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oh-for-fic-sake · 3 years

Text

They Hung Up

Masterlist

Summary: August can always fix your problems, especially when someone is ripping off his princess.

Warnings: fluff, ddlg, daddy kink

A/n: inspired by my chat with ebay this morning. Apparantly ebay will charge buyers import and customs VAT on items that aren't even being imported into the country... or going through customs. And they don't charge this at checkout they only charge it when they take the actually money. When i told the lady thats stealing your taking more then the agreed amount from my bank she hung up on me telling me to 'speak to the tax office'

Taglist: in reblogs.

"No but you cant charge import tax on something that isn't being imported.... No they cant that's illegal look I just want my money beck for the tax-what do you mean no?!... Hello? Hello?" You could have cried you were so angry and upset. You closed locked your phone screen and sniffed shaking your head in frustration.

"Princess what's wrong?" You snapped your head to your daddy, august was scowling. You could see the aggravated look as he took in your tears. Your daddy never liked you wasting them on other people. Your sweet pure tears were only meant to be shed for him! Every droplet was his to pull from you, be it tears of rapturous pleasure or shed from being spanked for being naughty.

"August? I? they hung up on me!" You hissed quickly running over to him tucking yourself into his thick frame pressing your head into his chest trying to soak in the smell of his aftershave. The spicy scent was heady and a little overbearing, you could tell why. Under the spice was the metallic twang of blood and deep sooty smell of fired bullets. You both loved and hated it, as safe as it made you feel remembering just who and what he was if frightened you, one day he could be hurt.

"Who? Sweetpea?" He purred softly needing to calm you down before he could make heads roll. His arms encircled you squeezing you tightly and he rested his chin on your head the began swaying with you slowly.

"The support desk! They charged import tax! And nothing was imported! Daddy I was careful and-and I checked and double checked there was no warning not on check out or nothin' then they took another ten dollars on top and now my bank is angry and charging me for going over!" You said quickly panicked that he would be mad at you for spending too much again.

"Okay pumpkin slow down... Tell daddy what's going on slowly... Don't miss anything out okay angel" he said pulling you back a little to let you catch your breath. But you quivered and opened your mouth wiping at your eyes before trying to argue.

"Yeah but!?"

"Shh shh no buts take a deep breath... Now out, good girl now start from the beginning" he coaxed slowly cooing at you as you took a few breaths and calmed, settling down n his arms feeling safe and secure, even if you were still angry.

"I got that lamp with the shelves... It was fifty four dollars and ninety nine cents" you started explaining from the beginning and waited for August to nod.

"Yes I know, I remember you showing me to see if it would fit in the corner" he spoke remembering the little pull cord box lamp and three shelves, you wanted it for the internet router and house phone to sit on so you had more room for snacks on the side table.

"Well I got it and paid but then when paypal billed me they charged sixty four dollars and ninety-nine cents... I messaged them and they said it was import tax!" You cried out getting yourself all angry again, cheeks puffing out sweetly as you huffed and growled even throwing you hands up in frustration. August made to speak but you continued your tale of the mean support desk and their money thieving ways.

"I looked it up and cos its coming for inside the state I don't have to pay! So I called and they said I had to because the shop was registered outside of the USA! But its wrong! They're wrong and when I asked for my money she hung up on me! She said I have to talk to the tax office people!" August frowned that wasn't right and he knew it. It was clear you were being taken for a fool. These bastards were at it all over the place he'd seen some of it on the news, instead of tax evasion as we know it there was a new crime. Stealing tax from buyers and classing it as profit. Because its tax most people don't question it.

"And then my bank sent me this! Saying I was over my limit and in the minus! So now they are taking twenty dollars when my next allowance goes in!" You cried quickly pulling up an email on your phone from your bank showing a notice of charges you now had on your account.

"Its not fair I didn't do nothing wrong daddy but now I'm loosing the tax and twenty dollars of my allowance!" You yelled and began sniffling again your lip wobbling. His heart melted as he watched you try so hard not to break down and cry again. You were being his big brave girl.

"Okay pumpkin i will sort this out give me the phone" he said plucking the phone from you then turned around heading to his office.

"But you cant! Its a withheld number-" you said sniffling following him one hand fisting the back of his jacket as he strode through the pent house to the secure room.

"Oh come on sweetheart don't tell me I'm going too soft and you've forgotten just who your daddy is~" he cooed opening the door and ushering you to the small teepee in the corner that had a large iPad and a few fuzzy scatter cushions .

"Go sit and watch YouTube or something okay? Let daddy fix this mess" he said pulling your headphones from the drawer and handed them to you ushering you to the small cozy spot he had made you.

You watched as he plugged your phone into his computer and made a few quick clicks before picking up his own phone and dialled a number with a smug look the clicked his fingers at you pointing to the headphones wanting you to pop them on and stop worrying. You pouted but slipped on the large pink headset and pretended to loom at your screen and select a video in reality you were listening to your daddy.

"Yes you wouldn't recognize it. How? Well this is a government number, you just told a young lady to inform us about taxes?" You flicked your eyes up at him grinning hearing the professional growl to his voice the 'daddy means business' tone that made you quiver with want and fear. It never meant good things, most of the time he used this tone when you were a bad girl. You only hoped the mean woman on the phone felt bad now too.

"Why yes, yes she did a miss y/n yes that's her. I would like for you to put me through to head office" you bit your lip hearing him begin his assault. No one not even the lady on the phone and her jargon would out smart your daddy!

"Pardon me I'm sorry I'm Mr Walker...I work for the tax office in her state and have decided to open an investigation about tax fraud over the issue, we have had many complaints... oh yes she informed us of everything, she was distressed over the tax miscalculation? Which has caused her to go over drawn on her account and incurred charges" he spoke firmly and turned looking to you as you giggled watching him in his huge leather spiny chair. You gasped when he frowned and pointed a finger to your iPad clearly telling you to stop being nosey and watch your videos.

"Yes I am aware of that but the shop is registered overseas, it doesn't export from overseas... so there is no international import tax due." He continued spinning around in the chair making a few notes on the large paper pad in front of him.

"Yes that's why I'm calling I've been on your website and your policies are in fact breaking the law and infringing on the rights of consumers. Do you understand? What you have done is illegal and fraudulent and I can see it isn't the first time so I would like to speak to your head of office now- thank you" you quickly looked down as August spun once more and grunted at you pointing to the door with a scowl catching you eavesdropping again.

"Poppet either watch your videos or go and have some lunch" he said covering the mouthpiece on the phone making you pout and flick your legs at him and cross your arms stubbornly. You wanted to watch!

"Decide or I will decide for you" he said raising his brows at you but you just huffed pleading with your eyes at him to let you stay and listen.

"Right lunch it is come on up! Off you pop go make a sandwich and have some juice" he said holding out his hand for the headphones.

"But I want to see you tell them off daddy!" You huffed non to impressed at being set out of the room so quickly.

"No, now do as I've asked daddy will be out in a few minuets this wont take long" you held his gaze for a few moments before you lost your nerve then stood with a pout handing him your headphones and left the room closing the door when you were told to.

It was twenty minuets alter August came put of the office and padded to the kitchen seeing you at the breakfast bar swinging on a chair whislt munching a chocolate spread sandwich a few candy wrappers on the side and packets of chips and un touched apple. He sighed giving you the stink eye but didn't say anything. You found a loop hole he said lunch and sandwich... he hadn't specified what type of lunch and sandwich.

"All sorted poppet! Your being refunded and getting compensation which will be debited into your account in forty eight hours" he said rounding the breakfast bar snatching the apple opening the cutlery drawer fishing out a knife.

"That's quick daddy... I thought they can only do it in five days?" You asked watching as he sliced the apples and began cutting the core out for you.

"Oh princess its amazing what people can do when they think the big bad tax man is on to them~" he chuckled at your face as he placed the apple on your plate. You didn't want to eat it but you would . Quickly. Because if you left it too long itd go brown and you would whine about it, get a warning and end up having to eat it anyway.

"Will you get in trouble? you pretended to be the tax man daddy" You said cautiously lifting a small apple wedge to your mouth and nibbled it.

"Me? Of course not daddy has many different identities love, and I can use them when I want love... besides we just uncovered a company that not only evades tax but it stealing it!" He grinned. If there was one thing he liked it was justice. Everyone should pay their dues. Especially someone who rigs a system to benefit themselves.

"And.. My bank charges?" You asked still unsure if he will be mad a you for over spending...Again

"All gone, daddy will cover them princess; now just how much chocolate spread is in that sandwich?" He said leaning over your plate trying to pry apart the two slices of bread.

"Err a little" you shrugged still eating your apple whist trying to smoosh your sandwich and hide the super thick chocolatey layer.

"Mm hmm there's more chocolate then bread poppet~" he hummed unimpressed but let it slide, again you'd found your loophole, the last thing he'd do is punish you for being a smart ass. It could save your life one day.

"Sorry daddy" you said whilst pulling the plates closer to yourself protectively worried he would steal our chocolate.

"Oh don't be poppet once its gone its gone its you that will miss it not me" he chuckled and spun around crossing the kitchen to make his own lunch. You grinned happily, what had been a bad day was getting better and better! You were getting your money back, compensation, your daddy was paying your and charges and you got to keep your chocolate spread! What more could you ask for? Well there was one more thing you could ask for.

"Daddy can I have a puppy?"

#august walker #august walker x reader #august walker x y/n #august walker x little reader #henry cavill #henry cavill fic

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kythed · 3 years

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garçon?

terushima x reader

synopsis: today’s your lucky day.

- -

You’re on a blind date, and you think you might be in love. No, not with your date. With the waiter.

Sandy blonde hair, perfectly imperfect and falling across warm brown eyes. A wicked grin suggestive of crimson nights and indigo kisses, all wrapped up in a package about 5’10” tall in a black button down with the sleeves rolled up. Terushima, his name plate reads. You silently roll the name around in your mouth, and it fits like it was made especially for you. God.

You’re jolted from your reverie by your date, Kento, across the table. “Hey, you know what you want to drink?”

You blink. “Oh. Yeah, sorry.” You turn to Terushima, whose pen is hovering above his notepad. He chews on his lip, gaze resting on you with an infuriating faux innocence. “I’ll just have a water, please.”

“Alrighty,” he says. Even his voice is sexy, you find yourself thinking. You mentally slap yourself. No, shut up. You’re on a date. Behave yourself. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll take a Coke.”

“Okay, great. I’ll be back with your drinks in a minute, and when you’re ready I can take your orders.”

Terushima begins his trek back to the kitchen and your gaze lingers on his retreating form until he ducks behind the door. Rats.

“Man, they’re just hiring anybody these days, aren’t they?” Kento remarks, leaning back in his chair. “The bar is on the floor.”

Your brow furrows. “Hm?”

“Kid had a tongue piercing. I’m paying about twice the amount I’d normally pay for dinner at this supposedly swanky joint, and we get served by some punk with a rusty stud in his mouth? If I wanted to chatter with delinquents I’d just visit the juvy downtown.”

Tongue piercing. You shiver. With what, you’re not quite sure… anticipation, maybe.

When Terushima returns with your drinks a few minutes later, you’ve worked yourself up into quite the frenzy, shifting in your seat, plucking at your clothes. He eyes you knowingly, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “A salad for the lady, I presume?”

“What makes you think I want a salad?” you say, slightly taken aback.

“Well,” Terushima drawls, leaning a fraction of an inch closer, “usually pretty girls on dates get salads. It’s to preserve the impression of femininity. I know you really want the pasta, but you’ll get the salad.”

For a moment, you’re speechless. Truth be told, you had been planning on ordering salad. And, truth be told, you really do want the pasta. Of its own accord, a Chesire-like grin stretches across your face. “I’ll take the pasta, actually.”

Terushima cocks an eyebrow and scrawls your order down with a surprised smile. “Bold.”

“Guess you could say I’m not like other girls.” You tilt your head and smile back sweetly.

“Guess you aren’t,” purrs Terushima, eyelids lowered, words dripping with innuendo.

Kento, who had been typing away on his phone, finally notices the waiter is flirting with his date. He scowls. “Hey, are you —”

Terushima swoops down on him, flashing a shiny customer service grin (vastly different from the sly smirk he’d had pasted on a moment before). “And you, sir? May I recommend our specialty steak?”

“I, ah, okay then,” mumbles a disgruntled Kento, glancing at the menu. “And can I add a side of pommes frites to that?”

“You mean fries?” Terushima asks, face serene and naive as a cherub’s. He shoots you a quick glance, and you press your lips together, stifling a laugh.

Kento flushes. “Yes, fries.”

“Alright, sir, ma’am,” Terushima says, slipping his notepad into the front of his apron. He claps his hands together once. “We’ll have that out soon for you two.”

After Kento has turned back to his phone, and before Terushima glides away, he winks at you, leaving you in a flutter, heart skipping.

Throughout the night, as Kento bores you with talk of the stock market, men’s soccer, and his recent promotion, Terushima checks in periodically, refilling waters with an unnecessary flourish (show-off) and standing a little too close while asking how you’re enjoying your meal. To his credit, the pasta is actually incredible, and you tell him so when Kento is in the restroom.

“You like it?” Terushima laughs. “We have similar taste, then. There’s an ice cream place down the road you’d probably like, too. My go-to after hours dessert.”

“Is it?” you say. “I’ll have to check it out sometime.”

“Mm, you should. I could show you, maybe. You know, after I get off.” Terushima leans on the table, hands squarely planted right in front of you.

“Oh?” you ask, trying in vain to veil your giddiness. “I’m interested.”

“Fantastic,” Terushima says. “I get off at —”

Abruptly, Kento plops himself back into his seat, looking from you to Terushima, then back to you again. “I miss anything?”

“Oh, no,” you say, guilt crawling up your stomach despite this just being a blind date. A friend from the office had set you up with Kento, her cousin, and you feel some degree of responsibility to display a little decorum. “Just telling our lovely waiter how much we’re enjoying the food.”

“‘Enjoy’ would be an overstatement,” grouses Kento. “Steak’s a little bland for my tastes.”

As Terushima leaves to grab a salt shaker for Kento, he engages in an overly loud conversation with another passing waiter in which he conveniently mentions he gets off at 9pm. You bite back a grin, picking at your side salad as Kento launches right back into his tirade. You glance at your watch — 8:41. All you have to do is survive 20 more minutes.

It seems fate is against you today, though, because despite your best efforts, it’s 9:23 when the bill is finally paid and Kento is finally finished talking. It’s been an endless stream of one-sided conversation the entire night, but you can’t seem to remember a single thing about the man.

Twenty minutes ago, you’d seen Terushima slip out of his uniform and into a denim jacket. He gave you a glance, and you mouthed a chagrined I’m sorry before shrugging and slipping out the door. You groan, hiking your purse strap over your shoulder and bidding Kento a stiff goodnight. You can’t shake the feeling you might’ve just missed your soulmate.

You’re halfway to your car when a voice jumps out at your elbow. “You leaving without me?”

You stop in your tracks, squinting as Terushima emerges from the darkness, puffing on a cigarette with a lazy half smile. “What the hell? I thought you left. Did you really wait 20 minutes out here in the cold just to go get ice cream with me?”

“Well, I was hoping I might get lucky after that, too,” he jokes, and you scoff, nudging him in the shoulder. He stamps his cigarette out, tossing it in a nearby bin. “But yeah. You seemed like my type, and that’s a rare sorta girl to come across these days.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re the sorta girl I’d be happy to share an ice cream with.” Terushima laughs and takes your hand, cocking his chin towards the road. “C’mon. It’s right up there. They got a great rocky road.”

“I’m more of a cookie dough fan, actually,” you say, falling into step with him.

“Gross.”

“You’re gross.”

“You’re cute.”

“I know.”

As you walk along the road, hand in hand with a hot waiter you’d met on a blind date, you rescind your previous complaint — seems like fate might be on your side, after all.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #terushima #terushima imagines #terushima yuuji #terushima headcanons #terushima yuuji x reader

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honestlywtfisgoingon · 3 years

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A Match Set

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

Summary: After meeting one night in New York, you and Benny Watts are drawn to each other. As you go through different experiences with one another, you grow closer until it finally gets to be too much for Benny.

Word Count: 1890

Warnings: none

Notes: aye this is my first fic because there is a serious lack of benny watts fics and i had to change that for myself. this will probably be multiple chapters that can be read separately.

It was your first art gallery, and you were both anxious and overjoyed to see people surveying your work. You had put so many hours into each piece and all kinds of people had poured in to look. It was a well known gallery, but the variety still surprised you. You looked around and saw some interesting characters, but your interest was piqued when your eyes fell upon a particular cowboy.

He was inspecting one of your favorite paintings which had chess pieces as the subject. The pieces merely served as part of a metaphor in your art, as the game and all its complexities had never really been your thing. As you looked closer at the man you realized that, not only had his outfit sparked your interest, but he seemed familiar too. Out of curiosity, you walked over and stood next to him.

“What are your thoughts?” You asked, motioning towards the painting.

His initial expression showed surprise that you were talking to him, but he recovered quickly, saying, “It’s good. I think the artist has talent.” You felt a bit of pride hearing that. You opened your mouth to say thanks, but you decided not to reveal yourself. You wanted him to give his honest opinion without fear of offending you.

“So do you like chess?” He nodded to the painting. Hearing this you made the connection as to why you remembered seeing him before. Your father owned a little bookshop back home and you were looking into chess for the same painting you were discussing right now. You had seen this cowboy on the back of one of those books, but you hadn’t given it another thought, never actually expecting to meet him. You decided not to reveal this information either and continued with the conversation.

“I can play a modest game. You?”

“I can play a modest game.” He had a small smile as he shrugged.

“Your first lie.” You said smirking back.

He looked confused but curious, so you explained about your research, your fathers bookshop, the whole story. He puffed up a bit after hearing that, looking impressed that you knew who he was.

“What’s your name?” He asked, still curious.

“Y/n” you replied.

“Nice name. I’m Benny, but you already seem to know who I am. On the other hand I don’t know anything about you.” He reached out his hand to shake yours.

“You walk in here with a black trench coat but you make me out to be the mysterious one,” you smirked as you took his hand. He chuckled a bit, and after your introduction, you asked why he was here.

“My friend knows the artist actually. She told us we had to see her work before going out.” You hummed as you thought about what to say, but he interjected.

“I don’t usually do this, and I’m not sure why I’m doing this now, but maybe you’d consider coffee with me. I won’t tell anymore lies” he joked.

You laughed a little, mildly shocked. “you’re not sure why? That’s flattering” you teased.

“Not what I meant-“ but before you could come to a conclusion on his sudden offer, you heard an excited french accent.

“Y/n! Im so proud! You finally got to show off all that talent!” Your friend Cleo ran up to you and wrapped her arms around you. You hadn’t seen her since you lived in France for a few months and you had missed her. You left for France after you realized you weren’t really needed at home, so you dedicated yourself to trying to soak up some culture. She looked gorgeous like you remembered, fitting for a model. You continued your reunion embrace for a moment before she waved her arms to the men and woman behind her. She introduced the friends she had brought to your show as Arthur, Hilton, and Annette, who all smiled at you. Cleo paused to turn to the cowboy saying, “I see you’ve already met Benny.”

“Yeah we met,” he said, “but I didn’t know this was your work. I would’ve told you how impressed I am.” Your cheeks turned a light pink at the praise.

“Look at Benny, impressed with someone besides himself for once.”Cleo poked fun and the group let out a laugh.

“Hey I’m not a narcissist or anything, don’t listen to Cleo,” Benny made excuses to you, only mildly offended.

“Sure you aren’t. I have nothing against narcissists,” you jokingly assured him. This answer didn’t comfort the man who had essentially just asked you on a date.

You and Cleo continued to catch up and you talked more with her friends as well. Benny just stood next to you, and you caught him glancing at you once or twice, but you just ignored it. Eventually you agreed to go out for drinks with the group, walking with them to a bar a couple blocks down called Hal’s.

You all squeezed into a booth while Arthur went off to get drinks. You sat on the outside, watching the people out on the floor next to you giggling and dancing. Having a couple of drinks beforehand must’ve contributed to the large amount of people out there, you thought. Arthur eventually announced his return by laying a tray of drinks in the middle of the table.

You were all conversing and sipping on your drinks when Annette decided she wanted to dance. Cleo agreed enthusiastically, but the rest of us refused. She suggested we all take shots to make it easier, but once again we tried to turn her down. she pleaded, “come on guys, it’s a Saturday night, and you can’t possible lose something from it. Have a little bit of fun with me!”

We relented, having a feeling that she wasn’t going to give up any time soon. She gave a little clap and handed out the shots. You knocked yours back with everyone else and grimaced at the bitter taste. Shaking it off, you slid out of the booth so the others could get out. You moved back into your spot after they all made their way to the throng of people. You decided you would join them later, but you liked to observe first. You looked over and the only two left were you and Benny. You slid over to him, not wanting to sit awkwardly on the other end like he wasn’t there.

“I bet you five bucks that lady is bored out of her mind.” He pointed to a blonde on a date across the bar, “Either she’s an alcoholic or she’s trying to tune out baldie.” You looked at the woman and saw she was surrounded by empty glasses while the man in front of her seemed like he was boasting endlessly. You both started making observations about the various people in the bar. Most of them were snarky comments that you whispered into each other’s ears, giggling, but you also created imaginary lives for them, guessing who they were and how they got here. After sharing a couple laughs, you sighed and reached a comfortable lull before Benny brought up what you knew was coming.

“So have you thought about my earlier question?” He eyed you seriously all of a sudden, but you didn’t feel any pressure. He seemed the type of confident where he thought you would say yes, but he could recover if you said no.

You weighed in your impression of him. He was cute, with fluffy hair and nice eyes that were a kind of chocolate color. He was funny and you he seemed intelligent (I mean he had to be, he played competitive chess). Albeit his trench coat and hat were a bit eccentric, but that wasn’t a bad thing, in fact you found it attractive.

“So have you?” He asked again, leaning his head in.

“Oh uh” you hadn’t realized while you were thinking that you had zoned out looking at him. Clearing your throat you said, “I’m free for coffee.” You stopped, “But you have to wear the hat.”

“Wouldn’t leave home without it” he winked.

Suddenly you were shoved against him as your tipsy friends barreled back into the booth.

“We should probably join them” you said as you moved off him, pushing one of the leftover drinks towards him. He nodded and you both drank some more just to get on the same level as your friends.

“You two haven’t even danced! I saw you whispering. Too busy flirting?” Annette smiled as she slurred a few of her words. You just looked down, cheeks pink, leaving Benny to respond.

“How were you watching us when you were dancing with that guy, the one who looks like he’s only ever kissed his mother.”

“No, I’m sure he’s kissed other people! I mean he did seem young but...” Annette looked over to the guy she dragged to dance with her earlier. He stood sheepishly in the corner, looking like he hadn’t outgrown his baby fat yet, and was definitely not a city type. “He’s just shy!” She defended, but me and Benny just looked at each other, falling into giggles. You figured out that night that Annette was one of those drunks who got a little childish, but she was sweet.

You would’ve been content to keep hanging out with Benny, if it hadn’t been for Cleo who grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the dance floor. You looked back at Benny, but gave in and allowed her to twirl you into the crowd. You were having a good time with Cleo, Hilton and Arthur dancing on either side of her. You were soon out of breath, but didn’t mind, enjoying it all.

You had moved to the city a couple months ago, but hadn’t had time to make friends, focusing on your work and setting up your apartment. You missed having company, people who were fun and interesting.

You continued to move to the beat of the song until you bumped into someone. You looked back to see Benny smiling next to you. You smiled back and let him in to the little circle you and your friends had created. You felt a little warm, not from the dancing, but from being close to him.

After fifteen minutes you were all tired and made your way to the booth to gather all your things up and pay the bill. You walked out of the bar and into the chilly night air, grateful for the residual body heat that came from all the dancing. You hugged Cleo and your new friends goodbye as took turns getting into taxis and headed towards their homes. Hilton offered to wave you down a taxi too, but you declined, explaining that your home wasn’t a far walk. He shrugged and gave you another hug before climbing into the yellow car. Once again it was just you and Benny.

“Just the two of us again huh?” He spoke, and he definitely didn’t sound turned off by the idea.

“Fate I guess.”

“Sure” he said casually.

“Do you not believe in fate?” You asked. You weren’t a firm believer in the idea but something in his tone made you curious.

“I’ve had this debate before I think. I’m not sure, but I’d like to figure it out. How about you?” He said. You imagined him having a lot of debates. You had just met him, but he seemed to fall into the intellectual category. They always kept things interesting, and frequently offered new perspectives.

“I mean everything’s gotta mean something, there has to be a purpose. I just don’t know if we make our own purpose or if we’re given a purpose; fate.” You mused, not meaning to get existential. He didn’t seem to mind.

“You seem like the type to want to figure things out too.” He said ‘too’. So you and him both liked to do that. You added that to the growing list of things you liked about him.

“I guess I am.” He had a pleased look on his face and you just shrugged as you started to say goodbye.

“Wait” he grabbed your arm, “I heard you say you didn’t live far, I could walk you.” Before you could protest he told you, “it wouldn’t be a big deal, I heard you tell Hilton where you lived, we’re in the same direction.”

You agreed, finding yourself wanting to talk to him more. He offered you his arm casually and you laughed to yourself a little at the gesture, taking it anyway. You walked down the sidewalk, talking and laughing. You felt comfortable as you felt like you leveled with him. It seemed like too short of a walk as you suddenly found yourself at the door of your apartment building.

“Guess this is goodnight.” Benny said as you both stood on the sidewalk.

“What about coffee?” You asked.

“Glad you remembered. I’ll pick you up at twelve tomorrow, we can make it lunch. I’ll pick you up.” He said it decidedly, like it was just a fact. Something you noticed he did often.

“Ok then. Lunch. Tomorrow. Am I forgetting anything?” You said as you stepped halfway into the doorway.

“If you are we can figure that out later. I’ll see you.” He waved with a slight smile.

You waved back and smiled in return, watching him walk away before closing the door. You sped up to your apartment, letting yourself finally feel the excitement and anticipation of going out. You stripped off your clothing as soon as you got in and flopped on your bed, feeling sort of giddy. You felt like you and Benny were connected, though you had barely met him. As you laid down you smiled to yourself, looking forward to tomorrow.

#benny watts #benny watts x reader #the queen’s gambit #beth harmon #benny watts fanfiction #fan fiction

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urmomsmainbitch · 3 years

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american idiot - chapter one

link to wattpad story // link to series masterlist // link to writing

word count: 2.7k

warnings: the bowers gang, weapons, violence, basically the whole thing (if you're not comfortable with violence or abuse -- which henry faces during the movies and during the book -- then i recommend you don't read, but i'll try to tag appropriately!)

a/n: i hope you don't think it's ass but this is probably going to come out every other friday or so but this is more of a trailer than the start of the actual series

HENRY DIDN'T REMEMBER a better time in his life than when he heard the news that Tommy 'Gun' Lee was coming back to Derry for the summer. To him, nothing topped the moment where is dad was slurring over his dinner (leftover hot dogs -- again), and let it slip that the "ungrateful little bitch" was coming back for a few months over the summer, and that "your whore of a mother" didn't mention if she was staying for the year or not.

He remembered huffing and puffing, grumbling something under his breath before excusing himself, and running to call Patrick like it was fucking Christmas morning.

Something about his darling little sister coming back made his heart race and a smile light up his face, and it was evident from the way he stepped into Derry Middle on the last day of school.

Oh, this summer would be perfect! His deal with Denbrough was over, the gang was all together, and his perfect sister was coming back from San Diego for the summer. Tommy Lee Bowers, he knew, would make this the best summer he;d ever had -- and by fucking God, he wasn't going to let anything stand in his way. Not that stuttering freak or the stupid Tozier kid who's mouth ran a mile a minute or his father's thriving alcohol addiction -- absolutely nothing.

His Tommy Gun would rule that fucking school the second she stepped in to pick him up, and every one knew it.

Word travels fast at Derry Middle, and when it got around that Bowers had a little sister coming, the first thing Bill Denbrough did was panic.

She couldn't be too different, could she?

The same blood ran through their veins, the same color skin on their bones, and most likely, the permanently upturned smirk tattooed to their lips. His hopes didn't improve when he saw the girl himself, waiting outside on the hood of Butch's car, throwing rocks at little kids passing by as she sat patiently for Henry to come outside.

He'd promised her a tour of the school -- it's only fair, he put it, that a queen knows her kingdom before taking it over. Henry had no doubt that Tommy would run the school when it was her time in September. A grade below Tits and the rest of his ugly friends, it would be more embarrassing than anything else to watch them suffer socially at the hands of a twelve year old girl.

(Henry very much looked forward to that moment. So much so, in fact, that he near goddamn skipped his way to the front of the school to open the door so they could start the tour. It helped that he was getting out of math class.)

It was only in the few moments before she walked in the door (immediately claiming the whole goddamn building with a footstep) that Bowers caught him by the bag and dragged him into the bathroom, away from the rest of the kids, and most likely, where he'd lay dying for the rest of the school day and foreseeable future (Stanley refused to shit in the school bathrooms, and seeing as he was the only one on this side of the building, he was screwed.).

Bill had never liked being alone with Henry Bowers. Nothing good ever came out of it, and he didn't want to stick around this time to find out why he'd been pulled into a bathroom and away from the rest of the student population. Henry let go of Bill's bag, letting him stumble around for a second or two before straightening up and backing him up against the wall.

"W-what d-d-do you w-want, B-Bowers?" Bill nearly spat, looking the older boy in the eyes. Henry's permanent smirk seemed to grow a few inches on either side, because he just chuckled softly -- albeit cruelly -- and looked down at the Denbrough boy. Bill could smell his breath, even though the two weren't standing particularly close to one another.

"Well, B-b-billy," he mocked, nearly laughing as he relaxed his posture a little bit and backed away from him. (Any one is passing who didn't know them might have said, "Hey, I bet those two boys are damn good friends.") "I have some news for you and your group of stupid fucking friends, and let me tell you" -- Henry stopped to laugh for a second, like he was cracking himself up -- "it's going to make your life a living hell."

Bill gulped. He didn't think, realistically, it could get much worse.

"You got a free ride this year because of your little brother," Henry reminded, smiling a little bit, seeming genuine. "But the ride's over Denbrough. This summer is going to be the worst summer of your entire life."

(Bill didn't expect him to say anything else -- but honestly, every summer was the worst summer of his entire life. He didn't catch a break from the older boy and his group of goons, but there was a feeling down in the pits of his stomach that told him that this time, this time, for real, was going to be the worst summer vacation he's ever going to have as long as he lives.)

"But I do have a little piece of extra advice I'm gonna give you."

Bill huffed. "You're so generous," he started, rolling his eyes, as he tried to walk out of the bathroom. Henry grabbed onto his backpack, "but I think I'll have to pass with this one."

He was cut off as Bowers kicked him on shin and onto the cold bathroom tiles. So much for being brave.

"I think you might want to hear this." Henry squatted down to look Bill in the eyes. There was still a hint of a smile on his face. Boy, this is gonna be good. "If you think I'm a pain in your ass--"

"I d-do think you're a p-pain in m-my a-ass."

Henry paused for a second, sending a menacing smile, and pushed him back on the ground as he got up and stepped over the boy on the floor, before beginning to make his way out of the bathroom before looking back, before lending Bill a hand to get up. He hesitantly took it and brushed off his pants, lips pressed tightly together as he looked at Henry. "Then you're gonna hate the girl sitting on Belch's car."

"Why's that?" Bill asked, feigning confidence, already knowing the answer. Henry could tell, just exhaling and giving him a big mischievous smile, hands behind his back.

"Not important, but she's not gonna be as nice as I am," he said with a grin, "but I'm just looking out for you, Billy Boy. Wouldn't want Tommy Gun to whip your ass without some working, right?"

With that, Henry left the bathroom, a smile plastered on his face as he went to greet his sister, and Bill raced out of there like his ass was on fire -- warning Richie not to talk to or about the pretty girl sitting on Belch's car.

-- -- --

"Best feeling ever!" Stan groaned, grinning ear to ear as he dumped out everything from his backpack. School had finally let out for the summer — no more stupid math classes or dumb reading assignments and annoying history tests, just Stanley and his bird book for three whole months.

A piece of his own personal heaven. Points if the pretty girl on Belch's hood was with him but hey, he wasn't picky.

"Really?" Richie asked with a grin on his face, "Try tickling your pickle for the first time." Eddie rolled his eyes, but Bill smiled. Stan let out another groan -- not a good one, this time -- even though, if he had to be honest, this seemed like it would be the best summer of his whole entire life.

Richie felt it too, if he were going to tell the truth (as he so rarely did -- or at times, so bluntly did), that this felt like it was going to the be the absolutely best summer he would have for the rest of his life. He had a whole checklist and everything for things he wanted to do (kiss some girls), things he wanted to see (some girls' boobs), and things he wanted to experience (there were a number of interesting things on this list).

And quite frankly, he felt as though every single thing on every one of his lists could be accomplished with the girl sitting on Belch Huggins' car hood, smiling mischievously as she watched the kids coming out of school.

God, did she really and truly look like an angel. Deep brown hair, straight in some parts and wavy in others, came down a little bit past her collarbone (not super cared for, but neither was his), cherry red lips, and a cute line of freckles going across the bridge of her nose. She was the most impressive tan he'd ever seen in his whole life, a very deep beige from the summer sun — even though it was only June.

The top part was being held up by some clip, and Richie could see his own Hawaiian shirt going over her tank top instead of the open button down she was wearing on top. It was lazy looking and careless and little bit disheveled, but that day, Richard Wentworth Tozier II was convinced he saw the hottest girl to ever be created.

Eddie interrupted his dream, snapping him back for only a second. "So what do you guys want to do tomorrow?"

"I start my training," Richie responded immediately.

"Training for what?"

"Street Fighter."

"You're going to spend your whole summer inside of an arcade?" Eddie couldn't imagine that prospect, but with Richie, anything was possibly -- no matter how disgusting it might seem.

"Beats spending it inside of your mother, oh!" Richie's goofy grin came back in an instant and leaned over for a high five from Bill when his hand was brought down by Stan. "And, 'course, my summer bucket list."

Eddie sent him a pity glance, "No girl's gonna let you fuck her this summer, Richie. If they have any brains at all, no girl is going to let you go within a ten foot radius of her without realizing what she's doing." Richie pressed his lips together. Of course Eddie would be cynical, it's just because — "and don't tell me that I think it because I just haven't hit puberty yet!"

Richie gave him a toothy grin, "Aw, shucks, Eddie Spaghetti, you know me so well. When you see a pretty girl, like say, that one over there—" he pointed discreetly towards the girl on the hood —"you'll get that feeling of butterflies in your stomach and just think, 'Wow, I've just seen an angel.' I don't mean Bowers, I just-"

"Yeah, you mean his little sister." Eddie looked up to Richie for a response, only to see him at a loss for words, jaw dropping and face paling.

For once, Richie Tozier was speechless as Eddie laughed and slapped his back as Bill mentioned something about the Barrens and Georgie and finding him — even though everybody had long accepted the fact that Georgie wasn't just missing.

It was like a switch. Everything changed in that instant. It was like she grew fangs and claws, and he watched Patrick look at her like she hung the fucking moon. It was incredibly painful, but he assumed, in a sense, they deserved each other. It took a second before he realized what this would actually mean for him: having to worry about a double in the hallways — a hot double that could potentially fool him into forgetting her Bowers-ness — and someone else to make fun of him in ways that he'd never tjough imaginable.

Sure, Bowers wasn't awfully bright, but he sure as hell was creative when it came down to it.

"Gunner!" Richie heard Bowers (the boy one) laugh as she shoved him in the side, cackling along herself, cigarette never leaving her mouth — opting just to talk out of the side of it.

Oh, so her name must have been Gunner. That's unfortunate, he thought to himself. But then again, she seems awful, so maybe she just deserves it. He smiled to himself. "Tommy Lee, we've gotta start heading out soon."

Wait, so was it Tommy Lee? Or was it Gunner? Was that just the gang's nickname for her? More importantly, if it was, why the fuck would they choose a name like Gunner for her? Nothing was settling about that fact, and although Richie wasn't typically one to spiral, it was hard to control himself.

"You didn't tell me you had friends, Henny!" Tommy exclaimed girlishly, making Patrick spit out his sofa and slam his hand on the car hood, flicking out her cigarette and letting Patrick snuff it out. She put a hand on her heart. "Oh, you've grown up so fast! I remember it was just yesterday you took a massive shit in that kids backpack and had to do forty hours of community service!"

Richie could tolerate a lot of things. One thing he couldn't tolerate though, was not being able to chime in when his story was being used and told all wrong — or mentioned without his name. Luckily, he was spared his intervention by a howling Belch Huggins.

"It was four eyes!" Huggins nearly screamed, warning a howling laugh from Tommy and shove from Victor, followed by a point led by Patrick. "Yeah, him!"

Richie could feel his face heating up, but before he could say anything, the bright blue TransAM was firing up the engine, and was getting ready to peel out of the school parking lot like a man man was driving.

Bill was the first to say anything. "Sorry about that, Rich. Bowers is a real asshole."

"So is his sister," he made out through his teeth.

Richie saw himself as a 'go with the flow' kind of guy, but goddamn it, he wasn't going to let Tommy Lee shit all over him and get away with it.

He was too stubborn, too arrogant, and too proud to let that happen, but with only a second or two of knowing she existed, he knew she was the exact same way. He could get tell it with the way she walked and talker and immediately took control of some of the scariest kids in Derry Middle.

But she wouldn't come out on top of this one.

There's no way. He refused to let it happen. Letting her win would show everyone else that he was just a loser who couldn't stand up to a girl who's was going to beat the living daylights out of him if he looked at her the wrong way.

She already had Henry and Patrick and Belch on her side — an even, if not better, match to four decently sized seventh graders. There was no excuse for them to get beat.

Grinding his teeth and tearing his eyes away from her, laughing mischievous and almost secretly as she put her cigarette out on Belch's hood as not to be noticed by he coo around the corner (Rich didn't know that the cop around the corner was her father who would beat her till she couldn't stand if he caught her smoking) he said, "So, Barrens tomorrow, right Bill?"

And right as Tommy Lee Bowers and her newfound gang pulled out of the parking lot, she and Richie Tozier locked eyes and made a silent pact — an agreement — something they both agreed on — something he'd be thinking about all night and the whole next morning:

Derry is two small for the two of us.

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hazbbyhaz · 3 years

Text

sleepless || harry styles

twenty three

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: story circle

disclaimer: that bloke Eric, harassment, cursing

One of the luckiest things to happen to you in life is, I think, to have a happy childhood

Avery had never stayed at a party till the very end. She wasn't a fan of the loud noises, the crowded space, the drunks. The atmosphere itself made her anxious. As the hand of the kitchen clock finally hit twelve, she assumed the party would start to die down. She thought people would slowly funnel out, all bidding their goodbyes and frantically making their way to the tube. Their thoughts, no doubt, thinking about the inevitable hangover they will face tomorrow. But, that didn’t happen. If anything, the party intensified. While she knew that she could go home, she didn’t want to. If she did, she would fall asleep. If she left, she would be alone.

A few minutes earlier a small group of people had formed, all of them sat around the living room. Harry, who was exhausted from showing Avery his amazing dance skills, had led her to where he was previously sitting, both of them sitting side by side on the sofa.

Francis, who sat opposite them, held up a cupcake with blue frosting and sprinkles all over it. "Okay, who made these cupcakes because they are so good! I need the recipe."

"All the credits to me," Another boy spoke up, he had black short hair and there was a golden earring dangling from his earlobe. "can't give you that recipe though, it's my mothers." He shrugs and Francis groans dramatically, making everyone laugh.

Avery sat in silence, taking everything in around her. The atmosphere started to grow on her. Harry grew worried by her silence, asking her multiple times if she was feeling okay, but she was having the time of her life. She loved hearing about everyone's family reunions, annoying relatives and friends who got married. It was so different to her life and she wished she could tell a story about her family. But she couldn't. Even Harry chimed in talking about one Christmas night when he was six and tried to catch Santa, tripping over the cable for the electric candles on the tree and causing the whole thing to fall over.

"Okay" Francis speaks up. "I want to hear the most embarrassing thing that happened to you in your childhood or teenage years. Starting with..." His eyes skimmed through the room before deciding on a ginger haired girl. "Zoe."

The stories went all over the place. From awkward kisses to first dates and failed pranks or trying to impress crushes. And before she realized, it was Avery's turn to tell her story. Her first instinct was to let them skip her, but no one in the group was having it. There wasn't anything to say, she had been homeschooled and her childhood had been not even close to any experiences here.

"Uhm... I don't really know... what to-"

"Oh come on, pet." A sudden movement in the corner of her eyes makes Avery move closer to Harry in fright. She gripped his forearm, Harry immediately noticing and taking her hand into his own, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles on the back of her palm. Eric had sat down next to her on the tiny sofa, apparently deciding to join the little circle as well. "Don't act all innocent. Tell us, what did you do as a child?"

"If you'd let her talk she'd be able to answer, mate" Harry chimed in, throwing an annoyed look at Eric.

"Nothing comes to my mind right now." She quickly rambles, trying to just get out of this situation. Being the center of attention must be high up on the list of worst things in the world she thought. The eyes of all these people fixed on her made her incredibly uncomfortable.

"Oh, so she is all innocent" Eric exclaims, his breath smelling like beer and his words almost unnoticeably slurred.

She could sense Harry roll his eyes beside her before he leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Tell something about Oliver, love."

"Oh yes!" Avery grins, embarrassed for a second at how loud her voice was. "I have a cat and he used to balance on the rail of my balcony. There was one time where I had just gotten out of the shower, still in just a towel, and I saw him balancing outside on the railing. I got super scared that he would fall off, so I ran out and grabbed him, and in the process my towel dropped which ended up in me flashing an old lady living opposite me."

"Oh my god, that sounds horrendous!" Francis laughs.

"It was horrible, I didn't step foot on that balcony for a month." She giggled less aware of all the eyes on her. They continued on but Harry was still chuckling from Avery's story. "Oliver really is a bastard, huh?"

"No" Avery laughs. "He's so cute, I just had to forgive him."

Harry shakes his head but there was still a smile on his face. His eyes meet hers and he studies her face for a moment. "You look a bit tired."

"I am" She confesses, leaning her head against his shoulder. There was no reason for denying it, especially not when she was talking to Harry.

"Do you wanna try and get some sleep tonight?"

"Not really" With the party, and Harry sleeping over the night before, there surely was a lot on her mind and Avery wasn't eager to simply sleep it all off.

"I can put a pot of coffee on?"

She sits up with a grin. "That would be amazing."

"I’ll make you a cup." Harry knew that what he was doing was wrong. He shouldn’t be encouraging her sleeping habits, or lack thereof. But, making the night most bearable for her was his top priority, and if this was how, then that was that. Case closed.

"Thank you."

He gets up and disappears in the kitchen shortly after. Avery turns her attention back to the stories being told by all the strangers sat around her. Now that Harry isn't around, she felt irritable and increadoubly out of place now that he was gone. She groans internally because she knows that she has been relying on him too much. She was dependent on him. She felt as if she was no longer independent.

When it came to her job, paying bills, doing taxes, and managing her things, she had always been independent. She had to be. But as soon as she got confronted with social interactions, she simply couldn't stop her heart from beating or her thoughts from racing.

"So.. Avery,'' Eric beside her starts, turning his body towards her and leaning back against the armrest of the sofa, a new bottle of beer in his right hand. "How old are you?"

She fiddles with the hem of her sweater, feeling his burning gaze on her. "22" Avery whispers, focusing her attention on the guy with the black hair who is telling some story that she is too far away to hear. She was trying to show Eric that she really ins't interested in talking to him, but he doesn't get the hint.

"You live on your own then, right? At 22? That's impressive."

She nods, still avoiding his eyes, trying to concentrate on the story.

"Is it far from here?"

"Just a couple tube stops." Just don't look at him, ignore him.

"Hey, loosen up a bit, hm?" Eric jokes and his hand squeezes her thigh, making her jump cause she wasn't expecting him to be so bold.

"Please don’t touch me." She mumbles, scooting closer to the other end of the sofa. Eric simply shrugs, moving closer to her but before he can say anything else, a ball of crumpled paper hits his head. Avery looks up and notices that Francis was the culprit.

"Hey Eric!" He yells over. "Cut it out. You're being annoying."

Eric rolls his eyes at Francis, ignoring his request and turning back to the girl beside him, but Francis doesn't stop. "I mean it. Leave her alone or get the fuck out, okay?"

After huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf, Eric finally gets up and walks towards a little group by the fireplace on the other side of the room.

Avery lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. Finally feeling relieved knowing that he was away from her. She got up, about to thank Francis, before realizing that he had completely disappeared. Lost in the abyss of the party. So, Avery slowly made her way to the kitchen, knowing that Harry would be there.

Harry was leaning against the kitchen counter, texting someone on his phone, his brows furrowed. As Avery enters he looks up, his eyes becoming a bit brighter and his brows unfurrowed. "Your coffee is almost ready." He says, assuming that was the reason why she came to the kitchen.

"It's boring without you." She felt how her body had calmed down substantially, her heart had turned back to a normal beat and her mind slowed down.

"Everything in life is boring without me," Harry says and she chuckles tiredly at his ego. "Come over here."

Avery scrambles over to him and Harry opens his arms, pulling her small frame close to his chest. She allowed herself to close her eyes and take in his scent as Harry rested his chin on her head. Avery guessed that he would leave somewhen, maybe soon and there would be no one to blame for it. No one at all. Because if she can't stand herself, how could she expect someone else to be around her.

"Whatever happened to you, Ave, no matter what it was, you didn't deserve it. I know you didn't." She freezes but Harry doesn't let her go, instead he starts to draw small circles on her back. "I noticed how you were acting earlier when everyone was telling their stories. You seemed so... eager to take it all in as if.. I don't know..." He murmurs, she feels the vibration of his chest against her cheek.

"It doesn't matter to me what it was, and you don't have to tell me, but you didn't deserve it."

She had never told anyone. Not her previous boyfriends, not Tom, she could barely admit any of it to herself. For a moment, she thought about not replying at all.

"But don't you think bad things happen to bad people?"

"Oh Avery... I think you can be anything you want to be in life. Anything but a bad person."

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bktynes-writes · 4 years

Photo

As per the fantastic advice of the wonderful and amazing Mallory, @valleydean, I made some graphics for my fic, The Blood Of The Covenant. It’s a long, slow burn, Mafia AU, and I have no idea where it’s gonna end up, but I hope you’ll all reblog and join me for the ride. Here is the summary, and the first chapter is under the cut. Read on Ao3.

The Blood Of The Covenant The Winchester Dynasty will never fall.

At least, that’s what John and Mary, heads of the most powerful crime family in the city believe. They have built their empire from nothing, and are willing to do whatever it takes to maintain their control.

When a new family, the Novaks, threaten the delicate balance of power they have maintained for years, the eldest son, Dean, is tasked with infiltrating the ranks of the Novak’s organization to destroy them from the inside.

Dean has always been a soldier in his parent’s wars, never questioning where his loyalties lie, but when he comes face to face with Castiel Novak, one of the sons of the family threatening to destroy his own, he wonders if maybe there could be more to life than he believed. Maybe this blue-eyed stranger can offer him the ticket out he never knew he wanted.

They say that the blood of the covenant runs thicker than the water of the womb, but how do you turn your back on family? Will Dean choose love over loyalty? Will he leave behind all he’s ever known? Or are he and Castiel destined to just be pawns in the war for power that rules the city’s underworld?

Chapter 1: Dinner

The city at night always had a certain charm about it that Dean couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe it was the way everything lit up a bit more or the fact that the darkness hid the grime that clung to every surface like a second skin, but the alleyways and culverts of the buildings seemed more inviting when they were filled with shadow.

He loved this city. Every dirty stairwell, every seedy bar, every doorway that led to nowhere, Dean knew them all. He had grown up on these streets, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The sound of a car horn brought him back to reality, pulling him out of his nostalgic reverie and into the moment. He looked down at his dress shoes, sparkling in the neon lights against the damp pavement, and smiled. If there was one thing Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was dress to impress. His father had instilled in him that first impressions were important at a very young age, and how a man looks could change the direction of any transaction.

Tonight was the first Sunday of the month, which meant dinner with the Family at Cain’s. Dean never looked forward to these dinners - he found them to be mundane - but as the eldest son of the most powerful crime family in the city, he knew his mother and father expected him to attend.

Thus, he found himself in his best suit, pulling open the restaurant’s glass door and striding past the host stand like he owned the place. The young woman there gave him a nervous look, and he shot her his most charming smile, causing her to duck her head as a deep red blush crept up her cheeks. He passed by the other tables and made his way to the back of the restaurant, pointedly ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him from the other patrons. He was used to this behaviour. Anyone who was anyone in the city recognized the Winchesters, and their reputation preceded them.

He made his way past the kitchen, stopping briefly to say hello to Cain, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Dean!” Cain exclaimed, turning around and pulling him into a rib-crushing hug. “I didn’t think you were gonna show! Everyone else is already here.”

Dean laughed. In another life, he would have called him a friend.

But Winchesters didn’t have friends.

“Yeah, I figured they would be.” He said. “What can I say? Fashionably late is kinda my style.” He shrugged and smiled.

“That’s my boy, always gotta make an entrance.” Cain beamed at him. “They’re in the back room. I’ll get your usual added to the order. Hurry up before your dad tears a strip off you!”

“Thanks, Cain,” Dean said. He ducked past him and headed to the very back of the dining room.

Dean could now see the usual suspects gathered around their regular table. He spotted Bobby gruffly speaking to Ellen Harvelle and her daughter Jo. The Harvelles were powerful associates who owned many of the bars and rest stops along the freeway into the city, and Dean’s father liked to keep them close because he had been friends with Ellen’s late husband, Bill.

Ellen was a good source of information for the family. People let information slip that they shouldn’t after a few rounds of shots at one of Ellen’s roadhouses, and she and Jo had ears like bats. Dean was pretty sure the main reason she was included in these clandestine meetings of the family, though, is that his parents, despite their vehement claims otherwise, were a little bit afraid of her. He couldn’t blame them. He had grown up with Jo and, despite being six years older, had had his ass handed to him more times than he could count by the feisty blonde.

Dean chuckled to himself at the memory as he slid quietly into the seat next to his younger brother, Sam.

“You’re late,” stated the younger of the Winchester brothers, his arm draped lazily across his girlfriend Jessica’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I was over at the mill. Gordon owes us and is being…difficult.” He reached for the bottle of wine that sat on the table and filled his glass. He wasn’t usually a fan of wine, but Cain always brought out the good bottles for these meetings, and when he didn’t have to pay, it would be rude to refuse.

“Dad is gonna be pissed.” Said Sam, finishing his own glass and holding it out for Dean to refill.

“No, he won’t,” Dean replied, pouring too much wine into his brother’s glass. “He knows how Gordon is. He’ll just be glad I didn’t break too many of his fingers to get him to agree to pay his dues.”

“Whatever you say, Dean,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes. He ran his fingers through his absurdly long hair, and Dean found himself itching to strap his brother into a barber’s chair and order a buzz cut.

A clink of cutlery against glass brought the assembly to silence and drew everyone’s attention to the man standing at the head of the table. John Winchester was an imposing figure at the best of times, and his broad shoulders, clad in the threads of his fine Italian suit, added to his commanding demeanour. His neatly trimmed beard was flecked with grey, as was the perfectly slicked hair on his head. He stood with pride and demanded the respect of those around him with ease.

“Now that my son has finally decided to grace us with his presence, we can call this meeting to order,” John spoke with an air of distaste directed solely at Dean.

“Ah, you know me pops, better late than never,” Dean said nonchalantly. Sam was right; John was pissed.

“Indeed,” said his father coolly.

Dean tuned out most of the ensuing conversations. It was the typical discussion of territory, who was responsible for handling the gang activity on the west side, who was collecting from which businesses for protection owed and whether or not they had paid (Dean received a small nod of approval from John when he informed the table that Gordon would no longer be causing issues).

When the food came, Dean was treated to the most delicious looking plate of carbonara he had ever seen. Cain truly did know the way to his heart. Before he had the chance to dig in, a noise from the opposite end of the table drew everyone’s attention.

A beautiful woman with wavy brown hair rose from the table, and Dean rolled his eyes, huffing dramatically into his chair. Bela Talbot was always trying to draw attention to herself at these meetings, and tonight would be no exception. She wasn’t, strictly speaking, part of the Family, but she was part of a necessary evil alliance that the Winchesters had forged years ago to have hands in the art trade, and Dean had found her to be nothing but a nuisance ever since.

Her words dripped with a caramel sweetness, and despite his intense dislike of the woman, Dean couldn’t help but stare at her as she spoke.

“John. Mary. Dear Winchester Family. It has come to my attention that there appears to be a new family on the North shore. They arrived from New Jersey about six weeks ago and have been a thorn in my side ever since.” She scowled.

“Why hasn’t it been dealt with, Bela?” Asked Sam. “The North shore is your territory, isn’t it?” Sam was flexing his powers a little bit, addressing Bela that way. Usually, it would be up to John to chastise her for not taking care of a threat to their operations, but Dean could see the look of pride in his father’s eyes at Sam stepping in so willingly.

Bela’s face tinged pink slightly at the admonishing tone in Sam’s voice, and she puffed her cheeks out before speaking out again. “Under regular circumstances, Samuel, I would, but it seems that these Novaks are a bit better at playing cat and mouse than I would have anticipated.”

“Novak?” Dean snorted. “What is that, Polish?”

Bela glared at him. “I believe it’s Serbian, actually.”

Dean shrugged and twisted his fork idly in his pasta, hoping she would get to the point before it got cold. Sam continued to address her. “What’s the problem, Bela?”

“They’ve taken out three of my warehouses since their arrival, and the attendance at both the craps game and the pool hall is down by thirty-two percent.” She sighed, and Dean perked up. He almost wanted to shake the hand of anyone who could cause Bela this much distress, but this was clearly an attack on the family’s assets. “Half the shops on Arthur Street aren’t paying their fees because the Novaks have started charging them, and when I sent Ruby over to persuade them, she came back bloody and threatening to skip town.”

Dean’s smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Ruby was savage in the art of ‘persuasion,’ and he could hardly imagine anyone getting the better of her. He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. A new family trying to start a war with the Winchesters? The last time that had happened, Dean was a teenager, and, much to his dismay, his parents had insisted he not be involved. He had watched helplessly from inside the Catholic boy’s school his father had shipped him to, as his people were shot in the street.

But Dean was in his thirties now, and the prospect of war looming on the horizon made him giddy with anticipation.

Mary Winchester, who had been quietly observing her husband and sons until this point, suddenly cleared her throat, which made all the men at the table sit up a little straighter. She was a fierce-looking woman with high cheekbones, a square jaw, and deep eyes, all framed by locks of cascading blonde curls. It was easy to see where her sons had gotten their charming good looks from.

She sat forward and touched her husband’s forearm gently. “Bela. While I’m sure the loss of your warehouses is devastating, no one would be foolish enough to start a war with our family.” She smiled. “And if Ruby and the girls from Rowena’s can’t handle what is being asked of them, then perhaps it is time to remind them who it is they work for. I’m sure Sam and Dean would be happy to deal with the Novaks, right boys?”

Sam nodded at his mother, and Dean could feel his excitement bubbling. He looked to his brother and saw a dark glint in his eye. The two of them together were unstoppable.

“Anything for you, mother,” Dean said, and he basked in her pride.

“Wonderful,” John said, clapping his hands together, dispelling the tension surrounding the table, and causing Bela to sink back into her seat as her concerns were dismissed. “Now, let’s eat before the food goes cold.”

The rest of the evening dissolved into easy conversation amongst the members of the meeting. Sam laughed wildly at Bobby’s account of a man who he had once held over a woodchipper for his disrespect, even though he had told the story a hundred times. Mary and John spoke quietly with Jessica about her parents and how thrilled they were that her contacts on Broadway would benefit the Winchester dynasty. Dean occupied himself by kicking Jo under the table and watching her face go from mildly irritated to genuinely annoyed as she tried to maintain a discussion with her mother about liquor importing.

When the food and wine had been consumed, John stood again and waited patiently for the conversations to cease. “Thank you all for joining us this evening.” He spoke warmly to everyone. “I trust to see you all again next month.” A chorus of murmured agreement rippled through those assembled. John raised his glass, and everyone else followed suit. “To the family.” He toasted and drained the remaining wine from his glass.

The sound of chairs scraping back from the table filled the small dining room as the Winchesters and their associates made to leave. They passed the other patrons, enjoying their meals and trying obviously not to stare as the finely dressed men and women filed out the front door, thanking Cain with handshakes and smiles as they left.

Dean stepped into the street and stretched, breathing the exhaust soaked air deeply into his lungs and once again being reminded of just how much he loved this city. A large hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder, and he turned to find his gargantuan little brother towering next to him.

“You wanna come over for a beer?” Sam asked casually.

“Nah, man, I was thinking about heading over to Lee’s,” Dean said. His head was foggy from the wine, and he needed some real liquor to bring his senses back.

Sam scowled. “You know, Dad doesn’t like you going out without protection.”

“Always keep a condom in my wallet, Sammy.” Dean winked, and Sam rolled his eyes dramatically.

“That’s not what I mean.” He said. “If Bela is right and the Novaks are looking to start a war, none of us should be going anywhere alone.”

“Oh, is Sam freaking Winchester scared of a few Jersey boys?” Dean snarked at his brother, punching him in the arm playfully. “I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s Lee’s bar. I’m basically royalty there.”

Jessica appeared at Sam’s side and snaked her arm around his waist. She really was beautiful, far too good for his brother. Dean sometimes wished he had met her first, but he shook the thoughts from his mind. Sam was happy with Jess, and that’s what he deserved.

“Your parents invited us over to look over the blueprints of the new hotel, honey.” She said. “Dean, will you be joining us?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart, but hey, tell 'em to put one of those fancy water features in like they’ve got in Vegas,” Dean replied sarcastically.

Jess smiled at him. “You ready, Sam?”

“Uh, yeah, one second. Why don’t you go ahead with Mom and Dad? I’ll meet you at the car.” Sam said. He rubbed his hand across her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her sweetly. Jess cast one more smile at Dean before turning back down the sidewalk to where Mary and John stood waiting.

“What’s up, Sammy?” Dean asked. He knew there was a reason his brother was holding him back.

Sam stepped closer to Dean and quickly looked over his shoulder before shoving his hand into his pocket and producing a small black velvet box. “I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I can’t help myself.” He said, opening the box. Inside was a beautiful diamond engagement ring. The center stone was massive and cut into the shape of a teardrop. On each side were two smaller diamonds, surrounded by a cluster of sparkling rubies. “I’m gonna ask Jess to marry me.”

Dean laughed out loud. “Holy shit, Sam!” He blurted out loudly and pulled his brother into a hug.

“Shhh!” Sam warned. “Keep your voice down! I don’t even know if she’ll say yes.”

Dean scoffed. “Of course she’ll say yes! You two have been together, what, forever?” He grinned. “Although, if she does say no, you can tell her I’m available.”

Sam smacked him around the head, and Dean laughed. “Alright, have fun at Lee’s. Call Benny if there’s any trouble.”

Dean waved over Sam’s shoulder at John, Mary, and Jess, and gave his brother a nod before turning and heading down the dark sidewalk in the direction of Lee Webb’s bar.

Swayze’s was more than a few blocks from Cain’s place, but Dean didn’t mind the walk. He’d left his car at home after visiting Gordon this afternoon, and he enjoyed the refreshing night air against his face. The downtown lights glared into the sky through the ever-present smog rising from the city, and Dean hummed a little to himself as he walked. This was his city. The Winchesters owned these streets. He knew one day, the empire his mother and father had built would fall to him and Sam to manage, but that time was a long way off. John would never relinquish control of the family assets to his sons while he still drew breath, and without any heirs of their own to ensure the continuation of the dynasty, that was even less likely.

Dean smiled to himself, thinking of the ring currently sitting in Sam’s pocket. Jess would be an excellent addition to the family. Her parents were both high profile talent agents on Broadway with a lot of influence there and in Hollywood. There had never been a reason for the Winchesters to get into theatre, but he knew they wouldn’t turn down the opportunity if Jess said yes to Sam tonight. His smile faltered slightly. It had been a long time since Dean had been as happy as Sam was now. His last relationship had been with Lisa Braeden, and that had only lasted a few months. She had a young son, Ben, who Dean still saw on occasion, but he had left when things had started to get really serious. He wasn’t going to drag someone else’s kid into this mafioso life. It wasn’t his place.

The truth was, Dean didn’t even know if he wanted kids. He’d thought about it, sure, and his mother had been pressuring him since his mid-twenties to find a nice girl to make babies with, but Dean liked his hang-up free lifestyle. He was happy to carry out orders for his father, help the family, and maybe hustle a few out of town suckers at pool when the mood struck him. Sam was business-minded, and Dean was more than happy to allow his not-so-little little brother to take over for their father when the time came.

Dean had been so deep in his own head that he barely registered when he had arrived at Lee’s. He sat down on a barstool and scanned around the room. Dean sighed contentedly. As he had expected, the bar was devoid of anyone immediately recognizable save for Lee himself.

Dean rapped his knuckles on the bar top to get Lee’s attention. “Who do I gotta gank to get a drink around here, hey buddy?” He said as Lee tossed the towel he had been using to clean a pint glass over his shoulder and turned to Dean. His expression changed from annoyed to ecstatic when he registered who was speaking.

“Dean freaking Winchester.” Lee drawled. “It’s been a while. You too good to come see me anymore?”

Dean grinned. “Never too good for you, Lee.”

“What’ll it be? On the house.” Lee spread his arms, gesturing at the impressive selection of alcohol arranged along the wall behind him.

“Whiskey. Neat.” Dean replied. Lee nodded approvingly, selecting a bottle from the top shelf and pouring a heavy-handed three ounces into a glass. He slid it across the bar to Dean, and he took a sip, letting the liquid burn deliciously in his throat and warm him from the inside out.

“That’s good stuff.” Dean smiled as a low rasp crept into his voice.

“Only the best for you.” Lee matched his tone. “So, what brings you out tonight?”

“Dinner with the family,” Dean replied noncommittally.

“Yeah, you always did hate those.” Lee whipped the towel off his shoulder and picked up another glass, wiping the water from around the rim. “Anything exciting?”

“No, just business as usual. Bela is being a bitch, Bobby’s still telling the same stories he has for the past 20 years…” He paused before taking another sip of his drink. “Oh, and uh, Sammy’s gonna ask Jess to marry him.”

“No shit!” Lee said, his eyebrows rising in mild surprise. “I’d say that’s pretty exciting.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.” Dean chuckled into his glass. “Never seen anybody as happy as those two. Kind of a miracle she hasn’t killed him yet with what a pain in the ass he can be.”

“Ah, you’re only saying that cuz he’s your brother.” Lee laughed.

“Yeah, well, brother or not, he’s still a giant pain.” Dean downed the rest of his drink and tapped the rim for a refill. Lee shook his head but complied.

“You feeling a little jealous there, buddy?” Lee smiled devilishly at him as he set the bottle down on the bar top.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Nothing to be jealous of. I’ve got my life, my health, my family,” he grinned at Lee over the rim of his glass. “And a buddy with a bar. What more could a guy need?”

Lee shook his head but said nothing. Dean appreciated the silence that fell immensely.

The sudden clatter of a barstool hitting the floor drew Dean’s attention to the opposite end of the bar. Two men stood chest to chest, shoving each other back and forth.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?!” One of them exclaimed.

“What’s my problem? What the hell is your problem?!” The other responded, punctuating his words with a shove to the man’s shoulders.

“Hey!” Lee shouted. “Take it outside, boys.”

“Yeah, some of us just wanna drink in peace,” Dean said.

“What the fuck did you just say?” One of the men said to Dean. Having found a common enemy in him, the two men turned towards Dean’s seat and advanced. He drew in a breath, immediately regretting his decision to speak up. They were both much larger than him by a wide margin, and Dean couldn’t help but think to himself ruefully that maybe Sam was right about needing protection.

As he balled his fists, ready to start swinging, he felt someone step into the space at his side.

“I believe both of these fine gentlemen just politely told you inbred walnuts to get lost.” The voice that spoke was low and gravelly, and Dean felt his stomach flip a little at the sound of it. He turned his head to identify the stranger and was met by a tan trenchcoat.

His eyes travelled upwards to the man’s face, and Dean felt his stomach do another small flip. A strong jawline covered in light stubble, slightly chapped pink lips, and tousled black hair were Dean’s first indications that the man suddenly standing next to him was unfamiliar. When the man cocked his head slightly, Dean caught his eye and felt his breath hitch in his chest. Framed by thick, dark eyelashes were a pair of icy blue eyes that Dean very quickly found himself staring at. He looked away as soon as he realized because, as much as he would have loved to stare, the two aggressively drunk men in front of him posed a much more immediate problem.

Returning his attention to them, Dean rose from his seat and drained the remaining liquid from his glass, vaguely registering that Lee had also rounded the bar and was standing behind him.

“Well, fellas. Looks like it’s two against three.” Dean said, gesturing at Lee and the stranger. “Not that I don’t like those odds being in my favour and all, but I’ll give you a chance to walk away before this gets too outta hand.” He heard Lee crack his knuckles and grinned. There was no one in this world Dean would rather have in his corner for a fight than Lee Webb, except maybe Sam.

The two men in front of him hesitated slightly before one of them let out a yell and charged towards Dean.

He reacted in an instant, ducking below the man’s outstretched arms and coming up under his knees to flip him over his back towards Lee. He heard the man hit the ground with a thud as Lee reached down and heaved him back up into the edge of the bar. Dean turned just in time to see the other man following his partner towards him, arms reaching out like some great ape. He didn’t have the forewarning or space to execute the same move, and so he simply ducked out of reach. As the man’s arms closed above his head, he heard the unmistakable sound of a fist colliding with a nose as the cartilage and bone crunched under the force. Glancing to his right, he saw the trenchcoated stranger land a blow directly into the second assailant’s face and smiled to himself. Not bad, he thought.

As the ape staggered back, clutching his now broken nose, blood streaming down between his fingers, Dean stood up and grabbed the man by his shirt. Together, he and Lee shoved the two towards the bar’s door and unceremoniously tossed them into the street.

“Don’t let me catch you goons in here again,” Lee shouted as they took off quickly down the alley.

Dean watched them go and shook his head ruefully. Even at Lee’s, trouble managed to find him. He looked to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Lee said, brushing him off. “Guys like that aren’t a problem. You and I both know I’ve fought worse.”

Dean laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.” They turned to go back inside, and Dean spied the mysterious stranger as he picked up a stool that had fallen over in the scuffle, cradling his right hand against his chest.

“Hey,” Dean called out to him. The man looked up at Dean, and he was pierced by the full intensity of his stare. Those blue eyes, which before had been icy and cold with adrenaline, were now pools of deep ocean blue, and Dean once again felt himself beginning to drown in them. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that was quickly forming there. “Um, thanks. For that. You, uh, you didn’t have to get involved. Lee and I could have handled it.”

Way to sound ungrateful, Winchester, he kicked himself internally.

The stranger cocked his head to the side as he stared at Dean, his eyebrows knitted together in the most perplexing stare Dean had ever seen. Lee walked up next to him. “Lemme get you some ice for your hand. If that dude’s skull is as thick as it looked, you’re probably hurting pretty bad.” He walked behind the bar and began filling a small bag with ice. “Oh, and your next drink is on me. Dean may not know how to actually say thank you but, we aren’t all as uncivilized.”

Dean felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he sat back in his seat, and Lee refilled his glass, adding a second one for their new friend. “Thank you.” The man said, taking the bag of ice and placing it over his knuckles. He took a small sip of his drink and set it back on the bar top.

Dean shook himself and realized the man was still staring at him, and being under his scrutinizing eyes made Dean fidget uncomfortably. He cleared his throat again. “So, uh, you got a name?” He asked. Then, because Dean was not one to relinquish the upper hand, he plastered on his charming Winchester smile and said, “Or am I just supposed to call you handsome?”

A small smile lifted the corners of the man’s lips as he extended his uninjured hand for Dean to shake.

“Novak.” He said, and Dean felt the colour immediately drain from his face.

“My name is Castiel Novak.”

#supernatural au #supernatural fic #destiel #deancas #dean x castiel #mafia au #deancas fic #supernatural #spn fic #tag: tbotc #tw: blood #tw: alcohol #tw: violence

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

Text

And he said, I hope you know how to swim

A/N: this is for the gift exchange from @itfandomprompts! My giftee is @iheartthoreau who asked for shy skinny dipping lovers and jealous Eddie. I’m sorry it’s out so late, I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Summary: The Derry midnight breeze is freezing, Eddie notes, still dressed in a shirt and pants and dreading having to get rid of them. He’s bare foot now, standing on top of the quarry and peering down into the glinting lake. Next to him, also bare foot, Richie looks over his shoulder, and laughs, bright and innocent.

warnings: skinny dipping, mentioned of nudity (but nothing graphic)

read on a3o

The atmosphere of six best friends who’ve just moved past the worst stages in their life cackles in Eddie’s brain.

He’s buzzed up, energized beyond all logic by the laughter and loving gestures so carelessly tossed around in their group. Pennywise is dead, and with it the looming threat following each of them around and the teasing unhappiness hinting at what they were missing but not giving any clues as to what.

It’s all over now, and a road full of new opportunities lays ahead of them. Everyone is acting loose, ecstatic with the weight that fell off their shoulders. Eddie’s feeling a tad guilty too, for calling Myra and informing her that way about their upcoming divorce that he’s going to set in motion as soon as he’s had a good night sleep, but he felt so brave after surviving a literal killer clown, that he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

A part of him was also frightful that he’d lose his courage, between now and getting home, that he’d look around his house and accept that this was all he was destined for, a mediocre life with a wife he didn’t love and a job that sucked the joy out of all employees. Myra deserved better though, and that’s why Eddie’s guilty eyeing his phone, debating on calling her back. He won’t take back what he said, because he’s relieved to have put it out in the open, but he’s unsure if he should have been more empathetic towards her feelings in all of this. If he should have ended the call after telling her to take care.

Bev notices his wandering eyes from where she seated beside him on the couch, the woman still laughing a stitch, shifting forward and hiding his phone in between seat cushions. Out of sight out of mind so to speak.

‘We’ve got time to worry about it tomorrow Eddie.’ She says, and she’s right. Tomorrow both him and Bev will have to deal with the intricacies of divorce and separating a company and a home. Tonight is reserved for the losers only.

‘Yeah Eds, and here I was assuming that after twenty years we’d have some stuff to catch up on.’

Richie regards him from the floor, legs tossed up upon the couch with his body upside down. His glasses are sliding off, but he’s lazy to fix them, so he looks like even more of a goofball than normal. If Eddie could, if he didn’t feel like his intentions would be even more noticeable if he did, he’d scoot over to Richie, adjusting his glasses and letting his fingers trail his cheek and bask in the skin to skin contact.

‘You never did anything interesting before we went to college, what makes you think you’ve done something interesting after?’ Eddie’s tongue is sharp, a façade he builds to stop speculation about his feelings towards Richie, though the truth is that he is intrigued and he craves to know every small detail about his life outside of Derry.

‘No you guys are not starting this again. I’m sick of your bickering,’ Bill interjects, rolling his eyes at the pair.

‘I reject that big Bill, we’re hilarious, you can’t be sick of us bickering when you haven’t had the pleasure of hearing it for the last twenty years. Michael, back me up here buddy.’

‘Sorry Rich, I’m not getting involved in the slightest.’

‘Yeah guys come on, can’t we have one quiet night in?’

‘What so Eddie can just call me boring and I’m supposed to let it slide? Me? I’m the fireworks on the Fourth of July, the highest roller coaster in the park and the whipped cream on strawberries, but I am not boring.’ Richie changes positions, almost accidentally knocking over his beer bottle. He theatrically waves his arms back and forth, trying to animate his words and add conviction.

‘Okay, okay you’re not boring, but don’t overrate yourself either. The most adventurous thing you ever did in high school was skip a class to read a comic book in the school’s bathroom. Not exactly daredevil behavior.’

Bev sips from her whiskey, winking at Richie whose face turns beet red for a reason Eddie can’t decipher. It’s not until Bev conspicuously blows out a gust of air with her lips puckered that Eddie connects the dots.

‘Didn’t you say you ditched because you were smoking with Beverly? Dude did you fucking lie about that? I was worried you’d die and get cancer ever since that day you piece of shit.’

‘No I definitely did smoke. I swear.’

‘You’re not kidding anyone Rich, I vouched for you all those years ago, but I’m not doing it again. Little Richie was a comic book nerd who just pretended to be really cool. We never ever smoked together.’

The losers all holler, clapping their hands together and cheering on the exposure of their foulmouthed friend, debunking all the story Richie apparently made up where he and Be had to sneak out at night to smoke inconspicuously, with the exception of Eddie and Richie. Eddie, because he’s busy glaring at Richie and Richie because he’s busy tapping Bill’s hand away, teasingly disheveling his hair.

Eddie wishes he was brave enough to give these little affections to his friend, especially after witnessing how soothed Richie got when Eddie hugged him after Neibolt, when he had dropped his face into the nape of Eddie’s neck and stayed there, swaying on his feet of exhaustion. It would only make him a good friend, a best friend, but Eddie is still so damn afraid.

He might have had the power to separate from his wife and kill an abstract form of his deepest fears, but Bowers angry yelled words, such as fairy and faggot, swung to his head any time he and Richie graveted closer while walking, haunt him even now.

Touching is off limits the words tell him, so he shows affection the only way he’s ever known towards Richie, by bickering and pulling pigtails.

‘I should have expected that.’ Eddie nods vehemently, laughing as Richie’s mouth drops open in a shocked manner.

‘Are you kidding me? Eddie Spaghetti is the one telling me I’m a loser?’

Eddie flips him off, ignoring Mike’s whispered; ‘he’s got a point’, in favor of levitating his full attention on Richie. The giggling in the room elevates an octave higher.

‘You all laugh’, Richie addresses the entire group, ‘but was I not the one who came up with the idea for the list?’

Abruptly, all sounds snap off, as everyone is snapped back to the past. Even Richie is, at face value, confused about the word he spoke, until the concept and creation of the list is brought to the forefront of everyone’s mind.

‘Holy shit.’

‘Oh my god Mike please tell me you still have it.’

Mike shakes his head with a far-off look. ‘Sorry guys, I don’t know who had it last but I never found it again.’ He’s saddened by it, like he did them all an injustice by not holding on to a flimsy piece of paper.

The List, capital L, was nothing more but a checklist, composed with all the fun and dangerous things the losers all had hopes of doing after graduating high school. Eddie remembers now, the hushed laughter and uncompromisable joy that came with the simple idea of these things, how everyone pitched in and added dare after dare while him and Stan exchanged glances and hoped to god that some things would never be executed.

‘That’s okay Mike, I’m just happy we can all remember making it.’ Ben smiles reassuringly Mike’s way, who smiles back and takes a deep breath.

‘Wait, I think I can recall some of the things we wrote on there. Hold on’, Bev squeezes her eyes shut and snaps her finger in the hope it will get to her faster. ‘Oh’, she exclaims, startling Bill who chokes on his own saliva, ‘we were going to visit Europe, do a high rope parkour, rock climb and some other things I can’t remember right now.’

‘Didn’t we also agree to volunteer in a hospital and go camping in the national forest?’ Ben asks, awaiting confirmation.

‘Yeah we did, Stan was throwing a fit over going camping because of the environment and the dirt, but we were well on our way to convince him.’

‘Wow,’ Richie breathes, chest puffing up and head dropping back into the couch so his face isn’t visible to the rest. ‘I forgot all about that, but come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I did most of those things with Bryan.’

And who the fuck is Bryan? Certainly not Eddie, sweating in fear from the things that were being listed, searching for the most extreme dares he’d seen happen on tv to suggest, doing anything he could to impress Richie. Eddie was terrified of most of the activities on the list, like Bev’s idea to waterski in the ocean, or Mike’s zip lining idea, but he would have done them if it meant he could bask in Richie’s attention, impress Richie to rid himself of scared baby Eddie was so sure he must have been in Richie’s eyes. So who the hell was this Bryan stealing his thunder like that?

‘Who’s Bryan?’ Bev inquires with a smirk, winking at Richie blush ridden face. Eddie’s jealousy rears its ugly head, flaring up and making his head woozy. He simultaneously both considers choking Bev and thanking her for the question.

With Richie’s secret fresh on his mind, the way he’d so shamefully admitted that he was gay and they were the first people he’d ever found the courage to tell, Eddie wondered if Bryan was perhaps someone Richie had been romantically involved with.

Richie would have deserved it, Eddie argues in his mind, to at least for a short period of time have someone love him back as fiercely as he dons it out, but Eddie’s also furious that he stole Richie out from under his nose.

Which is illogical, because even if he and Richie had managed to stay in touch, and Eddie confessed – not much chance there, as Eddie didn’t even tell anyone he was gay when Richie did - there was no guaranty that Richie would’ve reciprocated.

‘No one snoopy’, Richie argues with a jittery leg, ’just some guy I hung out with for a while.’

Bev appears unconvinced, but she’s also respectful towards Richie's decision to not say anything. ‘So which ones did you complete?’

‘I went to Europa senior year of college, smoked a bunch of weed, went zip lining. The normal kind of stuff.’

Zip-lining, or smoking weed for that matter, causes Eddie skin to crawl, not that he’d ever admit it. He hates that that’s not the case for Bryan.

‘Well thanks Rich, none of us ever did anything on the list without the other losers. I guess you didn’t miss us too much.’ It’s not fair, of course it’s not. He can tell by the eagerness to spend time together that Richie was very lonely, and experienced the same aching emptiness where his friends were supposed to be as the rest of them.

The bitter tone of Eddie's speech, and the way Richie’s eyes turn a little dimmer extinguishes the fire of Eddie’s envy. Richie deserves better than him in every way. An apology lies at the tip of his tongue, ready to jump into the open and hopefully aid the wounds before they’re fully developed.

Sensing the impending hurricane of trouble on the horizon Mike is eager to intervene, playing mediator for two forces that are about to collide. ‘Well I mean, we probably wouldn’t have gone through with most of them anyway.’

‘Speak for yourself’, Eddie waves him off, spiteful that Mike has a good point. He would have found a way to undermine their plans and make it so that he could back out without appearing like a meek lamb, for at least half of the activities. If he had known about Bryan’s existence though, he would have done anything. He feels ready now to do anything, to one up him and establish his spot as Richie’s number one.

‘Prove it,’ Bill dares with a lopsided smirk, certain he’s got Eddie beat. He sustains eye contact, reaching for the bag of chips on the table and gnawing on it with the most smug aura Eddie has ever witnessed him having.

‘I would’, Eddie defends fiercely, ‘but we can’t do any of the things in Derry.’

‘Sounds like a cop out to me.’

‘Yeah, sure Big Bill, because you can easily find a zip line here in Derry. The town that refused to spend money on renewing the library back in the eighties is no doubt going to have that installed by now.’

‘What about skinny dipping?’ Ben proposes innocently, having no idea the kind of strain he’s putting Eddie under.

‘That’s a great idea Ben, I forgot we put that one on the list.’ Beverly acknowledges despite Eddie’s frantic head shaking. The room temperature drops down and rises back up steadily, at least according to Eddie. He’s starting to sweat, something he never does and takes pride in – in the office he’s the level headed one, and that’s saying something – and he pulls at his collar to allow some air to ventilate.

Everything except that. A swim in a dirty lake that was most likely infected was a whole plate of different bacteria, and being naked in front of the man he’s in love with is not something Eddie is particularly fond of. He almost asks for a different thing to do, but that would truly be a cop out, and he both refuses to back down in front of Richie and give Bill the satisfaction of being right.

‘Good luck with that Eds, question before this all goes down, am I allowed to use this in my next bit?’

‘Actually,’ Bev interrupts, ‘I think you should join him too.’

‘Hey I wasn’t the one that said I’d be willing to do anything.’

‘No, but you were the one who added it on the list in the first place. C’mon Richie, It’ll be fun. For us, not for you guys, but we’ll get a good laugh out of it.’

Richie is hesitant, same as Eddie, readjusting his glasses again. Eddie is sure that if he says the word Richie will tell everyone to back down for him. He wouldn’t even make fun of Eddie for it, should Eddie give any indication that he wouldn’t want him too. He thinks back to Bryan, and how he wouldn’t have backed down for such a thing, and how in awe Richie must have been seeing the man abandon all safety precaution and go for it, Eddie’s mind is made up instantly.

‘Let’s do it.’ He says without leaving room for argument, nodding at Richie as he looks to him. He hopes Richie will go with it, but is also confident that of course he will. As kids they followed each other everywhere, and surely that hasn’t changed.

‘Really? I mean yeah – sure I guess. Bring it on.’

-----

The Derry midnight breeze is freezing, Eddie notes, still dressed in a shirt and pants and dreading having to get rid of them. He’s barefoot now, standing on top of the quarry and peering down into the glinting lake. Eddie’s jumping from one foot to the other, annoyed that dirt is clinging to his skin and branches are piercing his soles, even more aggravated at the idea of cleaning them in infection filled lake water. Bev better keep her end of the promise, and be waiting near the end of the lake with a pair of fresh pressed towels.

Next to him, also bare foot, Richie looks over his shoulder, and laughs, bright and innocent.

‘I forgot how high this was.’

It is high up, but they’ve done this jump at least a hundred times before, so Eddie’s not worried about the plunge. He’d assume Richie isn’t either, but the man keeps glances towards the path they took to get up here, uncharacteristically silent.

‘It’s okay if you're too scared to go through with it Eduardo, I won’t tell the others.’ Richie smirks when he notices Eddie’s glance, crossing his arms over his chest.

The movement makes his shoulders bulk, highlighting just how much bigger Richie is compared to Eddie. Eddie’s mouth waters, and he starts to worry about how he’s going to have to get through seeing Richie’s naked shoulders in the flesh.

‘Just get undressed will you? Hurry up.’

‘Why? Eager to see my bare ass?’

‘Yeah, because who doesn’t think jumping naked into a lake they frequented as kids is the epitome of sexiness? No you self-centered idiot, I want to get it over with so I can go back to the Inn and grab a warm shower.’

With one last peek, Eddie moves backwards, standing away from the ledge and begins to unbutton his shirt, before thinking better off it. Richie picks up on his hesitation, shifting backwards too and motioning his head towards the ridge.

‘Do you want me to show you how it’s done?’

‘No,’ Eddie objects, ‘I’ll go first.’

‘Why? I’m not going to stare at your junk while you're jumping in if that’s what you're worried about Eddie. I’m not that kind of gay.’ Rarely does Richie toss aside an opportunity to grant Eddie another humorous nickname, so the use of his real name spooks Eddie just enough that he opens his mouth to apologize without even realizing what he’s apologizing for.

Richie’s facial expression, set in a grimace and squinting his eyes defensively, are a dead give away that Eddie’s words are being taken the wrong way. If only Richie knew that Eddie wanted him to go in first so he could avoid the same temptation Richie thought he was forcing on him.

‘Richie no, that’s not what I meant I-.’ Heartfelt compliments are not something Eddie has had a lot of practice for these last few years, and he’s not doing a good job catching up on them either. Therefore he sighs and hopes that he can find another way to prove to Richie he’d never accuse him of something like that. ‘Whatever, just go first already.’

‘Fine but turn around okay?’

Eddie listens to him, back towards Richie and the jump off, though he doesn’t really understand the request. With Richie comes a lot of flair, and he was more or less been prepared for a joke about how Eddie got to confirm how big his dick is in reality.

He waits and listens carefully for the sounds of clothes being dropped on the ground, and he can’t stop his mind from secretly imagining how Richie looks like without them once he distinguishes it. Eddie shakes his head, scolding his own mind.

The next few moments are filled with raspy breaths originating from Richie, footstep sounding further away and then closer again in an erratic pattern. He must be scared of the jump. Under normal circumstances, Eddie would ask to jump in at the same time, but since Richie asked Eddie not to turn around, he won’t.

‘If you don’t jump in the next five minutes,’ Eddie teases, the way Richie used to tease him, ‘I’ll push you in.’ A second later Eddie hears Richie’s loud whooping as he plunges down into the dark water.

Eddie spins, the only thing greeting him the dark with very little light clearing up his path, from the moon. He’s having a hard time to even see where the cliff ends, and he can’t disguise Richie in the water at all.

‘I’m coming in’, he yells to the void, in case Richie can’t discern his body in time and needs to move out of the way. He takes off his clothes, goosebumps erupting on his skin, and folds his pants and t-shirt up neatly, touching the ground with his hands to find a dry spot to lay them on. The air is cold, and so Eddie refuses to linger on top any longer than he has to.

He jogs up to the ledge and darts off before his mind can conjure up the thousands of things that can go wrong from swimming in the dark this late at night. His body flies through the air and connects with the water in one swoop, a pit of glee bursting in Eddie’s stomach. Jumping from the quarry equals freedom, a hot summer day and love for all of his friends, but in particular Richie.

Eddie keeps his head underwater until his lungs burn, eyes closed and allowing himself to just feel all the sensations. Then, something tickles the back of his leg, and the peaceful moment is over. He kicks back the surface, away from the spot where he could swear something touched him, and searches around for Richie.

Richie, with his wet black hair clinging to his forehead, strands of it sticking out in every direction, and his droplet covered glasses, roving more of Eddie’s heart each minute they’re near each other. He’s never looked more beautiful, and Eddie has never had to fight the urge to kiss him as much as he does now.

‘See, I told you I wouldn’t stare Eds, I can’t even see anything with all these splatters on my glasses.’

The moon reflects on the water, so that it’s impenetrable, and neither Rich nor Eddie can look down and see their lower body parts.

What Eddie can see is enough anyway, Richie’s shoulders and part of his chest hold Eddie’s attention, and he forgets to respond to Richie’s comment.

His eyes land on a dark bruise, just on the bottom of Richie’s neck, a remnant of their fight with Pennywise earlier that day. Without thinking, without standing still on the consequences of such an action, Eddie swims closer, stretches his arm out, and lingers his fingertips over the bruise. He carefully positions his body to not touch any other body part of Richie’s except for his fingers on his neck.

He makes an inquisitive noise, thumb stroking over the injury in what he hopes to be a calming matter. He physically can’t pull away, entranced with the way he moves and responds to him, trying but failing to get his fill of Richie clenched.

‘Eddie’, Richie whispers, scared to break the silence and the intimate moment. ‘It’ll be fine. And hey, at least he didn’t do anything to my dick.’

‘Yeah, would have been a shame if it were to become even smaller.’

Richie snorts, retaliating the jest with a wave of dirty water aimed at Eddie.

Eddie gasps, spitting out a bit of water that managed to sneak into his mouth. ‘Oh you’re on.’

The two of them chase each other, and if it weren’t for the fact that they were both naked, Eddie would have thrown his entire body weight in the game to push Richie underwater. As it stands, they just splash back and forth until they’re exhausted and the remnants of their laughter dies out, barely enough energy left to stay afloat side by side.

‘Did you have this much fun with Bryan?’ Eddie asks, a bit envious. He hates how he’s still stuck on the Bryan thing, hates that his mind keeps popping images of them doing the exact same thing only to end it with a kiss.

‘What?’

‘With Bryan, the guy you did all that other stuff with?’

‘Oh no, me and Bryan – we were never together like that.’ Back at the hotel room, Eddie figured that that was a ploy to distract Bev, something Richie just said because he couldn’t comfortably admit the real intent of their relationship. But he’s never lied to Eddie, and his eyes, magnified by his glasses, seem so sincere, Eddie has no other option but to believe him. ‘I-I’m- some other guy already has that place all taken up.’

Eddie stupid, oblivious and dense and everything in between. He knows Richie isn’t talking about him, he knows he could never be the guy Richie would hold all hope out for – he also secretly hopes it’s none of the losers -, but he wants to be so bad. Just one time, just one kiss and he’d be sated enough to let go of his feral behavior towards any potential love interest Richie might have. Just one time.

‘Richie’, Eddie starts, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He’s taking a huge risk, by foreseeing a rejection but hoping that Richie won’t drop him as a friend because of this. If Eddie doesn’t do this, he’ll never stop wondering what it feels for their lips to meet. He’ll never get over Richie because he never got to experience any with him.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He risks releasing his lip.

Richie is visibly shocked. ‘What? What the fuck? Eddie is this a joke?’

The joke is, as usual, all on Eddie who regrets ever opening his mouth in the first place. He could try to laugh it off, say that it was a joke, but that would mean that he pretends to make a jest out of something Richie has struggled with for his entire life. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Left with no other options but to further dig his own grave, Eddie decides to be honest. At least that means he gets to keep part of his integrity.

‘No Richie of course not, I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m sorry. Look I like you but it’s obviously one sided and I just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you but it was a stupid request and I shouldn’t have asked you that. Oh god, I never even asked if you were dating someone –‘

‘Eds?’

‘- Fuck can we please forget I said anything so we can still hang out?’

‘Eddie?’

‘What?’

‘Yes. Please kiss me.’

Eddie gapes with his mouth open, struggling for breath and for words. He’s half convinced he misinterpreted the words, but his tilted head proves otherwise. Eddie doesn’t question it further, counting his lucky start for once, and leaning in to his emotions and Richie, breaching the water to get to him.

Their kiss is surprisingly gentle for the ungovernable lead up prior to it. Richie’s lips taste like lake water, but deeper underneath lies a tang of something distinctively Richie. Eddie can’t wait to devour him whole once he’s cleaned up. Their lips move together in tandem, a perfect harmony that for once neither are willing to break.

They pull back, Richie’s arms circling Eddie’s waist, and he smiles. His smile mixed with the love stricken gleam in his eyes, mysteriously tells Eddie that Richie feels the exact same way he does. His chest caves with happiness.

‘I like you too, if it wasn’t obvious. A lot more than Bryan.’

‘For the love of God can we never mention that again? It’s embarrassing. No, Hush’, Eddie says urgently, covering Richie’s mouth with his palm when he opens his mouth to conjure up another joke.

‘Fine,’ Richie says while pulling away from Eddie’s hand. ‘How about we talk about something else then? How the fuck are we supposed to get to our clothes?’

#my writing #reddie imagine #reddie fic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #richie and eddie #adult losers #it chapter two imagine #eddie x richie

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soulwillower · 4 years

Text

kool aid • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader smut)

requested: some daddy kink richie? 😳 + okay, wait, but- richie with a daddy kink, i- + hi, can you do a daddy kink richie smut please! i love your stuff, it’s so good!

warnings: swearing, smut, oral sex (male receiving), daddy kink, dirty talk bc its richie, degradation, use of the word slut like once, shower sex, unedited

[losers + reader are 18+]

2.8k words

♡

in your defense, richie did this to himself and you. he was the one who had started this whole thing, who had planted that fucking seed in your head and unintentionally nurtured it until it sprouted into a full-grown desire.

the first time was so, so innocent. it meant less than nothing, and yet it threw you for a full 180.

you were at dinner with the losers and you and bill hadn't had enough money to get anything to eat. richie had insisted that the two of you both get anything you wanted. “daddy’s paying tonight.” he’d said with a smirk and a wink directed at you and bill. the two of you had groaned and thrown balled up paper napkins at him but he’d just laughed. you’d hoped your face wasn’t nearly as red as you felt it was, because that would certainly give yourself away. he can’t know how hot you thought richie calling himself daddy was. and he’d been doing it ever since.

you’re still thinking about that day when your front door opens suddenly, making you bound over to the balcony on your stairs.

"y/n?" richie calls into the empty foyer of your house, making you chuckle from your spot on the banister. he looks up to where you stand and shoots you a grin as he toes off his shoes, gesturing around him.

"am i supposed to be impressed that you’re here?" you ask teasingly, lifting a brow. he just shrugs, gesturing instead to himself as he walks up the stairs slowly towards you. "daddy's home. you're not excited to see me?"

you have to stifle your breath hitch by covering it up with a laugh. "not enough to warrant whatever it is you're thinking. this isn't even your home, trashmouth." you state, swallowing down your flustered cheeks with an eye roll and grin, ignoring the butterflies as his fingers graze your arms sweetly.

whatever you expect to come out if his mouth next, its not what he says. “y/n, can we make some cake?”

you blink at richie in confusion. “why would we do that? i know exactly how that would go down, rich.” you say with a playful glare as you pass him, walking down the stairs and maintaining eye contact with the boy. you both know you cant say no to him.

“what ever do you mean?” he says in a high, lilted voice. the slight british twinge makes you huff a laugh as you walk into the kitchen, pulling ingredients out while richie grabs a full pitcher of koolaid from your fridge and then sits on your counter.

“look at you, you’re useless.” you mutter, gesturing to him.

“mm, i’m not useless, sugar. i got this mouth. im keeping you company, am i not?” he reasons as you measure out the flour into the mixing bowl.

“well your dumb mouth is useless. fuck you and your trash mouth. i dont know why i’m doing this for you.”

your words are enough for him to slide off the counter and saunter closer to you. you try not to heat up under his gaze. “why dont i help, then?” he says sarcastically. you shake your head, eyeing him like you’re sizing him up.

“no, i change my mind. you’ll just fuck it up.” you stick out your tongue after and it makes him smirk, reaching for the bowl and tossing a pinch of flour at him.

he sputters as he watches you in annoyance and a grin. “oh, you’ve done it.” he mutters. your hands both shoot out to grab the bowl of flour and you struggle a bit, watching each other with determined eyes.

it doesnt last very long though as he gets a better grip. he drops it on the counter though, and you only have a second to watch as his hand shoots out to grab the pitcher.

and then, he tosses the kool aid at you. you feel like you’ve been hit with the worlds most room-temperature wave of sugary water and you almost scream. “richie!” you hiss as you stare at him in disbelief, bright red and sugary drink coating your face and body. you can feel the liquid inside your shirt and he laughs loudly. you want to punch him.

“you’re fine. look, go take a shower. im sorry.” he says through a grin, grabbing you to bring you up to your shower. you push him, angry. “baby, come on. daddy’s sorry.” he says with a laugh.

your cheeks glow as you glare at him, letting him drag you upstairs, “i’m not your baby, rich.”

he just smirks to himself.

you’re still holding the half-full kool aid pitcher as you stand in your bathroom, richie watching you expectantly. “richie what are you going to do while i’m showering?” you ask him, your eyes watching yourself strain the kool-aid off your hair and into the sink.

“i’ll just stay in here.” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. you snap, grabbing the pitcher and tossing its contents up at him. he screeches like a child upon impact and stares at you, disbelieving, afterwards.

“y/n!” he says, mad. his eyebrows are furrowed, cheeks puffing out as sticky red kool aid sifts from the top of his dark curls.

“what? at least you wore contacts today, so you’re welcome.” you say with a cocky smile, happy that he’s riled up. he shakes his head, not even sure what you mean. “fine, you’re the worst. i’m showering, then.” he mutters, making a start for the tub.

“no!” you yelp, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and making him glare at you as the two of you wrestle for the shower handle. “it’s my house, richie!” “well you’re being quite a shitty host, toots.” he mutters as you fumble around each other. “this is your fault, rich! you’re such a fucking brat.”

then suddenly, you’re being slammed up against the wall and held by your hip and shoulder, richie’s face inches from you.

your stomach dips and sways as his breath hits your lips. he chuckles lightly, “i’m the brat?” he asks. “are you joking, y/n/n?” he asks, but you’re breathless. you cant tear your eyes from his lips and you dont want to admit to him that you’re brattier than him, so you instead thrust your hips forward slowly.

as your hips line with his, you feel his hardening cock against you and you bite back a whimper. his hands grab your hips as he watches you.

you do it again, seeing how much he likes it and desperate to feel him against you. “what’re you doing, princess?” he mutters lowly. you grin up at him, “nothing.”

and then his lips are on yours, kissing you fiercely. your hands grab him and pull him closer, his squeezing your hips before roaming. his tongue tastes like cherry kool aid as he licks into your mouth. he pulls back, “take off your clothes.” he orders, making your eyes widen at the dominance. you listen to him though, pulling off your shirt, watching him as he stares at you hungrily.

after you’re left in your underwear, you bite your lip and stare up at him. he turns on the shower and shucks off his shirt, watching you expectantly. “i thought i told you to take off your clothes, baby.” he whispers, pinching a lock of your hair between his thumb and forefinger. your stomach erupts, shocked at how your best friend is acting.

you blush, unclipping your bra and watching as richie stares. you slowly slip off your underwear until you’re naked and he smiles. “good girl. you’re so pretty.” he mutters, kissing you and squeezing your ass. you whimper, feeling yourself slick your thighs with desire.

“get in.” he says, opening the curtain. you watch him with wide eyes as you step into the shower. is he not going to come in with you?

“are you coming too?” you ask meekly as you let the water rinse over your body. he chuckles as he steps in, making you smile in embarrassment with red cheeks. “so needy, arent you?” he asks with a grin, pulling you towards him. your eyes glance over his naked body and your stomach erupts in butterflies again. his cock is hard and up against his stomach and you squeeze your thighs together because he’s much bigger than you’d anticipated. his hands circle your bare waist as he steps under the stream of water with you. “its okay, baby. you’re getting your shower.” he mutters.

and he kisses you again, taking your breath away. he gently pushes you against the tile, the coldness making your hips jolt, consequently rubbing up against richie’s thigh. you whine into his mouth and he pulls away with a dark smirk that makes you shiver with lust. he guides your hips against his thigh again and his bare, wet skin against your throbbing clit makes you cry out.

he starts to kiss up and down your neck, sucking marks and making you moan. his hands tighten around your hips and move you quicker against him.

"fuck, daddy."

it slips from your lips quicker than you even think (or don't think) it, and suddenly richie's hands on your hip halt their movement. "what'd you just say, princess?" he mutters lowly, not sounding quite amused but more smug and teasing than you'd like.

his lips suck on the crook between your neck and shoulder and he gives you a gentle squeeze as the warm water cascades over your bodies. you sigh, cheeks bright red.

when you dont say anything, he looks up and grabs your jaw, rising to his full height in front of you. his eyes are hooded. “say it again.” he snaps lowly and you have to clench your thighs in order to relieve the desire pooling in your underwear.

you smile though, watching as water streams down his skin and you wonder if he’ll do this the way you will.

“say what, daddy?” you say, tracing a finger over his chest. the groan he lets out is holy as he catches your lips with his, pushing you against the tile again.

his hands ghost over your tits before squeezing, rolling your nipples between his fingers and making you whimper into his mouth.

“so needy for daddy’s cock, aren’t you?” he says with a smug grin, pushing your wet hair out of your face. you nod with your lip caught between your teeth. you want him so bad.

his eyes swim with something as you reach out, grabbing his hard cock as it lay against his stomach.

his eyes shut in pleasure but his hand quickly halts you as move to get onto your knees. his eyes are dark. “not today. if you don’t ask, you don’t get it.” he says and that makes you impossibly wetter at being under his control.

“for that, daddy’s gonna fuck you until you scream.” he mutters, fingers ghosting down your wet body to flutter over your aching core. you whine.

slowly, he rubs circles on your clit as he holds your chin with the other hand. “eyes on me, princess.”

he rubs slowly, the water spraying down on your bodies. he chuckles lightly. “look at you, i've only started using my fingers and you're already shaking." and he’s right, youre shaking and whimpering as pleasure spreads through your whole body. “god, look at you, so ready for daddy’s cock, rutting against me.” he mutters as you buck your hips on his hand.

you whimper out a weak “daddy,” as he slips a finger in and immediately sets a pace, curling his fingers slightly. he watches you with a smirk as you fight not to close your eyes in bliss.

when he adds another finger you gasp, the feeling of his fingers pumping into you making your legs weak. you briefly wonder if your legs are going to collapse. “you look good taking my fingers, baby. you gonna take my cock this well?”

you whimper, bucking into his fingers to relieve the coil tightening in your stomach. “yes, daddy. please, please fuck me.” you whimper, moaning as he pulls his fingers out of you and starts to pump himself.

“look at what happens when you ask like a good girl.” he mutters, lifting your leg to his hip, gripping his cock and teasing you, resting at your entrance.

“what do you want?” he asks, grinning. you want to glare at him but you’re so desperate to feel him that you sigh, muttering, “please, i want your cock inside me.”

and he pushes in at your words slowly, making you mewl. he’s halfway in when he stops, kissing you to give you time to adjust. “let daddy take care of you, okay?” he whispers in your ear and you nod, starting to move your hips, wanting more.

he slides the rest of the way in and you feel full and your toes curl as you look down, watching as he thrusts back and into you, setting a pace. “daddy, fuck,” is all that you can say as he thrusts into you, water cascading down your bodies and making you groan.

“harder.” you whimper suddenly, hands gripping his shoulders. “please, daddy, harder.” you beg. he smirks at you, kissing your lips. he tastes like kool-aid.

“love it when you beg for me like a desperate slut. you want to go harder? i’ll go harder.” he mutters, making you clench around him, nearing your high. he pulls your other leg up so he’s holding you and then he slams into you relentlessly, hitting spots deeper inside you than you knew was possible. he puts a hand on your stomach and he smirks as he fucks you into the shower tiles. “look so good with me deep inside you.” he mutters as you cling onto him.

“good girl, taking my cock. do you like me splitting you in half, baby? does it feel good?” he asks, hitting deep inside you and making your legs shake.

“yes, yes, yes,” is all that leaves your lips, your eyes scrunched up. “daddy, i’m so close. can-can i please-“

“no, you’re not cumming yet. not until i say so.” he says, slapping your ass. you squeal and drop your head onto his shoulder, trying your hardest to hold off as he fills you, his thick cock stretching your walls.

hes slamming into you so hard and hitting your spot perfectly that you rake your nails over his back, making him hiss in pleasure. after another minute, you’re whimpering and muttering nonsense, trying your hardest to wait for richie to let you cum.

“cum all over daddy’s cock.” he mutters as he fucks you into the tiles and you let out a loud moan as you clench around him, hitting your high and shaking in pleasure. your eyes roll back lightly as you hold onto him, already sensitive as you ride out the best orgasm you’ve ever had.

he keeps fucking you, his hands on your hips as you whimper. he mutters in your ear as he thrusts into you, “you’ve been a good girl for me. want me to fill you with my cum? or do you want to taste it?”

your eyes screw shut in pleasure and you whimper, “daddy, p-please let me taste you.”

and then he’s pulling out of you and making you gasp, still extremely sensitive. you slip immediately onto the bottom of the tub, knees shaky against it. you stare up at him as he pumps his thick cock, other hand opening your jaw. “let me see that pretty mouth, baby.” he mutters and you stick your tongue out, mouth open as you wait for him.

“please use me, daddy.” you mutter and thats all richie can take before he’s thrusting himself into your mouth, filling you up and immediately making you gag.

your eyes well with tears as you stare up at him, his hips moving and fucking your mouth. he’s biting his lip in pleasure, the water slipping down his chest as it hits his back.

“can you taste yourself on daddy’s cock?” he asks and you moan around him, feeling his hips stutter. “fuck, such a good girl, takin' my cock so well.” you gag around him as you let him move against you and he grabs your head, making you moan again. “baby, fuck-“ he starts and then he’s spilling into your mouth ans you bob your head slowly, riding out his high and swallowing every drop.

you pull off him with a gasp and then you’re breathing heavily, richie pulling you up and into his arms. the water is pretty cold now and you shiver slightly as he pecks your forehead. “holy shit, doll.” he mutters and you let out a broken giggle, turning to kiss his lips. his hands soothe over your waist.

"maybe i should annoy you more often." you mutter into his lips as he chuckles, grabbing your shampoo.

"you know, or just ask me, sugar." he mutters, massaging shampoo into your scalp. you smile, letting out a content sigh as your arms wrap around his middle.

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #losers x reader

290 notes · View notes

snowdice · 4 years

Text

Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 11)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Deceit, Logan & Patton, Emile & Remy, Roman & Remus & Janus

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Deceit, Remus, Roman, Logan, Emile, Remy

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned, drugs mentioned, explosions (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 My Master Post

Virgil smiled awkwardly at the cashier when he entered the gas station and went straight to the coffee machine. He went ahead and grabbed the largest size cup for Patton because they were going to be on the road for a while.

He… didn’t quite understand why the man was still going to be driving for Virgil when there was no knife involved, but hopefully it wasn’t a trick.

It was probably a trick.

He should probably tell the cashier he’d been kidnapped.

But then the cashier would definitely call the cops and, knowing his mother, Virgil would definitely be screwed. So, instead, Virgil put the lid on Patton’s now filled coffee cup and found that there was one plain donut with chocolate frosting still in the case. He grabbed that and then searched around the candy aisle for a bit. He finally settled on a pack of Red Vines and grabbed a blue raspberry slushie. If he was going to get axe murdered by some guy that kept a stuffed bear named Barnaby in his car, he was going to do so with a blue tongue.

He handed over the 20-dollar bill to the cashier and then gathered up the snacks and drinks to take them to the car.

He caught Patton with his phone in his hands while he was pumping gas. “Hey, what are you doing?” Virgil asked.

“Just sending a text to my brother so he doesn’t worry too much,” Patton replied quickly. Virgil gave him a suspicious look. When it became clear that Virgil wasn’t going to willingly take a step closer to the car after that, Patton sighed and held out his phone. “You can see,” he said.

Virgil set the drinks and snacks down on the hood of the car and took the phone. The phone indeed was open to just a string of emojis sent to someone called “Lo-Lo” in Patton’s phone. The string of emojis read “🛒🧀🧀🧀💵🚙👶🏻🔪🥺🚙🍔🍟🍦📞🤐📻😭😴😱👣🤳🧸⛽️🗺☕️😎👍 ❤️”

“There is… no way he’d understand that,” Virgil said. “I barely understand it and I lived it.” He paused. “I am not a baby.”

Patton snatched the phone back. “I didn’t say you were.”

“You typed ‘knife baby’ in emoji!” Virgil said.

“Baby with a knife actually,” Patton said unrepentant. He grabbed his coffee and donut off the hood of the car and opened the driver’s door to put the drink in the cup holder and the donut on the seat. Then, he went to finish up pumping the gas.

Virgil frowned, but he did pick up his snack and drink and got into the passenger seat. He’d already thrown his lots in with the possible serial killer anyway.

Patton finished pumping the gas and got back into the car.

“Don’t sit on your…” he sat on his donut.

“Oops!” he said. He sat up and grabbed the donut to take a bite. “Still good,” he declared with a grin.

Virgil rolled his eyes and took a long drag of the slushie.

“Don’t get brain freeze!”

“Whatever da-” He froze, chocking on the word.

Patton looked over at him, his face turning serious suddenly. “Hey kiddo,” the man said softly. He reached over to put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with warm earnest eyes that made Virgil want to believe his words. “I’m going to make sure you’re okay, okay?”

Virgil looked away from his far too knowing eyes. “You don’t even know me, why would you?”

“I like helping people when I can. A couple hours of driving aren’t much to make sure someone else is safe. I spend a lot of my life driving anyway.”

“What do you even do?” Virgil asked.

“I mostly do odd jobs for my brother.”

“That doesn’t sound like a real job,” Virgil said.

He started the car and began to back up as he answered. “Do you know much about real jobs, then?” he asked.

“Well…” Virgil said. “I mean, no, but… still.”

Patton smiled over at him. “Okay, I answered a question about me-” Did he though? Virgil narrowed his eyes at him. “Now you answer a question about you.”

“Why?” Virgil asked suspiciously.

“Well, we have an hour and a half of driving left and neither of us are kidnapped anymore, we might as well get to know each other.”

“…What’s the question?”

“What’s your favorite subject in school?” Patton asked cheerily.

“Really?” Virgil asked. “Is this what we’re doing?” Patton just smiled over at him and Virgil went about tearing open his package of Red Vines. “English,” he said taking a bite of his candy.

“I always liked History myself, but English was fun.”

Virgil hummed. “You have any family other than your brother?” he asked.

“Lo has two sons. They’re twins.”

“Cool,” Virgil replied.

“Favorite color?”

“Purple. So, you don’t have kids then?”

“Not of my own,” Patton replied. “But I helped with the twins when they were younger, and I like to think of all of my coworkers as my kiddos.”

Virgil’s face twisted up. He didn’t know much about adult workplaces, but… “I’m sure they appreciate that,” Virgil scoffed

“I like to think so,” Patton said, seeming to not even register the skepticism in Virgil’s tone. Was the man ever anything but chipper? “Favorite movie?”

“Ratatouille,” he said on instinct and then felt his stomach drop. His favorite movie was Ratatouille because Uncle Emile always insisted on playing it during movie nights. Dad would complain loudly because he knew that Emile and Virgil would spend the rest of the night making jokes about dad having the same name as the rat.

“I don’t want to play this game anymore,” Virgil said, choked.

Patton glanced over at him in surprise. “Okay,” he said softly. Virgil was thankful he didn’t try to push.

They drove for another 10 minutes. Virgil did his best not to think about… everything, but it got increasingly harder. He tugged on the sleeve of his hoodie, his slushie and Red Vines forgotten. Finally, Patton looked back over at him, his eyes concerned. Virgil curled into himself expecting him to try to needle Virgil into talking.

Instead he just smiled sadly at him. “Why don’t we play a different game?”

“I… sure,” Virgil agreed. Might as well. Maybe it would help. “What game?”

“Ooo!” Patton said. “How about ‘I Kill Your Cows’? Lo always threatens to kill me by the end of that game.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah!” Patton said, “Because that means I’m winning.”

Virgil puffed out an amused breath. “Okay. How do you play?” he asked.

“Well,” Patton said. “Basically, when you see a group of cows you can claim them and say ‘I have 10 cows’ or however many there are. Whoever says it first gets the cows. If you see a church or other place people get married, you can say ‘I marry my cows’ and then your cows double. If you see a graveyard, you can say ‘I kill your cows’ and reset the other player back to zero cows. If you see a barn you can say ‘I put however many cows in that barn’ and the cows go in the barn. When they’re in the barn, they can’t be killed, but they can’t be married either. You have to wait to see another barn before you can take them out again.”

“Alright,” Virgil agreed. “Sure. Why not?”

“Great!” Patton said. “There’s a field of them up there. Since you’re new to the game, I’ll let you grab the first few.”

Virgil squinted at the cows in the field. “I have 6 cows,” he said.

“Nice job!” Patton said.

Virgil rolled his eyes. He didn’t know what was impressive about counting a few cows, but he smiled a bit anyway.

They continued to play the cow game for a while. Patton was obviously really good at this game and obviously trying to not be as good at the game as he actually was so Virgil wouldn’t lose by a million cows.

They turned on the radio after a while. Unfortunately, the conspiracy channel had fizzled out by now, so they turned to a local station that played a mix of music.

“Can I take horses?” Virgil asked after about 20 minutes of play.

“Sure,” Patton replied. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, I have 4 horses.”

“Ooo!” Patton said. “That horsey is a palomino! I’ll trade you two cows for that horse.”

Virgil was pretty sure that’s not how it was supposed to work. But… Patton was 18 animals ahead… “20,” Virgil countered.

Patton glanced over at him. “5.”

“15.”

“10.”

“11, so I’m winning for once.”

He thought about it for a long moment. “Deal,” he finally said.

“Yes!” Virgil said excitedly. “I’m winning!”

Patton smiled over at him. “I have five cows,” he said.

Virgil’s head shot up to look out the windshield. There were, in fact, five cows in the pasture right in front of them. “Dammit!”

Patton coughed meaningfully.

“You can’t murder me like that and then get mad when I cuss,” Virgil grumbled.

“Aw, cheer up kiddo. At least we haven’t found a graveyard yet.”

“But when we do, you will guiltlessly murder all of my cows,” Virgil said. “Because you are truly evil.”

Patton just laughed at him. Virgil grumpily reached forward to turn up the radio so he could ignore him easier.

The song that was playing faded out as he did so, and the radio jockey came on the air. “Quick traffic update, there’s been an accident on I-26. A semi-truck full of cattle rolled over near exit 52 and eastbound traffic has been stopped. If you’re on I-26, we’d suggest you find an alternative route as it will take a while to get all of the cows rounded up.”

“Well I’m glad we got off the interstate when we did,” said Patton.

“Yeah,” agreed Virgil. “It would suck to be stuck in the middle of that.” He paused and listened to the radio jockey continue to explain that the semi had been carrying at least 150 cows. “Hey, Patton, can I claim cows remotely?”

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 12

#sanders sides #patton sanders #virgil sanders #platonic moxiety #logan sanders #road trips and missing persons #adriana writes #janus sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #creativitwins #emile picani #remy sanders #kidnapping #murder mentioned #guns

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eccentricpony · 4 years

Text

Hello dear! I kind of did a spin on this request, and the story starts around the time of their first meeting and shows the progression into a romantic relationship. Mildly inspired by Tenma’s home screen quote to practice a kissing scene.

I think it’s a good blend of angsty, spicy, funny, and fluffy, but you be the judge! I am quite fond of this piece, and I hope you are, too! <3

Bad First Impressions

Despite your best efforts to suppress it, a dramatic sigh rumbles past your lips. And to think that you had actually looked forward to working with Tenma Sumeragi. You had watched his performances in a few teen dramas and found his ability to be quite impressive, and he was highly lauded among other actors in your professional circle for being the consummate professional and perfectionist. More like pretentious and pompous.

“…and you there-“ the haughty redhead pointed towards a mousy looking boy sitting at a diner table on set.

“Uhh, B- Bill?” the mousy boy responded meekly.

“Yeah, sure – no one just stares at the person across from them without saying anything at all. It’s creepy and weird. That goes for you, too, guy with the glasses.” He moved an accusatory finger towards Bill’s dining companion. “Haven’t you guys ever heard of “peas and carrots”? I mean, this is amateur hour stuff that you don’t even need any skill to execute…”

“Can you just close your mouth and do some work, Sumeragi?”

You could hear a pin drop in the spacious sound studio. The cantankerous teen star whipped his head towards you with a pointed glare. You were an up-and-coming actress in the teen drama scene, and although you were a year older than he was, his acting resume was at least three times the length of yours. Sure, you were pretty, and you seemed passably talented, but you had a long way to go before you could even reach the echelon of his level of expertise. And you had the audacity to criticize his judgment??

“Excuse me?!” His eyes raked up and down your form, sizing you up in an attempt to appear intimidating. The manner in which you nonchalantly rested your hand upon your hip, head-cocked and eyes rolled; it was utterly disrespectful to him, a major authority in the industry, not to mention disrespectful to your fellow actors, to the very sacred space of-

“And to think that I had heard you were a competent leader…” you continued in a jaded tone. There was a visible flare in Tenma’s cheeks, the fury sizzling behind his eyes red hot.

To his credit, he certainly had a high level of talent, but that gave him no authority to degrade his teammates, whether they be fellow actors or the key grip. You weren’t normally this abrasive, but charming teen cutie Tenma was a self-important bully who was surrounded by “yes” men. This suave schoolboy star needed a wakeup call. The scandalized celebrity opened his mouth to commence a tirade when the director stepped in.

“Now, now, please folks. Let’s be civil…” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he glanced between you both with a pleading look.

With a final sour stare in your direction, Tenma transformed back into TV’s favorite high school hottie with a heart of gold.

“Yes, of course,” he replied, and you also nodded in consent. Everyone placated Tenma, endured his toxic attitude because he brought them money. But one thing was for sure, you had no intention to relinquish control to tyrannical Tenma.

Japan’s Newest Sweetheart

Tenma rushed down the street, tipping the brim of his hat further down his forehead, his alarming speed drawing attention from passersby. But he couldn’t slow down now; it was only a matter of time before Igawa caught up to him and asked where he was going, and why he was going by himself, and what was he looking for after all, and a number of other questions whose answers he would very much prefer not to explain.

With the convenience store in sight, he quickened his pace until he reached the threshold, throwing open the door with a tenacity that startled the cashier. Returning upright from where he hunched over his newspaper, the shopkeep threw a cautious eye to the young man at the doorway, wearing a suspicious amount of accessories and panting like he was running from the law.

The ginger on a mission performed a quick visual sweep of the displays until he located the object he desired. Bounding forward, he approached the magazine rack and flipped open the arts & entertainment periodical to the index. …page 31…

Rifling through the flimsy pages of the gossip rag, he at last reached the article which he had sought. There looking up at him was a page-wide spread of you, armed with an impossibly charming smile and a sparkle of mischief in your eyes. The page opposite of your come-hither headshot bore the headline “Japan’s Newest Sweetheart.”

It was infuriating. You were a nobody – barely any experience at all, and certainly not in anything particularly noteworthy – yet you were the one pushed to the forefront of advertising. His eyes flicked back to your picture once, twice… I mean, it was a good photo.

Ignoring the manner in which his throat seized when met with your 2-dimensional gaze, he directed his attention to the article. His eyes tripped along the words, “captivating new series… “ “character growth and development…” – aha! He spotted his name among the text and focused on the containing paragraph.

“blah, blah… he’s a true veteran in the industry…” Tenma puffed up like a rooster at this remark. Damn right, I am. He continued to read your commentary, mouth silently forming the shape of the words, scouring each sentence for more well-deserved praise. You went on to describe the characters, their struggles and how the cast related to their roles… One line in particular raised his brow. Tenacious young man?? Young man, what? She’s like, one year older than I am! He rose his head, appalled that you would speak of him like a child. He turned back to the print, reviewing the sentence a second time. She’s not even a whole year older, we’re practically the same age. He bent his brow in concentration. He counted back from your birthday. Yeah, totally not even a year old. Tch. He chose to ignore the fact that he recalled your birthday so quickly and glowered down at you while you beamed right back up at him.

It was undeniable that he was pissed off due of all the attention you were receiving when he was the lead. Possibly because… well, maybe you did deserve it. He had come to respect your acting ability over the past few months, in particular your impressive ability to become truly immersed in a role.

But maybe also because…. well, you looked good in this spread. Like, really good. Your smile was intoxicating; why didn’t you smile at him like that? On second thought, maybe it was for the best that you hadn’t. His hardened exterior would likely dissolve, and he’d be a stuttering, fumbling mess. Scanning your features, he noticed that they airbrushed away a tiny birthmark on your face. Or maybe it was a freckle? And they did something to your eyebrows, they just looked off. Why would they even do that? They were perfectly fine eyebrows…

“Hey, buddy, are you going to buy that or not? This ain’t a library.”

Tenma’s head shot upright, dazed for a few moments before he comprehended the words spoken to him. His tense fists gripped the wrinkled magazine tightly, fragile pages strained and starting to tear. Loosening his hold, he spared a final glimpse at your face before neatly closing the pages and smoothing out the bent cover.

“Uhh, yeah. I am.”

Sliding his shades further up his nose with his pointer, he coolly ambled to the checkout area and lay the gentleman’s digest upon its surface. The material refused to remain flat after its recent abuse, leaving your shirt and neck visible beneath the dog-eared pages. The employee recognized the article right away.

“That new actress is really something, huh? They say she’s going to be the next big thing.”

Tenma scoffed but offered no discourse, handing over the required yen.

“Pretty cute, too,” the young worker added as he slipped the purchased item into a plastic bag.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tenma huffed heatedly, snatching the illustrated booklet containing your first big media premiere and returning to the sidewalk to await Igawa.

Salty to Sweet

“Don’t they teach you how to stay on task in Middle School? Or are you in High School? Your lack of common sense is misleading…”

“Funny,” Tenma retorted caustically, though more annoyed at himself than you. He had been finding it challenging to focus as of late since he bought that magazine and he kept screwing up on the same damn lines. His short fuse was growing ever shorter with every butchered word.

You could see that Tenma was downward spiraling; the spark he always carried behind those big, vibrant eyes was fading fast.

“Look, why don’t you try something else…” you started, preparing for opposition.

“What?” the taller boy began, with no small amount of skepticism. Ignoring his sour attitude, you stood opposite him and continued in a calm tone.

“Try talking to me about something you really like while staying in character.”

“Talk about something I like?” Tenma replied incredulously. “What am I, six?”

“Sometimes I wonder, with the way you hide your vegetables under your mashed potatoes during lunch, so no one notices you throwing them away.” You smirk knowingly, pleased with the look of surprise on your fellow actor’s face.

“You saw me do that?” Tenma stared at you with a look of both wonder and bewilderment. He was certain no one could see him do that, and you sat at another table entirely! How on earth could you have been paying close enough attention to him to spot that, unless…

“Everyone knows that,” you deflected quickly, the rosy tint on your cheeks belying your innocence in the matter. “So what are you going to talk about?” Your bitter scene partner rolled his eyes. As a veteran in the industry, he felt pretty foolish having you talk him through basic acting exercises. Yet…. There was no question that he was struggling with the script, and no better ideas came to mind. With a sigh of defeat, Tenma offered the one outlet that came to mind.

“Bonsai…” he mumbled in a barely audible tone.

“What was that?” you ask, leaning it. Your close proximity fuels a steadily growing warmth along the back of his neck. He takes a sudden step backward and repeats himself louder.

“Bonsai! Are you deaf?”

“Bonsai, huh?” You smile with amusement. “Well, that’s something you don’t read in all your magazine interviews.”

“Reading my interviews, are you?” he responds dryly, but his stomach does a flip. He thinks back on the magazine he has featuring you, kept privately stashed away in a box under his bed. The thought that maybe you had a magazine featuring him tucked away somewhere in your bedroom causes chills that ran down his broad arms and shoulders.

“Nevermind that,” you grumble, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “Well, bonsai it is, then. Whenever you’re ready.”

You spend the next few minutes listening to Tenma ramble on about bonsai pruning, the proper tools to use, and even the proper light, pH and moisture levels to ensure optimal bonsai health. Despite the fact that you now know more about bonsai trees than you would have ever cared to know, it seems that engaging, dynamic Tenma has returned. He comes to a full stop after finishing a discourse on bonsai diseases; his head now feeling clear, he’s convinced that he can recite his lines without hesitation.

“That was really good,” you commend him honestly, mirroring the pleased look on his face.

“Naturally,” he boasts in a cocky tone, feeling confident following his flawlessly delivered bonsai monologue. “It’s amazing how pleasant you can be when you’re not yelling at me,” he jibes, looking rather pleased with himself. You raise a brow at his renewed brashness, but you’ve always been quick on the trigger.

“It’s amazing how handsome you can be when you’re not scowling,” you reply with a smug expression, reveling in the crimson darkening his cheeks.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he mumbles with an air of mild embarrassment irritation, rubbing the back of his neck which is now damp with sweat.

“Who says I want to go anywhere with you?” you shoot back with a patronizing smirk before turning your attention back to the script. “SO, where were we?” you inquire loudly before he can get a word in edgewise. Thumbing through the marked-up pages, you see in your periphery that he is doing the same.

“Scenes 12 and 14 we did, 17 we did… no need to go over scene 28…”

“Why are we not practicing scene 28?” Tenma inquired in a cheeky tone. He knew exactly which scene 28 was: the kissing scene. You hadn’t gone over it yet, in read-throughs or on set. After you had just bested him in a mini battle of wits, this would be a great opportunity to even the playing field.

He had performed at least a dozen kiss scenes; it was old hat for him by now, and he knew for sure (not that he had googled your TV and film credits or anything) that you had never performed one. He was certain you’d flounder in search of a clever comeback, then, admitting defeat, blush profusely and outright refuse to do it.

“Fine, let’s do it.” You were no fool, and Tenma Sumeragi couldn’t bluff to save his life.

If Tenma wasn’t youthful and in great health, he might fear he were having a heart attack. Words seized up in his throat, and he could only manage a curt nod. He walked in a small circle, shaking his limbs as he often did while getting into character. He could do this, this was nothing. He had kissed, like, at least 12 girls before. 12! That was more girls than most men kissed in their entire lifetime! Wasn’t it? He couldn’t really think straight. With a long breath in, and out, he reformed his strategy.

He would perform a star-worthy kiss, absolutely knock-your-socks-off amazing, and then swagger out of the room while you were still swooning and dazed. His ego swelled a bit at the thought of leaving you desperate for another kiss, but his blood ran fast and furious at the thought of… well, actually having the kiss.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you started in the tone of your character’s persona, the sudden smoldering look in your eye plucking at his every last nerve.

“At lunch, in the hall… even waiting for the bus.” Slowly, you crossed the floor towards Tenma’s frozen form. “You’ve given me flirty smiles, you’ve given me teasing winks, but there’s one thing you have yet to give me...” His pulse pounded in his ears as you leaned in closer, far closer than you had ever been before. His eyes flicker anxiously to your mouth, his breath held tightly in his throat.

“A kiss” you purr, biting your lip with the thrill of anticipation. Your lip bite just about crushes any dignity that remains in Tenma; tracing the lines on your lips with a wanton stare, it takes him a few seconds of feeble gaping before he remembers he has a line.

“Come and get it,” he whimpered, his line in a tone more befitting the token band geek than a smooth high school hunk. And get it, you did.

His script is lost to the floor as you press your lips onto his, his body rendered both limp and tight all at once. He did not expect this kind of kiss from you. Or maybe it was because he was used to a stage kiss, with twenty people watching and instructions from several individuals on how to hold his mouth at just the right angle for the camera. This… this was a kiss kiss. Your soft mouth was moving fluidly against his with such hypnotic, sweet caresses that he was convinced that he had never truly kissed someone before now. It was humbling but delicious; he had no control, and he couldn’t care less.

He couldn’t contain the small whimper of disappointment you drew from his throat when at last you pulled away, slyly wiping your reddened lips with the back of your hand. Tenma watched you with a mixed look of shock and awe, as though you had just miraculously materialized from thin air. Practice was over.

“Don’t lose that script,” you called over your shoulder cheerfully as you exited the practice space. “I think you could use another review of that scene.”

The Premiere

The Interview

You: …and it’s been bittersweet, but we’re both ready to move onto new projects. Isn’t that right, Tenten?

Interviewer: Tenten? That’s adorable, is that your nickname for Tenma?

You: Yeah, I call him Tenten because to me, he’s a ten out of ten. [You place an overly-dramatic kiss on his cheek]

Tenma: [Feigns a gagging sound while seated beside you, but reciprocates the kiss] That is a heinous lie, by the way, on both counts. [Tenma’s ability to poke fun at himself is refreshing, his overall manner humble and gracious, demonstrating his tremendous growth from child star to the consummate professional actor.]

Tenma: Actually, one of my fellow trou- uh, one of my friends at the Mankai Company, Kazunari, gave me that nickname.

Interviewer: The Mankai Company, that’s right! You’re putting on a production soon, aren’t you?

Tenten: We are! I’d love to give you the details of our production if you could publish them alongside this article.

Interviewer: Absolutely. [Turning to you] And do you usually attend Tenma’s performances? I know both of your schedules are rather hectic these days, with all the job offers you’ve both received following the highly successful final season of your most recent television drama.

You: Yes, absolutely; I attend every one.

Tenma: In the front row, every performance. [He links his arm in yours, speaking with a tangible sense of pride]

Interviewer: I’ve noticed you have at least a half dozen bonsai trees in your apartment. Is that a mutual hobby?

You: Well, it’s our thing. I mean, it’s his thing really, but it’s kind of both our thing now. [You smile at Tenma with affection]

Interviewer: And, I’ve been meaning to ask - that framed script on the wall there, is that a keepsake? Or a valuable script from one of your favorite films perhaps? [The interviewer gestures to the worn script hanging above the mantle, protected and held in place by a thick pane of glass, bearing a large penned “SCENE 28”]

Tenma: Yeah, it has a… special meaning. [Your boyfriend contributes, glancing into your eyes with a knowing smile that only you two could understand]

#a3!#a3! actor training game #a3! imagines #a3! headcanons #a3 x reader #tenma x reader #a3 tenma #a3! tenma #a3! tenma sumeragi #tenma sumeragi #a3 imagines #a3 headcanons #a3 actor training game #a3 act addict actors

123 notes · View notes

dalamjisung · 4 years

Text

read my mind ✿ park jinyoung

word count:6973

genre: hospital!au, fluff

pairing: psychiatrist!jinyoung x resident!reader

description: you work as a barista at night and as a psychiatry resident during the day, what happens when those two lives start to mix?

Fridays are the busiest nights; and consequently, the worst nights. Working at a bar isn’t exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life, but it pays the bills and the tips are too good to just give up on– medical school isn’t cheap, and neither are the loan interests you will have to pay for the next twenty years of your life. You didn’t have time to complain about your job; you had to do it and that’s it.

“Hey!” Someone scream as you continue to gather used cups from the counter. “Another double!”

“Coming right up!” You shout, looking at the older man waving his empty cup. “Be right there.”

“Thank you,” He smiles as you pour his drink, and your skin crawls. With the job came the instinctive reaction to sleazy man, the one that makes the hair on your arm stand, signaling the danger and discomfort to come. “Now, what is a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Working,” You offer him a smile, knowing it will give you points for a good tip. “Excuse me.”

In a bar, there are many different types of people. Desperate people, sad people, happy people, anxious people; it seems that once an emotion overrides all the others, the bar is the place people go to. A bar is a place for celebration, for laughter and good memories; but it can also be a place for misery, for crying and forgetting. It was only a matter of time until you learned how to read people– their desires, their thoughts, their next moves,– eyes intent on the clients, honing the ability to the point that a person didn’t even have to say anything, you just know what they want. Just like how you know this man only wants to flirt, looking for a boost to his ego from a young woman. He wants to feel empowered by all the wrong reasons and you smirk, amused by his antics. However, men like this one don’t easily let go, offended by the realization that you actually have to work and don’t have time for them; therefore, they resort to physical strength.

“Stay for a little bit,” He murmurs in your ear, brining you close by grasping your arm. “I could use the company.”

“Sir, I have other clients to tend to,” The smile on your face contrasts the harsh tone of your voice. “So if you could let me go, that would be great.”

And just like that, you lost your tips.

“Don’t be like that,” He tries again, and in his eyes you see the look you hate the most: anger. “I’m being nice, here.”

This is usually the time you call your manager with a very smooth and secure shout of his name, but it seems like today is your lucky day and someone wants more tequila shots.

“I have to go,” You pull your arm but he doesn’t bulge. “Sir, please, I have to do my job–“

“Can you let her go, already?” A man, sitting to the right of your current situation speaks, loud and clear, sounding as fed up as you. “Even I heard her, man… she has shit to do.”

“Mind your own business,” The guy holding your arms spits and you chuckle humorlessly, taking a chance with the sudden distraction and successfully pulling your arm from his grabby hands. You know that it will leave a bruise but you couldn’t care less.

“Now I will,” Your helper rolls his eyes and looks at you. His hand instinctively move to his empty cup and you are on it before he even opens his mouth, pouring whiskey enough to last him a while. His eyes are wide in surprise and he even cracks a small smile. “You didn’t have to, I was just–“

“You wanted more, so I gave you more,” You shrug, going back to your work.

“How’d you know?” He asks, cynical of you. “You read my mind or something?”

“Call it an educated guess,” You say, and keep moving, knowing that if you stop, tiredness will wash over you like a tsunami. “I’ll add it to your tab.”

The night ends seamlessly; nothing much happening after that one incident. It’s when you’re cleaning the counter alongside Jisung, your coworker, that it hits you. You never thanked him for his help. But then again, you think, I never asked for it.

“Y/N,” Jisung calls from where he is putting the cups away. “I think this is for you.”

“Throw it away,” You say not even looking at it. “I’m not interested.”

“Tsk, still trying to die alone?” Jisung laughs, and you laugh with him, knowing that he means well. “You are too beautiful to be alone, Y/N.”

“And you are too beautiful for that boyfriend of yours, but I don’t see you two breaking up anytime soon,” You tease, poking him on your way to the back. “Is he coming to get you?”

“Yeah,” Jisung shouts. “Want a ride?”

“Please,” You answer, relieved that you won’t have to wait for the bus. “I have a big day tomorrow.”

“Nervous?” Jisung asks when you meet him outside, the smoke of the cigarette coming out of his mouth in a swift puff. “Changing hospitals in the end of residency is always hard…”

“I’ll be fine,” You smile tightly. “I had to leave, and you know that…”

“But people don’t,” Jisung looks at you carefully. “I’m just worried about you.”

“It’s going to be okay,” You promise as his boyfriend’s car pulls up. “I’m going to a better hospital with a better paycheck; I’m as good as it gets.”

“Aish, do you only think about money?” He chastises you, frowning.

“Yes,” You smile cheekily, and his boyfriend laughs. “Until I pay all of my loans, money is the only thing I’ll think about.”

“This girl…” Jisung mumbles, moving to grab Chaewon’s hand. You look at them fondly, knowing that no matter how many times you tell these two that you are fine by yourself and that you don’t want to waste time and energy on a relationship, the truth finds you and, from time to time, you catch yourself wondering how good it would be if you had someone to pick you up from work, too.

————————

“Hello, I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” You bow with a wide smile, trying to hide the nervousness that comes with a situation like this. “I’m a fourth year resident, nice to meet you all.”

“Fourth year?” Someone whispers and you pretend you don’t hear them. “Isn’t that a bit late to be switching hospitals?”

“It’s good to have you, Dr. Y/N,” One of the nurses step forward, shaking your hand. “We are happy you’re here. I’m Jimin, or Nurse Park, whichever you prefer.”

“Yeah,” A girl steps forward. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Wheein.”

“Hi,” You wave shyly, glad that at least someone is talking to you. “Are you also a fourth year?”

She nods. “Yeah, but I’m with the Pediatrics department.”

“Ah, that sounds like fun,” You chuckle and she laughs with you. “I’m Psychiatry.”

After you say that, it feels like the words could echo in the silent room.

“W-What? Did I say something wrong?” You whisper with wide eyes, looking at your new friends. Jimin shakes his head and scoffs at his peers.

“Not at all,” He rolls his eyes. “The doctors are just being stupid.”

“It’s just shocking to see such a cheerful person like you working in such a sad place,” One of the doctors says, laughing as his friends nod. “It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it, isn’t that right?”

“Well, of course, Dr… Ahn,” You squint at his jacket, carefully reading his name. “Let me guess; surgeon?”

“Oh!” He exclaims, eyebrows going high. “How’d you know?”

“The hands,” You smile, pointing at his hands. “You’re holding your cup in a way that your hand won’t get burned with the hot coffee…”

“Wow,” He elbows his friend. “Consider me impressed.”

“What makes the Psychiatry ward so sad, Doctor?”

Your smile is gone, voice cold and cutting. Anyone could see your change in demeanor; eyes suddenly sharp, chest puffed, and chin high.

“Well, the–“

“Careful there Doctor,” You whisper close to him. “If you say ‘people,’ what will your colleagues think?”

He clears his throat, looking angry and confused. “It’s not–“

“Because if I can recall,” You interrupt him once again, going back to your smiley self. “The surgery room isn’t all that happy, with all the people desperately hanging onto their lives, trusting people like… you.”

“I don’t–“

“Don’t look down on people that can’t be fixed with surgery,” You breath, bowing to him. “I only ask that of you.”

You hear a mumble with some work you dare not to repeat and leave, a stampede of feet following him suit.

“That,” Wheein point at the leaving hoard of white jackets. “Was fucking cool.”

“I’m not a fan of people like him,” You say, suddenly blushing.

“And neither is our boss,” Jimin says throwing his arms around your shoulder. “Wait until you meet him.”

And you meet him. Around two hours later, after you are done with rounds and new patients’ admissions. When you see him, however, your heart stops, because that man does not look happy.

“Who are you?” He asks, not even looking up from his clipboard.

“I’m your new resident,” You bow. “Y/N Y/L/N.” “What year?”

“Fourth,” You say, feeling embarrassed for the first time.

“Fourth?” And he finally looks up. You don’t think he recognizes you, and you are not dumb enough to ask, choosing to nod instead. “Why?”

“Because I went through the first three already?” You try to joke but it clearly doesn’t work. “Sorry, bad joke. I just thought a change would be… good.”

“Good?” He frowns and his eyes scan you. “Did you get in trouble in the last hospital?”

You freeze.

“No,” You shake your head, looking down at your feet. As long as he didn’t recognize you, you’d be okay.

“If you are lying, I have ways to find out,” He says, and although his voice is soft, his words are harsh.

“Then please do,” When you finally gather the courage to look at his piercing eyes, you notice how they don’t look as intimidating as his attitude. They are understanding, and you are confused. “I’m here to do my best, Dr. Park.”

“That’s all I ask, then,” He nods. “Have you done rounds?”

“Yes, Doctor,” And you are back in your comfort zone, doing what you do best. Taking care of people that need you. “I also admitted two new patients and they are waiting for your assessment.”

“How long until you are a fellow?” He suddenly asks, reading the information in the chart. His eyes are quick and he scans everything with such precision that leaves you amazed.

“Three more months, Doctor,” You know this won’t help your case, but you also know you can’t lie to your boss.

“Hm,” He hums, and gives you the okay on the documents. “You’ve done a better job on these two files than most my fellows do. Keep it going.”

You blink, suddenly whiplashed. Was that a compliment?

“I give credit when credit’s due, Dr. Y/N,” He sighs, chuckling a little and you feel your whole body melt under that voice. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“Yes, Doctor, thank you,” You are quick on your feet and back with Jimin, discussing procedures.

“Ah,” Dr. Park calls again. “Y/N?”

Your body tenses, and you think, shit, he recognized me. This is it. He can fire me if he wants and–

“Those two patients you admitted,” He continues, hand on his pockets, looking so flawlessly cool.

“What about them?” You ask, suspicious of his easy going attitude.

“They are yours.”

And he leaves.

“Did he jus–“

“Oh wow,” Jimin’s eyes are wide, hands suddenly forgetting what they were doing. “Congrats, Y/N.”

“Is this normal?” You sigh. “He’s giving me more headaches than I’ve ever had in my life, and we talked for literally fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin laughs. “That’s Doctor Park Jinyoung. He loves his job and he is not really easy on people, but once you get on his good side, it’s all good.”

“Are you on his good side?” You ask, jokingly poking him in the waist.

“Most definitely,” Jimin says. “He told me once I was the nurse he trusted the most… it makes me sad that he actually has to trust people to do his job. We are medical practitioners, you know.”

“Has any incident happened before?” You frown.

“Yeah,” His voice sounds strained and tired. “One time he caught a nurse referring to patients as “crazy” and he fired her on the spot. Two residents and a fellow committed the same mistake… don’t misunderstand this, they were good doctors, but Dr. Park Jinyoung doesn’t put up with people that invalidates or disrespect the patients.”

“I wouldn’t either…” You whisper, eyes finding the tall man in the hallway, talking with a wondering patient. She is old and looks lost, but he smiles– the most wonderful and peaceful smile,– and guides her back to her room. When he laughs, his cheeks puff and you can’t help but breath out in relief. Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all.

————————

“Sorry I’m late!” You call out from the back, already putting on your apron and moving to the front of the bar. “Things got a little hectic in the hospital.”

“Everything alright?” Jisung asks, and his eyes take you in; tired, messy, but overall happy.

“All good,” You smile. “I got it over here. Thanks for covering for me.”

“No problem,” He offers you a pat on the back and goes back inside. “Shout if you need anything.”

You just nod, already pouring a few regulars their orders. Cranberry vodka, Long Island Ice Tea, Tequila and lime. Whiskey.

“I knew it was you.”

You look up, and to your surprise, it’s Doctor Ahn. His tie is a little loose and he looks drunk enough to make a dumb mistake.

“Ms. Smart Mouth,” He laughs humorlessly. “Guess you’re not all that high and mighty now, are you?”

“How can I help you, Sir?” You smile, going over the basic script.

“Oh, gonna pretend you don’t know me?” He snarls and leans forward, almost tipping his drink over. “Do you know how much trouble you got me in with Dr. Park Jinyoung?”

Dr. Park?, you think, but say nothing, maintaining your ground even if all of your body was screaming to run away.

“He heard about our interaction,” Dr. Ahn grabs the front of your t-shirt and you sigh, knowing that Jisung would show up anytime now. “And threatened to take me to the board. On what ground? Huh? You tell me, since you’re so smart, Dr. Y/N, on what grounds that motherfucker can take me to the board of the hospital?”

“Disrespectful behavior, prejudice against the ill, and now, to top it all, harassment of a coworker.”

Jinyoung stood behind Dr. Ahn, arms crossed over his chest, and eyes shinning a weird glint– something like rage working inside him.

“Let go of my resident, Hanseok,” Jinyoung mumbles, and the sheer power of his words are enough to make himself heard over the loud music. “Or I’ll make sure those hands can never operate again.”

You are free just in time to hold Jisung back, putting your arm in front of his chest. He looks at you and you just shake your head, asking him to leave it.

“Doctors,” You call out, trained smile on your face and voice chirpy. “Why don’t we just all take a breather and have a drink? On the house.”

“Wha–“ Dr. Ahn starts to say something but Dr. Park passes by, hitting him with his shoulder, and sits on a stool.

“Whiskey, please,” He says, and this is more like the man you’ve met. Voice calm and soft, even offering you a small smile.

“Coming right up!” To say you’re relieved is an understatement. You weren’t looking for trouble, specially with your superiors.

“Can you guess if I want ice or not?” Dr. Park chuckles and looks at you, and something changes. His eyes, the glint you saw before is gone, and there’s a new light in them, something more relaxed and oh so endearing.

You offer him a smile. “That goes beyond my abilities, Dr. Pa–“

“Jinyoung,” He clarifies, blushing a little. “We’re outside of the hospital, so just call me Jinyoung, will you?”

“Sure thing, Jinyoung,” You giggle, continuing to clean the cups. “Anything you need, let me know. It’s on the house.”

“This is all wrong,” He says, looking bothered. “I should be the one buying you drinks.”

“W-why?” You stutter.

“As your sunbae, I should be the one buying my residents drinks,” He smiles and there they are, the cheeks. You control the urge to pinch them and smile.

“I’ll take you up on that some other time, sunbae,” You laugh, already moving to fill up someone else’s cup. “I have work to do.”

“What time does your shift end?”

“Late,” You sigh, tired just from thinking about it. “But don’t worry! I’ll be at the hospital on time and ready for work!”

“That’s not what I was worried about,” He says, downing his drink and gets up. “But that’s good to hear. Have a goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Jinyoung.”

————————

“Dr. Y/N,” Someone calls. “Patient on room two needs you!”

“Dr. Y/N, there are two emergency patients waiting!”

“Dr. Y/N, they are asking for your help in the Neuropsychology department!”

“Dr. Y/N–“

“Oh my god,” You groan, struggling to maintain your false composure; it’s now been two months since you first started at the hospital and you still wondered where were the other doctors. “Where are the other residents?”

“Dr. Yoon is having breakfast with a few fellows and Dr. Han is late,” Jimin giving you more folders. “You’re the only one here, at the moment.”

“For fuck’s sake, I can’t take care of a whole wing by myself, Jimin,” You breath out, suddenly having a hard time to concentrate.

“Hey, breath, Y/N, just breath,” He instructs, patting your back. “I’ve already called Dr. Park, he’ll be here as soon as possible, but for now, you need to do this.”

You close your eyes, pulling your hair back and retying it in a high ponytail. Just the mention of his name gives you energy; you know you need to do good by him.

“Okay, let’s go,” You put on your jacket and you start all over again, assigning nurses to each case as they demanded it. “Jimin, go to the Neuro department and see what they want, I’m sure Dr. Park’s opinion would be better than mine, so ask if they can wait until he’s here. Nurse Baek and Nurse Kyung, go to the emergency patients for an initial assessment and get back to me; I’m going to room 2.”

Y/N, those two patients you admitted, Jinyoung’s voice ring in your head. They are yours.

“Ms. Lee?” You smile, entering the room where the sweet old lady from before laid. “I’m your doctor, Dr. Y/N…”

“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Y/N,” She laughs and you smile. She might not remember you, but the light in her eyes shine like no other.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ms. Lee,” You shake her hand carefully. “Do you know where you are?”

“The hospital?” She asks. “I don’t remember coming here…”

“Yes, ma’am,” You nod. “You were admitted yesterday… but you don’t have to worry, though; we’ll take really goo care of you.”

“Oh I’m sure of that,” Her hand holds yours. “Can you tell me why I’m here, though? I don’t remember…”

Taking a deep breath, you started to explain her condition, going over the medical details in the simplest terms you could, giving her time to process and ask questions. Ms. Lee had suffered from a brain injury that lead her to have long term memory loss, resetting her brain every few hours, which would lead to issues such as taking care of herself and others. Her daughter admitted her to the hospital in hopes that she could be properly taken care of, and that’s what you’d do. She cries a little bit, but is pretty understanding of her situation over all.

“Will you come back later, Dr. Y/N?” She sniffles, and you chuckle.

“Of course, Ms. Lee,” You wink. “I have to visit my favorite patient at least twice a day.”

“I hope I’ll remember you later,” She says and your heart clenches. “If I don’t, it’s been a pleasure, Doctor.”

You just smile, not trusting yourself to speak at that moment. This was the hard part of the job; the feelings, the defeat, the acceptance. All doctors, surgeons or not, go through the same process of training, where you have to deliver bad news to the ones responsible for the patient… and that was the hardest part for you. Always’ been.

“Dr. Y/N, good morning,” Jinyoung calls, jogging past you to his office. Surprised with his sudden appearance, you take him in, and his jeans and t-shirt make you smile.

“Good morning, Doctor Park,” You mumble, even though you know he won’t hear you.

This has been the routine so far; you get in for the early morning shifts, on the nights you don’t have to stay for the overnight shift and miss work, with barely four hours of sleep, and no one is there besides Jimin. You take care of emergency patients and the patients in the rooms assigned to you. Then, when the clock hits an acceptable hour, Dr. Park shows up, wishing you a ‘good morning’ and running to his office, where he will change and look like the professionally stern doctor she usually does. Once your shift is over, you go to work at the bar, where you will pour greasy men their drink until Jinyoung shows up, and you two will talk for the couple hours he usually stays, then he leaves and you have to get back to your real life. And then repeat. Every night, though, Jinyoung brings you coffee; lattes, fast whites, americanos– always something to make your night better. And that’s how it happened, you realize; the slow growth of your feelings for him, one coffee at a time.

Today however, once Dr. Park finally takes over the ward, and your shift is over, and you go to your job where Jisung is waiting for you with redbull and a sandwich, you feel yourself slipping. You move slower than usual and some clients even have to call you twice before you can actually process it.

“What’s going on with you?” Jisung asks as he decided to help you with the counter.

“Nothing,” You shake your head, hoping it would wake you up. “I think I’m just a little tired.”

“A little?!” He laughs. “You’ve been overworked for years now. A little is underestimating it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say–“

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

You look to the group in front of you and now you feel like you could actually pass out.

“Dr. Kim,” You breath out, eyes wide in surprise. “W-what are you d-doing here?”

Not sure if Jisung heard you, your glance at him and he nods– he’s keeping an eye on you.

“So this is what you’re doing now?” Dr. Kim lets out a humorless laugh. “As expected of someone like you.”

Stay calm, you think to yourself, taking a deep breath. Stay calm, Y/N, and do your job.

“What can I help you with today?” And smile.

He laughs again and you don’t think you could ever forget this sound; it haunts you at night when you try to sleep and it follows you during the day, sneaking on your when you’re distracted. The only way to push it away is to focus on something else– like your patients.

“Oh, so now you want to help me?” He murmurs and leans forward and you’re scared.

For the first time since you started this job, you are terrified.

“Whiskey.”

Your hand flies to the bottle instantly, your body reacting on its own and moving to the new man sitting next to Dr. Kim. You feel his eyes on you, heavy on your back as you serve the costumer, unable to look up from your feet.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

Jinyoung.

“Ah,” Now you’re looking at him, begging him with your eyes to stop. “If it isn’t Kim Jungseok…”

“Park Jinyoung,” Dr. Kim smiles and you just want to sit down and cry; for two months, ever since you left your old hospital, all you’ve been wanting to do is cry. “How do you know my old resident?”

At this Jisung is right next to you, pushing you behind him.

“Because she’s my new resident,” Jinyoung point at you and takes a sip form his cup. “Best one I’ve ever had, to be honest.”

“Oh yeah, Y/N was the best at her job,” Dr. Kim looks at you and winks.

“Funny you say that,” Jinyoung chuckles and a weird sense of deja-vu hits you. You’ve seen that look in his face before, when he fired one of the fellows for inappropriate behavior towards a few of the nurses. From what you knew, he kept hitting on them and intimating them to go on dates. “Why’d you fire her?”

This is when you know you need to intervene.

“Dr. Park, I don’t–“

“She chose to leave,” Dr. Kim shrugs. “Can’t force her to stay, can I?”

Jinyoung laughs and finishes his drink. All the while, alarms are sounding in your head as your current boss turns to face your old boss. Everything in Park Jinyoung screamed powerful at that moment and you know that something big is about to happen.

“No, but apparently you can force her to do other things, right?”

Jisung is quick to pull you to the back as soon as the first punch is thrown. You scream Jinyoung’s name but he is too busy to look and the door closes, leaving just you, shaking and crying, and Jisung, who’s on the phone with the front door bouncers. As soon as they give you the okay, you are running to the front, looking for the man you see everyday, hoping to see him just one more time before tomorrow.

“No,” You mumble through your tears, banging your fist on the counter. “No no no, fuck no!”

“That was your old boss,” Jisung breaths out, looking at you. “And what Jinyoung said–“

“I have no fucking clue how–“

“Your file,” Jinyoung says, coming out of the bathroom with a wet napkin to his mouth. “Did you really think I’d never find out?”

“I didn’t–“ You stop, trying to think back to what you wrote on your file. “I didn’t say anything about it on my file.”

“You wrote issues with the staff, the rest I assumed,” Jinyoung sighs, sitting back on the stools, flinching a bit. “Harassment is not something I take lightly, Y/N.”

“Assumed?!” You shriek. “How the fuck–“

“You forget that’s my job,” And he looks at you like no one did before– like you are there, shinning brighter than the lights; like you are speaking louder than the music, and presence bigger than the room. He looks at you as if you are the only one present and you feel your heart do a weird thing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I?” You ask. “If people at the hospital knew, I’d be the talk of the department. I’d be labeled as either he girl that couldn’t just put up with it, or the girl that put up with it for too long… so I left before it got worse.”

“I didn’t say people,” He seethes, and you’ve never seen him look so devastated before. Not when Ms. Lee had one of her episodes, not when he was called in to evaluate the mental condition of an inmate, not when you were swarming with emergency patients. Never. “I said me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-I don’t know…” You whisper, drying the few tears that still dared to fall and turning to the freezer to get a couple of drinks. “I just didn’t.”

“Do you not trust me?”

“Jinyoung!” You chastise, turning to face him with now two beers. The bar had been closed a little early thanks to the fight and Jisung was nowhere to be seen. It was just the two of you now, and you sit next to him. “Why would you say that?”

He shrugs. “I’m the one responsible for you now,” He sighs, turning to you. “And how can I take care of you if you won’t let me?”

“I’m your employee,” You roll your eyes. “Not your girlfriend.”

“…yeah,” Jinyoung takes a sip. “Sure.”

Something shifts, as you sit there, alone with Jinyoung, drinking beer, after he had just been punched because of you. His words, slow and sad, hit you like a ton of bricks. His eyes, looking down at his hands, make their way to you. And now you know. Now you are sure.

“Jinyoung,” You breath out, sounding as surprised as you are sure you look. “Do you like me?”

His head hangs low, and he chuckles. “Read my mind again, did you?”

“I–“

“Don’t,” He asks, eyes shinning with strength. “We’re old enough to not have to explain.”

“I work,” You blurt out, ignoring him completely. “Two jobs; the hospital and here. Not because I like, though… here, I mean. I don’t work here because I like it, but the tips are good and I need money.”

Jinyoung just nods.

“I need to pay my school loans,” Words keep coming out of your mouth and you are not sure why. You’ve never felt the need to explain yourself before, but with Jinyoung everything is just different. “I need to pay them as soon as possible because I don’t want this huge debt interfering with my career. I’m sure I’ll be able to do it in a few years, if I manage to get my fellow in this hospital. All the time I don’t spent with you and Jimin, I’m here. I’m constantly tired, hungry, stressed, and overworked. I smile to men that are disgusting because I can’t tell them fuck themselves without losing my job and I don’t have anything to look forward to, anymore. I like you, too. You are caring, and kind, and an incredible doctor. But why do you like me? I’m not the best at what I do, but I’m not the worst. I’m not particularly skilled, or impressive, or–“

“Somedays,” Jinyoung interrupts your rambling, hand moving to cover yours, resting in the counter. “I have no faith left in humanity. The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done… I’m not sure exactly why, but somedays I just don’t think there is anything good out there. And then I see you. In all my years of working in that hospital, I’ve never seen anyone like you. You work diligently, without skipping a day, although you’ve not slept for nights, and you do what your told, but you follow your gut. You know right and wrong and, better yet, you know people. You have this freaky ability to read body language and the patients love you, because they know you know what they need and what they want. That is what makes you an incredible doctor.”

You just look at him.

“You say you’re not particularly skilled,” He laugh. “That’s bullshit, Y/N. You are one of the best doctors I’ve seen. Hell, you are one of the best people I’ve met. I literally took a punch for you, because you are so worth it.”

“Jinyoung–“

“Don’t do that again,” He asks, stroking his thumb on the palm of your hand. “Tell me things. I want to know them, so I can help you. I know right now seems hard, but you will get through this. I know you will."

“How are you so sure?” You whisper, entranced by this man.

“Because I did,” He smiles. “Five years ago, I worked this same job, at this same place. And I did it; I payed all of my loans back, turned into a pretty good doctor, and dare I say, met you. Things seem pretty fine to me.”

“Oh my god, you are so cringey,” You groan, laughing with him. “Who knew? Intimidating Dr. Park is actually the softest boy.”

“Just for you,” He says and you laugh even harder. “Now why don’t I take you home? You can hopefully get a full eight-hour-sleep if we leave now.”

The ride to your house is silent and comfortable. But that’s all that is– a ride. Jinyoung drops you home, and, after declining your offer for coffee, drives away.

You go to bed confused and lost.

He did say he liked me, right?

————————

“And he left?!” Wheein shouts, banging her fists on the table. “Wah, that man really is heartless…”

“Yah,” You frown. “Don’t say that.”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to offed your boyfriend,” Wheein laughs and you chuckle with her, eating your lunch in silence.

Jimin looks at you with a little smile, but says nothing, so you nod at him. “You are awfully quiet today.”

“Ah, am I?” He chuckles. “Didn’t notice…”

Wheein elbows you and you look at her, suspicious of your friend. “Spill it, Park.”

“Spill what?” He makes an innocent face but he can’t fool you. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” You ask, resting your face on your hands.

“Like I’m kidding something,” He mumbles and looks to the side.

“Ah!” You shout, pointing at his eyes. “Why’d you look away? What are you hiding?”

“I really hate you and your mind reading abilities,” He groans and hides his face in his arms. “I can’t say.”

“Why not?” You whine, looking at Wheein as she laughs. “We have no secrets among us!”

“Yes we do,” Jimin scoffs. “And this one I really can’t tell.”

“Come on, Jimin-ah,” Wheein begs, curious as well. “Tells us.”

“Nope,” He says and gets up. “Gotta blast.”

“Does this has anything to do with Jinyoung?” You ask, and he flinches a little before running away.

“What was that?” Wheein asks pointing at your friend. “He’s the worst at keeping secrets!”

You shrug and go back to work, waving goodbye as she runs after Dr. Kim Yugyeom with some files that need his signature. Jimin is at his station but he refuses to talk to you, certainly afraid that he will spill the beans. The day goes by slowly like this, and right before you leave, you remember a few papers that need Dr. Park’s signature.

“Jimin,” You call, running to the front desk. “Where is Dr. Park? I need his–“

“Not here,” He says quickly and leaves. “Goodbye, have a goodnight!”

“So fucking weird,” You mumble watching him speed walk to Ms. Lee’s room.

You leave the papers in the front desk with a post-it note and decide to call it for the day, thankful that you are out on time and that you won’t be late for your shift at the bar. You are on the elevator when you pull your phone, ready to text Jisung but surprised to see that he texted you first.

I won’t be at work today. Just you ;)

You swear you almost have a heart attack.

What the fuck do you mean it’s just me? Jisung, I can’t take care of the bar by myself!

We’re not opening tonight, chill. I just need you to check inventory and you’re done.

Why can’t he do that? You sigh, knowing that you can get that done within the hour and then go home and rest.

Okay.

You get to the bar already exhausted and you drop your bag in the door, taking a second to breath. You admit, you loved this place. The wooden tables and counter, the atmosphere, the freedom. You’ll miss it when it’s gone. You feel so natural in there, not having to hide anything from anyone. You feel comfortable, even though sometimes you have some trouble.

Is this why Jinyoung comes here every night?, you wonder, walking to the counter to check the bottles. Is he looking for comfort, too?

You are halfway through inventory when you hear the chimes of the door. Knowing that Jisung was probably on the seventh heaven with his boyfriend right now, you make your way to the front, shouting as you walk.

“Sorry, we’re not open tonight!”

“Not even for me?”

You look up to Jinyoung, not exactly surprised, but still impressed. He looked flawless, in jeans and a jumper. His hair, ruffled by the wind outside, covered his eyes a bit and you smile, thinking he looks adorable in his glasses.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, walking to him. “You weren’t at the hospital…”

“I had a consultation at the penitentiary,” He sighs, and his shoulders drop at the confession. You feel the stress coming out of him, and you grab his hand, hoping that maybe some human touch is exactly what he needs. “But I wanted to see you.”

“Hello, then,” You smile bright. “Want a drink?”

“Thought you were closed?” He teases, sitting on his usual stool nonetheless. You laugh and walk behind the counter, and everything feels oddly familiar.

“I’ll make an exception for you, kind sir,” You joke. “You did help me even without knowing me…”

“Ah, I was wondering if you recognized me from that night,” He smiles and that is all you needed. “I hated seeing that man grabbing you like that, to be honest.”

“Why? Were you already so in love with me that you got– Hey, where are you going?!” You laugh as he rolls his eyes and pretends to leave the room. He comes back when you ask him to, grabbing his cup and your hand in the process. “I missed you today.”

“Yeah?” He asks shyly, blushing a bit as you lean over the counter, face really close to his. “Missed you, too…”

“Jinyoung,” You groan. “When will you kiss me?”

You think he chokes on his drink and once you reach over to tap him on his back, he pulls you by the wrist, covering your mouth with his. You can’t help but chuckle at this man; he always looks so demanding and stern in the hospital, but his kiss is nothing short of shy and gentle. He takes his time, and your neck even hurts a bit after he pulls away, but it’s oh so worth it.

“There,” He ‘tsk’s’ and takes another sip. “Happy? I was planning something more romantic, but you are just too impatient.”

“Oh shut up,” You hit his arm lightly. “It was visible how much you wanted to kiss me.”

“Okay, this can’t do,” He gets up and goes behind the counter, caging you in between his arms. “Y/N, this won’t work like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“For this,” He motions in between you two. “To work, you need to stop reading me.”

At that, you laugh, throwing your head back and wheezing. “It’s not something I chose to do!”

“I want to surprise you at leas once!” He whines.

“Oh,” You gasp, looking at his pouting lips. “Is big bad doctor whining?”

“Stop teasing me!” He begs, hiding his face on your neck. “I’m not good with these things.”

“Oh, I think you’re great,” You say, kissing him once more. “The best, really.”

“I hate you,” He groans, lips finding yours again.

Jinyoung pulls you closer, sitting you on top of the counter and finding a place in between your legs as he kisses you like there is no tomorrow. Now, he is much more firm then he was before, and you can’t hide your excitement, grabbing his neck and hair and pulling him closer.

“We need to stop,” He murmurs on your lips. “Seriously, I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself if we keep going.”

“Behave yourself, we’re at my work place,” You laugh and, pecking his lips one last time, jump out of the counter. “I still have some stuff to do, but you can go home if you want.”

Jinyoung shakes his head. “No way, I’m dropping you home after this. Jisung said he can’t come pick you up and I don’t like you walking home by yourself at night.”

“Jisung? Since when you guys talk?”

“Since I needed to find out when you’d get here,” Jinyoung smiles mischievously and he looks so young and carefree that you don’t dare to tease him, afraid that he’ll close himself off again. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did,” You smile. “Is that why Jimin was acting weird all day?”

“Ah, that boy can’t keep a secret for his life,” Jinyoung sighs. “Poor him, I bet you and Wheein interrogated him.”

“You bet we did, he was acting so weird!”

The banter occupies most of your time and soon enough you find yourself home, on your bed, with Jinyoung’s arms wrapped around you. The comfort is unlike anything you’ve felt before and you snuggle closer to him, happy at last.

As sleep caught up to you, you couldn’t help but think how excited you were for work tomorrow, when you’d finally have someone to pick you up, too.

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

Hello lovelies! As promised, here is the update of the week! Jinyoung’s turn <3 This was so much fun to write, although I will admit, it’s been the hardest one so far. What do you think? Let me know in the comments :P Love you all and thank you for the constant support <3

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

“With straw, I'll weave a garland; I'll weave it wondrous fine;

With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine,

And I'll present it to my love when he returns from sea...

I love my love because I know my love loves me."

~“A Maid in Bedlam”

((Here are three lovely variations of this traditional English ballad -- Juliette “Jules” Farrier belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier...and you can read the first part of this POTC AU for Carewyn and Orion here!! <33))

x~x~x~x

Of all the things Carewyn could’ve expected to happen on her voyage back to Port Royal, one was certainly not being tended to by the infamous pirate Captain Orion Amari -- and yet, here she was, her blue Navy coat discarded, sitting on his bed in his cabin as he wrapped her cut and bleeding hands in bandages.

The gesture felt familiar. She’d wrapped his arms and hands in bandages too, while he was staying with them. A few of his wounds had been from bullets, while others had probably been from evading canon fire -- he’d even lost the tops of his pinky and ring fingers on his left hand. It had been a challenge to bandage him properly, since he was shaking so badly...

Carewyn found herself staring at Orion’s hands more than his face as he worked. It was just too hard for her to look him in the face.

For this pirate captain to be that boy she’d helped, all those years ago...for her to see that boy again, after more than ten years...it was so surreal. It wasn’t hard to see that those ten years had changed them both too. The quiet, distrustful, anxious young man who’d flinched at her touch as if he’d never been shown any gentleness in his life was now the detached, unreadable, oddly honorable pirate who had surfed the stair railing down to the deck of her ship and serenely compared Percy to a parrot. It was foolish to act like he was still that same boy who had rippled over her mind off and on over the years whenever she felt most alone and afraid. Even so...

Carewyn’s gaze flickered up to Orion’s face. He was looking down at her hands like she had been, as he tied off the first round of bandages around her left palm and turned his focus to her right hand.

This Captain Amari...was truly nothing like she had expected, all the same.

“May I ask what this was from?” asked Orion softly.

He gestured to the scar on her right forearm.

Now that Orion had initiated conversation again, Carewyn felt comfortable enough to respond. As she’d said before, she wasn’t superstitious, but most of her fellow sailors were, and she’d been at sea so long that she’d grown used to not speaking until spoken to, so as not to needlessly upset anyone else.

“A Frenchman’s cutlass,” she replied. “I was engaged with one of his cohorts in a sea battle off the coast of Martinique. I might’ve lost my arm if Bill hadn’t alerted me in time.”

“Bill...the man who first gave you his name?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. It was fortunate he was there, then.”

Orion’s dark eyes lingered briefly on her scar before returning to bandaging her hand.

“Yes, it was,” granted Carewyn. “...I feel very fortunate to have met Bill and his family.”

Orion didn’t answer. Carewyn let them fall into silence again, her blue eyes once again drifting away.

Orion’s cabin was quite unlike a lot of the Navy cabins she’d visited. The finely carved wood pieces he’d collected evoked lions, unicorns, and ocean waves. Even his walls were decorated with pieces like a dock landscape and an Asian print depicting a dragon.

“That’s from Japan,” said Orion, when he noticed where she was looking. “Their dragons are benevolent creatures in charge of the seas and skies -- it seemed like good company, to have on board.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Carewyn.

She looked at Orion, her lips curled up in a small, wry smile.

“You have very good taste. I must wonder how much of this is stolen, though.”

Orion raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Not as much as you’d think. Though I admit, I may have purchased a few of these with coin I did steal.”

Carewyn gave an airy sigh, and Orion chuckled lowly.

“I’m surprised you didn’t decide to have some naked woman carved into your bed, like so many Navy officers do,” Carewyn said sardonically. “Aren’t they supposed to be ‘good luck?’“

“And yet women themselves are supposed to be bad luck on board a ship,” said Orion, his lips spreading into a wry smile. “A rather confusing contradiction.”

Carewyn scoffed. “Apparently women are only something a lot of men want on board a ship when they’re something they can salivate over.”

“A shame -- Skye is a woman, and she’s easily the fiercest of any of my crew. And...”

Orion’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

“...well, here you are, chosen as ship’s Captain.”

Despite the mischief in his eyes, though, there was an almost impressed sound somewhere in the back of his throat as he spoke.

Carewyn’s blue eyes softened slightly. “It’s certainly not where I imagined myself ending up.”

The traces of a smile on Orion’s face faded.

“...Nor I.”

His gaze again fell to his own hands as they wrapped her right hand in bandages that bit more gently.

“I never would’ve thought I’d find you here either. A captain of the Navy -- a soldier, surviving a War and then being forced to serve the will of the East India Company...”

His dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, but they seemed sadder rather than angry.

“...It’s no proper fate, for a woman with so kind and free of a heart as yours.”

Carewyn felt like her heart was being squeezed. “Orion...”

She shifted forward and almost made to get off the bed, but Orion quickly knotted the bandage on her hand and clutched it between both of his. He raised his head to look her in the eye.

“I can’t act like I knew, or even thought seriously, that our stars would align again...but even with that...I’d imagined a life much better than this for you.”

Carewyn’s eyes grew a little smaller upon his face.

“...You thought of me?”

Something flickered at the back of Orion’s eyes -- was it uncertainty? His gaze flitted back down to their hands.

“...Yes,” he murmured. “Not...constantly, but...the memory of your voice was very soothing, on the most restless nights at sea.”

Carewyn stared down at Orion. The faint shyness in his expression, for the first time, made him suddenly look just like that boy again -- the bruised, scared, trembling boy she’d tended to and sang to sleep...

“I suppose...that was what I’d imagined, mostly,” said Orion, his voice lower than ever as he looked up at her again. “That you’d have married a man who you’d look after and sing for.”

Carewyn couldn’t completely fight back an amused snort. “As I said, the only marriage proposal I’ve been faced with was to Juliette Farrier...and I would never deprive Bill of his lady fair.”

Orion blinked at how wide her grin was while saying this. Then his expression softened.

“...A good reason not to accept it, then.”

His shoulders seemed to relax slightly. Carewyn’s eyes went down to their hands again too as she brought her left hand up to hold Orion’s right, so that they were now both holding each other’s hands.

“...I thought of you too, you know,” she said gently.

Orion looked startled; her lips spread in a soft smile as she kept her gaze downcast.

“As you said, it wasn’t constant or anything...but for whatever reason, you kept appearing in my dreams, at random times. Sometimes right before a battle, or on Jacob’s birthday...but for whatever reason, you just kept appearing. I don’t know...maybe I just subconsciously never stopped wondering what had happened to you...”

For a moment, Orion didn’t speak. His hands holding hers tentatively adjusted their grip around hers, almost as if he wanted to squeeze them, but didn’t for fear of hurting her.

“...Carewyn...”

His voice was so quiet and misty, and yet, there was something rippling in the back of it -- like a shadow moving behind fog...

Rap, rap, rap.

Both Carewyn and Orion stiffened at the sound of a knock on the cabin door. They immediately let go of each other’s hands and Orion shot to his feet as the door opened and McNully rolled his chair into the doorway.

“Captain,” he said, “Tortuga is within view.”

He glanced from Orion to Carewyn as she put down her rolled up sleeves and then reached for her blue Navy coat and pulled it back on.

“Thank you, McNully,” said Orion levelly, as he slipped his own long olive suede coat back on, fluffing the collar.

His face twisted in confusion, McNully rolled up next to his Captain, shooting both Orion and Carewyn a very pointed “side-eye.”

“According to my calculations, there’s a 98.7% chance that I’m missing something,” he muttered to Orion very coolly.

Orion gave him a patient smile. “Don’t worry -- it’s nothing that consequential.”

His eyes drifted over his shoulder in Carewyn’s direction. She’d finished buttoning up her coat and looked every bit the “Naval officer” again. Even when she faced him and spoke, she again sounded like she had when she’d first arrived on board.

“Is Tortuga to be where I’m deposited, Captain?” she said very coolly, folding her arms behind her and lightly puffing out her chest in typical soldier fashion. “I suppose I should be glad it’s not on a barren isle with a jug of water and a pistol with one shot.”

Orion raised his eyebrows amusedly. “I believe the barren isle would be a better place for you to end up than Tortuga, Captain. Fortunately my crew only has need of supplies, before we settle on where to drop you off -- I appreciate your patience.”

“What shall we do with him, while we’re getting supplies?” McNully whispered to Orion. “You don’t intend to leave him here in your cabin alone?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Orion airily. “He is our guest, is he not?”

“Orion.”

McNully’s voice had hardened noticeably.

“I see those cut ropes,” he muttered. “I see your decorative swords on the floor, stained with blood. I see the Captain’s hands are bandaged. It’s clear he tried to escape, and I’d say there’s a 86.3% chance he’ll try to do it again...unless there’s something you know that I don’t.”

Orion didn’t respond. He distracted himself by putting the decorative swords back on the wall.

Carewyn glanced from Orion’s back to his first mate. Even if his face was so hard, she could tell it was due to confusion and concern, not genuine anger or resentment.

‘Orion said I’d found a family,’ she thought to herself. ‘It seems he’s found one too...’

“Orion.”

Both Orion and McNully looked surprised when Carewyn spoke. Her voice was its usual youthful-boy-sounding pitch, but it was much less cold and distrustful than it had been.

“Go ahead and tell him,” she said solemnly.

Orion immediately put down the second of the two swords on a nearby dresser and turned around.

“What?”

“He’s your comrade-in-arms. He deserves to know.”

Orion looked oddly hesitant. Carewyn could tell he wasn’t sure how much to say -- after all, she did have multiple secrets. Not just the fact that they knew each other and that she’d hidden him from the Navy back in the day, but her ancestry...her real gender...

She swallowed back her fear and unease, putting forward the bravest face she could.

“If you trust this man...then it’s okay.”

She glanced at McNully. The first mate looked more confused than ever, and yet his face seemed less suspicious toward Carewyn than it had been, like he was starting to wonder if he’d misjudged her.

Orion stared at Carewyn for a very long moment, his dark eyes running over her face with an unreadable glint. Then, taking a deep breath, he nodded.

“McNully...I’d like you to meet Carewyn Cromwell.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #my art #my writing #my fanfiction #okay so this song?#it goes WAY back with me #I sang it in my high school choir and yeah it's just always stuck with me #I was so enthralled to find so many beautiful versions of it with slight variations on the lyrics #the traditional version is actually quite a bit grimmer as -- well -- a maid in bedlam is a woman trapped in an asylum!!#so her love finds her after she's presumably been thoroughly traumitized #either by mistreatment from his and/or her parents or from the grief of her love being sent off to sea maybe never to return #but yeah over time happier endings have been written of course #gotta say the 'captain jack' look REALLY suits you orion #and oh the PINING #you two are gonna have a rough road ahead of you before you guys can live happily ever after #but yes this AU?#I...absolutely love it #X3

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vateacancameos · 4 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapters: 1/1 Words: 4,150 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Both Linny and Drarry, Meet the Family, The Talk, Mentions of Ginny having tattoos, because she'd look awesome in tattoos and i just had to add that in, POV Ginny Weasley, POV Draco Malfoy

Summary: There comes a time in many romantic relationships when you have to meet the family. It’s usually nerve-wracking and awkward and something to be dreaded. Take a peek into Ginny’s and Draco’s minds during this step.

Story:

Ginny took a deep breath and squinted at her image in the mirror. She looked like her usual self, but a little neater: hair in a sleek ponytail, skin tanned from hours of practice and games, far too many freckles for her liking, but not a thing she could help, brightly colored tattoos wiggling on her arms. She smoothed hands over cropped jeans that probably sported a few too many holes. Did the green shirt make her look like a Christmas tree? No, Luna called it kelly green, not Christmas green. She said it complimented her skin and freckles, which she liked far better than Ginny did. She smiled at the thought.

“You look lovely, dear,” the mirror told her. But the mirror always said that, being owned by Luna who was (1) Ginny’s girlfriend and therefore prone to overcomplimenting and (2) a ball of sunshine even in the darkest times and would never own a mirror that wasn’t similarly inclined.

“It’s not too butch? Is it butch enough? I need to give the perfect impression here: respectable but not a floor mat. Meeting the family doesn’t happen every day.”

“You look like a beautiful summer day.”

Ginny huffed. Help would not come from this corner, apparently. She was about to call in her girlfriend, but Luna must have felt Ginny’s need, as she somehow always did, because she wandered in just then, putting on her earrings as she walked. She beamed.

“You look like a beautiful summer day!”

Ginny could feel the mirror puffing up behind her. She rolled her eyes.

“But is it good for a first impression?”

Keep reading below the cut

Luna frowned and tilted her head. “But it’s not a first impression. You’ve known him for years.”

“But not …” Ginny began, waving her arms when the words wouldn’t come. “Not like this. With romantic intention or whatever.” She wiped sweaty hands on her trousers again. “I have to give off a specific impression today. I have to be firm but, ugh, friendly.”

“You’re always friendly.” Luna smiled dreamily. “I remember when we first met, when your family invited mine to dinner. Your brothers were so loud, and you were too at first. It was overwhelming. But then you stopped fighting with them and came over to me. You smiled like the sun and said, ‘I like your hat.’”

“It was a very cool hat.”

They hadn’t seen much of each other before Hogwarts, but Ginny had always liked the rare occasions she got to spend with the odd, quiet little girl who was one of her nearest wizarding neighbors. She was so much the opposite of the rowdy Weasleys—calm, thoughtful, so very smart, and most importantly, a girl her age. It was peaceful and fun being with Luna.

Realizing how good being around Luna felt was what made Ginny finally break things off with Harry the year before. Harry was always in slight opposition to whatever life threw at him. Yes, he weathered storms durably, but he was never … comfortable. Content. Even after she talked him out of joining the aurors—which had at least taken off some of the pressure to be the perfect Boy Who Lived Twice—he still seemed restless. Even with Ginny. Especially with Ginny. So she’d let go of her dream of marrying the boy she’d had a crush on for as long as she could remember and soon after had fallen into the arms of someone who made her feel more wanted and loved and perfect than she’d ever felt before. Life was better now, with Luna to help ground her. Perhaps Ginny had been at odds with life too. She and Harry were very alike in some ways.

Which brought her back to her current dilemma.

“I’m not going for happy summer day vibes, though.”

Luna’s eyebrows crinkled. “What vibes are you aiming for then?”

Ginny rubbed an arm. “Ummm. Respectable but intimidating?” At the skeptical look from her girlfriend, she continued. “I can be intimidating.”

Luna smiled softly and laid her hands on Ginny’s cheeks. “Of course you are. You wouldn’t be a starting chaser for the Holyhead Harpies if you weren’t intimidating.”

Ginny snorted. “Are you ever going to get tired of stating my full position title? I was moved up to starter, like, four months ago.”

“Never!” Luna said with a grin.

After giving her a quick peck on the lips, Ginny turned back to the mirror, and Luna put her arms around her waist from behind. “Why do you need to be intimidating for family dinner?”

“Because it’s not just family dinner. It’s meet the family dinner. I have to give the right impression.”

“Which would be intimidating?” Luna’s breath and the vibration of her voice tickled Ginny’s neck. She liked it.

“Yes.”

“Even though you’ve met before. Many times.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. “I still don’t get it.”

Ginny sighed and turned in her girlfriend’s arms. “This is Harry.”

“Whom you’ve known since you were ten. Whom you’ve dated. Twice.”

“I don’t want to intimidate Harry.”

Understanding smoothed out Luna’s face and widened her eyes. “Oh. You’re protective of him.”

“Yes!”

“Is Draco intimidatable?”

“Is intimidatable a word?”

“It is now.”

“Then yes, he is. I remember his pointy little ferret face completely blanching when I threatened him with hexes.” Good times …

“Your bat bogey hex is pretty frightening. Also, you should be nice.”

“It’s fucking Malfoy. I’m still not sure how Harry is even dating him. And I’m ninety percent sure I don’t like that they’re dating. Ugh. Malfoy. I’m getting annoyed just thinking about it.” She buried her face in Luna’s shoulder. She smelled like lilacs and sparkles. Ginny wasn’t sure how she managed the latter, but it was true. She smelled like sparkles. It was nice.

“You promised Harry you’d stop hating him. And you promised your father before that.”

“Ugh. I know. But it’s Malfoy. He’s an arse!”

“Ginny.” Luna’s voice turned stern, as it only rarely did, so Ginny straightened up.

“Sorry. I really am trying. It’s just … Harry hated him for so long, and he used to say such mean things to us, especially to Hermione. My brain has trouble believing he’s changed enough for Harry to fall for him. Are you certain he’s not under a spell or love potion?”

“Ginny.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighed. “He helped you when you were a prisoner at the manor. And he kept Harry from being recognized. It’s just …”

“It’s hard to flip around what you knew about him all through school.”

“Mmm,” Ginny grunted in agreement, going in for another hug. Luna hugs were the best. She always felt so protected and calmed in a Luna hug.

Luna tightened her arms in a squeeze before letting go and stepping back. “I think the dark gray button-down and the obsidian necklace I got you for your birthday, if you’re going for intimidating.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows before shucking the green tee and rifling through the wardrobe for the suggested top instead. “You’re helping me?”

“Well, I was actually going to suggest it anyway. George told me that since Bill isn’t able to come, you should give Draco the ‘you hurt him, and I break your kneecaps’ talk. Ron can’t give it, because he’ll just get yell-y, and he’s not terribly intimidating even like that. And George is afraid he might actually break Draco’s kneecaps, and he can’t go to Azkaban right now, what with the baby on the way. And Percy would just put him to sleep explaining the details.”

Laughing as she buttoned up her shirt, Ginny privately agreed. Being a professional athlete meant she’d had to learn rein in her temper, and she’d always been closest to Bill in temperament anyway. “We could ask Charlie to swoop in on a dragon. That might work.”

“George asked, but apparently he’s busy watching over this year’s births. He offered to send a howler though.” Luna’s expression said that she thought these were perfectly reasonable suggestions.

That sounded about right for her brothers too. “We’ll keep that tactic on reserve in case my intimidation doesn’t work. I dunno about being the one giving the talk, though. I thought I was just going to glare at him across the table all through dinner …” She finished rolling up her sleeves to her elbows, letting the bottom half of her tattoo sleeves show on her forearms. She eyed her image critically. “Better? Are you sure about the necklace? I need to be more butch, don’t I? To be intimidating?”

Luna shook her head, taking the ends of said necklace to clasp them behind Ginny’s neck. “Draco likes classy. He’d probably be more impressed if you wore black trousers, but then you wouldn’t be you.” She wrinkled her nose, and Ginny agreed with the sentiment. She lived in jeans and trainers, only owning black trousers to wear at semi-formal events for work. Not to mention that her brothers, Harry included, would take the mickey if she showed up in something beyond her regular clothes.

She sighed a final time and turned to her girlfriend. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Ugh. But I swear, if he is at all acting like an arsehole, I will cut a bitch.”

***

Draco wiped his sweaty palms on the sofa fabric for the eightieth time in the twenty minutes he’d been at the Weasley abode. He’d met them all before, of course. Most of them had attended school with him. And he’d seen them at his trial. Arthur had even been kind enough to shake his hand after he’d been cleared of the worst of his charges. Granted, it hadn’t been completely out of kindness. Draco’s community service sentence had been to work in Arthur’s office for two years after his release, so he’d also been officially introducing himself as Draco’s supervisor. But even with the formality of it, Arthur had seemed kind. Serious, yes, but not in any way malicious or aloof, which was more than how the Malfoys had addressed the Weasleys in the past.

And Draco had quickly become comfortable around the eccentric man. Arthur might come off as a bit kooky, but he was ever the professional at work, and Draco appreciated that, along with being so thankful that the man wouldn’t continue to punish him for his past (terrible) choices. So yes, he’d worked with Arthur for two years, and gone to school with most of the other Weasleys, but this was different. This wasn’t just dinner with friendly acquaintances (though only Arthur fell into that category), this was meeting the family as the romantic partner of their practically adopted son/brother.

He and Harry hadn’t been dating that long, and the only Weasleys he’d interacted with since the relationship had begun were Percy and Ron. Percy was fine, if a little dry, and even Ron had graduated from angry scowls to only looking like he had a slightly upset stomach. But the other Weasleys were more unknown. Luckily Bill and Charlie were busy, so tonight that only left Molly, George, and Ginny (“if you call her the Weaselette, Draco, I will hurt you,” Luna had warned during their latest tea date). At least he’d had some interactions with Molly and George back when he and Harry were still just friends and he had with Arthur for two years, but Ginny he probably hadn’t said a dozen words to since they’d left school.

So even though the brothers might be intimidating, Ginny was the unknown. Harry swore they were completely over each other, and closer now as almost siblings than they had been as paramours, but Draco wasn’t sure what to think of her. He’d tossed out jealousy pretty early. Harry only ever spoke of her in the fond way of close friends/family. But that still left a lot of unknowns. He’d been on the wrong end of her hexes on several occasions, and she was a chaser for a professional quidditch team (one of the scariest teams out there, no less), so he knew she had both bark and bite. It was likely she’d employ some intimidation tactics, but would it stop there? Was she jealous of him? He didn’t think so, hearing Luna wax poetic about her constantly during their tea dates. But there could still be some genuine hate from her. Nothing he didn’t deserve, though.

He wished Luna and Ginny would just show up already, so he could get this dinner thing over with. Harry warned that there would probably be a “hurt him and I’ll hurt you” threat taking place that evening, but he didn’t know who had drawn the short straw on that. Unless they went in for a four-pronged attack from all of the present siblings. Merlin, he hoped not.

As if he’d summoned them with his thoughts, the two women burst through the door, calling out greetings to everyone else. Ginny headed for the kitchen without a glance at Draco, but Luna brightened further and made a beeline for the sofa.

She gave him a quick hug. “I would say you clean up well except …”

“Except I always look this good?”

“I was going to say except that you could still use some work, but if you want to go with yours, that’s fine. What’s important is that you believe it.” Her smile was deceptively serene, and the glitter in her hair and the fairy necklace didn’t help present her as anything other than innocent. But Draco knew better after years of slowly cultivating their friendship.

Draco clutched his heart in mock hurt. “Harsh. When does the girlfriend start full-time training again? I think you’re spending too much time together.”

Luna’s effervescent smile dimmed a little. “In three weeks. This will be our first full season as a couple. From what I gather, I’ll barely see her between the start of training and their first season game.”

Draco felt similar trepidation. School would be starting soon, and Harry would be a full-time professor for the first time this year. He’d spent the last few years tutoring and job shadowing while waiting for the current DADA professor to retire, so they were somewhat used to being apart as friends, but never as a couple.

(It was odd knowing that Hogwarts had employed the same DADA professor for six years running; odder still to think of perpetual disaster Harry James Potter as a professor. Draco really wished he’d use the hair potion Draco had bought him a few weeks ago; he needed to look more professional, but Harry had argued that if Dumbledore and Snape could get away with long, shaggy hair, so could he. Draco knew a losing argument when he saw one, so he’d given up after a week.)

Beyond Harry’s soon-to-be-full schedule after a summer of freedom, the two of them had only been dating for a few months, and Draco wasn’t sure how the change in daily routine would affect them. Harry tried to subdue the worries, but Draco saw that he was hiding some qualms of his own. They’d each only been in one prior relationship, so there was a chance that any change would break them apart.

Luna, reading his mind, as always, swooped in for another hug. “It’ll be fine,” she whispered in his ear before pulling back. How did she do that? “Your face, silly. You’re an open book. Not to mention, I got to hear you list your worries ad nauseum during tea last week.”

She had him there. “I just want tonight to be over already.”

“Mmmm,” she hummed in sympathy. “I remember how my meet-the-family dinner went. Oh! I wanted to warn you. Ginny’s giving you The Talk tonight.”

Draco leaned back in surprise. “Just her?” If any single one of the Weasleys was going to give him The Talk, he’d have expected one of the older ones, or maybe Ron, because he and Harry were best friends. But Draco had never expected The Talk from solely the youngest (and only female) sibling. Her status as the baby should have kept her out of the running. Just because Draco lived in constant slight terror to this day of being hit by one of her hexes, he didn’t expect the others to feel the same.

“Well, she’s most similar to Bill, isn’t she. The others know you’d respect it more coming from her.”

“Yeah, I reckon. Do you know when she’s going to do it?”

Before she could answer, Ginny entered the sitting room and addressed the others who peppered the space. “George and Ron, Harry and Dad need help outside.”

The two men looked up from where they were brainstorming new ideas for the shop, shrugged, then left the room. Hermione looked up from the baby jumper she was knitting for George and Angelina’s upcoming baby—at least, she said it was a jumper; it looked more like a lumpy blue snowball with arms.

“They’re not still trying to charm the new car, are they?” Ginny gave her a “what do you think” look, and Hermione sighed, dropped the knitting, and followed the others outside.

“I’m going to see if Molly and Angelina want help in the kitchen,” Luna added with a sympathetic look at Draco before hurrying out as well, the traitor.

Draco took a deep breath. “So it’s to be you, then? Lose a bet?”

Ginny looked a little stunned, then reluctantly amused. She dropped down onto the coffee table across from him. “I’d like to think I won.”

She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, and the dragon tattoo on her right arm blew out an inky flame, as if to back her up. She looked more serious than usual, which was enhanced by the dark button-down she wore, so in opposition to her usual bright but scruffy t-shirts. She still sported holey trousers and her grungy trainers, though, but she made it work. Or maybe Draco was just getting inured to the sloppy look, dating someone who wore the same style like a uniform. He looked down to see that he still had on his own high-end trousers and button-down and relaxed a bit in relief.

He waved a hand so she’d get started. The sooner they talked, the sooner they’d be done, the sooner dinner would be done, the sooner he could get back home and revel in the warmth of Harry’s body in bed next to his (Harry called it cuddling, but Draco never would, ugh).

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Look. I know Dad respects you, so I learned to stop hating you a while ago.” She sighed. “And for whatever strange reason, Luna likes you, so I can admit that you’ve probably changed from the utter fucking dickhead you were in school.”

Draco choked on his own saliva. He’d forgotten she had the same sailor mouth Harry did. Or maybe he’d never known. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given her whole … persona. Still, Luna was all rainbows and puppies about her, and Harry talked about her like a little sister, so he forgot sometimes that she was an adult and a quidditch star with the mouth to go along with it.

She glared, and he cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you. I appreciate that. Go on.”

“Thanks,” she said with so much sarcasm, he could practically hear the “I hate it” she didn’t voice. “So yeah, you’ve changed. You’re a new fucking man. Bright and shiny new leaves turned over. Whatever.” She sat up straight, her eyes boring through Draco so hard, he expected to feel two dots of heat on his forehead. “I’ll even say I’m okay with you two dating, even though it’s completely weird. I never thought I’d see the day someone in our family dated a Malfoy.”

She spit out his name out in a way that made him think back to an altercation their dads had had in Diagon Alley years ago. Harry had been there too, now that he thought about it. Her tone now was the same as Arthur’s had been then. Trying so hard to be a respectful adult, but barely hiding anger underneath. He didn’t think she was quite as okay as she claimed. He really didn’t blame her. His family was bad news. He shrugged, hoping he’d convey that the idea was still weird to him too. Him. Dating Harry Potter. What alternate universe had they fallen into?

“But Harry really likes you,” she continued, “and I trust him. I think.” A wrinkled eyebrow said otherwise, but Draco kept mum. “He’s an adult, and so if he wants to date you, that’s his prerogative. But know this.” She leaned forward again. “You even look at him wrong, and I’ll dropkick you so hard into last Tuesday, that even if we hadn’t destroyed all of the ministry’s time turners, you still wouldn’t be able to get back. Got it?”

He tried to tell himself they were just words. This was a ritual every new boyfriend went through. It was normal. But then again, this was Harry Potter. Nothing about him was normal, and that included his family. Draco had seen Ginevra Weasley in battle, and he’d been subjected to her hexes in school. She’d dated Harry and must therefore know the feeling of wanting to wrap him in cotton fluff and hide him from the cruel world. They weren’t just words to her. She meant business, and he appreciated that. They both wanted the best for Harry, and if Draco failed to be that, he deserved whatever punishment she and her clan would mete out to him.

“Thank you.”

She jerked her head back and frowned. “What?”

“Harry deserves to have the fiercest warriors in his corner. I’m glad he has friends and family who will be that for him.”

“Hm. Yes, he does.” Despite her words, she looked suspicious.

“And, in that vein,” he continued with a spark of realization, “you hurt Luna, and it’ll take them a month remove all the curses from you.”

She cocked her head for a moment, then relaxed her shoulders and almost smiled. “Deal.”

She held out a hand, and he took it, wondering if his own was about to be crushed so hard, he’d need SkeleGrow to knit his bones back together. Her grip was firm to the point of being uncomfortable, but after they shook, all of his bones still seemed to be in place and whole.

A call came from Molly in the kitchen then, so they both stood, back to feeling slightly awkward with each other. Just as they were about to head through the door, Ginny put a hand on his wrist. Draco looked over at her face in question.

“Um, Harry. He’s … he’s really happy these days. The happiest I’ve ever seen him. Thank you.” Her face was soft, and the most open Draco had ever seen it.

“I’m glad you think so.” Uncomfortable with the serious mood coming from a Weasley, he smirked. “Luna seems to be rubbing off on you as well. I think this is the most cleaned up I’ve ever seen you. Not bad, Weasley the Youngest.”

She barked out a short laugh, then got an evil glint in her eye. “I’m glad you approve, since I stole this shirt from your wardrobe. Who wears such drab colors voluntarily? I’d be getting hives from it if I didn’t have my tats to liven it up.”

He let out a surprised laugh of his own, which was drowned out by the lively mess of humans crowding around the kitchen table. He’d survived The Talk with the scariest Weasley (besides Bill). He felt confident he could survive the rest of the family.

***

After they’d apparated back to their flat, Luna jumped on Ginny to give one of the octopus hugs Ginny loved. After a quick peck on her cheek, Luna snuggled closer. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Any particular reason at this moment, or just my general awesomeness?”

Luna giggled. “You are pretty awesome, but it’s not just that this time.”

Realization dawned in Ginny. “Were you spying on my talk with Mal- Draco?”

“No.” Luna shook her head vehemently, eyes wide. “But I saw the way you two looked when you came into the kitchen afterward.”

“Which was …?” Ginny prepared herself for any number bubbly adjectives about to come out of her girlfriend’s mouth.

“Like two adults who have come to an agreement of mutual respect.”

Eyebrow raised, Ginny only said, quite intelligently, “hmm.”

“But also adorable and chummy. I saw the way you were smiling, Ginevra.”

“And there’s the girlfriend I know and love,” Ginny said drily, but she gave said girlfriend a kiss.

“I’m proud of you.”

Ginny grinned. “Good. I like making you proud.”

Luna hummed. “My respectable, beautiful, starting chaser quidditch star girlfriend.”

“That’s me.”

***

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to leave kudos on ao3, find the link in my reblog.

#harry potter #linny #drarry #fanfic #meeting the family #meagan writes #ginny x luna #harry x draco

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rosmarinys · 4 years

Text

behind, behind; a familiar face

sense8 au | (will reblog with a link to this on ao3 !!)

The concrete is damp and hard beneath her feet, but Dotty forces herself to stand there for a few more seconds. Her tights are soaked at the soles and she knows she’s going to regret it when she goes back inside and has to deal with it squelching on the tiles of her kitchen floor, but she’s throwing them out anyway; there are too many runs up her thighs and holes at her knees to really be considered a fashion statement at this point.

She knows when she moves she’s going to have to take them off and put them in the bin and get a new pair out of the washing basket and put them on and kiss Gran goodbye and head to work and it’s – It’s a lot. It’s too much. Her head feels like an avalanche and her shoulders tremble with the wind and she wonders how everything will look when it all comes crashing down, when her back crumbles and the bills pile up and her Gran looks at her like she doesn’t know who she is.

But right now, there’s the concrete and it sends a chill like a live-wire through her skin. And for a few seconds, she’s grounded and – Inhale.

Exhale.

Back into orbit now, and Dotty moves. Enters her house through the back door, strips her tights and tosses them into the bin, grabs another pair from the washing basket filled with clean clothes that she makes a mental note to put back into their wardrobes and dressers when she gets the chance, pulls them on before she goes into the living room and kisses Gran on the cheek who is having her supper and watching TV, smiles when Gran tells her to wear a scarf when she goes out because it’s almost winter now, grabs her bag and a scarf and leaves.

There’s a thirty-minute walk between the house Dotty and her Gran live and E20, the nightclub she works in. Or, one of the nightclubs she works in, the thought making her limbs feel heavier. There are two other clubs she works in, all so that the only night she doesn’t work is Monday, and that’s only because Dot had frowned after she’d asked about Dotty’s work schedule. Not that she can blame her Gran, really. Hearing that your only granddaughter works in a garage every weekday and works in nightclubs every week-night, including weekends, she supposes she’d frown too. There is a silver-lining though, her weekends are free during the day, so she can sleep the entire day and get up to go on a walk around the park with Gran during the afternoon before hopping back into bed, pretending that this means she’s getting enough sleep.

Tonight feels different, though, and there’s a second where Dotty forgets why. Then remembers that in a few hours it will be Friday and that means in a few hours it will be her birthday. She stares up at the E20 sign, blaring neon into the dark. (Happy birthday, indeed, she thinks. Unbidden, thoughts of tea parties and teddies come forward. Times when her birthday wasn’t celebrated by serving drinks to those already drunk and trying to dodge a sleaze who’s hitting on her, but rather with eating cake until she felt ill and staying up past her bedtime. Now all she wants is to have a bedtime.)

She’s going to turn nineteen in a few hours, and unbidden the thought of her father springs to the forefront of her mind, the thought of where he is. It’s an old box to poke that lurks at the back of her mind, and she doesn’t want to poke it, not right before a long shift when already she feels exhaustion lining her joints. But it’s hard not to when she realises that in a few hours it will be fourteen years since she last saw him.

It’s weird how she doesn’t remember the last time she saw him; it should be the thing that plays on repeat in her mind, maybe him walking out to grab something and never coming back, or him putting her to bed, those few seconds of him standing in her bedroom door, back-lit by the hallway before she never saw him again. But – nothing. She remembers grinning at him over a stack of pancakes and running around after her friends dressed as a witch because Gran said she could have a dress up party for her fifth birthday party, and then she woke up the next morning and never saw him again. (She supposes it doesn’t really matter in the end, considering he’s gone either way, but her eyes sting anyway, unbidden.)

Dotty pinches the bridge of her nose. There’s no point lingering on such things, she had tried for years, foolishly believing that if she just thought about him hard enough then he’d come back, but it never worked and by the time she turned ten she had turned to actively hating him and hoping he was dead wherever he was, never flinching when Gran spanked her for voicing such thoughts.

(The secret is that she never meant it, and would cry herself to sleep with her face buried into the soft teddy he had bought for her once, pretending she didn’t notice how Gran would pack something sweet for her lunch the next day.)

She sighs and between mentally putting a wall up between herself and all thoughts of her father and staring up at that neon sign that she feels everything tilt and before she can panic about her body finally giving out from the constant abuse she puts it through, she blinks and she’s in a ballroom, her feet are stiff in her heels and her dress tucks in at her waist before puffing out so far that she can’t let anyone within a foot of her body and she’s being spun around and around and God, Hunter is looking over, play it cool, play it cool, everything is perfect and so is he and he’s looking and this could be it, everything is -

Dotty stumbles and almost falls, clutching her stomach and feeling terrified that she’d feel tulle but it’s just her ratty, holey t-shirt. She stands, trembling, for a few seconds, wondering if she’s gone insane or having a fucking stroke or something, desperately trying to remember what the symptoms of a stroke actually are.

Someone who’s about to enter the club stops to stare at her. Probably one of her co-workers, she doesn’t mingle enough to really know any of them, not even their names. “You alright?” he calls, frowning in concern at her.

She feels her back stiffen and forces herself to stop shaking, her muscles tensing as she makes herself move and shove past her maybe-co-worker. “I’m fine,” she snaps.

He steps back to avoid being pushed by her. “Woah, just asking!” he shouts after her and she ignores him, speed-walking to her locker and jamming all her belongings into it except her apron that she ties to her waist as she heads to the bar.

Her boss, Ruby, throws her a sharp look. “You’re late,” she says, finishing up a stock take, placing her clipboard on the bar in front of her to fully focus her attention on Dotty. “We open in fifteen, you were meant to be here five minutes ago.”

“I forgot my phone at home and had to run back for it,” Dotty lies, not looking up from where she’s started to wipe down the counter, going faster to try and make up for lost time, already feeling the bitterness of the apology on her tongue but thinking about the gas bill tucked in her dresser at home that she needs to be able to afford and decides to tack on a, “Sorry.”

She hears Ruby sigh but doesn’t look up, not even when Ruby stands right next to her and she can feel her eyes boring into the side of her head. “Dotty, if everything is too much, and you need to take the night off –”

“Everything is fine,” Dotty cuts her off, forcing her voice to be even when all she wants to do is snap because she cannot lose this job, she just can’t, there's too much riding on it, on everything. “I’m fine and I’m able to work tonight and the rest of my shifts.” She still doesn’t look up and watches her hand moving in circles as if someone else is doing it. She still feels too tense but knows she won’t calm down until Ruby stops staring at her.

Ruby sighs again (She does that a lot around Dotty). “Well, happy early birthday.” She leaves before Dotty can respond, which she was not going to anyway because she’s found her throat tight all of a sudden.

After she finishes prepping for customers, they all start to trickle in and then it’s like she blinks and she’s overwhelmed, not daring to take a second to catch a breath amidst the onslaught of drinks being poured and tips accepted and cash shoved haphazardly into the register.

The hours blur along with the music and the bright lighting, until she feels weightless, drifting along, pushed along by a current of people as she spins bottles in her hands. She doesn’t feel like herself here, here is just a bass that thrums in her ribcage and bounces her head.

Then all too soon it’s over and the music cuts off as people start trickling out just how they entered and Dotty wipes down the counters again, dodging Ruby’s eye as she clocks out and steps out into the world again.

It’s four in the morning, Dotty has been nineteen for four hours and barely noticed, and she has work again in five hours.

She feels the concrete through the thin soles of her boots, flexes the tendons of her feet. Breathes.

Exhale.

And Dotty moves.

Louise thinks for the amount of shit women get when they like dressing up in dresses and wearing high heels for events because it makes them ‘bimbos’ or whatever, is fucking ridiculous considering how difficult it actually is. She can feel the blisters forming on her heals despite the plasters she’s wearing and the constant vigilance she has to make sure she doesn’t trip over the hem of her dress is impressive, ok, and she makes a mental note to actually just beat up the next man that implies that she’s stupid just because she likes looking pretty.

There’s a hand around her elbow and she twitches, forcing down a gut reaction because the thought of breaking someone’s nose at the ball for her own birthday would probably haunt her for years.

It’s Ben, grinning at her and only looking slightly haggard but still in a suit, like he said he would. “Surprised to see me?” he asks.

She throws her arms around his shoulders and he hugs her back even though she knows how much tulle she’s in, just how puffy it is around her waist. “Well, you said you’d get off work early but I didn’t think you could actually do it, Dad seemed angry when he assigned you whatever you were doing.” She pulls back to brush off his shoulders, marvelling at how quickly he can get a suit dirty.

Ben’s smile almost falls off of his face before he plasters it back on, back to being all charm and easy going grins that are only 60% teeth. “Yeah, well, he didn’t account for me having friends in high places.” He winks but she can tell he doesn’t want her to ask any more questions about what he was doing earlier tonight.

So, she tucks her hand into his arm and starts leisurely strolling around the ballroom, milling through the mass of people all dressed in the best clothes they all own. “So, is Callum here with you tonight?”

Ben shakes his head as he grabs some glasses of champagne, handing her one and sipping the other one himself. “That’s a no, he’s at home with Lola and Jay, and I am just desperate to get home to him – ” here, he gives a weighted look to show her his meaning, “ – so I hope you don’t mind me skipping out on you after midnight and all the appropriate happy birthdays have been said.”

Louise makes a noise of disgust and shoves his shoulder and tries not to smile while he laughs at her. “Fine, fine, you only need to be here and mingle for – ” she grabs his other hand to look at the watch on his wrist, feels his muscles twitch, just like her's, “ – a half hour! Perfectly manageable, I’m sure, you’ll be able to cope, yeah?”

“Anything for you, dear sister,” he smarms and cackles at her disgusted look as he tugs her into the centre of the dance floor with the throng of people dancing. He adjusts his grip until they’re standing in the appropriate stance for a waltz and begins dancing with her, catching her looking at him, impressed. “What? Why is everyone so surprised I know how to dance?”

“Because you’ve told all of us, multiple times, that you’d rather shoot yourself than dance,” she shoots back. “Poor Callum, how is he going to cope when he finds out you’re actually capable of dancing but have pretended you can’t, just so you don’t have to dance at your own wedding?”

“Ha ha,” Ben replies, rolling his eyes as he spins her and catches her when she spins back to him. “Fine, I have decided to change my stance to ‘I can dance, I just have decided that no one should ever do it’.”

“Well, then, why are you dancing with me?”

Ben looks away from her, taking in the glass chandelier and the floor to ceiling windows that show the view of a perfectly cut hedge maze. “Maybe I like enough to put up with it,” he replies, eventually, eyes carefully not looking directly at her.

She smiles and squeezes his hand to let him know that she understands. He looks at her and smiles back and she thinks she loves her brother almost as much as she did when she was five and he put a plaster on her skinned knee after she had fallen off of her bike.

Over Ben’s shoulder, she can see another couple and feels herself tense with anticipation when she make eye contact with the male dancer who spares her a quick smile which she returns without a second thought, feeling herself start to get flushed.

Ben twists around to see what she’s looking at and immediately starts laughing. “Oh, Jesus, do you still have a crush on Hunter Owen?”

“Shut up!” she hisses, interrupting their dance to yank him away, out of ear shot from Hunter and Ben stumbles after her, giggling away as she pushes her way through a crowd of people before they part from her.

As she marches up the stairs to get to the destination she has in mind: the balcony of one of the many bedrooms in this empty hotel (Dad definitely rented out the entire place even though it is massive, just so she could have the whole place for her party and she reminds herself to get him before it turns midnight so she can hug him and thank him by spending the first few minutes of her birthday with him), Ben continues to cackle behind her. “God I thought you got over him years ago, oh wow, this has been the best part of my night by far.”

She shoves him into the bedroom and storms over to the balcony, welcoming the cool air on her skin before she turns to Ben and crosses her arms. He strolls over to her and leans against the balcony, still looking smug. “I’ll have you know, I don’t have a crush on Hunter anymore,” she informs him.

“I see, so you dragged me all the way up here just to tell me that?” he asks, still looking like an asshole. She sniffs and doesn’t respond. “Ok, ok, it’s fine if you still like him,” he ignore her objecting and starts speaking louder, “But are you fine with liking him considering he’s a massive dick?”

“Says you,” Louise snaps.

“So, you admit he’s an asshole?” Ben shoots back.

“He’s not –” Ben raises an eyebrow. “He’s not completely an asshole. He’s nice to me.”

Ben sighs and looks at the view, bracing his forearms on the balcony. “I just think you could do better than him,” he murmurs.

Louise wants to roll her eyes and say something mean, her temper still simmering her blood, feeling like her dad for a second. She opens her mouth to, poison on her tongue but suddenly Ben isn’t there and she’s in a vehicle, looking over at the driver, mouth open to yell when she sees him swear and twist the steering wheel and she feels airborne, looking out the windshield as it comes closer to the back of another vehicle than it should before they’re spinning and her mouth is still open but she’s screaming as the sky becomes the ground becomes the sky goes up then down and her head has slammed into window next to her and he tastes blood and oh fuck –

Ben shakes her and she feels like she’s fallen fifty feet back into her massive dress and high heels and she wants to vomit but she shoves her head onto Ben’s shoulder and he wraps his arms around her for a second time that night as she tries to steady herself.

“Are you ok, what was that?” Ben asks and he sounds as worried as he does when he talks about Lexi and Callum and Jay and Lola, and isn’t that a high place to be placed by Ben, huh?

She just shakes her head and lets herself be held until her phone beeps in the hidden pocket of her dress to let her know that it’s ten minutes until her birthday. She pulls back and shakes her limbs out. “I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing.” Ben clearly doesn’t believe her with a doubtful look on his face but she waves him away. “Just got shaky for a second there, can you give me a minute? I’ll be right down.”

“Lou, you looked like you were about to start screaming –”

“Ben. Please.”

Ben stares at her for a second and she doesn’t know what he sees but it’s enough because he nods his head and leaves with a final kiss on the top of her head and she decides to forgive him for maybe messing her hair up when he did it.

In the silence of the bedroom, Louise breathes deeply and wonders what her mum would tell her. To put herself back together, brick by brick, and act like nothing had happened.

She opens her eyes, and does just that.

Keegan kicks the beer can in front of him and it clatters into the gutter. He waits a few seconds before he sighs, picks it up and chucks it into the bin.

He can imagine Bernie smiling at him for being decent as if he didn't just do the bare minimum and scoffs to no one. Scuffs his shoe on the concrete and can hear his mum chiding him for trying to ruin his shoes.

He figures that he’s misplacing his anger at his thoughts of his family’s reactions to his actions to ignore the fact that he’s actually ashamed that he’s spending his entire birthday in another city without them and can’t stop remembering how their faces fell when he told them, but he doesn’t want to get that introspective right now if he’s completely honest.

He’s waiting for his friend – ‘friend’ being a loose term used here – to drive him to Manchester for a flat viewing he’s got tomorrow that he booked a couple of weeks ago. His friend is only taking him because he’s picking up something that he refused to get specific about – coke probably and Keegan pretends that doesn’t bother him – and would be going anyway.

(His mum hadn’t been happy when he told her he was moving to Manchester and told him so; told him all the risks that come with Manchester and him being alone in a city where he doesn’t know anyone, but most importantly, to Keegan at least, was her pressing him into a hug and patting his cheek. “I love you, eh?” She phrased it like a question and Keegan had nodded in answer and she had smiled like the sun.)

The question his whole family had asked was this: why Manchester?

He couldn’t explain it fully – he had given a variety of answers though, ranging from ‘I just love Manchester United that much, I guess,’ for his dad, and ‘Starting a business in a big city has to be better than starting one here, right? Bigger market and all that,’ for his siblings.

The real reason was this: he didn’t know. It eluded him, but it was this gut feeling he had, a stirring underneath his skin that gave him goose pimples; your life is in Manchester, it said.

So, here he was, a few hours before he turned nineteen, waiting for his friend to pick him up so he could stay in a hotel for the night because he didn’t trust his friend to drive him to his viewing punctually if they did the journey tomorrow.

His mistrust was rightfully given, considering he’s already an hour late.

Finally, after another half an hour in which Keegan googles how much jail time you can get for murder, and then tries to work out if he can get arrested just for googling that, his friend finally pulls up in front of him in his beat-up van.

The friend is called Rocket, the van is also called Rocket. Keegan decides to never talk about it out loud unless directly threatened with bodily harm.

“Alright, mate?” Rocket the Person asks, grinning toothily, several of teeth ironically missing.

Keegan nods his head in greeting and grabs his duffel bag and gets into the passenger seat, immediately setting about falling asleep after the appropriate ‘how are you’s’ are exchanged.

Rocket the Person doesn’t get Keegan’s loud hint of literally setting his feet on the dash and shutting his eyes, and starts talking about some woman he was speaking to last night and what they got up to in his flat, “If you know what I mean?” he adds with a wink that Keegan ignores.

(He can’t stop remembering Bernie’s voice when she whispered, “Did you have to book it for your birthday?” Because the answer is no, he didn’t have to, he chose to after an argument that he can barely remember that he had with his dad and booked it with the thought of how cool it would be to wake up in Manchester on his birthday and not have to see anyone he knew, caught up in the small town feeling that chokes, knowing that everyone knows you and your business. He hadn’t thought much about how the argument would blow over and he would reconsider this plan and actually want to spend his time in that small town he grew up in.)

Rocket the Person continues on, and Keegan tunes him out, watches as they enter the highway, checks his phone and sees that he has a couple hours until its his birthday but Keanu has already texted him a happy birthday and feels himself smile before he tucks his phone away after typing out a response, knowing that Rocket would make a gross comment about his grin that he doesn’t want to hear because it'll spoil his mood.

Rocket the Van rumbles beneath them and Keegan feels it vibrate through the back of his heels laid on the dash and up the back of his legs all while the other Rocket has moved onto how his friend’s bird is a tease; Keegan forces his face not to slip into a scowl and thinks back to his google search and how it hadn’t covered causing car accidents and briefly considers yanking the wheel to try and kill them both to end this conversation.

He snaps when Rocket reaches over to playfully push his shoulder, turning to yell at him to shut up and just leave him alone because they're not actually friends, can he just realise that already, but when he looks over Rocket isn’t there, there’s just a dark field and he’s not sitting in the passenger seat of the van, he’s standing with a shovel in his hands. He stares down at himself, baffled, and sees in the faint moonlight that he’s no longer wearing his t-shirt and soft sweats but rather dark overalls with darker splotches down the front. Before he can figure out what the stains are, he looks at the shape on the ground in front of him and it hits him like a freight train that it's a dead fucking body and he’s standing next to a grave and he’s digging it and god, his face feels sticky with what’s probably blood and he hates herself, she’s awful and she wants to be anything but this -

-and suddenly he’s back in the van but the rumble of the engine is gone and Keegan can barely inhale sharply before he realises that the van is airborne as in flipping over because the trees are upside down and he can see the cars next to them right before he crashes right into them and he thinks he’s going to fly right out of his seat and through the windshield and he’s screaming at the top of his lungs before he hits the glass and that’s it.

Ash holds a cigarette between her fingers and wonders if she’s going to pick up smoking. She’s sitting on the edge of a ledge next to a window in a warehouse, a somewhat haunting silence filtering through the open space that Ash finds somewhat comforting. She does this every time she gets a job – consider smoking, that is – and she goes through her mental list of why she shouldn’t like she always does:

Smoking will most likely give her a chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and she doesn’t really want to deal with that and all that comes with it if she’s honest. Also, hacking up her lungs every few minutes seems extremely distasteful.

She doesn’t really want to take smoking breaks with Carl who leers and has yellow teeth and yellow fingers. She suspects that if she was alone with him for a prolonged period of time, he would leave with broken bones.

She doesn’t want to give up anymore of herself, because that’s what this would be: a sacrifice of herself, her willpower. She’d be giving it up and the list of things controlling her would be longer and she doesn’t know if she can take that.

But on the other hand:

She is so fucking tired.

She twists the cigarette and wonders if her entire list of reasons to not smoke will yield to the sheer exhaustion that has settled into her bones. Resisting is killing you, is what Vinny told her the other day. He’s right, but Ash thinks she might be dead before she can admit it, which she supposes is his entire point, which is annoying.

There’s a distant rumbling noise that gets louder until there is a van pulling into the open doors and coming to a stop a few feet in front of her. She focuses on the cigarette between her fingers and doesn’t look up even when two boots appear in front of her.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Ben Mitchell says to her, shifting so that he is standing with his arms crossed, leaning back. It’s too casual, too put on, he’s hiding how he really feels about this assignment. (She hates that her mind works to pick apart body language like that, people's secrets should be their own, not her's to pick apart from their stance.)

She sighs and tucks her cigarette back into the packet and stands up to put it in the back pocket of her overalls. “I don’t,” is all she says as she brushes past Ben and heads to the back of the van and yanks the doors open.

There’s tarp wrapped in a cylinder inside alongside two shovels and Ash wants to cry but beats down the feeling. She hasn’t cried when given clean up duty for three years now. Fuck, she realises. She’s turning nineteen in two hours and she has to bury a dead body for her family. She'll probably still be doing this when it’s tomorrow, when she is meant to be celebrating.

She scrubs a hand down her face, trying to scrape away any traces of emotion even though she knows her poker face will stay firmly in place now matter what because that was how she was raised, but still, the last thing she needs is Ben Mitchell reporting back to his family that one of the Panesars is cracking and the next thing they know, they’re dealing with a coup.

She realises her thought process sounds like her mother, calculating at the head of the table as she orders about the rest of the families. It won’t last, is what Ash always thinks. There are five families joined together for their ‘business’ and eventually they’ll get tired of taking orders from Suki, just like Ash already is.

She glances over at Ben who is staring out of the window, attempting nonchalance. She can read how uncomfortable he is by how tight his shoulders are. She knows he would rather be at his sister's birthday party, who is also turning nineteen tomorrow.

The harsher side of Ash wants to say ‘tough’. It’s not like she wants to either, she didn’t volunteer to do this. This is a punishment for storming off from dinner last night after an argument with her mother about letting her go to medical school. Ash wants to go to Manchester and move out but her mother firmly denied this request and told her she could go to business school here in London, that she would not see her daughter tending to the men like those worked here as if she were below them. It had become a sore point, something Ash brought up at the table every time she wanted to dig her teeth in and bite. Her mother had assigned her this job this morning and Ash could see a glint in her mother’s eyes and knew exactly what it meant. It said: I will tell you to do this, and you will. I am in charge here and you have forgotten. Ash feels bitter; why should Ben Mitchell be allowed pity when Ash is spared none?

But Ash wasn’t all teeth, she wanted to go to medical school to help people. She could feel it in her bones, a bare kindness that she had nursed for years, took cares to make sure that it never disappeared no matter what she had to do for her family. It asked her: what has Ben done to be punished like this, like you? Your punishment is unjust, surely his is as well? She knew vaguely that Ben had a fiancé and a kid and an entire family outside of his other family that operates with her own. What was the point of forcing him here, when he had somewhere to go, unlike her?

“Listen, you take off, alright?” She says, and clambers into the van and tosses one shovel out and starts pushing the body out, feeling vaguely ill at how much it gives underneath her weight through the tarp.

“What?” Ben asks and appears just as the body falls out of the van and he pales at the snap they both hear as the body bends in a way it shouldn’t.

“You take the van and I’ll deal with this,” she repeats, not looking at him as she straps the shovel to her back with a clip on her backpack – not her first rodeo – and shifts the body so its back in a way that gives the person some dignity.

“There’s no need, I’m fine,” Ben snaps, posture shifting again, leaning forward towards Ash. Defensive, her mind supplies.

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” she replies, brushing her hair back from her face as flyaway strands start to stick to the sweat she’s already starting to build up. “Just, I know how to do this and you should go to your family. It's your sister's birthday, right?”

He stares back at her and she thinks he’s going to argue more, but he seems to falter and for a second she can see the yearning on his face. He really loves his family, she thinks to herself, both of them. “Won’t they know I wasn’t here though?” Ben asks.

She shrugs. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she starts to grin and holds up a hand for a fist bump.

He holds her gaze for a few seconds before he grins too and bumps his fist against hers. They’re both wearing gloves but she likes to think that she could feel the heat from his hand touch hers for a second. Her chest feels lighter as he shuts the doors and clambers into the van, waving at her as he drives back out the front door, a ‘Later, Ash!’ floating in the air behind him.

Her smile slowly slides off her face and is gone by the time the silence returns and she doesn’t like it anymore, not now she remembers what it’s like to have someone speaking to you and fill that space.

She turns and starts dragging the tarp out of the warehouse and into the fields surrounding it. She can’t bury it too close to the building, otherwise the chances of it being uncovered are higher as more people will walk over it, she needs a more obscure part of a field, somewhere someone would rarely walk over in order to notice that anything was off about the land.

Ash sets her eyes on a distant spot and starts dragging the body.

She feels the strain of it in her forearms, a pull that runs up and through her whole body until she sweats through her overalls and she reaches up to wipe sweat off her face to stop it from dripping into her eyes but when she does her face feels stickier than before and she looks down and sees the blood is leaking through the tarp where her glove-covered hand is digging in for grip and feels herself gag but refuses to falter.

She digs her feet in and continues and can’t help the spiteful, I can do this because you can’t, you couldn’t handle the pain in my legs right now but I can, that she directs to her mother.

Finally, she reaches the spot she had decided on and starts digging, not allowing herself a break because if she stops to think then she’ll have to confront that this person might have a family who cares about them and she’s got their blood on her face, and she can't cope with that, she can't do it, she can't cope with all of this blood on her hands, literally and metaphorically.

She realises she’s crying, a quiet keening noise coming from the back of her throat, and a cold voice supplies that there’s now DNA of hers at the scene of the crime but she can’t care, she can’t, it’s too much and she wants to throw the shovel down and wait here until someone catches her with a dead fucking body and arrests her and she can tell them about every terrible thing she has ever done for her family and they have done themselves and then they can all go to jail together and she can deal with her mother’s rage behind bars because maybe that’s the only way to win.

(Remember when winning was beating Jags at Monopoly? Or racing Vinny to the end of the garden? Or trying to learn chess to beat Kheerat, and pretending not to notice how pleased he was whenever she made what he thought was a right move?)

She drops the shovel and braces herself on her knees and sucks in a large breath. I’m going to stand up straight, she tells herself, and when I do, I will get back to work.

She inhales again and feels every one of her muscles stretch as she stands up straight but she doesn’t see rolling fields in front of her, rather an entire crowd of people, all not underneath the moon like Ash was a few seconds ago but rather neon lights that flicker and Ash feels dizzy looking at the lights and the constant movement of the crowd. It feels easy to lose herself and let her limbs go loose and easy, let her head fall back as she laughs, the sound lost in the pounding music, her veins on fire as she thinks to herself that she's a bird, she's a bird and she's going to fly up up up, away from everything and everyone and be free -

Ash’s breath snaps in her throat as she falls backwards and doesn’t land into a pile of people who would catch her and laugh with her as she explained her bird theory, but rather, the grass beneath her rushes up to meet her and she gasps and lays still for a moment, blinking up at the dark night and wonders where that came from, where thoughts of nightclubs, and being a bird and dancing had come from.

She sighs and lets the sound of her own breath fills her ears for a few seconds before she pushes herself up and grabs her shovel from where she had dropped it.

She wants to be back in that moment, even if it was temporary insanity, because that moment of freedom, of just laughing for no reason is lingering in her throat. She wants it so badly that she could cry.

She forces the emotion down and keeps digging. No point in lingering on feelings you’ve never had.

(If her hands tremble on the shovel, then it’s a good thing no one is around to see it.)

There’s a moment between throwing back another pill and waiting for it to hit her, that Rebecca wonders how her mother is.

It’s a strange thought in this context; this being Becca throwing back drugs like candy in a nightclub's bathroom and this also being that she hadn’t spoken to her mother in years.

Years being two years, precisely; Becca is a fan of technicalities.

She presses her forehead against the wall of her stall and sighs, starting to feel her muscles loosen up, and lets the thought of Sonia sitting alone every night since she left slip from her mind in favour of the thought of the dance floor just outside the bathroom.

(Besides, Sonia lives with Whitney, so she’s not actually alone. Technicality.)

She stands up and brushes herself off, fingers scratching against the sequins that make up her top, her bare back chilly from the air conditioning but she knows she’ll heat up when she starts dancing again.

She exits the stall and smiles at the other women standing at the sinks before she stares at her reflection. The girl looking back at her has glitter running down her cheeks from underneath her eyes like she’s been crying pure glitter and her hair curls around her shoulders, but she can see where the curls are already starting to fall out. The girl grins at her, and Becca grins right back.

It’s her birthday in a couple hours, she realises as she checks her phone on her way out of the bathroom and she wonders if her mother is going to celebrate for her, without her. Probably not, Sonia was never the sentimental type, not one for lighting a candle for those who are gone. (Is Bex gone? She wonders if her mother pretends she’s dead instead of having to confront the truth that is her daughter ran away from her, exchanged parental love for molly. Wonders if her mother pretends she's dead because that hurts less.)

As soon as she opens the door, the sound of music hits her, loud and heady and slamming right into her chest and she feels breathless as she stumbles into the thick of it, feeling like a lightning bolt whenever her arm brushes against someone else’s, thinking that this is how it’s meant to be all of the time.

She spins around, the bass of the music cradling her skull, her arms loose and she can see everyone around her smiling at her and returns the gesture just like she did in the bathroom, and that’s how it’s meant to be; everyone is meant to be friends like they are here.

She tips her head back and laughs and feels light off of it all, like she’s flying, up up up, and she’s bird, they’re all birds and it’s all light and flying and birds and everyone smiling at her would agree but she can’t get her tongue to agree with her which just makes her laugh more and so do they and it’s just all of it, everything.

There’s a moment between tipping backwards with laughter and trying to right herself that she feels like she stands up as someone else and desperately blinks rain out of her eyes, lifting a fruitless hand to wipe the water collected on her face as she shivers. She’s dragging herself through empty streets, feeling her clothes cling to her skin and cursing as she goes, her feet going numb through her shoes and she lost feeling in her fingers minutes ago but it feels like hours and she could cry, she wants to but she shoves the feeling down in her chest, I have to find Habiba, is what replaces it because it’s all that matters and –

Becca gasps, feeling shoved back and falls backwards, feeling hands around the skin of her waist where her jeans don’t cover and it doesn’t feel like before where everyone was her friend, it feels like nails digging in and twisting, it feels like hands yanking on her wrists, like a voice hissing at her to snap out of it, all bared teeth.

The people around her aren’t smiling anymore (were they ever? Becca feels scrambled like she’s lost something, like an arm in the bathroom, or a leg in Sonia’s living room) and she feels like her chest is open when she pulls away from the hands on her waist and tries to run for the exit, and only crashes into a few people before she’s outside gasping for breath. She's standing in the alleyway next the club and she catches the sight of rain falling in the main street just as a few drops manage to get through the fire escapes on the side of the building next to her to land on her head.

She throws herself forward, landing harshly on her knees but the pain feels distant like it’s not her body but the acid climbing her throat burns, and she feels all of it as she heaves, throwing up all of the meagre dinner she had eaten and she’s crying and shaking and she wants to climb out of her body and leave it here because it all hurts and she’s exhausted with it all, she’s done, she wants to crawl back into her bed and have her mum on the other side of it and have her push the hair out of her face and tell her that she loves her.

That doesn’t happen and Becca stays on her knees – which she can now feel throbbing and regrets landing on them the way she did and wishes she had any care for her body – until she stops trembling and forces herself to her feet and pushes her hair out of her face. It’s her birthday soon, it’s basically her birthday, there’s a rule about not throwing up on your birthday right? Or is it about crying? Becca can’t remember but she makes a mental note to look it up, and immediately forgets.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and feels that she’s still grinning, teeth wet, lips dry.

Her mother would cry if she saw her, her daughter shivering in a gutter and smiling while she vomits. She won’t though, Becca thinks, forcing her feet to walk, one foot in front of another, over and over. She won’t because she is back in London. Technicality.

Iqra and Habiba created a system when they were kids, crouched together with their pinkies linked underneath a table while they waited for dinner to be ready. Iqra was all about systems and constantly followed her grandfather around, asking a non-stop stream of questions about how everything worked which made him smile until his eyes crinkled. Her newest system was this: if she or Habiba were ever in trouble, they would tell each other, A-ozu billahi mena shataan Arrajeem. Iqra had spent the entire afternoon practising her pronunciation and was finally satisfied that she had nailed it.

Habiba immediately fouled her mood by telling her that it would take too long to say, and what if she was being taken hostage and only had a few seconds to say her parting words and used up all of them on the first word, then what?

Iqra responded by whacking her sister in the face with the cushion she had been sitting on.

(Iqra got a lecture about treating her sister with kindess and the phrase was shortened to the first few syllables for convenience and Iqra, very graciously, sat and helped Habiba practice them until she got them right.)

Which is how Iqra is here, dragging herself through the rain and shivering so badly she thinks she’s about to shatter her teeth, all because Habiba texted her their emergency code.

Iqra hadn’t thought twice before throwing herself out of the door, barely pausing to yank a coat on and shoving on boots before she was out in the rain, pushing herself to run in the direction of the address Habiba had airdropped as her location.

She had briefly considered getting a taxi but the thought of standing around and waiting while Habiba needed her left her feeling wired and the second she had stopped to think about it left her feeling fried and she pushed herself to run faster as a sort of punishment to make up for it.

A-ozu billahi. It could mean anything and Iqra reminds herself that Habs once used in when she didn’t have a tampon at work and looked confused at Iqra, throwing herself into the restaurant where they both worked as waitresses, out of breath and frantically scanning her for injuries. But, Iqra reminds herself that she could actually be injured or hurt the one time she decides to take her time to get there and can only imagine how much self-hatred that would bring.

Iqra herself has never actually used their code, she realises as she skids around a corner and kicks water all up her calves and tells herself that if this actually isn’t an emergency she is going to throttle Habiba and then promptly give her the cold she is definitely going to have when she gets home.

Her feet slamming into the concrete send jolts up her legs and she feels like an exposed wire that’s frying underneath this rain, like she’s electricity that’s sparking as she runs across a road and doesn’t spare a glance backwards for the car that beeps its horn at her.

A-ozu billahi. Iqra ignores the gut feeling that tells her that something terrible has happened even thought her grandmother always told her to listen to it. She can’t give it a voice because if she does then she might be showing up to a scene that’s just – unimaginable. She can’t do it, she can’t, and tells herself instead that she actually hopes it’s just going to be Habs asking for a charger because her phone died and she’s waiting for a text from some guy.

Her hood has fallen down, and she can feel her hair plastered to her scalp and the rain runs down her head and all over her face. Some water drips into her eyes and she reaches up to scrub them, but when she brings them back down the street she was about to cross isn’t there anymore but there’s couches and food on the coffee table in front of her but she hasn’t touched any of it because she feels ill and her gran is telling a story about his dad and he doesn’t want to listen anymore because his dad is dead and he was murdered but no one is talking about it and he feels sick and god he wants to leave –

Iqra inhales sharply and stumbles back onto the pavement as a car races by, the headlights blinding her for a second as she centres herself and reaches out to steady herself on a lamppost as she tells herself that she is actually in the street she thought she was, not some suburban nightmare that has left a knot in her chest.

She wants to sit down because her head feels like it’s about to explode and she feels off balance like the world decided to tip entirely to one side without telling her but worry about Habiba feels like a firework and she’s running again before she can really think about it.

There’s only two blocks now and Iqra forces herself to go faster, her breath snapping in her lungs but it doesn’t matter, Habs does and whatever moment she just had has to be put on the back burner for her.

One final turn and Iqra is skidding to a stop in front of some abandoned house that’s crumbling at the seams and the panic is getting worse because what the fuck is Habs doing here.

She yanks the door open and almost rips it off of its rotted hinges and steps inside and in the low light that is slicing in through the holes in the roof, she can see Habiba standing to turn to her, mascara running down her face and blood on her hands and her temple.

“Iqra,” Habiba whispers, face ghastly and Iqra forces down her hysteria and what’s she’s pretty sure was about to be vomit.

A-ozu billahi, she thinks, and yanks off her jacket.

The thing with funerals is this: the ones the day before your birthday are always going to suck. Bobby remembers when he saw his gran realise that he would have to bury his dad and then go to sleep and wake up nineteen, how she looked like she was going to start crying again while he tried to tell her that it was ok, that he didn’t mind.

(He did. Mind, that is. But, he’d rather feel like shit on his birthday, which he was going to anyway, rather than see her burst into tears again because she couldn’t even remember when her grandson’s birthday was. That’s not fair, she has enough on her plate. But – But, don’t they all?)

The service was nice enough. A quiet affair with a red-faced minister who read some passages from the Bible and called his dad a good, honourable man a few times (Not entirely true, Bobby recalls his dad sneering at him several times during his childhood whenever he tried to express an opinion he didn’t agree with. But, Bobby supposes death allows for some of your unsavoury qualities to be brushed over).

He had sat in the front pew with his gran and Peter and Lucy who were crying, stoic and also crying in that order. Bobby also didn’t cry and thought he and Peter were setting a terrible precedent for men being allowed to express emotions everywhere but he couldn’t stop thinking about how Dad never liked church all that much and whenever they did go as a family when they remembered or Gran dragged them, he would grumble and tap his fingers impatiently the entire time.

Bobby had made a note to ask Peter if he remembered the time when Dad bumped into an old colleague of his – what was his name again? – and basically ran out of the church with them in tow, but he had forgotten around the fifth bible verse.

Once the service was done, Bobby had to stand outside with his family and shake hands with everyone else who had came and accept their condolences.

(It was all a sham, most of these people all thought Ian was the worst and now they showed Bobby their swollen eyes and snotty noses as if they had lost a limb. But, Bobby supposes they could have loved him under the annoyance and tried to shove down any frowns he had and passed them all tissues and consoled the best he could. What good would there be to be cruel?)

Then it was home and that’s where Bobby had been for the past few hours. Sitting in silence with a glass of water and a plate of untouched sausage rolls on his lap while his gran and sister let people filter through to grab something to eat and reminisce about their favourite memories of Ian before leaving and being replaced and repeat. Peter had sat next to him the entire time, his side a warm grounding point that Bobby pressed into whenever he felt like he was drowning. He keeps thinking that someone is about to say it, say that Dad was murdered but no one does. They all seem to be ignoring it, pretending that the coroner wasn't completely lying when he said that Ian just fell and hit his head and that it was just a unfortunate accident. But Peter stays silent, and Gran and Lucy are steadfastly only reminiscing and so Bobby is staying quiet about it too.

Now, a few minutes until midnight when Bobby would turn nineteen, Peter finally speaks. “So what do you want for your birthday?”

Bobby almost smiles. “If your asking because you haven’t gotten me anything, then you’ve left it a bit late,” he replies, looking at his watch and seeing it was two minutes until midnight, turning to look at Peter so he doesn’t have to think about how his dad had given him that watch when he was sixteen and told him he had to be a man now.

Peter smiles for the first time that day. “You know, I actually did get you something, I’m just scoping out if I got you the right thing.”

“Terrible detective work,” Bobby replies and they share a grin over the sound of Gran and Lucy talking by the dining table, heads close together.

Peter stands up and pats Bobby on the shoulder. “I’m off to bed, happy birthday, Bobby.” Bobby smiles for the first time that day at him.

Bobby gets up himself and heads towards the door. “Bob?” Lucy calls.

“Just getting some air,” he says, and ducks out into the cold before she can say anything else.

The cold is a shock to his system and the second his sock-clad feet touch the freezing concrete, he feels like he falls out of his body and into a nightclub, the loud music shaking him to his bones as he pours shots and slides them down the counter and bops his head as the bass makes everything feel like it’s floating but also impossibly grounded and it’s so much to get caught up in but underneath it all is this exhaustion that lines her joints and she could sleep forever but she can’t, she can’t, she has to keep moving, there’s too much, there’s too much –

Bobby gasps and almost falls back into his house but braces himself on the door frame, reaching over to yank the door shut before anyone can come see him because he’s struck with the need to be alone right now, and maybe for a while, if he’s honest. He breathes deeply for a few seconds, mind scrambling to figure out what that was, does grief make you hallucinate?

When his hands stop shaking, he pushes himself up (when did he start sitting on his front door step?) and stumbles towards his car. He remembers when he passed his driving test, when his dad smiled at him and showed him the key to this car but had held onto them long enough to give a lengthy lecture about safety and maintenance and responsibility before he actually handed them over.

Bobby unlocks the boot and looks at his hand that are shaking again, tremors starting at his wrist and knows he doesn’t want to look inside, hasn’t wanted to for the past week since they all found his dad with blood all over his face.

(Have to rip the bandage off at one point, right?)

He opens the boot and looks inside.

Right in the middle is Peter’s award for straight A’s in high school, a small statue of his school’s crest, blood staining one side of it.

Bobby stares at the murder weapon that killed his dad. And closes the boot.

#eastenders #ee fic #bobby beale #dotty cotton #ash panesar #iqra ahmed #bex fowler #louise mitchell #keegan baker #ben mitchell #peter beale #eastenders fanfiction #my writing #im begging u to show up in the tags pls pls !!!#ash x iqra #louise x bex

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