#because i actually did slice my hand open on a piece of tile during my mosaic class

[paralleledmediaexperience]

right before my birthday back in May someone made a post about Jack needing more love and hugs, and I had this idea in the tags and then went and wrote about a thousand words of this and then. forgot it existed!! anyway I’ve mostly polished it up now. enjoy Jack telling one of his dads he loves him and then not only being hugged but also hearing it back!! it’s what our boy deserves!!!!!

Now with part two!!!!!

-

Jack hadn’t meant to fix everything, in his defense. Yes, they’d defeated god with his powers, which had unintentionally released Amara, who had agreed to take her brother’s powers from Jack and then let the world mostly be as long as she got the chance to see him every once in a while. She’d returned the universe to normal, with a few additions for their happiness, as Amara had said. Dean had choked out Cas’ name, and Amara had frowned before replying that it might take a bit more time. 

They had gone back to the bunker and then the bunker had been thoroughly overrun the whole next week by- it seemed- everyone the Winchesters knew, including a few faces who were apparently as back from the dead by Amara’s hand as Mary was last time she owed a Winchester a favor. Through it all- old friends and odd allies and more- Jack knows Dean isn’t doing well. Isn’t sleeping well. There’s only been one night- well, Jack hadn’t seen Dean drinking but he’d heard Sam’s arguing and Dean’s short, choppy answers, and it was familiar enough.

He’d googled “what to do when my dad misses someone and we can’t talk to them yet,” and wikihow had good suggestions- he’d read through the sections for both short-term separations, and managing the death of a loved one. He hadn’t really been able to figure out which would be more helpful. It had turned out to be the death of a loved one, which… shouldn’t be surprising, no matter that Cas would be back. Soon. 

He couldn’t make Dean do any of the things on the list, but it had suggested that the person would like to feel loved during their time of grieving.

And when he’d searched “how to make someone feel loved,” the first article had said the easiest way was simply to tell them. So when Dean hands him a plate of pancakes with the bacon cooked just how Jack likes it, Jack thinks it’s such a small thing to make his heart feel so big and warm. And he smiles and says, “Thanks Dean. I love you.”

Unfortunately, Jack hasn’t actually grabbed the plate when he says this, and Dean’s hands drop it. The sound of the plate shattering on the tile is only half as upsetting as the wounded look in Dean’s eyes as he looks back at Jack. And Jack isn’t sure why it went so wrong but he looks away immediately, the shame of causing that hurt somehow and the slow horror of realizing he’d ruined the breakfast that Dean had made him turning his stomach into knots. He steps back almost unconsciously before remembering the plate had just broken, and in just his socks, a piece of ceramic jabs into his heel and slices him open, and he actually can’t help the small cry of surprise and pain that slips out.

“Jeez, kid,” Dean breathes out, and Jack gets pushed into the nearest chair. “Get that out of your foot while I clean this up.”

The warm feeling in his chest was gone, pressed into something cold and tight in Jack’s throat. He’d just- the article had said it makes people happy to hear they are loved in times of grief. 

He watches, silent as Dean turns off the stove and sweeps up the wasted food and plate pieces, soundly dumping it in the trash before digging under the sink for a second and coming out with a clean dishrag and a box of bandaids. It’s only when he sees Dean stop and take a quiet, private shuddering breath to forcibly relax his tensed shoulders that he lowers his gaze again. He picks the sharp sliver of plate out of his skin through the sock before peeling it off to examine the cut it left. Very shallow, but it still stretches two inches along on the inside of his heel, the blood sluggishly dripping out. 

It’s not bad, but very inconvenient, so he almost heals it before remembering that Amara had said not to use his powers after she took Chuck’s powers. Not until she returned and okayed it, at least. He sighs, pinching it together with his fingers, half heartedly wishing it had been more awkward and antagonistic between his aunt and his dads, so he could have maybe convinced Dean that they shouldn’t listen to what Amara told him to do. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.

He hears Dean turn the water on to damp the cloth, but he can’t make himself look back up again. His gaze goes back down to the floor as Dean starts to turn back toward him, focusing on the small smear of red on the floor, where Dean had dragged the broom through the spots of blood he’d left.

He raises his hands as Dean approaches, ready to be handed the stuff to bandage himself up, but Dean just beats them away as he sits down next to Jack, hunching in as he grabs the injured foot. Jack still feels unbearably small in the silence between them, both him and Dean leaning in and feeling small and unwilling to speak as he wipes away the blood and then dries the skin around it. Jack grabs two of the bandaids and opens them, and Dean wraps them around the cut before patting it and drawing away, and Jack doesn’t know what else to do.

“Sorry,” He says softly, because he isn’t sure what he did wrong but it hurt Dean. And he wasn’t even angry, Jack could tell, cause his shoulders hadn’t tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to lash out- they’d tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to fall apart. Jack’s felt like he had to know the difference for a while now.

“Jack,” Dean says, and it’s so sharp that Jack jerks up to look at him. Had he read that wrong? Was Dean angry? But when he meets Dean’s eyes it’s still that hurting, the one that Jack could remember all the way from back when he was a newborn, or something close to it. “No, you don’t-” Dean lifted a hand to his face and dragged it down with a rough breath, and Jack wasn’t expecting him to look back at him but he did, eyes burning into Jack’s. “You don’t have to be sorry. That was on me- I dropped the plate.”

Jack tries not to squirm, because it’s not about the plate, is it? The food had been thrown away and the plate had hurt him, but he’d said he loved Dean and that had made him drop it. “I’m sorry that I-”

“Jack,” Dean cuts across again, and this time his brows are drawing together the way they do when he’s angry. But he looks away from Jack again, and he can tell somehow that it’s not anger at him. Dean doesn’t even want Jack to be looking at this anger. “You say whatever you want, okay? I’m not upset that you said it.”

It isn't that he thinks Dean doesn’t mean the words, but Jack’s also not sure Dean believes them either. “I am, though,” he says, petulant, crossing his arms and letting his foot fall back down to the ground, ignoring the bite of pain from treating the cut so roughly. “If it hurt you, I shouldn’t have-”

Dean cuts him off again. “No. Jack, that’s-” He struggles for a second, but Jack just wants to understand. Unbidden, he holds his breath and Dean draws his in, trying to find the words.

“You get to love me if you want to,” Dean grinds out, and Jack realizes there are tears gathering along his lower lashes. “And you get to tell me if you want to. This hurt ain’t about you.”

That does clear it up, somehow, and Jack nods and looks back down at his hands, realizing there’s still blood on his fingers, too. Dean turns away enough that they can almost pretend he’s not rubbing the tears out of his eyes. “I won’t say it if you don’t want me to either, though,” he says, and he grabs the cloth from the table where Dean had left it, finding a clean spot on the damp corner and using it.

“That ain’t how it works, kid.” He doesn’t elaborate. He just grabs the box of bandaids and closes it before gathering up the paper wrapping. It gets thrown out, and the box stowed back under the sink, and then Jack is just staring at Dean.

“How does it work?” 

They both stop. Jack didn’t expect to actually let the question out, but it’s off of his lips before he can seal them. 

Dean is frozen, staring at him.

“Not like that,” Dean says eventually, weariness dripping from each word. “Jack, do you… do you want us to say…”

He doesn’t say it, the kitchen fan blowing white noise into the quiet air between them. Jack knows that he could ask and Dean would say it right now. Dean always gives the people he loves what they want, what they need, and this would just be the next thing he could offer. Something he could give.

“I don’t need you to.” Jack says, honestly. “I know. I just wanted you to hear it, because I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to say it to you.”

Dean squints at him. “You... “ His eyes are wet again. Without warning, Dean grabs him and pulls him up, into a hug, and Jack grabs back as tight as he can, feeling lost. But it’s good, it’s good just like every time Dean hugs him. He squeezes his eyes shut tight as if he can’t feel the tears welling up in his own eyes, hot and stinging. “I love you too, Jack. I don’t get- you and-” Dean sputters off, still holding him. “If you want to hear it, you let me know. I’ll get better at it.”

“Maybe every once in a while,” Jack says, trying not to let his voice sound like he’s crying. It does anyway.

“Alright then,” Dean says, and he squeezes him one more time before letting go, turning away abruptly and bustling back to the stove. Jack wipes his eyes on his sleeve, his whole chest feeling empty and full all at once. The rag had fallen out of his hands sometime in their conversation, and he leans down to grab it, pausing to wipe up the blood on the floor. Dean comes back a minute later and pulls it out of his hand before passing him another plate. “Here, since the last one humpty-dumpty’d.”

They don’t continue the conversation. Jack eats his breakfast as Dean fixes himself another cup of coffee, and they sit quietly, waiting for Cas to come home.

[revasnaslan]

Never My Stepping Stone

the title comes from this song, which was a suggestion from my beta :3

happy @planceday!!

link to ao3 | beta’d by @voxiferous

Summary: Pidge just wants to finish her Gen Ed requirements in one piece - is that so much to ask? Fortunately her good friend Lance is there to help her when she has a little mishap at the pottery studio. Her good friend Lance who she kinda, sorta, maybe has a crush on...

Mosaic Class AU | Plance Day Fic 2 of 2

Gen Ed sucked.

Pidge had found that all the interesting classes for a given subject never fulfilled the requirements they needed to. In an attempt to avoid having to deal with Gen Ed, Pidge had been putting off taking several classes for a couple of semesters now. However, with the spring semester of her junior year looming over her head, she had finally acknowledged that she needed to take the art classes that were required for her degree.

That was how she had ended up in an afternoon mosaics class. While Pidge had never really thought of herself as an artsy person, it wasn’t a difficult class. The professor was pretty chill, and he didn’t even care if they came in during their scheduled class period. So long as they were prepared for critiques, they were allowed to continue working on their projects outside of class hours.

Her reluctance to take the class was abated by the fact that she knew several people in her class. Keith, for instance, was a recent transfer from the nearby community college. While he was rarely actually in class, he was always prepared for the critiques. Hunk was her neighbor from across the hall. They frequently had study group together, due to being in many of the same classes. And then there was Hunk’s roommate, Lance. He frequently joined their study group, even though he was in a completely different major—political science to Pidge’s computer science and Hunk’s engineering. He had actually been the one to suggest the mosaics class to Pidge, one time when they had been pulling an all-nighter to get a final paper of his edited.

Now, Pidge wasn’t above admitting to herself that she might’ve… sort of… had a tiny crush on Lance—not that he ever seemed to notice. They were close friends, of course, but she had noticed that how he acted around someone he was actively pursuing seemed to be very different from how he interacted with her. For one thing, he never flirted with her—which she was not complaining about. However, he also seemed to drop the majority of his boastful act when he was around her—most of it was just joking, and never in an attempt to impress her. He was even considerate, asking her when she would be taking extra hours in the studio to work on her projects, so he accompanied her more often than not.

Her current project was a stepping stone she intended to give to her mother once it was completed. She had designed it so that it looked like a forward-facing lioness head, except the lioness was green, rather than tan. After spending nearly a month and a half putting the tiles into place—in between working on multiple other projects and essays—today was the day she would finally be grouting her project. However, the color tile she had chosen for the lioness head made choosing a grout color difficult. They didn’t have a wide variety of colors available and while she could have ordered green grout, she had felt it unnecessary. Eventually, she had settled on black. Lance had actually been the one to inspire the design choice, as he had made an offhand comment about how choosing black grout could make her project appear similar to stained glass.

The critique for this project would be during their next class, a week away, but she really did need to finish grouting it. Lance had been kind enough to offer to keep her company, so they had met up at the studio following their afternoon classes. She sat at one end of the table, working her project, while Lance sat a couple of seats away, cleaning up the work he had already done on his.

Of course, in her haste to leave her dorm that morning, she had forgotten her grouting gloves. Normally, the professor was very strict about having them, but seeing as the professor wasn’t there and Lance wouldn’t snitch on her, Pidge had been grouting with her bare hands. For the first hour, everything had been fine, and she had almost finished the entire project. Then, as she ran her hand over the edge of the stepping stone, she felt a sharp pain as a piece of tile slashed her palm.

She immediately cursed, drawing her hand back to look at the cut. The tile had drawn blood and she hissed as she tried to see how bad it actually was. Before she could do anything, however, Lance was immediately at her side, taking her hand in his so that he could examine the cut.

“This is why you’re supposed to wear gloves,” Lance said.

Pidge frowned at him. “Well, I forgot mine today,” she grumbled, annoyed in part because she had forgotten her gloves, but also because Lance was now chastising her for it. The cut didn’t even really hurt that badly. She was sure she had been in much worse pain when she was younger and scraped her knee after falling off her bike.

“That’s no excuse,” Lance tutted, gently taking hold of her wrist before he led her over to the sink in the back of the studio. “Just don’t start panicking,” he said as he turned on the faucet and started testing it on his own fingers first.

She gave a half-hearted scoff. “I’m not panicking.”

Lance laughed, as he brought her hand under the stream of water and began helping her wash out the cut. “Sure, you aren’t. Cuz I’m here.”

Pidge’s palm stung as the warm water hit it, but now that she was looking at it, the cut certainly wasn’t worth a trip to the on-campus clinic. While her palm was bleeding, it was not profuse, and the cut wasn’t as deep as she had originally thought it was. Still, she hissed as Lance began helping her wash out the cut. He did most of the work himself, and while his motions were slightly rough, he was taking care to keep lingering grout and dirt from getting into the cut. He seemed to be trying to keep her calm—even though she was calm—by talking. She was only half listening, but she caught bits and pieces about him being inspired by her stepping stone project to do his own.

“Except I would have made the lion blue, of course—blue is the superior color!”

She very nearly snapped at him, not because he was rambling, but because she wanted to tell him that she could handle it. However, there was something so genuine and thoughtful about his actions that she stopped herself and remained silent. It was only then that Pidge fully grasped the situation she had landed herself in by accidentally slicing her palm open on a shard of tile. She now stood in very close proximity to the guy she had been harboring something of a crush on for the last few months. Now she could feel her cheeks burning. She did manage to say a couple of words back to him, but they came out unbearably shaky—which Lance then misinterpreted as her being nervous about the cut, rather than their proximity.

Once Lance finished washing out her cut, Pidge watched as he began digging through the first aid kit that hung on the wall. He fished out a tube of Neosporin and a bandage, wrapping her palm up and fastening the bandage in place. Lance knew what he was doing, even if he had probably overdone it just a touch. A Band-Aid would have been sufficient.

“There we go!” Lance said, smiling brightly at her. “Good as new! I think I did a pretty good job!”

“Thanks, Lance,” Pidge said quietly, retracting her hand. It still stung a little bit, but she was sure that would fade in time. She wasn’t so sure that her burning face would go away anytime soon, though.

“No problem, Pidge,” Lance said as he turned his attention back to the sink and begin wiping water off the counter. “My mom taught me first aid, so you got quality service!”

Pidge bit back a retort, but she did snort softly in amusement. Really, she should just ask him out for… a coffee or something, and hope for the best. The only reason that she had never done so before was because she felt it didn’t really matter—she was perfectly happy having Lance as a friend. A coffee date was innocent enough, right? She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before nudging Lance in the side. He turned his head to look at her, almost immediately asking what was wrong.

“Would you like to go out for coffee later?” Pidge managed, speaking much more quickly than she had meant to.

Lance tilted his head to the side, appearing confused. “You don’t need to buy me coffee, Pidge,” he assured her. “It was just a little cut. It’s not like I dragged you out of a burning building—of course, I totally would, but this was—”

“No—no,” Pidge cut him off. Her brow furrowed in annoyance and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I meant—I meant as a date?” she tried to elaborate, and cursed herself for stuttering as much as she did. Why was she so nervous about this of all things, when she had a fifteen page paper and a presentation due in two days?

Being asked out on a date by Pidge seemed to take Lance by surprise. His cheeks tinged pink, but he fell silent, and said nothing back to her. It was startling to see Lance so quiet, and Pidge felt her heart leap into her throat. The longer the silence went on, the more overwhelming the situation became, and the more Pidge just wanted to excuse herself and run away like some kind of coward.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Pidge finally said, breaking the silence. She averted her gaze to the ground, clutching her hand to her chest, cheeks going even redder than they had been before. “But I figured I’d ask since—since I kind of like you, and if you don’t want to, then—”

“Wait, wait—” Lance said quickly, cutting her off. Carefully, he reached out to place his hands on her shoulders. “I would love to, okay?” he insisted. He seemed to be struggling to contain himself, grinning and looking ready to jump for joy.

“I mean I know I’m a catch—”

Pidge snorted, rolling her eyes. “You’re a braggart—”

“A braggart you just asked out!” Lance said, grinning at her. “So, no take backs!”

Pidge couldn’t contain her laugh. “When do you want to go?”

“Right after we clean up around here,” Lance insisted. “Are you done for the day?”

Pidge looked back to where her stepping stone sat, almost entirely grouted. The bucket she had mixed the grout in was almost empty, so it wouldn’t be much of a waste to get rid of the last of it. She just needed to clean up her station and put her project back. She could come back in a day or two in order to finish up before the critique period.

“Yeah, we just need to clean up,” she said.

“Allow me,” Lance said, “Since your hand is injured.”

“It’s just a little cut—”

“Shh—” Lance said, wagging a finger at her. “You are gravely injured—what kind of person would I be if I made you clean in your state? Please, I insist.”

Pidge sighed and shook her head. “Alright… you win, but I’ll pay for the coffee.”

Lance agreed to that before he turned away to start cleaning. As soon as his back was turned, Pidge looked down at her bandaged hand. She flexed it a little and was unable to contain her grin.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

What The Stark Spangled F**k?

Drabble- Fuck Off, Clown

Summary: It’s Halloween, and Jamie’s outfit isn’t quite to Steve’s liking. Warnings: Non- some bad language...some almost smut, but nothing major...and a Super Soldier with coulrophobia... A/N: So if you all remember in Phobias, Steve admits to Katie he has a fear of clowns. I do as well, so this came out of a little fun chat with my Evangers (you know who you are girls) as a further expansion on the incident referred to in The Devil Wears Nada. Takes place during the 5 years post Snap. Hope you enjoy!

October 2022

“All set?” Katie asked as she reached the bottom of the stairs as Steve walked back into the hall having loaded their bags into the car. They were heading off to Tony’s lake-house for a few days where he was throwing a bit of a Halloween party, nothing major but it was a chance for the kids to get dressed up in costumes and eat a load of candy whilst the adults could kick back and drink. Katie was looking forward to it for two reasons. Firstly, it was always nice to gather together with friends and family, well those of them that were left post snap-it made her feel normal, and she could push that persistent feeling of sadness that seemed to manifest on a daily basis, back down into the depth of her mind. And secondly, she was a little excited because she had no idea what Emmy or Jamie’s outfits were going to be. Emmy had asked a month or so ago if she could be in charge of getting the pair of them costumes and Katie had agreed, simply handing over her card when she wanted to order whatever it was off the internet. She’d even resisted the urge to check her statement to see what it was as Emmy had demanded she didn’t try and find out. Katie had a sneaking suspicion that Tony had also been involved in these costume choices, as the last time her brother had been over a few weeks ago, the pair of them had been huddled on the large arm chair, sniggering as they looked at something on Tony’s phone. With that in mind she was expecting Jamie to come down in some form of Iron Man or Captain America costume and she had every intention of filming Steve’s response.

“Yup. Locked and loaded.” Steve nodded, dropping a kiss to her cheek. As soon as the kids are ready we can go.”

“No rush.” Katie shrugged, looking at her watch as they walked into the kitchen. “We don’t need to be there for a few hours.” She wrinkled her nose and slapped at Steve’s hand as he went to peek under the foil wrapped plate on the side. He sharply withdrew it and grinned at her.

“Tell me that’s a pie.”

“Apple and pumpkin, but it’s for the party.”

Steve pouted and she laughed and jerked her head behind her “There’s another there as I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait.”

“You-” Steve pecked her lips “-are” another peck “-the best.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere Captain.” She smirked as his lips hovered over hers, before he deepened the kiss slightly, both his hands sliding down to give her ass a playful squeeze before he stepped back and walked over to his coveted prize. Steve peeled back the little cloth that was over the top and gave a little groan that was positively sinful as he inhaled the smell.

“Don’t eat that straight out of the pie dish.” Katie warned him as he made his way to the freezer for the ice cream, “I was gonna cut a few slices for the kids to munch on the way.”

“Then they can get their own.” Steve grumbled a little, but he grabbed a plate none the less.

“Oh yeah, where from?” Katie asked, her hands on her hips.

“Don’t know, don’t care…” Steve muttered as he cut himself a huge slice of the coveted pie. He ladled a generous amount of vanilla ice cream on top then carried it over to the breakfast bar, sitting down as Katie gathered the rest of the food items she had said she would bring which included a huge dish of Mac and Cheese that she’d coloured green with food colouring, spaghetti and meatballs that were supposed to be worms,  cinnamon and apple cookies in the shape of pumpkins and a batch of home-made raspberry and cherry gin which had been done using the raspberries and cherries from the brambles and trees in their small orchard at the bottom of the garden. She began packing it all into a hamper as Steve took the first bit of his pie and gave another groan.

“You know…” he swallowed, waving his fork at her as he gave her a playful grin “I think this pie is actually better than sex.”

Katie looked at him, arching her eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“It’s a very close call.” He nodded.

“Well maybe I should make you a pie once a week instead of letting you get me on my back.” Katie looked at him, closing the lid on the basket and pushing it to one side, leaning over the breakfast bar.

“Ok, first off we have sex way more than once a week.” Steve pointed his fork at her “and second-“ his eyes glinted cheekily “-you’re not always on your back.”

“True.” Katie pursed her lips and reached for his fork, snatching it from his hand “But if you think I’m baking a pie more than once a week you’ve got another thing coming.” She used the fork to take a piece of the sweet treat along with a large blog of ice cream and shoved it in her mouth, closing her eyes. She moaned a little, ensuring that the noise that left her throat was as sinful as she could make it, before she opened her eyes and used her thumb to wipe at a little trickle of ice cream in the corner of her mouth. With her eyes locked on Steve she sucked her thumb clean and smirked a little at the familiar glint of dark in his eyes that he always got when he was turned on.

“You’re lucky you’re the other side of the breakfast bar.” He leaned forward a little, elbows resting on the marble surface, his voice a low timbre that sent those familiar sparks up Katie’s spine.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Katie asked innocently, ignoring the sudden flutter she’d felt between her legs at his tone.

“Because if you weren’t you be in my lap right now testing my theory.”

“Shame…” she nodded, looking around. “I mean it’s not like you could reach and drag me over it or anything.”

“Well I could…” Steve agreed “But there’s a piece of pie in the way. And it’s too good to waste.”

“You’re a jerk!” Katie shook her head as Steve laughed, before he leaned back in the stool and patted his right thigh

“C’mere pretty girl.”

Katie grinned, the sound of him calling her pretty girl always did things to her, as did the soft instruction to ‘come here’ in his Brooklyn accent. She rounded the bar and he reached out, easily pulling her onto his lap so she was perched sideways, legs hanging over the side of his right thigh as he curled his left arm around her waist, right gently resting on her thigh. Katie’s right arm slid round his neck and he titled his face to look at her.

“Just for the record you taste far better than any pie you make.” He grinned and Katie’s mouth fell open at his dirty comment.

“Steven Grant Rogers!” she snorted, slapping his shoulder slightly and he laughed, his hand on her thigh tightening its grip slightly, fingers curling round the toned muscles which were evident once again due to Katie having started training again. Steve actually kind of missed the softness that she’d had since having Jamie but he was damned if he was going to tell her that. As long as she was comfortable in her body that was fine by him. He leaned towards her slightly, his nose bumping hers a little as she gently trailed her hand over the nape of his neck, nails scratching just below his hair line above the collar of his black sweater.

“Love you.” He said gently, his lips brushing hers and she smiled, her fingers tanging in the hair at the back of his head.

“More than apple pie?” she teased and he chuckled.

“Infinitely Mrs Rogers.”

“More than Mac and Cheese?” Steve hesitated and Katie scoffed “Rude.” Before he laughed again and pressed his lips to hers.

“For the record I love you more than anything.” He smiled “Well, apart from the kids.”

“I’ll accept that exception.” Katie chuckled, he mouth finding his again. The kiss deepened, Katie letting out a soft sigh as his tongue brushed against hers, tasting the apple pie and Ice Cream he had been eating before. Steve’s hand skated up the outside of her thigh coming to rest on her hip, finger tips brushing the strip of skin where her top had ridden up slightly as her own hand fisted slightly in his hair. Completely lost in one another they almost missed the little footsteps coming down the stairs and the giggles in the hallway. Almost, that is. Steve’s tuned hearing heard it first and he pulled back, looking at Katie who grinned.

“Play your cards right we can finish this later.”

“At Tony’s?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged “Won’t be the first time we fucked in his spare room.”

Steve snorted at her and patted her ass as she hopped off his lap.

“Mom, Dad!” Emmy called “We’re ready for you to see us!”

“We heard!” Katie called back as Steve stood up, grabbing his plate of pie. He took another bite before he wandered into the hallway where he collided with Katie who had stopped dead just outside the door. Frowning he looked up and stopped dead.

A clown.

His 2 year old son was dressed as a fucking clown. And not just any clown, which would have been bad enough, but that bastard clown from IT. The film he refused time and time again to watch because of said bastard clown…which was now stood on the bottom step of the stairs holding a red balloon.

And suddenly, all he could see was that damned clown at Coney Island chasing him through the stalls, Bucky’s laughter echoing in his ears…and then that fucking mirror maze where he’d had the panic attack as he was surrounded by them.

The plate holding his precious pie slipped from his hand and dropped to the tiled floor, where it broke into 3 pieces, its contents splattering all over the grey slate.

“Woah, Dad…didn’t think it would be that scary!” Emmy grinned from behind Jamie as she stood in her outfit, which was a superb replica of the Wicked Witch of the West complete with full green face-paint and a broomstick.

Katie looked over her shoulder at Steve and she could see from his face that he was really struggling to keep it together. Trying not to laugh at the expression of sheer horror on his handsome features, she clamped her lips together and turned to Emmy.

“Your dad’s…” she took a deep breath, trying not to laugh “He’s scared of clowns.”

“Oh…” Emmy frowned “Uncle Tony said he would love it.”

“I bet he did.” Steve bit out a little harshly and Emmy looked at him.

“Are you mad?” she asked and seeing the look on her face Steve inwardly cursed his phobia and his damned brother in law.

“No, honey…” he shook his head “Not at all…you both look…” he trailed off.

“Daddy, look!” Jamie grinned, and he jumped off the bottom step “Balloon!”

He toddled over towards Steve who automatically took a few steps back and Jamie stopped in front of him, right by Katie’s side, a confused expression crossing his painted face. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, pal…I gotta…” Steve exhaled “I gotta put some stuff in the car so we can to go to Uncle Nee’s ok?”

“Kay…” Jamie said a little quietly.

Katie watched, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter as Steve went to move round Jamie, turning sideways so he could keep his eyes on him, before he pushed past Emmy and bolted up the stairs taking them 3 at a time.

The hallway was silent bar the sounds Lucky was making as he cleaned up the remnants of the pie on the floor, not wanting to miss a single crumb of his human food treasure.

“Em, why don’t you two take Lucky and go get in the car, we’ll be out in a little moment.”

“Ok. Come on Jay!” Em said. She grabbed his hand but Jamie, clearly now finding the reaction his dad had as amusing, turned to his mom and made a little growling noise at her. Katie gave a fake scream and jolted back, causing Jamie to cackle a little, tilting his head back in mirth before he toddled after his sister.

As soon as they were out of sight and earshot Katie started to laugh. She laughed so hard that she had to retreat to the kitchen to sit at a chair. She doubled over, clutching at her stomach, trying to gather her breath as the tears poured down her face. Try as she might, she couldn’t get the image of Steve fighting the urge to punt his own son into another room out of her head.

Eventually she managed to sort herself out enough to grab her phone and swiped over to the number she wanted.

“Hey Kiddo.” Tony greeted

“Tony, you…” she started to laugh again “You better be able to run fast because Steve…he’s…”

Tony chuckled “he liked the costume then…”

“Tony he freaked.” She laughed “Like, seriously…poor Steve. I expected like a full Captain America outfit, not that!”

“Well, on this occasion the Spangles just weren’t enough”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“It’s been said.” He conceded “Did you get it on video?”

“No.” Katie sighed “I was going to but when I saw Pennywise on my damned stairs I knew what was gonna happen so…”

“Shame.” Tony sighed, “We could have played that back later. For science.”

At that point Katie looked up as Steve walked into the kitchen, glancing round.

“He’s not in here…” She chuckled and Steve glared at her, before he gestured to the phone.

“That Tony?”

She nodded.

He reached out and snatched the phone off her, “You’re a dead man.” He growled down the handset, and Katie could hear her brother’s roar of laughter before Steve hung up and tossed the phone down onto the table.

“Calm down!” Katie laughed, standing up “Steve, it’s just a costume.” “Katie, they freak me the hell out!” he shook his head “You don’t…” his hands dropped to his hips and his head dropped “Did you see his face when I backed away?”

“Oh, he’s fine!” Katie said, rubbing Steve’s arms “He couldn’t care less.” Steve took a deep breath and she looked at him “Do you want me to get him to change?”

Steve shook his head “No, he was so pleased with himself…plus, I don’t fancy that particular tantrum now do you?”

“Not really no.”

Steve shrugged “Then I guess I’m stuck with it. Come on, let’s get gone. Sooner we get there the sooner I can carry out my threat to kill your asshole brother.”

Steve grabbed the food hamper and headed out to the car with it, settling it onto the trunk of the car as Katie got into the passenger side. Once Steve finished his usual checks to ensure the door was locked, he climbed into the driver’s seat ant they set off.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah buddy?” Steve asked, glancing in the mirror automatically and once more was confronted by that fucking clown. He swallowed and turned his eyes to the front.

“No scared, daddy. I not real clown.”

Katie chuckled as Steve pulled out of the drive onto the road. “I know pal, but it’s Halloween. Everyone gets scared at some point.”

Jamie nodded, accepting his answer and turned to look out of the window. As they approached a junction, Steve checked the mirror again and then sighed, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna hafta drive.” He looked at Katie.

“What?”

“I can’t do it.” He shrugged “Every time I check the mirror, all I can see is…” “Are you being serious?” Katie looked at him.

“Absolutely.” Steve unclipped the seatbelt and climbed out of the car.

And right then Katie vowed that if Steve didn’t kill Tony, she was gonna.

[wasabi-mommy]

Hello, this is a short 3 part fic I’m in process of writing.

Summary: Kakashi has lost the one he loves most, how? He doesn’t know. How is he is still alive? Also, he doesn’t know. Dealing with the intense emotions, the stress of change, and living without the love of his life is tearing him apart. Kakashi doesn’t know it, but he has people looking out for him though, Even if he doesn’t feel like it.

(Let’s base this before he has OG team 7)

Day By Day (1/3)

Warnings!: ANGST, DEATH, BLOOD, ACTIVE VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE.

He didn’t know what was worse. Couldn’t tell what hurt more... the first night knowing that she’s gone, or every single day after.

Kakashi was still awake, like he had been for the last 6 days.. no.. no it was almost morning now. No.. 7 days.. a week. His eyes glued to the ceiling of his “old” apartment.

Once more in his life he felt empty. He felt like a fucking idiot.. letting his guard down again- letting someone in. Again. Of course they would be doomed to die as everyone else Kakashi cared for would.

He didn’t even know how she died. He woke up to her body lifeless on top of his... He doesn’t remember who carried him to safety.. he doesn’t remember who hauled his half dead body 100 miles back to the village, he doesn’t even remember being in a medically induced coma.

All Kakashi can recall.. is waking up to his lover’s body on top of his, stained with cold blood , yelling her name and shaking her to wake up- to open her eyes.

Then it was black.

He remembers shooting up from the hospital bed, ripping off the wires and tubes attached to him, he remembers practically interrogating the doctors and hospital staff...”She bled out” the medics told him.

He sat up slowly, he was disgusted with himself, his body felt like sludge. His head fell into his hands, his face unyielding of any emotion but the tears streaming down his cheeks clearly say otherwise.

He crossed his legs as he stifled a silent sob.

He loved her. She was the kind, unselfish,sweetest, intelligent laidback person he had ever known.. and she didn’t even have to try, because that’s how genuine she was. Kakashi’s breathing gradually slowed and he lifted his head from his hands. He threw his legs over to the side of the bed and with all the effort of whatever was left in him, pushed himself up.

The funeral or the preparations atleast.. was what he would genuinely crushed him. She didn’t have any family, no next of kin, only him. He had to sign the release forms for her body at the morgue, he had to handle the paperwork regarding funeral arrangements. It was a constant sick reminder from the minute he woke up on an active battlefield.. that she was dead.

Kakashi’s legs were numb but managed to carry him to the bathroom just fine. He scanned himself in the mirror. His silver hair thrown in every direction, dark bags forming under his eyes from sleepless nights, his maskless face covered in scruff. He let out a short laugh followed by a small cry.

‘I should be ashamed of myself’ he thought staring down his own reflection.

The anger was carved into Kakashi’s face and he couldn’t hold it in anymore, with his knuckles white and a quick cock back of his fist, he’d lost it. The sound that escaped his lips as his fist easily went through the dry wall was one he’d never actually heard from himself before. It wasn’t like him to be this extremely outwardly violent.

The mirror fell off the wall and shattered on the tile floor, Kakashi’s breaths were heavy and his eyes fell below him. The glass had sliced his ankles and feet. For some reason.. he couldnt feel the pain, but he could see the blood starting to seep from the cuts. Other than that.. nothing.

“MR. HATAKE! WHAT IS GOING ON?!” A raspy female voice called out as she banged loudly on the front door.

“Shit” He mumbled. He’d forgotten, his neighbor was actually his landlord. He let out a sigh and rand his hand through his tangled hair. He can’t feel anything- at least in the moment so he walked without a care over the shattered glass on the bathroom floor.

He slowly turned the knob of the door revealing the short chubby grey haired women standing with her arms crossed.

“Mr.Hatake do you understand it is 4 in the Morning!? What are you doing punching holes through my walls?!” She yelled flailing her knobby arms around.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Roshi” she arms fell, she opened her eyes to get a closer look at his.

“Mr. Hatake! You’re bleeding!” Ms. Roshi grabbed his hand before he could protest and guided him through the door to the right of his.

“You sit down, I’ll fix you up!” She motion him to the living room while she waddled away. Kakashi found himself sitting on the sofa, hand folded in his lap, he could feel the dried tears along his cheeks, and a headache was sure to be coming along.

‘She won’t be offended if I just leave right? ..no i already put a hole through her wall.. she’d probably evict me at that point..’ he thought folding his hands into his lap.

Ms. Roshi came back with a large bowl of water, a small metallic bowl, medical tweezers, surgical sutures, alcohol pads, and bandages. She set everything down on the floor and looked up at Kakashi. She frowned, there was an emptiness that she could she through his dark eyes. Roshi herself had a feeling what had happened seeing that look in a mans before.

She lightly lifted up his heel and began to observe the wound soon plunking away at glass shards. Kakashi felt embarrassed, but he felt like he deserved this, this punishment or whatever this feeling was. The only noise filling the apartment where the small clinks of glass begin dropped in a metal pan.

Roshi broke the silence, “ what has you hollowed away Mr. Hatake?” Her voice was steady and calm, almost nurturing.

Kakashi’s eyes grew wide for a second and then appeared once again lifeless.

“I..” it was still so fucking hard to admit. Because when he would say it.. then it would become real, “ I lost a loved one”

Roshi nodded, “ I see... I’m sorry for your loss” Kakashi’s shoulders fell, even though he had to keep still for her he just wanted to fall apart.

“If I may ask, how did she pass?” Roshi asked plucking out a very large piece of glass from the side of Kakashi’s ankle. He felt like his heart would stop any minute with how shallow it felt.

“I-I don’t know..”

Roshi cocked her brow before she could say anything Kakashi continued,” I remember waking up during the battle..she- she was on top of me. I- she died.. she bled out on top of me”

Roshi’s face grew grim, “ that is terrible, I’m so sorry.” She began working on stitches the deeper cuts at this point. Old woman worked fast.

“How about I put on a pot of tea,Hn? Then I would like to talk to you Kakashi”

Kakashi’s head perked up, it caught him completely off guard, using his first name.

“I would like that, Thankyou” he hated how disgustingly pathetic he sounded. He just wanted to shrivel up and die in complete honesty. Ms. Roshi finished stitching up the silver haired mans feet and ankles and had wrapped them in bandages.

“Put on these socks for now, you shouldn’t walk bare foot with fresh bandages” she tossed him a pair of fluffy grey socks. Kakashi slipped them on and Ms.Roshi eventually slipped to the kitchen for a short and and brought two cups of hot tea and set them on the coffee table. She took her place in an arm chair across from Kakashi and sighed. Kakashi blew gently on the hot glass and began to sip the sweet warm liquid.

“I remember when I first met you and Sakumo,”

Kakashi almost choked on his tea, he put the cut down on the table, “you knew my father?”

Roshi smiled and nodded putting her tea down as well, “of course! I’ve rented to Sakumo all of your life Kakashi, I was very close friends with Sakumo until the end, I remember tiny little you..and now look another Hatake is renting from me now.”

She smiled, “ Besides who else would rent to a man with such bad credit like Sakumo”

Kakashi scratched the back of his head. “Uuuh well..”

Roshi Scoffed, “Kakashi you don’t even have credit, so shush, I promised Sakumo I’d give you somewhere to stay, why do you think you rent is only $50?”

Kakashi sweat dropped, he was learning a little more than needed about his father now.

“I’m not going to sugar coat it Kakashi, I’ve lost my Husband, 3 sons, and 2 daughters.. all Shinobi, some fighting for the village, some becoming their own demise..” she looked at Kakashi with serious eyes. Kakashi’s mismatched colored eyes locked with hers in the subtle moonlight of the living room.

“I need to know if you’re going to be okay Kakashi. I’ve lost two sons to suicide, and I wouldn’t want the same to happen to a dear companions son”

Kakashi tensed up. No, he wouldn’t come to that point.. a part of him wouldnt fathom the thought of taking his own life, only from the fear of not having succeeded and having to deal with the aftermath. There was a sick part of him deep inside that wanted to give in and waste away. Kakashi picked his cup back up,

“No.. I couldn’t” he mumbled gazing at his reflection in the tea, god he looked like shit enough for someone to ask him that?

A huff came from Roshi and she crossed her arms. “Good. You’re a gentle young man Kakashi, I know everything you’ve been through has been hard- but you cannot be lead astray by violence and self destruction”

Everything she was saying.. resonate led with him. Staring blankly into the dark liquid refracting the gleam of moon light that had slipped through the window.

Kakashi set the cup down and got up from the sofa. He flinched, yes he could feel what the broken mirror had done to his feet now. What a stupid, stupid, stupid thing for him to do.

“Thankyou Ms. Roshi, I’m sorry about your wall,” Kakashi’s eyes glanced to his left where he could see a hole clear through the drywall.

“... I will fix it in the morning, Thankyou for everything.” He bowed his head to her and turned to leave.

“Kakashi”

He looked over his shoulder, his hand already gripping the door knob. “... please come and visit me more often, talking can help.”

Kakashi looked back at her and forced a small closed eye smile.

“Thankyou Ms. Roshi” he said quietly leaving the old woman apartment.

He closed the door silently and slipped back into his apartment where the bathroom light was still on. Making his way towards the bathroom he saw how much of a mess their actually was, blood, glass, chunks of drywall. It earned him sliced up feet and ankles and still.. nothing has changed.

Lol I hope you enjoyed, this is part one of three, inbox me suggestion and stuff.. please don’t be rude this is my first fic that I’m posting on this blog publicly.

[turntochapter13]

A side-project I’ll be working on for a while before I get it beta’d and such :)

March 11, 2013

His eyes are too tightly shut and it’s starting to white out the all-consuming black that comes with the comforting blanket of lids. The click of the door it prominent enough to hit Bucky’s ears from where he is shoving his face as far as it will go into the damp pillow on his bed. It makes him flinch and restart the feeble attempt of recuperation.

He has to calm down the rise and fall of his chest otherwise he’ll never get up, and he’s already given one too many shows for the few teachers that care to be considered nothing but regular old introverted teenager syndrome.

He pushes himself up with his arms and gets off the bed. It creaks unsatisfyingly and urges Bucky to look at it again, but he walks into the bathroom and avoids the mirror as he grabs the toothpaste and starts the mundane quotidian factions of life. He brushes his teeth too hard and there’s a hint of blood that comes out in the wad of spit he chucks in the glistening white sink.

He knows it was either from the harsh bristles or biting his cheek too hard because he makes sure to keep his teeth clean. He likes the pride and the way he can take control over the circumstances. It’s his.

Once he’s done all he can in the bathroom, peeing, trying to brush through the tangles of his hair and haphazardly checking it in the mirror, reluctantly washing his face of invisible grime that loves it’s obstinate hold on him, he goes out into his bedroom.

He’s so grateful he has his own bathroom. He can curl up in an enveloping bath for hours and no one will yell at him, and he can study his face in the mirror for unnaturally long while no one comes to raise an eyebrow at him impatiently. Sure, there’s that hesitation where he looks at Atty’s claiming initials on all the old hand-me-downs and hidden nooks of folds in walls and aged furniture, a brief spell of longing and grief, but the room is his now and he has his bathroom.

He finds a faded black t-shirt with bleach stains and an old rock band on the front that he loved for two months in some year long gone but able to withstand the small growth he’s had. It’s big on him actually and he vaguely remembers swimming in it when it first arrived in mail from some shady online shop that probably gave the family computer a virus. It’s relatively clean, well-worn but comfy, and he yanks it out of the closet from where he put it there about a week ago once his mother shrewdly screamed at him to organize his room.

Black jeans and a blue hoodie complete the clumsy ensemble. He feels the niggling urge to throw the hood over his head, but his dad will positively smack him on the back of the head for being the disrespectful twit he is, and they’ll laugh and laugh and shove breakfast in their faces. Though, Bucky thinks he’s already headed out.

He opts to keep the migraine forming behind the bars quiet for a little while longer and keeps the mothballed hood down. It matched his haggard black backpack. He constantly chews on whether or not he is a goth in discretion by subconscious impulse, or if he’s simply too bland to care.

Elle is frying some eggs for herself when he enters the kitchen, and she gives him a smile as he comes in before looking at him more deeply. Her face molds into one of unreadable blankness before swiftly returning to her sizzling slices of ham. Bucky has to clamp down on his tongue hard in order to not make some disconnected joke that will certainly push Elle into a whispered rant.

The Barnes kitchen in excruciatingly rusty but clean all the same. They can’t afford to replace the faded toaster or the microwave that malfunctions more than it works. The ‘tile’ peels and has been peeling ever since an incident including little Bucky flying onto the kitchen floor so hard he cuts both knees open and scabs the corner of a faux tile block stickers in the process. Since then, everyone's been apathetically scuffing their feet on it and it’s lifted a few more squares during.

It’s exponentially dead to say the least, washed over in bleach bypass, like a vacant xerox of the kitchen in a fifties show after it’s been abandoned for too many years to fend for itself. All in all, Ms. Lucille Ball would not be very pleased. A plus, though, would be the rays of sun that shine right in from the window at the sink, at least, a blessing on a good day.

But it isn't a good day, sadly. He wanted it to be a good day. The remnants of birthday cake are still laminated on his tongue. Seems like the teeth cleanse didn’t do the trick. He’s going to renew them now by having some more for breakfast. But his body is aching and the minor headache is congesting his head. He thinks he may have a sinus infection, but he’s barely ever sick, so it’s hard to sense whether it’s serious or run-of-the-mills.

He’s stressed out because he was too tired last night to finish his math homework, and he fell asleep only to lose more of the energy once he was awoken too early this morning as well. But he hopes he can straighten it all out on the bus to school. It’s not that heavy of a load.

His sweet mother walks in, t-shirt and shorts awry from rolling around in bed he’d suppose. She glides her hands through his brushed out hair and shakes it affectionately. “Morning, bug.”

“Morning,” he scrapes out.

She pays no mind to Elle and pours herself a cup of coffee. It steams up and billows soft puffs of smoke into the air. “Have a good birthday. Honey?”

“Yeah, it was great, Mom. Thank you.”

“How does the laptop work, hmm?”

“Great.”

“Come on, I work my butt off for it, and all I get is ‘great’?”

He hesitates. “It’s nice resolution. The internet’s a little slow, but that can be chalked up to the house... I really like the features, even if the storage is a bit wonky. I can even make little designs of the icons I put on my desktop. It reminds me of the old computer we had, you know, the one dad had to throw out for some mysterious reason.” He finishes off with a smirk as Elle knowingly laughs at the last sentence.

His face melts when it returns to his mom, expression clenched and taut. He goes back to the cake he’s jabbing his fork into to make pictures in the icing before he eats it. When a few seconds die and Elle’s laughter tags along, he uses his training to understand he did something wrong.

He needs to leave for school now. He needs to go to the bus and ignore the dying winter while he waits for The Big Bumblebee to come. He’s been calling it that ever since he’s being using one for transit.

“Why can’t you just be appreciative?”

“Mom… you know I appreciate you, come on.”

“”The storage, mom, and the internet, mom. Fix it, mom.’” she imitates whiningly.

“I love the laptop. It’s amazing, better than the old computer. I’m sorry that I made you upset.”

“You realize how hard I worked for that, hmm? And what? Alls ya gonna do is be a brat about it, and talk trash about it?”

“Mom, I was stupid, and i’m sorry.”

“Yeah, okay, you ain’t sorry for shit.”

“I-”

“I thought dad went to work.” Elle interrupts. She’s looking out the window, and Bucky can’t help but see her white-knuckled grip on the counter’s ledge. He imagines the frayed and stiff silestone pattern cracking under her grip and shattering as it hits the ground.

He licks his lips in trepidation. He thought his father had went to work also. A fork is clenched within his own hand. He looks down and realizes that it went right down to the bottom of the plate, bypassing airy chocolate and striking the glass with a clink.

Hands can do so much damage. Someone can try and save a ladybug from a windowsill. They could hold it between their two fingers just so it doesn’t fall, and at the same moment, that ladybug could be dying from suffocation.

His shoulders begin to suffocate as thick hands sit on them agonizingly slow. They wrap around the corners as tightly as leather on skin. It’s only for a second, and then the feeling is gone, and time has passed because his dad is kissing Bucky’s mom on the cheek and Elle is trying to pretend like she isn’t staring at Bucky while failing terribly.

“Come on, James,” He starts as he steals a piece of bacon from the frying pan and shoves it in his mouth, unorthodoxly sloppy, acutely condescending. “I wasn’t gonna leave you to have breakfast alone post-birthday. I ain’t that kinda father.” The heat on the meat had to have done something to the callous digits, but he has done everything but pay mind to his fingers, and Bucky’s timing it. Maybe he just doesn’t feel it? Numb? Toxic immunity complex?

“Welp--” Bucky starts picking up his mess. There’s a sad face etched in the gleaming white whipped icing. “--school’s calling my name.” It’s barely finished, but he throws it away so his mom doesn’t yell at him later for stashing it in the fridge.

“No, stay for breakfast, James. You barely had anything for dinner last night.”

“It’s fine, dad.”

“Elle’s already making breakfast. Sit down.”

“Actually, I was packing a breakfast. I have that the NYU tour, remember.” Elle intercepts.

Just thinking of the impending loss of his sister’s presence makes him want to leave. Both that and the clock are teaming up on one side of the tennis court to attempt to domineer the big burly monster of a player on the opposite side. He tries to hide the smirk when he imagines them all hopping up and down, up and down, just like the little old Wii avatars.

“And how are we going to afford that?” His dad’s voice filters in, flat as printer paper, lifeless as… well, death.

“Do you ever listen to anything I talk about? I’m applying for a few scholarships. My grades are decent, and my coach said a few scouts mentioned me at the last meet, you know, the one you guys were too busy to attend.”

“Watch your tongue with your father, young lady.” His mom squeezes in.

It’s a balloon ready to pop when it gets hugged too roughly between his dad, who has jumped out of his seat with a fist pound on the wood table that rattles from force for emphasis, and the indefatigable will of Ellena Barnes. The only pregnant weakness is sent with her worried eyes towards her kid brother. He doesn't get it, and goes to pick up his backpack when he realizes it’s feet away, at the table, and he’s pasted onto the ugly wallpaper.

“I’m going to head to the University early,” Elle bitterly spits. Her and their dad have never gotten along. She was basically always out of the house. She had pretty friends, nice friends.

The last friend Bucky had was Measia Alberson in kindergarten. He proposed to her with a ring pop. It was the first attempt of peer interaction, and subsequently the last.

“Bucky, do you want to walk together?” Elle is asking quietly, like it’ll withstand the laser gaze of their father. Their mom is nibbling on the rim or her coffee mug, priorly instigating spectator, what a cheap double negative guise.

“N-no, i’m- I need to get going. Really. It’s like two minutes till the bus gets to the stop.” The backpack is snatched and he’s practically skipping out of the door.

“James!” How does Bugs Bunny do it?

He walks slowly back into the kitchen on a trembling toe. He’s going to miss school. He can’t miss school. It’s really hard to catch up in History when your teacher’s too nice and too chill and says, “You’re good. Don’t worry,” when you’re unsure if you have done everything correctly, and he didn’t even actually look, but trusts his students way too much.

Three slithering shadows are haloed by stripes of sun, not so pretty, except for Elle of course, who's still glaring at their dad. Finally, Bucky’s pupils want to dial down the dramatic photography, and his dad has his hands in his armpits. His tightened lips reek of disappointment. “Aren’t you going to say you love your family?” The face softens up, a wonky dial that that changes at slap of wind.

“I love you guys.” Bucky smiles, and it hurts.

[saphscribes]

The Moon’s Best Friend [Something by The Rembrandts, Part I]

“What did Nyx do now?”

“I did absolutely nothing but bring good tidings, and present the opportunity for you to watch Crowe Altius turn into the most useless lesbian you’ve ever seen.”

In which Lunafreya returns from traveling abroad and sets in motion a healthy rivalry between baristas, a serious negotiation over coffee and pastries, and questionable professional relationships regarding ASMR recordings.

Rating: PG-13 (for language and mild sexual themes); future parts may have higher ratings, but this should be good for now

Originally written for the Day 5 Modern AU Prompt over at @glaiveweek! Enjoy, and give this baby a reblog if you enjoyed it!

Tagging:  @wolfgoddess77 @vashiane @sailorprompto  @sedge-butt @marianne-dash-wood @me-yasato @alecair @toranyx @goodmorningawfulbye @paopusunshine @noxhighwind @sailormars109 @bleucommelhiver @elloquench @ultimoogle @kidolegend @rhysspeaces @theyearofdiamonddogs @ghostl0rd

There were three reasons, and only three reasons, why Crowe Altius would be cranky during opening:

1) It was a Wednesday, 2) She was still mildly hungover, or 3) Nyx had his eyes on someone, again.

Today was two of those things.

Okay, to be fair, what kind of a name was “hump day” for Wednesdays, anyway? It had to be, like, the single most unattractive day, and here it was, touting its nickname every week like it really fuckin deserved it. Why not, you know, Saturday? It even sounded attractive. S for Saturday, S for sexy. God damn, she was a genius sometimes. The world would miss her intellect when she was gone.

And what business did Nyx have practically dancing around The Hearth before he’d even laid eyes on anyone else? Anyone else besides her, of course, because all she was apparently good for was a ruffle of long, messy hair and a chirrup of “Mornin, Little Bird.” But come on. The guy was standing on tiptoe to place cups of yogurt and mixed fruit in the refrigerated display case. He didn’t even have to stand on tiptoe; he only ever did it to make fun of the places she couldn’t quite reach. It was like every motion of his was hard to control.

(Not that that was saying much. Nyx was always hard to control, once something grabbed him by his weird hair and ran away with him.)

“All right,” she finally said, with a defeated sigh; she was halfway through writing the baked goods lineup in a careful script. (It had to be careful, or else it’d turn into the chicken scratch that just barely helped her pass her exams.) “Spill, Nyx.”

“Pretty sure that’s not on the opening checklist.” Nyx was all stupid, dreamy grins as he smoothed out his apron, a navy blue color with a shade that they were all lucky enough to pull off. Crowe wouldn’t have been surprised if that was some secret part of the hiring process here. Or maybe it was a job restricted to hopeless cases. Drautos was always touting the word “potential” like it was meant to be plastered across the bumper of his car.

“You know what I mean,” Crowe said with a roll of her eyes. “What’s got you all… you know, this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Um, yeah.” She gave him her trademark are-you-fucking-kidding-me look over the low, hazy buzz of the playlist she’d flipped on to get her through the shift—she’d have to thank her past self for that. Treat herself to one of the more expensive drinks or something. “That’s kind of why I asked.”

If it was even possible, Nyx’s smile grew. “Our lady’s back in town.”

The chalk tumbled from Crowe’s poised fingers and fell to the floor with a clatter; she barely registered how tightly she was gripping the edge of the counter, how wide her eyes had gone. “Shut the fuck up.”

“If I had a nickel for every time I heard you say that…” That was Pelna unlocking the door and slipping into the shop now, halfway out of his scarf and making a beeline to hang up his coat. Two years of friendship—barely counting how long they’d actually known each other—and Crowe still hadn’t quite put together how he managed to have a casual cheer about him every morning. “What did Nyx do now?”

“I did absolutely nothing but bring good tidings, and present the opportunity for you”—Nyx paused his work to jab a finger at Pelna, who was pulling his apron over his head—“to watch Crowe Altius turn into the most useless lesbian you’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not useless…” Crowe muttered. “And I’m bi, thank you.”

For a few seconds Pelna didn’t move; it was only as he began to brew the coffee that he said, flatly, “I don’t think I even want to know what you’re talking about.” That was Pelna for you: mostly silent and focused on his work, with a few wisecracks up polo shirts or ribbed sweater sleeves.

Crowe, for her part, let out an exasperated sigh and returned to her script, embellishing the chalkboard with a few designs. She was never particularly good at it—as much as it begrudged her to say it, this was more of Luche’s thing (if he ever took a damn opening shift for once)—but she made it work.

That was The Hearth for you. Four walls and a tiled backsplash of making it work.

She liked to think they all fit sort of nicely here. Even Luche, for all his insistence on 12 to 7 shifts.

“C’mon, Pel.” Nyx was rounding the counter to examine the opening checklist, throwing an arm around Pelna’s shoulders and pointing outside, like they had more than ten minutes before the first customers arrived. “You can’t tell me you aren’t about to get all gooey when you see Lunafreya Nox Fleuret walk through those doors.”

“Sure I can,” Pelna said simply, unmoving in Nyx’s grip. “I’ve never met her.”

Nyx’s mouth fell open. Crowe didn’t see why it was so surprising; Pelna had only started working here about a year ago. Just after Lunafreya had gone back to England—to find a little more of herself, she said, but Crowe had always had the feeling that she didn’t want to let on that she was homesick in the whirlwind of her job, or ever could be. But that didn’t mean that Pelna wouldn’t fall like the rest of them. An impressionable, well-meaning guy like him? He’d be hopelessly wrapped around her every whim in seconds. Crowe was sure of it.

“You’ll meet her soon enough,” Nyx was saying. “And then you’ll memorize her order like the rest of us. And, you know. Never be able to take it, because you’re too lost in her gorgeous eyes…”

“Or the color of her scrubs,” Crowe added, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “You know they call her the Angel of the Pediatric Ward at the hospital? That’s how good she is.”

“And don’t forget her accent.”

“God, her accent—”

Okay, so maybe the two of them were leaning more than a little hopelessly against various pieces of equipment. Just a little. But Nyx was worse than she was; she practically swore by it. At least she could say hello to Lunafreya. Nyx could barely get through one sentence without stuttering or making an ass of himself with some pickup line he read in some abandoned paperback he’d picked up from a subway bench. Crowe knew Lunafreya was only laughing at the lines out of pity. There was no way they actually worked on her, for all of Nyx’s proud strutting behind the espresso machines once she’d left with her usual order.

Crowe was more than sure she’d have an arm and a leg up on him and everyone else in this damn shop when Lunafreya Nox Fleuret walked through that door today.

…If she walked through that door today.

———

“All right.” Pelna was leaning against the counter between surges of mid-morning customers, arms folded and eyebrow raised, a challenging glint in his eyes. “What’s this ‘Lunafreya’s’ order, then?” God, Nyx and Crowe were all about this mystery woman ever since opening. Like they were expecting some holy being to brighten their doorway, hand them a few blessed bucks, and be on her merry way. And sure, some might categorize him as some kind of disaster, but they seemed so convinced that it was only a matter of time before he went tumbling down with them. At least he wasn’t frantically looking at the clock every time he filled an order.

...He wasn’t that bad when he saw someone cute, was he?

Nyx responded first. “Medium green tea with spearmint, two sugars.”

“Unless she’s not feeling well,” Crowe chimed in. “Then she treats herself a little. Small white chocolate mocha, one pump of raspberry. And a slice of cranberry cake.”

“And how do you know when she’s not feeling well?” Pelna asked.

“You know.” Nyx dried his hands on the front of his apron, seemingly not caring about the dark splotches left in their wake. “She tries to do a good job of hiding it—because, you know, that’s how she is—but you know Lunafreya long enough, you see it in every little way she carries herself.”

Because that wasn’t creepy at all.

Pelna sighed and rolled his eyes. As grateful as he was that Crowe had gotten him this job, and as much as he cherished his coworkers like family, they sure as hell got on his nerves sometimes. (Maybe that was part of the whole family deal. Maybe he’d just played himself all along. He’d have to get his own congratulations in order.) “How do you even know she’ll come in today? You said her flight came in, what, two days ago? You ever consider that she’s probably unpacking? Or sleeping off jet lag?”

“It’s a five-hour difference,” Crowe said, as if that was supposed to prove her point entirely, and nudged him toward the till again to greet another customer. “And she’s incredibly efficient. It’s practically her middle name.”

“I thought Nox was her middle name.”

“That’s her last name,” said Nyx with a sigh as he cleaned off a steamer. “Nox Fleuret Honestly, Pel, keep up.”

“Jesus. Sorry I’m getting a crash course in my coworker’s courting competition.” Pelna wrinkled his nose. He’d have to be more careful with his words; alliteration sounded so tacky sometimes. Or maybe that was some distant lecture from Luche coming to the forefront of his mind. All this time being a barista, and you would have thought Luche Lazarus would let go of the whole I was a French Lit major in college vibe basically whenever he existed.

That was assuming, of course, that Luche Lazarus let go of anything that wasn’t a stranger in his bed.

Pelna couldn’t help but wonder what kind of horse he had in this game.

“All I’m saying,” he went on in between scribbling names on nondenominational winter cups and sliding them across the bar, “is not to get your hopes up. Travel takes a lot out of you. She’s probably getting used to being here again, if she’s been gone as long as you say she has.”

“What d’you think she was doing there for a whole year?” Crowe mused. “It’s not like her to just… up and leave her commitments behind. You think something happened to her brother?”

“First of all, you really think that’s our business?” Nyx shot back. “And second of all, yes.”

Pelna was starting to get the feeling he could turn this into a game. Try to parse out the things Nyx and Crowe learned directly from Lunafreya, and the things they’d put together from poking around her social media accounts—if she even had them to begin with. But if his own grandmother had had one before, there was no reason some busy nursing student didn’t. At least for networking purposes. From what the others were saying about her, she had to be able to do that much.

“And anyway,” Nyx was saying, giving Pelna a nudge he wasn’t expecting, which threw him just a bit off balance, “If she’s back, I can guarantee that within forty-eight hours, she’ll have visited Insomnia. Which means there’s no reason she wouldn’t stop by The Hearth.”

“So what you’re telling me is”—Pelna stopped to wipe down a spill, to hand off a latte with a typical toothy grin—“Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is going to visit the bakery one block over, and then miraculously have the appetite to visit a cafe right after.”

“It’s less about the pastries and more about the people, y’know,” Crowe explained. “Obviously she’s got to make her rounds and greet everyone she knows. That’s practically in her blood, too.”

“You know, you can just say outright that she has connections to Reggie What’s-His-Face without putting her on a pedestal.”

“And you could actually remember to respect that Regis Lucis Caelum is the reason any of us has a job at all.”

Oh, Pelna remembered. He just couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a name as ridiculous as Regis Lucis Caelum. His son barely counted—a scrawny college-aged kid named Noctis who came every day for a week straight, twice a semester, ordered a dirty whatever-goes-well-with-espresso, and claimed he was ready to fight God when asked how many shots he wanted. A year into this job, and he still had no idea what Noctis Lucis Caelum’s major was, or anything beyond the fact that he barely wanted anything to do with Insomnia.

Crowe sure got touchy about these job things when it came down to it.

Before any of them could speak up again, the bell above the shop door signaled an entrance, and both Nyx’s and Crowe’s faces went deathly pale, then furiously red, almost at the same time. Near-instantly, they turned to busy themselves with the closest thing to them—an espresso machine that needed cleaning, a restocking of the display case. If not for the click of high heel against tile, Pelna might have thought that Drautos was making his entrance for the day—if it had been Luche, he would have made himself known. It was like he was legally obligated to, whenever he came in for his shifts.

“Good fucking luck,” Crowe hissed as she all but shoved him to the register, flashed a sunny smile outward, and went right back to tidying up the counter, and Pelna found himself face-to-face with the calmest, saddest blue eyes he’d ever seen, complemented by a too-polite smile.

Oh.

Oh, God.

This was Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.

To be fair, she certainly was pretty; her cheeks were flushed from the cold weather, golden hair tied in a high ponytail and accented by a couple of braids that, on first sight, Pelna almost mistook for a headband. And she wore a fashionable winter coat—grey, and probably wool—that looked more like a dress than an actual coat. He couldn’t help but feel soothed as she stood there, wallet in hand.

But Pelna tossed a glance at the others, gave her his signature smile with a cup in one hand and a marker in the other, and asked, “What can I get for you, miss?”

He could practically hear their mouths fall open, and rewarded himself a little victory glance out the doors.

Which was, of course, his biggest mistake. Because there, tied to the lamppost just outside, were two dogs, settled side-by-side, somewhere between sitting and standing as they attempted to peer into the cafe. As if waiting for someone. As if waiting for her. Longing for her.

God, why did he have to be so weak for dogs? No, better question—why did dogs have to be so good and pure practically all the time? Did they know how good they were? Did he know how much he loved them? All of them? Did they know—

Lunafreya cleared her throat then, soft but pointed, and Pelna snapped back to attention with a sheepish blush, still holding the cup. “Sorry ‘bout that, I, uh…” Vaguely, he pointed out the door, almost ashamed of himself for having been distracted so long. “Do you mind repeating your order for me?”

She smiled again—just as polite as the first time—and she spoke quietly, with an English accent. “A small white chocolate mocha, please. With one pump of raspberry syrup. And…” She leaned to the side to peer at the pastry case, quirking her lips. “Have you got any more cranberry cake?”

Pelna had to bite back the urge to ask if everything was all right. Far be it from him to tumble into that rabbit hole. “Yeah—yeah, we do,” he said, and rang her up without a hitch, scrawling her name on the side of her cup. L-U-N-A-F-R-E-Y-A.

Maybe a little more elegant than Reggie What’s-His-Face.

Lunafreya was still smiling, still hiding something in her eyes, when he handed her the order. “Are you fond of dogs?” she asked, casting a glance outside.

“I love them,” Pelna said almost immediately, feeling almost grateful that there was no one behind her in line, and that he could safely go on his break. “Almost broke my ankle running to pet one once… I guess I’m making up for the fact that my landlord doesn’t allow pets.”

“They’re mine, you know,” she mentioned between sips of coffee, and for a fraction of a second, in the moments that Pelna was mixing himself an iced tea, it almost felt like his life was falling together in the best of ways. “Would you like to say hello before we continue our walk?”

Pelna glanced between his drink, Lunafreya’s eyes, and his coworkers’ slack-jawed expressions in a matter of seconds, and offered her another smile. “You know? I’d really like that, yeah.”

Before they exited the shop, Lunafreya made a point to greet Nyx and Crowe, her fingers reaching up to delicately touch the pin in her hair, and Pelna could have sworn he saw Crowe’s soul leave her body for approximately three seconds.

———

“I’m borrowing him,” Nyx declared in the back room at the end of their shift.

“You can’t borrow him,” Crowe protested, free of her apron and halfway into her trusty leather jacket. Nyx remembered she’d had the damn thing ever since she settled up on his couch with the remains of her first ever paycheck. How long ago had that been again? “He’s my best friend! I took him under my wing!”

“Fourteen years together, and you have the gall to have a best friend who isn’t me or Libs.” Nyx clutched his chest in mock offense, then drew himself to half-height against a nearby shelf. “And really? You took him under your wing. Is that what you call what happened in the walk-in fridge?”

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Crowe whip her head around and grab him by the front of his shirt so fast. Maybe street smarts did that to a person. “That was one. Fucking. Time,” she said through clenched teeth, in a voice that intimidated even him. “And it was two years ago. Let it go, Nyx.”

He wasn’t exactly stunned into silence as she shrugged on the rest of her jacket, but there was something pointed about the way neither of them spoke.

“Anyway,” she said, fluffing out her hair over a slightly-worn infinity scarf, “you can’t have him. Get your own wingman. I’m sure Libertus still owes you a few favors.”

“C’mon, Little Bird. You really think I keep tabs on what we owe each other?”

“He does.”

“He would.” Nyx rolled his eyes. Fourteen years of this bullshit. “You realize this is hardly fair. You’ve got someone who’s practically immune to her, and for all we know, he could turn us on our heads and become Rival Number Two. He got her number today, for Christ’s sake.”

“He got her number to walk her dogs, genius, not to take her on a date.” Crowe folded her arms, one leg crossed over the other as she leaned against the doorway, like he was the only thing between her and freedom. (To be fair, he probably was. Not that he cared in the moment. He was a man on a mission, and she knew how he got.) “You’re overthinking this.”

Nyx grinned, scratching at the stubble along his jaw and finally making a grab for his coat. “You mean the way you were overthinking how she touched her hairpin today?”

Crowe’s eyes narrowed, but only for a moment, before a self-assured little smile crossed her face. “First of all, it was a graduation gift, and secondly, you’re missing the entire point. I can give him something in return.”

“What’s that?” Nyx asked. “Another tryst? A heart-to-heart over a pint of ice cream?”

Crowe’s smile grew almost deviously, and she turned on her heel. “Pelna likes a girl.”

[oh-beyond]

Sweat AU - One shot [M]

Suho liked to go to the gym which made him sweaty… I hated it, but I learn that I was wrong…

Suho x reader

Warning: Smut +18

Masterlist

A/N: OK so I am OCD myself, so don’t be bashing me about this one, I think for Suho I might put my anxiety aside...

Birthday feels, happy 26th birthday bunny prince.

“But I told you I could shower there, and you say you don’t like it”

“How can you shower in the gym? All the germs and god knows who used it before”

“But then if I don’t shower there of course I stink, what do you want me to do? Build a shower in the backyard so you don’t get disturbed when I come back home?”

“I didn’t say that Junmyeon. But don’t kiss me when you are dripping sweat, I told you I can’t stand it”

And that is how it went. My relationship with Junmyeon couldn’t be better, everything was perfect. Everything except that he liked to go to the gym too often and I can’t stand the smell of sweat and how sticky he looks when he comes back. It’s beyond me...

Today was his birthday and I was planning something really big for him, I will make extra special... but not just yet.

He wakes me up with a light kiss on my forehead, his feather-like kiss is everything I look forward every morning. Even today that it was his birthday and I was supposed to wake him up with a kiss. He’s done it again.

Being perfect.

“I have late shift today Jun, let me sleep”

“I’ll prepare us breakfast”

He was unbelievable, he was going to make breakfast on his birthday... how lucky was I?

I washed my face and comb my hair and I go downstairs following the fresh bread smell. He even had time to cycle to the bakery and get my favourite pumpkin seed bread.

I sit down and frown when I see that he is again sweaty, he comes over and gives me a kiss on my cheek, I wipe it immediately.

“Junmyeon~~~ don’t touch me when you sweat! OMG like why can’t you memorise this?”

“Sorry baby you just look so inviting and I w-”

“Don’t touch me!” I continued, he watched me as I kept nagging “why can’t you respect my freaking anxious ass? You have no consideration, I told you like a thousand times. Like I don’t even comment on the socks you leave next to the dresser, or the mess you make when you shave. This is not a joke!”

Junmyeon sat down in silence taking a slice of bread “I’m sorry”

Maybe I went a bit overboard, especially as it was his birthday. I mean he’s been doing great and in fairness my anxiety has lessened ever since we had gotten together. 

I did exaggerate, because Junmyeon was one of the most considerate people I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. And he was my boyfriend and he loved me and respected me and never questioned or made fun of me.

He was too patient and he loved me too much.

Junmyeon went to work that day a bit too quietly, he did shower and give me my goodbye kiss but he was off. I know it will be perfect when I surprise him today when he comes back home.

Nothing to worry about.

It was already 4 pm and he didn’t call, Junmyeon usually called during his lunch break but today he didn’t. So I decided in calling him instead.

“Hey baby!”

“Why didn’t you call me all day?”

“I’m sorry, they surprised me today at work, so we went to have lunch out”

They had surprised him for his birthday... that birthday that you didn’t acknowledge yet.

Perfect, the more upset he gets the better surprise he will receive.

“Alright don’t be late tho”

“I won’t, I love you”

Candles, petals all over the floor and on the silk sheets, a pretty sexy babydoll, one of those he loved that you were too lazy to wear. Makeup smoky and red lipstick like he liked. And the ponytail that drove him crazy because he loved pulling you from it... everything for him today.

I crossed your legs and looked at your watch. It was already 7 pm and there was no sign of Junmyeon’s car.

Where was he?

“Junmeyon?”

“Yes?” he replied panting.

“Where are you?”

“I am at the gym”

“Why? You didn’t say you would go today”

“I just ate too much cake, just burning some calories”

“You are so obsessed with them calories, have you seen your body? You would need you whole body weight in cake to gain weight, a piece of cake won-”

“Yeah yeah, I’m fucking obsessed with my perfect body, just as fucking obsessed with your fucking bathroom and good smell and fuck”

Who was this?

Perhaps he was upset and it never showed... too much, I had to come up with a solution.

“Myeon-ah~~~”

“What?”

“Come over... pretty please?”

“Yeah in an hour or so”

“Bu-”

He terminated the call while I was still talking. 

Panic.

I put on a hoodie over my lingerie and a pair of sweatpants as fast as you could and drove to the gym. It was deserted, not a soul. But I still looked out of place with all the heavy makeup. There was a group of girls that that looked like they finished their session that shot me some gazes questioning my looks for working out.

I looked around and there he was, on the treadmill, running like there was no tomorrow, wearing a sleeveless blue T, sweat all over, his hair wet and his frown visible.

“Goddamnit, look at him, he is gorgeous, ugh, oh I’d like to taste that sweat”

I heard one of the girls say as they all stared at my boyfriend eating him up with their hungry eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind that and give him some stress relieve, he looks like he needs to unwind, release some. Oh I’d gladly take him all”

I couldn’t keep listening, but I wanted to keep listening? 

I stood there also looking at my boyfriend, the sweat did give him a special look tho in all fairness. He glowed, he was sexy. 

And he was all mine.

Just when I was about to head to talk to him one of the girls went before me. She leaned on the handrail making Junmyeon take off his earphones, slowing the speed.

“Can I help you?”

“Perhaps I could help you pretty boy” she said turning off the treadmill completely.

“Excuse me?”

She moved and joined him on the treadmill “looks like you could use some stress relive. I just know what exactly you might need”

“Is this a club now? Get down I need to finish”

“Oh I’ll get down if that is what you want”

“Alright I’m not interested”

He pushed her away and placed his towel over his shoulders, he walked passed me as I fixed my baseball cap for him not to recognise me.

“Fuck! He must be gay!” announced the girl to her friends.

“Or taken, have you thought about that?”

“Let me discover that, you know no one resists these bad boys” she said confidentially fixing her sports bra.

I follow her ready to punch her pretty shaped ass that looked perfect on those leggings, she just simply goes inside the men’s changing room unhesitantly.

“Hey!” 

I hear Junmyeon exclaim.

“This is the men’s- oh- wait, what the fuck?”

Sounded serious. I opened the door slowly to see Junmyeon pinned to the lockers.

“It’s a pity to wash off all this sweat”

“Really? First time someone tells me something like this”

What!???

Panic run through your system... why wasn’t Junmyeon pushing her away now?

“Well then they are blind because boy you look so fine”

“Is this the appropriate place to approach a guy this way tho?”

“Let’s take a shower together so you can tell me all about this not being appreciated, and how to approach a guy and where” she said as she run her hands down his forearms.

I needed to see this, I wanted to see how far he’d go but I just couldn’t, my feet moved forward opening the door slamming it to the tiled wall, causing the unfortunate tile that came in contact with the door handle to crack.

I took off my baseball cap and crossed my arms over my chest leaning on one leg, my hip moving to the side. I bit the inside of my cheek and eyed this bitch head to toe.

Junmyeon was taken aback, he pressed himself further to the lockers, my appearance must of been comic because this slut was giggling to herself.

“Baby!?” he stuttered.

“Oh you are taken!” “Move your hands off my man if you want to keep that pretty hair”

“I’m not interested in guys that are taken” she stated “but you might wanna take better care of him” she added before taking her leave.

Once we were alone I looked at Junmyeon again, his hands pressed on the locker, his expression still as if he’s just been caught in headlights.

I moved forward scanning his face, I was so close, almost touching his sweaty body, my anxiety levels were on edge, he did smell and I was upset, my stomach churned. But then I saw it, the other side to all this.

My eyes traveled to his jaw and his chin, there was a droplet of sweat dangling, I still don’t know how my hand went all the way to his chin wiping the droplet with my thumb.

“Baby!” he said eyes wide open.

“Shhh, bad birthday boys don’t get to talk” I whisper, my voice coming out the sluttiest I’ve ever spoken in my entire life.

He just admired how I’m rubbing the sweat between my thumb and forefinger, he was amused by it.

He can’t recognise me, also he thinks he’s in trouble, but all this mess can work in his favour after all.

“You do smell... you stink actually, I don’t get it, you shower so much but you still stick”

“Baby, let’s go home, I’m sorry, but believe me nothing happened, she was eyeing me since I came, herself and her friends and I ne-”

“So you knew that there was a group of girls checking you out and what do you do?” I ask trapping him between my arms as my hands rested on the lockers.

“I ignored them”

My eyes travel from his face to his neck and Adams apple that was bobbing nervously, I heard him swallow and it did turn me on, my anger suddenly replaced by a throbbing between my legs.

I detach myself and tilt my head to keep looking at his body, his drenched sleeveless t-shirt, his forearms that were shiny, his torso and the the t-shirt that gave away too much.

“And what’s with all the heavy makeup? And that lipstick? I never seen you wear red lipstick that dark?”

My eyes meet his again and I unzip my hoodie painfully slow, his ears seem to move almost at the sound of the zipper expectant. It’s halfway open and my hands move the hoodie to the sides, making him see preview of what he was going to get.

“It’s your birthday, and this was going to be one of your presents, but you decided to come to the gym instead” 

Junmyoen gulps again, eyebrows knitting, throwing his head to the locker making a big sound as his head hit the metal door.

“Baby? Are you upset?”

I look around and find the showers “take shower” I order.

“Here?”

“Yes here” he nods and smiles. 

I surprise him by walking behind him.

“Where are you going?”

“To the handicap shower, that is where you are going to shower. And that is where I am going to watch you shower”

My voice. It affects him, I see him tremble as if icy cold air just hit him. He can’t deal with what is happening right now, but my authoritative tone is making him lose his shit.

He takes his gym bag and heads towards the handicap shower, I enter behind him and I have to admit that the place looks decent enough, it even smells like good cleaning products that disguise his sweat odour. This might be easier than what I thought it would.

I lean on the tiled wall and watch how he rids himself from his drenched t-shirt. Oh but one thing was Junmyeon’s torso, and one different thing was Junmyeon’s torso after working out, and hell yes did I have a hot perfect boyfriend or what? I was even learning to like the filthy sticky look.

He was about to pull his shorts down but he raised his head to meet with eyes. I already had my lower lip between my teeth and he knew I was ready to scream his name.

“Baby... this is awkward for me”

“Remove and shower” I demand pointing at his lower body.

He was being so obedient, the most I’ve seen him.

I liked it.

He finally was naked, he didn’t give me the view of his front but his butt cheeks were enough, his back muscles coming to life and he raised his arms to lather the shampoo on his hair.

Ughr, no I can’t, I just can’t. Why can’t I? I mean I’ve seen him naked so many times? Why was this affecting me this much.

I needed friction.

NOW!

I found myself unzipping my hoodie and pulling my sweats out of the way, I turned off the water while his face was still full of soap.

“Baby- oh-” he moans when he feels my body pressed against his.

I wipe the soap out of his face and kiss him, he is taken by surprise and he just receives the kiss like the good boy he is. He parts his lips and lets me deepen the kiss, all while his hands were to his sides.

I break the kiss panting, I want more, I want Junmyeon.

“Baby? Your lingerie will get ruined, and we are in a public bathroom”

“Rip the fucking lingerie and I don’t care where we are” I say bluntly as I play with his hardening member.

“Holly fuck what happened to you? I’m still all sweaty”

“I don’t care, Junmyeon, I want you” I add stroking him faster.

“Your makeup... is that a mole you drew on your upper lip?”

“Yes to match yours, so you know what yours does to me”

He didn’t add anything to that but I felt his hand inside my thong, cupping my ass before pulling it down. Once it was pooling over my feet he lifts me up and slams me to the cold tiled wall. I moan at the contact on my back, my legs find his waist and I wrap them around him. Next thing I feel is his tip at my clit rubbing finally getting the friction I needed all while his teeth sink in my collarbones.

“How are you so naughty today baby?”

“Inside, now! Do it!”

He wastes no time and he is inside. Finally. He ponds fast an in an erratic manner, the unusual place and my change in behaviour must of done something new to him because he is too hot, he is pounding in me like he’s never done before, he has me seeing stars while I scream his name.

“You like that baby? Rough and dirty like this?”

“Jun~~~ angh~~~ yes”

The tiled surrounding made my voice sound 10 times louder and it was doing wonders to Junmyeon, he lasted and lasted, shamelessly not caring if anyone heard by now.

When I reached my high my legs felt heavy and my body limp, I was catching my breath when finally Junmyeon released with one last hard thrust that felt that hit my brain. He took ownership of my lips sucking hard bringing me closer to him as my legs finally hit the floor.

“Fucking hot, you will drive me crazy one day, I can’t control myself around you”

“That was by far the best”

“Must be the sweat baby”

“Happy birthday Myeonnie, let’s go home I still have many things to show you”

“More that this?”

“There’s a cake that needs to be tasted, and there ain’t no plates” I touch his abdomen and I already see his member twitching again “I thought your chest is a good place to put some cake” 

“Oh babygirl, let’s get home”

_____________________

A/N: I am Suho’s personal dumpster, I am his trash and he owns my soul... like full ownership...

Thanks for reading.

Happy birthday velvety peachy bunny.

[wish4youff]

04 ~ Gloomy

King 

How could you prepare yourself to celebrate the birth and life of your savior, Jesus Christ, and worship the ground he walks on, for an entire day, when all you could think about was the hell you’ve been through? All the hell you’ve caused on innocent families. There hasn’t been much of a prideful moment in this life. Sure, there’s the achievement plaques, diplomas, awards, and physical growth that your family boosts and praises you about, but what about the deep down ugly truth that no one can handle to know. And if you knew that person, they’re gone now.

To know I have part in that, it breaks my heart. Then, there’s a segment of my mind that knows me well enough to know………I wouldn’t want anything else in the world. My mother always told me as a child that whatever you love to do, it’ll find its way into your life. As either your pride or your biggest regret. I decided to take the easiest way out, making it easy for myself. Easier for others. Caroline Vitale knew what she wanted out of life, and even though that was short-lived, I knew she didn’t regret one attribute of it. And she won’t want that for her son.

Kneeling, I gripped the natural blue colored roses tighter in my hand, staring down at the gray-marbled tile of the tombstone. The words; “Never forget those who fought for your life…” drawing my attention each time, no matter how much I’m here. At the age of thirteen, I didn’t understand those choice of words.

My father hated them, but my grandfather served as the last say so. Neither of them cared to explain to me.

Softly placing them down, my hand lingered for a moment, my eyes and nose burning with emotion as I thought of the years we once shared with another. This woman should’ve been there through thick and thin, cherish me, gave me the light in my darkness, and most importantly loved me; prepping me to love my own wife and protect my own family. Instead, the hate of family killed her soul before she could even leave this earth.

“It seems like every time I come here the weather is horrible, it’s always drizzling, and the clouds are dark and heavy,” Shaking my head, my attention transferred to the sky above me; for a second I wondered if this was my destiny – regardless of my wants and what I believe are my needs. God knows I pray for a change. “It’s been almost a year since I was here and sadly enough nothing has changed. I’m still working under Pop’s demand. Killing and serving. I remember you telling me to be something unique. Take on a new road and be a man of my own light….and yet, here I am. I just hope I didn’t disappoint you too much. You probably tired of me saying that, but….”

25, December 2003.

"I’m heading to Miami after this for a job and I have this heavy gut feeling. Sometimes going to go wrong, I don’t know what, but something. I’m hoping it’s just my mind, but you know how that goes. Stephen says it’s important I go through with it, yet I can’t forget. I hate Miami you know? I hate New York too, I’ve spoken about that before. But Miami? Miami took you away from me. I don’t even speak with our family down there anymore. I rather isolate myself forever than be the topic of pathetic conversations. I still remember your sister’s words the day of your funeral. Maybe she spoke out from a place of hurt, but I would never. Ever do something like that. That amount of pain has caused something damaging inside of me. Me and Ibrahim, my homeboy from Harvard, we were talking about me going to see a therapist. I thought about, but you know how that goes.”

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I closed my eyes for a brief second, stopping the tears from dropping.

“Sometimes I believe it’s your fault, you know? The reason I can’t allow myself to open up to others like normal people. It’s because you left and now I’m here, stuck to raise myself. Having a military brat, government manic as a fucking father. I remember questioning God, wondering why he left me with Stephen and allowed you to leave me. Half of me knows it was bound to happen. I hid behind my mother to protect me from everything. You knew me like the back of your hand. Even as a teenager I wasn’t allowing myself to know the man who made me. All I knew was he was a heartless person. Now I’m alone, speaking to the spirit of you and praying on an empty wish that you’re listening to your only child.”

Something moved out the corner of my eyes, naturally I kept my attention on the tombstone. I wouldn’t look to see what it was. I’ve always been afraid of the dead. Funny huh? Afraid of the dark even more. I couldn’t sleep without the slightest amount of light. My father would call me a wimp while my mother justified it with normal child behavior. Just to prove to Steepen I was a “man”, I forced myself to sleep without any light, and before long I was numb to; no longer caring.

“Recently I ran into someone from past. Well, a connection of hers. You don’t know her, I don’t talk about her aloud. But Stephen does. Olivia Smith, Chrissie younger sister. The last I seen of her was a young fifteen, maybe sixteen, year old girl who was struggling between letting her sister be happy yet not knowing who she would lean on if her only sibling and love one was gone. Knowing Chris as well as I do, I know the effect she has on people. Knowing if you were around, you’ll have encouraging words for me.”

Standing up, I looked back at the sky. That figure moved again forcing me to see the last person I anticipated here. Stephen, standing a clear distance, but close enough for me to make out who it was. He’s braver than me. I’ll be running from this place if I was him.  

"I love you, ma.” Saying my last words, I stared back at her grave for a few seconds, mentally praying for courage to continue my life, a life she would want me to keep pushing through.

Chrissie 

“I think this color would be perfect for you, Chrissie. Red seems to be in too.”

The sounds of Keyshia Cole’s Love Letter featuring rapper Future played through my Beats Pill XL speaker off the random Pandora station of Olivia’s choice. My humming stopped as my sister held up the hot red polish. Looking down at my nails, I simply shook my head with a slight smirk.

The sound of the oven timer caught my attention pulling me away from the conversation. My sister knows me better than anybody. Nude and baby pinks are my go to colors, always have been. Once inside the kitchen, I grabbed my oven mitts to take out the leftover pizza from the night before. It didn’t take her long to follow behind, grabbing two oversized pans we would use whenever eating pizza. With six slices warmed and hot, Liv separated the food, while I got myself a bottle of Dasani water.

“I mean I need to get a fill, but I’m not trying to be all bold and new. Something simple is fine.” I finally said, adding fuel to the fire she was already burning underneath my behind.

I loved my sister, we had our moments, but we were all we had also, so those tempting moments could never overshadow. Our parents passed away when we were young, Liv was only ten at the time and I was fifteen. I had more understanding and maturity to the situation; helping to open my eyes for her and I, knowing they wouldn’t want us to deter.

Every weekend she’s here. Or either I’m at her house. Never sleepovers because she literally lives five minutes away and unlike myself Olivia has been in a committed relationship for over four years so I try not to take too much of her time away from her fiancé; Travis.  

“Maybe bold and new is what you need though Chris. Switch it up. I already told you to dye your hair.” Relaxing in the couch, I shook my head, picking up a piece of the cheesy goodness.

“Nails is one thing, but hair……no.”

“I did it.” Olivia replied quick, and I should’ve known that would be her response to this.

During her senior year of high school Olivia came to me with the idea of red or either blonde hair; as the supporting sister I am, and only sister I agreed. Mostly because I didn’t believe she would go through with the idea. Our mother was a natural redhead woman, while our father was full on African-American. Liv took more of the red shade, while I was jet black, so there was no reason for a darker shade, in my opinion. Plus, it took over a week for her to actually dye it. When she finally came home with the red hair, I was stunned, relieved, and even happy for her. It looks good. On her.

“I’ll try the nail polish, but that’s it.”

I could already hear her next question.

“When?”

“Next week, Wednesday. Christmas visitors and those last-minute shoppers will have the roads filled so I’ll do it early in the week.”  

“Good because I want to come. Plus, I need to get a few things myself. Travis’ mother and father is coming in for Christmas this year and I wanna make a good impression.”

“Olivia, really? Y’all been together for four years. And you’re a good girl, I’m sure they’ve seen this quality about you. Don’t go out buying unnecessary things and being extra just because his parents are coming into town. They’ll know.”

“Shut up,” Laughing I shrugged my shoulders at her words. “I’ve never stayed in the house with them and they have never been over to our house for no more than a couple hours. They’re staying the night! I have to make a good impression.”

“Again, no you don’t, not now. By now? His mother has read you and knows exactly what kind of woman she’s dealing with, maybe even his father, but surly his mother. From the moment, he started to bring you around, she knew. And more importantly, don’t wait unless last minute to do your shopping. She’ll know that too.”

“You know this how? You’ve never had a long-term mother-in-law. Matter-a-fact, you never had a mother-in-law.”

“This is why.”

After a few seconds, there was no response and I drifted my attention to the television. Over the years, I’ve let myself out there and experimented with relationships. Small dates her, buddies there, but nothing ever too serious. My sister considered therapy and when I asked why, she changed the subject. Part of the reason is my career; other half is time-management.

“You know we never discussed me seeing Kingston that day.”

Yeah, that.

“What’s to talk about? You ran into King. Next topic.”

“Cut the bullshit. I know there has to be some kind of emotion there. And if not, you need to seek some mental help for real,” Snapping my head in Olivia’s direction, she held up her hand, stopping me from protesting. “Because you’re forcing yourself to block out past experiences instead of dealing with them.  I get you two left off on bad blood, what I don’t understand is why you can’t talk about it. Even as your sister, you keep me in the dark. That half of me that wants to keep you happy, knows you know what you’re doing as a woman, but damn. I can tell from how every time his name has come up your entire body language changes.”

“Kingston is……..Kingston. There’s no way to explain it. We were friends,” I started off with.

“And nothing else?”

“No. We were friends. Strictly friends, he wouldn’t even cross that line with me.”

“Why not?” Looking at Olivia, I could only wonder myself.

“Kingston had his way of doing things. He spoke when he wanted to. Interacted when he wanted to. Partied when he wanted to. If the situation didn’t fit his vibe, he didn’t go through. And mind you this was in college. I could only imagine what the man is like now.”

“Well, you know I only know the man you randomly speak about, but he seemed nice that day in the deli. I didn’t notice him at first, but he knew me.  When he said your name, it was like something clicked, making me remember him.”

“Trusts me when I say the man is bad news for me. And vice versa.”

“You’re bad for someone?”

“For him, hell yeah.”

And with that, luckily, she dropped the topic. That was enough for a day.

[peachhplum]

RENOVATION STORIES – A HAND BUILT KITCHEN BEFORE

It feels like forever, since we started the overhaul of this little house of ours, this year and the last have been exciting and busy. My posts here have been sporadic, to say the least – so thanks for sticking with me. The truth is – once our hand built kitchen and living space was almost completed we just started living in it. It was so nice to be able to cook on an actual oven and wash up the debris in an actual sink, that the days rolled past and I nearly forgot all about the documentation and the fun of sharing what we’ve been up to!This post is filled with photos I managed to take during the refurbishments and a dash of decorating fun. I must add the paint we used were colours we had chosen ourselves but were generously given to us by Farrow & Ball and Annie Sloan, everything else we bought ourselves, salvaged or repurposed from around our home or garden. I hope you’ll enjoy a peek around our building site and then a tour of the room now – to follow soon!So, way back when – we knocked a massive hole in the living room wall to make the kitchen and living room a joining space then blocked up the original narrow doorway. The old kitchen door can be spotted above right (with a fridge wedged in it), it felt like the world was caving in at this time and we would be under a blanket of hostile brick dust for the rest of eternity. For six months all that remained of our old kitchen (a cheap rental update put in by the previous owner) was a section of ugly worktop, an oven that barely worked and a washing machine.Our bath was now the sink and once we finally ripped all of this out for the plasterers to come in – we were cooking on a camping stove down in the Tea Shed or out in the hallway for another five months.Luckily the floorboards that were hidden under the laminate were just what we were hoping for, so we took off the skirting, ripped up the floors and insulated underneath and then put the rustic boards back down. It has taken an age as we have been doing nearly everything ourselves in between real life and work. We got our log burner and windows/bifold doors fitted by professionals and plasterers came and put neat edges on all the walls and the gaping hole. Then they came back the next day and smoothed everything over – except one kitchen wall which Dean rough plastered for a textured backdrop to our kitchen.The only jobs we didn’t do were – the bulk of the plastering, fitting the log burner, some electrics, install the windows and the main kitchen replumb. It has been a slow journey but one that has been a lot of fun in amongst the stress of chaos and having no mod cons.Above – the radiator pipes were poking up out of the floor where the wall used to be – we moved these, sprayed black water everywhere and nearly severed a thumb – but we did it! On days like this we found oursleves looking around and wondering if it would ever be normal around here again, but then we got going and it snowballed towards completion and everything was almost good again. After a month of letting the walls dry we got to finally open the paint! We chose Dimpse by Farrow and Ball a lovely soft and calm grey to settle us back down after all the crazy.   It’s a soft and gentle grey, just the type we have been looking for.This finished corner was my salvation for the next few weeks as we handbuilt our kitchen from bought, salvaged and found things. We have a garage full of hoarded stuff that might look like junk to an untrained eye – but old floorboards became shelves, copper salvaged from under the floor when we moved the radiator pipes became curtain rods and a huge slice of elm got cut down into the best worktops ever!We bought our ‘naked’ kitchen units from a maker on eBay that was nearby in Kent. They are solid FSC pine and we painted them inside with Osmo clear varnish and outside in two colours of Annie Sloan – Paris Grey as an undercoat and Graphite on top. I absolutely love using this paint – so much so that we also painted our kitchen wall with it too (keep scrolling). Now for that kitchen wall paint job – I was quoted thousands for polished concrete or Tadelakt so we rough luxed this ourselves and it was the most fun ever! Easy peasy and all you need is a rough surface (or not – as adding thicker layers of the paint can do that too) some cardboard scraps, three paint colours in varying tones, paintbrushes, bare hands and high spirits!Above our plainish wall ready for an art attack, the bottom half we left raw as it was to be hidden behind the cupboards and I didn’t want to waste any paint! We used the Annie Sloan mixing mat placed inside a cardboard box (to form edges) which was great for blending and making a confined mess. It has some paint mixing tips on it – I’ll admit we didn’t pay much notice to that and just went wild. We sealed up all the plugs and sockets and started by scraping the darkest shade of paint and a grey all over the walls randomly with no particular pattern just gusto and care not to go over the edges on to the other walls! I chose the Annie Sloan Paris Grey wall paint for the main bulk of this wall and used the smaller tins of chalk paint in Old White and Graphite as accent colours. We just kept wiping, scraping, painting and building the layers until the colour and tones were blended to our liking.We worked all three colours over and over each other, swiping a bit of extra dark or light where needed. As you can see above perfection is not required for this look, this pic shows before all the shelves were finally put up and the tiles we were considering for a splashback. Once the paint was dry Dean brushed a layer of the Anni Sloan Clear Wax all over as a seal – this is great and I highly recommend it, as it is wipeable and resolved our dilemmas about a splashback, we didn’t need one – hooray!With the walls complete we moved on to the worktops – we made these out of a huge slice of English Elm that we got from a local woodsman and are so happy with it.The stainless steel (Ohio) sink in white was bought online from Reginox, and it was a sweaty palm situation cutting the hole in that gorgeous piece of wood with only one chance to get it right! It was quite a bit of work and a hell of a lot of sawdust and sanding outside on fair weather days but so worth it as we couldn’t find anything we really liked the look of pre-made (they are still unsanded in these pictures). Almost ready to install everything – finishing touches were the door handles which I bought from Rowen & Wren and our new Smeg oven. We got this from an online discount store that sells big brand items that have minor cosmetic faults. Ours had a barely visible scratch on the tea towel bar and some marks on the sides (where they would never be seen) – so perfect in my book. Something that is discounted because of a scratch or minor dent seems like a good money-saving plan to me – plus I don’t feel bad for marking it myself! Sadly our kitchen is too modest for the matching fridge.We had been looking for a vintage style oven for ages and I spotted this beauty in a Pinterest photo of the River Cottage Australia kitchen – it was great to discover it wasn’t actually old and still available online.The oven also added to delays as before it could be installed – we had to have all our outdated electrics re-done as it required a stronger power cable than our old oven had used. But we got there in the end. Then it was time to make some shelves out of old floorboards and crates, get the curtains up, find a kitchen table, stain the floor and paint the pantry door to match the kitchen units – phew!So there you have it! The bad and the ugly – only the good to come – just need to get the latest images off my camera and hopefully, I can share in a few days. Happy Halloween! xxx