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troubatrain · 3 years

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the times when you told everyone...

two blurbs following want you to want me

read the rest here!

Matthew knew you had to tell them soon.

Your families would figure it out eventually, the fact that you were in Calgary and how very clearly together you were. It wasn’t that Matthew didn’t want anyone to find out, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops that he finally got the girl, but things were just peaceful. There was a sense of comfort Matthew got from reaching over to you in the middle of the night and pulling you closer and the smile on your face when he did proved to him you felt the same way. He was just happy, so happy that he didn’t need the shit from his siblings about how long it took for him to lock it down. He knew what he was doing, what was best for the both of you, and he was content.

Especially when he played a close game against the Oilers where he got home and knew exactly how to celebrate. Only to wake up and walk into his kitchen to see you on the counter sipping coffee in his dress shirt from the night before. Honestly, if Matthew could wake up everyday like that he probably would, “Morning babe.”

You turned, a bright smile on your face like you’d been expecting him. Matthew wasn’t quiet, and while he thought he was tip-toeing into the kitchen, the bricks he had for feet told a different story, “I think I died and went to heaven.”

“Why’s that?” You hum, Matthew’s unexplainably large hands sneaking under his shirt to land on your waist.

“You’re here angel,” Matthew cheeses, the kind of dimpled smile that makes your heart skip a beat. His finger curled around the collar of his shirt, his last name embroidered on the inside, a gift from one of his grandparents, “And I’m so happy you’re staying.”

You didn’t need to say another word, lunging forward and pressing your lips to his. You knew your small bubble of bliss would be broken soon, an upcoming roadie and the time you were going to have to tell people you weren’t in Chicago anymore. You didn’t hear the door open, far too busy thinking about Matthew’s hands that were gripping your thighs and his lips on yours. You heard a cough, the both of you pulling apart from each other like two horny teenagers who got caught.

“Oh I’m sending this to Jamie immediately,” Taryn jokes, snapping a picture of the two of you while you tucked your head in Matthew’s neck. His hand landed on your back, a protective instinct he didn’t even know he had.

“She’s not going to tell you fuck off but I will Taryn,” Matthew barks back, snatching his sister’s phone right out of her hands, “And we were going to tell you…”

“When?” Keith chirps, shaking his head at his own son. His parents were happy, elated that Matthew found someone he’s happy with and the fact that it was you just made it so much sweeter.

“Sometime after I told my family I wasn’t coming back to St. Louis for a while,” You finally pick your head up, catching Matthew’s smile in the corner of your eye from your words,

“Taryn, let me tell them please?”

“Fine, but you have to give us credit when you get married.”

“Deal.”

***

Well my girlfriend’s headed there this summer…

Matthew’s eyes bulged out of his head, tripping over his words because he spilled the beans by accident. He was responding to a question about how he felt about his name getting thrown around for the Olympics, a dream he’d had since he was a kid. The idea was wonderful, but someone who he loved very much was actually going, and he’d never been prouder of you. It wasn’t like he wanted to hide you from the world, because if he had his choice everyone would know about the amazing and talented woman that he was smitten with.

It was your choice, and Matthew couldn’t do anything but just respect that. You just wanted your successes to be your own, never about the two of you and how no matter what you did, his name would always find its way into the conversation. You’d seen it happen, and when you started to point it out to Matthew, it made sense to him too. Brady chuckled next to him, the Sportsnet writer in front of both of them had his head turned like he’d been waiting for an explanation.

“Yeah, Matthew, why you don’t us more about how infinitely better Y/N is than you,” Brady chirps, not catching Matthew’s non verbal plea to just fucking drop it so you didn’t kill him.

“Uh, yeah, my girlfriend made the National team a few months ago now,” Matthew smiles, remembering the moment you told him just seconds before he needed to be in the Flames locker for a game. He walked in beaming, boasting to his teammates that you’d accomplished a dream of yours, “I’m proud of her, she’s a far better athlete than myself, she’s always been like that-”

“Matt used to cry when she beat him in their middle school gym class,” Brady laughs, easily steering the conversation into what a baby Matthew used to be. Matthew was silent for the rest of the interview, a pit in his stomach knowing that if he didn’t tell you before that video landed on Twitter, you’d kill him.

Matthew drove home in silence, mulling over how he’d tell you he spilled the beans but he really didn’t mean to. He was just proud of you and your accomplishments, and he was a bit of a show off when it came to you.

“Where’s Brady?” You ask, wondering if the other half of that duo was. He was in town for an away game, making a second home in your shared apartment because hotels are lame and he lived to bother his older brother.

“He went back to the hotel,” Matthew sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I have something to tell you.”

“Okay?” You were confused, the fear in Matthew’s eyes wasn't easing the pit in your stomach. He sat next to you on the couch, keeping his hands to himself instead of throwing his body on top of you like he usually did, “Matty…”

“I spilled the beans,” Matthew admits, closing his eyes and waiting for the blow, “They asked about the Olympics and I just said it because I’m proud of you. I’m so sorry, I should’ve been better about it-”

“I’m not mad,” You say, plucking at one of Matthew’s curls. Matthew shook his head at you, sighing.

“You should be, I should’ve respected your decision better than I did,” Matthew breathes, leaning back onto the couch. You snuggled up to his side, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, “I can try and ask them to cut it out.”

“It’s fine, maybe I’ll want to tell someone my boyfriend’s the best athlete in the world one day too,” You waive him off, Matthew’s head thrown back with laughter at your words.

Can I post Instagram stories of your goals now?

Only if I get to do the same.

#matthew tkachuk #blurbs #want you to want me blurbs #nhl imagines #nhl imagine

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

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It’s Just a Movie: Part 10 (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 1849

You and the boys had been discussing their plan for the past two weeks, having kept track on your notes app in your phone. The first few days had just been with what their ending 'goal' was, which turned out to be harder than you thought for them to agree. Well, for you and them to agree. When you proposed their desired ending, Dwayne had quickly said,

"Kill Sam and the Frogs." And Marko was quick to second him. It seemed that neither of them were quick to forget their killers, even if you were sure the only reason Dwayne wanted the Frogs dead was because they went after Laddie. You, however, were quick to argue,

"They're kids, guys." And, before they could appall you with any loose morals, you added, "Plus, Max is gonna tell you to turn Sam, remember?" But neither of them seemed too bothered by only being able to kill the Frogs. So, you reminded them, "They haven't done anything yet. They might not even suspect vampires exist yet." You pointed out, and the boys frowned. After a few days, you got them to agree to only kill them if they attempted to kill them first. Quickly, you tried to steer them in a different direction.

It was decided fairly quickly that the boys wouldn't be able to disobey Max once he ordered them to turn the boys, and it would be near impossible to get to them beforehand. So, you suggested,

"Well, why don't we just try to make Max's plan work? I mean, it wouldn't be too bad having Lucy for a mom, right?" You offered, but the boys exchanged a glance as they mulled it over. Lucy was sweet, kind to her boys, and probably wouldn't force them to change. And, with how much freedom she gave Michael and Sam, they could imagine that their lives wouldn't be all that affected. You tried to defend her case, but, as David eloquently put,

"That's exactly why she shouldn't end up with Max." He said, and you frowned.

“He can’t be that bad...right?” But even you didn’t really know. You remembered the ending, where he didn’t even bat an eye, let alone shed a tear, at the death of one of his ‘sons’. Without missing a beat, Paul said,

“He’s a dick.” You expected a slap of the head from Dwayne or a look from David. When neither came, you let out an uneasy breath. So, it seemed that Max's 'Blood-sucking Brady Bunch' was out of the question. When you pushed the topic of Max, it was decided that perhaps his ending shouldn't be all that changed. By the end of the first couple of days, it was decided that Max would die, and that David would take his place as the head vampire. You had to admit that it seemed to make more sense, with how detached the boys already were from their sire. And because it had technically been Maxs fault for their deaths in the first place. But, making sure Max bit it and they didn't was definitely going to make things more difficult. Especially when you factored in Star and Laddie.

“Wait, why are we turning Star again?” Marko asked. It was a couple days later and the five of you were eating pizza in the cave, having already visited the boardwalk. You, Marko, and Paul sat on the floor while Dwayne laid sprawled out on the couch and David sat in his chair. You were revisiting your ideas for how they were going to change the future, and you were doing a rebriefing of what the five of you had agreed on. Really, with having been there for two weeks, it was the only thing to keep your mind off of the improbability of you ever going home.

“She’s the one that’s gonna lure Michael in.” Paul reminded him, reaching over to snag one of your fries. You batted his hand away, and he gave you a grin as he popped it into his mouth. Marko scoffed, shaking his head.

“And why do we need to lure him in again? I mean, we already saw how that goes.” He grumbled, and you tried to choose your words carefully. He was always a little tense during these discussions, as his death would be the first you’d need to avoid.

“If we stray too far from the movie, then we have no idea how the events will turn out. And no idea how to prevent any near-death experiences.” You reminded. It was the exact reason that you had crossed out the potential of keeping the Emersons away completely. “We’re only gonna change some minor things, so Michael still needs to be turned into a half for everything to work.” You said calmly, and he let out a long sigh. He pushed the pizza box away from him, and your fries away from you before he laid your head in your lap. Over the past week, the boys had gotten comfortable with you. Almost a little too comfortable. While you hadn’t done anything with any of them yet, platonic affection didn’t seem to bother any of them. Even if Paul constantly offered otherwise. You already knew what he expected, and you gently began twirling his curls and scratching his scalp.

“But he’s such a poser.” Marko said, and you couldn’t help your smile at the use of slang. Your mind instantly flashed to when he bought the leather jacket, and then the earring. He seemed to try so hard to fit in, or perhaps impress, that you hadn’t even considered that that might describe him perfectly. You watched as his face relaxed, his eyes fluttering closed as you used your nails to scratch one of his sweet spots.

“Yeah, but he’ll be human again when Grandpa kills Max, and then you won’t have to worry about him anymore.” You said, and you didn’t notice the small smile on David’s face as he watched you calm the blonde vampire. Marko let out another sigh, before wriggling his way further into your lap. He let out a small grunt, apparently satisfied enough to stop his arguing. For the meantime. After a moment, you added, “Plus, you won’t have to watch Laddie all the time with Star.” You said, giving Dwayne a look. He had been reading a book, and he perked up at the mention of the little boys name. When he looked over and saw that you were already looking at him, he was quick to look back down at the piece of literature in his hands. Paul let out a small snicker, and you smiled.

You knew that, while he would never admit it, Dwayne was eager to meet the little boy that had become so close to him during the movie. It was like he was awaiting the birth of his younger brother, even if the little boy was already walking around somewhere. Though, you and David had silently agreed not to discuss the fate of the young boy. While the five of you could plan your ideal ending all you wanted, the most important thing was being able to roll with the punches and to be realistic. And, well, Laddie had stuck to Star more than he had stuck to the brunette haired boy.

With keeping most of the story-line and only a fraction of the ending the same, there was only one part of your plan left undecided.

“So, how are you gonna stop Sam from coming down here with the Frogs?” You asked. There was, of course, the expected chorus of,

“Kill the frogs.” From Dwayne and Marko. It was a frequently revisited issue, and the five of you had yet to agree. You had to make sure you spent their nights with them after Paul, surprisingly, had suggested finding their comic book store earlier that week. But, before you could argue your usual point over again, David said,

“We don’t have to kill them. We don’t even have to stop Sam from meeting them.” And you were quick to arch a brow. Paul let out an audible,

“Huh?” And Marko and Dwayne both sat up to look at their leader. It was an undiscussed idea, but, from the way David said it, you guessed that he’d been sitting on it for a few days now. It seemed that whatever ideas he had, he was finally willing to share them. He took a drag of his cigarette, before he began to elaborate.

“You said it yourself, y/n. We can’t risk going too far from the movie. We just have to make sure that Sam and the Frogs think that Max is the head vampire, and a few other things.” He added the last part vaguely, and you stared at him. With the way the edges of his lips curled, you were positive he was leaving you in suspense on purpose. You sighed, giving him a look. Finally, you asked,

“Like what?” And you watched the way his smile grew. He seemed to love whenever you gave in to his egging, and he supplied you with,

“Like thinking that by killing him it’ll turn all his children back to being human. Including us.” He said, and you felt your jaw fall for a moment before you quickly recovered. You didn’t want to inflate his ego, even if he already looked immensely satisfied with your reaction. Paul let out a low whistle before he said,

“Shit. That’s perfect. Michael will totally-”

“He’ll treat us like Star and Laddie. Same with Sam.” Marko finished for him, even if Paul went on rambling. He rambled about how they could blame the murders on vampire instinct, lack of human memory, or play into the thirst for sympathy. Or how they could make it almost hero-like by saying they only went after assholes. Dwayne, his deep voice cutting through Pauls chatter, said,

“And Grandpa won’t go after us. Not if we could be saved.” And you stared at all of them. It was a good plan. A great one. But, you could only think of one fatal flaw in it, and it was staring you in the face.

“Do you really expect them to believe you though?” You asked David. No matter how charming they could be, you didn’t expect them to really be that stupid. And it wasn’t something that they could just naturally bring up to Star and Michael without it raising some sort of suspicion from the pair. Especially when the Frogs were so hell-bent on killing all vampires, even if said vampire was only a half and a child. Davids smile turned into a smirk, and he gave you a small shake of his head as he said,

“Oh, not at all.” And confusion filled your face. You stared at the pale boy, his stubble dusting his cheeks and his hair practically glowing in the light. The smoke from the end of his cigarette curled and floated towards the ceiling as he said, “I expect them to believe you.”

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys marko #paul the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader

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rahleeyah · 3 years

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A little follow up to this post; Elliot's new partner comes over for dinner.

The next day, Stabler comes in looking a little sheepish.

"Doing anything Friday?" He asks.

They've only been working together a month or two, and they don't really talk personal stuff, as evidenced by the fact that Stabler introduced him to his not-wife and didn't even bother to mention her connection to him. Stabler's never asked him about his weekend plans. Mark is immediately wary.

"Why?"

Stabler laughs.

"Listen, Liv wanted to know if you wanna come by for dinner. The boys have sleepovers that night."

Idly Mark wonders if all six of their kids are boys and where the hell they found six families willing to host them for sleepovers. Maybe some of them doubled up. His first instinct is to say no, but honestly, he's curious about her. Captain Benson. Olivia. Liv.

"Yeah all right," he says.

"You should bring your girl. If you want."

Mark raises an eyebrow at him, and Stabler lifts his hands in a "don't shoot the messenger' kind of way.

"Liv said I should ask," he says, like that explains everything.

"You always do everything she tells you to?"

Mark just wanted to tease him about being whipped, but Stabler's face gets kinda serious.

"Yeah," he says. "There's a lot of shit in my life went wrong that would've been right if I just listened to her the first go round. Took me thirty years but I've learned my lesson."

Thirty years. That's a hell of a long time, Mark thinks. Thirty years, six kids, four grandkids, and working the job the whole time. He doesn't know how they're still alive.

"Her name's Kelly," he says. His girl. "I'll bring her."

Stabler gives him a smile that's all teeth.

So Friday rolls around and Mark and Kelly turn up at the address Stabler gave them with a bottle of cab bc he says Liv only drinks red. It's a nice little house in Queens, on a nice little street, two big ass black suvs parked out front. His and hers tanks.

"Are you nervous?" Kelly asks him. He wants to say no. Why should he be nervous? He spends all day, every day, and some nights, too, with Stabler. He likes the guy. But then he's never had dinner with a Captain before. She definitely makes him nervous.

"Nah," he says, and kisses Kelly quick before they get out of the car.

Stabler answers the door in jeans and a black button down and no shoes. He's comfortable, in his own home, and Mark can smell dinner from the doorway.

"Elliot Stabler, this is Kelly (can't be arsed to pick a last name)."

"It's so nice to meet you," Kelly says as they shake hands. "Mark talks about you all the time."

"Back at you," Stabler says with a grin. It's bullshit, Mark hasn't told him anything, but he can't help thinking the man just did him a favor by lying. Kelly is smiling ear to ear.

"We brought this for you. Mark says your wife likes red."

"She's not my wife," Stabler says reflexively as he takes it. "But she'll love it. Come on."

There's bookshelves everywhere. Mark figures they must be hers, he didn't peg Stabler as much of a reader. There's pictures everywhere, too, but Stabler's walking too fast for Mark to get a good look at them. In the kitchen she's waiting for them, Captain Benson. Her heavy, dark hair is pulled back today, and she's wearing soft, casual black pants and a cream colored blouse. She doesn't look scary, at home like this. Stabler goes to her, passes her the wine with one hand and lets the other settle at the small of her back, lets it stay there while he makes introductions.

"Thank you so much for having us," Kelly says. "You have a lovely home."

Benson looks at Stabler before she answers, the two of them sharing a private smile.

"Thank you," she says. "With a seventeen year old and a ten year old in the house it usually looks more like a federal disaster area."

"You didn't have to clean up just for us, Captain," Mark says. It's partly a joke and partly a test, and she sees through him at once.

"Please," she says. "Just Olivia here."

"You're a Captain?" Kelly shoots Mark a dark look. He may have forgotten to mention that to her.

"She's gonna outrank me for the rest of our lives," Stabler says easily. His hand is still resting at the small of her back.

"And don't you forget it. Now, who wants a drink?"

They stand around the kitchen with their wine glasses while Stabler and Benson finish cooking. He does as much of the work as she does and Mark is kind of impressed, bc he didn't peg Stabler as a cook, either, but he can tell Kelly's taking notes. The conversation flows pretty easy; Benson is nice and she knows how to talk to people, and she keeps the conversation away from work, keeps Kelly engaged. But it's kinda weird seeing Stabler, who Mark initially thought was a grim son of a bitch, smiling so much at this woman he can't take his eyes off of. They carry the food to the table, settle down to eat, and at the first lull in the conversation he strikes.

"How long you two been together?"

Stabler told him thirty years already, but he wants to hear the story. He figures it's a good one.

They share a look, Stabler and his not-wife. Like they wanna get their stories straight before one of them answers. It's not a question Mark would have thought would require a dress rehearsal.

"Long time," Stabler says softly.

Olivia reaches for him under the table. She's discreet about it, but Mark can tell her hand has just landed on his knee, and it's not going anywhere.

"It's a long story," she says, and then she switches gears. It's a fascinating deflection. "I want to thank you for coming," she tells him then. "I wanted to get to know the man who's gonna be watching his back. But I wanted to wait until I knew he hadn't scared you off."

"He got a history of running off partners?"

She laughs, Stabler doesn't.

"What's the record?" He asks. He wants to know if it's true, if Stabler really doesn't work with anybody for long. There's another long, strangely communicative glance between the pair of them.

"Thirteen years," she says, very softly. Stabler reaches for her hand and kisses the back of it gently.

"Lucky thirteen," he says.

Holy shit, Mark thinks. They were partners. That's the story they don't wanna tell. They were partners for thirteen years, and now they're shacked up. It's kind of impressive.

"Mark says you have six kids," Kelly says then. She doesn't like being left out. "Is it just the two boys at home now?"

Benson's smile is a little forced. Under the table, Stabler covers her hand with his own, there against his knee.

"Yes," she says. Doesn't offer anything else. Like she's waiting for Stabler to decide how much he wants to tell them.

"My first wife-"

"Only wife," Benson says, so quietly Mark almost doesn't hear it. Stabler shoots her a wounded look. Apparently it's a disagreement they've had before.

"My first wife and I had five kids. She uh. She died. A few years ago. The older kids are grown. Maureen and Kathleen have kids of their own now. Dickie's getting married next year, Lizzie's…Lizzie. Eli's a junior this year. Liv adopted Noah when he was a baby."

It's a lot of information to take in all at once. He can tell that Kelly regrets asking. She thought it would be a safe topic of conversation; what mother doesn't want to talk about her children? She hadn't counted on the baggage. But Kelly is Kelly, and she is devoted to her optimism.

"You're like the Brady Bunch," she says.

Benson laughs out loud. Stabler relaxes, infinitesimally.

Mark can see it all in their eyes now, though. How Stabler was married to someone else, had five kids with someone else, while they were working together. How he lost her, how he grieved, how he and Olivia finally got together and made a home out of the wreckage but the memory of his wife lingers, and maybe Olivia isn't ready to assume the title she's always thought belonged to someone else. She'll live with him, fuck him, raise her kid with him - Liv adopted Noah, he said, no mention of his own involvement, like he wasn't involved at all - but she can't bring herself to be his wife. We'll get there, Elliot told him. He wonders if that's true. He feels kinda bad for the guy.

#e.o #i FINALLY figured out how to add a read more on mobile i feel so accomplished #gonna start tagging these #e.o thoughts

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chickwiththepurpleguitar · 3 years

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If you're still taking prompts you should do some rebuke and hurt/comfort!!

Sorry this took so long, but luckily there's a lot of it!! Hope you enjoy!

This is part of my All Too Well Splinterverse series, so a direct sequel to something about it felt like home somehow, cause there we are again in the middle of the night, and so casually cruel in the name of being honest. It won't make much sense if you haven't read all three of those.

read on ao3 here!

Bobby gives it three days. Three days where he catches up on missing homework and takes his antibiotics and a lot of naps and feels like a terrible person. And then he calls Luke.

“I fucked up,” he says the second Mrs. Patterson passes over the phone, without so much as bothering to say hello.

“Whoa, uh, okay,” Luke says, and coughs a little awkwardly. “Did you cheat on me or something? Are we breaking up? Cause if we’re breaking up, you gotta at least give me twenty minutes to get over there; no way in hell am I letting you dump me over the phone.”

“No! What? No.” Bobby’s out in the studio for some privacy; he sits up on the couch and runs a hand through his hair, grips the cordless phone a little tighter. “This has nothing to do with you! I fucked up with Reggie.”

“Reggie?” Luke repeats. “Dude, what’d you do? Kick a puppy or something?”

Bobby lets out a sigh that’s really more of a groan. To be fair, he probably could’ve started this conversation with just a tiny bit of context. “ No. I just… I think I hurt his feelings.”

Luke’s quiet for a really long time, in that thoughtful, pensive way he usually only gets when he’s writing a song. It’s usually accompanied by a lot of bouncing and fidgeting, because Luke gets restless easily, and if he can’t expel energy through his mouth, he’s gotta let it out some other way or he’ll implode. It almost brings a smile to Bobby’s lips, just thinking about it. Finally, Luke says, “Can I come over?”

Despite himself, Bobby’s stomach flips at the question. He and Luke have talked almost every day in the last week or so, but they haven’t actually seen each other in person since Luke got out of the hospital. They’ve both been too sick, and then Luke’s been trying to stay home as much as he can, build some trust back up with his mom.

“I might be contagious still,” Bobby warns him, rubbing absently at his chest. “No fever since the day before yesterday, but I’ve still got this cough I can’t shake.”

Luke scoffs, like he knows just as well as Bobby how lame an excuse that is. “Bro, I’m pretty sure I can’t catch the cold I gave you. If you’re not ready, I get it, but… whatever happened with Reggie, I think it’d be easier if we talk face to face.”

Luke pauses, then adds, “Plus, you know… I really do want to see you.”

Bobby has to swallow past a piercing ray of sunshine shooting through his stomach. “I want to see you, too. Okay, come on over, just know my mom’s probably gonna fuss over you.”

“Yeah, well, the last time she saw me, I was unconscious and dying, so I can’t exactly blame her.”

A smile tugs at Bobby’s lips. He and Luke may have gotten together under the strangest circumstances— and “together” is still sort of a loose term; mostly, they’ve just made out a couple times and Luke gave Bobby bronchitis— but at least they have each other now. More than that, even— they both have their families back.

“Think your mom will be cool?” Bobby checks. “With you coming over, I mean? I know she’s been keeping you on kind of a tight leash. And I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“She’s barely met you,” Luke points out.

“Yeah, and the one time she did, she called me a kidnapper. And something in French that you refuse to translate.”

“Purely for your own good.” Luke’s teasing grin is audible, even over the phone. “Listen, Bobbers, that was an emotional day for us all, and Emily Patterson is hardly well-known for being calm and rational under stressful circumstances. But once I sat her down and explained everything to her, I think the ‘saved me from dying’ thing made up for the ‘hid me in your garage for two months’ thing. She likes you just fine.”

Bobby’s not entirely sure he believes him, but there’s no point in pushing it. “Well, if you need me to come over there instead, just let me know.” He starts to swing his legs off the couch, bending over to search for his shoes, but has to pause to cough into his elbow a few times, his chest twinging.

“Half an hour,” Luke insists. “And drink some tea while you wait for me, I don’t like that you’re still coughing.”

Bobby grumbles noncommittally, lays back down on the couch. “Just get over here, Patterson. I can’t deal with your mother henning over the phone.”

Luke breathes out a laugh, and it might just be the most beautiful sound Bobby’s ever heard. “Love you, too, baby.”

***

Luke hangs up the phone and immediately takes stock of himself.

The last week, living back at home with his mom and dad again, has not been nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Maybe he’s gotten more patient since running away from home. Maybe his parents have gotten a little more perspective. Maybe all three of them just needed a few months apart and a serious wake-up call to start seeing things through each other’s eyes.

Whatever the reason, Luke and his mom haven’t fought once since he moved back home, and his dad even told Luke he’d like to come to one of his shows once Sunset Curve starts playing again. They’ve had to establish a lot of new boundaries, the three of them, and quite a few ground rules— if Luke weren’t sick, he’d be in trouble, his mom said, but she thought his hospital stay and cracked ribs were punishment enough— but so far things have been good. And Luke would very much like to keep them that way.

So, he stands in front of the bathroom mirror and takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. The breath is free of congestion, doesn’t make him cough or hurt his ribs anymore. His face is a little red— purely just because talking to Bobby these days makes him blush like crazy— so he splashes some cool water on his face and waits until the flush fades from his cheeks before he heads out to the living room.

Emily’s sitting on the couch with her knitting, an old episode of The Brady Bunch playing low on the TV. She looks up and smiles when he enters, and Luke’s skin crawls a little. She gets this look on her face sometimes, when she looks at him now. Like she can’t believe how lucky she is. Like she still sort of expects to wake up and find she’s lost him. Again.

It makes Luke feel all sorts of guilty.

“Off the phone?” she asks him, a little redundantly, as he hands over the cordless. “How’s Robert?”

“Bobby’s feeling better,” Luke says honestly. He sticks his thumbs through his belt loops and rocks back and forth on his heels, standing awkwardly in front of the couch. “Can I go to his tonight? Something happened between him and Reggie, I was gonna help him out.”

Emily frowns, but doesn’t outright refuse, or accuse him of lying so that he can go out and play a club or something, like she might have three months ago. Maybe she really does trust him more now, or maybe she just likes Reggie enough to put aside her suspicions, but all she says is, “How are you feeling?”

Luke takes another slow breath, letting her hear how it doesn’t so much as catch in his throat. “No cough, no fever. Ribs only hurt when I get out of breath, but I’ll bike slowly, and we won’t be playing or anything. I’ll leave my guitars here, even.”

He sees it in his mom’s expression— the trust in him, the complete and utter belief she has that he’s telling her the truth. It’s something he might’ve taken advantage of, before. But for the first time in his life, he has absolutely no desire to lie to her.

Emily gently lays her knitting down on the coffee table in front of her and gestures Luke forward, stretching out a hand. He obediently leans down to let her brush his fringe aside and feel his forehead.

She hums approvingly a moment later and lets him go. “Ask your father to drive you. Will you be home for dinner, or are you spending the night?”

“I’m not sure,” Luke says, “but I’ll call around five either way?”

“Perfect.” She gives him that smile again— that look — and Luke turns away before he can think too hard about how much he doesn’t deserve it.

His dad is quiet on the drive over, but he lets Luke fiddle with the radio and kick his feet up on the dashboard, and doesn’t protest when Luke rolls the window up and down every five minutes. He parks the car in Bobby’s driveway, right outside the studio, but doesn’t shut the engine off. Something tells Luke to linger an extra moment or two before getting out.

“You need any money?” Mitch asks, finally.

No, but I’ll take some, Luke would’ve said, before, and then probably blown it on junk food or guitar picks or something. Instead, he shakes his head, leg bouncing, says, “Nah, dad, we’re just gonna be talking.”

Mitch nods and leans forward to peer through the windshield up at the studio. Luke follows his gaze. He can only imagine what his dad must be thinking: So this is where my son was living for two months because he didn’t feel safe at home.

“I’ll call home to let you know when to pick me up,” Luke says, desperate to fill the silence, and reaches for the door handle. “See you later, Dad.”

He catches half a glimpse of his father’s face as he heads up the drive: Mitch looks pensive and sad, and at least twenty years older than he really is.

Luke drags in a breath, and tries not to feel too guilty.

He’s barely rapped his knuckles against the studio door when it’s yanked open from the inside and Luke gets a faceful of t-shirt as Bobby tugs him into a strong-armed hug.

“Hey!” Luke laughs breathlessly. “I missed you, too.”

Bobby presses his face into Luke’s neck, tightening his hold. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, baby.” Luke rubs his back, trying to follow his instincts without getting too self-conscious. He hasn’t seen Bobby in a while, and somehow using pet names and terms of endearment was easier over the phone. Holding him and letting himself be held was easier when he was sick and hurting and had an easy excuse. But he doesn’t want Bobby to think Luke loves him any less, or that Luke’s ashamed of him or something, just because they’re both healthy.

Still. “We should get inside,” he murmurs, lips pressed into Bobby’s hair. “My dad’s kinda sitting in his car watching us, and I can feel him getting uncomfortable.”

Bobby snorts, his shoulders shaking under Luke’s touch. But then he nods and pulls away, swiping the back of his hand across his face; Luke thinks he catches the glisten of tears.

Inside the studio, with the doors shut tight and the sound of Luke’s dad’s car disappearing down the street, Luke sits Bobby down on the couch and says, “So. Reggie.”

Bobby’s quiet as he tells the story, his head ducked low and his hands clasped tightly between his legs. Luke keeps a hand on Bobby’s back, rubbing gentle circles as he listens to Bobby talk.

When he goes quiet, Luke takes a minute to breathe and think, before he carefully summarizes, “So… Reggie’s mad at you cause you didn’t wanna tell Alex about your headaches?”

“Reggie’s mad at me,” Bobby corrects, his voice breathy with exhaustion, “because I didn’t wanna tell him either. If he hadn’t caught me in the middle of one, I probably wouldn’t have said anything at all.”

“How come?” Luke tries for gentle, but he’s not sure he quite makes the mark. “You had no trouble telling me.”

“You’re easy,” Bobby grumbles. “I didn’t exactly have to try hard to make a good first impression. Doesn’t matter so much if you think I’m weak.”

“And it does with Reggie?” He doesn’t bother asking about Alex. Luke loves the guy, but he knows better than anyone how bitey and judgmental Alex can get. How slow to trust. Luke doesn’t much love showing weakness in front of Alex either. But Reggie… “Bro, Reggie just wants to be helpful. He’d care that you’re hurting, not that you weren’t totally together all the time. He wouldn’t think you’re weak.” He adds as an afterthought, “...and Alex would get over it.”

Bobby huffs out a laugh. He chokes on it, then turns away from Luke to cough into his fist. Luke rubs his back, feeling the tremors that the coughing fit causes, and winces in sympathy as Bobby takes a slow breath and rubs his chest like it hurts. Luke knows the feeling.

Acting on instinct, Luke reaches over and brushes Bobby’s hair back, pressing a palm to his forehead. He doesn’t feel warm, thank god, but he still leans into the touch, his eyes closing in relief, even as he mumbles, “Told you, I don’t have a fever.”

“I know,” Luke says softly, and really means, I’m sorry. “You want my advice, about Reggie?”

Bobby gives a tiny nod, makes a soft whining sound in the back of his throat that Luke is pretty sure is supposed to be a yes.

“You don’t have to try so hard. Reggie and Alex both, they… they want to be your friends. You just gotta let them.” He runs his hand through Bobby’s hair in slow, gentle strokes. “And with Reggie, a sincere apology goes a long way.”

Bobby nods again and slumps over to lay his head on Luke’s shoulder. “I’ll call him in the morning. For tonight…” Luke feels him tense, but when Bobby lifts his eyes to Luke’s, they’re open and vulnerable and honest, as he says, “Will you stay?”

Luke’s heart does a happy little flip-flop inside his chest. “Of course I will.” He presses a kiss to Bobby’s head and reluctantly pushes himself up off the couch. “Lemme just go call my folks and let them know I’m sleeping over. If I’m not back in ten, assume your mom’s kidnapped me to test out that aromatherapy treatment she kept going on about. And I’m bringing you tea.”

Bobby protests out of principle, calls him a nuisance, and a worrywart and a nag, but Luke feels Bobby’s smile on his back all the way out the door.

***

Reggie drops his bike along the wall beneath the Pattersons’ front window and skips up to the door, swallowing back the nerves drying his throat before quickly jabbing his finger against the doorbell.

Its chime echoes long and loud, enough that it makes Reggie flinch, makes him pick at his fingers and start to think that maybe coming here wasn't the best idea after all.

Because Luke’s still recovering. Luke’s got a boyfriend now. Luke shouldn’t have to spend time and energy worrying about Reggie and all his problems.

But before Reggie can turn around and leave, the door opens, and Luke’s mom smiles at him.

“Reginald! How are you, dear?”

“Very well, thank you!” Reggie smiles politely, bouncing on his heels a little. “How are you, Mrs. P?”

“I’m just fine, Reginald.” She leans against the doorway, her expression turning a little amused. “Did you need something, dear? Luke’s not home.”

“Oh, he’s not?” Reggie’s heart sinks. He clears his throat a little. “Um, is he… do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Probably not until morning. He’s staying at Robert’s tonight.”

“He’s sleeping over?” he repeats, surprised. Mitch and Emily Patterson don’t seem like the kind of parents who’d be particularly chill about their son spending the night at his boyfriend’s house.

It only then occurs to Reggie that maybe they don’t know Bobby is Luke’s boyfriend…

“I have the phone number,” Mrs. Patterson says, oblivious to Reggie’s conundrum, “if you needed to get in touch with Luke.”

“Oh. Oh, no, it’s okay.” Reggie fixes his smile back into place, swallows thick disappointment. “I’ll head over to Bobby’s, or… or I’ll catch Luke another time. Thanks, Mrs. P!”

He thinks she might start to say something else, but Reggie doesn’t hang around to listen. He scoops up his bike and disappears down the drive, pedaling as hard as he can so the adrenaline will overtake his complex jumble of emotions.

He shouldn’t bother Luke. He doesn’t really need him. He’d just been lonely, and his parents were fighting, and getting out of the house seemed like a really good idea at the time. Plus, he’s been sulking for days now since he yelled at Bobby, and Luke somehow always knows how to cheer Reggie up, even if Reggie wasn’t exactly planning on telling him what’s wrong.

But Luke’s with Bobby. Reggie can’t interrupt them. Luke will almost undoubtedly be mad at Reggie if he finds out Reggie shouted at his boyfriend. Bobby’s probably mad at him already.

As far as Reggie knows, Bobby might just turn him away on sight. Before Reggie even has half a chance to apologize.

Despite this thought process, Reggie’s bike skids to a stop on familiar concrete, bringing him to the realization that he rode to the studio without even thinking about it.

One of the doors has been left open. He can smell popcorn and spices carried out on the wind. He can hear Luke’s laughter, Bobby coughing, a Rolling Stones album playing softly in the background.

It makes Reggie’s throat feel tight, makes it hurt to breathe. He’s so… lonely. He wants what they have, and knows he can’t get it.

He should just go home.

He starts to turn away, but Luke’s voice stops him, calling, “Reg, hey! What are you doing here, man?”

Reggie swallows and awkwardly turns back to face the studio, where Luke’s lounging in the doorway grinning at him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Reggie manages a tiny smile of his own that he can only hope is convincing. “Hey, Luke. You, uh… your mom told me you’d be here.”

Reggie starts to add, But I should probably just go, but the words die on his tongue when Bobby appears over Luke’s shoulder, looking pale and tired, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders up at his ears.

“Hey, Reg,” Bobby says, low and gruff.

Reggie swallows, his hands tightening their grip around the handlebars of his bike. “I just… I wanted to talk to Luke?” he says simply, which isn’t totally a lie. “But I can go… if I’m not welcome.”

“What?” Bobby’s expression crumples, and he pushes past Luke to step forward, toward Reggie. “Reg, no, I— of course you’re welcome here. You’re always—” He breaks off, glancing over his shoulder at Luke, who gestures encouragingly. Bobby sighs and turns back, squaring his shoulders. “Reggie, I need to apologize to you. Again.”

Reggie gapes, baffled. “Wha— I— Bobby, no, I should be apologizing to you!”

“Me? Why?”

“Cause I yelled at you.”

“Yeah, but you were right!” Bobby takes another step forward, close enough that he can reach out a hand to hover over Reggie’s, still gripping tight to his handlebars. “Reggie, I’m not good at asking for help. I’m not used to being seen as weak and not having that be a bad thing. But I’m done lying, and I’m done hiding things. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Reg. And I do want to be your friend.” He takes a deep breath, shoots Luke another quick look, and then says softly, “I’m gonna start being better, Reggie. I promise. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn’t trust you. Like I didn’t like you. I do. I really do.”

Reggie’s left speechless, and a little choked. He stands there for a few moments, his mouth working but no sound coming out, and stares at Luke and Bobby both, searching their faces for any hint of a sign from either of them that Bobby’s kidding or making fun of him.

Reggie knows Bobby doesn’t mean it— liking him — the way Reggie wants him to, the way Reggie likes him back. But it still puts a lump in his throat, to hear Bobby say it at all — Bobby who never admits to liking anyone!

Reggie doesn’t realize he’s started crying until he tastes salt on his lips and Luke bounds forward to pull Reggie into his arms. That seems to break the floodgates open, then; Reggie lets his bike fall to the concrete with a clatter, buries his face in Luke’s shirt, and sobs.

Luke doesn’t ask why he’s crying, or tell him to stop. He just holds Reggie tight, and when Reggie chokes out, “I was just so lonely, ” whispers, Shh, it’s okay, I know.

Somehow, they end up inside the studio on the folded-out couch. Luke gently pushes Reggie to lie down in the middle, and then immediately climbs in next to him, pulling a mountain of blankets over them both.

After a few moments of awkward hesitation, Bobby joins them on Reggie’s other side, lowering himself gently onto the mattress and curling up so that Reggie feels his warmth without them actually touching.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Reggie gasps out, his tears starting to slow.

“I wish you’d do it more often.” Bobby gives him a tiny smile and slowly slides his hand into Reggie’s. “You can’t get rid of me, man. I got you.”

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#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfiction #fanfiction #my fics #prompt fill #500 followers aaaah!!!#reggie peters #bobby shaw #bobby wilson #luke patterson #rebuke #peterpatter #lukebobby #boggie #angst #sickfic #hurt/comfort

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disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

Text

Exit Wounds

pairing: Steve Murphy x Javier Peña, buddies or pre-slash, up to you. Not part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Steve comes to several realizations all at once. Steve Murphy POV.

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ - violence (beyond canon-typical), GSW, ambiguous ending, ANGST. You really probably shouldn’t read this one at all, my dudes.

a/n: unbeta’d. For those sharp eyed readers, there’s a slight canon change regarding Brady’s murder.

“Stay back,” Steve mouths, lifting a hand to Javier’s chest. Behind him, Steve can damn near feel Javi rolling his eyes, but he keeps still, both of them hardly daring to breathe as they pause at the corner of the stairwell.

Feo is waiting for them. Steve just knows it.

Dread and anticipation are rising in him, age old instinct and adrenaline converging into a single minded awareness that sharpens every sense. Steve’s heartbeat thrums in his ears. Reality glitters around him. Javi huffs softly at his shoulder, eager, impatient.

It’s like having a superpower.

Carefully, Steve edges his gaze just around the corner, and leaps back as a single round grazes just past his left ear. He feels the zing of displaced air before he’s even aware of the crack of gunfire.

“Shit,” he hisses.

That had been close.

“Think you found him,” Javi supplies helpfully.

Above them, there’s a scuffle, receding footsteps. Javi doesn’t wait - he’s already tearing around the corner, glock extended, giving chase.

Steve leaps at his heels.

He’ll never admit it, not to anybody and especially not to Connie because she worries, but this is Steve’s favorite part of the job. There’s something primal and evocative about chasing a bad guy through the streets of Medellín. It calls back to that little boy in Memphis, playing cops and robbers with the neighborhood kids until long past the streetlamps had lit. It awakens that visceral sense of masculine justice that’s simmered just beneath the surface of Steve’s thoughts since he could remember; the burning need to protect, to avenge, to do the right thing.

And fuck, it’s just fun.

He grits his teeth and digs in, running for all he’s worth. Chases in Medellín are all sticky heat and creaking rooftops that pop beneath a grown man’s weight, the smell of spices and gunpowder and unwashed bodies. The air is thick like soup. It stagnates in his lungs, stifles his breaths. His heart pounds wildly. Sweat pours down his back and clings to his shirt, and Steve basks in it all, loving every second.

Javi ducks into one of the zócalos, taking a short cut on a hunch. Steve follows. The world narrows, the entire cramped room smelling of tortillas and goat milk. The darkness inside is a stark contrast to the midday Medellín sun, and Steve barrels into the tiny kitchen table before his eyes can fully adjust. A child shrieks, and Javi pauses just long enough to wince toward her mother as Steve staggers to his feet.

“Sorry,” he bleats, already stumbling out the door.

Outside, they are faced with a choice. Stairs going up to the rooftops. Stairs going down into the alleyway. Absolute silence.

Steve takes the street and Javi takes the high ground. There’s no discussion, no pause to consider, no flicker of eye contact and a question. Steve and Javi move as one unit in two bodies, working in seamless tandem that comes from surviving and thriving together in countless life or death scenarios.

Feo is not in the street, it’s apparent immediately. Steve has gone the wrong way.

Well, win some, lose some. The comuna is built into a slope, like so many comunas are, and Steve makes for the top of it, determined to get a better view. Maybe he can cut Feo off while Javi herds him forward, though it’s unlikely.

He reaches the top of the hill and whirls, shading his eyes against the sun as he glances over the rooftops, searching.

Javier shouts in Spanish. Steve cranes his neck toward the sound. He’s close.

There.

A shot rings out. That’s nothing new - shots are always ringing out in Medellín. It’s practically how the sicarios say hello.

But this time, it’s different. This time, Javier staggers back like he’s been punched in the solar plexus, and Steve’s world converges into two undeniable facts - dread, and absolute certainty.

Javi’s been hit.

Somehow, Steve has the sense of mind to radio for backup with medical, an instinct honed from years of beats in the shadier neighborhoods of Miami. He doesn’t bother listening for the garbled response, he’s just running, tearing down the hill with one ominous thought replaying through his mind.

He can’t see Javi anymore.

Steve shakes away the implications and focuses on what he can remember - where Javi had been standing, the direction of his voice. His lungs are burning, heart pounding painfully in his chest, but Steve’s totally unaware of that. It shouldn’t be possible, but he’s flying, feet hardly hitting the ground as he tears through the comuna, making his way once again toward the rooftops.

His best friend’s life is on the line.

And isn’t that funny? If you’d have asked Steve an hour ago, he’d have laughed in your face at the idea that Javi was anything more than his work partner. Javi’s an asshole. A self-righteous, arrogant, hypocritical, sell-you-to-the-fucking-cartels-on-a-whim cuntstain of a human being. Yeah, Steve can admit that Javier Peña is a decent agent. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. There’s also the fact that Javi knows all of the best dives in town, and that he’s always good for a drink after a long shift, and sure, maybe he’d stuck up for Steve that one time with Messina, but friends? Yeah, that’s a long shot.

Except now, it’s not.

The stairwell Steve’s been climbing ends abruptly. He’s standing on a three foot square platform, looking up at a ten foot wall.

Shit, shit, shit.

Javi is right there, just on the roof above him.

Steve doesn’t think, he just leaps, the tin edges slicing his palms as he scrambles for the ledge. He kicks his feet hard, banging his shins with enough force to bruise as he rolls gracelessly onto the roof. Later, when Steve tells Connie that it was a feat of athleticism that would put the best of his college buddies to shame, he’s not lying.

And there’s Javi.

Steve drops to his knees beside the body. Javi’s lying crumpled on the ground, curled on his side in a fetal position that is far more vulnerable than Steve is comfortable witnessing.

“Javi?” Steve calls, shaking his partner hard as he hauls him over onto his back. “Shit.”

Javi doesn’t answer. The concrete beneath him is a pool of red blood. It’s smeared all over Javi’s pink shirt, an ominous, dark stain originating from somewhere near his shoulder.

And it’s still pumping steadily from the wound.

Steve catches a breath, reminds himself that this is a good thing. Dead people don’t bleed.

Automatically, he presses one hand over the most saturated part of Javi’s shirt. Hold pressure. It’s basic first aid, but basic first aid is prioritized in the academy because it saves lives. Steve punches his palm into Javi’s shoulder for all he’s worth.

But Javi’s still not moving, not responding. Carefully, Steve cups his free fingers gently over Javi’s mouth and nose. Soft, quick breaths pulse hot against his skin, and a tight bubble of tension bursts in Steve’s chest.

Javi is breathing. Thank fuck, Javi is breathing.

Blood spurts through the cracks Steve’s fingers, warm and deep crimson, and Steve has a sudden, wild thought that it’s much more slippery than he’d have thought, more like motor oil than water. He’s seen blood in this quantity before, many, many times, but never this close, never fresh and red on his bare hands, never gushing in slick rivulets from the body of his partner and friend.

Steve flashes back to that one sting gone horribly wrong in Miami, to being held at gunpoint in the doorway while Brady bled out onto the dirty motel carpet.

He shakes it away. Not this time. Never again.

He shifts his position, tilting Javi’s head to the opposite side so he won’t choke and exposing the wound so he has better access to it. He can’t see the edges, and hell, he’s definitely not looking, but the blood seems to be coming from the juncture of Javi’s neck and shoulder, just to the edge of the kevlar strap of his tac vest.

Fuck.

An inch to right, and Javi would have walked away with a massive bruise, maybe a broken clavicle. An inch to the left, and it would have all been over.

“Of course it would be your shoulder, Javi,” Steve bites out between gritted teeth. It it were an arm or a leg, he’d have already used his belt to make a tourniquet. But that’s not an option here, and by the way Javi’s breathing - fast, quick little pants that are quickly turning his lips blue, Steve wonders if there might be something wrong with Javi’s lung, too.

Fucking Christ.

“God, get here already,” Steve mutters under his breath as he presses both palms into Javi’s chest. Shit, the bullet’s gone all the way through. Steve can feel the heat of Javier’s blood seeping into his jeans.

‘All bleeding eventually stops,’ he remembers Connie saying after a terrible shift at Ryder. Her tone had been flippant and thoroughly blasé, cynical like the humor of all nurses who work trauma call is cynical. At the time, Steve had brushed it off as a one-off, a ruthless, humorless joke made out of frustration.

With a slow dawn of horror, he suddenly understands exactly what Connie had meant.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters desperately, pinning Javi’s body between his knee and his fists, locking his elbows and pressing both hands as hard as he’s able into the wound in a desperate attempt to staunch the bleeding.

His wild thought of ‘where the hell are they going to land the chopper?’ is cut off as Javi shifts and groans.

Steve panics. Javi’s lost a lot of blood, far, far too much blood. It’s all over Steve, all over Javi, all over the concrete, and Steve has just now gotten it under control.

Javi needs to be still, dammit.

“Don’t you dare fucking move, Javi, you hear me?” Steve’s voice is brittle as he leans in close to Javi’s ear.

And oh god, somehow, the situation is suddenly so much worse now that Javi isn’t completely out, now that Steve knows that in some capacity, Javi is aware of what’s happening to him.

Fuck.

But Javi just huffs one shuddering breath, and then goes so completely still that Steve’s heart lurches in his chest.

“And don’t you fucking die, either, you hear?” Steve shouts into his ear.

Really, that’s more important than anything.

Javi grunts something in response, a word that Steve, in his frazzled state, doesn’t quite catch. Later, when he relives this day over and over again, Steve thinks it might have been “asshole.”

The ensuing silence is stifling. They lay there on that rooftop for an eternity, Javi sandwiched between Steve’s fists and his knee, Steve’s back and arms burning with tension. Javi’s breathing speeds and shallows. His entire face is ashen now. Little beads of sweat have broken out on his forehead. His blood is cooling, congealing dark between Steve’s fingers.

“Please, god, please.” Steve hasn’t prayed in years, but this is different. Important. He’s not asking for anything for himself. Not for Connie, even.

He’s begging for Javi’s life.

In the distance, the blades of a chopper are beat, beat, beating against the wind.

LINK TO SPACEDAD’S MASTERLIST

#Javier Peña #Steve Murphy #Steve Murphy x Javier Peña #narcos #narcos fanficiton #pedro fandom #pedro pascal #boyd holbrook #narcos netflix #pedro fanficiton #angst #hurt no comfort #slice of life #steve's voice was surprisingly easy to find here #I might need to write more from his POV #if you want more medical notes on what's going on with javi and how he could recover i can gladly provide #covid has done a number on my brain you guys

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tra-sh · 4 years

Note

That paul lahote one omgggg do u ever do pt2? Bc i would absolutely cry if u do! I loved it too much tysm

Here you go! I really hope I did you justice with this part 2!

This one has a little teeny sliver of angst, and more jealous Paul action because let's be honest, it's my favorite archetype to write.

A few months had come and gone since you first met Sam Uley's pack. Because Paul's imprint had been so strong, he and Sam had requested you stay with Emily for the time being to ease the transition. It had taken a lot of convincing-- from Paul to you and you to your parents-- but eventually, you'd settled into your new life. You would often help Emily in the kitchen, prepping large meals for the hungry group. Bella would visit every so often to give you small updates and gifts from the Cullen's. You would never admit it to Paul, but you dearly missed your friends. You missed reading with Edward and painting with Alice. You missed Jasper's calming presence and Emmett's raunchy jokes. The wolf pack was steadily becoming family to you, but you couldn't help the aching feeling in your chest. Which was why the Cullen's sudden disappearance mid-September had come as an unwelcome shock.

You weren't sure how to cope with the sudden loss at first. They hadn't sent you a text or sent Bella to see you. She had just shown up on the back porch in the rain, a drenched shivering mess. She'd collapsed into your arms, telling you she couldn't find Edward anywhere and that their house was empty. You'd comforted her to the best of your ability, trying your best to ease her pain. You could tell from the very beginning that she had a strong bond with the vampire; you couldn't even begin to imagine how distraught she was. The pack was not so quick to console her and made jokes about finally being rid of the nuisance family. You could tell that her sudden attachment to Jacob wasn't exactly putting her in their good favor.

Emily had invited Bella to stay with the two of you, at least until she felt comfortable enough to go back home. She was unstable-- anyone could see that. You knew that Emily was not only being nice; she was worried to leave Bella by herself.

This was how you came to your current situation, standing in the kitchen watching Bella mope over a mug of coffee. The brunette slowly stirred the lukewarm liquid, absentmindedly staring off into space. "Bells?" You ask.

She doesn't move but glances over to you silently. Well, she wasn't exactly making this easy.

"I think you've mixed it enough," you try to joke.

She looks down before placing the spoon on the table. "Sorry," she mutters. You sigh and look away to the timer on the counter. Seven minutes. The muffins in the oven have seven minutes left, and then you can go into your room and finally have some peace. You loved Bella, you really did. But you felt like you were more of a babysitter than a friend at the moment. You were so busy trying to keep her from jumping off the nearest cliff that you barely had time to process the situation for yourself. You felt like you were holding back your feelings; both to console her, and to not set off Paul.

Your mind begins to wander as you think of him. He was definitely the group hothead and sometimes got on your last nerve. Well, frequently got on your last nerve. But you really did care about him. He was sweet and gentle when the two of you were alone and true to his word he had been taking things slow for you. The two of you hadn't done more than hold hands and hug, which surprised most of the other members. They never knew Paul to be patient or calm; especially when it came to matters of instinct. Seeing him cradle you as if you were made of glass was definitely a new experience for everyone. A small smile dances over your lips as you get lost in thought. You fail to notice Emily as she walks into the kitchen and raises a brow at your vacant expression.

"Excited for those muffins?"

You snap out of your trans and give her a sheepish grin. "Ah, sure," you say quickly. Emily gives you a knowing look before turning her attention to Bella. "How are you feeling today, sweetheart?" Bella simply shrugs and does her best to offer what she hopes is a convincing smile. "Alright," she mumbles. Emily gives her an apologetic smile and turns away to grab a pitcher from the cupboard. You clear your throat and shift your weight, turning your attention back to the timer. Only two minutes to go. You hear rowdy shouting and footsteps hammering up the steps to the kitchen door. "Well, it looks like the boys are back early," Emily mused. She mixes together some iced tea into the pitcher and moves to set it on the dining table. You turn away from the door to hide your embarrassment, focusing intently on the muffins. You didn't want to see the look that Emily would give Paul, and you certainly didn't need to be teased by him right now.

The screen door slams open as the loud, sweaty group files into the house. You can pick out the different voices as the boys talk and laugh between themselves. Chairs scrape against the linoleum flooring as they choose their seats, waiting to be fed. The timer 'ding's just in time and you pull on a pair of oven mitts. As you bend down and open the oven door, you feel a pair of burning hot hands grab your hips. "Hey," Paul's deep voice sends a shiver down your spine as he greets you. You turn around and smack his bare chest with one of the mitts. "Don't scare me when I'm picking up hot metal," you scold lightly. He only smiles and brings you in for a hug, squeezing you tightly against his chest. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck and inhales, his muscles relaxing as he takes in your smell. You feel your face flush as you wrap your arms timidly around his waist. As much as you loved the attention, you felt awkward being so affectionate around the others. Especially with the new "recruits", Brady and Collin. They were younger than the others, and you felt weird letting them see this. Paul pulls away to head to the table, but not before planting a kiss on the top of your head.

You try to ignore the hot blush on your cheeks as you turn back to take the muffin tray out of the oven. You look over to Emily and smile softly as Sam embraces her. You loved seeing them together. They looked at each other like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving behind only them. You walk over to the table and reach between Seth and Collin to set the tray down. "Careful," you say lightly. It's really a joke to warn them; their body temperatures are so high that you sincerely doubt they would feel it if they burned a finger. In a matter of seconds, the tray is picked clean, each boy scarfing down on the warm treat.

In moments like this, you feel like a mom of nine. You were always there to pick them up when they were down, to kiss their wounds and feed them meals. You smile to yourself as watch them crack jokes and shove one another. The smile turns bittersweet as you think about your parents. Were you going to leave? I mean, at some point Emily would surely want her guest room back. You couldn't stay forever. But with the Cullen's gone and Bella in a spiral, would you be able to return to your old life? You knew you could visit the reservation whenever you pleased, but something about the idea of not being here felt off. You didn't want to leave; this felt like home now. You glance over at Paul and snort as he tries to cram the entire muffin into his mouth before Jared can swipe it. Were you really ready to leave this behind?

Paul noticed you staring and glances over. He frowns (as best he could with his mouth full) at the mixed expression on your face. He swallows thickly before standing up and walking over to stand in front of you. You blink into focus as your view is suddenly filled with a tan chest and look up to smile at him. "Hey," you say quietly. Paul's brow knits together as he looks down at you. "What's wrong?"

You feel a swell of guilt in your chest as he looks at you in concern. "Nothing, I'm just thinking." He doesn't seem to like this response. He looks over his shoulder at the pack before leading you over to the guest room. His hand is hot against your wrist as he pulls you-- not too hard, for fear of hurting you. He closes the door to your room and turns to face you, arms folded over your chest.

"You know you can't lie to me. What's wrong?" He presses, a frown settled in his features.

You sigh and walk over to the bed, sitting down on the quilted sheets. Paul moves to sit next to you and waits for you to speak. You can tell he's struggling to keep silent and his face gives away the underlying worry. Were you having second thoughts? Were you upset with him? You place your hand over his and squeeze gently to quell his anxiety. "I just," you pause and try to think of how to explain your current feelings without upsetting him. "I just haven't really had time for myself recently and I guess it's getting to me is all."

Paul's nose scrunches and you feel his hand tense under yours. "You get time to yourself when we patrol," he points out. You shake your head and sigh. "That's not what I mean, Paul. Even when you guys aren't here, I'm taking care of Bella. I mean, I miss Edward too but--" Paul cuts you off before you can continue. "You miss him?"

Your jaw sets and you give Paul a pointed stare. "You know that's not what I mean," you say, your tone a warning. Paul doesn't take this well and stands up from the bed. "What exactly do you mean?" He hisses.

You grit your teeth and stand up, your hands balled into fists. "They were my friends, Paul! I'm not just going to pretend that I don't miss them just so you don't get jealous!"

Paul's muscles ripple as a warning; showing you that he was losing his temper. But right now, you didn't care. "I changed my life for you! I moved here because your imprint was too strong for us to be apart! I stopped seeing the Cullen's because their smell was enough to set you off! Hell, I don't even see my parents anymore! Isn't that enough to make you trust me?"

Paul's nostrils flare and he growls, stepping forward. "What do you care if you lose those leeches? They weren't doing you any favors; they left you!"

You flinch as he raises his voice, practically shouting by the end of his sentence. Paul hesitates when he notices this. He looks away, but the anger is already coursing through him. Wordlessly, he storms out of your room and slams the door behind him. You hear snarling and run out of the room just in time to see the front door shut. The glass panels of the door shudder from the force and a howl echoes from outside. You avoid the prying eyes from the kitchen as the rest of the pack watches silently. Right now, you could care less about what they thought. You feel the familiar sting of tears in your eyes as you shuffle back to your room, locking the door behind you. You just wanted today to be over.

It's later in the night when you wake up, groggy and disoriented. Your nose is stuffed and there's a dull pounding in your head from crying. You scoot over to the nightstand and check your phone. It was a little past midnight, and you had a few texts from Emily asking why your door was locked and if you wanted dinner. You sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed as you peer out of the window. The sheer curtains do very little to hide the view of the forest. Though the gauzy material adds a blurry filter to your vision, you can still make out the trees and the bright outline of the moon. The thin glass allows the chirping of summer crickets to meet your ears and calm your nerves. You can’t help but wonder where Paul is. If he was still phased and running around the forest, or if he had finally calmed down and gone home. You felt bad for yelling, but you didn't regret what you said. You'd been holding it in for a while, and you needed to speak your mind.

You sigh and stand up, making your way to the door. You'd fallen asleep shortly after the fight, so you missed lunch and dinner. Maybe eating something would help take your mind off of everything. You pad over to the door and turn the lock. When you open the door, however, you're met with a startled curse and a loud thud. You stare down with wide eyes as Paul falls into your room. "Paul?" Your voice is hoarse from crying.

A string of curses falls from the teen's lips as he sits up and rubs the back of his head. Was he sleeping against your door? Paul looks around in a haze before realization hits him. He scrambles to his feet and turns around to face you, relief written all over his features. "Hey," Paul starts carefully. You can tell he's treading on thin ice, gauging your reaction. He's waiting to see if you're still mad. He takes in your puffy eyes and the way you try to hide your sniffling. You'd been crying.

"Hi," you say curtly.

Paul frowns and takes a hesitant step forward. You don't move to stop him, so he takes another step. "Baby," Paul calls gently. He tests the boundaries, reaching a hand out to rest on your waist. You look down at your feet and he pauses. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know," you reply. You're not trying to be rude, but you still don't feel satisfied with how the argument ended. He can't just storm off on you every time he doesn't like the response he gets.

Paul takes your chin in his calloused grip and turns your head gently. "Sweetness," he tries again. "Please look at me."

Finally, you turn to meet his gaze. You feel the tears begin again at the loving look in his eyes. You wanted him to hold you. To promise to you over and over again that he was an idiot and it would never happen again. But you and he both knew that he couldn't promise you that. It would happen again, and he needed to work on that. But how many times could you forgive this behavior? It took its toll on both of you. Paul brushes his thumb over your cheek, wiping away the fresh tears that spilled over.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, the hand on your waist pulling you closer. Your hands instinctively rest on his sides as he cradles you in one arm. You close your eyes as your lip trembles, threatening to release the sobs you were holding back. Paul's chest tightens as he looks down at you. "I'm an idiot," he adds. "And I don't deserve you."

You let out a breathy laugh, which turns into a slight hiccup. "No, you don't," you agree lightly. He chuckles, the deep noise vibrating his chest. "I'm trying to," he whispers. You nod, leaning into the touch of his hand. "I know you are."

You open your eyes and look at him, seeing the silent plea in his warm brown gaze.

I'm not perfect, but I'm trying. I don't want to lose you.

"I love you," you rasp, barely able to whisper. Your throat is tight as you squeeze out the quiet confession.

Paul, unable to hold back, brings you into a tight hug. Your words are all he needs-- you've accepted him. You know it won't be easy, but you're willing to try. And that's all he could hope for.

"I love you," Paul echoes. "I love you so much."

He pulls back slightly, leaving a hair's length between you. He looks to you for silent permission and nearly preens when you nod your head. He dips down, slowly, carefully. You close your eyes and let out a shaking breath as his warm lips meet yours.

The kiss is soft but wholesome. It carries with it all of the promises that Paul intends to keep. It's loving and loyal; much like him. You know this road won't be easy, and you know this won't be the last time you cry over this idiot. But when you pull away and meet his devoted gaze, you can't help but smile.

There isn't anyone else in this world you'd rather be with.

#paul lahote x reader #paul lahote #twilight #twilight saga #twilight x reader #wolf pack #part 2

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bloodandpie · 3 years

Text

Supernatural fanworks masterlist

collaborative works by @monicawoe and @quickreaver

(updated 11/1/2020)

Hello lovelies, here’s our most up-to-date masterlist including our 2020 contribution to the @spneldritchbang:

Behold the Beast, Behold the Lamb - Season 4 AU. Sam tried to free Dean from Hell, but angels intervened and took Dean for their own purposes. Sam is determined to get Dean back and will do whatever it takes, embracing his abilities fully. The more demon blood Sam drinks, the more demons he kills, the more he changes inside and out until it’s impossible to hide his monstrous side. Ruby, Uriel and Castiel push Sam to fulfill his destiny and become his true self—the Beast of the Revelation. (gen, Sam/Ruby, 20k words)

Here is a list of all our other combined works thus far, in no particular order:

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

word-count: - written for the 2012 spn-genbang | sequel to The Devil’s in the Details When Sam opened Lucifer’s Cage, the only thing he found inside was Lucifer’s grace – his grace. With the return of his grace, Sam remembered his past – his war against the Host, his Fall, and his plans to bring about the End. The thing is…he doesn’t want the Apocalypse anymore. He likes things the way they are, and tries everything to keep his identity a secret- especially from Dean. Of course, the four Horsemen, Hell and Heaven have other ideas.(gen, 13k words)

Last Drop - Written for the Twisted Tropes event - Sam/Brady AU set while Sam’s at Stanford: Sam is slowly adjusting to his new life at Stanford University. He’s left his life of hunting behind, and traded it for endless studying and tests, but he’s plagued by dreams of Dean and Dad in danger, dreams of blood and violence. Then he meets Tyson Brady, who’s always there with a smile and a cup of coffee to get Sam through all-nighters. Sam’s dreams start to fade, but just as he’s getting used to a nice normal life, he starts to develop abilities—powers he can’t control. Brady thinks they’re great, but Sam knows power never comes without a cost. (Explicit Sam/Brady, 14k words)

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Best Self - written for @alyndra9 for the prompt: King of Hell Sam meets Kale!Sam and they have many differences of opinion to work out. (aka the only one who knows what Sam really wants is Sam.) words by monicawoe art by @quickreaver! (~4k words, Explicit Sam/Sam)

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All Our Wrath and Cutting Beauty

word-count: written for the 2011 spn-reversebang: Sam killed Alistair, but not before Alistair reminded Dean of who and what he'd become in Hell. Dean knows Sam can take down Lilith, and he'll make damn sure Sam gets strong enough to do just that. They'll stop the Apocalypse -- together, no matter how many bodies stack up, or how much blood is spilt. (gen, boyKingSam, demonDean,11k)

MANY more, beneath the cut:

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The Two Ravens

word-count: ~3,500 | written for the sammessiah antichrist-mas fest: Your brother he is, and heir to my throne. He’ll feed on the damned and he'll turn them to bone.

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The Last Days in the Land of Nod a comic adaptation of the fic by the same name

word-count: ~2,000 | The year is 2014. The Devil is wearing his finest, the Angel is human, and the Brother protects the survivors at Camp Chitaqua.

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We have also done collaborations with other talented writers and artists, including:

He Who Fights Monsters

word-count: ~52,000 | co-written with nwspaprtaxis for the 2014 GenTeensyBang: Demonic-MMA-fighting AU of the summer between Seasons 3 and 4. Dean's dead, dragged down kicking and screaming to Hell. Sam's not dealing well. And Ruby’s got her work cut out for her.

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Burdens, Doublefold

word-count: ~70,000 written for the 2012 spn-j2-bigbang, art by @ileliberteWhat if Dean left Sam at Stanford after the fire, hoping it would keep his little brother safe and make things better? Somehow, 'better' never seems to be in the Winchester Family cards. Sam gets tangled up with his ex-roommate Brady, tracking psychics, but dealing with demons is never honest business. Dean carries on until his father is put in grave danger. He is left on his own to deal, stumbling into Harvelle's Roadhouse for help, where Dean gets just a little more than he bargained for. Eventually, the brothers’ paths twist and turn their way back to each other, but the results could mean the End of Days.

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Impala’s Run

word-count: ~23,000|written for the SPN Gen Big Bang, art by adrenalineshots | Sam and Dean Singer (aka Winchester) aren’t your average young Kansas farmers. Their home is very, very far from Kansas, in fact. Many light-years worth of ‘far’. The boys may look human, but certain talents set them apart: Dean speaks the language of machines, and Sam can heal through manipulating energy. Hidden on Earth by their father, their agricultural lifestyle gets rocked when warring alien races discover where they’ve landed, and Sam and Dean are forced to make the run of their lives.

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and here some other illustrated, shorter fics of ours for your enjoyment:

Instinct (Prophet of the Lord remix)

word-count: ~3,000 | (Kevin's POV of the same prompt) After the trials, Sam doesn't get better. Kevin's theory is that it's cancer: the trials are supposed to purge him of all physical and spiritual impurities, so tuberculosis is out, and cancer is the only reason left for Sam to be coughing his lungs up when he's supposed to be the pinnacle of human perfection. Nope. Sam's falling apart because the demon blood is gone.

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Instinct

word-count: ~1,300 | After the trials, Sam doesn't get better. Kevin's theory is that it's cancer: the trials are supposed to purge him of all physical and spiritual impurities, so tuberculosis is out, and cancer is the only reason left for Sam to be coughing his lungs up when he's supposed to be the pinnacle of human perfection. Nope. Sam's falling apart because the demon blood is gone.

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Bliss in Emptiness

word-count: ~41,000 written for the 2013 spn-j2-bigbang |As a reward for her loyal service, Lucifer brings Ruby back from death. When Sam throws himself into the Cage, Ruby slows his fall — just enough to grab a hold of his body, but not his soul. Together, they hunt the ever-increasing monster population and uncover evidence that Crowley and Castiel might not be as antagonistic as they seem. As the situation unfolds, Eve's interest in Sam piques and she gives him a gift that changes the very essence of what he is.

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Pattern Recognition: A Hannibal/Supernatural fusion AU

word-count: ~33,000 | Sam and Dean split after River Pass, and their confrontation with the Horseman, War. Since Will’s escape from the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane, he and Sam have been in hiding. They have a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, that keeps them off the radar; they find comfort in each other. But they can’t stay off the chessboard forever, especially not when Lucifer, wearing Hannibal Lecter as a vessel, is tearing the world apart around them.

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Bones

word-count: ~1,800 | The third trial sounded way too easy.

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In the Cards

word-count:~3,600| written for the 2012 spn-reversebang: Fate wasn’t hers to change. She was an oracle — there to tell them what the future held in store. Nothing more, nothing less. And people were so desperate to know, even though it changed nothing.

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Diary of a Madman

word-count: ~3,500 | Lydia's newest patient, Sam Winchester, suffered from hallucinations, delusions, and regular bouts of insomnia. He also thought he was Lucifer.

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Unless Its Roots Reach Down to Hell

word-count: ~2,000 | written for the evilsam-spn fright-fest 2014: Sam spent months piecing the spell together—he'd crafted it himself out of slivers of handwritten, ancient journals—the ones even the Men of Letters kept hidden away in a man-sized curse-box on lockdown in room 26.

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#sam winchester #boyking!sam #king of hell sam #spn fics #dean winchester #monicawoe's fics #quickreaverart

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brichan87 · 3 years

Text

Trying out a new story

Been working on a new story: a new take on the superhero genre. Figure I will post it here and see what people think. Still a work in progress but feel free to leave feedback.

Chapter 1

The morning cold seeped into her bones as she shuffled into the kitchen not quite ready to face the world. Her eyes opened to narrow slits, filtering out all of the world except her intended target. The sky outside was still dark and caused her mind to plead for her to go back to bed. Yet, as she does every morning, Tally resisted the urge to turn around and return the the bedroom.

The winter holidays were fast approaching; however, the days seemed to be lengthening while her energy diminishes more and more each day. Every morning she should wake up feeling refreshed and revitalized; instead Tally feels more exhausted than when she went to sleep, defeating its entire purpose. Meditation, tea...nothing seemed to help which caused her frustration to increase with each failure. Why waste that time sleeping if it did nothing for her?

Part of her understood that the stress of the season was adding to her exhaustion. Between the decorations, preparations for guests, and trying to that holiday scene perfect for social media, it was natural for someone to feel burned out. And her second job only added to the exhaustion. However, Tally could not shake the feeling that something was not right.

Something about this exhausting felt strange: like it was unnatural. Maybe it was just her trying to explain away her stress and fears as reactions to things that are out of her control but something inside of her was screaming “danger!” The damage dealt to her arm the night before did not help her with the feeling of impending doom. For such minor injuries, the pain level kept creeping up over night.

“Maybe I need to call the doctor to get checked out,” Tally mumbled softly as she wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic mug waiting for her on the counter. The smell of orange and cinnamon wafted through the air causing her brain and body slowly began to become more alive.

“Hey, that could have been mine,” a voice teased from behind her.

Turning her head to glance over her shoulder, she saw her boyfriend set down his tablet and stand up from the table. Making his way into the kitchen, he popped open the refrigerator door and dug out some ingredients. After mixing some of them together, the man walked up to Tally and placed a small kiss on her cheek before handing her a bowl of fruit and yogurt.

“Me, tea. You, coffee,” she grunted. Last night was a rough one; getting in at one in the morning definitely made her less than cheery at 5 A.M. But the soft smile she got in return made her heart flutter as she reached out and grasped the bowl that he held out to her.

“Wow. Didn’t know I was dating a caveman.” Bradie chuckled as she flashed him a less than loving hand gesture. “Alright, alright, I get it. Mornings are still not your thing. I appreciate you sacrificing your chance to sleep in to spend some time with sad, little me who has to be at work by seven in the morning everyday.”

“Sad, little you is exceptionally cheery today. Why?”

“Because it is the last day of school before Thanksgiving Break. So not only will I have 5 days of no work related activities because I was ‘a good child’ who got all his lessons planned before the break, but tomorrow I finally get to meet your family.”

THUNK!

Every dish on the table rattled as Talaleigh let gravity drag her head down until her forehead struck the surface; whether or not the groan she let out was out of pain or frustration was a mystery to both of the people in the room.

“Are you sure we have to go visit my family? It’s really not too late to say something came up,” she pleaded. The table muffled the sound of the words but the dread managed to ring out loud and clear. “We can even hop a last minute flight and go see your parents. Or a nice, quiet couple’s Thanksgiving. Anything but going to see my family.”

The room was silent for a few minutes then Bradie let out a soft sigh as he slid into the chair opposite of hers. “What’s going on, Tal? Because you never want me to meet your family. And I try to not be offended by it but more and more it is starting to feel like you are ashamed of me.”

“No, not you,” she reassured. Lifting her head up, Tally reached across the table and rested her hand on his forearm. “Never you. You are amazing. Smart, intelligent, kind, good-looking, amazing, and I know I am repeating myself here but it is true. It is not you that I am trying to hide.”

Standing up from the table, Tally grabbed both of their cups and took them into the kitchen. “It’s just that…,” she began as she poured Bradie more coffee and began to brew herself a new cup of tea. This conversation seemed easier to have if she was slightly distracted by a separate task. “My parents are a little nontraditional. Loving, supportive people but definitely different. Nothing like your parents. And then my brother,” she continued as she brought finished the preparations and brought their drinks back to the table. “He and I really don’t get along at all. As in we get into fights pretty frequently. And they are not small fights.” As much as she tried to fight them back, a few tears began to fill her the corners of her eyes. “And it sucks because he were actually really close as kids, but then something happened and it has never been the same since." Grabbing a tissue off the corner of the desk, Tally wiped away the tears before they escaped. "So it is not that I don’t want to show you off to my family, it is more that I don’t want you to bear witness to the kind of crazy you’ll be tied to if you stick with me.”

“Oh honey, I’ve already witnessed that crazy. However…” he paused to duck the wadded up napkin being thrown at him. “I love you too much to care what your family is like. They are a part of you, so I am sure that I will love them just like I do you. And if not, I promise we never have to see them again. Deal?”

A twitch of her lips revealed her thoughts before she gave him a small nod. "Deal, but that means you.." A yawn fought its way to the surface, breaking off her comment. As she brought up her arm to hide her mouth, her sleeve slipped down, exposing several bruises and cuts littering the expanse of her forearm. Most were shallow but a few of them were deep enough to require bandages until they scabbed over.

“Jesus Tal!” Bradie exclaimed. He clamored out of the chair and knelt by her side. “Those look bad. Why didn’t you say anything?” He gently grasped her wrist to examine the wounds. Rolling up her sleeve further, he noticed some areas that looked like they were burned by some sort of chemical: the skin was red and pebbled with tiny bumps.

Tally half-heartedly tried to pull her arm out of his grip but her boyfriend was not done investigating the wounds. "It’s nothing, really. Just ran into some trouble with a nasty plant last night, and it left me with some scratches and little poison ivy I think. Not a big, oh sh------” she hissed as Bradie accidentally grazed one of the wounds with his fingernail. Waves of pain pulsed through her arm, and Tally squeezed her eyes shut while trying to ride out the pain. When she was able to open her eyes again once the pain faded away, Talaleigh felt a twinge of guilt when she laid eyes on her boyfriend. Disapproval was sketched all over his face.

“It’s not a big deal, my ass,” he grumbled, letting her arm go as he stood up. “You should have woken me up.” Reaching into the cabinet above the sink, he shoved boxes and bottles to the side, digging for an item buried in the back. “You know I wouldn’t mind helping you clean up your wounds. If anything,” he continued as he pulled out a first aid kit and made his way back to her side. “It would help me because then I wouldn’t have mini-heart attacks every time I find one on accident.” He knelt down beside her and held out a hand, waiting for her to place her care literally and figuratively in his hands. Tally did not hesitate to comply.

“I know,” she replied softly. She winced a little as the man at her knees started to apply antiseptic to the cuts on her arm. Flames licked at the wounds as the medicine killed the bacteria surrounding the edges of the cuts. For the second time in the past five minutes, Tally felt tears welling up in her eyes. But these tears were different; they were for the man who loved and worried about her enough to risk being late for work in order to take care of her. “I know it scares you, and I’m sorry. I...I just figured that I had it handled so there is no point in waking you just so you could worry more.”

A hand reached up and brushed off a few of the tears that had escaped to her cheek, surprising Tally because she did not even notice them leaving. Then a pair of strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and brought her to his chest. The continuous beat of his heart soothed her frayed, emotional nerves and surrounded her with warmth and safety.

“I will always worry,” he whispers in her ear, causing more tears to join the ones that he erased a moment earlier. “It is just the price of loving someone who cares so much about others and will do whatever she can to help them. And I know your job is important but so are you. Don’t make sacrificing yourself the first option you pick. Can you promise me that?”

A flurry of emotions raced through Talaleigh. Her instincts to make light of serious issues warred with her desire to comfort the man before her. All of the thoughts and feelings swelled up in her throat, making it impossible for her to speak. So instead she slowly nodded her head against Bradie’s shoulder, smearing tears over the shoulder of his shirt.

“Okay,” she croaked. “For you.” The two sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the comfort of being near each other. However much they desired to spend the rest of the day cuddling like this, both new that the real world would soon be calling. Sitting up, Tally wiped her face off with her sleeve and glanced at the clock. “And now I have made you late. So sorry.”

“Nah, I’ll still be there on time. I’ve got no copies to make and probably very few children there today, so no need to get there early. What are you up to today?”

"Nothing special, I hope. Probably spend a little time straightening up and then most of the day working on my book. Hopefully I can get a chapter done before we leave tomorrow. Since I worked last night, I should be a 'last resort' call but we know how that goes sometimes."

"Well, I hope you have a quiet day of writing because no matter what happens, tomorrow will be a day to remember." Leaning down, he placed a kiss on her cheek then headed to the door. "Remember to use your powers for good, not evil," Bradie called out as he walked through the doorway.

“Very funny,” she yelled as the door closed behind him. “It’s not me you have to worry about."

Collecting the breakfast dishes from off the table, Talaleigh carried them to the sink and began to clean them, losing herself in the routine of dipping her hands in and out of the hot, soapy water. Her mind drifted to her family and what might be awaiting her tomorrow. The prospect of introducing the one she loved to her family should be thrilling since it is proof of how committed Bradie and her are to one another. However, the fact that she cannot even begin to imagine how her family will behave in front of her boyfriend was making her incredibly anxious.

How long has it been since I went home, she thought as she placed one of the dishes in the drainer. It has been at least a year, if not longer. I mean mom and dad did come visit me here in the spring. So I have seen them just haven’t visited them. And they haven't met Bradie yet even though I promised them we would stop by a month or two ago. But things have been crazy between work and Bradie hardly gets any long breaks until the November/December time frame. And I did see Axel last month but God knows that was anything but enjoyable...

Anger rushed through her veins at the thought of her younger brother. The brother that she always put first. The brother who she sacrificed her free time to take to friends' houses and after school activities. The brother she practically raised. The brother who turned his back on her.

She slammed the pot in her hand down into the sink, sending a spray of bubbles and water over the wall and her shirt. “Damn him,” she ground out as she flexed her hands over and over, trying to release the fury boiling under her skin. “I swear if he does anything to ruin this holiday he will regret it.”

A shrill chime echoed through the room, dragging Tally out of her pensive state and back into the real world.. “Oh you have got to be kidding me,” she groaned as she dried her hands on a dish cloth before heading back to the table to grab her phone.

“Hello? Yes, it is her. No,.. see I worked last night and have the marks to prove it. Got tangled up with… no, the pun was not intended! Yes, I’m fine but..look! I don’t mean to be short or sound disagreeable but I have a life too and there are other people who can handle this. I mean what's the point of having a union if you are going to keep calling up the same people all the time. So unless you can explain to me why it is so important for me specifically to be there, I am hanging up and turning the phone on silent.”

The speaker on the phone had to say only three words before she interrupted him with a brusque “I’ll be there in fifteen” and ended the call. “Eff my life,” she grumbled as she threw the phone onto the sofa while heading into the bedroom to change into her costume.

When Bradie joked with her about “using her powers for good”, it wasn’t actually a joke. For the past year Talaleigh has been working as the superhero Safeguard, and she has just been called onto another assignment.

#story #writing #superhero #mysterynovel

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moipale · 4 years

Text

DP Side Hoes Week Day 6: Ember/Secrets

from whoever she’d been ; ao3 link

Death days were something Danny had learned about the hard way, after he’d effectively walked in on a Technus in mourning.

Most ghosts celebrate their death days; they view it as a rebirth of sorts, and honor the ‘powers that be’ that facilitated their formation. Some use the day to reflect on their life. These ghosts are the ones most prone to change and growth. Others, however, mourn: the ones who still cling to life, the ones with true, heart-wrenching regrets.

Not all ghosts who attack Amity Park mourn their deaths, but almost all mourners attack at some point. Jazz was the one who pointed it out to him—that those who mourn almost seem to seek retaliation, revenge; they try to take out the hurt they’d been dealt on a world they no longer belong to.

How sad, Jazz had said.

It’s customary to hole up in your lair when your death day comes around, so if Danny’s visiting someone and their door is shut tighter than it should be, he knows to let it alone. Not that he visits ghosts much, anyway, when so many of them would have his head.

So it’s a surprise when, on his way to visit Frostbite, Danny happens by an open door, from which oozes an aura that so densely reeks of mourning, he physically recoils.

He doesn’t know whose lair it is, but when he circles around to take a look at the front of the door, the symbol etched in its upper half gives him an idea: an electric guitar, on fire.

“Ember?” Danny calls, having circled back around to peer in the doorway. It’s dark, wherever it is, and he has to fight not to cringe away from the opening, for all the misery pouring through. “Is that you? Are you okay?” He waits a moment, but no answer comes. “I’m coming in, okay? Tell me now if you don’t want me to.”

Despite how little he suspects she’d want him in her lair, she doesn’t respond, and Danny’s quite certain there’s someone home. So, against his better judgement (and against his own instincts, which scream at him to distance himself, lest he be sucked into the mourning, too), Danny touches down on the threshold, and makes his way inside.

The darkness clears some as he passes through the doorway. Inside is what looks like the interior of a standard inner-city apartment: small living room, kitchen off to the side, one hallway, down which there are only three doors. A bedroom, a bathroom, and a closet, he’d guess. What windows Danny can see all show the same sight: the swirling green sky of the Ghost Zone.

Now that he’s inside, he can tell the aura has an epicenter. Standing just inside the door, it’s obvious he’s only ankle-deep in the shallows; the water gets deeper further into the apartment, and from what he can tell, it’s deepest around the door in the very back of the hallway.

“Ember?” he calls again. No response.

He really, really does not want to go further in. The misery is potent, clawing its way into him, and though it would normally spark pity, this concentrated it just repels him.

But Danny can’t help himself from saving those in need, and it’s this that forces that first foot forward, taking him trailing through the apartment, a specter in a home not his own. For a lair, the apartment looks so oddly like a TV set—carefully arranged, put together with some goal in mind. Subconsciously, Danny tries not to disturb even the dust.

It’s like wading through molasses, walking down the hallway, but he does it, and in the end he stands before that last door. It’s plain: dark wood with a metal handle. It’s just a door.

Even so, it’s a physical struggle for Danny to reach up and turn the handle, movements jerky, eyebrows knit. He braces himself as he pulls the door open, and as it does, the despair that washes over him is like a tsunami, breaking around his trembling form.

Inside is a girl, though if he didn’t know who she was, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell even that much.

As he’d suspected, it’s Ember. She doesn’t look the way he knows her. As all ghosts on their death day do, so too has her appearance reverted to that of the girl she’d died as, mere hints of her ghostliness seeping through.

He knows immediately it was a fire. Her skin is charred and her features unrecognizable; the only way he knows it’s her is her hair, blue, flickering eerily, stark against her blackened body. A few years earlier, he’d probably vomit at the sight. She wears no clothes. Her guitar is nowhere in sight.

“Ember?” Danny calls, and his voice is little more than a tremor.

She doesn’t respond, again. He doesn’t blame her. From the expression on her face—what little of it he can make out—she seems far away. She probably didn’t have presence of mind enough to shut her door, too caught up already in her own regrets.

Danny enters the room, shutting the door behind him. Now that he’s in the thick of it, it isn’t so hard to breathe, and pity for Ember worms its way in. Determined to keep her company, at least, if he can’t draw her out of her own head, he crosses the room and sits next to her where she’s curled up on the floor, back resting against the side of the bed.

His shoulder brushes hers, and all too suddenly she jerks, startled out of her state of shock.

“Brady?” she blurts out, a crushing hope in her voice, and when Danny meets her eyes he can see that she’s still far away.

“No, Ember. I’m not Brady,” Danny says, gently, and she sits back, disappointment dashing all hope from her eyes.

“Oh.” The atmosphere clears, just slightly, and she looks at him again, this time with recognition. “Babypop.”

“Hey,” he says, a sad sort of smile on his lips.

“Why are you here?”

“Your door was open.”

“Was it?” Ember says this distantly, looking past him to the bedroom door, closed, and her face scrunches as much as it physically can in confusion.

“Is there anything I can do for you right now?” Danny asks, and she looks away, down at the ground. Though she certainly catches sight of her own body, she doesn’t react to its charred state. She must have done this plenty enough to be used to it, by now. Danny still isn’t used to the sight of Lichtenberg scars trailing along his body, even four years later—how long has Ember been dead?

She’s silent for a while. “No,” she says eventually, and the miasma intensifies some. “Unless you can bring me Brady Holfinger, a match, and oil.” She says it with venom in her voice, but Danny can feel from the air around them that she doesn’t mean it, at least not with the intense anger she tries to imitate. She’s just sad. Mourning.

“What did he do to you?” Danny asks, against his better judgement.

She makes eye contact with him, and her face stretches into a gruesome grimace. “Stood me up for a date. I stayed up so late, waiting, but he never came.” She chuckles humorlessly. “I eventually couldn’t stay awake anymore. Because I was so tired, I didn’t wake up when a fire started. Then I was here.”

Her form shudders, sort of, and as Danny watches her, the Ember he knows bleeds a little back through. Her outfit wraps itself around her figure, and her guitar materializes beneath her waiting fingers. Her skin doesn’t clear completely, but the burns become minor enough that her features are more recognizable.

“He didn’t kill me,” she says bluntly, “but it’s easier to blame him, I think.”

She plucks a few notes, letting them ring out as the strings slowly still. Danny watches her do it: reestablish her comfort, her agency. He bears witness as Ember reemerges, from whoever she’d been.

“Get out, dipstick,” she says eventually, and Danny is all too happy to get to his feet and head for the door. Though she’s more conscious now, the mourning hasn’t cleared, and his very core has itched to leave. He stops at the door, though, when she speaks again. “And thanks.”

Danny turns back, meeting her eyes. “For what? Invading your privacy?” He smiles small, tentative.

Ember grins back at him, shark-like. “Careful, Phantom.” He smiles wider.

When he leaves, the door to Ember’s lair swings shut of its own accord behind him, and he breaks out into clear, unharried air.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #dp fanfiction #dp side hoes week #my fics

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stillsearchingforsomething · 4 years

Text

Family & Fantasy Football Sundays

November 2019

Taylor trudges back downstairs with a heavy sigh but before she can make her way back into the kitchen, Austin’s voice rings loud and clear from the living room.

“TOUCHDOWN!”

Taylor frowns and crouches down to Benji who is stretched out on the bottom stair, scratching him lightly behind the ears.

“For who?” Karlie yells from the kitchen.

“Steelers!”

Taylor looks up just as Karlie victoriously whispers “yes!” to herself before reaching up in the cupboards for the plates so Taylor leans against the doorway and watches her move around the kitchen to gather cutlery and placemats.

Karlie turns and startles at the sight of Taylor staring at her. “Jesus christ!”

“Sorry,” Taylor says with a giggle, moving closer as Karlie presses a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart.

“What are you doing standing there like a creep?” Karlie snarks but Taylor knows it’s more to cover her laboured breathing and to prevent any teasing from Taylor about how startled she’d been.

“Watching you,” Taylor says, with a soft smile as she wraps an arm around Karlie’s waist and pulls her close. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s ok,” Karlie says wrapping her arms around Taylor’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “How’d it go with the lawyers?”

Taylor doesn’t respond, just drops her head onto Karlie’s shoulder and sighs.

Karlie scrunches up her face in sympathy and trails her hand up and down Taylor’s back and she’s grateful when she feels Taylor relax in her arms, leaning further into Karlie. “That bad huh?”

Taylor hums and turns her face into Karlie’s neck. “They’re still refusing to give permission,” Taylor sighs into the skin of Karlie’s neck.

Karlie doesn’t say anything but tightens her arms around Taylor resting her chin on top of Taylor’s head. “Is there anything I can do?”

Taylor nuzzles her nose against the skin of Karlie’s neck, breathing in her scent before pulling back to look up at the taller woman. She shakes her head and pulls Karlie towards her to kiss her soft and slow.

“You sure?”

“TOUCHDOWN!”

Karlie attempts to turn away from Taylor to frown in the direction of the living room but Taylor refuses to loosen her hold on her. “Already? For who?”

“Rams!”

“Fuck,” Karlie hisses under her breath.

“Still no love for the Rams?” Taylor asks and Karlie turns to her with such a dark look, she wants to back away for safety.

“They’re dead to me.”

“You can’t just abandon your team Karlie,” Taylor says but Karlie’s indignant expression doesn’t budge.

“I didn’t abandon them, they abandoned me,” Karlie says resolutely.

“You know what, forget I asked?” Taylor says, ducking down to press a kiss against Karlie’s shoulder in an effort to move away from Karlie’s piercing look.

Karlie rolls her eyes but can’t keep up the pretence of being annoyed for long before she reaches out to tilt Taylor’s head back up and kisses her softly.

“You’re really taking this fantasy thing seriously?” Taylor murmurs, more to herself than anything when they pull apart but they’re still wrapped up in each other and Karlie hears her and it makes her melt into a laugh, shaking her head fondly.

“I am,” Karlie says, even though Taylor’s question wasn’t directed at her.

With another quick kiss to Taylor’s lips, Karlie pulls away and turns to reach for the plates and hands them to Taylor, who moves to begin laying the table.

“I thought you were just… leaving a clue,” Taylor says, shrugging and when she turns back to look at Karlie, the blonde is reaching into the fridge for a pitcher of water and Taylor lets her gaze rake down Karlie’s body.

Karlie turns around and sees Taylor’s dazed look, smiles coyly and props her hand against her hip as she patiently waits for Taylor’s eyes to trail back up to meet hers.

Taylor takes in the teasing smile, arched eyebrow and smirks.

“What?” Karlie finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Just picturing you in a football jersey and nothing else,” Taylor says lowly, smile widening when Karlie bites her lip and shoots her a challenging look.

“You better be picturing me in the right colours,” Karlie warns, knocking the fridge closed with her hip as she moves closer to drop the pitcher of water on the dining table, brushing her cold fingers against Taylor’s arm as she flits away and back to the kitchen.

“How’re you doing so far?” Taylor asks, following Karlie to the kitchen and trapping her in against the counter with a hand on either side even though Karlie’s back is to her.

“I’m holding my own,” Karlie nods, pushing back against Taylor’s body and turning her head to throw Taylor a wink over her shoulder.

Taylor just rolls her eyes and shakes her head fondly, resting a hand on the small of Karlie’s back as she reaches around her to grab the open bottle of wine.

“Besides, I don’t really care how well I do, as long as I beat Austin,” Karlie says.

Karlie bends down to peer into the oven and when she straightens, Taylor’s already holding out oven mitts for her.

“Thank you baby,” Karlie says with a quick kiss to Taylor’s cheek, turning off the oven and opening it, reaching in and quickly taking out the lasagna.

“God, that looks so good,” Taylor moans, leaning in to get a better whiff of the delicious smell.

“Why do you have to do better than Austin?” Taylor asks moving around to Karlie’s other side to hand her a knife.

“We made a bet,” Karlie shrugs.

“When did this happen?”

“A few of weeks ago.”

“Why wasn’t I included in this bet?” Taylor inquires crossing her arms to face Karlie.

“Babe, you have no interest in football,” Karlie points out immediately.

“That’s beside the point,” Taylor argues.

“Aw baby,” Karlie coos, moving closer to press Taylor against the kitchen counter, leaning down to brush her lips against Taylor’s, playfully biting her lower lip. “You’re such a lipstick lesbian, you’d be completely lost.”

Taylor’s frozen with affront and disbelief and Karlie flits away before Taylor has a chance to punish her for her words, a sharp giggle falling from her lips, a giggle that turns into a yelp when Taylor easily crosses the distance between them and wraps an arm around Karlie’s waist and hauls her closer.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Taylor says lowly and Karlie feels a flash of excitement shoot down her spine.

“Am I?” she can’t help but taunt, her smug tone turning into a surprised gasp when Taylor curls her hands around Karlie’s thighs and boosts her onto the kitchen island, stepping between her legs.

Karlie instinctively crosses her ankles behind Taylor’s back, trapping her there but Taylor just smiles up at Karlie, hands drifting under her shirt and up the smooth skin of her back.

Karlie leans in, fingers brushing Taylor’s hair away from her face, hand cupping her jaw as she brushes her lips against Taylor’s. She’s about to deepen the kiss when Austin’s voice rings out again and Karlie rips away from Taylor, head snapping up.

“TOUCHDOWN!”

“For who?!” Karlie yells back and Taylor flinches at the volume.

Karlie turns back to Taylor, thumb softly smoothing over Taylor’s cheek. “Sorry.”

Taylor turns her head to kiss Karlie’s palm, smiling up at Karlie.

“The Ravens are killing the Patriots,” Austin yells from the living room.

“Dammit,” Karlie mutters darkly holding out the oven mitts to Taylor who takes the hint and uses them to hold down the lasagne dish while Karlie hops down from the counter and cuts into it dividing it evenly.

“Come on Tom Brady, let’s have dinner,” Taylor teases.

“Baby, that’s literally the only football player you know,” Karlie says failing to stifle her laughter.

“TOUCHDOWN!” Before Karlie can even open her mouth, Austin appears at the doorway. “For the Ravens, we can have dinner now.”

Later that evening, the girls are curled up on the couch together in the living room, Austin having retired to the guest room for the night. Karlie is watching the Redzone report to check how her fantasy team has done this week with her head in Taylor’s lap, whilst Taylor is scrolling through Tumblr on her phone, the fingers of her free hand carding through Karlie’s hair absentmindedly.

Karlie’s attention is pulled from the t.v. when Taylor lets out a heavy sigh and throws her phone down onto the couch beside her.

Karlie shifts on to her back to look up at Taylor. “Everything ok baby?”

"People are being annoying," Taylor says, a deep scowl on her face.

"About anything in particular?" Karlie asks and she can't help but chuckle as she reaches up to gently smooth her fingers over the furrow in Taylor's brow.

Taylor leans into Karlie's touch but doesn't meet Karlie's eyes, instead bringing Karlie's fingers to her lips to press a kiss to them.

"Talk to me baby," Karlie pleads cradling Taylor's face, stroking her thumb along her jaw.

"I hate that people are giving you a hard time because of everything that's going on with him," Taylor says reluctantly.

"Babe, why were reading that?" Karlie asks pulling Taylor down so that she can lay down beside Karlie on the couch.

"I didn't mean to, I was just on Tumblr," Taylor defends, settling comfortably against Karlie.

"I hate that I can't protect you from that," Taylor says quietly, leaning her forehead against Karlie's.

"I'm a big girl baby, I can handle it," Karlie assures her slipping a hand underneath the material of Taylor's sweater to splay her fingers against the warm skin of her back, rubbing softly.

"You shouldn't have to," Taylor argues.

"Hey." Karlie says nudging her nose against Taylor's to make sure that she has her full attention. "I don't want you worrying about this."

"I'm always going to worry about you Kar," Taylor explains, pressing a kiss to Karlie's cheek.

"Taylor," Karlie starts, tenderly brushing hair away from Taylor's forehead and pressing her lips there quickly. "It's not going to be like this for much longer."

"I know," Taylor says, kissing her slowly. "I swear if anyone so much as looks at you funny when we're out, they're gonna be sorry."

Karlie can't help the snort that bubbles out of her at Taylor's words. "You're such a dork," she mumbles against Taylor's lips before leaning in to kiss her again.

#kaylor #kaylor fic #karlie and taylor #rpf #karlie sunshine kloss #tswizzle #it's all part of the story

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c-atm · 5 years

Text

Bittersweet meetings PT4

Summary:

Jasper and Connie discuss what transpired and touch on Connies biggest flaw.

Jasper and Peri stood waiting for anyone to talk and explain what happened. Jasper patience ran out first.

“No one gonna speak. You're crying with a busted lip Lapis, Connie cheek is whelped red and her hair is out of place; tea is spilled, all the laptops knocked over and table out of place.”

Peridot followed after while picking up the laptops and getting her and Jasper a seat.

“Not to mention Lapis wants to bite your head off and Connie looks like she’s between being completely done and wanting to run you through with a fencing sword. So what happened?”

Silence was the only thing in the room. Jasper and Peridot looked at the two glaring girls waiting for anything. Connie folded her arms under her chest and leaned back into the door in defiance. Lapis scoffed and muttered something lowly. She got the room attention.

“What did you say Laps?” Peridot looked expectantly at the secretary.

lapis looked and saw three pair of eyes waiting..The black pair not as eagerly as the other two.

“Connie's a lying bitch”

The vice and the treasurer looked floored at the statement. They turned their head when they heard a very cool and lifeless chuckle from the door..

“Ohh-ho-ho..I’m gonna beat your ass.You ungrateful little-”

as Connie stalk towards the bluenette, Jasper lifted her up over shoulder and escorted her out if the room closing the door behind them all while ignoring the swears and insults the two were throwing at each other.

Jasper took her two rooms down; the computer room and placed her down on the table. Connie fummed as she crossed her ams and legs; muttering, what Jasper assumed were curses, in tamil. Jasper looked down at the president with a slight smile a thought to her head.

“Connie.”

“…”

“Cooonnnie”

“Uhhmm”

“CONNIECONNIECONNIE”

“ARGGGHHHHH WHAT!?”

Jasper smirked at the red faced girl, who gave her a sarcastic one in returned… it dissolved to a slightly more real one after a few moments, she was still enraged. but not at her vice.

“So, wanna tell me why you two are at war?”

Connie growled before sighing and scratching the back of her head.” No, but i'm tired of being on this subject, so...Lapis..Something happened and she blames me.”

“Are you to blame?”

“Did you really just ask that?! How can I be blame for something I just found out about!? That why she been riding me all day and been temperamental these last few days.”

Jasper place her hands up at Connie's outburst as she nodded in agreement. The secretary has been moody and easier to set off than usual. “Look, not accusing you or anything, but I don't know what happened?”

Connie was about to scream, when she took a deep breath into her chest and held it for a few moment before releasing.” Lapis blames me for her confession falling through.”

“Confession to whom?”

“Who you think?”

Jasper to blink thrice at the spontaneity of her statement and the languid tone. “Ok..wait…”With her eyes close and a small grinding of her teeth, Jasper tried to understand what she was told and why it happened. It didn't take her long as she came up with only sensible conclusion. “Really..Steven?”

Connie nodded, blowing some air into her own hair, before laying down on the chair, knocking her feet back.. “Stupid right?”

Jasper laid next to the president looking up at the ceiling. “Don't know yet. How about detail report?”

Connie, with a kiss of her teeth and exhausted groan, told Jasper all that happened between Lapis and her. Jasper for the most, part kept silent and listened with an unbiased ear as the president explained and even vented a bit. minutes passed before Connie ended, silence seeping into the room.

“Was I wrong at all?”

Jasper sighed taking in the info before answering “Well, no...But you know Lapis enough to know that she act on emotion-”

“Wha-”

“ That isn't an excuse for her behavior or actions towards you. Just stating the obvious...That being said..She did hit some points about you and Steven’s relationship.”

Connie scoffed “Friendship, and what points?”

Jasper smirked “Relationship. She's right about how you two can be off in your own world, even when we're all together.”

Connie didn't say anything at first,but release a sigh in acceptance. “Well he's my-”

“Nope, I'M your best friend. We knew each other longer than anyone else, so don’t try it Nini.” She gave her oldest friend a small tap with her arm eliciting a giggle from the president.

“Well if you’re gonna pull seniority..I guess so, Jealous.” Jasper nodded, a small deep chuckle escaping from the large teen. She took a deep breath before turning towards connie. “Lapis is right though..It's vastly different, the relationship between you two. There’s a certain depth to it.“

“I...I won’t deny that, but why is that a problem? It’s not like I am stopping him from dating anyone. Part of the reason I began the charade with Jeff up was for her to take a chance and confess to him.”

“We’re gonna get back to that but first...What was the other?” Jasper arched an eyebrow. ” Better question, Why are you even going out with him in the first place.”

“Oh that, he asked me to play like were in a real life relationship. Needed experience for his romcom..he’s a method actor/director.”

Jasper squinted her eyes before rubbing her brows. “Well, hope he’s crediting you.”

“He better win at sundance for all the heck this caused”

“Hey, you agreed madam president.” Jasper couldn’t stop her laugh as she watch connie pout.”You’re responsible too, Nini. You wasn’t as authentically affectionate as you would be with Steven, but you were convincing. You allowed yourself to be seen together enough.”

“Hmm, you didn’t seemed convinced,Jas.”

“ I’ve been on road trips and vacation with you and Steven.”

“Hmm, you have. What about it?”

Jasper gave Connie a knowing smirk who looked back questioning “What Jasper?”

“Would you had been happy if he kissed Lapis back?”

Connie shrugged. “If he did, that means he liked her right. Why would my thoughts matter?”

“ Well, he has said on occasion that finds her and Peri attractive.”

Connie scoffed and turned away from her friend. “Good for him, tell Lapis and Peri that, make their day.”

“...You wouldn’t.”

Connie took a glared deep at Jasper, fist tightened. “What?”

“You wouldn't be happy with them getting together.. You would accept and support it, but you wouldn’t be ok...Actually you wouldn’t be ok with anyone being with Steven. You’re subtle in your instinctive possessiveness.”

“I am not possessive!”

“Last year when we went to the beach and that girl...Aqua, was trying to talk to him, you lured him over saying you need his help with choosing a bikini... The lone male among a group of nine.”

“I needed a male perspective.”

“Is that why you chose that pink one with yellow stars.”

“Standing by my statement.”

“ Uh..Huh, and the suntan lotion.”

“I couldn’t reach.”

“Your stomach? I’ve seen this body contort, twist, crab walk, and touch the soles of your feet while standing. You were being territorial."

“I was being..protective as I would for any of my friends. We didn’t know her from Adam and Eve and I was right to be. Didn’t she turned out to be a swindler; to think she wanted to use my Biscuit to get closer to the headmasters so she can have an easier time in school.”

“True..but you still are a wee possessive..I mean ‘My Biscuit’?”

“I said what I said... Still protective.”

“As a wife to a husband.”

Connie groaned, face marooned with heat as she tried to stop the smile from her face, looking up before turning looking at her friend.

“Guess that make you guys our children then, since we usually have to play mediator.”

Jasper snorted “What a dysfunctional family, a dollar brand brady bunch...I’m telling Pearl and Amethyst you called them kids, by the by.”

“Traitor, respect your momma.”

“This family is a nightmare”

The two glared at each other before breaking into howls of laughter. The two calmed down after a few minutes, settling in silence.

“I admit, if someone we don’t know just, up and began a relationship with Steven or anyone of us from our group; I would have some reservations. Lapis though, she isn’t just anyone. She’s one us, she deserves to be happy.”

Jasper groaned. “Sure, I get that but Lapis and Steven is better as a friendship. As a couple..

There’d be an imbalance. He'd become more of her crutch than a partner. It wouldn't last.”

“hmmm..”

“Not that it matters giving that he rejected her

for you, apparently.”

Connie turned away to hide the blush on her face and breath deep to calm her rapid heartbeat.

“It's ok to feel relieved or even happy, you know.”

Connie gave her vice a small glare only to get a slightly accusatory grin back. “Really, about what happened between Lapis and Steven?”

“No, about what didn't happen, you still have a chance.”

“That's a very selfish view, Jaz.”

“Well, that’s right up your alley, Nini.”

Connie jaw dropped at Jasper certitude tone.

“I'll stand by you to the sun goes cold Nini, but you are selfish. You and Steven both.”

Connie gave her a look of pure scandal and a bit of hurt. “How am I selfish? I didn't steal her confession or anything. Hell, I tried to comfort her when I saw they were having a problem. So please tell me how am I selfish, cause from my view, that’s quite selfless.”

Jasper closed her eyes as she spoke with an cool tone. “Exactly, you are so selfless that it; more than rarely, become selfishness and causes problems. ”

“What?!”

“Think about it. You selflessly get yourself in a fake relationship and didn't tell no one.”

“Well, he came for help, I couldn't just let the guy down. He even went to the CG's claiming to have a crush..and at the time he thought as well, what was I supposed to do?”

“Say no! You didn't have to agree to any of it. ”

“Come on, it must've took him some guts to did what he did...and besides it gave Lapis the courage to confess.”

Jasper growled at her faux nonchalant attitude she looked at her with a pointed glare. “That's another thing. She doesn't need your help, not like that. You shouldn't have to pretend to bow out, just so she can gain a damn spine.”

Connie glared back. “I didn't bow out cause there's nothing to bow out from. Lapis confessed because of whatever reason. I have nothing to do with it.”

“Oh Bull! You know as well as I do, Lapis would never had confessed, otherwise. She only confessed because she felt that the biggest obstacle was gone. Didn't take in the fact that Steven has his heart set on you.”

Connie black eyes had a slightly dazed glare to them as she looked at a the slightly regretful Jasper. The tone Jasper said that was too definitive and filled with resolution, it couldn't be ignored.

“That..was not for me to say...You didn't-”

“Is that true?”

Jasper looked at the president, who despite being red faced with embarrassment, kept her stare locked. “Tell me, please?”

“Ah..What does it matter? You don't feel the same right?”

“He's my best friend...My Biscuit and I'm aware that he's considered to be attractive to others within reason-

“Stop! How do you feel about Steven?You!.. how do Connie Maheswaran feel about Steven Universe?”

Connie felt her eyes watered as she bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and her heart wrenched. She knew damn well what her feeling for her best friend was. Jasper looked at her sadly, as Connie basically crumbled in front of her. The president gasped slightly as she felt her vice held her to her chest.

“Stop feeling so guilty for loving someone who loves you back, stupid selfishly selfless girl.”

#connie maheswaran #steven universe #connverse #Bittersweet #highschool au #steven universe au #connverse fanfic #steven and connie #light angst #jasper and connie #jasper #lapis lazuli #please read and review #please read and reblog

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buckyscrystalqueen · 5 years

Text

The Unexpected Protector: Part 3

Pairings: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Abuse, Domestic Violence, Fluff.

Word Count: 5,003

A/N: HEED THE WARNINGS!!!!!! DON’T COME CRYING IF YOU DON’T!

Part 1 / Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How the fuck are you so damn cute?” Negan, who had changed out of his usual suit and tie into jeans and a Patriots jersey, asked as you headed across the private tarmac toward Robert’s personal jet. You shrugged and looked down at your off the shoulder Tom Brady t-shirt, ripped jean shorts, and black, ankle high, high heeled boots.

“I’m not, but OK.” You said with a shake of your head. Negan’s jaw tensed for a half second and he let out an annoyed breath through his nose as he took your duffle of clothes from you He reached into your dog carrier and scratched Chewie’s head.

“I’ll get you to see that beauty, baby girl. That’s a promise. You ready to go?” You nodded your head and gestured to the jet with a smile. Negan offered you his arm with a smile and gestured to your now ever present body guard to follow.

“Is he always so quiet?” You asked with a glance over your shoulder at Tank. “I don’t think he’s said three words to me in the past two weeks.”

“When he’s working, yes.” Negan said as he followed you up the stairs. “He’s ex military. Stays quiet to stay fucking vigilant. Ain’t that right, Tank?”

“Yea, boss.” The six foot seven man who was built like a linebacker said with a nod as he took a seat in the row behind you and Negan. You smirked back at him and buckled your seatbelt as Jessica, the flight attendant, closed the jet door.

“We’re at five words, now.” You teased as you took your pup out of the bag and set him on your lap. “Alright, so are you ready for the owner’s experience?”

“You’ll only fucking hear me admit this once but I’m like a fucking kid in a Goddamn candy store. But you fucking tell anyone and you’ll be sleeping with the fishes.” You laughed at his horrible Italian accent and got comfortable in your chair.

“You’re secret’s safe with me but you better make sure Mr. Blabbermouth back there doesn’t talk either.”

“He fucking knows better than to share secrets.” Negan said as the plane taxied down the runway and took off toward Massachusetts. You nodded your head as he glanced over at you and reached for your hand.

“Snitches get stitches.” You said as you laced your fingers with his.

“Exactly.”

——

“Well I’ll be damned.” Your Uncle Bobby said with a smile as you headed into the owners box a couple hours before kick off after dropping your bags and Chewie off at your hotel room.

“Hey, Uncle B.” You said with a smile as he pulled you into a strong hug. Tears welled in your eyes for a moment as the man that was the closest thing to a father to you held you tight and rubbed your back since he hadn’t seen you in nearly five years.

“Damn, I missed you, little girl.” He breathed as he leaned back and held onto your shoulders to get a good look at you. “You look so good, sweetheart. So much better than the last time I saw you.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” He pat your cheek once before taking a step back to be introduced to your guests. “This is Negan and that back there is my body guard, Tank.”

“You have a body guard?” Bobby asked with his eyebrow raised.

“I’m divorcing Christian.” You said as you glanced over at him. “Need to prepare myself for the worst.”

“Good point.” He said with a nod as he looked back at Negan. “Nice to meet you, son.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sir.” Negan said as they shook each other’s hands. “You raised a wonderful girl.”

“She’s a pistol.” Bobby chuckled with a nod as he gestured over to the bar. “Give her time, you’ll see it. She was always a damn handful…”

“Thanks, Uncle Bobby.” You laughed as a blush rose in your cheeks. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“Says the girl who trashed my Lamborghini into a fire hydrant at three in the morning.”

“That was an accident!” You claimed over Negan’s laugh as you grabbed a glass of wine and a bottle of water as well.

“Yea, an accident that cost me 50 grand to fix.” Bobby laughed as you grabbed a spot at one of the high top tables in the back of the spacious box. “Don’t ever let this woman behind a wheel.” You groaned and covered your face with your hands as the waitress came over with menus.

“Well I will absolutely keep that in mind.” Negan laughed. “What else can you tell me about this troublemaker?”

“Negan!” You whined as you playfully hit his arm.

“Oh son, I could write a book!” Bobby laughed. “Like this one time…”

“This was the worst idea ever.” You groaned as you grabbed your menu to hide behind.

——

“See, this is how you watch a fucking football game.” Negan said quietly so only you would hear his swearing. You smiled and glanced over at him as you set your beer on the bar in front of your seat.

“You having fun?” You asked as you leaned into his side with a smile. He nodded as he continued to brush his thumb across your right knee like he had done the whole game.

“So fucking much. Thank you for this.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He squeezed your knee and rested his cheek on the top of your head for a second before bolting forward in his chair as the Patriots intercepted the ball. You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself when his foot started to bounce with nervous energy as Jason McCourty ran the ball back to the end zone. You stood up and a proud smile spread across your face as the entire stadium erupted into a roar for the fourth touchdown of the game.

“Good to be home, right?” Bobby asked as he clapped you on the back. You nodded at him and clapped your hands as Negan put his arm over your shoulder. Instinctively, your arm went around his waist and you leaned into his side to watch Stephen Gostkowski make the conversion kick. Your phone started ringing in your back pocket and you glanced at your smart watch to see who it was. Your eyes went wide as Christian’s number stared back at you.

“What?” You asked of no one as you moved out of Negan’s arm to grab your phone from your pocket.

“No!” Negan said a little harshly as he grabbed your wrist. “Let it go to voicemail. He’s violating the fucking restraining order and that gives you more leverage when you go to court for your divorce.” You nodded your head, set your phone on the bar, and sat down in your chair. Negan turned back toward Tank and you over heard him saying to get someone on the phone before turning back to you. “I’ll be right back, baby girl.” You nodded your head and tried to focus on the game as Negan took Tank’s phone and headed back into the box for some privacy.

“Everything OK?” Bobby asked, pulling your attention away from your phone screen and the voicemail notification that had popped up. You sighed and shook your head.

“Christian’s not gunna make leaving him easy. I kicked him out a couple weeks ago and filed a restraining order for the abuse. I had to change the locks on my house, installed cameras in every room and covering every inch around my house, updated my security system, and I have someone watching my house 24/7. Negan’s… well, Negan’s in a position to help me out and he’s doing everything he can to get the divorce finalized as quickly as possible. But Christian, of course, is fighting it as hard as he possibly can.”

“Jesus, sweetheart.” Bobby said with a shake of his head.

“It’s OK.” You said as you reached over and pat his hand. “I’ve got help. I’ll get out of this.”

“Maybe you should move back to Boston…”

“Ha!” You barked, humorlessly with a smile. “Because Boston totally wants me back. Look, I can promise you without a shadow of a doubt in my mind that Negan can help me. I know I’m in a rough spot right now but I’ll be OK. I have people in my corner now that will make sure of it. Am I scared of what Christian is capable of? Absolutely. But everyone keeps telling me that I’m gunna be OK so I have to believe them, right?” He nodded his head in agreement as he reached over and took your hand in both his.

“If you need anything, anything at all, you call me. I still have a lot of connections in Manhattan and I won’t hesitate to fly down there.” You smiled at him and pat his hands.

“You hate flying, Uncle Bobby.” He chuckled and nodded his head.

“Alright, you caught me. I’d drive really, really fast.” You giggled and pulled your hands back to give your attention back to the game.

“I’ll call you, Uncle B. I promise.” He nodded his head and went back to the game as Negan sat back down next to you.

“Don’t answer his damn calls, OK baby? For me?” He said with a glance over at you as he reached out for your hand and laced his fingers with yours. You nodded your head and squeezed his hand.

“I won’t.” He nodded and gently kissed your forehead before turning back to watch the rest of the game.

“I’ll put an end to all this shit soon. I promise you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What a day.” Negan said as the two of you headed into your hotel suite later that night. “What a fucking day.”

“Welcome to my life.” You said with a small giggle as you bent down to pick up Chewie and the pee pad you had in the kitchenette. “I used to come up at least once a month. Just wait until Super Bowl.”

“Fuck… the Super Bowl.” Negan groaned as he leaned his whole body and stomped his foot. “Baby girl, what the fuck am I supposed to do with you?”

“Walk the dog and come to bed with me?” You turned to look at him with pleading eyes as he searched your eyes. “Please?” You asked before he could say anything. “I don’t… I can’t sleep alone anymore.”

“Fuck, baby girl.” He groaned as he scrubbed his hand over his mouth and gestured to you. “Not the eyes.” You smiled as he nodded his head and rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I have some shit to take care of first.” You nodded your head as you grabbed your leash from the counter and clipped it on to Chewie’s collar. One long stroll around the large hotel, and one tuckered out pup later, the pair of you headed up to your suite to call it a night.

While Negan made his phone calls, you jumped in the shower. You were grateful that, with a hair dryer, your hair dried in a matter of minutes. You threw on a pair of cotton sleep shorts and the darkest, most non-transparent tank top you owned. Once you took off your make up, tossed your earrings and bracelets in your make up bag and put your phone and smart watch on their chargers, you turned off all the lights, and headed out of the room for bed.

“And if he still doesn’t have my fucking money, then fucking end him.” You gasped and tripped on nothing as you looked up at Negan’s darkened eyes. He completely ignored whoever he was on the phone with and forced his face to soften no matter how frustrated he was with post game gambling gains and losses. “Sweetheart, you’re OK. You’re safe, alright?” You nodded your head subtly as he hung up the phone and set it on the dresser. “I would never hurt you.”

“OK.” You whispered as he walked toward you. With quick yet slow movements, he reached out to cup your jaw in his hand.

“Baby girl, it’s just business…”

“I know.” You breathed as you leaned subtly into his palm.

“You gotta understand something. Being with me, you’re gunna overhear some shit. Lots of shit that ain’t gunna be fucking pretty. I’m literally as fucking polar opposite of your ex-husband as I can possibly fucking get. But I swear to you, on my life, that you will never have to worry about a single fucking thing with me. No matter what happens, you will never have to be fucking scared again, whether we’re together or not. Now, I’m not done working yet so I’ll take that shit out…”

“No.” You gasped as you reached out and grabbed his white undershirt in your fingers. “Don’t leave.” He searched your eyes for a moment before slowly nodding with a sigh.

“Alright, but just… don’t fucking listen to me, OK? You shouldn’t be fucking hearing any of this shit, ever.” He said with a small smile. You returned the smile and nodded as you jokingly covered your ears with your hands. “Smart ass.” He chuckled as he moved his hand to your shoulder blades and directed you over to the bed. You shoved the decorative pillows to the floor and pulled back the blankets as Negan grabbed his phone and laptop, and set them on the bed. You habitually snuggled in to the side of the bed farthest from the door and pulled the blankets up to your chin.

“Night, sweetheart.” Negan said softly as he took off his shoes and jeans, shut off the room lights, and got into bed in front of you.

“Night baby.” You responded as you closed your eyes. He smiled subtly as he leaned back against the headboard with a small shake of his head.

‘You’re trouble, baby girl.’ He thought as he shook his head and called his lead enforcer back. ‘You’re gunna be so much fucking trouble.’

“Yea.” He said as he laid his hand down softly on your head and began to run his fingers through your hair. “Alright, what’s next on the fucking list?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘She’s Negan’s girl.’ It became your monicker quickly after that weekend. You went from being known as just another socialite in the throngs of people to being the girl of the most notorious, untouchable man in the five boroughs. It was a simple monicker that boosted the self-esteem Christian had spent the past five years of your life tearing down.

You walked into the club with a whole new pep in your step in a new skin tight, low cut, white, collared, halter dress and the most cherry red heels and lips as you could. You nodded at ‘Jerry two-toes’ (a nickname you never, ever wanted to know the origin of) and Mikey, who were standing guard at the bottom of the stairs and headed up to the cat walk with Jade right behind you. The sound of your heels clicking on the metal platform was lost in the loud bass of the music down below and you smiled as you walked past Big Sam.

“Well holy fucking fuck.” Negan said as he looked over from the man he was talking to about who knows what. “Look at you.”

“You like?” You asked as you turned in a tight circle to show off your most recent purchase.

“Fucking love it, baby girl. Jade.” Your friend, who was conflicted about your blossoming relationship with the gangster, waved from her spot by the office door. “You just getting here?” You nodded as you walked over to lean on his desk.

“Spa day ran a little later than I expected. How’s work?” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach with a shake of his head.

“Fucking obnoxious.” He groaned as he pointed to the man sitting across the desk from him. “Dealing with idiots like this fuck who…” You quickly leaned forward and put your hand over his mouth with a small shake of your head.

“Mixed company.” You whispered so that only he would hear as you gestured to Jade with your eyes only. “Not now.” He nodded his head and reached up to lace his fingers with yours.

“Good girl.” He said as he kissed your fingertips. “You go have fun. I’ll be up here for a while.”

“Alright, baby.” You said as you leaned forward to leave a faint, red kiss on his cheek. “Have fun with the idiots.” He chuckled and gave you a light swat on the ass. You flipped your hair over your shoulder and looked back at him with a wink on your way out the door.

“I don’t like it.” Jade said with a shake of her head. You looked over at her as the pair of you walked side by side to the stairs.

“Weren’t you the one that told me that I was lucky that Negan liked me? Weren’t you the one that said I should sleep with him?” She came to a stop at the top of the stairs and sighed as she put her fingertips on her forehead with a shake of her head.

“I did.” She replied as she met your green eyes. “It’s just… look, I love you. I want you to be happy but I’m scared of what dating him could lead to for you. Especially with everything going on with Christian.” You glanced around to make sure no one was close to you, and pulled her a step closer.

“Nothing can ever happen to me.” You said directly in her ear so that no one could over hear you. “Trust me, Negan promised and I looked into it. I can’t be arrested because I don’t know anything. Christian can come at me all he wants but there’s not a damn thing he could make stick. I don’t call shots. Women bosses in the Mafia were phased out fifteen years ago to prevent wives from suffering the fate men can. I’m literally just arm candy along with the rest of the wives. I know it seems unbelievable but I’m safe. I’m untouchable.” You pulled away to look at her with a small nod.

“After everything I went through with Christian, Negan swore he would guarantee that no matter what, I’d be safe. He swore that no matter what, I would never know anything that could land me in jail or in a grave. Trust me, you aren’t the only one scared here with me dating a boss… but I trust him. I trust that he will protect me. I have to.”

“OK.” She agreed with a nod. “Alright, I trust you so if you trust him, so do I. But I know nothing. And I want him to keep Mark out of it as well.”

“You have my word.” You agreed as you laced your arm with hers and headed down the stairs. “Come on, let’s dance.”

——

You knew it was only a matter of time before Christian retaliated but you were absolutely not expecting the retaliation he delivered. You were working out in the gym when your door buzzer buzzed loudly through the entire house. You groaned at having to stop just shy of your two mile run and headed over to let whoever was there you’d be down in a moment. The welcoming smile you stepped out of the elevator with dropped instantly at the sight of two blue police officers uniforms standing on the other side of your red, frosted glass door.

“Boys.” You said a breathily over Chewie’s barking with a nod of your head as you looked back and forth between Jade’s husband, Mark and his captain, Ben.

“(Y/N). Sorry to bother you but… well, we have a warrant.” You cocked your eyebrow at them and stuck your hand out for the warrant as you took a step back into your house.

“What are you looking for? I can save your boys the trouble of tearing apart my house.” Your eyes danced across the page as Mark cleared his throat.

“Two watches. Chief claims you stole them from him. And roughly two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” You swore under your breath and rolled your eyes as you folded the paper back up.

“Didn’t steal them.” You said as you closed your front door, picked up your dog, and gestured them toward the elevator. “I purchased them with my money and kept them…”

“OK, (Y/N). Stop talking.” Ben interrupted as you hit the third floor button and closed the gate to the elevator. “Not another word until you’re with your lawyer.” You nodded your head in understanding as the elevator came to a stop on the master suite floor.

“Can I at least jump in the shower first before you haul my ass in? I’ll make it quick.” You grabbed the two watches in question from their boxes in the top drawer of the dresser in Christian’s old closet and handed them to Ben, who nodded slowly.

“You gotta be quick, OK? And I’m gonna stand out here in the sitting room.” You nodded and looked at Mark with the hint of tears in your eyes as you passed him your fur child.

“Can you go down and feed Chewie? His food is in the pantry and the scoop is in the bag. One even scoop.” Your friend nodded and turned back toward the elevator. You growled to yourself and headed into the bathroom with a shake of your head. “Stupid son of a bitch is never gunna give up.”

——

You could feel your husband watching you from the other side of the two way mirror as you waited patiently and silently for your lawyer to get there with the documents you had told him to get from your house. Your still damp hair was making you shiver in the freezing cold room and you cursed yourself for not thinking to grab a sweater to throw on over your plain black t-shirt and jeans. You cursed Christian as well for being so damn ridiculous and petty since the division of property was clearly spelled out in the prenup you were so grateful you had made him sign before you got married.

“So how have you been, (Y/N)?” Ben asked from across the table just to fill the silence with something. You huffed a laugh and nodded your head minutely.

“I’m doing really well, Benny. Probably ten times better than the last time you saw me. How’s Susan doing?”

“She’s doing real well, thanks for asking.” He replied before someone rapped impatiently on the glass behind him.

“Uh oh! Better not talk to the enemy.” You joked with zero humor in your tone as you looked up at the mirror again. You huffed and shook your head as your lawyer, Nathan, finally came into the room with a giant pile of documents in his hands.

“OK.” Nathan said as he dropped the stack of papers on the table and pulled out the metal chair beside you. “So, let’s hear the charges against my client.” You crossed your legs and leaned back in your chair.

“Grand theft…” Ben tried before you simply interrupted him.

“You gunna come in here and get schooled or you wanna hide behind the glass?” You called out. Nathan hissed your name seconds before the door to the interrogation room flung open.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Christian demanded as Ben lurched to his feet. “You fucking thief!” You smiled contently as you reached out and grabbed the stack of papers from in front of Nathan.

“Thief, am I?” You asked as you flipped through them to find the prenup first. “We’ll start with this.” You held up the thick stack of papers and rested your elbow on the table for a moment. When his eyes narrowed, you pursed your bottom lip and nodded as you flipped through to find the page you needed. “Pre-nuptial agreement signed by both of us, right? The one you signed agreeing that we… oh, here we go.” You flipped the page over and slammed the packet down on the table where Christian and Ben could see it.

“We each had a fucking personal bank account where our incomes were coming in with a joint account in the middle we would both move money in to for bills. Your signature is right fucking here, Christian, agreeing that if we got a divorce, we’d split the joint account fifty-fifty. Right?” You cocked your eyebrow at him as you pushed the paper closer before flipping through the rest of the stack to look for the statement for the joint account.

“Well, that’s what I did.” You said as you pulled out the last two bank statements and the amount you pulled out the day you closed your personal account to switch banks. “I split it directly down the middle to the fucking penny. Two hundred, fifty-one thousand, four hundred and sixteen dollars and twenty-three cents. Exactly half of what was in the account despite the fact that I was the only one putting money in for bills in the last four months. So technically, I should have taken more but I didn’t because I’m not a shitty person.” Christian stepped forward and snagged the bank statements off the table as you continued on your rant.

“Now the watches? Those were paid for with my money, out of my fucking account. Not yours. They were anniversary gifts. Was I petty by keeping them? Sure, but I did anyways because fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” Christian snapped back as his eyes darted up with yours.

“Yea, fuck you!” You snapped back as you leapt up from the chair. “Fuck you for beating me and thinking it was acceptable! Fuck you for making me think I was less than what I was worth! Fuck you for everything you put me through! You want the fucking watches so bad you need to have me fucking arrested for it, then fucking take them! I don’t give a shit. But next time you pull a fucking stunt like this, keep in mind. I have been one fucking step ahead of you for seven years. I have kept receipts for every single fucking thing I have bought you since we started dating. Every dinner, every gift, every article of clothing, magazine subscription, and bottle of wine. Everything is documented. Every receipt is filed in the basement like it always has been. Just like the receipts for the two watches I supposedly stole from you.” You snagged the receipts out of the pile and slammed them down on the table and grabbed the prenup again.

“Sign the fucking divorce papers, asshole, because I will fucking take you to court and I will make it very public and messy as fuck. You signed off on this divorce before you even said I do. Sign- the fucking- papers! Can I go now?” You looked over at Ben with your eyebrow raised as you reached out as far as you could and snatched the bank statements from Christian.

“Yea.” He said with a nod as he fought hard to keep the smile off his face. “You can go.”

“The charges against my client are obviously going to be dropped, correct?” Nathan asked as you collected all the papers he had brought you.

“Absolutely.” Ben said with a nod.

“Sign the Goddamn papers.” You said again as you walked around the table and headed out the door. You paused in the archway and looked back over your shoulder at your hopefully soon to be ex-husband. “And if you fucking dare to have me arrested again on some trumped up, bullshit charges, I will sue you and the NYPD for harassment. Try me.”

“You fucking bitch.” Christian shouted as he lunged for you. Ben caught him around the middle and held him back as you simply flicked him off over your shoulder.

“Bye Ben! Send Susan my love!”

“Can you not taunt the chief of police?” Nathan asked as he walked with you through the police station. “At least, not in front of me.”

“He deserves it.” You said with a shake of your head as you stepped outside. Your smile grew as Negan, looking as dapper as ever, looked up from his phone and pushed off his town car.

“Hey trouble.” He chuckled. “Didn’t think I’d be the one picking your ass up from the police station.”

“Stop.” You giggled as he took your paperwork from you. “Misunderstanding. This is my lawyer, Nathan Riggs. Nathan, this is Negan.” The two men shook hands before Nathan gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Sorry to cut this short, but I got court in twenty minutes. Judge Harris will kick my ass if I’m late again.”

“Oh! Tell Ian I say hi.” He nodded and waved bye before grabbing a cab.

“Let’s get you home, my little trouble maker.” You smiled as Negan opened the back door and gestured you in.

“I was completely innocent, here.” You said as you got in and scooted across the backseat to give him room. “And damn, you should have seen that jerk’s face. So priceless.”

“So, what the fuck did you get arrested for, anyways?” You sighed and leaned into his side as his driver pulled away from the curb and headed up town to the Upper East Side.

“Grand theft over three hundred thousand.” You breathed as he put his arm around your shoulders.

“Well fuck me running. Way to go, baby.” You looked up at him with a fake scowl and rolled your eyes.

“Shut up.” He chuckled lowly and kissed the top of your head.

“Anything you say, fellow felon.” You groaned and buried your face in his black suit jacket.

“Oh, my God.”

Part 4

#Negan x Reader #The Unexpected Protector #Negan thirst squad #Negan's thirst squad

41 notes · View notes

ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Lost in The Static

Characters: Aisling O’Connor, Kelly Ronan O’Connor, Brady O’Connor

Word Count: 2,464

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing, Drinking

Summary: A moment in Aisling’s day as she tries to deal with raising her two boys by herself.

Notes: Another product of me getting the most random inspiration for a thing and just going with it. So yeah. This is a thing. The end is a little abrupt but whatever. Click the read more if you’d like. As always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Aisling sat on the sofa in the front room of the house. The TV was on, some useless midday talk show, but she wasn’t watching. A cup of coffee sat on the coffee table in front of her; still full. The coffee inside was now cold and a thin film began to form atop it. She still had the tablet in her hands and the unfinished crossword puzzle remained on the screen. The light reflected in her pale green eyes and brightly illuminated her face.

But she stared off into space; oblivious to the world around her.

Her thoughts swirled like a violent hurricane in her mind; rapidly switching between all kinds of different feelings. Running through emotions and expletives like a dealer at a casino dishing out cards to players.

How could you leave us like this?

The boys miss you. Kelly asks about you all the time. He remembers you a lot. And, Brady, well…

No, fuck you. You left without any sort of explanation. No note, no voicemail, not even a damn text.

It was my fault, wasn’t it? Things I did, or said, slowly pushed you away until you had no choice.

I miss you. I miss you so fucking much you stupid bastard.

In her daze she sets the tablet aside and gets up from the sofa. Walking around the coffee table she crosses the room. Approaching the fireplace she lifts her outstretched arm; reaching for something on the mantle. Standing right in front of the mantle, against the metal fireplace grate, her hand grabs hold of what she was looking for.

She pulls down the picture frame and runs her fingers along the glass.

The picture is of the four of them; her, the boys, and her husband. They stood in front of one of the many outdoor parks in the district. She held an even younger Brady against her hip. Kelly, who was also a lot younger at the time, stood in between them. Happily holding both of his parents’ hands. Big, bright, smiles ran along each of their faces. Despite the years that have passed that day remains as fresh and clear in her mind as the morning he disappeared.

“We were happy,” she says aloud to the picture. “I don’t see why you had to leave.”

Tears begin to fill the edges of her eyes. She instinctively brings her hands up to cover her face. The picture frame falls from her hands and crashes to the floor. The glass shatters all over the floor and the frame breaks. The picture itself remains unscathed from the incident; laying perfectly still amidst the wreckage.

A loud, mournful, wail erupts from her lips as she crumbles to the floor.

Sobs rack her frame; violently shaking her body and her wings.

She remains that way until the sound of her son’s cries break through her own.

Her head jerks up in the direction of the sound. She doesn’t know if the breaking glass, or her cries, woke him but it doesn’t really matter. He’s awake and she most likely won’t get him to go back to sleep for a long while. Getting up she wipes the tears from her eyes and wipes nonexistent dust from the front of her light blue jeans. She carefully steps around the broken glass; hoping she didn’t step on any shards she couldn’t see.

She reminds herself to clean up the mess later.

Aisling tries to fix her hair so that her son won’t notice she had been crying. Then she remembers that he’s still a baby. He won’t see how much of a mess she is. He’ll just see his mother’s face. Turning the corner, and walking through the interior archway, she approaches her son’s bedroom.

Walking through the open door she rushes to the crib that sits along the opposite wall.

Brady lays in the crib, on his back, face red and mouth open. His legs and arms flail about in an awkward manner. Somehow his bright indigo veins seemed to glow brighter than normal. Seeing him cry, in whatever pain he had no other way of expressing, hurts her heart. She reaches into the crib and carefully slides her hands underneath his body. Placing one under his head and the other under his back; supporting his small body. Lifting him out of the crib she brings him to her shoulder.

Bouncing him on her shoulder she pats his back and whispers to him.

“Shh, darling, it’s okay. It’s okay tá mé anseo, tá mé anseo,” she says.

Unsure of what to do she holds him tighter against her chest. Rubbing his back she begins to pace the room. His cries continue despite her best efforts to calm him. As she walks she starts to softly sing a lullaby. When the sound leaves her lips Brady stops crying instantly and settles against her shoulder. She continues to sing until she finishes the song.

When he falls back asleep once more she carefully lays him back in the crib. Running her thumb along his cheek she smiles. She waits a couple minutes; watching her son peacefully sleep.

She walks out of the room and closes the door behind her. She heads to the kitchen and grabs a broom and dustpan. Returning to the front room she picks up the picture before beginning to sweep up the broken glass. Aisling lays the picture on the coffee table. When the glass is all cleaned up she returns to the kitchen and grabs a plastic bag from underneath the sink. She throws the shards of glass in the bag and ties the top in a knot. Aisling puts that bag in another bag, ties it, before throwing it the kitchen garbage can.

Then she goes over the spot with a wet paper towel to make sure there are no tiny shards left behind.

She takes the cup of coffee as well and empties it in the sink. Tossing the paper towel into the garbage she opens the fridge. She looks through the fridge for a minute or so before finding what she needs in that moment. Aisling runs a hand through her hair and sighs; giving this decision a second thought.

But her emotions, and the burning need, drown her rational side out.

She reaches in and takes out a half finished bottle of whisky and an unopened bottle of vodka. The vodka bottle, which is normally clear glass, is now blue from the cold of the fridge. She grabs a bottle opener from the utensil drawer and returns once again to the front room.

She sits on the sofa and sets both bottles on the table.

Taking the picture from the table she looks at it again. Waves of mixed emotions suddenly overtake her again but she bites back the tears. Her brain keeps telling her that she needs to move on. But her heart, still aches, still wants to know why. Looking at his smiling face her brows furrow and her mouth forms an angry snarl. Aisling throws the picture on the table and aggressively grabs the bottle of whisky. In the same movement she twists the cap off. It comes off with ease.

“Down the hatch,” she says, raising the bottle and, toasting to no one in particular.

The bottle of whisky is polished off in less than four minutes. She sets it back on the coffee table and picks up the vodka without a second thought. Taking the bottle opener she positions the rounded opening over the cap. Adjusting the opening the small lip slides under the edge of the bottle top. Pulling up the cap comes off the neck of the bottle. This takes about a few seconds and she sets the bottle opener on the surface of the coffee table.

She closes her eyes and drinks the vodka.

It doesn’t burn as it goes down her throat. The liquor tastes subtle and smooth with a bit of a floral flavor. She pulls the bottle away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Setting the bottle down; she leans her back on the sofa.

Aisling lets the liquors calm her mind and heart.

After a while she gets up and throws the empty bottle of whisky in the trash. Returning the vodka to the fridge the bottle slowly starts to turn blue once more. Closing the door to the fridge she smiles to herself. She’s doing her best. And no one can take that away from her. Who cares if she needs a bottle or two to get through the day? At least she’s not doing drugs.

Or leaving the boys to fend for themselves, her conscious echoes.

That moment the front door opens and immediately slams closed.

The loud slamming is quickly followed by rapid footsteps rushing up the staircase. She knows exactly who that was and what it all meant. Rubbing her hands over her face she hopes she doesn’t look like the pile of crap she feels like. Kelly would definitely notice. Despite how much his teachers want to say he doesn’t pay attention in class Aisling knows her son better. She knows how vigilant he’s become to any change in her emotions in the recent months. She quickly throws some water on her face before heading up the stairs to comfort her son.

She takes her time going up the stairs because she understands that sometimes people don’t want to talk about what bothers them. Or the hardships they’ve suffered. She knows that all too well.

When she reaches the landing she turns left down the hallway.

The bright blue door, that the young boy insisted on painting himself, stuck out like a sore thumb in the entire house. As if that wasn’t enough to tell whom the room belonged to her son’s name was displayed on the door itself. His name was spelled out in wood block letters which were painted white. Aisling smiles as she remembers when the family took that trip to the craft store.

She runs her fingers along the letters; tracing the edges. Kelly was so excited that day. He wanted to spend the entire day in the store just exploring. It was a memory of a time well missed by both of them.

Aisling brings her hand to the door and raps her knuckles against it.

“Go away,” the voice calls from within.

She tries the doorknob and to her surprise it isn’t locked. She opens it slowly and peers in the room. The light from the hallway barely illuminates the room. It was obvious that Kelly had left the lights off when he entered his room earlier. The glow-in-the-dark star stickers that lined the ceiling gave off a faint greenish-yellow glow. Aisling reached for the light switch and tapped the flat panel on the wall. The room light up instantly and she could see the entirety of the room.

The stickers on the ceiling faded back to their non-lit white coloring.

Toys and clothes littered the floor. A pile of papers were neatly laid on the floor in the far left corner of the room. The curtains were drawn over the window; blocking out the light from outside. Kelly lay on the bed on his stomach; face buried in the pillow. He still wore his shoes and the clothes he had worn to school. The laces of his left shoe were untied and poked out from under his foot. His backpack was thrown against the wall and now sat in a sad slump.

“What’s wrong, a stór?” Aisling asks as she sits on the edge of his bed.

“Nothing,” he replies; voice muffled slightly by the pillow.

“Don’t try that, Kelly Ronan O’Connor,” she says only slightly scolding him. “I know when you’re lying to me.”

“How?”

“A mother always knows her son,” she says simply.

She lays a hand on his back. He sighs under the pillow and lifts his head. Turning his head to look at his mom his bright blue eyes were red at the edges. It was clear that he had been crying. His hair was a tangled mess, some in his eyes, sticking out at odd angles. Aisling motions for him to sit up. He does and she wraps an arm around him.

“What’s wrong, a leanbh? Maybe we can find a way to fix it.”

“You can’t.”

“Says who?” she asks with a worried look.

Kelly stares at the floor and says nothing. Aisling waits patiently; her arm still around her son’s shoulder. Her son was an open book in every other situation. He would even tell strangers whatever childish thoughts popped into his head. But now, after his entire world was turned upside down, he shut down when something upset him. There’s no point to trying to push him to open up. That hadn’t worked with him so far and it probably never will.

After a few minutes he mutters under his breath; “I don’t want to go back to school. The kids are mean.”

“Times are tough, darling, but they won’t be that way forever.”

“They won’t if I go to a new school.”

She kisses her son’s forehead and wipes away a tear that fills the corner of his eye. He stares at the floor. His hands remain at his sides tightly clenching the blanket in small bunches. She holds his face in her hands and tries to meet his eyes. But he continues to avoid her gaze.

“Look at me, ceann beag,” she whispers calmly.

The boy sniffles and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Looking up he stares into his mother’s eyes. The expression in them is sad but, somehow, still hopeful. He doesn’t understand how she can feel that way but her hand is warm against his cheeks. It’s a welcome comfort in these dark days.

“It’s not fair,” he cries.

She nods; “I know, I know, but that’s just the thing, Kelly. Life isn’t fair all the time.”

“But why not?”

“Oh, darling,” she sighs pulling him close. “If life were fair all the time then no one would grow and learn and become a better person.”

Kelly leans against his mother’s shoulder. He does so gingerly so that he does not bump her wings. Biting his bottom lip he tries to stop the tears. But his efforts are useless in the end. Grief, and confusion, filled tears begin to roll down his face once more. The warm, salty, tears fall on his mom’s shirt; darkening spots of the pale pink.

“I don’t want to be better. I don’t want to grow. I just want dad back.”

“Me too,” Aisling says as she runs a hand through her son’s auburn hair.

#my writing #oc story #oc writing #larka's virus community #lvc #aisling o'connor #kelly ronan o'connor #brady o'connor #tw swearing #tw drinking

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itsmkjones · 7 years

Text

Warning: May Come with Protection

Content: A little bit of angst with a pile of FLUFF

Request @savingpeoplepuntingthings: Hi! I was wondering if you could write a fic where reader is Dean's teen daughter and just had her first breakup with her cheating boyfriend and feels really insecure and is blaming herself so Dean comforts her. Suuuuper fluffy please. Thanks so much you're writing is amazing!!! 💘💘💘

The metal chimes hanging on the porch frame jingled as the front door slammed. The abrupt act of violence churned a fraction of the anger boiling in every deep crevice in your brain adding a fleeting relief of pleasure. You stomped up the stairs throwing an exasperated growl to the dark and empty living room. You didn’t care that the noise was embarrassingly immature. You were sick of acting mature, of shouldering the responsibility of moral obligations all the time. You reached your bedroom door, hand strangling the unsuspecting knob with brute force, retching the wooden panel behind in reckless abandon. Your bookcase shook, despite being over labored with an abundance of books. A framed mirror tapped against the wall with shock waves, a picture dislodging from its flimsy hold and fluttering the ground. Your smiling blushing face stared up at you, head tilted to the side, hair pressed on his cheek. Dejection slammed against the fury inviting an onslaught of self-deprecating thoughts to replace the blank rage. You scooped up the photo wiping away the welling tears with the back of your sleeve. Feet dragging across the floor, you threw yourself across your bed.

Pain mingling with wretched sorrow pushed at the lump in your throat. Disembodied judgments swam amidst your thoughts; teenagers cry at everything, so dramatic, so stupid... You pulled your pillow beneath your face, burrowing deeply until your nose hurt and breathing strained.

“Just this once…” You whispered as the first sob broke past your lips, “I get to be weak...”

The pillow did little to muffle your weeping and you refused to restrain as the tears rolled into unabashed bawling. A mixture of moisture slickened your face sticking to the pillow, but your chest throbbed dryly. Lost in your grief, you missed the roar of an engine thundering down the driveway and the crack of the front door opening.

“What the-” You heard your father exclaim from below. He nudged your backpack from the middle of the room with his foot. “Y/n! What did I tell you about leaving your backpack in the middle of the floor?”

You sat up desperately pushing your hair from your sticky face and trying to stifle the uneasy sobs with measured breaths. A hiccup caught a shuddering gasp combining into a strangled cry that betrayed your efforts. There was shuffle at the door.

“I better, uh,” Uncle Sam spoke softly, but sound always carried from the vent in the living room to your room, “get going.”

“Yeah, see ya man.”

There was a patter of movement from the two men coming followed by the door closing and Dean’s heavy boots hitting the steps. Your bedroom door eased open revealing your father. His brows were knit in concern as he scanned your room, his green eyes widened as they landed on your flushed face.

“Oh, hey Daddy,” You wiped a palm under your eye and into your hair in what you hoped seemed like a natural movement. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” He repeated incredulously. He moved into the room quickly tossing a glance over the space before focusing completely on you. “You look like you lose the first grade spelling bee all over again. Remember that?”

“I didn’t lose, I was robbed.” You attempted to joke offering a bright smile that disintegrated -lips spasming until they peeled open in mute grimace, nose and forehead wrinkled.

“He- hey, hey, hey…” Dean rushed to the bed taking a seat beside you. His arm instinctively wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you close. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You twisted into his warm embrace, clutching to the familiar scent of old car leather that stained his skin and provoked a sense of safety. His hand cupped the back of your head gently, holding you in place. If the world crumbled at that very moment, there was no doubt in your mind that your Dad would keep you safe. He was your rock and it never occurred to you to keep anything from him.

“I b-broke up with T-Taylor!” You sniffled back a river of snot.

“You bro- you broke up with Taylor? You broke up with Taylor. ” He blinked down at you, slowly registering your words and correlating them with your current state. “Why? What happened? Is everything okay? Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Do I need to go kill him? Y/n, tell me if I need to go kill him. I will go right back outside, get your Uncle Sam and find that sorry son of a bit-”

“Da-daddy! No!” You stopped him from leaping to his feet.

“Well what happened?” He searched your puffy bloodshot eyes. “Something must have happened.”

You gulped. The movement sent a harsh indicator that your throat was raw and tender. A shaky exhale left your lips, eyes lowering to the ground. Logically, intellectually you knew what happened wasn’t on you, but a deep ugly thread of guilt and worthlessness needled down into your core.

“I went over to surprise him ‘cause my club got cancelled and…” Your lungs shuddered. “He said I could come in through the side gate any time ‘cause his parents didn’t care, so I did and I got up to his room… just in time to see him and Alexia Brady-”

You broke off gesturing indefinitely into the air choking back the words.

“What?” Dean asked looking between your vague gesture and face urgently, “Kissing?”

You shook your head.

His features contorted, lips pressing together as he spat out the word. “Boning?”

You nodded, a puff of air bursting from your lips. “Yes! And, and I guess I made a noise or something because the next thing I know they’re both looking at me still… moving! And he’s shouting at me to “stay right there a minute” and to “hold on” “give me one more second”.”

“Are you freaking serious?” Dean looks towards the door, disgust pouring from every muscle. “He didn’t even stop?”

“No… I just turned away and started to leave. I made it to the door when he caught up to me and grabbed my arm.”

“Oh, tell me he put on some freakin’ pants…”

You shook your head slowly and Dean dropped his head against the flat of his palm.

“He said is was my fault because I wouldn’t have sex with him and that he was so horny that he couldn’t take it any more.” You wrapped your arms around yourself tightly as you replayed the scene in your head.

“That’s bullshit!” Dean gestured into the room angrily with one arm, his fist tightening on his thigh.

You smiled weakly, “That’s what I said. Then, he said something about how men have to do it or their system backs up. And I called bullshit again, so he rebutted with saying that I never care about what he wants and how he’s so nice to me all the time and I never do anything for him in return.”

“Didn’t you cook him an entire dinner once?” Dean asked as more of a fact of point than needed reminder.

“Yup.” You clipped back tight lipped. “So, I screamed at him. Something about how he should have broken up with me if he was unhappy- not cheated on me and how dare he try to freaking blame me for having sex with another girl when A. He’s never initiated sex with me and B. He’s standing there wearing nothing, but a nasty ass yellow freaking condom. Then, I told him that he should go to hell and fuck off, we’re done.”

You paused sucking in cool air. It washed over the painful thudding in your chest and eased the heat suffocating your lungs. Dean stroked your back in easy circles, taking time to slow and rub his thumb back and forth. His lips were pressed tight, muscles tight, but he kept quiet knowing you weren’t done. You shivered as you remembered the next part.

“Then, he pulled me back when I started walking away. His gross nasty business almost hitting my leg… He said that I couldn’t just break up with him ‘cause he didn’t do anything wrong and I was an uptight bitch and that I should give him a second chance. I told him to let me go and that if he didn’t do anything wrong why would he need a second chance?”

“Good point.” He praised with a thoughtful nod. “Stupid kid.”

“Then he grabbed my other arm and kinda shook me-”

“Woah, wait!” Dean turned on the bed, hands sliding over your shoulders barely touching. His eyes raked over your appearance once more searching for any indication. “Did he hit you?”

“No… Alexia came down the stairs and saw him. She said “What the hell?” and he let go. She got so freaked out that she bolted out the front door. He turned back on me before I thought to move and started getting mad at me for giving her the wrong idea and saying now he was going to be in trouble and it was all my fault…”

“That sorry son of a bitch!” Dean shot up from the bed taking a step forward. Every inch of his body was primed and ready with murderous intent. He wiped his mouth in the palm of his hand, forefinger and thumb trailing behind. “I swear to Go-”

“Daddy… hold on…” You pleaded, “I’m not done.”

“I’m sorry…” He exhaled spinning on his heel to face you. He dropped before your knees, resting his forearms on your legs and peering up into your face. “You’re right. Go on.”

“He looked so mad that I panicked. He was coming right at me with this terrifying look and… and before I knew it I punched him.” You tapped the small slope between your nose and upper lip. “Right here.”

Dean’s head dropped for a second, then he looked back up at you, a proud smile brightening his visage. “Right where I taught you.”

You nodded fighting off the urge to grin proudly and trying to maintain a doleful guilt that was better suited to the situation. “Yeah, his head snapped back and he passed out right in the middle of his kitchen. I made sure he was okay, then booked it back to here.”

Dean laughed heartily bouncing off his heels to plant a warm kiss on your forehead. “That’s my girl!”

“No, Daddy! Stop it!” Your words lost their edge as you met his delighted eyes with a matching smile. “That was bad!”

“No,” He disagreed evenly. He tucked a hair behind your ear before coming to his feet, “what’s bad is what’s about to happen to that friggin’ moron.”

A light knock interrupted the conversation. Dean spun moving out of the line of sight to your bedroom door. Sam lifted a bright red sweater out, peering into the room from under his brows with a guilty expression.

“Sam? I thought you went home.” Dean questioned.

“Hey, Y/n.” Sam smiled gently. “I found this on the driveway and thought it was yours…”

He tossed it to the white wicker chair near the vanity table. You sent him a smile that was equal parts grateful and embarrassed to be caught looking horrendously disgusting. Dean tapped Sam’s chest with the back of his hand.

“C’mon, I need you to come help me kill a kid.”

“Yeah, I heard…” Sam sunk his hands in his jeans pockets offering an apologetic grimace. “I kinda overheard your whole explanation.”

“Overheard and stuck around?” Dean pointed out.

“Okay, fine.” Sam admitted. “I was worried about Y/n! So, when I saw the sweater I eavesdropped. Are you happy?”

Dean shrugged. “I’ll be happier when we’ve made that Taylor kid’s life a living hell!”

Sam stepped in front of Dean as he stepped forward, hands raised placatingly. He glanced between you and Dean before placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, let me handle it, okay?” The corner of his lips twitched as a knowing and exceedingly confident gleam enter his eyes. “You just… stay here with Y/n.”

They exchanged a look. It was the type of look, you had learned, that silently exchanged a wealth of information that you would never be able to guess at. Dean nodded finally, slapping Sam’s shoulder.

“You got it.”

A flicker of something darkened Sam’s smile, but when he glanced at you it was the normal gentle sympathetic smile that your Uncle was known for. “See ya, Y/n. Feel better.”

“Will he be okay?” You asked as Sam disappeared.

“Sam? Yeah, it’s Taylor who’s in for it.” Dean chuckled to himself, cocking his head to the side once.

“But Uncle Sam…” You tilted your head in confusion. “He’s so nice…”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about your Uncle Sam, kiddo.” Nostalgia colored Dean’s tone. “Now, c’mon, pie is the cure to any broken heart. Let’s get you to the nearest diner!”

“I thought it was ice cream that’s suppose to help.” You teased pushing off your bed and grabbing your sweater.

Your father frowned pointing at you with emphasis as you slipped on the cardigan. “You know who says that? Pie hating lobbyist who want to see this fine country burn to the ground. Are you a part of this insane anti-pie hate propaganda who wants everything good in this world to die?”

You grinned, “Na uh, no way. Let’s go get some pie!”

You hurried to Dean, his arm outstretched to hug you close as you reached the door. “Damn right we’re gonna get some pie.”

#SPN #supernatural #Supernatual #Supernatural Dean Winchester #supernatural dean #dean winchester #dean #SPN Dean #dean fluff #dean winchester fluff #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean angst #dean winchester angst #dean daughter #father!dean #dad!dean

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