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justapurrcat · 2 years

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Tiptoeing Around Your Heart | t.s.h.

Pairing: Tom Holland x fem!ballet dancer!reader

Synopsis: A secret ballet audition brings together a former Billy Elliot and a (possible) future Giselle. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 3.840k

Warnings: English not being my first language, me writing about ballet while not being a dancer, mutual pining but they’re both just idiots.

Tom Holland Masterlist

General Masterlist

A/n: I usually don’t take requests, but I just couldn’t resist this one:

“can you do a fic where tom helps y/n train for her ballet audition”

You could consider this an offspring of Giselle, sweet Giselle and this other cute little jewel both by the lovely @thollandsdarling (I don’t know if this ask was actually addressed to her, honestly, but Mags, if you wanna write it too, I would absolutely love to read your own version of it 💜).

“Remind me again why you asked me to help you out with this”, Tom sighed in fake irritation as he stretched his arms. At first, he had tried to keep up with your exercises, but after seeing all of the crazy bending they involved, he had quickly given up.

After all, he was only supposed to give you a hand, which probably meant holding your waist while you were doing pirouettes and simple things like that, so he had opted for a lighter warm-up.

Fuck, he hadn’t felt that similar to a piece of wood ever since that day he was getting ready to shoot a sequence with Willem Defoe, but in the humiliating tragedy – okay, maybe he was exaggerating a little – he had discovered a silver lining to it. Not doing much meant he could look at you more, and look at you more he did.

The way you moved was nothing short of entrancing, your flexible body conveying both gracefulness and strength, every muscle being perfectly under control, allowing you and your flawless lines to paint an invisible, yet mesmerising art in the air, your limbs shaping themselves like you had no sharp angles whatsoever.

You didn’t even know it, but God, you practically had him wrapped around your finger. And he was going to lose his mind when you would actually start dancing. Just like he did whenever he showed up to your shows. Always in the front row, of course.

Hand on the barre, you leaned back, grinning at him from upside-down when he entered your field of vision. “Because I need to try some steps with a partner”, you told him, not a trace of struggle in your voice, as if you were sipping a cup of tea.

Tom was one of the two people knowing about this audition, the other being your dance teacher who had suggested you’d give it a try. Consequently, that made him the only person you had told. The only person with whom you had shared that information.

Unless it was necessary, you had never been keen on telling people about something important until it was done. Exams, medical visits, auditions… all things that already tended to put a lot of pressure on you. Having the responsibility of people’s expectations weighing on your shoulders would only stress you further.

You hated it, because it could make you sound ungrateful, but even having them cheering for you would cause you to get anxious, the fear of disappointing them clinging to you like an enthusiasm-sucking parasite. So, you preferred to deliver the news after everything was over, negative feelings taken off.

With Tom, though… with Tom it was different. Everything was different.

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, you would’ve entrusted him with your life. Yet there you were, able to tell him everything but the things you were dying to confess.

“Plus, revising a bit of ballet wouldn’t kill you”, you added with a shrug, trying to shake those feelings off of you as you straightened your back in one fluid motion.

Read the room, y/n. Read the fucking ballet room.

You moved away from the barre, going to sit on the floor and Tom pretended to scoff and roll his eyes when you looked at him, earning a little chuckle from you. But in reality, he almost couldn’t tear his gaze from you. His teacher had told him once that a good dancer can be recognized even from the way they walk on stage and bloody hell was your walk fucking amazing. The elegant sway of your hips, the muscles of your back… he was on the verge of drooling like a Saint Bernard.

Tom shook his head, mentally slapping himself and decided it was the moment for a pause. He knelt down, reaching for his backpack to grab his bottle of water, but the damn mirror wasn’t going to give him a break.

He had his back turned to you, and it was the same for you, but he still witnessed every single moment of it. With his throat running dry, he watched you lay down on your back, holding your legs up and then slowly parting them. And you didn’t stop, no, you kept going and going, until they were literally touching the floor.

Holy shit, how could you even open your legs like that? And why the fuck was it so easy for Tom to imagine himself between them, hovering over you to brush his lips over yours, as his hands caressed your inner thighs, teasingly getting closer and closer to your–no. No, no, no, no, no.

He had to think of something else. He needed to.

“First of all, fuck you”, he said without thinking, the words leaving his mouth probably surprising him more than you. But oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “Second of all, fuck you.”

You sat up, turning around and locking gazes with his reflection, a silent question shaping itself in your raised eyebrows.

Tom pouted like a baby, letting go of his water – he wasn’t really that thirsty, it was more… metaphorical – and standing up, finally facing you. “I’ve never been able to stretch like that, not even in my Billy Elliot days of glory”, he clarified.

You got up as well, flashing him an amused expression. “Relax, movie-star: you won’t have to do much”, you replied, your light-hearted tone carrying a sweet note of reassurance. “Just watch and tell me if it looks good to you.”

“And what about the couple steps?”, he wondered, tilting his head to the side a bit. To be blatantly honest, that was the part he looked forward to the most. He absolutely adored seeing you dance, you were a literal joy for the eyes. But being your partner, he would’ve had the occasion to hold you close, to be loved by you, even if it was just pretense…

“I just need you to help me with my balance and to move me around a bit”, you explained, barely holding back a dreamy sigh at the image of you, nestled in his strong arms, that flashed through your mind due to your own sentence…

“I’ll do the rest”, you continued, dismissing it immediately. “And if you’re comfortable we can try a couple of lifts. Not complicated stuff, we’re not taking risks.”

Tom nodded along, understanding what you meant with that. It wasn’t that you didn’t think he could be capable of lifting you, because he was, but despite his classical training, he had little to no experience as a porteur, and had things gone wrong, he could’ve injured himself. “Mh. I can do it.”

“Great, come here”, you invited, beckoning him closer and then guiding him towards the centre of the room. “Let’s try this with no music, and while I’m still not sweaty.”

“Charming”, he commented, winking at you, completely ignorant that your heart skipped a beat at that simple action, and you simply smiled and glanced at the ceiling, forcing out a little breathy laugh, no witty comeback coming in your favour.

But now you couldn’t have time for that. Now it was the moment to concentrate. So you cleared your throat and switched to your professional instructor mode, explaining to your partner the steps, the context, the story, the meaning behind each gesture, even the tiniest details of the little fragment you were going to practise. It was only a minute, literally nothing when compared to the full ballet, but it was a dense one – at least for the performer of Giselle –, almost entirely on pointe, and it contained one of your favourite bits, right in the first few seconds.

Tom listened to you religiously, like the most attentive student, the smug spark in his eyes now totally vanished, replaced by a stubborn determination. He wasn’t gonna let you down. When he gave you the green light and a thumbs up, you took a few steps back, getting ready to start, to let Giselle take over.

“Five, six, seven, eight…”

You made your way towards him and he did the same, your right hands reaching out and intertwining with each other, being held against your chests, as you went on point and rested your head on his shoulder, your free arms wrapping around the other’s body in a tender embrace.

With your hand above his heart, Tom’s eyes fluttered shut, and he breathed in your delicate scent of lilies and jasmine, savouring the feeling of completeness your presence in his arms gave him.

However, the ballet told a precise story, and this was nothing but a sweet, wistful moment, a glimpse of calm the two lovers had managed to rip from the unforgiving course of time… and it wasn’t destined to last. For that reason, after an instant Tom unwillingly took a step back, and that was your cue.

You slowly lifted your leg, compensating it by leaning back with your torso, your hand secured in his being the sole support for your balance.

There it was: this, along with the hug, was your favourite part. It wasn’t particularly complicated, but you liked the idea of the joined hands being the centre of it all, like both Giselle and Albrecht were combining their pleas, pouring them in an affectionate touch. There could be so much behind an apparently insignificant thing and it fascinated you beyond words.

Tom didn’t flinch. Not even a little, no matter how violently the fear of messing up was flooding his veins with liquid ice.

When you came back from it, you turned around, still standing on one leg, and he was there to support you, firmly grabbing your waist with one hand, just like you had told him.

There was not much left for him to do, the next steps involving you arching your back and then leaning forward, your raised leg coming to form a perfect continuous line with the one you were supporting yourself on. So, he simply took you in in all your melancholic glory, as your upper body ondulated so effortlessly, reminding him of flowers being caressed by the breeze.

When you stood straight again, on two feet again – even if not for long – Tom’s free hand joined the other around your waist, and he gingerly helped you turn around, handling you with such attention and care that it felt like a soft cuddle.

In the middle of that motion, you switched your supporting leg, and proceeded to bend forward once again, only with a subtle variation to it. Now, your pose resembled the one you would’ve adopted while executing a gran jeté, only it was like you had been frozen in the middle of the jump and rotated in vertical, with Tom holding you up and moving you like you were a little figure spinning inside of a silent music box.

You stood up as he came to a halt, but then immediately leaned forward again, you were trying to reach out, sheltering yourself in another, this time invisible, hug. And then, Tom began walking backwards, and you had no choice but to stand you up and abandon yourself to him, following his lead like it was the most natural thing ever – like the two of you had been carved into existence to dance with each other –, your little tiptoe steps keeping up with his strides until he stopped.

The segment was approaching its conclusion. Still keeping a hand around your waist, Tom mimicked your movement as you raised an arm and slightly arched your back. That transitioned in you repeating the position from before, once again as if you were yearning to hold something that no longer existed if not in your memory.

And so it ended, with Tom definitely pulling you onto your feet and restoring your balance, his chest almost touching your back, his breath tickling the nape of your neck, sending a million little shivers all over your body and causing your skin to tingle with an excitement you found very difficult to contain.

You had been dancing to silence, but now that everything had stopped, it felt like it had been increased tenfold, the soft echoes of your mixed breathings resonating in that empty room like whispers in a sacred place.

It felt… intimate. Nothing had ever felt that intimate.

The two of you had even happened to share a bed several times, often waking up in the most absurd postures – and most of it was Tom’s doing, since you tended to remain quite still while sleeping, while he was more on the chaotic, restless side –, to the point where it could no longer embarrass you.

Yet there you were, doing nothing, but still being shaken to the core by it.

“A-and next you should lift me, so we can end it here”, you told him, attempting to come out of that impasse. You found the courage to look at his reflection in the mirror, only to discover that he was already staring at you, his bewitching signature puppy eyes digging a hole in your heart. You wanted to compliment him, to thank him for his kindness and patience, but not a sound dared to come out of your parted lips.

Little did you know that it was taking Tom everything in his power not to gently hold your chin between his fingers, carefully turn your head and kiss your breath away. His whole being was begging him to give it a try, to take that final step that terrified him so much, to finally open his heart and soul to the enrapturing creature in his arms, leaving her with the choice to tear it to pieces, or to cherish it like the most priceless treasure.

With a puzzling defeated sigh, he let go of you, his hands curiously lingering on your waist a little longer than necessary…

“Did I do things right?”, Tom asked you once you’d turned around. He gulped, looking like a child waiting for his parents to scold him. Sure, he had done his best, but what if he had made mistakes without noticing? What if you had noticed – what the Hell was he thinking, it went without saying, that you had – them? What if he had made a fool of himself? What if he had made you uncomfortable?

You were tempted to cup his face and kiss the tip of his nose, instantly – and quite reluctantly – deciding against it. It would’ve been weird, especially after that awkward… whatever that was. “You were perfect, Tom.”

The loveliest shade of bright pink coated his cheeks and ears. You loved it when it happened. “Oh come on”, he coyly dismissed that, scratching the back of his hair. “You were the one doing everything. I was merely a pivot.”

“An extremely essential and well-versed pivot”, you insisted, and despite your joking tone, you truly meant it: he had been more attentive and considerate at his first try than many of your other partners after dozens of lessons. Without a complaint, he had followed you smoothly, as if you had been rehearsing that segment for months.

But it wasn’t just that: Tom had a natural talent, something a person simply couldn’t learn. He had been away from ballet for so long, all of his filming projects literally changing his life, asking him to train and shape his body differently… and sometimes you found yourself wishing he would’ve continued dancing, instead of pursuing an acting career.

You wished he would’ve stayed.

It was selfish, dreaming of stealing him away from Hollywood – the same way that glamourous world had stolen him from you –, just to be able to hold his hand on a stage, to tell the most wonderful stories through the harmonic synch of your bodies, to live a hundred different lives by his side, changing while remaining the same…

It was selfish, and you hated yourself for it, but it would’ve been so beautiful…

“Shut up”, Tom downplayed your compliment, but a smile still crawled its way to his lips: you seemed satisfied, happy even, and that was all he wished for. “You know, I kinda felt like a thief, watching you for free”, he confessed.

You tapped your chin, pretending to actually consider it. “Well, I’m not opposed to getting paid…”, you told him, nonchalantly raising your hand, palm upwards, but he dramatically pushed it out of the way.

“I said kinda”, he argued, his voice coming out in an outraged gasp, while his free hand flying up to his chest.

You returned the blow, playfully smacking his arm. “Stingy.”

Tom winked at you, showing you his middle finger and you chuckled at the silly way he wiggled his eyebrows.

“No, but jokes aside…”, he spoke after a while – because he had lost himself in the sweet sound of your laugh like a proper idiot –, returning serious. “You were amazing, y/n. I mean it.”

“Thank you”, you murmured softly, heat blooming on your cheeks and spreading across your face, neck and ears. And then you gave him a smile and it felt like a spotlight being directed right into his eyes with no remorse whatsoever.

“Uhm…” Undergoing the titanic effort not to let his jaw drop to the floor, Tom did his best to appear unfazed, neutral, keeping himself together like a pro. But on the inside, he was screaming like a banshee.

“So… this guy who might play the Albrecht dude…”, he mentioned, realising too late what he had done. Being so desperate to fill the silence and change the topic, he had chosen the one he had been trying to ignore ever since you had told him the story of Giselle.

Your partners had always been a taboo in your conversations, with an honourable mention to Mike, who had kissed you in Romeo and Juliet – Harry and Sam had teased him for an entire week after witnessing it happen in the show. Tom despised Mike like few other things…

Not that he had ever actively manifested his annoyance while talking about it, though, of course: it was your job and, sadly, you weren’t together. And even if, by chance or miracle, you had been, he was well aware he wouldn’t have had any right to say something about the situation.

So he would swallow the bitter pill and support you through it all, because that was what friends did, and your happiness and well-being came first for him.

But for some reason, you would never tell him about any of those guys. Every time the two of you talked, you seemed to forget them… and he certainly wasn’t complaining. Because deep down, and he knew it was extremely wrong, but he couldn’t help it: he was jealous.

“He’s…”, Tom trailed off, desperately looking for something, anything to say. “… tall, huh?”

Yeah, sure, go with the height, Tom, he scolded himself, wanting to kick his brain. Great plan, genius.

“You mean Will?”, you wondered, blinking repeatedly, confused by the unexpected question. When he didn’t answer, you took it as a yes. “Uh, yeah, kind of”, you mumbled, feeling incredibly awkward. “He’s like 6ft 5’ or around that. Maybe more.” And now you were just being unsensitive, what the fuck was wrong with you?!

“To be honest, I’m afraid I’ll look like a dwarf next to him”, you added, hoping it would somehow fix the mess caused by what was by no doubt sounding like a bunch of nonsense to his ears.

“Then they shouldn’t hire him”, he muttered dryly.

“Tom!”

“What? I want you to look good on stage”, he justified himself, raising his hands like they were proof of the lack of malice in his thoughts.

And, most importantly, not dancing in the arms of a muscular giant. He bit his tongue not to add that. I can be your muscular not-giant. I can get even more muscular if you want me… okay, now he was getting pathetic.

“And…” He bit the inside of his cheek, cringing at what he was about to ask you. “Do you have to kiss or…?” It might have sounded stupid, but it wasn’t. He was here to offer you his help, right? You could’ve used a hand to rehearse that scene as well…

Several different questions cluttered your mind. Why was he asking about this? Why was he so interested in what you and Will were going to do? Why did he want to know? What did he want to know?

“Uh… no”, you denied, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “No kisses in this production.”

Tom didn’t even bother to mask his disappointment. “Isn’t it a love story?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“But no kiss.”

“She keeps him alive until morning despite him being the reason behind her death…”, you countered, not quite feeling the need for a kissing scene. And not particularly looking forward to sharing it with Will, either. “I think that’s pretty close.”

Tom looked at you in an indecipherable way, his lips pressing themselves into a thin line, his eyes running over your features. “Yeah, I guess…”, he agreed unconvincingly. And there went his chance.

His reaction left you with an uneasy burden on your shoulders and a bitter taste lingering in your mouth. Was this his friendly, kind tentative to drop a subtle hint about the fact that you had been so pathetically alone for so long that even the unusual suggestion of requesting to add a kiss on stage seemed like an ideal solution?

It had to be. You had no other explanation for it.

“I can always ask, though”, you offered weakly.

“Yeah, you should”, Tom confirmed with an energetic nod, the blow that finally knocked you out for good.

You didn’t say anything, head sinking between your shoulders as your defeated gaze dropped to the ground.

And because of that you didn’t see the way his eyes went round, growing twice their size, as he became fully aware of his own statement.

Holy shit, he was literally encouraging you to go and kiss another guy!

“No. You shouldn’t”, he frantically rushed to correct himself, causing your head to snap up just as quickly, that incorregible glimpse of hope always ready to be restored by the tiniest resemblance of a clue…

“It would be unprofessional”, he articulated seriously, praying to all of the Saints he remembered that his reasoning would convince you. That he would convince you. “Like, awfully unprofessional. Beyond words unprofessional”, he stressed out. “If it’s not in this production, you shouldn’t.”

Sure, Tom was talking about work, yet you couldn’t help a feeling of relief flourishing in your chest. “Yeah, you’re right, I shouldn’t.”

“You definitely shouldn’t”, he repeated to further reinforce the concept. But he committed the fatal mistake of letting his guard down, giving your warm smile full access to his vulnerability.

His next words took advantage of that, slipping past his lips before he could process them. Let alone stop them. “Could we kiss, though?”

“What?”

A/n: I know, it sucks, but I had to write it... to whoever requested this, I hope it didn’t disappoint you that much, and thank you for sending the ask! 💜

If you’re interested, here you can find the version of the Giselle pas de deux that I used as reference (the part Tom and y/n rehearsed starts at 2:36 and ends at 3:38). The way I described it doesn’t make it justice, but it’s really worth a watch!

Taglist: @thollandsdarling @hunnybunimdun @namoreno @nocturnalms @vendettaparker @wildxwidow @mn-jun @thisisparadisemylove @belovedholland @blankspaceblankday @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @mrparkerwillseeyounow @indouloureux @hemlockhearts @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @melodicheauxxo @seolaseoul @peteprker @peetahpahkah @marajillana @yeetzel

(Let me know if you wanna be added or removed, add yourself to my taglist or follow me on my writing side-blog @lia-s-liabrary and turn the notifications on)

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x fem!reader #Tom Holland x dancer!reader #tshwritersnet #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tiptoeing around your heart

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

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okay but imagine edgy!karl but with the spice of closer by nine inch nails just a thought

EVERYONE: WE'RE TAKING THE SONG AT FACE VALUE CHILLAX

edit by 🍭 anon. step on me.

𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞: "... 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋..." | 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐲!𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐥

link for Closer by NIN

warnings: smut (18+), thigh riding, vulgar language, temperature play, degradation, domination/submission, phone sex, mentions of alcohol and drinking, frat boys, smoking (inc. weed)

enjoy these vignettes of straight-up filth

other requests:

sorry no thoughts just edgy karl in a band. in all seriousness though i would kill for a band au with anyone

edgy!karl and like temp play? his tongue piercing got extra cold from the ice in his drink or something and then kisses the readers neck or something and the reader shivers and then he gets ~ideas~

sitting on edgy!karls leg in front of the whole frat, just a normal get together until karl starts bouncing his leg

In honor of me losing my voice for 3 days now, can we have Edgy!Karl reacting to you losing your voice because of him? I've said my piece -🍭

Ahhhhh okay so I had this dream where it was edgy Karl but the reader was riding him while he had his arms crossed behind his head and he was smoking a cigarette and just AHHHH. Can you extend on this pwease? :3 -🐙

mk hear me out, edgy karl. Phone sex ?

do you think that for your edgy! Karl fic we could get some more sub! Karl like he gets so drunk and all he wants to do is please the reader - 🥪

intoxicated seggs with karl (obviously not blackout drunk, fully consensual etc)

You weren’t sure how you ended up where you were, or even how Karl ended up where he was, on stage with a guitar slung over his shoulder as if it were made for him. He had gotten a call earlier in the night from a friend of his whose guitarist came down with the flu, and Karl was the only one he knew who could take over on such short notice.

You weren’t even aware he could play, let alone how good he would look in a torn-up t-shirt, lip ring caught between his teeth as he mindlessly strummed along to the music, sweat pooling at his temples from the lights and the exertion. His eyes always darted to you, looking for your flushed appearance as floods of dark themes flooded into your consciousness.

Girls were practically throwing themselves at him, yet with you in the crowd, his lust-blown pupils marked you as his target. As the set drew on, Karl sipped from a beer like the rest of the band, a cigarette dangling from his lips as clouds of smoke mixed into the air of fog. Finally, a cover song came on, one that you knew well. Its heavy beat served as the background music as memories flooded into your mind from when the song had played for the two in the past...

YOU LET ME VIOLATE YOU / YOU LET ME DESECRATE YOU ... YOU LET ME COMPLICATE YOU

You poured yourself a drink as Karl stood beside you, popping an ice cube in his mouth. It was your roommate’s birthday; nothing but a small gathering with a handful of your friends and some music. “Are you iron deficient, Karl?” You queried sarcastically, a nod to his ice chewing habits and a strange visit from your family members.

He rolled his eyes playfully. “I already told your grandmother that I’m fine,” he grumbled, teeth crunching down on the cube as if to demolish the story, making you giggle. He moved to step around you, arm wrapping around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your neck, his tongue ring grazing against your skin. You bit back a moan, body shivering at the feeling and he chuckled against your shoulder. “You like that, baby?” He mocked; voice husky at his realization that such a little action could get you excited so easily.

Later that night, Karl traced a path down your body with an ice cube between his pearly white teeth, grey irises watching your every reaction as he stopped at the hemline of your underpants. He traced a line down the lacy garment as you arched your back before pushing himself up on his arms and pushing the cube into your mouth. “Hold that for me, pet,” he stated, breath hot against your cold, wet skin, begging to be touched. His tongue dragged across your collarbones, the cool of the metal in his mouth making you moan around the ice in your mouth, grinding your hips against his.

As his cold mouth pressed against your inner thighs, you bit down on the cube, shattering it in your mouth as Karl chuckled. “We’re gonna have a fun night,” he promised, cold teeth nipping at your flesh to make you whimper.

I’VE GOT NO SOUL TO SELL … HELP ME GET AWAY FROM MYSELF

The club bathroom was dingy and dimly lit, but the cleanliness was the last thing on your mind as your fingers curled around the skin, Karl’s hand wrapped around your throat as he thrust into you roughly. Your makeup was running down your face from his spit and your sweat. The bass of the music was loud enough that it echoed around in the bathroom, setting Karl’s rhythm to his animalistic paces.

You smiled lazily, bliss covering your fucked out expression as he smirked at you in the reflection of the mirror with pride to see you in such a mess at his antics. His blunt nails dug into your hip, slamming your body against him as he used you like some kind of toy. His hand controlled your breathing, making you gasp for air as you rolled your hips against him, calling out his name loud enough to ricochet around the room.

The next morning, you went to answer Karl’s question about what you wanted for breakfast when your voice came out in barely a whisper. You shut your eyes in embarrassment with a hand closing over your mouth as his eyebrows raised at you. “What was that, baby? Let me hear you,” he mocked, walking over to press his thumb against your throat.

You shook your head, refusing to let him gloat about you losing your voice moaning his name the night before. He kissed you roughly, tongue pressing into your mouth to lap at your weak moans. His teeth dragged across your lips. “I said, I wanna hear you. I wanna be reminded how you lost your voice,” he stated darkly, a smug expression plastered across his face.

I WANNA FUCK YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL / I WANNA FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIDE

With the party thundering into the night, you swiveled through the crowd of people grinding on each other, plastic cup in your hand as you returned to where Karl and a few of the other frat brothers were sitting. He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you as you handed him the drink and picked your cards back up.

You’d been playing strip poker with the other guys, who were mainly drunk out of their mind and half-naked anyway. It also helped that Karl would whisper in your ear to guide you into burning and showing the right cards. He once told you about the group of men that taught him how to play during a trip to his father’s favorite country club.

His legs spread a bit more beneath you, shifting you in his lap to sit on his leg. Shamefully, your breath hitched in your chest, a blush spreading to your cheeks as your nails dug into his arm as if to tell you to stop. He tensed slightly before realizing that the only reason you reacted was because the friction was almost a tension reliever for you. You were already riding on your winning streak, but the last thing you could handle was the feeling of his thigh between your legs and in front of all the men drugged out on smoke and hard liquor.

Karl’s lips pressed to the back of your ear, his hand moving to switch a few of your cards around while the other gripped your waist. As you won the next hand, Todd dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it behind him, rolling his eyes playfully before dropping backward and mumbling about taking a nap before he was dealt in again.

You giggled at him, only for Karl to move his thigh, dragging you against him. You peered over your shoulder slightly, glaring at him as if to tell him to cut it out, but he just smirked at you, holding your hips as he bounced his leg. His lips pressed against your shoulder. “Either you get yourself off or I get you off,” he taunted, the friction making you moan quietly.

MY WHOLE EXISTENCE IS FLAWED / YOU GET ME CLOSER TO GOD

Karl turned the radio up, tucking his hands behind his head as you dug into his jacket pocket for his lighter. You had him between your thighs, his fingers dragging up your skirt as you took the joint from behind his ear and brought it to your lips, lighting it and inhaling. Something flashing behind Karl’s eyes as you cracked his window. He grabbed your face before you could exhale, making you shotgun the smoke into his mouth. You moaned at the feeling of the drug seeping into your mind as well as Karl feeding off of your high.

He exhaled before pulling you in for a hungry kiss, moaning against your lips and digging his fingers into your thighs. You pulled away from him, pushing him back against the seat and handing him the joint before unzipping his pants. You dug your teeth into his bottom lip as you sank down on his hardened arousal, moaning at the tightening feeling. He groaned, his hand groping your ass to urge you to ride him.

He pulled away from your kiss, resting the joint between his lips as he tucked his hands behind his head. Your hands pushed into his jacket, sliding beneath his shirt as you rolled your hips against his. You pulled your fingers into your hair, tugging at the strands as one of his hands moved to brush below the hem of your shirt, moving to press his fingers into your back.

He watched you intently, teeth biting into his lower lip to keep himself quiet as you moaned. Euphoria spread across his face to mix with the cloud of smoke from the weed. You kissed him again, his tongue ring pressing into your mouth with a groan as you rode him harder, clawing at the friction and moaning at the feeling of his hands on your body.

YOU CAN HAVE MY ABSENCE OF FAITH / YOU CAN HAVE MY EVERYTHING

“What are you wearing?” Karl asked, voice low and tired from the day of traveling; static from the interference on the phone line giving his tone the feeling of an old recorded message. He’d left earlier in the week, leaving after spending the weekend with you to get back home for his brother’s birthday. He’d nearly kidnapped you from your studies to go with him, but with the impending exams, there was no way you could get away.

You plugged in your headphones, moving to lay on your back as you realized what he was up to. “I’m wearing socks,” you stated sarcastically, making him laugh on the other end of the call. You knew he’d be scrubbed of his alternative appearance while in his mother's house. Your mind wandered to how weird it felt to kiss him without his piercings.

He hummed. “Only socks?” He chippered, playful lust dripping from his words as he spoke. You pressed your fingers against your bottom lip, trying your hardest to remember what it felt like with his teeth biting into your skin.

“I’m wearing your shirt, too,” you added; moving your fingers to toy with the hem of the dark t-shirt. You hadn’t even thought twice when you slipped it on earlier. Only now did you realize how nearly pathetic it was after he’d been trapped in your bed hours prior.

He chuckled darkly. “Oh, yeah? You miss me at all?” He chided, making you chew the inside of your cheek. “Come on, tell me how much you miss me, baby.”

You were silent for a moment, his raspy voice sending heat throughout your body. You tried to picture him buried in your hair as he spoke to you, his fingers brushing beneath your clothing in the dark. “I miss you,” you hummed. “It’s cold here alone.” You chewed your lip, you were never good at dirty talk. You could hear your roommate and her group of friends downstairs giggling as they turned on some music, the lyrics drifting through the air vents.

Karl tsked. “I think that’s a lie. I know it’s warm between your legs, dove,” he answered coolly, making your cheeks flush. “Fuck, I want you,” he groaned, your eyes fluttering at his low tone as goosebumps spread across your body.

“Keep talking,” you whispered, your fingers itching to dip beneath the waistband of your underwear.

You could tell he was biting back a smug groan at your quiet plea. “You want me to walk you through touching yourself?” He almost growled. “I wanna hear you cum for me.”

I DRINK THE HONEY / INSIDE YOUR HIVE / YOU ARE THE REASON / I STAY ALIVE

The two of you stumbled into Karl’s room, the sound of music from the party drowning out slightly as he kicked the door shut, pressing his lips against yours as you tugged off his clothes. The back of your legs hit his bed frame, the pair of you tangling together before you rolled on top of him. He pulled your shirt over your head, hands settling on your hips to urge you to grind against him.

The taste of the liquor on his lips sent your head reeling as his cologne and the smell of cigarettes clouded your already muddled senses. Your fingers raked down his tattooed chest, making him groan, his eyes looking up at you submissively.

Whenever Karl was drunk, he always bent to your whim. His dominant mind seemed to flip a switch and all he wanted was to make you feel good. He wanted to be used by you like he always used you.

Heat flushed to your cheeks from the alcohol; you’d beaten Todd in beer pong, again, but that didn’t mean you didn’t have to down a few shots to level the playing field. Your mouth pressed to his again, tugging his pants down his legs before sinking down on him as he moaned deeply.

As you rode him, he moved your hand from off his neck, taking your thumb into his mouth; the metal of his tongue ring swirling against your thumb as his teeth grazed your skin. You moaned at the sight, moving your hand to settle in his hair, tugging his head to the side as your teeth dug into his neck, marking him with your mouth.

He pulled your hips against his, driving himself into you deeper as he thrust against you, making you groan against his skin. You kissed him, driving your tongue into his mouth as you savored his moans of arousal at the feeling of you.

You moved to sit up again, letting the music set your pace as Karl titled his head back in pleasure, teeth tugging his lip ring into his mouth. You clenched around him, just because you knew you could draw him over the edge before you, but his eyes flickered with a willingness to hold out that licked at the fire of determination building your tension.

He sent you a lazy smirk before reaching a thumb between your thighs from where his hands were gripping onto your hips; toying at your nerves and making your vision blur with how good he was making you feel. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, hips rolling against yours. You pressed your mouth to his again, basking in the taste of his words and the liquor that had melted against his tongue; ready the man between your legs to completely ruin you.

Tag List: (follow this link to be added :))

@mrwinemaker @madsbbg @idiotinnit @xxtakechancesxx @chxrrymilkshake @westyywifee @kiritokunuwu @theholycakehole @itgetsatadhazy @himbobimboeater @karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @twist3dtinkerbell @more-like-reyna @teenage0jealousy @deepestofwaters @honk-izzie-was-taken @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @instabull

Chances Are Masterlist

#edgy!karl #edgy!karl jacobs #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs smut #karl jacobs my beloved #karl jacobs imagine #mcyt smut #mcyt headcanons #mcyt x you #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #karl jacobs x you #🐙 anon #🍭 anon #🥪 anon

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nastybuckybarnes · 3 years

Text

In a Heartbeat - Epilogue

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Minor Fluff

Word Count: 1.2K

A/n: Grande finale! Oof plz don’t kill me but it’s so cute I loved writing this series so much and low-key I’m sad it’s over but it was so fun to write. If y’all have any ideas for anything you want me to write in the future, send em my way!

Series Masterlist

~*~

The wind is crisp, biting at the exposed skin of his face, his fingers.

He doesn’t mind too much though.

The sky is gloomy, like it might rain later in the day. The clouds are a deep grey colour and there's sorrow on the wind. He can’t help but feel like it’s fitting.

“I uh, I’m not sure what to say, I guess. Bonnie said it would be good to come swing by for a little while but uh I’m not sure if she was right.” His voice is shaky and he closes his eyes, hating the silence that meets him.

“I got you flowers. Didn’t wanna get roses cause it didn’t feel right, so I got you some carnations. Nat said that they last a while too which is nice. They’re real pretty. A light yellow type. Maybe peach is a better description of the colour but-” he cuts himself off with a laugh, shaking his head.

“Here I am, trying to describe the colour of the flowers to you when I’m sure you’ve got other things you wanna hear about.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out, just like the two of you always practiced.

“She uh, she turns two in a few weeks, but you know that. I don’t know if I can do it though. Not without you.”

A cold drop of water splashes against his cheek and it’s only then that he notices the warm tears falling down his face.

“I miss you, doll. Every day it feels like it gets harder, and Bonnie says that’s normal, but I don’t know. I feel like it should get easier with time.” He huffs a breath and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Doesn’t help that Beccs is the spitting image of her mom, that’s for damn sure. But you knew that from the first moment you laid eyes on her. You were all smug about it too, said you gave her all the good genes.” He chuckles softly and shrugs his shoulders, “you were right about that.”

He stuffs his free hand into his pocket, rocking back on his heels and trying not to break down right then and there.

“She’s beautiful, (Y/n). Absolutely gorgeous. She’s stubborn, just like you. Real talkative too. I asked Steve when to expect this kinda stuff but he says each kid develops at a different speed.” He clenches his jaw tightly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I miss you so fucking much. So damn much. I wish... fuck...” He stops, wiping away the tears and leaning his head back to allow the rain to clear his thoughts.

“I wish you were here. This whole ‘parenting’ gig would be a lot easier if you were here to do it with me. I feel like I can never do it right. And Beccs needs her mom. She’s got Nat, but she needs you.” He sniffles and wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, doll, I swear. I just... I can't keep it in. I feel like a failure. I need your help.” His bottom lip trembles and he makes the split-second decision not to hide it. No, he opens the floodgates and he lets the tears fall.

“Her uh, her favourite word is still ‘mama’. Got her sayin’ ‘dada’ though. And she absolutely adores Tommy. That’s her partner in crime.” He chuckles once, thinking about how the two interact.

A fresh wave of sorrow washes over him and he drops his head, looking down at the ground and letting out a shaky breath.

“I uh, I still can’t sleep in our bed. Steve says I should try but... I can’t. I need you there and I can’t sleep without you. I stay on the couch most nights. Nat gets worried but I think I’m okay. Yeah... I think I’ll be okay.” He lets out another pained breath then shakes his head and falls to his knees, eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“I miss you. I fucking miss you so much. And some days it just hits me so damn hard that I’ll never see your smile o-or hear you laugh. You won't be there t-to see Becca on her wedding day... you won’t hold your grandchildren... you won’t be there when she graduates and we won’t grow old together. No, you won’t see me all gross and wrinkled and old and you won’t tease me when I can barely lift my own damn body. Fuck, I’d give anything to have you back. I would give absolutely anything to see you again. I miss you so much and it’s so hard to live without you.”

He puts his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with sobs as he finally lets himself break.

And break, he does.

He shatters there on that gloomy Thursday morning, heart out for the gods to see, to pick apart. He bears his goddamn soul and he cries. He sobs and he all but screams out his sorrows.

It’s agony.

Living without you has been the hardest thing he’s ever done.

He’d lose his arm ten times over if it meant he could see you again.

When you died you took a piece of him with you, and he knows he’ll never get it back.

“I love you, Doll. So damn much. To the fucking moon and back.”

He kneels there for a long time, long enough for the rain to come and go, the sun peeking through the clouds and the birds emerging from their hiding spots.

He kneels there until his tears have run dry and his heart has stopped aching, his shoulders lighter even if the bags under his eyes are heavier.

“Daddy!” He glances over his shoulder, a wet smile spreading on his face as Rebecca bounds over to him clumsily.

He opens his arms and she runs straight into them, giggling madly and pushing her hair out of her face.

“Do you wanna give mommy the flowers this time?” He asks, handing her the bouquet of carnations. She nods eagerly, sliding out of his grip and gently placing the flowers down in front of the headstone.

“Love you, mommy,” she says quietly, pressing a kiss to the polished granite.

A gentle hand pats Bucky on the shoulder, and he looks up at the source.

Nat stands over his shoulder, a sad smile on her face.

“You’ve been here for a while. Thought we should come check up on you.” He nods, pushing himself to his feet and taking a deep breath.

“I’m okay now. Therapist said I should really talk to her, not just... lay down the flowers.” Natasha nods, pulling the man into a hug.

“We all miss her, it’s okay.” Bucky huffs out a breath, trying to fight the tears but they fall anyway.

“I want one too!” Rebecca exclaims, tugging on his pant leg. He chuckles and pulls away from Nat to pick up his daughter, holding her tightly to his chest and trying with all his might to keep it together, if only for her.

“C’mon. Let’s go get ice cream. My treat,” Nat says, ruffling Becca’s hair then leading the way to her car.

Bucky follows after, pausing for a moment and glancing over his shoulder, eyes tracing over the writing carved into the stone.

(Y/n) (Y/m/n) Barnes.

Beloved Mother, Daughter, Wife, and Friend.

Always on our minds.

Forever in our hearts.

~*~

Fin

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simsadventures · 3 years

Text

Gilded: Chapter 3: Power Over Me

Mobster!Steve x Reader

Summary: What more can you do than have a rad bachelorette party and then move to a house full of mobsters. It all sounds fun, right? Well, not according to your experience.

Warnings: mobster AU, drinking, swearing, surveillance, angst, smidge of fluff, violence, mention of bruises, fear

Word Count: 5737

A/N: A little late, I know I know, but I wanted to make sure the chapter was exactly how I wanted it. I keep thinking I will get to the wedding, and then some situations occur and I know I have to concentrate on them a little more. Than being said, I think we will finally see the wedding next! What do you think of this part? Did you like it? Is the reader a little less annoying? Let me know xx

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< Previous Chapter

The scene was supposed to be joyous, but, for some reason, the majority of what you felt was filled with sadness. Not for any particular reason, it was just the weigh of your decision finally settling in your heart and the realization hitting you that you would indeed be getting married in a week to a total stranger, who was a mobster, none less.

You chose it, you had to remind yourself as tears fought their way in your eyes. It was just momentary sadness overpowering you, the feeling that your wedding wouldn’t be filled with people loving and caring for you, that the day would be more about showing off Steve’s power over the world than showing his love for his new bride, for whom he had none. And you would be there almost alone: no parents, no extended family, and a very few close friends. Whom you loved dearly, of course, and without whom you wouldn’t even be considering taking such a step. You needed them there, and not just the two lovable idiots you lived with.

It was also people you’ve come to love during your university years as well as some coworkers, like Christy and Anja. Together it made around 15 people, which was actually a lot more than you had anticipated, but still. It would have to be Aidan walking you down the aisle, and just the mere thought made a choked sob escape your lips.

The sound brought the attention of the room to you, and before you knew it, you were enveloped in a bone-crushing hug from all the people there, everyone telling you that you should be happy, that this was a good thing. Of course, nobody except Caroline and Aidan knew the reality behind the wedding. All they thought was happening was that you fell madly in love with Steve Rogers, and now you two were tying the knot. You even overhead Aisha say that you were definitely pregnant, otherwise, you wouldn’t have rushed into it like this. You tried to assure everyone that there was no pregnancy at all, but, of course, people believed what they wanted, and you lacked the energy to go around the room and speak to them individually, denying what they formed in their heads.

It was Friday night, and you were in your apartment, surrounded by all those people who would come to your wedding. You sent a list of names to Steve that afternoon, and, after what you assumed was a background check on all of them, he agreed that yes, these 15 people could actually come. And when he did, you called an emergency meeting at your apartment, using it both as a way of inviting them to the wedding and as a kind of bachelorette party, where all you wanted to do was to drink heavily, eat a disgusting amount of carbs and pass out around dusk. Safe to say, all of your friends had been in, and by the time it was 11 PM, you were all tipsy, and people started to dance. Some (ehm, ehm, Caroline) even on a table, which was hilarious to the rest of you.

The sadness came and went all evening, but you were determined not to let it ruin your night. So, every time you felt like it was creeping up on you again, you just told somebody and let them hug you until you were feeling better.

Then, somebody came up with the idea to play Never Have I Ever, and since the tequila still burned in your veins, you agreed immediately. And so the game started. You were roaring like a pride of lions, each answer louder than the previous ones, but the most fun arose from telling each other funny stories.

“Ok, so this one time I was blowing off my boyfriend, right? And you know how much I hate the taste of sperm, and he knows it as well, but this one time he really insisted on my swallowing, and so when he finally came, I squeaked and pointed somewhere behind him so that I could spit the cum to glass under the table, and when he turned around I showed him my mouth, void of any liquid, and he looked super proud,” your friend Naila laughed as she told the story to the question: never have I ever swallowed cum.

The night was flowing smoothly, and soon, you saw that it was getting somehow lighter outside. And, sure enough, when you looked out of the window, you saw that the sunrise was coming in mere minutes.

“Guys, guys! The sunrise is here. Let’s go to the roof to enjoy it,” you yelled even though half of the people were already fast asleep. The few of you who were still barely alive, which was around 5 of you, staggered towards the door and crawled up the stairs to the highest levels, and when you opened the last door, you had New York underneath you.

You were wasted and exhausted, but the sight poured new life into you as you watched the early orange rays shine on one building at a time, waking up the city that never slept. It was magical, and it took your breath away. You felt your worries melting away as you saw a new day coming, and you thought it was a new day with many possibilities and hopes for you. You had nothing to lose, and Steve proved to you that he would, indeed, take care of you if need be. All would be if you just played your part and learned enough about Steve to be able to escape his wrath.

The exhaustion then hit your body just as the ray hit your face, and you waved at the drunk group watching the sunrise, each of them in their own realm of thoughts, and soon enough, you sauntered back to your room, where you fell asleep just like the rest of the bachelorette party.

A piercing tone woke you up with a start, and, for a second, you didn’t even know where you were, what time it was, or even what fucking century it was. The throbbing in your head prevented your brain from functioning properly, and so you rummaged through the pile of clothes next to your bed, fishing for what was obviously your phone. Gosh, how you hated the ringtone, and you reminded yourself to just mute your phone altogether because then nothing like this could happen again.

You picked up without so much as looking at the screen and just sneered a harsh what into the speaker.

“Well, good morning to you too, honey,” you heard Steve’s smug voice and rolled your eyes so hard the pain in your head increased. “Is this the way to greet your future husband? I don’t fucking think so,” he continued, and a considerable part of you contemplated just hanging up on him and his annoyingly sexy voice.

“Steve, I have no fucking idea what time it is, but it’s definitely not time for you to call me and want me to be nice. Give me a few good hours of sleep, and then we can talk, ok?” You hoped this would do it, but from the silence on the other side, you assumed he wouldn’t let be just yet.

“What happened? Did your bachelorette party get a little out of hand, and you went to sleep only after sunrise?”

You gasped, shocked how he knew any of it, and for the first time, the fog in front of your brain lifted a little bit. You checked the time, and seeing it was only 9 AM, you assumed that asshole woke you up on purpose if he knew so much about your nightly activities.

“How the fuck-“

“Language!” He yelled suddenly, and you flinched at the intensity of his voice. “I know everything, and I told you I would have somebody keeping an eye on you at all times. You’re only lucky the guy sleeping next to you is gay, you’d be in so much trouble otherwise, honey,” Steve spat, and the only sound you could muster was a long huff, as you regretted ever being born.

“What do you want, Steve? If you know so much, you must know that I’m beat and all I wanna do is sleep, with a guy in my bed or without him. So, if you have something to tell me, please do, otherwise, have a good day, and I’ll catch up with you later.”

“We’re gonna have so much fun together, you and I, Y/N. I’m calling because I wanted to let you know that your room is prepared and ready for you and that your bodyguard will pick you up at exactly 8 PM, so don’t be late. Clint will also help you carry all things you need. I’ll send you his number so that you can be in touch with him. Oh, and honey? Take some aspirin and go to sleep, you sound like you need it,” even through the phone, you could hear him smirk as he hung up and let you on your own once again. Thank God.

“Who was it?” Aidan asked sleepily from the other side of the bed, and you just grumbled some response, not really sure if he understood what you meant, but when he hummed and patted your outstretched hand, you took it as yes, I understand you mean your future husband Steve Rogers, nice talk.

The phone signalled you received a text, and when you looked at it, it was your bodyguard’s phone number and a directive, telling you to go to sleep already, because the dark circles under your eyes didn’t suit you.

Oh, how you wanted to kill this man already. He got on your nerves more easily than anybody ever before, and for a brief moment, you wondered why he affected you so. You didn’t even know him, and you shouldn’t let him tossing you back and forth, but here you were, pissed because you could just imagine how proud he was of himself that he woke you up and told you what to do so many times in such a short call.

Sighing, you got up from the bed and went to check the window to see if you could spot the nosy bodyguard ratting on you to Steve. You needed to have a word with him because he just couldn’t go running to Steve every time you blinked.

Looking around the street, you tried to spot a strange vehicle, one that didn’t fit into the street you grew to know so well. And, sure enough, there was a large SUV, much like the one you had driven with Steve before, and you noticed that the windows were tilted. Since your apartment was on the first floor, anybody from the street had a great view right into your flat, and because you passed out totally exhausted, you didn’t have the time, nor did you remember to shut your blinds.

You huffed and shut them now, cursing Steve and his nosiness because he wasn’t making your life any easier, and you weren’t even married yet. The year in front of you would be annoying and difficult, but maybe it would make you feel alive again.

Shaking your head, you didn’t let the memories flood your brain as you strode back to your back, plopped on it belly-first and fell straight asleep.

“Are you sure it’s everything?” Aidan looked around your now half-empty room, except for the furniture that you knew you wouldn’t need. Steve promised to give you a furnished room, and you took his word for it, so you just took the essentials, like your clothes and sentimental stuff. Marie Condo would have been proud because you still managed to get rid of a few things that didn’t spark joy!

“Yeah, and even if I left something here, I could still come, you know? It’s not like I’m never seeing you or this place again. I’ll still be like a 30-minute ride away,” you smiled soothingly at him, but he just shook his head, obviously fighting all the emotions swirling in his heart.

“Alright, alright. No crying. I’ll call you guys when I’m all settled, and Steve actually lets me be by myself, and I’ll show you the room, ok?”

Both Aiden and Caroline nodded speechlessly and then pulled you in a group hug.

“You sure you wanna do it? We can still make it seem like we kidnapped you and take you somewhere to Mexico, or Argentina, or wherever he wouldn’t find you,” Caroline whispered, and you laughed through the tears fighting their way out of your eyes.

“I’ll be fine, you’ll see. We will all have so much fun, and before we know it, the year is over, and I’m back here with you guys, having lived a little,” you smirked, and they nodded reassuringly, not really sure if it really was the best way to live a life, but they didn’t want to push you again. Your heart was set, and they both knew there was nothing they could do now. Except, of course, really kidnapping you.

“Miss Y/L/N, we should go. The boss said we should be there at 9 PM at the latest, and I would prefer if we could be a little early,” Clint said professionally, but you could see that he was afraid of what would Steve do had you arrived late. You didn’t want to start this weird-ass journey by pissing your future husband or making him hurt his employees (you didn’t know whether he would actually do that, but just to be on the safe side, since he did cut off a guy’s finger a mere few days ago).

You nodded and stepped from your best friends, looking at them and smiling brightly. You didn’t want any teary goodbyes, so you just showed them thumbs up and followed Clint out of the door. You knew there would be some tears when you left but didn’t think they would come as early as on the first step from your apartment.

Fortunately, there weren’t that many steps to go before you were out of the building and rushed into the SUV by Clint. It was dark already, but you didn’t want him to see you cry, so you swiftly pulled out your sunglasses and put them on, not saying a word to Clint as he started the car and pulled it into New York’s night traffic. The lights around you were almost blinding, and for a moment, you were glad you had the glasses on, but then another wave of regret and sadness hit you, and you had a hard time keeping in the sobs. Scratching your arms, you stared out of the window and took a few calming breaths, telling yourself to get a grip because you were about to enter the lion’s den, and you couldn’t show them any emotions.

You knew Clint knew what was going on, but he was gentleman enough not to comment on it. Still, you needed to make sure he understood this little episode was just between the two of you.

“Can I ask you something, Clint?” You said suddenly and saw his eyes flickering between the road and the mirror, meeting your eyes for a moment.

“Of course, Miss Y/L/N. However, I should warn you, I am not allowed to give you certain information,” he said formally, and you nodded knowingly.

“Yeah, right. If I asked you to keep a little secret from your boss, would you keep it?” You asked and nibbled on your lower lip anxiously.

He seemed to have thought for a second before he nodded his head in a manner telling you that there were things Steve didn’t need to know. His eyes met yours again before he spoke up.

“I’m now your bodyguard, and if I think the information kept from the boss is in your best interest, then I won’t tell him anything. For example, you smiled all the way to the apartment, no tears and no sunglasses. Though, I think you should powder your nose and dry your face,” he smirked, and you laughed a little, nodding gratefully and doing exactly as he said.

The car stopped exactly as you put all the supplies back into your purse, and you had a feeling Clint took a longer route to Steve’s house just to give your face the time to dry up and calm down. Checking the time, you saw it was 10 minutes before 9 and saw the relief on Clint’s face when he realized the same thing.

“Alright, I will take you to the boss and then will get the boys to help with your things. We won’t go through anything, but if you need our help when you’re unpacking, all you have to do is text me,” Clint said, walking you to the door.

The man you met on your first night there was standing as a sculpture at the exact same spot, and you wondered if he ever moved from that hallway. He did move towards you, gesturing to your purse, but Clint’s hand stopped him mid-motion.

“She’s clean. I’ve been with her the whole time,” he said sternly and with authority, and when he saw the first man taking a breath to protest, Clint just gave him a chilling frown, and the man stepped down, hung his head in defeat and let you through.

“It’s not a problem, Clint; I could have shown him the purse, you know?” You almost whispered as you walked through the empty rooms and hallways with Clint by your side.

“They need to learn to respect you, Miss. You are, after all, marrying the boss very soon, and they need to understand that you are not a threat,” he gave you a curt nod, and you blushed a little. You didn’t know what it was, but the way Clint spoke to you with so much trust and respect already made you feel much better. You knew it would be an issue, so having somebody on your side was a huge relief already.

“Thank you, Clint, I really-“

“Well, happy you two are best buddies already! Are you gonna braid each other’s hair and do each other’s nails soon too?” A voice snapped you back to reality, a voice you already knew too well. Steve was leaning against a door, his face stoic despite the mocking tone of his voice. Clint obviously tensed next to you, mumbled some apology and scurried out of the room, leaving you with Steve.

You just looked at him and crossed your arms on your chest.

“Do you need to be like this?” You asked incredulously, not really understanding why he had to be such an ass when all you did was having some sort of conversation with one of his loyal men.

“Like what, honey? You seem to forget who I am and what I can do to you and your fucking life,” he sneered when he finally pulled away from the door and marched right in front of you.

Your arms fell from your chest as you stared at him, trying to figure him out. Which, considering he was a prolific mobster, wasn’t the easiest task at hand. But you tried nevertheless and poked to see where was all this coming from. He obviously needed to be in control of every situation, always the centre of attention, and, you realized, it was probably this that pissed him off. You walked in, not really paying attention to him standing by the door but carelessly talking to somebody else. But his attitude was another thing entirely.

“What do you want me to say, Steve? That I’m sorry I talked to somebody else and that it won’t happen again? You know it probably will, especially since you assigned Clint with the task of taking care of me and making sure I survive this year with you, which is really all he had done in the 40 minutes I have known him,” you reasoned, trying to sound confident but not pushy. You needed to show him that he couldn’t just toss you around like he might have thought. You didn’t expect him changing his attitude altogether for you, but you, at least, hoped he would go easy on you.

He was seething but also thinking; you could see his mind going in overdrive to come up with something snarky and mean. But you were quicker than him, once again.

“Will you be so kind and show me to my room? I would like to get settled in before we start talking about the wedding.”

“There will be no talk of a wedding. All you have to take care of is go tomorrow and pick your fucking dress. Everything else is being dealt with. I won’t need you tonight, so you can go and be by yourself till tomorrow,” he snapped and walked away without saying another word.

Great, now you felt like you were grounded, and all you did was talking with somebody nice to you. You shook your head disapprovingly and headed in a direction you thought might have been your room, but after taking a few turns, you weren’t even sure you were in New York anymore.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing here?” You heard from behind you, and before you knew what was happening, somebody pushed you forcibly against the nearest wall, pressing their elbow into your neck. You coughed, surprised, clawing at the man’s forearms and trying to let him loosen the press because it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

“I said, what the fuck are you doing here?” He yelled into your face, and you tried to tell him, but your voice wouldn’t come out. So, you just stared at him, tears filling your eyes before you heard a loud hey from somewhere behind you two and saw a man with long brown hair running towards you.

“Sarge, this woman was roaming around here. I think she is a spy,” the man still holding you said to the newly arrived guy, and all you could do was shake your head and tried to make yourself look as non-threatening as possible. Which wasn’t difficult considering you were in no position to be able to even defend yourself had the man decided to crush your trachea.

“Fucking idiot! That’s the boss’ bride! Let her go, you dickhead,” the man, sarge, growled, and you felt the pressure leaving your body. Which was all it took for you to collapse on the floor and start coughing uncontrollably, gripping your neck in your hands to protect it from any further disturbance.

“I-I, I didn’t know, Sarge! Don’t tell him. I thought she was some fucking spy. What the hell was she even doing here all alone, huh? It’s not my fucking fault she came sniffing around stuff that is none of her business,” the man tried to defend himself, but from the murderous gaze he received from the sergeant, he wasn’t very successful.

“Are you ok, Miss? Did he break anything? Is your head spinning? Are you feeling nauseous? Any of this?” He crouched down to your level and extended an arm to you, and you flinched instinctively, not feeling too sure who was your friend here and who wasn’t. So, to play it safe, nobody was your friend, and you’d be scared of them all, forever. Easy business.

The man saw your reaction and frowned even more but was persistent when he removed your hands from your neck to see an already-forming bruise alongside your throat.

“You need to talk to me, Y/N. Are you hurting anywhere?”

You coughed and grimaced because, yes, in fact, you did hurt and that all over the fucking neck and even your head. Which, given the man almost crushed your fucking throat with his elbow, wasn’t that surprising.

“I’ll be fine. And I wasn’t sniffing around; I was just looking for my room. I thought it might be somewhere here, and I would have asked if I saw anyone. But this place is like a fucking maze, and I was all alone,” you screeched, and the sergeant nodded and helped you to stand up. He was pulling out what looked like a phone, but you stopped him.

“Don’t call him, please. I’m fine. I just need to get to the room, so I can put some cold water on it, have a drink and go to sleep. Please,” you accentuated and saw the man weighing his options before he put the phone back to his pocket and nodded for you to follow him.

“I will tell him, just so you know. Steve needs to know about this, and we need to make sure you are introduced to the whole house the first thing in the morning so that this doesn’t happen again. But he needs to know. I will give you a few minutes to take it all in before I do call him, though,” he said with a resolution in his voice, and while you wanted to protest, you saw that it would have been to no avail. So, not saying another word, you let yourself in what was supposed to be your room and took it all in.

The walls were this very soft grey, which you actually preferred to the cold white you saw a lot all over the house. There was a king-sized bed against the main wall, framed with two bed-side tables and two matching white and gold lamps. There were many pillows on the bed and a plaid, grey and blue, throw as well, making it all feel very homey. You could see a large closet, where you could have easily fit ten times the amount of clothes you owned. The only other thing in the room was a table with a chair and some drawers, where you could picture yourself working and writing.

However, when you turned around, you saw something that caught your attention. An easel with a little table on wheels, on top of which was a palette where you could see yourself mixing colors left and right. You squealed, but the sound reminded you that you have just been assaulted and that you could admire the room later.

You took your time in the bathroom, inspecting your neck and hissing here and there when you touched it carefully. You knew the sarge was outside your door, probably counting in his head before he called Steve, and you were actually pretty surprised he wasn’t marching in already. Just when you thought of it, the door to your room flew open, and you heard Steve and the man talking (well, actually, more like yelling at each other).

“Where the fuck is she? I’m going to kill Drax. I swear to fucking God, man. How is it even possible that he does shit like this? They were all supposed to be briefed, for fuck’s sake. Imma have Sam’s ass as well for this. Fuck!” He yelled and kicked into something, which made you frowned, and you rushed out of the bathroom.

Steve spun around and almost ran towards you, cradling your face in his hands carefully and lifting your head so that he could have a clear view of the injuries. He was swearing under his breath, but you couldn’t help it and stare at him, wide-eyed. He was actually careful with you, sweet even as he took it all in, and when he was sure you wouldn’t die right there, he took a step back from you.

“Are you ok?” He asked after a moment, and all you could was just nod and stand there awkwardly, scratching your arms behind your back.

“Will you be able to find your room easier next time?”

“No, we took too many turns. But I won’t leave this room till morning anyway, and I will learn to stay out of the way very quickly, I promise,” you rushed to say, not really wanting to meet any of his crew alone again.

“You can’t be scared walking around here, honey. I will show you around right now, and I have already called an emergency meeting, and I want you there. This can never happen again,” he said gravely, and you understood this was probably his way of apologizing for something that wasn’t really all his fault. Well, he didn’t have to storm off and leave you there, nor did he have to scare Clint away, who was ready to show you to your room in the first place.

“Is it necessary, Steve? If I’m quite honest, I don’t feel too comfortable leaving the room right now,” you quipped, but Steve wasn’t listening anymore. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the door. Weirdly, you felt a little better having the skin-on-skin contact with him because, at least now, nobody would be stupid enough to attack you.

You tried to remember the way and took in the details that would make you not lose your trail again, such as the red vase on one of the tables in the corner that looked just like the corner two minutes ago, but the vase was something you could remember, so you took a mental note of that and other little things that would serve for your safety, obviously. Because when Steve told you people would want you dead, you sort of didn’t expect those people would be in the house with you.

You walked through the spacious kitchen and the adjacent dining room to find yourself in what looked like a meeting room, with around 20 men gathered and scattered all over the room.

When Steve finally stopped, he let go of your hand, but he instinctively reached for you and pulled you against his side. You looked at him in slight disbelief again but didn’t say anything as he stared in front of himself till the room was as quiet as a freaking church during a sermon.

“Let me make this very quick: however lays as much as a fucking finger on Y/N here, I will kill you, and I won’t give a fuck who you are. You were briefed that I’m getting married to the woman I want, and because somebody wasn’t paying attention to the fucking briefing, evidently, my fiancé is now sporting a black neck, which she will have to cover for our wedding. Drax, you and I will speak tomorrow, I was ready to kill you, but I’m a reasonable man, so I will sleep and think of your punishment then. Now, any questions?” He asked threateningly, and you knew even if somebody did have a question, nobody would dare to ask it now.

And just as you predicted, the room was as quiet as before, and Steve waved his hand so that everybody was dismissed and they could breathe again. Just not in his presence.

“Sam, you stay here,” Steve added when he saw one of his closest men leaving the room as well.

“I will deal with him, Steve. I don’t know how that could have happened, but it won’t ever again, I promise. If it does, you can have my head, man,” the bulky man said and smiled warmly at you.

“By the way, hi, I’m Sam. I’m like the muscles here, you know? So, if you need to pick something up, I’m your guy,” he said with a wink, and you chuckled but took his hand to shake it.

“Nice to meet you, Sam, and I will remember that, thank you.”

“Alright, now, we have all the pleasantries behind us, you can go back to your room and go to sleep. And Y/N, if anybody as much as looks at you the wrong way, you tell me, ok? This marriage might not be a genuine one, but none of these assholes knows that or should care about that. They should protect you just like they protect me, and I don’t care what they say. I can’t have my fucking wife scared to walk these halls,” he was still frowning as he was saying all this to you, but you could see he was much more relaxed than when all the men were in the room. These two, the sergeant whose name you still didn’t know, and Sam, were obviously close to Steve because despite the winks Sam gave to you, Steve didn’t make a scene, nor did he give you the pointed looks when others were around. Still, you were on thin ice, and there was too much drama for one day for you to try and challenge him in any way.

“Ay ay, Captain,” you chuckled, and the corner of Steve’s mouth actually moved a little, so you took that as a good sign.

“Alright, I will try and get back to my room and call it a day because tomorrow is an important day! So, nice to meet you, gentlemen, and I will see you soon, I guess,” you waved at them awkwardly, and Sam waved back enthusiastically as you left the men to themselves.

“She is actually quite nice,” Sam summarized, and winked at Bucky, who just rolled his eyes at him in annoyance, having just enough of Sam’s antics for one day.

“Yeah, yeah, she actually is, when she’s not talking back and challenging every fucking thing I say,” Steve complained, and it was a turn for both men to roll their eyes at their best friend.

“Oh yeah, because you love when they’re meek and quiet, we forgot. C’mon, man, somebody fucking choked her today, and she was still standing here with her head held high, keeping it together like a fucking pro. I say she is perfect for you,” Sam said defensively when he saw the murderous stare from his friend/boss.

Good thing Sam didn’t see you in your room because as soon as you closed the door behind yourself, the tears just streamed down your face, and small sobs left your lips. You were glad the day was over and dreaded what the next day would bring.

Next Chapter >

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my-name-is-dre · 3 years

Text

Mettaton is a False Prophet - Pt. 2

This is a continuation post from my older theory back when Undertale was still the big thing that Mettaton was a false prophet designed by Alphys and Asgore to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy, which explains all of his eerie similarities to Flowey and Asriel. Here is Part 1 if you wanna catch up!

[UPDATED INFO FROM DELTARUNE CH. 2]

With the debut of Deltarune Chapter 2 came a fan-favorite newcomer called Spamton, and the interesting thing about his character is that it has a lot of similarities with Mettaton, especially his secret form known as ‘Spamton NEO.’ Now, the general story behind his character is that he was once a spam email puppet account who was never able to make a deal. This was his life until he was called by a mysterious person who suddenly made him wildly successful by continually aiding his career over the phone, eventually causing his friends to leave him over their envy of his newfound success. This success eventually landed him a spot in Queen’s mansion until it all came crashing down one day, and the only remnant left of him was a dead phone line tied to him that only repeated static back at anyone who tried to call it.

As everyone’s likely aware of now, there is a hidden bossfight in which you can, once specific conditions are performed, fight Spamton NEO, a version of Spamton hooked up to a suit that unabashedly resembles the same form Mettaton took on in the no mercy route of Undertale. This suit has been referred to as ‘the machine’ which is described by Swatch as the creation of an unknown Lighter, “digitally visualizing their hopes and dreams which never came to be.” This then became an incomplete dream which was locked in Queen’s basement. In battle, the fight also resembles the fights the player had with Mettaton through Undertale, with their soul turning yellow and shooting projectiles to take Spamton down. But the similarities between the fight against Mettaton Ex and Spamton NEO don’t end there, as both fights involved taking apart components of the body gradually over the course of the battle, with Mettaton having his limbs blown off and Spamton having his strings cut.

Now, this backstory is all very important as it alludes back to the body’s origin in Undertale as a creation of Alphys to make its host proficient at killing and absorbing a human soul. The description of the body is textually different but similar, in that Mettaton NEO was designed for the purposes of killing explicitly whereas Spamton NEO’s body is described by Swatch as being an agent in which one can envision their hopes and dreams through an implicit power of determination.

It’s important to note here that, career-wise, Mettaton is quite similar to Spamton in that they both had great and newfound success upon accepting a deal that gave them some meta-knowledge of the world they inhabit, with Spamton being told that the world he lives in is a game that can be exploited (as implied by his dialogue), and Mettaton was granted some of the same abilities that Flowey possesses (changing the game’s name, being able to audibly speak, and being a monster soul possessing an inanimate object). Whereas Mettaton is a story of continued success, Spamton is a story of failure, but how does this fit into the context of the theory that Mettaton was a failed attempt to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy?

That quote from Swatch on describing the purpose of the body is important to explaining this, as it eerily resembles Mettaton’s role in Undertale’s story as a machine designed to harvest a human soul and potentially fulfill the Deltarune prophecy but was unsuccessful to do so because Mettaton is a false prophet. The theme of false prophecy and failed transcendence is exemplified by Spamton’s backstory, as the power of meta-textual awareness granted to him (by Gaster presumably) resulted in short-term success that rose him to the heavens only for him to fall down hard back into being forgotten. The fall he suffers from cutting off his strings is a dual-layer metaphor for how Spamton fell from success and how Mettaton was unable to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy unlike his parallel successor Flowey.

And if it wasn’t obvious that Mettaton’s constant desire for your soul is equivalent to Spamton’s desire for [hyperlink blocked], he goes on record describing all of the control he’d have over his life if he were to harvest your [hyperlink blocked], implying that the hyperlink is code for determination. Spamton also routinely refers to “heaven” throughout his dialogue, which could imply anything transcendental, but I believe this is also another direct allusion to the Deltarune prophecy and its description of an angel: The divine vocabulary fits. Perhaps Mettaton was trying to indirectly achieve this reception from heaven through his promulgation as an icon of monsterkind wanting so desperately to have a human audience? Perhaps this constant appeal ‘heaven’ is Spamtron’s version of Mettaton’s constant appeal to a nebulous audience? If that’s the case, it implies that the audience of Mettaton has divine power, which seems to suggest that it’s composed of far more than just monsterkind. Another minor thing to note here is that Spamton also refers to “the presses” if you defeat him by depleting his health bar: “WAIT!! [$!?!] THE PRESSES!”

“KRIS, DON'T YOU WANNA BE [Part] OF MY BEAUTIFUL [Heart]?” is a very unsubtle nod to the process Chara and Asriel underwent to bypass the barrier and return to the Surface. There must be something about the abilities that the NEO suit offers that is implicitly tied to the Deltarune prophecy. Spamton’s constant use of the phrase ‘big shot’ is another multi-layered metaphor. The ‘big shot’ in question is a triple entendre, as it refers not only to Spamton’s aspirations, but also the fulfillment of the Delta Rune prophecy and also more banally refer to the yellow soul’s newfound ability to shoot a charge shot.

After sparing Spamton NEO, he offers some dialogue that resembles Flowey’s plea to you after defeating his Photoshop form, in which he asks why you’re showing him mercy after all of the unnecessary cruelty he did to you to prove his worldview correct. He then goes on to make a reference to Pinocchio in which he asks you to cut his strings and make him a “real boy” (an even funnier phrase given that he’s a puppet). But this is also an allusion to Mettaton, as he reveals to you throughout the game that his robot body designed for him by Alphys is a form that makes him feel more like himself because it’s implied that Mettaton is an incorporeal ghost like Napstablook. He then makes one least appeal to Heaven and says he’ll live for himself and his friends, acting as a microcosm of both Mettaton and Flowey’s character arc.

In the “weird route”, Spamton also makes remarks prior to battling him that allude to Mettaton NEO’s fight in the no mercy route: “THANKS TO YOUR [Total Jackass stunts] I HAVE [Becomed] NEO.” “TO [$!$!] ME OVER RIGHT AT THE [Good part]!? WHAT ARE YOU, A [Gameshow Host]!?” “MY ESTEEM CUSTOMER I SEE YOU ARE ATTEMPTING TO DEPLETE MY HP! I'LL ADMIT YOU'VE GOT SOME [Guts] KID! BUT IN A [1 for 1] BATTLE, NEO NEVER LOSES!!! IT'S TIME FOR A LITTLE [Bluelight Specil]. DIDN'T YOU KNOW [Neo] IS FAMOUS FOR ITS HIGH DEFENSE!? NOW... ENJ0Y THE FIR3WORKS, KID!!!” One line in particular references Asriel calling Chara’s name before Frisk lands in the bed of flowers in the Garbage Dump: “YOU MAKE ME [Sick]! MUTTERING YOUR [Lost Friends] NAMES AT THE BOTTOM OF A [Dumpster]! NO ONE'S GONNA HELP YOU!!! GET THAT THROUGH YOUR [Beautiful Head], YOU LITTLE [Worm]!”

This is an even more poignant line, as Spamton resides in Trash Zone, which is meant to resemble the Garbage Dump area of Undertale, which was a point in Waterfall where you were given a hint into the backstory of the game before landing on a bed of flowers. It’s also the area where you encounter Mad Dummy and where Alphys dates Undyne in the true pacifist route. Clearly, the symbolism of taking place in a dump is very important for connecting the worlds and stories of both of these games, given that it’s such an important spot for two major characters tied to Mettaton.

If it weren’t obvious at this point, Spamton damn near confirms that Mettaton was designed at least partially to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy but was unable to because he didn’t possess the same potential or determination that Flowey had due to his lack of relation to the original human and his focus instead turning towards an abstract human audience. The dialogue from Swatch about Spamton being the embodiment of a Lightner’s dream also implies that, keeping in line with the themes of desire in the Dark World, that Mettaton might be directly responsible for the creation of Mettaton. Perhaps this is why the NEO suit so eerily resembles the God of Hyperdeath if it’s directly tied to Mettaton’s desire to fulfill the Deltarune prophecy. If this is the case, isn’t it a bit odd that the God of Hyperdeath is also implied to be Asriel’s creation from flavor text in Kris’s room? What an interesting parallel.

#undertale #deltarune #spamton #spamton neo #mettaton #mettaton neo #undertale 6th anniversary #deltarune theory #deltarune spoilers

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lunarianillusion · 3 years

Text

A change in fate

a maribat fanfic

Chapter 02

Along with the changes to her room, Marinette had also changed her wardrobe. She now wore a cropped baby blue hoodie over a grey-purple shirt, that matched her leggings. Over her leggings she wore a high waisted demin coloured skirt with matching heeled ankle boots. A new larger purse, more a satchel really, hung from her shoulder. It allowed her to carry her sketchbook and other tools more easily. Her hair now mostly hung lose over her shoulders with two braids coming from the sides and connecting at the back of her head.

Once she was ready Marinette walked at an easy pace to the agreed meeting spot. Duusu Had taken to hiding within her hood, so that they could drink in all of the sights. Being both not used for a hundred or so years and being broken, made this a real treat for the little peafowl. Marinette could practically feel the little god vibrating with joy, to be outside in the world again.

The sun was shining through the clouds and a soft breeze made the early autumn leaves rustle in the trees, as the two reached the park. Marinette could already spot the red-haired omega sitting on a bench close to the pond in the shade of a willow tree. He was fidgeting with a pencil and his sketch book lay on his lap. His posture looked tense.

By the look of it he too had a wardrobe change. Marinette was gonna bet that Marc had helped with the ensemble. Those two were inseparable. He wore a white long-sleeved turtleneck shirt with grey stripes on his chest. Faded navy pants and a jacked tied around his waist. A black and white backpack with rainbow details sat beside him.

“Hey, Nathaniel,” Marinette called out, gaining said boy’s attention as she neared.

“Hey, Marinette,” Nathaniel greeted, his shoulders losing the smallest amount of tension. “Glad you could come. I hope you weren’t too busy.”

“Circumstances made it so that I had nothing scheduled today. But I do hope you were not lying about it being important. Otherwise I will send the Fury’s of art upon thee,” The blue-eyed girl exclaimed in a posh voice. Marinette hoped that it would lighten some of the tension that was flowing through the air and it seemed to work. There was no need for an Akuma today.

“Oh, I beg mercy of thee. Do not condemn me to such a fate, for I would not dare to break my vow,” Nathaniel exclaimed in kind, placing his hand on his heart. It made both of the omegas chuckle and the hidden kwami purr softly.

“So, what is it you wanted to talk about?” Marinette asked, as nonchalant as possible. As she sat down on the bench and pulled out a thermos from her satchel. Which held the gods elixir, coffee. “It sounded quite urgent from your text.”

“Yeah, it is,” Nathaniel said sheepishly, scratching his neck. “But it is not an easy subject to start a conversation with. Or to talk about in general, I believe. So, let me first ask you how you are feeling. I know you have probably had this question asked to many times already. But I know what it is like to be akumatized and of the nightmares that follow so don’t try to say that all is just hunky-dory great.”

Marinette hummed at his words, raising an amused eyebrow at the last bit. Before turning her gaze away from the redhead. Her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any uninvited guests. While she knew Nathaniel would keep to his word the scent anxiety kept her slightly on edge. Paranoia had settled deep into her over the past few years. Only the little hidden kwami’s presence was what kept her calm. For Duusu would inform her if someone with bad intentions was to come close.

After a moment of thought Marinette answered. “I was a bit shaken after the whole event, who wouldn’t? All considered though, I think I am doing pretty good.”

After the whole reveal of her being a true soul, Duusu had helped sort out her emotions. They had given her a few suggestions on how to more healthily coupe with the more negative ones. Who knew writing your problems down on a slip of paper and then watching it burn could be so therapeutic.

She turned her gaze back to Nathaniel. “As for the subject of our meeting. Just be blunt about and we will go from there. Keeping it bottled up and it will only stress you out over time and I really don’t wanna deal with an akuma right now,” She accentuated the last part of her statement.

“Yeah, that would really kill the mood wouldn’t it,” Nathaniel sighed. He took a small breath to collect his courage as Marinette took another sip of her coffee. Then Nathaniel bluntly stated: “I know that you are the original ladybug.”

Cue spit-take from Marinette. Mental panic has reached its peak! Abort!! ABORT!!!

“Uhm…I don’t know wha-”

“Don’t even try Marinette. The amount of times I saw ladybug land on your balcony only for you to leave through the front door and vice versa. Was a big enough give away. After that your physiques just matched up,” Nathaniel boldly interrupted. Leaving Marinette in a stunned wide-eyed stare. “Hey, I might not be a fashion designer, but I am an artist and have an eye for these details just like you.” He said quickly with a small stutter. Since he was feeling a little unnerved at her wide-eyed stare. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

“How long have you known?” The female omega asked tentively, her scent spiked with anxiety. Her body language screamed that she was ready to bolt.

“For maybe seven months now,” Nathaniel replied carefully.

“Did you tell anyone?” Marinette asked further, the tension not leaving her.

“I told no one, not even Marc. I know of the importance and reasons behind a hero’s secret identity,” Nathaniel told her sincerely, allowing Marinette to breathe a small sigh of relief. The redhead then let out a small growl of annoyance. “Unlike a certain tabloid reporter and two-faced liar.” Now that that really got the noir haired girl’s attention even more than him knowing her secret.

“The spell broke,” Marinette whispered as his words settled into her brain as her eyes widened even more, if that was even possible, in surprise. While she had been frightened at the fact of him knowing her secret, but he had not told anyone. She could tell that he was honest in the fact that he had not told anyone. Since otherwise her identity would have probably been public news by now. Secrets like this would spread around like wildfire with the slightest slip off the tongue.

So, she was now more interested in the fact that he called Rossi a liar. It meant that he had broken through her spell and she wanted to know how he came to this revelation. Had it come after he had fond out about her hidden I.D. or was it something else. She was practically vibrating with a curious need to know and asked him about it.

Nathaniel turned his eyes to the sky, several emotions running trough them. Most prominent was the look of shame and pain. “It did weaken her hold over me, but what really made me realise she was a liar was when she promised to introduce me to one of my idols. One I know to have passed away. I won’t say their name, but that really broke the illusion for me,” He spoke bitterly.

Marinette let out a pained hiss at that. Knowing how painful it is to have someone disrespect your inspirational idols in that manner. She softly rubbed his shoulder in comfort and gave a small apology. Nathaniel let out a gloomy laugh and turned his eyes to the ground. “You have nothing to apologize for Marinette. I should be the one to apologize. For never mastering up the courage to stand up for you even after I realized Lie-la’s grandeur was nothing more than empty words. And I am truly sorry for that. Because after everything you have helped me with, I really should have.”

Marinette felt her heart flutter at his apology and then he just kept on rambling about how he should have stood up for her. How he should have trusted her. Making her feel hot tears gather in her eyes. She had waited so long to have one of her friends back and here was one. Trying his best to make amends and unlike the rest of her class, he had never hurt her in the same way the others had. He always remained kind to her even before he knew of her secret. He may have been afraid to stand up but did not try to ruin her life like the others. So, she had no trouble pulling him into a hug. At first it shocked the boy, but he gratefully returned the gesture.

“Don’t blame yourself. You did not do anything wrong. You did not turn your back to me like the others did. I don’t blame you for not standing up against Rossi. You would have only painted a target on your back, and she would have made you feel miserable. Like with me,” Marinette whispered. “And I need to thank you for keeping my secret all this time. It means the world to me.” Nathaniel tightened his hold on the girl as a few tears of relief and gratitude fell from his eyes, as the words left her mouth. Duusu nuzzled against her neck in comfort. A feeling of pride washing over the kwami of emotion at his little bird.

_____________________________________________________________________

After they let go of each other they settled back into more comfortable sitting positions. The atmosphere feeling lighter than it had been around them for a long while.

“If it is okay to ask,” Nathaniel spoke carefully. “Is the new ladybug permanent? Because if I am being honest, I don’t really trust her.”

Marinette let outa pained sigh. “I made a grave mistake and because of that this new ladybug has the ladybug miraculous. I don’t know how to rectify this mistake, but I will find a way. That is a promise.”

“You always find a way,” Nathaniel assured. “I’ll keep my eyes open as well. I might not be the bravest, but I want to help. After everything I need to help. Even the tiniest bit.” Marinette wanted to say he did not have to. He did not let her say it. “You have forgiven me, but now I need to forgive myself. So let me help. Paris is my home to.”

It made Marinette smile as she felt the sincere emotion and determination flood of her fellow omega. “Now if only I knew how Lie-la is capable of keeping our classmates and others at her bag and call. That might help take bit of stress of my back,” She sighed. Her eyes scanning the sky, hoping it held the answers.

This made Nathaniel scratch his neck again sheepishly. “Marc and I may have a theory on how she keeps everyone under her spell, actually,” He mumbled off.

Marinette whipped around so fast it was a wonder she did not get any whiplash. She grabbed the redhead’s shoulders and looked straight into his turquoise eyes. Her own silvery blue crystal eyes were ablaze with a cold fire. “Please explain how that two-faced bitch is killing all the fucking braincells of the people around us and turning them into fucking sheep,” Her voice had an icy chill to it that sent shivers up the Nathaniel’s spine.

“I didn’t know you could curse,” Nathaniel said trying to curl away from the internally raging female omega.

It resulted in Marinette raising an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Trust me when I say Chloe can swear like a bloody sailor. So, I learned a few things from her,” She huffed a small smirk on her face. She then let go of his shoulders, giving the redhead some room to breath, as a curios gaze replaced the once cold fire. “Please share. My curiosity is going to kill me.”

Before Nathaniel could start telling her about the theory however, a loud explosion penetrated the air. Both omegas turned to the source of the sound. A good distance away they saw a person a top a glider. They cackled madly as they threw loud explosives around.

Really Hawkmoth, can’t they have one day of peace?

The answer: Nope.

“How about we continue this conversation tomorrow over lunch. Chloe and Marc can join in on the theory. I do believe Chloe will be thrilled to know how Lie-la is capable of maintaining the utterly ridiculous situation at school,” Marinette proposed. Her eyes never leaving the new akuma.

“You are going to investigate, aren’t you?” Nathaniel asked nervously. Marinette simply nodded not looking at him. He sighed, “I won’t be able to change your mind, will I? How can I help?”

“It would be best for you to get to safety,” Marinette advised. Turning to look him directly in the eye and stopping him from objecting. “You have no need to worry about me. I still have an ace up my sleeve. So, trust me,” She assured with a mischievous look in her eyes.

Nathaniel stared uneasily at his fellow omega before nodding. “Alright but be careful, okay, I better see you at school tomorrow.” Was the last thing he said before grabbing his stuff and turning away to go to one of the akuma shelters. Leaving Marinette alone.

Taking a quick survey of her surroundings, to make sure the coast was clear, she asked Duusu to come out. “Are you ready?” the little god asked. Marinette smirked in reply. Let’s see what they were capable of.

“Duusu, Spread my Feathers”

Authors note: hey i hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. a few people have been asking me about adding them to my taglist and being honest i am not sure of how to do that. i am still very new with tumblr, but once i finally stop being dumb i'll be sure to do that. i hope you will stick around to the rest of the story. stay save.

#maribat #timari #timinette #marinette dupain cheng #nathaniel kurtzberg #ml duusu #duusu #miraculous ladybug #peacock miraculous #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir

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cathrrrine · 3 years

Text

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 13 - MASK

major tw! // panic attack scene, cursing, mild verbal abuse

----

Natasha's grip on me was firm and her gaze on the back of my head was unwavering. My feet moved before me, heading towards whatever direction she shoved me to. She put me in handcuffs the moment she laid her hands on me, but frankly, I don't blame her.

"You punch a bag full of iron everyday or something?" I quipped, taking yet another turn with her less than gentle push.

"What?"

"Your grip. It's not exactly a wonderful experience."

"Huh." I could basically hear the eye-roll in her voice, "No, just a bag of linoleum. It's lighter."

Thrown aback by her quick retort, I snickered delightfully. Who knew Natasha Romanoff could make me laugh a little?

"Well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"Look at you, quoting Nietzsche." Her grip on me grew tighter. "Then maybe you won't mind if I do this, right? Doubt it'll kill you."

I winced, barely, but it was there and I had a feeling she noticed it. "I wish it would."

We stopped before a dark blue door, and she punched in a code at the keypad attached to the wall beside it before pressing a big red button. I heard a click sound and Natasha pushed the door ajar.

I stared at the room before me. It looked like...well, a room.

"What? No cell for me?"

She raised an eyebrow interrogatively and sighed, "Your cell is unfortunately under repair. Sorry, but you'll have to make yourself at home here now, Your Majesty."

I smirked, "Eh, I guess I'll make do. It's not too shabby."

She led me inside and locked the door behind us. I looked around almost automatically, scanning the area. The room was a little small, but it wasn't claustrophobic. There was a single bed attached to the floor by the corner with white sheets and a white pillow over it, a chair also attached to the floor and another door that left me no clue of what it would open to...a closet maybe?

No windows. No vents.

"You're not going to find it." Natasha's voice cut through the silence, slicing through it heavily like a blunt knife. "Your escape."

I looked over my shoulder to see her standing with her arms crossed, "I wasn't looking for an escape."

"Thought you were done with lying?" I sensed the beguilement in her tone.

I shook my head slightly, "I was just wondering why you brought me to this...room."

"This isn't a room. It's a cell."

A cell? This comfortable? "Ha-ha. You're hilarious."

"Yeah, I am. But I wasn't making a joke, this is a cell."

Holy shit, S.H.I.E.L.D must be flowing with money and extreme stupidity for them to keep their prisoners this comfortable. "Where I come from, we don't give the bad guys cells that look like these."

I saw her shrug out of the corner of my eye. "It depends on who's the bad guy we're talking about. Plus, we rarely have to put anyone in these cells." She didn't have to say it for me to know what she meant. They don't bring back prisoners.

"Well, yippee, it's my lucky day." I deadpanned.

Natasha had been staring at me the whole time. I turned to face her fully, daring her to make eye-contact. But the redhead continued to stare, unaffected.

"Hydra left quite the dent. Turned half of this building inside out."

"Sounds like em'."

"Your cell took a big hit. They blew a hole right through it, through the walls."

I froze. Did they know I was supposed to be there? Did he...come here to kill me?

On sight?

"They were looking for you, I assume."

My gaze dropped from her eyes to the floor, staring at my blood-covered shoes. Why is it that every time I think about him I cower in fear like a fool? I'm far from a coward. I hate the fact that even just the thought of that...monster, puts me in distress. I feel like a child again, and not the woman I am now.

Natasha was observing me, prompting me to answer with the intensity of her gaze. But I didn't have any answers to give.

"Sit down."

I looked up at her, only to find her pointing at the metal chair in the corner.

"Sit." She repeated, and I followed without question. I had no upper-hand here, and I didn't really want to have it. As soon as I landed my ass on the chair, she gripped my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye. What is it with this woman and eye-contact?

"If you try anything at all, I won't hesitate to kill you. You know that." She emphasised the last part. "You said you wanna stay alive? Then don't do anything stupid."

I nodded once, lips pursed. She proceeded to walk behind me to free me from my handcuffs.

Time seemed to slow down as I thought of a hundred different ways to knock her out right now. Maybe it wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't impossible. I could jump up and kick her in the face, or maybe toss myself backwards and grab her gun from her holster, shoot her from behind. I could kick her legs from below her and smother her with the pillow, or use my handcuffs to choke her to death. Or I could just throw a really, really good punch.

But she was right. I wanted to stay alive.

So, I sat still.

She uncuffed me and as soon as she did, she grabbed me by the elbow and ushered me to the mysterious door. She entered in a code at a keypad beside it, much like before, and pushed the door open to reveal a small bathroom.

"Go. Take a shower. There's a change of clothes ready for you on the counter."

I stared, dumbfounded. "I've only just agreed to work with you guys just a few minutes ago and you're already trusting me to take a shower without trying anything?"

She shrugged, "There's nothing useful in there. No sharp objects, no vents large enough anyone to fit through and the mirror isn't breakable glass. You try to escape, alarms will blare out and the oxygen in there will be cut-off immediately. So, either you die in there by suffocating, or you die when I come in and shoot you in the head. I don't trust you, but I do trust our system."

Figures. Stark Tech.

"FRIDAY's monitoring you too, thermal sensors. Now, go. Before I make you."

She didn't have to tell me a third time.

As expected, she locked the door behind me as soon as I went in. I stepped out of my bloody shoes and I stripped down my bloody clothes. It's funny how spent my whole life on this job, surrounded with nothing but murder and gore and yet I still get tired of seeing blood on myself every time. As if I could avoid it.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror–true to Natasha's word, it was far from fragile–and I ran my fingers across my face and through my hair. I had blood, bruises and dust all over me, like I've always had all my life. But I didn't recognise the woman in the mirror. She wasn't me.

But who was I really?

I've kept on this appearance for too long. It was a disguise that was growing old. It felt like a mask that was slowly melting onto my face, and it was asphyxiating me, burning the skin underneath it.

I've never worn a disguise for this long. This wasn't me. This was Lisa. Or was it Yvonne? Katya, Mila, Eve? I felt an odd sensation taking me under, almost like I was drowning. I felt myself tearing up, but I couldn't feel anything but...panic. Rising in my chest, expanding like a balloon. This was a familiar feeling, a problem I've had for far too long, but I never really knew how to solve it.

And then it all started to sink in, and it was like my body decided to finally register the pain that had built up over the last few days. But my mind wasn't along for the ride. I was hurt all over but mentally, I was numb. Or was it too much for me to handle?

The same question kept burning at the back of my head and it was all I could do not to scream and pull my hair out.

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?

I wanted to sink to the ground and pull my knees to my chest until my brain stopped screaming at me, but I couldn't afford to have a mental breakdown in a S.H.I.E.L.D bathroom made for prisoners. It wasn't exactly like I had all the time in the world.

I ran the back of my hand over my cheeks, wiping the tears that I hadn't even cared to realise were falling. God, I looked like a helpless, pathetic thing. Felt like one too.

I stepped into the shower, turning the knob to the coldest setting and let it flow over me, desperately hoping it would wash everything including the pain away.

Am I not as strong as I was before? I've gone through so much to keep myself alive and away from them. From him. Had it all been for nothing? I've thrown myself at the hands of a secondary enemy. It was a desperate decision, but a necessary one.

But was it really? Was it worth it?

I shook my head, splashing more cold water to my face. I couldn't lose my mind right now. Not when I've already put my guard down. Why do I feel so helpless? Why do I feel like I'm making the wrong decision? Why do I feel like I'm slowly falling apart, piece-by-piece, and I don't even realise it's happening to me? Why do I feel like...a failure?

Please, God, please...don't let me lose my mind.

———

"Have you lost your mind?"

A click of a gun. The stomping of his boots.

"I was only trying to do what you told me to do."

A pair of furious eyes, always the same blue ones. They're always either angry, stoic or blank.

"You are not supposed to fail. I did not tell you to fail."

The mission wasn't supposed to go the way it did. The plan went askew but I completed the job, I checked off my requirements. What did I do wrong?

"I didn't fail."

He slammed his fist onto the table next to us, growling. I shouldn't have said that.

"You shot one of them in the shoulder. Did you miss your aim, agent?"

Fuck. "No, I did not sir."

"So, you did it on purpose?"

I messed up. I messed up. "I...I was-"

"You were careless." He sneered, eyes boring into me as I quickly averted my gaze to the floor. "You were negligent. You left someone alive."

I didn't dare move a muscle. He turned around, his back facing me.

"The order was 'to leave no trace'. You did exactly the opposite. Hydra does not stand for failure."

"I understand, sir. But please-"

He whipped his head around to stare at me. His movements were always so robotic, just like his voice. It was always unnerving. The look in his eyes sent a chill down my spine, and it took everything in me not to scream and make a dash for the door.

"Why."

I gulped. "Why?"

"Why did you not shoot him in the head?"

I shut my eyes, blinking furiously at the memory. It was a reckless decision, one that was idiotic and inadequate. He begged me for his life. 'Wife and 2 kids' he said. I don't know why I did it. I don't understand why I let myself do it. I acted like a spineless fool.

"He wanted mercy." I whispered, knowing that it was going to cost me.

"Mercy?" He uttered the words like they were foreign, the two syllables coming out of his mouth with complete and utter disgust. "Mer-cy?"

I nodded once. "I understand I made the wrong decision."

He seemed to process it in his head for a while. Then after only a second or two, he straightened his back and broadened his shoulders. There it was again, the robotic movements.

I watched in horror as he turned around and announced to the room, walking away with his boots stomping under him, a noise I've always dreaded ever since I met him.

"It seems you are not fit yet for missions, agent. Take her to her cell. I will report this immediately."

The cell? No, no, no...not the cell. Please. "Sir. I apologise for my misbehaviour, sir. I'll do better on my next mission, just, please don't put me back in my cell."

He didn't turn around. I never expected him to, every time this happened. But my voice had a mind of it's own and it always seemed to escape me. How could I expect for him to show me mercy if he condemned me for it?

I wanted to scream and kick and cry. I didn't want to go back to my cell. I couldn't. I fought against the arms that bound themselves around me, dragging me to hell. "Please! I promise. I won't fail next time. It was a mistake-"

"You should shut up." The agent man-handling me muttered under his breath.

The agent was right. The soldier didn't appreciate begging. I should shut up, but I couldn't stand the thought of being back in there. I let out a guttural scream. "Sir. Sir, please!"

He didn't look back, never did. I watched helplessly as he shut the door behind him. The glint of his metal arm was the last thing that blinded me before the darkness did.

#run pietro x reader #pietro fanfiction #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro x y/n #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #why do they all have -offs #pietro maximoff #marvel reader insert #avengers x reader #avengers reader insert #pietro x you #quicksilver imagine

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heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

This Is Love (Chapter Twelve): Evil Comes In Disguise

Notes: This one is shorter than others but it felt like it took me so much longer, I blame Cyberpunk 2077 for stealing my one braincell for a while. Also, I have a tendency that the longer it takes me to write something, the more insecure I feel about it, so I ended up cutting this chapter a bit shorter than I originally intended. But I think it works and I hope you enjoy!~

Word Count: 8686

Chapter Warnings: Talk of physical assault, hospitals, POV switches, Joseph visions, me trying to write police investigations/interrogations to minimal success and struggling to write Jerome for the first time properly.

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

And the clock ticks and ticks and ticks and ticks. Every second feels like an eternity. Every moment of silence seeming to stretch on for hours. Her nerves fray with each one, worry blooming like a flower in her chest. The tension palpable as the three deputies and Sheriff wait to hear what will become of the town pastor. Dahlia’s mouth starts running before she can stop it; to distract herself or her distraught friends, she doesn’t know.

“How long have you all known Pastor Jerome?”

“Oh, Jerome’s been in Hope for…fifteen years or so,” Whitehorse tells her, thinking a minute over the exact timeline.

“He took over the Falls End church when I was thirteen,” Hudson adds, “so yeah, fifteen years.”

“Wow,” Dahlia can’t help but exclaim, astounded by just how long they’ve all known the pastor, he’s been with the county for more than half of Hudson and Pratt’s lives.

“St-,” Pratt swallows his words then starts again, stuttering, “still remember my mom making me give my first confession to him…I was terrified I was gonna go to hell, get kicked out of church, break my mom’s heart.”

“What did you do?”

“His mom caught him looking at porno mags,” Hudson rats him out, laughing. Whitehorse cracking a smile and Dahlia snickering.

“I was eleven, shut up,” he tries to defend himself through his own laughter, “yeah, Jerome thought it was funny too, told me everything was okay and then it was.”

Rook can just imagine it, Pratt as a kid, terrified that god’s going to smote him for looking at a tit. There’s a bittersweet quality to the four smiling and laughing at the memory; the anxiety and fear still looming but it’s a little easier to breathe. The weight crushing down on them is a little lighter than it was before.

“If he makes it out of this, we need to go back to church,” Hudson tells Pratt after a beat of silence.

“We do, don’t we?”

“Officers?” A man in a doctor’s coat calls out to them, the same one who stitched her head back together before.

“Is he okay?”

“We stabilized him; we got the bleeding under control and it looks like we won’t have to transfer him after all, he should be fine to recover here. We’re still monitoring him, but things are looking up.”

There’s a sigh of relief; maybe just from Whitehorse, maybe from all of them. She can’t even tell. Things are looking up, Jerome is likely to live and none of them will lose someone who clearly means so much to them.

“What exactly is it that happened, doctor?”

“Someone out in the valley called 911; the heard scratching at the door and when they looked he was collapsed on their front step. That’s all we know at this point, but as I told you, this was clearly an assault. The bruises, the bleeding, it all matches with brute force assault and with the severity we do believe it was multiple people who attacked him.”

“Who the fuck would wanna hurt Jerome?” Hudson asks, more to herself than anyone else.

“You’re all free to stay in his room, so you can question him when he wakes up, but I don’t know how reliable his memory will be with what he’s been through.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

The four go into the hospital room and Dahlia clenches her jaw when she sees him. Bruises mottle and color the friendly face she’s seen around the county; a myriad of red and purples across him. One eye swollen, stitches and bandages in places where the skin broke. They were trying to kill him; that’s all Dahlia can think. This was an attempted murder, his body is hidden under a hospital gown and blankets, but she can see from his arms that the damage extends over his body. A IV gives him a steady drip of fluids to keep him stable, a heart and oxygen monitor letting the staff know he’s staying that way.

“Jesus fuck…” Pratt whispers under his breath.

Hospital coffee and more stories of the pastor pass the time as the four settle in; the time Jerome comforted an emotional fourteen year old Hudson when she spilled communion grape juice on her white dress. Whitehorse talks about how often he’s visited the church to talk with Jerome.

Hours pass of the four talking, Dahlia downing five or more paper cups of coffee across the time. And then a cough sound rings out, a shift of fabric, the pastor slowly waking up. Whitehorse calls out for the nurses; the deputies shifting in their seats as he comes to.

The nurses flood in, checking on Jerome’s vitals, ensuring he can comfortably sit up in his bed. He’s an older man, not as old as Whitehorse, but probably as old as Jacob or Joseph. Mid to late forties. With short dark textured hair and a dark beard.

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse asks when the nurses are done checking on the Pastor.

“John Seed,” The pastor begins, and Dahlia clenches her jaw, “he and members of Eden’s Gate kidnapped me, he tried to force a confession from me and when I didn’t comply; they beat me and left me in the woods. I tried to get help the best way I knew how, but I passed out before I could speak to anyone.”

Dahlia doesn’t have time to think, to ruminate on what this means, what might be going on; Whitehorse telling her to grab the evidence collection kit he brought in. There’s not much to be collected, but their best bet of getting any conclusive evidence is swabbing Jerome’s fingernails. There’s nothing to get fingerprints off of, no weapon, no duct tape, no bindings. No bodily fluids exchanged, thankfully for Jerome’s sake. But, if he fought back, grabbed at his attackers, there’s a chance the blood under his fingernails could belong to them. That he managed to gouge their skin deep enough to leave a trace.

“Sorry, this might hurt a bit,” Dahlia gives a gentle warning when she sees the broken and bloodied state of his nails, gently swabbing blood from under them, making sure to collect from each finger before dropping it into a vile.

“I think I’ll make it,” he manages to say, a slightly dry laugh, his voice deep and resonant.

“I know you will, but still don’t wanna add to it.”

“Jerome, you said John Seed, did you recognize anyone else?”

“Lonny, Theodore, and Patrick were the only ones I know I saw…The way John talked he was doing it because of Joseph, that he ordered it… Eden’s Gate is getting worse every day.”

“Don’t worry, Jerome, we’re gonna do everything we can, Hudson, take the sample back to the station to see if we can match it to anything already in our database. Pratt, Rook, want you to start pulling the peggies in for questioning and getting DNA. Start with Lonny Stevenson, Theodore Rossi, and Patrick Michaelson. No arrests, not yet, just questioning. We’ll handle the Seeds later, alright?”

“Understood.”

There’s a heavy tension in the cruiser as Pratt and Dahlia climb into it. Jerome is alive, there’s a weight to what he’s told them and to their duty to get justice for him. Pratt’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and shoulders wrought with tension. Pastor Jerome has been an important figure in his life. She can’t imagine how hard this must be for him. She thinks of how much worse she might feel if it were Lloyd or Whitehorse in that hospital bed, someone she were close to. Dahlia squeezes Pratt’s shoulder as they drive, hoping her empathy shows through the touch. Even as strangers, her stomach is in knots, though it may be because of her…connection to the accused.

Despite their constant encroachment on boundaries, stepping on the line but never quite over it, Dahlia had maintained her hope that the Seeds and their flock were good at their core. That’s why she turned Cassie into their hands, but everyday there’s something new. And this is the worst yet. If they’ve truly done this, if they’re ordering full out assaults on people, that does a lot more than just cross the line.

One of their three main suspects, outside of the two youngest Seed brothers, works at the Green-Busch Fertilizer Plant, an Eden’s Gate owned business. And for possibly the first time since she began working in Hope County, Dahlia is the one leading the charge as they get out of the cruiser, Pratt not trusting his own voice.

“Patrick Michaelson,” she calls out and a man steps out, “we need to have a word with you down at the station.”

He’s generic by Eden’s Gate standards, too long hair and a scraggly beard. His arms are covered, so she can’t check for scratches or bruises along them.

“I in any trouble, deputies?”

“Just need to ask some questions; Theodore Rossi or Lonny Stevenson here? We need a word with them as well.”

“No, but I could ring ‘em for you?”

“We’ll chat first, then you can call them from the station, alright?”

“Whatever you say, officers.”

The last thing she wants is for them to have a chance to put together a story and alibi before they start questioning them. They allow Patrick into the back of the cruiser, he seems to be maintaining his cool. And the tension in the car only strengthens as they take him back to the station. Dahlia watches him in the mirror along the way, waiting for some sign of anything to peek through, for a sleeve to ride up and to see scratches from Jerome’s nails, something. But nothing of the sort happens.

Dahlia has never actually had to interrogate or question anyone, she realizes once they’re at the station and having Patrick take a seat. She doubts he’ll give them much information. If he’s innocent, he won’t have anything of interest to tell. If he’s guilty, he won’t want to tell them much of anything. Getting a DNA sample is what’s going to be the most important thing, if they get some conclusive evidence, something that links one of the Eden’s Gate members to Jerome’s assault the rest will come much easier.

“Coffee?” She offers, as she pours black coffee into three paper cups.

Patrick murmurs a small thanks before he drinks from the cup before they start asking him questions. Hours pass of trying to ask the same questions in slightly different ways or tones. Dahlia trying to stay friendlier in her tone while Pratt is terser, due to his personal connection. But getting more than a ‘I was at home, last night,’ is like trying to get blood from a turnip. He refuses to give a DNA sample as well.

“We about done here?” Patrick asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Fine,” Pratt grumbles, “I’ll walk you out and you can ring Lonny and Theodore for us.”

Dahlia taps her fingers against the table as the two men walk out, breathing a sigh of relief when Patrick leaves his coffee cup. It takes a few minutes and then Pratt comes back, he collapses into his chair and groans, she can feel the stress radiating off of him.

“Well, that was a waste of fucking time,” he grumbles.

“How you figure?”

“How you figure anything else?’ He looks at her incredulously, like she’s grown a second head and breathed fire.

“Left his cup,” Dahlia pokes at the little Styrofoam cup, “our property, we wanna swab it for DNA, our business and don’t need anyone’s consent for it.”

“I’ll run it down to evidence, you brew another pot for the next two.”

“On it.”

Pratt runs that down, the cup bagged and labeled with Patrick’s name, she’s sure. Lonny and Theodore aren’t far behind. And their questioning goes much the same. They don’t give particularly direct answers and refuse to give DNA samples. Theodore avoids talking as much as he can, mostly opting to glare at the deputies after his first insistence that he has no idea why he’s here and has no obligation or desire to talk. But, he does at some point break his sourpuss expression to take a drink of coffee. Lonny is cockier, more aggressive, making snide comments but he drinks coffee at some point too; so that’s all that matters.

By the end of it all, three cups are sent down to evidence to be swabbed for DNA to be tested against the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails. If it’s from any of them, they’ll know by hopefully the end of the day. Evidence based cases are rare around here, so the forensic team stated they can fast track it, hopefully

Pratt and Dahlia rest in the bullpen office, Hudson joining them. There’s a somber air to the entire office. Hudson’s leg bounces with nervous or angry energy, Dahlia isn’t sure which. Meanwhile, Pratt is wringing his hands until the skin rubs raw. Their worry is palpable as they wait for either more information or direction. The oppressive silence has started to weigh on Dahlia’s shoulders, she’s tapping her fingers against a table.

“You know,” Dahlia says after too long, “you guys can go see Jerome if you want, I’ll call if any info comes in.”

She knows they’re worried about him and want to be there to check on him. There’s no reason for them to sit here and suffer when she can just let them know when the analysis comes in.

“We’re not gonna leave you to man the station by yourself,” Pratt dismisses her out of hand, as if the idea that she can be left alone is ridiculous.

“I think I can manage for an evening, anything happens, I know how to reach you all.”

“I’m going,” Hudson declares, “I trust Rook and I’m driving myself crazy here.”

“Thank you, Hudson…” Dahlia says with soft smile, Hudson actually trusts her and isn’t acting like she’s a child.

“You coming?” Hudson asks Pratt, looking at him expectantly.

“I’m not leaving Rook here alone.”

“I’m an adult, you know that, right?”

“If Eden’s Gate was willing to attack Jerome, who knows what else they’ll do. And you’re already on their radar, were before this.”

“What, you think they’re gonna storm the station?”

“Who knows anymore.”

“I don’t have time to listen to you two bicker, I’m leaving,” Hudson tells them before walking out of the station.

Dahlia chews her lip once she’s left with Pratt. This is already a stressful day and not the time to let her wounded ego guide her behavior. But it is wounded. She’s not a child, young sure, but not a child and by no means incapable. Pratt has been coddling her and trying to limit what she does since the beginning of her job, she thought it was lessening, but… Does Pratt seriously not think she’s competent enough to be left alone for a few hours? Is she that unreliable? Incapable? Does he think that little of her?

She doesn’t lend a voice to these insecurities or anger; not the time or place.

“Don’t pout,” Pratt says after a few minutes.

“I’m not.”

“You are, I can physically see you pouting.”

“Even if I was, it’s not important.”

“Seriously, Rook? You wanna be a brat right now?”

“Seriously, Pratt? You wanna be a patronizing dick right now!?” Her voice is harsher than she intended.

“Deputies?” A voice calls out, one of the workers in their piddly little forensic department poking their head into the open office.

“Yeah?”

“We got a match for the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails.”

“Who’s our guy?”

“Patrick’s matched, we couldn’t find any traces of Lonny or Theodore’s.”

“I’ll call Whitehorse,” Pratt says before getting out his cellphone, “figure out what we’re doing next.”

Dahlia only nods, not trusting herself after her outburst. Her fingers still tap tapping against a desk as Pratt speaks to the sheriff. She can only hear Pratt’s side of the conversation as he explains what they were just told and agrees to whatever Whitehorse is telling him, before he hangs up.

“So, what’s our next move?” Dahlia asks, voice cracking more than she’d like.

“Arresting Patrick and questioning the Seeds. He wants a lighter touch with John and Joseph, his words, not mine.”

“Lighter touch meaning…?”

“They can be questioned together if they want, given a day and the chance to come in on their own terms. Whitehorse doesn’t want us ruffling their feathers unless we get something conclusive on them.’

“I’ll never get why he wants to walk on eggshells around them.”

“Because they’re nuts and got a good hundred or more people who’ll fight for them.”

Dahlia shrugs, she gets that, she guesses. But its still hard for her to wrap her head around that the men she’s met could order an assault on someone else. A part of her is still holding onto the hope that Patrick just acted on his own, that John and Joseph had no idea. But, Jerome says John was there. And John’s not exactly a face he could confuse with someone else…

“C’mon, let's go get Patrick.”

He’s at his house at this late hour, knocking in the door of his little farmhouse. Patrick answers the door, face souring the moment he sees the officer. His lips are sealed, not speaking a word to the deputies as they read him his rights and bring him into the station. He refuses to speak for a long while, even as they book him and try to ask him a few more questions.

“I wanna call my lawyer.” Is all he says after an entirely too long drag of silence.

“John, your lawyer?” Pratt asks.

“What of it?’

“We need to have a chat with him too,” Dahlia informs him, “so we’ll be happy to call him for you.”

“Fine.”

Dahlia stretches out her back as her and Pratt leave the interrogation room, this day has been her longest yet, but they seem to be getting somewhere. She looks over to Pratt.

“Want me to call up John or you wanna do the honor?”

“I will, they like you too much.”

“Have zero idea what you mean by that, but alright.”

Pratt grabs the station phone and rings up John’s number. Dahlia chews her fingernails as she waits, biting away at them and chipping her nail polish in the process. When she runs out of nail that goes past her fingertips, she chews at the skin. Mind racing as Pratt talks to John, she feels like her thoughts and feelings are tearing into two directions. What she wants to be true and what evidence supports. The older deputy hangs up the phone and Dahlia looks up at Pratt expectantly.

“John says him and Joseph can be here in a few hours, chances are Jacob will be with them.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Anytime either of them have been questioned, Jacob’s there, just to look mean I guess.”

She nods, thinking of what she read so far in the Book of Joseph, of the abuse in the Seed family. It doesn’t shock her at all that Jacob has a protective streak, that he wouldn’t want his younger brother’s far out of sight. She does find herself wondering why Faith isn’t following alongside her siblings as well. Her fellow deputies didn’t seem to know much of her at all, Hudson not even knowing what she looks like. Hell, the youngest sister hasn’t even been mentioned yet in the Book of Joseph. Though given the hefty age difference, perhaps she wasn’t born yet during the memory Joseph chose to open it with?

Dahlia takes a seat while they wait for the Seed brothers, graciously accepting the cup of coffee that Pratt offers her. Her leg taps as she drinks at it, listening to the clock tick away as she waits for the Seeds. Her fellow deputy sits next to her and she can tell the day has been wearing on him. She doesn’t know why, what it is that pushes the impulse forward, but she thumps her head onto his shoulder. A soft form of contact, comfort, whether it’s an offering to him or a selfish desire of her own, she isn’t sure.

But Pratt responds by leaning his head towards her, over top of her own. His hair tickling at her skin and his scruff scratching at her skin. She can’t help but smile and press in a little closer, just appreciating his presence in this quiet moment after such a drawn-out day.

“Shit!”

Pratt’s sudden yell jolts Dahlia awake, her skull knocking against his. She blinks sleep from her eyes, when did she even drift off? How long was she sleeping against his shoulder? Her hands and the bottom of her jeans are wet; the cup of coffee and it’s contents now on the floor as well as her shoes.

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath, she must have dropped it when she fell asleep, “sorry.”

Dahlia goes and gathers up paper towels, cleaning up the mess. She didn’t even realize she was that tired.

“Don’t sweat it, shit has been crazy around here lately, I nearly dozed off myself.”

“You telling me this ain’t typical.”

“God, no, county’s usually more boring than watching paint dry. Lately, feels like county’s gone nuts.”

“Eh, I prefer the crazy, keeps things interesting at least.”

“Deputies,” the on shift desk worker pops their head into the room, “the Seed brothers are here.”

“We’ll be there in a second.”

Dahlia finishes cleaning up the mess and sighs, that weight back on her shoulders. It’s way past their usual shift hours and the day as a whole has been a lot. But they may finally be getting to the root of what happened. They’re getting some justice for Jerome, Patrick is a damn near guaranteed arrest. They just need to get to the bottom of John and Joseph’s involvement. She took this job to help people and that’s what she’s doing, Jerome has a right to feel safe in this county and as much as she hopes the Seeds are good, if they’re hurting others, it needs to be shut down and now.

Mess cleaned; Dahlia and Pratt go out to the waiting room to greet the Seeds. John and Joseph look relatively cleaned up. Though John always looks some version of prim and proper. She’s positive she’s never seen the youngest sibling in a shirt that wasn’t a collard button up and she’s certainly never seen his hair in any state other than slicked back. His shirt of choice today is purple, no vest or trench coat, just the buttons left undone to show the sin marked across his chest and the sleeves rolled up to show the tattoos across his forearms.

Joseph is wearing a shirt which is an accomplishment for him, a stiff white button up done up to his throat and a black blazer over it, nearly overkill in the heat of August. Perhaps he only wears clothing in extremes, either half naked or completely covered. His greasy dark hair is pulled back as usual and despite the late hour, his yellow aviators are on.

And then there’s Jacob, black tee and jeans with his typical camo shirt tied around his waist. Dog tags, key, and rabbit’s foot hanging from a chain around his neck as they always do.

They’re superficial observations, what the brothers wear, but she can’t help but take in the stark contrasts of the brothers. Joseph trying to look more put together and less crazy, John in that same state but every day, and Jacob genuinely not seeming to give any sort of a fuck.

“Deputies,” John is the one to greet them, grinning and Dahlia folds her hands behind her back, trying to still her body and straighten her back to present a confident front.

“John,” Pratt returns the acknowledgement with a nod, “I-“

“It seems you have one of our flock members contained on the bas-“ John cuts off Pratt.

“We actually would rather speak with you and Joseph before we discuss that case,” Dahlia cuts the youngest brother off in turn, not letting him dominate the conversation or set the tone for this.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I assume, you’re both comfortable with answering some questions for us?” She cocks her head to the side, trying to stay nonthreatening, not that her five feet of being could ever be threatening.

“Of course, that would be no problem at all,” Joseph is the one to speak next, giving her a smile, eyes soft despite the circumstances.

“Actually,” Pratt cuts in, a twitch in his jaw, “I’ll be asking those questions alone.”

“You’ll what?” Dahlia levels a glare at her partner, ready to throw him through a window, but unable to do so. He’s pushing it, he keeps pushing it.

“I think it’ll be best if I conduct the interrogation alone.”

“Oh, do you?”

“You girls need a minute, or can we get this shitshow on the road,” Jacob says, the deep rasp of his voice cutting through the spat. And she doesn’t miss the clench in Pratt’s jaw at the emasculating choice of words.

“Come on back; sorry for the trouble,” Dahlia says, a tight lipped smile as she leads the Seed brothers to the interrogation room. She’ll deal with Pratt and his overprotective bullshit later. It’s a quick walk down the hall and she politely opens the doors for them, she thinks she sees Jacob rolling his eyes.

“Go ahead and take a seat, we’ll be just a moment,” Dahlia tells them, giving a small nod when Joseph thanks her. She lets the door shut behind the Seeds and turns her gaze back on Pratt.

“Rook-”

“What the actual fuck, Pratt?” She keeps her voice low, but her tone is terse, how could he try to strong arm her out of the interrogation.

“Look, you’ve spent a lot of time with them, regardless of if you’ve wanted too or not. They’re fixated on you and you’re just too close to them to be interrogating them.”

“You’ve known them longer than me! You’ve known them for years! This is a rural county, it’d take me longer to meet all the cows here than it would the people!”

She wants to wring his neck, he’s entirely too protective of her and for no real reason. More now than ever she realizes she made the right call not telling anyone about the mute “angel” Eden’s Gate member who swung on her or the vandalism of her trailer. Pratt already barely wants to let her handle ticketing people and now he doesn’t want her interrogating suspects. It’s ridiculous. She’s a grown adult woman, she needs to be allowed to do her fucking job.

Dahlia is done listening to this nonsense, she decides, and makes a beeline back to the interrogation room. Pratt isn’t going to stop her from doing her damn job. She opens the door, her coworker trailing behind her, as she steps into the interrogation room.

The Seed brothers are sat at the table. Jacob’s legs open wide, sat relaxed in his chair, completely disinterested by most appearances but he still watches the deputies from the corner of his eye. She’s reminded of a predator lulling prey into a false sense of security before it strikes.

Joseph sits between his elder and younger sibling. His elbows on the table, hands politely folded, not a hint of anxiety in him either. Seemingly calm, but his gaze is intense on the young deputy as she enters, never straying away from her. He never looks over at Pratt, the other deputy’s warning that they’re fixated on her ring through her mind.

John is sitting back in his chair and his gaze is just as intense, but there’s more manic energy behind it. In him in general. Perhaps he’d look calmer, more serene like his brothers, if not for the constant bouncing of his leg, the movement starting to shake the rickety table.

“Sorry about that,” Dahlia starts before Pratt can find a way to force her out of the room, “would either of you like any coffee or anything before we chat?”

“No, thank you. We’ve done this song and dance before, deputy, you can’t sneak dna off of us,” John dismisses her off with a sneer.

“Okay then, no coffee, understood,” she rescinds her off as she sits down at the table across from them, Pratt sitting next to her.

“Look, let's cut the bullshit,” Pratt speaks up, “a person was attacked, beaten badly. We got evidence, won’t say what, that connects one of your church members to the attack. And its being alleged that he did so on Joseph’s order with John supervising the whole thing, and...you’re just hear for window dressing I guess.” He gives a dismissive look to Jacob at that last part, no doubt his attempt to give a little revenge jab for his comment earlier.

“Why I’m here ain’t any of your concern, princess.” Jacob says, voice low and the threat within it not subtle.

“Okay…” Dahlia cuts in with a clap of her hands when she sees the way Jacob and Pratt are glaring at each other, this is an interrogation not a pissing contest, the last thing they need is Pratt trying to fight Jacob and getting his ass kicked, “this is already going off the rails, good job everyone. Now, while his wording was...abrupt, uh that is the reality of the situation. There are some heavy accusations being levied at you two, so we were hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” John responds, rolling his eyes, “these are completely baseless accusations.”

“We do have evidence linking one of the men, a member of your church, to the assault. Our witness and survivor is credible. At this point we have no reason to believe they’d lie about what occurred.”

“They persecute us the same as they did the prophets before us, the faithful handed over to courts and councils, sheep sent out amongst wolves,” Joseph speaks sudden, voice intense as he stares into Dahlia’s eyes, a chill rolls up her spine, a tension pulling in her shoulders that she can’t quite shake.

“Seriously,” Pratt scoffs and for the first time Joseph’s eyes leave Dahlia, harsher and colder at the older officer, “you really think this is about your church, that someone would make this shit up just to get at you, think they beat the shit out of themselves too just to spite you?”

“Of course not,” John speaks next and she can’t help but notice the jolt in his body language, “I’ve yet to speak to our flock member you’ve find evidence of. But even if he’s done what he’s accused of, surely, you can’t expect us to be held responsible for the actions of every member of our church. We have hundreds of followers, you cannot reasonably expect us to be accountable for any of them who may stray from our ways.”

“The witness specified you were there, John. Not just accountable, but physically present for assault.”

“And there’s no evidence of that, you said so yourself, and as I’ve told you before, there are many in this county who aren’t above taking any chance to sully mine and my family’s name. Who’s to say, they didn’t see their assault as an opportunity to bring down our entire church.”

“May I ask where you were last night?”

“Had dinner with my family, as I always do, and stayed in for the night. Rather boring, I’m afraid.”

“Anyone who can confirm this story?” Pratt asks and Dahlia tries not to roll her eyes; his family would be the ones who can confirm it and ...they’re mostly here and biased.

“My brothers who are sitting right here, my sister if you feel the need to ruin her night as well.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Then are we done here?”

“This isn’t a formal arrest or detainment,” they don’t have anywhere near the evidence or that, “so, you’re free to leave if you so please. Though, there’s still the issue of Patrick who requested counsel with you.”

The brothers have made it clear they want to leave and that the deputies won’t be prying any more information from them. So, Dahlia escorts them out.

“You two can go on home,” John tells his brothers, “I’ll call someone to get me once I’ve sorted this out.”

“We couldn’t possibly leave you behind, we’ll wait,” Joseph squeezes John’s shoulder than looks to Dahlia, “assuming that would be okay.”

“Of course, don’t expect you to ditch your brother.”

“It is tempting sometimes,” Jacob mumbles under his breath, a smirk pulling at his lips when John glares at him. Rook has to press her hand to her mouth to avoid laughing at the brotherly teasing.

“Jacob…” Joseph gently chides.

“Regardless, you two are welcome to sit out in the waiting room, there's a vending machine if you need anything or if you’re not interested in that I’m sure Nancy can get you set up with coffee or food from our break room.”

“Thank you, deputy.”

“I’ll be out, shortly,” John says the final word pointedly as his brothers go to the waiting room, then turns to the deputies, “which room is my client in?”

“Room 103, I’ll be right in, go on and get settled,” Pratt tells him and John leaves down to the room where Patrick is being held. Dahlia holds her tongue until the youngest Seed brother is out of hearing range.

“Think we can get anything else out of them?”

“Fuck no, he’s going to tell Patrick to keep his mouth shut, insist that there’s another explanation. Like getting blood from a turnip, we’re just going to have to deal with what we have. DNA should be enough to convict Patrick, as for the rest, we’ll have to see if Whitehorse feels we got enough to do a full investigation. But, we don’t have much.”

“The evidence against Patrick might be enough to subpoena Joseph’s sermons, get warrants to search the church and houses?”

“Maybe,fuck,” Pratt rubs a hand down his face, he looks exhausted and she’s sure she’s not much better, “what time is it?”

“Nearly four in the morning.”

“Fucks sake, okay, their foul mood makes a bit more sense.”

“Yeah, I can take care of the talk with John and Patrick, like you said won’t be getting much from them, so you can head home or check on Jerome.”

“No, no, absolutely not. I’ll take care of this, you go home and get some sleep.”

“Pratt-”

“Rook, you were the one passing out on top of me. Go home and sleep.”

“I-”

“Please, for once in your life, just listen to me.”

“Okay, just this once,” she bows her head, feeling like a scolded child, “but we do need to have a serious conversation about you babying me, you know that right?”

“I don’t baby you.”

She blinks and widens her eyes, has he heard a single word he’s said to her all day. Refusing to let her stay at the station alone, not wanting her to call John, and not even wanting her to be involved in the interrogation. And that today alone, she can’t count the amount of times he’s told her not to be the one to issue tickets, to stay in the car during calls. She knows they’ve lost an officer in the line of duty. And she knows she’s a lot younger than Pratt or Hudson. But this is her job as much as it is theirs.

“Okay,” Pratt scratches at the back of his neck at the incredulous look, then gently puts his hands on Dahlia’s shoulders, “serious conversations can wait until we’ve both slept, alright?”

“Fine, I’ll go home and crash, get yourself some sleep when you finish up here, okay?”

“Okay, will do.”

He drops his hands from her shoulders and gives a small pat to her arm as she turns to leave. As much as she’d rather Pratt be the one going home to get some much needed sleep, she can’t say she won’t be thankful for a chance to crash.

“And Rook,” Pratt calls out before she can get through to the waiting room, she turns to look at him, “stay away from the Seeds, please.”

“Don’t push it.” She rolls her eyes, overprotective ass, she pushes through the doors to the waiting room.

Dahlia gives a friendly nod of acknowledgement to Joseph and Jacob as she moves past them, looking towards Nancy.

“I’m gonna go home and crash for the night, any news comes in, don’t hesitate to call me, alright?” She explains to dispatch, not fully trusting Pratt to let her know if it’s up to him, throwing on her leather jacket and already searching for her pack of cigarettes. She’ll catch a smoke break before she rides home, her nerves needing the nicotine fix.

“Alright, dear. Drive safe.”

Dahlia waves a quick bye to both Nancy and the Seed brothers before she leaves the building. The air is cold, temperatures drop quick at night out here, a start contrast to the hot muggy days. A dark sky hangs above her except where stars breach the abyss. Goosebumps prickle up along her neck where the air hits, she put a cigarette between her lips and lights it, breathing nicotine deep into her lungs. She tilts her head back, blowing smoke from her mouth, white billowing around her.

“Deputy,” Joseph’s voice calls out and chills run along her spine, “you know, smoking is really a terrible habit.”

“We all got our vices,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, making sure to blow the smoke away from Joseph.

“That is true, I know that better than most…”

She nods when he trails off a bit, his church seems to focus a lot on sins and vices, overcoming them she assumes. Sins marked across the skin of so many of its members. Silence falls across the two, for once Joseph breaking eye contact, a rare moment for him.

“Is there something you wanted…? Can’t imagine you’d rather wait out here in the cold.”

“Yes, actually, I think there’s a lot we need to discuss. Faith told me you have concerns about your friend, Cassandra.”

“Cassie, yeah,” she corrects, not sure why it bugs her so much to hear them using Cassie’s full name.

“Yes, John always was wishing to speak with you regarding the orchard and… I’d hate for this… incident to color your opinion of me and my family.”

“I understand and I’d love to talk all this out with you, but-”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she frowns, feeling bad about it, “its been a rough day and I just am ready to crash, I’m sure you must be exhausted too.”

“Of course, I understand, which is why I’d like to invite you to have dinner with me and my family.”

“Uh, what?”

Dahlia blinks and coughs on cigarette smoke, taken aback by the sudden invitation. He’s here for an investigation, she just interrogated him, and he’s concerned with inviting her to dinner to… preserve some sort of good image? While a formal investigation isn’t opened on him or John yet, needing warrants and authority to do anything more, but one is right around the corner.

“We try to have dinner as a family, my brothers, sister, and I, as often as possible. A luxury we couldn’t indulge in for so much of our lives, I think it’d be a wonderful opportunity for us all to speak and for you to know my family separate from church or police interrogations. So, would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Uh…”

This could be her only chance to talk to him about Cassie before a formal investigation is launched and it becomes a conflict.

But it could already be a conflict, since they are hopefully not far away from launching that investigating.

But, she could use it as a chance to probe around, see if she can unearth anymore evidence in the Jerome case.

But, anything procured without a warrant wouldn’t be admittable, so the most she could do is see it and then know what to go back for once they secure a warrant.

But, even just getting a chance to ask questions without the environment of an interrogation room, might get some truths out. As well a chance to ask about some of the other strange things going on in the county. From roadblocks to the issue of the weird “angel” that assaulted her.

But, they could be dangerous, if they do have anything to do with Jerome’s injuries…

But, she’s not weak and it’s not like she's looking to antagonize them. She can ask her questions and be polite.

But, Pratt would kill her. He literally warned her to stay away from the Seed family five fucking seconds ago.

“Sure, I’d love to,” she tells him, ultimately unable to say no to his earnest little smile.

“That’s wonderful, our dinners are at John’s ranch house, I’m not sure I have anything to write the number down on…”

“I can use the memo app on my phone, what is it?”

“Oh.” He seems taken aback for a moment when she gets out her phone, but recovers to prattle off the address, Dahlia typing it in.

“Did I get it right?” She asks, moving to stand closer to Joseph’s side, so he can see the phone screen.

“Uh, yes, that’s,” he reaches out to touch her phone and accidentally closes the memo app, pulling his hand away like it burned him, “oh.”

Dahlia can’t help but laugh, watching the older man fumble to deal with tech. He’s older, sure, but he’s not pushing his sixties or anything. He ducks his head and she can see a very subtle flush of red flare up his cheekbones. Its the most human he’s ever seemed to her, just an older man who hates phones, embarrassed that he has no idea how to use one.

“Don’t worry, it saved,” she explains, pulling it back up.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Alright, see you and your family tomorrow.”

She tucks her phone back in her pocket and waves bye again, getting on her motorcycle. Dahlia slides her helmet on and starts the journey back home, mind racing and heart heavy with the events of the day.

Joseph sits in the passenger side of the truck, Jacob driving and John sitting in the back, as they leave the police station. It's late, nearly early enough for him to be waking up. John made a grave mistake, trying to punish Pastor Jerome for leading people astray, away from Eden. A noble intention, but he did it out of wrath and anger, letting someone else’s sin fuel his own. His impulses placed them back in the sight line of the police. They can recover from this easily enough, as frustrating as it is. The bigger issue is once again working to reign John in and working to change the junior deputy’s view of them.

The Lamb plays a vital role in the collapse, she was chosen to be the one who brings about the end, how exactly she will do so remains to be seen. But, he’d rather she do it alongside them stepping into New Eden by their side after she helped cleanse the world, rather than doing so in spite of them with no understanding of the gift she was given.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jacob scolds their younger brother, always protective of the project and them being found out by law enforcement, he’s more than a little irate about John’s mistake.

“Jacob…” Joseph still chides him for cursing, a nasty habit his eldest brother struggles most to break. If Joseph’s being completely honest, he’s not certain Jacob is trying to break it all.

“Pastor Jerome is a fraud, he is leading people astray and spreading lies about The Project, he had to be taught a lesson.”

“Who cares? His people abandoned him for us, John. He can talk all he wants, no ones fuckin’ listening.”

“Oh, so suddenly you’re above corporal punishment, are you going soft on me, Jacob? Do you allow your soldiers to say whatever they please, reward them for their insolence?”

“Jerome’s not a soldier and unlike you, when I teach outsiders a lesson, I’m not dumb enough to let them walk away from it.”

“Brothers, stop,” Joseph speaks over them, not yelling, but his tone stern enough to end their incessant arguing, he makes eye contact with his youngest brother through the rearview mirror “Jacob is right, John.”

“But Joseph-”

“You endangered The Project, our mission, our family; for the sake of satisfying your own wrath. You put all of us at risk and for what? So, you could indulge in your sins?”

“He was spreading lies, telling people you were dangerous-”

“And that made you angry, it made you wrathful. And so you lashed out to make yourself feel better, instead of speaking to me, instead of seeking out the word and confronting the sin inside of yourself, you sought to quell your anger through violence.”

“I’m sorry, Joseph.”

“I know. Righteous anger and swift justice has its place. There will be times to cut off the hands that wrong us, but this was not one of them.”

“I understand… I already spoke with our flock members in the station, they’ll dispose of the evidence and secure Patrick’s freedom. Without it, the investigation will end and he won’t be punished for my mistakes.”

“I knew you’d take care of it in the end,” he tells him, watching the relief flood John with the smallest amount of praise after being scolded, “I invited the junior deputy to dinner.”

Jacob slams on the brakes on a thankfully deserted back road, causing Joseph to jerk against the seatbelt and John to slam his face against the seat in front of him. John yells out from the sudden impact and Joseph turns to look at his eldest brother in confusion.

“God damn it, Jacob!”

“John!” Joseph scolds when his baby brother takes the lords name in vain, he can see a bruise forming on John’s forehead already.

“He tried to kill me!”

“Am I the only one who understands that we’re criminals?!”

“In the eyes of man, perhaps, but in the eye of -”

“Eyes of man are the ones that matter, right now, Joseph! You’re inviting a fuckin’ cop into our lives, into John’s house. A cop who just interrogated us less than a fucking hour ago and you want to feed her for her trouble.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were scared, brother. Jacob Seed, scared of a little girl.”

“Well, its a damn good thing you know better, or that shiner would be the least of your problems, brother,” Jacob nearly spits the word brother, glaring daggers at John.

“Jacob,” Joseph gets his older brother’s attention, Jacob has always been the strongest willed, has always asserted his opinions even if he’d do anything for the family, “are you doubting me?”

“No, of course not, I just don’t understand why you’re doing this?”

“We have cops within our flock, Jacob.”

“Yes, converted cops who benefit us. This deputy can’t walk into a church without puking her guts up, she’s a problem waiting to happen.”

“She has been making a problem out of herself, trying to keep me from purchasing the orchard, enabling the greed of this county.”

“Look, I know it can be difficult to understand, you’ve not heard what I’ve heard. The Voice hasn’t spoken to you, as it has to me, my decisions are not without reason. Reasons that will be revealed in time, the junior deputy is important, bringing her into our flock is a priority. Understood?”

“Of course, understood, Father,” John concedes, using Joseph’s formal title. Joseph looks to his eldest brother, who’s scarred jaw is still clenched tight.

“Understood?” He repeats himself, he knows Jacob wouldn’t go against him, but his willful nature… something Joseph was envious of in childhood now leads to the occasional butting of heads.

“Understood.”

Jacob starts the car back up, driving Joseph and John back to their homes. John to his ranch house and Joseph up to his church, where he has a cot in the back of it. The sun is starting to come up when Jacob drops him off at the church compound, before driving back to Saint Francis.

Eyelids heavy with exhaustion, Joseph is quick to return to his quarters, a headache starting to creep up along his temples. He changes for bed, then kneels before his bed, bowing his head for prayer and folding his hands together. Hands pressed together tightly, his rosary pressing into his skin.

And he prays.

He prays for John to find his way, to battle his sin and win the fight.

He prays for Jacob to one day fully let go and accept the word.

He prays for Faith not to stray from the path.

He prays for his flock and family, he prays for their faith not to wane, he prays for them to be strong enough to weather the collapse, he prays for the persecution of his family to end, and he prays that he can save more souls; specifically the junior deputy. That he can find a way to reach her heart, help her see her gift, and learn the importance of her role before it’s too late.

Then a sharp pain shoots from his temple across the rest of his head, like lightning shooting through his skull. The darkness of his closed eyes fades away into a new world, a vision of New Eden, a paradise he’s been shown and promised so many times he knows the sight of it by heart. The bright blooming pink flowers and modest homemade homes of a commune, a return to nature, to innocence.

His family and flock there, older versions of themselves, dressed in more rustic handmade clothes. Less clear and less certain than last time. But he sees John, Jacob, and Faith with children clinging and playing around them. And he can’t explain the feeling, that they’re all his children but his siblings as well.

The five year old boy with a head of dark curls and blue eyes that looks so much like Joseph as a child, the boy who called him papa.

A girl around three with bright ginger hair, a face covered in freckles. She grins and blinks, sun in her eyes. She reminds him so much of Jacob, head held high with a crown of red.

Maybe a year younger, another girl has straight dark brown hair and big wide blue eyes. Eyes that remind him so entirely of the young baby brother he cooed at as a child.

The oldest of them, clings to an older Faith’s skirt. A young boy of ten maybe tweleve, so much older than the smaller children. Hair dark as pitch, olive skin, and green eyes setting him apart. He looks different from the others, perhaps his family tie not one forged by blood.

His family, those he has now and those he will gain, the family he will be gifted. But, there’s something missing…. Pieces of the puzzle not yet in place.

Weak clumsy fingers grab onto his bed as his vision subsides, the reality of the world he’s still in returning to him. His head pounds and throbs, agony radiating throughout it, as the collapse draws closer his visions are getting more and more frequent. He can only hope as he falls into bed that he’s keeping himself and his family on the right path to find paradise.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #john seed #jacob seed #this is love

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escapewriter · 3 years

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Light of My Life

pairing : minghao x reader

synopsis : what’s better than celebrating your boyfriend’s birthday rapunzel style?

genre : whole lotta fluff and a bit of humor

word count : 2k

warnings : slight mentions of murder but its a joke

a/n : for minghao’s birthday😌 it isnt a lot like how i wanted but it does justice lol. also, lets pretend they weren’t by the ocean lol

svt written masterlist || main masterlist

You sat in your apartment opening the box you received from the mail today. Jun had helped you plan this date for Minghao for his birthday and this item would complete the whole date. You pulled out the lanterns that were in a plastic bag and scanned them.

“Perfect,” You place them carefully in the picnic basket, finally set for your date with Minghao tomorrow. You heard your phone buzz on the table.

Minghao : hi yn, what you up to?

You smiled at his text, grateful that he took the time to text you even with his busy schedule

You : i am currently preparing for our date tomorrow :D

Minghao : ooo how exciting. can i know what you have planned??

You : you should know the answer to that question

Minghao rolled his eyes as he stared at his screen. Of course you would turn the tables on him, he always made your dates a surprise.

Minghao : no fair :(

You : how is this not fair??

Minghao : cuz i want to know lol.

You contemplated but stood your ground; you can’t tell him.

You : guess you just have to find out tomorrow.

Minghao sighed, giving up on attempting to find out what you have planned.

Minghao : fine. but don’t think ill tell you what i have planned for your birthday.

You : yeah yeah i know. dont you still have practice?

He looked at the clock in the practice room and then to some of his members who were sitting on the floor or standing.

Minghao : yeah i should probably get going. its late too, you should sleep.

You : i will dont worry. stay safe and dont push yourself.

Minghao : i wont. goodnight my love, i love you.

You : i love you too.

You locked your phone and took the basket, placing it on the kitchen counter. Tomorrow was going to be an eventful day.

You placed the basket with all the supplies you needed in the trunk of your car, deciding to make it a surprise. Taking the other basket that you prepared this morning with various types of food, you put it in the backseat behind the drivers side. Getting in, you started the car and headed to Minghao’s dorm.

You tapped the wheel in excitement, you finally get to have some part of the day with Minghao before his birthday. It was November 6th, so it wasn’t exactly his birthday, but you did get to have him until midnight and that’s all that counts. And it made your plan perfect.

You got to the parking garage and texted your boyfriend that you were downstairs waiting. After 5 minutes, you see the elevator open and Minghao step out, looking as handsome as ever.

He approached the car and got into the passenger seat, giving you a quick kiss. “Hi,” he smiled at you, “Hi,” you smiled back. You began to pull out of the building, picking up a small conversation with each other.

“How was the drive?” You turned down the radio, “Same as usual, smooth, nothing wrong, I was safe.” He smiled, happy that you had a decent ride, “That’s good. So, where are we going?”

You took your eyes off the road to look at him for a split second before focusing back on the road. A grin creeped onto your face, “You’ll find out soon Hao. Be patient, you’ll love it.”

“No, I know I’ll love it, I just have to let my manager know because of protocol,” You sighed, “Is that really the reason?” He looked outside the window, playing with his rings, “Half of it, they told me to have fun.”

You smiled and turned up the radio, “Shut up and enjoy the ride baby. Trust, you’ll enjoy it more.”

“This is nice,” Minghao sighed beside you on the picnic blanket. “Yeah it is.”

All the food in the basket was empty, mainly Minghao devouring most of it. “So, what are we gonna do now?” You looked at the time on your phone. Sun sets at 6:45 and it’s 3:50. You have three hours for what you have planned so it should be enough.

“I’ll be right back, I have to get something.” You got up quickly and retrieved the extra basket that was in the trunk. You returned to Minghao, “Ta da!”

“More food??” You laughed and sat down in your place, “No, an activity. Jun actually helped me with the idea.” You opened up the basket, taking out of the things you packed inside, “What is this YN?” He picked up one of the lanterns.

“It’s a lantern. I packed all these art supplies so we could decorate them and light them up and release them. Originally, I wanted to do it at midnight because that’s when your actual birthday is, but the timing wasn’t right, and plus it’s dangerous during nighttime.”

He looked at you with his mouth agape, “That’s so,,, thoughtful. I can’t believe you came up with this.”

“Actually Jun-” “-let’s just give you the credit for now.” You smiled at him as he leaned over and kissed you on the lips. You held his face in place as his right hand was planted in between the two of you so he wouldn’t lose balance. Pulling away, you smiled at each other, “Happy Birthday my love.”

“Thank you, I love you so much. Now! Let's get to painting!”

“My lantern looks like crap oh my god,” you looked at the blue blob on your cylinder object. “I’m sure it looks fine YN, just keep going.” You put down the paint brush and looked at your boyfriend.

He’s been in ‘The8’ mode ever since you two started painting. He didn’t want you to see what he was making, so it became a rule that when you both finish, that’s when you present your pieces to each other.

“I don’t know why you’re not letting me see yours, it’s not like I haven’t seen you paint before.” You continued to try and make your blob look presentable by drawing a happy face, “You know, when you took me out here in like the middle of nowhere, I thought you would’ve killed me, broken up with me and left me here to starve, or go cloud watching.”

You looked at him with a weird face, “Well for one thing, there are no clouds today. And two, I wouldn’t have let you starve, that’s too painful.” You finally looked up at you, “So you would’ve killed me?”

You purse your lips, “Would you rather starve to death?” He rolled his eyes and looked back down at his artwork.

“I get that Jun helped you with this, but like, how did the idea come about?” You painted mindlessly while pondering on an answer, “Well I thought of you and what you would like, even if you said anything. But I just thought about what you meant to me, like how lanterns are bright when you light them up, and when you release them, they float. It’s a really bad metaphor, but you’re like my lantern. You’re the light of my life and every time I’m with you, I’m always on cloud nine. Plus it fits with your culture.”

He was looking at you when you tried to sneak a peek at his lantern. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just see you try to look at my lantern. But besides the point, that was really cheesy, but I love you.” You smiled and put down the brush.

“Well, I’m done with mine.” You looked at him, seeing him also set down his brush, “Me too. Do we let it dry and assemble it?” You contemplated on your answer for a bit, “Uhh, I could probably assemble mine because it looks like trash anyway, but if you like yours, let it dry a little and then assemble it.”

Minghao just finished assembling his lantern after it dried for a bit. It was currently 6:50, the sky was just turning into various shades of orange, pink and purple. “Okay, wanna see mine now?” You looked at your boyfriend and he held his lantern behind his back, “Show me.”

He brought it in front of him and lifted it up, slowly turning it to see the details that he drew on. “Wow, it looks beautiful, I can’t really see it.”

He brought it back down and signaled for you to scoot closer, “This here, is the bouquet of your favorite flower that I got you for Valentines Day,” You smiled as he turned it a little to move to the next picture, “This is the tree that we sat by on one of our dates. The one where a bird pooped on you,” You laughed and slightly hit his shoulder, “I can’t believe you put that there.”

“How could I not? It was an amazing memory. Anyway, this is a drawing of our matching bracelets, I didn’t want to paint it because I thought it would ruin it, so it’s a bit plain.” You shook your head, “No it’s beautiful.” He turned it to the final piece.

“This is a picture of us, or a silhouette of us. We’re watching the lanterns fly up into the beautiful sky together.” You felt a tear drop fall from your eye, “Aw crap what the fuck? Why am I crying?” You giggled and quickly tried wiping away the tears with your hands as Minghao laughed beside you.

He put down his lantern and pulled you in closer to him, “Why are you crying though, baby?” You sniffed, “Because this is a celebration for you, and I feel like I should’ve painted something beautiful for you.” You kissed your forehead softly, “I don’t care what you paint baby, as long as I’m here with you, it doesn’t matter.”

“I kinda don’t want to release that one, it’s too beautiful.” He looked at you with a pout, “but I painted the future.”

You laughed, checking your phone, “Okay fine. It’s 7:10, we should light it up now.”

You both got up, lanterns in your hands. Grabbing a lighter, you lit yours and then Minghao’s, “Ready YN?” You held the hand that he held out, “I feel like I’m in high school musical,” he laughed, squeezing your hand, “Keep it PG, we do not makeout in public.”

“Okay,” You rolled your eyes with a smile, “On the count of three.” You both gazed into each other’s eyes, “1. 2. 3.”

You both let go of the lanterns and saw them slowly float into the sun-kissed sky. You felt Minghao release your hand before hearing jazz music begin to play and feeling his arms wrap around your waist, swaying softly to the music.

“Of course jazz music.” You heard him chuckle behind you, “Well, you can’t blame me, it’s a perfect time for it.” You smiled and leaned more into his embrace.

“Did you like the date?” He hummed in response, his chin on your shoulder, “It was perfect. I loved it a lot, thank you for making this special for me.”

“Of course. It’s, well almost your big day after all.” You turned around, placing your hands on his shoulders and his on your waist. “Happy Birthday my love,” He smiled at you, heart filled with love and happiness as he looked into your eyes more. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss to your lips, taking your breath away. You would never get tired of this feeling.

Pulling away, you smiled at each other before he looked up, “We should take a picture.” He took out his phone from his pocket, pausing the music and switching on the camera. He held it at a low angle to get the lanterns in the picture, but also getting the sunset in the background.

“Say cheese!” Instead of smiling at the camera, you placed your lips on his cheek, him capturing the moment perfectly. “You sly person,” you giggled and quickly pecked his lips. You grabbed his phone and resumed the jazz music.

Hold out your hand, “I believe we were dancing earlier?” He gave you a smirk and took your hand into his before pulling you closer, the two of you watching the sunset and dancing slowly to the sound of jazz.

#seventeen #minghao #the8 #happy minghao day #seventeen oneshot #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #escapewriter oneshot

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c-c-cherry · 4 years

Note

What's the most embarrassing thing each of the Bucci gang has done/has had happen to them?

Ok I took WAY too long on this but I loved this question so much and it was so fun coming up with these. Special thanks to my girl @jjadegreen for helping me!!

**This isn’t NSFW but I’d say its teen and up just because of some of the stuff talked about hehe**

______________________

Mista

-Pre-canon Mista was a bit sick one night so Bruno made him stay home while they all went on this one mission

-So naturally he’s like “HELL YEAH HOME ALONE”

-Bruno forgets his wallet and had to come back a little while later to get it and walks in on him wearing the following:

One of Abbacchio’s signature goth dress robe thing

Like 12 of Bruno’s barrettes all sticking to the top of his head

Fugo’s tie

Narancia’s bandana

All while BLASTING K-Pop at full volume in the living room. And our man is INTO IT. This isn’t just some radio coincidence shit, he was SCREAMING the lyrics. He owns the CDs.

-Bucciarati LOSES IT. Mista has never been so mortified in his life and Bruno has never laughed so hard in his life.

-He promises not to tell the rest of the gang but tells him it’s officially blackmail material

-They never speak of it again but at Christmas Mista opens Bruno’s gift and it's a brand new K-pop CD and everyone thinks its just a gag gift but like

-He definitely listens to it later alone in his room

Bucciarati

Bruno Bucciarati does not get drunk for two main reasons:

He blacks out every time

He’s an absolute lightweight

-The last time Bruno got absolutely piss drunk, he was with Abbacchio and it wasn’t even funny. It was just surreal because Bucciarati never lets himself go to such an extent

-For whatever reason Bruno is like “hey I never drink we should go to the bar or something” after a successful mission

-Even though the legal age of drinking is technically 16 in Italy they leave “the kids” home to watch mean girls or some shit

-Mista tags along too because he’s worried Bruno will get drunk and spill about the unfortunate “K-pop incident”

-My man Bruno drank like two beers and was immediately GONE like he got up and got lost in the bar after way too many drinks and ran into a drag Queen with Abbacchio’s hair

-Said drag queen became Bruno Bucciarati’s new drinking buddy

-He stumbles over to the karaoke contest and gets onstage and grabs the shitty bar mic and screams “THIS GOES OUT TO LEONE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH MWUA TWO YEARS HONEY~” and Mista is just like 👁👄👁

-Because uhhh they have literally been together for two years but everyone in the gang just thinks its a weird on/off thing because they never talk about it

-He sings dancing queen because its by ABBA and both Leone and Mista are fucking screaming with laughter and Abbacchio is filming the entire goddamn thing

-He buys the entire bar drinks they all love him so much

-Afterwards Leone tries to get them home so he leaves them outside while he takes a piss and when he walks back out THEY ARE GONE.

-Mista thought it would be a perfect time for them to get tattoos because his fucking capo is drunk off his ass and there is no better time

-Mista gets these two giant smoking guns on his back and his ass is in SO MUCH PAIN afterward that he leaves Bruno alone while he’s picking out his tattoo to get ice cream

-When he comes back Bruno has a tattoo ON HIS LEFT FOOT THAT SAYS “Never don’t give up.” The tattoo people tried to correct him but he insisted

-Abba finds them and is just like “jesus god” and takes them all to a hotel because there is no way in hell he’s taking them back home like this

-The next morning Bruno remembers absolutely NOTHING and as the gang admires Mista’s giant tattoo they ask if Bruno got one too and he’s like “god no I’m not that irresponsible”

-As soon as they’re alone Abba’s like “you got one on the bottom of your foot” and you can just see the moment Bucciarati’s soul leaves his body

Fugo

-Ok so if y’all didn’t know Fugo literally canonically wears a thong

-This isn’t sexualizing him (also I am indeed a minor don’t harass me) it's just a fact of life. You do you Fugo.

-So he sneaks out of the house once in a while and goes shopping for them cause our man’s gotta live, you know?

-He pops in the underwear store one day and you wanna know who he fucking passes by in the lingerie section?

-Bruno fucking Bucciarati.

-Which isn’t exactly a surprise considering he’s wearing visible lingerie in his tiddy window outfit but like

-That’s like running into your dad at femboy hooters

-Much to his dismay, the man spots him immediately and there’s just this...awkward silence as Fugo is holding this shopping basket of underwear and Bruno is holding the raunchiest piece of clothing he’s ever seen in his life

-They never talk about it again. Fugo finds a different store.

Abbacchio

-The most mortifying moment Abbacchio can live to remember is the first time he told Bucciarati that he loved him

-Pre-canon, our man is NOT having a vibing time

-He gets absolutely wasted with while Bruno’s at his apartment

-He’s the most miserable drunk, so he’s just fucking sobbing and Bucci is sitting there trying to console him and Abbacchio just looks up at him with tears streaking down his face and says “I’m in love with you” and the look on Bruno’s face just makes him feel even more miserable

-The entire night he keeps blubbering about how much he loves him and how much he means to him and how beautiful he is and the entire time Bruno is doing that thing where he tries to cover his face with his hand because our man is mega FLUSTERED up in here

-When he wakes up he remembers EVERYTHING and he wished he didn’t because then maybe he would be able to say that he didn’t mean it

-Bruno is surprisingly just like “Did you really mean it?” and he can’t lie so he just tells the truth and he’s just nonchalantly like “me too”

-Bruno thinks it’ll be a nice wedding story and Abbacchio no longer wants to live on this planet

Narancia

-Mista and Narancia are vibing in the living room one night and Nara tells Mista to grab his gameboy from upstairs

-He says its under his pillow (or else Bruno will take it away every night hehe)

-But you wanna know what else is under Narancia’s pillow? His Diary. No, it’s not a journal or just a blank book, Mista finds a book titled DIARY.

-And the shit in there is priceless.

“Bucciarati is sooo cool. I tried cutting my hair like his, but it didn’t really work. I think I gotta wear this hat for the next couple weeks. Shit. Fuck. If someone takes it off, I’m so fucked.”

“I clogged up the toilet yesterday and was too scared to tell Abba, so I just flushed it again but then the water wouldn’t stop flooding everywhere so I used Aerosmith to explode the toilet and told Abba that it was a stand attack. He believed me. If ANYONE ever finds out, I’m dead.”

“HOLY SHIT. I swallowed a tide pod yesterday and freaked out so I made Giorno turn it into a grape in my stomach with his stand. I almost DIED. But I didn’t so I’m over it. If Giorno ever tells anyone, I’ll kill him.”

-Narancia realizes about ten minutes after Mista left that HOLY SHIT HIS DIARY

-he finds Mista three quarters way through it and gives him $50 not to tell anyone about it.

-The shame never leaves, though

Trish

-Jade gave me a cute headcanon that Trish’s mom was still only teaching her how to properly put on makeup before she died (it's not like there was youtube or anything to teach her either) so our girl Trish only knows the basics

-She puts on lip gloss and blush and mascara and stuff but she’s never even TOUCHED eyeliner and rarely puts on eyeshadow. She doesn’t even wear concealer most of the time (she honestly doesn’t even need to, her skin is baby soft smooth)

-So long story short she kind of misses her mom and remembers how her mom was going to teach her a smokey eye before she died and is determined to teach it to herself now

-So she pulls a little heist and snatches some of Abbacchio’s makeup while they’re all out doing stuff

-She was not prepared for how heavy this shit was. She was used to the lighter, more natural stuff but Abba’s makeup is EXTREME.

-All of his stuff is waterproof so it doesn’t wash off while he’s crying at 3am and it’s just this—dark, heavy stuff.

-She actually hasn’t used a thick, real tube of lipstick before, only those little gloss tubes with the stick because she has smaller lips so when she crouches over with a small makeup mirror in fear of anyone somehow walking in on her and smears Abbacchio’s thick, dark purple lipstick on her lips, she knew she was absolutely fucked. She has no idea how to do this shit, especially not with dark, heavy goth makeup

-The smokey eye does not work. It’s just smeared eyeshadow EVERYWHERE, it looks like she has two giant, awful, black eyes and her first attempt at eyeliner was just—unspeakably horrible

-She has no idea where to start so she just puts on way too much of absolutely everything and immediately regrets it the moment she looks at herself in the bathroom mirror

-Abba comes home early and immediately realizes that some of his makeup is gone and he knows it has to be Trish

-He walks upstairs to confront her but just hears loud, ugly sobbing coming from her room and bursts in only to find her desperately trying to wipe off layers of caked-on water-proof makeup and absolutely failing

-The two of them spend all night taking it off all while Trish is still crying teary apologies to him

-To add in some wholesome Dadbacchio, he teaches her how to properly put everything on the next day <3

Giorno

-Some people forget that as a 15 year old, Giorno sometimes has absolutely no impulse control

-So when Polnareff tells him that he’s the spitting image of his evil, murderous, vampire dad he’s immediately like “haha well I’m gonna go dye my hair now”

-Everyone had something to do that day/night so Giorno waltzes over to the nearest drug store and grabs one of those at-home dying kits (he got dark green cause he thought it would look cool with his new outfit)

-He gets home and has absolutely no idea what he’s doing so he just thinks it’ll work out somehow

-Soooo yeah he does NOT put it in properly at all, he just kind of takes the shit and slathers it all over his hair and doesn’t do his roots and doesn’t put it up and leaves it dripping down his back and stuff and his stupid ass FALLS ASLEEP with the hair dye in

-He wakes up and the sheets are this really awful light green colour but he doesn’t pay any mind to it

-He looks in the mirror and from the front it actually looks good and he gets all excited and decides to wash it out

-When he gets out of the shower it’s this awful disgusting light light ugly green and he almost cries. Almost.

-It looks like someone dunked him in that Nickelodeon slime and he looks at the package and it says the dye will stay in for at least 3 weeks and there aRE TEARY EYES

-He spends the next hour in the shower trying to wash it out. It does not wash out.

-Utterly defeated with his hair matted and donuts practically falling apart, he stumbles over to his room and tries to wash the sheets covered in slime-coloured hair dye which *surprise!!!* doesn’t wash out either!

-He must dispose of the evidence, but of COURSE they’re out of garbage bags so he shoves all the dye kit stuff and the sheets into a mafia body bag and chucks it by the garbage can outside without a single thought

-Which he SHOULD have had a single thought about it, because when they get home and Narancia spots the body bag he’s like “holy shit guys I think Giorno killed someone while we were out”

-So they all panically pop into the house and cautiously try to find Giorno. Fugo finally finds him pacing around his room in the dark and when he flicks on the lights HO-LY SHIT.

-Fugo obviously bursts out into laughter and Bruno books it up the stairs and also starts cackling and Narancia is like “OH MY GOD YOU KILLED SOMEONE LOOKING LIKE THAT?!” and Giorno has to explain to them that the body bag is filled with stained bedsheets (much to his embarrassment)

-Abbacchio takes so many pictures and Giorno is having a nervous breakdown because he cannot live with his hair looking like this

-Bruno makes Abba fix it the next morning and he loves every second of Giorno’s mortification

-The pictures Abbacchio took of that night are framed next to the pictures of Bruno’s wasted karaoke night in his room

______________________

Thank you for the ask, anon!! I’m absolutely exhausted now haha so I’ll scroll through the rest of the asks when I wake up!!

#jjba #ask-c-c-cherry #headcanons #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #bucci gang #giorno giovanna

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theyaskedmeto · 3 years

Note

It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.

For which ever ship you want

to forgive you

part of the everything means everything verse

pairing: kurt x blaine

summary: the night before, blaine stood kurt up. this is how they forgive each other.

read on ao3 or read the rest of these little fic prompt fills here

———————

He waited for ages. They don’t usually do stuff like that; go on dates and act like a ‘real’ couple should - normally they just make out under the bleachers instead of going to class, or try to escape dinner and find themselves at Scandals, the shitty gay bar on the outskirts of Lima. But it was their five-month anniversary, and, even though it wasn’t exactly a significant amount of months, Kurt does sometimes feel like they could be doing more for each other.

So, they arranged it - not anything major - just a small meet up at their park again - just wearing slightly nicer clothes this time.

And when Kurt arrived that night, nothing happened.

He waited for so long. That’s the problem when you’re in love - suddenly you feel so much more optimistic about everything. You’ve spent so long hating yourself and wishing you were living another life and then suddenly, this person comes into it and changes everything. Makes everything okay again. And then you start to think, well, if I could achieve that, can’t I handle everything else? And sometimes it just… gets out of hand.

And that’s what Kurt did - he got too optimistic. He spent too much time in that park that night, holding on to the last drop of hope until it escaped from his fingers and he was quickly filled with feelings of hurt and anger. Then eventually, he called Blaine.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” Blaine had said, “it’s just… my mom’s going on another stupid holiday again tomorrow. And she won’t let me out. She said she ‘wants me all to herself’. Not that she even cares.”

“So you couldn’t even fucking text me?” And Kurt was already shouting at him by then. He couldn’t stop himself. He was angry and it was cold, and the halterneck crop top and skinny jeans he was wearing did not keep him warm.

Blaine was hardly listening. He hung up on him.

And Kurt walked home, shivering, lonely, and wishing he had a cigarette right then.

Sometimes, Kurt wonders when Blaine will stop throwing stones at his window to get Kurt’s attention from inside and just use the actual front door because believe it or not, he does care about what his dad will do if his temperamental boyfriend smashes the glass. But when Blaine does it for what feels like the one-hundredth time, the sounds sort of make him laugh - it’s a reminder of his boyfriend now, how they met, how everything built up to this. And it’s also nearly six in the morning during the summer holidays, and Kurt hasn’t even been awake at this time since graduation, so his brain isn’t exactly functioning yet.

Well, he would be happier with Blaine’s appearance if he didn’t stand him up last night.

Under his breath and eyes still sealed shut, he sleepily mumbles, “What the fuck do you want?” and stumbles out of bed, duvet flopping onto the floor as he moves towards the noise. He squints his eyes because the sun has already started to rise, and peers out the window where Blaine is standing there - almost stumbling, even - with a bottle of vodka in hand and a rather exaggerated expression on his face.

Blaine sees his figure through the window, and he shouts, words a little slurred and voice cracking, “Kurt!” and his hands shoot up in the air desperately, liquid in the bottle he’s holding sloshing around precariously.

It’s almost hysterical - he’s drunk, it’s six AM on a Thursday morning, and Blaine’s there with those desperate eyes and stumbling on the sidewalk, and Kurt has to wake up more because he is going to get himself fucking hurt and it will be my problem.

But if anything happens to you—

Kurt opens the window, blinks more as his eyes adjust to the growing sunlight, “Blaine? What the fuck is going on?”

“Kurt!” Blaine shouts again, “I wanna…” he stops for a moment, searching. “I’m drunk.” he finally says, struggling to find the right words after thinking about them for a while, “Please! I’m sorry for what I did.”

He looks like a fucking mess - his hair is tousled over his forehead - his eyes are partially hidden but Kurt can still see the dark circles under them. There are stains on his white shirt, and that signature leather jacket thrown on over it. He looks a fucking mess.

How does he still look hot?

He’s stumbling more, and there is a small bit in Kurt that panics because if anything happens to him— but mostly he’s angry because it’s fucking six in the morning and he was sleeping and his boyfriend is just there, drunk on the sidewalk, and Kurt doesn’t know what to say.

He settles on, “God, what the hell are you doing out there?”

Blaine gives an incredibly over-exaggerated guilty expression, looks around himself as if to say, what do I know?

He sighs, “Please, Kurt. I need— can you… please… let me in?”

Kurt stares at him - his eyes still feel like they could shut with the lack of sleep (he was up reading until two AM) - stares at his boyfriend, can’t even comprehend him for a single moment. He doesn’t know how Blaine can do this; how can Blaine seem like a fucking loser and stand him up and Kurt still has to love him?

Because every day he wakes up and thinks of him. Cares about him. God— he doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to him, and yet Kurt is still so aware of how fucking shit he can be.

But then he’s also aware of the pain, the hurt Blaine had to go through to be here, to be in this state, and he thinks about his own pain, too. God, he misses the time when he didn’t really give a shit about anything. And now, Blaine…

Is still standing on the sidewalk with that bottle of vodka in his hand and Kurt wants to hate him but he can’t, because there’s a pulling in his heart and it sings Blaine.

Back to the moment, and Kurt raises his eyebrows, rolls him eyes as he leans on the windowsill. He sighs, and his eyes are just focused on his boyfriend for a moment, then says, “Fine. I’ll let you in.”

He has to walk down the stairs quietly because even though he’d love to be an adult with complete free-reign over his life, he’s not. And his dad will kill him if he sees Blaine’s here at five fifty-two in the morning, not that he’s ever that happy with seeing Blaine over at his at all, especially after Burt knows what Blaine did to his son last night.

For a moment, he thinks about whether he should get changed but then remembers that his boyfriend is literally standing there, drunk on the pavement in the clothes he always wears and it doesn’t mean a thing, and he doesn;t deserve it anyway.

But Blaine still needs to be safe.

He opens the front door, and there Blaine is: leaning on the porch railing, so obviously drunk it’s absurd. Kurt doesn’t hesitate to grab his hand and drag him inside, muttering under his breath, “Jesus fucking christ Blaine, I actually— what the hell were you thinking?”

Blaine, now considerably closer to Kurt after he’s grabbed his arm, slurs, consonants fading into each other from the effects of the drink, “Dunno. Got bored,” he nestles further into the crevice between Kurt’s shoulder and neck and Kurt knows he’s lying. “Hmmmm,” he moans lightly out of contentment, “‘s warm here.”

“Okay, then. Come on,” Kurt says, still not being able to really believe the situation at hand, still angry at him, and hauls him up the stairs, “There’s only… twelve steps. Come on.” He says again, and Blaine has basically plastered himself against Kurt now, groaning, “‘s just… stay here.”

“No, Blaine. Come on. Twelve steps. And I’m fucking tired, so you should be thanking me for even letting you in after last night.”

“I said I was sorry!” Blaine argues back, then says, as if he’s completely forgotten the conversation, “Were you… trying to read Mrs— Miss—” Blaine lets out a humph and gives up trying to pronounce the correct word, “You were reading Dalloway again.” He slurs, and Kurt can feel his weight on him getting heavier, and god they really need to get up these stairs.

“It was only until one. Now. Come. On…” Kurt urges him again, giving his arm another tug. He really is too tired for this right now.

After a rather large amount of struggle, they make it to the top, and Kurt’s pretty amazed they haven’t even woken his dad yet. They stumble into his room, and the minute Blaine sees the bed he flops onto it, still holding the bottle of vodka. After realising he still has it, Kurt snatches it off him, says, “Why were you even up at this time, Blaine? God, even for you this is a stretch.”

“I wasn’t—” Blaine starts, words still slurred, “I woke up. At five.”

“And?”

“Was thinking about you. Couldn’t… couldn’t get back to s—sleep.”

“So you drank nearly a whole bottle of vodka.”

Blaine sighs melodramatically, “Yeah. Look, Kurt, it’s not— my mom’s not in town.” he says, as if that’s a perfect excuse. “I dunno. Then I thought of you. I’m so sorry.”

Kurt hesitates slightly, “You thought of me?”

“Yeah. ‘Bout how much I… care about you.”

“...I… care about you too,” Kurt says, as it’s hardly coherent he does - voice just above a whisper, like saying it louder would make the words so much harder to come to terms with. He knows Blaine will understand, even when he’s drunk, that those words are an acceptance of his apology.

It’s so weird, sometimes, because on the outside, around others, Blaine is just… different. And then when he’s with Kurt he’s so sweet, so soft and giving, and sometimes Kurt loses himself in it.

There are still so many hurdles to cross before Kurt can fully comprehend this - what he and Blaine have together - this sudden love that fell on Kurt’s shoulders so quickly. But it’s not a burden. Hardly anything but that, really. Every time he spends with Blaine it feels lighter, and it’s just something he doesn’t understand. How can one person make another feel that way?

They’re staring at each other for a moment, just falling into the other’s eyes again. And it’s nice. But thinking about this so deeply, this connection, Kurt finds himself becoming very aware of it. So he takes a deep breath in as if to say, anyway… and comments, “You need a new shirt. And we need to sleep. Take one of mine.”

Kurt throws a random T-shirt at Blaine, who huffs and toes off his shoes. Kurt has to help with removing his jeans and top and putting on the one Kurt has given him. Kurt doesn’t try and hide his blatant staring.

When Kurt slides into bed with Blaine he pipes up again, “Can I have the bottle back yet?”

Kurt tries not to laugh, “Blaine. You’re not having more vodka. It’s six AM.”

From somewhere inside the covers Kurt’s pretty sure Blaine mumbles, “Fuck you.” but he’s not too sure. He can’t stop the giggles that erupt from his chest.

With the curtains drawn and the sun only half seeping its way into the room, they fall asleep again, with half of Kurt wondering how he will be able to hide Blaine from his dad when they wake up again, and half of him not caring at all, just being here, wrapped in the blankets with his stupid, beautiful boyfriend, and forgives him.

#badboy!blaine #skank!kurt #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #klaine fanfiction #everything means everything #elsie writes #glee fanfiction #klaine #kurt x blaine #klaine fic #glee #masterlist #klaine prompt post fills

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yoongi-sugaglider · 4 years

Text

Daegu Quarantine

Jungkook x reader

Gang/ zombie apocalypse au

Warnings:

Gore, violence, blood, gun shot wounds, zombies, mention of drugs and drug dealing, weapons discharge in self defense, main character death, zombies, course language, zombies, drinking, did I mention zombies?

Summary:

They were the top of their game, known throughout the city as the smartest and most dangerous crew to ever hit the Daegu streets. But what’s going to happen when this group of young men encounter something right out of a horror film?

Word count: 2172

A/n: Omgg I am soooo sorry!! I forgot to add a read more T.T I fixed it I promise!!!

Part 13===Part 14===Part 15

Jungkook was blind fury and rage, seeking those that'd dare harm what was his. He stalked through the halls, all caution thrown to the wayside as he mowed down body after body heading his way. It wasn’t the infected he was looking for though.

“SEO EUN KWANG!!!” Jungkook’s voice rang through the hotel lobby, echoing in the empty expanse as he stopped in the center of the empty space to stare around.

“You know Boss…” A condescending voice drew his attention to the check in desk, “I never really wanted things to go down like this…”

Jungkook drew his gun to center mass, face a mask of emotionless disinterest at the man’s words. “Minhyuk and Sungjae are dead.” He growled the words out, vision tinted red at the corners as he watched Eun Kwang sigh and shake his head.

“I told them to take the night off. They weren’t even supposed to be at the warehouse. But you know how it is. Balancing out a mutiny with an apocalypse is just never going to go in anyone’s favor.”

“A fucking mutiny? What the hell is this, Pirates of the fucking Caribbean? You betrayed me Eun Kwang. After everything you fucking sell out piece of low end garbage. Not only that, you got HER shot.”

The older man shook his head once more with a laugh, leaning forward to place his elbows on the checkout desk’s high wall and tap at his temple with his gun. “Little dongsaeng, it was always in the cards for this to happen. You were just too blind to see that one little boy from Busan could never handle running the entirety of Daegu. You dreamed big, yeah. But kid, this city was just too big for you.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Jungkook stalked forward, arms never wavering as he sighted the gun right for the center of Eun Kwang’s forehead. “I never wanted to run this whole town. You fuckers put that on me. I just wanted to make enough to get by. Make sure my girl had everything she needed. None of that included taking over a damn thing!”

“Easy there little cowboy. Another step closer and my boys are gonna have to protect me and the last thing I wanna do is end up killing you.” Eun Kwang smirked as Jungkook halted in place, eyes darting around to spot three men stepping from the shadows, each with their guns aimed at him and almost manic grins gracing their faces.

***

Pain.

Everything was pain and screaming.

“You’ve got to get her to wake up!”

I couldn’t help but to groan, hands reaching out to grab the nearest person as I fought against the pressure held against my outer thigh.

“It hurts...make it stop it hurts!” I whimpered, blurry gaze taking in the worried faces of Seokjin and Yoongi who were working to hold me down. Rose’s face appeared above me, panicked as she shushed me and pressed down on my forehead to keep me still.

We were in a room of some sort, no longer in the hotel kitchen so I couldn’t be sure how long I’d been out cold. Cleaning supplies surrounded us but the pain in my chest and leg kept me from being able to take in any more information as Yoongi had renewed the pressure on the molten mass of ouch that was my thigh.

“Can’t...breath…” I whimpered out.

“Release the straps on her vest. The ceramic plates will have shattered, if she’s got any broken ribs it’s gonna get a lot worse for her.” The voice in my ear crackled to life, startling me as I struggled for a moment to register Jimin’s calm tones whispering in my ear.

Seokjin released my uninjured leg, moving to lift my upper body. The pressure on my chest increased, blinding me for a moment as my lungs decided they didn’t want to work. I stared up at the ceiling, mouth open in a silent scream and tears chasing each other down my cheeks as Jin unzipped my jacket and fumbled to release the straps that’d been holding my tactical vest together.

As the straps released air whooshed into my lungs and I let out a sob of relief, though it didn’t last long as a strange shifting in my chest caused more pain to shoot through me.

“F...fuck…” I coughed, turning my head in Rose’s lap and shutting my eyes as a wave of dizziness rolled over me.

“Alright, once she’s breathing better shift those plates around and strap her back in.” Jimin’s voice came again and I turned my head towards Jin, eyes wide as I shook my head desperately to stop him. But it didn’t matter, and deep down I knew it as Jin pulled the straps tight and snapped them back into place. The pressure was a bit better, but damn did it hurt.

“Yoongi, have you got your silencer barrel on you?”

Yoongi grunted in reply, turning with one hand still holding pressure on my leg as he unscrewed the barrel from his sniper rifle.

“I’d tell you to fire off a round or two but...not now…”

“I know what you’re gonna say…” Yoongi shifted upwards on his knees, placing the silencer on my chest for a moment and digging into his pocket. His hand reappeared and I watched on in a confused haze of pain and worry.

He nodded to Jin who groaned to himself as he picked up the silencer and held it delicately out to Yoongi. The silent assassin reached out, flicking a lighter and producing a flame that licked at the cold steel of the barrel.

My eyes widened in panic and I began to struggle, knowing deep down exactly what they were about to do.

“Keep her still.” Yoongi growled and Rose rushed to comply.

She grabbed my flailing arms, pinning them down to my sides as she shifted forward to keep a better hold on me.

Me struggling didn’t matter.

The pain no longer mattered.

The...the smell of my own flesh searing didn’t matter.

Only the bliss of one final scream chased closely by unconsciousness.

***

“Oh god…” Rose retched, losing her grip on the limp woman as Yoongi continued his grim work.

It really took no more than a moment to cauterize the bullet wound. It stretched less than 3 inches along the expanse of her outer thigh, but the blood loss alone would have caused quite an issue later on, not to mention the risk of infection. Yoongi treated the wound as best he could, wrapping it in the remains of the shirt Jungkook had tossed them before they’d locked themselves inside the supply closet of the hotel.

Seokjin sniffed, covering his nose with the back of his wrist as he stared forlorn down at the cold sweat that glistened from the unconscious form of one of his favorite people. He shook his head, grinding his teeth before tapping the inner earpiece to signal to Jimin they’d finished the work.

The haggard doctor sighed through the communication device. “She should be safe to move. Just try not to jostle her ribs too much. I take it what Yoongi did made her pass out?”

Rose whimpered, fingernails digging painful crescents into the palms of her hands as she struggled to regain control of the tears flowing down her cheeks. True, she’d been desperate for rescue the moment the news started rambling about people eating each other but...this? This wasn’t what she’d hoped for. She’d never wanted any of them getting hurt.

“I’ll hand things over to Tae, I’ve got to go get the infirmary prepped for when you guys get here. Try not to get hurt in the meantime…”

Yoongi grunted, eyes focused in on the hasty bandages as if waiting for them to bleed through. Taehyung’s voice returned, strained as if he’d been crying though none of them commented on his tone of voice.

“Alright, I’ve got visuals on Boss and Hoseok. The alley looks clear from this angle, along with the side streets that’ll lead you guys back in this direction.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Boss, I know you want to go after them...but we’ve got to get her back home. Yoongi hyung and Jin hyung could manage it solo but not without risking getting hurt or worse..infected…”

There was a brief moment of silence before Hoseok’s voice crackled over the line. “We’re headed back. Get ready to move out.”

Yoongi nodded to the two figures either side of him, tucking the silencer barrel into a side pocket on his black cargo pants before handing the rifle itself over to Seokjin.

The trio were silent aside from the occasional sniffle from Rose but eventually they managed to pack as much as they could away, checking to ensure their weapons were all reloaded in the process.

Yoongi worked gingerly, lifting y/n’s limp form into his arms bridal style and turning to nod to Jin. A single tap to the earpiece and the others were alerted that they were ready to move out and head home.

***

“Hobi hush. I’ve already told you none of the wounds are life threatening. If you wake the Boss I swear to all the high heavens that I’m blaming it on you and running.”

The whispering voices woke me, a welcome balm to the chaos that had been my nightmares.

Before opening my eyes and alerting them to my consciousness I took a moment to take stock of what I was feeling. The throbbing in my leg had gone away, probably due to whatever medication Jimin had managed to get in me. The weight alone let me know that it’d been treated and wrapped, though the weight in my chest hadn’t eased much.

I groaned, shifting a bit in an attempt to get a bigger breath of air. This got the attention of the two whispering voices which quickly stopped talking followed by the distinctive sound of shuffling bodies. After a moment a small hand slipped around mine, lifting it slightly as Jimin’s voice followed.

“Hey Boss Lady, you waking up?”

I peeled my eyelids open, one at a time before blinking to clear the blur and focusing on the two concerned faces hovering over me.

“Mmm...think I’m awake, though somehow I feel like I should be far more grateful for that stockpile of pain meds you like to keep around.”

Jimin gave me a shaky grin and a sniffle from beside him caught my attention. Lifting my head slightly I caught the sight of a forlorn Hoseok, eyes puffy and the normally sunshine glow of his grin nowhere to be seen. I let go of Jimin’s hand, fingers wiggling to catch Hobi’s attention.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m okay I promise.”

The poor boy whimpered, lower lip sticking out as he grabbed my hand in both of his. Closing his eyes he leaned forward, forehead pressed to my fingers as he sniffled his way out of the tears.

“Don’t...don’t do that to me again Boss Lady. I don’t like it when you get hurt….”

I shook my head, giving a short laugh that only served to leave my head swimming as whatever was going wrong with my ribs shifted. “Ho...boy…” Releasing Hobi’s hand I arched my back as best I could, inhaling deeply and wincing as something strange popped in my chest.

“Alright now.” Jimin muttered, pushing me back down onto the bed with a frown. “I know it’s hard to breathe, but try not to breathe too deeply. You want those ribs to heal up properly you’re gonna wanna give them a chance to settle back where they belong.”

I nodded, though relaxing back to where I’d been laying was harder than I wanted. I glanced to my other side, realising that the reason I hadn’t been able to move that hand was because a pair of incredibly toned arms was wrapped around it and a shaggy head of hair was currently pinning it to the bed.

I turned to the other two boys, arching an eyebrow at them in questioning.

“He hasn’t left your side since you all got back. Course...he hasn’t said much either.” Jimin sighed, rubbing his temples to release some of his pent up stress and then carding a hand through his hair.

“Mmm… how long was I out?”

“Half a day. The Boss only just passed out about an hour ago though…”

I nodded, gaze returning sadly to the softly snoring form beside me. My heart ached for him, even knowing I was the one injured not him. I waved my hand, giving the two boys a soft smile to let them know I’d be alright on my own.

They left, Hobi sniffling the whole way as Jimin softly closed the door behind him. It was better to let Jungkook sleep. Things would run just fine without him for a while.

#bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts zombie au #jungkook zombie au #bts gang au #jungkook gang au #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader insert #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader inster #my writing

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

08 | Illegirl

→ previous | next

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity (LITERALLY, WHAT’S NEW), kissing/making out but iN tHe cLaSsRoOm

→ wordcount: 8.3k

The car ride is so silent, you can literally hear the gears of your brain working as all sorts of thoughts fly through your head.

Jimin hasn't said a single word to you since you've left the school and neither have you. It's like the awkwardness is being fueled by the silence. God, you want to say something so bad, but what would you say?

Haha, sorry Jimin, but yeah, I might like you???

You mentally slap yourself, sighing. From the corner of your eye, you see Jimin steering steadily, both hands gripping the wheel tightly.

You almost scoff at the thought but... What if Jungkook was right? What if... he likes me too?

You've never really thought of that possibility before. Why hadn't it crossed your mind until now?

Because you're not supposed to fucking like your teacher, Y/N.

Right.

But still...

"Jimin?"

Your own voice surprises you as you can visibly see your ex-friend jump in his seat. Immediately, you regret ever speaking but it's too late now.

"Yes?"

Damn. You never realized how much you missed his smooth, beautiful voice until now.

"I... This... I miss this." You literally want to shank yourself for your inability to form coherent, non-humiliating phrases.

Jimin looks shocked but he doesn't turn his head to look at you. Instead, he mutters a soft, "Me too."

Silence follows after that, and you're worried you made the situation worse. Just as you think it's ruined forever, Jimin speaks again. "We kind of drifted apart, didn't we?"

You nod vigorously. "We shouldn't have... Right?"

"Right."

Silence again.

"I'm sorry," you say at the exact same time as Jimin. Both of you laugh, the awkward atmosphere lifting bit by bit. It feels exceptionally good to laugh with him.

"What are you sorry for?" Jimin chuckles. "You made no mistakes."

You flinch at the word, god, you hate it. "Okay, can we not call that a mistake?" you blurt out before you can even process what you said. Oh shit.

Jimin cocks his head. "What would you want to call it then?"

Ohhh, you fucked up, Y/N.

"I dunno... A... A?" You're stuck. You're screwed. You're roasted. "Um --"

HONK! BEEP! SCREECH! And an angry: "DRIVE, ASSHOLE!" saves you.

Multiple impatient people are slamming their palms hard on their wheels, erupting a shit ton of raucous noise in the evening air.

"It's a green light, go!" you shriek, laughing as your teacher hurriedly smashes his foot down on the excel.

Both of you are still laughing by the time Jimin pulls up on your driveway.

"So, an asshole now, aren't you?" you joke, snorting.

Jimin huffs. "People are so impatient!" He turns to you, grinning slightly. "But that's me included. Now, where were we? Something about 'not a mistake?'" he teases lightly.

Your face starts to flush an ugly shade of rose. "Just don't call it that!" you exclaim. "What else am I supposed to say? It was the best kiss I've ever had? Huh?"

It takes you a moment to process what you'd just said. Y/N, are you fucking kidding me.

Now it's Jimin's turn to flush pink. "Best kiss?" he says softly.

"O-oh, um... Actually..." You can't even deny it though. Granted, you've only ever had one other kiss in your life and that too, was with your goddamn teacher.

"Do you... hm..." Jimin trails off, hands still gripping the steering wheel as he refuses to make eye contact with you. "Do you... feel the same as me?"

You make a face. "What kind of vague question is that? How am I supposed to know how you feel? If I knew, I would've either cried from rejection or cried from happiness already!"

Jimin cocks his head, eyes still trained to look in front of him, not at you. "Damn," he mutters to himself.

"Damn straight!" you exclaim, getting weirdly worked up. "You know the fuck what? Let's say I do feel the same as you. Would you be glad or happy?"

"Aren't they synonyms?" Jimin asks, a small grin on his face.

You huff. "You're such an asshole! Glad, if you don't like me. Happy, if you like me back! Isn't it obvious?"

Suddenly, Jimin whirls around, facing you straight and grinning like a madman. Startled, you lean back. "Like you back? You like me?"

Oh, fuck. You forgot how much of a nervous blabbermouth you are. You sigh. Actually, you know the fuck what? What have I got to lose?

"Fine, you goddamn asshole. I like you," you blurt out. Immediately, your whole body feels so much lighter as if your confession had just lifted fifty pounds off your chest. So logically, you continue on.

"It's probably illegal for you to like me back so I won't even ask if you return my feelings. Ugh. I swear to fucking god I've been such a miserable little shit ever since we stopped talking. You're an asshole for avoiding me, you know that? And a dumbass for calling the best moment of my whole life a fucking mistake." You pause for a deep breath, nearly choking on air doing so. "But who am I kidding... You're no asshole or dumbass," you sigh, massaging your forehead as you squeeze your eyes shut.

"You're amazing, smart, a workaholic, yes, but also a caring friend and teacher... I just—" You quickly bury your face in your hands. "I'm not crying, I just lost my train of thought," you say, your voice slightly muffled. Sniffling, you continue. "You make me just... lose my fucking words. You make me blabber like a goddamn second grader! You make me cuss so much, goddammit!"

You hear Jimin's low chuckle and jerk your head up, glaring through your teary eyes.

"Y/N, Y/N!" Jimin chuckles. "Are you really blaming your foul mouth on me?"

"Are you fucking kidding me, Park Jimin?" you rage. "I just confessed my whole heart out and that's the first thing you say?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—" Jimin laughs. "You're so adorable. I'd pay good money to see you confess to me again."

Your eyebrow twitches in annoyance... maybe even humiliation, you don't know anymore. Aggressively, you wipe away the tears welled up in your eyes and look away.

"Y/N?"

You pretend you can't hear.

"Y/N."

What was that? Must be some bird --

"Y/N!"

An angry bird at that...

"Yoon Y/N!" A hand grabs your arm, forcing you to look at the man you really didn't like at the moment. (Despite the fact you're literally whipped for him.)

You expect Jimin to apologize for being an ass, but to your surprise, he laughs. Okay, this bitch!

"I'm sorry, sorry, Y/N!" Jimin giggles. "I swear I'm not laughing at you. I'm just... I can't believe -- I like you too!" he blurts out.

What.

What the FUCK?

"YOU ASSHOLE!" you shout, shaking your arm away from Jimin's grip. "YOU MADE ME CONFESS LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT!"

Your teacher laughs again. "On my defense, I didn't think you were going to blurt out a confession. Besides, you don't have any idea how much pain I've been in, thinking you didn't feel the same. I'm laughing because of the irony! I'm not laughing at you, Y/N!"

You huff. "You're lucky I like you so much. Or else I would've shanked you."

Jimin scoffs. "You? Shank me? Please, Y/N, you're half my size."

"Oh, we're roasting each other now? Okay, fine. Who's the one who can't, for the life of him, keep his hands to himself when he's drunk, hm?" you say, proudly.

"That doesn't work anymore, Y/N. I think I'm safe to say that day I kissed you drunk was the best mistake I've ever made," Jimin announces, grinning widely.

You flout. "Asshole."

"But you know you like me."

"Oh, shut up or else... or else..." you trail off, "or elSE I'M GOING TO INVITE YOU IN THE HOUSE! HA!"

Jimin bursts out laughing. "Not really a threat, but I full-heartedly accept."

Something in your chest explodes at that moment—it's a burst of emotions, warm, fuzzy and cordial. You've got to admit, Jimin is an asshole. Too bad you're whipped for him—and he's whipped for you.

"I haven't been here in forever," Jimin chuckles as he enters your house. "Thanks for inviting me in," he teases, reminding you of your stupid outburst earlier. You scowl as your face flushes a brighter shade of red.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you mumble as you throw your backpack on the couch and head towards the kitchen. "Wanna eat anything?"

"Not in particular," your teacher answers, sliding into one of the kitchen seats. He places his elbows on the marble counter and rests his chin on his folded hands, looking at you in a way that has your heart leaping around in your rib cage.

Fuck. You don't know how long you can contain your happiness, literally feeling as if you'll burst out screaming that your crush likes you back in any second.

"Suit yourself," you murmur calmly, swinging open the refrigerator door and hiding your flushed face behind it. "Get yourself together, bitch," you whisper to yourself, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to calm your palpitating heart. Then, you put on a confident face, grabbing a bowl of pre-washed strawberries and shutting the refrigerator door.

"Actually, do you happen to have gum?" Jimin asks once you set the bowl of strawberries down on the table counter.

"Gum?" Your eyebrows raise.

"Yeah, mint gum."

Strange request, but okay.

"Uh, yeah," you reply, quickly opening a drawer to take out a pack of your favorite mint gum and tossing it whole to Jimin. He catches it midair with unsurprising finesse, unwrapping a piece and placing it in his mouth before looking up and smiling at you. His smile literally kills you.

I must be dreaming. There's no way all of this just happened. There's no way—

"So... what now?" Jimin asks, chewing on his gum thoughtfully. "We like each other but what happens after that?"

His bluntness makes you blush ever harder as you quickly pick up a strawberry and shove it in your mouth to prevent yourself from blurting out anything imbecilic. While slowly chewing on it, you give yourself some time to think.

What does happen now? What do you do if the person you like, likes you back? Hell, this isn't even a normal case—this boy, man, if you will, is my goddamn teacher.

After intense contemplation, you swallow the last of the strawberry and speak your very well put together answer: "I don't know."

Jimin blows a bubble with his gum, popping it somehow gracefully as he chuckles. "Well, you should know something. It's kind of illegal for us to be together—I don't know the exact laws but I'm pretty sure somewhere in the teacher handbook there's something about not having relationships with students..." he trails off. "But technically, if no one finds out, we won't get in trouble." He gives you a suggestive look, wiggling his eyebrows.

You burst out laughing. "Oh my god, Jimin—you're just so..."

"So... what?" he teases, scooching closer to your smaller frame.

"So... I dunno... Didn't I tell you? You make me lose all sense of the English language," you pout slightly, turning out your lips as you give Jimin a look. "And I have a fucking A+ in that class too."

"You're adorable," he comments, leaning in to ruffle your hair. And he doesn't pull away. Instead, his eyes linger around your lips, making you very, very self-conscious about them.

"A-Are you going to kiss me?" you whisper without thinking, your warm breath hitting Jimin's lips. Lips that curve up into a faint smile.

"Do you want me to?" His warm, minty breath makes you feel like you're floating in the soft clouds in Heaven but you manage to stay sane.

"I dunno... I mean, yeah? Wait, maybe. Actually..." you stop yourself before you stutter even more. His question had caught you so off-guard you didn't even know what to say.

"I'm taking that as a yes," Jimin mutters, his lips slightly grazing yours. You lean for more contact when—

"Wait, lemme spit out my gum real quick."

What.

You watch, slightly horrified as Jimin just sticks his chewed, mint gum on his finger. He looks like he has no intention of walking over to the trash can to throw it away.

"Sorry," Jimin says, giving you a sheepish smile as he cups your cheek with the hand that doesn't have the gum stuck on it. "Just wanted to have minty breath."

You roll your eyes. "For what?" It's a dumb question and you know it. You don't even expect an answer—and you don't get one.

Jimin quickly leans in, his lips meeting yours halfway. It's a small, chaste peck that barely gives you a chance to taste the mint on his tongue. But you're not complaining. Not when things are unfolding like this.

"If I haven't made it extremely obvious already, Yoon Y/N, I like you," Jimin mutters, breath hitting your cheek as he softly kisses it.

That comment alone has your stomach twisting around in knots. Blushing, you manage to reply a shaky: "You and me both, Jimin."

He chuckles, giving your lips another little peck before he pulls back, fondly admiring your face. "You have no idea how long I've liked you."

Feeling a surge of confidence, you slowly wrap your arms around Jimin's neck, giving him a smile. "Try me. Bet I've liked you for longer."

"Oh? Is it a competition now?" He leans in to kiss you, and this one lingers around on your lips just a tad bit more—actually, quite literally since he hasn't pulled back yet.

"Isn't it always?" you respond against his lips. Finally, finally, finally! you can taste the mint on his tongue as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. It's less like an explosive feeling of euphoria and more like a feeling of something slow, sensual and loving.

Jimin hums, moving forward to press you against the back of your chair, making sure every part of your body's touching his.

You've never really been a smooth talker—no fucking surprise—so you're very much glad you can express yourself with your actions. And Jimin, that little bitch, he's a somewhat of a smooth talker and an obvious connoisseur of kissing.

You melt against his body, his lips suckling yours as his fingers tangle in your hair. Honestly, you could stay like this forever—this warmth, this feeling, this silence. Dare you say this feeling was better than scoring hundred's on your tests—

But of course, things never go smoothly when you're involved.

With a loud gasp, you slightly pull away from the kiss, frowning. "Jimin, your hands..."

"What about them, baby girl?" he coos, leaning in to kiss you again.

"No, your hands, Jimin. They're in my hair," you say slowly, brows furrowing. God, no.

"Yes, baby, they are," Jimin says, staring at you as if you've just lost it. "Has my kissing really made you lose your head?" he jokes.

Oh my god. It looks like you just have to go out and say it then—

You close your eyes, deeply sighing. "You had gum on your finger, Jimin. It's in my hair, isn't it?"

"OH SHIT!"

You ended up having to cut a strand of your hair.

Yeah, thanks to your new fucking boyfriend, not only did you get a (quite literal) taste of his romantics, you also got his chewed up gum in your hair. How! Great!

But are you complaining? Not really.

Not when you're cuddled up with him on the couch and it feels more cordial than home itself. You can't believe you, the most pragmatic person you know, is literally playing around with stupid platitudes, but you might as well just found home with him.

You look at the cylindrical bottle with disdain, lips pulled out in a full pout. Picking up the concealer with a maximum of two fingers (to minimize the surface area you touch), you turn around to glare at your boyfriend who's watching you with adoration in his eyes.

"I don't even wear makeup," you whine for the hundredth time. "This is all your fucking fault, Park."

"Hey, hey!" Jimin raises up his hands in defense, giving you a sheepish look. "I quite remember that you liked it when it was happening... Oh, JiMiN, yEaH rIghT tHeRe!" He gives you a shit-eating grin.

You're blushing even harder than before, rolling your eyes and huffing. "Shut the fuck up."

"Now, now, that's no way to talk to your dear teacher, Y/N," Jimin teases. He walks over to you (you were very adamantly scrutinizing your bruised neck) and he wraps his arms around you. "If it helps, I can help you apply it?" He rubs his face into the soft material of your loose hoodie.

You groan. "Fine. You better know shit about makeup because I sure don't."

"We can learn," Jimin answers as he spins you around and takes the concealer from you. "What's learning without a few failures?"

Two hours later and half a bottle of concealer wasted, you're looking at your covered up neck in the mirror with satisfaction. "I feel like if your clumsy ass hadn't spilled the concealer halfway through, we would've finished earlier," you tease, poking Jimin's cheek affectionately.

Jimin scowls, checking his watch as he sulks. "It's only half-past four... We can still have our date at the park."

You smile as your boyfriend grabs your hand, tugging you towards the front door. "Of course... But hey, can we be back by seven? I have this test tomorrow—"

Jimin laughs, squeezing your hand. "Without a doubt... nerd," he mutters the last bit under his breath.

"What did you call me?" Your brows furrow up and you glare at Jimin.

"Oh, just the ray of sunshine in my dark, muddy life."

Conversations have never been your cup of tea. Sure, finding the root-mean-square-deviation was a piece of cake—or writing a literary analysis on The House of Mirth didn't even make you break out in a sweat. But conversations... That shit's hard.

There's so much you want to say, so much you'd like to share. But you have to factor in the others' reactions to your words to make sure you're not saying something rude or offensive. God, things are so much easier when you're just talking to yourself.

"No, but I really think mermaids are real!" you huff. "We didn't think of the possibilities of the oarfish or the deep sea hatchetfish or the fucking viperfish until we found them, you know! 95% of the ocean is undiscovered, alright? Mermaids are out there!"

"It's scientifically impossible!" Jimin huffs, squeezing your interlocked hands.

"Park, a shit ton of things were called 'scientifically impossible' before they were proven to be quite feasible," you sigh, patting Jimin's shoulder. "Admit it, Jimin, mermaids are real."

"Oh, c'mon, Y/N. I thought you were a woman of practicality!"

"What's more to it than you thought wrong?" you giggle. "Mermaids probably exist! What if I told you I'm a mermaid, huh? Would you run away?"

Jimin rolls his eyes. "You're impossible."

"Much so like the so-called non-existent mermaids," you pipe up, giving your boyfriend a shit-eating grin.

"Y/N, I'm literally so ready to—FUCK, DUCK!" Jimin yells, turning your body around and pulling your hood over your head and dipping his face into the small space under the hood as if he was trying to hide both of your identities.

"What? Huh? What's wrong?" you whisper, face flushing from the close proximity between you and Jimin.

"Holy shit, we shouldn't have come to a local park, holy shit!" Jimin murmurs, hands shaking as he wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer.

"Who are we hiding from? What?" you hiss. "Jimin, what's wrong?"

"Students!" he hisses right back.

The blood flowing in your veins runs cold and your freeze before you start to hyperventilate. "Students?" you repeat in horror, barely believing it yourself until you see them through a small space between the hood and Jimin. "Fuck! Oh, shit! Fuckshitholyhell, they're coming, oh my god, oh MY GOD—"

Before you can scream and blow your cover, Jimin's lips are on yours, face dipped further into your hood as he kisses you softly. You're too shocked to say anything, only to respond by moving your lips against his, steadying the hood over both of your faces with heavy precaution.

He only pulls away when you're 110% sure you're tomato-red and panting for air. "What... was that for?" you ask, breathless.

Jimin grins. "To play the part of a romantic couple having their date at the park. No one looks twice at a couple engrossed in PDA," he murmurs. "They're gone, by the way."

"Oh thank the LORD! We should really—mmf!"

Jimin's lips crash down on yours for the second time that day, stopping you mid-sentence, again. You're not even mad—although PDA was something you always hated (being a watcher), you never thought how exciting it would be on the other side of it.

Or maybe Jimin's just a good kisser. There's something about how his lips tug and release, how there's just the right amount of affection and the way he makes you want to literally glue your lips onto his for eternity. (Ignore the last part that's borderline creepy.) But for real though. He's so perfect.

You sigh into the kiss, hands tugging on Jimin's shirt as he kisses you harder in response. The sounds, the taste, the feeling puts you on cloud nine, and you barely even notice when your hood falls down from the force of which he's kissing you.

And when both of you pull away for air, his nose still lightly pressed against yours as he pants softly, you can't help but grin so wide it physically hurts. Both of you catch your breaths together.

"I'm kinda glad this played out like this," you mutter, nuzzling your head into Jimin's chest.

"Today's date... or us as a couple?" Jimin chuckles kissing the top of your head.

"Both, of course."

Jimin laughs lightly. "You know, you can't really scientifically prove that mermaids exist, but I sure can scientifically prove that we're meant for each other."

"God, Park. That was another level of greasy," you tease as Jimin flushes furiously. "I'd like to see you try one day... With all that scientific evidence."

Your boyfriend just smiles, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he tugs you close into his arms. "Why don't we test my hypothesis out right now?"

You don't even get to answer because his lips are on yours.

Who would've fucking thought?

It's crazy how that night your teacher had drunkenly kissed you, both of your fates had been sealed. You would've never thought in a million years that you'd be so emotionally and physically attached to another being that wasn't Jin.

But here you are. With Jimin. How he looks at you when he thinks you're sleeping. How he tucks in a loose strand of your hair behind your ear so he can softly kiss your closed eyelids. How he hugs you so tight in the privacy of his cozy living room. How he loves it when you play with the silky locks of his hair and how you love it that Jimin's all you can really think about.

You're crazy for him—to the point you wonder if it's even healthy. But rest assured, you know he's crazy for you too.

Every single moment the two of you meet, your heart feels full, your shining smile never leaves your face and your eyes twinkle from sheer mirth.

Yes, he's your teacher, out of your league, almost a decade older than you. But you really don't care. Age is only a number and a teacher is only an occupation.

It could sound wrong at first glance—a teacher and his student in a loving relationship. Yet you can't really stop two people from being together, right?

Besides, life with Jimin as your boyfriend is good. Great. Amazing. Too good to be true. Ineffable.

Dates are never a problem. Underneath his nerdy persona, Jimin is a romantic freak. He's learned a thing or two from the pile of Nicholas Sparks novels he keeps under his bed. In turn, he's also learned a lot of cliché but romantic endeavors. Which is exactly why you've been stuck in the car for the past five hours, driving to the goddamn beach at an ungodly time of day.

"Jiminie," you whine, shifting positions in the cramped shotgun seat of the car for the umpteenth time. "Are we there yet?"

"God, Y/N, you've been asking that every five minutes!" Jimin laughs. "We're almost there."

"That's what you said three hours ago," you sigh, stretching your feet out. "Why did we have to go to a beach so far away, huh? And so early, jeez, it's literally five in the morning, and we started this road trip at midnight!"

"Oh c'mon, you know the answer to that." Jimin gives you a sideways, knowing glance. "We can't have any students interrupting our date—unless you're into that kind of stuff."

You snort, shaking your head. "Still doesn't explain why we hit the roads so early."

"You'll see." Jimin smiles, taking his eyes off the road for a quick second as he looks at you with adoration. You can't help to shut up when he looks at you like that. Come to think of it, you think Jimin knows that that look is the only way that'll get you to stop talking. He's using it against you. That little bi—

Your stomach growls loudly, interrupting your own thoughts. It's that kind of growl that sounds like a mixture between a fucking fart and a burp. The most embarrassing kind, of course. There's an awkward silence that follows and then, laughter. Jimin's snorting, slapping his thigh with one hand as the other keeps the wheel steady while you're cackling like a goddamn hyena (you've never been blessed with a pretty laugh).

The situation wasn't even that funny. In fact, you felt like a sixth-grader again, giggling at immature shit all the time. But it must be the tiredness talking—er, laughing.

"Well you're hungry, aren't you?" Jimin manages to say, attempting to steady his breaths.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," you choke out, grabbing your gurgling stomach to shut it up. "Are we there yet?"

"Oh my GOD, Y/N," Jimin laughs again. He takes the liberty to literally reach over and pat your head. "You're acting like a goddamn child. Like I'm dating a kid."

You pause to think. "Okay but technically, you are kinda dating a child," you say, stifling a small yawn. "What a pedo."

Your boyfriend scoffs but grins. "Hey, hey, hey!" he protests, "just because you're a minor doesn't mean you're a child. Besides, aren't you turning 18 soon?"

"Eh, late birthday," you reply, shrugging. "I'm turning 18 in August."

"Well fuck, Y/N," Jimin sighs. "What are you so young for?" He shakes his head disapprovingly.

You roll your eyes. "Oh yeah? What the fuck are you so old for?"

"Excuse me, 24 ain't that old," Jimin pouts, lips pulling out so plumply that you have the sudden urge to kiss them. "It just seems old in comparison to 17!"

"Whatever you say... grandpa."

"I'm one word away from driving five hours back where we came from," Jimin teases, making you shut up right away. "That's more like it. We're almost there, anyways. Just in time too."

"Just in time for what? We better make this quick. You know, before Jin finds out that we've both vanished without a single text," you say.

"Relax, Y/N, you and I both know that Jin likes to sleep in 'til two during the weekends. We'll be on a time crunch, but it'll be fine," Jimin answers, shrugging.

You pout like a petulant child. "But just in time for what?"

"Oh! What do you know? We're here!" Jimin exclaims, flat-out ignoring you and your sulking ass. "I'll get the beach towels, you stay right here!" Your boyfriend excitedly opens the car door, rushing to the back of his trunk to rummage through the supplies.

"Hmph." You cross your arms, a bit pissed that Jimin won't tell you shit, especially when you're not the biggest fan of surprises. It's still slightly dark outside since the sun is barely peeking over the beach horizon. Which reminds you that you should be in bed, sleeping.

Oh well. Jimin time is worth sleep time.

"For you, m'lady."

Suddenly your side of the car door opens with Jimin behind it, grinning widely at you. He's holding that typical picnic bitch basket and that basic beach mat for couples. Then, you look down to see a fucking red carpet, starting from the parked car all the way to the sand.

"What the fuck."

"Why? Do you not like it?" Jimin asks, brows creasing in worry as you express your shell-shock.

"No... I love it. It's just. Damn. I'm just impressed..." you trail off. "You did all of this for me."

"Why wouldn't I?" Jimin grins, holding out his hand for you to take. "C'mon, let's walk down the red carpet."

You giggle, taking your boyfriend's warm hand as you giddily hop out of his car. "What did I do to get the honor of walking down this special carpet?"

"Well, for one, you miraculously survived this five-hour road trip. And two, you're dating me, a well-known celebrity, so you get privileges," Jimin teases, poking your cheek as he starts to guide you down the colored rug.

"Celebrity my ass," you snort. But you pull your body closer to Jimin's as he protectively wraps his arm around your figure.

Jimin chuckles. "Well if I ever become a famous rapper, my name should be Statz, you know, for statistics."

"Yeah, sure, and people will drop their asses to your passionate rapping about the wonders of the z-score table," you giggle. "I see you more as a dancer. You've got the body."

"Oh?" Jimin quirks his eyebrows. "Been looking at my ~body~?" he asks suggestively.

"Shut up, I'm underage," you snort, hitting his chest. "Besides, I catch you looking at me all the time. Don't act so innocent, grandpa."

"Okay, we're both guilty then," Jimin smirks, squeezing your intertwined hands before letting go. "Hey, look at that, we're just in time." He smiles, spreading out the beach mat and placing the picnic basket in the middle.

The soft sound of the waves and the salty breeze helps you relax. But the silhouette of your boyfriend setting up a romantic scene for you keeps your heart beating madly.

"We're watching the sunrise," you whisper, your voice coming out as a small squeak.

"Yup. Took you long enough," Jimin quips, grinning as he helps you sit down on the soft mat. "Just you, me and the sunrise, you know?"

You smile, snuggling into his warm arms. "It's perfect."

"Okay, good, 'cause I kinda might've forgotten to put food in the picnic basket... not to ruin the mood or anything. Ugh, I knew I was forgetting something but I didn't know what it was until I picked up the goddamn basket from the trunk and was like 'oh shit, it's fucking empty' and panicked. But I was like, nah, I should just bring it for show, makes it more romantic, right? So here we are with an empty picnic basket," Jimin rambles, scratching the back of his head nervously. "I hope you don't get hungry."

You laugh lightly, reaching for Jimin's hand to console him. "Hey, it really doesn't matter. My stomach should learn to take hunger once in a while."

"It's still perfect?" Jimin asks tentatively.

"Ineffably perfect," you murmur, leaning back against your boyfriend's chest to look out at the scenery. "Think the sunrise's starting."

And it was. You and Jimin sit in silence as vibrant colors of yellow and orange slowly mix with rich shades of magenta, painting the most beautiful canvas; the morning sky.

You're in awe with the beauty, living in the tranquil moment.

Then you hear a soft whisper. "I love you."

Your eyes turn wide and you gasp quietly, whipping your head up to see Jimin looking away from you.

"W-What?" you manage to say.

Even though it's still slightly dark, you can see the blush creeping up on Jimin's cheeks as he whispers again. "I... I think I love you, Y/N."

Now you're flushing all shades of red as your heart threatens to burst out of your chest. He loves me. He loves me! HE LOVES ME! You don't know what to say, what to do, what to think.

"W-What?" is all you can utter. Quite stupidly.

"Y/N, I..." Jimin sighs, looking you in the eye, "I love you."

You're in shock. Never have you ever been confessed to. Never have you ever been exposed to this kind of romance. Never have you loved someone to this extent either. There's a first time for everything.

And so you muster up all the courage running through your veins, clear your parched throat (when had it become so dry?) as you look right into your boyfriend's twinkling eyes. Jimin smiles, squeezing your hand. "Yeah. I love you," he repeats, surely, confidently.

You smile back, leaning in to place a chaste kiss against his lips. "You and me both."

You don't wanna sound like you're from a fucking fairytale or some shit, but damn you really think you got your happily ever after.

Yeah, like every princess out there you're practically an orphan, but you're surrounded by the most caring and loving bunch of people ever. And plus, you have your prince. Prince Jimin. (Why the fuck does that have a nice ring to it???)

But anyways, you basically have it all: a loving boyfriend, a hearty group of friends, an affectionate cousin and some impossibly immaculate grades. Now you kinda get why some people say they peaked in high school. You'll probably end up the same... yikes.

And acknowledging that, you know you've got to use the most of this peak in your life. You've been going out on frequent dates with Jimin (telling Jin they were math club meetings) and hanging out with Taehyung, Yoongi and Jungkook at school.

Now it's not so much of a struggle to be happy. And your happiness shows.

It's funny how putting a smile on your face can change a lot. You're no longer a turtle dwelling in her thick shell. You're no longer afraid of befriending people. You're no longer afraid of getting hurt because you have people to help you back up on your feet. You've put yourself out there, waved to a few people, exchanged salutations. And now, it seemed as if everyone knew and liked you.

"Hi, Y/N!"

"Hey, girl, what's up?"

"Y/N! Hey!"

"How did your philosophy presentation go?"

"How are you?"

"Damn something good happen today?"

The last one was Taehyung, suggestively moving his eyebrows up and down as he nudges your side. No doubt teasing you.

"Ooh, did Jungkook... confess?" Yoongi mock gasps, placing a delicate hand over his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "No, I'm just..." You huff. "I dunno, do I really need a reason to be happy?"

"Well then, do you need a reason to be so sassy?" Taehyung shoots back, chuckling.

"Excuse me, I wasn't being sassy!" you argue, crossing your arms. "Yoongs, help me out here!"

"I agree, she really wasn't," Yoongi chuckles, bobbing his head up and down in approval as you smile. "Sass is just ingrained in her personality, duh."

Your jaw drops open at the sheer betrayal. "What the fuck."

"Oh, how could I have forgotten?" Taehyung laughs as you glare daggers into him. "Kinda forgot the second definition of 'sass' is 'Y/N.' Think I read it on the Merriam-Wattster dictionary before. Right Yoongs?"

"Right. All that SAT vocab practice last year really got to us, huh?"

"Guys, guys, be nice to Y/N!" Jungkook interrupts, literally appearing out of thin air as he casually swings his arms around Taehyung and Yoongi. You're inwardly glad that Kook's here to save you from your suffering.

"Hey, you always pick Y/N's side!" Taehyung pouts. He crosses his arms against his chests and leans against Yoongi. "It's soooo unfair."

The shorter male snorts, playfully pushing the taller off of him. "Yeah, I fucking wonder why."

"I'm so sick of both of your sarcasm," you announce, throwing your hands up in defeat. "But whatever." You turn to smile at Jungkook. "Hey, Kook. Any plans after school today?"

Jungkook immediately perks up, grinning from ear to ear. "No, why?"

"Well I dunno, I was wondering if we can go to the bowling alley," you say, scratching your head shyly. You're not usually one to initiate any hangout, leaving Jungkook absolutely shocked.

"U-Us?" He asks, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

"Yeah, the four of us, you know? Why are you so surprised?" you giggle, nervously twisting strands of your hair. "Not good at bowling?"

Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head as he stands up straight and tall. "Uh no. I'll have you know that I used to take bowling lessons. Prepare your ass to be run over by the professional."

"Mhm, sure." You nod your head, voice dripping with pure sarcasm. "Bet. Loser buys dinner."

"You're on. Yoongs? Tae?" Jungkook asks. He turns to his friends who look at him disapprovingly.

"Hold up, we never agreed to this!" Yoongi complains as his face wrinkles in distraught. "Save me and my empty wallet!"

"Same, I'm kinda a broke fuck sooo..." Taehyung trails off.

"Fine. We all play then. But whoever scores the lowest between Jungkook and I will pay. Good?" you dictate as your competitive and slightly bossy side takes over.

"Perfect as usual," Jungkook sings as he swings his arm around you. "I'm thinking lobster night, what about you guys? And we'll thank Y/N in advance for the meal since I'm so gonna win."

You feel his warm arm around your shoulder, and instinctively, you lean in. His figure is warm against your side, his proximity letting you smell his fresh, clean scent. "Watch it, Kook. Don't make promises you can't keep," you chirp, smirking confidently. "I know a great lobster place downtown. Hella overpriced, but totally worth it. We'll go there."

"Great! It's all set then," Taehyung says, clapping his hands. "I'm practically drooling already!"

"I love freeloading off of my besties!" Yoongi chimes in, a great grin tattooed on his face.

"Don't worry you're not freeloading completely. You'll pay for dessert," Jungkook chuckles, momentarily taking his arm off of you as he slaps his friend's back. The shorter male grumbles unintelligible things, glaring daggers into Jungkook.

"Hold up, I just have to tell my cousin not to wait for me after school," you say, fishing out your phone as Jungkook slips his casual arm off of you. "Or else he'll worry and call the fire department, the police, the navy and the fucking president."

"Your cousin? The Kim Seokjin?" Taehyung says in awe as his eyes turn glassy. "He's so hot."

"Hey!" Yoongi protests, elbowing Taehyung in the stomach. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked hella jealous. "I mean... er, that's very inappropriate to say to your teacher!"

The last remark makes your face burn hot, (considering you've done worse with your teacher) so you quickly attempt to cover it by ducking your head down to dial Jin.

Your cousin answers in three rings. "Y/N????" he practically screeches. Even an idiot could tell he was worried, almost as if you called to break some bad news to him. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah, hi," you chirp calmly. "No nothing's wrong I—"

"Oh thank god," Jin sighs into the phone. You slightly flinch as you hear a front-row sample of your cousin's dramatic breath. "So what's up?"

"Uh, yeah well, listen, Jin, you don't have to pick me up today after school. I'm going out with a couple of friends."

"Come again? Friends?? What frie—o-oh, uh, I mean, really? Um yeah, have fun then and be safe!" Jin slightly stutters.

"Excuse me, what do you mean, what friends? I have friends. A lot of them!" you announce, frowning. You grip your phone with two hands, lowering your voice: "I mean, now I do."

Jin laughs on the other line. "Mhm. Alrighty, Y/N. But for real, have fun and be safe, okay?"

"You know I will!"

"Good. Make sure to be with your friends at all times! Don't go wandering off on your own okay? Do you have enough money? When and where should I pick you up? Huh? Y/N?" Jin frowns he deattaches his phone from his ear. What the heck, you had just stopped talking. But that's when he realizes you'd ended the call quite some time ago.

Your cousin scoffs, shaking his head. He assumes you must've been so excited and ended the call early. A grin blossoms on his tired face. He can't remember the last time you had hung out with other people other than him and Jimin. Jin's glad that things are looking up for you—and he hopes things will stay that way.

"Did I ever mention how proud I am of you?" Jimin whispers. He nudges you softly as your cheeks slowly turn into a pale shade of pink from sheer contact with your boyfriend.

Scribbling down the last few words of your literature essay, you smile, resting your head against Jimin's shoulder. "I think this is the tenth time today, actually." You feel so safe by his side, perched on a chair pulled up by his desk. It's almost as if his classroom is your second home since you spend so much time with him in there. "But you can say that a million more times and I won't ever mind hearing it again."

Jimin laughs heartily, eyes scrunching up beautifully and lips pulling apart gorgeously. "God, I love you." He leans in to peck your lips lightly, sending your head soaring ten miles up the sky. The warmth of his mouth on yours lingers even after he pulls away, and you reach to touch your own lips to chase the heat.

"I love you too," you giggle, "aren't you glad I didn't say 'you and me both' this time?"

"Well, in your defense, you really didn't know it was common etiquette to say it back. Besides 'you and me both' can be our thing, you know? It can be just as romantic as saying 'I love you too,' " Jimin swoons, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand.

"I actually like that idea," you say, reaching up to ruffle Jimin's soft, black hair. "Say you love me again, please?"

"Jeez, am I starting to get you into clichés?" Jimin chuckles, leaning into your delicate touch. "I love you, alright?"

You snuggle up against your boyfriend's warmth, giggling as you take his hand in yours. "You and me both, Jimin."

Your boyfriend can't help but grin wildly at you. And you return his grin, flirtatiously batting your lashes to tease him. Subconsciously, your tongue darts out of your mouth, slowly wetting your lips. Jimin watches your every movement, eyes narrowing as his breathing slows.

Before you can say another word, his warm hands grasp your thighs, hoisting you up onto his desk leaving his papers flying across all corners of the room.

You squeak in surprise, gripping on Jimin's button-up shirt. "What the fuck, Jimin? You're so clum—"

You're interrupted when his lips come crashing down on yours, his hands coming up to caress the sides of your face as you rest your hands in his hair. Deciding to tease your boyfriend a bit, you part your lips only slightly, which Jimin takes as an invitation to attempt to slip his tongue through. But he soon finds out the small space between your plump, kissed lips is just not enough.

You giggle, satisfied with your teasing as Jimin becomes visibly frustrated. He whines, mouth still on yours as he pushes your bodies hard against each other. But you refuse to give in. Your boyfriend's hands fly down to your thighs, gripping them hard. "Stop teasing," he mutters breathlessly into your mouth.

His hands are leaving warm imprints on your legs, and you revel in the feeling, softly kissing the corner of Jimin's lips. "Or what? Do you have an event planned or something?" you say smartly.

You literally swear on your perfect grades that you hear Jimin fucking growl. You're still contemplating if you're dating a goddamn wolf or not when your back is roughly pushed back on the wooden desk. You yelp in shock, forced to peer up to see Jimin, smirking as he hovers over you. "Yes, I do quite have an event planned," he teases right back.

Now you can't help but stare at him with hooded eyes. It's almost as if you forgot that you were human, a fucking student, for goodness' sake. Your actions seem animalistic, full of something people would call lust.

Jimin's careful not to crush you with the weight of his body as he leans in to kiss you again. This time, you let his tongue slip through your parted lips.

There are no thoughts in your head. Only the feeling that you need to be closer to Jimin, that you're not close enough to him, even though he is practically on top of you. You can feel your temperature soaring up as his mouth devours yours in a deep, passionate way. He tastes like mint, your favorite.

"Jimin..." you sigh, legs intertwining with his as you firmly grip the front of his shirt.

You don't know if your boyfriend took that as some sort of sign, or if he was getting too hot, but the next thing you know, he's starting to unbutton the white collared shirt. You don't mind at all.

Instead, you tug Jimin's head closer to yours, deepening the fiery kiss and sending heat coursing through your veins. Both of you don't need to pause for breath as if the lack of oxygen would never keep you apart.

Jimin's still fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and you contemplate breaking the kiss to help him out. But his lips are so warm on yours, moving in sync while pulling and parting. Without realizing, you let out a little moan. Normally, you'd be embarrassed, but you were too occupied to care. Besides, no doubt Jimin heard; his fingers were moving faster than ever, trying to discard his tight shirt off of his body. Something you have nothing to complain about—

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

You break the long kiss apart, not to breathe, but to scream. Fuck. You can recognize that (shrill) voice anywhere.

There your fucking cousin was, standing in the doorway. He looks like as if he's been to and survived the goddamn Western Front back in World War I. And you kind of know why.

For one, you're still pinned under Jimin in a vulnerable (rather unflattering) position. Your face is flushed, lips swelled an angry red and clothes beyond what a normal iron can fix. Jimin's shirt is three-quarters unbuttoned, revealing his abs to the wrong person at the wrong time.

It looks fucking bad. And both of you know it.

Jimin's the first to react, scrambling to get off from atop of you and fumbling to button up his shirt. "J-Jin! We er... I mean, I thought you were gonna be in a meeting for two more hours!"

Your cousin is silent as if he was still taking in the atrocious scene. You're in a hurry to fix your hair and clothes, avoiding eye contact to save your own ass. Jin was going to burst out screaming any second now and you and Jimin both knew it.

"MY COUSIN???? AND MY BEST FRIEND?????" Jin hollers as predicted. His forehead vein protrudes unattractively as his eyes bulge out.

You and Jimin both flinch back, you gripping Jimin's arm for support out of instinct. Jin catches the action and screams: "NO! DON'T TOUCH HIM! DON'T TOUCH HER! WHAT THE—I-I—THIS IS — OH MY GOD ILLEGAL—WHAT THE ACTUAL F—"

Your poor cousin is a blubbering, shrieking mess. And honestly, you can't blame him. You and Jimin had started slacking off, being quite careless when it came to public displays of affection. It was both of your faults that your cousin had found out like this.

You helplessly look at Jimin in hopes for some sort of comfort, but upon looking at his scared face, you realize how much trouble you were actually in.

"WE ARE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS AT HOME. GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS. OHMYF—" Jin abruptly stops his yelling to massage his head. "Oh my god," he breathes. "We're going home."

Jimin looks at you, eyes reflecting pure fear as he wordlessly begs you to ride in his car. You're just as frightened, not knowing what your unpredictable cousin would say or do. Would he make you break up with Jimin? Would he ban you from seeing your boyfriend again? Force you to move schools?

Nevertheless, you're about to nod to agree when Jin turns around, glaring at both of you. "Y/N, you're coming with me. Jimin, I'll see you in the living room in five minutes."

Your cousin grabs your arm, dragging you away from your boyfriend who still looks shellshocked. You don't blame him. This had not ended the way you thought it would.

The last thing you see before you're pulled out of the classroom is Jimin raking his hand through his hair in frustration, mouthing the words, "We're fucking screwed."

It does nothing to calm your nerves.

—previous | next

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin angst #teacher au #jimin fanfic #illegirl

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stardust-walker · 3 years

Text

High Hopes: Chapter 13

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

word count: 3358

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Dove had nearly jumped out of her skin as a gunshot rang out through the quiet forest. Her hazel eyes had snapped straight to Lori who came to a halt and looked around like a startled animal. “You hear that?”

Daryl spoke up from the head of the group, “We should keep movin if we wanna get back before dark.” He kept the group moving as best he could and Dove waited as Carol walked over the other woman.

“Cmon, Lori,” Carol spoke softly as she placed a hand on Lori’s arm, “Let’s get goin. I’m sure everyone’s just fine.”

Maybe it was motherly instinct, but it didn’t take long for Lori to stop again.

“We all heard the gunshot, Lori,” Daryl spoke up again.

“Why just one gunshot,” Lori sounded panicked. Dove thought she had a point.

“Maybe they took down a walker.” Daryl also had a point.

Lori scoffed, “Please don’t patronize me. You know Rick wouldn’t risk a gunshot to put down one walker.”

Dove sighed and ran a hand through her hair, “Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it’s someone else further off? Some people might not know that sound attracts them.”

That didn’t help soothe Lori’s worries at all, it seemed, since she just stared at the younger woman. “Anyone in our group would do it quietly, you know that.”

Carol rubbed Dove’s arm lightly, “Shouldn’t they have caught up with us by now?”

“Nothin we can do about it anyway,” Daryl started to look around the woods. He was keeping his cool surprisingly well. “Can’t go runnin around these woods chasin echoes.” Lori questioned him yet again and he just shrugged. “Keep workin our way back to the highway. Look for Sophia as we go.”

Dove nodded her head. That definitely sounded like a better plan than wandering around the woods following a gunshot that they could barely tell where it came from.

Andrea spoke up,” I’m sure they’ll meet up with us back at the RV.” The most sense she’s made all damn day.

Any positive thought that Dove had towards the blonde woman quickly left her head as she stepped towards her sister. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” she heard Andrea say. Dove felt Carol’s grip on her wrist tighten as she turned on her heel to face the two. “I know how you feel.” Her stomach turned. Sophia isn’t dead it’s not the same thing.

“I suppose you do,” Carol replied. “The thought of her. Out here by herself…” Carol trailed off again as Dove stepped forward and placed a comforting arm around her sister. “It’s the not knowing that’s killing me,” Carol’s voice cracked. “I just keep hoping and praying she doesn’t wind up like Amy.” Dove felt her eyes widen at this. It was a very subtle way of telling Andrea that she had no idea what they were feeling. At least Andrea knew. At least she got to mourn. All they had right now was an empty Sophia shaped hole in their lives that would either be filled with dirt or an alive, but very scared, little girl.

Andrea did not look the least bit happy as she took one of Carol’s hands in hers. “We’re all hoping and praying with you, for what it’s worth.” It’s not worth shit, Dove thought.

Lost in her thoughts, Dove took a step backward as Daryl walked closer to them. She narrowed her eyes slightly at him as she looked him up and down. She was five seconds away from losing it but what he said surprised her. “I’ll tell ya what it’s worth,” he looked between all three of them. “Not a damn thing.” Dove’s eyebrows shot up as she opened her mouth to reply, but Dixon just continued. “It’s a waste of time all this hopin and prayin. Cause we’re gonna locate that little girl, she’s gonna be just fine.” Her hazel eyes shifted towards her sister who looked just about as astounded as Dove felt. Her heart leapt up into her throat; at least there was someone else who hadn’t totally given up on the fact that Sophia could still be out there somewhere. “Am I the only one zen around here? Good lord.”

The corner of Dove’s mouth quirked up into a small smile as she met Lori’s eye. The other woman looked just as amused as they started off after the redneck once again. Even in the end of the world, people were full of surprises.

Dove fell back from walking with her sister and fell into step next to Rick’s wife. “I’m sure everyone’s just fine, Lor.” Dove sighed as she gave Lori’s shoulder a light pat. She turned to the older woman, a small smile on her face. “Ya know what one of Sophia’s favorite movies was growin up? Peter Pan.” Lori laughed quietly. “She loved that stupid song about following the leader,” Dove chuckled as Lori let out a small snort of laughter.

“I know exactly what you’re talkin about,” Lori smiled as she rubbed Dove’s arm. “We’re gonna find her. They won’t stop lookin until we do.” For the first time all day, Dove felt some sort of peace as her gaze fell on the man leading the group.

“I see that now,” Dove turned and forced a smile.

The woods were quiet for a while before they decided they should just circle back to the highway. It was a mess and Dove felt like she was on a different planet. She just wanted to make it back to the RV and sleep but apparently, the world had other plans.

“How far are we,” Lori sighed.

“About a hundred yards. As the crow flies,” Daryl called back over his shoulder.

“Too bad we’re not birds,” Andrea grumbled.

“Speak for yourself,” Glenn glanced over his shoulder at Dove.

She flipped him off and grinned, “Fuck yourself.” The lighter mood was broken by Andrea screaming for help. “God she’s gonna get us all killed,” Dove hissed as they ran off towards where the screams were coming from.

Her eyes almost bugged out of her head as she laid eyes on a woman on horseback. Did she just say that Carl was shot? Lori didn’t even ask question as she started to pull the pack off her back and handed it towards the younger brunette. “Wha…” Dove shook her head as she tried to take in the new information.

“We don’t know this girl,” Daryl tried to talk Lori back but she was already on the horse. Another few seconds and they were gone. Dove clutched Lori’s backpack in her hand as Daryl snapped at a walker to shut up. Her hazel eyes scrutinized Glenn and she gave him a soft slap to the back of the head as they started moving again.

“Put your eyes back in your head, Glenn.”

“Climb down out of my asshole, old man,” Daryl growled at Dale and Dove just rolled her eyes as she helped Carol over the guardrail.

“Seriously, Dale. He tried to stop her but Lori wasn’t having any of it. Can’t say I really blame her with how the past few days have been,” Dove shifted her gaze back to the older man.

“Besides, Rick sent her. She knew Lori’s name and Carl’s. She wasn’t just some random person out there in the woods,” Daryl stalked back off towards the RV. Dove leaned against the guardrail next to her sister.

Carol sighed and leaned her head on Dove’s shoulder. “We’re never gonna find her if we keep fightin.”

Dove frowned and brushed a hand through Carol’s short hair. “Definitely not figthin as much as we were in Atlanta. That has to count for something.” She felt Carol nod as she closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing again.

“You think Carl’s alright,” Carol spoke softly.

“Has to be. That woman said that he was alive. If someone’s taking care of him, he has a way better chance than most people do right now,” Dove sighed.

The first thing that the group noticed when they finally pulled back together was that T-Dog looked bad. All of them looked tired and they had all definitely seen better days, but he looked bad. Dove tried to keep her hands from shaking as she pressed a clean shirt to the man’s head. “You’re burnin up, man.”

T looked out of it as he chuckled, “Ya know, there’s better ways to tell a man that he’s hot.” Dove rolled her eyes and pressed the t-shirt into his hand as she stood up again.

Glenn looked on in worry as he pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, “He alright?”

“He’s got a fever but his sense of humor is just peachy,” Dove threw her hands in the air before bringing them to rest on top of her head. She shook her head as Dale began to talk about moving on from the highway.

“I can’t do it. We can’t just leave,” Carol pleaded.

Dale shook his head, “The group is split. We’re scattered and weak.”

“What if she comes back and we’re not here,” Carol’s voice got louder. “It could happen.”

Dove shifted weight to one foot as she moved her hands down to scratch the back of her neck. “She’s right,” her gaze shifted around the group, fixated on her sister for a moment, before her gaze shifted to Daryl. He seemed to be the only one really hopeful so it was worth a shot. “She comes back, we’re not here and what? She runs off into the woods and gets herself killed? I won’t…I won’t leave. You guys all go one then. Me and Carol will stay.”

Daryl shook his head, “That’s a real bad plan. If we wanna do something, we gotta plan for this. I say tomorrow morning is enough to pull up stakes,” he continued as Dove felt Carol grip her arm. “Give us a chance to rig a big sign. Leave her some supplies. I’ll hold here tonight, stay with the RV.” He pointed towards the camper.

“If the RV is stayin, I am too,” Dale shrugged his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Carol smiled a little bit.

It did make Dove a little wary that Andrea was staying and Glenn was being sent off. “Me? Why is it always me,” Glenn rolled his eyes. Dove couldn’t help but agree with him. Dale did have a good point about the farm and T-Dog. She really wasn’t in the mood to lose anyone else.

“Get him to that farm and see if they have any antibiotics,” Dale explained and Dove nodded her head as she listened. She didn’t notice Daryl move until she heard him shuffle around.

“Why’d you wait until now to say anything,” the man shook his head as he brushed past the younger woman. “Got my brother’s stash.” Dove stepped forward with wide eyes as she took in all the drugs that were in one bag.

“I knew that fucker was methed out of his mind,” she whispered to Carol. Carol hushed her younger sister as they looked on.

“Some kick ass painkillers,” Daryl tossed a bottle towards Glenn. “Doxycycline,” Dove wrinkled her nose as she watched Daryl toss another bottle towards the Asian man. “Not the generic stuff neither. That shit’s first class.”

“Why did Merle have all this stuff,” Andrea questioned as her eyes scanned the bag.

“Old prescriptions and shit,” Daryl spoke as he picked the bag up from the hood of the car, “ And Merle got the clap on occasion.”

Carol mumbled a quiet, “gross,” from beside her sister.

Dove turned her head and wrinkled her nose at Daryl as he walked back over towards the motorcycle. She called towards him, “Ya know, I never thought I’d have to ask you to not overshare!”

Dove never particularly liked being on watch, she felt like it put too much pressure on her. Still, it didn’t feel like she had much of a choice with Daryl and Andrea out lookin again and Carol crying in the back of the RV, there was no way sleep was coming to her easily tonight. So, with a blanket tossed over her shoulder and her Walkman in her pocket, she found herself on top of the RV. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Sawyer,” Dale spoke softly as he stared out towards the road.

“Can’t sleep. Worried about Sophia. Carol’s cryin,” she trailed off as she pulled her blanket tight around her shoulders.

“Worried about Daryl and Andrea out there in the dark,” Dale questioned and she thought she saw a small smirk on his face but it was gone when she faced him.

“A little bit. But if you tell either of them about that, I swear I will push you off this roof,” she chuckled as she reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “I ever tell you about my mom?” She questioned as she placed a cigarette between her lips and took a few moments to light it. She might as well talk about a lighter subject while she could to calm herself down. Dale shook his head in the negative. “My mama was the best. Carol’s mom didn’t like her much. Her parents got divorced when Carol was small but her mama still insisted that he left her for my mom,” she snorted and shook her head. “She would call my mama a ‘no good man stealin gypsy bitch’. No of course, I had no idea what that meant when I was little so I had no idea why she didn’t like me.”

“A gypsy bitch,” Dale nodded slowly. “That’s certainly colorful.”

Dove chuckled as she waved some smoke out of her face. “A few generations down, some of her family immigrated from Romania so I guess to her it made sense.” She paused. “Carol’s mom was a hateful bitch but my mom treated Carol like she was her own whenever she came to visit.”

Dale smiled a little as he turned to look at Dove, “You guys are far apart in age, right?”

“12 years,” Dove confirmed with a smile as she stared up at the sky. She pointed her finger, “You see that star right there? That’s Spica. My mom used to sit out under the stars with me and she would always point that one out to me.”

Dale quirked an eyebrow, “Why that one?”

“I’m a Virgo,” Dove shrugged her shoulders and pulled up the sleeve of her shirt. “That’s why I got this. It’s the sign for Virgo hanging from a crescent moon. My mom loved that shit. She used to do palm readings and stuff for her friends too when she had free time.”

Dale smiled lightly. “Your mom sounds like quite the fascinating lady.”

Dove sighed and pulled the blanket tighter around herself, “Yeah…she was” She cleared her throat, “you did good back there before, ya know. Helping me calm down. I can’t thank you enough.”

“My wife went through a lot of those when she first found out she was sick,” Dale explained as he looked off into the distance. “I tried my best to help her too.”

“You did a good job,” Dove paused, “Ya know, if you wanna go down and get some rest, I got this for a little while. I think I’ll wait for Andrea and Daryl to get back. Carol might be asleep by then and maybe you can take back over,” she shifted her gaze to the older man.

He looked like he was ready to fight with her about it, but there was a look in her eyes that told him it wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t leaving this roof until she heard something. A hand on her shoulder was all she needed to tell her Dale was going to leave her in peace for a while. After a few minutes of silence, she sighed and reached into her pocket. As she slipped one earphone in, she couldn’t help but smile as she hit the play button on her Walkman. I have a dream started to play and she sank back into the lawn chair. Her eyes scanned the road and woods in front of her as she hoped for any sign of life as ABBA started to soothe her.

A clunk sound shook her out of the different world she had sunken into after she’d flipped the cassette to the B-side. She hit pause right at the peek of one of her favorite songs as she turned her head to look at the end of the RV. Her heart leapt in her chest as she saw Daryl peek over the edge at her. “Didn’t find her,” Daryl shook his head as he stepped onto the roof and Dove sank back into the chair that she didn’t even notice herself rise out of.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as Daryl sank down to the roof beside her, his legs hanging over the edge of the roof of the RV as he stared out into the woods. It was silent as Dove held her pack of cigarettes out to him and waited. “Least you tried,” Dove mumbled as she started to fiddle with the crystal around her neck.

“Found a guy out there. Poor bastard hung himself but didn’t shoot himself in the head,” Daryl grunted as he shook his head.

Dove rubbed her forehead, “Anyone ever tell you that you’re real bad at starting a conversation?”

“Nah,” Daryl shrugged his shoulders as Dove raised an eyebrow at him.

Dove stared blankly for a moment, “Was that…was that supposed to be a joke?” Daryl’s answer was a shrug and Dove’s response was a short chuckle.

She watched as he sat up slightly and reached into his pocket, “Meant to show you this before. Found it when I was searchin through one of the cars when we got back from lookin before.” Dove stared at him as he pulled a small chain out from his pocket and held it out of her.

The brunette stared for a moment more before she reached a hand out from beneath her blanket and carefully took the small chain from it. “What is it,” she squinted at it as she examined the small charm that hung from the chain.

“St. Anthony pendant. One of the cars had it hangin from the rearview so I grabbed it,” Daryl flicked his cigarette out into the road. “Patron saint of lost things. Figured it couldn’t hurt. They weren’t usin it anymore anyway.”

Dove just stared at the small pendant in her hand and wiped at her face as she felt tears spring up in her eyes. There was a sharp intake of breath as Dove nodded her head before pulling the pendant over her head and settled it right next to her crystal. “Thank you,” she trailed off as she stared out into the woods. She sniffled again as she cleared her throat. “Should probably go get Dale so he can take over again. Told him I’d only keep watch until ya’ll got back and I don’t want him bein nosey.” Daryl laughed at that. Dove sighed as she rose to her feet and she looked back and forth from the woods to her feet as Daryl stood up and they walked to the ladder together.

“You wanna go down first,” he motioned with his hand.

Dove nodded and chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Yeah.” She paused before she reached forward and wrapped one arm around Daryl in an awkward sort of hug. She felt him tense up during the brief second, just as she felt the tears start to roll down her face. “Thank you, Daryl,” she smiled softly as she gave his arm a squeeze before she descended down the ladder.

She wasn’t surprised to see Dale and Andrea waiting around the front of the RV as she rounded the corner. There was silence between everyone as Dove looked back down at the ground before she shuffled forward and into RV as Daryl held the door open. She heard lighter footsteps on the roof as she settled down in bed next to her sister and she was somewhat comforted by the fact that Andrea was on watch and not Dale. The poor old guy needed some rest; hell, they all did.

_____

@crossbowking @momc95 @chaotic-gary-king-stan

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