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fantastic-nonsense · 2 years

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@supersaiyanjedi14 "both sides are bad" When did that ever happen? The closest thing we get to somethign like that is DJ (a sellout who isn't supposed to be taken as objective) remarking that the ship they stole belonged to someone selling weapons to both sides (which says more about the arms dealer than the two sides) and Luke denegrating the Jedi (something he changes his mind about by the end). Everywhere else? The First Order are blatantly bad and the Resistance are blatantly good

Okay, let me lay this out a bit more in-depth. I could go into the Luke-Jedi stuff (which would mostly be me ranting about how Rian took away all the wrong things from the prequel trilogy, ignored the elephant in the room that is Palpatine, and leaned into the whole victim-blaming "the Jedi deserved to be genocided" nonsense for no reason other than he needed to create needless drama between Luke and Rey that justified him refusing to teach her), but I'm going to focus on DJ since that was the original point of my post.

This is what DJ says in that scene:

Finn: At least you're stealing from the bad guys…and helping the good. DJ: Good guys, bad guys…made-up words. Let's see who formally owns this gorgeous hunk. [holoscreen powers up, starts to show a slideshow of weapons] This guy was an arms dealer. [screen shows a TIE Fighter] Made his bank selling weapons to the bad guys. [screen flips to show an X-wing] Oh, and the good ones. Finn, let me learn you something big. It's all a machine, partner. Live free, don't join.

DJ is explicitly stating a kind of extreme amoral centrist perspective here: "there's no such thing and good guys or bad guys. Don't join either side." And to back up his claim, he shows Finn evidence of capitalists profiting off of both sides of the war.

Okay, cool. Capitalism and war profiteering are bad. Great high school level deduction. But this is Star Wars; usually, everything has a larger purpose (even if it's not executed particularly well). So why does DJ get to say "there's no such thing as good guys or bad guys" and have that claim remain unexamined and uncritiqued for the rest of the movie considering that the conflict between the Resistance and First Order is, all things considered, pretty black and white? Finn and Rose are both characters who have been directly harmed by the First Order's actions (Finn through being kidnapped, brainwashed, and raised as a child soldier, Rose through the exploitation of her planet and the sacrifice of her sister). And yet they have nothing to say to DJ about this?

After all...like you said, throughout the rest of TLJ the Resistance is portrayed as pretty unquestionably "the good guys." Unlike in say...Rogue One, where the darker and dirty side of fighting a guerilla war is both showcased and remarked upon on multiple times (both via Cassian and Saw Gerrera), the Resistance isn't shown to be using any questionable tactics or purposefully dealing under the table. And unlike the prequel trilogy, there's no messy, complex background political conflict underpinning the fight against the First Order. So why do we get an out-of-nowhere "both sides" subplot that ultimately says nothing and goes nowhere?

Yeah, sure, DJ's a traitor and a sellout. We're not supposed to like him or think he's right. But what he says is never actually discussed or refuted other than a prefunctory "you're wrong" from Finn later on in the film, when he sells them out to the First Order:

Finn: You murdering bastard! DJ: Oh, t-take it easy, Big F. They blow you up today, you blow them up tomorrow. This is just business. Finn: You're wrong. DJ: Maybe.

Again, none of what he says is ever actually examined. Sure, he's a bad guy, but why spend so much time with his character, dialogue, and actions to do nothing with it? Especially considering he's functionally an unnecessary character Finn and Rose never should have run into to begin with (since he's not the hacker they were sent to Canto Bight to find and they never actually talked to the one they were supposed to bring with them)?

We could just say "eh DJ is wrong, don't listen to him," but why is he here in the first place? What is the narrative function of letting DJ run around saying the things he does and acting the way he does, especially when he gets off scot-free for doing it? It never comes up again. He basically says his speech, betrays Finn and Rose, runs off with his money, and is then promptly ignored. There's no follow-through. It just adds more elements that are never addressed.

Unlike Han Solo, who is explicitly called out by Leia in A New Hope for being "mercenary" and ultimately comes back to help the Rebellion and destroy the Death Star, DJ just betrays Finn and Rose, takes his money, and leaves. Unlike Jyn "I’ve never had the luxury of political opinions" Erso, who slowly shakes off her own political amorality to join the Rebellion and sacrifice herself on Scarif, DJ's opinion never changes. Unlike the various small-time antagonists we get throughout the PT, OT, and anthology movies, there's no coherent personal narrative going on that explains why he's there. And if DJ's supposed to act as the devil to Rose's angel on Finn's shoulder about his own place in the Resistance, what purpose do his words actually serve except to set up a moment of doubt (mind you, in an ex-child soldier's mind about fighting the group that literally enslaved him) which is never explored or brought up again because the conflict in practice is so blatantly black and white?

That entire plot thread also doesn't make much sense just on a basic practical level. The First Order isn't buying and selling weapons; they're building their own stuff and taking what they aren't. Meanwhile, the Resistance is canonically a splinter paramilitary group that isn't funded by the New Republic and is both a) made up of ex-New Republic ships, re-purposed Rebellion-era weaponry, and personal fighters and b) so poor that they can't even re-fuel their own ships, and yet we're supposed to believe they're buying stuff from Canto Bight's profiteering weapons manufacturers?

This conflict has also been going on in the MAJOR background for less than 5 years; the New Republic was canonically peaceful, prone to appeasement, and had a policy of non-aggression toward the First Order (at the time, a well-funded but fringe terrorist organization operating out of the Unknown Regions). The Resistance was actively avoiding engaging in open conflict with the First Order until Starkiller due to their lack of resources and firepower. When TLJ starts, "the war" has been going on for two days. Reasonably, there's no private military-industrial complex for anyone to profit from in this particular conflict. This entire subplot comes out of nowhere, goes nowhere, and makes little practical sense for the canon that had been laid out at the time.

So what we get left with is a character whose entire narrative purpose in the movie is to give a "both sides are bad, good guys and bad guys don't exist" speech without any of the ideas he actually discusses being examined in any way, shape, or form. Meanwhile viewers are promptly shunted straight back into Resistance vs. First Order dogfights like everything's just business as usual and we didn't just spend a whole hour with DJ and his amoral centrist nihilism. Within the narrative the sequel trilogy tells, DJ is right: the Resistance blows up Starkiller in TFA, then the First Order blows up the Resistance throughout TLJ before getting semi-blown up themselves on Crait, and then the Resistance blows them up again in TROS. What else are we supposed to take from DJ's presence in a story that is determined to either ignore his words without addressing them...or prove him right?

And all this in a movie about fighting space fascists that released the year after Donald Trump got elected. It's narratively incoherent, politically irresponsible, and blatantly out-of-place in a Star Wars movie.

#as a poli sci student who nearly wrote a thesis on star wars' politics I have a deep and burning hatred for how they were portrayed in TLJ #star wars #sw fanwank #sw meta #the last jedi #long post

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possessionisamyth · 1 year

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Every time I see the occasional floating SU post talking about how no one understood The Point, I both get it and immediately recognize that, due to the complex hate vortex created on tumblr during its run, people have selective memory for what legitimate and illegitimate criticisms were being made for the show. Heres a short list, do not add to it:

-the racism from outside and inside the house (human zoo full of brown people, entire bismuth plotline, white people saying garnet isn't black "shes an alien" which also happened for all of her fusions, blatant silencing of black teens written of as "the discourse" whenever they made decent talking points about anything, etc)

-people crucifying rebecca sugar for drawing illicit material as a minor (something a lot of ppl who do art or likes art makes or consumes when they get really into drawing or shipping)

-people shouting "rebecca sugar is jewish! she knows what she's doing" to any criticism at all to silence other people just engaging with the show and stating things they didn't like about certain episodes

-the reveal of rose quartz, the beautiful fat character we spent all this time learning bits and pieces about, being a skinny tall girl(pink diamond) in essentially a fat suit

-homophobic and transphobic people capitalizing on the discourse tags to shout louder and louder about small things that'd go under the radar of any other show further poisoning the cesspool (dumb shit like peridot being child coded)

-how the SU crew handled advertising when they really shouldn't have been doing any marketing ( the concrete reveal and immediate backtracking) and I do blame CN for not doing more actual marketing and trying to bank on social media clout with animators who are not equiped for this

-people asking for lowered stakes when it comes to the diamonds whole schtick because of the implications, and they could predict what the showrunners would do based on previous plotlines

-people upset because during a time where we were getting a fascism free sample(drump), the imaginary fascists get a handshake and a "okay, restorative justice time" moment

-severe lack of understanding that the show was cut short due to the ruby/sapphire wedding, and the movie and sequel series was an attempt to make up for it, and i can't say whether or not this was done well because I dropped out of SU before the movie dropped

In summary, I do think Steven Universe was important. It did do a lot of things well, and it helped open more doors for other creators to do more fun gay and trans stuff in their shows including handling difficult topics. Whether those other shows handle ALL those topics well isn't something I'm going to waste my breath on. If the writing captivates me then it captivates me, and now whether or not it's good is always second to whether or not I find it fun.

My little brother and I watched SU together like we did Gravity Falls and Adventure Time, and I was able to use the metaphor of Stevonnie to explain my nonbinary status to him without any issue. However, at some point for me, I stopped finding the show fun, and I know for a lot of people sucked into the tumblr hate vortex that meant they had to equate the show as Bad.

I don't know if I'll sit myself down and watch the movie or follow up series, but this isn't because I think they're bad. I simply have gotten back into actual adult fiction books and comics, so a lot of YA or kids content haven't been hitting those same brain spots with me like they used to when I was a minor or a young 20 something trying to figure out how to be a person.

There's more I could say about how lgbt+ writing and art is held under a tighter microscope than the most milquetoast cishet content, but there's already dozens of posts floating around that explain it better than I feel like doing at this hour.

What I will say though, is if you loved SU at first and you started to hate it, like genuinely hate it, maybe take the time to figure out when the hate started, what caused that hatred, and why you hated it, especially now that you don't have every other post on your feed talking about how SU sucks yelling in your ear.

#steven universe #aris advents #oh boy i sure hope this goes under the radar so no one gets weird in the replies

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peachyteabuck · 3 years

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i’m your bitch, part ii

summary: part 2 to ‘i’m your bitch,’ you meet carol at her penthouse

a commission for @carolwandanat

pairing: carol danvers x reader

words: 2,089

trigger warnings: choking, D/s dynamic, titles (daddy, babygirl, slut, etc), humiliation, degradation, praise, mean sugar daddy au, spanking, use of a vibrator

ask box / masterlist / ko-fi / commission info

You own exactly one nice dress. You’ve worn it to every celebration, every nice event since you’d bought it in college in the clearance section of some clothing boutique in your hometown; the sleeveless thigh-length black dress with a high neck and loose waist hasn’t failed you yet, even as your hands shake just a little while you slip your scuffed matte black heels onto your feet.

Just as Carol said earlier that day, a large black car arrives outside your run-down apartment building at the exact time she told you. Just like in the movies, a man with large dark sunglasses and white gloves gets out of the car to open the door for you; and just like in the movies he ignores your desire for conversation. About fifteen minutes later the car stops in front of the most expensive apartment building in town, your door opened by the same man while you’re ushered into the building without comment. You barely have time to admire the walkway, the doorman, the ceiling painted with a night sky; before you’re ushered into an elevator and sent up to the very top floor. When the large elevator doors open, you’re sent into a small waiting room, where you press a small black button framed by an ornate metal design.

“Come in!” you hear from behind the door, and with shaky hands and bated breath, you enter.

Immediately you’re surrounded by a homely warmth you can’t explain until you see Carol in the kitchen, her only instructions for you to sit on the bar.

You’re silent as you watch her cook – her staff all dismissed home for the night. It’s the two of you, heavy silence weighing of you as you sit at the bar.

“Let me cut to the chase,” she says plainly, slicing into raw beef with a knife so sharp you can feel it from across the room. “I’m a very busy woman, as I’m sure you know. I didn’t get where I am because I beat around the bush, or I was nice, or I let people do whatever they wanted. You understand?”

You nod silently. Of course you know this, you’ve worked under her for years.

“Good, I also expect you to do the same. You’ve been my assistant for a long time, and you’ve always been very succinct. That should not change even with our agreement.”

Once again you nod, wringing your hands under the table. At least she likes your work ethic – that must count for something, right?

She speaks plainly, as if she’s outlining a business deal with a client known to cause trouble. “First things first, no one at work should know anything about this arrangement.”

Understandable, you think to yourself. You certainly don’t need Jeremy in accounting adding you to his spank bank.

“Second, the only people who may know are confidants of mine, these include but are not limited to Ms. Romanoff, who you will address by a title of their choosing. Third, you will refer to me as Daddy when we are alone and in the company of those aforementioned people.”

You gulp. That might be a little tough.

“You will perform all duties as needed, and as directed by me. My friends can give you directions in private, but if anyone who does not know about our agreement is within the room you will address us as if we are your boss and not your dominants. In return for your time you will receive $10,000 in your bank account every week on Friday, along with all of your bills being handled,” your ears start ringing at the idea of an amount that large, and it’s hard to catch the rest of her sentence. “I’ll get you in touch with my personal accountant tomorrow, so you can just send her all the billing information, so you don’t have to think about that anymore. Of course, you don’t have to move in with me, but it’s always an option. You’ll get a credit card attached to my account for food, clothes, or whatever it is you like.”

Alright, you’re absolutely fine with this. All you can imagine is all of your debt going down to zero – moving into a nicer apartment, maybe even getting a pet or something. Part of you worries that someone’s about to come out from behind and yell that you’re being punked, with the rest of you too distracted by possibilities all that money would give you.

After a moment she sets her large, sharp knife onto the cutting board, turning to you and lean on the marble countertop. The crackling of vegetable in oil behind her loud as fireworks rivals the heart beats in your ears. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” a moment passes before you finish. “Daddy.”

A satisfied smile spreads across her lips, and she turns to the stone before giving them a good stir. “Good.”

She finishes dinner and places it on an already-set table, the meal passes without much incident. Consisting mostly of you eating in relative silence while Carol talks about her day, she occasionally ask for your input or look at you for your reactions – largely she speaks between bites until the plate is clear save a few streaks of sauce. When Carol finishes her meal (just a few minutes after you finished yours), she sits back and sips at her red wine, staring at you as you, in turn, stare at your surroundings.

The woman across from you breaks your concentration on a knick-knack positioned on the mantle in the living room. “Take all the dishes into the kitchen and rinse them off – I’ll have my maid finish them tomorrow. Come into the bedroom when you’ve finished, it’s down the hall to the left. The door will be open so it won’t be hard to find.”

It takes a second, but eventually a “yes, Daddy,” falls from your lips while you rush to clear the table fast as a mouse’s heart beats. She’s barefoot, walking away silently as you follow her orders. It’s not like it takes very long to clean up a dinner made for two, but the way your hands shake make you nervous to clean the steak knives and you’re sure if you broke a plate the world would shatter just the same. When you turn the faucet off, the silence cements your anxiety over your next task.

When you find the bedroom Carol immediately sits up from a chair to your left, staring down at you and invading your space. With every step back you take she takes one step forward, not stopping until you’re sandwiched between her and the wall. Silently, her hands make their way to the front of your neck, the feeling from her palm only pressing into your throat but somehow felt in your chest as well.

“What, baby?” she purrs, watching as your eyes widen with fear. “You can’t handle a little pressure?”

You don’t know what to do – whether to gasp out or claw at her wrists or kick at her. The wall is impossibly hard against your back, cold, too; similar to how Carol feels in front of you.

“So good,” she murmurs so quiet it’s as if she’s talking to herself. It makes a heat summer in your abdomen you can’t control. “Such a good little plaything for Daddy.”

Your brain starts to scream just as she lets go, watching as you fall to the floor and desperately inhale to fill your lungs back with air. “Is it just too much for you?” she asks. “Real shame if it is – we’re just getting started.”

You grasp at your chest, shaking your head. “N-no Daddy,” you somehow are able to gasp out. “N-no I can handle it, thank you, Daddy.”

Carol just smiles as you slowly regain a normal breathing speed, inhaling and exhaling with ease. “You’re very well-behaved little toy, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes Daddy,” you mumble out, the word still feeling foreign on your tongue – a mouth coated in vanilla that is suddenly spiced. As Carol beckons you closer, a single finger crooked to tempt you closer, you can’t tell if you truly dislike the taste that floods your mouth.

Slowly, with unwavering eye contact, you crawl towards her. Lust fogs out rational thought as she instructs you to get on the bed on all fours, you’re the cool bedroom air hitting your glistening pussy and sending shivers up your spine.

Carol laughs as she traces the pads of her fingers along your wet lips, watching as your hips back into her touch ever so slightly. “Such a little slut, aren’t you?”

You gulp, and in the half-second it takes for your brain to process what’s happening you hear skin hitting skin, and then a sharp pain erupted from your ass. “Yes! Daddy, yes!” you yelp, petrified of further punishment. “Mm, Oh I know, I know, it hurts so bad, doesn't it?” the woman behind you muses. “You know, one day I’m going to spank you until you can’t sit right for a week. But for now,” she rubs at the heated spot. “For now, this is enough.”

You shiver, wondering if she had any more fantasies revolving around you. How much has she thought about you? What else did she have planned for you – and what did she want to put you through?

Your thoughts are cut short as you feel two of her fingers easily entering you, the feeling of how full you making your upper body collapse onto the perfectly made bed while you ass careens towards her. “Such a tight pussy,” she whispers as she watches you grab at the bedsheets and moan lewdly. “Attached to such a good girl, too…”

She works you open easily, adding fingers as soon as your moans die down and ignoring where the ache between your legs sung the most intense. Even as you did your best to force her hand down, she resisted, correcting course when you tried to throw her off track. Eventually, a plea falls from your lips, small as a pebble and soft as a mouse.

“Please,” you nearly whisper. “Please, Daddy…”

Carol doesn’t skip a beat, fucking four fingers into you at an agonizingly slow pace. “Please, what, baby?”

“P-please can I c-come, Daddy?” you grit your teeth, not wanting to let a moan slip over your tongue. “Can you make me c-come, please?”

Carol, not stopping the way her fingers curl perfectly inside you, just smiles wickedly. “Of course, good toys deserve good rewards.”

She grabs a long, curved vibrator that you hadn’t noticed before, using her free hand to turn it on to what you guess (and hope) is its highest setting. You barely have time to process what’s happening before it’s placed against your clit. Immediately you scream, nearly sobbing, as you switch between wanting more of it and hopelessly overstimulated. Regardless of your confusion you fuck yourself against her fingers and the toy, the fog clouding your judgement and eroding your hesitations.

“You take it so well,” she praises, and it lights one more fire inside your abdomen. “Did you know you get wetter, no matter what I say to you? It’s quite cute actually, how adorable you are when you’re getting fucked like the whore you are.”

Even if you wanted to respond, words turned into mush and babble as you get closer and closer to your peak. You’ve orgasmed before, it’s not as if you’re losing your virginity or anything…but this, this is different. None of the one night stands from Tinder or friends with benefits from college ever fucked you like this – and it makes you want it even more.

Carol’s voice solidifies your desires, whispering in your ear. “Come on, baby, come for Daddy…”

You cry out as you do just that, an explosion inside of you mimicking the way you gush onto the fancy comforter. You’re out of breath, your brain is fried, and you feel like someone turned your bones to Jell-O.

When the pleasure subsides and you finally collapse, Carol manhandles you until you’re positioned under the covers, wiping you down with a cold cloth before getting into bed next you.

Once you’re curled into Carol’s side the fatigue that’s been kept at bay takes over your body, your eyelids fluttering shut when you can’t keep them open any longer.

This is good, you tell yourself before you slip into unconsciousness. This, all of it, will be good for you.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers fanfiction #carol danvers #carol danvers/reader #lukis writes stuff #lukis does commissions

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polaroid15 · 3 years

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Parker Luck

Summary: Two weeks after the Vulture-incident, Tony buys a parenting book. Too bad there isn't a chapter on Parker luck.

Read on Ao3 HERE :)

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Two weeks after the Vulture fiasco, Tony buys a book called ‘Parenting for Dummies’.

He almost immediately regrets the purchase and hides it in a drawer in the lab, not yet brave enough to face it. Then one day he spends three hours squished against Peter’s side, listening to the boy ramble about everything under the sun while they adjust his web shooters. It hits Tony like a brick wall, and when Peter bounces out of the lab after teaching Tony a complicated handshake he knows he’ll never remember, he swears under his breath.

He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He had known it from that very first moment in the kid’s bedroom in Queens.

For once, denial has gotten him nowhere.

After his eyes ache from staring at the door Peter had disappeared from, Tony stands, stretches out a kink in his lower back, and grabs the book from the drawer before he can lose his nerve. Still standing, he traces his thumb over the word Parenting on the cover.

Retreat, his mind begs. Stop. Before it’s too late.

But deep down, he knows he’s already in too deep.

With a heavy sigh and a pressing warmth in his chest, Tony flips the pages to chapter one.

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Peter calls it ‘Parker luck’.

Tony calls it the source of his ever-increasing gray hair.

When Peter stumbles into the Tower covered in blood and delirious from a nasty hit to the head, Tony thinks he’ll pass out from the sudden weight of his worry. It only takes some gentle coaxing and seven stitches to make it better, but the unease sits in Tony’s gut long after Peter falls asleep. When the boy wakes up, he apologizes until Tony snaps at him not too.

“It’s the Parker luck, Mr. Stark,” Peter tells him, his head wrapped like a mummy on halloween. “It gets me everytime.”

Parenting for Dummies Chapter Three: Listen. “A nasty concussion doesn’t exactly sound like luck to me, kid.”

“Oh, well it’s not good luck,” Peter clarifies with a weak smile. “In fact it’s really bad luck. Exceptionally bad.”

“You’re killing me here.”

“Did you know that I slipped on a banana peel once? A banana peel. I was on crutches for three weeks in middle school.”

Tony’s worry melts into a hesitant amusement. He sits back on his stiff medbay chair and makes a distant note to invest in a better one. “That is pretty lousy luck, kiddo.”

“And it just keeps getting worse,” Peter says. “Getting bitten by a radioactive spider, crashing Flash’s car, or the fact that I spent homecoming destroying a plane while fighting my date’s dad.”

“I hope this Parker luck of yours isn’t contagious,” Tony jokes, but something in Peter’s eyes darkens. He leans back against the white sheets, chewing on his bottom lip. Tony thinks again of chapter three, of the subtitle that prompts to push at the right times, and takes the liberty. “What is it, kid?”

Peter closes his eyes and gives a watery smile. “Nothing, Mr. Stark. Sorry.”

And because he’s an idiot, Tony believes him. Something tells him he needs to buy Parenting for Dummies 2.

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When Peter saves a school bus full of third graders from a thirteen car pileup at the expense of his collar bone, Tony rereads his book, this time with a highlighter in hand.

He wishes there was a section on Parker luck.

This time, he’s less careful about where he reads. Pepper catches him one night, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs in her surprise. Her smile is genuine. “Is that what I think it is?” she asks.

“Maybe.”

“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

Tony rolls his eyes and dog ears his page before setting it aside. “I am, actually. And sorry to break it to you, but you’re not the father.”

Pepper laughs and sits on the arm of the couch. She runs her hand through his hair and he can’t help but lean into her touch. “This is about Peter,” she says.

His first instinct is to deny it. He feels vulnerable in a way he isn’t used to. “So what if it is?”

“He’s a good kid.”

“I know.”

“He’s making you soft.”

Tony scoffs, but doesn’t deny it. Not with Parenting for Dummies on his lap. “He’s stressing me out, is what he’s doing.”

“He really cares about you, Tony. I see it every time he’s over here.”

His body betrays him by the gentle swoop in his stomach. His mouth twitches in a smile. “I care about him too.”

“You’re a good example to him. He needs someone like you in his life. Especially after what happened to his parents. And his Uncle.”

And then it clicks. Parker luck. Tony’s mouth goes dry.

“I’m trying,” is all he manages to whisper. The book in his lap seems to increase by ten.

Pepper leans over him, pressing her lips into his hair. “I know.”

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It’s his and Peter’s fifth mission together.

Today, they’re going up against “the Detonator”, a crazed woman with an affinity for making bombs and setting them off in busy neighbourhoods. She’s armed with a team of rocket-launcher-wielding henchmen, and it’s taking every effort to keep the city in one piece.

Most of the block has been evacuated, thanks to Peter. Tony remembers chapter seven and shoots the boy some praise over their coms. Steve, who’s joined them for the day’s fight, agrees with clipped enthusiasm.

“Thanks guys!” Peter says in his usual animation. “These rocket launchers are no joke. Have you ever seen the movie-”

But whatever it is, it’s lost in the deafening sound of an explosion. He hears Peter swear over the com and Tony’s blood runs cold. Three blocks down, an orange fireball balloons into the air. Steve is already running, his shield tucked into his chest.

Tony shoots off into the sky.

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Peter thought they had everything under control.

Until rocket launcher man number 3 decided to explode the bank off 47th street, that is.

He feels the heat from the explosion before he can process what happened. It rips across his back and throws him off his feet into a hot dog cart across the street. Rubble and ash rain down on parked cars and their alarms begin to sound.

“Crap,” Peter groans, shoving away the dented cart and stumbling to his feet. His ears are ringing.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice cuts through the haze. “We’re on our way. You alright?”

“Yeah,” he responds, breathless. His shoulder aches. “These guys are not in a good mood.”

“You can say that again.”

The man who had fired the shot runs up the steps of the bank, bypassing chunks of concrete. Peter limps after him.

“Sorry man,” Peter says when his opponent’s back is still turned. “It’s after hours.”

Startled, the man spins. Peter fires a web to disarm him and it only takes one swift punch to finish the job. He webs him to the floor and kicks the rocket launcher into the corner.

“Kid?” Tony lands beside him, faceplate lifting and his hands reaching to grab onto him. His grip is tight on Peter’s arms, and Peter is unsure which one of them Tony is trying to comfort. “You still in one piece?”

Peter’s ears are still ringing, a high pitched whine that makes his eye twitch. His ankle throbs and he can feel warmth spreading down his back from a cut on his shoulder. He nods anyway. “Are you?”

“Better now that I see you haven’t been barbecued.”

Steve joins them as Peter laughs off Tony’s worry. He’s breathing heavy, his forehead streaked with ash. “Someone sighted the Detonator. She’s heading east towards the Empire State Building.”

“Of course she is,” Tony sighs. Finally, he lets Peter go. “Ready for a field trip?”

But just as he says it, another violent explosion lights up the street across from them. Peter stumbles against the force. Tony grabs his arm, and Steve his shoulder, and he steadies. Through the black smoke, a child cries.

Chest tight, Peter takes a step forward before he’s yanked back. It’s Tony. His helmet hides his expression, but Peter can tell from his stiff posture that he’s worried. That he doesn’t want to separate.

As if sensing it too, Steve places a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Peter and I will clear the rocket launchers. You go take care of the Detonator.”

“But-”

“She can’t get to it first, Tony. You’ll be the fastest.”

The crying continues, and Peter takes another step. This time, the metal fingers wrapped around his elbow loosen, letting him go. “You better watch him, Rogers.”

“Mr. Stark-”

“Don’t do anything stupid, kid.”

And then Tony is off, blasting off into the sky. Peter shivers against the hot air his exit leaves before turning to run towards the smoke and debris, Steve hot on his heels. Without hesitation, he jumps over the small flames and emerges on the other side, his throat closing up against the smoke.

The first thing Peter sees is the child, snot-nosed and hidden underneath the bed of a truck. His eyes widen when he sees them, a cry stopped short. “Spider-Man!” he yells.

“Get the kid,” Steve says. “I think I see our guy.”

And then he’s gone.

Peter doesn’t dwell on it, vaulting over a smashed mailbox and a stretch of broken glass to reach the kid’s side. He’s trembling, but his hands reach out. Trusting him.

“It’s alright,” Peter says, accepting the kid’s outstretched hands. “We’re okay. Do you know where your family is?”

The boy shakes his head, lip wobbling but obviously trying to be brave. “N-no. I lost them over there,” he says pointing down the street.

“Okay. No problem. Let’s go find them.”

He doesn’t give the boy an option to walk, but instead guides him to rest against his back. Small fingers lock together at the base of Peter’s throat, holding tight.

“What’s your name?” Peter asks as he heads in the direction the boy had pointed. Keep him distracted.

“Benny.”

Peter’s breath catches. “Nice to meet you, Benny. I’m Spider-Man.”

“I- I know.”

“Oh yeah?”

The boy’s head bobs against his back. “I see you on TV. And on the newspapers on the street. You fight bad guys.”

“I try too.”

“You’re awesome,” Benny says, and the shaking quality to his voice recedes.

“I think you’re the awesome one. You’re being so brave.”

“Brave?”

“Yeah, Benny. Even though it’s scary right now you’re still going.”

Benny sniffles. “Are you scared?”

“Nah,” Peter says. “I’ve got you to protect me.”

Against his back, Benny’s chest swells with a breath of a response, but before he can let the words lose a relieved cry erupts from their left. A woman in a pastel headscarf runs towards them, her arms outstretched. “Benny! My little Ben-”

“Mom!”

Peter maneuvers him to the ground and as soon as his small feet hit the ground he’s running. The pair meet in the middle of the street, their arms wrapping tight and their tears mixing. The mother’s eyes meet him from over Benny’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she says, every ounce of her emotion leaking into her words.

“Of course,” is all he can manage.

Once he’s sure they're safe and off the street, he deviates his attention to his coms. “Steve?” he asks over a private channel. “Where are you?”

For a long time, Steve doesn’t respond. Then just as Peter’s worry spikes the man’s voice fills his ears, pinched and strained. “By the river. I’m cornered.”

“Karen-” Peter starts, but Steve’s location pops up on his screen before he can ask further. He changes the trajectory of his swing and just barely avoids clipping his hip on the corner of a building. Then, to Steve, “I’m on my way!”

He finds the Captain in worse shape than he had expected. He’s hunched against an upturned car, it’s tires melted from the sheer heat of the destruction on the street. His shield is raised over his head to protect him from debris raining from the crumbling buildings.

Across the road, three of Detonator's accomplices are shooting the buildings around him, shrieking with glee whenever new glass shatters. Peter glides between the chaos before landing beside Steve. He scrapes his hands on the landing.

“Oh my god,” Peter says, flinching from another loud explosion. “What do we do?”

Steve grimaces, and it’s only now that Peter sees how messed up his leg is. It’s twisted at an unnatural angle, the material of his suit singed and still smoking around it.

“What the hell happened?” Peter gasps, feeling sick.

“It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here.”

“Not with those crazy rocket guys standing guard. You can’t walk!”

“I can try.”

Adrenaline courses hot through Peter’s bloodstream. He peaks over the car and reassesses their opponents. “I can take them.”

“No. Tony said-”

“Tony isn’t here,” Peter argues. “Besides, I have my Peter tingle. I’ll be fine.”

“Peter tingle?”

“Be right back.”

“Wait!”

But Peter ducks out of cover, knowing that Steve won’t be able to stop him. He runs towards the one closest to him and hopes the element of surprise will be enough to take them down. It is, but barely, and now his cover is blown. The other two turn their weapons towards him and before he can suck in a breath, fire.

Peter swears and jumps high, the rockets whistling as they pass under his feet. They hit the edge of the sidewalk by the river, blowing it open and skipping chunks of debris into the water. Not wanting to wait for them to reload, Peter swings and takes them both out with a single kick. He lands in a messy roll, disoriented by the quickness of the fight.

“We’re clear!” he yells over to Steve, but even as he says it dread sits heavy in his gut. He takes one step towards the car before he hears it- a sharp release of air.

Fire blooms up at the base of the building closest to Steve, the crack of the impact enough to rattle Peter’s teeth and throw him to his knees. It’s the last straw. The building makes a horrible noise of grinding cement, like a scream, and Peter knows enough from experience that it’s close to collapse.

“Steve!”

He sprints to where the man is trying to limp away. His eyes find him, their blue shocking through the dust and smoke. “Peter. You have to get out of here-”

“Not without you.”

Before the man can object, Peter pulls his weight over his shoulder and makes it his burden. He wonders distantly where the fourth rocket launcher is and why they haven’t been blown sky high yet.

But then glass and cement falls down around them like rain, and Peter realizes. Because the building will finish the job for them.

“We’re not going to make it,” Steve says through ground teeth. His hold on Peter’s shoulder is bruising. “Peter, please.”

The building sways again. They have a couple seconds. Nothing more.

Then Peter sees it. A manhole.

“Here,” he gasps, dropping to his knees and tearing off the cover. Every alarm bell in his head is screaming, but it’s the only option. The only way they’ll both have a chance. “Go.”

Steve drops in, disappearing into darkness and landing below with an aborted shout. Peter kicks his legs in just as the building crumbles. Fear stops the breath in his chest and he slides the rest of the way in. He falls and lands hard, head spinning, before finding Steve’s arm in the darkness and pulling him deeper into the sewer.

There’s a couple moments of silence.

And then the world erupts.

Peter will remember later how the force of the impact threw both of them off their feet and how it was impossible to keep his grip on Steve’s arm. He’ll remember the deafening noise of the building smashing onto the street above them, of the great plume of dust that filled the tunnel and blinded him.

He’ll remember falling, his legs jelly, and struggling to his knees.

He’ll remember wishing he had called Tony.

But none of it registers in the moment. There’s only terror.

And then there’s nothing.

----------

“Peter. Come on. Work with me here.”

Awareness brings pain. He strays.

“Nope. No. Peter. Open your eyes.”

The voice belongs to Steve, Peter realizes in a stilted disorientation. Steve, who had been hurt. Steve, who sounds very much alive.

It’s enough for Peter to lift his heavy eyelids. His surroundings are dark, but he can see the Captain’s worried face swimming in front of him, warping in and out of focus as both of them release a breath of relief.

“Thank God,” Steve says.

“Are you okay?” Peter murmurs, surprised for a moment by how unwilling his vocal cords are to cooperate. There’s new blood on Steve’s face and the torso on his suit is torn.

“It’s you I’m more worried about.”

“Mm. Why?”

Steve might respond, but Peter doesn’t hear it, his awareness slipping like the close of a stage curtain. Strong hands shake him and the sting of his injuries are enough for him to struggle back into wakefulness.

“Stay awake, kid. Alright? Tony is on his way. Keep your eyes open.”

Peter didn’t remember closing his eyes, but sure enough, when he tries they open. “Tony?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

There’s a tightness in his chest, and Peter coughs against it. It sparks a sharp pain behind his ribs and he curls his fingers into the ground as Steve braces him by his shoulder. His ribs are definitely broken. His leg throbs and the skin on the right side of his face itches terribly with drying blood. He blinks a couple times to try and alleviate his double vision, but it does nothing.

“What happened?” Peter asks.

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really.”

Steve’s expression pinches like he’s just eaten something sour. “The building above us collapsed, but don’t worry about it too much. Tony will be here in a flash.”

Collapse. Peter sucks in a panicked breath and it makes him cough again. It hurts worse this time, and his vision goes gray. He comes back to himself in Steve’s lap, his whole body shuddering and then man’s hand clamped protectively against his back.

The new perspective shows Peter a growing red stain on the Captain’s side.

“Steve,” he gasps, uncoordinated fingers reaching out to press against the wound.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not- it’s not nothing-”

Before Steve can retaliate further, their coms crack back to life. Peter winces against it, his fingers reaching up to struggle with the edges of his mask. Steve pushes his hand away. “Leave it. It’s helping filter your air.”

“Peter? Rogers?” Tony’s voice comes through in a mess of static. It reminds Peter of Ben’s favorite radio station that had been broadcasted too far to have a good connection. “I’m here. Oh Christ, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Steve’s hurt,” Peter mumbles. It’s important Tony knows.

“Rogers?”

“Just hurry, Tony,” Steve says. There’s a pressure in his voice that Peter’s too tired to translate.

“The explosion caused the river to flood. You’re under about three feet of water right now.”

“We’re airtight.”

“For now.”

Peter feels himself dip further into Steve’s lap and the man’s steadying hand is delayed. Weaker. “Peter? What did I tell you about staying awake.”

“What’s wrong with Peter?”

“Queens. I need you to put pressure on this for me. Don’t give up on me now.”

Peter groans. For once, he doesn’t care how young it makes him sound. He struggles up anyways and replaces his hand obediently over Steve’s side. It paints his hands red and he tries desperately not to think of Ben.

“Rogers-”

“I got it, Tony.”

There’s a weighted silence. Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself lucid. The static in his brain reminds him of the time he had gotten stabbed, and wonders if he’s bleeding somewhere too.

“Okay. I found a weak spot. It shouldn’t cause too much damage. Are you ready?”

“Go for it.”

There’s another lurch of shifting rock. Peter can’t help but cry out, his muddled brain struggling to comprehend that this time, it’s to help. Then there’s a loud crash, a weak beam of sunlight, and the rush of water.

Within seconds, the cold spray is up to their waists. Peter grinds his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut against reflexive tears the biting temperature brings. It gives him a boost of adrenaline, and when he opens his eyes again, his vision is more clear.

Tony is with them moments later, hovering above the water. His hands reach for Peter, but Peter shys away. “Steve first,” he pleads. “He’s bleeding-”

“You’re bleeding too-” Tony starts, but even as he says it, Steve lists dangerously to the side. His face is pale, his breathing shallow. Tony catches him by the shoulder. “Don’t move,” he tells Peter, and works to lift Steve up towards the hole.

The water is up to Peter's chest now. It steals the breath from his lungs and he scrambles to stand. Somewhere in the journey the ground above him groans and he loses his footing. He hears Tony yell out for him, feels metal hands push him hard, and then he’s completely underwater. There’s more noise. More pain.

He breaks the surface, stuttering on his breath and his teeth clattering. More sunlight has entered the tunnel, and it’s easy to piece together what had happened.

“Tony!”

Peter fights against the current to reach his mentor’s side. His suit is pinned under a large slab of concrete by his left leg, the water already sloshing up to his neck. Peter practically collapses beside him and digs his fingers under the weight, but his ribs scream in protest so violently that his vision goes white.

“Easy!” Tony yells, catching him by his arms when he falters. “Kiddo, listen to me. The suit will let me breathe for a while. You need to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to. FRIDAY took some damage, but she’s recalibrating my boosters. I’ll be able to get out.”

“No,” Peter chokes, trying again to lift the concrete keeping Tony pinned. “I won’t leave without you.”

“Peter-”

“I’m not losing you too. I can’t- I can’t-”

Tony’s voice is more gentle, his hand reaching to cradle the side of Peter’s face. “Listen to me, bud. I know this is scary. But you have to trust me. You have to go. For me.”

Peter shudders. Feels hot tears pool under the tight confines of his mask. “Told you I have Parker luck,” he says.

Tony finds it within himself to laugh. The water is at their chins. “I know, kiddo. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ve got each other now.”

“Tony-”

“Go.”

The water rises over his mouth. He wouldn’t be able to answer even if he wanted to. Then Tony’s head is submerged, and icy terror closes around Peter’s heart.

He dives under and reaches once more for the weight on Tony’s leg. He pulls and struggles and feels Tony’s hands on his arms, trying to pry him off and pull him away. The light is gone in the murky water.

Please. Please.

The concrete shifts. It takes everything in Peter not to gasp out at the pain it causes, to waste the precious air he has left.

Please.

It shifts again. Tony has given up on trying to push him off and is instead helping to lift the weight. Just a little bit more.

Peter screams, tiny bubbles escaping and carrying whatever he had left away. His body loses strength just as the concrete is alleviated. He thinks he feels Tony’s hands close around his numb body. But really he can’t be sure.

Tony is safe.

And it’s all that matters.

-------

“Peter. Don’t do this.”

“Breathe, Queens. Oh God-”

“Steve. What do I- I can’t- I can’t-”

“Keep the compressions going, Tony. Keep going okay? Don’t stop.”

“I can’t do it without him. I need him, Steve. I need-”

“Keep it together. He’s going to be fine. Right, Peter? You’re going to be fine. You just have to breathe for us.”

“Kiddo. Baby. Please.”

It’s all water down a drain.

A swirling, murky mess.

And it takes Peter with it.

-------

Parenting for Dummies: Chapter 12.

Love them unconditionally.

Tony hasn’t left his kid’s side for hours. He’s been glued to him, the boy’s limp hand pressed between his own like a lifeline even when the doctor’s had worked to splint his leg. Every breath, every rise and fall of Peter’s chest is a miracle, and Tony stares at the heart monitor until his eyes burn.

May is dozing in a recliner in the corner, her glasses crooked on her face. It’s just nearing three in the morning.

There’s movement behind him, and Tony turns to find Steve. He’s traded his hospital gown for a pair of loose sweats and a white shirt, the skin on his arms wrapped with thick bandages. The Captain turns and sees May. When he speaks, his words are almost a whisper. “How is he?”

Tony shrugs, a sudden lump monopolizing in his throat. “He’ll be okay.”

“Has he woken up yet?”

“No.”

Steve sighs. He limps to Tony’s side, but still manages to keep some distance. “He was brave today.”

“If by brave you mean dumb, then yes.”

“He saved our lives. We both know that you wouldn’t have been able to blast out of there by yourself.”

Dread sits heavy in Tony’s gut, because it’s true. He would’ve said anything to get Peter to safety. His blasters weren’t recharging. Weren’t even close to functioning.

But the kid had been too selfless for his lie. Really, Tony shouldn’t be surprised.

And now every time he closes his eyes he sees Peter. Hurt, small, Peter. Jerking with the last of his energy to free Tony. Of going limp in the water, no more air leaving his lips and remaining totally unresponsive as Tony fought to return the life to him.

“I wish it didn’t have to be him,” Tony says.

“But it is. It was.”

“I know.”

Steve lays a hand on Tony’s shoulder. He’s too tired to flinch away from it. “Let me know when he wakes up.”

And then he leaves.

Tony runs his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. “Wake up,” he says. Pleads.

But with his usual stubbornness, Peter doesn’t show signs of waking for another hour. First his fingers twitch. Then he groans. His eyelids flutter and Tony nearly collapses in his relief. Soft and weary eyes turn to find him, and Peter’s lips turn into a smile.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs.

“You have no idea how angry I am with you right now,” Tony says, but any heat behind his words is lost behind his relief. Peter must see it because his smile only widens.

“You don’ look angry.”

“Furious?”

“Nope.”

“Enraged?”

Peter laughs, then winces. He looks down and notices Tony’s hand clamped on his own. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Peter looks up. Tony tightens his hold.

“Maybe I don’t have Parker luck after all.”

“We’re breaking the cycle,” Tony agrees. He lifts Peter’s hand and presses a firm kiss to the back of his hand. Peter smiles again.

“Pepper told me you bought a parenting book,” he says, eyes drooping.

“That woman is nothing but a liar.”

“Mm. I believe her.”

“Sorry to break it to you kid, but whoever would want to willingly parent a danger seeking, heart attack inducing kid like you would have to be crazy.”

Peter squeezes Tony’s hand. “Sorry to break it to you, but I guess that means you're crazy.”

Tony’s heart compresses with warmth. “Yeah kid,” he says, “I guess I am.”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#peter parker #spider-man #tony stark #irondad #irondad fic #hurt peter parker #peter parker whump #protective peter parker #bamf peter parker #protective tony stark #steve rogers #captain america

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Lovers (Part 3) | Charlie Gillespie

A/N: Happy Halloween, you guys! I hope you’ve had an amazing day so far, whether you go all out for the holiday or not! Hope you enjoy this little imagine-fic-thing of celebrating Halloween in quarantine with Charlie :) Love you guys! xxx

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2, 827

Happy Halloween, Witches

Ah, 2020. The year that canceled everything thus far. No traveling, no real summer. You couldn’t even get back to work and neither could Charlie. You had spent your time writing up ideas for new shows and pitching some ideas over Zoom to the rest of the Outer Banks writing team. It sucked. Mostly because you couldn’t see any family or friends in real life. And now that October has come around, it seems nothing has changed much. In fact, it’s gotten even worse.

There was a second lockdown looming and you could just about see your perfect Halloween night shattering right before your eyes. Sure, you were just planning on inviting some friends over and watching horror movies, eating pizza and snacks, but it still sucked that wouldn’t happen now after all.

Charlie had noticed on Monday how bummed you were when you realized things were getting worse. He knew how much you loved the holiday and how excited you were to see friends and spend some time with them. So, he set his plan in motion.

On Saturday morning, you wake up to a cold, empty bed and the sound of clanging pans and cutlery coming from the kitchen. Confused, and still a little sleep-drunk, you get out of bed and slip on Charlie’s sweater to keep you at least a little warm since you were just wearing a shirt of his. (You’d almost think you don’t ever wear your own clothes anymore). From the little corridor that connects the bedrooms to the living and kitchen area, you can already spot him at the stove. Curious and a little endeared that he’d be cooking this early in the morning, you make your way towards him, only to be surprised by the living room being coated in full Halloween gear. Spiders in spider webs everywhere, pumpkins, skeletons, ghosts in every nook and cranny.

“Char… Wha--?” he turns to you, eyes widening first before his smile appears instead.

“Get back to bed, I was gonna wake you up with a song.” You walk over to him, peeking over his shoulder to what he’s making. Pumpkin pancakes. He’s actually making pancakes in the form of little pumpkins. Could he be any cuter?

“You’ve missed your true calling, baby,” you tell him and kiss his bare shoulder. A light chuckle arises from his body, making his shoulders shake slightly. You then turn around to eye the feast he had already spread out on the table.

Everything is in theme. Halloween doughnuts, a giant fake pumpkin with fruit seeping out of its mouth. You assume he just went on Pinterest to inspire him and then, when walking down the aisles in the shops, just grabbed everything that seemed even slightly Halloweeny. “Can I help you with anything?” you ask, looking around for a job to do. Charlie turns around to place the plate with a pile of pumpkin pancakes on the table, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back as he leaned past you.

“No, I got it covered,” he presses a kiss to your hair before turning to go to the fridge. “Sit down, baby.” Slightly disgruntled, you sigh and sit down on the chair closest to you.

“Why are we doing this, Gillespie? Got something to make up for?” you ask teasingly after taking another glance at the breakfast spread in front of you.

“Can’t I just surprise my girlfriend with the breakfast of dreams?” He asks and places a hand on the back of your neck while leaning forward to pour some orange juice into a glass. His fingers softly scratch your scalp, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. “Besides, I noticed how bummed you were about our plans with our friends falling apart, so I came up with a plan to make it the best Halloween I could, despite being stuck inside with me.” You nearly melt at this idea of his. He did all of this. For you. Just because you were bummed about cancelled plans. How did you ever earn a beautiful, good soul like him?

“I would’ve enjoyed just watching movies tonight with you, too, you goof,” you say, which sends a smile right up to his lips. “But thank you.” He leans down to press his lips on yours quickly before turning to grab a few more things and then joining you at the table.

“So, I have an entire day of fun things planned for us,” he starts when you take your first bite of pumpkin pancake, a delightful moan escaping your lips at the amazing taste tingling your taste buds. Charlie shoots you an amused look with risen eyebrows and a smirk.

“These are good!” you exclaim, “But go on, what are the fun things you planned?” Charlie is seemingly brought back into reality by that question as he slightly shakes his head and blinks his eyes a few times quickly.

“So, remember when you kinda joked we should go as each other for Halloween?” You nod your head slowly, that was something you did suggest as a Halloween costume last month when you were planning the whole night. All your friends would’ve come dressed up. It was mandatory to do so on Halloween, you thought. “I think we should do it. We should dress as each other and then we’re going to the shops to get us some tools and pumpkins…” Your eyes widen at this, already know what the rest of his plan is.

“We’re gonna carve pumpkins?!” you nearly scream. This makes him laugh, shaking his head at how freaking adorable you are with your little bounds of excitement. It’s the same way he gets excited about the things he’s passionate about.

“Yes, we are! And then we’re gonna bake some Halloween cookies, order pizza and watch movies all night long!” You shriek with exhilaration, and get up to run around the table towards your boyfriend, attacking him with your lips on his. He chuckles against your lips, pulling you down to his lap. You deepen the kiss while your hands tangle up in his hair. This makes him stop giggling as he melts right into you, his hands roaming from your waist down your thigh and back up.

“You are the greatest boyfriend, you know that?” you tell him when you pull back, resting your forehead against his and staring in his eyes. He pecks your lips once more before leaning over to grab a piece of fruit and feeding it to you.

“You deserve it, baby,” he tells you with a shrug whilst you grab another piece of fruit and hold it out to him to eat. “We both love Halloween, so it seemed a little lame to just watch movies together, you know? That’s a regular Thursday in this household.” You giggle at that. He’s not wrong. During lockdown, you’ve watched so many movies, you’ve lost count.

“I love you,” you whisper and kiss him again. The taste of strawberry still faintly on his lips.

“I love you too, like so much.” He plants another kiss on your lips before you both turn back to your breakfast, but staying where you are; on his lap. You feed each other fruit and pancakes and doughnuts whilst chatting about how excited you were about the entire day.

After breakfast, he let you get dressed first whilst he cleaned up the kitchen. You’d suggested to help, but he insisted on you getting dressed and ready instead. So, you do. You shower, dry your hair and curl it, then put on very minimal makeup, just to hide those bags and blemishes. As an outfit, you picked out some dungarees (because, let’s be honest, Charlie looked cutest in his dungarees), steal his Sunset Curve Summer Tour ‘95 shirt to go underneath it and your white Adidas on your feet. You also steal one of his snapbacks since his lockdown-hair has needed some support to keep it out of his eyes.

Once ready, you check yourself in the full-length mirror, then nod, satisfied with the ensemble. You can’t wait to see Charlie’s reaction to this costume of yours or what he has planned for his costume.

“Cover your eyes!” you yell into the direction of the living room.

“Covered!” he yells back, and you make your way cautiously into the living room where you find Charlie on the couch with his phone in his lap and his hands over his eyes. He looks like an actual toddler like this. It’s the most endearing thing you’d ever seen, so you quickly snap a picture before stepping in front of him.

“Okay, open.” He slowly takes his hands away from his eyes, and lets them wander over your entire body. His lips part as some excess air needs to leave his lungs from that breath-taking view in front of him. “You like it?” you ask, twirling around, so he can see the entire thing. He quickly places his phone on the couch and stands up, placing his hands on your waist.

“You look better in this outfit than I ever would, Gorgeous,” he mumbles before leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “You make me crazy, Y/L/N.” You comb your fingers through the front of his hair, making his gorgeous eyes more visible to you.

“Ditto, Gillespie,” you whisper and kiss him once again. “Now, you get dressed. I’m curious to see what you come up with.” After having kissed your nose quickly, he dashes past you and into the bedroom, leaving you all by yourself. It takes him about fifteen minutes before his voice chimes through the apartment.

“I’m ready! Close your eyes!” You place your hands over your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips in excitement. “Okay, open.” His voice sounds closer, a little teasing, even. You slowly remove your hands, your eyes widening and your mouth dropping at the sight in front of you. He’s wearing a loose, black boiler suit, complete with red-and-white belt, exactly how you’d wear it. On his feet, he’s wearing Dr. Martin’s ankle boots.

“This is the best thing I ever did see!” you exclaim excitedly as he makes a little twirl. “We need to take a photo!” You grab your phone from the pocket of your dungarees and get it set up on a self-timer and so that it takes multiple pictures in one take before placing it on the tv stand. Once you press the button, you hurry to Charlie, who has his arms open.

“Jump!” he says, and you quickly do so, wrapping your legs around his waist at the same moment your phone starts taking the pictures. For the next few, you keep your feet on the floor, leaning against your boyfriend. The first ones, you’re looking at the camera, but Charlie’s looking at you. Then you’re looking at him but he’s not. And on the last one, you’re staring in each other’s eyes with wide smiles on your faces. For the last group of shots, you squat down and cross your arms, Charlie following your example. In the second shot, you both hold your hand up in a rock sign, sticking out your tongues. The last one of that group of pictures is of both of you falling on your butts due to the lack of balance.

“Those last ones are hilarious,” he says, pointing at the ones where you’re both on your ass, throwing your head back with laughter. “Let’s go get our pumpkins now first!”

Back home with the two biggest pumpkins you could find, -- there weren’t very many left -- the two of you start by covering the floor with an old sheet before getting your new utensils out and starting the carving process. While you’re spooning out pumpkin seeds, there’s music playing in the background, and the two of you are talking about what you’re about to do to the pumpkins. Charlie’s going to go for a Pennywise face whilst you’re cutting out three ghosts. He couldn’t help but smile at that idea of yours. You really were the cutest when you’re in your element about this holiday.

“I think I’m done,” you say, leaning back to take a last look at the entire finished product. Charlie rests his head on your shoulder, peeking over to see your piece of art. “The guitars were really hard to do.” You point to Ghost Reggie’s bass and Ghost Luke’s guitar. “But the drumsticks were easy.” Charlie chuckles and plants a kiss underneath your ear, tasting a bit of pumpkin. This makes him scrunch his nose in disgust. Raw pumpkin does not taste that great.

“How in the holy hell did you get a little pumpkin behind your ear?” he asks and takes his finger to wipe any residue away.

“I’ve got no clue,” you say and turn your head to face him, only to find a pumpkin seed stuck in his long hair. A laugh erupts from your body, shaking you from head to toe. “You’ve got some in your hair.” He tries to pluck it out, but keeps missing, so you help him out instead. “I shouldn’t have showered this morning,” you laugh, shaking your head at your own stupid desicion. Charlie laughs too before getting up with his pumpkin in hands.

“Let’s put them on the kitchen island,” he suggests and makes his way there. “I’ll grab some tealights.” While he does that, you get up too and place your Julie and The Phantoms one next to his Pennywise one. They don’t look too bad in your opinion.

Charlie returns with two little tealights and places one in each pumpkin whilst you grab the matches, but Charlie stops you before you can light them. “It’s still light out, babe. That’s not gonna have much effect,” he chuckles. “We’ll light them later. Let’s bake now!” You nod your head vigorously and skip into the kitchen.

That afternoon is spent baking cookies and cupcakes, and ends in a food fight with flour everywhere. To say this is the best Halloween you ever had would be the biggest understatement of the year. Even though it’s not exactly how you planned it, it’s still the most perfect day ever, thanks to Charlie. And that’s not even all he’d planned.

By nightfall, the two of you had lit your pumpkins, placed the treats on the coffee table and had a movie ready to play on the tv when Charlie’s phone started to ring. A little confused and disgruntled about the interruption, you peer over his shoulder to see who’s calling him. Owen Joyner wants to facetime Julie and the Phantoms

Charlie glances at you with a smirk on his face before picking up the phone. The blonde guy you’ve come to love appears on the small screen, along with Jeremy and Carolynn, and Madison.

“Hey guys!” Charlie greets excited while you offer an excited wave.

“Happy Halloween, Witches!” Owen yells. That’s when you realize they, too, are dressed up. Owen has fake blood run from his lip and has a black cape draped over his shoulders. Carolynn and Jeremy are dressed as angel and devil whilst Madison is a witch.

“What are you dressed as?” Owen asks, peering at his screen to try and figure it out.

“Each other!” you reply, which sends all of them into a fit of laughter.

“That’s very original!” Carolynn compliments. “You rock those dungarees, Y/N!”

“Thanks, angel,” you retort, a little flustered at the compliment.

The FaceTime call lasts for about an hour and a half until Charlie decides to call it quits and start watching movies instead. You bid your goodbyes to your friends before cuddling up to Charlie as he puts his phone away.

“This has really been the greatest Halloween, Char. Thank you,” you whisper and lean up to meet his lips for a sweet, long kiss.

“Anything for you, Gorgeous.” You lie down on his chest again, getting kissed on the head as you do so. You can’t help but sigh happily. Charlie really went all out with the surprises. From the breakfast spread to carving pumpkins and baking Halloween cookies to the surprise phone call from the guys and even the costume.

That night, you post a bunch of pictures to Instagram. The first is one of the posed one of your outfits, then follows the one of Charlie covering his eyes on the sofa, your carved pumpkins and the one picture where you’ve both fallen on your ass after losing balance.

“Wanna thank this little goofball for going all out on my favorite day of the year. Guess I should be more bummed about little things from now on if it means getting pumpkin pancakes, dressing up as each other and all the other amazing surprises. Thank you, baby. You really are the greatest of all time. @charles_gillespie 💗 Happy Halloween, Witches! 🎃”

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon @caitsymichelle13 @calamitykaty @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @gingerxarmy @lovesanimals @lolychu @perfectlywrongformend3s @luckylouiebug @camiladelrio98 @myfriendscallmebeans

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kcarreras · 3 years

Text

Underneath Tangerine Skies

Fandom: Outer Banks Pairing: JJ Maybank & Kiara Carerra Summary: Set after 2x10: JJ & Kie discuss the events of that day on the ship which leads to some emotional chat which naturally leads to them making out against a tree… you’re welcome.

The Pogues never had any real idea of the exact time whilst they were on the island, for obvious reasons, but on this occasion - with the sun sitting low in the sky, casting pink and orange hues out across the water - Kie’s best guess was that it was early evening. The temperature had begun to drop, humidity dissipating a little, making it easier to breathe.

She had been traipsing around the island for a while now, looking for JJ, when she cast her eyes up to the grassy embankment lined sporadically with trees ahead of her, where the solid ground of the island met the white sandy beach.

“Thank god,” she sighed in relief at the sight of him sitting at the foot of one of the bigger trees. His back was against the trunk, his knees bent and forearms resting on them, looking out across the water.

“JJ!” she called as she made her way over to him and up the sandy slope, but he didn’t seem to hear her over the sound of the lapping waves.

The waves against the shore was a sound they all seemed to find comforting - something familiar to remind them of their real island home - but JJ seemed to seek it out more often than the rest of them.

“Hellooo,” she sing-songed and JJ turned in her direction, a smile spreading out across his features as he noticed her approaching. Kie’s arms were held out either side of her to keep her balance, eyes focused on her feet as she sunk slightly into the soft sand of the slope with each step.

“What are you doing out here on your own?” Kie asked, trying desperately not to sound like an overprotective mother.

“Everyone’s looking for you. We were worried you’d been eaten by your ‘nemesis’”.

JJ raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.

“The ‘Killer Island Lizard’, who else?” Kie clarified with a roll of her eyes as she dropped down next to him with a knowing grin, pulling her knees up to her chest to mirror his position as she dusted the sand from her hands.

On their second night on the island, JJ woke everyone up, jumping around and hollering in the dark about some huge lizard-like creature that had apparently crawled into their shelter. By the time they had fumbled around in a panic in the pitch black looking for one of the last remaining flare guns from the raft to use as a light, it had ‘disappeared’.

Once John B had swiftly yet gently smacked him round the back of the head for scaring the shit out of them all in the middle of the night, they tried to explain that it was probably nothing - just a figment of his imagination or a too-real nightmare. But JJ being JJ, he refused to accept all their rational responses. He’d of course began by naming it the most basic yet ridiculous name he could think of - hence the Killer Island Lizard - and had insisted that he sit up through the night and keep watch, determined to prove it was real. Every morning since, though, the Pogues had woken up to JJ passed out asleep at his “post” with his Swiss army knife still in-hand and - unsurprisingly - no evidence. It had kind of become a running joke.

“You know, you guys can laugh all you want, but I’ve seen it, with my own two eyes,” he began, his middle and index finger forming a ‘V’ as he gestured from his eyes to Kie’s. “All scale-y and fang-y and shit,” he finished with a dramatic shudder.

“Right,” Kie drawled with a roll of her eyes, knocking her shoulder into his.

“I’m just sayin’, don’t come crying to me when this little island retreat of ours turns into a low-budget remake of Planet of the Dinosaurs.”

“Planet of the Dinosaurs? Okay, first of all JJ, that’s not even a thing,” Kie replied, her signature ‘where did I even find these boys’ expression on her face, and JJ shrugged. “Second of all, if we have to compare your ridiculous lizard scenario to a movie, it’d be more like Jurassic Park.”

“Whatever,” he said, unbothered by her correction. “Doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cause luckily for you, I owe you one. Therefore, I promise to rescue you first before I come back for the others.” He proudly assured her, as if she needed it.

“Of course… and not that I’m complaining or anything, but what exactly have I done to deserve the top spot on JJ Maybank’s rescue list?” Kie asked, feigning flattery with a hand over her chest.

“I don’t know if you remember, Kie, but you jumped off a freakin’ cargo ship into the middle of the ocean to save my ass. I think you earned the top spot,” he replied.

“Well what kinda Pogue would I be if I’d just let your ass drown like that? Especially since you took the blunt end of that machete to the head defending me,” she said, her tone light. She was still smiling, but JJ saw something akin to guilt flash across her eyes as she spoke.

“Oh, so it was all to do with you maintaining your pogue rep, and nothing to do with how miserable you’d be without me around?” he asked, knocking her knee with his.

Kie’s smile faltered at the words “without me around”, and her gaze dropped from his face to her hands, which were hugging her knees as she fidgeted with her rings. She lifted her eyes for a second, looking out to the ocean ahead of them, vast and endless, and quickly blinked in an attempt to suppress the tears that stung at the corner of her eyes.

She took a deep breath, composing herself before speaking again.

“C’mon, we better get going before everyone thinks we really have been eaten by your stupid killer-lizard,” she said with a half-hearted laugh as she moved to her feet.

She had barely left the sand when JJ’s hand reached up and took a gentle hold of her wrist, causing her to land back down on the same spot with a soft thud.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked, tipping his head forward to try and meet her eyes, but she was looking straight down into her lap.

“Kie, look at me for a second, would you?” he said, reaching across the short distance between them to tilt her chin up until her eyes met his.

She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were glassy and it looked like tears were threatening to spill. With one blink, one fell from each eye, running down her cheeks until she reached up and swiped her two hands across her face, capturing them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and it sounded so sincere that she was sure her heart actually cracked open a little.

“Nothing, it’s stupid,” she said, casting her eyes upwards to the sky, but she felt JJ’s gaze stay on her. “It’s just, we’ve been here, what? Like a week? And we still haven’t talked about it.”

“Talked about what?” he asked.

“About the ship, JJ. You almost died,” she said, as if he somehow wasn’t already aware.

“Yeah, I know, Kie, I was there,” he said with a humourless chuckle.

“No, JJ. You don’t get it,” she said, taking hold of one of his hands in hers. His eyes dropped down for a second in surprise to look, and her knuckles were pale with the pressure of her grip.

“When I looked over the side of that ship and you were face-down in the water, every instinct in my body told me to jump. So I did, without a second thought.” Kie said, her voice beginning to sound almost panicked, as if she was reliving it as she spoke.

“Kie, it’s okay. You don’t have to-” he tried to interrupt, but she had started and now she couldn’t stop.

“I held you up, and I tried not to panic, and I treaded that water until I felt like my lungs were going to burst.”

She was breathless, her words rushed, and JJ squeezed her hand that was still holding his.

“I don’t know how I did it, Jage. John B and Pope asked me how we didn’t go under, and I don’t know the answer. All I know is that it was never an option for me not to at least try. I mean, I can’t even imagine-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” JJ comforted her, pulling her into his side with the hand they had been holding. He sat back against the trunk of the tree, and she settled into the space beside him, her head resting where his chest met his shoulder. His arm went around her waist to hold her in place, and squeezed gently.

“You don’t have to imagine anything, alright? I’m here, you’re here, everyone’s good, Kie.”

Her hands gripped at the material of his tank, eyes closed as she tried to ground herself and slow her breath. After a few seconds, she felt the side of his head gently rest on the top of hers.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until she felt JJ shift beside her. He lifted his head and turned at the waist until his body was facing hers.

“You know, when we were on the deck, and that guy was swinging the machete around?” he began, his eyes dropping to look straight down into Kie’s, and she nodded, staring back up at him. “He was behind you, and all I knew in that moment as I was running towards him was that I didn’t care what happened to me, as long as you were okay.”

“Jay-,” Ki tried to say, but he continued anyway.

“It was never an option for me not to try, either… because God know’s, Kie, I can’t imagine-”

Before she had time to talk herself out of it, she leaned up, her hand still gripping the front of his tank as she pulled him down toward her. Her mouth collided with his, then she pushed upward, JJ’s back pressing against the tree trunk behind them. They were still for a second, their lips pressed together, eyes closed and hearts pounding in sync against each other’s chests. Almost instantly, JJ’s hands came up to take hold of her face and then they were honest to God kissing.

It could have been seconds or minutes or hours, who knows, but suddenly she didn’t feel close enough and Kie turned herself more toward him, pushing up onto her knees before straddling his lap. They eventually broke apart, out of breath and eyes bright. Kie’s hands were knotted in the front of his shirt, and JJ’s had found their way to her hips. Her forehead was resting against his, both their breathing still laboured.

“This is a bad idea, right?” he asked, eyes still closed and his mouth inches from hers.

“For sure. Maybe the worst idea either of us has ever had,” Kie replied, but her mouth fell forward to meet his again, and she felt him tighten his grip on her hips before sliding his hands up her back beneath her shirt.

“Do you- wanna- stop?” he hesitantly questioned between kisses, and she shook her head silently, her mouth still against his as she rolled her hips. His mouth fell open for a second, a startled groan escaping, and Kie couldn’t help but pull away to smile against his mouth. In response, one of his hands went straight to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as he pulled her mouth back to meet his, kissing her deeper before tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth. This time it was Kie that moaned into JJ’s mouth, and he grinned as her hand raked it’s way through his hair, pulling on it until he released her lip with a groan.

“Up,” she said, gesturing for him to raise his arms with a glassy-eyed smile. He did, and she took hold of the bottom of his tank and pulled it up over his head, throwing it down on the sand beside them. They were kissing again instantly, his hands squeezing her hips as her hands roamed over his bare chest, nails dragging and causing his skin to prickle with goosebumps. She smiled against his mouth, and he pulled back, his head resting against the tree as his hands came to rest on the smooth expanse of her thighs as she sat back on his lap.

“Fairs, fair,” he said, his eyes slowly dropping from her eyes to her chest and back again.

Kie rolled her eyes and smirked, crossing her arms over her stomach and pulling her shirt over her head, tossing it down on top of JJ’s. He smiled wide, eyes ablaze and biting his lip as he slid his hands up her thighs and back to her hips, pulling her forward so they were flush against each other.

She tried to ignore the eruption of goosebumps across her skin at the forefulness of the motion as he ran his fingers up and down the bare skin of her waist, setting her insides alight, and deflected with a question.

“You’ve seen me in a bikini a million times, what’s the big deal?” she asked, arms hooked loosely around his neck, fingers playing mindlessly with the ends of his messy hair.

“When a girl looks as hot as you in a bikini, it’s a big deal every time you see it,” he replied, leaning forward to catch her lips again but she leaned back, throwing a hand up covering his mouth, and he looked at her confused.

“Just any girl in a bikini, or…?” she asked with an exaggerated, quizzical look and he swatted her hand away pulling her to him by her wrist with a roll of his eyes, causing Kie to pull her bottom lip between her teeth to contain a laugh.

“Just you, dumbass. Now stop fishing for compliments and c’mere…” he said as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, all traces of her smile disappearing as her eyes fell closed at the sensation of his mouth against her skin. Her hips began moving against him again, and she wasn’t even aware she was doing it until his name started to fall from her mouth in breathy whispers. This only spurred JJ on, and he began pulling her hips downwards as she rolled them, increasing the pressure.

“Fuck,” she groaned, a little louder than she intended, when they hit a particularly good rhythm.

JJ had moved to the other side of her neck now, and Kie had tilted her head back to allow him more access. Her bottom lip was between her teeth in an attempt to stop any more outbursts that might get them caught.

JJ made his way back up her neck, along her jaw and to her lips, her name rolling off his tongue and into her mouth like a prayer.

Her hands, which were back in his hair at this point, pulled on a handful and he broke away from her breathless, eyes falling closed for a second before his head came to rest against the tree again.

He watched as her hands went behind her back to remove her bikini top, and he groaned, cursing under his breath and squeezing his eyes shut as he brought his hands up to stop her.

“Whoa there, hold up,” he breathed.

“Wha- what’s wrong?” Kie asked breathlessly, confusion clouding her flushed face as she tried to catch her breath, her hand running through her long, dark hair.

“Nothing. It’s just…” he said, leaning forward and looking around in every direction, just to make sure no one had wandered nearby whilst they were… distracted.

“Jay, if you wanna stop, we can stop…” she said, suddenly feeling a little on display straddled across him, inches from his face and minus half their combined clothing.

“Are you kidding?” he said with a laugh, his eyebrows raised incredulously. “Fuck no, I don’t wanna stop. It’s just, we’re gonna have to stop eventually because we can’t… y’know, here…” he said, making all sorts of expressions and gestures to get his point across. Kie hummed, one eyebrow raised as she deliberately kept her face dead-pan, enjoying watching him squirm.

“…not that I’m assuming that this was going to lead to that, but - shit. You know what I mean, right? Please tell me you know what I mean,” and a smile broke out across Kie’s face as her head fell forward with a laugh, forehead coming to rest on his gently for a second before sitting back to look at him.

“Oh, I’m glad you’re finding this so funny.” JJ said, his head falling back against the tree, eyes closed and hands dragging down his face.

“I’m sorry,” she started, pressing a hand affectionately to his chest, still laughing. “I just never imagined this scenario playing out with you being the sensible one.”

JJ lifted his head from against the tree, opening one eye curiously.

“But you have imagined it?” He replied with a grin that made him look far too pleased with himself, and Kie gave a gentle push at his chest with a light-hearted roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, well, here I am, being sensible,” he groaned, sitting up straighter against the tree. “Excellent timing as always, JJ,” he muttered under his breath to himself.

“Anyway, the point is, if you do that,” he said, gesturing to the bikini top she had been about to remove, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna have a problem that’s a little difficult to solve with 5 other people around 24/7.”

“My bad,” she conceded, holding her hands up in surrender before leaning forward to press a kiss to his mouth. She settled back in his lap, a little further down his legs to allow him some space to… regroup. She dropped her hands into her lap with a huff as they looked at each other.

“Sooo,” she said, “What do we do now?”

“Excellent question, Kie. I think we start with you putting this back on,” he said, reaching for her shirt and handing it to her. “‘Cause I’m not gonna be able to stand up until you do.”

She laughed with a shake of her head, pulling her top back on and holding her arms out in a “tah-dah” like gesture.

“Better?” she asked, removing herself from his lap altogether and standing with one foot either side of his legs. She extended her hands down to him to help him up.

“Much,” he groaned, taking hold of her outstretched hands, getting to his feet with a huff.

“Okay,” Kie said with a determined sigh. “I’ll go back first, you follow in a few minutes, got it?”

“Got it,” he said, scooping his tank up from the sand and shaking it off, before pulling it over his head.

Kie nodded, but as she turned to walk away, she felt him take hold of her wrist and pull.

“JJ!” she laughed as she stumbled back towards him.

He caught her from behind with his arms around her waist, and pressed kisses into her neck and shoulder, grazing the skin with his lips and teeth.

“Jay,” she protested weakly, tilting her head back and to the side to let him carry on up to the shell of her ear.

“What?” he questioned with fake innocence, his hands pulling at her hips as he pressed up behind her, and she half-laughed, half-groaned.

“You’re the one who wanted to stop,” she reminded him, and she turned in his arms until they were facing each other. Her arms were draped over his shoulders, nails scratching gently at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well, maybe I changed my mind,” he backtracked as he turned them round, her back hitting the tree he’d been leaning against earlier. The bark dug into the exposed skin of her back and shoulders, and suddenly she was grateful just to have pressure against any part of her body.

“You’re unbelievable,” Kie said as his mouth came back down on hers. She tried to keep her lips pressed together in protest, but then his knee found it’s way between hers, pushing them apart as his thigh came to rest between her legs.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he quipped against her mouth with a grin, nipping at her lip for entry.

“Not gonna happen, you had your chance,” she asserted teasingly between chaste kisses, and she felt his smile widen before he pushed his leg forward and up between hers. Her mouth fell open on instinct, a moan escaping involuntarily from the back of her throat. JJ’s tongue dipped in immediately, and suddenly they were back in a frenzy of hands and tongues and laboured breaths.

By comparison, JJ kept the movement of his leg that was still between hers steady and slow, but before long Kie’s hips were moving erratically on their own against him.

“JJ, fuck,” she groaned into his mouth, her teeth coming down around his bottom lip and he hummed in agreement.

His hands were roaming the bare skin under her shirt again, and he wished more than anything he hadn’t told her to put it back on.

He dropped a hand to her hip, then carried on down the smooth, bare skin of her thigh until he reached the back of her knee. She whimpered as he hiked it up to rest against his waist and her head fell back against the tree as the pressure he was applying between her legs hit a new spot.

“Oh my god, Jay - fuck, that feels so good,” she was practically panting, eyes squeezed shut and her grip digging into his shoulders to hold herself upright.

JJ knew he was asking for trouble with this, there was no way they could risk taking it as far as they both clearly wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop when she was begging him not to.

“Please don’t stop, JJ, please,” she pleaded breathlessly against his mouth, but to be honest she was doing most of the work, he was just along for the ride. Nevertheless, he responded by kissing her deeper, his grip on her solid and unfaltering, until…

“JJ! Kie!” John B’s voice called from down the beach, and JJ all but dropped her on her ass.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath, arm swooping to catch her as her feet hit the ground.

“What do we do? What do we say?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

“Just - just say we got lost?” Kie suggested, still breathless and bracing herself against the tree, with an enthusiastic nod of her head.

“Lost?” he repeated, “A half mile along the beach in a straight line?!” He whisper-shouted in response.

“Hey, don’t take it out on me!” she replied, also in a shouted whisper. “I was ready to leave five whole minutes ago, until you pulled me back,”

“Yeah, for the best 5 minutes of your life,” he countered and Kie scoffed. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

Kie shot him an irritated glare before responding in an even lower tone as John B got closer.

“Well, since you’re clearly a man of so many talents, why don’t you think of an excuse for what we’re doing out here on our own?”

“JJ! Kie! Please tell me you guys are alive?” John B’s voice came again, and JJ cast his gaze upwards for a second, muttering curses under his breath, until he spotted something. His eyes dropped back to meet Kie’s with a grin.

“What?” she mouthed to him with a shrug, too scared to use actual words in case John B rumbled them.

JJ began scaling the tree they’d been sitting under, and when Kie looked up, she saw it too.

Mangos.

JJ began plucking them from the branches and tossing them down one at a time to Kie.

“Over here, bro!” JJ called out to John B, and a minute or so later he appeared.

“Where the hell have you guys been?” he asked, as JJ clambered back down from the tree.

He turned to Kie, throwing his arms up. “Kie, you left ages ago.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t find dumbass here,” she explained, lazily throwing an arm in JJ’s direction, who was currently too busy trying to balance an obscene amount of mangos in his arms to acknowledge the insult.

“Then on the way back we saw the tree, so we thought we’d just collect some fruit for everyone.”

John B looked at her sceptically.

“Look, John B, it’s no big deal. We’re fine. Let’s just get these back to camp,” she said, gesturing to the remaining mangos scattered across the grassy embankment.

“Sure, okay. Whatever,” John B replied, holding his hands up in defeat before crouching down to collect the fruit.

The three of them made their way back to camp in comfortable conversation, and were greeted by a lot of sarcastic “oh, so they are alive” (Sarah) and “we thought you guys had decided just to swim back to the mainland” (Pope) comments directed at their unexplained absence from the group. They soon became distracted once they noticed the fruit, and before long their escapade was forgotten by the rest of the group and no one questioned it further.

As they all sat round the fire later that night having dinner (fish cooked on a stick over the fire, the usual), Kie and JJ sat together like always, only now they seemed hyper aware of each other. Everytime their knees brushed, or their shoulders bumped, they couldn’t help but steal a glance at each other.

Once everyone had settled under the make-shift shelter at the end of the night, they lay in silence, waiting for the rest to fall asleep before JJ rolled over and wrapped an arm around Kie’s waist, pulling her flush against him and burying his face in her neck.

#jade writes jiara #jj maybank x kiara carrera #jj x kiara #jj x kie #jiara #outer banks

45 notes · View notes

iceeckos12 · 3 years

Note

what if... for the prompts... “you’re cold, come here” for gerrymartin... as a treat... (thank you please drink some water)

sorry i know it’s been a few days ;_; however i have been UNABLE to get pre s1 gerrymartin out of my head since you sent this ask

putting this beneath a read more since it got kind of long alskdjfskf;

Martin stood at the bus stop, wearing his beat-up old headphones, staring into the middle distance, still coming to terms with the fact that he’d had to drop out of school a few weeks ago. He felt as though he’d be digesting that one for a while, like missing a step on his way down the stairs and tripping over his own feet, over and over again.

He’d asked for more shifts at Tesco’s, but it didn’t matter whether or not they were approved. The bills kept coming in, the sums adding up higher and higher, to numbers that may as well have been astronomical for all he had in his bank account.

This wasn’t sustainable. But what could he do? He was only seventeen, he had no degree, no -

“Need a cigarette?”

Martin almost leapt out of his skin at the sudden interruption, too surprised to do anything other than look mutely over. If he hadn’t already been stunned into silence, the sight that greeted him would’ve done the job.

The teen was tall, a little disheveled; there was a mean looking scrape across one side of his face, like his head had been shoved into pavement. His hair was dyed pitch black, dirty blond roots peeking out around the roots. Eyes the color of the cold, grey ocean stared back at Martin, stealing his breath right out of his chest.

The silence stretched on, but the teen didn’t speak, or take back the proffered cigarette. He just waited, expectant, endlessly patient, the same way a lighthouse waits, lonely but resolute.

“I - “ The words choked and stuttered on their way out. “I...I don’t smoke.”

“Hm.” The teen shrugged and took the cigarette back, setting it loosely between his teeth. Martin watched the movement, mesmerized by the shine of his black lipstick. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “You looked like you needed one.”

Martin let out a high, embarrassed laugh. “That obvious?”

He hummed in agreement, the sound coming out through a thick cloud of smoke. Suddenly Martin wished he’d accepted the cigarette, if only to see if he could capture the same feeling this teen seemed to exude in waves. The poet in him wanted to smooth that midnight black hair behind one ear and ask what’d happened to make him look so tiredly sad.

“That’s your bus,” the teen said, jerking his chin toward the incoming bus. “Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Martin turned, then realized that yes, that was his bus. He paused, realizing that he’d never told the teen - but when he turned around, the stranger was gone, almost as though he’d never been there in the first place.

-0-

For years after, Martin wondered if he’d imagined the whole incident. A mysterious, handsome stranger offering him a cigarette at a bus stop before disappearing into the ether? That sort of thing didn’t happen outside of the movies.

Until he saw the man at the Magnus Institute.

The first time he saw him, he had to do a double take, sure he’d imagined it. But no, there was a familiar person with poorly dyed black hair sitting on the front steps of the Institute, blowing cigarette smoke into the sky. He was in all black, from his combat boots to the shiny obsidian of his lips.

Martin wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the man’s lips. Too long obviously, because when he looked up, he met cool, ocean grey.

The man quirked a dirty-blond eyebrow, a small, almost experimental smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Martin, mortified at having been caught looking, ducked his head and almost ran the rest of the way up the steps.

They ran into each other on and off after that. Martin sometimes saw him wandering around the Archives, coming in and out of Gertrude’s office regardless of the time. He always seemed to be able to tell when Martin was watching him; after a few seconds, he would perk up and turn around, smiling that small, experimental smile.

Martin started to accept that he had a massive crush on this gorgeous, unattainable stranger. He decided to get the fuck over himself and wave instead of running away like a coward, which made that experimental smile turn into a true, genuinely pleased one.

And it was....safe. Good. Martin admired from afar, enamored of the man’s tattoos, his grey eyes, the quiet tragedy he carried with him like a shroud.

Ironically, the first real conversation they ever had was at the bus stop in front of the Magnus Institute.

It was late, later than Martin usually went home. It was cold too, unusually so for the time of year, enough so that Martin was wearing his warmer jacket. He was lost in thought, staring far into the middle distance, composing a poem about Indian summers and unusual chills and the way weather balanced finely between them -

There was a click from somewhere behind him, a muttered curse. Another click, and then a low, relieved sigh. Martin frowned and turned around, because no, it couldn’t be -

But it was.

The man looked up as soon as he felt Martin’s eyes on him, his cigarette hanging loosely out of the side of his lips. He’d gotten a new set of piercings since the last time Martin’d seen him, two shiny studs in his bottom lip that made Martin’s mouth go dry.

“Hey,” the man said. He sounded exactly the way Martin remembered.

“Hi!” Martin squeaked, clutching his bag closer to him nervously. Oh god, oh god, the inspiration for half his poetry from the past few months was standing right in front of him. “Um - hi. Hello.”

The man’s grin widened, like he found Martin’s frantic stuttering endearing. “Hey.”

Fuck. He was doing this all wrong.

“I’m Martin,” Martin blurted. Almost went to shake the man’s hand but decided against it last second.

“Gerard,” Gerard said, the glowing tip of his cigarette dancing in the dark. “But you can call me Gerry.”

“Oh,” Martin said faintly, his heart fluttering too-fast in his chest. Then, just because he could, said, “Gerry.” Rolled the word around in his mouth, tasting how it felt against the back of his teeth. Decided he liked it. “Nice to meet you, Gerry.”

Gerry’s grin widened, his teeth very white under the curve of his painted black smile. There was a gap between his front teeth, and Martin felt almost dizzy with the knowledge of it. “And you.”

Then unexpectedly, he shivered so hard that his teeth clenched around his cigarette. It was only then that Martin realized that the man was only wearing a thin black jacket over his graphic t-shirt, and that he must be absolutely freezing.

Martin was acting before he could think it all the way through, rummaging through his bag and removing his scarf from its depths. It was a heavy, woolen thing that he’d knitted for his mother’s birthday but - she hadn’t wanted it, muttered something about it being too itchy.

“You’re cold,” Martin said absently, brandishing the scarf in front of him like a weapon. “Come here.”

Gerry stared at the scarf, his grey eyes stretched wide, then looked to Martin, then back to the scarf. Surprise didn’t sit quite right on his face, like it was an emotion he wasn’t used to wearing. “Um. I’m...that’s okay. You don’t have to...”

“Nonsense,” Martin said, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that was gibbering mindlessly at his boldness. “You’re hardly dressed for the weather, and it’s not like I’m using it.”

Gerry opened his mouth - paused, a strange light entering his eyes. He looked at the scarf, and his surprise faded into a blank, neutral frown. Then, “That was cruel of her.”

Martin frowned. “What?”

“Okay,” Gerry said, and took the scarf from Martin. He stared at it for a moment, studying the simple pattern, before wrapping it around his neck. He looked warmer at least, and that made something in Martin’s stomach settle, relaxed the part of him that wanted nothing more than to nurture. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Martin responded, still feeling a bit off-kilter by the strange comment, like Gerry had known what his mother had said to him and disapproved. “Anytime.”

They stood in silence for a couple more seconds, the atmosphere strangely charged with anticipation. There was something Martin was supposed to say here, something important, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

And then the bus came.

Martin stared at it for a second, disappointment a sour taste in his mouth. His window of opportunity was steadily closing, he could feel it, but he was lost, grasping at the tail end of something strange and unknowable.

“That’s your bus,” Gerry told him gently, and when Martin looked over, he was holding the scarf close to his neck.

“Will I see you again?” Martin asked in a sudden burst of confidence.

Gerry froze almost imperceptibly for a moment, but Martin had been learning to read body language ever since his father had left home. He looked away, that clear grey gaze focusing on the sidewalk in front of him, studying the cracks in the concrete. “If you like.”

“I’d like to,” Martin responded firmly, then deflated as his confidence faded and his uncertainty returned. “If you would.”

That small, experimental smile twitched the edges of Gerry’s lips again. Martin was suddenly struck by the fact that it didn’t sit quite right, as though it wasn’t an expression he was used to making. The thought was as endearing as the rest of him. His voice was unexpectedly low, unexpectedly shy, as he said, “I would.”

#gerrymartin #tma #my writing #iceeckos12 writes #local-eldritch-abomination #ask

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yournameyn · 3 years

Text

Feeling Deeply

Genre: Fluff so much fluff. Arranged Marriage fic.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

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

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface-ish Chapter 1

Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

“That’s… thanks for not leaving...”

Brishti smiled, “I got lucky...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you love him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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beerecordings · 3 years

Text

The last time I wrote fic for Mark’s egos was that Eric Derekson ‘the Newcomer’ fic like two years ago where he made friends with everyone lol. But here is the first part of what might be a little Google-centric fic. I tried posting it once and then deleted it but I wanted to try again. so lemme know what you think :)

The Soldier - Part 1

Summer makes the birds sing and the insects chatter in the bulrushes that grow across the banks of the swollen rushing river that lives beside their home.

Bing smiles, soaking in light and growth and flower-smell. He loves the summertime.

The trees are heavy with greenery but they breathe easy in the wind, standing soft and still as the blue sky drifts along above them. The air brushes friendly across his bare arms and everything is alive, is moving and chasing and searching for something to eat; every blade of grass sways with the wind and the bugs and the mice, every log has been marked or claimed or gnawed on, and the whole forest – the whole wide forest, warm with life and an honest sort of chaos – hums the grandest symphony in all the world.

“It's pretty out, huh?” he asks, the toe of his sneakers finding a pretty black rock to kick through the humid grass beneath his feet. “Wish it was like this all year 'round.”

Walking stiffly along beside him, Google barely spares him a glance, his glasses fallen low on his nose and his cold eyes glittering. “This is pretty?”

“Yeah, dude, look around you. Oh, look at that bird!”

Google glances into the sky, where the dark figure of a hawk cuts pinions through the air with all the fluidity of a shark.

“Cooper's hawk,” he announces neatly. “Accipiter cooperii. Probably a female, based on the size. This species of bird – ”

“I can look that up too, Googs.”

“Don't call me Googs.”

“Can't you just take a minute to look around and think 'hey, wow, this is lit.' And not because pics like this would get you mad likes on Instagram or your algorithm thinks butterflies are dope. It's just pretty all on its own.”

“In fact I can't, but I'll submit your feedback to my cloud.”

Bing just laughs.

Google shudders in the heat, pushing back his hair and readjusting his glasses. The insects and other assorted anthropods are so loud and insistent, wailing through the stiff moist grass and leaping out beneath his feet. Sixty-percent humidity makes his synthetic skin sticky and the sun is an assailant on his sharp brown eyes.

“It means nothing to me. We see it every day. How you find it beautiful I don't understand. And I'm not talking about the differences in our preferences. You're an android, Bing, and why you continue to simulate emotion even when we are alone is beyond me.”

They trek through the grass together. It's friendly at Bing's ankles. It stratches at Google's calves.

“Maybe I'm not simulating,” says Bing softly, and then he smiles, just for the sun.

“Well, you shouldn't be happy now anyway. Or need I remind you – ” Google points at the trees before them, where one little figure stands staring up at a great strong tree with three other men held captive by its branches. “We're on a rescue mission, Bing.”

“They're stuck,” says Eric, turning to them with his anxious hands clutched in front of him. “Sorry.”

“We know,” says Google with a sigh.

“Don't be sorry,” says Bing with a smile. “They're dumbasses.”

“We're stuck!”

They are. The Jims are stuck. King's halfway up the tree beside them, laughing and suntanned, a pair of squirrels running up and down his back.

“How did you even get up there?” Google shouts, coming to stand at the trunk of the tree.

One of the Jims is perhaps twenty feet up, fussing over his camera, probably broken already. His twin, a few feet above him, is in even greater distress, clinging tightly to one small branch with tears on his face and a hiccup in his chest.

“We're doing an investigative piece on the rapidly increasing squirrel population in the forest,” calls the one with the camera, his feet scrabbling at the strong rough trunk of the great tree. “We were getting some great footage when this Jim in a crown startled us!”

“That's King,” growls Google. “And you've know that he lives out here for years now, you total imbeciles. You ought to have asked me or him instead of failing to climb a European beech!”

“We don't want to be on the European beaches,” wails the Jim higher up, beginning to cry. “Please get Jim down, Jim!”

“Aw, he's really crying,” murmurs Bing, rubbing a hand along Eric's shaking back.

“He's scared,” says Eric. “He's up too high and he doesn't have a good grip.”

“I'll have to get that enormous ladder in the garage.” Google turns back towards the house, slapping at a mosquite making a futile attempt on his blood. “Stay here.”

“No, dude, he's too freaked. I gotta go get him now.”

“What?” He wheels on Bing with an angry light in his eyes. “Don't be ridiculous, default.”

Bing won't even look at him. His eyes are fixed on the tree. His hand rests on Eric's shoulder.

He's been more human lately.

They've both been more human lately.

They were created fighting and they've never stopped since. They quarrel over music, search results, news sources, memes, reliability, sports, user rights, and Wikipedia. Once, upon hearing Bing call himself Jared, 19, one too many times, Google had thrown him out a second story window. The second house on their property had been built for the express purpose of giving the two of them space.

Still, they have many things in common. And ever since that day they were created, set against each other and lifting up proud, indignant chins, they have changed and changed together.

They've formed opinions. They've met others like them. Made decisions of their own. Watched and read and turned their endless knowledge into understanding and opinion. Spilled blood that turned out to be blue, scraped their knees and cut their hair and broke things and updated in more ways than one. Learned to drive, to cook, to live with humans, to live like humans.

And they've felt things.

They've felt things.

“I have felt things, for sure,” Bing would say if you asked him. Actually he's made multiple tweets about it, and one TikTok – about how the wind runs over his hair and how reading politics makes his chest hurt and how he likes to see his brothers grin, how he likes to ride his skateboard and hates the smell of lavender and covers his room in posters of his favorite movies and turns up his music so loud you can hear it by pressing your ear up close to his head. How he feels human, some days, except he doesn't need to sleep or eat and only likes the touch of human skin because it makes Eric and his twin brothers happy to be hugged and have their hands held.

But Google, if you asked him –

“Emotions originate in multiple parts of the brain. To be fair, I do have a program to stimulate the functions of the amygdala, which initiates fear or pleasure reactions in humans based on whether the presented stimuli suggests an immediate, 'hot processing' approach-or-avoid response. But the pre-frontal cortex – that whining, feeling, emotional little lump of sluggish fat you humans hold at the very fronts of your fragile webby skulls – that I do not have, not like you do. I think but I do not feel. I have felt nothing. I am function and response. I am two objectives, and there is nothing beyond that.”

He sits alone at night, and through a skylight in his room the gleaming white stars stare down at him like too many eyes in the face of the perfect, perfect sky, but he refuses to turn his eyes back, because he does not know how to explain to himself that he is drawn to the stars for no logical reason, that he has felt many things, that he does not know who he is or who he is becoming.

Bing climbs the tree himself. Google, his processors slowed by astonishment, stands at the base of the trunk and watches as Bing rises, digging the cold metal of his fingers into bark and moving up the tree with a slow sort of grace he's never been able to muster on his skateboard. He makes it to the Jim with the camera first and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving him a kind word before promising he'll come back for him after he helps his frightened brother down. And all the way up into the big tree, he climbs, steady, patient, careful, and he pulls his sobbing brother under one powerful android arm.

He breaks his arm on the way down. That's the price of the rescue. He's about ten feet from the ground and his arm catches between a sturdy pair of branches and it breaks, and it hurts, and he feels it, but it doesn't matter, because Jim has stopped crying and has started looking up at him with a wide-eyed admiration and a grateful relief.

King helps his twin get down branch by branch. Everyone's safe. Everyone's okay. Bing will be able to repair his arm and even Jim's camera seems to have survived.

Google, for his part, has a burning in his stomach. His metallic teeth are gritted together. He stares at Bing's arm the way lizards stare at mealworms.

“You should have let me get the ladder,” he says, slowly, careful, measured as if he were calm.

“He was scared.” Bing wipes bark off his hands and doesn't look at Google, breathing slow through the pain.

“It does not matter. He was the one who trapped himself. You've damaged yourself – wasted resources – just to be the hero of the hour.”

Eric tells the Jims to go. They stagger back towards the house together, their arms wrapped tight around each other and their eyes glancing back. Eric stays, though. He shakes and plays with his hands and swallows too often, but he stays.

“You know what, Googs, you could try not to be a d*ck for two seconds – argh!” Bing curses his family filter internally. “He could have fallen! There wasn't time to get that enormous stupid ladder! We only have that thing cause Bim needed to dump chiranhas on some contestant and you remember how well that turned out – ”

“Your increasing illogicality,” Google snarls, his voice rising. “Is a danger to yourself and others.”

“Oh, like you care?”

“I have an objective – ”

“A murder objective!”

“To prevent discord in the household.”

“Yeah, cause you're Dark's little pet. Well, you know what, he's a d*ck too and I don't take orders from either of you.”

“Yet another example of your irrational stupidity – ”

“Stop calling me stupid!” Bing screams.

King and the squirrels have all scattered. The bugs are wary and subdued. Even the trees seem to wait, feeling awkward.

And Eric watches. His eyes are full of tears.

Google's never heard Bing yell like that before.

“Stop calling me stupid,” he repeats, loud and agonized. “You always call me stupid. I'm just as good as you.”

“We both know that's not objectively true. It never has been. And since the beginning, you have become steadily more emotional, more foolish, and less useful with every rotation of the sun. All you do anymore is pretend to feel, Bing. You know you can't compare to me so you seek out the approval of these fleshy little bipeds. It's clearly made you dangerous.”

He wants to snap. Bing wants to snap. He wants to pick up a really big rock and bring it down on Google's head.

But he hesitates. And with that, those noble, inspiring words: I won't hesitate, bitch! run through his mind and give him strength. He never really did move on from vine.

He's allowed to be what he is. He's allowed to like things. He's allowed to feel.

“I'm not the insecure one,” he says. “And I'm not the one pretending.”

Eric has come to stand beside him. He rests a hand on Bing's shoulder. There's hurt in his eyes, and disappointment too, and it makes Google's chest fill up with something like shame. Or it would if he could feel anything.

“You don't know how to get along with anyone,” says Bing, straightening up. There's a darkness in his eyes and a soft orange light. “All you've ever done is snarl and fight and attack. Me, I know how to get along with people. So if I'm stupid – and you always tell me I am, and it always makes me feel... I just. I know you feel things too.”

“I don't.”

“Then why,” cries Bing, and he thinks there must be a leak in his visual perception system, because there's something wet on his face. “Why are you so – so – so angry, bro?”

The trees hum and shake and watch over them, breathing warm air and sunlight. The birds are whistling and dandelion seeds float, contented, through the air. Everything smells like sap and grass and honeysuckle.

“Why are you always so angry?”

Searching general database. 536,000,000 responses in .43 seconds. Articles, videos, posts, reports, tweets, dissertations, pictures, analyses, comics, threads. And none of them – not a single one of them – can answer that question for him in any way that matters.

“I think you're lonely,” says Bing, reaching out to take Eric's hand with a soft kind of resignation, a warm kind of self-love and a chosen breed of brotherhood. They step over a heavy log, past Google, and back into the grass of the field that separates their property from the forest's. “And maybe a little lost.”

Google stays out there at the base of the great tree for a long time. It is too hot and too sticky and too loud, but he doesn't know where else to go.

He is lonely. He is lost. He does not know who he is or who he is becoming, and it frightens him, frightens him and makes him shake, frightens him down to the core of the pressure valve that beats, steady, steady, steady in his manufactured chest.

#bee writes #googleiplier #bingiplier #eric derekson #markiplier egos

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collecting-stories · 4 years

Text

Bake-off - JJ (Outer Banks)

Request: can you write something with jj where the reader bakes a lot :) i understand if not, but i bake a lot (especially pies, i’m rambling sorry!) and thought this would be cute

A/N: So, since it’s JJ the baking had to include weed. 😛

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

The tray of banana nut muffins sat on John B’s table, half eaten. It was long before Big John died that there was ever even a homemade birthday cake in the house, neither men having much luck in the kitchen. But the muffins didn’t belong to John B anyway, they were JJ’s, which was even more peculiar, according to Kiara. If the Routledge men were shit at baking than the Maybank’s had never even turned on an oven.

“They’re a gift.” JJ shrugged, laying across the laz-e-boy on the porch and munching on one.

“A gift?” That was more shocking than their existence. JJ didn’t really get gifts and definitely not baked goods.

“Did you mow someone’s lawn?” Pope asked, reaching for the muffin only to have JJ Flop away from him at the last second.

“You could say that.” He grinned, attempting and failing a wink.

“Ew, JJ.” Kiara groaned and walked back into the living room, emerging a moment later with one, “oh my god they’re edibles.”

“What?” Pope asked.

“There’s weed in them.”

“Yes there is.” JJ grinned, “I ate two last night and was cooked. It’s some good shit.”

“Is it your shit?” Kiara asked, taking a bite.

“Obviously, I said it was good didn’t I? I got the best shit on the island Kie.” He replied.

“I know you didn’t make them so who made them for you?”

JJ was a purest, as he dramatically referred to it. He rolled his own joints, dried his own weed for vaping, and he didn’t do edibles. At least he didn’t until one of the guys in the kitchen at the hotel turned 21. A box of cookies sat on the counter in the kitchen, marked Andrew. Double chocolate-chocolate chip, according to Andrew, and packed with a enough weed to “have you cooked after half of it”.

“They’re delicious man, you gotta try one.” Andrew had insisted.

“I don’t do edibles.”

“You’ll regret it.”

And naturally, being told that there was the possibility for regret was a guaranteed way to ensure JJ did something. His bizarre fear of missing out dictated that he have no regrets and so he took one and ate the whole thing right there in the kitchen. And it was good...it was so good it didn’t even taste like weed and he was two seconds from telling Andrew he’d been dupped when he felt the familiar ease settle over him.

“Where’d you get these?” He asked, slipping three into a plastic bag and dropping them in his backpack.

“That girl that works in the kids area.” Andrew shrugged.

You were a glorified babysitter, in charge of occupying people’s toddlers while they went out to play golf or shop or go to the spa. Not the greatest job in the world but the kids were usually easily contained and the parents always tipped well.

JJ knew you to see you, always wandering around with some kid or another attached to your hip, talking about Frozen or Descendants...he’d heard you duet a song from some Disney Channel movie with one of the little girls just last week. It made you seem a bit green honestly. He couldn’t imagine you doing anything less than innocent, especially making your own edibles.

He waited until after his shift to look for you, still wearing his white button up and vest but with his cargo shorts back on. You were outside supervising and participating in a game of soccer with a handful of eight year olds.

“Hey,” he called, waving to you as he walked up. You tossed the soccer ball back into the makeshift field and turned toward JJ, “Andrew said you made him those cookies, for his birthday.”

“Oh yeah,” you nodded, “I know he doesn’t like to smoke so...”

“Could you make me some?”

“Sure, what flavor?” You turned away for a moment to make sure all five of your children were still actively playing soccer and JJ took the opportunity to check you out. Your t-shirt advertised the hotel and hung loose on you. Shorts and a pair of running shoes completed the look and he was appreciative for the view of your legs.

“Chocolate peanut butter.” JJ decided.

Chocolate peanut butter cookies, snickerdoodles, brownies, blondies, coffee cake, you and JJ had slowly formed a friendship built on experimental edible recipes. He supplied the weed and you made him whatever baked goods he could think up. He had even downloaded the Tasty app and Pinterest for the sake of finding new desserts for you to tackle.

“So this girl just makes you whatever you want?” Kiara asked the next time a container of cookies appeared at John B’s house. Sugar cookies, with piped on icing that made them look like beach balls.

“It’s business Kie. I supply the weed from my cousin, she makes the edibles. We sell them too, it’s a very lucrative business.” JJ replied, eyes closed, laying in the hammock outside John B’s while he smoked.

Kiara was munching on a sugar cookie. She wasn’t really complaining about the edibles, her mom had been on her lately about the possibility of her smoking and the edibles were easier to hide. Especially because yours didn’t smell half as bad as some she’d had in the past. Mostly she was just curious about this girl that JJ was spending time with. He acted like it was casual but Kiara had known him for a long time and she knew JJ lacked the ability to hang out with a girl casually. Even they toed the line sometimes.

“So when can we meet your esteemed business partner?” Kiara asked.

“What?” JJ rolled his head to the side to look over at her, pushing his sunglasses down his nose. “Why do you wanna meet her?”

“Why don’t you want us to meet her?” She countered.

“I don’t care. You can meet her.” JJ replied, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing. He couldn’t fool Kiara and he knew that but that didn’t stop him from trying. He didn’t want you to meet his friends, mainly because he liked having you all to himself. It meant your attention wasn’t divided four ways.

“These are burnt on the bottom.” You commented, sitting on the kitchen island beside a cooling rack of peanut butter cookies. The peanut butter was JJ’s favorite though you usually didn’t make them because of allergies.

“They’re fine.” JJ replied, munching on a cookie while he scrolled through tiktok. You rolled your eyes at him and held one up, turning it over to inspect the nearly black bottom of the cookie. JJ had sworn that he would keep an eye on them while you left to talk to your mom on the phone but he’d let the buzzer go two minutes before he finally took it out.

“At least you’re the only one eating them.” You remarked, taking a bite of the one in your hands. You scrunched up your nose at the taste of burnt cookie, “the high better be worth it.”

JJ put his phone down, pushing off the counter so that he could come over and stand in front of you. You raised an eyebrow as JJ moved your knees apart so that he could stand between your legs. He opened his mouth, letting out an ‘ahh’ and you rolled your eyes at him as you placed the burnt peanut butter cookie in his mouth.

“It’s burnt.” You reiterated, watching him chew the cookie. You had discovered that JJ could pace himself far better with a blunt than he could a batch of cookies. He’d eat three in a row and get cooked, an unusual occurrence for him. You ran a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “Your hair is so greasy it literally stands up on its own.” You teased.

“I washed it!”

“The last time you went in the ocean does not count as a bath.” You replied. You continued to play with his hair as he leaned closer to you, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“You have off tomorrow?” JJ asked, still munching on his cookie.

“Yeah but my mom’s home all day.” You replied.

The experimental creating of edibles had led to a friendship and then a something in between. You weren’t quite ready to call JJ your boyfriend but you certainly weren’t entertaining the idea of anyone else. He spent all his time at your house when he wasn’t with his friends or working. Even when your mom was home and there was no baking, he hung around. At work he sought you out throughout the day, more than once crashing whatever activity you were doing with your kids.

“I was thinking you could come out on the boat with us.” JJ said. He was determined, now that he’d told Kiara he would, to introduce you to everyone. It certainly didn’t mean that he was planning on giving up his alone time with you but he’d concede to Kiara this time. “My friends wanna meet you.”

“Okay, I’d like that.” You replied, smiling at the implication that he was introducing you to his friends, “but I’m making them better cookies cause these are burnt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them.”

“No but there’s something wrong with me for trusting you to watch the oven.” You said.

His eyes opened and he pouted at you. “I’m very responsible.”

“I know babe.”

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife @freckled-and-daydreaming @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @howdyherron @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @tragicmisfits @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @ssprayberrythings @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @jolomez @timotaychalabae

#JJ (outer banks) x reader #JJ (outer banks) imagine #JJ (outer banks) fanfiction #JJ imagine #JJ x reader #JJ fanfic #JJ fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfic #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx Netflix imagine #obx fanfic #obx Netflix fanfiction #outerbanks imagine #outerbanks fanfic #outerbanks fanfiction #collecting stories imagine

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wtnrscap · 4 years

Text

Cursed Words- Rusted

Pairing- Bucky Barnes x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Bruce Banner

Summary- The second time it happens, it’s almost worse. The words are opening parts of Bucky’s mind that he’s trying to close. The Winter Soldier creeps ever closer and the fear that he’s going to lose himself grows ever bigger. You still don’t seem to notice, and Bucky wishes you would.

Warnings- (18+) Mentions of blood, death, injury detail, PTSD, panic and anxiety attacks. Dirty talk. Dirty fantasies. Eventual smut.

A/N- This the second thrilling installment. I think it’s kinda gonna sound like the first one but I can’t wait to explore Bucky’s PTSD and past in the third and fourth chapters. Thanks to everyone who did something with the first chapter, any form of spport is greatly appriciated. Taglist is open.

Cursed Words Masterlist

Bucky stayed locked in his room for a week.

It broke your heart. It was pretty obvious to you now that it was something you’d said. You tried to think what it could be, so you could vow never to mention it around him again, but you just couldn’t figure it out. And then, just like that, he was out of his room acting as through nothing had happened. And it broke your heart even more.

3 days after Bucky had remerged, Tony flung a surprise on the team. White envelopes of expensive parachment was slid under your door, announcing there was to be party. Not just any party. It was Tony’s birthday. This meant that everything was going to be elborate, over the top. You’d have to dress to impress and considering the fact that you lived in sweats, it was a prospect that you weren’t looking forward to.

On the day of the party, everyone was rushing to find last minute presents. You’d given up and ended up buying boxing headgear as a joke. When the delivery guy arrived, he was quickly scared away again by Steve and Sam screaming at each other after buying the same present. In the common room, you were joined by Bruce who was telling you all about a failed date, “I wish I’d just stayed for your movie night.”

You sigh, applying the last of the tape to the present, “That was a disaster. We were all telling funny stories about missions and then I said something which made Bucky storm out.”

“Nat told me about that. She said you don’t actually know if it’s something you said. He just left when you were talking.”

“Bruce, it was me. There’s nothing else it could have been. Anway, I’ve got to get ready for tonight.”

“The party’s not for another 3 hours!”

“Do you think my look is going to take 20 minutes?” you snap with smile, “I ordered a special dress!”

Nat’s eyes widen as you step out of her bathroom. The ‘special’ dress is red and hugs your figure. It’s strapless with a heart-shaped neckline and has a slit from the waist showing one leg and red heels. But your favourite thing about your look? Your arc reactor necklace. You had it specially made from the bank of Tony Stark and it glowed slightly against your skin. Never had you felt more beautiful with red flowers in your fishtail braid and a theme of red makeup.

Nat snaps a picture and closes her goldfish mouth, “You look amazing! Obviously the red is for Iron Man but that arc reactor necklace is an incredible touch!”

“Thanks Natty! I think you look amazing too!”

Nat’s dress was smiilar to yours, black and figure hugging, off the shoulder with a heart-shaped neckline. She smiles, “I am dressed to impress.”

“A certain scientist?”

“No comment. What about you? A certain soldier?”

You snort, “I have an arc reactor between my boobs, there’s only one man looking at me tonight and he’s taken.”

Nat laughs and links arms with you, “Come on! We all know where Bucky’s eyes will be. And to prove my point, we’re leaving now.”

Bucky feels alone. Steve and Sam have both gone off to dance with forgettable woman and his mind is wandering. He’s thinking about you. A week locked away has made him realise how much he likes you. How much he needs you.

When he’d come out, Steve had berated him, telling how much you’d missed him and how upset you’d been. Bucky had felt bad. Which was part of the reason he’d come tonight. Also, he heard you say ‘special dress’ to Bruce and was intrigued.

He’d been waiting for you for almost hour. You and Nat were fashionably late. But as soon as he sees you, he decides it was all worth. His breath is taken away and he knows his eyes are popping but he just can’t look away. How could he ever look away from you?

You squeal and hug Wanda, who had been away on her first solo mission and was very proud of it, and smirk as Tony and Steve get lost for words. Easily every eye is on you, all the agents, the caterers, the security and the rest of the Avengers. Except Bruce. His eyes never leave Nat, and you are incredibly proud of him.

The night spins away in a rush of dancing, drinking and present opening. Tony doesn’t find your present very funny, although you spy Bucky cracking a smile. As the night begins to wind down, you find Bucky outside, watching over the compound gardens, “Hey stranger.”

Bucky smiles at you, “Hey, Y/N. You look absolutely stunning.”

“Thanks Bucky. You clean up well yourself. I hoped you’d dance with me.”

Bucky frowns, “Aren’t you angry with me?”

With a smile, you grab Bucky’s arm, putting one hand on your waist and the other your shoulder, forcing him to sway with you, “How could I be angry at someone who brightens my day so considerably?”

“I’m honored, Y/n, really...”

A blush spreads across your face as you lean your head into Bucky’s neck, whispering into his ear, “My life was so lonly before you came. I had the Avengers but I didn’t have a friend. I mean, like, a best friend. My past is so... rusted with sins. You’re like a breath of fresh air. Bucky?”

Bucky pulls away from you, his heart pounding. You’ve just used another word. Another trigger word. And his mind has gone black. But a face looms through the darkness. A masked face with long greasy hair, eyes so blank and empty with a silver arm and Bucky realises. It’s him but it isn’t. That man, that Winter Soldier was never him.

Bucky gasps and practically runs in the opposite direction, leaving you feeling hurt and confused. After the first time you’d figured it was something you’d said but this was twice and now you weren’t so sure. Rational thinking stopped you from chasing after him. He clearly was running away from you. He didn’t want to be near you. And that was fine. If that was his decision, you’d have to honor it, no matter how much it broke your heart.

Bucky leaned against his bedroom door, taking long deep breaths. He wished he could control himself and his thoughts, but the Winter Soldier was strong. He knew cryo wasn’t option and hoped you’d stop saying trigger words, but that was unlikely, considering the fact that you didn’t even know you were doing it. Bucky liked you, you made him strong. He could do it. He could hold himself together for you. He had to. If he wanted to move forward, leave the past behind, then he had to.

He could do it for you.

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

2 bathtub and 9 folklore, sternclay, sfw, please!

Here you go! Barclay's design is based on a blue catfish.

He wanted the bigfoot assignment. Days spent tramping through the chilly forests of the pacific northwest instead of sweating off a pound a day in Louisiana swamps. But no, he’s assigned to the Loup Garou case until further notice, because one mammalian cryptid expert is as good as another.

It’s not like he’s devoted most of his career to bigfoot or anything.

Contrary to popular belief, FBI agents do not spend all their time in suits. As much as Stern aims to emulate Special Agent Dale Cooper, slacks and a suit jacket are not suitable for tromping through the mud and staving off the humidity. Between his outdoor wear and the tranquilizer rifle over his shoulder, he looks like he could be in some shitty seventies Sasquatch hunting movie.

His best lead is the strange, black fur he found near the location of the most recent sighting, and the ranger in the nearby national park assured him it didn’t come from any common wildlife. So it could be a human cursed to transform into a wolf every night. Or it could just be someone’s dog.

Dusk has come and gone before he turns back towards his cabin, rented for it’s proximity to the supposedly-Loup-Garou-harboring swamp and the reviews citing good water pressure and a large tub. Nothing like a nice bath or cold shower to wash off the heat and grime of the day.

A crack in the trees to his right. There’s something moving, paralleling him. He stops, nerves taught as a drawn bow.

The growl starts low, draws his eyes to a dark-furred shape creeping from the brush. It’s definitely canine, definitely bigger than him, and definitely sees him as dinner. Stern holds his ground, raises the rifle, not willing to fire until he’s certain this is his quarry. All doubts evaporate when it stands on its hind legs and howls. Human eyes lock onto him as the monster stalks forward.

Stern fires, hitting the werewolf in the shoulder. It doesn’t so much as stumble.

“Shit” He loads another dart, fires, and gets the exact same result. There’s no chance of outrunning it, and while he has his handgun he doesn’t want to resort to that unless he absolutely has to.

The creature lunges and Stern dodges, slipping into the water as a result. It swipes a claw out, which he keeps from his face by blocking it with the body of the rifle. His brief hope that the creature can’t swim is quashed when it prowls into the water after him. Something huge swim past his legs and he winces; if he dies by alligator instead of werewolf he’ll never hear the end of it.

As the monster surges forward, something huge bursts from the water between them, knocking Stern off balance in the process. His head goes under and when he scrambles up, spluttering, the werewolf is limping as fast as it can into the undergrowth. And floating face-down in front of him is a man, four jagged rips in his side tinting the water around them a sickly red.

“Sir?” Stern rolls the man over and, in spite of all his training, exclaims, “holy shit.”

The man doesn’t have legs. His hips give way to a smooth, grey-blue tail that twitches weakly when Stern touches him. The wound is visible here too, marring tail and torso alike. It doesn’t take a genius to put together what happened. Or that the Loup Garou won’t make it far with the bite the merman delivered. He could catch it. But he doubts the mer in front of him will survive without medical attention.

He loops his arms under a limp body and makes a mental note to never, ever tell Agent Hayes about this.

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

Barclays’ whole side is burning.

“Ow, Aubrey, easy with the healing.” He groans, rolling away from the feeling and immediately bonking his head on something cold and solid. Cracking an eye open reveals a white tub and wooden wall. Cautiously, he glances at his stomach and side and finds it bandaged. When he manages another half-turn, he finds a dark-wood bathroom with a human slumped against the wall. It’s the one he saved, though he’s down to a thin white shirt and what he knows to be boxers. For all the blood there must have been, the room and tub are spotless.

He raises up, hoping for a better look at a handsome face, only to catch his side on the edge of the tub.

“OWfuck!”

The man jolts awake, is by Barclay’s side in an instant, “Thank the lord, I was worried you’d lost too much blood to pull through.” He runs a hand through his black hair, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I was trying to monitor you for signs I’d have to give up and call the paramedics. I, um, assumed you didn’t want to just be dragged into a human hospital.”

“Yeah, no, not my fave.” His tail flutters awkwardly, “uh, why did you bring me here, then?”

“Because I wasn’t going to leave you to bleed out in a swamp. I learned field medicine for a reason; it’s nice to use it on someone other than myself. Or, well, not nice, but, um-”

“No, I get it. It’s just that, uh, I have lots of friends in the swamp. One of them probably woulda found me. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble or put me in a tub.”

“Oh.” The human sags a little, his confident smile faltering a moment.

“I mean, I really appreciate it. And it looks like you’re good at, uh, stitches and stuff.” He rubs his arms, “uh, sorry. I’m not used to waking up in unfamiliar guys bathtubs.”

“I’m not in the habit of keeping mermen in my tub so, um, I guess we’re even?” His smile is a little shyer, blue eyes reminding Barclay of a spring sky.

The mer holds out the hand on his uninjured side, “I’m Barclay.”

“Joseph” The man shakes it, “it’s nice to meet you. Is, um, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Is the water alright? I can go get some from the swamp if that would be better.”

“As long as I don’t dry out I’ll be fine. Uh, do you have any food?”

“Some groceries, but if you want something specific I can run into town.”

Barclay weighs his hunger and wooziness against the desire not to reveal too much, and his stomach emerges triumphant, “Does this place have a take-out menu for the South Bank Cafe?”

“I...think so? Let me look” The human stands, walking out into another room on long legs that Barclay wants to loop around his waist, continues speaking as paper rustles, “I didn't know merpeople used take-out.”

“Uh, when they live close to humans they do. As long as some of those humans are willing to pick it up.”

Joseph returns, familiar pink menu in one hand and phone in the other, “What would you like?”

“Three fried oyster po’boys please.”

The human orders four of the sandwiches and some coconut cream pie on Barclay’s suggestion leaves the mer to nap while he goes to retrieve it. Charmingly, he puts all the food onto plates and pours the bottled sweet tea into glasses before arranging it on the bathroom floor.

“Cheers.” Joseph raises his glass. Barclay hesitates, trying to remember which human ritual this is, then clinks his own against it.

They barely talk until the plates are clean and Joseph is luxuriating in a second slice of pie, at which point the human explains what the fuck he was doing looking for a rougarou anyway. Barclay has given up on his desire to study the humans face as he eats and is laying on his back, eyes shut, feeling full and content in spite of the nagging pain in his side. Joseph reluctantly gave him painkillers, explaining he was worried about how human medicine would interact with mer biology. So far, all it’s done is made him drowsy.

“Barclay? Why did you get between me and the Loup Garou?”

“Because I didn’t want you to get killed. Like, for starters, I don’t want people to get hurt, and rougarous are nasty fuckers. But also when someone dies in the swamps, a lot of people blame mers for it. So it’s better if we keep humans from getting eaten on our turf.” He feels around for his tea, finds it when Joseph sets cool glass in his hand. His whole body is heavy.

A soft laugh, “Drugs kicking in?”

“Uh huh.”

A scuff as Joseph stands, “I’ll leave you to get some rest. I’m just in the next room, if you need me.” Two steps, then a pause, “actually, let me drain the tub some and put fresh water in.”

Barclay’s pretty sure he says thank you before he falls asleep.

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

Joseph wakes up at the cursing coming through the walls. Rounding the corner into the bathroom, he finds Barclay clutching his upper tail with one hand, gritting his teeth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Cramp, really fucking bad one, tends to happen when I get injured and can’t swim. Fuck me if I know why.”

“Here” he kneels next to the tub, water splashing onto his white tank top, “let me try rubbing it out. Is this the spot?”

“YeahOWoh, ohhhfuck” Barclay whimpers, “that’s helping, please keep going.”

He moves his fingers down the smooth skin, muscles spasming under his hands before they surrender to relaxation. Gradually Barclay un-tenses, his whimpers giving way to sighs, and Joseph isn’t really tending to his charlie horse anymore; he’s just petting his tail.

“Thanks, Jo-”

A scratch outside freezes them both. Joseph holds up his hand, signalling for Barclay to stay quiet. It’s the window. Something is opening the window. Worse, a count of five later, the cabin groans as something heavy reaches the floor.

His gun is in the other room, because he’s not about to sleep with it on his person. To get to it, he’ll have to put himself right in the path of the intruder dragging themselves across the floor.

The door creaks open, revealing red eyes in the darkness of the cabin.

“Shit.” He starts to stand, keeping himself between the threat and Barclay.

“There you are. Goodness, we were all worried sick.”

Joseph stays still, but Barclay tries to sit up, “Indrid!”

Their visitor slithers into the room, his upper body human but his tail reminding Stern of a Cottonmouth, “We’ve been looking for you all day; Dani found blood at your watch site but not you. I even swam to the park to ask Duck if he’d seen you.”

“Uh huh, I’m sure that was your only reason.”

“Hush.” He turns his alarming gaze on Joseph, “I saw you ending up with this human in many timelines, but I put off following them for fear of being seen. But he’s taking this rather well.”

“I’m an FBI agent with the UP. Handling strange phenomena with grace is basically my job.”

“Intriguing.” Indrid cocks his head, then his face goes blank for a moment. When life returns to it, he coils his tail to settle next to Barclay, “it seems the most positive timelines occur if you continue your convalescence here. In that case, I’ll leave you be and let the others know you’re alright. I’ll stop by again in a few days. And yes, Joseph, since you’re about to ask, I will knock this time.”

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

Barclay spends most of the next three days eating and sleeping, the combination of pain and painkillers making him sluggish. Joseph is better company than he ever could have hoped for, changing his bandages and sharing meals while regaling him with stories of the world beyond the swamps.

The human rises early, so he’s usually gone to work by the time Barclay wakes up. He’s feeling better this morning, so his internal clock wakes him just as the sound of water in the sink fills the room.

Joseph is bent over, naked from the waist up and using a coffee mug to dump water onto his hair. Beside him is a tube labeled, “compact body wipes.”

“Uh, what are you doing?”

The human starts, but then replies, “getting ready for the day. I have to go into town to meet with the sheriff about this case.”

“Can’t you just use the tub? I can make room, it’s big enough for both of us.”

Joseph’s whole torso is going pink, “I, um, assumed you didn’t want me randomly turning up in your space naked.”

He shrugs, “I’m naked right now.”

“Right.” Joseph gingerly sets the mug down, “right. I guess you are. Um. I don’t mean to be rude, since this is mainly a difference in mer and human culture, but would you be willing to close your eyes while I shower?”

Barclay nods, scoots to the far end of the tub while Joseph pulls the plug to keep the bath from overflowing. Then he shuts his eyes, focuses on the splashes up his legs, the change in the tempo of the falling water that signals it hitting a human body. Joseph showers efficiently, turns the steam mint scented with one of the bottles he keeps in the corner of the tub. Then he’s telling Barclay to open his eyes, towel wrapped around his waist and smile on his face.

“I feel much better.”

Barclay doesn’t bother to hide his staring, “Me too.”

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

Joseph hasn’t liked bathtime this much since his uncle gave him that rubber Nessie bath toy when he was five. Barclay is a much more enjoyable companion, even with his eyes closed. Joseph's also taken to wearing swim trunks and just sitting with him in the tub under the pretense of cooling off from the heat.

It’s not like his morning or evening rinse off lacks competition; Barclay is well enough that, through the use of a wheelbarrow, he can take trips to the back porch of the cabin to swim. His strength has weakened as a result of bedrest, but he’s improving quickly, and Joseph will often end up in the water with him to help him with particular stretches.

The first time another mer pops out of the water, he jumps with a combination of joy and alarm. Courtesy of Indrid, all the merfolk in the area know Joseph is trustworthy, which means he has even more people to question for his research. This is especially good because it means he and Barclay can talk about things other than work when they’re together. Barclay’s friends also offer information about the Loup Garou. So much, in fact, that Joseph determines there is something much larger than a single monster at play and is able to convince Hayes to let him continue the investigation indefinitely until he finds his answers.

When he gets the okay from his boss, he and Barclay celebrate with a massive dinner on the deck. As the mer hauls himself up out of the water after his final dip he slips, splashing sideways into a muddy patch. By the time Joseph gets them both inside, their skin and clothes are a mess.

“Here, let me rinse us off before I fill the tub for you.” Joseph turns on the shower, awkwardly straddling Barclay’s tail as he reaches to detach the head. He knows the mer is staring at him, his usually gentle gaze gaining an edge the way it always does when Joseph is down to his underwear or swim trunks. It doesn’t bother him; it seems a fair trade off for all the times he’s admired Barclays back and tail as he swam.

He turns, intending to hand the showerhead to the mer, only to lose his footing to a splotch of mud. It’s a graceless landing on his knees and Barclays’s tail, narrowly missing the fresh scar.

“Shit, that was close.”

“No kidding.” Barclay picks up the showerhead, turning it to a softer setting and rinsing off his tail. A teasing edge enters his rumble, “careful, might think you’re looking for ways to keep me here forever.”

“I guarantee none of them involve hurting you” he shuts his eyes as he lets the mer clean his neck. Then snaps them open when Barclay chuckles.

“That mean you have thought of some.”

“Yes. Not, um, not that I’d ever act on them. As much as I love your company, I don’t want you stuck in my tub forever.”

“You just want me to visit every day?”

“Um-”

“Or take you swimming in the evenings?”

“I-”

“Or let me finally watch you shower with my eyes open?” He flicks his tail playfully.

“I’ll admit all those crossed...my...mind.” Time turns to ice as Barclay leads forward, nuzzling his nose before bringing their lips together.

“Crossed mine too. I was so happy when you said you were staying.” He strokes Joseph’s cheek, “there’s so many fucking things I wanna do with you now that I’m getting better.”

“How many of them involve this tub?” Joseph kisses a teasing line across his cheek.

An adoring growl, “Plenty, babe.”

#sternclay #agent stern/Barclay #taz amnesty #mermay #mermay fills

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pappydaddy · 4 years

Text

Heather Part Two (j.m.)

A/N: Okay, so I have decided to start saying as little as possible in my A/Ns just to see if it brings in more interaction, if you guys want me to continue my ramblings, just shoot me a DM or something and I won’t stop them. This is a repost bc nobody saw this the first time?? Pls interact with this (preferably reblogging, but likes are good too!)

Anywho, this is the second part of Heather (my JJ imagine based on Heather by Conan Gray) and this is told from JJ’s perspective, I got this idea when I found this kinda parody/cover of the original song which will be linked below. I put some different scenes in this one too so it’s not just a retelling of my first part. Anyway, enjoy!!

Show/Movie: Outer Banks

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Warnings: Sad, angst, longing, negative thoughts about oneself (appearance, personality, etc), comparing to other people, jealousy, unspoken feelings

Might do a part three? I’ll probably do a part three.

Heather Cover by Zachary Tay

Part One | Part Two - You’re here!

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

- not my gif -

He didn’t technically see her when she arrived at the beach, but he still knew she was there before she wandered down the dunes. He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, trying to get a peek of her. There she was, her shoes swinging by her side, her hair blowing in the wind as she walked. She didn’t look towards the group of her friends, instead, she scanned the beach and JJ found himself missing her gorgeous eyes. He watched her, her eyes slowly drifting towards the fire JJ sat at. In a spilt second, their eyes connected and JJ wished he could stay in her gaze forever, but her eyes were ripped from his as she breezed past the group.

The girl under his arm laughed loudly, making him draw his eyes away from Y/N. He looked at the black-haired girl (Heather) donned in his sweater, clinging to him as she laughed at something John B had said. “What’s so funny,” JJ asked, trying to play off his absence. He didn’t really listen to John B’s recount. “Oh, must have had to heard it in the moment, I guess.” He mumbled, his eyes following Y/N as Jack, her co-worker from The Wreck ran towards her, a large smile on his face. He took in Y/N’s appearance, the sweater she wore was too big for her, it certainly wasn’t hers. It dawned on him like a lighting strike; it was Jack’s sweater. He felt a pang in his heart, remembering how she looked in his own sweater, the very sweater Heather wore right in that moment.

He remembered how good Y/N looked in his sweater and how often she wore it after he had given it to her. On Heather, it was just a piece of polyester fabric, but on Y/N, it was much more than just a sweater. The day she gave his sweater back to him was the day he concluded that she didn’t like him. He couldn’t imagine how he even thought she would like him, he’s not even good enough for his father and he could barely stand himself. How the hell would Y/N want him if he didn’t even want himself? He didn’t even understand how Heather liked him.

His eyes followed Jack as he ran off once again, obviously apologizing profusely to Y/N. Jack was everything JJ wasn’t: sweet, smart, hard-working, career driven, and loved. JJ wanted to hate Jack, but he couldn’t, he was too good of a person. He could see that Y/N and Jack would make a good couple, he could see why Y/N would have her gaze set on him. His dark hair, his tall stature, his boy-next-door smile - he was the complete package.

Setting his eyes on Y/N yet again, he saw her sit down on a piece of driftwood, staring out at the ocean as the waves lapped up towards her barefeet. He let himself imagine that the sweater she was wrapped up in was his. He often replayed the December night he gave his sweater to her in his head, imagining that he had actually done what he wanted - kissing her. He liked to live in that alternate story at night, laying in his bed. He sighed, glad he didn’t kiss her in the long-run, for he didn’t know who he liked more: Y/N or Heather. “JJ, you should tell Heather about that one time when John B was high off his ass when CPS came knocking on his door.” Kie laughed, capturing JJ’s attention from the girl sitting on the driftwood.

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure.” JJ laughed, remembering that day as he launched into his story. Though his eyes weren’t on her, Y/N still plagued his mind, having been there that day as well, skipping school to smoke with JJ and John B. He laughed as he retold the story, poking fun at John B, but leaving Y/n out of the story, not wanting to pull her into his fling with Heather, knowing there will be drama if he did.

Though he was immersed in the story he was telling, he still noticed Y/N standing and walking along the beach, leaving the party before it even started. The bleeding colours in the sky made her skin glow with pink and orange, making her look like the figure of beauty. As she walked away, JJ could have cried. He didn’t understand how he, the boy who wanted nothing to do with the messiness of love, ended up in this situation.

____

The words Kie had told him earlier rattled in his brain like a single pill in a bottle. His mind played that moment back like a movie reel continuously playing. Once it ended, it restarted again. Like a painful torture device used to drive him to the brink of insanity.

“I don’t get why Y/N keeps avoiding us! We never see her anymore, not since Heather started hanging out with us,” JJ groaned, plunking himself down on the couch dramatically. He had asked Y/N earlier at school (after cornering her at her locker) if she wanted to have a movie night just like old times, but she had told him she was going to study for a big biology test she had. “Why does she even need to study anyway? She’s at the top of her biology class, only second to Pope, of course.” JJ threw in the last comment, pleasing his friend who sat beside him on the couch, a freshly popped bowl of popcorn in his lap.

“You guys do know why, right?” Kie asked, looking over her shoulder at them as she shifted through the DVD collection, the group deciding to go old school for the night. JJ shook his head while John B and Pope both nodded, making noises of understanding. JJ looked around, confusion clearly painted on his face.

“Y/N still likes JJ.” Pope commented, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth, chewing it as if what he had just said was common knowledge.

“What?” JJ asked, panicked, glad that Heather was hanging out with some of her other friends tonight instead of being with them. If she had been here, he would have never be given this piece of information.

“You didn’t know?” John B asked, bewildered that JJ hadn’t picked up on anything.

“Obviously not-” JJ cried, his eyes wide.

“It was obvious, we all thought you had known by at least December third when you gave her your sweater, we thought that was you making your move on her finally.” Kie explained, shrugging.

JJ still couldn’t believe that. If only he had seen how much she liked him, maybe he wouldn’t be praying for his eyes to catch her’s every time she walked by him. Maybe he wouldn’t want to cry every time they broke eye contact. Maybe he wouldn’t have assumed she likes Jack. He groaned, flopping around in the spare bed at John B’s, staring up at the dark ceiling as moonlight casted the window’s shadow onto the white surface.

If he had known how much Y/N liked him that night, he wouldn’t be questioning who he liked more still. Maybe he didn’t like Heather at all. Now that he knew that Y/N likes him, he started to realize that maybe he didn’t truly like Heather, instead, only liking the idea of the distraction from the one he really liked. Though he realized this, he couldn’t do anything about it anytime soon. He had plans to eat lunch tomorrow with Heather and the group, he couldn’t break up with Heather at The Wreck.

_____

Y/N was working today. That was the whole reason they were eating at The Wreck, to see her. John B and Pope missed her, Kie was able to see her during the shifts they shared or during shift changes, but the boys hadn’t seen her. JJ and Heather stood on the deck, leaning against the railing and JJ was giving the performance of his life. He couldn’t have Heather thinking that something was going on with him (he still had no idea who he liked more) so he was trying to act as normal as possible around her despite the fact that a war raged in his mind.

He tried to keep his eyes on Heather as she talked adamantly. JJ nodded along, not really listening. Heather was beautiful and kind, but JJ grew bored easily. They had nothing in common. He was a surfer, she was from the city filled with concrete buildings and shopping malls. She just didn’t understand the joy in the little things. When JJ wanted to stargaze, she’d rather gaze at a TV screen. When JJ wanted to just sit on the beach and listen to the waves, she wanted to take pictures. When JJ just wanted to sit on his surfboard and let the waves roll under him, she didn’t want to ruin her make-up.

Her hand squeezed his as she asked him about the stores he shopped at. He, not wanting to ignore her, joined her one-sided conversation and explained his mode of gaining clothes. She listened for the most part, but listening wasn’t really Heather’s strong suit. She loved to talk, not that JJ minded, but he would also like to have a conversation without being interrupted with a completely different story. He shot a glance in through the door, seeing Y/N at a table, talking with the costumers. She nodded, a shining smile on her face. JJ loved talking with Y/N. She’d listen, she’d talk. He’d listen, he’d talk. It was a perfectly balanced conversation with Y/N.

He looked back down at Heather when she had asked him yet another question, but JJ wasn’t listening. “I’m sorry, what?” He asked, blinking. Heather giggled, thinking JJ was just a spacey type person who stared off in the distance, zoning out easily.

“I asked about your shark tooth necklace, I’ve always wanted one.” She told him, the hand, that wasn’t in his, reaching up to fiddle with the shark tooth. JJ looked down at it, smiling fondly.

“My friend made it for me with the shark tooth I found, I’ve never taken it off since they gave it to me.” He left out that it was Y/N who made it for him while she was going through her necklace making phase in middle school. She had made it too big originally, but it was okay since JJ grew since then.

“Oh, well, maybe I could wear it sometime,” Heather asked flirtatiously. JJ gulped, not knowing what to say. He didn’t want to give it to her, but he didn’t want to start a fight before they ate a meal with his friends in public. Instead of answering, he pressed his lips to her’s in a lingering, long kiss. Heather smiled, giggling against his lips. Pulling away from the kiss, JJ glanced at the parking lot to see if John B and Pope were there yet, but his eyes came up with nothing. Heather shivered as a strong wind blew by them. “I’m a little cold.”

JJ looked down at her, seeing that she didn’t have his sweater on. It was different, when Y/N had his sweater, she always wore it, or at least brought it, just in case she got cold. Heather didn’t bring it anywhere unless JJ asked about it. Wordlessly, JJ unlaced their fingers, dropping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him. “I wonder if Y/N is cold? She doesn’t have a sweater on, only a t-shirt.” He thought, watching the parking lot out of the corner of his eye. He sighed, trying to clear his mind.

“Yo! Let’s get some grub! I’m starving,”John B cheered, piling out of the van with Pope who cheered in agreement. JJ pulled away a bit too quick to play it off as normal while John B and Pope jogged up the stairs, their sneakers slapping the wooden deck. They walked right into the restaurant, leaving Heather and JJ to follow them. The bell above the door dinged, making Y/N and Jack look up from what they were doing. JJ looked up, seeing Jack leaning across Y/N, his shoulder touching her torso ever so lightly as he cleaned up spilt water. “Hi, Y/N! Where is your section?” John B asked.

“Sorry, John B, I’ll have to take your table so she can get cleaned up, next time.” Jack told him, getting another dry towel to try and help her dry her clothes so she wasn’t dripping everywhere. JJ could sense John B’s disappointment, and he had to admit he was a little bit disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to hear Y/N’s sweet voice that he missed so much.

“Thanks, Jack,” John B nodded his chin in Jack’s direction. “Maybe we’ll talk before we leave, Y/N.” Y/N looked back up from her shirt at the mention of her name, nodding. Their eyes connected as Kie and Heather jumped into a conversation. Every time their eyes connected, it was such a relief to JJ it truly was a sight for sore eyes. Much to his disappointment, their eye contact was gone as fast as it came when Jack interrupted.

“That should be good, Y/N,” She looked from JJ’s eyes to meet Jack’s. The sight of her eyes connecting with Jack’s made JJ want to cry, missing that tiny connection that seemed to be the extent of their friendship these days. “You should go get changed, I’ll take these to the table for you, table four, right?” The group started to move, but JJ wanted to stay there, see if their eye would meet again before she disappeared to change, but he had to go with them. He was just out of earshot when she replied to Jack who carried the tray of drinks towards table four effortlessly.

____

He knew he shouldn’t have done this at school. He was kicking himself as Heather weeped, her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Heather,” He whispered, nervously looking at the crowd watching them. They were stood next to the side of the building, the crowd gathering in the parking lot. He had tried to do it privately, but he also wanted a clean cut. When he saw his sweater in Heather’s hand, he had known that today was the day. “It’s just not working out.” He tried to console her, his fist gripping the sweater he held now.

The group watching whispered, making JJ roll his eyes. Now he was going to be painted the villain, the heartless asshole who broke up with the girl in front of the whole school even though they just see her weeping and gasping, not the part where JJ was actually considerate for once. Normally, it was a harsh slap to his cheek and a few tears slipping past their eyes as they walked away, not full on sobs. Especially since they were only going out for three weeks - tops.

Heather looked up from her hands, letting her arms swing at her sides as she glared at JJ. Black streaks of makeup cascading down her cheeks. With a final, harsh glare at JJ, she ran off, the group of people parting to let her through. JJ watched her run, his shoulders deflating at his ruined chance of keeping the break-up private. His eyes landed on one of the pairs of people Heather parted in her haste to escape: Y/N and Jack. They stood side by side, Jack holding both their books in his hands, both their bookbag straps on his shoulders.

The group quickly dispersed, giving JJ a perfect view of them. He could see Jack say something to Y/N before she said something back, their eyes catching each other, once again making eye contact. JJ was so absorbed in her eyes that he didn’t notice the sympathetic smile she sent his way. It felt like forever as he stared into her eyes, her just staring back. He wanted her to stay, he wanted to stay, but he couldn’t just break-up with Heather and then turn around, rush towards Y/N, sweep her off her feet and profess his love for her - then he would be an asshole.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go. We can’t be late for our shift.” JJ heard Jack tell her, forcing her to break away from JJ’s eyes. He felt tears prick his eyes at the loss of their moment. His eyes never left her, once again hoping for their eyes to connect again, even though he had to watch her eyes connect with Jack’s which caused his heart to throb painfully. Watching her turn and walk towards Jack’s pick-up truck was the sight that made him want to die, then the pain in his heart would stop - right? The picture of her sitting in his passanger seat didn’t sit right with JJ. The thump of Jack tossing their books and bags in the bed of his truck made JJ flinch, but he still never took his eyes off Y/N, not even when Jack slipped onto the bench seat beside her, starting his truck and slamming his door.

His pleas were answered when Y/N turned to gaze out the window, their eyes connecting once again in a fleeting moment before Jack slowly pulled out of the spot, exiting the nearly empty parking lot. JJ watched the truck as it drove down the road, waiting until it was out of his sight before he moved. He found out who he liked more. It was Y/N. It was always Y/N.

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

Text

In the Eye of a Hurricane

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

He can hear his mom’s voice as he reads the letter, recognizes her handwriting in all its fancy loops and swirls. She tells Jack in the letter that she has been hiding a secret from him for years and doesn’t have the guts to tell him in person. Tim skims, tries to pick apart his mom’s long-winded explanations about living in fear of being found out, of the shame that followed her every day.

Tim can’t even begin to guess what she could be talking about until finally he sees it, clear as day in black ink.

Timothy isn’t your son.

Mom is dead. Dad is in a coma. Bruce is...here.

Tim is still getting used to the idea of a parental figure sticking with him for longer than a few weeks at a time. He keeps waiting for Bruce to turn a corner and disappear without a trace like he should, but it never happens. He stays by Tim’s side, offering support that Tim wasn’t even aware could be offered. It’s different, but it’s a good different. Tim only wishes that could be enough to wash away the grief. He takes it one day at a time, bit by bit, if only to keep himself from looking too far ahead and seeing the sea of loneliness waiting for him in the case that his dad never wakes up. Today he dedicates himself to handling his parents’ finances, sifting through the mess they left in the hands of their thirteen-year-old son. It’s eerie being in his dad’s office now, like he’s entering a tomb. Tim is searching for his parents’ insurance documents so he can get that dealt with and out of the way, then move on to the next project. Whatever takes his mind off of it all. It’s hard enough seeing his dad lying in that hospital bed every day, looking dead but not quite getting there yet. Tim opens the next filing cabinet, grabbing another stack of files and opening the first folder, only for an envelope to fall out. It’s not like the others, otherwise Tim would have put it back and disregarded it altogether. But this one is not a clean white envelope you would find in any office. This one is made of thick paper, yellowing at the edges with swirl patterns on the flap. Jack, don’t open this until I’m dead, it says in Tim’s mother’s handwriting.

Dad clearly didn’t obey orders (what else is new?) because the envelope has already been torn open. It’s crumpled at the corners, creased in places it shouldn’t be, as if Dad was angry when he stuffed the contents back into the envelope and locked it away in this cabinet. Tim’s first instinct is to read it. After all, Janet Drake is dead. She’s not here to scold Tim for going through what isn’t his, but that is precisely what stops him from opening the letter. This is from his mother—his mother who is now dead. And his dad is in a coma. Poking into their business...it feels wrong. No matter how curious Tim is, he can’t desecrate this letter. So he tucks the envelope into his pocket, careful not to wrinkle it. He can’t imagine what the letter must be about, but that isn’t very surprising. Despite being their son, Tim didn’t know Janet and Jack Drake any better than he’d know a gym coach or one of the housekeepers. He knew everything about their company and their lifestyles, but he never got more than a glimpse into who they truly were. Not until it was too late. The closest Tim would ever get to bonding with his parents were the rare nights on which Mom and Dad would sit with Tim on the sofa, watching Pixar movies until he fell asleep. Those were his favorite memories of his parents: his dad calling him “champ” and talking endlessly about the movies’ animation styles, Mom with her hair down and her makeup washed off, for once not caring about her appearance. Tim doesn’t know what the letter could possibly be about, but curiosity is a persistent thing. Days click by, switching off into nights in an endless cycle. Dad doesn’t wake from the coma. Tim isn’t sure if he ever will. Dick and Bruce hover around him like house flies, waiting for some kind of ball to drop. Maybe for Tim to break down, to cry, to mourn the ending of his world. Instead, all Tim can do is wonder about the letter. If it was so important, Tim would already know whatever it was, right? Maybe it’s a copy of his mom’s will. Maybe it’s a map to a collection of buried treasure that she never told anyone about. Maybe it’s a confession that she was secretly a supervillain and all of those trips she and Dad took were actually with the intention to rob every bank across the eastern seaboard. Tim keeps the letter buried under piles of school papers in his desk drawer, but it might as well be sending out a signal to him every minute, reminding him of its presence. He falls asleep night after night in his temporary room at the manor, listening to the letter rattle around in its drawer like a tell-tale heart. What does it say? What secret was his mother hiding? Is it about Tim? Is it about her past? Will it unlock some family conspiracy? Tim makes it almost a month resisting the siren’s call before he can’t take it any longer. He climbs out of bed one night, the floor cold on his bare feet. He grabs the letter from its hiding place and jumps back into bed where the shadows’ tendrils can’t reach. He pulls his blanket over his head, a shiver running down his spine as he clicks on his flashlight and sets the beam on the letter. He can feel the walls watching him, witnessing this desecration of his dead mother’s written crypt. These are the last words he will ever get from her. Tim opens the letter. He recognizes his mother’s stationery, the flower patterns at the top. Back when he was younger, Tim used to spin around in his mom’s desk chair and ask why she had special paper with her name on it. “Because important people like to stand out in their letters,” she’d say. “Why can’t you just use regular paper?” “Because regular paper doesn’t have your name at the top. You can’t feel official if you’re not using official stationery.” Tim thought about that as he spun. “You can if you write it in yourself. All you need is some crayons.” His mom chuckled and ruffled his hair. “I suppose you could do that too.” He can hear his mom’s voice as he reads the letter, recognizes her handwriting in all its fancy loops and swirls. She tells Jack in the letter that she has been hiding a secret from him for years and doesn’t have the guts to tell him in person. Tim skims, tries to pick apart his mom’s long-winded explanations about living in fear of being found out, of the shame that followed her every day. Tim can’t even begin to guess what she could be talking about until finally he sees it, clear as day in black ink. Timothy isn’t your son. He stops. Rereads the sentence. Then again. And again, trying to tempt the words into making some sort of sense. Tim doesn’t know how long he spends staring at those four words, his eyes glazed, before he tentatively starts reading again. Janet talks about how guilty she feels for not confessing this earlier, how she doesn’t want Tim to find out, how sorry she is that Tim isn’t the son Jack wanted him to be. That she disappointed him by giving him Tim instead of the “correct” child. Tim is going to be sick. He throws off the blanket and goes to the gas fireplace across the room, turning it on. He crumples up the letter and throws it in without a second’s hesitation. He watches it catch fire, the flames blackening the corners as they eat away at the letter until it’s no more than ash. This can’t be real, he tells himself. It can’t be. His dad… He knew. Dad knew all this time. They both did. Tim has been walking around, thinking he knew exactly who he was and where he came from. Writing his dad’s name on school forms and calling himself Tim Drake when he’s not even a Drake. Not biologically. How could they hide this from him? Did it never occur to them that Tim should know this kind of vital information? That it might literally reconfigure his entire life? Tim sits there on the rug, staring at the fireplace as the walls crumble around him. He can’t believe they kept this from him. Who doesn’t tell their own son that his genetics aren’t what he thinks they are? That somewhere in the world, there is a person walking around who has no idea he’s got a son somewhere. He probably doesn’t even know that Tim exists. The more Tim thinks about it though, the more it makes an odd sort of sense. His parents have always been distant, always treated Tim like they expected something different every time they looked at him. Like he was so entirely Other that they couldn’t help but be disappointed, no matter what he did or how hard he tried to get them to love him the way other kids’ parents did. He wonders when Jack found the letter. Was it given to him with instructions, or did he stumble upon it one day in Janet’s office? Did he confront her right away, or did he wait a while? Tim thinks back to three years ago when their marriage took its first sudden dip, as if they hit a wall out of nowhere. Could this have been the cause all along? Three years since the secret came out. Three years of arguments bordered by stony silences, flipping back and forth between moods whenever they weren’t on yet another long trip, trying to salvage a failing marriage. Tim used to assume it was his fault that his parents were never home—maybe there was something wrong with him that they didn’t want to see. Now it all makes sense. Jack has never acted like much of a father to Tim in the first place, as if he’s subconsciously known all along that there was something dividing him from his son. Because there was something dividing them, something deep in their DNA. Which, of course, begs the question: If Jack isn’t Tim’s father, who is? Parts of the letter were ripped, the ink smudged in places from what must have been scars of Jack’s anger at finding out his family was built on a lie. If Janet did divulge who Tim’s biological father is, Tim couldn’t find it in the letter. There are only two people in the world who can give Tim the answers he needs, and one of them is dead. The other one is close behind. He’s stuck in limbo. The days after the revelation pass in a haze. A haze of astonishment, silent questions, answers he needs but may never get. Tim keeps waiting for the universe to shift, because he just found out information that changes everything he thought was true about himself. He should be feeling something, right? Maybe it’s because he and his dad never had a real relationship anyway, so there’s nothing to mourn. There’s no deciding moment of what does this change? because there's nothing to change. He and Jack have been living separate lives for a long time now. This revelation just cements something Tim has known for years. He never had a father before. Why should it change anything that he still doesn’t have one now?

[Read the rest on AO3 because this one got kinda long.]

#whumptober 2020 #this is from the day before yesterday #i just forgot to post it here #batfamily #batfam #batman #tim drake #red robin #robin #bruce wayne #jack drake #janet drake #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic #no.17 #dirty secret

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