Maddie ā® she/her ā® b(i). 1979 ā® Paris, France ā® Atheist & feminist vampire š In the orange bedroom, writing blog where Frankie Morales is king
Warnings: Skittishness, yearning, Clint being gentle, birthdays, surprises
šššššHAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR CONNNNNNNIIIIIIEEEEEEE, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOOOOOO YOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUU! Everyone please help me wish @wardenparker the best damn birthday a girl can have! ššššš
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|| MasterList || Clint Flood MasterList ||
ClickĀ Keep ReadingĀ only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ācreator chooses not to use warningsā. You also agree that youāre the right age to be consuming anything here.
He scares you. Maybe scared in the past tense is better, but thatās getting ahead of yourself. The scar across the bridge of his nose, over his right cheek. Itās deep, permanent. The kind of scar someone gets from violence. Because violence is what Clint Flood is.Ā
You shiver slightly when he comes into the office, shying away slightly and trying to be polite because your momma raised you with manners and it never pays to be rude to a man who beats people up for a living.Ā
Maybe thatās why he scares you. The intense silence as he watches you when you hand him the paperwork that he needs. The names of the people that have not paid back the loans, their addresses and where they work. Handed to him with an almost clinical professionalism that is in stark contrast to what heās going to do with that information.Ā
āHey, dollface.ā Heās never rude. Heās actually always very polite when he comes up to your desk, shoving his hands into the pockets of the black leather jacket that seems like a part of his persona. Your eyes flicker up and you immediately tense slightly, shooting him a nervous smile. āHey, Clint.ā You hum, looking around for any papers that might have been laid on your desk to give him. You hadnāt been told about anything, but he normally never comes and seeks you out unless he needs something. āWhatās up?ā You ask as you search around. āNeed something?ā
āWhatareyou doinā tonight?ā His jaw is set, almost taunt as he stares at you. Waiting for you to answer almost impatiently. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and looks over his shoulder when something moves out of the corner of his eye. Itās just Leonardo, the cat that has more rights in this office than everyone else, jumping up onto the counter to drink from a random coffee cup that someone had left sitting there half empty.Ā
Your stomach twists and there is a heaviness that presses against your heart tonight. He must need a favor. Tonight of all nights. You sigh and shrug. āI- I donāt really have anything-ā
Clint frowns, brows pulling together harshly and you break off the rest of your sentence and let it die. āOkay.ā He turns and walks away from you, the bell over the door out of the office ringing as he pushes it open and leaves, making you stare after him in complete bewilderment, unsure of what the hell was going on.Ā
Leaving promptly at five oāclock can sound strange when you think about a criminal organization literally having 9-5 hours, but the little loan office is supposed to look legitimate. There are smaller loans, $100-200 that little old ladies borrow against their social security checks to pay for an unexpected expense, all legitimate and kept in a proper set of books in case the IRS comes poking around. They never do.Ā
You gather your purse, slide the ring for your keys onto your index finger as you walk to the door to shut off the lights. Everyone else had already left, just kind of disappearing like normal before the end of the day, assured that you would lock up like you do every night. Making you feel even more invisible as you lock the door with dissatisfaction over the day and wondering if picking up some take out could make it better.Ā
Heās leaning against your car. Watching you as you carefully lock the front door, tugging on the handle, just to make sure that itās locked. Knowing that you might jump when you see him, but he waits anyway. The thing behind him something that might make you smile, or it might not, it all depends on if you like fucking roses or not.
Itās a horrible habit, but you walk to your car with your head down. Watching your feet as you count the steps to the compact little Ford you drive, hating yourself for the way your eyes are getting watery and knowing that you're going to have a good cry on the way home. Looking up at the last second before you need to stop in front of the door and jumping nearly a mile into the air when you see Clint Flood leaning against the front fender of your car. āClint!ā You gasp out and almost immediately look around to see if anyone else is nearby.Ā
āEasy, dollface.ā He hates that he scared you, but he hadnāt wanted to call out, almost curious to know what caused that focus that blocked out the rest of the world. It was a dangerous thing for you to do, but he wasnāt here to lecture you. āDidnāt mean to scare you.ā Thatās true, he hadnāt, and he reaches behind his back to pull out the thing that he had left laying on the hood of the car.Ā
Roses, a beautiful bouquet of them, a dozen blood red, crisp roses are bound together with greenery and a pretty silver paper, with ribbons curling down from the bow, is in his hand as he draws it into view. Making your eyes widen in surprise, watery and beautiful, then confused as you try to understand. āI-ā
āItās your birthday today, right?ā Clint asks, knowing that he hadnāt mixed up the date. Itās today, even if you hadnāt said a word to anyone. Even if no one had thought to say āHappy Birthdayā or bring in a cake.Ā
You stare at him for a moment, jaw slack and then back at the flowers. āItās- these are for me?ā You whisper quietly, hopeful in a way that makes his heart twist and his nervousness about doing this vanishes.Ā
āOf course they are.ā He holds them out as he pushes upright off your car. Suddenly getting about four inches taller out of his slouch and moving closer to you in a gentle step. Careful not to make you jump again. āEvery beautiful woman deserves beautiful flowers on her birthday.āĀ
You make a sound, soft and disbelieving as you slowly take the bouquet he is holding towards you. You gather them into your arms and cradle the fragrant, tender blooms and press your face into the flowers and close your eyes. Overwhelmed by someone remembering, someone caring. You had gone all day without anyone saying anything, thinking that it was just forgotten and pretending it was okay. That it didnāt matter. Adults didnāt need things like āHappy Birthdayā greetings and recognition. Except this completely calls you out for being the liar that you are.Ā
Clint watches you, not saying a word as you hug the flowers and breathe them in. Wondering if he should have done this earlier, but he hadnāt wanted to make you more nervous and he seems to do that easily enough. When you finally look up, he shoots you a small smile. āCome on, weāll be late.ā He tells you, almost laughing when your face clouds in confusion.Ā
He guides you over to his car, parked just on the other side of yours, and around to the passenger door. Opening it for you and waiting for you to climb in, turning and watching as you slowly walk closer.Ā
Late? What would you be late for? There was nothing planned, unlessā¦.he had asked about your plans earlier today. Did he have something planned now? With you? For you? A surprise? You donāt think that itās something bad, not after giving you the most beautiful flowers that youāve ever seen. You can tell he knows that you are confused but he doesnāt say anything, just waits and watches you with that same look that is always in his eyes when he looks at you.Ā
You get into his car. Part of him is surprised that you got in without any questions, the other part of him is relieved. He knows that he has to talk to you, to explain why, but it will be easier once he gets you to the restaurant.Ā
You interest him. In a way he hasnāt felt in a long time, in a way that he thought he might never feel again. Grace had made him feel that way, had been the love of his life, will always have a piece of his heart, but he feels something for you. He had wanted to ask you out, but the words hadnāt come. Grace had done the same kinds of things to him in the beginning before he relaxed and opened up to her.Ā
The drive is quick, he had chosen the place not too far away that he had heard you talking about in the office one day. The steakhouse with the good linens and candle light. The one that you had gushed over the food review in the paper talking about the best salmon they had ever eaten. The one you wanted to eat at but didnāt have a reason to go. Your birthday is obviously the best reason why you should go.Ā
The entire ride you are staring at the flowers, wondering why he got them for you. Not looking up until he pulls into a parking spot and you look out the windows. āUm, what are-ā He doesnāt let you ask, putting the car into park and shutting off the engine as he answers. āGot reservations in ten minutes, dollface.ā He says as he turns towards you. āYou deserve to be taken out and celebrated.āĀ
For a long moment, he thinks you might refuse. You stare at him like heās just spoken another language. One that you donāt understand. Stare at him before looking down at the flowers and then back up at him. āReservation?ā You ask and he nods. āTen minutes.ā He reminds you. āThey said if we came early we could get a drink at the bar.āĀ
He had made reservations. He had planned this. You are confused but the way your heart is pounding, you donāt think itās a bad thing. Butterflies swim in your stomach and you bite your lip as you look back down at the flowers. āCan I bring them inside?ā You ask, not wanting to leave them behind.Ā
Clint chuckles softly and looks down at the blooms in question. āYou can do whatever you want, dollface.ā He promises. āItās your night.ā You bite your lip, something that heās found adorable and even more so now. āBring them in.ā He says before he gets out of his car to round the front of it and open the door to let you get out.Ā
You unbuckle your seatbelt and slide out, flowers still in your arms and almost floating along in a sense of disbelief as he guides you towards the building. His hand is hovering just above your lower back, not touching you, but you can practically feel the warmth. Making you shiver again slightly.Ā
There is fancy, almost overly ostentatious music flowing through speakers when Clint opens the front doors. There isnāt a dress code that requires him to take off the leather jacket, but the black slacks heās wearing are rarely pulled out of his closet. He had pulled them out for you, for tonight. He doesnāt hesitate to walk up to the host stand and give his name.Ā Ā
You canāt believe that he made reservations. That he is bringing you here based on a conversation you had with Tammy in the office a month ago. A wistful, daydreamy want that is now apparently coming true. Itās everything you imagined it to be, romantic with low lighting and flickering candles at each table. The crisp white linens are almost too fancy to touch, and the host even pulls out the chair for you to sit down.Ā
Itās after the drinks have been ordered and you have finally swapped the flowers for a menu that you look up at Clint with a curious frown on your face. āWhy did you bring me here?ā You ask softly, as if you are afraid of making him angry by asking. Clint looks up and closes the menu as he contemplates how to answer without scaring you.Ā
āItās your birthday.ā He reasons, but that just makes you frown a little more. āI-ā he shrugs. āI wanted to do something nice. To treat you.āĀ
āWhy?ā You bite your lip again. āI mean, you donāt- we donāt really socialize.ā You point out and he flashes a quick half smile before he shrugs again. āItās hard to socialize when you seem scared of me most of the time.āĀ
Your stomach drops, and you hate that he had realized that you were nervous around him. You had fooled yourself into thinking that you were hiding it so well. Your hands tighten around the menu and you look down at it in embarrassment.Ā
āHey, donāt-ā Clint shakes his head, upset that he upset you. āI just- I wanted to do this. Becauseā¦.I would like to get to know you.ā He confesses softly, opening up for the first time since he had lost the woman who had meant everything to him.Ā
That makes you look up, eyes almost startled as they find his and you soften. Your shoulders seem to drop and relax and you shoot him a shy smile. āYou do?ā You ask, making him give you a smile of his own as the waiter brings the drinks and asks if you are ready to order. āI do.āĀ
You seem to really relax and settle into the dinner, asking him questions and answering his own, your guard dropping and he hears you laughing at his admittedly bad jokes. Acting like you are enjoying yourself and moaning over the salmon when you try it. Claiming that it is every bit as good as the food critic had claimed, even insisting on feeding him a bite from your own fork. It was good, for fish. Although it hadnāt beat the buttery steak he had ordered for himself. Offering to let you have a bite of it too since it was just good manners. Watching you carefully take the bite from him and smiling when your eyes slip closed with a groan of pleasure that hits him in the gut like a punch.Ā
He had ordered you cake. The piece was indulgent, double chocolate with ganache, a single candle in the top of it when itās brought out. He doesnāt tease you when you nearly cry, just urges you to make a wish and smiles when you blow it out. It would seem like such a small thing to someone else, but it means so much to you. How much thought he had obviously put into tonight. Almost like it was a date.
You are quiet on the drive back to your car. Making him nervous as he grips the steering wheel and glances into his mirrors so he doesnāt look over at you for every few seconds. He doesnāt try to talk to you, letting the silence settle but itās not a heavy silence. Just comfortable in a way it might have not been before tonight.Ā
āI- I had a great birthday.ā You admit when youāve opened your car door and set your purse and the flowers inside. Turning back and shooting him another smile. One that pulls him closer as he resists the urge to pull out that pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and light one up. Clint nods and takes another step towards you. āBetter than your earlier plans?ā He asks, making you laugh. āMy plans were to eat take out and watch tv.ā You snort, reaching out and patting his arm.Ā
Clint reaches for you slowly. Giving you time to pull back if you want to, but you donāt. You bite your lip and look up into his eyes. āDonāt knowā¦ā Clint murmurs, āthat could be a good night.ā He teases quietly. āWith the right company.āĀ
āAnd youāre the right company?ā You ask as he reaches up and holds your chin with his fingers. He smiles at you, a soft, gentle thing that makes you shiver for completely different reasons than you had before. āLetās find out, dollface.ā He murmurs as he leans in. āHappy birthday.ā His lips settle on yours and you donāt think Clint Flood scares you anymore. Not after your birthday date with him.Ā
one of my patients came in for an emergency visit, because she snapped the wire on her retainer watching the movie when MBJ took his shirt off she clenched her teeth so fucking hard she snapped it. that is the fucking funniest shit ever to me this tiny 17 year old girl thirsting so goddamn hard she busted steel
i made a post like this before but I can't find it now. so. I'll just redo it.
What's the first "big news story" you remember from when you were a kid?
It's something I love to ask mixed-aged groups sometimes because I think it's really interesting to see the responses. I've gotten answers from the Olympics of [whatever year] to Watergate to more recent stuff from my niblings.
My first news thing I remember is the OJ Simpson trial. I vaguely remember watching the news with my grandparents before that, but that's the first story I remember, in part because my second grade teacher had us go play so she could watch the verdict š
Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who findsā¦ true love?
BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA (1992) dir. Francis Ford Coppola
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