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jackie5656 · 4 years

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Five More Minutes With; Diego Hargreeves

A/N: Hey again! Another little imagine I’ve had in the drafts for a while. This came a little later than I thought it would because I have the idiotic and infuriating tendency to not save my work when adding onto drafts. So I had to write half of this shit over again and I was pissed. On another note, there’s a POV change once the reader wakes up, because writing in third person gets annoying and mundane sometimes. Anyways, I know it’s kind of not supposed to happen in writing but...There’s no rules here! Enjoy!!!

*Gif by @sebastianstaan

Diego’s eyes flutter open, blinking quickly in an attempt to get used to the morning light shining through the room’s window. The alarm clock beside him lets him know it’ll sound in twenty minutes. There’s really no point in even setting it, he thinks, because waking up with the sun is just about second nature by now. The habit of waking up this early has been instilled since childhood, so why bother trying to rid of it now? Besides, getting up at dawn means at least half an hour of just laying in bed. Which might be completely mundane and boring if it weren’t for her.

She has a leg thrown over his abdomen and an arm haphazardly splayed across his chest. Her skin is hot, despite only wearing his shirt and some shorts. It’s a bit suffocating, the way she’s rolled practically on top of him during some odd hour of the night and found it comfortable enough to stay there. But Diego doesn’t mind. With her face on his chest, he can adjust himself just right to admire her squished left cheek and pouted lips against his skin.

He glances at the alarm clock one more, letting out a sigh knowing he may as well turn off and get up considering it’ll sound in another seven minutes. He moves his hands the her waist, gently pushing her in an attempt to move her sleeping form off of him. It takes a little effort considering the dead weight from her slumber, but he’s almost moved her enough for him to be able to squirm out from under her. Just a smidge more and-

“Mmmph” Her frustrated huff startles him, but he grins anyway as her long eyelashes begin to flutter open. She rubs her eyes with a yawn, squinting her eyes as she looks up at him with a tired smile.

“Watching me sleep Hargreeves?”

“Can you blame me? Look at you.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, knowing damn well you look like a hot mess with your curls all over the place.

“Ever the flirt. Are you leaving?” You can’t help but let your smile drop when he nods.

“Gotta get a workout in before I run some errands. But I’ll be back in an hour to shower before then.”

“Errands?” You question through a yawn, narrowing your eyes when he shifts uncomfortably underneath you before he speaks.

“There was a home invasion last night, and I think it might be connected to a break-in from the other wee-”

“Save it Batman, can’t you just sleep in for one morning? It’s Sunday, normal people don’t wake up at the ass crack of dawn on Sundays.”

“Well I’m not normal baby, I’m Batman.”

“Just five more minutes, please Di?” You’re still groggy, but that doesn’t stop your arm reaching up to run your fingers through his bed head, smirking triumphantly when he hums at your touch.

“You’re evil, you know that? You know exactly what you’re doing right now.” He rasps as you giggle, shuffling so you’re back on top of him as you were before. Tracing soft kisses along his jawline, the familiar sensation of his morning stubble soothing you.

“And you haven’t slept past 5:30 since you were born, just rest baby. The gym and the cracked out criminals will still be out there when you wake up.”

“Fine. But j-just five more minutes.” He manages to mumble out as his eyes close, the steady work of your fingers and lips lulling him to sleep before he can hear your response.

“Five more minutes.”

*****************

Diego stirs to the sound of humming and a familiar blend of scents permeating the room. Is that bacon and...pancakes? A surge of panic momentarily floods his senses, anticipating his father’s shout calling him and his siblings to rush to the table for breakfast before morning training.

He’s reminded of his surroundings mere seconds later when he opens his eyes, stretching with a dopey smile as he stares at the woman in front of him. Bare feet pattering around his kitchen as if it’s her own. His shirt on her just covering her shorts, the fabric swaying with her as she moves her hips and bobs her head softly to the music playing through her headphones.

“Shit! Oh, sleeping beauty rises. You know, I’m starting to think you have a staring problem.” She teases as she looks up after knocking a measuring cup on the ground.

“Just taking it all in baby.” She feels her cheeks heat up under his gaze, head propped up in his hand as he lays on his side to admire her. Skin illuminated by the morning light in an angelic golden brown glow.

Y/n opens her mouth to quip back but is interuppted by the mans sudden panic once he glanced at the bedside clock.

“Shit! It’s half past ten, why didn’t you wake me?” He scrambles out of bed as he speaks, hurriedly tugging on the sweats he had discarded the night before. Frantic movements coming to a haunt when a steady hand is placed on his chest.

“Hey, relax. Just sit and have breakfast with me for a bit. Gotham won’t fall apart with a couple hours to fend for itself.” His mind is still racing with things he has to do while she speaks, tasks he’s been meaning to get to for the past week whirling through his head. His troubled thoughts are ceased when her soft lips connect with his.

She’s evil, because he’s melting into her touch when she wraps her arms around him. Deepening the embrace and effectively consuming each and every one of his senses. Pushing against him lightly so his knees hit the back of the mattress so she can settl herself on his lap. Neither pulling away for air as his fingers trace the soft bare skin just under the hem of her shirt.

“Morni-oh! Kinky!” An all too familiar voice calls out as they burst though the doorway. Y/n pulling away with a chuckle as Diego groans.

“Morning Klaus.” She chuckles, not having to turn around to know the eccentric number three has already thrown himself into the armchair by the stairs and made himself comfortable.

“Go away Klaus.” Diego grumbles, frowning when the woman above him dodges his attempt to continue their make out session.

“Seriously, don’t let me interrupt. I’m fine to watch if-Christ on a cracker!” Klaus is interuppted by the whizzing of a blade just barely missing his ear and hitting the wall behind him with a clink.

“Diego! Play nice, I invited him.”

“Yeah Diego, play nice.”

The knife wielding brunette rolls his eyes at Klaus’ childish echo of his girlfriend’s scolding, tugging on her forearm and pulling her back into his lap when she tries to get off of him. She narrows her eyes at his actions, but leans in to place a couple short pecks to his lips nonetheless.

“Again, I hate to interrupt you two horny love birds...But I think the bacon is burning.”

“Son of a bitch!” Y/n scrambles off of Diego, him letting her get fully off his lap this time as she rushes over to turn off the stove. Tossing the contents of the pan into the trash bin and putting on a new batch with an exasperated sigh. Diego hurriedly searches for a shirt while her back is turned, thinking he can sneak out the door whilst she’s distracted.

“Diego Hargreeves, if you leave this room without eating you’ll be a very horny lovebird for the next two weeks.” The woman informs him without looking, Klaus giggling as he ceases his search for a shirt with another groan. The two brothers silently fighting to sit at the head of the small table. Klaus able to dig a bony elbow into Diego’s stomach and sit down as he blows a raspberry at him. Offering his brother’s girlfriend an innocent smile when she turns around with full plates in her hand.

“Eat.” She mumbles to a very grumpy looking Diego as she kisses the corner of his mouth. He sits down with a huff, willing his pink tinged cheeks to return to normal as Klaus smirks beside him.

“Alright, bacon will be a bit late but the waffles and hashbrowns are done. Klaus put more on your plate, when was the last time you had a hot meal?”

“Hmm, I don’t know...What year is it?”

She rolls her eyes, but adds another waffle onto his plate anyway. Smacking his hand and ignoring his cat-like hiss when he tries to scrape the assortment of chopped fruit off his plate.

Diego can’t help but let his heart swell when she ruffles Klaus’ hair as he stubbornly shovels a forkful of strawberries into his mouth.

Even when they give her shit, she truly cares about them. She’s much too good for him, too patient, too kind. He has to take her out more, he thinks. Buy her dinner, a new dress maybe. But all the money in the world wouldn’t be enough to express how he feels about her in this moment. Wearing his shirt, sleeping in his bed, it’s all too much for his heart to handle.

“Take a picture Diego, it’ll last longer.” Klaus teases through a mouthful of waffle, whining when Diego smacks the back of his head at his words. Was he staring at her for that long?

Y/n sits beside him, taking a bite of her food in hopes that it will hide the blush of her cheeks at Klaus’ words.

“Is the food okay?” She inquires when Klaus begins bickering loudly with the wall behind him, Ben no doubt having scolded Klaus for his comment.

“Hmm? Yeah, it’s great. Really good.” Diego rushes out, mind trained on the thought of her always being here instead of staying a few nights a week.

“Good, I presume it’s better than raw eggs and-”

“Doyouwanttomoveinwithme?”

“W-what?” Y/n raises her eyebrows in shock, not sure if she’s heard him right since he’s blurred the words out so fast.

“You know, do you want to stay here. S-sleep here. Not just sometimes, l-like every day. Do you want to move in?” He stutters out, the arguing going on only white noise as he tries to read her facial expressions when processing his words.

“You don’t have to, I-I I’m just saying you’re here a lot and...I like when you’re here. And I w-want you to be here not just sometimes, I want you here all the t-

“Yes, yes I’ll move in with you Di.” She interrupts with a laugh at his rambling. The man no doubt looking and sounding like a nervous wreck at his attempt to find words.

“Cool.” He deadpans, grinning when she giggles more at his change in demeanor. Nerves washing away when she kisses him.

“Now help me with the dishes Hargreeves.”

Maybe sleeping in isn’t so bad after all

#imagines #fanfic #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves imagines #tua ben #tua s2 #tua fanfic #tua netflix #tua klaus #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy netflix #number two #number three #vanya hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader

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meat--grindr · 3 years

Note

another trans man fixated on Martin here!! 💕

could i request some NSFW of an ftm S/O teasing Martin while hes on the phone trying to do another interview as The Count? not a lot of talking from the S/O while hes on the phone, mostly physical stuff & feeling him up thru his clothes. the rest is up to you >:)))

(def going to use as a drawing prompt im just so so embarrassed to request off anon 😔😔😔)

Alright, so, this prompt has been living in my head rent-free ever since I first read it and I am so freaking excited to finally get to it. I’m sorry it took so long. I will admit this was a bit of a challenge for me because I am notoriously bad at writing dialogue. But I feel like it was good practice. Sorry if it sounds a little stilted in spots, I’m still learning.

Please, please, please link me to that art if you ever get around to it! You knocked it out of the park with this prompt and I’d love to give the art some love if you’re comfortable with sharing!

The Count Didn’t Count on This – Martin Mathias (Trans-Masculine Reader) – NSFW.

· It’s late, and for once, you’re exactly where you feel you should be at this late hour—not sprawled across a chair reading, or gazing out of the window, watching the cars pass and counting the neighbours’ lights as they flick on and off in lieu of stargazing. And for the first time in at least a week, you’re not trapped at your desk, frantically typing the final draft of a paper, hindered by the slow keys of a typewriter that does not care a whit about the deadline steadily hurtling toward you. No, thankfully, this night has brought with it far more comfortable circumstances—you find yourself in bed, tired bones sinking into the plush mattress, consciousness caught in the bleary space between sleep and not.

· Even better, you aren’t alone.

· Tonight, your bed is warmed by another body, long and thin, curled tightly against your own, as though it were some sort of crime to leave even an inch of space between you. A bony hip digs into your thigh and you’re sure the press of your head and shoulder against his chest must make breathing difficult for him. But he’s made no attempt to shrug you off or shift your weight to a more comfortable spot, so you likewise let it be. In all honesty, you’re simply too comfortable to bother and you feel it’s safe to assume the same is true for Martin too.

· The slow, even beat of his heart pulses against your cheek, and his long fingers stroke absently over your bare shoulder. The rough texture of burgeoning callouses catches against your skin—the sensation, though not wholly unpleasant, makes you shudder. Sometimes, you forget Martin works with his hands. When you hold them, they seem so delicate—his long fingers better suited to playing the piano than tightening screws or hammering nails. But he’s good at repairs and more importantly, he seems to find enjoyment the work. It certainly keeps him busy enough on the few afternoons that Cuda isn’t running him ragged in the shop, much to your personal dismay. But his nights—the nights like this—belong to you and you alone.

· Your eyelids flutter closed, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe even longer, you feel like you can rest. Really rest. Dimly, you find yourself wondering if it had more to do with finished papers and diminished responsibilities, or the reintroduction of the physical intimacy you’ve been missing so dearly. Though you can’t say for certain, you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the latter.

· The longer you know Martin, the more you’re convinced that there is a preternatural bubble of calm that hangs around him. You can feel it in the way even the grouchiest old women in the store seem to soften toward him—hiding small smiles behind their sleeves, sometimes even calling him ‘dear,’ or in the way Cuda’s volatile temper deflates when his cruel words slide off Martin’s back as though he’s heard it all before from people who frightened him far greater. You’ve seen it at work on the feral cats that roam the neighbourhood—while they hiss and swipe at the children who chase them through the dusty streets, they sit willingly at Martin’s feet, rubbing against his legs with a familiarity that borders on friendly. And it’s in the way he looks at you—looks into you with those dark eyes that seem far too old for that handsome, youthful face—intense and all-seeing, but never judgemental. He is a point of unflappable calm in a world which never seems to slow for even a second. That calm has settled into you now, seeping into your bones as you lay there, listening to his heart thumping in the darkness.

· The low crackle of the radio hovers at the edge of your hearing, a burst of static cutting through the droning voices. You’d stopped listening properly ages ago—the third time the DJ had made an attempt to dismiss his latest caller. It was an old man who was seven shades of pissed about the ‘teen-age hooligans’ who were ‘tipping over his bins every night and eating his trash.’ Of course, everyone with half a brain, including the host himself, knows it’s an animal—probably a raccoon, or a family of raccoons, but this old geezer has somehow convinced himself it’s a gaggle of ‘Satan-worshipping teenagers who have been brainwashed by heavy metal music and Pepsi Cola.’

· Okay. Sure.

· It’s utterly ridiculous, and just the sort of thing you’ve come to expect from the people who live in Braddock. Or the ones who call in to a show like this anyhow.

· In a way, you feel bad for the poor DJ. Sure, he welcomes strange callers of all kinds, from alien abductees and bigfoot hunters to bereaved parents who teenagers are ‘just growing up too fast,’ or ‘a little too interested in the works of William Shakespeare.’ He even encourages them at times, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and in your mind, this, funny as it may be, is probably it. You’re sure whatever the station is paying the guy, it isn’t enough to suffer through being called a ‘brainless sack of human garbage’ by a crazy old man.

· “And that’s about all the time we have,” Despite his cheery tone, the poor guy sounds exhausted. “Thank you for calling!”

· Another burst of static drowns out the old man’s reply, but you’re sure that whatever he’d said, it was not ‘radio-friendly.’

· “…our next caller. You are on the air, Sir!”

· “Yeah, uh…hi, Barry.” The man sounds young—probably not much older than yourself—and very nervous. He must be a first-time caller. As he and the DJ share opening pleasantries—what’s your name, how old are you, where are you calling in from tonight, is that a cat I hear in the background? —your attention begins to drift again. You teeter for a moment on the edge of sleep, the clean scent of your linen sheets and Martin’s shampoo filling your nose.

· “I was just wondering if you’ve heard from the Count again since last time?”

· And just like that, you’re awake again, attention fully focused on your radio and the funny little show that whispers through it.

· The caller is asking about Martin. A cold shiver rumbles through your body. People ask about Martin on the show all the time—of course, they don’t know that’s who they’re asking about, but you do. It’s so strange, to hear a stranger talk about someone you know so well—even worse when they speak about him like they know him too. Sometimes, they make you laugh with their outlandish theories, but sometimes they make you sick—sick with worry: when he’s threatened with violence or exposure, sick with fear: when they make guesses that hit a little too close to home, and sick with jealousy: when they claim to have had an ‘encounter’ with him, or worse, try to set one up on air.

· You know about Martin, of course—that he is a vampire, or at least he thinks he’s a vampire. Whether or not you believe him is another question entirely. He certainly does not abide by the ‘vampire rules’ as you know them from stories and television—he doesn’t sleep in a coffin, filled with dirt from his homeland or otherwise, rather he sleeps in a bed (curled up beside you more often than not these days). He cuts a handsome figure in mirrors and the photographs that you have pinned up above your desk. He walks about in the sun most days without complaint despite his pale complexion, and though he may not be a sleek. Predatory creature that oozes confidence, grace, and sex appeal, he’s no slouch either—lithe and handsome in a boyish sort of way, all knees, elbows, and wide dark eyes.

· In fact, the only requirement he seems to meet on the proverbial ‘vampire checklist’ is his fixation with blood—and the need to consume it. Maybe that means something, maybe it doesn’t. You’ve come to the conclusion that what you think really doesn’t matter in the end—your opinion isn’t going to sway him on the subject one way or another. This is a truth about himself he believes perhaps more deeply than anything else. Who were you to try and change that?

· So, you do your best to take everything in stride, and when you can’t, you humour him. Still, every once in a while, something will trip you up—you still can’t quite decide if he’s joking about being over eighty years old or not. But you do your best. You had even let him feed on you once. Though only once. In the end, it was Martin who had decided the experience was not one he would like to repeat.

· He had laid you out on your bed, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you faint.” Though you’d told him nearly a hundred times that you’d be just fine, that you’d had blood taken before at the hospital, he had insisted.

· You had expected things to be different. For a start, you had expected him to climb into your lap, to press his lips against your neck, seeking your pulse the way it’s done in the movies. Instead, he’d taken out a little white kit from his bag. He had unzipped it and laid it out on the bed, revealing a little bottle of clear liquid, a row of sterile, hypodermic needles, and a pack of fresh razor blades.

· His long fingers fell upon the needles, caressing them lovingly one by one. Much to your relief, he did not pick one up. As if he could sense your apprehension, he’d said, “Don’t worry, I won’t need these.” He’d glanced up at you, measuring your reaction, “I won’t need them because you’re not going to fight me. Are you?” It wasn’t really a question. You shook your head, and the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “Good. It’s so much easier when they don’t fight me.” Those words had made you shudder. He really had done this before, then. Part of you hadn’t believed him—he seemed so…harmless

· He’d picked out a single blade from the package, meticulously removing the white paper wrapping, taking extra care not to tear it, or let the blade cut into it. When he was through, he folded the paper into a neat square and dropped it onto the comforter. He lay the blade flat on his palm for you to see. “I don’t have pointy teeth, you see.” He took your hand, opening his mouth and guiding your fingers along the edges of his flat, dull teeth. “They aren’t sharp, so they don’t cut deep enough. You understand?” You’d nodded and he had kissed your fingertips gently, one by one.

· “I’ll be careful, I promise,” He’d said, “I’ll only take a little. Just enough to take the edge off.” Despite the hungry glint in his eyes, you’d known he was telling the truth. He didn’t need to reassure you of that. You trusted him. Besides, you had asked for this. At least, he’d stopped asking if he still had your permission every five minutes. Of course he did.

· And yet. Your heartbeat had kicked up, jittering like a frightened bird when you’d seen the needles and the razor. It was as though actually seeing them had made the whole situation feel more real. There was no denying you were afraid, but you didn’t tell him to stop—you didn’t want to. You had made up your mind. You wanted this; wanted to help.

· He’d held your hand in his own like it was a thing made of glass. His fingers gripped the razor with a practiced grace as he held it just above your palm. Watching him, you were struck for the second time by just how rehearsed this seemed. How many times had he done this, with or without permission?

· “Take a deep breath for me, okay? There’s a good boy.” Did he talk to the others too? Even the ones who fought back? You could picture him, chattering softly against the skin of some poor soul, sprawled limp across the floor.

· Limp or lifeless?

· The thought unsettled you, but you did as you were told, filling your lungs nearly to capacity as the sharp edge of the blade bit into the meat of your palm just below your thumb. As promised, he had been quick, pressing only as hard as was necessary. Even so, the sting of it made your flinch, your hand jumping in his own. His fingers tensed around yours, the tightness of his grip reflected in the grimace that flashed across his face as he bent his head to seal his lips around the wound.

· You had expected to feel him pulling the blood from you, but he simply let it flow into his mouth, the coppery taste heavy on his tongue. He exhaled through his nose, long and low—a pleased sound. Something about that set you more at ease. He hadn’t recoiled or wrinkled his nose at the taste of your blood. You hadn’t even realized you were worried about how you tasted until that moment.

· You had started to feel dizzy beneath him—dizzy not from a loss of blood, but the wet heat of his mouth against your skin. Your heart had stuttered in your chest as his tongue probed gently around the edges of the wound, soothing your sparking nerves, even as the blood continued to drip down his throat.

· When at last, he pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breath came hard; his chest heaving as though he’d just run a great distance. Immediately, his hand shot to his front pocket, fingers searching for the roll of gauze bandages he’s swiped from Cuda’s first-aid kit.

· He’d wrapped the clean white fabric around your hand with such care it made your heart ache almost as much as the wound itself. When he was finished, he’d flipped your hand over and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. Then, he spoke. His voice was small, barely more than a ragged whisper, “Thank you.”

· “Was that…was it okay?” Your skin felt feverish, as though the heat of his mouth had seeped into your flesh and was burning you from the inside out. And the dizzy feeling had only grown worse, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut for a long moment.

· Martin was still struggling to get his breathing under control, “Yes. I-It was good…better than good, actually. But…”

· “But?” Had you done something wrong? Had you tasted bad after all? You cracked open one eye, then the other. The spinning had mostly subsided, but you still felt unsteady. “What can I do better next time?”

· He’d gone stiff all over then, and his reply had come sudden and sharp, “No!” He cringed, the force behind his words clearly surprising himself as well. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “No ‘next time.’ I…I can’t stand hurting you like that. I won’t do it again.”

· You’d gazed up at him, blinking in confusion for a second. Then you realized what he’d meant—you had flinched when he’d cut you. Oh.

· You reached up, cupping his cheek, “Oh, Martin. You didn’t hurt me. Not really.” It wasn’t strictly true—it had hurt a little, but you had been prepared for it to. You brushed a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth with a careful swipe of your thumb.

· “Yes, I did. I saw it.” You had tried to protest further, but he’d cut you off, much to your surprise. Martin almost never talked back like this, though perhaps you’d simply never given him a reason before. “I saw you flinch. I won’t put you through this again.”

· And he hadn’t. Though you’d brought the idea up more than once, he had dismissed it each time with the same stubborn shake of his head. If Martin was anything, he was true to his word.

· “…and it’s been such a long time since we heard from the guy.”

· The DJ hums in agreement, “It has indeed, my friend. Maybe we’ll hear from him later tonight. If you’re out there listening, Count, don’t be a stranger! Give us a call,” He begins rattling off the stations toll-free number. “We’re all dying to hear from you again!”

· You feel Martin stiffen up against you. You knew about the interviews he had done; you’d even heard one of them, back when Martin was little more to you than a silent, sullen face behind the counter at Cuda’s shop. And even when he’d started talking to you, he sounded different over the radio—his voice was deeper, and he sounded so confidant, so sure of himself when he talked about his ‘sickness.’ He almost never sounded like that in day-to-day life. You weren’t embarrassed to admit you found it attractive.

· Martin on the other hand, was mortified to know you had heard him. He had known that people were listened to him, obviously, but they were supposed to be strangers. You actually knew him, and he’d talked about sex. Of course, reminding him you’d done a lot more in your time together than simply listen to him talk about sex did little to lessen his horror.

· Of course, you also knew he’d been doing fewer and fewer interviews now that he had you to talk to and share his life with. But on occasion, when the pleading from the DJ gets too desperate, or he was simply that bored, Martin could be coaxed back onto the other end of the phoneline once again.

· You glance up at him, but in the darkness, his expression is unreadable, eyes cast down toward the end of the bed, long lashes throwing feathered shadows across his pale cheeks. From the very beginning, he’s been hard to read. As you’ve come to know him better, you’ve needed to get comfortable with the idea of asking when you want to know something you could easily intuit if speaking to anyone else. He’s very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings behind a neutral expression and placid silence, but he would tell you almost anything if you asked him directly; so long as he had the words to explain it to you.

· Do you want to make a call, Martin?”

· For a long moment, he’s silent, turning the idea over in his mind a few times. You had never actually been with him when he’d done an interview in the past. He’d usually wait until you were three days deep in an assignment with no quick end in sight, or out of town with family. Maybe he would be too embarrassed to do it with you here or maybe he’s just not in the mood tonight. But, after a minute, he tilts his head down toward you and says, “Why not?”

· The radio crackles out a jaunty tune—a commercial for some small business or another. “I’ll call in a few minutes. He doesn’t seem busy tonight.” Martin sits up, bracing his back against the headboard of your bed, and dislodging you from your perch. You grumble a little, irritated by the loss of your comfy spot, but you crawl into his lap anyway.

· You press soft kisses into his skin, beginning at his hairline, and trailing down over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks—the right then the left—the very tip of his nose, and finally his lips. He smiles against your mouth, leaning into the kiss with his whole body.

· When you pull away only a moment later, you can practically hear the pouty turn of his mouth. He whines softly, but you pay him no mind, trailing kisses down his chin. “Are you nervous, Martin?” The question comes out muffled by the soft curve of his jaw.

· “Not really, no…” He trails off, eyes cast to the ceiling, “I like the attention, I s’pose.”

· You pull back to look at him, barely stifling a snort of amusement, “Don’t I give you enough?”

· His eyes slide from the ceiling, falling upon you dark and wide. For a moment, you think he’s taken you seriously, but the pouty turn of his mouth breaks into a blinding grin, “You give me lots, sure, but I’m a creature of the night, remember? We always want more.”

· The two of you sit there for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the silence stretching on into the night. Then, you collapse into each other in a fit of giggles. Martin buries his head into the crook of your neck, shaking with quiet laughter. Sure, when he’d said wasn’t untrue, but when he put it like that, it was hard not to laugh.

· “Welcome back, everybody. It’s almost the top of the hour at 01:57! I’m your host Barry…”

· You hadn’t even heard the ads end! Martin scrambles for the chunky landline phone that rests on the beside table, nimble fingers punching in the numbers at speed. Though his calls had become less and less frequent, he evidently kept the number somewhere in his memory.

· Martin’s voice is hushed as he speaks to whoever manned the phones down at the radio station, muttering something about ‘the Count.’ As he speaks, he winds the coiled phone cord around a delicate finger. It’s a simple, distracted habit of Martin’s but it makes your heart flutter whenever you catch him doing it.

· You stretch your arm as far as you can, reaching for the radio, unwilling to give up your perch in Martin’s lap for even a second. Your fingertips brush the cool metal—once, twice—then you manage to curl your fingers around it. Pulling it into your lap you turn the volume down low so only you can hear it.

· “I’m just getting word that we have a special guest on the line,” the DJ sounds positively elated, “Folks, it looks like the Count is back in town. Hello, Count! Where have ya’ been?”

· Martin hesitates for a moment, his jaw working as he searches for the words, “Around.”

· There is a definite lag between the words in his mouth, and those same words coming through the radio. The dissonance confounds your ears and makes your head ache in a dizzy sort of way, but you want to hear both halves of this conversation, not just Martin’s.

· “So, what trouble have you been getting into since we last spoke, Count? Murdered any pretty ladies recently?”

· There’s a smile in Martin’s voice, “Not ladies, no.”

· “Oh really? Any men then?”

Martin glances down at you, though he makes a non-committal noise. The DJ takes a breath, as though he’s going to say something, but Martin cuts him off, “I wouldn’t call what I do murder, anyhow.”

· “No? But you still need to drink blood, right?”

· “Oh, yes.”

· “How have you been getting your food, then? Don’t vampires uh…kill with every strike?”

· Martin laughs, a soft, breathy sound that sends a shudder through you. “I’ve been managing.” His tone is damn near conversational. You gaze down at him, marvelling at how easy this seems to be for him. The Martin you’ve come to know and love rarely (if ever) speaks to strangers, and when he has no other choice, he’s never this talkative. It’s strange, but by no means an unwelcome change. You nuzzle against him, letting his voice thrum through your skull as it vibrates around in his chest.

· “Enough talk of blood and guts, Count. What about your other problems, huh? Tell me, are the streets of Braddock safe at last from the real terror stalking them? Have you…” He pauses conspiratorially, “Found yourself a girl yet?”

· Those words drive an icy spike of hurt deep into your guts. No, he had not found himself a girl. Martin must have felt your jaw clenching, as his free hand begins to card through your hair—soothing and soft.

· “I’ve found…someone.” The implications of that word settles you almost as much as his touch. ‘Someone.’ Not a woman, but someone of significance, nonetheless. He bends down to press a quick kiss into the crown of your head. “Someone special.”

· The DJ gasps, sounding scandalized. “Someone special! Well, I never. Good for you, Count.” You can’t say you’re a fan of the man’s tone—pleasant enough, but with a sharp edge that borders on condescending. But there’s little you can do but grit your teeth and bear it. “How long until you suck this one dry and move on?”

· Wow. Fuck this guy. On some level, you’d known he was an asshole—sure you felt bad for him when people were rude, but he could dish it out just as well as he could take it. Every once in a while, he’d push a caller too hard or make a snide comment the conversation could have done without. You didn’t like hearing it when strangers were involved, and now that you were the subject of such a comment, you like it even less. He makes it sound like you’re some random conquest, or worse, little more than a meal to Martin. How wrong he was.

· Suck this one dry and move on? Fat chance, Buddy. Though, his wording did give you an idea…maybe you could make this night just a little more interesting for the both of you.

You sit back, uncurling your legs and dropping your knees to either side of Martin’s hips, straddling his lap properly. Settling your weight back into his lap, you pull a face, pointing to the radio in your lap and mouthing, ‘What a jaggoff!’

· Martin’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to stifle his laughter. He nods sympathetically but doesn’t say anything about it to the DJ. He’s slow to anger, preferring to divert the conversation rather than cause a scene. You can’t help but admire him for that. You lean forward, stamping a kiss against his collarbone.

· “I…uh…try not to eat the things I love.”

· “Ooooh, so it’s love, huh?”

· You roll your eyes at the DJ, though you can’t deny hearing Martin say he loves you sends a little thrill through you—it was the same thrill you’d felt the first time he had said it to you, and the same thrill you hoped to feel for years to come. You trail little, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Martin’s throat, your mouth feverishly warm against his skin. A shudder jolts through him like an electric shock as your teeth scape across his Adam’s apple. You grin against his flesh, sliding up to nip along the underside of his jaw. There is a sensitive spot at the very corner that you love to exploit, and now seems like the perfect opportunity to do so.

· Your teeth graze over the spot and his body jitters beneath you. His voice catches in his throat, though if the DJ notices, he doesn’t comment. You nip gently at the spot, reddening the pale skin as you worry it with your teeth. You long to suck a bruise there—the purple-blue hue would doubtless look stunning against the pallor of his skin, but you knew Cuda would have a conniption if he saw it, and you didn’t want to put Martin through that again. Not after last time. The pair of you had agreed that perhaps in future, it would be better if any hickeys you left remained under your clothes.

· Pressing one final kiss against that spot, you pull back to look at him. You can tell he’s getting flustered—there’s a flush beginning to creep up his neck from beneath the collar of his t-shirt, deep pink and blotchy. You know, given time, it will reach his cheeks, the colour blooming high on his cheekbones. When you get him worked up enough, you could make Martin blush to the very tips of his ears. It was adorable.

· Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as you drag your nails down his chest. His teeth catch his lower lip. You can almost hear the whine trapped behind those pearly teeth.

· “Why don’t you tell us a little about this special someone, Count?”

· Martin hesitates, “I don’t know about that.”

· “Nonsense! You can tell your good ol’ pal Barry. Who am I gonna tell?”

· Martin isn’t that stupid. He knows Barry doesn’t need to tell anyone anything—he’s live on air, he’d be telling them himself. His eyes flick down to yours, searching for something, be it permission or resistance. He pulls the phone away from his ear, resting it against his shoulder as he waits for you to make up your mind. You know he’d hang up in an instant if you asked him to—he’d likely do you one better and never call in again if the DJ was just going to ask questions about you all night long. But you trusted Martin not to give too much information away—he’d managed to stay hidden all this time, after all.

· You nodded at him, smiling and thumbing gently over a nipple. Though your touch is light, and the sensation is dampened by the fabric of his shirt, Martin makes a sound as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He shifts beneath you, tucking the phone underneath his chin as he moves.

· You grip the striped fabric of his shirt, working it in your hands. You lift it a little, fingers slipping just beneath it to splay against the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is warm and soft beneath your hands. You look down at him, arching a brow and asking for permission with only your eyes.

· “Fine.” He says, and though the word is an answer for the DJ’s pleading, he’s talking to you, looking directly into your eyes—granting the permission you were so hoping for.

· “Great! So, how long have you been together?”

· You fall into him, hands pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up over his chest. Your lips are on his skin in a matter of seconds, trailing kisses across every inch of exposed skin—stomach, ribs, hips, and everything in between.

· “It’s been ahh—” His words are cut short by a tight little moan as you bite down hard just below his left nipple. However, he manages a solid recovery as your tongue laves over the spot soothing the sting, playing the whole thing off as though he had needed time to stop and think about it, “—bout a year, maybe a little longer.”

· Clever boy.

· You drag your tongue a little higher, flicking over the sensitive skin of his nipple. He arches into your touch, hips canting up against yours, threatening to buck you from your perch. He tilts his head, trapping the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, reaching for you with both hands.

· He takes your cheeks into his hands, pulling your head away from his chest. You grin up at him, taking in his expression—his pupils blown so wide with want they swallow all but the slimmest ring of brown iris, his lips parted and shining in the semi-darkness, flushed to the tips of his ears.

· You surge up to kiss him, remembering only at the last moment, he needs to keep his mouth free to carry on the conversation. With a huff, you divert your course, and fix your lips back against the skin of Martin’s neck.

· He swallows hard as you press your lips back against his pulse, pushing his hips back up into yours. You can’t keep the grin form your face as you feel him pressing up against you—the outline in his pants far more noticeable now.

· His hands tremble slightly as they search for yours, dragging them down to the front of his jeans. You grin widens as you press down. Even through the thick denim, you can feel his cock throb under your palm. Someone’s excited.

· You look down at him and he turns his head away, flushing a shade darker. He was so easy to wind up like this, it was almost unbelievable. A few kisses here, and gentle touch there, and he was a blushing, whining mess spread out on your sheets for you to enjoy however your pleased. You had chalked the over-sensitivity up to a lack of experience, and had expected it to fade after a few months, but it hadn’t. He was just that reactive, not that you were complaining.

· With deft fingers, you pop the button of his jeans, quietly dragging the zipper down. He lifts his hips, wriggling helpfully as you drag his pants and underwear down over his thighs.

· His cock bobs free, flushed and leaking already. You ghost the pads of your fingers over the soft skin of his shaft, and he shudders, his whole body tensing. His knuckles are white where he grips the phone, and his jaw is tight with the struggle of keeping quiet.

· You wrap your hand around him, stroking gently from base to tip. His back arches off from the headboard, and he falls forward, burying his head in the crook of your neck. The phone receiver bumps against your collarbone, hard and hollow. The plastic is pleasantly cool against your feverish skin.

· “Is it different being with a…uh…forgive the expression, normal person?”

· “They’re a…” His laugh is breathy, almost a moan as he glances down at you, “a real handful.”

· You barely stifle a laugh. You glare down at him in mock disapproval, and he sticks his tongue out at you. Cheeky little bastard. Though the colour still sits high on his cheeks, and his breathing comes through parted lips in short puffs, he seems to have adjusted well to your pace.

· “Nothing you can’t handle though, I’m sure. Do they know about your…condition, shall we say?”

· “They are aware, yes.”

· The DJ laughs, “And how did that go? Can’t be an easy thing to hear—that your boyfriend might vamp out and eat you whole!”

· Martin sighs, “I already told you, I don’t eat people…” His voice is much steadier now, even as your fingers brush along the sensitive spots on the underside of his cock. That means its time to switch things up. You can’t have him getting too comfortable. Where would the fun be in that? You tighten your grip—something that usually makes Martin thrash against the sheets and sob into your pillows—and begin to swipe your thumb gently over the tip of his cock with every upward stroke. He almost drops the phone as he yanks it away from his mouth. He covers the receiver with a shaking hand just in time, as a soft whine slips through his teeth, “Oh, fuck…”

· You press a finger up against your lips, reminding him to be quiet. He presses up into your fist, his hips stuttering as your thumb traces a lazy circle around his head. His free hand flutters nervously about his mouth, as he tries desperately to keep quiet. His breath comes sharp and quick though his nose as he struggles to keep control. You shift your weight, pinning his hips back down with your thighs, and though he tries to buck back up against you, you hold him firmly in place. He whines high in his throat, shooting a pleading look up at you, but you just shake your head and point at the phone, ‘Keep going.’

· Slowly, Martin brings the receiver back up to his ear. His tongue flickers out over his lips and he lets out a shaky breath, “S-Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

· “I said, ‘let’s circle back to what you said before,’ about not eating what you love. Why not? If you don’t need to kill to feed, why not feed on this special someone? Surely if they love you back, they’d be willing.”

· You slow your hand, wanting to give Martin a fighting chance at answering. You were momentarily intrigued by the DJ’s line of questioning. You knew why Martin didn’t want to feed on you, but you were curious as to what sort of excuse he would give.

· “W-Well…it’s come up mo-ore than once but…” Martin goes silent as you squeeze down on him, his posture going rigid, his head thrown back against the headboard.

· The DJ lets the silence hang for a moment, but when Martin doesn’t finish his thought, he cuts in, “But…? You still there, Count?”

· You let up, and Martin takes a big gulp of air, as though he had only just remembered he needed to breathe. “Y-Yeah, I’m here. It’s…it’s complicated.”

· “Oh yeah? How?”

· “Well, it’s not about whether they’ll let me or not…” He takes a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he steadies himself. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “It’s that I want more.”

· He tries in vain to buck up into your fist, his hips rolling in shallow, abortive little thrusts. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, his eyes boring deep into your own.

· ‘I want more.’ Those words were meant for you.

· You blink down at him, momentarily dumb founded. Then a grin spreads across your face, sharp and hungry. If he wants more, you’ll give it to him—you’d give it to him until he was begging you to stop.

· Sliding down his body, you know this is risky. Martin has never been good at keeping quiet, especially not when you’ve got your mouth on him. But the idea is simply too enticing to pass up on. When were you ever going to get the change to suck his cock live on air again? Besides, this might be good practice for him in the art of keeping his voice down—not that you didn’t love to hear him, it just might be nice to keep your…activities a secret from the whole neighbourhood for once.

· You wriggle down onto your stomach, bringing your face level with Martin’s cock. Settling yourself into a comfortable position between his knees, you bend your head, pressing a gentle kiss against the tip of his cock.

· He makes an involuntary choking sound in the back of his throat. You look up at him, resting your chin on the tops of his thighs. You want to give him the time he needs to make up his mind. If he tells you ‘no,’ or pushes you away, you’d gladly go back to stroking his cock and kissing his neck. You would get just as much pleasure from the shivers and whimpers you could wring out of him that way.

· But he doesn’t tell you no, rather he pushes his hips up against you, pressing the tip hard against your lips. You flick your tongue out, ghosting for only a moment over his sensitive flesh, but it’s enough to make his eyes roll back, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You do it again, and his mouth falls open. Though no sound escapes the look on his face is just as glorious.

· This is going to be fun.

· You crane your neck, opening your mouth and gently taking the head inside. Martin’s free hand shoots to his mouth, and he bites down hard on the meat of his palm to stop himself from sobbing out loud. You press your tongue flat against him, dragging it slowly against his hot flesh. He thrashes beneath you, jostling the phone against his cheek.

· Carefully, you sink further down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He lets out a long sigh around a mouthful of palm.

· “What was that, Count?”

· “Oohh…nothing,” Martin grinds out, “Just…closing a window.”

· The lie was flimsy, but the DJ, despite his skeptical tone, didn’t seem interested in pressed him on it further, “…Right…so how is your control around this person, huh? Do you ever get the urge to just go to town on them?”

· Martin’s laugh comes out as a low purr, and he bucks into your mouth once, “Mmm, sometimes.” Ever so slowly, as you’ve sunk down onto his cock, he’s been curling in on himself. His head now rests atop your own, and you can feel the heat of his cheek radiating against your scalp. If that heat is anything to go by, he must be positively scarlet.

· “And what does that entail for you exactly?”

· With a little jolt, his cock brushes up against the back of your throat. You swallow down a little choking noise, breathing steadily through your nose in an attempt to calm your gag reflex.

· The warmth of Martin’s cheeks is suddenly gone as he straightens up again. His head hits the headboard with a thump. “I-I just wanna…” He swallows thickly, his breath coming hard, “Push into…p-push my teeth into their throat and just,” He bucks up into your throat, either unable, or simply unwilling to stay still any longer, “just take what I want.”

· “Their…blood?”

· You swallow around Martin and his back arches so far he practically lifts off the bed “Yes! Yes, everything they have to give!”

· “Right…for a moment there it sounded a bit more, uh, sexually motivated than that.”

· Again, your throat contracts around him, and a hiss of air escapes through his teeth, “No difference really…”

· The DJ is silent for a moment, “Now that’s an interesting tidbit about you, Count. I’m sure all the ladies out there would love to hear more about that.”

· Marin fucks up into your throat again with a soft groan, “I’m…I’m sure they would but,” His breath is coming harder now, “unfortunately, I’m taken.”

· The DJ laughs, “Hear that, Count? That’s the sound of hundreds of hearts all over Braddock breaking. Sorry, folks but it looks like you’re out of luck.”

· Oh. He’s taken alright. You can just imagine the anguished looks on their faces when you learn he gets taken almost every other night by another man.

· Though you’d love to keep him in this position, you’re struck by the sudden, possessive urge to have him on his back. You tap his thigh thrice in quick succession and Martin withdraws almost immediately. He’s always so respectful of your wishes, even if he whines a little when his cock slips from the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden chill of the air on his wet cock sends a shiver through him.

· You scoot back, grabbing Martin by the calves, and pulling him down into a more horizontal position. He fumbles with the phone, as it slips from his grasp, landing on the bed near his shoulder.

· “What’s going on, Count?”

· “S-Sorry, I just…I just dropped the phone is all. I’m…I’m feeling awful shaky these days.”

· “Oh, yeah? How long has it been?”

· Martin’s tone is distracted, “Ages.” He is far more focused on you, his dark eyes trained on yours as you loom over him.

· The DJ asks another question, but you’re not listening as you slip Martin’s slick cock into your mouth, wasting no time in taking him back into your throat where he belongs.

· Though you can’t make out his words so well over the rushing in your ears, Martin’s voice sounds strained, slightly higher than usual. He’s fighting the pleasure hard.

· His free hand fists itself in your hair, pushing you down tighter against his cock. You swallow hard, trying desperately not to gag as he rolls is hips into your mouth. He’s come such a long way since the first time you asked him to fuck your mouth. He’d been so nervous that you did most of the work, bobbing your head faster and faster until he’d spilled deep into your mouth. He had apologized for almost an hour after, thinking the rasp in your voice was all his fault. Now? He’s practically asphyxiating you, and you hadn’t needed to say a word.

· Martin is shaking—his thighs tremble on either side of your head, and the phone in his hands nearly slips from his grasp again with the force of the tremors passing through him.

· You hollow your cheeks and he’s forced to cover the receiver again as a series of whimpers tear free from his lips. You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, and he sobs, his hips canting up off the bed.

· “I-I’m close,” His frantic whisper comes tight through his teeth, an edge bordering on panic creeping into his voice. You grip his thigh and redouble your efforts, gaining a high whine in return.

· “Hey, Count? Count there’s a lot of interference on your end…I can’t really hear you. I think this is where this conversation has to end, but call back another night, huh?” Martin doesn’t even respond, he simply slams the receiver back into the cradle, ending the call.

· Almost as soon as the call has disconnected, he’s a whimpering mess. “Oh, fuck! Your mouth…I-I can’t! Is it okay? Is it okay if I…?”

· He can’t bring himself to say it, but you know what he means and hum a soft affirmation around his cock. He cries out as the sound vibrates around his over-sensitive flesh.

· With a whimper, he fucks up into your mouth, once, twice, then he shudders, his whole body going rigid as he cums. His knees clamp around your ears, squeezing your head as he shakes with the pleasure. His fingers pull at your hair, any tighter and you’re sure he’ll pull some out. But you press on, hollowing your cheeks, letting him ride the high for as long as he can.

· The sound he makes as you swallow around him is nothing short of wrecked. His fingers claw the sheets as though he’s trying to drag himself away from you, from your mouth, but his body remains locked in place beneath you.

· His cock twitches against your tongue as you slowly pull back, the wet drag of your tongue digging raw little whimpers from his throat, and a shudder passed through him when you pull of and his cock is again exposed to the chilly air of the room. His hips press forward, seeking the tight heat of your throat again. It would seem almost desperate if the motion wasn’t so sluggish, almost sleepy.

· He reaches for you then in the dark. His hands, hot and sweaty from exertion and gripping both the phone and the sheets for so long, grasp either side of your face as he pulls you up for a kiss.

· The salty taste of his cum still coats your tongue, but he doesn’t seem to care as he presses his lips against yours with a desperation you rarely see in him.

· Pulling back, you whisper against his lips, “Was that enough attention?”

· He smiles, “For me? Yes.” He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “But now it’s your turn.”

#martin x reader #slasher x reader #martin 1977 #slasher imagines #ripper fics #sorry for how late this is #enjoy!

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pomegranatebitch · 3 years

Text

it’s never hard to love you

Summary: After their last mission, Bucky realizes he's ready to lay down (most) of his weapons and start a family with Sam. Chaos and love ensues (Chapter 1/3)

Warnings: None

Pairing: Sambucky, established relationship

Read part 1 here

“You might want to try staring at the eggs, hon,” Sam said as he passed behind Bucky in the kitchen, bumping his hip against the other man’s.

Bucky jumped immediately, startled out of a runaway thought that had him staring off into the distant, not noticing the black smoke starting to curl around their breakfast. Damn it. He’d been trying to convince Sam he wasn’t a terrible cook. Dumping the dried up, burnt eggs into the trash can, he reached for a protein bar.

Sam was busy preparing a pot of coffee for the two of them when he glanced back, studying his partner.

“You want to share with the class?” Sam poked at him, trying to make Bucky crack a grin. Bucky just blinked a few times, still in his own world.

“It’s…nothing important.”

“Oh come on, man,” Sam sighed, “you don’t have to tell me your every waking thought, but there’s nothing you can’t tell me, you know. If it’s got you nearly burning down our kitchen then it seems pretty important.” Sam ducked his head to look up at Bucky’s face. “You alright?”

For a long moment Bucky said nothing, but Sam wasn’t concerned. He knew his partner. Bucky wasn’t trying to hide anything, he just sometimes needed the space to translate his thoughts into words. Finally, Bucky burst out, “Do you remember Ellie?”

Sam took a step back, putting his hands on the counter behind him. It had been almost a month since their run-in with the aliens in DC, but Bucky had been getting lost in his own thoughts more than usual since the battle. Sam had figured it had something to do with their half-asleep conversation in the back of the taxi, but he wasn’t quite sure what Bucky was thinking. “Ellie? Course I remember her, nearly scared me half to death. What’s on your mind?”

Bucky hesitated for another minute, “I just….” His jaw snapped shut. “Uh, well, growing up I was always taking care of my little sisters, you see, and….” He trailed off again.

Sam wanted to say something, help Bucky figure it out, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of what his boyfriend was going on about at 7:30 in the morning.

“I don’t know how you feel about…well, I was wondering, Sam, uh…do you want to have a kid with me?” The last part came out in a single rushed breath, barely decipherable, but from the slack-jawed look on Sam’s face, he heard it.

“It doesn’t have to be right away or anything, you know I was thinking about fostering as an option — the whole system was different back in my time, but I read about it and it sounds like we could do it — that is, if you want to, of course,” Bucky just kept rambling, unable to stop now that he said it out loud.

Sam made a conscious effort to close his mouth before collecting his words. “I mean — Buck, we’re both Avengers, our schedules don’t fit around a kid, and I love Sarah but I’m not going to leave a kid behind for her to babysit while we’re off on missions.”

Bucky let out a deep sigh and stared up at the ceiling as if gathering his will. Very slowly, he spoke. “It’s been…81 years…that I’ve been in the business of fighting, Sam. From when I was drafted and pretending not to be scared shitless, to decades as the Winter Soldier, to being on the run — and though I care about and believe in the Avengers — even now, I’m still fighting.

“It scares the shit out of me, Sammy, thinking of sending you out into a mission without me guarding your six. But I know Torres, and Chavez, and hell — even Parker — have your back when I can’t be there. And you know I’ll always come if you really need it, no doubt.”

That finally got Sam to crack a smile. “Yeah, baby, I know,” he said softly.

“So I’ve just been thinking, maybe it’s finally time for me to take a step back.” Bucky glanced over to Sam almost shyly, gauging his reaction.

“You’ve been fighting for so long, Buck,” Sam said with complete sincerity. “But you’re free now. If you never want to fight another mission, you don’t have to. Sure, I’ll miss you out there, but you deserve to rest, too.” Sam came up to stand in front of Bucky, one steady hand cupping Bucky’s cheek. “And if you want to build a family with your freedom, then let’s do it like we do everything else:/ together.”

Bucky turned his face to press a hot kiss to Sam’s palm as his silent way of saying thank you. Sam understood without Bucky having to say a word, a thank you, an I love you, a promise, all in one.

Sam let out a slow, steadying breath. “You sure about this?”

“I’m in if you’re in,” Bucky said, his face already being split in two from an unstoppable grin.

“Then yes, Bucky Barnes, I want to have a kid with you,” Sam could barely get the words out before Bucky’s lips were on his and he had his hands under Sam’s thighs, spinning them around the small kitchen.

Bucky suddenly pulled away, levelling Sam with a careful stare. “You’re sure you want this, right? You’re not just saying yes because you’re incapable of saying ‘no’ to other people?”

Sam took Bucky’s face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I want this. You think I haven’t thought about raising a family with you?” Now it was Sam’s turn to break into a glowing smile. “I’ve seen how good you are with the boys, they love you. And for more than just your shiny arm,” he laughed. “Buck, I want to have a family. Kids to come home to after a long day at work. Make our own dumb family traditions, go to middle school sports games or band concerts or dance recitals, I just want it all with you.”

Bucky didn’t quite know how to respond coherently to that, so he gave up on words and resorted to telling Sam exactly how he felt through a long, slow kiss.

The coffee had long gone cold by the time they ever got around to pouring a cup.

#sambucky #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky fic #fic #im just writing this because i need a new habit as i try going sober that isnt drugs #dont start drugs kids you will legit see the very worst parts of yourself #well this was a weird tag to add to this fic #but im not sober rn and thats just how im feeling

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toutallyahoe · 4 years

Text

Want And Need ~ Gavin Reed (DBH)

requested by: --

pairing(s): gavin reed x male reader, tina chen x male reader

warnings: cursing, drinking alcohol, angst, unrequited love

a/n: this had been in my drafts for months or 2018 to be more accurate lmao and now i finally finished it asfahaksjad anyways, been awhile since i written for dbh

and some... uhh... stuff

so enjoy! :D

"What? You're going already?" Tina couldn't help but chuckle as she nodded her head, sending her brunet friend a smile as she stood up from the chair she sat.

"Yeah," Tina said as she then shrugged when Gavin sent her an annoyed look. "Wish I could hang more but [Name] wanted to take me out for dinner."

Gavin rolled his eyes at the black haired woman turned her head to the doorway to see the said male she was talking about with the brunet detective. [Name] was leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed on his chest. A small grin on his lips as he saw Tina spotted him.

"And speak of the devil, there he is now," Tina had laughed as she gave a small wave from the [Hair color] haired male who sent her a grin.

"Hey, you two!" [Name] had joyfully greeted as he approached the two. [Name] slung his arms around both the twos' neck as he peck the black haired female's cheek and then sent Gavin a smile. "Missed you guys so much!" The [Hair color] haired man had chuckled as Gavin let out a groan as he drank his drink.

"Speak of the devil indeed," Gavin had groaned as he sent a small glare at the other man who only chuckled while the female grinned.

"Awe, you didn't missed me, Gav?" Gavin rolled his eyes as he saw [Name] pout.

"Miss you? You gone was the best hours of my life," Gavin huffed as he then continued on. "And stop calling me "'Gav,' damn it!"

Tina couldn't help but chuckle as [Name] had his arms retracked back towards him, freeing the two. "Now, now boys. Stop being six year olds and make up," Tina had teased as Gavin sent her an annoyed glare.

"Fuck off, Chen," Gavin spat as the said female laughed as the [Hair color] haired man had ruffled Gavin's hair who in turn cursed him then.

"Anyways," [Name] had trailed off as he raised his wrist to looked at his watch. "We better be going now, love," [Name] had finished as he turned his gaze to Tina and lovingly smiled when he saw her nodded her head and took her coat from the chair beside her.

Softly smiling, Tina looked back at the brunet sitting beside her who raised his glass and drank the alcoholic contents. Patting the male's shoulder as she bid her good bye. "Well, we gotta go, Gav. See you tomorrow at the precinct!" Tina had said as she walked towards the door's of the bar, turning her head to see [Name] patting Gavin's back and bid his good bye as well.

"Don't drink too much, Gavin," [Name] had said as he sent the brunet detective a small smile.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now go and have a fun," Gavin had said as he shooed the [Hair color] haired man away, sending a smirk as he did. "Not too much fun, though!" He had hollered which caused [Name] to chuckle with a faint blush on his cheeks and had Tina yelled Gavin's name in disbelief as she then laughed and flip him off. The said male merely returned the gesture with a grin.

"Have fun you two!" The brunet bid as he saw [Name] had began walking towards Tina who waited for him in the entrance of the pub. Their hands intertwined then when the [Hair color] haired man had finally arrived beside the asian female as they then walked out the club together. Leaving behind Gavin who's smile faded as he watched the two.

The brunet turned his gaze in front of him as his hands clutched the glass on his hands hard as he grit his teeth. He then emptied the contents of alcohol from his glass by downing it in one go. The acidic taste of alcohol going down his throat as he slammed the glass on the counter.

"Jim! Get me more!" Gavin had ordered as the bartender only nodded his head and did what the brunet had said. Filling Gavin's glass with whiskey as the male had then immediately drank it. "Another!"

Drunk out of his ass, Gavin was now on his apartment where he sat at the red velvet couch and groaned out from the pain he was feeling with his head aching. "Fuck, I shouldn't have drank to much," Gavin had muttered to himself as he rubbed his temple. The brunet already regretting his choices as he sat there.

Gavin let out huff and was about to sleep on the couch when a meow beside him had took his attention. Turning where his cat was, the feline had merely looked at their owner almost judgingly as they then went back to laying comfortably beside the drunk male.

Gavin stopped rubbing his aching head and just stared blankly at in front of him. A sigh left his lips. "God... I'm such a fucking mess..." Gavin muttered to himself as a frown on his lips, wondering how he came to be.

"Oh right, it was with him..." The brunet had softly said as he remembered what happened a few days back.

"Saturday, six o'clock at my place?" [Name] had said as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. A small, nervous smile on his lips as the female in front of him giggled.

"Sure thing, [Name]," Tina said as she punched the [Hair color] haired man's shoulder. "Better be fun," Tina giggled as she saw [Name] sent her a beaming smile.

"Trust me, I'll make sure it will be."

Not to far away from the two, Gavin turned around and began walking away. Passing by a trash can where he immediately threw the movie he had bought for their hang out, he gritted his teeth as his vision began to blur. The scene replaying on his mind made his heart clench in pain.

"The fuck was I fooling?" The brunet had muttered to himself as his hands balled into a fist. His knuckles turning white from the action.

"Of course he wouldn't fucking like me like that way," Gavin weakly chuckled to himself as his vision blurred a bit from the upcoming tears that were threatening to fall down his face. "Who was I fooling...?"

Gavin gritted his teeth as he remembered that awful memory. The memory where he was ready to tell what he felt to the [Hair color] haired man only to see him asking another friend of his out for a date.

'The worst part was I didn't even got a fucking chance.' The brunet male grit his teeth as his vision began to blur. Gripping the hem of his shirt as he felt his heart clench at remembering the sign him was pinning onto her and the black haired female doing the same.

"God... I'm such an dumbass..." Gavin said to himself as he bit back the sob threatening to escape his lips. His heart clenched painfully from realizing he never, truly had a chance.

"Oh my fucking God! Reed what the fuck?!?" The [Hair color] haired man had screamed as he was on the ground, drenched with the warm coffee he was drinking awhile ago. The brunet merely laughed at the [Hair color] haired man as he clutched his stomach from the pain of laughing too much.

"O-oh my G-god! You s-should've seen your f-face! Priceless!" Gavin rasped out as he wiped a tear from his eyes, having the time of his life the brunet was. [Name] merely rolled his [Eye color] eyes in annoyance as wiped the coffee off his face.

"Yeah, yeah, it was fucking hilarious. Thanks asshole," [Name] had said as he sent the still laughing male a glare. Gavin only sent him a wink as he walked away laughing.

"You love this asshole though!" The brunet had shouted as he walked out the break room to go and get the [Hair color] haired man an extra shirt to wear since he was drenched with the coffee he was drinking awhile ago.

When Gavin had returned with the extra shirt, he saw the new female recruit helping out his friend and partner. The brunet frowned a bit when he saw the female giving the [Hair color] haired man a smile as the male seemed to be flustered a bit. As he watched the two exchange words, Gavin felt really bad about something.

"Hi, I'm Tina Chen." The female, Tina, had said with a smile on her lips as she held her hand towards the [Hair color] haired man who grinned as he grabbed and shook the black haired female's hand.

"Nice to meet you officer Chen. Name's [Name] [Last name]."

Gavin forced himself to try and forget the memories of him pinning over his friend. He tried to desperately forget about them but it always came back. Haunting the brunet in a never ending cycle.

'This was so unfair. So fucking unfair.' Gavin thought as the tears fell down his eyes. Looking at his ceiling, the brunet detective remembered [Name] being so happy when he told the news his date with Tina went well.

Gavin remembered [Name] smiling so happily as he told him that he was in love with the female officer. That this was the first time he felt so strongly with someone.

"I never stood a chance," Gavin weakly chuckled to himself. "How fucking pathetic," Gavin continued as he cried.

Gavin Reed wanted [Name] [Last name]. His partner in crime (both literally and figuratively), his best friend. But he can't have the [Hair color] haired man as when Gavin wanted him— Tina Chen, a friend and fellow officer, needed [Name]. The two were made for each other and they both made each other happy.

The brunet detective remembered Tina being more optimistic in the DPD precinct. More happy to go to work and would come towards him to ask questions on [Name]'s likes and dislikes. The [Hair color] haired man's hobbies and what he looks for a significant lover.

Gavin saw that Tina was making an effort with the courting [Name] was doing for her. Doing things for the [Hair color] haired man aswell like surprising [Name] with his favorite foods or having movie dates in their day offs.

Gavin saw they were making their relationship worth it and he couldn't help but feel happy for them both. No matter how much it hurts him— Gavin Reed merely wanted the [Hair color] haired man. While Tina Chen needed [Name].

And that's where Gavin knew the difference between want and need.

139 notes · View notes

soaimagines · 4 years

Text

small worlds

an EZ Reyes Fanfiction

Chapter One

Pairing: Eventual Ez Reyes x Ilana Ortiz (OC)

Summary: When Ilana Ortiz left Charming she never thought she would be wrapped up in the life of another motorcycle club. But when she runs into an old friend she finds she’s already in deeper than she thought.

OR Juice’s little sister falls for a Mayan

Word Count: 2238

Warnings: language, mentions of death, mentions of grief, trash writing? 18+ as always, soa spoilers? i guess.

Authors Note: I’ve had this idea for a while now and I’ve finally written it. Thank you as always to my sweet friend @juniperjane for being my beta and reading through the dozens of drafts i sent u. u da bomb

Disclaimer: i do not speak espanol, and try to use it sparingly and respectfully. if i have failed to do so please let me know, i mean no offense.

Tags: @minnicelli • @ifoundmyhappythought • @noz4a2 • @svintsandghosts • @rebel-without-cause-x • @i-shouldbepainting • @lady-pswrld • @spookys-girl • @multiyfandomgirl40 • @gemini0410 • @starrynite7114 7• @everyhowlmarksthedead

if you want to be added to the taglist let me know

There was always something slightly ominous about a gas station at midnight. A place that was usually hustling with travellers stocking up, refueling their tanks and heading off in search of their own adventures. But as the light of the day was replaced with the unrelenting darkness of night, Ilana Ortiz found herself alone, as she often did. She raised her hand, stifling a yawn as her gaze flickered to the petrol pump, eyeing the numbers as they rose. The hum of the pump pouring petrol into the tank of her car sputtered to a stop and she lifted the nozzle, shaking off the remains before returning it to the hook.

In the distance she heard them. Steadily growing louder as they approached. She knew the sound all too well, once the soundtrack of days spent in happiness all those years ago. The thunderous drone approached and she closed her eyes, basking in the memories that flooded her. Crashing into her mind like waves, dragging her out into the deep. Her fingers grasped the locket hanging around her neck and she took a deep breath as she opened her eyes. The breeze shifted, blowing a strand of dark hair across her face and she watched as they approached.

Half a dozen motorcycles, most of them low riders, spread out in a staggered formation as they thundered down the highway, with only the open road laid bare before them. One by one they sped past her, and Lana couldn’t help but think of them as ghosts from her past, the faces that would be forever etched into her memory haunting those of the strangers that rode before her now. The darkness of night hindered her ability to make out the patches on the riders backs, but they were there, their presence ever looming.

There was once a time where the presence of a motorcycle club had been a welcoming sight, surrounding her with a feeling of warmth and belonging, rather than the emotional sorrow that she felt deep in her soul. But those times were just memories now, chapters in a dark and lonely book that she didn’t have the strength to read again and so she closed it tight and left it to gather dust.

It took a few months for Ilana to settle into Santo Padre. Slowly, the shelves in her small apartment were filled with various ornaments that she gathered from local market stalls and thrift stores. While it was far from the apartment of Lana's dreams, it was affordable and in a reasonably good neighbourhood, and for now, at least, it was home.

She didn't have a lot of personal possessions, had never been one for materialistic items. There were only two things that she took with her wherever she went. The first, was the locket around her neck. Inside lived a black and white photo of her late mother, wearing a smile that had been passed on to her children. The second was a photograph, its edges frayed and worn. In it stood two siblings, matching smiles on their youthful faces as they stood beside each other, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Juan Carlos and Ilana Rose Ortiz.

For as long as she could remember it had been the two of them. After their mother passed away they only really had each other and when Juan had decided to leave Queens and move to California, Ilana had been right by his side.

There was something about the small town of Charming, and the people that lived there that beckoned to the Ortiz siblings. And it was there that they made a home. Ilana found a job doing admin work at the local hospital, whilst Juice worked at the local garage.

After a few months he had told her he was prospecting for the Sons Of Anarchy, and she hadn’t exactly been thrilled. It was a dangerous lifestyle, and she couldn’t lose the only person she had left in this world. Juan had tried to put her mind at ease. He told her they would be safe, that they would look out for him and he would look out for them. He told her they would be happy here. And they were, for a while.

Slowly this band of misfits and outlaws truly did become family, a concept that had once felt so foreign. They finally belonged somewhere, and they were finally happy. But nothing lasts forever.

She couldn't quite pinpoint the moment things went wrong. But something changed when the Sons of Anarchy did their fourteen month stint in Stockton State Penitentiary. Things were changing, and none of them could have predicted just how dark things would turn.

Soon, the club that had once seemed so solid, so welcoming, turned into something dark and bitter and it fell apart at the seams. The binds that tied them were thick with betrayal and mistrust and she could only watch as one by one they fell like dominoes.

Whilst Ilana had spent years in Charming, she never pretended to know all the ins and outs of the club's business. Nor did she want to know. She knew there were rules, and ways in which certain things had to be handled. But above all else, she knew her brother. And she knew he didn't deserve what happened to him.

After the loss of her brother, Ilana spent a long time in that first stage of grief. In denial that this world could be so horribly cruel. Everything she had ever known had been ripped from her and she didn't know what she was supposed to do next; The town was too small for all the ghosts that lived in it and everywhere she looked, she saw death and pain. Memories of once joyful times turned to rot. And so she left.

She spent the next few years travelling, never staying in one place too long. To some people it may have looked like she was running away from her pain and those people weren't wrong. But Ilana liked to think of herself as an explorer, living out the adventures she had read about in the books of her childhood.

Eventually she grew weary of living out of her suitcase, and she found herself homesick, yearning for a home that no longer existed. She found solace in the sunshine state, and when a job opportunity presented itself in Southern California she took it. She found herself an apartment, albeit a rather shitty one, but it was somewhere to live nonetheless and Ilana found comfort in having a consistent income and a familiar place to lay her head.

Ilana smiled at the market stall vendors as she passed them by, gazing over the varieties of fresh produce they displayed so vibrantly. She purchased a selection of vegetables and fruit, slowly filling the woven basket in her hands. A display of fresh mangoes caught her gaze and she looked them over, picking out the ones she would buy.

“Miss Ilana?”

At the mention of her name, she turned.

“Chucky?”

Chuck Marstein wasn’t a face that was easily forgotten. Although, it was probably more to do with his distinct lack of fingers and his mechanical hands than his actual face, which was often apprehensive.

Four years had passed since they had seen each other, and he was aware that the way in which they were once acquainted had been the root of her sorrow. He looked at her nervously, as if he expected anger from her. But that anger he had grown to expect from people didn’t exist in Lana, and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Chucky!” The grin on her face matched his, her eyes sparkling with the threat of tears. “What are you doing here! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Since your brother's funeral.” He nodded.

Lana nodded along with him, finding slight amusement in Chuckys lack of filter. Most people tip-toed around the mention of her brother, but not him.

“You left Charming?”

“Si,” The sadness that flashed in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. But Lana knew all too well that things in that small town, and in that life, were often complex, and now wasn’t the time to pry.

“But you’re okay?” Lana asked softly. “You’re working?”

“Si, mamacita.Romero Brothers Scrap and Salvage yard. I am always working hard” He rolled his ‘r’s excessively and Lana smiled at the familiar rhyming, as if his sentence was his own catchphrase.

“And what are you doing here?”

“I got a job doing admin work in town. It's not much, but it pays the bills.”

His phone rang out loudly, and Chucky flashed her a look of apology.

“Yello?”

Ilana hid her smile as he answered the call, looking away to give him some privacy. They had been close once, back in Charming. She had spent a lot of time at the Sons of Anarchy clubhouse, helping out Gemma in the office as she needed it. More often than not she was paired with Chucky to run errands, and she had enjoyed getting to know him. He was quirky, in many ways, but he was a kind soul and all he really wanted was to belong, something which resonated with Ilana.

“Absolutamante,” He said, and ended the call.

“I have to go, Miss Lana. Duty calls.”

Lana nodded understandably and held out her hand. “Give me your phone, I’ll put my number in it.”

He nodded, handing the device over and watching as her fingers tapped at the screen.

“Give me a call when you’re free and we can get dinner or something. Catch up, properly.”

“Really?” He asked, in genuine disbelief. “You would want to?”

Lana smiled at him. “Of course, Chucky. You’ve always been one of my best friends.”

The smile that spread over his face was like that of a child on Christmas morning and Lana couldn’t help but beam back at him, her heart warming.

“I will call you, for dinner.”

“I look forward to it, Chucky.”

It wasn’t long before Ilana heard from Chucky again.

In fact it was only that same afternoon that her phone had rung and his voice was on the other end of the line. She was glad to hear from him, albeit a lot sooner than she had anticipated, but she invited him to her apartment for dinner nonetheless.

She was already out in town, and after spotting a sign that read ‘Carniceria Reyes’, she decided to pick up something to cook. With a glance in each direction she jogged across the road before entering the shop.

It was nearing closing time, and Ilana could see that most of the meat had been packed away, or purchased already. Her eyes scanned what was left on offer as her mind ticked over what she could cook, her abilities in the kitchen being far from expert.

“What can I get for you?”

Ilana glanced up and smiled warmly at the wizened man behind the counter. His smile was warm and welcoming, though the creases on his forehead told of worries, both past and present and there was a forlorn glaze in his twinkling eyes.

“Hi, I’ll just take a couple of those steaks, please?”

The man nodded and slid open the window at the back of the counter.

“How’s your day been?” Ilana made conversation as she glanced around the small store.

Her gaze fell on a selection of books and she smiled as she walked over to them.

He cleared his throat. “It’s been good, busy.” The man said as he packaged the meat. He watched her curiously as she studied the old books, and the delicate way in which she traced her fingers over the titles.

“Are these all yours?” She asked, as she carefully lifted a worn copy of Alejandra Pizarnik’s poetry. It had been well loved, made obvious by the creases on the cover, and the yellowed, dog eared pages.

“Most of them belonged to my wife.”

Ilana smiled as she studied the inscription scrawled inside the cover. It was in español, which she couldn’t read despite her Puerto Rican heritage, but she always found something magical in old books, especially those with messages of love or well wishes written inside the cover.

“She has quite a collection.”

The man smiled and nodded towards the book in her hands. “You’re welcome to borrow it.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“Please,” He smiled at her. “They should be read, not left here to gather dust and the smell of meat.”

Ilana laughed lightly and nodded, slipping the book carefully into her bag. “Thank you, uh?”

“Felipe.”

Her purchases were ready now, wrapped carefully in brown paper and he placed them on top of the counter.

“Thank you, Felipe.” She smiled as she handed him some cash. “I’m Ilana.”

“Please, keep the change.” She lifted the parcel in her hands as she headed to the door. “It was nice to meat you.”

Felipe chuckled and waved as she walked out of the shop, shaking his head at the interaction.

“Who was that?”

Felipe looked up to see his son EZ, the same smile on his face as he wore on his own, stepping out from the shadows.

“New customer.” Felipe said as he walked to the door and flipped the ‘open’ sign to closed. “Cmon, Jimenez will be here soon.”

Masterlist

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genevievemd · 3 years

Note

'Broke'

also do you have an angsty one shot in which there is no relationship problems between Ethan and gen (i.e. they should be a couple in it), just general sadness.

The reason I ask is because our uni surprised us with exams dates and they are A LOT sooner than we expected and I need a good cry

If you don't have it don't worry or write one on account of me

You can also light my way towards a good cry fic or movie

Broke “That's not the kind of tired I meant. Have you talked to Ethan since he broke things off?”

Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in.

As for the rest of your ask, I have a couple WIPS but none that are near ready to be posted. BUT I adore you, so I’m gonna give you the super rough draft of one of the 50 ILY prompts that I think falls under what you want.

But be warned, when I say rough, i mean rough. Like its half actually written and half shit sentences to get my point across before I go back and actually write them lol (under the read more)

She thought she was safe from him. Miles and years away from his taunts and games and tear downs. Never in a million years did Genevieve expect her ex to show up in Boston, Edenbrook no less. Her safe place.

The darkness of the on-call room does little to ease herI h anxiety, stop the tears from falling and her chest constricting. Her eyes are still trained on the far wall, counting the minutes until her break is over, and she has to return to the demons of her past.

Ryan Ozwell was the last person she ever expected to see again. Boston is a far cry from UPenn,

No part of her wanted to tell him about her life and she was doing a fairly decent job at keeping the specifics from him. Until the moment Ryan asked if she was seeing someone.

The smug, condescending look on his face like an echo from their past. His favorite insults repeating themselves over and over again in her mind.

You’re worthless

You’re nothing

No one could ever love a piece of second class, backwater trash like you.

So she gave in, against her better judgement, and told him she was with someone. That they were a doctor at the hospital but nothing more. But that was all he needed to break her down again, laugh in her face at the supposed absurdity that a fellow doctor would find her worthwhile.

And In the hours between his admission and her later check in, Ryan had somehow figured out that Ethan was the man she was with, and it was like the gates of hell had opened. The fire in his eyes something unearthly, his words dripping with a deadly venom that paralyzed her.

You’re still trying to date above your worth.

How can you still be so naive? You really think he loves you?

You’re a game to him, just like you were with me. Men like us get off on seeing how far we can string the pretty little thing along.

I bet you only have the position you do because you’re sleeping with him. You were always a good fuck.

It’s a shame you took that spot from someone who actually deserves it.

She never showed him that it was getting to her, she kept the emotions at bay until she took her break. And went to an on call room to cry in the dark.

She hates herself for still being affected by him, almost 9 years after they’d broken up and even after finding Ethan.

She sees the door open, quickly shutting her eyes to make it look she’s sleeping. She hears the door shut with a soft click, the lock is turned and then slow measured footsteps walking towards her.

Something in her tells her it’s Ethan and she’s proven right when he sits on the edge of the cot - placing a hand on her back, his fingers lightly caressing her.

Slowly Genevieve opens her eyes, but keeps her gaze trained on the invisible hole she’s been burning into the wall, afraid to see the look on his face.

Ethan leans forward and wipes a tear from her cheek. His fingers linger on her skin before brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.He returns his hand to her back, running it up and down her spine. she can see him look at her with concern. Gen swallows back tears and reaches for his other hand, holding it tightly, but doesn’t look at him.

After another moment, Gen takes a deep breath and turns her head to finally look at him. He gives her a reassuring smile, his face still full of concern.

“I’m fine.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, still hoarse from crying

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Gen.”

“I know that.”

“Let me help.”

She starts to tear up again and shakes her head. She bits the corner of her mouth and closes her eyes for a moment then looks back at the floor.

“Don’t shut me out, Genevieve. Talk to me.”

She half laughs, looking up at him with a faint smile.

He leans in closer, placing right hand behind her and the fingers of his left hand brushing through her hair.

“What did he say to you?”

“How did you…”

“I walked by his room and he very loudly yelled that he knew who I was. So I went to check his chart, saw the name and then immediately went to find you.”

Gen sits up a little and Ethan moves his hand from her hair to her cheek.

“Why didn’t you tell me that he was your patient? I could’ve gotten you off the case without anyone asking questions.”

“Because you have enough to worry about. You’re the head of an entire department. Between that and Leland, Terrance and the construction, the last thing you need is a 3rd year resident crying to you about a difficult patient.”

“Genevieve…” Ethan leans forward and presses a loving kiss to her forehead. “You’re not just a resident, you’re my, as much as I hate such a juvenile term, girlfriend. Regardless of what’s going on, or how busy I am, you can always, and should always, come to me with whatever’s troubling you.” Ethan moves back to look into her eyes, “I know we try to keep the line between our work and private lives rather clear, but this is one of those times when that line should be crossed. Ryan Ozwell, isn’t just a random patient who’s being particularly difficult, he’s your borderline abusive ex. You should’ve come to me the minute you got his chart. Not just as a resident but as my girlfriend as well.”

“You wouldn’t have been mad? I was worried you’d think I was being weak or something.”

“Oh, I am mad, believe me. I’m irate, but not at you. Do you want me to take you off the case? Just say the word, and I’ll hand it over to a different resident or an intern. Preferably one of the less competent ones. Who’s caused the most trouble this week, it��s been awhile since I’ve given a good shake down.”

Gen laughs, moving her hand to his chest. She fiddles with the lapel of his white coat, “No, I…” She looks down at her hand before looking back at Ethan, “I need to do this.”

“You are absolutely certain?”

“Yes.” She smiles softly, “You don’t need to protect me.”

“I’m well aware that I don’t need to, Gen. I know you are more than capable of fighting your own battles, but I want to.” He strokes her cheek with his thumb, catching a wayward tear in its path. “Let me be there for you, the way you’ve always been there for me.”

She nods

“How much time is left on your break?”

Gen reaches for her phone, “A little over ten minutes.”

Ethan takes off his coat, and loosens his tie.

“What are you doing?”

“Scoot over.” Gen does as he says but starts to cry again when she realizes he’s going to lay on the cot with her.

Ethan lays down, leaning against the bed frame. Gen immediately wraps herself around him - practically lies on top of him. Her head is on his chest and her arm around his waist. Ethan holds her tightly, their legs tangled together.

Thinks about how gentle and loving Ethan is, compared to her ex, how her safety and comfort are always his number one priority. How he makes her feel like the most precious thing in the world to him. How safe she feels when she’s in his arms.

The moment is cut short when the timer on her phone goes off, Gen untangles herself enough to grab it from beside the pillow. She looks at it with a frown then looks at Ethan.

“Breaks over. I should go see if his test results are back. The sooner I figure out what’s wrong with him, the sooner he leaves.”

Gen gets up and stands, Ethan gets up as well. She hesitates, her hands shaking just the slightest bit. He steps forward to kiss her forehead, running his hand down her arm in comfort.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Ethan, really, you don’t -”

“I’d like to see him try and say something while I’m in the room. He so much as looks at you the wrong way and -”

Gen cuts him off with a kiss, leaning up on her tiptoes and holding his face in her hands. He immediately wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close. Her eyes start to water at his gentleness, never taking more than she offers. She pulls back after a moment, and looks in his eyes. They haven’t said “I love you you” yet but the way he’s looking at her says everything she needs to know. Ethan loves her more than anything. The thought makes more tears settle in her eyes and Ethan takes his hand off her waist to wipe them away. Her eyes flutter close at his touch and she leans up as he leans down, meeting her halfway as their foreheads touch. “I am so incredibly thankful for you, I…”

“I know. I feel the same way about you.”

They share a knowing smile before fully leaving each other arms and heading for the door. ‘

I hope this helped. I promise to actually finish it at some point lol

Also, I can’t think of any movies to cry to atm.

#ask games #fireycookie #asked and answered

16 notes · View notes

ewshannon · 3 years

Text

Being Helped

On November 25th, I broke the pinkie and ring finger on my left hand while riding my bike. Actually, that's not true, I broke them hitting the concrete. There wasn't much pain at the time, but I did have to do something uncomfortable: ask for help. I called my partner and ask him to collect me (and my bike). He took me to urgent care where they confirmed the breaks and outfitted me with a comically large cast. On December 10th, the doctor inserted four pins (two per finger) and they remained in me until January 4th.

Other than the intense pain after the insertion of the pins, the only other discomfort I experienced was asking for help. Suddenly jars and Ziploc closures lay just beyond my abilities. Food preparation also presented many hurdles. I could no longer cut vegetables or even manipulate some of my heavier pans and lids. I felt awful having to ask my partner to stem and halve Brussel sprouts, dice onions, open cans, and retrieve pots and pans from the depths of our cabinets. He also became my driver for a month, an activity he's not terribly fond of in the best of circumstances and probably even less so with me in the vehicle.

One day, I forget what prompted it, he gave me a little gift of words, "Finally get to pay you back for all the times you've driven me to doctor appointments and procedures." The first thing that popped into my mind was, "Why does he feel like he owes me? I was happy to do those things." The word 'happy' made me pause. Indeed, I had been happy to drive him to those appointments and not just because he's amusing coming out of the effects of twilight anesthesia. (Once, on the way home from a back procedure, he told me the same story three times like I was sitting on hold with the oddest recording playing.) As I scrolled through my memory, remembering taking care of my last partner, my grandmother, various free yoga classes I've taught to charity volunteers, and other volunteer opportunities I've taken part in, I remembered the feeling of happiness associated with each one. And not just happiness, but happiness and fulfillment.

Suddenly I no longer felt guilty for asking for help. My partner has volunteered for countless charities since I've known him. He is one of those people who still holds a feeling of service to others as being a normal part of daily life, not just something done during the holidays. He's even found a way to continue volunteering during the pandemic while keeping socially distanced. He understands the feeling of contentment gotten from helping others. Who am I to deny him that feeling?

Sometimes I wonder if our constant need to monetize everything has made asking for help harder. There is no payment for help, there is no reciprocal relationship inherent in helping others, if you help a stranger, someone you will never see again, the only thing you can expect is that joyful feeling of helping and possibly a "thank you." And it's a good thing, can you imagine bargaining with a stranger from inside your burning house as they stood holding a ladder? "Venmo me twenty dollars and I'll put the ladder up to your window, thirty dollars and I'll hold it steady." I fear the concept of uninhibited help is the last thread tethering the human species to a moral center.

I don't recall anyone ever teaching me to ask for help as a child. Stop-drop-and-roll, stranger danger, say 'no' to drugs, and only I can prevent forest fires, but never the concept of asking for help. I first remember "volunteering" for something when a family I was spending the weekend with drafted me into taking part in a beach clean-up in the Hamptons. At first, I was less than thrilled (my general mood in my teenage years) to spend part of my weekend picking up trash, but once we had our section completed there was a glimmer of pride shining through my thick teenage angst. Of course, at that age you don't have the wherewithal to look at both sides of the equation and figure out somebody had to ask for volunteers.

So, if you need help, ask for it knowing you are giving somebody the opportunity to feel connected to something other than social media for a moment and a positive self-image to look back on when the world might tell them otherwise. It's part of what creates community and part of what builds compassion, two ideas lacking in the world today. Remember this quote from Kate Northrup: "Having a need and needing help is not a sign that you're weak, it's a sign that you're human."

#ewshannon #lgbtq writing #lgbtq #inspiring #writing #original writing #memoir #ask for help #help

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myhauntedsalem · 3 years

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10 Terrifying True Ouija Board Stories

1. Ask Zander

Oh Lord. I was about twelve when a friend and I were playing Ask Zandar (a board game with an electronic wizard that makes sounds and talks) when the batteries died. I tried to find replacements but with no luck.

So my amazing friend says “hey that Ouija board could be fun! Let us play and become possessed by demonic entities for all time”…or something along those lines.

We’re going along and asking questions, pushing the little eye around and having a grand old time. Until I say “if something is there, prove yourself”. THE MOTHERFUCKING NO BATTERY ASK ZANDAR WIZARD SAYS “Dun dun dun, you win!”. I flipped that board, tossed it in the trash, and absolutely refuse to have one in my house again.

2. Obviously Possessed

We were goofing off in a neighbor’s house playing with the Ouija board, and we asked a “demon” to talk to us (shut up, I know.) Five minutes into our “conversation”, the girl next to me vomited then fell off her stool and bashed her head on the counter. We called her mom and she took her to the doctor. She came to school the next day (with a huge knot and bruise on her head) and said the doctor said he didn’t know what caused it but she was fine, although she said she still felt a little funny. It was most likely unrelated, but I haven’t touched a Ouija board since, nor have I hung out with that girl since she is obviously possessed by a demon.

3. Night Time Visitor

The night we played, something came through and was calling me horrible names – I thought it was my friend doing it so I made my younger brother try it with me and it was most def not her, my brother was 7 and didn’t know about those words or how to spell them. I asked it to do something to prove it was real and nothing happened… fast forward to next morning, we were all sitting in the family room, watching TV when our fireplace (which we were not using), literally exploded into flames. We were all freaked out and swore we’d never use the Ouija again but, it didn’t matter, the door was opened.

After that, I had many episodes of sleep paralysis, things in my room would move on their own, something would come in my room and sit on my bed while I slept, I could feel it and see the depression in the bed.

4. The Gun Shot

Yeah. Went to this house that burned down with a whole family inside with 2 of my friends at 1 am. It was a still night, no wind or anything. We were in my truck doing the Ouija and it started to get mean, so we stopped, then it sounded like someone shot a large gun outside the truck window, and it felt like a huge gust of wind blew over us because the truck rocked, and then we all started freaking out. I tried to start the truck, and it wouldn’t go.

Then, we did it again at a friend’s house, one of the 2 people there with me the first time, and we were in the basement. Shit started getting weird again so we went to turn the lights on, and they wouldn’t turn on, and the basement door locked. None of us ever did it again.

I don’t even believe in that kind of stuff, but it was really creepy.

5. KILL!

I’ll never forget. I was 13 and my three friends and I wanted to try the Ouija board. It was the middle of the day, so we went into my friend’s walk-in closet where it was dark and we brought flashlights. We were just playing around. Eventually this “spirit” named Michael came on and we starting talking to it. Of course each of us starts joking that someone is making it move. But the more we started talking to Michael, the more it was apparent that none of us were pushing the navigator around. It was really creepy, but fascinating, too. One of my friends asked the spirit where it was in the present moment. It started to spell C-L-O-S when one friend hit the navigator off the board, started freaking out and screamed, “Closet! He was spelling closet!!” We were spooked, but in a fun way. The friend who freaked out wanted to stop, but we insisted that we keep on talking to Michael as we at least had to say goodbye and close out the session. We got the navigator back on the board and said we were sorry for interrupting him. He was not happy. He said to not do it again. Then for some stupid reason I asked Michael what was he going to do in the closet with us. It started to spell K-I-L and then the same friend threw the navigator off the board again and started screaming, “KILL! He’s going to kill us!!” and ran out of the closet. We all got really freaked out and ran out too. We didn’t close out the session so there was an argument between those of us who felt we needed to go back in and say goodbye so Michael would be sent away, and those of us who refused to ever touch the Ouija board again. We ended up not going back in and I had nightmares about Michael following me around and wanting me dead.

6. Look In The Shower

In seventh grade, my friends and I went over to “Mary’s” house intent on playing with her mom’s Ouija board that night. None of us had played with one before. Mary’s mom was an extremely spiritual person who believed in energies, witchcraft, stuff like that. Before we used the board, Mary warned us that her mom would be really pissed if she found out that we were playing with it because Ouija boards can attract bad spirits into the home. With full knowledge of this, we decided to proceed anyway. This Ouija board was not like the average Ouija board you had ever seen. Along with the usual characteristics (the alphabet, “yes”, “no”, “goodbye”), there was an entire array of symbols and signs that were all arranged in a circle. This was some seriously intricate stuff.

We started just goofing around and “communicating” with random spirits here and there until we finally met one that had us in tears the entire sleepless night. First, we asked the spirit if it was a man or a woman, to which he replied “M-A-N”. Then we asked how he was killed: “M-U-R-D-E-R”. That freaked us out only a little bit but we were mostly excited. All of a sudden, before we even asked another question, the glass goes to the eyeball symbol, then spells out “I-N”, and goes to the water symbol. We didn’t have a clue what that meant. It wasn’t too scary until the spirit spelled out “S-H-O-W-E-R” and my best friend realized that the spirit was trying to get us to look into the shower.

We froze.

I’ve never been so scared in my entire life, especially sitting directly in front of the bathroom with the shower curtain all the way closed, faced in my direction. We all screamed and promised on our friendships that we had not moved it ourselves (very important promise). I felt like I was being watched and my friends thought so too. It was only 4 of us and I believe with all my heart that none of them had moved it because we were all too nervous to do anything.

I’ll never use a Ouija board again because of how crazy and intense that night was. I understand that people say Ouija boards are controlled by your subconscious but f**k that. I know I felt something in that room with us. I know it was dangerous.

7. Get The Boy!

My friend had mentioned that she had one, so I asked her to pull the board out so I could check it out. At first she said no, but then agreed to do it as long as she didn’t have to participate. After she had the board set up I asked “Is there anyone in here”…. Nothing. So, being a dumb teenager I said “If anything is in here and not talking, you’re a coward”. The board was put away after that.

Fast forward about a week later and have me sleeping upstairs on my couch. I wake up on a stereotypical “Stormy Night”. Thunder and lightning, wind and rain..the works. I look around to see why I woke up and couldn’t see a thing, and decide to try and fall back asleep. After laying there for about 30s I hear from downstairs “Get the boy” in a very raspy, wispy voice. I open my eyes and listen… Nothing. Start to go back to sleep…”GET THE BOY”, it was MUCH louder this time. Then my downstairs door SLAMS shut. I freak the F*ck out because nobody slept down there and we had no drafts.

Nothing really happened after that… I learned my lesson.

8. Are You For Real?

A lady I worked with brought one in to play around with one day. We messed with it and didn’t really think it was doing anything weird or moving on its own. So my coworker goes to lunch and leaves me all alone at the store. I didn’t have any customers so I went to the back where the board was. I put just my index finger on it very lightly and said, “are you for real?” That thing moved straight up to yes on its own! I ran out of the back room freaking out. Never touched one since.

9. Answers

A few friends and I mucked around with ouija boards a lot as teenagers. It had always been harmless fun. One night we were “speaking” with a young boy called Niall who had told us he had been murdered by his father. We “spoke” with him for a while and then got bored of the conversation, “left”, and eventually tried again. We started to speak with someone we assumed was an elderly lady, when actually it turned out it was Niall again. Someone must have asked “what do you want?” because the ouija pointer spelt out “Satisfy my requests” and then continuously spelt “answers” over and over again until we freaked out and just abandoned everything: the board, the house, the street.

I have never touched a Ouija board since. Early last year, a few of us got together again (having all gone our separate ways since high school) and we brought that night up – and everyone swore again that they hadn’t moved anything on purpose that night. Of course, someone could still be lying, or we could have inadvertently been moving the pointer without realizing, but just remembering the force of the pointer moving so rapidly – and what it spelt out – freaked me out enough not to want to mess with it again… just in case.

10. The Eagle

One of my best experiences involved talking with a spirit of air, which happened back when I believed only in the mental aspect of magic, and thought that the ‘spirits’ I was talking to were were just parts of my psyche. To test this I asked the spirit to show some kind of sign of its existence, which I did not expect to manifest. When I asked this a huge eagle (birds being part of an air spirit’s domain) landed right outside my window, stared at me, like, really stared into my eyes, looked down at the board and flew away. Maybe it was coincidence, but I closed down the communication, did a Rose Cross Banishing ritual and noped the fuck away from magic for a while. Good Times.

#10 Terrifying True Ouija Board Stories #shared stories #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

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pheedraws · 4 years

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I got tagged in this ultimate OTP meme a while ago and this has been sitting in my drafts since because I am, at my core, indecisive. It also means I can’t remember who tagged me so my apologies! I could not sleep at all last night so I finally finished it off ... voila

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice?

They both try to keep things low-key, especially if others are within earshot, but they are also incredibly stubborn and won’t back down from an argument if they think they are right so things can often get loud.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?

Neither of them. They’ve both had enough people walk out on them in the past that they wouldn’t threaten the other with that in the heat of the moment, regardless of the argument.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?

As above. At the very most, one of them will go somewhere to cool off for a few hours but that’s the extent of that.

Who trashes the house?

Neither of them. Billy has the shorter temper of the two but that’s not his style.

Do either of them get physical?

Never.

How often do they argue/disagree?

Hoo boy. After Billy breaks things off mere days before they lose Maria and the kids? Dee can’t stand to be in the same room as him without fighting. Billy plays along, after all he needed the dispute to seem real so Rawlins would drop Dee as a potential pawn to use against him (thus keeping her safe), but the part of him he buried deep down hates seeing her hurt and angry. Doesn’t stop him from landing a few cutting jabs every now and then, though…

Post-S1? Not a lot. It takes them a while to work through things after Rawlins’ death and Billy’s pardoning, eventually getting back to how things were in the ‘good old days’. All the previous grievances just seem petty in comparison and thus arguments are few and far between. When they do get back together? It’s all small domestic things, the most common argument being Billy trying to get Dee to just slow down and stop working herself to the bone.

Who is the first to apologise?

Usually Billy. (He is usually the one in the wrong, so…)

Sex:

Who is on top?

More often than not Billy, though he certainly has no qualms against sitting back and making Dee work for it from time to time.

Who is on the bottom?

Mostly Dee, with exceptions of course. (She can top Billy every so often, as a treat)

Who has the strangest desires?

I wouldn’t say either of them have particularly strange desires, but their sex life is never boring. Let’s leave it at that.

Any kinks?

Too damn many. Dee more so than Billy, which he fucking loves.

Who’s dominant in bed?

Almost always Billy. Even when Dee’s on top, he’s still the one in control.

Is head ever in the equation?

Absolutely.

If so, who is better at performing it?

Billy’s an incredibly confident and smug man, both in life and in the bedroom. Is it justified? Wholly.

Ever had sex in public?

…Yes.

They just had to break in the newly refurbished head office at Anvil, after all…

Who moans the most?

They both get pretty vocal in their own ways. For Billy, it’s a lot of guttural moans and ‘fuck’s. In Dee’s case? Well, Billy doesn’t rest until she’s screaming loud enough that all her neighbors know him by name…

Who leaves the most marks?

Billy. He’d never push Dee past her limits or seriously hurt her, but he does get a little... carried away in the moment.

Dee loves it though.

Who’s the more experienced of the two?

Again, Billy.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?

In the early days it was almost exclusively fucking. They had a friends-with-benefits situation going on that didn’t leave room for the feelings they both refused to acknowledge.

Post-S1, when everything is back on track and positive? It’s a healthy mix of the two.

Rough or soft?

Again, a healthy mix of the two.

How long do they usually last?

Billy has the stamina of a superhuman. Whether it’s fucking or making love, you can bet your ass he’s making it last until Dee is fully spent.

Is protection used?

Yes. They’re both too busy to consider the, ahem, alternative right now.

Does it ever get boring?

With Billy Russo? Never.

Where is the strangest place they’ve have sex?

An elevator.

Heathens.

Family:

Do they plan on having children/or have children?

That is… a complicated topic. After losing Lisa and Frank Jr., Dee was kind of put off the idea of starting a family with anyone. Billy has his own reservations about kids and parenthood too, given his own history. Plus post-S1, with both of them working hard towards getting Anvil re-established? There isn’t time for that.

Neither of them completely rule out future possibilities, though.

If so, how many children do they want/have?

Neither have given it much thought, in all honesty.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?

They are both partial to a good cuddle on the sofa or in bed, particularly after a long day.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?

B I L L Y. That man’s randiness is second to none.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves?

As above, Billy. It isn’t always inherently sexual, though; he uses touch as an affirmation more so than words, so he’ll make a point of brushing loose hairs out of Dee’s face, or sliding his arms around her waist whenever he can. He’s finally at a stage in his life where he can afford to be soft and affectionate, so naturally he wants to make the most of it.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?

Depends on the situation. Both of them are borderline workaholics, so staying still for anything longer than half an hour during the day just doesn’t sit well with them and they’ll take themselves off to get back to work. If they fall asleep in each other’s arms, though? You best believe they’ll still be entwined when morning comes.

Who gives the most kisses?

Dee’s the smoocher of the pair, always has been, though Billy has taken to planting a kiss on her forehead when her brows knit together while working to ease the tension there.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?

Their secret indulgence is sacking off work on a Friday night to order pizza and drink beer while watching some dumb movie neither are really interested in. Sometimes they invite the others over, but more often than not it’s just their night to breathe and enjoy each other’s company.

Dee will adamantly deny that she almost always falls asleep during the movie, though…

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?

Billy spared no expense when decorating his penthouse, so the sofa and bed are simply to die for. In the end that’s what spurs Dee to move in with him, lest she have to listen to him complain about her brick of a sofa one more time…

How often do they get time to themselves?

Not as often as they’d like. Later on down the line, when Dee leaves her clinic behind, they both work at Anvil, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they have more time to themselves. It’s busy, especially in the wake of the Rawlins fiasco, but things settle down eventually. They take those moments to themselves whenever they can.

Sleeping:

Who snores?

Mercifully, neither of them do.

If both do, who snores the loudest?

While neither of them snore, Dee talks utter nonsense in her sleep, which Billy then teases her for relentlessly.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?

Always share a bed. Sleep doesn’t come easy to Dee, but having Billy beside her helps.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?

They’ll cozy up as they fall asleep. More often than not they’ll wake up like that too, though Dee has been known to shift into some utterly nonsensical positions that would make a chiropractor cry.

What do they wear to bed? If they’re together?

Dee sleeps in a vest and shorts all year round.

Billy? Just underwear, unless previously removed before falling asleep …

Are either of them insomniacs?

Dee is a chronic insomniac and workaholic. While they’re in the middle of their break-up, can’t-stand-the-sight-of-each-other phase, Dee works through the night until she physically can’t stay awake any longer; anything to avoid the tossing and turning and overthinking that awaits her in bed. Things get better after Rawlins is dealt with and Billy is back in the picture, but it’s still a struggle for her at times.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?

Dee tried them once. They don’t work.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?

A little bit of both. Dee likes feeling Billy there with her so will tangle herself up in his arms and legs when she can, but if it’s hot? Stuff that. There’s nothing Dee hates more than feeling hot and smothered.

Who wakes up with bed hair?

Dee, and she will forever be bitter that Billy I’m-So-Perfect Russo can wake up looking like a damn model regardless of the antics they got up to the night before.

Who wakes up first?

If Dee had a fitful night of sleep, she’ll be up and out of bed at the earliest reasonable hour. On a normal day, Billy will wake up first.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?

They usually just grab breakfast on the way to work, but if it’s a weekend or a special occasion? Billy is known to surprise her with breakfast in bed.

What’s their favourite sleeping position?

Billy on his back with Dee against his side, her head in the crook of his neck.

Do they set an alarm each night?

Billy doesn’t need one; perks of being a marine, and all. If they need to be up at a certain time, he’ll wake Dee up himself… sometimes in creative ways.

Can a television be found in their bedroom?

No. Billy never had one in his bedroom when he lived alone, and Dee wasn’t fussed either way.

Who has nightmares?

They both have their demons, so nightmares are a frequent occurrence. There’s a shared sense of comfort there, though; the pair always knowing what the other needs when they awake with a start, sheen of sweat on their body. The nightmares don’t follow them into the waking world anymore.

Who has ridiculous dreams?

Dee. And she’ll mutter and talk in her sleep the whole time.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?

Surprisingly, Billy. While he’s kept many of his old sleeping habits from his days in the marines, he just can’t resist sprawling out in a big, fancy bed these days.

Who makes the bed?

They’re both neat people, so the general unspoken rule is whoever was last out of bed in the morning makes it.

What time is bed time?

It varies. They do try to have a healthy work-life balance, but Anvil is Billy’s pride and joy; if he needs to stay late working, he’ll do it without complaint. They’ll usually collapse into bed any time between 11PM and 2AM.

Any routines/rituals before bed?

Regular things; showering, brushing teeth, etc. If they haven’t seen much of each other all day they’ll lay awake chatting for a while, catching up on news and such. If Dee is going through a particularly bad stint of insomnia, she’ll work out in the evening to try and quell some of the restless feelings, and Billy has taken to joining her.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?

Dee. Billy is insufferably smug and cheerful on a morning.

Work:

Who is the busiest?

It varies. When Dee is working at the clinic, she’s working constantly. Where Frank goes, trouble is never far behind, and thus there’s never a quiet moment without a bullet wound to patch up or regular patient to see to. After she decides to call it quits and work for Anvil with Frank, Billy and Curtis, her workload decreases a bit. Though she may be the resident medic, Billy has a lot more work and responsibilities being at the top of the chain in that scenario.

Who rakes in the highest income?

Mr Billy Bigshot-CEO Russo

Are any of them unemployed?

No.

Who takes the most sick days?

Dee is very much of the ‘work until you drop’ ethic, and while the same can be said about Billy too in some respects, he’s more lenient with himself and will take a day off when he really needs it. He’ll also bribe encourage Dee to do the same when it’s evident she needs a break.

And I mean hey, what’s the point in owning your own company if you can’t take a cheeky sick day off every now and then?

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?

They travel together (technically live in the same damn building as their offices) so they really have no excuse. For the most part it all runs smoothly, but there are occasions where their ….. morning activities….. overrun, though Dee is adamant that you can never actually be late if you turn up with the boss; everyone else is just there early.

Who sucks up to their boss?

Billy is technically Dee’s boss so…. go figure.

What are their jobs?

After leaving the military, Dee establishes a small clinic in Hell’s Kitchen and works out of there for a few years. It’s met with a lot of resistance, what with her helping Frank out and getting involved in his grievances with local gangs. Eventually, post-S1 and after an arson attack leaves the clinic worse for wear, Dee decides to take up Billy’s offer of working for Anvil alongside Curtis on the medical team.

Billy still owns and runs Anvil, only with his friends by his side this time. It takes some time for the company’s reputation to recover, even after the truth about Rawlins comes out and Billy is exonerated, but he doesn’t mind the work. It makes it feel like his company again.

Who stresses the most?

They both have a knack for stressing and worrying, but Dee comes out on top in this regard. Maria always used to joke that she’d end up with frown lines by the time she’s thirty.

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?

They do. Billy has an immense sense of pride in his work now, and it’s therapeutic for him to work through the mess Rawlins made and reclaim Anvil as his.

Dee loves helping people, always has, so her work suits her.

Are they financially stable?

They are.

Home:

Who does the washing?

They’ll take it in turns for the most part. Both are incredibly neat people so household work is a breeze.

Who takes out the trash?

They’ll usually do it on the way to work, though if it’s cold outside and they have nowhere to be? Billy’s the one to take one for the team.

Who does the ironing?

Billy took one look at the way Dee irons shirts and forbid her from going near an iron again.

Who does the cooking?

Cooking is something they love to do together. It’s a chance for them to unwind and chat and laugh with each other after long working days, so it’s never a chore for them. If a few glasses of wine just happen to be drank during the process, too… well… they deserve it.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?

They’re both pretty competent cooks.

Who is messier?

Neither is particularly messy, per se. Dee will say she’s not untidy and call her chaotic desk ‘organized clutter’, but that’s usually limited to her workspaces. The penthouse itself is almost always clean and tidy.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty?

Neither, because they are not heathens… in this regard, at least.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?

If Billy is tired, he’ll just strip wherever is convenient and deal with the clothes in the morning. Dee at least makes the extra effort to hang things up or, at the very least, drape it over a chair.

Who forgets to flush the toilet?

They’re both pretty good for remembering that.

Who is the prankster around the house?

Dee has more of a sense of humor than Billy, but that’s not to say Billy doesn’t act like an utter asshole at times when he sees the opportunity.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?

Dee doesn’t have a car (she can drive, there’s just not much use for one in the city) so she’s exempt.

I feel like Billy’s car keys are permanently attached to his person. He drives a Wraith, after all.

Who mows the lawn?

Lawn? What’s that?

(Not having a garden is the one thing Dee doesn’t particularly like about city living, though)

Who answers the telephone?

Each has their own mobile, so they deal with their own calls and such.

Who does the vacuuming?

Like with most housework, they’ll take it in turns. Dee refuses to hoover stairs, though, on the grounds that she doesn’t have a death wish.

Who does the groceries?

It depends on whoever has the least amount of work to do on that particular day. Billy quickly catches on to Dee’s confectionary-buying ways, though, so he’ll volunteer to do the shopping more often than not to save their pantry from yet more sugar.

Who takes the longest to shower?

With both of them having served tours overseas, they’re used to showering quickly and effectively. If they’re in the shower together, though? All notions of saving water are out the window.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom?

Billy. Russo. That man has a morning beauty routine to rival any model.

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem?

Nope!

How many cars do they own?

One.

Do they own their home or do they rent?

Billy owns the penthouse. Prior to moving in with him, Dee used to rent an apartment in the city.

Do they live in the city or in the country?

New York, New York, baby!

Do they enjoy their surroundings?

Both grew up in city environments, so New York just feels like home to them. I think after everything they’ve been through, both individually and together, anywhere else would just feel…. Boring?

What’s their song?

Green Grass by Tom Waits

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

If Billy is away with work, they call or skype whenever they can. They’ve spent unwanted time apart in the past, on particularly bad terms to boot, so they don’t like being away from each other for extended periods.

Where did they first meet?

Dee practically grew up with Maria; the two had been nigh on inseparable since the day they met in elementary school, and formed a sisterly bond that carried on way into adulthood. Dee was already going through basic training when Maria introduced her to Frank, who then brought Billy along to the group a couple of weeks later. The two swiftly became close friends, and dabbled in a bit of the ol friends-with-benefits arrangement when off duty.

Who spends the most money when out shopping?

Billy is more willing to spend money, but he rarely goes out shopping for himself; it’s either something to boost Anvil’s status or capabilities, or something for the penthouse. Dee grew up lacking the financial cushion they have today, so old habits die hard in her case. She won’t buy things for herself unless she really needs something, and even then it takes a lot of internal debating to reach that point.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?

Dee is fairly clumsy, much to her dismay (and Billy’s apparent enjoyment).

Any mental issues?

Hoo boy. Billy is an entire essay in his own right so I’ll focus on Dee, though a lot of their mental troubles overlap. Dee left the military after a mission in Iraq under Schoonover went awry, landing the unit in a hostage situation with only Dee and the Major managing to survive two weeks until they were extracted. She was initially given leave to recover and recuperate with intentions of returning to duty, but she decided against it and was discharged. Dee was later diagnosed with PTSD as a result of the incident. Add to that the later trauma of losing Maria, her lifelong best friend and practically her sister, as well as Lisa and Frank Jr.? The woman went through a lot in an incredibly short space of time and it took its toll on her both mentally and physically.

(I’m missing a lot but alas I have not slept and cannot write a coherent paragraph)

Who’s terrified of bugs?

Dee point-blank refuses to be in the same room as a spider. She knows it’s a bit pathetic, but frankly? She doesn’t really care. Other bugs are fine, just no creepy crawlies inside, please.

Who kills the spiders around the house?

As mentioned above, Dee will not touch a single spider so it’s down to Billy to be the hero and remove them from the building.

Their favourite place?

New York City apartments don’t have much in the way of gardens, but the rooftop terrace on the penthouse quickly became their favourite spot once it was given a bit of TLC. Dee has a few planters for growing flowers and herbs for the kitchen, and Billy surprised her one night with a firepit perfect for huddling around as the sun goes down. It’s like a little safe haven away from the stressful jobs and business below them.

Who pays the bills?

They both contribute, Dee was very insistent on that when she moved in, though Billy offered otherwise.

Do they have any fears for the future?

Plenty. Billy still doubts himself, still judges himself by his past mistakes and actions and worries that one day, everything he holds dear will eventually crumble before him again, only this time he won’t be able to pick up the pieces. He keeps these fears to himself, but Dee can tell when those thoughts are giving him grief, and is always there to offer words of reassurance.

Dee worries about Frank. Her elder brother almost; the one constant in her life over the tumultuous years. She worries that one day, this life they’ve all rebuilt together won’t be enough for him, that he’ll miss what made him him, miss the violence and vengeance. And she gets it, to an extent. She lived that life too after Maria and the kids passed, helping him and getting her hands dirty in ways that meant they’ll never be clean again. But she’s settled now, here, with Billy and Frank and Curtis. She just worries the peace she found won’t last.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?

Billy, most definitely. He has expensive tastes to begin with and is fairly spontaneous in nature; he’ll often call Dee at work to announce that they’re going out mere hours in advance. It brings him joy to do things for others.

Who’s the tallest?

Billy. He’ll tease Dee about it from time to time, but really? He loves the way he can press his lips to her forehead when she’s in his arms.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?

While they both love showering together and, ahem, other more scandalous antics, it’s usually Billy who initiates and slips into the shower behind Dee as opposed to the other way around because for Christ sake Billy shower at a reasonable hour who willingly gets up at 5:30 every morning

Who wanders around in their underwear?

Dee, though Billy has been known to join the underwear party when he a. hungover b. exhausted or c. too damn warm.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?

Dee, and while she can indeed sing, she gets so much more joy out of seeing Billy’s grimace whenever she purposefully butchers a song.

What do they tease each other about?

Dee pokes fun at Billy’s hair and how goddamn perfect it is all the time. She’s also taken to lovingly ruffling it up a tad when they’re at home, though that often ends with either her being hoisted over his shoulder or tickled relentlessly…

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?

They both dress fairly smartly on a day to day basis, taking pride in their appearance and the way they present themselves to the world. There is one exception, however, and that is when Dee insists on lounging around the penthouse that god awful “I Got A Dig Bick” tee Frank gifted Billy during one of Anvil’s annual jokey Secret Santa exchanges. Each time he sees it in the laundry basket he tries his best to dispose of it, but that thing just keeps on making its way back into the wardrobe...

Do they have mutual friends?

They do! Frank and Curtis being the main two, with Karen being more of a mutual acquaintance for Billy, who missed out on a lot while stuck working for Rawlins.

Who crushed first?

There was a mutual attraction there which ultimately spurned the whole friends-with-benefits situation, but Dee was the first to start getting actual Feelings.

Any alcohol or substance related problems?

None.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3 am?

If they’re out drinking that late, they’re most likely out together. Dee’s accent gets stronger when she’s drunk, which Billy finds hilarious. Coincidentally, he also finds everything funny when shitfaced drunk. Naturally, they make quite the pair...

Who swears the most?

Dee swears like a sailor, at any minor inconvenience. Dropped something? Oh fuck off. Minor inconvenience? Bastard. Billy blames it on being exposed to Frank Castle at an early age, which earns a fuck you from them both.

#good morning we are writing our own canon on this here day #anxiety was kicking my ass last night so I caved and did self-indulgent stuff #forgive me father for i am but simple trash #tag game #oc stuff #oc: diana 'dee' murphy #x: lay your head where my heart used to be #look at these two thots #finally getting a ship name after god knows how long

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obsidiancreates · 4 years

Text

The Reader In The Cabin (Part One)

Allie wiped the sweat off of her forehead and looked out the window. “Can I go out into that forest yet?”

Her mom sighed. “Not until we unpack these last few boxes.”

Allie pouted, but sat down and opened the next box. “I think this is my least favorite part of moving.”

“It’s not fun,” her mom agreed.

They kept unpacking, slowly bringing some life into the dusty, empty room.

It’s walls were a soft green. Not the worst color ever, but Allie was anxious to pain it black, maybe dark purple. The carpet on the floor still had indents where the old furniture had once been. Allie put a band poster up over a dent in the wall and tried to ignore that it looked sort of like it had been made by a fist.

The morning wore away into the afternoon. Once those boxes had been unpacked Allie had to help her dad with moving in the couch, then her brother with his collectibles, then help her mom go find the right kind of nails for a dresser...

The whole time Allie was begging to go out and explore the forest. She’d never lived near one before! It was exciting!

Her mom groaned as Allie asked again. “Fine, fine, just be back before it gets dark!”

Hell yes! Allie thanked her mom and ran out of the house, positively giddy.

Leaves crunches underneath her sneakers as she made her way through the thick, moss-covered trees. The air was cool, the forest shady, and Allie felt refreshed within minutes.

She wandered, keeping note of landmarks she’d need to find her way back to the house.

And then she wandered right on to a path.

The ground, previously wild and covered with plant life, hardened into a line of well-trod dirt. It was slightly grown over, as though it hadn’t been used in a long time, but not so long that nature had completely taken it back yet.

Maybe it’s a hiking trail? Allie checked her pocket, making sure she had her knife, just in case. Well... I wanted adventure. I bet this’ll make a fun story.

If I had any friends to share it with, anyway.

She followed the trail, keeping her ears open in case something tried to sneak up on her.

The trail was long, slightly winding, leading deep into the forest. The pleasant shade became disorienting dimness, the cool air became biting and cold, and Allie’s heart began to beat faster.

She took her phone out and turned on the flashlight. It wasn’t completely dark, but it was too close to it for comfort.

She kept walking, sure she’d come across a corpse, or maybe a house made out of candy.

Finally, her light shone on a small cabin, marking the end of the trail.

Oh hell no. She shook her head and stepped back. Oh. Hell. No.

The windows were dirty, but seemingly all intact. Moss and vines grew heavy on the wooden walls, but the door was... oddly clear of them.

It looked like no-one had been inside for years.

Allie checked her battery. Eighty percent.

She bit her lip and looked up at the cabin. Something seemed to pull her to it. The wind in the leaves seemed to whisper to her, “Go in, go in.”

A peek couldn’t hurt... right?

She shrugged.

And she went inside.

The door opened with ease, not even a single squeak. She shined her light around, and noticed a light switch next to her.

No way it still works.

She flipped it anyway.

The lights flickered on, and she gasped.

The floor was covered in books, papers, old journals, ink...

She caught sight of a large dark stain on the wooden floor, and gulped.

A lot of ink. Brown ink. Or maybe more burgundy. Dark red...

Yeah. Ink. That’s what it was.

She made sure to step around the stain.

There were bookshelves, all filled so much that it was a miracle that none of the shelves had just snapped in half. There was a desk on the far wall, and a pen sat in an old inkwell. A journal lay open on the desk, half-filled.

She looked at the bookshelves first.

She grabbed a book and read the back. “A thriller unlike any put to the page before. Once again-”

The name of the author was just... not there. Clearly something was written, but for some reason Allie just couldn’t read it. Like her brain refused to acknowledge that it existed.

“-has re-invented the writing game, his tenth best--seller in a row sure to keep his old fans overjoyed and new fans captivated. With his trademark grueling realism and his masterful word flow working together yet again, this book will keep your eyes glued to the pages until the very last one.”

Allie turned it over to look at the cover. It was a classic thriller cover, dark and gloomy with a creepy man and the title slapped on over it. She opened it up.

“This cover is trash, but of course they didn’t listen when I said to change it. I’ll ensure that they do next time. It’s getting easier to influence people outside of the stories.”

Okay then... one of those kinds of authors. Allie put the book back. She went over to the desk, and paused.

There was a chest sitting under it, in the leg area. Allie wasn’t sure why, but she felt an urge to open it.

She tried dragging it out, but it was heavy. She was sure that her arms would just rip out of their sockets if she kept trying.

Eventually she gave up and popped open the latch.

Dozens of leather-bound journals sat inside. Each had a small number stamped on the corner by the spine.

She picked up number one and opened it, riven by a curiosity that was just too intense to resist.

Well, I’m sure if you’re reading this, it’s been turned into the introduction of my autobiography.

Allie snorted. Now that’s some confidence.

I am, as you surely know,-

Once again, the name refused to be read.

-and I’ve just been accepted by a publisher.

So I’ve decided to start keeping a journal of my journey though life, as the famed and renowned author that I’m sure to become. I’ll probably pepper in advice, anecdotes, things to help improve the lives of any other writers

The sentence cut off. It picked up again after a large blank space.

Who am I kidding. It’s one publishing deal, and even they don’t believe that it’ll sell very well.

Who cares. Journaling is still a useful habit. It’s healthy, too. Keeps the brain sharp.

I’ll still be treating myself to a new notebook and pen. I deserve it. It’s been a long journey.

And what do those publishers know, anyway? My writing is excellent. I’m sure that, eventually, people will take notice.

I better get going if I want to make it to town before the shops close.

Signed,

!)#*&%)*#&#, The Author

Allie tried to read the name again. All the register was the title next to it. The Author.

Hmm. Not much of a name, but the only one she had for... whoever he had been.

She went to put the journal back, and hesitated. A cold draft blew through the cabin, the breeze wrapping around her wrist like a cold, ghostly hand. The wind seemed to whisper again.

“Keep it. Read it.”

She brought the journal back to her lap.

She checked the time. She had to be going back soon.

She got up, still holding the book. Her eyes drifted around the cabin, looking for something, though she herself wasn’t sure what.

And then her eyes landed on a worn leather shoulder bag, hung over a chair.

It couldn’t be called a purse, it was... just a bag. No frills, no extra pomp, pure function.

She grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder. She shivered, and something about the situation felt like a coin that had been spinning in the air since she’d entered the cabin had finally dropped.

She stuffed the journal in the bag and left, leaving The Author’s cabin behind her as the sun began to set.

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(I’ve had this idea for nearly three years and I’m finally writing it! Everyone, please welcome, The Reader In The Cabin.)

#Markiplier #The Author #the author markiplier #The Author danger in fiction #Markiplier egos #Yes this is an OC based fanfiction story #But there's a reason for that beyond just me wanting to have a self-insert I swear #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic

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earth-ambassador-jim · 5 years

Text

The Place that You Left

It's been over two years since Jim managed to rescue Enrique but was left trapped in the Darklands. Toby has not yet given up hope on finding him.

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

“Are you headed over to Dr. Lake’s house?” Claire asked as they cycled home from school.

“Yeah,” Toby replied. He held out the bag he had been balancing precariously on his handlebars. “I got this mousse cake. I’m going to head into Jim’s room and drop it through the fetch there.”

Clare was quiet for a moment.

“Do you really think he’ll find it? It’s been over two years. How do we still know he’s even alive?”

Toby had to clamp down on an angry retort. They’d had this argument before. Despite her doubts Claire was still looking. She was just scared… like he was.

“The amulet hasn’t chosen someone else,” Toby said. “He has to be.”

“Yeah, but half of it is trapped in the Darklands. What if that messed with how it works?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it.” Toby’s jaw clenched and he peddled a little faster. “Besides I’m not giving up on Jim.”

“Sorry,” Claire said quietly after a moment. Out of the corner of his eye Toby could see her shoulders slump a little. “Mom was at me again last night. She keeps telling me that I need to move on.”

She tensed, eyes narrowing as she glared at the road ahead of her.

“NotEnrique tried to come over and she threw him out. Literally. They found out I’ve been letting him sleep under my bed.”

“Oh,” Toby said.

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

After the bridge had been destroyed they had to choice but to tell Barbara the truth about what happened to Jim. There was simply no way to keep up the ruse. She had been shocked, then horrified, then angry, then terrified and furious. Draal had to vacate her house for a week or so while she processed.

After she had finally come to terms with what happened she had told their guardians. Nana had taken it so well. She was proud of Toby. She even called him her “little hero”.

Claire’s parents on the other hand… Not so much.

They had grounded Claire, forbidding her from going to Trollmarket or even seeing Toby. Claire had responded by promptly running away and camping out in Blinky’s library. It had taken a lot of convincing for both sides to compromise. Even now Claire and her parents, mostly her mom, were on shaky ground.

They reached the turn to Claire’s house and stopped.

“So are you coming down to Trollmarket tonight?” Toby asked. “I hear Bagdwella made some salty niblets, to thank us for helping her out last week.”

Claire sighed.

“I wish I could, but I’ve agreed to start taking some running start classes as part of the deal with my parents.”

“It’s cool,” Toby said. “Want me to wish Jim a happy birthday for you?”

“Sure,” She said giving him a sad smile.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” Claire said, squaring her shoulders. “Us Trollhunters stick together. Not even my parents can change that.”

~~~~

Toby unlocked the door to the Lakes’ house and slipped inside.

“Dr. L? Are you home?”

There was no response. She must either be at work or Blinky’s library or sleeping. Toby decided to be as quiet as possible just in case. Dr. Lake’s chronic bad sleeping habits were getting worse. She really needed all the rest she could get.

Toby slipped upstairs and into Jim’s room. He settled onto the bed with a sigh and just lay there for a moment. He couldn’t say the room was just how Jim had left it. The fight with Angor Rot had trashed it a little too thoroughly, but they had tried to make it close. Toby didn’t come here quite as often any more. It hurt too much. Some days he wondered how he was able to keep going.

After several minutes had passed Toby hefted himself upright and fished the fetch out of his backpack along with a periscope. When Dr. L had found out he was sticking his head into another dimension without knowing what was on the other side she had freaked out again. To be fair that was justified.

Really justified.

On his third time using a periscope to peer into the Darklands, it had been promptly eaten by… something… Toby wasn’t sure what. He had just seen a flash of blue before it was pulled out of his hands. He had never mentioned the incident to anyone.

Toby stuck the periscope through and began to look around.

Rocks. Glowing green rocks. More rocks. Something glowing red. More rocks…

Wait…

Heart in his throat, Toby flung the periscope away and stuck his head through the portal instead.

It was Jim.

He looked so different from the last time Toby had seen him. He was pale, deathly pale. Jim had never been tan; he sunburned far too easily for that, but now there was no color in his skin. The sickly green light wasn’t helping. He was still wearing the black and red eclipse armor, but he was now taller and more angular. His exposed face was crisscrossed with scars and his nose was crooked. He stared at Toby like a dying man in the desert seeing water.

“Toby,” He breathed out. His voice was lower, rougher.

Toby found himself lost for words, but nodded shakily.

Jim took a step toward him, hands outstretched and shaking before he froze. His eyes widened then narrowed, jaw tightening. He shook his head.

“No, no, no. I’m not falling for this. This is some stupid magic thing.”

His hand reached toward Eclipse, which was attached to his back and Toby flinched.

“It’s me, I swear!” Toby wished his hands were there so he could hold them out.

Jim made no response, sword in front of him, face cold.

Something moved beyond Jim. A figure detached itself from the shadows behind him. A very familiar figure: an angular pink changeling.

“Look out!” Toby screamed.

He had just found Jim; he couldn’t have him slaughtered in front of him!

Jim turned but not completely, allowing him to see the threat without letting Toby out of his peripherals. Upon making eye contact with the approaching changeling a little bit of tension left Jim’s shoulders.

“Nomura,” He said, sounding relieved.

He turned back toward watching Toby suspiciously.

“Can you see him too? Do you have any idea what this is?” His voice was still taught.

Nomura looked at him and her eyes widened.

“A fetch.”

Jim glanced at her in surprise.

“How can you tell? I thought he might be a hallucination or a trap of some sort.”

“Look at the green glow around his neck.”

He did. Toby didn’t dare say anything.

“So… So He… It’s… That’s… That’s really Toby?” Jim breathed out.

Jim’s sword was slowly drooping to touch the ground.

“Looks like it,” Nomura responded.

Eclipse vanished in a puff of red smoke as Jim threw himself at Toby. In a second Toby’s head was enveloped in his friend’s arms. It was really weird but not a feeling he would have traded for anything.

After a second he felt Jim start to shake. Something warm and hot dripped into his hair. Tears. That was fine, Toby was crying, too. He could hardly believe this was real. After all this time he had finally found his friend.

“I… I thought I’d never see you again,” Jim whispered, voice rough, small and broken. “I’m sorry. So… so sorry. Fuck. I shouldn’t have left you guys.”

Toby’s hands, on the wrong side of the portal, desperately grasped, trying to hold the friend he couldn’t reach. It was frustrating being this close, but so so very far away.

“Hey. It’s…”

He couldn’t say it was okay. It wasn’t. Jim had left them. Hurt them. It was not okay, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t fix it.

“You’re here. I’m here. We can figure something out,” He said at last pushing his face into Jims shoulder.

Jim drew back a little without letting go to look at him. Beyond him Toby could see Nomura looking in the other direction, one of her Khopesh in hand as she surveyed their surroundings.

“How?” Jim asked.

“We can collaborate!” Toby said. “We have the bridge. We can get you out!”

“I… How…”

Jim stopped speaking. He ran a hand through his hair. It was shorter than Toby had ever seen it; cut unevenly, as if Jim had done it himself. He probably had.

“We have to keep moving here,” Jim said finally. “If we stay in one place to long He will find us.”

Toby didn’t have to ask who “He” was. He did have a different question.

“We?”

“The resistance,” Jim said. “Not all Gum-Gums are enamored by Gunmar. I joined the resistance for a little while before I rescued Enrique and then afterward they liberated me, Nomura, and a few other prisoners from Gunmar. They’ve been training me.”

He snorted and then ran a hand across his cheek.

“That’s where most of my scars are from,” He paused, one hand darting up to scratch ruefully at his neck. “Well that’s not quite true… a couple are from trying to shave with Eclipse.”

“Are you almost done?” Nomura interrupted. “Hurry up and exchange contact information. We really need to get going.”

Jim perked up, eyes widening slightly.

“That’s it!”

His left gauntlet disappeared revealing a pale wrist and his watch.

“Is it three o’ five there?” Jim asked.

Toby nodded.

“Perfect, I’m shocked this thing is still accurate,” Jim said. “We can meet again here at the same time tomorrow and figure out a way to communicate.”

“Yeah… Yes!” Toby said. They would make this work.

Jim’s gauntlet reappeared.

“Well, I should be going,” Jim said reluctantly.

There was a distant roar that caused him and Nomura to flinch.

Jim gave Toby’s head one last hug and shoved him back through the portal.

It was not until his breathing calmed down that Toby realized he had never given Jim his cake.

~~~~

I've had this sitting in my drafts for quite some time so I figured I might as well post it.

This borrows from the Trollhunters Novel: Into the Darklands

#Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #trollhunters fanfiction #jim lake jr #james lake jr #toby domzalski #Tobias Domzalski #Nomura #My posts #my writing #AUs #My AUs #2 Years in the Dark AU

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notgonnarememberthis · 5 years

Text

An Accident, Not a Mistake

I have had this one in my drafts for a WHILE and I finally fucking finished it. I hope you all enjoy this shippy trash because I am stuck here for the rest of my days

Watson was not supposed to be home, that he was certain of. They set a routine long ago when they established their partnership. He warns her of when he’s going to engage in nightly activities and she makes herself scarce for the night. Often times she ends up at Emily’s but on the rare occasion her other best friend is busy, she’d end up on Detective Bell’s couch for the night. She is not supposed to be in the kitchen in the early morning. She is not supposed to be mistaken for who he slept with last night. Yet that’s exactly what happened.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sherlock wakes blearily looking around the bedroom. He smiles slightly to himself as he remembers the exact reason he’d been so exhausted as to fall asleep in his bed. He’d met up with a rather new irregular with long dark hair and rather alluring eyes. It lead to a long but pleasurable night that he had the absolute joy of warning Watson about. Even if it meant being teased about the “sex blanket” again. She knows he loathes her nickname for the item but he can’t help but get a little joy at the sparkle in her eyes as she smiles at him knowingly.

Thus, Watson bid him goodbye early into the night with proclamations that she was going to have some fun of her own. Due to her dressed up attire and a rather flattering dress he’s to guess she planned on going clubbing with Emily. It’d been a while since the two women had a night out and secretly he was glad Watson was allowing herself to engage with the nightlife of New York.

He kicks his legs out of the entanglement of the sheets retrieving fresh clothes from his dresser. He shrugs on some boxers and a pair of sweatpants before realizing the other side of the bed was empty. He rubs his chin taking in the sounds of the Brownstone, no creaks in the floor so she’s not on this level and no running water so she’s not in the bathroom. Finally, he hears the shutting of the cupboard in the kitchen downstairs. He forgoes his shirt descending the stairs two at a time to meet his conquest for one more quick round before his partner’s return or a case springs up.

She has her back turned to him fiddling with the coffee machine. Dark tendrils spill over her shoulders beautifully, slim athletic legs remain bare other than a pair of shorts barely peeking out of a familiar yellow shirt. He almost growls at the sight of her in his shirt but he wants his presence to remain a secret until the very last second.

He comes up behind her, slowly as not to alert her as she retrieves a coffee cup from the cabinet. His hands slide up her lithe body trailing over the fabric of his shirt until he’s cupping her breasts. He buries his face in her hair muttering a greeting into her skin, “Good morning.”

He breathes in her scent with a sigh as cardamom and honey fills his senses. It’s odd because he swears last night she’d smelled of vanilla. His body tenses as does the one in his arms as his still sleep addled brain makes the connections.

Had he have taken more time to observe he would’ve realized that she shouldn’t know where the mugs are much less their coffee beans. Had he have taken more time he would’ve noticed that the shorts peeking out from beneath the shirt were familiar but not his. Had he have taken more time he would’ve smelled the hint of scotch lingering. Had he have taken more time he would’ve remembered that the shirt in question was his I’m not lucky, I am good shirt and it had mysteriously vanished from his laundry rotation months ago.

He springs away from the female figure as his brain finally connects the scent to Watson. She spins around as quickly as he, confirming the rapid fire conclusions his brain makes as it is jerked into alertness. Her wide eyes meet his, her startled gaze asking for an explanation.

“You are not Amelia.” He stutters out, ears burning with embarrassment that is rare for him. He and Watson make a point to rarely touch and to maintain their professionalism and that does not include pressing himself against her and groping her in their kitchen.

He prepares himself for yelling or a slew of expletives to be thrown at him for his carelessness but she simply nods grabbing her coffee off the counter for a sip. “You just missed her. She said she left a note.”

His lips move but he’s quickly aware that there’s no sound coming out. His brain wracks for an apology or an explanation or even questioning why in the hell she was so unphased by this. Rather what comes out is, “Do we have a case?” When she shakes her head he bounces on his toes. “Right, call on me if that changes.”

Wide steps carry him as far away from the tense air as possible and as far away from the lingering thought of how right her body had felt against his.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

If anyone asked he’d remark the thought of him avoiding Watson as ludicrous. On what nature would he be able to avoid a woman he lives with much less, one he works so closely with as well? Well, truth is he’s been trying. Trying emphasizes that he’s not been successful. At all. The air is tense as she meets his strides in the precinct, at home, and on the street.

He’s irritatingly aware of her presence, in fact it’s borderline distracting. His eyes linger as she gathers her hair into a ponytail and sweep it out of her face while her own gaze remains glued to files. He follows her movements as she pushes her reading glasses further up her nose when they stubbornly slip. He holds his breath as she folds her bare legs beneath her to get more comfortable.

He must have read the same line fifteen times before he huffed and announced that he was going to make them coffee.

Matters did not improve when her fingers accidentally brushed his as he passed her mug to her. The small touch sent sparks up his spine and he can’t help but remark inwardly that the hours of content with Amelia did not bring such an addicting sensation.

As he sets their food down, which he’d stubbornly insisted he’d retrieve alone. Truthfully, had the wind carried the scent of cardamom and honey to his nose on the walk he doesn’t know what he could have done. Still, as the wind blows in behind him and he sets the bag on the ground to remove his coat and scarf he hears her tell tale steps approaching. They’re hesitant, cautious, as if approaching a lost child. He shuts his eyes waiting for her voice to sweep over him like a wave consuming all he is.

“Sherlock.” He turns to her, as if he hadn’t heard her at all. “We need to talk.” Her jaw is set, eyes blazing with determination. He was foolish to think she hadn’t known about the change in behavior. He had hoped she hadn’t, that this case was enough to swallow her attention. She doesn’t though.

“Watson.”

“No.” She cuts him off stepping closer to him. “I’m going to talk.” Her tongue sweeps momentarily brushing her lower lip as she wracks her brain for the words. “Look what happened this morning happened. You thought I was someone else, I snuck in through the basement late last night because I was drunk.”

“Watson.” He tries again.

“I’m not finished.” She snaps. His jaw pops shut and he listens obediently. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. What you should’ve done is talked to me about it instead of trying to avoid me all day like a child.” Her words would sting had they not weighed so truthfully. “I am not about to let you throw away six years of a partnership because you got confused.” His eyes pull to hers yet again and all he can do is remind himself to breathe as he’s enraptured by how passionately she fights for them. For what they’ve built for so many years. To think he’s about to throw it all down the drain. “I am not going to let you push me away again.”

She’s barely got the last word out before he moves. His body pushes against hers and she’s against the wall. He slants his lips across hers capturing her mouth in one smooth motion. Her body tenses and his hands settle on her slim waist. Her lips are softer than he could’ve imagined, the recesses of his mind catalogue every detail they can take in. Her suit jacket brushes the back of his hands pulling a sigh from him.

His mind seems to catch up to what his body is doing because he pulls from her rather suddenly. Yet again he finds himself missing the close contact with her. Emotions he’d long buried into the back of his subconscious come surfacing quicker than he can control as his eyes fall to her lips yet again.

“Sherlock.” Her voice is barely a whisper, all self assurance has been pulled from her words. “I need…” Her fingers brush his arm following it up his body, eyes never leaving his face. Finally her hand comes to settle on his chest. Her other tangles her fingers with the back of his left hand, pulling his own higher up her body. The movement is incredibly reminiscent of just that morning and flashes take over his mind momentarily. What if he’d lost control in their kitchen and pressed her against the counter. It would’ve saved them a lot of the troubles of today.

He feels the thin texture of her blouse as their hands travel up her torso. They stop just below her breast, fingers cupping the expanse of her ribs. He can feel everything in this position, from her heartbeat thundering against his fingertips to her chest expanding with every quickened breath. Her eyes flicker across his face reading his every microexpression.

He lifts her with ease and she wraps her legs tightly around his waist. He bounds up the steps two at a time guiding to her room where he kicks the door closed behind them. He lays her gently on the bed so that he may properly worship her.

#joanlock #sherlock x joan #sherlock holmes x joan watson #joan watson #Sherlock Holmes #elementary #elementary cbs #elementary AU #fanfic #an accident not a mistake

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writing-essence · 5 years

Text

‘Drunk Me’ - Erik Lehnsherr

Pairing: Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

Warnings: Language, alcohol

Summary: Reader gets drunk and spills some secrets.

Author’s Note: This has been in my drafts for way too long. -Kelsie

Word Count: 1,122

Quiet. Homey. Quaint. All words you’d use to describe the town you were currently in. A small town just outside of New York. You’d stay there forever if you could. You knew that was an impossible dream as long as you stuck with Erik.

It had been months since the incident involving the president in DC, but Erik was still being hunted down. You went with him as he fled, regretting not joining him all those years ago on that beach in Cuba. The truth was: you liked him. A lot. You thought your feelings would fade, yet nearly a decade later you saw him again and you knew they hadn’t. That’s why you went with him.

The two of you couldn’t stay in one town very long. You lost count of how many different motels you had stayed in those last few months. The newest was set near the edge of the quaint suburban town, a lot nicer than previous ones. The inside didn’t stink of death for once either.

“What a cute little radio,” You gasped upon entering, immediately running toward the bedside table. You switched the bulky box on and a soft static noise came out.

“Pull the antenna out,” Erik mumbled distantly as he set his bags beside you on the bed. This room, like many others, only had one. You and Erik had gotten comfortable sleeping with each other over the last few months. You preferred sleeping with him- not just because you liked him. He made you feel safe.

You carefully pulled the antenna all the way out of the box and you started to hear some soft jazz.

“Do you want some help?” Erik asked, sitting next to you on the bed. He reached over and took the box from you, turning the switches carefully to get to a different station.

You couldn’t help but blush at the slight contact his leg was making with yours, he had sat so close. You gasped slightly when he found a different station.

“I haven't heard Elton John in so long,” You said, taking the box back from him. You admired the radio in your hands like it was pure gold.

“You really like him, huh?” Erik asked, laughing slightly.

“I’m obsessed,”

Erik stood up and walked over to the window, peeking outside the curtain cautiously.

“We’re safe, Erik,” You reassured him, setting the radio back down.

“For now,”

You rolled your eyes at how over-dramatic he was acting. Standing up, you walked over to the mini bar and pulled out some liquor bottles.

“Relax, Erik,” You made your way over to where he was standing and bumped into his side playfully. He looked down at you and took one of the bottles out of your hand. You opened your own and quickly started downing the liquor inside.

“My god,” He laughed as he watched you.

“Let’s have some fun for once,” You said, reaching over and opening his for him,

“Drink up hun,”

He smirked before he joined you. Truthfully, you didn’t drink much and had very little tolerance. Erik noticed this quickly once he realized how shit-faced you already were after several shots.

“Hand me that bottle,” You said as you leaned over him on the bed the two of you now sat on.

“I don’t think you need any more,” He laughed, pushing the bottle further from you.

“I’m fine,” You said confidently. What you didn’t care to notice was how much you were touching him. Something you usually thought too much about, you did with ease.

“Maybe some water would be better,” He said as he watched you rub at his leg absent-mindedly.

“If I don’t drink water I get really hungover,”

“It’s the same with everyone, dear,” Erik laughed again as he handed you a bottle. Quickly you downed the bottle and threw it across the room, not surprisingly missing the trash can.

The song on the radio changed and the room quickly filled with soft folk music.

“Fleetwood Mac,” You stated.

“Yes indeed,”

You brought your hand up and rubbed your eyes tiredly.

“Are you tired, Dear?” Erik asked, handing you another water bottle.

“Holy shit,” You whispered with your hand still up, “I can’t feel my face,”

“Yea you’ve definitely had too much,”

“Erik I gotta tell you something,” You slurred, turning to face him. Normally when you got drunk you knew what ‘sober you’ wouldn’t want you to say. You thought of this now. ‘Sober you’ wouldn’t want you telling Erik that you liked him. You could tell him other things though...

“I...” You paused for a moment, thinking of something to say that you wouldn’t regret, “appreciate you,”

Erik laughed and gave you a questioning look, “Well, y/n, I appreciate you as well,”

“No Erik,” You slapped at his leg in an attempt to shut him up, “You know how when people say ‘appreciate’ they really mean ‘like’, right?”

Genius. You told Erik you liked him and gave him a hint to figure it out- assuming he could.

Erik, not being an idiot, obviously knew what you had meant.

“I think you should get some sleep,” He said, patting your back softly. You hummed.

“Can I lay with you?” You asked. Shit. ‘Sober you’ wouldn’t say that.

He patted the bed as an invitation. Slowly you crawled over and curled up next to him.

“Erik I gotta tell you something else,” You mumbled. You didn’t know what you wanted to say to him. You just wanted to talk to him with the excuse of later saying “Sorry, I was drunk!”

“I don’t think you should say anything else,” He said, wrapping his arm around you, “Don’t wanna say something you’d regret, do you?”

‘Obviously,’ You thought. Erik knew what was up.

The next morning you woke up groggily to the sound of the motel room door closing.

“Did you go somewhere?” You mumbled, sitting up. Your head spun for a moment before it stopped and left you feeling nauseous.

“I got some food,” Erik said, “I figured you’d be hungry,”

“I hope it’s something greasy,” You said upon realizing how hungry you actually were. You started to stand before the memories of the night before came flooding back. Shit. ‘Drunk you’ was an idiot.

“Oh my god,” You mumbled, collapsing back down on the bed, “Erik I’m so sorry,”

“For what?” He asked. You watched as he realized why “You remember what you told me?”

“If I made you uncomfortable-”

“You didn’t” He smirked, handing you your food, “If anything, you should drink more often. I never realized how much you held back,”

You cast him a glare but graciously accepted the food.

“I’m never trusting ‘drunk me’ again,”

a/n: This was longer than I expected it to be...

#magneto x reader #magneto imagine #magneto drabble #magneto fluff #magneto smut #magneto oneshot #magneto #xmen imagine #xmen #x-men #x-men imagine #erik lehnsherr #erik lehnsherr x reader #erik lehnsherr imagine #erik lehnsherr drabble #erik lehnsherr fluff #erik lehnsherr smut #erik lehnsherr oneshot

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presleepthoughts · 5 years

Note

How about a spider Beca au? For bechloe?

I literally have had this draft on my computer for over a year now. Didn’t plan on releasing it until I completed it but if you’d like to read it, here it is 😬😀

I planned this to be multi-chapter fanfic so there’s not much Bechloe in the first chapter so excuse me 😂

If you don’t like it, we can just pretend it never happened.

but if you are interested in more, just let me know and I’ll show you the rest.

Powerless - Chapter 1

Sheflexed her muscles trying to break out of the straps that trapped her limbsdown on the bed. A middle-age man stood beside her in a white lab coat with aneedle in his hand filled with blue liquid. Beca’s eyes widened in panic and fearas she struggled to fight for her freedom. She couldn’t go through this again.This was the fifth time this week.

“Subjectis ready for the injection. Third attempt. 5-milliliter dosage.” He listed hisactions as he grabbed Beca’s IV tube and placed the needle inside, pushing theliquid into her veins.

Becapanted, preparing her body and mind for the virus to hit her immune system. Shefelt the pain slowly spread through her forearm all the way to the top of hershoulder and her body shot down. She started shaking violently, trashing backand forth as the venom spread through her body. Her body was rigid to the pointwhere she feared her spine was going to snap at any moment.

Unbearablepain attacked her heart and she let out a scream.

Thedoctor observed her reaction, ready to step in at any moment. “Her heart rate’sincreasing. Vitals are low.” He watched her heart monitor as it started to beepfrequently. “We’re losing her.”

Anautomatic voice rang through the room from the speakers. “Give it a minute.”

Thedoctor obeyed and stayed put. Beca felt tears sliding down her cheeks becauseof the pain that she was powerless to stop. Her eyes rolled back into her headas her body finally lost the battle and she fainted. Her heart monitor sloweddown to normal rate.

“Thirdattempt failed. Subject unconscious.”

Thedoor opened suddenly and another professor walked in. “Give me the chart.” Hedemanded and flipped through the pages, mumbling under his breath. “It’s stillmissing something. But what?”

Hesighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “I need to go back to thelab. When is she gonna wake up? We need to keep trying.”

“Shecan’t take anymore. Her heart is going to fail and she’ll die. She needs therest.” The doctor said, releasing her wrists from the handcuffs. “Let’scontinue tomorrow when she’s recovered.”

“Fine.”The professor said nonchalantly and disappeared through the door.

Shewoke up in a white room the next morning, vision slightly blurred. She scannedaround her and glanced down her arm, finding three glowing red dots on herwrist. She sighed; she’ll have a hard time covering them up. It’s no wonder whyeverybody in school thought she was a drug addict.

Carefullysitting up, she grabbed her phone from the bedside table and checked the time.School started in an hour. She needed to get going if she wanted to be on time.

Shegathered her strength and pushed herself off the bed and immediately grabbedher stomach, feeling the nausea coming full force. She reached for the emptybucket placed beside her bed and dry heaved for a couple of minutes. She hadn’teaten since yesterday morning when she was whisked away to the lab.

Dr.Harris peaked his head through the door.

“CanI come in?”

Becagroaned in pain as another wave rolled through her body. The doctor took thatas a ‘yes’ and walked inside with a clipboard.

“Howare you feeling? Aside the nausea. Headaches? Pain in the limbs?” He scrabbleddown something on the paper, unconcerned about the girl on the floor.

“What’s– what’s happening?” Beca weekly coughed out, finally able to take a breath as herstomach relaxed.

“Yourimmune system is trying to reject the venom but it is too powerful. So, theonly other way to get rid of it is by vomiting. It’s natural. You should befine once every drop of toxic left your body.”

Becawanted to snicker and throw something at him but she opted to use that energyto stand up slowly. “How many times?” She asked exhaustedly.

Withoutany context the doctor understood her. “3. It wasn’t safe for us to continuewith the treatment.”

Us. Beca shook her head with alifeless smile. Like she wasn’t the one who almost died yesterday. “That mustbe a record.”

“Hesent me to examine you and determine when are you ready for the next trial.”

Becacollapsed down on the bed. “Great. Awesome. Can you hurry up because I have togo to school.”

Becahurried down the corridor as fast as her body allowed her. The check-up ranlater than she thought and she missed the school bus, making her walk fifteenminutes to the school. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem but she still felt theeffect of yesterday, heavily in her body.

Shetucked down her sweatshirt to cover her wrist and knocked on the classroomdoor. Mrs. Andrews looked at her pointedly but continued the lecture, allowingBeca to slip in the back row without a verbal confrontation. Dropping her bagon the ground, she pulled out a notepad and a pen, blinking rapidly to not fallasleep.

Aftercopping down everything on the board, Beca quickly became bored. Twirling thepen between her thumb and index finger, she looked around the classroom. It wasfilled with the almost entire football team, including the cheerleaders aswell. Beca saw two IT kids from the Tech Club and two lead singers in DramaClub. Front and center sat the cheerleader captain, Aubrey Posen and her secondin command Chloe Beale.

Becatilted her head in wonder.

WhileAubrey embodied every single stereotype of a cheerleader, Chloe was different. Becanoticed her talking to strangers nicely, treating everybody with respect andkindness.

“Ms.Mitchell, you were late and now you don’t even pay attention to the lesson.”Mrs. Andrews’ voice rang out loud, shocking Beca out of her thoughts.

“I’msorry, Mrs. Andrews. I’m listening.” Beca spoke out, shrinking in her seat asthe classroom turned to her. She briefly caught Chloe’s ocean blue eyes beforethe cheerleader turned back around.

“Wonderful.As I was saying…”

Afterthat Beca tuned out, slowly progressing to lay her head down on her desk. Shefought to keep her eyes open but were unable to and she fell asleep.

Theschool bell woke her up violently as she swung her head up and saw peoplegathering their stuff and leaving the classroom.

“Ms.Mitchell, a word please.” Mrs. Andrews’ were sitting at her desk, staring atBeca disapprovingly.

Fuck.

Staciewere waiting for her outside the room, leaning against the wall.

“Whattook you so long?” Stacie questioned, holding her books to her chest.

Becashowed her the pink note in her hands with the words DETENTION splattered onit. Stacie winced as they made their way to the next class that they shared.

“Ouch.What did you do? Mrs. Andrews is really cool usually. It’s hard to piss heroff.”

“Well,I succeeded apparently. I ran late, didn’t pay attention and to top it all off,I fell asleep.” Beca listed bitterly, coming up to her locker. “It’s a miracleshe didn’t send me to the principle.”

Thelast thing she needed was her father to be called in school. She shuddered justthinking about it.

“Whathappened yesterday that made you so tired?” Stacie’s mouth opened wide. “Didyou pick up some hot girl? Oh, tell me everything. I wanna hear all about it.With details.”

Becasnickered as she opened her locker and pulled her history book out. “Like Icould do that. Please. I’m the only lesbian in this school. Who would I pickup?”

“Justbecause they are not out, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t any girl to choosefrom. Believe me, you are not the only one. Plus, it’s a small town, noteverybody is as brave as you.” Stacie stated shrugging.

“Yousure do know a lot about closeted lesbians here. Are you trying to tell mesomething?” Beca smirked jokingly and Stacie rolled her eyes.

“Please,you know I fell in love with people. Not gender.”

Becalaughed. “How poetic of you.” She lifted her arm to grab the strap of her bagbut her sweatshirt shifted down, revealing the evidence of yesterday’s trial.Stacie’s eyes immediately zeroed on the three angry dots and she sucked in adeep breath.

“Whatare those?” Her tone was controlled as she pointed at Beca’s wrist.

Beca’seyes widen as she quickly lowered her arm, pulling the material down, hidingthe marks again.

“No- nothing. I – I just doodled on my hand. It’s ink.” Beca would’ve been proudof her quick thinking if Stacie’s expression hadn’t hardened. She didn’tbelieve her.

“Don’tlie to me. Beca you said you weren’t doing that anymore! Are you stupid?”Stacie asked strongly, taking a step forward.

Becastepped back. “I’m not doing anything.” She said defensively. As the firstrumors started going around school that she was a drug addict, Beca hadn’tbother to come clean to Stacie. It was easier to let the girl believe thatthose marks came from herself when in reality he was the cause of them.

“Itdoesn’t look like it! Beca, are you using again?” Stacie in her anger grabbedBeca by the shoulder, squeezing tightly, trapping the girl between herself andthe lockers.

Suddenly,Beca was back in the lab as the assistant strapped her down forcefully onto thehospital bed. No matter how hard she fought, he held her down strongly as hestabbed the needle in her arm and pushed the medicine that made her so woozy,she couldn’t tell from up and down.

Herbreathing picked up as her heart beat out of her chest. Acting on pure panic,she pushed Stacie away by her shoulders, watching as she stumbled backwardswith her eyes wide open in shock.

Bothfrozen to the spot, Beca was aware of the growing crowd around them, curiouslywaiting for something to happen, phone ready in hand to record. She pushed downthe tears threatening to escape and ran down the hall, away from prying eyes,away from Stacie and out the door.

#bechloe #Beca x Chloe #pitchperfect #pitch perfect 2 #pitch perfect 3 #beca mitchell #chloe beale #spiderman au #spiderman #marvel universe #Anna Kendrick #brittany snow #stacie conrad #aubrey posen #multi-chapter #fanfiction #request

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