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snkts · 3 months ago

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The Good Fight - Ouija & Siren

“Ah, Logan. There you are.” Charles says from Cerebreaux. His voice bounces off the walls of the room. It’s almost a perfect sphere, and it turns into an echo chamber. “Welcome home.”

“Hey, Chuck.” Logan puts his hand on the back of Charles’ chair. “Got here as soon as I could.” Charles looks up at him with a smile.

“I appreciate your haste, old friend. I hate to interrupt your vacation, but this is a rather pressing matter.”

“It’s fine.” Logan shakes his head. He’d been minding his own when the call came in, standing at one of his favourite seedy bars (Tony Slim’s, an unknown and unwashed gem) and playing pool. A good way to unwind and destress after missions and mansion life. (Yeah, yeah, he knows, what a hard existence he’s leading now.) But his comm had gone off, and that was more important. He’d always be there when his family needed him, and they needed him now. “Tell me about the kid.”

“Right.” Charles looks back at the display. Rendered in blue light is an array of photographs of a young girl - a yearbook photo, family portraits. Beside them all is a neat rectangle of statistics and flashcard-style information. “Her name is Samantha Everett, from Chicago, Illinois. She just recently turned seven years old-”

“So I’m guessing she didn’t go out for a pack of smokes.” Logan shoved his other hand in his pocket.

“Doubtful.” Charles typed in a few commands, enlarging some of the photos.

“Seems a little young to be getting her powers.” Logan remarked, frowning. “What kinda baggage are we looking at?”

“Surprisingly, none.” Charles said. “We’ve already conducted interviews with her parents, teachers, and even her babysitter. As far as anyone knows, she’s a happy, healthy little girl.”

“I’m gonna want to talk to ‘em myself.” Logan said, chewing the inside of his cheek. Charles nodded.

“And you will.” Charles shifted, reached into his pocket, and withdrew a paper-wrapped plastic straw before holding it out. “They’re eager to meet with you.” Logan blinked at the straw, then accepted it. He raised it in a silent ‘cheers’, removed the wrapper, shoved it into his pocket, and stuck the straw between his teeth. It wasn’t nearly as good as a cigar, but if he wasn’t allowed to smoke in here, it was better than nothing. He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, chewing on the straw.

“So, happy, healthy little girl just up and vanishes.” He mused. “With no sign of a struggle.”

“None.” Charles confirmed. “And before you ask, there’s been no sign of her on Cerebreaux, either.” He reached up and removed the helmet, resting it in his lap. “Wherever she is, she’s not using her abilities.”

“You said she’s a telepath?”

“Something tangential.” Charles put the helmet away and wheeled backwards out from the desk. “When my gift manifested, I was the only one hearing voices. If other people had reported the same, I may have felt less…”

“Alone?” Logan supplied. Charles hummed and nodded.

“Yes.” For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Logan plucked the straw - now thoroughly mangled - from his mouth.

“Well, Charles?” He turned towards the door. “Might need half an hour for this one.” Charles chuckles and follows him across the catwalk.

“Don’t tell me, you’re slowing down in your old age?” He asks, grinning and arching a brow. Logan scoffed.

“Watch it, Junior.” But he’s laughing, too.

***

The Blackbird touches down in what looks to be some sort of baseball field. Nothing too fancy. The sort of thing that made Little League teams feel important, but that's about it. Logan stepped off the gangplank, one hand in his pocket and the other hanging loosely at his side. He glanced around as his boots met the grass. It's empty aside from a small group of people - five of them - huddled a ways away from the jet. He could smell their anxiety even from where he stood. It was brought over to him by the breeze that ruffled the grass and plucked at his hair. The parents he would’ve recognized even without the family photos. The mom had the same straight ash-blond hair as her daughter. She got her daddy’s nose, though. The other hint that they’re the parents are the eyes. Not just the colour, though it’s the same green-hazel on the dad as stared back from the school photo. The dark bags and red rims tell it all. The scent, too. The salty, sickly-sweet smell of grief and tears. That wasn't something you could fake easily. The other three were a separate family unit. A girl - maybe seventeen, eighteen at the oldest - and her parents. Her hair was red and tightly braided, a similar shade to her father’s short crew cut. She kept clutching and releasing the too-long sleeves of her sweater. Nervous. Not afraid, nervous. And judging by how frayed her sleeves were, she’d been doing this a lot - it wasn’t a ‘new’ nervous, not brought about by his and Charles’ arrival. Her mom was a different story. Her hands were on the girl’s shoulders, and her freshly-manicured nails dug into the mint-green fabric as the two mutants approached. Logan furrows his brow but says nothing. Charles does the talking for him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Everett,” he begins. “I’m-”

“Professor Xavier!” Mr. Everett let go of his wife and stepped forward, shaking Charles's hand in both of his. “Thank you so much for coming. We still haven't heard anything. We’ve been worried sick, and we didn't know who else to call-”

“There's always the MRA.” The redhead’s wife sniffs. Logan scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Not if you wanna see her again.” He says. Mrs. Everett’s heart rate spiked.

“What?” She gasps, hand flying to her mouth. The redhead’s wife’s had a fast pulse the whole time. She shifted closer to her husband, pulling their daughter along with her. Her husband, the red head’s, scent shifted from anxious to aggressive to anxious again when Logan grinned at him. Big man didn't feel so big after all. Still big enough to open his mouth, though.

“And you are-?” The redhead clutches at his wife and daughter.

“Logan.” Logan replies. He turns his body to face the redhead square. “Who’re you?” The redhead clenched his jaw in an attempt to rally and puffed out his chest.

“I’m Lyra’s father.” The effort to put more bass in his voice was noticeable. Logan blinked at him, one brow raised to indicate how little that meant. He glanced at the girl, then at Charles.

“Samantha’s babysitter.” Charles supplied.

“Ah.” Logan nodded. He’d figured, but it was good to get the confirmation.

“Mr. and Mrs. Everett.” Charles wheeled forward to once again take charge of the conversation. “Logan is the one I told you about over the phone. You would be hard pressed to find a better tracker.”

“There isn’t one.” Logan said, crossing his arms. “Doesn't matter where she is, I’ll find her.” Mr. and Mrs. Everett smiled.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Everett says, reaching to hug her husband’s arm.

“If there’s ever anything-” Mr. Everett begins, but Logan cuts him off with a raised hand.

“Save it for when the kid’s back watchin’ Saturday morning cartoons.” And then he rocks his weight back, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Now, how’s about we get outta this field and talk somewhere more private?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Mr. Everett nods. “We actually live just across the street from the stadium. That’s why we suggested meeting here.” The couple turns to go, Lyra and her family at their heels. Charles and Logan follow behind, Logan matching his pace with Charles's, never straying from his side. It takes a concentrated effort to let Charles into his mind, but he can manage enough to get his point across.

Babysitter’s parents seem shady, he thought. I don’t trust them.

They do not trust you either, old friend. Charles’s voice in his head. They’re quite suspicious of the both of us.

Figures. Logan struggled not to scoff out loud. Think we’re gonna have to worry about a phone call?

Perhaps we will. The thought has crossed their minds once or twice. Charles mused. We’ll have to be alert.

Always am. Logan returned, then relaxed as his mind closed and he put more of his focus into the world around them. The wind through the faint trees scattered at the park’s edge, and the residential yards across the street. Birds chirping - robins, sparrows, chickadees. The hum of insects, the rustle of their footsteps, the sound of a dog panting a few streets away. A nice, quiet neighbourhood. So painfully upper-middle-class that the lack of white picket fences felt like an oversight. Given the time of day, most people were out, as demonstrated by the many empty driveways. Didn’t stop a few nosy neighbours from peeking through their blinds, but that wasn't surprising. As long as they kept out of his way, Logan would pay them no mind.

They approached a quaint little two-story bungalow, white siding and blue shutters, flower boxes under the window. The path up to the front door was cobblestone, greys and sandy browns framed on either side by perfectly manicured grass. There was a single step up to a small concrete porch that was barely larger than the front door. Logan lagged behind just long enough to ensure Charles got up alright before joining everyone inside.

“Nice place.” He comments. Mr. Everett shoots him a long-suffering look.

“The next door neighbour is HOA president.” He said. Logan let out a noise that was half sympathy, half amusement.

“You poor bastard.” He says, shaking his head in sympathy. Mr. Everett nods, and his shoulders relax a bit. Good. If they were calm, they’d give better intel. Might be easier for Charles to sort through, too. They stepped through the foyer to the family room, wide and spacious, a cream carpet, white walls that were covered in photos and paintings. There’s a fireplace, and the mantle is covered in more pictures, some figurines - animals, mostly, one or two that looked like Disney princesses. At least one that was some unrecognisable lump of clay, probably made by a grade schooler. Three guesses who, and the first two don’t count.

“What about you?” Logan asks. Lyra’s parents look up from where they’ve settled themselves on a loveseat. “You live around here?”

“The street behind this one.” Lyra speaks up suddenly. Logan shifts his attention to her. She’s small, and skinny. A smattering of freckles across her nose. Her hair pulled into two braids, done tightly and bound in elastics. And still pulling on her sweater sleeves. It’s a miracle the damn things hadn’t fallen off. “And a few houses down. I used to come in through the back gate when I…” She trailed off and looked around, realising people were staring at her. She ducked her head to hide from the attention. Logan glanced at Charles, then stepped around the glass-topped coffee table to crouch in front of Lyra.

“It’s okay, darlin’.” He says gently. “Anything you can tell us helps. That gate you mentioned - anyone else use it?”

“Just us.” Mrs. Everett comes out of the kitchen with a tray of glasses. Lemonade, by the smell of it. Store bought - too artificial to be home-made - but a nicer brand - real lemons and sugar. “There's a lock on the back. We have the key, Ted and Aimie and Lyra have a key,” she nodded to indicate Lyra and her parents, “and my mother has a key. And Jack’s father.” After setting the tray down, she put her hand on her husband’s arm.

“But neither of our parents live in town.” Mr. Everett - Jack - says, bending over to lift some of the glasses from the tray. He passes one to Charles, who accepts it with a smile and a quiet ‘thank you’, then one to Lyra’s father, Ted. Then he passes a glass to his wife, then Aimie, then holds one out to Logan. Logan eyes it, then looks back at Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“Wouldn't happen to have a beer, would’ya?” He asked. Jack sighs and pushes his free hand through his hair.

“I could go for a beer.” Jack mumbles. He turns and heads past a marble-top counter into the kitchen. There's the sound of a fridge opening, a clinking rustling noise, and Jack returns with two bottles held between his fingers.

“Cheers.” Logan says as he accepts his drink. Jack nods.

“We have a bottle opener around here somewhere…” He turns, and Logan huffs.

“So do I.” His claws extend with a snikt from them and a gasp from the humans. He wedges the blade under the bottle cap and twists his wrist. The cap flies off. He catches it, retracts his claws, and stuffs it in his pocket as he tips the beer back.

“So.” Charles says pleasantly, sipping his own drink. “What can you tell us about your daughter?”

“Oh, uh…” Mrs. Everett blinks, closing her mouth. Then she collects herself. “Well, she’s very shy. She has some friends, she does well in school… She’s a normal little girl.” Logan didn't miss the look Ted and Aimie exchanged. He glared at them.

“Got something to say?” The edge in his voice made them flinch.

“Just that-” Aimie starts, then stops. Ted puts his hand on her shoulder.

“Normal little girls don't do the things she does.” He’s trying to be defiant.

Cute.

Logan growls. In the same moment, Mrs. Everett stands.

“There is nothing wrong with her!” She snaps.

“Marcy-!” Jack cautions, putting his hand on her arm.

“Everyone, please!” Charles spoke up. Logan settled somewhat and took another swig of beer. The humans quieted too. Charles paused to have a sip of lemonade. “I understand that emotions are running high right now. A child has been taken. It is only natural that you might feel stressed or defensive. But the best way we can help you right now is through rational discussion. The more information Logan and I get, the sooner we can ensure Samantha is brought home safely. That is what we all want, correct?” A silence. Jack and Marcy nod, Lyra nods, and after a beat, so do Ted and Aimie. Charles nods as well. “Very good.” He set his glass down on the coffee table, minding the coaster. “Now, let us resume our discussion. We’ve brought up Samantha’s gift multiple times, now. Could you explain to us what that is?” Marcy nodded, then slowly pried herself off of her husband and sat in an armchair. Jack rested his hands on the back of the chair.

“We thought it was Lyra, at first.” Marcy begins.

“But it wasn’t.” Aimie says, grabbing at her daughter’s hand. Lyra looks up at her, then back at the floor. Logan grunted.

“Wait your turn.” That quieted Aimie down, even if her face looked like she wanted to say some non-PTA-approved words. Tough luck. Marcy, by contrast, smiled. Her shoulders loosened and her heart rate slowed just a touch. She was grateful. Another good thing.

“She told us she heard voices. And we were alarmed, but-”

“Not-” Lyra started, then clamped her mouth shut as her scent spiked with fear. But Logan just looked at her and tilted his head curiously. She swallowed and tried again. “Not voices. Just one voice.”

“Whose?” Logan asked, facing her fully. She started pulling at her sleeves again, letting go of her mother’s hand in favour of fiddling.

“My Nana’s.” She says, then blinks. “Um, my grandmother on my mom’s side. Her name was Nancy, and she, um…”

“My mother passed five years ago.” Aimie said, putting her arms around her daughter’s shoulders.

“Heart failure.” Ted supplies. Charles nods and folds his hands in his lap with a sympathetic hum.

“I’m sorry. And you said you heard her voice, Lyra? Could you elaborate on that?” He asks, and she nods.

“I was walking Sammy home from school like I do every day. We have one of those weird schools where it’s mostly a high school, but then there’s a bit at the back for the elementary schoolers.”

“It’s a private school.” Jack cuts in. “It’s smaller, but they teach the kids how to sign, and Sammy’s mute, so we thought it’d be good for her to be around people who could actually communicate.”

“Mute, huh?” Logan chewed at his lip. “So, chances are she didn’t call out when she got taken. Keep going, kid.” Lyra nods, even though she keeps her eyes on the floor.

“We got to the back gate, and I unlocked it for her. And she always wanted a high five before we said ‘bye’. It’s our thing.” She twisted the fabric some more. Her breathing hitched. “So I did, and…” She sniffles. Logan tilts his head and crouches down, setting his beer on the table.

“And what, darlin’?” He asked. (Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles lean forward and slide a coaster under the beer bottle.)

“I heard my Nana.” Her voice was even quieter now. “Loud and clear. She told me to tell my grandpa not to go in his car, because his breaks were broken. And I got freaked out, so once Sammy was in her yard, I closed the gate and ran home.”

“She told us about what she heard.” Ted says quietly. “At the time, we thought maybe it was some kind of divine intervention.” Logan cast a glance back at Charles, who nodded subtly. That fucking figured. When mutants do weird things, it’s a curse, a disease, something to be fixed and cured and punished. But when it was their own kid? It was an act of God. A miracle. (Until it got too much to handle - then it was back to being a curse again.)

“I didn’t know what to think.” Aimie says. “I just mentioned it to my dad because I was worried. He checked the breaks to reassure her, but-”

“But they were actually broken.” Logan finished. Aimie nodded.

“Just like she said.”

“We didn’t know about any of that at the time.” Jack said, squeezing the back of Marcy’s chair tightly. “We thought it was strange that Lyra didn’t come say hello like she normally does when she drops Sammy off, but thought maybe she was just busy. Nothing to comment on, you know? So I picked Sammy up to hug her hello, and one of my old war buddies was suddenly talking about being cold.”

“Us Army,” Charles offers.

“Canadian Special Forces.” Logan said.

“Marines.” Jack replies, easing his grip. “Swanson was his name, Fred Swanson. KIA. He just kept saying, ‘It’s cold here, kid. It’s real cold’.” Marcy reached up to put her hand on her husband’s. She gave his fingers a squeeze. The tense look on his face and shift in his scent hinted that he needed the comfort.

“Do you believe he was speaking to you?” Charles asked.

“No.” Jack didn't hesitate. “Fred never called me ‘kid’. We were the same age. He called me Jackie.”

“I heard my grandmother.” Marcy said. “She was just singing. The same songs she used to sing when she was gardening.”

“I see.” Charles frowns. “And what did you do?”

“Got us out of the house.” Jack shrugs. “I thought we were hearing things. I thought- I thought maybe there was something wrong with our carbon monoxide detector. So I got us out and called the emergency number to get someone to come check it, and everything came back clean.”

“But it kept happening?” Logan prompted. Marcy, Jack, Aimie, and Ted nodded.

“Not the same voices.” Marcy said. “Different ones, every time.”

“And it was every time.” Jack picks his beer bottle off the counter he’d set it on and takes a pull. “Every time we touched her, or she touched us. It didn’t stop. I would’ve thought I went crazy if Marcy wasn’t hearing it too.” Logan frowned, looking over at Charles.

“That’s not a telepath.” He says.

“No, it isn't.” Charles steeples his fingers and furrows his brow. “At least, not the typical sort. I can understand how that might have been troubling to you. Did you tell anyone else?”

“We called around to different resources.” Marcy said. “That's how we found out about your school. We emailed you not long after.” Charles nodded but said nothing.

“So how else do you factor in?” Logan looks to Lyra.

“I was the last person to see Sammy before she vanished.” She said, her voice cracking. “But I didn’t do anything! I swear, I-” Charles held up a hand.

“It’s alright, Lyra.” He soothes her, cradling his glass of lemonade. “I know for a fact you did nothing wrong. This is just part of our investigation.” Lyra nods again. “Just tell us what you saw.”

“She was just playing in the backyard.” Lyra said, graduating to chewing on the ends of her sleeve. “I was worried. She hadn't been to school in a while and nobody knew why, we just heard she was sick.” Logan and Charles glanced at Jack and Marcy.

“We pulled her out of school.” Marcy said, fiddling with one of her earrings. “We didn't want people knowing she was a mutant until we had the, ah, resources, to handle her- gift.”

“So I hadn't been walking her home, and it kinda felt… It was weird. I guess I missed her.” Jack smiled at this, sad though it was, and Marcy reached out to take Lyra’s hand. Lyra accepts the gesture in spite of the look Ted and Aimie exchange. “So when I was passing by their house, I just… Looked over the fence.” She grimaced and let go of Marcy’s hand. “Oh, god. That makes me sound like a creep. But I looked in, and I saw her, and she was just playing. She had her dollhouse and her bike and a few other things. And she was just playing. So I called to her and waved hello and she waved back. I tried to get her to come high five me, like we always did, but she didn’t want to. Guess I know why.” She shrugs and pulls her knees to her chest, locking her arms around her legs. “We had a conversation for a little bit. Nothing really important. I was asking how she was feeling, she was telling me about the story she came up with for her dolls. Something about a senate that got infiltrated, and trying to find who the bad guy was. She did that one a lot. And then I got a phone call, and I looked away for a bit, and when I looked back, she-” Lyra’s voice broke and she buried her face in her knees, holding herself tighter. “She was gone.”

“Who called you?” Logan asked. Lyra kept her face buried and shrugged. Logan waited. Eventually, she spoke again.

“Brian Casey.” She mumbled. When she looks up, her face is bright red, and her pulse is elevated. “He’s, um, a boy from school. We talked for a minute or two, and I turned to wave bye to Sammy, and I didn’t see her.”

“Was there anything strange about the phone call?” Charles asked. Lyra nodded.

“Yeah. I asked Brian about it the next day, and he had no idea what I was talking about.” Her face twisted into a frustrated frown. “But I know it was him. We even talked about a chemistry assignment we’d done together.”

“But he denied it the next morning?” Charles pressed.

“According to him, it never happened. … And there was nothing in either of our call logs.” Charles and Logan stared at each other. They both nod.

“That’s all I need to hear.” Logan crossed his arms and rocked his weight back on his heels. Then he looks back to Jack and Marcy. “You got anything important to her I can take with me? A stuffed animal, a blanket…?”

“Part of Logan’s gift is enhanced senses.” Charles explains. “Bloodhounds are quite envious of his ability to follow a scent.”

“If it’s something that makes her feel safe, it might help me get her to come out if she’s hiding.” Logan adds.

“Oh.” Marcy says as the humans glance between each other. Then she stands up. “I think I know just the thing.” She steps around the chair, manoeuvres around Charles with a quiet ‘’scuse me’, and heads up the wooden staircase by the door to get to the house’s second level. Logan tilts his head, following her footsteps, the creak of the door, the pad of socks on carpet, her mumbling, the quiet ‘there you are’ when she finds what she needs. And then she retraces her steps and joins them in the sitting room again.

“Here.” She held out a shapeless, threadbare blob of fabric that had, at one point, been a plush lion. “This is Thimble. I-” She flushed. “I had a hard time saying ‘Simba’ when I was little. Sammy sleeps with him every night.”

“That works.” Logan reached out and took the toy in one hand. He glanced over to Lyra and added, “You said the last place anyone saw her was the back yard?” Lyra nodded. Logan smirked. “Half an hour.”

“What?” Ted asked. Logan was already moving past them to the sliding glass door in the back of the kitchen.

“That’s how long it's gonna take me to find the kid.”

“But she's been missing for three days.” That was Jack. Logan didn't turn around.

“I know.” He said, pushing the door open. “That's why I gave myself extra time.”

****

Finding the scent had been easy. It was all over the place. And yeah, it matched the scent that clung to the toy, Thimble, so he had double confirmation it was her. The artificial fruit scent of children's shampoo, goat’s milk, sidewalk chalk, grass and dandelions, petrichor, something not-quite but similar to ozone, the worn rubber of her shoes that was just a bit burnt from the lights that would come on when she stomped, bananas, washable markers, and granite. A little bit of sweat, which made sense if she’d been playing outside, but no fear. Highly unusual for a kidnapping victim. Her scent travelled alongside another, one he didn't recognize. That was bad enough. What made it even worse was that it carried traces of a scent he DID know. Oily-slick and painfully artificial, like pouring cologne on a chemical spill. Rot and rebirth, cold metal, blood.

Sinister.

If he was involved, a half hour search was probably too long. Fucking hell. His Harley, retrieved from the jet, roared down the street. The suburbs had long since fallen away. The buildings here were crowded together, businesses hunched under apartments and jostling for an inch of breathing room. He wrinkled his nose and growled. He hated places like this. Noisy, smelly, chaotic headaches. The perfect places to get lost in. well, not on his watch.

The trail led him to a bus terminal. It was empty now, but they had definitely been here. Logan cut the ignition and kicked the stand into place, swinging off the bike. He glanced around and sniffed the air. Yup, there was Sammy’s scent, and the other one, too. Leather and hand sanitizer, hair gel, gunpowder and gun oil (the good stuff, too, nothing cheap), lemon and honey and tea leaves, wintergreen mint and nail polish, glacial ice, adrenaline and blood and Sinister. Who the hell was this? And where had they gone?

There was a schedule on the wall. Laminated paper, sun-bleached but legible, detailing the routes each bus took. Logan grunted and ripped the sheet off the wall. Could be useful. He studied it a moment longer, then looked up and around. … There was a newspaper stand across the street. Logan was quietly amazed that those still existed. It was a hole-in-the-wall, probably part of the convenience store with the barred windows, with road sign-yellow paint on the counter and the signage. A far cry from the Everett’s suburb. Logan cast a quick glance in either direction then crossed the street, taking off his helmet and cradling it under his arm. The kid leaning against the counter can’t be more than late 20s. Long hair, stubble that was probably meant to be a beard. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and fixed Logan with a disinterested stare as he approached. His nametag introduced him as Jeremy, and that he was a ‘proud employee’ of Luckee Mart. Congratulations, Jeremy.

“Hey.” Logan said, stopping in front of the counter. Jeremy said nothing, only raised his eyebrow. That was fine; Logan would do the talking for both of them. “I’m looking for a kid. You seen this girl?” He slaps Sammy’s school photo - printed off before they even left the mansion - down on the counter. Jeremy props his face on his fist and looks down.

“You a cop?” He asks, and Logan grimaces before shaking his head.

“Hell no. Private investigator.” He taps his finger against the photo. “Her parents really want her home.” Jeremy looks down at the photo. His brow furrows, his heart rate picks up, and his scent shifts to nervousness and fear. Oh, okay. He was about to start lying. He takes a drag of his cigarette and holds it out to the side, tapping the ash off.

“Never seen her.” He said, leaning his weight to the side in an attempt to appear casual, confident. Logan sneers.

“Listen, bub.” He says. The cockiness vanishes from Jeremy’s face when Logan lifts him, one handed, by the front of his shirt and snatches the cigarette away. “You can keep talking outta your ass if you want, but I got three things you should consider first. One.” His first claw slid out, close enough that the flat pressed against the punk’s cheek. “Two.” The second claw slid out along the other side of his face. “Three.” the third, central, claw extended just enough to press into the soft underside of Jeremy’s chin. Jeremy’s eyes were wide, frantic, and brown. Same brown as his hair. Same brown as his jeans were gonna be, too.

“Wait! Wait wait wait, shit man, wait! You’re a- You’re a fuckin’ mutant?!”

“Nothin’ gets by you.” Logan grunted. “Where's the girl?”

“She took a bus!” Jeremy yelped, scrabbling at the counter and Logan’s wrist. Logan growls his frustration and tightens his grip.

“I know that, numbnuts.” He snapped. “When and what direction?”

*I don’t know!” Jeremy tilted his head back even further, trying to get as far away from the claws as he could. “I-I was just coming back from my lunch break, so I dunno, like- Noon? Noon-ish? And they went off towards McKellen street– Uh, that way!” He pointed.

“They?” Logan pressed. Jeremy started to nod, then thought better of it when he felt cold adamantium against his neck.

“Yeah, she was with someone. A woman. She was kinda freaky-looking, but still a babe, y’know? Really tall, hair slicked back, some kinda… Body armor type deal. And she was strapped, man, like- Guns and shit? I was surprised they let her on the bus. You ever seen Kill Bill? Or the Matrix? Like that- Hey!” Logan shakes him once.

“Focus, kid!” He snaps. “How long ago was this?”

“I dunno!” Jeremy shakes his head frantically. “I dunno! Two days ago? Three? Something like that!” Logan growls his frustration and drops Jeremy back down, retracting his claws. He wasn’t going to get anything else from this guy. No point wasting his time. He kept the kid’s cigarette, though, and held it between his teeth, inhaling deep. Then his frown deepens as he lets the smoke out from his lips.

“What is this? You smoke Pall Mall?” … He still took another drag as he referred back to the bus schedule. Logan shook his head. “Switch to Camels. You’ll thank me later.” He rolls the bus schedule up and stuffs it into his belt to hang onto, just in case, and makes sure to swipe the school picture as well. He crosses the street again, puts on his helmet, and swings onto his bike. The engine takes just long enough to cut on that Logan gets to hear Jeremy’s bewildered ‘What the fuck just happened?’ as he drives away.

*****

They’d left the city. They hadn’t gone far, but they were past the limits. He’d picked up the scent at one of the bus stops marked on the map. That hadn’t been difficult. There was only one bus that matched Jeremy’s estimated scheduling: the 632. From there, he’d figured out the stops in order, and had taken alleyways and side streets to check each one off faster until he hit paydirt. Then it was just tracking. Tracking, and breaking a few traffic laws. Not like he cares - if the cops ever got on his tail, they'd have to catch him, first.

“Hey, Chuck.” Logan said, flicking his comm on.

“Logan!” Charles's voice is bright and pleasant. “I was wondering when we might hear from you. Good news, I imagine?”

“Yeah.” Logan took a right turn. “I’m close. The scent's blowing pretty fresh. I’d say I’m roughly three minutes out from her location.”

“Already?” That was Jack’s voice, muffled by distance. Logan grinned.

“I told ya, thirty minutes to find her.” He says. He slows his bike and comes to a stop, bracing his feet on the gravel road. “But your police force must be shit. Nobody checked the…” He squinted at the weather-beaten sign in front of him. “Steel mill?”

“He’s at Flagship?” Jack still sounds surprised. “But…”

“But why would she be there?” Marcy’s voice, equally surprised.

“No idea.” Logan grunted. “But as long as I get her back safe and sound, who cares? I’ll call back when I’ve got her.” He shut the commlink off. If he was being honest, the ‘why’ did matter, and he was curious about it, but he was on a time crunch - both for the limit he’d set for himself, and the kid’s safety. They could chat and theorise when she was home.

He elected to leave his motorcycle behind. It would make too much noise on the approach. Best to go it on foot. He circled through the grass, stepping past what remained of a chain link fence and avoiding the main entrance. That'd be too obvious. Besides, the scent didn't lead to there. Whoever took the kid also didn't use the front door.

That was interesting.

They skipped most of the broken windows, too. Could be a couple reasons for that. Reason one: The kid couldn’t get that high. That would suggest that whoever took her wasn’t carrying her - which in turn suggested Sammy had gone willingly, or had been coerced to follow. Reason two: For whatever reason, the KIDNAPPER couldn’t get through the windows. Could be because they were too big to fit. At first listen to Jeremy’s story, that didn't sound right. He’d described a woman, and those windows were pretty damn big. But Logan didn't know this person. If they were a mutant, and he was assuming they were until otherwise proven wrong, they might have some sort of shape shifting power. Maybe the woman wasn't their real form. Maybe they had increased weight for another reason (better not be chomping his flavour).

Maybe they just couldn't jump that high.

He stopped just behind the steel mill, staring at what probably used to be a loading bay. He was around a corner, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Coast looked clear. He could hear talking, but it was too distant to be at the door. He counted one voice- No, wait. … Why did it sound like so many more people all of a sudden? He swore, he SWORE he’d only heard two heartbeats a moment ago. Only two sets of breathing. And he didn't smell sulphur, so what in the fuck-? He narrowed his eyes and sniffed the air once, twice. Three times. He smelled rust, and dirt, and decay, mould and mildew and wildlife, petrichor and rotting paint, crumbling wood, and…

And…

What the fuck?

Why did it smell like the forest? … And why did he recognize those voices?

This is a goddamn trap.

He growls low in his chest, bares his teeth at nothing in particular. This is a trap, and it makes no sense. The people he hears, smells, can't possibly be there. And if there's a trap, that means whoever was behind this - whether they were just in league with Sinister or it was the man himself - knew someone was following them. If it had been tailored to him, they knew he was coming, specifically. But he was three days and a few police calls behind, and he'd gotten on the trail as soon as he'd heard all the relevant Intel. How could they know…?

Fuck it. Screw the door, screw the loading bay, he was going in through one of those windows after all. He retraced his steps at speed - if they knew he was here, there was less point in being stealthy - braced his feet against the concrete and jumped. His hands caught the edge of the window. Glass bit into the leather of his gloves. Sliced into his hands. He swung up and over, using the windowsill as a pivot point. By the time he let go, the cuts were already healed, and he landed on the ground and woke up.

… Had he been sleeping? It felt like he had. Logan screwed his eyes shut and groaned, grinding his face into the heel of his hand. His head hurts. He hears the sound of chatter, and opens his eyes. … He's on a bench. On a bench, at the institute. His favourite bench, the one near the treeline. He frowns. Breathes in. The air is clean and fresh. Wasn't he just doing something? Or had it been another dream? Another nightmare? Another lost memory trying to bleed through to the surface? He blinked a couple times, trying to clear his vision. Something flew at his head- His arm snapped up- snatched it out of the air-

A frisbee.

Bright red plastic with a black ‘X’ emblazoned on the top, marking it as property of the Institute.

“Sorry, Logan!” A young voice called. Logan looked up, still clutching the frisbee. There, waving and giggling sheepishly, was a group of familiar faces. Pyro, Drake, Rogue, Kitty, Jubilee, and Colossus. Kitty was the one who had spoken. She stopped waving to rock onto her toes, then back down. “Can you throw it back?” He studies it a moment longer - does the weight feel different, or is he still waking up? - then shrugs and gives it a toss. It flies in a clean, precise arc, and Drake jumps to catch it.

“Thanks!” He yells back. Logan nods.

“You need t’ work on your aim, petite.” That voice is also familiar, and he looks over to see Gambit propped against a lamp post, shuffling his cards. “You missed.”

“She throws better than you, Gumbo.” Logan huffs, standing and stretching. His back pops and he grunts.

“You break Gambit’s heart, homme.” Gambit says, pausing his shuffling to put the back of his hand to his forehead. “I bake for you, and you talk t’ me like dat?” Logan rolls his eyes, but the ghost of a smirk belies his amusement.

“Don’t forget who pulled your ass outta the deep freeze, ‘homme’.” He crosses his arms loosely and looks back at the kids. “Whadda’ya want?”

“Gambit? He wants for nothin’.” Gambit returns to his cards. “Storm was lookin’ for you, though.”

“Storm?” Logan glanced over, and Gambit nodded. Logan let out a curious hum, then set off back towards the mansion, tossing a ‘thanks’ over his shoulder. As he stepped out from the shade, he was awash in warm, buttery sunshine. It was warm enough to be nice, but not overbearing, and the breeze that carried the scent of flowers and fresh-cut grass was the perfect equaliser between hot and cold. The lawn crunched under his boots as he walked. The voices of the frisbee game drew slightly softer as he approached the front of the grounds. There was a deeper sound. A low, baritone rumbling, growing louder and louder and Logan sprang back just as a red sports car zoomed into the circular driveway.

“Jesus, Slim!” Logan shouted, regaining his footing. “Eyes up!”

“Oh, man, sorry Logan!” Scott climbed out of the car with his shoulders hunched and his hand in front of his mouth, the universal posture for ‘I fucked up’. This was echoed in his scent, which was spiked with adrenaline and worry. “I didn't see you there. It’s just, Jean and I were planning this field trip for the kids, to the natural history museum. There’s this travelling exhibit that's coming to town, one about folklore and sea monsters and how that connects to different real-life sea creatures, and we thought it could be a creative tie-in for the mutant history class and how-”

“What Scott means is,” Jean steps out of the car and cuts Scott off with a hand on his shoulder and a fond smile. “We’ll pay more attention next time. Are you alright?”

“I’m always alright, Red.” Logan said, then glanced to Scott, who was fiddling with his glasses nervously. “But I’m holding this against you, next time ya try to kick me outta the pilot seat.”

“That's fair.” Scott’s shoulders relaxed and his grin became more casual. “Sorry again, Logan.” Logan turned to leave, but only managed a few paces before Jean spoke up again.

“Actually, we were hoping to run into you.” She said, taking an imploring step forward just as Logan turned back again.

“Almost did.” He huffs, and Scott sulks. Jean ignores them both and continues.

“We were hoping to ask if you and Mariko would like to chaperone with us.”

“Mariko?” He repeated, breath caught in his throat. No. No, that wasn't possible. He couldn't ask Mariko, because she was-

Just fine. She was fine. She was fine because she'd been there when he'd gone back to her home. She’d been waiting, safe and sound. And he’d dealt with the other Yakuza, and everyone else, and she’d finished disentangling her family from crime. It had been a long and arduous process. Some people had resisted at first. But in the end, she’d persisted, and eventually succeeded. The Yashida clan was respected under her lead. And she’d come to visit as a vacation from the constant work that came with running a family.

“Yeah.” Scott nodded. “The kids really like her. And, besides, we know she’s not going to be here much longer before she goes back to Japan. We thought she might like seeing a bit of American folklore before she goes home.”

“She might.” Logan nods slowly, then screws his eyes shut and rubs at his temple again, teeth grit tight. “I’ll- I’ll ask.”

“What's wrong?” Jean asked, signalling her concern in the tilt of her head and the furrow of her brow. Logan shook his head and stepped back.

“Just a headache. I’ll be fine.” He says, muffling a growl in the back of his throat. “If I see her around, I’ll ask.” And now he did walk away. His head hurt more now. This isn’t right. None of this is right. It doesn’t make sense - why doesn’t it make sense? He was still glaring at the dirt when little footsteps scurried by him. A young girl, running across the lawn. She was about seven or eight, with straight, ash-blond hair and… Green eyes. She was very familiar. Of course she was familiar, she was a student, wasn’t she? Had to be. But there’s still something– Movement behind– He turned–

Caught Victor Creed’s arm by the wrist. (Wait-) Victor looked down at him with a bemused expression.

“Uh, boo?” He blinked, waggling the fingers of his free hand in a half-assed parody of an old-school movie monster. Logan released his arm, and Victor let it drop to his side. “Hell’s got you all jumpy for?”

“What the fuck, Creed?” Logan grumbled, loosely crossing his arms over his chest. His head felt like it was about to split open.

“What?” Victor sniffed, adopting a similar posture. “Can’t a guy come ask if his partner wants to go for a hunt?” Logan tilted his head in confusion.

“Hunting? Now? … What time is it?” Both he and Victor looked up at the sun. It hung contentedly in the middle of the sky. The ferals looked back down as Victor pulled a smart phone from his pants pocket. He tapped his thumb on the almost comically undersized screen.

“Three-thirty.” He says, stuffing the phone back and away. Logan took a half step back. He scratches at the back of his head, then twists his hand in the hair that grows from the nape of his neck as though that can hold the sides of his skull together when it feels like they’re trying to rip apart.

“I… Have a class to teach.” He says it slowly, like he's trying to remind himself of the fact. It’s three thirty, and he's pretty sure it's Friday, so-

Victor laughs.

“Boy howdy, that must’ve been some nap.” He grins and picks at his fangs with a claw, peeling off a shedding layer. “You put your brats up to it, remember? Said they gotta… Earn their stripes, or, somethin’. I wasn't listening.” He pulls his hand away from his mouth to examine his nails. Satisfied, he gives his claws a quick extension-retraction, then props his hands on his hips and grins. “And before ya’ ask, yes, you're still on Earth, but Bugs Bunny is president.” Logan turned and walked away, shaking his head.

“Thank God I’m Canadian.”

“You guys got Daffy.” Victor called to his retreating back. “And what about our hunt?”

“Later.” Logan replied, waving him off. “I gotta find Storm.” And so, he continued around the perimeter of the mansion. With every step, his head hurt more and more. Maybe this was why he'd asked the kids to cover for him. He was so distracted by the pain in his skull that he only narrowly avoided Lockheed, swooping low to bring something to Kitty. Logan didn't know what it was, and shot a few curses at the tiny dragon as it flew off. Maybe Kitty oughtta invest in some pint-sized glasses. He’s still grumbling to himself when he rounds another corner, and what he sees is enough to dissipate his bad mood instantly.

There they were.

His kids - or, three of them, at least. The ones that looked like him. Akihiro, Laura, and Gabby. Even from here, he could hear what they were saying. It was a tracking lesson. Laura and Akihiro were explaining how to read broken undergrowth to determine approximate weight, speed, and direction of moving prey. Gabby was holding up Jonathan, who was chittering contentedly. Apparently, she was gonna take the oversized rat and they were both gonna hide themselves somewhere in the woods. It was a good drill - real world practice in a low-stress setting. He’d done it plenty of times before. Sometimes they’d have to find him. Sometimes it’d be someone else. Sometimes he’d just stash a random object and have them bring it back to him. And now his kids were using the same lesson.

So they did listen to him, after all.

And seeing that - seeing them, happy and safe and together - brings a smile to his face, even despite the throbbing behind his eyes and what the FUCK was wrong with his head?! He snarls to himself, squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head, clutching at the roots of his hair. His vision blurs and he squints. … That girl’s there again. The little one whose name he can't remember. She's hiding behind Mikoto, clutching at her leg and peering out. Mikoto doesn't react. That's weird for a lot of reasons. Mikoto liked kids - she was great with the younger students. He’d heard her refer to herself as their ‘big sister' countless times, and they adored her right back. She’d never ice one of them out. And, hold on, why was the kid even in that class? The rest of the students there were teenagers, and if they were doing field tests, this was steering towards the advanced track-

“Logan! There you are.” A voice interrupts the latest snarl of frustration before he can finish it, and he looks up. There's a trace of desperation in his eyes as he seeks her out. Her.

Storm.

Ironically, she'd always been a calming presence in his life, from the moment he met her. Her and Charles, who, speak of the devil, is at her side. They approach him with smiles that falter when they catch sight of his expression.

“What's wrong, old friend?” Charles asked, steepling his fingers in his lap. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I dunno, Chuck.” He took a moment before looking up again. “My head fuckin’ hurts, and I swear, something just ain't right about today. Can't put my finger on it.” Storm frowned in sympathy.

“You're stressed, Logan. This is exactly why we suggested you take the day off.”

… Oh yeah. They had told him to do that, hadn't they? Said he’d been pushing himself too hard and no matter how he argued - and he’d argued - they’d insisted. And now he was here. … Was that right? It felt- At least, it made-

“You still seem tired. Though I’m not surprised to find you watching over the students again, I assure you, Logan. They will be fine while you take some time for yourself.” Charles’s expression is equal parts fond and exasperated, the guiding hand that he always is. So why does this…?

“Cajun said you were looking for me.” Logan mumbled, once again blinking against the discomfort.

“I was.” Storm confirmed. “Though I told him not to wake you if you were resting. I hope he listened.”

“Does he ever?” Logan rolled his neck to one side. It doesn't help. Storm tutted and rolled her eyes.

“That man.” She huffed. Logan grunted.

“What'd ya need, Storm?” He asked. She blinked and stood a bit straighter.

“Oh! Yes. I was about to head to the greenhouse. There are some plants I need to prune, so I was wondering if you might lend a hand. It’s been far too long since we’ve had some time to really catch up.”

“Y’know what?” Logan managed a smile. “That’d be nice.”

Snikt.

“Except you're not Storm.”

And he drove his claws into her abdomen. She let out a shocked, pained gasp. It echoes off the walls of the loading bay, shattering the quiet that remained once the constant droning was gone. Already, his head started to feel better. The little girl - Sammy - toppled over from behind the guard rail. She shook her head like she was coming out of a daze. And the woman on his claws staggered back, olive face ashy and grey eyes wide.

“H-how-?” She sputtered. Logan pulled free, but didn't sheath the blades. Blood dripped onto the concrete, and it smelled real and it smelled heavenly.

“You’re good, sister, I'll give ya’ that.” He said, stepping a slow circle, stopping only when he stood between her and Sammy. The woman looked up, sweat coating her brow and making her slicked-back brown hair look even shinier. (Fuck, she was younger than he expected. Probably had a good few years before she even hit thirty.) “Not too many people can get anywhere near my head. But you made one huge mistake.” He held up his index finger. “Things never go that smooth when I’m around.”

“...Wait.” The woman slowed the desperate scrabbling she’d been doing through her belt pouches, and looked at him with what he sure hoped, for her sake, wasn't concern. “Are you saying you broke through my illusion and evaded all my attempts at killing you… Because you think it's unrealistic for you to be HAPPY?!” Logan let his shoulders sag as he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s- What are you, my therapist?” And when he looked back at her, she had a syringe in her hand. The scent of Sinister got stronger. “Wait, the hell is-”

She pressed the plunger down and gasped like she'd been pulled out of ice water. He lunges. She jumps back.

“Do you have a therapist?” Her voice was still unsteady, but she grinned, flashing bloody teeth. The flow of blood from her stomach had stopped. “Cause if not, I can probably help you find one. And when you get there, you can tell ‘em Siren sent-” She yelped and leaped out of the way of the concrete slab that shattered against the wall. “Hey! Rude!”

“Shut your damn mouth.” Logan growled and lunged again. She - Siren, really? Another one? - drew a pistol from her belt and fired. Logan ghosted the first three with little effort, but the fourth- Ah, shit. Too close to the kid for his liking. Better just take it. The bullet collided with his shoulder with a dull ting. Logan roared. Duck. Slice the gun. Useless. Catch her arm. Slice the stomach. Block the swing, take the headbutt - moron - both sets of claws through her shoulders into the wall.

Ding ding ding.

We have a winner.

She cried out and struggled, but it was useless.

“Why are you working with Sinister?” He snarled directly in her face. The bruising from the failed headbutt was already fading, but… Slower now.

“Who?” Siren sputtered.

“The guy who hired you. Essex, or whatever he’s callin’ himself now - and I bet he gave you that fancy needle, too.”

“A job’s a job.” She coughed. “Not all of us get a cushy mansion.”

“Not all of us use that as an excuse to hurt kids.” Logan shot back. He pulled his claws out and let her drop. She looked pale. If that shot let her heal like he thought it did, then she better hope it could fix all that. Not his monkeys, in any case.

“If you ever want a taste of the good life…” He said, stepping back and retracting his claws. “Charles Xavier, he can help you.”

“Charles Xavier…” Siren’s voice was thick and wet as she reached into her vest. “Is a fucking hypocrite.” Logan realised what she was doing just in time. He dove over Sammy right as the explosion went off.

…

The dust settled. Nothing moved. Then, the scuttle of smaller rocks as something shifted. A chunk of ceiling moved. Then, with a grunt of effort, Logan shoved it off and away. His hair was a mess, he was streaked with dirt and his own drying blood, his jacket was shredded and his shirt and jeans barely survived - but he was alive.

And more importantly, so was she.

“You alright, kid?” He asked, looking down. Sammy was curled into a tight ball at his feet, hands over her ears and trembling visibly. When he inhaled (a strange feeling, given that his lungs were still repairing themselves), what he smelled above all else, more than the blood, the accelerant, the rubble, was blind terror and tears.

“Ah, geez.” Logan scratched at his neck and crouched down. “Hey there. Sammy, right?” She didn't move. “I think you’ve had a real lousy couple of days. Is that right?” She stayed curled up. He tilted his head. “I bet I know just the thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his comnlink. “I have her, Charles.”

“I heard. Your link must have turned on during the fight.” Charles’s voice - the real Charles.

“Figured.” Logan shrugged.

“Are you both alright?”

“I’m fine. Takes more than that to bring the ol’ Canucklehead down. The kid… she ain't hurt, but she's shaken up bad. Think you can get her parents on the line?”

“Of course.” Charles sounded relieved. “I’d stepped outside when I got your signal. Let me fetch them.”

“Thanks.” Logan said. “Oh, and, uh- Charles?”

“Yes?”

“I dunno how much you heard, but, uh…” Logan chewed the inside of his cheek. “What that Siren lady said? She's wrong. You saved all of us. … Especially me.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Logan wondered if he had lost the signal.

“Thank you, Logan.” Charles finally spoke. “Coming from you, that means more than I can say.” And then it was silent again, aside from the sound of a sliding door. And then Charles’s voice again, distantly. “Mr. and Mrs. Everett?”

“Is that-?” Jake sounded hesitant.

“Sammy?!” Marcy sounded close to tears.

“She's here.” Logan confirmed.

“Oh, my baby-!” Marcy wailed. There was a jostling sound, and then her voice was much clearer. “Baby, Mama’s here, is that you?”

Sammy finally looked up.

“Hey, little mermaid!” Jack's voice, and it sounded like Marcy’s weeping was contagious. “The nice man’s gonna take you home, okay? Make sure you listen to him!”

Her big, green eyes welled up with fresh tears.

“And then we’ll bake cinnamon cookies.�� Marcy promised. “All day.”

“All day.” Jack echoed.

“Why don't you stay on the line til we get back?” Logan said, then held the commlink out to Sammy. “Here, little darlin’. Hang on to this for me.” She blinked up at him, uncertain. He crouched down even lower and softened his voice. “It’s real this time. I promise.” She sniffled, and when he dropped the commlink into her open palm, clutched it to her chest.

“We love you, baby.” Marcy’s voice leaked out from her fingers.

“You’ll be home soon.” Jack added.

“Y’know,” Logan rocked back on his heels. “They’re not the only ones who missed you.” Sammy looked up again, her face tear-streaked and puffy. “I had someone who was so worried, he came all this way just to help me find ya’.” And off his belt, Logan pulled Thimble the Lion - a bit flattened from having been caught underneath him during the explosion, a little dirty, and maybe a bit torn, but otherwise intact. Sammy gasped and surged forward, gathering the toy against her chest. Logan smiled, then stood.

“C’mon. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” He held out a hand to help her up (thankfully, his gloves were dark enough to hide any bloodstains). Sammy peered up from Thimble’s threadbare fur, looked at the hand, then shifted Thimble to the other side so she had a free arm to reach up with. She hiccuped.

Well.

How the fuck did he say no to that?

“Alright, up ya’ go.” Logan said, ducking down to scoop her into the crook of his elbow. She nestled her head against his shoulder and soon, even with the revving of his motorcycle’s engine, was asleep.

******

The reunion was about as tearful as Logan expected it to be.He’d woken Sammy up when they got close. When they pulled in the driveway, she didn’t wait for the engine to cut off before she’d jumped off.

“Sammy!” Jack and Marcy cried, sprinting off the front step. They scooped her into her arms and collapsed on the lawn, holding her so tightly Logan couldn’t see her anymore. Charles wheeled out of the door, down the small step, and then moved to Logan’s side.

“Well done, old friend.” He said with a smile. Logan nodded.

“Just doing my job.” He replied, arms crossed. “Glad it’s over.” And both he and Charles smiled.

“Oh, and Logan?” Charles spoke. Logan grunted.

“As I told you, we could hear what you and Siren were saying. We will be discussing it at your next session.” Logan opened his mouth to say something, then glanced over at Sammy and reconsidered his phrasing.

“Sometimes, Charles, you can be a real pain in the- … Rear.”

Charles only laughed. Jack and Marcy looked up.

“Thank you.” Marcy sniffled, her cheek still pressed against her daughter’s hair.

“Charles?” Jack nodded, then glanced back at his wife, who nodded. Jack faced forward again. “We want to take you up on it.” Logan tilted his head to the side, then glanced at Charles with an arched brow.

“She comin’ with us?”

“Not yet.” Charles shook his head once. “But soon. We’ll make arrangements once they’ve all had some time to recover.” Logan looked back at the Everetts.

“Then why don’t you hang on to that commlink for a while?” He suggested. “It’s a direct line to the mansion. Anything happens again, we’ll be here before you know it.”

“Thank you.” Jack, this time, and his voice broke before he scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve. Sammy took advantage of the loosened grip and squirmed free, stumbled, then scurried to stand in front of Logan. He blinked, then crouched down.

“Hello, little lady.” He said. She studied him for a moment. He tilted his head. Then she carefully set Thimble down and reached for his face with both hands. He froze. Once again, he was hearing impossible voices.

But these weren’t voices he recognized.

Or- They were. One was. But- But he couldn’t be hearing it. It wasn’t possible. He’d… He’d thought he’d never hear it again. He shouldn’t be able to…

[Hello,] said a young girl’s voice. Shy and innocent.

[Hm? Oh, good afternoon, my dear.] A man’s voice. Oh god.

[What are you doing?] The girl asked. Logan struggled to breathe.

[I’m sitting, I imagine,] the man said. [Would you care to join me?] It hurt.

[But why are you sitting here?] The girl asked. [You can go.]

A moment of silence. Logan wasn’t even sure his heart was beating.

[I’m waiting for someone.] The man said finally.

[Who?] The girl asked.

Logan felt his chest constrict.

[My son.] The man said. [James.] Logan’s eyes stung. [He’s a sweet boy. A strong boy. But he’s always hated being alone. I’d like to be here for him when he arrives, to help show him the way.] His voice sounded so different than Logan remembered. Had he remembered his father wrong, all these years?

[You must’ve waited real long.] The girl said.

[I… I assume so.] The man said. [I’m not actually sure how long it’s been. I hope it’s been many, many years, though. I’d like him to have grown up by the time we see each other again. I… I hope he got the chance to do so.]

[Do you miss him?] The girl asks. Logan feels sick.

Another silence.

[Yes.] The man says softly. [But I’m glad that I do.] And then Sammy steps back, and Logan snaps back to the present. She blinks up at him curiously, waiting for a reaction he couldn’t give her. He couldn’t move.

“Logan?” Charles sounded a thousand miles away. A hand on his back. “Logan, are you alright?” He blinked, rocked back. He was replaying those words over and over again, as much as they hurt - desperately trying to cling to that voice. The first voice to ever love him.

“Sammy, what did you do-?” Marcy asked, pulling her daughter into her arms.

“I’m so sorry-” Jack began, but Logan just shook his head. He swallowed, drew a steadying breath.

“Sammy, can you do me a favour?” He asked. She nodded, peeking out from her mother’s blouse. “You ever see him again… You tell him not to wait up.” And he turned and stood, waiting for Charles, and remained silent long after they got back to the mansion.

He had a lot to think about.

#save #ic ;; lost memories ;; drabble #verse ;; leader of the pack ;; later xmen #ANYWAY #i told myself i was gonna write out a short scene i had in my head #and now its 32 pages #HERE YOU GO WORLD #with mentions of #perditos ;; mikoto #perditos ;; charles #perditos ;; victor #cyberno ;; cyclops #and #diaboliquet #and then #ouija tbt #siren tbt #john howlett tbt

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entity56 · 6 months ago

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I've been thinking about it and there are a collection of signs I should have remembered while questioning my kintypes (specifically for my winged satyr kintype):

my lifelong, albeit background, emotional connection to Hellenic mythology and ancient Mesopotamian/Greek culture

constant craving for salt, to the point of just pouring salt into my hand and licking it. as a habit, throughout my life.

constantly craving grain foods (breads/multigrain crust, crackers, etc)

just straight up eating grass?? sometimes when i was younger id just go out into the backyard and eat handfuls of grass

toe walking (ik this is a common autism thing but ive always been kind of uncomfortable with having plantigrade legs, ive been walking around on my toes with my knees bent recently and ive never felt better about my bodily structure)

the actual breakdowns ive had as a kid about not having wings/being able to fly

gender fuckery

lifelong connection to nature and music

laziness.

the admittedly embarrassing habit i picked up as a kid of grunting, pawing the ground and headbutting people who pissed me off (I've weaned off of this as much as possible for obvious reasons but

literally never being able to look in the mirror and be satisfied with my facial structure, even as a little kid before being bullied

the actual memory of being fucking killed as a bystander during battle that I've just straight up Ignored until now

pica. (used to chew on my clothes and eat random pieces of plastic and jewelry, still have a habit of eating paper items today)

never ever being satisfied as a christian, always being drawn to hellenism (specifically aphrodite*)

*ik satyrs are notorious for following dionysus and although i have been considering incorporating him into my worship, i believe that during my time alive as a satyr i instead chose to honor aphrodite

#theriomythic #otherkin #satyrkin #faekin #divinekin #entity says

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drgnrder82 · 1 month ago

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Fictober (belated) Day 5 - Wake up call

Summary: Ali's nerves are getting the better of her with the new assignment and new partner.

Warnings: Violance (minimal)

Word Count: 814

Original Fiction

Based on characters from my serial Shutdown Syntax.

Prompt - "It's a new day, let's go!."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s a new day, let’s go!” Harold Griffin heaved the mattress overhead, rolling Alison unceremoniously onto the floor.

Patting around, bleary-eyed, Ali found a shoe under the bed, hurling it in the general direction of the damned jerk that woke her. "What time is it?" she groaned, using both arms to block the neon light cutting through the openings from the blinds.

“6 am,” Mr. G answered.

Does this man never sleep?

"C'mon Ali, up and at 'em! We're already late, and I can't cover for you. Aalato's already…"

"Oh, what stakeout? I was up all night on a stakeout," Ali continued blindly patting around for anything that would fit over her head. Pillow. Blanket. Plastic bag…

"You're on the stakeout with me. For the Coltier case."

Finding a pillow, Ali buried herself under it and relished the sweet, sweet darkness it enveloped her in. Her brain chewed slowly on what Mr. G said. Stakeout? Stakeout. "I'm on the Miller case. Not… Coltier." If she turned just a little, he might get comfortable on the wood floor of Mr. G's apartment. Wedged between the bed and... a coffee table?

“Aalato assigned you…”

“Because no one else can put up with your shit, Mr. G. But I’m on a case." Her mind chugged along, searching for rest. "Wait!" Ali sat up. She wasn't in her apartment... but this wasn't Mr. G's either. And this comforter? It was hers... but... looking around, Ali felt at home. This was home... so why... "Why the hell are you in my apartment!”

“The bigger question,” Private Investigator Harold Griffin sighed, “is why you’re only now asking questions.”

BANG!

Ali jolted awake, sweat soaking her sheets as the dream shattered. Nightmare, Ali corrected herself. Hair plastered to her neck and back. Her chest heaved, and the room slowly came into focus.

Though she was in her bed, Ali crawled to the edge, tapped the light panel on her bedside table, and… double-checked that her room was indeed hers. The pocket door separating her room from the living room lay half open like she'd left it, partially off the track. Her bundle of cords overflowed from the bin on her table. The picture of her and Mr G at her academy graduation came to life when the sensor detected her looking at it.

Ali's hand went to the new IrisLink port above her ear. Sore from the recent installation.

Detecting her being awake, IrisLink inundated her with morning updates. Task force notes, messages, weather, traffic, and the latest bot bout news muted a moment later with an angry swipe.

Free weights lay hazardously in the middle of her claustrophobically small bedroom floor. Sensors in her room registered she'd woken, too. Faint lighting flickered to life on the ceiling, which would stay dim until the motion sensors detected more movement.

She must have woken during an approved time. Coffee percolated in the next room, even as Ali flopped back on her twin bed.

There was no stakeout coming. But there was... a risk, for lack of a better word. Ali's first official undercover assignment… and the first time she'd rely on her new partner as her backup.

IrisLink pinged again, wanting to show her the schedule for today. More testing at the Vanguard City Police Department's Biosecurity and Augmentation Oversight division. She had to get these nerves under control. If she couldn't… Biosecurity would call for a psych evaluation and throw the entire operation into jeopardy.

There was… one thing she could do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ali settled her travel mug on the kitchen counter, considering Harold Griffin’s desk runneth over with papers—more than she ever saw in any precinct building combined. Shutting the window behind her, Ali double-checked that the fire escape remained empty, save for Mrs. Balla's bot charging via its solar panel two floors up.

Morning sun overpowered the unnatural pink neon from Mr. Griffin's building sign. It was as invasive as Mr. G's old morning wake-up habit when Ali slept on Mr. G's couch. Morning traffic was already on the uptick; self-driving cars with impatient passengers layed on their horns. Delivery drones buzzed through the streets. Ali didn't creep but walked to Mr. G's room, practically stomping, threw open the door, and decided the edge of the bed closest to the door would be best. Good leverage. He might not hit his head on the bedside table.

In one swift motion, she grabbed the mattress, grunting as she lifted it over her head. The springs groaned in protest as Mr. G tumbled from the land of sleep to the dismal abyss of the real world... and across the ancient, sagging mattress.

"It's a new day! Let's go!" she clapped, and the mattress landed with a heavy thunk on the box spring. "You need to drive me to my appointments."

“What the hell was that for?” Mr G complained.

Ali shrugged. "Payback."

#fictober24 #fictober #fictober 2024 #writing prompt challenge #writing prompts #short story #creative writing #writeblr #fictober event #original fiction #original writing

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prosperdemeter2 · 1 year ago

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Teaser Tuesday - psychic!AU

“Okay,” Eddie rounded the top of the stairs, dropped his duffle in the corner and grabbed a paper cup to hand to Chimney. “We have your… weird thing.”

“It’s not weird,” Chimney stuck his nose in the air as he said it, taking off the plastic lid and immediately downing half the cup. “It’s a red velvet coffee.”

“It’s literally a mocha,” Eddie rolled his eyes but grabbed Bobby’s instead of pausing to get into the same argument with Chimney again. Chim liked playfully arguing and, aside from Hen who only did it sometimes, Eddie was the only one really willing to go along with it. “Cap, your chai tea.”

Bobby smiled and pat him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Eddie.”

“Hen, your simple order of iced coffee,” Eddie passed it over with a grin.

“You’re an angel.” Hen blew him a kiss from where she was digging into the paper bag in search of her poppy seed bagel.

“And here’s yours.” He popped it right into Buck’s hand, trying not to flush at the tips of his ears at the way Buck beamed up at him. He leaned, for what was probably much too long in his space, forearms on the back of the couch and his eyes taking in the article about recent archeological findings Buck was reading. “Weren’t you reading that last night?” Eddie asked without thinking about the implications (what implications, really? The team already knew that they talked the most outside of their shifts. Bobby even called them on it, sometimes. What’s up with Buck? How late did you two stay up last night? Not that Eddie usually stayed up too late - Buck was the one with the habit of staying up all night long, Eddie was just typically the one he texted when he was having trouble.).

“That was a different article.” Buck shook his phone in emphasis. On the inside of his wrist was a crude sharpie drawing - Eddie knew Jee-Yun had done it the last time he had watched her. Buck had a habit of letting her color in his tattoos. Chim thought it was hilarious, Eddie thought it was probably one of the cutest things about him. “Did you know that archeologists are rethinking the majority of the shit they’ve found over the years and said belonged to men? Apparently, like, a huge percentage of warrior bodies they’ve found could have belonged to women.”

Eddie did know that, but only because Buck had texted him the same exact sentiment and phrasing at approximately two in the morning and Eddie had read it when he woke up. Granted, there had been a lot more typos and expletives but, well… that was just how they typed. “Wait,” Chimney said with a frown clear in his voice. “Why is there a whole cup of ice? Are you just going to chew ice, Eddie?”

He could but only because the way Buck always looked at him in horror was absolutely hilarious and adorable. “No.” Eddie snorted and straightened up.

The way Buck’s face lit up at the mention, though, was also adorable. He swung himself off the couch, shoved his phone low in his pocket, and sauntered forward, jerking the cup out of Chimney’s hand with a grin. “That’s mine.”

Chim scrunched his face at him. “Why do you want a cup of ice?” He watched, though, as Buck took off the top of the black coffee he had asked for, took off the cover of the ice, poured half of it in an empty cup, and tipped his hot coffee over the cubes. “W…” Chimney blinked.

“Buck,” Hen snickered. “Why not just get an iced coffee?”

“It waters it down.” Buck shrugged and Eddie, in an act of defiance (or, really, in an effort to see the way Buck’s nose would wrinkle up at the sight), grabbed one of the unused cubes and popped it into his mouth. He bit into it with a smile and… there it was. Buck’s nose wrinkled, his eyes widened, and he stopped, his own drink halfway to his mouth. “You’re insane.”

Maybe, or maybe he just liked to find little ways to make Buck smile. “I’m going to go change.” Eddie told the room at large, weaving between all of them to grab his bag and duck into the locker room.

“Would Eddie order a cup of ice if I asked him to?” Chimney wondered aloud. “Or is that just another special Buck perk?”

#teaser tuesday #psychic!au #i really have to come up with a title for this lmao

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justanentity173 · 1 year ago

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I think the stick is the best part of the lollipop. The wrapper, although smooth and protective of the candy inside, never struck me as all that different from any candy wrapper, as well as being waxy. It may have some flavor from the head inside, but that's it. The head is the second best part, being sweet and flavorful, and extremely fun to have in your mouth. But alas, over time, it disappears. Whether you savor it or just bite it, it's always gone too soon, regardless of how long it lasts. Some lollipops hide a small treat, such as chocolate or gum inside, boosting it's ranking. But as a tradeoff, it's easy to get focused on the insides, the treat inside, rather than just savoring the outside. Or maybe that's just me.

The paper stick is on it's own level. It lasts long. The flavor, although bland, is still distinct. The layers peel off over time, and can even be unwrapped, making the stick thinner while pulling the paper off like hand towels off a roll. They soften over time, so it can tear off in small bits. It can hang out your mouth, like a toothpick, or be bent into (simple) shapes. It's soft paper too, so it can't cut you, and swallow easily. You can bite down on them really hard, with just enough resistance not to hurt. They're fun to leave on your mouth and forget about for a while. Eventually, it thins, leaving you to tear the thin piece off. The stick gets shorter over time. Eventually, it disappears too.

Plastic lollipop sticks are another lovely type. Although difficult and less enjoyable to eat (I just throw them out), they can last way longer than paper sticks. They can collect bite marks, which looks nice for some reason. Like proof you've had it for a while. They can bend even better, but tend to stay bent, even if it's a small amount. They've gotten less common in recent years (or maybe I'm eating different brands).

Wooden lollipop sticks are less a less common type. However, if we count popsicles in, the lollipops cooler sibling, they're fairly common. They break in a pretty fun way, but can't be unbroken. They're a bit jagged when broken apart, and less fun to chew on. The texture is a bit dry, and too grainy to really enjoy.

The paper lollipop stick wins by nearly every standard. It beats the other sticks, the head, even the strings and plastic wrap I use to chew on.

(String in really fun to drag through your mouth, and has a good texture, and plastic wrap is really smooth and nice to feel.)

Overall, the stick is the thing I look forward to the most when I unwrap a lollipop. To bite, to eat, to leave it my mouth and forget. It is, without a doubt, one of my favorite "inedible" things to eat.

I'm bored and procrastinating, hit me with your longest hyperfixation rant

#Dunno why I chose lollipop sticks #Just recently realized I love them #I could talk more about “inedible” things to chew on #Maybe I'll make a part two

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ashasmonsters · 3 years ago

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The Skateboarder

Female reader x Female orc (Morn)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: brief alcohol, stupid memes

Words: 9k

Morn reached between the legs of some intertwined partygoers, retrieved a beer from the strategically placed cooler, then opened it on the strike plate of the living room door. Some of it foamed out and fell on the carpet with the bottle cap but she didn't seem to care. The owners of the sorority house didn't care either.

"...so yeah, she said I stank and got up and left." Morn finished her tale of an attempted one-night stand.

"She didn't even touch you yet?" You asked, leaning in close so she could hear you over the thumping music. As was usual for parties like these, you and Morn had carved out a corner where you could be ignored by everyone else and gossip.

"Well, yeah, but not below the belt. That's what pissed me off. She was all over me all night and as soon as I say I want her to go down on me, she insults me and leaves."

"I mean..." you grinned, unable to resist, "did you stink down there, though?"

Morn punched your shoulder and chuckled.

"Fuck off, it's not like roses and daffodils are the norm. You know, it's like I always say..." It was Morn's turn to grin mischievously.

"Don't fucking say it. I swear to God, Morn. I'm going to laugh really hard and everyone's going to look at me weird. " You pleaded. You knew what would come next; Morn's favorite turn of phrase that she managed to use more often than one would think.

"—like I always say, good pussy smells like the heat coming out of the PS4."

You were true to your word. As you caught your breath between peals of laughter, a few partygoers did in fact stare at you. Despite your prior protests, the stares didn't bother you that much. Here in Morn's gossip corner, all that mattered was whiling the time away until the other half of your group was ready to leave. Dera's whereabouts were unknown but Lash was visible in the corner of the room.

"Looks like Lash's plan is all coming together." You noted. Morn turned to look as well; she was aggressively making out with an Elf boy. He licked her tusks. You grimaced.

"Goddamn. When Lash wants something she gets it."

"She mentioned that guy... what, like, yesterday?" You asked. "From staring at him across the classroom to heavy petting in less than twenty-four hours. That's a new record."

"Makes me feel like I'm not even the same species," Morn complained, finally turning away from Lash's public display of affection. "I know Orc boldness is a stereotype but it's not one I'd mind living up to."

"That's not Orc boldness, that's Lash boldness," you chortled. "Don't be down on yourself for not having it. Besides, she's not looking for a one-night deal; if that Elf doesn't call her back tomorrow she's gonna have her week ruined."

"I guess that's true..." Morn sighed.

"Morn." You firmly squeezed her shoulder and stared at her. "I love Lash to death, but you've never called me at three in the morning crying over the end of a week-and-a-half-long relationship. It's okay to not be dating a new person all the time."

"Yeah, I know." She finished her beer and smiled a bit.

"Besides, if you were hunting down an object of desire every time we were at a party, I'd have no one to chill with. Morn's Gossip Corner is the only thing getting me out of the dorm on Friday nights."

"I'm glad to be of service." She dramatically saluted. "You're right, though. I guess it's just the party atmosphere that makes me forget sleeping around and dating have drawbacks."

"Definitely the party vibe getting to you," you affirmed. "Speaking of sleeping around, though... where's Dera?"

"If I had to guess, upstairs. Text her." Morn suggested.

You pulled out your phone and opened the group chat, aptly titled "THA HOOLIGANZ 👩‍💻👩‍✈️👩‍⚕️🕵️‍♀️" and sent a message:

You: dera where tf are u, its almost been an hour

Almost immediately the indicator that Dera was typing popped up, followed by her reply:

Dera: upstairs. firbolg football player. huge 🍆

"Oh, god." You gagged. Morn pulled out her phone in response to see the cause, then had a similar reaction. She started tapping away at her phone's keyboard.

Morn: damn, dera, chill. we just wanted to make sure you were ok.

The typing indicator preceded yet another reply from Dera.

Dera: lol ok mom

"She's got an attitude tonight, sheesh." Morn shook her head and put her phone away.

"I think tonight an early exit might be a good idea. Dera and Lash seem pretty occupied," you said. You couldn't find Lash or her Elven paramour in the room anymore.

"I think you're right. Text the group and tell 'em we're leaving."

You nodded and did so, receiving 👍 responses from both Dera and Lash after a short pause.

"Let's go." You got up from your place on the sunken-in couch and helped Morn up. The two of you navigated through the fire code-violating sorority house to the front door, where you met the cool night air and the odor of cigarettes. Morn's skateboard was next to yours, propped against the thick trunk of a long-dead tree.

"I don't wanna go back to the dorms yet. It's not that late," Morn said, checking her watch.

"Pizza?" You suggested.

"Pizza."

Before long you were both skating into the night. The entire university town was built into the side of a mountain with the greek life houses at the top, making it a breeze to fashionably exit parties like this one. There were a few drunken revelers to dodge on the way down, but once you cleared the sororities and fraternities it was smooth skating. The incandescent streetlights flew past as century-old houses gave way to newer corner stores and parks. Before long, you and Morn were skating through the thick of the city on a course set for Main Street.

The pleasant sound of plastic wheels on stamped concrete was soon married with the aroma of cheap, indulgent pizza. You wouldn't have needed any senses other than smell to know you arrived at your destination: "Get Stuffed," the type of place where a slice was a dollar and you could write on the walls. As was usual for the time when Friday became Saturday, it was packed with the university crowd; too packed to even sit inside.

You and Morn shimmied to the counter and ordered your usuals. Fortunately, Get Stuffed had nailed speedy service and it was only a few short moments before you were on your way out with greasy pizza on flimsy paper plates. You set your skateboards on the curb and sat on them, side-by-side.

"Thanks for fleeing with me," Morn said, folding her slice of pizza and tucking her loose black curls behind her ear.

"Anytime, Morn." You mimicked her pizza fold before noticing something about the beanie she wore. It was oddly familiar, so you delayed your first bite. "Hey, where's that beanie from?" Morn looked at you, chewing.

"This thing?" She tugged at the chunky burgundy yarn. "You should know."

"I should know?" You mused, finally chewing on your first bite of pizza. It was just as greasy and gratifying as you expected it to be. Then, as realization dawned on you, it almost fell out of your mouth. "You kept that thing for this long?!"

"Of course. It's a good beanie. It's lasted... what, since second grade?" She smirked. "It's one of the best birthday gifts I've gotten. Thanks, by the way."

"Thank you for holding onto it," you countered. "The memories... wow."

"That was the birthday party where we had a sleepover afterward. We played tag, and—"

"Oh, no," you moaned, remembering.

"...you ran so hard that you threw up." Morn giggled. Your cheeks still burned at the vivid memory. You almost forgot crocheting Morn's beanie, but you never forget throwing up at someone's birthday party.

"It's crazy we've been friends for so long." You gracefully changed the subject and started working on your pizza slice in earnest.

"It's not that crazy. You've always been there for me."

"I mean... I try..." you were hiding your blush, feeling warm as Morn readied to shower you with compliments.

"Like the time Chrissie Becker rejected my invitation to prom. You started crying when I started crying, and I hadn't even told you what happened yet." Morn giggled warmly. "Or when our families went camping together and you let me share your sleeping bag when I forgot mine."

"I couldn't just let you sleep on the ground!" you sheepishly defended yourself against the flattery.

"Even though you knew I kicked in my sleep." Morn looked up from her plate and smiled at you, her tusks glinting under the streetlights.

"You're more important to me than my shins," you said quietly.

"Hah!" Morn laughed heartily, bumping her skateboard into yours and wrapping an arm around you. "You're more important to me than my shins."

In Morn's embrace there on the sidewalk, you melted. She had such a way of effortlessly making you feel safe and loved. She had been there for you as well several times and was damn good at it. You enjoyed the feeling so much that you just sat there quietly until she got a little worried.

"Hey, did I tease you too much?" Her wry grin had been replaced with a slight frown and sympathetic brow.

"No, no..." you reassured her, savoring the dreamy feeling. "It's all good. I'm glad you're here with me. I'm glad we're... friends," you stumbled a bit over the last word.

"Me too," she gave your shoulder a little squeeze.

You both finished your pizza in silence, enjoying each others' side and the ambiance of the city street. After a moment you both tossed the greasy plates into a trash can and skateboarded back to the dorms. The courtyard was where your paths diverged, and after bidding one another goodnight and farewell, you parted. You shared your bed that night with a familiar feeling. Embarrassment, shame, and maybe even guilt. All for the way your heart skipped a beat when she put an arm around you, or the unstoppable smile when she recounted her memories of you. You weren't super familiar with love, at least not in the way Lash and Dera were, but the way Morn made you feel in recent months was more than simple friendship. You agonized over the thought that she wouldn't return those feelings. It was a miracle you managed to sleep at all.

Saturday morning arrived, and with it, a text. You groggily pulled your phone into bed with you to read it after rubbing the sleep from your eyes. It was from THA HOOLIGANZ.

Dera: hey sorry about my sass last nite. i figured y'all left early and that's cool, i was kinda doing my own thing anyway

Lash: LOL sameeee. anyway, does anyone want to meet up for coffee or something? i’d rather be hungover around you guys than my parents 😭

You considered the offer; it would be nice to actually see Lash and Dera after missing them last night. Your moment on the curb with Morn still bothered you, and a distraction from that would be nice.

You: im down, where u wanna go

Dera: u know that cute little cafe on that corner? main street i think?? the one thats literally 100% pink???

Morn: you're thinking of tokidoki cafe! i'm down to go, that’s my spot!

You sighed. This outing wouldn't be very good for distracting you from Morn if Morn was seated across from you.

Dera: thats the one. lets gooooooo

Lash: yes. literally right now. start running

Morn: thanks, but I think I'll skate there. see y'all in a bit

You: same

The morning air was crisp and cool in the way spring mornings always were. It was a shame Lash and Dera were too busy downing aspirin and chugging water to truly enjoy it. Your skateboard served you well as a means of transport on mornings like this; you and your friends were the rare few students who didn't usually sleep in on Saturdays, so you enjoyed the empty sidewalks. The soft plastic wheels gripped the concrete well enough to accommodate any street corners.

The cafe was 100% pink, as promised. The sweet, pillowy smell of crepes mingled with the robust aroma of coffee and met you as you hopped off your skateboard. The tiny size of the place made it easy to tell you were the first to arrive. You ordered the latte-crepe combo that took up the most space on the menu and sat while you waited. You were idly scrolling through your phone when you heard the rhythmic thumping of a skateboard wheels on slabs of sidewalk.

She looked painfully good as she stepped through the cafe's front door. The morning sun made her long black hair golden around the edges and she still wore that damn beanie. Her tusks poked out from her smiling lips when her eyes met yours. Illuminated by sunbeams, her well-toned arm showed every muscle and vein as she gripped her skateboard by the trucks to carry it in.

"Good morning!" she beamed at you. The employee behind the counter smiled at her knowingly.

"The usual, Morn?" he asked.

"Yep!" She quickly answered before sitting across from you, the pins on her denim jacket jingling. "You got here quickly."

"Yeah..." you answered weakly, your conversational skills still recovering from the way Morn held you last night.

"You weren't drinking last night, were you? You alright?" Of course, Morn immediately picked up that something was the matter. It would be stranger if she didn't.

"I'm fine. Where are Lash and Dera?" You deflected. As if on cue, your phone buzzed. THA HOOLIGANZ chimed in.

Lash: lol srry, throwing up. cant make it

Dera: yeah same.

"Unbelievable. Those girls can't seem to show up anywhere lately." Morn had a slightly disapproving tone. She tapped away on her phone.

Morn: this is going on your attendance sheet

Lash: see u in detention, dera

Dera: enjoy your crepes you two!

You chuckled at the exchange.

"That's more like it. I like when you smile." Morn chimed in. "Do more of that."

The waiter saved you from needing to respond by stopping at your table with your orders. A steaming, folded crepe landed before you covered in a sauce just as pink as the rest of the cafe. A warm latte arrived with it and you wrapped your hands around the warm mug. It soothed you a little.

"Morn..." you began, not quite sure what you were going to say. Was this it? Were you going to lay your feelings on the table right here, right now?

"What is it? You can tell me anything." Morn leaned in over the table. "I can tell something's been bothering you lately."

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You didn't even know how to begin; should you preface it with an apology? Some sort of explanation or disclaimer?

"I don't even know if I can tell you. Like, if I can get the words out," you said before sipping your latte. You savored the taste, hoping the espresso would ground you somehow. At the very least you wouldn't be expected to talk with your mouth full.

"There's no rush. I just... I want to help. I've known you long enough that I'm sure there's something I can do." Morn hadn't even touched her crepe yet.

"Let's just, um, eat." You answered.

"Good idea. I'm sure you'll feel like yourself once you've eaten and the coffee starts kicking in." Morn nodded to herself, cutting open her fruit-filled crepe. You similarly started to work on yours. The two of you ate in silence and, for a moment, you did feel better. Fully focusing on the aromas, flavors, and textures of your breakfast stilled your trembling hands. The slightest bit of confidence grew within you halfway through the meal.

"I... um..." the words slowly formed in your mouth. Morn paused, setting down her fork and knife and looking at you intently. "I fell in love. With someone I don't think I should be in love with."

Morn listened but said nothing. She was thinking.

"How do you know it's love?"

"What?" you asked.

"How do you know it's not just a crush? Or, you know, lust?" Morn inquired. You considered the question carefully. Memories of platonic cuddles, impromptu sleepovers, and late-night conversations with Morn came to mind.

"It's love because it's lasted way longer than any crush. I trust this person, and they trust me. I'm not like Lash, pining for the new guy from across the classroom; I know this person really well."

"I see." She paused again. "Why would it be bad to love them? Wouldn't a good history make a romantic relationship easier?"

"Only if they felt the same way..." you sighed and nestled your head in your elbows.

"Ah, right..." Morn looked sheepish. "Well, personally—and I do mean personally, so it might not apply to them—if I had a long-time friend that I had feelings for, I would just tell them."

"Really?" Your eyes widened.

"I mean, yeah. If I and this person had such a long history of trust, then I would trust them to still be friends with me afterward if they didn't feel the same way. I'm sure it would be awkward for a while, but I really don't think it would be, you know... destructive or anything."

More memories came to you. More times where you felt completely open and vulnerable with Morn, and when she did with you. Times when you comforted each other and shared secrets under blanket forts and playground swings and gymnasium bleachers. Words formed inside your mouth, desperate to make themselves known to the world. Perhaps now would become another one of these memories. You'd look back on it in the future and remember the smell of pink crepes in the pink cafe.

"Morn... I have these feelings for you. I'm talking about you."

You fought the urge to cover your mouth, and you didn't stutter or stammer in the slightest. Though working up the courage was difficult, letting the words go was one of the easiest things you had ever done. Morn didn't react much; an eyebrow rose slowly as she finished chewing. The silence was agonizing.

"I'm happy you trust me enough to share that with me," Morn said calmly. You wanted to shout that's all?! but held your tongue. She took a sip of her latte, clearly in no rush to say more.

"So..." you began, well and truly lost. All your effort had gone into mustering courage and now you had nothing left. Even your anxiety and worry had gone, and you were strangely content, though eager, to hear Morn speak.

"So..." Morn parroted, "does that mean you want to... you know, date me? Like, romantic dates, not besties dates. Kissing dates."

Again, your impulses screamed duh!

"Um, yeah..." you said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. "I'd like that, but... only if you'd like that too."

She sipped her latte again, still calm.

"You know, over the years, I've imagined what we would be like if we were romantic with each other. Like, girlfriend-girlfriends. How could I not? We've known each other for so long."

You nodded, bidding her speak more.

"I never knew you wanted that. I can't imagine how you felt; I could tell something was wrong but I couldn't figure out what." Morn set the mug and her cutlery down, intentionally and warmly looking you in the eye. "I think...

You didn't even breathe.

"I think we should give it a shot." Morn smiled widely. "Does that sound good to you?"

"Yes, yes it does," you finally drew breath. If Morn was feeling a similar tumult of emotions that you were, she was hiding it considerably well. Morn wiped her lips and tusks with a napkin and got up from the table.

"Well, I've got to visit mom and pops tonight, but we've still got Sunday tomorrow. How about we have our first real date then?"

"Uh, sure!" You sat there, dumbfounded. Was it really going to be this easy?

"Cool. I'll let you pick where we go, just like most of our... non-date hangouts," she said, turning to the cashier. She gestured widely to the table. "Put it all on my tab."

"You have a crepe tab?"

Morn chuckled. Making her way to the door, the sunlight caught her hair and skin deliciously.

"I'm a regular. Anyway," she grabbed her skateboard, "see you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow." You answered. She gave you one last toothy grin and stepped out before gliding out of sight, disappearing past the edge of the window. You rested your chin in your hands and sighed like a lovestruck teenager in a coming-of-age movie. Before long, your window-gazing session was interrupted by an employee.

"All done, ma'am?" he asked politely.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, I was spacing out."

"No, it's all good. Thanks for coming by, and if you don't mind me saying..." he looked somewhat pensive.

"What?"

"Don't tell Morn I said this since she's proven that she could snap me in half like a twig, but... speaking as the crepe guy she visits several times a week, I think she's a good match for you."

"But you've never met me before. Maybe once or twice, but—"

"She's told me all about you. All good things, don't worry. It's less about you and more about how Morn talks about you. She gushes when she mentions you, seriously." He paused awkwardly then started to clean up the table. "I've said too much."

"No, thank you," you said. "It's good to know."

"Glad I could help. Anyway... um, thanks for coming in." He waved at you as you got up and left. You nodded and made your exit.

Back at your dorm, you couldn't decide if you wanted to pace or lay in bed and kick your legs. You had so much energy inside you, trapped. It was equally nervous and thrilling. You wondered how Morn kept herself so well composed; something in the back of your mind nagged at you, wondering if it was because she didn't really feel that strongly for you. Enough, you thought to yourself. Morn was your best friend for almost as long as you could remember. She wouldn't toy with you like that. Hell, she explained her entire thought process on the topic before you even confessed to her.

You decided to pace to distract yourself. Those thoughts weren't helpful. Right now you had to choose a place for your first officially non-platonic date. It was never this hard to pick a place to hang out with Morn before...

Then, an idea. It sprung into your mind out of nowhere, and it just felt right. You made sure that the place was open on Sunday, checked the ticket prices... it was perfect. You readied your phone to text Morn the details... but Lash had already sent you a private message. You opened the notification.

Lash: yo how did crepes go?? sorry i no-showed

Your brow furrowed a bit. Lash's random interest was a bit strange, even more so since she was hungover. A dehydrated, vomiting Lash was bedridden for a good half-day in your experience.

You: the cafe was cool! the crepes were good

Unsure if you should be forthcoming about your new development with Morn, you figured they could find out tomorrow once your first "real date" was underway. A change like that would likely be a big deal in your friend group, so a text message wouldn't do the announcement justice anyway.

Lash: how's Morn?

You: shes fine? did something happen??

Lash: no lol, just wondering lol

Two "lol" in one text? You wanted to indulge your suspicions and investigate further, but you decided to leave it at that. You had a date to arrange.

You: still at your parents' place?

Morn: yeah, I'll be back in town tomorrow though

You: k, cool. does meeting at the aviary at 2pm work?

Morn: yeah definitely! what made you pick the aviary?

You: idk if you remember, it was so long ago, but it was the first school field trip we went on as friends

There was a pause as Morn's typing bubble hovered on your screen.

Morn: 😭OMG YOURE SO CUTE IM GONNA CRY😭

Morn: i cant wait to see you tomorrow!!!

You: me too 💕

Your phone landed on your bed with a thump and that nervous energy returned with a vengeance. More pacing, more leg-kicking, even some giggles. This situation felt both extremely real and like a scene from a movie; you never imagined this sort of thing happened in real life, especially in yours. Against all previous expectations, things were going fine. It was thrilling, scary, and made your heart race, but it was going fine. The homework you had to do took a back seat to your excited daydreaming and scheming about tomorrow. You thought about how you would greet her, how you would hug, if and how you would go for a kiss, walking while holding her hand... predictably, sleeping that night was incredibly difficult.

In the morning, you finally executed the plans you fantasized about prior. You decided to err on the side of being overdressed, picking an outfit that wasn't formal but still a little more special than what you would usually wear. You showered, brushed your teeth, swished some mouthwash, and even flossed! Breath mints, a small assortment of Morn's favorite snacks, and an extra water bottle found their way into your bag. If you were going to overthink, then you would take advantage and be overprepared as well. Squeaky clean, dressed to impress, and with a heftier bag than usual, you skateboarded down to the aviary intent on arriving ten minutes early.

The journey was uneventful save for your steadily increasing heart rate. By the time you were waiting for her by the entrance gate, you were fully flustered. You stood still with a kind smile on your face, but anything more complex would have been asking too much of you. The mental rehearsal in your mind's eye ran over and over again: smile, say hi, hug. Smile, say hi, hug. These were all things you had done with Morn before, but with platonic intent instead of this newfound "why not?" intimacy. With how calm and composed Morn had appeared throughout this whole process, you felt as if you were at a disadvantage somehow. You worried in a juvenile sort of way that she was too cool for you.

The way she pulled up to the aviary in her car didn't help that worry at all. Her ride, an old, angular, black thing that roared like a beast, was her pride and joy. She had practically built the thing herself with the number of parts she swapped out of it. It was fully manual and she had the skills to maneuver it gracefully into the parking space. Out from it stepped your actual, honest-to-god, bonafide date.

She smiled at you and your brain melted. You held up a hand in a sort of mellow wave, offering a faint grin. By the time she closed the distance, your simple three-step plan was gone with the wind. Luckily she also decided that greeting with a hug was the correct choice and you were in her embrace quickly. You paused before realizing you should probably return the gesture and wrap your arms around her as well.

"It's so good to see you! You look great," she said, pulling away and looking you over.

"You too..." you breathed, taking your own chance to get a proper look. Her outfit was just as sleek and dark as her car: a pair of black jeans with accompanying boots, a matching leather jacket, and of course, that classic burgundy beanie to top it off.

"Shall we?" She extended a green, competent hand to you. She wasn't wearing her driving gloves today, which was good for your composure; otherwise, you would have well and truly swooned. You accepted her grasp and she gave your hand a firm squeeze before strolling with you to the ticket booth. Thanks to your student IDs, you got in with discounted admission.

The aviary itself was fairly large, and on this particular Sunday, you and Morn practically had the place to yourselves. Other than the idle chatter of a few other scattered visitors, there was only the sound of wind in the leaves and bird calls. The two of you meandered between the exhibits, chatting but not about much in particular. Instead, you were simply content to enjoy each other's company and look at the birds. The birds liked looking at you, too; at one point a pair of free-roaming peacocks followed you and Morn around the aviary.

"Looks like it's a double date," Morn quipped, gesturing to the two plumy birds. They were both mostly brown and lacking the massive, fan-shaped tails.

"They're a pair of girls too. Male peacocks are the ones with the crazy feathers," you noted.

"It's almost like having Lash and Dera tagging along." Morn chuckled. "In fact, if they keep failing to show up these birds would make good replacements."

You looked at the two peacocks, who had started preening each other's feathers.

"Do you think they're besties or girlfriends?" You playfully asked. "That's some pretty intense preening."

"Maybe they're both, like us." Morn wrapped an arm around you and offered you her shoulder. You melted again. "If you had feathers, I'd be preening you right now."

"If I knew how to return that compliment, I would." You said, deliciously rattled by her closeness and warmth.

"I have an idea... if you're cool with it." Morn kept holding you close, turning to make eye contact with you. You faced her and realized how close you were. Trapped in her gaze, you couldn't speak. You gave a faint nod.

The first thing you felt was her tusks on your cheeks. They met the corners of your mouth, pressing gently just before her lips met yours. In reality, the kiss was a quick peck. In your mind, time froze. You could no longer hear the birds calling or wind blowing, only the sound of your heart beating like a drum and a feeling like fire in your chest. Morn pulled away from the kiss with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry if my tusks poked you. I'm still getting the hang of that."

"Hey, practice makes perfect, right?" you let slip with a suaveness that surprised even you. Morn's eyes widened in surprise before she let out a hearty laugh.

"That's the spirit!" She cheered, squeezing you hard. "I'm gonna hold you to it, so be aware: I'm gonna kiss you a bunch more before we're out of here."

"That's fine by me." You couldn't do anything else but giggle. Morn gave you another peck immediately after, angling her head a bit so her tusks didn't have such a lead on her lips. Your first kiss with Morn was perfect as far as you were concerned, but this second one was a bit more graceful.

"Better?" she asked.

"Better."

Your stroll through the aviary continued in this fashion: chatting about this and that, generally gushing about each other and punctuated by more quick kisses. It was strange to have a first date with someone that you knew so well, but you weren't complaining in the slightest. Each kiss felt natural and fun, not nerve-wracking and awkward as in the dates of your past. Before all this, you scoffed at yourself for wishing that there was a switch you could toggle to go from best friends to girlfriends, but so far it seemed to work precisely like that.

To the sound of your giggling, the sun was poised to set soon. The aviary closed early because it was Sunday, and you found yourself with Morn leaning against the gleaming hood of her car. You saw your reflection in it, the two of you framed by the orange sky. She came to your side, attaching to you like a magnet.

"It's probably time we headed home, huh?" she suggested.

"Yeah, probably," you replied reluctantly. "I almost don't want it to end."

"It doesn't have to." Morn smiled. "Did you really think I'd kiss you goodnight and leave you on the curb?"

You giggled. That would certainly be the plan for a first date with a stranger, but this was Morn.

"You could come by and hang out with me in my dorm for a bit?" she asked.

"I'd love to." You answered. Her dorm building and yours were right next to each other, after all. She stood up from the hood of her car and opened the passenger side door, offering the seat to you. Not long after stowing your skateboard in the trunk, you were cruising through the city streets bound for the university. Morn's focus made the ride a smooth one, her hands expertly gripping the steering wheel and gear shifter. She wore a focused but pleased expression as she deftly maneuvered the growling vehicle.

"Oh!" Her concentration broke. "We should get food! We haven't eaten at all."

Tires squealed as she veered right, making a turn she wasn't expecting to make. You gripped your armrest and giggled. The engine roared and, within moments, delivered you to a drive-through whose location Morn seemed to know by heart. She was so familiar with it that she blew past the lit-up menu and instead went directly to order.

"Don't worry, I'll get you something you'll like." She reassured you before making it out of the drive-through, takeout bag in hand, in record time. The bag landed in your lap and delicious smells wafted from it. You were tempted to peek inside and sample its contents, but even while entranced with Morn's driving skills you knew eating in her car was a no-no. Untoasted Pop-Tarts during a late-night study session on her bed were okay but her car was like a temple. You folded the top of the bag to make it easier to resist the temptation.

After she had parked and gotten out of the car, you followed her with takeout bag in one hand and skateboard in the other. This late on a Sunday night, the sky was a deep navy. Stark white light from the lamp posts illuminated the web of pathways that connected the dorms, parking lots, student union, and myriad other places you'd typically skateboard solo to.

A few beeping locks later, you made it to Morn's dorm room. Like yours, it was spartan and tiny, but it belonged to her and her alone. You set the bag down on the solitary table and determined to chow down, but Morn caught your attention. She sat on the twin-sized bed that you had shared with her many times before; platonically, of course. She had an expression that you couldn't quite decipher.

"You okay?" You asked, not sure where to begin.

"I'm great, actually," she said, brushing her hair out of the way so she could look at you. "Sorry if I overdid it with the kisses earlier—"

"You didn't," you interjected.

"I just... It felt great to kiss you. I don't know if it's just my nerves, or the newness of it all, or something else, but... I'm kicking myself for not making the first move on you sooner." She looked away, blushing a forest green on her cheeks. You sat next to her on the bed before she could say anything more.

"Hey, don't feel bad just because I was moping for a bit. The fact I was so worried is proof that you can't really know how someone feels about you until you ask. Even if you were friends since forever ago." You reversed the usual arrangement by wrapping your arm around her. She chuckled softly.

"I can't believe I was stressing myself out over random sorority chicks at parties rejecting me. Being with you just feels so much better than the dating apps and the parties and shit like that," Morn sighed. "I know it's technically only our first date but I really think we're something special."

"We are special," you held her tighter, "we went on our first date after... what, a decade and a half of knowing each other? That kind of history sure beats cheesy Tinder pick-up lines."

"Sure does," Morn punctuated her sentence with a kiss. Instead of giving you a quick peck, she pressed her lips into yours even harder. Within the privacy of her dorm room, your heart fluttered at the notion of Morn being able to do whatever she wanted to you. You felt the beginnings of her tongue at your lips, then she pulled away and took a deep breath. Her face was inches from yours as you caught your breath.

"I really like kissing you," Morn uttered. "Now that we're alone... are you okay if I really kiss you?"

"Really kiss me?" you teased. She got even closer.

"Please?" She played along with her best begging tone.

"Go ham." She kissed you again, giggling at your choice of words with her lips pressed against yours once more. She immediately cradled your head in her strong hands, gently placing you into a reclining position. There wasn't much room, but she managed to fit alongside you in the twin-sized bed all without breaking the kiss. You opened your eyes after pulling away to breathe, and all you could see were her dandelion-colored irises.

"I'm gonna go again," She said, smiling. "I just had to get a good look at you first."

"You can do whatever you want, Morn." You grabbed her arm and placed her hand on you. "Just don't keep me waiting."

Morn kissed you hard for the third time, the hand you held now caressing your body ravenously. As her tongue gently played at your lips, her hand found its way to your chest and played with your breasts. She hardly gave you time to gasp, coming back to your mouth with fervor. Her tongue met yours in earnest now, both of you closing the space on the bed between you. Her body flush with yours, you could feel every muscle as she held you close.

You felt one of her legs settle in between your thighs, and you whined into her mouth as she teasingly rubbed you against it. Even fully clothed the sensation was electric, no doubt due to the person giving it to you. Many nights alone had involved fantasies just like this. Now they were coming true.

Desperately, you began grinding yourself against her leg. You chased the sensation as far as you could, moaning into Morn's kiss. Just as you felt yourself approaching the edge, she removed herself from you. Her leg pulled away and the kiss stopped. You opened your eyes, bewildered. Morn had gotten off the bed and kneeled just next to it, her eyes level with your aching need. She grabbed the waistband of your bottoms before looking you in the eyes again.

"You said you didn't want me to keep you waiting," she grinned, tusks glistening. "This okay?"

"It's more than okay... stop teasing me!" You whined. She nodded, pulling your bottoms off entirely before hovering in between your legs. You could feel her breathe on you through your underwear. God, she was so close; you twitched with each puff of warm breath. Her tusks brushed against the inside of your thighs. With a tentative finger she eased your underwear out of the way, gently planting kisses all around your bare mound. She held your legs in place as they twitched and reacted to her electric touch. She deliberately avoided your tender nub with her warm lips. She was playing with you.

"Morn, please," you begged. She paused to look up at you and give a toothy grin.

"You're so cute when you're frustrated," she teased, quickly going back for more. She felt unimaginably warm against your already hot entrance. It wasn't unlike all those other times you melted at Morn's touch, only now it was so intense you couldn't help but let out gasps and squeaks. She held nothing back this time. Hungrily, she lapped at your slit, each lick finishing with a flourish on your sensitive little nub. You mewled in time with her curling tongue.

"Oh! That's— ah! So good!" You moaned, your back beginning to arch as you squirmed around on the mattress.

"You flatter me," Morn uttered between licks, looking proud. You saw something in her eye before she let go of one of your thighs and brought her hand to your entrance. Her tongue didn't let up at all as she slowly introduced one of her substantial fingers. It fit comfortably inside you at first, but you gasped hard when it started moving. Morn added another soon after, stretching you deliciously.

"I'm gonna come if you keep that up," you panted, your face burning red and lungs desperate for air.

"My pleasure," Morn said before redoubling her efforts. Her fingers curled inside you, making a "come hither" motion that made your hips rock. By this point, Morn's tongue had trouble staying on you as you writhed. You gasped with every finger curl, well and truly lost in the heat of the moment.

"Ah! Morn!" You cried, rocking yourself against her fingers desperate for more. She gave up on trying to lick your nub, instead palming one of your breasts with her other hand and pinning you to the bed. With the new leverage, she worked your insides with her fingers, pumping them in and out of you with her muscular arm. You could see sweat beading on her taut green skin.

"Come for me. I wanna see you come," Morn urged. You could do little else but cry out and oblige her. Your body spasmed hard as you cried out gibberish interspersed with her lovely name. Her fingers didn't stop rubbing against your inner walls, leaving you breathless and faint and tightly wound around her. The coiling pleasure within you finally snapped. Your back arched, completely leaving the bed as Morn pressed her lips into yours. She kissed you hungrily as you wailed into her mouth. There was nothing in your mind but the feeling of her fingers coaxing you through the height of your bliss and holding you there for as long as possible. When the pleasure finally started to subside and your breath returned to you, Morn finally withdrew her fingers and lips and wiped her forehead. She smiled at you wordlessly.

"I love you, Morn," you said, panting. There was nothing else to say, nothing else on your mind. If you had given yourself that sort of bliss on a lonely night, you would be drowsy and lethargic. Instead, with Morn turning her love for you into pleasure that made you cry out and curl, you had never felt more alive. She gave you a moment to catch your breath. Leaving your lips unkissed, she sat by your side and stroked your hair.

"I love you too," she planted a quick kiss on your forehead. "Are you tired?"

You shook your head enthusiastically. Sure, you would likely be sore in a few hours, but you wouldn't dream of denying Morn more of you.

"Good, because I wanna get off too." She chuckled and pecked your lips. Undressing herself completely, she helped you out of what clothes remained until you were both completely bare. You were completely flush against her on the bed once more, your skin perfectly complimenting her green form. Her body was toned and full, muscled yet smooth. Even after all you had just been through, the sight of her still made your heart skip.

"I've always wanted to try this. Spread your legs," she commanded, gently grasping your ankles. You complied and she lifted one of your legs aloft just in front of her as if about to hug it. Still holding your leg pointed toward the ceiling, she straddled your dripping warmth with her own. She eased herself onto you and those lovely electric feelings returned. She moaned for the first time, her pleasured sounds like music to your ears.

The position was a little awkward and bent your back in a strange way, but the feeling of her slick sex pressed against yours was delicious.

"I'm gonna start moving," Morn said. She initiated a gentle rocking motion that made you both gasp. The friction between the two of you felt gorgeous and you soon found yourself reciprocating with your hips. Interlocked and sharing the same squeaks and mewls, you wanted desperately to kiss her but couldn't. You had to lay there at her mercy as Morn clung to your leg and ground herself into you. She doubled up on her pace.

"Oh, shit," Morn groaned, both with pleasure and with effort. She had the same expression as when she was driving; when her head wasn't thrown back with a sigh, she was looking at you with love but also intent. Her grinding made you moan and her glare made you shiver delightfully. You had never felt anything like this before, nor had you even fantasized about Morn pressed up against you like this.

"This feels amazing... ah! Morn..." you sighed between yelps when the friction between you peaked.

"I—I..." Morn gasped, her entire face contorted and flushed. She had brought you to your peak once already, and now you wanted nothing more than to see her reach her own ecstasy.

"Please, Morn, come," you pleaded, mirroring her own urgency when she had brought you to orgasm earlier.

"No, I... Shit, I've got a cramp." She sighed, this time tinged with disappointment as she stopped her grinding. "Ouch." She gently disentangled herself from you, rubbing her thigh. The realization that her creased brow had come from pain and not pleasure embarrassed you a bit, an emotion that Morn echoed.

"Hey, it's okay." You sat up and held her shoulder. Her eyes were downcast as she massaged the cramp out of her muscled thigh. "Just so you know, I'm having a great time."

"You were having a great time." She winced as she shifted her kneeling weight on the bed. "Serves me right for thinking I could fuck like a pornstar on the first date, huh?"

"I already came once, Morn," you reminded her. Sitting alongside her, equally naked and sweaty, there was a clarity in the air that made it effortless to speak your mind. You felt bold, yet comfortable. You felt like you wanted more of Morn's body. "Let me take care of you. I think I can make this work."

"Take the lead, babe," Morn relented. The way she said babe made you giddy inside, but you were focused on her now. "Just mind the leg, it still freakin' hurts."

"Morn, when I say I'm gonna take care of you, I mean it. Just lie down," you said, easing her onto her back. With the positions reversed, you had a moment to look her up and down. Laid bare before you and anticipating your next move, the sight of her awoke something within you. Something that told you not to hold back.

You practically pounced atop her, squarely laying yourself on her body. She met you with a kiss that you eagerly returned. You channeled all your built-up desire to please her into that kiss, at the same time aligning your mound with hers. It took a few tries, but eventually, you found the angle where your clit could meet hers without requiring pornstar-style flexibility. Pleasure jolted through both of you and she broke the kiss to gasp.

"Told you I could make it work," you grinned, focusing now on the movement of your hips. You started slowly at first as to not tire yourself out but quickly increased the pace as the coiling warmth inside you grew. Instead of kissing her, you buried your face in her shoulder so you could hear her sing. With every roll of your hips she moaned, louder and louder as you humped her harder and harder.

"Oh, god, babe," Morn panted. You could feel her frenzied breath on your neck as she cried out. You could feel your own orgasm building but all you cared about was her.

"Tell me how you feel," you commanded, maintaining your hips' pace. "I want you to come so bad."

"Keep going," Morn grunted. "I'm close, I'm so fucking close!"

You furthered your efforts, grinding your desperate nub into hers with vigor. You panted as you began to feel tingles in your extremities and your breath became impossibly tight. Morn matched your desperation, her hips weakly pushing upwards so that her mound would meet yours sooner. Just a little more! More! You shouted to yourself mentally as Morn's hands squeezed your waist to signal her impending orgasm.

You frantically let go of her body with one hand, giving up precious leverage in order to make sure Morn couldn't escape the pleasure you were giving her. There was nothing you wanted more than to reach the peak together. You gently caught her pearl between your fingers and rolled it as you ground into her, drawing out deep moans from her. She spasmed in your grasp, gasping in time with your own pleased sighs.

"Oh god!" She cried out, throwing her head back into the piled-up blankets. Her whole body tensed and you could feel each of her rippling muscles press against you in a desperate bid to ride out her orgasm. You followed soon after, the air forced from your lungs as an explosion of tingling warmth knocked the wind out of you. All you could do was cry out with her and press your nub into hers where your hand was still at work. You rubbed and rolled, trying your best to prolong the mutual climax before finally catching your breath and collapsing into Morn's tired embrace.

With your body limp and your face buried in her neck, you could feel her breasts rise and fall with each breath. You held each other loosely for a moment, just listening to her breathe. After only a few heartbeats, she started giggling.

"What's so funny?" you asked, lifting your heavy head to look at her.

"Nothing," she stifled her giggles, a tear rolling down her cheek. "That was just really, really good."

"Are you crying?" You asked, concerned but secretly proud of your handiwork.

"No, I'm not crying. I'm tearing up, there's a difference," she chuckled. "Thank you."

"Thank you. You're the one that started it," you cooed, stroking her hair. "plus, you ate me out first so I think I owe you."

"It's on the house," Morn sighed contently. "But you're still on me... could you roll over, please?"

"Oh, sorry!" you quickly shifted your weight off of her and onto the mattress.

"Don't worry about it, I just figured the bed was softer than me." She chuckled again.

You said nothing, instead opting to resume your embrace with her from the side. She reciprocated, rolling over so she could be the big spoon. She wrapped her arms around you snugly.

"Ah, shit," Morn cursed under her breath.

"What? What's wrong?" You craned your neck a bit to see her golden eyes in your periphery.

"Our food is definitely cold by now," she grumbled, "and I don't have a microwave."

“I’ve got snacks in my bag.” You replied.

Morn readied a compliment, but delayed when both your phones buzzed. THA HOOLIGANZ had something to say.

“What is it now?” Morn rolled over and grabbed her phone, reading the messages as they rolled in. You did the same.

“What the…?”

Lash: did you two kiss yet???

Dera: they did more than that 😳😳😳

Morn shot you a look of disbelief before tapping away frantically.

Morn: wtf are you guys talking about?

You: ^

Lash: the crepe date! u two are dating now right?

You: what do u mean crepe date? the breakfast u failed to show up to u mean??

Lash: lol, relax. we just thought you two needed some time alone. for the record, i was actually hung over. me and dera just agreed you two needed to talk it out

Dera: seriously, u look at Morn the way she looks at crepes, and she looks at u the way Lash looks at literally anyone

Lash: or the way u look at dudes bulges

Dera: shut up

“I…” Morn began, jaw agape. “I don’t know if I should be mad or amazed. I’m both.”

“They set us up like lonely freshmen.” You shook your head, chuckling.

Lash: u two are dating now right???

Morn: yes dumbass

You: can confirm

Lash: CUTEEEEE

Dera: morn fucks on the first date. respect.

You: wait how- what?

Dera: ur in Morn’s dorm right

Your texting was interrupted by three solid thumps coming through the wall.

Dera: i’m right next door and these dorms are made of fucking paper

Morn: hey, i’ve dealt with hearing every single time you slept with some guy. fair is fair

Dera: no judgment from me!

Lash: suddenly i’m glad i still live with my parents…

You put your phone down as you really didn’t have much to say. Morn gave up on it as well, your phones resting together on the floor. She resumed spooning you and a moment later, you felt her chest start to heave with laughter; a hearty laugh loud enough for Dera to hear through the walls. You joined her, laughing until your diaphragm ached. The whole situation, the realization that Dera and Lash knew before either of you did and that they had a master plan… utterly ridiculous. It was like something out of a movie, yet with your arms wrapped around one of Morn’s, completely real. You feared this was all a dream, and as soon as you succumbed to sleep in Morn’s cozy twin bed, it would dissolve.

Morn could tell sleep started to take you.

“I love you,” she whispered into your ear. She squeezed you tight. You had never been more sure of anything in your life that Morn would still be cuddling you when you woke up.

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #romance #female reader #orc #female orc x female reader #monster love #wlw #monster romance #monster fic #wlw romance #orc girlfriend #friends to lovers #monster girlfriend

263 notes · View notes

sunrisefairy · 4 years ago

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Cameras and crushes

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Warning: Alcohol, small mention of death, pure fluffiness

Summary: Y/N is used to being a background character someone you glaze over but never really notice. But more recently she longed for someone to see her, well she longed for a certain redhead to see her.

A/N: Wrote this for @theweasleysredhair writing challenge based off the prompt “You remembered?” very proud of this fic so i hope you love it as much as i do. All feedback is welcomed :))))

italics represent a flashback

Taglist: send me a message if you would like to be added @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines @klausdatprettyboi @georgeweasleyswhre

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Y/N is very content with being a background character, she’s quite used to it actually. Growing up with 3 older and much louder brothers she was pretty happy with sticking to the sidelines, letting them be noisy and crazy while she kept to herself. Y/N grew up with mostly boys around her, her mother passed away when she was young. Y/N would always beg her brothers and her dad for stories of her mother, wanting to feel closer to her. Y/N’s dad would fondly retell memories of his beautiful wife, reminiscing on how witty and charismatic she was. He’d mention all the small, quirky things she would do which made him fall hard and fast for her. Y/N longed for that kind of love, she longed for someone to take notice of her in the way her dad did for her mum. Ever since Y/N was a little girl she yearned to be heard and seen but that proved difficult when you’re as shy and quiet as her.

Judging by most of the people in Y/N’s life she seemed to attract the boisterous types, guessing her quiet nature balanced them out. She loved her friends with her entire heart, even if their personalities were the opposite of hers, Y/N wouldn’t change their qualities if she could.

One of her friends, although still lively and vibrant as the others, also had a calm and tranquil side to him. George Weasley. Y/N had only known George for a few years having met at Lee Jordan’s 18th birthday 3 years ago. Somehow that night she had ended up climbing a tree with the tall redhead whom she had only met 30 minutes prior.

“How the hell did you get up to that branch?” Y/N mumbled, trying to figure out how to reach the higher branch where George Weasley was currently sitting, his long legs swinging back and forth as he chuckled at the girl below him.

“I used that branch sticking out there and then swung my leg up to get here.” George points to the branch to the girls left.

Y/N grunts as she attempts what George said but huffs and pouts her lip feeling defeated, “you forget that I have little legs, unlike you Mr. giraffe.”

George rolls his eyes and stretches his hand out, “try again, I’ll help pull you up.”

Somehow, George manages to pull Y/N up and they sit comfortably next to one another up high in the tree. “There you go little bunny, don’t go falling off now.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the nickname wishing she had brought her cider up with her feeling very self-conscious and unsure of what to do her shaking hands.

The pair fall into a comfortable silence, watching the party goers below them gathered around a very intoxicated birthday boy chanting as he chugs another beer, “we love to drink with Lee cause Lee is our mate and when we drink with Lee he gets it down in 8…7…”

Their voices drown out as George gently nudges Y/N’s shoulder pulling her attention back to him, “soo, Y/N I hear you’re not much of the talker?”

Y/N blushes hard grateful for the lack of light outside. “No I guess not. Not many are interested in what I have to say.”

George smiles, his eyes not leaving the girl beside him, “well I am. Tell me something.”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip nervously and looks back at the drunk crowd, “like what?”

George shrugs, he didn’t really mind what the conversation was about, he just wanted to hear the pretty girl speak. “I dunno, anything. Tell me about something that makes you happy.”

Y/N racks her brain for something to talk about, her palms getting sweaty from the long silence. Finally, she settles on something that always fills her with joy, her mother.

“Um okay so,” she starts staring at the leaves swaying in the tree, pushing down the anxiety. “Before my mother died she always had this film camera with her, my dad used to joke around saying that she loved this camera more than him,” Y/N chuckles quietly before continuing “She would take photos of the most random things, we have this big box back home filled with all the photos she ever took with that camera.” Y/N pauses, fumbling with her fingers. “I wish we still had the camera. You see after my mum passed, dad had to look after us 4 kids and with only one income coming in, it was pretty tough. For my 12th birthday I reeeaaally wanted a new bike, I’d complained for years that I couldn’t have my brothers old one because it was a gross boy’s bike. So, my dad sold my mums camera to get me a pink one. Kind of wish he didn’t because I would have loved to still have mum’s camera with us.”

Y/N finished and chewed her lip realising speaking about her dead mother probably wasn’t a great conversation piece, but any story of her mother always made her feel warm inside.

George hadn’t taken his eyes off her throughout the whole story, his heart fluttering when her eyes had lit up as she spoke about her mother.

“I’m sorry, probably not what you wanted to hear, it was the first thing that popped into my head.” Y/N mumbled.

George simply shook his head and replied, “you don’t ever have to apologise to me for saying what’s on your mind Y/N. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

For the first time in a while, Y/N felt seen.

Y/N’s phone dings and she pulls it from her pocket to read the message.

-Hey bunny :) so 4 tonight, we’re aiming to get to urs at like 7. does that work for u?

It was from George. Even if she didn’t have his number saved, she’d be able to tell it was from the redhead simply from his choice of nickname. Y/N hated when he called her bunny but George insisted on using the nickname ever since Lee’s 18th mainly because he thought it was cute not that he would tell her that.

Y/N’s heart thumped harder in her chest purely from the fact that George had texted her. Her crush on George had amplified over the years of knowing the boy, feeling both thankful and uneasy at the fact that he had so effortlessly slotted into their tight friendship group mainly because he was always around making Y/N a stuttering mess.

Y/N’s fingers fumble as she types out a response, it was her birthday today and all her friends we’re persistent in throwing her a party. They had agreed to a small gathering at Y/N’s place, Y/N didn’t want them to make such a fuss over it.

-Hey Georgie, 7 is perfect! Cant wait.

-See u then bunny, hope ur ready to get ur drink on ;)

-IDK, after the other weekend I dont think im ready to face alcohol again

-nope! no excuses from u, u only turn 21 once

Y/N chuckles at George’s message and goes back to tidying her house, ready for tonight.

~~~~

As soon as it hits 7pm her friends are barging through her front door lugging drinks.

Each of them greet Y/N giving her a hug and wishing her happy birthday.

“We’ll do presents later, first let’s get some drinks into us!” Angelina cheers as she starts to mix some deadly concoction. Alicia connects her phone to the speaker, the living room filling with music.

Y/N jumps as a voice pipes up from behind her, “happy birthday little bunny.”

She turns facing George as he places a brightly coloured wrapped box on the counter with the other presents. He opens his arms, engulfing her into a giant hug. Y/N wraps her arms around his waist, giving him a tight squeeze, “thanks” she mumbles into his chest before pulling away looking up at his warm eyes. They stare at each other for a second before the moment is broken when Fred places something on Y/N’s head.

“A birthday tiara for the birthday girl” Fred states loudly, Y/N glances at the mirror hanging from the wall on her left sees a plastic silver and pink tiara perched upon her head.

“Oh god,” Y/N mumbles adjusting it slightly.

Lee shouts over the music, drawing everyone’s attention over to him. “Okay everyone, the ever lovely Angie has made us each a questionable looking but delicious drink to start the night. So get your butts over here and let’s get this party started!”

A few hours and many, many drinks later, everyone is huddled in the living room, sitting on the couches watching Y/N open her presents. So far, she had gotten some perfume from Angelina, chocolates and a gorgeous photo frame from Alicia and Fred and Lee had gifted Y/N with a bottle of wine and voucher from the little boutique at the corner of her street. Y/N’s cheeks were hurting from smiling so much and her heart swelled at the sweet gifts her friends had gotten her.

“Okay, only one left,” Alicia says, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Probably the best one,” Fred whispers to Lee.

“Of course it’s going to be the best one you idiot,” Angelina says as a matter of fact, overhearing the two boys.

George, who is sitting to Y/N’s right, hands over the brightly colour box, trying to hide his excitement and nerves. “Here you go Y/N, happy birthday.”

The box feels heavy in Y/N’s grasp as she places it in her lap tearing off the wrapping paper. Y/N glances around, noticing everyone’s eager eyes on her. She sees Angelina nudge Alicia’s side smiling at each other knowingly. Y/N furrow her brows, slightly confused then draws her attention back to the box. She ripped off the paper carefully and uncover a brown box, no hints as to what is inside.

“Oh my god, hurry up and open it the suspense is killing me!” Fred says impatiently, George whacks him across the head telling him to shut up.

Y/N take off the lid and immediately her mouth gapes open finally seeing what’s inside. She shakily lifts the film camera out of the box and hold it so gently as if it’s made of diamonds and gold.

Small tears prick in Y/N’s eyes, shocked and surprised at George’s gift, it looks exactly like the one her mother had.

She manages to squeak out a small, “you remembered?” referring to the first conversation they had 3 years prior.

George has a small smile etched onto his lips. “Of course I did, I remember everything you tell me. I take a lot of pride in knowing everything about you actually.” He says, puffing his chest out proudly.

“Yeah like what?” Y/N cradles the camera in her arms.

“Well,” George starts. “I know that you hate the smell tequila because it reminds you of your 18th when you spent most of the night by the toilet. I know that you can’t sleep if the room is dead quiet. I know that you love buying plants but can never seem to keep them alive. I know you never wear matching socks because you think it’s a fun way to spice up an outfit.” He finishes smugly.

Alicia and Angelina let out a small aww in the background reminding Y/N of the 4 other sets of eyes watching her and George right now.

“Well there’s one thing you don’t know about me.”

“Yeah? What’s that then?” George counters.

Y/N doesn’t know where she musters up the courage from to speak the next words, maybe from the alcohol buzzing through her body or finally being sick of keeping this to herself for the past 3 years. Whatever it may be, she’s rather proud of herself, ignoring the way her stomach churns.

“That I have a huge crush on you.”

She expected George to laugh in her face before rejecting her gently. What Y/N definitely didn’t expect was him to cradle her face in his large hands, pressing a sweet but passionate kiss to her pink lips. She squeaks in surprise before melting into the kiss, gripping onto his shirt tightly, scared he would slip away.

Much to Y/N’s dismay George pulls away from the kiss tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear, “no I knew that too.”

“Wha-how?” Y/N stutters.

The attention is pulled to Alicia as she begins to speak, “it wasn’t much of a secret babe. Everybody knew you were crushing on George. Can’t believe it took either one of you so long to do something about it.”

“Little Georgie here spent months trying to find that camera for you as a way to confess his undying love for you.” Fred reaches over and ruffles his twin’s hair who shoves him off.

“Yep, we were all so bloody excited for you to open his presents so you two can stop pining over each other.” Lee adds downing the rest of his drink then standing up. “Right, now the two love birds have finally confessed their feelings. Who’s up for a round of beer pong? Reigning champion here has yet to be defeated.”

“You’re on Jordan, that ego of yours has gotten large enough.” Fred challenges, everyone moving over to the table to set up for beer pong. Leaving Y/N and George alone on the couch.

George wraps his lanky arm around Y/N’s shoulder pulling her into his side, “I hope you’re enjoying your birthday bunny.”

Y/N grins widely, playing with her new camera before lifting it up and aiming it at George. “best birthday ever Georgie, thank you.” She squeezes the button down, snapping a picture of George who is staring at her like she’s the only person in the world.

Y/N is very content with being a background character, she’s quite used to it actually. But for once she doesn’t mind being the centre of someone’s undivided attention.

#George weasley #George weasley one shot #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fluff #george weasley fan fic #Fred and george #george weasley imagine #twrh9kwritingchallenge

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

Note

Hi, I love your blog so much! I recently got ankle lateral ligament reconstruction done, and as an athlete, it sucks so bad. I watched my basketball team play yesterday, and it felt really horrible to watch them lose by one point in overtime when I know I would have made a difference if I were on the court... I know you have lots of asks and prompts, but if you have the time and want to, could you possibly hurt me more than I’m already hurting with some angsty ankle injury stuff😩 like maybe Cap watching the Lions lose without him.

Thank you for all the awesome fics you write! Your blog is amazing!

Anon, this ask really struck a chord with me and I wanted to do it justice as best I could--going through a sports injury like that is the worst feeling in the world, and watching your teammates play without you just adds salt to the wound. Sending all the love and healing vibes your way, okay? Please keep me updated on how you're feeling if you feel comfortable <3

Combined with an ask for pre-Coops and Sirius' photo of Remus! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for canonical injury and mentioned scars (Remus)

Sirius felt a nudge at his arm and his irritation flared, but he did not take his eyes off the game. “Fucking hell,” he muttered as James missed yet another blatant pass. There’s three.

The next nudge was more insistent.

“What?” he snapped, sparing half a glance to his left and feeling his stomach swoop.

Remus raised his eyebrows and held the mouthguard out further. “Either put this in or unclench your jaw.”

You’re not my mother, Sirius almost snarked back, just to be even more of an asshole. He was cold from being at the rink without his gear, severely pissed off by the general bullshit happening on the ice, and the itch in the boot locked around his stupid fucked-up ankle was slowly driving him mad.

Remus offered the mouthguard again, and Sirius’ temper cooled by a few degrees at the soft encouragement on his face. Pretty, his brain supplied. He swallowed hard around his sudden dry mouth and shoved the plastic between his teeth, beating back the unruly emotions with a mental baseball bat. Nope. Not tonight. Focus on being angry.

Logan got distracted, and Finn paid the price as an enforcer slammed him against the boards; he bounced back immediately, but Sirius ground the mouthguard so hard it squeaked. “Tabarnak—”

“Come with me for a sec,” Remus said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the angry shouts of Lions fans.

Sirius shook his head. What he wouldn’t give to be in the heart of the fight, letting off some of the steam that had been building with no outlet for weeks. “Game’s not over.”

Remus pressed his lips together, but said nothing; Sirius’ throat constricted as he looked at the scoreboard. There may have been three full minutes left on the clock, but the Lions had already lost—unless they pulled a miracle out of their asses, this game would be a stain on their record. Or if they just let me play.

Sirius sighed through his nose. The urge had been growing stronger the longer he stayed cooped up and restless, banging at the walls of his brain and bringing headache after headache.

“Cap.” The hand on the back of his bicep was surprisingly gentle and he closed his eyes as Remus gave him a light tug. “Come on. We can at least be productive instead of sitting here and stewing.”

He smells nice. How does he always smell so nice? Sirius stood and followed Remus down the tunnel, not even bothering to force smiles for the people pounding on the glass partitions. Don’t focus on the game.

Focus on his shoulders, something close to his heart suggested. You like his shoulders.

He scrunched his nose up at the thought—if he dwelled on the smooth, strong curve of Remus’ upper back for any longer, he would start remembering the one time he saw them bare, covered in sweat with scars that shone like moonlight and—

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, snapping him back to reality. Sirius jumped and concern flickered over the golden planes of his face. “You’re twitchy tonight.”

“Just…” He made a vague, aborted motion toward the ice before continuing toward the PT room, though he did not miss the worried look Remus shot him. Fantastic, now I look like a dick and an idiot.

“What’s going on, Sirius?” The door clicked closed behind them and Remus leaned against it with his arms crossed loosely as Sirius limped over to the table and sat down, pulling the mouthguard out. He stared at the floor and the hunk of plastic—don’t think about how nice his voice sounds around your name. Don’t.

He shook his head; through the door, the sounds of the game were faint. “They’re better than this.”

“Yep.”

“They’re all going to be angry tomorrow, which makes them sloppy.”

“Probably.”

“Coach will be upset.”

“No question.”

“It’s the Badgers.”

Remus made a face. “I know, right?”

“They’re a good team, but—” He tightened his jaw again and looked away.

“But we’re better,” Remus finished for him.

“Yeah.” Silence fell between them for a few moments, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Being quiet around Remus was never uncomfortable, and Sirius was pathetically grateful for every scrap of it he could get. “I—the game would be different if I was out there.”

“Would it?”

“It would.” He had been going over every mistake for two and a half hours, placing himself in like a chess piece to stop the missed passes, fumbled pucks, and thoughtless plays. “They need me with them.”

The paper crinkled as Remus sat down next to him, and every one of Sirius’ senses went on high alert. “They need to you get better,” he said simply, those caramel-apple eyes making Sirius’ knees go weak. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

“Of course,” he scoffed.

“Good.” There was no defensiveness or indignation in Remus’ voice—guilt snapped, a firecracker behind his teeth.

“Sorry.”

Remus smiled wryly. “When you’re around injured hockey players all day long, you get used to a little bit of bitchiness.”

“I’m not bitchy!” Sirius spluttered. The poorly-concealed amusement on Remus’ face made mortification heat his cheeks. “I’m not!”

“Uh-huh.” The note of smug disbelief should not have been as attractive as it was. “Alright, lay down.”

Sirius swore he heard a few crackling noises as his brain short-circuited. “Quoi?”

“I’m not kneeling on freezing linoleum to check out your ankle, Cinderella,” Remus snorted. “Now get a wiggle on.”

“You have the strangest sayings,” he said as he laid back and stretched his leg out, bewildered and yet somehow relieved.

“And you—” Remus pulled the top buckle free. “—have no appreciation for the great American north.”

“I can take it off,” Sirius mumbled, feeling redness rise once again.

He cocked an eyebrow. “The boot? I might not be a muscle-bound athlete, but I’m pretty sure I can manage a couple strips of Velcro.”

“No, it’s—doesn’t touching people’s feet freak you out? Like, the sweat and everything?”

“If it did, I’d have to find another profession, because I’m damp all the time from you fuckers and you all seem to have a habit of breaking things below the knee. Bend.”

Sirius complied, drawing his knee toward his chest. His bare foot looked weird in the bright lights, pale and still swollen, but Remus was as golden as ever. You can watch from afar, he conceded when the cute little furrow appeared on Remus’ forehead while he felt around the bone. Just for a little while. “Your hands are warm,” he said before he could stop himself.

Remus glanced up, and his small smile caused a flood of butterflies in Sirius’ stomach. “Thanks. They’re usually pretty cold, so I’m glad I’m not accidentally giving you foot hypothermia.”

“Is that real?”

“No,” Remus laughed. Sirius wished he could keep that sound forever. “How’s that feel?”

“Uh, fine.” He blinked a couple times to come back to himself as Remus put light pressure on the sole of his foot. “Still fine.”

“You’re a lot more flexible than before. Things are healing well.”

A loud buzzer went off outside—Sirius closed his eyes as disappointment and frustration fired up once more. The crowd wasn’t cheering. The windows weren’t shaking. He didn’t even want to look at the TV to check the score. I should be out there, he thought for the umpteenth time. I’m letting them down.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said quietly as he worked through a few more exercises.

“Not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

Sirius wanted to believe him. “I’m the captain.”

“And you’re being responsible by doing this with me so you can heal faster.” People rushed past the door outside, but the PT room remained peaceful. Sirius stared at the plain ceiling and wished for a miracle. “They miss you.”

“Y’know, that’s not exactly making me feel better.”

“Sorry.” They lapsed back into silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Cool.”

Sirius chewed the inside of his lip for a solid two minutes, following Remus’ simple instructions without looking at him. He should have been out there with them, ankle be damned. It was basically healed anyway; they were just tying up loose ends, and maybe Remus needed to be a little less careful. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m gonna give you five seconds to ask a different question.”

“I’m just saying, it feels fine and—”

“Time’s up.” Remus let go of his foot and Sirius only spared a moment to mourn the loss of his comforting touch before he caught the stormy, mulish stubbornness that took the place of Remus’ concentration. “Sit.”

“I am.”

He narrowed his eyes, and Sirius dragged himself upright with a huff. Arguing with Remus Lupin was about as useful as arguing with a brick wall, and that was coming from someone who won the ‘Most Stubborn’ superlative at their last end-of-year party. “First of all, ankles are annoying and the soft tissue will still be damaged even if the bone is healed. Second, it’s my job to fix you up so your boys stop whining to me about healing you faster. And third, I’m not giving up on you.”

Sirius paused for a long moment. “What?”

“I’m not giving up,” Remus repeated. His jaw set and he made direct eye contact. “I would love nothing more than to kick Snape in the kneecaps and let you go out there as soon as you can stand on your own, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure you’re ready to kick ass and take names no matter what that little shit was trying to do. So don’t you dare sit there and try to chicken out at the finish line, because I know you want this even more than I do.”

In his chest, Sirius heart was hammering like he had just run five miles. I’m not giving up on you. Sirius had never wanted to kiss him more. “Thank you.”

Remus softened with a slow breath. “We’re in this together, Sirius. You and me.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s get to work. Next time you play the Badgers, make ‘em regret this game.”

--------------------------------

Sirius walked back toward the locker room feeling rather nauseous. The whole team leaked their bad moods into the air—Arthur had barely looked at them before sending them home with a quiet “we’ll talk more tomorrow”, the equivalent of an arrow through Sirius’ heart. I need a pick-me-up, he thought as the rest of the guys trooped out in a melancholy raincloud. He fist-bumped each of them, per tradition, but their responses were weak at best.

Ice cream sounded good. Maybe a milkshake. Oh, who was he kidding, he needed a solid hug and something other than ice to look at. Not for the first time, he contemplated getting a dog, just so the house wouldn’t be empty and dark when he returned.

Laughter rang out ahead and Sirius inhaled sharply, letting the sound roll over him. “I’m not kidding!” Moody chuckled.

“Bullshit,” Remus countered, still snickering. “There is no way—”

“I’ve been around here longer than you’ve been alive, kid.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Remus groaned, though Sirius could hear the smile in his voice even from around the corner. “You only bring it up every goddamn day.”

“Brat.”

Sirius entered the room just in time to see Remus playfully knock the side of his foot against Moody’s; both were grinning. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?”

Moody nodded to him. “Night, twelve.”

“A demain,” Sirius called, offering a slight smile as his eyes lingered on Remus. He was leaning back against the wall with stick tape in his hands—his hands, which never failed to make Sirius throw caution to the wind—and raised it in farewell. “See you, Loops. Thanks again.”

“No problem, Cap.”

He grabbed his duffel off the floor and slid his keys, wallet, and phone into his pockets as Moody and Remus resumed their conversation. He wondered how long they usually stuck around, and if they would oppose him staying—he wouldn’t interrupt, but being around people who weren’t going through the five stages of grief already felt nice.

An idea struck as Remus’ laugh raised goosebumps on his arms once again. With a careful glance over his shoulder, he slipped his phone out and snapped a picture before hurrying off toward his car. His breaths were shallow; that was such a creepy move, and surely one of them noticed—

No voices chased him. Nobody gave him strange looks. He waited until he was safely in the front seat of the car before unlocking his phone, and all the air in his lungs left in a rush.

The photo was perfect. It caught the lopsided tilt to Remus’ mouth, his slender-but-strong fingers, his long legs, the scrunch of his nose mid-laugh. Everything Sirius never let himself look at for long. He didn’t have much space left among the collection of paper memories on his dresser, but maybe if he put it in the back where nobody would see it unless they knew where to look…

He turned the car on. Later. He would print it out and deal with the taut rubber-band-ball of feelings later. Until then, he could settle for the imprint of Remus’ warmth taking away the pain in his ankle and the determination on his face as he promised to bring Sirius back from the personal hell he was living in. You and me, he had said, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to believe it.

#fanfic #my fic #sirius black #remus lupin #alastor moody #james potter #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #sweater weather #coops #injury #pre-coops #lumosinlove

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makeitp1nk · 3 years ago

Text

Day 5 - Texting 🐍🐍🐍

For @hdcandyheartsfest

Teen & up

“Alright Malfoy, that should do it,” Granger says as she hands him the plastic rectangle. His new mobile. He brings it up to his face and the screen shifts alarmingly fast until it settles on various colorful squares. “I added some numbers in case of emergencies so you’ll see Ron, Harry, and me in your contacts.” He keeps his face impassive, though internally his jaw has dropped. Granger has just given him a way to reach Harry Potter whenever he wants. “How charming, the Golden Trio turned welcoming committee for wix entering muggle society,” he says mockingly. Granger laughs, “No, it’s just a special courtesy for you since I’m sure you’ll get yourself in trouble soon enough. You’re all settled now, so off you go!” He picks up the file of documents holding his muggle papers and exits the Muggle Liaison Office. Draco looks at the screen in his hand. This was his line to Potter. He has to learn how to use it as soon as possible. He usually prefers to tackle challenges on his own, but he’d much rather skip the work and head straight to the Potter part. He makes his way to Diagon and crosses the Leaky into the muggle world. He doesn’t do this much, but he’ll need more exposure now that his potions research into muggle drugs had been approved.

[more below the cut!]

He walks along Charing Cross Road unsure of what he’s looking for until he comes across a bookstore. That feels familiar enough. He walks in and scouts the place, deciding to approach a muggle boy no older than fifteen sitting at the bookstore cafe glued to his mobile. Draco walks up to the young man and clears his throat. The boy completely ignores him. Annoyed, he clears his throat again loudly until the boy looks up. “Hello, you seem quite capable with your mobile. I recently acquired mine and am in need of assistance in learning how to use it. Would you be up for the task?” The young man eyes him wearily. Draco rolls his eyes, “I am willing to compensate you handsomely for your time.” The boy’s eyes widen, “Yeah sure, give it here.” Draco sits at his table and hands him the mobile. The boy turns the screen side to face Draco, and it does that alarming changing thing. “Now why does it do that!?” Draco asks in annoyance. The boy looks at him strangely, “It unlocks with your face, here let me show you.”

Two hours later Draco has learned to text, acquired an Instagram account and an email address, and discovered the joys of selfies. “Sir, how did you not know this stuff? You’re not that old.” Draco scoffs, “That is none of your business.” “Right right, but why learn this now?” Draco bites his lip, “There’s someone I want to… connect with.” The boy nods at him knowingly, “I need to teach you about emojis.”

That night Draco sits in his drawing room in front of the fire, mobile in hand opened to a text to Harry Potter. He chews his lip in thought, what does one say to The Boy Who Lived to Save Your Life after not speaking to him since your humiliating trial? There were just no words! But maybe words weren’t necessary, the muggles had emojis for a reason, right? He scrolls through the little pictures and sees a snake. Yes, a snake – Harry likes snakes doesn’t he? He’s a parseltongue! And Draco is a Slytherin, whose house mascot is the snake. It is something they have in common, an olive branch if you will. He taps the snake emoji three times and hits send. He sinks into the settee and taps his fingers nervously on the screen wondering how long Potter will take to answer. Not very long it would seem. A green bar pops into the screen with Potter’s response: what’s with the snakes Draco’s brow furrows. I thought you liked snakes. Three dots pop up on the screen – that meant he is writing, yes? yes they’ve always been nice to me I like snakes too, they’re rather regal. lions are regal Oh fuck you, you insufferable Gryffindor twat. MALFOY!? I was taught writing in all capitals means yelling – why are you yelling? And who else did you think it was? a wrong number!?!? Does that happen to you often? And do you really converse with strangers like this? how did you get this number Granger gave it to me, for emergencies. is this an emergency? are you alright? send me a pin with your location, i can apparate there. Well of course it’s an emergency. I wouldn’t contact you of all people otherwise! I’m bored. He sees the three dots pop up again and waits. Nothing. Is Potter ignoring him!? This simply would not do. How disappointing to know The Boy Who Lived, lived to be boring. i promise i’m not boring [winky face] Prove it. But another text from Potter comes in right as he hits send. what do you have a mobile for anyway? I need it for research I’m doing in the muggle world for my potions mastery.

And that’s how it starts. Texts turn to friendly greetings when they run into each other. Spontaneous sightings become more common, until spontaneity goes out the window altogether. Months after that first text, Harry finally, finally crowds Draco into a secluded corner of their favorite bar and snogs him senseless. “I knew you wanted this,” he whispers triumphantly between kisses. Draco moans, “Who says I do?” Harry laughs, his lips on Draco’s neck. He looks up at him, his mouth turned to a smug grin, “Oh please, I’ve known since the snakes Draco.” “The snakes?” “The snakes you texted me that first night! I thought it was some randy stranger but it was you!” Draco looks at him horrified, “Potter are you telling me I solicited you with that first text?!” Harry’s grin grows wider and he nods, “Yeah! I was so surprised when you said it was you.” Draco shakes his head, “How in the fuck… I thought the peaches and auburgines were the sex emojis! Why would a snake be sexual!” “You know, a snake,” Harry says, his voice dripping with innuendo and his eyebrows waggling suggestively. “Merlin Potter, I would never!” Draco exclaims, his hands cradling his face and covering his eyes in embarrassment. He feels Harry gently moving his hands away. “Hey, it’s okay. I liked it. I liked that it was you,” and his smile is so warm and honest that Draco feels his embarrassment melt away. “Really?” “Yeah, I… I really like you Draco.” “Really!?” Draco asks in high-pitched disbelief. Harry laughs, “Yes you wanker, now can we go to mine? I’ve been dying to play snake games with you.” He grins maniacally. Draco groans, “Potter, you’re not to say the word snake ever again as long as we both shall live.” “But Draco,” Potter whines, “you’re my favorite snake!” Harry pouts, his lips breaking into a wide grin. Draco figures he could live with that.

#hdcandyheartsfest2022 #drarry fest #drarry #drarry fic #draco malfoy #harry potter #soft #fluff #p1nk writes

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writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

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smoke and fire (8b)

word count; 9699

summary; following the events of a call, you pick up some out-of-hours work, and thomas comes along for the journey.

notes; y’all are gonna’ love this one.

warnings; arson, heavy drug use references, mild reference to animal abuse.

The firetrucks ahead of you were loud, sirens and flashing lights, the horn going continually as traffic swerved to the side, and Newt did his best to keep up with them, following in their wake as they opened up the traffic into clear paths to move through. Finally getting your seatbelt done up, you huffed a little, pushing strands of hair back out of your face and behind your ears. Luckily for you all, the call was on the edges of the city, not the centre, and so the roads were widening out and weren’t nearly as crowded as you began to near your scene.

Clouds of smoke, thick and grey, rising up from a small warehouse that was on the edges of a house, and there were crowds gathered around, ones that weren’t unfamiliar to you, some faces you vaguely recognised from seeing them briefly pass by in the crowds when you’d first met Aaron. As the truck came to a stop Newt lifted a hand to rub over his jaw, attention on the crowds that had gathered around.

“One of us can go inside, one of us should stay with the truck.” He twisted to look at you, the firemen already gearing up as Thomas assessed the scene, and Gally walked around to the edge of the building, following the wires linking up to the house. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

“Deal.” You placed your palm out flat, matching his, and banging your fist against it for a second, before laying your hand flat, and cursing as he took on a form of only two fingers sticking out. “You always go rock! Screw you!”

He smirked, shrugging a little as you pouted. “You always go paper; I learned and changed tactic.”

“You suck.” You groaned, climbing into the back to retrieve your go-bag from one of the cupboards, taking a look at it, but realising that you were more likely only going to need a roll of bandages and some gauze, quick sources to send them out to Newt, advice on what they were going to need.

You had your suspicions about what you were seeing, and from the second your partner cracked his door open, you knew your thoughts had been confirmed, because the smell of it was enough to make you cough a little, dry and crisp in the air as you inhaled, and you understood now why the firemen were already wearing their masks, even when just standing outside. Blue flashing lights and muted sirens signalled the arrival of the police, beginning to break up the crowds and start backing people away, and you didn’t envy the job that they had going on.

Hopping down from the back of the truck and making sure to lock it up tight to protect Newt, as he stood carefully in the doorway talking to Minho about the procedures that would be taking place, you wandered away toward where Chuck was standing by Gally’s side at the Squad truck, the two Lieutenant’s trying to develop a plan. As you walked, you couldn't help but look over the scenes, searching for that familiar face, and smiling a little when the boy you’d grown fond of was absent from the scene, encouraging you to believe that he was alright, and escaping this lifestyle.

You bumped your elbow into Chuck’s as you arrived at his side, nose wrinkling a little as the strong smell of marijuana was even stronger from here, and he turned to look at you, smoking a little as he saw you.

“Newt figures it’d be best for one of us to go in, and send out anyone inside for quick medical advice, it’ll speed it up, having a van full of drugs parked up here is pretty risky.” You nodded over your shoulder, and Thomas licked over his lower lip, nodding his head as he tried to clear his thoughts.

“That someone you, then?” The man with dirty-blond hair was staring down at you, and you dipped your head in a nod. “Thomas’ll get you all hooked up, and Squad is going on, Truck is going to start trying to put out some of these flames, and cut the power inside.” He patted Chuck on the shoulder, before the young boy was waving at you, and the Lieutenant you were left with turned to the vehicle he commanded, opening up one of the hatches.

“It’s going to be really smoky in there, so try and keep your eyes on me, okay?” you nodded your head, dropping your back to the ground as you accepted the jacket that Thomas was holding out to you, tugging it over your shoulders, but not bothering to fasten it up just yet. A pair of pants followed, and you pulled them on over the top of your uniform trousers, adjusting them around your waist with the little toggle, and zipping up the heavy-duty jacket to protect yourself, already beginning to feel overheated. “If you lose sight of me, just start flashing this torch on your shoulder, and I’ll come find you, alright? You won’t be able to see much more than a few metres in front of yourself.”

He lifted your hand up, palm closing over the top of your own, and making sure you could feel the large button on the side under the tip of your finger, waiting for you to confirm it, before letting go.

Toeing off your shoes, you left them in a mismatched set by one of the wheels, and taking the boots from Thomas that he offered you. Sitting on the floor to put them on, you adjusted them on your feet, gasping a little at the fit.

“These boots fit my feet!”

He glanced down at you, smirking a little, and nodding his head. “I know, I ordered a pair of boots that were the right size for you a few weeks ago, so that you don’t trip as much wearing the men’s boots. Brenda chewed my ear off about you not having any.” You beamed, lacing them up tightly and tucking the laces inside of the shoes securely, before taking the hands Thomas had outstretched to you, and letting him pull you back up to your feet.

“They’re really comfortable. Much better.”

“I’m glad.” He held out a glove for you, letting you slip your fingers into it and fastening it tightly around your wrist at the toggle, before tucking it under the edge of the sleeve. He repeated it with the other hand, tightening it at your wrist and tucking it into the sleeve, and you were almost entirely suited up. “You’re going to have a lot on your back with the oxygen tank and your bag, you gonna’ be okay?”

You took the tank for him, the weight of it straining your arms little, but you adjusted it over your shoulders, a mask following it, and you gripped it in your hand, using the other to retrieve your medkit. “I’ll be alright, as long as we aren’t in there for too long.” It was a struggle for you to get it over the top of the tank, and Thomas chuckled as he watched you go, before finally, you had it adjusted, and you just hoped there was always going to be somewhere near you if you needed something from inside, instead of having to take it on and off.

“It’s my aim to get us in and out as quickly as possible. There’s going to be a lot of flammables in there, and the police are going to need to go in and gather evidence, Minho’s our resident arson expert, so he’ll stay behind and help check whether it’s an accident or not, but we need to sweep for anyone in there.”

“You think there will be?”

“Honestly?” He looked at the building, placing a helmet onto your head as soon as you had adjusted your mask, and he shook his head. “No, I don’t. Normally when this happens, people are more eager to just run, and try to tend to the wounds themselves. They don’t want to stick around and be arrested, but we have to check, in case they’re unconscious.”

He pulled his mask down over his own head, placing a hand on your upper arm once his helmet was on, a loose hold as he guided you toward the house, his grip slipping down to your forearm instead, and once he was approaching the door, the rest of truck already waiting there, he let you go. They positioned themselves on either side of the door, and you copied those motions, moving to stand next to Fry.

Thomas turned his back to the door, looking over the crew, and giving them all a nod. Raising his foot and kicking hard backwards, the wood around the door splintered, flying open into a horror scene of flames and smoke, which rapidly curled out around him as he paced forwards to avoid the heat.

He had been correct, you could barely see inside of the doorway, grey and orange filling your sights, and you paused, watching as the smoke seemed to swallow up every firefighter that walked inside. Thomas was left standing next to you, seeming to sense your hesitation, and he reached across to turn on the torch on your shoulder, lighting it up as his own followed, before he was giving you a nod, and encouraging you into the house.

You followed closely behind him, the sound of your own breathing within the mask filling your ears, heart racing, and you felt as though you were in some kind of sci-fi movie, stepping into an alternate reality as only three feet into the smoke, the light from the outside world was blocked out, darkness taking over, only lit up by the torches. It took you a moment to adjust, admiring how the rest of the Squad team managed to jump straight into action, adjusting to it without restraint.

Much before this house, you had never been inside of a burning building before, the teams you’d worked with never seemed to flow this well, or perhaps they did and you’d just never stuck around long enough to notice, but with your house and crew, it felt like a well-oiled machine, everyone having their place to make things work, and you swelled with pride and being an integral part of the functioning.

You were simply left to follow Thomas around, pausing each time he stopped to speak into the radio on his shoulder as he reported to the other teams, and you bumped into him every time he came to a sudden stop. There was evidence that this room had only recently been in use; phones left behind, mugs of tea and the remnants of charred papers that had been left out.

Melted plastic, warped furniture and charred walls, the fire glowing brightly, even through the clouds of smoke. Glass shattered at the windows around you as the team outside broke them to begin spraying water inside, attempting to cool down the heat inside, and you were sure you’d walked several laps of the downstairs as it finally came up clear. Your eyes were just beginning to adjust, to make out more than just shapes, but to actually come into focus, blurry and controlled mess clearing up to offer you a picture of the room.

Thomas paused, talking into the radio as he told his team to begin backing out, promising to do the final sweep, and you watch the various other dull lights in the room begin to flicker away as they filtered out of the building around you. Glancing around, you scuffled your toes against the floor, kicking at a piece of rubble, and you paused as you watched some of the dust a little further up move.

You blinked, staring at pieces of fallen scrap metal around a table, trying to focus back on it, and there was no movement this time. You were almost ready to give up, turning your head away, before there was a brief hint of movement once again, and you sighed. Thomas was still standing still, his back to you, and you took only a few steps away from him, trying to navigate through the flames to get a clearer look at the ash and dust clouds that were beginning to settle.

The closer you got, the more evident it became, the sound of scuffling and whimpering making you pick up your speed, concern racing through you. It went silent, the flames curling up around you, and you couldn't find the source of the noise again, finding the spot that you swore you’d seen movement going completely empty. Sighing, and shaking yourself down, the ache in your shoulders was becoming unbearable, and you rolled your head from side to side, standing back up from where you were crouched down.

Rubbing a hand at your shoulder to try and loosen it, it did little to help when you had several straps of the bag blocking your movements, and you looked back to where you had been. The spot was empty, and you swallowed thickly, knowing that with all the walking in circles you’d corn, you had no idea which way was left and which was right, or which was to go to get back out, and you couldn't see Thomas’ light anywhere in the room.

You stood back up, walking to where you’d been, and trying to get a sense of any direction he might’ve taken. Wandering forward a few feet from where you were, rows of tables lined with trays of what had once been marijuana plants was evident on either side of you, and there were over ten different ways he could have gone on his final search.

You could try calling for him, but with the noise in the room, you doubted he’d hear you, and it probably wasn’t the best bet to wander off to find him. Instead, you backed up, retracing your steps back to where you had once been, chastising yourself for having been reckless. Reaching up for the torch on your shoulder, you tried to stand as far from the flames around you as possible, flashing it steadily and continually, the heavy button making your finger cramp up after a few minutes.

You sighed, letting go of the torch and flexing your fingers for a minute, curling them and uncurling them from a fist as you tried to ease the aching, and before you could reach for it again, panic beginning to bubble up, there was a figure breaking through the smoke.

“Where the hell did you go?” His hands found your upper arms, twisting you side to side as he checked you over, and you shrugged a little in his touch, enough relief upon seeing him to make your knees buckle a little as your anxiety began to settle, and you could hear the disappointment laced in his tone. “I told you to stick with me, this is a burning building, you can’t just wander off-”

“I’m sorry.” His words died out, fading out on a sigh as his shoulders slumped, his touch falling away from your arms. “I thought I saw movement, I could have sworn that I did, but there was nothing there. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I was just worried. I didn't want you to get hurt, alright?” you nodded, choking back the lump of emotions in your throat, and he glanced over your shoulder. “Where did you see movement?”

You twisted, pointing to the collapsed pile of metal plating and desks. “It was nothing, I checked it out, I couldn't see much.”

“Follow the pathway, alright? Straight ahead, Brenda will come and meet you, alright?” He squeezed at your shoulder, hand sliding down to find your hand, and he squeezed it again, tugging you a little closer. “Just walk straight ahead, and I’ll double-check for you, alright? Straight ahead until you see Bren, you go this.”

You squeezed his hand back, both in acknowledgement and in thanks, knowing he was doing this just to ease your concern, and then, he was brushing past you, and you were following his guidance, cautious steps in a straight line forwards, searching for Brenda.

Her figure made itself known, the smoke thinning near the doorway as the flames surrounding the entrance were being extinguished by the firefighters outside, and she reached a hand out to you. Slipping your gloved hand into hers, a little sigh of relief left you, your entire body aching from stress, and the weight of the equipment you were carrying. As soon as you cleared the wall of smoke, stepping out into bright and burning daylight, you hissed a little as your eyes adjusted, having acclimated to just how dark it had gotten inside of the burning shed.

You stumbled down the steps, gasping a little as you finally reached the bottom, bracing your hands on your knees. Dropping your helmet to the ground, it rolled away a little bit, and your skin felt sticky with sweat, hating how overheated you always felt in the suits, only after you ever left the building. An unusual phenomenon, but it was starting to form a pattern. As it clattered away across the ground, you lifted your helmet up and off of your face, flushed cheeks cooling as soon as the wind swept over them, and the acrid smell of burning and charred wood met your nose.

“You gotta’ work out more.”

“I carry a ten-pound bag and push a stretcher, I’m perfectly in shape for my job.” You muttered, Brenda laughing a little as she patted at your shoulder, before letting you stand up straight. She helped to lift the oxygen tank down from your shoulders, and as the weight slipped away, you swayed a little, catching your balance and sighing out in relief. Your med-kit fell to the floor, and you rubbed a hand at each shoulder to ease tense muscles, already planning the hot bath with muscle soak powder that you’d be taking as soon as you got home.

As you picked it back up, stepping away from the building, you shucked off the oversized jacket you wore too, padding over to where Brenda was unpacking your equipment into the truck, your sock-clad feet pressing to the concrete for a second as you handed over your boots, before pushing your toes back into your sneakers and flexing them a little. Leaning on the side of the truck, you glanced over at the doorway, worrying your lip a little as you waited to see Thomas emerging. It was a few seconds longer, and you filled the time with tying your laces, before he was finally revealing himself to your view.

There was nobody with him, not that you could see, and yet as the floorboards creaked under his weight, you could make out the squirming package in his arms, a charred blanket wrapped around whatever it is, and your breathing seemed to stop entirely. Your feet were moving underneath you as you made your way over to him, his feet carrying him to a stop before you, and you hesitated for only a second as your hands hovered over the smoking fabric, before you were pinching the edge of it, and peeling it back.

You were stuck between relieved and pitying at the little face staring back at you. The immense fear that it had been a baby, was something that had made your entire body stiffen and blood run cold, and you relaxed a little as you looked down at the bundle, but it didn't make you feel any less upset about what you saw. Burned and raw flesh in a few patches, golden fur stained with ash and black soot, and scared eyes as the animal cowered in Thomas’ hold, shaking violently, and your jaw dropped.

You couldn't see Thomas’ face very clearly as you looked up to him, more your own reflection in the ash stained glass of his mask, and you reached up, taking his helmet from his head to free matted brown strands, hands on each side of his face to peel the mask away to follow, dropping both items down to the pavement, and his eyes were just as wide as your own as he stared back, in total shock.

“You were right. There was someone else in there.”

“Who would leave a puppy in there? What kind of monster would do that, Thomas?” Your voice cracked a little as you spoke, reaching a hand out slowly to the animal to let it sniff your hand, and it trembled for a second, face turned away, before giving in. You expected a nip, or a growl, or simply to be ignored, but as you held your hand out for the dog, it leaned in, a dry nose pressing to your hand as you were sniffed, before a dry and rough tongue was following in a weak lick, and you gasped a little as it rubbed the edge of an unharmed face over your fingers. “Oh, you’re just a sweetie, aren’t you?”

“It has some burns and some scratches, but I think it’ll be alright.”

His tone was hopeful, and you nodded your head, trying your best to believe it. “Bring it over to the ambulance, I’ll see what I can do with what we have.” He only nodded, following after you in a slow walk to the back of the truck. The crowd had been cleared, the police keeping the few nosey stranglers back, but Newt was packing away medical equipment as you opened the door.

His eyes went wide, jaw dropping a little as he took in the armful that Thomas was holding, now squirming a little more, and after a moment to process it, his face little up like sunshine. “Is that a puppy?”

“Yes! Someone left it in there, can you believe that?” Newt scowled at the mere idea, his eyes flicking up to glare at the house, before he was hopping down from the ambulance to sit on the edge, and holding his arms out for the bundle. The animal whimpered a little as he was handed from Thomas to Newt, before it was nosing at the spot underneath Newt’s jaw, learning his scent as well, and the blond chuckled, becoming lost in the interactions with the dog. Turning to face Thomas, he had a hint of a smile on his lips as he watched the scene. “You have water bottles in the truck, right?”

“A couple. You want one?”

“Yeah, I can try and get some water into this little guy, and put some cream on those burns, but he’s going to need a vet.” You turned to look at the animal, reaching out to scratch lightly on the top of its head, and it let out a strained yip at the affections, tail wagging slightly. “I’ll take him. By the time we get back, our shift will have finished, and I’ll find a vet still open.”

“Can I come with you?”

Your eyes snapped back to him, brows raising a little bit, and you found yourself at a loss for words. “To the, uh, vets?” He only nodded, and you swallowed thickly, processing the idea, before shrugging. You were certain that you were on better terms with Thomas now, it had been months since you’d last had a real argument, save the bickering over her got the last biscuit or the best seat on the couch every now and then, and you were starting to get along well. It couldn't be that bad, right? “Sure, yeah. That’d be really nice, actually.”

“Yeah?” He raised a brow.

“Some company, I mean. So I’m not alone, I’d like your company. I mean, anyone’s company would be nice, but yours especially.” He grinned, more like a toothy smirk, and you flushed with what from head to toe. “Oh, fuck off, just go and get the water.”

The look on his face didn’t fade, chuckling a little as he stepped back. “You got it, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

You scoffed at the pet name, knowing that he was just teasing you further for falling over your words, and you spun on your heel to face Newt again, his eyes already fixed on you, and you glared. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“But you were going to.” You mumbled, hearing him cackle a laugh as well, and you clambered past him into the ambulance to find something you could use as a bowl to put some water in. Newt got out, moving to sit on the concrete instead as you search through the containers, the scuffing of boots on the floor signalling that Thomas had returned, and you didn’t bother to look, unscrewing the cap of an unopened jar, and decided that it was deep enough to form a bowl.

You handed it out, the boys fawning over the animal as they filled the tub with water and it dove in eagerly. You searched for your bag, finding the cream, and trying to treat the wounds as best you could without causing it any further pain, before the team was beginning to filter over. Once the job was done, as each person progressively checked off their duties, you were joined, until the entire team was gathered around the puppy, who seemed to be soaking up the attention as it received pets and head scratches, cooing and aww-ing from all of them, until you were surrounded, and there was a due time to start getting the engines back.

You had to say goodbye to the pet temporarily, knowing that it would need to ride back in a firetruck, as none of the firemen were allergic, but it would be unhygienic and unprofessional to have it ride in the ambulance with you.

Your partner spent the ride back smirking, not bothering to say anything but glancing at you every so often for the interaction you’d had, prodding you a little bit with subtle questions about which vet you would go to, and what happened inside of the building, and whether you were going to keep the dog or if Thomas would, all of which you promptly ignored.

The trucks were already back, and a group of the firefighters were out in the main foyer playing with the dog when you pulled up, watching as they backed out of the space for the ambulance to reverse into. Some were in their casual-wear, some had yet to get changed, and yet all of them were full of a renewed glee at the idea of seeing the dog, and you almost felt bad for bringing it to an end.

You let them have a little longer, a symphony of different names flying around in their air as everybody seemed to have an opinion, and you made your way to the changing rooms. Grabbing your hoodie, you swapped out your shirt, unbuttoning it slowly and slipping it down your arms before slipping the baggy material of your hoodie over your head. Your trousers followed, folded neatly on the smooth and smart material to take home, resting on the bench, before kicking off your sneakers and sitting down long enough to tug the cold and stiff denim of your jeans up your legs.

Just as you were buttoning them back up, the door was slamming open, and you jumped a little as a bundle of fur came zooming in ahead of the body to follow, like an entirely new puppy as he had some water in his system, and some leftover meat from the sandwiches that Frypan had been making earlier in the day.

You cursed a little at the shock, a hand resting over your heart, and you sighed as it leapt underneath your palm. Shifting down to the button on your jeans after only a second, and fastening it up, a taller figure leaning against the lockers.

“Damn, did I miss the cute panties again?”

“Oh, shut it, Thomas.” You scowled, and he grinned a little as you avoided his eye, grabbing your bag and packing your work clothes into it, before sitting down to put your shoes back on, and you finally looked back up at him. He had already changed, it seemed, his casual clothes adorning his figure rather than the usual ‘Firehouse 21’ tee, and he’d swapped the heavy-duty pants and suspenders for a pair of skinny khakis. “What’s with the rope?”

He came to sit at the other end of the bench, lifting the aforementioned bundle down from his shoulder, and placing it before you. “This dog is a little erratic, I figured we’d need a little harness for actually getting it to the vets.”

You cocked a brow, smirking a little bit as you finished lacing your shoes, and letting a leg sit on either side as you faced him. “Oh, and you think you can make a whole harness and lead out of a piece of rope?”

“I don’t think I can, I know I can.” He seemed to have taken your challenge, his eyebrows furrowing and eyes squinting a little as he laid out the rope before himself, beginning to shift it and twist it into different sections. You didn’t see anything within it, random knots and a tangled mess seeming to come together, and he worked on it for a few minutes, determination filling him, and your smugness only grew as you prepared for the ‘I told you so’ that you’d be delivering.

That moment never came, however, because as he finished up, laying what looked like a bundle of knots and twists to you, it began to take shape, space for four little legs to slip through, a band running down it’s back and a rope that could be held onto connected at one end to sit over shoulder blades, and your jaw dropped.

“I told you so.” The words were stolen from you, and you glowered a little, a finger coming up to rest under your chin, pressing your lips back closed as he smirked. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’m a firehouse lieutenant, it’s my job to be good with knots.” He licked over his lips, your eyes fixed on his as a twinkle flashed through them. “I’m great at tying things up.”

He winked, and you scoffed again, turning away from him and taking the rope from his hands as you moved to find the puppy, he was biting at one of the shoer curtains and pulling it up and down the railing. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you today. You’re so cheeky, cut it out, I’m not used to it.”

Your words were thrown over your shoulder as you made your way over to the dog, trying to navigate little paws through the holes as it squirmed, and his laugh bounced from all of the walls. “Can’t help it, I think it’s kinda’ funny when you blush, and it’s definitely cute. To think, we spent all that time arguing, and all I had to do get you to shut up with your witty comment and stinging insults was flirt with you and throw in a few dirty jokes.”

“You’re the absolute worst.” You grumbled, and he grinned a little more, taking the rope from your hands and wrapping it around his own as the dog pulled on the harness, eager for movement once again. That only seemed to further his amusement, and you grabbed your bag, reaching into the side pocket for your keys, only to remember that you’d been dropped off this morning, and so you lifted the bag onto your shoulder instead. “We’re taking your car.”

“But my seats are leather.” His words were whiny, and you chuckled, holding open the door for them both. Your little group moved through the firehouse, greeting the staff of the other teams that had taken over, trying to be polite, a subtle nod or quiet ‘hello’ as you passed through, before he was leading you over to his car, and holding open the passenger seat door for you. Dropping your bag down on the back seat, you settled in, a soft noise leaving you as the puppy clambered up into your lap. “You better hold onto that dog, because if my seats get all shredded up, I’ll be gutted.”

“Yeah, yeah; fancy leather seats.” You mocked, a grin on your face, and he scowled falsely, slamming the door shut a little as you chuckled as he flipped you off while rounding the car, biting on the inside of his cheek to contain his amusement. Settling in himself, you strapped yourself in, making sure that you adjusted the safety-belt over the dog in your lap too, who had managed to sit down, tail wagging as it panted happily, and you avoided all the sore spots still littering its skin. “You want me to google a vet? I don’t really know anywhere around here like that, but I can search for one?”

“There’s one not far from where I live, so we can head there.”

He started up the engine, hand on the gearstick as he reversed out of the spot and edges slowly towards the road as the car warmed up, and you considered the matter. “We should find one near my place, so you don’t have to drive all the way across town to drop me off afterwards.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes flicked up to the mirrors, checking everything he was seeing as he left the parking lot and joined the traffic on the road, and you sighed, twisting to face him a little more.

“Yeah, but, it would waste time in your evening, and your fuel, and-”

“I don’t mind.” He turned to look at you, eyes meeting yours for a split second, whiskey-coloured eyes showing only honesty, replacing the cheeky look he’d held moments prior. You sighed, watching him for a moment longer, and he turned back to the road, your eyes sweeping along the defined line of his jaw, the upturned tip of his nose form the side, and the way his eyes flickered over the road before him as he navigated traffic. “Besides, if we go to the veterinarian near me, I can take him for check-ups.”

“They’ll probably have to stay overnight, they’ll want to do tests and heal them up.” You cupped the furry little face in your hands, the thumping of his tail as he wagged picking up again immediately. “Won’t they, huh, cutie? We gotta’ get you all fixed up!”

Thomas chuckled, glancing at the two of you as you kissed its little head, and you were weaving through roads you didn’t recognise, a side of the city you’d never ventured to before, but you weren’t all that surprised by it, because you’d barely adventured anywhere. Now you’d decided to stick around for a while, you should probably learn a little more about where you were living.

“I’ve never been here before.” You looked out of the window, the light in the sky beginning to fade into dusk. “This neighbourhood, I mean. Well, this side of the city, really.”

“You don’t get out much, huh?”

“I moved around a lot, didn’t really seem like it was worth learning an area when I didn’t know how long I was going to stay.” Silence formed between you for a while, the scenery flashing by, streetlights slowly beginning to turn on and warm up, and it wasn’t until the car was pulling to a halt in front of a small veterinary surgery that only had a few people milling around behind the glass windows, quiet and calm. Thomas turned to you upon unclipping his seatbelt, and the silence carried for another second or two, but now with more weight on, as you waited for him to speak.

“I’d be happy to show you around, sometime. If you choose to stick around with us. I can show you some of my favourite places, and I just know Newt would want to tag along and show off his hang-outs too.”

You smiled, watching as he shrugged, getting out of the car and walking around to open your door for you. Standing up, he took the lead, the bouncing puppy sniffing the ground curiously. “I’d like that, maybe I’ll take you up on that offer sometime.”

“I hope you do.” He locked the car, the two of you walking quietly, side by side, up the ramp and through the door, the ball overhead jingling a little as you entered.

There was a blonde behind the desk, curly hair and dark painted lips as she looked up, eyes flicking over the pair of you, before her eyes were moving down to the dog; a single, well-manicured brow lifting in questioning.

You looked between her and the dog as you approached, wondering what brought on the look that was on her face, before realising that you’d grown so accustomed to the state of the dog that the initial shock had worn off, and you gasped a little as you approached the desk, her hand closing over the phone, a scowl forming on her features.

“We didn’t do that to the dog!”

She paused, and Thomas turned to look at you, confusion portrayed on his face, before he was reading the room, his eyes going wide. Neither of you was wearing your official uniforms, you were just a pair of strangers with a dog on a rope, covered in burns and cuts. He panicked, patting down his pockets as she lifted up the phone to her ear, panicking to find his wallet as he flipped it open to show the ID inside.

She took the leather from him, peering it at carefully, a long and tense second that seemed to drag on, your breath held, before her stern expression seemed to relax a little, a softer look on her face as she handed it back, placing the phone down and crossing her arms against the desktop before you both.

“We found this little guy in a house fire about two hours ago, we just finished our shift.”

“Uh-huh.” She squinted, before she was turning to the computer, long and perfectly maintained nails typing on the keyboard as she created a file for the little creature. “Name?”

“Uh, well, we haven’t given it one.” Thomas stuttered, and she smirked a little, turning to look at you both a little clearer.

“I meant your name, for the file.”

He blushed, red twinging his cheeks as his jaw snapped shut, and you tried to contain your laugh. “His name is Thomas Stephens. With a ‘P-H’, not a ‘V’.” She nodded her head, and Thomas nudged you with his elbow gently, a quiet thanks as his cheeks remained heated. He cleared his throat, choking back the lump in his throat.

“Her name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She paused for only a second, before she was typing that too, and you turned to look at him, one of his shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. “We should both be on file, to look after the little guy. He’s our responsibility now.”

“And you said that you found him in a house fire today?”

You snapped away from Thomas, looking back to the blonde receptionist, who was still typing at her computer as she filled in details, waiting for you to continue. “Oh, yes! Not too bad, a little singed around the edges but that’s all. First-degree skin wounds, nothing deep into muscle tissue, except for a few second-degrees. It was severely dehydrated and a little woozy from the heat, but we gave ‘em some water and got some food in ‘em, and the pup got its energy back.” She stopped her typing, turning to stare at you. “No disorientation or dizziness that I can tell, so I don’t think there’s lasting brain trauma, but the woofing is a little raspy, probably some internal burning from smoke inhalation.”

“I take it you’re the paramedic, then?” It was your turn to be slightly embarrassed now, Thomas staring at you wide-eyed for your spiel, and she was watching you intently, and you only nodded your head in confirmation. “I’m impressed. I’ll let the doc’ know it all. How about you hand me over the dog, I’ll take him into the back, and you two can wait out here. I’ll be back out in a few minutes, alright?”

You were almost reluctant to hand him over, but Thomas gave her the makeshift leash, and she walked him away, the two of you taking a seat on the cushioned chairs in the waiting room, posters up around on the walls to show information and promotions on pet-care.

Sinking down next to him, you let out a sigh, a little achy all over from the stress of the day, and you were looking forward to simply relaxing. Your head rolled to the side, to find Thomas picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his hoodie, seeming to sense your lingering gaze, his head twisting to catch your eye. He returned the gaze, curiosity unspoken between you both as he waited for you to speak, and it took you a moment to form words.

“What are we gonna’ do with it, Thomas?”

“The dog?” He mumbled dumbly, and you only nodded your head. “I’m sure they know a selection of excellent shelters who would be able to find it a good home and look after it once we sign it over, and it’ll find a great home.” You sighed, not too sure why you were so disappointed by the answer, your sights turning forwards to look over the posters on the walls once again.

A quiet settled over you both, nothing tense or uncomfortable, but simply companionable, and your mind drifted to the excited little animal that was taking over your mind, closed behind a door for its initial examination.

“The team seemed to really like the dog.” You jumped a little at his sudden voice, twisting a little to face him again, hope fluttering through your nerves. “Maybe they’d like a house dog?”

“Really?” You couldn't help the smile that broke out on your features, and he chuckled a little, sights sweeping over your face, before his head was ducking a little, and he grinned, warm cheeks when he lifted his head again.

“Yeah, nobody has an allergy, the kids that visit would love it, and I know Vince would be on board, he’s always talked about a house dog.” He dared to lift a hand, pausing for a second, and you glanced down, his hand settling over yours on the arm of the chair to squeeze lightly. “Plus, you looked so down when you thought you didn’t get to keep him. I didn’t like that.”

You paused, processing his words, and nothing else needed to be said, his attention moving to the tiles in front of his feet as his legs stretched out, getting comfortable for the wait. As you sat here, you couldn't help but be thankful that he was here with you, because this was an experience you wouldn't want to be going through alone, and somehow, it felt right to be here with him of all people. “Thank you, Thomas.”

“It’s not definite, yet, I’d still have to talk to everyone at the house and to Vince, and start a pool of funds, b-”

“No, not for the dog.” His jaw snapped shut, confusion on slightly pouted lips once again as he tried to process his thoughts. “Today, you believed me. There was nothing to suggest there was anyone there, and you put yourself in danger just to check for me.”

“You were right last time, with the woman in the house, trapped under the rubble? The kid who fell? You’ve been right about these things before.”

You shook your head. “This is different. You stayed behind because I insisted on it, you trusted me, you didn’t have to, but you did. Thank you for trusting me, Thomas.”

He only nodded, swallowing thickly, and you turned your hand underneath his, parting your fingers a little. His lips turned up at the edges, the tips of his fingers smoothing over your palm as they straightened out, before his fingers were weaving loosely through your own. “You can call me Tommy, y’know.”

“Huh?”

“You always call me Thomas.” His fingers tightened a little, and you crooked your own to wrap around his hand lightly. “Everyone calls me Tommy. You can too, if you want.”

“Okay.” He hummed, fingers twitching with your own, before he was lifting your hand enough to let his fingers weave with your own entirely, to sit connected on the chair between you both, and you held onto him equally as tightly. “Tommy?”

“Yeah?” There was a slightly higher pitch to his voice, a sweet look on his face at the sound of you using his nickname, and your chest flushed with heat at the idea you’d been able to bring him such a little joy so effortlessly.

“Thanks for being here with me.”

“My pleasure.” You only nodded, gaze remaining connected with his as his smile became fully formed, flashes of white teeth as it became a beam, and you couldn't help but return it. You jumped at the clearing of a throat, eyes closing as you suppressed the urge to curse in shock, having had enough of jump-scares and fear for today.

“Does one of you want to come in with me?” Both your and Thomas’ attention moved to her, and she was standing before you both, hands crossed behind her back as her eyes flicked between you. “We’re going to keep him in overnight, doc’ wants to put him under some anaesthesia so we can properly treat the wounds that are a little more severe and so some stitches, so one of you can go and keep him calm as he goes under. I need one of you to stay here and fill out some forms.”

You turned to look at Thomas, questioning silently, and he gave a smile, squeezing your hand tightly, before letting it go so your fingers could slip free. “You go ahead, I’ll fill out the forms, and I’ll wait right here.”

“You sure?”

“Totally. Go make sure our little puppy goes to sleep comfortably.” You nodded, standing up to follow the girl, and seeking a reassuring glance from Thomas over your shoulder, before you were disappearing around the corner and into an examination room, and he was cut from your views.

The dog was laying across the table, looking calmer now, but he perked up considerably upon seeing you. There was a set of weighing scales out, and a needle filled with a dose already, alongside a clipboard and a pen on a sheet that was half filled out.

The doctor was wearing a set of plastic gloves, slipping one from his wrist as he shook your hand, giving you his name, but you knew your mind was spinning far too much right now to remember it. You moved forward, scratching at the dog's ears to soothe it, it’s head tipping into your hands as it woofed happily, tail thumping against the table.

“What I’m going to do is use a general anaesthetic to put him under, so that I can get these stitches in and disinfect these wounds without him feeling it. I’ve weighed him, and surprisingly for the dogs I’ve seen come from these backgrounds, he’s actually on his target weight.” You nodded, trying to retain the information, and knowing that it was all good news. “I also want to take some blood samples, just to get an idea of what we have going on, since there’s no history, but he seems better than just ‘okay’ to me. We’ll keep him overnight for observations, as I’m sure my nurse has told you.”

“She did.”

“Have you decided what you want to do with him?” You scratched lightly at his hair, heart clenching a little at the whimper he let out as a needle slipped into his skin, but he was relaxing only a second later, the metal slipping free of his flesh, and his eyes growing heavy, ready to knock him out, for the time being, so he could heal properly.

“We’re kinda’ thinking we might have him as a house dog at the fire station.”

“I like that idea, a lot. It’s always motivational. This little guy has a lot of personality; it’ll be good for him to have so much attention, and so many people around him, constantly.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “He is definitely spirited, that's for sure. Only an hour after he’d left the building, he was already getting his energy back at the station. Some water and a snack, and he was bursting at the seams to run.”

“I can tell, he gave me a real struggle to settle him down.” He was growing tired, breathing growing soft and deeper as he calmed a little, his racing heart steadying out, and you hoped that some good sleep was exactly what he needed to heal. “I'll give you a list of his medicines and puppy suitable foods to help him develop, and when you come back for him, I’ll have a schedule made for the house. It can be hard to keep a dog within healthy weight and fitness boundaries with different teams who don’t get to communicate, so I’ll make a rota.”

“That’s great, thank you.”

“You are truly welcome. I’m going to have to shave him in some patches, but it should grow back in a month or so.” You nodded, a few more minutes passing, and you realised that there was nothing else to be added, the dog having drifted off, and the vet was simply giving you a few more minutes to accept it all. “When you’re ready, you can sign off at the desk, and we’ll give you a call in a day or two when he’s ready for collection.”

You nodded, taking a few more seconds yourself brushing your fingers over soft fur, before backing away, tearing your eyes from the dog you’d grown such a sudden attachment to, before you were opening the door, and closing it again.

As you made your way along the corridor, Thomas was standing at the desk, frowning at various paperwork that he was filling out, signing his signature at various spots and filling out any details that were needed. Taking up space by his side, his attention moved to you for just a moment, a soft smile directed your way, before he was moving back to the paperwork, and you leant on the edge of the desk, watching the pen move as he filled it out.

“Have you got a name?”

“I thought we already gave you our names?” Thomas echoed, an adorable confusion to his voice, and the nurse smirked a little.

“I’m talking about the dog.” She clarified, and he blushed a deep red once again, scowling as he went back to the paperwork, a mumble of ‘of course you are’ under his breath, and you bit back your laughter. “I’ll give you a moment to think about it, I’ll go and photocopy your forms.”

She took the paperwork from him as he finished it, and he turned to face you, embarrassment dying down. “How about ‘Champ’?” Your face screwed up at the idea, knowing it was a common name and not something that suited his personality at all, and Thomas seemed to agree, his own face mirroring yours as he thought on it longer. “How about ‘Dexter’?”

“That seems so aggressive. He’s a sweetie, he’s just excited.” He nodded, silence falling between you both again. “What do you think about ‘Scooter’?”

“It’s certainly interesting.” He hummed, and your head tipped to the side, trying to explain why the name had come to you;

“I don’t know, it just felt right. It feels like an energetic but fun name, and that's what he feels like.” Thomas clicked the pen shut, the woman walking back into the room, a brown envelope with the word ‘dog forms’ written across the front sliding to sit on the glass before you both.

“Have we chosen a name, yet?”

She sat down in her seat, bringing the computer back to life and typing in her password to complete the registration. “I think we just settled on ‘Scooter’.”

“We did?” You echoed a little, staring up at Thomas, who only nodded to the blonde nurse, who smiled to herself as she completed the forms. Lifting the card reader up onto the top of the desk, the small registration fee and covering of the original medicines and treatments were completed, and you promised to forward half of the costs to Thomas as soon as you could while he punched his PIN into the device.

She finished it all up, stapling the bundle of receipts to the copy of the forms, and just like that, you were stepping back out into the cold air, minus a dog, but plus a pet.

Sinking down into the passenger seat beside Thomas, he started up the car, and as he pulled out of the parking lot, you couldn't help but notice the darkness that had taken over. What had been a pastel sky when you’d entered the establishment was now deep tones of blue fading into black, the moon string in the sky to be accompanied by an array of twinkling stars.

You offered him your address, the city melting away beside you as the radio played, idle chatter filling the silence between you both on the drive. He would often pause the conversation to point out somewhere he liked; a restaurant, an activity, a shop or simply a building with a memory for him, all following with a list of reasons why he thought you should visit it someday, some even coming with a promise to show it to you himself.

When you finally pulled up in front of your building, Thomas peered up at it, stepping out of the car as you did, and rounding to the backseat to grab your back for you as the car sat on the curb, engine still running to keep warm. “This is me, that third window up on the left.” You pointed up to it, the glass dark in an apartment with all of the lights off, the living room window that looked out onto the street would soon be flooded with lights, only minutes away from finally getting to relax and unwind from a busy day. “Thanks for driving me home, and coming out with me. It was nice to have company.”

“I had fun, I wanted to come. It was really no trouble.” He rocked on the balls of his feet, hands shoved into his pockets, and you weren’t sure what else to say to fill the silence as he simply nodded to your words, hands pushed into his pockets. “I’ll see you soon, on our next shift?”

You could only hum your agreement, mind shifting to remember when it was that you were due on shift again, your mind coming up blank with your exhaustion. You waited longer, his eyes fixed on you, intently, but you couldn't seem to decipher what was laying within them, and after a while you gave up trying to. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“Goodnight.” He smiles, shoulders slumping a little, and you headed back up towards the door of the main building, pulling your bag around from your side to open the pocket on the front, and fish out the keys, pausing at the top stop as you found them, and tried to find the one for the main building.

Shoes shuffled against the concrete behind you, up the steps, and you turned to face Thomas, unsure of what to say to question him, but something to you he had his own agenda, and not to rush him. He waited for a second longer, the correct key inched between two fingers now as the rest jingled where they hung, and your eyes remained locked with his as you waited.

A hand came up to rest over your cheek, a soft smile on his face as he took a shaky inhale, before your head was being tipped to the side a little. Hot breath washed over your skin, his body stepping in close enough that his own heat was enough to warm you. The tip of his nose dragged over your cheek, enough to make your breath hitch, before soft lips were pressing to your skin. A sweet kiss that a shy blush flood your features, his lips lingering a second longer than you expected, before was pulling back, an equal blush visible on his face, but a bashful expression none the less as he pulled away.

You felt cold as he stepped back, the hand from your waist falling away and you weren’t sure when it had even landed there, as the hand on your other cheek dropped away too, and he licked over his lower lip, nibbling on it to contain the sunny expression threatening to take over as he backed down the steps.

“Now it's a good night. I’ll be seeing you.” He gave a little wave, before he was jogging back to his car, and you watched him go, a little shocked and a little confused, heart racing in your chest as you opened the door to the main building and stepped inside, hearing his engine rev as he pulled away.

It was all too much to handle at the moment, a hot bath and some emotional unwinding from the chaotic day that it had been much needed before you could even think about beginning to unpick whatever it was that was going on now. Kicking off your shoes the second the door was open, the only decision you wanted to make right now was whether you wanted food or your pyjamas first.

#thomas #firefighter!tommy #SAF #smoke and fire #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut

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tear-stained-blankie · 4 years ago

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Okay, I've seen a lot of HC posts about how Death the Kid from Soul Eater has OCD, to which I absolutely agree, but I'm projecting onto him really hard for some reason as of recent, so-

Autistic Death the Kid headcanons. (maybe a little Soul x Kid mixed in there-)

Liz, Patty and his father are the only ones that know he's autistic, and he wants to keep it that way for as long as he can. (That is, until he gets to know Soul better.)

He has a meltdown after the whole ripping his test paper incident off-screen and Soul confuses it for a panic attack until he realizes that Kid is nonverbal for the time being, then he gets that it's a meltdown.

Kid's stims by scratching his head, drawing the number eight over and over again, repeating the word 'eight' aloud (and he stims by saying Soul's name as well,) I feel like he also stims by doing things like puzzles or stacking up blocks symmetrically, and chewing.

His visual stims consist of watching waterfalls, watching people paint or draw, opening up an art program and just drawing whatever using the symmetry tool.

I feel like he has a favorite stuffed animal, (probably a wolf) that he asks Soul to carry for him in his bookbag.

Soul's bookbag is full of Kid's comfort items which consist of a weighed blanket, sensory headphones, a plastic snow globe because Kid likes to stim by shaking it, some simple snacks like crackers or chips, pacifiers for chewing, a brush to use instead of scratching his head if he's stimming too harshly, and his favorite stuffed animal.

His safefoods are Gerber Crackers, Chips (the spicier, the better,) Goldfish Crackers, Thin Crust Pepperoni Pizza (it has to be cut into perfectly proportionate pieces and there needs to be eight of them.)

He likes really crunchy food, that's his favorite texture.

He doesn't like food with 'bumpy' textures like oatmeal, soup, rice, etc.

His happy stims are so sweet

He bounces up and down and flaps his little hands, he's just so sweet. Soul always loves it when he sees him happy stim.

He has loud meltdowns and needs to pressure stim by sitting in Soul's lap and receiving a tight hug to calm down, he's almost always nonverbal during and sometimes while getting over a meltdown.

Soul is always willing to listen to him infodump about symmetry as long as he wants.

I feel like Kid would love it if he was taken to an aquarium. It's quiet, it's peaceful and full of exciting visual stims. (Bonus points if there's a place to pet a stingray, he loves the texture of them.)

He's scared to stim in public, so Soul shows him it's okay.

If anyone gives Kid weird looks for stimming (especially if he's chewing on his pacifier when the look is given,) Soul will not be happy with them.

Loud noises don't bother Kid too much unless it's a really loud noise, but bright lights? Nope, he can't handle that.

Soul is always very paitent with him when he needs to 'fix' something, like a painting or folding the toilet paper into triangles.

That's all I got for now, I might add more later-

Thank you for reading my terrible headcanons.

#death the kid #soul eater #autism #actually autistic #autism headcanon #autistic headcanon #soul x kid #kid x soul

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honey-dewey · 4 years ago

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When I’m Older and I’m Wiser

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Dentist Reader

Word Count: 4,262

Warnings: General medical fic involving dentistry and recovering from wisdom tooth surgery. Mentions of pills, blood, needles, and Marcus being very high. Some use of (F/N) (L/N), but not much.

How the hell Marcus Moreno has gotten this far in his life without getting his wisdom teeth removed is beyond you. But that fateful day comes, and honestly you really should just quit being the Heroic’s dentist because it’s probably taking years off your life. Mostly because your current patient is very cute, very high, and in your care for the next 24 hours, which is a dangerous combination.

“Ow.”

Missy looked over from where she’d been getting a second glass of milk, turning her attention to her dad. Marcus was staring at the eggs on his plate, seemingly frozen. The look on his face could only be described as offended, as if the eggs had just bit him back.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, sitting back down and nudging Marcus with her foot.

“Hurts,” Marcus mumbled, putting a hand to his cheek. The last thing he had expected was pain upon eating scrambled eggs, but it was there.

Missy shrugged, digging into her own eggs. “Could it be a cavity?”

Marcus shook his head, moving his hand to his other cheek. “Both sides.”

“Two cavities?”

Giving Missy a playful dirty look, Marcus took another bite of eggs, face scrunching when the pain persisted.

Missy raised an eyebrow, and Marcus suddenly regretted having a tiny powerhouse of a daughter. “When was the last time you saw Dr. (L/N)?”

“Uh,” Marcus squirmed a bit under her judgmental gaze, thinking back. “I made an appointment right before your mother passed, but then she died and we were in mourning, and then I quit actively hero-ing full time, and then I took a while off to raise you, and then I started my new job, and then I was kidnapped by aliens, so I dunno. A few years?”

“A few years?” Missy said, cocking her head slightly. “You make me go every six months!”

“You’re still growing!” Marcus defended. “I’d be an awful parent if I didn’t keep up with your health.”

Missy sighed. “Please tell me you’ve seen an actual doctor recently.”

Marcus nodded. “Saw my GP last month.”

“Good,” Missy said. “Can you see Dr. (L/N) today please?”

Again, Marcus nodded. “Y’know, sometimes I wonder just who’s running this household.”

“It’s me.”

“I know kiddo. I know.”

Their drive to Heroic headquarters was silent, but comfortable, as it usually was. Marcus parked, the throbbing in his jaw just getting worse as he and Missy got on the bus into headquarters. Missy broke off in the reception area, heading down the hall with a wave. Marcus waved back, smiling at her as she disappeared.

Wiping his hands on his shirt, Marcus walked up to the receptionist, who gave him a friendly smile. “Hello Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Hey Rhea,” Marcus said, leaning slightly on the counter. “When’s my first meeting?”

Rhea hummed, putting his name into the computer and clicking a few times. “Looks like your earliest meeting is at 2:30.”

“Awesome,” Marcus groaned. “Does Dr. (L/N) have any available appointments in the morning?”

“Has someone been skipping out on the dentist?” Rhea said jokingly, moving to a different computer screen. “Was it Missy who made you go?”

“Yeah.”

Rhea laughed. “That kid,” she said softly. “And you’re in luck. Dr. (L/N) has an available appointment in half an hour, at nine. I’ll get you set up with it, okay?”

Marcus sighed. “Yeah, that works. Thank you Rhea. I’ll see you later.”

He waited for his appointment in the hero lounge, reading a book and chewing absently on his thumb nail. When his watch read ten 'til nine, he put his book in his bag and began to make his way down to the medical wing of the building.

The medical wing was not one Marcus was in frequently. He knew some of the staff, but not all of them. But he waved to them all the same, eventually reaching the dentist’s section with five minutes to spare.

“Mr. Moreno!” The nurse behind the reception counter said cheerily. “I thought it had to be a mistake when I saw you had an appointment.”

“Please,” Marcus said. “Just Marcus will do.”

The nurse nodded. “Of course. The doctor will be right out. You’re her first of the day, and honestly, I think she thought your name was a typo too. It’s been too long.”

Marcus sighed. “Yeah. Missy chewed me out about that earlier.”

“I’ll bet.” The nurse gestured to a row of chairs. “Take a seat. I’ll go see if the doc is ready.”

Marcus sat down, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs in an effort to calm his nerves.

“Moreno?”

He looked up, heart suddenly beating fast. Standing in the doorway that separated the waiting room from the actual office was Dr. (L/N), looking very expectant and a tiny bit disappointed.

———

Marcus stood, following you back into the office. His steps behind you were nervous, a high contrast to the confident clicking of your shoes.

“Long time no see,” you said, pushing open a door and gesturing Marcus into the exam room. “What finally brought you back?”

“Aside from Missy?” Marcus asked, sitting in the chair and rocking his left foot back and forth on the ankle. “I woke up this morning and it hurt to eat breakfast.”

You nodded, washing your hands and donning a pair of gloves. “And there wasn’t any pain last night?”

“Maybe a tiny bit.” Marcus watched you sit on a rolling stool, moving so you were just at his side. “But nothing I was worried about.”

You crossed your legs, thinking. “Did you do any intense training in the past 24 hours?”

“Nothing involving my head.”

“Well then it’s probably just a cavity or two,” you decided, rolling closer to Marcus’s head and putting both feet on the floor. “Let’s take a look, get some x-rays, and see if we can’t have you feeling better soon.”

You adjusted the chair so Marcus was staring up at the ceiling, and at a large space mobile you’d hung ages ago. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

You smiled, pulling a mask up over your nose. “Relax Marcus. I’m not gonna hurt you on purpose.”

Marcus still squirmed a bit as you examined his mouth, your brows knitting tighter and tighter as you realized this wasn’t a simple case of a few cavities.

“Marcus,” you said slowly, sitting him up and tugging your mask down under your chin. “You’re in your forties, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me you don’t still have your wisdom teeth.”

Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know. Why? Is that a bad thing?”

“Most people have theirs removed when they’re teenagers,” you explained, pulling down the x-ray machine. “That way, there’s less risk of nerve damage. It’s not a bad thing to have them removed later in life, but it does come with higher risks.”

“Oh.” The reassurance didn’t comfort Marcus much as you softly directed him through the various x-rays.

You pulled the piece of plastic out of his mouth as the final x-ray hit your computer. “Sorry about that,” you said, watching Marcus rub his face. “I know it sucks. But, good news, I have an answer for you.”

You let Marcus turn so he was facing your computer. “It’s definitely your wisdom teeth,” you said, tugging your gloves off and pointing at the computer screen. “See? All four of them are coming in, which is impressive. I can probably take them out tomorrow, honestly. Those suckers can get really painful really fast, so we’re gonna want to take care of it as soon as possible.”

Marcus paled. “Tomorrow?”

“That would be best.” You put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I do one of these surgeries like, once a month. I know what I’m doing, and you’re going to be just fine.”

“Okay,” Marcus said, nodding and staring at you. “I believe you.”

You smiled. “Perfect. So I can schedule your surgery for super early tomorrow, I’m thinking around seven, maybe seven thirty. We wanna get it out of the way early because you can’t eat anything for twelve hours beforehand.” As you explained, you gathered some papers from a desk drawer. “I assume you want general anesthesia.”

“Is that the option where I sleep through it all?”

“Yep,” you said, stapling the papers together and handing them to Marcus. “As per protocol, we’re going to need reassurance you’ll be with a responsible adult guardian for at least forty eight, if not seventy two hours post surgery. The first twelve to twenty hour can be brutal, so you definitely want someone there during that.”

Marcus shook his head. “I haven’t got anyone besides my mom, who I assumed would be taking Missy while I healed.”

“That’s okay,” you promised. “We can get someone here to care for you for two days. You’d have to stay here at headquarters, but you’d be comfortable and cared for. Whatever you do, I’ll call in some pain prescriptions and the like for you to pick up after work today. Just see the pharmacy out front and they’ll give the pills to you.”

You stood, gesturing Marcus up. “So, to recap. Get here early tomorrow, no food after seven tonight, and wear comfy clothes. Most patients go with sweatpants, but you go with whatever is most comfortable to you. Bring a change of pyjamas and your prescriptions if you’re staying with us, and I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Moreno,” you said as you led him back to the lobby.

Tomorrow came faster than anticipated, and before you knew it, it was seven AM and you were waiting for Marcus with your nurse beside you.

“Damn his mouth is messed up,” the nurse mumbled, looking over the x-rays. “All four?”

“All four,” you agreed, smiling as the lobby door opened. “Mr. Moreno! Follow me. I assume you stuck with the rules I gave you yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Marcus said, handing you the paper bag with his prescriptions and a small drawstring bag that presumably had clothes in it. “I’m gonna be staying here.”

“Perfect,” you said, pushing open the operating room door. “I see we’re dressed for the occasion.”

Marcus turned red, looking down at his soft black sleep pants and a worn out Fleetwood Mac shirt. “Yeah.”

You put Marcus’s stuff down on the counter, handing him a small white cup. “That is a super powerful mouthwash,” you explained. “Take it, and do try and keep it in your mouth for a minute. I know it tastes horrible.”

Marcus did try, but he only made it to thirty seconds before he had to spit out the disgustingly bitter mouthwash.

You laughed at his face, pulling on your gloves. “Alright Marcus, that works.”

He smiled softly, relaxing a tiny bit. “Thanks.”

“I wouldn’t thank anyone who made me take that stuff,” you said, grabbing a thin tube and holding it out. “That goes under your nose and over your ears, just like that,” you praised as Marcus threaded the tube over his ears. “Now, can I see your hand?”

Marcus let you clip a heart rate monitor to his right index finger, watching as you walked to his other side and held up the final thing. “And last, but not least.”

Immediately, Marcus looked extremely nervous again. You put down the IV line and rubbed his shoulder, trying to work away some of the tension. “Hey. Look at me. Just a pinch, and then you can take a nice long nap, okay? Deep breaths Marcus, deep breaths.”

Marcus took a breath, and you carefully took your hand off his shoulder. You slowly directed his head onto the chair’s headrest, still murmuring reassurances. “That’s it. Count the stars on my mobile out loud. I can’t remember how many there are.”

“Okay.” Marcus looked up, slowly counting out loud as you found his vein and stuck him with the IV line as quickly as you could. You administered some of the anesthesia, smiling as Marcus’s numbers began to slip and slide, until he wasn’t even counting as much as he was just mumbling out random mushy words.

“Goodnight Marcus.”

You gestured the nurse in, and she smiled, taking Marcus’s glasses and setting them on top of his other things. You finished off the anesthesia, watching Marcus’s eyes close.

When he woke again, it was to you pulling the IV line out and taping a cotton ball to his arm. “Wa’s happ’nin’?” He slurred around the cotton and the drugs.

“The surgery was a success,” you explained softly, despite Marcus not really understanding you. “All four teeth came out with no issue, and we’re about to take you to recovery. Oh, Marcus, keep your head up.”

Marcus struggled to keep his head upright, and you giggled, holding your hands out. “C’mon. Let’s get you into a real bed.”

You’d been through this with many patients before Marcus, but he seemed to be a stand-out, as you had some trouble getting him in the wheelchair and down the hallways into the recovery wing. He definitely fell under the ever entertaining category of ‘toddler high’ patients. His slurred words and puppy dog eyes made you laugh more than once on your way to his room. You actually had to stop and pause to laugh when he slurred out that he thought you were an Angel. He simply watched you with an exaggerated worried expression, half his words getting lost as he tried to mumble something out.

“What was that Marcus?” You asked, wiping your eyes and continuing down the hall with him.

“You’re tho prethy.” He said, head tipping down.

“Head up,” you coaxed softly, smiling despite yourself. “Look, there’s your room.”

Getting him in the room, which was more of a small, one person condo space, was thankfully the hardest part. But once you were in, he was very sleepy putty in your hands.

“Okay Marcus,” you said gently, helping him out of the wheelchair and onto the couch, piling a few pillows beneath his head “Do you want anything before you go to sleep?”

Marcus looked up at you. Between his cotton stuffed cheeks and his wide doe eyes, he looked a tiny bit ridiculous. You smiled, pulling out your phone and snapping a quick picture while he was still drugged as hell. “Marcus?”

“Mittenth.”

“What?”

Marcus pointed to his bag. “Mittenth.”

You walked over to the bag, opening it up and finding a black and white stuffed cat right on top. “Oh. Mittens.”

You handed the cat to Marcus, who immediately snuggled it to his chest and rolled over a bit, falling asleep instantly.

Again, you couldn’t help but stare. He looked so innocent like this, all curled up and sleeping. You hesitated to call him adorable, but if the shoe fit.

You sighed, picking up your phone and trailing into the single bedroom. Changing quickly into your leisure clothes, you texted one of the people at the pharmacy and requested a few ice packs and a wisdom tooth slushee. Both things were delivered in a matter of minutes, and you placed them securely in the small freezer to wait for Marcus.

When he woke up, he was significantly less high. Looking around, Marcus poked his cheeks and made a face. “I can’t feel my nose.”

“The entire bottom half of your face is numb,” you pointed out from your position at the two person table in the kitchen. “And believe me, you’re gonna want it to stay that way.”

Marcus sat up, looking over at you. “I’m hungry.”

“No solids for a while,” you told him, standing and grabbing his slushee. “But you can have this. And before you ask, yes you have to use the spoon.”

Marcus pouted, but took the slushee. “But the cotton.”

You nodded, settling on the couch next to him. “Open wide.”

Marcus did, allowing you to shove two fingers into his mouth and fish out the cotton. “Still bleeding,” you mumbled to yourself. “We’ll shove more in there when you’re done. For now,” You tipped the slushee at him. “Eat up.”

You turned your attention to the TV while Marcus ate slowly, taking tiny bites and occasionally sticking his tongue out. “It’s really numb.”

“That’ll fade by tomorrow morning,” you promised. “At noon I want you to take your first pills. Then you get more at one.”

Again, Marcus pouted, but simply sank lower into the couch cushions and mindlessly watched whatever was on TV. “Is my face swelling?”

You shrugged. “No more than other patients. But yeah, just a bit.”

“Do I look stupid?”

The question made you laugh. “Marcus, I’ve had so many ridiculous patients. You’re no worse than some of my other ones, I promise.”

Marcus accepted this and continued to take small bites of his slushee. “Why’s it gotta be blue?”

“Because blue isn’t even remotely close to red.” You didn’t even look up as you answered. “Same goes for when little kids get teeth pulled. You want something that’s soft, easy to swallow, and isn’t the color of blood.”

“Oh.”

You nodded. “Yeah. How’s your mouth feeling?”

Marcus mulled it over, eventually deciding on saying “Kinda achy.”

“I’ll give you those pills soon,” you said. “It’s gonna be tricky, considering any kind of anything touching those holes in your mouth is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Even water?”

“Even water.”

Marcus groaned, and you shrugged. “Sorry. But you’re the one who waited until now to do this.”

When Marcus finished his slushee, you grabbed a pill bottle off the kitchen counter, quickly glancing at the label and nodding. “Two of these,” you said, opening a cabinet and taking out a glass. “Come here.”

Marcus trudged over, leaning heavily against the counter’s edge. You put the two round pills on the counter, along with the glass of water. “Best to do it quickly. And one at a time.”

Picking up one of the pills, Marcus carefully put it on his tongue, taking the glass with a hesitant hand. He took a sip, swallowing quickly and audibly. “Can’t I use a straw?”

“Yeah,” you said sarcastically. “If you want dry socket, go ahead.”

“Do I want to know what that is?”

“Nope.” You pushed the second pill towards Marcus. “Take that, then you can lay back down.”

Marcus sighed, mirroring his previous action. However, instead of simply swallowing with a tight face, Marcus started, eyes filling with tears as he spit the water into the sink, the pill clattering against the metal.

You immediately began to worry as Marcus cried. It wasn’t a small tear or two either. He was full on sobbing, gripping the edges of the sink so tight his knuckles went white.

“Marcus,” you murmured, putting a hand on his arm. He looked up at you, and you put on your most comforting smile. “Hey, it’s okay.” You picked up a towel and slowly wiped the residual water off his face. “C’mere.”

He collapsed into your arms, going limp and continuing to cry. You rubbed his back, heart tightening whenever he let out a whimper of “hurts.”

“I know,” you said softly. “I know it hurts. But you have to take the pills.”

“Can’t,” Marcus hiccuped, burying himself deeper into your sweater.

“Marcus,” you said firmly, slowly untangling him from you. “I know it hurts. But you’ll be in more pain from not taking the pills. Please, for me?”

He took a breath. “Can we watch TV afterwards?”

You smiled. “Of course. I can give you ice for the swelling too.”

Marcus nodded, looking into the sink. “Do I take that one?”

“No,” you said, fishing a new pill out of the container. “It’s in the sink, I’m not gonna take that risk. Here.”

Marcus stared at the unassuming white pill in his hand. “Which one is this?”

“The acetaminophen.”

“The what?”

“Tylenol.”

Marcus nodded, popping the pill into his mouth and quickly gulping down the water. This time, he avoided hitting his stitches and simply handed you the glass. “I’m not doing that again.”

You took the glass, putting it in the sink. “You have more pills to take in an hour.”

Marcus groaned. “TV?”

“Of course,” you said, walking to the couch and smiling as Marcus fell onto it. “What do you wanna watch?”

Marcus turned his red rimmed puppy dog eyes on you. “Say Yes to the Dress?”

You laughed. “Are you serious? We can, but that’s not what I expected at all.”

“I like trash TV when I feel terrible.” Marcus grabbed Mittens and cuddled the stuffed cat to his chest.

You found the show, setting it up and standing. “More cotton. You're probably still bleeding, and we definitely don’t want that. Open.”

It took some finessing to get two more wads of cotton into Marcus’s mouth, but you succeeded, despite his complaints of feeling like a cartoon chipmunk.

“I’m gonna go start on dinner,” you said. “Are you gonna be okay here?”

Marcus pouted. “Do you have to start now?”

“Yeah.” You gestured to the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I’ll only be gone for twenty minutes. Soup just needs to sit for a while.”

Slightly consoled, Marcus zoned out at the TV while you got to work making a simple chicken noodle soup.

“Done,” you said, wiping your hands and walking back to the couch twenty minutes later. “Marcus, are you still awake?”

Marcus grumbled, holding his hands out. “C’mere.”

You passed him an ice pack, and he made a face. “Not what I want.”

“What do you want?”

As if somehow knowing they were your kryptonite, Marcus gave you his puppy dog eyes. “Wanna hold you.”

You sighed, but crawled into his arms anyway. When you finally settled, he was on his back, head and neck propped up on the arm of the couch, and you were on your side between the back of the couch and Marcus. He was warm, wrapping one arm loosely over your waist and using the other hand to press the ice into his cheek.

You quickly slid into a nice comfortable headspace, occasionally smiling when Marcus commented on the wedding dresses on screen.

“You dropped Mittens,” you realized after a while, shuffling to grab the discarded toy from the floor.

Marcus took Mittens, gently placing the cat on his chest, so that it was secure on his sternum.

“Does Mittens belong to Missy?”

“Belonged to Clara.”

“Oh.” You saw the change in demeanor, noticed how Marcus’s face steeled when he said her name. He rarely talked about Clara, especially at work. “I’m-“

“Nah,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “It’s the past. I’m happy now, and so is Mittens.”

You nestled deeper into his chest. “Happy right now?”

“Definitely happy right now,” Marcus said softly. “Very happy, even though I can’t feel my face.”

“Even if you could,” you mumbled, knowing where this was headed. “You can’t kiss anyone for a while.”

Marcus grinned. “I guess we’ll just have to wait then, won’t we?”

You mirrored his mischievous smile. “You can’t kiss,” you said, scooting upwards, until you were laying on top of Marcus, your belly on his ribs. “But I can.”

You lay gentle kisses across his cheeks, smiling when he laughed at your insistence upon kissing his nose. His cheeks were cold from the ice and tender from the swelling, but Marcus never tried to stop you, so you continued downwards, kissing the pulse points on his neck.

“You’re a damn tease,” Marcus huffed.

You simply smiled into his skin and tugged the collar of his shirt down, pressing firm kisses into the points of his collarbones.

“Hey,” Marcus nudged your head. “Can we finish this when I don’t have a mouth of stitches? I still can’t feel my tongue.”

“Of course,” you said, pushing his shirt collar back up and laying your head on his sternum. “How long?��

“Hm?”

You shrugged, watching a woman try on a stunning wedding dress on the TV. “How long have you wanted to kiss me?”

Marcus thought it over. “Last year,” he finally decided. “When Missy had three teeth out. You were so kind, and I just melted.”

“But you didn’t fall in love hard enough to ever pay me a visit,” you teased, tracing the faded symbol on his shirt.

“Didn’t ever want to go under and realize I’d spilled everything,” Marcus confessed.

You smiled. “Too late. You said I looked like an Angel in the hallway.”

Marcus turned bright red, and you laughed at him. “It’s okay,” you promised, kissing his cheek that didn’t have the ice pack. “I think you’re pretty handsome yourself.”

That night, after dinner and more pills and ice cream for dessert, you and Marcus settled down in the only bedroom, clinging to each other as if your lives depended on it.

Waking up was hard. Marcus was well enough to go home, most of the swelling gone and the numbness completely faded.

“So,” you clicked down the halls of the dentist’s office, Marcus behind you. “No really hot liquids for another few days, and try not to do solids until then either. That antibacterial mouthwash should be used twice a day, and you can start brushing your teeth again in two days. Remember, no straws, take your pills, keep icing your cheeks, and if I see you in this office before this time next week, I will be calling your mother.”

Marcus nodded as you pulled open the lobby door, where Anita and Missy were waiting. “Anything else Doctor?”

You shook your head. “You should be all clear Mr. Moreno. I’ll be seeing you for your check-up next week. Don’t you go skipping out on me now.”

Marcus smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he promised, leaning a bit closer to you. “And I cannot wait to kiss you for real.”

He pulled away, leaving you flushed and dizzy. “See you next week Doctor.”

“See you next week Mr. Moreno.”

If you liked this, I do dialogue prompt requests as well! Go request something if you want!

#we can be heroes #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x y/n #my writing #pedro pascal

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