#STOW A WAY AND CAR OWNER FIND LOVE
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FLASHPOINT: HOT AS HELL
Directed By: John Rutherford
Featuring: Hal Rockland. Scott Baldwin
©️ FALCON STUDIOS ENTERTAINMENT
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robinette-green · 11 months ago
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Robin's Guns and Swords DCA Romance Fics
These are fics that involve battles, pirates, mob bosses, cowboys, detective and so much more!
Light in the Darkness:
You fall into the debts of the Aperture Science Facility and find the remains of the past. Aperture’s repeating history. To your surprise, at the deepest part of this salt mine of science, you find two robots that should have stopped working long ago. Will they help you find a way top the surface?
Black Sea Glass: (tag)
Trying to escape from a group of mercenaries hunting you down to catch you and collect the bounty on your head, you stow away on what you think to be a merchant ship. Unfortunately for you, you end up on a ship flying under the king’s flag. The two captains decide that you can work on the crew while aboard. Over time you find yourself falling in love with the Captains. This is bad news for you. You have so many secrets to hide and the two captains despise lies. If they find out who you really are will they leave you? Would they turn you in?
Bits and Pieces:
A cop buddy invites you to a speakeasy for a good time. You go to drown yourself in booze. Little did you know that not only would this make your problems so much worse, but you would also gain the attention of the city's two most dangerous mob bosses. You just wanted to run your little coffee shop and leave your life of danger behind, but fate has other plans for you.
Hellfire to Warm the Heart:
There I was, standing in the rain, my ears still ringing from the door slamming behind me. Everything had gone downhill so fast. First, my job fired me without warning or reason then, unable to find a new job, I was evicted from my apartment due to being unable to pay rent. With my suitcase at my feet, I stared blankety down the street. What was I going to do? I had nowhere to go. My family had cut ties with me years ago, and I didn't have a friend to speak of. Was there a shelter I should go to, or would I be sleeping on the street tonight? "Oh, dear! Are you okay?" I flinched, not expecting anyone to speak to me. Looking around, I saw an expensive black car parked at the curb, and a back window rolled down. As I watched, the back door opened, and a man, preceded by a large black umbrella, exited the car. As he straightened, I took a step back, gazing up at a towering individual standing before me. Dressed in a pale blue suit, this guy had to be almost 7 feet tall, towering over me. His hair was shimmery gold, making him look like a sun. Golden eyes glittered as, with a soft smile, the man asked, "You look to be in a bit of a bind. Would you like some help?"
Fish Fry:
(tag)
Pulled from the sea 5 years ago, I was tied up, beaten, and sold to owner after owner, each deciding I was too dangerous to keep. Back then, I was strong, able to break bones and tear flesh with ease, singing to lure humans to their demise. It's what my kind was made to do, kill humans. But no more. Kept in increasingly small tanks, barely fed, and unable to swim, I started to weaken. Eventually, I was dumped here. It was some kind of oddities collection. My owner had other humans pay to look at his strange assortment of items he had gathered from around the world. Then one day I encountered two strange humanoid creatures that resembled the Sun and the Moon and my life started to change for the better.
Two Hunters and a Bloodsucker: (tag)
My life is good for what it is. Except that I’m dead. Well, undead. I’ve been undead for about 15 years now, and I haven’t aged a day. Being a vampire hiding among humans can be difficult at times, mainly dealing with sunlight and avoiding mirrors, but I manage. I’ve been living and working in this little town as the town blacksmith for about 7 years now, and I’ve become a full-fledged member of the little community here. I thought I had been doing a good job hiding my presence among the humans, but one day two of the most well-known vampire hunters came into town. If they find out what I am, they will kill me, but both of them have become intent on becoming my friends and maybe more. How can I keep myself from being discovered when two hunters are trying to romance me?
Cosmic Detectives:
I skid to a halt, a brick wall blocking me in. Turning around, I hoped in vain that I had enough time to backtrack and take another path before I was trapped. Two sets of glowing eyes met my gaze as I faced the entrance of the alley. One set red, the other blue. It was too late. Two guns were leveled at me, ready to fire.
Blood and Stars:
Wedged into my little hiding nook up in the second layer of book shelves, I could hear Sun whimpering somewhere below me. Over excited as he was, he had tripped and fallen face first over the sofa on the main floor, giving me the chance to escape. I was currently on the upper balcony of the library room, hidden behind the reading chairs that adorned one corner, pushed up against the wall. The whimpering turned into sniffles and I could almost believe that he was genuinely injured but I knew better. He had caught me this way before, coming out of hiding to see if he was hurt from whatever fall he had taken, clumsy as he was. He was just toying with me, seeing if I would come out of hiding on my own. Sooner rather than later he would get bored and start his search for me, calling out for me to come play, he wouldn’t bite. He would. The boys usually did. Vampire AU. Sun and Moon have a thirst for blood.
Me and My Flirtatious Pirates (LateNight DayDreams):
Naked cuddling with pirate Sun and Moon.
Astrological Bullets (LateNight DayDreams):
A Wild West story. You’re tied to a set of railroad tracks somewhere in the desert. You’ve accepted your fate, waiting for either the heat or a train to take you, when a strange metal individual happens by.
Some of these won't be finished and some are OLD writing of mine. you have been warned. Please don't let that stop you from reading these and enjoying them <3
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nerdfins · 7 months ago
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An idea from the Optimus Prime Plants post: Swindle, being a Jeep, has dashboard ducks.
Swindle, after a hard mission, decides to park and recharge for a bit before heading back to the Nemesis. When he wakes up, he notices something on his door handle. Transforming and picking it up, he sees it's a yellow rubber duck. Attached is a note saying, "Love the colors!" Confused and slightly embarrassed that a human crept up on him like that, he stows the duck and forgets about it.
The next time it happens he is in a parking lot after doing a deal, resting his optics. He wakes up and finds another duck on his windshield. This one has a note saying "Have a nice day!" Still confused, the duck is put with the other.
The third time he wakes as a human is putting a purple duck on his door handle. He shifts, startling the young man. Picking up the purple duck, he says, "Okay, this is the third time some fleshie has done this. What's with the ducks?!"
The human, regaining his composure, says, "I-it's a thing between Jeep owners! Nothing bad, just to make people happy. Say 'hey, cool car!' Stuff like that."
"But...why ducks?"
The human shrugs. "Why not? I love your paintjob, by the way!" The human blushes, then runs off before Swindle could reject the duck. Swindle, stunned by the brazen complement, doesn't follow. When he looks at the duck, it has a decal on its chest that says "It's a Jeep thing." The human's Jeep starts up, and as he drives away Swindle sees the dashboard is full of colorful ducks.
Swindle takes the ducks he has and places them on his dashboard with tape. When asked, he gives a gold-tooth smile and says "It's a Jeep thing, you wouldn't understand."
But wait! There's more!
After an internet search, Swindle learns how he can get ducks with custom printing and colors. If Swindle sees any model of Jeep, he places one of his custom ducks on it. Soon the Jeep community begins tracking purple and yellow ducks with the Decepticon logo. #DeceptiDucks and #Swinducks trends. Swindle, running his own online business because he's Swindle, puts his website on the next batch.
When asked why he was wasting money on the ducks, he turns from his monitoring of website and ad revenue hits. All the graphs had an upward trend ever since the DeceptiDucks went public. With another gold-toothed smile, he says "Viral marketing, my friend."
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chimielie · 2 years ago
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little by little, we'll meet in the middle
summary: Oikawa x F!Reader (slight/past Iwaizumi x Reader). You and Oikawa are two moons - now that you've been pulled into each other's orbits, you can't seem to pull away. Even when you probably should. Sequel to Honeybee.
word count: 1k
cw: one mention of unhealthy eating practices. weird past-life-soulmateism. Yearning.
a/n: this is a part two, so i recommend reading in order to sort of understand the love triangle/knight x king/past life bullshit that's happening here, but honestly i don't know how much it'll help. it's a little bit of a the raven cycle au, but not quite? happy birthday IDIOT @ oikawa tooru. i love u or whatever
Your hands are calloused: at the base of the fingers and the web of the thumb. You brush a careful touch over the inside of Oikawa’s wrist, sweeping your thumb over his pulse point. Checking that he’s still alive. Warm touch and pulsing heart persisting.
You let go when he shifts the car into parking gear, pulling with both hands on the parking brake. It’s an old car, and only as reliable as its owner. 
He tries not to think about the combined delicacy and roughness of your hands, tries not to add another scrap of evidence to the pile that says he saw you first and he saw you true. It’s a pointless collection, like so many of his little passion projects. He couldn’t help building it, his jealous hoard of the moments where you were his and his alone. Guiltily, each brick had been laid and mortared from the moment he’d watched his best friend fall (clumsy and boyish, in a way he so rarely allowed himself to be) in love with you.
Even now, when Iwaizumi’s eyes are far from the both of you, even now that you are technically unburdened by belonging, the stiff line of duty is in your back and his vision. He keeps his eyes carefully away from you; if he looks at you for too long, his tongue finds words that shouldn’t be said. 
Your posture is as straight as the pines surrounding you, picking at the sandwiches you burned for lunch. Prosciutto and melted cheese you’d found unlabeled in the fridge, the crusts literally rimmed black, still a little warm to the touch even all the way into the blue mountains.
It’s a little fuck-you to him. He had called and said come on a drive with me. And you had fought him, snapped that you were in the middle of making lunch. Make me some, too, then, he had said indifferently, I haven’t eaten anything yet today. And you had been waiting at the curb, standing up straight with one hand shading your face and the other holding a bag of sandwiches. 
“Where are we going?” You asked, sliding into the passenger seat, stowing the sandwiches between you. This carefully curated space is present, always, a barrier never let down by both of you at the same time. 
“Nowhere,” he shrugged, kicking the car into gear. “Anywhere.”
The long-unused backroads are exactly in-between. Blue-green trees block out the sky, ushering in a soft not-quite night in the middle of the day, blurring that hard line. 
“They’re burnt,” you say, shoving the food into his hands. Three extras, just for him, because you worry about the way he gets distracted, gets obsessed, forgets to eat. Three burnt sandwiches, because you want to show him that love isn’t going to soften you, that whatever past you may have had (knight; king; lifetimes ago) your future doesn’t involve cooking at home while he rules the court. You wear your principals like you once wore gleaming metal armor.
He sees it in flashes. Reaching out, palms open. Hands calloused by the grip of your sword. A chalice, lifted to your lips, helmet removed and hair loose. Voice strong and sure, swearing fealty (voice soft, warning him of impropriety. Of the dangers of consorting with peasants). 
Lips, dry and still as he swallowed your fears.
“I don’t mind,” he says, and you look away from him. Everything feels raw and too real.
“What do you want to do for your birthday?” You say, because you don’t know what to do with his vulnerability. With-your-friends Oikawa is so different from talking-to-adults Oikawa is so different from just-your-Tooru. He’s water, slipping through your fingers even as he’s still rising around you, threatening to swallow you whole. 
He knows what you’re doing, too, because he knows that the boys are planning a surprise party away from his family, that you’re not supposed to snitch on the plan but would in a second if he pushed. You can’t lie to him.
He worries that the corollary is true: That he can’t lie to you. That you see him for what he is. 
He gives you a wry smile, telling you that he’s playing your game. “I want to go to the moon.” He’s been saying it since he was five, even when it stopped being true and became a tradition he was locked into.
“Of course you only want what you can’t have,” you laugh, and the words don’t lodge as painfully as he thought they might. “I can give you a star, Tooru, is that enough?”
“I guess,” he gives a prissy shake of the shoulders. “I could accept a promise.”
You don’t laugh, like he’d planned for. Instead, when he looks over at you next, you’re looking at him with an expression like—the sunset, honey melting over the horizon. Warm.
Oikawa shivers.
“I can give you that,” you say, voice small in your throat. He feels wildly unmoored in time, slipping between this life and the last; this love and the last; doom and destiny, woven together in a single thread. His head is heavy. Outside, the trees block sheets of misty rain. “Can that be enough?”
Your face is serious when he looks at you (can’t look at you too long, can’t let it show on his face), but your eyes shine. You’re looking at him—he feels dizzy with it—like he’s the sun. Like he’s a king.
You wrap gentle fingers around his wrist and tug him closer. The world is quiet, here, with you. His and his alone.
You keep your eyes steady on his, chin lifted in determination, always ready to fight. He runs a finger over the back of your hand, the one holding him. You don’t look at his mouth and you don’t let go.
He knows what you want because he wants it, too.
He lifts both of your hands and puts your palm over the lower half of your face. The center of the universe is your mouth. You stay still while he positions you, not even surprised; you know him.
Slow: he leans in, presses his lips to the back of your hand. Your eyes shut; he watches you as he lingers. The barrier hasn't been knocked down, yet, but this is him laying siege.
“A promise,” he says against your skin. “Is all I need.”
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skelavender · 1 year ago
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“I couldn’t explain it. When I saw them, I could barely pay attention to the woman we were interviewing. I just… knew I needed them.”
Mulder’s eyes snap to her, “Oh my god, Scully, did you steal these?”
read/listen to kind of perfect chapter two on ao3, or below the cut!
Nothing changes really, not yet. 
They make an appointment at the courthouse for a Wednesday afternoon, with plans to make it a late lunch break. Mulder gets the marriage license while Scully is elbow deep in an autopsy (literally) and he's bored of staring at the walls of the basement office. 
They still go on cases. Scully still shows up to the office some mornings to find a plane ticket on Mulder’s desk, and him behind it. They still say goodnight five feet apart, at the doors of adjacent motel rooms. It’s normal. Except for the fact that they’re planning an illicit wedding in the background. 
There’s a case in Pittsburgh where people feel urged to do things they only let themselves dream of. For every violent murder with a clear motive and confessed killer, there’s a happy couple walking down the street who found themselves pushed together after years of pining. 
Mulder calls it witchcraft. Scully calls it a water contaminant. It’s all very routine. 
Their investigation takes them to an antique mall outside the city, as labyrinthine as any. They wander through the precariously stacked furniture and tchotchkes, Scully running her hand over books, dishware, and photos passed down through many owners and wondering about where they’ve all been, what they’ve seen. 
Scully adores antique stores. She’s always felt a kind of love in them. The energy of so many cherished possessions in one place is the only kind of magic she’s come close to believing in. 
They’re interviewing the owner of a jewelry booth when she sees it. A tiny wood box in the glass case separating them from the witness that Scully isn’t paying nearly enough attention to. What lays in the velvet lining enraptures her, she can’t take her eyes off of it. Mulder’s touch on her lower back rouses her from her trance.
“Whaddya think, Scully?”
“Hmm?” She breaks her eyes away from the case and looks back up at him. He’s waiting for her opinion. She realizes she zoned out for most of the interview, and turns back to the woman across the glass case. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I must’ve been distracted. You have some beautiful pieces here, ma’am.”
“Ohh, shiny.” Mulder teases. Scully rolls her eyes.
“Oh, shut up Mulder.”
“Mrs. Landingham was just telling us about the vendor upstairs, who gives her the heebie geebies. He sells a bunch of dolls.”
“Well that’s not hard. Antique dolls even give me the… heebie geebies sometimes.”
Mulder laughs, and they go on with the interview. When they continue on through the antique mall, they split up, and Scully finds herself looping back around to the glass case from before. 
“How much for that?” She asks, pointing to the little box. She doesn’t even hear the price, just grabs her checkbook from her coat pocket. The woman smiles at her.
“You have someone special, dear?”
“I… it’s complicated.”
“Hmm. If you’re buying them that, it’s probably not as complicated as you think.”
Scully just hands her the check and slips the box into the inside pocket of her jacket. Mulder catches up with her a couple rows away. 
“Hey, where have you been? I thought we were looking at the third floor?”
“I was… looking for the bathroom,” She lies, “Did you find something?”
“Yeah, the booth Mrs. Landingham mentioned is, in fact, creepy as hell. I’ve never seen so many dolls in one place, Scully. And it had a vibe.”
“A vibe?”
“Yeah, a weird one.”
“Let's go check it out together.”
His hand brushes her lower back and he guides her to the stairs. 
***
They solve the case, burn the dolls. Apparently every victim of their own impulsivity had purchased one a couple days before they started acting differently. She stows the box in the glovebox of her car, and forgets about it until they’re on their way back to DC.
Mulder is, naturally, babbling. 
“Honestly, I’m surprised neither of us were affected.”
Scully tenses behind the wheel.
“Right, Scully?”
She bites her lip.
“Scully? Were you –”
“Check the glovebox.” She blurts before she can think twice about it. 
He leans forward, and pulls out the tiny box. When he glances at her, she nods, and he opens it. When he sees the contents, he lets out a little “Oh.” 
In the box, in a sea of maroon velvet, lay two nearly identical gold rings. The only difference between them is a swell and a small diamond in the center of one of the eight-pointed star engravings adorning both bands. 
She watches out of the corner of her eye as he runs a finger delicately along the engravings of the larger ring. 
“I couldn’t explain it. When I saw them, I could barely pay attention to the woman we were interviewing. I just… knew I needed them.”
Mulder’s eyes snap to her, “Oh my god, Scully, did you steal these?”
“What? No!” She looks away from the road to give him an incredulous look. “I paid for them, I just bought them impulsively. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked you first. We haven’t talked about rings, and it’s probably a bad idea to wear them to work so there isn’t much of a point–”
“No they’re… they’re kind of perfect, Scully. Thank you.” He sounds almost breathless. 
“Of course. I’m… I’m glad you like them.”
Mulder manages to shut up for a good chunk of their drive. 
***
Mulder slaps his pen on the desk in frustration. Damn expense reports. He pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to make his growing headache subside. 
Scully looks up at him over her glasses. Takes him in. She closes the file open in front of her and stands. “C’mon, Mulder. Let’s take a long lunch, I think we both need a break.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” They both don their jackets, Scully grabs her purse, and they whisk out of the building. 
Mulder really, really should have asked where they were going before agreeing. 
He finds himself in the boyfriend chair of a nearby Macy’s, watching Scully try on a series of dresses and suits. They aren't things he’s used to seeing her in. It’s not much more exciting to him than the expense reports, though it is less headache-inducing. So he sits and watches, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers fiddling with the hair tie still wrapped around his left ring finger. 
People have asked about the hair tie, of course. Sometimes it’s on his finger, sometimes just on his wrist. He tells them that Scully’s break sometimes, and it’s best to have a backup. Like he’s just that good of a partner, and the hair tie isn’t one of his most cherished possessions.
Breaking his train of thought, Scully steps out of the stall in what she would describe as an ivory cocktail dress with an eggshell lace overlay, and what Mulder would call a white dress. 
“It’s not very you.” He says. She agrees, and steps back into the stall to try on the next one.
“What are we even doing here, Scully?”
“I need to find something for the wedding, and I don't have time to go to a traditional bridal salon.”
She steps out in a white pantsuit, shoulder pads and all. 
Mulder slaps a hand over his eyes. “What the hell, Scully! Are you crazy? I can’t see you in your wedding dress before the wedding, that’s bad luck.”
“In our sham marriage?” She laughs, “C’mon Mulder, you don’t actually believe that, do you?”
“Do I believe in a superstition? Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“That’s a good point.” She approaches him and peels his hand off his eyes anyway. “Please, Mulder. I don’t want to do this by myself, and I just can’t ask Skinner.” His eyes go directly to hers, crinkled at the corners from her humored smile, then drift downwards to take in her outfit.
“Not that one,” he says, “It looks too much like something you’d wear to work.”
She huffs a laugh and retreats to change again. When she steps out, she’s in a slip dress with silver embroidered flowers. 
“No.” He says immediately.
“No? So now you’re a stylist?”
“The rings are gold and that one has silver. I might know nothing about fashion, but I know that that’s against the rules.”
“Good eye, Mulder.” She retreats again.
“So why're you taking me wedding dress shopping, anyway? Why not your girlfriends, or your mom?”
“No one knows we're getting married. I haven’t even told my mom, she’d insist we make it into a whole event, and wouldn't keep it quiet. And even if people did know, I spend all my time on cases with you, so I'm somewhat lacking in the girlfriends department, or at least ones I’m close enough with to invite wedding shopping.” she pauses. “I always thought I'd do it with Melissa, but that’s… not an option”
“I'm so sorry, Scully. She should be here.”
“I know. “
She steps out in another dress. They agree that it’s too lacy. Back to the stall.
“I'd probably ask you to come shopping even if I was marrying someone else.” Something like distaste blooms in his chest at the thought. He ignores it.
“Really? I mean, you said it yourself, I'm not exactly fashion forward.”
“Of course. You're my best friend. I value your opinion.”
She steps out in another dress, this one simple, tight, and silky, with thin straps and a deep back. She does a little twirl. She does not giggle. 
She sees Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up as his mouth opens. If he were in a cartoon, Scully is sure there would be a bubble with AWOOGA just above his face. 
“Holy shit, Scully.” He stands and approaches her. Her face is so bright, so open. 
“Yeah?”
“You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” She goes in for a hug, which Mulder accepts. He buries his face in her hair.
“You’re my best friend too, Scully.” She just hugs him tighter. “But if this turns out to be a disaster, I’m totally blaming you for making me see the dress before the big day.”
She laughs and they separate, but only by a few inches. His hands move to her neck, his thumbs framing her face.
“So, that’s the one?”
She smiles up at him and nods. “Yeah. It is.”
The smile they share is softer than any other.
She goes to change back into her work clothes, and he offers to bring the car around. Before leaving the store, he manages to hunt down the dress on the rack and stop at the cashier to leave a check with them, telling the girl behind the counter that it was for the suit-clad redhead about to exit the dressing rooms. 
“You didn’t have to pay for the dress, Mulder.” She says as she climbs into the car, “But thank you.”
“You paid for the rings,” He reasons, “it’s only fair.”
“Still. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
The outing takes longer than their lunch hour, but no one seems to notice. 
<- previous chapter next chapter ->
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jeeliean · 2 years ago
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you're on your own, kid
I’m leaving home soon.
            Sometimes it doesn’t feel real. How I’ve blinked and just like that, 17 years of my life have gone by. 17 years with the same people, in the same town, within the same schools. I firmly believe we all carry some part of each other in our own lives. I can remember some habits influenced by childhood friends I haven’t seen in a decade. How I picked up hobbies based on faces I can piece together in my memories, but also finding that their names have been lodged far behind in the back of my brain. That’s how it is when you live in a small town. People come and go, but in this case, they always reappear – maybe at the food court, in the arcade, anywhere, really. Every time we cross paths, there’s always got to be something different that they haven’t updated you about. But there would be no need for that anymore… You two drifted apart years ago. But you still greet them with that fond, familiar smile and mumble your hellos before promptly going your separate ways. Two months later, the same thing would happen again. Same pattern, same hellos, and goodbyes.
            I’m leaving all of that, and it both excites me and yet leaves me with a looming feeling of silent dread. For a person who loves trying new things and getting out of her comfort zone, living in a foreign country where you don’t speak their language is something I’m totally game for. Living like the locals, adapting to a new lifestyle, it’s always been something far-off in my dreams. Now I’ll be finally living it. But then there come the nightmares – nightmares that creep up on you when you’re finally able to have a good night’s sleep, and then completely ruin the rest of the night for you because you got woken up at three in the morning. Being alone sucks, even for an introvert. Maybe that’s because back home, you knew you were never going to be truly alone. You have family, people who know you, people who’d reach out if anything ever happened. But over there? Absolutely nothing. No one. Maybe your parents would watch over you for a bit, but then what? They’d hop on a plane back to the place you suddenly miss, the place you always took for granted because it was all you ever knew.
            “I’ll deal with it.” I quietly muttered to my parents from the back seat of the car as they were discussing how I’d cope, alone, in a terrifyingly new environment. I’ll deal with it. That sentence rolls around and around in my head like some sort of mantra as I look out the window and etch every single building, tree, and road sign in my mind. I burn the pattern of the car seat leather to memory, but even as I’m recalling all of this, I struggle to remember what song was playing on the radio that evening. It was some rock music from the ‘90s, maybe. But I can’t afford to forget anything. I don’t want to forget anything.
            It’s just four months, I’m being dramatic, I tell myself when the sudden pang of homesickness hits me in my bed (even though I haven’t even left yet).  I begin to wonder if the other kids who left home, packed up and left, felt the same way too; before they went away. Were they scared? Slightly anxious? Or not bothered at all? The people who had carefully stowed away their identity, their life, in two suitcases, and got on a plane to not come back for the next four to twelve months? Do they look back? Did their parents help with their overhead luggage as they boarded the plane with them, or did they drop them off at the security line? Did their friends come to send them off? Did they give their pets extra attention before that day because they won’t know why their owner suddenly got up and left?
            Questions like this keep swirling in my mind as I carefully cross off the days leading up to my departure. In the meantime, planning which courses I’m about to take, researching professors, and catching up on required reading take up most of my waking hours. But that feeling when you know you’re going to leave soon will always be quietly taunting you in the back of your mind, and it gets louder when you shut off the light to go to sleep.
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irelanddesires · 4 years ago
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Trioblóid
Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader
Warnings: Fluff, eventual smut, guns, violence, the usual gangster stuff.
Summary: Moving to Birmingham YN was lost. Tommy is still stuck in the tunnels in France. Will this match lead to ever after or utter devastation? 
A/N: Okay so this is literally the first thing I’ve written in probably 2-3 years. I’m trying to get back into the hang of things but it’s been really hard. Sorry if this is shit. <3 This is only part 1, there will be more, not sure how much more but at least 2 more parts. 
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You hadn’t grown up in a city like Birmingham. In fact, the place you grew up could probably fit in a city block of Birmingham. Your mother and you had just relocated to the area a few months ago. You both had escaped your awful excuse of a father and husband during the night. You used the darkness of night to hide who you were and where you were going, stowed away in the back of a truck with animals heading to the city slaughterhouse. Once the truck reached the city you both had bailed, walking the rest of the way. You had been lucky enough to find a home for rent at a price that you could afford. Your mother had been skimming money from your father for months preparing for this. You didn’t have much but you had enough to survive while you both looked for work.
Within a few days your mother was lucky enough to find a job working in a bakery. You were still looking for something but in the meantime you were able to handle anything around the house while your mother was away at work. You hoped that this was only the beginning to a new, safe life.
The stairs creaked as you came downstairs, your mom long gone to work. Today you needed to tidy the kitchen before heading to the market to get food for the week. Making your way through the sitting room and into the kitchen you noticed the sky seemed to be darkening in the west. 
“Shoot” you muttered. 
With the possibility of rain you had to make a change of plans. Getting food for the week couldn’t wait, at this point you barely had anything at all in the fridge and would need to make something for dinner. Gathering your cash and bags you hurried from the house. The market wasn’t too far, only about a half hour walk from home. Usually this gave you time to bask in the sun, which was a rarity as it is, and interact with others if the possibility arose. 
Today would not be a day you could stroll to the market while having pleasant conversations. With the clouds blowing in and the air already feeling like rain you knew you had only a brief amount of time until it would start. You prayed it wouldn’t really rain until you could make it home. You made record time arriving at the market and quickly scanned the shelves and grabbed everything you would need for the week. 
“Good afternoon, Y/N” the cashier said and I began placing items onto the counter. Even with Birmingham being so large it felt so small sometimes. The shop owner had been in the neighborhood for generations so he seemed to know everyone, even the new people in the neighborhood. 
Pleasantries were exchanged before the shop owner had you all checked out and ready to go. Stepping outside you cursed as a gust of wind almost toppled you over. The sky had darkened significantly since you entered the store. You knew you would probably get drenched on your way home, causing your mood to sour. If only you hadn’t chosen this morning, out of all mornings, to sleep in just a bit. 
Walking back through your neighborhood was eerie. The sky was dark above you, matching the black of the buildings and street. The only nearby sounds were of your heels clicking against the brick sidewalk. It seemed like everyone had disappeared leaving you to hustle home alone. Thunder rolled in the distance, 
“Oh fuck” you muttered, quickening your pace. 
Rain isn’t unheard of in England, in fact more often than not it rained. Being caught out in a storm is a whole other story, one she didn’t want to experience. Her feet ached as she pushed herself harder, hoping she could make it home before the food she carried became soaked. Rain didn’t really mix well with bread and flour. With only your mother being able to provide for the two of you, it made things tight with money and there really wasn’t room to replace ruined food.
As the first few drops hit the ground you tucked your chin down into your jacket and wrapped your arms around the bags you were carrying, hoping that you would be able to shield it for the most part. The wind whipped around you sending your hair flying in all directions. The coolness of the wind broke through your jacket causing chills to run down your spine. If the streets before were eerie, they were down right scary now. No one was around, no person, no animal moved. Turning the corner you sighed, your house wasn’t too far from here, just another block and a right turn. You might be lucky after all you thought. 
Before you had a chance to relax at being so close to home a clap of thunder boomed in the sky above you like a bomb and rain began to fall as hard as you’ve ever seen it. Between the wind, rain and your hair covering the majority of your face you had no idea how close you were to another person until you collided. Your breath oofed out of your chest at the force of the collision, bags falling from your arms, before you could topple over arms came around you holding you upright. 
“You alrig’ love?” a deep voice caressed you. 
You don’t know what you were expecting to see when you looked up but piercing blue eyes weren’t it. The stranger’s eyes were beautiful, so blue you felt like you could swim in them. Your eyes wandered across his face getting lost in the chiseled features you found. His voice brought you back to reality,
 “Love? You alright?” he asked again. 
You suddenly realized how close you were, his arms wrapped around you in somewhat broad daylight, anyone could see. You quickly stepped out of his embrace and cleared your throat before answering, 
“Yeah… Yeah I’m fine.”
Looking at your feet you saw all your groceries strewn across the black cobblestone. 
“Fuck!” you cursed, bending to start picking up all the food and stuffing it back into bags. 
The stranger crouched across from you and began helping gather what was left in another bag. You both stood and the stranger lifted your bag back to you, amusement across his face. 
“Well I’m glad someone found this amusing” you snapped
Curiosity flashed across his face but the amusement never left his eyes, it was like he was in on an inside joke leaving you dripping wet and angry at the ruined food in your arms. Sighing you went to apologize for colliding with him but he quickly held up a hand silencing you. 
“No apologies. John will see you home safely and you can send me a bill for what was ruined.” 
You hadn't even noticed someone else was there, casting a quick glance behind him you saw another man dressed in the same fashion leaning against a car. His expression must have worn the same shock yours did as you looked at one another. You thought over it for a few seconds before turning your attention back to the man in front of you. 
“Thank you,” you agreed with a nod. 
Before you could process what was happening the man, John, was ushering you into his car. He had taken your bags from you and placed them in the back seat. He came around the car and hopped in the driver's seat before taking off down the road. He inquired about your address but that was the extent of your conversation. 
John dropped you safely at home and even helped carry a bag inside. You shouldn’t have felt comfortable with either man, just looking at them you could see that they carried demons. 
That night, laying in bed, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering toward the mysterious blue-eyed man and how hauntingly beautiful he was. You hoped you would have the chance to run into him again, just to see him again. Your mind traveled to wicked thoughts as you drifted to sleep and thought of those blue eyes.
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redpandaramblings · 4 years ago
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Laundry Day. Sero x F!reader
Content warning- Mature humor, Mineta mention, sexual situations, heavy petting.
 “Come on!  It would be so much fun!”  Mina was bouncing on her heels, practically vibrating with excited energy as she tried to convince the group to go along with her scheme.
“So let me get this right.” Bakugo sighed.  “You want to do this fucking thrift store scronging thing for Christmas?”
“Yep!”  Mina said.  “Let’s be real, none of us have a lot of money this year, and this will be a way to have a lot of fun on a budget!  It’s simple.  Everyone finds the weirdest or most inappropriate thing they can buy for five bucks or less, and then we have a white elephant party on Christmas Eve!”
“White Elephant?” Kirishima asks, tilting his head.
Kaminari nods, jumping in.  “Yeah man!  Means people take turns picking gifts out of a pile.  Or they have the chance to steal a gift someone else already opened.  Basically, don’t go picking stuff thinking it will go to a specific person.”
“Is this going to be just us?  Or are we inviting everyone?  Because I live in curious fear of whatever Mineta would manage to dig up.”  You asked from where you were lounging.
Mina blanched while Denki cackled in delight.
“Oh god, we have to invite everyone now!  Imagine Midoria’s face!  Imagine Iida’s!”
“It’s settled!  Party at Bakubro’s!” Kiri cheered.
“Oi shitty hair! Don’t fucking invite everyone over to my place!”
“But you make the best curry!  Please?  For your bestest friends in the whole wide world?”
“Fuck no!”
“Pleeeeaaaase?”  Kiri pleaded.
“NO!”
Kirishima looked around the squad, communicating silently as everyone nodded.  As a collective force, you all turned your best puppy eyes at Bakugo.  He squirmed, firmly trying to look away from all of you.  You all started fake whimpering and whining.  You knew you had won when Katsuki’s lips briefly twitched into a smile.
“Alright!  Alright!  Now stop it, you fucking extras!”
“Three cheers for Bakubro!” Sero exclaimed.
The weeks flew by and before you knew it, the party was upon you.  Katsuki had grumbled and bitched the whole time, and yet now was gazing with pride at the absolute spread he had spent the last two days cooking.  Everyone had showed up, had gorged themselves, and were now in the process of opening presents.  There had been a couple weird mugs, a lamp made out of a deer leg, and Iida had had the misfortune of opening the gift Mineta had brought.  Everyone stared in horrified awe at the three foot long, hot pink dildo.
“Are those teeth marks on it?”
“Yep, teeth marks.”
“Mineta, where the hell did you find this thing?”
“I swear I got it at a thrift store!  The price tag is still on the base, look!”
“Yep.  That’s a price tag.”
“I’m not drunk enough for this.”
“I wanna bite it.”
“Y/N!  NO!”
There was a lot of laughter and teasing as the evening continued, gifts continuing to be claimed or stolen at a slow pace.  Just about everyone after Iida had tried to steal ownership of the horror dong as it had been nicknamed.  Denki had just stolen it from you, so you had to pick a new gift.  You pointed toward a box that was rather conspicuously wrapped entirely in tape.
“Okay, someone toss me whatever the hell Sero got.”
The black haired man gave a little fist pump as he snagged the box, walking over to sit next to you as he handed the box over.  He casually pressed against your side and slung an arm around your shoulders.  “Amiga, I’m honored!  You’re going to love it!”
“Yeah, I’m going to love it if I can ever get into it.”  You began the process of slowly unwrapping the absurd amount of tape.  “Seriously, anybody got a knife?”
A chorus of “no”s replied, no one actually bothering to look for one.
You gave a dramatic groan.  “You’re all awful and I hate each and every one of you.”
Hanta gasped and placed a hand over his heart.  “Even me, Querida?”
“Especially you, you office supply elbowed freak.”  You replied, sticking your tongue out at him even as you snuggled more comfortably into his side.
After a couple more minutes of dramatic whining and tape unwrapping, you finally got the box open, only to reveal the gaudiest t-shirt you had ever seen.  It was a nauseating shade of Pepto Bismol pink.  There was glitter.  And oh god, what the thing said.  You started cackling.  You held it up for everyone to see, discovering as you did so that this had to be the largest shirt you had seen in your life.
“Ooo, nice one Hanta, that’s really awful!”
“Someone steal this from me, please!”
“No way, Y/N!  It’s the perfect addition to your wardrobe!”
“Hermosa! I’m wounded you would get rid of my gift right after opening it.”
“Look at this thing!  Fatgum would swim in it!”
You made a show of grumbling, but you stowed the shirt back in its box and enjoyed the rest of your evening with your friends.  When you got home quite late that evening, you shoved the box into the back of your closet and didn’t think about it again until almost a year later.
~~~
Today had been the day from hell.  You muttered curses to yourself as you stomped down the hallway to your apartment.  Work had been harder than usual, the kind of day that made you grateful to make the long commute back home.  So of course today would be the day that the subway would be taken over by a villain who had a sludge quirk.  Asshole had flooded the cars with the thick, foul smelling, viscous ooze that reminded you of things unmentionable.  You and the other passengers had had to scramble to make sure no one ended up in over their head.  Lucky everyone had been saved.  Unluckily you and many others, you had spent the better part of two hours standing shoulder deep in the muck.  It was in your hair.  It had soaked your clothes.  It was in your underwear.  And the icing on the cake was of course it was your friends and neighbors who had rescued you.  Of course your crush had seen you when you looked like you had taken up competitive septic tank diving.  
It took you three tries before your key actually got in the lock.  You shuffled into your apartment and straight for the bathroom.  Grimacing as you peeled your clothing off, you unceremoniously chucked everything into the hamper before stepping into the shower and turning the water as hot as it would go.  You stayed in the shower for over an hour scrubbing and rescrubbing every inch of you.  With great reluctance, you eventually stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel.  You lazily dried yourself off as you walked into the bedroom, intent on putting on pajamas and pretending you didn’t exist for the next several hours.  
You opened your underwear drawer only to be filled with a deep sense of dread.  Empty.  Your pajama drawer? One pair of extreme booty shorts that say “creepy” on the butt.  Your t-shirt drawer?  Empty.  Your closet?  Empty.  Frustrated tears threatened to slip down your cheeks as you realized that the shorts were the only clean item of clothing in your apartment.  You had been meaning to do laundry for a while, but you hadn’t realized that it had gotten this bad.  As much as you hated to, you were going to have to do your laundry tonight.  You put the shorts in and  looked through your closet again, desperate enough to find a sheet to try and fashion into a toga when you spotted a rather bedraggled tape covered box.  You hadn’t thought about your ridiculous white elephant gift in several months, but now?  Well, it technically was a shirt.  It certainly would cover you better than an improvised sheet toga.  Before you could think twice about it, you opened the box, grabbed the shirt, and slipped it on.
The shirt swam on you, going past your butt.  The color was bad, and you winced at the image on the front.  But, you were now decent enough to venture down to the building’s shared laundry room.  So, after grabbing your hamper, detergent, and quarter jar; you did just that.
You hummed the Mission Impossible theme to yourself as you descended the stairwell to the ground floor.  Most of your friends lived on this level, but chances were they were fast asleep at this time of night.  You were glad of that as you hurried along.  You really didn’t want to run into anyone wearing your current getup.  It took several minutes to sort your laundry into a few machines and get everything started.  You were leaning against the last machine in the line, debating going back to your place or just staying here when you heard something that made you freeze.  Upbeat whistling that was growing closer each second.  You knew that whistle You did not want to see the owner of that whistle right now.  You had already been embarrassed in front of crush today, you really didn’t need him showing up for round two.  You were debating how quickly you could scramble into a dryer to hide when Sero Hanta entered the room.  
He briefly glanced your way.  “Hey Y/N!  I figured I might see you here.  I’ll admit I’ve seen some shit, and that was gross even by my standards.  I wanted to ask how you were doing.  Make sure you weren’t injured or any…”. He trailed off when he finally registered what exactly you were wearing.  His grin turned positively feral as he set his own laundry bag to the side.
“My, my, my.”  Sero gave a rumbling chuckle.  “Whatever do we have here?”  Sero’s eyes could sweep up and down your body.  His signature grin grew wider as his gaze lingered on your t-shirt clad chest.  
You crossed your arms, attempting to hide the gigantic image of a lime green, glittery, prancing unicorn proclaiming “I’m horny!”  What were the odds that someone else would be washing their clothes at two in the morning?  Apparently changes were pretty damn high, you thought as you leveled a half hearted glare at your friend and neighbor.  
“It’s laundry day, Hanta, don’t read into it.”
“But Hermosa!  How can I not?  The first time I see mi corazón wearing the gift I so painstakingly chose for her?”  He waggled his eyebrows as his trademark teasing grin spread over his face.
You blushed, turning your head to the side and refusing to look at him.
“You’re full of crap, Cellophane.  It’s been a really shitty day, and this was literally my only thing to wear.”
Sero nodded and hummed, turning to put his own laundry in the machines.  “Si, si.  It was a rather difficult time, it looked like.  And you okay though?  Not injured?  I didn’t get a chance to catch up with you after the fight was over.”
You groaned, tilting your head back and covering your face with your hands. “I’m afraid I got a nasty case of extreme embarrassment and took a heavy blow to my pride.  Of course you fuckers had to be the heros on duty for that whole debacle.”
Hanta looks at you seriously as shoves disorganized armfuls of laundry into the nearest machine.  “I’d rather it be me saving you than anybody else, Querida.”
You let your hands fall to your side with a disgruntled sigh.  “Why?  So you can witness all the embarrassing situations you can blackmail me with?”
“Well now that you mention it, yes.”  Sero dumped an obscene amount of soap into the washer before turning it on.  “However,” he purred in a sinful voice that startled you.  He stalked toward you like a hungry jaguar.  He stalked toward you like a hungry jaguar.  Squeaking, you inched away from him until the back of your legs were pressed firmly against the cold metal of the washing machine. Hanta leaned over your retreating frame, placing an arm on either side of you, caging you in.  “Querida mia, I want to always be able to make sure you are safe.”
You placed your hands on his chest, halfheartedly trying to shove him away.
“That’s very touching.  Now get out of my personal space.”
 “But Querida,”  Sero murmured, his voice going low and sensual, moving closer until your hips pressed against each other.  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than your personal space.  Si supieras las cosas que quiero hacerte...”
With him so close, there was nothing you could do to disguise the shiver that ran through you at his words.  
“Oh?  What’s this?”  Sero said.  His large hands traveled to your hips, his long fingers finding their way under the hem of your shirt to tantalizingly stroke your skin.  He leaned forward, voice turning to a growl with his mouth next to your ear.  “Hermosa likes me speaking Español, hmm?”
You bite your lip before giving in and nodding.
“Well, in that case…  Taco supreme!”
The fingers that had been stroking your skin suddenly became deadly, horrible tickle weapons; digging into your sides and moving rapidly.  You shrieked with surprised laughter, thrashing from side to side as you tried to escape.  However, Hanta’s large frame and firm hips kept you pinned against the washing machine as his traitorous fingers continued their assault.  He continues to tease in between his own laughter.  “Nachos grande!  Cinnamon Twists!  Quiero Taco Bell!”
Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you wheeze and slap at his chest.  “Stop!  Stop!  You horrible man!”  He gets in a few more tickles before he does stop, wrapping his arms around you, pulling into a tight hug as you both take a few moments to pant and calm your laughter.  He nuzzles your neck before asking softly, “Feel better?”
You nod, just enjoying his warm body wrapped around you.
“Y/N?”
“Yeah?”  Your voice just as soft as his, one of your hands finds its way up to stroke his hair.
“I’d really like to kiss you right now.”
“Please.”  You whisper softly, tugging at his hair just enough to encourage him to move his head back.  Your lips find each other, cautious and gentle at first.  Then, Hanta nips at your lower lip, and you let your mouth fall open with a whimper.  The kiss is hunger and passion, and heat.  Tongues wrestling, teeth lightly biting and teasing each other as hands roam and grope.  Sero’s hands find the back of your thighs and soon he’s lifting you, setting you down on the edge of the washing machine.  He presses himself between your spread legs, bucking against you, and you can feel his hard length teasing you through your clothes.
“Wanted this so long.  You have no idea how long.  Y entonces hoy estaba tan preocupado por ti.  Cuando vi que estabas en peligro, quise matar a ese villano y encerrarte donde nunca más estarías en peligro.”
“Me too.  Wanted this so long, but didn’t think you felt the same.  Now get back here and kiss me like you mean it!”
He happily complied, his lips fitting over yours as if they had been made to be placed together.  The kisses and touches didn’t stay innocent long, his hands finding your breasts through your shirt, teasing and pulling at your nipples.  One of your hands traveled down to stroke the obvious bulge that was rutting against you.  Between his thrusting and the vibrations of the machine you were sitting on, your shorts were becoming visibly soaked.  His fingers found their way up a leg hole and he moaned sinfully when he found there weren't any undergarments keeping his touch from your soaking folds.  It was your turn to smirk, pulling away from his kisses to whisper in his ear.
“I told you, Darling.  Laundry day.”
“Amore, you’re going to be the death of me.”  He groans, shoving his face into your cleavage as he slips a finger into you.
You laugh breathlessly.  “You better not die on me, Hanta.  What I have in mind will be much less fun if you’re dead.”
“HOLY FUCK!”  Shouted a very recognizable voice from the doorway.  Your groan was not from pleasure as you rested your head on Sero’s shoulder.
“Piss off, Denki.”
“Hanta’s finally getting some honey!  Score man!”
“What’s going on?” Mina’s sleep heavy voice drifted in from the hallway.
“Y/n and Sero are going to Pound Town in the Laundry Room!”
“Denki, en el nombre de Dios, I will kill you if you don’t back out of that doorway and let me finish what I started.”
Bakugo’s voice rang down the hall “No fucking in the goddamn Laundryroom!”
Kiri’s voice soon followed “Take it easy, Tsuki!  They can clean up when they’re done!  Get some guys!  You need condoms?”
Sero sighed deeply, pulling his hand out of your pants as your shoulders shook from silent laughter.  “I think, Hermosa, we can agree no fucking in front of the friend group?”
You nodded, laughing as you jumped down from your washing machine perch. “Not until the third date at least.”
Sero moaned softly, not expecting the way that statement had made his cock twitch.  Acting quickly, he scooped you up, and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  “My room.  Now.”
“Ooo, Caveman Hanta.  Sexy.”
Denki jumped to the side to let Sero pass, calling after you “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”
You called back “Well, I’m going to do Hanta, so what does that say about you?”
Sero’s hand came down on your bottom with a firm smack as he continued down the hallway and around the corner, taking you two toward his apartment and out of sight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spanish guide- 
Amiga- Friend
Querida- Darling
Hermosa- Beautiful
Querida mia- My darling.
 Si supieras las cosas que quiero hacerte- If you knew the things that I want to do to you
Y entonces hoy estaba tan preocupado por ti.  Cuando vi que estabas en peligro, quise matar a ese villano y encerrarte donde nunca más estarías en peligro.-  And then today I was so worried about you. When I saw that you were in danger, I wanted to kill that villain and lock you up where you would never be in danger again.
Hey guys!  Pan here, hope you enjoyed it.  It’s been quite a while since I’ve put any of my fanfic out there, so please be gentle with me.  I just used Google translate for the Spanish, so I’m sure some of it is very wrong.  If you have corrections, please feel free to send them my way!  Also, if you see any triggers that need tagging please let me know.  I also accept constructive criticism, and appreciate having spelling and grammar mistakes pointed out.  Also want to take the chance to answer this question ahead of time-
“The fuck is up with the dildo?!?!”
The Dildo of Doom is based on real events.  That actually happened.  One of my former sorority sisters found the dong of death at a thrift store.  It did indeed have teeth marks on it.  Human teeth marks, I should clarify.  Truth is stranger than fiction.
I have to thank @reinawritesbnha for helping me edit some clunky sections.  If you aren’t already familiar with her work, please check her out!
Taglist- @reinawritesbnha @nkjktk
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imjustthemechanic · 4 years ago
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The Price of a Soul
Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute
Sure enough, something shows up on the sonar.
-
Their final stop before the search could begin was the tiny village of Resolute, which consisted of a few houses huddled around a little sandy bay in the midst of an otherwise breathtakingly inhospitable landscape of craggy rocks and ice.  The beach itself had to serve as a runway for a nail-biting landing in the arctic darkness, but Howard pulled it off with a smile and then got out a sextant.
“I’m gonna double-check our position before we turn in,” he said.
“I’ll get some supper out,” Lake offered.
“You really think we’re going to let you anywhere near our food?” asked Peggy.
“Suit yourself,” Lake said with a shrug.
As it turned out, they did not need to start on their rations.  The town itself was inhabited almost entirely by the local Inuit people, who rarely saw visitors and many of whom did not speak good English, but Peggy could find no fault with their hospitality.  A party of them soon approached the plane to ask if the group were lost and to offer food and warm clothing.  Peggy assured them that she and her companions were quite all right and just passing through – but when she thought of the army rations stowed under the seats of the airplane, she simply couldn’t refuse the offer of a hot meal.
This consisted of flatbread with berries, venison soup, and rhododendron tea served up in one of the little kitchens of the town, while out the north-facing window they could see the green curtain of the aurora borealis moving sinuously across the sky.  Howard spread out a small navigation map on the table, and pointed to their position.
“We’re here, and it looks like Kay’s coordinates are just west of us,” he said.  “We’ll start on the exact spot and go in a spiral outwards.”
Lake nodded and swallowed a mouthful before turning to the house’s owners and asking them a question in what Peggy had to assume was their own language.  There was a surprised reply, and then what sounded like an exchange of pleasantries before the woman pointed to the west and began describing something, using her hands to indicate a thing that had moved across the sky.
Peggy’s heart quickened.  She had no idea what Lake had said, of course… it could be she’d asked this woman to play-act.  It was better not to get her hopes up.  And yet in that moment, for the first time she found herself thinking that maybe, just maybe, Lake was telling the truth.  Maybe the Valkyrie really was out there.  Maybe they really were here to bring America’s lost hero home.  If that happened… would she trust Lake thereafter?  It was hard to say, although she doubted it.
“She says they saw the plane go over and come down in that direction,” Lake translated.  “They didn’t think it had crashed at first, because they didn’t see an explosion, but a hunting party found part of the wing on the rocks a few months later.  A mother polar bear had dug her den underneath it.”
“We’ll have to be careful, then,” said Peggy.  She had no desire to run afoul of any large carnivores.
“A couple of shots will drive it off,” Howard said.  “Or make it into a very nice rug.”
“A conversation piece, to be sure,” Peggy observed.
Their hosts had no spare beds but did offer them extra blankets so they wouldn’t be too cold sleeping on the floor of the plane.  That was just as well, Peggy realized, because otherwise Lake would have had no bedclothes at all.  She looked quite comfortable curled up with her head on her folded coat, and it made Peggy wonder what sort of places she was used to sleeping in.
Halfway through that thought, she realized she was on the verge of feeling sorry for this woman, and quickly quashed it.
In the morning they got up well before it was light and ate a quick breakfast.  Howard buckled himself into the pilot’s seat, Jason took up his position next to the sonar equipment, and Peggy and Lake sat on opposite sides of the plane so that they could watch the landscape on both sides.  A crowd of children from the village turned out to watch the plane take off, and waved as they roared into the air.  Lake smiled out the window and waved back.
Peggy kept her eyes glued to the window as they flew out over the frozen ocean.  On a sunny day, the light reflecting off the miles upon miles of ice and snow would have been blinding.  In the pre-dawn, there was very little to see at all.
“Okay, okay!  We’ve got a reading!” said Jason eagerly.
Lake started to get up, but Peggy held up a hand.  “Don’t you dare,” she said.  “The last thing Howard and Jason need is you carrying tales of their technology back to Russia with you.”
“This isn’t patented yet,” Jason agreed.
Lake seemed to think about it, then reluctantly sat back down again.  Peggy stayed seated, but moved so that she could see the paper unspooling.  Based on the lines his pens were tracing out, it seemed like the top of the ice was quite flat, but the bottom very craggy, and the seafloor beneath gently sloped down.  The black trace suddenly jumped up to above the other two before falling back down again.
“See that?  We just passed another little island,” said Jason.  “This one I think is no more than maybe a hundred yards across.”
Lake pressed her face to the window.  “I don’t… I guess we’re already passed it.”
“You might see it on the way back,” said Jason.  “Or it might be totally buried in snow.  Fresh snow isn’t dense enough to show up.”
They pressed on.
The sun rose slowly, throwing the icescape below into startlingly high relief.  Every rock, every crack, and every stunted bush had its own coal-black shadow stretching away to the west.  Peggy squinted, trying to spot anything that looked artificial, but in this light every shape seemed to have the same unnatural sharp corners.
“Oh, look at that!” said Lake.
“What?” Peggy asked, and then made out a long, snaking crack between ice floes, with shapes moving along it almost like cars on a road.  For a moment Peggy had no idea what it was, but then a shadow showed that they were, in fact, narwhals with their long tusks, using the space as a highway to keep breathing as they headed south.  She wondered where they were going.
The cetaceans were in view for only a few moments before the plane left them behind, and then Peggy heard a dreamy sigh from Lake.
“Unicorns of the sea,” the woman said happily.
Peggy was a bit puzzled.  “You said you’d been here before.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen a narwhal,” Lake told her.  “There are so many unspoiled places still left in the world… maybe I’ll get to see some of them.”
“The view isn’t very good from prison,” Peggy replied darkly.
“Hey!” Jason said suddenly.  “Hey, hey, Howard!  Turn around and fly over this area again!”
Peggy turned around to look.  There was a scribble on his polygraph paper, where for just a moment, all three pens had twitched and drawn over each other… just as he’d said they would when encountering a man-made object.  Her heart quickened and she turned to look out the window again, but there was nothing visible there except ice.  The landscape outside tilted as the Skytrain made a wide turn, and Peggy squinted… would their be any sign?
Something glinted in the sun.  Was that ice, or metal?
“There it is again!” said Jason.  “That’s loud.  It’s got to be either rock or metal.  Fly around east-west this time so we can get another angle on it.”
The plane swung round again.  They passed the narwhal highway, though the sun was now too high for the individual animals’ shadows to be seen.  Their lane of open highway sparkled as the water moved, and Peggy wondered if all she’d seen earlier had been a puddle or a bit of unusually smooth ice.  This time it seemed to take much longer for them to get back to the same spot, but then it happened for a third time.  The needles zagged wildly across the paper, and Jason beamed in triumph.
“Did you get our heading?” he called to Howard.
“Got it!” the reply came back.  “Does anybody see anything?”
“I may have seen a piece of something metallic, but it’s very hard to tell in all the snow,” said Peggy.
“All right, we know where to look now, heading back to Resolute!” Howard said.  The plane began to turn again.
This seemed to come as a surprise to Lake.  “We’re not landing?” she asked.
“This thing isn’t designed to land on the ice, Doll-Face,” Howard replied.  “We’d probably go right through.”
“And here I thought Howard Stark would have more tricks up his sleeve,” said Lake.
“Now you’ve done it,” Peggy told her.  “He won’t rest until he’s made it work.”
The locals in Resolute were interested to hear about the results of their quest – Peggy suspected that very little ever happened in such a place, and this was the most excitement they’d seen since the end of the war.  There were congratulations all around, and Howard had no trouble renting a pair of sleds and teams of wonderfully fluffy malamute dogs to pull them.  To Peggy’s surprise, Lake seemed to fall in love with these animals immediately.  She knelt down to ruffle their thick coats and let them lick her face, cooing endearments to them in English and the local language both.
“You wouldn’t have struck me as a dog person,” Peggy observed.
“I had a friend who absolutely adored them,” Lake told her.  “If I met these pretty boys and girls and didn’t tell them how much he would have loved them, he’d haunt me to the end of my days.”
Peggy wouldn’t have wanted to take too much advantage of the people of Resolute and their hospitality, but the alternative was those rations on the plane, so she allowed them to be invited for supper again.  It was very much the same as the previous meal but that was all right, as was the fact that Lake and a couple of the children were trying to give Howard and Jason lessons in Inuktitut.  That gave Peggy an opportunity to let her surroundings fade into the background and analyze her own thoughts.
Did she believe they’d found the Valkyrie?  It squared with the descriptions Lake claimed to have gotten from the locals, but Peggy still didn’t know if she’d been truthful about that.  There certainly wasn’t any sort of secret base, though, unless it had somehow been built on the seafloor and the ice allowed to re-freeze above it.  That seemed enormously impractical.  How would they bring in people and supplies?  The locals would surely notice, unless everything were done by submarine… and if there were submarine traffic in the area, there would probably not be any shy cetaceans like the narwhals.
But if it were the Valkyrie, then what did that mean?  How had Lake ever managed to find the place, and why, having done so, had she chosen to tell nobody but Peggy?  She very much doubted it was just to be nice.  She wanted Peggy to feel in her debt… she’d gone to the effort of coming along on the expedition to be sure they all knew who had made this possible.  She was going to want some kind of repayment.  Was all this just to secure Peggy’s help in getting Dottie back to the USSR alive, or was there something else?
She knew better than to ask.  Lake would not give her an answer.
Peggy also wondered what she was going to do if they found the Valkyrie.  Lake had described Steve’s body lying there above the plane, having been forced out the windows as seawater poured in.  That meant if they uncovered the wreck, it would be one of the first things they saw.  Peggy had to prepare herself for that.  When she’d thought this was all some kind of trick, she hadn’t needed to worry about her own emotional stability but now that the specter of actually finding him had reared its head… she didn’t know if she were ready.
And that was absurd, because Peggy had always lost Steve Rogers three times.  The first had been when she’d heard the radio go dead, and knew that he was thousands of miles away dying among fire and ice.  At the time she’d sat there and sobbed mindlessly for a while.  Phillips had patted her back and assured her it had probably been quick.  She’d drifted through the next few days in a kind of numbed haze, wanting desperately to get drunk but not allowing herself to do so.  Steve had not been able to get drunk when his lifelong friend had plummeted into a ravine, only days earlier.  Why should Peggy be permitted the privilege?
She’d lost him again a week later, when she’d waited all night at the Stork Club, knowing he wouldn’t be there but hoping against hope.  Of course he hadn’t come.  At sunrise she’d finally gone home.  When she’d heard Steve die on the radio, Peggy had felt hollowed out, as if she had no room for anything inside her but sorrow.  Leaving the Stork Club, she’d felt resigned and empty.  She was a tiny mote whose hopes and dreams and loves meant nothing in the face of a cold, uncaring world, and she would have to live with that.
The third time had been when she’d poured the vial of blood into the East River.  That had been sad, but peaceful.  It was time to let him go, and Peggy was ready to do so.  She would move on, and follow his example as best she could.
Could she really lose him a fourth time?  Could she look at his corpse in the ice and know that this time there was no room for even the most fleeting of fantasies, that the truth really was as cold and hard as the arctic ice?  Peggy didn’t know, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to find out.
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pixie-mage · 5 years ago
Note
I don't know if i was supposed to send two characters for the same writing prompt but i'll try this since Rexy needs some love. 9 -L !
From this NatM Writing Prompt: [ x ]
(Either way works! We all love our Puppy-saurus Rex! ^^)
Characters: Rexy Adjectives: Lonely
~  ~  ~  ~  ~
From near his usual perch in the lobby, the skeleton of a tyrannosaurus rex watched from empty sockets as the museum’s night guard came tearing out of an archway on the right, being quickly pursued by a younger teen.
“You got the keys, right Nick?” the guard asked.
“Of course I did,” the teenager replied, rolling his eyes. “The only person Dexter plays ‘keep away’ with is you, Dad.”
“A simple ‘yes’ would have been fine, Nicky.”
The guard - Larry Daley - came skidding to a stop in front of the circular desk at the lobby’s center, slipping behind it and digging through a bag he had stowed there. He pulled out a single hockey glove and a goalie blocker, shaking his head in irritation as he did so.
“I thought the Mayans were past this,” he muttered. “They were behaving so well this week. And then this–”
Rexy approached Larry and Nick with his tail wagging, his bone already held tight in his teeth. He made a little whining noise in the back of his throat and bent down, looking to all the world like he wanted to play. He dropped the bone at Nick’s feet.
“Not now, Rexy,” Larry said, sounding distracted. He barely spared Rexy half a glance as he tugged on the glove, then tossed the bag to his son Nick.
There was a whirring as a small remote-controlled car sped into view from an archway on the left, through which sat the Hall of Miniatures.
“Get gaited, Laredo!” a small southern voice piped up from inside the car. “We’ve got a hell of a hootenanny goin’ on between the two halves of the hall. Them Mayans ‘re fightin’ like kilkenny cats. We had about twenty men downed by poisoned dart last I checked.”
“Tweny-four, to be exact,” a second voice spoke up, a miniature Roman General. “My men are diligent and our shields may be strong but the Mayans are an unpredictable adversary. Much like the Americans when we first were at war.”
There was a fondness in the last phrase. Not that Rexy noticed or cared, but it was there all the same.
“Now don’t you get sappy on me, ‘Tavius,” the cowboy scolded. “Keep yer head on straight. We’ve gotta get them Mayan boys under control ‘fore all hell breaks loose.”
“It already has, Jedediah,” Octavius said. There was a muffled thump from inside the car, followed by an “Ow!” from the centurion.
“Guys!”
The two miniatures stopped bickering, staring up through the tiny windshield of the car to meet Larry’s disbelieving eyes.
“Seriously?! Mayans. Bigger problem.”
“Of course, my liege.”
“You got it Gigantor.”
“Alright.” Larry nodded. “Nick and I will try and get as many of them back into Guatemala as we can. You two just - get your people to try and push them back.”
“Am I locking them up or are you?” Nick asked, already wearing a hockey glove and a blocker like his father.
“Uh–” Larry thought for a moment. “You. Better you than me, in case Dexter decides to show up for a round two.”
Nick giggled.
The remote-controlled car whirred back into motion, and the familiar noise made Rexy’s head perk up. Oh! He knew this game! He picked up his bone again and brought it over to the tiny car, tail wagging all the while. Play? Chase?
“No can do, Rexasaurus,” Jed shook his head. “We’ve got a group o’ crazy tribesmen to wrangle.”
Rexy whimpered, head tilting to the side.
“Not now, Rexy,” Larry reaffirmed, this time looking Rexy right in the eye sockets. “Later. Okay? We’re kind of busy right now.”
Rexy whined, but the group was clearly focussed on a much more important task. Larry and Nick took off into the Hall of Miniatures with the miniature car speeding after them as quickly as it could go.
The lobby fell silent.
Rexy’s tail drooped against the ground.
The dinosaur whimpered into the empty room, nobody around to hear his lonely plea. He just wanted to play. Lately, things in the museum had been so busy that Larry was always being pulled to every corner of the building...and Nick often spent more time with the huns or Ahkmenrah than he did anywhere else. Plus Jedediah and Octavius were most often seen together rather than apart, and though this used to mean they’d be happy to spend some time driving around the museum dragging a bone while their local Tyrannosaurus chased after them, it had become rather difficult to find them as of late. It had become rather difficult to find anyone to play with as of late.
And as for the rest of the museum...well. Rexy whimpered again and put his rib back where it belonged, circling the spot he stood a few times and settling onto the ground. He tucked in his tail and let out a deep sigh.
Many of the other museum occupants were still too afraid to get close to him.
With that sad little thought, Rexy  found himself dozing off into a light sleep in the center of the museum lobby, completely oblivious to the smiling faces that were watching him from a distance.
“He is asleep, I think.”
“So he is. This may be easier than we first thought, my dear.”
Creeping down the stairs on soft feet, Sacagawea motioned for Teddy to stay quiet and stay where he was. She approached the snoozing dinosaur and smiled adoringly once she was close enough to see that he was, indeed, fully asleep. She nodded up toward the balcony above where Teddy stood waiting. The former president was quick to join her in the lobby.
“I will go find the others,” Sacagawea informed him. “Could you seek out Larry and Nick? The Mayans were not part of the plan tonight, but I imagine they will be finished soon.”
“Of course my dear.”
Teddy took her hand, pressed a kiss to her fingers, and swiftly followed the path their night guard had taken a few minutes prior. Sacagawea smiled softly to herself. If given the choice, she would gladly indulge herself in spending more time with her love rather than send him off on a mission...but today was significant. She had a more important task to handle. With one last glance toward the sleeping tyrannosaurus, she vanished back up the stairs and down the hall.
~  ~  ~  ~  ~
Rexy awoke slowly an hour or so later. His tail quivered as he stretched, huffing a breath out his nose and yawning widely, his massive teeth bared for all to see. He thought, for a moment, he might still be sleeping...because the lobby was terribly dark. It was difficult to see, and as the dino got back to his feet, he was careful not to move too much lest he trip in the dark...or worse, accidentally step on a friend. What was going on? Where was everyone? Why were the lights off? Rexy made a rumbling, questioning noise in the back of his throat, confused and curious.
“Ready?” a quiet, familiar voice whispered from somewhere to Rexy’s left. He turned his head, trying to find its owner. “Okay...3...2...1…”
“SURPRISE!”
Lights flared to life throughout the museum, the sound of switches being flipped completely drowned out by the sea of joyous voices that had filled the air. Rexy took a step back, surprised and startled, trying to understand what he was seeing.
Everyone was here. Everyone. Larry and Nick stood by the front desk, Larry with one hand still lingering near the light switches. A sea of miniatures covered the desk’s surface. The huns were grouped off to one side near the eskimos, the cavemen were all making excited noises somewhere near the back of the crowd, and vikings, statues, civil war soldiers, and more were mixed among the rest of the museum’s inhabitants. A select few animals had been let loose to join them, Dexter among them, and Sacagawea and Teddy were standing side by side near the front of the crowd. Ahkmenrah was leaning back against the desk, and when things began to settle, he murmured something in an undertone to Larry behind him.
Larry nodded. He abandoned the desk and made his way through the crowd, a paper bag in his hand, a beaming grin splitting his face.
“Happy Birthday, Rexy!” he announced, drawing another round of excited cheering from the gathered crowd. Larry’s expression was bright and warm and excited, and when he finally reached Rexy he held up a hand to pet the dinosaur’s nose. Rexy leaned into it, more than a little happy to be on the receiving end of the night guard’s affections after so long of going without it.
Not that a few weeks was that long in the grand scheme of things, but it certainly felt like ages to the puppy-like tyrannosaurus. A rumbling noise started up in the back of his nonexistent throat and he leaned down to nuzzle his skull against Larry’s chest, his tail wagging happily behind him.
“I know we don’t know your real birthday,” Larry went on, scratching along Rexy’s jaw, “but I figured the day you arrived at the museum was as close as we were gonna get. One hundred years ago today. Can you believe that?”
Rexy leaned into the scratches, making happy little noises all the while, and Larry chuckled to himself.
“Ya like that big guy?” he smiled. “Heh. Hang on, I’ve got a present for you.”
Present? Present! Rexy sniffed at the bag in Larry’s hand when the guard held it up, eager to see what was inside. Present. For him? Really?
“Yeah buddy! That’s for you!” Larry said. Rexy nipped at the bag and Larry pulled it out of his reach, chuckling. “Hang on! Hang on, Rexy. Let me get it out first!”
Larry reached into the bag and pulled out what looked like the biggest dog bone in the world. It would be huge for most dogs, but for Rexy? It was perfect. The dinosaur crouched where he stood, in full play mode, his tag wagging wildly behind him. The onlookers grinned and giggled and laughed at his antics. Larry glanced back over his shoulder at them, his eyes sparkling. He returned his focus to the overeager puppy-saur in front of him.
“I know, you’re excited,” he nodded, holding up the bone with some effort. “But here’s the thing. I can give this to you now–”
Rexy made little rumbling noises at the prospect, dancing a little on the spot.
“–or! Hang on, buddy.” Larry stifled another laugh. “Or we can see what everybody else got you. Okay? There’s more presents from everyone, not just this one.”
Rexy looked torn. Play with bone, or get more toys. Bone. More toys. Bone now. Bone later? Toys now...toys later…
It was a very difficult decision.
Until the remote-controlled car came speeding into view.
“Hey! Rexy!”
Jed was practically hanging out the window of the car, waving his hat to get the dinosaur’s attention.
“Hey there big fella!” he called, grinning ear to ear. “Guess what we’ve got!”
The car raced past, driving straight between the dino and the night guard, and it was only then that Rexy’s attention was caught by the colorful toy being dragged by the car. It wasn’t as big as the bone Larry had gotten him, nor was it even a bone at all, but it was eye-catching and made jingling noises as it was dragged along, the colorful ball rolling and bouncing slightly in the wake of the car it was attached to.
Rexy was off and on the chase before Larry knew it, and he - along with the others at the very front of the crowd - had to duck to avoid the swing of the dinosaur’s tail.
Larry grinned.
“Rexy looks exceedingly happy, Larry,” a warm voice appeared at Larry’s side. “I think this party is already a raging success and it has barely begun.”
“He does look happy,” Larry agreed. He turned to smile at Ahkmenrah, who had come to stand beside him and watch the oversized puppy play chase through the lobby and front halls of the museum. “Thanks for the idea.”
“You would have thought of it yourself eventually,” Ahk inclined his head toward the ‘guardian’, smiling all the while. “You are rather creative yourself, and you care greatly for everyone here. It would have crossed your mind at some point I’m sure.”
“Still,” Larry shrugged, pocketing his hands and turning back toward Rexy. “He’s been so down lately. Thanks for the help.”
“You are more than welcome.”
“Dad! Dad! Dad!” Nick came up behind Larry, tugging on his arm. “Can I get Rexy’s new ball out? I think the car needs to recharge soon and–”
“You don’t need to give me a reason.” Larry shook his head with a smile and pointed toward the desk. “It should be back there with the other gifts. Just - try not to let Rexy pop it on the first night. If we can get it to last a week at least I’ll be happy.”
“Sure!”
Then Nick was gone, digging through the gifts with abandon. Somewhere in the distance, a whoop and a holler rang through the air alongside a shout of “ONWARD!” as a tiny car drove whiplashing circles around the giant dinosaur looming overhead.
~  ~  ~  ~  ~
The night had gone about as well as Larry and Nick had hoped. The ball Nick had sought out earlier was, surprisingly, still in one piece. The exhibits had had a fun time playing some form of “keep away” with Rexy, the ball bouncing and soaring back and forth over the crowd while Rexy tried to snatch it out of the air. Attila and his men had played tug-of-war with the dino at some point, the sturdy rope they had been using now shredded and sitting in a pile on the desk. Nick and Ahk had taken a few turns riding on the dinosaur’s back, much to the enjoyment of all involved. An oversized plush toy sat in Larry’s lap (courtesy of Sacagawea and the civil war soldiers) looking a little chewed on, but mostly still in one piece. He was leaning back against the wall at the back of the lobby, past the stairs, and Rexy was curled up nearby. He was gnawing happily on the bone from the beginning of the evening.
There was about an hour left until dawn, and some of the exhibits had already begun making their way back toward their displays. Teddy and Sacagawea were organizing a small group to help clean up the remnants of the party...and Larry would join them soon too. But first…
Larry reached over, rubbing his knuckles against Rexy’s nose. The dino leaned into the affection, a happy rumble bubbling up from somewhere near his chest.
“Did you have a fun birthday, buddy?” Larry asked. Rexy’s tail thumped loudly against the floor a few times, and Larry smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 
The guard sighed softly. His smile faded.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been paying attention to you,” he said quietly. “I could just say that it’s because the museum has been more...lively than usual lately, but that’s no excuse to make you sad.” Rexy lifted his head, tilting it in question. “I know you’ve been kind of lonely lately, and I’m sorry. Some of the other exhibits noticed and told me about it. I’m sorry that I didn’t see it myself. Nobody should ever feel forgotten, alright? That’s - ya know. That’s Friendship 101, and I’ve been kind of a bad friend. Haven’t I?”
Rexy whined softly and nuzzled Larry’s head as gently as he could. The night guard smiled weakly and held up a hand to pat the end of the puppy-saur’s nose.
“It’s nice of you to forgive me, but...still.” Larry was quiet for a moment. Then– “I know I can’t always have time to play with you, same with Nick. I have a job to do and he’s my backup when things get hairy. But I’m gonna try to be better. And…”
He looked thoughtful, as if trying to decide if he should say anything or not.
“...and I know we keep other dinosaurs locked away in the B-wing. I’ll talk to McPhee and see if we can’t get you a friend on display out here, so you have someone to play with. Okay?”
Rexy panted happily and his tail whipped back and forth along the floor, thwacking the walls on either side in his exuberance.
“Okay, okay!” Larry laughed. “Calm down, buddy. I said I’d talk to McPhee, but it’s up to him. No promises! But I’ll try. Alright?”
Rexy bumped his nose against Larry’s shoulder, then flopped his head down right up against the night guard’s crossed legs.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
When the sun rose later that early morning, and when the first few guests began to filter in through the museum’s front doors, McPhee swore the sharp-toothed smile the tyrannosaurus wore was wider than it had ever been before. But surely it was a trick of the morning light...right?
~  ~  ~  ~  ~
[A/N: This was a lot of fun to write! I haven’t written much in the NatM fandom yet, so this was a really fun practice...and we all know Rexy deserves all the love. Hope you enjoyed it!]
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angryhausfrau-writes · 4 years ago
Text
I Travel Troubled Oceans - Chapter 2: The Heist
Charles was, in fact, difficult to persuade of the plan. Sure, he wants money just about as much as any of the rest of the crew. But he's also pretty fucking pissed at Eleanor Guthrie.
Although the prospect of getting one over on her – and ruining another one of the people responsible for sending him to jail and getting filthy rich in the process – is a strong incentive. And Jack's always been good with words. Persuasive, one might say. Charles is stubbly, slightly recalcitrant putty in his hands.
So they all troop down to the nearest YMCA so Charles can take a shower. And Anne shoplifts him some slightly more upscale slutty clothes, because God forbid the man ever actually wear a shirt. But he looks like a halfway respectable stripogram by the time he shows up to Eleanor's little birthday party – a fashionable two hours late so the party's in full swing and he doesn't look desperate. Though Eleanor will probably still read him that way. A pathetic sad sack crawling back to her on bended knee, ready to beg forgiveness and willing to do anything to get back in her good graces now that his former crew is a wreck and Flint's run off to America.
Eleanor thinks she's got Charles right where she wants him – under her two-thousand dollar heels. But that doesn't mean it's not a scene worthy of the fucking Baftas when she sees him come through the door.
Jack and Anne and the new guy are posted up in the kitchen, dealing to all the posh little fucks looking for a bit of white gold to get the party started right. Just killing time until Charles makes his move and he and Eleanor head to the bedroom.
And minimalist open plan living being in fashion, even in these old Victorian piles, they can hear every fucking word of the happy little reunion from a whole half a house away.
“Why Charles,” Eleanor practically purrs – and it's the purr of a Jaguar, lethal and expensive. “Whatever are you doing here.”
It's not a question.
Charles forces himself to look down at his feet. As if he's weak. As if he's ashamed.
“Eleanor.” He makes it sound anguished instead of angry. “I had a lot of time to think while I was away.”
Because Eleanor and her lot threw him away. And who knew Chaz was such a good actor? There's none of the violent, simmering fury Jack knows he feels over the betrayal. His tone is contrite and he must look suitably groveling, because Eleanor lets him continue.
“I started thinking about what was important – what was good in my life.” Namely her. And what he'd do to get her back. Though that goes unsaid, because there's such a thing as laying it on too thick, even for Eleanor fucking Guthrie.
And they – Jack, mostly Jack, who'd coached Charles through the whole interaction - must have struck just the right balance of pathetic groveling and virile masculinity with that little performance, because Eleanor says, “Why don't we discuss this somewhere more private, Charles?”
A few minutes later, Jack gets a surreptitious eggplant emoji from Charles's burner phone – the prearranged signal that he's successfully convinced Eleanor to sleep with him and that they're free to comb the house. Jack sends a winky face in response and then he, Anne, and the new guy split up to search for the cash.
Knowing Charles – and Eleanor – they'll probably be tied up for a while. Charles almost definitely literally. But that doesn't mean they can dawdle.
Anne takes to rifling through the bedrooms, disturbing several couples – and more – in the throws of passion. But she's always been good at intimidating idiots to stay out of her way – and so obviously on a mission that they don't do more than voice a few token protests. Plus, she's good enough at what she does – and they're so wrapped up in their drugged out fucking – that she's in and out before some of the participants even notice she's there. But, as Jack learns from her regular updates of terse “NO” and red “X” texts, she has no luck finding the cash.
Jack hadn't really expected Eleanor or Woodes Rogers to keep the cash in a random bedroom, where any horny houseguest could stumble upon it. So that just leaves the master suite – empty, what with Eleanor having taken Charles to the room that apparently serves as her bedroom cum sex dungeon, if Max's deeply - horrifyingly deeply - detailed description is to be believed. (Privately, Jack thinks Eleanor may have gotten just a little bit too invested in the whole Fifty Shades trend. But bored horny women are bored horny women, regardless of bank account balance, apparently.)
And Woodes Rogers is otherwise occupied downstairs, courtesy of the new guy, who's apparently caught his eye and is being rather badly flirted at, if the increasingly frantic texts Jack keeps getting are any indication. Jack feels bad, he really does – ok, not that bad, he'd do the same thing on purpose if Woodes Rogers was into queens. But he likes a little bit of rough - not that Jack can blame him – and the new guy seems to be doing it for him, even if he's got a pretty boy face. And this is probably the best chance they're going to get of having the house to themselves for the search. So he tells New Guy to stick it out and if Woodes Rogers starts getting too sleezy to make a break for it. They'll all meet at the rendezvous point at the kebab shop in the West End anyway, it doesn't matter if they don't all go together.
Plus, it'll help take the heat off if they just look like regular party goers instead of co-conspirators in a heist.
But Jack doesn't have a lot of extra time or attention to spare for New Guy's plight. Because Anne's struck out in the master bedroom, except for some rather tasteless but presumably expensive jewelry. And Jack's searched the study - a big, stupidly imposing room that practically screams “compensating” - and he's come up with zilch. A fucking goose egg, outside of a moving bookcase that hides a humidor. Probably Eleanor's.
So he moves on to the library, the last place the cash could reasonably be without them having to try and search the fucking basement.
It's probably the least used room in the house. Because sure, Woodes Rogers is a lawyer of some description and Eleanor an accountant. But the paraphernalia for that kind of stuff gets kept in blinding glass and steel corporate offices. This room is for impressing the impressionable. And it's absolutely stuffed to the fucking rafters with first editions of classics and entire sets of encyclopedias that Jack would bet real money have never even been opened by their current owners.
There are also several oil paintings in heavy gilt frames – perfect for hiding a wall safe. And if that doesn't reveal anything, there's always the horrifically overbearing desk situated in pride of place in front of the enormous bay windows. Jack can just see Eleanor there, sitting in the high backed antique chair like it was a throne, dispensing her version of mercy on groveling penitents.
Jack wonders if she ever made Max fuck her in that chair. That feels like something she'd be into.
And with that lovely thought, Jack turns to search the nearest painting – a drab toned portrait of a man who is presumably one of Woodes Rogers's antecedents. Blugh. But, heinous crimes committed during his life or no, he isn't the final resting place for stolen goods.
Jack turns to the next painting and the next with no more success. The final painting – one of hounds on the hunt – doesn't reveal the cash, but it does reveal some rather racy photographs of Eleanor and one of her previous lovers (neither Max nor Charles, so Jack doesn't remove them) in what is apparently Woodes Rogers's pathetic attempts at a black mail collection on his wife. It's quite sad really, so Jack just takes a snap of it for Anne – who'll undoubtedly show it to Max, who'll get a kick out of it - and moves on to the desk.
There, he strikes gold. Or cash, really. There's a hidden compartment in the bottom of the desk drawer with a lock on it – as if that could stop Jack. Or anyone with better fine motor skills than a toddler. It only takes him a few minutes and an unbent paper clip to open the catch.
And there lays the cash.
Jack signals Anne and the new guy to come help, since there's approximately a metric fuckton of it. Someone who's not Jack is going to have to practically crawl inside the desk to get it all. But they've found it, finally.
Thank Christ.
Jack starts laying bundles of cash into the bottom of his traveling case – one of those hard-sided suitcases that businessmen so love to use. And he's honestly not sure if that's going to be enough. But fortunately, the new guy had the foresight to bring a ratty backpack along and between the two bags and the three of their pockets, they get it all stowed away.
Jack texts Charles a Jolly Roger to let him know he can wrap things up with Eleanor and all that's left now is to get away clean.
Which is almost easier done than said. They walk out the door, times staggered enough that it doesn't look like they're all leaving together, and no one notices a thing. It's all very anti-climactic, honestly. The movies always make this part seem so exciting – car chases and shoot outs and etcetera. But they just walk right out the front door, completely invisible to the partiers still inside the house.
Jack leaves last, so he's only about a half block away when Charles finishes their little distraction off with a bang. They'd planned it all out – how to make it look like Eleanor had the upper hand in the breakup this time, so she wouldn't look too hard at the evening and link the theft back to Jack or Anne. How to make sure that Eleanor was left physically and emotionally satisfied enough that she never seeks Charles out for another night of fun. How to make her feel in charge and in control and like she's throwing Charles over, instead of them conning her.
And frankly, the bits Jack can hear are a masterstroke. Charles is pathetic and groveling in a way that is genuinely unappealing – but that apparently gets Eleanor's rocks off, because she's got the most self-satisfied fucking smirk on face, the one he imagines she wore the entire time Charles was in her bed. And Eleanor stands at the top of the stairs, framed by the open doorway, lauding her everything about herself over Charles as he begs her to take him back. Which she does not deign to do at all.
All the other party goers have gathered around to witness the carnage and Eleanor's not even pretending to feel sorry about making such a scene. This – this is what she's been looking for ever since Charles gave her the boot – coincidentally right before he went away on that two stretch. And she's milking her ability to get one over him in that same way for all it's fucking worth.
“We're done, Charles.”
She says it with the cold finality of a vault door swinging shut. And she sweeps back into the house, surrounded by the ranks of simpering sycophants. Leaving Charles curled into himself on the cold pavement.
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worryinglyinnocent · 5 years ago
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Fic: Cadillac Love
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Rated: E
Cadillac Love
“Dad, that does not sound healthy. When was the last time you had this thing serviced?”
Gold pointedly avoided the question, but if pressed he would have to agree with his son’s statement that the Cadillac did not sound how a Cadillac ought to sound.
Still, it wasn’t his fault that the thing hadn’t seen a mechanic for many more years than it should. Mr Tillman, the only mechanic Gold had trusted to come within an inch of his prized car, had left town a few years ago to take care of his children after his ex-wife died, and whilst Gold would never begrudge the man’s decision, he also would never allow anyone else to touch the Cadillac.
At any rate, despite the strange noises, the car had got them home safely and now all it had to do was sit in the driveway and recover until they needed it again. Which hopefully would not be too soon. The bonnet really was just a tad too hot for Gold’s liking.
“Look, I know it’s your pride and joy and I think that you love it more than me sometimes, but you’ve got to take care of it.” Neal scrabbled around in his overstuffed pockets and handed over a business card. “French is the best mechanic I’ve ever met. Better than Mr Tillman was, if you can believe that. The Cadillac will be in safe hands, I promise.”
Reluctantly, Gold took the card and tucked it away in his coat. Neal was right of course. Neal was always right about these kinds of things. The Cadillac definitely needed some TLC. Perhaps it was time to take a leap of faith and trust someone else with it.
It turned out that he needed the car sooner than he’d anticipated after all. Neal had gone out to catch up with old friends he’d missed during his first year at college, and Gold needed to go and collect the rent from The Rabbit Hole. It was a walkable distance, but the weather was atrocious, and Gold had no desire to turn up at the establishment looking like a drowned rat, no matter how much he might want to save the car.
With bated breath, he got in and started the engine. It spluttered once before nicely purring into life, and Gold smiled. He could pretend that he’d never heard that first splutter. All the same, he stuck to low speeds, crawling through the town until he reached his destination.
The Rabbit Hole was never his favourite place even in its best moments, and Friday night happy hour was definitely not one of its best moments. He went up to the bar, pleased when the bartender saw him and immediately paled, rushing off to the back room with a squeak of ‘yes I’ll just get that rent for you now’.
Gold sat down on a bar stool to wait, not paying too much attention to his surroundings until someone spoke to him.
“What can I get you?”
It was the young woman on his left. Dark hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a little secretive smile on her face, as if she was sizing him up and she liked what she saw. Gold liked what he saw, too, and he felt a pull of desire in the pit of his stomach that he had not felt for a very long time. He shook his head crossly. He was far too old to be picking up young women in bars for one-night stands.
“I’m driving,” he said quickly, to cover the sudden movement.
The woman shrugged. “Something non-alcoholic then. Come on, let a girl show a little interest in the mysterious stranger.” She held out a hand. “I’m Belle.”
“Gold.”
The bartender came back with the rent money and Gold set to counting it out whilst Belle ordered a gin and tonic for herself and an orange juice for him. He smiled, stowing the rent packet safely in his pocket and deciding that since he was in a good mood, having met this young lady who seemed against all the odds to be interested in him, he would not mention the fact that they were ten dollars short this month.
Belle toasted her glass against his. “So, you’re the infamous Mr Gold. I take it that you drove here in your Cadillac?”
Gold nodded.
“Oh, I love that car,” Belle said. There was an almost dreamy quality to her voice. “I practically drool over it whenever I see it in town. I’ve give anything to get a closer look at it.” She leaned in close, whispering in his ear before kissing the lobe. “And a closer look at its owner, of course.”
Gold gulped, willing his cock to stop twitching. It was so long since anyone had shown any sexual interest in him that he was getting ahead of himself, and he kept fearing that this was all an elaborate candid camera set up and he’d be the laughingstock of the town in the morning. But Belle’s bright eyes were genuine, and he felt, perhaps against his better judgement, that she was someone he could trust. Her enthusiasm towards the Cadillac was certainly a point in her favour, and he was pleased to have stumbled across someone with such a good taste in cars.
They continued to talk as they finished their drinks, the innuendo coming thick and fast by the end, and Gold knew that even if the Cadillac was working perfectly, they still wouldn’t be leaving the parking lot any time soon. Belle linked her arm through his as they left the bar, rushing through the heavy rain to get into the car.
Once in, they looked at each other for a moment, and then they were kissing; frantic, heated kisses with lips and teeth and tongues, licking and biting as fingers carded into wet and rumpled hair. Gold pushed his seat back as far as he could and Belle scrambled over onto him, pulling her skirt up around her waist and grinding her hips against his, the pressure against his cock sending him half-mad with want.
He reached down to cup her through her panties, tracing up and down the line of her slit through the damp fabric and making her moan, head thrown back. He took his chances, yanking the panties down so that he could see and touch her properly, and Belle wriggled out of them altogether, tossing them onto the dashboard.
Gold found her clit, rubbing roughly with his thumb whilst his fingers explored her slippery folds, pushing up inside her entrance.
“You’re good,” Belle gasped. “For all you say you’re out of practice. Keep going!”
Gold was happy to obey, his other hand pinching her clit as he pressed another finger inside, stroking her inner walls.
“Fuck!” Belle screamed as she came suddenly, fluttering around his fingers, her hips bucking forward against his hand. “Fuck, Gold, you’re good.”
She kissed him again as she began to come down from her high, and then her hands were on his belt, opening his fly and taking out his cock, stroking and tugging him deftly until Gold was panting, eyes closed. Her thumb brushed over his tip, playing with his foreskin and smearing the drops of precum that were already starting to show. Although he might not be rusty when it came to giving ladies pleasure, he was most certainly not used to lasting for any length of time. His recent experience had been quick and functional touches in the shower to find release as fast as possible, and now he wanted to enjoy Belle’s wonderful fingers, but he could already feel his climax coming.
He spurted thickly over her hand, splashing on his waistcoat. That was going to take some explaining to the dry cleaners, but it was absolutely worth it.
“Fuck. Belle.”
“You can definitely fuck Belle.” She kissed him again. “I have plenty of condoms at home. You can fuck Belle all night if you want.”
“Yes, I think that’s a great idea.”
They set themselves and the car to rights, Belle using her discarded panties to wipe the misted windows, and Gold turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.
He tried again. Still nothing.
“It’s ok,” Belle said. Gold shook his head and with a sigh, pulled out the mechanic’s card and started to dial the number.
“Honestly, you don’t need to call a mechanic,” Belle said, just as her phone began to ring.
Gold just stared at her as she held out a hand.
“Belle French, local mechanic. Pleased to meet you.”
Gold cut the call and shook her hand, still dumbstruck. “Likewise.” At least he knew that she would treat the Cadillac with the respect that it deserved. She opened the passenger door.
“You’ll get soaked!” Gold protested.
“Oh, what a terrible thought.” Belle’s smile was cheeky, her eyes bright and teasing. “I’ll have to take off all my wet clothes when we get inside. Maybe a hot shower will be in order. You’ll have to warm me up. Skin to skin, of course, that’s the best way.” She darted in and kissed him again before jumping out of the car and going to look at the engine, leaving Gold utterly gobsmacked, his head full of rather distracting images of taking a very wet and very naked Belle French on the Cadillac’s bonnet…
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starkercrossedlovers · 6 years ago
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Road trip to Paradise
—————————
In a world where Peter is Spider-Man but isn’t part of the Avengers and Tony is still Iron Man, they have a fateful encounter on the side of the road as Tony leaves everything behind for a much needed road trip to clear his head. Peter is looking to escape too, and though he knows better, takes the ride Tony is offering.
——————————
Tony tosses another bag into the trunk of his car, ignoring the protests Pepper is still trying to make. He’d told her a week ago that he was going away, for how long he didn’t know, until he was ready to come back probably, but she hadn’t taken him seriously until he had handed off team leadership of the Avengers to Steve and told the SI board not to contact him unless the company was in imminent danger of collapse or hostile takeover.
Given that neither of those things are likely, he’s looking forward to a couple of weeks of silent bliss.
“I just, Tony, what if something happens?”
Tony shoots her a wry look, “Like the end of the world? Pep, we already did that. Got the shirt and everything,” he drawls before slamming the trunk closed. When he looks at her more closely he sighs, seeing the fear in her eyes always makes him hurt. She’s never quite forgiven him for going to space and almost dying, and it’s him leaving now that hammers the final nail in the coffin for their relationship.
He loves her, always has and always will, but she can’t accept him for who he is, and he’s not sure there’s anyone who ever could. Steve couldn’t, and it had very nearly destroyed them both.
So he was leaving. Taking some time to heal, leave the weight of Avengers and Iron Man behind and find out who he was without all the trappings of that life surrounding him.
He takes one of Pepper’s hands in his and squeezes, smiling gently at her. “I have to go Pep. After Thanos and the end of the world and almost dying, I need space. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, believe me that’s not what I wanted, but I can’t stay. I’ll be back, and if you need me, you can call me.”
He squeezes her hand again when she sniffles, eyes lined with red as she nods and leans in to kiss his cheek softly. Her forehead presses into his temple and they stand together for a long time, quiet and steady and he almost asks her to come with him, almost thinks they can fix this thing, but he knows deep down, it won’t be fixed this time.
Gently, he turns his chin and kissed her, soft and fleeting and nudges her nose with his. “I love you. Always will.”
She makes a soft wounded noise and nods, pulling back so he can see the tears gleaming in her eyes, the grief in her face like a punch to the gut. She cups his cheek and sighs, nods, and lets it trail away.
“Call me every few days?” she asks, voice hoarse and low.
“Of course,” he agrees—it’s easy enough and he knows eventually he’ll miss her and want to hear her voice, so it’s a smart agreement for them both. He swings the car door open and gives her one last smile, “See you when I see you,” he murmurs before sliding in and closing the door.
She watches him as he pulls away, her figure impossibly small in the rear view mirror before he looks away, turns his gaze forward, to what lies ahead.
———————
Peter hauls the backpack onto his shoulder and stuffs the last of his belongings into a duffel bag, glancing around the empty apartment with a heavy heart. When the world had unexpectedly ended, May had turned to ash right in front of his eyes, and when everyone else had come back, she hadn’t.
He’d gone through most of the savings May had left behind trying to pay bills and stay ahead of rent, but with school and patrolling, he didn’t have time for more shifts with Mr. Delmar, and eventually he’d fallen so far behind he’d received an eviction notice.
He’s got nowhere to go and no one to help him, so he’s sold everything of value in the apartment, stowed the cash in various pockets and bags, and with nothing more than one look back, leaves his whole world behind.
He walks, for hours and hours, with no real destination in mind, only the idea that he has to find somewhere new to start over. The city holds too many ghosts—MJ and her family are gone, moved to Connecticut, and Ned is just gone, ashes in the wind.
He heads west, hitching rides with families and walking when he can’t find anyone who doesn’t look serial killer-y. He wonders if he can walk the whole way to the other coast, hands in his pockets as the sky darkens overhead and thunder rumbles. He imagines reaching the shore and kicking off his sneakers, toes in the sand as the water washes over him.
He’s somewhere outside Indianapolis and his sneakers are starting to wear thin, his socks squishing grossly as he tries to avoid the largest puddles along the road. He hasn’t seen a car in hours and he’s shivering, soaked to the bone despite his jacket, hungry and exhausted, when in the distance he hears a car approaching.
He glances back and sighs, it’s an expensive looking Audi which means the owner definitely won’t stop for someone as bedraggled looking as Peter. He hunkers down, waiting for the rush of wind and spray of water as it goes flying past, but instead he hears it slow and then in the periphery of his vision sees the the sleek silver vehicle following him slowly.
A window rolls down and a deep voice calls out. “Hey kid, you need a ride?”
He hesitates and then turns, bends to peer into the car, heart lurching at the familiar face peering at him.
Tony Stark
His crush and idol and what the hell is he doing out here in the middle of nowhere?!
He realizes he’s standing there with his mouth hanging half open when Tony raises a brow and smirks, “Well? You gettin in?” he asks, “Last call.”
Peter glances back at the empty road and the lonely one ahead and then back to where Tony’s dark eyes are watching him. Nodding slowly, he opens the door and slings his backpack into his lap, wincing as his wet clothes squeak against the leather.
“Sorry, I’m going to ruin your seats,” he murmurs, hunching to try and make himself as small as possible. Tony scoffs and reaches back, digs for a moment and then passes him a warm flannel blanket.
“Bundle up kid, you look frozen.”
Peter takes the blanket and wraps it around himself, glancing up in surprise a few moments later when the seat under him grows warm. Tony shoots him a grin and then refocuses on the road ahead, hands draped casually over the wheel.
“Where you going?” he asks, glancing over at Peter quickly.
“I don’t know. Thought I’d try and make it to the west coast,” Peter admits. “Maybe go and see the Grand Canyon, some national parks.” He shrugs, “I don’t really have a plan.”
Tony nods and taps his fingers on the wheel, “Running to or away from something?” he asks, far too insightfully for Peter’s comfort.
He turns away and peers out the window, breath fogging the glass slowly.
“I don’t have anything left to run from or to. It’s just me.”
With that, silence falls, deafeningly loud in the small confines of the car as the wipers slap against the windshield, steady and monotonous. The rain patters against the glass and Peter’s eyes flutter as he warms and falls asleep slowly.
————————
The kid is a mystery, Tony decides. Unwilling to talk about his life before the moment he picked him up on the side of the road, he knows little more than his name and age—Peter Parker, 18.
He resets his GPS for the Grand Canyon and points the car northwest, avoiding well used roads in favor of side routes and scenic winding highways. The landscape changes slowly in places and abruptly in others.
When he’s too tired to drive he pulls to the side of the road and nudges the kid and rouses him from his sleep, biting back a grin when he looks up with sleepy eyes and mussed hair, cheeks pink and lips parted around a yawn.
“You have a license?” he asks, humming appreciatively when the kid nods. “Good your turn,” he mutters before getting out and stretching, groaning as his vertebrae pop and strain. He leans against the car as Peter stumbles out, blinking and glancing around curiously.
The air is wet and warm, and in the distance he sees mountains on the horizon. They’ve still got a few days till they’re at Yellowstone, but he finds himself enjoying the way the kid looks around in curiosity, a small smile curling up his lips.
Peter glances over the hood of the car at him and blinks; “Where are we?”
“Good question. Somewhere in Illinois. Got another day or so till we’re at Yellowstone.”
The kid blinks in surprise and then frowns, “You don’t have to take me to Yellowstone, I’m sure you have other places you want to go.”
Tony just shrugs because he really doesn’t. That’s the whole point of this trip—no end goal, just wandering and letting himself relax for the first time in a decade. God, has it really been that long? Has he really not been able to breathe for so many years?
Something in his chest loosens at the thought that he doesn’t ever have to go back if he doesn’t want to, that he can just keep driving, leave all of it in the past.
“I, uh, I don’t have a plan kid, don’t have anywhere I need to be, and frankly, I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon either. So if it’s ok with you, I’d like to go.”
They stare at each other for a long moment before Peter nods uncertainly and crosses around the vehicle to stand by him, peering up at him for a moment before grinning and holding out his hand for the keys.
“I can’t believe you’re letting me drive a car this nice,” he jokes as Tony drops them into his palm.
He rolls his eyes and saunters away, feeling the kid’s gaze still on him and then shoots him a grin, “It’s equipped with an AI and a baby monitor protocol for anyone other than me driving. It has a steel reinforced body and protocols that make it nearly impossible to crash. FRIDAY literally won’t let you crash or go over 80 miles per hour.” He laughs at the disgruntled look on Peter’s face and slides into the seat, still warm from his body and pulls his seatbelt on while the kid does the same.
He fiddles with the seat for a minute and then glances at Tony before checking his mirrors and pulling back onto the road, blinkers going despite the empty highway around them. Tony smirks at his obvious adherence to the rules and files it away as another piece of the mystery that is Peter Parker.
So far he knows the following:
Peter snores when he sleeps
He likes pop music over classic rock
Won’t ask for, but will accept rides from near strangers—Tony’s not sure this counts since he’s literally one of the most famous men in the world, but still, the kid doesn’t actually know him
Hasn’t seen the Grand Canyon
Is from Queens
Likes Starbucks and matcha tea
Follows the rules
He watches the scenery pass by as the kid drives, some pop xm radio station playing in the background while fields of wheat and herds of cattle flash past. When he wakes up it’s dark out, well past midnight and the kid looks as exhausted as he still feels.
After a quick search by FRIDAY he finds a bed and breakfast in twenty miles and has the gps reset. It’s late when they pull in but to his surprise there’s still someone at the desk—a grey haired woman who smiles pleasantly at them and offers them the last room she has—“You and your son will have to share I’m afraid,” she tells them, rambling right over their protestations as she points out the amenities along the way.
When the door shuts behind them the silence is nearly overwhelming before Tony glances around and spots that there’s just one bed and a couch, which the kid is already heading towards with slumped shoulders and a weary air.
“We can share,” he offers, before he really has a chance to think about it. Peter stills and turns to stare at him, wide eyed and scared looking and shit, yea, that sounded like the opening line to a bad porno, so he tries again. “We’re both exhausted and need to sleep in a real bed. I’m not trying to seduce you, I promise.”
Peter stares at him for minute before laughing shyly and ducking his head with a nod, “Yea, okay. Mind if I shower first?” he asks softly, waiting for Tony��s nod before he heads into the bathroom and the door shuts with a soft click behind him.
Tony kicks off his sneakers and flops onto the bed, groaning at the firm support on his tired spine. Maybe he and the kid can take a day tomorrow...today...whatever...and just walk around, see what this little town holds in store for them. He has FRIDAY run a search to see what’s interesting in town and is surprised to find three places to eat with four stars and a local museum on aeronautics and engineering that looks mildly interesting.
Tossing his phone aside, he curls on his side and closes his eyes—just till the kid is done in the shower he promises himself—and for the first time in days, relaxes to the sound of another person in his space. He can hear the rush of the shower and what sounds like Peter singing to himself, and the wind outside rustles the branches and he’s asleep before he has a chance to realize it’s happening.
——————
When Peter steps out of the bathroom he stills, staring at Tony where he’s fallen asleep on top of the covers fully dressed. The older man’s face is softer in sleep, unlined and open—so different than the public face he’s worn in the news clips he’s watched over and over again.
Dressing quickly in an oversized sweater and briefs, he shoves his dirty clothes into a bag and grabs his phone and charger. He turns off the lights and uses his enhanced senses to make his way to the bed, biting back a groan of delight at how good the bed feels to his weary body.
“Kid?”
Peter startles for a moment and then nods, “Yea?”
“You okay?”
He frowns, “I’m fine, why?”
He senses Tony’s shrug as the older man sighs, “Jus checkin’...get some sleep,” he urges before rolling off the bed. Peter can see in the faint gloom his outline as he strips off his clothes till he’s down to his briefs too, the par moonlight falling across his shoulders and hip in a sharp slash, revealing the numerous scars he’s earned over the years as Iron Man.
When he turns and Peter sees the arc reactor containing the bleeding edge armor he’s famous for, his heart skips a beat. There’s more scars here too, painful ones, and he remembers seeing the video of his captivity in Afghanistan a few years after it happened.
Tony’s gaze meets his in the dark and there’s a long moment where neither say anything and then Tony grins grimly, spreads his arms and gestures at himself, “Take it all in, the glory of being Iron Man,” he says bitterly, “is it what you thought?” he asks, “Do you wanna touch them too?”
Peter sits up and leans forward, frowning deeper, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs—
“What? Why?”
“Because, people have made you feel like you’re only valuable because you’re Iron Man. You bleed too—nearly died to save the universe, and they treat your scars like some fetish to be petted and drooled over. They’re your pain and you deserve to keep them private, to deal with them how you want. So I’m sorry.”
Tony stares at him, hands falling to his sides as his gaze darkens, then turns away.
“Most people don’t see it that way.”
“Most people can go suck a dick.”
Tony looks up at him sharply and then bursts out laughing, the weary, lonely look washing away in a tide of relief and amusement. “Kid, I couldn’t say it better.”
Peter grins, happier now that he’s made Tony smile and laugh. “Well, I’m happy to tell you that as often as you need,” he offers, leaning back against the pillow as Tony slides back into bed beside him.
“You’d tell me to go suck a dick?” Tony teases, eyes crinkling around the edges as he grins at Peter. The bright look in his eyes, playful and warm, has Peter blushing and avoiding his gaze.
“N-no! I mean, I’d tell you that other people should...god, sorry, let’s go to sleep,” he mutters, hoping Tony can’t see his embarrassment in the dark. To his unending gratitude, Tony hums in agreement and they shuffle around for a few minutes before settling.
It’s oddly intimate, even though there’s a good foot of space between them. He can feel Tony’s warmth behind him, sense his shoulders rising and falling with each breath, smell the warm scent of his skin...
When he shifts and realizes he’s hard he flushes harder and buries his face in the pillow. Ignore it and it’ll go away he reasons, counting slowly backwards from three thousand.
By the time he’s at fifteen hundred he’s too tired to pay attention to his dick and by the time he hits a thousand he’s falling asleep.
——————
Warm. Blissfully, deliciously warm.
That’s the first thing he notices as he wakes. The second and third are his dick(hard) and Peter(in his arms).
Fuck
Rolling away carefully, he dislodges himself and heads to the shower, letting the water pour over his head as he tries to ignore his body’s reaction. It’s not Peter, he tells himself, it’s just because it’s morning....but a small part of his brain helpfully supplies the fact that it’s been months—almost a year actually—since he’s woken up hard.
He’s clean and there’s no excuse not to get out except he’s still hard. Gritting his teeth and bracing a hand against the wall, he wraps a hand around his cock and strokes, slow and firm like he likes. His thumb scrapes along the edge of his head, foreskin pulled back so a wave of heat rushes up his spine at the touch.
Unbidden, images of Peter blushing in the dark, gazing at him intently flash behind his closed eyes. He recalls the sound of his laughter and the way his eyes sparkle when he gazed up at him, longing and sweet sorrow shining in their depths.
He strokes faster and twists his wrist at the top, groaning as he pulls harder, recalling the weight of Peter in his arms, the scent of his hair and skin, the hot brand of his stomach beneath his palm where he had shoved a hand beneath that bulky sweater in the night and then he’s spilling against the tile, panting and shuddering, and oh god, he’s fucked.
——————
They head out for breakfast, a small diner that smells like bacon but has vegan options, so he orders both and calls it balance. He watches the kid debate before trying to order and nudges his ankle with his foot, drawing those wide eyes up to meet his.
“Get what you want kid, I’m paying.”
Peter tries to protest and he smirks, shakes his head, “You drive and I’ll pay, cool?” he offers, grinning when the kid mutters no, but lets the topic lie.
To his surprise Peter orders pancakes, a green smoothie, sausage and eggs, and black coffee. What’s even more impressive is the fact that he manages to eat it all.
They do end up going to the museum, and he’s a little blown away by how intelligent Peter is—he hauls Tony around the museum, babbling excitedly about the inventions and the inventors and what the modern day applications have yielded...
And it’s the nicest day Tony’s had in a long time. Peter is sweet and eager and so goddamn smart that he’s half tempted to hire him on the spot and send him back to Pepper so he can change the face of the world with that brilliant beautiful mind of his—but he sees the grief in the kids eyes as he stumbles over names(MJ and Ned) and clams up when he tried to get more details—so he knows that like him, the kid has scars, he just isn’t ready for them to be bared to the world.
——————
They stay another night and then get up early, Peter behind the wheel again as they get closer and closer to Yellowstone.
“Favorite food” Peter prompts him, taking the easy route in this game of 20 questions they’ve been playing for fifteen minutes.
“Shawarma.”
“I heard the Avengers had shawarma after the battle of New York, is that true?” Peter asks eagerly, glancing over at him with a grin.
His hands tighten on his knees as he recalls the aftermath of that day—panic attacks, extremis, Thanos—and shudders.
“Yea, we did,” he answers as evenly as he can. “Why’d you leave Queens?” he asks quickly, turning the tables with a question he knows the kid doesn’t want to answer.
Peter stares out the window at the road ahead, face stoic and blank, silence settling uneasily between them. Tony sighs and turns to look out the window, wondering if he’ll ever be able to ask the right questions and stop hurting people.
———————
Tony pays the entrance fee to Yellowstone and they drive in campsites and trees and mountains rolling past. It’ll take five hours to get to the south rim of the Canyon so they decide to get a camper for the night and go out hiking—the Audi horribly conspicuous next to trucks and suvs splattered in mud and dust.
A few people notice him but don’t take photos, and when they head out for a hike, he’s got a ball cap and sunglasses on against the glare of the setting sun. Peter is still quiet—after their game of 20 questions ended abruptly, he’d kept quiet through the drive.
He’s a little out of breath when they reach the Lake Butte Overlook, and then he’s breathless for another reason entirely. He’s seen a lot of amazing things in his life, but this, this is astounding.
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They stand together, watching the sun slip over the horizon so the clouds turn a bruised blue in some places and a burnt pink in others.
“My aunt died.”
It’s abrupt, and when he glances over, Peter is staring out at the lake intently. He nods and turns his gaze away, waiting to see if he’ll say more.
“When everything ended? When Thanos murdered half the universe? He took my aunt.”
He hears Peter’s breath hitch before he continues and fights the urge to reach out in comfort, hands clenching by his sides.
“My parents died when I was a kid so my aunt and uncle raised me till he was killed by muggers, and then it was just me and her.”
There’s a long moment of silence and then—“Then it was just me.”
His eyes fall shut as grief swells within him and it tastes like copper and gags him, he swallows hard to try and push it back, deep uneven breaths until he can open his eyes and calmly speak.
“I’m sorry. It took too long to get everyone back, some people just didn’t come back, I’m sorry kid.”
Peter looks over at him finally, brow furrowed, “I don’t blame you Mr. Stark, you did everything you could. I just wish things were different,” he says with a sad little smile and Tony’s heart breaks.
“Me too kid, me too,” he murmurs, smiling just as sadly back at him.
God, how he’s wished things were different.
———————
The camper is quiet that night, the small space leaving them bumping into each other and apologizing, the awkward air growing with each minute. Eventually Tony heads outside, builds a fire and stares up at the stars overhead. Peter lingers inside for a few minutes before joining him, wrapped in a blanket and shivering, but smiling softly.
It’s so dark here they can see the Milky Way overhead, and the sight of the stars sends a shudder over his skin—it’s too easy to recall how they look up close, how cold space is, silent and empty and lonely when you’re dying.
He tears his gaze away and breaths slowly, trying to calm himself. When he looks up again Peter is watching him with a curious, knowing gaze.
“I almost starved to death in space, actually, oxygen deprivation would have gotten me first, but yea, can’t look at the stars without feeling it again.”
Peter just nods and pokes the fire with a stick, silent for the moment.
“I left Queens because I was evicted and I knew I couldn’t survive there. There’s nothing left for me there anyway,” he mutters, shadows darkening his face.
Tony bites back the urge to offer to pay for an apartment, knowing that throwing money at the kid won’t actually solve the problem—money can’t bring back the dead—and that’s what the kid needs more than money, is family.
They sit in silence until the fire burns down and he throws water on it and rakes it for a few minutes to make sure the embers die before he follows the kid into the camper. He shivers once the heat of the fire bleeds out of his skin and glances over to where Peter is curled in a ball in the sleeping bag on the opposite side of the camper.
He strips his jeans and replaces them with a soft pair of cotton pants before he crawls into his own sleeping bag, shivering as he shuts off the lantern. The fabric of the sleeping bag whispers as Peter rolls over and he can see the pale skin of his face in the gloom, staring over at him.
“Do you...”
He trails off and Tony hums, “Do I?”
“Believe in god?”
That’s a surprise—but then, given what they’ve been talking about, it isn’t.
“I dunno kid. People say Thor is a god, but he’s not, he’s just an alien with fancy technology and science we don’t understand. If there is a god, I���d sure as fuck like to know where he gets off letting Thanos destroy the universe he created.”
His voice is bitter and Peter nods, face softening with something that looks like relief. He sees the shudder that runs over the kid and counts to ten as he weighs the cost/benefit ratio of inviting the kid to come slee next to him and share body heat.
Fuck it, he decides—“C’mere kid, we’re both freezing and we don’t have to be,” he murmurs, sitting up so he can unzip his sleeping bag and wave Peter over. There’s half a moment of hesitation from the boy before he’s hurrying over with his pillow and sleeping bag, murmuring a quiet thank you.
They curl close under the warmth of the flannel lining of the sleeping bag and after a few moments Peter’s icy feet press against his shins, eliciting a sharp curse and a breathless laugh from both of them. When Peter edges away with an apology his arm shoots out to grab his hip, pulling him closer without thought.
“It’s fine kid, c’mon,” he whispers, chest tight as he tries to stay calm. Peter nods and edges back, the curve of his back pressing into Tony’s chest slowly. They both still, stiff and wary, and then Tony’s hand at his hip slides around his waist to band him against his body, every inch of them pressed together searingly hot.
“This okay?” he asks hoarsely, breath whispering out against Peter’s neck. He doesn’t miss it when the kid shivers and his stomach tightens beneath Tony’s palm—he’s unconsciously slid it beneath the sweater the kid is wearing, so it’s skin to skin and he can feel how taut his body is.
“Y-yea, s’fine,” Peter murmurs breathily, curls shifting as he adjusts his head on the pillows, a waft of his scent filling Tony’s nose. He bites back a groan and wills his cock to behave, thankful he hasn’t gotten hard—yet.
They’re both stiff and uneasy until Tony starts to fall asleep and then Peter rolls over and nuzzles into him and his hand curls in his hair, pulling him closer as he falls asleep.
——————
Peter wakes early the next morning, warm and snuggled into Tony. His thigh is hitched around Tony’s hips, and to his horror, he’s hard. Tucking his head under Tony’s chin, he takes slow, steady breaths and tries to will it away, praying Tony stays asleep so he can deal with this.
He isn’t so lucky though, because just a few minutes later Tony is waking with low, sleepy noises that only serve to make him harder. It’s not fair really; anyone would be aroused if they were in his position, pressed against Tony Stark, the object of his affection since he was seven and arguably one of the most attractive men in the world.
He’s petrified still, breathing as slow and steady as he can to fool Tony into thinking he’s still asleep. The hand at the base of his spine slides up and he loses control, shudders and whines brokenly, trying to keep it in, and failing. He can feel it when Tony stills, hand pressed to the knobs of his spine, heart beating rapidly beneath his cheek.
He wonders if Tony will say something, try and play it off, or maybe, he’ll touch him again. He wants it, badly, and then it seems like Tony’s heard his though because his hand slides down to the small of his back and then back up, but this time his nails drag over Peter’s skin and he can’t help the broken gasp that shudders out of him, nor the instinctual stutter of his hips.
Burying his face in Tony’s neck, he burns with shame and arousal until the hand at his back slides down to his hip and tightens. “‘S it feel good sweetheart?” Tony asks, voice low and hoarse and another shudder runs over him.
Nodding, he gasps against his neck wetly, “‘M sorry, it’s wrong, I didn’t mean to,” he pleas, hoping Tony won’t hate him for rutting against him like an animal in heat.
Tony hushes him softly, free hand reaching down to wrap around his thigh, the strength in his grip and the callouses on his fingers making him tremble, imagining the way they’d feel on the rest of his skin.
“Shh sweetheart, it’s okay,” Tony murmurs, his voice low and rough in Peter’s ear. “You want me to keep touching you?” he offers, and yea, Peter wants that, but he’s scared, so scared that Tony’s going to think he’s just some kid, that he’ll tire of him and leave him behind when he gets bored of him or finds someone better.
He doesn’t know what to say and now he’s frustrated and aroused and he shakes his head and presses it into Tony’s throat, breathless. “I don’t, I don’t know,” he pants, “I don’t...want you to, to see me as some kid. I don’t want you to go,” he whimpers pathetically, tears burning in his eyes.
“Hey, woah, why would I go?” Tony asks, shifting so he can stare down at Peter in confusion and concern. He lifts his hand from Peter’s thigh to cup his chin and tilt it so their gazes meet, “What’s wrong Pete?”
A tiny sob hiccups out of his chest and he clings to Tony, “Everyone goes! Everyone! I just found you—don’t go!” he begs, tears blinding him as they finally fall. Tony curses and rolls toward him, gathering him into his arms and hushing him gently.
“I’m not going anywhere kid, I promise. I’m staying with you.”
————————
They don’t talk about it.
They talk about everything else; engineering, biomechanics, the Avengers, his aunt May, which Godfather movie is the best (the second, obviously), where to get the best slice of pizza in manhattan, and on and on until they finally arrive at the south rim of the canyon, just as the sun is setting.
They climb up from the car to the overlook and watch it together, sitting in the red dust as the sky turns crimson, silently leaning into each other as Mother Nature puts on a fiery display. As the sun sets further Peter’s head falls onto Tony’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is, because he enjoys the weight of it, soft scent of Peter’s hair in his nose, the way Peter sighs softly, like he’s finally happy and relaxed.
“Where do you wanna go next?” he asks softly, not wanting to break the tranquility of the moment. Peter sighs and shrugs a shoulder, breath warm on Tony’s neck.
“Wherever you’re going,” he finally answers, “I want to go with.”
Tony nods, sliding an arm around his shoulders to hold him closer, turning his chin so he can inhale the sweet scent of the boy next to him, comforting and familiar. Before he can question the action, he presses his lips to his temple and hums softly, happier than he’s been in a very long time.
———————
Weeks pass.
They spend a few days at Yellowstone, swing down and visit Yosemite, then back up to Portland, Seattle and keep going down through California wine country.
Tony pays for everything and Peter drives, and slowly, they come to know each other.
The list of things Tony knows about Peter grows and it gets easier to share his own life with the young man. He tells Peter about Howard—the abuse, the emotional manipulation and neglect, and in turn Peter tells him about watching his Uncle Ben die right in front of him.
They’ve stopped in Monterey, renting out a house that overlooks the ocean, taking a break from living on the road, sleeping in hotels and eating shitty diner food at 3am. It’s a nice break, and both men are grateful for it.
Peter stares out the wide bay windows to where Tony is on the phone with Pepper—his one time assistant and fiancé, now his....well, Peter isn’t sure exactly. Tony’s said she’s his best friend and someone he’ll always love—but where that leaves them, Peter isn’t sure.
Tony glances up and smiles at him, eyes crinkling around the edges, handsome face tanned from the sun, hair shot through with silver in places and Peter shivers, blushes, and ducks his chin.
There is this aspect to their friendship that hasn’t been addressed; how they sleep in the same bed despite it no longer being necessary. How Tony pets his hair when they’re sitting or laying together.
Most days one or both of them wakes up hard, and usually when it’s Peter, Tony holds him close and runs his hand over his back, murmuring soft sleepy words of assurance and affection till he’s coming in his boxers, untouched.
It should be weird, or awkward, but it’s not. If anything it’s comforting. He knows Tony will take care of him, and in return Peter gets to make sure Tony sleeps, eats full meals and joins him for runs and yoga. The stress lines around Tony’s mouth and eyes have disappeared in the last two weeks, and everyday he smiles more.
His hands move independently from his busy mind and when he hears the patio door open, he glances up to find Tony leaning on the bar across from him with an amused smirk on his face.
“You know you’re better with those knives than some chefs?”
Peter nods but doesn’t reply—he hasn’t told Tony yet about being Spider-Man and the advantages that come with it—namely, enhanced senses that allow him to handle weapons with ease.
“Looks good,” the older man muses and reaches out to steal a cherry tomato, a little dribble of juice turning his lips red. Peter stares at it for a moment, heat building in his stomach before he turns away and shoves the kebabs into the fridge, letting the cool air wash over him.
“How’s Pepper?” he asks, turning back around to hand Tony a sparkling water, mimicking his posture and leaning forward onto the granite of the island.
“Good, I think she’s surprised by how good she is when I’m not there to fuck everything up,” Tony says, smirking as he sips his water. Peter frowns reproachfully at him and shakes his head.
“You didn’t fuck everything up. You made mistakes, like every other human does. Even Captain America made mistakes, so don’t hold yourself to some ideal that no one can actually meet.”
Tony stares at him for a long moment and then exhales slowly, looking away as he nods. “I...thanks kid. I guess I still need to hear that every once in awhile.” He looks up in surprise when Peter’s hand covers his where it’s resting on the counter, smiling softly in return at the warm affection in Peter’s gaze.
Peter’s stomach flutters and he nods nervously, peeling his hand away from Tony’s with a sense of loss. “Are you uh hungry?” he asks, turning half toward the fridge, “Dinner is ready whenever we want.”
Tony stares at him a second and then nods, straightening with a carefully neutral smile, “Yea sure kid, let’s eat.”
—————
They eat on their little strip of beach, skewers charred from the open flames of the fire. The waves crash further down the beach and Peter sips from a glass of sparkling water, seated beside Tony in deck chairs, watching the sunset.
It’s a comfortable silence stretched between them and as the sun slips lower, Peter finds his gaze on Tony more and more. For his part, the older man doesn’t seem to mind, meeting Peter’s gaze with a warm smile and soft eyes that make his stomach flip.
He’d be lying—has tried to lie—if he said he doesn’t want Tony, but he’s not sure what Tony wants from him. He picked him up on the side of the road and taken him on an extended road trip, bought him new clothes and shoes and paid for everything he’s needed, and hasn’t once asked for anything in return except for friendship and company.
So maybe, maybe this is something he’s allowed to ask for.
Tony stands and smiles down at him, “Think I’ll head to bed, you enjoy the fire a bit, hmm?” he murmurs, and before Peter can do more than gape at him stupidly, he’s walking into the house without a glance back.
—————
Tony scrubs a hand over his face as he leans against the shower wall, picturing the look on Peter’s face when he had left him, sitting by the fire, alone.
Hurt didn’t even begin to describe it.
It killed him to do it, but he’s started to wonder if the kid even has any interest in him, because despite their continued closeness and the odd morning hard on pressed against his hip, the kid hasn’t tried anything.
Shutting off the water, he towels at his head as he walks back into the bedroom, pausing, wide eyed when he finds Peter sitting on the bed, gaze fixed on his naked body before he looks up and blushes spectacularly.
“I uh, I want you,” Peter mumbles, blushing harder as he runs a hand over his arm nervously, “Um, I don’t, do you?”
Tony stares at him dumbfounded because, yea, this is apparently happening right now, and it’s not a dream, the kid is actually looking at him with wide hopefuls eyes and a nervous smile.
He takes too long to respond because Peter shoots to his feet, head bobbing anxiously, “Right, no, of course not. I’ll uh, ok, I’ll be down the hall,” he babbles, making for the door.
Tony’s brain finally catches up and the towel slips from his fingers as he strides across the room and grabs Peter, yanking him back around and into his chest with a soft huff. He kisses him, graceless and hungry, desperate to prove how much he wants him. When he pulls back, Peter’s got a dazed expression on his face and he smiles softly, thumb caressing his jaw.
“Stay, Peter, please.”
Peter nods slowly and gazes up at him through his lashes, “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this just because I want to,” he assures Tony and it hits him then, that Peter doesn’t realize how much he likes him. So he kisses him again, deeper this time, fingers tangling in his hair as he tilts Peter’s chin so he can devour him.
“I’m sure baby, you’re all I want,” he whispers against his lips. “That good with you?”
Peter makes a strained high pitched noise and nods, “Y-yea, very good,” he agrees before surging up to kiss Tony.
They fumble back towards the bed, stripping off Peter’s clothing till they’re skin to skin and trading hot, hungry kisses. The kid moans as he bites and kisses his throat, beard leaving a burning sensation as he goes and before he gets a hand on his cock, the kid struggles away and blurts—
“I’m Spider-Man.”
————
Part two coming soon!!
@sluttystarker @starkerchemistryy @pantastic-peach @thebadthingshappen @ciel-mio @hpspazz @starker-4ever @w1nters-stark @foof-a-loof @confused-trash-kitten @panicdotexe @stqrker @honey-honey-darling @mariketa12 @itsmeryshipper @dramione90 @starker-flame @pretzelpoetry @seriouslystarker @starkerthanreality @ikneelbeforemygod @professional-fangirl75 @virgilismypoorshadowling @godlovesstarker @sapphicfreak @veronicashipsit @the-dark-obsidian-princess @ikneelbeforemygod @laughing-oreo @sensei-sans-sugoi @ruelukas22 @tom-starker @yourlittlemelody @sbiderslut @legless-fish-on-rollerskates @sw111452 @yaoi-secret-s @tomanyfandomss101 @delicateavenuenacho @the-mad-starker @sbiderslut @dreamingstoriesinoursleep @severelybitchychild @is-it-avideo @heyheyheymymemeydudes @depressedbitch5 @gypsy-witch-fangirl
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miniwrites1 · 6 years ago
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#2 – How He Ask You Out
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Jimmy
Jimmy asking you out was quite simple, after the collision between the two of you he bought you another coffee to make amends. You were more than grateful for this as you couldn’t go without your morning coffee, but it also meant that you could chat a little more to the handsome man who had quite literally knocked you off your feet.
You sat inside for your coffee instead of getting a takeaway cup, choosing a sofa seat near the window of the shop. Jimmy joined you, sitting down opposite. He smiled, and both of you made conversation. In the first few minutes, things were slightly awkward but that soon dissipated, he made you feel comfortable. You talked for quite a while, over an hour it ended up being before Jimmy had to leave. You smiled and said goodbye to him, thanking him for the coffee. He returned the smile. He took a quick intake of breath and pulled his phone from his pocket, passing it to you.
“Could you put your number in? I’d like to see you again at some point.” He said with another beaming smile. You returned the smile and popped your number in. Passing the phone back, you said one final goodbye before heading out of the coffee shop, a feeling that was unfamiliar to you weighing on your heart.
Chandler
In the weeks since you and Chandler had become lab partners, you’d found that you’d noticed him around the school more. You were continually seeing him in the corridors, and most of the time he would stop and have a conversation. He was becoming a distraction for you as you found him easy to talk to. It seemed that he was clouding your thoughts quite a lot, making you lose concentration.
You stood in front of your locker, talking to one of your friends before the start of class. You had just enough time to grab your books out before hurrying off to class. In the process of grabbing your books, you stumbled across a note on top of them. It was a small, crumpled piece of paper, laying on top of your books. You picked it up and carefully unfolded it, reading the black writing on the inside of it. It was a phone number and underneath was a small note asking you to text it when you felt like it. The note was from Chandler, and you texted the number he had given you almost immediately, gaining a reply at the same speed. It was a quick text that asked if you were free on Saturday night. You agreed and arranged to meet up, feeling excitement brew in your stomach. You couldn’t wait for the weekend
Chris
Since the day at the shooting range, where you had met Chris, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. He seemed like a sweet guy, but by the next weekend when you went back to the range, you’d forgotten about that little spark you felt. A few weeks went by, and this weekend you had to go alone, your dad was out of town for the weekend, and you still wanted to get in some practice, so you packed up your car and headed out. Once you arrived, you greeted the owner who was a long-time family friend, and he let you through. Your practice went the same as it did every week, you were mainly focussing on improving your shot, trying to hit centrally every time and this time you were succeeding with every shot you took. Once you were finished, you lowered your weapon and cleared the chamber, making sure it was safe to store away. You packed up and dusted yourself off, but not before hearing clapping from behind you.
You spun around, a confused look across your face until you saw who it was. It was the hot guy, Chris, you remembered his name. You nodded at him and shot a smile his way as he walked over.
“That was some good shootin’.” He complimented, you smiled and thanked him. You couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been watching you for. “Your dad around today?” He asked, a hint of hesitation presenting itself.
“Not today, it’s just me.” You replied. He smiled, somewhat relieved.
“You want to get a drink? Maybe some dinner?” Chris asked in a way that you couldn’t turn down. You nodded and proceeded to stow your things away in your car.
“I’ll text you the address if you want? What’s your number?” Chris asked. You passed him your phone, and he added your number to his contacts.
“Thanks (Y/N), I’ll let you know where and when.” He smiled cheekily before walking away. You couldn’t help but feel slightly shocked about what had just happened but all in all, you were excited for the evening.
Garrett
After the aftermath of the party, you’d stayed to help clear up a bit, making sure that all evidence of the event was hidden from the host's parents, as even though she was twenty-one, she still lived at home.  You headed home after that and crawled into bed, just finding the strength to kick off your shoes and slip into your pyjamas before falling into a fairly deep sleep. You didn’t wake up again until twelve hours later, making it about three in the afternoon. Once you felt ready enough to get up, you picked up your clothes from the night before and put them in for washing, emptying the pockets on the way down. That was when you found the piece of paper given to you the night before. You stared at it for a moment, engaging in an internal battle. Should you call it?
In the end, you decided to call. You typed the number into your phone and hit dial. It rang through a couple of time before a male answered.
“Hello? Garrett’s phone.” You took a sharp intake of breath. That didn’t sound like the man you spoke to last night. A lot of scenarios flew through your head in the small pause that you took.
“Hi, my name’s (Y/N). I got given this number last night. I thought I’d give it a call.” You explained to the man on the phone.
“Oh… OH! You’re the girl!” The man at the end of the phone exclaimed before running off shouting. To say that you were confused was an understatement, but you felt the need to stay on the phone, just to see what happened. After a few seconds, you heard some commotion from the other end.
“Dammit, Jimmy! What have I said about answering my phone?” Another man moaned, almost in a jokey way. You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the frustration in his tone. “Hello?” A voice then sounded through the phone.
“Hi, is this Garrett?” You asked quietly, slightly nervous now. The reply was an affirmative. You greeted him again and introduced yourself, in which Garrett did the same. After getting over your initial nervousness, you were excited to speak to Garrett, he seemed like a down to earth person. You both chatted for a while before Garrett was called back by the people he was with, you assumed they were his friends.
“I know this is kind of short notice, but I’d love to get to know you a bit more. Would you want to do something tonight?” He asked, almost cautiously. You smiled to yourself and agreed graciously, a form of excitement fluttering in your stomach. With your plans set in place, you both said your goodbyes and hung up. Once he was gone, you let out an excited squeal. It seemed like you had a date.
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Text
A View To A Winchester (Part 3)
Series Page
Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.
A Dean X OFC story. No idea how long it will be, but I’ve got time on my hands. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. I’m thinking it will go the fluffy route, with some angst, and maybe some smut down the line. Not sure yet.
Section Word Count:  2,664
Section Warnings: mild language, getting fluffy up in here, Dean being adorable, Dean eating
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~~~~~
Dean appeared to be playing hide and seek again with Julie. She’d gone out to the patio five minutes after she heard the mower engine cut off. A half-hearted search around the house showed no sign of Mr. Winchester. But, there was ample evidence of a very well mowed and attended lawn. Her nose twitched at the scent of freshly cut grass. She went to retrieve the food and dining necessities from inside the house. It took her two trips and there was still no trace of the hunky individual. Not even in his own yard, stowing away the mower, which is where she figured she’d spot him.
The sliding door closing whipped her focus to the house. Her mom waltzed out toward the patio. Julie crinkled her lids at the purse resting in the crook of her elbow. “What are you doing? You aren’t going to pay him, too, are you?”
“I’m going to the store for a couple hours.”
Julie shook her head. “What?”
“I’ll be back. Most of the stuff is already put away in the kitchen. You can manage these few dishes.” She smiled. “Dean knocked on the front door while you were out here getting things ready. He said he’d be about ten minutes. Was going to wash up. For dinner. I told him I’d let you know.” A mischievous grin lined her mouth now. She grabbed her phone out of the purse’s side pocket and stared at the screen. “It’s 3:30 now. I’ll be back around 6:00. That should give you enough time.”
Who are you and what have you done with my mother? “Enough time for what?”
Brigida giggled. “Just have a nice time.” She leaned closer. “When I brought Wes and Samuel their pasta, I told them you and Dean were having a meal together. Samuel said he’d keep Wes out of your way.”
That explained why Wes hadn’t come out to say hi. “Oh, Ma. You got the neighbors in on whatever this is, too?” Julie cringed. “They’ll be spying through their windows.”
“Sometimes it’s fun to be the one others are staring at, Giulia. Give them something to talk about.” She patted her daughter’s cheek. “Have fun.”
Julie dropped into the wicker chair and watched her mother stride with pride toward her car in the driveway.
Is this really happening? She focused on her breathing as Brigida backed down the drive. Dean Winchester is washing up. Her mouth dried up again.
And, with that thought, she heard his voice. “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.” She turned to his yard, where he stood leaning against the chain link fence.
He cleaned up well and fast. His damp hair was not quite as fluffy, but still spiky. He was in a fresh pair of jeans, blue plaid, grey shirt and a pair of sneakers. The smile widened as he waited for Julie’s response. Laugh lines appeared and a pair of heart-stopping dimples made him even more charming. How is that even possible?
“N-No. Not too long.”
He nodded then stared at the fence for a few seconds. Some inner debate seemed to be going on in his head. He tilted up to look at Julie. “Would you mind?”
“Mind what?”
“Feeling a little lazy to walk all the way around.” He hopped up, locking his arms on the top of the five foot fence, then proceeded to swing his body over it. It wasn’t the most graceful landing, but it was still rather impressive. He wiped his hands along his denim covered thighs and sighed. “Getting too old for that.” He made a beeline to the empty chair and sat down across from Julie. “I really appreciate you and your mom going to all this trouble.”
“Least we could do. Mom did most of the work.” She lifted the tray cover and revealed the bowls of pasta and meatballs.  
Dean’s eyes widened. “Oh, man.”
Julie smiled at the eagerness on his face. She got lost in the perfection again and then remembered her manners. She lifted up from her seat and put his bowl in front of his place setting. Then did the same with hers. A quick deposit of the tray and its cover found her back in her seat. “I do have some dessert I made last night, if you’re still hungry after all this food.”
He shot his gaze up to lock with hers. “Pie?” The seriousness in his voice caused her core to pulse. And, she finally got the chance to inspect the color of his eyes. They were the most interesting, mercurial shade of green she’d ever seen.
“Uh, no. Apple cobbler.”
“Whew.” He shook his head. “I was going to have to marry you if you said pie.” Dean gave her a wink and grabbed a fork. He straightened in his seat and held the utensil upright - a soldier manning his weapon, readying at the front lines of a battle.
Julie laughed. “Pie’s the clincher, huh?”
“Oh, yeah.” He emphasized the short phrase in a sinful, sexy tone. His eyebrows raised, hopeful. “I’m starving.”
Julie motioned to his bowl. “Please. Go ahead and start.”
He grinned and stabbed at one of the large meatballs, biting into it with abandon. Julie held back another giggle as the sauce dripped down his chin. The moan that escaped his throat halted any feelings of amusement and stirred up want. Were his slow, methodical chews and utter bliss displayed on his face intentionally trying to elicit another feeling of hunger from her? Julie watched the entire show, realizing before it was too late that her eyes had widened on instinct. He gulped and finally wiped the dribbles off his face with a napkin. His Adam’s apple bobbed with some additional swallows. “Phew.” He sighed. “Hell. That’s… your mom made these?”
Julie nodded.
He shook his head. “She’s a national treasure.” Dean took his time again to savor the flavors of his next bite. When he came up for air, he asked, “How are you not the size of a linebacker with a mom that cooks like this?” The look on his face held no malice, but genuine wonder.
Julie focused on her bowl for a few seconds. “I was a chubby kid. I still love food. It’s taken decades to learn and practice moderation. The struggle is real. If mom lived with me full time, the temptation to eat would be too great.” Her mouth dipped into a slight frown, surprised at herself and the intimate confession.
Dean shoveled some of the penne into his mouth next, hunched over his bowl. “Yeah. Food’s awesome.”
She sat in silence, taking in the situation. A weird energy, a co-mingling of their polarizing personalities circling the table, had her unsteady, unsure. This Dean teetered between ladykiller to adolescent within seconds. How much was an act and how much was real? It certainly was turning into an unpredictable afternoon.
The fork scooted pasta like a pushbroom in Julie’s bowl.
“Did I make you uncomfortable?” Dean asked.
Julie raised an eyebrow. Is that a trick question?
“The whole food thing?” He shook his head and straightened in the seat. “I can get a little carried away.”
She glanced down and noted his empty bowl. How the hell did he eat that fast? “When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”
A tiny, wistful smile crooked up the side of his mouth. Eyes popped open when he spotted the Italian bread on another plate. He snagged a slice and mopped up the remaining sauce. “Over a year. Friend back in South Dakota. She’s a good cook, too.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Nope.” He stuffed the bread in his mouth. His whole face got it in on the chewing action. This lasted for some seconds.
Nice avoidance tactic.
“How about you? I know you just moved here and your mom is back in the city. Did you grow up in Wilmington?”
Julie nodded, occupying her mouth with a forkful of pasta. Two can play at that game, Mr. Winchester.
He seemed to pick up on the dueling defenses. He whipped out a cocky grin that relinquished her of any weapons left in her arsenal. She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze away from his. The slow lean back by Dean caused the wicker of his chair to strain and creak. When she looked up, he stared her down with an unwavering focus. His broad shoulders increased his amount of personal space and took up more of Julie’s. “What’s the story with your mom and the fumigation?”  
He’s trying to find some neutral territory. Julie cleared her throat. “My mom takes a lot of pride in keeping her house clean and tidy, inside and out. The owners of the row home next to her had left their property unattended and unkempt for so long... I’d hear about it every time I called. Bug and rodent problem had gotten to an unacceptable level about six months back. Complaints by neighbors, including mom, eventually earned a visit by code enforcement officers. Mom thinks the owner had died and the property was never claimed by any relatives. All of that led to a quick sheriff sale. Now, the new owners are doing what needs to be done to remedy the situation. And, if they were going to fumigate the home for pests, they told mom, it would be in her best interest to do the same. Or, she might have some new critters sharing her space.”
“How bad was it at her house? Bugs?”
“I was paying a pest service to do monthly treatments. My mom has a pretty high tolerance level when it comes to roughing it. But, thank goodness the other neighbors joined together to complain. Us doing it wasn’t enough.” Julie smiled. “She gets frustrated when she can’t take care of something herself.”
He smiled. “I kind of got that vibe.”
Let’s give this another try. “I’ve noticed you don’t have a set work schedule. Gone for a couple of days or even weeks at a time. What do you do for a living?”
His brow wrinkled with a raise of both eyebrows. “You’ve been paying attention to my comings and goings?” His expression was stern, unmoving.
“N-no. I haven’t.” Shit. “The view from my office looks right over into…” Abort. Abort. Her lips clamped shut.
He grinned. “Oh, so you’ve been spying on me? Hm, I’m getting a little rusty in my old age, I guess. I usually have a great sense of when I’m being watched.” A shrug. “But, maybe that’s because you don’t seem like you’d be a threat.” One brow raised this time. “Should I be worried?”
Julie shook her head. “You must flirt for a living.”
He laughed. “Only when my job requires it.”
She gulped and took a stab at some forwardness. “Are you on the job now?”
He shook his head. A hard stare at her lips ended with a lick of his own. “Nope.”
Breathe, Jules. “Good. Should I bring out some dessert?”
His demeanor shifted and he turned rigid. “As much as I’d enjoy that, I probably shouldn’t.”
“Oh.” Julie smiled. “Watching your figure?”
“I just need to get going.” He stood up.
“Oh.” The word fell out of her mouth, flat, defeated. She got up with haste and grabbed the tray to clean up. “Sure. Sorry.”
He was already stacking the bowls and corralling utensils. “No. I apologize. But, I really appreciated this. Thanks.”
Julie nodded and threw everything on the tray.
“Let me get the door for you.”
“You don’t have to.” She made a beeline for the house, desperate to escape, up the stone path to the concrete landing.
Dean double-timed his steps to get to the door before she did. Damn, he’s fast. His arm locked in front of her, hand resting on the door handle. “Really, Julie, thank you. I’m happy to take care of your lawn whenever I’m doing mine.” His soft smile reached to his eyes. Even the crinkles around his eyes are sexy. How is that even fair? “Free of charge. No food necessary.”
Her lips tightened and she managed a nod. She realized he wasn’t going to open the door until she said something. She replied, “If you have time, when you’re around. That’d be great. Thanks.”
He nodded, looking pleased with himself and pulled on the handle. She stepped up and in, placing the tray on the coffee table. She expected him to have disappeared when she turned back to the door. Instead, his frame took up most of the open doorway and he leaned in slightly. His gaze darted around the living room in a somewhat nosy fashion. He likes to spy, too.
“I’m sorry,” he spoke when his stare fell back on Julie. “You and your mom seem like good people.” He shrugged. “I don’t have much experience with the neighbor stuff. Or, normal stuff in general.”
Her arms folded over her chest in a defensive posture. Gorgeous or not, the seesaw behavior was exhausting and making Julie edgy. She pointed behind him. “Letting bugs in.”
“Oh.” He pointed to the living room. “Can I come in for a second?”
Hot or not, letting a veritable stranger into her house wasn’t a Julie move. “No offense, Dean. But, we just met.” She motioned for him to scoot. His brows lifted in surprise, but he obliged and shuffled backward. She met him on the concrete walkway, closed the door, and waited.
The atmosphere was heavy and thick with awkwardness. He rubbed a hand on his thigh, only solidifying how very easy on the eyes he was. “It’s just… I’ve pieced together you’re going through a not so great time, relationship-wise.”
She thrummed fingers on her forearm. “My mother probably spelled it out for you. I don’t think any piecing of facts was necessary.”
He shook his head. “Well, she didn’t tell me everything. But, I do know if you had a guy that took care of you the way he should… I wouldn’t be enjoying your company and having a great meal that your mother cooked.”
She felt her eyes crinkle. Not in any way as sexy as his crinkles. “I’m sorry if we came across as desperate for a man’s help.”
A hand raised in defense and he tilted his head back. “Whoa, whoa. I’m thinking I’m the one that came across as desperate back there.” The hand dropped down in a slow and purposeful wave, as if he was on a game show presenting a grand prize. “Sweetheart, the last thing I see when I look at you is desperation.”
Her mouth shut at his compliment.
“Like I said, you seem like a great woman. And, maybe I can learn some neighborly tips from you. When I’m around.” He grinned.
“Okay.” She smiled. “Give me a minute? I have one more tip to share with you.” He opened his mouth to reply, but she had turned to dash into the house.
I raised you better, Giulia.
She returned quick as she could with a covered paper plate. Dean’s mouth turned up in a smile. God, I so could get used to seeing that smile on a regular basis. “Some apple cobbler.” She clarified.
“Awesome.” He licked his lips looking down at the plate she held. He offered her his cell phone, already open to a new contact page. “Should get your number. You know, in case something happens in the neighborhood.” The attempt at an innocent smile was downright comical.
She grinned as they exchanged items. “Good idea.” Her finger tapped info into the screen and then handed the phone back.
He slid the phone into his front jean pocket. “Thank you.” The plate tipped in his hand. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
“I hope so. You’ll have to let me know how much.”
“Will do. Have a good night, Julie.”
“You too, Dean.”
Part 4 
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the-colony-roleplay · 5 years ago
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Cosima Nasmath | Twenty Eight;  Survivor
House:  Delma Security Class: 2 Status: Infected - Telekinesis
History
Fortune presents itself in strange ways, sometimes: for Cosima it took the form a a fur coat. Born in abject poverty, deep in the slums of Liberia, her mother had hoped to give her a better shot at life by shipping her off to her father in Ireland. She was only nine then, and being stowed away on a run-down ship performing illegal operations took its toll on her wellbeing.
Arduous though the journey was, she got through it by visualizing the bright light that Ireland was in her imagination—yet when she arrived it was more of the same. Her father was all but homeless, and the nearest school was a two hour hike uphill. They reached the decision together, that instead of sending her to school he would keep her home, where she would help him with his business. This involved the preparation and packaging of certain drugs, and though her father never touched them, nor allowed her to, they were unscrupulous in their selling.
Of course, the area they lived in was poor enough that however much they sold, it was never quite enough. Cosima grew up hungry and shivering, often sickly and not getting her first period until she was sixteen. Life might not have been so tough had she not been an illegal immigrant—she had no papers, no record, no identity as far as the state was concerned. Her mother had given birth to her without assistance or officiation, and due to her father’s work, he was unwilling to register her for state healthcare when it could draw attention to their only source of income.
Had that been the sum of her life, she likely would have died young. But in her eighteenth year, she stumbled across what would become a symbol of her freedom—her fur coat. A nice car was left near her house, unlocked, with keys still in the ignition. She didn’t like to think what had happened to its owners, but she did want the coat draped sumptuously across the backseat. It was bright white, glowing with fur of dubious legality but certain value. She snatched it up, wrapping herself in its warmth.
There was no real reasoning behind her decision to walk for hours to the nearby city; perhaps a simple need for escapism. And it was there that she found herself wandering into a party, populated by the upper classes. Much to her surprise, her messy hair, shadowed eyes, and voluptuous figure fit in quite well among fashionable society, particularly when framed with a thick coat. For the first hour she stuffed herself on canapes, by far the finest food she had ever tasted. Someone of course noticed her frenzied feasting, and a man approached her with a joke about famine.
Though inexperienced, she recognized the lust in his eyes and her years on the street had taught her to seize opportunity. By the end of the night, she’d be falling into his bed, and within six months, she’d convinced him to leave his wife for her. Harsh as it was, Cosima would more or less leave her father behind in her past life. As far as Sayer, her new man, was convinced, she was a society girl. The lies came to her on the spot, and she made up an entire life for his viewing pleasure.
Marriage was next on her list, though she wasn’t sure how that would work given her lack of legal identity. So over the years she convinced him of what a free spirit she was, how marriage was a dead institution and that if you wanted to spend your life with someone, you didn’t need a piece of paper to confirm it.
She didn’t love Sayer by any means, didn’t really care for him at all, but she began to fill out the beautiful clothes he bought her, eating the delicious food he had cooked for her, and she adored meeting so many interesting new people at the parties they went to. If there was an end game, Cosima hadn’t yet decided what it was, but for the time being, she was happy to indulge in the gifts that were constantly lavished upon her.
Cosima Today
D-Day came as almost a relief, because Sayer was trying his level best to take Cosima on holiday and already two years into their relationship, she was running out of excuses to not apply for a passport. Their house all but disintegrated around them, and he was killed almost immediately. Cosima looked down on his body, and felt very little. She’d seen enough misery and hurt on the streets that the sight of death had little impact on her—she knew how to survive with nothing, and took off on her own.
It was easier to drift from clan to clan than it was to make real connections; though Cosima can be congenial, she was more often than not callous and uncaring. It wasn’t that she didn’t want friends—it was just that her upbringing taught her to look after herself before anyone else. They were all so busy trying to survive that friendship didn’t take priority, anyway. Over the next four years or so, she’d had to kill in self defence, (like many other roaming looters), had suffered numerous bouts of food poisoning, been betrayed and betrayed in return, and lost the tip of her left index finger to frostbite. When crusaders from Colony 22 found her, she didn’t hesitate to leave her clan in the dust and seek a little more comfort.
No evidence of her existence was in the Echo database, and she told them that she’d been in the process of changing her name due to marrying her fiancé, and that there must’ve been some sort of glitch in the system. Considering the interruptions in content on Echo anyway, these kinds of glitches weren’t entirely unheard of, but the lack of records combined with her infection had her sorted into security class 2. She’s been compliant thus far, especially because they were able to explain the cause of her headaches. Her telepathy had only recently emerged before her arrival from the wastes, and she's spent the last year or so trying to learn to control it.  In her eyes, it’s more or a burden than a blessing to her, and she isn’t particularly attached to the idea of making it part of her day to day life. And so, as far as the New Wave Reformists are concerned, she’s one of the least troublesome of the Infected; she feels almost as inconvenienced by her ability as they do.
Her biggest roadblock so far is using her PDD. It beeps every morning, and she pushes buttons until it goes away, but she has no idea what it’s saying, because she has never learned to read. Throughout her relationship with Sayer she listened to audiobooks, and simply told waiters what she wanted to eat and trusted that the chef would make it happen, and otherwise never found any need for it. But now, she is consistently missing scheduled activities due to being unable to read her messages. Not to mention, this presents a serious issue for her in classes.
She’s always been a survivor, though, and she has no doubt that she’ll find a way to deal with this, too.
OPEN
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