#Anyway can you tell the fixation wheel has shifted

[rubberduckyrye]

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND

I LOVE HIM SO FUCKING MUCH HE DESERVED BETTER

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter six | chapter five | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

a/n: I thought I'd have this up a lot sooner, but kept rewriting it due to not being satisfied, and even know I'm a little eh... ANYWAY, as always, thank you for reading! | **updated for mistakes**

word count: 5317

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Chapter Seven

It’s late morning by the time the three of you finally arrive at the community. You stick your head out of the rolled-down window as the car approaches the large gates. The image will be burned into your mind for as long as you live: the tall walls lined with barbed wire and the large wooden gate doors that have been reinforced with steel beams. As the car gets closer, a group of seven or so people emerges from the gate that has now been slightly opened, approaching the vehicle with various types of guns. Tommy urgently rolls down his window and sticks his head out, beginning to wave them down. All except one put their weapons down when they realized it was Tommy, either slinging them over their shoulders or holstering them on their sides. Joel rolls his eyes as one of the guards, who still has his gun in a ready position, comes up to the passenger side window. The sun makes his blonde hair glisten, and the slight breeze blows pieces out of place. His unmistakably blue eyes stare intensely through the window at you and Joel, a sudden feeling of uneasiness quickly overcomes you. He gives you a particularly lengthy, expressionless stare before shifting his attention to the back, where Tommy still has his arm hanging out of the window. 

“Who’s the girl?” The guard immediately asks Tommy in a harsh, hushed whisper. Tommy tells him your name in exchange, keeping his tone neutral. You nervously look over to Joel, who is in the process of angling the rearview mirror towards the two conversing in the back. He’s watching them through squinted eyes. You rub your sweaty palms over your thighs a few times before turning your attention to the side view mirror. 

“Found her in Colorado on my way out of Fort Collins. She’s good, I promise,” Tommy sounds much more serious now. The man doesn’t say anything in response. Tommy lets out a huff of air after realizing the implications of the silence. “Maria trusts me, she wouldn’t let me go out on runs if she didn’t. It would be nice if you’d trust me every once in a while, James. ”

James dramatically clears his throat before changing the subject.

“If I remember correctly, you left with two vehicles,” he says, placing one of his palms flat against the side of the car and leaning against it, slinging his gun over his shoulder in the process. You catch a glimpse of Tommy, who now appears to be perturbed. “You’re only coming back with one?”

Tommy scoffs, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes before looking at Joel through the rearview mirror. Joel shifts his eyes away toward the steering wheel, placing both hands around it and tightening his grip. You drop your gaze, fixating on one of your untied shoelaces. Thanks, Joel, Tommy hisses bitterly. 

“This is ridiculous… some stuff happened, not that it’s any of your business,” Tommy’s tone is sharp as he speaks. James turns to look around him at the other guards surrounding the car. For a moment, you can see his tough act start to slip before he hardens his face again, glaring back at Tommy.

“It is my business because-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Tommy cuts him off.

“Listen, we can sit here all day going back and forth, or you can let us in, so I can get the medical attention I need and talk to Maria,” Tommy asserts. 

James sticks his head halfway through the window, taking a quick look at Tommy’s leg, and lets out another loud sigh, not attempting to hide his disapproval. James stands at the side of the car for a long while contemplating, glancing back and forth between you and Joel upfront, Tommy in the back, and the front gate that is still propped open. All the guards have their eyes locked on him, waiting to be told what to do. He clicks his tongue a single time before suddenly turning to the woman standing a few feet behind him, giving her a small nod, in which she starts yelling orders at the others. In an instant, they’re all moving. The doors of the gate begin to open wider to let the car through. 

“Alright, start moving,” James says tight-lipped, as he impatiently hits the top of the hood with one of his hands. This guy has some serious power struggle issues, you think to yourself. You look him up and down as he begins walking toward the community. 

Joel shifts the car into drive, slowly accelerating forward. As the car pulls past James, he glares into the front of the car again, his face quickly twisting into an unpleasant grimace. You turn your head to look over at Joel, who is giving him a sarcastically big smile and a one-handed wave. James creases his eyebrows as he looks away, hardening his expression. You bite your bottom lip, trying not to laugh. 

“Asshole,” Joel mutters under his breath, instantly dropping his smile once James is out of view. A quiet giggle escapes past your lips, making the corner of Joel’s lips twitch into a small smile. 

“Joel, don’t antagonize him,” Tommy scolds him quietly. He is now sitting more forward than before, gripping the backs of both yours and Joel’s seats. After his conversation with James, he seems distracted and somewhat distraught—completely different than he had been before. 

“I was trying to be nice,” Joel responds in an unconvincing manner, glancing back at his brother through the mirror. Tommy ignores him and slides back into his seat, looking out of one of the side windows.

Once Joel pulls through the gates, one of the guards directs him to come to a stop, some of the others open the back of the station wagon and begin to unload everything, separating the various items into different piles just off to the side.

“Hand me your knife,” Joel whispers, leaning over the center console towards you. “C’mon, hurry.”

You raise your eyebrows, pulling it out from the side of your waistband. He has his arm laid out across the console, his hand palm up, waiting for you to hand it to him. Without a little hesitation, you give it to him, and he quickly shoves it into the back of his waistband, making sure to pull his shirt over it, so it’s out of sight. You furrow your brows in confusion. 

James walks up to the driver's side of the car and opens the door, asking for both of your backpacks, while the woman from before makes her way around the car to Tommy and asks for his. Joel turns to you, not saying anything, and points to your bag that’s between your feet on the floor. You hesitantly pick it up and hand it to him, giving him a look of concern. He subtly shakes his head in response, before turning back and handing him the bags. You lean up against the dashboard and watch as they walk over to a smallish trailer, handing the three bags to someone else, who disappears inside with them in hand. Joel lightly taps your arm, causing you to direct your attention back to him. 

“You’ll get it back. It’s just routine, every time someone comes in, they have to check the bags,” he reassures you, his hand still lingering on your arm. You nod at him. “Unless you have explosives or something else that could potentially cause any harm to the community...”

Joel’s voice trails off, and you let out a pitiful laugh.  

James suddenly appears again, ducking down and holding onto the top of the car door frame. Joel leans his body back against the console as James pokes his head in the car.

“Do any of you have weapons on you that we should know about?” He asks suspiciously. Joel shakes his head, pursing his lips innocently. You glance at him before mimicking him and shaking your head in denial. James straightens his body, looking off to the side towards his partner. They both exchange odd looks. “Well, we’re going to need to pat you guys down, it’s proto-”

“None of you are touching me, so you can forget about that,” Joel spits out, getting out of the car and aggressively slamming the door shut. James shuffles backward, and Tommy loudly sighs, sliding to the door closest to the two and swinging it open. 

“Joel, just—” Tommy begins to yell, trying to push himself up. James’ partner is now approaching the situation as things begin to escalate between the two.

“Tommy, James, forget it.” She spoke in a calm tone, putting her hands up in the air. “If he says he doesn’t have anything, we can just take his word for it, we know him. We can still search the girl and tell Maria we did our job to the best of our abilities.” 

They all exchange looks with one another. James grudgingly agrees to her suggestion. You watch Joel as he makes his way around the front of the car to your door, opening it for you. When you pull yourself completely out, he places his hand on your back, guiding you to where the others are standing. He gives you a reassuring look once more before walking away. The two guards close in on you, now blocking your view of Joel and Tommy, who are only a few yards away. Your heart begins to beat fast.

“I’m Nora, and this is James. I’m just going to pat you down real quick, okay?” She says this, gesturing between the three of you. She’s talking to you like you’re a child. You don’t respond; you're just blankly looking between them. “Do you have any weapons on you that we should know about?”

Joel telling you to give him your knife makes sense now. You pull up the right side of your shirt, revealing your gun. Nora carefully takes it out of the holster before handing it over to James. He’s staring at you with a cold look, sending a chill down your spine. 

“That’s it,” You say, barely audible, looking past Nora at Joel, who is watching carefully in your direction. He and Tommy are talking to one another, and both of them appear to be tense. Nora nods and quickly begins to pat you down, starting with your arms and torso before checking your legs. It was humiliating as everyone in the general area turned their heads to watch. You feel heat begin to flood your face and chest. 

“Okay, she’s clear,” Nora states plainly to James before they both turn away to walk back over to the trailer. James is still in possession of your gun. Guess I won’t be getting that back, a part of you feels sad about parting ways with your gun, you’ve had it since the beginning of the outbreak. 

Joel catches your attention and motions for you to come over to him. They’re finishing up their conversation, and you only catch the tail end of it—something about Joel needing to be more respectful to the guards. Joel looks less than happy to be hearing that from Tommy at the moment.

“I have to go get this taken care of and talk to Maria, let her and the others know that you’re here,” Tommy says, directing it towards you. “I’m sure she’ll want to meet you as soon as possible, but for now, I’ll have James stick with you-”

“Not James, Tommy,” Joel interrupts, his face twisting up when he says, James . “I’m sure he thinks he has many more important things to do; I’ll just stay with her until Maria is ready, shouldn’t be long, right?”

Tommy sucks in some air through his teeth before nodding in agreement, turning away from you and Joel, and putting his arm around the person who will assist him to the community medical center. 

The two of you turn towards Tommy as he walks away, the person helping him is struggling to keep both of them upright. As he passes James, he says something to him, probably communicating the fact that Joel is going to stay with you until Maria is ready. James looks past Tommy, narrowing his eyes at you. You turn to look at Joel, who is glaring back in his direction. He turns his head to meet your gaze, cocking his head to the side. His eyes exude a softness that you haven’t seen from him before, but his face is stone-cold as always. Without saying anything, he shifts his body in the opposite direction and starts walking towards a large wooden log that has been turned into a bench.

“You didn’t have to-” You turn as well, quickening your pace to catch up to him. When you make it to the bench, Joel gestures for you to take a seat. He, however, decides to remain standing. 

“Trust me, I’m much better company than that guy ,” Joel juts his head towards James, who is standing in front of the vehicle, carefully surveying the people who are finishing up separating the goods. “If you think I’m an asshole, he sure is… hm … he’s somethin’ else.” 

You let out an awkward half-laugh, not knowing how else to respond. 

Looking around the community, it is a lot bigger than you expected it to be. The buildings are all in good condition, and the landscaping within the walls is well maintained. You can see the mountains poking up above the walls, which you think are absolutely beautiful. Poles with strings of light bulbs run throughout the community, you cannot wait to see them at nighttime when everything is all lit up. As excited as you are to finally be here, you know it's going to take a long time to truly get used to this way of life, to put your guard down from the bullshit you endured within the past decade in a poorly structured society. The thought makes you anxious. What if you can’t get used to it? What if you’re just forever stuck in this never-ending cycle of dread and guilt, and you can’t get over the things you’ve done, and you don’t fit in, and you end up alone, and what if… your mind is racing. 

-

You notice people slowly starting to fill the streets, coming out from inside the buildings and side streets, looking in your direction. Joel quickly takes notice, grabbing your hand and leading you over to a patch of grass that is hidden by a smaller wooden building. James immediately shoots over a bizarre look of anger, however, you don't think Joel sees it. 

“You’re going to get stares for a while, ignore them. They’re just curious. Maria doesn’t really allow insiders in, at least not for the past few years,” he says as the two of you walk slowly side by side, your arms occasionally brushing up against each other, something you both ignore. 

The sound of someone running—gravel being crushed under boots—becomes louder and louder from behind, causing both you and Joel to spin around. It’s James, and he’s waving one of his arms up in the air, his bottom lip is slightly jutting outward. Joel lets out a scoff and begins to shake his head. 

“Let’s keep going,” he says quietly, only so you can hear. 

James appears in front of you, putting his hand up, so you come to a halt.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He shouts, trying to size up Joel, who rolls his eyes at this poor attempt and drops his head, looking down at his feet. You notice how small James looks in comparison to Joel, not only in terms of height but overall stature. 

“Just taking her over in the shade, that’s all,” Joel shoots back, attempting to sound unbothered, however, you can hear a tinge of hostility as he speaks. James doesn’t respond right away, he’s still standing in front of you, tensing and untensing his jaw over and over, obviously not loving that he has no control whatsoever over Joel. After a few moments of silence, Joel turns away and guides you past him, placing his hand between your shoulder blades, only letting his hand drop once you reach the grassy area. 

“Someone’s awfully protective,” James calls out, Joel ignores him and tries to pretend the comment didn’t faze him, but you can see his jaw tense up. He shakes his head again before leaning up against the wooden exterior of the building. You take a seat on the ground in a shaded spot several feet away from Joel. 

Once James finally walks off, returning to the trailer, Joel looks around before pulling your knife out from the back of his waistband. You look up at him as he walks in front of you and takes a seat in the grass. He holds your knife in the palms of his hands before balancing the knife and sheath on your thigh. You wrap your fingers around it, rubbing your thumb along the ragged bits of leather.

“Just make sure they don’t see it, what nobody knows about won’t hurt them,” He watches you as you slip it in the back of your waistband. The two of you exchange a sort of awkward smile. 

-

You sit there for what seems like ages. With nothing else to do, you sneak glimpses of the community past the building, eager to see more of it. And when that becomes boring, you watch the guards and a few other people who you assume to be regular members of the community clear the supplies from the ground, taking them wherever they belong, and drive the station wagon you came to love off into the distance. At some point, someone from the building adjacent to you and Joel, brings over two sandwiches and two drinks. Joel got up from the spot next to you and met them in the middle, steering them clear of you. You watched curiously. The small, curly-haired woman kept looking past Joel and making eye contact with you, her eyes full of judgment. Joel’s voice came into your thoughts, they’re just curious, even though this woman’s look conveyed something much more than just curiosity. 

The sandwich is delicious, you haven’t eaten something like this, a real meal, in a long time. You savor every bite, chewing carefully and slowly; you begin to feel like you're riding some sort of high, it’s genuinely that good. Joel nearly inhaled his sandwich, finishing it off in three very large bites. When you look over at him, his cheeks are full of food, causing you to laugh; he shot you a look of confusion, raising one eyebrow at you. You shake your head, trying to take your reaction back, but every time you look at him and his blown-up cheeks, you begin to laugh again. Nothing, it’s nothing, I’m sorry, you force out between your gasps for air. You bring your hands up to your face, trying to gain composure. As you spread your fingers, so you can look between the slits, you notice a smile on Joel's face as he chews. You let your hands drop, and just as you do so, Joel’s face hardens back into a confused expression.

“C’mon, I saw you,” You reach out and lightly nudge his shoulder. 

“Saw what?” Joel’s tone is higher than normal. What a horrible liar, you think. 

“I saw you smiling...”

“You saw nothin’ of that sort because—” Joel doesn’t finish his sentence before a laugh escapes from him. He tried his best to hold it back. 

You join in, pointing at him, unable to get any words out. The lines around his eyes deepen, and pink flushes his cheeks as he laughs. The melodious sound makes your heart skip a beat and a coolness pool in your belly.

But the feeling is short-lived.

You feel your stomach flip suddenly, and an odd feeling quickly begins to take over. This is exactly what you didn’t want. A silence quickly settles between the two of you.

The silence continues as you finish eating, and it’s beginning to make you feel antsy. As much as you can’t wait to learn more about the community, meet Maria, and begin this new chapter of your life, you can’t help but run over every moment with Joel over the past several days; from the moment you first met him outside the cabin until now in the present moment, running over every single little detail over and over in your mind. Your mind plays tug of war, a part of you wants to forget about him, and another part of you wants to hold on for dear life. Suddenly your heart is aching, your ecstasy-type high fading.

“So,” You break the silence, turning your upper body towards Joel. He’s picking at the grass and looking off into the distance, focusing hard on something. “This is it, then?”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” he plainly responds, the lack of emotion in his voice makes your heart sting. You continue looking at him, and he won’t take his eyes off of whatever it is he has his eyes locked on. He looks like he’s about to say something, but he never does. Again, silence. 

This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? To get to Jackson and leave Joel behind? A voice begins rationalizing in your mind, the words attempting to soothe the pain you feel in your chest, but it doesn’t. Something shifted back at the factory. This isn’t one-sided, is it? I can't be the only one who feels this, you begin to wonder, becoming all caught up in your head.

In the corner of your eye, you notice James approaching with both yours and Joel’s bags in each hand. Joel notices as well, standing up from his crisscross position before offering you a hand up; you accept his help, putting your hand in his, and in one swift pull, you're up on your feet. You brush the loose grass off the back of your thighs. 

“You’re good to go, Joel Miller, to your home or to leave, whatever,” James says gruffly, giving a single nod in Joel's direction and handing him his bag. He then turns to you and gives you yours. “Maria is ready to see you now, so… follow me.” 

His voice is a lot kinder toward you. 

You look at Joel in your peripheral vision. Part of you wants him to say something to you, something that will make all your thoughts make sense, however, he seems to be preoccupied with recounting all of his supplies in his pack. James rolls his eyes and scoffs, it’s all there, you… he lets out a frustrated grunt before trailing off. As James begins to walk away, you take a final look at Joel before following. An uneasiness rushes through your system, and at this moment you realize your attachment to Joel, perhaps it's much more severe than you thought. He gives you an odd sense of safety, like you don’t always have to have your guard up, at least not when he’s around. Your breathing quickly becomes shallow. It seemed different, you think to yourself, maybe I’m just an idiot and mistook his change in behavior as...

“Wait a minute,” Joel calls out once you're several yards away, causing you to immediately stop in your tracks and turn towards him in one swift movement. He has his bag slung over one of his shoulders as he jogs over to you. “Can we talk real quick, before you leave?”

You give him a nod, trying not to seem too eager about whatever he has to say to you. Joel side eyes James, who is now standing at your side.

“Perhaps alone,” Joel says in a low voice.

The two are steadily eyeing each other, neither of them breaking eye contact for a few moments. James’ posture slightly rounds before he looks away, covering his discomfort by looking over his shoulder. When he looks back, his mouth forms a frown. He mumbles something incoherent under his breath as he turns, the only part you catch is when he says I’ll just be waiting up here. 

Joel watches James as he walks away and lets him get a considerable distance away before turning back towards you, only leaving a few inches separating the two of you. You look up at him, switching your focus between his eyes and his lips. His gaze is locked onto your eyes, and he has a hesitant look on his face, which fills your head with all sorts of questions, what could this be about? Anticipation spreads throughout your body as he parts his lips. 

“I just want to apologize one more time,” His eyes are intense. “For how I treated you and for that night, I—just, all of it, really.”

“You’re good, Joel,” You return with a sly smile, trying to steady your voice as you talk. “Don’t worry about it.”

He gives you a small smile, letting it drop almost instantly. Based on what Tommy told you, you know telling him not to worry isn't going to stop him from beating himself up with whatever guilt he’s feeling. 

“You know, I really... I really thought—” Joel shifts his eyes off to the side, pursing his lips as he thinks.

“What?” You draw your brows together and cock your head, waiting for him to complete his thought.

“Hey, I thought this talk was going to be quick,” James yells out as he checks his wristwatch and throws up his hands.

“ Nothin’. You should probably go ‘n not keep Maria waiting,” Joel's voice went emotionless again. You nod, your mood dropping again. 

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around then Joel Miller, ” You say as you cross your arms, a small tinge of hope lingers in the short sentence. Joel doesn’t meet your gaze, just returns a nod. You feel your mouth form into a frown. “Or not?” 

He doesn't say anything, which is a response in itself. Fuck. A prickly feeling overwhelms your throat. Taking one last look at him, you turn on your heel and head towards James.

James is watching you as you approach him, straightening his posture once again. He has his gun slung over his shoulder and both hands in his pocket. As you look up at him, a single tear rolls down your face. Fuck. You quickly wipe it away. His expression changes, looking past you in Joel’s direction and then back at you. You hear him take a deep breath before placing one of his hands on one of your arms, just above your elbow. He clicks his tongue a few times, not knowing what to say, giving you an empathetic look. The look provokes a sense of anger deep inside you.

“He...uh,” James starts to speak.

“Don’t,” You cut him off. You didn’t want to talk about this with anyone, especially not with a stranger. You didn’t want to make it a real feeling, especially not now, and talking about it would definitely make it real. One last look, you think as you turn to look over your shoulder. Joel has his back to you, walking towards what you think is the guards' station. Your heart sinks even further in your chest. 

The only thing that brings you out of your thoughts is when you think you hear someone calling out your name. You hear it once, it sounds muffled, and you don't really pay any special attention to it. Then you hear it again, this time pulling you fully out of your internal pity party daze. Now, for the third time, the voice has a familiar sense to it. You begin to look around you, James is looking too, seemingly confused, so you know you aren’t losing your mind. He points up ahead of you without saying anything, a figure is running full speed at you. You put your hand up, blocking the glare of the sun out of your eyes, you squint. A fourth time, but this time with much more urgency. Your heart starts beating even faster, and adrenaline is now pumping through your veins. 

No, it can’t be .

You shake yourself out of James' grip and start jogging towards the person.

“ Fuck ,” You say under your breath before calling out. “Nessa, Nessa, is that you?”

Tears begin to fill your eyes at a much more rapid rate at the realization of who it was calling out your name and now running towards you. You begin running even faster towards her, everything around you has become nonexistent. 

You both come crashing into one another with a considerable amount of force, nearly knocking the wind out of you. James is now standing back, watching the chaos unfold before him. Others begin to gather around, curious as to what all the commotion is about. That’s not something you see every day, you hear him say, turning to the person now standing next to him. Letting go of her tight embrace of you, Nessa grabs your shoulders, so you're now an arm's length from her. Her eyes are marveling at you, darting around at the different parts of your face. 

“My God,” Her eyes are wide, lined with tears. You can’t react; you're purely paralyzed from shock. “ It’s really you. ” 

The tears start rapidly falling for both of you, streaming down your cheeks at a steady rate. You wipe the tears falling down her face with the pad of your thumb, holding her face between your hands. The realization that you had found each other again was overwhelming. Even though people were surrounding you from all sides, it felt like it was just you and her, everything else was a blur.

“I have so much to tell you,” You could barely get out the words.

“Me too,” She’s aggressively nodding, refusing to peel her eyes away from you. 

“How did you, how are you—” You don’t even know where to start, your heart feels full with her standing in front of you. 

“Tommy came to the main building; I was helping Maria out with something, and he started tellin’ us how he brought someone back… when he said your name and the gist of your story, I immediately had to find out if it was you or not,'' Her words fell out of her mouth without taking a breath. “I didn’t even let him finish, I just came running.”

Nessa looks good, she looks healthy and clean. She’s gotten a bit taller than the last time you saw her, her baby cheeks you remembered so fondly are gone. Her kind eyes still remain, and your heart leaps out of happiness when you look into them. You begin to think about how awful you must look in comparison, you wonder what the look in your eyes told her—could she tell how hard it’s been?

“Come with me, you still have to meet Maria, and then after we can just�� talk and catch up,” She was beaming, your arms were laced within each other. James is now leisurely following behind the two of you. You give a simple nod in response.

You give a final look over your shoulder. As the crowd parts in the middle and everyone returns to what they previously had been doing, you see Joel standing where the two of you last spoke. You can’t decipher his expression from the quick glance you took, but he was standing still, watching you. Turning back to face forward, Nessa looks at you again, smiling. This is your life now, the way you wanted it to be, with Nessa and you’re safe.

It’s time to move on and forget Joel, the voice emerges from the back of your mind.

read chapter eight here!

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

[queersatanic]

TST co-owner tells story of "prank call" about a smelly gay Hindu organ harvester dating his OfficeMax manager

Via The.Satanic.Wiki

On Sept. 11, 2003, future co-owner of The Satanic Temple Doug “Lucien Greaves” Misicko, his friend and collaborator Shane Bugbee, and Shane Bugbee’s wife Amy Stocky hosted a 24-hour Internet radio stream with guests and callers to mark the release of their new edition of the proto-fascist manifesto Might Is Right. The following year, Doug Misicko continued to appear on Internet radio streams with Shane and Amy. “The ABCs of the Alphabet” was one such program. This is an excerpt from one of those recordings.

CW: anti-South Asian racism, homophobia

Full transcript:

02:46 Doug Misicko

O-okay. Well, I have an organ theft story from OfficeMax (Amy Bugbee: Excellent.) Because I used to work at OfficeMax, and it suddenly struck me that every day I had been going into the break room and ignoring the fact that they had an anonymous tip line there that I could, presumably, call at anytime to give people "snitch tips". You know, if I needed to report my management for theft, or whatever else, or I was afraid to go to anybody else, I could call this number. So at one point, I decided to exploit this about daily. So one of the more "classic calls" I made to the OfficeMax tip line- snitch line, whatever you call it. So I called them and I reported that our store manager was gay, and that his friend had been proposing- propositioning people in the men's room, and it made me afraid to go in there and take a shit. I told them I had an eight hour shift, and I was afraid to go in there. Take a piss.

03:44 Shane Bugbee

Now, was this true?

03:46 Doug Misicko

No, it wasn't! Not at all.

[Interruption by train ommitted]

04:26 Doug Misicko

Oh... No, so he says, "Has his friend over proposition you for sex in the bathroom?" And I said "No." And he said "Has he proposition anybody, you know, for sex?" And I said, "Dude, what is your fixation with gay sex?" And he said, "Hey, you- you called and I thought you were saying that this guy's propositioning people for sex and bathroom." I said, "I never said that. I said he's propositioning people in the bathroom that he's gay. That doesn't mean wants to have sex with every guy." And he's like, "Oh okay, I don't get it then." And I said, "he's asking people for their organs. He just wants the kidneys." And he said, you know "What do you mean?" I said, "He's this little Hindu fucker. He's this greasy, smelly, little hairy Hindu guy. And anytime somebody comes in the bathroom, he asked if he can take their kidneys for, uh, people overseas." And this guy was intrigued. These people, they were too stupid to hang up on me. So he said, "Why is he in the restroom asking people for their kidneys?" And I say, "Well, because he's got his whole office set up there. He's got wheels in a little table. He's got rusty tools and everything else. I'm just afraid that if I go in there at any point drop my pants the lights are going to be out and I'll be anesthesia-ized and I walkway minus a kidney." And this guy, he assigned me a case number and everything- I had like an anonymous number. You didn't have to tell them who you were, they assigned you a number. I used to call this crap every day was stories as outrageous as that. And what was the hard- the hard part for me was that I knew that they had to investigate him each time. And that somewhere somebody was getting these faxes. And they probably could tell it was me. But they couldn't do anything about it. And I was never able to see that end result. You know, I was never able to get the satisfaction of saying, "Oh, that son of a bitch did it again. It's not fucking funny anymore." Anyways, that's my whole story.

06:17 Amy Bugbee

Do you think they did something about it? Or do you think that the store was so lackadaisical, they didn't care?

06:23 Doug Misicko

I don't know. I actually called the FBI and one of my managers once for opening a program there, copying it and resealing it, and the FBI didn't do a whole lot in that case, but I can only... You know, I can only hope it fuck with somebody in the bureaucracy who had to go through the paperwork and was bitter about it. Because that's what they get for having a stupid as snitch line setup anyway.

06:48 Shane Bugbee

Yeah, I gotta say, Doug, you are one fucking havoc-wreaking motherfucker.

06:53 Doug Misicko

Gotta have fun.

06:55 Shane Bugbee

Yeah, I love it. I'm impressed. Oh, Doug!

[brightermorepls]

“Get dressed, you’re mine today x”

I can't believe this started because of a hypothetical platonic hang out 😅 Anyways, here's a delulu date with Channie. 😳 *goes back in to hiding* Bang Chan x !gn Reader 2490 words 18+ | Minors DNR

*Ping* You’re enjoying your breakfast when your phone goes off, with your mug in one hand you grab your phone with the other, and glance at the screen “Get dressed, you’re mine today x”, you catch yourself smiling into your cup of coffee; it’s been a while since you got to spend time together with Channie, let alone a whole day! As you set your phone back on the counter beside you, another ping, “wear something comfy ;) x” The winky face catches you off guard and you almost spill your drink over your pyjama bottoms. ‘Something comfy??? What the hell is this man-’ and before you can finish your train of thought *PING*, another message rolls in, “be there in 30 :P x”

‘Boy what do you mean 30???’ Slamming your feet on the floor, you bounce off your chair and run toward the bathroom. Showered and dressed in some comfy, but cool attire, you fix your hair, brush your teeth and make your way back to the kitchen to grab your phone from the counter and your keys from a hook on the wall, when the doorbell goes, ‘wow he really wasn’t joking…’ As you open the door you are greeted with a big hug and a bouquet of your favorite flowers, “fuck y/n, I’ve missed you” Chan whispers in your ear as he lets out a long sigh, and you feel him nuzzle into your neck and the smell of his cologne greets you as you lean forward into his embrace. After a few moments of holding on to you, Chan finally pulls away, still holding on to your wrists, and stares at you, looking you up and down, his smile growing wider and his dimples gracing you with their presence, you can’t help but be enamoured by them, by him! “y/n, you look incredible” Chan finally says after he looks you up and down several more times. He’s here, in front of you! ‘Wait, I’m not dreaming am I?’ You pinch your hand, “Ow fuck!” Chan cocks his head and his smile turns into a curious expression, “Just making sure this is not a dream” you laugh at the idea of it. “I’m really here, promise” Chan laughs, letting go of your arms and doing a little spin and a dance before handing you the bouquet of flowers, “Oh er, here!” he awkwardly pauses and you can see a shyness wash over him, ‘fucking adorable’ you chuckle to yourself as you take the flowers and rush off to pop them in a vase. “So what’s the plany, Channie?” You giggle as you make your way back to Chan, who’s waiting at your front door, he smirks at your terrible pun and you can tell he’s trying his best not to cave and laugh which makes you smirk back in return.

Chan’s eyes sparkle as he watches you walk towards him and as you get closer he pulls you in by your waist with the tips of your noses touching he gently tilts his head, leans closer, grazing his lips against yours, “that my love, is a surprise”, he murmurs against you, biting his lip, before he turns around giggles shyly and walks towards his car, leaving you in stunned silence before you manage to bring yourself around and follow him “I…” you stumble over your words as he leaves you dazed. In the car, you and Chan sing along to your favorite songs. Chan loves it when you take over as DJ and he lets you put on whatever music tickles your fancy, “Play me some songs y/n, I want to know what you’re listening to while I’m away” he playfully asks as he hands you his phone. You’ve so much you want to talk about with him, but that can wait, right now you just want to be in the moment with Chan, allowing yourself to take in all of him as he drives.

Chan is sitting beside you in a Nirvana tee-shirt with the sleeves torn off, showing off his spectacular arms, ‘has he gained more muscle since I last saw him?’, you can’t help but be fixated on them as he shifts between the wheel and the gear stick, the early morning light shaping them nicely, he’s wearing tight, torn black jeans, which hug his thighs nicely as he sits and his favorite pair of Converse. “So we are going…..?” You question him as you break out of your trance. “Ermmm..” he giggles, “You’ll have to wait and see!” a small laugh erupts from him, and you huff jokingly back in your seat next to him. An hour passes, both you and Chan have been singing at the top of your lungs and you haven’t noticed the shift in scenery from the city to the seaside, until Chan points it out to you, “Y/n look!” his voice lifting with childish wander, you both have a considerable fondness for the sea and try to go on beach holidays whenever you get the chance. You look over at Chan whose eyes are once again wide and bright as he does a little dance in his seat, you open your window allowing the sea breeze to fill the car and both of you take in the lightly salted air, its refreshing smell surging through you both. As Chan drives you closer to the seafront you spot a long strip of shops, cafés, and arcades and you feel a giddiness take over, “nearly there y/n” Chan says, noticing your excitement. He pulls up to a car park not too much further down the beachfront, as the car comes to a stop you turn off the music and hand Chan back his phone, as he goes to take the phone from you, your eyes lock and he gently takes you by your wrist, pulling you in closer towards him. You scan his face, his eyes slowly shifting as he does the same back to you. Chan bites his bottom lip and licks them as he pulls you in closer, once again brushing his nose against yours. He takes his phone from your hand and places it in his pocket before gently taking your hand in his, entwining your fingers together. “y/n, I really fucking missed you”, the tone in his voice is almost desperate. He leans closer with his body, taking his free hand to your head and running his hand through your hair, “mmm” is all you manage to mumble back before your lips are locked together, ‘I fucking missed you too’. You can taste the mint from his toothpaste as his tongue lightly plays against your lips, his breath cool and icy, his lips soft and gentle; you allow yourself to get lost in the moment, enveloped by his touch. It feels like an eternity since you were last kissed and you both savor the moment, completely forgetting that you are in a car park in broad daylight at noon. It takes you both a few minutes to come around and remember where you are, as you part you see Chan’s shyness once again take over and his cheeks flush pink as he smiles to himself, you lean in and peck him on the cheek before removing your seatbelt and getting out of the car. Around you the scent of the sea lightly paints the air as the ocean’s breeze sweeps its way around you, Chan gets out of the car and shuts the door behind him, he stretches and shakes off the stiffness in his joints from the drive and makes his way over to you. “y/n, are you ready for some fun?” he quirks an eyebrow as he walks to the back of his car and opens the boot, “I’ve got something for you.” Chan reaches inside the boot of his car and takes out a shoebox and hands it to you, a large Converse logo sat atop it. You peel the box lid off in excitement and pull away the tissue paper, “Chann-.” You stop speechless and Chan lets out a small, nervous laugh, “are they okay?”

“You…” you continue, still staring in amazement at the gift in your hand, “I…” but you find it difficult to find the words. Chan nervously bites his lip and moves closer, “I got them custom-made for you… I can’t send them back if yo-” “I love them” you blurt out finally, and you can hear Chan sigh in relief next to you; in the box in your hands, a pair of black Converse with a pink heart monster embroidered into them along with the letters “143” and “I love you” in white stitching and on the back of the heels Chan had your anniversary date embroidered. You could feel your eyes welling and Chan quickly takes the box from your hands and pulled you in for another hug. He’d been away for so long and at this particular moment, time froze.

“I got you something else!” Chan bubbled with excitement, as if you’d not been spoiled enough, “Close your eyes, y/n.” he asked as he reached back into his car’s boot, “hold out your hands” he giggled. You feel a somewhat heavy item plonk into both of your hands, as you slowly opened your eyes you are greeted by a skateboard, its deck custom painted a bunch of colorful heart monsters holding up the letters 'I Love You’, its wheels a beautiful aqua blue that complimented the pink background perfectly.

Chan's gaze is wild-eyed and full of excitement as you react to his gifts, he can't help but contain his joy for a job well done by bouncing on the spot and tiny claps. "Channie…" is all you manage to say before the board is taken from your hands and placed on the ground beside you. "It's been forever since we saw each other and this album really made me miss you y/n, I couldn't stop thinking about you" Chan's eyes pierced through yours as he spoke, he leaned in grabbing you by the waist again, pulling you closer to him once more.

Before he could make a move you curl your fingers around his tee shirt and kiss him gently, he leans into you again, licking your lips with his tongue and smiling against you, you can’t help but smile back in return. All you could think about was how much you wish you both were anywhere but a car park, on a Sunday afternoon right now, but you could tell Chan had put a huge amount of thought into today so being alone with him would have to wait. Pushing away from him you grab the skateboard and scan the location around you. “We’re going skating?” You ask Chan unable to contain your excitement, he nods with a cheeky smile and points down the road where you see a gated skate park in the distance.

As you have your fun in the skate park you can’t help yourself but stop and take moments of looking at Chan on his board, he’s a natural in his element, you think back to your first time bumping into him, literally, in a skate park and how he cushioned your fall so you wouldn’t get injured when your boards collided. You never did figure out whose fault it was, but you both have admitted since that neither of you were paying attention as you were too distracted checking each other out. Chan stops to watch you as well, he claps and cheers for you when you land a trick, you are nowhere near his level of skills but he enjoys helping you practice, showing you different tricks, and running through them with you.

The sun is beating down on both of you, and after 2 hours of skating, you decide it’s time to take a time out for a drink and some food. The skate park is situated next to a beachfront that’s packed with arcades and cafes and a few small food places. You both exit the skate park, Chan’s hand is tucked tightly into the back pocket of your jeans, and now and again you can feel him gently squeeze your ass, of course, you return the gesture when you get the chance. “Sit here y/n, I’ll be back,” Chan says as he leads you to a bench overlooking the beach and ocean, he drops his board on the ground beside you and wanders off in the direction of the shops and restaurants. As you wait you watch the tide and allow yourself to soak up the sounds and smells around you, everything still feels like a dream and you still can’t believe that you are actually spending time with him, your Channie, he managed to keep his trip home a secret from you, even his family were in on it.

When you found out he was coming back to Aus for a break you couldn’t believe your ears and now that you are with him in person, you can’t believe your eyes. As you allow yourself to daydream about all the things you’d love to do with him later that evening, you hear Chan’s humming getting closer and closer, the smell of fish and chips permeating the air around you. Snapping out of your daze when his hand lowers a container of food in front of you and a drink, “salt, no vinegar, and your favorite drink!” he said, confidently as he sat down in front of you, “sorry I took a little longer than it should have, they wanted a photo” he added with a nervous laugh, you wave your hand to tell him it’s no problem and begin to tuck into your food. Chan sits watching you, eying your mouth as you lick salt off your lips, his eyes traveling down to your neck as you drink from the cold bottle. You catch him, and play it up a little, allowing a drop to slowly run down your chin and neck. Chan bites his lip as he carefully watches the cold bead of liquid make its way down your skin. You smirk as you place the bottle back on the table, “I have you all day?” you ask coyly, he nods, still watching the droplet on your neck. You can see in his eyes that he’s fighting the urge to climb over the table to lap it up. “Hm,” you hum in response, running your fingers across your neck and wiping away the bead of liquid. He’s not subtle, Chan has never been subtle when it comes to wanting you and through his calm and collected exterior, you can tell that his mind is going wild, there’s a fire in his eyes and it burns just for you. “Fuck y/n, I can’t wait to get you home.” he mummers with an underlining growl.

:)

[hournites]

Hands Off the Wheel

Hournite fluff ~ ❤️

~.~ 

When she gets there, Yolanda shoves his bag on the coffee table over to dump her own, giving Rick the boot on the sofa to make room for her. 

“Where’s Beth?” She reaches for the blanket throw, tossing it over her legs and pulls out her phone. 

“Library.” 

Yolanda glances up from her Instagram feed. 

Rick scowls, her unsaid words irritating him. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” 

“You said that yesterday.” 

“I know,” Rick bites out. “I mean it this time.” 

“You can’t hide this forever.”

“I can, actually.” 

Courtney walks in with the cookies from her mom. Yolanda picks a soft one from the corner while Rick scoops up five at once. 

“Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?” 

“Yes,” Yolanda says at the same time Rick says, “No.” 

The girls share a look. 

Courtney teeters on the arm of the sofa, something she’d been scolded not to do five hundred times by Pat but has yet to listen. “We can help you if you want.” 

Rick stops eating cookies to lick at his chocolate-stained thumb. “How?” 

“Well…” Courtney crosses a leg over the other. “We can drop hints about it, warm her up to the idea…” 

Rick leans back against the sofa and closes his eyes with a soft groan. “You make it sound like it’s something she needs to be warmed up to.” 

“No!” Courtney backtracks when Yolanda lets out a little laugh. 

“No! That’s not what I mean!” 

“It’s what you said, Court.” 

Courtney throws a half-moist cookie at Yolanda, earning a high shriek in response as she wipes chocolate out of her hair. 

Rick lets out a weary sigh, palms still pressed over his eyes. “Maybe I’m overthinking this and it’s just something I’ll get rid of. I don’t need to tell Beth at all. We can forget it ever happened.” 

“Tell me what?” 

They all jump. 

“Jesus!” Rick yelps as his face warms. “How long have you been there?” 

Beth stands in the doorway next to Pat, Chuck perched on top of her coiffed hair. She slides her backpack down her arm to smile confusedly at her friends. “A few seconds?” She looks up at Pat. “My bike had a flat. Pat drove me in.” 

“A flat!?” Courtney exclaims. “Are you okay?” 

“She’s fine,” Pat says, heading into the kitchen for the source of the cookie scent, the plate between the teens empty with crumbs. 

Beth waves off her concern. “Yeah, I’m fine. What does Rick want to tell me?” 

Yolanda looks at Rick who looks at Courtney who looks back at Rick. 

“Um,” he says. 

“He likes your outfit?” Yolanda fills in. She gets up and leaves the awkward room. 

Beth doesn’t buy it, folding her arms over her blue striped blouse. “What’s so odd about that?” 

“Nothing,” Rick reassures her, wiping his sweaty hands against his jeans. “It’s um. Can I talk to you, outside? Alone?” 

Beth tilts her head at him. “...Why?” 

“Because I want to tell you that thing. That I need to tell you.” 

Courtney stares at them, fixated. 

“It’s nothing bad!” she blurts out when Beth catches her eye. 

Her shoulders relax and she agrees, walking back out with Rick. 

“Did I say something to bother you or something or maybe Chuck went out of line? Because obviously I’m missing something and everyone else knows and I get that I usually miss some stuff sometimes but this feels really weird and I’m sorry if I—” 

“I built you a car.” 

Beth blinks. “I beg your pardon?” 

Rick swallows. “A car. I fixed one up for you. I know you didn’t ask but you’ve been studying for your license and then I had a few parts and then a few weeks went by and suddenly I had a Dodge Challenger in my driveway...”

Her expressive eyes are round and wide, Rick can’t tell what she’s thinking when her mouth parts like that. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, trying not to panic. “Look, Beth, I know you didn’t ask for a car, certainly not from me, but it just sort of happened, so....”

The gears turned slowly in her head. “You built me. A car. From car parts. For me.” 

“...You don’t have to accept it. I can probably sell it off or something—”

Beth’s hands are in her afro, processing Rick’s words at last and shrieks. Rick startles, taking a step back.  “Are you kidding?” She cries. “You built me a car?!”

“I’m sorry!” 

“You’re sorry!?” Beth launches at him, hugging him hard enough for Rick to stumble backwards. “Don’t be sorry!” 

Rick wasn’t yet prepared to have her in his arms, but she’s squeezing so fiercely he can’t help but hug her just as tight. “So you’re not weirded out?”

Beth laughs and pulls away, staring out across the street before turning back. “I don’t know what to say!” She hits his arm excitedly. “Rick!! That’s crazy! You’re amazing! Why would you do that for me?”

“You’re the only one I ever really want to make things for,” he answers honestly. 

A huge grin breaks across her face and then she’s reaching up to hug him again. “What colour is it?”

Rick fights back his smirk. “Green for Dr. Mid-Nite? It matches your suit.”

“Riiiiick!” She squeals, jumping up and down in an exuberant happy dance and puts a hand to her face and sits down. “I need a second.”

Rick watches as she stares wide-eyed at her shoes, processing the information.

“It’s just a car.”

“It is not just a car and you know it! It’s a car!” She slaps her hands over her cheeks. “Oh my gosh!”

“Do you wanna see it?” 

“Yes!” 

They get ready to go. Courtney and Yolanda peek out the front window of the living room with a second batch of cookies, giving Rick very annoying, very knowing looks. 

Yolanda’s nose scrunches up with amusement when Beth runs out with her purse and straps herself into Rick’s passenger seat, honking on the horn to get Rick to pick up the pace and drive her to West Farms.

“Sounds like she’s pretty happy ‘bout that car,” she says. 

They toss his keys through the window. Rick twirls them around his hand with a half-hearted eye roll when Courtney starts making kissing noises at him. 

~.~ 

“You pushed the seat up!” Beth palms at the steering wheel as she gets a feel for the make, grinning from ear to ear. 

Rick watches with his chin propped up by his hand, elbow over the black horizontal stripes on the hood with an easy smile. “Course I did. You’re tiny.” 

He’s rewarded with a splutter behind the dashboard. “And it’s safe?” 

“Pat looked it over after I did.” 

She checks for herself anyway and Rick is proud of her for it, scanning the interior, exterior and engine with the X-Ray vision mode of her goggles.

They go for a test drive around the wide roads of the Farm Lands, Rick answering her questions as they pop up. She still needs to pass her final test for her licence next month, but he’s not worried about that. Beth had a round of anxiety behind the wheel when she first started learning, but with Rick and, surprisingly, Mike’s encouragement (definitely not Courtney’s), she managed to push through. Beth parks along the dirt stretch of Rick’s property and sighs like a dream.

“You were great. You looked comfortable.” 

Beth ducks her head with a timid smile at his praise. Her hands fall to her lap and she squeezes her fingers together over her navy blue flared pants. “I can’t believe you did this all by yourself.” 

Rick shrugs, somehow more embarrassed now than before trying to choke the words out on Courtney’s front porch. “It’s just a 2008. It’s not fancy.” 

All of the parts might’ve come from Zeek’s junkyard but Beth doesn’t seem to care how it was made by her reverence. “Yes, it is.” Her hand runs along the leather seat and rests it on the centre console. “It’s beautiful, Rick.” 

She laughs. It’s contagious and strings him along until her giddiness simmers down and looks at him some more with that appraising eye of hers. Rick wants to look out the window to diffuse the sudden heat when she does that. He can’t. He wants to suffer in it. 

“I think I’m in love.” 

Her smile is soft and light and as the sun sets orange outside behind her, Rick is compelled to agree.  

“Good. I’m glad you like it so much.” 

Beth bites her lip and nods. Her fingers start to tap, and Rick frowns at them, wondering why she’s picking up the tick she developed before she was at ease in the driver’s seat. 

“What?” he prods when Beth goes silent, concerned. “Beth?” 

“Yeah, um…” Beth looks out the window, at Rick’s house and his yellow Mustang a little further ahead. The expanse of field and the dusk horizon overhead. Beth meets his caring gaze. And the power in it pulls him forward unwittingly. Her intensity has him breathless. 

She takes his hand to squeeze. “I’m not talking about the car.” 

~.~ 

“Did it work?” Court cajoles when Rick comes back through the front. “Did Beth kiss you?” 

He blushes, moving past her to get his bag. 

“That’s not why I built it,” he complains for the hundredth time. 

“She kissed him,” Yolanda decides without even looking up from her phone, still snuggled into the spot she stole from him on the couch. “Beth just posted the relationship on Facebook.” 

Court sticks out her tongue and fake gags. “Beth still uses Facebook?” 

“Hey.” Rick swipes the final cookie from the counter as she continues with her theatrics. “Pat uses Facebook.”

Courtney groans. “That’s my point!” 

Rick walks out. “Later.” 

Yolanda sits up straight. “What? Where are you going?” 

“Well...Beth took the car to her house so....” Rick stops at the doorway, donning a stupid smirk as it properly sinks in. “I gotta drive my girlfriend’s bike home.” 

[ri-ahhh]

can u just give me mushy gushy shit with grayson like ethan has a girl over so the two of you decide to go out for a burger date and a walk at night? idk something like that pls 👉🏻👈🏻

A/N: I couldn’t even tell you how long this has been sitting in my drafts but I was looking through trying to find something to finish bc I was in the mood to write but not from scratch and found this lol. It was about halfway done and I have no idea where I was going with it but this is what it turned into as of today. Idek if there’s even anyone around here anymore to read this but whatever haha here it is.

You don’t usually mind being single. Even when your best friend/roommate Stella started seeing her boyfriend Charlie seriously, it didn’t give you any longing for a relationship of your own.

But there are some nights where you feel down and you just can’t handle it. The scenes of casual intimacy as soon as you get home and see them together — the vase of flowers on the kitchen island he must have brought over; the playful bickering across the room.

The incessant, unrelenting sound of a marathon session going on through the shared wall of your and Stella’s bedrooms.

You groan and turn the volume up on your AirPods, going straight to your messages next.

Wyd?

{G} 👀

Don’t be weird.

Pretty sure Stella and Charlie are trying to put a hole in the wall w her headboard and I can’t take it anymore.

Your roommate chooses that moment to let out a particularly enthusiastic “fuck!” If she weren’t your best friend, you might have given in to the urge to bang on the wall, but your phone lights up with Grayson’s reply anyway.

{G} E too.

{G} I mean like I can’t hear him but ik what’s going down in there

{G} I’d offer to pick u up but sounds like u need to get outta there lol. Meet me here?

You like the message and slip on some shoes, making sure to slam your bedroom door closed on your way out, as if it would make them pause even one thrust.

In the year that you’ve known him, Grayson Dolan has become one of your closest friends. The kind where you met as acquaintances, never talked much, but then you reconnected randomly and the conversation never stopped from there on. You talk about anything and everything, but recently you’ve bonded even more about being a perpetual third wheel. You knew he’d understand and not pass judgement on you in times like this, so it had been a no-brainer to text him as an escape from tonight.

He buzzes you into the gate when you get to his house, and he tells you over another text to go ahead and hop in the Porsche before he even gets outside. It makes you smile; night drives are your favorite, and while the Tesla is a vibe in its own right, there’s just something calming about someone (your attractive friend, no less) tangibly driving you around. It’s exactly what you need right now, no matter what destination he has in mind.

When he slides into the driver’s side not even a minute later, you’re almost overwhelmed by him. Looking far too good in your eyes for how casual he’s dressed in a well-fitting T-shirt and some grey sweats. Hair slightly damp from a recent shower.

He greets you with a grin and leans over the console to kiss your cheek, and you can smell the combination of his shampoo and a bit of cologne. You always appreciated that he doesn’t overdo the fragrance, and if possible it makes him even more intoxicating at times.

“Hey,” he says simply, sitting back in his seat and fastening the seatbelt.

“Hey.” You smile and watch him with a silent but fairly obvious appreciation as he reaches a hand to rest on the back of your seat, twisting the bit he needs to look out the back windshield. The Porsche has a backup camera, obviously, but he’s a cautious driver to a fault and insists he doesn’t fully trust them.

Grayson gets the car facing enough of the right direction to throw it in drive and exit down the long driveway. You shake your head and settle back, kicking off your shoes with a sigh and tucking your feet onto the seat beneath you.

“One day, we’ll be the ones making them leave the house,” he jokes, stopping for the gate to open.

You know it’s implied that he’s referring to the two of you with separate people, but you can’t help but consider the option that the two of you could make that happen together.

“I know for a fact you have a booty call list a mile long, Dolan,” you say with a raised brow. Despite the fleeting thought, keeping things lighthearted and platonic is much easier to deal with in reality. “You could have called one of them and done just that.”

He scoffs and pretends like you’ve just hurt him deeply, slapping a hand to his burly chest to clutch at his heart. “Excuse me, it is not a mile long.” He glances over at you with a held-back smirk. “A couple hundred yards, tops.”

You throw your head back with a loud cackle, looking out the window now as he turns onto the main road. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Damn, that’s a big word.” He likes to tease you about your extended vocabulary.

“Hopeless,” you elaborate, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes.

“Is that what that word means, or are you making fun of my high school dropout vocab?”

“Both.”

You let your head roll back against the headrest, turning to watch him, knees swayed to the side a bit. His form isn’t hidden in the dark at all, features lit up by the dash in front of him and the streetlights you’re passing by outside.

“Why didn’t you, then? Call one of them?”

Grayson shrugs. “Just didn’t really feel like spending time with people tonight.”

You’re silent for a moment and consider his answer. “Why did you agree to hang out, then? You didn’t have to.”

His eyes never leave the road, but you see the veins in his hand gripping the steering wheel bulge out for a moment as he squeezes it tightly.

“I guess I meant I didn’t want to spend time with people I don’t really care about.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you play it off with a sarcastic tone. “Aw, you care about me?”

“Of course I do,” he replies easily. “I’m not sure why, though. You’re so fuckin sassy sometimes.”

“You love it.”

The car rolls to a stop at a red light. Grayson’s hand slides from where it’s lightly gripping the gear shift, to yours, which is picking at a loose string on your leggings.

Your easy smile at the comfortable banter between you and Grayson falters some in surprise, but you let him turn your palm over and trace the lines of your hand softly. Both of your gazes are fixated on the way he tickles your skin when he says, “Yeah. I do.”

Your eyes shoot up, just in time to meet his. He looks at you with a weird mixture heat and vulnerability, and there’s a thick moment of silence, no longer than the single beat of your heart that you can hear thudding loud and clear in your ears, when suddenly the car behind you lays on the horn.

Both of you startle, and Grayson’s attention returns to the road ahead. He steps on the gas and takes his hand away, carding it through his hair roughly as you sink back into your seat with a disbelieving scoff.

“Oh my God, dude, you can’t just do that to me,” you blurt out, your heart in your stomach and your brain even lower. A helpless giggle escapes you, and you tug on your own locks. “Shit...”

“What?” he asks defensively, but you hear the tiny bit of the grin he’s wearing in his voice.

You turn your head to deadpan him, eyes wide. “You can’t just... imply something like that and give me sex eyes and not think you did something to me! Are you crazy?”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug with the arm resting on top of the steering wheel again. “Maybe. You’re proving my ‘sassy’ point all over again.”

“Oh my — don’t fuck with my head, Gray.”

“Hey.” His voice is deeper, more serious as the car comes to another stop. You’re only just now realizing you’ve reached the burger joint, and that the late hour made finding parking a nonexistent problem. He puts the car in park and unbuckles his seatbelt before doing the same to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to fuck with your head, I promise. I just... didn’t want it to seem like I was coming on too strong too suddenly. I, uh, have a history of doing that.”

You stare at him, processing everything. “I know.”

He chuckles dryly. “Yeah, I know you do.”

There’s more silence. That heavy kind that happened right after his little impromptu confession.

“You know,” you finally speak up, finding your voice after mulling over your words, “I kinda love that you’re a douche.”

He looks a little taken aback, until understanding dawns on him, and his eyes light up in a way that has you smiling instantly with him. “Really?”

You nod. “Call me crazy.”

Grayson shifts closer in his seat, his pink tongue darting out to lick those plump lips. You mirror him, and this time you take the initiative to reach out for his hand. It’s warm and strong, just like the rest of him.

Like earlier, you watch your hands lightly caressing each other as you speak. “And I love that you come on strong. And that you put your heart out there.” You interlace your fingers, immediately in love with the contrast of his huge ones between your slim ones. “Makes things way easier for me.”

He grins wide. “There’s that sass again.”

You bite your lip through your smirk and tug him close to you with your clasped hands, your free one reaching behind his neck to drag his lips to yours. “Mm. Better shut me up, then.”

[cellophanejpeg]

serendipity

pairing: Marcus Pike x female!reader

summary: You’ve never been one to believe in luck, but when you get to know your handsome neighbor, something makes you change your beliefs.

warnings: tw blood, gunshot wounds, medical inaccuracies, mentions of sex (or lack thereof), one (1) line from Ratched (i couldn’t help it), also fluff and a sm**ch

word count: 3.7k

series masterlist | general masterlist

You’ve never believed things happened for a certain reason. Several failed relationships taught you that things happen because simply they happen. There’s not always a meaning hidden behind, or a lesson to be learned. Sometimes, they do. Most times, they don’t. And that’s okay with you.

Lady Luck isn’t always by your side and you’ve gotten used to it, even now as you try to push a loveseat through the door of your new apartment. It’s early in the morning and you didn’t want to waste time moving your things to the new place, given that you have a shift in the hospital this afternoon. You’re exhausted already, and it’s not even nine in the morning. Maybe you’ve underestimated the weight of a loveseat. During your struggle, you don't notice you're blocking the way in the hallway until you hear someone clear their throat. The sound makes you jump and you quickly look up to find a very handsome man staring at you. Heat creeps on your neck and cheeks immediately.

“Do you need help with that?” He asks, gesturing to the loveseat.

You usually don't accept help from strangers, – no matter how handsome they are – but right now, you don't even think about refusing, the sweat down your back reminding you that this is only the start of a very busy day with moving.

"Please," you answer and watch him place his travel mug on the floor and move to help you push the loveseat into your new apartment.

"Where do you want it to be?" He asks, his raspy voice sending shivers on your skin. You give him the directions, pointing to a corner in the living room and tell him you plan to leave it there.

"Thank you." You sigh, already worn out by the physical labor.

He laughs softly and lets out a breath. "No problem. I’m Marcus."

You give him your name with a nod. The smile he gives you is breathtaking and you have to look away or he’d catch you staring.

"You need help with anything else?" He puts his hands on his hips, letting out a small sigh.

"Oh, no, that's okay!" you quickly answer, shaking your head. "I see you're off to work. I won't hold you any longer."

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” He smiles at you. Your cheeks warm under his gaze and you smile shyly at him. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the 44.”

“Thank you.”

You watch him leave with a smile on your face and your heart hammering inside your ribcage.

…

Your hands still shake as you wash them, watching the diluted blood go down the drain of the sink. His eyes are still plastered in your mind, those chocolate colored orbits full of fear that almost made you hesitate.

“Marcus stay with me, okay? Don’t close your eyes.” Your own voice echoes inside your head over and over and the image of him covered in his own blood won’t leave you alone as you wash his blood from your hands.

“Hey.” A soft voice startles you and you jump, looking at your coworker, Anne, through the mirror. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you wash your hands harder.”

You look at your now clean hands and blink, turning the faucet off. You could swear they were still covered in blood. Letting out a shaky breath, you move to dry your hands with paper towels.

“You know him, don’t you?” She asks when you don’t say anything. “The guy who got shot?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out. “He’s my neighbor.”

It’s not every day that chaos happens in the emergency room, despite what people think, so you’re not really used to it yet. When the time comes, you do your best as a nurse to help people and do your job.

But when you saw Marcus being wheeled in, something inside almost made you stop. You almost didn’t know what to do, almost stopped in your tracks, and panicked as soon as you realized it was him, with a gunshot wound and bleeding badly. Then, your instincts kicked in and you acted fast, trying to stop the bleeding before a doctor came. He kept looking at you with those eyes, panic and fear in them, and kept talking to him, trying to make him stay awake. You managed to stop the bleeding and he tried to speak, reaching for you, as they rushed him to the OR.

You barely registered the brush of his hand to yours as they wheeled him away, his eyes fixated on you until he was out of sight.

“Oh,” Anne pulls you out of your own thoughts and gives you a malicious look. “You and him…?”

“What?” You frown at her as you leave the bathroom. “I just met him, what kind of person do you think I am?”

“A sexually frustrated one, who needs to get laid.” She starts walking by your side.

You stop walking and look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Wow.” You shake your head and head to the ER again. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

Anne is the first friend you’ve made when you were hired to work at the hospital and you made the mistake to tell her the last time you’ve been with someone was over three years ago. Now she won’t stop bugging you about it.

“No, wait, sorry!” She tried to fix it, running after you. “I just thought– I’m sorry, I–” She sighs. “It’s just the way you looked at him…”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “It was just a look. He looked at you the same way and I thought… You also knew his name and he said yours…”

“He said my name?” You widen your eyes.

“Yeah, didn’t you hear?”

Shaking your head, the line between your brows deepens. There’s something about Marcus, something you can’t put a name on it, that keeps tugging on you. You decide to ignore it and go on with your day, but he never leaves your mind.

Anne is the one who informs you that Marcus is stable, hours after he came in. Alive. You visibly relax at the words, earning a knowing look from her. You don’t talk to her for the rest of the day, not because you’re upset, but because you were busy during your shift. When she’s about to leave, she touches your shoulder and whispers:

“Room 117.”

You don’t need to ask what she’s talking about. But maybe she knows you better than you thought.

It’s not until your shift is over that you decide to follow her unspoken advice. Gathering your things, you shoulder your purse and walk to the room in question before you can change your mind. The nurses in the ward are quite nice and they let you in the room, saying Marcus has been in and out of sleep all day. Some friends had come to visit and left him things, but now he was alone. So they let you sneak in for a few minutes.

When you enter the room, he’s asleep. He looks peaceful, rested. Different from when you saw him earlier. You’re tempted to touch his face or hold his hand, but you refrain from doing that and check the IV instead.

“I knew I wasn’t hallucinating.” His voice is rough, tired, and laced with sleep. You look at him to see his tired eyes, his gaze soft on you. “Knew it was you…”

Sighing, you offer him a smile. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I didn’t know you were a nurse.” He smiles at you. It must be the drugs, but the smile is honest, wide. It makes your stomach churn in pleasure.

“You sound disappointed,” You answer, sitting on the chair beside the bed.

“I’m not.” Marcus huffs a laugh and then grimaces, hugging his torso with one arm. You grimace too, touching his arm and pulling it gently from the wound.

“Try not to… touch it.” Your voice is gentle as you place his arm by his side, your fingers brush against his warm skin.

He looks at you and there’s something different in his eyes. A light in them. A flash of the memory of him covered in blood appears in your mind and you have to look away, letting out a deep sigh.

“They told me…” He starts when the silence stretches out. “They told me if a nurse hadn’t stopped the bleeding, I wouldn’t…”

When Marcus trails off, you look back at him and your eyes meet his, holding his gaze surprised.

“Was it you?” He whispers, his fingers twitching, wanting to touch your hand. You nod in silence but don't speak, deciding to leave the details out. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job,” You say quietly.

“You saved my life.” He insists.

You pause for a moment, holding his gaze before tearing it away from him as you speak.

“You save a life, you’re a hero. You save a hundred, you’re a nurse.”

“Who told you that?” He laughs again.

“It’s just common sense.” You shrug at him, smiling too.

“Well, common sense can go fuck itself.” He watches as you snort a laugh. “You saved my fucking life, and I am grateful.”

The smile you give him is genuine and honest, and it makes you feel like a teenager looking at her school crush. You stare at each other for a moment before you clear your throat and stand up.

“I should go.”

“Will you come by tomorrow?” He asks before you could say anything else. You pause to look at him, feeling your heart skip a beat. You wonder, once again, if it’s because of the drugs and if he’ll change his mind once they’re not in his system anymore. But you nod anyway and tell him you’ll try.

…

Marcus ended up staying at the hospital one more night. You went to visit him after your shift again and told him about your day and he revealed he was an FBI Agent and got shot during a task force. He was as happy to see you as he was the night before. After that, when you arrived at the ward to visit him again, the nurses said he was sent home that morning. You couldn’t stop thinking about him the entire day and the feeling of butterflies in your stomach wouldn’t leave you alone. That night, you knocked on his door to see if he needed anything.

“If I knew, I could have brought you home,” You told him, fidgeting with your keys nervously.

“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “I had my partner pick me up.”

“Oh.” The smile falls from your face and embarrassment takes over you. “I-I didn’t know you had a partner.”

Marcus huffed a laugh and shook his head. “My work partner, I mean.”

“Oh,” You laughed at yourself, feeling your cheeks heating up. “Sorry, I forgot you were a federal agent.”

He laughed with you, but never at you. Eyeing the blush on your cheeks, he thought you were adorable, getting all flustered because of him.

“I wanted to tell you I was home, but I didn’t have your number,” He said, nonchalantly, after a small pause.

“Don’t worry about it, I never use my phone at work anyway.” You shook your head and he raised his brows, nodding at you. Marcus waited for the penny to drop. “D-do you want it? My number…” Before he could answer, you tripped over your words, stuttering to explain. “For-for emergencies, o-of course.”

“I’d love it.” He gave you one of those wide smiles you liked so much.

It’s funny to think about how a gunshot wound made you two get closer. You’ve been checking on him every night for the past three weeks, helping him change the bandage and cleaning the wound. He recovered quickly and was past the point where he needed help, but you didn’t mention it and neither did he. You kept showing up even after he was healed and fine.

You can't deny the tension and the feelings that come to light when you're with him. It's like you're eager to see him everyday, and every minute you're not with him is like torture. You get all happy and excited when your shift ends because you know you'll get to see him. You don't know if he feels the same, that's why you don't dare to breathe a word of it to him.

“I’d like to take you out some time,” He says, pulling you out of your thoughts. You look up from where you’re washing your hands at his kitchen sink and feel your cheeks warm. He smiles at you as he leans on the door frame of his kitchen. “You know,” He says quickly. “To thank you for the help. I happen to know a nice restaurant around the corner…”

Biting a smile down, you reach to turn the faucet off, drying your hands on a dishtowel. “Is it fancy?”

“A little.” He frowns his lips and then shrugs. “Not too much. Don’t wanna go overboard on the first date.”

“Ah, so it’s a date?” You smile at him, watching as he blushes.

“If-if you want to…”

You approach him until you're close enough to feel the warmth of his body. “I’d love to.”

Marcus smiles at you and then clears his throat, looking away from you. He lets out a deep sigh and smiles down at you.

“Are you free tomorrow?” He asks. For a moment his eyes stare at your lips and you suppress a smile.

“Tomorrow?!” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows.

“Or is that too soon?” His eyes shift from soft to worried. “We can go on the weekend–”

“Tomorrow is perfect.” You interrupt him, nodding.

Marcus sighs again and you both stare at each in silence for a moment. Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s looking at your lips again.

“Is it weird that I want to skip dinner and kiss you right now?” He says, voice low and quiet like you’re not the only person in the room. You feel like your heart is going to burst, hammering inside your chest, your cheeks burning intensely... Marcus realizes he maybe was out of line and starts apologizing. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean– I mean, I did mean, but– fuck, I–”

“It’s not weird.” You laugh. “But… Pay me dinner first, and then maybe you can kiss me.”

Marcus laughs and then nods.

“Deal.”

…

“Hey,” Marcus breathes when you open the door. He takes your form and you feel shy under his gaze. You’re wearing a black glittery bodycon dress that compliments your curves and black heels. “Wow.”

“Too much for a first date?” You playfully grimace at his reaction.

“No, no, no,” He’s quick to respond. “You look… Amazing.”

Biting your lower lips, you nod. “You too.”

Marcus frowns and looks down at his own clothes, a simple black suit. “Really?”

“Yeah,” You say softly, closing the door and locking it.

“But you see me in a suit almost everyday.”

“I know.” Turning your body to face him again, you see the redness on his cheeks and smile widely.

Both of you walk side by side in the streets, since the restaurant is around the corner, just like Marcus said. Your hand brushes occasionally against his and you feel the urge to touch him all of a sudden. Your stomach bubbles with anxiety, the good kind of anxiety that makes you eager for something. There’s a bit of nervousness in your chest as you sit down in front of him, and try to concentrate on the menu.

“So, do you bring all your neighbors here?” You ask, sipping your wine.

“Just the ones that save my life.” He shrugs, a teasing smile on his face. A soft laugh leaves your lips. “Did you always want to be a nurse?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “Since I was a kid. I broke my arm once and ended up in the hospital.” A smile spreads on your face. “There was this nurse in the ER and… She was really kind to me. Ever since I just knew I– wanted to be like her.”

“So, you like helping people?”

“I do.” You pause and smile at him as he looks at you with adoring eyes. Your heart skips a beat. “And you? Did you always want to be a federal agent?”

Marcus lets out a laugh and shakes his head. “It was never in my plans. I actually went to art school.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was going to be a teacher, but…” He sighs. “Other things got in the way.”

“Other things?” You look at him, curious.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t explain and you don’t press him. “But I’m glad I chose this career.”

“Oh, so you like catching art thieves, huh?”

“Nah, it can get boring pretty quick.” Marcus shrugs, tilting his head. “But it led me to you, so…”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff at him and shake your head.

“Sorry.” He laughs. “Was that too corny?”

“Yes, it was!” You laugh, smiling at him. He laughs with you, taking his glass of wine and bringing it to his lips.

“I haven’t done the date thing in a while, please go easy on me.”

The confession makes you pause and look at him for a moment. “You’re kidding me.”

Marcus lets out a laugh and nods. “Two years.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say, smiling.

“Why not?” His voice is laced with laughter and happiness and it makes you smile even more.

“I mean, you’re so nice and… handsome and,” you try to ignore the heat creeping on your neck. “I’m just surprised you’re not married yet.”

And just like that, Marcus’s smile falls from his face and your heart drops. His demeanor changes and, suddenly, he’s not very receptive anymore. He tries to hide the change of mood but you pick it up fast and sigh quietly.

“Oh, shit.” You mumble, grimacing at him.

“Don’t worry about it.” Marcus laughs softly, giving you a tight smile. “It’s okay.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry.” He assures with a soft voice and then hesitates. “Yeah, I, uh– I was married once.” A pause hangs in the air as you nod at him, encouraging him to continue. “A-and then, there was someone, but… She chose someone else.”

You can see the insecurity in his eyes when he looks away, feeling your heart clench at the thought. Marcus is an amazing man, caring and kind, why would someone ever think of leaving him?

“I’m sorry about that,” you tell him, reaching for his hand over the table. His skin is warm and rough under your fingers and you try to ignore the pleasant butterflies in your stomach. “For what’s worth, I think they were fools. No one in their sane mind would–”

Marcus raises his eyebrows when you interrupt yourself, your face on fire. You clear your throat as you start to pull away from him, but he squeezes your hand, stopping you. The rough pads of his fingertips press against your skin and you swear you feel a wave of electricity running through your veins.

“What were you going to say?” He asks softly.

Laughing softly, you hesitate. “I, uh– I just don’t see why s-someone in their sane mind would–” You exhale shakily. “Leave you. You-you just seem like a nice guy, that’s all…”

He gives you a half-smile, mesmerized by you.

“You’re adorable.” He lets it escape and squeezes his eyes shut, mentally cursing himself. You laugh softly, looking away from him and feeling your cheeks warm.

“I’m so–”

“Don’t apologize.” You interrupt, smiling at him. “I kinda like it.”

A smile splits his features and you sigh. When the food arrives, you both eat and talk like you’re old friends. With Marcus, it’s easy to talk and get to know each other. He makes you strangely comfortable, which is something you’ve never felt on a first date. You feel peaceful, despite the initial jitters you felt earlier.

“Not bad for a first date, huh?” He says, once you both are back at your doorstep.

“The best first date, actually,” you tell him, smiling. “I had a great time, Marcus. Thank you.”

"You're welcome," he says softly. He's close to you, his body almost touching yours. His eyes are looking deeply into yours like he knows all of your secrets and you fight the urge to look away. You don't feel shy anymore, growing used to his loving gaze on you.

"Are you gonna kiss me, or what?" You whisper quietly, and Marcus laughs, the sound of it echoing in the hallway.

"Is that okay?" He asks as he leans in, brushing his nose to yours.

"Yeah."

Marcus closes the gap between you two, pressing his lips gently on yours. Butterflies flip in your stomach and your breath gets caught in your throat. Your heart speeds up as you cup his cheek, his beard tickling the palm of your hand. It's soft and sweet and gentle, and it's nothing like you've felt before.

When he pulls away, his lips mere centimeters from yours, he lets out a shaky breath, smiling.

"I want to take you out again," he whispers softly, eyes still closed. "I'd really like to get to know you better."

A soft breath leaves your lips as you let your hand fall to your side. He waits patiently, ready to tell you it's okay to say no, but your answer surprises him.

"I know a nice drive-in theater we could go." You smile when you see the look on his face. "Let me take you."

He nods, brushing his knuckles on your cheeks. "Next Friday?"

You nod. "It's a date, then."

Marcus laughs and shakes his head as you turn around to unlock your door. The butterflies in your stomach give you a pleasant sensation as you enter your apartment, smiling like an idiot.

Maybe Lady Luck is by your side after all.

__

@goldafterglow​ @forever-rogue​ @bestintheparsec​ @murdermewithbooks​ @hiscyarika​ @haildoodles-writing​ @aerynwrites​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @adikaofmandalore​ @theocatkov​

[fresafresitawrites]

paloma’s cards and water

my latest creative writing assignment! adding onto the next series of my vignettes! involving my oc andrew as the main boi. u can find them all here  this one is a lil long but my prof really liked it so im happy w it. rest is under the read more! id be so happy if anyone reads this slkajf inspired by tarot reading, my grandma, and that one chapter in the house on mango street w the tarot reader 

I was on the first floor of my building getting the mail when I heard my downstairs neighbor sweeping her entrance mat.

“Buenos días, m’hijito.” Her voice was like the strum of a guitar.

“Buenas, Señora Paloma.” I replied. I gave her a quick glance as I skimmed a letter about my academic probation from last semester.

She set the broom aside and looked up at me.

“Ah, so formal now that you’re older, and taller too. You’re always getting taller and taller.” I’m only five foot six, five foot eight when anyone asks. “I haven’t seen you too much lately.”

“Oh, disculpe.” I crammed the envelopes into my messenger bag. Most of them were junk anyway, like dollar store advertisements or auto companies offering me a car loan. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind, a lot going on with school and work and everything.” I closed the mailbox unit.

“Ay, perdón, Señor Ibarra,” she teased. Somewhere after I turned eighteen, I went from calling her Mama Lola to using formalities. “Do you have some time, actually? I need help with something, si puedes.”

I checked my phone. I had work in an hour. “Sí sí sí, yeah, whatdya need?” I cracked my knuckles. Usually, she just wanted me to move furniture or get something from the top shelf of her kitchen cabinets, like the blender she used during the summer to make watermelon juice. Her oldest son also bought her an iPad for Christmas three years ago when he visited from Buffalo, and I’ve memorized the passcode after troubleshooting it for her so many times.

Paloma waved me inside her one-bedroom apartment, two floors directly underneath my family’s. We lived in an old house with four floors that probably used to belong to one rich family in the nineteenth century but was now broken up into several apartments. Paloma’s door was the first one on the ground floor across from the staircase. Her apartment always smelled like dryer sheets, and the television was always on some Spanish talk show, and water was always boiling over the kitchen stove because she didn’t trust the pipes. The yellow walls were adorned with Mexican folk paintings, plastic floral garlands, and family photos attached with Scotch tape. In every corner there were figurines of Catholic saints.

A few years ago, I asked Paloma to watch Sofi and Eli for me. I had tickets to see The Strokes at Madison Square Garden and only that morning did I double check the date of the concert. My mom was at a student’s piano recital, and I agreed a week earlier to watch the girls that night.

I was carrying Eli in one arm and held Sofi’s hand with the other outside Paloma’s door. The girls were four at the time, so I just gave them each twenty bucks to never say anything.

“Hmm!” Paloma lifted her eyebrows and crossed her arms. “And you think your momma won’t find out?”

I thought about it. “Well, don’t tell her.”

Paloma laughed, squinting her dark eyes like a fox.

Thankfully, Ma’s train got delayed on the way home that night.

In Paloma’s kitchen, two Devil’s Ivy plants sat in the sink with their vines trailing over the edge, hesitating to touch the tile floor. On the left was the glass door to her own small patio, where a few stray cats lay across the concrete. Paloma pointed to her wooden breakfast table, leaving her broom aside, so I pulled out a chair.

She sat down across from me, laying a purple and gold silk cloth between us and placed two tea lights on each side.

“Oh, is this what you wanted me for?” I sat up, surprised. She tied her long, gray-brown hair into a bun.

Paloma has never tried to use her cards on me before. I was never interested in these things. Hemera was the one who came to visit often after her break-up during freshman year with this film studies major, Vladimir, who played the accordion and was originally from Portland. Hemera and Paloma would lean over the tarot cards, speaking low, like candleflames. I usually sat on the couch and watched Looney Tunes, since Boomerang was one of the only channels on Paloma’s television other than the news or Telemundo.

“How’s your friend?” Paloma asked as if she read my mind. “Is she your girlfriend yet? Or has she found someone?” She pulled out the deck of cards from her apron pocket and shuffled them.

            “Oh, no, she’s okay. She’s doing okay.” Hemera told me two weeks ago she was “focusing on herself” which meant she deleted Tinder and would reactivate it within the next week. “And nah, she’s like a sister to me. That’d be weird.”

            Paloma watched me. “You cold?”

            “What? No…” Well, now that she mentioned it… ‘Actually, yeah, kind of, maybe.” I zipped up my wool sweater. Was there a breeze?

            “Good.” She spread the cards out with her delicate hands. “That means the spirits are here.”

            “Uh, okay. Sure, Paloma. They are.” I tried not to sound too sarcastic.

            I closed my eyes and hovered my left hand over the fanned-out cards, mimicking how Hemera used to do it. I tapped three random cards and Paloma flipped them over.

            She read them out loud. “El ermitaño, la rueda de la fortuna, y la muetre.”

            The late February sun casted a soft glow over the kitchen like a dream.

            “Your past, present, and future cards.” Paloma’s tone shifted into something softer, as if her words descended from the clouds. “Ah, look at you. Always keeping to yourself, always, always. Like the old man here on the card… alone on the mountain, holding a lantern trying to illuminate his path.”

            I tilted my head.

            “Right now, you’re in a critical position. It’s a marvelous position to be in! See all the arrows on the wheel going in all directions? They can lead you anywhere. You just steer the wheel like the helm of a sailboat and go wherever the wind takes you. How exciting!”

             I leaned forward. I examined the card that depicted what looked like a large, gold coin covered in strange symbols and surrounded by hybrid animals and angel figures.

            “And here, look, don’t be afraid of this last one. Everyone’s always afraid of this card, but don’t take it too literal. This card means transformation, it means upheaval, it means purging, it means endings.

            I picked up the card, fixated on the small boy kneeling before the skeleton-knight riding a white horse. I put the card back down.

            “This sounds… vague.” I leaned back in my chair, half skeptical and half on edge from her reading, but I didn’t want her to know the last part. “I thought you’d tell me something terrible would happen, or something like who I’m going to marry or whatever. Not that I would believe it, but I’m just wondering why you wanted me here right now.”

            Paloma smiled and crossed her arms. She’d been expecting this reaction. “It’s not like that. It’s not a math test, like in school. There are no right or wrong answers here. I know you don’t like that. Frustrating, no?”

            “Yeah, a little.”

            “Half of the work is you. It’s like looking at art or reading poetry. You’re participating. You’re drawing your own conclusions.” She placed the deck back into her pocket. “You have to marinate on the words, m’hijo. Everything will reveal itself.”

            I took a deep breath, swung my bag over my shoulder, and checked my phone.

            I had work in five minutes.    

[reactingwithexo]

Bonnie & Clyde (8) - Baekhyun

Part 1/ 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Summary: “Bonnie & Clyde. One night”

genre: mafia/gang au!, angst, fluff sometimes, smut

warnings: filthy smut(again), +18 , handcuffs, sligjt exhibitionism, orgasm denial i guess, a little bit of dominance, dirty talk, curses,etc.

word-count: 2.8K

A/N: Guys it is backkk, I swear next part will have more plot and won’t be another full smut but yeah... it’s not like you guys don’t like it anyways. Thank you so much for everyone who has shown support for this fic since the last part was posted, i’m truly grateful.

The rest of the trip went by very smoothly, you’d stop somewhere to sleep and grab food, then drive right when the sun was up the next night.

The mood was oddly good for two people who were running away from criminals and the police at the same time.

You still didn’t know exactly where you two were heading but the feeling that it was a trap was out of your chest by now, “why so quiet?” he asked you.

“I hm” you paused and decided to take the chance “don’t you think it’s time you tell me where exactly we are going? as in actually tell me”

“Okay...” he bit his lips to think how he would choose his next words “I guess it’s safer now that we’re close to the destination, don’t freak out ok?”

“I won’t freak out if there’s no reason t-”

“My grandma’s” he blurted out midway.

You frowned, you didn’t even know he had family “your grandma? b-but why?”

“I need to get something there” he turned to you and smiled “also i miss her, she’s a great cook”

You laughed at his remark “does she know about your....hm job?”

“Not really...but she’s really smart so I don’t doubt that she has found out someway”

“Aren’t you scared of that?”

He shook his head “She wouldn’t do anything to harm me, even if she found out I killed someone, she has always protected me for as long as she could”

“Hmm, I see you’re very affectionate of her” you examined his face as he concentrated “and not just for the food” you added.

“Yea” he smiled “I admire her a lot, she’s really taken care of me” he nodded his head.

Noticing a hint of sadness in him you combed his hair with your fingers “everything alright?”

“I just miss her that’s all, don’t worry” he took the hand you had on his hair and kissed it gently. You jokingly took his hand too and kissed it multiple times until it tickled.

“Ah ah, I’m driving you lunatic” he exclaimed while he laughed “let’s not cause an accident”

“What can I do?” you shifted closer to him “I can’t resist you” you whispered while bitting his earlobe jokingly. His hand went immediately to the place you had touched “ah seriously y/n..we won’t get there as quickly if you keep doing these things”

“Awww is someone sensitive?” you pouted at him as you saw his frustration build up “Can’t THE Byun Baekhyun take a little bit of teasing?”

He shook his head “y/n...stop”

“You’re not getting mad are you baek?” you asked with a cuter voice just to annoy him further on. You saw him grip the steering wheel tighter “I’m fine”

“Are you really?” you caressed his arm while asking to check how he’d react.

“Don’t test me baby” he mumbled but made sure you listened to it. “You don’t want me to take you here in this car again do you? There aren’t many empty streets around here, someone would see us, you don’t want that do you?”

“What if I do?”

He smirked at your answer and you could have sworn he slowed down the car for a little bit. “Don’t lie baby, you’re a good one, you wouldn’t”

“You’d be surprised” you furthered him on so he wouldn’t have the last word.

“Well in that case” he stopped the car in the next avaiable spot he found and turned to you. “Show me what you wanna do”

“What?” you looked at him in shock, the place you two were parked was full of people passing near you and you could see a gas station not that far. “Are you crazy? No way” 

He smirked at you “Where’s that confidence from moments ago?”

His expression only made you wanna punch his face and you rolled your eyes “seriously? how childish are you? just start the car again”

“Have I told you-” he gets closer to you “how cute you look when you’re angry?”

“Thanks, now let’s go, we have a schedule right? your grandma and all”

“You’re right let’s go” he started the car again “but I think we’re gonna have to make one more stop”

“Ah what is it now?” you asked still annoyed

“I need to take that pout out of your pretty face” he answered with his eyes focused on the road.

“Wh-what?” you weren’t able to hide the effect his words had on you, but you were still mad, how could he be so annoying but still so sexy to you? honestly you blamed your crazy hormones and his looks.

He asked to take your hand and kissed it gently as he has done earlier only this time he guided your hand to his crotch “Don’t think everything you say doesn’t have a consequence y/n”

You let out a tiny gasp and you swear to god you considered going down on him that exact second.“You’re so sensitive though” you tried to show you weren’t caring as much as you did. 

“It’s you” he mumbled and you two looked at each other for a second, you saw the glint of desire in his eyes and wanted him to just get to where he wanted to take you already so you could focus on him fully

He released your hand and you brought your fingers to your mouth so you could tease him further, needless to say it worked and he watched with a very pleased expression as you sucked two fingers while your eyes fixated on his.

Thankfully he didn’t get too caught up to forget he was driving and let out a laugh after smiling “you want to kill us both in all ways possible”

You let out a giggle as he turned to check you two somewhere you could stay the night or somewhere with a bed anyways. Apparently the destination really was pushed one more day ahead.

Can’t say you’re feeling too guilty, it was so nice and easy to be with him like this, without all this heavy background surrounding his history or your brother or the way you two met and crimes and running away from the police. It was just you and him, feeling crazy about one another in the midst of lust and giggles.

And that was an accurate description of how you two looked like right now stumbling upon the room, someone could say you were a drunk couple but truth was the only thing you two were getting drunk of were each other kisses and caresses.

“Now you” he kissed you with his hands holding your face and his body guiding you closer to the bed in every word he spoke “need to learn a lesson”

You both fell onto the bed and Baekhyun broke the kiss, he shushed you with his finger before you whined and said “I wanna try something, you tell me if you don’t like it ok princess?” you nodded in agreement and melted over his touch.

He detached his body from yours and reached for the bag he had been carrying the past few days since your “getaway”

You could tell he wanted to laugh but tried to keep the atmosphere also to check your reaction, he slowly took out a pair of handcuffs from the bag and played with it with his fingers before turning to you. “So what do you think?”

“Hmmm my instincts should say no but suprisingly all I am feeling is a big yes”

He smiled at your answer “glad to hear that, but not so fast, you can’t get what you want that easily just because now you’ve decided to be the good girl you are, what kind of lesson would that be? Afterall we have all night now that you’ve made me delay our first stop right?”

You pouted “you don’t have to be cruel though baek, I was just trying to distract you”

“That’s all you do, distract me” he got closer to you, handcuffs placed on the bedside table for now.

“With your perfect skin” he kissed all over your collarbones and unbuttoned your shirt “delicious smell” he inhaled near your neck as your shirt was gone and he moved his touches to your pants “soft lips” he pecked your lips and procceded to take off your pants, now leaving you a breathless mess in just your underwear.

You whined “not fair, you’re still all dressed”

“Go ahead and take my shirt off for me” he said and you eagerly went for it “that will be the last thing you’ll be able to touch for a while” 

He kissed your eagerly after you’ve taken his shirt off and it seemed like you two were trying to get as physically close to the other as possible. You enlaced fingers and he laid you down again, the nature of the gesture opposing his previous behavior.

Reaching for the handcuffs, he looked at you once again to make sure you were comfortable with the whole thing, when he got your reasurement, he rushed to cuff your wrists to the bed, making you on full display for him. 

Seeing him this excited about it made you even more turned on and you couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he’d do to you like this.

He stopped to admire you “fuck y/n, you look just beyond perfect right now”, he took off his pants and you saw how turned on he seemed through his underwear.

Noticing you were eyeing his hard on, he opted not to take off his shorts and instead he touched his dick above the fabric, releasing a moan and throwing his head back.

Your first reaction was to let out a little whine as your hips moved on their own in baekhyun’s direction. 

He seemed to enjoy your reaction even more than the pleasure he was giving himself “I might get addicted to your whines if you keep doing that princess”

“Please touch me” you pleaded and he smirked, he then didn’t seem to take much as well and took off his underwear, now touching himself directly, the moans only got louder and your mouth salivated, your eyes no knowing which part of the scene in front of you to focus on, your breaths only got heavier along with his, specially when you heard him mumble your name from time to time.

“I could keep coming all night like this while you watched, do you want that baby?”

You shook your head and whined a no “i want you inside me”

He ceased his hand movements and climbed back to you, his hands focused on undoing your bra at first, and his mouth attacking your nipples while his fingers caressed your breasts. That was already enough for you to release pleasured moans and you felt yourself ready for him. “Baek, please touch me more” you managed to get it out with the little breath you had.

Not figthing you this time, he cupped your pussy with hiis right hand and delighted himself in your reaction, with your legs opening more and your hips thrusting the air, he then placed his thumb on your clit and strarted making circle movements with it.

That was more than enough to make you even wetter and you were just dying to feel something inside you. Almost as if he sensed you’d request for that, he said “be patient baby, you’re doing so well, don’t want to spoil it by being to greedy hm?”

You nodded in distress and saw his little smirk as he got rid of your panties and slid one finger from your clit to your entrance, “you’re so wet fuck, makes me wanna skip to just feeling you around me”

“Yes please” you moaned eagerly at his idea but he just shook his head “nah ah, there we go again with this rush”, he entered his finger in you and didn’t take long to enter a second one “you’re so slippery, think you can take a third one?” he asked before entering a third finger and by this time your moans were almost turning into screams of pleasure.

He alternated between slowing down and then getting really fast with his movements, which made you incredibly frustrated, he was making sure you wouldn’t come right now regardless of how much you wanted it to.

“Don’t come yet” he warned before he took out his fingers, licked each of them clean and went straight to envelop you with his mouth, he held your hips down slightly so you wouldn’t thrust on his mouth as much and so you would have less chance of coming. “You taste so good, I could spend all day doing this”

You felt yourself shaking as much as you tried to held your orgasm, you could feel it approaching with all this stimulation.

Noticing that, Baekhyung distanced his mouth from you and stared at your fucked out state, this time you got to check his dick again and it seemed as if he was as desperate as you were “what should I do with you now?” he mumbled and took his dick on his hand again “ah you just don’t learn, instead of paying attention to the lesson I am trying to teach, you’re just lusting over dick”

“That’s because I really really really want it” you made sure to answer, thrusting your hips in the air in every ‘really’ you said.

“Ok” he nodded and continued “I’ll fuck you if you tell me what you’ve learned babygirl” he was eye to eye to you “hmm i shouldn’t distract you so much?”

“Yes good, what else?”

“I shouln’t doubt you..”

“And... what got us here?”

You thought hard until you remembered what exactly got you two there.

“I shouldn’t promise things I can’t keep?”

“Really good, seems you payed attention to some things at least, things will be way easier to you if you just don’t insist on challenging me baby”

You wanted to get that stupid smirk out of his face so bad but you were so turned on your brain was clouded with other thoughts, he then whispered in your ear “now I’m gonna fuck that little pussy, is that what you wanted?” he teased with his dick on your entrance “fuck yes”, you almost screamed back at him from so much built up frustration.

You saw him discretly put on a condom and proceeding to tease you again.

It seemed as if you were both almost there when he entered you fully, you felt youself involuntarily clenching around his dick and he released grunts from trying to fight the sensation and move.

Eventually he did start moving faster and you felt your bodies hit the bed harder as he increased his pace inside you. 

From both your moans the only thing that was heard were a mixture of incomprehensive words, each other’s names and curses.

As you were both getting closer to your highs, he managed to uncuff your wrists just so he could enlace your fingers with his as he did earlier, you were in the verge of coming when he urged you on by giving deep kisses to your neck, the last thing you heard before coming was him saying “look at me when you come”.

And you did. Seeing his lustful gaze so close and intense to you was what missed to make you come undone with his name on your lips.

Feeling you so tight around him and watching you come so beautifully to him was what he need to reach his high with grunts mixed with the sound of your name.

He laid next to you as you two breathed heavily, he turned to your side and asked “ is everytime we have sex gonna be like this?”

You frowned and asked him “like what? like you really do love me?” you mentioned as previous words he has said to you

“Not just that” he smiled “but like the best sex of my life”

“Well, it better be” you answered confidently which only made him laugh and suddenly attack you with sweet kisses everywhere he could reach “you’re such a brat” he mumbled while he held you closer.

You giggled at his affection and a feeling of happiness filled your chest, you never thought living a bonnie & clydish life, running away from both the police and the criminals could feel so peaceful and loveable.

A/N: Hope this is good enough for your expectations! Any feedback is welcome and I’m sorry it’s not really revised but it’s almost 2AM so bare with me.

[austennerdita2533]

A/N: Hey @commonxcrimminals​ remember that Melendaire Fix-It-Of-Sorts fic I’ve had on my computer since freaking MARCH?? Well...I finally finished it!  CAN YOU BELIEVE. Anyway, were it not for your oodles of encouragement or our constant why-did-Melendez-have-to-die wailing sessions on every social media platform out there, I probably never would’ve summoned the gall to finish or post the darn thing. So thank you!

This one is dedicated to you, my friend. Love you more than I can possibly convey! ❤️ ❤️

Summary: When it comes to moments of life or death, Neil and Claire learn sometimes one defibrillation of the heart can reset everything.

Also here: (A03)

Enjoy! xx

Defibrillation

The sirens start, red and blue lights cutting through the darkness with speed. Neil’s strapped to a gurney, conscious but barely, with tubes and leads sticking from him like he’s part machine while his eyes fixate on the gray-white swirl of the ceiling.

What’s happened? Where is he? Why the hell does he hurt so much? Right now the blunt ache over his left temple is a trifle compared to the scalpel-like shard that’s been stabbing through his abdomen every two to four seconds and has nausea roaring into the back of his throat with each bump, with each gloved touch that ghosts over his prone form in examination, his vision dotted and blurred and fading…

It’s fading quickly…

…yes…

…f-fading…

…so…q u i c k…ly…

Monitors beep in the background. Softly at first, then louder. Faster. Shorter. Quieter. Steadily the screens track his stats before diving into erratic nonsense that can’t be pieced together as his fists curl into the sheet beneath him, knuckles bumping against a metal railing.

Neil’s eyelids burn, they grow heavy. All he tastes is blood and bile. A mask hangs over his mouth so he can’t talk, can’t call out either, the oxygen cool as it filters through his nostrils, little hairs tickling. He winces once, takes another shallow breath in—and then nothing.

Blackness pops. Noiseless but everywhere. Like a falling curtain, it frays the edges of the world until he can no longer see them.

Coldness slams like a hammer over his chest, pouring, rippling, spreading out with tendrils to invade cell after cell until before he knows it he’s drifting away from time and thoughts and oxygen that won’t hold steady…He’s sinking down, down, down into a rigid stillness that refuses to lift.

But then—

A flurry of movement to his right. Behind his head. Next comes a lot of pronounced clunking, swearing, whispering; perhaps even some harried tearing or unzipping.

No, no, no. Stay with me, pleads a familiar voice from above him in echo. With his head spinning with delirium, however, he’s unable to place who is speaking.

Come on, Neil. Don’t do this, not now. Hold on for me.

He feels distant, detached, like he’s been sunk under water but never went swimming.

Hold on for me, the voice repeats again. Please.

The words are wet and desperate as they land on his chest with two hands that push, and push, his eyes slitting open just wide enough for Claire’s face to float into focus for a moment then out again like a dream, the heel of her palm pounding into him with the force of a tether to keep him there with her, alive, stable - one breath, one blink, one heartbeat at a time.

The fleeting sight of her brings him back. Hair. Scrubs. Hands. Eyes. She brings him back into the pain and into the light. Her relief, that smile—he needs it; it’s a leash yanking him off the ledge of surrender and telling him to fight for another chance to live. To speak. After all, he’s a surgeon, so doesn’t he already know time is a borrowed gift with no guarantees?

Stay with me, Claire says again. And this time, he clings. He clings to her as hard as he can even as the world goes black a second time, his heart still full of too many unsaid things.

She waits for the door to click shut behind her in the stairwell.

Alone on the landing, there are no more voices. No more computers or phones. There are no more charts to read, labs to run, procedures to schedule, or medications to administer.

Wheelchairs stop squeaking through the hallways. Their wheels are no longer sticking to speckled white tiles as they turn the corner and head toward recovery. The smell of brewing coffee in the lounge near OR Four becomes a stale memory because here, and only here, do the demands of the hospital dissolve long enough for Claire to collapse her head into her palms for a moment, and breathe. Just breathe.

She only takes a moment. A second to grapple with the enormity of all that is happening.

Eyes closed, thoughts scattered, her fingers coil around something metal in her pocket and idle.

Her thumbnail traces sleek edges, silver grooves. A chain droops over her knuckles and scratches. Soothes. Familiarity tingling with each pass.

It’s a cross she fists in the quiet gloom. A token. Some beat-up trinket of her mother’s she couldn’t part with after her death so she’s taken to carrying it with her like a talisman even though she hasn’t believed in anything, or in anyone, for a long time. Not for years and years. Not until him, that is.

Neil.

He’ll be fine, Claire assures herself with a nod and a sniff. He’ll be okay.

The scan results sit in a folder next to her feet, still in need of a consult, still in want of a surgical scheme. The words “stable but critical” float in her periphery then flicker out again like a nightmare that won’t fade.

He needs to be okay, she thinks. Cold bites into her palm as she squeezes then releases, squeezes then releases, her pinky tracing the divots the pendant leaves behind on her skin.

He has to be.

Slowly, organically, Neil has chipped away at her walls to become a fixture in her life and she likes him there. Needs him there. She realizes she’ll do anything to keep him around, to keep him close to her for as long as she can.

So believer or not, Claire bows her head. She closes her eyes tighter and lets faith bleed from her heart straight into her hands.

Clutching her mother’s cross to her breast, begging for the strength and the skill to save him so they can have more time to bowl badly or laugh the night away over beers, so she can have the chance to say the words she already feels, she utters an urgent plea into the space around the stairs.

Claire wishes so hard for him to live that the words flutter as they take wing. They transform into symbols of her hope and despair:

A fossil in the air.

A sob with feathers.

A scream leeching from her compressed lips like a prayer.

.

.

.

Neil wakes with his head bandaged, his abdomen dissected with stitches, and a tuft of curly softness blanketed over his arm.

Squinting against the harsh hospital light, he sits up. Allows himself to adjust. To take in his surroundings.

Currently he lies flat in bed. A central line coils up his arm. His head pounds, and his mouth is dry. Wrapped in scratchy sheets, in sticky gauze and bandages, he notices the curtains are pulled shut for privacy and that there’s a woman fast asleep in the space beside him.

The first thing he does is smile. The second thing he does is tremble, relief as well as gratitude pricking the corners of his eyes.

The sight of Claire snoring and pillowed against his side overwhelms him so much that he shifts to brush his hand over the crown of her head without thinking. His touch, both featherlight and timid because he’s worried she’s a mirage on the verge of disappearing, petrified that one wrong move will shatter the reality of this moment like glass, Neil cups her cheek in his palm and he marvels—he savors.

He loses himself in the pure simplicity of touch. The chaste pleasure of it. Tracing the curves of her face with his thumb until she wakes.

“Hey there, sleepy head. Nice to see you again,” he whispers as her eyelids flicker open.

“Hey, you. Welcome back,” she stirs groggily and yawns. “Can I get you anything? Pillows? Blankets? Meds? Here, let me—”

Claire makes to move, to fuss over him, but she stops when Neil shakes his head, holding her in place with a look, with a languid stroke of his fingers along her jawline. Relenting, she softens enough to desist fidgeting. Then leans into his palm to ask, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” she balks, sitting up. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not. Though, I do have the sneaking suspicion I was autopsied in my sleep for spare parts,” he jokes, wincing, “but otherwise I’m not bad. Fuzzy. Sore mostly. And you?”

“I’m okay, I guess. You know…considering.” Her shoulders heavy, Claire shrugs as she averts her gaze to check his fluids and vitals on the monitor, exhaling like she’s been holding in a breath for years. “Anyway, I’m much better now that you’re out of surgery.”

“—Not to mention conscious.”

“Right.”

“And talking again,” Neil adds glibly.

“Yeah,” she laughs but it falls flat. “That, too.”

“How long have I been out, by the way?” It’s a pointed question. Uncomfortable. Painful for them both to address because of all the might have been’s and almost was’s it carries with it, but he needs to know. He has to be in possession of all the facts.

Turning toward the window, Claire adjusts the blinds and swipes at her face, hiccupping back some stray emotion she doesn’t want him to see. “It’s been a while," she explains. Doesn't elaborate.

“Oh.”

“Yeah," she says, her voice small. “Things were touch and go for a few days.”

“I see.” A beat of strained silence. Then another. And another. He’s starting to notice the weariness she wears about her person now: the paleness, her rimmed complexion, the wrinkles in her clothes. He even recognizes the remnants of a few to-go lattes in the trash bin. It makes him wonder how many hours she’s spent camped out in this room while he recovered—weighing the odds. Pouring over charts. Pacing the floor while she waited for signs of life that weren’t guaranteed, or worse, might not have been coming at all.

“Hey, Claire?” he breaks in softly.

“Hm?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Startled and sobering, she turns. Sits back down on the edge of the bed. “For what?” she asks.

“Nearly dying to start,” Neil says with a sigh. “For the cowardice I’ve been hiding behind. For not knowing one-sided conversations aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, or that living inside your own head lands you nowhere except in hell.

“I’ve been stupid and careless… wasted so much time. I’m a fool for not having told you I’m in love with you sooner, for one,” he continues huskily, his voice breaking around emotion and a smile when she gapes back at him in disbelief. “But I am. In love with you, that is. Have been for a while.”

Claire’s eyes are red and glassy now. Her head has fallen during his speech to make a pillow of his chest, a place from where she blinks even and level back at him. Studying him as if he were a scientific specimen.

Still, there’s a warmth about her that puts him at ease. Her attentiveness is a balm that makes him stronger and bolder even though he has no reason to be.

Shrugging, Neil offers a slight upward quirk of his mouth before adding, “I could have lost you. Best to just—lay it all out there at this point, don’t you think?”

The sentimentality behind his choice of words is not lost upon him but he finds there’s no point in discretion now. There is nothing dumber to him than chasing back courage with fear when he knows how he’s ended up here, and why. There has to be a reason he’s come back to this world. To this hospital. To this moment. And to her.

There has to be.

He believes there’s a future out there where they can hold happiness in both hands, he feels it like a scalpel pressed against an artery. All they have to do is be brave enough to make a grab for it. Mark the incision. Cut the damn thing wide open and let possibility bleed where it bleeds.

“If you don’t realize I love you, too,” Claire sniffs at long last, trying to sound droll and unaffected, though not quite managing it with tears spilling down her cheeks, “then you’re an idiot.”

“An idiot, huh?”

“The biggest.”

“Right.” He considers this seriously. “Got it. Now, can you rate that on a scale of 1 to 10 for me, please?”

Snorting, she fires back without missing a beat, “Sure. Try infinity.”

Neil laughs at that. Then, with undisguised tenderness, he frames Claire’s head in his hands and pulls her toward him by the nape until she’s tangled in sheets and IV wires with him. To hell with the pain.

“Well then. Let’s see if I can do something to lower that number, Dr. Browne,” he says before capturing her mouth in an overdue kiss to cinch things between them with chemistry. With feeling. Jumpstarting their hearts like a defibrillator that will reset everything.

That one kiss, as it turns out, marks the first step towards being able to forge a future together. A start. To them, it comes to represent just that: a new beginning.

[loverontheleft]

The Honeymoon One (5)

Masterlist

2.5k words

-||-

“There!” You point eagerly as your last pale Tiffany blue suitcase appears on the conveyor belt and Brendon walks the few steps to claim it. When he wheels it back over, you survey the two of you. “Two people. Five bags.” You grin. “Did we overpack?”

“Never,” Brendon declares, lifting your last bag onto the luggage trolley and shifting to grab the handles. “We’re just prepared for all circumstances.” He winks at you and you melt a little. “Wanna hop up? I’ll push you,” he says good-naturedly.

“As if I’d ever turn down a ride,” you scoff with a grin and clamber on top of the luggage. “To the cars!” You raise a fist triumphantly as Brendon pushes the trolley forward at a surprising pace, considering the weight you’ve added.

As promised, he’s got you quickly settled in a town car and the luggage is loaded in the trunk. He slides in beside you in the back and you reach for his hand. “Are you scared of town cars too?” He asks with a soft smile. You pull your hand back, realizing that the only excuse you had to hold his hand earlier was a fear of planes.

“No…” you say after a long moment, not meeting his eyes. You knew it. He’s just taking pity on you and you’ve just made a fool of yourself. The thought is ice in your veins and you shudder a little. “I just - it was nice. On the plane. Being touched.” You hear how lonely that sounds and your throat tightens with tears. No, you tell yourself firmly. You will not cry. You twist your fingers together in your lap and fall silent. Brendon looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that, and you shift a little to glance out the window and watch the scenery go by.

-||- POV Shift -||-

“I just - it was nice. On the plane. Being touched.” Her words hit you and you swallow hard, wishing more than anything you had the - what? Courage? Strength? Balls? To reach out and take her hand and pull her close against you and not let go. She’s not meeting your eyes now; she’s shifted to stare out the window and you’re kicking yourself for leaving her hanging like this. You’ve screwed up royally. You know it. She can’t even look at you now and you’re sitting here like an absolute idiot, not saying anything. You’ve already ruined it based on how she’s turned away from you - why say anything at this point? You’re wallowing in self-pity when it hits you. Fuck it, you think. Whether she remembers it or not, she was trying to climb in your lap to keep making out with you. That has to mean something on a subconscious level. Even if she’s unhappy with you now, even if she’s hurt now...you might be able to fix this. You should still tell her. You need to tell her.

“I liked it too,” you manage finally, your voice cracking almost imperceptibly. She cocks her head to one side as if she doesn’t believe you and you reach for her hand. “Can I?” You’re whispering and she allows you to untangle her fingers so you can take one of her soft hands in yours.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” Y/n says in a flat voice, still not looking at you. She’s fixated on your hands instead. “You don’t have to-“ and she waves her free hand in the air and somehow you know exactly what she means.

“I’m not,” you say simply. “I mean - I’m not just holding your hand to be nice to you. I obviously want to be nice to you because you’re my best friend and I love you - as a best friend I mean.” You can feel the panic rising in your body and you shove it down desperately. “I don’t mean I love you in a romantic way because that would be -“ you can feel your palms getting sweaty and that definitely means she can too. You try to subtly take your hand back from hers but there’s no way to subtly do that. She flinches a little, releases your hand entirely, and shifts more toward the window. “No, Y/n- I mean -“

“It’s okay, Brendon.” That same flat, detached voice. You’ve fucked up again. You’re hurting her. It’s killing you.

“No, Y/n - look at me.” She doesn’t. “Please?” The desperation in your voice must get through to her because she finally twists in her seat to look at you. “Hi.” You try to crack a smile and she sighs. “I’m sorry. I - Y/n, I don’t know how to do this. We’ve been friends for so long and - I’m so scared to ruin what we have. But I can’t keep ignoring it because it’s going to drive me crazy if I do - I mean - damn it - I’m not making any sense!” You groan in frustration and close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Y/n, I like you.” The words leave your mouth and you realize how right they are. You feel suddenly at ease. At peace. You open your eyes and she’s staring at you, lips parted, eyes wide.

-||- POV Shift -||-

“Y/n, I like you.” He blurts it out and time seems to slow down. It’s honestly a head-rush; you’re mentally thrown off-kilter. He looks at you and you realize you’re just staring at him, slack-jawed.

“It’s - it’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” he says in a rush. “No pressure at all. Honestly. We can just pretend I didn’t say anything and - god I really hope I didn’t just ruin our friendship.”

You shake your head a little in efforts to clear your thoughts. “No. Wait. Stop talking.” You press two fingers to his lips to quiet him and he obediently falls silent. “I need to process what you just said to me. I need to think.” You look at him. “Don’t say anything. I really shouldn’t say anything either until I’ve thought this through, but I’m going to anyway, on the condition that you stay silent,” you warn him. He nods. “I have a crush on you.”

His whole face lights up but he stays quiet, not wanting to disturb your thought process. You fall back against the seat and close your eyes, trying to think. He’s doing the same, except he’s got a huge grin plastered across his face.

The rest of the car ride passes in silence. Internally though, your mind is in utter chaos. He likes you! His fiancée left him. So? He likes you! His fiancée just left him and he’s rebounding. She left like three months ago; if he was going to rebound, wouldn’t he have done it already? Not necessarily. He’s admitted he hasn’t been himself and he’s trying to be better. But he likes you! He wouldn’t rebound with you! How do you know? Oh. Well. We’ve been friends for so long that he wouldn’t - well, he said he didn’t want to ruin our friendship! Exactly. A rebound would definitely ruin your friendship. Ha! Which is why this isn’t a rebound. You don’t like the people you rebound with. You just - rebound and move on to someone you do like - right? Not always. Sometimes you make stupid mistakes. We wouldn’t be a stupid mistake though. How do you know?

You’ve stumped yourself and you whine a little in frustration. He looks at you curiously and you shake your head, not realizing you’d whined out loud. He bites his lip, levels a look that sends fire directly to your stomach, and remains quiet. That’s enough to start up the internal argument again.

And we’re off. Because stupid mistakes don’t look at each other the way he just looked at me. He looked at you like he wanted nothing more than to hear you make that same whining sound naked and under him. Exactly! That’s the exact recipe for a stupid mistake. Oh. Well shit. Yeah. How can you be so pure of heart and yet so dumb of ass?

Your internal argument ends as the car pulls up to the most beautiful hotel you’ve ever seen - all white stucco and gauzy curtains with gold detailing; you’re smitten. “Oh,” you breathe, looking at Brendon. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Yes,” he agrees, tipping the driver as he unloads your suitcases from the trunk and starts to take them inside. “It is.” Once all of the luggage is in the lobby, Brendon moves as if to take your hand, but hesitates. “We should go inside,” is all he ends up saying. You nod and follow after him. As he approaches the front desk, you watch the way people turn to look at him. Even dressed in his flight clothes, he’s gorgeous. There’s a flare of possession in your stomach and you take longer strides so when he reaches the desk, you’re beside him. You curl yourself into his side and he looks down, surprised. You smile and he softens, wrapping an arm around your waist. He introduces himself and checks in, and only when you nudge him and mouth a reminder does he turn back to the young woman at the desk and ask about changing the massage slot.

“Of course,” she says with a small smile. “Let me see what I can do.” She taps at a hidden keyboard and scans the screen quickly. “There is an opening this evening,” she informs you. “In - ah, 45 minutes. No other bookings tonight. Very private.” She looks up at you both. “Would that be acceptable?”

Brendon glances down at you and you nod. 45 minutes is just enough time to get to your room, unpack, and head to the spa. “It’s perfect,” he says gratefully. That settled, she passes over the key card and a bellhop offers to escort you to your villa. Impressed, you both follow him. “Can I talk, or are you still processing?” He grins at you; you blush faintly and tell him he can talk. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to this massage,” he says. You nod eagerly. “And it’s nice that the spa is beside the pool. The weather was gorgeous out and we’ll likely get to see the sunset.”

As the bellhop guides you up the walkway, you’re in awe of the view. Finally, he approaches a door and slides his key in. He steps back and lets you both walk through. “Oh my god,” you whisper. The room is huge, cream-colored, spacious with soaring rounded ceilings. It’s like they carved a huge cave that opens onto the horizon, you realize as you find yourself being drawn to the balcony. “Brendon, come look,” you call. The balcony is gorgeous and it slopes down into a private infinity pool. You’re in heaven. He tips the bellhop and comes to join you.

“Wow,” he murmurs, standing beside you. “It’s - that’s - phenomenal. They said the honeymoon suite had breathtaking views and - wow.” You nod wordlessly and he wanders to another part of the room. “Oh - come look at this!” He’s excited and you move quickly to catch up with him. You inhale sharply. “An indoor plunge pool,” is all he says and you’re both giddy, laughing and beaming at how incredible this room is. You feel like you did on your spring break during senior year when he booked a spontaneous trip to Vegas and spent way too much money on the hotel room. Even that pales in comparison though and you both fling yourselves down on the bed, in total awe. It’s when your body hits the cool sheets that you remember - this isn’t senior year; this is supposed to be his honeymoon and you’ve both just confessed to liking the other. The awkward tension is back and you curse yourself internally. He brushes your arm lightly to get your attention and you snap out of it. You look at him and he looks at you. “We have maybe 20 minutes before we have to head to the pool for our massages. Do you want to...talk?” He smiles a little and you feel the rush of anxiety start to crash over you. “No pressure,” Brendon says quickly. He must see it in your eyes.

“No, it’s okay,” you manage. “I- we can talk. We should talk.” It’s his turn to nod and you wait, watching him.

“I guess I should start by asking - well -“ Brendon hesitates. “I mean - do you remember the flight?” You give him a weird look and tell him of course you remember the flight. “All of it?” You falter. You don’t. When you shake your head, he winces a little and sighs. “Okay. Uh. So we were both a few drinks back, and you were all snuggled up against me and I wanted to kiss your forehead. But at the last moment,” he gestures feebly and you must look confused because he sighs again. “At the last moment, you sort of lifted your head and we- kissed.” Your eyes go wide. “And we didn’t just - it wasn’t one small kiss and then done,” Brendon continues. “It was pretty intense. We were - we were going at it pretty hot and heavy,” he admits. “You tried to climb into my lap. It was - it was - yeah...”

“Oh my god,” you moan, humiliated. You sink down onto the bed and cover your face with your hands. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry-“ you cut yourself off as you peek over your fingers and you see the expression on his face. “Oh. You’re not - you didn’t-“

“I didn’t mind,” Brendon confirms in a low voice. You watch him, eyes wide, and he smiles at you hesitantly before sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. “I said I wanted you before you tried to get in my lap. I definitely didn’t mind. We had some difficulty there and then - well. You were really tired. I asked you how drunk you were and you said you were pretty drunk, but when I pulled the blanket up over you and closed the window covering, you thanked me and called me Bunny.”

“So I was blacked out,” you groan, rolling over and pressing your face into the pillows. “That would explain why I have no memory of any of this. Dammit!” You shoot off the bed and stare at him. He blinks back at you as you pace a little and turn to him suddenly. “That’s why you were calling me Koloa. That’s why you were confused when I apologized for calling you Bunny - because I already had - and why you asked if I remembered-“

“Yes,” Brendon says simply. He runs a hand through his hair as he rolls onto his back. His shirt pulls up a little bit and his stomach is exposed and you whine involuntarily. He props himself up on an elbow and grins at you. “You good?”

“Uh huh,” you manage. Your mouth has gone dry and your heart is racing and every part of you is being drawn to him on the bed but you stand stock-still on the bleached wooden floor. “Why are you so calm?!” You’re staring at him incredulously and he just laughs. “Don’t laugh! Why are you laughing?!”

“Because,” he manages through peals of laughter as he sits up entirely, “I’ve made my peace with this. I know how I feel about you and I know what I want.” He registers your expression and he backs up. “That’s why I’m calm. Not why I’m laughing. I’m laughing because you’re adorable.” You stomp in frustration and he gestures at your foot. “See? Adorable.” He pats the bed next to him and you cross to perch beside him. “Y/n.” Brendon looks at you seriously.

“Brendon,” you echo in the same tone. He smiles and gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail in one hand before letting it fall.

“I like you.” His face is still serious and you blush. “I like when you blush too,” he adds. You press both hands to your face and he smiles, sensing that his compliments are making you feel awkward. “I’ll stop complimenting you. Should we head down to the pool for these massages?”

“Yes,” you agree. “I’ll let you lead the way,” you tell him, following after him happily when he turns to you.

“Come, come Koloa,” he says fondly. “We’ve got a sunset to watch and massages to enjoy.”

[rorybergstrom]

𝑫𝑰𝑫 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑨 𝑩𝑰𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑲𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑻𝑯 𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑫  ???

            hello, it’s nora again…. hitting u with another child. a south london-born softboi who deserves tenderness. has a burner phone and doesn’t use social media. does techno dj sets. plays the synth loudly through the night if u live in gorham his room always sounds like a space ship just landed. deals weed around campus on his rollerskates. hates that he can’t get new light up wheels because ana coto made rollerskating cool again. as is tradition, here’s the pinterest board. this intro is recycled?? so if theres mistakes, sue me??? and be sure to like and subscribe for more unboxing content x

application.

『 FIONN WHITEHEAD ❙ DEMI-MALE』 ⟿ looks like RORY BERGSTRÖM is here for HIS JUNIOR year as a MUSIC TECHNOLOGY student. HE is 23 years old & known to be ECCENTRIC, FANATICAL, NITPICKY & DOGMATIC. They’re living in GORHAM, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ ooc name. age. tz. pronouns. 

aesthetics.

bed hair from a permanent state of slumber, calloused fingertips from strumming bass into the early hours and djing into the blacklit night, self-help books thumbed once and thrown beneath your bed, battered copies of choose your own adventure books, spliffs passed half-arsed across rooftops while light pollution obscures low-hanging stars, marxist literature in stacks against your bedroom walls, a burner phone twice-shattered and a stash of replacement sim cards.

tw ocd, anxiety, drugs

half-swedish, half-british. the swedish is on his mother’s side. he’s bilingual but thinks in english. only really speaks swedish around his mother. only child, and kinda put a lot of pressure on himself to be the perfect kid when he was young, but his parents are honestly, quite decent? and just want him to have a nice life, they don’t care if he isn’t successful or rich or anything, they’re honestly rather solid. (wow imagine having nice parents, a first for all my characters, im literally this meme)

grew up in peckham, a suburb of london. growing up, his mum was a model / actress / waitress who later retrained as a speech therapist and his dad worked in her majesty’s service at buckingham palace. his dad wasn’t allowed to tell his family what his job entailed but rory suspects it’s probably very boring and just involves a lot of…. logistics n security.

was bullied a lot at school. [cole sprouse voice] he didn’t fit in and he didn’t want to fit in. unironically wore a trenchcoat to school every day of his life. spent most of his lunchtimes in the library because it was his safe space. as a result he knows…. loads of useless information because 30% of his school years were spent reading anthologies on space and the vikings etc. would be good on a game show. obsessively recorded every episode of university challenge as a child.

middle-class and lowkey quite wealthy but rarely talks about money, one of those well-off people who still wears really old shitty shoes and only spends money if they absolutely have to

virgin who can’t drive

into star wars, not into the big bang theory. feminist. can’t watch horror movies

favourite film is where the wild things are. also loves the florida project. thinks kids are the sweetest thing and can’t wait to be a dad to some. right now is dad to one cat, whose name changes on a daily basis (identity is constantly shifting, duuuuude), but they were originally named ‘wheezer’

rory has been musical for as long as they can remember. first picked up guitar because he thought it would make this girl esther who he was in love with like him, but he just ended up falling in love with music instead.

formulated several different bands as a kid but ultimately had to give it up cos he was quite controlling and got fixated on making a certain sound so it wasn’t really fun for the others. got into electronic music because it was something he could do basically on his own and keep tweaking until he got it perfect

always drumming their fingers or strumming invisible guitar strings. tends to avoid parties bc he has quite has specific tastes when it comes to music and doesn’t like listening to r&b for eight hours while people throw up into plastic cups.

a techno connoisseur. has been making electronic music since he was about twelve.

after his parents divorce, when he was fourteen, rory & his mother moved to run-down suburban neighbourhood, pittsfield, massachussets.

big into photography. he mostly uses a canon 35mm camera, but occasionally uses disposable ones when he wants that more rustic feel.

moving to the states, their photography became more focused on suburban neighborhoods and are often quite dark and cinematic (think gregory crewsden). here are some shots of pittsfield i really like which rory has on his wall [1] [2] [3]

falls in love 12 times a day. never had a girlfriend or boyfriend. gets sweaty when someone cute looks at him. flirting?? what?? would prefer to idealise them from a distance

gender??? hm. doesn’t really know where he fits yet, sometimes he feels like a guy and sometimes they dont feel like anything at all. isn’t really bothered, cos they think it’s a social construct anyway. uses he/they pronouns interchangeably, but feels like ‘he’ is more fitting. won’t necessarily pull anyone up on it cos he knows having an identity that’s constantly…. in flux.. can be annoying for others … and doesn’t want to be a burden even tho it isn’t at all?? rory internalises guilt

everything is socially constructed. mirrors let you move through time. the whole thing’s a metaphor. he thinks he’s got free will but really he’s trapped in a maze. in a system. all he can do is consume. people think it’s a happy game. it’s not a happy game — it’s a fucking nightmare world, and the worst thing is, it’s real and we live in it

has ocd. tries to let it affect his life as little as possible, but obviously it’s incredibly hard to control a compulsive disorder. was teased for it at school when other kids started to notice. he was obsessed with the number five, would wash his hands five times, count stairs i groups of five, he could only use the corridors in one direction and always had to keep his hands busy. it manifests itself in hyper-fixations (trains when he was a child – specifically steam engines – then later he became obsessed with space and the patterns of constellations, and now he’s obsessed with synthesizers) and repetitive behaviours like counting stairs. doesn’t really affect his social life at all, he can jst get a bit locked-on n hyper-focused sometimes.

has insomnia. barely ever sleeps. finds it hard to switch off from work / writing / gaming / whatever’s preoccupying him in that moment. he’s always awake at 5am and quite often sleeps in through classes but still gets really good grades because he’s very good at his course. rarely attends classes. prefers to work independently. doesn’t really trust his tutors are intelligent enough to be teaching him, and is particularly suspicious of the lockwood tutors. a music snob tbh

secretly a small-scale drug dealer, only does weed n some party pills. rollerskates around campus dealing cos they dnt have a car

likes: techno, the webpage cats on synthesizers in space, allen ginsberg, vintage gramophones,  floating points, lcd soundsystem, marijuana, soft dogs that let you pet them, late-night strolls talking about the universe, independent films, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, constellations, photography, late night jazz, vintage game boys and girls who could rip his still-beating heart out of his chest and use it as an ashtray. dislikes:  weddings, funerals, formality, button-up shirts that people actually button-up, bananas, hot coffee, social media, people who watch and play sports, rap music – especially of the misogynistic variety, indie wankers in wire-framed glasses that play ed sheeran songs at open mic nights.

plot ! with ! me ! i’d say all the usual “exes fwb hookups spiel” but rory… is very tender and tame… i feel like a deer in the headlights of love……. so give me

study buddies,

people who are also into techno and are music snobs about it,

people who love all kinds of music,

people who are in bands that maybe rory’s recorded and produced stuff for,

people he actually jams with (he plays bass and synth),

unrequited crushes!!

someone they met at a knitting club in freshman year and have remained friends with despite no longer going to it

people rory knows from open mic nights and gigs

library girlfriends / boyfriends that he stares at longingly while paging through leatherbound volumes

gamers !!! social recluses !!! hermits !!

people he deals weed to on his rollerskates (why r all my characters obsessed with rollerskates)

skaters. rory is really shit at skateboarding. like really shit. help the smol

hm now that rory has !Evolved! ig we can do hook up plots if u want but he’s not tht good at divorcing sex from emotion?? like he  hooked up w teddy once n felt hopelessly inlove so..... if u want soft plots b prepared for crippling sadness.......

stay groovy XD XD

[nln4]

close

Pairing: M!Ortega/NB Sidestep Word Count: 2735 Rating: T for Terrible Acting Warnings: Depiction of Anxiety, Panic Attacks

close /klōs/ adjective 1.  a short distance away or apart in space or time.

close /klōz/ verb 1.  move or cause to move so as to cover an opening. 2.  bring or come to an end.

Ortega has become a part of your routine lately. Increasingly so.

Worryingly so.

You wake up to good morning texts and bury your smile under a pillow. You eat breakfast while thumbing through the morning paper for more news about The Rangers and even in the grainy-print of the black and white photo, it’s still the same face that lingers on your mind, just with a few more lines. He should maybe start paying rent with how much time he spends in your head.

Or haunts you, really. You have plenty of room for ghosts up there. 

Since being a villain has sort-of become the way you pay your bills, your “day job” consists of sitting in your little apartment and trawling through online message boards, gathering information on potential targets. 

In the end, it all comes back to him. 

You wish it didn’t.

Hours pass and before you know it, the sunlight streaming through the crooked blinds has gone from pale yellows of daytime to the orange-gold tones of dusk. 

Your phone buzzes and you already know it’s him. 

[Dinner?] the gray-green screen reads. He’s been getting awfully bold lately.

But you figure it wouldn’t hurt and you take some small comfort in being absolutely stupid so you text him ‘[yes]’, put on the leather jacket slung over the wooden chair (a step up from the old worn hoodie you used to wear) and head the ten or so blocks to the station crosswalk that’s nearest to the Rangers’ HQ.

Neon signs bloom to life as you walk to your destination and Los Diablos just feels right, like you’ve always belonged here. When you reach the corner of the crosswalk and wait for the light to turn green, you cross, just as everyone else does and he’s already there waiting for you. 

His eyes crinkle when he spots you. They do every time he sees you. His eyes search your face endlessly. They say so many things, but most of all they say “Welcome home.”

(You fear the day that they don’t.)

“Hi,” he says, still smiling. His hand automatically goes to yours, holds it close. The metal Mod embedded in his palm press into the back of your hand and it’s warm, so warm. The pressure feels familiar and yet foreign somehow, in a way that you can’t explain but you don’t pull away. You can’t pull away.

“Hey.”

“So? Dinner?” he goes on, still keeping a hold on your hand. “Where do you want to go? Hoots? Or maybe - there’s this diner, not a lot people. Kinda reminds me of where we first met. Danny also told me about this place he goes to. What do you think?”

“Anything is fine.” 

He turns back to look at you and you’ve realized you’ve been lagging a half-step behind, lost in the blur of colors of the city. His eyes ask ‘what’s wrong?’ but he doesn’t speak it out loud. Does he fear the question or the answer? you wonder.

“We,” he begins, thumbing circles against your wrist. “We can just go to my place. Order some food. Maybe watch that awful movie.”

“How many times has it been? Twenty?”

“Maybe twenty-first time’s the charm.” 

So you nod and let him lead the way.

You have been to Ortega’s apartment since that night of the gala, more and more - but by more, you mean that the visits have increased from zero to perhaps two. Two too many. Any more visits and you risk someone remembering you, connecting you to him. So far no one has, but your powers aren’t infallible, despite how strong they’ve gotten.

He ushers you inside and it still appears to be the same apartment. Perhaps some changes here and there but the same minimal low-tech place, bookshelf-lined walls. It’s still very him, you think.

“Make yourself at home,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads into his bedroom, presumably to change into more comfortable clothing. “Decide on what to eat.”

“Mm.” You decide that you’d rather leave the decision making to him. You’re not terribly picky with food. He, however, is. 

In a few minutes, he returns in a white t-shirt and sweats, phone and a flat case in hand. He tosses the case to you, dialing on his phone with a roll of his eyes, probably knowing that you didn’t choose anything while you were waiting. 

You catch the case, already knowing what movie it is. You will never be over how terribly photoshopped the cover is or that the actor they chose for Chen looks way too young, even taking into consideration the time the movie came out. 

He’s talking on the phone, placing his usual go-to order of pizza while you turn on the television and fiddle with the disc player. Waiting for disc to load, you look at Marshal Charge, front and center on the case. Perfectly styled hair despite the artistic wear and tear of his Rangers uniform, the painted on bleeding scratch on his cheek - there to show he takes some damage but nothing even remotely resembling the absolute mess that looked like the actual aftermath of the nanovore incident. 

And there you are. A figure in shadow, turned away from the others. Edited in like an afterthought.

Over by the counter, Ortega drums his fingers on the marble countertop, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rolls his neck and pops his shoulder, anything to keep from staying still. When he catches you watching, he grins and mouths “fifteen minutes” to you. 

You both settle onto the couch, waiting for the food to arrive and you’re aware of just how much closer he is. You remember old nights like these - finding bad movies to make fun of, curled up onto a couch big enough for three. You miss Anathema’s infectious laughter and your heart twists. 

He still runs warmer than average and you can feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of your shirt. Fingers trail across the couch cushion, then onto your knee where you hand rests.

On screen, The Rangers argue on how best to approach the nanovore strike. You and he both laugh because you know what scene is coming up next. An extra announces that the nanovores have been sighted inland and winks at the camera all too conspicuously.

“You make a terrible actor,” you comment. 

“Hey, maybe I was being bad on purpose,” he says. “It’s called acting.” 

“Nope.”

“At least my mustache is real now,” he replies. 

“I’d hate to think that ‘Rangers: The Final Stand’ was your inspiration for growing that out.”

“It might have.”

You’re now fixated on his mustache and the stubble growing along his chin. And you’ve definitely noticed that he’s been letting it grow out more after you made that comment about during your hospital visit. You’re close enough that can see the faint scar left from where his lip was stitched up all those months ago. You don’t know how he managed to convince PR to let him keep it but then again, he probably didn’t - and wouldn’t - care what they told him anyways.

It does make him look older. 

You suppose that that’s what happens as time passes. People grow older.

(He should have just grown old, the vicious voice in your head thinks. Old and happy, with someone else.)

You hate that it looks good. That years have passed and he looks better, after all this time. 

That after all this time, he might still feel the same way. 

He traces a thumb against your jaw, presses his forehead to yours, and you hate that you still feel the same way because it just makes everything so much worse.

Save yourself, you think. Run away. Don’t get hurt. 

You don’t know if you’re thinking this to him or if you should take your own advice. Probably both. 

Your noses touch and you flinch, standing up so abruptly it makes you dizzy. Your head might have clocked his nose because he’s clutching it, brows furrowed, tears starting to leak from his eyes. Only the dullest pain throbs at the top of your skull.

“Ow, hey-”

He blindly reaches out with one one hand, the other still pressed to his nose. You do what you do best and sidestep away into the bathroom. In your haste, the door slams a little too loudly and you flinch at that sound too. 

Fuck.

Why did you think you could do this? Why did you come here at all?

Your reflection glares back at you accusingly, red-rimmed, dark shadowed eyes and all. 

Why did you come back after so long?

Just why?

Months ago, when he asked if you would tell him if anything was wrong, you readily agreed, despite it being a lie.

What could you even tell him now? 

“Is everything okay?” His voice is quiet, muffled by the door. 

You don’t answer. You can barely breathe. At least, that’s what it feels like. The throbbing pain from headbutting him is finally hitting you too and you massage your temples. Try your best to calm down.

Your silence must have him worried, if the sound of him shuffling his feet and the pop of his knuckles from clenching-unclenching his fists are anything to go by. 

“If you don’t answer, I’m knocking down this door.” An empty threat, when it comes to you at least.

“I’m fine,” you croak out. Your voice sounds quite the opposite of ‘fine’ though.

“Did I-” and he’s fighting to find words. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“You sure?” You imagine that he’s having a hard time trying to process “if nothing’s wrong then why did you run away?” You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe - god, I don’t know.” 

“Please open the door.” It isn’t a command. He’s always been good at that. At giving you choices. 

“I can’t.” You’ve never been good at choosing though.

“Okay,” he says, although it’s more of an agreement than acceptance. You know him too well. He’d stand there for hours if he knew there was a chance. 

He did for seven years. Maybe even ten.

The throbbing of your head doesn’t hurt nearly as much as that thought.

A distant knocking comes from the other side and you hear him curse; must be the pizza. His footsteps shuffle off and there’s a brief muffled exchange before the door shuts once more. 

It takes about a minute.

(Save yourself.)

Another twenty seconds.

(Run away.)

Another inhale. 

(Don’t get hurt.)

You reach for the doorknob, turn until the lock clicks and open the door - or you try to, at least. There’s some resistance when you pull and you find that he’s standing there and the shock that’s on his face probably mirrors your own because you weren’t expecting him to be standing there. So much that you hurriedly close the door until it’s only barely open, until you can only see his half of his face peering back at you. He doesn’t fight it.

“Uh. Pizza’s here.” His voice is quiet. The sort you would adopt when speaking to a spooked, cornered animal.

You can see every line on his face, half cast in the shadows of the dark hallway, half illuminated by the old light of the bathroom that does nothing for him. He looks old and tired and there’s a crease between his eyebrows that did not used to be there ten or so odd years ago. The mustache makes him look stern. Maybe he should have grown one out when he was still Marshal. Maybe you would have taken him more seriously. His hair is mussed, even more unruly than usual, from his habit of carding his fingers through his hair in frustration.

And then there are his eyes. Warm, brown, still brimming with hope, with all the things you can’t read in his thoughts. 

“We can always eat here, in the bathroom,” he offers and you laugh, despite the buzzing panic in your throat that threatens to spill over. His eyes crinkle at the sound, the relief washing over his face. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would.” Your voice is low and, despite your wishes, quavery.

“Can I come in?” 

You nod wordlessly and release the doorknob, the dull ache making you realize you were clutching onto it like a lifeline, then sit yourself onto the lip of the bathtub. The door creaks as he pushes it open.

You can’t look at him, even when he sets the toilet seat cover down and sits. He’s close enough to speak quietly but still giving you a respectable distance, should you decide to get up and leave again, if just to keep his nose safe from any more collisions. Instead, you look at the red welt indented into your palm, and you start to rub the ache away.

“I think I get it,” he says. “Maybe. Not totally. But you need things to be slow. Right?”

You’re grateful that he at least gets part of it. You doubt you could fully untangle the jumbled mess of thoughts in your head. Your eyes flicker to him and in the clear light, his nose is definitely red. A little swollen. Nothing broken though, to your relief. You don’t want to hurt him anymore than you already have.

“I’m sorry for headbutting you in the face.”

He chuckles. “Not the first time you’ve done it. But apology accepted.”

“You deserved it that time though.”

“I probably did,” he says, laced with rueful laughter.  “Even though I don’t remember what happened.”

“You and I were arguing on how to take out Iconique’s laser ray and you wouldn’t listen when I told you more electricity would have blown the whole thing up.”

“Oh yeah,” he recalls and suddenly annoyance crosses his face. “Well, we were trying to take it out, of course blowing it up would be an option.”

“Blowing it up would have left a crater the size of a city block in the garden district,” you counter dryly.

“You don’t know that.” He repeats the same thing, the same words he said so many years ago when you were having the exact argument. You don’t know what will happen. No one does.

You shoot him a look, the are-you-really-arguing-with-me-about-this look. He grins crookedly at you and you slowly return it. 

This is good, you think. The banter is good. Whatever pressure weighing down on your chest has lifted just a bit and you can breathe again. You don’t know how long it will last but for now, it is enough.

He gets up and holds out a hand and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. The pizza’s gone cold by the time you settle once more on the couch and you force yourself to take bites and swallow, despite not tasting it at all. The movie’s been left running and it’s almost at the end now.

“Are you okay?” actor Charge asks, arms bracing the shoulders of his longtime partner. The voice sounds tinny, even through the state-of-the-art sound system speakers.

“No, not really,” you quip, echoing the actor’s lines.

“It’s fine, I’ve got you,” Ortega quotes, mimicking his actor perfectly. “You’re my best partner after all.”

You’ve forgotten how just how corny this movie was and you frown at him in disgust. If you remember anything from that day, there was a lot of screaming. He was out cold from the pain, almost going into shock. And there certainly was no touching dramatic speech about friendship.

“You are okay, right?” he asks tentatively, eyes searching your face for answers, hints.

“I won’t be if you keep asking.” 

He exhales sharply in amusement. “All right. I’m just checking.”

He keeps watching you though, as though you might fall apart any second, as though if he’s fast enough, he might be able to catch up the pieces. 

Because the last time, he wasn’t able to but he would gladly spend seven years, ten years, a hundred years, picking up little shards of you and putting you back together. And that you might not be totally whole again but that’s enough for him.

That it’s okay to not be okay.

At least that’s what his eyes are telling you.

“I know,” you say. 

On screen the credits start to roll.

[animemangasoul]

I Want It That Way

Summery: Akutagawa is singing the backstreet boys and Atsushi is having a mental breakdown because of it

Characters: Atsushi & Akutagawa

Gen: Drabble

Akutagawa was humming. Atsushi wasn’t sure what exactly he was humming, but he definitely was and Atsushi has never felt as creeped out as he did right then at that very moment. Well-

That was a lie. The creepiness he was feeling at that moment had nothing on the shivers that ran up his spine like tiny little creepy crawlers when he stumbled next to the other man during their joint fight and actually heard what exactly he was singing.

“Rock your body~” he was muttering under his breath as he shielded them both. “Everybody~ Rock your body right~ Backstreets back alright~!”

Atsushi could have died right then and there and he wasn’t sure if even that could stop the nightmare vision he was having right now.  

‘What the fuck!’ his mind screamed. ‘What the actual fuck!’

He wanted to cry, he wanted to curl up into a ball and just hide from this cruel and twisted world. Since when did the Akutagawa, rabid dog of the Port Mafia fucking sing Backstreet boys? Why? How? Why?

When Akutagawa snapped at him to focus after almost getting hit, all the weretiger could do was rub a furious hand over his watery eyes and nod with hidden terror. “Sorry,” he shouted, jumping from the targeted spot. “Sorry, was just distracted for a sec.”

“Fucking weretiger,” Akutagawa tsked and that was the end of it. Well- at least that’s what he’d thought.

---

The second time he heard that blasted song coming from his archrival’s lips was during a mundane meeting between the Agency and the Port Mafia. They had been stationed next to each other; close to the giant double doors, and while Atsushi had been bored out of his skull shifting this way and that, the taller dark-haired man hadn’t moved an inch, and Atsushi honestly thought he was asleep until he started that cursed humming again.  

He had almost managed to convince himself that the incident had all been a fever dream, that it hadn’t actually happened and that he was just imagining things due to an untimely concussion or something, but nop, it really had happened, because-

“Oh.my.God we’re back again~”

Atsushi whimpered.  

“Brothers, sisters, everybody sing~”

Atsushi softly cried,

But when the older male very subtly started to move in his position as if-as if, he was dancing?

Atsushi fainted.

----

“You have to believe me Dazai-san please!”

Dazai as expected was smiling at him with condescending amusement, and if Atsushi had been a lesser man, he might have clawed his eyes out at the blatant disrespect, but alas-  

“Come on Dazai-san!”

“I’m sorry Atsushi-kun,” he sing-songed. “I just have a hard time believing little Akutagawa-kun is capable of singing anything let alone a song so out of his comfort zone he genuinely might croak if it was played in his vicinity.”

“But it’s true!”

He got a condescending pat on the head for his concern.

Atsushi had never hated Dazai-san more.

----

Atsushi blinked up at the ceiling of the infirmary. Things hadn’t gone as well as usual this time around. Every part of his body ached like never before, and he would have honestly started pitying himself if the screams next door hadn’t made him send it all over to his poor partner that unfortunately didn’t have the ability to selfheal.

Yosano was really making a meal out of it. Probably revenge, he thought. Yawning loudly he closed his eyes and didn’t open them till the other male was wheeled in next to him. “Now don’t move till you’re told so,” Yosano-san said, backing away from the bed after giving the Port Mafia member a quick once over.  

He coughed. “Thank you.”

Atsushi smiled. Akutagawa had gotten much better at that type of thing. He briefly contemplated if he was the reason for the change, before brushing it aside just as quickly.  

“You’re welcome,” was Yosano-san's reply; voice a lot more gentle this time.“Something I can get you before I take my leave?”

“My phone if it isn’t too much trouble.”

She fished it out from her pocket before turning around and leaving with a passing goodbye.

Atsushi opened his mouth to say something in the dawning silence that fell over them, but before he could-

~~~I’ve got a question for you, better answer now~~~

...It was the phone...

...The song was coming out of Akutagawa’s phone...

Atsushi choked. Vision darkening once again, and only a soft concerned whisper of Jinko? Following him into the abyss.  

----

He was done, it was over, he needed this to end, to stop. Any longer and Atsushi couldn’t promise his own sanity any longer.

The orphanage might not have broken him, but fuck-

Akutagawa singing that-that song might legitimately do him in.  

They were both on another mission again. This time accompanied by Chuuya and Dazai respectively.  

“Why can’t I work with Chuuya-san?” Akutagawa questioned after Dazai had briefed them on the upcoming plan. If Atsushi hadn’t gotten to know him as well as he did over the year, he might have actually missed that slight tilt in his voice that suggested of begrudging disappointment.

Huh

Who would have thought? Just a year after their last huge team up and Akutagawa was already moving on from Dazai-san's acceptance.  

Dazai most have noticed the tone as well, because his smile widened even further. “Awww, doesn’t little Akutagawa-kun wanna team up with me anymore? I’m hurt~”.

Chuuya scoffed, slapping the taller male on the back of the head. “Shut up bandaged freak,” he snapped, but the little smile dancing at the corner of his lips was evince of how pleased he was of the fact that Akutagawa chose him over the other man.

Well, it didn’t really matter to Atsushi, in fact, this was perfect. Chuuya-san seemed to know Akutagawa pretty well, so maybe he could shed light on this new fixation he had on that ridiculous song.  

----

“Chuuya-san?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure kid, go ahead.”

Their mission had gotten off without a hitch and Atsushi had finally built up the courage to ask the burning question in his chest.

“It’s about Akutagawa.”

“Oh,” Chuuya momentarily turned around to look back at him with a curious face. “What about him?”

Atsushi gnawed at his bottom lip in thought. How could he phrase this question exactly? How did you tell the superior officer of your partner that said partner’s singing habit was disturbing you and you wanted it to stop?

He opened his mouth, but before any profound sound could escape past his lips, their two other companions rounded the corner. “All done,” Dazai called out to them.

Chuuya-san bellowed back in the affirmative, before doing something that made the white-haired teen next to him pale in horror.  

“You are my fire~” he sang loudly, actually making Dazai-san stop and blink in confusion. Good, Atsushi thought, serves him right. “The one desire~ Believe when I say I want it that way~” he continued, and Atsushi just wanted to die. This couldn’t be happening.

It was like a switch turned inside Akutagawa’s head, because he started to bob his head to some unknown music before echoing back the familiar lines while adding the next once “But We Are Two Worlds Apart~ Can't Reach To Your Heart~”  

With those words he cranked up the volume on his phone before finishing with as much of a flair as the rabid dog of the Port Mafia could have. “When You Say That I Want It That WAAAY~”.

Dazai-san looked so disturbed; Atsushi would have genuinely found it funny if he himself wasn’t currently experiencing unrecoverable trauma.

He fainted when they reached the chores.  

----

He was later told by a highly amused Dazai-san that apparently that song had become Chuuya-san's and Akutagawa’s inside joke/bonding song when the former’s phone accidentally played the song while trying to discreetly sneak into an enemy base.  

They had somehow miraculously gotten out of the sticky situation but ever since then it had become some sort of a running joke between them, and they had taken to singing that whenever in a tough spot or after a mission.  

Dazai-san found it hilarious.

Atsushi thought it was horrifying,

Ok, maybe slightly cute and funny too, but definitely horrifying.

And if he’d started humming the dumb thing himself from time to time, well-

Who could blame him? And it made Akutagawa smile and yeah, that was ok. It was fine. Akutagawa needed to smile more anyways.

[leiascully]

Fic:  Baseball Metaphors (10/?)

Part One  |  Part Two  |  Part Three |  Part Four |  Part Five |  Part 6 |  Part 7 |  Part 8 |  Part 9

Why if it isn’t my new friend, Colonel Angus.  We’re going to call this Mature/NSFW.

+ + + +

Scully will never believe that she's psychic, but Mulder isn't so sure, because after Thai food and two beers each, they end up at Ethan and Jenny's house, getting the official tour, ooh and ahhing about the various shades of beige that have been carefully selected to wring the maximum of sunlight out of the south-facing windows or something.  Mulder's never really cared much about houses.  Also, it's night.  The south-facing windows are illuminated by a streetlight, but nothing else.  Most of the rooms are empty, except for the nursery, which is a shade of yellow that's probably nice in the daylight, but just looks dingy at night.  There's a crib there and something that looks like a dresser but probably isn't.  He's learned that baby things are almost never what he thinks they are.  For example, there's a trash can that he quickly learns is some kind of state of the art diaper bin.  

"It's lovely," Scully says, leaning against him.  

"Cozy," Mulder adds.  That seems to be the right response.  Ethan and Jenny both beam.  

"Our little nugget is going to be so happy here," Jenny says.  She pats the quilt draped over the crib rail.  "He's going to grow up so big and strong."

"We just found out it's a boy," Ethan says proudly.  

"Congratulations," Mulder says.  "What are you going to name him?"

Jenny whiffs her hand at him playfully, like she would slap at him if she were close enough.  "We can't tell.  It's a tough world out there when it comes to baby names.  Competitive."

"Maybe that's why my parents went the route they did," Mulder jokes.  "Nobody else was going to poach 'Fox'."  

"Solid reasoning," Ethan says with a grin orthodontists must have loved.  

"You have to see the master bedroom," Jenny gushes.  "It has an en suite bathroom and it just gets the best light in the morning."

"Lead the way," Scully says.

The master bedroom is another masterpiece in beige.  Mulder pretends to care about crown molding, nodding as Ethan points at the various features.

"Can't you just imagine it?" Jenny says, cleary in raptures over the vision in her mind.  "The bed just here, and we inherited the nicest bedroom set from my grandmother.  The dresser here, the vanity there."  She gestures, boxing off space in the air with her hands, painting a picture in her own mind.

"It sounds perfect," Scully says.  

"Just wait until you two have a place of your own," Jenny says.  "You'll feel the same way."

"I'm sure," Scully says.

"It's too bad my lease isn't up for another six months," Mulder says, trying to fill his voice with regret.  "You know, the market just moves so fast.  There's not really any point in looking yet."

"I was going to tell you," Scully says to Jenny, "but, um, we were having so much fun discussing it."

"Aww, well, I'm sure there will be plenty of great places when you're ready," Jenny says.  "I hope you're just as lucky as we were."

"We can only hope," Mulder says cordially.  At least he got some manners out of his abbreviated attempts at charm school, or whatever it was his mother sent him to.  Obviously the rest of it didn't take.  

Scully stifles a yawn with one hand.  "Oh, look at the time," she actually says, glancing at her watch.  Mulder has to cough so he doesn't laugh.  "We have an early flight," she goes on.  

"No rest for the watchmen," Mulder says.  "Is that how that goes?"

"Do you two work together all the time?" Jenny asks.  "I thought you were in different divisions."

"Most of the time," Scully hedges.  "Every now and then they remember that we're assigned outside our specialties."  

"We just clicked from the first case," Mulder says smoothly.  "They can't justify keeping us apart.  Our solve rate is just too good."

"Don't you work on those special cases?" Ethan asks suddenly.  "Z-Files?"

"X-Files," Scully says, and there's something wry and wary and fond in her voice.

"They let us handle all the weird ones," Mulder tells Jenny.  "All the ones no one else can solve.  That's how talented we are."  

"Well, don't let us keep you," Jenny says.  "I wouldn't want you to miss your flight when you're so important!"

"A force for justice," Ethan says.  "Good for you both."

"Let us know when you get back," Jenny says.  "Maybe I'll cook, if I can still get around the kitchen."  

"Don't sell yourself short," Ethan says, nuzzling at her.  "You're an amazing cook and just as light on your feet as ever."  Jenny giggles.

"Can't wait," Mulder says.  "See you when we get back."  He steers Scully down the stairs and out of the house with the arm around her shoulders.  She lets out a long breath.  

"'Oh, look at the time'?" he teases as she unlocks her car.  

"I didn't see you doing much better," she mutters.  "God, Mulder, there was a time in my life when crown molding mattered to me."  

"Maybe there will be again," he teases, "when we get our own place."

"It had better have south-facing windows," she says.

"It will," he promises.  "Only the best for my sweetheart."

"Hypothetically speaking," she says as she climbs into the car and turns the ignition, "what would we be looking for, if we were getting a place together?  Obviously two bedrooms at least."

"Obviously," he says.  "I mean, there are two of us."  

"That and we have to look like we're planning for the future," she says, squinting at him as she stops at a light.  "Whatever that future might be."

"Right," he says.  "Because obviously they assume we're sleeping together."

"It would be strange if we weren't," she says.  "Ethan knows I don't have any hangups about premarital sex, and you don't strike me as the type to save yourself."

"Until marriage?" he asks.

She smirks.  "At all.  From any situation.  Everything happens to you."  She glances over at him.  "But in particular, yes, I suspect that like Oscar Wilde, you can resist anything except temptation."

"I've resisted you!" he protests.

"Have you?"  She raises one eyebrow.

"We haven't...done everything yet," he says.  "Considering how, uh, tempted I was, I've basically shown a superhuman ability to resist."

"What was it when the painters finished?" she asks, her thumb rubbing idly around the curve of her steering wheel.  "Third base?  'Everything but', as I believe your unhelpful definition ran?"

"I think that's what we said," he says, as if he hasn't been thinking about it all day.

"Hmm," she says.  "Maybe I would want crown molding.  It lends a certain dignity to a room.  We never had anything like that in base housing."

He'd have intellectual whiplash if he weren't so used to the switchbacks and callbacks of their conversations.

"I think it all comes down to the kitchen," he says.  "That's what I hear, anyway."

"Maybe three bedrooms would be better," she muses.  "Then we'd have a guest room."

"When would we have guests?" he asks.  "It was just the other day that we were talking about how we don't have any friends."

"Fine," she says reluctantly.  "It can be an office where you keep all your esoteric news clippings and weird samples."

"I like to think of them as our clippings and samples," he jokes.  

"After more than three years, I suppose that's fair," she says.  

"Joint custody of our collection," he says.  "It's a big step."  

"Is it?" she asks.  "I've always been assigned the responsibility for it."

"Feels like a big step," he says.

"Bigger than taking off our clothes together?" she asks without looking at him.

He breathes in sharply.  "I don't think that's third base."

"And yet it seems like the inevitable conclusion, given the way our relationship with Ethan and Jenny is developing," she says.  "I don't anticipate having any less need to decompress."

"Is that...okay?" he asks.  

"I'll keep you updated if anything changes," she says.  "For now, I'm...relieved."

He shifts against the seatbelt.  "Relieved?"

"It seems like a healthier outlet than drinking the stress away, for example."  She shrugs, the motion limited by the stretch of her arms.  "Less addictive.  Less damaging."

"Plenty of people get themselves in trouble that way," he hedges.

"I think we'll be just fine," she says, her lips curling up at the corners.  "If we couldn't help ourselves, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Makes sense," he says.  "We would have already just let it happen."

"Exactly," she says.  "Maybe years ago.  Who knows."

"A surrender to the inevitable," he says.  

"That's what they'll say," she muses.  

"All that matters to me is what you say," he says, letting his head loll on the headrest.  

"Right now I'm saying that I could use a stiff drink," she says, clearly amused with herself.  "Or something."

"I can provide that," he tells her.

They park in front of his building and make their way up to his apartment.  As soon as they're inside he picks her up.  Her legs wrap around his waist as her mouth meets his.  She twines her fingers through his hair.  He has one arm around her hips and the other under her ass.  He is endlessly thankful for the fact that she's been wearing skirts on these dates that aren't quite as constricting as the ones she wears in the office.  

"How would you like to take the edge off, Scully?" he murmurs.  "We have a number of options."

"Can I confess something to you?" she asks, kissing her way across his cheek to nip at his earlobe.  

"Of course," he tells her.

"I've always been intrigued by your oral fixation," she breathes.  Her tongue traces the shell of his ear and he shivers.

"How Freudian of you," he says.  

"Take it as you will," she says, and he knows that his grin verges on feral.

"Oh, I will," he says, and lays her out on the couch.  She pulls him down on top of her, kissing him lingeringly, her hands smoothing down his sides and over his ass.  He braces himself over her and lets himself melt into her mouth.  She makes soft little noises and slips her tongue against his. He feels the shock of the contact all down his body.  Scully could map him, he's certain, charting the impulses of desire through his bones and his nerves with her deft fingertips, but he has his own promises to keep.  He kisses down her throat and between her breasts, rubbing his cheeks against the plane of her stomach and the dip of her flank.  It takes the better part of half an hour, or so he imagines.  Around Scully, he's always losing time.  He plants himself between her knees, the leather cushions creaking under his weight.  She reaches down and helps him draw her skirt up over her thighs.  He hooks his fingers under the hem of her silky peach-colored panties and eases them down.  

"These aren't the sensible briefs I remember," he teases.  

"I had other expectations for tonight," she says.  

"Lucky you," he says in a low voice calculated to make her shiver, which she does.  His college education was good for something after all.  He gazes down at her: knees canted gently together, pale thighs, auburn curls.  He rubs his palms slowly up and down her calves.  She shaved for tonight and her skin is smooth and soft.  

"Third base?" he says, using one finger to nudge her knees apart.  She lets them fall to the sides and fuck, he wants her so badly.  

"Step up to the plate," she says, and now he's the one shivering.  He tries to lie down on his belly, but he's too tall, and the arm of the couch jams into his thighs.  He grunts and sits back up.

"What?" Scully says, and he puts his hands around her hips and lifts her over him as he lies back.  She takes the cue and balances over his shoulders.  He eases himself down underneath her and helps her settle over his face.  The fabric of her skirt tents his head and shoulders, but all he cares about is the curls tickling his lips, and then the soft folds that his tongue teases apart, and then the slick heat of her under his mouth.  

She gasps quietly as he explores her.  He's taking his own fucking time, savoring her.  She is everything he imagined.  He reaches up to tuck her skirt into her waistband, and reaches further to caress her breast.  She fumbles the rest of her skirt away from his face and rakes her fingers gently through his hair.

"Mulder," she says like his name is a prayer.

"Mm," he responds, concentrating on the salty-sour tang of her and the way her clit firms at the touch of his tongue.  She presses her hand to his, lacing her fingers between his over the swell of her breast.  They caress her together.  She shows him how hard to squeeze, how to pinch her nipples as he flicks his tongue against her clit.  Impatiently, she disentangles her fingers from his and drags her shirt over her head.  She unhooks her bra and tosses that onto his coffee table.  He lets go of her hip and reaches up with both hands, and together they stroke and knead her breasts.  She dips her head and lips at his fingers, sucking them into her mouth.  The wet heat of her mouth, the strength of her mouth, is the same warmth and tension he feels when he thrusts his tongue into her cunt.  He groans into the space between her thighs and circles her clit with his tongue, slowing his pace deliberately.  God, what he wouldn't do for four hands, for multiple mouths, to take in and slide into every part of her at once.  

Her hips are rocking against his face now and he has to let one hand slide from her breast to steady her.  He wants this to last.  She's slippery and frantic against his mouth, but he won't let her rush.  He holds her, slows her, makes her feel every last delicious ounce of friction.  She's gasping and groaning and he can feel the shivers running through her body.  He adds his own vibrations to hers, moaning against her delicate skin, letting her feel how much he's enjoying her where she can understand it best, right at the root of herself.  -

"Please," she gasps, and he gives in, letting his tongue and his fingers move faster, strumming her to a high-pitched jangle of sound and sensation that he can almost feel in his own body as she shakes and shivers, pressing his knees into his shoulders.  

"Oh," she says, "oh, oh, Mulder," and she collapses, catching herself on the arm of the sofa.  He helps her climb off him, steadying her as her legs shake, and shifts on the couch to make space for her.  She sits next to him and he's going to be thinking of her bare skin on his black leather couch for a long time.  He pulls her close with one arm and kisses her head as she catches her breath.

"Curiosity satisfied?" he asks smugly.

"For now," she says.  "I'm sure you'll have ample opportunity to satisfy me again."

"Good to know," he tells her.  

Her hand slips toward his belt and he catches it and kisses her knuckles.

"No?" she says.  

"Next time," he promises her.  "This was about you.  I don't want to complicate that."

"I want to," she says.  "I want you."

He groans and kisses her.  "I want that too.  Next time."  

"What if next time is their housewarming?" she asks.  

"I'm sure we'll have more than a week's notice," he says.  "And if it is, I enjoyed myself plenty tonight, believe it or not."

"I believe it," she says, smirking.  She leans in and kisses him again, and he's tempted to pull her into his lap and forget all about their careful rationing.  But he's made it this far.  

"I'd invite you to stay, but" - he gestures to the couch - "there's not a lot of space."

"Then you'll have to drive next time," she says, "although I'm sure the couch is pretty central to your fantasy."

"I can create a whole new set of fantasies based in your bed," he assures her.

"Good," she says, leaning forward and gathering her bra and panties.  She looks at her bra and then bundles it into the waistband of her skirt, but she steps back into her panties, steadying herself on Mulder's shoulder.  He drags his fingers up her leg, unable to resist grazing her clit with his thumb one last time through the damp fabric of her panties.  She shivers.

"How many innings in a baseball game?" she asks.

"Nine," he says, certain she knows that.

"Maybe some weekend we can play a full game," she says, her eyes half-lidded and dark with desire.

He whistles "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" and she smiles.  

"See you Monday," she says, kissing him one last time, and then the door shuts behind her and he collapses back onto the couch, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants as fast as he can.  He wraps fingers still damp from her mouth around his cock, caressing himself, and he can't remember the last time he came so fast.  He slumps backwards, panting, and then cleans himself up with shaking hands.  

"Fuck," he says to no one.  The fish in their tank gape at him.

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 2)

Summary: Arthur falls off a cliff and lands in the past. Hellbent spoilers.

Part 1: here

Part 3: here

Arthur slipped into the garage, inhaling the lingering smell of oil and petrol. It's strangely comforting. Lance is standing with his back to him. He’s motioning to his assistant Darrel, leaning over an open car engine and pointing at something of interest. Around them, spare parts and various tools are hung in their places along the walls and stacked neatly on selves. The mundane sight is a balm to his completely shot nerves.

“Arthur,” his Uncle greets jovially, eyes still fixed on the car, “There you are. Get over here and take a look at this beast,”

Arthur automatically takes a step and hesitates. He’s is in his pyjamas, a lose faded t-shirt and shorts, and completely barefoot. Definitely, not workshop approved attire.

Lance steps back off the low foot-bench, used to reach into the tricker parts of car engines, glancing back, “Poor bastards broke down a few miles up.  New-fangled electric hybrid engine so I’ll get ya to take a look at it before anythin.”

Their eyes meet and he trails off, giving Arthur a once over. Lance immediately frowns and Arthur can practically hear the lecture on workshop health and safety forming in his Uncle’s head.

He quickly steps back into the doorway and blurts, “Sorry, um, could I borrow your phone for a second?”

Lance crossed his arms unimpressed, “Ya know that crap about shoes in the workshop is there for a reason, right.”

“Sorry, Sorry,” Arthur rubs the back of his head with his left hand. It’s nice to be able to do so without getting the strands caught in metal panels, “I, uh, forgot….”

“Hey Arthur, catch,”  Darrel, thankfully, interrupts his muddled excuse, tossing his phone from across the room.  Arthur spends a good few seconds fumbling the item, trying to adjust to his heightened levels of coordination. Mercifully, he doesn’t drop it. He shoots Darrel an appreciative glance.

“The password’s 1234,” Darrel grins and Lance gives them both an unimpressed stare.

“Thanks, Darrel. I’ll just go and…uh…get dressed?”

He starts to turn and beat a retreat. This is obviously not the time for attempting conversation, his was mind fumbling for sentences worse than usual. He hesitated mid turn because finding another phone had not been his objective when coming down here.

“Could you tell me the date real quick?” He asked, forcing himself not to fidget. Lance is now looking more concerned than annoyed, squinting at Arthur like he’s trying figure something out. His Uncle is blunt and to the point, hiding his inherently perceptive nature under a layer of grumpiness. He probably knows somethings up. Hopefully, it would be attributed to a poor nights sleep.

“It’s the 4th”

“and the year?”

Now Darrel is also looking confused, “2014?”

“Right. Thanks,” Arthur spins on his heel marching away, avoiding any incoming ‘are you okays’ and ‘Is something wrongs.’ It’s not the smoothest of exits but he honestly wasn’t feeling up for any more conversation. Not when his mind is buzzing with impossibilities.

Arthur walks straight back to his room. The old lock on his door is back and he fixates on it briefly before pushing inside.  His room is warming, morning light still spilling through the window. It catches on the peach-coloured wallpaper, giving everything an orange glow. It’s comforting and Arthur seats himself at a surprisingly sparse desk. There’s a small stack of notes filled with calculations and he puts Darrel’s phone down on top of them after quickly checking the date. Then he turns on his computer and checks there as well. It’s all the same. 2014. He glanced around for Galahad who was nowhere to be seen. Neither is his cage or tricked-out running wheel. But that makes sense. He had bought Galahad a year ago, meaning it would be a year until he saw the hamster again. Confusing and disappointing. He could really use a Galahad right about now.

So… date confirmed. 2014. He doesn’t know what it means and part of him still wants to grab his keys, drive into town, and question more people. The how’s, what’s and why’s circle around his head, leaving him at a loss.

Was he suffering a mental break? Was this the afterlife? One minute he’s falling and Lewis is…Lewis is… and the next minute he’s in bed and all the evidence is pointing to it being two years earlier. Only, that’s impossible, because time travel is impossible. Just like ghosts were supposed to be impossible. Arthur frowns, massaging his head. He had learnt that lesson the hard way. Answers, as par for the course, elude him.

Reluctantly, he dredges up recollections of The Cave. In his mind, it’s a muddled mess of twisted horror and agony. For the last two years, it had been a clouded nightmare, drawing him down into sharp teeth and pain. He was loathe to revisit it, especially now, when his mental facilities and energy were a few moments away from a complete meltdown. Arthur poked at the memories anyway, trying fruitlessly to dig up answers. He remembered entering the cave, walking down into the dark. Lewis’ form up ahead, torch in hand.

Something sliding into this mind, ripping him open. He was trapped in shadow. There was no way out. Ahead of him, Lewis walked, touch light dimming. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Nope. None of that. Arthur refocused, chocking off the worst of it. A few seconds of breathing exorcizes and re-centring later and he tried again. He remembered entering the cave. Losing sight of Lewis. Mystery. Losing his arm. Vivi’s panicked face before passing out. Then he had awoken in a hospital to lots of questions and no answers. Everything useful twist away, out of reach, taunting him. Police investigations had turned up nothing. Lewis was just gone. Not even a body left behind. The only one who probably had any clue was Mystery but the dog fluctuated between cagy to annoyingly vague on the details.  Arthur had never pressed for more. Maybe he should have. If Lewis had died that night and Mystery had known. Had known all along. Then Mystery had watched as he and Vivi drove from one side of the country to the other, searching fruitlessly. No… Mystery had watched Arthur searching. Vivi had just been along for the ride, humouring his chase, all memories of Lewis gone.

Unsteadily, he ran both hands through his hair, pulling lightly at the strands and taking solace in the sensation. If that ghost was Lewis. Then Lewis had died. He had probably died in The Cave, making Lewis the purple ghost who had tried to…in the same cave…had succeeded…in…killing…

His left-hand sparks, sending small shocks through his shoulder. It's beyond trashed but the sensation gives him enough awareness to move it up in a jerky action. In his desperation, he manages to hopelessly cling to the ghost’s arm.

Arthur rests his forehead down against his desk, curling up around his restored arm. Phantom pains run up and down its length. He’s breathing heavily again, gasping for air.

Suddenly it's Lewis. Lewis is there but his face is twisted and hateful. 

It takes a lot more than a few seconds but eventually he succeeds in pushing the memories and fear away, finding an equilibrium again.

Why?

The question hangs uncomfortably, weighing on his mind. With the information he has he doesn’t understand. There’s a lot he doesn’t understand now.

Arthur sits up and uncurls, leaning back on his chair to stare to the ceiling. Shakily, he wipes his face, rubbing the damp from his eyes. It doesn’t matter. Mystery. Lewis. If he was two years back in time then none of it mattered. Just more fuel for the nightmares, which would now be returning with a vengeance. He had been doing so well up until the mansion, managing a regular sleep schedule with seven full hours a night and everything.

For now, he leaves the conundrum alone, looking around for a distraction. There’s nothing of interest and he can’t for the life of him remember what he should be working on at this point in time. When had he finished that online engineering course? 2013? Arthur gets dressed and heads down to check out the hybrid engine his Uncle had mentioned before his abrupt exit.

Lance gives him a look when he returns but doesn’t mention Arthur’s odd behaviour. Darrel is there and he returns the guys phone, waving off another greeting. He slots back into the workshops routine without issue, listening to his Uncle and Darrel talk over their a recent acquisition as he examines, dismantles and reconstructs.  

Just as he’s feeling some sense of normality, relaxing into the work, there’s a familiar yell of greeting from outside the garage. Through the open roller doors, on the other side of the chain-link fence designed to keep out the general public, Vivi is waving to catch his attention.

“Hey! Arthur! Hey! Can you let us in the front! No one’s answering. I told you, you need a better doorbell!”

Uncle Lance straightens, shaking his head.

“That girl,” he huffs, turning to Arthur, “How about ya go let your friends in before someone decides to climb a fence. I think I got this covered.”

Arthur stares at Vivi who is still waving, attention shifting. Next to her is a familiar purple-clad shape. He’s standing, hands tucked casually in pockets, watching Vivi yell with a fond smile. Any form of relaxation instantly evaporates.

It's Lewis.

Note: Because people seemed to like the idea I decided to continue. I do have a part 3 planned but it’ll probably take a few days to finish.