#also sorry the quality sucks. i had to get up on a stool for this bc its so large and also stella was coming.

[wrightfamily]

don’t worry guys trucy wright WILL be at tgs tonight.

[helloprettybb]

slip of the tongue

i love bucky with all my heart. that’s it.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

description: bucky doesn’t really like you. but a night alone and a stab wound may change his opinion.

warnings: violence, bad description of action scene, heated kissing??? not smut but implied

word count: 1.9k

Bucky hates you. It isn’t difficult seeing as you’re Stark’s daughter and every quality in the man is tenfold in you. You’re crazy smart and you aren’t afraid to show it. Perhaps your worst attribute is your arrogance since it’s justified most of the time. Bucky hates how you’re always right and the stupid smirk on your face when you outwit or outtalk someone.

He knows you can tell and that’s the worst part. It seems you do everything in your power to irk him even more. Like trying to talk to him every time he enters the room or asking for every excruciating detail for any minor event. You get on his nerves and nothing could change that.

The team left for a mission this morning so it’s just you and Bucky at the Compound. After doing nothing all day, Bucky decides to go for an afternoon run. He doesn’t listen to music, as he enjoys the sounds of the city between the mindless chatter and the speeding cars, it reminds him of his youth.

Towards the end of his run, Bucky starts toward the Compound when his ears pick up a yell. Going towards the noise, he spots three men assaulting a woman. She tries her best to hold them off, but she is greatly outnumbered and outmatched by the three, burly men.

Bucky springs into action and grabs the man whose hands are around the woman’s throat. Yanking him off easily, Bucky shoves the man to the ground with a force that was probably harder than necessary, but he doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse as he moves his attention to the two other attackers. He grabs the second man, who is slightly shorter than the first and punches him square in the jaw. He releases the woman and stumbles back. The third man lands a few punches on him, but they barely phase Bucky. While fighting off the last man, Bucky doesn’t notice the first guy get up. He also fails to notice the shiny knife in his hand before it’s too late. The man stabs Bucky in the side. Now Bucky’s pissed as he pushes the third man into the wall. He turns toward the man with the knife and knocks him out cold.

He looks around and realizes the woman must have run away. “Good.” he thinks, but only for a minute as he remembers that he got fucking stabbed. He groans as he applies pressure to the wound.

Bucky makes it back to the Compound, but the pain is getting worse. Stumbling inside, he heads for the labs to look for a medkit. But of course, since it’s his lucky day, you’re there, too. You’re probably finishing the project that you were talking about for the past few weeks - something about particles accelerating, but Bucky didn’t care enough to ask. He hopes he can slip by unnoticed, but the gaping hole in his side draws attention to him.

Your head snaps up from your work and you see Bucky hobble by. “Heya Buck,” you start in your usual playful manner. But when you look at the state he’s in, your attitude changes immediately, “What the fuck happened?”

“It’s nothing.” he grumbles. You look down and see that he’s holding his side. His sweatshirt and fingers are covered in blood.

“Bullshit.” you say. Moving around the lab, you quickly find the medkit. “Sit down.”

“I don’t need your-”

“Shut up and sit down.” you interrupt. Bucky’s protests stop as he sits down on one of the stools. You pull up a chair and open the kit.

“Y’know this will probably heal by tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but it can’t heal if you bleed to death.” you retort. While the injury most likely won’t kill him, your point still stands. “Can I?” you motion to his hand. He removes his hand and you quickly pull his sweatshirt up to treat the wound. Luckily it’s a shallow stab wound and the gauze you put on is enough to stop him from bleeding out. As you continue to apply the gauze, you have to force yourself to not get distracted by his defined abs and focus all your attention on the wound. Your fingers trace over his stomach and he jumps slightly.

“Sorry,” you mutter. Your hands must be freezing from being down in the lab for so long. Once you finish applying the gauze, you say, “There, all done.” You look up at Bucky and are unable to read his expression. It causes you both to fall into an awkward silence. “So,” you say to clear the air, “How’d this happen?”

“Some guys were attacking this woman. Didn’t know one of them had a knife.” He responds gruffly. You nod in understanding.

You finish patching him up and say, “If you need anything like extra bandages or a beer, just come to me.” Bucky simply nods, unsure what to make of that proposition. He begins to leave awkwardly and almost makes it out of the lab before something in him makes him turn back.

He pops his head in and says, “You said something about beer?”

-

Bucky doesn’t know what time it is and he doesn’t care. He’s on his fourth beer, but he can’t get drunk so it doesn’t really matter. It’s funny because one beer turned into two and then three and now he’s found himself in a full-on conversation with you. And the most surprising part is that it’s delightful.

Behind your arrogance and quick judgments, you’re really funny. He knew you were smart, that wasn’t a surprise, but talking to you more changed his opinion of you.

“So, Buck.” Usually, that nickname didn’t get to him but a healing stab wound and a couple of beers will change anyone’s perception.

“What?” he asks.

“Got any lucky girl?” He scoffs at that and you look shocked. “What? It was simply a question.”

“It wasn’t the question, doll.” Since when did he call you doll? Just a slip of the tongue, he supposes. “It was the fact that I’d even have someone.” he says honestly.

“What do you mean? You’re a good-looking guy, just over one hundred. Any girl would be lucky to have you.” Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs. Damn, you’re growing on him.

“I’m serious!” you exclaim. Your left arm is on the couch and your hand is leaning against your hand. He realizes this is the closest you’ve been besides before when you were tending to his stab wound. “You’re a catch, Buck. What stops all the ladies from falling all over you?”

He rolls his eyes at you again whether at your persistence or wording. “I’m a bad guy, doll.” There it is again.

“That’s not true,” you scoff. Taking a sip from your beer, you casually add, “Besides, I’ve always had a thing for the bad ones,” Bucky raises an eyebrow at that. “Come on, Buck. I’ve liked you for a pretty long time. I thought I made it quite obvious.”

“By annoying the hell outta me?” He jokes.

“Hey, I was just trying to talk to you. Although I know I can come across as….”

“Annoying.” he says back. You give him a look that makes him laugh and soon a smile spreads across your face.

“I actually do care about you. But, I know you don’t feel the same way, so I’m happy just being friends.” Bucky thinks it over for a moment. Just this morning he was thinking about how you bothered the hell out of him. Actually, the more that he thinks about it, he realizes that he never really hated you. Did Bucky like you all along? He’s about to reply when the elevator doors open.

“Oh, you’re back?” you turn to greet the team.

“Hey, what are you doing up so late with Bucky?” Your dad eyes the two of you suspiciously.

You catch onto what he’s implying and assure him, “We’re just hanging out. In fact, I was just heading to my room. See you tomorrow.” You say a quick goodbye and leave before anyone could say anything.

They all turn to Bucky, ready to attack him with questions. “I’m going to head up, too.” Bucky quickly exits. He catches up to you, although he definitely didn’t mean to. Curse his long legs.

“Oh, hey,” you say as he enters the sleeping quarters.

“Hey,” he says. Fuck it, mind as well try it. “So, about the friend thing.”

You wince, “You don’t want to be friends.” You seem a little hurt by it, “I get it, you don’t really like me. It’s not like I can force you, too. And especially after I basically confessed to liking you as more than a friend, I could see how a potential friendship wouldn’t sound too appealing.” You’ve never looked this uneasy. He’s used to seeing you so confident and assured, but this was new.

Bucky lets you finish rambling before he replies, “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh.” He laughs a little, finally shutting you up. He moves closer, but you stay still. You both can tell what’s about to happen, yet neither is making a motion to stop it.

“I like you. As more than a friend.” You look like you’re trying to play it cool and contain your excitement, but Bucky sees you bite your lip like you’re trying to stop your smile from spreading.

“So…” You start like you’re thinking long and hard about what you’re about to say, “Can I kiss you?” You’re adorable. Bucky takes one last step and pulls you into a kiss.

Your lips are soft against his. Beyond the taste of beer, Bucky picks up some… he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip… cherry lipgloss. He’ll never get sick of the taste of cherries. He thought it’d be a sweet, innocent kiss but when you grab at his back, trying to hold him as close as possible, he knows it’s anything but. You kiss him hungrily as if your life depends on it and Bucky eagerly accepts. He muffles your moans and gasps and thinks about how nice those sounds will be echoed in his bedroom.

Bucky moves you so that your back is against the wall. You moan as his hands trail down your sides and onto your ass. His hands go under your thighs and you jump so that you can wrap your legs around his waist. Bucky catches you and pins you between himself and the wall.

Your hands go up to his hair and play with a few strands before pulling lightly. He groans at that, separating from your lips and throwing his head back. With his neck exposed, you trail kisses up and down his throat. Sucking and biting occasionally and making Bucky go crazy.

Two can play at that game, he thinks. He reconnects your lips to kiss you again and starts grinding his hips into you. Your hands go to his back and start scratching against his shirt.

Before this could go any further, Bucky pulls away and asks, “My room?”

And you smile, “Fuck yeah.”

[rafecameron]

as long as you want

summary: Luke x reader - 5 times they almost touched each other and the one time they actually do.

pairing: ghost!luke patterson x reader

word count: 2.5K

a/n: another 5+1! i haven’t written ghost luke before, hopefully it’s okay! also i swear i don’t usually post this much i just have a lot ready! sorry if i’m being annoying 

Y/N made her way towards Julie's garage, the new flyer Flynn had made for their upcoming show clutched in her hand ready to show off.

She throws open the garage doors, ready to exclaim about the gig the next night but is met with an almost empty practice area. She frowns, eyes scanning the room until they land on the boy hunched up on the couch.

Luke is sat in an oversized jacket, black beanie pulled over his messy hair as he fiddles with the acoustic guitar sat in his lap.

“Hey, where is everyone!” She asks, letting her hand and the flyer drop to her side.

Luke simply shrugs in reply, eyes intent on staying on the six string in front of him, the chords he picked sounding defeated to match his spirits.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, crossing the room quickly she perched on the couch beside him, hands on her knees as she bows her head to try and get him to look at her, “Luke?”

The boy sighs, finally looking up to meet her eyes with a look of annoyance, “Somethings wrong with me.” He states and Y/N lets out a light laugh.

“Other than the fact you’re dead?” Her attempt at lightening the mood fails when Luke’s frown deepens, “What’s wrong?” She asks again.

“I can’t play,” Luke complains, “everything I play sounds wrong. We have a massive gig tomorrow and I can’t play the simplest tune.”

She shoots him a sympathetic smile, “Maybe you just need to take a break. Reset yourself ready for practice tonight. You’re probably just overthinking things and can’t concentrate properly.”

His eyes meet hers again and she leans forward, her hand falling through his knee instead of resting on it as she had intended. He lets out a short laugh, a look of silent defeat on his features, “Still not used to that.” He mumbles.

“Can you just imagine me giving you a massive hug right now?” She sighs, resting her hand above his knee instead of trying to touch it again.

“I appreciate the thought,” he chuckles, “Maybe you’re right, maybe I do just need to take a break.”

She nods her head in agreement, grinning as she reaches for the flyer in her lap, “Flynn designed it! Do you like it?”

Luke leans forward, smiling as his eyes take in the paper in her hands, “Yeah, it looks rad.” He beams.

She watches him take in the flyer for a moment before the rest of the band stream in through the doors, she jumps up, bouncing over to them to show off the paper. Leaving Luke to sit on the couch and smile at her back.

———

As usual before every gig the band plays, the friends all meet up backstage. Flynn helps Julie warm up her vocals and Y/N attempts to give the guys a pep talk, not that they are ever in need of one.

“Okay, you got this guys!” She cheers them on and the boys just laugh at her.

“You always give the best pep talks.” Alexs teases her fondly.

“Shut up, I’m trying here. You don’t need a pep talk anyway! You do amazing every show, I’m just trying to be helpful.” She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, “Warm up vocals?” she offers.

Luke chuckles and comes to stand beside her, “Just you being here to watch is helpful, we need our number one fans in the audience to hype us up.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Well at least that I can do.” She agrees.

“There are a lot of people out there.” Julie chews her lower lip as she joins them after having a peek into the venue.

“You got this!” The girl cheers and the boys all let out a groan, “But really, you’ve played big shows before, you’ll be fine.”

Julie nods her head, “I know, just a little pre gig nerves I guess.”

Flynn places a hand on her shoulder and rubs it lightly, “Get it together girl, you’re on in five.” She says and Julie pulls a face as Flynn gives her a single pat on the back.

“Hug it out?” Julie asks, Flynns arm flies around her shoulders and Y/N does the same to Flynn.

The girl lets out a shiver at a sudden coldness, Luke’s arm appearing in front of her face out of nowhere.

“I keep forgetting about that.” He chuckles looking a little sheepish at the fact his arm had just passed through her head.

She blushes slightly and looks back to the girls as Luke hovers his arm over her shoulders in a mock group up, Alex doing the same to Julie.

“Legends on three?” Luke starts the countdown and they all cheer Legends together before breaking up the hug.

“Break a leg guys!” She cheers as Flynn pulls her out into the venue and through the crowd.

———

The gig was amazing as always despite Luke’s worries and little hiccup the day before. After his little break he was back to his usual brilliant self and absolutely rocked the gig. They all met up backstage after the show, everyone talking excitedly over each other and jumping about.

“You guys never fail to amaze me!” She grins as she approaches the guys who were all patting each other’s backs and shoving each other around.

They stopped as they noticed her, all sharing the same wide smile as her, “Thanks! I think we get better every time.” Luke comments.

“You’re definitely going to be going places.” She agrees, bouncing on her heels as she stands between the boys.

“Speaking of going places.” Reggie taps Alex’s chest and nods towards the rest of their friends.

A woman looking very out of place at a rock gig had stepped up to Julie, the group was too far away for her and the boys to overhear anything but by the grin on Flynn’s face and the look of shock on Julies she imagined it was good news.

The woman finishes her speech, handing a card to Julie and shooting her one last smile before she turns around and walks back into the main venue. Julie and Flynn squeal and jump up and down before rushing over to you and the guys.

“That was a talent scout from a recording studio!” Julie squeaks out waving the card around, “She wants us to give her a call to discuss recording some stuff!”

“No way!” Luke beams, grabbing onto the bassist beside him in excitement.

“That’s amazing! I’m so excited for you guys!” She pulls Julie into a tight hug, bouncing excitedly with the girl before spinning back around to the guys.

She leans forward, ready to pull Luke into a hug just as tight but her arm slides straight through him and she quickly steps back with a nervous laugh.

“Sorry!” She chuckles.

Luke shrugs, “It’s cool, I’ll hug Reggie and pretend it’s you.” He laughs pulling the boy into a side hug.

The girl laughs, scolding herself on the inside for constantly forgetting she can’t touch any of them.

———

The next night Julie plans a movie night at her house, setting the garage up with the help of Y/N and Flynn for a movie marathon and sleepover. They throw pillows and blankets across the couch and floor, setting up a projector and screen to play the movie on.

The girl loves movie nights at Julies because she loves seeing the guys reaction to the movies they pick. They are always amazed by the quality and the CGI compared to when they were watching movies.

Tonight the girls had picked a selection for them to choose from including fast and furious, zombieland and the princess diaries. A nice mix for the boys to argue over while the girls watched in amusement, already digging into the snacks they had brought along with them.

The boys finally settle on zombieland, getting comfy on the pillows and blankets while Julie begins the movie. Luke plops down next to her, shooting her a smile as she fills her mouth with popcorn.

“How’s it taste?” He asks.

“Uh...Like popcorn?” She offers with a laugh, “Sweet, I guess.”

Luke nods, staring at the food in her lap for a second longer before turning back to the screen to watch the movie.

About halfway through Luke begins to get fidgety as usual, moving around on the couch and letting out dramatic sighs as he tries to get comfy. He lifts his leg up, throwing it over Y/N’s and sinking straight through them. Both of them looking at her legs which his had just disappeared into.

“That’s just weird.” Luke comments before she lets out a shiver.

“Please remove your leg from inside mine.” She begs, letting out a sigh of relief when he moves it again, “I will never get used to that feeling.”

“What’s it feel like?” He asks, a look of amusement plastered on his face.

“You remember when we watched the third Harry Potter? And the dementors came and everyone said everything went cold like they’d never be happy again?” She asks and Luke nods, “Like that.”

“So...You’re comparing me to a soul sucking dementor?” he frowns.

She lets out a laugh, digging her hand into her popcorn bowl, “That’s exactly what I’m comparing you too.”

------

The next morning the girls are sitting around the island in Julie’s kitchen, chatting about the night before as they tuck into their bowls of cereal. They’re deep in conversation about who would survive if there was a zombie apocalypse when the boys walk through the wall and into the kitchen, grins plastered on their faces like there always was when they did that.

“You know how to use doors now guys, can’t you do that? It kind of creeps me out.” Julie shoots them a glare before shoving her spoon into her mouth.

“That creeps you out? Not the fact that there’s three ghosts living in your garage who you’re in a band with, but the fact that they can walk through walls? Like most ghosts can?” Flynn raises her brows.

“Like most ghosts can?” Reggie asks, coming to lean on the counter beside her, “You mean you know ghosts that can’t do that?” he looks over at his friends in shock but the girls just laugh at him.

“That’s not what she meant Reggie.” Julie smiles at him and stacks the bowls together, moving to place them in the sink.

Y/N gets up from her stool, walking over to the cupboards and pulling one open to retrieve a glass. She sighs when she notices they’re on the top shelf again, “Julie I thought you told your dad to stop putting everything so high up.” She huffs.

“I did!” Julie defends herself, “It’s not my fault he forgets.”

“I’ll help!” Luke jumps behind her and makes a grab for her waist to hoist her up but as usual his hands sink straight through her.

“Wow, great help there Luke, now I’m thirsty and cold.” She laughs, looking over her shoulder at the boy behind her.

“Sorry.” He bites his lower lip.

“Seriously, when are you two going to remember that you can’t touch each other?” Alex asks as he watches the scene, “I’m sure you do this at least twice a day.” He adds and Reggie nods in agreement.

“It’s new okay!” Luke complains, “I’m a touchy person this is hard for me.” he pouts.

She lifts her hand to pat him on the back but clenches it into a fist before she even tries, scrunching up her nose as she looks at him, “We’ll remember one day.” she laughs.

------

Y/N sits cross legged on her bed, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she tries her best to focus on the textbook in front of her, which was hard to do with her eyes full of water. She rubs at her face with the back of her hand, brushing the tears away as she reads the same sentence for a fifth time.

“Hey Y/N!” Luke pops up at the end of her bed making her jump in surprise, “Sorry.”

“Luke!” She shouts in annoyance, “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? And not to come into my room without asking! Get out!”

“Hey, I just wanted to-” she cuts him off by jumping up from the bed.

“Just get out!” She shouts pointing at her door.

Luke looks shocked for a moment, she had never shouted at him before, then he slowly makes his way towards the door, “Sorry.” He mumbles on his way past.

He reaches the door, looking back over to her with a soft expression, “Are you crying?” He asks, hand hovering over the door handle.

“Luke just get out.” She repeats, turning away from him and crawling back onto her bed.

“Look, I’m sorry for just appearing, I know you asked me not to do that. But I’m not leaving if you’re upset, no matter how much I hate crying girls.” He laughs softly, frowning when she doesn’t return it. “What’s wrong?”

She rubs at her eyes again, balling the blanket into her fists, “I’ve just had a really bad day, okay? Nothing you can do about it.”

She feels her bed dip as he sits beside her, his fingers settling on top of her knee as she turns to meet his gaze, “I can try and help you forget about it.” He offers, “I don’t like seeing you upset.”

She turns away, ready to tell him she’s fine and he can just go, but her eyes lock onto his hand on her knee, “Luke. You’re touching me.”

He quickly lifts his hand away, “Sorry I...Wait, I was touching you?” He asks, a grin appearing on his face as he looks from her knee back to her, “For real? You could feel it?”

She wipes the last of her tears away, a genuine smile appearing on her face as she nods, “Yeah.”

“Can I try that again?” He asks and she nods her head.

He inches his hand forward, fingers stroking across her knee lightly before he rests his hand on top of it, his smile widening as it made solid contact. He wastes no time in tackling her into a hug, throwing them both down onto her bed as he squeezes her against him, giggles erupting from her as he does.

“Luke! Oh my god.” She laughs as he rolls around on top of her, “You’re squishing me!”

“I’ve waited so long to be able to hug you! I’m never letting go!” He buries his face into her neck as he speaks.

“Well if you don’t ease up a little you’ll be able to hug me whenever you want because I’ll be dead like you.” She comments and he finally peeks his head up and loosens his grip.

“Better?” He asks and she nods, “Can we just stay like this for a while?” Luke asks, overwhelmed with the fact that he was touching someone other than Alex and Reggie.

She nods again, “We can stay like this as long as you want.” She smiles.

Luke grins, burying his face back into her and holding her tight against his chest, determined not to let go until he was no longer able to hold her like this.

@lovesanimals @makebank @chrlsgillespie @crybabyddl @marinettepotterandplagg @caitsymichelle13 @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @alexpjoyner @meangirlsx

[recurring-polynya]

For the Renji birthday prompt: A fic where Renji discovers that he can't go tits out anymore now that he's married (maybe with some jealous Rukia thrown in perhaps)?

I maintain that the new tits-in regime is self-imposed; I present to you my thesis. (I did not attempt to take on The Vest; I assume it came later, and I eagerly await more Vest Lore from Kubo himself)

Warning that I sincerely hope deters absolutely no one: This fic is about boobs. It contains many, many synonyms for boobs. Some of them are rude. 

Read on ao3 or ff.net

---

“I’m telling you, you’re jumping to conclusions. Sometimes he puts them away when he fights. He told me this.”

“I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

“It’s been winter.”

“That has never stopped him before. And it’s April now. Open season. And yet…?”

“I think we should just ask him.”

“You can’t just ask a guy, ‘hey, where did your tits go?’”

“I could, but I refuse. Abarai’s aesthetic is his own business.”

“Since when?”

“Okay, he’s here, someone’s gotta do it.”

“Not it!”

“Also not it!”

“Matsumoto, you have to do it. You’re the one who talked him into letting them hang out in the first place.”

“I agree with Yumichika. Renji knows what he’s doing, and if he has decided that the puppies are off-limits, that’s on him.”

“Hey, guys!” Abarai Renji’s cheerful voice rang out over the din of the bar. “Sorry I’m late!”

“Just means you have to catch up quick!” Rangiku declared, pouring him some sake.

“No missus tonight?” Shuuhei asked.

Renji’s entire face went pink and he got the same moony look in his eyes he always got whenever someone mentioned his wife or his marital state generally. “She sends her regards and says I’m supposed to drink extra for her. She goes over to the Manor on Wednesday evenings now to hang out with her brother.”

“Have you actually managed to call him by his given name yet?” Iba asked. “Now that you’re related?”

“His given name is ‘Captain’ and I call him that all the time,” Renji replied snottily.

“So. Renji,” Izuru said, leaning forward on his elbow. “Are you doing something different? With your look? I feel like there’s something different about you.”

Renji’s face lit up. “You noticed!” He swung his head around, his long braid swinging over his shoulder. “I’ve started braiding it!”

“Oh, no, it’s permanent?” Yumichika moaned.

“That’s not new,” Iba scoffed. “You slept with it like that the whole time we were roommates. I just figured that you didn’t have time to fix your hair in the morning anymore because you were too busy taking care--oof!”

“It looks very nice, Renji!” Momo said sweetly, extracting her elbow from Iba’s rib cage.

“It’s different,” Renji glowered at Iba. “I braid it loosely at night to prevent breakage and lock in moisture. This is an action braid.” He wheeled on Yumichika. “And I’m only French braiding it for now, because it’s shorter in front than in the back, you know, because of the accident. Once I’ve grown it out to all one length again, I’ll just do a regular braid.”

“You could just cut it to the length of the shortest part and go back to the pineapple hair,” Ikkaku suggested. “I always liked the pineapple hair.”

Renji turned pink again. “Ah, well. Rukia likes it long.”

“Yeah, I don’t think the braid is… what I was thinking of,” Izuru soldiered on.

Renji sucked his teeth thoughtfully. “I got a new tattoo? A pair, actually.”

“Oh! Did you?”

“On your chest?” Shuuhei asked hopefully. A healing tattoo would be a good excuse to cover up.

“Nah, on my thighs.”

Izuru sighed. “Since when do I look at your thighs, Abarai?”

“I have good thighs, Izuru.”

“He probably just looks different because he’s so happy now,” Rangiku suggested. “By which I mean getting your back blown out every night.”

“That could be it!” Renji agreed cheerfully. “Oh, I was wearing a scarf for a while there, when we had that cold snap! Is it the scarf? Or maybe the lack of scarf? It’s a nice scarf, Captain gave it to me for a wedding present. He says a man of quality should own a scarf.”

“I give up,” Izuru sighed.

“Hey, jocks, what’s going on?” a new voice interrupted.

“Akon!” half the table chorused and Renji scooted over so Akon could slide in next to him.

“Glad you could make it!”

“Yeah, sorry, I had an experiment I wanted to get finished up.”

“We were just talking about how there’s something different about Renji,” Shuuhei pressed.

Akon surveyed Renji for a moment. “Well, he’s got his tits tucked in for once. Aren’t you hot? You told me once you did that for ventilation.”

“That was very much a lie,” Renji clarified. “And I’m a married man now, my cans are closed for business. Speaking of which, Rangiku, fill ‘er up again, please, I’ve gotta keep up my wife’s reputation.”

---

Momo couldn’t believe this was happening to her. Out of their entire friend group, she was pretty sure she was the least interested in Renji’s… bosoms. There was a time… long, long ago when she had thought he was pretty hot stuff. She still counted him among her closest friends and favorite people, but had long ago come to the conclusion that big and beefy just wasn’t her type.

“Why, Lieutenant Hinamori! What brings you to my office?” Acting Captain Kuchiki Rukia leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. She must have been practicing, because the last time Momo had seen her do that, she had nearly fallen backwards out of the chair.

Momo sighed. “I have to tell you, this isn’t business.” Not exactly. It sort of was, in the sense that Shuuhei and Matsumoto (who apparently did care very much about Renji’s chest situation, so long as she wasn’t the one who had to confront him about it) had come over and dramatically draped themselves all over the Squad 5 couch and complained about the dreary state of affairs to Captain Hirako until he ordered Momo to go do some investigating.

“Good, because I have been filling out Nanao’s new skills-inventory-for-seated-officer forms all morning and I’m about to lose it,” Rukia said with an overly cheerful grin.

“We could go out to the yard and fight?” Momo offered hopefully. Maybe she could tell Captain Hirako that she got distracted and forgot to ask about Renji.

Rukia’s face fell a little. “Er, I’d love to, but I really shouldn’t today. Sentarou just made me this pot of tea, though. Do you want some? It’s lemon ginger, it’s really good.”

“Sure,” Momo agreed.

“So what’s up?” Rukia asked again, once Momo was perched in the guest chair, a fragrant cup of tea cradled in her hands.

Well, might as well just rip the bandage off. “I need you to know that I was put up to this by… you know. The idiots. The cowards we go drinking with.”

“Understood,” Rukia agreed.

“There is… some concern… about your husband.”

Rukia’s eyebrows shot up. “My sweet pumpkin pants?”

“I’m leaving,” Momo announced.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Rukia waved her hands, laughing. “I’ll be serious. What has that lunkhead done now?”

“This is so dumb,” Momo muttered. She cleared her throat. “He’s stopped going around with his bazongas hanging out all the time, and everyone’s losing their minds over it.”

Rukia stared at her. “Excuse me, his what?”

Momo made a vague gesture at her own chest. “You know. His… boobies.”

“That’s what I thought you meant,” Rukia nodded, her brow creased in thought. “Bazongas. I like that.”

“Not that I care!” Momo excused. “I mean, I agree, he should be allowed to dress how he likes, but you two seem to have a very equitable relationship and I said that I was sure he wasn’t doing anything that he hadn’t agreed to--”

“Hold on,” Rukia interrupted. “You think I had something to do with this?”

“You didn’t?” Momo asked. “He said he was keeping them tucked in because he was married now. We assumed it was at your request.”

“I didn’t even know!” Rukia replied. “I mean, I came home yesterday, and he was just--” she made a hand gesture like she was pulling her kosode open, “--completely out--”

“I don’t need to hear this,” Momo begged.

“Well, I tell you I had nothing to do with it,” Rukia assured her. “No one is more supportive of Renji acting slutty in public than me. Everyone knows I have that locked down, and honestly, it just makes me seem more powerful.”

Momo squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m going to punch Shuuhei so hard.”

Rukia rubbed her index finger over her chin. “It’s possible this came down from Brother…”

Momo whimpered, although, honestly, having a conversation with the other Captain Kuchiki about Abarai’s pectorals couldn’t possibly be more awkward than this.

“...or it might be… something else.” Rukia frowned. “I’ll talk to him, okay?”

“You will?” Momo asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it. I can’t promise to bring the jugs back, but I’ll make sure it’s just Renji being a doofus and not Renji hiding his anxieties under aesthetic choices or Renji being oppressed by his brother-in-law.”

“Thank you, Rukia,” Momo said. Rukia could be bossy at times, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “Sometimes, Renji has to be bullied into taking care of himself.”

“You’re telling me!” Rukia exclaimed. “Thank you for caring about him,” she added warmly.

“For the record, I care about him,” Momo replied. “Everyone else just misses the view.”

“Noted,” Rukia replied.

---

Renji had his nose stuffed in his cookbook, which lately, wasn’t a good sign. Renji only owned one cookbook, an encyclopedic tome that he only cracked open when he was trying something new or otherwise wasn’t sure what he was doing.

“I hope you aren’t making that kale curry again,” Rukia noted dryly.

Renji jumped three feet in the air. “Aaah, shoot! Rukia! I didn’t hear you come in! I’m so sorry!”

Rukia hopped up on her kitchen stool and leaned across the counter to give him a kiss. “We’ve been married for four months now. You don’t have to greet me at the door every single day, you know.”

“Sixteen weeks, three days,” Renji replied. “And I can still be sorry about it.”

“Just tell me we’re having something normal for dinner, and I’ll forgive you,” Rukia replied.

Renji jerked a thumb toward the stove behind him. “I made oden,” he explained. “It’s simmering, probably’ll be another ten minutes.”

“Ohhhhhh, I love your oden!” Rukia stretched her arms across the counter and did grabby hands at his hands until he laced his fingers through hers. “Did you make enough for me to take some for lunch tomorrow?”

“Depends on how much you eat tonight,” he replied. “Your appetite’s been really hit or miss lately.”

“Yeah, well...” Rukia agreed. “So what’s with the cookbook, then?”

“Oh,” Renji said vaguely. “I’m thinking about learning to bake cookies?”

“I’m in favor of that,” Rukia agreed, although her mind immediately went back to the conversation she’d had with Momo that afternoon.

“I’m not sure this book is helping,” Renji admitted. “If I was any good at baking, it would be one thing, but it’s too different. I’ve always been better at learning stuff from other people. Do you think it would be weird if I asked Iba’s mom to teach me? She used to make these little sesame biscuits for Iba. I would always steal them from him. They were so good and he didn’t properly appreciate them anyway.”

“It would absolutely be weird, and I think you should do it anyway,” Rukia proclaimed. She paused. “But maybe you could wait a few more weeks until we tell everyone we’re pregnant so all your friends will stop asking me what’s wrong with you.”

Renji’s eyes widened. “Did your brother say something last night? Because he told me he liked the braid!”

Rukia snorted. “No. He’s worse than you are anyway, he’s been reading books. Please make him stop, if you can. Actually, I’ve been getting complaints about,” she circled a finger in the vicinity of Renji’s chest.

Renji glanced down, and realized that his kosode was still neatly folded up to his collarbone. “Oops, sorry! I told you I didn’t hear you come home.” He immediately began untucking it.

Rukia leaned her chin on her palm, watching his progress. “I realize that making emotionally constipated people face their feelings is usually your department, but it seems you’ve got something heavy rattling around in there. Wanna talk about it?”

Renji’s eyes slid to one side. “Talk about what?”

Rukia cocked an eyebrow and waited.

Renji heaved a sigh. “Do you remember that time, back in Inuzuri, the first time I used my reiatsu in public? When I blocked a lead pipe with my arm?”

Rukia almost choked. “What do you mean, do I remember it? Of course I remember it.”

“Well, not so much that, but do you remember afterward, when you said I was too big and mean to be a sneakthief anymore? That it was better to confront the world and show it what we were made of?”

“I do remember that. I did not call you mean.”

“You probably didn’t. It’s probably just something I thought about myself.” He looked pensive for a moment. “In any case, it was something I really took to heart, especially after we split up. At first, I just wanted to make myself as big and loud and scary as possible. I liked the way people shied away from me. Later on, after I started hanging out with Yumichika, I realized that walking around sexy could be intimidating in a different sort of way, and I liked that, too.”

Rukia had a comment for that, but she decided to just listen, instead.

Renji smoothed the page of his book with his fingers. “I don’t want to look scary anymore.”

“You don’t look scary,” Rukia reassured him. “You haven’t looked scary in a long time.”

“I want to do better than that, though,” Renji frowned. “Has your brother ever talked to you about his dad?”

Rukia blinked, surprised, mostly that Byakuya had talked about Soujun with Renji. “A few times.”

“I, uh, asked him what his dad was like. Since I never had one myself. I expected him to either blow me off or start bellyaching, like he does about his granddad, but he didn’t. He said his pop was very gentle and kind. He said he was a good dad.”

“Byakuya loved his father a lot.”

“Yeah, that was pretty clear.”

“I hope he finished by saying what a good father you will make, but it’s my brother, so I’m sure he didn’t.”

“He said something about how he was sure I would proceed in my own way.”

Rukia sighed again. “Renji, you’ll be a great dad. It’s super obvious. I’ve only told half a dozen people that I’m pregnant and all of them who aren’t Byakuya have immediately reacted with ‘Renji is going to be such a good dad.’ You don’t need to change anything about yourself.”

Renji sucked his teeth for a moment. “Well, all my good dad instincts are telling me our kid is gonna wanna fight the world bad enough as it is, that the last thing they need is a dad who wants to fight the world, too. I’ve fought the world long enough. I’m probably never gonna be gentle, but I can try my best to be kind, and I can dress like a normal person in public for a change and… maybe I can make a cookie? It’s worth a try, I think.”

Rukia flashed him a sad, but fond smile. “You’re such a dork. A sweet, thoughtful dork, though, and I will support your experiment, even though you know I love your bazongas more than anyone.”

“‘Bazongas’? Oh no, did those assholes make Momo come and talk to you?”

Rukia shrugged and tried to look innocent.

“Anyway, you’re my wife, I will take them out for you whenever you want.”

“Yay!”

Renji furrowed his brow into its “determined” configuration. “Do not get me wrong. I am actually upping my chest day routine. I am going to keep them immaculate, and when my shirt gets ripped off in a fight, people are going to lose their minds over how lush my boys are.”

“I love you so much,” Rukia replied.

[trashyswitch]

Dark Interrogations (With a Light Spin)

Roman gets interrogated for the robbery of a hoodie, a hat and a deodorant. Remus, Janus and Virgil work together to make Roman confess to his crimes and admit as to their location...

This has the 'tickle interrogation' trope going for it so if you're uncomfortable with that, I am very sorry. There are also some swear words, so you have been warned.

This fanfic goes out to @smileheart110 on Tumblr. Link

This fanfic also goes out to @kennabelee because I wanna. XD

So Smileheart and Kenna, I hope you both (and others) enjoy!

A pair of high heels could be heard echoing through the room...a paper was shuffled with...and a pencil was heard being used despite the pitch black darkness.

“Roman ‘Princey’ Sanders…” Someone said.

The name called, hummed in confusion as he registered who the voice belonged to.

“...What in royalty are you doing, Library boy?” Roman asked.

“Oh...Right I forgot he could recognize our voice.” The person admitted.

“We have the same voice.” Someone else said.

“I’m gonna turn on the liiiight~” someone else said before switching on a lamp. Roman squinted at how surprisingly bright the lamp was. He expected one of those modern lights with the slow build up to brightness. You know, the eco-friendly ones? But nope. Not here. The voices of the ‘strangers’ didn’t always have a green thumb.

Roman looked up at the faces that were staring him down. One of them was holding a clipboard and a pencil. Another one was holding pieces of paper. And the last one was giving him the death glare with a small box in his hand.

“Welcome to the interrogation room. You can refer to me as Deceit...Or Janus, if you want to.” Janus started.

“You can refer to me as Virgil...I prefer it that way. No ‘emo’, no ‘panic at the everywhere’, and no ‘kitty cat’ either. I’ve heard you and your list.” Virgil warned.

“And I’m starving.” Remus admitted.

Virgil sighed. “Remus we know.” Virgil growled.

“Can we hurry this up?” Remus asked. “I haven’t had my hourly deodorant because SOMEONE STOLE IT!” Remus smacked his hand onto the desk to scare him.

But hilariously enough, Roman didn’t even flinch. “Awww, boo hoo.”

Remus looked at Janus. “Can I slap him with your heel?” Remus asked.

“NO.” Janus and Virgil both shot back.

“Dammit…” Remus muttered.

“Heel?!” Roman looked down and sure enough, Janus was wearing heels. “...Huh…”

“Eyes up here asshole.” Virgil ordered. “Where are our things?” Virgil asked.

“What things?” Roman asked, pretending to be naive.

Virgil slammed a paper onto the table, revealing the hoodie...But the picture used to represent it, looked really poor quality.

Roman smirked. “Did you get that from clipart or something?” Roman asked.

Janus sighed. “It was the best we could do. Please stay focused.” Janus told him.

“Where is it?!” Virgil asked.

“Chill out man! I didn’t mess with your hoodies!” Roman reacted.

“It’s ONE hoodie, and it’s MISSING. And you’re the only one dumb enough to take it.” Virgil spat.

“Emo.” Roman spat back with a smirk.

“Prick in my ass.” Virgil shot back.

“Oooooh! Okay, boogeyman~” Remus teased.

“Ew!” Virgil turned to Remus. “Don’t you dare use your serial killer references on me!” Virgil ordered.

“Sorry, sorry…I’m just hangry…” Remus admitted.

“Really? What a surprise…” Janus muttered.

Roman chuckled. “Someone should make a tv show based on all of you.” Roman reacted.

“Brooklyn 99 is the equivalent of that already.” Virgil reminded him.

Virgil placed another paper down. “What about this? Where is it?” Virgil asked.

Roman sighed and looked down. This time, it was a picture of deodorant...but it had a leaf on the label with the word ‘Peppermint’ on the front. Roman guffawed. “No, I haven’t seen Remus’s ‘peppermint’ deodorant!” Roman laughed.

Janus blinked and checked the label. “Oh...Oops.” Janus admitted. “Anyway-” Janus placed the paper down. “You know what we really mean in this situation. Where is it?” Janus asked.

“I don’t know. I thought you hid it with your magic?” Roman replied, looking at Remus.

Janus sighed. “And as you can tell, this:” Janus showed a colored picture of Roman holding his hat, with the bowler hat circled with a red marker. “Where is my hat?”

Roman giggled and changed his voice. “Look! I’m Woody! Howdy Howdy Howdy!” He imitated.

Janus snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “AHA! So you DID steal it!” Janus declared. “And that means you stole everything else TOO!” Janus yelled.

“Whaaaat...if I was simply making a reference?” Roman asked.

“You weren’t.” All three interrogators said at the exact same time.

Roman’s smirk dropped. They really could read through his tricks…

“Where’s. Our. Stuff. Roman?” Janus asked, leaning forward to glare at Roman closely.

“Up. Your. Scaled. Tushy.” Roman spat back.

“Alright get the tools.

“Tools?! Seriously?!” Roman reacted.

“Yes, of course! We need to scare our thief into confessing to their most evil crimes known to man!” Remus told him. “Stealing. Our. Precious. Props.” Remus told him.

Virgil pulled out a toothbrush and clicked a button to turn it on. The electric tooth brush started humming and vibrating, leaving Roman confused. “You’re...gonna brush my teeth to death?” Roman guessed.

Virgil giggled evilly. “Think again, Ro.” While Janus held Roman’s hands behind his back, Virgil walked closer to Roman, pulled up a stool and brought the humming toothbrush closer to Roman’s belly button.

The toothbrush had only lowered a couple inches from his belly, when Roman started whining and biting his lip. “Ohohoho noho, you’re worse than yzma.” Roman muttered with a slight wobbly smile growing onto his lips.

“So...Where...is our stuff Ro?” Virgil asked.

“I-I don’t know!” Roman replied.

It was then that Roman SCREAMED and wiggled around as the toothbrush landed right into his belly button.

“I hope you like tickles, Princey~” Virgil teased. “Cause this is gonna last a while if you don’t confess.” Virgil added.

“WAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE! NOT THEHEHEREHEHEHE!” Roman begged already.

“Woooow! Begging already?” Remus reacted. “I’m surprised! You can defeat a giant dragon witch, but you can’t handle a little tickwing to the bewwy button?” Remus teased.

Roman tugged on his arms to try and get out as his belly button was tormented with only a single little circular toothbrush. Man, being ticklish sucked right now!

Virgil stopped the electric toothbrush, but kept the toothbrush in his belly button. While this was happening, Janus leaned into Roman’s ear and clicked his tongue. “You gonna tell me where the stuff is?” Janus asked softly.

Roman felt tingles down his spine from both the hot air against his ear, and the super soft voice Janus was using.

Roman looked towards the ear Janus was whispering into. “Jeez, you could do an ASMR video or an ASMR channel if you wanted to! Holy crap!” Roman reacted.

“Answer the question.” Janus ordered with a more stern voice.

Roman looked at Virgil and Remus. “Guys...I seriously don’t know.” Roman told them.

“He’s lying. Vir-”

“Way ahead of ya, Jan.” Virgil pulled out a huge fan brush, turned on the electric tooth brush and used both items on Roman’s belly button region.

“NOOOOOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHA! VIHIHIRGIHIHIHIL STAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Roman pleaded.

Janus smirked as he leaned in, and blew cold air onto his neck. Roman squealed and curled his neck, throwing his head back in the process. “JAHAHAHAN!” Roman begged.

Then, Janus grabbed a feather and started tickling up and down Roman’s spine. “EEEEEK! WAHAHAHAIT NOHOHOHOHO! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE!”

“Hey Remus...Do you wanna have some fun?” Virgil asked before turning off the toothbrush. Janus stopped the feather and looked at Remus with curious eyes.

Roman took the time to breath in and out as much as he could before the tickling started up again.

“Sure! And I know just the spot~” Remus grabbed a foot rest, placed it between Roman’s lower legs, and tied Roman’s legs to the bars on the sides of the foot rest.

Roman shrieked and tried to lift the foot rest, but a 50 pound dumbbell had been tied to the bottom of the foot rest as well! “NO! YOU’D BETTER NOT PULL THAT ANKLE-BREAKING MOVE FROM MISERY!” Roman shouted at him.

Virgil and Janus widened their eyes at each other while Remus wheezed. “Look around the room, you dumbass! There’s no sledgehammers anywhere here!” Remus reacted through his laughter.

“Except for in the closet…” Virgil muttered.

Remus hummed. “Wait what?”

“There actually is one in the closet…” Virgil muttered again.

Roman let out an ear-piercing SCREAM in horror. “OH FUCK! OH SHIT NO! REMUS YOU DO THAT, AND I’M DIVORCING YOU AS A FUCKING BROTHER-”

“Hey Janus, do you have an extra hand to cover up his mouth?” Remus asked casually...too casually.

Janus nodded and covered up his mouth. With Roman’s screams covered up enough to focus, Remus got up to do his thing. He walked to the closet, grabbed out the sledge hammer and made a large portal. Roman was still breathing heavily and freaking out. But Remus gave the sledgehammer a heave, and threw it into the portal. A loud “OW!” could be heard from within the portal before it was closed up.

“There! No more sledgehammer, and no more scared Roman.” Remus told him.

Roman’s scared face lessened dramatically as he registered the lack of a sledgehammer.

“You can uncover his mouth now.” Remus told Janus. Janus nodded and uncovered his mouth as Remus walked back over. “Now what I was ACTUALLY gonna do...” Remus sat down onto the foot rest, and scooted a bit closer. “Was this:”

Remus reached his hand out and started tickling the inside of Roman’s thigh. Roman widened his eyes, gasped in surprise, and leaned his head to the side as the craving to laugh filled his lungs. Roman tried to hold them back as best he could...But the moment the fingers reached the lower thigh, it was all over.

“EEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEK! NOHOHOHOHO! NONONO! NOTTHETHIGHS! HAHAHAHANDS AWAHAHAHAY!” Roman begged.

“Only if you confess to taking our stuff…” Remus reminded him as he moved his fingers to the other thigh.

“BAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OKAYOKAHAHAHAHAY! FIHIHIHINE!” Roman finally yelled.

Virgil smiled eagerly as Remus stopped his fingers. “Well?”

“Fihihihine...Yohohou wihihihin…*huff* I… *huff* I took ‘em…. *huff* *huff* Took ‘em all.” Roman finally admitted.

Remus smiled proudly and cheered. “YAAAAAY! I did it!” Remus declared.

“Totally didn’t see that coming…” Janus lied with a smirk.

“But wait:” Virgil looked at Roman. “Where did you put them?” Virgil asked.

Remus stopped cheering and looked at him. That was a good question! Where DID he put them?

Roman shook his head. “You said you’d let me go if I confessed. I confessed, so you need to let me go.” Roman told them.

“That’s why we have a tape record-” Virgil looked over at the tape recorder and noticed there was no tape in the tape recorder…

Virgil growled in pure frustration and anger the moment he heard crunching plastic on the other side of the table. Remus had moved himself to the other side of the table and…

..was eating the cassette tape.

“Whath? I goth hungryyy!” Remus reacted. “I’ff been hungry’fr hourth!” Remus added.

“And you couldn’t ASK FOR A BREAK?!” Virgil shouted.

Remus swallowed. “Mm mm. Go on. Keep going.” Remus told them, waving his hand to move them along.

Virgil sighed and looked at Roman. “Are there times you don’t associate with him?” Virgil asked.

Roman nodded. “All the time.” He replied. Rokman yelped as the circular spinning piece from the cassette tape smacked against his forehead. “OW!” Roman yelled.

“Thorry!” Remus reacted.

Virgil grabbed out another item from the tool box. “How about some oil?” Virgil asked.

OH HELL NAW!

Roman squeaked and wiggled around. “Uh uh! No way! Absolutely not! Get that stuff away from me!” Roman threatened.

Virgil giggled and poured some oil into his belly button.

“NOOOOOO!” Roman begged. Virgil grabbed a silicone oil brush from the tool kit, and started brushing and spreading the oil across his whole belly. Roman giggled and snorted as the brush moved everywhere across the regular skin, AND the shiny oiled skin. Whenever the brush would go across the oiled skin, Roman’s laughter would increase 10 fold, or even 20 fold! The oil made so much of a difference on Roman’s belly.

“And now for my new favorite part:” Virgil grabbed out two- TWO separate back scratchers. The metal back scratchers had paws on them rather than the usual fingers, which gave the back scratches metal claws rather than dull nails. Virgil handed one of them to Remus, and got ready to attack.

“NO...NOO PLEASE NO…” Roman pleaded.

“Where are they~” Virgil asked as he and Remus both brought the bear scratchers closer and closer to the belly.

“VIRGIL! REMUS! PLEASE! I DON’T KNOW! I! DON’T! KNOW! AAAAAAAAH!” Roman screamed and fell into loud cackles as the bear claws started scritching and scratching all over his poor, oiled belly.

“Where is it, oh ticklish prince of-”

“IHIHIHIN MYHYHY NIHIHIGHTSTAHAHAHAND! NIHIHIGHTSTAHAHAND!” Roman shouted.

Virgil widened his eyes. “Nightstand?!” Virgil reacted.

Remus got up, placed the bear claw scratcher down and sprinted to Roman’s bedroom. Roman took this moment to breath like his life depended on it. “Yohohou’re...lucky...I’m a side...otherwise...I will have...p-perished…” Roman said slowly.

Virgil laughed. “You wouldn’t have died, you drama queen.” Virgil fluffed his hair.

Janus smiled as he let go of Roman’s hands and wrote down the thief with the location of the items. “A criminal has pleaded guilty today. I say a job well done.” Janus told him. “And I mean it.” Janus clarified, telling him that he wasn’t lying.

Remus sprinted into the room with their stuff, and a mouth full of deodorant. “Hoodie!” Remus threw the hoodie to Virgil. “Hat!” Remus threw the hat frisbee style to Janus. “And MMMMMmmmmm!” Remus dug right into his deodorant like a mad man.

Virgil and Roman both bursted out laughing at Remus’s face, while Janus fixed his hat and hair. “There…” Then, Janus whipped off the high heels. “Finally! My feet can rest happy without these stupid heels!” Janus declared.

“FREE HEELS!” Remus declared, picking up the heels and sprinting out of the room.

Virgil shrieked and sprinted after him. “REMUS GIVE ME THOSE HEELS NOW, YOU ARE NOT HITTING PEOPLE WITH THEM!”

Roman bursted out laughing at their silliness and looked at Janus. “So...You gonna start that ASMR channel?” Roman asked.

Janus leaned into his ear with a smile. “Maybe~” He whispered.

Roman giggled nervously and covered his mouth. The teaser was already a huge indication that he was gonna DIE listening to Janus’s voice!

...A loud “OW! VIRGIL!” could be heard from all the way down the hall…

Those silly dark sides...

Also YES, 2 FANFICS TODAY! AREN'T YOU PROUD OF ME??? :D

[morgana-ren]

my kink is shiggy going absolutely feral and wrecking the pussy

 I am soooo sorry this took so long to respond to. I’ve been working nutty hours and it’s been busier than usual. I’m also sososo sorry the quality sucks. I wrote half of it tonight and I am crazy sick. I’ve got some sort of awful flu and I’m like coughing to the point where I can’t breathe and my mouth tastes like blood and my body feels like I was hit by a train. I hope you like it though :/ (BTW this ended up way longer and weirdly… sweeter than I originally intended? I hope it’s still okay though)

He’s sitting at the bar, and admittedly, he’s had a few more drinks than he usually has. Originally, he just wanted to take the edge off, but now he’s feeling a little bit loose. His inhibitions are definitely lower than they should be, so he’s maintaining his composure by trying to keep to himself. He very rarely allows himself to relax like this, but it’s been one hell of a week, and his pent-up rage and anger is threatening to boil over unless he lets himself decompress. It’s for his sake, and more importantly, for the sake of everyone around him, so he allows himself this one.

There’s only one little problem.

That problem is you.

Even at his most attentive, the absolute height of his prowess, he was starting to realize that there was something a little different about you. Don’t get me wrong, he cared about all of his team. They were his family now and he was content with that. But occasionally he found his eyes lingering on you a little too long, getting a little too lulled by the sound of your voice. He would even go as far as to say he felt something akin to giddiness when you would plop down on the stool next to him at the bar.

Tomura was no fool. He knew what it was. He understood in some capacity that he was attracted to you. He had been since you joined. He figured it was inevitable to some degree. After all, he wasn’t exactly a people person, and the ones he did surround himself with weren’t exactly suited to his sexual tastes. He felt for Toga like a big brother would (not to mention the fact that she was underage and that was definitely not his cup of tea.) And the rest of the team? He’d rather shove a nail in his foot.

But you? You seemed a little too perfect.

He tried to play it off as his loneliness. A young female around his age with a powerful quirk and similar views? Of course nature would take its course and veer his attention toward you. That didn’t mean it had to be genuine, right? Surely it would die with time, fading into the background until it was nothing but a dull echo and eventually nonexistent. He was just touch starved, feeling particularly lonesome and isolated recently. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that you had been running circles around his mind lately. Nope. Not at all.

He didn’t spare you any extra attention, gave you no favors. He didn’t let his libido steer his judgement, letting his rational mind keep control instead. He was the leader after all, and it was his job to refrain from bias toward any member of his team. Favoring one or the other, especially because one had a face and personality partial to his own personal tastes, was not a good look. He was a professional. He needed to act like one.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job.

At least until now.

His grip on the glass is a little too tight, just a bit too strained. He can hear you laughing behind him, at what he doesn’t know, but he knows it was ashtray that made you do it. It had been like this the last half hour. You and Dabi had been playing some sort of drinking game and clearly having one hell of a time. Exchanging stories, bantering, and joking back and forth.

Tomura might as well have been a fly on the wall.

Neither one of you seemed to pay him any mind, letting him drink alone in peace. At least as much peace as he could have while you two were practically rioting behind him. With his back turned, you couldn’t see how unbelievably irritated he was either. He told himself it was the noise. He had a headache and you two really should keep it the fuck down. That’s what he told himself.

“Hey dollface, you ever played ‘never have I ever?”

Dabi’s slurring slightly, clearly already deep in his cups. Whatever bullshit game you had been playing before, you had obviously been winning. You seem essentially sober, and yet you were still humoring this asshole. Shigaraki closes his eyes and rolls them. You two were utterly juvenile.

“Not since I was a kid.” 

“You wanna play?” The suggestiveness in burn-unit’s voice is just a little too palpable. Shigaraki forces down another coming wave of irritation. He didn’t need to be subjected to this. Two of his subordinates acting like fucking baboons. 

“Sure. I hate playing quarters with you anyway. You suck at it, but the quarters you use get too warm and they keep burning my fingers.” 

“Can’t help it. I’m hot.” He raises his arms in a joking prostration, nearly falling off of his chair in the process. You chortle, snorting under your breath at his pathetic display. Shigaraki notes that you don’t disagree, however. 

“Tell you what, if you can keep your ass in that chair, I’ll play it with you.” 

“Ladies first.” Dabi resituates himself on the seat, loudly pulling himself forward several times until he’s level with the table once more. 

“Okay, let me think… Never have I ever…” You pause for a moment, thinking. “Stolen a car.” 

“Fuckin’ seriously? I had you pegged all wrong, doll! You’re definitely more boring than I thought.” 

“Well? Have you?” You seem to already know the answer, but that’s the point. 

Tomura knows the answer too. In fact, Dabi has stolen cars under his orders. Looks like ashtray loses this round. With any luck, he’ll eventually black out soon and maybe things would calm down.

“Yeah, yeah, give me the cup.” There’s the sound of a shot glass being passed across the table, and then a very loud crash that nearly makes Tomura jump. 

“Bottle’s empty.” Dabi says nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just knock it to the floor, shattering it on accident. “Go get another one.”

“Yes master.” 

It’s blatantly sarcastic and Shigaraki knows it is, but it still makes him flush slightly. Those words from your lips are not what he needs to hear right now.

You scoot away from the table, walking over behind the bar where Shigaraki is seated. There’s a pair of cabinets hanging overhead above him that you’ve got your eye on. However, as you stand in front of him and reach up to scrounge through the inside of them, he does his best to shake his shaggy hair in front of his eyes, trying to cover his ruddy face. You don’t quite realize it, but as you’re digging around up there, you’re giving him an exceedingly generous view of your cleavage.

He tries to tear his eyes away, trying to look anywhere else butat your overexposed chest. It’s unprofessional. It’s crude. It makes him feellike a dirty pervert, leering at you when you’re so oblivious. He doesn’t want to look. He’s not going to look. He’s going to pick up his drink and go in the next room and…

He’s looking. 

Look, you can’t just do that, okay? I mean, you don’t know what you’re doing but still! He might be the leader, but he’s also a man and he has needs. Wants. Desires. And right now, there’s a pair of tits almost directly in his face, so achingly close that he could touch them if he wanted. His fingers are digging into the skin of his palm, trying to quell all the desperate urges he’s feeling right now, chastising himself in his head for even thinking that way. He holds out, thinking of strategies or games or something, anything to beat off those thoughts. Beat off. Fuck.

Finally, you slam the cupboard shut, apparently not having found what you were looking for. He could have technically told you that there was no liquor up there, but far be it from him to make your life any easier. You opt instead to look behind you in some cupboards lining the wall. He takes another sip of his drink, watching you as you fall to your knees, rifling around in the dusty, cobwebbed enclosure. 

“What the fuck is taking so long?” Dabi pipes up from the back, kicking at the glass shards on the floor. 

“I can’t find any!” You call back, before sparing a glance towards Shigaraki himself. “Hey boss, can we-”

“No.” He curls his hand protectively around his own bottle. Like hell he’s giving his liquor to that drunken moron behind him.

You sigh, returning to your efforts. He watches in slight amusement as you toss shit around on the inside, very clearly growing frustrated with your lack of success. At least until you bend down, practically crawling inside. Your upper half is encased on the inside of the cheap wooden hutch, but your bottom half… 

Your backside is perked out directly toward him. You’re wiggling and worming, smacking things out of your way in your quest for more booze, and it’s definitely not helping. He can see the lines and contours of your ass through your pants, moving and shimmying around so much that he’s subconsciously brought his hand up to his face, biting deeply on a knuckle as he watches. 

He doesn’t want to watch. He wants to close his eyes, to look away, to roll his eyes into his head, anything but ogle you like this. His pants are becoming increasingly tight, straining against his crotch. He’s acutely aware of this, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. 

Fucking alcohol. It really has been a while.

“Got it!” You maneuver your way out of the alcove, clutching a bottle of musty liquor in your hands, holding it up triumphantly. Shigaraki snaps out of his haze, face blossoming into a deep shade of crimson. Maybe he’s had enough for tonight… 

“Yeah, yeah, hurry it up half-pint. I’m losing my buzz.” Dabi is very blatantly more than ‘buzzed’, and he seems hellbent on getting black out. It’s no skin off Shigaraki’s ass, at least that way he’ll probably fall over and pass out and you two will finally leave him alone and give him time to compose himself and chase away these intrusive thoughts. 

“Here you go, you big lug.” 

He reaches for the bottle in your hands but you pull it away, shaking your head at him and pouring the shot for him. He shoots you a glare, but takes it none the less. His head lulls over as the liquor burns down his throat and Tomura is betting two more and he’ll be on the floor. 

He just has to hold out until then. It’s probably a good thing that Dabi is on the brink of black out, because Shigaraki is rapidly running out of patience, dropping levels lower every time he has to hear Dabi’s goddamn voice. He’s almost always baseline annoyed with patchwork, but something was making him exceedingly irritating tonight. Every time he spoke you to you, Tomura found his lip twitching at the poorly concealed inflection in his voice. He doubted you even noticed it, but he sure as fuck could.

“My turn.” Dabi manages to garble out, leaning forward toward you on the table, smiling deviously. “Never have I ever… Fucked a member of the team.” 

Tomura can barely hear your shock above his own. Heat prickles painfully below his eyes, mouth slightly agape and both his hands curling into fists. He doesn’t understand why he’s so mad, so angry at it, but he doesn’t exactly care enough to analyze it right now. It’s the typical sort of bullshit shenanigan that drunk people get up to, but it sends his rage meter through the roof. He’s at the end of his rope.

“What?” You laugh anxiously, a barely concealed look of discomfort on your face. “I mean like, yeah, neither have I.” 

Dabi leans even more forward, pushing up from his chair and stabilizing himself on the table as he enters your personal space. His eyelids are lowered, either from the drink or his drunken attempt to be seductive, but either way, it’s a bit laughable. “Do you want to?” 

“That’s enough!” 

Tomura has shoved himself off his stool, kicking it aside as he faces you both. You look utterly started, but Dabi seems unsurprised by his outburst, cocking his head over with a bored expression. “Whattaya want, creep? We’re busy over here.” 

Shigaraki opts to ignore Dabi, instead narrowing his eyes on you. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you looked frightened, eyes popped like a deer in headlights, no doubt wondering why it was you getting the brunt of the scolding when it was very clearly Dabi who was crossing boundaries in front of the boss. Right now, he doesn’t care. 

He stalks over to you, harshly wrapping four fingers around your wrist and dragging you off into the nearby hallway. “I need to speak with you. Now.” 

You gulp almost audibly as he yanks you across the room and into the darkened corridor while Dabi rolls his eyes and scoffs, reaching for the bottle again. Tomura can feel your anxious eyes on the back of his head, no doubt wondering what you were in for, and honestly, even he didn’t know. He had acted on impulse, being led entirely by some instinct that had taken over his brain. 

He brings you down deep into the bowels of the building before he finally stops. It’s where you’re certain no one can hear you scream, no matter how many times you tell yourself that this is your leader and he wouldn’t do that to you. He’s got you against a wall as he stares down at you, crimson irises burning into yours. He looks pissed, but he’s just glaring down at you silently, letting the tension build to unbearable levels. 

“Boss?” You squeak, unable to handle not knowing. 

“Quiet. I’m thinking.” He hisses, snarling at you. 

“B-but boss, I didn’t-”

“I said shut up!” He slams his hands on either side of your head, narrowly avoiding decaying the wall behind you. He’s leaning down, face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath against your cheek, moist and chilling you to the bone. You’re unsure of what exactly is about to happen, and for a moment, he is too. He’s frustrated and flustered and he has no fucking idea what the hell he’s even doing here.

That doesn’t last long. 

Fuck it. 

He crushes his mouth to yours so hard he knows it probably hurts you, but you don’t seem to register it. Your eyes are snapped open, mouth slack and unmoving against his own in your stunned state. To hell with it, he needs to get this out of his system. If you want to hate him later, fine, but he needs to do this. He can’t handle it anymore.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is that after your initial shock wears off, you rake your hands through his hair, pulling him tighter against you, returning his fevered kiss with equally intense fervor. You’re practically devouring him, trying to slip your tongue between his closed lips. While his motions are automatic, his brain practically short circuits.

You’re… kissing him back?

It hits him like a kick in the ass. You’re kissing him back. You are reciprocating. Hell, you’re practically directing at this point. Your hands are clawing at his silver locks, yanking him closer and closer until he can barely breathe. He doesn’t care, he couldn’t care less if he never breathes again as long as you keep yourself pressed against him.

He can feel your body flush against his own, bathing in the warmth of your heat. This is all happening so fast, almost too fast. He never in his wildest dreams would have imagined that you could want him back, and it’s spurring his mind into overdrive. He knows what little self-control he has slipping, and the urge to shove you back further against the wall and take you is becoming a little too overwhelming. He needs to slow down while he still has the ability.

He pulls away if only slightly, just enough that he can croak your name, nails digging into your shoulder in warning. You can see his flushed cheeks, eyes glassy and low. His adam’s apple bobs, swallowing hard against your throat and you can tell he’s doing is best to not envelop you completely in his haze. It’s physically paining him in more ways than one, and you can feel a certain thick hardness worrying between your thighs. Gauging by his facial expression, he’s trying so desperately to communicate to you what’s going through his head without needing to say it.

You get the message. You know he’s trying so hard to keep in check, and no matter how badly he wants it, he’s going to resist. It’s his last defense.

Unfortunately for him, your only desire is to throw gasoline on that fire. You want it, and you want it bad. So, you pull a very unfair move.

You purse your lips in a pout, a simpering little whine emitting from your throat. Your hands make their way down to his narrow hips, gripping him closer between your parted thighs as you roll your body against his overly excitable nether region. Biting your lip, you bring your face close to his ear, whispering.

“Tomura…”

You feel him tense up, seizing as if frozen. His breath is caught in his chest, unable to move or think or breathe. There’s no mistaking the tone in your voice. Your head is in the same space as his. Is he asleep? Dreaming? Alive, even? There’s no way someone like him made it into heaven, so what the fuck was happening?

For the first time since you met him, he looks confused. His thin brows are furrowed, mouth open as if he wants to say something but can’t even find the words. Speechless, for once. He’s not even looking at you anymore, usually thin pupils dilated and switching rapidly between alternate sides of his eyes as if he’s expecting some sort of ambush. He’s utterly lost, and for a moment, you almost feel sorry for him. He’s clearly not used to this. He just needs a tiny little push.

“Fuck me.”

His eyes snap back to yours, a small gasp leaving him. All he needed was your permission, and you just gave it to him. Once you opened that door, there was no closing it. He knows it. You know it. And you’re more than okay with that.

“Please?”

He gives you exactly one second to inhale before he’s on you again. Hands clawing down your back as you struggle to undo your pants which seem exponentially more complicated than they did hours ago. As you kick them down your legs, he catches the hint that your clothing is optional, opting to rip and tear at your shirt rather than take the time to undo it properly. You want to scold him for ruining it, but that’s a bit difficult to do when his tongue is so far down your throat that it might as well be your own. You have a feeling he wouldn’t care even if you could.

You try to do him the favor of unbuttoning his pants, tugging them slightly down his hips, but before you can finish, he grabs your wrists, guiding them up to find anchor behind his neck. You can tell he’s trying to be as gentle and careful as he can, but his hands are shaking and stuttering against you, prying his pinkie fingers back so far that you’re sure it’s cramping him. He doesn’t want to risk harming you, but every bone in his body is screaming at him to tear into you like a predator.

You cling to him as he jerks his jeans down just enough and awkwardly frees himself with one hand, eyes never leaving yours. He’s waiting for you to shove him away, push him off, tell him you were kidding and laugh at him, reject him somehow. But you never do. Even as you can feel him against your legs, he pauses, needing some sort of final confirmation before he goes any further.

You let one hand unhinge from behind him, tracing his jawline and then grabbing his face gently in your hands. He looks vulnerable, almost confused, barely holding back whatever overwhelming need he has and it’s for your sake. You do the only thing you can do, the best reassurance you can think of.

You give him a gentle kiss on the lips, and then nod.

The switch flips.

You barely have time to clasp your hands back around his neck before he’s hiking you around up around his waist by your legs. You manage to lock your ankes together before he’s on you like a feral beast, burrowing his head in the crook of your neck, growling and gnashing his teeth on the tender skin of your throat. He’s grinding his erection between your thighs, rubbing against you and teasing your clit until you’re working against him with equal ferocity, practically ripping his hair by the roots.

He’s got you pinned between his lithe body and the wall, his nails digging into the thick skin of your thighs as he groans against your collar bone. He can feel how wet you are and it’s driving him into a frenzy, your little whimpers only serving to harden his already aching cock. The barely controlled undulation of his hips against yours but a taste of what he’s going to give you, and if he makes you wait much longer, you’re going to lose it.

He lets go of one of your legs, letting you steady yourself with your fastened ankles as his hand creeps between your waiting thighs, stroking and rubbing your nub until you’re bucking your body up into his touch. You’re breathing heavy, gyrating your body to try and increase the friction he’s providing you but it’s not enough. Your pleading looks and half formulated sentences coax a small, cruel giggle from him, reveling in the fact that you’re practically as needy as he is.

“You want it?”

His words are deceptively calm, but the truth of the matter is reflected in his eyes. Wide and bulging, blown out in lust. He’s barely even blinking, memorizing every detail of your wanton body on display for him. His fingers are twitching on his cock as he lines himself with your entrance, every single muscle longing to slam into you full force, but he wants to draw this out. Wants you to beg, needs it.

You nod your head vigorously, a pathetic whine all you can vocalize. You’re squirming in his arms, trying to impale yourself on him and failing. A frustrated groan and a pleading look later, and he decides that it’ll suffice.

”Take it.”

He plunges in, bottoming out inside you with one swift motion. The pressure is intense, stinging even with as wet as you are, but the moan that escapes him is unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before. He’s always so calculated, so meticulous, but the sheer unadulterated carnality of the sigh that leaves him makes you clench tighter around him. You didn’t think something as simple as a sound could arouse you so much, but something about seeing him so uninhibited makes you hotter than you thought possible.

It takes him a second to adjust to your tightness, but he quickly gets his bearings. Hissing under his breath, he begins thrusting, canting his hips in rhythm as he fucks up into your pliable body. He’s pulling no punches, battering you into the wall until you’re certain there will be bruises. Tenderness is a distant memory but you don’t seem to mind as your cunt is squeezing him so tightly that it’s almost as if you don’t ever want to let go. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair, grabbing onto his shoulders and shredding into his hoodie as you desperately try to stable yourself as he bounces you recklessly on his cock.

Your lecherous moans echo off the walls alongside his huffing and cussing in a cacophony of sin, but neither one of you can muster concern about anyone else hearing you. All you can think about is taking him deeper, rolling your hips in time with his as he pounds into you. He couldn’t give a fuck less if anyone else walks in on it either, even All for One couldn’t command his attention anywhere else but you. The only thing he knows is that he needs to be inside you, needs to feel you and he’ll kill anything that tries to get in the way of that.

Briefly, in the heat of the moment, your eyes meet. Both of you are glossed over, running purely on the fumes of the lustful haze, but there’s something underneath it all that softens you, going beyond pure greed and lasciviousness. He must sense it too, because his free hand comes up to cup your face, puckering your lips with his fingers before he slams his lips to yours once more. There’s a passion to it, an urgency that says something that neither of your words can, and even as you lose yourself moaning into his open mouth, he never lets you go.

Between the frantic pumping and the heated neediness of the kiss, breath is few and far between. You’re both panting in time with each other, desperate for air and each other. You can feel the sweat building on his brow as he rests his forehead against yours, muttering something deep and incomprehensible between consuming you. You’re building up, both reaching your peak and soon his pistoning becomes erratic and broken. You breathe in his ragged, shuddering exhales, swallowing every ounce of himself that he gives you. You never want to let go. You never want to let go.

His cock throbs deep inside you and your orgasm proceeds his. You feel hot ropes of cum coat your insides and your walls milk him even further into completion, clinging fiercely to each other for purchase. Your head is thrown back, practically sobbing as he ushers you into a pleasure so intense that you’re not entirely sure your body can handle it. You’re left drowning and breathless, legs wrapped around him so tightly that it’s cutting off blood flow, arms coiled around his shoulders for dear life.

His mouth is open in a wordless cry, fractured wheezes ripping themselves from his throat as he tries to pull his soul back down to his body. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, can’t feel his extremities, all he can feel is you and your embrace and he decides he never wants to lose it as his lips find yours again, swallowing your cries of pleasure.

Even as you both float back down from your bliss, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. He knows what’s coming and he’s desperately trying to keep it at bay. He knows he has to let you go eventually, no matter how much he fights it. It’s inevitable, but he’ll draw it out as long as he can.

You don’t stop him.

He kisses you until one of you has no choice but to break it to breathe and he curses the function. With the break, he knows the moment is over.

Gently, he puts you down and does his best to keep you steady on weak, wobbly legs. Your thighs are twitching, already beginning to bruise where his hipbones repeatedly beat into them. He wants to say he feels bad about it, but he doesn’t. It’s a reminder of what you shared. You don’t seem to mind either, even as you nearly fall on your ass trying to gather your pants back up around your legs. Instinctively, you go to button your blouse, but you are quickly reminded that it’s no longer wearable as you realize there’s a gigantic rip through it, and several buttons scattered around on the floor beneath you. You quirk your brow at him, giving him a look of faux annoyance as you take it off and throw it at him.

“Oh.”

He catches the hint but seems lost for a minute. He’s looking around at the walls and the floor as if there’d be a convenient dresser that would pop out of thin air, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. He’s clearly still post-orgasmic delirium, and there’s something just so adorable about seeing such a serious, brooding figure so utterly clueless.

Eventually, he sighs, placing four of his fingers underneath the bottom hem of his hoodie and carelessly yanking it up over his head before chucking it at you in the same manner. He says nothing, but you understand. You look at it for a moment before raising it up over your head, awkwardly trying to maneuver your head and arms into the proper holes in the dark hallway. It takes you a good minute, but you manage.

“I’ll get you a new one.” He’s bashfully scratching the back of your head as he holds your shirt in his hand. He seems embarrassed now, which makes it very hard to resist the urge to giggle at him.

“Don’t even worry about it. I didn’t care about it that much.”

You tuck your hands into the pocket of the hoodie, and you realize just how comfy it is. No wonder he always wears it. You’re probably going to steal it. It definitely, absolutely has nothing to do with the fact that his scent is bombarding you now. Nothing to do at all with the fact that you can still feel the warmth of his body while you wear it. Nope. No chance. No way.

“You should bring that back to me when you change.”

You’ve been foiled.

“I’ll be up. You know where my room is, right?”

Oh.

OH.

You grin cheekily at him, shaking your head. “Yeah, I know where your room is. Give me a few minutes and I’ll drop it by.”

You could swear you see him smile a little when you agree.

“Good. That one’s my favorite.”

You want to make a joke about whether he’s talking about you or the hoodie, but he’s already stalking off. You’re not worried, you’ll see him soon enough.

You have to cross through the kitchen to get back to your room, and you are very surprised to see Dabi still sitting in the same chair where you left him. Well, not surprised to see him, but surprised that he’s not on the floor and is still very much awake. He looks over at you, frowning as he slides a shot glass across the table towards your direction.

“I think you have to take that last shot now.”

[loudsuitlover]

Doctor Harry XXX. T la sudo

A/N: Everything will come for those patient enough to wait. (My abuela’s words, not mine.)

BLUE’S POV

Unbelievable. He’s still asleep. Is it possible that this is his longest night of sleep? Would he remember what he said last night? Was he hallucinating? He fell asleep right after. I remember when he told me I had recited Roy McBride’s lines on my sleep and I didn’t remember any of it the morning after. Will it be the same for him?

I have barely slept and as much as he has had trouble sleeping any other night, last night he peacefully slept through the entire night. Every time I’d wake up and look at him, there he was, peaceful, calm and vulnerable and in contrast I was tachycardic.

Harry’s phone screen illuminates with Hampstead name. I sigh. I’m about to pick up and tell them to fuck off and learn to solve their problems by themselves but I know that would be too much. But, come on, Hampstead, it’s Saturday morning and he’s asleep. Thank God it’s on silent mode.

He put it on silent mode! So if someone had called with an “emergency” last night, he wouldn’t have picked up because he was with me. Aw, I’m so proud of him! I want to kiss him until he wakes up and the suck him off to begin his day.

When the call ends, the missed call text pops up on his screen and only then I see the photo he’s got as his wallpaper. That’s me. My pulse accelerates. I don’t want to take his phone but that’s me. It’s a photo from his sister’s wedding and it’s taken from behind me when we were standing under the flower arch greeting the guests. He couldn’t have possibly taken it for he was right next to me but maybe the photographer did and he liked it. Hampstead texts him and the messages pop up on the screen.

Hampstead: Hey, I was just calling to remind you I still have the tickets for Kings of Leon tonight if you want to come!

I don’t want to read his messages. I know that’s terrible. But they’re right there… And they keep popping. I didn’t know Hampstead and him were friends. He’s never mentioned them.

Hampstead: Last week was fun!

Last week was fun? I hope he’s talking about the congress. But a congress, fun? I mean it can be interesting, it can even be thrilling… But fun?

Wait, what is going on with me? I’m not like this. What do I care what Harry talks about with his friends? Even though he’s never mentioned them… But what do I care he’s never mentioned them? Maybe they’re not that close and that’s why he has never said anything. But then, why would they invite him to a concert?

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m looking for Hampstead on Facebook. The only Hampstead I have friends in common with- those being Mario Matteoti and Harry Styles- is a girl, is a very beautiful girl. Sarah Hampstead. She’s blond and her hair is long like mine but straight. She wears it in a braid in most of the pictures and looks like Rapunzel. She’s a first year residence in Anaesthesiology at Grad hospital. The last picture she posted is a selfie with Harry. They’re smiling at the camera having a drink at some restaurant or hotel and she’s wearing her hair on a braid over her shoulder. It’s from last Tuesday when Harry was supposed to be at the congress.

My heart stops. I hate this. I hate that I’m doing this in the first place and I also hate that I’m feeling so threatened but I remember the fights I’ve had with Harry over her calls and how he walked away from me to take her call when we were at Marie’s house.

I don’t want to think this of him but… Why did he never tell me about her? And why does she think it’s okay to call him at those ungodly hours? And why does he always pick up? And why the fuck is she inviting him to a concert?

Last week was fun. Yeah, that drink they had looked like fun and they looked like they were having a good time on that stupid selfie. The congress. It’s impossible, I know it is, but what if the congress wasn’t a congress at all? I need to stop.

I get up from the bed and don’t know what to do. Do I shower without telling Harry? I mean I know he told me not to ask him if I could shower again… But it’s still his house. Well, fuck it, I need to get rid of the dirty feeling of having spied on him and then doubt him. But what if it’s true? Ugh, stop!

I can’t get their stupid selfie out of my head while I shower. Why the fuck did he never tell me about her if they’re colleagues? There’s a voice inside me that tells me he might have done it precisely to avoid this irrational reaction but fuck it. That’s not an excuse. I’m only reacting this way because he hid this from me. Why would he not tell me?

I guess I’ve acted jealous before, with Camille and that dinner of theirs… But I think when he explained it to me I took it nicely and I showed him I could be rational… Plus, does that give him the excuse to just hide things from me?

Last night he told me he loved me. I gotta focus on that. This Sarah Hampstead can text him all she wants, he loves me. He said it last night.

I forgot my clothes on my overnight bag so I make my way outside the bathroom wrapped in a towel and try not to make much noise but the moment I open the door I realize Harry’s not on the bed. I put on clean underwear and my clothes for the day and find him in the kitchen.

He’s wearing thick grey sweatpants and a white cotton long sleeve shirt and looks so cosy my frustration leaves my body through my pores. He grins when he tilts his neck and looks at me.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

He keeps making breakfast. What is he doing? Is there no good morning kiss?

“I’m feeling like fruit and yoghurt. What do you want?”

“Fruit and yoghurt sounds good.”

“Guay.” He smiles.

Alright, so this is what we’re doing. Then I’m starting the conversation.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Very much so.” He smiles but his green eyes signal for me to have a seat. “And you?”

I nod.

“Take a seat, love.” He chuckles.

I walk towards my usual stool on his breakfast bar and sit down in front of him. I add some sugar to the coffee he gently prepared for me but my eyes don’t leave him. He frowns as he munches on his apple.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Okay, he doesn’t remember what he said last night. That or he’s messing with me. Or worse, he regrets it.

“Do you remember how you fell asleep?”

“With my eyes closed.”

“So you don’t.”

“You also asked me to help you put the cover over us” he says “and I did.”

“Right.”

I took a spoonful of yoghurt with pieces of kiwi and apple and fill my mouth. Either he doesn’t remember or he regrets saying it and now it’s playing dumb. Maybe the sex was so good he got confused or maybe I dreamt it. I guess it’s okay if I fell first… Even though maybe he doesn’t fall at all.

“What do you wanna do today?” He asks.

I look up at him and search for the lie on his green eyes. Did he not check his phone or does he not want to go to the Kings of Leon concert?

“What’s going on with you today? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I might have plans.”

“What do you mean you might? Do you or do you not?”

“I mean I might spend the day with my mum.”

“Oh, okay.”

We eat in silence. I might spend the day with my mum for real. I’m planning on going to my dad’s next week during the uni break to study for the finals so it’d be good to spend some quality time with my mum before I leave.

“I’m sure you can find something to do.”

He looks into my eyes.

“Alright, what is it?”

“What’s what?”

“Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

He sighs but his eyes don’t leave me.

“I just mean that you can… Go out with some friends or friend, if you want, and that’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine. Are you worried that I’m going to stay here crying if you leave or what? I can call Adam if that’d make you happy.”

“He’s got plans with Marie.”

“Right.” He has a sip of his coffee. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You could do something with another friend.”

“Yes, I could.”

“Guay.” I shrug.

He narrows his eyes at me.

“All I meant is I understand that people want you around, that they appreciate your presence, you know? It’s nice.”

“Why?”

I look up into his eyes again. His hands are intertwined before him as if he was waiting for my answer.

“Because you’re fun and a good person and a good friend. I think it makes sense that people from your environment want you around.”

“Is that what you think?”

I nod.

“Why?”

“I’ve told you. To me, being with you is… easy and nice.”

“Why?”

Again? He sounds like a three-years-old. I don’t know what he wants me to tell him.

“I guess because of the way you treat me. You’re gentle and caring and kind…”

He lets go of his own hands and covers his mouth with one of them but his eyes give him away. He’s trying to hide a smile. I don’t think I’m saying anything funny. He shuts his eyes and when he opens them, he takes his hand off his face and looks at me with affection and amusement.

“Am I your second boyfriend?” He asks.

My blood freezes on my veins. Please, God, don’t let him ask me about Dylan.

“No.”

He raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“What does it matter?”

“I’m just trying to understand something.”

“Third.”

He nods.

“What happened with the second?”

Thank, God. At least he knows Dylan is not a light conversation. I look down. I have never really told him about Javier and I don’t think I want to.

“He wasn’t a good guy.”

I see concern flashing on his eyes.

“What does that mean?”

What a silly guy.

“Did he hurt you?”

I look away from him and his hand rests over mine. He understood I don’t want to talk about him.

“I’m sorry, Blue. How old were you?”

“20.”

He nods.

“What about sex?”

“What about it?”

He rolls his eyes but smiles.

“Have you slept with many people before me?”

“Less than you, that’s for sure.”

His jaw clenches slightly but he doesn’t take his hand away from mine. Come on, Blue, remember you did not want to be harsh to him.

“Three.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise and his neck moves forward. He’s so silly, he’s making me embarrassed.

“Just us three?”

“Yes, is there a problem?”

“No, baby, three is fine.” His thumb caresses the back of my hand. “So I was the first guy you had casual sex with?”

“Yes.”

He hums.

“Are you done with your interrogation?”

“Yes.” He nods. “And, baby, whatever the second guy did to you, he’s crazy because you have to be insane to let you go.”

“It’s not easy to be with me.”

“Oh, I know.”

“No, you don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

I stop myself from shivering. Can I tell him? Can I fully ruin the morning by telling him I was in love when Dylan died and that’s not going to change? Because then he will feel like I’m only with him because Dylan is not here and that’s mostly true and then he’d leave me because he must know he deserves better.

“I…. I….” I love you, but Dylan will always have a place in my heart. “I can be very harsh.”

He smirks but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I know that.” He tilts his neck. “But when you’re not, you’re funny and smart and unique. You’re lovely here” he taps my forehead with his index finger “here” he taps my heart “and your whole body is fucking lovely too, baby. Just own it.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I don’t think that, I know so and it’s a little sad that it takes a random guy like me to tell you for you to see that.”

“You’re not a random guy.”

He smiles.

“Well, have fun with your mum today then. Next week-” He starts but I cut him short.

“I’m going to my dad’s next week.”

His expression changes and he uses the napkin to clean his mouth but he did it mindlessly for his mouth was already cleaned. That has me thinking.

“But what happens next week?”

“No, nothing.” He smirks.

I give him a look letting him know I am not buying it and he clears his throat.

“It’s just… I knew you were on holidays and I had some days off that I haven’t taken because of my addiction to work” he jokes “so I thought in order to show you that we are making progress and also to spend some time together, I could take some days off next week and… We could do something. But it’s okay, you’re going to visit your dad and I should have probably told you sooner.”

My heart swoons. He used his days off for me. He might not remember what he said last night or he might even want to take it back but this is what someone who really does love spending time with me would do. The next thing I say, I say it in a frenzy, in a love rage, even before I can process it.

“Come with me.”

His green eyes set on me as he considers my invitation. I feel embarrassment flooding my cheeks and my neck.

“To Capitol?”

“Yes, have you ever been?”

“I have not.”

I could have guess it.

“So you’ve travelled all around and you’ve never been to one of the most beautiful cities in the country?”

He smirks.

“Well, I should decide whether that’s true, don’t you think?”

“So you’re coming?”

He weights his options looking at me but suddenly his expression falls into one of disbelief.

“Don’t invite me out of pity, Blue.”

I frown and my eyes narrow. Is that really what he thinks of me?

“I didn’t invite you out of pity. I invited you because I want to spend those days with you. I’m so happy you finally decided to get holidays like the rest of people and the fact that you wanna spend them with me only makes my heart flutter so are you coming?”

My confession makes him smile again and I smile foolishly back at him. The way his dimple forms on his left cheek even before his teeth are shown sweetens my mood and my blood.

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

“What are you gonna tell your dad?”

“The truth. I don’t lie.”

He hums as he tilts his neck and raises an eyebrow, calling my statement into question and I shake my head weirdly amused.

“I got a train ticket for Wednesday morning, do I get another one? Or do I cancel mine and you drive us? It’s a little less than 4 hours away.”

He’s going to say yes, I can tell, I can see it on his face; how is eyes have a sparkle about them and his smile reaches them. He’s loving this. His expressions always give him away. He’s an opened book.

“I don’t mind. We can drive.”

We both grin.

We decide to spend the morning together before I go have lunch with my mum. I might invite him to that as well. Mum might get jealous if she knows Harry’s gonna be spending a few days at dad’s and she only got a dinner. Harry’s on his closest, picking his clothes for the day I guess when I call my dad.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, Berry. What’s up?”

“Hi, I was just calling to ask you… Would you mind if I bring someone along on Wednesday?”

“Not at all, honey. Is Jason coming back?”

“No, it’s not Jason.”

“Ollie then? Marie?”

“No, it’s a… It’s a guy.”

“Oh!” I shake my head at how thrilled my dad sounds and the way Harry looks at my with a side smirk. “A guy! That’s great, Berry. Is he a special guy?”

“Yes, dad, he is. He’s my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend.” He repeats.

“Yeah, okay, so you’re gonna pretend you didn’t figure that out after the wedding photos I sent you. You don’t go to a wedding with just anyone, dad.”

As Harry makes his way to the bathroom, he walks past me and slaps my ass cheek loud enough so that my dad can hear it and I jump.

“What was that, honey?”

“Uh… It was just… Uh… My notes. That fell. On the floor. Because I’m tidying up.”

Harry looks at me and silently chuckles and I shake my head and swat his arm playfully whilst he walks to the bathroom.

“Oh, okay, darling. Well, thanks for calling and don’t worry about anything, I’ll make sure everything’s ready. Why don’t you text me what food he likes so I keep that in mind when doing the groceries?”

“Well, he’s not picky, dad. I think he’d eat anything.”

“Good then I’ll cook my special rice. I can’t wait to see you!”

“Me neither.” I chuckle. “Bye, dad, love you.”

“Bye, Berry, love you too.”

While Harry’s in the shower, I pick up my clothes from last night and kept them on my overnight bag and make his bed. I try not to think about how crazy we both are. Last night he told me he loved me and this morning I found out that Hampstead is a girl and he acted like he didn’t say anything last night and interrogated me and then I invited him along to my dad’s. In Capitol. Where I met Dylan.

I think I’m going to faint.

I go on The Golden Girls group chat searching for counselling.

Indie: Are you guys awake????

Jason: Yes, everything okay?

Ollie: Awake and ready to listen.

I guess Marie’s busy. Well, these two would do.

Indie: Hampstead is a girl.

Jason: Who the fuck is Hampstead?

Ollie: She’s an anaesthesiologist who works with Mario and Harry.

Indie: Has Mario ever mentioned her to you?

Ollie: I don’t know. I guess he might have.

Jason: What happened with her???

Indie: I know this is bad guys

Indie: But this morning when I woke up she had texted Harry

Indie: And I didn’t purposefully read his texts but they just pop on his lock screen and I couldn’t help it

Indie: I mean I read them unintentionally

Jason: Just stop excusing yourself and tell us what happened

Indie: She invited him to a concert tonight

Indie: And she said “last week was fun!”

Ollie: Wasn’t Harry on that congress thing?

Jason: Shit

Ollie: Stop it. Don’t listen to JJ, he’s a jealous freak.

Ollie’s typing… And I try not to freak out at Jason’s assumption. She is right. Jason is the jealous type. That’s why I need Ollie’s point of view.

Ollie: I mean they work together. Probably they just went to the congress together too. It’s normal.

Jason: Yeah but why the fuck would she text him that it was fun on a Saturday morning? Like days after? She clearly was trying to initiate a conversation.

Ollie: Who cares about her intentions?

Indie: The thing is Harry’s never mentioned her to me

Indie: And he always picks up her calls even when she calls at like 11 pm on a Friday or worse like on AM on Saturday morning like what the fuck?

Indie: And we have even fought over her calls and he’s picked up.

Ollie’s typing… Jason’s typing…

Jason: I just searched her on Facebook. You’re prettier.

I smile at his attempt.

Ollie: Talk to him.

It’s Ollie’s words that have me thinking. Talk to him. So she thinks there’s something to talk about. And Ollie’s laidback and she is not one bit jealous but she also found it weird. Shit.

Harry’s phone rings and my eyes inevitably search the screen. It’s from the hospital.

“Baby!” Harry yells from the bathroom. “Can you see who’s calling?”

“It’s from the hospital.” I let him know.

“Fuck” the shower stops “can you pick up and tell them to hold on a sec?”

“Sure.”

I pick up the call and bring his phone to my ear.

“Hi, Harry will be with you in a second. He asked me to tell you to please hold on.”

“Uh…” A female voice answers. “Excuse me, who are you?”

“I’m…” I cover the microphone with my hand and talk to Harry “she asked me who I am.”

“Well, tell her.” He laughs. “Who is she?”

“I’m his girlfriend. He asks who are you?”

“His girlfriend?” She sounds surprised. “Oh, I… I didn’t know he…”

“He’s here.” I cut her short.

Harry is smiling when he brings the phone to his ear.

“Hi, sorry, I was in the shower.” He listens. “Oh, hi, Hampstead. What’s up?” He listens.

So Hampstead. What a surprise! And she didn’t know he had a girlfriend, of course.

“Uh… I think that was Danny. I didn’t work yesterday so I am not sure. You should probably ask him. I think he’s on call so send a message to his pager.” He nods as if Hampstead could see him. “Yeah, no problem. Bye, Hampstead. Have a nice day.”

I scroll senseless shit on Twitter so I don’t snap at him. I need to calm down. I need to control this fucking oppressive feeling on my chest but my mind is racing.

Why did he not tell me about her? I think they must be friends or at least friendly if she thinks it’s okay to call him when he’s off duty, especially when freaking professor Gibbins is on call and is the one signing that patients’ paperwork. And he even gives explanations on why he doesn’t pick up on the first tone when he’s off duty. I was in the shower… What do you care?

And why did he not tell her about me? I mean, even Jason could tell her intentions with a single text. I’m guessing it’s a lot more obvious on a day to day basis… And Harry didn’t catch up with that? Why did he never just casually mention he had a girlfriend? He doesn’t even have to tell her about me, just about the roll. Just to have her know that there’s someone sleeping in his bed already.

We haven’t talked much on our stroll along the park behind his apartment. It’s a nice park, with lots of green and trees and wide white stones path for people to stroll like us, or go for a run or walk the dogs. We’ve past some families too. Dads and Mums playing with their children on the grass and I’ve seen Harry staring at them with a hard expression.

I don’t know what’s going on through his mind but he seems to be as pensive as I am. Maybe he’s thinking about Hampstead too.

“Uh, I did tell doctor Hampstead I’m your girlfriend” I say out of the blue “just so you know.”

He tilts his neck to look at me with a confused expression.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” I frown too. “I mean I did tell you she asked me who I was and you said to tell her.”

“Yeah, no, I know what I said.”

I hum and look away.

“Wait, is that what you’ve been thinking about?”

I look at him.

“Is it not what you’ve been thinking about?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Hampstead called in the morning, she had a doubt about a patient I couldn’t answer and then I hang up. That’s all the thought I’ve given it.” He chuckles.

“She could have called Professor Gibbins… Specially if he was on call… And still she called you.”

Harry frowns as if he wasn’t following me. I sigh.

“She sounded surprised when I let her know I was your girlfriend.”

“Are you serious?” His tone sounds surprised at the realization.

Calm down, Indie. Don’t talk to him in a way you’ll regret, don’t talk in a way you’ll regret. I count to tent in my head. 1, 2, 3, 4…

“Are you jealous?”

I take a deep breath. 1, 2, 3, 4…

“Blue, talk to me.”

“I’m counting to ten.”

“Are you really that mad?”

“I’m not mad.” I stop him right there. “I just feel stupid.”

“Why?”

“Because”

I’m about to tell him last night he said he loved me and… For a second I thought it was true because I love him too but then… This fucking whole Hampstead thing, I just… I am embarrassed that I am more invested in this than he is and I don’t want him to know that.

“Listen, you just never mentioned her despite all the times you’ve talked to me about work and she calls you at very weird times to be work related and… I mean she’s… Pretty.”

“How do you know that?”

He’s not denying it. Sometimes his sincerity is too much. I guess it would have raged me if he had denied it but knowing he thinks she’s pretty doesn’t help my jealous fit.

“That’s what matters? Of everything I said.”

“It kind of does.” He tilts his neck.

“I saw her.” I lie. “On Facebook.” I decide not to.

“When?”

“This morning.” Later on, I will analyse this and realize I’m getting defensive but for now all I feel is my shoulders tensing up and my honour being harmed. “And I saw a picture of you two together having a drink on Tuesday night when you were supposed to be on that congress.”

“Supposed to be?” His eyebrows raised on his forehead. “Excuse me but can I not have a drink with whoever the fuck I want?”

“Yes, of course, that’s not what I’m saying!”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’ve kept this from me for no reason. I mean why didn’t you tell me?”

“So you think just because I didn’t tell you that means I- what? Cheated on you?”

I don’t answer him and his lips part.

“I can’t believe you.” He sighs. “The only reason I didn’t tell her about you is the same reason why I don’t tell anyone at work about you and it’s because you don’t want me to.”

My mouth shuts and my lips purse on a thin line.

“She’s a colleague, just like any other person working with me and I haven’t told you about her because well, there’s not much to tell. She’s just a first year Anaesthesia resident and she’s a bit lost likewise I was when I was a first-year resident and likewise you will be when you are on your first year of residency. So I remember what it was like to be scared, not to know what to do and… She reminded me of you and…  That’s why I help her.”  

My brain is working a mile per hour and it’s hard for me to catch any thought with how fast they just pass and go.

“So what you’re saying is I have no reason to be jealous.”

“Of course, you don’t.”

“Okay, then why didn’t you tell me that she invited you to a Kings of Leon’s concert tonight?”

Every sign of frustration is removed from his expression and instead he looks at me stern but expressionless or at least I don’t know how to read this.

“You read my texts?”

I shut my eyes.

“I didn’t purposefully read them, they just pop in your screen and don’t give me that because we both know you’ve stuck your nose on my texts before.”

“I have never gone through your phone.”

“Oh, no, I know, I wouldn’t be here if you had.”

“But you get to do it?”

“I didn’t! I didn’t even pick it up! It was just there! And it popped, I couldn’t.. I mean I had just woken up, I truly read them without thinking, I would never purposefully go through your phone.”

“Okay, okay” His hands move in the air to stop my rambling. I think he believes me. “And the fact that I don’t even have my messages hidden, doesn’t make you think that I have nothing to hide? I mean I could have them and, by the way, that would be perfectly legit and wouldn’t even mean anything but you’re saying it- they were right there. It’s not a secret.”

“Then why are you not going?” I challenge him. “Kings of Leon are awesome.”

“Would you like it if I went?” He challenges me back.

“This is not about what I want, what I want doesn’t matter here. This is about you. If she’s just a friend and I have no reason to be jealous, then why won’t you go?”

He takes a deep breath and rest his hand on his hip. Now it’s him who’s counting to ten.

“She is just someone I work with to me but-” He raises his eyebrows before he unlashes the beast “I am not an idiot and… I don’t want to give her the wrong impression.”

“Was it that hard to acknowledge that?” I ask him.

“Was it that hard for you not to assume the worst of me without even talking to me? You always do this, Blue. I mean I already knew you thought I was a junkie but now also a cheater?”

Wow, that was low. So he’s going to through that at my face. I already apologized and he knows how terrible I feel about that and now he’s using that against me? I feel a lump on my throat and try to swallow it so I can speak.

“I… You know how much I regret that.”

“Yeah, well, maybe other than regretting it you should stop doing it. Why can’t you just trust me?”

I frown and look down at his feet.

“Last night” I start “you… and I…”

“I knew you would do this.” He cuts me halfway. “I knew that you were going to pick a fight because you got scared last night but… I’m tired of you using me as your punching-ball, Blue. You unleash all your frustrations on me and I thought I could take it, you know, but… I don’t want to… I’m tired of waiting for you.”

“Waiting for what?”

His words hurt me. Deeply. But I try my best to hold my tears at bay. I don’t want him to see me crying, especially because I don’t want him to stay if he doesn’t want to but he just confirmed every fear I’ve had lately. I am toxic. I am bad for him. I am hurting him and he doesn’t want me.

“For you to open up and let me in and trust me but you don’t and… It hurts, Blue… Uh… I think it’s best if we take a little break…”

“No, Harry! I- I’m sorry.”

I wipe my tears as I keep trying not to cry but this is happening. He’s finally doing what he has to do and yet I don’t want him to. I knew this would happen but I thought… I was trying very hard to let him in.

“Please, don’t cry.” He sighs. “This is how you fix everything. You hurt me and then you cry and I forgive you and when I scare you, you do it again but I… Maybe I’m asking too much of you, I’m not saying this is all your fault. I just thought I didn’t need you to feel the same way I did, I thought I could just… Maybe you’re not ready and… I think you have to work on some things before you are.”

“Harry, please… I… I…” My eyes search his and I can tell then that he is indeed waiting, like he said he was and it’s out of respect that I don’t say it.

“What? You what?”

I know what he wants to hear. He’s been wanting to hear it since this morning. He remembers what he said last night, he was just looking for my reciprocation, but I won’t do this to him. I won’t tell him I love him because I’m afraid of losing him.

“I think you’re right.”

I see the air leaving his chest and I feel a punch on my throat when I see the pain in his eyes. If this is what he wants, then why does he not look happy? Oh, right, it’s because I am that toxic to him. I am no good for him but he doesn’t want to let me go because I have become that toxic person that gives him just enough for him to stick around but not what he deserves.

He wants all from me. He told me last night, but I can’t give it to him. I just can’t. Jason’s words swirl around inside my mind and laugh at me. D’you think any other person would have stick around long enough…? He doesn’t deserve this and I love him, I do. But that’s why I’m letting him go.

I don’t even remember how the goodbye was or when he left or if I was the one who did but after crying my eyes out like a dramatic widow sitting on one of the benches of the park, I manage to get my phone out to ask for the girls.

Coco: Dad told me Harry is going with you to Capitol this week so I’m going too :)

How can something happen so suddenly? He was happy to be going to my dad’s this morning and two hours later he just breaks up with me?

The Golden Girls group chat has also been active.

Marie: Let us know when you talk to him!

Ollie: How did it go?

Jason: Bet they’re fucking.

Marie: Jason!

Indie: Can we meet?

Jason’s calling me.

“Fuck, Indie, where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

“We broke up.” I cry.

“Fuck. Send me your location.”

I do and I wait. This reminds me of that time I picked him up in the middle of nowhere after David Dick abandoned him like a dog. Only this time, I’m the bad guy.

I am terrible person and I don’t know what else to do. Maybe I am destined to be alone and maybe that’s not a bad thing. After all, the whole problem was falling in love because then I will be leaving Dylan behind and I know people don’t understand but people haven’t lost the love of their lives. It’s not a fucking easy thing.

But still, Harry doesn’t deserve that I unleash all my frustrations on him like he said I do because he’s right, I do that. I do that all the time and I treat him like shit because I don’t want him to treat me as someone I’m not. I don’t want him to think I’m this lovely person who deserves to be loved because I’m not. I’m the girl who let her boyfriend died.

That’s yet another thing people don’t understand. But Dylan was begging for help. That’s why he kept smoking and that’s why he had thrown his entire life away. It was his way of letting us know he wasn’t okay and instead of supporting him or loving him I just… I kept fighting him and telling him he needed to stop and… I wasn’t what he needed me to be. I failed him. And then he died. And I will never live past that.

The emergency lights of Jason’s car attract my attention and I get on the car and rest my head on the back of the passenger seat. He drives to the girls’ apartment and we make our way inside in silence.

The girls are sitting on the couch with a worried expression on their faces.

“It’s not what you think.” I start. “It had nothing to do with her.”

“Then what the fuck happened?” Ollie frowns.

So I tell them. I tell them about my confrontation and I tell them what he said and I tell them I agree and Jason says then you didn’t break up and I just look into his eyes because we both know that’s not true.

“But what did you tell him?” Marie asks. “I mean when he said all those things about you not being ready and all that? What did you say?”

I shake my head.

“Nothing.”

“Why?”

“Because I think he’s right.”

“He’s not.” Olivia frowns.

I can tell she is angry. No, she’s furious. I’m not used to this reaction from her. Usually, she’s the one who keeps calm and manages to calm us down. Marie is the one who gets mad, she’s the protective one. So to see Ollie like this is new to me.

“He’s fucking not.” She almost yells. “I mean are you kidding me? He knows what happened to you! He knows and he still didn’t tell you he had had an accident himself! And he chose not to tell you that sometimes he smokes weed when he knew that’s why Dylan died.”

Jason’s mouth opens but he doesn’t have time to say anything for Olivia’s palm rests in the air before him as a sign of stop.

“I don’t think it takes a detective to imagine that Indie might have some issues with weed.” She says through clenched teeth. “And you still listened to him and you forgave him and he fucking decided to still break up with you and now you get jealous, once, and he throws all that at you? I seriously can’t believe him! He’s turning you into this monster and you’re believing it and you’re not!”

I frown concern and surprised when she starts crying. Marie’s hand rests on her shoulder as we all remain silent and she just wipes her tears away.

“No, this is not about me.” She sniffs. “It’s just… I’m tired of seeing you like this, Indie. I’m tired of having you thinking everything is your responsibility and I think you’ve had enough! Fuck! And I’m mad because… You… You lost your fucking boyfriend and you would think he would understand some shit is fucking hard for you and instead here I have my friend crying in my house because this fucking selfish idiot made her feel as if she was some cruel person… You’re not.”

Olivia rests her back against the cushions of the couch and takes a deep breath. She sobs a little more and I find myself pouting as I stare at her.

“When Jack left me for Dulce, you were there for me. When my parents got a divorce, you were there for me. When my brother had the accident, you were there for me.” Her voice croaks again. “And every time Marie’s been sad, you’ve just left everything to come be with her and when David dumped Jason in the fucking highway, who did he call?”

Now I’m crying too and so is Marie.

“So no, I won’t have the best person I know thinking she’s a monster.”

I hug her and we both cry and only when we’ve calmed down, I call my Mum and tell her I’m having lunch with the girls. I promise her tea and biscuits. Selfishly needing some Mum-daughter time too.

After lunch, Ollie falls asleep on the couch halfway through the movie and when it ends, I catch Jason staring at her with a tender smile on his lips.

“She’s fierce, that one.” He whispers.

“Thank God she didn’t have Harry at hands’ reach.” Marie adds.

I giggle softly.

“I know, I wasn’t expecting that.”

Jason’s eyes set on mine and I know he’s trying to read my mind. I let him.

“I think they’re both right.” Jason whispers.

I frown.

“She doesn’t know what we talked about just yesterday.” He reasons. “Maybe if she knew, she wouldn’t have been so hard on him.”

“What did you talk about yesterday?”

“I… I told Jason I felt terrible for the way I treated Harry sometimes. I know it’s just self-destructive shit. I hate doing it but I do and I’ve ended up hurting him. I mean he was right about that pattern he figured out. I do get scare and then push him away and then I regret it so he forgives me and we start all over again.”

“Do you really think you’re bad for him?” Marie whispers.

I look ahead. I think yes. We’ve fought a lot of times. Love is not supposed to be so hard. I think that’s the idea that’s been passed through generations because of Wuthering Heights or Pride and Prejudice but I don’t think that’s what love is. Love should be like loving a brother or a mother. It shouldn’t hurt, it shouldn’t bring more pain than happiness.

“Adam says he thinks you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Harry.” She tells me. “He says he hasn’t seen Harry this happy since before the accident and that he can see the old Harry coming back. When he said that, I thought the same thing was true for you. I can see you, really, fully happy sometimes. So, as much as I was against you two at the beginning, I cannot agree with you on this.”

“We had a fight at your beach house. There I accused him of being an addict and he said he was an addict, but not to weed.” I nod my head. “Now, if this was some sort of toxic love movie, I would be thrilled that he said that but I’m not. I don’t want him to be addicted to me because addictions are not healthy.”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it like that.” Jason says.

“He did.” I assure him. “We fight too much.”

“You’re a girl who lost her boyfriend and who thinks she doesn’t deserve to fall in love again and he’s a guy who thinks he ruins his sister’s life and put her on a wheelchair so he also thinks he doesn’t deserve love. Why do you think you fight?”

“See? We’re not good for one another.”

“I beg to differ.”

“So if you don’t want that, what do you want?” Marie asks.

“I just want him to be happy.” I shrug. “He’s genuinely good and I don’t want to hurt him.”

Both Jason and Marie smile but I frown.

“He turns you into such a softie. You really like him.” Marie smiles.

“Of course, I do.”

She smiles.

“He told me he loved me last night.” I confess and both my friends grin and get closer to me. “This morning I thought he didn’t even remember but he just thought that it was going to scare me so he didn’t mention it. He did give me a lot of opportunities to tell him myself so I guess he was just finding out if I felt the same.”

“Well, do you?” Marie asks.

“What does it matter now? He doesn’t want me.”

“There’s no way he loves you on Friday night and doesn’t want you on Saturday morning. That’s not how love works.”

I shrug.

“It’s not the same, you can love someone and still don’t want them.”

“You’re head over heels in love with him like a bitch.” Jason states as if he had just realized that.

I sigh.

I don’t deny it.

Yes, I am.

I am head over heels in love with Harry.

[akielonsummer]

Mortal Errors

This is only loosely based on the Blade Runner universe and can be treated as a generic sci-fi AU. If you’re not familiar with Blade Runner, you only need to know that: Replicants = Bioengineered androids that look exactly like humans, but sometimes certain qualities can be enhanced to serve different purposes. Blade runners = Bounty hunters whose job is to track down and kill (retire) rogue replicants. Technically belong to the police department.

Give this a chance please? :* (I’ve also posted it on AO3 if you prefer to read it there)

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By 9pm, Damen was positive he got stood up by his informer who was supposed to rendezvous with him in this night club an hour ago. It was pouring outside, and he was overworked and exhausted, stuck in this raucous and filthy place without a lead or an umbrella.

If he would be completely honest with himself, like he usually was, he would acknowledge that there was another reason for still sitting here other than reluctance to get soaked in the rain on the way back.

The blond man sitting across from him at the large oval-shaped bar had just politely refused the second drink a bulky male stranger was trying to buy him. From afar he could see that the blond wore a high-neck black top that was possibly an effort to keep a low profile, but only served to highlight the slim lines of his shoulders and chest even more. Damen could see why the other man was willing to try so hard. The moment Damen had noticed him, he had been sure he’d been looking at the prettiest face in the entire club tonight.

The big guy was persistent, shameless enough to linger around, still trying to chat up his target. Damen unselfconsciously began studying the blond man’s demeanor, the way he eluded the other person’s gaze and carefully positioned his body. All of Damen’s detective instincts were telling him that the blond was utterly annoyed by the other man’s presence, but would prefer to keep things civil. He was waiting for a specific person in that spot, and therefore could not easily retreat to a less noticeable corner to escape all the attention he was attracting. You would have to be very unobservant not to notice that several other pairs of eyes nearby were preying on him likewise, impatiently waiting for the next chance.

Damen made himself look away, drank some of his beer, and reminded himself of his purpose of coming here.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Damen heard himself say casually as he appeared on the vacant side of the blond man. Inwardly, he cursed himself for giving in to his own curiosity.

And vanity. This had always been his favorite part on a night out.

Getting the beautiful, but difficult ones, while others watch.

“Hey,” the blond looked up, and quietly eyed him once before he continued, “I was beginning to worry that you might have been blown away by the thunderstorm.”

“Looks like you took the underground streets,” he raised a hand to feel Damen’s curls, which were dry. If he was surprised by Damen’s sudden approach, he didn’t let his reactions give away any of it.

Up close, Damen saw that he wore a small dangling earring in a starburst shape, the gold just a shade deeper than his hair. This place had an awful diffused pale purple lighting that made almost everyone at least a bit sickly, and he looked absolutely gorgeous.

He turned his face to the other side to send off the big guy with a final “Excuse us”, then turned back to stare at Damen. The corners of his mouth lifted to form a conspiratorial smile that disappeared too quickly, but at least he didn’t look like he wanted Damen to be gone immediately.

“That was smooth,” he waited until the man was out of earshot to say, “I’m Laurent.”

“Damen,” Damen replied as he felt the deep blue gaze from those almond-shaped eyes do funny things to his stomach. Something deep inside him whispered danger. He promptly dismissed the alert, and went on, “Why didn’t you just tell him to get lost?��

“I didn’t want to start anything. I’m waiting for somebody,” said Laurent, then after a brief pause, “—was waiting.”

Laurent shrugged and gave a wry smile. Damen was pleased with this answer because it both validated his earlier theory and broadened the range of possible things that could happen tonight.

“That makes two of us,” and so he advanced.

“Let me guess,” said Laurent, humming as he sucked on the olive of his martini, then licked the drops of alcohol trickling down his fingers, “it’s a woman.”

“Someone who was supposed to bring me good news tonight.”

“That’s frustrating. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Apparently I’ve found something better to do here,” said Damen. He started to wave the bartender over to buy both of them drinks as a man in a terrible, flashy silver jacket got close to Laurent from behind. It was hard to tell at that moment whether he was too drunk to see Damen or simply audacious—it could be both, because he was bold enough to place his hand on the side of Laurent’s waist and was beginning to lean in to mumble some drunken nonsense in his ear.

It was happening fast, but Damen’s reaction was faster. He slapped off the stranger’s hand and as the man tardily became aware of the situation and glowered at him, warned with a low but clear “No”. The man took two seconds to evaluate the physical difference between himself and Damen, and wandered off grudgingly.

Laurent considered him briefly and let out a poorly stifled snicker.

“What,” Damen snapped, not entirely in an unamused fashion. He was aware that his hand had replaced the other man’s to linger around the smalls of Laurent’s back, and decided to keep it there.

“When I first saw you over there earlier, I thought there’s no way you’d be into men,” Laurent said with a slightly bashful expression, lowering his gaze on the bar table. Damen felt a surge of satisfaction upon hearing his honest confession. He was ready to respond with something nice and clever until Laurent looked up again and finished, “or you should at least prefer real boys.”

Laurent kept his meek, picture-perfect smile as he waited for the meaning of his words to sink in.

“You’re a replicant,” attempted Damen, a part of him still reluctantly trying to make sense of the now-conspicuous truth.

“And you, a blade runner,” Laurent enunciated each syllable as he held Damen’s gaze unwaveringly. In that instant, Damen could see from an angle a flash of a curious reflection at the center of his blue eyes. A sharp, contrasting color. Of warning, and of blood. Laurent blinked once, and it was gone.

“How—” Damen began, and was immediately interrupted by the huge noise of a brawl that had just broken out behind them at one of the VIP tables.

“Just before you came over, I was telling big guy that the people I knew at that table had some extra pills they’d gotten as samples from a supplier, and that they were happy to share,” said Laurent matter-of-factly as he got up from the bar stool and began putting on his black leather jacket.

Damen turned to look, and saw that the first man he had warded off from Laurent was now deep in a fist fight with two of the men in black suits from that table.

“You don’t know any of those guys,” said Damen, a bit awestruck by now.

“No,” answered Laurent. He popped one last piece of peanut in his mouth and started for the exit. “We should go now.”

-

Thirty minutes later, they were both sitting in the couch in Damen’s living room, sipping whisky from heavy-bottomed glasses with a rain-drenched towel draped around the neck.

“You’ve been laughing for the past fifteen minutes. Get over it,” Damen said sourly when he saw that Laurent was still smirking around the rim of his glass.

Their escape had not been completely free of obstacles. They had intended to sneak out through the less noticeable side exit of the club, until they had realized there’d been simply no way not to get noticed when you were moving with someone of Damen’s stature. With the brawling in the VIP area escalating in the background, the bouncers had become more vigilant with people getting in and out of the place.

It’d appeared that Laurent had gotten through the control at the exit without a hint of effort but just by being himself—a seemingly harmless young man with the face of an angel—while Damen was inevitably stopped, by not one, but two of the most intimidating-looking bouncers guarding the exit. They had padded him down scrupulously and proceeded to ask questions to make sure he’d had nothing to do with the rows in the club. Perhaps more out of curiosity than necessity, before they had let him go, one of them had asked what he’d been doing for a living.

“‘Same as you. I work at a club uptown.’” Laurent repeated his response in a way that was more a derisive reenactment than an honest impression, then added for accuracy, “‘a small one.’”

Damen rolled his eyes in disapproval and sought to detach himself from this conversation by refilling his glass with the bronze-colored liquid.

“And now, to answer the question you’ve been waiting to ask,” said Laurent, gradually dropping the amusement in his tone and replacing it with his default placid composure, “I knew you’re a blade runner because I know someone who wears a device like that too.”

He pointed at the black wristband on Damen’s left wrist.

It was a location tracker that would have been concealed more carefully with clothing when he was on an active assignment. Anybody who shared his job title would get one on the first day they reported for duty so that their superiors could track their locations real-time, to make rescue or body retrieval easier. Unsurprisingly, hunting down rogue androids meant putting yourself on a knife edge too, quite literally.

“You’ve chosen a tough job,” Laurent continued when Damen said nothing. “Someone’s got to do it, I guess.”

He sounded like he was talking about the work of a butcher or an undertaker, which was not that far from the truth.

Despite their dramatic encounter with each other, Laurent didn’t seem like he had anything against Damen’s kind. In fact, he had just mentioned that he personally knew another blade runner. He must be a registered new model if he was able to roam the city freely, perhaps the vocational type, even. It was not uncommon to see new generation replicants that were indifferent to the nature of a blade runner’s job. After all, they only retired the obsolete rogue models who posed potential threats to society, and most of these fugitive replicants lived in underground communities that were completely segregated from the legal models.

“I didn’t,” said Damen, at last.

Laurent gave an inquisitive glance.

“I didn’t choose it.”

And that was all he was willing to say about why he had fallen to the current point of his career. Realizing he had brought the conversation to a cul-de-sac, he tried for a different direction of the topic, “it’s neither pleasant nor glorious, indeed. But I try my best to make it quick, at least.”

“Quick and painless. They won’t even feel a thing,” Laurent mused. There was a subtle edge in his voice that disturbed the relative ease of Damen.

“We use a special type of taser,” said Damen, because he felt that the word “gun” might just sound a little too strong. “It takes less than a second.” If you aimed at the right place, and if your target didn’t struggle.

“Has it ever crossed your mind that,” said Laurent, leaning back into his corner of the couch so that he could look right into Damen’s eyes, “you could be one of us, you just didn’t know all along?”

“They run tests on us every day, at work,” answered Damen, finding the question a bit absurd. “I know what I am. I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, so do we,” Laurent huffed, staring at the remaining content in his glass as he whirled it. Damen didn’t miss his choice of pronoun and that familiar edge in his voice that came and went.

“For better or worse, your job is certainly much more exciting than mine,” Laurent began again as he adjusted his position, crossing his legs. For two seconds Damen’s attention was stuck on the smooth fair skin showing through the ripped parts of his grey jeans so he didn’t registered that Laurent had shifted closer in his direction. “I work in a biotech lab.”

“As a technician,” he then added, probably for fear of confusion.

The lack of immediate response betrayed Damen as much as his briefly widened eyes did.

“I… had different assumptions about your occupation,” admitted Damen.

“You thought I was a pleasure model,” said Laurent, surprisingly seeming more amused than offended by Damen’s presumption. His eyes were the color of fine blue topaz in this lighting, his dampened hair ready to drip liquid gold.

“You’re way too attractive to be anything else,” Damen tried his best to make it sound like a compliment but not derogation, as it was supposed to be.

Laurent hummed as if plotting something in his head. He lowered his gaze to look at his own hands, which long and delicate fingers he was now slowly flexing. When he blinked, his dense lashes brushed against the highest points of his cheekbones, flapping and trembling like wings of birds.

“They say I’m a customized model,” he lifted his wrists slightly to examine the inner side of them, like they were some novel objects instead of parts of his own body. Blue veins ran under the finest skin there—replicants were bioengineered to look exactly the same as humans, but it still shocked Damen sometimes how much they resembled the real thing.

“Who knows where they had gathered the parts to build me?” said Laurent, it came out like a question that was not demanding an answer.

“Where, I don’t know. I just know the person who commissioned them to make you must be filthy rich.”

To that, Laurent didn’t answer. He picked up his glass from the coffee table, tilted his head back and downed all the alcohol in it.

“I might just have too much to drink,” he said, leaning his upper body forward to put the glass back on the table, suddenly looking like he might topple over. The towel fell from Laurent’s shoulders. Damen grabbed on his arms in time and pulled him back in place.

“I thought alcohol didn’t affect you,” Damen said as he still kept both hands wrapped around Laurent’s arms from behind, but they went from just supporting them to a soothing, sweeping motion against the now half-dried black fabric. He felt the lean muscles underneath tense and relax in his palms.

“The effect, like most other things in us, is also customizable,” Laurent pointed out as he briefly luxuriated in Damen’s massaging hands like he was genuinely enjoying it. Then, in their awkward position of Damen half-embracing Laurent from behind, he tilted his head to one side so that he could turn his face to look at Damen, “I’m only doing this so that you could take me to bed.”

Damen’s hands stopped abruptly. But then Laurent began to snuggle up to Damen’s chest, fitting himself perfectly in the space there, looking up at him with his marble glass eyes with intent.

Damen knew his own weakness, knew that once he was caught in a situation like this he would have no means to back away from it if he ever found out it was a trap, as it had happened once in the past.

“We don’t have to,” he tried to resist, and it sounded too much like pleading.

“I think we both know why I’m here,” Laurent cooed as he gently pressed the side of his face onto Damen’s shoulder, then, in a voice that was not completely free of self-disdain, “a stray android, clinging to the arms of its executioner.”

The sudden realization of how this was a much more precarious situation for Laurent than for himself, coupled with the intense urge to feel the fine strands of gold now rubbing on his sweater, was all it took to dismantle Damen’s feeble defense.

“Only if you want,” Damen yielded, lifting one hand to smooth the soft hair around Laurent’s face.

“To let you take me apart and examine me everywhere?”

There was a change in the quality of Laurent’s voice that Damen couldn’t exactly fathom. He looked down, and saw that the smile on Laurent’s face was devious, saccharine and sad, at once.

-

Simulated fire crackling from the atmosphere panel in Damen’s bedroom masked the distant sounds of incessant rain and thunder outside. The advanced thermostatic system kept his living unit at an optimal temperature at all times, but it was Laurent’s human-like body heat that was keeping him warm tonight.

Damen slid his hands over Laurent’s still-clothed thighs, which were now aptly straddling his own atop his queen size bed, delighting in the soft sounds Laurent made between deep kisses as his thumbs drew small circles on his inner thighs. Laurent smelled like rain mixed with expensive perfume, and tasted like honeyed wine. It kept Damen wanting more, how Laurent’s kisses were alternately hesitant and unrelenting, a liquor that was sweet on the tongue but burned the back of his throat.

“Have you ever,” Laurent managed, in a charmingly breathy voice, as they broke off once.

“With a replicant?” Damen took over seamlessly, Laurent’s question communicated in means other than words somehow. “Not knowingly.”

Flashbacks filled his mind momentarily against his will, as the ambiguity of his answer hung in the air. He mentally shook himself out of it. Turning back at Laurent’s pale hair and blue eyes, he suddenly saw the irony in it, plain as day. Then, when Laurent didn’t push further but accepted his partial truth with only a raised brow and curious eyes, he corrected himself. Laurent possessed beauty that was comparable to that of hers, but they were evidently two entirely different things.

“And you, have you ever?” Damen whispered as he leaned back in to kiss the spot behind Laurent’s ear, nuzzling the silky golden hair there. His hands had since taken on an exploration of Laurent’s body, albeit still hindered by a layer of fabric, around his taut waistline, up his back, down the flanks and then up again. He surveyed Laurent’s reactions to his different touch, logged them, and imagined doing it all over again. Later, on bare skin.

“He thinks he’s the first,” said Laurent as he visibly fought back the gasps elicited by Damen’s nibbling along the underside of his jaw. The sentence uttered with summoned scorn, complemented with the reddening at the tips of his ears and the glint in his dark eyes, had a heady effect on Damen. He could feel himself rousing—in more ways than one—but more than anything his body ached with a deep, growling desire uncaged.

“He just thinks,” Damen cooed, soft and low, “that he’s very, very lucky.”

He dragged a trail of kisses across Laurent’s left cheek. He paused when he reached the corner of his lips, waited for the first sign of hesitation from Laurent, then took over his mouth as his hand found its way to Laurent’s nape to pull him in. This time, he kissed him like he hoped to deliver all the praises that would sound excessive in words, in the form of long, hot and deep exploitation of Laurent’s mouth.

When he finally pulled away, it was to check if he could find a hint of annoyance on Laurent’s face at the interruption. Convinced that he did, he tugged at the hem of the top Laurent was wearing to signify that the break would only be brief but was necessary. He pecked on his cheek in compensation, and asked softly, “Can I see more?”

He would have spent more time to consider the momentary disbelief on Laurent’s face upon hearing that, if he hadn’t been so stunned by what he saw when Laurent swiftly lost his top.

It was at that particular moment that Damen had the strange epiphany that Laurent, despite everything, was indeed man-made. If God existed, he did not make this. He thought as his eyes savored the fine alabaster skin now fully on display, a stark contrast to the dark veil that had covered it and was now discarded on the floor. He tried to recall art terminology he had heard of: golden ratio, perfect balance; but none of these could even begin to describe the way lines were placed on Laurent’s body. The hollows and protrusions around the shoulders and collarbones were shaped like grips of luxurious handcrafted bows, elegant to look at and perfect to touch. When he breathed, the lines that cut in all the right places over his chest and abs deepened and faded. God made men the way he liked them to be, and men did the same with things. Damen continued to muse as his admiration went on. God did not make this. A man did. This was made according to men’s liking, not God’s.

“I bet it turns you on to know you could do virtually anything you want to a body like this without any real consequences,” said Laurent, in a tone that could be either seductive or provocative, or both. There was a cruel degree of truth to what he just said. Yes, there were laws which prohibit abuse of replicants, but according to them, anything that could be fixed with money and some tweaking of programs was never considered to be out of line.

“When I see a body like yours,” Damen began to disagree. The prettiest, finest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, he added only mentally. “I only want to do everything you want.”

At that, Laurent again gave a subtle scowl with distrust, but was quick to turn his face away as Damen finally smoothed his hands on his bare waist, where the skin was soft as cream. Damen was not sure why Laurent should get offended by his saying a thing like this or asking for permission, but he was currently too fascinated by the way Laurent was responding to his hands gliding all over his body to be truly concerned.

“It suits you,” Damen praised as he passed an index finger over the navel piercing on Laurent. It was small and simple, adorned with a tiny blue gem. “Are there more?”

“You’re insatiable, you know?” The look Laurent gave him as he said this was supposed to be chastising, but only served to send a thumping pulse down Damen’s lower abdomen.

“I once heard,” Damen said, as his hands went up to Laurent’s chest to roll his nipples between his fingers. They were small and hard like summer berries; Damen’s mouth thirsted for a taste of them. Laurent’s body gave a jerk that was frankly overreaction to such a minor stimulation, which he tried to conceal with a quick kiss on Damen’s lips as Damen leaned closer. He finished his sentence against Laurent’s lips, “That certain parts of the pleasure models’ bodies were specifically designed.”

He adjusted his tone so that it fit the topic he was discussing. His tone was lewd. One of his hands left Laurent’s front and traveled to his back to cup his buttock, still clad in jeans but soft and full all the same, as if he feared he had not made his meaning clear. Damen was aware he was taking liberties both with his words and his body, but he couldn’t wait any longer to show Laurent what he wanted Laurent to see and feel, what no one else could give him. He wanted, to see his sophisticatedly engineered mind to be able to process nothing else, and to hear his wonderful mouth sigh only his name.

A wicked smile appeared on Laurent’s innocent face, informing Damen in his own unique way that his invitation to this night-long venture had been accepted. He rolled his hips once, twice against the burning core of Damen, which was hard as rock, then began to walk his palms onto Damen’s chest to push him down onto the bed. Damen’s head landed on the pillows as he heard Laurent’s clever mouth say one last thing,

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

-

Laurent got back to his neighborhood by his motorbike when the sky was a ghostly white. “Neighborhood” was a nice way to put it, while it really was just the gutter where everything that fell through the brighter parts of the city gathered. Drizzle wetted his outfit which hadn’t been fully dry since he had left that night club last night. He took off his helmet and habitually shook his head twice once he reached close enough to the building. A homeless man lay at the open entrance of the building, next to which black letters “SKINJOB RIGHTS” were sprayed on the cement wall. There was not enough information to tell whether the man was just asleep or dead.

Over the past two years, Laurent realized that there were a lot of similarities between the life here and playing a new game. There were a lot of rules to learn. Many things that were forbidden in other parts of the city were allowed here, such as off limits drugs, contract killing, trafficking and prostitution involving underaged replicants; and vice versa, like how you should never fly a hovercar around here although they were everywhere in other areas, because they would attract too much attention from the cops. Then, like in games, there were things you could practice to get better at. Like getting yourself out of trouble, or looking for it intentionally then getting out of it. Good thing Laurent was a fast learner, because the biggest difference between his life now and a game was that if he slipped up, what awaited him could be worse than death.

Laurent opened the door to his unit and was relieved to see no one in the living room. He proceeded to his own room with footfalls as light as a cat.

As the familiar smell of the air of his own space filled him, he realized suddenly he needed a moment to collect himself. He lay down on his bed and started breathing deeply in a rhythm, imagining the fatigue from the escapade at the club fading with each exhalation. To his frustration, the more he tried, the more he felt a different kind of soreness take shape instead. Soreness resulted from other uses of his body last night. He allowed himself to stay like this for two minutes.

The monitor on his desk, switched on automatically when he entered the room, was showing widgets of information such as sightings of police in the area and job requests from the black market repair shop Laurent worked at. At the top left corner was a gallery displaying photos, taken from times when wanting to remember specific moments of his life was still a normal thing to Laurent.

On the screen was a photo of Laurent in polo uniform, posing next to a stocky white pony. He had been eleven years old. That same year, he had been given the truth about what being a son to Aleron and Hennike Arles of the Arles Corporation had really meant. He learnt that his resemblance to his mother was not a result of the wonder of inheritance, only state-of-the-art engineering. He also learnt that human boys didn’t receive a new body and have their memory and operating system transferred to it each year. It was shocking to him, because between homeschooling and only playing with a carefully selected group of girls and boys of his own kind growing up, he had never once doubted his realness.

For countless times, they reassured Laurent that not a thing in his life was ever going to change due to his nature, that the very reason he had been created was because there had been love and wealth with no place to go. Yet, in the end, what really brought him peace was knowing that Auguste, his golden shining star of an elder brother, was also a replicant. At eleven, Laurent had thought, how could that possibly be bad, if it meant being just like Auguste?

Another photo popped up. In the picture, Laurent’s ski goggles were pushed up to show his cold-pinked cheeks; Auguste was next to him, laughing and wearing a beanie covered in chunks of snow which had been Laurent’s doing. Laurent looked at himself on the screen—he was smiling just like an ordinary teenager having the time of his life—and felt an urge to look away.

Everything had changed after that trip. They had come home to the news of their parents’ fatal private jet accident, and the subsequent board decision for their uncle to take over the Arles Corporation. Several months later, the company had announced a list of older replicant model numbers manufactured by the Corp that had been found to be seriously fault-prone, together with Auguste’s removal from the board. Auguste had been one of the original models pioneered by the Corp.

Laurent lifted both hands to cover his eyes with his palms. He remembered that night like yesterday. Auguste had appeared in the doorway of Laurent’s room, still in his business suit and carrying a duffel bag. He’d wrapped his arms tightly around Laurent’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head wordlessly. He had only come to say goodbye, but Laurent had been taught to make his own decisions his whole life. A life without Auguste or a lifetime of side-stepping, dodging and running away. It had been the easiest decision he had ever had to make.

Hot water from the shower warmed Laurent’s body, washing away the rain that had soaked every inch of him last night.

The only tricky part had been building the connections he’d needed to get the name of the blade runner assigned to hunt his brother. That had taken time, money and effort. Everything after that had been easy.

Damianos had been easy.

Most of the information Laurent had successfully obtained about Damianos turned out to be accurate. The excessively powerful physique. The imprudent, egotistic demeanor. The lack of discretion and self-preservation. The strong tendency to give in to physical attraction—it was almost ludicrous, how simple it had been to seduce this man. Perhaps even the unverified rumors he had come across about Damianos were indeed true. How he had slumped from deputy chief to a bottom-ranked, scavenging blade runner, all just for covering up some data breach committed by the mistress of his chief of police half-brother. It sounded like cheap soap TV, but after meeting Damianos in person, Laurent’s doubt about the authenticity of this story had now shrunk significantly.

The only discrepancy Laurent hadn’t expected was how Damianos had behaved in bed. Laurent examined the marks scattered all over his body in the mirror as he toweled himself down. They looked like crimson scars of various sizes, burned there by Damianos’ mouth. Laurent’s mind wandered off as he discovered more and more of them, in places he didn’t remember had been touched.

Tell me how you like it. Damianos had whispered near his face, as his palms had slid down Laurent’s thighs, spreading them. Rough. Eyes closed, Laurent had responded, because that way it would be over sooner and more tolerable than this. Then you don’t know what you like. Damianos had said with an infuriating smile in his voice before he had begun to put Laurent through rounds of slow, torturous, dragged-out pleasure.

It had been nothing like Laurent had rehearsed mentally with the theoretical knowledge he’d possessed, especially with Damianos. He recalled the sounds he had made when Damianos had pushed him to the edge, repeatedly, and felt heat creep up his cheeks.

None of that mattered anymore. He demanded himself to shut last night out of his mind as he pulled on a sweatshirt he’d borrowed from Auguste and returned to his room. This had been planned to be a one-off, and his plan had worked out.

He keyed in the pin to the lock on his drawer and picked up the mobile device stowed in there. A few taps and swipes and a map of the city was pulled up on the screen. There used to be only one moving dot on it, but now there were two, thanks to the codes Laurent had loaded onto Damianos’ tracker wristband while he had gone in the shower after they’d been done. Laurent had been extremely lucky he hadn’t even had to consider using any of his backup plans.

He watched the dot that was Damianos hovering around the downtown police station as his other hand reached deeper into the corner of his drawer. He knew it was there, but he needed to feel it. His fingers slipped along the cold metallic barrel, then to the curve of the back of the grip. He lifted it slightly, sensing the grounded weight and the finality it carried.

Withdrawing his hand, he took one last look at the screen and saw the other dot approaching his own current location. He put the device back, shut the drawer and heard the lock click.

Outside, there was the sound of the main door opening.

“Laurent, I’m home,” said his brother, coming home from a night of strenuous, exploitative labor, the only type of work he was able to sustain without proper documentation.

His brother should not have to live like this, but even living itself was quickly becoming a thing he had to fight for. Fury was a hissing snake perched in Laurent’s artificial heart.

His plan was simple, and only one more step remained: One day, the dot on the map that was Damianos would finally get too close to the one that was Auguste, and that would be the day when Laurent would pull the trigger on Damianos.

There was nothing Laurent would not do to save Auguste’s life. And he knew Auguste felt the same way for him, too.

So he ran his fingers through his damp hair once, pretending he had just freshened himself up with a morning shower after a good, undisturbed night’s sleep, and opened his bedroom’s door.

“Morning, Auguste.”

-------------------------------------------------------- This is a completely self-indulgent fic and I enjoyed writing every word of it so that was noice. That being said, writing in a second language will never not be nerve-wracking and there were times I simply had no idea what I was doing. Please pretend you don’t see bad grammar and weird phrases because I know they must exist. I apologize if Damen sounds like a complete douchebag at times. It’s entirely intentional. I tried to downplay the potential Auguste/Laurent in this but no matter what I did it’s just kind of there LOL they’re also not REAL brothers when you think of it so

[foramomentonly]

20 or 28 from meet ugly prompts for Malex?

Prompt: I’m a famous singer and you’re the new techie who just tripped and pulled the plug out of my microphone mid-concert [extra awkward if they lip sync, extra badass if they keep singing and their voice is still on point]

Author’s Note: I don’t love this one. It got a bit away from me. I hope you like it, though! Multiple anons asked for it, so I hate that I might not have done it justice. 

Alex is distracted. 

Ostensibly, the job is simple: arrange the music equipment correctly, hook it up, and stay out of the way until and unless something breaks. Maria set it up for him, some easy, part-time work in an industry he’s actually interested in to help him explore his options. Between an extended hospital stay and rehab, his honorable discharge, and falling into mind-numbing contract work for the past six months, his new normal is looking pretty bleak. But the environment backstage twenty minutes before a show is chaotic in a way that even an active war zone never felt—or maybe Alex had just grown accustomed to that particular brand of shitshow—and the physical element of the work is taking more of a toll on his leg than expected. And then there’s the guy.

Alex had done his research before agreeing to work for Michael Guerin, rising country-folk star. He’d listened to his music—twangy, and the lyrics were a little obvious, but overall Alex approved—and of course he’d seen pictures, candids from shows and promotional material. But all that is a very different experience from watching Michael lean with practiced nonchalance against the back wall just offstage, flirting lazily with the bassist from the open act. He’s no taller than Alex, really, but his body seems impossibly long, hard and lithe in tight, dark denim and a chambray shirt three haphazardly-fastened buttons away from hanging open. His curls are a little longer than Alex remembers from pictures, light brown and tousled in a way that makes Alex think of sex; and, judging by the way Michael’s companion keeps tugging at them as he grins down at her, Alex is not the only one. Michael’s smile is open and inviting, and he gives it freely, but it’s also practiced, a bit of a cipher that he passes off as innuendo. It’s a clever distraction to the poor stage manager's assistant who is hovering to the side, anxiously waiting to escort the main act; to the woman he’s talking to, who missed her cue and had to scamper onstage a full minute after the rest of her band; and, inadvertently, to Alex, who finds himself wanting to both wrap himself up in the warmth of that smile and fuck it right off Michael Guerin’s smug face.

In a way, it’s reassuring; Alex’s hasn’t experienced this kind of dizzying lust since before his amputation, and his path to reintroducing himself to his body as a tool of pleasure has been rough. Moments like this one, when Alex would like nothing more than to strip himself bare and drag every delicious ounce of gratification out of his own body—whether he does that with Michael Guerin or just thinking of him—gives Alex an intoxicating sense of hope and promise that goes deeper than the thrill of desire. 

It doesn't help him concentrate, though, and between the ache in his hip, the dim lighting backstage, and the haze of lust clouding Alex's vision as he shoots another glance at Michael, now onstage and mid-croon, it feels in retrospect almost inevitable. Alex fails to pick up his foot, to see the length of cords traveling across the floor from the stage to the impressive sound system in the back, and he trips, catching himself roughly against one of the pillars that supports the backstage balcony, but pulling out at least three different wires as he goes. There's an offensively loud, metallic screech, a deep thump of bass, and Michael's voice goes from clear and booming to soft, trembling, and completely drown out by his band.

Everything that follows is in slow motion. Alex raising his head as the band stops playing and locking eyes with Michael, who gazes at him hard and steady. Alex is the only person in the vicinity, not to mention the only one clutching a pillar like a life raft, cheek pressed uncomfortably against the rough wood; there’s no way Michael doesn’t know he’s to blame. Michael holding his gaze from onstage, tapping his index finger slowly against the mic resting on the stand in front of him. When no sound reverberates, Michael shakes his head, and Alex’s eyes widen. He hears whispered shouts and scuffling behind him, but he already knows the sound system will have to be completely reset. 

“Bear with me,” Michael says in a loud, clear voice to his audience, finally releasing Alex from the inescapable hold of his arresting gaze. He sweeps up an acoustic guitar from the side of the stage, waves off his band, and slides onto a stool he drags front and center from just offstage. And then he begins to sing; voice like gravel, deep and rough, projected as best he can. It’s an intimate venue and an adoring audience, and as they begin to crowd closer to the stage, falling silent all on their own and lost to the spell of Michael’s tune, it dawns on Alex that Michael Guerin is going to pull this off. 

He should feel relieved, redeemed even, considering the mounting enthusiasm of the shrieking crowd as Michael performs a full hour-long set completely acoustic, no mic and unaccompanied. But the memory of Michael’s eyes on him, hard and blazing, leaves Alex unsettled and, ultimately, unsurprised when Michael finds him just outside the theatre’s back entrance after his set, the roar of an extremely lubricated crowd pleading for an encore fading as the heavy door slams shut behind him.

“Alex Manes?” he asks, leaning his forearms against the railing of the small concrete landing in a mirror of Alex’s own position.

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck, man?”

Alex winces at the rasp of Michael’s overextended voice.

“I’m sorry,” Alex breathes. “First day.”

“I get that,” Michael says with a practiced patience, running a hand through his sweaty curls. “But—You’re Maria’s friend, right? Maria DeLuca?”

Alex nods.

“Look, she told me a little, uh, a little about you. You’re background.”

Alex turns to look at Michael, brow furrowed in confusion, and Michael’s eyes slide pointedly down to Alex’s leg and back up again, meeting his gaze openly.

“If the job is too much for you right now, we cou—”

Alex cuts him off.

“I don’t need your pity,” he hisses, anger and frustration boiling over at this man who thinks he knows who Alex is, what his limits are because he knows one fucking thing about him.

“Why’d you hired me, anyway?” he demands, shaking his head and pushing off the railing to his full height to face Michael. “You obviously aren’t a fan of the military.”

Michael as a figure is inherently political—openly bisexual, a self-proclaimed descendent of Lavender Country—and his lyrics and iconography further distance him from the uber-patriotic conservativism of typical American country. It’s one of the qualities of Michael’s brand that initially drew Alex to him; but in this moment, underestimated and called out, Alex is tired of playing nice and he lashes out.

Michael rolls his eyes.

“Could ask you why you wanna work for me,” he shoots back, dropping his pretence of understanding and standing upright, turning to match Alex’s aggressive stance.

Alex glowers at him as they face off under the dull glow of the building’s security lights. 

“Look, man,” Michael finally says through clenched teeth, “you want me to thank you for your service?”

Alex scoffs.

“Pass.”

“Then what do you want?”

Alex pauses. That question. That’s the million-dollar fucking question. The one Alex hasn’t been able to answer for a year, maybe longer; maybe not since he was 18 years-old and enlisting, making the decision not to choose any type of future for himself. It’s why Alex hangs out at the Pony most nights when his workday is done, desperate for distraction; it’s why he downloaded Grindr, but hasn’t set up a profile, why he jots down lyrics and music, but never plays them aloud; and it’s why Maria called in this favor with her favorite former regular who made it big.

What does he want? 

To stop fucking thinking about what he wants and take it.

“I want to write for you,” Alex blurts, voice insistent and sure, his tone nearly a command. “And I want to fuck you.”

Michael laughs, loud and disbelieving. He takes Alex in, eyes dragging slowly down the length of his body, roving every inch of him hungrily before catching Alex’s gaze, smiling broad and dirty. He stares at Alex with the same insistent, heated look he shot him from onstage, a challenge and a plea, and Alex thinks maybe Michael needs to stop performing as much as Alex needs to stop thinking.

“In that order?” Michael growls, and Alex grins. 

This isn’t the lazy, flirtatious Michael Guerin he saw backstage, entrancing unsuspecting underlings for sport; or the easy, charming Michael Guerin of the stage. This Michael is darker, more intent, and he pushes rather than teases as he stalks closer to Alex, crowding him against the brick wall of the building and kissing him hard and filthy, teeth and tongue and no mercy. Alex groans and fists his hands in Michael's sweaty curls, tugging them to direct the angle of his head for better access as he nips and sucks his way up Michael's throat, tasting the salt of his sweat when Alex soothes a fresh bruise with his tongue.

“You know I quit, right?” Alex pants, pressing his hips into Michael’s and smirking when Michael groans low and grinds back harder. Michael presses his palms against the wall on either side of Alex’s head as Alex reaches between them, working Michael’s belt and jeans open hurriedly. 

“As long as you know you’re fired,” Michael murmurs in reply.

Alex pushes his hand down Michael’s open pants and wraps long fingers around his cock, nipping at Michael’s lower lip and grinning when he gasps, dark eyes falling shut as his hips begin to churn in time with the twist of Alex's wrist. 

“Fair enough.”

Over coffee the next morning Alex shows Michael his songs, and Michael instantly re-hires him.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Of Princess Bride Past

PART THIRTY-TWO OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5.1K

Summary: Ella plays piano for the first time in a long while.

Rushing up the stairs to the apartment, Ella almost tripped more than once. The main floor of Truncheon was empty, books shut and the sign on the front door turned to Closed. Rain showered down hard, and all manner of umbrella patterns could be seen on the sidewalk outside. Her own umbrella, collapsed and dripping, sat next to the front door. She’d practically thrown it down in her hurry. Biting down on her cheek, she was nearly out of breath by the time she made it through the apartment door. Everyone was mingling in the living room, nursing beers and waiting for the last member of the group to arrive. They looked up at the sound of her huffy entrance and offered greetings.

She barely gave anyone a glance as she hung up her raincoat and began undoing her french braid on her walk to the bedroom. “Sorry, sorry. Just give me five minutes and I won’t look like a bank teller anymore.”

Seven o’clock had come and gone, and she had still been stuck in the lecture hall, while her advisor gave her notes on the presentation in art history. All in all, her advisor had been impressed. But she was not one for brevity, and Ella had taken several anxious peeks at her watch during the review. It was the last day of class before spring break, and Ella was eager for the week off. She’d been so busy with midterms, she hadn’t been able to make it to any of Leo’s recent gigs. But he was due on stage at Keeley’s between eight and eight-thirty. And there was no way she was going to the show dressed in her blazer and pencil skirt, gray and stiff. She’d worn it only because one of the oldest men on the entire faculty had been sitting in on her presentation, and Ella had heard about his penchant for professionalism.

Ella thought she heard Chris yell some crack at her outfit after her, but she had already slammed the bedroom door. She stripped out of her clothes, throwing them in the hamper with disdain. She hoped it would be some time before she would have to wear anything of the sort again. Opening up a dresser drawer, she ran her eyes over prospective outfits for the night.

Breathing a frustrated sigh, she pulled a grayish-purple babydoll dress over her head and went to sit down on the bed to tug on her fishnets. After having appraised herself in the mirror above the dresser, she decided her makeup was decent enough and touch-ups would be unnecessary. She was wearing far less than normal, anyway. She had a feeling the ancient history professor who sat in wouldn’t exactly smile upon thick eyeliner or dark lipstick. The need to change her look simply to please the man made her skin crawl, but she could see no other way out. He had once ordered a graduate student out from behind the podium because his shirt had a stain.

The next time she was in class, though, she would be back in her grungy attire. Just putting on the fishnets made her feel more comfortable than she had been all day. She reached under the bed, grabbed her Doc Martens, and laced them up faster than she previously thought was humanly possible.

She was about to go back out into the living room, prepared to return to the flooded streets at a moment’s notice. But then she passed the mirror again and, on second thought, decided she simply couldn’t stand not doing something interesting with her face. She swiped on some dark wine-colored lipstick and gave herself a tiny cateye with a trained, precise hand. Having done winged liner on and off since high school, she found practice had made her skilled enough to get it right on the first try about half the time. It was perhaps her greatest accomplishment in life.

Grabbing her secondhand leather jacket, she trudged back out into the living room. She ran her fingers through her hair a few more times, untangling the remnants of her braid and smoothing down the dark blonde waves.

“We wouldn’t have been late even if we left thirty minutes from now,” Matthew said, standing up with Mabel by his side.

“Well, on time is late, and early is on time,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Chris rolled his eyes as he also rose, from his armchair, and made his way to the coat rack. “Were you the hall monitor or something in high school?”

Jess snorted a laugh, his nose still buried in a Hunter Thompson book where he sat on the couch. “Far from it.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean, Mariano?” she asked, furrowing her brows.

Smirking, Jess shut his book and tossed it on the coffee table. He went to grab his black jacket, while everyone mingled by the door, ready to brave the weather on the short walk to Keeley’s. “You threatened to stab me the first time you met me.”

“With a butterknife,” Ella countered defensively.

The rest of the group snickered, exiting the apartment and filing down the stairs.

“Ah, young love,” Chris teased. His pale cheeks were rosy, his blue eyes wide with excitement. Despite how much of a pain in the ass he could be, Ella felt her heart warmed to see how proud he was of his boyfriend.

“I thought he was trying to rob the diner,” Ella continued, grabbing her umbrella again before they went out onto the grimy, damp streets.

The rain had lessened slightly, to a chilly drizzle, but was still wet against her face. Jess took the umbrella from her, then interlaced their fingers with his free hand. She glanced up at him in thanks, and he winked in response. She could feel the scar from where the knife had sliced him the night they planned for their first date.

“Quite the menace, was he?” Matthew asked over his shoulder. Mabel had her arm linked with his, following along with the conversation. They had known her for a few weeks, but Ella suspected she hadn’t quite become comfortable. She was more timid than Ella expected for an actress, but she was truly sweet. Wore her heart on her sleeve, a quality Ella also recognized in Matthew.

“Oh yeah. Dennis was his middle name,” Ella smiled nostalgically. “Think if Sid Vicious and Elvis had a baby. Whose big moves are stealing gnomes and doing close-up magic.”

Chris laughed out loud, nudging Jess in the ribs. Jess blushed, glaring at Ella.

“Aw, were you a little Criss Angel wannabe?” Chris crooned, mocking.

Jess rolled his eyes. “I was not. It seemed to charm Eleanor just fine, anyhow.”

“I was young and misguided,” she said wistfully.

“And you were tripping over your own feet at least once a week,” Jess chimed in. “Though, not much has changed on that front.”

Ella scoffed. “You worked at Walmart.”

“You bought a Train album!”

“That was one time!”

“Once is plenty!”

Staring at him for a long moment, she finally uttered a defeated sigh. “You’re right. Train sucks.”

“Sure does,” Chris chimed in with an amused grin, then shook his head at them fondly and linked up ahead with Mabel and Matthew.

“You’ve won the battle, Mariano,” she warned, pointing a finger at him. “Not the war.”

“Believe me, I know,” he replied, squeezing her hand affectionately, a smirk on his face. “How’d your presentation go today?”

Ella’s face lost a bit of its mirth and she shrugged, dejected. “Okay, I think. My advisor said I was talking too fast, but otherwise I did well. We’ll see.”

“I bet they didn’t know what hit ‘em, honey. I mean, we practiced like fifty times. You had it word-for-word last night,” he said, growing more earnest. “I’m sure you were amazing.”

She averted her eyes from him. “Maybe. I felt like I was getting suffocated up there wearing those clothes, though.”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t the worst outfit,” Jess said. “It had a certain American Psycho thing going for it.”

“And that’s good?” she asked with a doubtful chuckle.

“Not good, per say, but definitely interesting,” he replied, nonchalant. “I can’t believe you can do things like that. Just get up there and speak. I would pass out on the spot.”

“Well, then I’m glad you’ve got a job where you can be all Phantom of the Opera and hide out in that tiny office all day,” she said with a grin.

Over the past few weeks, the guys had finally turned the back rooms of Truncheon, previously just storage space, into offices. Each one could barely hold a desk, but they were enough. Jess had already collected an impressive pile of books in one corner. The Hudson River sketch sat in a small frame next to his bulky, aged computer.

“Yep. Counting my blessings,” he quipped flatly as they approached the bar.

.   .   .

For once, the St. Patrick’s Day decorations hung year-round at Keeley’s were semi-appropriate, with the holiday having been only a week past. They shone, green and tacky, in the yellow light of the main room. Leo sat on a stool on the small stage, doing his final number. An array of instruments were set out around him: guitars, tambourines, a keyboard, a bass. His closing song was played on a ruan, a Chinese lute he’d bought as a teen on a trip to visit his grandparents, when he was just beginning to write his own music. Ella thought it was perhaps his versatility that made Leo such an incredible musician. As only a half-decent piano player, she couldn’t imagine learning something with strings or sticks. She had no idea how he had picked up so many different skills.

Chris, Matthew and Mabel were all floating in the middle distance somewhere between buzzed and fully drunk, nursing local beers and watching Leo with thoughtful, glazed eyes. Both Jess and Ella sipped on club soda, sat in the booth across the table from their friends. No matter how much Ella insisted she didn’t care if Jess drank, he never really did. He thought it was a pretty good idea, considering his own mother’s history with addiction. And what was the point of being drunk if Ella wasn’t going to be drunk with him? It would be no fun if he couldn’t go on the ride with her, anyway.

The crowd had been lively when they first arrived, tables packed and customers chatty. But as the evening wore on, parties left, congestion dissipated. A few lonely individuals sat solemnly at the main bar. Leo had a moderately receptive audience, though the band performing before him had a bit more notoriety and a larger fan-base. By the final number, only the five of them remained at their half-table, half-booth, looking on with pride and intrigue. Ella thought she had never seen Chris smile so big as he did at Leo’s gigs. The starry gaze was a bit saccharine, but most of the time it was tolerable, and even cute.

“He’s really good,” Mabel said softly as Leo reached the instrumental.

“Isn’t he?” Ella whispered back across the table emphatically.

Mabel nodded, her bright brown eyes sparkling. “His voice kinda reminds me of The Smiths”

Ella’s smile widened. “I love them!”

“Oh, they were basically all I listened to in high school,” Mabel said, nodding in agreement.

“Not you too,” Jess chagrined from beside Ella, his arm around her shoulders.

“What?” Mabel asked, raising one of her thick eyebrows. Ella wished she could have Mabel’s eyebrows. They seemed to be shaped perfectly, and didn’t even need to be filled in.  

“Jess thinks he’s too good for indie,” Ella said.

“No, I just never find myself in the mood to listen to some guy whine into the microphone,” Jess said, scoffing slightly.

Ella shook her head in disappointment. “It’s poetry!”

“Even worse,” Jess retorted.

She rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t respond as Leo began singing again. Jess’s fingers ghosted over her shoulder up and down, making pleasant goosebumps rise on her freckled skin. As Leo’s voice rolled gently over the last few words of the song, Ella closed her eyes and felt the notes vibrate in her chest. Jess looked over and found her looking calm, far away inside her mind as she listened. He pressed a kiss to her hair and a tiny smile passed over her lips, though she didn’t open her eyes until the final chord finished its reverberation through the room. The five of them erupted in cheers and applause, which sounded scant in the nearly empty place. Leo smirked at them from the stage and gave a mocking bow.

“They say the underground following is the most devoted,” he muttered into the mic, stripping off his ruan. Then, he looked up at the large clock across the room. “But since we’ve still got ten minutes left, why don’t we get secret musical prodigy Ella Stevens up here?”

Ella’s brow crinkled with confusion, and her smile faltered. “What?”

“You never told me about the piano thing! C’mon, take advantage of this keyboard,” Leo called over the mic.

She glared over at Chris, who pretended not to feel her eyes on him. “What did you tell him?”

After a moment, Chris slowly craned his neck in her direction. “Who? Me?”

“Asshole,” she hissed under her breath, narrowing her eyes.

“Hey, I was simply relaying what little interesting information exists about you,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.

Ella ran her finger horizontal across her neck, a teasing threat.

“We don’t have all night, Ella,” Leo continued into the mic.

“Yeah, let’s hear it, Ella. I’m sure you’re great,” Mabel said genuinely, leaning over the table, conspiratory and cheerful. The positivity would have been annoying if Mabel were not so down-to-earth.

“Agreed,” Matthew chimed in.

Ella laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “No one wants to subject their ears to that, I promise.”

“I don’t know, Stevens. I was pretty starstruck the one time I heard you play in all six years I’ve known you,” Jess smirked, eyebrows raised.

“Judas,” she spat at him, removing his arm from her shoulder.

“If you can get up in front of two hundred people to talk about the effect of the lost generation on modern art, you can do this, Daria,” he continued, unphased by her grouchiness.

Heaving an ambivalent sigh, she listened to their persistent encouragement. Then, with one final huff of obstinacy, she stood from the table and marched up to the stage. She flipped them off behind her head as they gave hoots of satisfaction and Leo set the keyboard up at the front of the stage, with the stool and microphone.

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” she whispered to Leo.

He gave a nod, humoring her. “Yes, I fear you.”

“Well,” she said sardonically, sitting down and watching as he descended the stairs. “In a minute, you’ll pity me. I did not inherit my mother’s talent!”

She felt her heart expand when she saw Chris give Leo a congratulatory kiss before they settled into their seats next to each other. Then, she rolled her eyes at herself for not sticking to her ill will, and dropped her eyes to the keys. They were shiny white and black, newer but less charming than the piano at Miss Patty’s. Her fingers were poised over the keys, and she swallowed dryly, remembering. She’d couldn’t quite place when the last time she’d played had been.

Glancing up nervously, biting the inside of her cheek, she caught Jess’s eye. He threw her another wink and she let out a scoff at him. The longer she sat up there, the more her heart slowed. She straightened her back, felt herself regaining the old position. Resisting the urge to tug anxiously at her earring, she flipped for a moment through her mental catalogue. Then, she cleared her throat and let a small, wicked grin cross her lips.

“Fine. But this is your funeral, everyone,” she quipped. “This song is dedicated to Chris, who is fucking wrong about Joni Mitchell.”

A final, slight shake of her head and she launched into “Blue.” Her fingers were rusty and creaky, but the song flowed out of her as though she had just learned it. She couldn’t sing nearly as high as was necessary for an exact recreation, but she was getting at more of a tuned down interpretation. Her voice was raspy, and Jess was never surprised how much she identified with Stevie Nicks. Though recently, there had been more Amy Winehouse spinning on the turntable. And Ella knew she could never sound remotely like Amy Winehouse.

The stage light was whitish and soft, and Jess could feel his heart do a skip at the sight of her. She wasn’t the greatest musical talent, but it wasn’t pure talent which made her breathtaking to him. It was the way her eyes shut and her voice lilted with emotion. How she lit up so wholly when she played. And how fearless she had always been, putting herself out there with not a care in the world for what others thought of her. No stage fright, only perfectionism holding her back. She was only ever completely herself, perhaps what he admired most about her. His intrepid artist, with dimples and green flecks in her eyes and messy hair and a fashion sense not quite like anyone else. Warmth filled his heart and his body and his mind, and he could only watch her with a tiny smirk on his face. And he had never felt so sure of anything before.

.   .   .

The cap of the red pen was clamped between her teeth, her back against the wall, Nietzche staring overhead. Suppressing a yawn, she placed brackets around a paragraph she liked particularly well. Her first read-through of the new book had taken almost no time at all, as she devoured Jess’s prose fervently. She’d suggested some revisions, added some comments, without being asked. Jess insisted she didn’t have to do that work for him, especially not for free, but she told him she simply enjoyed it. It reminded her of the days when they wrote notes to each other in borrowed texts, those which ended up sitting in a shared pile, all mixed together, in their bedroom. And he had only smiled in response. Once again, it had shocked him how invested she could be in art. Not that he would ever call his writing ‘art,’ especially how much he despised his first novel upon rereading. But Ella asked for the second draft once he had revised, offering her critical eye, if he wanted it. He did, of course. And she was nearly done. There were noticeable improvements, and several new sections. It was coming together before her eyes, and sometimes she wanted to tear up out of pride.

Breeze seeped in through the draughty window, and she tugged the blanket up over herself a little more. Her impromptu performance at the bar, which ended with her flustered in the wake of everyone’s compliments even though she was aware she was nothing compared to Leo, had left her jittery and awake. Even after the presentation at school. Not exactly anxious, but charged with pseudo energy. She was only riding it until the crash. Jess wasn’t snoring yet, and she knew he wasn’t asleep, but dozing. Midnight had already passed into the early morning, and the rain was picking up again, pounding on the roof above them. Every so often, Ella looked precariously up at the water spot near the bedroom door.

Sighing faintly, she turned the page, more semi-stream-of-consciousness insights after a perspective shift. She had to commend him on his recent experimentation. She hadn’t expected it. Her face softened as she read the next paragraph, a new addition to the draft. It was through the eyes of the main character as he watched a woman paint a mural on a nondescript city street.

Racing, racing, racing of his heart, beating against his ribs like footsteps at the sight of the woman. Eyes from bottom to top, from battered shoes to patterned skirt and button-up shirt, protected by a dirty, threadbare apron. Strangers, he thought, strangers everywhere with separate stories to tell, unaware of his thoughts or his feelings or his words or his face. She looked like she belonged, despite her complete uniquity. He couldn’t imagine looking so established in any place, so uniform in unconformity. He wondered who she was painting it for, the ghostly figure surrounded by dead flowers and trash, a vision of the post-industrial American wasteland. Not many people were likely to see it under the bridge, which looked like where teenagers would come to smash light bulbs and kiss each other with teeth clashing together and sweat out their last bit of rebellion. He wondered who had assigned her the location, if she had chosen it herself, if she was painting only for herself.

The intensity in her eyes told him she could have been, green pools of vigor and concentration as he approached, boots rhythmic on the cracked sidewalk. A tragedy, he thought suddenly, staring at her near-finished creation, she was painting a tragedy and she knew it. She could feel it. He saw it not so much in her form as in the eyes of the ghost in the painting, hollow and desolate, with a single jewel of color in the middle. The rest of the piece was only in shades of gray, a hopelessness exacerbated by more small, foolish hope. He almost laughed under his breath, instead allowing his eyes to fall back on her as he passed around her, leaving considerable space between them. He didn’t want to interfere, break her focus, not that she looked as though she could ever be shaken by anything. Their eyes locked for only a moment, as she stepped back to regard her work. She didn’t smile, she didn’t frown, she only saw. She saw, and then she was out of sight again. And another story was behind him.

Smirking slightly as she read, she capped the pen again once she had finished. And she placed the manuscript on the bedside table neatly next to her. She switched off the last lamp and settled down into the sheets. Jess breathed deeply, stirring at her movements. She turned over on one side to face him, their noses only inches apart.

“Jess?” she asked.

“Hm?” he hummed, eyes cracking open.

“Can’t sleep?”

“I’m getting there,” he shrugged, though they both knew it wasn’t exactly the truth.

Ella nodded. “Well, I got to the part where he sees the woman painting the mural. And I have to say, I think I recognize the influences.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Maybe James Joyce wasn’t completely incoherent. It wasn’t serious, though. It was meant to be making fun of his adolescent emotionality, like Stephen in Portrait.”

“Ah, I think I’ve officially converted you,” she said, her smile growing wider.

“I think you’re speaking too soon,” he replied.

“Agree to disagree.” Her tone was light and sincere as she continued, though her smile shrank. “Did you really love me when you first saw me?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s it, Chatty Kathy?” she asked, eyebrows raised in annoyance.

Jess sighed. “Well, what do you wanna know?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to understand it,” she said, studying his face with narrowed eyes. If he knew the section she had just read, he shouldn’t have been surprised by the question. Besides, she had been wondering for a while. How someone who had been bitten by the world so many times could still believe something so romantic. In a way, she was envious, and in another way, she was scared for him. “Why did you tell me it was that day in the gazebo?”

He paused for a long moment, running his hand over his mouth. She could see his grandfather’s necklace peeking out from the collar of his t-shirt and glinting in the moonlight, which streamed through the window. He barely ever took it off.

“Well, first of all, I knew there was no chance you’d run away with me if you thought I was crazy enough to believe in love at first sight,” he explained slowly, trying to ignore the embarrassed squirming in his stomach. “I was trying not to scare you off. Shocking, I know, considering what a Romeo and Juliet stunt I was pulling.”

“He could’ve just waited to drink the poison,” she agreed, earning her a chuckle.

“And, at the time,” he continued, growing a bit more confident in his articulation, “I wasn’t even sure. For a long time, I couldn’t figure out when I fell in love with you. Eventually, I realized the reason was because I had been in love with you the entire time.”

She hummed, her brows furrowing inquisitively. “I just can’t imagine it.”

“Which is why the amount of poetry you read will never make sense,” he said. Then, after a moment more of gathering his thoughts: “And it’s not the same kind of love. It’s still love, but it’s not the same as what I felt after I got to know you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Breathing out a long breath, Jess searched again for the right phrases.

“I don’t know, Stevens,” he admitted, biting down on his lip for a moment. “Maybe it’s more like I knew I would love you. I saw you, and I knew I loved you before I knew why I loved you. Now, I know why.”

She nodded earnestly against her pillow, damp hair smelling of lavender. “Curiouser and curiouser, Mariano.”

“Not to the Hemingway fans among us,” he said.

“Well, Hemingway fans are the biggest romantics. It’s a universal law,” she replied, voice growing heavier with fatigue. Finally, it seemed, the rush of the night was wearing off, replaced by a tranquil ease she hadn’t expected. Spring break was long overdue.

“So I’ve heard,” he replied fondly. “I told you the first time we met, y’know.”

“What?”

“That I loved you.”

She furrowed her brows suspiciously, a smirk tugging at one corner of her lips. “I think I would’ve remembered that.”

“Well, I didn’t say it in so many words.” Jess’s eyes twinkled with teasing, and she scoffed.

“You did not.”

“Yes, I certainly did.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, Daria.”

Her face lost its brevity as she saw he was, in fact, serious, despite how cocky he sounded. Playing the memory over in her mind, she was hit was nostalgia and confusion. Humming Stevie Nicks, spilling salt, empty threats, cleaning tables with Jess following behind her, never losing his wiseass remarks or his sarcastic grin. Then, after a moment, it hit her. As you wish. She had hardly noticed it at the time. Only a reference, leading to their first argument over movies versus books. The words Wesley had spoken to Buttercup in The Princess Bride as a way of saying 'I love you.' She never even considered its meaning.

She let out a breathy, surprised chuckle. Meeting his eyes again, she shoved his shoulder playfully and flipped onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling, noticing the water spot again. The raindrops pattered a steady beat. “Fuck off.”

“What?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow and tilting his head at her in amused askance.

“Jesus. That is so...sweet and wonderful. And fucking cheesy. Makes me sick,” she said, though she grinned through her words. She sighed and shook her head slightly, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose as she giggled again. “I don’t know whether to murder you or marry you.”

His breath caught in his throat for a second, but he regained his composure before she opened her eyes again and smiled up at him. “Well, maybe meet me in the middle and let’s get our own apartment?”

“Really?” she asked. So much information was flying at her, she didn’t know which thread to latch onto. And, unbeknownst to Jess, she was fighting the lump in her throat. She may have been a realist, but she wasn’t heartless. And she wondered how long she would be able to hold off the tears that threatened to spill over. A deep, aching love spread throughout her. It almost made her dizzy with joy. As you wish, he had said. It played over in her head suddenly, as though she had just heard it.

“Yeah,” he said, averting his gaze hesitantly. “It doesn’t have to be right away. There’ll probably be more leases in the summer once all the students go home. But I thought...maybe we’d have room for a keyboard or something. An easel, too. And we could stop hearing Chris and Matthew argue over which place has the best burritos at three in the morning. What do you think?”

“We could get an actual shelf for all your books,” she said, holding her smile.

“Yeah. You could organize them whatever way, if you want.” Jess tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as he spoke, then leaving his hand to rest on her cheek. “Or, I could do it. There is a method to my madness, y’know.”

“Okay, I’ll definitely need a couple months to decide whether to do color coordination or alphabetical order, then,” she said.

Jess chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll take some time. But...you want to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, James Dean,” she whispered softly. She placed a gentle hand on the back of his neck, and brought him in to place a sweet kiss on his lips. He smiled against her, nerves calming and body relaxing with her touch.

As they broke apart, he laid back down on his side, drawing her closer to him with an arm over her waist.

“I love you, Mariano,” she said, eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you back, Stevens,” he replied, thinking he may not be able to handle the pleasant butterflies erupting in his middle.

She breathed in contentedly. “And your new book is the next Great American Novel.”

“I doubt the New York Times will think so.”

“Well, I do,” she said simply. “You’re the fucking best.”

“It’s been said,” he quipped, finally shutting his own eyes. Their words had turned to murmurs, cozy and soft beneath the sound of the rain.

“But, I especially love how humble you are,” she added, yawning against the back of her hand.

“Right back at ya,” he deadpanned.

Snorting a laugh, Ella shifted so she was flush against him, warm in the cold room. And, by the time the sun rose through the breaking clouds, the rain had stopped completely.

[roraruu]

The Cleric’s Path

The path of a cleric is not an easy one to walk. Especially when you’re in love with your best friend.

TW: death and vomit.

---

Faye’s staff is heavy in her hands, like a log of lumber that splinters and marks her palms. Her fingers are weakly curved around it, barely holding the holy item, it’s bottom scratching against the dirt ground that’s rife with infection. 

Silque, who had been restraining the patient, removes her grasp from the body. She lets go and wraps a clean sheet up and over the body. She says the Mother’s prayer for the departed and a quiet, “as Mila wills it” under her breath. Her face is sad, solemn, but shows no sense of tears. Faye senses that she’s used to this sight. 

Faye, however, has never seen such carnage. Blood is everywhere, marking the floor, the cot where he’d lain, their white holy robes. She didn’t know that one person could hold so much crimson liquid. She stares at the mess on her long white skirt, marking her shaking hands with stains. The tent will need a good cleaning, with the sheets washed in the river, maybe even left to soak. Throwing them out will be a waste, especially since they’re good quality and warm and they will be close to Rigel soon.

Silque’s hands unclasp from prayer, her head poking out the tent flaps to call for whoever is out there. It’s been so long, she can’t remember who’s been posted to watch for trouble. Silque’s voice is solemn and soft, asking whoever is out there to fetch the elder members of the Deliverance, probably to dispose of the body.

Faye stands, frozen. Now is not the time to freeze up, but she can’t help but stop moving. Her thoughts are plagued of how many times she’ll be standing in this tent, smeared with blood and cold like ice.

He was a child, no older than Kliff. Her patient was a young boy who had taught the stray arrows of a Rigelian soldier; his own people killed him. And they’d left him there to die. 

She had thought she could save him, pull him back from the ethereal clutches of death, restore the rosiness to his cheeks and return breath to his lungs. She’d pulled so many back from death. Grabbed them by the collar as Mila went to take them, and pulled them back to the living with her hands. Yet, this one slipped through the cracks of her fingers, and the only thing that she’s caught is blood and tears.

The edge of Silque’s veil sways as she moves back into the tent. Her eyes catch Faye’s blank gaze and fill with a pitiful familiarity, as if she’s seen that lifeless gaze before. The elder cleric takes her bloodied hands and puts a cool cloth to them, taking away blood that crumbles and flakes. Her frazzled plaits hang over her as she leans forwards into the cleric’s chest, and sucks back breaths. Tears freeze in her eyes.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” Silque says. Her soothing voice reminds her of Nana when Gray teased her too hard or Kliff scared her with his talk of black magic. A damp hand comes up to pat her back gently in comfort and gesture for her to carry on. It’s wet with blood.

She stays there for a moment, bent into Silque like she’s a child. But Silque is Silque, and she is Faye and they are clerics—the backbone, the lifeline of this army. Healers aren’t to show weakness, but instead to be the rallying strength behind their fellow soldiers. 

So Faye sniffles, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. She stands up to full height again. Words are hard to grasp, but she catches one between the cracks of her teeth. “Sorry.” She says. 

They begin to clean up, moving around the body deftly. It’s almost as if there’s a certain nervousness with being near the dead. Faye wonders if Mila’s powers will make him a Terror. She shivers. The thought of having to use black magic to bring him down when she couldn’t even save him with white magic is a painful one. 

“What will we do now?” Faye asks, quiet and unsure. She does not look at cot.

“I’ve asked for Sir Lukas and Forsyth to dig a resting place.” Silque says. Her head is lowered, her veil shadowing her face. “I’ll clean him up.”

Faye has the feeling this is not the first time Silque has had to do such a thing. 

“Faye, you do not have to stay.” She says, stepping over soaked gauze. 

“I feel like I can’t move.” Faye breathes out. Silque holds her blank gaze for a moment. “Is that normal?”

“It’s not unheard of.” Silque says quietly. “But you need food and rest. Stay here.”

Faye sits down on the little stool they have in the corner of the tent. She clenches her hands around her staff. It’s an empty feeling. No anger at herself for not trying hard enough, no sadness at the loss, just emptiness. She feels sour bile climb up her throat and she swallows it back.

She feels so small, so childish. This is her job, right? Her vocation was to be a cleric, even when she was a child, stuffing her little bag with gauze and pins and little bottle of alcohol in case her friends scratched their knees while they played. If she can’t even keep her patients alive, what’s the point? This was the path she chose to walk though. The one of a healer, one who would have to bury those she couldn’t save. Her hands would give and even take. Her Nosferatu spell took life with several simple words and she felt nothing. Yet a youngun dead on the table left her shaking. 

Her eyes linger to the white sheet that begins to puddle with blood. He was killed by his own countrymen. She thinks nervously, reminded of how close they are to Rigel—no, not even that. That this young kid was murdered by his own country. The same could happen to them... The Deliverance was a rebel army, and Zofia was under rule by Desaix...

Her eyes wander down to the mess of her robes. The usually-light pink cloth is now stained red from blood, running from her forearms down her chest, stomach and skirt. She wondered if they’d pulled her robes off a dead cleric. Probably. In a land of sorrow and depravity, clothes were hard to come by.  

The tent flaps sway again as Silque renters with the watchmen. Tobin follows in behind her, his eyes growing wide when Silque steps towards her and pulls the staff from her hands. She’s become the rag doll she’d had in her childhood—the one she’d played cleric with, diagnosing fake ailments and stitching on patches to mend broken bones from play.

“Could you see that she gets something to eat and goes back to our tent?” Silque asks him quietly. Tobin’s eyes linger on the red stains on her robes. “She’s overworked herself.”

Bile rises again. 

He nods quickly. “Yeah, of course.” He says in a soft voice. She knows it well—it’s the one he used with his siblings when they had hurt themselves and he insisted that the pain would subside. She feels like a child, all numb and tired.

“Hey Faye,” he says as quietly as he can. Her eyes meet his and embarrassment attacks her. She’s snotty and teary-eyed and acting like a child who refuses to put on her shoes. “I’m going to take you back, okay?”

She wants to say no, that she can handle this. That she brought this death upon herself. But instead she bows her head and leans into him like she did to Silque. “I’m sorry,” she breathes. She stares at the yellowy paladin’s armour he wears in spots. He must’ve been training still, even at the arc of moonlight. 

“Come on,” he says. He takes the same rag that Silque had in her hands, unfazed by the blood that speckles the fabric. Tobin takes her hands with the same tenderness that one has around a child, wiping away the drying blood with slow, tender strokes. She focuses on him, studying his features. 

He glances up to her, meeting her intent, almost confident gaze. He tilts her chin downwards with just a few fingers. He wipes away the snot, the tears and the smears of blood. His touch is gentle, like she’s made of porcelain and will crack if he applies even the slightest pressure.

He throws the rag into a bucket full of like fabrics. “Let’s go,” Tobin says, pulling her back to him. His hands take hers, pulling her to her feet. She sways and wobbles, his arm snakes around her back to steady her.

She takes an unsteady step, then another, leaning into him for support. His hand is strong against her hip, holding her in place. They push past the tent flaps, the cool night air hitting her face. She realizes how warm she was.

Their pace is slow, also trudging from the tent. She notices Forsyth and Lukas return from the edge of camp, shovels in their hands. 

Her feet drag, suddenly made of lead. The day’s battle, standing for hours, reciting that horrible spell that revives the dead. She can feel sour bile rising in her throat and she stumbles past him, retching several times beside a tree. Her hand grasps the bark for dear life as she pants for a breath. 

There’s a hand on her back, another gently holding her plaits back from her mouth. He’s gentle, kind, comforting her with an embrace that reminds her of a child with snowflakes. She sees now how good of an older brother he is. 

Her hand comes over her mouth to hide embarrassment as she shakes her head, almost magnetizing to him for support. He stumbles back, regains his footing and feels the back of her hands against his chest. He pulls her close for a second, embracing her tightly, tethering her back to the earth. A feeling, even though it’s uncomfortable, brings a flush to her cheeks. It only serves to make her feel worse, that the boy in the cot could have been him. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. It’s quiet, hangs in the air like the rusty stench of blood on her. 

She manages a small “thanks”, out of obligation more than anything. She buries herself in his collar, struggling to catch a breath that she can barely muster. She’s covered in blood, vomit on her breath and headache pounding in her temples. 

“He died.” She says at last. She knows Silque had probably told him what happened; but she needs to hear the words from her own mouth. Their trudging steps stop as they come up to her tent.

He lets a sigh out, pushing the canvas back with his arm. “People die, Faye. It’s not your fault.”

“But it is. I didn’t try hard enough.” She says, staring at the ground and her unsteady feet. Her eyes gloss over, tears blurring her vision for a moment. “I took his life.”

“You did all you could. Your hands weren’t meant to take life.” He says quietly. “They give it back and you try to give back what’s gone.”

“I had him in my grasp.” She says, meeting his gaze. Her eyes are red and puffy from tears.

“He slipped through. You can’t save them all.”

“But I’m supposed to.” She says quietly. “That’s my duty, right?”

She buries her face into her knees, her back tiredly rising and falling.

“He was just a kid.” Faye says. “Like us.”

Tobin can’t respond to it, letting the words hang in the air as he continues to peel the orange. He pulls apart the sections and pith, placing it into a sad little pile. He holds a piece out of her. “Come on, eat.” He says.

“I can’t move.” She says, her voice is muffled by her knees. “I’m broken. I’m not good.”

“You are good.” He argues. She feels his hand on her back. “How are you going to heal us when you’re sick and tired?”

“I can’t protect you.” She cries. “I’m not good.”

“Then I’ll do my best to heal you. I’ll do my best to make you better, Faye.” He promises, his voice soft and gentle. His hand moves to her shoulder, lifting her chin. Tears streak her face as she collapses into him, holding him tightly as she can.

She still feels so weak, so tired and numb. But he’s a comfort. His voice, his touch, the impossible promises he offers to her in hopes that she’ll perk up. 

She reaches for a section of the orange, slowly chewing down on it and cringing at the sour taste. She rests against his shoulder, against his uncomfortable armour. Somehow, those few words—make you better—instil comfort in her.

[flowersandskeletons526]

“Broken Noses and Bad Ideas” - Glitradora Fanfic, Part 4

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3

----

Adora stayed at the apartment even after Bow had left. She paced around Glimmer’s bedroom while Glimmer sat on the edge of her bed. She rubbed her eyes and prodded the bruises and abrasions on her torso, her mind stuck on the sly woman that rescued her from the fight. She swore she had seen blood on Catra’s boots before they got in the car. 

“When did you start talking to Catra?” Adora asked, stopping beside her. 

“She came into the shop a few days ago and we talked a little bit,” Glimmer answered. 

“You know she’s a punk, right? She’s nothing but a dangerous bad idea.” 

“Wait, Adora, how do you even know her? Why are you freaking out so much after she just saved me from getting my ass kicked?” 

Adora looked down at Glimmer, eyes tracing the cuts and bruises all over her. Glimmer turned away. Adora sat next to her, her body angled in as she leaned close. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind Glimmer’s ear. Glimmer glanced up, and Adora smiled gently. Adora was always gentle. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. 

“You’re changing the subject,” Glimmer huffed. 

“You’d know,” Adora said. 

“Adora!”

“I’m just worried about you!”

“You’re always worried about me!” 

“Can you blame me?” Adora tilted her chin up, brushing a thumb across a scrape on Glimmer’s jaw. “You give me a lot to be worried about, Glim. Especially when things like this keep happening.”

“I got into a fight.”

“You got beat up!” Adora said. Glimmer bowed her head. Adora sighed and rubbed Glimmer’s back, holding her close as Glimmer leaned into her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to turn into a fight.”

“I know,” Glimmer mumbled.

“Do you feel alright? I know you already went to the hospital but, well, you know.”

Glimmer cringed internally. She shouldn’t have lied to Adora, but she was already losing her mind. If she knew that Glimmer had passed out and woken up in a dangerous stranger’s house, especially this stranger it seemed, it would just make her more overbearing than usual. She couldn’t deal with that tonight. 

In reality, everything hurt like hell, but Adora didn’t need to know that. Knowing her, she could already tell, anyway. Glimmer kept her mouth shut and closed her eyes as she nuzzled against Adora. 

“You don’t have class tomorrow, right?” she asked. 

“No, nothing on the weekends,” Adora replied. 

“Do you want to stay over? You still have some clothes here from the last time you spent the night.” 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go get changed.” 

Glimmer pinched the bridge of her nose after Adora stepped into the bathroom. She could hardly keep her eyes open. Her body was covered in tender bruises, and she knew it would only hurt worse when she woke up tomorrow. She pulled on a clean shirt that covered her torso and most of her arms, hiding the majority of the marks just so Adora wouldn’t freak out more than she already was. 

She sat on the windowsill and lit a cigarette. Adora came back just as she was finishing it, frowning as she let her blond hair out of its ponytail. 

“I thought you stopped that?” she asked. 

“I don’t even smoke one every day,” Glimmer lied. “It’s fine.”

“Glimmer-”

“Adora, please, not tonight.”

“I… okay.” 

They slipped under the covers, lying on their sides and facing each other. Glimmer shifted close and held Adora’s hand between them, closing her eyes. Adora touched her cheek. 

“You’re really okay?” she whispered. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Adora squeezed her hand. She smiled. Just before she fell asleep, she swore she felt Adora kiss her forehead, but it was forgotten by morning. 

---

The Crystal Castle was loud and crowded as usual. Adora and Bow had their own plans, but they were under the impression that she had none. She knew it was probably a bad idea to be out when no one knew where she was, especially considering last week’s events. She knew she should care. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn. She heard Adora’s voice in the back of her head, telling her to be more concerned about her own safety, but she pushed it away. 

Glimmer went straight to the bar. She shouldn’t have been drinking. She shouldn’t have been smoking, either, but “shouldn’t” never stopped her. 

Entrapta grinned when she approached. “Bow’s friend!” she exclaimed. “Whiskey on the rocks, coming up.”

“Uh, thanks,” Glimmer said. “How did you remember that?”

“Well you came in with Bow last time so I-”

“I mean the drink.”

“Your hair is distinct. I remember distinct people,” Entrapta explained. Glimmer nodded and took the glass. “Is Bow here with you?”

“No, not tonight.”

“That’s too bad. I wanted to run a project idea by him. Tell him to email me if you see him.”

“Sure.” 

Glimmer found a spot by the wall as the band came onstage. Her grip on her drink tightened when Catra stood in front, bringing another round of screaming applause. There was something about her, a presence that commanded the room the moment she walked through the door and opened her arms. Glimmer was not immune to that. 

She knew it was strange. Some outrageous musician shows up in her store and then saves her from getting killed in the same week, seemingly for nothing, and now she was here to see her again for a reason she couldn’t find. She wondered if that could be a part of it; trying to figure out exactly why Glimmer couldn’t get Catra and her smirk and her confidence and her bloody boots out of her head. She was convinced that she would go insane if she left the mystery in her thoughts to rot. 

Adora’s hostility and subsequent refusal to talk only made the longing for answers worse. 

Aside from all the uncertainties, Glimmer knew one thing: she loved Catra’s voice. There was a raspy, raw quality to the notes she sang, a growl in her lower register that set heat blossoming in Glimmer’s chest and raised goosebumps over her arms. She poured indescribable emotion into her voice and the lyrics of her song as the other musicians supported her with haunting, unbridled vocals. It sent the entire club into a roaring frenzy. 

Glimmer was no exception. Catra finished a song and pushed her hair out of her face, baring her sharp teeth with a manic smile. When Glimmer met her intense mismatched eyes, it drew a genuine grin from her for the first time in months. 

Catra laughed over the cheers after the set ended. “You guys are amazing as always!” she said. “Thank you and goodnight!” 

Glimmer waited for Catra by the bar. The taller woman slipped through the crowd, smiling as she stood before Glimmer. Entrapta passed Catra a drink as Glimmer sat on a stool, facing the crowd. Catra leaned against the bar beside her. 

“You were awesome,” she said as Catra sipped her drink.

Catra smirked. “Thanks. Are you here alone or are your friends lurking around somewhere?”

“Not that I know of.” 

Catra hummed, sipping her drink. “I wasn’t quite sure if you’d come. You seemed a little spooked the last time we saw each other.” 

“We weren’t exactly in the best circumstances last time we saw each other.” 

“Very true. Your face looks a lot better.”

“Gee, thanks.” 

Catra laughed. “You’ve got a sarcastic streak, don’t you, Sparkles?”

“I try.” 

“I like it.”

Glimmer smiled, but it disappeared in a moment. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“What is it?”

“How do you know Adora? You two seemed to really hate each other.” 

Catra raised an eyebrow. “I thought she would have told you. No wonder you came back.”

“What?”

Catra laughed once, sharp and quick, and turned back to her drink. “Bad joke. Adora and I knew each other a long time ago. We grew up together in a private group home a long way from here but had a bit of a falling out when she bolted.” 

“When I met Adora, she said she was a homeless drifter that came from nowhere.”

“Yeah, well that was her own choice and her own fault,” Catra spat. Glimmer frowned, watching the sudden violence in her expression, but within a moment Catra’s face had smoothed back into its typical sly smirk. She lifted her drink. “How about this. You buy me a few more of these and once I start slurring my speech, I will talk about Adora. Or, better yet, we talk about anything else.”

“Alright.”

“Great. Also, she hates me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about her?”

Catra leaned in quickly, but Glimmer didn’t move. Catra chuckled. “Sarcastic and a smartass. You’re direct, I’ll give you that.” 

“Thanks?” 

Grinning behind her glass, Catra threw back the rest of her drink and slammed the cup down on the bar. “Take a walk with me.”

“Where?”

“Through the city. The past several places I’ve been were a lot smaller than Etheria and I like the way big cities are at night when all the lights come on.” Catra smiled, eyes glinting. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

Glimmer returned the smile. “Yeah, it is.” Glimmer hopped off the stool. “Okay, let’s go.”

Catra followed Glimmer out of the bar. “You’re not really all that careful, are you?”

“Who cares about being careful?” 

Shoving her hands into her pockets, Catra grinned. “Famous last words.”

Glimmer learned a lot about Catra as they strolled through the glowing city together. Catra and all the other band members grew up in a ghost town called Scorpion Crater, which they lovingly dubbed “the Fright Zone.” Catra always loved to sing and taught herself to play guitar with a broken instrument she pulled out of a trash heap. Catra hated mice. Catra’s favorite color was red. Catra would listen to anything as long as she liked the lyrics and could sing along. 

Over everything, Glimmer learned that Catra was incomprehensibly cynical. 

“Sometimes shit happens and it just makes you worse,” she said as they walked, kicking a pebble into the gutter. “Kelly Clarkson got it wrong. It fucking sucks and you can’t change it and people suck and you can’t change them either.” 

“Yeah,” Glimmer agreed. She pulled her jacket collar higher around her neck as her smile faded. “I get where you’re coming from.”

“You, Sparkles?” 

“Yeah, me. My, uh, my mom. She’s the woman whose portrait is hanging up in my store.”

Catra nodded. “I saw that. That’s your mother?”

Glimmer hummed. “She died about a year ago. Some junkie shot her during a mugging.” 

“Did they catch him?”

“Yeah, and then they let him go. They didn’t have enough evidence.” Glimmer’s hands trembled as they curled into fists, tears stinging her eyes. She didn’t know why she was telling Catra about this; she barely knew this woman. But still, something about her seemed to drag all of Glimmer’s troubles out of her.

Glimmer startled at Catra’s fingertips against her cheek. She glanced up, eyes wide as Catra brushed her hair out of her eyes. Catra’s expression was calm and thoughtful as her sharp nails traced Glimmer’s jawline. 

“I’ve seen that,” she said quietly. “People not getting what they deserve. Sometimes it’s better to take things into your own hands.” Glimmer didn’t respond, watching Catra’s eyes flicker with the ghost of something hidden and dark. She smiled just enough to flash one of her unusually sharp teeth. “You look a little scared, Sparkles.”

Glimmer pushed Catra’s hand away as she returned to reality. “I’m not scared of anyone, especially not you.”

Catra laughed. It bounced off the buildings of the desolate city. She opened her mouth to speak, but her phone chimed and cut her off. All the humor in her expression disappeared as she read the text message. 

“Son of a bitch,” she growled. She returned her phone to her pocket and stood in front of Glimmer. “I think your place is nearby, right? I would get heading home considering how late it is.” 

“Do you have to go?”

“Yeah. I, uh… Scorpia needs me.” Catra paused, smiling as a thought occurred to her. “Here, give me your phone for a second.” Glimmer handed Catra her phone. Catra typed in her number and smiled as she handed it back to Glimmer, eyes glinting. “Call me sometime and we’ll meet up.”

Glimmer smiled. “Sounds good.” 

Catra grabbed her hand and gave it a quick squeeze before they parted ways. Glimmer hurried home, grinning the whole time.

The next day, Glimmer found herself smiling as she went about business in the store. Adora stood behind the counter, sorting a new delivery while business was slow. She noticed the happiness on Glimmer’s face as Glimmer stepped around her to grab something under the counter. 

“You look happy,” Adora remarked. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Glimmer rubbed the back of her neck. “One of the good days, I guess.”

“I’m glad.” Adora put an arm around her and held her close. Glimmer wrapped her arms around Adora’s waist. “It’s good to see you smiling again.”

“Yeah,” Glimmer mumbled. You would hate the reason why, though, she thought. “Probably because it’s getting closer to summer.”

“Do you need any extra help around the store? I know once business picks back up it can get a little overwhelming.”

“I’m fine.” Glimmer let go of Adora and returned to her work. “You and Bow are already doing a bunch of extra stuff.”

“Well, yeah, but we’re always here to help.” 

“I know.”

“Glim, really. I’m always here for you.”

Glimmer paused and turned back to her, offering a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Adora. I know I’ve been a little weird lately but I’m fine.” 

“I know,” Adora said, following after her, “I just get worried about you. I still really wish you would see someone.”

“I don’t need a therapist.”

“I’m not saying you need one, I’m just saying that it can be good to vent to someone and work through things.”

Glimmer’s smile disappeared. “Adora, I’m not going back to that stupid doctor.” 

Adora stopped, taking a step back and holding her hands up. “Okay.”

Kicking herself, Glimmer pursed her lips and turned away from the sadness in Adora’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, don’t be. I’m sorry I pushed it.” Adora touched her shoulder. When she didn’t pull away, she put her arms around the smaller girl. “Just forget I said anything. Today is a good day, right? Let’s hold onto that.” 

Glimmer sighed. “Okay.” 

She leaned back into the embrace. Adora held her tighter. 

---

Glimmer and Catra sat in the back of the band’s van on a hill overlooking the city. Five meetings had already passed them by, two at the club and three hanging around the city, their discussions growing less restrained as they spent hours with each other. It weighed down on Glimmer that she hadn’t told Adora about any of it. 

In that time, Glimmer learned that Catra was an ass as well as a cynic. The vast majority of their conversations consisted of teasing and underhanded jabs, where Catra learned that Glimmer had as sharp a tongue as she did. There were times where an outsider would have thought they were being downright malicious, but every insult was met with laughter in the end.

Looking over the city, they shared a joint and a couple of beers, joking with each other as they tossed rocks down into the sand pit below. Finishing a drink, Catra grabbed a weathered acoustic guitar and leaned against the doorway of the van, facing Glimmer. 

“Hey, tell me a song,” she said, eyes half closed from the drugs. “I’ll see if I know it.”

“Is that your first guitar?” Glimmer asked as she gestured to the scraped wood. 

“Nah, that fell about years ago. This is the first real one I ever got, though. Now come on, give me a song.” 

“Okay! Uh… damn, I can’t think of anything.”

“Tell me a band.”

“Do you know anything by The Crane Wives?”

Catra raised an eyebrow as she grinned. “You like The Crane Wives?”

“Yeah, they’re amazing.”

“I fucking love them! Okay, okay, what’s a good song from them?” Catra picked out a few notes, and her grin softened into a thoughtful smirk. She shifted closer to Glimmer. “Got it.” 

The guitar in the song was fast and light, minor chords cutting through as Catra leaned into the music. Her rough voice carried the notes with harsh emotion, stirring heat and longing in Glimmer’s chest, dragging all her buried emotions to the surface. Catra closed her eyes as she sang. The lyrics lilted over her tongue, lips curling to flash her fangs as emotion poured from her. The toiling storm in her eyes clung to every verse, every refrain, growing from a pit in her heart as it pulled Glimmer into the fray. Within moments, Glimmer found herself drowning. 

As her voice faded and the final notes left the guitar, the girls found themselves so close they were nearly touching. Catra set the instrument aside. Glimmer swallowed hard and finally found her words. 

“That was beautiful,” she said. 

Catra chuckled, but her eyes didn’t smile. “It’s not meant to be beautiful. It’s a warning, if anything. Did you listen to the lyrics?” 

“I listened to your voice. That’s what’s beautiful to me.” 

Catra shifted the hand she was leaning on so her arm was behind Glimmer, their shoulders pressing together as mismatched eyes met a lilac gaze. Glimmer felt butterflies in her stomach, but Catra, on the other hand, felt her chest tighten. 

She had run into Adora earlier in the week walking through the city. They barely spoke a word, only cold greetings of each other’s names spat onto the pavement. If Adora told Glimmer about it, Glimmer hadn’t said anything. If Glimmer told Adora about any of their meetings, Catra knew she would have probably been dead within an hour of Adora finding out. 

A part of Catra wanted Adora to know, anything to piss her off. Another part felt like she was getting away with something with Adora not knowing. But above it all, every part of her wanted to be near Glimmer. 

She took a deep breath as Glimmer’s hand brushed her leg. “You know you’ve only known me for a month, right?” she asked. “I don’t trust people that fast, especially not when their friends want me dead.”

“Adora doesn’t want you dead.”

“Sparkles.” 

“Okay maybe a little but who cares? She doesn’t even know you and I are friends.” 

Catra shifted closer. “We’re friends?”

“Are we?” 

Raising her eyebrows, Catra tilted Glimmer’s chin up. “It’s your call.” 

Glimmer pressed her face against Catra’s and kissed her.

[mlovesstories]

Read and Right

YN age 21

Dean age 39

Sam age 35

Tag List

Ask Box

Masterlist of Masterlists

Warnings: description of injury and surgery, canon violence, language, fights, death

Summary: YN stops by to see the Winchesters on a case. Dean didn’t expect her kindness.

*This does not follow the canon timeline exactly.  Thanks to @sbcamp08 for the amazing beta! 

Words 5,600

“Dean, it says bacon or cheese.  Which do you want?”

“Both.”  Dean responded.

“Okay, both please.”  Sam ordered food for his brother.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean looked at the diner table instead of the waitress, ashamed.

“Thank you,” Sam gratefully complimented the waitress as she walked away.  “You’re fine, Dean.”

————-

“So, how’s the hunting?”  The Winchesters’ young friend asked Dean in the bunker.  Visiting for a few days while after a case, she stayed with the brothers.

“Kinda slow.  I’m getting anxious.  It’s good to actually visit with you though, tiny one.”  He laughed.  

“I’m not tiny!”  YN giggled in response.

“Short, feisty, smart, bark and a bite.  I wish I was like you.  Smart and all that.”

“I can see that,” YN gave her thanks, not a response Dean was not expecting. “You’re smart too, Dean.”

She saw a paper with scribbles on it near his elbow on the table.

Huh? Weird. 

“Nah.  I leave the smart stuff to other people.  I hunt.  That’s what I do.”

“You know you have to make connections and think critically to do that, right?  You’re the smartest hunter I know, Dean.  And being a hunter shouldn’t be your identity.  It’s what you do for work, that’s it.”

“Suck up,” Dean smiled but dismissed her compliment.

“Forget it, Dean.  Good night.”  YN was saddened by how he was consistently putting himself down.

“Uh- goodnight, YN.” 

—————

“‘Morning, sunshine,” Dean laughed at YN’s ratty hair.

“Shut up.  I need coffee.”  YN groaned.

“Here,” Dean poured a cup and handed it to her.

“Thanks.  You gonna read that?” She motioned to the newspaper on the island of the kitchen.

“Oh, no.”  He quickly shoved it over to her.  YN noticed the paper was opened to the crossword puzzle.  “You working on this?”

“No, you can have it.”  He winced, wanting to be as far away from it as possible.

“Okay, thanks.  You okay?”

“Yep!”  He recovered, scratching the back of his head.

“Man, these are hard!  What’s a motorized saw that goes back and forth?”  She looked quizzically at the page.

“Reciprocating.”  Dean jumped at the chance to answer.

“Dang, Dean!  Thanks!”  YN was surprised at the quick response.  “These other filled in boxes are just scribbles.”

“I need to go do- laundry.”  The male hunter tried to leave the situation quickly.

“Hey, Dean.  Did you do this?”

“No, I…” He trailed off, not thinking of a defense fast enough.

“It looks like gibberish.” She saw his face turn pale. “Can you write?”  YN looked at him with a quizzical expression.

“Umm.”  Dean paused.  YN took a beat.

He can’t write? Can he read? 

“It’s okay, Dean.”

“No, it’s not.”  He turned to face the wall.

“Turn around, Dean.” The younger hunter touched his shoulder to make him shift toward her.  He slowly followed her command.

“I never… learned.”

“Dean-“

“No,” he scooted away from her.  “It’s fine-“

“Would you like to learn?”  YN offered.  “I can try and teach you.”

He was taken aback by her lack of teasing.  Dean’s mouth was agape at her idea.

“No, I can’t.  It’s too late to teach an old dog new tricks.” Dean blinked, shrinking into himself.

“Exactly my point.  I can teach you.”

“You probably don’t have time,“ he shrugged.

“Don’t worry about that.  Don’t think about anyone else.  Do you want to learn?”

“Don’t make fun of me though!”  He snapped at her and then froze. YN could see the desperation on his innocent face.  He was giving her information he rarely told anyone.

“I would never.  Thank you for trusting me with this.  I would love to help you,” she made sure to give him a wide smile before she stood up. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

When YN returned, she carried shopping bags to the kitchen. She walked to his door and knocked. “Dean! Come with me!”

He opened the door and heard her footsteps down the hall.  Wiping his eyes from his nap, he followed the sound.

“Yeah?”  Dean turned the corner to the kitchen and saw pencils and workbooks on the kitchen table.  “No.”  He shifted on his feet when he realized what she had done.

“Dean.”  YN hopped up from the stool and ran after him. He walked swiftly down the hallway. “Stop!”  She yelled after him.

“I can’t! Okay, I just can’t.  I’m not smart, okay?”

“SMARTS HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH READING, DEAN!”  YN screamed at him. He quieted at her harsh response. “Stop saying that.  You do not get to believe that anymore,” she whispered.

“Okay.”

“Good,” YN let out a breath.  “Come on, then.”  She pivoted on her feet to enter the kitchen again.  He entered through the door frame fully before looking at the supplies on the table.  “Sit down.  I want to show you what I bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“Shut up and listen, Dean.  I know I don’t have to,” YN said calmly.  “I found these workbooks that assist with reading and writing.  There are also flash cards here for practice.”  She showed his the cover pages of the books.  The older hunter took in everything before him slowly.  

“That’s for babies!”  He pushed them all off the table. YN jumped back in surprise and shrieked, getting Dean’s attention. He froze and swallowed hard. “Sorry, YN.  I didn’t mean it, just a lot to take in is all.”

“It’s okay.  Look, we don’t have to start today.  I just wanted to show you.”

“Can’t I learn by reading bigger books?”

“We could, but it would take longer. Trust me, reading needs to be taught correctly.  If you put the work on with these, then I will make sure to find books you will like later on.”

“I don’t want to,” he sighed.

“I know.  How about this?  Since you don’t have any cases right now, if you work on it every day for the next week, I’ll stick around and clean the bunker?”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“And if you keep up with it, I will be on call for assistance.”  YN increased her offer.

“Really?”

“Well, yeah, Dean. Deal?”

“Deal.”

——

Day 1 

The next day, Dean and YN sat down to work on his academic skills. She chose to work on identification of the letters first. It was difficult for Dean.  Getting easily frustrated, he threw a flash card toward the wall. It floated to the floor not far from him.

“Gah!”

“Dean, just take a breath.  Focus on this second. I can see that you’re anxious, and that’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!  I should know how to do this!”  He gritted his teeth. Soothingly, YN told him that she knew the first day would be hard, so she would increase his work time slowly.  When he realized he couldn’t push her away with his defensiveness, he refocused.  As he practiced identifying the letters, he was able to work through it and identify a few more before they ended for the day.

“You did great, Dean!”

“I know like three letters…” he expressed his discouraged attitude. YN reassured his hard work and progress before she dismissed him for the day.

Day 2 

“Let’s review the letters you learned yesterday.”

“It’s like five letters.  I know them, let’s move on.”  Dean was already impatient.  

“Fine.  What’s this one?”  YN put a letter ‘e’ in front of him.

“Umm.  ‘D’?”  He was slow to answer, realizing he did not recognize the letter.

“Dean.  You guessed.  It’s okay that you don’t know.”

“You know what?  This is stupid.”

“Don’t care, big guy.”

“Never mind.  I don’t want to do this.  You can go home now.”

“Really, Dean?  After everything we’ve talked about? You can trust me! I’m pushing you because, yes, it’s hard, but you can do this.  You can.”

“It’s too hard.”

“The beginning is the hardest. Now, let’s sit down and do this, or I will not do your laundry.”  She grinned at her wager.

“Oh, please do it.  I hate it.”  Dean begged her, scared of her threat.

“You cannot compare yourself to other people. You don’t know how to read or write YET.  You will.  Not everyone knows how to hunt or work on cars either.  If they want to learn, they work at it, right?”  He nodded.  “So, that’s what we’re doing.  Every time you diminish yourself or your work, I’m making you tell me something you’ve done or are capable of doing that you’re proud of.”

“YN!”  He returned, frustrated.

“That’s two,” she counted.

“I’m not good at-“

“Three!”  YN said shortly.  Dean tried to fight back, but he shut his mouth when she put an index finger over her lips, signaling him to be quiet.  

“Fine.”

He became confused, switching a few letters. YN was able to work with him through his anger until he learned enough for that day.

“I’ll collect on those compliments when you’re calm and have possibly taken a nap. Go relax.”  YN was tired, but she encouraged him, showing him the emotional support that he needed.

That night as the two ate pie, YN asked for his accomplishments.

“You were serious?”

“Yeah, of course.  Come on.  Number 1.”  Dean wasted time not wanting to answer. “Dean, how about I give you options?”

“Umm.  Okay?”

“Number One’s options are: your ability to learn new skills quickly, your amazing protection and devotion to family, or rebuilding Baby?”

He thought for a minute before saying, “Sammy.  I will always protect him.”

“Good!  Nice work.  Okay, next one.”  YN continued her prompting until the three things were acknowledged.  “How do you feel?”

“Kinda funny, but I know those things are true.”

“You have great qualities, Dean.”

“Thanks.”  He offered a small, grateful smile.

——————

Day 3 

“Wow! Thanks for all the bacon!”  Dean looked at his breakfast plate.

“You’re going to have a heart attack.”  Sam rolled his eyes.

“Stop, Sam.  Dean did great work yesterday.  It should be rewarded, don’t you think?”

“With a heart attack? Weird, but sure.”  He chuckled.

“Not what she meant, bitch.”  Dean deadpanned.

“Sorry,” Sam quietly chuckled.

“He’s doing great.  Leave him alone, sprout.”  YN rebutted to Sam playfully.  “Once breakfast is done, will you be ready to practice your letters?” She turned toward Dean.

“If we have to…” he dragged out the last word in pseudo defiance.

“Smartass.”

“Every time,” he winked at her.

———-

“What’s this?”

“H”

“Awesome.”  YN smiled.  “We learned that one yesterday, and you remembered!  Good job, dude!”

“Yeah, but-.”

“You owe me a compliment for yourself.”

“Ugh, YN!”

“You wanna make it two?”  She was stern but not mean.

“No.  I should have said thank you. Sorry.”

“Look, my goal for you is to have these memorized by the time I leave at the end of the week. We are ten letters in and have 5 days left which includes today.  Let’s do this.  We got this.”  YN beamed.

“Do I though?”

“You can totally conquer this, yes.”

“What happens when you leave?”

“Let’s not worry about that right now.  Besides, I still have to clean this pigsty.”  YN giggled.

“It’s not THAT dirty, small fry.”

“Keep believing that, Pig Pen.”

————

Day 4

“I’m not cleaning this damn bunker if you keep throwing a fit, Dean.”

“I don’t remember though!”

“So don’t guess! Just tell me, and I will help you!”  YN groaned back at him.  “I want you to practice the other letters alone for a second.  I need a minute.  Excuse me.”  Not wanting to become angry, she left the room to refocus so that she could model positive coping skills.  Dean picked up the cards and flipped through them. The younger one walked into her guest room and crashed on the bed.

Come on, Dean. You got this. Stop degrading yourself.  You’re smart. Why can’t you see that? 

After a few minutes, YN took a breath and stood up. When she opened her door, Dean was sitting against the wall on the floor across the hall.

“What-“

“Look, I’m an ass.  I know.  I’m sorry,” Dean apologized. YN took a beat before crossing the hallway and sitting next to him.

“I’m going to tell you something that NO ONE knows.  Okay?”

“Oh, secrets. Do tell.”  Dean nudged her playfully.

“I’m serious.” Dean saw her expression change.  “I couldn’t read for a long time either.”

“Really?”  His eyes as wide as saucers.

“Yep.  It was awful.  Same story as you.  Moved around with Dad too much for me to really learn.”

“Who taught you to read?”  Dean was curious.

“Bobby,” she answered him.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Yep.  I offered to pay him so that I could stay with him after Dad died, but he said that I needed to learn to read as a type of payment.  So he taught me.”

“Wow!  And no one knew?  Dang.”

“Nope.”

She went on to tell him how she didn’t adjust to being instructed well, but Bobby wouldn’t give up on her.  YN reiterated her encouragement to Dean. He wasn’t alone, and she understood his frustration, but he was the smartest person she knew.  She respected him, and YN didn’t want him to feel limited or ashamed for being illiterate anymore.

“I get it.  It just takes so much time.”  Dean put his head in his hands.  

“You know who inspired me to read?”

“Your dad?”

“No,” she acknowledged. “You.”

“What? Why me?”

“You’re like my older brother.  You’ve known me since I was eight and my dad made friends with you on that wendigo case. I remember you teaching me about cars and self-defense. Everything you do, you’re good at.  Or you practice until you’re good at it.  I’ve wanted to be exactly like you ever since I met you.  And Sam too.  You guys are definitely a pair.”  YN complimented the boys.  

“Wow.  I didn’t know that.  Well, you’re pretty cool too, kid.”

“Ha. Thanks.  You ready to get back at it?”

“If we have to.” He laughed.

“Oh, shut up,” YN rolled her eyes.

—————-

Day 7 

“Sam!”  YN called for the younger Winchester. When he arrived in the kitchen, he saw Dean smiling. “Watch this.”  She quizzed Dean on the entire alphabet in order.  He named every one of them correctly, and he was able to recite the alphabet without assistance.  When Dean finished, he looked over at Sam. The younger Winchester had tears in his eyes.  He ran to YN and gave her an engulfing hug.  

“I can’t thank you enough.  This is amazing.”  Quickly, he let go of her and pulled Dean into him. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” After a moment of silent appreciation, Dean asked, “Anyone want a beer?”

—————

“Thank you for cleaning.  You are making good on your promise.”  Dean met YN’s eyes.

“You kept yours.  I gotta keep mine.  When are you going to start the workbooks?” She asked

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I trust you. No one knows but you, Sam and Bobby.  Can you stay?  I mean, stay and teach me? I still have to actually learn to read now and write too. I’ll be good, I promise.”  He gave a sly grin.

“I need to hunt, Dean.  I want to help, but-“  She was afraid it would destroy their rapport but she had been ignoring Garth’s calls for hunts.

“That’s also why I wanted to bring this up.  You want to hunt with us?  That way we can do this on the road?  I need your help.”

“Really?” After a few seconds, she took a breath.  “I hadn’t thought about it, but sure.”  

“And could you clean the bunker more?  You keep it so nice.”

“You just want me to stay so that your tighty whiteys get washed!”  YN faked offense. “Yes, I will stay, you dweeb.”

————-

A Few Months Later 

The Winchesters and YN traveled to a small town in Ohio for a case. At a diner, YN prompted Dean to read the menu.

“E-ggs. Oh. Eggs.”

“Good.  The next one is harder, but sound it out.”

“Ba, Bac-on. Backon.”

“Nice job sounding it out.  There is no food called backon though. Try to think of what delicious goodness usually comes with eggs.”

“Bay-con, eggs and bacon!”  He beamed from ear to ear.  YN had never seen him smile so widely.  

“Yes!”  She gave him a high five.

“You can’t read ‘eggs and bacon’?  A waitress walked up to the table. Dean's eyes went wide and his face turned red.

“Excuse me.”  Dean tried to get out of the booth, but YN wouldn’t move. She put her hand on his chest to stop him.

“Look, lady, I don’t know who raised you, but they obviously don’t teach you manners.  This guy,” she pointed to Dean, “helped raise me.  He taught me to treat others with respect, no matter what.  You should learn that.  Your attitude is indelicate. We request that waitress over there or we’ll blast this restaurant’s service all over Yelp.  You understand me?” YN gave a guttural, protective sound with her statement.

The waitress let her jaw drop. Quickly she ran into the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Dean thanked YN.

“Yes, I did. You’re practicing a skill.  She had no right to do that.  So, what do you want to eat?”

“Flapjacks- and lots of bacon.”

—————-

“You’ve learned to write A through M! That’s amazing, Dean.  Let me see!”  YN complimented him via computer video chat. Dean held up his paper where she could easily see lowercase letters covering the page.  They were fairly recognizable, and she was so proud of him.

“When are you coming back?”  Dean wanted his study buddy at the bunker.

“Garth said we’re almost done.  Besides, your cold should give you plenty of time to practice before Sam and I get back.  Probably a day and a half.”

“But I need my people,” Dean whined.

“You’re just a big baby.”  YN giggled. “The man-cold is real to you, isn’t it, Dean?” YN folded over in uncontrollable laughter.  

“No!”  He snapped back, defensive.

“Okay, okay.  Onto the next subject.  Look, I swiped your alphabet cards so that we could practice together while I was gone.  You ready for a review?”  YN raised a brow.

“YN!  I know the letters! I’m writing them.”  Dean complained.

“Okay then.  What’s this?”  She showed him the letter ‘q’, realizing he still had trouble with that one.

“Okay, I’m sorry.  I don’t know.”

“This is the letter ‘q’, Dean.  This is why we review.  Everyone does.  You consistently train to fight, right?”  She made eye contact. He agreed. “See? Same thing.  Only this is for reading and writing.”

“I understand.”

They practiced recognizing letters again before YN taught him to write the letter ‘N’.

“Okay, got your pencil?”  YN looked at Dean through the camera.

“Yep.”

“To start the letter, you begin with a straight line going down vertically to the bottom.  Next, a diagonal line from the top of the first line down to the bottom line.  Like this.”  She showed him her work as an example.  “Then go to the top and make a straight line down so that it touches the diagonal line.  All done.”  She smiled.  “Let’s see.”  He turned his paper to her. “Oh my gosh.  Dean!  That’s awesome!  Okay.  I want you to write it fifty times or until it looks consistent.  If you need examples, look through your workbooks, okay?”

“Fifty times?!”

“I can make it 100 if you want.”  She grinned slyly.

“Fine, I’m going! Goodnight, YN.”  Dean thanked her without using words.

“See you soon, Dean.”

————

“Dean!”  Sam yelled for his older brother in an urgent manner.  As Dean walked quickly into the entry room, he saw Sam holding YN in his arms. “She got shot.” Dean’s eyes went wide.  “Help me carry her downstairs and lift her onto a table?”  Sam requested.  “I hurt my hand.” 

“Oh, YN.  Yeah.”  He ran up the steps to take her from Sam. Semi-unconscious, she leaned into his body. “I got you, kid.”  He placed her onto the table before lifting her shirt so that he could view the bullet wound in her abdomen. “Ah, crap. Okay, Sam, go get cleaned up. I’ll take care of her.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

He turned his attention to YN as Sam left for the shower.

“Oh, sweetheart.  I’ve got you.”  He focused on the entry wound, seeing the metal piece right under her skin.  He carefully used some alcohol to clean the injury area and the tools before digging out the bullet. YN stirred but did not wake because of his homemade antibiotic.  When he was finished, he bandaged her stomach.  Carefully, he carried her to her bed.  “Goodnight, YN.”

—————

When Dean woke up the next morning on the floor of YN’s room, he heard, “Dean?” at a whisper.

“Hey, YN.  You okay, sweetheart?”

“Did you practice your writing while we were gone?” She whispered to him.

“Don’t worry about that right now.  Just rest.  Are you okay?  Do you hurt?”

“My abs.  What happened?”

—————

“No, you’re not sitting at the table with me.  You are resting. Resting in your bed.  I will bring my workbooks in here.”

“But, Dean!  It’s been two days!  I will go crazy.”

“You already are.  Now stay.”  Dean smiled to himself at his joke and turned and left her sulking on her bed.  He soon came back with his workbooks. “I practiced my ‘n’s’.  They look okay, see?”  He handed her his workbook.

“What the hell, Dean?”

“What?!”

“This is the best work you’ve done!”  YN beamed.

“Oh.” He ducked his head. “Thanks.”

“You should be proud, big guy.  You ready to start the ‘o’s’?”

“Yep!”  Dean settled on the floor to start his lesson. A few minutes later, he became angered. “Mine looks nothing like the book’s!”

“Dean, look at me.”  He turned to face her.  “This letter is one is the hardest to learn.  Don’t beat yourself up.  Either take a break or breathe and continue, but no bad thoughts.  You can do this.”  Dean sighed and looked back at his paper.  After some more practice, his letters became more consistent. “Good job, Dean.  Looks great.  I don't feel good.”  YN looked pale.  Dean grabbed a trash can and handed it to her.  She coughed hard, but didn’t throw up. When YN took a deep breath, she motioned for her water bottle on the desk.  Dean handed it to her.

“Let’s be done for today.  You rest.  I’ll go practice at the table.  Sleep well, YN.”

—————

“What the hell are you doing out of bed?”  Dean asked as he entered YN’s room.

“Bathroom.  Can you walk me there?”

“Oh.  Sure.  You feeling better?”

“Weak, but yeah.”  The two walked toward the restroom.  

“I’ll make you some lunch to get some food in you.”

“Chips and salsa?” She grinned, knowingly trying to manipulate him.

“Hell no. Not on your weak stomach.  We’ll start with toast.  Nice try, though.”  Dean let go of her when they reached the bathroom. He waited until the door opened to walk her back to her bed.

“Can I lay on the couch? I hate being alone in there. Please?”

“Fine, But you’re going to be horizontal, got it?”

“Yes, King McGrumpy Squirrelpants.”  YN couldn’t hold back her laughter.

“You know what, kid, you’re a handful.  Come on.”  He escorted her to the couch where she maneuvered herself to a flat position.  “Thank you.”  He bowed, silly.

“You’re an idiot.  But you’re welcome.”  YN waved her hand, dismissing him from his bow.

————-

“I don’t want to! Can’t we have a day off?”  Dean displayed his displeasure for writing his letters.

“Get your stuff, come on.”

“Ugh.  Tyrant.”  Dean growled.

“I love you too, Dean,” YN laughed uncontrollably. Dean grumbled as he exited the living room and came back with his work. “Okay, we’re on ‘s’, dude! Can you believe that?”

“Only a million to go,” he huffed.

“One.”

“No! No compliments!”  Dean groaned.

“Then don’t belittle how far you’ve come.”

“But I want to be done!”

“Two.”

“Gah!”

“Okay. Okay, breathe.  Don’t worry about that right now.  Give me my whiteboard.” He handed it to her. As they practiced, he didn’t feel his letters were becoming any better. “Dean.  I need you to relax.  It’s hard, but just focus on one letter at a time.”

Slowly, Dean started to feel as if his work was paying off for the day.

“Okay, Dean.  All done for today.  I need a nap.”

“I’ll keep practicing.”

“No, Dean.  All done.  If you don’t take breaks, you’ll resent learning.”  

“Ha! Already do.”  Dean grinned.  “Thanks, kid.”

—————-

As the three hunted, Dean continued to grasp reading and writing.  Learning the letters as well as the sounds, he became determined to finish the alphabet.

“Here.  Read this.”  YN tossed Dean a paperback book called Nan and Fran, underline an easy reader.

“A book?” Dean’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, you’re almost done with the alphabet.  We have to practice putting all of the sounds together.”

“I’m not ready though.”  He looked at his shoes.

“Nonsense. Come on.  Read.  First page.”

He rolled his eyes and opened the book.  Dean looked up at YN, begging her with his eyes, scared.

“Dean. I mean it.  You’re ready.  It’s scary, but it’s a good thing.” YN gave a reassuring smile.

He took a deep breath and looked down at the first page.

“Nuh, Na, Nan,”  He grunted in near defeat.

“Good, keep going.”

“Nan an-d Fr-, Fra-n, Fran r-a-n.” He completed the sentence.

“Okay, now read it all together.”

“Nan and Fr- Fran ran,” Dean stated more confidently.  He beamed.  YN punched him in the arm.

“DEAN! That’s so good!  Okay, keep going.”

—————

2 Months Later

“I bought you a gift for your birthday, Dean.”  YN excitedly bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Here.”  She walked to him and handed him the bag.  He squinted at the wrapping paper.  When he moved it out of the way, he saw it.

“No way!”  Dean grinned at YN. “You got me a chapter book?”

“Of course.  You’ve worked hard.  You’ll like it.”

“Thank you, YN!”  Dean stood from his chair and engulfed her in a giant hug

“You’re welcome, Dean.  You deserve it.  It’s a great book.  It’s about this princess who finds her fairytale knight-“

“No, YN! Please, no.”  He whined.

“I’m just kidding, dweeb.  It’s about a spy.”

Dean gratefully grinned. “Awesome!  Hey Sammy!”  Dean walked into the next room, “I got a chapter book!” YN heard him exclaim to his brother.

“That’s amazing, Dean! You earned it, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

She smirked at their loving insults.

————-

“Hey, Bobby,” YN smiled as she entered his house. Dean and Sam followed behind.  They ate dinner soon after arrival, tired and hungry. When dinner and dishes were done, YN told Dean he needed to read his book.

“How did you get him to read like that?’”  Bobby pulled YN aside, observing Dean with an open book on the couch.

“Same as you taught me. Lots of practice.  And fighting and a little incentive,”  YN gave a chuckle.  

“Sounds like father like daughter.”

“Huh?”  She quizzically tilted her head.  Bobby’s mouth dropped at his own statement. “Wait, what?”

“Nothing. Dinner’s ready.”  Bobby tried to leave the area, but she yelled his name.  Everyone turned.

“Bobby, what are you talking about?”  YN asked as he walked away.  “Who is he talking about?”  She looked to Sam and Dean.

“What?”  The older Winchester looked at her having missed the conversation.

“What did he mean? Like father, like daughter? You and I are not related.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  He played dumb, but she saw the blood drain from his face.

“So it’s true? And to think I trusted you all!”  YN stomped out of the house, got into one of Bobby’s operable vehicles, and drove off.

“BOBBY!”  Dean yelled, angry at the older hunter.

—————-

“Hey, Jody.”  YN greeted her as Jody opened her front door.

“Hey, YN!  What are you-“. The sheriff pushed open her screen door to see red, puffy eyes.  “What happened?”

“I was staying with- the boys-“ she sniffled, “and we are visiting Bobby, but he said, he said that Dean is my dad!” YN ran into Jody’s arms.

“What?”  Jody let that sink in.  “Okay, come here.”

YN held onto Jody until she stopped crying on the couch.

“You ready to tell me what happened?”  Jody leaned away from her. YN nodded.  She took a deep breath.

“Bobby said something about being ‘like father like daughter’, meaning me and Dean.  Then, he froze. I saw Dean and his face went white. I knew after that.  I don’t remember the rest though. Somehow I made my way here.  Did you know about this?”

“No, sweetheart.  I didn’t, but I’m sure they had good reason.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“I know, but I had to try.”

————-

“Really?”  Jody elevated her voice at the men.

“It was to keep her safe!” Dean argued back, motioning to YN.

“Yeah, well, now my fake dad is dead and my real one is a coward!  I had a right to know!”  YN screamed at Dean.

“Hate me if you want, but it was for your own good, I promise,” he whispered. “Excuse me,” He ducked his head and tried to leave the conversation when YN slid in front of him and body blocked him.

“Just sit down.”  She growled.  He backed away and sat on the couch.  Everyone’s eyes widened.  

“Sam, Bobby,” Jody nodded toward the door.  “They need a minute. As the three left, YN walked over to Dean. He started to look up at her, but she slapped him on the face.  He opened his mouth to stretch the now reddened skin.

“I deserved that,” he whispered.

“Hell yeah, you did. Explain to me why you didn’t raise me and why you kept it a damn secret!”

“YN, your dad was a friend of mine when I found out I was going to be a father. He wasn’t into hunting at the time, and he and your mom wanted to have kids, so-“ He was interrupted.

“So you shipped me off?  And you stayed away? Until I was eight, Dean?  You didn’t even want to help me after he died I was fifteen!”

“To keep you safe! He got into hunting because of your mom’s death after you were born and but you were already being taken care of by him.  He had to protect you.  I couldn’t waltz in and take over, that wouldn’t have been right.”

“Damnit, Dean. Anything else you want to add?”  YN huffed.  “Was I a mistake?”

“What?  No.  Of course not.  We just had to look out for you.”

“Okay, so who’s my real mom?”

“She was the longest girlfriend I ever had.  She was amazing.  You look just like her.”

“What’s her name?  Is she still alive?”

“Her name was Esmeralda, but I called her Ezzy.  No, she isn’t.  Sorry, sweetie.” He pulled her to sit next to him.  

“Oh. My-“. She put her head in her hands.

“It’s a lot, I know.”  Dean rubbed her back.

Tears ending over, she wiped them away with her fingertips. “So, hunting?”

“Yeah, that’s what took her from me.  Look, that’s a conversation for another time, but just know I love you.  I always have.” He pulled her into him lovingly.

“Gah, Dean.  I can’t- I just- it’s too much.”  YN stood up.  

“It’s a lot. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have changed my decision though. He was a better father than I would have been.”

“I need a minute,” YN swiftly left the room and ran up the stairs.  

———-

An hour later Jody sat with Dean in Bobby’s living room.  “She still not talking to you?”  

“Up in her room.  Won’t come out.”  Dean put his head in his hands.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.  Jody, I-  she wasn’t supposed to find out.”

“But she did, Dean.  Blame it all on whatever you want, but your little girl is confused and lost.  Don’t let her get in her own head or you’ll lose her.”  Jody sat across from him.

“He already did,” YN suddenly walked down the stairs.  “And to think you were my hero.”  She eyed Dean. “I helped you, damnit!  Forget it, don’t call me and ask for any more.”

“YN-” Dean started.

“No.  You ripped my heart out and then stomped on it with your big, bad, hunter boot.  I need some time.”  YN threw her backpack over her shoulder.  “I’m staying with Jody for a while.”

“Please don’t.  I promise I will-”

“Your promises do not have any weight right now, Dean.  I need to think, and I can’t with you so close.”  YN frowned.

“Kid, do you hate me?”

“Can we go, Jody?”  YN ignored his question.

“Sure, YN.”  Jody stood, but stopped movement when Dean stood as well and crossed his arms.

“You knew about this?”  He looked at Jody.  “She and I need to figure this out.”

“Dean, don’t.”  YN rolled her eyes.  “I’m leaving.”

“Stop.  We need to talk about this,” Dean tried to put a hand up to block her.

“When you can write me an apology letter, let me know.  It will probably take you a while, asshole.  Bobby can help you with the rest of it, but he won’t be as nice as I was. Bye, Dean.”

YN walked out of the house and slammed the screen door.

Forever Friends (Everything):

@supernatural-crazed-girl

@katymacsupernatural  

@unicornblood4ever  

@ellie-andthemachine

@fangirl-moment-x  

@empirialwolf

@winchesters-favorite-girl  

@super100012  

@waywardnewcomer  

@percywinchester27  

@waywardsuns  

@supernatural-jackles  

@mcallmestiles

@mandyreese

@sdavid09  

@kingandrear  

@bellero

@rosie-winchester​​

@seality​​​​

@blogsnowflakeme​​

@jaycc7983​​

@luci-in-trenchcoats​​

@cherryblossom1997​

@because-you-never-know-when

@lauren-novak

@sleepylunarwolf

@fainthearteddaisy

@choosemyname

@internationalmusicteacher

@mersuperwholocked-lowlife

@find-sammys-shoe

@encounterthepast

@spn-tw-37

@torn-and-frayed

@mysticinternetstrawberry

@giggles1026

@xiumin-girl99

@bertiemaklinn

@strangedeerconnoisseur

@probably-s00n-to-be-deleted

@sbcamp08

[dealersofatlanta]

Part 1: Chapter 4

2013: May 3rd

Ace: age 21

“Nah, make that shit happen. I don’t care how yall do it, just get it done. Yall playing I’ll take them niggas out myself if yall punk asses can’t do it!” I yelled on the phone with my homies Dom and Tyrel. Jade looked over at me. We was sitting at the dinning room, she was writting down shit in her journal. After I saved her from Davis, I took her in, made sure she had a car. Taught her how to drive, how to shoot, defend herself just in case anything happens to me. She went from being my fraile scared Jade to a bad bitch. I taught her what do if anybody came after us, and shit. She know how to kill and take anybody down. That’s my baby. “Sorry baby, business” She nodded. “What you writting?” I asked coming over to her. I kissed on her face. She giggled. “Another song about you” She said. I smiled. “Ah shit not another one” I said rolling my eyes playfully. My text tone went off on my iphone. It was this hoe named La-La. “Business again?” She asked. I quickly nodded. “Yeah, Ima be home late” I told her. She sighed. “This the 3rd time this week, I told you I needed you to come to my open mic night tonight” She stressed to me. “I got work to do, you don’t shit. I got to make sure we straight and protect our home J, shit stop trippin bruh” I said. She got up from the table, and flicked me off. “Fuck you Ace, I don’t do shit, cause you don’t want me to work nigga!” She stomped upstairs. I went into the basement to pick out what gun I wanted to carry today. I ain’t mean to snap at her. She knew I had a bad temper. I had a way with my words, she been knowing this. I went back upstairs. Jade was rushing downstairs with her purse, and keys. “Aye yo where you going?” I asked. She had on a beanie with some booty shorts an tank top, and timbs. “Out nigga” She snapped. “Nah not in them little bitty ass shorts” I snapped. She laughed at me. “J! Im serious” I said sternly. She stuck her middle finger up at me again. “Man, fuck her” I said to myself. I grabbed my keys, and headed out to, setting the alarm before I left.

I head over to the WestSide of Atlanta to see La-La. I had been knowing La-La for a minute. We was fucking around when I first got out of jail. She cool, and we fuck from time to time. She keep an eye out for me on the streets. She like my side bitch, but Jade always will come before her. I knocked on her door. “I ain’t think you would come, with wifey at home and shit” She said to me. I rolled my eyes. “I come over to fuck and to hear whats been going on that’s it keep My shawty out of this” I said. She nodded and started unbuckling my pants.

Afterwards, I laid in the bed smoking a blunt with La-La. “So whats been going on?” I asked her. “Rico, been running his mouth about killing off everybody in the Ace of Spades gang. He trying to take Omari spot anf Jackalls on the eastside” She said. I laughed. “They aint bout to do shit” I said. I passed her the blunt. “Thats all I know for now” She said. I nodded. “Thanks, you a real one” I kissed her. She smiled. “You want something to eat?” She asked. I nodded. “Yeah what you bout to cook? Noodles?” I asked. She smiled. “Shut up, you love me food” She said. I nodded. “True” I said. I went to get in the shower.

Jade: age 20

I sat watching my friend Mia reciting a poem by Mya Angelou. I was nervous, my leg was shaking. “Give it up for Mia Abrams” I stood up and clapped for her. She excitedly got off the stage. “Now give it up for an aspiring singer Jade Marie, singing a cover JoJo- Keep On Keepin On”. I drank some water from my water bottle, and walked up to the stage. I was nervous as hell. I closed my eyes as the song started.

https://youtu.be/EaYCAZuSpPM (Its also on playlist)

Ooooh-ooohh

hey-yeeeah

You got to keep on keepin on

You got to keep your head up high

You gotta work with what you've got

And someday you will flyyyyy

Poor kids pouring cold water in their cereal

Second hand clothes

Surviving is pivotal

Praying to God at night

That things'll get better soon

I remember when I was in your position

Tried to tell people my story

But no one would really listen

I know times are hard right now

Happiness is hard to find right now

You got to keep on keepin on

You got to keep your head up high

You gotta work with what you've got

And someday you will flyyyyy

You got to keep on keepin on

You got to keep your head up high

You gotta work with what you've got

And someday you will flyyyyy

Lookin out the window to a rose grows in concrete

Dreamin' of the day when you'll be standing on your own feet

Hard to find the good in such a scene so bad (so so sad)

Seein other kids with their Tims on

Fresh with Air Ones, wish I had one

Longin' for a day when you get your chance to shine

Don't worry, there'll come a tiiiiiiime

Young girl sittin' on the steps of her duplex (mmmm)

Why did God choose to make my life so complex

Breathing to the beat of a slow, sad drum

Trouble is her only source of fun

I can almost guarantee you

It'll get better soooooon

After the song ended everyone started clapping. I opened my eyes smiling. “That was amazing Jade Marie everybody” I waved and quickly walked off stage. “See and you were nervous for nothing” Mia said. I laughed. “ I know”. She looked around. “Where’s your man?” She asked. I put on a smile. “He had to work” I told her. She nodded. “Hey my name is Marcus Gardener, I’m a producer in Atlanta, your performance was really good, you have a innocent star quality to you I would like to work with you... is that okay?” He asked. I nodded. “Yes! Yes I mean sure no problem, I will give you my number” I told him. He smiled and nodded. “Girl he was fine” Mia said. I rolled my eyes. “Yes but Im taken” She sucked her teeth in. “Shit then hook me up!” She said. We headed out and went to waffle house, then I headed home. Ace wasn’t home when I got home. It was 1:15 am. I sighed when I walked in. He was notorious for sometimes being gone being in the streets all night. I went upstairs and got settled in, before I could get in I called him to see where he was at. He answered the phone. “Ace where you at?” I asked. He didn’t answer I just heard moaning on the other end. “Ace!?” I yelled. I quickly hung up the phone. I was trying to keep my shit together. I took a shower and got out and I started crying. I couldn’t believe that someone I fully trusted had did this to me. I hesistated calling on if I should call Mia but I called someone else. “Hello?” I heard Omari say. “Hey O, um can I stay over there for awhile?” I asked. “Ace okay? It’s 2am suh you good?” He said. I started crying. “Can I please, I caught Ace cheating and I have no where to go” I cried. He sighed. “Aight I got you” He said. I packed some of my shit and quickly left the house. Omari had 3 houses. He luckly was at the one 15minutes from Ace crib. I pulled into his gates and drove up the drive way. I got out my G- Wagon. Omari was waiting for me at the door. “Hey J” He said hugging me. His girlfriend Naomi was sitting on the staircase. “Hey JJ” She said I softly smiled. They let me stay in the guest house. “Ima get the nigga Ace straight believe that aight. Here’s some xanax man hopefully you can sleep” He said before walking out.

When I woke up the next morning. I got up , and seen I had alot of messages from Ace.

I got up and washed my face before walking into the other house. I seen Ace car outside. I opened the back door into the house. “Man! I fucked up I know!” I heard Ace yelling. Naomi was sitting on the bar stool looking at me. “Well I was hoping you wasn’t going to walk into this” She said. “She been through alot! Why would you get with her to put her through more shit, you always fucking up Ace!” I heard Omari yell. “Oh yeah thats me Ace the fuck up! Man fuck that shit im out!” Ace yelled. “You always walk away Ace, come fix this shit” Omari yelled. Ace walked into the kitchen and looked at me. “J, come out with me real quick” He said. I looked away from him. “Im good Ace” I said to him. “J baby please” He stressed. I got up and went to the guest house door he followed me. “J, I was just fucking her thats it. I don’t love her, like I love you” He stressed. I looked at him and I walked back into the house and closed the door. He banged on the door for a minute. “Ima stay out here all day, all week all month J. I can’t live without you” He said outside the door. Jade don’t open that door I thought to myself. I put my hand on the handle, then took it off. He kept knocking on the door. I took another pill to knock me out. I took pride in listening to him bang and plead outside, I fell asleep listening to Trey Songs “Smartphones”. I woke up to hearing glass break. I got up quickly and seen Ace at the door with his hand bleeding. “Are you crazy!?” I yelled. He had blood leaking from his hand. “Don’t leave me! I need you!” He stressed. His face was red, I can tell he been crying. “Im soo sorry. I’ma come to your music shit, ima take you all over the world. Give me one more chance J baby” He said. I grabbed the first aid kit under the kitchen sink. I washed his hand off and wrapped it up, after putting peroxide on it. He grabbed my face and kissed me, I couldn’t resist him so I kissed him back. I pulled him back. “Ace, if you do this again. I will never forgive you” I said to him. He nodded. “I ain’t fucking up again”.

2months later: July 30th 2013

Omari: age 27

Naomi and I were doing a wedding registry in Neiman Marcus. We had been together for 2 years and I was certain she was it. After the 1st year, I introduced her to my lifestyle. I was scared she would run but she slowly accepted it. She begged me to quit, but then asked me to show her my world. Ace, X and I agreed the women in our lives needed to be protected. I had Naomi trained with Mackel, and X taught her the business, I showed her around. She learned pretty face, after that I wanted to make her my Queen fast. I know it was wrong for me to steal my homies girl but Teej was in jail, and they wasn’t even that serious. “Ooh baby, this is nice. Im adding this” She said. I nodded. “Whatever you want” I spoiled her like no other. I had her leave her job, finish school paying off her tuition. I got her 2 cars. She wanted a Range Rover, and A Merceedes. We was getting married soon, only 3 weeks away.

3 weeks later: August 13th 2013

Naomi: age 24

“You sure?” I asked Doctor O’hara. “Yeah, two heart beats” She said. I looked at the monitor again. “Thats not my heart beat and the baby’s?” I asked. She laughed, and shook her head. “No that’s definitely two babies in there” She said to me. I sighed. Omari is going to fucking flip his shit. “Can I get those to go?” I asked. She nodded. “Sure”. I had been knowing I was pregnant for a while, but wanted to keep it lowkey because of the wedding. I grabbed my evenlope from the doctors and left the building and got into my car. I took out the evenlope and looked at my ultrasound pictures. “Twins?, man what the fuck?” I said out loud. I put the pictures away, I started my car and drove to the venue. I was getting married in 24hours. “Naomi where have you been? We been looking all over for you!” My bestfriends Teddy and Keisha said. The grabbed me and brought me inside. I seen they had through me a mini party. “We bought to get fucked up!” Teddy screamed. My mom was throwing back shots with my aunt Kiki. “Come on drink Mimi!” Teddy yelled. I shook my head. “I dont want to be hungover at my wedding” I lied. Teddy sighed. “Take one shot” He said. I shook my head. He grabbed me into the bathroom in the hotel room of Chataue Elan. “Bitch are you knocked up?” He said. I sighed, and started crying. “Yesss, and Im having twins” I cried. Teddy was in shock. “Bitch what?” He said. I nodded. “I went to the doctors today, Im 13 weeks pregnant, and its 2 babies Teddy, 2 fucking kids at the same time, like what the fuck!” I cried. He snatched my shot out my hand and chugged it. “Honey, Congradulations I guess babies are a blessing. God ain’t giving you nothing you can’t handle” He said to me. I nodded slowly. Teddy didn’t understand. Im marrying Atlantas top organized drug dealer, who has hits on him at the moment then on top of that! Im pregnant with two babies! Twin babies. Like God I see what your doing, Im very blessed but now I’m overwhelmed. I groaned. “I need to see O” I stressed. Teddy shook his head. “He is having his bachelor party wait till tomorrow” He said. I nodded, he brought me back out to the party. “Ima fix you some food” He said. Keish came up to me. “You good?” I nodded. I didn’t want everyone knowing when my baby daddy/husband didn’t even know yet. Teddy passed me a plate of Rotel, and Fried Fish. I inhaled the fish and my stomach turned. I quickly put the plate down and ran to the bathroom to throw up. I heard a knock at the door and seen Jade. I opened the door for her. “You okay Naomi?” She asked. I started crying again. She got a towel and wet it, passing it to me while rubbing my back. “Is it like them wedding jitters or whatever?” She asked. I shook my head. “Im um Im having a baby” I said. She smiled widely. “Oh my gosh congrats girl” She said. I shook my head. “Im not happy about it” I told her. She shrugged. “Why not?” She asked. “Getting married is one thing but im marrying into the game, now you want me to put my babies at risk too?” I said. Her eyes widened. “Twins?” She asked. I nodded. “Well I been knowing Ace since I was 13, and I been around the game so much I got used to the ins and the outs, and you knew O was down when you fell for him, you knew the risk, the one thing you should know is them niggas aint going to ever let shit happen to us or the people they love, yall got this you good” She told me. I wiped my face. “You right” I said. Teddy busted into the bathroom with my mom. Teddy looked at me and sighed. “This is killing my high, I mean my buzz” He said. He walked out the bathroom. “Mimi you good?” She asked. I nodded.

After I threw up, I went to sleep in Jade’s room, since Ace was going to be with O all night. I didn’t want to ruin the mini bachelorette they through me so I just left them to party while I got some sleep. I woke up to my alarm, letting me know it was time to get dressed. My nerves were shot. I been throwing all morning, and crying. “Mimi fucking chill!” Keisha yelled annoyed. “Man fuck this” I got up with my hair pincurled and my make up done. I had on a robe and slippers. I left my make up stylist room and went down to Omaris floor. I heard Rich As Fuck by Lil Wayne blasting. I banged on the door. “Yooo wazzam sis” Ace said. His breath smelled like henny. “Um its bad luck Naomi” X said. I waved him off. “I need to talk to you” I said to O. He looked at me crazy and nodded. He grabbed my hand, and lead me to the balcony. “You look beautiful, but I aint supposed to see you right now, whats up baby, you bout to dip on a nigga?” He asked. I shook my head. “Uhhh I been scared to tell you this but I wanted to say something before the wedding” I said fiddling with my fingers. “What? Baby just say that shit” He said. “Im pregnant” I said. He stepped back a little. “Since when?” He asked. I rolled my eyes. “Since 13 weeks ago nigga! Im pregnant okay, 13 weeks to be exact” I said. He wiped his hand across his face. “Aight okay thats cool, its all good baby” He simply said. I shook my head, and handed him a picture. “Whats this the baby?” He asked analyzing the picture. “Babies and yes” I simply said. He looked at me then the picture, “Babies?” He asked. I nodded and put up the number 2. “Twins” I said. He quickly walked back in and snatched the henny bottle from Ace and started downing the liquor. “Twins!” He yelled. I sighed and nodded. “O please dont make a scene” I calmly stated. He walked back over to me. “So look, we going to figure this out just please get ready so I can marry your beautiful ass, my fucking baby mama” He said to me kissing me. I smiled at him. I nodded and left to go back up to my suite to get dressed. “OMG nigga! We thought you ran, you got 30minutes come on!” Keisha panicked.

X age 18:

“So you want this type of wedding one day or nah?” I asked Heiress. She smiled at me as we danced. “Something quiet, intimate” She simply said. “I can deal with that” I said smiling. She looked at me. “Are you insinuating that you want to marry me Xander Domonic Knight?” She asked. “Ehhhh maybe” I said. She laughed at me. “I love a man that knows what he wants” She simply said. We were dancing to “Must be nice” by Lyfe Jennings. “Okay man, let me go ahead and give this toast” Ace said clickling on Wine Glass. “First off I want to thank my baby J, for being there for me regardless, and to my big bruh, you my nigga man Im happy you found a bitch to hold you down” Ace said. Naomi awkwardly smiled, O shook his head and laughed. The older people shook they head at his speech. “Uh thanks bruh” O said. I tapped on my glass I grabbed off a table. “Uh thanks for that speech Ace., uh Naomi thank you for being down with O, and being a real one by his side, he’s a great dude. An amazing big brother and we love yall and wish yall nothing but love”. O and Naomi lifted their glasses. “Thank yall” Naomi said. O stood up. “I want to thank all yall coming to celebrate our union, I also want to let everyone know that Naomi and I will be welcoming our first kids, twins come 2014” He said. Everyone looked shocked but started clapping including me and Heiress. “Wow” I said. “Congrats nigga!” Ace yelled. He was drunk as fuck. “Congrats yall” We all said. The DJ went back to playing music.

6 months later: January 14th 2014

Over the pass 2 years, Heiress and I had graduated highschool, she went to Georgia State for nursing, and I went to Georgia Tech to major in business, then after that I was going to Cordon Bleu to be a chef, O had moved out to a house in Kennesaw with Naomi since they was starting a family, so I had the whole Mansion to myself. Heiress had wanted a college life before she decided to move in with me, plus her mom wasn’t feeling it. I had got a call from Omari while I was in school. He had left me like 4 missed calls. I pulled up at the spot, where we supplied our shit and did our deals. “What’s going on? I was in the middle of a test when you called” I told O. He had his gun out, along with K.C and was shushing me. He passed me a gun and a bullet proof vest. “Niggas in here robbing us”. He whispered. I heard a silent engine roaring. I looked and seen it was Ace in his Ashton Martin. His door lifted up and he got out the car clocking his gun with his vest already on. “Man the fuck yall out here standing for, niggas messing with our money” Ace walked pass us. K.C shook his head “Shit bout to be messy forreal now”. Ace walked in and I was behind him. We seen niggas in all black stuffing shit in they bags. Ace aint hesitate and started shooting. O was fighting a nigga, K.C and I went upstairs. The men started shooting at us. I shoot back. We had a big shoot out. Finally all the niggas was dead in the spot except one who O had held for questioning. “We need to get this shit out before police show up and set up another spot” I simply said. O nodded. Ace was sitting on the counter eating chips with blood splatter on his face. I shook my head. Homie was crazy. K.C laughed. “You always eating after a shoot out, weird ass” He said. Ace shrugged. “Shit had me hungry” He said. “Who sent you, Ima ask you one more time before I paint these walls with whats left of you?!” O yelled with a machete in his hand. “Jackall” He simply said. “Who is that?” I asked. “The king of East Atlanta” He simply said. “How you find our shit?” O asked. “Jackall said he has connections” O nodded. “We got a snitch in our crew?” He asked him. The nigga shrugged. “I know nothing else just what was told, I swear” He said. “Aight” O said. Before O could untie him, shots rang off killing the nigga. O looked over at Ace. “Nigga, Damn” O said. Ace simply looked at us. “My shawty cooking tonight, I got to be home before she start bitchin, and he was just going to run his mouth anyways. Cops 15 minutes away lets pack shit and head out” Ace said. K.C started laughing. “He’s such a Gemini” He said. I started laughing too, cause he wasn’t lying. We grabbed most of our shit, cleared the place out of any identity, and got the hell on to reload our shit into another safe house to reload. I headed out home, to get cleaned up.

When I got to my crib. I seen Heiress car in the drive way. I had gave her a key to my crib eventhough we don’t live together. I walked inside the house. “Heiri” I called out. “Im in here” She said from my dinning room. I walked in and seen her sitting there with my guns on the table. I sighed. “Why do you have 4 guns?” She asked. I actually had a gun in each room, bathroom and 5 in the kitchen. I shrugged. “Protection, my dad gave them to me” I lied. She slowly nodded. “But there not even normal guns X, what is this like an Ak-47? what about this a pistol? I dont know what you call these other two, are these even registered X. What if the police find these, and theres bodies on these you will go to jail!” She panicked. “Heiress, baby chill man please I been having these it’s okay” I said to her. She folded her arms. “You sure?” She asked. I nodded. “Baby its all good, Just protection” I stated. She slowly nodded her head. “I came over to surprise you by cleaning your big ass house and cooking dinner, Im sorry I got nosey” She told me. I grabbed her and kissed her forehead. “Mi casa su casa” I said to her. She smiled. “You already being a wife to yo man, I love it! I love you!” I said to her. She smirked. I took the guns off the table and took them down to the basement. The basement had a key pad entry. If it didn’t Heiress would have found the drugs that I had in the basement. My trap phone buzzed. “Wazzam?” I answered. “We got more problems X, that Jackall nigga hijacked our stash while we was shooting the niggas in the spot earlier today” K.C said. I sighed. “Shit! We got to put out a hit now, but we wait on O, what he say?” I asked. “Naomi went into early labor, O is busy. I just got to call Ace” He stated. I nodded. “Ace would handle that shit quick” I said. K.C laughed. “Aight, Ima get Ace” He hung up the phone. I heard knocking on the basement door. I ran up the steps. “What’s up?” I asked closing the door behind me. “When are you going to show me what’s down there?” Heiress said. I shrugged. “One day” I simply said. She pouted. “When is that?” She asked. I sighed. “What you cooking?” I asked her. She rolled her eyes. “Whats down there X just tell me!” She said. “My dads business stuff, that’s it” I said. She shrugged, “Well let me look?” She said. Someone knocked on the door. I quickly went to the door to see who it was. It was Ace. “What up bruh bruh?” Ace said dapping me up. He looked at Heiress. “What up Heiress?” He said. She put on a smile coming over to hug Ace. “Hey Ace” She said greeting him. “Lets talk” Ace said. Heiress went back to kitchen. We walked down stairs to the basement. “Whats up?” I asked. “My gang ready to roll, problem is my nigga said he seen TiTi hanging over at the eastside spot where Jackall hide out is” He told me. I looked up at him. “Tiana?” I asked he nodded. “Aint want to shoot up the whole spot killing your blood” He said. I nodded. “Ima handle Tiana” Ace nodded. “I got to get back to the east side and secure my shit on my turf” He simply said. We went back upstairs. “You leaving?” Heiress asked. I nodded. “Tiana shit again” I told her. She rolled her eyes. “Tiana is such a problem but okay go be a big brother, I will see you later” She said kissing me. Ace made a funny face. “Yuck” He said. “You don’t kiss you shawty?” I asked. He smirked. “We do alot but I don’t like seeing yall kiss, but I got to dip and go with Jade to check on MiMi yall coming?” He asked. I nodded remembering O was at the hospital with his wife. “Yeah Ima see yall there” He nodded and got in his car. I drove to Decatur to visit Tiana. She wasn’t answring her phone.

Character Pics:

La-La (Alexis Sky) age 19:

Heiress: age 18

X:

Naomi:

Omari:

Jade:

Ace:

[ugh-supersoldiers]

Safe Place

MASTERLIST

SEND ME A REQUEST

Characters: Bucky x reader

Summary: The pastor’s daughter isn’t supposed to yearn for danger and adventure, but it’s all you can think about. You’re in desperate need of an escape from your town, and when Bucky Barnes causes you to put yourself in impeccable danger, it seems you might have found your ticket out.

Warnings: A little violence I guess? Fluffy, Bucky being cute asf and catching feelings, bad editting fo sho sorry

Words: 3752

A/N: Not sure how I feel about this one, I had to whip it up quickly for a cute anon request who preferred it if I didn’t include the prompt in the description. Well, here ya go anon, hope you like it xo

Bucky Barnes was an anomaly, a complete wild card. Bucky Barnes was beyond the reasonable control of the law and fate alike. Bucky Barnes was the single black ink spot that bled into the crisp white pages of the book that you wrote for yourself. And Bucky Barnes was most certainly a bad idea.

The beautiful good girl falls for the rugged bad boy, it’s a classic story, really, but this fable is far from the old cliche. The ‘bad boys’ depicted in such tales were troublemakers, maybe the skateboarder that smoked a just bit too much pot, or the low ranking member of the town’s local gang seeking a pretty girl to bandage his bloodied knuckles. Bucky Barnes was neither one of those characters, he was an entirely different breed of man.

A biker, leather jacket and all. That’s what you’d figured he was when you first laid eyes on him. Just another biker on just another Thursday night on just another hour at the same old bar you’d been coming to for ages- under the radar, of course, that’s why you always chose weekdays instead of the coveted Friday or Saturday pub crawl spot.

“Hey, (Y/N), mind lockin’ up when you’re done?”

The bartender asked you, and you nodded your head.

You see, you’d gotten a bit of a reputation at no fault of your own.

Small towns have small minds, that’s what you’d grown to understand, and being the pastor’s daughter, it was like the entire town held you on a pedestal of trust and virtue from the moment you were born. And you absolutely hated it.

You were raised a certain way, and abided by your parents rules as you grew up... or so you lead them to believe. As a teenager, you’d ventured over to the parties several towns over just to get a taste of the wild life that you craved.

And it just so happened that wild life would come at your in full swing on this ever so fateful night.

When you laid eyes on him you knew in your heart that he was trouble, a certain kind of trouble you’d never encountered, at least not in this close. His jacket clung to him, his choppy brown hair hung around his face, framing his piercing blue eyes with an air of recklessness.

Beautiful moving artwork, his tall and broad frame walked across the small and - aside from you - empty bar. Perched on your bar stool, you watched his every move, and you knew that he felt your eyes on him. 

A shared glance was held for only a moment, and a delicious tension filled moment settled in the air, one that you wished would’ve lasted at least a minute more, but it didn’t. He was gone just as quickly as he came, disappearing through the back door like many passersby did.

A frown settled on your face as you took another swig of your drink, your thoughts wondering to the man, the gorgeous and intoxicatingly mysterious man that you knew would plague your mind for weeks.

A moment- a single moment in his presence had your wound for tightly with an overbearing sense of anxiety fueled excitement that you couldn’t even think straight.

Your heart sank. You’d hoped that someone would take you away from the simple life you lead, and fantastically and ever so naively, you’d hoped that it would be him when you laid eyes on his frame.

Why? You didn’t know, he just had a certain quality - a vibe maybe - about him that made you feel something, and God did you ever yearn to feel. 

Your world was black and white, or at least the world that you coexisted in. The world you craved was colourful, with adventure looming around every corner. But this town sucked that dream out of you with every passing day you spent there.

You’d just graduated college and now all of the sudden you were expected to find your own life, make your own way into the world. Well, that prospect turned challenging when the only life pathway that was available to you was living here for the rest of your life, forever carrying the title Town Sweetheart. 

Another sip of the stiff drink in your hand helped you momentarily forget the resounding feeling of hopelessness. It felt like for a second, you were able to rid yourself of the torment of your pre-written epilogue, but perhaps it was just the uncomfortable burn of alcohol down your throat that worked as a distraction.

You set the now empty glass back down on the bar counter and sighed heavily, about to get another round for yourself but you nearly jumped out of your skin prior to the chance arising.

Gunshots rang through the glass bar windows, shattering them into shards, falling to the floor with loud clangs. 

A shriek came from your throat, and you dropped below the bar counter to take cover from whatever the hell just nearly killed you. 

The loud bang of the back bar doors brought you only slightly back into reality. You watched as legs moved, his legs moved. It was the man you’d been before, you knew it by the gate. 

A gun was cocked, and you feared that perhaps you might never make it out of this town for a whole other reason aside from merely being trapped by reputation and status.

Six shots rang out again, the muzzle of his gun giving off smoke that fell slowly to the floor, you watched in with wide eyes.

There was a cry from outside the bar. Whoever shot first must’ve been hit by the man in front of you. 

He moved towards the bar counter you were tucked under, and you prayed with everything you had that he would just leave you be, but as you saw his knees bend you knew it wouldn’t be the case.

He was at eye level within seconds, and you marveled for a moment at the colour of his eyes. The stare you shared was intense, as if each one of you was desperately trying to wither build a bridge of trust, or burn it to the ground. 

Heavy breathing was the only sound that was expressed between you for what felt like minutes, far too long given the circumstances of your meeting. 

A small tear slipped from your eye and fell down your cheek, a memento from the horror that you’d felt moments earlier. You watched his eyes soften when he noticed it.

“Come with me.” He said, extending a gloved hand to you.

You nodded your head, taking his hand and letting him pull you up with a strong tug. A warmth spread through your body, one that you knew was at his fault, but one that you knew was completely one sided. 

This man had no interest in you, this man was most likely a criminal of some sort, but for a reason that you couldn’t understand, he was choosing to save you instead of getting rid of you, like he very easily could have.

He took you down the back of the bar, out into the grubby old parking lot in the dark of the night. Moonlight illuminated the chrome of a motorcycle that he ushered you to before dropping your hand and fiddling with the gun that he’d stuck back in his pants, checking the ammo you assumed.

“What’s your name?” You asked quietly.

He looked at you, eyebrow cocked upwards, as if he was slightly confused by your question.

“My name?”

“Sure, everyone’s got one,” You said, “I figured I should know yours given the fact that you probably saved my life back there.”

A dry chuckle left his lips, “Most people wouldn’t call that a rescue.” 

“I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You whispered, unsure if introducing yourself first was the right reply to such a statement since he avoided telling you his name.

He hesitated as he put the gun back in his pants, but nodded his head, “Bucky Barnes.”

“Nickname?” You asked.

“Somethin’ like that.”

Faint sirens blared in the air, and you watched him tense.

“We gotta go.” He said.

“We?” You asked.

“Look, people knew that you were in that bar, which means they know that you saw me and when they don’t find your body in there,” He pointed back to the shattered windows of the building, “They’re going to come looking for you.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” You asked, your voice getting louder. 

You’d figured it was some sort of driveby, a stunt, an insane random act of violence, but the way Bucky was putting it, it seemed like he knew it was planned.

“Do you seriously have no idea who I am?” He asked.

“Of course I don’t!”

“Stop yelling.” His voice went so firm that you felt your blood run cold, and you closed your mouth.

“Who are you?” You asked him.

He opened his mouth, but police sirens blared out even louder, and his entire body flinched.

“We need to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you-”

“(Y/N), if you want to live, you are going to get on this fucking bike and I’m going to take us somewhere safe, do you understand?”

You were infuriated by his audacity to imply that you would just hop on the back of a motorcycle and drive off with him, but you were also terrified of what’d he’d said about people coming for you. The entire situation was crazy, but your heart sped up at the idea of running away from the town.

A nod, that was all he got from you, but it was enough for him to get on, with you behind him, and speed off.

The ride felt like ages, your arms wrapped firmly around Bucky’s waist as your hair whipped behind you. Streetlights blurred in every direction until you finally came to a stop at a rather seedy looking motel.

Bucky parked the bike around back, and escorted you into a room.

It was nicer than you’d expected, but small. The curtains were a stark white, walls a colour of beige, grey sheets on the neatly made bed. It was boring.

You sat on the mattress, and looked at him quizzically.

“What the hell was that?” You asked.

“I’ve done some bad things.” He said, averting eye contact.

“So I gathered.” You mused.

His eyes jerked up to see your smirk, and his face softened only slightly.

“You ever heard of someone called the Winter Soldier?”

You tilted your head to the side, trying to think of the familiarity of the name.

“I think so. Isn’t that the guy that Hydra’d been using for years until he finally got...” You looked at him and your eyes widened, “It’s you.”

He sighed, “Yeah.”

“They were trying to kill you.”

“Yeah.” He repeated.

“Why didn’t you just kill me too?” You asked him seriously, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked at you, “Because I’m not going to kill someone who’s innocent.”

You looked away, hating the word he used to describe you. Innocent was apparently one of the only adjectives that people could use with you, and you despised it with a passion. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for not killing you.” He said.

“I’m thanking you for saving me.”

He shrugged off his jacket, not returning with a reply. You watched as he crossed the room, the thin material of the long sleeve shirt he was wearing clinging to his broad shoulders tightly as he made his way into the small kitchenette. 

“What now?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowed together.

“Coffee?” He asked, as you listened to him shuffle about out of your view.

“I guess it’s a start.”

You huffed out a sigh, trying to rid yourself of the shakes that held your body captive. You were trying desperately to calm down, but the excitement of everything that had happened to you couldn’t be contained.

You suddenly became aware of how cold the room was, a chill rushing up your spine. Rubbing your arms in hopes of generating some sort of friction, you longed for the sweater you left behind at the down completely destroyed bar.

In your muddled grievance, you neglected to hear Bucky enter in from the kitchen with two mugs in hand.

“Cold?” He asked.

You nearly jumped off the bed at the sound of his voice.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, setting your mug on the table next to the bed you sat on.

You averted eye contact in slight embarrassment as he padded his way over to you, removing the leather jacket and swiftly placing it over your shoulders.

You had to stop yourself from purring at the blissful warmth of his body heat that still resided in the thick jacket. A small sigh of content passed your lips.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

You felt out of place with him in the same way that a toddler might feel out of place while learning to walk for the very first time. 

“You’re welcome.” He said quietly.

You glanced over at the mug he’d rested on the table next to you, and reached your hands out to grasp it firmly, the blissful warmth dancing along the pads of your fingers.

“It’s black, I hope that’s okay.” He muttered, sitting in the chair across from the bed.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

His eyes stayed on your figure for perhaps just a bit longer than normal. Bucky Barnes was fascinated by you for a reason he couldn’t quite describe. All he truly knew was that the image of a pretty girl like you sitting on his bed, clad in his worn out black leather jacket, your beautiful pink sundress peaking out from the bottom was something he never wanted to forget. lt was a type of juxtaposition that you never thought you’d get the opportunity to explore outside of the compound of your own imagination. It seemed that this Bucky character just might have broken you free. 

“You’re staring at me.”

That snapped him out of it.

He looked back up at your eyes and saw a faint smile resting there.

“Can I ask you something?” You questioned, and he nodded, “What are we gonna do next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re here, and safe for the time being, but what about tomorrow?” Your eyes shifted around the room. Bucky now came to understand that you were perhaps more afraid then you lead on to be.

“We’ll keep moving.”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” You asked.

A little piece of him just might have shattered at your question, because if you valued your life, he answer of course was that you really didn’t have a choice.

“I can figure something out.” Bucky said.

“No.” You said.

“No?” He asked.

“I’d been waiting for a ticket out of that place for years. I think you’re that ticket.”

Bucky’s heart shouldn’t have fluttered at that comment, but it did. 

“That bad?” He chuckled, sipping his own coffee.

A dry laugh passed your lips, “You have no idea.”

Bucky couldn’t help but admired the way you looked under the pale light of the motel room. You had this disposition about you that he hadn’t seen in a long time. You were refreshing.

“I’m the pastor’s daughter,” You laughed, “I sort of have a legacy.”

“Pastor’s daughter? Now that’s a title.”

“A title that traps you into a certain lifestyle forever.” You took a long drink of coffee, “But I won’t be trapped anymore, thanks to you.”

You smiled brightly at him, and he couldn’t help but return it.

“You know if you come with me you’re permanently putting a target on your back.” Bucky said.

“I’d rather live dangerously by my own choice than have everything planned out for me.”

“Okay.” He nodded.

“Besides, I think at least for now I can rely on you to protect me.”

Bucky furiously ignored the swelling feeling in his chest. He shouldn’t feel connected with you, his brain was screaming at him to stop, but he couldn’t. He felt something deep in his heart that he just couldn’t ignore.

Perhaps it was the sweet air of innocence that radiated off of your with every breath you took. Bucky was drawn to it, he yearned to be close to it. You were so different than him, and it astounded him. He felt a large sum of guilt for having to drag you into the mess that he called his life, but he was glad it was him who got to protect you.

“I really did mean it when I said thank you, you know.” You said, sipping once again at the coffee.

“I know.” Bucky said.

“Do you?” Your eyebrow quirked up at him playfully, “You don’t exactly strike me as the type to accept gratitude very well.”

It was ridiculous, to be flirting with the same that almost got you killed, but there was this primal attraction to him that you simply couldn’t resist. You yearned to live closer to the edge than you gotten before, and something like this was exactly what you needed.

A small laugh passed Bucky’s pink lips, “Well, doll, I probably don’t strike you as a lot of things.”

You cheeks heated up just a touch at the fluidity of the nickname when it came out of his mouth. It was so smooth, smooth enough to lead you to believe that Bucky Barnes knew how to navigate women more than you thought.

“I wouldn’t say that.” You mused.

“And what would you say?”

“I’d say you strike me as something with a lot of secrets,” You began, “And someone who’s maybe ready to finally be free of them.”

Bucky’s stare was locked on you.

“And how do you figure that?”

“Just a feeling.” You breathed, “What about me?”

“You strike me as the type of girl who might just be too innocent for her own good.”

You snorted, “You’d be surprised.”

A laugh left his lips again, “You strike me as different, and extremely beautiful.”

A blush crept up your neck so violently that even in the dim lighting, you knew Bucky could see it. And he most certainly did based on the smug smirk on his face.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

“You say that a lot.”

“Seems to be that way, doesn’t it?”

Another chill ran up your spine, the motel room proving to be rather poorly insulated. A wave of exhaustion hit you at this time too, your eyelids becoming heavy despite the coffee in your system.

“You should get some sleep.” He said.

You yawned, “Guess so, yeah.”

You popped off the bed, setting the cooling coffee back on the table, and drew back the covers.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Bucky said.

You stopped with the blankets and looked back at him. There was a part of you that wanted to let him be, but there was another part that desperately needed to be with someone, that couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping alone in a shaken state.

“Unless..?” Bucky began.

“I don’t want to steal your bed.” You murmured.

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.” 

“Then we’ll share.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched up into a smile, and you knew he saw through the facade. He knew you were a bit scared right now, who wouldn’t be after the say that you’d had. And of all requests, sharing a bed with you was something he was so okay with.

He turned on his heal and moved towards a duffel bag, rummaging around in it before he pulled out a few articles of clothing. 

He handed you a large t shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

“It’ll be more comfortable than the dress.” He said simply.

You thanked him, and moved into the bathroom to change. 

Upon seeing the redness of your cheeks, you couldn’t help but smile. You didn’t know why he had such an effect on you, all you knew was that you enjoyed it.

It seemed that he was becoming a source of comfort for you very quickly.

You shrugged off his jacket, shivering as the cool air hit your skin without it to protect you. Draping it over the sink, you began unbuttoning your dress, folding it neatly and leaving you only in your set of lingerie.

Bucky’s shirt fit you like a dress, coming down to about mid thigh, you couldn’t help but admire yourself in the mirror. You decided against the sweats, figuring there wasn’t really much of a point to them anyhow.

You took his jacket, your dress, and the sweats back out of the bathroom, and made your way into the bedroom again.

Bucky had to stop himself from audibly swallowing at the sight of you. God, he thought you were beautiful before, but seeing you in his shirt like that? He almost lost it.

By the time you’d come out, he’d dressed himself in a set of pajamas and made himself comfortable on the bed. You smiled at him, resting the clothing on the dresser in the corner and peeling back the covers.

You were quick to snuggle in, sighing contently at the feeling of blissful warmth that they provided.

Bucky looked at you in awe, he’d never felt a connection like this with anyone so quickly. He followed you under the blanket, instantly feeling the warmth that your body provided. 

He hadn’t been close like this with a woman in too long to remember, it felt surreal to him, but he loved every second.

His eyes never left you as you slowly descended into sleep, he nearly jumped when he felt a small hand grasp his own. He would never be entirely sure if you were awake or not when you did this, but the uncertainty of it didn’t stop him from giving your hand a firm squeeze in reply.

And when he was absolutely certain that you were asleep, he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, letting you snuggle into his side a little more.

He silently thanked anything that was listening that he was able to find you today. And you, caught in your own sleepy state, dreamt about escaping with Bucky on the back of his bike tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day, happy to have found your safe place in the likes of a man who’d taken you away from everything that had once held you back.

[hataakes]

@forlornwind

How unexpected death could be.

On his thirtieth birthday, no less. 

The last image burned into his mind was that of a nail, careening towards him like a miniature missile. The dead look in his opponent’s unique eyes, the gleam of the sun on the metal, the rubble that bit into his flesh, keeping him from defending himself. 

Then darkness. 

Next thing he remembered was patchy light behind a haze of green, soft voices, and gentle hands tugging on his flak jacket. His body was too heavy to push the hands away. He was dead, right? What did it matter?

He was dead. 

Kakashi came awake with a jerk, gasping for air like a man drowning. Shaking hands felt around his body, patting out bruises that weren’t there and seeking a deadly wound between his eyes. Instead he found himself in an uncomfortable bed, stripped almost bare. His uncovered sharingan spun wildly as he took in his surroundings. A spartan room decorated with only the pallet he laid on and a stool in the corner, a window and door, and a neatly folded stack of clothes atop the stool. 

Expecting the worst, Kakashi rolled out of bed and quickly gathered the garments. A simple knee length robe with matching pants and a contrasting sash. Something so plain that it almost reminded him of ages past. 

No one wore such things anymore. 

A venture out offered a wealth of knowledge. He had been found off a rarely traveled back road, unconscious. The couple who saved him were older, motel owners in a border town. They were neither rich nor poor, but they were strapped for help and offered Kakashi a position in their motel in return for his room and board. He quickly agreed. 

They fed him, gave him bandages to cover his eye - which he had kept shut, claiming a war injury had taken it -, and showed him around their quaint motel. Kakashi had a strange feeling that he wasn’t in his correct timeline anymore. The architectural structure of the motel and the buildings surrounding it were something he used to find in history books. 

Strange clothing from times past, no hitai-ate in sight, no weapons other than strangely worn down swords and a few rather crude kunai. Kakashi simply couldn’t place it. Last thing he remembered was death and now he was sucked into the past? 

It sounded like a terrible mystery novel. 

The innkeep quickly showed him how to go about his duties. Cleaning the rooms, stripping the beds, sweeping, and many other small tasks to keep him busy. 

But when the older man looked at him with a proud smile and spoke a certain string of words, Kakashi suddenly realized where he was. 

“We are honored to have Lord Uchiha Madara stay with us later today. We must make sure he is absolutely comfortable during his time here.”  

The man clapped Kakashi on the shoulder and wandered off, leaving him gaping in shock. Uchiha Madara? The Uchiha Madara? Impossible. Either the man was old and decrepit or Kakashi really had been sent back in time.

He had almost been convinced he’d woken up in some backwater town unaffected by time, too. 

The rest of his afternoon was spent cleaning up the guest rooms and paying extra attention to the best suite in the building. It wasn’t much, honestly. A higher quality pallet made from the best bedding the inn kept, a small kotatsu to help warm the room, and a small yet private washroom - which was something of a rarity in this town, he had come to find out. 

The room also boasted the best views in the town, according to the innkeep. A door led off to the manicured courtyard and featured the dense forest beyond. A beautiful view, yes, but also indefensible. Kakashi gave a small frown at the scene before sliding the door closed and heading downstairs to wheedle some dinner out of the innkeeper’s wife. Maybe if he told her it was his birthday, he’d get a little extra. 

He was busy untying the kimono-like sleeves of his robe, that he hadn’t even noticed another chakra signature nearby. Kakashi rounded the corner and collided fully with another person. 

There was a loud clatter as they dropped their things, and Kakashi stumbled back a step before catching himself. “Ah, I’m terribly sorry,” He spoke automatically, gaze lifting to see who it was that he almost ran ove----

Uchiha Madara

Young Madara at that. Not some old man who struggled to walk a couple of steps. No, this Madara was about Kakashi’s age, if not younger. Dark eyes widened and Kakashi dipped into a shallow bow - this was the innkeeper’s revered guest, he best be polite as possible. “My sincere apologies, Uchiha-sama. Please, allow me to get your things.” The innkeep stood next to the Uchiha, a look of great frustration on his face that would disappear if Madara were to look at him.

Kakashi glanced between the innkeep and the Founder, a brow raised at the former. “If you’d like, my lord, I could carry it to your room for you.”