be threatening—trading verbal blows was an Olympic past time for John.

“—and anyway, I think that the insinuation you wouldn’t let me fuck you if we met before this is categorically wrong,” he said, trailing after her into the bunkhouse. “After all, I just about snagged you, didn’t I? At the bar?”

“I thought you were handsome,” Elliot replied tiredly. “That was before you opened your mouth.”

“Actually,” John clarified, “if you’ll recall, you were very much interested until you were spirited away. Now, I can’t account for what things might have been said about me to have dissuaded you from being interested in me—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” she asked, turning to look at him. He grinned, wolfish, but she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I’m serious, John. Do you ever shut the fuck up for like, even a minute? Have you tried it? It’s really cool.”

“Hm.” He didn’t sound impressed. He uncrossed her arms, having closed the bunkhouse door behind them, and leaned in to kiss her; she tilted back just out of reach.

“Answer the question.”

“I’m a lawyer, hellcat,” he replied, eyes glittering with amusement. “Why on earth would I ever stop talking?”

She rolled her eyes. “A real estate attorney.”

“I still had to go to school for it!” John exclaimed. He regarded her for a moment before he slid his arms around her waist and tugged her close. “Besides, you know what talking a lot has gotten me that being quiet wouldn't have?”

Elliot didn’t bite—not right away—because she had an idea of where it was going. John just absolutely couldn’t resist the opportunity to tout some kind of skill that he thought he’d garnered and that clearly no one else could commit themselves to as well as he, and she was the last person who wanted to feed that ego of his.

“Elliot,” he murmured after only a second had passed, and he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the slope of her neck, “do you—”

“Fucking Christ, what, John? What insurmountable skill have you gained from talking so much? Aside from making me want to pull my own eyeballs out, of course.”

She could feel him grin against her neck, hands splaying against her spine—and against her better judgment, Elliot leaned a little into the touch, the feeling of his mouth skimming down her neck enough to making her spine prickle with a wicked kind of anticipation.

“It means I’m really good with my mouth,” he told her, voice silky. Instantly, she felt heat crawl up into her face; he continued, quite satisfied with himself, “Should I give a hands-on example?”

Elliot cleared her throat. Yes, her body said, instantly; and even when she didn’t respond, John was already nudging her back against the bed, fingers deftly undoing the button of her jeans just as he slid to his knees on the floor, nestled between her legs. It was insidious, how someone could be so handsome like that. In a position of serving.

“Your Honor,” John rumbled playfully, “I am but a humble real estate attorney—”

His fingers tugged her jeans down, and propped up on her elbows as she was, she could see—and feel—the way he dragged his mouth along the exposed skin of her abdomen and down down down. “John—”

“—but please, allow me to redirect your attention,” he continued, completely disposing of her jeans and underwear and pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, then inside of her thigh, then the crux of her hip, “to Exhibit A.”

Elliot opened her mouth to tell him this wasn’t necessary, that she knew he was good with his mouth—but by the time she’d started formulating her counter-argument, John had pressed his mouth to her; hot, and hungry, and he moaned into her the second he did like he’d just been waiting this whole fucking time for it. He gripped her hips as he flattened his tongue against her, and then he looked up at her—smug and relentless and impatient for her and oh so fucking good.

Arrogant fuckhead, she wanted to say, you think you’re so fucking good, but you’re not, you’re just—

“Oh,” is what she said instead of all of the other things her brain was firing off now; things like so fucking good and please, please don’t stop, and the single word left her in an exhale that caught halfway into a whimper. His movements slowed, and instinctively Elliot tried to shift—her traitorous body thought only to try and garner more friction, heat rushing through her and all of the blood roaring in her ears and her body tensing when he slid his tongue against the most sensitive part of her.

“Needy,” John murmured pleasantly. Already, heat writhed and twisted in the pit of her stomach; already, her fingers knotted in John’s hair and she wanted to say wait, wait, not so fast, and John—ever so well-fucking-versed at reading her body language—pulled his mouth away from her just before she could unravel. His tongue peeked out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he just couldn’t get enough of the taste of her, and she felt a bone-marrow-deep ache in her body for him.

“You taste so good,” John purred. “And you look so—”

“John,” Elliot managed out, her voice unsteady, “if you don’t put your mouth back on me, I fucking swear—”

“Spoiled,” he interjected playfully. “Something you want? Just tell me where you like my mouth.”

Briefly, Elliot considered the logistics of murder. “Yes,” she ground out, “John, please stop talking, I—” Fucker. “—want your mouth on me, please—”

It felt like she was rambling now; but it didn't matter, because John did her the mercy of pushing two fingers into her, beckoning them in time with the movement of his tongue against her, and she made a sound that might have been a cry if it didn't feel so fucking good.

“Fuck, I—” He almost faltered for a second, and then plunged on seamlessly, “—love the way you look at me.” He ground out a low, hungry noise against her, eyes blown dark with want fixed on her own. “So sweet, aren't you, hellcat? Just for me—”

Elliot sighed her agreement, lashes fluttering at the feeling. He leaned back into her, tongue flicking and dragging wet, hot pleasure with it, his gaze half-lidded and fixed on her. The sound that came out of her was treacherous—beyond reproach, certainly, for a woman who didn’t want John to know the things that he did to her, but she couldn’t help it; the moan slipped out before she could stop it, and it sounded a lot like his name, and—

And that was fine. That would have to be fine, because John groaned against her and sighed, “Come on, El, don’t you want to come for me? Don’t you want to be so fucking good for me?” and she about came unraveled.

Well, about wasn’t the correct terminology for it. She did come unraveled, sighing his name when white-hot pleasure thundered through her body as the blood went roaring through her ears, and for a second the entire world went silent otherwise; John grinned at her from between her legs, dragging his thumb along his lower lip and dipping it into his mouth for another taste.

Stupid, infuriating, narcissist, she thought, watching the gesture and feeling a little starved even in the wake of her own pleasure—but a part of Elliot liked it, a big part, that a man felt hungry for her. This man in particular.

“So anyway,” he said casually, “that’s a benefit of talking all the time.”

Elliot’s hand slid to the back of his neck, tugging until he obliged her and was climbing onto the bed over her. She kissed him; and she could taste herself in the kiss, too, but she could only spare that a passing thought before John was pushing her shirt up.

“Should use your mouth for that,” she managed out breathlessly into the kiss, “more often than you do for talking.”

“I’ve got a couple of other talents I could make a case for,” he suggested in a pleasant rumble. His teeth caught her lower lip with only a light sting. “If you’ve got the time.”

She did have the time, whether she liked it or not, and that meant that by the time she was falling asleep that night her body ached pleasantly just about everywhere; a chilly breeze crept through the window that she’d opened the tiniest amount, and she was halfway to sleep when John stirred.

“El? You awake?”

He said her name against the back of her neck, fingers tracing the scars that he had spent every chance he had memorizing over and over. She stifled a sigh and kept her eyes shut; crammed onto the tiny bunk because John insisted on sleeping with her, it was almost impossible for her to get any actual sleep as it was, not accounting for John wanting to have a witching hour chit-chat.

It was dark—too dark for him to see if her eyes were open, anyway—and she shifted a little. John’s mouth skimmed the slope of her shoulder; his breath fanned silky and warm against her skin, and she felt the flutter of his lashes. The gesture of it was a little painful, if she thought about it too much: John, touching and holding like he was afraid she’d fold up and disappear if he let go of her, and maybe—

Maybe, if she didn’t have him there to anchor her, maybe she would. There were enough pieces of her brain that considered it a viable defense mechanism to make it a possibility.

Elliot swallowed and shifted in bed, kicking her leg out from under the blanket without opening her eyes. Heat prickled up the back of her spine, tingling where John was pressed against her. He exhaled a short breath against her shoulder, almost like a laugh—and she thought maybe he did this often, watched the way that she was when he thought she was sleeping, because he wanted to know her better.

“—you,” he rumbled, his voice muffled by her hair, so low and quiet she almost didn’t hear it. He was trying his hardest not to wake her, probably; she laid still, exhaling slow and even through her nose; the bed felt like it was rocking and swaying beneath her in time with her heartbeat, and more often now she found herself looking to John for signals, in moments like these, to tell if it was real.

John slid his arm around her midsection and tugged her against him, burying his face into her neck, and he said, “Fuck, I love you, El—you make me so mad—sometimes, I can’t ever tell what you’re thinking and—”

His voice was barely audible, but that didn’t matter—that she heard at all what he was saying made her chest tighten uncomfortably, like he was sucking the air right out of her lungs, like the room had suddenly filled with smoke that she couldn’t breathe in. It was dizzying.

“—I think loving you,” he finished, his voice hoarse, “is going to be so fucking painful.”

Oh, she thought, because that was the opinion that she had of him. The words hadn’t come to her yet—not like that, not in that shape, not in the I love you, but she thought maybe it had come in different ways; looking to him first for comfort, holding on to him to feel real, to not feel so alone anymore. That felt a little like the same thing.

Everything in her itched and burned to roll over and kiss him. She wanted to say, me too, but the words wouldn’t come; not for lack of truth behind them, but because the moment lay cradled between them just like this, fragile and fresh, and maybe anything like moving was going to make it go away.

So, she didn’t. She closed her eyes tighter and sighed sleepily into her pillow, and pressed closer to him as though she sought him even in her sleep because she knew that John liked that feeling—of being thought of, wanted, even in something like sleep—and let herself enjoy the feeling of knowing something that John didn’t. For once.

Me too, Elliot thought tiredly. I think loving you is going to be so fucking painful too.

#shallow-gravy #my writing #i hate it here #i can't believe i took this wholesome request and turned it into THIS #I HOPE UR HAPPY JESS #FUCK #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #ask games #fc5 #far cry 5 #anyway that's fine i'm gonna go lay down and die now

12 notes · View notes

pictureswithboxes · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6 of Understanding The Heathers is up.

AO3 Link [x]

There was a phenomenon where if a domestic cat was left on its own long enough, it would revert back to its feral state. Her father had told her that this was referred to as going ‘house feral.’ After seeing and hearing about how often The Heathers’ parents were out of the house, Veronica was sure that The Heathers had gone house feral. That was the only way to explain the horror show that was the game of Monopoly Veronica found herself part of.

Though, she was less of a player and more like a referee.

“Heather, get off of Heather!” Veronica exclaimed when Chandler had tackled Mac onto the floor after she had bought ‘Pennsylvania Railroad.’

“You know that it’s my strategy to buy all the Railroads!” Chandler growled.

They paid her no mind as Mac wrapped her legs around Chandler’s waist and reversed their positions handily. “It’s everyone’s strategy to buy the Railroads! You’ve already got two, I couldn’t let you get them all! It’s just good sense!” She pinned Chandler’s hands above her head with one swift motion.

Veronica averted her eyes, feeling rise to her cheeks. Her mouth went a little dry, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was intruding on a private moment. Especially with how close Mac and Chandler’s faces were, their noses were practically touching and their lips were mere inches apart.

“She’s right, Heather and you know it. We’re all in it to win.” Duke said, she looked more interested in reorganizing her money than with whatever the hell was going on right next to her. “If you guys fuck up the board, you’re going to have to fix it.”

“Oh my god, fine, Heather!” Chandler rolled her eyes. “Just let me up!”

Mac sat up, not taking her eyes off Chandler. “Just remember, I can do this any time I want.”

Veronica cleared her throat. “Heather, it’s your turn.” She said, nodding her head toward Duke.

If Veronica had known that playing a game with The Heathers meant that there would be acts of violence, she would have thought twice about betting against them. So far Chandler had already torn the three property cards in half, Mac was balling up her bills and throwing them at the people she owed money to, and Veronica already had to wrestle a hammer from Duke. She didn’t even want to know what Duke was going to do with the hammer.

Duke rolled the dice and let out a loud cheer when she saw the result. She’d landed on the Free Parking space.

“Fuck you entirely!” Chandler shouted, slamming her hands against the coffee table.

Duke laughed as she collected the bills from the center of the board. “You’re just mad because half of this came from you.”

“That’s exactly why I’m mad!” Chandler snapped. “Just you wait, you’ll land on my hotels and I’ll get all your fucking cash.”

Veronica looked at the board and had to admit, Chandler was right. Each Heather had their own different strategies, Chandler had elected to buy and develop around one of the corners of the board so it was almost impossible to avoid landing on a property owned by her. Duke aggressively bought up properties as quickly as she could, she didn’t even bother with the Utilities. Mac’s strategy looked like she only wanted to sabotage the other two more than she wanted to win.

Meanwhile, Veronica was simply trying to survive.

“I’m so scared.” Duke rolled her eyes.

“It’s my turn.” Veronica announced, rolling the dice. She was at the point where she almost wanted to go bankrupt. It was exhausting to be the banker, babysitter, and to actually play the game.

She rolled a five and landed on ‘Luxury Tax.’

“Tough break.” Mac said as Veronica doled out seventy-five dollars.

Veronica shrugged and passed the dice to Chandler. “Your turn.”

Chandler didn’t roll immediately, instead choosing to take a few moments to assess her properties.”I want to put a house on Kentucky Avenue.” She said, passing Veronica the appropriate amount of money.

“Sure thing.” Veronica took the money and handed Chandler one of the tiny, plastic houses that came with the game.

Chandler rolled a seven and landed on a Chance square. “Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” She muttered under her breath after reading her card.

Veronica was about to ask what the hell that meant when Chandler cut her off.

“Enjoy the charity.” She rolled her eyes and tossed a fifty dollar bill at Veronica, Mac, and Duke.

“Gee wiz,” Duke rolled her eyes. “This is life changing.”

“Shut up, Heather.” Chandler snapped, handing the dice over to Mac. “It’s your turn, Heather.”

The game continued and this level of hostility never wavered as time wore on. The closest thing to a fight that happened was when Mac took Duke’s plate of pizza and frisbee tossed it across the room when Duke started a housing crisis. Veronica was less horrified by the sound of the plate shattering, and more so by the way The Heathers had disregarded the sound. Going bankrupt was a blessing, if Veronica was being honest.

Two hours in and they were still going strong. This had to be a world record.

“Please.” Veronica groaned, she was now laying on the floor and blindly doling out the cash as requested. “Please tell me it’s almost over. I’m so tired, you guys.”

“Fuck off, Veronica.” Duke snapped. There wasn’t a trace of exhaustion in her tone. “I’ve got Heather on the ropes.”

“No you don’t!” Chandler growled back.

“Please, Heather.” Mac scoffed. “The only reason you made it to this round was because you were in jail for so long. “If you roll a one through five, you’re paying me. And you barely have any liquid assets left as it stands. You’re going to have to start auctioning off your properties.” She let out a little laugh. “Well, more of your properties.”

Veronica didn’t bother to look at the board to see what Mac meant.

Chandler eventually went bankrupt and the other three had to physically stop her from flipping the board. It was another half hour after that before Duke ran out of money and Mac took home the victory. Veronica wasn’t sure how the hell that had happened, seeing as Mac’s main goal from the beginning was to simply hinder the others’ progress.

“I can’t believe it’s over.” Veronica murmured as she, Duke, and Chandler cleaned up the game board. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.” She turned to the two of them. “You’ve scarred me for life, I never want to play Monopoly again!”

Mac yawned from her spot on the sofa. The winner never had to clean up the mess, apparently. “Now that I think of it, Monopoly is kind of a trash game.”

“We should play Ticket to Ride, next.” Chandler said as she carefully counted the houses to make sure there weren’t any missing.

“No way, we should play The Game of Life.” Duke argued.

Chandler scoffed. “Please, Heather, you always try to sell your kids when you get in a pinch.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Veronica found herself saying. She glanced at the clock and was horrified to see that it was nearing one in the morning. “How the hell did you three manage to stretch a monopoly game for almost four hours?”

“We all really wanted the bragging rights.” Mac replied easily. “Which reminds me, Heather, Heather, is there something you wanted to say to me?”

The other two sighed before chorusing “You are a titan of industry” to Mac in an annoyed tone.

“Am I a pretty titan of industry?” Mac asked, batting her eyelashes.

“You’re beautiful.” Duke and Chandler sighed together.

. .

Veronica sat at the lunch table, looking over her study guide for her AP Lit class. She wasn’t worried about the test that day, but it was still important to have a bit of a refresher. The Heathers, who had that class during second period, assured her that it would be a piece of cake, but Veronica would rather be safe than sorry.

“Honestly, if you even read the back of the book you should be fine.” Chandler said, looking bored out of her mind. “All you have to know is that Edna is trapped in her little gilded cage and wants to bone Robert.”

“The hardest part is trying to spell the names right.” Mac added offhandedly, she was working on her math homework and therefore not paying much attention. “Ms. Fleming said she’d mark us down if we spelled the names wrong.”

“I think that was directed at us, specifically.” Duke said. “She was still a little miffed that Heather called Mademoiselle Reisz an old crone.”

Chandler laughed a little. “In my defense, I thought it was funny at the time. How was I supposed to know that the sewer witch that is Ms. Fleming would go off the handle?”

“She’s more of a gutter hag.” Duke said after a moment of thought. “Her being a witch implies that she has powers.”

“But I’d rather be in a gutter than in a sewer.” Chandler frowned before taking a sip of her Diet Coke. “Let’s go with sewer hag. That way she’s in a sewer with all the rats and shit and piss, but also she can’t cast spells.”

“It’s decided, Ms. Fleming is a sewer hag.” Duke said as she and Chandler high-fived with a smile.

“Of course you guys would have a committee to create insults.” Veronica found herself laughing.

Chandler and Duke grinned at each other.

“So, Veronica,” Chandler said, leaning forward and resting her weight on her elbows. “As much as I hate to change the subject, Halloween is fast approaching...”

“And?” Veronica furrowed her brow.

“And,” Duke rolled her eyes. “We, as in Heather, Heather, and myself, always do a group costume. Now that you’re part of the group, we figured we’d see if you wanted to... you know, be part of the group.”

Veronica thought for a moment, usually she and Martha gathered up the worst, most D list, scary movies they could find and make a night of it. This year, however, Martha’s grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary was on the second of November and she was to go out of town with her whole family for the long weekend, starting right after school on Halloween. Veronica was planning to just stay home and pass out candy with her parents.

“Sure thing.” Veronica shrugged.

“Cool.” Chandler looked at Mac. “It’s Heather’s turn to pick a group costume, by the way.”

“You guys don’t go trick or treating, do you?” Veronica asked. She couldn’t picture the three of them going door to door begging for candy.

The Heathers looked at each other.

“Not quite.” Mac replied. “We’re doing that volunteer thing through the school where you take a few kids trick or treating around the neighborhood and then their parents come get them.”

“You should sign up if you want.” Chandler added. “We always need more people and it’s an easy way to get volunteer hours. The kids do whatever you say, it’s basically just going for a walk around the neighborhood. You don’t even really have to look at them.”

“We’re gonna watch our favorite scary movies after, you should come.” Duke said, looking over to Mac. “Do you know what we want to be, Heather?”

“I’m gonna need some time to ponder.” Mac said, closing her math book. “I don’t know any iconic groups of four off the top of my head.”

The first group that came to Veronica’s mind was The Teletubbies. There was no way in hell that she was going to tell The Heathers that, she didn’t want to risk it.

“We need an answer by Wednesday.” Chandler said, pointing at Mac sternly. “Halloween is fast approaching and we need to look good.”

Mac mock saluted Chandler. “I’ll start brainstorming tonight.”

“Speaking of making plans.” Veronica figured this would be the best time for a subject change. “My parents want me to have you guys over for dinner.”

The Heathers looked at Veronica like she’d grown a second head.

“Why?” Mac asked.

Veronica’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with you guys, is it so weird that my parents would want to get to know the people who are taking up some real estate in my life?”

“I guess not.” Chandler frowned. “Do they think you’ve... you know... gotten in with a bad crowd? Or something?”

“No.” Veronica shook her head. “Well, my mom thinks you’re all weird as hell, but they don’t think you guys are bad seeds.”

“So... They just want to meet us?” Duke asked.

“Is it seriously so weird that my parents are taking an interest in my life?” Veronica exclaimed.

“... Yeah, kinda.”

. .

Veronica was nervous as she helped her mother set the table. The Heathers would be over any minute and while Veronica was sure that her friends knew better than to be inappropriate or rude to her parents, she was terrified that they might start bickering at the dining table. Her parents already thought that The Heathers were weird as hell and they had barely interacted, Veronica was sure that if The Heathers were themselves in front of her parents, she would be banned from seeing those girls ever again.

“I’m so excited to get to know your friends a little better.” Veronica’s mother said as she put out the napkins. “I already know Martha so well, I feel like getting to know them will help us get to know you more.”

Veronica laughed. “You might want to run and hide if you get to know me too much.”

Her mother sent her a fond smile. “I certainly hope you’re joking.”

Just as Veronica was about to speak, there were three sharp knocks on the door. Veronica froze, half expecting to hear her name being screamed from outside. It was jarring to say the least.

“I’ll get it.” Veronica’s father said as he walked to the door.

“Is that them?” Veronica’s mother asked. “No one’s screaming.”

“Yeah,” Veronica nodded. “It’s kind of an inside joke between us.” She shrugged. “Heather Chandler does that to all of us.”

“What a card.” Her mother said with a confused look on her face.

“To say the least.” Veronica nodded, turning toward the door as her father led The Heathers into the dining room. “Hi guys.”

The Heathers had all elected to wear something more conservative than their usual outfits. It was like they were trying to look business casual.

“Hi Veronica.” They chorused together.

“Thank you so much for having us over, Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer.” Chandler said as they entered the room fully. “Is there anything we can do to help out before dinner?”

Mac and Duke both smiled and nodded, looking at Veronica’s mother expectantly.

“You’re just in time, actually.” Veronica’s mother smiled. “Dinner is ready and Veronica and I have got the table all set. Why doesn’t everyone sit down and Mr. Sawyer and I will bring dinner out.”

Veronica moved to the dining room table while her parents entered the kitchen. “Take a seat guys.” Veronica said, gesturing to the table.

Mac and Chandler sat on one side of the table while Duke sat beside Veronica on the other side. They sat ramrod straight, like they were awaiting a job interview or something. Veronica had to admit that it kind of felt good to know that they were taking this as seriously as she was.

“I know we just told you to tell your mom to make your favorite,” Mac whispered, she looked a little concerned. “But what did she make?”

“Spaghetti with extra oregano.” Veronica replied.

Mac let out a sigh of relief. “Okay cool.”

Her parents returned and they began to break bread and eat. They made some small talk for a little while, Chandler and Duke led the conversation a little more than Mac did. Veronica was surprised that Chandler hadn’t ordered Duke to shut up at least once since dinner had started. She was expecting it.

“So, Heather.” Veronica’s father paused. “Uh... Heathers. What do you do outside of school? Are you part of any groups? Any hobbies?”

“Well, I’m the senior class representative to the PTA.” Chandler said, sitting up straighter. “I'm also a member of the NHS. I used to be on the debate team, but it conflicted with student leadership. So I had to drop it in my sophomore year.”

“We’ll it sounds like you keep busy.” Veronica’s mother said with a smile. “And what do the rest of you do?”

“I’m head of the yearbook committee.” Duke said. “It’s a lot of work, I assign most of the stories and me and the advisor are going to edit and put the yearbook together. I’m also in the NHS with Heather. And I do a lot of reading.”

“What kind of books do you like?” Veronica’s father perked up. “I, myself, like spy novels.”

Duke smiled and nodded. “I’m more of a fan of the classics, myself. Moby Dick is an old favorite, but right now I’m reading Of Human Bondage.”

Veronica frowned at that. “I’m sorry, what are you reading?”

“Of Human Bondage, by W. Somerset Maugham.” Duke said, turning to Veronica. “It was written in like nineteen-ten or something, and it’s all about this orphan with a clubfoot living in London.”

“Oh, I think I’ve read that with my bookclub.” Veronica’s mother smiled. “It’s a little wordy, don’t you think?”

“So far, it’s pretty good.” Duke shrugged. “It’s no Moby Dick, though.” She turned to Chandler. “Heather has some opinions about Herman Melville.”

Veronica watched Chandler fight an eyeroll.

“And Heather, what about you?” Veronica’s father prompted.

Veronica fought the urge to laugh at her father’s poor attempt at a subject change. He only ever read trash books and beach reads, the classics didn’t hold his interest in the least.

“Oh,” Mac looked a little like she had been taken by surprise. “I’m head of the cheer team. It’s my job to help the coach put together stunt formations and choreograph routines, I also run the pre-practice drills. I’m also part of NHS.”

Veronica had almost forgotten just how perfect these girls were on paper. They were every parents’ wet dream, people sent their children to school in the hopes that they would fall into The Heathers’ crowd. And here Veronica was, in their crowd, completely on accident.

“Wow, you girls certainly keep very busy, don’t you?” Veronica’s mother sounded very impressed, and also a little concerned. “You are making sure to take time for yourselves, right?”

The Heathers looked at Veronica’s mother with confused faces.

Chandler recovered first. “Of course we do.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s just important to be well rounded, you know?”

“It looks good on a college app.” Duke added.

“I’m just full of school spirit.” Mac grinned.

Veronica laughed at that.

The rest of the dinner went off without a hitch. The Heathers were perfectly perfect in every single way. Veronica wasn’t sure what had her so anxious in the first place, if The Heathers knew anything, it was how to put on a show. They’d even offered to clean up after dinner. By the time they’d left, Veronica was sure her parents would be under the same spell as the students of Westerburg High.

“You liked them, right?” Veronica asked after she’d watched them leave in Duke’s Jeep.

“Oh, they’re lovely girls.” Veronica’s mother said. “A little stiff, though. Were they nervous?”

“I don’t think they are physically capable of feeling nervous, Mom.”

. .

“I’ve decided what we’re going to be.” Mac said, sitting down on Veronica’s desk once their Econ teacher gave them independent work time.

“Oh really?” Veronica asked as Duke sat beside her and Chandler perched herself on Duke’s desk. “Was today’s lesson about resources and scarcity inspiring?”

Mac laughed at that. “No, I wasn’t listening to that at all.” She set her text book on her lap and began to fill out her worksheet. “I was too busy thinking about Rose McGowan in Jawbreaker.”

“I don’t understand the logic.” Veronica said.

“She watched Jawbreaker last night and loves Rose McGowan.” Duke said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“We had a whole conversation about it last night.” Chandler added. “I swear, Heather went on for hours about how she’s in love with Rose McGowan. I was getting kind of jealous, if I’m being honest.”

“Why would you be jealous?” Veronica asked, earning an annoyed glare from Chandler.

“As I was saying,” Mac cut in. “I’ve decided that we’re going to be the Flawless Four from Jawbreaker.”

“The original Flawless Four or the one with Fern?” Duke asked.

“The original, duh.” Mac replied with a grin.

Veronica frowned and tried to remember the last time she’d watched the movie, Jawbreaker. She’d watched it with Martha, who had a habit of talking through movies, and was never really able to get into it. She remembered being entertained, nonetheless.

“And who’s gonna be who?” Chandler asked.

“Well, I want to be Rose McGowan, obviously.” Mac said.

“Heather, you don’t have brown hair.” Duke pointed out.

“Wig technology exists.” Mac turned to Chandler with a pout. “Please let me be Rose McGowan. I never get to be the mean one.”

“They’re all mean, Heather.” Chandler was averting her eyes from Mac’s. She was desperately trying to avoid eye contact.

“Come on, Heather.” Mac leaned into Chandler. “Please!”

“Just let her be the bitch.” Veronica sighed.

“Veronica is right, Heather.” Duke said, earning a glare from Chandler. She met the glare, not backing down. “Please.” She scoffed, smirking a little. “Heather already had you in her back pocket, it was just a matter of time.”

“It’s true.” Mac nodded. She whispered something into Chandler’s ear that made Chandler’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “I had you on the ropes.” She said at full volume.

“So who are the rest of us gonna be?” Duke asked. “I don’t want to be the dead one.”

“No one wants to be the dead one!” Veronica had to struggle to keep her voice down.

“Veronica has to be Rebecca Gayheart.” Mac said quickly. “She’s the tallest, and so is Julie.” She looked between Duke and Chandler. “One of you has to be the dead one.”

Chandler and Duke stared each other down for what felt like almost a full minute before Chandler spoke.

“I sure as hell am not going to be Foxy.” She said confidently. “So I guess I’ll be the murder victim.”

“You’d rather be dead than Foxy?” Veronica asked, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice.

“I just figure that at some point during the night, you guys are going to have to carry my limp body around during the party.” Chandler shrugged. “And I, for one, think that sounds very fun.”

“Oh yeah, we’re definitely gonna haul you around!” Mac nodded excitedly. “We have to make you a jawbreaker lump and everything!”

“Well, now that we have that settled,” Chandler snatched Duke’s worksheet from her and began to look it over. “Let’s get this assignment done.”

“How many times have you guys even watched Jawbreaker?”

. .

Signing up to chaperone kids while they go trick or treating turned out to be a better idea than Veronica had originally thought. The rules were simple, each chaperone was to be assigned four kids, sent out with their group for two hours, then had to return their four kids to the adult in charge. She didn’t even have to deal with parents, and it was even encouraged for groups to go together.

“I can’t believe that this was basically a two hour walk through the neighborhood with my friends.” Veronica asked Chandler for clarification as she and her group joined The Heathers’. “It can’t possibly be this easy.”

“It is.” Chandler nodded, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “All we have to do is not die of frostbite.”

“I told you to bring mittens.” Mac said, turning around. She had been walking a little ways in front of the group and had to walk backward to show off the thick, yellow mittens she was wearing. They each had a little, red triceratops on them.

“Yes, I know, but I didn’t listen, so here we are.” Chandler rolled her eyes.

“I wore mine.” Duke said from Chandler’s other side. She showed off her own pair of mittens, they were green with bears on them. “You should have worn yours.” She looked at Chandler with a smirk. “Your Nana worked so hard on them.”

“Your Nana made you all mittens?” Veronica couldn’t help but laugh a little at the thought. She couldn’t picture what Heather Chandler’s grandmother was like. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, her Nana’s pretty cool.” Duke shrugged. “She’s way better than my grandma.”

“What’s wrong with your grandma?” Veronica asked. If Duke’s grandmother was anything like her mother, she could understand why Duke didn’t care for her.

“She’s really sweet, but also really religious.” Duke replied as they stopped outside of a group of houses. “When she came to America, she got really into Jesus. And she’s really hateful about the weirdest stuff. Like she’ll go off about women with short hair and we always have to be like ‘What would Jesus say about you having so much hate in your heart?’ And then she gets all teary eyed.”

Veronica frowned. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.”

“Her grandma doesn’t even look at me whenever I’m around her.” Mac added.

“That’s because she hates the Irish.” Duke shrugged. “I told you not to use your last name when you first met her.”

“I was nine. She threw a potato at me before asking me if I liked being a part of the IRA.” Mac grimaced.

“This is really putting a lot of pieces of the puzzle together.” Veronica laughed. “It just explains so much.” She turned to Chandler. “Please tell us more about your Nana that knits you and your friends adorable mittens.”

“Hers have stars on them.” Duke smiled.

Chandler sighed. “She’s a ridiculously old and rickety lady who’s horrible to everyone except for me because I’m the baby of the family and I have the most pinchable cheeks of all her grandchildren. And my complexion is perfectly peaches and cream that she could just eat up.” She smiled a little. “I’m her favorite.”

“Every answer brings more questions.” Veronica couldn’t help but laugh.

Veronica watched as their groups of kids returned to the four of them with grins on their painted up faces. The smallest one, a girl who was dressed as a witch, ran up to Veronica.

“They gave me two pieces!” She said with a smile that showed off her lost tooth. “Do you want the other one?”

Veronica felt her heart break a little at how cute this kid was. “That’s so sweet of you!” She took a fun sized candy bar from the little girl’s hand and gestured to another group of houses. “We should try and hit as many houses as possible before we have to get you to your parents. Don’t you want a huge haul?”

The little girl and the rest of the group all nodded.

“Then we’d better motor!” Mac announced, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet.

The kids cheered as Veronica and The Heathers led them toward the next group of houses.

“We need to think about heading back soon. We don’t want the kids to be late.” Chandler said.

“Good, every minute I spend not watching the first or second Scream is a minute wasted.” Mac said, earning a nod from Duke.

“And I Know What You Did Last Summer.” Duke added.

“Do you guys just really like movies that have Sarah Michelle Gellar in them?” Veronica asked.

“We love SMG.” Chandler said. “Heather changed her house’s voicemail to ‘Omega Beta Zeta, you’ve reached The McNamaras.’”

“My dad still hasn’t noticed.” Mac grinned, turning around as their groups ran up to them. “Whatcha guys get? Anything good?”

Veronica watched in horror as the children slowly pulled toothbrushes out of their candy sacks. “Now that’s just awful.” She said.

“People like that need to be stopped.” Chandler said, crossing her arms. “What do you guys say we head back to the school? Maybe hit some houses we might have missed on the way back?”

The kids let out a little cheer before heading off in the school’s direction. Veronica and The Heathers trailed behind them, they were chattering about how excited to get back to Mac’s place. Veronica listened as they walked, she’d normally love to join them, but when she’d asked her parents if she could go over, they’d told her that just because it was a holiday didn’t mean it wasn’t a school night. Her curfew was still in effect unfortunately.

They made it back to the school a few minutes before eight and filled out their child return paperwork. It almost felt like they were returning books at the library. Except instead of a fine for a late return, she would be suspended and probably charged with child endangerment.

“Your parents said it was okay for you to come to Kurt’s party, right?” Chandler asked while Duke and Mac turned their children in. “Because we’ll look really fucking stupid without you.”

“Don’t worry.” Veronica said, leaning against the lockers. “My mom was actually kind of worried that I’d be depressed and lonely because Martha’s gonna be out of town this weekend. And my dad just kept reminding me to call him if anything happens and that I wouldn’t get in trouble if I did.”

“You know that’s a lie, right?” Chandler crossed her arms. “That’s what they always say, then you call them and next thing you know, you’re grounded into next month after being screamed at for an hour straight.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Not the kind of family bonding I was hoping for.”

Veronica almost told Chandler that her parents, unlike Chandler’s, were good and normal parents. Almost. Instead she just hummed an acknowledgement. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chandler nodded. “I look ridiculous in my costume, by the way.” She said after glancing toward Mac and Duke. “Heather’s lucky she’s cute, otherwise I would not have agreed to be a murder victim wearing skimpy pajamas for Halloween.”

Veronica smiled a little at that. “What did you want to be?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chandler shrugged. “It was Heather’s turn to pick.”

“You guys are kinda cute, you know.” Veronica gently shoved Chandler’s shoulder.

“Of course we are.” Chandler scoffed. “Don’t let it get around though, we’ve got a reputation.”

“Cross my heart.”

. .

Stepping into Kurt Kelly’s Halloween party was awkward to say the least, and not just because their terrible date was still in the back of Veronica’s mind. It was mostly due to Heather Chandler’s insistence that she, the dead body of the group, should be carried into the house like it happened in the movie. So there Veronica was holding Chandler’s legs, while Mac supported her middle and Duke had her under the arms, hobbling up to Kurt Kelly’s front door just so Chandler could get the entrance she wanted.

It was so dramatic and stupid that Veronica didn’t even really mind it.

People turned to watch them as they carried Chandler over the threshold and into the house. A few guys wolf whistled at them as they hobbled by, Veronica was sure it was more due to Chandler’s outfit, or lack thereof. The girl she was dressed as only wore a pair of panties and a tank top in the scene Veronica and The Heathers were recreating, and Chandler was definitely going for accuracy with her outfit. It had taken the combined efforts of Veronica and the other Heathers to convince Chandler to wear a pair of flesh colored tights,

“Aren’t you glad you wore those tights?” Duke grunted as she readjusted her gip. “It’s cold as fuck outside and you’re basically in a tanktop and panties.”

“Shut up, I’m supposed to be dead.” Chandler replied, not opening her eyes.

“Then stop wiggling.” Veronica demanded, trying to maintain her grip on Chandler’s legs. “When can we put you down? I swear, you are the worst murder victim ever.”

“I don’t mind carrying her.” Mac said, she was smirking a little.

“That’s because your hand hasn’t left my ass since you guys picked me up.” Chandler snapped. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I swear to god I’m going to drop you if you don’t shut up.” Duke groaned.

“So, uh, what’re you supposed to be?” Kurt asked, approaching with a tray of jello shots. Veronica had no idea what his costume was supposed to be, but it involved being shirtless. “No wait, let me guess... You’re...” He paused and took a closer look at Chandler’s neck. “What the fuck is on your neck?”

“It’s a jawbreaker.” Chandler replied, kicking her legs a little. “Veronica, put me down.”

Veronica obliged and dropped Chandler’s legs so she could stand up fully. The giant lump on her throat was unsettling due to the amount of time Chandler had spent making it look as real as possible. She looked like a real choking victim.

“Well, you ladies look great.” Kurt said, not taking his eyes off Chandler. “Maybe I’ll be able to unmask you later? See the woman beneath the costume...?”

It had to have taken all of Chandler’s self control not to vomit all over Kurt at that line. He must have been thinking of that since before the party.

“Anyway,” Kurt continued, shoving the jello shots forward. “You all need a jello shot! I made them myself!”

Veronica almost scowled at the memory of her first jello shot, but took one anyway. Maybe this time she wouldn’t end up spilling half of it down her face. “Thanks, Kurt.” She said as he wandered away, offering his shots to anyone with an open hand. “How the hell do I eat this thing without spilling all over myself?”

Mac laughed and took Veronica’s shot out of her hand. “First you have to loosen the mold.” She said, squeezing the shot container before passing it back to Veronica. “Then you either use your finger or your tongue to guide it into your mouth and slurp it into your mouth.”

“You could use a spoon too, but then you’d have to make the walk of shame to the kitchen.” Chandler supplied before downing her shot. “I use my tongue because I don’t want to have to deal with having a mess on my hands.”

Duke followed suit. “Same here, but you might want to try using your finger for your first real try.” She looked like she was trying not to laugh.

Mac rolled her eyes. “Just finger the shot a little, it’ll loosen it up.” She started poking at her own shot to demonstrate. “Once you have it nice and loose from the fingering, you tilt your head back and just let it slide down your throat.” She downed the shot quickly before smiling. “See? One day, you’ll be able to just do it with your tongue, but you need to get used to it.”

Veronica did as Mac instructed and poked her shot probably a little too roughly before tipping her head back and letting it slide into her mouth. It tasted a lot better than the first one she’d taken, that was for sure. And she didn’t lose half of the shot either. It still tasted like crap though.

“Kurt cannot make a jello shot to save his life.” Duke said with a shake of her head.

“It’s because he doesn’t let them cool long enough.” Chandler said, linking arms with Veronica and pulling her toward the backyard while the others followed. “They don’t set properly and they start to separate.”

“And it’s gross.” Duke scowled.

“Where are we going?” Veronica asked.

“We’re going to the keg!” Mac grinned, throwing an arm around Duke. “Gotta get this party started!”

Kurt’s Halloween party was very similar to the party at Ram’s house earlier in the year, except everyone was in some kind of costume. There had to be at least fourteen Batmans running around and twice as many girls dressed as cats, what surprised Veronica the most was how many bumble bees there were wandering around. She didn’t know that was a popular costume at all, and yet there they were.

“There are a lot of bees.” Mac said, passing Veronica a red solo cup.

“And Batmans.” Veronica nodded, taking a big swig of her beer and scowling. It was god awful. “Will beer ever taste better?”

“No.” Duke shook her head. “It’ll always taste like death. Sorry. Don’t worry, though, we’re not staying here all night.”

“What’re we doing after this?” Veronica asked. “A seance in a graveyard? Break into an abandoned house?”

“First off,” Chandler said with a scoff. “Did you learn all of your pastimes from teen movies?” Veronica’s cheeks heated up a little. “Second of all, it’s not even actually Halloween, so spooky shit isn’t even really on the table at this point. We’re going to take advantage of my parents being away and after-party at mine.”

“Oh cool.” Veronica nodded. “How come we’re here then?”

“Because I look fucking good.” Chandler gestured to her outfit. “And it would be a waste not to show off a little.” She took a sip of her beer.

“Why didn’t you throw a party then?” Veronica asked. “You’d be able to take advantage of your parents being out, and show off.”

“I don’t want all these people at my house.” Chandler replied, gesturing around her. Everything was a huge mess already, there was trash everywhere and someone was vomiting in a decorative vase. “Look what they’re doing here. I don’t want that at my house. I’d be the one who has to clean it up!” She looked disgusted at the thought.

“And I don’t want to have to help you.” Duke added, grimacing when a junior boy ran into the room shouting.

“Heather!” He pointed at the group. “Down in one!”

The phrase inspired everyone around them to start chanting. “Down in one! Down in one!”

Mac shrugged and tipped her head back, finishing her drink in one gulp. She gave Duke a little shove.

Duke rolled her eyes and followed suit, looking to Chandler when she was done. “Down in one, Heather.”

Chandler wrinkled her nose and finished her drink. This earned a large cheer from everyone before they went back to their own business.

“I hate that.” Chandler scowled, filling her cup again.

“What’d Kurt even get, PBR?” Mac passed her cup to Chandler for it to be filled again.

“I don’t know how you can even tell, all beer tastes like asparagus piss.” Duke grumbled as she held her own cup out for a refill.

Veronica’s nose wrinkled at that. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard, Heather.” She said. “Congrats.”

Duke raised her cup in a mock salute with a dry smile. “Glad to be of service.”

The party was pumping and it looked like Kurt and Ram were being kept entertained by a pair of cheerleaders. Or a pair of girls who were dressed as cheerleaders. Those two seemed to be the only two guys at the school who felt confident enough to approach The Heathers, so they were mostly left alone during the party. This allowed them to do shots without someone making a blow job joke, Veronica had even been able to watch Duke do a body shot off of Chandler without having to hear a threesome joke being made. By a guy at least.

“I would love to get in the middle of that.” Mac muttered, Veronica assumed it was to herself.

“I don’t think there’s anything stopping you.”

. .

Veronica stumbled into Chandler’s house, her legs sort of felt like jelly and she had to use Mac and Duke for support. She was definitely drunk, she’d done a lot of tequila shots at Kurt’s party, it took her a few tries to remember what order she was supposed to do them in. Just the thought made her break down in a fit of giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Mac asked with a little smile as she and Duke started to drag Veronica up the stairs.

“I don’t know how to drink tequila.” Veronica giggled, putting all of her weight on Mac. “How c-come I’m just... so thrashed and you’re not?”

“Because you insisted on taking shots until you got it right.” Chandler said as she locked the front door. “Do you want to borrow some pajamas?”

Veronica laughed again. “I-I never got the shots right... d-did I?” She paused. “Salt, lime, shot. Right?”

“Wrong.” Duke grunted. “Why is it that I’m stuck carrying people around all night? First Heather and now Veronica? Next year, I’m the one who’s getting carried around.”

“What am I, a pack mule?” Mac muttered.

Veronica was led into a spare bedroom before Mac and Duke all but threw her onto the bed. “Aren’t you supposed to buy me dinner before you take me to bed?” She giggled.

“Do you want some pajamas or not?” Chandler demanded. “I’m not asking three times.”

“Why do I need pajamas?” Veronica asked, trying to sit up before falling back down again. “Whoops.” She giggled at that. “We’re supposed to be after-partying!” She sat back up and threw her hands in the air.

“I’m going to push you back down and if you can sit up again, we’ll after-party.” Mac said before shoving Veronica’s forehead back.

The rest of her body followed head and she fell back onto the bed. She tried to get back up, but every part of her, not just her legs, felt like jelly. Besides the bed was so comfortable, there was no point in getting back up.

“I live here now.” Veronica mumbled, closing her eyes. “This is my life.”

“Heather, go get a big t-shirt from my dresser.” Chandler sighed. “We’re gonna have to get her into some pajamas or she’ll bitch about it in the morning.”

The last thing Veronica heard before she fell asleep was Duke and Mac agreeing before a door slammed shut.

#heather chandler #heather duke #heather mcnamara #veronica sawyer #chandlamara #mcduke #chanduke #the heathers #my writes #7000 words for this chapter #almost double my last one #can you tell that I had a lot more fun doing writing this chapter than I had with the other one?

2 notes · View notes

1ooo-w0rds · 5 years

Text

Office Thoughts - Jeyna

A/N: Attempt to write fluff. Get a little angst at the end???? Why fingertips? Reyna’s thoughts about work is a little bit like mine since I’m at a new company as well. Sadly I don’t have a cute SO to encourage me. 😭

Inspiration: My boyfriend and I were coworkers and we let management believe we are a new office romance

Reyna paused as she looked at her desk. A carefully crafted paper rose stood up from a treat bag. The bag was decorated with pink and red hearts. Through the clear plastic, various sweets like chocolate and sweethearts sat. What drew Reyna's eyes were the jellybeans, not a typical Valentine goodie. Lacy, her cubicle mate, grinned gleefully as Reyna sat down.

"You have an admirer!" She clapped her hands together. Reyna sighed as she pulled in the various wires into her laptop, eying the rose. It wasn't perfect with wrinkles and tears but the gesture brought a smile to her lips. "Ah, is he chipping away are your icy shields?"

"Shut up." Reyna murmured, plucking the rose and twirling it in her fingers. "Let me guess, Jason from IT came to visit." Lacy nodded her head as she placed her hands on her cheeks, sighing adoringly. Reyna shook her head at the girl's reaction. Jason was the person in charge of setting up her workstation and permissions for all the accounts needed for her new job. Reyna picked up a wireless mouse. "He was only delivering this. I asked him for one."

"Oh, was that all?" Lacy deflated as she slumped in her seat. The blonde is clearly starving for some cute meet office romance to gossip over. She rolled her chair over to Reyna, looking at her with those big blue eyes. "But how do you explain the flower? Or the sweets?" Reyna shrugged, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she unlocked her laptop. "Reyna..." Lacy whined before getting her things and rushing to a meeting.

Reyna smiled at Lacy response before looking over some documents. There were a few notifications in her in-office messenger chat. A few updates from her team about work progress, some HR forms she needed to fill out, and random chatter from everyone. A red bubble beside Jason's name indicated the messages he sent her. She ignored them, checking her calendar instead. She's slowly getting used to the fast pace of her team as a project manager.

"Is Jason bothering you?" Reyna looked over her monitors to see Drew, a member of her team, asked. The senior girl unraveled a piece of chocolate, popping it into her mouth. "If he is, I'll tell him off for you." Reyna quickly shook her head.

"No, no, not at all." Reyna answered quickly, shaking her head. "He's not bad. He's actually quite sweet and funny. I'm not used to all the attention and it's not just Jason. A cute guy being interested is the least of my worries. This project is pretty big for Olympus. I don't want to mess it up." Drew gave her a soft encouraging smile.

"We're a team, Reyna. If you feel uncertain about anything, feel free to ask Lacy and I." Drew said as she swept up her long hair into a neat bun. She slipped on a pair of glasses, adjusting them. "I hired you, knowing you can do this job. I don't make mistakes." Reyna laughed at Drew's confidence, feeling the tightness in her chest ease just a bit. She returned to her documents, typing steadily answering questions she was sure of. A tiny notification popped up in the corner of the screen. She sighed, there was another meeting to attend.

"All these meetings are brutal." Reyna murmured as she stood up, grabbing her things. She pocketed the bag of sweets, needing the extra energy. Drew waved as Reyna left, rushing to the other side of the office. Her heels clicked against the concrete floor. The developers will need the screens from UX. Rachel should have them done. Reyna thought. She didn't notice the hand grabbing her elbow. Reyna gasped as she was pulled into a supply closet. Her chest bumped into a solid mass as hands steadied her.

"Jason!" The young man smiled in response as he looked down towards her. Reyna hugged her laptop to her chest, fixing him with a look. "I almost dropped my laptop."

"I know a guy who can replace that." Jason replied smugly, running his hands up and down her arm. Jason's tall frame fit neatly in the tight space. He leaned casually against a stack of boxes, trapping Reyna between his legs. She looked up at him, taking in his half-illuminated profile. A sly grin played against his lips. His blue eyes sparkled behind his thick black glasses. "You're ignoring my messages."

"One of us has to do work." Reyna quipped as she stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest. Her fingers curled around the fabric and pulled him forward. She kissed him softly, smiling against his warm lips. Jason's hand cupped her chin, angling her lips to kiss her properly. Her eyes fluttered close, letting herself to fall into the kiss. "Thank you for the flower." Reyna whispered as she stepped away, stroking his jaw. Jason looked so content as he gazed at her.

"Of course." He murmured, his breath still fanning her face. It smelt like chocolate mints, rich and intoxicating. "Bet Lacy had a hay day." Reyna chuckled softly, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. Her hand squeezed his side, curling into his warmth. "I still can't believe you're here. When you said you were starting a new job..."

Reyna nodded against him. A ridiculous series of events lead them here. Reyna and Jason met on a dating app, matched because her GPS was acting up. She lived a city away, applying for jobs in various cities. They've chatted for a few days, bonding over TV shows, movies and travel stories, before meeting in person. They went on various different dates like dinner beside the water, walk through the park and pub trivia. They may have been dating exclusively recently but something in Reyna's bones told her, Jason is the one. She isn't sure if being at the same company is a sign from the universe or not.

"You could have mentioned you worked at Olympus." Reyna commented as she pulled back, fixing him with a stare. Jason scratched his cheek sheepishly.

"I never thought a girl like you would want to date a tech nerd like me." Jason answered back. Reyna shook her head at that stupid excuse.

"You know me better than that. And for the record," Reyna started as she smoothed the front of his t-shirt that was ruffled from the make-out session. "I love your nerdiness even if you talk about the latest tech for hours without breathing."

“We’re still not telling people we’re together?” Jason’s question cut through the lightness. Reyna lowered her gaze. “Come on, Reyna. I want to hold your hand in public. Take you out to lunch or coffee. Swing by your desk without an IT excuse.” He laced their fingers together. Reyna squeezed his hand. She wanted those as well. She wanted all of those and more but… Reyna doesn’t want to be that girl. The girl who wiggled her way into Olympus because her boyfriend works there. The girl who’s project failed because she was distracted. She wanted to prove herself that she deserve this position.

“I’m sorry but just a little bit more, Jason. I know I’m selfish but…” Jason nodded his head, an understanding but sad expression crossing his handsome face. Reyna stepped up, kissing his cheek and hugging his form. “Come by tonight. I’ll make you dinner.” Jason pressed his lips against her temple, whispering ‘okay’ before leaving the room.

It felt like the warmth left the space along with Jason. Reyna clenched her jaw, frustrated with herself and her stubbornness. She sighed, waiting a beat, before leaving the supply closet. Jason was still in the area, talking to one of his friends as he balanced the ream of print paper in his arms. “Just a bit longer.” She murmured, turning away.

#jeyna #jason grace #pjo fanfic #reyna rameriz #mine #office romance #I swear this was gonna be cute and fluffy but nope nope #i can't write fluff #titles are hard #fanfic 2019

33 notes · View notes

sasha-whos-askin-racket · 5 years

Text

BTHB - Arm In A Sling

Bad Thing Happen Bingo - Square 10 Square - Arm In A Sling Fandom - Ritchieverse Sherlock Character - John Watson Ship - Holmes/Watson and platonic Irene is SUPER important in this one. Requested by - N/A.

A/N: Here it is, the long promised 3rd part to what I’ve decided to call the “Wharf Trilogy”. I was going to call it the “canon correction” and then realised most of these are corrections of canon. Anyway, enjoy!

John Watson opened his eyes to darkness. As he tried to find something to anchor himself to, something to focus his vision on, he became aware of two things. One, he wasn’t in his room - or Holmes’s room - in Baker Street; and two, his left shoulder burned with the fierce feeling as if he’d been run right the way through with a rusty lifting hook. He swallowed down the instinctive feeling of panic that came with waking up both in pain and in unfamiliar surroundings, trying to piece together how he’d managed to get to this point. The slaughterhouse, Irene, Blackwood, all of it flickered at the forefront of his memory as he tried to sort the events into chronological order. Pulling Irene away from the band saw was the last clear memory he had, and then nothing after that. Nothing until now.

His eyes had somewhat adjusted to the gloom now, and he could vaguely make out the outlines of several objects around him. There was a window slightly above his head and somewhere to the left judging by the shadows it left, and a shaft of moonlight shone through. There was a door opposite, slightly ajar, and the light of a paraffin burner trickled through from the corridor beyond. He still didn’t know where he was, those two factors not being enough to fill the hole of the last goodness-knows-how-long. There was a chair next to his bed, he noticed as he turned his eyes gently in that direction. He wasn’t entirely sure who he’d been expecting to find sitting in that chair, but New Jersey operatic singer turned world-class criminal Irene Adler certainly wasn’t anywhere near the top of his list. She was very possibly asleep, but also maybe not, legs crossed, wearing the same practical outfit she’d had on the last time they’d seen each other, though it was slightly more scuffed. He hadn't been unconscious for that long then, though he noticed she did have an almost healed cut on her face that he was fairly she didn’t have the last time he saw her.

Almost as if she could feel his eyes on her, Irene looked up expectantly and slid forwards on the chair, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin on the palms of her hands. “Evening, Doctor.” Watson’s heavy tongue tripped repeatedly over itself as he tried to force himself to remember how to speak. “H-Holmes?” His voice came out of his dry throat more strained than he’d expected, but Irene seemed to hear and understand him anyway. “Why am I not even slightly surprised that’s the first thing out of your mouth? He’s hiding out in an attic above a bar because Lord Coward has a bounty on his head. He’s okay. He’s worried about you, but he’s okay.” “And I’m…?” “Royal Veterans.” Irene replied with a curt nod and slightly forced smile. “Nice place. Lax on security, but high quality interior design.” “Mary?” “I’ve only just managed to convince her to go home. She’s worried as well, but surprisingly not as much as Holmes. He’s been practically tearing his hair out.”

Watson stayed quiet for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to work out exactly what hurt. Now that he was properly trying to focus on it, everything ached. Every bone, every joint throbbed dully, and his head pounded in a way that probably would have concerned him if he’d been even a little more alert. His chest and back stung all over in tiny pinpricks, but it was his shoulder that hurt the most. It burned fiercely, and the constant waves of pain that radiated from the site were enough to send him dizzy. “What-“ he swallowed, took a deep breath and tried again. “What-“ “Explosion.” Irene cut in gently, saving him from having to try a third time. “At the wharf. You remember?”

Watson started to shake his head, then winced and stopped. “N-No.” He raised his right arm gently, running a hand along the side of his head. “A few scratches, a couple minor burns, your face got it easy compared to the rest of you.” Irene told him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, you’re as handsome as ever.” “Not my face I’m worried about.” He tried to shift himself slightly, but fell back with a yelp, losing all aura of composure as the pain in his shoulder tripled and spread down his arm and across his back, furiously blinking spots from his vision as he tried desperately to cling to the last shred of consciousness. He groaned involuntarily through gritted teeth and tried to curl inside himself, but could barely move, tears of pain blurring his vision. Irene lay a heavy hand on the centre of his chest to keep him still. “Don’t.” She warned him, her voice commanding but somehow still gentle. “You’ll only make it worse.” He fought for a moment to control his breathing, swallowing down a wave of nausea as he started to tremble. “Holmes.” “He’s okay, he’s hiding from the members of the yard, but we’ve got a plan.” “Holmes.” Watson insisted through gritted teeth, and a moment later he was able to make himself understood, though the pain clouded his head and made it hard for him to think enough to form a complete sentence, leaving him only able to stutter out fragmented attempts at words. “Want...Holmes.” “...Watson.” “Please.” Watson’s voice cracked, and for a moment Irene caught a glimpse of the scared soldier that still existed somewhere deep within him. “Need...Holmes.”

Irene studied him in concern for a moment. His body was tense with pain and trembling, and he was curled up the best he could, having shaken off Irene’s feeble attempt at keeping him still. His eyes were screwed up tightly, chin tucked to his chest, his breathing hitched. Irene tried to find a way to calm him without hurting him further, and in the end held one of his hands, tracing circles on his palm with her thumb. “It’s not safe for Sherlock to be out right now. It was dangerous for him to come after the explosion.” Irene tried to tell him, but he moaned feebly, and only gripped her hand tighter. “Do you think…?” Irene paused for a moment to consider exactly what she was about to do. “Do you think you can sit up?”

Getting John upright was a slow, delicate process, but eventually he was sat on the floor, resting his head on the cold iron bed frame with his eyes closed while he waited for the room to stop spinning. Irene was crouched in front of him, examining his shoulder under the lamplight. “It’s better than it was. There was a piece of wood the size of your fist embedded in it when they first pulled you out.” Watson didn’t answer, and Irene gave him a weak shove, careful not to jar his shoulder while still trying to make it effective. “Are you listening to me, Doctor? I am doing this for you, you know?” Watson made a quiet noise but didn’t open his eyes, and Irene decided that was good enough for now. “Can I trust you to stay alive and conscious unsupervised for a minute or not?” Watson made an incomprehensible sound between his clenched jaw that she took to be a confirmation and she stood up, watching him carefully as she made her way across the room.

Bandaging his shoulder was a laborious and far more painful process than sitting him up, and he sat with his head braced against his knees, breathing raggedly and occasionally letting out a pained whimper. Irene apologised quietly to him each time he flinched, but if he heard; he didn’t answer. “Ready?” She asked, after she’d give him a minute to recover, and at his shaky nod had lifted him up so he was sitting on the bed. Turning to his clothes that were draped over the chair, she decided it wasn’t worth the hassle and pain it would cause him just to put a shirt on, and satisfied herself with pulling his good arm through the sleeve of his suit jacket, leaving his bad one tucked to his chest in a sling and just drawing the front of his jacket closer around him. “I just want you to know-“ she told him, “-this is probably a bad idea.” He lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking at her through eyes glassy with pain. “No idea that leads me to Holmes is a bad idea.” “Not so sure I agree, but we’ll go with it.” Irene told him, and slid his good arm across her shoulder.

Watson was surprisingly light, despite the fact Irene was taking most of his weight, and their movements were slow but deliberate. Watson was limping heavily, but she and Holmes hadn’t found his walking cane at the wharf, meaning it’d been picked up by Scotland Yard. They wouldn’t be able to get it back, not with Holmes considered a fugitive, but it didn’t seem to Irene like Watson was going to be doing a great deal of moving between now and then anyway. The hospital was relatively quiet, and Irene was surprised to see there were no members of the Yard stationed anywhere, which seemed to solidify what Holmes had told her before about them not particularly wanting to bring him in. The back entrance by which she had met Holmes the day before was the best way to avoid getting caught, and it seemed worth dealing with the few extra steps to avoid detection.

Watson winced with every step, and occasionally stumbled, but Irene kept a firm grip on him, at times almost pulling him along. Under the pale yellow glow of a street lamp she could see the patch of blood slowly growing against his grey jacket and cursed under her breath. “Turn around. You can’t do this.” John tried to pull away from her feebly and staggered, Irene instinctively wrapping her arm around his chest to support him. “Back inside.” She told him gently. “Come on, Watson.” He strained against her, taking shaky steps but not actually gaining any ground as Irene held him. “I’m a soldier. I can handle this.” He insisted, though Irene could feel him trembling against her, and felt for sure her grip was the only thing keeping him upright. “You’re a doctor, you know the dangers of pushing yourself too hard.” Irene countered, trying to think of a way to placate him. He pushed weakly against her again. “I want Holmes. I need Holmes. Irene, please.” Irene thought for a moment. If she insisted Watson go back inside, he’d probably only try and get to Holmes on his own when he was left unattended. Of the two options, this was decidedly the more preferable, not that she particularly wanted Watson’s well being on her hands when Holmes was already as irate as he was.

“Fine.” She said, and relaxed her hold on him, though having to tighten it again as he slid forwards against her. The bloody patch was spreading down the sleeve of his jacket, she could feel it against her fingers. Deciding that since she was already aiding and abetting a government fugitive, she might as well go the extra step and straight-up steal a patient from the hospital. Not as if she could get into any more trouble for it. Maybe she’d rob a man in the street as he passed; she wasn’t sure yet. Watson made a quiet noise of pain that reminded her of the urgency of the situation, and she pulled his arm over her shoulder again, practically carrying him, making a point of not listening to the sound of his blood drip against the cobbles as they walked. It was hard to navigate the city in the light, and even harder in darkness with a barely-conscious army doctor clinging to her as if she was the last person on earth.

It was only when they reached the end of Fleet Street that Irene first began to suspect someone was following her, though a quick glance over her shoulder didn’t reveal anyone obvious. She knew somebody’s eyes were on her, though whether it was Moriarty, Moran, Blackwood, one of the yard members, one of the Irregulars or someone else entirely, she wasn’t sure. She stood for a moment, the wind blowing through her hair, looking through the darkness for any sign of movement from the side-roads beyond. “Blackwood…” Watson murmured drowsily, though his eyes were closed and his head was buried in Irene’s shoulder. “What?” She kept her voice gentle as she continued to look around her, trying to work out if he’d realised something important or if he was just rambling. “At the wharf....Blackwood…He...He tipped his hat at me.” Watson’s voice was getting weaker, but there was an urgent tinge to it, as if he’d realised something important that he was terrified he’d forget forever if it was left unspoken much longer. “What do you mean?” “It was... “ Watson made a pained noise somewhere deep in the back of his throat and coughed weakly, his voice noticeably fading out for a moment. “It was like almost….almost a ‘thank you for your service’...kind of thing. As though he...he was expecting me to die.” Irene didn’t say anything in response to that, but held Watson closer to her, feeling how heavily he was shaking against her, his breathing coming painful and harsh next to her ear, though shallow. His skin was covered in sweat and she could hear his teeth chattering although the thick night London air was far from being cold enough for that. Deciding if there was anyone out there watching her, she and Holmes would be able to fend them off if they tried to follow her too far, she turned her attention back to Watson, who’d lost consciousness and whose head was now lolling against her shoulder, and she cursed loudly.

It only took a couple more minutes for Irene to reach the bar, and she took the stairs a few at time, finding it a bit easier now she’d gotten used to supporting Watson’s weight on her own. Unable to knock on the door due to the fact both of her hands were keeping Watson in place, she gave the base of the door three sharp kicks, before bashing her knee into it with enough force she was surprised it hadn’t swung open on its own. When nothing happened, she kicked it a bit harder, and a moment later, the door creaked open and Holmes was watching her with narrowed eyes. “I told you to stay with-” He stopped, eyes widening at the site in front of him. “Take him. I need to check no-one followed us.” Holmes obliged, trying to ignore the blood on Irene’s hands as he slung Watson’s arm across his shoulder.

Irene raced back down the stairs and to the doorway of the bar, looking out across the open streets. Once she was satisfied there was nobody out there, she allowed herself to relax against the doorframe, though her heart was beating painfully in her chest. ‘As though he was expecting me to die.’ Those would not be Watson’s last words. They wouldn’t. Taking a deep breath of the warm night air to calm herself, she made slow work of ascending the stairs again, listening for the sounds of Holmes’s pacing the floor. The last thing she wanted was to anger him further; the look on his face when he’d seen Watson had been enough to convince her he wasn’t in a mood to be trifled with. She knocked on the door again as she approached, then tried it and found it was open. She stepped into the room then locked and barred the door behind her, running a hand down her face before she turned around to face Holmes.

Watson’s grey suit jacket and the scrap of fabric she’d been using as a sling had been tossed haphazardly to the dirty floor, though it was now hard to see any large sections of grey material left because the thick wool was soaked all the way through with blood. Watson himself lay on a makeshift bed Holmes had constructed in the furthest corner of the room from the door, and Holmes was busy unwrapping the bandages on his shoulder. “Why did you bring him here? What purpose did it serve other than almost killing him?” He asked angrily without turning to face Irene. She’d made no noise as she entered, but knew better than to ask him how he’d known she was stood there. “He insisted. He wanted you.” “I don’t care.” Holmes threw aside the bloody bandages and studied the wound carefully, venom in his voice. “He was infinitely safer there than he is here. Look at him. He’s half dead, Irene.” Ah, so he wasn’t angry. He was scared. She could hear it, that tremor in his voice. It was obvious now. It all made sense. “I thought it was better me bring him than he try and make it on his own. And he would have tried. You know he would, Sherlock.” Irene’s voice trembled slightly. She didn’t need to justify her actions to him, she reasoned. Watson had wanted Holmes, and against her better judgement, she’d listened to him.

Holmes turned on the bed, glancing from the half-drawn attempt at a pentagram he’d been working on to Irene who was now staring guiltily at the floor and then finally to Watson, stained heavily with an outpouring of his own blood, face pale, and ragged feeble attempt at breathing filling the whole room with its strained and shallow rasp. Sherlock allowed his head to hang slightly as he crossed the small room to fetch a roll of bandages he’d insisted Wiggins bring him earlier in the day.

Blackwood would have to wait; his Boswell needed him.

#bad things happen bingo #square: arm in a sling #fandom: sherlock

7 notes · View notes

echoes-of-realities · 6 years

Text

but I can hear my heart pound (and it's reaching out to you)

* * *

Summary: “Writing your number on a piece of paper?” Santana teases softly, “A little old school don’t you think?”

It’s not until Brittany’s left the cafe that she realizes that the paper in her hand isn’t paper at all. It’s a polaroid, new and shiny and glossy; the photo just smudges of freckled skin and bright, bright blue eyes, crinkled and sparkling in amusement. Santana’s heart thuds as she flips the polaroid over and finds, instead of the digits of the desired phone number, loopy script in purple pen that reads Find me.

Notes: The kinda-sorta-Amélie — A New Musical AU No One asked for but that kicked my writer’s block in the butt so I’m posting it anyways (basically I just took the premise of “Thin Air” from the musical because I’ve had this tiny idea for it for months).

Also I know Almost Nothing about NYC and Tisch and I didn’t feel like researching That much into either just for the sake of a fic that cured my writer’s block so ignore that.

Title from “Thin Air” from Amélie — A New Musical.

[Read on ao3]

[Read on Fanfiction]

Santana shows up to the coffee shop fifteen minutes early. Not— Not because she’s nervous or anything, but because it’s Sugar who set her up on this date and Sugar is often in her own little world and forgets the little things like the time (the fact that Santana’s stomach churns just a little as the minutes change on her phone and creep closer to ten o’clock means nothing). Santana loves the girl, she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have made it through orientation at the record company without her, but it’s because of that she knows Sugar and she knows to show up early.

The only problem with showing up fifteen minutes early is that she ends up awkwardly hovering in the doorway until an impatient man in a too nice suit coughs rudely behind her and brushes past. Santana tries not to get irritated because she was blocking the door, but men in suits have always irritated her starting all the way back in elementary school when her father would hole himself up in his office all throughout dinner, his suit just as pressed and clean as it was when he left that morning.

Santana takes a deep breath and follows the impatient man into the cafe, surveying the shop until her eyes land on a small table tucked in the corner with two bar height stools on it. She heads immediately for the spot and hopes the stools are more comfortable than they look. She fiddles with her backpack once she gets there, trying to look busier than she is so no one questions her for not getting a coffee yet (and to do something with her hands because they’re jittery and trembling even though she’s so not nervous). She hangs her bag over the back of the stool and watches the impatient man from earlier reach the front of the line; the barista at the cash register subtly rolls her eyes at the man and Santana has to assume he’s one of the belligerent regular types.

She doesn’t actually know anything about the girl she’s supposed to be on a date with beyond Sugar being certain they’ll fall in love and telling Santana that this girl is beautiful and one-hundred percent her type; Santana wasn’t even aware she had a type, but sometimes Sugar can be surprisingly intuitive about these things. She doesn’t even know what the girl looks like though, despite her nagging Sugar about it for a week; Sugar liked the mystery and the romance of it all, Santana would much rather like to at least know who to look for but Sugar was insistent.

She studies the cafe from her corner, it’s Sugar’s favourite cafe and Santana’s been here often with her; despite it being midterm season at the universities, it’s not even ten yet so the cafe is pretty sparse. There’s a couple businessmen at the end of the counter waiting for their coffees, a group of moms sits at the longer table bouncing infants and wrangling toddlers and expressing their loud gratitude at their older children being back in school, there’s some university students scattered around the cafe (Santana can tell from the dullness to their eyes) either standing zombielike in line with rumpled clothes and tangled hair from the night before or huddled with their laptops pressed together to make room for the notebooks and textbooks on their table.

The scent of coffee fills the air and Santana can feel her nerve-endings come alive just from the smell; she isn’t sure if it’s rude to get a coffee before her date gets here, but she waits and scrolls aimlessly around on her phone just in case. She’s been on dates before, but she’s never been set up on one before, and despite the fact that she trusts Sugar (more or less) she feels just a little bit unbalanced. It’s not really her style to wait around for her friends to set her up on dates when they think she’s been single too long (it’s not like she goes on a lot of dates, because, as she’s known about herself for a very long time, she’s actually kind of hopeless when it comes to girls, but she’s been on her fair share of them, and it’s really lame when her friends think she needs to be set up, and also just the tiniest bit sweet).

She’s just opening and immediately closing her solitaire app for the third time when a voice interrupts her. Santana starts, banging her knees against the bottom of the table and hissing out a quiet curse as pain throbs along her legs.

“Santana?” the voice asks and Santana looks up into the brightest pair of blue eyes she’s ever seen, crinkled a little at the corners with a hint of amusement but mostly widened with concern. Soft blonde bangs fall across her forehead, the longer strands swept carelessly behind her ears. Her sweater looks warm and soft, the dark teal sleeves falling down past her wrists. She’s smiling politely at Santana, her lips twitch and start to waver down into a slight frown the longer Santana remains silent. “You are Santana, right?”

Santana’s pretty sure her heart stops beating. (Goddamnit Sugar is right, Santana definitely has a type.)

“Brittany?” she manages when she’s sure she’s not going to swallow her tongue.

The girl — Brittany — brightens and relaxes and her smile eases and Santana’s heart starts beating again, but at about twice the speed as before. Her lips are pulled thin and up by a genuine smile as she looks at Santana. Her gaze is warm and it makes Santana’s stomach swoop and her skin prickle. Brittany holds out her hand and Santana quickly shakes it, feeling the subtle strength in Brittany’s clever fingers as muscle shifts bone.

“I’m really glad I guessed you on my first try,” Brittany says, fiddling with her book-bag, “Sugar didn’t tell me anything about you besides your name and that you were my typ—” Brittany cuts herself off and her eyes go wide, pink blooming in splotches like crawling ivy across her cheeks. “Sugar didn’t tell me anything about you,” she repeats.

Santana’s smile softens and she elects to ignore Brittany’s slip up in the hopes that it will ease her embarrassment. “You wanna go order?” she says instead.

Brittany nods quickly and continues to to avoid Santana’s eyes as she plops her book-bag down on the seat angled beside Santana’s, quickly digging through it until she produces her wallet, slipping it into her back pocket. She shoves the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows and gives Santana a small smile as she leads the way to the counter. Brittany wears slightly faded jeans with splotches of dark ink speckled across them and rips that look more from wear than fashion, her sneakers are well worn and scuffed along the white edge lining the bottom, bright flowers patterned across the fabric. Santana inwardly smiles as she follows Brittany to the line up; Brittany is put together and attractive and graceful and has a smile that could make flowers grow and is, supposedly, completely her type.

They make small chat while they wait in the short line; how much it sucks that it’s getting so cold these days, how awful midterms are, how that one homeless guy who’s always outside of the Wendy’s across the street from this cafe deserves a new winter hat, how much they’re going to miss that tiny Japanese noodle restaurant on fourth avenue when it shuts down, and before they know it they’re at the front of the line.

Brittany orders and when the barista asks is that all? Santana steps up beside Brittany and places her order, quickly handing a ten dollar bill over despite Brittany’s protests. Santana just grins up at Brittany and shoos her to the pickup section of the cafe, collecting her change from the barista before joining Brittany at the other counter.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Brittany scolds once Santana gets there, but there’s a brightness in her eyes that negates the tone to her voice.

Santana just lets her grin widen and Brittany’s eyes drop to her cheeks and Santana knows that her damn dimples are probably peaking out; she’s always had a vague dislike for them because it completely ruins her whole tough persona, but with something bright and warm in Brittany’s gaze she doesn’t immediately try to bite down on her smile and hide them. The barista calls her name and she quickly steps up to take the two coffees, turning and passing one to Brittany. She takes her coffee from Santana with a murmured thanks, her fingers stained with dark ink right at the tips, and a smile warm enough to send heat flaring under the skin of her cheeks.

It takes a little bit to get comfortable with each other, but before Santana realizes it she’s laughing and talking with Brittany as if they’ve been friends forever.

They both know Sugar from the weird electives they’ve had to take over the years with Sugar switching schools and everything, and they both laugh at how they arrived fifteen minutes early to the different times Sugar told them. Santana finds out that Brittany came here on a math scholarship but dropped out of the program in her second year to pursue photography so she’s technically in her first year despite being a third year student; she find out Brittany is funny and witty and silly and smart. She tells Brittany about being a music major and how there’s only really been two people in her life who believed she could make it; and she’s never felt as funny or witty or silly or smart as when she manages to coax a smile out of Brittany.

Brittany tells her about the math program that barely let her eat or sleep and laughs when Santana tells her she’s glad that Brittany’s not a math monkey anymore, and Santana tells her about the band she was in for a first year class with people she thought were her friends but who really weren’t. She finds out that Brittany isn’t a morning person, and Santana tells her about the first time she got up on stage and how she just knew what she was supposed to spend the rest of her life doing. Brittany tells her about how her step-dad raised her as if the step part wasn’t even there in the first place and how she’s always preferred kimchi and rice over green beans and potatoes, and Santana tells her about the dumb group project she has coming up. Brittany tells her about her best friend since she was five and how they sometimes find buskers in the park and start dancing along to the music to draw a crowd, and Santana tells her about her best friend from first year and how she probably would have dropped out long ago if it wasn’t for her. Brittany tells her about her little sister, and Santana tells her about being raised by a single mom. Santana finds out that Brittany scrubs at the ink staining her fingers when she doesn’t know what to say next in the same way Santana fiddles with her hands when she’s nervous, and every time Santana’s eyes are drawn to those clever fingers as they start rubbing at the dark blotches.

“Do you have some of your photographs?” Santana asks the next time Brittany starts scrubbing her fingertips. Brittany hesitates and Santana offers her a small smile, feeling her lips tug up higher on one side than the other. “C’mon,” she coaxes, “You gotta have at least one album on you at a time. You said you take polaroids mostly, right?” Brittany’s eyes dart to hers and search Santana’s face for something before her expression eases into something awed and sweet and Santana can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips when Brittany nods slowly. “Well you gotta have an album on you then, right? Where else would you put them so they don’t get wrecked in your bag?”

Brittany giggles and shakes her head a little. “You’re right, you’re right,” she concedes, twisting slightly in her chair to swing her book-bag up onto her lap. Brittany rummages through her bag and Santana catches a glimpse of a polaroid camera; not one of those new ones, but one of those old black and white ones with the overlarge flash unit at the top and the picture slot at the bottom. Brittany pulls out a decent sized album and scoots her chair over; Santana moves closer too until her elbow brushes Brittany’s where it rests on the table. Their eyes shoot to each other and meet before they smile and quickly glance down at the album, Santana can feel her cheeks burn and when she glances at Brittany out of the corner of her eye she can see that pretty pink colouring the peaks of her cheeks.

Santana forces herself to focus on the photography album but she can’t help sneaking glances at Brittany every time she goes quiet with thought or launches into a story or explains some of the techniques she’s used or just, you know, breathes. Santana finds it fascinating to study Brittany’s profile, the slope of her nose and the curve of her lip, the way her cheeks scrunch up her eyes and the way her mouth curls around her words; more than all that, Santana is captivated by the brightness on Brittany’s face and the passion in her voice as she talks about her work and Santana can’t help but admire how much more beautiful Brittany becomes when she’s lit up with her love for what she does.

Santana spends as much time studying Brittany’s face as she does the polaroids (okay, probably more time staring at Brittany, if she’s being truthful), but the polaroids are just as interesting as Brittany’s face, and show just as much of her personality too. Most of them are in shades of blue or orange, and all of them are carefully careless in their composition. There’s ones of emotionless skyscrapers stretching for a sky that’s always just out of reach and ones of houses falling apart that remind Santana of her childhood home; there’s ones of people sprawled out and laughing on a boat and ones of stoic businessmen with the crinkle of amusement in the laugh-lines creasing their eyes; there’s ones of a fat cat that Brittany laughingly says is Lord Tubbington and there’s ones of a songbird caught mid-hop; there’s ones underwater of a young girl with a dark halo of hair around her that Brittany explains is her little sister and there’s ones taken of an man in the reflection of a magazine that Brittany explains is her best friend Mike; there’s ones of tiny toys made to look like a real scene and there’s ones of Brittany in a dark room hanging pictures up and silhouetted in red light.

“Which one is your favourite?” Santana asks quietly, studying the way Brittany’s face is open and just a little bit longing as they flip through the album.

Brittany doesn’t even hesitate like Santana expects her, she flips to a picture in the first half of the album and points to it. She glances up at Santana and her face is a little guarded for the first time as she searches Santana’s eyes; she must see whatever she’s looking for because her eyes soften and she looks so young for a moment. “It’s this one,” she says and Santana holds Brittany’s gaze for a moment that’s just a little too long for her to play it off before she follows Brittany’s finger.

It’s a picture of the city painted in the gold and pink of sunset, the buildings cold and dark against the life of the purple sky and the orange of the setting sun, the hint of a spruce tree in the top corner and the river in flashes of pink and violet and blue. Thin clouds converge on the city in white and yellow, the faintest dusking of indigo where the skyline meets the farthest edges of the city. There’s also a smudge of beige in the bottom left corner that must be the edge of Brittany’s finger and a long, thin strand of blonde hair cutting through the picture across the top half. Compared to some of Brittany’s other pictures, it’s amateur and careless, but there’s something beautifully truthful about the flaws in the picture.

“Why’s it your favourite?” Santana murmurs.

Brittany shrugs and ducks her head a little. “When I was going through all that stuff with my math scholarship and whatever, I used to walk around the city a lot and— And think. It was easier to pretend I wasn’t just a— A math monkey,” she says and gives Santana a quick smile, and Santana’s lips curl up in return before she even realizes it. “Anyways. Um, long story short, but my grandpa had given me his polaroid camera when I was in high school and I always took it everywhere even though I didn’t really use it.” Brittany’s gaze drops from Santana’s and she looks at the photograph, studying it with critical eyes, a faint hint of pink blooming across her cheeks and obscuring her freckles. “There’s this bench in this park on East End Avenue overlooking the city and I just— Something about that sunset over the city I was growing to hate made me just stop, I guess, and for some reason I remembered the polaroid I had and I just. I took my first picture and everything settled in me. I backed out on my scholarship, much to my parent’s horror, and applied to Tisch the next day and I haven’t looked back.”

Brittany suddenly bites down on her lip and her eyes widen. She resolutely avoids Santana’s gaze even when Santana ducks her head to try and catch it. “I— It was— It was kind of where I found myself, I guess,” she finally admits sheepishly, her eyes averted to where she digs the edge of her thumb nail under the laminate edging of the table.

“It’s beautiful,” Santana whispers, her eyes on Brittany’s face.

Brittany’s eyes dart up to Santana’s and she seems surprised to find Santana’s dark eyes already on hers. “Yeah?” she breathes.

Santana smiles and nods softly. “Definitely.”

Neither of them notice that over three hours have passed until Santana’s stomach starts growling and she feels her cheeks heat up. They finished their coffees ages ago, and after looking through Brittany’s photography album neither of them had moved from their spots, their elbows still mostly pressed together and their shoulders sometimes brushing with laughter. Brittany stops scrubbing at the ink on her fingertips and Santana doesn’t feel the urge to fiddle with her hands anymore.

They’re both reluctant to leave, but Santana still has a paper to work on and a midterm to study for, and Brittany has some film she needs to develop and they stand to part ways. Santana feels her stomach churn and she asks Brittany to watch her stuff so she can run to the bathroom before she leaves for the subway, and Brittany easily agrees.

Santana crosses the cafe and slips into the single stall bathroom and moves in front of the mirror to stare at herself. She doesn’t actually need to use the bathroom, and besides her apartment is maybe ten minutes away, but she needs a few moments to herself to work up her courage. It shouldn’t be so hard to ask a girl for her phone number, especially when that girl is Brittany with her bright blue eyes and her adorable smile and her ink stained fingers on Santana’s arm when she laughs, but somehow the thought paralyzes Santana’s insides.

She breathes deeply for a couple moments and critically studies her reflection in the mirror before she washes her hands and exits the bathroom, heading back to the table in the corner. Brittany stands with her book-bag slung over her shoulder, scrubbing at her fingertips and Santana takes a deep breath before she greets her.

Brittany smiles and Santana can feel her heartbeat in the tips of her fingers again as she swings her backpack up onto her shoulder. She fiddles with the strap for a moment before gathering her courage in a deep breath and looking up; she finds Brittany’s gaze already on her and when she meets those blue eyes something sharp and aching shoots through her chest. “I had a really good time,” Santana says and her voice feels shyer than she’s ever known it to be.

Brittany’s smile spreads slowly across her face, starting at her eyes and spreading to her lips. “So did I,” she murmurs, “Sugar has good taste in blind dates.”

Santana lets out a surprised laugh and watches as Brittany lights up even more. “So, uh, maybe,” Santana stutters and she curses herself for tripping over her words so much, even as Brittany’s face softens and looks more wonderstruck than before, “Maybe we could do this again?”

Santana watches as Brittany swallows thickly before she takes a tiny step forward. “I’d really like that,” Brittany whispers and something blooms under Santana’s sternum until she worries she might float away.

“Yeah?”

Brittany catches her bottom lip between her teeth but it does nothing to contain her smile. “Yeah.”

Santana finally lets the smile she feels aching in her cheeks spread across her face and nods quickly, not caring how foolish or overeager she looks. “Cool,” Santana says, and with the way Brittany’s eyes slip catlike and teasing she knows it’s more than cool, “Do you— Can I have your number then?”

Brittany’s smile widens and she twists slightly and goes digging through her bag, producing a small piece of paper and a pen, turning to the table and quickly writing on it.

“A piece of paper?” Santana teases softly, “A little old school don’t you think?”

Brittany’s lips curl into that mischievous, enticing smile. “I think it’s romantic,” she says easily, the blue of her eyes only slivers of colour through her eyelashes as she glances up at Santana, and Santana’s breath catches against her teeth. “Don’t you?” Brittany teases, and her tongue pokes out just a little bit as she bites down a smile and Santana feels off kilter and dizzy in the best way possible.

“I mean, I guess,” she manages, and Brittany’s smile escapes her attempts to hide it until Santana can see amusement in her eyes and in the tiny dimples at the very corners of her lips.

Brittany straightens and hands Santana the paper with her adoring smile still lighting up her face, and Santana just knows her own dimples are showing and she doesn’t feel the least bit embarrassed about it. “Thank you, for the coffee,” Brittany murmurs, “And for a perfect first date.”

Santana wants to say something charming like the first of many but instead all she manages to do is gasp a little when Brittany leans close and brushes soft, soft lips over Santana’s cheek right where a dimple creases the skin, pulling back with an even softer bye before she crosses the cafe and leaves, Santana stuck staring dumbly after her, the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine still lingering in the charged air around her.

Santana only then realizes that the paper feels thicker and glossier than a scrap of paper should. She runs her thumb over the centre of the paper before bringing it up to her face and belatedly realizing it’s not a piece of paper at all. It’s a polaroid, new and shiny and glossy; the photo just smudges of freckled skin and bright, bright blue eyes, crinkled and sparkling in amusement.

Santana’s heart thuds as she flips the polaroid over and finds, instead of the digits of the desired phone number, loopy script in purple pen that reads Find me.

Santana blinks blankly and stares at the letters, flipping the picture back over to find those blue eyes again, still as bright and amused as they were the first time she caught them.

She stands there dumbly until a college student hustles her over and Santana realizes that she’s just standing at an empty table. She shuffles over with a sarcastic sorry as the college student punks his stuff down on Santana’s table. She weaves through the crowd, the picture clutched protectively in her hand, as she stumbles out the door. She huddles by the front window and restudies the picture thoughtfully, shivering in the autumn air.

There’s darker violet rimming the outside of Brittany’s irises, and the tiniest flecks of gold like splattered wet paint surrounding her pupils, cobalt blue streaking through the cerulean like forks of lightning. The corner of a blonde eyebrow is caught in the middle of the top edge of the photo, right where her forehead smooths into her nose. Her cheeks scrunch her eyes up, catlike and amused, a small collection of freckles gathered at the inside corner of her right eye and spreading out like constellations, mapping faintly across her nose to gather again at the opposite corner of her other eye.

The picture gives Santana no real hints other than to prove what Santana already knew from the first moment she met Brittany’s eyes, which is that Brittany is really, really, really pretty. She flips the picture back over and rereads the words that should have been a phone number and feels even more stumped than she did in her calc midterm last week (the fact that a liberal arts degree requires math is absurd and ridiculous and Santana hates it).

Santana probably shouldn’t be laughing, but her face breaks out into a wide smile anyways. She’s always liked puzzles, ever since her mom used to get her those dungeon crawler games when she was really young, and the polaroid in her hand sparks the same flare of curiosity and determination. She should probably just write Brittany off for this. She should assume this is Brittany’s creative way of turning her down. She should be pissed that Brittany’s probably just leading her on or something. She should be irritated because she’s busy and doesn’t really have time to go on a wild goose chase around the entire goddamn city with nothing more than a polaroid picture and knowledge she’s learned in the past couple hours.

There’s all these things Santana should be, but instead, Santana’s pretty sure she just found the most interesting girl in the entire city.

She picks a direction and starts walking. The city is huge, but Santana’s pretty sure Brittany wouldn’t be in a different borough simply because she can’t have gotten that far yet (or, Santana hopes Brittany’s not in a different borough). She hopes she’s walking the right way, but she’s always had a pretty shoddy sense of direction, and she doesn’t have a clue what direction Brittany lives in or what direction she might have started walking in or even if Brittany wants her to find her.

She opens Facebook as she walks and has Brittany typed in before she realizes she has no clue what Brittany’s last name is. She narrows the search results down the city and the school, but there’s still hundreds of Brittanys of various spellings, none of them with that soft blonde hair or electric blue eyes or beautiful smile, and Santana doesn’t even know if Brittany has her school or city on her Facebook, or even if she has a Facebook. Santana grumbles and shoves her phone back in her pocket, shivering a little in the autumn air. The sunlight is weak but still glints off the front windows of shops and Santana gets whiffs of coffee and soap shops and Korean food as she dodges people on the sidewalk. She thinks back on what she’s learned about Brittany in the past couple hours, but nothing comes to mind about where she would go after a coffee date, and then Santana is rounding a corner and seeing the purple flag of Tisch flapping in the wind. Santana grins and feels the slight bounce to her step as she heads for the building but does nothing to try and contain the sudden wave of hope that fills her.

There’s students hurrying back and forth across the side walk and Santana searches the crowd before setting her sights on someone. “Hey,” Santana calls to the woman approaching her from the front doors, “Excuse me. I was wondering if you can tell me where the photo—”

“No I’m not coming to your little punk rock, hip hop, pop concert or whatever it is you kids are into these days,” the woman snaps and Santana blinks quickly.

“What?” Santana says blankly, “No. What? No. I’m not asking you to come watch my band play. I’m not even in a band. What the hell gives you that idea?”

The woman’s eyes trail down Santana’s body, taking in the leather jacket and ripped jeans and leather boots and, okay, maybe Santana sometimes dresses like she’s about to catch a concert but still. That doesn’t mean she’s in a lame-ass band or something.

The woman turns away walks down the street, her gaze answer enough, and Santana curses under her breath. “You make the mistake of joining a shitty college band once and suddenly you’re pegged for life,” she mutters.

She eventually manages to manoeuvre her way inside the school and then manages to find someone to point her in the direction of the photography department. Santana wanders the halls of the school, eyeing grey lockers and exposed brick walls as she finds her way to where the photography department is located, somehow managing to get lost a couple times and cursing as she sees a couple people dressed more or less exactly like her, toting bass guitars and drum sets around and she tugs self-consciously on her leather jacket, thankful for the beanie she threw on this morning both for the cold and for the fact that it means she’s not dressed exactly like other music majors.

Santana can tell when she reaches the photography department because there’s framed photographs lining the hallways now and Santana wanders around, studying abstract pictures and lifelike stills equally, searching for something without really knowing what.

She’s not quite sure what tips her off, whether it’s the use of blue and orange or if it’s the life embed into the photo despite its still subject or how it feels like if Santana studies the photo long enough it will come to life, but she slows to a halt in front of one of the photos near the middle of the hallway. There, in the corner of the blown up photo, is a scribble of a loopy signature that looks like the beginning of Brittany.

“She’s good isn’t she?” a voice says over her shoulder. Santana glances to the side and finds a shorter Asian woman standing behind her, arms full of art supplies and a wide smile on her face.

“Brittany?” Santana asks, and her suspicion is confirmed when the woman nods her head. “How do you know her?”

The woman laughs. “I took a couple years off before university and she switched programs halfway through her first so we were both a little older than the first years. We had, like, all of our first year preqers together and we got a long really well. Plus, I’m sorta dating her best friend so there’s that too. I’m Tina, by the way.”

“Santana,” Santana answers absently. “Does she have classes today?”

Tina shakes her head and shifts the art supplies in her arms. “Nah, she made her schedule so she had one day off, the lucky jerk.”

“Do you know where I could find her then?” Santana asks eagerly, and Tina seems to waver a bit and Santana tries to clamp down on her enthusiasm. “I’m not— I’m not like some crazy person,” Santana promises.

“That’s exactly what a crazy person would say,” Tina quips.

Santana shakes her head quickly even though Tina’s right. “It’s not— I went on a date with her but I didn’t get her number and now I don’t know how to get a hold of her.”

Tina’s eyes brighten and start to glow with amusement. “You must be Sugar’s mystery friend,” Tina says around a smile, “She refused to tell us anything about you except that you were apparently Britt’s type.”

Santana ignores the heat that flares in her cheeks. “So you have Brittany’s number then?”

Tina looks at her calculatingly for a long moment and Santana can’t help it when she starts to play with her fingers. “Why didn’t Brittany give you her number?”

Santana shakes her head and reaches into her pocket, pulling out the polaroid she placed along the back of her phone; she glances at those blue eyes again and can’t help the smile that threatens to spread. “She gave me this instead,” she says and offers it to Tina.

Tina is studying Santana’s goofy smile with a curious, unreadable expression and Santana fights to bite down on that floating feeling inside that’s making her a little giddy. Tina’s eyes only drop from Santana’s as she juggles her art supplies around a little to free one hand and take the photo. She glances over the blue eyes before flipping it over and reading the words with a fond shake of her head. “She’s always had a little bit of a flair for the dramatic,” Tina says, handing the photo back. Santana takes one last look at it before she carefully places it against the back of her phone and slides the phone back into her pocket. “I don’t know where she would be though,” Tina says, “And unfortunately I left my phone at my apartment this morning and I don’t have her number memorized.”

Santana sighs and tries to ignore the ebb of disappointment in her stomach. “Thanks anyways,” she says.

Tina continues to study Santana with that curious, unreadable look before something in her eyes clear. “Maybe try the Alumni Sandwich Shop,” she suggests kindly, “It’s Brittany’s favourite place for lunch. It’s like a ten minute subway ride south and then a fifteen minute walk.”

Santana lets her smile spread unabashedly as she thanks Tina and turns back down the way she came. She gets lost another couple times on the way out of the university but takes the time to search up the sandwich shop on her maps app, eventually managing to make it back out onto the street. She weaves through tired university students and manages to stumble her way to the nearest subway station, filing down the stairs to the train station. It doesn’t take long before she’s squished between a screaming baby and a homeless man’s backpack on the train, and she braces herself with an arm around one of the poles as the train lurches forward. The sound of the train travelling the tracks booms through Santana until it echoes in her ears and she carefully slips her phone out to study the polaroid until her stop comes up; the booming doesn’t stop even when Santana exits the train and emerges back into the chilly autumn air and that’s when Santana realizes it’s her heartbeat echoing throughout her body. She slips her phone out of her pocket and studies the picture one more time before she slips that back into her pocket and follows the blue line on her maps app.

It’s past four by the time Santana’s stomach grumbles even louder than it did two hours ago when she was still with Brittany as she scans the storefronts and searches for the sandwich shop she’s looking for. With a start she realizes she’s been wandering around the city for over three hours, looking for a single pair of elusive blue eyes, and she doesn’t even feel frustrated by it. She’s eager to find Brittany again, and she’s a little nervous about what will happen when she does, and she’s more than a little hungry as she finally finds the sandwich shop Tina suggested.

The warm air blasts her face when she opens the door and she takes a moment just inside the entryway to stomp some feeling back into her toes and huffs hot breath into her palms, wiggling her fingers until it feels less like her joints are aching with cold. There’s hope leaping under her sternum that she can’t squash even when she doesn’t catch sight of any heads of golden hair. She heads to the counter and places her order, and spices and fresh bread fills her nose and makes her even hungrier. Belatedly she realizes that, aside from a hastily eaten granola bar from this morning and her coffee, she hasn’t actually ate anything all day, and her stomach grumbles loudly at the thought. Thankfully it’s loud enough in the shop that she’s sure there’s no way anyone heard, but her cheeks heat up anyways. She waits at the other counter, watching three people get up to retrieve their late lunch or early supper, impatiently listening to the numbers count up towards hers.

She calls Sugar a couple times while she eats but only gets her voicemail, and her text messages stay on read, and she wants to be frustrated but it’s just so like Sugar to be sitting somewhere laughing at Santana, so, she can’t really stay mad for too long. She tries Facebook again but realizes she forgot to figure out Brittany’s name from her signature because Tina interrupted her, and she mutters a curse under her breath but keeps scrolling through the hundreds of Brittanys on Facebook. After half an hour of finally filling her grumbling stomach and downing a bottle of water, she detours to the bathroom and then exits the shop, feeling refreshed again. She picks a direction and starts wandering, because it worked out well last time.

The sun is starting its descent and it feels almost like winter in the shade of the buildings around her. She shivers and cuddles closer into her jacket, fingering the picture pressed against her phone as she wanders the streets and desperately tries to figure out where to find Brittany.

She comes across a small park and she smiles briefly, crossing the street to enter it. Almost all of Brittany’s photographs were taken outside, and based on what Brittany told her of her habit of walking to clear her mind Santana figures the park is as good a bet as any. The paths are paved and winding, sprinkled with the gold and orange leaves of autumn. Fake cobwebs hang from some trees and sport sloppily carved pumpkins under them; children shriek as they chase each other through the leaves while parents watch on and call out exasperated warnings that are never fully followed. Dogs bark and stretch their leashes to the limit to sniff at strangers and the hint of an acoustic guitar fills the air from the other side of the park.

Santana wanders through the park slowly, chewing on her lip before pulling out her phone, carefully tucking the polaroid back into her pocket.

“This is a fucking long shot,” Santana mutters darkly as she scrolls through her contacts.

Mercedes picks up after the second ring and there’s a bright laugh in her voice. “Santana, who knew the blind date you were dreading would go on for hours and—”

“It’s not— I’m not with her right now,” Santana interrupts.

Mercedes grows quiet and sombre. “Geez, Santana, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“The date went perfectly,” Santana interrupts again.

Mercedes hesitates. “So,” she trails off and Santana can hear her confusion over the phone.

“It’s— It’s a long story. She— I’m trying to find her but I don’t have her phone number,” Santana explains, running her thumb over the polaroid in her pocket. “Her name’s Brittany and since you and Sam know, like, everyone I was wondering if you, you know, know her?”

Mercedes hums and Santana knows she’s still confused but she answers with a “Hold on a sec,” anyways. Santana waits impatiently as Mercedes’ voice grows distant and muffled. “Sam knows of a Brittany Pierce,” she says within a couple moments. “Is that her?”

Santana’s heart makes the leap from her chest to her throat and she stumbles over an invisible crack in the sidewalk as she tries to force it down. She shouldn’t get her hopes up, but she does anyway. “Blonde hair, blue eyes? Freckles and dancer’s body? She’s taking photography at Tisch?” she prompts frantically, “She has smile that could make flowers grow?” Santana bites down on her lip hard enough to ache as that the last descriptor makes it through, and she can practically hear Mercedes’ smug smile through her phone. “Please forget I said that,” she begs, “You can make fun of me later but I need a lead on this girl ‘Cedes.”

“Aww, Satan,” Mercedes coos, “you sound like you’re blushing.”

“Oh fuck off, Wheezy.”

Mercedes laughs and her voice gets muffled again for a moment, the rustling of cloth against the speaker filling Santana’s steps as she crosses the park, waiting for Mercedes to come back. She takes the polaroid out of her pocket and her heart leaps again as she looks at those blue eyes; she doesn’t know if it’s Brittany’s photography skill or if it’s just Brittany herself, but somehow Santana thinks if she keeps staring at the picture those eyes will start blinking and moving with life. “Yeah,” says suddenly, “Sam says he thinks Brittany Pierce definitely is your girl.”

“Does Sam know anything else about her? Like were she might be right now?”

There’s another muffled pause as Mercedes talks to Sam and Santana doesn’t even realize how fast she’s walking until she almost trips over the back of someone’s shoes. She forces herself to slow down and presses her phone more firmly to her ear. “Sam says he doesn’t have a clue,” Mercedes continues suddenly. “He knows there’s someplace out of the way that she goes when she needs to think but he has no clue where it is. Or where the heck you’d find her in general.”

Something deep in Santana wakes up at that and she suddenly stops walking, people grumbling as they dodge her frozen body in the middle of the pathway but she can’t find it in herself to care. She glances down at the photograph in her hand and catches on those blue eyes again as her mind races and her heart pounds.

Find me.

“Santana? Girl, are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Santana says absently, “I— I gotta go. I think I know where she is.”

The place looks exactly as Santana remembers from the polaroid: a city painted in gold and pink, the buildings dark against the purple sky and the orange of the setting sun, the river flashes in pink and violet and blue, thin clouds converging across the sky. There’s a spruce tree beside the bench overlooking the city and Santana smiles as she crosses the stretch of grass, red and orange leaves crunching under her boots, completely ignoring the breathtaking cityscape in favour of watching the way the wind plays with the golden strands of hair of the lone occupant of the bench.

“You, Brittany Pierce,” Santana greets once she’s close enough, and the figure quickly turns with a gasp, “Are one hard woman to find.”

“Santana!” Brittany says, and the blue eyes Santana has been chasing down all day land on hers and Santana feels warm and bright on the inside. Her lips curl into a smile that makes Santana’s breath catch, but it’s the pure, unfiltered joy in Brittany’s eyes that makes her heart pound throughout her body until her fingertips start tingling again; Brittany’s smiles always start at her eyes, and the knowledge that Brittany’s happiness is currently directed at her makes something tremble deep in Santana’s being.

Santana rounds the bench and sits down beside Brittany, far enough to be respectful but a little too close to be completely friendly. Brittany takes a long moment and searches Santana’s face, her smile never wavering as her eyes dart all over, lingering on Santana’s own dark eyes and Santana’s lips and those damned dimples.

“How’d you end up finding me?” Brittany finally breathes.

Santana smiles wider even as she feels her cheeks flame under Brittany’s warm gaze. “You told me to find you,” she says and she runs her thumb over the picture in her pocket. “So after running around the city all day without a clue I thought back to what you told me.” Santana glances away quickly and gestures at the view in front of them. “You told me to find you,” she repeats, “And so I went to where you found you.”

Brittany’s smile softens and sweetens and the heat continues to creep under Santana’s cheeks. “Why the wild goose chase?” Santana finally asks.

“I wouldn’t call it a goose chase, unless you found some geese today. Then, maybe.”

Santana’s lips curl up without her permission and she leans over and bumps her shoulder against Brittany’s. “You know what I meant, you goofball,” she teases. “Why the set up? Why all this?”

Brittany gestures to the cityscape with her chin. “It’s a romantic view,” she answers without really answering at all. Pink splotches her cheeks as Santana remains silent, studying Brittany steadily and, for the first time, she looks a little nervous. Her teeth bite down into a pink lip and Santana’s eyes are drawn to the worrying movement. “You don’t hate me or something, do you?” she whispers.

Santana can’t help the giggle that escapes her. She shuffles a little closer, shifting her hand along the bench until it bumps against Brittany’s, pinky to pinky. “It was an unconventional day, yes. But no, I definitely don’t hate you for it.”

Brittany relaxes and lets her pinky press more fully against Santana’s; it sets off something fluttering and warm in Santana’s chest. “I saw it in a movie once,” Brittany explains. “Kind of.”

“Why?” Santana prompts softly again when Brittany trails off.

“I thought it was— Like it was fate, or something, I guess. Or a series of coincidences, maybe. But it seemed like the thrill to the chase or something and it,” Brittany trails off again and a small frown line creases the skin of her brow. “I know I’m rambling but I don’t really know why I did it,” she eventually continues, voice quiet and small. “I really, really like you, I think,” she admits and that fluttering thing erupts in Santana’s chest again, she thinks it might be butterflies. “I think I wanted to know if, if it were left up to chance instead of Sugar if you would still— If we would still— If chance would put us together still.”

“I get that,” Santana says softly, and there’s a long charged moment where blue eyes catch on brown.

“Why’d you go looking for me?” Brittany eventually murmurs.

Santana can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips again as she glances away before catching Brittany’s eyes again and something swoops deep in her stomach. “I thought you might be worth the chase.”

Santana can see Brittany’s breath catch in a small gasp and blue eyes dart down to Santana’s lips for a moment before meeting dark eyes again. “And was I? Worth the chase, I mean.”

Santana smiles and nods softly. “Definitely.”

“Okay,” Brittany says, and nods quickly as her smile starts in her eyes and creeps across her lips. “Okay,” she says again, and if Santana didn’t know any better she would think Brittany’s face was getting closer to hers.

It’s not until warm breath tickles her face, alighting her nerves and faintly stinging her cold skin, that she realizes Brittany’s face is getting closer to hers, blue eyes darting down to Santana’s lips before catching back on brown eyes and Santana’s pretty sure her heart stops beating all together.

She should be worried that she doesn’t really know Brittany all that well. She should be pissed that she wasted an entire day scrambling around the city trying to find a single pair of elusive blue eyes. She should be wary that Brittany’s some kind of serial killer and just lured Santana to this bench overlooking the city and the sunset so she had a private spot to murder her. She should be concerned at how fast her heart is pounding and her her hands are sweating like she’s stepping up on stage for the first time all over again.

There’s all of these things that Santana should be, but instead, she tilts her chin up slightly and lets Brittany press soft, pink lips to hers. It’s only a brief press of their mouths, a chaste brush of lips, and still Santana’s soul trembles at the feeling, immediately yearning for more in a way Santana’s never felt before.

Brittany’s eyes flutter open and she searches Santana’s eyes for something, something she seems to find with ease as she slowly pulls away. Santana immediately misses her warmth, and she knows there’s no hiding her dimples as a smile starts to spread across her face, mirroring the one spreading across Brittany’s face too. They settle into the bench again and look out across the river, shoulder to shoulder and pinky to pinky, and Santana soaks in the serenity of the sunset for a moment before she turns her face to Brittany’s, waiting until Brittany’s looking at her. She grins cheekily and haltingly takes Brittany’s hand, sinking into the warmth blooming in her chest when Brittany immediately twists her wrist and tangles their fingers together. “So,” Santana drawls, lolling her head towards Brittany and failing to keep the laughter out of her voice, “do I get your phone number now?”

Brittany’s laugh carries across the cold autumn air and settles warmly in Santana’s chest as she shifts and sinks into Brittany’s shoulder, ink stained fingers squeezing teasingly around hers as she soaks in Brittany’s warmth and the orange sunset.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: but I can hear my heart pound (and it's reaching out to you)#me two days ago: I have absolutely No Inspiration to write even though I want to #me yesterday after talking to Tilly and writing 8000 words: oh nevermind

107 notes · View notes

iammarylastar · 6 years

Photo

6. Back to Life.

" Morning Cup" Angie smiles.

"Morning love" I smile back, rolling to my side so I face her, eliciting more mewls from the sleeping babies.

I brush lightly both of their curls, resettling Belle's head and Anna's feet against my chest, then cup their mother's cheek.

"You good?" She whispers, nuzzling into my touch.

"Yeah. Never get tired of that kind of wake up."

" Wanna cuddle with me?" I ask after a beautiful, everlasting stare, where we silently told ourselves all that words couldn't express. As much as I love having my babies with me, it's fair to say I really need... you know, her.

I lean forward to kiss her forehead before carefully gathering the twins, my flesh and bones and take them to the tiny bed they've been sharing since their births. Turning and snuggling, my cuties settle themselves half over each other, Anna covering her sister with her arm, Belle nuzzling in her neck.

Jesus this sigh only nearly has me in tears, I protectively cover them with the sheet and place their blue blankies under their arms.

Angie sewed them from my blue shirt, the one she made for me in our former life, the one I was wearing the night before I left for the rescue mission. The one who still smelled like me when the girls were born, Angie confessed me yesterday, despite all the tears she left on it, crying over and over again when she figured out I wouldn't come back.

A last kiss on their sleepy heads and I crawl back to bed with my love, the fucking love of my life, who I've been missing so deep, for so long.

We intertwin our limbs together and creep as close as we could, my hand sneaking under the shirt she's wearing, her hand on my bare chest.

Our bodies quickly find their place, like they used to, and we both sigh in contentment, unexpectedly followed by our babies hums. Like parents like twins, we just laugh at the sync.

" Nice shirt, fits you." I slowly stroke up and down her spine, making her shiver.

"Thank you. Notice, no coffee stain. I took good care of your shirts since they were the last things I got from you." She jokes.

I could have laugh at the coffee thing, but those last words cut me off. A huge wave of sadness crashes me down and I just succumb to desperation. My smirk vanishes as pain takes over me and I can't hold back the river of tears that uncontrollably burn my cheeks.

Burying my head and my shame in her neck, I let go all the unsustainable guilt that still floods in my veins.

"I'm sorry... Oh Angie I'm so sorry..." I manage to mutter between sobs, as warm tears wet her neck.

Shuddering, my voice unsteady and trembling, I keep the words flowing out.

" Angie, I swear I did everything I could to find you back. I've never stopped searching for you... but... I... I'm so sorry I left you. I'm so ashamed you got to go through this. It's my fault..."

I'm actually crying like a baby, shushed and lulled by my sweet love which has me cry harder.

"Shhh... It's OK. It's fine honey."

"Please forgive me Angie. It kills me it took me so long..."

" You're back to me. To us. Nothing else matters."

She pulls me on top of her and kisses my temples, then pushes me back so she can stare at me, forgiving all my weaknesses and failures.

"Thank you. For fighting for us."

"Oh God Angie, you don't know how much I love you."

"Show me." She mouthes, the ring of her lips calling mines.

And that's what I do. I make love to her, slowly, deeply, tenderly. There's nothing about having sex, nothing about seeking any kind of release, nothing like the hot and sexy prowesses we used to have. It was just about feeling complete again. Feeling alive again. Being home. Me and my love, finally united as one.

Resting on my elbows as I slowly thrust in and out of her, exploring the slightest piece of her, I don't stop staring at her, but to kiss her lips, her soul and some warm tears. Her hips move in sync with me, welcoming each of my move, our skins sweating all the love we have for each other, until we're both taken by a blissful orgasm that leaves us breathless and utterly satisfied.

Can't get tired of that kind of wake up, definitely. My love humming her last waves of pleasure under me, her hands on my lower back, keeping me from rolling to the side because "she loves my weight on her" as she told me on our first time together. For Heaven 's sake, make it happen every single day.

"Marry me Angie. Marry me. Today. Now. I can't wait any longer for you to be my wife."

She gives me the sweetest smile, stroking my jawline with the tip of her forefinger.

"Actually I already am." She mocks me.

"What?" Today was supposed to be quiet and uneventful. If you wanted to surprise me, please do it yesterday.

"How do you figure out I could be your widow if we weren't actually married?" She smiles.

"Did I miss something? Cause all I know is our wedding was a fucking disaster to which I even couldn't attend." I narrow my eyes.

"After Gessepp was impeached, Jessie and I were offered to go back to the US. Jess earned a spousal and child support from the court, but I was without resources, without you and with child. Debrah, remember Deb'?"

I nod. Oh yes tell me about her. She led me to you honey.

" She faked the date on the marriage license with the help of the pastor, so I was sure to draw a pension but, I didn't plan to stay your widow forever. I knew, I felt you were alive."

My wife is the best. A real badass. Debrah already told me about that but I haven't realized it meant we were married. It might have saved all the girls lives, but it feels as frustrating as it sounds.

" That was smart and nice of them. But I want a real wedding. One I actually attend. One where I can watch you walk down the aisle, one where I can marvel at you in a wedding dress. I want to see your face when I recit my vows, I want to hear your voice saying 'I do'. I want to take your hand and slide a ring on your finger. Oh and I want to kiss you before the pastor says I can." I add excitedly, which makes her laugh.

"That sounds nice. And romantic. Though I was expecting you to talk about the honeymoon." That beautiful hottie knows me so well.

Having sex with her just minutes ago has erased all the shyness and weirdness that has stuck to my skin since yesterday. I'm now back to my old self, kinky and funny, ready to tease her to death. It seems all my confidence is back, so does my arousal, I'm horny as fuck.

"Oh darling, I'm going to take you all the ways possible and after what I'm going to do to you, nobody could call you an angel anymore. I read the Kama Sutra and I'm ready to study each page with you."

"Kama what?" She lifts an eyebrow questioningly.

"It's a Hindi book, pretty popular in Asia."

That part of my Japanese education was pretty hard to handle... all by myself. I had Sensei giving me tips to maximize the efficiency of each position, to make the girl scream your name louder, I was struggling not to fall in love with Mikomi who waved her stunning beauty under my nose day after day, I haven't fucked anyone for months , even not my right hand despite all the erotic dreams that woke me up at the crack of dawn... Once he said I looked so miserable and offered me to visit Manek who surely would take care of my source of unease. Manek was the professional sex goddess of the village, known to be extremely talented. I immediately ran away to jump into the nearest pool, needing cold water and a look at those ugly coi carps to cool me down. I swear Sensei laughed so hard he fell on his back.

"Stop showing off by using words nobody can understand, smart ass. Is it something like the holy Bible or another scripture?" She cutely questions.

I can't help myself but laugh out loud. The Holy Bible! A devilish grin widens on my lips, I make my best to keep a straight face, enlightening her with my best baryton sultry voice.

"It's scripture yes, it talks about love and what a husband has to do to pleasure his wife. Pretty much detailed pictures of how a man and a woman can... nest together."

She bursts into uncontrollable and loud laugher, making the twins startle and has to cover her mouth with her hand and bite her lips not to wake up the whole house.

I love hearing my angel laugh out loud, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Happiness. That's something I'm gonna get used to from now on.

Once again my feelings overflow and my heart speaks for me:

"I want to raise our daughters with you. I want to make more babies with you. I want to touch your belly as they grow inside you. I want to be with you for the birth. I just want to be here, happy with you forever."

"Like I'm gonna let you go." She laughs. "And wait to spend just a week taking care of the girls before speaking of having other babies. Because between all the sex you promised me and raising baby twins, you'd be pretty exhausted, you big stud."

We both laugh, it feels so good to be close again.

"I'm gonna be the man you deserve. Here." I roll to my other side to dig out from the pocket of my trousers the precious ring I promised myself to give her in person, at any cost.

"This is the first thing I did when I arrived in America. It took me a whole month to earn the money but it helped me to keep going on."

"What if you didn't have found me?" She teases me, rising an eyebrow.

" So I would have asked the first chick named Angie to marry me. Look, our names are engraved in the inner ring." I make the ring roll between my fingers, so she can read the message "Angie I love thee Cup"

"Stop this." She chuckles and slaps my shoulder, before grabbing the ring and sliding it around her finger.

"What?" I ask. I know I'm terrible at proposing. Last time I did, I had no ring and Angie practically said the words for me. This time sucks as well, at least I have the ring but it seems it's not romantic as she expected.

"Stop being that cute. You, Softie..."

Softie... I don't feel like I'm that whiny baby anymore. I've cried enough for a lifetime, from now on I'm going to be the man Sensei taught me. Strong and unbreakable. Head of my family, caring father for my children, trustful husband for my wife.

"OK, so how do you want me to be, Ma'am?"

"You said something about nesting with me? I'm curious as to what you have in mind..." she says seductively.

"Ahmmm, sure the girls won't wake up?" I glance at the cot where our babies lie.

She nods. "No worry in that department, they sleep like rocks till 7. We got at least one hour, if it's long enough for you."

I smirk widely, then roll back so I hover over her.

"Let's have some fun then."

My lips work in tandem with my hand to arouse her whole body, stroking, licking and kissing languourously every piece of flesh I can, until I meet her glistening folds. Kneeling between her thighs, I grab her hips and jerk her waist on my lap, the head of my dick red and throbbing in anticipation. I bend down to kiss her belly while my cock thrusts into her core, eliciting the sexiest sound that has ever passed her lips. With the tip of her toes resting on the mattress, her knees each sides of my hip, she starts to move her waist up and down, swallowing me deeper and deeper. Fuck, it feels so fucking good I can't hold back a grunt, way much louder than expected.

From where I stand, I have the best view of my stunning beauty, waving around my cock, her breasts bouncing rapidly with each move she makes. Searching for some leverage to deepen my thrusts, I grab the back of her neck and let the pad of my thumb wandering along her lower lip. My goddess languidly sucks and nips it before trailing open wet kisses along my palm and on my tattoo.

I close my eyes, trying not to explode now. She asked me about the ink on my wrist last night, but I was not ready to dive in those bittersweet memories then.

One day I'll tell you the whole story my love, I'll tell you about Mikomi, I'm sure you'll understand. You're both strong and beautiful. You both saved my life, you both are my anchors.

Angie's mewls have me back from my thoughts, just to witness her pulling at my arms to sit up on my lap and straddle me. I growl deep in my chest and start eating her breasts and the flesh of her neck. Fuck, this woman is the Kama Sutra by herself. I have such a flame in my chest, she's totally consuming me. Cupping her face, I cover her mouth with mine and kiss her soul, until my lungs burn.

I don't really know how I manage to do that but I sit up to deepen my thrusts, bucking my hips to meet her owns as she pushes herself down on me. My angel looks more than a tigress, her eyes so hungry for me it could be scary. Marvelling at her sweet face as she's about to lose it, I myself feel that fire exploding in my lower belly. I can't help but panting heavily, failing miserably to stay quiet. Angie is not far behind and start to mewl louder and louder at each thrust. I could, I should shush her but the sounds she makes are so sexy and hot I don't want to miss the slightest note.

Our bodies glistening with sweat, my grip on her neck not safe anymore, I slam my hand on her butt, increasing the friction where our waists meet. Far over the edge, Angie screams out in pleasure, her O face finishes to kill me.

I follow within the second, spilling my seed deep inside her, the sound leaving my lungs as strong as my orgasm.

Panting madly, our foreheads touching, we both ride the waves of pleasure that keep shaking our world. Falling back on the mattress, Angie lets out a loud " God, fuck!" which almost shocked me.

It doesn't stay unnoticed by the other inhabitants of the house either, giggles and whispers coming from the other side of the bedroom's wall.

"First thing in the morning: I'm gonna kick out my sister and his silly hubby so we could have this on the regular." Angie states.

I look at her, puzzled and amused.

"Yeah, They totally can settle down in the barn." She laughs.

"Who's that mean person who would trade their family for sex?" I joke.

"Honey, let me tell you something. Last time I used my vagina was to push out two heads large like watermelons. I'm not sorry to finally enjoy a good fuck with you and I'm fed up with holding back my screams. I want to feel free to cry out your name as loud as needed and I expect the same from you. Jessica and Cole would rather become homeless than witness what happens between us."

I chuckle deeply, stroking her cheek. "Who are you? Who's my shy angel gone?" Though I like having my badass wife cursing like a sailor.

"She gave birth, raised two kids and has starved for her husband for about 20 months." She grabs my hand and runs her finger along my ink.

"Who's she?" She whispers, her eyes straight in mines.

"Who?"

"That woman you don't want to talk me about."

Shit. I didn't think this would come up so fast. What can I say? Where should I beginn?

" Cup, whatever happened, I won't mind. I don't want you to keep anything secret from me. I need you back, totally, don't let a piece of your heart behind, talk to me."

She pauses, her sweet gaze wandering from my sealed lips to my wrist.

"The ink was for her?"

" No. It was for you."

And I open my heart to my wife, telling her everything about Mikomi, how she gave me hope and strength, how she saved me, she nursed me, she made me a man again. I told her about her beauty, her grace, her kindness. I told her the fear, the nightmares, the feelings, the kiss.

I stop, waiting to see disappointment or sadness in her eyes. But all I see is pride and love. She's amazing.

"I owe her. I'm glad you had her by your sides."

"Daddy!" A little voice comes from behind me. Belle, my princess, is calling me. Not her ma, me.

I jump into my pants and walk up to their cot. Both of my babies are up on their fatty legs, holding out their chubby arms to me.

"Pick Daddy!" Anna begs me.

Kneeling down to level their tiny faces, I'm hugged and kissed by those little cutie pies, who I hug and kiss back.

"Hello gorgeous ladies. Slept well?" They both nod as I pick them up, each baby finding their places into my arms.

"So tell me, what are we up to? What's the first thing you do in the morning?"

"Cuddle!!!" They scream happily.

"Oh OK! Let's cuddle with your ma." I'm totally spending the rest of my life in bed with my girls.

Turning around, I'm stopped in my tracks by the view. Angie is showering us with that sweet gaze of hers, wearing nothing but the most beautiful smile, her cheeks still red from our early morning sex. I'm hard in my pants in the seconds as my stunning angel slowly wrapped her naked self with the sheets, but it's not the right time, I need my babies to distract me from all the images flashing in my head.

"Who's in for a tickling session?" I grinn at my wife while curling my fingers behind the babies fatty legs. I earn worms wiggles and mice giggles and walk us back to bed.

"A little bird told me your ma really likes this." I tease her, as she nods her head no.

I crawl to Angie, the devilish smirk on my lips ends up in a langourous kiss while my hands are creeping under the sheets, seeking her sensitive sides.

Scratching my 5 hours shadow on the extra soft skin of her jawline and neck, I finally find her most ticklish place, just next her belly button. She immediately burst into laugher, which has our daughters shrieking in delight.

Anna climbs up my back and clings at my neck, her tiny arms barely encircling it. Belle just claps her hands, jumping up and down on the bed. Both begging me either to stop and to go on.

Angie is helplessly fighting my grip, but there's no way I let her go.

I enjoy her offered neck and nip and kiss every piece I can. With all my girls laughing out loud around me, I feel... how could I put a word on it? I've already been sick with love for Angie, is it possible to be sick with happiness?

"Stop it, you know I always win at the games we play..." She smirks, obviously something in mind.

"Ah! Babe you've no idea what I went through to come back to you. Trust me, anything you could say will scare me." She won't win, not this time.

"Really?" She teases me with her eyebrow.

"I'm positive. I'm a tough, unbreakable man. Try anything you want, I'm in."

"Ok, remember you start this." She warns me.

"Go ahead love, I'm waiting." I shrug.

Facing the twins, she sings:

"Girls, who wants Daddy to change their diapers?"

Before I can object anything, my two little bunnies scream in unison.

"Meeeeeeee!"

Shit. I can't go back but how the hell can I manage to clean those tiny kitties with such big hands? Beside I've never done such a thing, I know any shit about babies.

She laughs at my defeated face. " Hey Mister "I'm a fucking good pilot, I can fly a bombardier with my eyes shut", are you scared of changing nappies?"

" Ahmmm, yes, you won. I think I'm going to need some help with that." I admit.

She leans to kiss my lips, then adds.

"Come on girls, let's teach this big guy to be a dad."

I sit up, one baby already hung on my neck and sigh. Let's go, the new life I've been dreaming of is waiting for me.

@captstefanbrandt @every-jai @sajess98 @kenzieam @writingismyhappytime @bookgirlthings @athe-krieger-der-elemente @nickysurfer28 @tigpooh67 @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @pathybo @onceinamillionlifetimes @narfea @desicoulter @cajunpeach @lunaschild2016 @jojuarez26 @jaiboomer11 @cherry-blossom90 @emilybrooksrpworld @herlysmind

#jai courtney #hope #morning cup #angelina jolie #fan fiction

28 notes · View notes

hitsuhinalover · 6 years

Text

Hitsuhina month 2018 & 30 days OTP challenge

Day 14: Sharing a meal

A/N: Day 14!!! I hope you like it :) Even though it’s AU once again...I swear, when the prompt “AU” comes around, I won’t have any ideas left ‘:D

Warning: Mild cursing and violence.

Disclaimer: If I was Tite Kubo, I would be drawing all the time :'D

A beginning

Toshiro Hitsugaya hadn't survived on the streets so long simply relying on his luck. White hair and teal eyes had once made him to be singled out by bullies, but now, with a tough enough attitude, most of people left him alone. If they didn't, they got to know he wasn't all bark and no bite.

Above all, Hitsugaya didn't fall into traps. And what he had in front of him, couldn't be anything else but a trap.

Judging by her looks, a girl wasn’t a small child anymore, but about his age. Either she hadn't spent a long time on the streets, or then she was just plain stupid. No one in their right mind would be giving their food away for free, being skin and bones and still beaming to the children whose greedy, tiny hands immediately grabbed everything she had in her hands.

Or then it was a trap. Organized by an evil mastermind, since even Hitsugaya couldn't figure out the motive behind it. Did she try to fatten up the little monsters, so she could eat them? Was she going to kidnap them and sell their blood and organs? Or were her victims guys who had gathered close to the alley, throwing glances into her direction and fiddling with their pen knifes? It couldn't end up well for her.

Maybe it was her happy smile, maybe it was the hit his head had received in a fight yesterday. Either way, Hitsugaya marched up to her and quickly dragged her farther away. One glare and the little monsters ran off, stomachs full. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” he hissed to the stunned looking girl.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she finally said. Hitsugaya blinked, surprised. He hadn't expected an apology. “I gave all my food away already, but if you come tomorrow, or a day after, I can bring something.”

“Idiot! If you want to survive a day on the streets, you can't just give your food away,” Hitsugaya reprimanded. “You can't afford it.” He poked her ribs.

To his surprise, she didn't run away with her pride in tatters. Looking straight into his eyes, she countered, “What about those children? They're too small to get food on their own.”

Hitsugaya huffed. “Contrary to you, those little monsters are street-smart. They know how to exploit an idiot like you,” he fired. She opened her mouth to defense herself, but he didn't let her. “Moreover, children aren't only ones who want your food. If you share it in public, you'll meet people who want it all, no matter what it takes.”

As if on cue, they heard a shout. “Hey, girl! Give us your food!” Hitsugaya cursed at his mistake to allow the girl to capture all his attention and turned to face the three guys who had stared at her before. Closer, they looked even worse: a slight gleam in their eyes, smirking and showing their yellowish teeth with a hint of black in their gums. Each one of them held a knife.

Yep, the damn girl was going to get him killed.

“If you give it now, we may not hurt you very much,” one of them said. “Or we may.” A laugh.

Hitsugaya stepped in front of her. “Ooh, she's got a prince,” the one who looked like a leader hollered. “But I doubt–“

For some ridiculous reason, bad guys always expected their victims to have some decency and not to interrupt them. But why should Hitsugaya wait? He knew those guys wanted to hurt them, and didn't they say offense was the best defense? In addition to his small size, he managed to surprise them – and more often than not, surprising the enemy meant living for a little bit longer.

Hitsugaya tackled the leader and elbowed his head to the concrete, jumping to hit the next one before the leader had even crashed to the ground. While the third one was gaping at the sight of his mates being beaten up, Hitsugaya wrenched the knife from his hands, snatched two others from the ground and grabbed the girl's hand before sprinting away. Since he already had one knife for cutting food, he threw the knives he had taken into the closest bin. Despite his claims about being able to do anything to survive, there was a certain line he wasn't willing to cross.

Several minutes later, Hitsugaya stopped in the middle of a remote alley. “You don't go blabbering to anyone about this place, got it?” he warned. After her nod, he pushed himself up on a bin, helped her there too and then jumped up on a tiny deck between two houses. He walked on it for awhile and then moved aside a couple of planks on the left wall before crawling in.

Having scrambled into his home, she looked around, brown eyes wide open and mouth agape. “It used to be an attic, but for some reason, it was separated from the rest of the house,” Hitsugaya explained as he walked to a corner where there was a stack of bundles, his voice echoing in a large room. “My guess is that someone was murdered here.”

“M-murdered?” To his amusement, she actually seemed to startle. Her look of wonder changed into one of fear, and she looked around as if a ghost could appear anytime. “Why do you live here then?”

He shrugged. “It could be smaller, but because it's well weatherstripped, I won't die of hypothermia in the winter if I wear enough clothes. It's in such a location that most of people don't easily find here.” A grin. “It took me embarrassingly long to get this wasn't a trap, but a dream come true.”

She stared at him, seeing his smile for the first time. Before she had time to process it though, a piece of bread hit her and fell to the floor. Quickly, she caught a chunk of cheese and a half of an apple. Having raised her gaze, she saw him grinning, this time to her. “Good reflexes,” he praised and bit his piece of fruit. Despite the cool air, she felt warm all over.

“I take my words back,” the boy soon said, rolling his eyes. “Anyone living on the streets would have wolfed a free meal down already.” At least he had.

“I can't take your food!”

“Yes, you can,” he sighed. “You gave your food away.”

“Actually, I've got my own hiding place,” she said, still offering the food back to him. “And a small garden.”

“If you were clever, you would have thought about what you're going to eat in the winter and stored something instead of giving everything away,” he grunted.

Her smile didn't waver. “Guess I'm clever, then.”

After a moment's silence, he admitted, “Okay, you're smarter than what I thought.” She laughed happily. “But your idea of giving food for free in such a place was still a stupid idea.” He continued, “And what if I had been similar to those guys out there? I would have gotten the location of your hiding place out of you in a matter of seconds and taken all your food.”

“And I could blabber to everyone about your hiding place,” she replied. “Don't say the dead don’t tell tales, because you wouldn't have killed me. You didn't kill those guys even though they tried to kill both of us.”

“Toshiro Hitsugaya,” he said and offered her his hand to shake. She took it. “Momo Hinamori.”

Hitsugaya nodded to the food in her hands. “Eat.” Seeing her still hesitating, he sighed and said, “You can share your food with me next time.”

#hitsuhina fic #toshiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #hitsuhina #bleach #hitsuhinamonth2018 #keeping the hitsuhina tag strong #30 days otp challenge

14 notes · View notes

swiggity-swump · 7 years

Text

Out to Pasture

(the title’s really dumb lol)

@sad--ghost--kid I finished your prompt!! :D I hope you like 2600 words of hurt and minimal comfort. (This is actually pretty unusual for me since I lean towards comfort but I really had a lot of fun with this.) I hope you enjoy it!

Prompt: “danny breaks his arm in a ghost fight, and even though he can reset the bones with intangibility, and has fast healing (at least as i hc it), it will still take a few days for his arm to fully heal. how does he handle school the next day? hopefully it’s cold enough that he can wear long sleeves to cover the bruises, but that’s only one aspect of many regarding hiding a broken arm that doesnt even have a cast ;)”

Danny’s always been a pretty smart kid. He’s followed the rules, kept himself safe. He doesn’t run on wet floors. He looks both ways before crossing the street. He wears his helmet when he rides his scooter.

Unfortunately for him, he probably should have been wearing more than that.

He’s not sure at first what it is that makes him fly off of his scooter, but the chances are good that it’s another ghost. He’s actually relatively calm in the moments between when he’s knocked aside and when he hits the ground. There’s no reason to believe that this should be anything other than a routine battle. And then-

crRACK.

The sound Danny makes when he hits the pavement is somewhere between a gasp, a wheeze, and a whimper. Hot pain flares along the length of his left arm, with the worst concentrated just below his shoulder. Tears fill his eyes and he focuses on blinking them away, so much so that it takes him some time to realize that he’s been holding his breath.

His subsequent attempts to breathe evenly are cut short by a blow to the face that leaves a deep gash across his cheek. Danny jerks his head sharply away and scrabbles backwards, slowed by the fact that his injured arm is cradled tightly against his body.

Once he’s put some distance between them, Danny is finally able to get a good look at his attacker. He feels the smallest pinprick of relief that it’s not one of his more powerful enemies, just a mook, but he’s still on guard - the big bad could still be somewhere nearby. As it is, what he’s facing down now looking to be some sort of ghostly… buffalo? He doesn’t know. He got a C in Biology.

Well, whatever it is, the thing is pawing the ground with its razor-sharp hooves like it’s ready to charge. Danny’s going to have to transform, despite the throbbing in his arm.

He closes his eyes and breathes as deeply as he can. “I’m going ghost,” he murmurs, more to get himself in the right frame of mind than anything else. It takes an immense amount of willpower, but he forces his thoughts to the transformation.

The relief that comes once he’s transformed is immediate; the searing pain is replaced with a cool, tingly sensation. A cocky grin crosses his face. “Time to put you out to pasture,” he taunts, a plan already forming in his mind. He stares the ghost down, crouching as if prepared to wrestle with it.

The ghost’s red eyes narrow and it snorts angrily before leaping into a charge. The speed takes Danny by surprise, but he holds his ground as the specter bears down on him. He waits… waits…

And at the last second, he goes intangible. The buffalo doesn’t have enough time to stop - instead, it crashes headfirst into the wall behind Danny. He wastes no time in uncapping the Fenton Thermos and pointing it at the dazed ghost.

He races to come up with a witty send-off as the buffalo is absorbed into the Thermos. All that he manages is “Bye, son.” He winces at his own joke - even he knows that was bad. Are bison and buffaloes even the same thing?

He should have saved the pasture joke for the end. Now that one was good.

Reluctantly, Danny turns his mind from the puns. He has a more pressing issue to deal with. How, he’s not sure, but he can’t exactly waltz home with a broken arm.

Is it even broken? He hopes not, but given the pain that he was in earlier… On a whim, Danny lets his injured left arm go intangible.

Shit. Shit. That’s definitely broken. He squeezes his eyes shut and inhales shakily, desperate to get ahold of himself.

Okay. He’s gonna have to deal with this no matter what.

Danny tries to mentally detach himself when he opens his eyes again to get a better look at the fracture. It looks like a pretty clean break, at least, and the bone isn’t sticking out of his skin. A closer inspection reveals that there are a few fragments of bone floating freely. Danny figures that he should try to remove those first.

Very carefully, Danny reaches into the intangible arm and closes his fingers around a sliver of bone, extracting it easily. He stares at the tiny white chip in his palm, smaller than a dime, with morbid fascination. I just pulled this out of my own body.

Not sure what else to do with it, Danny lets it drop to the ground and goes back in for the next one. He falls into a surprisingly easy rhythm of removing the fragments, one at a time, one after another.

Eventually, all of the fragments lie piled at his feet, glinting dully in the harsh illumination of a nearby streetlight. There’s no ignoring it now, Danny knows. He’s going to have to deal with the real problem.

His upper arm bone - the humerus? - is jaggedly split a little below the shoulder joint. The two pieces are unaligned; the one connected to his elbow seems to be pointed too low.

Danny hesitates, then closes his eyes and gives the displaced bone an experimental tug. The sensation that results certainly isn’t pleasant, but it’s not quite painful, either. He can only describe it is a stretching sort of feeling, as if his muscles are slowly catching up with the bone that they’re attached to.

Time crawls by as Danny resets the bone, inch by inch. He keeps his eyes shut tight, going by feel instead of sight, forced to wait longer and longer periods of time for the muscles to match the bone. Soreness creeps into his arm despite the natural anesthesia that his ghost form seems to provide, and he dreads the agony that he knows he’ll be in once he switches back.

At long last, the edges of the snapped bones grind together. Danny opens his eyes and peeks at his arm, sighing in relief when he sees that the bones appear relatively normal. He would have appreciated a diagram to be sure, but he’s working with what he has. Which is nothing.

Only now that he’s finished setting the bone does Danny realize that he’s quaking with anxiety. He lets his broken arm return to its tangible form and lowers himself to sit on the curb, in desperate need of a chance to process the night’s events. His mind drifts to other things - how late it is, the homework that he still has to do, doesn’t he have a test coming up this week? - so that when he transforms back he does so without thinking about it.

This was a mistake.

The scorching, sickening ache tears through him anew, just as intense as the initial impact had been. Danny bites his lip to stop himself from screaming, so hard that the skin splits under his teeth and blood rolls down his chin. Nausea roils within his stomach and he tucks his head between his knees, frantically dragging air through his nose as his entire body tenses up.

Danny becomes acutely aware of the pounding of blood through his veins, almost deafening in the silence of the night. He latches onto it, grounding himself with the constant thump, thump, thump until it fades away. The pain lessens alongside it - not by much, but enough to be bearable.

Danny wipes the blood off of his chin with his shirt sleeve, wincing a bit when he presses the still-fresh wound against his teeth. He stands up decisively, glad to find that he’s much steadier on his feet than he would have predicted when he leans down to retrieve his scooter using his good arm.

As he sets off for home, pulling the scooter along behind him, it occurs to him that he’d been in the beam of a streetlight the entire time. It’s a real stroke of luck that no one had walked by and witnessed all that; he’ll have to be more careful in the future.

It takes him longer than he would have liked to walk the last block home, but on the upside, the house is dark and no one bothers Danny on his way upstairs, not even Jazz. It’s an absolute relief. He’s bone-tired and not in the mood to be interrogated, and he definitely doesn’t have enough of his wits about him to make up an excuse for a broken freaking arm.

Danny melts into bed without bothering to shower or change into his pajamas. His broken arm forces him to lie uncomfortably on his right side, with his injured arm tucked tightly against his body. It’s a completely unnatural position, and despite his exhaustion it takes Danny at least an hour before he finally is able to acquiesce to sleep.

-----

Danny feels like roadkill when he wakes up the next morning. His left arm is the worst of it, but the rest of him is stiff and achy from the awkward sleeping position. On top of that, he’s just plain tired. It’s as if he hasn’t slept at all.

He slides out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom in a daze. His face reflected in the mirror is a miserable sight - he’s pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are so swollen and blue that they look like bruises. His lower lip is crusted by a messy scab, which he cautiously probes at with his tongue. The only good thing that he can say for himself is that the cut across his face is completely healed.

The rest of him doesn’t look much better. A dark streak of dried blood stains the right shoulder of his shirt, which is torn in various places from the brawl the night before. He catches sight of a dark shadow underneath his left sleeve and rolls it up, apprehensive.

A mottled mosaic of bruising in various shades of yellow, purple, and black covers a huge portion of Danny’s shoulder. He runs his fingers over the area as lightly as he can, wincing when he notices the swelling.

Danny pulls the sleeve back down. He knows that he’ll need long sleeves to hide it, but there’s no way he’s lifting his arms up to change his shirt.

It takes him a while rooting around his room with one arm to find his red hoodie, and even longer to pull it ever so gently over his injured arm. The hoodie is old and a little small, and for a minute or so Danny thinks that it won’t fit over the swollen shoulder, but finally he prevails. Once the hoodie is zipped up, the injury is well hidden.

Danny zeros in on the medicine cabinet once he gets downstairs, intent on a pain reliever. There is no way he can make it through the day without one. He’s focused enough that he doesn’t notice when Jazz comes up behind him.

“Danny?” She places a tentative hand on his shoulder - the wrong shoulder. Danny flinches away from her.

“Don’t touch,” he snaps, more sharply than he means to. Jazz obligingly draws her hand back, concern painting her face.

“Danny, you look awful. You should be in bed. Did you check your temperature? If it’s more than a hundred it’s an excused absence.

It takes a second for Danny to understand the situation. “Umm…” he stalls, mind whirring. Then it clicks. “Uh, yeah, I did, it’s only ninety-nine. Point four. Um. And I have a test today… English test. You know how Lancer is, just won’t let up on us hardworking students!”

It’s a total lie, and Danny worries that his rambling cover-up will make his sister suspicious. Luckily, she seems to chalk it up to his supposed illness.

“Okay, okay, if you say so,” she relents. “But if you get worse you need to go to the nurse so she can send you home. And here, take these. They work best for me.” She grabs a box from the cabinet and sets it on the counter in front of him.

Danny deflates when he realizes that it’s cold medicine, not a pain reliever, but he knows Jazz isn’t going to let him back out of this unless he comes clean. He scarfs down a granola bar and mentally crosses his fingers before taking a small dose, hoping that it won’t have any adverse effect.

“I can drive you,” Jazz calls from the door. “I’ll be in the car when you’re ready.” The door slams behind her.

Danny doesn’t bother trying to get his injured arm through the backpack strap as he walks out the door.

-----

The cold medicine doesn’t kill him, at least, but it does make him very, very drowsy. As hard as he tries to pay attention, he finds himself nodding off, his head pillowed on his good arm. To his tired gratitude, his teachers all let it slide. Even Lancer, after an appraising look at his wan face, ghosts a comforting hand over Danny’s shoulder. “You can make this up another time,” he whispers. “Do you want to go to the nurse and take some medication?”

“I already did,” he mutters. It’s not technically a lie.

Mr. Lancer’s concerned look doesn’t lift, but he doesn’t press the issue, moving down the aisle to pass out the rest of the tests.

Danny’s sleep is fitful, disrupted by the sharp ache of his arm, which the meds haven’t made a dent in, and the noise of the students around him. He stumbles to each class more tired and disoriented than the time before. It’s a miracle he doesn’t get lost before his last period - gym class.

That miracle comes in the form of Sam, who carefully grabs Danny’s good arm and steers him towards the boys’ locker room before peeling off to go to her own. Vaguely, he recollects filling in her and Tucker on the details of last night and that morning.

Tucker finds Danny staring dully at his locker, groping for the combination to open it. “It’s all good, Danny, I talked to coach, he says you don’t have to participate. Honestly, all of the teachers know already, I’m surprised they haven’t sent you home yet.”

He gets the gist of what Tucker says to him. After his friend changes into his gym uniform, Danny lets Tucker lead him into the gym and to the wall. He immediately slumps against it, tilting his head back and drifting once again into a doze.

The class has hardly started when Dash’s voice rings out above the clattering din of the gym. “Looks like Fenton caught a cold. But can he catch this?”

Catch what? Danny forces his eyes open, but he’s too groggy to move, not even after he sees the football spiraling through the air toward him.

Yet another mistake in a long line of them.

The point of the football connects with the break in his bone. With sickening clarity, Danny feels it displace for the second time in as many days. A choked sob escapes him, and his eyes swim with tears. This time they fall, tracking freely down both sides of his face. His jaw clenches and his teeth slice open the cut they made last night. It’s all too much at once.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Dash!?” Sam’s voice, deep and throaty and fierce, like it gets only when she’s worried about something. About him.

Danny comes the the hazy realization that he’s balled up, lying facedown on the gym floor and cradling his abused arm. As black spots dance in front of his eyes, his pain and misery fade into relief.

At least I won’t have to hide it anymore, he thinks, before passing out cold.

#danny phantom #whump fic #danny fenton #swiggity-swump #broken arm #there's two puns #can you guys find them?#i hope so validate my idiot puns please

30 notes · View notes

speckledspout · 7 years

Note

Sam doesn't eat unless he has to while Dean's a demon. When he gets Dean back, the first thing his big brother notices is how skinny and weak he is. Dean goes into ultra protective mode and is so gentle and loving to Sam. He makes him food and when they have sex, Dean is gentle and he makes Sam feel so safe and secure again. Dean goes on and on about how his Sammy needs to be good and healthy, and how well he's doing as he keeps gaining weight. Dean supports him through all of jt.

he’s not purposely starving himself, you know? it’s just… he’s worried about other things, about more important matters, about his brother. trying to find dean, trying to find a cure, trying to figure out a way to make sure that he can actually get his brother back, it all seems more important than eating. now he isn’t stupid. he knows that he can’t continue living without eating something it’s just when he does eat, it’s just enough to take the edge off his hunger that isn’t really there.

he just knows that he’s this far from finding a cure and if he pushes through this then dean will be alright and he’ll be back to his old self and sam can stop worrying about that. he just has to push a little harder for just a little longer.

demon!dean makes a comment about it, how sam looks as skinny as he did when he was a gangly teen and they were doing things that no brother should do in the backseat of the impala. demon!dean would smile as he said “don’t you remember how i would just split you open on my cock, sammy? how you would beg for it. how much of a slut you were for it. begging me to stuff you full and tear you in half. i’m sure that if you released me now, i could still split you open, still make you beg for it. hell, i probably wouldn’t even fit. your body is too tiny now to take me all the way.”

it wasn’t like the other jabs that demon!dean sent his way, saying that dean had cared his ass for all his life, always looking after him and how he never wanted that. and it wasn’t like the jab that he sent towards sam saying that dean never really wanted sam in that way, he just couldn’t stand making the kid sad. but regardless it hurt to hear because sam was certain that dean was right. he probably wouldn’t be able to fit dean inside of him anymore. it’s been too long and he’s lost so much weight and yet sam would still probably beg for it. he would beg and cry until dean broke him in half and still want more.

but then sam cured dean, purified that demon blood or whatever and then sam had his brother back and he felt weak and small. his body sagged on his bed (dean didn’t want to be around him anymore. he ran off to his room the moment that sam released him and he took the hint. dean didn’t want to have anything else with him.) and he felt like he would just sink through. he was hungry, more than hungry. he was starving and yet he couldn’t bring himself to walk into the kitchen and get something to eat. it seemed like it was too much effort.

curing dean, it was supposed to fix everything. everything was supposed to go back to how it was before he was a demon and everything was supposed to be alright.

there’s a tentative knock at his door and he’s expecting cas, telling him that dean has finally gotten to sleep and that he should eat something or something like that but he’s surprised when the door pushes open and it’s dean standing there, holding a tray of food in his hand, standing in the door like he’s not welcome which was weird to see because dean was always welcomed in his room.

yet there dean was, standing in the doorway like he was a stranger, waiting for sam’s permission to come in.

“you don’t have to ask, dean.” sam finally said when it was clear that dean wasn’t going to walk in on his own. “you’re always welcomed in my room. always.” he’s not sure why he’s trying to make that point but he is. he wants dean to know that anything of sam’s is something of his.

“oh… uhh… okay.” dean said, pushing the door open wider and he’s almost blushing, like he was embarrassed to think that he wasn’t welcomed or maybe he was embarrassed to think that sam still wanted him. after everything he did. everything he said. “i… uhh… i made you some food. you just… you look…”

dean trailed off. how were you supposed to nicely say that you’ve lost so much weight that you look unhealthy.

but sam sat up straighter on his bed, leaning against the head board and his heart hurts in his chest because it looks like dean actually tried to make him something that he would like. the salad looked fresh. the chicken still looked hot. the apple that dean had sliced open looked good and it was nothing like what dean normally ate and yet he still tried. he was trying to make it up to sam.

sam barely ate three of the apples slices and picked at the salad before he pushed the tray away, claiming that he was full and dean didn’t doubt it for a second but he still urged sam to eat just another apple slice.

sam looked at the apple and then looked up at dean, his jaw locked in that childlike defiance and dean ran a hand through his hair.

“listen, sammy, i know that i’m in no position to ask you to do anything. in fact, i’m the last person that should ask you to do anything but you’ve gotta eat a little more, man. please. just a couple bites of chicken. we’ve gotta… you’ve gotta get healthy. you’re skin and bones and it’s all because…” because of me. even though dean didn’t say that, sam knew what he meant to say. and he wanted to deny it. it wasn’t because of dean, sam had every opportunity to eat, he just didn’t.

instead it ate a full slice of chicken and a couple more pieces of apple and he looked up at dean, his stomach stuffed and he didn’t miss the fond little smile that was on dean’s face. except dean was sitting at the edge of the bed, so far away and sam wanted him so much closer. needed him closer.

“good job, sammy.” dean praised, picking up the tray and backing out of the room. “you did such a good job.” he paused at the door, looking as if he wanted to say more before he walked out. “i’ll see you in the morning.”

for breakfast dean makes oatmeal and the hot meal feels good going down his stomach and it tastes so good that he can’t help but eat it all. it was so much food and a few minutes later, it comes back up and sam knew he shouldn’t have eaten it all. his stomach couldn’t handle that much food after not eating for so long. he needed to take it slower but dean was there, rubbing light fingers up and down his back, saying that it was okay. they’ll try something else and he pressed a cool washcloth to the back of his face and when sam gained the color back to his skin, dean backed away from sam, ceasing all contact and sam missed that the most.

dean helped sam gain weight back. every meal that sam had was a home cooked meal and it was something different and dean would ask how sam liked it and sam would reply truthfully. there was one night that sam stumbled upon dean fast asleep with his head resting in some book in the library. and upon further inspection, sam saw that it was a cookbook with post-it notes sticking out all over the place. sam gently pulled the book from out underneath dean’s head and on it post-it note was dean’s handwriting, writing down notes, whether or not sam liked whatever was on that page and sam’s heart swelled at the sight.

it took a while. that’s a lie actually. it took forever for dean to actually touch sam like they used to. dean had folded back into himself, refused himself to touch sam longer than he absolutely had to and whenever sam would try to initiate any kind of contact, dean would cut it off, make up some excuse why he had to leave and do something else.

however, slowly sam started touching dean longer and dean allowed himself to stay there while sam touched. a couple of fingers to the back of the hand. elbows and knees pressed together while they’re sitting next to each other at the table. it’s small but it feels like some much to sam.

there’s one night where dean doesn’t seem as shielded as he normally is and they’re in sam’s room watching some movie and sam managed to crawl up under dean’s arm and dean wrapped it around sam’s shoulder for the whole movie. now in the morning, dean seemed even more distant that he had before and anytime there was even the smallest point of contact, dean flinched like he was burned.

sam had long gained back the weight that he had lost when they first had sex. dean was in his room, leaning up against the headboard, staring off into nothing when sam let himself in and crawled onto dean’s bed and all but begged dean to touch him. that he needed it and it was low because sam knew that dean would do anything that sam asked but it wasn’t a lie. he missed dean. he missed him tremendously and having dean just within reach and yet having dean seem like he was miles away hurt more than any kind of pain could feel.

it started out with sam touching dean. slowly undressing him, kissing him, whispering praise and forgiveness for everything that dean ever said to him in his skin and soon dean was trembling underneath sam’s touch and it was everything that sam wanted.

he was fully content with riding dean, taking whatever he was willing to get but sam sunk his teeth into the flesh the spot where dean’s heart was, sucked a deep, purple spot there and it seemed to flip some kind of switch inside of dean.

dean flipped them and then it was sam’s turn to be worshipped with fingers and lips and the entire time dean couldn’t stop himself for apologizing, saying that he wanted sam, that he needed him, that he didn’t mean any of what he said when he was a demon. it was all a ploy to try to get sam to let him go and sam ran a hand through dean’s hair and told him that it’s okay. that he knows.

as much as dean hates to admit it and he probably won’t ever admit it, he buried his head in the crook of sam’s shoulder as he pushed inside of him and cried.

sam felt like crying too because it was all too much. the way that dean was treating him, like he was this fragile thing that dean didn’t even deserve touching, treating him with so much care, being so gentle that sam wasn’t sure that this was still his dean because dean hadn’t been this gentle with him since the first time they did this. or when dean sold his soul for him to bring him back from the dead.

so it’s kind of a give and take, ya know. dean nurses sam back to health. holds his hair back when sam throws back up his meal because he just can’t keep it down and sam shows dean that he is worthy of forgiveness.

#wincest #weecest #eating disorder!sam #demon!dean #i don't know where this came from #but i'm kinda in love #it got long adn angsty and hopefully this is what you were looking for nonny #but i'm really loving the way that it turned out #it was supposed to be all about dean helping sam #but then it morphed into sam helping dean too #because there's gotta be some emotional drama after that whole demon!dean thing #and what dean went through #adn the things he said #but here you go #as you can see i love this topic #nonny

361 notes · View notes

hotarubi-e · 7 years

Text

Mi amor, you gotta stay

Look who finally freaking wrote something!! UNI IS OVER AND HOTA IS A FREE ELF. So I finally managed to finished my birthday present for @godhelpthesickies! I’m so sorry it’s SO LATE but it’s finally done!

Summary: It’s been storming for days, and Keith’s running late for date night. But he wants to get back to Lance, and ignores the warning not to drive over the hillside pass. Turns out the warning was there for a reason, and that reason was landslides.

This is literally all injuries and angst. Seriously. SO MANY INJURIES. Have fun ~

‘How long do you reckon you’ll be?’ Lance’s voice filtered through the speaker pressed sluggishly to Keith’s ear. He sighed, adjusting his hold so that the phone rested between his face and his shoulder.

‘Not long,’ he said, trying his best to be placating. He was running late for the third time that week, even though he had promised Lance a movie night to celebrate Lance’s new job. ‘I’m just leaving the office now, so maybe forty minutes?’

A small moan reached his ear, making him frown. He hated disappointing Lance, but he had been so busy at work. Several new authors had sent in manuscripts for editing, and as the senior editor, Keith’s work days had become hellishly long. There was no avoiding it, he knew, but it still made him feel terrible.

‘But you promised ~ !’

‘I know, and I’m sorry, okay? I’m doing my best Lance, but you know how it is. What if I pick up Tai food on my way home? I’ll stop by your favourite place and get whatever you want,’ he offered, stuffing his planner into his satchel bag. He grinned as he heard a tempted whine from Lance. ‘Even that noodle thing you love that stinks out the whole house,’

‘Really? You’d let me get that?’

Keith nodded arbitrarily, grabbing his umbrella from his desk as he spun towards the door. ‘Yep, I’ll let you get that. By way of an apology for being such a terrible boyfriend,’

‘Sweet ~! Maybe you should be late a little more often if it means you’ll let me get whatever I want,’ Keith could hear the smirk in Lance’s voice, and he groaned in response.

‘Well, I’m glad to know that some stupid noodle dish means more to you than my company,’ he jabbed, laughing at Lance’s small ‘yup’ as he waved goodbye to his coworkers.

‘But seriously, babe, don’t rush home, okay? The roads are gonna be hell in this weather, and I’d rather have you home in one piece than watch a movie. I don’t wanna be scraping your stupid ass up off the asphalt ‘cause you couldn’t just drive like a normal person,’

Keith sighed dramatically, pushing the door to his office building open with his foot. ‘For the last time, Lance, I’m not a reckless driver, okay? Have I ever been in a crash before?’ He waited a moment for Lance to reply, and when he got none, he smirked. ‘Exactly. I might have been in a few near misses, but I’ve never actually crashed my car. Ergo, I’ll be fine. Stop worrying. But.. if it makes you feel better, I’ll be safe. I’ll take the long way round so I don’t have to go over the hill pass tonight, okay?’

Lance breathed in relief, making Keith’s heart swell. Even after three years of being together, it still stunned him that someone aside from Shiro cared so much for his wellbeing. ‘Thank you, I’ve been worrying all day about the idea of you driving over that thing. The whole hillside’s gonna be sludge after all this rain,’

Keith couldn’t deny that Lance had a point - it had been storming for days, and it was only getting worse. Even on his way into work that morning, Keith had been able to tell that the banks of the hill were at their limit. Any more rain, and there was bound to be a landslide. Not that Keith thought it would happen right when he was driving over it, but if it kept Lance calmer, then so be it.

‘Yeah, it’s getting pretty ridiculous now,’ he heaved, glancing under the edge of his umbrella up at the teaming sky. He shook his head softly, vaguely wondering if all the rain would wash them all away. ‘I gotta go now, okay? I’m at my car. I’ll call you when I get to the Tai place in like, thirty, alright?’

‘’Kay babe - be safe, I love you,’

‘Love you too,’ he smiled, sliding into his car and beaming with childlike glee. It was amazing to him that Lance could still draw that kind of feeling from him. Shaking his head, he turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot.

‘Damn it,’ he hissed, hand smacking hard against the steering wheel. There was a road block for three miles, cutting off his way home. Groaning hard, he stared through the windshield at the road sign with darkly glaring eyes, reading the words for the third time. The only other way around would take him over an hour, and there was no way he wanted to make Lance wait that long. Unless..

No. He shook his head. He had promised Lance. There was no way he was going to go back on yet another promise and go over the hill pass in that weather. It was unreasonably risky, and he was sure that Lance would somehow just know. But then again..

Huffing, Keith rolled his car into reverse and slipped onto the side street that would take him to the hill pass. He was being stupid and reckless, and he knew for sure that Lance would have his head for it, but at least it would get him home sooner than midnight. And there was no way that anything would really happen while he was crossing it. Life didn’t happen like it did in movies, after all.

Life didn’t happen like it did in the movies. If anything, it was worse.

‘Gu-ahhhh!’

The world was blindingly dark. For a moment, Keith didn’t know where he was, and a beat of terror encompassed him, whiting out his mind as he fought for control.

He didn’t know what had happened, or why he couldn’t see, but he did know that he was cold. Crushingly, terribly cold.

And he couldn’t move.

He pulled at where his legs should have been, straining against the weight holding him down, but with a sickening thump of horror, he realised that there was nothing to move. He couldn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t feel them.

Whining low in his throat, he fought against the onslaught of pounding in his chest, breath heaving in his lungs as he tried again and again to just feel something, anything to indicate that they were still there, still attached and capable of moving. But nothing. No sensation flooded up to his brain, no movement coordinating in response to the orders he sent out. Panic overtook him, and for a moment he blacked out, hyperventilation turning into suffocation, terror into white noise drowning him in his own head.

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what had happened and where was Lance? Where was Lance if he was there, and what if he was hurt -

Memories rushed through his brain like sand, the tiny insurmountable grains scratching on his consciousness as they let themselves in.

Tires screeching as one gave out, propelling him into the mud bank at the side of the road. Keith, braving the rain as he shot from the car to check it. A moment of frustrated anger at the unnecessary delay. White hot terror at the rumbling from above, prefacing the horrifying flood of mud and rain and hillside detritus as it cascaded down onto his car, trapping him between them like an ant beneath a boot. The sensation of falling, and the damning crunch of bones on the metal of his car.

The landslide. He had been caught in the landslide and crushed. He pulled in a breath, painful and rattling, and forced his eyes to look up at the hill above: it stretched as far as the eye could see, snapped and mottled railings visible where his car had broken through on its way down into the depths of the valley below. He didn’t even want to consider how far he had fallen.

Keith shifted his weight, trying in vain to alleviate some of the pressure building up around his chest, but as a sharp, jolting pain shot through his left side, he fell back against the car, whimpering. Rippling aftershocks rattled through him, running down from his shoulder to his ribs, and he gasped against it, mouth opening and closing on reflex as he sought relief. His head spun, eyes fluttering against the dizziness worming into his brain. It made it difficult to think, and he found himself almost giving up and just accepting his fate. It was easier that way, more comfortable. He didn’t have the strength to fight against the tons of rubble and sod weighing him down, keeping him pinned to his car. Didn’t have it in him to try anymore, even as he felt the slow dripping of something hot and thick working its way down his side to pool beneath him.

It was better that way; giving up. It hurt less, and he could sleep, let in the cool oblivion that seemed so inviting against the sharp agony of consciousness. He didn’t have much to let go of, either. There wasn’t anything waiting for him, calling him back home. Except..

A smiling face, backlit by the sun, dancing freckles playing across smooth, tanned skin.

There was one thing waiting for him. Lance. Lance was sitting alone, wrapped in blankets with two cats on his feet, waiting for the moment Keith would run through the door dripping with rain and crowing at the sight of home. He was waiting there, all alone. Waiting for Keith. And Keith couldn’t keep that from him, even with the burning pain shattering like a thousand dying stars in his chest, and the blinding pressure building white hot in his head. He had to get home, He just.. didn’t know how.

Taking a moment to gather his strength, Keith ordered his arm to move, ignoring the way it crunched and groaned at the elbow in favour of letting a ripping scream tear from his throat, forcing the broken limb up through the layer of dirt. Something sharp sliced into the side of his wrist, and he realised it was the broken glass from the car window, but he pushed the pain down, dragging his arm up through the shards until his numb, tingling fingers found the sodden fabric of his coat. He grasped hold of it, his hand shaking with the strain, and for a moment he thought he would never get his fingers to let go again, before they slipped, loosing all strength as his arm plummeted back down into the depths of the broken window below. He let out a howl, throwing his head back in despair hard enough to paint stars across the insides of his eyelids. He groaned, miserable and cold, before sucking in another agonising breath and beginning the process again.

It took two more failed attempts, and a cut so deep to the back of his wrist that he was half amazed his hand didn’t just fall away before he finally got his fingers into the hem of his pocket. But the exertion had taken its toll on his already waning body; where before his mind was slow and unresponsive, it now felt heavy, as though he were wading through treacle with each pounding thought. The pain flitting from his left shoulder down into his gut was unbearable at best, and the slow dripping he had felt rolling down his side was now a constant stream. But as that was the only source of warmth he had open to him, he couldn’t quite convince himself to care about it all that much.

What he really was concerned about, however, was the ever increasing pressure weighing down on his chest, making it ever more difficult to draw in a breath. There was pain there as well, bruising and constant, with intermittent, but growing shots like barbs. He had found his phone, yes, but at what cost?

Keith’s head fell back, rolling loosely against the car as he panted shallowly for breath, eyes spinning like dice in his head. He tried to blink the haziness away, squeezing his lids tight then letting them go, but each time he released the strain it took them a little longer to open again. And a new, very much unwelcome realisation was beginning to form.

He wasn’t ever going to make it home. The pain was too great, the pressure too strong. It had taken every ounce of strength and more just to reach his arm up and pull his phone from the pocket of his coat. But if he wasn’t ever going to see his home again, there was still one last thing he wanted to do, and that was hear the voice of the man he had loved more than he loved the blinding brightness of the sun. He wanted to hear Lance.

It was three misdials before he had the number punched in correctly, and he let the phone drop onto the sod above his chest, all strength gone from his fingers to hold it. And too long later - much too long, with the way his chest burned and his head swum with darkening fireflies of pain - the call clicked into connection, the frantic, fearful, beautiful voice of his only love radiating out into the night.

‘Keith?! Keith where are you, what happened?! You were meant to be home an hour ago, oh my god, tell me you’re okay!’

He coughed, wet and sodden, and did his best to ignore the sharp taste of copper coating his tongue. ‘L-Lance…’

A cry as pained and agonising as anything Keith had let loose sounded from the other end of the line. If he listened carefully, Keith thought he might have caught the sound of Lance’s knees hitting the floor as his body gave way beneath him.

‘L…Lance.. I-I’m so.. so sorry…’

‘No…No, no, no, no, no! Keith!’ Lance was wailing now, voice pitching so impossibly high that it hurt Keith’s heart as much as it did his head. ‘Oh my god, no… you have to be messing with me, tell me you’re messing with me! Keith! Tell me!’

Another cough, more painful this time, even than the last. ‘I.. I wish I could…nghh! - I-I’m so s-sorry, Lance.. I-I b-broke my promise.. again… I wanted.. I wanted to get home to you… faster..’

‘Where are you? Tell me where you are!’

Keith couldn’t help but grin at that, despite the blood rolling in waves from his lips. Lance new exactly where he was, and yet he wanted him to say it. Wanted to hear it from Keith’s own mouth as though that would make a difference to the shithole he had found himself in. ‘…H-hillside.. pass… the-the hillside pass, there was.. was a landslide. I..’ he broke off, breath hitching in gasps as yet another wave of pain drove over him, burrowing down into his bones and all the way out of his lungs in a scream so loud it tore him.

He was vaguely aware of Lance calling to him, desperately trying to pull him back, but he had nothing left to give, no more strength to hold on to, and the darkness edging in at the corners of his eyes just felt so.. warm. But there was one last thing to say, and he would be damned if he died before he’d said it.

‘Lance.. I-I… I love you.. ‘ore than… any-…’

It slipped over him, the darkness. It slipped over his eyes like a shadow in the night, catching him completely unawares and without an ounce of readiness in sight. Well, he thought, at least he got most of it said.

Movement. Blinding and bright. Lights and shadows like faces dancing in his sight. A face, clearer than the others, tanned and beautiful and smiling like the sun. Gazing down on him, opening up his world beyond baring darkness, willing him up, up, up.

Lance. The face he never thought he’d see again, the hand he never thought he’d feel, carding down his skin. Lighting him up, weightless.

‘…- gotta stay - … cariño - … gott- promise me… - need you…’

Words, floating in and out, their meaning just around the corner from his consciousness, begging to be let in. He blinked, darkness looming. He was pulled under, with one last word ghosting through the fog.

‘Amor..’

Keith shifted, drawing a groan from his lips weighted with what felt like the whole world on his tongue. Biting back the accompanying whimper of pain, he pulled his eyes open against the dimmed lights of a hospital room at night. For a moment, his world was blank, drawn closed and dumb with the haze of forgotten days, before with a ghost of panic rising like the tide up his spine, he jolted sharp against the bed.

The landslide. He had been crushed. He couldn’t feel his legs. Darting a pained eye along his body, he whined in relief at the sight of two long, thick casings leading down from his hips. But the feeling remained numb, and he couldn’t fight the loose tears at the edges of his eyes as they slid free from their casings and dripped unabashed to his chin. And so consumed was he by the relief weighing heavy on his chest, that he barely noticed the opening of the door, the quiet gasp of surprise, the footsteps rushing. Not until he felt the same tanned hand he knew so well carding through his hair did he notice any of it.

‘Keith.. oh my god, Keith…’

He turned his head, weakly, eyeballs rolling with the strain as they took in Lance’s illuminated face. He was crying, sobbing tears and mucus tracks rolling down his cheeks and over lips. But no words would formulate in Keith’s brain to answer, and so he merely blinked, slow and thick, and praying that it would convey everything he wanted to say to Lance.

‘Fuck.. you actually woke up..’

Keith whined, closing his eyes against the fingers stroking his face, his eyes, wiping away the tears he himself could not hide.

‘It’s okay, baby, everything’s gonna be okay now. Holy fuck, I can’t believe it, I thought -…’ Lance’s voice grew tight, clipped and painful. ‘I thought I’d never see you open your eyes again…’

‘H-how… long…’

A sniff, Lance wiping his sleeve shallowly across his nose. ‘How long were you out for? Do you remember what happened?’ Keith nodded, pained. ‘God, Keith.. I really hoped you wouldn’t. You - you were in a coma for just over a week, babe.. the doctors - they thought you weren’t going to make it. They told us.. well, they said we should be preparing for the worst, you know?’ Another sniff, and a longer drag of his sleeve, followed by Lance’s weight pressing into the side of the bed. He was crawling up to lie with him, arms bruising with the weight of their hug. ‘Fuck, Keith you were.. God you were a wreck. Concussion, fractured skull.. you bruised your spine - it’s not broken, don’t worry, but they said you probably won’t be able to walk for a while, so you’re gonna need therapy to get back on your feet. You broke both your legs, and your left elbow. A lot of ribs, and - I think they called it a pulmonary contusion or something? Something about bruising your lungs. You ruptured your spleen and.. and when they found you, um.. there was.. a branch. It was in you, Keith. In your side. Seriously, I’ll never know how you survived all that,’

‘’m promised you..’

‘What was that?’

Keith cleared his throat, willing the words to worm from his brain and down to his mouth. ‘I.. promised you.. I’d make it home..’ He offered a smile, small and tentative, and ever so weak, but a smile all the same, and Lance accepted it with all the grace of the world’s most precious gift.

‘Yeah, you did!’ he gave a watery laugh, face burrowing into the uninjured crook of Keith’s neck. Keith turned his face into it, letting himself hope at last that he would never have to leave that man again. ‘But jeez, out of all the ways to break your no-crash streak, you really had to go and pick that one?’

‘…Didn’t crash it..’

‘Keith. You literally nearly died. Do not argue with me on this one,’

‘…Didn’t though.. I crashed into it… s’different..’

Another laugh, bright like a full spring day, followed by Lance’s fingers ghosting down his face. ‘Whatever, asshole. I’m just glad to have you home..’

And Keith was home. Because wherever Lance was, was where he would be too, for as long as life allowed.

133 notes · View notes

xiumin-on-this-shit · 7 years

Text

I Am An Alpha Ch 13: Who Is The Alpha Here?(M)

I snap up when I hear the door open. My eyes are opened wide, scanning the room for an intruder but only find Kris peeking his head in. He has a small smile on his face, I can tell he is unsure on how to proceed. With a deep breath I give him a small smile, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“Me too. I didn’t mean to get so upset, we should have handled it better. You told me and you told Yixing that you are not really in control of your wolf and we still got upset, we are assholes.”

“Yea you were,” I must back. “But understand why you are scared. I am not the typical omega so you can’t scare me into submission, it must be weird to have something so out of your control.”

He nods, “So are we forgiven?”

“You are yes, but I’m still upset with Yixing and I am absolutely pissed at Jongin.”

“Insoo please-“

I cut him off, not caring if I’m upsetting the two boys you can hear out conversation, “I don’t give a single fuck about the excuses you guys thought of while I was sleeping. Jongin attacked my pup and almost ripped his throat out. Yixing stood by and watched, knowing how much that pup means to me, he was just going to let him die because he was fucking jealous.”

I can see that he wants to defend his pack but doesn’t have any more excuses.

I sigh, “You look stressed.”

He runs his hand through his hair and lets out a sigh of his own, “I have eleven wolfs down stairs dealing with rejection and a mate who basically hates us at the moment.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t like us.”

“At the moment, yes.”

“What can I do to make this up to you? I will do anything except take you back to your pack. I can’t handle you being away from me right now.”

“I just want to lay here a bit longer, I don’t want to face them right now.”

He nods, “Take all the time you need.” He turns to leave but I find myself stopping him.

“Hyung.”

He freezes, “Yes?”

“Could you stay? Jin would always tell me that nothing would make you feel better than being with your mate. I think we could both feel better right now.”

“You want me to stay?” He is completely dumbstruck by my words.

I nod, “If you are still mad I understand.”

“No!” He rushes forward eagerly, his sudden movement making me jump back against the headboard. Again, he freezes, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’ just that you came up so fast.”

“I’ll take it slow.”

He very slowly climbs up the bed so he is lying next to me. His hands rest on his chest when he finds a comfortable position on his back. I move to my side to stare at him, my hands tucked between my cheek and the pillow. We sit there for a moment, feeling more tense now than before.

“This isn’t really helping,” I mumble.

“I’m sorry, I can go.”

Again, he tries to leave, and again I stop him, rolling on top of him, surprising both of us. His hands catch my hips as I straddle his waist, both of us frozen. My face is burning with embarrassment; I look away and slowly begin to move away. He suddenly rolls us over so he is on top, his massive body locking me underneath him. I usually panic in situations like this but right now I just want him closer. My small fists cling to the back of his shirt as I burry my face in the crook of his delicious smelling neck. He eagerly does the same to me, taking deep breaths of my scent. This is what I wanted.

A tingle runs down my spine when I feel something sharp poking my neck followed by the short caress of his tongue. I can’t hold in the whimper my omega makes, wishing for him to continue, to just mark me and mate me right now. Just the thought has my body buzzing. I’m so caught up in my own feelings that I don’t notice Kris’s body getting warmer and his grip on me tightening.

He ruts against me.

It’s only once but it’s enough to make him tense and pull away. He isn’t able to get very far with my hands gripping his shirt but it’s enough for me to see his face, and his golden eyes. “I’m sorry,” He mumbles out, again trying to pull away.

“Stop apologizing and come closer,” I groan. “I want you closer.”

“But Insoo, I don’t think I can control myself right now, I just want to…” His eyes are fixated on my neck. I throw my head back, baring it to him completely.

“Mark me,” I demand. I want it so bad, I need it. I feel like if he doesn’t mark me I am going to die.

“Insoo, you can’t just say things like that. You might not be ready-“

I snarl and flip us back over so I’m on top, “I’m not a fan of being prepared. I much more enjoy living in the moment and in this moment all I want is for you to mark me like my alpha is supposed to. Come on,” I tease, “Or maybe you aren’t man enough to.”

That is all it takes to bring out his alpha instincts to flip me back over and pin my hands to the bed, “What was that omega?”

“I said maybe you aren’t man enough to mark me.”

He chuckles, “You are a brave little omega.”

“I’m no fucking omega, and you know that.”

“I don’t know that. I’m waiting for you to prove it to me.”

I grin, “Shall we see who the stronger alpha is?”

“How will we do that?”

“First to cum looses.”

I see the battle on his face, he wants to sit back and talk, still worried that I’m not ready, but his alpha isn’t backing down from the challenge. I honestly don’t know if I am ready but I don’t care right now, I want him to mark me, I want him closer, I want this more than anything. My wolf is crying inside for more of his scent, for more of his touches, I crave it. I see the want in his eyes too, his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he decides.

“You know once we start I won’t be able to stop,” He snarls in my ear, rutting against my unclothed core again, making me tense. “The second your delicious heat sucks me in I will not be letting you get away.”

“Kris,” I whine softly.

“What is it little wolf? Scared already?” He mocks with a smirk.

“No, I’m tired of your warning and apologies, if you don’t mark me I swear to god I’m going to top you.”

He chuckles darkly before licking a strip up my neck, “So sweet.”

I groan, “You take forever!” I snatch my hands back and grab him by the collar of his t-shirt. Without any hesitation I smash our lips together in an aggressive kiss that has my bones tingling and my toes curling. His arms are under me, bringing me closer to deepen the kiss. I nibble on his bottom lip, earning a deep moan from the giant, earning me access to his hot cavern. I’m not surprised when he tries to fight for dominance in the kiss but I don’t give in.

I jump when the back of my shirt rips open, earning him the upper hand in all of this. He makes quick work of the shirt, shredding it to pieces so his massive hands are flat against my back. I know what he is doing, his rough callused hands feel a long my scars down my spine. Returning the favor of ruining my shirt I tear his a part, he leans away, glaring down at me.

“I know I have more but that doesn’t mean you can do that,” He teases.

“You started it.” I give him a cheeky grin, with a quick swing of my hips I manage to get on top again, catching sight of the scar on his chest. My fingers skim over the spider like mark. It isn’t very big, just a tiny bit smaller than my hand. “I did quite a number on you didn’t I?”

“I did it to myself. I attacked you, I deserve it 100 times over.”

I shake my head, “We are getting off track.”

He sits up, his arms wrap around my shoulders, holding us chest to chest, “I’m sorry for not saving you.”

“You did in a way.”

“I mean before you even got in that situation, I should have known you were hurting. I was running around while you were getting beaten,” His hands caress my back, soft lips run down my neck to my shoulder. “I want to be closer to you.”

“All you have to do is pop that button.”

He chuckles, “That challenge is still on you know.”

“I’m waiting.”

His hand slips in between us and pops open his pants and watches my face as he pulls himself out of his pants. I gulp at the sight of his massive rock hard member. He chuckles, “Are you ready for me little wolf?”

I puff out my chest and put on a brave face, “Bring it on.”

“Go ahead ms. Alpha.”

I place my hands on his shoulders, letting my nails dig into his skin as I prepare myself. With a deep breath I position myself over him before closing my eyes and sinking down slowly on his manhood. I can feel him staring at me but I don’t open my eyes. My mouth forms a perfect O at the filling sensation, it burns to my core, it would be a lie to say it doesn’t hurt but the throbbing pleasure rocking through me keeps me going. My head drops to his shoulder for a minute, mumbling a string of curse words to keep myself from screaming.

“How do I feel little wolf?” He purrs in my ear. “Because you feel absolutely amazing. I don’t want to rush you because I don’t want to hurt you but it is taking all of my self control not to pin you down and fuck you so hard I break this bed. So please-“

“Is that begging I hear?” I chuckle once I can actually speak.

“No it’s a warning. You have a minute to adjust before I win.”

I rock my hips a few times, moaning softly, “Fuck.”

“Your time is shrinking fast,” He warns through grit teeth. As promised with one last teasing rut I flipped on to my back where I see golden eyes staring down at me, his teeth bared ready to mark me, I could have came right then and there if not for my pride. He slams into my hard making me honestly scream, my face burns bright pink in the crook of his neck.

“You are going to pay for this,” I snarl as he thrust again. My claws dig into his back, ready to return the pain of him stretching me. I can feel his member throbbing as my walls constrict around him.

“You are so fucking tight, how did I live this long without you?”

“How long do I have to wait for you to fuck me like to promise?”

“I love this dirty mouth of yours, such a brave girl,” He purrs. He rests on his elbows, his face buried in the crook of my neck, and nibbles there softly. “I can’t wait to mark you as mine.”

Suddenly his slams into me again, but he doesn’t stop this time, he continues to pump into me like the animal beneath his skin. He groans fill my ears adding to knot forming in the pit of my stomach. This is so much more than I was ever expecting, the pleasure grips me and turns my world upside down. I can’t contain my moans as my orgasm begins in my toes, not yet! But as his knot begins to form and it becomes harder and harder for him to pump in and out I’m getting stretched more. My nails drag down his back, drawing blood, and making him cry out.

I jump when his teeth sink into my neck, sending us both over the edge, locking his knot in place deep inside me. My trembling legs wrap around his waist, my arms around his neck. My wolf is screaming at me, with Kris’s teeth still in my neck she commands me to respond to the action. I cave to my wolf and mirror Kris’s actions, marking him as mine. But the moment I do it we both freeze.

Oh my god, I just marked him. I can’t even run away for the next twenty minutes until his knot returns to it’s normal size. I pull away and stare at the wound with wide eyes. Kris releases me stares at me with a shocked expression. Panic begins to fill me and my heart races, I just marked an actual alpha. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. Omega’s do not mark their alphas, he’s going to be furious. I close my eyes and pull him back so I’m back in the crook of his neck. I run my tongue against the broken skin getting rid of the blood revealing the clear bite mark. As mad as I know he will be it’s satisfying to see it there. It tells everyone he is mine and I am his. I bite my lip to hold back my smile.

Mine.

So sorry for not posting at all yesterday! I worked until midnight and hand to work again at seven so I went straight to bed! I hope you understand and have a good night!

Xoxo

#exo #exo harem #exo wolf au #exo wolf #bts #exo smut #Kris smut #xiumin #kris wu #luhan #suho #yixing #tao #baekhyun #chanyeol #chen #kyungsoo #kai #sehun

442 notes · View notes

heroineimages · 7 years

Text

Jedi AU, part 3

Here’s part 3 of the Korra Jedi AU I’ve been tinkering with. No major character deaths this time. Just Korra recovering from her injuries and getting a new arm and leg out of it. I also establish a little more backstory here. Also, I made Sokka a Jedi. Feedback is always welcome. (Part 1, Part 2)

Korra felt the rock strike her hand again, breaking bones and sending the lightsaber flying from her grip. Zaheer hurled another barrage of rocks and debris into her chest and face faster than her poisoned legs could dodge, throwing her backward to the rocky ground. Unable to focus to get her saber back, she watched helplessly yet again as Zaheer pulled her weapon to himself and sliced it in half with his dual-saber.

The lightsaber had belonged to Tenzin’s uncle, a great Jedi Master named Sokka. Losing the weapon still made Korra ache inside when she thought of it.

The dream continued, as it always did, with Korra feeling Zaheer slam her against yet another boulder while the poison continued to ravage her body. Ribs and a shoulder fractured at the impact, and Korra could feel the ache once again as her body reacted to the memory.

As before, she felt the terror and helplessness as Zaheer used the Force to lift her broken body by the neck, holding her several feet off the ground. Again, she felt the iron grip of those unseen fingers, crushing the life from her throat. She remembered preparing for the end to come.

But a new presence intervened—a presence darker than Zaheer and all of his Red Lotus combined.

Horrifying mechanical breathing filled the darkened canyon, and the sound of another lightsaber ignited from somewhere behind Korra, adding a red glow to the blue from Zaheer’s saber. She saw Zaheer’s face turn pale as he dropped her to the dirt in a heap. Barely conscious, Korra watched again as her attacker backed away in panic. The last thing she recalled before blacking out was a massive, black presence striding past her as Zaheer continued to back away.

Whether in this nightmare from her past or in visions of possible futures, that black presence now haunted her dreams almost nightly. Korra felt her breathing calm as the darkness subsided. Alerted to the presence of the Red Lotus and its anarchist Dark Jedi—Zaheer, Ming Hua, Ghazan, and P’Li—Darth Vader and the 501st Legion arrived to deal with the threat.

According to Suyin, none of the Red Lotus on planet survived Vader’s visit.

How Korra was alive, no one knew. Lin and Jinora found her and got her to safety while the Imperials were busy wiping out the Lotus. Days later, some of Su’s scouts discovered Zaheer’s saberstaff while investigating the battle site. They gave it to Su, who gave it to Tenzin, who gave it to Korra as a replacement for the saber she’d lost.

But three years after her defeat, it was that dark shadow, not Zaheer, that continued to haunt Korra’s nightmares. Though he’d poisoned, broken, tortured, and brutalized her for hours, Zaheer was somehow less terrifying than the dark presence that she’d only seen for a moment before passing out.

Korra’s mouth felt dry as she began to wake up. She found herself baffled at the fact that she was waking up at all. Her last memories were of battling the Empire. She’d been burned by a Flametrooper and took at least one clip from a blaster bolt, but continued to fight on. She’d resigned herself to dying at the Imperials’ hands to defend those she cared about, rather than risk meeting Vader again.

And now she was waking up.

Korra opened her eyes, then gasped and closed them again against the light. Why did people insist on keeping her in bright rooms every time she awoke from unconsciousness?

“Korra?” a familiar and welcome voice asked to her right.

“Hey, Jinora,” she rasped, opening her eyes slowly this time and trying to focus on her young friend.

She felt Jinora take her right hand. Her left hand and arm felt… wrong somehow… heavy…

“I am really, really glad you’re alive,” Jinora murmured, clutching Korra’s hand. “We weren’t sure you’d make it.”

“I was pretty sure I wouldn’t,” Korra admitted, her eyes finally focusing. She could see the tears in Jinora’s eyes as she pressed her cheek against Korra’s hand.

“I don’t think I could have handled losing you and Dad in the same day,” Jinora said, squeezing Korra’s hand again before laying it back on the bed.

“I am so sorry about—” she cut off as she started to reach her left hand across to comfort Jinora. Her left hand that was now made from metal and wires and tiny hydraulics…

In her peripheral vision she noticed Jinora bite her lower lip apprehensively, but Korra’s attention was focused on the metal appendage attached to her left shoulder.

“Huh,” was all she said, flexing the cybernetic digits. “So that’s why my arm felt weird.”

“Yeah, they had to replace your left arm, and Aunt Kya says they’ll replace your left leg once the prosthetics arrive tomorrow,” Jinora explained.

“Neat!” Korra laughed, moving the arm back and forth. “Who’s ‘Aunt Kya’?” she asked, watching the servos move in her elbow.

“That would be me,” a new voice said from the door. Korra looked up to see a handsome, middle-aged woman with greying hair standing in the doorway. She wore blue and white medic’s robes and a rank insignia that Korra couldn’t identify. “Welcome to the Alliance medical frigate, Redemption, Jedi Korra,” she continued, stepping into the room and sitting on the bed next to Korra’s. “How’s the arm working out so far? We’ve got ways to cover it if you’d prefer. Some of them almost look as convincing as the original.”

“It’s great,” Korra smiled as she repeatedly picked up and dropped the edge of her blanket. “Can we cover it in plastoid armor? Maybe even paint some old pieces of Stormtrooper armor dark blue with a light blue stripe down the center and attach them to the prosthetics.”

“I’ll see what we can do,” Kya promised, chuckling. “We’ll get the leg attached as soon as it arrives, then give you a couple weeks to recover and learn how to use and maintain the cybernetics.”

“Sounds perfect,” Korra assured her. “So, Aunt Kya, huh?” she inquired next, resting her chin on her metal palm, just for the novelty of being able to do so.

“Yeah, it turns out Jinora’s dad is my long-lost brother, Tenzin,” Kya laughed, leaning back. “I was about four or five years old when the Jedi Temple took him away for training, like they did my Mom’s brother, Sokka, when he was a kid. Uncle Sokka I actually met a few times, but my little brother I never saw again.”

“Aunt Kya and I got to comparing notes while you were recovering and figured out that we’re related,” Jinora added, finally smiling. “Her older brother, Bumi, actually led the transports that came to evacuate Su’s people after the battle a week ago. Weird coincidence, huh?”

“You know what your dad would say about coincidences,” Korra chided, smirking. “But, yeah, the Force works in weird ways, sometimes. More than one Jedi philosopher has theorized that it even has a sense of irony.”

“That makes a weird kind of sense,” Jinora agreed. “I remember Dad talking about that.”

“Anyway, I figured you were hungry, so I’ve got food coming up from the galley already,” Kya informed her. “Other than that, it’s probably best if you rest up for now.”

“I doubt I can go very far,” Korra laughed it off.

“I’ve got other wounded to check up on, and we had to evacuate a listening post a few hours ago, so I’m expecting even more here really soon,” Kya apologized, standing. “But I’ll try to find time to check back on you later.”

“Sounds good, and thanks,” Korra assured her.

Kya winked and left.

Korra was sipping tea and working her way around these dry Alliance rations when a familiar boisterous voice sounded from the doorway.

“Korra!” Bolin laughed, rushing in to hug her. “You’re okay! Oops, right, mind the arm, sorry…” he trailed off, eyeing her new arm.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” Opal added, entering just behind Bolin. “You looked really bad when they brought you in.”

“I’ve had worse,” Korra assured them as Opal leaned over to hug her.

“Yeah, sure you have,” Mako chuckled from the doorway. Behind him followed an attractive young woman with long, wavy dark hair. The woman wore a baggy, crimson flight uniform, but somehow managed to look shapely and elegant in it.

Mako and Bolin both wore drab-grey Alliance infantry uniforms, while Opal wore a charcoal infiltrator jumpsuit with clips at the shoulders and waist to attach light combat armor. Hugging Mako in turn, Korra was fairly impressed with how professional and military her friends looked.

“No, actually, she’s had worse injuries. Like, a lot worse,” Jinora confirmed for Korra.

“Jeeze, when was that?” Bolin asked. “Oh, this is Asami, by the way,” he added, introducing the pilot.

The elegant woman with the wonderful light-green eyes smiled graciously and extended a gloved hand. “Lovely to meet you,” Asami assured her. “I’ve never met a Jedi before; it’s a pleasure to finally meet one.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Korra smiled, raising Asami’s hand to smooch a gloved knuckle. Asami looked surprised but not unflattered by the gesture.

“But to answer your question, Bolin,” Korra went on, releasing Asami’s hand. “Did you hear anything about that Red Lotus group that infiltrated Imperial City back home three years ago?”

“Um, yeah, some kind of anarchist group, right?” Bolin answered, searching his memory.

“And several of the higher-ranking members were exiled Jedi, according to some reports,” Asami added, sitting by Jinora.

“I remember hearing from Su that you got hurt during that, but she never said how bad,” Mako frowned.

Korra nodded, suppressing a grimace at the memory. “Tenzin, Lin, and I were among the first to respond. I got captured during the Lotus’s evacuation from the city. They poisoned me before I could escape, and I ended up fighting two of their leaders. I took out Ghazan, but that maniac Zaheer broke half the bones in my body and was about to crush my neck when–when—” she cut off with a shudder, gasping and struggling to control her breathing as Vader’s shadow loomed across her memories once again.

“Maybe we should talk about something else,” Jinora suggested carefully.

Korra just nodded, closing her eyes and leaning back. She focused on clearing her mind to slow her breathing. As her breathing calmed, so did her heartbeat.

“Um, okay, so I have a question,” Bolin offered, sitting on a nearby bed next to Opal. “So back when we were playing Shockball, back in Zaofu and Imperial City, were we technically cheating by having a Jedi on our team?”

Korra chuckled and opened one eye. “Yep,” she answered, grinning. She could almost hear Mako roll his eyes as the others laughed. Asami had a particularly pleasant laugh that Korra made a goal of trying to hear more often in the future.

#my writing #my stories #The Legend of Korra #Avatar Korra #Jinora #Mako #Asami Sato #Bolin #Kya #Zaheer #Jedi AU #Korra AUs

3 notes · View notes