#(she said if someone switched in front of her she would ignore the person until they switched back.)

[ttransthirteen]

My psych teacher said some really fucked up things about DID but I can’t complain to anyone about it bc they’ll be like. Why are you so upset about it. And how do you know she isn’t right. Also nobody gives a shit or understands the nuances enough to get why I’m complaining I’d assume.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Don't Go Disappearing On Me Again

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason's lost too much to lose you, too. (We stan healthy communication in this house)

Word count: 2.3k

Ow.

You've never worked Friday nights before at the restaurant, and you never want to again. And you'd thought Saturday mornings were bad.

But one of your favorite coworkers had called you in a panic early this morning, begging you to take her shift, because her lab group's department at GCU was going out to bowling and it would be a great networking opportunity. You were the last person she called, but everyone else before you had declined because they were either scheduled or determined to avoid the shitshow.

And because you were weak, you gave in and said you would cover her Friday night shift as long as she covered your Friday morning shift.

So you two swapped shifts, and you went into your library internship in the morning instead of the evening. It wasn't a particularly hard job, but end-of-week returns had you dashing all over the three floors, so your feet already hurt before you walked into the restaurant.

Right before coming in, you'd texted Jason that you'd gotten held up, and it was a good thing you did, because you haven't had a single break to look at your phone the whole shift. He likely wasn't even awake yet—last night's patrol had been tough on the both of you, him because he came home half beaten to death, and you because you'd had a heart attack waking up in the middle of the night to your bloody boyfriend passing out on top of you in bed. But you usually got home around six from the library, and it was looking like you wouldn't be back until ten at the earliest, so you wanted to let him know. It was going on hour seven after starting at two p.m., when the restaurant switched from its brunch to dinner menu. Personally, you think two p.m. is obscenely early to eat dinner, but apparently rich people loved eating at weird hours, because you had had nonstop tables the entire night.

But the good thing is that the restaurant closes at nine, so you’re almost there. After your last three tables eat and leave, all you have to do is clean your section, close your checks, and clock out.

In the kitchen, you lean against the fridge, rubbing your hips and knees. You’re a little too young to feel so creaky after seven hours on your feet. After all, Jason works all night, doing athletic feats you could never dream of.

You can't really complain, though. You'd gotten lucky with your tables; they'd all tipped well. Maybe you could even add a little bit to your savings account instead of shoving every paycheck right at your student loans, which just keep growing, no matter how much you pay.

“Oh, no,” says Charlotte, one of the other veteran servers at the restaurant. She’s staring at the camera feed display, which is tuned to a livestream of the restaurant’s entranceway. “Don’t you dare seat me now, Ashley, I swear to God.”

“What time is it?” your head jerks up. “We’re about to close, right? Is someone looking for a table?”

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The hottest man in the world just walked in our front door.”

You just hum, not bothering to look in favor of pulling out your phone. You know for a fact that the hottest man in the world is actually at home in your bed right now. “The kitchen’s stopped receiving tickets. No way Ashley seats someone right now.” The screen doesn't light up when you click the power button. Well, shit. It's dead.

“I can’t tell what he’s saying.” Charlotte squints at the screen. “He’s, like, huge. Does Ashley look a little scared to you?”

You’re out of the kitchen without even looking at the screen. You speedmarch right past your tables, ignoring one man’s halfhearted attempts to flag you down for more ketchup. A righteous fire is boiling in your gut. You’ve been here long enough that the managers won’t fire you for telling off any customers that harass the younger workers that are more scared to stand up for yourself.

Your mouth is already open, ready to spew forth the beginning of your tirade, when you recognize the man in front of Ashley at the host stand.

Dressed in gray sweats and a dark T-shirt, slouching slightly, he looks even worse than when you kissed his forehead goodbye that morning. The bruise on Jason's face has properly colored now, purple and blue along his jawline. His hair looks a little flat, like he's been wearing his helmet, which is strange.

Jason's eyes snap onto you the second you appear, and you falter at the intensity there. Something has happened, but you're not sure what.

"Hey," you say, a little hesitant. "What's up?"

Ashley exhales with relief. "So you do know him."

"Yeah," you say without breaking eye contact with Jason, who's staring at you with the same expression you think a wolf would wear when stalking a hare. "He's my boyfriend."

You expect Jason to tell you that someone was in an accident. Someone's in the hospital. Something terrible happened to your apartment while you were gone.

He says none of those things. Instead, Jason says, "I didn't know you picked up a Friday shift."

Ashley's face goes blank.

"I told you I would be home late."

“No,” he corrects. “You texted me that you were being held up.”

“Yeah, at work.”

“And then you disappeared.” Jason’s jaw clenched. “Did you know that a bank was held up this afternoon? Your bank?”

“Oh, shit,” your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “My phone died, I don’t know when. You couldn’t check my location and see I was here?”

He just shakes his head, stiff and wordless.

“Hey, Y/N.” It’s your manager approaching the host stand now, customer service smile on and eyes taking in Jason’s appearance. “What’s going on up here?”

“Hey, Steve,” you say. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend Jason—Jay, this is my manager, Steve—”

Jason gets the hint and smiles close-lipped, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“My phone died so he came to see if I needed a ride home.”

“As soon as your tables leave and your section’s clean, you’re good to go. Oh, and you have to roll silverware.”

“It’ll be at least another hour,” you say apologetically to Jason.

“Okay.” His eyes keep boring into you like he’s trying to send you a telepathic message. He’s mad, you get it, but it makes you a little mad, too. You’re a grown adult. Yeah, the miscommunication was your fault, and it’s fine for him to be worried, but he looks close to Red Hood levels of anger, which is totally unwarranted for this situation. “Is it cool if I wait at the bar for you, then?”

“Of course!” Steve answers for you. "Our bartender, Lacy, will be happy to serve you while you wait." He checks his watch. "Until last call, that is."

"He didn't scare you, did he?" you ask Ashley as soon as Steve leaves. You smile at Jason, trying to tease him, but his expression doesn't twitch. "He looks mean, but I promise he's a big ol' softie."

Jason just grunts, but on his way to the bar, he doesn't forget to drop a kiss to your forehead. It warms you from the inside out.

As soon as he's gone, Ashley blurts out, "What happened to his face?"

"Motorcycle accident," you fib. "Oh, my table's calling me."

You rush over to take care of the poor man's ketchup—he's been waiting almost five whole minutes—and check out another party. The back of your neck prickles as you do. Every time you glance at the bar, Jason's green eyes are locked on your every move. It flusters you so much that when your table leaves, they say thanks, and you respond with, "Good morning!"

"What?"

"Thanks, you too!"

You run back to the kitchen, and everyone immediately starts interrogating you about your 'huge hunky boyfriend' (Charlotte's words, not yours).

By some miracle, all your tables clear out by closing time, and you’re out by 9:20. There are still a couple people at the bar, but Jason’s up immediately to walk out with you, leaving his water glass on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything, though you can feel his eyes on you whenever you aren’t looking. You won’t fight in public, so you follow his lead and stay quiet.

He drove your car to pick you up, and even though he’s obviously mad, he holds the passenger door open for you before getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. He parks in the spot for your shared apartment, then immediately, quietly, asks, “Why’d you pick up a shift without telling me?”

"It was super last-minute," you say. He's still facing forward, so you do the same, eyeing his profile out of the corner of your eyes. "Like, it happened this morning. I thought you were sleeping, so I didn't want to blow up your phone with texts. I thought you'd just check my location and see where I was when you woke up."

Jason's hand clenches on the center console. "I woke up and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry—"

"And the bank, and your wording, and your phone was off—"

"I know," you say, putting your hand over his fist. He unclenches immediately to lace his fingers with yours. "I'll make sure I tell you next time."

Jason takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. In a rush, he finally turns to face you and says, "I don't mean to be controlling."

You blink. "I don't think you're being controlling."

"You don't?" Jason frowns. "Then why were you so mad when I walked into your work?"

"Mad? I'm not mad—you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, what are you talking about?"

"You've been glaring this whole time! And you didn't say a word this entire car ride."

"Because I thought you were angry. I wanted to give you space."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait." You hold up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad at me?"

"No," he says earnestly. "I was worried and scared, but you're an adult. You don't have to ask for permission if you want to pick up a shift at work." He makes a face like the thought disgusts him.

"Okay," you say. "Okay, well if you're not mad at me, I'm not mad at you, either."

"Then why did you look so pissed when I walked in?"

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. "Well, we have cameras that show us up front while we're in the kitchen, right? One of my coworkers was watching and said 'the hottest man in the world' walked in and I didn't look because I thought the hottest guy in the world was still asleep in my bed—"

Jason covers his face with his hands. You can't stop your smile now, and you pull them away so you can look at said handsome face. "And I didn't even look because I'm such a loyal, awesome partner—"

"You are pretty awesome," he agrees, trying to sound serious, but he's grinning like an idiot, too. His cheeks are flushed pink.

"I know I am. But then Charlotte said that the hostess, Ashley, looked a little intimidated by him, so I walked out to see if she needed help."

"Aw," Jason says. He lowers his chin to look at you from underneath his lashes, pretty as a picture. "Were you going to give me a stern talking-to?"

"I can still give you one," you offer.

"Maybe later."

He's still grinning, and you're still grinning, so the both of you are grinning at each other like idiots in the car.

You want to kiss him, and he's your boyfriend. You're allowed to do that whenever the two of you want, so you take Jason by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

Jason sighs against you, and it's like all the tension in his body melts away. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the other on the back of your head.

You break away to murmur, "Are you patrolling tonight?" He's still so beaten up.

"No," he whispers, voice low and gravelly in a way that has butterflies whipping around like a tornado in your stomach.

"Good. Wanna go up and be the hottest patient in the world while I look at your wounds?"

"Only if you're the hottest nurse in the world."

"Oh, but then who will be the hottest chef in the world who makes dinner?"

"The hot chef is on vacation right now," Jason joked. "But I can be a really hot food-orderer. What takeout are you in the mood for?"

"You're the injured one. What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want."

You narrow your eyes in a glare. "Well, I want whatever you want."

"You gotta make a decision," he says, already on his phone. "You're the hottest decision-maker in the world, I'm the hottest food-orderer."

"Chinese?"

"You got it."

Right before he dials the number, you grab him and kiss him again. When you pull back, he chases after your lips. It's so tempting that you give him another firm peck before you pat his chest once.

Jason blinks twice, looking dazed. "What was that for?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to kiss the hottest man in the world."

"Oh, my God." He groans and covers his face again, but you can see his red ears. "You're never gonna let that go?"

"Mmm." You pretend to consider it. "No."

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[ratsonastick]

more bully clarisse?? (only if you can xx) :))

yes of course! I like switching some of this up so we are gonna do a Bully!ClarisselaRue x fem!ArtistReader

˖°𓇼⋆𖦹˖°𓇼⋆𖦹˖°𓇼⋆𖦹˖°𓇼⋆𖦹˖°𓇼⋆𖦹˖°𓇼⋆𖦹˖°𓇼⋆

You like art, you aren't crazy good at it but if someone told you to draw something pretty you could do it. And that's why you always found yourself signing up for classes, and over the summer at camp, you would sign up for the activities. 

You just liked that you could do something that people would praise you for. 

But others in your class didn't have that same mindset … such as Clarisse la Rue. She had to take this class because all the other extracurriculars were taken, and she was annoyed. 

The two of you didn’t get along, you didn’t mind her but she hated you for some reason, maybe it was your cheerful and quiet attitude, or how you always helped people. She just didn’t like it, she’d tell her teammates about her hatred whenever she saw you walk outside and past the field, one day she even took it to the lengths of throwing a softball at you, knocking your paint brushes onto the ground and shattering the new pottery cup you had made. 

Ever since that day, you tried to distance yourself, you hated her, but not to the lengths of trying to torture her every day like she did. 

So when your art teacher held the two of you back to talk you started to enterally groan. 

“The two of you need to stop whatever is going on.” Ms. Principe spoke leaning against the front of her desk, she was a short older woman, but she had so much passion for life. 

“I have no issue.” You answered but Clarisse spoke up “I do.” she answered truthfully, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Yeah and why do you?” You asked, turning to look at her with a questioning look, your arms slowly raising to cross over your chest. Clarisse looked at you and then rolled her eyes. 

 No matter what you could never figure out why she hated you so much, even going to the lengths of asking people who knew her well, they all just said things along the lines of “Maybe you made her jealous and upset” But how could you do that if you have never and talked to each other! 

“Okay that's enough … You two will sit next to each other until I see a mutual connection.” Ms. Principe Spoke, uncrossing her arms and walking to the other side of the desk, “Okay out.” She told the two of you, ignoring the complaints that rushed out of Clarisse. 

When the two of you made it outside Clarisse turned to you and nudged you “Don't speak to me ever.” And with that she walked away, meeting up with her friends on the other side of the hall. She smiled and laughed with them, and for a moment that smile seemed so familiar. 

The next day you walked back into the classroom, the scent of a candle that wasn't allowed to burn, and the slight breeze made your shoulders relax. Until you noticed Clarisse sitting right next to your spot, and then you remembered. You tried to sneak towards the back and hide in a different seat, but Ms. Principe caught you and guided you towards your usual seat. 

At Least Clarisse was nice enough to not sit in the seat you always tried to get to, you liked to keep up your pattern. 

Class continued and the two of them didn't talk nor even look at each other. Things were going okay, that is until she spilled water all over your painting. 

She tried to say it was an accident but I noticed her arm aggressively hit the cup. 

You spent the rest of class trying to fix it, and later that day you noticed things seemed strange. Your locker was destroyed pretty much on the inside, and your homework was taken and ripped. And the only person you could think of who could have done it was Clarisse. 

She did it because she was angry, and you knew it. 

When you saw her leaving practice, you walked up to her, trying to ignore the glances that everyone sent you. Then you stopped in front of her and her smile dropped, your arms crossing over your chest as you watched her sling her bag over her shoulder and grabbing her bat. 

“Why are you doing it?” you asked, starting to feel embarrassed “Doing what?” 

“Don't play dumb Clarisse. I know you have had it out for me, so just tell me why you hate me.” 

She let out a chuckle and shook her head “It's funny how you don't even remember.” She mumbled, pushing past you and continuing walking. You followed her, quick on her tail. “Then remind me!” you spoke sternly and she quickly whipped around walking closer to you, to which you quickly took a step back trying to create distance. 

“Last summer you were volunteering at the public library, you had never met me remember? And I liked you, I thought you were so cute with your stupid smile, we even talked and I thought you liked me back … but then one day some dick comes in and you are being all smitten with him.” She spoke, her finger raising to wave around in your face. 

You remembered, the day she came in to return a book, a smile on her face which made you smile back. 

You weren't even supposed to volunteer that day but the older lady called in sick and you were the replacement. 

You thought Clarisse was really pretty, she was on your mind for so long and you even told your friends about her! But then one day she just stopped showing up, and you slowly forgot about her. 

You stood in front of her for a moment, memories flashing in your brain and your heart slowly started to melt. You Remembered the boy, he was some kid trying to flirt with you and you just were completely uncomfortable, praying someone would save you. 

You snapped out of your thoughts when Clarisse scoffed and walked away, you wanted to run after her, but you didn't.

The next day you woke up in a sour mood. 

You knew who was going to be at school, and you didn’t want to see it … or her. 

But instead of hiding under the covers you went to school, and a day of nightmares began. It started on the bus when one of the Softball girls knocked their cup of coffee into your cup, laughing slightly as she walked away. Then when someone locked you in a bathroom stall. 

The list honestly just went on and on. It got to the point when at the end of the day instead of leaving like usual and walking past the fields you hid in the art room alone. 

Painting and crying every once in a while you sat there, the teacher had left so you were alone. But that's how you liked it. 

Clarisse on the other hand had finished Softball practice and was packing up her bags. She was the last to leave, but today she took longer to be curious as to where you were. 

She had told all her friends to make your day terrible so then you would run back to her. She knew it was wrong, that she even yelled at you and made it seem like she hated you, but in reality, she was just jealous and still wanted you to look like her the same way you did that Summer. 

 So she did what anyone would do and looked for you, she roamed the halls, checked the library, and anywhere else she saw you standing. 

Then she checked the art room and saw you, you looked just like the first time she saw you, the sun flowing through the windows and shining through your hair. Your cheek was red from resting your face against your fist. 

She thought for a moment if it would be a good idea to go into the room. She knew you were upset, but she was upset first! 

But before she could stop herself she opened the door and stepped inside, you raised your head and met her gaze, and Clarisse could've sworn her heart stopped. 

She closed the door quietly and walked closer to you, noticing how you went back to your artwork, it was the project she had spilled water all over and she felt a bit bad for it. 

“I like your art.’ 

“You ruined it, I hate it now.” You spoke in a voice that sounded clogged up from your snot tears. Clarisse sat down and she drummed her fingers on the table blowing out some air. 

“I still like it.” She mumbled and you rolled your eyes “Please leave.” 

Your voice pained her but she understood why, “I'm sorry.” She mumbled and you smacked your pencil harshly on the table and turned towards her. “For which part? Have your friends tortured me? Ruining all my art projects, Trashing everything I own?” 

You asked and Clarisse closed her eyes for a moment “For all of it.” 

It was silent for a moment. “I don't know why you hate me, all I did was talk to a kid I didn’t even want to,” you mumbled again scribbling on the corner of your project. 

“You didn’t like him?” Clarisse asked, her hair starting to fall from her ponytail “No.”

“Then who did you like?” 

You sighed “How dense are you, it was you of course.” you spoke with a huff, turning slightly away from her. But after a few seconds, you felt a hand on your shoulder turning you. 

“I liked you too… I guess I was jealous and just being stupid.” She spoke, her voice softer than you had ever heard it. “Really?” you teased, not stopping the smile that graced your face, and Clarisse almost started to stutter. “Look I’ll talk to the team, I’ll make it right.” 

You nodded your head licking your lips slightly, “And?” 

“And I’ll take you out tonight, pick you up and everything.” you nodded your head and smiled “Yeah yeah sure.” 

[ellieluvr420]

Friends? Never. Pt.13 (Ellie Williams x reader)

SYNOPSIS: You and Ellie had been bitter enemies for years now but before that you were best friends. You had always planned to be roommates one day but when that becomes a reality the situation isn't exactly how you both imagined it.

SMUT mdni! Fun fact the second part of this chapter is based on my life last night LOL! Also sorry this is kinda a shorter chapter!

You had been strolling round the market as Ellie slept in, a routine you had come to enjoy as when you returned she was always awake and you would make some breakfast together and sit outside together to eat it as you soak up the summer sun. Sundays were your favourite day because of this and because neither you or Ellie typically got put on patrol for Sundays you always spent the day together. Your day had been off to a good start, as it always was until you heard your name mentioned by someone from round the corner you were standing at, if you had been rational you would’ve just carried on walking and ignored it but you weren’t because the second you stopped to listen you also heard Ellie’s name. 

“Yeah apparently she went fucking insane and tried to strangle Ben when he was literally just trying to keep her safe.” 

“Well she’s a fucking psycho what do you expect, don’t you remember when she beat up her dad and they’re both still together apparently and flaunting it in front of everyone.” 

“Yeah I mean first, who wants to see that ugh and second, her dad seems so sad and she’s just parading around with the girl that beat him up, what a shitty daughter.” 

“No kidding, maybe they are meant for each other, both fucking weirdos.” It wasn’t even what they said about you that set the fire of your rage alight, it was what they had said about Ellie, they knew absolutely nothing about either of you and they were trashing the sweetest person in your life without a second thought, a switch flipped inside of you and you stormed round the corner to face the two girls that had been gossiping about you both. You sneer at their guilty faces and when Petra smiles and hits you with a ‘Hey girl, haven’t seen you in awhile, how you been?’ you just lost it. Your fist swung at her before you even had a chance to reconsider your actions. Petra falls to the floor and as Suze tries to run you grab at the collar of her shirt and yank her backwards causing her to fall almost on top of Petra. You kicked at both of them before kneeling over them and smiling at their cries and pleads for you to stop, they fell on deaf ears as you delivered swing after swing to their already mangled faces. 

You could’ve killed them if Jesse and Raphael hadn’t come running over to drag you off of them, even with their strength holding you back you still weren’t done. You thrashed and kicked at them before you body slammed Raphael sending him to the floor only to then elbow Jesse in the face. He was your friend and you felt bad but you didn’t care, all you cared about was caving those bitches faces in. You deliver a few more hard kicks before Jesse comes up behind you once again, this time wrapping his arms around you, trapping yours at your side as he drags you away from the unconscious girls. You screamed and grunted as you tried to break free but he had you tightly. You were barely in there and the sound of Maria’s angry voice was a muffled buzz in your head as you continued to thrash despite the ache in your body. 

“She won’t fucking calm down Maria.” 

“Put her in the jail, she’ll tire herself out.” 

“Seriously? The jail?” Jesse’s shock at Maria’s words caused him to loosen his grip around you just enough for you to squirm free and immediately go running at the girls again only to be body slammed backwards into Tommy’s strong grip by Raphael. You were shrieking and clawing at him but he wasn’t budging as he started to drag you away from the crowd that had gathered at your little show. 

“Let me go! I’m gonna fucking kill them, fucking bitches I’ll kick their fucking faces in, you think we’re fucking crazy? Don’t talk about crazy people behind their fucking backs!” You’re yelling as if the girls can hear you in their state. Tommy is grunting and growling at your consistent fighting. You don’t stop thrashing until you’re shoved into one of the jail cells and the door is shut on you and locked by Tommy. You can barely make out what he’s saying but you think he’s saying something about once you’ve calmed down, you can come out, but you don’t care, all you can think about is those stupid fucking girls. Your breathing is heavy and laboured as you pace the small dimensions of the cell until your legs ache and you drop to the ground, laying on your back and trying to catch your breath. You still wanted to kill them but the blinding rage that had taken over you was wearing off and you’re now realising the situation you had got yourself in as you have no idea when Maria or anyone is going to come back to let you out. “Fuck.” 

You guessed it had been hours before anyone came into the jail but as the sound of the double doors creaking open hit your ears you jolted upright, ready to leave until you see Ellie creep through the door. “Oh god.” You whine as you see the shit-eating grin on her face as she comes and sits down in front of your cell. 

“Hey jailbird.” 

“Shut up.” 

“When I woke up and you weren’t home, I was not expecting to find you here.” 

“Ellie you’re not fucking funny.” She can’t contain her laughter at your predicament as you just glare at her, half out of embarrassment and half out of frustration that she was outside of the cell, and you were trapped inside. 

“How the fuck did you even manage to land yourself in here?” 

“I heard some girls chatting shit about us and I just lost it, I can barely even remember what happened.” 

“Well Jesse is in the infirmary with a broken nose so I assume you did that too.” 

“Shit yeah I think he tried to get me off of them and I was... not happy about that, is he mad?” 

“I dunno, I came straight here when Tommy told me where you were but knowing Jesse, I doubt it.” 

“Shit I need to apologise.” 

“Well come on then.” She says trying to hold back a chuckle at her own teasing. 

“You’re such a dick.” You cross your arms and huff as she pouts at you. 

“Can’t believe my girlfriends a jailbird.” 

“I am not!” 

“Sure, okay.” As she continues to laugh the door creaks open again, Ellie’s face changes from a smug expression to a panicked one as Maria walks in scowling at her, she jumps to her feet and smiles sheepishly at her. “Hey Maria.” 

“I need to speak with our inmate here and you’re not supposed to be here anyway so get moving Ellie.” She mouths a ‘good luck’ to you before speeding out of the door, the creak of it shutting again only mocking you. You stand as Maria grabs the key to the cell from her belt and puts it into the lock and your excitement jumps before she leaves the key in the door without unlocking it. You sigh and she raises an eyebrow at you, questioning your ability to still have attitude even now. 

“What the fuck were you thinking? It took three men to pry you off those girls. You’re lucky I don’t leave you in here overnight.” 

“I heard them saying some really shitty things about Ellie, Maria. They’re cunts.” 

“Oh and that makes it okay to beat the living shit out of them? AND break Jesse’s nose.” 

“Oh come on, you know I didn’t mean to do that.” 

“But you did, because you were out of control. This won’t happen again, do you understand me?” 

“Yes maria.” 

“If I let you out are you gonna cause me more grief?” 

“No.” You sigh out defeated, just desperate to be free. 

“Good, seriously, the party at the tipsy bison is happening tonight and if you are so much as involved in an unkind word with anyone, I will throw you in here for a week. You are better than this.” 

“Yeah, I got it.” She scoffs at your unwavering attitude before unlocking the door and stepping aside to let you out.  

“Don’t think I’m not being serious.” 

“Oh I know you are.” You roll your eyes before walking out of the door, the creak that accompanies it is music to your ears and as you breathe in the fresh air Ellie’s cruel laughter hits you once again. 

“She’s free! Everyone watch out, psycho on the loose.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” You grit at her despite the small grin creeping onto your face. 

“Oh come on, don’t be grumpy, you know I love you, crazy and all.” She wraps her arms around you and presses kisses all over your face until you’re laughing and trying to bat her ticklish attack away. Neither of you gave a second thought to the fact you were in public and it felt nice, it felt normal and you craved the feeling more than ever, normality, it was so comfortable and warm with her that everything else melted away. 

“Can we please go home?” 

“Of course my little jailbird, let’s go.” She smiles sweetly at you before dragging you towards your home before you can snip at her for the nickname again. 

“I’m really sorry about your nose Jess”

“Eh don’t sweat it.” Your face burns as Ellie chuckles at your shameful apology to Jesse for breaking his nose, the sight of his black eyes and swollen face making her laugh more.

The Tipsy Bison was buzzing with the chatter and laughter of almost everyone in town, you were squished into a corner chatting with Dina, Jesse and Ellie while nursing a drink, you refrained from getting super drunk in case you saw the girls you had beat up that morning, you knew Maria was serious about locking you up for a week if anything happened and you knew if you saw them you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself. So when you saw them snickering and whispering to each other as they watched you and Ellie dance together, she had to tighten her grip around you to stop you from storming over to their bruised faces and caving them in. 

“Easy, you know Maria will have your head.” 

“I wanna kill them.” 

“It’s not worth it babe.” 

“Please distract me.” You whisper in her ear before pulling away to give a sly look. Her eyebrows raise as she understands what you’re saying before looking behind you at the toilet, her eyes focusing on her next destination. She takes your hand in hers and begins leading you to the bathroom as the girls disappear from your view. The uncomfortable rage that was causing your skin to boil dissipated to a warm hum as the excitement took over you. 

You both barrelled into a cubicle, Ellie slamming you up against the door as she locks it behind her, there was no one else in the bathroom when you entered but you didn’t care either way, you were both so desperate for each other that everything else faded away. Her lips move against yours so roughly it almost hurts and you know they’ll feel bruised and sore in the morning. Her hands gripped every curve of your body before they fumble with the zip and button on your jeans, you almost completely zoned out the second the rough pads of her fingers start drawing quick circles round your clit but the grinding of her clothed cunt against your thigh brings you back to reality as you attach your lips to her neck and reach to mirror her movements.  

When you both weren’t able to silence your moans you’d kiss to muffle the sound but as you desperately pulled away for air, a whine slipping from your lips, the door opens and a group of what you guessed is about 3 or 4 girls filter in. Your head goes to rest on her shoulder as you bite at your bottom lip desperately trying to hold in the symphony of sounds begging to be released from deep inside you. You hear a breathy giggle leave Ellie’s lips before a quiet but audible grunt escapes her. Your eyes go wide as the girls conversation drops away, your circles on Ellie’s clit only increasing in pace as she glares at you for making it harder for her to keep quiet. 

Your bodies trembled as they pressed together, desperate to get each other off and scratch the itch you felt was always reappearing around her. A choked squeak emerges from your lips as you release at the same time as Ellie, pressing your foreheads together and letting each other ride out your highs. Once you’ve both come down, she presses a quick kiss to your lips before doing up your trousers again and then hers. “Fuck that was good. You’re amazing.” She whispers before pressing a kiss to the skin on your neck, just below your ear and reaching for the lock as she nods at you to check you’re ready. 

You couldn’t hold in the half-scoff-half-laugh as you walk out and are faced with the two girls who you had savaged earlier as well as two of their friends all giving you looks that would have you six feet in the ground. You follow Ellie’s lead as you walk to their sinks where they were standing as the scatter like you’re poisonous just watching with horrified expressions as you both smirk and wash your hands. You’re about to walk out but Ellie pulls you into her once again and softly kisses your lips before saying loudly enough for them to hear. “You’re so good at that, I love you.” With a devious grin before grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the bathroom as you both collapse into laughter. 

As you walk back over to Dina and Jesse, they both give you knowing looks that you can only laugh at as you feel your cheeks heat under their gaze. Ellie wraps her arm around your waist, resting her head on yours and flashing an innocent smile at Dina and Jesse who simply roll their eyes in response. 

You spent the rest of the night enjoying yourself with your friends occasionally snipping at Ellie when she would reference your altercation that morning, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the childish joy that graced her features whenever she would make a joke about it that she laughed the hardest at. She had accidentally snorted while laughing multiple times and each time her cheeks would flush as she had to wipe tears from her eyes as she struggled to keep her composure. 

Her jokes never stopped, even as she was half asleep in bed next to you and her jokes started to make less and less sense as she grew more delirious, eventually you just began humming in agreement with her nonsense statements as she giggled to herself. You were half asleep yourself as she rolled onto you, snuggling into your side and reaching up and taking a handful of your boob and squeezing it while making a quiet ‘honk’ sound, when you look down ready to glare at her you see she’s actually asleep and you have to contain the eruption of belly-laughter inside of you as to not wake her up. You couldn’t wait to tell her about it in the morning, knowing she would be on the floor, she would find it so funny. 

tags: @emiliabby @readbydayana @radioheadfan699 @lil-elliesgf @isitadinosaur @amberputh

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Pull Of You - Part 2

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes

Soulmates - Feeling the pull between each other indicates a bond. A kiss confirms it.

Summary: You meet Steve and Bucky on a Tuesday. Steve ignores the soulmate pull, Bucky can't. There's something about you that neither can shake, even when you're wearing one of Clint's t-shirts and your unicorn slippers. After weeks of slipping into your bed Bucky decides he can't hold back anymore. He's telling you after the mission, whether Steve is all in or not. When you don't come back from the mission, they are both ready to burn the world down and the team have the matches to help. But is everything as it seems and have they been betrayed by someone on the inside.

Chapter Summary: Clint knows somethings wrong but what is it?

You’d wrote your mission report on the jet and read it a couple of times, annoyed at how many typos there were. It really shouldn’t take this long. You’d written plenty of reports on a cross Atlantic flight, even if the Quinjet halfed the flight time. Nat was still sporting a concerned frown in your direction but you’d been quick to put in your headphones when her and Clint had made there way back to the front of the jet.

With half an hour to go and an eight hour turn around until the next mission, Clint took pity on you as you let out a heavy sigh.

“Want me to proofread it?”

“Please.” You passed over the tablet and let out a yawn, realising you couldn’t feel your ass, you stood and stretched before heading to the bathroom at the back of the jet. Nat watched you go.

“Hmmmmm”

“What?” Nat asked. Clint learned back in the chair, his eyes closed and tapping his chin.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y bring up the team sheet for Y/N mission.”

“What is it?”

The AI projected the list near to where the tablet now sat on his lap. Clint scanned it quickly and then turned back to the tablet.

“The other day when you and her got into it..”

“Please don’t bring it up again, I still feel awful, you were right it was double standards.”

“Hang on, that’s not what it’s about. You said she reacted, overreacted.”

“I was pushing her and…”

“Nat, listen that’s not what I’m getting at.”

“Fine, go on.”

“Pietro said the same thing.”

“What?”

“After you’d kissed and made up, Pietro told me how surprised he’d been that you two had got into it like that.”

“We’ve argued before.”

“When has our sestra ever squared up to you before and got in your face like that. Hearing it from someone else made me think, I don’t think it was just you pushing her to say something that set her off. We’ve been too caught up in the Steve, Bucky, Y/N what if, than the now.”

The sound of the bathroom door opening reminded them both you’d both be reappearing soon and Nat signed for him to hurry.

“Who was in the compound that morning?” Nat casted her mind back. The compound had been busy that day, a mix of people coming and going. As footsteps slowly approached Clint pointed at one of the names on your report. A familiar one. He then pointed again to the team sheet, the name wasn’t there. It was also the same person that had been in the compound that morning. Why were they on your report and not the team sheet.

Nat shot Clint a look. Signing to him.

“When did we switch places?”

“What?”

“When did I become the idiot and you become the one that figures it out.”

Clint rolled his eyes, signing back before placing a soft kiss on her lips.

“It’s a good job I love you.”

“Ewwwwwwwwwww can you not makeout over my very important report please.” You quipped.

“Brat.” Snarked Nat.

“You’ve spelt Chitauri wrong. You’ve put Shitauri.”

You shrugged as you dropped yourself back into your seat.

“If the boot fits.”

Before one of them could comment back F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice echoed through the jet.

“Agents, you’ll be landing in fifteen minutes. Boss would like to know your vote for takeout.”

“Chinese.” you’d replied in unison.

Clint passed the tablet back to you, reminding you to sign it before you submitted it to Hill. You checked it once more, attached your body cam footage and hit send.

“So how pissed off were the French?” Nat asked.

“Do you remember that day I was bored and I broke into the Louvre to prove a point?”

“Of course.” Nat replied.

“One of my favourite days as a S.H.E.I.L.D Agent.” Laughed Clint.

“Well, angrier than that.”

“Did they remember you?” Asked Clint.

You cocked an eyebrow at Clint and he started to laugh.

“If you can talk them around after that, you really should work for UN or NATO.” Nat smiled.

“Really Romanoff? You’ve already got the New Accords. What more do you want from me? World peace?”

The three of you fell into an easy back and forth. Nat watched as you laughed at one of Clint’s jokes. God she wanted you to be happy. To feel the contentment she felt after everything.

Apart from Clint you’d been the first to give her a chance, and he had to by default. She was his soulmate after all.

The banter continued and to an outsider you would have seemed happy. But Nat knew and deep down so did Clint. The smile didn’t reach your eyes and your laugh was a little half-hearted.

Once the next mission was out the way, she’d try  to talk to you again or get one of the others to. An intervention was too far right? Girls night and the very expensive champagne Pepper liked would do it. Hope could fly in. Sam’s sister too. Maria, Val and May always liked to be included as well.

Romanoff knew a lot of things but even she didn’t know there wouldn’t be a girls night. No expensive champagne. No extra team mates and family and worst of all…………

no you.

TAGLIST

@imdoingbetternow @mcira @abaker74

[prettykittycastle]

love your writing! can you do something where the reader and dean are sharing their sex experiences and she tells him that she’s never squirted before and he makes her? & them being friends with like a lotttt of flirting and sexual tension

Alright

Summary: Dean offers to make the reader squirt for the first time.

(The reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns. The ethnicity/race is any.)

(Content Warning: Fingering, slight dirty talk, multiple orgasms, slight choking, squirting, overstimulation)

It was pushing midnight and me and Dean were still going hard, drinking and laughing our asses off about a multitude of things. He was drinking his usual whiskey while I chose to stick to a nice, cold beer. Sam had already decided to call it a night early and went to bed the second we came from our case. Surprisingly, the case we worked was actually pretty easy to figure out, the only problem was actually fighting and killing the monster. It took a lot of effort but we were able to do it with minimal injuries. Me and Dean decided that such an easy case should be rewarded with a peaceful night of drinking and laughing.

"I didn't mean to. I had no control over it," Dean defended himself, laughing along with me at his story.

The conversation had somehow switched to the topic of embarrassing sex stories.

"I was cumming every where and it just landed wherever. I didn't mean to cum in her eyes or her nose."

"Oh my god, Dean. That's horrible!" I told him, can't help laughing harder.

"If I'm horrible, then so is she. She once squirted in my face and it landed in my eye."

I couldn't hold back the next wave of laughter that came from my throat and I had to place my beer bottle on the bunker table before I accidentally waste it.

"So what about you?" He asked, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"What about me?"

"Squirted in a guy's eye? Something else?"

"Oh, never," I chuckled, shaking my head. "I've never squirted before."

Once I felt that my laughter has simmered down, I picked up my bottle and and was about to drink when I noticed the look upon Dean's face and his silence.

"What?"

"You've never squirted? Ever?"

I shook my head and sipped my beer.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It's just never happened. I don't know if I can."

"Lots of women don't know until they get with someone who can fuck them good enough," he stated, downing the rest of his whiskey, looking at me with a look that I've never seen on him before.

Me and Dean tended to sometimes have our moments of not knowing whether or not we would be good together but we would always sort of ignore it and pretend it never happened. Don't ruin a good friendship, is what I always tell myself. The look in Dean's eyes is making me think that perhaps it might be worth trying to experiment with him just to see.

Clearing my throat, I try to ignore the tingling in my core that his look is giving me. "Well, I guess I haven't found that person yet." I took my bottle and drunk the last of my beer, feeling my body getting hotter and hotter, the longer he looked at me.

"If you want, I could see if I can make you... Just to see if you can."

Oh fuck. He wants to make me squirt. Just the thought of it is making me soak my panties.

I was about to open my mouth and tell him yes when he suddenly stood up from his chair and took a few steps to stand in front of me, his clothed crotch being right at eye level with me. Even through the thick jeans, he was wearing, I could see the growing bulge of his dick and I so badly wanted to-

"(Y/N)," he said and I looked up at him to see the look on his face become even more intense.

I stood up, my head stopping at his chest, and decided to say fuck it and grabbed his flannel, pulling him down to my lips. Surprisingly his lips were extremely soft and they tasted like the whiskey he was drinking, but the way he kissed me was something out of this world. The way he moved his lips against mine made the tingling inside me quickly grow to a small burning and I could feel my panties getting more soaked.

Pulling away from my lips, he lightly wrapped his hand around my neck and I looked up at him to see that the usual happy green eyes of his were now full of pent-up hunger. "Get on the table, sweetheart," he ordered, his voice deeper.

"But, Dean, we-" I was cut off by the feel of his hand giving me a light squeeze, making me gasp.

"Get on the table, now," He demanded and this time, I didn't hesitate to do as he said.

Still holding my neck, he began kissing me again, moaning against my lips.

"Dean, Sam could wake up-" I tried to say, pulling away.

"Then let him see." He continued kissing me, slipping his tongue into my mouth. I could feel one of his hands unbuttoning my pants and unzipping them, before I felt the tips of his fingers dip into them, under my panties and to my center.

"D-Dean," I moaned into him, feeling him lightly rubbing my clit.

"You're so fucking wet," he groaned, rubbing me faster.

He placed one last kiss on my lips before taking his hand off my neck and moving it down to my pants. Still rubbing my clit, he used his other hand to pull my pants down, the hunger he had was evident in his hurry-ness to take them off. When the pants were at my knees, I helped him out by kicking them the rest of the way off. I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in knowing that he was this horny for me.

"Fuck, (Y/N)," I heard him groan. "You really are soaked."

I looked down to see the crotch of my panties was almost soaked through by my wetness. Any other time I would have been embarrassed about it, but not tonight. Tonight, all I’m thinking about is Dean’s face between my legs.

"It's all for me, sweetheart," he asked, grabbing the edge of my panties and yanking them down my legs.

"Yeah," I told him, kicking the panties off my ankles and to the floor. "I wanna squirt for you, Dean."

My words did the trick for him and he quickly dropped to his knees and moved his fingers from my clit and replaced them with his tongue.

"Oh," I moaned loudly. He didn't waste time and quickly began circling my clit with the tip of his tongue while he inserted a finger into me, my walls gladly sucking it in.

"Fuck, your pussy's tight," He told me before sucking my clit into his mouth and thrusting his finger in and out of me.

"Oh God, Dean," I moaned, looking down at him. His hungry eyes looked up at me as he moaned and sucked on my clit, the vibrations making the burning inside me grow. I could see my juices running down his hand and leak onto the table.

Shit, I'm close, I thought, feeling the burning in me getting hotter fast. Letting out another moan, I reached down and grabbed the back of his head and pushed his face into me, grinding onto him and feeling his finger go deeper into me.

"Yes, yes, yes," I whimpered, grinding harder on his face.

I suddenly felt another finger squeezing into me, and he thrusted both of them faster into me. I could feel his finger tips curling inside me, hitting that special spot inside of me that made my eyes roll back.

“Oh fuck, Dean. I’m gonna cum,” I moaned, the burning getting hotter with each thrust.

“Cum, babygirl,” he said against my clit, and again, I followed his demand and came. While my body was rocked with waves of pleasure, Dean kept thrusting his fingers into me, his fingertips hitting my G-spot over and over, and I could feel the small stinging of overstimulation beginning.

“Dean,” I whimpered, trying to close my legs, but he kept his fingers in me. He suddenly stood up and wrapped his hand around my neck again, squeezing it slightly. The feel of his strong hand squeezing me made the fire that’s started in my body burn harder and almost too much for me.

“Dean, please,” I pleaded with him, not knowing whether I wanted more or wanted less from him, and put up a hand against his chest to push him away.

“Let it happen, sweetheart,” he told me and I could see a cocky look in his eyes. 

Before I could ask what he was cocky about, the most amazing pleasure washed over my body, taking my voice and breathing away. It was so good and so strong, I could barely keep my eyes open. I could feel my pussy gushing juices all over his hand and onto the table.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, sweetie,” I heard him say, but his voice sounded suddenly distant.

I could feel him still thrusting his fingers in and out of me and I lowered my hand to try to move his hand away. The pleasure was too much and I felt like if he kept going, I might actually pass out from the pleasure. 

With one last thrust, he slowly took his finger out of me and let go of my neck. I felt him caress the side of my face and I looked at him to see him licking his fingers clean of my juices. 

“How was it,” he asked, taking his fingers out, a small grin on his lips.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” I replied, about to move off the table, but stopped when I felt how wet and weak my legs were. I looked down to see that my thighs, some of the table, and a little bit of my shirt was covered in my juices. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” he said, cockily, and I looked back up to see him fully grinning at me. “I’m that good.”

“Shut up,” I moved my legs off the table and tried to stand up, but almost fell at how weak they still were, but before I could fall down, Dean had caught me and held me up against him, wrapping an arm around my middle. 

“You alright,” he asked. I nodded at him and noticed that the cockiness he just had was quickly replaced by a nervousness that was rare to see on the older Winchester, almost reminding me of a scared teenager. “You alright with this? With us?”

“Yeah.”

“And you're alright with us being...more than friends?”

“Dean,” I couldn’t help but chuckle at his nervousness. “You just made me squirt for the first time on the table. Yes, I want to be more than friends.”

“Oh,” he chuckled and I was glad to see that I eased his nervousness. Looking up at him, I couldn’t remember why I waited so long to do this with him.

“Wanna go to my room?”

“Um,” I looked over my shoulder to the table to see the puddle of my juices sitting on the edge. “Maybe we should clean the table, then leave. And be quiet. Don’t wanna wake Sam.”

“Too late.” 

We both turned to see a tired and angry Sam looking at us in pajamas in the entryway. His hair was all over his head and he had bags under his eyes. 

“Clean it, then go to sleep. No more tonight.”

“Okay,” I told him. Usually I would feel embarrassed, but now I’m just glad me and Dean finally got together and I looked up at him to see he wasn’t embarrassed either. We were both alright with this.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Party Animal- Shepard sibling fic

The party is everything Curly expected it to be, loud but not in the rowdy, violent way he’s used to, but rowdy in a way that said no one here was ever worried about getting busted by the cops- probably because they had buddies who were cops. Instead of smoke and cheap whisky, high end cologne hangs heavy in the air, a smog Curly is unused to making it tough for him to even breathe. 

Whatever. It’s not like he’s planning to be here long. Hell, he never wanted to be in the middle of a super soc hangout in the first place but Angel really is a unique kind of demon sent straight from hell to have him hiking his way into his own personal hell.

“Hey grease,” Some asshole in a green madras shirt steps in front of him, “the fuck are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be slashing someone’s tires on your own side of town?”

“Fuck off,” Curly growls, shoving hard at the dude’s chest. Maybe it’s not the smartest thing he’s ever done, instigating a fight in a den of socs but the fury coursing through him at the moment makes him feel like he could kill the lot of them easily. “Where’s my sister?”

“Oh,” the guy’s eyes gleam, “you mean the party favour? I think I saw Carl and a few of the other guys bring her upstairs a few minutes ago.”

“Motherfucker!” Curly’s fist connects with the guy’s face, and the familiar crack of cartilage under his fingers is simultaneously satisfying and does nothing to quell the fury raging through his chest. Blood spurts from the soc’s nose, quickly ruining his too expensive shirt and the only thing stopping Curly from finishing the job and absolutely flattening him is the knowledge that Angela is somewhere in this house alone with Carl Langton and who knows how many other assholes from the football team.

Maybe he should’ve brought back up for this. Then again he didn’t exactly think in the time between finding out where Angela had snuck off too and practically kicking the door in.

“Angel!” The soc seems to be steeling himself to swing back, but Curly is already gone, tearing up a nearby staircase as shouts and gasps of shock echo behind him. “Angel! Goddamnit Angel, where the fuck are you!”

He’s properly deranged now, can hear it even himself, as he kicks open doors and tears down hallways, switch clenched tightly in his fist. The fuzz might show soon, but ain’t no one in the house right now that’s stupid enough or brave enough to cross him. Good.

The last door he kicks open reveals four or so socs. Three of them are laughing and jeering, while the fourth is practically on top of Angela, kissing her so deeply his tongue must be halfway down her throat. She looks tinier than usual surrounded by all of them, and while she jumps when the door bangs open, Cury can see the glimmer of relief in her eyes when she sees him, mingling with panic and under that, a current of rage, hiding her embarrassment. 

A fresh wave of anger floods through him at the sight, something he didn’t think was even possible. Whether it’s directed at Angela or the socs he doesn’t know.

A quick slash with his switch leaves one soc howling, and the rest hurriedly backing away, unwilling to bring fists to a knife fight. Angela swallows, eyes wide. Curly can see the terror in her eyes and it just about kills him. The knowledge that some of it might be because of him is too much for him to bear.

“We’re leaving,” he seizes her arm tight enough to bruise and drags her out of the room, ignoring her spluttering until they’re safely outside. It’s not until they’re halfway back to the eastside that he lets his grip loosen and allows her to shake her arm out of his grasp, grumbling under her breath. The fact she doesn’t yell at him tells him she knows just how badly she messed up.

“Here,” he shrugs out of his jacket and shoves it at her, all too aware of the fact she’s in her skirt and bra and nothing else, even though he’s still so angry he can hardly stand to look at her. Those assholes. He doesn’t want to think of what would’ve happened if he’d been even a few minutes later. Hell, he doesn’t want to think about what already happened by the time he did get there. And he especially doesn’t want to think about how Angela went there on purpose, all by herself.

Angela seems to recognize that quiet is the best she could hope for right now, zipping up his jacket and plodding along silently beside him until they’re almost back to their street.

“Don’t tell Tim.”

The words are like bellows stoking the rage that had steadily been cooling inside him, causing it to flare once again, red hot.

“Don’t tell Tim? Don’t tell Tim that you ran headfirst into a party full of socs? That you chose to go get yourself taken advantage of?”

She scoffs. “I had it handled.”

“Yeah, it sure looked like it when you were locked in a room with half the football team! Jesus Angel, what the fuck did you think was gonna happen?”

She doesn’t answer, which means she knows that whatever she thought was whimsical wishful thinking, the kind of hoping none of them can afford. He’s kind of glad that for once she’s got nothing to say, because he is far from finished.

“Did you really think they invited you there for any good reason? Were you really so stupid? Or did it just make you feel special, being asked to a party no other east sider would ever get close to?”

She’s crying now, which is terrible in a different kind of way because ANgela never cries, not really, but tears are pouring down her cheeks and her entire frame is trembling, a glossy sheen making her eyes glitter in the moonlight and it’s still not enough to quell the anger in his chest. 

“Do you ever get tired of wanting things you can’t have?” He finally stops, chest heaving, because that’s the root of it isn’t it, that Angela was a girl born wanting because she never had anything in the first place, so everything in the world will never be enough for her. She’s a princess in the east side, a demon in her own right, has respect and reputation, the most the east side has to offer and yet it still isn’t enough for her, not by a long shot. No wonder that soc guy could manipulate her so easily. The promise of something better could lure his sister into anything.

Curly hates it and in that moment he hates her too, because Angela has never been stupid, not like him. She’s pulled a lot of stupid stunts in her time, but never ones this particular brand of dangerous. It can’t happen again. 

“I’m sorry,” Angela���s voice breaks and suddenly Curly’s anger evaporates just like that, because Angela is never sorry for anything she does, so this really must have broken her. “I’m so fucking stupid. I’m sorry.”

She’s crying and shaking and in that moment her pain is somehow more important than his own fear so he wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and she leans against his side, tears quickly abating. She’s still shaking though, bad enough he can feel it even through the thick leather of his jacket. 

He’s still angry with her, furious even, but it’s late and he’s tired and she’s safe. They can fight it out and deal with the rest of it tomorrow. He can’t accept her apology, but he can’t yell at her anymore either.

“C’mon Angie,” he murmurs, and resumes walking, “let’s go home.”

They walk the two blocks and then climb through their window, careful not to wake Tim or ma. Curly immediately crosses to his own side of the room and flops up on the mattress, fully ready to sleep until at least noon the next day. 

He’s almost asleep when he hears the whisper, so quiet he’s not sure he’s even supposed to hear it.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Anytime,” he promises, and he means it. He’ll always be here for her. Anytime.

[punsmaster69]

31/MAR/20XX

papyrus walks past me.

he's got one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, basket swinging in the other hand.

stopping in place not far from me, papyrus checks how many eggs are in his basket.

"MS. TORIEL!! YOU SAID EACH PERSON HAD EIGHTEEN EGGS, CORRECT?"

she shakes her head and readjusts her sunhat.

"Twenty."

"DARN."

"THREE SHORT, THEN..."

"onto the final ones then, huh?"

"INDEED!!!"

"I'LL BE THE FIRST TO FIND THEM ALL, FOR SURE!-"

"GOT 'EM!"

frisk hops over to toriel victoriously. she checks their basket and confirms the correct amount.

"......"

"I'LL SIMPLY HAVE TO TRY EVEN HARDER, THEN!!"

i watch him do a few laps around the yard, searching.

the eggs close to the ground are the ones he always entirely misses.

"need a hint?"

"NO!"

"you sure?"

"𝘦𝘺𝘦 can definitely give you one."

"NO, I DO NOT-"

confused look followed by slowly turning to face me.

"WHAT ON EARTH WOULD EYES HAVE TO DO W-"

". . . ."

after actually looking at my face, papyrus noticed that one of his eggs sat within my right eyesocket this whole time.

"REALLY?!?"

"UGH. IT WAS ENT-𝘌𝘠𝘌-RLEY FOR THAT PUN, WASN'T IT?"

his annoyed look is replaced with a slight smirk at his own pun.

"...NYEH HEH."

"yup."

"SIGH."

"OKAY, THERE'S ONE..."

"NOW I'M JUST TWO SHORT!"

toriel and frisk walk over.

"You are certainly not 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵."

"WHAT? BUT THAT 𝙄𝙎 HOW MANY I'M MISSING."

"That is your hint."

"WAIT."

"A RIDDLE!?"

"HMMM....."

a hand is placed to his jaw and he furrows his brows in thought.

" 'TWO SHORT', 'TOO SHORT'..."

"𝘚𝘏𝘖𝘙𝘛..."

"...S?"

immediately patting down the pockets on his shorts.

toriel tries to gently guide him.

"Er."

"They will not be on your person."

"SOMEONE ELSE'S?"

"IS ANOTHER ONE ON SANS?!"

"No, no!"

"Perhaps you should rethink your interpretation of the hint, Papyrus."

"OKAY..."

"NOT 𝘛𝘖𝘖 SHORT?"

"HMM.........."

thinking for a moment longer, he runs off to go search more.

across the yard, flowey spots one of papyrus' eggs. he disappears underground, and reappears beside us.

"heya."

"Howdy."

i try not to look shocked that he actually said hello back instead of spitting some insult or ignoring me.

"How many did he get already? I saw around two of his."

"He has two left. I have given him a hint, so do not give away the locations for him."

"I won't!"

"Maybe if it was Frisk."

they shoot him a glare.

"But not Papyrus."

"I appreciate it."

"Have you found all of yours?"

"Found, but I'm not grabbing the last one yet."

"How come?"

flowey gives her a look as if it should be obvious.

"...So he's not the last one??"

"Awww. That is sweet of you."

"Th-"

scoffing immediately.

"It-

"It was a joke!"

"I'm waiting until he's about to find the very last one so I can grab mine just before he grabs his own, and steal the victory right from him!"

"i think you're too late, petals."

jumping up from the ground, papyrus runs over with his basket raised.

"I FOUND THEM!!"

"THEY WERE CLOSE TO THE GROUND - HIDDEN BELOW MY EYELINE!!!"

"VERY CLEVER, MS. TORIEL!!"

"Thank you, dear."

"HAVE YOU RECOVERED ALL OF YOUR EGGS, FLOWERY?"

"I haven't grabbed one of them yet."

"OH!! I'LL HELP YOU LOOK!!!"

"LET'S GO!"

crouching in front of flowey, papyrus sets his basket aside to offer flowey that place on his arm instead.

"...."

the flower curls a vine around papyrus' arm before slithering to his upper arm, moving into place immediately as he has a million times before.

"Do not eat all your candy right now, my child."

turning, i see that frisk is behind me with a large pile of wrappers beside them.

"you're gonna get sick, kiddo."

they shrug.

"No more after that one, alright?"

thumbs-up.

the other two walk around the yard for a few minutes before flowey suddenly sighs.

"Golly, Papyrus! I sure am 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘱ed on this one."

"WAIT, HAVE YOU CHECKED THERE PREVIOUSLY?"

"Hm?"

"AT THE STUMP."

"Gee, I don't think so..."

this tone-switch flowey always does around my brother is kind of off-putting. probably has something to do with wanting papyrus to feel like he helped, though. i'm guilty of that too sometimes, so i guess i can't really call him out on it.

my brother hops over to the tree stump, and flowey points with a dramatic gasp at the base of it.

"There! Between the roots!"

"AS I THOUGHT, THE GREAT PAPYRUS WAS ABLE TO HELP YOU LOCATE YOUR LAST ONE IN NO TIME AT ALL!!!"

"Thanks, Papyrus! I don't know what I would have done without your help."

the sickeningly sweet tone drops.

"...Now, can we go inside already?"

"OKIE DOKIE."

[daisynik7]

Cute as a Button

Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature

Word Count: ~3.2k

cw: switching POVs (2nd and 3rd person), explicit language, a confession, FLUFF

Summary: Mitsuya skips a session of sewing lessons, attempting to keep his distance after realizing his growing feelings for you. You’re left wondering where you stand with him, confused by his behavior the last time you saw him. Soon enough, you both realize that these feelings are too intense to ignore.

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience with this! I really love writing this story, so I’m doing my best trying to work on this while I continue my y2k karaoke party event. I know this doesn’t get that much traction, but I really do appreciate every single one of you who have read this so far. I’m excited to show you all how everything will play out! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! I would love to know what you think and maybe some predictions on what will happen in the future chapters. Thanks so much! 

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

It’s already past three in the morning and Mitsuya can’t sleep. 

He reaches his hand up towards the ceiling, grabbing at nothing, staring at his fingers, the same ones that gripped Shimizu’s wrist a few hours ago, held on to her so delicately that he’s left to wonder how it would feel to touch her again. Would his body ignite the same way it did? A spark electrifying from the tips of fingers all the way into his chest, heart pumping in overdrive with exhilaration. Touching her reminded him of when he first rode his motorbike at thirteen, adrenaline coursing through his veins, excited to indulge in something new. It’s different though; this time, it’s even scarier. 

He’s not sure what he wanted to say to her in that moment. Something overcame him that he can’t explain to himself. It was a rush of emotions that caused him to reach for her, to almost confess to her that maybe the odd feelings he’s been having lately are deeper than friendship. And it took that bastard Hanma to get him to finally realize it.

The asshole’s subtle threat made his blood boil. The sound of her name coming out of his mouth disgusted him enough to put an ache in his stomach. Draken had to console him when he became visibly upset, pacing the pavement, freaking out about what they should do now to keep her safe. His friend, as usual, managed to calm him until he was relaxed enough to drive back home. He said that everything would be fine, and that Hanma is full of shit. That there’s no way he would take any interest in Shimizu, and he’s only using her name to get a rise out of him. Draken’s explanation makes sense; he’s always the voice of reason. 

So why is Mitsuya still so concerned? He’s never felt this way before, this sense of dread consuming him to a point of keeping him awake in the dead of night. It would be reckless for him to bring her into his world. Someone as sweet and pure as her shouldn’t be tainted with the filth involved in being in a gang. Then again, Draken has Emma and Takemitchy has Hina. Both couples are as happy as can be. Can he have this too? With Shimizu?

He continues to toss and turn, sheets twisted between his legs, hand still tingling from touching her velvet soft skin. He needs more time to think this through. For now, he’ll keep his distance until he’s certain about what he’s feeling. 

During class, he stays in his corner of the classroom, keeping himself distracted as usual with his headphones on, nose buried in either his notebook or phone. Recently, after getting better acquainted, he’s been greeting Shimizu whenever he sees her. She usually takes her spot at the front of the class, besides her two friends. He manages to avoid her gaze throughout the week, making himself look busy as he secretly watches her from his peripheral. He’ll stare at the back of her head, not at all paying attention to the teacher’s lecture, instead focusing his attention on the way she tilts her head at a particularly intriguing bit of information. Or how she rests her elbow on the desk, leaning her face into her palm. Sometimes, she’ll whisper something to her buddies, giggling quietly at the funny comment she makes. And before he knows it, class is done, and the only thing he’s learned is how cute she is. 

Friday afternoon, he arrives in the home economics room, pacing the floor for a bit before he finally sits down, his back facing the door. He takes one of his projects out, one of Luna’s torn t-shirts he has to mend, but doesn’t pay any attention to it, carefully listening for any sounds coming from the hallway. Eventually, he recognizes her familiar footsteps approaching, and his chest constricts, throat tightening up with nerves. He doesn’t turn around to look at her as she walks in, greeting him politely, as she usually does. “Hey Mitsuya.” 

Without facing her, he mutters a rough, “Hey.” He clears his throat before continuing. “I’m canceling today’s lesson. Something came up.”

A beat of silence passes, then she asks, “Is everything okay?” The concern in her voice is endearing, as if she’s genuinely worried about him. 

Resisting the urge to look at her, he says, “Yeah. I forgot that I have something else to do right now.”

“Do you still need a sitter for the girls?” He can hear her step towards him, so close that if he just turned around, maybe he can touch her again…

He clenches his fists at his sides, closing his eyes shut. “No. Just go home.” The last part comes out curtly, completely unlike him. 

She doesn’t respond, waiting for any further explanation. When none comes, he hears her breath hitch, mumbling, “Okay. Have a good weekend, then.”

His listens to her footsteps disappear gradually in the distance, leaving him alone with a sinking feeling in his chest, longing for her presence. 

~~~

“Why isn’t Ms. Hana coming today?” Luna asks, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

Mana chimes in. “Yeah, where is Ms. Hana?”

Mitsuya ignores his sisters as he packs their bags with a few of their favorite toys and their jackets, in case they get cold. They continue to pester him. 

“Did the two of you get into a fight?” 

“Is Ms. Hana angry with us?”

“What did you do Taka?!”

The accusation causes him to snap. He whips around, glaring at them. “Oi! Just put your shoes on, okay? We’re eating dinner with Uncle Ken tonight.”

The little monsters frown at him, crossing them arms over their chests, defiant.

He rolls his eyes, adding, “Auntie Em is going to be there too.” 

At that, the girls relax, putting their shoes on without another word about Ms. Hana. One twenty-minute taxi ride later, the three of them stand outside Draken’s apartment complex, waiting to be buzzed in. As soon as they head up to his floor, they are welcomed happily by the couple, waving enthusiastically at the girls. 

“Hello princesses!” Draken beams, ruffling Luna and Mana’s hair as they hug him around the waist.

“Hi Uncle Ken!” they exclaim, immediately making their way towards Emma. “Hi Auntie Em!” They snuggle her belly gently with their faces, crooning, “Hi baby!” Mitsuya told his family about Emma’s pregnancy during breakfast the same week he found out. His sisters have been excited since. 

Emma giggles at the girls, petting their hair softly. “Do you want to see the picture?” She leads them into the living room, letting the two men handle the kitchen. Draken is making homemade pizzas tonight and tasks Mitsuya to cut some of the toppings while he preps an all-meat pie to go into the oven first. 

“Thanks for letting us come over last minute,” he says quietly, slicing a button mushroom on the cutting board. 

“No problem, man. You know how much we love the girls.” Draken pours a large ladle of tomato sauce over the dough, spreading it evenly. “What happened? Did your friend bail on you or something?”

He sighs. “More like I bailed on her.”

Draken hums, drizzling a layer of mozzarella cheese, covering the red. “Why’d you do that?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m kind of freaking out.”

He laughs, scattering crumbed sausage and pepperoni. “Calm and cool Takashi freaking out? You’re kidding.”

“I’m totally serious, man. It’s crazy.” He lets go of the knife, laying it flat on the counter, scooping the sliced mushrooms into a bowl, wiping his hands clean on a dish towel. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

His friend slides the pizza into the hot oven, setting the timer accordingly. Mitsuya leans against the counter, watching him wash his hands at the sink, patting them dry with a clean paper towel. He places his hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly with a smirk on his face. “That, my dude, means you like her. And not just as a friend, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he mutters, swatting his hand away, handing him the bowl of mushrooms. “Is this…okay though?”

Draken cooks the veggies on a hot skillet, seasoning them with salt and pepper, asking, “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“I don’t want to bring her into this life. Isn’t it dangerous for her to be involved with a delinquent like me?”

He scoffs, turning off the heat once everything is cooked down, setting it aside. “You’re the one that told me you’d be a different type of delinquent, remember? One that cares for his family. And besides, you hatefighting. Out of all the fucking numbskulls in Toman, you’re the least dangerous.”

He contemplates this for a good minute, observing Draken assemble the vegetarian pizza with the remaining ingredients. Sighing, he says, “I don’t know if she’d even go for me.”

The second pie is placed in the rack below the first, another timer set. Draken wipes his hands, untying his apron from the back, giving his fellow twin dragon his full attention. “You won’t know unless you try, right? I don’t think she’d be spending her Friday nights with those little monsters if she didn’t like you.”

“She’s just a really nice person. She probably only sees me as a friend.”

“Show her your romantic side, then. How do you think I got Emma?” he teases, pointing his thumb at her. “I’m not as suave as I seem, despite what everyone thinks of me.”

Mitsuya grins, punching his friend in the arm playfully. “C’mon, she was already obsessed with you from the start. You had it easy.”

“No way! I worked hard to get with her! She wanted to be wooed, so I wooed her! And if I can do it, so can you. You’re a better man than me, and that’s really saying something.” 

He smiles at him, feeling better than he did earlier today. “So you think I should confess to her?”

“Yeah, I do. You deserve to be happy. You’re always the one taking care of others, it’s about time someone takes care of you. And maybe Shimizu can do that for you.”

The timer beeps for the first pizza, interrupting their conversation. The girls in the other room hear the ding, cheering for the food being ready. They gather around the dining table, watching in awe as the cook cuts his creation with a pizza cutter, passing them each a slice. Emma fans their food with a paper plate, making sure it’s cool enough especially for the little ones to eat. Mitsuya sits silently in one of the chairs, Draken’s advice playing in his mind on a continuous loop, finally understanding what he needs to do. He’s already guilty for giving her the cold shoulder this afternoon; he won’t put this off any longer. Thankfully, there’s no Toman meeting tonight, so as soon as they’re home, he’ll call her to explain everything.

~~~

It's the first Friday you’ve had free in a month, and you spend it moping in your room, feeling sorry for yourself. 

You miss the sewing lessons, staring at all the new patches you bought, not knowing how stitch them on your jean jacket. You miss the girls, who always make you feel radiant when they look up at you with the biggest smiles on their faces. Most of all, and you’re scared to admit it, you miss Mitsuya. 

This isn’t just admiration anymore. It’s clear to you now what this is: You like him, you yearn for him. The kind twinkle in his eyes, his soothing voice guiding you, that gentle touch of your skin. You want more.

That’s why you’re particularly pitiful tonight. It could be your imagination, or your insecurities getting the best of you, but today, he was cold, completely opposite to how he’s been with you this entire time. He didn’t even look at you, not a single glance in your direction. His words came out harsh and emotionless, lacking any of the benevolence he usually conveys. Could it be that he discovered your secret crush on him? How could he when you didn’t realize it until now? Maybe he suspects it based on how you react to him. Have you really been that obvious? Worst of all, is he that disgusted by it that he no longer wants to spend time with you? So many questions race through your mind, all of them leading you to spiral, wondering what you did wrong. 

Your parents notice your quiet demeanor during dinner. “Hana, are you alright?”

You lie, forcing a grin as you answer your mother. “I’m fine.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve been home on a Friday,” your dad comments, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Aren’t you happy to have today off from babysitting?” 

“Sure,” you reply, scooping a spoonful of rice into your mouth, wanting this conversation to end.

“What’s that family’s name again? The Mitsuyas? I hope they’re treating you well.”

“They do, dad. Really well.”

“All that just for some sewing lessons. Really Hana, it doesn’t seem like a very fair trade – ”

“Okay, honey, that’s enough,” your mom interrupts, shooting him a look. “Hana seems to be enjoying it, that’s all that matters.”

He grumbles something under his breath, not speaking further about the subject. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t bring it up again the rest of the night. After dessert, you bid them goodnight, retreating back into your room to snuggle under a blanket, idly watching a TV show, trying not to think about Mitsuya. You’re probably overthinking this; he really must be busy with something else. 

By midnight, you get ready for bed, shutting off the lights to watch one more episode before you knock out. Halfway through, your eyes flutter closed on the verge of a sleep when your phone suddenly rings, startling you awake. You check it, confused as to who it could be at this time. When you see his name flash on the screen, your stomach turns, worried about why he would be calling you. Immediately, you answer, “Hello?”

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” His voice sounds mostly back to normal now, except for the hint of hesitance in his tone. 

“No, you didn’t. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s great, actually. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Thinking it’ll be through the phone, you respond quickly. “Sure.”

There’s shuffling in the background, keys jingling and a door shutting. “Can I come over? My sisters are asleep, and I won’t be long.”

You’re surprised at his suggestion, unsure what he could possibly want to discuss with you that has to be done in person. All too curious now, you agree, quickly changing into a sweater as he makes the short trip to your house. You wait for him outside, hugging yourself with your arms wrapped tightly around you, nervous for whatever he’s got to say. Soon, the headlights of his Impulse illuminate in the distance, shining brighter and brighter as he approaches you, slowing down to a stop in front of your driveway. He pops his helmet off, hanging it on one of the handles, a grin on his face as he greets you. “Hi.”

Warmth instantly surrounds your chest, heart beating a little faster in his presence. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry it’s so late. I just…I had to see you tonight.”

You swallow, saliva thick in your throat, anticipating. He continues. “I want to apologize for how I behaved earlier. I was freaking out and I wasn’t acting like myself. Still, that’s no excuse for how I treated you and I’m sorry.” 

So it wasn’t just your imagination. Even so, he didn’t treat you poorly. Sure, he was short with you, but it doesn’t warrant a grand apology like this. “Mitsuya, it’s really okay. You didn’t need to come all the way out here to apolo– ”

“That’s not all,” he interjects, taking a step forward, a step closer. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” He takes a few deep breaths while you wait patiently for him, body jittering with fret. Finally, he says, “I like you, Shimizu. I have feelings for you.”

You gulp again, probably louder this time, shocked by his admission. In utter disbelief, you blurt out, “As a friend?” You’ve seen too many dramas and romance movies to know that misunderstandings exist, so you ask it to make sure. After all, you’ve never been confessed to before. You’re almost convinced this is a dream until he holds your hand tenderly in his, thumb brushing your knuckles delicately. Is this really happening? And with him of all people, the person you actually like back?

He gazes at you, eyes soft with kindness, smiling. “As a friend, and more than that. Do you understand?”

You nod slowly, trying to process it.

His smile widens. “Good. That’s all I wanted to say tonight. Thank you for listening to me.” He squeezes your hand gently, pulling away to break apart. 

Before he can, you clench him firmly, keeping him in place. “I like you too, Mitsuya. As a friend, and more than that.”

He looks down at his feet, shaking his head. “You don’t have to say that – ”

It’s your turn to interrupt him this time, tugging him earnestly towards you. “I mean it! I’ve always liked you.”

He meets your gaze again. “Really?”

You shift your hand in his, interlocking his fingers with yours. “Yes.”

A goofy giggle escapes his mouth, and you can’t help but laugh with him, leaning closer to rest your forehead to his, noses barely brushing, lips nearly touching.

“Hana? What’s going on?” Your father’s concerned voice from the front door causes you to stagger backwards, separating quickly.  

You turn around to face him, waving him off. “Nothing!” you squeak, heat rushing into your cheeks, embarrassed about almost getting caught.

“Who is this boy?” He steps out in his fuzzy slippers, brows furrowed, inspecting Mitsuya carefully. Your mom, wrapped in her cozy robe, stands beside him, doing the same. 

“Takashi Mitsuya, sir. I’m sorry to bother you so late in the night. I just wanted to apologize to Shimizu for canceling our sewing lesson today. I’ll be going now.” He bows politely to your parents, sneaking a wink at you. “I’ll see you Monday?”

You nod at him, watching him swing one leg over his bike, snapping his helmet back on his head. He starts the engine, revving it while he cruises off into the direction he came in, returning to his own home. Once he’s gone, it’s dead silent except for the scattered chirping of crickets hidden in the grass. Both your parents have their arms crossed tight against their chests, stern expressions on their faces, waiting for you to explain. Instead, you feign a yawn, walking past them to head up the stairs. “Well, goodnight,” you mumble, rushing into your bedroom, locking it shut, snuggling into your pillow with the biggest smile on your face. 

[orbleglorb]

wip weds for tma/blb au

Every now and then, Nagomi got a "problem spirit" down in the Hellmouth. A "problem spirit" is much like a "problem child." The problem is not the spirit itself, but the spirit's circumstances and environment. If you can change that (or, when working with the dead, help them come to peace with it), the problem gets better. If the problem gets better, then Nagomi can do her job as psychopomp and the spirit will pass on.

Sasha was different, because Nagomi couldn't figure out what Sasha's problem was.

Usually, the problem was straightforward: carry out someone's dying wish, exact revenge, tell a loved one what happened to them, etc. And the ghost will make sure you know, too. Maybe they get confused every now and then, especially soon after death, but ghosts weren't normally always lost and confused. Ghosts usually weren't trapped in their final moments for months on end.

Nagomi found Sasha where she normally was: sat against the wall of eyes, with her legs drawn up to her chest and staring out into the distance. She'd never be able to find Sasha if she wasn't dressed in almost all yellow. Especially because the dark warped stone the eyes rested in was only a few shades of brown away from her skin tone. The eyes seemed to finally be losing their interest in her, all of them swiveling around or watching Nagomi as she entered. Nagomi tried to ignore them.

Nagomi stood in front of Sasha and poked her with the stick end of their scythe. "Hey, Sasha?"

Sasha didn't move. Didn't respond in any way. If she wasn't already dead, Nagomi would be checking for a pulse.

Let's keep going, Nagomi, Passenger said. 

Nagomi shook their head. No, we've been avoiding her for most of the week now. We need to talk to her at some point. Maybe she's gotten better.

When Sasha still didn't move, Nagomi kneeled down and shook her shoulder gently. "Sasha? You with me?"

It's common for ghosts, especially new ones, to have an impermanent form, switching between how they looked normally and how they looked when they died. Nagomi almost threw up every time Sasha reverted back to when she died. One minute, she was a whole person, then Nagomi blinked and her skin was halfway peeled off her body and a few maggots had found a home in her exposed muscles.

Nagomi flinched and looked away, shaking the feeling of exposed muscle off of her hand. Passenger reached out and grabbed a worm that made a home in Sasha's gore and flicked it away. It being a part of a ghostly visage, it faded out of existence before it hit the ground.

One more time. Then let's go, Passenger said.

Nagomi nodded.

"Sasha–"

"Jon?"

Nagomi looked back at Sasha, brow furrowed in confusion. "Jon" was new. And Sasha was whole again, looking a little past Nagomi with unfocused eyes. She desperately grabbed at Nagomi's hand.

"Jon, it's okay, Elias is–" 

"Sasha, I'm not Jon," Nagomi said. "I'm Nagomi. Remember?"

Sasha tilted her head. "No, where's Jon? I need to warn him and the others–"

"They're safe," Nagomi said. She hoped that was true.

"Where are they?"

"Um… at… home?"

Gomi, stop talking, Passenger hissed. 

"Well, do you have a better idea?" Nagomi bristled.

Sasha wasn't phased. She didn't even seem to have heard. 

"Jon, the CO2, it's going to– we need to get out before–"

"Sasha," Nagomi said gently, holding Sasha's hands, "You're safe. Everyone's safe. You're not in danger anymore. You're here, with me, in the He– um, in Utah. Oh, you're British, that's still worrying– Look, okay–"

"Is Tim okay?" Sasha asked. She probably hadn't even heard any of that.

"Yes."

Tim was one of the two names that repeated. Tim and Elias. All Sasha ever wanted to know was if Tim was okay and if Elias had manually activated the fire system yet. And every time, Nagomi said yes, and every time, it didn't change anything. She had never gotten a last name for Elias, but Sasha had mentioned Tim's last name exactly once. Stoker. That day, Nagomi didn't even wait until getting home before searching online for him. There weren't many folks with that name. The most recently alive person named Tim Stoker had died a few years ago. Stroke, according to his brother's Facebook post eulogizing him. (Nagomi was so desperate to get Sasha to move on, she fucking downloaded Facebook and made a profile to stalk people with.)

"Sasha, how did– how do you and Tim know each other?"

Sasha furrowed her brow slightly, still looking past Nagomi. "We met working in Research. Same place we met you." 

Maybe it's worth a shot pretending to be Jon, Passenger suggested.

"...Yeah, maybe…" Nagomi started, before realizing…

Sasha wasn't looking past Nagomi.

She was looking at Passenger.

"Passenger, do you… see her staring?" Nagomi asked.

Passenger's eyes all turned to focus on Sasha. Not the first time that's happened.

"No, no, she's not afraid. Just. Pretend to be Jon."

What?

"Just go with it. Humor me."

Passenger was silent for a few moments, but Nagomi could feel it buzzing. Sasha's gaze was getting more and more distant, and her form less corporeal.

"Passenger, please, we're losing her," Nagomi whispered.

Passenger cleared its throat. "Um. Hello! Sasha?"

Sasha looked back at Passenger, and, for once, looked fully lucid.

"Jon!" She exclaimed. "I got stuck in Artefact Storage. Did Elias get the fire system yet?"

"Um. Yes." Passenger rasped.

Sasha relaxed. "And it's killed the worms? And Prentiss?"

"Y…Yes… they are all gone now." 

Gomi, this doesn't feel right.

Keep going, Nagomi urged. I need all the information I can get. She won't remember, anyway.

Passenger cleared its throat again. "I. Uh. I'm afraid I forgot who Prentiss is! Could you remind me? All this… r… ruckus… has affected my memory."

"Did you hit your head?" Sasha asked, grabbing Nagomi and Passenger's head and examining it."We've been investigating her forever! Well, not forever, but, with Martin living here, it sure feels like– oh, yes, she attacked Martin, remember? Had him holed up in his flat for days. He has to sleep in the Archives now. Well, not anymore, since Prentiss is dead. The CO2 killed her by itself?"

"Yes…?" Passenger said, shaking Sasha's touch away. "Can you tell me how Prentiss attacked Martin?"

"Same way she attacked us, except… less. Tried to infest him with her worms, and when he escaped, she stalked his apartment. Kept trying to push worms through. He gave you a statement about it, it'll be in the box of tape recorded ones. Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

"I'll go to the doctor later today. Um. Thanks. Are… are you okay?"

"Oh, tired as hell, but alright. No worms, I've checked. Maybe I should check again, though… oh, hey, I saw something in that table while in Artefact Storage! The creepy one."

"Ah. Yes. The creepy table. That we all know so well. What did you see?"

Sasha's face scrunched up in thought. "A… person, I think? I can't remember it very well. I… can't focus on it. Every time I try to remember what they looked like, my mind just… slips off of them."

"And. Er. Could you remind me what this creepy table looks like?"

"The really ornate one you're always talking about being hypnotic, remember? We just got it earlier this summer. Might've been this month, actually. It's in a few statements, I think. Do you want me to describe it again, for this recording?"

"Yes. Uh, if you don't mind?"

Nagomi pulled her phone out and began typing all of this information in her notes app.

Sasha sighed. "Alright. It's a large, dark, wooden table with an optical illusion carved into the top. There's a piece cut out of it where a box is supposed to go. I mean, I suppose a box is supposed to go there. It's too clean of a cut to not be carved out for a purpose, and it's cube-shaped. It was in… ugh, which statement was it? I know it was in the one with the lady whose neighbor was supposedly replaced by a doppelgänger. The table belonged to the man who was replaced. I could have sworn it was in another one, but maybe not…"

"That's alright. Thank you," Passenger said.

Gomi, do we need anything else?

Nagomi stared at the notes in her phone. 

Her last name.

"And, for the record, could you, um, state your full name for me?"

"Oh, right," Sasha laughed. "Statement of Sasha James, about the worm takeover in the Archives. Recorded direct from subject, 29th July, 2016," she said in a funny voice, like she was humoring someone, or poking fun at them. "Wait, is it still the 29th?"

"Y… Yes. Yes it is. Um. Long day."

"Two-thousand sixteen? Did I hear that right?" Nagomi whispered.

Yes. Sasha must have died a long, long time ago.

"Need anything else before I head home?" Sasha asked.

Passenger cleared its throat. "No. No, you're, uh, free to go home. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. See you tomorrow, I guess," Sasha laughed bitterly.

Sasha stood and walked through Nagomi– a feeling she never got used to– and went deeper into the Hellmouth. With every step, she gradually disappeared, until she was gone.

I didn't think that would work, Passenger said. 

Nagomi barely noticed that it had said anything. She was busy studying the wall of eyes, which was quite busy studying her back.

"...She thought you, an amorphous mass of black covered in eyes, was someone she knew. And she always hangs around the wall of eyes. Doesn't that seem like a weird coincidence to you?"

Certainly, but it's not uncommon for ghosts to want to be witnessed.

"No, it's not just… I don't know. I can't explain it."

Maybe you can after you sleep.

Nagomi sighed. "Yeah. Good point."

[adore-laur]

BULLSEYE: PART TWO

— last part unfortunately due to lack of inspiration (ends on a cliffhanger btw)

| The Girl | 

Port ships stationed on choppy waters blare their horns outside Shyla's apartment window. The pane is coated with dispersed rain droplets from the thunderstorm that just faded. 

In the foyer, cardboard boxes stuffed to the brim collect dust as remaining possessions slowly trickle out of their previous positions and into them. The cupboard above the kitchen sink is now empty of hand-painted mugs and colorful bendy straws. Secondhand art pieces have been taken down from the plastered walls of her bedroom. Flowers once quenched in vases are now wilted and ready to be thrown away, the dying petals symbolizing the approaching absence of their caretaker. 

There's nothing else to be said or done. The moving truck will arrive tomorrow, and Shyla will finally detach herself from her poisonous living situation. No more nights being woken up by someone drunkenly stumbling through the front door. No more petty arguments over whose turn it is to wash the dishes, resulting in her doing the chore anyway. No more staring at the ceiling while her friends engage in plans she wasn't invited to. 

It's a fresh start. Onwards to greener grass. 

Perched on the windowsill, Shyla overlooks the gloomy scenery of her hometown. Dull roads, dull buildings, and even duller personalities; it's all so uninspiring to her. The city may look like a seaside harbor of dreams to tourists, but she has lived in the façade her whole life. She knows everyone will eventually become sick of the monotony. 

It seems like everyone has gotten sick of her. People are dwindling out of her life, and while most of the reasonings feel like her fault, she's still finding herself so lonely that she thinks she should've just kept her friends around to keep a tiny piece of her social life intact. Alas, she chose to distance herself from the only friends she had left. She doesn't feel too regretful since they never gave her the time of day. They probably aren't too affected by what happened. 

Shyla was habituated to being walked over like a doormat and thrown around like a rag doll. Emotional bruises from the mental abuse tainted her soul, and it led her to believe that she was completely blindsided by their spiteful ways of showing what she thought was friendship. Now, moving forward, she knows better than to ignore the warning signs. It's as if a switch flipped the night she called them after they left her stranded in an unfamiliar place. 

The flip switched because of Harry. When he told her to screw her friends when she wanted to say goodbye to them at the pub. When he told her he could clearly see how terribly they treated her. How unsettled he was when they left without her. How he tried to convince her to stay with him. It's worth wondering if things would be different if she hadn't said no. 

It doesn't help that Shyla has been failing miserably at not thinking about him. His dimpled smile. His gentle hands. His leather jacket she took off just so she could feel his warm skin as they danced to Dolly. She was convinced she'd forget about him as soon as she woke up in her bed, but he was the first thought clouding her mind before her eyes fluttered open. 

It's been over a week since she left Lurgashall. Her ex-friends are returning to Portsmouth tomorrow, and she'll only have to suffer one night with the girl she lives with before she officially moves out. Her belongings will be moved into a hotel room until she can find an affordable apartment. She would have stayed with her aunt, but she thinks she'd go insane being stuck in a house with a blood relative. It feels backwards to think that way, but her aunt isn't necessarily the most easygoing person. 

Lost in her thoughts, Shyla waits for the hours to pass by. The grey Monday skies make time move slower than usual. She can't think of anything else to do since most of everything is already packed, the hotel reservation is booked, and her body is ready to get the hell out of the apartment. 

A rhythmic knock on the front door halts her brooding. With a heavy sigh, she stands and walks over to the door, putting on a fake smile for the unexpected visitor. Briefly looking through the peephole, she's surprised to see the postman, Edgar, with a satchel full of mail slung over his shoulder. She unlocks the chain and cracks open the door, her mind scrambling at what could possibly be here for her, considering she already got her weekly mail from the lobby. 

"Delivery from... Lurgashall, West Sussex," Edgar says slowly, reading from the envelope. "Not sure where that is. There's no name, and I was told it's fragile, so I didn't want to just drop it in your parcel locker." 

Shyla feels her heart drop to her stomach. It can't be. But who else would write to her from a place she spent no more than a day in? Well, the three stooges are still there, but she knows for a fact that they would never go out of their way and send her something, especially a handwritten letter. 

Her mouth opens and closes as she attempts to speak through her jumbled thoughts about what it could be. "I—um, thanks. Thank you. I think I know who it's from. Have a nice day, Edgar." 

He waves goodbye and strolls down the hallway as Shyla closes the door and puts her back against it. The thick envelope feels like a metaphorical anchor in her hand, pulling her down until she slides to the floor. 

What she's holding has been touched by Harry. He pushed the lead onto the paper, sealed it, and sent it to her address. He thought of her. Shyla releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding and bravely glances down. She assumes he got her address when she wrote her information on the waiver the day she went horseback riding. The front of the envelope is blank except for the return address with no name and a horseshoe stamp in the top right corner. 

When she flips it over, she gasps and holds it against her chest as if she's in a period drama and just got a letter from her lover off at war. However, she feels her reaction is appropriate because a sketch is on the envelope's seal. It's a minimalistic style that resembles Harry's tattoo sketches of hands reaching out to touch one another. She doesn't know what it insinuates, but the mere fact that he had drawn it makes her shake with anticipation. 

Shyla inhales deeply before carefully ripping the seal open. She immediately sees something wrapped in bubble wrap, the cause of such a chunky envelope; it must be why Edgar said it was fragile. She takes it out and begins unwrapping it.

What lies in her palm is a pink dart. 

Shyla squeezes her eyes shut and leans her head against the door, the cold surface juxtaposing the blazing object between her fingers. Why must he pull her back in so easily with a simple gesture? How does he know how to make her feel things she hasn't even discovered yet? 

She opens her eyes and takes out the neatly folded paper inside the envelope. Skimming over the words, she notices Harry's handwriting is messy but eligible nonetheless. 

Shyla, 

I haven't heard from you since you left, and I can't help but feel that I'm the reason why. I hope you're doing well. Did you make it back to Portsmouth safely? Have you found another place to stay yet? 

Do you think of me like I've been thinking of you? 

Your name plays like a record in my head, falling from my lips with constant yearning. Your touch is engraved on my skin, leaving a burning, physical ache. I want to swim in the melted honey of your eyes. I long for one more taste of your lips. I need to hear the softness in which you speak your persuasive words. 

Please talk to me. Or if you never want to hear from me again, just tell me. Let me down gently, and I will try to move on. If not, you know where to find me. I will wait for you. 

Also, I believe we have a game of darts to finish. 

Yours regardless, 

Harry 

Shyla reads the words repeatedly until she can't make them out anymore due to tears blurring her vision. Why hasn't she called him? How could she think she could forget about a man with such a kind soul? She can't leave him hanging. He doesn't deserve that. 

She runs her fingers over the graphite like she did in his cabin with his sketches. He's the only one who has scratched deeper than the surface of who she is. He's the only one who has cared enough about how people treat her. He's the only one to have spoken up about it and convinced her to break away from that toxic part of her life she's been holding on to for far too long. 

She needs to see him again. 

After folding the letter, she rushes to grab her car keys and wallet. A trip to the post office will surely pass the time and help ease the ache clawing at her heart. 

—— 

| The Boy | 

Another shift at the ranch moves by like molasses since no reservations are booked for the day. Warbler birds chirp incessantly under the afternoon sun as the dusty roads absorb the heat. The room is stale, with dust particles floating around in the natural light. The wood floors creak with any sudden movement, and the papers tacked onto the wall flutter when the wind picks up, the front door propped open like always. 

Harry's father is in the outlying pasture next to the ranch, giving a customer an equestrian lesson. Harry was left to run the front desk by himself in case anyone comes by, but he doubts that will happen. It's Wednesday; he's sure everyone would rather be inside enjoying air conditioning on such a humid day. 

Sitting behind the counter, he twirls a pen between his fingers and wishes time would pass faster. It's muggy out, causing his forehead to sweat as he looks out the window for any sign of life to bring him a distraction. He'll usually bring his sketchbook, but on days with his father around, he wants to avoid him walking in on him drawing tattoo ideas. He can't imagine how he'd react. 

Harry is hungover. It's no surprise, though; he's been at the pub every night for the past week, always staying within the bar area in case the phone rings. He hasn't been playing darts, the memory of brown skin and soft whispers invading his mind to the point where even if he did play, he would be too distracted to do any good. A local always ends up having to drive him home. He then wakes up with a pounding headache and internally debates about not going to work so he doesn't snap at someone, especially his father. 

The cycle slowly demolishes any relish for life he has left in him. He can't sleep. When he manages to get a couple of hours, his dreams aren't pleasant anymore. Some nights, he doesn't even dream at all.         

When he's not at the pub or the ranch, he's in his cabin all alone. But he doesn't find solace in that loneliness anymore. Now, he just walks around aimlessly, trying to find something to numb his thoughts — drinking, sketching, reading. He'll read a sappy romance novel to try and feel anything, but the lovesick words on the pages only make him crave what he experienced with Shyla. 

After another uneventful hour of twiddling his thumbs and ignoring the magnitude of his unhappiness, Harry hears the postal truck stop at the mailbox by the front porch. He sputters his lips and walks out the door. It's probably bills or business forms his father takes care of. 

He opens the wooden flap and sees only one letter today. A small white envelope with pretty cursive written on the front stands out against the dark interior of the mailbox. He gently takes it out and brings it closer to his face. It has his name in the middle, and there's a sticker in the corner with an address from Portsmouth. Can it be…?

Harry has to kneel so he doesn't pass out from shock. She got his letter. She wrote back. 

He glances over his shoulder to ensure his father isn't lurking around before he tears the seal open. He removes and unfolds the creased paper inside, his eyes immediately taking in her delicate and slanted handwriting. It makes sense for it to look like that. 

The ink is bold against the white paper. Harry looks up at the sky and swallows harshly before reading the words that could either break his heart or make him the happiest man in Lurgashall. 

Harry, 

I got your letter and the dart. Stealing business property, are we? 

That's not the point. The point is that I want to see you again. I'm an idiot to think I could just ignore you. I'm sorry if it came across that I never wanted to speak to you again. I've been stressed and busy. 

To answer your question, I'm staying at a hotel until I find somewhere to live. As for your other question, I've also been thinking about you. I miss your hands. I miss how easy it is to talk to you. I miss dancing together. 

I'm in the middle of moving right now, but I should be situated by next week. If you'll have me, I'd love to come back to Lurgashall and meet somewhere. Does next Monday work for you? 

If so, get ready for me to kick your ass in darts. 

Love, 

Shyla 

Harry grips the letter like it's his life source, reading the words I want to see you again over and over until his eyes hurt from the closeness in which he's viewing the paper. He slams the mailbox shut and strides back into the ranch, stumbling behind the counter to take out several cardboard boxes kept under it. The junk gets tossed onto the floor and makes a clatter. He finally finds the box that stores envelopes, and he's never moved faster to grab one.

Shyla, 

Monday is perfect. Guess what? Karaoke night at the pub is on that day. It must be your psychology degree coming in handy. Wait... is that what psychology is? I left school at an early age, so go easy on me. Anyway, I'll wait for you at the pub at 9 PM. 

I'm glad you're moving to a new place. It'll be good for you. I can't wait to see you again.

Don't forget to bring your lucky pink dart. Otherwise, I'm not sure there will be any ass-kicking involved on your end. Please drive safely. 

Take care, 

Harry 

He sets the pen down and rests his forehead on the counter, breathing a disbelieving laugh. He shakes his head before standing straight and tucking the letter in the envelope. As he walks out the back door to the stables, he licks the seal and keeps his footsteps quiet. His father can't see him from where he is far out in the pasture, so Harry sneakily mounts his horse and rides to the village's post office to send the letter as soon as possible. No way is he waiting for the mail to come tomorrow. 

As he passes the pond and the willow tree's drooping branches, his heart feels like it's been healed by her simple words on a crinkly piece of paper. 

—— 

| The Girl | 

It's the following Monday, and Shyla is five minutes away from Lurgashall. She drives through the night to get to the pub. She had written back and said she'd meet him at his suggested time. 

Her suitcase and duffel bag are in the trunk, clunking against the interior as she drives on a bumpy stretch of road. The highways drastically transformed into vacant backroads surrounded by expansive fields. She doesn't know how long she'll be staying, so she packed a bunch of clothes and other essential items she might need. The boxes at her old apartment had been moved into a new complex in Portsmouth. She wasn't looking for anything fancy, just a simple one-bedroom place she could eventually make into her own.

Shyla turns down the volume of a Fleetwood Mac song playing through the car's speakers as she enters the pub's gravel parking lot. She gets hit with d��jà vu when she remembers how excited she was to come last time, only to have the night end horribly. This time around, she's walking in by herself and will be around someone who listens and cares. 

Tonight, it'll just be her and Harry. 

He mentioned karaoke night in his letter, so she assumes it will be lively inside. Before opening the car door, she checks herself in the rear-view mirror to ensure she looks presentable. She's makeup-less just in case it's humid in the small room. She wears high-waisted jeans with a few rips and a grey crop top. 

Shyla takes a deep breath and mentally prepares herself to see him again. It's been about two weeks, and she wonders if things will be awkward between them. It's easy to write letters and prepare what you want to say beforehand, but when it's face-to-face, there's a hypercritical pressure to say the right thing.

After fixing her hair, she finally gains the courage to leave her car. She locks it and begins walking to the wooden door as her shoes crunch the gravel beneath them, and it's what she focuses on instead of the nervousness twisting her stomach into knots. She can hear muffled chatter and music that only gets louder when she finally opens the final barrier between her and Harry. 

Once she passes the threshold, she's instantly consumed with the same feeling she had the last time; overwhelmed but comfortably so. She has missed the ambiance of the pub even though she's only been to it once before. Everyone is too preoccupied with themselves to see her arrive, and she's thankful for the lack of perception the people here partake in. Her eyes dance around the room, searching for Harry, first looking at the dartboard in the corner to see if he's already playing a game. He's not there, so she looks behind the bar to see if he might be serving drinks tonight. 

As she scans the preoccupied stools for his curly head of hair, it doesn't even register in her mind that the music playing is coming from the karaoke stage set up in the back. She eventually homes in on a beautiful voice singing along to an instrumental.

Shyla stands on her tiptoes to look over the crowd of people in front of her. That voice is calling to her. She politely excuses herself several times while navigating through the bodies until she's at the front. Her breath catches in her throat when she finally has a clear view of the makeshift stage. 

Harry.

Her jaw drops in shock as she watches him. He sits on a stool, his legs spread casually, and holds a wired microphone in his hand while he sings along to the instrumental of "Ain't No Sunshine" by Bill Withers. He wears see-through yellow sunglasses, a yellow graphic tee, and velvet brown pants. His face is screwed up as he vocalizes on top of the violins and smooth beat of the song, his voice the perfect mixture of raspy yet smooth. The way the notes and vibratos flow from his throat seems effortless. 

Shyla is awestruck. She can't stop looking at him. It's like they're the only two people in the room as everything else becomes static noise. A few pub patrons admire Harry along with her, while the rest discourse and drink elsewhere. She thinks she could listen to his voice for the rest of her life. She thinks Dolly Parton's voice is like honey, but Harry's is like a silky stream of liquid gold that melts and aligns in the crevices of her soul just right. 

Shyla's hand raises to her chest, feeling her heart pound strongly. Harry's voice fades as the song ends, and claps and whistles are thrown his way. She joins in, still not able to process what she just witnessed. Harry's hands come together in a silent gesture of gratitude before he bows his head shyly. His eyes rove the room until they land on hers. His body is frozen in the motion of getting off the stool, but then he blinks once and smiles wider than Shyla has ever seen. He offers a small wave before handing the microphone to the person next in line. He jerks his head toward the back door, and Shyla snaps out of her reverie, beginning to follow him out while wiping her sweaty palms against her jeans. 

Once outside, they stand facing each other under the red glow of the exit sign. No one is around except crickets chirping in the tall weeds growing around the pub. It's a little chilly, and Shyla shivers as she rubs her hands up and down her arms to create circulation. Harry holds up one finger as a signal to wait before returning inside. 

Shyla slaps her face several times while she waits, trying to remain calm. She can't believe it's happening. She looks at the streetlamps that illuminate the fields behind the pub and hopes everything goes well tonight. 

Moments later, Harry comes out holding his brown leather jacket. He hands it to her.

"Thank you. I didn't realize it would be this cold," Shyla says quietly as she engulfs her body in the garment. It smells like the cologne he wore when they played darts. 

"Yeah, it gets nippy here at night." He sets his sunglasses on the top of his head and sighs happily. "Hi. You're really here." 

Shyla giggles and admires his now clearly visible eyes. "I'm here. It's nice to see you again, Harry. You look really good." 

"You're absolutely beautiful," he says, gazing across her face and body. "I didn't know if you'd actually come back." 

"I know. I'm so sorry I didn't call or write—" 

"Shy," he interrupts softly. "I understand, okay? I didn't know you were busy with moving, so I just stupidly assumed you were done with me. You were going through shit and needed some time for yourself. Don't worry about it." 

"Well, I'm glad you wrote to me. Otherwise, I would've thought you were done with me too." 

"Why would you think that?" He steps closer and cradles Shyla's cheeks, tilting her head up. "You haven't left my mind. I've been feeling miserable about how we left things." 

"Same here," she says. "Can we… maybe go to your cabin to talk more? Only if it's okay with you. It's just that it's cold, and someone could see us and—" 

Harry's mouth is on hers instantly, stopping her nervous rambling. Shyla melts into him just as he pulls back too quickly for her liking, her bottom lip snapping back in place. Her gaze darts between his eyes as he rubs his thumb along her cheek. 

"Sorry. I should've asked—" 

Shyla cuts him off, this time with her lips against his. Harry hums lowly as his brows furrow, tilting her head more for better access. He kisses her deeply, and Shyla's hands crawl under his shirt to feel his warm, soft skin under her fingertips. They graze the trail of coarse hair under his belly button, causing his stomach to twitch and then relax. She switches to kissing his top lip and notices that there's not as much hair above it since the last time she saw him. 

They finally run out of breath and part. Shyla removes her greedy hand from under his shirt, and Harry removes his hands from her cheeks. 

"Let's go to my place," he whispers, his mouth glistening. 

"Yes," she replies pleadingly. "I can drive us. I have my luggage in my car, and we can listen to music on the way. There's actually a song I wanted to introduce you to." 

Harry smiles. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's hope you're better at steering a car than a horse." 

Shyla playfully scrunches her nose at him before they both start walking around the pub to get to her car. The headlights flash as she presses the unlock button, and she gets in the driver's seat. Harry smoothly slides into the passenger side. She twists the key in the ignition, and her Bluetooth automatically connects and plays a song. They both jolt at the loud volume, and Shyla embarrassingly turns it down before grabbing her phone to scroll through her playlist. In her peripheral, she sees Harry reach over to buckle her seatbelt while she finds the song. 

"So, I know you like Dolly Parton and Shania Twain. Country isn't my favorite genre, but for some reason, women artists just hit different, you know?"

Harry leans his elbow on the console and nods with an intrigued expression. 

"There's this one song that I've loved since I was a kid," she continues. "Like, it's one of the first memories I can remember with my mom because she would always play it in the car. It's called "This Kiss" by Faith Hill, and it's one of the best songs ever created." 

"The name rings a bell. Play it. Let's see if the lyrics come back to me." 

Shyla excitedly shifts in her seat and presses play before reversing out of the parking lot. She turns the volume up and grooves her head to the beginning instrumental, smiling when Harry does the same. She begins singing as she drives along the empty roads. 

When the euphoric chorus hits, she shouts the lyrics. Something about being around Harry brings out fortuitous bursts of confidence. 

"This kiss, this kiss!" Harry joins in as they both point at each other. "Unstoppable!" 

When the key change comes, they're at a stop sign with no one else on the streets. They lean their heads against the headrests and look at each other during the final chorus. Harry grabs Shyla's face, squishing her cheeks and mouthing the lyrics with his lips brushing against hers. 

She doesn't want to keep driving; she wants to stay in this moment forever. 

They continue singing all the way to his cabin. Harry gives her directions, and the song ends just as she slows down on his long driveway weaving through the woods. She parks under the balcony and shuts the car off, the absence of music creating a deafening silence. She turns to Harry and notices the rings on his fingers. His hands are incredibly attractive.

She shakes her head to eliminate the dangerous thought as Harry says, "I'll grab your stuff. You can go inside and get comfortable. The door is unlocked."

"Oh, thank you. Sorry if they're heavy. I didn't know how much to pack." 

"Not to brag, but I can carry a sixty-pound saddle with one hand. I think I'll be able to handle it," Harry teases while stepping out of the car.

She scoffs lightheartedly and begins walking up the stairs to the balcony. She gets hit with a second wave of déjà vu when she passes the jacuzzi, her skin growing hot when she recalls what they did in it. She'll never look at one the same way again.

Making her way through the door and turning the light switch on, Shyla smiles at the immediate comfort she receives from his home. It makes her feel safe. Harry eventually comes in with her suitcase rolling behind him and her duffel bag slung on his shoulder. 

"I'm so tired," Shyla says as she flops on his couch. 

"Well, my bed is more comfortable," he replies, walking up the stairs to his loft. "Please shut the lights off before you come up." 

She doesn't hesitate to slip her shoes off and set his leather jacket on the arm of the couch. Shyla hasn't been in his room yet, and Harry seems to be inviting her, so she smiles giddily and follows him. 

The string lights wrapped around the railing make the room more visible as Shyla takes in his quilted blanket-covered bed. There's one window in the middle of the back wall and a wooden bathtub in the corner. She also notices that he has an intricately carved dresser with a retro record player and a stack of vinyl on it. 

"I picked some out for us before you got here, but if you're too tired, we don't have to dance tonight," Harry says, folding the quilt back. 

"I think it'd be good for us to get some sleep," Shyla replies while sitting on his bed. 

"Agreed. Um, I can… take the couch," he mumbles as he begins searching through the drawers. 

"Why?" Did she misread the situation? Or is he just being a gentleman? 

"I-I just didn't know if you'd be comfortable sleeping together. It's been two weeks and—" 

"Harry, I rode your thigh the night I met you," she says boldly. "I wouldn't come all this way just to be away from you." 

His hands tighten around the shirt he picked out. "Really?" 

She pats the bed and scoots over so she's closer to the wall. "Yes. Come over here." 

"Okay," he murmurs while taking off his shoes. "I don't even wear a shirt to bed, so I don't know why I'm looking for one. I got nervous." He rubs his forehead and puts the garment back in the top drawer before shutting it. 

"Don't be nervous. We've got time to reacquaint ourselves." 

"Right." Harry shuts the lights off and climbs into bed, taking his shirt off. "Are you going to sleep in those clothes?" 

"If I get up to change, I'll lose my tiredness." 

"Wow. Sleeping in jeans is when you know you've hit rock bottom," he says as he slides under the covers. He takes his pants off before turning on his side to face her. 

"If rock bottom is here, then I don't want to leave," she mumbles against his pillow. 

It's silent for a brief moment before he whispers, "Please be here when I wake up."

Her eyes search for him in the dark. "I promise. Goodnight, Harry. Sweet dreams." 

He inches closer to place a blind kiss on her face. "Night, Shy." 

—— 

| The Boy | 

There's a heavy knocking on the door downstairs. Why is it so loud? What time is it? Is it part of a residual dream?

Harry grumbles and squints his eyes against the sunlight beaming through the window. He feels something resting against his chest, and when he looks down, he sees Shyla's cheek pressed against where his heart is. Slow breaths leave her parted lips as she sleeps peacefully.

A relieved sigh escapes him. Thank goodness she didn't leave. 

She apparently can't hear the knocking, and since he doesn't want it to wake her up, he gently slides out from under her to confront whoever it is. He tucks her in, closes the curtains, and then puts on his pants from yesterday. Heading downstairs with soft footsteps, he yawns as he walks toward the persistent pounding. 

When he opens the door, he comes face-to-face with his father. He looks angrier than usual. Maybe because— oh, fuck. He completely forgot he had work today. 

"I expect a phenomenal excuse, boy," says his father. Harry instinctively shrinks into himself. "You were supposed to be at work an hour ago. It's seven already." 

There's no way he can tell him about Shyla. He can't know she's here with him, sleeping in his bed. His father would go berserk. 

"I got really drunk last night and passed out here. I forgot to set my alarm," he lies, scratching his head. 

"That's the best you've got? I can easily count how many times you've come to work hungover. Why is today the day you don't feel up to it, huh? For heaven's sake, you—" 

"Dad," he says with a groan. He really doesn't want to deal with his explosive nature this early. "It won't happen again. I'll come right now, okay? I'll work overtime today." 

His father shakes his head disappointedly. "You're lucky there's no one waiting for a tour. Get a move on. Otherwise, you're not getting paid today." 

Harry nods and rubs his tired eyes. "Okay. Give me ten minutes." 

"You probably reek of whiskey. Take a shower and fix your piss-poor mood." 

He has to bite his tongue so as not to talk back. He wants to tell him that if he just drove him to work, he'd be there faster. Alas, his father has never been a logical man. 

Without another word, his father slams the door shut, shaking the picture frames on the walls. Harry chews on the inside of his cheek to stop the irritation from taking over his body. He kicks the door before making some coffee. 

While it's brewing, he returns to the loft to check on Shyla. She's still lying down, but her eyes are now open. She must have heard everything. 

"Shyla, I'm so sorry," he murmurs as he finds an outfit. "I forgot I have work this morning, and now my father's pissed." 

She smiles and sits up against the headboard. "That's okay. Sorry for distracting you." 

"It's not your fault at all." He glances back at her tired eyes as he jumps into a pair of blue jeans. He then throws on a plain white shirt and shoves his feet into his boots.

"Still. It's our first day together again, and you have to leave." 

"That's on me. I should've had you come when I wasn't working, but it was karaoke night, and I wanted to see you as soon as possible. I feel terrible." 

"Hey, don't worry about it." Shyla sits at the edge of the bed. "I can stay here, right?" 

He sits beside her and admires how the morning sun strikes her skin. "Of course. You can make yourself something to eat. And, um, I've got books and records you can look through," he says meekly, hoping his cabin doesn't appear dull. 

"I'm sure I'll find something. Just know I'll be here when you get back." 

"Okay. I'll try to get out of working overtime. I'm sure it won't be too busy today.

She nods. "I'll walk you out." 

He watches her stretch, her shirt riding up to show a sliver of smooth skin. Then they go downstairs, Harry grabbing his filled coffee mug before he opens the front door. They lean against the frame and face each other. 

Harry clears his throat and says, "You should pick out some records for us to dance to tonight."

"I'd like that." Shyla runs a hand through her hair. "Have a good shift, okay? Don't let your father get in your head." 

"I won't." He gives her a soft smile and moves closer. "Maybe we can go to the pub and finish that game of darts." 

She wraps her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek sweetly. "That sounds perfect. I'll see you soon." 

He blushes and looks at the ground. Should he kiss her? Maybe a hug would be safer? He's overthinking everything. 

"Bye," he blurts. 

"Bye, Harry." 

He exhales and decides to just go for it. Slowly, he places his palm on her cheek just as Shyla looks up at him with those brown eyes that melt him. He kisses her. It's an innocent kiss, nothing more than a long caress of her bottom lip. After breaking away, he rests his forehead against hers, and they both smile like fools. 

He leaves with one last kiss before heading out. Walking down the driveway, he feels elated, knowing he gets more time with her when he arrives home. 

—— 

| The Boy & The Girl | 

Shyla spends the next eight hours getting acquainted with Harry's cabin. She observes every nook and cranny, not in a nosy way, but just because she genuinely wants to see everything that makes him who he is. She still doesn't know much about him and plans to ask him questions tonight without distractions. 

It's now four in the evening, and the sun still shines through the gaps of the tall pine trees outside. She made breakfast and lunch, looked through his book collection, and picked out some records. Now, she sits on his couch and waits for him. The sun will set soon, and she's looking forward to going to the pub later so they can finish their game of darts. 

Just as she's about to skim another book, she hears what sounds like hooves walking on gravel outside the windows she opened earlier. She goes to the one by the front door and sees Harry riding a horse as he chews on a Twizzler—not just any horse, but the same one she rode when she went horseback riding. 

Harry smirks at her confused expression. He also notices that she's changed out of her clothes from last night and into leggings and a white low-cut top with a string halter around her neck. He pulls back on the reigns and steadily dismounts Quake. He decided to bring the horse Shyla would be most comfortable with, not wanting to scare her by bringing his stallion.

Shyla walks over to them with uneasy steps, and he beckons her closer. "Uber's here," he says, grabbing Quake's purple bridle and guiding him toward her. 

"I think Lurgashall should have a horse and carriage ride share company," Shyla says as she timidly pets Quake. 

He laughs. "Let's ride to the pub." 

Shyla quirks an eyebrow. "What do you mean ride?" 

"On Quake. I mean, I did bring him all the way here. He told me he likes you." 

She pretends to mull it over as Harry drapes his arms around her shoulders and brings her in for a hug. He whispers, "You can hold onto me the entire time. I won't let you get hurt. Let's go inside and get ready, yeah?" 

Shyla nods and returns to the cabin as Harry ties Quake to a post. He then follows her to his loft, wiping sweat off his neck with his shirt. He sees Shyla place her suitcase on the bed, stuffed with many garments.

"Why don't you pick out an outfit for me to wear tonight?" he murmurs as he squeezes her upper arms. 

"Are we dressing casually or formally for our incredibly serious dart competition?"

"Hmm... we should be fancy. Did you pack anything like that?" 

"I might have brought a dress," she says, pressing her ass back against him. When she moves away, she hears his dissatisfied sigh. It's fun riling him up.

"Well, while you get ready, I'm going to give Quake a snack." Harry points to his dresser full of outfits, ranging from tattered sweatshirts to crisp button-ups. "Pick out anything you want. Make it good." 

Shyla hums an affirmation as he heads down the stairs. She begins sifting through his drawers, going through shorts, boxers, and different shades of jeans. When she gets to the bottom drawer, she moves some frayed sweaters around and stumbles upon something unlike his other clothing: a black leather jacket and pants. 

She touches the textured material, removes it from the drawer, and places it on his bed. She could never be confident enough to wear leather, but she has a feeling Harry could pull it off. Where could he have possibly worn this before? It almost looks unused. 

When Harry returns, he stops when he sees what Shyla laid out for him. He clears his throat and slowly walks toward the bed. 

"That's what you want me to wear?" he asks, picking up the pristine jacket. 

"Yes," she says hesitantly. "Is it too much? I can find something else if—" 

"Shyla." Her mouth snaps shut at his low tone. "You want me to wear this with no shirt on underneath and my tits out for everyone to see? Are you sure you can handle that?" 

She swallows and nods her head. "You look really good in leather." 

"Yeah? Leather it is, then." 

He begins taking off his clothes, and Shyla distracts herself by looking through her bag to find the dress she packed. She pulls out her black suede heels and silver slip dress she brought in case they went anywhere fancy. The hem falls to her mid-thigh, and the scooped neckline is loose around her cleavage. Before she zips her bag, she remembers that she brought the pink dart with her. It's in the mesh pocket of her bag, and she slyly takes it without him seeing it and puts it in her bra. She then goes to the bathroom to change. 

Once her dress and shoes are on, Shyla splashes her face with cold water and wanders toward his bookcase while she waits, her fingers running along the spines. She still needs to look through all of them. Based on the titles and covers, many of them seem to be in the romance genre, and it tugs at her heartstrings knowing that Harry reads such vulnerable stories in his cabin all alone. 

While reading the back of a book titled Emma, she suddenly hears heavy footsteps descending the stairs, the heels clicking against the wood. When she turns around, she gasps at the sight before her. 

Harry is in his full leather get-up, which fits him perfectly. He has on black heeled dress shoes to match. But most shocking to Shyla is his hair; it's been pushed back from his face, with no curls hanging over his forehead or a significant part down the middle. 

"Ready?" he asks with a smile as he tugs the lapels of his jacket. 

"Holy shit, you look hot," she says, ogling every inch of him. 

He admires her outfit, his tongue running across his teeth. "You look breathtaking. Trying to get me off my A-game tonight?" 

She shrugs playfully and grabs her phone as Harry leads them out the front door. He unties Quake and keeps the rope secure through his belt loops, then mounts him, careful not to rip or ruin his leather. He waves Shyla over. She ambles to Quake. He offers his hand so she can balance more easily, then watches her lift her leg over to sit behind him on the saddle. 

Shyla's hands immediately circle around his waist under his jacket and rest on his exposed stomach. Harry turns his head to smile at her, leaning in for a quick kiss before gently kicking Quake to get him to start trekking down the driveway. 

"This is actually really nice." 

"Atta girl." Harry reaches his hand back to squeeze her thigh. "Wasn't so bad, huh?" 

"As long as we don't start galloping. Don't even try to be funny," Shyla warns, grabbing his hand on her leg. 

A comfortable silence persists throughout the journey. There's no need to talk when the nature around them is a beautiful point of interest. Shyla never feels like she has to fill in empty conversations with Harry since being in each other's presence is enough. 

After about ten minutes, they arrive at the pub. Harry stops Quake around the back of the building and ties him to the fence post. He usually asks for a clean bucket to bring fresh water out for him during the night. He swings his leg over to dismount, then helps Shyla off with his hands on her waist. 

"Ready to lose?" Harry teases in her ear as he interlocks their fingers and guides her through the back door.

"You have to go easy on me. Dumb down your skills so it's a fair game." 

"What happened to being so confident about kicking my ass?"

"I wasn't serious," she mumbles with a small smile as they walk toward the familiar dart board in the corner. No one is playing, and only a few locals are in the room. Some eat appetizers at the bar, and others sit at tables, talking and enjoying the music. 

"I may or may not have told everyone that I needed the dartboard for tonight," he tells her as he grabs chalk to write their names. It doesn't go unnoticed that he writes 'Shy' on the board.

Shyla comes behind him and whispers, "I brought the pink dart." 

Harry tilts his head to look at her, glancing down at her lips. "Best get to using it," he says lowly, jerking his chin to the dart board. 

Shyla smirks and reaches inside the cups of her bra. Harry's eyes trail downwards, and they watch her every move. He inhales sharply when her cleavage is exposed, and she walks behind the white line before he can say anything. 

"Are we playing 305 again?" 

"Yes. Wait, no. Huh? You mean 301?" 

"What? I swear it was 305." Shyla confusedly shakes her head as she tries to replicate the professional stance Harry showed her last time. "Maybe I was thinking of Pitbull. You know, Mr. 305." 

"Right. Mr. Worldwide and all that," he says from his place next to the dartboard. He then smiles mischievously. "Elbow bent, dale." 

She furrows her eyebrows and tries not to laugh. "What did you just say?" 

"Isn't that what Pitbull says? It means darling, right?" 

Did he fuck that up? Why is she laughing? He was just trying to be romantic. 

Shyla snorts. "No, it doesn't. It means give it or go ahead, Harry. Querida means darling." She bends her elbow and brings the dart up to her line of sight. "Also, please move. I don't want to accidentally hit you." 

"I trust you, darling." He smoothly recovers from the embarrassment as he fully leans against the board and crosses his ankles, making Shyla more worried that she might hit him. 

"You have a death wish speaking to me like that when I'm trying to focus." Shyla places weight on her front foot and snaps her wrist forward to throw the dart. It hits the six on the right side of the board, and she pouts at the low number. Harry shakes his head in faux disappointment as he writes her score down. 

"You distracted me! You can't just stand next to the board looking like that and expect me to do well." 

"Switch." Harry dismisses the compliment and gestures for them to trade places. Shyla stands next to the board as he places himself behind the line. While he stances up, she decides to delve into some teasing. 

When Harry glances at her, she slightly lifts the hem of her dress, exposing bare brown skin that he can't get enough of. He clears his throat and looks back at the board, focusing on the bullseye. He closes one eye and throws the dart. 

He scoffs when it lands on the seventeen. She's going to pay for that. 

"Aw, that's too bad," Shyla says sarcastically. She sways her hips as she walks over to the digital jukebox against the opposite wall and types in a song she wants to play. 

"My Kind of Lady" by Supertramp starts, and Shyla shimmies her way back to Harry. They both forget about their ongoing game and join each other to dance. She can't get over how he looks in his outfit, his stomach muscles flexing with each sway and his tattoos looking more tempting than usual. 

Harry dips her when the saxophone solo plays and kisses her neck before smoothly bringing her back up to his chest. They dance in their little corner of the pub, not caring who's watching. It's just like Shyla felt yesterday when Harry was singing karaoke: in their bubble, feeling like the only ones in the world. 

They eventually got back to finishing the game. Harry won by a mile. Shyla told him that she didn't want to drink tonight when he offered to buy shots, and he agreed because he thought back to when she left and how he drowned himself in whiskey every night until he passed out. He's sick of alcohol, and he also doesn't want to have Shyla be a part of riding a horse drunk. 

A little after seven, the pub got crowded, and they decided to leave. Harry told Shyla on the way back that they didn't need to bring Quake back to the stables because he has his own area around the back of his cabin for the nights, and he's too drunk to go to the ranch. Shyla and Harry walk inside after he's tied up and given water and hay. Harry flicks the light switch on, illuminating the safe space he can now share with Shyla. 

"Did you pick out something for us to listen to?" he asks as they head up to his loft. 

"I did," she replies while taking her heels off. "Can we dance some more? I'm not tired yet." 

He nods and smiles, walking to the small record player on his dresser. He sees that she's picked out two of his vinyls when he was at work. He looks through them, finding Super Trouper by ABBA and Eat to the Beat by Blondie. 

"What should we start with?" He glances back and admires how much shorter she is without her heels. 

"Something slow. After that, I want to play you a song I listened to when I was younger." 

"Of course." He steps out of the way so she can play a record. "Show me all the music you like. It's one of the best ways to get to know someone." 

Shyla's face heats as she takes the ABBA record out and places it on the turntable. "Um, I don't know how to make it play a specific song." 

He stands beside her. "This one is ancient, so you have to do it manually. What song did you want?" 

"Track four, please," she says shyly. 

Harry kneels and gently sets the needle against the specific groove. It scratches before a slow, sultry electric guitar crepitates through. He stands and smiles when he recognizes the song: "Andante, Andante." 

Shyla closes the distance between them and repeats the intimate action she did when they first danced. She takes off his black leather jacket and leaves his inked upper half exposed, then wraps her arms around his waist as Harry cradles her head into his chest with both hands. He thinks he could hold her forever in his loft, skin igniting like a never-ending flame. He has never felt this content, her soft breathing synchronizing with his own, their bodies swaying.

"Do you work tomorrow?" Shyla asks against his collarbone, feeling his heart beat melodically. 

He moves one of his hands to run his knuckles up and down her spine. "I have the next two days off. Did you have something you wanted to do?" 

"I don't know. You'll have to show me around Lurgashall." 

"I'd be happy to, Shy. We'll think of something." He clears his throat before asking the question he's wanted to know the answer to since she arrived: "How long are you going to stay?" How long are you willing to stay?

Shyla's breath hitches as she looks at him. "I'm honestly not sure. I just wanted to see you. Do you need me gone by a certain time?" 

"No, you can stay however long you'd like," he says with a kiss on her forehead. "I just don't know if you'd want to stay for a while. I know you have a new apartment and everything, but... shit, I don't know what I'm saying. I want you around." 

"I want to be around you too. We can talk about it tomorrow, though. Let's just dance for now." 

They continue slow dancing. Harry hopes she'll stay longer than a day, but he fears she'll become bored of the place—or worse, bored of him. 

When the song fades, Shyla pulls away to put the other record on to show Harry the song she mentioned. She removes the sleeve and black vinyl, takes the needle off the record, and puts it back where it belongs. 

"Let me teach you how to play something," Harry says.

"Okay. Track four." She laughs softly and sets the record on the turntable. "Again." 

"They're the best, in my opinion. Track four on Fleetwood Mac's self-titled album is "Rhiannon." It's such a good fuckin' song." 

"We should dance to that album tomorrow." 

"Absolutely," he says without hesitation. Anyway, what we'll do is raise the cue lever so we can move the arm." He grabs Shyla's hand and moves it to where it's needed. She raises the lever, and the arm picks up, hovering in the air. "Skipping tracks on vinyl can cause them to be scratched, but I'll let it slide for you." 

He pinches her hip, then maneuvers her hand to where he assumes the fourth track is. There's a loud crackle before the beginning of Blondie's instrumental "Shayla" starts. 

Shyla smiles at the nostalgia that suddenly hits her. "You know how I love Blondie? When I was younger, I pretended my name was Shayla to act like this song was about me." 

Harry rolls his lips inward to hold his laughter but eventually sputters a breathy chuckle at her confession. 

"Stop laughing!" she says, playfully hitting his arm. 

He captures her hand and pulls her back into his chest. "No, it's cute. It can't be worse than pretending songs I don't even relate to are about me. I used to dream about being Rosanna or Fernando. How incredible would it be to leave such an impact on someone that they write an entire song about missing you." 

Shyla laughs as they twirl around his loft. "I can't believe you can sing and didn't tell me." 

He shrugs, wanting to avoid further flattery. "Mediocre at best." 

"I think you're fantastic at it. You could be a star one day." 

"I don't know if singing in front of twenty people in a rundown pub would get me anywhere." 

"You won't get anywhere with that pessimistic attitude." 

Harry just shakes his head with a grin and leans in for a kiss. Shyla hums into his mouth, feeling his warm lips envelop her own. His kisses, she's come to realize, are always led with purpose. They're never too often and surprise her when she least expects it. So delicate and addictive, leaving her wanting more. 

He leans back just enough so their lips brush against one another. He stares into her eyes, drowning in her brown irises that lighten every time she smiles. 

"Let me paint your nails," Shyla whispers. 

His eyebrows furrow at the sudden topic change. "What?" 

"I brought some nail polish. We can listen to more music, and I can paint your nails." 

"My father would kill me." 

"We can take it off before you go to work. Screw your dad. Do something for yourself." 

Harry tosses the idea around in his head. He can't say no when she looks at him with such promise. Her eyes could persuade him to do anything. "Okay," he says eventually. "Just make sure it'll come off easily." 

"Have you ever painted your nails before?" 

"No." Is he missing out? Should he have painted his nails before? He's never seen anyone in town partake in it. 

Shyla pats the bed and leans over the edge to unzip her duffel bag. "Then I'm glad to be your first. Come sit by me." 

She digs until she finds the six bottles of nail polish she packed in a small makeup pouch. Harry sits beside her and nervously wipes his sweaty palms against the sheets. He wants to slap himself to get the image of his father's face out of his head. He needs to stop worrying about doing things that he wouldn't like. He has over a hundred tattoos; polish on his nails is nothing. 

"What color do you want?" Shyla asks, splaying the bottles across her palms. 

"Um, I don't know what would look good on me." He's been so used to wearing neutral colors that he doesn't know where to start. 

"How about smiley faces. Kind of like that yellow shirt you were wearing earlier." 

He shrugs, knowing she can make anything look good on him if the outfit she picked out is any indication. "Sure. Whatever you want." 

Shyla starts shaking the yellow and black bottles to stir the polish, then motions for Harry's hand. She takes his right one when he slowly extends it. She can tell he's hesitant because of his father, but she would never force him to do anything he's uncomfortable with. 

"Are you sure this is okay?" She rubs her thumb along his knuckles to soothe his noticeable anxiety. "You don't have to. I won't be upset." 

"It's fine. My father never really sees me outside of work." Harry awkwardly clears his throat. 

She just nods and begins applying the first coat on his thumb. His nails are surprisingly clean, considering he works at a ranch. "I'm sorry for saying this, but your father's a dick," she tells him, moving to paint his pointer finger. 

Harry laughs through his nose. "You hit the bullseye with that assumption. Shame you couldn't hit an actual one at the pub." 

She scoffs and sits crosslegged next to him for a more accessible angle. "Excuse me? Where did that come from? I insult your father, and then you insult me?" 

"I'm joking, Shy. You're right; he's a total dick. I don't know how my mother dealt with him for all those years." 

When she finishes another nail, Harry mimics her position so they face each other. They both fall into silence when his mother is mentioned. Shyla doesn't want to pry. 

However, Harry feels the need to jump over that hurdle since he's falling for Shyla and knows that if he doesn't open up soon, she'll slip right through his fingers. 

"She passed away from a stroke," he says, keeping his eyes focused on the strokes of the tiny brush. "It happened out of nowhere. One day, she was completely fine, and the next, she was on a stretcher. She was already gone when they got to the hospital." He swallows roughly and rubs at his throat with his free hand to stop the pain from crawling up his throat. 

"She chewed tobacco and smoked cigarettes," he continues in a thick voice. "She started when I was probably around seven or eight. It was every day, too. Just an awful addiction that eventually caught up to her, you know? I should've expected it to happen, but the thing with death is that you never see it coming. Anyway, it flipped my world upside down. One day, I woke up and didn't have a mother anymore." 

Shyla stops and stares at him with sorrowful eyes. Unfortunately, she can relate, but she keeps quiet and lets him proceed.

"I still talk to her. When I get lonely, I sit in bed or in the bathtub and talk to her about everything. Mostly about how my own father acts like he despises me." 

"Do you really feel like he hates you, or is he just projecting his repressed emotions onto you?" 

Harry lets out a humorless laugh. "God, I can't even tell anymore. He's always been strict and closed off since I was young, but ever since my mother passed, he's been unbearable to be around. It's like he sucks the life out of everyone." 

"He wasn't very friendly when I met him," Shyla confesses. When we went to the stables, he told us if you were cranky, we should let him know so he could talk to you." 

Harry's eyebrows raise. "Sounds about right. He thinks I've got anger issues. I don't, at least not anymore. I was barely hanging on the first couple of years without my mother. I didn't want to see anybody or go anywhere. I was eighteen and had just moved into this cabin because I couldn't handle living with my father during all of that. It may sound cruel to just leave him to grieve by himself, but he's stubborn and would probably tell me to fuck off if I had tried to comfort him." 

Shyla nods understandingly as she puts the last coat of polish on his delicate pinky. She then screws the cap on and brings Harry's hands up to her mouth so she can blow on his fingernails. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers. That's never easy, especially when you're eighteen and still trying to figure out life and expect to rely on your parents. I hope you're okay now. It's normal to still have those days where you want to cry over something that happened long ago. I still do." 

"I'm doing well," he says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. What about you?" 

Shyla opens the black nail polish to apply smiley faces over the yellow. Focusing on the tiny details, she exhales, thinking about where to start. 

"I haven't told anyone this since I went to therapy ages ago. I still cry over my parents. It's funny because I can't even remember how I felt as a kid when they died. I think I blocked it all out. I mean, I couldn't even tie my own shoes yet. I had no grasp on emotions or death. I was four when my grandma picked me up from daycare and told me that they had been in an accident. All I know is that it wasn't fun growing up and not having my parents there to teach me things." 

She sighs and pinches her eyes shut for a second. "For some reason, at the time, it didn't really affect me until I got older. Like, twelve or thirteen was when I started getting really angsty, for lack of better words. Everything caught up to me, and it crushed me that I didn't have a mom or dad to watch me grow up." 

"Did you have any other family?" 

"I stayed with my grandma for about five years before she passed away. Then, I moved in with my aunt until I was about nineteen. Almost ten years of living with her was a journey, to say the least. She's not bad, just stagnant. Never really let me go out of the house to do things. She was trying to keep me safe, but it got old. Then, I finally went to university and found what I wanted to do there. I realized I loved psychology, and I'm hoping to get my degree within the next year. 

Harry watches Shyla finish the last smiley face on his thumb before setting the polish back in her bag. 

"Come here." He pulls her into his lap, careful not to smudge the polish, wrapping his arms around her body. "I can't even begin to fathom what that was like. I'm so sorry you had to grow up like that. I'm always here to listen, okay?" 

"I know." She hugs him back. "I'll always listen to you too. It's so easy with you. I would have never imagined I'd be talking about this after so long of keeping it inside." 

"I never had anyone to talk to until you came here." Harry's voice wavers before he swallows. There's something about you that makes me want to live differently, not be afraid of being vulnerable." 

Shyla melts at his confession. "Tell me something else." 

"Like what?" 

"Like... your tattoos. You have so many. There has to be stories behind each one." 

"Pick one out, and I'll tell you."

Shyla smiles as her eyes rove over his exposed skin, trying to find one that intrigues her the most. They're all so specific; she has no idea what they could symbolize. 

"The one behind your ear. I just noticed it. Your hair is usually covering it." 

Harry tilts his head to the side so she can see it better. "It's an orchid. My mom and I would pick them by the creek during summer. I have a lot of little tattoos that remind me of her." 

Shyla admires the minimalistic black ink of the flower along the curve of his ear. "Did you sketch it yourself?" 

He nods. "I went out to the creek one day and brought my sketchbook. I did all sorts of flower styles, big and small. I decided on it behind my ear because she would always kiss me there before I went to bed." 

She feels tears build in her waterline as her fingers trace the lines of the tattoo. "It's so beautiful." 

"Thank you," he says, tilting his head back toward her. "I tattooed it myself in the bathroom mirror." 

"Is it difficult to tattoo yourself?" Shyla can't imagine the skill needed to permanently ink something on your skin. 

"It gets easier with practice. I have a few on my arm that are rubbish from when I first started." 

"Did they hurt?" 

Harry tenses and clears his throat. "Depends. The ones above my knees hurt a bit." 

"Oh. I don't have any, so I wouldn't know. I'm too scared of the pain." 

"It's not a bad pain," he mumbles, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. 

"What?" 

"It's... not a bad pain," he admits sheepishly. "Sometimes it feels really good." 

"Seriously?" she asks with shock. "How? It's literally a needle going through your skin!" 

"Pain kink, Shyla." He doesn't want to awkwardly beat around the bush anymore. He might as well just get it out of the way. 

She gapes at him, absorbing the simple yet complex words he just spoke. "Pain kink. Cool. Hey, listen, that's your thing. I don't find feeling like I'm being stabbed to be pleasurable, but I won't judge you for it. You can do whatever—" 

"Tattoo me," he interrupts. 

"Excuse me? Are the fumes from the polish going to your head? Harry, don't you need a literal license to do that?" 

"How many more times do I have to say I trust you, Shy? C'mon, I'll teach you. You can do a small one." 

Shyla mulls over everything that could go wrong. Her hands would shake, and she could do a disastrous job. She's not particularly proficient at art, so anything she'd draw would no doubt end up looking like a shitty elementary school art project. She also doesn't want to hurt him, but that's obviously been punted out of the equation, given what he just admitted. 

She sighs, realizing she has to live a little more. There's nothing wrong with doing something out of her comfort zone, especially with Harry. "Okay. You trust me, and I trust you. But don't be upset when it looks like the scum of the earth." 

Harry fondly kisses her cheek and then pats her hip to remove her from his lap. "Thank you. Follow me. I've got my own makeshift studio around back." 

He picks her up bridal style, not wanting her bare feet to step on anything that could be a hazard in the grass outside. He carefully goes downstairs and kicks the back door open with the toe of his boot. Out there, which is an area Shyla has yet to explore, is a lovely, open lawn with a wooden picnic table and a couple of chairs in front of a fire pit. However, what catches her eye is a covered wagon she's seen on Western TV shows before, just like the ones oxen or cattle pull. 

The canvas material lights up when Harry flicks a hidden switch. He strides toward the three steps that lead up the open doorway, setting Shyla down in the process. 

When she walks inside first, her eyes don't know where to land. There's a wooden table at the back with scattered tattoo supplies—ink containers, cotton balls, a half-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a pair of black surgical gloves. She immediately takes note of the daunting tattoo gun, the metal shining under the low light and intimidating her greatly. 

"It's nothing fancy, but it's just for me," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "And now you. No one else knows about this." 

"I hope you'll invite me in here again after the terrible job I'm about to do," she says self-consciously under her breath. 

"Oh, shut it," he murmurs in a fun-loving tone. He brushes past her and organizes the space a little before taking a new pair of surgical gloves and dangling them tauntingly in front of her. A wicked smirk grows on his face. 

The pit of Shyla's stomach churns at the thought of inking Harry's skin with no experience whatsoever. She blows out a nervous breath and takes the thin gloves from him, stalling by putting them on very slowly. Harry opens a black ink bottle and removes new, sterilized needles from a package. 

Shyla sits in one of two rolling chairs and watches him assemble the tattoo gun with ease. Then he takes a piece of gum from a stray packet on the table, setting it on his tongue as he loads the canister with ink. His jaw flexes with each chew, and she's transfixed by his expertise. 

"Start thinking of something to ink on me," he says, plopping down in the chair beside her. 

Shyla tilts her head and brainstorms what she could permanently tattoo on Harry's beautiful skin. Everything she's coming up with seems too embarrassing to say aloud; a horse that would most likely look like an entirely different animal, a lyric that would definitely be illegible, a dart that would... hold on a second. A dart! That couldn't be too hard, right? 

"Um, a dart? Maybe? You probably already have that somewhere on you." 

"I don't, actually. That's perfect. A tiny, simple one that you can do freehand." 

Shyla's eyes widen. Freehand? She doesn't even think she could do it if Harry guided her hand the entire time. 

"Where do you want it?" she asks apprehensively, rolling her chair closer to him. 

Harry shrugs. "Wherever. I don't care." 

"Okay, how about somewhere on your wrist?" She points to his left one, observing the other tattoos there — an anchor, a clover, and a lock. "I can do something tiny near your other ones." 

"Wherever you want, Shy," he reiterates softly. 

Readily setting his left wrist on the table, he opens the rubbing alcohol and splashes a couple of drops onto a cotton ball. He then sterilizes his entire wrist so whatever patch of skin she picks is safe to prick with a needle. 

"All right. It'll be so tiny. Microscopic, even. And simplistic." Shyla swallows thickly, her hands sweating under the tight gloves. "That's what I'm comfortable with." 

Harry offers her a hopeful smile, then turns the tattoo gun on, its loud buzzing instantly filling the confined space. "Hold your hand around the canister," he instructs, grabbing her hand and maneuvering it to the correct position. "Rest it diagonally against my skin and push down so the needle goes through. Not too deep, but still, make sure it's in there. My skin should resist when you pull it out. Only go a few centimeters before taking it out and continuing." 

Shyla exhales slowly and focuses on an empty patch of skin where she can tattoo the dart. 

"Hey," he says over the buzzing. "It'll be fine. I'll help wipe any excess ink off. If you need me to step in, just let me know, okay?"

She nods and leans forward to shift the gun closer to his wrist. She stretches his skin until it's taut, delicately tracing a short line with the needle. She pulls back quickly and looks at Harry with anxiousness wavering in her gaze. 

He laughs and wipes the liquid ink off, then squeezes her knee. "Keep going," he says hoarsely, feeling the pain rush through his bloodstream. "Stick the needle in for a bit longer. It feels good to me, I promise."

Shyla shifts in her seat and clenches her thighs together. Harry's eyes flutter shut as he comfortably leans back. She goes back at it, then realizes she has no clue how to draw a dart by memory. She wings it, pressing the needle down once again and creating an amateur triangle above the line she drew to represent the tip of a dart. 

When she lingers just a little too long, Harry can't subdue the groan of pleasure that crawls its way up his throat. He blinks up at the wagon covering, his pupils dilating from the addictive pain. 

Shyla thinks his groan is caused by her hurting him, so she removes the needle and blurts, "Sorry! I'm almost—" 

"Keep going," he says, patting her thigh in encouragement. "Please, baby." 

Baby. He's too worked up to notice what he just uttered, but Shyla notices, and she wants to get this goddamn tattoo done so they can head back to his cabin and fuck the tension away. She finishes it by adding two minuscule lines coming out of the straight line. It looks like a toddler did it, but she doesn't care. Harry is so tense, jaw tightened as he chews his gum, and her heart is pounding. 

Harry exhales when she manages to shut the gun off by herself. He lazily wipes the excess ink off, then swiftly pulls her into his lap. He grabs the aftercare ointment and rips the cap off with his teeth before applying a layer over his new tattoo. He then tears some plastic wrap off and hurriedly covers the area, finishing it with gauze. 

He'll clean up later. Right now, he needs Shyla. 

She straddles his legs and takes the gloves off, feeling his cock already hard underneath the leather. He groans again, this time from the pressure of her core against him. The dress she's wearing bunches up around her hips, her underwear entirely exposed. She begins rocking against him as his bandaged wrist pushes on her lower back to guide her, and any movement from his wrist causes a burst of pleasurable pain to shoot throughout his arm. 

"Cabin," he commands gruffly as he lifts her and walks out of the wagon. He blindly shuts the light off, then makes a beeline through the back door and straight up to his loft. 

He gently tosses her on the bed and crawls between her legs, his forearms beside her. "Is this okay?" he asks, his mouth resting against her spread legs. 

"Yes," she whines, sitting up to take her dress off. 

Harry helps lift it over her head, then tosses it over the edge of the bed. Her strapless bra and underwear remain, and he takes his time, leaving kisses up her thighs. He presses his nose into the damp spot forming on her underwear, placing an open-mouthed kiss over it. He moans at the taste of her arousal through the thin fabric before gripping his hands around her upper thighs as Shyla arches her back on the bed. 

"Be a good girl and stay still," he says while looking up. He sees her eyebrows furrowed, silently begging for him to give her what she wants. 

"Rip them off. I don't care, just please," she says, grabbing a fistful of his hair. She pulls it, hoping that his love for pain isn't just with tattoos. 

His reaction to her eagerness and the pulling has him biting marks into her thigh. He then kneels to remove her underwear down her legs. She's already dripping down her entrance, so Harry reaches into the nightstand drawer to grab one of the condoms that he stored up when he found out she was going to visit. He felt some shame about it, especially when the cashier gave him a knowing look as if to say: It's about time. 

Harry gets off the bed to pull his leather pants and boxers down, then takes his shoes off. He opens the package and rolls the condom over his length, moving to crawl over her body. He notices that Shyla has taken her bra off as he lines up with her entrance and swallows his nerves down. 

"Before you ask, I want to do this. I trust you, H." 

The nickname makes him whimper, and his cock throbs. He takes his right hand down to it and guides it up and down Shyla's wetness, getting her used to the feeling. He looks at her one more time to ensure she's ready, and when she nods in a frenzied way, he pushes his tip in. He opens his mouth at the tightness, morning at how well she fits. Like she was made for him. He pushes in slowly until he's all the way in. Shyla gasps at the way he fills her, clenching around him as he thrusts in steady, long movements. His left hand holds onto the top of the headboard, and his other slips under her waist. 

"You feel amazing," he mumbles in the crook of her neck. The bed creaks with each thrust, Shyla's first moan leaving her mouth when he hits deep. 

"I can feel you... right here," she says, touching her lower stomach. She can quite literally see and feel his cock nudging the skin there from how deep he's going. 

"Yeah?" He spurs her on, continuing to thrust in extensive motions through her tight walls. 

He doesn't think he'll last long, not having been intimate with someone in so long, but he wants to make it worth it for her. Shyla lifts her hips to meet his, placing her arms around his neck. She whispers breathy moans in his ear, and Harry is getting close to his climax just from her sounds alone. 

"I'm close," he says through kisses on her neck. 

"Let me be on top." He doesn't dispute this, simply flipping over so that he's on his back. Kiss me. I'm almost there." 

Harry kisses her, quieting her moans as she unravels. She grinds on top of him, holding his shoulders tightly. Harry comes when she clenches around him, his hips stuttering as he rides it out with quick thrusts. He spills into the condom, and his face grows red at how quickly he lets go. Shyla orgasms with him, lifting her hips off him when she gets sensitive. They're both breathing heavily as he rolls the condom off and disposes of it. His hand rests on his stomach, and Shyla flops next to him.  

Eventually, Harry sits up and opens the window to allow the summer breeze in. 

Just as he gets comfortable in his bed again, a sudden and startling noise comes from downstairs. He and Shyla freeze and stare at each other with confused expressions. He holds his pointer finger up, mutely telling Shyla to stay put, then quickly slips into his boxers and a random pair of jeans before slowly walking down the stairs. Shyla covers herself with his sheets and watches from afar, her heart hammering from the unexpected interruption. 

Harry cautiously stops on the middle step when the noise becomes clearer. There's raucous knocking on the front door, and it sounds like the person on the other side is furious. 

—— 

[fandomgirlz01]

Don’t Leave Me Pt. 1

Marcus Pike X Reader

Imagine on my fandom instagram?: No

Prompt?: No

Request?: No

Requested prompt?: No

Edited: Yes

Word count: 5,153

Ko-fi

Masterlist

Warnings here

You can listen to the story be read out loud here {Coming Soon}.

Post Date: May 28th 2023

Post Time: 3:16 pm

Summary: Together Marcus and the reader lead their team through a case. They get ambushed by part of Marcus’ past which makes the reader start to question things, but something goes wrong while they're out in the field. 

Third Person Pov:

After the whole Teresa thing and moving to D.C., Marcus had tried so hard not to get into other relationships, but then he met y/n. It was only about three weeks after everything and he’d still been feeling heartbroken– but who wouldn’t when a relationship fails as bad as it did? He’d walked into work that morning and the day went as normal as usual, until later when he was getting ready to go home. 

He remembers it like it was yesterday, when in reality it’s now been almost four years. He had just finished packing up his bag, getting ready to turn out the light on his desk as his phone went off. It was his boss asking for him to come to his office. 

Marcus’ Pov: *Flashback* 

“Marcus, would you please come to my office? I have something important to discuss with you,” my boss's voice floods over the phone and I sigh as I move my hand from the lamp to the phone. 

“I’ll be right there, sir,” I promise him as I hold down the button that lets me reply to him before letting go. 

I wait a moment to see if there’s any response, but it stays quiet. I grab my bag, switch off the light on my desk, and start to walk to my boss’s office. 

I take the elevator to his floor, walk down a few halls, then start to walk up to the door and go to open it. 

“Hold on, Marcus. Mr. Hudson is in a meeting,” Destiny, his secretary, stops me in my tracks. 

“Oh really? He called me in to see him,” I tell her and she shakes her head, smiling at me. 

“He did? He didn’t inform me. Hold on, let me page him and see,” she tells me. I nod and put my hands in my pockets. 

“Mr. Hudson?” she questions as she presses the page button down. 

“What is it, Destiny?” he responds and she looks back up at me. 

“Marcus is here. I wasn’t too sure if you wanted me to send him in or not,” she replies and there’s a pause as she waits. 

“Yes. Yes. Send him in,” he responds before we can hear him release the page button. 

“Ok, Marcus, you heard him. Go right on in,” she tells me as she waves me off to the door. 

“Ok. Thanks,” I reply before taking a step forward and opening the door. 

I pop my head in and leave a little knock on the door. Mr. Hudson pauses as he looks away from someone who’s sitting in the right chair in front of his desk. 

“Ahh, Marcus. Come in, come in. Take a seat,” he tells me as he motions to the left chair. 

“Uhh, ok. Is there something wrong, sir?” I ask him and he shakes his head with a small smile.

“Nothing's wrong, my boy. I just wanted to introduce you to your new partner. She just landed half an hour ago and will be starting on with you tomorrow,” he informs and I nod, even though I’m very shocked. 

“Y/n, this is Marcus, Marcus, this is y/n. Your new partner,” Mr. Hudson introduces us.

I am immediately in awe when I see the girl sitting beside me. She smiles and says something before holding her hand out to me. I shake out of my daze and give her a confused look. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask and she lets out a giggle that sounds heavenly to my ears, making it easily become my new favorite melody.

“I said, hi. I’m y/n,” she reiterates and I again shake my head. 

“Right. I’m sorry, I’m Marcus. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve just had a really long day,” I reply as I reach out and shake her hand. 

“It’s ok. Really, I get it,” she promises me with a soft smile that makes my hands feel a little clammy, but I ignore it and remember my pact I made with myself when moving here. 

“Don’t take this as an insult,” I comment as I take a quick look at y/n and she shakes her head. “But sir, why do I need a partner? I thought we said I wouldn’t need to have one. That I’d be head of department,” I reiterate what we talked about before my move. 

“We did, but I just thought that you have so much to do that it could possibly take some off of your back. Don’t worry you're still head, she’s just here to take a little pressure off,” he explains as he gestures to her and I shake my head in denial. 

“There’s not too much for me to do,” I petulantly argue even when I know he’s right. 

“Marcus, my boy… not to add insult to injury, but you look tired and overwhelmed. You’ve only been here three weeks and you’re already behind,” he explains, pausing to give me a quick questioning look. 

“I’m not overwhelmed…” I again argue and he sighs, shaking his head. 

“Look, Marcus. You are and I see that. This is your new partner and that’s final. She’s only here to help you. Came just to do that. Please let her help you,” he begs me and I sigh reluctantly. 

“Ok. I guess,” I agree and Mr. Hudson grins. 

“Great! She starts tomorrow morning. You’ll be sharing an office, so don’t be surprised if there’s an extra desk in there in the morning,” he adds on and I see y/n smile an award-winning smile. 

“I’m excited to get started, sir. Thank you so much for the opportunity. I won’t let you down,” she promises him and I frown at the way she says it. 

It’s almost like she’s making a point known as she says it and he just hums while nodding. She quickly goes to get up, but Mr. Hudson stops her by holding his hand out. 

“Hold on, y/n, we’re not done here. Marcus, you can go,” he informs me and I nod before getting up. 

“It was so nice to meet you, Marcus. I hope we can grow a good friendship,” she sweetly tells me and I can’t help but smile at her. 

“It was nice meeting you too, y/n. Me too, you seem sweet. I’m sure we’ll get along great. See you tomorrow,” I reply warmly and she smiles up at me, making my stomach do flips. I quickly push the feeling aside as I so desperately try not to ruin the pact I made with myself after moving here. 

~End of Flashback~ 

Marcus’ Pov:

I sit leaning back in my office chair as we work on the case we’ve been vigorously working on for almost a week. After being in the office for a few hours I can’t help but let my thoughts wander. I think over the last four years and I smile when y/n —who’s now my girlfriend— lets out a sigh while rubbing her face. 

After she became my partner, it took a while for us to get to know one another —because I so obviously closed myself off after Teresa— but eventually y/n got me to open up, making us become closer and closer until finally I asked her out. She got me to open up in ways I never had before. I eventually told her all about Teresa and we both agreed to take things slowly. Never did I imagine this is where we’d be almost four years later. 

“Knock, knock,” Ezra Bradford, our tech person, announces as she stands in the door frame. She pops her head in, breaking me out of my daze down memory lane. 

“What’s up, Ez?” I ask as and y/n and I look up at her.  

“We caught the money trail. We found them…” she tells us and I look at y/n, who looks at me in almost excitement. 

“Well, where does it lead to?” Y/n asks and Ezra takes a hesitant pause. 

“Well, that’s the thing. It leads back to Texas,” Ezra hesitantly tells us and y/n's excitement quickly fades away. 

“Welp, I guess this means we’re going to Texas,” I point out with a shrug and y/n sighs. 

“Ok. We’re going to Texas. Marc, do you wanna contact them? Or should I?” Y/n asks me and I shrug as I stand from my chair, stretching out a bit. 

“Either way. Come on, I’ll drive,” I tell her as I reach forward and grab the keys off her desk. 

She lazily stands up, looking like the epitome of tired and lets out an exhausted huff. I chuckle before pulling her into my side. We walk out of the room, coming to a stop just in the hall of the office we share before closing the door up and locking it. I then turn and pull y/n back into my side, swaying with her lightly as I look back at Ezra over y/n’s shoulder. 

“You can tell the boss, yeah?” I ask Ezra, giving her a questioning look and she nods. 

“Yeah. I’ll have him get the jet ready for you too,” Ezra agrees with a firm nod before pushing her glasses up. 

“Can you send the presentation to me, please, Ezra?” Y/n asks her and Ezra nods in agreement again. 

“Sleepy?” I ask as I look down at y/n, who’s now cuddled into my side and she nods tiredly as she lets out a very small yawn. 

“It’s been a very long week,” she bemoans and I agree with a soft hum as I leave a kiss at her temple. 

“Well, you can sleep on the plane,” I tell her and she nods again as she lets out a very quiet hum of agreement. 

“Alright, we’ll hopefully see you in a few days, Ez,” I tell her as I look back up at her over y/n’s shoulder again and she nods. 

“Go get the bad guys. I can send over whatever information you guys need to Texas’ tech guy. Just say the words and I’ll do it,” she promises and with that, she gives us a small goodbye and scurries off. 

“I’ll contact Abbott right now,” Y/n comments, using her phone to send a message to Abbott as she continues to tiredly walk beside me. 

We start down the first hall of many halls we have to go down to get to the car garage as I guide —more like pull— y/n with me. We walk a few more minutes before coming up to the parking garage, then walk the four rows of vehicles and find our SUV that we share. Her phone pings as I unlock the doors and she gets into her seat while looking at it. 

“Abbott says they’ll be happy to help. He’ll inform the team and we can brief them when we get there,” she informs me and I nod as I start the car. 

“Babe. You want your sunglasses?” she asks me as she holds them up and I turn with a smile at her as she gracefully smirks at me. 

“You know me better than myself,” I tell her and she smiles, giggling softly and putting her head against the headrest. She gives me an endearing look that makes me grin back at her. 

“Of course. I mean, we have been partners for almost four years now…” she jokingly rolls her eyes and I snicker at her. 

“And you’ve been more then my partner since I met you,” I tell her with a soft look, crossing my features.

“Awe, Marc. That’s so sweet, babe. You’ve been so much more to me too. I love you,” she replies with a grin that makes my heart soar. 

“I love you too, baby,” I parrot her softly as I lean across the center console and give her a peck on the lips. 

“Go bags are in the back, right?” she asks me after I pull away and I nod as I finally take my sunglasses from her hand. 

“Ok. Well, let’s get this show on the road then,” she says jokingly and I chuckle. 

I shake my head as I turn and start the SUV. Once it’s up and running, I make quick work of pulling out of our spot before driving us out of the parking garage. I drive for a while before finally pulling up to the private FBI airport and park. 

After parking, I look over at y/n to see that she’s asleep. I smile fondly before getting out of the car and going around to her side. I open her door and lightly rub her leg. 

“Hmmm, Marc, don't wake me, not yet,” she whispers out and I chuckle, shaking my head. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you have to. We have to get on the Jet, then you can go right back to sleep,” I tell her and she groans, shaking her head. 

“Come on, honey. Just think of it. The faster you get on the plane, the faster we can try my favorite breakfast place in Texas. You know the one I’ve told you all about?” I bargain with her and she groans again. 

“You mean the one with the awesome pancakes?” she asks softly and I nod. 

“Yup. The one with all the different pancake flavors. I bet you’ll end up with the banana blueberry,” I exaggerate while bouncing my eyebrows at her. 

Intrigued, she sits up and looks down at me, raising an eyebrow. I laugh and help her out of the car.

“Marcus Mario Pike, the hell is so funny?” she asks with a scowl that only makes me laugh a little harder. 

“Nothing, honey. Nothing at all,” I tell her as I reach up and smooth out her hair for her. 

“Awe, I had sleepy head again, didn’t I?” she asks with a pout as I pull my hand back with a soft smile crossing my face. 

“Yes you did, but I find it rather cute,” I respond and she huffs, crossing her arms. 

“Cute, my butt. Marcus, I am not cute when my hair is all frizzy and sticking up in the air,” she argues as I walk to the back of the SUV and open the trunk with her trailing after me. 

“Oh, but sweetheart, that is where you are dead wrong,” I argue back as I pull our go bags out of the back before closing the trunk. 

“I really don’t get how you see my half-dead asleep looks cute,” she snorts out in amusement and I smile as we both turn to start towards the jet. 

“I find everything about you cute, sweetheart. Just accept that nothing about you is even remotely close to anything else in my eyes,” I tell her and she stops to  scoff, shaking her head as she crosses her arms. 

“I will never understand you, Marcus,” she huffs and I smile, chuckling before pulling her into my side as I leave a kiss on the side of her forehead. 

“Yes. But you love me and as you always point out, always will,” I joke with her as we start walking towards the jet now. 

“Well, you got me there. I have no comeback for that one,” she admits and I burst out laughing as we finally come up to the jet. 

“Sir. Ma’am,” the pilot smiles before stepping aside and gesturing to the open jet door. 

“After you, ma’am,” he says with a flirty smile directed at y/n and I feel red hot anger take over, but shove it down. 

“Thank you. Marc, baby, sit with me?” she asks as she turns to me and I smile. 

“Of course, babe. I’ll always sit next to you,” I tell her and she grins, almost beaming as she pulls me into the jet. 

She pulls me in and I put our go packs down as she picks a place to sit before pulling me down in the chair next to her. She then cuddles up to me and I wrap my arm around her shoulder as the pilot now walks in. 

“Ok. I’m going to get started with take off. All I ask is that you two be buckled for the ascent, and then when we’re in the air you can roam around all you want,” the pilot explains as if we haven’t done this before, but I just nod in agreement to appease him. 

“Ok. I hope you enjoy the flight,” he says with a grimace as he slowly backs away before turning around and disappearing behind the door of the cockpit. 

“Well, that was awkward…” y/n whispers and I let out another laugh as I rub her arm. 

“Yes, it was,” I agree with her and she hums sleepily. 

“I love you Marcus, don’t you forget it. It’s no one else for me,” she tells me as she nuzzles onto my neck, making me chuckle as it tickles, but I gladly welcome it. 

“And I love you too, sweetheart. It’s no one else for me either,” I parrot her and she smiles softly as she pulls the blanket off the back of the chair. 

“I’m going to get some sleep. You should too, babe,” she tells me as she closes her eyes and I snuggle her into my side. 

“I think I may just do that,” I hum in agreement as sleep slowly starts to take me over. 

I wake up and look around with my eyes squinted in confusion for a moment, before fully remembering where I am. I look at the clock that’s up on the wall and deduce that I only slept for an hour out of the three hour flight. I rub at my tired eyes with my free hand before reaching into my pocket and pulling my phone out. 

Y/n subconsciously snuggles farther into my side, making me smile as I look down at her. I lightly rub her arm for a moment, hoping it’ll lull her back into a deeper sleep before turning back to my phone. I use my phone for a while before I get pulled out of my thoughts when the pilot's door opens. 

“I just wanted to inform you that we are about to land in Texas,” he tells me and I nod at him. 

“Thank you,” I reply to him and he nods once more before heading back to the cockpit. 

I turn my head to look back at y/n, who still sleeps soundly against my side. I move my shoulder a bit, making it nudge her and she groans before just going back to sleep. I softly nudge her again and she groans again before frowning. 

“Marc, what?” she mutters out in a grumpy tone, making me smile. 

“I hate to do this to you again, sweetheart, but we’re about to land,” I tell her softly and she groans as she finally opens her eyes. 

“Man. I’m so tired lately. Don’t know why,” she comments as she sits up. 

“I know. After this case, we should take some time off. Get you rested up,” I propose and she hums softly as she gives me a tired look. 

“That sounds nice, babe,” she agrees and I smile softly at her. 

I quickly pull her into my side again and leave a kiss on her forehead before she nuzzles into my neck. We stay cuddled up until we’ve fully landed and stand up. I grab our go packs as the door to the jet opens. 

Together we walk off the jet and to the car they have waiting for us. I grab the keys from the guy who holds them out for me and give him a thank you as I slap his shoulder. He gives me a nod and smile before walking off. 

I get into the driver's seat and y/n already sits in the passenger seat. She gives me a huge smile before I start the car up. 

“Do you remember the way there or do you want me to put it in the navi?” Y/n asks me and I shake my head as I turn the blinker on to pull out of the airport parking lot. 

“I think I got it, babe. Thanks, though,” I tell her and she nods before sitting back in her seat. 

“I’ll get the briefing presentation loading up. Ezra should have sent it over,” y/n tells me as she pulls her laptop out. 

“I’m sure she did. Ezra’s very thorough,” I add and she grins. 

“That she is,” she agrees with me. 

I drive for a while longer and before I know it, I’m pulling into the parking garage of my old work office. I pull into the parking lot and park before turning the car off. Y/n quickly unbuckles and starts getting out of the car. 

I, however, freeze as I realize who I’m going to have to see when I walk in. Y/n seems to notice that I’m not getting out and opens her door again. She slides back in and gently puts a hand on my bicep, but it still makes me jump as it pulls me out of my daze. 

“Marcus, are you okay? If you can’t do this, I can handle it. You go get the hotel that I’m sure we’re going to need,” she tells me and I shake my head. 

“No. I’m not leaving you alone to deal with my ex-fiancé,” I inform her and she smiles softly at me. 

“Marcus. If you can’t go in, that’s okay, baby. I can do it. It’d be hard, but I’m sure I’d be fine,” she again tries and I shake my head again. 

“No. No. I just needed a moment. I’m okay. I’ll come in with you,” I promise her and she smiles. 

“Ok. If you’re really sure, my love. Let’s go,” she agrees with a soft nod before getting back out of the car. 

I sigh once at the thought of how lucky I have gotten and shake my head before getting out of the car myself. I meet her around the back of the car and open the trunk door. I pull my go bag out and she grabs hers before putting it on her shoulder as I do mine. 

She goes around the car on her side and heads for the building with me right behind her. She stops at the front of the car to look at the building before looking at me. 

“We do this together, yeah?” she asks me as she holds her hand out for mine. 

“Together,” I agree with a smile as I grab her hand. 

With one last smile from her, we walk through the door. The door monitor stands when he sees us as he asks for IDs and we both pull them out. He looks over them for a second before stepping to the side and nodding as he motions for us to move on. 

We walk farther in and soon I’m walking down familiar hallways. I show y/n where to go as we hit the first floor. 

“Did Abbott tell you where he was meeting us or where to meet up with him?” I ask her as we walk and she turns to look at me. 

“He said to come to his office and he’ll do the rest from there. Said you’d know where to go?” she tells me and I nod. 

“Yup, I know exactly where it is. Maybe we’ll get lucky and not run into anyone on the way,” I respond to her and she smiles, squeezing my hand. 

I then lead her through the building and to the elevator. I press the button to Abbott’s floor and lean back against the rail. She cuddles into my side and I put my arm around her. 

Once the elevator comes to a stop, we wait a moment for the doors to open. After they do, we walk through them and into the big room. We look around all the desks, but nobody seems to look up so I just quickly start to lead her down the hall to Abbott’s office. 

“This place is so huge. Definitely more beautiful than our office. I see why you liked working here,” y/n comments as she looks around while we walk. 

We soon come up to Abbott’s door and I leave a knock on it. We wait just a few minutes before we hear him tell us to come in. With one last squeeze of y/n’s hand, I reach out and open the door before walking in. 

“Ahhh, Marcus. It’s so good to see you again. How’ve you been?” Abbott asks as he looks up from his desk as we walk in. 

“Good, good. This is y/n, my partner and girlfriend,” I tell him as I introduce y/n while pointing at her. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Marcus, you picked a beautiful girl,” Abbott politely gives an affirmation to y/n that makes her smile. 

“Thank you, sir, but I wouldn’t say I picked her. More like she picked me,” I comment and y/n blushes. 

“No one picked anyone, we simply were made to meet one another,” she tells me and I smile before pulling the seat out for her. 

“Of course we were, sweetheart,” I tell her as I sit in the other seat. 

“Well, Marcus, how can we help you?” Abbott asks with a smile as he changes the subject. 

“Well, sir. We need your team to help us find a group of guys that stole a very important piece of work from the Washington museum. We tracked them here and need to get to them before they trade the piece,” I explain and he nods. 

“Do you have everything you need to brief them ready?” he asks and y/n nods. 

“Yes. I loaded it up on the way here. All I need is your tech person to help show me how to connect it to your database,” y/n replies and Abbott nods as he picks his phone up off the receiver. 

“Jason, I need you in briefing,” Abbott talks through the phone and he nods, humming before putting the phone down again. 

“Jason is on his way. He’ll show you how to connect. I’ll contact the team and have them all meet in briefing,"Abbott informs us with a light smile and y/n nods before standing up. 

“Thank you, sir,” she tells him with a smile and I stand up alongside her. 

“Come on, sweetheart. I know the way to briefing,” I tell her as I put a hand on her back as I guide her out of the room. 

We walk out of his office and straight to the briefing room right across from it. As we walk in, Jason stands there with a smile that grows wider when he sees me. 

“Agent Pike! So good to see you again,” he tells me before holding a hand out for a shake. 

“And you, agent Wylie, how've you been, buddy?” I ask him as I shake his hand. 

“Busy as always, how have you been in Washington?” he questions and I smile. 

“Life’s been going pretty good. By the way, this is my partner and girlfriend, y/n,” I introduce y/n, putting a hand on her back. 

“Oh that’s great news, how long have you two been together?” Jason asks with a smile at y/n. 

“Four years in a week,” y/n proudly tells him and my face falls. 

“That’s next week? Honey, I’m glad you said something now. I almost forgot,” I tell her and she playfully rolls her eyes at me. 

“Marcus, baby, it’s ok. I understand, we’ve been working on this case so much lately. It’d be hard not to forget what day or week it is with how much we’ve been in office the last few weeks,” she tells me as she squeezes my arm softly, making me smile. 

“I truly don’t deserve this girl,” I joke with Jason and he laughs. 

“Ok. What is it you guys need?” Jason asks and y/n smiles. 

“Can you show me how you guys connect your computers to the main screen?” Y/n questions as she holds her computer out to him. 

“Sure! I’d love to!” Jason replies as he takes her computer. 

“It's really simple. All you do is come over to the podium here and take this cord. Then just plug it in,” he tells her while showing her as I sit on the front table and she smiles enthusiastically. 

“Wow, that’s so much simpler then what we have,” she comments and he looks at her, shocked. 

“But you're DC. Isn’t DC like the highest building? Shouldn’t they have, like super advanced technology?” he asks and she giggles, shaking her head. 

“You would think they did,” but unfortunately they do not,” I add on and y/n nods. 

“It’s actually the worst. It always crashes and fails,” y/n explains and Jason shakes his head. 

“And the higher ups don’t fix it?” he asks, making y/n laugh again. 

“Nope. They care more about what’s in their offices than ours,” she answers him and he sighs. 

“Dang, that sounds annoying,” he comments and y/n nods. 

“Oh it most definitely is, but we love the job so we make it work,” I tell him with a shrug and he smiles. 

“Well, at least you love it. That’s gotta count for something, right?” he asks and y/n nods, smiling. 

“Oh it most definitely does,” she tells him before a throat clears from behind me. 

I turn around to see who it is and in the time I’ve been here, I really had forgotten about why I had been apprehensive to come back. That is, until now. My face falls at the site of Patrick and Lisbon holding hands as they look over us. For a split second, I freeze and just stare behind me as I look them over, noticing shiny rings on their fingers. 

I stay frozen, unable to move or speak as I look over at the girl I once loved now with someone else. It’s then when I feel another hand grab onto mine that I snap back to earth and turn to see y/n. She smiles softly up at me and suddenly all my anger washes away. I squeeze her hand to let her know I’m fine. 

I give her a questioning look and she nods subtly. So with one last sigh I close my eyes before turning to them and opening them to look at them again. 

“Patrick, Theresa,” I greet them with a small curt nod. 

To Be Continued…

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[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

What it Feels Like

Summary: No one said it would be easy to be in a relationship with Marc/Jake/Steven. Does Layla have regrets? How does she cope when her relationships struggle with their mental health?

Heavily introspective moments from Layla's POV. Discussions on D.I.D, brief discussion on Autistic issues, and mentions of PTSD.

Pairings: Layla x Marc x Steven x Jake

Warnings: I'm not sure.... Depression talk, mentions of struggling with mental health.

Word Count: 5,154

Her initial impression was that she had scored the jackpot. 

Marc, Steven, and Jake. Three wonderful men with three wonderfully distinct personalities that all loved her in their own way. 

She got to keep the smoking hot body and love the men that controlled it. 

She did some research, of course. She wanted to understand what was happening. She wanted to know how she had missed something so drastic. 

Relief had come in knowing that she hadn’t missed it. That Marc had just been that good at hiding his problems. Stress had come when she started to realize that she had met them all before and not known something was off. 

She tried not to dwell. Dwelling meant hours of her looking back and trying to spot the hints. It was enough to drive someone to drink. She had spent a day looking back and then decided it was a good way to tarnish any good memories of their time together she had. 

She could only look forward now. 

Yet she couldn’t ignore all the other things she had learned about in her research. The bad things. The things she had not yet noticed. 

Maybe her men didn’t have those sorts of issues. They were special, after all. They seemed well adjusted. They communicated. They switched in and out almost at leisure. 

Yet, perhaps Marc had spent just a little too long staring out the window the other day. Steven complained of being tired or having headaches now and then. Jake had a habit of clinging to his cap like it was the only thing keeping him present at times. 

There were the times when Steven would try to recall something and the memory would not come. He called those ‘locked memories’. Marc sometimes paced the room, trying to remember where he was going or why he was holding his keys. 

Then there were the days when she could not tell who was fronting. Steven called those blended days. Accents mixed and they seemed far more confused or irritated than normal. 

Usually it was Marc and Steven. They were the closest to one another. There was one rare day where Marc and Jake were so blended that she couldn’t tell who she was speaking with until she asked and they didn’t know. 

She often wondered, had all these things been present before? Had Marc really been in that much control before all of this? Was it possible that when all three of them started to talk that it had somehow made them more vulnerable? 

Doubt settled into her and she again wondered if she had failed them. Jake had admitted to her once that he had been around during their marriage. He had pretended to be Marc on more than one brief occasion just to get through the door. 

She was sure that once in the beginning she had walked in on Steven reading a book late at night, curled up in his chair under the only lamp in the room. The relaxed smile and the way he didn’t notice her until she had kissed his cheek. 

Marc had blinked up at her and shrugged as he set the book aside. Steven had no memory of the incident. Perhaps a ‘locked memory’. Or, perhaps it was something to do with the amnesia barriers. 

Barriers that sometimes meant that Marc woke up in the car and had to pull up his GPS to figure out how to get home. Barriers that meant sometimes she got a call from a sheepish Steven who wanted to know if she needed anything at the store because he didn’t know why he was there. Barriers that meant that sometimes Jake would suddenly sit up and ask if they had eaten anything all day. 

They didn’t always get along, either. Steven would have haughty discussions with one of the others that often resulted in him being salty the rest of the week. He had no issues voicing his disagreements. He would argue with them in the middle of a public space if he felt so inclined. 

Marc would let issues simmer until he boiled over and would lock himself in the bathroom to have loud ‘discussions’. 

If the discussion got too heated, Steven would be the one to emerge with apologies that Marc needed a time out. 

If the discussion became destructive, she would hear yelling and sometimes crashing. On those occasions, Jake would emerge after some time. He would apologize then take time to clean up. 

They didn’t always like to tell her what the arguments were about. Perhaps Steven was upset about their choice in food. Maybe one of them had touched Jake’s car settings and messed the radio up. Perhaps Steven had stayed up too late and now they were feeling tired and stressed. 

Layla was no fool. She knew the days when it was simply a melt down. A time when one of them simply felt frustrated at their situation. At their life and problems. 

And then there were the good old fashioned melt downs. Things that had nothing to do with their D.I.D, but with the issue that Marc refused to talk about and that Steven had once admitted to her. It was a word that whispered through her mind when they struggled, but a word that was never spoken aloud. 

Much like how Marc refused therapy or how Jake had a distinct fear of going to the doctor. There was trauma there that worked so far into their very being that even Steven would shrug and brush it aside when it came up. 

The trauma ran too deep. It lay across their existence like a minefield. There were things that belonged only to Marc, like the flash backs, the night terrors, the depressive episodes, the self destruction, and the self loathing. 

There were the things that belonged only to Jake, like his constant alertness, his occasional panic attacks, his temper, and the way he guarded their memories with such care that they often got into fights on what he would let them see. 

There were the things that belonged to Steven, like his insecurities about his identity, his insomnia, his large spans of missing memories, and his fear of being left alone. 

Sometimes, on the dark days when nothing she did was right, she wondered if she would ever decide that it was too much. 

Would she decide that she needed a normal life? A normal husband? Would a day come where it would be too much to avoid the trauma? Could she crave a normal day that didn’t involve trying to figure out who she was speaking to or why they were upset? 

–

Layla glanced at her watch and then looked back out the window. “He’s been out there for over an hour.” She muttered to herself. 

She could see Jake’s car parked at the end of the street in the usual spot. The car was off but she could still see a shadow inside move every now and then. 

The rain was coming down in sheets now. It was possible that he was trying to wait it out. Jake never carried an umbrella with him. Perhaps Steven was throwing a fit about getting wet. Steven hated wet sleeves. 

She had once walked in on him crying in the kitchen because he had forgotten to roll up his sleeves while doing the dishes. Dear sweet Steven, wanting to clean up and help so much and then not being able to cope with the feeling of the wet scratchy drag of the wet fabric over his arms and wrists and hands. 

Then again, Steven was not shy of the rain. He was known to walk home in the rain and come into the flat like a sopping wet kitten, his face scrunched up in annoyance and curls dripping into his face. It was all situational, after all. 

Layla started to pace in front of the window. Perhaps they were fighting again. Marc and Jake had argued late into the night and most of the morning. 

The argument only ended because a rather tired and grumpy Steven had told them both off. She didn’t know what they were arguing about, but she had noticed Jake stimming more. 

Stimming. Marc called them ‘ticks’. Marc would clench his fists till his knuckles were white. He never knew what to do with his hands. Yet when he was alone and thought no one was around he would make small sounds, his lips moving as he repeated words. Nonsense words that he could breathe in and out easily. 

Steven worked his hands, tracing the hems of his shirts and sleeves. His fingers dug into fabric and worked over his keychain obsessively. Sometimes he would simply reach for his rubik's cube if he was particularly annoyed at something. 

Jake only stimmed when he was anxious or upset. His fingers would tap one after another against his thumb with increasing urgency. He was a pacer. While Marc stood still and tense, Jake would circle the flat like a tiger in a cage. When it got bad enough, Jake would simply go outside without any word. 

Jake didn’t get a lot of time out. It didn’t seem to bother him. He was always telling her that he was busy in the inner world. 

Marc and Steven would often switch out multiple times a day where Jake might pop out once a week if he wasn’t feeling it. 

They never talked about the inner world. Marc didn’t like to talk about any part of his mental illnesses, much less admit that he was different than anyone else. He would shrug his shoulders and change the subject. 

Steven tried to explain it to her a few times and it left Layla with an image of a room with a big screen and a few chairs. Steven had shrugged and said it was close enough. 

Jake had been tight lipped about it all. She got the distinct impression that he had more going on in their head than Marc or Steven could even dream of. 

She had heard of alters that didn’t like to front. Alters that preferred to keep to the back or that had important functions inside. She also knew how rare it was for someone with D.I.D to have such a small system as three people. 

The idea scared her, if she was being honest with herself. The idea that someday someone knew could pop up without warning. There was also the idea that there were already other people in there that she didn’t know about. That perhaps even Marc or Steven didn’t know about. 

Worse still, maybe Marc and Steven did know about the other people and didn’t feel like she needed to know. People that refused to come out and see the world. People that didn’t want to meet her. 

She paced the window again and looked down at her watch. She sighed and grabbed her keys and an umbrella. 

Marc had woken up screaming the other night. It wasn’t the first time he had done it. She used to wake up to him yelling at least twice a week when they had first gotten married. 

It was, however, the first time she had seen how the system functioned outside of battle or arguments. 

The dream must have been terrible. Jake had been beside her before she could even offer a comforting hand. Jake had paced the flat for a solid minute, brushing off any questions she had. At last, Steven had been given the reins and he slipped back into bed beside her. 

Steven admitted that dreams could affect the whole system. Strong emotions could push through any barrier and send out ripples. 

When she asked what the dream was, Steven had looked lost for a moment then shrugged. “Locked memory”. Jake had ushered it away before Steven could analyze it. 

Layla skipped over a puddle as she crossed the street, the rain falling around her in a waterfall. 

She leaned down to peer into the passenger side window. 

Jake sat inside, clutching at the steering wheel and tapping his fingers against the leather rapidly. 

She sighed and tried the door, breathing a sigh of relief when it opened. She juggled for a moment as she got into the car and closed the umbrella, shaking it out to try to get the worst of the rain off before she shut the door again. 

His fingers paused, letting her know that he was aware of her presence even though he didn’t look at her. 

It was nearly impossible to sneak up on Jake. He always knew everything that was happening around him. He could tell her how many people were in a cafe without trying. He knew exits and he knew the risks with one glance. 

When Marc was focused, it was difficult to sneak up on him. The problem was that Marc was often not focused. He tended to space out so badly that Layla could take his hand and he would flinch so hard that he’d drop anything he was holding. 

Steven hardly ever knew what was going on around him. He would zero in on what he felt was important and the rest of the world could be on fire before he’d notice it. Yet if you asked him later what his waiter looked like he could give you their eye color and what the little pin on their lapel said. 

Layla sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rain fall on the car around them. 

Jake started to tap his fingers again then shook out his hands and lay them in his lap in an effort to hide his anxiety. 

She folded her hands in her lap and glanced around the car. 

A cup of old coffee sat in the middle drink holder. A paid parking meter ticket sat on the dash. His phone sat in the holder on the dash for easy access. The screen was blank. 

He was wearing his driving gloves, a way for him to avoid touching things he didn’t want to or to stay in his own personal bubble. HIs coat collar was popped, another way to keep things and people out of his bubble. 

She took a slow breath and put together a mental list of reasons on why he was sitting in silence in his car. 

He could be having a panic attack. She had never seen Jake have a panic attack before. Marc’s attacks were often very violent and often required intervention by Jake or Steven. Steven’s attacks involved tears and yelling, often quelled when Layla could wrap her arms around him and rock with him, soothing him gently. Knowing Jake and his responses to things, there was a good chance his panic attacks were quiet and still. 

He could be acting as system gatekeeper and protector. There was a chance one of them had been triggered and he was taking some quiet time to focus on keeping them safe. When things got bad enough, Jake would sit still and quiet as he simply held front and kept them safe as their solid rock. 

He could just be having a moment where he wanted to be alone. He wasn’t used to attention and lately maybe she had been crowding a little too close to him. She fiddled with her hands as she thought that one over. 

Maybe he was cross with her. She wasn’t always careful, after all. Sometimes she blundered into triggers, set off mines, or got frustrated with them. 

Maybe he was still having arguments with Marc after this morning. This was less likely considering he was still in his car. When Jake had full control, it took a lot to knock him out of the front seat. When he drove, he put up barriers and neither Marc or Steven ever considered bothering him. 

She wasn’t sure if it was because they trusted him or because it took too much to fight him. She suspected it was out of respect. Even Marc had agreed that Jake deserved his own time. 

“Sometimes, I try to remember before…” Jake breathed out, his breath soft. “Marc can’t see past the moment. He remembers the split. Remembers when Steven showed up. The relief he felt. Steven doesn’t remember any of it. I remember it. I remember when Steven showed up.” 

Layla looked at him in the dark cab. It always amazed her how a body she knew so well could have such a different silhouette. There was just something about the stillness of Jake that spoke so much louder than the other two. 

He breathed again as if perhaps he might find the right words. The right memories. The right answers. “We must have been whole once. Marc and I must have been one person. Just a kid running around. Neither of us remembers that split. Steven thinks Marc was the original but…” 

“I don’t think it works like that…” Layla started slowly and softly. “Marc took the name and identity but there was never a Marc Spector.” 

Jake nodded. D.I.D was caused by trauma on a young mind that had not yet formed a full solid sense of identity. That was what all the research she read had said. 

Sometimes she pictured the small boy that they must have been. Too young to know who he was yet. A small boy looking to the world to see who he was supposed to be. Marc Spector was a name on a piece of paper and an expectation that was handed to him. 

Was he kind and curious like Steven? Was he strong and mischievous like Marc? Was he quiet and watchful like Jake? Did he have a strong sense of right and wrong? Did he want to make everyone around him happy? 

Jake nodded again and sat back into his chair, head leaning back to lean into the headrest. “I still try to remember sometimes. Who we used to be. What it felt like. Marc doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t like to look back. I see grass and hear the sound of paper. I feel heat and sun. That’s all.” 

Layla thought back. What did she remember of her childhood? How far back could she just recall? She had seen pictures. If she tried she could pretend that she remembered things, but how much of the memory was hers verses the stories she was told and the pictures she saw? 

“Sunshine.” She closed her eyes and felt the heat on her face. “The color red. Spice on the air. A violin. Cool tile under me.” 

If she put it all together, she could logic it out. In the summer when the sun beat down on them, she’d lay across the tile in their front room, letting it cool her while her mother cooked in the kitchen. She liked to cook with the radio on. The red? Her father’s favorite color. He always had a splash of red on him somewhere. 

She could force a memory that way. She could imagine him coming home and finding her sprawled on the tile. He’d laugh and pretend to trip over her. 

She sighed and looked up at the rain that ran down the windshield. 

“I remember the first time I got you to smile at me.” She glanced over at him. “Before that I didn’t think you ever smiled. So serious all the time. Not grumpy like Marc, but just too focused.” 

Jake looked over at her. “I smiled plenty.” 

“You’re really good at pretending to be Marc, but you don’t quite get his frown right. It’s too tense. Marc’s resting face is a frown. I’ve never seen such a relaxed frown in my life.” She smiled. “You don’t quite get Steven right, either. His eyes are so open and relaxed. You end up just looking worried about everything when you play Steven.” 

Jake gave her a look. “I don’t have to convince people that matter. Just idiots that don’t care about knowing the difference.” 

“Steven doesn’t even try to be you. He can’t get any part of your face right. He makes it too tense. He does an alright Marc, though. He just frowns so hard that he strains his jaw.” 

“Marc can’t do either of us.” Jake gripped his steering wheel again, a finger tapping the leather again. “He’s just too…” 

“Square.” Layla finished for him. 

Jake looked at her and brought a hand up to cover his mouth as the smile spread across his face. His smile was one that was self conscious. One that said at some point in his life he had been told his smile was wrong. 

Steven’s smile was wide and open, full of life and emotion. He never had to hide. Marc’s smile was always small and full of promises of trouble. It was his smile that had first gotten her in trouble. 

Layla shrugged and looked at Jake from the corner of her eye. “Don’t tell him I said that.” 

Jake shook his head and he pretended to lock his lips and toss away the key. 

She knew she didn’t have to ask him. If the others were present, she knew Jake would not be talking to her about these things. Steven had a hard enough time with his sense of self. He didn’t like to think about who came about at what time. Marc never talked about these things. It was a rather large trigger for him to think about this time in his life. 

“So when was the first time I smiled at you?” Jake tilted his head. He had a good memory. It was his job to know their memories and where they should be. It obviously bothered him that he might miss something. 

“It was late at night.” She smiled and tilted her head back, sinking into the memory. “I was in bed pretending to sleep when you came home. I think I was hogging all the blankets and most of the bed while you were trying to wedge yourself in next to me without waking me up. You smelled of pine tree air freshener. You do that when you don’t want us to know you’ve been smoking. You had just gotten into the bed when I rolled over and practically crawled on top of you. You were warm and I hate the cold.” 

“It was dark. There was no way you saw my face.” Jake protested. 

“I think I mumbled something along the lines of ‘stop smoking, Jake. Steven is going to be so upset when he finds out.’ You smiled. I know you did. I didn’t have to see it. I could sense it.” She grinned up at him. 

Jake gave her a very serious look then rolled his eyes and looked out the window, turning his back to her. She caught his reflection in the glass and he was struggling not to smile. “Steven was furious. I thought he was going to blow a fuse.” 

“Didn’t see your mug for weeks. I honestly thought Steven had somehow figured out a way to murder you or banish you or something.” She laughed softly. “I’m sure Steven felt bad about it. Even Marc was walking on eggshells after that.” 

Jake shook his head. “It… It was a lesson in Steven’s abilities. I honestly didn’t know he could lock me out like that. I underestimated him up to that point. I don’t do that anymore.” 

Layla sighed. “I think everyone underestimates him. It’s why he fights so hard to be known.” 

“I did stop smoking for him.” Jake sighed then went quiet.

Layla wondered if Jake recalled what happened after that incident. How worried she honestly had been when Jake didn’t show up again day after day after week after week. She had just gotten used to him being around. Had just gotten used to feeling him slip into bed next to her. The smell of his cologne. The soft accent and his snappy dress sense. 

When Jake had walked through the door after all that time, and she had known it was him… 

“Marc hates the rain.” Jake sighed. “When it gets like this. The way it rushes. His anxiety gets pretty bad in this weather. We should go inside.” 

Layla opened her door and popped the umbrella open. She got out and hurried over to his side as he opened the door. She lifted the umbrella to let him get out while staying dry. He glanced up then moved to stay close to her, not wanting to knock her into the rain. 

She wrapped an arm around his waist and he took the umbrella, lifting it up a bit and holding it centered over them. 

“Next time it gets like this, all you have to do is call me. I’ll come get you.” She looked up at him. “I know you don’t like the rain either.” 

“It’s okay. Sometimes it helps me to think. To see things a little better…” He glanced back at his car as they moved further from it. “Maybe I needed you to come get me… I think I get lost sometimes. Trapped in the past. Trapped in my own sarcophagus….” 

She leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek. “We all need reminders on what really matters, sometimes.” 

Jake shifted the umbrella to his other hand then pulled off a glove, putting it into his pocket. His hand found hers and fingers slowly slipped between hers, warm and strong as he held her hand. 

She squeezed his hand gently and smiled as she leaned into him. 

This was her life. There was nothing normal about it. To anyone else, it was stressful and full of pain and sadness. To her, it was filled with moments. Memories caught in glimpses. Memories told to her in stories and photographs where she filled in the gaps. 

Memories of arms wrapping around Jake when he looked at her sheepishly and apologized for not being around. A hand on her back as she clung to him, tears running down her face. She couldn’t imagine a life without him. Without any of them. She had sobbed as her hands dug into his shirt and he wrapped his arms around her in support. 

Jake Jake Jake… She had cried in shaking breaths. I thought you were gone… Don’t ever do that again. Don’t you dare leave me. 

The hand in hers went slack for a moment then tightened, fingers clinging. She glanced up to see large eyes taking in the rain around them. 

“Bloody hell. It’s dumping out here.” Steven looked down in time to step over a rather large puddle. “Going for a romantic walk in the rain, are we?” 

She smiled up at Steven. “I love you.” 

Steven beamed, though he wasn’t sure what was going on. “What’s that for?” 

“Because I can.” She smiled. 

“Oh.” Steven looked at her with pure adoration. “I love you too.” 

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I love you.” 

Steven grinned and squeezed her hand. “He loves you too.” It was easier for Steven to say it sometimes. When Marc watched from the shadows and let Steven feel and express the big emotions that hurt him too much to admit. Steven made it safe. Made it okay for him to say everything he had ever wanted to say. 

Steven paused then glanced over at her. “Jake says… He remembers the first time.” 

Layla looked up at him curiously. “First time for what?” 

Steven frowned for a moment as he processed and attempted to translate. “The first time he knew…” 

She remembered strong arms wrapping around her as she shuddered and cried out everything. All the stress. All the emotions. Was she really so upset because someone she had just gotten to know had gone missing for a little over a month? 

Or was she crying away old expectations for a life that she would never have? The tears came harder as she cried everyone and everything missing in her life. She cried because her husband was so broken and in so much pain. She cried for the man she thought she had and the men that she ended up with. She cried for their lost life. For the unfairness that had hurt them and her so much in the end. 

She cried because the arms that were slowly wrapping around her and pulling her close felt so right. The tears only lasted minutes before they fell to soft sniffles and gentle hiccups. 

Hermosa. He had whispered. We are here. I am here…

“What first time is he talking about?” Steven looked at her curiously. 

“Hmm.” Layla smiled and squeezed his hand gently. “That he belonged here. That you all had a home that was safe and sound. That I loved all of you. That I was happy. That he loved me too.” 

“Oh…” Steven chewed his lower lip. “That sounds like a wonderful memory.” 

Layla laughed. “It was pretty terrible actually. Not my finest moment.” 

“Do you think I’ll have that moment too?” Steven looked at her hopefully. 

Layla grinned. “Steven Grant… I knew I couldn’t let you go the first time I saw you. Really saw you… Out in the desert when you handed me a map of the stars and spoke French.” 

Steven swallowed hard then let his smile really beam. “Well… You were the first person who trusted me enough to let me do anything. You gave me a chance to prove myself when no one else did.” 

“The rest were all fools.” She leaned into him as they headed up the stairs to the flat’s entrance. 

“What about with Marc?” Steven looked at her curiously. 

“That’s between me and Marc…” She could think of any time really. Times from before. Times when she thought she had broken down his walls and seen the real him. Those were times she had known he was someone she wanted to know and keep around. 

Yet the real time when she knew she could not live without him… A gentle kiss on the forehead and a release into the water when she let her heart whisper goodbye. 

Steven nodded, knowing when not to pry. He closed the umbrella once they made it to the overhang, shaking it out a bit. 

“Ready?” He opened the door and looked at her as if he expected her to decide she wanted to linger in the rain. 

She did glance back out into the rain. Into the dark where lights reflected up in the oil slick puddles and tiny rivers. 

She hoped she would remember this moment. Darkness. Rain. An umbrella. A quiet car. Hidden smiles and soft words. 

“Yeah. Let’s go inside.” Layla hurried through the door where it was warm and dry. 

[xalygatorx]

Worthy (2015) | Chapter 6, "Lessons in Worth"

Disappearing sporadically in public spaces quickly becomes Cora Dempsey's least concerning problem when suddenly she captures the attention of the forming Avengers Initiative, the World Security Council, and Asgard's fallen prince all in one week. And the universe is only just getting started with her.

Worthy is a slow-burn SFW Marvelverse (films) romance between Loki and a female OC. For additional details on what canon is used, see the Prologue post.

Summary: Fury touches base with the higher-ups. Cora tries to get in touch with her abilities and better understand them under Loki’s guidance.

Pairing: Loki x Fem!OC

Warnings: Discussion of Cora’s past abusive relationship including physical and attempted sexual assault.

Word Count: 2.6k

Director Fury stepped into the conference room alone, his hands behind his back until he shifted one to the switchboard on the table. The window panes flickered before the view outside switched over to a connection screen, a dial of dots spinning steadily as he channeled the board and, consequently, their senior leader, Alexander Pierce.

While Fury knew that they would see eye to eye as they always had, especially on matters such as these, he wasn't looking forward to delivering the other bit of news: that there was a person out of their ranks who could wield the destructive alien-hammer and who was now a fugitive from their division.

He watched as the meeting timed in, three faces appearing in their own blue panels on the glass. Alexander's was the last to connect and he looked weary, as had most of them since the incident in New Mexico and the nationwide unease it had caused, but prepared to discuss what Fury and the Avengers Initiative had found out about the phenomena taking place.

"Director Fury, it's been a while," Alexander said calmly, smiling.

"That it has, sir. I've news to report on Operation Camo."

"Go ahead, Nick," he said with a nod, folding his hands in front of him and giving the SHIELD director his full attention.

"Agents Stark, Rogers, and Barton managed to locate the target again near Clarkdale two days ago."

"And was she brought in?" asked one of the other directors taking part in the conference. He'd only met her once, when Steve was revived and reintroduced into the modern world, but he soon remembered that her name was Agent Sharon Carter.

"Negative. The plan backfired just enough that she got away again."

"I thought you were enlisting the future Avengers."

"I did. Three of them there in person, one as on-location as he could be for the time being. Asgard's connection to our world is still broken and unreliable, according to Agent Coulson and Dr. Selvig."

"Good," the third agent on the screen said decidedly. Fury didn't recognize him.

"Director Fury, this is Richard Warren of the World Security Council. He came to meet with me and asked to sit in on our meeting, given the slight uproar Camo has caused in New York."

"Good to meet you, sir," Fury said with a brief inclination of his head.

Warren ignored his comment and continued with, "So you had Avenger candidates on the job and the target was still able to flee?"

"The difference between blowing someone up and capturing them is large," Fury said firmly. "If we want her to work with us, we need to work with her first and that's exactly what they were doing. As instructed."

When Warren had nothing to say to that, Alexander said, "So where is she now?"

"Her location is again unknown, but she can't hide forever."

"You said there was a lot to tell, Director Fury," Agent Carter intervened with an arched brow. "I don't think we've heard the 'lot' yet, have we?"

Fury paused, but only briefly. He'd rather not have spoken to Pierce about it in front of Carter or Warren, who simply weren't necessary for involvement, but he replied calmly, "Yes. Her power was already known, but she was also able to pick up Thor's hammer."

Alexander's eyes widened, half shocked and half impressed. "How?"

"We've yet to discover that. This was only found out at the tail-end of the mission. By all parties."

"She didn't seem to know she'd be able to lift it?" Agent Carter asked, interested.

"From what Tony and common sense tell me—both very separate parties—she didn't know she couldn't. She had no idea what it was because, well, why should she?" Fury looked at the council member, who wore a composed expression he knew meant some kind of shitstorm was on the rise.

Alexander nodded a few times before saying, "Right. Thank you for your report, Director Fury. Keep us updated."

"Will do, sir." And the connection ceased.

Fury glanced down from the glass panes which were once again large windows, pursing his lips slightly. He'd purposely neglected to tell them Steve and Clint's notion that she'd been taken rather than able to escape alone. It wasn't so much that he had a problem with splitting the truth to their superiors, but he wasn't looking forward to what further issues this ally or enemy might cause if they were right.

"I don't even know what caused it to happen those other times, so how am I supposed to trigger it now?"

Loki frowned down at her before muttering, "Stop talking and just try." He'd spent the rest of yesterday catching up on what was going on with the Tesseract, using Selvig's consciousness to get the information he truly desired. He could see it was starting to wear on the mortal a bit, but he couldn’t have cared less. He was a pawn and it would come time to put him into play soon enough.

Because he'd been gone the rest of the day, not showing up again until late that night after his human inmate was sound asleep on her makeshift cot, he'd figured today would suffice for the "practice" he'd suggested to her. She'd not been that keen on it—namely because he'd prodded her awake to get an early start, which she hadn't seemed fond of—but he kept his word when he could. For some reason, hearing her call herself a "freak" the night before had spurred him to do something.

"For some reason," he repeated in his head, a sardonic half smile working onto his face. Because you are a freak, yourself. At least to the home you believed you had.

Loki came back from his thoughts to look at the woman nearby, who had her hand up against her chin, her brow furrowed in concentration. So much so, her face was beginning to flush. Biting down a quiet laugh, Loki said, "You are thinking too much."

Cora glanced up at him, the crease between her brows easing as she responded, "Is that possible?"

He smirked down at her. "Very. Power is complex. It takes intelligence to dominate it, but emotion to fuel it. The trick is to get it brewing and then put on the reins."

"Why are you doing this anyway?" Cora asked with a tilt to her head.

Loki shrugged and said matter-of-factly, "You are of no use to me untaught."

Makes sense, actually, Cora admitted only to herself, though her expression was efficient in communicating her thoughts. "So. Emotions, huh?" She wasn't overly fond of that; she was one to barrel everything up inside and decompress when she knew she was alone. She'd only had a few truly sound times in her life and one had just gotten ripped away from her by the very power she was now trying to channel.

"Maybe based on what you felt in the other instances, your power acted on its own."

Cora pursed her lips, thinking back to those three occurrences. "I think I… I was afraid."

Loki acknowledged logically, "That would make sense for what your manifestation was."

"Then I'm just supposed to scare myself somehow?"

He sneered, his ivy eyes alight with mischief. "Care for some help?"

Cora glared at him and made an "x" with her slender fingers, backing away a few steps. "I can manage, thanks." He chuckled as she turned away and began thinking through her options. Her first attempt was a complete failure, as she'd tried to recreate nearly getting robbed in the subway terminal, but just the memory wasn't enough to even cause a flicker. Pursing her lips, she pulled out her phone and began scrolling through the apps until she found her photo gallery. She needed a fear stimulus.

She frowned when she shifted her weight and Mjolnir—which was tied by the leather cord to one of her belt loops—smacked her lightly in the leg. "Is it absolutely necessary to keep this on me?"

"Yes," Loki said simply, not elaborating until she asked him why. "If it is out of your reach, it might be recalled. I cannot say how well it would travel between realms, but I am not willing to risk it."

Cora rolled her eyes and went back to what she'd been doing, rapid-fire scrolling until she came to a set of pictures she'd never revisited to delete. The photo appeared happy, but she knew it wasn't—at least, not for her. It was of her and her ex, James, the one she'd seen in Central Park the first time her abilities had apparently decided to manifest.

"Who is that?"

She jumped and felt the familiar little whirr of energy in her bones and across her skin as she faded out of sight. As soon as she realized what had actually happened, her visibility returned and she gave a small breath of relief, though she still sounded on edge. "I thought I told you no helping…"

"I did not intend to," Loki replied, wondering how someone could be so easily startled. When she didn't say anything else, he nodded to her phone and again asked, "Who is that?"

"Me."

"And?"

"…James." Loki waited for her to explain, looking equal parts curious and disinterested, if that were possible. Not knowing if he'd understand the term "ex-boyfriend," she answered, "We were in a relationship once."

"Why aren't you any longer?"

"He didn't react well to things," she admitted, glancing down at the concrete floor.

His gaze turned wary. "How did he react?"

"He, um, hit me a few times. Not because I'd done anything, just, well...because I was there."

"Did he do anything else?" he asked straightforwardly though he now recognized she was speaking of abuse. A strange feeling of anger was working its way through him as he watched her pause and struggle to find the right words to answer him. Her conflict was so subdued, he had to struggle to simply see it.

"He tried. Once."

Loki clenched his jaw. "And?"

Cora thought about that, considerately noting with a lingering tone of sadness, "…I suppose that was the first time power 'manifested' for me. He was twice my size and I threw him into a wall…"

"Well done." Cora looked at him in a bit of surprise, but he was perfectly serious. "Though I can not imagine you allowing someone to treat you so indignantly."

"I did though. For longer than I should have," she said embarrassedly. "I think everyone does at some point in their lives. And then you grow from it."

A silence passed between them before she suddenly diverted their little practice session. She put away her phone and suggested, "I don't seem to be doing very well at this, so maybe we could work on this instead? You said it could do other things," as she took Mjolnir from her hip.

Loki was a bit relieved at the topic change and said, "Yes. As I said, it can be recalled and Thor used it to bombard enemies with lightning, cause it to rain, and fly."

"He could fly with this?" she asked incredulously.

"He can, but I would not recommend you trying it. You would hurt yourself." He was only half-teasing.

Cora glowered at him before looking over the hammer, trying to figure out how to use it. "Well, basics first, I guess… How do I call it back?"

"Throw it. Hard." Cora gave it a good throw, hearing Loki say behind her, "Now bring it back to you." She had no idea how to do that and the hammer fell to the floor, dust rising up around it.

"That was the worst explanation ever," Cora noted as she looked over her shoulder at him.

He tried not to laugh at her and only just managed not to before suggesting she pick it up and try again. "Be one with it. Treat it as a mere extension of your arm."

Cora took a deep breath after picking up the hammer before hurling it forward again. With all her might and spirit, she willed it back to her. Her hand shot forward of its own instinctual accord and Mjolnir paused in mid air, switching direction and coming back to her, its handle aimed toward the curvature of her palm. She caught it, but the force sent her backward. She braced herself to hit the floor, but she felt two large hands against her back instead, stopping her fall.

She glanced up into Loki's face, feeling a bit sheepish, but strangely frozen, too. Not from the temperature of his hands—though they were cold through her shirt—but from locking eyes with him. That stillness was only dissolved when he murmured, "Perhaps you should use a little less concentration next time."

"I'm thinking too much again?"

Loki smiled and the expression was strangely kind. "Exactly."

Later that night, they were snacking on bagels again. They had quit around an hour after her little mishap with recalling Mjolnir successfully for the first time and, after that, she'd worked on using just the right amount of willpower to bring it back without sending her onto her backside—which had happened a couple of times. It made her feel better to know she was capable of that little trick now, just in case it wasn't by her side when she needed it, though Loki seemed hellbent on keeping it tethered to her at all times.

Cora looked over the weapon with renewed interest and a good sense of accomplishment. She'd not succeeded at what they'd set out to do today, but she'd been able to do something correctly at least. She thought back to what he'd said about the lightning and wondered if she could just use a little of that energy to make a light source. The use of her phone was causing its battery to wear out faster and she'd tried every light-switch in the old warehouse as evening had fallen the night before to no avail; they were all dead bulbs.

Loki had finished his "dinner"—if there was one thing he missed about Asgard, it was the food; bagels were getting a bit monotonous—and watched Cora out of the corner of his eye as she fiddled with Mjolnir, seeming to be attempting something with it. His eyes widened marginally when there seemed to be a spark of energy from inside the head of the hammer. He wondered if he'd simply seen a trick of the minimal light in the room until the spark grew more pronounced. "Careful, what are you—"

"Shh, hold on," she whispered, her eyes trained intently on the engraved spoke and not moving until a soft blue glow spread throughout the steel, radiating forth from the symbols in particular. There was a faint play of static around the edges, but it set forth enough light to outline the immediate area in a soft electric glow.

Cora smiled broadly, feeling accomplished and entirely unaware of Loki's gaze, now fixed upon her and his brother's weapon. His brow beetled subtly—he'd never imagined that Mjolnir could be used in a way that didn't edge toward violence. He'd gone with Thor into many a fight in their time as brothers and seen the destruction that hammer had caused to their foes. And yet here was this human woman opposite him, encouraging its power to show in a gentle way that made it more of a nightlight than a weapon. She was in control.

His teeth clenched faintly as he pondered that. This mortal could do what he couldn't. As the light grew and then slowly faded from the dwarf-forged steel in her hands, a dangerous envy began to brew anew in his heart.

Next chapter: Chapter 7, "Powerless"

[purple-hxze]

I'm writing fanfics on here now, starting with Na'vi!Quaritch x Fem!Na'vi reader. I'll probably make this into an extended series? It depends. For the sake of easier writing, I'll be using the name Nuateyat. If you don't like dont read it. It was easier for me to do that rather than write Y/N constantly. Change the name of you want, thats completely okay.

I honestly made this more sweet and cute than I intended but I think it worked out.

Tags/Warnings: Tsaheylu, emotional bonding, Quaritch conflicted and angry about not fitting in as a Na'vi, Reader Comforting Quaritch, Not really much smut but they kiss, Reference to them already being v close

Unpredictable Bond

"Skxawang. You fly your Ikran like a baby." She lightly smacked his bicep, shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose as Quaritch landed on the clearing in a very ungraceful manner. Quaritch, furrowing his brows, ignored the comment from Nuateyat: mostly because he still struggled to understand certain Na'vi phrases.

"Let her rest." Nuateyat suggested, starting to make her way towards her camp, Quaritch following close behind. It was difficult. He hated that even after spending so long on the vast planet called Pandora, that he couldn't learn things as quick. As a human, usually he got past these feelings quiet easily. Most days, he would lift weights until he felt lightheaded, coated with sweat in the process; he'd drink a coffee after usually too. But coffee wasn't as accessible on Pandora. Back at base it was, but months back Quaritch got misplaced on a mission after a close call with a thanator. It was that day that a strange na'vi whom was all alone saved him.

Nuateyat was a huntress, who had been living alone within the forests of Pandora for nearly 15 years. She hunted with a spear, and managed to take out the thanator before in shred his guts open. He had healing scars on his abdomen from the attack still, raw and still pink in flesh tone. Something made Quaritch decide to stay with the woman after he had technically healed enough to leave, something that conflicted with not only him but Nuateyat as well.

"Quaritch-" Nuateyat reached a four fingered hand out to him, only got the colonel to grab her wrist suddenly without looking, turning his head after several seconds to look at her. He simply looked at her, holding her wrist; He ran his 5 fingers up to clasp her hand, his eyes switching to express that of something similar to sorrow. "Pretty." He murmured while his eyes were darting over the features on Nuateyat's face, the deep scar on her chest leading to her abdomen. Confused, Nuateyat tilted her head slightly to the side. "You are pretty-" Nuateyat started, only for Quaritch to shake his head slightly, letting go of Nuateyat's wrist. "Sweetheart, I ain't." His tone was that of someone conflicted between feelings. "I ain't even full Na'vi." He showed her his hands, which had five fingers instead of 4, like Nuateyat had. "I don't fit in, y'know, in this...new body." His eyes met her soft green eyes once more.

It took a short while for Nuateyat to speak up, but once she did, she spoke directly to Quaritch. "I see you as Na'vi." She started, putting her hand against his and gently intertwining her fingers with his. "I see you." Even without Tsaheylu, she felt as though she was connected already to Quaritch. The two of them were strange, one an outcast and the other the person she was supposed to be enemies with. "I see you too, but at the same time I don't." Quaritch said in a bit of a frustrated manner, making Nuateyat cup his face and make him look at her. "Stop being miserable." Nuateyat ran her thumb gingerly over his cheek, feeling his smooth blue skin. "You are perfect, in my eyes. Just because you have five fingers, doesn't mean you don't mean anything to me. You are special Quaritch. You are unique." Her words of comfort seemed to help the conflicted man, as his eyes closed softly. He looked content.

"I want to help you." Nuateyat murmured gently, making Quaritch open his eyes and quirk a brow. "What?" Nuateyat sat back on her knees, motioning for Quaritch to follow in pursuit. Once he was sat down in front her her, she moved a hand to grab her braid. "You know of Tsaheylu, the unbroken bond, right?. I know you feel bad about not understanding Na'vi ways...This might help." Nuateyat watched as without hesitation, Quaritch gently grabbed his braid too. "This would bond us together emotionally...right? I don't mind physically either of course, but I just wanted-" Quaritch suddenly paused and clenched his hands when Nuateyat connected her braid to his. His pupils dilated drastically, a sense of surprise and enjoyment rushing through him. "Shit..." Quaritch muttered through gritted teeth, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head as he felt his mind explode. He felt...closer to Nuateyat, in ways he didn't think we're possible. He felt like he could see her and her mind so much more clearly, like he could feel every emotion from her.

He didn't realize it was the same for Nuateyat, who smiled at him as she experienced his emotions. "This bonds us, soul." She softly touched his chest with one finger. "and mind." She lifted her hand to softly touch his forehead. Quaritch was so quiet, eyes closed...but he opened them quickly. Looking into Nuateyat's eyes, he felt a whole new feeling, one more primal but a feeling he wasn't unfamiliar with. Nuateyat seemed as though she could feel it too, as her pupils dilated as well. Usually being quick to act, he immediately grabbed Nuateyat's cheeks and pulled her close to connect their lips. A spark burst in him when he and Nuateyat did Tsaheylu, it was like he was so much more closer to Nuateyat than they were before. "Quaritch." Nuateyat whispered when they finally seperated their lips, still connected by their braids. "Be quiet, it's okay. I can hear you." Quaritch gingerly pressed a hand to the side of her face, leaning forward to press his forehead against her and eventually putting his other hand on the other side of her face. "I feel you." Quaritch said in a soft tone, his face noticeably relaxed. It was a nice change, to see him so calm...and it felt nice to be connected to him in the most Na'vi way possible. Nuateyat smiled softly, closing her eyes as well. "I feel you too, Quaritch..."

[fakevariety]

ok so just want to ramble somewhere about this outdoor camp thing i went to for the week so long post incoming

overall, it was so fun!!! i was in a tent with my friend group, including my bsf and someone who i'm getting to know better but they're hilarious and i really like her. however, in this tent was also a girl who is... not the best. she makes pretty awful jokes, like at at least half of the meals she made so many comments about how much food other people were eating, and one point she made some comment making fun of people who use neopronouns which is awful enough but she made it in front of someone who uses they/neopronouns??? she was just overall awful, and the worst part is most of the people in our tent, people who i've been friends with since sixth grade, were laughing at her jokes and joking along? it was so fucked up and really changed my perspective of them and showed me how much they've changed this past year and not in a good way.

one of those people is someone who used to be my best friend last year in seventh grade. i've posted about this, she basically pretty much stopped talking to me randomly and just stopped being interested in me, blah blah blah i'm kind of over it even though i won't really ever trust her again. anyways, she was one of the people laughing at these awful jokes and making similar jokes, and um. she was using she/her pronouns on me. which, just, wow. very much hurt. she was kind of friends with me since i first started using they/them, and it's never changed. i can't believe i used to trust this person the most and now she's using she/her pronouns on me like genuinely what the fuck it felt like a punch in the gut i was so thrown off i had to hide in a changing stall full of bugs so no one would see me crying lol. i do understand not getting people's pronouns right all the time, but she did when we were friends!!! she was great at it!!! and then this past school year we've only briefly talked because we aren't really friends anymore but my pronouns have NOT changed! and she kept using she/her pronouns on me a few times and then switching to they/them, but it seemed so purposeful as if she thought i used she/they, i have no idea where she would get that from since our friend group occasionally does pronoun checks with each other and i always say they/them. anyways, it really hurt and i kind of strongly dislike her now for multiple reasons.

also, this was kind of stupid but. basically there was a snake behind our tent which was cool! as long as it didn't bother us we liked it because snakes are sick. anyways a few minutes later i hear a squeaking noise, i look out at the snake is eating a baby bunny. i draw people's attention, and for the next 40 min or so, people just crowd around and watch the snake eat five baby bunnies, and it only left one alive (which some counselors took and are feeding and taking care of which is sweet) but i head a pretty big reaction i'm like very sensitive so that caused me to cry in the changing stall again but other than that i didn't cry so yay!!

and the last main bad thing that happened was last night our tent was talking and the girl that i really don't like said that at first she thought our counselor 'looked jewish'. i myself am jewish so i was like 'well it doesn't really work like that' and went on to talk about how while in history, jews have come from certain countries that have certain features, but in modern day times jews don't really have physical features that tells you they are are jew. the people in my tent went on to not acknowledge what i said AT ALL, and another person said how people think she is jewish and how 'it must be [her] nose'. i AGAIN said that you cannot look jewish, and everyone AGAIN ignored me. i didn't really realize that they were ignoring me until i thought over it the next morning and i just had a long talk with my dad about it as i always do when i experience antisemitism.

anyways yeah this was the notable bad stuff that happened overall it was so fun and i loved spending time with my friends