#I choose silence because I have taken 4+ hour drives with out radio

[flying-nightwing]

Decorum (2/3)

Part 1 > Part 3 

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader (ish), Jason Todd x reader

Word count: 4010

Warnings: same as part 1 + violence

Summary: When it all went down, your knight in shiny armour was the last person you wanted to see.

It was the first sun rays peeking through the lazily closed blinds that woke Dick up from his sleep. Barbara wasn’t there, but he still smiled. She had to work early, but she still allowed him to spend the night with her despite how tired she’d be in the morning. If only he didn’t have to hide her, if only she could replace… 

He rolled his eyes. His wife--it left a not so good taste in his mouth when he said the word--had tried to call him when he was with Barbs, almost ruining the mood. Almost. He had just turned off his phone after the third call, certain that whichever matter she called to complain about could wait to the morning. With sleep still in his eyes, he reached for his phone and turned it on, knowing he’d have to face her wrath for ignoring her calls eventually. But what he definitely wasn’t prepared for was the sheer amount of notifications on his lock screen. He blinked awake and took it all in.

13 missed calls and 4 new voicemails from: wife

2 missed calls and 2 voicemails from: Todd

His eyebrows knit together as he listened to Jason’s messages first. All of this was… Unusual.

“Grayson. You’re such an asshole you know that? Take your fucking responsibilities for once”

Dick rolled his eyes. Did Jason call him just to say that? Well, he wouldn’t be surprised. He skipped to the next message.

“You let your fucking wife get back home by foot for some pussy, and now she doesn’t call me back. She should have been home by now but I can’t reach her. Fix this”

Hold on, hold on. You went there by car, not by foot. And you called Jason? His growing confusion compelled him to quickly switch to your messages as unease settled in his guts. You usually never called, especially not his brothers. And never 13 times either.

“Dick, uh, it’s me. My car has broken down on the road 49, about twenty minutes drive from the mansion. I tried a taxi but I’m literally in the middle of nowhere. Could you pick me up? … Call me when you get this”

Uh. He pressed the next one.

“Dick. It’s me again. Don’t bother coming, I’m walking home. Hope you have fun tonight”

There was your snark. He rolled his eyes, figuring you were just too pissed at him to call back Jason. But still, he pressed next message.

“Dick, I think I’m being followed. Please call me if you get this”

This one didn’t sound like you. Well, it was your voice, but he had never heard it like this before. It was nervous, even terrified. You did not do emotional vulnerability, not ever, so something must have felt wrong. But he told himself you had just been paranoid, and that you were safe and sound home. With hesitation, he went to your last voicemail.

“Someone’s behind me. They’re gaining on me and--”

It was followed by a thud, then silence. His ears were ringing as he hurried to dial your number, it must have been a prank to get back to him. Yes, you wanted to scare him to get back at him, nothing more. But you didn’t answer. Not on the first call, not on any call. 

He jumped out of bed and hurried to dress, not bothering if he looked like a mess. At this moment he assumed the worst, and a gut feeling told him he was right.

---------

You woke up with pain in your wrist and your neck, and a blurry vision that didn’t allow you to see exactly where you were just yet. But as the previous night events came back to you, you understood that wherever you were, it wasn’t home, and you were in danger. A man was sitting in front of you, observing you. He had graying hair and an eyepatch, but what stood out was the blade in his hands, casually resting on his thigh. No, this can’t be happening. 

“Good morning miss Grayson”

You felt tears prick your eyes as you tried to look anywhere but at him. “If it’s money you want, I’ll give it to you, I swear--”

“No, no” He interrupted you softly. “I have enough money, I don’t care about yours or your husband’s for that matter”

You frowned in confusion. Beside your money, you didn’t do anything to piss off anyone. “Then why am I here?”

He took a moment, observing you curiously. He leaned on his chair and stroked his beard. “I want to talk to you about your husband” He began. “Him and I have unfinished business”

Your heart sank at his words. Not only Dick made your life miserable every single day of your life, but now he would get you killed. You didn’t want to die, not like this, not because of Dick. You felt the tears run down your cheeks as he grabbed a folder on the table beside him and drew out a picture. He held it in front of your face, forcing you to look at it. It was taken through a window, in a less than ideal angle, but the image was clear enough to know exactly what was going on.

Dick, shirtless with Barbara on his laps kissing like there was no tomorrow. 

You didn’t flinch, you only looked away. The man observed you some more before he clicked his tongue, lowering the picture and putting it away.

“You knew already”

“Yeah well” You spat in half shame, half anger, avoiding looking at him. You knew of it, it still didn't make it hurt any less to see the visual proof of him actively choosing someone else. More tears, only tears, to blur away the mental image. You shook your head and sniffed. “You’ve got the wrong person if you’re trying to hurt him. He doesn’t love me, never did and never will”

Once again, he decided not to answer just yet but to keep staring at you. It was creepy, it seemed like he was trying to read right through you. There was a fascination in his eyes, like he couldn't quite get your character, but he was working on it. He tilted his head to the side and hummed.

“But you wish he did” He spoke in wonder. “Don't you?”

You gritted your teeth at his affirmation, one you had refused to admit to yourself for so long. God, had you wished you would be the one he smiled to. He was attractive, and the smile he reserved for those around you--but never you--made you wish you could make him happy. You had tried so hard to be pleasant, to be someone he could settle with despite the circumstances, Lord knows you did. You knew he was funny from his lively conversations with Tim and Damian you overheard, and loving from his complete devotion to Barbara. But all he had ever shown you was coldness and disappointment, and the feeling that you would never be enough. Your kidnapper was right and you hated it.

“Just… Get it over with” You mumbled, knowing you were no use anymore to him now that the truth was out. “He won't come for me. Better not waste your time on someone that doesn't matter to him”

“I don't know if this is ironically funny or just sad” He sighed, standing up from his chair and walking to a small table some feet away. “Almost makes me feel sorry for what's to come”

He came back toward you with a sharp looking blade, and that's when you started to truly panic. You thought downplaying it would make it let you go, but he was determined to hurt him through you. And this time, it would get physical.

“Since blackmail didn't work, let's try something else that might”

------

Jason sat on the counter, staring at Dick pace around in the kitchen. His legs were dangling, itching to kick him every time he passed in front of him. But he didn't, not yet anyway. It was the most he's ever seen his half brother concerned for his wife. Actually, it was the first time he's seen him concerned for her at all. That was new, and Jason was doubting his motive. 

"It's probably Slade" Dick finally spoke. "No ransom note, silence radio. It must be him"

"Duh" He rolled his eyes, and Dick glared at his nonchalance.

"My wife's been kidnapped" He deadpanned. "Aren't you going to help?"

"Tell me" Jason jumped off the counter, ignoring the question. He went and grabbed the orange juice and took a sip. "How many times did you wish, and I quote, to get rid of her for good?" 

"It's not the time to be smug" Dick grunted, knowing very well he was at fault there. He had ignored his wife in time of need to, as Jason so eloquently put it in his voicemail, get some pussy. "We need to find her"

"We?" He raised an eyebrow. Dick had called him in a frenzy earlier, and he had came back as soon as he could to Gotham. But it was not for his brother that he did, far from it. "I think you misunderstood. I'm here to guilt trip you until you fix your mess, then provide her moral support while you go fuck yourself"

Dick stopped in front of Jason and squared up at the challenge hanging on his words. Despite Jason being slightly taller, he didn't back down. Finally, he stomped away, leaving his brother to take a long sip of the carton in his hands. 

"I hope Barbs was worth it!"

"Fuck you!"

--------

"One cut on her pretty face for each hour you don't show up"

The words on the video he sent your husband keep replaying in your head, over and over again as it was the only thing you could even think about. The burning of his blade was still very much present on your skin where he had made the first cut, it wasn't too deep but enough to make it bleed down your cheek. The salt of your tears created a displeasing tingle where the skin had been severed, and at that moment you were convinced you would die here, disfigured by a maniac who had against your husband. You were tired, in pain and all you wanted was to be back home, alone in your little universe. 

You pictured your favourite book of the moment on the table, the one right under the windows that would let the sun in. You'd have a coffee and a bowl of cherries, and you would spend afternoons reading to get your mind off everything. The story would more often than not be about this woman and a brooding, charming love interest learning to love each other through adversity. They would always end up together, happy forever after. 

Oh, did you wish to be them. 

But you never could. You never could because Dick never would. He was stubborn, he didn't care for you. In his eyes, you were the woman who ruined his life and nothing more. He had been with another woman for the entire duration of your marriage, and his affair had lead you to be kidnapped. His carelessness lead you here, and he probably didn't even want to come for you. You'd only be finally out of his way, and Gotham would only make him a martyr out of it. Two birds one stone, as they say. 

"Two hours, miss Grayson" 

You tried to wriggle out of your restraints as your kidnapper stalked toward you with the same blade he had made the first cut. But it was pointless, you weren't strong enough to fight him. So you were left to scream as the sharp metal pierced your skin just above the last mark. 

And that's when glass shattered all around you. The blade paused in your skin for a second before leaving it, before the man let go of you completely. A blur of black and blue passed in front of your eyes and jumped on the one eyed man, attacking him in a way you could only assume as brutal. While you were trying to make sense of what was happening in front of your eyes, someone else crouch at your side. You were about to scream, but you felt the restraints on your wrist being cut free, then on the other side as well.

The first thing you saw when you dared to look beside you was a leather jacket, a familiar one. Without thinking twice, you threw your arms around Jason, holding tight. 

"Come on darling, we need to get out of here" He muttered, helping you up on your feet. 

"Wait-- We gotta…" You tried to turn around, but Jason wouldn't let you. "He has…"

"Grayson will be fine" He scoffed as you felt your head spin. The sudden movement made you dizzy, and you felt yourself falling unconscious. "Oh shit"

The last thing you saw before blacking out was Jason hurrying to catching you before you hit the floor.

------

Dick had driven you to the hospital. He hadn't accounted on Jason showing up, and he was surprised he hadn't taken the matter in his own hands and drove you here himself. But Jason understood it would raise less questions if an actual detective brought you back, especially since the whole city had been made aware of your kidnapping. So he left the honors to Dick, knowing there would be plenty other occasions to turn the knife in the wound. 

You were still unconscious, but the doctors had said you would make a full recovery. You were just really dehydrated, and probably in shock after the events. Dick was sitting at your side, rehearsing in his head his apology to you. He didn't know where to begin, he hadn't expected to feel remorses at all. He didn't even know why he cared about getting you back; at first, he thought it was for the same reason he became Nightwing, or even Robin in the first place. Because he had to help you. Because he wouldn't Slade walk all over him. The feeling was supposed to go away once he got you to safety, it was supposed to be gone by now. But staring at your unconscious form now, it only grew worse. He had done his job, so why was he staying by your side? Why was he feeling so bad about it? 

It made him think about that one time you helped him clean his wounds. It had been a tough night with the guys, and he hadn't had the energy to fight with you. He was bruised and battered, and you had walked on him trying to disinfect a cut on his back. You hadn't said a word as you had gently grabbed the swab in his hands, and had done all the work for him. You had never asked questions about Nightwing, nor had you ever told his secret. Why didn't you? Why had you tried so hard to be nice to him when he was a jerk? Why couldn't you be a jerk too and make it easier?

He remember the look in your eyes a few nights ago when you had snapped. It was like everything holding you back had disappeared, like he had pushed you over the edge. He had been trying to do that for so long, but it hadn't felt as good as he had hoped. He had felt bad, even. He knew your public image was literally all that you had left, and he was trying to sabotage it as well. He realized now how horrible he had been. Why did he do that? Why? How had he been so afraid of exploring outside the safe zone Barbs provided him, that it made him actively ruin someone else's life?

He glanced at you and took a deep breath. He would make it right this time. He wanted to make it right--

"Howdy, Dick in Chief" 

His head snapped toward the door, where Jason stood with that look on his face, letting him know he was in for some shit eating. Dick rolled his eyes and sat back in the chair facing you. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Jason shrugged, taking this as an invitation to come in. Not that he needed one, he would have came in no matter his answer. “I’m here for her. I doubt you’re the face she wants to see when she wakes up. Mine’s better anyway”

Dick sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why do you even care?” He asked. “Last time I checked you didn’t like her any more than I did”

“You should check more often then” He hummed, stopping at the foot of the bed and sending you a glance. “I thought she was only one of your stuck up fan girl, but turns out she’s actually nice. And that ass…”

Dick glared at him, and he held up his hands in surrender.  

“Why do YOU care?” He turned the question around. “It’s past ten. Shouldn't you be inches deep in Barbs right now anyway?”

“Fuck you Todd!”

“All I’m saying is that you missed your chance, Dick Supreme” He leaned on a rolling pole, then stumbled back upright when his weight pushed it back. He looked behind him at it, then shook his head and returned his attention on his brother. “She got kidnapped because you were out fucking your girlfriend instead of landing a helping hand for once. There’s no coming back from that, so why don’t you take the night off and let Jay Bird handle it uh?”

Dick stood up wordlessly and stomped out of the room, sending you one last glance before disappearing behind the door frame. Jason watched him go, waited a few seconds more and sighed. “How long have you been awake?”

Slowly, you opened your eyes and nodded a silent thank to Jason not to have revealed that you were listening. Dick couldn’t even notice you had woken up, but it didn’t surprise you. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about it. “About 20 minutes, I don’t know”

Jason plopped in the seat beside your bed previously occupied by his brother and smiled at you. “Was I right?”

You nodded again. The last person you wanted to see right now was Dick.

“Thanks for saying I’m nice” You chuckle came out rasped, but it was still light. “And whatever about my ass… I guess”

“Only the truth for you” He winked, and your chest shook in silent laughter. He sat back in satisfaction, with that little grin on his face. Always the best at making you feel better. “You know what, you should have married me instead of golden dick”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow in amusement. You knew the whole city would have exploded if it had been him instead of Dick two years ago--he knew it as well--but you wanted to see what joke he would spin out of this shameless flirting.

“Hm mmh” He leaned forward toward you. “I mean, faithfulness wouldn’t have been guaranteed, I guess that’s a given in both scenario, but at least, I would have made it fun”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even though it stung the bandaids on the side of your face. Leave it to Jason to make light of the disaster that was your marriage to Dick Grayson. 

“Why are you laughing? It’s true” At this point, he was laughing too. You hadn’t seen him laugh before, but it was a nice change of pace for once. “There’s a line up for this piece of heaven, but I swear it would have been all yours first”

“Jesus” You dropped your hand on your belly as you caught back your breath. 

“Jason, darling, not Jesus” He corrected. “But hey, I’m flattered you confuse me with the saviour of humanity”

“You dork” You lightly punched his shoulder, and he pretended to recoil like he was actually hurt. “How did I--”

You stopped talking as your eyes caught the TV broadcast in the background. The sound was muted but they were talking about you, your picture and name in bold letter on the screen. Reluctantly, you turned on the sound, ignoring Jason’s weak protests. The smiles and laughter had dropped, and you knew by his now silence that you wouldn’t like what they would show next. Your heart dropped, hoping it wasn’t what you thought it was, but knowing better.

“... The kidnapping of the Gotham socialite wasn’t the only scandal linked to the Wayne family in this tragedy. Anonymous source delivered incriminating pictures of Mr Grayson having an affair with a woman whose face was blurred by whoever took them, which begs the question, was miss Grayson’s disappearance about jealousy, or as a payback for--”

Jason finally had enough and grabbed the remote from your hands, turning off the TV. The one secret you had fought so hard to keep buried had came to the light, just like that. You looked down and sighed, knowing you were done for. Reporters, other high people of Gotham, anyone, would see you as the wife who got cheated on. The wife that couldn’t be enough. And the worst, all the blame would fall again on you, and you only.

“I guess this is what you were trying to tell me back there” Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, darling”

“Not your fault” You mumbled after swallowing the lump in your throat. You couldn’t stay in Gotham anymore. You needed to get out as soon as possible, before--

Someone clearing their throat made you and jason turn toward the door frame, where Dick had a guilty expression on. You guessed he had witnessed the broadcast, but couldn’t see why he seemed to feel so bad about it. Wasn’t it what he had tried to do since day one?

“Can… Could I talk to you?” 

You broke eye contact with your husband to nod at Jason, telling him to leave you two for a moment. Turns out, you needed to talk to him to, briefly. Jason nodded back and stood up before leaving the room, but not before bumping into Dick on his way out. Your husband carefully made his way to the chair and took his place back by your side.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry, for everything. For treating you like shit, for sabotaging you, for hurting you and for getting you in the crossfire of my mistakes” He dove right in, but you weren’t impressed. You crossed your arms against your chest and looked down. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m still asking for it, if you can give it. If not, I won’t hold it against you”

You took a deep breath, and hope filled his eyes. But then, it dropped as soon as it came when you shook your head. “I’m not sure if I could, not now, maybe not ever”

He swallowed.

“I’m going away, I… I need some time” You nodded to yourself. “I need to be out of Gotham and think about myself for a bit”

“Yes, I understand, whatever you need” His voice sounded too hopeful for the truth you knew inside. A pause settled as you debated telling him you didn’t plan on coming back, ever, but he spoke before you could decide. “... Do you think there could be ever a chance for me to make it up to you?

You couldn’t meet his eyes, and you didn’t have the heart to break him like he did to you. You just wanted out as soon as possible, as far as possible from him. He didn’t need you, he just felt bad and you couldn’t go through the same song all over again.

“I don’t know, Dick. I don’t know”

#dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #dc universe #dc #dcu #dc imagine #dc universe imagine #dcu imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #dc titans #dc titans imagine #nightwing #red hood #nightwing imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #nightwing x reader

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 5

Catch up on Chapter 4 here

“No, nothing’s wrong,” You hear him exhale smoke, his breath making noise in the microphone. “We got booked to do a show for one of the big rock stations in L.A..”

You realize now he’s looking for someone to share in his good news. “That’s amazing!”

“Right, it’s awesome. But here’s the thing: they’re not selling any of the tickets to the public. It’s gonna be all contest and giveaway shit. So the team needs a headcount as soon as possible for the guest list so we set aside enough tickets. So if you and Mary and Theo were wanting to see us live, here’s your chance.”

You blink, stunned at the twist the conversation had taken. “Guest list?”

or

Van’s back in L.A., and you cancel all your plans to see him perform for the first time.

A/N: It’s been four weeks of posting this!! Whether you’ve been following from the beginning or are binge reading it now, thank you for making this story I’ve put so much blood, sweat, and tears into a part of your day ❤️

Word count: ~9.2k

Chapter Five May 2019

The morning after the party is the last time you see Van while he’s in L.A.. For the rest of his trip, his schedule is packed with studio time and meetings in preparation for the album launch. 

You finally follow the band on Instagram, although you shy away from following the boy’s personal accounts. Their relationship with social media didn’t seem to be the strongest, and you figured one of Van’s random flings following all of them probably wouldn’t send the best message.

The night of the album release they post a black and white photo of a pile of albums and vinyls to mark the occasion. You text Van the next morning, when it’s officially out, simply: Congrats on The Balance!! 

Thaaaanks, Van sends back, Buzzing over it! 

Each day you watch their feed fill with new posts promoting live shows. They announce tour dates so often it makes your head spin. Peppered amongst event announcements are videos of Van singing enthusiastically into a microphone, always promoting one of the different singles. You watch them more times than you’d care to admit.

Your conversation thread with him runs dry. You try to send him something here or there, to keep things going, but Van isn’t the best at a consistent reply. You try to convince yourself he’s tired from work, or the time difference is hard to maintain, but your brain can’t help but insist he’s busy with someone else.

That’s why two weeks after release day, when your phone lights up on the kitchen counter with a phone call from Van, you practically faint. 

“Hello?” You respond hesitantly. You two have never called each other. You’re convinced he’s dialed you by accident.

“Whatcha doing?” Van asks down the line, his voice breezy.

“Um, cooking dinner,” You say, still confused. 

“What’s for dinner?”

“Uh, lasagna…” You peek inside the oven to make sure it’s cooking alright. “It’s in the oven right now.”

“Sounds class.”

“Yeah…” You trail off, unsure why this warranted a phone call. “What are you up to?”

“Having a cig real quick. But I got an email from our team and I wanted to talk to you.” 

Instantly, your mind flashes to the worst case scenario. Was this about Instagram? Had you done something wrong? You hadn’t even posted anything!

“Is something wrong?” You press, when Van doesn’t continue.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” You hear him exhale smoke, his breath making noise in the microphone. “We got booked to do a show for one of the big rock stations in L.A..”

You realize now he’s looking for someone to share in his good news. “That’s amazing!”

“Right, it’s awesome. But here’s the thing: they’re not selling any of the tickets to the public. It’s gonna be all contest and giveaway shit. So the team needs a headcount as soon as possible for the guest list so we set aside enough tickets. So if you and Mary and Theo were wanting to see us live, here’s your chance.”

You blink, stunned at the twist the conversation had taken. “Guest list?”

“Yeah. It’s not a backstage kind of thing, nothin’ like that. But I can put your names down. You can choose balcony or G.A., whatever you like. If you want G.A. I could probably weasel you in a little earlier so you can get a good spot.”

The opportunity already sounds amazing. There’s only one thing on your mind: “When?”

Van chuckles. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh God, why?”

“It’s on Friday.”

“What?!” You spin around in the kitchen, making a beeline for the calendar you’ve got hanging up in there. “Van, that’s in five fucking days!”

“I’m sorry! It was kind of in talks, but they really like the album. They wanna do a whole week spinning it and really pushing us. It was all penciled in last minute.”

“Right,” You sigh, your mind going a mile a minute. “Okay, I need to call Mary. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah, sooner the better. If I don’t pick up I’ll call as soon as I’ve got a moment.”

You say your goodbyes, hitting call on Mary’s contact card as soon as the screen clears.

“Hey, Mare?” You start hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“What are you and Theo doing on Friday?”

As soon as Mary starts detailing her plans, the oven timer rings out.

“Okay hold on,” You interrupt her. You put the call on speaker, resting it back on the counter while you fuss with the lasagna. “Whatever you’re doing, I need you to cancel it.”

“What? Why?”

You struggle to lift the heavy glass pan of food out of the heat. “Van’s doing a show and he wants to put us on the guest list.”

“Huh?” Mary’s voice rings tinny through the speakers. “I can’t hear you!”

“Van’s doing-” You huff in frustration, jabbing your finger against the oven keypad to stop the timer. “He’s doing a show and wants to put us on the guest list!”

“Who’s guest list?”

“Van’s!” You yell, your voice echoing through the silent kitchen. “Catfish and the Bottlemen are doing a show and he wants us on the guest list!”

Silence. Then: “You’re joking.”

“No,” You tell her breathlessly.

“Okay, fuck, okay,” Mary panics. “Lemme grab Theo.”

You don’t give your friends enough credit. All Friday plans were dropped in exchange for this show you knew nothing about. 

Theo and Mary had pestered you with questions as you three scrambled to devise ways to clear your schedules. Mary was going to bail on her cousin’s baby shower, and Theo was in the process of texting any co-worker that could possibly cover for him. You had no idea what your plan was. Worst case scenario, you’d have to play sick. Through the entire ordeal, they’d asked where the show was, the capacity of the venue, what time, what radio station. You had answers for none of these. 

You call Van back with an adrenaline rush, praying he picks up. He does.

“Okay, we’ll take three for G.A.,” You say instead of a greeting. “But I have some fucking questions for you, okay?”

Van laughs. “Okay, yeah. Grab a pen and paper, I’ll read you the email.”

\\

During your workweek you do your research. You listen to the radio station, curious to hear fan’s reactions to their new stuff. Almost every fan that wins tickets is a female that’s jumping for joy. Every commercial break consists of a minute-long ad of Van and Bondy introducing themselves and pushing their album and the chance to win tickets to hear it live. The radio announcers enthusiastically discuss how much they enjoy every song of the band’s that they play. You realize you’d been sorely underestimating their success. People seem genuinely interested in their work, and a lot of the people that call in are long-time fans.

But nothing prepares you for the actual day. 

Getting the day off work had seemed like that was going to be your biggest obstacle, but it was surprisingly easy. The real challenge came with all the coordinating required between you, Mary, Theo, Van, and the band’s team.

The event was happening early afternoon, at 2. You’d never even heard of shows happening that early besides all-day festivals. But you supposed it made sense with the way it was going to be broadcasted over the radio this afternoon, and Van had mentioned they also had interviews to do.

That meant you were up as early as a workday, except last night you’d had the worst sleep possible because of your nerves. You slug through your grogginess, attempting to get ready with the help of multiple cups of coffee. Through the entire process you’re glued to your phone, fielding questions from Mary about what time you three should leave, who’s car to take, and who’s driving, along with questions from Van about what time you think you’ll be arriving, the address to the venue, and details about the guest list.

The whole guest list concept was so casual it made you nervous. The only thing Van took down was everyone’s first and last names, and their choice of general admission. He insisted that was enough. He’d arranged to meet you guys at the side door of the venue a half hour before doors opened to get you in early, but other than that he only told you to tell security your name if asked. It felt too easy for something to go wrong.

And to be fair, something did go slightly wrong. Communicating with everyone all morning keeps you from finishing your hair and makeup on time, which delays the three of you from leaving, which means that by the time you get through traffic and pull into the venue, Van has texted that he can’t wait at the side door any longer as it’s time for him to warm up.

No worries, securitys still waiting, He insists when you apologize for running late, When you get here go to the side. 

You don’t even understand how you’re supposed to make it around the front of the venue. The entire building is swarmed with fans, most of them sitting on the cement in the sweltering L.A. heat for their best chances at a good spot. There’s a disorganized line crowded around the ticket booth, and at any moment more people are exiting their cars, heading to congest the building further. It hadn’t seemed like this many tickets had been given away when you’d been listening to the station. There’s way more people here than you expected.

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you walk past the line. Girls sitting on the sidewalk peer up at you, their heads following as you breeze past them. You actually feel bad. They must’ve been out here for hours, considering how far the line goes down the sidewalk. And yet here you are with your friends, scaling the line in a matter of minutes. As much as it feels elite, you’ve got a healthy amount of fear running through your veins. You pray that something doesn’t go wrong, that you don’t get turned away in front of all these people.

The last thing you see as you, Mary, and Theo turn the corner is necks craning to see what you’re up to. You’re relieved to be out of everyone’s sight around the brick building. 

The door is exactly as Van had described, but there’s nobody attending to it. Your stomach sinks as you realize you’re probably locked out. But still, you turn the knob, needing the weight of your body to help maneuver the heavy door. You guys struggle to get through.

On the other side is a security guard watching you curiously. 

“Van was waiting for us,” You explain. You’re so nervous that the true statement comes out like a question. 

The guard eyes you three. Then he gestures to a spot on the floor. “One at a time, let’s get you checked.”

Just like that, the three of you are scanned over quickly by his portable detector, your bags skimmed through before he gestures to one of the doors.

“Stage is through that one.”

Everyone hurriedly thanks him as you head through the giant space, your footsteps echoing against the flooring as you head towards the door. There’s equipment everywhere, cords in tangled piles, and you even spot overflowing boxes of merch. You can hear some hustle and bustle in the distance, coming from one of the nearby rooms. 

You’re thrown off when the door leads you right onto side stage. You’re instantly in the way of crew members who are maneuvering a drum set over the hardwood. 

“Sorry, sorry,” You say immediately, scrambling to clear their path. Thankfully you spot the stairs to descend the stage nearby, although they’re blocked by a thick, dusty stage curtain you’ve got to press through. 

Once you’re down, another security team member nearby makes a gap in the barricade railing for you to get through. And just like that, you three are standing at the barricade, no other fan in sight. With no questions, hassle, or mishaps. You look to Mary and Theo in relief.

“That was so weird,” Mary agrees with your silent communication. Her voice echoes eerily around the space.

“We should grab drinks,” Theo gestures to the bar nestled into one of the walls. There’s only one woman attending it currently, stocking plastic cups.

By the time you’ve been served, the doors have opened and people are starting to flow in. You nestle yourselves in the front corner of barricade, a spot that looks like it’s going to have a great view and also prevent the band from being able to see you.

You listen to the conversations that the fans pressed against barricade are having. Soon the space up front is packed tightly, everyone jostling for the best view. You pick up on a few people’s opinions of The Balance, a few general criticisms, and listen curiously to a couple of girls enthuse about a time they managed to meet Van. According to them, he was very nice. You glance over to catch one of the girls showing the other her picture. There’s Van, arm slung around her, lopsided smile on display. There’s something about knowing him personally and listening to the girls speak as if they know him personally that unsettles you. You decide to try and tune them out.

Without an opening act, the lights going down catch you off guard. One moment there’s a pre-show playlist playing happily over the amps, the crowd cheerfully bopping along, and the next the lights are out and the entire room erupts in screams. And just like that there’s blinding lights shining down, the band taking their positions before Van emerges, electric guitar slung low on his hips, the opening notes of Longshot ringing out.

There was nothing in your radio station research that could have prepared you for what you were witnessing today. 

You knew Van loved music. It was as much a part of him as one of his organs. He was constantly talking about it, playing it, writing it, singing it. And he’d mentioned that he loves live shows. And you knew from his fans that Catfish made music that people really loved, really connected with. But you had made a fatal mistake. Your brain had not added these facts up correctly. 

Because seeing the boys actually on stage was insane. 

The band rips through their setlist relentlessly. You’re barely able to catch a breath before they’ve launched into the next song. And the next. And the next. The fast pace only seems to wind everyone up more, leave everyone eager to bask in every note. Van is magnetic on stage. The crowd goes crazy for him, and he knows it. Simply resting his foot on one of the amps makes the entire crowd swell and swarm in an attempt to get as close to that amp as possible. He improvises lyrics and note changes that keep everything interesting. Every one of the boys performs flawlessly. There’s not one moment where it looks like they’re anything less than over the moon to be entertaining.

As soon as it feels like the show is slipping by too fast, Van will drop the pace. He’ll chant a lyric a few extra times. He’ll strum his guitar a bit longer than what you’d been hearing on the radio. He’ll lean forward, voice low, and make direct eye contact with different people in the crowd. It’s so electrifying that when your desire for him washes over you in a surprisingly intense wave, you’re almost positive that every single person- regardless of sexual orientation- feels the same. 

The show feels like it exists outside of time. It lasted hours but also only ten minutes. When Van thanks everyone for coming out it shocks you, but also fills you with extreme exhaustion as if you’d just run a marathon. Before you know it the boys have walked off, the lights are back up, and the air is still crackling with electricity. 

The three of you gape at each other.

“They’re phenomenal,” Theo says after a moment of shocked silence. “Do they have their albums at the merch stand? I wanna give them a listen after that!”

“I dunno,” You mumble, numb. “I can probably get Van to grab you some.”

Someone next to you pauses at your mention of Van. You realize how strange that sentence sounded only after it’s out of your mouth. When you don’t say anything else, they keep moving. 

“You do that,” Mary nods, eyes wide. “I guess we should… go?”

“Right,” You try to come back to reality, fishing your phone out of your bag. There’s a text from Van.

At the side door having a smoke. Come say hi?

“He wants us to come say hi,” You announce, your head spinning.

“You go say hi,” Mary elbows you playfully, “Meet us at the car.” 

You don’t think security would take you heading to the side door through backstage well, so you head out the front door with them in a daze. Once you’re outside again you round the corner, ending up back at the side door, which is now cracked. 

You knock softly, a warning before you try to heave it open again. This time there’s another set of hands helping you.

“Are you allowed to smoke inside?” You ask curiously once you’re inside, Van shutting the door behind you.

He shrugs. “Ceilings are high enough.” He nods towards outside. “M’not in any state to take a picture with anyone.”

“Right,” You breathe. Fans are looking for him. Another piece of information your brain doesn’t have the capacity to handle. 

Van is soaked from head to toe in sweat. He resembles a wet dog, hair matted and sticking to his skin while he tries to catch his breath. His face is cherry red from his last two hours of exertion, his freckles standing out. He’s undone half of the buttons on his shirt, his chest as splotchy red as his cheeks. Although you two have a healthy distance between your bodies, you pick up on his body odor with every inhale. He’s radiating heat like a furnace. 

“Did you like it?” He asks breathlessly.

“I loved it,” You beam. “So did Mary and Theo. You’re, like… incredible on stage. You all are.”

Van shakes his head around an inhale of his cigarette. “We had a really nice crowd, s’all. Makes everything more massive. I wanted to change up the setlist a bit but it couldn’t get done this fast.”

“I loved the setlist,” You assure him. “Everyone else clearly did, too.”

“Aw, quit. But you liked it? Honest?”

“I loved it,” You insist again. “Loved it. It was amazing.”

“Okay, good.” Van nods. “Wanted to make sure. I’m gonna go clean up now. I’ll see you after, if you want.”

“Yeah, when?”

Van flicks his finished cigarette out of the door. “You can head to my place. You remember the gate code?”

“010892,” You recite. Van smiles. “What about your front door?”

“Spare key under the mat.”

He’s already undoing the last buttons of his shirt. You try not to stare.

“I gotta shower real quick and do an interview, it shouldn’t be long. I’ll try to be quick.”

“Don’t rush an interview,” You urge him, shocked that he would even think of doing that. He laughs you off, parting with a quick goodbye before practically jogging away.

You make your way out of the side door and back into the melting heat, your mind going a mile a minute as you walk back to the car.

Sliding into the air conditioned vehicle feels heavenly. You slump in your seat.

“How’d it go?” Mary asks, turning in her seat to face you. “Did you jump into his arms?”

You laugh. “Fuck off.”

“Ready to go?” Theo asks as he kicks the car into reverse, carefully backing out of his parking spot. 

“Yeah, but is there a way you could… Drop me off at Van’s?”

Mary cackles.

\\

You’re starting to get quite accustomed to the route to Van’s. You’re easily able to direct Theo around the twisted, uphill roads through the neighborhood. When you helpfully add that the 8 sticks, Mary only raises her eyebrows in amusement. Soon you’re at his front door, fishing around under the welcome mat laid out on his porch for the key. It’s easy enough to find, and you wave Mary and Theo off as you unlock the front door. 

It’s strange being at his house alone. His luggage is strewn about the front room, a couple of the bags open and oozing clothing. There’s a MacBook charger plugged into the outlet by the stairs, but no MacBook in sight. 

You take in his mess of things for a moment before locking the door and leaving the borrowed key on the end table, making a mental note to lecture him about finding a new hiding spot. 

The air smells stale, a sure sign nobody’s been here for weeks. You take it upon yourself to turn one of the lamps on, noticing a notebook and pen resting on the coffee table. It’s got a leather cover, clearly some sort of journal or agenda. Maybe he writes songs in there? The temptation to snoop is strong, but you know better. You physically force yourself to turn away.

You crack the door to the outdoor lounge, hoping to let some fresh air in. You look around for the thermostat to make sure the air conditioning wouldn’t run itself silly trying to keep up with the L.A. heat breezing in, but you’re not able to spot one on the walls.

Your next stop is the kitchen. Van’s obviously been in here, a few tea mugs in the sink. You peek in the fridge; judging by the smell, it’s seen better days. There’s a rubbery-looking bundle of celery, it’s ends the crisp brown of decaying produce. A head of lettuce has rolled onto its side on the shelf, sharing a sheath of white fuzzy mold with the few soggy tomatoes next to it. 

What is intact, however, is a gallon of unsweetened iced tea that’s still sealed, and a lonely beer bottle that’s tipped over in the door compartment. You extract the iced tea from where it’s resting on its side by the moldy tomatoes, and open various cupboard doors looking for a glass.

For lack of anything better to do you head out to the outdoor lounge, perching yourself on one of the chairs and setting your iced tea on one of the expensive-looking frosted glass tables. You get your phone out and flip through your photos and videos from the show, experiencing the magic all over again. You wonder if Van would be against you posting some of these. You’d have to ask him about it.

From your spot outside you hear the gate creak on its hinges, signaling Van’s arrival. You head back inside, your heart suddenly racing in anticipation. It seems silly considering you’d just seen him after the show, but you’re nervous nonetheless. 

You’ve just locked up the patio when Van’s knuckles rap against the front door. You rush to unlock it, leaving your mostly-empty iced tea on the mantle.

“Fucking sweltering,” Van says as soon as he comes through the front door. As promised, he’s freshly showered. His hair is still wet except the ends, which are flipping this way and that as they dry. He’s in clean clothes, which you recognize immediately as the worn out gray sweatpants you’d seen him in once or twice, and the gray sweatshirt you’d borrowed the last time you’d seen him. He’s got a backpack slung over one of his shoulders.

“Lock me out of my own house, huh?” He jokes as he closes the door behind himself.

“Yeah,” You murmur, too busy processing the fact he’s in front of you for the first time in five weeks. At the memory of the key under the mat, you come back to your senses. “And you need to move that key,” You tell him sternly. “Under the mat is too easy! Anyone could guess that!”

Van makes a psh noise with his lips. “Nobody gives a fuck about my house.”

“Um, everyone at that show?” You argue. 

“Worried they’re gonna come in and raid my drawers?” Van grins. “Steal one of my condoms as a souvenir? Nah, it’s fine.”

You roll your eyes in disagreement, but drop the subject.

Van turns to you then, taking you in. 

“Long time no see,” He breathes, his grin reappearing.

“I think you’ve already used that line,” You point out. And without further ado you get up on your toes, going in for a kiss. Van lets his head tip, your lips crashing together effortlessly.

Kissing Van makes the tornado of feelings that have been swirling around for the last month settle. Any doubts about your chemistry, whether or not the party was the last time he’d be this close to you, or whether you’d failed the meet-the-friends test all come to rest now as Van deepens the kiss, getting a hand on the hem of your shirt to tug you closer.

You get a hand on the back of his neck in response, pressing your lips tighter together. Running your fingers through the damp locks of hair sticking to his skin.

The way you’ve missed him washes over you, crashing waves no longer able to be ignored. It’s the strange mix of sadness and relief pressing down on your chest that suddenly has you getting down on your knees. 

“Oh fuck,” Van murmurs, swinging his backpack off of his shoulder in one motion. He sets it down safely before leaning back, letting the front door hold most of his weight. 

He cooperates eagerly as you get his pants down in one smooth motion. He’s close to hard, but not enough to get started yet.

You stroke the inside of his thighs with your palms in big, sweeping motions. They’re still clammy from his shower. He smells clean, like men’s body wash. You ease your hands under the hem of his sweater and the t-shirt he’s got layered underneath, running your fingers over the bump of his lower stomach. His skin is silky smooth wherever you touch. Even the trail of hair that thickens in a stripe down his belly feels less wiry. You can’t help but run your fingers over the hairs as you bring your hands back down to the matter at hand.

Van lets you keep him waiting without complaint, watching you with hooded eyes.

He’s hard now as you wrap a hand around him, your wrist twisting around him in muscle memory. You only hope that muscle memory applies to the rest of what you’re about to do.

He’s waiting for your next move, the muscles in his thighs clenched tight. His desperation is palpable. You’re taking too long to get your mouth around him, trying to work up the courage.

“I’m rusty,” You blurt out suddenly. “I haven’t, um, done this recently. So if something’s not right…”

You trail off at the way Van’s shaking his head vehemently, his damp hair rustling with the motion.

“I don’t care,” He says, resting his head against the door, chin tipping upwards, his eyes falling shut. “It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

You figure it will matter in a minute, when you’re not up to his expectations, but his reassurance comforts you enough to get started. You carefully maneuver his foreskin under the ridge of his head so you can get your lips around him, pressing the flat of your tongue against his slit as you plan your next move.

Van jolts at the sensation, his hips jerking forward, feeding you more than you were ready for. 

He grimaces apologetically when you pull back. “My bad, my bad, love,” He apologizes. “Took me by surprise s’all. Sorry.”

Instead of a response you pet his thigh with the back of your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s forgiven. This time when you start again you press one of your hands to his hip, nudging him back against the door. You use your other hand to guide him into your mouth. When his muscles go tight you quickly shift your hand from his hip to lower stomach, pressing him away from you more firmly.

With the security of your hand holding him away you’re able to get into a rhythm. It’s a bit sloppier than you’d prefer, and the entire time forgotten pointers from your past are flashing through your mind, but Van doesn’t seem to notice. He leans uselessly against the door, occasionally cursing quietly.

Giving head is a precise game to play, but fortunately Van makes things easy. You devote all your focus to him, taking careful note of what tricks make his stomach clench against your palm or leave him groaning. A slightly faster pace gets his thighs trembling. You’re not sure if there’s someone else in London, but considering Van’s desperation she must not give head.

When it’s clear he can’t hold off much longer you shut your eyes tight, willing your throat to relax as much as humanly possible before taking him down deep.

Van’s reaction comes instinctually. In your focus you’ve relaxed the pressure on his stomach, and you feel his hips lift off of the door, chasing the feeling.

“Oh fuck,” He groans, his hands scrambling for something to hold on to. He settles for restlessly combing his fingers through your hair. 

Your other hand flies to his stomach, pressing him back forcefully to prevent yourself from being choked. There’s only an inch or two space between him and the door, and you’re more forceful than you’d intended, the door making a heavy thud as his body lands against it. Instantly you get a sinking sensation in your stomach that you’ve accidentally hurt him.

As you go to pull back and check, you’re stopped by the way Van’s entire body goes stiff. 

“Shit, I-”

But before he can finish uttering his warning you feel his orgasm rock through him, his dick throbbing against your tongue as you feel him pulsing heat down the back of your throat. 

Thankfully, he’s deep enough so the taste is minimal. Van pulls out as soon as he’s done while you stay put, only slightly sputtering as you swallow everything down.

“Fuck,” Van exhales. You look up at him.

“Holy shit,” He says, dazed and lost for words. He tugs up his pants before melting down the door until he’s on the floor with you. 

“Rusty,” He scoffs. “Fuck you. You’re hustling me!”

You’re still cringing from the taste of him. “Can you go grab me my iced tea?” You request, pointing him in the direction of the mantle. 

Van obliges.

“Sorry for such a shit warning,” He says when he brings the iced tea back. He offers you his hand, helping you up from the floor. “I was trying to hold off. Wanted to do other things.” He winks. “Been a while since I had that, though. Doesn’t help you’re fucking amazing at it, either. Shit.”

You roll your eyes, brushing off his compliment. “You’re fine,” You insist. “I was just worried I hurt you.” 

“Nah. Quite the opposite, actually.”

You two make your way to the sectional, plopping down. As soon as your body comes to rest you feel the exhaustion from the concert wash over you, only amplified by your front door activities.

“Do you want me to return the favor?” Van’s lying on his stomach, head resting on his arms. 

You perk up at the suggestion, bummed when you remember you need to shower. There’s no way you’re letting Van down there when you’ve been sweating like a pig. 

“Raincheck,” You sigh, disappointed. “I need to shower. I’m disgusting.”

Van hums in acknowledgement.

A lazy silence blankets you both. You hear Van’s stomach grumble.

“You hungry?” You ask, realizing as you say it that you are, too.

“Yeah,” Van sighs, rolling onto his back. “Haven’t had anything but toast. All the food went bad.”

“You didn’t eat at the venue?”

“Not right before a show. Doesn’t sit right in my stomach on stage.”

“Oh my god,” You groan suddenly. “I forgot I have the best frozen pizza in my freezer.”

“What toppings?”

“Cheese. But then I got fresh pepperonis. The expensive kind.” Your mouth practically waters thinking about it. “It’s one of those giant ones.”

A beat of silence from Van. And then: “We could go to yours?”

“Like, for dinner? That sounds good. And then I can shower.”

“I mean, I can pack a bag and stay over. It’s up to you. Is Mary your roommate?”

“Nope. Just me.” You sigh gratefully as you think of your past living arrangements. “But yeah, stay over if you wanna.”

Van sits up. “I do. Need to give this place a good cleaning.”

“It smells weird,” You admit.

“Always does,” Van says, heaving himself up off of the couch. “From being closed up. Should smell my place in London when I get back from U.S. tours.”

You crinkle your nose, staying put as Van starts picking through his bags.

Soon he’s got his backpack repacked and slung back over one of his shoulders. “Ready?”

It feels like it takes a superhuman amount of effort to get yourself up from the couch, slip your shoes on, and head out the front door with him.

You’re in such a sleepy haze as you direct Van to your house that you almost forget to be anxious that he’ll absolutely hate your place.

But once he pulls up, his range rover out of place behind your beat up car, your anxiety makes itself as present as ever. There’s no driveway, so he’s parked against the sidewalk behind you. You pray nobody scratches his car during the night, even though your neighbors are quite good about that kind of thing. 

“Here it is,” You laugh nervously as you two clamor out of the air conditioning and into the humidity. 

Your front yard is the only space with grass, enclosed with a moderately new white picket fence. You fuss with the latch before it comes undone, and the gate creaks open for Van to follow you down the path to the front porch. Van holds the screen door while you unlock the door.

“Well,” You say, stepping inside, “This is my place.”

You actually love your house. Considering the L.A. housing market, you’re blessed to even rent a home rather than an apartment, let alone without roommates. Renting this space is only made possible by the fact it was one of your ex-girlfriend’s friends that owned it, and he cut you a great deal on rent. 

Van walks around, examining the decor. All of the walls are painted the same color, a light gray that matches the wooden floors nicely. And although furniture is sparse throughout the rest of the house, you’re actually quite proud of the work you’ve done furnishing the front room; There’s a dark blue sectional, although not as plush or big as Van’s, along with a nice coffee table that has storage built into the sides. They sit atop a white and blue striped rug that ties everything together nicely, facing the television sitting proudly on it’s stand. 

The dining table shares the space, a cheap white set with metal legs you had managed to snag on sale. 

You’ve got two bedrooms, but one of them is unfurnished, instead holding boxes of things from your move you’d never felt like unpacking. A lot of it is things you’d packed to move cross country as a teenager. Too sentimental to throw away, too childish to keep around. 

Your actual bedroom is simple, a queen bed and a dresser. A bookshelf that was covered with more clutter than books. You feel yourself holding your breath as Van peeks his head into the different rooms, getting a feel for everything.

“It’s really fucking nice,” He says finally, and you feel yourself exhale. “I love the windows.”

You beam at his mention of the windows. The natural light is one of the things that made you feel like it was love at first sight here. “Me too.”

Van sets his backpack down on the kitchen table. 

“Sorry it’s smaller than you’re used to,” You can’t help but say.

Van cracks a lopsided smile. “I’m used to hotel rooms, really. This place is huge compared to those.”

You laugh, your nerves always eased by his humor. “I’ll get the pizza going.”

The evening slides by quietly. You two work side by side in the kitchen, bumping hips and hands while you place pepperonis. You’re quiet during dinner, too focused on scarfing down your food. Afterward, Van offers to wash the dishes while you start on your shower. You try to talk him out of that plan, but he’s insistent on helping. You eventually give in.

As you scrub your makeup off under the hot water, you realize this is the most natural you’ve ever been in front of Van. Even if you’re not always wearing a full face of makeup like did today, you’re always adamant about having some tinted moisturizer or mascara on when you’re with him. You knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t criticize your appearance; You just hoped he’d keep the shock off of his face when he first sees you.

The hot water invigorates you with a fresh boost of energy, washing off the fatigue that’s been hanging over you since Van’s house.

You head into your bedroom, the only thing covering you the threadbare towel wrapped around you. Van is sitting on your bed, tapping away at his laptop. He doesn’t look up as you make your way to your dresser.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, and you hear the soft noise of his computer closing.

“Getting dressed,” You tell him, procuring a pair of underwear and folded t-shirt from their respective drawers.

“Well, stop,” Van demands. At the slap of his hand against your comforter you turn around, confused. He’s slapped the space next to him, and he motions to it with a nod of his head. “Get over here.”

You feel a laugh bubble up from the nerves stewing in your stomach. “What?”

Even as you question him you still obey, abandoning the underwear and shirt in favor of sitting on the edge of the bed in your towel.

“Lay down,” Van insists, patting the bed again. “I’ve got a favor to return, don’t I?”

You swallow hard. You hadn’t forgotten his proposal, the way it fizzled away with no real resolution. A part of your brain had clung onto his words, nervously hoping he’d follow through. The part of you that didn’t want to get your hopes up had convinced yourself to forget about it and get dressed.

“It doesn’t work that way,” You assure him sternly. “It’s not tit-for-tat.”

Van isn’t phased. His lopsided smile makes another appearance from where he’s already stood up from the bed, stripping away his clothes.

“But that wouldn’t be polite of me.” He tosses his crewneck at you teasingly. It’s damp from being pressed against his post-shower body. You throw it to the floor for him. He does the same with his t-shirt.

Once he’s down to his briefs he meanders around the room, setting the scene. You gaze at him in wide-eyed curiosity as he shuts the bedroom door, turns off the bedside lamp, and motions to the windows.

“Want me to close these?”

The sun was close to slipping under the horizon, the last rays of light weakly shining. And unlike Van’s house, there were neighbors with their own windows close by. “Yeah, close ‘em,” You agree.

Once that’s done Van turns back to you, still sitting shell-shocked on the bed. He motions to your towel, still wrapped tightly around your midsection. “You gonna let go?”

You hadn’t realized how tightly your fingers had been clenching the fold to keep it in place. At his words you relax your hands. The fabric doesn’t unfold all the way, but Van climbs back onto the bed, his fingers slipping against your bare skin as he untucks it. 

“Why are you so tense?” He asks as he slips the towel away from your body, off the edge of the bed. He smiles at you, amused and relaxed. “You’re stiff as a board.”

“I’m nervous.” It’s easier to admit now that the lights are off and the windows are closed. There’s still light pressing against the blinds, but the blanket of shadows relaxes you.

“Bad experiences?”

Van is still fussing with the pillows while he talks to you, getting some to fill the gap between the two sleeping spaces. Once he’s satisfied he pushes at you gently, silently asking you to lay down. You do.

You stare at your ceiling for a moment before answering. “Not really bad.” You chew the inside of your cheek in contemplation. “Mediocre, for sure. Lots of pressure.”

Van’s palm presses warm against the soft skin of your stomach. You shiver, tilting your neck so you can look at him where he’s hovering next to you, sitting on his knees. He swipes his thumb back and forth against your skin in a reassuring motion.

“Lucky for you, there’s no pressure,” He shrugs. “We can always do somethin’ else. Just say the word.”

You nod, taking his words in. “Right.”

He lifts his hand from your stomach, running it through his hair. “No bullshit, remember?”

You remember the pinky promise you’d made after your first date. It feels like forever ago. You jokingly lift you arm to salute him. “No bullshit.”

Van chuckles as he salutes you back. The lightheartedness helps you relax.

After the salute Van climbs up onto his hands and knees, making his way down your body. He places a kiss here or there as he goes; one on your shoulder, one near one of your nipples, by your belly button, the top of your thigh. He takes his time getting comfortable between your legs, squirming and adjusting. He presses his fingertips against the inside of your knees and you let him bend your legs, opening them to his preferred angle.

You clench your hands into the fabric of your comforter, laying there open and vulnerable. The build up is excruciating. He spends time running his fingertips over you, feather light. There’s not enough pressure to create friction but you feel the sparks nonetheless. He nuzzles into the crook of your thigh, his hair tickling you wherever it brushes. You’ve got to reach one of your hands down to scratch an itch from it, and since you’re there you lace your fingers into his hair. It grounds you to be able to feel him, to have an idea of his next move.

It still catches you off guard when he presses his lips right against your clit. He pulls away quickly, leaving a light kiss, but the sensation buzzes through you for much longer. Just when it starts to fizzle out he leans in again, more pressure but too quick again, over as soon as it began. You groan in impatience, tugging on his hair. 

He takes you seriously after that. In one sweeping motion his breath floats hot over your skin before his mouth is pressed against you, there to stay. His lips part for his tongue to caress you, firm but forgiving, rough and smooth and warm all at once and you cry out from it. 

Van is relentless. You can’t catch a full breath, desperately gasping for air as he works enthusiastically and without pause. Even as you squirm against the blankets he’s determined to keep his spot, his face pressing between your legs insistently. It only makes you squirm more, every nerve in your body firing off without being able to catch a break.

You’re so focused on his mouth that the sensation of his calloused fingertips brushing against your entrance goes unnoticed at first. It’s only when he gets a rhythm going, a smooth circle that repeats over and over that you jolt. You don’t have the brainpower to give him any verbal affirmation. Your body lifts it’s hips on its own, instinctively attempting to press down onto his fingers, physically begging for more, more, more. 

If there’s only one lesson you can take from this experience, it’s how attuned Van is to your body. At your hip’s request he eases his two fingers in, pressing slow and deep, persisting even as you clench tight around him, desperate to feel the contours of his fingers.

He makes some small movements, but they’re not necessary. The sensation of being full and also stimulated by his mouth at the same time is so overpowering that he’s barely got to put any work in anymore. The two distinctly different sensations blend together, running up your spine. It feels like you’re about to be split down the center from how good it feels.

Holding Van’s hair just isn’t enough. No matter how tight you were clenching the roots of his hair you needed more. It felt like if you grabbed your comforter you’d rip it apart at the seams. You grope at your pillows, sinking your fingertips into the soft surface, contorting it as your hands clenched into tense fists.

Van groans against you seconds before you come, like he feels something you don’t. His arms hold your thighs open wide as you seize through it, shouting at first before quieting down to moans. You whimper when it’s done washing over you, the sensitivity setting in as he continues to gingerly lick.

“Okay,” You croak, gently nudging at his scalp. “Ow.”

He’s beaming as he pulls away, satisfaction oozing off of him as he wipes at his mouth. 

“Bad experience?” He jokes as he scrambles off of the bed. He’s still in his briefs, a fact that surprises you. He strips them off, clumsy in his eagerness, clamoring back on the bed.

You’re still on cloud nine, too far away to be able to engage with his teasing. You only snort in laughter.

Van’s sitting up on his knees, hand around himself. His dick looks painfully hard.

“Gimme something to blow into.” His voice is laced with urgency.

“C’mere,” You murmur, spreading your legs apart. You use a hand on his side to try and guide him to kneel between your legs, but he falters in confusion. “Between my legs,” You whine, too hazy for explanations.

He knees you as he repositions himself. Unable to read your mind, he starts jerking off again, preparing to come on your thighs. 

“Hold on, chill out,” You grumble playfully, batting his hand away from himself. 

He huffs in frustration but you ignore him, stretching your arm to the limit in order to grasp the bottle of lotion you’d left on your bedside table the other day after moisturizing after your shower. You squeeze a good dollop into your palm before wrapping your fingers around him. His sigh of relief cuts so raw through his throat you feel your body buzz with an aftershock. 

“Come forward a little,” You guide him, jerking him off over your stomach. He thrusts against your hand, his balls hanging heavy between his legs. 

You do him the favor of using your other hand to lend them some attention, realizing with regret you had no idea what his preferences were. Thankfully, your standard palming seems to work fine.

You watch his face as he comes, your focus unbroken as he splatters hot and thick all over your stomach. You keep your hand moving until you see the tension ease out of his forehead and around his eyes. Until he’s finally blinking back at you, disoriented.

There’s only the sound of heavy breathing for a moment. It’s jarring compared to all the noise that previously filled the room. 

“I gotta go clean myself off,” You excuse yourself quickly, feeling his come dry against your skin. You make your way on wobbly legs to the bathroom, soaking a towel in the sink before scrubbing at your stomach. 

You startle when Van taps at the door. At your invitation he peeks his head in, watching your futile attempt to clean his mess. Everywhere the water dried there was a crusty sheen of white. 

“Get in the shower with me,” He mumbles, taking it upon himself to start fussing with the knobs, getting the water running without any assistance. 

“You just showered,” You point out.

“Gotta rewash my hair.” He sounds completely zapped of energy.

You abandon the wet hand towel on the tile, deciding to worry about it tomorrow. You climb back into the shower you’d just emerged from, shifting around the tight space to share it with Van, who’s already wetting his hair.

It’s strange being in this space with Van. You’ve never been one for casual nakedness, always at least wearing a shirt and underwear around the house. Standing in the fluorescent bathroom lighting, watching Van carefully rinse away any excess lotion from the folds of his foreskin feels too intimate. You focus on yourself instead, keeping your head bent low while you run your loofa over your stomach. It only takes Van a few minutes to massage your shampoo through his hair, and then you two are getting back out. You pass him a towel before wrapping one around yourself. 

“Got a toothbrush I can borrow?” He requests, and you pull a spare one from the closet, letting him struggle with the cardboard packaging as you get a head start brushing your own teeth. 

He bumps you with his hip, nudging you over so you two can both share the mirror. 

Then you’re both back in your bedroom, a sense of deja vu as you get dressed in the shirt and underwear that was already sitting on top of the dresser.

The quiet starts to worry you as you climb into bed. You worry suddenly that this was intended to be some sort of goodbye. That this whole strange ritual of head-giving and spending the night at your place and staying close to each other was Van’s way of giving you guys a last hurrah before letting you know that he realized things weren’t working. Maybe the hypothetical London girl wanted commitment. 

Van lights a cigarette as you slip under the sheets with him.

“So…” He starts, before looking over at you. You gulp.

“That was… not mediocre, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“M’serious!” Van laughs, his cigarette moving dangerously through the air as he gestures with his hands.

“You just want me to stroke your ego,” You scoff, lightly elbowing him. 

“Guess I’m the devil for checking in on you, then.” Van shrugs in a faux pout.

“What do you want me to say?” You tip your head back, sighing dramatically. “Oh, Van McCann, that was the best head I’ve ever gotten. I’ve only come twice from head and it’s been from you both times.” You flop down onto your mattress dramatically. “I’m truly so blessed you chose me tonight out of all those girls at the show.”

“Oh, that was a low blow,” Van jokes, hand over his heart in mock pain. “No need to bring up the groupies.”

You giggle, flipping onto your stomach and shifting your weight on your elbows so you can look up at him. 

“I guess I’m just asking because I’m confused,” Van says, tapping his ashes into the empty can of Coke he’d left on the bedside table. “Like you said, you’ve only ever made it across the finish line two times. But… you had that girlfriend, didn’t you?”

You tense in habitual defensiveness. Through the course of your relationship with her, and any time coming out after, fielding questions from nosy men who want you to indulge them in their girl-on-girl fantasies is a familiar insult. 

“Did I have a girlfriend? Yes,” You play dumb, pressing him for a question with more specifics. 

Van sees right through you. He rolls his eyes. “I mean, lads aren’t great at getting it right, y’know. Your setup’s fucking confusing. I’m the first to admit I’m daft about the whole thing and fucking shit to sleep with. But wouldn’t another girl get it?”

At its core, Van’s question has a lewd essence you’ve encountered before. One that wants you to describe how good women are in bed, how they always get it right and every encounter is sensual and just like they’ve seen in porn. 

But it’s clear Van has a genuine interest. A real desire to get to know you better and learn about your sexual history. With that in mind, you sigh.

“I mean…” You start, then stop. Try to carefully put your words together. “First of all, every girl has a different… setup. You’ve got to know that much,” You narrow your eyes at him, accusatory.

Van waves his hand in dismissal. “Right. Does my head in.”

“Well it’s the same with guys! I can’t walk up to any guy on the street and know exactly what he’d like. You might know your way around- for the most part- but it’s still different with everyone. Plus,” You feel self-consciousness creep over you at how intently Van’s clinging onto your words, “We were each other’s first girl, ya know, so it was all new and weird. And she wasn’t very interested in that sort of thing. It’s not something we did often. I dunno. It just didn’t work the way you think it does.”

Van stubs his cigarette out. “And how do I think it works?”

“Like porn,” You insist. “That’s how everyone thinks it goes.”

Van shakes his head, amused. “I’m grown enough to know that absolutely nothing goes like porn, okay? You say shit that I get curious about!” 

When you don’t respond, he elaborates.

“Like… If you’re telling me you’ve never come from getting head, and I’m planning on doing that, I’d like to know why!” He laughs, throwing up his hands in innocence. “Like I said, I’m shit! I’d like to improve my chances!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re weird!” You tell him. “Asking about exes is weird! I don’t wanna know about yours. It makes for competition.”

You flop onto your back after your declaration, feeling Van’s body shake in silent laughter beside you.

“I lied,” You blurt out, rolling onto your side to click your lamp off as Van starts to settle in. “I do wanna know one thing.”

“Alright.”

“How many have you told about the roughing-up thing?”

“None. And you weren’t supposed to remember that,” He frowns in the darkness at you.

“None? Really?”

“Well… Most of the times something would happen organically, I guess. Things get rough in the moment, y’know. But I never spelled it out.”

You hum. There’s a strand of hair that’s flopped over his eyes, and you carefully tuck it away. “Gotcha,” You say around a yawn.

The room goes quiet.

“G’night,” You tell Van, giving him a pat on his shoulder before turning around, nestling into your sheets.

“Night,” Van says quietly.

Soon, the room glows blue from his phone.

\\

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #van mccann fic #vanfic #catb

[snowdice]

Goblin Brain Study Session Fic 1 [Day 25]

Because I don’t want to just have walls of text for my Goblin Brain Study Session posts, I’m separating them by days. If you want to read the previous chapters, click the links below.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today.

I’m running late and didn’t have time to edit part 9 so it’s unedited under the cut.

Patton glanced over after a few minutes of silence from the kiddo to see that he’d curled against the car door, fast asleep. Patton grinned slightly at the cute sight. He was an adorable little carjacker. Thinking on that, the knife was left abandoned on the seat next to his thigh. Patton reached over carefully and grabbed the medium sized kitchen knife. He slid it into the pocket on the driver’s side door.

A practiced criminal, the boy was not. Which brought forth the question of why he had carjacked Patton. He was clearly running from something. He was running towards something too.

He wished the boy would tell him his name. If he gave Patton a last name, he might be able to figure out who he was. If he was going to Green Bellow Foods, that meant he somehow knew about the agency or at least he knew someone who did and figured that they could help. He’d said his dad “knew the owner.” Patton could surmise from that statement that his father probably knew Logan (was possibly and agent) and that he was likely dead. Patton wondered if that death was recent and the reason the boy was on the run or if it had happened a while ago and the initiator of this situation was something else.

Either way, he was awfully young for… well whatever was happening to him, Patton didn’t actually know. Whatever it was, it made Patton sad.

Patton continued to drive toward their destination listening to the silly radio show the kiddo had picked out with wry amusement for another 15 minutes before ‘Anxiety’ started to stir. His eyes flickered open and he made a confused noise, squinting at his surroundings. He looked over at Patton and Patton did his level best not to coo at him.

“Tired?” he asked.

Anxiety made a grumbly sound and moved to rub the sleep out of his eye.

As he moved his wrist, a flash of red light caught Patton’s eye and apparently Anxiety’s as well. He moved his wrist away from his face and blinked at it for a long moment. Patton watched confusion and then fear flash across his face. He ripped the bracelet with its blinking red light off his wrist and rolled down the car window. He’d thrown it out onto the interstate before Patton could even process what was happening.

“What was that?” Patton asked, confused.

“It’s a tracker, I’m being tracked,” he fretted. He wrapped his arms around his abdomen like he was going to be sick and curled forward into a ball.

“Hey,” Patton said softly. He reached over to touch the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he boy said, his breathing starting to come fast. “It’s not okay.”

“Let’s calm down and think about this,” Patton soothed, rubbing a circle into his skin with his thumb while looking for someplace to pull off. “How do you know it’s not someone good looking for you?” he asked.

“Because my dad gave me that tracker and my dad’s fucking dead.”

Oh. “Well, does anyone else know about it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he said. He started to yank on the sleeves of his hoodie, stretching the fabric near his wrist.

Anxiety thought for a moment and then said, “maybe my uncle.”

“Did you try to get into contact with your uncle at any point before running?”

Anxiety shook his head. “I didn’t have time and I didn’t want them to track my calls, so I turned my cell phone off.”

“Well, you’re already being tracked now,” Patton pointed out. “Calling can’t do any more damage and it might do some good if you can get ahold of him.”

He bit his lip. “I guess you’re right. Maybe I should try.”

He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a phone.

He held down the button on the top, so the screen lit up. “That,” he said. “Is a lot of missed calls.”

“From who?” Patton asked.

“It’s a couple of unknown numbers.” His body langue screamed terrified as he looked at the screen.

“Hey,” Patton said. “Do me a favor before you call?”

“What?” he asked.

“Reach into the pocket on the back of the seat you’re on and grab what’s inside.”

Anxiety squinted over at him. “This isn’t a trap is it?”

“What trap do you expect I keep hidden in there?” Patton asked amused.

“I dunno. A gun?”

“Ah, yes,” Patton said, unable to stop himself from grinning. “The age-old trap of giving the person who carjacked you a gun.”

“Well, maybe it’s a bomb.”

“In my car?” Patton said slowly. “Where we both currently are? Sitting a few inches apart?”

“A snapping turtle then!” Anxiety… snapped.

Patton just glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine,” he muttered. He turned slightly in his seat and reached his arm around the back of it. He pulled the contents out and brought it into the front seat.

“A teddy bear?” he asked, nose wrinkling adorably in his confusion.

“His name’s Barnaby!” Patton said.

“Why?” Anxiety asked.

“Well he has to have a name.”

“No, why do you have a stuffed animal named Barnaby in your car?”

“He’s for emergencies,” Patton explained.

“What type of emergencies need a teddy bear named Barnaby.”

“This type of emergency,” Patton said. “You can squeeze him when you’re feeling ‘anxious,’ Anxiety.” He winked when the boy looked over.

Anxiety rolled his eyes but squeezed the bear’s pudgy stomach once. “Thanks,” he said after a moment.

“Of course!” Patton said. “Now, why don’t you try calling your uncle?”

Anxiety took a breath. “Yeah,” he said.

He typed a couple of buttons and then put the phone to his ear. “It went straight to voicemail,” Anxiety said. “That’s bad isn’t it?”

It could be, but Patton didn’t say that. “Maybe he just has his phone off for some reason. Is there anyone else you could call that might know where he is or anything about what’s going on?”

Anxiety thought for half a second and then he was messing with his phone again without responding to Patton. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited. He pulled it away after a moment and held down the power button until it turned off again.

He stuffed the phone back in his pocket, eyes shining with tears.

“Hey,” Patton soothed. “Why don’t I get off the interstate at the next exit and we can figure out what to do.”

“I’m not going to the police,” Anxiety replied.

“That isn’t what I was suggesting but continuing down the interstate’s going to be pretty predictable if you’re being tracked.”

“You’re probably right,” he conceded. “Why are you even helping me though?”

“You seem like a good kid.”

“I kidnapped you by knife point,” he pointed out, but undermined his point by sniffling a bit.

“A good kid in a spot of trouble then.”

Anxiety gave him a skeptical look, but Patton just kept driving until he found the next exit at a small town.

Patton pulled into a gas station parking lot. “Get the map from the glove box, please?”

Anxiety leaned forward to do so and handed it to him.

“Okay,” Patton said looking at the map. “We’ve been driving for about two hours on the interstate minus our stop for dinner and we’re in Bluesburge,” he pointed at the little town on the map. So, we’re about 100 miles away from the factory. Now we’ve got two choices: continue to travel on the interstate or find some back roads.”

Patton looked over the map and did some calculations in his head. He’d never taken the back roads from Bluesburge to base before, but he had driven all around this area at the request of Logan who insisted his agents have a good lay of the land. (Patton had used that excuse to make his brother take him on many ice-cream runs over the years. Logan was always mad when he figured out halfway there what Patton had done and would rip into him about being lactose intolerant, but could be soothed with mint chocolate chip.)

“The back roads would probably take about 45 minutes extra,” Patton said, “but it would be less predictable.”

“Back roads,” Anxiety said without hesitation. It was what Patton was going to suggest anyway, so he nodded.

“Alrighty then,” he agreed. “I’m going to have to get gas really quick. Why don’t you run in, go to the bathroom if you need to, and grab a snack while I do? I’ll give you money.” He reached into his wallet and grabbed a twenty. “Get me a coffee, please. We might be up late. Ooo, and a donut if they still have any this time of day. If not, one of those pre-packaged cinnamon rolls are fine.”

“Um…” Anxiety said. “But you’re my prisoner?”

Patton raised an eyebrow at him, and he blinked down at the car seat.

“… Where’s the knife?”

Patton reached over to pat him on the shoulder.

“Wait… am… am I kidnapped now?” he asked.

“If you were kidnapped, I wouldn’t be sending you in to get snack food, silly,” Patton said as he brandished the twenty-dollar bill in his direction.

He took it slowly, his nose scrunched up. “You’re a weird adult,” he mumbled. “Why did I choose the weird adult to kidnap?” He turned and opened the car door before walking into the gas station.

#study break stories #patton sanders #virgil sanders #platonic moxiety #janus sanders #emile picani #remy sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #creativitwins #logan sanders #knives #kidnapping #carjacking #murder mentioned #guns mentioned

[gh0stiegirlie]

Synopsis: You have been a pro-hero for the past three years, and a damn good one too (although, you don’t think so). When you and Ground Zero are assigned on a stakeout case together to capture a member of the Dark Akumu, which is currently Musutafu's most threatening Villain League, it changes the entire course of your career-- and your life.  

Length : 2.2k words

<- pt. 1                                                                                                  pt. 3 ->

You wake up. Go upstairs. You shower, do your morning skincare, brush your teeth. You go downstairs. Turn on the stove. Crack an egg, scramble the egg and eat the egg. The same as always.

 Except today, you have something special to look forward to. Something intriguing. Something exciting. Something new!

Your research on Ground Zero last night issued expected results; Bakugou is the same imprudent idiot he’s always been. In a way, it’s comforting, because you know what to expect. But how has he reached the list of top ten heroes with his hasty mannerisms? How will he climb up on that list, let alone remain on it? 

You spend the rest of your day checking out your fellow 3-A classmate’s careers. Unsurprisingly, Izuku is currently the number five hero with a heart of gold. Uraraka isn’t in the top ten, but she’s quickly rising to the top fifty. Considering she’s only twenty, that’s a feat. He and Uraraka finally admitted their feelings (you laugh at the image of how awkward it must have been for the two of them. They’ve never been the type to confront and thoroughly manage their emotions) and have been dating for two years, which is adorable. Todorki is approaching the top twenty, with Yaoyurozo, Kirishima, and Kaminari not far behind. Tsuyu is only within the top one hundred, which is discouraging; You know she holds more power than that. But being a hero at sea, she doesn’t receive much notoriety for her deeds. 

At 2:30 you’re on your way to the station, your stomach craving the promised spicy food. When you arrive, the station is flooded with civilians. As to not accidentally poison someone, you throw on a hoodie over your shirt and zip up a sweatshirt over that. You squeeze a pair of sweatpants over your leggings, pull up your hood, and walk into the building.

You move with the current of the crowd, though try avoiding contact with anyone by yelling "excuse me," and "sorry!" with every move you make. It’s a relief when you finally reach the conference room at 2:55, feeling comfortable enough to shimmy out of your sweatpants and take off your sweatshirt. 

 “Y/n! You sure found this place easily through that crowd,” Chief Sheriff Chie notes.

“I followed the scent of this sweet, spicy wasabi.” You eagerly grab a plate of sushi and promptly dip it into a small Wasabi bowl. After taking a satisfying bite, you look back up to Chie. “I’m surprised I made it through there and survived to tell the tale. Why is it so crowded?” You ask before shoving more sushi in your mouth.

“Did you not see the news last night?” she questions, and you shake your head. “Another Dark Akumu attack followed with multiple instances of robberies and looting all over the city.” Chie runs a hand through her thinning hair. Her undereye bags darken and her wrinkles grow more defined with every day that passes. “This is why we need your help, Ether. And Ground Zero--”

Chie is cut off by a crash of the door slamming open. You turn around, and there he is.

 Ground Zero. Katsuki Bakugou. 

A piece of fish slips out of your gawking mouth, though you quickly pick it up and shove it back in. Ground Zero completely disregards your presence, preferring to take the seat five chairs away from you that's closest to the food. He aggressively grabs a cup of donburi and sprinkles on shichimi togarashi, his biceps subtly flexing with every movement. He leans back into his chair, throws his feet up on the table and sighs dramatically.

“Let’s get this shit over with so I can kick some supervillain ass,” he grumbles before shoving chopsticks of rice in his mouth. Both you and Chie gawk at Ground Zero before meeting eyes with a gulp. Then you take another bite of your sushi as Chie starts the presentation.

She finishes rehashing the information she discussed with both of you yesterday in about a half-hour, which is enough time for you and Ground Zero to devour your meals.

“Now, the goal is for you to capture Youkai. Don’t bother with the other criminal; The Dark Akumu is our top priority. We don’t know when the deal is going to take place, but we do know where.” She clicks her remote, and a picture of the infamously beautiful forest in your area appears; The forest where you and the rest of class 3-A experienced your second villain attack, back when you were class 1-A. “A clearing in the Beasts forest.” 

“You two will stakeout until the villains arrive. When you capture Youkai, call me and I’ll immediately alert the police force. Your time starts,” the Sheriff looks at the clock. 4:45. She stares at the two of you with a wide grin that’s hungry for justice. “Now.” 

Ground Zero immediately stomps out the door, leaving his mess for you to clean up. Once everything is thrown out and you’ve grabbed your sweatshirt and sweatpants, Chie pulls you to the side. 

“You’re an amazing hero, Y/n. And the two will make an amazing team. Don’t doubt yourself, and don’t let emotion cloud your judgment. You can do this.” 

When you catch up with Ground Zero he’s leaning against his expensive-ass car, twirling his keys around his pointer finger. Before you so much as open your mouth, he announces you’ll be taking his car. Though you don’t object, as it’s very spacious, making it more than suitable for a nightlong stakeout.

When you climb in shotgun you close the door as gently as you can, as to not piss off the walking bomb you're being forced in a car with for several hours. At the same time, Ground Zero shuts the door with a slam that rattles the entire car. He keeps the radio off but turns on the AC to create white noise. Although, the monotonous buzzing drives you insane. 

“Can we turn on the radio or something?!” You moan after only ten minutes into the thirty-minute car ride. Ground Zero shakes his head. You groan and turn to face him.“Please! We have all night to silently bask in the AC, we can at least have some fun now.” He rolls his eyes and picks up his phone to start typing. 1“No texting and driving, Mr. hero.” You tease. He ignores you and passes you his phone with Spotify already open. 

“Fine. But my car, my music.” You could live with those terms. “Put on Together PANGEA.”

You type in his band selection and press play before putting the phone in a cup holder. You reluctantly lean deep into your car seat, getting comfortable without letting your guard down. 

You expect Ground Zero to be into headbanging, rave rockstar type shit. But surprisingly, you enjoy his indie punk selection. You smile and wiggle your shoulders a bit to the rhythm, and when the song ends, another by the same band follows. You giggle when you notice Ground Zero tapping his fingers against the car wheel to the beat. 

You rest your head on the window and gaze into the sunset. Maybe if you and Ground Zero weren’t so rigid and awkward, maybe if you were normal people (or possibly a normal couple), you would enjoy a sunset like this together. 

When you arrive at the forest, the car creeps between trees until it reaches a hidden area outside the clearing. At 5:15 Ground Zero brings his car to a halt and turns it off. Music, AC, and all. 

The two of you sit in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. Ground Zero pushes his seat into a lying position and kicks his feet up on the dashboard, engrossed in his phone, while you stiffly remain in your seat beside him. This is the most intimate you have ever been with him. While six years ago you would’ve loved this and taken advantage of it, currently you’re fidgeting with the door handle and staring blankly at your phone. After a few more minutes of this, you decide to put your layers back on. You zip up your sweatshirt and slide on your sweatpants. Though with the AC off, you quickly grow hot. Ground Zero notices the perspiration dripping down your chiseled cheeks and looks at you for the first time in years. 

“You don’t have to keep all those layers on, you know. I can handle your quirk,” he comments, flicking his attention between you and his phone. 

You don’t look at him, instead choosing to focus on wrapping your sweatpants string around your finger. “I don’t want to take any risks. I’ve involuntarily hurt people before.” 

“I secret nitroglycerin sweat, Y/n. I can inhale some of your gas.” he retorts before he pauses. When he realizes what this really is about, he sets down his phone. “Plus, that nerd Deku’s forgiven you by now. And long forgotten about it.”

This is when you turn to Ground Zero in shock. He… remembers that?

“You were so wrapped up in wishing death upon everyone in the class I’m surprised you even remember that.” You admit. You mean for it to come off harsh, but a faint snicker escapes your lips. Ground Zero did spend a lot of time threatening to kill Deku and several other classmates. But he was just being dramatic. (Hopefully) 

He laughs menacingly, which you guess is the only way he knows how. Honestly, you’re not sure if he feels any other emotion other than passionate violence. “How could I forget? That all-powerful loser was stuck smooching with recovery girl for a week! I was mad I didn’t do that.”

You gasp, pushing yourself to the edge of the car seat to distance yourself from him. “Why would you want to do that? He was in a coma!” You clear your throat after taking a deep breath. “I put my friend in a coma.” You wrap your arms tightly around yourself to suppress a shutter from the memory. “Because I couldn’t control my quirk.”

“Oh, cut it with the emo crap,” he growls. “Your quirk is strong and he couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Because of my quirk, toxins are constantly leaking out of my body. For combat, I can concentrate the mass of the fumes into certain areas, but no matter what, they’re always oozing into the air. Everywhere.”  You stare at your hands, watching them steadily emit a nearly imperceptible gas. But you know it’s there; You know its harmful. You force your hands into fists, keeping the fumes entrapped in your clutches. “I have to protect others from myself. I’m toxic. I can’t hurt another innocent person.” You look up at Ground Zeroes' blurring body. Within seconds, all you can make out is the outline of his grenade gauntlets and signature spiky hair. That’s when you realize you’re tearing up. 

“Y/n--” he reaches out to you, but you slap his hand away. 

“It’s Ether, Ground Zero. Ether.” You snap, blinking away the tears before they dare spill from your eyes.

All of high school, he never so much as noticed you outside calling you an “extra”. And now he finally wants to address you by your name, like you’re friends. Like he ever treated you with an ounce of damn respect. 

No. He’ll call you by your hero name. So he’ll be forced him to refer to you as an equal. He’ll never call you Y/n. Not until he proves he won’t hurt you again; Which he won’t, because this is Bakugou you’re talking about. 

“What’s your problem, shitty breath?” he mocks. Even though that was just the cruel nickname he gave you in highschool, you blow into your hand and sniff in the air. Your breath smells fine.

“Who are you calling shitty breath, hothead?! It’s not even clever!” You bicker. “I’m a pro-hero now. We’re not at U.A anymore; You can’t call me shitty names and get away with it.” You squint your eyes at the ‘hero’ and cross your arms. “I won’t let you.” 

“Oh, you won’t?” A smirk spreads across his face, and you refuse to let him see how startled you are. Another perk of being a hero; You know when to put on a mask, and how to keep up that facade. “How do you plan on stopping me?” He places his hands behind his head and closes his eyes, maintaining relaxed, poised body language. “If I remember right, you were never able to beat me back at U.A. What makes you think you can now?” When he opens his eyes, fire dances within them. And that’s when you finally understand. Bakugou has learned to control his demeanor to appear composed and carefree. But on the inside, he’s the violently spirited fighter you’ve always known him to be. 

Embers that haven’t so much as sparked in a while ignite within you. You quirk an eyebrow.

“Are you challenging me, Bakugou?” You haven’t used his name in so long, and you love the way it feels on your lips.

Bakugou's smirk morphs into a shit-eating grin, but the determination in his eyes frightens you.He’s relentless, and he’ll fight until you drop if it means he wins. And you know its his unbreakable determination that will fuel him till the end. 

But you’re ambitious too. Your brain says you can’t beat him, but your heart encourages you to try. 

When Ground Zero gets out of the car, you follow. 

You won't let him treat you like shit without standing up for yourself.

Never again. 

#katsuki bakugou fanfiction #bakugou #bakugou imagine #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #mha #mha imagines #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou fic #katsuki bakugou #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia fanfic #bakugou fanfiction #abkugou fanfic #katsuki bakugou fanfic #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou x reader #mha bakugou x reader

[demonsonthemoon]

Wiersa - Chapter 4

Title: Wiersa - Chapter 4, by Meeni Rating: T Square Filled: B3: No More Arrows Summary: After the end of the world, there are no more demons and no more angels. But there are still humans and monsters to protect them from. And so there are hunters. Clint Barton is one of them. James Barnes? Well. A lot of people consider him more monster than human these days. He’s not exactly sure where the line stands anymore. (A Supernatural AU) Warnings: Depictions of violence

Read it on AO3.

Bucky had forgotten what it was to believe there was a force in the universe that wanted you good.

Clint Barton could definitely be classified as a force in the universe.

And, unlikely as that sounded, it seemed he truly wanted to do good by Bucky.

It threw him off-balance. Waking up alone on the edge of a burnt-up town, his body healed and his mind holding on by a tenuous thread, Bucky had been reassured by a single certainty: the new world order was about one thing only, and that was survival. Bucky knew a great deal about how to survive.

Except Clint was proving him wrong, showing him that people could still care about more than themselves even in the wreckage of the Apocalypse. It brought back too many feelings within him that Bucky had thought he'd buried a long time ago.

The thing was, as much as he hated to admit it, being Lucifer's vessel had been easy. Oh, there had been pain. A lot of it. A constant ache as Bucky's body struggled to hold something it had never been meant to. But Bucky could handle physical pain. It was predictable. Something to endure, but also something he could survive. It had been a small price to pay for the freedom of not having to think, not having to face himself and his choices, not having to choose anymore.

Lucifer had been kind, in a way. He'd kept his promise. He had offered Bucky the relief he had been craving and let him be.

There had been something terribly beautiful about the emptiness of his own mind as he watched his own body slaughter thousands.

The silence had been a relief after the years of incessantly screaming thoughts that had followed Steve's death. He hadn't been able to deal with his emotions in any productive way then. Not having them at all had seemed like the better option.

And now...

Now Bucky was wondering if it was time to try again. Do it right this time.

From what Clint had said, it seemed clear that Steve was still out there. It was one of the truths that Bucky had been running away from for the past two years, going on hunt after hunt in an attempt not to face all that had happened and all he had become.

Maybe it was time to face that truth. But first he had to find a way to finally face himself.

Clint made it seem so easy to look at him and see something worth sticking around for. Maybe letting the blond hunter tag along for a little while wasn't too much of a bad idea. Maybe Bucky could learn a thing or two from him.

Over breakfast, Clint had asked if Bucky had had any idea of where to head to next. Bucky had shrugged, explaining that he usually just wandered around until he found a hunt or a hunt found him.

“There has to be a more efficient way to go about it than that.”

Bucky had shrugged. “I'm not exactly part of the hunter network. And it's not as if I actually have a goal in mind. It just... passes the time.”

And, yes, maybe he should have expected the concerned look that Clint had thrown his way after that particular comment. Bucky wasn't used to needing to hide how empty his life was. Usually he was the only one to witness it.

But Clint hadn't pried. Instead he'd asked if Bucky didn't mind if they made their way to Los Angeles. Bucky had replied that one direction was as good as any other.

He hadn't asked, but Clint had still told him that he wanted to go to LA to see his best friend and his dog. Clint kept doing that. Volunteering information about himself like it didn't need to be guarded. Like it couldn't all be used to find his weaknesses.

How easy it would be to hurt him.

The thought crossed Bucky's mind several times over the course of a few days as Clint started playing the same CD's over and over again on the van's radio. The most frustrating thing was that Bucky couldn't actually begrudge the man, because they couldn't exactly catch local radio stations out on the road like this, and he wasn't sure he would find having to make conversation a lot more agreeable.

Still.

Clint didn't have to own Taylor Swift's Fearless.

“Shit. Mind if we detour for a hunt?”

Clint's voice cut through the haze that had settled over Bucky's mind has he watched the scenery go by. He blinked back to reality, surprised at the carelessness of zoning out like that.

“A hunt?”

“Yeah. I mean, probably. There was a sign indicating werewolves. Might be a false alarm, or it might have been taken care of already, but I'd feel better if we checked it out.”

“There was a sign?”

Clint frowned. “Yeah? Hunter signs. You know, vagabond code.”

Bucky shook his head. He had no idea what Clint was talking about.

“Okay. So when you were saying that you always hunted alone, you really meant alone right? Every hunter knows about vagabond code. Only way not to step into active croat zones.”

“Didn't exactly have to worry about that when I was possessed by Lucifer.”

That was enough for silence to settle across the van.

“Right. I guess most of them had already died down by the time you got your body back so...”

Bucky shrugged.

“Shit, man. This is weird. You're operating on a whole other wavelength than like... everybody I know.”

“Do you only know hunters?”

Bucky hadn't meant to ask an awkward question, but Clint grimaced anyway.

“I guess I'm just not close to a lot of people anymore.”

Another silence. It was strange how many different qualities lack of noise could have. It was always sharper with another person in the room than the silence that accompanied aloneness. Bucky was used to aloneness.

“So, werewolves?”

Bucky might not be accustomed to hunters and their ways, but he sure was used to hunting.

Every monster was different, but when you'd spent months learning to exorcise demons with your mind and then years killing angels, there wasn't much out there that could really pose a challenge.

Werewolves were pretty straightforward, and far from the most dangerous kinds of monster. Purebloods were sometimes a problem, since they could shift at will, but for the ones who only changed during full moons, the hardest part was to find out who they were.

That hadn't been a problem here, because as soon as they had entered the quaint little town, Clint had spotted another of his hunter signs and stopped the van in front of an unremarkable house.

He looked around before ringing, but the street was deserted.

Bucky didn't like towns like these. Places that still retained a façade of normality, houses still standing in neat little rows despite their overgrown gardens. He couldn't help but think of doll houses when he saw people moving inside those kinds of buildings.

He could deal with rest camps, with people roughing it on the side of the road. Someone sleeping with their backpack as a pillow was a person who knew how to survive. Someone living between four walls with doors and windows was trying to pretend they didn't have to fight.

The stranger who opened the door was in their late twenties, half of their head shaved and the other reaching their chin.

“You hunters?”

“Yeah,” Clint replied. “We saw the signs. Still need help with those werewolves?”

The stranger nodded, gesturing for them to come into the house.

Bucky wasn't exactly comfortable, but he followed Clint. He had agreed to this. Besides, if there was a hunt, Bucky couldn't just walk away. He had tried that before.

“We're not happy about having to ask for outside help,” the stranger said, leading them into a dining room and gesturing for them to sit. “But we're a pretty small community, and a bunch of us had to leave about a week ago. Complicated pregnancy. Needed to get to a hospital. We figure it's a small pack, settled on the other side of town.”

“Settled when?” Clint asked.

Bucky was out of his depth here. He didn't usually do this kind of thing. He didn't interrogate people. He just followed trails when he found them and defended himself when he was attacked. He didn't understand this talk of community, not anymore. He wasn't sure he ever had. Was pouring your whole life into that of one other person a form of community?

“A while back. They were quiet at first, and we didn't want to start a turf war. Can't afford to, not with how low on supplies we are. But the full moon was three nights ago and we found two bodies. Hearts missing. Seems pretty straightforward.”

Clint nodded. “Right.”

“So, will you help?”

“We'll take care of it. Just us two.”

The stranger frowned, and Bucky did too. Not because he felt like they needed backup. He'd seen Clint fight in the bar a few days back, and the man had been impressive despite the fact that he'd been pulling his punches, trying to avoid permanent injuries. If that was anything to go by, the hunter could hold up his end in any altercation.

“We still have a few people. We know how to fight.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. It's nothing against you or your people. Me and James just work better alone. We'll take care of them.”

The stranger carefully agreed, and they and Clint spent some more time discussing the situation.

When they finally left the house, Bucky turned towards the hunter.

“Why aren't you letting them help?”

Clint sighed, running a hand through his hair with a tired expression. He'd been driving for hours before they stopped here. Going on a hunt in this state and without backup was far from a smart move.

“They're too involved. If we had taken them with us, anyone from here, they would have started shooting right away, no questions asked.”

“Because your plan is to walk up to a wolf pack and ask them questions?”

Clint rolled his eyes.

“I want to check that they're actually werewolves before we start shooting them in the heart. It's the least we can do. For all we know, the group that settled there is just a bunch of innocent people trying to make a home for themselves. Maybe the werewolves just passed through the town and left. Maybe it wasn't werewolves at all.”

“Despite the missing hearts?”

“Look, man, I'm not saying it's not werewolves. This seems like a pretty well-cut situation, and if it is? Great. I'll take the first shot. I just want to check first.”

Despite Clint's nice sentiments, there weren't a lot of ways you could check if someone was a werewolf outside of a full moon. Pretty much the only one was to cut them with silver, the sting of which was usually enough to trigger a partial shift even in the most diluted of bloodlines. And they couldn't exactly walk up to a house and start cutting people open.

Clint parked his van a few blocks away from the potential werewolf den. Opening the back, he handed Bucky the duffel bag that contained his weapons, picking out his own.

Bucky pulled out a standard pistol and a store of silver bullets. Clint chose a bow and a quiver of arrows. (Although Bucky noticed that he also kept a gun on his person.)

Apparently, Bucky was staring a little, because Clint waved a hand at him. “Yeah, I know, paleolithic weapon, blah blah blah. I got better aim with this than with any gun, and I've got silver-tipped arrows. Easier to recover than bullets.”

“Didn't say anything.”

“Right. You're not much of a talker.”

It wasn't hard to spot the three inhabited houses in a neighbourhood full of empty shells. It was smart to spread over several buildings, made it look like the group was composed of more people. Still it didn't take too long for Bucky and Clint to scout the three houses and realize there were only five werewolves there. There might be a few more outside, but Clint and Bucky both agreed it wasn't worth it to wait and see. They might as well go in, do what they had to do. If others came by later, they would probably be smart enough to pack up and leave. If not, the locals would handle them.

They broke into one of the neighbouring houses, taking advantage of a balcony to get a clear view of the first house's living-room, where two people were sitting. A third one was further into the residence. They would have to move to reach the other targets, but this was a good spot for now.

“You break the window, I'll graze one of them with my silver arrows. If they don't shift, we get the hell out of here. We're not here to fight humans.”

Bucky wasn't happy Clint felt like he needed to insist on that, but he let it slide. They didn't know each other, and Bucky didn't trust himself most days. He couldn't really expect that kind of sentiment from a random hunter whose life he'd saved.

Instead he nodded, pulled the safety off on his gun, straightened over the balcony and fired two quick shots through the main living room window.

“Fuck, warn a guy-” Clint complained, although he followed Bucky immediately. He loosed his arrow before the glass had even hit the ground, and grazed the thigh of one of the figures inside the house.

They doubled over in pain, and a ripple ran through their body. Claws extended from their fingers, even as the second figures reached out for them.

“Okay, so definitely werewolves.”

Bucky ignored Clint, shooting the injured figure through the chest. The second was smart enough to move out of the way though, realizing there was nothing they could do for their pack mate.

Bucky was about to turn away and walk back into the house, but he saw Clint draw back his bow from the corner of his eyes.

The third person they'd seen during their earlier recon had joined the party, and they were apparently a pureblood, because their body had visibly shifted already.

Clint fired, his arrow going straight for the figure.

The werewolf growled, moving too fast for the eye to follow and seemingly plucking the arrow out of thin air. Clint cursed, drawing and firing another arrow. Bucky followed his lead, taking another shot, but the wolf ducked under cover.

It looked like they had a face-off on their hands.

They were protected well enough by the balcony, and the werewolves didn't look armed anyway, so it would seem they were ready to wait each other out.

Except that Bucky heard noise coming from the house he and Clint were in. It figured that the last two wolves had heard the gunshots. It was smart of them to try and flush the shooters out of their hiding place.

Clint hadn't reacted, so Bucky moved to take his back. Shooting as soon as a head peaked over the stair railings.

The shot didn't connect. Worse, the newcomer had a gun of their own, and nothing between them and Clint and Bucky.

Bucky moved, shielding himself with his prosthetic arm. A bullet hit it, the pain echoing through his body in a way that seemed far-removed. Bucky never wanted to get used to the sensations he could feel through his metal hand. Not when those feelings were proof of the remnants of Lucifer's grace still running through his veins.

He kicked the gun out of the werewolf's hands. They'd been too worried about hiding behind the stairs and their grip was awkward. The second werewolf was more careful, moving around his packmate and pointing his own gun at Bucky's forehead.

“Let them go,” he asked.

He shouldn't have. The time he lost trying to save his packmate's life was enough for Clint to breach the distance between them and tackle him. The shot he loosed hit the ceiling, and Bucky's fist the first werewolf's jaw. The two of them stumbled down the stairs, caught in their momentum.

The pain from the fall had apparently been enough to trigger a shift, but Bucky didn't let the monster get close, shooting it quickly. He only had two silver bullets left in that clip, which might prove an issue.

The pureblood from before had decided to join the scuffle, and he moved fast. Bucky aimed, but the monster got into his space, and Bucky's shot went wide as he moved to dodge him.

Claws moved towards his throat, and Bucky dropped on his back, falling badly but with his life intact. He aimed a kick at the pureblood before rolling out of the way, narrowly avoiding his claws once again.

Bucky took his shot, and the werewolf dropped.

A cry of anguish caught his attention, making him turn towards the entrance, where a younger wolf was standing, her claws half extended in an uncontrolled shift. She lunged herself at Bucky, who could only raise his prosthetic arm as protection.

There was an odd thwuk sound and a surprising lack of weight thrown against him, so Bucky dared looking up.

The young wolf was staring at a knife protruding from her chest. Her legs collapsed, and she crashed to the ground.

Bucky turned towards the stairs, where Clint was leaning against the railing, chest heaving with deep breaths.

“Silver knife?” Bucky asked, quietly impressed.

“Yeah. Asshole upstairs broke the strap off my quiver, so I improvised with what I had.”

“Thank you.”

Clint shrugged. “You're welcome. How about we go beg for some food in exchange for services rendered and leave all of this clean-up to someone else?”

#Meeni writes fics #Winterhawk #winterhawkbingor2 #OTP: Don't mind the silence #Marvel #Supernatural #Clint Barton #Bucky Barnes #the style kind of starts changing in this one as we get more action-driven #hope you don't mind

[elliemarchetti]

Holiday Inconveniences (part 4)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Other Marecal fics:

Red Queen Soulmate AU part 1 and part 5 ( but I suggest to also read the other three because Fade is one of the most beautiful ships in the Red Queen saga) 

A Wonderful Mistake (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

The Scam (part 2)

The Epilogue

Words: 2228

Cal loaded her last bag on the car’s back seat and snorted as he tried to fix it better. Mare, although she tried to maintain a composed façade, hadn’t yet recovered from the shock of seeing her history professor’s nephew, her one night stand, on a shiny and expensive car that, if it wasn’t for the thin veil of snow on the roof, could’ve been straight out of the car wash, enter her campus’ parking lot at the exact same time as the meeting between her and the one who was supposed to give her a ride has been set.  At first she thought it was a coincidence, that he had gone there to get something for his uncle, but instead he had approached right in front of her, and after a moment of initial perplexity, and the verification that it was she who had to go to North Utica, he had begun to talk about his hometown, which wasn’t far away, stopping just to catch his breath. Mare wondered how he could be so awake so early, since it wasn’t yet dawn, and so cheerful given the cold, but she didn’t pose her questions aloud, merely nodding when he asked her if she was sure she had everything.

“Thank God!” he exclaimed.

“You really are a pussy.” she teased him, sitting in the passenger seat. If in the beginning the fact that her driver was Cal had led her to believe that she would’ve felt embarrassed, at that moment she realized that their chemistry hadn’t fade out even when the previous evening he had taken her home, so there was no chance for it to happen now. Moreover, they had already been trapped together in a narrow space for a long period of time, so it couldn’t be that bad.

“You told me you were from Chicago, not North Utica.” he remarked, when they were both sitting in the warm cabin.

“Nobody knows where North Utica is, so Chicago seemed like the best place to give you an idea.” she replied, taking off her gloves. She put her hands in front of the air vent, but the truth was she couldn’t wait to do so in front of the fireplace, squeezed between her siblings, trying to take the best place to stay warm in the old house. Cal curbed sharply, tearing her out of her dream of marshmallows dipped in hot chocolate and classic rock.

“Sorry” he muttered.

“If you didn’t drive like a madman there would be no need to brake so abruptly.” she replied, getting comfortable again.

"I want to go as far as possible before this afternoon.” he explained. “There’s a snow alert at two o’clock and

The only thing worse than driving in the snow is getting stranded in the snow.”

Mare rolled her eyes. She had always loved snow when she didn’t have to move, although she had never practiced any sport, unlike her brothers, and it was only her fault that she could no longer do it because she had decided to go to study so far from home, yet she wanted to curse the world and for once not blame herself for her misfortunes. They talked about their families for most of the first part of the journey, when the city, white for the snow, could still be seen behind them, and about Shade, that would soon become a father.

"It seems unbelievable that he’s about to become a father. He’s my youngest brother, even though he’s still a little older than me. I imagined that Bree would be the first, being the oldest, but isn’t it always like this? You think things could go one way and then they go differently but family faces everything together and things go for the best.”

Cal didn’t seem very convinced, especially of the last statement, but Mare decided not to investigate: he lived with his uncle and had never mentioned his parents, only his friends and, remaining very vague, a younger half-brother he loved but from which he was very different, although he hadn’t specified how. She imagined that his parents were no longer together, that they had divorced due to some rich diatribes and his father had married another woman, maybe a younger lover, and in the long silence that followed, Mare wondered what her life would’ve been if in her family they hadn’t been so attached to each other, if they hadn’t always been so supportive. Perhaps she would find herself alone as Diana, Shade’s girlfriend. Mama had told her when she called to give her the news that her father hadn’t taken her decision to keep the baby very well and threatened to stop paying her tuition if she didn’t abort. Mare had no longer asked how the matter had been resolved, too absorbed in her own problems and certain that, now that the girl had joined the family, her parents would take care of her, as if she were their daughter. She hoped Shade wouldn’t drop out of school just to be able to take care of his family alone because, although he had a gusty start, he was doing really well and he had chosen a specialization in quantum mechanics, a subject that would allow him not only to enter the best development and research centers but also to earn a good salary, even if Mare still had difficulty imagining him sitting behind a desk all day. From what she could see, Cal also studied mechanics, but she couldn’t decide whether or not it was a good idea to keep talking about her family, even though he and Shade seemed to have a common interest, so she gave up, choosing a radio station with only rock classics. She was browsing through a magazine, her mind elsewhere, when the first snowflakes began to fall. It wasn’t even close to lunchtime, and Cal seemed deeply disturbed by it, so Mare didn’t tell him that she was starting to get hungry or asked him if they could stop to pee when she began to feel the need, until it was her body that betrayed her and her stomach rumbled so hard that it exceeded the volume of the song.

"There is a steakhouse a few miles further on.” he said, without taking his eyes off the road. When they arrived and Cal turned off the engine after so many hours, Mare couldn’t wait to get out, all stiff. He stretched, leaned forward and stood up.

“Sitting for so long isn’t good. I don’t know how anyone who works in office does.” he commented.

“Given what you’re studying, you’ll also spend a lot of time sitting.” she replied as they walked toward the entrance. The snowflakes stopped on Cal’s black coat and on his hair, giving him an almost fairy-like appearance.

“I don’t want to deal only with the technical part.” he explained, opening the door like a true gentleman. The warm air came to her like a breath of wind that tasted like home, even though in the Barrow kitchen her mother would never have prepared chicken wings and onion rings. Not that the rest of the family would’ve scorned, perhaps with Tramy’s exception, since he was a personal trainer. The rest of the place was nice, although the low ceiling was a bit stuffy: colored Christmas lights had been placed in every available point, even inside small glass vases placed in the center of each table, whose wooden benches were battered by overuse. Even the carpet was worn but clean, and Mare could imagine the place full of children who ate, laughed and chased each other, friends only for the time of that break. It was clear that this was no longer the case, but the staff was still welcoming and quickly seated them. They ordered a bottle of water and a cherry Coke and both looked absorbed at the snow that accumulated on the roof of the car and on the mirrors as they drank. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry, she would’ve suggested to wait for the weather to get better, but the road conditions weren’t yet critical and they could’ve stopped later if it was necessary. Though she couldn’t figure out why he was coming back to his hometown - did his family live there or he returned for his friends? - Cal also seemed to be in a hurry too and his mood was generally more bleak as they approached the destination.

“Are you ready to order?” asked a dainty girl with blue hair. According to the plaque on her chest, her name was Ella. Cal took the soup of the day, while Mare chose baked garlic bread with cheese and fried chicken strips with Greek salad as the side.

“Why you eat so light?” asked Mare, inquisitorial.

“First of all, there is nothing light in this soup and second, a series of rich lunches and dinners is waiting for me, so I don’t want to bloat myself.” he replied, always vague. She didn’t like that he kept all those secrets about his family, but after all she had to remember that he was taking her home not because of what had happened between them but for a favor he was doing to her mother, something that intrigued her incredibly and about which she had to bite her tongue to refrain from asking further questions. Fortunately, Cal decided to fill the silence with some high school memories and Mare was grateful to be able to contribute to the conversation by talking about a time when things between her and Kilorn weren’t yet so embarrassing. Thinking of it, she too had a pending issue at home that she had tried to postpose for as long as possible. Surely what happened with Cal and what she felt in his presence didn’t help to untangle the mess her feelings were. Of course, in its own way, that indecision was already an adequate answer: she didn’t feel like Kilorn, who would’ve put her before anything, although she profoundly loved him. However, to want to analyze it from that point of view, she also loved her family but this didn’t meant she would be engaged to one of her brothers! So it was probably this that she felt for Kilorn, only a brotherly love, the same love that one feels for someone to whom you wish well. And yet, somehow, making that decision while sitting there with Cal, tasting his soup and discussing which desserts on display was the most good looking one, didn’t seem right: Kilorn’s memory hadn’t disappeared, she could never forget him, but it was tarnished, clouded by a film of sadness and embarrassment, by distance and silence, things she had never felt with Cal.

“I have brownies without ice cream.” Cal ordered when the waitress arrived.

“And for me a cheesecake.” added Mare.

“You’re so incredibly American.” he teased her.

“And you so English!” she replied. “Are you sure you really were born and raised here?”

“Very sure!” he exclaimed, his attention drawn by the pecan pie the waitress was taking to a couple a couple of table away. Probably the two boys must have asked to be able to divide it because on the tray there were two long silver spoons. For no particular reason, the idea that she and Cal could’ve been mistaken for a couple made her blush, and she waited in silence for her order to arrive, wondering if he had felt the same. They ate a little hastily and when it came time to pay, Cal insisted on taking care of the bill. After a brief stop in the bathroom, they set off again, with the snow that formed a white curtain through which it was difficult to see. It was obvious that Cal was struggling to keep the road despite the snow tires and chains, but he tried to stay calm for a few dozen more miles, when they found themselves forced to pull over. All around everything was white and the road, whose width could only be guessed thanks to the guard rails, was deserted. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but going on was almost impossible and the situation showed no signs of improving, so Mare searched silently for the nearest motel. Excluding the first suggestion, which seemed a shady place, the second was a small family-run B&B less than five miles after the next exit. The photos on the site showed a large fireplace in the dining room, a table set for breakfast with food that made her mouth water despite having just eaten and rooms with wooden furniture, with large beds with blankets that were extremely reminiscent of the ones in her room at home. All in all it looked welcoming and the hosts, a couple in their fifties, looked nice, so Mare showed it to Cal, with the premise that they would leave the next morning, if the situation had improved even a little.

“I miss my family too but I want to get there alive and not crash because I behaved like an impatient and temperamental child.” she said, the phone still between them, eyes harder than she wanted.

"All right.” he agreed. “But if they have a room, I have to make a phone call and it won’t be pleasant.”

#holiday inconveniences #marecal #mare barrow #cal calore #shade barrow #diana farley #kilorn warren #gisa barrow #bree barrow #tramy barrow #maven calore #ruth barrow #daniel barrow #ptolemus samos #lucas samos #tiberias vi calore #elara merandus #ella #redqueenetwork #too late for me to join the secret santa but I still want to be festive

[deepdaleducks]

Flicker (Slow Burn 2/Fire Series) - Dele

Author’s Note - Okay before we start I just wanted to say a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who read the first part of this and gave feedback, I honestly never thought that many people would enjoy something I wrote and my heart is so full because of it. My current vision for this series is that it will be somewhere between 4-6 parts, and I’ll release them over the coming weeks. So yeah make sure you stick around for that.

Shoutouts to @forza-atleti and @incorrectpremquotes bc I named characters in this after them.

Here’s Part One in case you haven’t already read that. I’d say its a must before reading this. Feedback is more than welcome, hope you enjoy xo

Oh and I guess I should say no offence to Ruby?? She’s probably lovely and I don’t mean to slag her off, it comes across that way at all.

When you wake in the morning his arms are tight around your waist.  It’s different from all the other times you’ve woken up in the same bed. Sometimes you’re distanced, others you would wake up and he would be gone already. But this time you’re wrapped up together, legs tangled, sharing each other’s warmth. He senses you’re awake and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

“Mmm, this is nice, this is good.” He mumbles, voice a little husky.

“Oh yeah?” You question, turning around in his arms to face him. You gently lean in to kiss him, softly and tentatively. “And how’s that?” you tease between kisses.

“A million times better.” He replies, deepening the final kiss.

The two of you lay like that for what feels like eternity, hidden from the world under the protection of the duvet. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest, the soothing rhythm providing safety. After a while, your stomach grumbles and he jokes that maybe now is time to go for breakfast. You both get changed and head downstairs to find Jesse and Chloe already awake in the kitchen. They notice his hand in yours as he trails behind you and look between the two of you. Rather than saying anything you just smile and giggle a little in response.

“Sooo, do you guys want anything? Coffee? Tea?” Chloe asks casually, pretending to not be excited about the new developments.

“I can cook a breakfast” Jesse suggests, popping his head out from behind the fridge. You and Dele exchange a look.

“Yeah, I think we’re good actually thanks, Jess.” You say in return, all laughing at Jesse’s lack of cooking ability.

“And actually, I do believe that I’m taking you out on a date.” Dele says quietly, tugging on your hand to get your attention. You turn to smile and him and nod encouragingly.

“Sorry, Chlo, we’re gonna have to leave you to suffer through that one alone.” You joke, heading to grab your handbag and packing together your belongings.

“You think I’m that stupid?” She asks, pointing at Jesse as he collects food from the fridge. “I’d rather eat dry cereal.” He feigns offence at her joke, hand over his heart in hurt.

“Oh babe, I’m gonna call and get your car collected if that’s alright?” Dele asks, picking up his phone. You nod in responses and he heads out of the kitchen to make the call. Turning back to your friends, you notice Chloe’s mouth slightly agape.

“Babe?” She questions. “Babe?” You shrug in response nonchalantly. “How? When? What? God you really miss everything when you’re asleep, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, it just happened? He says he knew I was in love with him and he’s in love with me and then we kissed and now, uh I don’t know, we’re going for breakfast” She almost spits out her tea at your answer, Jesse chuckling beside her.

“He’s in love with you?! Do you not wanna talk about that? Like what now? Is it completely over with Ruby? Are you guys together?” She questions hurriedly.

“Jeez, Chlo, cool it with the questions, babe.” Jesse suggests. Her questions swim around your brain echoing your own thoughts. What did happen next? He had said it was completely over, but surely, he wasn’t going to just rush into a brand-new relationship with you. It sparks a fear in your mind, and you try to quash it immediately.

“I have no idea, but all that can wait for another time. Right now I’m hungry” You say as your stomach grumbles. As if on cue, Dele pokes his head through the door and asks if you’re ready to leave. You grab your bag and his hand and head out, telling your friends that you’ll be back in an hour or two.

  He drives you to the local Wetherspoons for breakfast after you protest that you don’t need anything fancy and would be happy with just an English. His hand settles on your thigh as he drives, only moving to change gears occasionally.  The silence between you is comfortable, being worn down by the soft sounds of the radio filling the car. At the pub, he parks easily and opens your door to help you get out. Your hands find each other’s as you walk across the car park. His touch still new and electric, yet it feels like you’ve known it your entire life.

Inside, he orders your food and drinks through the app, hand never leaving yours over the table. Your conversation moves through the topic of work and football. His recovery from injury, your possible promotion. He asks about your family, how they’ve been, how your brother’s wedding planning was going. He makes an inside joke about something that once happened to Eric, and you quietly laugh in response.

“What, I must have told you that story, right? How have I not told you that story?” He asks. He had. He’d told you that story a million times over. But nothing could compare to the way his eyes shine when he smiles and the way he can hardly talk between his laughter. So you play dumb just to hear it one more time and lie with a simple no, I’ve never heard that story. He begins the story for the million and first time, barely able to hold himself together as he talks. You tune out of his words, focusing instead on his smile and his eyes and the animation on his face. Your food arrives and you instantly take the tomatoes off your plate and place them on his, and he takes a piece of his avocado on toast and moves it on to yours. Your years of friendship allowing you to move like clockwork around each other.

Not once does your new connection come up throughout the breakfast. There’s no mention of the kiss or the declaration of love. It feels as though you’ve regressed back to your usual Sunday breakfasts and you worry for a moment that last night changed nothing. Then he grabs your hand as you stand up to leave and squeezes it a little, removing any worry from your mind. You drive back to Jesse and Chloe’s place to pick up your stuff and decide to head back to London.

During your goodbyes, Chloe pulls you into a hug and whispers in your ear, “We’re not done talking about this. Call me this week, yes?” and you whisper a yes, of course back in response. You place your bags in the back of his car, yours already having been picked up to be taken back to London by a car service.

  He lets you choose the music and the drive goes by quickly, only stopping once for snacks at the services. When he asks if you want to go home or back to his place for dinner, you smile and say back to his place for dinner, as long as he’s cooking. He lets you through the door and you start to slink off towards the kitchen when he grabs your wrist and pulls you back to him.

“Del, what are you-” you’re cut off by his lips crashing against yours, his hand dropping your wrist and finding your waist to pull you closer. You’re shocked at first from the force. It’s much more intense than all the delicate kisses he gave you this morning and you’re left breathless when he pulls away slightly.

“I’ve been waiting to do that all day.” He hushes, giving you another small peck. “Come on, let’s go get cooking.” He finishes, using your hand to lead you towards the kitchen.

“Was that supposed to be an innuendo or are you actually making me food?” You joke, raising your eyebrows at him. You’re stopped dead in your tracks when you see it. It’s simple. Just a small picture frame on the sideboard in the hall. An old picture of him and her at an event. A reminder that she’s still here, in his house. Her traces are still left everywhere. Her make up is immaculate, her dress hugging every curve, making her look flawless. The image stabs you in the chest, how could you ever compete with that? He notices you looking at it and stutters for a moment before grabbing it and taking it into the kitchen.

“Oh, I, umm, I guess I forgot to get rid of that… I, I’ll just throw it,” He mumbles, heading towards the bin.

“No,” You call out, “It’s a nice frame, you should, erm, keep the frame at least,” It’s desperate and you have no idea where it comes from. He complies and places it face down on the counter top in the corner to be dealt with later. You hesitantly take a seat at the breakfast bar on the island.

“I know what you’re thinking, and I just want you to know that you’re ten times the woman she could ever be. And you don’t even have to worry about ‘competing’ or whatever, because I already love you a million times more. I’m not gonna leave you, okay? I’m never gonna leave you.” His words reassure you slightly. You crave his touch for further comfort and as though he can read your mind he comes over and takes your hand, kissing you on the forehead gently. Your eyes lock and he refuses to look away until you smile at him. “Now what do you want for dinner? I make a pretty mean carbonara, I’ve been told.” He drifts away from you towards the cupboards to get ingredients. You help here and there but spend most the time sat at the counter watching him.

  After dinner, you settle on the couch together, wrapped up in each other’s limbs. He chooses some Netflix to watch, but you both get distracted by each other’s hands and lips. Things begin to progress further when he subtly slips a hand under your shirt onto the cool skin of your back. The touch feels like fire and sends your mind into overdrive. It feels like all of a sudden, you’re in a car that just started driving over one hundred miles per hour and you instantly want to slam on the breaks.

“Dele, wait a minute.” You say, pulling away from his lips and putting your hands on his chest.

“What, baby? What’s up?” He asks, eyes looking into yours worryingly.

“I just – I don’t want to rush this. I think we should talk and if we don’t talk now, it’s never going to happen.” You say, feeling vulnerable in front of him.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” He confesses, reassuringly. “Look, I already told you I’m in love with you, so I think we pretty much skipped everything in that department.” He jests slightly, trying to make you smile again. “But I think you’re right, maybe we should just try dating for a while, yknow, like just see how things go, not put a label on it or anything.”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that. You just got out of a relationship and I don’t want to make you feel like you’re being forced into another one immediately.” You agree, taking his hand in yours.

“Okay, nothing forced, just comfortable. Agreed?”  He asks, as you stifle a yawn. You quickly nod your head in agreement and smile at him supportingly. “You tired? You want me to drive you home or do you wanna stay?” He raises his eyebrows a little, cheekily.

“As much as I would love,” You emphasize, “to wake up in your arms again, unfortunately I have to be in work early, and I don’t think I’ll be able to leave if I stay.” You say with a kiss. You both rise to grab your coats and head out into the cold air of the night to make the way back to your place. When you arrive, he walks you to your door and you stop to kiss him before leaving.

“Can I see you tomorrow? After work?” He pleads, forehead resting against yours.

“Mm, I can’t, I have Amy’s birthday dinner,” You answer, noticing a slight disappointment in his eyes, “But I can come see you at training on my lunch break?”

“Sounds perfect,” he replies with a final kiss, waiting for you to get inside before driving off into the night.

Later, when he arrives home, he sends over a text which you reply to quickly with a kissy face before going to bed.

              Del: Hope you sleep well, baby. See you tomorrow x

  You leave work on your lunch hour, after a morning of meetings and phone calls and unexciting tasks. The drive over to the Spurs training ground goes by quickly and before you know it, you’re calling him from the car park letting him know you’re outside. He meets you at the entrance and takes you through to the dining hall where all the other boys are sat eating. Eric winks at you with a knowing smile and Dele grabs your waist to veer you away from the boys and over to a small table in the corner.

There’s not much to differentiate from when you were friends, except for the way your feet tangle together under the table and how he leans in closer towards you with loving eyes. Your conversation goes by smoothly, discussing your mornings and his recovery training, sharing jokes and telling stories that leave you giggling like school children. After a while, Eric strides over like a protective older brother, sitting down next to Dele and slinging an arm over his shoulder defensively.

“So what are your intentions with my boy here?” He asks, a fake tone of accusation in his voice.

“Oh I don’t know, I was planning to break his heart into a million pieces and sell all his secrets to the press.” You joke, taking a sip of your drink with a sly smile on your face.

“The second thing, you could have done that already. But the first thing? If you do that, I will break you,” he threatens, half-jokingly, his buzz cut making him seem a lot more dangerous than he actually is.

“I’m kidding, Eric,” you defend, throwing your hands up in surrender.

“I’m not, I’m serious. If you hurt him, I swear to God-” he starts but Dele jumps into interrupt.

“Woah woah woah, calm down, Eric. Jesus Christ.” He says through his laughter. Putting a hand in front of Eric to pull him back a little.

After dinner, he packs away your plates and walks you back to your car hand in hand. You stop outside your car door and he leans you against it. Your lips find each other’s like magnets and your hands wind themselves around his neck to rest themselves in the hair at the back of his head.

“Have fun at your thing tonight, babe,” He whispers, pulling away and resting his hands on your hips.

“I will do. Don’t miss me too much, yeah?” You say with a final kiss, getting into your car and driving back to work.

  Your friend’s birthday meal serves as a reunion for your friendship group, catching up on everyone’s careers and relationship, who’s getting engaged and who’s not. You decide not to bring up what had happened between you and Dele. It was one of your best friend’s birthday and you didn’t want the spotlight to be on you. The rest of the group leave and the night ends with just you and Amy and a few more cocktails on your part, her drink of choice being Coca-Cola. Amy sips from her coke and then gives you a mischievous grin.

“So are we going to talk about the hickey on your neck or were you hoping I’d just ignore it?” She questions, your hand shooting up to the sore spot to cover it. The make up you applied this morning must have faded and you mentally slap yourself for not reapplying it before coming out. You stutter in response, mumbling something about thinking it was covered and she chuckles back at you. “Babe, even a turtle neck couldn’t have covered that! Go on, then, spill. Who was it?” She raises an eyebrow at you, not at all ready to drop the subject. You duck your head, careful not to let your conversation be overheard by anyone else in the bar.

“It was Dele,” you say in a whisper. Her jaw nearly hits the floor in shock. She instantly rattles off a list of questions. How? When? Where? How many times? And so you explain it all as quickly and as quietly as you can, promising to fill in the rest of the details over pizza at home later in the week. She’s proud, she tells you, that you finally managed to confess your feelings. Although you protest that there wasn’t much confessing occurring on your part.

You finish your drinks and decide to head home, pilling into Amy’s car. Despite being with your friend, the darkness makes you feel cold and lonely. The drive out of the city feels long and it allows an idea to creep into your mind. Your thoughts drift to a pair of arms wrapping you up and kisses being peppered over your shoulders. With a quick check of the time on your phone, you look at your friend across the console.

“Hey, can you take me somewhere?” You ask quietly. She glances at you out of the corner of her eye, carefully to not take her vision off the road ahead.

“Mm, I know where you wanna go,” she replies with a knowing smile, already taking the turn towards your destination.

When you pull up outside his house, the lights are out, and his car is missing from the driveway. You exchange a questioning glance with Amy and returns with a shrug of her shoulders. You ring his number a few times, every call going to voicemail. You mind settles that he must be out with Eric or one of his friends, and you tell Amy to drive you home instead. Over the hum of the radio you hear tires on the gravel and a set of low headlights shine into the driveway. You recognise the black car and you’re relived that he’s home. Dreams of sleeping in his arms again alive once more. It’s not until he kills the headlights that you’re able to see a figure in his passenger seat. Not just any figure, her figure. The distance between the two cars doesn’t stop his eyes from meeting yours as a look of panic spreads across his face. Your friend notices the heart break on your face and starts the engine ready to leave. The action causes him to jump out of the driver’s seat in a hurry, heading over to your car.

“You want me to wait?” Amy asks, although she has no intention of doing so.

“No.” You say back, shortly, “just drive.”

She pulls out of his drive, leaving him standing there with nothing but the girl in his passenger seat. Mind running at a hundred miles an hour you turn up the radio to try and drown out your thoughts. How can he be back with her already? Is this because you stopped things from progressing further last night? Is it already over before it began?

READ PART THREE HERE

Hope you enjoyed it let me know what you think x

#footballer imagine #dele #dele alli #jesse lingard #eric dier #spurs #writing #slow burn #SB series #fire series #slow burn two #idk what else to tag

[hiraeth-doux]

Untouchable (7/8)

It’s been a while but I’ll try to post the remaining chapter as soon as I can. Thank you for your patience, guys. 

AO3   |   FF.net

There were moments in each person’s life that were meant to stay with them forever. Some memories would fade off eventually, losing their sharpness and focus, while these other few select snippets of time would stay seared in their minds for the rest of their life.

Claire had heard her kneecap break before she had felt it. A soft, dry sound like knuckles knocking, or one’s stiff neck rolling from side to side. Her fall had happened like in slow motion, and when her knee met the ice, her only thought had been – Who left crackers here? It couldn’t have been more than a fracture of a second before the white-hot pain, so intense that Claire had nearly blacked out, zapped through her entire body, pulsing in her left leg as if it had been set on fire.

Somewhere in the periphery of her attention, she could hear voices, could hear someone running towards her – her coach? Other students? She had tears streaming down her face, her vision blurred and her entire body coiled into a tight ball on the ice. And all the while she couldn’t stop thinking – why me?

There was a pale vertical scar running closer to the inside of her left knee now, nearly 4 inches long, a constant reminder of the day that had turned her life upside down in a matter of seconds. The first time Owen had noticed it – on their first morning together, both of them delirious beyond themselves – he traced it with his fingertips, pressing soft kisses to the whole length of it. Long accustomed to it and barely ever shying away from short shorts and knee-length dresses, Claire felt self-conscious all of sudden and tried to pull away from his touch, but he’d told her that everything that had made her who she was was beautiful.

In the past, the men she had been involved with were either curious about it in a way that made her feel vaguely uncomfortable, or pretended it wasn’t there at all, either not interested or not caring about that part of her life. That was something that she knew how to deal with. Hearing someone say that it was a part of her, acknowledge it as something that had ultimately led to who she’d become was new. It had filled her with exhilaration, and the previously unfamiliar to her wholeness of sorts as though no one had ever really seen her or accepted all of her before.

In the years following the accident, Claire couldn’t look at the scar without reliving that fall time and time again, one excruciating second of it after another, followed by months of painful physical therapy mixed with her fear of never being herself again that threatened to tear her apart from the inside. It had taken her a very long time to learn to perceive her scar the way Owen did – as something that was as much a part of her as her lungs or her heart or the colour of her hair. An attribute rather than a defining factor. That there was more to her than those few seconds on the ice.

And yet now she was certain she’d much rather get the phantom pain back than deal with the memory of his lips pressed to her skin, his breath rising goosebumps along her whole body, lazy strokes of his fingers over her skin.

It didn’t surprise Claire he’d pulled Harper out of the ice-skating classes, and if she were completely honest with herself, it came as a relief, too. A bittersweet one, but a relief nonetheless, although she certainly appreciated finding her planner, one that she’d forgotten entirely about on the day she’d left him standing in his driveway watching her speed away, sitting on the outer windowsill on her porch one night when she’d returned home from work.

The one thing she didn’t anticipate was, perhaps, the feeling of dullness that had settled over her after he and Harper disappeared from her life. It was as if everything went from technicolour to mono, the world around her switching to faded shades of grey.

The rational part of Claire knew it made little sense. They’d barely been together for a few weeks, and yet…

Even Karen, for once, made no comment about the change of her ‘circumstances’, and it unnerved and unsettled Claire. Surely, one barely-a-relationship wasn’t meant to tear down her carefully constructed world in a matter of days, was it?

She was not going to let it do it.

So she did the one thing she knew how to do – she threw herself into her work and countless hours on the ice, ignoring the dull ache in the overworked joint and choosing to pretend that nothing had happened, until her heart stopped leaping whenever her phone would ring or a car would pass by her house at night. Until on the night of a fierce thunderstorm, she found herself sobbing into her pillow, her body trembling as nature raged outside her window.

---

Claire didn’t pick up any of his calls, and Harper refused to go anywhere near the Community Center, and eventually, Owen had to give up on both fronts. Between his daughter’s unwillingness to explain anything past I don’t want to , which she considered a good enough reason to stop doing anything, and Claire’s closing the skating rink down for two weeks, he was starting to feel like he was flinging himself against a brick wall, except there were walls wherever he’d turn, thick and tall and impenetrable. Trapped inside them, Owen was starting to feel like screaming, except he doubted that it would work.

When after a week of complete radio silence, he finally saw the light in the round windows and there Claire was again, performing her routines, weightless and smooth and entirely magical, Owen found the doors locked and the music too loud for her to hear him knocking.

The image of her, so close and yet so unattainable, her eyes half closed as if she was moving in a dream, felt like a sucker-punch to his stomach. He considered waiting for her to finish, finding a way to talk to her, but even though he was many things, dense wasn’t one of them. Her message was loud and clear – she wanted to be left alone, and the best Owen could do was give her just that.

In the days and weeks following their odd conversation, he went through it at least a thousand times in his mind, trying to hear what he hadn’t heard the first time around. But after a while, it got easier to accept her words for what they were rather than keep driving himself crazy over the possible hidden message in them.

Instead, he piled up the hours at the shop and the VA office, barely leaving one or the other to snag a few hours of restless sleep and take his daughter out for ice-cream. But even in those moments, Harper had a detached air to her, like she was also doing it for him and not for herself, which left Owen even more confused and lost and exhausted. More often than not, she’d be more than eager to go back home and read her goddamn Lorax.

“Are you trying to leave us all unemployed?” Barry asked Owen jokingly a time or two when he’d arrive at the shop to find his friend already hard at work barely at the crack of dawn and leave while Owen was still tinkering with something. But even he had dropped it after a while, in part because of lack of response, and in part because the Owen had started to resemble a ghost.

The only drastic change that happened in this time, one that no one else seemed to have noticed, was that Owen moved his wedding photo from his nightstand to the dresser across the room. And that he finally took off his wedding ring – not for or because of Claire, but for himself. It was time, he decided, to close that chapter of his life, seeing as how trying to reread it couldn’t possibly lead to a different ending. Maybe he could try and turn the page at last.

One night, a few weeks later, he woke up when a peal of thunder exploded outside and scattered across the sky, rattling the windows in the hallway and making the trees outside his window shiver. The lightning pierced the clouds, splitting the world in half, so bright that for several long moments, he could see every item in the room like it was daylight.

“Daddy?”

Owen rubbed his eyes and turned his head to find Harper hovering in the doorway, her arms wrapped around her bunny.

“C’mere,” he jerked his chin toward the other side of his bed, and she ran around the heavy oak frame and climbed under the covers, pulling the blanket over her head.

She’d been doing this for as long as Owen could remember. As soon as they had swapped her crib for a ‘big girl’ bed, whenever the storm would hit, Harper would pad into his and Jenny’s room and wiggle her small body between them. She wasn’t scared of the weather, she’d tell them, she just didn’t trust it when it was angry.

The memory brought a small smile to his lips. How long had it been since this happened? He tried to recall the last time it rained this hard, but came up empty, saddened by the realization that some part of him must have started to believe that she grew out of her fear of thunder without him noticing.

“It will be over soon,” he whispered, patting a lump of her body.

“Big ones never last,” Harper’s muffled voice came from under the covers.

Frankly, Owen had no idea, but since it was the only consolation he could offer in the situation that was entirely out of his control, they both chose to believe it was true.

“Never,” he confirmed nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she said when Owen started to believe she’d fallen asleep, and when he glanced at her, she was looking at him from her small cocoon.

He threw a hand behind his head. “Hey, I don’t trust this weather, either,” he reassured her.

“No.” Harper’s face grew serious, her dark eyes huge. “I’m sorry I made Claire go away.”

For a long moment, Owen didn’t say anything, his eyes locked on the shadows moving wildly over the ceiling as the wind tore at the trees outside, nearly bending them in half. After months of hearing Claire this, Claire that every single day, Harper barely mentioned her since the day she’d caught them kissing, usually saying her name in passing, like she didn’t mean to.

Owen waited for her to start asking questions after a while about why Claire wasn’t around anymore, but she never did. Then again, she barely mentioned his and Jenny’s friends from Michigan, or even her own from preschool. He never thought much about that, deciding that for a child, those memories didn’t stick for long. Out of sight – out of mind, something like that. Plus, he’d figured she might have still been harbouring a minor grudge against the whole incident in the kitchen, which was something he didn’t know how to approach.

Now, though, he turned to her slowly, not sure how to respond.

“You didn’t, baby,” he promised her at last. “Wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was,” she insisted.

“No, it wasn’t--”

“I asked her to leave and she did,” Harper blurted out, cutting him off just as another clasp of thunder rolled outside, nearly making the whole house shudder and setting off a car alarm or two somewhere down the block.

Owen’s brows knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

And so she told him.

---

Claire saw them the second they walked through the doors, the sight so unfamiliar now, after several weeks of their absence, that she’d nearly lost her balance for a moment, a sharp edge of her skate catching in the dent in the otherwise smooth surface. It left Claire teetering in fear for a second, not used to being thrown off balance in her only comfort zone.

They were not the first though – a few other kids were already practicing awkward jumps, showing off in front of one another, and a couple of parents were sitting on the bleachers, seemingly set on staying to watch the practice.

She was tempted to ignore Owen and pretend that she didn’t see him, but this kind of attitude felt hardly fair toward Harper. It was not the girl’s fault, after all, that the three of them had collided into one another in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Claire skated over to them, a plastic smile on her face. Her gaze slipped past Owen, barely registering his hair that was slightly longer than the last time she saw him and a sheer layer of jittery energy that was impossible to miss, choosing to focus on Harper who was smiling earnestly at her.

“Hey there, buddy, haven’t seen you in a while,” Claire said, hoping that her ability to read the room wasn’t entirely askew. “You here for a class?”

The girl nodded, then paused for a brief moment before beaconing for Claire to lean closer to her. Her eyes darted toward Owen who immediately stepped back, his hands lifted in the air in a universalYou’re-on-your-own gesture.

Puzzled, Claire stepped off the ice and crouched down in front of Harper, reaching for her hands, surprised by how much she’d missed the girl and trying oh so hard not to think of her father, standing about ten feet away from them, his eyes boring a hole in her skull.

“What is it, honey?” Claire asked softly.

Harper bit her lip, then exhaled through her nose. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, he fingers squeezing Claire’s. “I was wrong, and we miss you and want you to come spend time with us again. A lot.”

Claire’s smile softened. “I missed you, too.”

The girl’s forehead creased, her face serious. “Will you forgive me?”

“Always.” Claire put her arms around Harper, feeling her eyes start to burn again. She blinked away the tears before they spilled down her cheeks and pulled back, slightly less disoriented. “Why don’t you put on your skates now, okay?” Habitually, she smoothed down the girl’s hair. “I’m very happy to see you again.”

Afterwards, when Harper hurried off toward a cluster of other kids and Claire had no excuse to avoid Owen, she turned to him.

He stepped toward her, a wooden barrier between them, and cleared his throat. “She told me everything.”

Claire winced involuntarily, hands clasped on the railing more for the sake of not sliding down to the ice than anything else. “It wasn’t her fault, Owen.”

He looked down at his feet, then raised his gaze reluctantly, making her wish she could reach over and smooth out the crease between his brows. “It wasn’t her decision to make, either.”

“Yes. It was mine.” Claire rubbed her forehead and glanced over her shoulder when someone called out her name. “Look, I’ve got to…”

Owen nodded and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants. Took a step back, finding it hard to maintain the eye contact and harder still to look away from her. “Sure.” He cleared his throat. “You think we could maybe talk later?”

Claire hesitated, tempted to find an excuse to say no, full of reasons she couldn’t explain even to herself to do just that. Watching his stand this close to her stirred the longing that she tried to bury deep inside of herself, the unlived life, hiding behind the walls she’d built, looking for a way out.

Instead, she nodded. “Of course.”

She owed him that much. Owed something to herself, too, although this was harder to put into words.

---

The spring in Madison was uncertain and temperamental. Like a timid animal, it would hold back and lurk on the outskirts of winter, its weather unpredictable and moody. It would tease them with sunny afternoons only to snap them back into submission with chilly mornings and a coating frost on the car windows, reminding them all who was really and truly in charge.

Right now, however, the evening was warm and calm, the sky streaked with reds and oranges and the wind tugging at the tree branches and chasing dust along the footpaths. A true promise.

Claire didn’t know how they ended up here, in this packed café. Wasn’t sure the decision was hers, the past 30 minutes of her life feeling smudged, like someone had run an eraser over a picture drawn in pencil, blurring the lines. Being face to face with Owen, talking to him threw her off, and she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. During that hour she had spent with kids, she was very much aware of him sitting on the bleachers, his presence like static in the air – not something she could feel or hear, per se, but not exactly an easy thing to ignore, either.

After gulping down half of her cup of hot chocolate, Harper spotted a friend from school and took off for the kids’ corner, leaving her and Owen alone, staring awkwardly into their coffee and avoiding eye contact.

He needed a haircut, she noted absently. Not because it looked bad, but because he hated his hair being much longer than it was right now. She could smell the garage on him, and the memory ricocheted achingly with longing inside of her. It made her wish she could bury her nose into his neck and breathe in that weird combination of his aftershave and Skittles and motor oil that got imprinted in her mind with such clarity it almost hurt.

“So,” Claire cleared her throat, breaking the pause that was starting to feel suffocating. “How have you been?”

Owen, who chose that exact moment to take a sip of his coffee, nearly choked on a scalding hot drink. He swallowed it, allowing it to burn his tongue and throat and studied her across the table. Her hair that had been pulled into a braid earlier was now falling down her shoulders, framing her face and trapping the early evening sunlight between the strands. Her mother’s jade ring the same colour as her eyes winked at him when she picked up a spoon and stirred her cappuccino. And all the words he had wanted to say to her in the weeks since their separation were suddenly gone, replaced by a think lump in his throat that rendered him speechless, his mind numb.

Like someone punched me in the gut and I haven’t been able to breathe ever since , he thought.

“Good,” he uttered after a few moments. Managed to smile even, like this was no big deal. Like having a casual chat about nothing with the woman who he kept reaching for in the night only to find a cold pillow was his regular Friday night. The absurdity of the situation would have been hilarious had it not been so damn painful. “Barry found an old bike at what I assume was a junkyard. He said I could keep it if I manage to get it running.”

Claire’s eyebrows quirked curiously, the corners of her mouth lifting. “A bike, huh?” she echoed.

Owen chuckled. “A heart wants what a heart wants,” he started, but faltered when it hit too close to home. He knew he should have laughed it off, maybe asked her about her job, her family. She probably knew he had gone to one of Zach’s games because the boy invited him, and that was as decent a conversation starter as any. Instead, he let out a long breath. “That shirt you used to sleep in still smells like you.” His voice dropped and he shook his head. It felt odd to say out loud the words that left him bruised on the inside. “I keep typing the text messages to you and erasing them. Random stuff, but you know what they say about the force of habit.”

His lips curved humorlessly as he started to fold and unfold the paper napkin, needing to do something with his hands. Their food was sitting between them, untouched, save for the half-eaten cookie Harper had asked for and forgotten about.

There was an almost tangible uneasiness to her that reflected his own inner turmoil, but instead of being relieved by it, by not being alone in this weird limbo, Owen couldn’t help but wish that there was an easier way to talk about this giant elephant in the room that no one even bothered to tell him about. Last night, when Harper spilled everything to him while the storm raged outside, as if trying to cleanse the world, wash away everything old and start anew, he was filled with near-exhilaration, the explanation so simple that it had left him feeling elated.

In that moment, though, he wasn’t so sure, all hope drained out of him.

“I had to learn how to French braid Harper’s hair,” he added softly. Paused, allowing his words to sink in. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Claire looked away from him and out the window, her eyebrows furrowed and her bottom lit caught between her teeth. “Look, Harper went through a very traumatic experience. I don’t think either one of us had any right to force any changes on her for our own selfish reasons.” She shook her head. “I knew I couldn’t.”

Owen nodded slowly and reached for her hand, but she clasped her palms around her cup and he pretended that he was going for a packet of sugar instead, even though his drink was already sweet enough to rot his teeth in ten minutes flat. A little more, and it’d turn into a syrup. “But it’s okay now, right?” He sounded scared, bordering on desperate, and he hated it. Hated the edge in his voice that spoke of panic. “I mean, we can work it out, can’t we?”

Claire dropped her gaze, then glanced up again and met his eyes.

“It’s probably not a good idea,” she admitted at last. “You and I.”

“Claire…”

“I know I did what your daughter had asked me to because, at the time, she deserved not having her life turned upside down again. Which, I admit, wasn’t fair to you, but I still think none of us is ready for this.” Her voice cracked a little and she paused to take a steadying breath. “I don’t think I am, and you’re probably not, either.”

“You’re not doing anyone any favours by pushing away something that could be--” he faltered, searching for words that wouldn’t come.

“I don’t know how to do it, Owen,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to fix any of this for you. I can’t even fix my own life.”

“We don’t need you to fix anything,” he croaked. “There’s nothing to fix.” He took a shaky breath and leaned back in his chair, the spell broken, the closeness no longer meaning anything. He rubbed his eyes. “Look, I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want to be a part of. But this—this is not about Harper anymore. It’s about you and me.” There was an uncompromising note to his voice, one that always appeared when he knew he was right. Except now, instead of triumphant, he sounded defeated and lost.  

“I know.” Her fingers were absently running over the handle of her cup. “But maybe it’s better that way.” She sighed. “Maybe we’re better off… like this.”

Is this it? He wanted to ask. Is this over between us? Is this the end? But the words glued his mouth shut, his jaw locked into place, his tongue refusing to cooperate. All the arguments washed out of his mind, replaced by the bitter aftertaste of defeat.

She swallowed, her gaze flickered toward Harper who was giggling over something with a girl who Claire recognized as someone from her class. “I’m glad you came back,” she added softly.

There were words rolling on that tip of his tongue, words he desperately wanted to spit out for fear of never having a chance to do so again. Words that seemed too big to be kept inside of him for much longer. There were things that he was still figuring out for himself, trying to find that balance between all the changes that were happening in his life, his fear of moving forward and the even greater fear of being stuck where he had been for the past few years.

Losing someone almost killed him, his very existence felt pointless and empty for so long he had started to think he would never get out of that black void that kept sucking him deeper with every breath, with every flicker of memories. He would’ve been terrified, if only he cared. Yet, it made sense to a certain degree, if only because there was natural progressing to death that he couldn’t fight against no matter how hard he tried. But with Claire… Losing her when she was within arm’s reach, looking at her and knowing that he couldn’t have her – somehow, the very idea of it was twice more excruciating. Not now. Not when he was—

Harper swept in on them then before he so much as opened his mouth, chatting a mile a minute and dumping her news on Claire she hadn’t had a chance to spill on their way here, all while trying to finish her cookie as well as Claire’s fries. There was going to be a concert at her school in two months and she had a role. Owen’s mother was teaching her how to plant flowers, and this had been quite a hit lately. Last week, they went to see How To Train Your Dragon in 3D at a movie theatre, and it was ‘so much more fun than the DVD’.

Claire listened, asked the follow-up questions, and for a split second, it almost felt right again. The tightness is Owen’s chest loosened, his face splitting into a grin as she watched his daughter and Claire chatting away.

Until it was time leave.

Claire brushed off his attempt to take care of the bill, hugged Harper, getting the girl to promise her that she wouldn’t disappear again, and then she was gone, leaving a ghost of a memory of the past hour wrapped in a cloud of floral perfume behind. And for a moment, Owen felt so hollow inside he thought he would fold in on himself and disappear altogether. Quite frankly, it hadn’t even occurred to him that they wouldn’t be table to talk this through, not after Harper had come clean about the whole story, at least, the outcome so obvious in his head that the unexpected turn of events completely knocked the ground from under his feet.

“Did it work?” Harper asked, climbing into her seat.

“Did what work?” Owen echoed absently, strapping her in.

“Claire,” she pressed, watching him impatiently. “Is she coming back?”

He closed her door, then slid into the driver’s seat. Turned to look at her over his shoulder. “No, pumpkin, I don’t think so.”

Harper’s face fell. She dropped her hands in her lap, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “But I said I was sorry. Is she mad at me?”

Owen blinked, caught off-guard. “What? No, of course, she’s not. It’s not about you.” He sighed and explained, “We’re good, I promise. We… we’re still friends.  Things just… sometimes they don’t work out, is all.”

“Is she mad at you ?”

“Not that I know of.” He smiled, hoping it didn’t look at stiff as it felt. Shook his head and reached over to ruffle Harper’s hair, which earned him a displeased look and a tight-lipped pout. “It’s grown-up stuff.”

“That’s silly,” the girl muttered.

Owen buckled his own seatbelt and turned the key in the ignition, starting the car at last. “Tell me about it.”

---

“Are you done sulking?” Barry asked, squinting at Owen in the sun from the steps of Owen’s front porch, an open but barely touched bottle of beer sitting next to him.

Owen peeked at him from under the belly of the bike that found a permanent residence in his driveway while he fiddled and tinkered with its guts, trying to get it to be cooperative again. It was a piece of work, but one worthy of his time. It was a beauty, too – he owned something similar a very long time ago, and the familiarity of playing with one again was quite soothing. Kept his mind busy as well, which was all Owen craved these days.

Jenny hated his old bike, called Owen reckless and stupid for riding it, threatening more than once to leave him ‘before he killed himself’, somehow more okay with him going off to the army than with him owning a two-wheel vehicle. The memory had a wistful aftertaste to it, their bickering overselling ‘that killing machine’ every weekend now amusing rather than irritating.

“I’m not sulking,” Owen muttered, peering into the toolbox, looking for the right wrench, determined to bring this thing back to life again.

Something stirred inside him at the idea of owning this bike – a Triumph, maybe a decade old. He wanted to repaint it too, in black or maybe navy blue to cover up the brown rusty patches. He’d been working on it for two weeks, on nights and weekends mostly, unable to shut off his mind and finding solace in focusing on something that wasn’t a gaping hole in his life.

Harper loved it, if only because it made her the coolest kid in her grade. He might have been completely useless when it came to school bakes or talent shows, but he could very well pull the cool dad with a motorcycle thing without breaking a sweat. So long as he revived it, of course.

“’Course you’re not,” Barry huffed. “You’re putting overtime at both jobs--”

“Which is called bringing home the bacon,” Owen pointed out.

Barry gave him a Don’t give me that shit look and shook his head, chuckling under his breath.

It was refreshing, in a way, to have someone call him out on his crap. Artfully dodging his mother’s questions and diverting Harper’s attention was starting to get rather exhausting, all things considered.

He brushed beads of perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand and squinted in the sunlight. Working on the bike at night was undeniably a far less healthy, but at least it wasn’t making him melt all over the place, feeling like he was made of candle wax.

It was getting hotter with every day, the days growing longer in that way that would make summer feel like it had snuck up on them unawares. Harper’s school would be over in just a few weeks, her mind already brimming with ideas for the summer break. She had asked Owen if she could go to a camp because a few kids from her class were going, and the request echoed achingly inside him, leaving him torn between saying yes to adventures, the fear of separation, and outright bewilderment – how did she get so old without him noticing?

He didn’t say anything just yet, still toying with the thought in his mind, part of him hoping she would forget about it, switch to something else, overcome with the fierce protectiveness and scared of waking up tomorrow to her high school graduation.

“Daddy!” The door swung open and Harper burst out onto the porch, her heavy curls tied into a ponytail bouncing as she hopped down the steps. She thrust a house phone in his direction. “Grandma wants to talk to you.”

---

There was a certain degree of comfort in having the things go back to normal, whatever qualified as normal these days.

The one thing that Claire didn’t consciously notice until Harper had come back was how she would involuntarily search for her and Owen whenever the door would open before the class, telling herself each time that it didn’t matter, swallowing her disappointment and nearly choking on it. Now that this was out of the way, she could just as easily go back to accepting his occasional presence without the pressure of having to make anything out of it.

Granted, Owen didn’t try to talk to her again past the usual hellos and an occasional question or two about his daughter and her progress. They were right back where they had started all those months ago, plus an awkward attempt to avoid eye contact with one another at all costs and never being asked to watch Harper again.

She could deal with that.

When a few classes later the girl asked Claire about going to the stables again, she had gladly arranged it, although she didn’t join them this time, pleading the overflow at work due to rapidly approaching summer, which often resulted in a heightened number of moves and renovations. Her excuse even wasn’t a complete lie, save for the fact that it was Sunday and she actually spent it eating ice-cream on Karen’s couch, but who was there to judge?

“You’re pathetic,” Karen stated, taking the spoon from her sister and scooping half of the tub of mint chocolate chip ice-cream, ignoring Claire’s protests.

“You do understand that you’re sitting right here with me, don’t you?” Claire pointed out flatly.

“Hey, I never said I wasn’t pathetic.”

Hence was Claire’s surprise when she saw Owen hover near the gate to the rink one night a couple of weeks later when she was about to wrap up for the day, her muscles tight and her body pleasantly spent, and even the slight discomfort in her ankle after a fall a few days ago not bothering her as much.

It was getting late and the building was empty, the VA offices had been closed for hours, hers probably the only lights that were still on.

Claire’s stomach squeezed in a familiar way, consumed with longing at the sight of him, hovering where he would have in the past when their lives weren’t this damn complicated yet. As Paul McCartney’s The Never Happened Before continued to fill the space around them, she made a wide finishing circle around the center of the arena, ending it with a spin that turned the lights around her into a colorful kaleidoscope of twirling flares before she slid over to him, still unsure of what it could be that brought him here.

“Why, if this isn’t--” she began, trying to keep her voice light and casual.

However, the prepared quip died on her lips at the sight of his ashen face and frantic, haunted eyes that watched her approach him, his grip on the gate so tight that he knuckles had gone white.

“What happened?” Claire asked, realizing the moment the words fell out of her mouth that she didn’t want to know the answer. Not when he was looking the way he did. But it was too late.

“They want to take her away from me,” Owen said, his voice hollow. “They’re gonna take Harper away.”

“Who?”

“Jenny’s parents want to file for sole custody,” he muttered.

Claire wasn’t sure which one of them moved, but one moment there were three feet of space between them, and the next his arms locked around her, holding on to her as though his world would fall apart if he’d let go. His body was shaking ever so slightly, small shivers running down it in waves, his breath short and laboured like he’d run all the way here. She could feel his heart thudding so fast she feared it would fracture his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” Owen muttered on a shaky, shuddered inhale. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Claire’s arms closed around him, a soothing hand on the back of his neck. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his temple, his pulse hammering fast against her skin. “I swear, it’s going to be okay.”

To be continued...

#jurassic world #claire dearing #owen grady #clawen #claire x owen #my fic #untouchable

[brokemultidotexe]

Unexpected Pt.11

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: You never expected your trip to Seoul to end up like it does. You didn’t expect to step off the plane and have coffee pour down your shirt. You also didn’t expect the guy to offer to show you around the city. You notice things about him that don’t quite make sense, like how he shows interest but will only see you when he has the time which is at random hours during the day and night. Who knew your only friend in Seoul would turn out to be an international star and just how difficult things could get.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warning: None

Genre: Romance/Friendship

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 6.5 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 10.5 | 11 | 12 |

You looked over to your left and saw that JK had fallen asleep before the two of you made it fifteen minutes into the movie. You shook your head and turned the movie off and decided to wait until he was up to watch it with him. He had been spending a lot more time with you, even if it was only for twenty minutes. It was nice seeing him more but each time you saw him he looked worse than before. You knew something was wrong and had asked him about it, but he told you that he wasn’t ready to talk about it. You dropped it and didn’t ask him again, but you couldn’t help but notice the toll that it was taking on him.

You set a timer on your phone for two hours. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a nap with him, because the weird hours of him coming over had your sleep cycle a little jacked up. You didn’t know what his schedule was so you figured two hours was a safe bet and decided to let him sleep. The couch wasn’t very big so it didn’t leave you a lot of room since JK was so tall. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep and taken up most of the room. Lately he seemed to be falling asleep around you more than usual. You leaned into him and let yourself drift off.

The two hours felt like two seconds because your alarm was going off only moments after you had set it. You opened your eyes and noticed that you were completely laid out on the couch and the warmth that had been there before was gone. You sleepily pushed yourself up into a sitting position.  You wondered if JK had left while you had fallen asleep. You grabbed your phone and turned off the alarm.

“You need to choose a different alarm, that sounds awful.” His voice said from the hall. He walked back into the living room to sit with you. You sleepily curled into his side and he wrapped  an arm around you. He got really quiet so you looked up at him. His worry lines were more prominent and looked lost in thought.

“Hey.” You said softly and he looked down at you. You hadn’t realized just how close the two of you were. You decided not to ask him the burning question you’ve wanted to know the answer to.  So you decided to break the silence. “I’ve noticed you’ve been falling asleep over here more. I’m worried about you. You’re pushing yourself too hard.” You bit your lip.

His eyes bore into yours, “Sleep has been escaping me lately. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, but I am sorry I keep falling asleep instead of spending time with you.”

“It’s still time, and I'm not complaining. It was just an observation that had me worried.”

“I promise, there isn’t anything to worry about. It will pass.” You nodded and he pulled you close and kissed the top of your head. “But unfortunately I do have to head back so I can practice.”

“You’ve been practicing every day. You really should take a break, even if it’s just for a day.” He gave you a smile and told you that he would call you later. You instantly missed the warmth when he left.

You realized you had gotten so used to him being around your apartment and being beside you when you napped or him just being around you in general. That it now felt weird when he wasn’t around, which didn’t make sense. There was no pattern to seeing him, it was basically when he had time and if you weren’t hanging out with Jackson.

At that thought your phone rang and you saw Jackson’s name pop up. You grabbed your phone, “Hey Jackson.”

“Hey, you busy?” you knew it was a nice way of asking if JK was there or not. It wasn’t that the two of them disliked each other...actually you weren’t sure what it was all about and you didn’t feel like trying to figure it out.

“Nope. What’s up?”

“You remember a few weeks ago I told you that if I could get tickets that I'd take you to that BTS concert, well it’s not really a concert but they’re performing. Well, I was able to score some at the last minute and wondered if you wanted to go.” You remembered the conversation, it was the day you bought that beanie for JK. You hadn’t realized that Jackson had been actively looking for tickets, so it kind of surprised you when he asked.

“Sure, I guess. When is it?”

“Tomorrow. It isn’t too far away luckily so we don’t have to travel too far or anything.” He seemed excited and it made you smile. He got excited over the smallest things. The two of you talked about specifics and you told him that you’d be ready to leave by the time he picked you up.

The rest of the night went quickly since you had to do laundry and also clean your apartment, it wasn’t that it was dirty, but you just needed something to do. You were in the middle of switching laundry when your phone went off. You finished up and went to check it. JK had text you.

JK: Hanging with you is 1000000x better than this

You couldn’t help but smile. The dynamic between the two of you had somehow shifted in the last few weeks. The feelings that you’d been fighting so hard against were start to seep through and it scared you. You couldn’t get attached or involved with him. Being attached was already out the window since the two of you had spent a majority of your time in Seoul, together.You never did get a response to your reply so you assumed that he was probably busy again, despite the fact it was two in the morning when he text you. You really wished he would sleep and take better care of himself. You loved dance just as much as he did but he was running himself into the ground.

You finished up what you could and then headed to bed. You really needed to get your sleep schedule back on track. You slept all the way into mid  day.

When you woke up you saw you had a message from JK.

JK: I probably won’t be able to come see you today, but promise me you’ll be completely inconsolable about it.

Y/N: I promise. It’s okay though, I have plans with Jackson. I meant to tell you last night but I forgot, so it works out.

There was no reply to that and honestly you didn’t really expect one. When Jackson was mentioned he always either changed the subject or went radio silent for a little bit before text you or calling you about something else. You knew for a fact that it was jealousy because of his statement the night he put your furniture together.

Boys say that girls are hard to understand but girls don’t even come close to guys and trying to figure out why they do what they do. The next message was Jackson reminding you to be ready by noon so the two of you could head to where the performance was without hitting any traffic. You dressed more for comfort than for fashion, but even you had to admit what you managed to throw together was pretty cute. The weather was still chilly sometimes but it had warmed up significantly than when you first arrived.

Jackson tried to give you a quick rundown on the group along with their names. You couldn’t keep the names straight so eventually he gave up, “Look I only came because you paid for the tickets. Odds are I won’t even like the rest of their songs.” Jackson decided the answer to your statement was to play some of their old songs. It seem they didn’t even stick to a certain type of genre, but it somehow worked for them.

The drive wasn’t too horrible and for the last half hour of it you and Jackson ended up talking about what both of you were like in high school. The both of you had been polar opposite in that time of your life. “Alright sunshine, we’re here.”

You looked up to see a stage off into the distance and a lot of people walking around. There was food and drink stalls, so it was basically a fair...but not. The both of you walked around and got food while waiting for the music to start, which didn’t take long. You heard the MC start talking about BTS and what not. You weren’t really focusing, you were casually walking and watching people freak out and run towards the stage. You rolled your eyes, “You realize this is a boy band right? I haven’t been into a boy band since N’SYNC.”

Jackson laughed, “Why are you so against kpop?”

“It’s not that I'm against it, I guess I just don’t get it. It’s cheesy songs with absolutely no real content. I bet you most of the kpop boy band songs are about love.” you laughed.

“BTS write their own lyrics and they don’t have a lot of love songs, so stop being narrow minded.” He gave you a mock glare, “Just enjoy your time with me and listen to good music.”

“Are you a BTS fanboy?”

Jackson shook his head, “I don’t know if I would call me a fanboy. But I like BTS and their music, they talk about a lot of things other idol groups don’t. They write, compose, and produce a lot of their own music.”

You found that interesting to say the least. Most artists in America didn’t write their own songs, so you figured you should at least respect the fact that they do. You flinched and covered your ears once the screaming started. You could see a line of guys up on the stage now and give a greeting. They didn’t spend much time talking oddly but from where you stood, which was pretty far back, you could see the choreography and you were very impressed. What they were doing wasn’t easy in any sense and the guy in the center was able to do that and sing without his voice wavering. “Damn.”

Jackson had a smug smile, “I told you.”

You stood there and listened to the song and Jackson was right, it wasn’t just a stupid love song. You didn’t move for a while, you ended up watching them dance through a few songs, but your eyes never left the guy that was normally in the center. He danced a lot like JK, which you had always admired.

“Wanna move closer?”

You looked over at Jackson completely forgetting that he was right beside you as you had been sucked into the performance. “Yeah sure, just let me get a drink. I’ll come find you.” Jackson nodded and headed towards the crowd. You went to the nearest stall to grab something with caffeine because you were exhausted. You heard the girl talking in front of you. “God, the way Jungkook moves is down right sinful. The things I would do to him...and his voice, god. He will forever be my bias.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing at the girl in front of you. You continued to listen as they talked about Jungkook, whichever one that was, and found it quite hilarious...and graphic. Once they got their food and left you took a step up to the stall. “Can I just have a coke?” the person behind the stall went to get it.

You looked over at the stage because one of them had started talking to the crowd, he seemed winded which you couldn’t blame him. Each member started talking but you tuned them out once the person handed you the drink and you gave them cash and told them to just keep the change because you didn’t feel like messing with it.

When you started paying attention again they had moved on to the next song. You weaved through the people while you listened to the music and you couldn’t help but like each song you heard. So maybe Jackson was right about them being different. You would definitely be checking them out later to listen to some of their other songs. It took almost the whole song before you found Jackson dancing by himself in a small pocket in the crowd.

“Is everyone having fun?” everyone screamed in response and you had to cover one of your ears. Fan girls had iron lungs and the pitch of a flying creature when it came to boy bands.

“As you know we’re preparing for our comeback for our next album ‘The Most Beautiful Moment in Life’ and we’re really excited to share it with you. We all contributed on this album so we’re even more excited for you to hear it.”

Another voice picked up where he stopped, “Actually our maknae wrote his first full song which made it on the album.” the screaming was even louder than before, you managed to squeeze into a spot beside Jackson and you asked him to hold your drink while you fixed your boots that you had on that someone had decided to step on while you were walking through the crowd.

“I don’t think we should keep them waiting, do you? Here’s our first performance of ‘Save Me’. Let’s do it!” your head popped up at the voice, you heard it enough when you hung out with him but you were certain that JK wasn’t here and was most likely practicing. You were losing your mind and have now come to the point of hearing him when he isn’t around. Maybe you did hang out with him too much.

You thanked Jackson for holding your drink while you listened to the song. You really liked it and the lyrics were amazing, yet again. They had already won you over despite wanting to not be into a boy band. You actually really liked this song and decided that you’d probably add it to your Spotify playlist when it was released. You watched as all seven of them danced so in sync. You were in awe of it before but even more so now since it seemed they were always in sync with every choreography of every song.

When the song stopped all of the people in the group were breathing hard “We hope you enjoyed the song. JK anything you want to add?” the tallest asked.

“Yeah, I hope you enjoyed the song and please show it lots of love.” your heart practically stopped beating, you without a doubt couldn’t mistake that voice for anyone. You looked over at the stage and saw him standing there, your eyes got wide. You’d been watching him this whole time and hadn’t realized it. You didn’t hear anything else that was said after you saw him. It made sense why it seemed like the guy moved a lot like JK did. Your mind was running a thousand miles a minute.

You turned to Jackson “I need to go.”

“What? Why? Is everything okay?” he looked so confused and worried.

“I just need--” you couldn’t even finish your sentence the thought, “I’ll call you.”

You handed him your drink and weaved through the crowd, you faintly heard him calling your name but you kept walking. You needed to get away from the crowd of people. You didn’t really know what emotions you were feeling. As your mind was slowly processing what just happened some of the things in the beginning of your friendship made sense, like the mask. You walked a ways up the street and found a bench to sit on. It was far enough away from people that you felt like you could breathe. JK was an idol and part of you was so frustrated. He didn’t lie, technically, but for some reason you felt a small sense of betrayal. It didn’t make any sense. There were so many emotions that it was hard to identify them.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there but the crowd had mostly thinned out, so the event must be over. You saw a few SUVs pull up to the curb in your peripheral vision as you leaned back and ran your fingers through your hair. You didn’t know how he had kept this from you for months.

You stood up and stretched, your body aching a bit. This was a sign that you had been sitting there longer than you thought. It was the sound of his laugh that made you turn your head quickly. He was walking with the other people of his group to the SUVs. He was laughing with a few of them but you made eye contact with one person, and it wasn’t JK, it was Jimin the guy that had shown up at the dance studio when JK had taken you there. You were frozen and he seemed to be surprised seeing you standing there. He reached out and stopped JK from walking any further. He looked at Jimin in confusion and pushed him playfully but Jimin hit him in the stomach and tilted his head towards you.

What probably had only been a few seconds felt like minutes. His eyes had looked over at you and your stomach flipped, but this time it was different. It didn’t feel like butterflies, and it made you feel sick to your stomach. Neither of you said anything but what little color he did have in his face had left. Jimin leaned in and said something in JK’s ear and climbed into the SUV. The vehicles didn’t leave but the rest of the people had given the both of you as much privacy as they could.

“Y/N.” he started walking towards you but you put a hand up stopping him from walking any further. You didn’t know if you could have any type of conversation until you had a chance to process everything, you didn’t want to do or say anything rash. Part of you was irritated that he felt like he couldn’t tell you and part of you was hurt he didn’t think that he could trust you, and a million other feelings that you couldn’t quite explain.

“What are you doing here?” his voice shook a little..

You don’t know how you managed it, but Jackson’s name tumbled out. The two of you just continued to stare at each other. You were finally able to find your voice after a moment, “So you’re an idol?”

He looked scared, “Y/N I've been trying to figure out how to tell you. I’ve been going out of my mind trying to come up with some way of telling you that didn’t end badly.”

“So all of this,” you waved your hand around, “is the reason for the weird hours and you finding ways to fit me into your busy schedule while I wait around to see if I'll even get to see you.”

“Don’t say it like that, it has never been like that.” You hadn’t meant for it to come out so harshly, but part of you couldn’t help but feel irritated that you were basically at his beck and call while he lived his idol life. It hadn’t bothered you as much when you thought it was just him and his dance studio, which didn’t make sense, but finding out the real reason made you mad. You were trying your best to keep your emotions in check.

“This is bullshit.” the phrase came out in English which sounded weird after talking in Korean for so long, but you weren't sure how to express how you felt in Korean.

“Look, can we just go talk? I’ll find a way to make it work so we have time.”

Yet again, he had to try and fit you into his schedule, “Actually I'm not sure I can fit you into my schedule.” you bit your lip knowing what you were doing was petty, but you wouldn’t apologize. “I need time to process all of this.” you took a few steps back getting ready to walk away.

“Y/N, please! Why does it matter what my profession is? I’m still the same person, nothing has changed. How I am with you, that’s me. I’m just JK when I'm with you, I'm not an idol, I'm not part of BTS. I’m me.” He was pleading with you and you felt your chest tighten.

“Like I said, I just need some time to process and figure things out.”

“Please don’t shut me out.” he pleaded, but you said nothing. He looked like he was in physical pain and your instinct was to make him feel better, but this was one time that you couldn’t. “Will you text me then? Whatever your decision is, good or bad.”

You nodded, “I gotta go.” you turned and pulled out your phone. You immediately closed all the notifications from Jackson. You got yourself an Uber to take you home, you didn’t care about how much it would cost to take you back. It took everything in you not to look back and see if he was still standing there.

You were sitting on your couch curled up in your blanket watching a movie with Jackson. Truthfully you weren’t even watching it. You’d felt off the entire week and you really missed having JK around. You’d gotten so used to his presence being around all the time that the apartment seemed quiet and lonely without him there. You still hadn’t been able to fully figure out how you felt about everything, instead you’d spent the week doing whatever you could to keep yourself busy. The crazy thing was you knew your emotions didn’t fit the crime, which there wasn’t one.

The TV turned off and you looked up and then over at Jackson who was holding the remote, “You’ve been in your own world for the past week. You’ll barely talk and you won’t tell me what happened at the concert, which was when all of this started.”

You chewed your bottom lip, You couldn’t talk to him about it. JK had a right to his privacy and you didn’t want to cause him any issues. “I can’t talk about it.” you sighed.

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Can you give me a cliff notes version? Give me something that will at least tell me what's going on. I’m worried about you. You’re never this quiet and you’ve closed yourself off with anything to do with the outside world. You haven’t left your apartment in a week.” You knew that he wasn’t going to drop it. He’d been getting frustrated with you more and more, and you couldn’t blame him. He tried to make you feel better but everything just felt off.

You turned yourself so you were facing him on the couch, “What would you do if you found out someone important to you had kept a huge secret from you?”

He seemed to think about the question, “Depends on how big the secret was.”

“Pretty big. To the point it could change a lot of things.” you started picking at the fringe on your jeans.

“Well, did they have a valid reason?” After a moment he nudged you when you didn’t answer.

“Kinda. That’s the part that’s complicated.”

“Have you talked to them about it?”

You shook your head, “No, I've gone radio silent until I can figure out how I feel about it all.”

“Let me ask you this, does the secret change what you think or feel about that person?” He was watching your every move and it you disliked him reading you so much.

“No, but there’s a lot of factors.”

He sighed, “I’m going to be blunt, is this about JK?” You tried so hard not to react but your heart started beating faster and you froze, “That explains a lot.”

“Jackso--”

“I know you care about him in a different way than you care about me. You’ve been miserable all week. Just call him and talk it out.”

“We’re just friends.”

“You suck at lying.” he laughed.

You opened your mouth to argue but there was a knock at your door. You got up off the couch and walked to the front door and opened it. You jumped when you saw JK standing there looking nervous. “JK what are you doing here? I told you I'd call yo--”

“It’s been a week and I've tried so hard to be patient, but I'm going out of my mind Y/N.” he rushed out.

“JK, now isn’t a good time. I’ll ca--”

“Actually it’s a perfect time you t--holy shit!” you spun around and saw Jackson standing there with his jacket getting ready to leave. You looked back at JK who had taken his mask off to talk to you. He looked startled and your mind was completely blank on what you should do or say. “You’re Jungkook.” he said shocked.

All three of you stood there awkwardly no one knowing what to say. Jackson looked at you, “This explains SO much and why you bolted at the concert. With that being said, I’m going to leave you two to talk things out.” He slid past you but still looked shocked to see JK standing at your front door.

“Jackson you can’t say anything.” You told him before he made it too far.

“I wouldn’t.” he said and then looked at JK, “Don’t let her push you away, she’s been moping around all week.”

“Jackson!” you yelled out.

“What? You both look miserable, so talk it out. Call me if you need me.” He slipped out the door leaving you and JK standing there awkwardly.

“Please just hear me out.” He pleaded with you softly.

You opened the door wider allowing him to come inside. He walked in and headed towards the living room. You followed behind him after shutting the door. He hadn’t taken a seat on the couch like you had expected him to. Instead he was still standing and was fidgeting. “Okay so what do you need to say?”

“Can you at least sit down?”

You nodded and obliged. You took your normal seat at the edge and tucked your feet beneath yourself and waited for him to start. He stood there, “JK?”

“Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out where to start.” he put his hands in his pants pockets before pulling them back out again. “I know you’re mad that I didn’t tell you sooner, and I get that. You have every right to be, but it wasn’t just me that I had to think about. Whenever I decided to tell you, it would then involve the other members. I wanted to tell you so badly, but part of me was worried that if you knew what I did or who I was to the public that things would change. I liked being able to be myself around you and I didn’t want to lose that. I can’t get that anywhere else but the dorms but they’re my brothers, it’s different. With you there wasn’t talk about work it was just me and you hanging out and sometimes that was the only thing that got me through my long days. I know not telling you was messed up, and I'm sorry. I tried to find a way to tell you multiple times ever since you mentioned BTS in your kitchen. I was scared that I would lose you if I told you because I didn’t tell you sooner, and I know that doesn’t make much sense but I didn’t want to lose you. Jimin told me that I needed to tell you because if you found out from anyone but me that it would be worse. I wish I could take back how you found out, not that you did but how it happened. I would do it all over and I would tell you in person so I could explain like I am now.”

You weren’t sure he took a breath at any point during his speech with how fast he was talking, but you were pretty sure you caught every word. You didn’t really think much about the fact that the other people in the group had to be taken into consideration. You felt guilt start to rise up in your chest from not talking to him. You could see the prominent dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he looked like he was going to pass out from exhaustion at any second. “JK…” You weren’t sure what you had planned to say, so his name died on your lips.

He walked around your coffee table and sat down on it across from you so it brought you two closer to each other, “I promise that I will be completely honest about everything from here on out. I talked with everyone the day you found out, once we had gotten back to the dorms. Jimin helped me explain the things I couldn’t put into words because I was still recovering from watching you walk away from me. Jimin was the only person that knew before the hyungs, and while the rest of them were confused at first and there were a lot of questions that I had to answer. I told them that you never pushed for answers I wasn’t willing to give and that you didn’t see me without a mask for the longest time. We talked for the rest of that day about everything and what possibilities there were now that you knew.” He paused and put his hand on your leg, “Y/N I've done everything I can think of. There are limitations to what I can talk to you about and things I can take you with me to. But those limitations are for the other members privacy and there are other things that we can talk about later, but please don’t push me away. Not seeing you or talking to you this whole week was one of the worst things I've had to endure in a long time.”

He sat there and waited for you to say something. “JK I've been trying to figure my emotions about this whole thing for a week. Yes, it sucked knowing that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I get not telling me in the beginning but we hang out almost every day and it’s been months. Plus I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re an idol. From what little Jackson told me in the past was that you guys were getting even more popular and that’s intimidating. Hell, I haven’t even had the guts to use Naver to look up BTS. It’s new for me just like it is for you, only you’re a celebrity and a shit ton of people know your name. You should hear the things those girls were saying at that concert.”

His face turned red, which meant he knew what girls thought about him. You’d never think he actually knew with the way he carries himself. “I’ll do whatever, I just don’t want to lose you. You mean a lot to me.”

You gave him a small smile, “You aren’t going to lose me. I still don’t know how I feel about everything and I'm still trying to figure out a lot of things with the new bit of information I have.”

He visibly relaxed, “would you be okay if I stayed for a little bit? I don’t have anything to do today, I honestly thought I'd be trying to convince you all night.”

You nodded, “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

“Good.” He sat on the couch and leaned back, “Want to watch the movie from the last time I was here?”

You nodded, “Sure.” you got up to go through the stack of DVDs you had. “Hey what was the last thing you remember?” you called out over your shoulder. After a moment of no answer you turned around and JK was passed out on your couch like he always did. You smiled to yourself and got up to grab a blanket and sat beside him and got into a position you were comfortable with and decided to take a nap with him.

AN: I hope there aren’t too many mistakes in there, i tried to proof read it but i didn’t have a lot of time. So i just want to let you know that there are actually 3 other versions of how the reader finds out but i ended up choosing this one so hopefully this will satisfy everyone. I’ve you’ve stayed with the fic until now, you’re a trooper. Future chapters will be longer since I’m not confined into a small area of what the reader can do without finding out. Thank you guys for being patient, i tried my best to get it out as fast as i could without it being complete and total shit. This isn’t the best, but i can deal with the outcome of this one. I hope you at least enjoyed reading it and sorry it’s so long, i debated breaking it up into two chapters but i figured i have tortured you enough. Ugh! Why am i nervous to post this!?

*requests are OPEN*

#btsguild #jungkook #bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan boys #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #fyeah fics #fanfic #jungkook fic #bts fic

[callingmrsbarnes]

What Lies Underneath (Part Four)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word Count: 1,235

Summary: You can’t stand Tony Stark. But when your job is put on the line, you’re forced into isolation with him for several months.

Warnings: Swearing, reader having a panic attack

Author’s Note: Things are taking a turn… :)

Part 3

           Tony shot up in his bed, a cry for help halfway out of his throat before he realized where he was. He ran a hand over his face, his fingertips sliding across the sweat drenching his skin from the nightmares. He was having flashbacks to everything- being trapped in the cave in Afghanistan, the battle of New York, Ultron, Pepper leaving him.

           And all while trapped in this goddamned house with you and nowhere to seek refuge.

           He turned on his side, tucking the covers over him as he laid his head on the pillow, hoping that he could at least get a couple hours of sleep tonight.

           The days dragged into one another. You hadn’t had a single day of sunshine or mild weather in weeks, which wasn’t helping your mood. You could feel your body managing to take you through your regular daily motions- eating, showering, maintaining the house- but it didn’t feel the same. You felt like a ghost of your former self, spending countless amounts of time lying in bed or staring at the wall as the ugly words you had shouted at Tony played on an endless loop in your head.

           ‘Asshole. I know everything about you. What is there to like about you?’

           Although you had meant everything you had said at the time, you still felt like a monster. You and Tony thankfully hadn’t seen much of each other since the incident. You both knew you were in the wrong, but both of you were far too stubborn to be the bigger person and apologize first. And on the rare occasions when you did run into each other, you kept your heads down, avoiding each other’s eyes. Tony had settled for pretty much camping out in the shed, nary coming into the house at all anymore. Or if he did, it was when you were out, in the bathroom, or asleep. He wanted to keep the awkward encounters to a minimum.

           One morning, you were looking over the minimal contents of your fridge as you checked over your grocery list one last time, making sure you hadn’t missed anything. After tucking it away in your purse, ready to head out, Tony came in through the kitchen door, and your eyes both met at the same time.

           There was a brief moment of shock, guilt even, before your expressions hardened and you carried on, returning to your usual facades.

           “I’m going out,” you said plainly, zipping up your purse and slinging it over your shoulder.

           Tony barely gave you a glance as he poured himself a glass of water from the sink. “Yeah, uh… Don’t care.”

           You let out a small sigh. You deserved that one.

           “Do you want me to pick you up anything?” You offered, chancing a look at him.

           “Why, so you can lace it with cyanide?”

           “Oh for Christ’s sake, I-”

           You turned to face Tony head-on and that’s when you noticed it. The heavy, hollow bags under his eyes, the sallowness of his skin, and how he looked completely and utterly exhausted.

           “Tony…?” You said, your voice soft. “Have you been sleeping? Or eating?”

           Tony still refused to look at you, finishing his water and giving a small shrug of his shoulders.

           “Enough.”

            If there was ever a time in your life where you truly felt like a piece of shit, it was now. Whether he wasn’t taking care of himself to punish you or because what you said had truly stuck with him, you felt nothing but regret. And the need to make amends.

           “For god’s sake, you’re still my responsibility,” you sighed, nodding towards the front door. “You’re coming to the grocery store with me.”

           Tony stared at you like you had just told him you were taking him to eight am Sunday Mass.

           “Yeah, I’m gonna pass on that,” he said.

           You let out a huff, your need to make up not outweighing your limited patience.

           “Tony you can come to the grocery store with me or I’ll be back with nothing but fruits, vegetables, and vegan meals for the next. Four. Weeks.”

           At the prospect of not having any eggs, bacon, or chips in the house, Tony paused for a minute. And after muttering something under this breath that sounded like “unbelievable,” he walked past you and out the front door to your car.

           The drive was rife with silence. You wanted to turn on the radio, but couldn’t get any decent signal this far out in the country.

           “So…” You started, glancing over at him. “Is there anything specific you want?”

           “To get away from you,” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

           “For god’s sake Tony!” You exclaimed. “How much longer are you going to keep this up?”

           “Until Fury decides to stop torturing me and I can go home.”

           “You can’t keep ignoring me!”

           “I choose avoiding any kind of contact with you given that you’ve made it perfectly clear that you can’t stand to be around me.”

           “I was angry, okay? I’m sick of living there are much as you are.”

           “Doubtful. You’re not the one who had a shitload of life issues projected onto them because they didn’t do the dishes.”

           “Are you fucking kidding me?! It’s not about-”

           “LOOK OUT.”

           You hadn’t even realized you had taken your eyes off the road until Tony shouted at you, and saw there was a truck stopped on the road in front of you, letting a family of deer pass. You opened your mouth, wanting to scream, but was so struck by terror that you were silent.

           After a couple seconds of shock, you slammed on the breaks, using the leverage from your feet to push yourself up and lean as much as you could over the passenger seat, using your arm to cover Tony as the car continued to barrel towards the truck at an alarming speed. The tires kept skidding down the road, the sickening smell of burnt rubber reaching your nose.

           Your car finally stopped mere inches from the back bumper, and after the deer finished crossing the road, the truck continued on as if nothing had happened.

           A cry burst from your lungs as you broke into tears, breaths coming in short, strained gasps as you struggled to breathe; a panic attack coming over you and you were completely helpless to stop it. And Tony was the worst person this could happen in front of.

           Tony stared at you in shock, unsure of what to do or say as he slowly realized that despite everything you had said to him, you had covered him. You had put his safety first.

           He watched you struggle to breathe, tears steadily flowing from your eyes as you pressed your forehead against the steering wheel. Somehow he knew this wasn’t the first time you had experienced a panic attack. He recalled what it was like after New York; not knowing how to ask for help.

           He reached out a hand for you, and you shoved it away.

           “No, no, I’m fine,” you gasped, your anxiety making you sound pitifully weak.

           “No you’re not,” he simply said.

           “Leave me alone,” you sobbed, wanting to keep your face out of sight.

           Without another word, Tony moved the gearshift to park, set your blinkers on, and pulled you in for a hug as you sobbed into his shoulder.

Part 5

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#tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark series #tony stark fluff #my writing #avengers fanfiction

[totallyexhausted]

It’s Not What It Seems (Part 1/?)

There were three things that Erik Lehnsherr was unquestionably certain about:

1)      The car he was currently driving was most likely stolen.

2)      Charles lied to him, thus forcing him to trek it all the way back to Manchester with Peter, alone.

3)      There was something undeniably wrong with the kid.

 Erik turned on the windshield wipers and stole another sideways glance at the young speedster. A few hours ago Peter had been on his 2nd box of Twinkies, which was conveniently stolen from the shitty gas station they had stopped at, and on a 12-hour spiel of mindless and seemingly endless chatter. Now however, the 19-year-old had settled down to an uncomfortable silence and, what seemed to be, a restless nap. The kid was pressed against the window, his legs crammed against the dash unable to find room for his lanky form, sleeping slightly, and wearing an over-sized hoodie he had found in the trunk of the car. At first Erik had been thankful for the silence, because after being packed into a tiny car with an ADHD kid who changed subjects faster than he could run, the kid was beginning to aggravate him. He had inwardly cursed Charles, feeling the telepath probing his mind, trying to sense the situation; and Charles consistently telling Erik to calm down, take a breath, he’s just a boy. Boy or not, Erik still wanted to kill him, repeatedly. He just. Wouldn’t. Shut. Up.

It wasn’t until he had opened his 3rd box of Twinkies, and finished his 4-hour rant about how Eurythmics “Sweet Dreams” was the greatest song of all time, that he started to quiet down. At first, Erik had assumed the kid was finally falling asleep, but when he glanced in Peter’s direction he was surprised to find him looking out the window and playing with one of the cords that connected to his headphones. The silence continued awkwardly for several hours until Erik had stopped for gas, realizing that the kid was asleep. He had walked around to Peter’s side of the car and stood there with an eyebrow raised. The young speedsters face was gracelessly pressed up against the glass, his breath fogging up the window slightly. His silver locks were sticking up in every different direction, and his goggles hung loosely around his neck. He looked so young and innocent, like a little kid and not a 19-year-old. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until Erik had tried to rouse the kid however, that he knew something was wrong.

At first he had tried waking Peter with a few shakes on his shoulder and calling his name. When that failed however, Erik mustered up enough room in the tiny compact car to punch the kid in the arm, hard; Peter yelped, bolting upright and rubbing his shoulder. “What’s your problem man? Can’t a guy get some sleep around here?” Peter said giving Erik a menacing glare.

Erik glanced over at him uncomfortably, slightly caught off guard with how bad the kid sounded. His voice was rough and hoarse, but whether it was from sleep-induced coma Peter had been rudely awaken from, or the fact that he was coming down with something, Erik didn’t know. Erik punched him gentler this time, “Are you alright?” he asked turning his attention back towards the road, missing the small flash of pain that crossed Peter’s face as he shifted once more in the uncomfortable seat.

Peter eyed Erik before turning back towards the chilly window, “Why dude? You’re not going soft on me, are you?” He heard Erik suppress a chuckle. Peter pressed his head harder against the window trying to push his headache away, and swallowed thickly, feeling his stomach turning. His headache had started behind his eyes, barely there, but now, it had spread down his neck and embedded into the bone of his jaw, hammering across his cheekbones. He glanced in Erik’s direction to see him shake his head, “No, I just would rather not have to deal with anything that would prevent us from getting back to the institute quickly… like a sick snot-nosed brat.”

Peter sat up straighter at this comment. He was almost 20-years-old, far too old and experienced to be referred to as a brat. “I’m not a kid,” he said sharply, feeling the rough words drag against his sore throat. He winced slightly and reached for the radio dial, hoping beyond hope that it would work this time. No luck. Erik cleared his throat, “I didn’t say kid.” Peter shot him another glare and leaned back against the cold window, trying to stop his body from shaking against the lukewarm air that barely whispered past the vents. “Besides,” he said softly, closing his eyes, “I can’t even get sick. It’s has to do with genetics or chemistry or some shit. My cells regenerate quickly, so it would be basically impossible to get sick.” I hope, he added inwardly.

After a couple of minutes he was back to his pitiful sleep, leaving Erik to mull over this comment. Was it true he couldn’t get sick? He knew when Peter had broken his leg fighting En Sabah Nur it had only taken about 2 weeks to heal completely, but was it physically true that the kid was incapable of getting sick? Unfortunately, we’re not sure, a voice echoed in his head; Erik jerked the car left and slammed on the brakes, caught off guard with the telepath’s sudden resurface. “Charles,” he growled, “What do you want!” Usually Erik could feel Charles picking through his brain but, considering he had been momentarily preoccupied, he hadn’t felt him this time.

The car rattled again, vibrating the whole frame and Erik gripped the steering wheel harder, thinking for the millionth time today, that the car was going to fall apart. They were stuck in the middle of nowhere, 10 hours away from Manchester, in the dead of winter with a shitty car that seemed to run on willpower alone, and a broken AC unit which meant minimal heat. He still didn’t understand why Kurt couldn’t come get them. Or why Peter couldn’t run them back. Or why Charles couldn’t fly his big fucking fancy war jet down here. Hell, he was the reason they were in this mess in the first place, the least he could do was give them a fucking ride back.

Yes it is true that his body regenerates faster than mine or yours, but I fear the question is, how much is Peter able to take before his body no longer heals itself quickly, Charles said softly. Erik let out a half-choked scoff, “You haven’t performed any little experiments on him yet?” He closed his eyes briefly as the words left his mouth, knowing they were wrong. Charles was known to push his mutants to their breaking points to better prepare them for the future and strengthen their power, but not once has he performed hurtful experiments deliberately. Erik should know this better than anyone. I would never endanger him Erik, nor would I ever dream of intentionally endangering any of my other pupils, Charles remarked sternly. Erik scoffed and clenched his teeth together trying to think of anything else but what he was suggesting. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, looking at the rearview mirror wobble slightly from hidden anger, knowing Charles was already aware of his next thought. You are suggesting that being forced to drive back to Manchester alone puts Peter in danger… of you, he whispered softly, oh my dear friend. Erik’s blood boiled, the car began shaking again, and small metal splinters were beginning to break from the useless frame. His mind flashed to Nina, seeing the fear in her eyes as her father was being taken away, seeing the light go out in her eyes… if only she hadn’t known him… if only he had left them when she was born, then she would still be alive. He didn’t have time to drive some stupid kid back to Manchester, nor did he have time to play Charles’s stupid mind games. The mission had failed; the girl was dead, just as his daughter was dead. He had let both of them down, and now, because he was unable to protect them, he had no one. He couldn’t protect Peter, he didn’t want to protect Peter; Peter wasn’t his kid.

Erik could feel the inadequate metal frame twisting under his rage, he could feel the metal breaking from the car piece by piece; the car beginning to jerk, desperately trying to power through the wintery hell as it was being torn apart by an unknown force. Erik! Stop this! Charles yelled. Erik sucked in a breath, the car stopped shaking, the mirrors stopped seizing and the metal objects that had peeled from the car’s frame fell to the floor softly. Erik sucked in another sharp breath feeling tears pricking his eyes as Nina’s face flashed across his mind. Oh Erik, you are perhaps more capable than you know. There is a reason I sent you and Peter to find the girl, just as there is a reason I cannot send someone to come get you, Charles said softly. I cannot undo what has been done, the girl died, it wasn’t your fault. Neither was Nina’s death. Erik, you are not a weapon, you are not an enemy, and you are not a danger to those around you… unless you choose to be. But Erik, know this, to me, you are and will always be a friend.

Peter groaned slightly, curling in on himself and shifting again trying to find a comfortable spot for his long legs. He felt like shit, and the jerking of the car wasn’t helping anything. He pressed his head harder against the window and wondered if Erik even knew how to drive. The car continued to jerk, and Peter could feel the tires sliding lazily against the icy roads. His stomach turned again and Peter swallowed loudly. He’d only been sick once since he got his powers and even that was barely a headache. But now, his head was killing him, his stomach was making him regret three boxes of Hostess products, and despite being wrapped inside a warm hoodie that was at least 2X bigger than he was, he was still cold.

Peter swallowed again, and straightened a little in his seat. His felt saliva drowning his mouth and he groaned again as his stomach tightened, “ugh, Erik man, pull over.” Erik turned the windshield wipers back on as sleet began to fall, and looked over at Peter. The kid was hunched forward, his hand pressed against the dash, his headphones still wrapped around his neck loosely. Sweat was beginning to drip down his pale face. He coughed harshly, covering his mouth with his hand, hoping to stifle the rough sound. Peter swallowed again, “Erik- Erik, please-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Peter lurched forward, expelling whatever stomach acid and digested food was trying to leave his body. Erik jerked the car, and cursed loudly. He pulled to the side of the road and sat there for a second, unsure of what to do. Peter groaned as he lurched forward again, coughing up pre-digested Twinkies and whatever else he had possibly eaten that day. Erik cleared his throat, and pressed his hand firmly on the speedsters back, hoping that he was able to bring a small amount of comfort to the puking kid. Peter sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, stopping any tears from falling because there was no way in hell he was going to cry in front of Erik… no matter how miserable he felt. He coughed loudly, feeling his stomach churn and pressed his hand harder against the dash.

Erik sat there, awkwardly patting the speedster’s shoulder, and inwardly asking Charles for help. He had no idea what to do. If Nina was here, he would step into action and try to make her feel better or even make her laugh but, this was some random kid. He cleared his throat again as Peter let out another harsh cough. “Easy… easy kid… Peter, easy” he said softly. Peter sucked in a breath, trying to calm his stomach, trying to stop shaking. Erik pulled his hand away; sweat was beginning to soak through Peter’s over-sized sweatshirt and despite the coolness of the air, Erik could feel the heat radiating off the teenager.  

“I- Shit, I’m I’m s-sorry man. Fuck, I’m really sorry.” Peter slurred, leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes. God his head was spinning. When was the last time he was this ill? Fuck, when was the last time he was sick? His cells regenerated faster than normal- he shouldn’t get sick, right? He crossed his arms over his stomach, hoping the pressure would help relieve the remaining nausea. He coughed again, swallowing the acidic taste of vomit, wishing he had some water to wash the taste out of his mouth.

Erik gripped the steering wheel again, turning back towards the road, “Look kid, we’re only a few hours out, just- we’ll be there soon. Alright?” Erik said, turning back towards Peter. The kid was an utter mess. He was leaning his head back against the headrest; his forehead was pressed against the window. His loose curls were plastered to his forehead; his headphones had slipped off and fell to the floor, nearly missing the mess that decorated Peter’s shoes and the floor of the shitty car.  He nodded weakly, curling further in his seat, trying to make himself small. All he wanted to do was sleep. He never knew he could feel this bad. He shifted again in his seat, the smell of the car was enough to make him sick again, and he winced slightly as his right side lit up with pain. He closed his eyes and focused on the sleet beating against the window.

Erik started the car and sat there drumming his finger against the steering wheel. He glanced at the sign across the road that told him he was at least 20 miles from the next town, 9 hours from Manchester. You can’t keep going, Charles said softly.

I can Charles, and I will. Look we are only a half day’s drive. We’ll be there before midnight. Surely the kid will be fine, Erik thought. He heard Charles sigh, Erik, look at him. Erik glanced over at the slumbering kid once more and winced. Vomit decorated not only the entire passenger side but Peter’s clothes as well. It was not a pleasant sight, and Erik felt sort of sorry for the boy. Pink had crept onto his face, painting his cheeks, letting it be known that the kid had a fever. He could hear the rough ragged breathing coming from Peter as he struggled to breathe through a congested nose. His silver locks were a chaotic mess and stuck up in different directions. He glanced back towards the road, gripping the steering wheel once more, fighting the urge to break it in half. Erik, he needs to stop. He needs rest. I don’t know what causes this illness because I’ve never seen him sick. If you push him further, who knows how worse he could get. Who knows how worse he will get.

Erik scoffed, Charles, we don’t have time for this! I don’t have time for this! The mission is over, we need to get back. I need to get back! I don’t have time to play dad to a strange kid! You said this was the last mission and then I could leave. You said- Look- I’m not tending to a stupid-

I know what I said. It can wait for a few days, and so can you. Erik, look at him. He needs to rest. What would you do if he was Nina?

Erik cursed again, and stared at the sleet falling from the sky. He glanced back over at Peter to find the kid staring at him through half shut eyes. Peter stifled a cough and wiped his nose with his sleeve. What would you do if he was Nina? Erik sighed, “Look… kid… the weather is getting pretty bad out here and Charles thinks there might be a blizzard or something heading our way. So, um, I think we should call it a day, okay? We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow, bright and early.” Peter mumbled something as he shifted in his seat, turning back to look out the window. He just wanted to lie down and maybe a new change of clothes. His head was spinning and the heat that coursed through his body was making it hard to concentrate. He closed his eyes again as Erik pulled back onto the main road and headed towards the nearest town.

  �iYH2

#x-men fanfiction #peter maximoff #sick Peter maximoff #erik lehnsherr #AHS Crossover #Posted on FF.Net #I didn't have a title so i choose this crap #KB