#and I even got the down jackets out because they’re not on the stupid floor yet

[strohller27]

.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Sick of Missing You

masterlist

summary: dean thought he had to let you go, but now he’s so sick of missing you

paring: dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.0k

warnings: language, (slightly) injured dean, cheating, i think that’s it?

gif source

“Dean?” you asked. “Is that you?” You turned on the living room light and, as you suspected, your boyfriend was sitting on the armchair in the corner of the room.

“Hey sweetheart,” he replied, his voice strained. “How was work?”

“Small talk, really?” you scoffed a little. “Dean, I can see your injuries from here, what happened to you?”

“Remember that job I told you about?” he laughed as he stood up, a pained wince leaving his lips. You hurried over to him, filled with worry.

“A ghost did this? How?” you asked. He had a deep cut on the side of his face, accompanied by an array of bruises. As he shrugged off his leather jacket, your eyes widened at the amount of blood seeping through the part of his shirt that covered his shoulder.

“A uh…A werewolf did this,” he said quietly. Somehow your eyes widened even more.

“Are you fucking with me Dean Winchester?”

He chuckled, “No, sweetheart, I’m not fucking with you. Werewolves are real, unfortunately.”

“I’m guessing they’re nothing like Jacob Black?” you muttered, eyes glued to his injuries.

“And Vampires aren’t like the Cullens, either.”

“Vampires!?” you practically shrieked. “You mean to tell me you’ve been fighting the fucking Salvatores this whole time and all you told me about was ghosts?”

“Salvatores?” He furrowed his brows.

“Vampire Diaries?” you replied, he nodded a little when he understood what you meant. “I guess that show wouldn’t be as fun to watch if you’d seen it firsthand.”

“Yeah, I’ve always been more into movies that don’t glamorize eating humans.” He smiled somewhat sarcastically. You rolled your eyes a little, before focusing back onto the blood he was sporting.

“So why the hell aren’t you at the hospital?” you asked him.

“Cause you were closer,” he replied, shrugging a little. He winced a little at the motion and your brows knitted with worry.

“Dean, I’m a veterinarian’s assistant, you shouldn’t have come to me for help?”

“Please?” he asked.

“Of course I’ll fucking help you!” you replied quickly. “Sit down at the kitchen table, I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

Keeping to your word, you stitched Dean up within the hour and let him shower as you found him some clean clothes to wear from all the times he’d stayed at your place.

“Thank you.” He smiled before he kissed you. “But, I can’t stay here tonight.”

“What?” you scoffed, smiling.

“I- I’m sorry but coming here tonight was a stupid mistake.”

“Dean, you’ve come here dozens of times this past year-and-a-half. What’re you talking about?”

“Look,” he sighed, “telling you about my job was a moment of stupid weakness, and if I stay with you now you have no idea the kind of danger you’ll be in.”

“So…?”

“So, this is goodbye.”

“What? No!” you exclaimed. You gripped his non-injured arm and forced him to look into your eyes. “This is not goodbye, Dean Winchester.”

“It has to be,” he whispered. Your eyes brimmed with tears as he stared down at you. “I’m sorry.” He started to walk to the door but you hurried and got between him and his destination.

“Dean Winchester I love you, please don’t go,” you exclaimed, tears running down your cheeks.

“I can’t let you get hurt because of me,” he whispered, eyes glued to the floor.

“What kind of fucking excuse is that!” you shouted. “Look at me you fucking coward!” He did as you asked, tears in his eyes now too. “If you walk out that door right now you will be hurting me so much more than anyone else ever could.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. Then he pushed past you and left. Out the door, out of your life. You locked the door behind him before trudging over to the couch and letting yourself cry.

You didn’t hear him, but before he left, Dean stood outside your door and whispered, “I love you too, Y/n.”

**

He never called. If he had you would’ve fucking answered, but he never even bothered.

He kept an eye on you, in a slightly-creepy way. (If it had been anyone else, it would’ve been very creepy. But this was Dean Winchester and his intentions were nothing but good; he just wanted to keep you safe.) He’d drive past your house or park outside where you worked to be sure you were still okay. To be sure one of the many monsters he’d pissed off hadn’t found you and taken revenge.

Once he watched as you carried two full bags of groceries into your home, and when one of the paper bags broke it took everything in him not to run and help. He told himself it was for the best, that he was keeping you safe and that’s all that mattered.

He hated himself every day he didn’t call you. He felt like such an asshole. He knew you loved him, but he didn’t say it back.

**

“Alright, I gotta ask,” Sam said one day when Dean had been staring at his laptop with an unusual amount of concentration. They had already finished the case and it was time for Dean to either get wasted and sleep with someone, or just go to bed. “What the hell are you looking at so intensely over there?” he laughed as he walked over and took a look at the screen. “Who’s she?”

“Nobody,” Dean mumbled as he closed the laptop, annoyed.

“Oh my god,” Sam exclaimed. “That’s Y/n!”

“Who?” Dean replied.

“That girl from Chicago you used to run off and stay with after we finished a case within a hundred mile radius of her house?”

“How…”

“I have eyes and ears and a working brain, that’s how.” He shook his head as he sat back down. Sam noticed the hurt in Dean’s eyes and realized there was a huge chance this girl had died and that’s why Dean hadn’t seen her in almost six months. “She okay?”

“Yeah, she- she’s fine. I think she’s seeing someone but I can’t tell if it’s serious or not.” Dean shrugged.

“So…you’re stalking your ex?”

Dean didn’t feel ashamed for ‘stalking’ you, even after Sam put it like that.

“Guess so,” Dean mumbled.

“Well what’s the new guy look like?” Sam asked, trying to be supportive of his brother’s obsession. “You’re sure they’re dating? Not just…friends?” Sam suggested. Dean took a moment to find the picture he had seen earlier on your FaceBook. When he found the page, he turned the laptop around and showed Sam, who cringe-clenched his teeth with sympathy. “Yeah, they’re dating.” The picture was of you and your new boyfriend kissing and the caption was a heart emoji. Clearly, you had moved on quicker than Dean.

**

Dean continued to keep an eye on you, but at more of a distance.

Until one evening, when he saw you his heart somehow broke more. You were stepping out of your car, wearing a beautiful, sexy red dress; but you were in tears. Balling your fucking eyes out, to be indelicate.

Before he could think twice, he was out of the Impala and hurrying toward you.

“Y/n!” Dean called out when he was a few yards away.

“Holy fuck!” you exclaimed loudly. Dean was the last person you expected to see right now. “Dean! What the hell?” You wiped your tears, trying to somewhat compose yourself.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He stood next to you now, and as he reached out to touch your shoulder you pulled your arm back.

You scoffed. “I just have the absolute worst taste in men, that’s all!” You brushed past him and he followed you to your door.

“Sweetheart please tell me what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?”

“Dean, come on! Are you really asking me that right now? This is nothing compared to the fucking tsunami of tears you caused me!”

“I’m sorry!”

“No, you aren’t, because if you were you would’ve called. You would’ve come back to me and apologized for taking my fucking heart out!” You walked into your house and slammed the door behind you, locking it before Dean could enter.

“I wanted to, Y/n, believe me!” he exclaimed against the door. “I wanted to call you every fucking day this past year. I thought I was protecting you but I’m fucking sick of this! I’m sick of sitting up at night and wishing I was with you. I’m sick of missing you, Y/n.”

“Why’d you come talk to me this time?” you asked, not opening the door.

“What do you mean?”

You opened the door so you could look him in the eyes. “I’ve seen that gorgeous Impala of yours parked outside the animal hospital and my house, you know.”

“Oh…” he mumbled, suddenly feeling very awkward. “Sorry.”

“Every time I saw it- her, sorry,” you corrected yourself, remembering Baby had a name. You saw the way Dean smiled at your words. “Every time I wished you’d just come and talk to me. So why did you this time?”

“I- When I saw you were crying I thought you were hurt.” He watched as you opened the door enough so he could walk in.

“The guy I’ve been seeing for the past eight months just slept with my co-worker,” you told him as he walked in. “I just walked in on them.”

“Oh my god, Y/n I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed.

“Don’t be,” you scoffed a little. “I didn’t love him.” You looked up into Dean’s bright green eyes as yours began to fill with tears again. “The man I really, truly, completely loved walked out on me after I told him.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Dean I want nothing more than to hug you and kiss you and let you tell me how much you care about me but I know it’s all a fucking lie. I know you’re just gonna walk out again,” you said. “If you need a place to stay tonight you can have the couch.” You walked toward the living room. “Fun fact, it’s the same couch I was glued to and crying on for about three days after you left. Got a pink slip at work and everything, so thanks for that,” you said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry!” Dean exclaimed, following you. “Please believe me; I was only trying to keep you safe! I didn’t want you to get hurt!”

“Hurt? Dean I told you that night you would be hurting me by leaving and you left anyway!” You turned back to face him, now both standing in the living room. There was a long pause as Dean thought of what he could possibly say to make you understand. To turn ‘man I loved’ into ‘man I love’. “So what’s different now? Why are you suddenly asking to be a part of my life again?”

“Because I’m so fucking sick of missing you. I’m so sick of this gut wrenching feeling I get every time I hear your name. I’m sick of not being able to call you when I want to hear your voice. I’m sick of missing you, Y/n. And I know it’s selfish as fuck to come back here, because I could very well be putting you in danger, but I’m just so sick of missing you.” Tears were streaming down Dean’s cheeks as he poured his heart out to you; hoping, praying you’d give him a second chance.

“Is that really the reason? The only reason you left was because you didn’t want a monster to follow you back here?” you asked, he nodded.

“Yes, yes Y/n, that’s the one and only reason.”

“Okay,” you whispered, his eyes widened. “Don’t look so suprised,” you let out a little laugh, “I still fucking love you, even though you may be an idiot.”

“You- You still love me?” he asked, you just smiled. “I love you, Y/n. I- I loved you back then but I- I just couldn’t say it.”

You reached your arms around his neck and quickly pulled him down into a deep kiss. He smiled against your mouth and you mirrored his expression.

“For the record,” you whispered when you pulled away. “I’m sick of missing you too.”

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; the one where Kon’s soulmark isn’t fake. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Sorry,” he tries, which probably just makes him sound like an idiot. Like he’s just–fucking stupid or whatever. 

He really did fuck up today. 

Again. 

“‘Sorry’?” Superman repeats, looking–weird, a little, and still frowning. Superboy feels stupid and useless and fucking embarrassed, and just shrugs uncomfortably and pretends to be looking at, like–the cars way down below on the street, or the people, or . . . just whatever isn’t Superman, he guesses. 

Whatever doesn’t make him feel just as fake as his stupid soulmark is. 

“I dunno,” he says to the street way down below, booking at just whatever’s down there. “I did a shitty job and fucked up again. I didn’t like–mean to, or whatever. Obviously. Like, very obviously I did not mean to fuck up like that.” 

“No one got hurt,” Superman says. Superboy resists the self-conscious urge to hunch in on himself and hide. Like–he didn’t get hurt. Just–he’s sore and whatever and a little scorched and bruised under the jacket, probably, but . . . yeah. Whatever. 

Nobody important got hurt, so it’s whatever. 

“Yeah, but the bank still got all fucked up,” he says. “I broke, like, their stupid fancy frou-frou marble floor or whatever. And, uh–some of the counters and furniture and stuff. And a couple . . . pillars, and . . . yeah. Anyway. The managers were pretty pissed.” 

Obviously. 

Superman sighs, and Superboy tries not to cringe. Like, at least not visibly, if nothing else. 

“Kid–yes, it’s better not to cause unnecessary property damage, but in an entire bank’s worth of a hostage situation, all you need to care about is keeping the people undamaged,” Superman says. “The managers were probably just rattled and lashing out at a safe target over something they felt like they could control. They wouldn’t have expected you to have worried about the floors in a situation like that if they were thinking clearly.” 

Yeah they would’ve, ‘cuz they’re used to YOU, Superboy doesn’t say, because it’d just be a stupid excuse anyway. But the stupid floor wouldn’t even have gotten scuffed if it’d been Superman in that bank, and that’s what everybody’s used to. 

But he’ll never be Superman if he can’t fucking handle even one lousy mess of a bank robbery without making stupid excuses about it. 

“I just fucked up. I’ll do better next time,” he says instead, because he doesn’t wanna come off like he is making excuses or like he can’t do the job, and Superman frowns. So like–not a great sign, that. 

“You haven’t even been doing this that long,” Superman says, still frowning. “And no reasonable person could expect you to be perfect.” 

So . . . Superman doesn’t expect him to measure up to him, Superboy translates in his head, and–like, obviously he doesn’t, but it’s still fucking embarrassing when the guy just says it like that. Just–he’ll do better next time, he tells himself. He’ll be better next time. Prove he deserves the “S” and the name “Superboy” and–and all that shit. 

But he told himself that last time he fucked up too, so clearly that’s only working out so well for him. 

“I’ll do better next time,” Superboy repeats, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and then glances back down at the street again. Everybody down there’s so tiny, and Superman’s right next to him and filling up the whole damn world, kind of, and . . . 

And Clark Kent is a real person with a real mark, and it probably looks just like the fake one Superboy’s wearing. 

But, like, that’s not even anything he’s allowed to complain about. 

He could be locked up in a lab right now. He could be a test subject or an experiment or just a dead body to be dissected and analyzed and– 

Like, that’s what he’ll be whenever he finally fucks up enough to get himself killed, obviously. But he isn’t that yet. 

So like–it’s fucking stupid and shitty, if he complains about what he’s got now. 

“Kid . . .” Superman says slowly, his frown deepening, and Superboy just feels like such a fucking waste of a not-person and hates all the weird, self-pitying thoughts that’re filling up his head right now. He’s Superboy. He’s not–he doesn’t have a reason to feel so fucking shitty about himself or . . . or whatever. 

Just because he’s not a real person and he made a mess stopping a bank robbery and he met Superman’s soulmate.

[steviewashere]

For the kiss prompt....Steddie and 40 please because I saw it and had a burning need for it!

❤️❤️

Okay, this one is far less angsty (I'm hoping) than yesterday's, lol. But I appreciate this prompt a lot. <3

Number 40: "Because the world is ending."

Tags: Season 4, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, First Kiss, Slight Love Confession, Steve Harrington has a Bisexual Awakening, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Lives, Last Minute Promises, Protective Steve Harrington

💕—————💕 There was a weight in the way Eddie’s vest laid on Steve’s back. Something that nailed him to the floor, kept him under the clouds but above ground, that anchored him to existence. It provided a sense of security that Steve hadn’t felt in…three or more years.

But there was something about Eddie’s gaze, too, that provided that same amount of comfort. Just one glimpse, one stupid little sentence about lost loves, one panicked nervous fit of laughter—it was enough to make something inside Steve squirm. The same thing he kept away in his own Pandora’s box, deep inside the crevice of his chest behind sinew. It’s where Tommy existed at one point, maybe a few other boys from elementary school. He knew what it was, the pull in Eddie’s gaze. Or, really, the magnetism that Eddie’s eyes held.

It made Steve want to stare back. Made him want to stop the world’s rotation. Made him want to find a way to reverse time, prevent all the evils of his life, find Eddie sooner. He wanted Eddie the same way mosquitos yearn for amber light. Icarus to the sun. Something strong, invasive, all consuming.

Love, he realized. He wanted love from Eddie.

Which makes it all worse when they’re going over game plans. Eddie going with Dustin. Dustin going with Eddie. Nancy and Robin going with him to the Creel house. Max and Lucas and Erica being all too far. There was that pull. A protective surge. Flames in his veins.

It was all so stupid. So careless. Everything they chose to do. The way Eddie knew about some gun store. How his body read nonchalance, but the way his hands shook when pointing out what kind of weapons they could find there. Steve wanted to reach down and wrap his own hands around Eddie’s, squeeze them still, bring his knuckles to between his eyebrows. Do something silly. Like kiss them or kiss Eddie or carve a spot behind his ribs and force Eddie inside of there.

That magnetic pull is back full force once they’re right side up in the Upside Down. Dustin’s a whole four inches shorter than Eddie. Covered in scrap and a hood. And he looks childish, dorky, how he should have been the last several years. Yet there’s a matured gleam to his eyes that haunts Steve, even as he stares it down. And when he glances to Eddie, looking reasonably the same—immature and dorky—green vest that isn’t zipped up, DIY’d leather jacket, ammo belt, and a pair of ill-fitting shiny boots. Steve can only wonder what it would be like to see Eddie not here, not in these circumstances, in his usual appearance. How more…beautiful he’d be if he weren’t so damned afraid.

If Eddie weren’t staring at Steve with something like goodbye. He forces himself to turn away, to stop looking, to stop wanting when there’s no sure presence of tomorrow. It’s like he’s being gifted a litter of kittens, being told not to get attached. Except, he’s already come up with names and collar colors and places where he could put beds. He’s got an idea of where Eddie would be soft if Steve could touch his skin. What nicknames would make him flush and what petnames would make him melt. Steve doesn’t want to be attached, but at the same time, he doesn’t think he ever had the choice.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie calls to him.

A crunching step forward. Steve forces himself frozen to his spot. His back tenses, shoulders hiking, the axe on his back brushes his hair. It’s cold, the metal is solid and real and sharp. His hands are shaking and his eyes are burning and there’s an iron grip around his lungs. Stomach turning and lurching and falling straight to his feet. He doesn’t turn, not yet. Not with the stern and sudden confidence to Eddie’s voice. Don’t get attached, he’s not yours to keep, a voice echoes deep inside him. I want him. I want him, though, that’s not fair, and that’s the petulant part of him. Something he thought he lost when he knocked on Jonathan Byers’s door.

He expects Eddie to continue, but he doesn’t. The rush of blood is loud in Steve’s ears. There’s no other voices. No other sounds. He’d think that the demo-creatures would’ve sounded off by now, but there’s nothing. The weight of everything, he realizes, is behind him.

Over his shoulder, Eddie’s eyes are fierce. No longer pulling on Steve’s arm, rather squeezing him tight by the shoulders, hauling him into his orbit, pressing their bodies and souls tight. Steve is startled and stirring and flippant. He shouldn’t leave. Doesn’t want to. Not when Eddie is…Eddie is what he wants.

And while his eyes are fierce, they are checking out. Somewhere else. And yet, they’re here. For Steve to fall into. And for him to cradle the sure absence Eddie is preparing to make.

“Make him pay,” Eddie’s voice demands. It’s neutral, neither loud and overbearing nor soft and assuring. His voice is a grenade, ring pulled but hammer still intact. Steve wants to pick it up and place it inside his chest. Wants to obliterate at the impact and sound.

He swallows. Wavers. Nods. And turns away.

But he doesn’t take a first step. He just stands, caught between worlds and passions and full body aches. A shiver crawling up his spine and into the back of his mouth. He swears he tastes it, decay. Something leaving and rotting, just as Eddie’s footsteps begin to retreat. To dissipate. Steve doesn’t want to forget the sound.

Without much on his mind, without any preamble or warning, Steve whirls back around. Stomps inside Eddie’s dusty footprints. Their shoes aligning to one another, the same size. His eyes burn lasers into Eddie’s back, but neither of them stop moving. It’s not until Steve is nearly at the front door to the Munson’s trailer that he’s able to grasp to something. His left hand wraps around Eddie’s right forearm. Gripping with the force of hippopotamus jaws. And he tugs Eddie to him. To face him.

Eddie’s eyes look to him in trepidation. There’s something else, like he’s realizing he’s been caught. An apology forming on the tip of his tongue. Before he can part his lips to say anything, Steve takes his right hand and forces his fingernails to indent into Eddie’s cheeks, squishing his lips to be slightly puckered, and drags him towards his face.

Their noses meet first. Soft and tantalizing. Breathing the same air. Steve, for a moment, can smell Eddie’s breath. And he doesn’t care, that neither of them have brushed their teeth in several days. That they’re tasting each other’s rot and stale words. He doesn’t care.

Slowly, he leans the rest of the way in. Pressing his lips to Eddie’s softly. Just soaking in their warmth. How dry and chapped and splitting they are. Pushes in more firmly, fluttering his eyes shut at the sensation. Breathing in gulps through his nose. Messy and wet on Eddie’s lips, but all the same a: ‘The world is ending, so nothing matters, but you matter and my world will end otherwise.’

And when he pulls his head back, he notices that Eddie wasn’t responsive at all. He wasn’t, but Steve doesn’t feel rejected, for once. Or negated. Or pulled taut and snapped in half. His chest glows with a low-level warmth, radiating between them like a candle’s near-dying flame. He digs his fingernails out of Eddie’s skin and cups his cheeks instead. Like protecting that little bit of light melting away at them. He opens his eyes, met with bewilderment and silence and fear and curiosity and…yearning. But also, there’s something shining back on Eddie’s face like a dream has just come true.

Steve takes a sharp, quick inhale. Whispers, “Don’t be a hero.” He’s already said it, he knows that. But…Eddie was never going to listen and he should’ve known that from the get-go. “Don’t be stupid,” he continues, “and you come back here. Come back to me.”

“Wha—“

“Come back to me,” Steve urges. “I want to know you. And I want to have you. I want to…I want to need you all the time, you understand me? Come back to me, all in one piece, away from danger. Or else I will kill you myself.” He nods once. Swipes his thumb over Eddie’s still jutting bottom lip. “Promise,” he demands lowly, “promise I can see you again.”

Eddie’s gulp is loud between them. His breath puffing hot and cold over Steve’s fingers. But his voice has lost all ferocity. Going soft and controlled and loving. “I promise, Stevie,” he murmurs, “I promise I’ll find you back here.”

Steve nods one more time. Short and affirmative and final. He draws his hands away. Zips up Eddie's vest. And brings them back to being limp at his sides. The very foundation of his being shakes. “Good. And I like that. I like that name, Eds. Call me that again, promise.”

“Promise,” Eddie echoes.

“Not a goodbye,” Steve feels the need to say.

“Just a see you later,” Eddie states. And there’s an honest tone to him that settles all the frayed nerve endings inside of Steve. Before he gets the chance to turn back, Eddie gently cradles his face in turn. He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Just for luck,” he murmurs, “be safe.”

There’s a weight in those words, too. Steve tethers to them.

And they ring out at the final blow to Vecna, as the flames engulf on all sides of the house. When they return to one another and all that’s wrong is a splash of ugly dark blood on Eddie’s cheek.

They’re safe. The world will always end, but they’re safe.

💕—————💕 Kiss Ask Game <3

[sporadicthingcollection]

Smash or Pass: Part 1/4 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: It's the last stop before the Grand Line and you slink away for a quiet evening. The universe, however, decides to clown on you. Sequel to Kiss, Marry, Kill. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Semi-explicit. Warnings: Alcohol, death threats, implied threat of sexual assault. Word Count: ~3.1k.

Mama told me what I should know

"Too much candy's gonna rot your soul

If she loves you, let her go'

Cause love only gets you down!"

---

PART 1: In which you are threatened with a knife, a gun, and a good time.

You thought the night would be fine. You thought no one in this bar would bother you. You thought you’d have a little nightcap or three and head back to the ship. You thought you’d have one last night to spend on your own before sharing a small space with five other people for the foreseeable future.

But nothing worked out as you’d hoped.

As soon as you got comfy at a table in the corner, a horde of rough-looking sailors descended and lit up the place. Loud. Rowdy. Obnoxious.

Ugh. At least they’re not Marines. You can lay low. Sink deep in your chair and focus on your drink.

Gazing into the scrying beer glass, you let your mind wander among the swirls. Thoughts ebb and flow.

Like how you need to remember to get more sutures before you cast off. Or how heavy your fingers feel under all the jewelry. How naked your ring fingers look with no adornment. Your family would be nagging you to get married by now. They’d like Sanji.

But they wouldn’t like that stupid, stupid clown.

He’s been on your mind a lot lately. You hate it. But how could he not be? Made you an offer you had to refuse. You tell yourself it wouldn’t have worked out. Where was he last month when you were looking for an escape? You hope you never see him again.

…but if you did see him again, you wouldn’t complain. He’d probably sidle up to you and say something like—

“Well, hello, gorgeous."

Yeah, that's exactly what he would say.

Wait. That was loud. That wasn’t your thoughts. It can’t be. You turn. 

Buggy the Clown grins at you. “Fancy meeting you here, Miss Sawbones."

You dive to the floor as he pulls a knife from his sleeve and throws it at you, sinking up to the handle in the wall. You clamber to your feet, put on your best snarl, and raise your fists.

All eyes are on you and Buggy as you size him up. The clink of chains and scrape of drawn swords sounds all around you. You’re not sure who your allies are, but you’re grateful for the support.

Especially because there’s just as many goons behind Buggy. He looks as surprised as you feel. His stance softens as he glances around. You could get a punch in while his guard is down—

“Hey!”

A gravelly voice splits the very air of the room. Like a child caught in the cookie jar, you freeze. You’re in big trouble.

Buggy freezes too. His shoulders hunch and his eyes go wide. He glances at you, and then to the side. You look in the same direction.

Standing behind the bar is a stout woman in an apron. A cigar dangles from her lips and she wields a wicked glare. Along with a very, very large shotgun.

She points at a big sign hung above the shelves. NO FiTiN IN DaH baR in big red letters on weathered wooden planks.

“‘No fittin’…?'” Buggy mutters.

“If you’re gonna kill each other,” the matron says, “do it outside.”

Due to a sudden lapse in self-preservation, you speak up. “He started it—“

Everyone jumps as she fires into the ceiling. “And I’m ending it. Get along or get out.”

You glance at Buggy. He glances back. You can see the whites of his eyes, even from all the way over here. Slowly, he replaces his knives back into his jacket.

You lower your fists, feeling awful sheepish.

The bar matron nods. “Back to your drinks, all of you,” she says. 

You can’t help but feel a little embarrassed as the crowd disperses. You can read. You’re very literate. How’d you miss that?

“Guess we both need glasses,” Buggy says right next to your ear.

You jump and nearly swing on him again, but you pull the punch. You have no interest in being shot tonight. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Getting a drink, same as you. Last stop before the Grand Line.” His voice dips low and he leans in close. “And last chance I’ll likely get to cut you and your little captain’s throats.”

You scowl. “Over my dead body,” you growl.

“That’s the idea.” The matron clears her throat loudly. He flinches and pulls back, but the glare remains. “Once you leave, babe— snnckt!” He draws his finger across his throat and his head rolls off his shoulders and into his arms. You yelp and he cackles as he puts it back.

Well, now you’re in it. This wouldn’t have happened if you stayed on the ship, you dumb lush. You could have just drank with Zoro. Or shot the shit with Usopp while he shot at shit. Or let Sanji hit on you while you sharpened his knives. Literally anything would have been better than this.

But here you are. Time to get yourself out of it. Somehow.

"Well, I’m not going anywhere," you tell Buggy. You sit back down at your table. "So get comfy, clown."

He places his hat on the table and plops into the seat across from you. He snatches up the mug -- your mug -- and takes a long, long, long pull. He tips his head all the way back, throat bobbing with every swallow.

You try and fail to drag your eyes away. You like sharp throats.

When it's drained, he slams it back down on the table. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and how he doesn't smudge his makeup, you'll never know.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He kicks up his boots onto the table. “So what’re we drinkin’? Rum? Ale? Whiskey? Bet you’re a rum kinda gal.”

This is gonna be a night.

---

One bottle in. You glower at him and he smiles back, eyes twinkling in the dim light.

Second bottle. The sun is fully down. He’s started chattering about nothing and everything. Rage roils inside you.

Third bottle. The room slowly spins. He’s still talking. You might leave just so you can strangle him.

Fourth bottle. You flip him the bird. He just giggles.

Fifth bottle. You mix it up a bit and order some shots. The matron brings the glasses and leaves the bottle. 

“Hey, the good shit.” Buggy pours two glasses and raises one. “Cheers.”

Something bubbles up in your chest. The urge to speak. You’re gonna say something stupid. You just know it. And you’re just lubricated enough that it slides through. 

You raise your glass. “Another day, another bender. No retreat, no surrender.” You toss it back and it scorches your throat on its way down.

Your head is so full of cotton that it takes you a moment to notice the laughter. Strong. Sharp. Bellyful. Contagious. You like that laugh. You’d like to hear more of it.

And then you realize it’s coming from Buggy. He has his head tossed back and his eyes scrunched and he’s letting out the most glorious laughter you’ve ever heard.

Before you can be properly disgusted with yourself, he recovers. “I got one.” He pours another pair of shots and slides one to you. “Here’s to our wives and girlfriends. May they never meet.”

Two more shots tossed back and two more glasses slammed on the table. It’s all going right to your head and the more it does, the more you’re enjoying yourself.

“Everyone knows that one,” you say. You pour. “One drink is good, two at the most. Three I’m under the table, four I’m under the host.”

His eyebrows shoot up, lips pursed into a circle. Then he laughs again. “Workin’ blue tonight! Alright!” Two more shots poured. “It ain’t the length, it ain’t the size, it’s how often I can make it rise.”

You weren’t expecting that and you almost spit the shot out. You hack and sputter as it goes down the wrong pipe, but you recover.

Though now you’re thinking about Buggy’s dick. You should probably stop that. You wonder if it’s small and that’s why he is how he is.

“Y’alright, babe?” He takes a pull right from the bottle and spills some on his chin and shirt. He’s sauced too. Small comfort.

One more comes to mind. You reach across and snatch the bottle. “Now he lays me down to screw.” You pour one shot. “I pray this clown knows what to do.” You pour the other. “If he should cum before I end…” You raise yours. “I swear to God I’ll fuck his friend!”

He stares at you a moment, grinless, just long enough for you to worry. And then it returns with a howling cackle. He slams his glass into yours hard enough to slosh some whiskey out and you both shoot it back.

You stare at each other, giggling like hyenas. Some part of you knows this is ridiculous. You’re getting smashed with a guy who tried to kill you and your friends. Who was just ready to kill you. Who is plotting to slit your throat right when you’re not expecting it.

You just laugh harder. What’s your life come to?

You come back down to see him staring at you, head resting on his hand. "You laugh cute."

“Nuh-uh.” You take a swig from the whiskey bottle. “I laugh like a News Coo.”

“News Coos are adorable!” He snatches the bottle back and takes a pull. “We switchin’ back to rum after this one? Or do we wanna get avden— abvench— adventurous?”

A good question. "Let's go nuts."

"My kinda woman!" He slams the table to catch the matron's attention. "Bring us something strong!"

---

Bottle six is gin. Neither of you like it and you both down the whole thing. Bottle seven, you're back to ale.

On eight, you wonder if the throat-cutting threat was a ruse and he's really just going to give you alcohol poisoning.

At least it's a fun way to go.

"So there I am," Buggy says, "looking at the giant hole in the hull where the cannon once was, holding a cannonball like this--" He jumps to his feet, pops his head off, and clutches it to his chest like it weighs fifty pounds. "--when the first mate himself walks in."

Your jaw drops. "What'd you do?"

"Only thing I could do.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Threw the cannonball at him!"

He lobs his head to you. You squeal in surprise, just barely managing to catch him before you fall out of your chair. The giggles flow from you like water from a spigot.

He grins as you look at him. "Gotcha," he says with a wink.

Maybe it's the booze. Maybe it's the surprise. Your cheeks heat up all the same. You throw the head back and clamber to your feet.

A moment of clarity hits you as you sit back down. "Why are we drinking together? You wanna kill me."

"It's not that weird. Best drinkin' buddies I ever had tried to kill me. When I tried to skip out on the tab, but... y'know." He takes a gulp from his mug. "’Sides, I like you."

"Why?"

“Barber. Cute laugh. Helluva haymaker." Another swig. “You'd do better with me than that group of losers."

"I am not joining your crew."

He watches the ale swirl in his mug, tracing the rim with his fingers. His lips purse and he glances everywhere but your face.

You try to wait for him to speak, but music catches your attention before he can reply. A lively tune, one perfect for dancing. It looks like some of the pirates pulled out instruments and are entertaining their fellows.

"Aw, I love this song," you chirp. “Luffy’s right, we gotta get us a musician already.”

A chain of dancers sails past. You wish you could hop in, but you’ve got two left feet in ill-fitting high heels when you’re sober on a good day.

Buggy watches you watch them. “Go cut a rug. I’ll watch your shit.”

You shake your head a little too hard and the universe spins. “No way. Can’t dance worth a damn.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” His left hand detaches with a little flourish. “Or two.” Off goes the other one. “Or all of me, if you want.”

“Then who’s gonna watch my shit?”

He blinks, then sits back. “Whatever. I gotta piss anyways,” he mutters. He tries to stand, only for his feet to slip out from under him. “Can I get a hand?”

“Alright, but I’m not helping you aim.” You’re less sober than he is, but you’re drunk enough to try. Hauling yourself to your feet, you offer your hand. He takes it, pulling himself upwards.

And then you see the smile on his face. In a burst of coordination, he pulls you into the throng of people.

Oooooh no. No. No no no. He whirls you around, making your head spin. You step on someone’s foot. “I. Cannot. Dance.”

“Can’t?” He lifts you up, moves you to the side, and places you down again. “Or won’t?”

“Both!”

“Bullshit. Hand here.” He plants your hand on his shoulder and places his own on your—

You slap the smile off his face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point. He accepts it.

“Sorry, thought you were shorter,” he mutters. He puts his hand on your waist. Even through his glove, you can feel his warmth. “Stand on my feet.”

“I’m not a child!” You try to pull away, only to collide with a very large man and get knocked back into Buggy. You’re trapped. No way out but to dance.

You know what? Fine. You stand on his feet — making sure to stamp his toes good — and glower at him. “What’s next?”

The smile returns. “Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

You clutch him as tight as you dare. And thank God you do, because soon you’re spinning like a top.

He guides you over and under, side to side, forward and back. And you don’t trip once. Neither of you do. You don’t even feel nauseous. How is he doing this? Is he magic? Is he just that good?

You glance down. Detached from his ankles, his feet support yours as they scoot around. The rest of him glides through the air, guiding you among the other dancers.

It might as well be magic.

"Light off your feet!" you say.

Buggy's chest thrums with a chuckle. Your stomach jumps into your throat as he drops you into a dip just long enough for him to wink at you. "Ain't I clever?"

He pulls you back up and your stomach slides into your boots. The dance continues.

Whirling, twirling, ducking, weaving, bouncing, bobbing… Is this what a dolphin feels like, swirled around by ocean currents? Or a kite, floating on the breeze? Or a princess swept off her feet by a dashing scoundrel?

Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you ponder what your life has come to. A pirate, dancing on the feet of a clown who tried to kill you and your friends. Who then stole several kisses from you and made your heart flutter and got really drunk with you and now you're a little in lo--

No. Don't say it. If you don't say it, it won't come true. Unless it's the other way around?

It is the other way around. If you say it, you'll jinx it and it won't happen. So you admit it to yourself: you're smitten with this psychotic jackass.

The laughter bubbles forth and it just won't stop. You don't want it to stop. You never want this to stop. This feeling, this dance, this fit of hysterics.

But it must, as all things do. With one final fiddle run, the music stops and everyone applauds. You would join them, but you’re too busy holding onto Buggy for dear life, catching your breath and trying to stop the room from spinning.

“Can’t dance, huh?”

He’s as breathless as you, mouth parted as he takes breaths deep enough to shake his shoulders. Sweat glistens on his face. Glows, even. A few shimmering strands of hair have slipped from his bandanna and stick to his forehead.

What little breath you’ve recovered vanishes from your lungs. Your heart flutters — no, it flaps, like a gull fighting a gust.

You wanna kiss him, but that last shred of self-restraint stops you. “Let’s go again,” you say instead.

His face lights up. “Lemme-- Lemme get rid of this.“

His forearms slip out of his coat and fly to his shoulders, catching his coat as he shrugs out of it. They zip over toward your table. Pretty slick, you admit to yourself.

And then it gets caught on a chair. The arms yank and yank, but it’s snagged good. You giggle.

“C’mon, you piece of…!” He huffs. He pecks your cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He scrambles over to the snag, tripping on every table and chair along the way.

And then you realize he kissed you. Your spine goes rigid.

A tap on your shoulder knocks you out of your stun and you turn. You half-expect it to be one of his hands, but a rather large pirate is there.

“My captain fancies you,” he rumbles. He nods at a smug-looking blond with the worst come-hither face you’ve ever seen. “He would like the pleasure of your company.”

Nnnnno, you think. “Nnnnno,” you say. Buggy has freed his coat and is draining the rest of the bottle you’d abandoned. “Already spoken for.”

The man’s hand engulfs your shoulder and pulls you around. “It wasn’t a request.”

The blond snakes his arm around your trunk, his hand going to your breast. You try to pull away, but the goon’s grip is like iron.

A sharp whistle makes everyone turn. Buggy stands there, arms behind his back. His expression is neutral, but you see his clenched jaw and the bulging tendon in his neck.

“And where are you going with my leading lady?” He’s got the showman voice on. “Our number isn’t over.”

The captain smiles. “I’ll return her once we’ve had our fun,” he says.

He takes a few meandering steps towards them. “Look, gentlemen: we can play this as a tragedy or a comedy. Your choice.”

The goon straightens up. He cracks his knuckles with a chorus of pops. The captain draws a rapier. You’re not sure how well a Chop Chop man handles being stabbed.

Buggy glances between the two of them, nonplussed. “Comedy it is.”

Two disembodied hands slam a bottle over each man’s head. Shards of glass and drops of rum fly everywhere. The pirates’ grips go slack, and you jump away as they hit the floor with dull thuds.

Chaos erupts.

---

⬅⬅⬅ | To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | To the Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

[sadiegirl2021]

Silly little one shot for @gwynrielweeksofficial - Day 2: Compatible (loose interpretation)

Soul Meets Body on Ao3

“I don’t care how good-looking he is, Nesta! I’m not letting you set me up on a blind date.”

“Gwyn! Please!! This guy is your soulmate. He loves all the same books as you, he goes to the gym, he’s got a coffee addiction! You’re basically the girl version of him.”

“So! Blind dates are weird. You know how shy I can get…”

“He’s shy too!”

“Oh, wonderful! Really selling it. So we’ll just sit there, and not talk at all during dinner?”

“Talk about books!”

“Bye, Nesta!”

“Wait–”

Gwyn hung up the phone. She was sick of this. Why couldn’t her friends just accept that she didn’t want a boyfriend right now? College was crazy enough without adding love or sex on top. She needed to stay focused and certainly had no room to entertain Nesta’s blind date idea.

“So stupid,” she mumbled to herself, reaching for a bag of apples at the supermarket.

“What did you call me?”

Gwyn looked up and felt her jaw comically fall to the floor as she gazed at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Raven-black hair, golden eyes, and tall… so freaking tall!

“Oh… no… I wasn’t–”

He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

Gwyn didn’t dare speak again, for fear it would be an incoherent jumble of words. This was what she was talking about with Nesta. Whenever she started talking to a cute guy, she froze like this! Her mind raced with funny and interesting things to say, but her mouth decided to keep shut. She just smiled at him.

“.... those are good apples,” he said, shifting a little awkwardly. Gwyn would have expected someone of his stature to radiate confidence.

“Yeah… they’re my favourite.” Gods, so smart, Gwyn!

“Me too… I like oranges as well.”

“Same.”

Was this possibly the worst conversation she’d ever had?

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Do you come here often?”

Oh my god. Was he… flirting with her?

Gwyn let out a little chuckle, “Oh yeah, the supermarket is where it’s at. Haven’t you heard?” Better!

He laughed, and damn if it wasn’t giving her crazy butterflies.

“I’m Azriel,” he said smoothly, seeming to relax more in her presence.

“Gwyn,” she replied with a slight flush on her cheeks.

“Gwyn,” he whispered like an answer to a question. “I don’t normally do this… I mean I never do this… but do you want to grab dinner tonight?”

“Like a date?”

“Yeah… I mean, cool if not… I just–”

“Yes! I’d love to.”

He seemed to sigh in relief, “That’s great! Amazing… can I grab your number, and I’ll text you the details?”

She nodded, “Of course!” Oh my god, how did she pull this off? He was the hottest guy she’d ever met, and he just asked her out!

They gleefully exchanged numbers, exchanged a few more awkward observations of the fruit around them, and went their separate ways.

Gwyn practically floated home, dying to rummage through her wardrobe for the perfect outfit. Nesta was going to kill her… but blind dates were stupid! At least she knew she was attracted to Azriel.

______________________

Gwyn had opted for a short, sapphire-blue, body-con dress with silver strappy heels and no jacket. It was the height of summer… plus she looked way too hot to cover up.

“I can’t believe you’re going out with some rando over the guy I picked for you!” Nesta huffed from the couch.

Gwyn finished putting on her cherry-red lipstick and rolled her eyes at Nesta’s statement.

“Cassian is going to be pissed. You’re turning down his best friend for some stranger.”

“You know, I haven’t even met Cassian yet! So why would I want to date his best friend? Are you even dating Cassian?”

“Don’t judge our… situation! It’s complicated.”

“Because you’re in love with him?”

“He wishes!” Nesta laughed with an air of ‘yes, I love him so much it’s killing me, but I don’t know how to handle emotions.”

*Buzz Buzz*

“That’s him! Can you please get it? I need to grab my bag.”

It was Nesta’s turn to roll her eyes as she threw off her snuggly blanket and made her way to the door. As she opened it, she quipped, “You better not be some serial killer–Oh my god, Azriel!?”

“Nesta… hey! Do–Do you live here?”

She nodded in confirmation. “You’re Gwyn’s date for tonight?”

“Yeah, we met at the supermarket earlier. Hey, Cassian was in a foul mood today. What happened with you two last night?”

Nesta scowled at the mere mention of his name, and Azriel flinched, not expecting an answer.

“Hey, Azriel,” Gwyn chirped as she left her bedroom.

Azriel’s hand flew to his chest, as if someone had shot him with a cupid's arrow. “Wow! Gwyn… you look–”

Gwyn couldn’t even let him finish; she hated compliments, “So do you! Shall we go?” she asked, moving to the door. Nesta had the strangest look on her face, and a sly grin that was a little frightening. Gwyn gave her a ‘what the fuck’ look in exchange.

Azriel seemed to notice their interactions. “I’ll give you a minute.” He backed away into the hall to wait for her.

“What?” Gwyn exclaimed.

“That’s the guy!!”

“What guy?”

“The blind date guy… Cassian’s friend!”

“Are you serious?”

Nesta nodded with a huge grin.

Gwyn could only laugh. “Well… I still think blind dates are stupid!”

Nesta smirked, “So destiny intervened! Have a great night with your soulmate!”

“Shut up!”

Gwyn caught up with Azriel. He looked so sleek in his pressed black trousers and crisp white shirt, with a couple of buttons open to show a thick silver chain. If this was indeed her soulmate, she had some serious praying to the gods to do in thanks.

[stoutguts]

A Pint of Comfort (💀🧼) PART 2

(first time rlly writing a full length fic like this, so be nice okay?)

Tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, the definition of hurt/comfort, mutual pining (kind of?????/just barely (idk, I'm kind of bad with tropes), lots of crying (and suggestive kissing), Ghost has Astraphobia,—Johnny helps Simon through a PTSD episode, while also finally getting a much needed point across 💖

possible CW/TW for PTSD, flashbacks, Ghost's canon backstory, very subtly implied NSFW at the very end lmao, and implied parental/child ab*se

Link to the previous part!:

Now, here Soap was, having to walk home in this fucking weather.

At 10, almost 11 o’clock at night, no less, (the boys had kept him much longer than he would’ve liked).

It was simply perfect out, before he left, and even as he made his trek to the pub.

Clear skies, sunshine, all that bullshit.

He even saw a damn rainbow stretching across the heavens, which put a little smile on his face.

But I guess,—just leave it to the sheer unpredictability of Manchester’s weather,—to completely ruin your whole day!

Johnny sighs resignedly, as he gathers up the courage to run home in the pouring rain. Frowning at the gross, black clouds over head.

“It really is pishin’ it doon out here…” he says to himself, staring off into the distance. Dissociating a little.

It wasn’t that getting wet bothered him or anything,—he’s a damn solider for Christ’s sake.

He’d been through way worse conditions than this…In way worse…situations…than this.

He had nearly froze his ass off when they had intercepted Shepherd in that frozen wasteland, or when he’d snagged that ACS module in Kazakhstan with Roach, (which was all for nothing by the way).—Considering he’s the most cold-natured person on the planet. (While Simon about died from a heat stroke on multiple occasions in Las Almas, and bitches and complains the whole time when they’re on missions in places where it’s particularly humid. (Being incredibly hot-natured).

Soap is just paranoid about getting struck by lightning…as stupid as that sounds.

Eventually Johnny quits his pussyfooting around, and sprints out from under the shelter. Taking off his jacket and lifting it over his head as makeshift cover.

He runs for pretty much the whole way home, and as soon he reaches the porch,—he hurriedly fumbles with his keys and makes his way inside. Slamming and locking the door behind him,—before taking off his soaked sneakers and throwing his soiled jacket on the floor.

Soap then just leans up against the door for a minute, panting,—after all,—he’d just made it back to him and Ghost’s house in record time.

After he successfully catches his breath, he shivers, cold as ice because of his now waterlogged clothes.

“Like a motherfockin’ monsoon, bloody Jesus…” he thinks to himself, as he, unexpectedly, squeezes water out of his shirt. His jeans dripping onto the welcome mat below him. The jacket did fuck all to protect him from the rain.

You would’ve thought the man had jumped into a fucking swimming pool.

Johnny, covered in sweat and rainwater, figures he could use a hot shower.

After taking off his wet socks and shoving them into his discarded shoes, he heads over to him and Simon's shared bedroom. Not caring about the trail of water made by his jeans, (he’d clean it up later or it would dry up eventually, (whichever comes first).

"Ah'm home—“, Soap announces before confusedly looking around the room, as Ghost is nowhere to be seen, and not in bed. Not to mention,—he realizes he got no response.

That is until...his eyes finally find Simon—curled up into a ball in the far corner of the room next to the lamp. Shaking, with his hands over his head.

He’s crying.

“Simon? Simon! Doll, what’s wrong?”, Johnny calls out as he rushes over to them, kneeling down and attempting to draw them close. Wanting to ease whatever was distressing them.

Though, without a word, in a moment of desperation and slight clarity, Simon tackles him as soon as it notices him.—Knocking Soap down onto his ass.

Wrapping his arms around him, and hugging him tightly. Proceeding to sob loudly, as they bury their face into Johnny’s shoulder.

“Mo gradh, what’s wrong? Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay….Ah’m here, calm down, it’s aaricht…”, Soap soothes, feeling his heart break, seeing Ghost in such a state. He brings his hands up to embrace him, rubbing his back.

“No!”, Simon wails, “Please stop! Don’t hurt me—please it hurts!”, tears stream down it’s face, as it cries out in pure terror.

Johnny’s own tears well up in his eyes as he realizes what’s happening.

“Ye poor, poor thang…”, he thinks to himself.

He feels his chest clench painfully. The poor guy reliving things so vividly, that’s he’s age-regressed along with it.

Soap pulls himself together for Ghost, wiping his tears away.

“C’mon, wrap ye legs around mae…there ye go…”, Johnny gently instructs Simon, with it wrapped around him like an octopus. He hoists Ghost, (who’s still shaking like a leaf), up into his arms, before walking over to their bed.

Awkwardly sitting down, with them still clutching onto him.

As Soap picked him up, he realized that they had wet themselves,—but he would worry about that later. After all, he’d forgotten about his own sopping wet clothes ages ago.

He holds him close again, with one arm around their waist and the other holding it’s head, like you would a baby. Slowly rocking him back and forth, as he knows it’s something they do to calm themselves down from time to time.

A loud boom echos from outside,—more thunder.

To Johnny’s surprise,—Simon jumps at the sound, whimpering. Gripping onto him even tighter, shaking even more violently, and burying it’s face even more into his drenched t-shirt.

“Please…don’t leave me…mum, I need you! Don’t let him hurt me…please!”, Ghost bawls, inconsolable.

“He’s naw here, love. Yer pops isnae here, he’s gone remember? It’s just ye and mae…”, Soap’s voice breaks, as he chokes the words out.

He clears his throat.

“Aye, ye have mae word—I wouldnae let annae'ane hurt ye,—ah’d kill ‘em first…Ah’d never leave ye, I love you so much, ah’d be with ye till the bitter end…”, Johnny whispers, reassuring Simon. Despite his best efforts to stay strong, he still can’t help but get all misty-eyed himself. Shedding his own tears out of pity, with his chest now tight with affection, for the man clinging to him like their life depends on it.

“Please stop,—stop…please…”, Ghost continues to weep.

All the while, Soap does his best to comfort him and get him through it,—until the storm passes. Making for a long and arduous night at home.

…

By the end of it, Simon’s eyes are red and swollen from crying so much, and they’ve got a gnarly migraine.

Johnny helps it to change out of it’s piss-stained basketball shorts and boxers, and clean them up. Additionally, throwing away and cleaning up the plethora of used tissues, from it’s sinuses becoming inflamed. Fetching some ibuprofen and cold syrup from the medicine cabinet, and a glass of water from the kitchen for him while he’s at. He tucks Ghost in on the non-damp side of the bed, kissing them on the forehead, before they quickly fall asleep.

Soap then finally gets the chance to change out of his now, mostly dry clothes, and take a shower. And by the time he’s done, he’s ready to conk out himself.

After he swiftly does his nightly skincare routine, he gets under the covers and cozies up to his lover,—spooning him.

Stay tuned for the other parts! (Breaking this up into parts, as it's kind of a long one).

Part 3 will probably be up by tomorrow!

[hauntedwizardmoment]

Before the beginning for the ask game!! Any story you like in particular!!

yayyyy just gonna make this an excuse to write a quick thing about jace in college. i got kinda carried away fkklsdgdjf

There are so many reasons why Jace shouldn’t be here. 

He has to be up at 8am for Grimoire Development tomorrow. He hates going to Titania’s, it’s the worst bar on the strip of bars that opposes the Arcane Arts Institute’s campus, but it’s the only one that doesn’t have a cover charge. That must be why they’re still in business, because it’s definitely not the atmosphere. 

The live band sucks, the lead singer can’t hold a note, warbling through a cover of some atrocious alt-rock song. He takes a swig from the amber-colored bottle in his hand absentmindedly and chokes on the bitterness. Gods, it’s gross. Not just the beer; the floor is littered with dented plastic cups, his nice new boots sticking to the linoleum with every step. Everyone around him is sweaty and covered in a thin film of grime, the air smells like cigarettes. 

He glances around, finding that his stupid soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend ditched him, like an asshole, even though he’s the one that dragged Jace out here. And now he’s stuck wearing his stupid leather jacket over his stupid band t-shirt alone in a crowd full of people he doesn’t care about impressing. He looks ridiculous, he feels ridiculous, and he wants to leave. 

A Misty Step, and he’s outside, in the alley behind the bar. It’s freezing; he can feel the cold air through the rips in his tight black jeans. He checks the time on his crystal: 1:24 AM. The exhaustion hits him like a ton of bricks, what a waste of a night. 

He’s about to Teleport back to his apartment when the back doors swing open and a tall goliath stumbles outside, falling flat on his ass against the brick wall. 

“Hey, you okay?” Jace asks, offering a hand. 

“‘M good,” the guy slurs, trying to get up and failing. “Swear.” 

He needs to sleep if he wants any chance of being able to make it through his classes tomorrow. He has no idea who this guy is, or if he’s a serial killer, or… 

The goliath heaves, vomiting onto the pavement, head lolling miserably. He’s been there.

“I can Teleport. Where do you live?” 

Large, beautiful brown eyes brimming with tears look up at him. There’s a pause, before the guy says “my keys,” and hands him his keyring, a metal tag on it reading If lost, mail to Dagbert Machtiger, 1290 South Cinderroot Lane, Apartment 306

Jace takes it, grateful to have an associated object as he Teleports them to an apartment that’s moderately less shitty than his own, with a plastic-looking couch and small coffee table in the middle of a tiny living room. The goliath sinks into it, slurring out a “thanks, man,” before he passes out. 

He leaves the keys on the coffee table and lets himself out, checking his crystal. He’s not too far from his place, about a half mile. If he’s quick, and he doesn’t stay up the rest of the night, he can be in bed by 2, then be mostly ready for class tomorrow. 

His crystal rings as he’s taking the stairs down to ground level, and he answers it without thinking. “Hello?”

“Jacey, did you leave already?” His definitely-getting-dumped-tomorrow-boyfriend asks. “You wanna head back to mine? You can stay the night.” 

He knows what that means. He’ll be staying up for another hour, at least, and it won’t even be that good. Ugh, he shouldn’t be fucking around like this.

“You know it,” he says. “Meet you there.” 

He shuts his crystal with a clat and sighs. Tomorrow. He’ll grow a spine and start saying no to these things tomorrow. He swears. 

[gurbled-gargles]

Consider this a continuation of this

vvv

It had been a while since she had seen the angel. Perhaps he felt bad about what he did, and disappeared. But that couldn’t be the case; no matter where she went, she couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes staring at the back of her head. Maybe she was just paranoid, she was, she had to be, being by herself in a small apartment.

At least she thought she was by herself, before she had opened the door to said room. She was exhausted, waiting in line at a grocery store with low social battery was not helping her mood. Her mood shifted from exasperated to terrified as she heard humming coming from her bedroom. She set the groceries on the floor, and silently crept towards the bedroom.

Her hair was standing on end, she could feel a pit forming in her stomach; she crept too close before realizing that she didn’t grab anything that could be used as a weapon. The humming stopped, and she froze dead her tracks; breath hitched. She didn’t know whether to run or hide so she remained frozen.

“What’re you doing?” A deep voice spoke from behind. She whipped around, eyes wide with fear. The voice came from a man, dark skinned. His pale blue hair covering his eyes. A navy blue leather jacket and blue jeans, his hands in his pockets. He was hunched over, staring at her, so tall he barely didn’t touch the ceiling.

“Get out,” she spoke slowly. “Before I call the cops.” She tried to sound stern and threatening, but the man just scoffed and stared at her; as if he hadn’t heard her at all.

“Y’dont gotta be all serious, y’know? B’sides, ya’d look real stupid calling’ the cops on yer roommate, girlie.”

“How did you-“

“I can read yknow, I saw yer listin’. If ya wanna know how I got into yer place it’s real simple,”

He leaned in closer, and whispered in her ear, “Ya don’t become a shoulder demon without learning shrink magic.”

A demon. She felt her heart drop, and her head get fuzzy. She stared up at the demon, as he got further away and everything faded to black.

———

TMP

TMP

TMP

“Nice of you ta finally wake up, shortstack!”

The demon’s voice boomed. She yelped as she covered her ears and flinched. Where was she? The last thing she did was black out staring at his face… she looked up.. and up, up, up.

Panic set in at the sight of an impossibly huge man, no, demon, staring down at her; eyes pure yellow with black slit pupils eyeing her form. She stumbled backwards, barely registering his black platform boots being inches from where she stood.

“Where ya goin’, shortstack? I haven’t even introduced myself yet!”

His sudden speaking made her fall on her butt, he either didn’t know how loud he sounded to her, or likely didn’t care. She didn’t have time to think about it, however, as a giant hand came towards her faster than she expected.

He snatched her up easily, his right hand keeping her in his fist while his left hand remained in his pocket.

The rapid change in height did nothing to calm her nerves, everything got farther away before she was hovered uncomfortably close to his face. All she could see was dark skin, those yellow cat-like eyes staring at her, and a playful grin forming on his face.

He was having fun, staring at her form that was shaking like a leaf in his fist. Humans were always so shocked meeting demons, and shrinking them down a notch was always a fun pastime.

“I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted quite yet,” he spoke. It was softer, only because he wasn’t actively yelling. “The name’s Remulus, but you can jus’ call me Rem. I’ll be your shoulder demon, bringer of temptation, from this day forward, shortstack.”

“Precious,” she spoke.

“My name is Precious. Don’t call me shortstack.”

She tried and failed not to waver her voice as she spoke.

Rem snorted, and then chuckled, and then laughed, throwing his hands up, Precious included. She let out a scream she was mentally holding back as she was thrown directly into the air, almost onto the ceiling, and came crashing down onto a soft surface. The wind was knocked out of her, she was shaking as she gripped the palm of Rem’s hand for dear life.

She glared at him, the fear she felt replaced with anger.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Sorry shortst- ahem- ‘Precious’, but you humans are so funny when you’re so small and try to act tough! As if I already didn’t smell your fear before you came in the room~”

He paused for a second, then brought her closer to his mouth.

“Your fear smells delicious by the way. Makes me wonder what it would taste like.”

Precious felt her blood run cold. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do exactly what she had feared would happen since the day she met that angel.

Her world shifted in the blink of an eye. Suddenly staring down a dark abyss of blue flesh and drool, she did the only thing she could do; freeze up and fall face first onto Rem’s tongue. It took her another second to register what was happening, and then immediately begin fighting the fleshy muscle away.

She had also registered that was less light, because he was closing his mouth. She scrambled, trying to run but it was no use. He pinned her to the roof of his palette, licking his lips and sealing her in. She fell back onto the ‘floor’ with a splat. Crying in desperation, she kicked his tongue as it tried to keep licking her

“LET ME OUT YOU BASTARD!! I’ll FUCKING — MMPH!!”

Her shouts muffled as he pinned her to the roof of mouth again.

She once again landed on his tongue, and she was suddenly lurched backwards. He’s swallowing, he’s actually going to eat me. Desperately trying to grip any surface, but it was no use.

*glp*

Her mind felt fuzzy again, was she in another free fall? Maybe this wouldn’t be that bad, maybe should would wake up in a grassy field again. She tried to reassure herself as everything faded to black again..

——-

Rain.

Everything smelled like rain. The sound of rain pattering against a window woke her up. She was soaked. It was pouring. She stumbled to her feet. She saw a small building in the distance, and didn’t hesitate to sprint towards it.

Getting closer, the building was more like a tiny cabin in the middle of the woods. She didn’t have time to think about the faint smell of rotting wood or hint glimpse of cobweb.

It was cold, but being in any shelter was better than being out in the storm.

This is his stomach, she thought.

I didn’t know that they could create buildings.

“Of course I can create buildings! It’s my body after all!”

She jumped.

“How.. how can you-?”

“Ha! Humans are so easily impressed! It’s a lot easier to hear you through telekinesis, shortstack. And before ya ask no, I’m not lettin’ ya out. I gotta confirm somethin’ first..”

She sighed. Maybe I can wait out the rain.

[cosmicpearlz]

the heart wants what it wants

summary: jealousy is truly a disease that anyone could catch. even if that person just happens to be someone you considered your enemy.

pairing: percy hynes white x reader

…………………………………………………………………………….

“guys i got a date!” percy smiles while taking a seat on the couch next to georgie who shakes his shoulder in excitement for him. the friend group always did hangouts, rotating between each other’s house. there truly wasn’t a moment that you all weren’t together.

“that’s great mate! when it is?”

“this friday.”

“no! perc we’re all supposed to go to that party, remember?” emma frowned at the boy sitting across from her.

“i’m sure you guys won’t miss me too much.”

“i’m sure we won’t miss you at all. what are we talking about anyways?” you shrugged your jacket off and laid it on the back of the high chair by the counter. taking your seat, you waited for someone to fill you in with the details.

“percy has a date this friday and emma is upset he’s not coming to the party with us.” for some reason you felt your heart drop at hunter’s words. percy had a date?

“as if anyone would date you,” you sipped from your water bottle completely ignoring the harsh glare he sent you.

“is that jealousy i hear honey? you upset that you can’t have me?”

“oh please. you think too highly of yourself, there’s certainly nothing to be jealous of.” the lie easily fell through your lips. you didn’t understand why you were so jealous over percy of all people getting a date but you knew you were.

“it’s okay if you were jealous. i know i’m pretty irresistible,” he smirked at you making you roll your eyes.

“no, you’re irritating. don’t get it-”

“the both of you are irritating sometimes. now what are we watching for movie night?” joy cuts you off and chose to ignore you two like everyone in the group usually did when the both of you started arguing.

-

friday came quicker than expected but it didn’t stop you from drowning all your feelings into the alcohol. you wanted to forget that percy was on his stupid date. you were only supposed to have a couple drinks and then stop but of course that wasn’t the case.

“y/n? y/n, i’m gonna come in.” jenna opens the door and finds you sitting on the floor with your head on the wall. you looked up and gasped at your friend.

“jenna!”

“how much did you have to drink?”

“i dunno but i’m having soo much fun,” you go to stand up but fell right back down. while you were laughing at your slip up, jenna pulls her phone out to call percy.

the first two times he didn’t answer, it went straight to voicemail but that didn’t stop her. she couldn’t leave you like this or worse have you drinking anymore and something bad happens.

“jenna, i’m on a date, remember? what is so important to call me four times?”

“it’s y/n.”

“okay and?”

“they’re absolutely shit faced drunk and i need to pick them up.”

“they’re what?”

“drunk, percy. drunk and i don’t want to leave them like this. please.”

“fine. i’ll be there in a few.” percy hangs up the phone and sighed loudly.

walking back to his table, he began grabbing his stuff. he was frustrated because he felt like the date was going so well up until this point.

“i’m so sorry but i have to leave.”

“what why?”

“my friend, it’s an emergency.”

“why can’t you just leave them?”

“i would never leave them like that.” without another word to exchange, he left some cash to pay for the dinner and rushes out to his car.

-

“here, they’re in there.” jenna lead percy to the bathroom that you were still sitting in. “i’m so sorry again perc. i know you were excited for the date.”

“it’s no problem.” you lifted your head once more at the familiar voice and smiled seeing the boy who you claimed to hate with a burning passion.

“percy! it’s so good to see you.” percy shakes his head at your slurring words. how did you manage to get this drunk? what made you get this way?

“yeah yeah, let’s get you home.” he bends down to pick you up effortlessly allowing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders. you loosely wave at jenna and rested your head in the crook of his neck.

“i missed you so much.”

“i’m sure you didn’t.”

“no, seriously. i was kinda mad that you were on a date.”

“you’re drunk, so stop talking.” you childishly raise a hand to zip your lips with a lopsided smile. he rolled his eyes and strapped you in the car. percy knew this was gonna be a long night.

-

it was a nightmare bringing you inside of the house. percy couldn’t take you to your house because apparently you gave your keys to emma, so the only option was to take you to his.

“hey percy can i tell you something? shh, you have to promise not to tell percy though.” he holds back a laugh while helping you out of your shoes.

“okay, what did you want to tell me?”

“i think i’m in love with percy. it’s why i got so drunk because i was super jealous. it should have been me.” even with most of your words coming out in a slurry manner, he understood everything you said. he knew he was attracted to you but also felt like it was wasn’t reciprocated due to all of the arguing.

“you’re drunk y/n.” he goes to the dresser to grab you clothes to sleep in. when he found something comfortable for you, he began helping you put the clothes on.

“well that definitely is true but i mean what i said. i’m not sure i really remember why we started our petty arguments in the first place. he’s very handsome with his stupid face and i could-“

“stop it! you don’t mean what you’re saying right now. i had to leave a date to pick you up because you were being irresponsible! the least you could do is stop talking.” percy turns his head to the wall in frustration with you and your confession. he wanted so badly for the confession to be true but he felt like you wouldn’t remember it in the morning. leaving him back at square one.

“i’m sorry.” the sound of your sniffles turns percy’s gaze back to you. he felt awful knowing that he had managed to make you cry. with a sigh, he sits next to you on the bed and wraps an arm around you letting you cry into his shoulder.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to yell at you. it’s just been a long night. it’s not fair to take that out on you. let’s get you to bed, yeah?” your tears stopped as you picked up your head and nodded at him.

percy helps you move the duvet cover back, so you can get comfortable. you lay your head on the pillow and sigh in contentment as the boy tucked you in.

“you okay?”

“mhm.”

“alright, i’ll be in the living room if you need me.” he quickly changed into his pajamas not bothering to leave the room being that you weren’t paying any attention to him anyways. once he got done, he goes to open the bedroom door.

“wait!”

“what’s wrong?”

“can you cuddle me?” turning around to face you, he sees your eyes wide open waiting for his reply.

“y/n, i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“please?”

“fine,” percy walks back to the bed and climbs in with you. immediately, you scoot to the middle and let him wrap his arm around your waist to spoon you. you leaned your head back into his chest feeling way better.

“you’re very warm.”

with a light chuckle, he leans over you to turn the lamp off before settling back against you. “go to sleep y/n. we can talk in the morning.”

-

waking in the morning, you found yourself alone in a bed that definitely wasn’t yours. quickly pulling back the duvet making sure that you weren’t naked, you were relieved to find that you had on a tee shirt and some basketball shorts. you sat up against the headboard to lean your aching head on.

“morning sleepyhead,” percy walks into the room with a glass of water and some pain medication.

“hey loser, how’d i get here?” you gladly accept the water and advil while he sits on the bed. after taking the pain reliever, you got a rush of the memories from the previous night and you groaned to yourself.

“i take it that means you remember last night.”

“yeah,” you spoke in a low whisper keeping your head down.

“did you mean it?”

“well you know they say drunk words are just sober thoughts.”

“please don’t joke about this. y/n is it true?” meeting his eyes that almost twinkled from the harsh sunlight beaming through the window, you nodded.

“yes percy. everything i said last night was true,” he moves the glass out of your hands to sit on the nightstand and replaces it with his hand.

“do you regret telling me?”

“maybe in those circumstances yes but other than that no, i don’t regret it. it was bound to slip out sometime,” you shrugged and averted your eyes to the wall missing the way percy smiled.

“good,” percy turns your head towards him and places a delicate kiss to your lips then to your cheek.

“i was thinking maybe we could try being together, if that’s something that you want.”

“percy, i’m the one who drunkly confessed! of course, i want to try a relationship with you, idiot.”

“still gonna be mean to me?”

“hey, you being my boyfriend doesn’t stop the teasing.” he grins and pulls you closer to kiss you again before you lightly pushed him away.

“what was that for?” his brows furrowed in confusion while you bring a hand to cover your mouth.

“my breath stinks, we are not making out like that.”

“babe! it’s fine just let me kiss you.” you break out of his hold and dash towards the bedroom door.

“ew no! stop being a weirdo and let me brush my teeth first.” percy laughs throwing his back against the bed still keeping his gaze on you.

“fine, there’s some spare toothbrushes in bathroom down the hall. i also have a fresh towel and rag for you already in there as well if you want a shower too.”

“thanks babe!” you blew him a kiss that he pretended to catch and put in his pocket. while you walked away, he knew that he couldn’t wait to have more moments like this with you.

[emma-frxst]

The Implicit Demand For Proof (Chapter 12)

Pairing: Detective David Loki x reader

Summary: you, a forensic psychologist, get called in on a high priority child abduction case in Conyers, PA. What happens when you catch feelings for the mysterious detective Loki?

Warnings: spoilers for the movie, movie level violence, slight change of events, language. talk of death and su*cide, angry Loki, angry reader.

A/N- reblogs and comments help me the most! Let me know your thoughts, even if it’s only a keysmash. Let me know if you wan on or off the tag list. Thanks for reading!!

-

David unlocked his front door with a heavy sigh. He shed his thick jacket and heavy boots and set his empty travel cup by the sink. He really needed to do the dishes, they were piling up. He opened the fridge, not because he was hungry, no, he had lost his appetite hours beforehand- Bob Taylor’s incident replaying over and over in his mind. He opened it but more out of pure habit, there was nothing there really. He been putting off grocery shopping, but to be fair, the food he bought usually went bad because he was rarely home to eat it.

David made his way to the shower, hoping the water would wash away more than just dirt and sweat.

Didn’t work so well for washing away guilty feelings.

He got out, dried himself then wrapped the towel around his waist.

He stood in front of the foggy mirror, water from his hair dripping onto the floor. He wiped a section away, only big enough so see his face.

He started intently at the man in the mirror, his expression turning sour.

“Stupid.” He muttered.

After putting on his pjs he slid under the covers, his body rejoicing at the prospect of slumber.

About a hour or two into his much needed sleep, Loki’s dreams were interrupted by his phone buzzing loudly against the oak nightstand.

Fuck

He should’ve just turned the damn thing off.

He looked at the caller ID

Dr. (F/n) (l/n)

He would’ve hit ignore if it was anyone but her

“Hello?” He murmured, barely awake.

“Loki I’ve got it- I don’t think Bob did it, the profile doesn’t match and-“

“Whoa, (y/n) slow down, please.” He said, his voice coarse. “I just woke up, I was actually sleeping for once.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Oh sorry. I just assumed you’d be awake. “

“How long have you been up?” He asked.

“Um I haven’t slept. But that’s not important. What I’m trying to say is that I think the girls are still out there!”

Loki sighed, sitting up, the chilly night air invading his previously blanket- clad body. “okay..let’s hear it.”

“He said he killed them, but he’s not organized enough to pull something like this off.”

You could feel Loki’s confusion through the phone.

“The type of person that took these kids has done this before, they’re organized. And they have a mission; one that they would do anything to see it through to the end. They want to know the pain they’ve caused the families, to know they did that. Bob Taylor is not that. Bob Taylor is too hesitant and disorganized. You saw the shit drawn on his walls Loki, think about his behavior. Think about it.” You urged him.

Loki thought a moment, realizing what you were saying makes sense. But he was a man of facts..evidence.

“Or he did what he did so he wouldn’t sit in prison, (y/n). Plus, wheres the proof?! We need evidence.”

Loki’s heart rate began to rise and he grew a tinge angry at her. But for Loki, a tinge was just enough for all those big emotions to come flooding back.

“A profile isn’t proof. We can’t give these families false hope on a hunch! The families each identified clothing, (y/n). The girls clothes. And right now the evidence is pointing to Bob Taylor. Who’s dead now because of me!”

She was silent. He shouldn’t have yelled.

“(Y/N), listen-“

“No Loki you listen- I’m telling you something is off here. So you gotta cut that shit out and get back to looking for the girls.”

He sighed.

“Loki, did you pull the trigger on that gun?”

“What?” He questioned.

“Did you pull the trigger? Or did Bob?”

“Bob did, but-“

“Then it’s not your fault. Bob is the one who made that decision. Not you.“

Loki opened his mouth to speak but the words couldn’t make it out.

“Well get a fresh start in the morning. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“Yeah…You too.” He said with a gentle tone, hoping that it would convey to (y/n) that I’m not mad at you I’m mad at myself and this whole situation. I think you’re very smart and pretty and there’s something about you that makes me feel all fuzzy inside and I don’t know what to do about it.

But she hung up the phone with a quiet “bye, Loki.”

.

The next morning

You arrived at the station before Loki which was a surprise, he had been at his desk already working by the time you entered the door almost every day.

O’Malley had asked you into his office, presumably to talk more about last night.

“We’re going to deploy cadaver dogs when forensics is finished with the house. So when the case is officially closed, we can cut you loose, Dr. (L/n). Thank you again for coming. Sorry it didn’t have a happy ending.”

“Yeah, me too.” You replied.

“I’m, uh..sorry about detective Loki.” He sighed. “He can be-“ he paused. “Personally invested. He’s a good kid though.”

You nodded and excused yourself back to your desk.

You decided to keep your theory from the captain, at least until you could find some semblance of hard evidence to support your claim.

.

David sat in the captains office, expecting to get a good talking-to.

“Atleast I don’t have to worry about losing you to PSP.”

He refused the scotch the captain offered him.

“When forensics is finished with the guys place we’re gonna deploy the cadaver dogs.”

Loki didn’t say anything, as he was pre-occupied by Bob Taylor’s “map” he drew.

“Look kid we can’t always save the day, alright? We’re just cops. Janitors.”

Loki only started at the paper on the ground, half listening to his superior’s words.

“So you lost this one all right? Look, you want fulfillment? You need to find a girl, you know? Start a family, have some kids.” The captain hesitated before his next words.

“(L/n) seems nice, smart too.”

Loki glared up at him.

O’Malley gave him a knowing look.

“You need to let it go, Loki.”

“We done?” Loki’s question coming out as more of a statement.

.

As Loki came out of the captains office, you noticed his fists clenched and shoulders stiff.

Right before your eyes, in a fit of rage, Loki shoved everything off his desk. Sending it all clattering to the floor. He took the keyboard and smashed it against the hard surface of the desk, keys flying in all directions.

You understood now, what the guy from the search team said about Loki’s good mood. Because what you just witnessed was Loki’s bad mood.

You got up and went to the break room to give Loki some space, as much as you wondered what happened to him for him to get that angry and to express it in such a way- you were not about to be in the middle of it all.

In the break room, you found yourself amongst three other detectives making their first cup of coffee for the day.

It made you a bit anxious as you hadn’t really talked with anyone but Loki. Your nerves eased when they offered you a cup, saying anyone who worked that closely with David Loki would need it.

Before you could get another word in, Loki barged in. He had a real knack for showing up right when people were talking about him.

“(L/N), Forensics found something we need to see.”

-

loki only tags: @spideyrights @sataninsatin @go-commander-kim @severuined @romancries @eclecticfashionbookszipper @fagen @sizzlingcloudmentality @kissyabish

[wikiangela-fanfics]

I can't love you any more (than I do now)

this is so domestic, fluffy and corny idek lmao

words: 2.6k

[read on Ao3]

You tell me I'm your favorite person Yeah, what we got is workin' And the years have only made 'em more that way

Eddie's pretty sure he and Buck are dating. 

Well, maybe not in so many words. 

They've never talked about it, hell, they never even kissed, or went on a date or anything like that. 

But Eddie can’t help noticing how their relationship has surpassed platonic a long time ago. It’s confusing, sometimes, because he’s not even sure when something changed, but suddenly he finds himself in this weird stage, where Buck is present in every aspect of his life, being a partner and a co-parent, and, honestly, it feels like even more than just dating – Eddie’s marriage might not have been great, but he’s pretty sure what he and Buck have is what a marriage is supposed to look like. It’s scary and confusing, but at the same time, it makes sense, somehow. What they have, that's not platonic, friends don't act like… like they do. But the thing is, whatever they are, they work. It’s the best damn relationship Eddie’s ever been in, and it’s not even an official relationship. Yet.

The thing is, Eddie knows that he’s in love with Buck. It snuck up on him and came so naturally, he wasn’t even surprised when he finally realized that’s what he feels. He’s pretty sure Buck feels the same way – otherwise he surely wouldn’t act the way he does. So, he’s pretty confident their relationship is going in the romantic direction, even if they’re doing it kinda backwards, but he’s letting it play out for now, at its own pace, still testing the waters. He’s working on gathering his courage to do something about it, while he and Buck keep playing house together. Literally.

There are moments when it hits Eddie all over again how much of a family they are, and how domestic and how… how married they act, and he needs a second to not do something stupid, like actually drop down on one knee and propose. Well, maybe he should just do that.

One evening he comes home from work, since he filled in for someone on the B shift, to the amazing smells from the kitchen, that make his mouth water, and sounds of conversation from the room, as well.

“Hey, I’m home!” he calls out from the front door, kicking off his shoes, taking his jacket off, and dropping his duffel bag on the floor.

“We’re in here!” he hears Buck’s voice from the kitchen. When Eddie walks in, he sees Buck at the stove, cooking dinner, and Chris at the table with his homework.

“Hey.” he can’t help a huge smile, and tries very hard to resist walking up to Buck and wrapping his arms around him. Buck looks so cute, wearing one of Eddie’s sweatshirts, and an actual apron, and he’s cooking for them, like he does pretty often now. Eddie loves him so much. “What smells so good?”

“I’m making lasagna.” Buck grins. “Should be ready soon. Chris, next question, come on.”

“Homework?” Eddie asks, taking a seat next to his son. “What subject?”

“Math.” Chris gives him an exasperated look, and Eddie laughs.

“Oh, so Buck’s not really helping, is he?” he teases, looking at Buck in time to see him try to look annoyed, but failing. 

“Come on, I’m not that bad.”

“Well… it’s no secret you suck at math, sorry.” Eddie shrugs, not able to take his eyes away from how Buck’s trying to hide a smile. This kind of teasing and making fun of each other has become a thing in their house- well, Eddie’s house, mostly because of their kid- Eddie’s kid, well, okay, their kid, who always starts it all. It’s always fun, even if Eddie is the object of the jokes more of than not.

“I’m better than you, and I’m in 6th grade.” Christopher says with a laugh, and Buck gasps dramatically. Chris leans in to Eddie to whisper: “I don’t actually need help, he’s insisting.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” Eddie chuckles, shooting Buck an amused look.

“You guys suck.” Buck breaks and finally laughs. Then, before anyone can say anything else, there’s a sound of beeping from somewhere in the house. “Oh, I think the laundry’s done.”

“I got it.” Eddie gets up to get the laundry out of the washing machine, not even wondering why Buck puts on a wash in a house he doesn’t live in. Because it has happened before, and it’s not like Buck’s clothes aren’t all mixed up with Eddie’s in his closet, either. That’s how domestic they’ve gotten. Eddie’s aware that it’s not really something even the bestest of friends do, but that’s how they work. 

When he gets back to the kitchen, Chris’ books are gone, and dinner is on the table. They sit down to eat, and Buck asks him how was work, and they tell him about their day as well, and it’s just their usual night, and it’s perfect.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Buck says at some point, when he glances at the calendar on the wall, filled with both of their handwritings, any events, appointments, shifts, Chris’ extracurriculars, all of that marked. Like a family, like all three of them live here. Maybe it should be this way.  “There’s a parent-teacher conference next Wednesday.”

“Whose turn is it?” Eddie simply asks, because for months now they both have been going, taking turns. It started when Eddie asked him to fill in for him once, and then just never stopped.

“Yours, but we have a day off, so we can go together for once.” Buck shrugs, shoving a forkful of lasagna into his mouth. “It is the last one of the year.”

And Eddie looks at Buck, and his heart beats a little bit faster. He loves how involved Buck is with Chris and his school, that he goes to those conferences, that he’s in the parent group chat, that Eddie definitely muted and gets information from Buck, because all the parents are being annoying and responding with a thumbs up to every single thing the teacher says, blowing up his phone. Buck’s been involved in all kinds of bake sales, school projects, he’s been helping with homework, on occasion driving Chris to school and any extracurriculars, and for sleepovers – they take turns with most of that, to be honest. It sounds like a lot, and it is, and Eddie doesn’t think he’d be able to do it all without Buck.

So, Eddie’s very aware how involved Buck is, and that he knows all the teachers and parents, but when they get there on Wednesday, he’s still taken aback by how happy everyone is to see Buck, how friendly they’re being with him – then again, Eddie’s pretty sure that every single person Buck meets falls a little bit in love with him, be it platonic or not, it’s just how it is, Buck’s too amazing for it to not be the case. Eddie thinks that Buck stole a piece of his heart when they first met, and then, over the years, Eddie kept giving him the rest, piece by piece, and now it belongs solely to Buck.

They find out that Chris is doing great at school, which isn’t a surprise, and when the teacher refers to him as their son, neither feels the need to correct her, because there’s nothing to correct. Buck is Christopher’s parent, and Eddie’s happy that he finally started to believe it and stopped denying it whenever it’s implied, which he did for a hot minute before they talked about it. Well, Eddie talked, maybe even ranted a bit, about how both he and Christopher see him, how he’s the best co-parent Eddie could’ve ever asked for, and Buck just stared at him speechless. He never showed any doubt about his role in Chris’ life again, and Eddie makes sure to remind him of that from time to time.

When they leave the classroom, Eddie decides to be brave, and grabs Buck’s hand, just because he feels like it. Buck looks at him with surprise, and then smiles. They hold hands until they get to the car, and don’t mention it. But it’s something. It’s a start. 

He thinks back to the last couple of months of playing house, of dinners together, doing chores together, Buck spending more nights than not at his place, in Eddie’s bed, because the couch is too uncomfortable for Eddie to let Buck sleep there. Of hanging out with Chris, and navigating this whole pre-teen phase together, which is much less scary with Buck at his side. And even going to freaking parent-teacher conferences together. And as Eddie thinks about all that, and looks at Buck, who’s driving them home, he decides that they’ve been dancing around it long enough. He needs to make a move soon, if Buck’s not gonna.

But it’s another moment, a few weeks later, that comes so casually and naturally he barely registers anything weird about it, that makes him determined to do it that night.

They’re at work, it’s the end of their shift, and they’re changing in the locker room. Eddie’s done first, and before leaving he asks Buck:

“You coming over tonight, babe?” Because for once they came to work separately, because Buck spent last night at his loft, and Eddie missed him like crazy. And he doesn’t realize that the pet name slipped out until he thinks back to this moment later.

“Yeah, of course.” Buck shrugs, not affected by what Eddie said at all. However, out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see Chimney and Hen exchange glances. “I’ll just stop by the grocery store on the way. I grabbed the list from the fridge.” he adds, referring to the little magnetic notepad they keep on their fridge to add items to the list as soon as they run out – well, Eddie does, it’s his house, but it was Buck who bought it and started using it. “Unless you wanna come with me?” he looks at Eddie while buttoning up his shirt, and Eddie’s eyes follow his fingers automatically.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” he smiles, forcing himself to look back up at Buck’s face. “Our usual store, right?” Buck nods. “Great, I’ll meet you there. Bye, guys.” he throws in the direction of Chim and Hen, and leaves. 

“Have we missed something?” he still hears Chimney ask, confusion in his voice. “When did you guys-” He doesn’t hear the rest, but he knows what Chim’s asking. He wonders what Buck’s answer’s going to be. Because, honestly, Eddie thinks that everyone missed something, including him and Buck. Eddie, for one, feels like they omitted the actual conversation about dating and moving in together, and suddenly that’s just what they do now, at least partly.

So, that night, after doing the groceries, he helps Buck with dinner, just some simple things Buck allows him to do, because Eddie still sucks at cooking – but Buck has been teaching him, and he’s getting better. Later, they eat together, play some board games with their kid, and watch a movie. It’s the perfect, boring, but not boring at all, night in with his family, and Eddie thinks that he’s never been more content in his life.

After Chris goes to get ready for bed, Buck gets up from the couch to start cleaning up. Instead of getting up to help, Eddie just sits there and stares at this man, who moves around his house as if he’s lived here his whole life, who knows where every single item is, sometimes better than Eddie, who already has half of his belongings here, whose presence is visible for anyone who walks in, who’s in all the family pictures… who’s been sharing a bed with Eddie for months now. And suddenly, Eddie hears himself blurt out:

“Move in with us.” Well, that’s not how he planned to start, ideally he’d tell Buck how he feels first, but he can’t take it back now. He doesn’t want to take it back.

Buck stops in his tracks and turns to look at Eddie, three glasses and an empty popcorn bowl in his hands. 

“What?”

“You should move in with us.” Eddie doubles down, now also standing up. He walks up to Buck, takes the dishes out of his hands and places them on the table. He grabs Buck’s hands. “You basically live here already anyway, what’s the point of paying rent for an apartment you sleep in once a week, if not less?” he’s smiling, feeling way calmer than he expected. Buck looks stunned. “You’re here all the time, and I want you here even more often. This is your home, Buck. It just makes sense.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Buck responds, eyes wide, as he’s processing. Eddie’s smile widens, and he puts one hand on Buck’s cheek.

“Then listen to me first.” Eddie takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. When he speaks, his voice is calm and quiet, and firm. More decisive than ever. “Every time I think I can’t love you any more than I already do,” he hears Buck inhale sharply at that, “I look at you, at your smile that always lights up my day, and at how you are with Chris, at how you fit into our lives, and you prove me wrong. Because I love you so damn much, and I think I’m falling deeper in love every single day, every single second.”

“Eddie.” Buck breathes.

“We’ve been dancing around this for months, if not years. I mean, look at us, at our life together. We’ve basically been married with a kid for who knows how long, and I never even got to take you out on a date.” Eddie chuckles. “We just… work. All the years together, everything we went through, only proved that time and time again. And I’m tired of pretending like I have no idea this is happening. I want you, Buck, in every way imaginable.” he finishes, only now starting to feel nerves, while Buck keeps staring at him, unmoving. Shit, did he break him? Maybe it was a lot to put on him right now, and he needs to process. Because there’s no doubt in Eddie’s mind that Buck feels the same, that’s not even a question.

“Eds.” Buck says, and then a laugh rips out of him. “God, Eddie.” he brings his arms up to wrap them around Eddie’s back, and Eddie instantly relaxes. “You’re my absolute favorite person in the world, you know that? That is, aside from Christopher, obviously.” he grins, leaning in closer, their noses brushing now. “I love you so much. And I want it all, you and Chris, and this family, this home. I want this.”

“Good.” Eddie closes the distance, finally kissing Buck. He tastes like popcorn and soda, and candy he and Chris were eating earlier. He also tastes like sunshine and home, and the rest of Eddie’s life. It’s a sweet and tender kiss, and it only ends when they can’t contain their wide smiles anymore.

“So.” Buck leans his forehead against Eddie’s. “Moving in before we even have our first date?”

“Hey, we started with being all married-domestic and raising a kid together.” Eddie laughs. “So what if we’re doing it a little backwards? It works for us.”

“Okay.” Buck whispers with the biggest smile. “Let’s do it, then.” 

It’s barely a few weeks before the rest of Buck’s stuff is at their home, and he officially moves in. Not much changes. They raise their kid, help him with his homework, have movie and game nights, share chores, cook together, host parties and get-togethers with their friends. They share a life. And Eddie’s heart is so full, he doesn’t think he could ever be happier, or love his little family any more than he does now.

[thewallerfiles]

Prisoner Name: Rebecca Harking

Name: Rebecca Harking

Aliases: Lucky

Age: 33

Date of Birth: April 7, 1990

Sex: F

Race: Caucasian

Height: 5’9

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Brown

Residence: Las Vegas, Nevada

Occupation: N/A (casino hopping before the time of arrest)

Special Abilities: Has the power of luck. Can also speak any situation into existence (considered highly dangerous. Approach with caution)

Notes: It should be noted that will try to use her powers whenever necessary. We have discovered that a simple counter to these powers is to have unlucky symbols on her suppression bracelet. The bracelet must be kept on at all times. 

June, 1997

“Derek’s home.”

Rebecca looked up from her reading homework. Sure enough she could see her stepdad walking up the walkway and heading to the front door of her house. “Does he look mad?”

Her brother Ryan shrugged. “He always looks mad. Ignore him if he says anything or you’ll just piss him off even more.”

Rebecca zips her mouth and throws away the imaginary key just as Derek walks in through the door. He scowls at them and tosses his jacket to the floor in the porch.

“Ugh. You’re still here?” He grumbles. He wanders into the kitchen and cracks himself a beer. “Where’s your mother?”

“We live here, stupid. And she’s at work. She took a double shift because you can’t stop spending her money that she pays the bills with.” Ryan shot his stepfather a look. “You’re still here?”

Derek took a long swig before chuckling. “You’re lucky your mom doesn’t let me smack you around. Otherwise I would. What are you looking at, goofy?”

Rebecca stiffens when Derek acknowledges her. “N-nothing. I’m just reading and doing my schoolwork.”

“Schoolwork is for sissies. People like you aren’t going to get anywhere in life working in offices or McDonald’s. Let me guess, you want to be an astronaut when you grow up?”

“You’re one to talk,” Ryan calls out from the living room. “You got a better job than mom and she still pays for everything around here. Lazy fuck-”

Rebecca covers her ears and shuts her eyes when Derek storms over and grabs her brother by the collar of his shirt. She expected to hear punches be landed but instead, opened her eyes to see them staring at each other with hatred in their eyes.

“Listen here, you little shit. Your mom and I had an agreement. She’d take care of you while I’d take care of myself-”

Ryan smacks his hand away. “Why are you even here then? Why are you even married to her if her money is all she’s good for?”

Derek backed away with a smile. “You’ll understand when you’re older, kid. A man owns a woman when they’re married. They’re your property to do as you please with them.”

Rebecca watches him go upstairs and soon hears a door close. “I hate him so much.”

Ryan sighed. “Ditto. I don’t know what mom sees in that guy. She should totally dump him.”

“I wish he was dead sometimes. Maybe he’ll fall down the stairs and break his neck one day then we’d never have to see him ever again-”

She was cut off by loud thuds coming down the stairs. For a brief moment she thought Derek had heard her and was coming down to teach her a lesson but to her surprise, that wasn’t the case. Derek did come downstairs….but just not in the way she was thinking. Both kids stared in shock as their stepfather tumbled and rolled down the stairs only to hit the bottom at a funny angle only for a sickening snap to reverberate through the small house. When Rebecca edged closer once he was still, she could see that his neck was bent in a position that it shouldn’t have been and a piece of bone was sticking out of his skin.

“Holy shit….” Ryan stumbled backwards onto the floor. “Becky, what happened?”

“I didn’t do anything! You saw me! I was here the whole time!” Rebecca cried. 

“Yeah but that was lucky. Him coming down the stairs exactly the way you hoped he would. Did you tie string at the top of the stairs again?” Ryan sighed when his sister quickly shook her head. “Are you sure? Because if mom comes home and sees him like this-”

“I swear I didn’t! I was downstairs the whole time you were home, Ry. You saw me.”

Ryan sighed and glanced at their dead stepfather at the bottom of the stairs. “Mom doesn’t need to know about this. Got it? We hide the body and if she asks where he is, we say he left-”

“But his truck’s in the driveway….”

“Shit,” Ryan looked out the window. “You’re right. Look….you keep doing your homework and act like nothing happened. I’ll take care of this mess before mom comes home at 9. Can you keep a secret?”

Rebecca nodded and watched as her brother began dragging Derek’s body away from the stairs and towards the back door. When both Ryan and the old fart were out of sight, she smiled and hummed happily as she finished her book report.

December 24, 2013

“Come on, dude! It’s Christmas! A little extra wouldn’t hurt for the holidays!”

Rebecca, 23, looked her boss in the eyes and pleaded for a small bonus. Money was scarce this year and the car dealership that she worked for didn’t see as much business as usual anymore. Everyone wanted newer, better models to ride around in. Even the ones looking for secondhand (the ones that her boss sold) weren’t worth the money that he was selling them for. She had bills to pay. Mouths to feed.

“Becky Doll, I told you at the beginning of the month. I ain’t got much money left in the business. I gotta pay you and the ones that work the lot. Utilities. Other things. I can’t afford to give you a Christmas bonus this year.”

Rebecca eyeballed the big black vault in his office when he wasn’t looking. “I understand. I thought I’d try anyway. My brother is sick again and his hospital bills are piling up. But I get it. Thank you anyway though. Merry Christmas.”

Walking herself out to the bus stop, Rebecca took a seat on the bench. She knew the money excuse was bullshit. She’d seen her boss laundering cash before and even saw how much money he had hidden away in his stupid vault. No one hated him as much as she did and she secretly hoped that karma would bite him on the ass one day.

The bus was late. Rebecca pulled out her phone to check the time right when someone ran by and slipped on ice, dropping a bag in front of her. Before she could say anything, they got up and continued to run away. The bag was staring her in the face and curiosity was getting the better of her. So she picked it up and peeked inside. She nearly died of a heart attack at the bus stop.

Piles and piles of cash. All hundreds from the look of it. Rebecca had to hold back a scream of surprise as she looked down at this gift that the universe gave to her. This looked like enough money to pay off her own bills as well as her brother’s. And they’d still be able to live comfortably for the next while.

“Hey! Hey you!”

Hearing a voice, she quickly zipped up the bag and hid it inside her winter coat. Thankfully it was big enough to make it look like that was part of the design just in time as a police officer approached her, breathing heavily and seemingly tired from running.

“Ma’am, did you see someone run by here carrying a bag of sorts? Black jacket, wool hat. They just stole money from Wheeler’s Wheels just up the road and we got called in to get a jump on the guy,” the officer inhaled a deep breath before continuing. “Yeah….yeah. I can’t keep up. But have you seen him run by?”

Rebecca shook her head. “No officer. I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes by myself waiting for the bus. It’s late tonight, probably due to it being Christmas Eve. But no one ran by. Was anyone hurt?”

The cop shook his head. “Thankfully, no. But if you see anything suspicious tonight, please don’t hesitate to call us. Theft on Christmas Eve is the lowest form of crime, in my opinion.”

“So you’re okay with murder….”

“Pardon? Did you say something ma’am?”

“No, officer. Just can’t believe someone would do something like this. So disgusting….”

The officer sighed. “Well. I’ll have to tell my partner that they got away with no witnesses. That should be nice to write up in the report….you have yourself a nice Christmas, ma’am. Be safe out there.”

The bus arrived shortly after the officer left, and Rebecca couldn’t wait to get back to Ryan and tell him what happened. When it arrived at her stop, she raced into the apartment building they lived in and rushed upstairs to their place. When she burst inside with a huge smirk on her face, her brother sat up on the couch, looking confused.

“Becks….what did you do this time?” He asked through a cough.

“I didn’t do anything this time. Well….that’s kind of a lie. I silently hoped my boss would get some long overdue karma and he got exactly that tonight.” She dumped the contents of the bag on the table between them. “There’s thousands here, Ry. I can pay your bills off completely.”

Ryan sighed. “Did you do the thing?”

“....what thing?”

“You know. That weird thing where you speak something into existence. You know. You’ve done it a thousand times before.”

Rebecca snorted. “I thought you’d be happy. I can get you your medicine with this and pay off the hospital. Maybe even treat us to a little something. But to answer your question, no. I didn’t do the thing. At least not out loud.”

Ryan shot her a look. “Not out loud? Since when could you do it silently? Is this new?”

“I don’t fucking know, Ryan. I don’t even know how it works. I don’t even know where I got this power from. I’m just lucky I suppose-” She paused for a moment. “Lucky. I’m Lucky.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Oh no. Please don’t tell me that you’re going to do this again, Becky. You’ll get caught eventually.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Rebecca pecked her brother on the cheek. “Now come on. Let’s get some of that expensive Chinese food that you love so much. My treat.”

August 12, 2020

The following is a transcript of an interview taken with two agents and the prisoner Rebecca Harking, aka Lucky. This is a part of the quarterly interviews that take place to recruit new candidates for Amanda Waller’s “Suicide Squad”. Please note that Harking’s suppression bracelet is activated for this interview as well as during her sentence at Belle Reve for the safety of herself and others. But mainly others.

Agent Shaw: Are we recording?

Agent Bellend: Yup. You can start

Agent Shaw: Alright. Hello, Rebecca. I’m Agent Shaw and this is my partner Agent Shaw. How are you doing today?

Rebecca: Spare me the bullshit, Shaw. This isn’t my first rodeo. Just do what you gotta do so I can go back to my cell

Agent Shaw: Wow, okay. Uh, so you know why you’re here today I’m presuming. To get screened for-

Rebecca: Yeah, yeah. I know. Screened for the stupid Suicide Squad. I know all about that merry band of assholes. Let me guess, the other crew are dead?

Agent Shaw: Some are, yes. But not all of them. Waller is looking for new recruits for a new mission in the future. For the time being, she wants to seek out potential candidates

Rebecca: Interesting. And she thinks my skill set has potential?

Agent Bellend: She doesn’t think. She knows

Rebecca: But do you know, Agents? Have you read my file before coming in today?

Agent Shaw; We did. It’s….impressive, to say the least

Agent Bellend: Can you really manipulate luck? Influence how things work out for you?

Agent Shaw: Bellend-

Agent Bellend: What? I’m curious. I could use a bit of luck in my life like that….

Rebecca: Would you like to find out, Bellend? Take this bracelet off me and find out

Agent Shaw: Nice try, Harking. You know that’s on you for a reason. Now back to our interview. You know you’re in here for a screening. If you were given the chance to join Waller’s team for some years to be taken off your sentence, would you do it?

Rebecca: For a shorter sentence? Maybe. Would I only just get thrown back in here if I commit the same crimes once I’m out anyway?

Agent Bellend: Uh….we’ll get back to you on that. But a shorter sentence is better than 50 years, isn’t it?

Rebecca: Hmm. As long as I don’t have to work with that weird shark guy. He gives me the creeps. All sharks do actually. Have you seen Jaws? I heard that they watched it over in the men’s cells and he laughed at it. Thought it was hilarious

Agent Bellend: Focus, Rebecca. Please. Next question. Have you ever used your abilities for your own personal gain?

Rebecca: [laughs] Would I be in here if I didn’t? Of course I did. I lived in fucking Vegas before I was caught and thrown in here. I’m no saint

Agent Shaw: Have you ever manipulated others?

Rebecca: Yes

Agent Shaw: Have you ever used your powers on your brother?

Rebecca: ….don’t bring him up

Agent Shaw: I don’t see why we can’t. It’s right there on your file. It says you killed him-

Rebecca: I SAID DON’T TALK ABOUT HIM!

Agent Bellend: Why did you do it though? 

Rebecca: It was….stupid. We had an argument and I let my emotions get the better of me. I told him to drop dead and he….he did. It was a mistake that I wish I could go back and change

Agent Shaw: You didn’t mean to kill him

Rebecca: Fuck no. I loved my brother. He protected me our whole lives. The least I could do to pay him back was use my powers to make our life easier. Jobs weren’t paying what I felt we deserved. So I took to the casinos where I knew I could use them to my full advantage

Agent Shaw: And was he okay with this?

Rebecca: Not at first, no. But I promised him it wouldn’t be a daily thing and he agreed to that. But I became addicted to winning and eventually people at the casinos caught on. Once I was banned, that’s when my brother got angry. Called me reckless. I told him that it was my powers that kept a roof over our heads. Put food on the table. He didn’t like that. So he began to yell at me some more and before I could control my words, I said the thing to him. Next thing I know, he’s on the floor. Dead

Agent Bellend: And then you got arrested?

Rebecca: I turned myself in, you mean. I might be a thief but I’m no monster. I know what I did was wrong and I couldn’t live with the guilt. If you accidentally killed your brother, you would’ve done the same thing

Agent Shaw: You turned yourself in instead of going on the run? You could’ve easily avoided authorities with what you’re capable of

Rebecca: Like I said. I’m no monster, Agent Shaw

Voice on overhead speaker: Don’t be fooled by her, Agents. She murdered her brother with a kitchen knife and ran with the money. Her powers don’t work when she’s asleep. That’s her only flaw

Rebecca: What the fuck, man?! They were totally falling for my story!

Agent Bellend: I almost felt bad for her too….

Agent Shaw: This wasn’t mentioned in her file, Waller

Voice on overhead speaker: Typos happen. I’ll be sure to add it to her file once this interview is over since I finally got her to admit to it

Rebecca: What? You tricked me!

Voice on overhead speaker: You’re the only one that can fool people, Harking. Now wrap this up gentlemen. I got everything I needed here today

Agent Shaw: Uh, sure. No problem. Wrap this up, Bellend. Did you get all that on the tape?

Agent Bellend: Yeah I got it. Didn’t realize this was a confession tape we were doing today

Agent Shaw: I’m sure that’s not the strangest thing we’ll record while we’re here. Agent Shaw and Bellend signing off. Session one ended

[lightningandfireinmybones]

i’ve reread your prompt fics so many times by now and it just gets better everytime whether it be tdopom or these little ficlets you are way way way too good at this. what you have created from a character that doesn’t exist & a character we know only little about is just commendable. always in awe of your talent.

i know aemond tries is hardest not too get too drunk at parties but maybe he saw cregan & dalton flirt with valaena too much & he promised valaena “no bloodshed tonight” so he just drinks to suppress his rage and valaena has to take care of him now. could the audience please get a oneshot with this?

Thank you my love🖤 i am soft for this, appreciate it so much!!!

“You told me not to fight!” Aemond gesticulates broadly with his arm, nearly taking out the eye of a passing pedestrian on the sidewalk. Valaena mouths an apology at the disgruntled gentleman, thanking every deity she can think of that they’re only half a block from their own place at this point. As troublesome as Aemond was when he was raring for a fight, she thinks drunk Aemond might be worse.

“And your solution was to drink instead?” Valaena is supporting half of Aemond’s weight, his much taller frame bowing over hers. She contemplates the wisdom of calling Jace or Daeron to help her get Aemond up the stairs to their bed, but decides against it. Sober Aemond doesn’t care for others in their bedroom, she doesn’t think “I-got-drunk-because-my raging-jealousy-is-a-social-hindrance” Aemond would like it much better. 

“Every time I wanted to take out my knife, I simply took a drink instead. No bloodshed!” Aemond takes out a knife from his boot, twirling it around his fingers with a clumsy sort of grace.

Valaena hastily snatches it back from him, tucking it down into the hidden sheath in his left boot again.

“And I’m very proud of you for that, you know I prefer my friend’s blood inside their body,” Valaena says wryly, navigating Aemond up the first step of their stoop to their brownstone.

Aemond scowls, leaping up the next couple stairs on his own, landing heavily against their black front door. If it wasn’t for the fact he was swaying slightly, he’d paint an intimidating picture, the tall prince clad in all black leather, tattoos peaking past the hem of his jacket and the collar of his shirt, long hair braided back on the top.

“If they were really your friends, they wouldn’t try to fuck you every chance they get,” he snarls, the menace lost a bit when he slurs a bit on the end of ‘chance.’

“Aemond,” Valaena says soothingly, pressing the brass key into the lock, “they’re not trying to fuck me. The only one who tries to fuck me every chance they get is you.”

The door swings open, the dimly lit hallway inviting them in. Valaena offers Aemond her hand, if only to make sure he doesn’t storm off to try to find Cregan and Dalton again. He takes it easily, swaying some more as he passes the threshold.

“Well, I’m your husband. I’d be stupid not to try to fuck you every chance I get,” Aemond is speaking very clearly, determined not to slur.

Usually, Aemond holds his liquor well, refusing to lose any sort of vigilance or awareness. That fact that he’s gotten so drunk tonight should worry Valaena, but he’s softer with just her, less careful about his words like this. Plus, she likes taking care of him.

Now in familiar territory, Aemond half stumbles to the couch, collapsing deeply into it and staring at the unlit fireplace like it’ll offer all the answers in the world.

“And I am not a shtupid man, Shweet Wife,” Aemond is slurring worse now, the final shot she’d tried, and failed, to take from him pushing him over the edge. “Take off your clothesssssss.”

Valaena kicks off her heels at the entry, unceremoniously dropping her several thousand dollar pound bag to the floor. She wants to laugh, to yell, to ask Aemond why he thinks he can still fuck her properly when he can’t even stand up straight. Unfortunately, she loves this idiot so much she just feels soft when she looks at his sprawled form, running his hand over her favorite throw pillow like he’s fascinated with the texture. 

“How about for every thing you do for me, I’ll take off one item of clothing? That’s a deal I would only ever offer my husband, never a friend,” she entices, dropping her coat far away from Aemond as she walks past him into the kitchen. If he throws up, she wants to make sure it’s not on the coat his mother gave her for her birthday that she thinks may have cost more than some people’s cars. 

She fills a tall glass with water, grabs paracetamol, a protein bar because she knows he won’t eat the croissant even this fucking plastered.  

“Depends on what you want me to do for you,” Aemond is switching between speaking English with a Valyrian accent and Valyrian with an upper-crust British accent. “What do I have to do to see  your tits?”

Bringing Aemond the water, Valaena wraps Aemond’s fingers around the glass and pushes it towards his mouth.

“Drink this, and I’ll take my top off for you,” she promises.

Aemond chugs the glass so fast some slops down his front and she has to pretend like she doesn’t like the view. 

“Good boy,” Valaena smiles, patting Aemond’s wet cheek.

He snarls, or tries to, at the condescension in her tone, but she takes her shirt off and he shuts up immediately, staring hungrily at her.

“Bra too.”

“If you can get yourself up to bed, I’ll give you the strip tease of your life.”

Valaena hasn’t even finished speaking when Aemond is running up the stairs, the banging of his body into the walls giving her good status of his progress. When the banging steps come to a halt where their bed should be, Valaena follows, taking her sweet time, refilling the water.

As she suspected, by the time she strolls into their bedroom, Aemond is down to just his boxers,  passed out cold. Valaena sets the water, meds, and protein bar on the bedside table next to him, rolling him onto his side and making sure the rubbish bin is within reach.

In sleep, he looks so peaceful, mouth slack and eyelashes fluttering. She can’t wait to curl into his back, to hold onto him through it all like he does to her because she loves this idiot, for worse or for better.

[star-shard]

Relapse

BBC Sherlock Genre: angst Triggers: Drug use, alcohol mention

He didn’t want to get high. He didn’t want to get high. That’s what he kept telling himself. It wasn’t about that. He wasn’t trying to feel good. He just wanted to feel okay.

Sherlock had been four months clean. John thought he was two years clean but, John didn’t need to know details. Little mistakes didn’t need to be brought up. A stumble is different than a fall, Sherlock told himself that.

Tonight wasn’t a stumble. He planned it. Thoughts had become too much. Thoughts were good, thoughts moved cases. But then there were the thoughts that only moved him closer to a cliff’s edge.

He was alone now. Sunday night. John was at a group therapy session right now. Sherlock had suggested it. Hey, if John was going to be out of the house, may as well be for something good for him. Funny, what did he know about what was good for anyone.

This wasn’t a quick bump in the toilets when cases were slow. This was a needle of something that slowed him down.

He inhaled. He injected. He exhaled. Not only a week ago he told himself he’d make an active choice to tell others about danger nights. Yet, here he was. Not fighting his urges, letting them grab him into those familiar waters.

He didn’t want to float. He wanted to sink.

Sherlock dragged himself up from the floor, in the event that John got home early, he could at least look more normal on the couch. He told himself that. John couldn’t know. Because then John would stop him. Help him. God forbid.

He wanted to lite a cigarette more than anything, top off the high, sweat already pooled from the anxiety of the night.

His thoughts had been racing. That was the issue. Faster than he could keep up with. Most people saw him and his thoughts to be the same, but that wasn’t true. His thoughts were the train. He was the race horse, trying to keep up with the brain he hadn’t asked for.

No smoking. John would smell it, then one conclusion would lead to another. As Sherlock started feeling what he wanted, he decided to settle.

Everything was okay.

He hadn’t even realized his back had been in a bind until it released. He hadn’t noticed his brow had been pressed until it let go. All the while, ‘you’re killing yourself again’, in the tone of John’s voice was present in his head.

Yes. Murder, or suicide? That was the question. Was he killing the worst parts of himself, or was it a package deal. He laughed at the thought. Perhaps he could solve his own case. “Who killed Sherlock Holmes,” He asked.

Sherlock didn’t used to feel guilty about his addiction. Rewind six years back, he didn’t believe he was capable of being a self pitying addict. That he simply operated on a level where some recreational assistance could be used. John brought self awareness. “If boats didn’t have anchors, they’d just fly,” Sherlock said absentmindedly. He didn’t need a cigarette, there was enough shit burning already. “It is lonely in the void space for a floating boat…”

The door. It opened.

Fuck. John.

“Fuck, John,” Sherlock found himself saying. He sat up. As well as he could. “Fuck, hello, they’re interchangeable aren’t they?” Sherlock knew he sounded different, but he prided himself as passing for sober, so hopefully It would pass now as wit rather than stupidity.

John laughed. Thank god. “Happens to be best of us, usually with a telemarketer.” Sherlock’s eyes spilled over John, picking up what he could. Crooked back, disappointment, stain on the shirt, got a snack, needed comfort, hairline was…. was… Sherlock smiled. Hard to stoke the fires of the old locomotive when the race horse was in charge.

“I knew you’d hate group. You hate people in groups.”

John took off his jacket, not chuckling now. “Let’s get a dog then. I can handle that.”

Oh, he was in a mood. Good. John was focused on himself, so he wouldn’t notice Sherlock. The needle was hidden, and Sherlock would dispose of it later. “Go on then, blog. The best people in our lives are invisible.” While he was sure he was keeping this up quite well, even he knew he couldn’t mask for a full blown therapy chat.

John made a face. Hello. Fuck. He said the wrong thing again. Sherlock smiled at his own fuck up. Or maybe that was the drugs. “And anyway, I can't supply entertainment. I’m married to this couch, don’t tell my work about the affair,” he mused, apologizing wasn’t an option, that could lead to a discussion, he wasn’t capable of that. He needed John away from him right now. Let him be annoyed. Sherlock could charm him back to his side later.

Woof, that hurt all of a sudden in his chest. He used to manipulate Mycroft all the time when he first became addicted. Why did it hurt now.

John sighed. That heavy sigh he did. “Never mind the dog, a live in couples therapist.” And quickly adding, “if there’re any hidden cameras, that was a joke. No article needed about how we’re together.”

Sherlock smiled something crooked. That was the most interesting ‘no homo’ yet. Oh John. Oh…. John. His anchor. Sherlock was in space. And all he wanted to do, was go further. To not see stars, just blackness. The void. He craved it. Even if a part of him screamed to admit how bad he had actually had gotten to John.

But, who would further wound a veteran already in pain.

One day maybe. Mix some alcohol into it, get a truly grand confession, a show stopper. Rock bottom, that was the ticket, wasn’t it?

John smiled because Sherlock smiled. At how ridiculous therapy could be while also needing it so badly.

Back on his side. That was good. “Groups are for the birds. I prefer duos,” Sherlock said to him. “…You’re actually going to blog about this, aren’t you.”

“Adventures in stale coffee and guilt, doesn’t have that ring.” John was funny. Sherlock wondered why he never complimented him on that. John was in the kitchen now, getting a beer. It would only be one. Sherlock knew that very well, tracked his self medication system, by the end of that shame would kick in due to his sister and he’d stop at one on a night like this.

He knew a lot about John. That he also kept a private diary on his computer. It was the one thing Sherlock chose not to investigate. He’d read John’s mail, mushy love letters, hilarious attempts at poetry. But never the unlabeled file on his computer.

Sherlock was fading fast right now. ‘Go away John. Go away.’ He wanted to say that. Silence. It was the best way for him to be left alone. John so adored to engage with him. So he allowed the silence to hang, to stain the moment.

The sound of traffic happened outside. The sound of Mrs. Hudson’s music a floor below hummed. The sound of a few swigs from the beer that was already back in the fridge now. So John was deeply ashamed tonight, for whatever therapy had dug up and/or buried. Sherlock lacked the capacity to fix that in the best of times, he lacked a lot right now.

“Enjoy the palace, let me know if you add a pool house to it,” John mumbled. Fuck, had Sherlock fucked up again. There was something in that tone, or maybe the way he walked away. Or maybe it was pure paranoia because he was fucking high right now.

At least Sherlock was alone at last.

Alone without himself. That was the point of substances, wasn’t it.

He did fall asleep there. And he’d forget the conversation he had with John. One of the few times he could forget something he cared about.

[monmuses]

resiliency-in-starlight​:

What was there to talk about? And why would he care? She’s not stupid, she knows full well she’d been so persistent that she practically annoyed the hell out of him. A part of her believes that it’d be less trouble for him if she was gone, she had quite literally barged her way into his life, but deep down felt like it would not last for long. Nothing ever does. They all toss her aside once they hear rumors, so why would this be any different?

A little startled by the fact that she’d basically been ushered inside as the door’s shut, A look of slight confusion as to why he was so urgent. Or at least it SEEMED urgent. She wants to argue, but the fact that she nearly toppled over just from opening the door earlier told her she can’t really argue with her usual ‘i’ll be fine’. So for now, she sits down on the couch. 

“It’s…” Does she dare even bother to tell him? Is there a point behind it? What good will it do anyway. “Where I come from I’m not exactly liked. Hated even. Someone made sure of that, ruined every chance I had of even remotely getting someone to trust me. I could barely walk outside during the day without getting a insult hurled at me, so I left. You could say what Scott heard over the phone while I was talking to him basically broke me completely. The insults, the yelling, the fact I’ve gotten shoved around…” 

She tries to keep a neutral expression, but it’s very clear that it’s hurting her to even talk about. Fingers dig into the fabric of her own jacket as she stares down at them, refusing to make eye contact. 

“I’m reminded every day, reminded that I’m not truly wanted. I don’t eat or sleep for days at a time, I wait for my body to crash because I don’t want to sleep. There’s nightmares, as if they’re telling me something, and maybe it’s something that these people know and I don’t which is why they treated me so poorly to begin with. So I’m reminded every day that I’m probably better off dead. That maybe me staying alive is meant to cause destruction in some way or another.” 

     Bringing her to the couch, he had put himself in front of her, resting on his knees with a tail quivering behind him anxiously. If he couldn’t put it through words well, how he was unable to sit still much told more than he could speak. He felt... partially at fault, not letting himself be opened up to her until recently. It was only until now that he was really figuring out how to try; how to stick close and not lose what could be another real friend to him. It might be accidental that he was so urgent and it slipped through with the shutting of the door, but it was for two reasons - his emotions, and Death waiting outside to take her.

     For the moments she spoke, he was dead quiet, watching her. Eyes held tight onto that gaze, almost refusing to blink for a while as he listened to her. Much of what she spoke of was a gentle reminder, remembering that he had experienced this before. A feeling of never being wanted by those you loved was painful, and often times, it stuck around to always tell you. He wanted to try and speak, but he hesitated for a second, unsure of what to say...

     “...Nimue, listen,” he finally managed to say, holding his hands together before breaking that gaze, looking down at the floor. “You being alive isn’t... doing anything wrong. I don’t gotta talk to Scott and ask what they told you, ‘cause I got an idea. Y’know, you’re not alone in this. You’re not the only one who had to hear that kind of shit your whole life.”

     He wanted to try to do something - hold her hand or show that she meant something. It took him too long to realize that, all caught up in his own little shield for himself. With a heavy sigh, he stood up to sit next to her, tail coiling onto the couch. His gaze returned to her, looking at her side. “You... mean something. To me, Nimue. It only got to me when I realized you were gone that there’s more to you. Not in a bad way, but just... realizing that you deserve better than that kind of shitty treatment.”