#LOVE feeling like a brick tossed in a washing machine

[m0thb1tch]

Hoooooollllllyyyyyy shit The Substance!!! One of the best theater experiences I've had in AGES (and I'm always at the theater!!) I feel like I've been hit with hammers!!

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 4 - Secrets

Title: “Messy”

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 3,503

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Original Characters

Tags: John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Angst, Breaking The Rules, Dean is Sam's Real Parent (But he shouldn't have to be), Dean Giving Sam a Childhood, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Meets a Cute Boy, Unwanted Haircut, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dean is 13 and Sam is 9

Summary: John leaves Dean and Sam alone at a motel the day before Halloween. Despite John's hard-and-fast rules about leaving the motel room, Sam convinces Dean to take him trick-or-treating. While they're out, Dean meets a boy who makes him feel like breaking the rules was worth it.

On AO3 Here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean, you know the drill,” John says brusquely as he hoists the duffel over his shoulder. “Tell me the rules.”

Dean stands up from where he’s folding laundry on the motel room floor. They stopped at the laundromat this morning, John tossing Dean just enough quarters for two small loads before taking Sam along with him to the local library for research. They’ve been tracking a creature for days and John’s still not sure exactly what it is.

Dean would have loved to help with the books. Instead he sat in front of the laundry machine, exactly the same as the hundreds of others he’s fed with quarters over the years, and watched their clothes spin around and around. He noticed new holes in Sam’s jeans and socks when he moved them to the dryer. If his dad will let him use some of their wound-stitching thread, he’ll repair them after this hunt.

He faces his dad, posture straight and hands behind his back. “The rules are stay in the room, keep the doors and windows locked, don’t answer the door for anyone except you and Bobby, only spend money if I absolutely have to, and always have a weapon in reach,” he rattles off.

John nods, face impassive. “And the most important rule?”

“Protect Sammy,” Dean says firmly. He glances over to the rickety table under the window, where his scrawny little brother is filling out a worksheet. It’s part of the last round of homework their teachers had given them at their previous school, right before John took them out again to hit the road.

Dean quietly tossed his own homework in the garbage and told Sammy to finish every worksheet, because he was going to mail it back to the school and his teacher would check it. Sam’s even writing a letter in the cursive he’s learning to go along with it.

Dean has no clue what the address of the school is.

John pulls the Impala key out of his pocket and opens the door. “I’ll be out of cell range during this next leg. Check in date is Thursday. Don’t call for help until Sunday.”

Dean nods. John steps halfway out the door before turning back. He eyes Dean for a long moment, as if he’s trying to come up with something to add. Eventually he just says “I’m cutting your hair when I get back. You look messy.”

The door closes. In the silence of the room, Dean reaches up and touches his bangs. Just this morning, in the reflection of the washing machine door, he admired how his hair was curling a bit over his ears. It framed his face and made him look softer. Less skinny. More like the other boys he’d seen at school.

Oh well.

The Impala roars to life outside in the parking lot, and Dean listens until the purr of the engine fades away down the road. He looks at the half-folded pile of laundry at his feet.

“Tomorrow’s Halloween.”

Dean jumps a little. Sam’s right next to him, eyebrows raised expectantly. Dean pushes him away and drops onto the couch, nudging a balled-up pair of socks with his foot. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

Sam sits down next to him. “Dean, I think Dad forgot about Halloween.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “He didn’t forget, Sammy. It just doesn’t matter.” He avoids looking at his brother, running his fingers over the ridge of threads barely holding together the hole in his own jeans.

“But I told James I’d be a doctor,” Sam needles. “He’s gonna be a pirate.”

Sam’s ability to instantly make friends always leaves Dean feeling half-proud, half-nervous. Sam was in third grade with James for less than two weeks, and he still talks about him constantly.

Dean thinks it’s better not to get attached. He just can’t bring himself to teach Sam that particular lesson yet.

He sighs and glances at Sam. “You know you can’t trick-or-treat with James anyway, right? He’s in Denver.”

Sam groans dramatically and flops against the hard backrest of the couch. His shaggy hair falls into his face. Dean looks at the longest strands, curving past Sam’s cheekbones.

“We can just do Halloween here,” he suggests, even though he knows “buying candy from the gas station” definitely doesn’t count as necessary spending.

Sam shakes his head where it’s still resting on the couch. “That’s not real Halloween.”

“We’ve never done a real Halloween, so how would you know?” Dean’s just buying time now, putting off the moment when he has to say “no.”

The stink-eye that’s sent his way is of epic proportions. “I watch TV, Dean.”

Dean rubs his face. “Sammy--”

“--Oh, please, Dean, please!” Sam shifts into begging mode, sitting up and whipping out the puppy eyes. His left eye is half-covered by hair. “I know we’re not allowed, but can’t we break the rules just one time? It can be a secret.”

They hold eye contact for a moment, but Sam’s more stubborn. Dean looks away first, his eyes falling to the laundry on the floor. Almost unconsciously, he reaches under the lumpy couch cushion next to him and lets his fingers graze the pistol stashed there. His stomach rumbles and he wonders how far he can stretch their last cans of soup.

Suddenly, a secret doesn’t sound so bad at all.

“Okay,” he says.

Sam must’ve not expected Dean to relent, because he’s silent for a couple seconds before whooping and launching himself at Dean. “Ahh! Thank you thank you thank you!”

Dean can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He hugs Sam back, the kid’s bony shoulder digging into his ribcage. After a moment, he pulls away and puts on his most serious face. Hands on Sam’s upper arms, he looks him straight in the eyes. “Sam, if we do this, you cannot tell Dad. Do you understand?”

Sam nods enthusiastically, still grinning. Dean digs his fingers into his arms. “Listen to me, or we’re not going.” He waits for Sam’s face to fall a little before continuing. “You can’t just not tell Dad, you can’t drop hints. You have to clean up all your wrappers. We can never talk about it. Do you get it?”

Sam’s eyes are wide now. He nods again, very small, and Dean knows he’s gotten through. He loosens his grip on Sam’s arms. “All right, then. How are we gonna make you look like a doctor?”

Sam beams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, they lock the motel room door behind them and head out. The neighborhood that starts a few streets behind the motel is pretty normal, as far as Dean can tell. The houses aren’t super big, but the yards are, and there are toys scattered on some of the lawns. The biggest house on the corner even has a tree swing. The big tree reminds him of the one in their front yard in Lawrence. He tries not to think about that too much.

It’s dark, and chilly -- they’re still in Colorado -- and Dean holds his jacket closed in front of his chest. The zipper broke a couple weeks ago. Ahead of him, Sam doesn’t seem to feel the cold at all. His “doctor coat” flaps behind his legs as he skips down the sidewalk. It’s just a sheet from the bed that Dean stuck together with safety pins in a certain way (it doesn’t look like a coat at all, but the mirror in the motel bathroom was shattered so Sam couldn’t see it anyway). He hung their stethoscope from the big first-aid kit around Sam’s neck, with the express instruction not to lose it, and he emptied the rest of the first-aid kit onto the couch so Sam could carry the empty box with the big red cross and look professional.

Sam hasn’t smiled this much in weeks. Dean’s neck is crawling with the knowledge that he’s breaking rules, bigtime, but he shakes it off. They’re out now. It’s done.

Sam has already latched on to a group of kids making their way up the drive to a single-story brick house. Dean hears him introduce himself, sees him flash the big toothy smile that Dean told him makes him look friendly. The other kids compliment his stethoscope, and Dean relaxes a little.

Everyone in the group is wearing what looks like homemade costumes, too — there’s another bedsheet, draped over a short kid’s head like a ghost (if only ghosts actually looked like that, Dean thinks); and a long black coat, obviously from an adult, dwarfing a kid who Dean’s pretty sure is supposed to be a vampire. Sam, in his makeshift getup, fits right in.

Dean’s trailing behind the group, letting Sam do his making-friends thing, when he notices another older kid doing the same. He looks about Dean’s age, maybe a year older, fourteen or so, and he’s dressed like an angel with a blue halo made out of pipe cleaners. The rest of his outfit is normal, though — a t-shirt that’s printed to look like a suit and tie, under a regular puffy winter coat. Dean’s eyes linger on him as they follow the younger kids up to the house. When they come to a stop so Sam can ring the doorbell, the other boy looks over at Dean, too.

“Hi,” he says. In the yellow glow of the porchlight, his eyes look greenish blue. “I’m Al.” He reaches out a hand. Dean looks at it for a moment, then takes it. They shake. Al’s hand is warm and smooth, a stark contrast to Dean’s freezing, calloused palm. Dean wishes he could hold on a bit longer.

“Dean,” he replies, dropping Al’s hand. He’s not sure what to say next. That’s Sam’s area of expertise.

Luckily, Al doesn’t let him flounder long. “Do you live around here?” he asks, friendly and curious. Dean’s used to hearing that question asked with a thick layer of suspicion, usually out of the mouth of some nosy adult. He still gives his practiced answer, though.

“No, me and my brother are just visiting our grandparents for a couple days.”

Al nods, accepting the lie easily. “I thought I’d never seen you at school.” He points at the sheet-clad ghost. “That’s my sister Katie. She’s seven. It’s the first time our parents are letting me take her trick-or-treating on our own.”

Dean smiles and gestures at Sam, who’s holding the empty first-aid kit out to the homeowner for candy. “That’s Sam. He’s nine. Same deal for us.”

“I like his costume,” Al says. Dean bristles for a moment, until he realizes Al’s being sincere.

“Thanks,” he replies. “I like Katie’s too.” He sweeps his eyes over Al again. “Why are you wearing a fake suit with your halo?”

Al looks down at himself and laughs sheepishly, smoothing down the front of his t-shirt. “I wanted to do a toga with a sheet, but it’s way too cold. I just dressed up ‘cause Katie wanted me to. The halo was the quickest thing.”

“It works,” Dean assures him, suddenly wanting Al to feel good about himself. He shuffles his feet a little, kicking at the fallen leaves littering the walkway. Al smiles at him and something grows in Dean’s chest, a warm, glowing ball, making everything feel tight and tingly. He’s not sure what to do with it.

Sam appears at his elbow suddenly, much to Dean’s relief. He ruffles Sam’s hair. “What’d you get?”

Already chewing on something that looks very caramelly as it squishes between his teeth, Sam holds out the first-aid kit. “She gave me two big ones!” he announces around his mouthful. Two full-sized Milky Ways, one already half-unwrapped, slide around in the box.

“Cool,” Dean says. “Don’t get a stomachache.”

“They’re gonna get stomachaches,” Al says ruefully as Sam and Katie bounce down the driveway to hit the next house. “We should steal some of their candy, y’know, just to protect them.”

The word protect briefly jolts Dean out of his growing sense of relaxation and he sneakily pats his chest, feeling the sheathed knife tucked away in the inside pocket. He makes sure he can still see Sammy (now bounding up the walkway of the next house), and takes a breath. Everything’s under control.

“You okay?” Al’s looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together, a lock of dark hair falling into the crease. He has nice hair, Dean decides. Floppy and kind of messy, squished flat in the middle by the band of the pipe cleaner halo.

“Yep,” he says, forcing the cheer into his voice. If Al notices, he doesn’t say anything. They continue to follow their siblings through the neighborhood, leaving some distance so they can talk. Al tells Dean about school, that he likes science and hates history, that his favorite band is Journey, that he wants to play soccer but his dad wants him to play football, and that he wants to be a veterinarian.

“I like cars,” Dean says in response. “I’m not great at school. Not sure what I wanna do when I grow up.”

Not sure how to tell you that I’ll probably be hunting monsters for the rest of my life.

Al leans on the picket fence of the house that they’re currently waiting outside. “You could be a teacher,” he says.

Dean narrows his eyes at him in confusion. “I just told you I’m bad at school.”

Al shrugs. “My favorite teacher says he didn’t like school. That’s why he’s so good at helping us. He gets it.”

The heavy layer of clouds above them breaks, and a ray of moonlight lands across Al’s face. They’re standing between streetlights, so the silvery glow makes Al’s blueish eyes gleam. Dean finds he has to breathe a little harder than normal. He shakes his head.

“Nah, if anyone’s gonna be a teacher, it’s Sammy. He’s really smart.”

Al hums and pushes off the fence. Sam and Katie are moving on again. “I don’t know, man. You seem smart to me.” He pats Dean on the shoulder, the warmth of his hand seeping through Dean’s threadbare jacket.

In the relative darkness, Dean smiles so hard his eyes squeeze shut.

Eventually, they’ve stopped at every house in the neighborhood. Dean’s pockets are full of the candy that doesn’t fit into Sam’s overflowing first-aid kit. Al’s coat pockets are bulging, too. Sam and Katie run sugar-hyped circles under a streetlight while Dean and Al stand on the corner, looking at each other a bit awkwardly.

“Uh-- I’m glad we ran into you guys,” Al says finally. “You’re really cool.”

Dean’s glad that he’s the one facing away from the streetlight, because his cheeks heat up and probably look way pinker than they would from just the cold.

“You too,” he says. “Wish we lived around here.”

“Where do you live?” Al asks. “You know, just in case we ever take a road trip.”

Unless your destination’s my dad’s car, I don’t think you’re gonna run into me.

“Sioux Falls,” he says. “South Dakota. I live with my uncle.”

If Al finds that strange, he doesn’t pry. Dean could hug him. He wants to hug him.

Katie comes barrelling over, dragging her pillowcase of candy along the pavement. She’s huffing from running around, ghost sheet dangling half off her body. “Al, I’m soooo tired.” She flops against her brother. Sam comes trotting up behind her and grins at Dean. Dean tries to smile back, but there’s a lump in his throat, something that’s making it hard to breathe.

Al pats Katie on the head. “We should probably go home, anyway. It’s getting late.”

Still taking tight little breaths, Dean nods. “Uh-- yeah, us too. See if Sam can sleep off the sugar rush.”

“How long are you staying with your grandparents?” Al asks.

Dean looks at his feet. Weighs the pros and cons of sneaking out again. He’d have to take Sam; there aren’t actually any grandparents who could watch him.

He can’t risk it.

“We’re going home tomorrow morning,” he says, every word dropping like lead. Sam shoots him a confused look, but he ignores it.

Unless he’s imagining it, Al’s face seems to fall. “Aw, too bad. Wait! Hang on.” He rummages through his candy-heavy pockets until he pulls out a little spiral notebook and a nub of a pencil. He writes something on a page and rips it out. He hands it to Dean.

“Our phone number,” he says with a little smile. He steps forward and the streetlight catches his eyes again. Dean thinks that in the sunlight, they’d be bright blue. Al gestures at the paper. “You’ve got a phone at your uncle’s, right? Maybe you can call me sometime.”

There are way too many feelings jumbling around in Dean’s chest for him to say anything coherent, so he just nods. Al smiles wider. “Cool. I’m happy we met you.” He takes one more step forward and — Dean stops breathing altogether — wraps his arms briefly around Dean’s shoulders. He’s very warm. His hair smells good. Dean’s brain doesn’t catch up quite in time, and he misses his chance to hug back. The edge of Al’s halo brushes Dean’s forehead as he pulls away.

“Thanks for hanging out,” Al says, putting his arm around Katie’s shoulders and turning to go. “Have a good drive back home!”

Dean clears his throat. “Bye, guys,” he says lamely. Sam waves enthusiastically to make up for it. They stand under the streetlight for a long few minutes, watching Al and Katie go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam manages to eat every piece of candy by Thursday morning, which is the day they’re supposed to hear from John. Dean makes him eat canned vegetable soup in between meals of Mars bars and Skittles. They scrounge the motel room for wrappers, tossing them all into a big garbage bag that Dean’s going to throw into the dumpster outside. He finishes folding the laundry, counts the money to make sure it’s all there, re-packs the first aid kit, and puts the sheet back on the bed without the safety pins.

Anytime the unease creeps in about having broken the rules, he looks at his brother’s shining face and pushes it back down. He and Sam rehearse their story in case John asks them what they did and Sam even finishes all of his worksheets. Dean folds them up and hides them at the very bottom of his duffle. He tells Sam he put them into the mailbox in the motel office.

And every few hours, he pulls the folded little piece of notebook paper out of his pocket and looks at it. In careful handwriting, Al had written:

Alan Montgomery

(from Halloween. I hope you call.)

And his phone number.

Thursday afternoon, Dean takes the candy-wrapper garbage bag out to the parking lot. At the last second, he pulls Al’s note out of his jeans. After a long moment of reading and re-reading it, he gently folds it back up and tosses it into the bag. He throws the whole thing into the dumpster.

But not before memorizing the number.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John gets home late Thursday night. Before they check out of the motel on Friday, John sits Dean down on the toilet seat in the bathroom and pulls out his electric clippers.

While John has his back turned, plugging in the clippers by the sink, Dean pushes his hand through his hair, feeling the soft strands bunch up between his fingers and fall back down onto his ears. He remembers Al’s messy hair brushing his cheek when they hugged.

John flips the clippers on and the buzzing fills the bathroom. For the second time, Dean is glad that the mirror is shattered.

With every lock of hair that tumbles to the ground, Dean recites Al’s number in his head.

“There,” John says gruffly, after the floor and Dean’s lap are littered with honey brown strands. “You look like a man again.”

Dean stands up, brushing off his jeans. His head feels cold. “I’ll get a broom,” he says.

He’s halfway out the bathroom door when John says “Dean.”

Dean freezes, already wondering where he left a wrapper, how John found the garbage bag, if Sam let something slip. He slowly turns back. John’s wrapping the cord around the clippers.

“I need you to come on the next hunt. We’ll drop Sam off at Bobby’s.”

Bobby’s, where the telephone is. Dean’s heart beats hard for a different reason now. He tries to look casual. “Are we gonna stay for a bit?”

John’s already shaking his head before Dean’s done talking. He pushes past him and drops the clippers into his duffel bag on the bed. “No. We’ll be on the road for a while.” He stops and looks at Dean. “Weren’t you going to find a broom?”

Dean loads a dustpan with his hair and empties it on top of the garbage bag in the dumpster.

He whispers Al’s number again.

[moonbeambucky]

Turn Back Time

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 2617 Warnings: fluff, embarrassing moments

Summary: Theo's embarrassing mistake makes his parents wish they could turn back time.

A/N: We're skipping ahead to the future! This takes place in October 2039 and yes this is another Theo-centric drabble but it's fine because we love him. There are more mentions of The Price of Astrophile universe collab with Allie so don't forget to read Astrophile if you haven't already. Thank you to my love @all1e23​ for beta reading 🍕❤️

It’s quiet in the house, silent mostly apart from the gentle hum of the washing machine that fills the background as your eyes gaze over the pages of the sturdy book that rests in your lap. Your focus is interrupted every now and then when Cashew lets out a deep snore you’re surprised hasn’t woken him.

He’s curled up beside you on the couch with his head resting against your thigh. The book can wait so you’ve set it off to the side, rubbing your palm in long, gentle strokes along his body. It’s hard not to notice how he doesn’t climb up as easily as he used to. You vividly recall the day you adopted him and it’s hard to believe that was thirteen years ago but just like Cashew isn’t a puppy anymore, your kids aren’t children. 

Ariel is living in New York and though you knew this was coming for a long time you still miss her every day. It made sense for her to be there with more opportunities in dance. She was loving every moment training at the American Ballet Theatre.

New York had offered more than just dance, Ariel’s heart had been there ever since she met Ollie. You understood the difficulties of a long distance relationship, having done so with Lance for a while. It still amazed you though how dedicated they were to each other despite their age. Their friends enjoyed the convenience of being face to face while Ariel and Ollie spent more time having “dates” over FaceTime until they were able to see each other in person again.

Now you’re the one that has to FaceTime her, thankful that no matter how exhausted she was after a long day of dancing she always has time to speak to her parents. Lance knew the rigorous training she was going through, reminiscent of his own Olympic training. “You don’t have to call us every night,” he would tell her and while Ariel knew she didn’t have to, she could see passed the smile on his face knowing how much her Dad misses his Starfish. If a few minutes a day made her parents happy she would give that and more without question.

Seeing her over the phone was good but in person was even better and last weekend you were able to do that. It was her twentieth birthday and you and Lance flew up to celebrate. It didn’t matter that you last saw her two months ago, both of you hugged her like it’s been forever.

She was more than settled in at the Barnes’ house and you couldn’t thank them enough as they offered to have Ariel stay with them. You were certain Cassie had a lot of influence on their decision, emphatically telling them all the reasons why Ariel should live there.

Truthfully she didn’t have a lot of convincing to do. You and Lance were as close to the Barnes’ as Ariel and Cassie. You had a long discussion with them and they kindly offered Orion’s old bedroom. She had been living in the apartment above their bookstore for the last few years so they did have the space. Plus they considered Ariel family and they wanted to make sure she was safe as she navigated life in a new city. 

It was sad that Theo couldn’t make it and no one was more disappointed than him. He would use any opportunity to see his friends in New York and it killed him to have to miss this trip. Theo was training to become a lifeguard and his classes were every Saturday; missing even one would disqualify him from the program. 

He was able to FaceTime as everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to Ariel, watching her blow out the candles on the cake Cassie made for her. The phone was passed around so Theo could say goodbye to everyone, heat forming on his cheeks when Ori told him how much he was missed. His smile curbed just a bit when Leo grabbed the phone and teased that he wasn’t missed that much.

Theo was only alone for a few days and while some seventeen year olds with a house to themself might throw a party Theo was focused on practicing. He stayed long after class was over to continue swimming laps in the Olympic size pool. With his test coming up he needed to practice as much as he could.

The sound of the door shutting puts a smile on your face. Before he even announces himself you know it’s Theo, you can tell by the way he shuffles inside, dropping off his bag near the front closet like he always does.

Cashew slowly lifts his head up as Theo plops down on the couch. “Hey mom,” he said quickly, smiling at Cashew who slowly got up to turn and face Theo.

“You’re home early. I thought you’d be practicing some more.” 

He looked up from Cashew to answer you, still giving the good old dog scratches behind his ears. “They had some private lessons so I couldn’t stay. Did you have lunch yet? I’m gonna make something before I get into our pool, unless you needed it?”

You couldn’t help the smile on your face knowing Theo had grown into a kind and considerate young man; not that you expected anything else. You and Lance worked hard raising him and Ariel with manners and to treat everyone with respect

“I ate already, thank you Pumpkin.” Theo dropped his head to Cashew as fond embarrassment came over him at the sound of his nickname. “And the pool is all yours though I do wish you would take it easy. You’re sure you haven’t been pushing your knee too much?”

His shorts are bunched just above the scar from the ACL surgery he had earlier this year and the injury, although common, was devastating to Theo. He loved being active so bringing all of his activities to an immediate halt hurt more than the pop felt in his knee. He was eager to get back into everything which made you worry. Then again, as his mother you would always worry about him.

“I feel good, trust me Mom.” Theo reassured you with a smile. He got up from the couch and stopped to plant a kiss on your cheek before heading to the kitchen. You helped Cashew down, his nails tapping slowly against the floors as he followed Theo, hopeful and waiting for some food to drop.

As you were folding laundry you didn’t expect Theo to be there, startling you enough that a pair of folded socks went flying out of your hands. He laughed as he went to pick it up, snickering still as he asked, “Do you know where the Bluetooth speaker is? Mine broke.”

Pursed lips held feigned anger for Theo laughing at you but you couldn’t keep it up. “It might still be in the garage from the last time Ariel was home.” 

“Thanks,” he said, tossing the rolled up socks your way. He turned on his heels before backtracking, flashing a smile as bright and white as the freshly folded towel he took from the pile, throwing it over his bare shoulder.

Theo was ready to swim again, and not long after you heard music blasting from the backyard. Your pool wasn’t large enough to accurately practice the timed laps he needed to complete for certification but he was able to work on other things, like perfect all of his strokes and practice retrieving a diving brick from the bottom of the pool. It was a little awkward and Theo supposes that grabbing a person will feel just as foreign. Then again he’s kind of done it before.

Last year when his friends from New York came to visit everyone was helping Ariel pack up things for her move. Ollie even brought an extra suitcase so he could bring back some things in advance to ease the trip she would have to make the following month. As her best friend Cassie was at her side, holding the list Ariel made and rightfully ignoring it as she pointed at random things in the room to see if it was something Ariel wanted to take. (And no Cassie, there was no need for Ariel to take the pink bowling pin from her seventh birthday party with her to New York.)

Leo was doing his best to help, at Cassie’s insistence. He would much rather be hanging out with Theo who is much luckier than him for not having to help pack up. His eyes shifted to the open door, hoping the sound of the person coming up the stairs was Theo, or Ori even. It was a good thing Ariel’s room didn’t face the backyard because Leo would have been running outside if he got a look at what was going on.

Theo can’t escape the memory of the day he taught Ori how to swim. Somehow he was lucky enough to be alone with her, without Leo’s disapproving stare weighing him down. His own nerves were doing that for him but he pushed them aside as much as he could.

Ori was embarrassed, thinking she was too old to be learning how to swim at twenty-three. Her makeshift doggy paddle was enough to fool others into thinking she simply preferred the shallow end to stay near her younger siblings when they were little. 

The truth was the deep end was unpredictable. There were too many what-ifs and if Ori could not solidly control a situation then she simply wouldn’t go for it. But things didn’t seem as scary with Theo there. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, honesty swirling in the reflection of the water below them; or his smile, with kindness pouring out from the soft pull of his lips. There was no need to feel shame and with Theo she never had a reason to. 

It was one of the best days of his life, not only because of the time he was able to spend with her but because Ori trusted him. He kept her safe and taught her as much as he could before the sky decided to open up on them. 

Every time he gets in his pool those memories wash over him. Theo can’t help the heat that creeps on his cheeks, a minor distraction he tries to shake off so he could continue practicing. But when he remembers her scent, fresh lavender that’s soft and pretty just like Ori, it has him swimming through the clouds. 

It was hard not to think about Ori, she’s been on his mind ever since they met. He was a child then with a big crush on that pretty girl with the big smile and gorgeous eyes; but with every passing year his feelings have grown and Theo knows deep down in his heart there's a reason why he can't shake this crush. His mind drifts with hope for the future. 

Eventually he was able to focus, staying out there until long after Lance got home. Dinner was quick and you and Lance could see how much Theo had pushed himself all day. He was exhausted, unable to control his yawning in between chewing his food. The sun had barely begun to set when he said goodnight to you both.

The rest of the night was spent in bed, cuddling up with Lance as you watched a movie hearing the gentle patter of rain against the windows. Cashew was resting at the end of the bed, surprising you when he lifted his head up at the sound of the toilet flushing down the hall. 

“Good boy Cashew,” you cooed, leaning forward to pat his head, “You heard Theo, good boy!” It was nice, for a moment, to believe Cashew wasn't as old as he really was.

You settled back against Lance, feeling him press a kiss to the top of your head. His hand rubbed up and down your arm gently, reaching down to squeeze a handful of your bottom.

As you lifted your head up towards him, Lance’s growing smirk told you that Cashew might have to temporarily move to his bed on the floor. He leaned in to capture your lips, your need for him growing deeper until everything came to a record scratching halt. 

“Mmmm just like that baby.” 

You pulled away, puzzled by the foreign sound of a woman whose pornographic moans grew louder and louder.

“What the fuck? Where is that coming from?”

Both of your phones were on the nightstand untouched and the movie was still playing so it was unlikely that the remote had been accidentally touched. Lance chuckled as he sat back against the headboard, wishing you would get back in bed so he could pull those same sounds from you.

You scanned your bedroom following the lewd sounds until you stopped dead in your tracks. On the bathroom counter your eyes widened in horror, staring at the sleek Bluetooth speaker, the same device Theo was using earlier. Lance must have taken it back inside before the storm.

Your feet carried you in a hurry, jumping back in bed in a frenzy, disturbing poor Cashew as you buried your face in the pillow.

“What?” Lance asked, first with a laugh which faded into concern as you shook your head, muttering a slew of “no’s” into the fabric. “Y/N what’s wrong?”

Your head turned to the side, peeking one eye open at Lance who couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer.

“It’s… Theo.” Your face cringed as you said his name. “He must have been too tired before to disconnect his phone from the speaker…” 

Lance’s lips pressed into a thin line realizing he would have to handle this embarrassing situation since there was no way you could. 

It wasn’t that Theo wasn’t open with you. He never shied away from bringing Amber over the house, asking for your advice on sweet things he could do for her especially when they got back together but there were some things he definitely felt more comfortable talking about with his Dad. 

Lance let out a heavy breath, closing the door behind him so you didn’t have to hear that awkward conversation.

“Cashew help me!” you pleaded, patting the spot on the mattress next to you for him to cuddle.

He plopped down beside you, licking your face as you gently pet him. The moans abruptly stopped and you felt some relief though a bit of sadness lingered. Although Theo would always be your pumpkin he was no longer a little boy. 

“Theo’s all grown up now huh Cashew?” His head tilted slowly, a reminder that he too was all grown. As the door creaked open you lifted your head to Lance, hesitantly asking, “Everything good?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a small laugh, “Yeah... he’ll be fine.” 

Getting back into bed, Lance adjusted his position since Cashew had taken up a good portion of the middle. With Ariel in New York and Theo graduating next year it made you both realize just how much time had passed and because of that Lance didn’t take it personal when you snuggled with Cashew instead of him. He threw his arm over both of you, flashing that same smile that spoke the words he didn’t need to say. 

You were both feeling the same thing, the yearning of wanting to turn back time and not let your babies (and puppy) grow up as fast as they did. Or at the very least, remind Theo to disconnect his phone from the speaker!

[duuhrayliegh]

watch your six - part two

pairing: eventual bucky x reader

warnings: some violence, trigger warning of sedation (it isn’t in there for a long time and the description of it isn’t super good BUT it’s still there), mentions of kidnapping, i think that’s it. 

word count: just a bit over 3k 

a/n: okay! here’s part two, i’m experimenting with the longer parts, so let me know what y’all think of it. bucky does make an appearance soon, i swear y’all :) just be patience with me babes. also, i know this isn’t like the typical fan fic because it isn’t in the second person but we’re powering through together. i hope y’all enjoy babes <3

p.s.: if y’all want to be added to a tag list for this series, shoot me a message and we’ll get it worked out 

series m.list

ray’s m.list

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

I shot up from my bed, eyes wild and frantic searching for anything to ground me to my current surroundings. It was just a dream, just a dream. It was just a dream. Except it didn’t feel like a dream. Everything was too detailed, too crisp for it to have really been just a dream. I swung my legs off my bed and grabbed a hold of the fluffy white comforter. Groaning, I pushed my feet to touch the cold hardwood of my apartment. I made my way towards my kitchen and my coffee maker. I popped a breakfast blend K-cup into the slot and dumped a mug full of water into the side of the machine. Pressing the button, I turned while listening to the coffee machine force the water through the coffee grounds and filter and into my cup.

Looking out into my living room, I eyed my couch. It was intact with no bullet holes riddling the cushions. It was still the pristine white that I’ve spent many nights curled on watching movies. The dark stained wood coffee table in front of it brought memories of long study sessions with books and loose papers strewn across it. A faint smile graced my lips as I was reminiscing. The black coffee maker spit the last of the dark substance into my mug, so I reached into my cabinets and pulled out the essentials. I’ve never been one for pure black coffee, tastes like tar in my opinion. The aftertaste isn’t something that I want to deal with for as long as it’ll last.

I dumped two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup and then poured a dash of liquid creamer in along with it. Stirring the now light brown liquid, I raised the mug to my mouth and took a much needed sip. Sighing as I swallowed, I walked around to the couch in the living. Plopping down, I kicked my feet to rest on top of the coffee table. Leaning back against the cushions, I tried to process what my dream was about.

It was just too real to be a dream, right? It was awfully specific to be a dream. Squinting my eyes, I nodded my head and set my mug on the table. Reaching for my laptop and opening the first browser I could, I searched ‘dream analysis.’ Maybe they’ll have something that can give me an answer as to why it was so clear. Scrolling down the first website, my eyes scanning the bolded letters. Nine Common Dreams and What They Could Mean, oh perfect. Flying, being naked in public, teeth falling out, cheating, none of these are like my dream. I shook my head and swiped out of the website and back to the search engine.

It was late in the morning and the sun was rising to its peak when I finally gave up. It’s obvious what happened though, I’ve gone mental. Absolutely insane, just plain certifiable. No, no, that’s not what it is. My coffee now gone cold, I placed my closed laptop on the coffee table next to the discarded coffee mug. I stood and my head started throbbing. Deciding I would have a better outlook on things without a pounding head, I took a shower. The water was a pleasant, scalding temperature. Leaving the bathroom with my hair in a towel and another wrapped around my body, I changed into a simple pair of ripped mom jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Hanging my towels on the rack in the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and then turned out the light as I left.

Today was my one day off of work this week and I was going to savor it. Slipping on a pair of ratty sneakers and grabbing my purse from the hook next to the door, I left my cozy apartment. I locked the door and shoved my keys all the way to the bottom of my purse. I left my building with the intention of trying to shake off the nightmare that I had. To do so, I went into the coffee shop at the end of the block. I pushed the doors open and was greeted with a warm and inviting atmosphere. Dark floors gave way to twinkling lights illuminating the charcoal gray walls. Behind the counter, I make eye contact with the barista and receive a tight-lipped smile from him. “Hi, welcome to Beniot’s Beans. What can I get started for you today?”

I glanced at the chalkboard menu and ran my eyes over it quickly. I already knew what I wanted, but I needed to prepare myself to say it out loud. “Hello, can I get a medium caramel iced coffee to go, please?” I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet as he scribbled my order onto the clear plastic cup. He told me my total as I looted in my wallet for my bills. After placing the money in the register, he explained that they would call my order when it was ready. I nodded and walked off to find somewhere to sit that was out of the way. After situating myself on one of the comfortable armchairs, I pulled my phone out in an effort to discourage human interaction. After retrieving my order from the counter, I sat back down in the armchair, trying to decide what to do next. The hour was just rolling over to being almost lunchtime, which made me realize that I hadn’t eaten anything yet. Shrugging my purse back onto my shoulder and shoving my phone into it, I left the store throwing a small wave to the barista behind the counter.

Sighing contentedly, I made the trek back to my apartment while steadily drinking the iced coffee. Some people say coffee shouldn’t be cold, and then there’s people who have sense. Giggling to myself, I took in my surroundings. Brick buildings lined the small two-way road. The donut shop on the opposite side of the street had two cop cruisers sitting in front of it. The contrasting black and white paint with black lettering outlined in yellow was intimidating. There was no reason for it to be, but there was just an aura of discomfort encapsulating the cars. By this time, I had stopped, slurping on my almost empty iced coffee. Breaking out of my trance with a ring of a bell, four officers exited the donut shop. Two of the officers held off-white cardboard boxes, they were all laughing at something. I tilted my head and scrunched my brows, guess the stereotype about cops is true, they love their donuts. Sensing a stare, one of the officers looked around for the source. Eventually, our gazes locked and he winked. Uh, ew. Making a face, I shook my head and went about my way back to my apartment.

Despite that experience, it was nice to be able to have no specific agenda, just relaxing and going with the flow. My inner monologue stopped when I got to my kitchen and started deciding what to prepare for lunch. Finally landing on a box of macaroni and cheese to satisfy my hunger, I set to work. The pot of water now on the stove, I tossed my empty plastic cup from the coffee shop into the garbage bin. I went around to my living room and grabbed my coffee mug from earlier and placed it in the sink, after rinsing it out. I’ll wash that and the stuff I use for lunch after I finish eating. I dumped the box of uncooked noodles into the now boiling water. Soon, the macaroni was ready to be eaten, so I poured the cheesy noodles into a bowl. Hoisting myself onto the granite countertop, I began to inhale the food. Wow, okay I was hungrier than I thought. It didn’t take long to finish off the noodles. As I was washing the dirty dishes, the intercom system of the apartment went off. Weird, I wasn’t expecting anyone. “Who is it?” I inquired into the speaker box. “Hi, I’m looking for the inhabitant of this flat.”

My brows furrowing, I asked again, “Who is this?”

“Ma’am, please don’t waste my time or yours. Is this the woman who lives in this apartment, yes or no?” They sounded exhausted. “I need to speak with the woman who lives here.” I was shocked, this didn’t seem right. Alright, I’m a woman living alone in an apartment building. Some stranger comes to my building, asking to speak to me, so what do I do?

“Uh, yeah they’re not here. You’ll have to come back later.” The lie was easy. Safety first and all, right? There was no reply after waiting a few minutes, so I went back to doing my dishes. After drying and putting them away, I kicked my shoes off and settled into my couch with a fluffy blue throw. Flicking the TV on, I picked the home improvement channel. I stretched out on the couch while wondering how realtor Bessie May was going to find this couple the perfect home. Snuggling further into the pillows, I was able to drift off into a dreamless slumber.

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

It was loud banging that eventually roused me. Untangling myself from the fluff that wrapped around my legs, I toppled onto the floor. “I’m coming, hold your horses!” I shouted at the door. Who the hell? I swear if it’s my crazy neighbor again. “Marge! If this is you, we are going to have a problem!” I huffed my way to the door and yanked it open to reveal a group of men in what looked like dark tactical gear. Confusion overtook my facial features. I took a step back and tightened my grip on my door knob.

“Um… hi? Can I help you?” I questioned the group at large.

“Ma’am, we’re looking for the permanent resident of this apartment.” The man to my left said. He was short and stocky, he was also the only man wearing a dark gray suit. “Are you the permanent resident of this unit?” He continued while trying to see over my shoulders and into the living room.

“No, they’re not here right now.” I repeated the lie from earlier. I had an inkling this had to do with that, what else could it be?

“Well, do you know when she’ll be back?” He pressed, still stealing glances into my abode.

“No, she didn’t say. You’ll have to come back later. Goodbye.” I stated while closing the door. I was almost home free until a combat boot clad foot was stuck into the door frame.

“You see ma’am, this really isn’t the time to be lying to me.” The suited man explained. I took a deep breath and continued trying to close the door.

“Well, I’ve already told you all I know. The person who owns this place isn’t here right now.” The door was stopped yet again by the same foot.

“Ma’am, you need to invite us inside. We have things to discuss.” Suits ordered.

My brows raised, “Or what?” I scoffed, “Look you need to leave before I call the police. Good day to you gentlemen.” Another attempt to close the door was once again defeated, but this time the door swung in. Allowing entrance into my apartment. My eyes widened and I rushed away from the door, putting as much distance between the group of men and myself.

“What the hell are you doing! I’m calling the police.” I reached for my phone that was laying on the coffee table. It was snatched away from me by a man in tactical gear. His hair was cropped and dark, he slipped my phone into one of the many pockets of his vest. I raised my eyebrows at the man, and began demanding my phone from him.

“Listen ma’am, we’re going to need you to come with us.” Suits insisted. My gaze darted to him, if looks could kill man. “We’re allowing you the privilege of getting a bag of your necessities.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my ever rising nerves. I brought the heels of my palms to my eyes, trying to clear the fogginess of sleep to process what Suits was saying. “We don’t have all day. Get your stuff now.” I shook my head and started refusing.

“Yeah, that won’t be happening. I’m asking you one last time to leave my apartment before I start screaming.” I crossed my arms over my chest in a protective stance. They’ve got five seconds before I raise hell. Suits made a face that looked like he was disappointed.

“Grab her.” The man who took my phone advanced at me. His whole hand covered my upper arm, lifting it and beginning to drag me to the door. I started kicking out, clawing, trying to make contact with anything that I could hurt. Damage, don’t stop fighting. Don’t give in. Whipping my upper body around, I managed to scratch the man's cheek. He cried out in pain and his grip loosened for just a moment. Long enough for me to wrench my arm away from him and run towards the front door. My path was interrupted by a wall of a man. Towering over me, he wrapped both of his arms around my torso. Effectively stopping all of my movement while he turned me in his grasp to face Suits once again.

“Help! Someone help me! Help me!” This was a quiet enough building, shouts like that would surely gain someone’s attention, right? “Help! Someone help me, please!” I was screaming my throat sore. Not stopping until there was a large hand placed over my mouth. Even then, there were muffled cries that could be heard throughout my otherwise silent apartment unit. Stifled sobs were leaving my lungs in heaves. Suits approached me and shook his head,

“It really didn’t have to be like this but, of course.” He turned to one of his goons and nodded his head towards me. I began screaming again as the final goon stepped forward. His hair was slicked back and I could smell the hair gel that he must have just dipped his head into. Hair Gel reached into his pocket and brought out a small white case.

He unzipped the case and gestured to the mass of a man behind me. My head was moved to expose my neck, I struggled against Mass while Hair Gel approached. Screaming and thrashing trying to disrupt what I thought was about to happen. Hair Gel assembled a syringe, outfitting it with a blue capped needle. Hair Gel extracted a clear liquid into the syringe, he got closer to my jolting body, glaring at Mass.

“Hold her still, you buffoon.” He grunted at Mass. The grip around me began cutting off my circulation to the lower half of my body. Not deterring me in any way, I still made it as hard as I could for Hair Gel. There was a pinch on the side of my neck, and then a warm feeling passed through my body. Mass’s hand was still covering my mouth and his arms around my torso, if it weren’t for that I probably would’ve fallen straight to the ground. Oh hell man, what am I going to do now?

My body went limp in Mass’s hold, and my mind was starting to become fuzzy. Looking around at the three men in front of me, I worried what was going to happen. I’ve seen Taken. I know what happens to girls who travel alone. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen to people like me. Suits sighed yet again, looking disinterested in the whole affair. Suits looked to the man who I scratched and shook his head at him.

“You seriously let her get her hands on you?” Suits mocked, “That’s pathetic, Gomez.”

“Pathetic? She was clawing me, man!” The man, Gomez, defended.

“It doesn’t matter, you idiot. You still aren’t supposed to let it happen.” Suits berated Gomez and then waved him off, “Go get the stuff. And don’t mess it up this time, ya got that?” Gomez rolled his eyes at Suits, but nodded anyway. He left the room towards my bedroom. My eyelids started drooping, I willed them to stay open a bit longer.

“How long’s it gonna take that stuff to kick in?” Suits asked Hair Gel.

“Oh, it starts working immediately.” Hair Gel finished replacing everything in his white case, turning to me, he continued, “The body reacts to the compound right away, inducing temporary paralysis. It’s really quite remarkable to watch it in action.”

Suits glanced at Hair Gel, “You mean to tell me it doesn’t make them unconscious? What the hell did I bring you along for?”

“Of course it makes the victim unconscious, what do you think I’m stupid or something? It just takes a couple of minutes for the enzyme to break down for the brain.” Hair Gel tilted his head while looking at me. He gave me a once over and if I had any kind of control over my body, there would’ve been an unmistakable shiver that passed through my body. Gomez emerged with a duffle in tow and dumped the closed bag on the couch.

“Don’t forget the laptop, Gomez.” Suits reminded him while his attention was on the kitchen of my apartment. “Alright, let’s go.” With the effort it takes to lift a feather, Mass carried me bridal style out of my unit. My eyelids were becoming even more heavy and I screamed and shouted in my head, but my mouth just wouldn’t move. The four men made their way out, passing my crazy neighbor Marge.

“Can I help you boys with something?” Marge’s door was open, and she leaned up against the frame, watching this scene go down.

“Nothing to be worried about ma’am. This is official government business.” Suits reported, simply shrugging off Marge.

“Government business?” Marge shrieked, and a glimmer of hope flashed in my head. Marge won’t fall for your bullshit Suits. She’s going to save me. “I always knew there was something off about that one.” What the hell, Marge?

“Like I said ma’am, nothing to worry about. Now if you would, just go back inside. We’re done here.” Suits advised. Marge, who was none the wiser, bounced her shoulders and turned back into her own unit. She could be heard through the door explaining to her guests that her next door neighbor was always strange and never really sat right with her.

“Doesn’t surprise me they’re taking her away. I always knew something was off about that girl. I told you so.” Marge howled with laughter after her statement. My last hope dashed by my crazy neighbor’s complete ignorance and lack of acknowledgement for her surroundings. Mass began his descent of the stairs with a steady pace. The constant rocking back and forth of his body weight served to lull my eyelids the rest of the way closed.

[ezrasarm]

I would love to see 30. “Are you wearing my shirt?“ with either Mando or Marcus (your choice!)

Burnt Brownies

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: 10 ply super soft fluff!

A/N: I sorta got away from the prompt a little... Oops. Also, contrary to the title this has nothing to do with weed.

Sure, you’d spent plenty of time at Marcus’s apartment before. You had a toothbrush and stick of deodorant that lived by his bathroom sink and everything. But the time you spent there was usually time spent with him. Which was why it felt so strange keying into the apartment alone. Tonight the two of you had been out on a date and it was going swimmingly. You had decided you would take him to the Natural History Museum so that this time you were the one that got to tour him through the exhibits. You will admit, explaining the differences in adaptations of dentition between robust and gracile australopiths wasn’t quite as sexy as listening to him drone on about the various theories about who the girl with the pearl earring was in relation to Vermeer but you seemed to maintain his interest well enough. Afterwards you’d planned on trying out this new bistro a couple blocks away that had been recommended to you by a friend. You heard their desserts were to die for and you also knew Marcus had a sweet tooth so you thought it would be worth a shot. But you never quite got to that part. You were half way through your meal when Marc’s phone rang. Work. He tried to ignore it. He really did. But after hanging up twice and the calls persisting he gave you an empathetic look.

“It’s okay.” You assured him. “Payback for last Friday. We’re even now.” You said, recalling the similar situation where you had been hit with a barrage of text messages halfway through the movie the two of you had gone out to see. You both had demanding jobs. But they were jobs that you loved. You had both been in relationships where your partners didn’t understand this part. The part where you had to be ready to run at the drop of a hat. It had actually ended your last relationship …and the one before that. So you found it kind of refreshing when it was him that had to go and not you for a change. It meant he understood. But it also meant finding time to spend with each other was a little more of a challenge.

“I just have to run into the office for a moment. It shouldn’t take longer than an hour or so. We could-“ He paused for a moment as he considered something. “Why don’t you meet me back at my place?” He asked. “That is, if you want to.” He interjected. “It’s just- works been crazy for both of us lately and I feel like I’ve hardly seen you these past two weeks and I was having a really good time tonight-”.

“I want to.” You said simply, cutting him off so a smile broke across his face. As much as you loved the man, it was painful listening to him ramble as he tried to justify things that hardly needed justification.

“Really?” He asked as he got up from his seat and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

“Yeah.” You nodded with a grin tugging at your lips.

“I’m so, so sorry about this.” He mumbled as he fished around in his pocket.

“It’s okay. It really is.” you said, managing to catch his wrist and pull him down into a soft kiss as he handed you his key.

“Have I mentioned that you’re the best?” He asked as he pulled away reluctantly.

“Go.” You chuckle, feeling the heat of a slight blush rise in your cheeks.

“See you in a bit.” He says, pressing another quick peck to your lips before disappearing. And that pretty much led you up to where you are now, fumbling around Marcus’s kitchen trying to find where the man keeps his damn cocoa powder because if you couldn’t have fancy dessert at a funky new bistro, you were at least going to try and navigate his kitchen well enough to make perfectly mediocre brownies that you could snuggle on the couch and watch a late night talk show with. The more you thought about it the more overwhelmingly domesticated the entire concept seemed to you and while at first the idea brought a smile to your face suddenly this felt like a big step. Was this a big step? He gave you a key. I mean it’s not like he was asking you to move in with him but- was he? Oh god. He’d told you what had happened with his previous relationships, they picked up speed too fast and then rammed head first into a brick wall. Too many casualties. You like Marcus. You really like Marcus. You don’t want to end up like that. You don’t want to screw this up. You can’t- shit! And now you’ve just dumped at least two cups worth of flour down the front of your dress. Great. You manage to toss the rest of the ingredients together and chuck the tray in the oven without too many more disasters before glancing down at the mess you had made. The little black dress you were wearing had been absolutely caked with white powder and frankly it looked hilarious. You’d have left it because you knew Marcus would get a great laugh out of the spectacle when he got back but you could also feel it dropping everywhere and you didn’t want to make the whole mess any worse.

“Just great.” You huffed to yourself as you went to find a broom and maybe attempt cleaning yourself up a bit too. It didn’t take you too long to figure out how to use his washing machine and set it for a quick wash when one of his T-shirts hanging above the dryer caught your eye. A favourite of yours. You’d remembered when he told you about it. It was from his band’s first attempt at making and selling merch. He told you hardly anyone had bought them but they were just so proud they had something with their name on it. The shirt fit loosely on him so you knew even as you slipped it on that you would look like you were drowning in it. The material was softened from being worn so much and something about the smell of it set you at ease. It was a mixture of his laundry detergent and something else distinctly Marcus that you couldn’t quite pin point. Whatever it was you wouldn’t mind waking up to it every morning. You knew it was a stupid reason but suddenly the idea of moving in with him that had made your heart feel like it was going to pound out of your chest just a couple moments ago, didn’t seem like such a terrifying thing after all. You knew that this was the man you wanted to be with and that whether him handing you a key to his place meant he wanted you to move in, or not, or something in between you’d be alright with that. And with that you collected yourself and went back to cleaning up his kitchen floor.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier.” You heard Marcus call as he came in. You were so focused on returning his kitchen to a somewhat decent state before he got back that you hardly even heard the door. “Turns out they left the rookie alone and he panicked when-“ He went on, his voice amplifying slightly as he made his way down the hall before stopping short in the entryway to the kitchen. “What are you doing down there?” He asked with an entertained lilt to his voice. You could see the smile on his face without even looking up.

“Nothing! I just may or may not have dumped half a bag of flour on your kitchen floor trying to make brownies...” You said, straightening up so you were no longer eclipsed by the island.

“I swear I leave you alone for one-“ He starts out sarcastically but then pauses as you notice his gaze shift slightly. “Are you wearing my shirt?” He asked, the amused grin returning once again as he wandered a little closer to you. You looked down and back up at him as you felt heat rise to your face. You felt like you’d been caught red handed in the midst of a crime and you weren’t entirely sure why.

“My dress might have been caught in the crossfire as well.” You simper bashfully. “I figured this was better than nothing.” You say finally with a slight shrug.

“I’m not so sure about that.” He said with a playful raise of his eyebrows. “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He murmured softly with a contented sigh as he pulled you close enough that he could lock his arms loosely around your waist. There was something about seeing you in his clothes that he couldn’t place. Perhaps it was the fact that without anything else on, it left those legs of yours that he loved so much stunningly exposed. Or maybe it was the fact that it made you look unmistakably his. He wasn’t a possessive man but it was certainly nice to be reassured. Whatever it was, he knew he liked it a whole lot as he felt your warmth radiating from under the familiar material. “This is a good look for you.” He smirked as he let his eyes rack over you once again. And you chuckled softly knowing you looked like a wreck.

“Don’t tease me! I just made you dessert!” You exclaim jocularly, giving him a lighthearted nudge.

“I’m not teasing you! I think you should keep it.” He says defensively, his voice rising in pitch ever so slightly. “And speaking of keeping things...” his face growing ever so slightly more serious as he readjusts his grip on your hips. “About that key.” He clarifies. “I just wanted to let you know that there’s no rush to give it back.” He says coolly before his face screws up slightly. “Not that I want it back- In fact the opposite of that- this isn’t making any sense. Damn this was gonna be really romantic and I just screwed it up.” He chuckles nervously, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling.

“Marcus.” You hum, bringing him back down to earth. “Just say it.” You murmur, an affectionate smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Will you move in with me?” He sighs through a heavy breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding and you’re pulled right back into the moment you’d tugged this shirt over your head, the incredible calm and simultaneous sense of excitement washing over you and that confidence that you were ready for this. That this was the man you wanted to be with. Just as you’re opening your mouth to respond the oven timer goes off.

“I guess we’ll never know, I gotta get the brownies.” You giggle and he rolls his eyes, tugging at your wrist lightly so you knock back into him.

“The brownies can burn.” He whispers genially as he presses his forehead to yours in a gesture the two of you had adopted.

“Yes.” You beam through a bite of your lip before tilting your head up to catch his mouth with yours and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. You can feel his warm hands slipping under the edge of your shirt and sliding up the smooth skin of your waist where his thumbs rub soft circles just above your hips as he leans into you.

“The brownies.” He mumbles against your lips after a few moments like this.

“The brownies can burn.” You quip back.

Masterlist

Interested in being added to my tag list? Let me know!

[writerwrites]

A Cruel Tide

Pairing: Steve Rogers (nomad!Steve) x Reader

Summary: A lost hero thinks she needs saving, but this divorcée’s needs were different, fleeting, and then full of attachment. Can they overcome the burdens on their shoulders and keep their word?

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Smut 18+, specifically unprotected sex, soft Dom Steve (if you squint), some mentions of a divorce and criminal father and hints of winter holiday cheer.

A/N: *THIS IS A ONE SHOT* This is the Week 1 prompt to the Optimistic Captain Donut Challenge created by @captainchrisbaby​ @captain-a-rogerss , @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho​ , and @donutloverxo ... The Week 1 Prompt was based off of the moodboard below and “What Could Be as Lonely as Love” by Amber Run

“Please come back, Baby. It’s Christmas! Where are you going to go?” She heard her ex plead on the other end of the line as she stood soaking wet in the lobby of a cheap hotel. Even the weather had turned to shit on the first holiday since the divorce. “You didn’t even take your bag. What am I supposed to tell them when they come out of the kitchen with your favorite dessert?”

“The truth.” Her words were as cold as the sleet pelting the glass door by the empty concierge desk. A few taps on the phone screen and it was over, screen black. Silent. Merry Christmas, no more lies. Just as her hand went for the bell again a stranger cleared his throat. Hand snapping back to her side, her gaze caught the movement out of someone by the vending machines in her peripheral vision. It took a minute to place him, the grown out blonde hair seemed darker and his thick beard certainly changed the alter boy appearance that the world had made synonymous with his Captain America persona. Then it hit her like a ton of bricks: this was a wanted man. She could have pulled her phone back out, could’ve called for help or ignored him, but when her eyes met his, despite the long disheveled hair and thick beard, the softness to him was undeniable. The only thing she could muster was a simple, few hours too early, “Merry Christmas.”

“You just missed him, the manager. He left to get a good seat at midnight mass.” His blue eyes flitted to the window and back to you. It was like he was waiting for the woman to say something as he flipped a coin in his hand and tucked it back into one of his pockets. “You’ve got to be cold. No point in waiting around or paying for a room when I’ve got an extra bed.”

Even with his nod for the young woman to follow him she was reluctant, wondering why he had a second empty bed and why he wasn’t with someone for the holidays- even as a fugitive. She couldn’t remember all of their names, never really following all the ‘super terrorism’ headlines, but knew there was at least a half dozen of Stark’s former friends that had stood against him, were arrested, and went ‘missing’ from some prison facility she couldn’t recall the name of.  Despite her mind trying to dredge up whatever fleeting bit of news she’d heard, her feet were still following him through the dim hallway until they made it to his door. “What were you doing in the lobby if you knew he wasn’t there?”

“Vending machine. No room service tonight… I’ll get you some clothes and head back over. Do you want anything?” The grit in his voice was familiar, the sound of exhaustion, and her eyes moved over his frame as he spoke to the door handle and then the closet rather than looking at her. Where had he been while the world was looking for him? She mused as she watched him dig through a duffle bag and pulled out some extra clothes. When he turned to give them to her, the Avenger’s eyebrows knit together. The look of concern made her shoulders turn in self-consciously. “You’re shaking.”

In the subtle exchange of a flannel button up and worn in sweatpants her hands brushed over his, finding them rough with soft and slightly raised scars at his knuckles. “Sorry.” She looked for the bathroom door and stepped around him, pausing before reaching for the handle, talking to her heels. “I’m sorry. Uhmm, no thank you, I had dinner. I’m just cold, wet… Thank you for being so nice to me.” She couldn’t do it, couldn’t pull her gaze off the floor, and with nowhere to go she couldn’t run. An apologetic smile found her lips and he saw it but gave her some space, leaving the room to go back to the vending machines before she walked into the bathroom and changed.

Steve stood at the vending machines, texting on his phone while he dropped money into the machine. His thoughts were on the phone call his superior hearing had overheard and the subsequent stammer in the young woman’s heartbeat. He knew the feeling of love lost too well, but to see it written on her face, to see even her dark skin pallor, it brought back a sorrow he’d thought he’d buried when Peggy died. By the time his ordered assortment of chips, cookies, and honeybuns had thunked to the bottom Natasha and Sam had joined him in the lobby. “I’m not sure she’s going to talk to me.” Steve started, only to be interrupted by Natasha.

“I told you that I should have gone in. You’re not as clever as you think you are, Rogers.” Nat smirked, leaning against the wall after catching a bag of chips he tossed at her. “We’re running out of time. The longer he’s out there…”

“It’s not that. She was on the phone when she came in and it wasn’t about her father. Something doesn’t add up. Why would she even make this trip?”

“Eavesdropping on phone calls? Step up your game. She’s been tapped for a week, we don’t need your ears, we need a conversation. You got this, brother. Do what you’ve got to do to get her to talk.” Sam gave him a smirk and clapped Natasha on the back. He heard Steve, but time was of the essence and with no one at the prison talking, their targets only connection to the outside world, that they knew of, was sitting in this hotel room and they needed answers. “If you can’t make it happen then send Nat a text and we can pretend she’s back for the other bed early.”

“Whatever it takes,” Nat crushed the empty bag in her palm and chucked it over the concierge desk and into a waste bin as Steve nodded and walked past his comrades, but the blonde grabbed his arm. It would have been an understatement to say she hadn’t taken the agreement to have Steve lead the interrogation felt a little personal, but she knew he could do it, perhaps just not as quickly as her. “Try and have a little fun while you’re at it, Cap.”

The jacket dripped into the tub as it hung over the shower curtain rod. It was on sale, a thoughtless gift from her father three years ago, but the only coat she owned with lining since the separation led to a move to Miami. The knee length silver dress was new and now ruined, tag discarded in the trash and the heels next to it over the vent. As she looked in the mirror, water running for what seemed like an hour before it reached lukewarm, she twisted her dark locks so that they were out of her face and less likely to frizz. The waxy soap doing little to rid her of the full face of make up which hadn’t budged in the fray of arriving at the one hotel in the small town that she could afford. Despite freshening up, her body was still shaking. The flannel’s too long sleeve flapped past her fingertips and the sweats kept riding down to the widest point of her hips, making her look like a tired college kid.

With both of the beds made, she couldn’t be sure which one to take and settled for the one nearest the bathroom. As soon as she collapsed onto it she could smell the same scent as the shirt she now wore. The distinct sweet woody smell of patchouli, slightly cloaked in a hint of fabric softener. Her teeth chattered as the door opened, but she didn’t bother to move outside of hiding her face. She felt the weight of his body slumping onto the mattress at her side, the sound of plastic raining down on the sheets was what made her peak her head out. “Oh, wow! Was there a malfunction in the machine?”

His steely blue eyes looked at the young woman with worry but it seemed to melt away in a blink or two. “No, I couldn’t decide and I remembered you said you’d had dinner but not dessert, so Merry Christmas.” Both of their fingers moved toward the honeybun and he laughed a little, “A deal? One of us gets the honeybun, the other gets to pick the movie?”

Her chin quivered, as she tried to smile while she reflected on the options. “No deal. We split the honeybun and agree on a movie.”

Taking her lip in her teeth to stop the chatter and anxiety, her sad eyes looked up at him. “All right, you win.” He got up and passed her the remote, taking his time to go back to the closet where he turned up with a stack of clothes under his arm and socks in his hand. “Here, I forgot these. I’m just gonna hop in the shower, maybe be five minutes. No stealing my half or starting a movie without me.”

By the time he emerged, warm steam poured out of the bathroom with him. Steve thought she would have warmed up and calmed down, the sound of her heartbeat and shivering no longer ringing in his ears. Instead, he found all of the food in a little pyramid on the nightstand and a black and white movie waiting for them on the television. “You can have the whole honeybun if we can watch this…”

The glimmer in her eyes and swollen red bottom lip, she could tell he knew she’d been chewing on it the whole time. He slumped back onto the bed next to her, his damp hair dripping down into his beard. His brow furrowed thinking she’d leaned in when it was just his weight on the cheap mattress sliding her in. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t pulled away immediately and then she felt the shiver of his warm, minty breath on her skin. A wave of relief washed over her when his features warmed. “No deal, we split it and we’ll watch your movie.”

His words had been whispered and he didn’t pull his blue eyes from her face. She felt naked being looked at so seriously and her eyes moved down the slope of his nose to the beard. Reaching up, her small hands brushed the droplets of water out of it, surprised to find it softer than she could remember a beard being. Her thoughts immediately went to the last beard she touched, the last hotel room, the last person she wanted to think about and her thighs clenched together with want while her eyes pressed together to hold back the emotions she had been running from for a year and had literally sprinted from an hour ago. “It’s The Lemon Drop Kid… it’s the Silver Bells movie.”

Steve leaned his face into her palm and offered up a simple grunt of acknowledgement before he opened his eyes again. She watched him in shock, that little act of intimacy making her aware of how lonely she was in this world. He seemed to notice, covering her hand in his. “Your hands are still cold.” The tension between them, the unblinking gaze, the whispered words, both of their hearts were racing. Steve caved, giving her a choice. “Want me to stay? It would probably be easier to share snacks?”

Before she could stop herself she was nodding and he was leaning over her, taking the honeybun off the nightstand before collapsing back on the pillows. Steve watched her lick her lips but assumed it was a natural reaction to the honeybun passing her nose. With her hands pulled to her chest, she swallowed when his solid frame hung in front of her for that fleeting second and when it was gone her hands covered her mouth to stop herself from taking in a deep breath of the intoxicating smell of him. Her eyes stayed glued to the television as she blew shaky breaths onto her fingertips. The monologue in her mind about all the little anxieties of life that led her to the desperate place where she was okay sharing a hotel room with a fugitive stranger over Christmas was louder than the man opening the plastic, chewing, starting the movie, and then talking to her about her half of the honeybun. Her dark eyes blinked at him when his face was in front of her again, her thick lashes fluttering in confusion. “Hmm?”

Steve set the snack down and took her hands in his, rubbing them gently as his callouses brushed against her soft skin and his beard tickled her palms when he brought them to her full lips. He only let one hand go with a nod to the food before he continued on his little mission. She nibbled at the sticky treat and watched him, holding it out every bite or two for him to steal a bite for himself until it was gone. Nothing made sense to her anymore, she wasn’t a flirt and certainly never fell into the category of being overtly trusting. He picked up on the nerves, the expression of her being trapped in her thoughts, it reminded him of Bucky and a pang of guilt to his closest friend being in an icebox in Wakanda fleetingly hit him. Neither of them needed to be alone with their thoughts on a holiday, he decided, so he tried to get to work and strike up a conversation, “Why’d you pick this movie? Not trying to make me feel good by picking an oldie, are you?”

“I used to watch it with my dad… Everyone has a go to Christmas movie, I guess. I just didn’t think I’d see it on television. When it comes to holiday movies, I guess most channels play Miracle on 34th Street if they’re doing a classic… most do the newer films. Do you have a favorite?” She watched him settle in next to her once more, reaching for his hands as he pulled away and, to her surprise, he took it back in his and draped the other arm over her shoulders.

She grabbed a pack of cookies with her free hand and Steve’s blue eyes watched her more than the movie. The woman no longer shook or shrunk in on herself with a little bit of reassurance and comfort, again, reminding him of Bucky. “Why aren’t you with him this Christmas? Why aren’t you with anyone?”

The questions felt immediately too intrusive, despite the casual tone in his voice and her body tensed against his briefly before she decided they were totally normal questions. “I haven’t heard from him in two years. I don’t really have people… I gave up most of my friends over a relationship that ended a year ago.” Her gaze fell to her hand in his, the ring finger glaringly naked as the Avenger’s thumb brushed over her knuckles. “You have a lot of scars too.”

He was processing every word and micro-expression when his gaze followed hers to his hands, initially wondering if she’d heard something about his story. “Part of the job. I take a lick just fine though.”

She nodded, noting the present tense to his response before deciding she hadn’t meant just the scars on his hand. Though she didn’t really know the depth of it, there was some mutual sentiment she couldn’t put her thumb on with him. “Doesn’t make it right. There’s enough pain in the world to not need to carry the memory of it on our skin until the end of time.” Her own were hidden under the long sleeves of his flannel and she’d almost forgotten how she swam in it despite her curvy frame. “Have you seen this one before?”

“No, I missed out. I’m sure I’ll love it. I’ve always been a fan of film.” He stole a cookie, mulling over how to keep the conversation on her father, “I’m sorry you haven’t talked to your father. Have you thought about calling him tonight? Tis the season, right?”

“It’s easier said than done.” She sighed. “I don’t have a number to reach him and he doesn’t have mine. I… I don’t even know if he’s alive.” The words came out in such a broken way, at first rushed and full of closed off frustration- not at Steve but the situation. Then came the familiar burn of grief and the internal conflict of trying to determine how much information was too much information to share on the subject. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be,” He quickly interrupted her apology, but he felt the damage had been done. Steve pulled her to his chest in a slow but gentle hug and again she didn’t fight it. She rested her head against his chest, listening to his strong pulse beneath the hard muscles and her legs tangled in his as his sweats slipped lower on her hips. “For what it’s worth, I can’t get a hold of the person I’d like to spend the holiday with, too. Missed a lot of Christmases.” He swallowed down the knot in his throat, “Maybe we can just focus on being present and what we can change.”

Resting her chin on his chest, she looked up at him, “If you want to talk about it, you can. I’m a better listener than a talker.” It was true, after a year of keeping a massive secret about an ended marriage full of them, she became a master of doing as she was told.

Steve moved his hands up her back, inadvertently sighing when she pressed herself closer. They were both touch starved and though he thought he should keep his guard up, that this was work, the way she looked at him made his new hard exterior feel like a facade. Looking at her through his long lashes, he felt torn for the first time between the job and physical needs, his thoughts trying to just find some balance. His palm brushed against the skin peaking out at her lower back, “I don’t really have much to say about him. My best friend, he’s getting some help and I can’t be with him while he’s doing it. I feel helpless about it and then a bit torn up about missing more time with him. It’s a complicated relationship and complicated circumstances.”

Reaching up, she scratched her fingers through his beard, “But does he know that you’d be there supporting him if you could?” Steve nodded and she offered up a small smile and a few more words, “Then that’s all that really matters. You’ll be there for him once you can. I may not know anything about you outside of this room or by any names except ‘Steve’ or ‘Captain America’, but I can tell the news read you wrong.”

Her dark eyes searched his as she chewed on her bottom lip. Though she’d never thought of herself as a good judge of character and had certainly found good in horrible people, the man’s little gestures and something in those blue eyes told her that she didn’t need to be afraid of him. His hands moved up her back, under the flannel shirt massaging the soft expanse of her supple curves. Just as slowly, she untangled her legs from his, the sweatpants slipping down her thick thighs with the traction. She left them there, climbing onto his lap with little regard to the fact that she was now in her silky knickers on a soldier’s lap, fingertips still pawing at his beard. Steve’s hands moved over her waist, her body as pliable as his wasn’t and he watched her throat and savored the hiccup in her pulse every time his hands brushed over a new part of her skin. “We should probably…”

With a nervous laugh she agreed, but her hips were still rocking against him and his mouth was still inching closer to hers. “…or we could ju-”

Steve wouldn’t be able to explain why he’d crossed this line later when Nat and Sam asked him about the lack of intel. A part of him didn’t care. Her full lips were soft against his and the way her wanton whimpers poured into his mouth when his tongue drew across them made his cock twitch. Every little sound and taste of her made his body react. Steve’s hands reached up her full frame, opening the buttons of his shirt and discarding it until the curvy young woman was on his lap in nothing but her bra and panties. His bright blue eyes were alight as they gleaned over her frame. His sex life wasn’t anything to write home about, chaste in comparison to Sam, Nat, and even Bucky; it also happened to revolve around work- agents in peak shape. He ached for her, a natural beauty with soft edges. Steve palmed up her back and she followed his fingers, helping him undo the clasp before helping the silky number join his shirt somewhere over the edge of the bed. Her eyes were on his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed at the dry knot there, as she continued rolling her hips against his. The woman’s were cheeks pink with embarrassment at her level of exposure in the warm light of the room, the tips of her fingers slowly plucking at his own clothes before Steve leaned in and pulled her mouth back to his. “You’re beautiful.”

The sweet words pouring from his lips just before they latched onto her breasts made her laugh and then gasp for air. His tongue drew circles around her nippled before he nipped at them and his hands caressed the soft flesh. As he marked her with three wine stained blemishes on her chest, she finished removing his shirt, only laughing again at the contrast of his toned body to her swelling curves. Her laughter filled the room as he smiled against her skin and she responded by reaching into his pants and stroking him until he was completely hard in her hand. She couldn’t help herself, panties soaked from every touch. She pulled them to the side, rubbing her wet slit against his length. Like animals they both pawed and groaned over the new friction. “Do you want me?” Her nervous whispered words brushed against his ear and Steve lifted her off his lap just enough to pull shimmy off his pants and line himself up to her entrance. Pulling his mouth to hers she kissed him softly, slowly lowering herself onto him despite his firm grip on her waist a clear bruising plea for more. “Be gentle with me.”

Steve groaned as he filled her slowly and completely, her warm wet cunt milking him as she gasped into the curve of his neck. His lips ghosted across every inch of her skin as he stretched her out, hardly moving or encouraging her to move, simply appreciating how good it felt to be inside her. When her breathing steadied, Steve palmed over her ass and pulled on the silky fabric of her panties like they were reins. Her back arched and she started to grind on his cock, her clit taut against the fabric and his pelvis only causing her to moan loader as she gripped the soldier’s broad shoulders. With a firm clap and squeeze to the round soft skin of her cheeks she picked up her pace, eyes closing with satisfaction as his thick cock filled her and stroked her walls again and again. “Good girl.” He groaned, his hands moving down her thick thighs, the veins in his arms prominent as he helped lift and drop her down on his length. Steve’s blue hues settled on the view of her dripping down his length, so wet for him. How long had it been since he gave in to just wanting someone? His thoughts were fleeting, drawn back to the reality of the stranger riding him like she hadn’t been satisfied in her entire life, now her fingers pulling his mouth to her, but he nibbled on her lip and pushed her back, his mouth drawn back to her full breasts.

With here hands clutching the bedsheets behind her, back arched as she rode his slow deep thrusts into her, she couldn’t help but tighten around him, watching him hold her was one thing… a simple delight she’d not had in a year. It was listening to him grunt and growl when her pussy throbbed around him because of the little delights. As he sucked on her breasts and he squeezed her ass holding her down on his thick cock with every thrust, she felt him hit her sweet spot, sending little heat waves through her core until she was begging. “I’m so close. I need you, Steve. Please, please make me cum.”

Steve obliged, easily laying her back on the bed and tangling his legs in hers as he lowered his weight onto her small frame. His hips rutted against her and he grunted against her mouth between greedy kisses while his hands, which had been pinning her to the bed spread her legs further apart, giving him complete access to push her over the edge. She bit her finger on one hand as the other pulled at his thighs, muffling her pleas for release, “Come on, sweetheart. Let me hear you. Let me hear that beautiful voice say my name.”

His thumb brushed over her clit in teasing flits, back and forth and her hand left her swollen lips, clutching his wrist as he continued to rub her sensitive bud through her release. “Steve! Please. I…” Her orgasm came hard, pouring her juices over his cock he kept warm and deep inside of her, savoring that tight pussy now clutching him like she’d never let go and all the subsequent little earthquakes from his ministrations on her clit. Her thighs shook and she laughed and purred and pleaded, but he gave it to her and when she was undone on the bed, his hard length still deep inside he laid down next to her, and rubbed her back. “Don’t stop.” She whispered after a tired soft kiss up his neck to the scruff of his beard at his jaw. Her leg slid over his hip and, again, he abided her request, his hand moving down that leg and back until he was sure she was ready. Her soft kisses confirmation as he began to rock into her once more.

This wasn’t just a fuck, it was slow and sensitive, pleading. He worshiped every inch of her as he felt her soak his cock two more times from the slow, deep grinding and nipple play. Each time he marked her skin with another hickey, groaning into her neck and shoulder and mouth about how sexy listening to her cum was, how good she felt around him, how perfect her soft curves were. The praise made her throb around him and he pulled her onto his chest, asking her where she wanted him to finish. Her pleading to stay inside her, the purrs of how much she loved being full of him set him off.  She rested her body gently against him and, cradled there, he claimed her in broken and hungry thrusts, his coarse hands holding her tightly to his frame as a final thrust to the hilt and he poured hot spurts of his seed into her. Her lips brushed across his salted skin before she let out a satisfied sigh. His blue eyes closed, a sleepy laugh passing his lips, “It doesn’t get better than this does it?”

Her tired eyes peaked open at him and she giggled as his hands flopped to their sides, only his finger tips tickling her tired thighs. “I’ve never had better.”

A peaked ‘hmm’ passed his lips as if to ask, is that so, but neither of them had energy to spare for conversation. Steve managed to tuck one arm under his head, his heavy eyes watching her slowly fall asleep, the unprofessionalism of his decision to sleep with her now sinking in as the charm of her melted into a warm, silent comfort. In bittersweet introspection he thought of how to rectify the interrogation that needed to happen. Knowing she wasn’t from this city and likely to go home under the circumstances, he settled on making plans to find her in a week. Nat and Sam wouldn’t be happy, but he’d find a way to keep them busy with other leads until he could talk to her again. Silver Bells echoed through the room and Steve fell asleep, just for a little while, basking in the comfort of being adored and held rather than objectified or idolized. For the first time, he dreamt of a dance with a partner that wasn’t Peggy.

The familiar quiet buzz of her phone woke her up with a cat-like stretch and sigh, momentarily forgetting where she was. Clumsily smacking her hand around in the direction of the sound she quickly hit the wall of muscle at her side. “Good Christmas morning. You’re up early.” He smiled with a quiet laugh on his lips. “I plugged your phone in when mine stopped charging. I think all your messages are coming in.”

Her eyes sheepishly looked up from the pillow at him, processing the fact that the night hadn’t been a dream. “Merry Christmas morning, Sir. You’ve been up long?”

With a shrug, he let her process the fact that he was in dark tactical gear. He broke her thought process with the soft whisper of her name, waking her up with delightful surprise and curiosity as his expression looked hopeful. “What are you doing New Years Eve?”

She bit her lip and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling with no desire to look at her phone or confess how dull. “Home alone, I guess.”

“Don’t have to be if you don’t want to.” Steve set his phone next to hers and slid down next to her, “All you have to do is ask.”

Her heart raced and she felt like she was still dreaming, but he reached out and brushed her dark hair from her eyes and met his gaze as Steve waited for her answer. “Find me in Miami and kiss me at midnight?”

With a satisfied hum, he closed the space between them. Steve hovered over her, craning his neck down for a quick peck when she shyly pressed her lips together. “That explains the coat.” He laughed, unpinning her so she could get out of bed, watching her as she slipped out of bed and picked up clothes from the floor as she tiptoed to the bathroom. Though she hadn’t gotten the door closed, she already saw her things neatly folded on the edge of the sink, a little travel kit set atop it all. As if he could see her smile, he hollered toward the door. “I hope you don’t mind that I spoke to the manager when they came in this morning about needing some basics.”

The rest of the morning went by too quickly for either of their liking. He didn’t join her in the shower, distracted by a disagreement in a group text with Nat, Sam, and the other nomads about trying to interrogate her again in a week. Meanwhile, she was glad for the privacy to do her hair and clean the night from her brown skin, the only reminders left were the tender aches and the plum bruises. Just thinking about it made her wet again and, despite the work related distraction in his hands his superior hearing made him hear her moan more than once, making his twitching cock semi-hard in his tac suit. He sat with her while she waited for her ride, he took her number, and when he kissed her goodbye, his flannel shirt tucked into her purse, both of them found a slice of happiness in a lonely holiday.

The loft apartment felt vacuous compared to the cheap hotel room, but she managed to make the most of the long week. Decorating the place with a small tree draped in tinsel and silver bell ornaments, draping the window sills and counters in twinkling garland, and counting down the days to New Years Eve. Each day felt like a month, trying to reconnect with her father while juggling her meaningless job. Each night she pulled on his shirt and her hands slipped between her thighs until she fell asleep blissed out in the memory of their night together. There hadn’t been a single word from the nomadic Captain until a dozen roses waited for her on the doorstep of her apartment, a small card with silver bells detailing the corners that simply read: One more day, doll. - S.

Though Steve thought a week’s wait to see her again would have been painless compared to the lifetime he’d missed in ice or the subsequent years he’d spent mindlessly droning on until he joined the Avengers, but the task had been anything but speedy for an unexpected reason. Sharing the limited information he’d gathered, Nat and Sam took new perspectives on getting the answers they needed for their mission, all three of them tasked with finding people connected to the family. All the digging, shared intel, pointed to an intricately planned prison escape gone wrong. While Nat and Sam thought his worries for their target’s daughter were unfounded due to estrangement, Steve had every intention of keeping his word, simply too busy moving and looking for answers to engage in the formalities of modern flirtation. Every day was busy with work and every night, surrounded by pictures and papers, he’d wonder if she was drowning in thoughts of him too. The roses were his way of making it up to her, his confession, and every detail was carefully thought over.

As she sat in the twinkling holiday lights, the sun long since set. She clicked on the television to a channel showing the Ball Drop in New York, muting it to play her own playlist of holiday songs. To be fair, Steve hadn’t given her a time he’d show up. Cracking open the red wine, she danced alone in the shimmering silver dress that ghosted across her knees and hugged her hips, time slipping by mildly unnoticed with each sip and song. Just as she’d descended into the cushions the door to the apartment opened, startling her and causing her wine to spill across the cushions. It was the broad shoulders filling the doorway that made her hold in her scream. The familiar silhouette stood speechless and her mouth bobbed open and closed like a fish when they closed the space between the living room and front door. Her eyes moved to the television, expecting to see some sort of red tape Breaking News alert that pigs could now fly. Instead, her eyes fell on the time, bright white in the corner and reading seven minutes past midnight. She ran her tongue across her painted lips, closed her eyes, and laughed. Fate, she decided, had little regard for New Year promises.

Taglist: @caplanbuckybarnes​

[calmlftv]

burlesque!sos - chapter 1

description: you are a beautiful and talented burlesque dancer, and it’s your first night at the job of your dreams!

warnings: not very much to be mentioned! 

word count: 2.5k

a/n: here it is! chapter 1 of my au baby 🥺 i’m so proud of this and i genuinely hope you enjoy it! 

taglist: @spicycal​ @castaway-cashton​

**

It’s a cold and crazy world that's raging outside…

The smoke machines hissed, their sound overwhelmed from the live band playing the opening number. 

But baby me and all my girls are bringing on the fire-

Perfume bottles clinked, the scent of roses filling the air rather quickly as heels clicked on the wooden floors, the sound reverberating through your legs as you walked up to the door. 

Show a little leg, gotta shimmy that chest…

You pulled open the door, your purse bumping the cold metal as you stepped inside. Nerves jittered through your veins, dancing and bunching up together as you walked in to Express, the lounge that you now worked at. You shed blood, sweat, and tears to get this job, even going so far as to move across the country to get it, and now your first night was finally here. 

The sound of the music smacked you as you entered the club, waving to the man taking the entrance fees as you breezed right past him. The area was packed, a butt in every seat as the gaggle of dancers on stage moved and lip-synced their hearts out. Hair was flicking around, heels clicking in unison and spotlights blinding the front row as they washed over the diamonds and jewels dripping from almost every inch of skin. 

Stepping into the lounge you caught a flash of blonde hair to your left, turning your eyes to see the cute blonde at the bar working hard for his tips. He tossed the bottles around like it was nothing, a big smile on his lips as he flipped cups and tossed ice cubes around. He felt your eyes and met them, flashing you a wink with that devilish smile of his before going back to his work, your feet carrying yourself over to him. 

He was pushing a drink across the bar when you reached him, leaning against it as you opened your mouth to speak. Much to your surprise, the man beat you to it. 

“You’re the new girl, right?” 

His voice was kind, his smile still on his face as he paused in serving and gave you his attention. You chuckled a bit. 

“That obvious, huh?” 

“Well, not many people come in here looking like they’re shitting bricks, so it’s easy to spot you,” he teased, reaching a hand across the bar top. “I’m Michael, I’m the lead bartender here. If you ever need anything I’m always back here.” His smile was so kind you couldn’t help but return it. 

“My name is y/n, but my persona is Rory. Nice to meet you,” you greeted, looking around a bit. “Um, so how do I get backstage from here?” 

Michael chuckled a bit, gesturing off to the right of the bar towards a set of doors. “Right through there, love, the spiral staircase should take you straight up to the vanities.”

You smiled again, thanking Michael before heading in towards the double doors. The knot of butterflies in your stomach got tighter with each step, your hands cooling off against the door as you pushed it open. The metal stairs were directly in front of you, surrounded by racks of costumes, corsets, and brassiers that left very little to the imagination; your fingers itched to feel the fabric on your skin but you pressed on, taking the stairs and emerging into the most beautiful chaos you had ever witnessed.

Dancers and stagehands alike were bustling about, some stretching lazily while others gossiped at their vanities. Off to your left a stagehand was tying a girls corset, her long blonde hair teased and curled to the high heavens as she stared at herself in a small compact in her hand. Her finger lifted to wipe at her lips, a wince interrupting her movement as the stagehand tightened the corset.

“Hey,” she snapped, her compact closing with the same noise. “Careful back there! Are you trying to kill me?”

The stagehand rolled her eyes, tightening again before tying it off. As she walked away you nervously approached, the blonde now fluffing her hair in her re-opened compact.

“Excuse me,” you said politely, a nervous smile on your lips. “I’m looking for Sierra-” 

The compact snapped shut again in annoyance, the girl whirling to face you. She raised an eyebrow, a hand resting on her hip. 

“Who’s asking?” was all she asked, her eyes floating over your figure as she took you in. Clearly she was not impressed as her look changed from annoyed to disgusted in under one second. 

“I’m the new dancer-” 

The woman rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, walking away in the opposite direction. She stopped and turned, her expression annoyed once again. You imagine that if she had any gum, she’d be loudly smacking it right now. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You blushed deeply, quickly moving your feet to catch up with the rude blonde as she walked through the backstage area. She led you through another door, this one leading to a long hallway with multiple different doorways. 

“This is the way back, as the other girls call it. Beds in every room, except for the last one on the left,” she explained, vaguely gesturing in that direction. “They’re only for when girls get too drunk to drive home, so don’t get any ideas.” 

Annoyance flashed through your mind and you quickly shook it off. If this was how your coworkers would speak to you then so be it; you were here to work, after all. 

Before you would move again the other girl was gone, the door slamming shut behind her and startling you. You took a deep breath and moved down the hall, making it to the door the blonde had described; on the other side, you heard two muffled voices in what sounded like an intense argument, the only thing disrupting them being the knock you landed on the wooden frame. The air around it smelled like cigarettes and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“Come in!” Called a sweet voice, a bit muffled through the door. 

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you before turning to see Sierra sitting at a desk. Two chairs sat opposite, one somewhat occupied by a dark haired man that was leaning against the back of it while the other remained empty. Behind the desk was a large window, covered by sheer white curtains that were drenched in the red neon of the light outside the building. One lamp on the desk emitted the only other light in the room, making it hard to see exactly what else was around. You stood by the door for a second, your hands gripping the strap of your purse as Sierra stood. 

“Here she is!” Sierra said, excitement clouding her tone as she quickly walked around the desk to give you a big hug. Her shoes made her much taller than you, the only thing clinging to her more than her dress was being the cigarette smoke you were smelling a moment ago. You smiled kindly and returned the hug, letting her take your hand and pull you further into her office. “Ashton wipe that pissbaby expression off your face and meet Rory, our new dancer.” 

You smiled as she remembered the persona you built, the man - Ashton - standing up straight and holding out a hand. He wore a black button up tucked into a pair of grey dress pants, his sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos on both of his forearms. His dark hair was slicked back, a single curl falling against his forehead.

“Ro, this is Ashton, my co-owner and biggest pain in my ass,” Sierra said, moving back around the desk and sitting. You noticed the desk was covered in papers, some of which Sierra stacked when she caught you looking. “He’s pretty to look at and has the brains to match, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

Ashton laughed, the sound loud as he put his hands in his pockets. A dimple appeared on his cheek, something that brought a smile to your face. “Well, someone’s got to keep track of the bills, and it sure ain’t gonna be you, darlin’.” 

The banter made you chuckle, your eyes moving back to Sierra as she smiled at Ashton. “Well, since you were the first investor, it’s only fair that you handle such matters,” Sierra teased, gesturing for him to sit. He followed instructions, chuckling as Sierra’s eyes met yours. The smile was still on her lips as she folded her hands in front of her, resting them on the desk. “So, petal,” she started, lifting a pair of red cat eye glasses off the desk and placing them on her face. “Were you able to learn those routines I sent you last week?” 

You nodded. “Yes! You said rehearsals are every morning, right?”

Sierra smiled and nodded, her eyes giving Ashton a look before settling back on you. “Yes they are, I’m glad someone listens to me.” Ashton chuckled, shaking his head. “And do you have a place nearby to crash yet?” 

The fact that Sierra remembered the struggles you talked to her about a week and a half ago made you feel very content, a quiet sigh of relief escaping you. “Not yet, no...My last job still hasn’t sent me my check, and my grandparents have been hinting at kicking me out soon if I can’t find a place.” 

Sierra frowned, lines appearing at the edge of her mouth. “We can’t have that,” she said, shaking her head as she leaned back in her desk chair. “You’ll stay here then. Pick any of the rooms in this hallway. They each have their own bathroom, and a small kitchenette. Ashton will be happy to get you a key to one of them.” The man had already stood, walking to the edge of the light and coming back with a key on a golden chain. You let him lay it in your hand as you looked at Sierra in shock, your look drawing a laugh from the woman. “We’re a family here, petal, don’t look so surprised. We take care of each other.” 

You nodded silently, picking up the key in your hand and looking at it. A number was painted on it in black, a curving 8 bringing a smile to your face. You quickly dropped it in your purse as Sierra continued. 

“Alright, so,” she said, sitting up again. “Rehearsals are every morning at 9 a.m., don’t be late to any of them or you’ll be replaced in numbers. Prep time starts at 6 p.m., doors open at 7 p.m., and the show starts at 8 p.m. Existing routines should be known when you come to rehearsals, and we’ll help you clean them up. Always wear heels to rehearsals, it makes it easier when you’re performing in them.” 

You nodded at her words, standing to your feet as she did. Ashton lazily stood as well, his hands returning to his pockets as he walked towards the door. You heard him pull it open as Sierra walked around the desk, gesturing for you to follow her. 

“Let’s go meet the girls, shall we?”

** 

Hours later you collapsed on your new bed, your suitcase and boxes piled neatly in the corner of your new bedroom as you finally relaxed. The fluffy white blankets hugged your curves as you closed your eyes, an excited smile growing on your lips as you remembered your first rehearsal in the morning. 

After the meeting in Sierra’s office you met the other dancers - well, Sierra pointed them out to you as they passed, all of them changing and touching up makeup between performances and not having a moment to formally meet you. Ashton followed you and Sierra closely, his eyes distracted by his cell phone until he excused himself, pressing a kiss to Sierra’s cheek and nodding to you as he walked off towards the stairs. 

“He’s probably about to boost the ego of some rich prick in the audience,” Sierra said, watching him go. “He’s a charming one, that Ashton.” 

You caught a wistful look cross Sierra’s face, your mouth opening to comment on it before she continued to introduce you to everybody. You must have met every stagehand, tech, and band member over the course of the evening, your mind spinning from all the names and faces that overloaded your brain. 

Finally it was all over, Sierra leading you back to the hallway of rooms. You noticed one of the bedroom doors open, an ornate gold 8 painted on the door. Ashton stepped out, waving at the two of you as you drew closer. 

“Just wanted to make sure everything was clean for you,” he said, smiling at you. “Do you have things in your car I can bring in for you?” 

You smiled sweetly back at him; everybody was so kind to you already. “I do, yeah, let me get you my keys,” you said, digging around in your purse for your car keys and handing them to Ashton. He took them with a wink and brushed by the two of you, Sierra smiling at him as he left. 

“Always a gentleman,” she sighed, turning back to you. “One last thing about your room. We’re not asking you for rent right now, but Ashton and I both carry keys to all the rooms. At times we may come by to make sure nothing’s broken or needs to be replaced, but we’ll do our best to give you a heads up first. Understood?”

You nodded, the still open door to your new home drawing you close. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sierra chuckled. “No need to call my ma’am, petal,” she said, fixing your hair over your shoulder. “You’ll learn this from the girls but when I say we’re a family, I mean it. Just call me Mom or Sisi, okay?” 

You grinned and smiled, hearing the door open behind you. Turning, you caught Ashton stepping back into the hallway, arms loaded with boxes and a suitcase in one hand. You quickly ran over and grabbed the suitcase, letting Ash by with the boxes. 

“Where would you like these?” He asked, looking at you. You quickly gestured to a random corner and watched as he gently set them down, his hand reaching for the suitcase so he could set it with the pile. “That’s all of it. I’ve got to get home to the missus, but you have a lovely first night doll.” He smiled at you, reaching out to pat your head before leaving your home. 

You sighed and turned, Sierra standing in the doorway. “I’ll leave you to get settled. Your first rehearsal will be at 9 tomorrow morning, I’ll see you there.” 

You grinned and waved, saying goodnight to your boss as you walked to the door. 

Now you laid in the peaceful, blissful quiet of your room, your body relaxing from the day already. The nerves and excitement you had felt the entire day had worn you out, your phone already plugged in as you turned on your side. Soon you were drifting off to sleep, dreaming of cigarettes and red lips and hoping your first rehearsal as a burlesque dancer would go well.

[mrs-takami-keigo]

King of the clouds

Chapter 5 

Main Pairing: Hawks/Quinn(OC)

Story Rating: Explicit! 18+

Genre: Romance/Action/ Smut

Words: 7.3K

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Notes: To the people that do read this, thank you so much! This story is my baby and I plan on seeing her through to the end. Everytime I see a like for this I get a little emotional, beacuse I do put a lot of thought and heart into this story. But I would also love to hear from you! Please don’t be afraid to comment or anything, I love reading people reactions to this. 

“Okay so the objective is Phoenix is going to be the villain and it’s up to you, Bakugo, to subdue her before back up comes. Once you put the handcuffs on her you win. You have twenty minutes.” I heard Aizawa explain over the earpiece.

“Tch just start the clock already.” Even without the device, I could hear Bakugou’s loud voice resonating. ‘Why does this kid have such a big mouth?’

“Your twenty minutes start now.”

The sound of an airhorn rang through the training grounds, signaling the start of our match. I was given a head start so I could hide. Figuring my best option was to start off on higher grounds, I stood atop a medium-sized office building. Even though I wasn't in his line of sight I could see him. Watching as he started down the main street of the training ground, looking around, trying to pinpoint my location, Bakugou’s guard was up, ready for anything. I’m sure he’s waiting for me to make the first move.

“Come on you old hag I know you're here!”

‘OLD HAG?!’ I could feel my eye twitch and my blood began to boil. This kid sure does have a lot of nerve to talk to someone like that, but it’s one of the reasons I looked forward to meeting him. His attitude, skill, and demeanor reminded me of my own at times. I went to the edge of the building, slamming a combat booted foot on the ledge, my hands on my hips as I yelled down to him.

“Anybody tell you it’s rude to disrespect your elders?!”

“Shut up!” I saw him lift an arm up and a giant explosion generating from his palm. Glass windows shattered as the blast made its way up to me. Using my wings I shot up into the sky, trying to avoid the blast. Covering my face with my arms I felt the heat from the blast run through me, the air around the blast whipping around me, my curls flying everywhere. The sheer force of the explosion was impressive for a kid his age, if I weren’t able to use my wings to fly away, I for sure would have been finished.

“That’s it?! I thought you had an explosive quirk, not a firecracker! Honestly, you must be great during festivals.” The look of annoyance washed over his face as I spoke. “You know that’s what Imma call you from now on. You're just like a firecracker, all you are is nothing but noise!“ I let out a belly laugh as I wrapped my arms around my stomach. I knew I was pissing him off but that's what I wanted.

Straightening up I wiped the tears from my eyes, stopping my laughter. Bakugou’s teeth were bared in annoyance, his gloved hands balled into fists. “Come on firecracker you wanna play with the big dogs right?! Then let's play!”

Lifting my arms towards the sky I channeled all my energy into my palms, that same feeling when I formed my wings ignited through my body. Soon two large fireballs formed in each of my hands. Taking a deep breath I threw both fireballs directly at the teen. Due to their size and how fast they were going, it would take precise movements and fast reaction time to dodge them, but from what I’ve seen previously and from Shouto’s letter I knew he could dodge them with ease.

Just as I had anticipated he shot off his own blast towards the ground to propel himself into the air barely dodging the two balls of fire as they made an impact with the ground.

“Should have guessed an old hag like you didn’t have any juice left!” Changing his direction he used his explosions to make his way to the roof trying to chase me and fight me head-on, but I’m faster.

“No juice you say.” Horror was written on his face when he heard my voice from behind him. My fire wings let me reach insane speeds, the last time I checked I clocked it at a hundred and eighty miles per hour. Using fire to help me, I flipped over myself, bringing my right leg down landing a hard dropkick on his shoulder, sending him straight back down to the street. I made sure not to use my full strength afraid I would cause too much harm to his body.

When Bakugou landed, he was face down groaning in pain. Lowering myself back on the ground, I watched as Bakugou rolled to his side, gripping the shoulder I kicked him on with his hand, coughing as he tried to catch his breath.

“What your problem is, is that you underestimate everyone around you.” He had stopped his coughing, glaring at me. “Now, Katsuki Bakugou stand up, and let’s fight for real.”

“You’re gonna regret sayin’ that old woman.” Bakugou stood up, shaking off my last attack. I could sense that his attitude had changed, he now saw me as an opponent.

Using his power like before he launched himself forward at a faster speed, throwing me off for a second. Smirking I flew up into the sky ready to miss his attack only to be stopped. I felt his hand wrap around my ankle. Glancing down at him, a satisfied smirk played on his face.

“Tryna fly away already?” Before I could comprehend what was happening I felt my body be spun around.

Bakugou was using his other hand to set off small explosions resulting in him spinning around like a tornado and taking me along with him. He reached a speed that made everything look like one big blur before letting go of my ankle, I had no time to react with how fast I was traveling through the air.

“AUGH!” The air flew out of my lungs as my back came in contact with the brick, the impact was so strong that I left a small crack in it. Catching myself before I fell to the ground, I saw Bakugou get ready for another attack.

“That was impressive kid but you won't get another shot like that again.”

“Try and stop me.” Bakugou went to move again but stopped in mid-motion. “What the-” Soon he was flung up into the sky, coming back down at neck-breaking speed, slamming into the earth. A chuckle escaped my lips as he struggled to stand up or move in general, cursing as each attempt turned out to be useless.

“I’m well skilled in close combat but I excel at long range. Not only because of my fire but because of my other power.” As I spoke I stalked closer to the young boy, the sound of broken glass and gravel crushing under my boots. Whenever I used this quirk my hair would float behind me, as if I was underwater and my eyes would change from hazel to grey. My right hand was extended out pushing him further into the ground. “My telekinetic powers allow me to do things like this without even touching another person.”

Still holding him down I squatted next to him, balancing myself on the balls of my feet. “Now that you have a taste of both my powers let’s continue yeah?”

“Times up!” We both heard Aizawa say over our earpiece. The training grounds were in shambles, building missing walls, windows blown out. Parts of the street were torn up, it looked as if a war had passed through here. It was partially true, seeing as how after I had un-pinned Bakugou we both went all out. There were times where I was sure he had me but it was always because of a silly mistake on his part that I would escape.

Which led us to this moment, I had him trapped in a cage I made out of metal pipes when I sent him flying across the training grounds with a punch and firepower mixed in it.

“NO! Let me go again! I can beat this old hag!” He had his hands wrapped around the metal pipes, trying to shake them loose.

“So I’m back to being called old hag huh? And here I thought we were getting along.” I reached through the bars ruffling up his hair. “I’m actually thoroughly impressed with you firecracker in all seriousness.” He stopped his manic behavior, a reserved look on his face.

“I’m looking forward to what you do in the future. You’re special, firecracker, that’s without a doubt.” I flicked my wrist, moving the cage off of him. “When it’s time for your next work-study, be sure to contact me.”

“Tch! Whatever old hag.” I couldn’t help but smile, he may have said that but the small blush on his cheeks and the satisfied smile he wore didn’t go unnoticed.

“Okay, kiddo’s, who’s next?”

Stretching my arms above my head, I cracked my back and neck as I sat in the nurse's office. Recover girl had helped ease the pain in my back from when Bakugou slammed me into the building and my sore muscles. She told me if he had tossed me any harder my back would have been broken and that I’m lucky all I had was the giant bruise on my back. Going twenty rounds in combat with those kids wreaked havoc on my body. Some were easy to defeat and some proved to be quite the challenge.  

“That was too much Quinn.” Shouto handed me a glass of water as he took a seat in the empty chair next to the bed I was on.

“Oh please, that was nothing compared to the villains I’ve fought before. And you were holding back, don’t think I didn’t notice Shouto.”

“I was worried, it's only been a few days since you’ve gone back to work after the incident.” Shouto clenched his fist as his expression turned dark. “Since that bastard put you in the hospital.”

It wasn’t until that moment I registered that I haven’t really seen or spoken to him since that day. Fuyumi told me that Shouto was at the hospital that day, and saw exactly what Phoenix Rising does to my body. That image of me hooked up to machines, clinging on to life must have fucked him up.

“Shouto, look at me.” He still had his fist clenched tight, I was afraid that he would draw blood if he held them any tighter. “Come on half-pint look at me.” Facing him I leaned down a little so I could try to catch his eye. Once he heard the nickname I used to call him, his eyes met mine. Those once bright eyes of his now held years of pain, abuse, and burden in them.

“I thought you were gonna die, I-I can’t lose you.” His voice was shaky from trying to hold back his tears as he spoke.

“I’m not going anywhere, half-pint. I would never let scumbags like Dabi be the end of me, I promise you that.” I took his hands in my own. “Do you know why I came to Japan?” Shouto just shook his head, too afraid to speak. “I came to protect you, Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Auntie Rei. I failed in protecting Auntie and Touya, I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

“Quinn…” I got off the bed to stand in front of him, making him stand up with me.

“So don’t worry about losing me okay?” Giving him a reassuring smile I squeezed the hand that was in mine. “Come on you gotta change out of your costume and go do your homework and I gotta go home, there is a nice hot bath screaming my name right now.”

Once I got home I stripped off my costume, noticing that it had some rips in it, I made a mental note to go and try to get that fixed. Grabbing my hair towel and robe I made my way to the bathroom.

Besides having roof access, this apartment had an amazing bathroom. White tiles lined the floor and walls but the sink, cabinet, toilet, and bathtub were a solid black. There was also a separate stand up shower in one corner, while next to it was a clawfoot tub that was so big it could fit two people comfortably.

Turning on the water and stepping into the shower, I washed the day’s sweat and grime off my body, relishing in the feeling of the hot water running down my body and through my soft curls. Once everything was washed off, I filled up the tub with hot water adding in some of my favorite eucalyptus and spearmint bubble bath soap.

Sinking in my body in the hot water, I slid my aching body down the back of the bathtub leaning my head back to rest over the edge.

“Ah now, this is the life.” Closing my eyes I could feel my muscles relax under the water. Between the relaxing smell of my soap and the soft 90’s slow jams playing in the background, I felt myself let my mind wander.

“You’re so beautiful not only cause of your looks, it's that heart you have.”

‘Hawks.’

I could still feel his lips pressed against my palm. How his golden eyes shined under that moonlight. It was only for a moment but the usual playful glint in his eyes had disappeared when he spoke about how that was the only place he was actually at peace. That sadness made me want to reach out and hug him, make sure that the sadness left.

“No! Snap out of it Quinn!” I sunk lower into my tub, the water coming up just past my lips. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I hugged them. The best thing I could do for both of us is just be friends and that’s it. There was no way I could get my feelings involved, not with Hawks.

I stayed in the tub for another ten minutes, the water started to cool down and my fingers turned pruney, telling me it was time to get out. Standing up I could feel a dull ache in my back.

“Maybe I should put a patch on this.” I put on my purple fuzzy robe and wrap my hair in the pink microfiber towel as I walked through the bathroom door that led straight into my room. Going through my draws I found a clean pair of panties, and my favorite red satin shorts and camisole pajama set.

Shedding off the robe and grabbing a soft white towel, I swiped it across my damp skin. Feeling like I was dry, I slid the undergarment up my legs followed by my satin shorts and top. Going up to my white and gold-lined vanity, I grabbed my favorite body lotion that smells of vanilla and coconut.

After applying lotion I went through the rest of my night routine. Doing my skincare, massaging oils into my curls to keep them hydrated, and putting on my diffuser with peppermint oil in it, hoping the essential oil will soothe my aching body and my thoughts about a certain red-winged man.

Just as I stepped into the bathroom to grab an icy-hot patch, the sound of something faintly knocking on the door that connected to the roof caught my attention. My guard went up instantly, no one knew I was there besides my family, Mirko, and Hawks. Putting my slippers on, I tiptoed to the staircase that led to the door. The pounding became more frantic as I crept closer.

I could feel my heart begin to race with each step I took. It would have been one thing if I lived in a house, but I live in a highrise apartment building and there were over thirty floors of people that lived here. If something went wrong I would have to worry about them before backup could arrive and fend off whatever or whoever this is.

Igniting my right hand with flames, I kicked the door open, ready for a fight.

“OH MY GOD!” I stopped my flames immediately and ran to catch Hawks as he swayed to the side, catching him as he started to fall to the ground.

“Hey, fire….bird…” Hawks could barely get my nickname out of his mouth before he coughed, blood landing on my slippers. I could see he was holding on to the last little bit of consciousness he had, his wings were almost non-existing save for the few small feathers that were left.

‘How the hell did he fly here?!’ I slung his arm around my shoulder, my right arm wrapped around his waist, trying to hold him up. After about five steps Hawks lost all consciousness and became dead weight, making it hard for me to carry him.

“Hawks what happened to you?!” I used my telekinesis to help me bring him down the stairs and into my living room. Laying him down on the couch. I ran into the kitchen grabbing a small dish towel, running it under cold water, then running into the bathroom grabbing the first aid kit under the sink.

Running back to the couch I was able to finally take in his appearance. His usual beige colored and fur-lined coat was covered in blood, it looked old seeing as how it was all crusted. His pants were dirty and covered in tears, those brown leather gloves were gone as were his yellow visor and headphones. Not wasting any more time, I kneeled down, opening up the first aid kit.

“Okay, dove lets get you out of this coat.” Placing my arms around his torso I lifted him up, using my body to hold him. Hawks head fell on my shoulder, his chin hair tickling my neck. Bunching the coat in my hands I slid the heavy material off his shoulders, and since he had such small wings at the moment this was easy to do.

I threw the coat to the side, planning on washing it later, I held back onto him as I lowered him on the couch. Getting hold of the wet towel, I brushed his soft dirty blond hair out of his face. I couldn’t help but wince when I realized how badly he was beaten up.

“Oh Hawks, who did this to you?” I could already see a black and blue under his left eye, his lip was split open, dried blood around the wound. I started with the blood around his lip, trying to see exactly how bad it was.

“Fuck that hurts.” My eyes shot to his golden ones, well one, his other one was so messed up he couldn’t open it fully. “Whe-where am I?”

His eye was searching the room, trying to make sense of where he was, but drawing blanks. The panic in his face was becoming more evident. Gently touching his cheek I made him lock eyes with me.

“Hey, look it’s me, Quinn. You are safe, Hawks you’re safe, okay.” His widened eye started to relax as my words hit him and my face came into focus. His body visibly relaxing as I kept my hand on his cheek.

“Quinn? How did I get here?” He tried to sit up but winced in pain, falling back down on the couch.

“That’s what I would like to know, but later let's try to patch you up okay?” I continued to clean his face of the blood, putting ointments where he had open cuts. Pushing myself up off the ground I reached down to help him stand up.

“What are you doing?” Hawks was confused but still stood up in front of me.

“I have to check under your shirt for any other wounds.” Without another word I tucked my fingers in the hem of his shirt, my fingers brushing against his skin, pushing it up. He tried to stop my hands as they began to lift his shirt.

“Oh stop it, like I haven't seen a man's chest before, now let me do what I need to do.” I inspected his torso and didn't see any cuts or scrapes, just mild bruising. Pulling the shirt down I helped him lay back down.

“Mind telling me how and who fucked you up like this?” I was cleaning up the mess I made while in my frantic mode.

“A couple of low-grade criminals is all. One of them had a time warp quirk and one was a power quirk, not a great matchup for someone like me.” By the tone in his voice, I knew he was upset and embarrassed, he probably didn’t want me to see him like this.

“Why didn’t you call for backup? Shit, you should have called me silly.” I looked back down at him, a soft smile forming on my lips as I tilted my head to the right, my hair flowing over my shoulder. “You may be a man that's too fast, but I’m the woman who can keep up.” I bent down to grab the towel that was on the floor, only to feel Hawks palm on my cheek. Using his other arm he propped himself up, bringing his face closer to mine.

“The only woman that can keep up with me, I like the sound of that.” His voice came out as a gentle growl. I couldn’t look away from his golden eyes, there was something behind them, something that left my stomach in knots. It was as if I was under a spell that no matter what I couldn’t break. He kept leaning closer to me, his warm breath fanning over my slightly parted lips. Hawks’ hand that was on my cheek moved so it could cup my jaw. Soon I felt my eyes begin to close as he did, our lips just about to graze each other.

Suddenly the sound of the Imperial March from Star Wars echoed through the room, breaking the spell between us. I pulled back, eyes wide open. My cheeks hot from a blush that crept up. I looked at Hawks just as he flopped back on the couch, his arm covering his eyes as a deep sigh came out of him.

The song kept blaring trying to get my attention. I already knew who it was, my mother. Jogging into my room I picked up the small purple phone off my bed sliding the arrow on the screen to accept the call.

“Hey, mom!” I was still trying to calm down my racing heart.

“Quinn! Honey are you okay? You didn’t call me once you got home from work. I called your Uncle and he said he hadn't heard from you since yesterday!” I could hear the sheer panic in her voice, knowing that she hadn’t slept all night.

“I’m fine mom, just went to Shouto’s school to help out, then came home and took a shower. I was going to call you, I swear.” I may be in my late twenties but my mother still treated me like a baby at times. I couldn’t blame her though, I am her only child and well it’s been rough.

“Well, you could have just texted me.” Even though I couldn’t see her, I could see the pout on her face.

“I’m sorry mom. Wait what time is it there? It’s nine at night here.”

“Well my dear daughter it’s 8 am here and I have not slept because I thought my beautiful child was missing or hurt somewhere!” Shaking my head I knew that, that was coming, guilt trip. Classic Emiko.

“Oh my god mom, don’t start that.” I chuckled, stepping out of my room to check on Hawks. He still had his arm over his eyes, but his mouth was moving like he was talking to himself.

“I wouldn’t have to if you would just call your mother.” I sighed as I went back into my room. I put her on speaker as I went around the room looking for my hair tie. “Oh Quinnie, I wanted to ask if you're doing anything next month on the twentith?”

“No, not that I can't think of why?” Taking my hair in both hands I put it up in a messy bun, black and burgundy curls sticking up out of the bun. I continued to try and fix it when she dropped a bombshell.

“Well, I’ll be coming to visit for six months!” I halted my movements, staring at the phone wide-eyed.

“Wha-” I was going to say more only to hear a crash in my living room.

“Fuck!” I heard Hawks shout soon after the crash.

“What was that?!” My mom’s voice went back to worry as I grabbed the phone from my desk and turned it off the speaker.

“Hey mom I gotta go, I’ll call you back later!” Without even hearing her response I hung up the phone, tossing it back on my bed as I ran out of the room.

There in the middle of the living room floor was Hawks, face down on the ground, his fist gently pounding on the floor, muttering a string of cuss words.

“What the hell Hawks, are you all right?!” I ran to his side, trying to grab his hand to stop the pounding. Once the pounding stopped, I ran my hands through his soft blonde hair. I was trying to coax him into turning his head to look at me.

“Come on dove tell me what’s wrong.”  I continued to rub his head for the next five minutes and nothing happened.

“Hawks…” I gently grabbed his face, turning it towards me. The second my eyes landed on his face I couldn’t help but smile. He had fallen asleep from me petting his head. He looked so serene while he slept. I’ve seen his face countless times, more so in my head but still, I’ve never seen him look like this.

“Alright, you big bird let’s go on the couch.” I used my powers again to move him over to the couch. I figured the most comfortable position for him would be on his stomach, seeing as how even though he had barely any wings it would be uncomfortable on his back. I picked up his head to slide a small pillow under it and covered him with my blanket. I squatted down, running my hand through his silky hair once again.

“Goodnight Hawks.” I stared at him a little longer than I should have. I stood up ready to go call my mother again when I heard him mumble.

“Quinn...please….” I looked at him, my brows furrowed in confusion.

‘Is he dreaming of me?’ I returned down to my squat like before.

“Don’t...don’t go..” His face started to contort into a sad expression, a single tear falling from his eye.

I don’t know what possessed me to do it but I wiped his tear with my finger and leaned closer to him.

“I’m right here Keigo.” I gently pressed my lips against his temple. His soft hair brushing against my nose, tickling it. Pulling away I saw a slight smile form on his lips, his expression went back to the beautiful serene one.

He finally settled down after another minute or so, now snoring his life away. I had moved to my room, after putting his jacket in the wash and just sat in the middle of my bed, hugging a plushie of Mirko, as I thought back to the almost kiss.

‘What the hell was that?!’ His golden eyes replayed in my head, and how low his voice was when he said ‘The only woman that can keep up with me. I like the sound of that.’ I could feel my cheeks burn as I blushed.

“What the hell are you blushing for Quinn!? It’s just Hawks, a wild card, a guy that's five years younger than you. He's an arrogant, big-mouthed, rude, smart assed, man. It’s not like you lik-” I covered my mouth before the last words came out of my mouth.

Shaking my head I knew I had to get my mind off of the guy, so I texted Mirko to see if she wanted to go for a workout in the morning. Knowing that a good workout would set my head straight.

The next morning I woke up, my pajama’s all ruffled, black, and burgundy curls all over the place. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed onto the cold wooden floors. With my eyes, half-closed I slid my feet all around in search of my Winnie the pooh slippers. Once I had them on my feet I stood up, stretching my arms above my head, and that dull ache came shooting from my back again.

“Fucking feral child.” I cussed as I remembered exactly why my back hurt. Walking through the bedroom door I made my way to the kitchen, ready to make my coffee and breakfast before my workout with my good friend Rumi.

I glanced at the couch as I passed it to check on Hawks, who had one leg and arm hanging off the furniture while his other arm was slung over the back of it, and drooling. He was drooling on my nice pillow.

“God Hawks, you really can be an animal at times.” I turned my face up in disgust. ‘How could I possibly think about kissing him last night, look at him.’

I turned on my Keurig to heat up, making my way to the fridge. Grabbing a couple of eggs, onions, scallions, and cheese, I decided on making a nice healthy omelet and maybe some fruit on the side.

“Where am I?!” Hawks shot up from the couch screaming, nearly making me drop my plate.

“Holy shit Hawks! You scared the hell outta me, you damn bird brain!” If there was one thing I hated, it was jump scares of any kind.

“Quinn? How did I get here?” He slowly stood from the couch, looking around the apartment. I know I saw him last night but for some reason, he looked different to me as if he was more attractive. We were about the same height but he looked taller. The was his black and gold muscle shirt clung to him like saran wrap, showing off every definition of his chest and arm muscle. His hair messier more so than usual, lips puffy from sleep.

‘Stop it, Quinn!’ I shook my head as I placed my plate on the kitchen island.

“You flew here after a bad run-in with some low-grade villains.” I walked up to him, putting the back of my hand against his head. “Well, at least you don’t have a fever. You took quite the beating dove.” I pulled my hand from his forehead, going down I took his chin in between my thumb and pointer finger.

“The ointment I put on your lips seemed to start working and your eye isn’t as swollen as before.” As I examined his face I could see the slight blush forming on his cheeks.

“Sorry to have bothered you, firebird.” His voice was soft as if he was in trouble for something.

“You weren’t a bother Hawks, just next time please call me if you need backup. I’d hate to see my friends injured like that.” I had to remind myself he was my friend, and that’s it.

I saw him nod his head, his eyes roamed over my body, before coming back up to my eyes. “Nice jammies you got there princess.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

It wasn’t till that moment I remembered what I was wearing. “Shut up you ass! It’s my house and I can be as comfortable as I want, I could walk around naked if I wanted to.”

“Now that’s when I should come here!” I pressed a finger to the bruised area on his cheek causing him to wince. “Oh yeah!?”

Hawks grabbed me by my waist, his fingers started to move fast, tickling me. I tried to move out of his grasp but he was stronger, even though he was beaten up.

“Hawks stop!” I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, tears falling from my eye. “Come on stop!!” No matter what he did not stop. I moved slightly back, the back of my knees hitting the coffee table. I was about to fall over when Hawks wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling my body flush against his.

“Hey Quinn, you ready for the work...out..? My, my what have I hopped in on?” We both looked at the door to see Mirko standing there, her spare key and carrot keychain hanging from her hands.

I pushed Hawks away from me, fixing my top that had ridden up. “Nothing, just some guy pretending to be hurt so he could take advantage of my kindness.”

Mirko pretended to gasp, her hand coming up to her chest. “Hawks how could you?!”

“Ha-ha-ha, you’re both hysterical.” He had pulled out his phone from his pocket. It looked like he was texting someone.

“I’m gonna go change real quick.” I walked back into my room, leaving the bunny and the bird alone.

It only took me ten minutes to change into my workout clothes, which consisted of a hot pink sports bra, black biker shorts, and a pair of running shoes. My hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and my hands wrapped like boxers, knowing full well that I and Mirko were going to do hand to hand combat.

Making sure my hands were wrapped properly I sauntered back into the living room.

“Really!?” I heard Mirko yell, as she laughed in Hawks’ face. His face had turned red as she continued to laugh.

“Shut up Rumi!” Hawks hissed between his teeth once he noticed my presence in the room.

“What did I miss?” I looked between the two. Mirko was trying to collect herself from laughing so much and Hawks looked panicked, his eyes wide as he kept glancing at me and at Mirko.

“Hawks said-” With a quick movement, Hawks jumped over the couch to get to Mirko as he covered her mouth with his hand.

He had one of those fake smiles plastered on his lips. “I said nothing!” He looked back at Mirko, his face turned serious as he whispered in her large bunny-like ears.

“Okay…” I walked past them going to the kitchen, I still had my suspicions about the two. “I’m just gonna eat my breakfast and then we can head out.” I reached down into the fridge to get a water bottle when I felt someone touch the bruise on my back.

“That’s a nasty bruise you got there, Q.” I had flinched a little from her touch.

“Yeah I went to U.A. yesterday to help class 1-A train and that kid Bakugou threw me into the side of the building. It hurt like a bitch but I’ll be alright.”

“That was the one who won the sports festival right?” Hawks was next to touch the mark, but his touch sent chills down my spine. His soft touch against my bare skin felt like icicles against my warm skin.

“Yeah.” I didn’t mean to sound cold when I said it, but I couldn't help it. Moving away from his touch I closed the fridge.

I took a swig of the water, glancing at his face, he looked puzzled but before he could say anything his phone went off.

“Hello?” I turned around walking away from the two of us. Mirko took this opportunity to talk to me.

“I thought you had fire quirk, not an ice one, cause that was cold.” She stood next to me with her arms crossed, her foot tapping against the floor.

“I’ll talk to you about it later, it’s a lot.”

“I’m gonna head out ladies, my ride's here.” Hawks made his way to the front door. I didn't want to be like this towards him but right now he was messing with my head, and I needed space.

“I’ll have my uncle’s sidekick bring your coat back when it’s cleaned.” Not even sparing him a glance, I went to my forgotten food. I could feel Mirko’s stern stare on me.

Hawks just nodded as he sent a wave over to Mirko before shutting my door.

“Do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on with you?” Mirko is the type of person to not hold back on anything.

“First we can just go workout, I got a lot of stress to release.”

“Fine but the minute I beat your ass in combat, you gotta talk Hunny-bun.”

All I could do was smile at her. “Who says you're gonna win?”

Throwing myself on the floor of the boxing ring, my chest was rapidly falling up and down as I tried to catch my breath. Mirko was a monster when it came to combat, she never held back, not even for a second.

“You’ve gotten better, but nowhere near beating me.” She flopped down next to me, chugging her water, then passing it to me.

“That's because you're insane!” I heard her low chuckle as I dowsed my face with the water. “Seriously Mirko, like what the hell? Are you even real?”

“Whatever, don’t think I forgot about this morning now spill!” She gave me a swift punch in my arm.

So I told her, I told her everything. From the lighthouse moment to the moment she walked in on our tickle fight. Tucking my arms behind my head I just laid on the floor, looking at the ceiling.

“I don’t know, what do you think? Am I crazy?”

“Nah I don’t think you're crazy.” She was still sitting next to me, her arm was across my stomach, making her lean over my body. I’ve only known her for a short amount of time, but she was the first hero to be genuine with me. Besides Hawks that is, but he was a different case.

“What should I do? I want us to stay friends and just friends, but the sexual tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife.” Her long hair was tickling my exposed stomach. Reaching down I played with it between my fingers. “I just have to get my mind off of him.”

“I know a perfect way.” She leaned down, her face coming closer to mine. “You need to be fucked, that way all that pent up sexual tension could be transferred to someone else.”

“Oh yeah and by who?” I laughed at just the thought of it.

Mirko had a devilish grin on her face, that scared me a little.

“Mirko, this better work.” I looked at my friend as she walked in front of me. I had to admit she looked hot. She had on a pantsuit, but instead of a shirt, she wore nothing under her blazer. A long gold chain with the initial M hung from the end of it and she had on black stiletto heels. We walked past a group of men who couldn’t help but stare at us as we passed, mouths to the ground.

“Oh trust me, with you looking that sexy, it’s gonna work.” She wrapped her arm around mine as she pulled me to the front entrance. I did have to admit I did feel sexy in my dress. It was a baby blue, satin bodycon spaghetti strap mini dress, that came up mid-thigh. The way it hugged my curves was perfect, and it was low enough to show off my cleavage but not enough that I had to worry about my boobs popping out when I danced. The sound of my clear open toe heels could be heard, stepping in rhythm with Mirko’s.

“Hey, big red.” Mirko stopped at the entrance of the club she decided to take me to. A man that had to have been at least seven foot tall, stood at the door.

“I feel like it’s been a while Mirko. How have you been?”

“Same old, same old! Just taking my new friend from the states out on the town. Phoenix, this is Big Red, Big Red, meet Phoenix.”

“Nice to meet you.” I went to give him a handshake but he just scooped me up in one arm, lifting me into the air. “Oh, we're a hugger I see!” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I should have warned you.” Big red put me back down on the ground. “Is our table ready, I called Daichi earlier.”

“Yeah! Come on in ladies.” Big Red opened the door for us. As soon as he did the bass from the music vibrated through my body, the lights on the ceiling moved in time with the music, people singing and dancing along with the DJ. It was amazing.

“I see Daichi!” Mirko shouted over the music, pulling my hand as she led me through the crowd.

“It’s about time you go here Mirko!” When she finally stopped I could see a fairly tall guy, he had long black hair, tied up in a messy bun. His features were that of a god, his gaze would have anybody stopping in their tracks. His dark sharp eyes would pull you in, while his charming smile had you blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush. He wore a simple black and white flower-patterned button-down with his sleeves rolled up and black jeans. Even with something so simple he looked so hot.

“Sorry, my friend took a while to get ready. Phoenix, this is Daichi, one of my best friends and owner of the club. This is Phoenix, she’s a pro from the states.” Mirko took a seat in the black leather horseshoe booth, pouring herself a glass of vodka.

“Nice to meet you Daichi.” I stuck my hand out for a handshake. His large hand grasped it gently.

“To meet a beautiful woman such as yourself, the pleasure is all mine.”

I smirked at him as I took a seat next to Mirko. “Your right Mirko this may work.”

The night passed on and the drinks kept flowing and I got closer and closer to Daichi. I learned that he was a year older than me, quirkless, and no relations to heroes besides being friends with Mirko. He was the opposite of Hawks and that's what I need.

“So Phoenix does a woman with your stature dance with a quirkless man?” He stood up, his hand out for me to take it.

“If the man is you, I’ll make an exception.” I handed my purse to Mirko as she flirted with someone she met at the bar.

Daichi guided me to the dance floor, just as a song with a slow sensual beat blared through the speakers. Once we got to the dance floor, Daichi turned me around, his hands were on my hips. My body started to sway with the beat against his, my butt was grinding against his pelvis.

With each seductive roll, his body met mine, with my back pressed against his chest, I could feel the alcohol run through me. I let it take over my body, not caring about anything. I just wanted to feel the man behind me as he slowly ground himself against me.

There were no words exchanged between us as we continued our sinful dance, or as we made our way to my apartment. Even as he pinned me against the wall, his lips hot on my neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to my chest. His cock, hard and pressed against my leg or when he moaned my name all night while I let him fuck me. I was doing this for myself, I needed to get that image of Hawks’ smiling face out of my head. And if that meant I had to find a surrogate for my desires for him so be it.

‘This is just how it has to be Hawks.’

[another-blog-bites-the-dust]

Unwell.

Summary: John goes into nurse mode when you become unwell.

Warnings: Swearing, sick reader, we all need a John when we get ill 😭🙌

A/N: Lovely Monica! (@deacytits) I was so sad to hear that you're unwell so wrote a little something for you to cheer you up! I hope you feel better soon! Lots of love 💖Enjoy!

John dropped everything when he realised you were unwell. You shrugged off your illness at first until it suddenly felt like you were being weighed down by a ton of bricks.

It felt like every single muscle inside your body was aching, even the tiniest movement made you groan in agony. You're temperature was sky high yet you felt freezing- you also had droplets of sweat on your skin which didn't help.

John warned you. John explicitly warned you. He told you to take a day to rest up but you kept rushing around, carrying out tasks while sneezing so many times you lost count. Then the headaches came, it started at night and you had to endure a broken sleep. Then the next morning you could barely open your eyes because everything was sore.

John perched himself on the bed "How you feeling?" He asked one morning and gently clasped your hand, a thermometer resting on his thigh.

"Like I've been tossed in a pit of pain and then someone's thrown a bucket of ice cold water but I'm so sweaty," you croaked out with glossy eyes "The flu is shit."

John lightly chuckled and showed you the thermometer, a silent indication that he was about to raise your arm. He carefully helped you move it up, your face contorting with discomfort. "Sorry," he said sympathetically- if he didn't have to do it he wouldn't have to save you the pain. He put it under your armpit and the two of you waited for a few moments until it was ready to pull out. John checked it and let out a huff of air "It's not as bad as it was but it's still high," he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead "Just as toasty as a marshmallow over a fire."

You laughed and grabbed yourself feeling jolts of pain spread throughout your body. "Oh John, I love what you're trying to do but don't make me laugh too much!" You smiled and so did John. The first smile he had seen on your face in a few days. You attempted to reach for your water but John helped you, he brought the glass to the lips and you grimaced slightly- it was lukewarm. "Been in the glass for too long..." you complained with a groan and tiredly sighed.

"I'll get you a fresh glass and make you some sweet tea as well. You want anything to eat?" He asked standing up and then pulling the duvet right up to your chin and tucking you in. You shook your head no at his offer, you didn't have the energy or strength to eat anything right now. "Okay, just shout for me if you need anything! I'll be in the kitchen."

He left the room and you instantly called out his name. John peered his head around the door and you turned to look at him "I need a kiss." You softly smirked and he chuckled. John leaned down and pressed a kiss to your hot forehead. "Thank you." Your thanks came out as a whisper as sleep engulfed you once more. John left and made you tea as well as getting you a fresh glass of water. He put everything on a tray, including some cold and flu tablets and more tissues along with some soothing cream for where your nose had gone red since you had been blowing it so much. He was like your very own Florence Nightingale.

When he arrived back you were already sound asleep, soft snores coming out your slightly gaping mouth- your nose was all blocked so you could hardly breathe through it.

John smiled to himself and placed the tray on the bedside table. He moved some sweaty strands of hair from your forehead so it wouldn't eventually end up in your eyes and disturb your precious sleep. He was so in love with you that he could barely function most days, his heart practically screaming to get out to fly towards you. John desperately wanted you to feel better, he wished that it was him that was suffering and not you.

He decided to make you some soup for when you woke up incase you were hungry. A few hours later he heard you call his name. "Hey, you need anything?"

"Just wanted to hold your hand," you were a little clingy when you were unwell.

John gave you his hand- as well as all of his heart. "How are you feeling after your nap?"

"Still shit," you truthfully admitted "But seeing you always makes me feel better." You grinned and moved around in the bed a little. "My pyjamas are stuck to me with sweat!" You moaned and found enough strength in you to sit up. Your hair was damp as well as the bedsheets too.

"How about I run you a nice warm bath, hmm? Does that sound good?" He asked, cupping your face. You pressed your cheek into his palm and nodded. "Okay, wait here and I'll run it." John headed to the bathroom and ran the bath at a perfect temperature, filling it with vanilla scented bubble bath and putting a few drops of your favourite lavender essential oil in. He knew that would help you to get some sleep later and relax you. It smelt so amazing that he almost jumped in.

He returned to the bedroom and found you already sitting on the edge of the bed. John helped you up and walked through to the bathroom with you. You clung onto him like a wet towel, your limbs were like jelly but he kept a firm, safe, grip on you. You almost cried at the sight of the enticing bath. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" You asked John who kissed your cheek as a response. "Can you help me out of these and into the bath?"

"You don't even have to ask, sweetheart." John softly murmured and gently squeezed your arm. You stood there with shut eyes as his nimble fingers undid the buttons of your sweat soaked pyjama top. He timidly removed it from your bare frame and then peeled off your trousers. You steadied yourself on his shoulder as he peeled them off you, sneaking a quick kiss on your hip before he took off your underwear. You bashfully smiled and he then took your hand while you sunk into the bath. You let out a delighted groan with a wide smile. "Feel good?" He asked with a grin.

"So good!" You contently sighed and opened your eyes "Thank you." You grasped his hand and John kissed your wet knuckles.

John rested his head on the side of the tub. "Breaks my heart seeing you so lousy...you're the last person on this earth that should feel the way that you do." He said, his words echoed by the bathroom. "Lie in there for a little while and I'll grab you fresh pyjamas. When I come back I'll wash your hair." You nodded and shut your eyes, embracing the warm water hugging your skin and relieving your aching muscles.

John placed the pyjamas you were wearing in the washing machine and fetched you a fresh set. He then stripped and changed the bedsheets so you'd be climbing into a crisp, clean bed. He went back into the bathroom and you looked up to him with a smile, you felt much better already. You sat upright and John grabbed a cup and your shampoo. You tilted your head back for him and he poured the water over your hair before massaging shampoo into your scalp. You hummed in delight "You've got magic hands, Deacon."

He boyishly smirked "Wouldn't be the first time you've said that..." he purred and you playfully flicked him with water. He giggled and splashed you back before washing the shampoo out of your hair and then putting on your conditioner and leaving it in for a few minutes.

John traced his fingers over your shoulder and then leaned in. You pulled back and he raised a brow. "If you kiss me on the lips too much you'll get unwell."

John smirked and placed his hand on the back of your neck. "That's a risk I'm willing to take." His lips softly crashed against yours and you giggled. John eventually pulled back and washed the conditioner out of your hair. You felt a thousand times better. He helped you out of the bath and then dried you off with a towel before helping you into your fresh pyjamas. "You go into the room and I'll tidy up." You complied, knowing if you told him that you'd help he'd scoop you up and carry you to the bed himself.

You sat on the bed and took the tablets he had left along with a gulp of the cold sweet tea- it always tasted better cold. You ran your hand over the fresh pillowy sheets and silently thanked the world- and his parents- for blessing you with John. He came in with smile on his face- like usual. You felt bad for having him run after you and missing practice with the band, but he and the boys insisted it was alright. "Thanks for all this." You said.

"It's no problem. You do the same for me! Remember when I had that stomach bug?" You both smirked at the memory then grimacing slightly when you remembered that John was sick everywhere.

You ruffled your hair but groaned feeing a pain in your arm "I can't even fix this!" You sighed in defeat.

John grabbed your brush. "I'll brush your hair." He said and sat behind you on the bed, running gentle strokes through the loose tangles. "I'll tie it up for you and you can have a lie down again." He said grabbing your bobble.

"You're too good to me, John Deacon." You said and you felt him kiss the back of your neck. He lay you down on the bed and you opened your arms for a cuddle- he happily gave you one.

"Get some sleep, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up." He spoke into your- still damp- hair before pressing a kiss to your temple.

Your eyes shut, his embrace fought your cold like a brave knight on a steed. "I know I'll feel better when I wake up because I'll be in your arms, John." You sleepily grinned.

He smiled and held you close "Then I'll never let go."

——————————

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[countless-dreamsss]

Partners For Life: The Past

Summary: So I wrote this bc there was a question on my Quiz in my criminal justice class and what were the odds that their names were going to be Harry and Joey? Don't believe me?

Anyways, this is the first chapter of this story, meaning Harry and Joe are both in their early twenties. There's no Flash, there's no Iris, there's no Eobard, this is literally all mine.

Warnings:Mild profanity

Primary pair: Harry Wells x Joe West

Canon/Head:Headcanon

      *if you see any mistakes please let me know*

Harry threw his cigarette to the ground, crushing under the black sole of his boot as his tongue picked up the taste of freshly burnt tobacco from his tongue. He let out a heavy sigh. He leaned his head back against the brick wall behind him.

    “You’re late.” He said, lifting his sleeve and looking down to his watch as a dark shadow jumped down onto the dumpster, a metallic sound echoed through the alley.

    “It’s not really easy to sneak out of the house when your parents want to know what you’re doing every second of the day.” Joe said, jumping down and landing gracefully onto the wet asphalt.

    “Well then, I’m glad I’m important.” Harry smirked. Joe wiped his hands off as he approached the other male. “How was dinner?” He asked, his blue eyes meeting Joe’s.

     “Would’ve been better if you came.” Joe said with a smile.

     “That’s what she said.” Harry joked. Joe shook his head at the stupid joke before removing the bag he had on his back.  “I brought you some.” He said, taking out a container filled with lasagna.

    “Awh, you do care.” Harry said. Joe rolled his eyes. He waved his hand. “Hold onto it for now, please."

    “What did you make this time?” Joe asked, putting the food back into the bag.

    “Let’s go to our spot, and we’ll discuss it there, but I think you’ll like it.” Harry smiled. He placed an arm around Joe as they walked over to his truck.

    “Harry, how do you have such an expensive car?” Joe asked curiously as they both got into the vehicle. Harry simply shrugged.

    “I have my ways of acquiring the things I need.” Harry responded.

     The drive to their ‘spot’ was fairly long, being that it was across the city. Harry had an arm out the window, another cigarette in his hand. Joe was playing with the radio until he found a station that fit his mood.

    “How are your parents?” Joe asked.

    “Still alive.” Harry said. “Harry, I don’t understand why you don’t ju-”

    “Joe, we’re not talking about this agai-"

    “They still love you.”

    “No.” Harry said.

    "I love you." Joe said, although it sounded more like a question. The smile that on Harry's face made Joe feel at ease. To himself, Joe tried to guess the infinite possibilities of what Harry had in store. What could he possibly be hiding back at the place that Harry couldn't simply tell him on the way in the car. Joe chewed on his bottom lip as his hand reached for Harry's. "It'll be okay." Joe said. "I'm sure it will be." A chuckle that sounded more like a scoff left Harry's lips.

    "We'll see." Harry said. Joe's head turned to the window, watching all the people and buildings as they drove by.

    "I love you too." He said.

     Their hangout place was an abandoned building in the middle of the city. At 10 stories high, an open area with small offices and bathrooms scattered about every level this building was perfect for them. Harry, being very tech savvy and Joe with his creative ideas cleared out one of the higher floors of the building and did as they pleased with it. It was kind of like a studio apartment, but with many rooms. The kitchen was fully operable, the both of them had installed a dryer and washing machine in the bathroom. Harry had everything he needed here. He had no reason to go home.

    "Here.” Harry said, tossing over a device towards Joe. Quick with his hands, Joe caught it right before it could slip through his fingers.

     "What’s this?” Joe asked, looking down at it.

     “That, my good sir, is an earbud.” Harry said, putting one of his own into his own ear. “Put it in.” He said. Joe did as told as he put the food he had brought into the microwave for Harry. “Can you hear me?” He asked.

    “Yeah, crystal clear.” Joe said, amazed by how tiny the earbud was. “How did you-”

    “Not important.” Harry said as he took a seat at his desk.

    “What are we going to do with these?” Joe asked, walking over to Harry. Joe placed his hands on the older male’s shoulders and squeezed them as he caught a glimpse at the screen in front of them.

    “We are going to commit what police call theft .” Harry said with a grin. He took off his glasses and chewed on the end of one of his temples. “I have it all planned out, and if I’m quite certain, it’s not really a robbery, just petty theft.” He corrected himself.

     “We?” Joe asked. “You know my father is a cop.” He reminded Harry. Harry nodded, his devilish grin growing wider.

    “I’m well aware of your father’s occupation.” Harry responded. Joe shook his head, letting out a sigh of disapproval. “And since when has that ever stopped you before? This isn’t our first time.” He said.

    “I’m assuming these,” Joe said, holding the earpiece in his hand, “are going to help us communicate.” Joe said. Harry nodded.

    “Exactly. I will be in your ear, and at the same time I will be the one snatching what we need while you keep the store clerk occupied.” Harry said.

    “That’s larceny, Harry.” He put an emphasis on his partner’s name.

    “That’s not the point, Joe.” Harry copied Joe's tone before turning his chair around. “We’re going to do this,” he said standing up, putting a hand on Joe’s face, “and you’re going to help me.” Harry leaned forward and placed a kiss on Joe’s lips before walking over to the beeping microwave.

    “Harry, how exactly are we going to pull this off?” Joe asked. His eyes scanned the computer screen that was full of blueprints of the building and Harry’s notes. “What if we get caught?”

    “I have it all under control, Joe. There’s nothing to worry about.” He said.

    “No." Joe shook his head. "What if we get caught?" Joe repeated, turning to catch a glimpse of Harry with a mouthful of lasagna in his mouth.

    “We won’t.” Harry managed to say as he chewed, “if we do,” he swallowed before running his tongue over his lips, “we shoot.”

    “We shoot?” Joe’s eyes widened. “No the hell we’re not."

    "Uhm, yes the fuck we are." Harry nodded.

    "Har-"

    "Listen," Harry said, placing the food down on the desk once he had stepped closer to Joe. "I'm well aware that your father is a cop, but I have this under control. I promise. I just need you to trust me on this." The two looked into each other's eyes. Harry saw fear while Joe saw a sense of uncertainty. The younger male sighed before running a thumb across the corner of Harry's lips.

    "No killing." Joe said. Harry put his hands on his hips as he knew those words were going to come out of his mouth. "No weapons either." He said, and Harry's head shot up.

    "That's not safe at all." Harry responded. “If we get caught-"

    “You said we wouldn’t.”

    “Joseph!” Harry took in a deep breath before exhaling. “Fine. Fine, no weapons.”

    “Promise?”

    “I promise.” Harry pulled Joe into his arms. The two held each other tight. Joe sighed before resting his forehead on Harry’s. “It’s going to be okay.” Harry kissed the side of Joe’s head. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

    Just hours before leaving, Harry explained his plan thoroughly to Joe, multiple times. Joe had easily picked up everything that Harry had put down. Repeatedly, he went step by step. He only had one concern: the weapons. Harry having a stash as big as he did for a 21 year-old, it was obvious to Joe where all of Harry’s money was going. Aside from going through their plan, Harry had also made Joe memorize the layout of the convenience store.

    “I’m going to have the truck out, at pump number fou-” Harry stared at Joe who was staring at Harry’s wall of weapons. He rolled his eyes before throwing a pencil at the younger male.“Joe-”

    “Babe, I heard you the first time you said it. I heard it the fifth time you said it, and now I’m hearing it again.” He responded. “How about you and I go there together, hm?” He recommended. “That way, I’ll have a feel of the store, and you can get a better idea of what you need.” Joe said.

    “We don’t need to go there, Joe. We’ve been there hundreds of times. If you know it, then explain it to me.” Harry said. Joe groaned as he stood up and walked over to Harry’s planning board.

    “So, I’m going to walk in when it seems the most empty, correct?” Joe asked. Harry nodded. “Then, I’m gonna ask where the bathroom is, once I'm there, I’m gonna clog the toilets and bring him in. That gives us at least 2 minutes for you to get what we need and leave.” Joe said.

    “And..?” Harry asked, crossing his arms against his chest.

    “And what?”

    “Precautions, you have to talk about precautions.” Harry said.

    “Fine. We both have to be wearing our gloves at all times. Can’t leave any footprints behind, meaning no dirty shoes, uhm...I have to stall the clerk as long as possible to keep him away from the cash register, and no guns.” Joe said, mumbling the last bit of information.

    “What was the last part?” Harry asked.

    “Keep clerk from the register.” Joe lied. “Oh also- if they corner us, split up and meet back up at the old flour mill on the edge of town.

    “Alright.” Harry nodded. Joe clicked his tongue against his teeth before returning to his seat.

    “How exactly are you going to break into the register?” Joe asked. Harry walked over to his desk before throwing a makeshift key into Joe’s lap.

    “With that.” Harry said. “This key, isn’t like other keys. The front of the key is made of what people call, memory metal, when heated, it’ll change shape, but once back in the right temperature it’ll be back to it’s normal form.” Harry explained. “I’m going to torch it for long enough that it’s malleable, but not melting. Once the consistency is where I want it. I’m going to put it in this,” he said as he held up a tiny tin can that was the size of a tic tac box. Joe held his hand out, returning the key to Harry who placed it into the box and back on his desk. “It should, fit right in, take the shape of the lock and then unlock the register.” He said.

    “What if it doesn’t work?” Joe asked, his leg shaking.

    “I’ll just break open the cash register. I’ll have my backpack with me.” Harry assured him, knowing his backpack literally had anything you could ever possibly need inside of it. Joe nodded silently. Harry squatted down in front of Joe and put his hands on his shoulders. “Look at me.”

    “Yes, Harry?”

    “It’s going to be okay.” He said.

    “Something just feel off.” Joe responded. Harry handed Joe keys to the truck.

    “Don’t worry. I already covered our license plates. Go start up the car, I just have to grab a few things and I’ll be down soon, alright? You go on your motorcycle, we’ll meet up there.” Harry watched as Joe grabbed his bag and his helmet before leaving the office floor. He hung his head as he let out a sigh before standing up. Harry walked over to his desk and took the M9 from his desk drawer and tucked it under his shirt against his back. To accompany the pistol, he placed two sets of magazines inside his jacket then grabbed the key, a mask and headed downstairs.

    Joe had taken his motorcycle, whereas Harry took a different vehicle, a much older model sedan. They met up a couple of blocks down before deciding to go to the store. Joe kept his helmet on until he had entered the Harry’s run-down car.

    “What are you-” Joe asked as he saw a flame torch. He sighed, before remembering. “The key?”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Do you have the earpiece in?” Harry asked looking over to Joe.

    “I do.” Joe turned his head to the side and tapped on it gently with his finger. He let out a sigh before turning towards Harry. “So, do you really think this is going to work?” Joe asked, tucking the helmet in his side.

    “Of course,” Harry said staring at the flames, “why wouldn’t it?”

    “I’m telling you, Harry. Something feels off.”

    “Joe, since we were in high school, we have done this what- 37 times? It’s been 3 years. How is this any different than the time from before?” Harry asked. Joe’s attention would switch back and forth between Harry and the flame. His head tilted a little, watching as the older was so captivated by it. Once he saw a grin pull at Harry’s lips, he knew he was caught. “Stop staring.” Harry said. Joe shook his head as he laughed. “I can’t help it, you look so concentrated.”

    “I’m not trying to burn my fingers.”

    “You’ve never worried about getting hurt before.”

    “Burns and cuts are two different types of pain, Joe. There’s a reason why God made hell with fire, not with razor blades and lemon juice.” Harry said. Joe opened his mouth to speak, but kept quiet. “Go to the gas station, I’ll follow soon.”

    “See you there.” Joe put his helmet back on before hopping on to his bike and driving away.

     Once entering the gas station, Joe had simply lifted the visor of his helmet and nothing more. He glanced around the store before walking up to the checkout counter. He eyed down the cashier, who couldn’t be older than 25. Name, Martin. Not much shorter than Joe, but his build was rather lean. Martin’s hazel eyes greeted Joe’s as his lips were forced into a smile.

    “Hey, is there anything I can help you with?” He asked. Martin’s attention had quickly shifted over to the helmet and the rest of Joe’s attire. “Motorcycle? Seems like a good night to drive one. Mine is actually out back. ” He said as he leaned forward onto the counter, using his elbows for support.

    “This kid talks too much.” Harry said into Joe’s ear.

     “It is actually.” Joe nodded, returning the kind tone before patting on his helmet to ignore Harry. “Not too bad to feel the summer night breeze.” He said, holding onto the straps of his backpack.

    “I just might after closing shop.” Martin responded. “It’s never too late for a nice long drive.”

    “Joseph,” Harry said into his ear, “get your ass into that bathroom right now.” Joe ignored him. “We can’t risk anyone else approaching the store, Joe.”

    “You should. It’s a great way to clear your head after a long day.” Joe said, smiling behind the helmet, but that smiley quickly changed into a pout when he realized he would be the reason for that long ride.

    “I swear to God, Joe, if you mess this up.” Harry huffed.

    “Yup, fifteen hours.” Martin nodded, his forced smile had grown rather soft.

    “Joe, are you really making conversation with the boy whose running the store we’re about to rob?” Harry sighed. “Hurry up and ask for the bathroom.” Harry’s jealousy could be felt from where Joe was standing. Joe let out a slight scoff, rolling his eyes under the helmet.

    “Uhm,” Joe said, remembering the task at hand, “can I use the bathroom?” He asked.

    “Sure,” Martin said. “In the far left corner.”

    “Thanks.” Joe said.

    “Thanks.” Harry mocked. Joe let out a heavy sigh as he followed the instructions to the bathroom. Martin watched as Joe disappeared behind the white door. “Do you have the tools?” Harry asked.

    “You know I do.” Joe said, quickly taking off his backpack and getting to work. Instead of clogging the toilet Joe simply lied saying there was a major leak. Harry burned the key for a little longer as he was parked outside the store. His eyes peered through the glass, seeing what was going on inside. He watched as Joe brought Martin into the bathroom.

    “Babe, I need you to keep him occupied.” Harry said as he placed the key into the tin can, put on his mask, and exited the car. Harry had taken this extra time to fill up fuel in both of their vehicles. He also, drenched a trail from one pump to the next, just in case things got hasty.

    “Already taken care of.” Joe grumbled as he held Martin’s unconscious body in his arms.

    “Where is he?” Harry asked as he entered the store, his breathing becoming heavier because of the mask. His eyes rolled at the sound of the bell that rang whenever someone stepped in. Harry was quick to make his way to the safe behind the register. Harry could hear some rustling and grunts on Joe’s end, then he heard a loud thud. “Joe?”

    “Unconscious.” Joe said as he stared down at Martin’s body. He picked him up and sat him down into a stall. Joe had made sure that Martin was in fact completely unconscious before exiting the bathroom and walking around the store. Joe took whatever looked appetizing to him and stuffed it in his backpack.

    “There we go.” Harry said as he inserted his key into the cash register. His ocean eyes grinned happily at the cash in front of him, and he wasted no time in retrieving it. Once the register was empty, Harry had turned his attention to the safe. He used a decoder to figure out the code for the safe. He smiled as the safe practically invited Harry’s desperate hands into the safe. He stuffed all he could into his bag before closing it up. And just as Joe was going to open up a bag of chips, he saw a couple of police cars pull up to the front of the store.

    “Fuck.” Joe quickly put back the bag of chips and ran for the bathroom. “Harry, we’re in trouble.”

    “Why what’s the problem, Joe?”

    “T-There’s…” Joe stammered.

    “There’s what?”

    “There’s cops outside.”

    “Joseph, if you’re fucking with me, I swear to Go-” The sound of the door opening cut him off. Harry could hear the metal cuffs hit against their belts. “How many?” He asked. Joe had switched the light off in the bathroom before pushing the door slowly, his eyes scanning the store. “Usually there’s 2 a car.”

    “I didn’t fucking ask for an estimate. I asked how many.” Harry scolded as he inched closer to the end of the register.

    “There’s 4, okay?” Joe watched as each one walked by. “I think I know them.”

    “Names?” Harry asked.

    “U-Uhm...Lee, Robinson, Michaels, and-” Joe’s heart dropped when he saw the last officer. “Dad…”

    “Dad?” Harry grumbled and rolled his eyes. “That’s fucking great.”

    “Yoohoo…” Officer Michaels said. “Anyone here?” He asked. The other three began to walk around, see if anything was out of the ordinary.

    “You think they forgot to close shop?” Officer West asked, looking in the direction of the bathroom. Joe’s eyes went wide immediately.

    “Oh shit. Oh fuck, H, we gotta go. We gotta go. We have to fucking-” Joe started to panic. "I think one of them saw me.” Joe immediately closed the door, he wasn’t going to risk getting caught by his father. His erratic breathing fogged up the helmet, forcing him to lift his visor. Harry listened to his hysterical partner as he tried to find the quickest and quietest way to get out of the store. With his back against the register, he used the glass walls of the store as his eyes. The police officers roamed the aisles in a pattern, gathering their desired carbs and fats for the night like sharks seeking for prey as they waited for the proper help.

    “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Officer Lee said as they stood outside of the bathroom door. Joe felt as if he was as good as dead.

    “Joe.” Harry warned.

    “I f-fucking heard!” He said as he stuffed himself into the same stall as Martin. Hearing the footsteps come closer to the door, Joe was not taking any chances. He had picked up Martin’s body and cradled him in his arms as he squatted upon the toilet. He kept a hand over Martin’s mouth as if it were his breathing that wasn’t meant to be heard. He was agitated by the way Officer Lee had taken his precious time around the bathroom. Joe’s jaw clenched when the lights were switched on.

    “It’ll be okay, just stay quiet.” Harry said, his eyes continuing to follow the officers around. Harry slowly reached for his gun as he watched the one officer enter the bathroom. Joe took in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut like he was in a bad dream. Successfully retrieving the gun from his belt, Harry had it cocked and ready to shoot, he just needed the perfect moment of when. “You might hear a loud bang, Joe.” Harry whispered, “don’t yell.”  He said, aiming the barrel of the pistol at the reflection of one of the officers.

    “Screw this,” Officer West shook his head in irritation, “I’ll just leave a $20 and we’ll go.” He said, pulling out his wallet. Meanwhile, Joe was eager to gasp for air the moment he heard the door close behind Lee.

    “What are you talking about, Harry?” Joe asked.

    “We done here, West?” Officer Michaels managed to ask passed the two twinkies inside of his mouth.

    “Michaels,” West sighed. “What the hell did I just say? Get your shit and let’s go.” He said. Harry was eager for their presence to be gone. Harry pushed himself against the counter as he heard Joe’s father step towards his direction. He heard him put place the bill down then walk away. This was perfect. Harry didn’t have to shoot his gun, and there wouldn’t have to be any interaction with the cops, right?

    “Hey, about those two vehicles outside? Who do you think they belong to?” Officer Robinson asked.

    “We’ll just run them in the cars.” West said. “Not an issue.” Both vehicles being under Harry parents’ name, he wasn’t taking any chances.

    “Get ready to run.” Harry whispered.

    “Run? Are you fucking crazy?” Joe asked as he gently put down Martin.

    “Keep your fucking helmet on and listen to me.” He said. Harry waited until all four officers were outside the shop.

    “Slowly come out the bathroom, Joe.” Harry said. He secured his hand around the duffel and tightened the straps around them. Joe obeyed without a second thought. He crouched as he exited the bathroom, making his way over to Harry. “Listen, we got to be fast when we do this, okay?” Harry said.

    “Harry, what’s in your hand?” Joe asked, staring at the pistol.

    “Joe-”

    “We said no guns.” He said, his eyes still fixated on the pistol.

    “Joseph! We don’t have time. They’re going to try to search our plates. We have to go.”

    “Harry, we said no guns.” Joe repeated.

    “We’ll talk about it later, babe.” Harry said. “Please, Joe?” He begged. Joe looked between Harry and the pistol.”

    “We said no guns.” Joe repeated once again.

    “Fuck this.” Harry said. He grabbed Joe’s arm before he aimed at the windows and shot both of them. Harry moved fast, regardless of having to drag Joe over to his bike. The cops, already in their vehicles were taken by surprise at the sound of the gun shots, not to mention the two bodies that darted out of the building. Joe was the first to jump onto his bike and drive off whereas Harry threw the bag of money into the car. All four officers got out of their cars, their weapons drawn in Harry’s direction.

    “Drop the weapon, and come out with your hands up.” Officer Lee shouted.

    “Such a cliche line.” Harry scoffed. He shot at one of their tires, inflating it instantly, but with the one shot to them, four came right back at him. One piercing through the skin of his upper left arm.

    “Fuck!” Harry yelled as he hid behind the gas pump next to his car. He bit his lip

    “Harry, what happened?” Joe asked, listening to the commotion. “Get in the fucking car and drive.”

    “I know what I’m doing." Harry said. He clenched his jaw and took a quick look at his arm before over to the cops.

    “Don’t do something you might regret, son.” Officer West called out.

    “Too late.” Harry said. “I’d suggest you all leave.” He said before removing the nozzle and spraying the gasoline God knows where. The moment the officers saw him grab a hold of the pump they all retreated to the one operable car they had left. Harry rushed into his car and shot at the trail that he made earlier. Both cars left the store in time before the flames reached the gas pumps, causing both to be set up in flames. The tires of his vehicle screeched as he came to a quick stop, catching sight of the fire with his own eyes.

    “Harry!” Joe yelled. “What did you do?”

    “I took care of it.”

    “Is anyone-”

    “N-No. No one is hurt.”

    “What about the kid inside?” Joe asked.

    “You’re really concerned about the fuc-...I’ll go back later.” Harry said as he tried to outrun the cops.

    “No. I will.”

    “Are you mad? You won’t be able to get-”

    “I’m sure there’s a back door.”

    “Joe, we’ll get the kid later. For now we have to-”

    “No, Harry. You get rid of the cops. I’m going back for the kid.” Joe said. Being a man of his word Joe turned his vehicle around. He looked into both cars as he drove by them. The flames he drove towards matched the frustration in all of their eyes. Following the plan he created in his head, Joe had entered the building from the back of the store. He didn’t hesitate to make to the bathroom, just to find a semi-conscious Martin on the bathroom floor. “All right, let’s go.” Joe said, picking Martin up.

    “You found him?” Harry asked

    “Yes I found him.” Joe replied.

    “Huh?” Martin mumbled. Joe took no time in returning to his motorcycle.

    "You're finally getting that drive after work." Joe said driving off.

    “When you’re in the clear come back to the building.”

    “Fine.”

    Joe had taken Martin immediately home, acquiring the needed information from his license before returning to their little hideaway in the city. Harry didn’t arrive until 3 hours later, returning to an unsteady Joe West.

    “Where the hell have you been, Harry!?” Joe said.

    “Running from your father?” Harry responded.

    “Don’t get smart with me, Harrison. We had a fucking agreement.” Joe said, taking off his boots and throwing them at Harry, both hitting him in the abdomen before Harry took a seat in his chair.

    “Do you mind?” Harry hissed at the pain in his arm he took off his jacket. The blood had drenched the rest of his arm. Joe’s attitude had quickly washed itself away with a wave of concern for Harry’s arm.

    “When did this-”

    “Before I blew up the damn gas station. Can you please get this damn thing out of my arm?” Harry asked as he looked down at the wound. Joe had retrieved all the tools necessary before pulling up a chair beside Harry.

    “You’re lucky it’s just a flesh wound.” Joe said, he handed Harry a wood spoon. “Bite.” Harry did as told before feeling the sting of alcohol touch his skin. Harry’s bite on the spoon had grown stronger as Joe went step by step to tend to his arm. From removing the bullet to stitching his skin back together. After wrapping his arm up, though he really shouldn’t have, Harry drowned himself in some alcohol to help with the pain.

    “I-I didn’t know you were a doctor…” Harry said. Joe raised an eyebrow and shook his head at him.

    “I think you’ve had enough.” Joe said, taking the beer bottle out of Harry’s hand. “Let’s get you to bed, Harry.” Joe said as he walked Harry into his bedroom, which was really an emptied out office with a bed. The both of them laid silently next to one another.

    “I fucked up big time, didn’t I?” Harry asked, turning towards Joe.

    “Very much I’m afraid.” Joe responded coldly.

    “Babe.”

    “Don’t fucking ‘babe’ me, you asshole. Someone could’ve gotten killed.”

    “But no one-”

    “I don’t care.” Joe said, crossing his arms as he looked up at the ceiling. “Disobey me again, I swear I’ll be the one to put a bullet in you.”

    “Whatever you say, Joe.” He said, fixing the blanket on top of him. “Whatever you say.”

[thereluctantinquisitor]

What? No! I wasn't staring... I-I was looking at something behind you! - for a Modern Darrus?

The laundry room at Cyrus’ apartment block was, to put if frankly, a piece of shit.

Cyrus muttered that fact every time he went down there, and that day was no exception. Basket wedged under his arm, he stalked his way down into the building’s basement clad in a pair of old grey sweats he called his ‘laundry day pants’. They hung low off his hips, held up by nothing but the fraying drawstring, the elastic of the waistband having perished years ago. Every time his roommate Ralon saw them, he vowed to salt and burn them the second Cyrus took them off. Unfortunately, that just made Cyrus all the more intent on keeping them around. 

“Morning!”

Tired from his night shift and already in a rotten mood because he had to do laundry, Cyrus just grunted at Darren as he entered. The blond was at the drier, his clothes tumbling about inside the rattling contraption. Cyrus swore everything in their building was held together by duct tape and a prayer. 

The whole laundry room smelled of fabric softener. He didn’t think he knew anyone other than Darren who used that shit. 

Slowly, roughly, he thumped his basket down and started stuffing his clothes into one of the machines. He never bothered with things like turning his shirts inside out or doing separate washes for dark and light. Sure, he knew about that stuff, but that didn’t mean he cared enough to do it. 

It’s odd, how sometimes you just get that strange, skin-tingling feeling on the back of your neck. Standing at the washing machine, Cyrus felt it, like a barely perceptible breeze brushing past him. Frowning, a pair of his underwear in his hands, Cyrus suddenly turned, his pale eyes cutting to a flustered looking Darren.

“What are you staring at?”

“What?” The tall blond blinked, mouth open, seeming for all the world like a deer in headlights. “No! I wasn’t staring… I-I was looking at something behind you!”

Arching a brow, Cyrus turned, making a show of inspecting the brick wall. “Yeah. Right. There’s some real fascinating shit going on back there.” Feeling slightly self-conscious, Cyrus looked back at the man. “Seriously, the fuck were you looking at?”

Darren seemed at a loss for words, his cheeks turning a bright pink under the sickening fluorescent light. “I, ah…” He stumbled a bit more, then gestured awkwardly to Cyrus’ legs. “I liked your pants. That’s all.”

“My… pants.” Tossing his underwear in the washing machine, Cyrus reached down and tugged the side of his pant leg out slightly, the fabric utterly lacking any kind of stretch or shape. “These?”

Clearly lying but intending to take it to his grave, the blond nodded and smiled, pushing through the awkwardness. “Yeah! I was just thinking they look comfortable.”

“They’re not.”

“Oh.” 

The thudding rattle of the drier made the lapse in conversation feel almost comical, but it was the way it screamed a long, high beep as it finished that really sold the mood. Darren started slowly unloading it, hesitating every now and then, desperately trying to think of something else to say. Sensing he was the main reason the conversation had taken such an uncomfortable turn in the first place, Cyrus turned back to his machine and sighed quietly to himself. 

“They’re… really old.”

“Hm?” There was a pause, then Darren laughed. “Oh, the pants! Yeah, I can see that. Well-loved, huh?”

“And you’re still going to pretend to like them?”

Not bothering to look back, Cyrus grabbed the communal washing powder and dumped a scoop into the chamber Hanin had conveniently labeled ‘powder’. Behind him, he heard the sound of the drier door closing and Darren picking up his basket.

“Well, why not?” the blond finally answered, chuckling, a strange warmth to his voice. Cyrus kind of liked it. “Seemed more believable than pretending to like the brick wall.”

Snorting, Cyrus shook his head then paused, a perplexed look washing over his face as Darren’s words fully registered. “Wait, what…?” 

He turned, intending to question the man further, only to find himself alone under the pallid industrial lights. A moment limped past, then Cyrus grunted quietly, returning to his task. His finger hovered absently over the START button.

What was he really looking at?

[ghost-chance]

A New Lease on Life - 5: You Can't Set a Broken Soul

Trigger Warnings: The usual, bad coping methods, minor bullying including self-bullying

Suggested Listening: Avril Lavigne "Nobody's Home"

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5: You Can't Set a Broken Soul

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February 8, 2016

"Why'd you have to leave, Amber?" Aaron muttered into a mostly empty glass of cheap beer. "Why'd you go out on your own like that? You were safe in the shelter…"

Amber stared in dismay from the dark corner of the skeazy bar. Aaron would never have been caught dead in a place like this, much less drunk on cheap alcohol. He HATED the stuff, hated the memories it always brought forth—memories of the friends and family he lost to the can and bottle. Though truth hurt, Amber knew without a doubt he was drinking over her—her senseless, needless death had driven her best friend to drinking.

"Aaron…" she whispered, inching toward the bar. "Aaron, I'm sorry…" As though she hadn't even spoken, the barkeeper laughed derisively behind his newspaper.

"Dis's ruh-DICK-yulus,"- the portly man drawled thickly. "Dis ahticle says ova half da people who died in da twista was ig-NOR-in da sirens—any dumb bee-itch who'd go out in weh-da like dat dee-zerves—"- Without warning, Aaron's heavy glass stein crashed onto the counter, shattering from the impact.

"SHUDDUP!"- he slurred angrily, clumsily launching himself over the counter at the barkeeper. "You di'n't- know'er—you got no right to judge'er!"-

As the two grappled and traded blows, the ceiling violently tore away. Amber turned fearfully to the gaping rafters, her heart racing. Clouds gathered in the barren skies forming menacing grey thunderheads. Blue and green lightning cracked from cloud to cloud racing the rolling thunder.

Her lungs tight from fear, her ears aching from the plummeting air pressure, Amber fell to the ground, scrambling into the nearest corner and staring up in horror. Though torrents of rain fell, though the power flickered and failed, though wind tore through the bar like a vengeful ghost, the patrons never budged, staring blankly through their drinks as though the world weren't coming to an end. She was alone—alone with the demon that killed her and haunted her dreams.

Sirens wailed in the distance; a familiar sputtering roar deafened her. Grey-green clouds split in a merciless, mocking grin. As the world fell away around her, Amber screamed unheard pleas to the merciless winds, certain she'd breathed her last.

Amber shot up in bed with a panicked shriek; as her racing heart calmed and the phantom ache in her skull faded, the blanks filled themselves in around her. Old, stained brick walls, vaulted concrete ceiling with exposed ducts, pipes, and wiring, the distant rumble of a passing subway train, slow whirring and beeping from the ridiculously advanced machinery around her…she was safe.

"Not again," she rasped, pulling the patched quilt around her as she waited for the shaking to stop. "Damn night terrors…gettin' fuckin' old."

She glanced wearily over at the clock. It was four am…she'd gotten five full hours of sleep. In her previous life, she was useless without nine to ten hours a night; now she was lucky to get three. The hourly trains triggered nightmares and kept her awake fighting a constant barrage of graphic memories and chills that had no basis in temperature. Five hours of uninterrupted sleep? 'It's like Christmas,' she thought sarcastically, picturing a decent night's sleep packaged up in a box with a big red bow.

Without further ado, she disentangled herself from the sheet and quilt, rummaged under the cot for her folded clothes and basket of toiletries, and padded out of the room barefoot. After a quick stop in the bathroom, she set up the coffee maker on autopilot, staring blankly through the scratched wooden table as the percolating machine hissed, dripped, and belched. After downing a cup of sweetened, creamed tar-juice, she set up a second cup with only sugar.

Stopping only to deliver it to the still slumbering genius, she hit the showers, choosing the farthest stall from the door as usual. That one had a working lock. The room's fixtures had obviously been salvaged from somewhere, but fixing the warped, vandalized locks apparently wasn't very high on Donatello's list of priorities. Maybe because the lair once had only male residents and most men weren't all that concerned about being seen in the buff by other men? She cringed, wrenching the elastics from her tangled hair; she still wasn't sure if Mikey had barged in on her on purpose, but she wasn't willing to risk a recurrence.

The moment the water started up, she started humming loudly to block out the sound. She'd once loved the sound of water—had once slept deepest when rain was falling—but that was before her fear of severe storms became a fear of even the lightest rainstorm, and long before she was killed and given another life. Now the sound of rain terrified her and the dripping showerhead sent chills down her spine. As she lathered up her hair, she thought back to better times, better days, and a soft voice that once lulled her to sleep with songs of their youth.

The roar of water rattling the overhead pipes ripped Donatello from his hard-earned sleep. As his eyes blearily cranked open, he again cursed his decision to leave the ceilings in the lair unfinished; even a suspended ceiling could muffle the noise a little. Scratching his neck, he hoisted himself up in his bed and fumbled for his glasses. As his eyes focused, the blurry splotch by his alarm clock solidified into a mug of steaming coffee. The coffee was prepared far too sweet, as usual, and he nearly sprayed it all over the clock's display once he realized what it read.

"Four-thirty in the morning?" he groaned, digging his knuckles into his aching eyes. "You've gotta be kidding me...this can't go on." As his bedroom was the closest to the lab, he was always woken several times nightly. Every time Amber cried out in her sleep, every time she thrashed around and fought the demons haunting her dreams, every time she woke up screaming herself hoarse, he was woken by the noise. Every time her nightmares deprived him of sleep, he spent the rest of the night struggling with his own thoughts and feelings. Sorrow at her condition—guilt about being unable to save Kimber's life—resentment over lost sleep and interrupted work—disgust at himself for resenting Amber when she clearly wasn't responsible…the list went on and on.

With every day that passed, he became ever more certain that Amber wasn't as well as she tried convincing herself. Every time the subway rumbled overhead she fell into another panic attack, and sometimes even a flashback. Several times daily she'd turn up missing without any word of where she was going, and more often than not he'd find her tucked beside the running washing machine or wedged into the foot-well of his desk, shaking violently and smothering tears in her knees. She was getting worse every day…and for the first time in his life, Donatello was faced with a problem he knew was beyond his skill.

Amber wasn't a broken machine—she was a broken woman. He couldn't fix her.

"It was down in La-wheezy-yan—AH!- Jus' about a mile from Texarkana," an off-key voice echoed from the bathroom. Donatello sank into his usual seat at the battered table, staring through his coffee cup. "OW! In them ol' cotton fields back home–DAMMIT!" The water had long since shut off; every now and then, the song was interrupted by a cry of pain or curse, signifying that Amber had moved on to impatiently wrenching the tangles from her hair. She still wasn't used to Kimber's body, especially the second set of posts in her ears and the ring on the left one, and routinely snagged them in the bristles. Between oaths and verses, Donnie dozed off at the table, nodding into his empty cup.

"Ah, shoot." The sudden phrase startled him awake, and in the blink of an eye, he was crouched before his chair brandishing his empty coffee cup as a weapon. Amber stood in the doorway to the kitchen cringing in embarrassment. "I woke ya up again, didn't I?" She brought the coffee carafe over to refill his cup as he slouched back into his seat.

"Yeah," he answered honestly, trying to stretch the crick out of his neck. "No big deal, though…not like you do it on purpose." She shook her head with a wry smile and made her way to the kitchen sink. As she passed by, he realized something was different…he stared in surprise. Instead of just keeping her hair in a high, messy bun, she'd separated it into twin tails at her nape and braided them tightly. She'd discovered the other day that even though her hair still smelled fruity, the red was starting to fade. Apparently she was so excited to be returning to her natural color that she changed things up a little. With her hair still so red, though…He winced. Breakfast was going to be a disaster.

"So," he attempted, striving for a casual tone and failing. "What's with the change?" She ducked around the open cabinet door to meet his eyes.

"You noticed?" she smiled brightly as she mixed up a huge bowl of pancake batter. "I got sick'a fighting my hair all day so I went back to basics—before I got here, I usually wore my hair like this. I'm lazy like that." She dug a package of wilting blueberries from the fridge, picking out the stems as she tossed the berries into the bowl. "After all the change an' drama, it's a real comfort havin' my braids back."

"It's…" He scrambled for words between the worries. "…cute. Maybe you should wait until the dye fades, though. I just know—"

"S'up, Angelcakes?" Mikey called out from the doorway. "What's for—Whoa!" Donatello cringed, retreating to the coffeemaker; he knew this was going to happen. "Blueberry pancakes?! Sweet!"

"Wait, what?" Donnie muttered dubiously.

"Yup!" Amber grinned, mixing in a little extra sugar as Mikey dug out a pair of battered skillets and spatulas. "They were about dead anyway, so I figured why not? It'll be a nice treat." As Michelangelo fried pancakes and Amber scrambled eggs, Donatello watched silently, hoping that his worries really were unfounded.

About halfway through the bowl of batter and eggs, Leonardo and Splinter sat at their places, conversing over morning tea. Right as the stove burners were switched off, Raphael lumbered through the door to the coffeemaker. Halfway there, he pulled a double-take, gaping at Amber's braids in disbelief and derision. He said nothing, retreating to his seat with a steaming mug of coffee. When Amber bustled to the table to dole out breakfast, he struck.

"So," he asked snidely. "Where's da meat, Wendy?"

"Hey, now," Leo began, but Mikey cut him off.

"Don't be such a jerk, Raphie," the youngest scolded, playing with the end of a punch red braid. Amber's comforted smile warped into a deadpan glower a moment later when she felt both braids lifted up at either side of her head. "Too many freckles! She looks more like Pippi Longstocking!"

"Hardy, har, har," she grumbled, setting the two platters down a little more roughly than necessary. While Raph and Mikey bantered over which was a more accurate resemblance, she retreated to the living room with yet another cup of coffee. Donatello was used to Raph and Mikey's antics—he'd been the butt of their jokes more times than he'd like to admit—but this time, he was pissed. He loaded her untouched plate and his own with pancakes and eggs and dug for flatware in the drawer.

"She's been nothing but helpful since she arrived," he reminded the two troublemakers coldly. "She cooks, she cleans, she picks up after your ungrateful asses, and right when she starts to relax, you tease her!" He shot them both a glare as he left. Sometimes they absolutely disgusted him, Raph especially. He found Amber on the cot in the lab, lying on her back with her head dangling over the side and brushing through her long loosened hair. Though he'd only seen them once, he already missed the braided tails; why eluded him at the moment. "Hey."

"Hey yerself," she shot back with a grin, wrestling her hair into a high ponytail. As she sat up and fastened the coiled mass into a sloppy bun, he pulled up his rolling stool and held out her plate.

"You forgot this—dig in." Moss green eyes scrutinized him seriously. He avoided her eyes, passing the plate and flatware. "Don't mind them. They're just—"

"It's okay, Donnie." Confused, he finally met her eyes; she didn't really seem upset anymore. "If unflatterin' comparisons and immature folks were all it took to ruin my day, I'd'a- died a hermit. This body? It ain't me—I was short, fat, clumsy, partly crippled, an' I started goin' grey before I hit drinkin' age. I've been called much worse'n- any'a that. It's no big deal." She halfheartedly scraped a chunk of egg around on her plate while Donatello let the description sink in. "B'sides, Aaron used to say much worse…an' he's—was my best friend. I'm used to gettin' shite from people, and I'm more than willin' to give it back." She shot an up-to-no-good grin up at him. "I'll get'em-…but not 'til they've let their guard down. Meantime, let'em squirm."

"If you're sure, Amber," he relented, then paused for a bite of his own pancakes. "Forgive me for asking, but…before twenty-one?" She chuckled.

"Yeah. Lots'a early grey in my family. My uncle Bart went shock white while he was in high school; findin' my first silver at nineteen was lucky, considerin'." She took another sip of coffee before adding, "It always hit the redheads worst. I wasn't a redhead, but there was enough red in my hair to turn me into a brown skunk." He couldn't help but grin at the mental image.

"It didn't embarrass you?"

"Course it did," she answered honestly. "For a while, I kept my hair cut above the neck an' never went anywhere without a hat or hair-scarf—couldn't afford dyein' it all the time. Course, then everyone jus' assumed I was goin' bald and started pullin' me aside to talk about the cancer I was supposedly dyin' of. I finally had it when my roommate Mercy dragged me to a cancer survivors group shpeal; flipped'er off, flashed my stripes, an' walked home. Apparently the granny-hair spoke for itself." She finally gave up on pushing her food around and passed the plate back to him. "Guess I'm not really hungry; help yourself. I better get to work, right?"

"Amber," he scolded, latching onto her arm and anchoring her in her seat. "You have to eat—you skipped breakfast and lunch yesterday, and the day before you only ate an apple! You're not getting adequate caloric intake like this—at this rate you'll—"

"I'm not starvin' myself," she argued. Against her will, a memory played through her mind's eye: City Hall's basement, Aaron crouched before her with a bowl of soup, coaxing her to eat even though her stomach felt full of concrete. She fought to keep control but that memory had a dozen more on its heels; together, they swarmed her. "I'm just not hungry! Trus' me, I spent my whole life hungry when I shouldn't be—"

"You should be hungry! If you keep this up you're going to—"

"I don't need a nanny, Donnie!" she burst out vehemently. "I'm a grown woman, not some anorexic tweenager.- If I ain't hungry, I ain't hungry, an' no amount'a shovin' food at me's gonna make me hungry!"- Without another word, she stormed out intent on silencing her memories with manual labor.

"I just don't know what to do, April," Donatello muttered into his palms as she watched him with worry. Beyond the lab's closed blast door, Amber was hard at work in the dojo, waxing the floorboards to mirror brightness on her hands and knees…for the fifth time in as many days. "She hardly eats anything and guzzles coffee like it's water," he ranted harshly. "She barely sleeps, wakes up screaming, then spends the whole day and most of the night cleaning everything in the lair in the least effective ways possible—she intentionally wears herself out every day, then crashes in the early hours, too sore to do anything! She's having panic attacks more and more often and she's been spacing out for hours at time—the other night we found her wandering the sewers barefoot talking to someone who doesn't even exist in this reality!"

He fell silent, choking up. She and Mikey had been washing dishes when someone dropped a glass, and the sound had somehow flipped some hidden switch in her brain. She walked barefoot right through the shards like a zombie and somehow found her way out the front door, muttering the whole way about hungover friends and neurotic dogs. When they finally found her—after following what felt like a mile of bloody footprints—the sight of her adamantly arguing about music with 'Aaron' silenced the long lecture he'd planned. "She's going to kill herself at this rate, April," he confessed weakly, dropping his hands to dangle helplessly between his knees. "…and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

"Donnie," the older woman murmured leaning forward for a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. "You're a brilliant guy and a talented engineer, but you can't just 'fix' people—if someone's broken, you can't reconnect some wires, tighten a lug nut or two, slap on some duct tape and expect them to work again…and if those injuries aren't physical…" She trailed off, avoiding his eyes. "…Broken bones heal quickly once you immobilize them, but there's no way to set a broken soul. It's not your fault."

"You're waxing poetic on me, April," he teased halfheartedly. "I'm not Mikey; you don't have to play down the gritty details." Finally, she met his eyes, her own serious.

"She needs to see a doctor, Donnie…a psychiatrist. I think Amber has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder…and it's only going to get worse."

Just outside the shuttered door, Amber silently slid down the wall and landed in a boneless heap. She wasn't supposed to have heard that conversation, she was sure of it, and she wouldn't have heard it if she'd not come to apologize for taking Donatello's head off earlier. Now her overreaction and subsequent attempt at apology had exposed her to a secret discussion and triggered a plethora of fears. Even as she fought to rationalize away the knowledge, stubbornly scolded herself that PTSD wasn't caused by something as minor as a natural disaster, she knew it would explain so many things.

She'd never been in a war zone, had never seen battle, and had never seen her comrades fall one by one—she was a janitor, not a soldier!—so how could she have developed something even seasoned warriors weren't guaranteed stricken with? She'd insisted her whole life that she wasn't weak, that she could handle ANYTHING given enough time to work through it…yet she was completely broken by something as stupid and meaningless as a storm.

'Am I…' she though disjointedly, tears pricking her eyes behind her glasses. 'No…I am…I really am weak after all.' Without a word she stood, dusted herself off, and wandered out the front door, stopping only to grab a battered flashlight from the kitchen counter. A walk wouldn't fix her intolerable weakness and it wouldn't fix her, but maybe it would at least give her time to think. A line of music echoed down a storm drain from a passing car, reminding her of a time when she didn't feel so lost. 'Where were they going without ever knowing the way?'

Tolkien was right: not all who wander are lost, but she knew she wasn't among them.

Words (Midwestern Twang unless otherwise noted)

- Adding 'er to the end of a word - Means 'her' - Adding 'e, 'is, or 'im to the end of a word - Means he, his, or him. - Adding 'em or 'eir to the end of a word - Means them or their - B'sides - Besides - Di'n't / Din't - Didn't - I'd'a - 'I would have' - Know'er / Judge'er - Know her / Judge her - La-wheezy-anna - This is an awkward pronunciation of "Louisiana" sometimes heard in the Midwest. In the South - or other areas NEAR Louisiana - people generally pronounce it "Loozianna" or "Loo-ee-zee-anna." IRL, I pronounce it "La-wheezy-anna" because it's how I was taught, and it always drives Cold up the wall because he grew up friends with a family FROM Louisianna. At first, it was just a habit; NOW I keep that habit just to annoy my hubby. ;P - Shuddup / Shaddap - Shut up, the first being a common mispronunciation and the second being more of a Southern/Midwestern slang pronunciation. - Tweenager - Slang term for someone just old enough to be a pain, but too young to be considered a teenager; generally such persons are older adolescents. - Worse'n - 'Worse than' - "Dis's ruh-DICK-yulus" - 'This is ridiculous.' A highly twisted version of the Southern Drawl, perhaps from Arkansas. An odd way of defining the difference between the Midwestern Twang and Southern Drawl would be this: 'In the Midwest, we say as much as possible with as few syllables as we can, while in the South, people say as little as possible with as many syllables as they can.' The South tends to stretch words out and add extra syllables to words, while the Midwest tends to crop off syllables and mash words together, and both tend to warp pronunciations of common words. - "Dis ahticle says ova half da people who died in da twista was ig-NOR-in da sirens—any dumb bee-itch who'd go out in weh-da like dat dee-zerves—" - 'This article says over half the people who died in the twister was ignoring the sirens - any dumb bitch who'd go out in weather like that deserves [to die].’ Twisted southern drawl. Unfortunately, there was a LOT of this after the tornado I went through - people would openly blame those who were killed for being careless or for not seeking the 'right' shelter, never considering that they didn't know all the facts OR that the dead person's loved ones might be hearing their ranting. - "If I ain't hungry, I ain't hungry, an' no amount'a shovin' food at me's gonna make me hungry!" - 'If I'm not hungry, I'm not hungry, and no amount of shoving food at me is going to make me hungry!"

A quick rant: Developing PTSD does NOT mean you're weak, broken, worthless, damaged, or any other horrible things we often convince ourselves it means. PTSD is just your brain's way of recovering and adapting, and it's actually a healthy response to trauma. It's not exclusively a 'warrior's illness'—anyone can develop it regardless of whether or not they've been deployed. While it can be hard to accept that you 'got it from' a car accident, witnessing extreme violence, or in Amber's case, weathering a hell of a storm, what caused it has little to do with personal strength or weakness. If you start showing signs of PTSD, TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR. Don't put it off, don't talk yourself out of it, and for Pete's sake, don't do what I did—don't spend months staring out the window, ruminating on why you lived when so many others died, and hoping to waste away into nothing—the longer you wait to seek help, the longer it takes for you to heal, and healing IS possible.

Putting away my soapbox now. Also, the song Amber sings is called "Cotton Fields"—it's a Southern folk song, and if sung in a slow, bluesy manner, it can put kids out like a light

Up Next: Cohabitation Chaos

[filmflowersbangtan]

The Edge of a Dream | pt. 1

(pt. 1)

pairing: Yoongi x Reader

genre: smut mentions, slight angst

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 3.4k

summary: you just recently broke up with your boyfriend of almost three years, so you move to a small town by the ocean to start over; Yoongi is a baker getting over the death of his fiancé

a/n: this is my first posted fanfic ever!! (clap, clap, clap) So any comments would be appreciated :)   Also, this story takes place somewhere between 1985 and 1990 (I couldn’t decide so I left it ambiguous). I’ve been working on this story for a while, so this is kind of my baby, but if you have any suggestions feel free to submit them! Thanks for stopping by. 

It was a day thick with rain when you moved out of the apartment of your dreams. The rain was nonstop, and Jimin’s car was packed to the brim with all the things that you wanted to take with you. You never had a car of your own because you shared one with your boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – and you sold all your furniture. The only things that you had left were your necessities, which included a lot of books. There were more books than clothes.

Jimin and Namjoon carried the last box of your books to the car. Jimin had his nylon windbreaker tossed over the cardboard to protect your precious books, and you watched Namjoon laugh at something Jimin said from your apartment window upstairs. You wanted to smile as easily as they could, but you felt as dreary and gray as the rain. Your mood had been soggy like this for weeks, and no matter what your friends did you couldn’t dry it up. Everything reminded you of him – the color of the walls, the smell in the couch, your bed, the kitchen. This entire apartment was him. The both of you chose it together, but he left it like the both of you didn’t splatter the past two and a half years of your lives all over this place.

The apartment was empty now, and there was nothing left to pack, so you didn’t know why you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your friends downstairs. The rain made streaks on the window pane, blurring their faces, but you saw Jimin look up at your window after he slammed his nearly overflowing trunk shut. Moments later, Namjoon appeared in the open doorway.

“Hey, you ready to go?” he said.

Your chest and throat burned from holding back tears that hadn’t fallen for weeks. You didn’t know why you had this sudden ugly urge to cry. It wasn’t like this move was sudden and not well thought out. You had sat down with Namjoon, Jimin, and your sister and you all agreed that this move would’ve been good for you, especially since you were going out of the city. And selling the furniture was a bonus because you wouldn’t be carrying any crumbs that your boyfriend – no, ex-boyfriend – left behind. But now, you hugged yourself tightly. Suddenly you were bent over as if you had to vomit, but instead of throwing up you cried violently. There was a hand rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades, and then there were arms pulling you into a chest and into a lap.

You weren’t sure how long Namjoon cradled you like that on the floor, but Jimin joined and his hair and shirt was starting to dry.

“We don’t have to leave today if you don’t want to,” Jimin said to you, but you shook your head and wiped your face with the sleeve of your shirt.

“No, I have to. I can’t – I can’t stay here any longer,” you said, but your words were garbled from crying and hiccupping.

Namjoon gave you his jacket so that you wouldn’t get wet from the rain, and the three of you stuffed yourselves into Jimin’s tiny car cramped with your things. It was an hour and a half drive to your new place. You felt terrible that Jimin had to drive this far in the rain and that Namjoon had to be crushed in the backseat with all your things, but they didn’t seem to mind. Namjoon was snoring, so Jimin turned on the radio.

“The Flame” by Cheap Trick came on, and Jimin quickly changed the station to a more upbeat song. The rain had stopped and the clouds parted ways, so you watched the sunset over the trees that blurred together on the edges of the freeway. Jimin tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to that catchy song from The Breakfast Club and hummed along to it. You turned to watch your friend as he did this. He looked so stunning in the fresh golden light of the setting sun, and he seemed to really enjoy the song, so you continued to watch him.

He smiled. “What’s up?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Just…”

“Just?” he laughed.

You grabbed his hand from the steering wheel. He intertwined your fingers and kissed your knuckles. His hands were a little dry, but they were comfortable. Those were the hands that you had been holding ever since you were a little girl and he was a little boy and the world was too big for the both of you.

“Thank you,” you said. “For always being there.”

He glanced over at you with a smile before looking back at the road. “Ditto, love.”

Namjoon hadn’t come along until high school, and the three of you were inseparable. Three heads on one body, it seemed.

Jimin pulled up at your new place a little after sundown. It was a little duplex, and you were in the upstairs apartment. An elderly lady named Ophelia with a sprawling garden lived in the downstairs apartment, and she owned the place. She was nice enough to let you move in on such a short notice and for a lowered price too. She must’ve smelled the depression on your clothes.

Ophelia glanced out of her window briefly before Jimin turned off his car and headlights. You sighed deeply. This is it. This is the start of your new life. Right?

Namjoon jolted awake when you and Jimin got out and slammed your doors. After he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and got out to stretch his legs, you all began unpacking the car.

The new apartment was much smaller than the last. There was only one bedroom this time – you had no use for two when your ex-boyfriend wasn’t there. He had had an office since he was a writer. You remembered when you two first made love in that office, him in his comfy, weathered leather chair and you on top. He had been writing all night and barely ate because he had a deadline coming soon, and you wanted to help him unwind –

“Y/N?” Namjoon said. He had a box of books in his arms that looked like it was going to fall apart from the weight of the contents inside.

You blinked. You did it again. You were thinking about your ex. “Sorry. Yeah?”

“Where do you want this?”

“In my room.”

By the time you all finished, it was almost midnight. The boys stayed over for the night and you all made pallets on the floor. Jimin was the first to fall asleep, but since Namjoon slept on the way over, he stayed up to talk with you over a glass of wine.

“Are you nervous?” he said.

You shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t know. A little. It’s just such a big change, you know? I’ve been in the city all of my life, and now I’m here in a town where everybody probably knows each other, and I don’t know anyone.”

He nodded in understanding. “You did this for a reason, little bee. You did this so that you can move on, think clearer. The air is cleaner out here, and you’re close to the sea. I think this is good for you.” He gripped your knee gently, reassuringly. “It’s okay to be nervous, but don’t lock yourself in this apartment every day. That’ll be counterintuitive.” He smiled, flashing that adorable dimple. “Get out there and get to know the locals.”

You smiled a little. “Okay.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

They both left early the next morning because Jimin had work in the afternoon, but they didn’t depart without giving you the tightest hugs that they’d ever given you. The apartment suddenly felt so big once they were gone. That hollow sorrow began to bubble up in your chest again, so you decided to be productive to distract yourself. You cleaned. With the windows flung open to let the early spring air in, your old radio on the sill, blasting the top hits, you started taking things out of boxes and placing them wherever you thought was temporarily decent. You had no bed or even a mattress for your sheets, no food in the refrigerator, and no bookcase for your books. No couch, no television, no phone. The place did come with a washing machine – but no dryer. You knew what you had to do – shop.

The first thing you decided to do was get something to eat because shopping on an empty stomach was not ideal. The weather was perfectly cool enough for your overalls and to celebrate spring you wore your favorite thin floral sweater underneath. With your hair held up with a jumbo scrunchie, you felt good. That was something that you wouldn’t have been able to say just yesterday.

Conveniently, there was a little bakery a few blocks away from your apartment. The aroma of the fresh baked goods had your stomach clenching with hunger. You pushed through the little door with the name of the shop painted on it – Min’s Delights. You thought that was a cute name. Bells chimed when the door opened, and a warm voice called out a “hello.”

You responded with a “hello,” but you didn’t pay any attention to who said it because the shop was so cozy and cute that it took your breath away. Little handmade trinkets lined shelves and wooden stands. Unknown but beautiful paintings hung from dark brick walls. The floor was a dark wood, but nicked and creaked a little when you walked. It seemed like a floor that had been around for decades. Each table was adorned with a single, vibrant flower in a tiny hand painted vase, and the chairs to the table were all mismatched and looked as if they’d been picked up from garage sales and flea markets. You already loved this place.

“Like what you see?” a smiling voice said from behind you.

You turned around and immediately your breath hitched in your throat. The man that stood before you was breathtaking in an unreal kind of way. He had bad boy good looks but with a soft prettiness to his features, and eyes that made you feel like he already knew you and could see your soul. Dark, fluffy hair and pink, pouty lips. Pearlescent skin. Pierced ears. And oh God, he was waiting for you to say something.

“I – I – um… Yes!” Your face flared up with heat by how stupid you sounded. This was the first time that you saw an attractive male that wasn’t Jimin or Namjoon after your breakup, and all of a sudden you forgot how to speak.

“I’m happy to hear that. I’m Yoongi, the owner of this place.” He extended his hand for a shake, and like the dummy you were, you only stared at how nice and veiny his hands were until you realized that you had to shake it. You placed your sweaty hand in his cool one. He had a strong, but comforting grip.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N,” you said. Finally, you were able to say something coherent.

He smiled, and you almost melted in your overalls. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” He frowned up a little, thinking about something. “I’ve never seen you around here before. Are you a tourist?”

“No, I just moved in that little apartment down the street.”

He snapped his fingers. “Ah! O’s place! She’d been renting that apartment for a while now, but the people in town tend to not move around so she was afraid that no one would take it. Lovely woman, that one.”

You liked that he called Ophelia “O” for some reason. It made you feel warm.

“But let me stop babbling, what can I do for you today?” he walked around the display counter to stand behind it. So many delicious looking items were on display: different flavors of artisan breads, fruit tarts, croissants, cannoli, artisan sandwiches… you couldn’t choose.

“I don’t know what to get they all look so delicious.”

He grinned a little at that. “Well, for breakfast, I’d choose the strawberry Danish, and I’ll whip you up a strawberry smoothie to go with that.”

“Okay, sure,” you said.

You paid for the pastry, but Yoongi said that the smoothie was “on the house,” and he gave you a wink. You couldn’t help but to gawk.

As much as you’d have liked to stay longer, you had a long day ahead of you. There were too many errands that you needed to have done by today to make your apartment seem a little less empty. You said your goodbyes and went about your way. You weren’t too worried, though. This town was small, so you would see him again.

Three days had gone by since your move. You got yourself a mattress, a telephone set, and a few groceries, but that was just about all you could afford at the time. The phone was a cheap one with a coiled cord – all of the cordless ones were out of your budget. It was simple one with a cradle and a number pad on the receiver, a little bigger than your hand. You set it up beside your mattress that you had in the living room because the thought of sleeping in a bedroom alone still frightened you and made you think about your boyfriend leaving you.

As you were folding your clothes while listening to music, there was a knock on your door. You frowned, unsure as to who it could’ve been. You knew Jimin and Namjoon had work around this time of day, so you were sure that it wasn’t them, and Ophelia already came up to give you some flowers to put in your new home earlier today.

You got up from your position on the floor and opened the door, and you audibly gasped.

“Good afternoon.” Yoongi.

“Hi,” you said. You felt sweat already beginning to prickle at your hairline.

“I know that it’s kind of creepy for me to stop by when we don’t even know each other, but I wanted to give you this just in case you haven’t eaten today.” He handed you a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. As you received it, you noticed the gold on his left ring finger that glared in the sunlight as if it was taunting you. You suddenly felt even more uncomfortable, but not in the same way as before. What was a married man doing at your door, giving you free sandwiches? What was a married man doing winking at you? You suddenly felt guilty and gross, and his cute smile wasn’t as cute as it was a few days ago. You suddenly thought of your ex, and what he did to you and you had the urge to throw the sandwich on the ground and slam the door in Yoongi’s face. But you didn’t because you were civil.

You pressed on a closed lip smile. “Thanks,” you clipped.

His eyebrows knitted together. He immediately felt the change in your demeanor. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”

That angered you even more. “Ask your wife that.”

He visibly winced. No, he flinched as if your words physically leapt at him. “I don’t under-” and then he made an “ah” sound as if the fact that he was married just dawned on him. His cheeks bloomed with pink and he looked down at the ground. “I can see where you would misunderstand. My wife, well, she was my fiancé. But she passed away a few years back. It’s just become habit to wear the ring every day. I forgot that I had it on, I apologize.”

You felt like such an asshole.

“No, no. You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged. The air was thick with awkwardness, and when he opened his mouth to speak, you were afraid that he would leave, so you cut him off to say, “Would you like to come in?”

He accepted, and then he was standing awkwardly in your tiny kitchen as you poured him a glass of lemonade. You had left your resume and several job applications on the countertop and you noticed Yoongi looking at them not so subtly.

“Looking for a job?” he said as you handed him the glass. He thanked you before taking a sip.

You sighed. “Yeah. One of the downsides about moving to a new place.”

“You could work at the bakery. We could always use an extra pair of hands.”

You blinked a few times. “Really? I don’t have any experience, though.”

“I don’t mind teaching you.”

That was how you ended up with flour up to your wrists and a waist-high apron on. A poppy Janet Jackson song was playing over the radio, and your heart was in your throat as Yoongi stood behind you with his chest to your back, helping you knead the dough. The shop had closed a little over an hour ago, and it was just you and Yoongi. Little white Christmas lights hung around the place despite it being almost April, but they were the only source of light besides the one on in the kitchen where you and Yoongi were. You hadn’t been this close to a man that wasn’t a friend in a long time, and this felt…intimate.

His lips were dangerously close to your ear. “Now you have to use the heels of your hands like this-” he placed one of your hands on top of the other, pressing more weight onto the heels of them with his own hands, “-and press into the dough with your entire body.” As he showed you how to do this, you felt his muscles contracting around you and him pressing your hands down into the dough somehow felt slightly erotic, and to be honest, it made you wet. He must’ve felt how tense you became because he quickly backed off.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

You turned around to face him. You wanted him to touch you, to kiss you, to do something to you. You were craving it. Only God knows when the last time you had been touched sensually by a man.

The Janet Jackson song ended, and coincidentally, “All I Want to Do Is Make Love to You” by Heart seeped through the radio. Maybe it was the song, or maybe it was the way that you were looking at him with your chest heaving with wanting breaths, but he closed that space that he had put in between the two of you. He hesitantly reached up to touch your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut at his warm fingertips.

“Please,” you whispered. “I want you.”

The both of you would probably regret this later. But your mind went blank when his lips made contact with the skin of your throat, collarbone, and jaw, soft as a butterfly’s wings. When his hand gripped your hip with want. When his own hips pressed into you. You threw your arms around his neck and moaned when he started to grind onto your pulsing core, his mouth planting open kisses everywhere.

He groaned and lifted you onto an empty counter. “Oh, God, I want you so badly.” He shoved your knees apart, and the both of you began to work at the buttons of the other’s jeans. You still had flour on your hands and so did he, but you didn’t care. You would probably go crazy if he kept his clothes on a second longer. Once he got your pants off, he licked his lips. “You’re already so wet.”

“Yoongi…” you moaned even though he wasn’t even touching you, just looking.

But then he looked up from your womanhood and at your face. He swallowed. He was so quiet for what felt like so long that your face began to heat up with slight embarrassment. And then he said almost too softly to hear over the radio, “I- I think you should go.”

You suddenly felt exposed with your pants on the floor and your legs open. Yoongi wouldn’t even look at you as you climbed off the counter and pulled on your jeans. “Did I do something wrong?” you said.

He sighed, and you noticed him toying with the ring on his finger. “You’re scheduled to open with Jungkook tomorrow. He’ll help you if you need more training.”

You didn’t know why tears welled up in your eyes. But this was the second time this had happened to you. Opening yourself up to someone only to be turned down with disinterest. Why had you done this? Why did you keep doing this? Didn’t you learn the first time when your boyfriend said that he didn’t love you anymore and left? You should’ve known. You wanted to scream, to hit him, to say that you didn’t want the stupid job, but you only nodded tersely and said, “Okay.”

As you left, you heard Yoongi turn off the radio, and you thought you heard him say, “I’m sorry.”

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

imagine the missus always got bullied from this girl during her school time. she'd say things like 'you're so pathetic, you're never gonna find someone.' and since then she always struggeled with her self esteem, thinking she was worthless. until H came around and changed her life. and now her old class would have a reunion and she'd bring harry and he wants to really show that b*tch whats going on, just making her jealous with her engagent ring, wedding plans... a makout session... please?🙄

He’d dress extremely fancy– the nicest dark blue velvet suit he has with his Gucci leather dress shoes, his most expensive watch and his favorite Tom Ford cologne. His hair groomed and fluffed to perfection, his chin sporting just the slightest bit of scruff, just how he knows you like it.

You’d compliment him, your heart swelling at the fact that he’d do this, all of it, just for you.

“You look good enough to eat, Har.”

Harry would smile softly, eyes twinkling with suggestiveness as he presses a gentle kiss to the center of your forehead. “Maybe later, sweetheart.”

At the reunion, he’d shake everybody’s hands and introduce himself properly, working his charm to utter perfection and having your former classmates falling head over heels to chat with him.

You marvel at how smooth and easy-going Harry appears under the situation, talking and joking with everyone so flawlessly it’s as if he’d known them for as long as you had.

And the whole time, he has a protective arm looped across your hips, keeping your body close to his so that everyone can see how proud he is to have you as his fiancée.

Your nemesis is seething quietly, the corners of her mouth dipping down ever so slightly but not evident enough for everyone else to notice because they all seem to be getting along with Harry without catches or obstacles, so blatantly showing her dislike would make her the runt of the event.

Talk of your engagement eventually comes around and Harry is falling over himself to tell the love story of how you two came to be. During the whole tale, his eyes are alight with affection and the giddy smile never leaves his face, the way he depicts you as a “right angel with a smile brighter than her halo” makes all the girls around you swoon.

At one point he tightens his arm around you, turning his head to gift you a soft smirk and, “She was such a proper good girl when I met her. Turns out she’s a devil in between the sheets.”

A collective wave of suggestive “ooh’s” goes around the circle of people, everyone laughing lightly as Harry takes a sip of his drink, a quick wink being throw over the rim of the glass as your cheeks flush dark red.

After a while of mingling, Harry pulls you to the side, grinning proudly at how well he’s kneading the crowd. “I’d say I’m doing pretty well, don’t y'think, peach?”

“Yeah, maybe a little too well.” You give his shoulder a shove, eyebrows raising into a warning glance.

He chuckles, downing the last of his drink and setting the cup on the nearest decorated table. “Hey, are there any, like, memorable places here that you’d like to show me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno. Like, a place where all of your friends used to hang out, or a secret little alcove where couples used to go. Anything?”

And the perfect place immediately pops into your mind.

There’s a corner behind the sciences building, a way’s out from a bathroom, where couples used to sneak around in to make out. Teachers used to rarely roam the area since the bathroom is the furthest from the classrooms so they didn’t think anyone really used them. But they were being put to good use, alright. You’d had the pleasure, per se, of hearing it when you took this shortcut to your algebra class junior year. It had scarred you for life.

You round the same corner now with Harry, pointing out the whole area with a grand sweep of your arm. “Behold, the place where the ghosts of virginities lie.”

Harry snickers softly, pushing his hands nonchalantly into his pockets as he does a slow 360 spin in the center of the hallway, paying attention to minute details, such as scratchy names carved into the brick walls, worn from years of backpacks rubbing against them as crowds of students passed by. Things such as discarded condom wrappers tossed behind the nearest trash bin, just out of sight of the half-blind administrators and officials, but prevalent enough to the eyes of hormonal teenagers all around.

But the thing that catches his attention the most is a small corner carved in between a vending machine and a wall– the perfect place to mess around and not be spotted.

He turns to face you, taking slow strides until his chest is pressed lightly against yours, head tilted to the side as a lopsided simper tilts his lips in the opposite direction. His eyebrows raise curiously, tone matching his expression. “So, did you ever…y'know…?”

Harry jerks his head backwards towards the camouflaged little alcove, wiggling his eyebrows.

The edges of your lips twitch upwards bashfully, a small shake of your head accompanying the gesture as you cross your arms in front of your chest, squeezing your elbows on either side, shoulders jolting with a leisurely shrug. “No, I didn’t. I, uh…I didn’t really date much until I was out of high school. A few crushes here and there, but no one ever stuck.”

“No one?” Harry draws closer to you, so near now that you can feel the breath of his words wash across your forehead. His gaze is one of amusement mixed with curiosity. “So you never got your turn in the Couple’s Corner?”

Another shy shake rattles your head, your eyes flitting up to meet his glittering own as they twinkle with mischief. “Nope.”

He pauses for a second, then let’s out a disappointed tutting sound. “Well, that just won’t do, will it? Everyone’s entitled to christen at least one spot at their junior high. It’s practically a right of passage!”

You give him a playful scowl, rolling your eyes. “Oh, shut up, Har.”

Harry tucks one of his hands out of his dress pants pocket, reaching up to thumb across your bottom lip, the rough skin of the finger making your own tingle with sudden longing. When he speaks, his words are barely above a whisper, deep and husky down to the syllable. “Care to christen the corner?”

And before you know it, Harry has you pushed up against the place where two walls meet, one hand griping your ass as the other cradles your jaw, using it to keep your lips secure against his.

He’s panting into your mouth all messy and hot, biting spastically at your lower lip and moaning quietly against your tongue, licking lightly at the inside of your top lip. He swallows down your breathy gasps, pushing his own down your throat and forcing you to carry the heavy weight in the pit of your stomach– a weight he’ll later make his priority to fix under the sheets of the hotel bed.

“Did you like my impromptu alliteration?” Harry mumbles against your hot tongue, digging his teeth into the center of your swollen lower lip and swimming in the way a whimper vibrates from your throat. “I suppose you at least passed language arts, right?”

“God, you’re so stupid,” You wisp out all breathy, tugging at the hair along the nape of his neck and feeling his body shudder against yours. “And hot. So fucking hot.”

Harry giggles inside your mouth, smushing his nose against yours as he cocks his head to the side in order to push his tongue further down your throat, resulting in your neck tinging with shades of crimson. “You’re not so bad yourself, love. If we weren’t near a two hundred year old bathroom, I’d take you right here, right now.”

You grin into the heavy kiss, suckling his top lip desperately and feeling him paste a gooey whine to the roof of your mouth. “If we weren’t near two hundred year old, size-medium Magnum condom wrappers, I’d let you do it.”

He spills a heap of laughter into your hot mouth, giving your bum a good, hard spank with the palm of his hand. “We could pull a broke college student and park around back. Do it in the back of m'car?”

One of your hands trails down to his back pocket, where you dip it inside and give his ass a firm squeeze, causing him to jolt against you in surprise. “Just the tip, though.”

Harry pouts dramatically, growling with fake frustration. “But babeeee!”

Then, as he starts to sponge wet, sloppy kisses down your throat, you hear a soft gasp come from across the corridor.

Harry halts his actions and turns his head, lips smearing across your own as he casts an annoyed glance over his shoulder.

And there, in her pretty dress with two Walmart bags weighing down her wrists, stands the very girl who had been staring daggers at you earlier that night. The same girl who tormented you for four straight years and caused so much unsettlement in your self-esteem and life.

She stares at you and your boyfriend with shocked horror, taking in the way your lipstick is smeared all over his mouth and the way your hair is a ruffled mess.

Harry doesn’t waste any time in snapping at her, furrowing his brows darkly as he gives her a disgruntled once-over. “Oi, what do you want?”

The girl blinks a couple of times, opening and closing her mouth like a confused fish, unsure of how to respond.

He rolls his eyes at her, sighing exasperatedly. “Are you jus’ gonna stand there or what?”

You can’t help the snort that plucks at your vocal chords, quickly going to cover the lower half of your face with your hand, looking away in embarrassment. Embarrassment for her, that is.

She finally speaks up, her voice shaky and strained and nerve-grating as ever. “I went to go get more paper plates and napkins.”

She sounds utterly stupid, and it’s refreshing to see how the tables have finally turned, after so many years.

“Well,” Harry snaps his head towards the other end of the hall, giving her a stare that points out her annoying presence. “Get to it, then.”

You watch with a feeling of amazed satisfaction as the young woman scurries away down the designated path, heels clicking frantically until she rounds the corner and disappears.

Harry turns back to you, grinning with amused fulfillment. “Way to ruin the mood, don’t y'think?”

You give a short giggle, pulling him back against you by his broad shoulders, fisting the material of his elegant suit as you trail kisses up his jawline and onto his chin. “I fucking love you, y'know that?”

“Of course I know that. It’s why I’m marrying you.” He cranes his neck so that he can face the hand upon which a decently-sized diamond decorates your ring finger, kissing it fondly. “Now, how about putting in that tip?”

[boasamishipper]

til' all my sleeves are stained red

Summary: Cavendish finds out.

Author’s Note: Since it seems all I’m capable of writing for these two is angst, I figured I’d write some more based on Fungus Among Us and Island of the Lost Dakotas. (Speaking of the latter -- god damn.) Much like my last fic, this is all speculation that will most likely be jossed, but I wanted to post it anyway.

And there will be a part two.

Of all the things to think of at this time, what came to Dakota's mind was the joke that ended, "But you screw one goat…"

It was appropriate for the occasion. He and his partner were time travelers who had saved the world once from sentient pistachios and now had to do it again. For allies, they had a dog, the star of an unmade popular science fiction television series, a boy around whom everything that could go wrong would go wrong, a mad scientist who would invent time travel twelve years in the future, and an anthropomorphic crime-fighting platypus. Then after they'd fixed the time machine and returned to the scene, the car’s battery had died, and he and Cavendish had gone off to find jumper cables while Milo and Orton Mahlson took refuge with the time vehicle in a gas station. Now he and his partner were hiding in an alley while the Pistachions were searching for them.

At this point, Dakota thought that he could handle anything.

That was until Cavendish had turned to face him with an expression as serious as sin and announced that he would distract the Pistachions so Dakota could return to Milo and Orton, jump-start the car, and go back to reverse this from ever happening.

Dakota finally regained the ability to speak once it became clear that Cavendish wasn't kidding. "Are you out of your mind?"

"No, Dakota, I'm not." Cavendish didn't even sound offended. Just…resigned, in a way. As though he'd already accepted this turn of events for truth. "You're faster than me and I trust you to get the cables back to Orton and Milo. I'll hold the Pistachions off as long as I can to give you a headstart."

Dakota's throat went dry. He refused to accept this. "Cav…" Facts were swirling around him and a numbing, fearful cold was spreading through his body. If Cavendish died here and they managed to reset the timeline, then Dakota wouldn't be able to go back in time to save him. "No. Don't do this. There has to be another way."

"There's no time to come up with anything better."

"But if you do this then you'll—then they’ll—" He couldn't even entertain the thought of Cavendish dying. Not in a way that he couldn't fix. "I won't let you do this." He tried to give the jumper cables to Cavendish, but his partner wouldn't take them. "Let me do it—"

"No, Dakota—"

"C'mon, the coast is clear, you should—"

"Dakota—"

"Just make a run for it, I'll—"

"Damn it, Dakota, will you listen to me?"

Stunned, Dakota fell silent. In all of the time that they'd known each other, Cavendish had never snapped at him like that.

Cavendish looked a bit taken aback himself, but he continued once he realized that he actually had Dakota's full attention. "Please, Dakota," he said. "I don't want you making this harder than it already is." Gently, he took Dakota's hand and squeezed it tightly. Dakota wanted to cry. "And I want you to know that…that even though I don't always say it, it's been an honor to have you as a partner."

Oh God, now he was really going to cry.

Seeming to realize that Dakota was too shocked to say anything, Cavendish appeared to steel himself and turned around, ready to walk into the open and sacrifice himself to the Pistachions so Dakota could make a run for it.

"I've seen you die one hundred and twelve times."

Cavendish stopped in his tracks.

Dakota stepped forward, his heart hammering against his ribs so loud that he was sure they'd be discovered at any second. He'd swore on his life that he could never tell Cavendish about this but if this didn't make Cavendish reconsider then nothing would. "I've seen you get shot. Stabbed. Harpooned. You've drowned in quicksand and water and lava. You've gotten hit by cars and trains and you've fallen down mountains. And I've seen it all. And every time that happened, I went back in time to save you." He swallowed, wishing that Cavendish would turn around. "There are a hundred and eleven copies of me because of what I did and they all live on a hidden island in the middle of the ocean."

It was hard to tell how much time passed. Days. Years. Several small eternities. Cavendish didn't move and Dakota couldn't, not even as the sounds of the Pistachions in the distance got louder and louder.

"Cav?" Hesitantly, Dakota put a hand on Cavendish's shoulder but his partner still didn't move. "Cavendish, say something. Yell at me. Say—say that I shouldn't have messed with the timestream. Just please—"

Cavendish turned around, and Dakota instantly shut up. His partner looked as though he'd been hit in the face with something heavy. He kept opening his mouth and closing it, as though he didn't know what to say, and when he finally managed to speak, his voice was very quiet. "Why would you do that?"

Because you're my partner. Because you're the only friend I have and I can't stand to lose you. Because you're Cavendish and what else am I going to do?  

But none of those responses sounded right, and Dakota felt the world wash away as he discovered the answer within himself, surprised that he hadn't located it sooner. "Because I love you."

No, this pause lasted for eternities. The universe expanded, collapsed, and burst outward again.

Cavendish raised his hand, and Dakota was afraid for a moment that he was going to get slapped, but that changed when Cavendish grabbed him by the collar, pulled him close, and kissed him.

It wasn't anything spectacular—the angle was awkward and the jumper cables were pressing into Cavendish's chest—and it didn't last long, but it made him feel like he was floating nonetheless.

"I love you too," Cavendish said once they had pulled away from each other. He was smiling softly but his eyes were sad, and Dakota realized that even after what had happened between them—even after telling Cavendish his secret—Cavendish still wanted to sacrifice himself to save Dakota and the others. Because that was just the kind of person Cavendish was. "You've saved my life numerous times, Dakota. Now let me return the favor."

Dakota didn't trust himself to speak without crying, but he managed to nod.

Cavendish swallowed. For the first time he actually looked afraid, but he straightened up, cupping Dakota's face in his hands like he was memorizing every detail of it. "Save the world for me, will you?"

In answer, Dakota wrapped Cavendish in a tight hug. Pulling back made him feel physically ill, but he knew that if he didn't leave now, he never would. And who knew what was happening to Milo and Orton Mahlson by now…

With one last look at him, Cavendish ran out into the street. "Hey! Come and catch me, you overgrown weeds!"

Dakota watched two Pistachions shout that they found one and chase after his partner, and then forced himself to look away and run toward the gas station. He ran as fast as he could, his shoes pounding against the pavement, and tried his best to ignore the shouting happening in the distance. The sound of someone being thrown into a brick wall and crumpling to the ground.

Finally arriving—with no Pistachions on his tail—he found Milo and Orton Mahlson fighting off a couple of Pistachions with crowbars, and immediately moved to assist them. Once the last one had been taken care of, he tossed the jumper cables at Orton, who barely managed to catch them. "It's positive to positive, then negative to negative."

Milo was gazing around the room, looking confused. "Uh, Dakota?" he said carefully. "Where's…where's Cavendish?"

"He sacrificed himself to save me.” His voice was so hoarse that it didn’t even sound like it belonged to him. "So I could make a run for it."

Milo covered his mouth with his hands, eyes widening in shock. "Oh no." Even Orton turned around, pity and sympathy etched in every line of his face. "Oh, God, Dakota. I'm sorry."

He thought of Cavendish's last words to him, of their kiss, and he released a shaky breath, hot tears pricking his eyes. He quickly swiped them away, knowing he had to be strong for Milo. "Yeah, kid," he whispered. "Me too."

The roaring of the time vehicle's engine jerked Dakota out of his trance, and the sound of voices outside spurred him into action. He ushered Orton and Milo into the car, automatically moving toward the passenger seat before remembering that Cavendish wasn't there to drive. That thought nearly sent him into tears all over again, but he stubbornly shoved that feeling aside and sat down in the driver's seat, closing the door behind him.

"Alright," he said to himself. "Let's do this."

I won't let you down, Cavendish. I'll save the world for you. I promise you didn't sacrifice yourself in vein.

And with that, Dakota pushed down on the gas pedal, and the three of them reentered the timestream.

[hazeleyedleto]

Matters Of The Heart -Part 3-

       You’re singing Joyride by Roxette into your round hairbrush while rocking out with your music on full blast, taking advantage of a rare Saturday off to give your apartment a much needed, thorough cleaning that you’d been able to manage in quite a while. It’s not like there were dishes growing mold stuffed under your bed or couch cushions, but most of your wardrobe did happen to be laying all over your furniture in every room, with half of your bedroom floor acting as a laundry hamper, the actual white one in the corner spilling over. Saying that you’d been insanely busy lately is a very big understatement.

       Your phone dinging with a new notification spoils the moment, disturbing you from the best part of the song, and you roll your eyes while tossing the brush into it’s proper drawer. Mumbling, “It better be good”, you take the few steps to your phone and picked up, clicking on the video, watching in amusement as Tomo records Jared skateboarding down the railing of a stairwell. It looks all good and well until his feet slip from the board and he lands on his crotch on the railing, does a complete flip, and lands on the pavement on his back with a loud thud. There’s complete silence for a few seconds before Jared sticks his thumb up in the air and yells, “I’m okay”. Tomo and Shannon can be heard laughing their asses off in the background, before Shannon walks in front of the camera with the skateboard exclaiming that it’s his turn.

       "Fucking idiots", you chuckle and set your phone back on the counter, turning around to get started on the bathroom closet. You refold the towels and washcloths, arranging them all back into a neat pile before removing the contents of the second shelf, where a weird feeling begins stirring in the pit of your stomach. You look at the box of tampons and sanitary napkins while chewing on your thumb nail, unable to recall the last time you needed to use those feminine products. Fear grips at your chest so tightly you forget to breathe for a minute, and you end up backing into the wall where your mind starts to put together pieces of a wayward puzzle.

       Small changes you’ve been noticing begin to make sense, like the almost ever present upset stomach you’ve been experiencing, but chalked up to an acid issue, figuring you’d been consuming too much caffeine. Flying back and forth from Los Angeles to San Francisco three times a week to help your boss set up the new art gallery was stealing a lot of your energy. Of course, you’d gained some weight, but then again you had binged on ice cream for those couple of weeks, and these days you’re not exactly taking the time to eat properly. A lot of your meals consist of whatever you can get your hands on first, mainly chips, cookies, pretzels, and things like that from a vending machine. There was also your mood swings, to which you assumed were from the lack of sleep combined with the uncertainty of how your relationship with Shannon would change once he was married.

       Looking down to your tummy, a wave of relief washes over you at not noticing it being any bigger, but there’s still a nagging feeling in the back of your mind and you have to know what’s going on. Neglecting the rest of your cleaning spree, you head out to the closest pharmacy, returning in twenty minutes.

       An agonizing one hundred and twenty seconds pass while you pace the bathroom floor, silently debating the presence of God to yourself. Your family had never been religious, but at this point you start praying to some higher being for insight, along with negative results on the pregnancy test. It’s not like you don’t want kids someday, but you’ve been through enough lately, and someone surely needs to have mercy on you, right?

       The alarm goes off, letting you know it’s time to check the white stick sitting on the counter next to the toilet, nearly giving you a stroke. With apprehension, you advance to the test, where your eyes widen at the bright pink plus sign staring back at you. All strength seems to disappear from your legs and you plummet to the bathroom floor, shock beginning to settle in. 

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

       As if being knocked up by your best friend who’s engaged, and keeping it to yourself for several weeks while you weigh your options wasn’t enough, last night at the rehearsal dinner for the wedding, you watched Shannon and Emma together. She had never been anything but nice to you, had never done anything to Shannon to make him question his relationship with her, and he seemed filled with joy when he was in her presence. So, why did you develop a rapid dislike for your best friend’s fiance, and get irritated everytime she touched him? Each time she laughed, he smiled and his eyes twinkled. It was as if he lived for her. Cheerfulness hung in the air around them, and there wasn’t a single reason in the world for you to detest Emma, but here you were, wishing she and Shannon had never met.

       It dawned on you, hitting you like a ton of bricks while you watched them together the previous night, that you’re in love with Shannon, and Emma was getting the future you yearned for. Shannon was truly happy though, and you couldn’t wish anything more than that for him. Pushing your own desires to the side, you formulated a plan, finally coming to a decision about what to do with the shit show that had been tossed at you within the past three months.

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

       It’s the next day, the afternoon of the wedding where you take a few extra minutes sitting in the car you rented for the day, giving yourself a pep talk and gathering your courage before going into the church. You’re strong. You’ve got this. Two hours, tops, Monique. Just get yourself through it and then you can fall apart all you want.

       After giving your appearance one last check over in the mirror and not coming up with any more excuses to procrastinate, you get out and go inside. Jared smiles upon seeing you enter. “You look good, Monique.” You accept his kiss on your cheek and follow him to where the groom and groomsmen are gathered.

       "And just who is this handsome stranger?“, you try to keep the mood light and playful, after taking special recognition in just how good Shannon looks in his tuxedo.

       "Only the best friend to this stunning lady”, he kids back.

       Out of nowhere you’re hit with a whirlwind of emotions, sadness being the most prominent, forcing you to close your eyes while clenching your teeth together, waiting for the sudden unwelcome tears to pass. When you open them, it’s to three curious onlookers. You fan your face with your hand, somewhat embarrassed and swipe at your cheeks. “Sorry, guys. I don’t mean to act like such a girl.”

       Jared comes to your side and rubs your back comfortingly, while Tomo claps a hand on your shoulder. “I think weddings make everybody cry”, he pipes in with his two cents.

       "It’s not everyday that my best friend is getting married", you smile weakly at Shannon, knowing that this is one of the last interactions you’re ever going to have with him. A couple more wet drops trickle from the corners of your eyes and you brush them away quickly. “I’m just really happy for you”, you press your lips together and pause before continuing, trying to keep your shit together. “You’re going to have an amazing life with Emma, and that’s all I can wish for someone as incredible as you.”

       In a few steps, Shannon’s in front of you, enveloping you in a bear hug. “Things won’t change. I promise I’ll still be here for you no matter what”. You squeeze him tighter with guilt before stepping away, knowing that if he was aware of what you were keeping from him, he would be quick to take back those words. He looks down at you, raising an eyebrow. “Are you alright, Mo? You’re pretty shaky.” You didn’t even realize that until he pointed it out. Your hands are definitely trembling.

        You assure him with a smile so fake that you’re sure you’d have a good chance at winning an Oscar for, even though you’ve never been an actress. “Yeah. Just kinda nervous. You know, being up in front of people isn’t really my thing.” For one, the purple bridesmaid dress that you’re wearing isn’t your normal type; being strapless and skin tight, so you’re not feeling all that confident. Then, paranoia has been rearing it’s ugly head since you’ve arrived, terrifying you that someone will notice your slowly growing baby bump. And last but not least of course, you sincerely don’t like standing out at social events, even though Shannon and Emma are guaranteed to be the center of attention, and not you; but there’s not much solace in that fact.

       "YOU’RE nervous?!“, Shannon jokes.

       Before any more conversation can be had, one of the ushers comes in, announcing that it’s time to get things started.

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

       By some miracle, you made it through the ceremony, where your heart shattered into a million pieces as the priest pronounced them husband and wife, and Shannon was told to kiss his bride. As much as it hurt, a little part of you needed to see it with your own eyes to confirm that your plan was the right decision.

       After the second worst part was over, it didn’t seem to take nearly as long for the wedding photographer to take pictures, but maybe that’s because you were lost in your thoughts at what would take place later.

       Once everyone in the wedding party is dismissed and given an hour to meet back up for the reception, you give Shannon one last glance before climbing in your rental car, letting the sight of his head hanging back, eyes crinkling at the edges, and his mouth opened wide in laughter be your last memory of him.

       You drive back to the car rental place, exchanging theirs for yours, which is stuffed full of your personal belongings. Bittersweet tears cascade down your face as you repeatedly slam your heel down on the screen of your cell phone, not stopping until there are thousands of fragments and shards of glass littering the parking lot.

       Satisfied that you’ve cut off all ties of communication with your old friends, you slide in behind the steering wheel and start the ignition, ready to get started on your new life.

oh my poor heart

why 

she can stay

Buttercup can be the baby daddy

Noo Shan’s gunna crai

noo

*Sads*

@fyeahproudglambert