#but aside from being turned into an ice cube i lost an hour of work so I couldn’t even finish my inventory 🙃🙃

[bloodychamber]

Ahh so I was scheduled at 5am for inventory today right. I get to work at 4:45 to be on time obvs and NO ONE was there. I tried calling and texting (and of course i only have the number for just 1 of my managers) and nothing, no response. All i could do was sit outside in 30 degree weather until people started showing up at 6 🙃

[aquared46]

Heat Wave

It was an unbearably hot summer, even by South Carolinian standards. Sweat pooled on Neil’s skin despite having taken another cold shower less than an hour earlier. The air conditioning died, so they had half a dozen fans blowing air around the living room; lights out and curtains drawn.  

Neil long since moved from the couch to the floor, rolling to a cooler spot when the laminate beneath him felt too hot and sticky under his bare skin. It was just him and Andrew; Nicky travelling in Germany to visit Erik, Kevin spending time with his father, and Aaron studying for yet another exam. He and Andrew had been looking forward to this trip. Neil didn’t expect anything just because they were alone, but he certainly didn’t think he’d spend the weekend melting into a puddle on the floor.

Andrew called many times to have someone come for repairs, but apparently many were having problems and thus they were put on a wait-list. He was waiting for a call back, dressed in a loose tank-top and steadily working through a melting bowl of ice cream.

Neil reached for his glass of water, the ice cubes almost melted. He took a sip and them pressed the blessedly cool glass against his cheek.

Andrew peeled his legs from the leather couch and finally joined Neil on the much cooler floor. He put up a valiant fight.

“Nicky has a kiddy pool in storage somewhere,” Andrew said. “And a hose.”

Nicky had a lot of things in storage at the house. Neil was amazed he managed to cram so much into so little space with the minimal storage they had in the garage and closets. Sitting in water in the shade of the backyard sounded like a wonderful idea, but they’d need to find the pool first. It also meant Neil would have to put his clothes back on.

“Do you have any idea where it is?”

“I haven’t seen it for a couple years. Try under the tarps.” Andrew stole Neil’s glass and downed the rest of the water, then began chewing the ice cubes. “I called the company. It’s your turn to be useful.”

With a groan, Neil rose to his feet. He dressed in a fresh t-shirt and some thin, ratty jean shorts before heading out to the garage. The heat permeated even there. He dug around in some of the junk Nicky had stored, noticing that some of it should’ve been in the garbage instead, included the holey tarps repaired with enough duct tape that even Neil considered them a lost cause. Sure enough, underneath those Neil found a light blue pool with assorted cartoon sea creatures covered in dust. The hose was thankfully close to the door, although it was kinked and knotted from not being rolled up properly.

He dragged everything outside and wiped the sweat from his face with his t-shirt. He spotted Andrew watching him from one of the windows, the curtain pulled aside just enough to show a sliver of this face. He didn’t emerge from the house until Neil already successfully connected the hose, washed the dust off the pool, and began filling it under the shade of one of the two trees in the yard.

Andrew walked up and tossed his phone and keys to the side. He grabbed the hose from Neil’s hands and doused his head with it. Water splashed in Neil’s face when he shook his hair out like a dog. Without warning, he turned the hose on Neil.

Neil sputtered as it caught him in the face, but he turned around so Andrew could drench his back as well, the cool water a relief against his overheated skin.

The pool was hardly big enough for both of them, but they made it work, pressed shoulder to shoulder, wet clothes clinging to their skin. When the pool was full, Neil had to get up to turn the water off and Andrew took the opportunity to claim more space for himself.

Neil splashed him when he returned. “Shove over.”

Andrew didn’t move.

Fitting himself into the leftover space, Neil cupped a handful of water into his palm, then let it slowly run through his fingers onto the top of Andrew’s head.

“I’ll drown you,” Andrew said.

“You can try.”

After a mad scramble of limbs, Andrew managed to grab the back of Neil’s shirt and dunk him in the small amount of water left in the pool. Andrew released him immediately afterwards, mouth only twitching in response to Neil’s laughter.

One of Andrew’s legs was thrown over Neil’s during the struggle. Neil waited for Andrew to pull away, but he stayed where he was, fingers idly trailing up Neil’s side where his shirt rode up. Neil relaxed into the touch, sighing when Andrew traced the dip of his waist.

Neil’s clothes clung to him uncomfortably, the water was starting to warm up and feel more gross than cool and relaxing, but Andrew’s eyes were dark and when he leaned in for a kiss, Neil couldn’t up but rise up to meet him.

They couldn’t do anything much in the backyard. It was private enough with the neighbour’s fences, but was still far too open. Neil wished for the privacy of a vacant roof or the four walls encasing their bedroom, but the roof wasn’t available and the bedroom was a sauna.

“It’s too hot,” Neil complained against Andrew’s lips.

Andrew ducked his head to kiss Neil’s throat, his hum reverberating against Neil’s skin. “I’m going to start burning things if they don’t get our air conditioning on soon.”

“Fire would only make the problem worse.”

“That’s not the point.” Andrew pulled back and ran his fingers through the water. “This feels like a warm bowl of soup. It’s disgusting.”

“It was your idea.”

“You’re the one that executed it.”

“It was also your idea to come to Columbia. If we stayed in Palmetto, we could be at the court. Which has air conditioning.”

“We could also be playing Exy. I’d rather be soup.”

With the pool needing a refill, Neil got up to get the hose running again. It wasn’t so bad with the fresh water, and Neil figured he’d need to keep replacing the water in the pool consistently for it to be bearable.

When Neil rejoined him, Andrew went from running his fingers though the water to running them over Neil’s skin instead. Casual touch was nothing new to them – especially when they had privacy. Neil was familiar with stolen kisses in the kitchen before anyone else awoke in the house in Columbia. He was delightfully accustomed to caresses along the small of his back when Andrew passed him, quick and subtle while everyone else remained oblivious. A tap on the wrist, a tug on a sleeve, a nudge with a shoulder.

This was similar, but different. These touches were charged with the frustration of not being able to take them any further. Neil draped an arm over Andrew’s shoulder, tangling his fingers in damp hair as Andrew explored his body with deceptive innocence.

A touch on Neil’s collarbone under his shirt, pressing against a fading hickey Andrew left days earlier. A touch on Neil’s knee, fingers splayed the same way they were on Tuesday when Andrew pushed Neil down on the dorm bed and gave him a blowjob before Kevin returned from his classes. A tug on Neil’s hair, followed by a soft caress of his jaw – reminiscent of the first time Neil sucked Andrew off a month earlier.

Neil couldn’t help but shiver, meeting Andrew’s lips again, moaning quietly. He was about to suggest they go inside despite the heat when Andrew’s cellphone finally rang.

Andrew pulled away to answer, voice tinged with impatience as he answered questions. When he hung up, he gestured for Neil to get up. “Fifteen minutes.”  

Neil was torn between being glad their air conditioning would be on and being frustrated that they had to interrupt when they did. He wrung out his clothes the best he could before heading inside. He ended up having to mop up the floor after Andrew anyway, who left his sopping clothes on the bathroom floor while he put on fresh ones to meet with the technicians. One day of heat and they already had a full load of laundry they’d need to do.

He heard voices while he was in the middle of filling the washing machine, and he investigated only enough to see Andrew talking with a guy and a girl who seemed to be the technicians. Neil just finished cleaning up when he felt blessedly cool air blowing from the vents.

Neil was heading back to the living room when Andrew intercepted him in the hall, grabbing the waistband of Neil’s shorts to pull him towards the bedroom.

“They’re gone,” Andrew said. “Yes or no?”

Neil’s ‘yes’ was murmured against Andrew’s throat. He didn’t care that the air conditioning had only been running for a couple minutes. It was still too damn hot, but Andrew’s mouth was hotter. It’d cool down by the time they were finished with each other.

[five-rivers]

@lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks came up with this op!Danny/Marvel AU!

BTW I need help naming this newest proof that I can't keep anything to a short little one-shot.

.

Loki was not, and never had been, a good man. For that matter, whether or not he’d ever been a good boy was debatable. His mother would argue that he had, but she would very likely be the only one. Well, except for Thor, perhaps, but that was because he was an idiot who could drown in three inches of nostalgia. Like he didn’t remember every time Loki had humiliated him. Maybe he didn’t, for all that he kept falling for the same trick over and over again.

It made Loki’s late nights studying the arts of illusion, misdirection, and lying seem redundant. Almost. Not everyone was as dense as his big brother.

No. Loki had never been a good man. He had, however, been a free man.

Free to run or hide. Free to explore the nooks and crannies of Asgard, to uncover her secrets in ways few cared to do. Free to walk hidden paths between the Nine Realms and even farther flung territories, where his people did not and had never ruled, to play games, make deals, have adventures, take risks. To be. To exist as his own creature.

He had been free. He had.

But on one of those little secret excursions, he had discovered something that had made even his flippant, slippery heart clench with fear. A ravening plague, spreading across the stars. The death of half of everything on the horizon.

Loki was not a good man. What cause did he have to care for all the sundry others in the universe? There were too many. It was too much to ask.

But Asgard—His home, even though the had long ago realized the blood in his veins originated on very different soil. That was different.

Asgard, he could help. Asgard could survive.

But it had to be strong. It had to have strong allies. None of this barely-held peace, this enemy eternally at their gates. It needed strong leadership. Not his brother’s simplistic view and longing for the glory of war.

Loki was not a good man. But he was one who could get things done.

Before he knew it, he had burned all his bridges behind him. In one case, a literal bridge that was literally broken.

And he fell.

And he fell.

And he fell right into the hands of the one he had feared enough to do this. Broken enough for poison to drip into the cracks. No one knew where he was, no one could know where he was, except, perhaps, Heimdal, and Loki sincerely doubted Heimdal cared. No one was coming for him. No one was looking for him. No rescue was forthcoming.

He was alone.

Asgardians were considered gods for a reason. Their bodies and minds were much more resilient than the average mortal’s. But Thanos’s people had been titans, and there was a reason for that, too.

Thanos enjoyed breaking him.

And Loki turned his lies on himself. A skilled master of games always had one gifted opponent, even alone. Hadn’t he wanted to rule? To command? To see a world, any world, prostrate at his feet? To be given the recognition and praise of which he was so worth?

To pull something, anything, out of the fire?

(If he had spent less time learning how to spin lies and more on how to see the truth, he might not have believed it. A better, wiser, man would have. But Loki was not a good man. And he was very skilled in his craft.)

So, his new master put a weapon in his hands, and he went off to conquer a world.

.

Danny was used to rude awakenings. He was used to those rude awakenings being full body chills and ghosts, not someone knocking on his door.

Blearily, he pulled himself out from under the blankets. Quasi-military government facility or not, the beds were comfortable. Maybe Mom or Dad had gotten themselves locked out of their room? Or Jazz—No, not Jazz, she hadn’t come with them. She was at college, not being flown places by Mom and Dad’s suspiciously generous new consulting job.

At least it wasn’t the GIW.

He stood on tiptoe (curse his perpetually short body) to peer out the peephole. His parents’ buff, one-eyed, and incredibly imposing new boss stood in front of the door, hands on his hips, slightly sweeping back his long dark coat. If Danny listened carefully, he could hear two other people near the door, and… was that an alarm? Yes. Faint, but present, was a warning klaxon.

Okay. Danny would bet his right arm that something had gone horribly wrong with whatever his parents were consulting on. Didn’t explain why the boss was in front of his door.

Unless they’d gotten the rooms mixed up, somehow?

Ugh. Danny wasn’t paid enough to deal with this.

He opened the door. “What-?”

“Phantom,” intoned eyepatch guy with great solemnity.

Danny immediately tried to close the door. The guy stuck his foot in the jamb, and, sure, Danny could have crushed it, but that would be a jerk move. He didn’t think this guy was going for a pirate look, after all.

“We need your help.”

.

“I’m not sure what you think I can help you with,” yelled Danny over the beating of the helicopter blades. He’d remained stubbornly in human form. “My parents are the scientists. This sounds like a science thing. Not a punching-people thing.”

“We spoke to them earlier,” said Fury, “and we have plenty of scientists working on the theories they brought up. You’re the one with practical experience.”

“Practical experience in what?”

“Interdimensional portals,” said the woman, who had yet to introduce herself.

As if this whole thing wasn’t already giving him a bad feeling. “My parents built an interdimensional portal. Again, you should be talking to them. They’re the ones you’re paying.”

“We could pay you, too,” said Fury, “but we assumed you would want to avoid letting your parents know about this, as you’re still a minor and they have control of your bank accounts.”

Danny stared flatly. “This is blackmail.”

“We aren’t threatening you,” pointed out the woman.

“Emotional blackmail,” said Danny, glaring, daring her to challenge him on whether or not he actually knew what blackmail was.

In the meantime, the helicopter landed. Danny unbuckled and hopped out, trailing slightly awkwardly behind Fury and the woman. He didn’t want to stand out, but he suspected that, being the only kid here and being in the general vicinity of Fury, who radiated authority, that was a lost cause.

“This is Agent Coulson. Coulson, this is Phantom.”

Danny’s mouth went dry(er) at how casual the introduction was. His eyes went nervously to all the other people running around the field. With all the noise, it was unlikely anyone had heard, but still…

“Can you not? Secret identity and all? Unless you’ve told everyone herealready, which, rude.”

Fury sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked Coulson.

“We’re not sure,” said Coulson. “That’s the problem. Big fan of your work, by the way,” he added as an aside to Danny. He glanced at the woman. “Agent Hill.”

“Background?” asked Fury as he led the way into the building.

“The first energy surge was four hours ago. Dr. Selvig’s equipment picked it up – He’s the head scientist on this project.”

“Dr. Selvig isn’t authorized to test,” said Fury. “We wanted to run his plans by the Fentons.”

“He wasn’t testing. He wasn’t even in the room. He called it ‘spontaneous advancement.’”

“It turned itself on?”

“What are the energy levels?” asked Fury before Hill’s question could be answered.

“Climbing,” said Coulson.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Fury, “any comments?”

“Look, I don’t even know what this thing that you built looks like or what it’s a door to.” Danny frowned as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not expecting me to fight whatever comes out of it, are you? Because, unless you’ve got a ghost portal down there, I can’t make guarantees.”

“It’s called the Tesseract,” said Coulson. “It’s supposed to be a connection to the other side of space. A source of unlimited energy. At least,” there was a note of humor in his voice despite the evacuation taking place around them, “that’s what the scientists say.”

“A door to space?” asked Danny, firmly shoving down his excitement at the prospect. “Like, a Stargate?” It was no good, he could practically feel himself sparkling. He took a firm grip of his core and reminded himself he might need to fight before the end of the day.

“Well, no,” said Coulson. “It’s this little… cube… thing.” He made a shape with his hands.

“Oh,” said Danny, mind still whirring. “You know, if it’s really a tesseract, it isn’t a cube in just three dimensions, so bigger things could come out of it than you’d think.” He’d seen some weird portals in the Ghost Zone.

“Well, right now, we’re just getting energy.” They entered a large room with an extremely sci-fi setup. It looked like they were planning to shoot some kind of laser across the room onto a platform surrounded by strange-looking panels. There were men with guns scattered around in what was probably a well thought out formation Danny couldn’t see. There was also a dude with a bow sitting up in the rafters. He frowned down at Danny as he noticed Danny noticing him.

“Dr. Selvig!”

“Director!”

“What do we know?”

Danny allowed himself to be distracted by the centerpiece of the room, a piece of machinery built around what was indeed a little cube thing. He tilted his head and approached, trying to get a better view of it around the people in lab coats and protective gear currently swarming it. He caught mention of radiation a grimaced.

It was unlikely to kill him, but, really, everyone here should probably be wearing more PPE. You never knew what was going to come out of an interdimensional portal, after all. Except trouble. Trouble was a pretty safe bet.

It was pretty. Blue. Reminded him a little of a blue raspberry ice pop. Part of him wanted to lick it. Which was stupid. He didn’t want to wind up half what-ever-lived-on-the-other-side on top of his regular ghost nonsense.

“Mr. Fenton?”

Danny jumped and turned, refocusing on the adults, who had multiplied while he’d been daydreaming. The guy with the bow had joined them.

“Mr. Fenton? Like the Doctors Fenton I spoke to earlier?” asked Selvig.

“Yeah, it’s—”

This, of course, was when everything decided to explode. Sort of.

The blue cube shot out a beam of energy that had more than a little in common with the Fenton Bazooka’s portal setting. The beam terminated on the platform, a portal rapidly forming.

Danny slid into a fighting stance, and barely even noticed as blue energy washed over the room, throwing many less-prepared people back.

Something shaped like a man stepped through the portal.

Danny did not break his stance. Still. “An alien,” he whispered, eyes wide. If they were friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space. If they weren’t friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space after Danny beat them up.

(Danny did not go ghost. Did not even think about going ghost. There were too many people here, and the space was too open.)

Fury attempted to negotiate. Danny approved. Not everything that came through an interdimensional portal was necessarily evil.

Except this guy apparently was. Go figure. He could also deflect bullets and was very good with throwing knives, which led to Danny having to pull several of the gun guys out of their own line of fire as well as the alien’s line of knife. Who would have thought an alien’s weapon of choice would be throwing knives? The energy-blasting spear was much more in line with his expectations.

The bow guy proved to be more competent than the gun guys. This didn’t really surprise Danny. Bow guy sort of had to be competent. Otherwise, no way would they let him go around with a bow. Like, seriously. A bow.

Even so, bow guy was fighting an alien and—

“You have heart,” said the alien, raising the spear.

Danny pushed bow guy out of the way, and his mind fuzzed out.

(The human part of it, anyway.)

.

Loki didn’t know what a child was doing here, and he didn’t particularly care. The boy would do for a hostage, at least. He had a mission he had to fulfil, or else…

Or else.

“Please don’t,” he said turning with a shadow of his usual lazy affect, vaguely insulted that the human thought he could be sneaker that him, “I still need that.”

The human went on and on, apparently burdened with the delusion that he was on the same level as Loki.

Loki was burdened with other things. A glorious purpose. Glad tidings. Freedom. What could be better than freedom?

“A world free from what?” asked the human.

“From freedom,” said Loki, and wasn’t that what he believed, now? Wasn’t that what he’d been shown? “Freedom is life’s great lie.” He would know. He was an excellent liar. “Once you accept that, in your heart—” He batted away an arrow and tsked. “Shield me, boy,” he demanded. Had Thanos misrepresented the scepter’s powers? Or was the boy merely—

A dome of green surrounded him and the boy, thrumming with magic the likes of which he had only seen once, in a tome thrice forbidden.

“Oh,” said Loki, almost purring. “You are interesting. What are you?”

“Half human, half ghost,” replied the boy, tersely.

Loki had never heard of such a creature. No matter. He’d be sure to make good use of him.

“Grab the scientist,” he said, nodding at the balding man who had been with his brother when he’d fought the Destroyer in the desert.

Loki wanted the archer. He seemed interesting. Useful.

.

Fenton was under thrall. Phantom knew what that felt like. A hundred feet under red water, trying not to drown, whispers everywhere. Pulling. Pushing. Prodding.

This was different, but the principle was the same.

Neither half of him could truly ‘fight’ the other. Fenton and Phantom were a single entity. Not two in lockstep. Even so.

Fenton grabbed onto Dr. Selvig, as ordered. Phantom made sure that was all they did.

“What are you doing, boy?” snapped Loki. “Follow me! Bring the scientist.”

And so, they followed.

.

Loki breathed. Acquiring Barton had been the right choice. The boy was powerful, but, perhaps because of his unique biology, did not have Barton’s presence of mind, and couldn’t have led him to such wonderful allies.

Allies.

These weren’t truly his allies. Nor were they subjects. They were…

Loki forced himself to breathe. He just had to follow the mission. Follow the mission, let Thanos’s army through. He’d been promised this world. He would have this world.

And then he could be… His mind stuttered over the next word, and he shook his head, trying to drive out the painful buzz of Thanos’s herald and mouthpiece trying to contact him.

He looked up at the drones bustling around, all according to his will. Except the boy, who stared at him, somehow managing to be both utterly blank and challenging at the same time.

He was alone, here.

He was alone.

But what did it matter? Bad men always wound up alone, and Loki… Loki could never be a good man.

[nyx-aira]

Magical Bitching

Summary: When a new magical threat arrives in NYC Dr.Strange and Wanda need some magical help but Loki and Agatha in one place can only mean one thing, chaos and the start of a beautiful friendship

A/N: You can't imagine how much fun I had while writing this :)

Tag list: @escapetodreamworld @midnight-lestrange @king-star @ynscrazylife @booklovinbi @mysticfalls01 @adorkwithaplan @nathaslosttheirshit @agathaharkness-simp @paulawand

To say that Strange was busy was an understatement. He was currently fighting and evil interdimensional being that somehow  had managed to get to New York, interrupting his Sherlock Holmes marathon.

The thing could be described as a big glibbery blob that could fly through the air and spit fire, to say he imagined his afternoon a little bit different wasn't really a surprise. He wasn't alone thankfully, Wanda fighting alongside him. The young witch had recently moved into the Sanctum, training her powers under his and Wong's guidance. Even though they were both pretty strong the blob was becoming more and more of a challenge, splitting into mini blobs if you hit it with the same spell twice. It was very annoying. So he did something he swore he would only do if there was no other option. He called for Loki.

After their, let's call it a disagreement, they had sorted out some kind of truce, deciding the fabric of the universe was more important than their personal differences.

He and Wanda were just fighting a horde of mini blobs when they started turning purple, crumbling to the ground and fading into nothing. They turned around to see Agatha fling another dozen of the annoying blobs against a building, crushing them against the wall.

He looked at Wanda who was staring at the other witch in disbelief, shock the prominent emotion on her face, annoyance not far behind.

"Did you call her?"

The young witch asked, Sokovian accent present. Something he had noticed that happened when she was emotional or annoyed.

He was about to answer when they saw green sparks dancing around another small army of the annoying creatures, capturing them in a magic barrier and crushing until there was only interdimensional alien goo left.

"No I called him."

Strange answered with a sigh, pointing to a building to their far right where Loki just teleported, throwing a couple magical daggers at the slime monsters.

Wanda dropped her head into her hands, staring at him in disbelief.

"Great now we not only have to fight that stupid blob thing but also have to deal with grumpy and petty."

He lifted an eyebrow at the nicknames and shot her an amused look.

"Who is who? "

She just wanted to answer him when they saw another horde of blobs heading their way. Looking at each other they nodded, ready to attack.

Flying high in the air Wanda shot some energy blasts in their direction, giving Strange the opportunity to catch them and send them back into their dimension. She was about to round the corner when she saw something flying towards her, turning around she brought up a barrier to defend herself but the attack never came as Agatha landed not far from her, using another spell to open a portal the witch flung them in its general direction, the portal catching them and making them vanish. More blobs started to appear and Wanda realised that the situation was getting more and more out of control.

She was ready to attack the remaining creatures when she heard a roar, whipping her head around she stared at the new creature that just appeared on top of a nearby skyscraper. It kinda looked like a dragon with for two sets of wings and tentacles, spitting some kind of toxin and fading in and out of existence. Wanda groaned, their day wasn't bad enough already with the blob thing, a fancy dragon squid wasn't really some she needed today as well.

Agatha floated next to Wanda, bored expression on her face. It wasn't something she hadn't seen before. These kind of creatures were annoying, sure, but nothing she couldn't handle if she needed to.

Deciding that she did not need to get toxin stains on her new outfit today she turned to Wanda, already regretting what she was about to say.

"You and Strange handle our new guest, I'll handle these fuckers."

Shocked at her offer Wanda turned to her, raising an unbelieving eyebrow.

"You want to help us ?"

"Don't think too long about it or I might change my mind."

Groaning Wanda shot her one last glare before she flew away to help Strange.

Looking around Agatha decided that chasing after each of the annoying creatures was too much of a hassle. She looked around to find a good spot to catch as many of them without doing much work. Spotting a suitable tower in the distance she flew towards it, blasting a couple blobs out of her way as she arrived on the top.

The sight that greeted her was almost comical, there sat Loki, on a beach chair with sunglasses on his head sipping a colourful cocktail, every now and then flicking his hand to catch a blob that got too close to the tower, flinging it towards a portal he had opened not far away.

He lifted his shades as she approached him, snapping his fingers to let another chair appear, nodding his head towards it.

She laughed at the gesture, settling down in the surprisingly comfortable chair, conjuring up her own glasses to block out the sun.

"Never imagined to see you in New York again Trickster."

He only snorted at that, flinging another blob into the portal, a green 178 popping up over the interdimensional gateway.

"Never say never."

Agatha chuckled, flinging a couple creatures towards the portal as well, a purple 154 lighting up. She grinned, she wasn't that far behind.

"I don't understand why heroes always have to be so dramatic, its far more entertaining this way."

The god commented, refilling his drink and conjuring some pastries, grabbing some for himself before he passed the floating tray in her direction.

"Exactly, they are always so extra, always so much drama."

Agatha remarked, grabbing a strawberry cupcake, absently flinging a couple blobs into the portal.

"Strange look out!"

Wanda was panting, she had a cut across her cheek and her suit was burned in a couple places, the toxin and fire having gotten to her at one point.

Strange ducked a blast and ran towards her, shielding himself as he yelled something she couldn't understand over the noise of the battle.

The count over the portal just reached a tie when Agatha had finished her cupcake, tossing the wrapper aside she looked at the tray, deciding which one to try next.

"The lemon cake is divine, you should try it."

Loki supplied, taking a bite from his chocolate covered strawberry, adjusting his shades as they had slipped down his nose a bit.

She took a slice of the lemon cake and refilled the drink the god had offered her as the count had reached 1000, plopping some more ice cubes into the cocktail, it was a hot summer day after all.

Wanda jumped over some rubble, running for cover as she was chased down the ally by not less than 20 slimy creatures. Sometime in the last hour she had broken her wrist, the dull ache in her hand nothing compared to the burning feeling in her legs. She had ran more than ever in her life today. Yelling at Strange who was running besides her to keep going the slid behind some garbage cans.

Panting she looked at him. He was missing an eyebrow and his right sleeve, his boots melted to his trousers from a pretty hot fire ball from one of the creatures.

"The weather is quite nice today, don't you think? "

Agatha remarked, taking a sip of her cocktail, adding more ice as most of it had melted already. They had conjured a sun shade as it got hotter, the temperatures pushing 30⁰C

"A little bit to hot for my liking but it's definitely nice."

Loki answered, taking a bite out of his ice cream. He had change into a sleeveless tunic, pulling his hair into a messy bun, his boots having been replaced by flip flops. He flung his hand towards the portal, a green 735 popping up.

"Seems like im winning Ms. Harkness."

Agatha just laughed as she twisted her hand, sending some blobs into the portal, the purple 737 making her shoot the trickster god a triumphant smile.

"Don't get cocky dear."

Agatha had changed her outfit as well. Now spotting a purple flower dress, the fabric flowing around her knees, sandals instead of heeled boots. They had exchanged the pastries for ice cream at some point, Loki opting for mint and chocolate as Agatha chose blueberry and raspberry. They were just about to decide whether or not to order pizza when they heard a loud bang and smoke started to form a couple blocks in the distance.

Lifting his shades to have a better look on what's going on Loki shot a questioning look in her direction.

"You think they are alright? "

Waving him off Agatha took another bite from her ice cream, settling back in the chair.

"They'll be fine."

"Run"

That was the last thing Wanda heard before all hell broke lose, the building behind them catching fire and the toxin starting to react with it.

Strange grabbed her by the hand and they portaled out of the collapsing building.

Landing roughly on the concrete a couple streets over they groaned. Wanda by now having lost her right boot and part of her jacket. Strange didn't look much better, having lost a chunk of his hair to the fire and a broken ankle thanks to a fall from the third floor. It really wasn’t their day.

Loki and Agatha were just debating whether two servings of bread rolls were too much when an orange portal opened. They turned their heads away from the menu to look at the new arrival.

It was Wong, wearing beach shorts and a hawaii shirt, dragging his own beach chair through the portal.

"The Sanctum is safe, these idiots just don't know how to fight efficiently."

With these words he plopped down on his chair, accepting the menu Agatha offered him.

"Alright we can order two servings of bread rolls now but this won't work without a salad."

Loki commented, scrolling through the menu, debating whether he should order a caesar salad or the tuna one, both sounded delicious.

Having meanwhile conjured a fire pit and some blankets, as the sun was starting to set, they had dragged a table from the Sanctums dining room onto their rooftop. It was surprisingly easy to find a restaurant who delivered on top of a building if you offered to tip a little bit more.

"What do you think, red or white wine?"

Agatha asked as she held up two bottles. She had moved to the table already and had kicked her feet up on the table, watching the sunset as they waited for the food to arrive, distant bangs of fighting heard in the distance.

"I'll take the red wine."

Loki commented from where he was standing, arranging the fairy lights around the roof top. You needed a nice atmosphere to have a nice dinner party after all.

"I think the pizza arrived, I'll be right back."

With these words Wong opened a portal and stepped through it, leaving Agatha and Loki to their own devices. The god was painting his nails, nail polish floating in the air as he carefully applied the second coat of midnight black.

Meanwhile the witch had leaned back in her chair, wine glass in hand as she absently played with a ball of purple energy, illuminating the whole table in a purple glow.

"Today has been a great day, I really needed a day off."

She commented, taking a sip of her wine, taking her feet off the table as Wong appeared with their food, unpacking the pizza cartons and sorting through the food.

Wanda and Strange were done. They had finally managed to defeat the dragon squid thing, the blobs having disappeared a while ago. She had wrapped an arm around his shoulder as he had problems walking with his injured foot, her own wrist hurting like hell.

They were exhausted, smelling like dead dragon and smoke, covered in interdimensional goo and first degree burns.

"This has been a fucking nightmare. "

The sorcerer supreme commented. Wanda just nodding her head, too exhausted to say anything.

"I'd like to make a toast. "

Agatha groaned at Loki's statement, hitting her head on the table. They had had clearly to much alcohol, Loki bringing out some asgardian liquor, Wong bringing some alcohol from his home and she herself conjuring a bottle out of her ever-growing wine collection.

Loki was leaning against the table, having to hold onto it for support. Wong wasn't much better, feet kicked up on the table, glass in hand, refilling all of their glasses with what he call the best liquor you can get on earth.

She wanted to disagree but had to admit it was quite good. Getting up from her chair she raised her glass.

"And what are we making a toast on?"

Loki winked at her, raising his glass as he helped Wong up, the other man the most intoxicated of the trio.

"To this beautiful day and this beautiful friendship. "

"No no no, to magic and bitching about stupid people. "

Wong interrupted, talking about their animated discussion on who had to deal with the most shit.

The two men started arguing, on what they would speak their toast on. Groaning Agatha snapped her fingers, catching the attention of the two sorcerers, lifting her glass she spoke, a little bit more slurred than usual.

"To bitchcraft and the imbeciles we have to deal with on a daily basis. "

"To bitchcraft. "

They all echoed, raising their glasses.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Wanda asked Strange as they stepped out of the portal onto the rooftop, watching the trio speak a toast.

He just shook his head and pulled her back into the portal.

"I think we both got hit in the head one too many times. "

[ladykissingfish]

A Date with an Angel // Part Two // Hidan and Obito

Hidan

“Order whatever you want; I swiped the old fuck’s credit card so dinner’s on him!” Konan panics at this, and refuses to pick up her menu until Hidan takes out his wallet and proves that he was just kidding. Today was Hidan’s turn at entertaining the lovely little lady, and he had originally intended to take her to a heavy metal performance at bar downtown (he was friends with the lead guitarist so they would have gotten in free). However, after he informed Nagato of his plans, he was met with a disappointing “Konan hates heavy metal.”, so he decided to take her to dinner instead. She seemed entirely suspicious when he approached her earlier (wearing a dress shirt and tie instead of his usual dirty muscle tank and ripped sweatpants), but nonetheless agreed to go with him to a quiet little cafe a few blocks down from the house. Konan has never really known what to make of Hidan. He was just slightly older than Deidara, but (in Konan’s opinion) ranking much higher on the “immaturity” wheel. He’s been nicknamed by the rest of the group as “Mr. Never-Dies”, because no matter what happens, what job he takes on, how badly he’s hurt ... he just keeps getting back up. One time he came home with blood running from the crown of his head and flowing into his boots, but rather than let anyone take him to a hospital, Hidan took out a needle and made Kakuzu stitch the gash on his forehead. No painkillers, no alcohol, not even any flinching. Anyone else would have been substantially messed up after such a heavy blood loss ... but Hidan was just fine, in fact laughing and talking like nothing was amiss. He’s extremely foul-mouthed and has a thing for telling dirty jokes, but today, on his date with Konan, he’s making a great effort to restrain himself. Hidan wants very badly to put his arm around her waist as he walks along beside her, but resists as he knows Nagato will tear him a new asshole if he makes her in anyway uncomfortable. He’s at a loss for what to talk to her about, so he simply asks her how she’s feeling. There’s a pause, and she goes “I’m not really sure. I lost my mood ring yesterday.” He bursts out laughing, so hard that she blushes. “That’s pretty damn funny, lady.”Konan tilts her head in surprise; nobody had ever complimented her humor before. In fact she’s usually told that the few jokes she does make are very flat, or somewhat dark. Fast forward to the cafe, where Konan is surprised again that Hidan asks for a table that’s “quiet”, and pulls out her chair for her. The waiter comes back and Konan is amused by the amount of food that Hidan is ordering. When it’s her turn, her mind is a blank, so she just orders the last thing he said (which was spaghetti and meatballs). “That’s all?” he asks, as the waiter collects their menus and leaves. “No wonder you’re so slender.” She asks him how in the world HE’S so skinny when he eats so much, and he explains he has a fast metabolism, like his mother. Konan is interested; she’s never heard him mention his family before. As if reading her mind, he says, “Me and those guys just don’t get along. They wrote me off as a brain-dead bastard when I said I wasn’t goin’ to college.” “College isn’t everything, you know. People have to do what’s right for them.” Hidan agrees, and begins telling her his much he enjoys working for Nagato, and the type of jobs they do. It’s interesting; when you got him away from the others and in a calm, quiet setting, Hidan was ... normal. Normal and actually very charming. And although he never says it out-loud, Konan gets the strong impression that Hidan has come to consider the rest of the group as being a surrogate family. Then the food comes out and Hidan turns into a different creature altogether. He eats much like an animal, viciously and indiscriminately. But instead of being disgusted by this, Konan ... feels relaxed. There’s an unspoken feeling here, that with Hidan, she can let go and be herself. She doesn’t have to worry about looking pretty, or eating daintily, or acting “like a lady”. In fact Hidan orders them ice cream sundaes for dessert,

then challenges her to see who can eat theirs the fastest. Hidan ends up winning, but they end up with a horrible case of brain-freeze that leaves them both paralyzed for several moments ... yet laughing pretty hard. Even though Konan ate far less than Hidan, she feels quite stuffed nonetheless and mentions this to Hidan, who immediately offers to give her a piggy back ride home. She hesitates to accept; it’s a ways home and Konan feels she’s not the lightest woman in the world (especially after a big meal). But he insists, and she lets him hoist her into his back and trot back to the house with her. They laugh and joke the entire way, with Hidan making numerous comments about how light she is and how good she smells. “That’s one thing about living in a house full of guys for so long; I got so used to the smell of ass and dirty socks and Doritos that I forgot there’s people in the world who know what the fuck deodorant and shampoo are!” Konan laughs so hard at this that she slips off Hidan’s back and lands on her knees in the grass, holding her stomach and howling. Seeing that she likely won’t calm down anytime soon to grab onto his back again, Hidan picks her up and carries her in his arms the last two blocks home. He sets her down gently outside the front door, telling her how much fun she is to be with, when she throws her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard,” she says as she lets him go, wiping tears from her eyes. “Thank you.” He hesitates, then leans down and very gently kisses her cheek, before telling her that she’s welcome to hang out with him anytime, because “I’ve got a million more jokes, doll, and I’ll gladly tell ‘em all to you.” He walks her to her room and chances giving her another kiss, this one on the forehead, before bidding her Goodnight.

Obito

“Can I ask you a question?” “Yeah?” “When we’re at home, when we’re around the others, why do you wear that thing?” It’s the next day, and Konan is at a bar (ironically, the same one that Hidan wanted to take her to the previous day) with Obito. Out of everyone in the house, Obito is the one that strikes Konan as being the most mysterious. To begin with, the day she met him he was wearing a unique orange half-mask over his face ... and never took it off. She questioned Nagato about it but he seemed reluctant to speak on Obito’s unique fashion choice, and none of the others acted as though there was anything strange about it. He joined he others for dinner each night but seemed to prefer sweets to actual food, and he was quiet. Nagato told Konan that Obito was more or less his right hand man within the organization, and had helped him recruit the other members. Obito never spoke to her unless she spoke first ... so naturally she had been surprised when he approached her as she was coming out of her room, and asked if she minded joining him for “a quick drink”. The bar, like everything else, was in walking distance of the house; but Obito took her on the back of his motorcycle. It was a short ride but an exhilarating one ... and it got even more exciting when, upon entering the bar, Obito glanced around, saw there weren’t many people, and took off his mask. He found them a seat at a table near the back, and ordered them both a glass of wine. Konan had tried her hardest not to stare at his face ((which was difficult; aside from a few jagged scars on the left side and what looked like a damaged eye, he was quite handsome)) but eventually he caught her looking, hence giving her the bravery to pose her question. Obito paused for several moments, as if contemplating what to say. “Why do women wear makeup? Why do people dye their hair or get piercings or tattoos or wear crazy clothes? It’s because they have something about themselves that they don’t like, so they try to cover it up. I don’t like my face. I haven’t since my accident.” Konan blinks, genuinely surprised at Obito’s answer. She chances it to ask “Accident?” He gave her a wry smile and ordered himself a shot of whiskey (and her an ice tea) saying he needed something stronger to tell her about it. “When I was a kid, my parents liked to go rock climbing. Took me with to National parks every summer. One year my dad got drunk and took me and my mom up a dangerous path. He pulled on a rock the wrong way, and it came out of the mountain, along with a bunch more, and crashed down on us. Really long fall; mom and dad killed right away. But me ... I guess the devil decided he wasn’t done with me. A boulder crushed this entire side of my body, and my face got fucked ... but I lived. Had to go to a lot of physical therapy. Also had to go live with my uncle Madara — that guy’s a piece of work. But anyway I lived and here we are, right?” Konan is quiet for a long while, watching the ice cubes float around in her glass. “I like you like this,” she finally says, and this time she’s looking him directly in the face. “I understand if you want to be someone different, or like, if you feel like your mask makes you different, but, if you ever want to be THIS Obito ... please come to my room. We can talk, we can listen to music and eat junk and watch movies and talk about books and —“ Obito interrupts her by putting both arms around her, squeezing her warmly. “Thank you, Konan.” They stay for another few hours, and Konan is pleasantly surprised to find that Obito without the mask, Obito away from the house ... is fantastic. He teaches her how to play pool, he keeps her laughing with countless stories about growing up with his “crazy uncle”. At one point in the night he convinces her to join him at the karaoke machine on the stage, and the two sing duets of Disney songs (to the thunderous applause of the few people at the bar).The ride back home is mostly quiet, him driving slower this time and her holding on to him, each filled with their own thoughts. Before they get to the front

door, Konan lifts Obito’s mask just the slightest bit, and kisses his cheek. “This is the best night I’ve had in a long, long time. I appreciate you letting me get to know you.” He smiles and blushes, then slides the mask back into place before opening the front door. Some of the others are in the living room, and Obito quietly greets them before heading to his room. Konan was awed by how effortless the switch from animated and somewhat goofy to reserved and calm seemed to be for him ... and found herself wondering if any of the others were putting on a facade as well. She takes her shower and goes to her room, intending to go to sleep early, but after about an hour of restlessly tossing back and forth, she gives it up. She turns her light back on and picks up the remote to her tv, thinking that maybe a good, boring show will put her to sleep. But before she can find anything, a knock comes on the door. She goes to open it, and is surprised to find Obito standing there. “I saw the light underneath your door. Can I come in?” She takes him by the arm and pulls him inside. Once inside, he slides off his mask and, looking around, finds a seat for himself on one of Konan’s chairs. He opens up his jacket to reveal a small book, worn and obviously read many times. “I saw you reading this last week. I remember you telling Sasori that you finished it. I was wondering; what did you think in Chapter seven, when —“

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Gen

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter except for like, the word orgasm

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 8/16 (all chapters)

The sports festival was over before you knew it. You left the school grounds on a high, proud of being even slightly involved in such an impressive event.

You knew that the next few days were going to be frantic, so made a point to stop off at the store to pick up some last minute groceries while you had the chance to do so. They were having a sale on seasonal produce and you ended up buying more than you meant to, struggling under the weight of your numerous bags as you arrived at your house.

You lifted your bags to reach for your keys, only to catch your ankle on something and fall face first onto your own doorstep, vegetables flying everywhere in your wake. Somehow you avoided smashing your face against the concrete and escaped with only minor grazes on your knees and palms. You rolled over onto your back with a hiss of pain, wondering what the hell you’d tripped over.

You got your answer soon enough, though you didn’t like it. Shouta was sitting on the ground beside you, pointedly looking away. You realised in horror that you had almost certainly flashed your underwear on the way down. Heck, you were flashing him then.

“Oops,” you said, quickly rearranging yourself and clapping a hand in your lap for good measure. “Were you...waiting for me?”

It was a stupid question and you knew it. Why else would he be sitting at your door?

He’d got the food containers that you’d given him in his lap and you felt more than a passing pang of joy at the knowledge that he must have eaten everything you had made for him, even if you were still more than a little miffed that he’d gone back to work without rest.

“Come on in,” you said, getting up to gather the vegetables you’d dropped everywhere. Thankfully you hadn’t bought anything particularly fragile. “I’ll make some-

He reached out to take the bags from you and you glanced from his casts to his blank expression and back again. He wanted to help, that much was clear, but there was no way you were going to push all of your groceries into his injured arms. Instead you lifted a single bright red tomato from your bag and set it down on top of the food containers he already had.

He was far from impressed by the gesture, but said little of it as he followed you into your home. You headed to the sink to wash your hands and hissed with pain when the water hit your grazes.

“What is it?”

Shouta peered over your shoulder, standing so close that you could feel his breath against the back of your neck. It was more than a little distracting, all things considered.

“You really are an idiot,” he sighed.

For a second, and only one, you agreed with him.

“Wait. Me?? I’m the idiot?! Why were you sitting at my door in the first place?”

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings.”

“And you shouldn’t sit in such a prime tripping position,” you said. “I could have broken my nose!”

You turned towards him, ready to make a comment about how he was exactly like a cat, running between your legs and trying to trip you over onto your ass, but you fell silent at the realisation that you were at kissing level.

“Oh,” you said. “Hello.”

He glanced at your lips, however briefly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I came to talk about...I came to talk about 1-A.”

“Okay,” you said, “um...where would you like to start?”

He stood there, eying you from head to toe as if you were a battle scene and he needed to devise a strategy. You might not have known it, but in many respects you were.

“I didn’t come to talk about 1-A.”

“No.”

Truth be told, you already knew. You had both dreaded and looked forward to this moment; the discussion about the kiss. You were both adults and couldn’t dance around the topic forever, no matter how much you might have wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I took advantage of you and I shouldn’t have, I-”

“Stop it with that. If I didn’t want to kiss you, I wouldn’t have.”

He was so close...so warm. He was close enough to touch and you couldn’t distract yourself from it. The students weren’t the only ones you hoped your feelings reached. You wanted him to know how much you had feared for him the day of the accident; the feelings deep within you that you didn’t want to leave behind.

You didn’t want him to leave you behind.

“I…”

“Hizashi,” he said.

It was perhaps the last thing you expected him to say and you weren’t sure how to respond.

“Uh...I’m (Name).”

He laughed at that under his breath, so quietly that you wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t standing so extraordinarily close.

“Fried chicken,” he continued, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was having a stroke. “Black nail polish, green candies.”

“Shouta…”

You planted a hand on his forehead to feel his temperature, wondering if you should call an ambulance. Maybe it wasn’t only his orbital cavity that had been damaged.

“Purple socks, studded leather, zombie movies, horror games, candles that smell like desserts, cheap sunglasses, expensive shampoo, eighties rock and dubstep mashups, light beer…” he skimmed your hairline. “(HC) hair.”

“Shouta, what are you…”

He took a step back and crossed his arms as much as one could with two casts.

“Those are the things Mic likes,” he said, as politely as if you were strangers. “Bear them in mind.”

“Uh...okay,” you said, wondering if his birthday was coming up. “I will.”

Shouta nodded and you couldn’t help but wonder. If it was just Hizashi’s birthday, why did he look so sad?

“I’m rooting for you,” he said, giving you a polite bow.

You stared at your front door for a long time after he left, going over everything he had said. You couldn’t understand why he had looked so upset, however briefly.

What had any of it got to do with Hizashi? Why did it matter if you knew the kind of movies he liked?

Why would he-

Realisation hit you like an ice cold bath as you considered recent events: Hizashi’s immediate invitation for beers the day that you met; his insistence that you called him by his first name within a matter of hours of meeting. Hizashi, who seemed incapable of going a single conversation without calling you ‘cute’. Hizashi, who nudged you with his elbow the last time you had recorded Support Mic and told you with a wink that the walls were soundproof.

Oh

You moved towards your cupboards and began to pack your groceries away, too many thoughts circling your mind for you to settle on a single one.

This was, to say the least, an interesting development.

~~~~~~

Aizawa Shouta had suffered many misfortunes in his life. He had lost friends, family and students alike, had slept in the cold with nothing but a cigarette for dinner.

He had almost always accepted his misfortunes with grace; it was easier to dodge punches when you saw them coming.

Even so, he left your home slowly, thinking of Shinohara.

Hizashi and Nemuri had him wrong; since high school, they had believed he was oblivious to her advances and discarded her love notes by mistake. As a matter of fact, he had done so deliberately.

What was it you had said the night of the reset? That you had never done such a thing before and didn’t know what came next?

Shouta knew as much about relationships as you did casual flings.

He had read each one of Shinohara’s notes. He had seen the way she behaved like a deer in headlights and concluded that he didn’t understand any of it. She spoke of him in such abstract and illogical terms that he wondered if she knew him at all.

It was easier to believe she didn’t. When she spoke of kind eyes and wisdom, she meant someone else. She offered up a piece of her heart with every letter and he was doing her a favour by not taking them. That person she liked didn’t exist.

Casual lovers didn’t expect anything from him other than an orgasm, which was easy enough to provide with practise. Longer term partners, though, that was something else entirely. He didn’t know the first thing about being someone’s boyfriend, but he did know that Hizashi would make the perfect one. In the long run, you would be better off with him.

It was easier to dodge punches when you saw them coming; easier to avoid disappointments when you didn’t hope for things in the first place.

Even so, he caught himself thinking back to the day of the reset.

You chased after him then and, if he was completely honest, he wanted you to now.

~~~~

While you cooked dinner and Shouta returned home, Hizashi sat at the bar in Ego , sipping at his drink with a depressed expression that completely contrasted the upbeat music playing over the speakers.

He had gone to Ego straight from work, meaning to ask about the mystery woman. He’d gotten distracted, though, watching the video over and over instead of showing it to the staff. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Shouta held the woman’s hand in his.

He’d held Shouta’s hand before, during training exercises or to find him in crowds, but it had never had the same feel to it that he saw in the video. Shouta had always been reluctant about it, never once taking the lead and Hizashi felt oddly jealous, wondering why he had never received the same level of tenderness as the woman at Ego .

For the briefest of moments, he was tempted to delete the video and erase the mystery woman from their lives. He didn’t like what she represented, no matter how wonderful she might have been.

He downed his drink in one with a grimace, catching the attention of the bartender.

“Can I get you a refill?”

Hizashi sighed, twirling his glass and spinning the ice cubes within.

“Yeah, maybe something harder.”

“Mic, you’re going to scare away the customers at this rate. What’s the matter with you?”

Hizashi set aside his glass with a sigh.

“I’m looking for a woman,” he said.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Not like that. She was here about six months ago. Had drinks with Eraser. I was hoping you’d remember her.”

The bartender laughed as he reached for a bottle of rum.

“Listen,” he said, grabbing a glass and setting it down on the bar with a flourish. “I have a better memory than most, but even I can’t remember that far back.”

“Don’t you have CCTV or something? It’s pretty important that we find her.”

“Oh? She do something illegal?”

“No, I just want to talk to her.”

The bartender poured rum into the glass, flinching at his answer.

“I’ll be honest,” he said. “The boss man handles all of that stuff and I doubt he’d part with that kind of information without a formal subpoena. Do you have any idea how many creepy guys come to us looking for girl’s numbers?”

Hizashi reached for his newly filled drink.

“Not even for me?”

“ Especially not for you. If anything went south it would be even more of a scandal.”

Hizashi hadn’t expected to hit a dead end so early on and didn’t know how to feel about it. He wondered if he should have followed his instincts and deleted the video after all.

He wondered about it on the train ride home, as he combed his hair, as he sat down in his studio. He played the video on silent and scrolled through it as he loaded up each track.

Finally, at minutes past midnight, he leaned into his microphone.

“Now, listeners,” he said, “here’s a song for the lovers.”

There and then he played a song of unrequited love, of strangers on trains and secret words and crossed paths, a song that bled with emotion and longing. A song that you sang along to as it played through your earphones. A song that Shouta nodded his head along to on his balcony, Sushi curled up on his lap.

Hizashi closed his eyes as he listened to the song, the video from Ego loaded and his finger hovering over ‘delete’.

One tap and the mystery woman would be gone forever. One tap and this feeling of dejectedness would leave him. He wouldn’t have to think anymore about what she represented, the realisations she had forced upon him without ever introducing herself.

One tap and he wouldn’t be the Shinohara.

He locked his phone instead and set it aside, the video safe for another day.

He told himself the same thing you told yourself as you stared at your bedroom ceiling, thinking of the way Shouta had backed away.

He told himself the same thing Shouta told himself as he thought of your lips and bewildered expression.

I shouldn’t be selfish. This is the way it should be.

[joezworld]

Toby - Rap God

Guys I was making myself laugh when I wrote this - I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. 

Based entirely on one line from this.

2019

There are many engines on the Island of Sodor, and like many people, music is often part of their lives.

Some engines, like Percy and Duck, have no interest in the subject, having never been exposed to it in a real manner.

Others, like Gordon and Henry, have extremely well-defined music tastes. (Unfortunately for those around them, they do not like the same music, and arguments often ensue.)

James, being extremely vain, enjoys the songs written about him for the children's television show based on the writings of The Thin Clergyman.

And then there’s Toby...

-----------

Toby is a small brown steam tram. He has spent almost all of his life on Sodor on Thomas' branch line, where he and his coach Henrietta trundle up and down the valley at the top of the line - providing a valuable commuter service from the branch line terminus to the stone mines at Anopha.

Toby likes music, as does Henrietta; they like it so much that in 1989 the workmen installed a radio in Henrietta so that the two could listen to music on it as they worked.

This was very thoughtful gift, but there was a small problem:

The hills outside of the quarry meant that many radio stations couldn't reach the small antenna on Henrietta's roof.

Fortunately, a few did, mostly overpowered stations on the Isle of Man. These stations were designed to reach boats far out at sea, and mainly played uninteresting things like the Shipping Forecast.

There was, however, one station that did come come through loud and clear no matter where you were...

---

You're listening to ManxPirate - the Barely-Seaworthy voice of the Sudrian Sea. I’m your sea-going Deejay - or Sea-Jay - Musik Mike! Up next is our most popular block of the day - that’s right, the JAMS are LOUD and we're all gonna get DEF!

"Oh Henrietta! It's starting!"

"Just be ready on the choruses Toby"

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

The sounds of music echoed off of the Els river valley as Toby and Henrietta trundled towards Elsbridge.

Aside from their Quarry duties, Toby and Henrietta also worked 'the school bus', a daily train that carried schoolchildren from the remote farmhouses between Elsbridge and Hackenbeck to the Saint Pedroc's school in Elsbridge.

Toby loved this route - many of the children had been taking 'the bus' since Grade 1, and he felt privileged to have seen them grow up into fine young adults.

-

As he pulled into the platform at Elsbridge station, he saw those young adults crowded around each other.

'"Peep Peep! Let's go, everyone!" he called to the teens.

"Just a minute Tobes!" Called back Sera, one of the teenagers, before she turned back to her friends, who were filming her with their 'smart-phones'.

"Whatever could they be doing?" He asked Henrietta as Sera and her friend Phoebe bounced up and down in unison while waving their arms around.

"Undoubtedly something for the internet," the coach mused. "But I have no idea what - trends change so fast now".

"Internet?" Toby was puzzled. "Don't they need a computer for that?"

"Toby. Smartphones have been around for over ten years. How do you not know about this?"

"I'm sorry that I'm not as technologically advanced as you - but at least I know what steam is!"

"Oh my goodness, it's also a video game company now. You've heard those jokes before!"

Toby and Henrietta likely would have gone on like that until the guard blew his whistle, but Phoebe broke away from the group of teens, her phone in her hand.

"Toby?" She asked, clearly trying not laugh. "Do you know what Vossi Bop is?"

Toby was taken aback. "Of course I do. Vossi Bop isn't my favourite, but that's just because I don't like Stormzy that much - I'm not one for Grime."

Phoebe blinked like she'd been poleaxed. "What?"

"It's a Stormzy song, isn't it?"

"Toby," Henrietta sighed. "She was asking because she thought you didn't know. Was this going to be some kind of thing where you show rap music to the elderly and laugh at them being shocked?" She asked Phoebe, who nodded slowly.

"Well, you're going to have to better than that young lady," The coach smirked. "We've been listening to ManxPirate since before you were born!"

"Really?" The blonde asked slowly.

"Oh yes!" Henrietta boasted. "Eazy-E was still alive when we first tuned in!"

"Oh, em, gee!" The girl said, before turning and shouting down the platform. "Guys! They do know!"

-

The excited teenagers crowded around Toby and Henrietta as they quizzed the tram on rap music. Any thought of leaving on time was totally forgotten about as Toby's extensive knowledge of gangsta rap was laid out for them.

"Mate, mate," said John, one of the boys. "You gotta do The Challenge if you know all this!"

"What challenge?" Toby asked.

The teens clamored over each other, before they all stopped to let someone speak intelligibly.

Rachel Kyndley eventually spoke up: "It's a thing that ManxPirate is doing on TikTok. You sing along to a rap song and whoever does it the best gets to record a charity single with Stormzy!"

The teens again spoke over each other, all claiming that Toby and Henrietta should sing for the challenge.

Toby had to blow his whistle to calm them down. "I suppose there's nothing to lose by it," He said after a moment. "But I should say that my flow isn’t that good."

"Mate, I am amazed that you know what that means,” Said John. “But you just need to sing along to somethin’ that’s already out there.” 

“Oh.” Toby looked back at Henrietta. “Well that shouldn’t be too hard. Do you have any N.W.A we could sing along to?”

As he had the only ‘eye-phone pro’, Simon the student newspaper editor was volunteered as cameraperson, while Rachel set a small ‘blue tooth speaker’ on Toby’s bufferbeam so that he could hear the music.  

The remaining teenagers pulled out their phones as well - whatever happened next was going to be un-fucking-believable. 

-

The music began with record scratching. The kids looked at each other in shock. There was no way that Rachel had picked this.

"Right about now NWA court is in full effect” Henrietta sang.

Rachel had. The teens could barely contain themselves. 

“Judge Dre presiding in the case of NWA versus the police department.

Prosecuting attourneys are MC Ren, Ice Cube and Eazy motherfuckin' E”

Hearing Henrietta say ‘fuck’, was an astonishing experience for the unprepared teenagers.

“Order, order, order, Ice Cube take the motherfuckin' stand

Do you swear to tell the truth the whole truth

And nothin' but the truth so help your black ass?”

“You goddamn right” Toby responded. Rachel Kyndley barely could hold back a shout of astonishment. I hope there’s no book written about this! She thought.

“Well, won't you tell everybody what the fuck you gotta say?"

Then there was a record scratching sound. 

The teens knew what came next. They hoped that they were prepared to hear this song come out of Toby.

"Fuck the police comin' straight from the underground!" 

Toby and Henrietta not only sang this lyric, they sang it in harmony. 

The teenagers thought that they had been prepared. 

They were not prepared. 

Most of the next few verses were lost underneath the clamor of twelve teenagers losing their goddamn minds.

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

A few days later

Toby was resting in his shed when a little car came tearing into the station parking lot. More girls than should have been possible to fit in it came tumbling out and made a beeline for his shed, Rachel Kyndley in the lead. 

“Toby! Toby! Toby! You won! You won!” She shouted as she skidded over the gravel. 

“Won what?”

“The Contest!” She shrieked. “Your video went viral and you won The Contest! Stormzy said on Instagram that he was excited to meet you!” 

She and her friends dissolved into happy squealing, preventing any further speech. 

“What’s Instagram?” Toby asked Henrietta. 

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

The Next Week

Stephen Hatt was enjoying his tea and tolerating his toast and marmalade, when his son Richard burst into his office, waving his phone around like a sword. 

“Were you just not going to tell me that you let Stormzy visit the engines? Or was I just supposed to figure this out when Kieran and Micah tore my ear off for not letting them meet him?!”

“I have a phone, you know. And a receptionist.” Stephen said as he cleaned tea off of his desk. Fortunately, most of it had gone onto the marmalade covered toast, which he unceremoniously dumped into the trash. “And who have I let meet the engines?”

“Stormzy? The rapper? He headlined at Glastonbury last bloody month?”

“I don’t follow.”

“He’s a musician, and you let him record an album with Toby!”

“He recorded music? With Toby? Our Toby?”

“Yes! It was supposed to be a single, but now it’s an album! It hit number one! And it’s been out for three hours!”

“You’re saying this as if I have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Just read the article!” Richard shoved the phone into his hand. The website for  BBC Sodor and Man was open. 

-

STORMZY DROPS SURPRISE ALBUM WITH SURPRISE COSTARS

ELSBRIDGE - Music fans across the world were surprised this morning when Stormzy unexpectedly announced via Instagram the release of his newest album, Back in Their Day - featuring two of the realest OGs I’ve ever seen.

Residents of Sodor were especially surprised to discover who those “two real OGs” were: Toby and Henrietta, an engine and coach on the Ffarquhar Branch Line. 

This unexpected collaboration began several weeks ago when a viral video on TikTok featuring the pair attracted the attention of the rapper...

-

Stephen skimmed the rest of the article, not quite believing what he was reading. “I didn’t authorize any of this.” He said at last. 

“Really?” Richard said, not quite believing him. “Because that’s what the staff on the Branch told me too.”

“I swear to you I didn’t do anything.”

“Then what, did the biggest star in the country just go to Ffarquhar and record an album with Toby? With nobody’s permission?”

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

[TWO YEARS LATER]

--CHANNEL 4 INTERNAL TRANSCRIPT: THE LAST LEG 2021 CHRISTMAS SPECIAL--

ADAM HILLS - So we’ve had a lot of questions, about, the last album you dropped-

[AUDIENCE LAUGHTER]

AH - The one with the train engine -  I think his name is Toby?

STORMZY - And Henrietta. Can’t forget her. 

AH - Of course not.

S - What do you wanna know?

[MORE LAUGHTER]

AH - Well, I don’t have any questions - and when I say we, I don’t mean Alex or our viewers - 

[PROLONGED LAUGHTER]

AH - I mean Josh.

JOSH WIDDICOMBE - [TO ADAM] You’re an Arse. [To STORMZY] - Um, I just wanted to know how you did it really. Is it, is it true that you snuck in and did it all in one night?

S - Oh yeah! Absolutely. ‘Cause, I thought that it was gonna be a one and done, like just a single y’know? So I just went there and was gonna do it and go. But as we kept talkin’ I realized that, that, I just had to make more, and then it became the album and we shot a music video for ‘scrapp’ on the same night and then I did some sound work  and then it went up. 

AH - Just like that?

S - Just like that.

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part Three

Link to Masterpost

This has been so much fun, and it’s just going to keep going! As always, I am accepting prompts for this in my ask box.

This addition to the series uses two prompts:

“The salad here is really good.” / “Do I look like a fucking rabbit?” 

and

“Why’d you hug him? You love him?”

 Enjoy!

~*~*~

Aelin grinned and sauntered over to her newest customer a few minutes into her shift. “Good evening,” she purred. “What brings you in tonight?”

Green eyes met hers, completely unamused at her antics. “Considering that you insisted I come in, I think you know very well why I’m here,” Rowan replied.

It was completely true, of course. The previous Sunday, Rowan had kept to his word and helped Aelin get her flat tire fixed. He had also immediately taken her to the nearest grocery store and carefully watched her select fruits and vegetables like a hawk eyeing its prey. Once they had gotten home he had immediately flown into a flurry of meal preparation, and soon Aelin’s entire half of the fridge was full of little glass containers of portioned snacks and meals while Aelin’s roommate was glaring from the counter.

She had mocked him for it endlessly, of course, but truth be told she was immensely grateful. And so she had insisted that he pick a night to come out to the bar, so she could get him a free meal and a drink in thanks. He had picked Friday, and now he was here in the place she spent so much of her week. When they had first started rooming together, and even just two weeks ago, it would’ve been strange and she probably would’ve swapped halves of the bar with Lysandra just to avoid him. Now, though, she felt a strange warmth at seeing him so clearly out of his depth for her sake.

“I’m kind of hoping you’ll trust me on the drink, but is there something in particular you want to eat?” she asked.

“You’re the one who works here,” he retorted. “Surely you have a recommendation, seeing how you chose to eat here most nights rather than just admit you can’t cook to save your own life.”

Where that jab would’ve started a real fight just a few weeks ago, now Aelin just gave him her sweetest smile. “The salad here is really good.”

Rowan lifted a single eyebrow. “Do I look like a rabbit to you?”

“Well, since you seem intent on turning me into a rabbit I thought I would offer,” she said, finally bursting into laughter.

Before Rowan could say anything else, a lilting high tenor sounded behind her. “Is there a problem here, Laena?”

Aelin only laughed harder, nearly doubling over as Rowan’s eyes widened. “Oh, don’t be an ass, you know everything’s fine,” she wheezed.

Beside her, a man with dark curls offered a hand to Rowan, who warily shook it. “I’m Sam,” he explained, “bar manager and old college friend.”

Rowan nodded, gaze flicking back over to Aelin. Laena? he mouthed.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “The nickname is short for Celaena. It was the name on my fake license when we met, and he’s never let me forget it. It helps here, sometimes, if someone’s being a little too pushy. Whoever it is walks out of here without my real name, so I let him get away with it.”

Sam chuckled. “I do what I can. But I’ve embarrassed you enough for now, I think.” And without another word he faded into the bustle of the room, where she knew he would be carefully overseeing the crowd.

“Sorry about that,” Aelin said to Rowan. “If I knew he was going to come over and be an ass, I’d have warned you.”

Rowan shook his head, but she could see the faint glimmer of a smile. “It’s good that you have someone looking out for you at work,” he replied.

She smiled back and got to work. Together, they decided on a burger she’d had before for his meal. “Do you trust me?” Aelin asked.

“As much as I feel like I’m going to regret this, go ahead,” he sighed.

Aelin grinned and gathered her ingredients, dropping a single cube of sugar into a glass and soaking it with a mix of bitters. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d serve you for a week,” she began. “I won’t lie, it was tempting to serve you straight amaro and nothing else just to watch your face. But all jokes about bitterness aside, I wasn’t going to actually be that mean.”

“I’m eternally grateful,” Rowan deadpanned.

“You should be,” she laughed, reaching for a muddler and crushing the cube down. “But none of the sweeter drinks seemed like you, either. If I had to guess, in your personal life you don’t mix drinks at all, you just drink your spirits straight.”

The guess earned her a nod. “Even that isn’t often, but when I do, you’re right.”

Aelin nodded as well, dropping a sphere of ice into the glass as well and then reaching for the bottle of rye she’d selected. “So I didn’t want to deviate too much from that and give you a glass that was basically full of sugar, but I wanted to take you just a little outside your comfort zone.” Deftly she added the alcohol to the glass and then began to stir. “That left me with a much shorter list. Spirit forward. Classic pairings. Something even a joyless buzzard like you can appreciate.”

The name had started as an insult, Aelin mused as she reached for an orange and deftly carved a strip of its peel away from the fruit. Now, though, it was… almost an endearment. If friends traded endearments, that was.

Rowan’s eyes widened as she reached for a match, expression turning wary. “What exactly are you doing?” he asked.

Aelin grinned. “Helping you live a little,” she said as she struck the match and held the peel to the flame.

The smell of caramelization and warm orange oil reached her nose soon enough, and she blew out the match and set it aside before gently twisting the peel over the top of the now-completed drink and rested it on the rim of the glass. With a smirk, she slid the glass across the bar and watched as her roommate looked it over. “What is this?”

“If I told you, you’d think I was making fun of you,” she laughed. “So we’ll call it a ‘Trust Me, Rowan’ instead.”

The remark earned her another roll of those pine-green eyes, but he obediently lifted the glass, swirling its contents gently and inhaling delicately. “I wouldn’t have thought scorching the orange peel would change its scent so much,” he remarked.

Aelin grinned. “And that’s why I’m behind the bar and you’re in front of it. Go on, try it.”

As she watched, he carefully lifted the glass to his lips and took a small sip. She bit her lip, doing her best to wait out his reaction as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Finally he let out a pleased hum, and she could no longer contain her smile. “All right,” he said. “If I admit that I like this, will you tell me what it’s called? Or did you just make it up?”

Aelin tugged on a stray strand of hair as she bit back a laugh. “I didn’t invent this, no,” she said. “It’s been around for a while.”

“And?”

She glanced at him again and finally lost the battle with her mirth, leaning heavily on the bar as she broke into a fit of giggles. “It’s called an old fashioned,” she wheezed as Rowan rolled his eyes and grumbled into his drink.

~*~*~

Rowan left about an hour after that, but Aelin was still laughing about it with Lysandra as they worked to wipe the bar clean after closing. Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, and she laughed and turned, tossing her rag into Sam’s face. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble today?” she teased.

“Not quite enough yet,” he grinned. “So why’d you hug him? You love him or something?”

Aelin laughed as she remembered back to Rowan leaving the bar. He’d obviously intended to slip away without calling attention to his departure, but she had noticed him and chased him down to give him a giant hug and a smacking kiss on his cheek. He had growled and immediately gone to wipe his face off, tossing her a glare that once would’ve left her shaking in her boots. Now, though, she had simply laughed and told him it was revenge for him trying to sneak away. “No,” she finally said as she turned her attention back to Sam. “No, that’s my roommate. We’re trying out this new thing where we actually get along.”

“Oh, so this is the roommate from hell we’ve been hearing so much about,” Lysandra chimed in. “You didn’t say he was hot.”

“I feel like that wasn’t relevant to what I was telling you,” Aelin pointed out. “Hot people can be jerks just as much as the rest of us.”

“She says as though the three of us aren’t hot,” Sam laughed.

“He’s got a point,” Lysandra agreed, green eyes bright with mirth as well. “But anyway, we’ve got a mess to clean up here. We can sort out Aelin’s future domestic bliss later.”

Aelin scowled as her two friends laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she cautioned them.

“Ah, but if we don’t, who will?” asked Sam.

“You’re assholes and I hate you both,” Aelin said with no heat in her voice.

“Oh, come on, you love us,” Lysandra grinned. “Sam, what can you do about all three of us having the same day off sometime soon?”

“You know I don’t control the schedule,” he sighed, but his brown eyes were glimmering with amusement. “That said, we all have this coming Sunday off. Why, do you have a plan?”

“I’ve always got a plan,” she replied. “But in this case, I suppose I can extend my plans to include the two of you.”

“This is all well and good,” Aelin drawled, “but at least one of us would like to sleep at some point tonight.”

“You just want to get home to that roommate of yours,” Lysandra retorted.

“Oh, would you—”

Aelin’s words cut off with a yelp. She had been turning to face Lysandra, but suddenly her ankle buckled and she hit the floor with a cry and the sound of something cracking.

~*~*~

If anyone has questions about any of the mixology involved in this, I am of course happy to answer to the best of my ability! I don’t do it professionally, but in this quarantine it has become an... extensive and somewhat expensive hobby. Yikes. Lol.

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.4 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is settling into small town life.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Four on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The rest of Stretch’s week went about the same way as the first few days. Work in the morning, movie in the afternoon, dinner with Red at night. After what Red told him, he’d been prepared to Groundhog’s Day his way through his next visit with Doris if needs be, braced for a few reminders until he made a good enough impression.

For their second meeting, he got another popcorn just for her, tucking it into the cupholder on the opposite side of her seat. She was barely formed before she was leaning down to breathe in the buttery smell of it and from that angle, he didn’t have to witness any of her less appetizing manifestations. He also brought strawberry-flavored twizzlers, bought from the store and smuggled in under his shirt since the only candy at the concession stand was raisinets and those tasted like chocolate-covered dirt, no thanks.

He wasn’t too worried about going over his entertainment budget. Red paid him yesterday and they hadn’t discussed an hourly rate, but a hundred bucks under the table wasn’t bad for a few hours work a day, especially since Red had recently taken more of an interest in feeding him. Seemed he’d taken his brother’s order to look after Stretch pretty seriously and he started leaving packets of donuts on the counter in the morning or little boxes of sugary dry cereal to munch between customers. In the evening, Red dragged him back to his apartment at night for more Wheel of Fortune and food, either deliciously left by his unseen brother or frozen dinners.

It made Stretch feel even more like a scrawny lost puppy found in a parking lot, but he couldn’t say Red’s sudden adoption was unwelcome, especially since it meant less of his dwindling funds were wasted at ‘Mama’s’ getting takeout. Not that he couldn’t access his bank account, even Backwater had an ATM at the gas station, but the second he popped that plastic into the slot, he’d be advertising where he was. Better to save that as his last measly dollar, ‘hail Mary’ pass.

After indulging in her popcorn vice, Doris sat back up to her normal prim posture and there was a certain restrained excitement in her voice as she said, “You came back.”

“’course i did,” Stretch said from around his current twizzler even as he nursed a secret delight at being remembered. “i said i would, didn’t i?” He wondered what other friends she’d made and possibly forgotten, aside from Red. Maybe she thought she’d been alone all this time when she actually had others who came to see her on the weekends?

Whatever the truth was, there wasn’t much point in asking. Not like she’d know the truth, anyway, and Stretch wasn’t planning on ghosting her. Her smile was Mona Lisa subtle and probably held as many unspoken secrets, and that was fine. Stretch wasn’t a guy to pry. They sat together through ‘The Road to Morocco’ and he didn’t even mind when Doris hummed softly through all the songs.

On the third day since their haunting introduction, she appeared before the movie started while he was playing ‘Candy Crush’ on his phone and pointedly ignoring the messages piling up. She looked fascinated, watching the flickering lights from the game. “What is that contraption, Stretch?”

Hey, points for being remembered again, but then, he’d been here every day so far. He wondered idly how it would go if he took a day or two off.

Stretch held his phone out to let her get a better look. “you ever have a telephone in your house?”

“Of course,” she said, but her eyes, both pale blue and ghostly pale at the same time, were on the android, “My parents were on the exchange. Mama used to call Central all the time so she could chat with the ladies’ in her church group.”

Stretch wasn’t quite sure what that all meant, but the movie was starting soon so there wasn’t time to ask. “well, this little gadget is a kind of a phone and a camera, plus a few other things on top.”

Probably better not to bring up the deal with the internet just yet.

Her eyes went wide and round, without an ounce of disbelief. “You can take photographs with that?”

“yeah, sure. here.” He turned it on selfie mode and tipped his head her way, waiting until he was sure to catch her good side before pushing the button. One click later and there was his grin and her translucent open-mouthed astonishment, frozen in time. He held out the phone so she could get a good look. “see? i can get it printed later, but for now, we can see how it looks.”

“That’s wonderous,” she whispered in hushed awe. “You don’t even have to wait to develop it!”

“yeah, it is pretty cool.” It was, honestly. He didn’t really think about it too often but carrying around a little supercomputer that also took pictures was actually pretty wonderous. He remembered getting his first phone when they came to the surface, a huge upgrade from the taped-up flip phone he’d scavenged from the dump. Playing with all the apps, taking tons of pictures of him and Blue. He’d forgotten that wonder when it all became commonplace and it was nice to have a reminder.

Doris reached out as if to touch, but her finger passing through the screen. Her hand fell away and she didn’t look happy anymore, more pensive, her delight fading as some other thought filtered in and force it to sink.

He wondered if the culture shock was kicking in. He asked, low, “you okay?”

“Yes, of course.” She pulled out a hankie and dabbed at her eyes. “I simply haven’t seen myself in, oh, a very long time, I think.”

Shit, he hadn’t thought of that. She probably hadn’t made too many trips to the ladies’ room in the past few decades and now he was double-glad he hadn’t accidently caught one of her bloody ‘flickers’, she didn’t need to see that. “i’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be sorry,” she assured him, “I’m happy to have seen it.” She smiled then, pretty as a picture, “you’re a good friend.”

“trying to be.” For as long as he could, anyway. The lights started to dim and Stretch tucked his phone away. They both settled into their seats to watch ‘Casablanca’, him munching on his popcorn, her giving hers the occasional sniff, and both of them ended up sniffling as Sam played ‘As Time Goes By’, Stretch into his sleeve and Doris into her lace-edged hankie.

He didn’t know what past lover Doris was thinking about, but he hoped it was a nice memory and not one that helped her on her brutal path over to the other side. His own memories were more bitter than sweet, and he replaced both with more butter-soaked popcorn. At least that was a taste he could stand.

~~*~~

The store opened late on Sundays and closed early, only staying open long enough for anyone who needed a quick pick up or a treat for their kiddos after church. Stretch didn’t have the slightest interest in religion, not even his own, but he listened for the deep clang of the church bells gonging through the town announcing the mass exodus, and rang up all the Humans that came in dressed in their Sunday best.

At least none of them seemed to hold his lacking against him. Their smiles as they paid for the ice cream treats that their kids were already devouring were the same as they’d been all week and the only raised voice in the shop was a mother admonishing her son to ‘Be careful of that nice shirt, Billy, don’t you be getting chocolate down your front!’

By the time he hung up the closed sign at three on the dot, there hadn’t been a customer in nearly an hour anyway. Probably everyone was holing up at home for an early supper out of the scorching heat. He swept the floor, locked the door, and that was done. He wandered back to Red’s apartment in hopes of a little early supper of his own, knocking briefly before stepping inside, “red?”

“out here,” floated back to him. The door that led to the backyard was open, only the screen keeping the humming insects at bay. Stretch went out on the porch where Red was sitting in one of the rickety rocking chairs he kept back there. His leg was propped up on a scruffy cushion atop a low stool, the pantleg oddly deflated and his shoe lying beneath the rocker. Next to him was a small cooler with beers floating in a shallow pool of water and the remnants of ice cubes. Dangling from his loose fingertips was a smoldering joint, faint wisps of pale smoke trailing from his darkened eye sockets.

Stretch went out, letting the screen door bang shut behind him. There was a sofa on the back porch even more ancient than the one in the living room and it puffed up a cloud of dust when Stretch flopped down on it. “you’re letting out all the cold air,” Stretch said.

Red snorted loudly, “you ain’t paying for it.”

“that is true,” he agreed. “i don’t pay for a lot around here, ‘cause you are a generous soul. speaking of,” he waved a vague hand at the joint that was nearly falling out of Red’s fingers, “gonna share that, too?”

Red didn’t even look in his direction, only blindly handed over the roll. The first hit was skunky-sharp, the smoke burning in his ribcage in a way that plain tobacco just didn’t, and Stretch was careful only to take a small toke to start. Red was the kind of asshole who either got cheap shit to match his cheap beer or he’d get the sort of weed that would have Stretch afraid to get up from the sofa because he might fall off the world. Better to start slow and figure it out from there.

Turned out to be somewhere in the middle and left him in a perfectly mellow buzz, all his stressors suddenly distant and unimportant. Stretch lived up to his name by sprawling out as far as he could on the moldering sofa, his sneakers dangling off the arm as he and Red passed the joint back and forth.

“ain’t bad, yeah?” Red said lazily. He took another toke, breathing out words and smoke, “ain’t legal here, yet, but the sheriff is one of my poker buddies.”

Stretch twisted to look at him, “seriously?”

“nope, but his kid is the one selling, so i figure he don’t mind.”

Stretch wasn’t sure if any part of that sentence was true and couldn’t be bothered to care. Blurry reality was so much better than having it sharp and in focus. The haze dug in deep beneath the surface, settling right and making itself at home. That was probably the only reason Stretch asked, bravely thoughtless, “so, why did your brother want me to leave town?”

“ehhhhhh," Red drew the sound out like it was a word of its own, his chair creaking on the dry wood of the porch as he rocked back, "he's jus' paranoid. folks that ain't used to backwater can get into trouble here sometimes."

“yeah, i can see how a town with only one bar can be loaded with problems,” Stretch snorted, “the locals aren’t as generous with their beer as you?”

“you’d be surprised at the kinda trouble you can find in a small town.” That sounded a little more bitter than expected and Stretch glanced at Red to see what kind of lemon he was biting down on. But Red wasn’t chewing on anything; instead, he was tugging at his pant leg, clumsily rolling the denim up. Stretch started to look away, didn’t want to make his landlord and new weed dealer uncomfortable but Red only let out that rough, scoffing laugh of his. “may as well look if you’re gonna be askin’ about the real shit.”

So he did, taking in the rounded nub of bone leftover from an obviously surgical amputation, the leg missing from right below the knee joint. Red only slumped back in the chair as Stretch studied it, giving every appearance of not caring. Unless, you know, a person wasn’t a complete moron and Stretch was at least one rung up. He could see the overbrightness in Red’s eye lights, the tight grit of his teeth, his jaw working even when Stretch fell back on the sofa.

Stretch asked with carefully affected boredom, “you’re telling me i’m gonna lose a limb if i keep hanging around? ‘cause when you offered to let me stay, i didn’t know the rent might be a literal arm and leg.”

A beat of silence, then Red chuckled roughly. The ice in the cooler rattled as Red reached in and grabbed a beer, loudly popping the tab and raising the can in a mocking toast, “heh, you got inches to spare, anyway.”

“only below the belt,” Stretch said, agreeably. “so what did he mean, then, that leaving isn’t an option?”

“eh, he didn’t really mean that.”

“he said it. leaving won’t be an option, that was what he said.” Stretch was a hundred percent on that, it was the sort of thing a person remembered very clearly, no matter how stoned.

Red only shrugged, rolling his shoulders with lazy ease, "toldja, he’s paranoid, is all. small town life ain’t bad, once you get used to it. folks settle in and don't want to leave. s'nice here, people are nice.” His sharp-toothed grin widened. “'m here, ain't i?"

“can’t argue with that." Stretch reached out and managed to catch hold of the cooler with the tips of his fingers. He tugged it close enough to fish out one of the beers. "does your brother live in town?"

"i ain't telling you where he lives,” Red said decisively, “ain't risking my meal ticket for your illusions of possible booty call."

Stretch choked on a mouthful of beer, thin streams running out of the sides of his mouth as he coughed, “i wasn't…" He broke off, stoned-stupid and too aghast to come up with a decent protest past the obvious. "that's your brother!"

"yep,” Red agreed, “all that means ‘s i am immune to his charms. don't mean i can't see 'em and you was staring at his ass like you wanted to take it for a lil’ test drive. telling ya right now, that ain’t a good idea.”

Stretch slumped down further on the sofa, sulkily muttering out, “the quality of your brother’s ass notwithstanding, i promise you, i am not on the lookout for any kind of call, booty or otherwise.”

“good,” Red grunted, “while we’re having this little soul to soul, you wanna tell me exactly what you’re running away from that got you all the way out to this neck of the proverbial woods? i can guess at the basics, but the finer details elude me.”

"digging out the best vocab for me, i’m honored.” Stretch rested his half-full can on his chest, played with the tab until it broke off then toying with the bit of aluminum. “not really. i broke up with someone and it sucked. i don't want to talk about it." He slanted his boss/landlord a look, "that a problem?"

"nope," Red took another swig from his beer, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "man's business is his own, even when he ain't a man. already toldja, stay as long as you like." His easy voice went serious, weirdly intent, "one thing, though, them woods out there, you see ‘em?"

Stretch managed to lean up on an elbow, squinting out at the trees that were far enough away that the house regrettably didn’t fall under any cooling shadows. "yeah, it's kinda peaceful, i guess. if you like that kinda thing." Stretch didn’t, not really, the only greenery he was interested in was rolled up in Red’s joint.

"peaceful. sure. that's all fine and dandy, but don't you go walking out there at night, you hear me?"

It wasn’t easy, but Stretch managed to sit up, working at his wobbly balance to give Red the full weight of his disbelief, “uh. why the fuck would i?”

“didn't say you would,” Red said, a touch defensively, “just sayin’ don’t.

“no, seriously, why would i? do i look like the token monster extra in a horror movie?” Stretch let out an exaggerated shudder, “no thanks, no, no, no. no splitting up, no checking the funny sound in the basement, none of that shit. why, what happens if you go into the woods at night? ‘cause i’m cool with the town ghosts but i’d need a better door lock and a pay raise if you guys got vampires hanging around.”

Red gave him a strange look, his sockets narrowing around his bleary eye lights, "what the…no, you honey roasted nutbar! woods are bigger’n they look, i don't wanna have to dig up a search party to find your scrawny ass if ya get lost, is all!”

"seriously, me wandering in the woods at any time of day is the last thing you need to worry about.” Stretch wondered absently if that was actually a problem around here, people hying off into the woods at midnight, yeesh, might as well wear a ‘free snack’ sign while they were at it and speed up the process.

"great, i'll add it to the bottom of the list. vampires,” Red muttered in disgust, “fuck me.” Then louder, “mind me on this one, you hear? i ain’t your daddy, but i’m taking a liking to you, kid, want ya to hang around a in the land of the livin’ a while.”

That struck Stretch as absurdly funny. He started giggling and couldn’t stop, curling up on the sofa as he cooed, “aww, c’mon, daddy, you don’t wanna roleplay? if i do go in the woods, do i get a spanking?”

He ducked from the can Red threw at him halfheartedly, beer spraying out and splattering the porch, drying almost instantly on the parched wood. Stretch rescued it before it could soak the sofa, tipping the can back and drinking down the last warm mouthful.

“shut the fuck up and hand me that roach,” Red grumbled. He did, and they sat that way for the rest of the afternoon.

The sun was going down by the time they went inside, casting a bloodred glow over the horizon that extended across the not-so-distant trees. Stretch gave them a last look as he waited for Red to strap his prosthetic back on and head inside, maybe for canned ravioli, maybe for one of his brother’s much tastier meals. The leaves were visibly rustling despite the still air, heavy branches waving and creaking. Whatever breath of cool air that ran through the woods didn’t make its way into town.

Stretch shrugged mentally and followed Red as he limped his way through the back door. Air conditioning was better than breeze any day of the week, including Sunday.

~~*~~

tbc

[shotsbyshae]

Cannonball

Warnings: Language

Words: 3.4k

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader, Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: When things go bad, you always end up at his door, and things are really, really bad.

Song: Cannonball by ZZ Ward

A/N: This is loosely based on a reader request and can be read as a stand-alone or prequel/sequel to Not Afraid Anymore. (Yea, this rabbit hole is Going. All. The. Way.)

I’m down on my knees and I’m screamin’ I’m a fiend, and I’m beggin’ you, please.

2023

Death.

It’s the end of one’s story.

There’s no running from it.

Death always comes ‘round.

Because all stories have to end – don’t they?

Well, who makes that choice?

Who decides when it’s time for the story to be over?

Of everything that’s happened, you know this can’t be the end of their story.

All that they’ve been through – the lives they’ve saved.

Only to make the ultimate sacrifice.

They defeated him, but Thanos still won.

It isn’t right.

You slide the zipper closed on the duffel bag, slinging it across your shoulder as you hear his deep voice from the door, “Where are you going?” You smile a little to yourself, because you never realized how much you’d miss him until he was gone like the others. Fury continues as you turn to face him. “Stark’s service is in an hour.”

“I’m not going,” you reply quietly. “I – I have to go.”

“Go? Go where?” confusion on his face is evident as you begin to walk out of the room.

“When I was first started at S.H.I.E.L.D., you and Coulson gave me The Shadow Project,” you glance up at him earnestly. “I don’t know why you trusted me of all people, but you did. Aside from the Initiative, Shadow’s all I know – it’s my job.”

“What are you saying?” you can hear the concern in his voice.

“Let me do my job, Nick.”  

If you’ve learned anything, it’s that death doesn’t have to be the end.  

2011

The cell phone from the center console of the SUV begins to ring and you answer it quickly, knowing who’s on the other end.

Nick Fury has many secrets, and a little rendezvous like this of yours is just one of them.

Sometimes even S.H.I.E.L.D. encounters that which cannot be explained.

When that happens, you have to make a phone call to him.

“Hi, Garth.”

“Change of plans,” he says. “I can’t make it.”

“That’s not how this works,” you reply, brows furrowed. “You know that.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Garth states. “I’ve got a couple guys in the area. I gave them the location and they’re going to meet you for the information.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose with an audible sigh into the phone, “I don’t like it.”

“You can trust them,” Garth says reassuringly. “They owe me one, you could say I saved their pretty faces.”

You’ve been meeting him for six months now and the idea of Garth saving anyone still baffles you, even though you know what he does for a living.

You’re standing beside the front of the SUV when the black car pulls to a stop in front of you, same model as Garth had described in his phone call earlier. The two men who climb from inside are nothing like what you expect, given your history with Garth.

They share a look of slight surprise between the two of them as you ask, “You must be Garth’s friends.”

“I wouldn’t go that –” the shorter of the two begins but is interrupted by the other one.

“Yea, that’s us. I’m Sam,” says the very tall one. He’s cute, with shaggy dark hair. “This is my brother Dean.” He gives a smile and you can tell right away he’s trouble.

“Alright then,” you nod, getting to the point. You close the distance, holding out a manilla folder, which Dean reaches for – he must like to be in charge. “Here’s everything we have on the group – there’s about twelve of them.”

“Nest,” Dean corrects as he flips through the surveillance photos. You fold your arms across your chest, uncomfortable at his tone and gold-green eyes flick up to yours, small smirk on the edge of his lips. “Not group – vampires are a nest.”

“Yea – okay,” you respond. “Well, have fun storming the nest.”

You’re halfway back to your door when you hear Dean stumbling over his words, “Wait – how do we contact you?”

“Really?” Sam whispers as Dean slaps the folder against his brother’s chest.

“Why?” you question, glancing back at them curiously.

His lips twitch as he thinks of his response, “To let you know the job’s done.”

A knowing smile crosses your face as you open the door to the SUV, “Call Garth – he can get me the message.” The look of defeat on Dean’s face is almost comical. “After all, he’s my contact.”

2012

It’s official – Tony Stark will be the death of you.

After the events of New Mexico with Thor, he’s going above and beyond to showboat. Fury has tasked you with him temporarily – his idea of a joke – you should get to know Stark.

However, keeping Tony Stark in-line is about as easy as herding cats.

You’re at the end of your rope with him, so an information drop is exactly what you need to get away – even if it’s for a little while.

You open the door to the small diner, glancing around for Garth as you walk inside. It’s not unusual for him to suggest grabbing lunch during a drop. You recognize the face sitting in the booth instantly and you can’t help but laugh as you slowly approach the him. A plate with a burger and curly fries sits on the table.

“Hi,” Dean greets, the smile on his face causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

“Unbelievable,” you shake your head. “What do you want?”

“I’m just here for the information – unless,” there’s a glint in his eyes as you slide onto the green vinyl seat across from him. “What do you want, Agent?”

You breathe deep, laying the folder on the table as your eyes dart around at the other patrons in the diner before settling back on him. Reaching across you pluck one of the fries from the plate, “Alcohol – that’s what I want, but that’s probably a bad idea.”

“Probably,” he agrees, but the boyish grin on his face says otherwise.

***

The sound of buzzing awakens you – your phone. Reaching across to the nightstand, your hand searches blindly but finds nothing. There’s a momentary pause in the buzzing sound before it starts up again and you groan in annoyance. You stick your head out from under the covers and look over the side of the bed, seeing the glow of the screen from the floor in front of the nightstand.

Grabbing it quickly, you put it to your ear, whispering as you answer, “Hello.”

“It’s about damn time,” Fury’s voice says loudly through the speaker and you instantly pull the phone away from your ear. It is too early, and he is too loud. “I need you to come in. ASAP.”

“Huh,” you sit up, wincing as you rub the base of your neck. You can feel the headache starting – fucking tequila.

“They found him,” his voice says quickly through the phone. “Frozen – he’s one giant ice cube.”

“Found who?” you glance over as the man beside you stirs, his hair messy and gold-green eyes heavy with sleep.

“Captain America,” he responds.  

You snap fully awake with a jolt, “What?”

“You heard me,” Nick says. “Get here – now.”

You drop the phone on the bed as you jump up, pulling your jeans on quickly, “Shit!”

“Everything okay?” he questions as you straighten your shirt.

“Yea,” you say quickly, tugging on your sneakers. “It’s work – I gotta go.” Glancing at the man still lying in bed as you gather the rest of your things, you give him a small smile. “Thanks for this though – it was great. I’ll –” You hesitate, not used to being on this side of the situation. “See you around.”

You open the motel room door, and he smiles at you one last time, “Of course.” The door closes behind you and he falls back against the pillows with a sigh. “Well, that’s a first.”

2014

“Where’ve you been?” there’s a tone in Steve’s voice, one he’s never had with you before.

Keeping your eyes fixed on the elevator doors in front of you as you push the button, you decide to keep your reply calm – casual, “Out.”

Once the doors open you step inside quickly, grimacing as you see him follow you from the corner of your eye. The weight of his gaze feels like a ton of bricks as the doors close and after a moment you finally jerk around to stare up at him.

“What?”

“Fury said you were on assignment,” his arms are folded across his chest, judgmental blue eyes baring down on you. He’s wearing a white t-shirt under a navy-blue jacket and khakis.

“Yea,” your tone is exasperated. “And?”

“You never wear perfume on assignments,” Steve responds with a knowing look, eyes narrowed slightly.

You shift uncomfortably, unaware he’d noticed, before you roll your eyes, turning away from the man, “Well, it’s my assignment – not yours.”

“I’m getting real tired of Fury’s secrets and side missions,” he says angrily. “I need a team I can trust.”

“Whoa – hey,” you turn back to him in surprise, raising your hands in defense. “Where’s this coming from?” He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What the hell happened on your mission?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head.

“Steve,” you wait for him to look at you before you continue. “You know you can trust me – right?”

He can see the pain in your eyes as you ask and he nods quickly, “Of course – I’m sorry –  I didn’t mean –” The words fall out of his mouth and he tries to make it right, giving you a smile. “It’s just been a day. Really – I’m sorry.”

He lifts his hand up, pinky finger extended. More of an apology than words between the two of you and you smile as you wrap yours around it, “Okay.”

2015

You trace your index finger lightly along the scar-like marking on the inside of his forearm, saying quietly, “This is new.”

“Yea,” he takes a deep breath and you feel his chest rise against the side of your cheek. “Long story.”

Lifting your head from his chest you eye him suspiciously, “Is that why you called?”

“I lost a friend,” he says quietly, staring blankly at the ceiling. You understand now why he reached out, after all, you ended up calling him after Coulson died.

The words come out hesitantly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

“Hey – no,” reaching for you as he rolls towards you. He pins you to the mattress in a matter of seconds, gold-green eyes inches away from yours, staring at you intensely. “I didn’t come to talk.”

“Well, if you needed –”

“I know,” the words are hot against your lips as he brushes his mouth against yours in the slightest touch. You lift your head, pressing your mouth firmly to his, needing more, but the sound of your phone buzzing from nightstand makes you groan, and his lips smile against yours. “You should probably get that.”

You shake your head, then pepper kisses along his jaw as you whine, “Nooo.”

Dean reaches for you phone, glancing at the screen before he hands it to you with a smirk, “It’s Captain Spangles.”

You sigh before answering, “Hi Steve.”

“You’re coming – right?”

“What?” your voice is strained, mind elsewhere as Dean’s lips travel along your collarbone.

“Tomorrow – the new recruits,” Rogers clarifies. “Have you got any of my messages?”

“Yea.” You haven’t. “I’ll be there.”

2016

After Germany, you’re so angry with all of it.

Mostly at yourself.

For waiting too long.

Everywhere you look reminds you of Rogers.

So, you leave – ending up in the same place you always do when things go bad.

When everything around you is broken.

Because this can’t be broken – it was never whole to begin with.

Dean had recognized the look in your eyes immediately, because he’d been there before.

“Do you want to –” he manages the words even as you try and silence him with your mouth. “Talk about it?”

You plant both hands firmly against his chest before you shove him hard against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs, causing him to grimace, yet smirk at the same time. “No.” It comes out as more of a low growl than an actual word.

“Okay then,” his voice low as he nods his understanding.

2018

“Howard,” Steve says his name quietly, staring at you from across the lab.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat again. “I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know how.” Watching as he places his hands on his hips, you add. “I never told Tony either – Fury did.”

His glare lands on you angrily, “And if he hadn’t – what – we still wouldn’t know?”

“No,” you respond, thinking on it. “I mean – I don’t know Steve.” He shakes his head with disgust. You turn, pressing your palms on the lab table as you lean forward, dropping your head between your shoulders. “I was a lab experiment - created with Howard’s DNA. I never knew my mother or him. When I was five, Coulson found me. He was a new recruit then, and they thought all of Hydra was gone, but we know they’re never really gone.” Turning back to look at Steve, you see the sadness in his eyes as you continue with the story. “He saved me – placed me with a family under Fury’s orders.”

“That’s why you joined S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he comments quietly.

“Yea – I mean, my father,” the term comes out strangely. “Howard founded it and it felt like one way that maybe I could get to know him. Plus, the whole super-secret spy aspect is a real selling point to a kid who loved Kim Possible.”

Steve has a look of confusion at the reference for a moment before he exhales slowly, “So, Germany – that’s why you stayed.” There’s an almost sudden realization that washes over him. “Because Tony’s your brother.”

You bite the inside of your bottom lip as you nod, “Just like you fought to save yours.”

“What the hell?” Steve’s face changes abruptly to one of shock and confusion. It takes a second for you to realize he’s looking at something over your shoulder.

You turn and see the monitor across the room, the news broadcast showing the giant alien ship above the city.

The beginning of the end.

2020

Information drops aren’t what they once were.

After the snap, there’s still the occasional situation that requires outsider expertise and you still pass that along to the Winchesters, but things are different.

The whole world has changed and while you and Steve may be more complicated than ever before – he needs you. Still like a lost puppy after grief group.

He was the captain, they had all followed him that day and less than half of them came home. Steve took that loss harder than anyone else with the exception of Tony.

So, you help in whatever capacity Steve needs. Even if it’s picking a fight over the most trivial of things just so he can yell and let off steam. You take it, because you’re his friend and the two of you have lost too much as it is.

You bring Natasha in on The Shadow Project what with Fury and Coulson both gone, someone else needs to know in case anything happens to you.

“Why not just bring Steve in on this?” Romanoff questions you as the large screen across the room tries to make connection on a video chat.

“Well, well,” Dean’s face appears on the monitor with a smile as he leans back in his chair. “Look who it is.”

Natasha quirks and eyebrow as she glances from the screen over to your face, noting the slight look of embarrassment there, “Oh – okay.”

2023

When he opens the large door to the bunker, there’s no hiding the surprise on his face.

“Hi Dean,” your voice cracks as you speak.

He’s never seen you like this before.

Broken is a sight he knows all too well.

This is different though, and it feels like someone gut punched him, knocking all the breath out.

Defeat.

“I lost them,” you say quietly.

***

Dean leans back in his chair as you finish telling him everything, “Where’s Steve now?”

“Returning the stones,” you respond.

“You don’t think he’s coming back?” his eyes watch you carefully.

“When he wouldn’t let me use the stones to at least try and bring my brother and Natasha back,” you shake your head with a sigh. “I – I said some pretty hurtful things. I doubt he comes back – I wouldn’t.”

Dean takes deep breath, tapping his index finger on the wooden table, “Death is tricky.”

“But it’s not permanent,” you say quickly. “You said so yourself that you and your brother have died before.”

“Yea – but that was different,” he responds.

“You have friends that are angels and you have the spell to get into hell,” your tone is past desperate. “Isn’t there some kind of deal I could make?”

“No,” his response is adamant. “Absolutely not.”

“Dean,” you stand up in frustration. “Please – this isn’t fair.” Walking past his chair you ask. “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s gone to visit a friend,” he says calmly.

“I know you’d do whatever it takes to get him back,” you say as you turn to face the back of Dean’s head. “I’m just trying to do the same.”

“I’m sorry, maybe there’s another way. When Sam gets back –” Dean feels the sharp stab in the side of his neck and his body reacts instinctively as his hand grabs for the source of the pain. “Sonofa.” His hand grips yours tightly and gold-green eyes look up at you in betrayal as you pull the syringe away.

“Forgive me,” you say softly as your other hand cups the side of his face. “I don’t have that kind of time. It’s just a sedative.”

“And if you die,” Dean’s voice is barely audible. “Would your brother want that?”

“He’s got a family – a daughter,” you blink back the surge of emotions threatening to overcome you. “I was forced to grow up without my father. I won’t put my niece through the same fate.”

The sedative finally kicks in as the weight of his body begins to lean against the table. You ease his head down against the wood and gently place a kiss on his temple before you head off down the hall for the storage room. It’s been a few years, but you remember seeing a drawer marked for spells and you know there’s a one in there that will take you straight to hell.

Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

You just hope once you get there you can negotiate some sort of agreement with whoever is in charge to bring back both Tony and Natasha.

4 Days Later

“How?” the initial shock has worn off and Tony is casting a suspicious glare in your direction.

“I have a few connections,” you reply nonchalantly.

“In what?” the look on his face is incredulous. “Resurrections? You brought me and Natasha back – how?”

“The Shadow Project – ever heard of it?” you fold your arms across your chest.

Tony looks intrigued by this information and he leans against your bar, “No, go on.”

“It’s classified, Fury assigned me to it before the Initiative was started good,” you respond. “That’s my connection.” You move passed him to your refrigerator. “Now, can you just be glad you’re back? Maybe go spend time with your family?”

He turns around as you pull a bottle of water out and close the door back, “You are my family.” You look over at him with a small smile which he returns. “But I know what you meant – I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You watch him leave, hearing the door close behind him and you start down the hall to your room. The loud knocking from your apartment door stops you and with a sigh you turn around.

“Seriously – Tony,” you say loudly as you approach the door. “We can talk more about this later.” Opening the door, your eyes widen in surprise because Tony isn’t standing there.

“No,” Steve glares at you. “We need to talk.”

It’s the angry look on the face of the man standing beside Rogers that worries you the most, because he’s the only one who could know what you did.

Dean’s voice borders on a snarl, “Now.”

[anika-ann]

Grease and Pearls - Pt.1

Uptown Meets Downtown

Type: One-shot turned three-shot (because does anyone really want a 17k in one go?)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (main), Tony/Reader, Tony/Pepper

Word count: 5230

Summary:  All you know is uptown; fancy clothes, expensive cars, jewellery outshining one’s personality and exhausting dinners with family acquaintances and business partners. Your life is all planned out; one day, you’ll marry Howard Stark’s son and you’ll be the golden couple adored by press.

You desperately seek to see life outside this suffocating glitz...and that’s how you meet Steve Rogers.

A/N: for a challenge hosted by @cxptain Congratulation to your milestone, you deserve nothing less! Thank you for hosting this amazing challenge and allowing me to take part in it! ...I’m not sure how 80′s this is :(

Prompt: Uptown Girl by Billy Joel

A/N 2: I added links to a pic of dresses I had in mind, feel free to ignore them or not :))

Warnings: swearing, mention of arranged marriage, ...fluff?

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Your sigh was drowned in the sea of voices as you slipped under the surface, the water closing above your head. The moment you opened your mouth to gasp for air, it filled with water instead, and you reached out to the sun glimmering above, trying to save yourself--

To be entirely honest, now you were being dramatic; however, shall anyone exchange places with you, you were sure they would feel the same about the company of artificial people in their best Sunday suits and fancy dress, sitting around the table pretending to be engaged in the small talk.

As your eyes fell on man seated opposite to you, a bowtie around his neck, one corner of his lips raised in a blend of a smile and a smirk, your mind drifted to your wonderful friend. 

Virginia Potts, or Pepper for short, a nickname saved for her friends only, would be much better of a match for Anthony than you. She was nothing short of a proper lady and her parents, while not as wealthy as yours, were much more liberal and supportive of her following her dreams. Pepper Potts was about to turn tables and start her own company from a scratch, businessmen be damned. Her mind was brilliant, her persona enchanting, her appearance turning heads wherever she went and her heart was overflowing with kindness and determination. She was about to make people question the very definition of doing business once she set her foot in the field.

Your parents’ thinking, on the other hand, froze in the sixties, maybe forties. You were meant to become a glorified housewife, albeit educated enough to teach her own kids. You never really minded that; it wasn’t what laid heavy in your mind. Anthony did.

Anthony’s parents were as strict as yours, never quite giving him a choice but to take over the family company and wickedly join it with your father’s by tying your families together one day.

Your future family and your love life were to be based on a business deal. The romance of it.

Tony wasn’t an unlikable person by any means; a genius, somewhat charming in his own slightly arrogant way, he even made for an entertaining company at times. Nevertheless, your affections for him couldn’t begin to even hope to grow beyond friendship. On top of that, it just happened to come that while he was meant to be in the charge of to-be-his company, his interest laid further in the progress of technology itself, in designing things, rather than in attending board meetings.

In other words; Pepper would have been a better match for Tony, much better equipped to lead an enterprise than you and Tony together and oh, let’s not forget, her feelings for Tony went beyond friendly, unlike yours. And they were mutual.

But here you were, sitting through another forcefully polite dinner with the Starks and you wanted to be anywhere but here-- you wanted to be somewhere where you could actually breathe.

As you inhaled shakily and possibly too loud for a lady, your sister Sharon shot you a scolding look. You wanted to scream. However, like the well-mannered girl you were, you fixed a smile for your guests instead and engaged in meaningless conversation until it was time to prepare for bed; you let Anthony kiss your knuckles in goodbye and ignored your father’s pleased smile that had your chest constricted, your stomach full of ice cubes instead of the butterflies you were supposed to feel when being with your future husband.

Your mother made a joke about Tony soon kissing a ring on your hand and you closed your eyes, swallowing the panic that didn’t leave you until the early hours of the morning, causing you to lose sleep.

Seeing your own exhausted expression in the mirror at the crack of dawn, you came to a decision.

You were to escape the tight bodice of your glamorous life if even for a minute.

And you were sure that your best friend, who happened to live closer to normal part of the city, was about to help you.

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The bell jingled as you entered the diner, black and white tile floor resembling a chessboard, albeit slightly shabby against your heels clicking with each step.

Maximoff’s the place was called and besides the funky chessboard floor, the interior was in warm colours, walls painted apricot, the counters, bar, tables, stools and chairs in caramel tones. Your lips automatically spread in a smile as you looked around, heading to the counter built right next to a bar, your eyes running over the specials of the day. As most of the names didn’t feel familiar, you took a mental note to kiss Pepper’s hands once you would reunite in the gallery where she was momentarily alone, providing you an alibi while you sneaked out.

“What’s a pretty thing like ya’ doin’ here? Ya’ lost, dollface?” a male voice startled you and your head snapped the direction it came from, finding a man dressed in a short-sleeved shirt with a strange logo of an eagle on his pocket and jeans. Chin-length brown hair framed his face, stubble rounding his smirking lips, his pale blue-grey eyes fixed on you.

He didn’t seem like he wanted to harm you, but the way he talked seemed strange and the fact you weren’t even sure if he talked to you made you uneasy. Dollface? Who called a woman that? Who called that anyone for that matter?

You smiled at him reluctantly, your heart speeding up. A sigh sounded next to him, out of your view, and another man spoke up, scolding the brunet.

“Lay off, Buck. You’re scaring the dame.”

The owner of the voice leaned away from the bar, his kind blue eyes and inviting expression causing your breath to hitch. Gosh, he was pretty with that subtle smile and ruffled blond hair. You figured they were colleagues since he was dressed in the same manner. You felt a bit inappropriate in your almost knee-length sunflower dress; you were sticking out like a sore thumb. The women in this diner sure weren’t dressed like you.

“Do you need any help?” the blond asked, his tone gentler and less challenging than Buck’s, , instantly putting you at ease; well, as much at ease as you could feel visiting a downtown diner for the first time, on your own, no less.

Your smile grew firmer, more confident, as you beckoned towards the menu above.

“Uhm… perhaps with picking the meal?”

The brunet raised a curious eyebrow at your question. “You want to eat here?”

Yes, you were definitely sticking out and you weren’t the only one to take notice.

“…yes.”

Nervous under his gaze, your eyes flickered to the blond, who seemed equally surprised, tilting his head aside.

“Well, what do you have in mind?” he asked simply.

You only shrugged in response and the brunet rolled his eyes and sighed, wiping his fingers to the napkin near his empty plate.

“Looks like I’m not needed here,” he grumbled and rose to his feet, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Just remember, Stevie, boss’ gonna kill ya’ if you’re more than half an hour late.”

What did that mean?

“Noted,” Stevie huffed a laugh and waved him off.

“Better get outta here sooner than later, can’t run as fast as Maximoff-“

“Yeah, yeah-“

“I better heard that name in a compliment!” a female voice from the door with ‘personnel only’ behind the counter suddenly called out, once again starling you.

“Sure thing, Mrs.M! See ya’!” Buck shouted right back at her as he jogged to the door and you noticed that the woman behind the counter and Stevie weren’t the only ones with their eyes on you, the realization making you shiver on the inside.

“You know what? Let’s sit somewhere else, everyone’s staring. You can check out the complete menu and the waitress will come to us,” the blond offered, already standing up and beckoning to one of the booths.

You felt yourself relax, the ever-present smile on his lips assuring you he had no malicious intent – or you hoped so.

“Sure. Thank you.”

You seated yourself opposite to him, hidden from the majority of the prying eyes as he pushed the menu your way.

“I honestly have no idea what most of this means,” you admitted before even opening the menu, watching the relaxed aura around Stevie instead as he all but melted into the cushions. It bugged you in a way, seeing as his friend had made a certain remark earlier. “…no one is going to try and kill you, right? I would hate to-”

He barked a laugh, small wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes and your heart skipped a beat, mesmerized when you simultaneously noticed that his nose was dusted with freckles. He was such a handsome man and he radiated pure amusement as he laughed, simply and carefree. Despite being ashamed at being the source of his amusement, you marvelled at the fact you were the cause of the happy sound.

“Ya’ think ‘dat-- that here downtown, people get iced for being late for work? Is ‘dat the bullshit they feed ya’?” You blinked at his words, unsure you understood his strange lingo. Stevie shook his head, the corner of his lips still twitching. “I meant killed. And nonsense, the nonsense they feed you.”

“They mostly don’t feed me anything about downtown and what life really is here…” you confessed with a sigh, spotting the woman from behind the counter making her way to you, red apron swinging a bit with her step.

“Good morning, almost afternoon! Oh, Steve, some dame you have here! Finally! Not sure we have enough fancy for her though,” she greeted you enthusiastically, her speech ending with a slight thoughtful pout.

You swallowed the indignation at her assumption and smiled at her. “I… um, I don’t need anything fancy, madam. At all, actually.”

“You heard that? Madam! You keep this one close, Steve!”

“Hey! I’m polite!” the blond protested, a twinkle of humour in his eye. “Can we have the least fancy thing for the lady, then? And a strawberry milkshake? Ya’ alright with strawberries? It’s the best one…”

The woman, Mrs.M as Buck had called her, wrote down the order in her little notepad when you only nodded, dumb-struck when Stevie – Steve? – ordered for you. “Coming right up! You want anything else, Stevie?

“Just a refill, please?” he looked up pleadingly and the woman sighed, patting his head.

“You’re addicted, hon, I feel sorry for your stomach. I’ll bring the pot.”

“You’re an angel, Anna.”

“Yeah, yeah…” she mumbled as she walked away.

Steve laid his very much muscular forearms on the table, leaning in, giving you his undivided attention.  “So… what’s your name, doll?”

Unlike with Bucky, Steve’s endearment somehow made your belly warm, your gaze lowering at his soft tone. You introduced yourself quietly and forced yourself to look up again – you were not raised by wolves, after all – and offered him a hand to shake, rising from your seat just a inch.

To your surprise, your companion gently took your fingers and turned your hand, kissing the back of it. As in, actually kissing it, his lips brushing your skin, his gaze locked with yours, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your rear fall back into your seat in surprise.

Who knew the downtown boys could be so charming?

“Pretty name for a pretty gal,” he commented. “So, what brings ya’ here?”

“…lunch? I told you?”

He clicked his tongue discontentedly at your poor excuse – it wasn’t exactly a lie, but… “Bad liar. Kinda like me.”

Was that right? Was he as innocent and honest as his eyes had been telling you ever since you noticed him behind Bucky? So far, he was nothing but nice to you. He could be your partner in crime – and you don’t lie to partners, especially when you’re a bad liar in the first place. You shifted in your seat, inhaled deeply and told him your dark secret.

“I just… I needed a change of scenery.”

His smile turned into a solid grin, mischief playing in his blue irises now, accenting the drop of green in them you hadn’t noticed before. “Well… looks like ya’ came to the right place.”

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One of the things Steve really liked about Maximoff’s was the domestic atmosphere. It was a family diner, one started by immigrants and yet not missing anything from the American way anyone could big mouth about. It was familial, relaxed yet with efficient staff and people practically knew each other by name – the regulars did at least.

Which meant that the stunning girl in sunflower dress who walked in wearing elegant high heels turned heads instantly, both in a good and bad way. Steve found the absurd figure both amusing and fascinating; she appeared utterly lost in her well-mannered way, her skirt brushed the tights just above her knees, catching an eye of me than one guy- and really, Steve had trouble not staring as well, but he at least attempted to.

Bucky, not so much.

Steve had to give it to her though – she was adorably startled when Buck opened his big mouth and tried to flirt with her… if that was what it was supposed to be, but she didn’t run out of the door just yet, even trying for a polite talk.

Cute. How could Steve go back to work knowing this remarkable creature was in his favourite diner? They would eat her alive, serve her like the next special!

Alright, that was a bit of an overstatement, but still.

And now, seeing her eyes widen as Wanda, the owner’s daughter and the twin sister to Steve’s colleague, placed a huge hamburger in front of the woman who simply couldn’t be from around here – uptown, if Steve guessed correctly – he knew he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Luckily for him, not missing it still meant keeping his job, because they didn’t wait long. It was another thing Steve loved around here – they were quick, ready for the onslaught of hungry customers around noon, so ready that the pair barely exchanged few words before they were served food and the sinful strawberry milkshake—and thank fuck- coffee.

He sipped at the hot bitter liquid, hiding his smile at the curious, desperate and utterly adorable expression on the girl’s face as she was trying to figure out how the hell she should eat that. But because he felt a bit sorry for her too – she never had a hamburger, had she, how was she even alive – he lowered the cup and took mercy upon her.

“Ya’ just need to take it to your hands, bite and hope for the best that your cute dress won’t get a new colour on it,” Steve remarked, not bothering to keep a straight face. “Just dig in, uptown.”

She huffed, clearly slightly irked at his jab, but obediently placed her fingers to the sides of the burger and brought it to her red-painted lips. Steve settled comfortably to his seat, a coffee and a free comedy show with the prettiest actress he had ever laid his eyes on playing right in front of him.

“So… why did ya’ need a change?” he brought up after few moments, watching her reaction to the taste, a pleasant surprise on her face, a drop of grease in the corner of her lips. His fingers twitched on the cup with the need to wipe it away from her otherwise perfectly cleaned up face.  

He liked her face – it wasn’t hidden under tones of shiny coloured shit girl used these days.

She swallowed first, shaking her head, but never letting her food from her hands as if someone could steal it before she finished. Steve felt that on spiritual fucking level.

“It is a complicated issue,” she said, dodging the question. Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Try me.”

And with a sigh, she did, even when averting his gaze, lost in thought.

“You don’t know what’s like. All those… strained faces, smiling and nodding when asked to even if you don’t agree… not even being able to scratch your nose during dinner without people looking at you like you insulted them, their children and grandchildren that aren’t even born yet…“

Steve blinked at the waterfall of words, not expecting her to actually share that much. He only managed to stare at the embodiment of a good obedient uptown girl – minus the burger – while processing her words.

They sounded… not right. He never thought of it that way. His ma’ worked tooth and nail to keep them fed and he gave up going to art school for the very same reason. Hearing this girl, who was probably blessed with enough money to bath in it, complain about her life… was strange and frankly insulting, but when he thought of it, she did list some quite unpleasant downsides.

Gee. What people did to keep the picture perfect up. Can’t scratch her nose.

“Oh my, you must think I am a complete brat,” she exclaimed into the silence that fell on their table and Steve winced, both startled and pleasantly surprised. The self-awareness in her. “Spoiled privileged girl who doesn’t appreciate how lucky she is not having to work sixteen hours a day to feed herself and her family. Gosh, I am a terrible person, I’m sorry for rambling.”

Seeing her so self-depreciating caused a smile to spread on Steve’s face once more. Self-awareness indeed, realization in the purest form.

Where the hell did she come from?

She was… an odd egg, that was for sure. Steve certainly liked that and he hated seeing her with her lips turned downwards; so he spoke what was on his mind, as he always did.

“No… no. I think I understand… to a point.”

“Likely story,” she uttered, taking an angry bite of the hamburger.

So fucking adorable when angry – if that was what she called it. Steve could kiss that pouty lip of hers.

“I do!” he protested, raising his hands palms up and gesturing to her subtly to show he saw her point. “And for the record, I promise you – you can scratch your nose all you want with me.”

The smile she gave him could power a damn city, even if it wasn’t necessarily radiant – just very, very sweet and almost shy. “Thank you, Steve. I—never mind. Do you… have family?”

Steve, taken aback by her question, hesitated only for a moment. She had been honest, he should too. And to his genuine surprise, he enjoyed talking to her, so why ruin that with making shit up?

“Nope. Ma’ passed away few years ago. Dad’s been gone a while. Just Buck and guys from my shop.”

“I’m sorry. Really. I can’t imagine.”

He shrugged it off, ignoring the pang in his heart – the loss of his mother, only few years prior, still hurt. He missed her – she was an incredible woman and the kindest mother.

“That’s life. But thanks. You?”

“Both parents and—” she started off reluctantly, but then downright sighed. ”-a sister.”

“Don’t sound too excited about it,” Steve remarked sarcastically and she sighed again, putting her unfinished food away, frowning at it. “Full already?”

“It’s huge!”

“Gimme. No food comes to waste on my watch. Drink your milkshake,” he hummed, pulling the plate to his side of the table, much to her obvious astonishment – and was that a hint of amusement? – and took a bite. She shook her head, wiping her mouth with careful taps of a napkin, but was totally grinning at his actions, which left him unfairly giddy. “Ya’ were sayin’? About your family? More like your sister ya’ don’t exactly love?”

Steve almost choked when the smile slipped from her lips, mentally cursing himself.

“I know, I know! Once again – terrible person, I am aware. And I do like her, she’s family,” she said quickly as if to save the situation and prove she could treat her sister properly. Steve found the ‘she’s a family’ a bit of a learned phrase, utter shit, but he’d listen to more. “It’s just… Sharon… she’s the younger sister, but she is… perfect. Everyone thinks so. And she is! I swear I am not jealous, but… I wish I had more of a sister and less of an omnipresent perfect lady to tell me my hair doesn’t look good today at every occasion.”

Steve deliberately took a long nice look at her hairstyle. There was not one hair out of place on her head. She had some sort of an elaborate braid on her head Steve couldn’t hope to understand, making her look like a princess – well, kinda like a queen even, but her young face and playful and elegant dress wouldn’t make for a serious and grey sovereign. Princess it was.

“Was ‘dat today?” Steve asked, wiping his fingers to a napkin as he finished her meal and took a large gulp of coffee.

“Yes… again.”

His eyebrow slowly rose, sceptical and pitying. And kinda mad at people who ever told her she was anything but perfect. Beautiful. Stunning. Adorable.

“Well, no offence, doll, but your sis sounds like she should ease up on the bitch juice and have her eyes checked. Your hair’s fine, this whole…” he gestured vaguely to her head, “complicated thing ya’ did with it, is pretty like the rest of ya’.”

He should probably ease up on the compliments, but he couldn’t help himself. She seemed flustered at it and he loved it. She was cute. Her only flaw was that her hair wasn’t loose – Steve would like to see what she looked like, wild hair to run fingers through--

“…thank you. What is, eh, bitch juice?”

Steve chuckled when called out on his mistake. “Nothing really, means she shouldn’t be mean to ya’. Probably shouldn’t say ‘dat home, tho.”

Her smile made its return, sweet, shy and happy as she learned something new. “I will keep it in mind. Thank you for sweeping in, taking me under your wing here. You are a great company. I like you.”

Steve would deny it till the day he’d die, but that moment, his chest puffed with fucking pride. She liked him. Take that, Barnes! Take that, uptown snobs! She liked HIM.

“Well, if ya’ ever come to downtown ever again-“ he sort-of joked, the realization that this was very likely to be a one-time thing settling heavy in his stomach.

He wasn’t kidding anyone – he liked her too. A lot. Even when she was bitching; or maybe because of that, in addition to her 100% cutesy and pretty face… and figure.

“Would you meet me?” she asked excitedly, eyes lighting up with joy, which… Steve didn’t see coming.

“Uhm-- sure. If ya’ wanted.”

“Next Tuesday? What time?” she pried, sipping happily at the remnants of her milkshake. Nope, not the visual he needed—dammit.

Wait, what did she just say?

“You’re serious?” he asked incredulously, earning a shrug and a soft smile.

“You are funny and nice… and handsome.” Well, his ego just levitated through the ceiling, he wasn’t gonna lie- “I told you I liked you. Does that… mean something different here?”

He felt his lips curl up in a gentle smile at her slight confusion. She sounded so innocent. Steve’s heart could melt – and she already had him wrapped around her finger, which he surprisingly didn’t mind.

“No, doll, means the same thing. I like you too,” he assured her. “Gotta run, tho. Ya’ get home alright?”

“Yes. I only have to walk to the gallery nearby. I should go too…. Do I pay at the counter or somewhere-?”

“Nope. I do,” Steve interrupter her inspection of the diner and she swiftly rose to her feet.

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly-“

“Lemme treat a pretty girl, ‘k?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of them – but if he had, his reaction would be exactly the same. This might have not been a proper date, but no matter how much more money she no doubt had, Steve’s ma’ would box his ear if he let the lady pay.

The fact she casted her gaze down, shy at his supposed chivalry, was only a pleasant bonus. He could kiss her at that moment, so friggin’ beautiful and shy, and possibly interested.

“You say that a lot,” she whispered, glancing up at him from under her long eyelashes, tiny smile playing on her lips.

Steve shrugged it off and headed for the counter before he could act on impulse and actually pull her in to smack his mouth to hers.

“Just sayin’ the truth. Six p.m. works for ya’?”

She hummed as he paid for her and his coffee. “I will make it work.”

That was good enough for him as he offered this very place to meet.

Once they left the diner, she managed to take him aback once more when she rose to her tiptoes – a heroic act in her pumps – and pressed a soft chaste kiss on his cheek before saying a simple goodbye and began to walk the opposite direction than him.

Steve was grinning like a fool for the rest of the day and not even Bucky’s wiggling eyebrows could ruin his mood.

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Sleepovers were for children, you had been told by your mother more than once; so you claimed that what you were going to do with Pepper would be a girls’ night (women’ night?) and she suddenly seemed ecstatic, because Pepper was a fashion goddess and you still had a lot to learn about being chic.

You didn’t even care for the insult, as you were not about to spend time with your friend. No, Pepper was only kind enough to help you out and plot against the evil forces of uptown, covering for you while you’d be having a—a date with Steve. The week couldn’t past fast enough.

But finally you were here, wearing a pink dress – if a bit too chaste, but practical for a summer evening – with decorative black buttons, short sleeves and a bow around your waist, hair styled by the ‘fashion goddess’ who lived up to her title and charmed two French braids on your head. You were nearly jumping on spot, looking around subtly from time to time – you still had two minutes to spare.

So you stood there, trying not to tap your foot – which was really tempting, the elegant flats with an inch-tall heel making tapping much more easier than your usual pumps – and politely smiled at each person passing you.

When you caught a glimpse of a tall blonde figure, your smile widened into an honest one. He was even more handsome than you remembered – and he reciprocated the smile upon seeing you, his eyes not-so-subtly travelling up and down your figure. He was wearing simple blue t-shirt, one that hugged his muscular figure tightly, causing your mind to wander into strange places, and a pair of jeans – a simple outfit that he clearly felt comfortable in, a backpack slung over one of his broad shoulders.

“Wow. I feel underdressed now. And we might have to change plans,” he said upon greeting you, deep timber that haunted you in your sweetest dreams.

You subconsciously crumbled your skirt between your fingers, your smile faltering as you suddenly felt self-conscious and disappointed that you didn’t dress to his liking – or to fittingly to his plans.

“Oh, no! Should I run and change?”

Steve instantly shook his head, taking a hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips. Your cheeks heated up, your heart speeding up at his affection.

“Absolutely not. You look beautiful,” he opposed, giving you a once-over again, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Thank you. You too--handsome, I mean.”

And he was. Gosh. And that ruffled hair of his-! How did you want to run your fingers through it—and not to give a damn about such action being inappropriate.

“Thanks. I—uh, I was plannin’ for a small trip with… a bit of climbin’, which was stupid, I know-“ he stumbled over his words, scratching the back of neck sheepishly, clearly having absolutely no clue how giddy you had been – and still were – for spending the time with him in any form.

You cleared your throat. “How much climbing?”

“Not too much…? It would be safe, I promise. But I’m worried about your dress-“

“I’m not!” you blurted out, covering your mouth in embarrassment at your hastiness.

Steve didn’t seem to mind; in fact, a slow mischievous grin spread on his lips, beckoning you to follow him.

“Then come with me if ya’ wanna know what it’s like to live.”

The sentence was rather ironic; before you knew it, you were sitting nearly on the edge of a damn roof, precisely 37 storeys above the ground, on a building that wasn’t even finished yet.

Apparently, Buck’s – Bucky’s – uncle worked as construction manager, which opened you the doors to one of the unfinished additions to New York’s skyline. Some storeys you had to indeed climb, but with Steve’s support, you had felt ridiculously safe, grateful for thinking to bring flats instead of usual attire – and the reward was absolutely worth it.

Seeing the sunset, sitting on a picnic blanket after finishing simple sandwiches and a lemonade, you felt like you had the world at your feet.

It was breath-taking, for the lack of better term, enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Never in your life you had felt so… light. So free. Despite the heights you found yourself in, you had never breathed more easily. And as sentimental it might sound… you were sure it didn’t only went down to not being under scrutiny from your family and those bigheads who thought that they had a claim on the world, hence claim on you too-- no, you could tell with absolute certainty that at least part of this liberating feeling went down to the person sitting next to you, staring with you at the sunset and the lights of the city coming to life, flashing neons shining in the streets.

Your hand blindly reached for his, covering the back of it, feeling the slight roughness of his knuckles and skin – a hand of a workman. He didn’t retreat, but you could feel his gaze shifting to you.

“Thank you for taking me here, Steve,” you whispered, a tender breath of wind carrying your voice to a faraway place, to a dreamland. You couldn’t tear your eyes from the marvellous scenery. “It’s… it’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hand shifting under yours, escaping your hold, fingers running up your arms to nestle on your jaw, gently cradling, causing your breathing to hitch, your heart speeding up to a at least a hundred per minute. “You are, doll.”

You turned to him, melting in his touch, and while you saw his face inching closer to yours, nerves working, regretting your inexperience, not for a split second you thought of retreating.

When Steve’s lips met yours, all rational thought left your mind, carried away by the sweet breeze of summer.

Girls’ night never felt so magical.

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Part 2

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Tags: @wxstedhexrt, @comicshoplife, @elysianecho, @scentedsongrebel, @orions-nebula, @pies-wands-and-more (I know you didn’t ask explicitly, but I can take a hint)

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I’m almost embarrassed to say that it turned out, once again, much much longer than I intended. But some might box my ears if I did, so... yay?

Credit for the fic title and chapter title goes to @queen-kass-the-writer​ - thank you!

And thank you for reading!

[oytnp-moved]

Just a little thing I was inspired to write by this post

also here's the song i had stuck in my head while writing it because of the painting im working on irl :)

TL;DR fully grown man calvin f.ischoeder makes a nuisance of himself because his spouse is trying to paint instead of kissing him

Griffin startled as a glass of water entered their vision. They stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, until it jiggled slightly, ice cubes tinkling against the sides.

"Oh." They slid their paintbrush to sit between their middle and ring fingers and accepted the glass gingerly, taking an automatic sip. "Thanks love." They turned their head a little as their husband pressed a kiss to their cheek.

"You've been at this for hours," he said, a hint of a whine in his voice. "You should take a break." He kissed them again on the jaw.

"I'm in the zone, Cal, I can't just take a break," they scoffed. Calvin grumbled wordlessly, snaking his hands around Griffin's waist and pulling them back against him as he moved his lips to their neck. "Calvin I'm holding paint," they warned, gesturing with the palette in their left hand. "I'm gonna get paint on you."

"Mmhm." He nosed at the spot where their neck and shoulder met, placing another soft, lingering kiss there.

"Calvin you're wearing white."

"Mmmhm." He slid one hand up their chest and hooked a finger into the neck of their ratty old t-shirt, pulling it aside enough to expose new shoulder real estate to cover in kisses.

"Calvin."

"Hmm?"

"Cal."

"Mmn." Dissatisfied with what he could reach from his current angle, he shifted his grip to their hips and spun them around, drawing a yelp from them.

"Calvin!" Griffin held their hands as far away from Calvin's body as possible, meeting their husband's charming grin with an unimpressed look. They sighed, a smile creeping onto their face despite themself, and rested their forearms over his shoulders carefully. "Are you really this desperate for my attention?" they teased.

"I think you know the answer to that," he responded primly, his fingertips dipping under the hem of their shirt, tracing lines on their back.

"Big bad Mr Fischoeder can't handle being apart from me for a couple hours?" They kissed him briefly, chuckling when he chased their lips. "So needy."

"Well, don't go spreading it around, but I happen to rather like you," he murmured.

"Luckily for you, my love, I rather like you too. In fact it's why I married you." Calvin's face softened as it always did when they mentioned being married - it had been several months since the ceremony and he still felt giddy at the thought of being their husband. He leaned in slowly, wondering whether they were done teasing him. When all they did was stare at him with fondness in their dark blue eyes he closed the gap, kissing them deeply.

"Okay, darling," said Griffin after a long moment, pulling away a little. "Am I going to get to drink the water you so kindly brought me, or are we just going to stand here making out until I pour it down your back?"

"Oh! Yes, right, of course." He withdrew somewhat sheepishly, allowing Griffin to put their palette down and take a drink, gaze shifting to their canvas. Their mouth thinned into a line as they became immediately lost in thought.

Calvin observed them fondly. As much as he loved seeing them dolled up, always wearing extravagant, fashionable outfits regardless of their suitability for the actual occasion, there was something intimate about getting to see them relaxed like this. Their hair was pushed back from their face by a headband, the glasses that they only wore at home were slightly askew on their nose, and their outfit was nothing fancier than a threadbare shirt and jogging bottoms, both splattered with old dried paint.

He absolutely adored them.

"So, how goes the art?" Their canvas was mostly layers of dark blues, purples and greens, amorphous shapes, and one solid neat circle of black.

"Fine, fine. Just thinking about what I have to do, what order I need to do it in." Their paintbrush drummed nervously in the air, flicking spatters of alpine green against the hardwood. Calvin prudently decided not to mention it, instead looking around at the sketches taped up on the walls, trying to get an idea of what the finished piece would look like. Unfortunately the abstract squiggles of colour and pages filled with gesture drawings of pigs didn't help him much.

"Well I… suppose I'll get out of your hair," he said begrudgingly, stepping close to place another lingering kiss on their cheek. Griffin looked at him with a surprised expression.

"You don't have to leave if you don't want to, darling." They leaned into his chest, seemingly to emphasise their words. "You're welcome to stay and watch me paint - can't promise it'll be entertaining, though."

"If you're sure I won't be bothering you." He tried and failed to keep a grin from spreading across his face. Griffin shook their head, draining the last of the water and setting the glass down.

"Here." They turned to a nearby chair, speculatively eyeing the pile of paper, pencils and paints on the seat - then swept it all onto the floor. "Sit yourself down. In fact," They glanced at Calvin as he sat, crossing his legs just so. "Would you sing me something, since you're here?"

"Oh, well, if you insist," he said brightly, doing a miserable job of containing his excitement. "Let me see…"

Griffin returned to their painting as he mused over his song choice. Before too long their brush strokes were accompanied by Calvin's rich voice, then almost subconsciously by Griffin's own, softly singing along with the songs they knew. As the day lengthened, the pair sang the painting into shape, and Calvin thought it looked beautiful.

Griffin thought it looked just okay, but that's artists for you.

[whyamistillwatchingtheseshows]

Ugh, I love and hate writing smut..someone @sweet-potatoq asked for birthday sex in the TT tag...lord knows I ain’t no expert but here have this: 

“Tharn aren’t you forgetting something?” The day was waning away. Type knew that he could get what he wanted on any other day, but he figured that he’d definitely be getting it on his birthday of all days. Tharn hadn’t answered so he spoke louder. “Tharn, aren’t you forgetting something?” 

“I don't think so.” Tharn came from the little kitchenette and Type chuckled. 

“You and that ice.” 

“You know you want some?” Tharn put a piece between his teeth, stepping closer into the living room. Type remained sitting on the couch, wondering, hoping, wishing, Tharn would receive the message. Tharn fell into his lap and Type grabbed him by the neck. They easily melted the ice cube. Type would think by now he’d be used to it and he could stop the feeling of shivers down his spine. Ice cold and warm. Type sensed Tharn’s need to shift so he firmly grasped him by the thighs. 

“It’s my birthday,” he growled in Tharn’s ear. “Be patient a moment, hmm?” Tharn pouted a little bit. Type reached for another piece of ice. This piece was a little bigger, but Type didn’t care because that kept their tongues tangled for a longer amount of time and it kept Tharn in his lap. Type ran hands up his back underneath his shirt. Tharn wrenched away, eating the last of the ice and threw off his shirt. Tharn scrambled to take off Type’s and once again there it was. Tharn’s primal need to take control. 

“Just stay here with me. It’s a gift I want to breathe in since it’ll probably never happen again,” Type whispers, tangling fingers into Tharn’s hair. They lock eye contact. Tharn doesn’t say anything. He just stares. “Don't worry, you asshole, Tharn, you can and will have your way with me soon enough.” Tharn smirks. 

“I have no patience.”

“You’re worse than me,” Type says and smashes their lips together again. Tharn’s lips release to move into Type’s neck. Apparently, that’s enough to subdue Type into the shift. Suddenly, he’s lifted and being thrown to the bed. Tharn continues to kiss his neck, then smashes lips onto his cheek, into his lips. Type grips his shoulders as Tharn releases again, letting his lips travel down Type’s chest. A tongue sucked at a nipple, then lips kissed over his abdomen. Hot fingertips brushed at his hips as Tharn slipped his boxers over them to plant a kiss to one of his hips. Type bit his lip. 

“Stop teasing me, Tharn.” A small laugh was his answer as the boxers came completely off. Tharn tossed them aside and stood at the end of the bed. Type admired him as he shed his boxers too. Then Tharn grabbed his foot. Kissed his ankle, all the way up his leg, teeth raking into his inner thigh. Type groaned when Tharn took all of him into his mouth. Type did his next favorite thing. One hand in the hair and another gripping a shoulder. Tharn glanced up, pleased to see that glazed over look on Type’s face. His mouth went to work and a few minutes later Type lost his patience. He grabbed Tharn by the face and kissed him hard. 

“I said stop teasing me.” 

“But I’m hungry,” Tharn pouted. Type squeezes that chiseled jaw between two fingers. 

“I said have your way with me.” Type pushes Tharn onto his ass in the middle of the bed, sits in his lap and takes both of them into his hand. Tharn’s breath hitches a little, though in the morning if Type reminded him about it, he’d never admit to it. Type’s hand moves faster and when he’s satisfied he made Tharn hard enough, he stops. Type allows Tharn to get up and open the drawer of the nightstand. Finally, they can get his party started. 

---

Type assumed he’d go for his legs throw them up on his shoulders and pull him to the edge of the bed. Tharn didn’t get a chance to do any of this, because Type pulled him back to the middle of the bed and once Tharn lubed up a little bit, he relaxed and sank onto him. Hands latched onto Tharn’s back, legs around his middle entirely. Tharn huffed in complaint. 

“Excuse me?” Type nipped at an ear as he sank further into Tharn’s lap. Tharn raked teeth over his neck and then started sucking, planning on leaving many marks there if Type kept them in this position. It’s not that it didn’t feel good, but Tharn preferred to grip Type’s hips in a different way.  

Tharn huffed with complaint. Type tried to ignore it, but he knew a mistake was made when he gave a little by arching his back, ass a little higher now. Tharn sank his fingers into his hips, holding him in that position. It didn’t take much. A few slow thrusts and then faster. Type clapped a hand over his mouth. 

Tharn removed it, still thrusting hard and fast. “Type, I once told you I want to hear you scream. I want to hear everything.” Type started gripping the sheets and he was fairly certain there might be bruises on his hips. He whimpered as the thrusts quickened pace. Sometimes, Type wondered if this drummer of his had more stamina than his soccer team combined because damn, he could probably hold this position for hours. Thirty minutes in, Type’s abdomen and thighs already burned. He could easily ignore that. Tharn wasn’t giving up, though, so he kept a hold of those beautiful hips and kept thrusting. Type’s eyes fell closed. A hand was put to his chest, so he slowed a bit. Then he quickened his pace again. Then as it had been uttered many times before it escaped his lips, “T-Tharn!”

Type’s labored moans filled the studio apartment and it was music to Tharn’s ears. Tharn watched as Type reached for himself. He thrust harder and harder, letting Type sink himself into the sheets this time as he pushed back on his legs. Type stroked himself with one hand as Tharn went plank, driving harder inside him. Tharn kept going until he felt a little shake in Type’s legs. Type lets out a guttural moan and Tharn grins, thrusting harder at the sound. Type comes, a little bit spilling on his fingers. Tharn immediately grabs his hand to put those two fingers into his mouth. Type’s fingers falls over his lips, savoring a little reprieve on his hips. Suddenly the grip renewed and with a few more thrusts, warranting some more leg shakes Tharn pulls out. He pulls off the condom. Type watches with lustful eyes as Tharn finishes, come landing on his burning abdomen. Tharn collapses on top of him, peppering kisses to his stomach. Type threads fingers into his soft, soft hair and hears him murmur. “Happy Birthday, Type.” 

Type glances at the clock on the nightstand. “My birthday is not over yet.” They still had a few hours. Tharn glances up at him. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I have said many times before that I let you have your way with me. Why would tonight be any different? That is unless you’re not up for it?” Type wiggled his eyebrows at him. Then he was lifted and carried towards the bathroom. Tharn kicked open the door. Type gave him a smile as feet were planted to the shower floor. Tharn turned on the water and then he faced Type again.  

“That’s what I thought. Round 2 in the shower.” Tharn put a hand to his cheek and as their lips connected Type backed them further into the water.

[rainey-staerie-daize]

So far, this’s been a weird bad week.

On Sunday, I awoke to cinnamon rolls, strawberries, and bagels, which is unusual in our household. We usually have cereal, but I was fine with this change. I love cinnamon rolls. I thought this was gonna be the only oddity of that day, but I was wrong.

Skye said she was gonna stay home during the littles’ visit, so I got hopeful that I could have a heart-to-heart with Mom about the previous week in the car, but she ended up coming with because I was and she didn’t want to be home alone. And then, Kare was with us too, because she didn’t want to go, so we had her with us for two hours. But, oh! Not two hours, but one, because without Kare, Xan only wanted to spend one hour with their dad.

So, instead of maybe stopping at the store or something, and counting off all the reasons I’ve been upset with my mother, we took a drive for an hour with my sisters. For the first time ever, I turned the other way in the car, hoping Mom got the hint that something was up. After a while of silence, she asked Kare how she was doing, as she usually does when it’s been silent for a while, and then asked me the same thing a minute later. I gave a noncommittal hum, not wanting to talk in that moment with almost everyone in the car.

Before picking up Xan, she went through the Starbucks drive-through to get us each something, so I turned the right way to be able to drink my matcha pineapple drink, but I was still not very happy. Refreshers and fraps can’t fix the hole in my heart where love should go.

After getting Xan, we went to Ross for a new outfit or two each because it’s getting hot out here and Mom has stimulus money right now. I usually love shopping, but considering that I was already upset, Mom previously promised an individual “date” day with each of us for this, I didn’t have my glasses or phone that day, and I like to take my time, I wasn’t having a good time. I found cute items that were too small for me, and couldn’t take pics because I didn’t bring my phone, and I was the last one of the family to be perusing the racks. I HATE to be the one everyone’s waiting on.

And then to top it all off, Mom complained in the car that she “spent way too much money.” I already have a nagging guilt in my subconscious soul whenever I’ve been done shopping the last few times, even when spending my own money. I really didn’t need to hear that I’m actually being a burden on someone, either time-wise or financially.

Holy shit, I need to take a minute.

Anyway, we came home, and everyone went straight to trying everything on. Which makes me anxious, because we just got these clothes, and Mom usually wipes things down or washes them before we use them. Wondered for a few if I was being paranoid, before concluding that I’m not and Mom’s just slipping at this game.

Then Mom started talking about chores we need to get done, and that the garage is getting cleaned out today. Now, she’s said this a lot, so I never know when she’s actually gonna get serious, but apparently, she actually meant it.

I like to clean by myself, preferably when everyone’s asleep or gone, because I know damn well I take to long, and I don’t want the ridicule. Big problem with that is the fact that the anxiety from the possible judgement keeps me from actually starting, so I end up never starting and it never gets done. And Mom was is sick of my shit. Many of the boxes and bags of laundry in the garage are mine.

So, as I was sitting in the kitchen trying to enjoy the ice cream Mom said we could all have, I was trying not to panic when Skye was going through the garage for stuff to bring in and go through. Mom mentioned that she was gonna “force inspiration to clean” onto me, and I told her that’s not how that works.”

Luckily, she found a couple bags of toys to go through first, and I sat and watched, trying to relax so I’d stop feeling sick to my stomach. I’m trying not to feel sick as I type this all, but I gotta let my feelings out somewhere.

Eventually, she brought in a bag of my stuff. I looked at a couple items, and determined it was a bag I’d already gone through a few months ago. It was only in the garage again because I hadn’t washed and put it away yet. So far, so good. Another bag, and I was able to throw some things away without any second guessing. Eventually, I didn’t feel so sick anymore, and was in productive mode.

At some point, Skye asked if she should bring in something that wasn’t clothes, and I explained quietly that I’ve had enough mentally. “Please don’t make me switch tasks right now.” I’m so glad, that at age 20, I know I’m autistic, read up on it a ton, and now have the tools I need to communicate what’s going on in my head.

Skye understood, and brought in more clothes. I’m also so glad to have her as a sister. Mom would’ve seen it as making excuses, which is why I tried not to be loud enough for her to hear. I was in a zone, doing what she wanted (and I needed) for once, and I didn’t need her to break it by yelling.

I set aside the things that weren’t mine to go through, and I got it done. Since I still had quite a lot, I decided to go through everything more selectively at another time, on my own time. We’ll see how that goes.

Had dinner, and I didn’t feel like eating as much as I usually do, and said this to Mom. Told her about how the day went nothing like how I’d planned, and she seemed to finally recognise some depression in me, and offered to have that talk I wanted that night or the next day. After dinner, I chilled for a while with the Gravity Falls tag (pretty sure y’all’ve noticed) in the bathroom, because it’s the one private room of the house and I wanted to be alone, and when I came out, everyone was sleeping and Mom was cleaning. She was spraying everything with Febreze, and then vacuumed after a few, and told me to check my slippers to see if they’re dirty before walking on the carpets. I find this a bit absurd, seeing as how Mom is the one who gets the floors dirty with her shoes (FR, she’s the only one of us that leaves visible shoe prints inside), and I wear slippers specifically so I don’t have to keep washing my feet all the damn time. But not wanting an argument, I complied, and took off my slippers to sit at the desk with the laptop.

The plan was to finally catch up on my school work, but after Mom got on me about the dog being neglected, I simply didn’t have the spoons, and looked up pics of Ford’s futuristic gun. Eventually started reading Gravity Falls: Lost Legends on the purple game phone. Not very productive, I know, but I knew I didn’t have actual class the next day, and I’m normally very responsible with the dog. I’ve only been neglecting her as a bit of a social experiment to see if anybody would notice that the one person who cares for her hasn’t been. Don’t worry, I gave her food and water after a while, but I left the red blanket covered in Kare’s piss over the crate, because if Mom thinks she knows best and wants to put a dirty-ass blanket over the crate, who am I to remove it?

Fucking bitch.

Anyway, after she went to sleep, the living room felt like the Twilight Zone. It had the vibe of being freshly steam-cleaned, despite not being cleaned at all, I felt like I couldn’t lay down anywhere because dirty laundry had touched my leg earlier and I didn’t feel like showering yet, and everyone was asleep but me. Two or three lights were on but I shut them off to help calm my mind a bit. Worked a bit, and I continued reading until the next morning. I heard Mom’s alarm for Xan’s school day start going off, and not wanting to interact with her, I laid down to sleep, letting fate decide if she gets up on time or not. Skye says she didn’t, and Xan ended up not going to school. Oh well. Not my problem.

Oy, she would think I’m such a selfish bitch if she read that, but I honestly don’t care. I half hope she stumbles across this blog just so she finally knows what I’m thinking all the damn time. Stars know that we never did have that talk. In fact, when I made a comment before she went to sleep on Sunday that I’m aweful at this whole “being a human thing,” she accused me of just trying to get sympathy, and “stop the whole ‘woe is me’ bullshit.”

Oy, so I’m amazing, I guess? What do you want me to say? Nothing?? I mean, I guess that’s correct. I would finally stop bugging her with my too-loud voice. I try to moderate my volume, I really do, but sometimes I forget, or I’m being louder than I think I am.

Yesterday, I slept a lot of the day, woke up to take an exam, and came out of my room to find all but one piece of the pineapple Mom got gone. Not only did everyone save me only a single cube, it was so sweet and good, and I’m not sure I did so well on my exam. Mom said the littles’ scarfed it all down in minutes, and that it wasn’t even that good because the enzymes burned their tongues, but I don’t feel bad for them. They wouldn’t have gotten burned so bad if they had saved some for Skye and I. She was still sleeping at the time. I also spotted the only pineapple juice in Kare’s Starbucks cup from the day before, but when I took a sip (because she often wastes food, she won’t miss it), I discovered it was watered down. Ugh.

That night, last night, as I stayed up late reading fan-made Gravity Falls comics, I tried to stay as silent as possible. My laughter is often loud, and I was finally having a good time. I didn’t need Mom waking up to scold me with the whole “I work graveyard, and I just got vaccinated! Why can’t I ever sleep?!”

I think I did a pretty great job of staying quiet for once, but at some point, she called my name, which startled me a bit. I went to her room to see what was up, but after I called back and got no response, I determined that she just called my name in her sleep. Whew.

And now, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, typing away, still being silent. I’ll have a good time with Skye when Mom’s not around. Mom doesn’t deserve to hear my laughter anymore if she doesn’t want it so bad. She was watching late-night comedy when I was typing the first part of this post, but at some point, she got up, and I quickly-but-casually switched tabs to the music I was listening to to read the comments until she left from behind me again. I do want to talk about all of this with her eventually, but I really don’t tonight, and she sometimes reads over my shoulder if it’s easy for her to do so.

I hope she’s getting ready for work right now, and she won’t be able to get an Early Out. I’d love for the anxiety of her randomly crashing my vibes to be gone. Maybe (but probably not) I’ll clean, maybe I’ll read some more in the dark. Don’t know yet.

[ericsonclan]

Putting Up The Stars In The Sky For Her

Summary: Prisha wants to surprise Violet by bringing the stars to her.

Read on A03:

Prisha felt her annoyance growing with each passing second. No matter where she looked in the basement, she couldn’t find what she was looking for. The dust that had settled on the boxes and miscellaneous items over the decade of this new world had been tossed up in the air, irritating Prisha’s nose more and more with each box she moved. She had been searching for nearly an hour now and still she was coming up empty-handed. A small orb of fear that had settled in the pit of her stomach was rising as her goal seemed further out of reach.

“Damn it,” Prisha whispered under her breath, moving past the shelving unit she was next to and onto one that was nearby the entrance. If things keep going like this… Prisha’s hand brushed off some dust from a container, a frustrated groan escaping her lips when yet another failure had been added onto this search. I’ll never find it before Violet gets back.

“Hey, Prisha! Whatcha up to?” Louis’ cheery voice made Prisha spin around sharply on her heel and caused her head to collide with one of the metal railings. “Oh shit. Prisha, are you okay?” Louis ran over towards her with a concerned expression on his face.

Prisha let out a small hiss while she gently rubbed the back of her head. “I’m fine,”

“Okay, sorry about that. Clem told me you had gone down here and I just thought I’d check on you,” Louis’ eyes trailed over to the container that Prisha had recently dusted off. “So, mind if I ask what’s piqued your interest enough to come down here today?”

“I was trying to see if there was any paint stored down here, but after a thorough search of most of the storage so far I think that the chances may be slim,” Prisha let out a sad sigh at her own statement. Her whole plan rested on this one element.

“Well, have no fear, Prisha, for I know where some may just be,” Louis pulled on the sides of his coat with a dramatic flair, a proud smile appeared on his lips.

Prisha’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really. Now if my memory serves me, I think it may be over in the far left corner right by that weirdly shaped box. Back when the world went to shit some of the kids had found the paint supplies and Ms. Martin ended up having to hide it all away with my help so they wouldn’t mess up the whole school. ” Louis stopped by the metal shelving. “Aha! Here it is!” He dusted off a large tub-like bucket of paint, revealing the company logo when suddenly he inhaled a puff of dust that caused him to cough sharply. “Oh man, that is dusty,” Louis smiled back at Prisha whose eyes seemed to practically shine at the sight of the paint.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Louis,” Prisha grabbed the container and set it down on the ground. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find-” Prisha’s face suddenly dropped before she pushed aside the bucket. “Damn it!”

“Hey, it’s alright. Why is the paint so important anyway?” Louis glanced over at his friend.

“I…” Prisha took a deep breath. “I wanted to surprise Violet by painting some of the walls in our room to look like the night sky,” Prisha’s hand wandered down and started to play with the tip of her braid. “I thought because of her limited eyesight and the fact that a way to improve it hasn’t worked out yet, I could help her be able to see the sky again. At least a version of it.”

“Holy shit,” Louis had a huge grin on his face “That has to be about the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I know Violet’s gonna love that. So I’m going to help you. Now what is the problem with the paint?”

Prisha looked surprised for a second before a small, appreciative smile played on her lips. She should’ve known that Louis would be willing to help out, especially whenever it had anything to do with Violet. “It’s all dried up so it’s useless. Unless…..” Prisha’s eyes grew large when the answer appeared in her mind. She looked over at Louis. “Louis, you don’t happen to know if there’s any paint thinner in here, do you?”

Louis shook his head sadly, “No, I don’t. But...” Louis gave a hopeful smile “With the two of us, I bet we can find it if it is down here.”

The two immediately set out to find the paint thinner, quickly searching the areas that Prisha had covered in her previous hunt for the paint before turning towards new areas. Piles upon piles of dust flew into the air, causing both Prisha and Louis to sneeze occasionally as their eyes searched for the treasured item. It was only after nearly fifteen more minutes of searching that the paint thinner had been found. The pair made their way back over to the dried out paint, determined to revitalize it.

“So…” Louis held onto the paint thinner “Got any ideas on how this works?”

Prisha looked at the bucket of paint. “I think if we added it in slowly in small quantities and stir it with something while we do it, it should get back to the right consistency,” Prisha’s eyes scanned the air carefully before landing on an old ruler. “This should work if you can just pour a little in,”

“You got it,” Louis slowly tipped forward the paint thinner causing it to splash against the cracked, dry paint.

After a few moments the paint started to change forms, returning little by little back to its former glory. Prisha carefully stirred around, causing the clumps to fall into the center of the bucket as she motioned for Louis to add more. Steadily with the patient work of the duo they got the consistency back and just in time too as they heard voices coming from nearby the gate signalling that the hunting team had gotten back and that the watchtower shift had been changed. Due to how long they had been in the basement, it probably meant that it was nearing evening.

“I need to go,” Prisha dusted off her clothes as she rose to her feet. “I’m on dinner prep with Omar,”

“Oh, okay. What should we do with the paint?” Louis lifted up the bucket with one hand.

“We can just leave it in this corner and I can pick it up tomorrow when I have some free time.” Besides, Prisha looked down at the container. I still need to figure out how to get access to dye or figure out if I can make it. With that thought in mind, Prisha wandered back up out into the courtyard, lifting up her hand as she shielded her eyes from the change in lighting. She looked around and noticed that Omar was already busy at work getting the fire’s height back up to standards in preparation for the meal. Clementine was already busy at work chopping up some of the veggies. When Prisha had made her way over to the picnic table, she was greeted by the smiling faces of her friends.

“So,” Clementine started up on her next vegetable, cutting it horizontally before slicing it into smaller cubes. “How did the search for the paint go? ” Clementine’s voice went down to a whisper

“Think you’ll be able to paint the walls for Violet?”

“It took awhile, but thanks to Louis’ help I was able to find it,” Prisha grabbed some of the fresh herbs slowly, slicing through them to get the right cut of them for dinner. “But it was white paint which means,” Prisha let out a tired sigh, “That my work seems to be far from over. Unless someone knows where some dye is, I feel like this may end up being a lost cause,”

Clementine looked over at her friend sadly. It was really sweet that Prisha wanted to do this for Violet, but it seemed like a long and tedious process just to be able to get the supplies.

“I know how to make dye,” Omar’s calming voice drew over the girls’ attention. “I found out about it when I went through some of the library books that survived the fire in hopes that I would find some new recipes.”

“Really?” A smile pulled on the corner of Prisha’s lips. “Would it be possible to make blue and yellow dye?”

“Sure, if you have the right ingredients,” Omar turned his attention back to the pot for a minute, making sure that the base hadn’t begun to smoke and burn. “I think I remember that if you get some dogwood bark and its berries, you can make blue dye and any dandelions that you get can easily be turned into yellow dye. All you need is some boiling water and a container to process it. I can help you tomorrow if you’d like.”

“That’s perfect. I think I saw some dandelions just outside the gates and dogwood isn’t too hard to find around these parts.” Prisha felt the small bit of hope that this plan could still work growing stronger inside her. “Omar, I… Thank you. It would mean a lot to me.”

Omar smiled back at Prisha. “I’m glad to help. Now can you focus on getting the rest of the prep done?”

“Right, my apologies,” Prisha returned to cutting the herbs. This can work. I can still do this.

The rest of the evening went by more or less like usual. Dinner time, as always, was as lively as ever. Willy and AJ told tales about their day before letting the others add into the conversation. After that most decided to head off to bed, giving Prisha and Violet some time to talk about this and that. As the sky grew darker they decided it would be best to head to bed themselves and so hand in hand they made their way into the dorms to prepare for the next day.

----

Prisha had offered to go on the hunting trip with Aasim in the afternoon in hopes of finding the right ingredients while still providing food from the newest traps Louis and Willy had made. As soon as they had gotten out the gates, Prisha veered right and snatched some dandelions that were in a small patch of grass. When she had tucked them away in her pockets, she was met with a confused expression by Aasim.

“I’ll explain in a minute. For now let’s just continue down the path,” Prisha moved past Aasim and began to make her way down the path. Her ice axe clinked against her hip while she walked. Aasim soon caught up and walked alongside her. His bow was already out and an arrow in the notch just in case they ran into any walkers.

After they were a fair distance away from the gates, Prisha spoke up.“I was grabbing those dandelions because I need them to help make dye for this paint I found.”

“Paint?” Aasim looked around, his eyes scanning the left side before the right. “What for?”

“It’s for Violet,” Prisha stated. Her own gaze was focused on making sure they wouldn’t be caught by surprise as well as searching for the last ingredient she needed.

“Alright, do you need anything else out here?” Aasim asked with a kind smile.

“I need to find some dogwood bark and its berries,”

“Oh, well I think I saw some the other day over by the west traps. We can grab some on the way back.

Prisha gave an appreciative smile before returning her focus back to the task at hand. The pair made their way towards the traps, talking about different ideas they had come up with to improve Ericson that they could work on and bring up with Clementine. After going through some of the traps, undoing, resetting and relieving them of the prey they had caught, Prisha and Aasim moved onwards to the last set.

When they had arrived they immediately saw the dogwood tree and the rich red berries that clung onto its branches. But first they need to see if the traps have gotten any game for them. Giving a quick glance around, it seemed only one rabbit had been caught and it was a baby at that. Aasim instantly let it go and looked between Prisha and his shoulders to see if they had gotten enough for the day. That was when he noticed a few stray walkers roaming nearby.

“Prisha,” Aasim motioned with his eyes towards the two walkers that were walking over towards them.

Prisha nodded in understanding before setting down the rabbits on her shoulder and unclipping her ice axe, moving to the first walker. With a mighty swing upward, Prisha embedded the weapon underneath the jaw of the walker, crunching through some smaller bones and making a small squishing sound when it impacted the brain. Letting go of her weapon which remained in place, Prisha repositioned her hand, yanking down hard and releasing her signature weapon with a hearty squelching sound. Prisha took a deep breath, ready to face her next opponent when she heard Aasim’s arrow hit its mark directly in the right eye, leaving the walker that was making its way behind her lifeless and hollow on the dirt path. Prisha held out her ice axe, carefully surveying the area before placing it back on her hip.

“Good thing there weren’t that many,” Aasim noted as he tucked away his bow and arrow for a moment.

“Have to count your blessings each chance you get,” Prisha added, her eyes traveling over to the dogwood tree. Wordlessly she made her way over and began to peel off some of the bark while Aasim started to grab some berries. After they had grabbed what they were positive would be an appropriate amount, they began to make their way back.

It wasn’t long before they were in sight of the tall, proud, lightly battered gates of Ericson. Aasim gave his share of the ingredients over to Prisha as they made their way back into the safety of their home.

Immediately Prisha made her way over to Omar and handed off the items. Looking around it seemed like Violet was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she got greenhouse duty today.

“Thanks, I can help you in a minute, just gotta get some more wood for the fire.” Omar placed aside the different bits of nature and walked over towards the pile of firewood that they had stored inside the gates.

“Allow me to help. It’s the least I can do,” Prisha grabbed a few pieces of firewood, tucking them under her arm before grabbing a couple more. Omar walked by her side and gave a warm smile.

“I think it’s really nice what you’re doing for Violet. I know she doesn't say much about it, but I know she must miss the stars,” Omar let out a small grunt when he tossed down the wood. “She used to sneak up all the time.” He took the pile from Prisha’s arms and started to place some in the fire pit.

“I just hope I’m able to get this to actually work after all the hoops I’ve had to jump through. But seeing Violet’s smile…” The brightness of it, the way it makes her eyes dance... “It will be worth it.”

“Well, the dye process isn’t too hard,” Omar took out some small containers. “I found these inside the admin building. They should work for the cooling part.”

Prisha nodded before offering her help. The two began the steps. Omar instructed Prisha to break down some of the ingredients and then asked her to hand them to him while he tossed them into the small pot. It was one he rarely used for anything with meals so it wouldn’t affect the taste of dinner.

Once he had tossed in the ingredients he stirred it around, allowing for it to seep and bring out the color that would make the dye. Adding in some more dogwood bark and berries, Omar tried to get the perfect shade of dark blue and give it the depth that it needed. After a few attempts, Prisha and Omar agreed that they had finally reached the right shade of blue. Next Omar added a thickening agent to make sure the consistency wasn't too runny and ineffective. When that had been completed and Omar was content with the quality, he moved to place them into the containers and handed them off to Prisha.

“There you go. It was my first time so I hope I made the color sharp enough. Just stir it into the paint and it should produce the colors you want.”

Prisha accepted the dye with a bright smile on her face. “Thank you,” With that she turned around and headed down to the basement to hide it along with the other parts to her plan. With some free time on her hand, she sat down with Willy and the two talked for what felt like hours, tweaking and refining some of their plans that had been a bust in hopes to make life better at Ericson.

Soon dinner was called and quickly consumed. The different members of the group wandered off in different directions to go about the free time they had. The sky slowly changed from its warm orange tones, pushing aside the lazily rolling clouds and making way for the dark blue sky.

“Well, I’m gonna go back to the room.” Violet’s voice drew Prisha’s attention as her girlfriend rose up from her spot on the steps of the admin building.

“Alright, I’ll join you in a bit,”

Violet gave a small smile before leaning down and placing a kiss on Prisha’s cheek.

“Okay, see you in a bit then,” With that Violet went off into the direction of the dorms, leaving Prisha alone.

Prisha’s gaze turned upwards to the sky. She had hoped to get some time to herself to properly look at the sky before she attempted to paint the walls tomorrow. Wanting to capture the beauty of the sky that had given her girlfriend so much peace and happiness before she had lost her sight. Prisha’s eyes wandered from star to star, completely lost in the marvel of the starry sky. It was no wonder Violet had grown so fond of the stars: they were beautiful. With a few more moments of peace and looking up at the sky, Prisha got up and made her way to the dorms, her excitement born anew from the success of the day and the stunning sky.

----

The next day rolled around and in the morning Louis and Prisha had pulled aside Clementine in hopes that she would agree to take Violet fishing with her today.

“Say no more, I’ll make sure we go fishing for a long time and give you two all the time you need to get the painting done.”

“Thanks, babe,” Louis placed a quick kiss on Clementine’s lips. “You’re the best.”

Clementine flashed a goofy grin back at her boyfriend. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I really do appreciate it,” Prisha added in which caused Clementine’s smile to grow.

“Please, it’s the least I can do. Besides, I'm happy to help Violet. I’m sure she’s gonna love it!”

It took a few minutes for Clementine and Violet to get ready but soon they had said their goodbyes and were off to the fishing shack.

Not wasting a second, Prisha and Louis made their way down to the basement and grabbed all the necessary supplies. Then they moved into the dorms, moving past all the now empty rooms that were once filled until they arrived at Prisha and Violet’s room. Carefully balancing some equipment, Louis opened the door and made his way to the desk where AJ’s drawing of Violet, Omar and Aasim making their way off the Delta ship was placed proudly above it on the wall and some rough sketches that Prisha made for future inventions laid scattered on the surface of the desk. Louis placed down the bucket of paint and dusted off his hands.

“Could you actually move it over towards those beds?” Prisha motioned with her eyes.

Louis gave a quick nod and moved over to the left bunk beds where the latest innovation that Prisha had been tinkering with laid in bits and pieces. Plopping down the bucket, Louis looked up and noticed the different pieces of art on the wall. A sad, small smile tugged on the corners of his lips. There were a few small sketches that Tenn had drawn of his sisters and Violet, but for the most part the pieces that had covered the wall were ones that were done by Sophie. Bright, lively colors filled those pages which seemed to match the artist’s own soul. It made sense why Sophie was so clearly prominent in her own art. She had poured her heart and soul into every sketch, painting and drawing that she did whether it was of nature or of her friends and family. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis noticed a white bed sheet dangling from the top bunk.

“Oh!” Louis snatched the bed sheet and pulled it off the top bunk “We can use these to make sure the paint doesn’t get on your bed.”

“That’s a great idea,” Prisha smiled while she balanced the dyes in her hand, walking past the bookshelf that held a few books that had caught her attention for future reading. The lower shelfs of the light brown bookshelf held the many different pages of music that Minnie had composed and other songs she didn’t want lost to the sands of time.

Prisha set down the two small containers of dye and four empty cans on the side table that stood between the two sets of bunk beds. A small, blue violet in a garden pot was placed on top of the side table. Its tiny, delicate blue petals danced with the light breeze that was coming through the cracks of the window.

“Alright,” Louis moved over to stand by Prisha. “Let’s get this started. I’ll mix up the yellow while you mix up the blue?”

“Yes, that should work,” Prisha waited for a moment while Louis filled the four cans cans before letting Prisha start mixing in the dye. The two stood around slowly stirring in the dye as it made the right color paint for them. “Oh, Louis? Could you grab the art box in the closet?”

“Sure,” Louis jogged over, pulling open the closet door and revealing Sophie’s old art box covered with all her stickers.

“There should be a couple of paint brushes in there.” Prisha looked back at Louis who nodded and then snatched up all the paintbrushes, both big and small. Returning to Prisha’s side, Louis placed down the paintbrushes and worked on completing the yellow paint. When both of them were satisfied with the colors, they worked on getting the old bed sheets up on the beds to cover them.

Louis was the first to get up, climbing up onto the bunk before the realization struck him. Shimmying his way under the sheet so he wouldn’t get paint on his coat, he reached out his hands to grab the two cans of paint, one of each color, and his paintbrush from Prisha. When he was all set and ready to go, Prisha positioned her set of paints and brushes and climbed on to the bed to start painting. “Man, Violet is gonna be so happy when she sees this,”

Prisha couldn’t see his face, but she was sure it was beaming with excitement. Prisha felt her own smile grow as she dipped the paintbrush into the dark blue and moved it across the wall. “I can’t wait,” Prisha lay down on her side to make sure that she was getting the whole wall so that it could be absolutely covered with stars when she started adding the second color.

Louis hummed happily as he smeared blue paint on the ceiling. The two were wrapped up in their work, wanting to create the best possible starry sky for Violet. It was only when they had finished applying the dark blue paint that they took a break for it to dry.

“So, how are you going to draw your stars?” Louis looked over the safety railing down at Prisha, his arms dangling lazily off it while a goofy smile lay on his face. Prisha shifted on the bed and looked up at Louis.

“I’m going to try and draw it to the best of my abilities to look like the real thing,”

Louis noticed the nervousness in Prisha’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Prisha, I’m sure it’s gonna look great. I’m thinking of making mine like those classic stars that you would see in story books. Big, bright yellow stars that cover the whole ceiling. So Violet can really enjoy the sight if she ever decided to lay up here.”

“I think she’ll like that,” Prisha smiled up at Louis.

The two continued to talk while the paint dried. Louis offered to try and cover their shifts while Prisha showed Violet the room and gave them some time alone. Prisha gratefully accepted the offer. A happy giddiness danced in her stomach at the thought of Violet’s smile when she saw the finished painting. After some time the first layer of paint was dry and a second layer was soon applied to make sure that the blue paint was going to really stand out and last. When that had dried the pair moved to the other color to make the stars.

Louis had a bright, loud, yellow paint which he slapped on the ceiling while he shaped the stars. His excitement grew with each paint brush swipe that completed another star. Soon the ceiling was covered with Louis’ stars that were beaming, sparkling with all of the care he had put into crafting them.

Prisha stared at the deep blue before her. Slowly she closed her eyes, trying to recall the feeling that she got when she stared up at the sky and the bright, marvelous beauty that the stars brought to it. Opening her eyes, she lightly dipped her paintbrush into the can with a very light yellow, barely different from the white. Thanks to Louis’ careful work he had made just the right color for Prisha’s painting. Moving the paintbrush, Prisha created small dots on the wall, putting them each in precise places. When she felt like she had added enough of them, she dunked the paintbrush into the can again. Positioning the paintbrush in between her knees, she held onto it with a tight grasp while she used her hand to pull back on the bristles of the paintbrush. This caused small, minuscule specks of paint to fly and land on the wall, creating dozens upon dozens of tiny stars that covered the spots that the larger stars had failed to capture. Soon the entire wall was filled with tiny stars and a few prominent larger ones that stood to represent more specific stars in the sky. Prisha looked at her handiwork with a proud smile.

“Are you done too?” Louis climbed down the bunk, landing with a hard thunk before he snatched up the paint supplies and the bed sheet, pulling them off the top bunk bed. Louis gave an impressed whistle when he saw Prisha’s stars. “Damn, Prisha, you never told me you were an artist.”

Prisha rolled off her bed and took off the paints and bed sheet before looking up at Louis’ handiwork. “You’ve got some skills yourselves.” Prisha smiled at the different odd shapes and sizes of Louis’ stars.

Louis gave a small chuckle and scratched the back of his head. “Please, it's nothing compared to yours.” His eyes looked out the window, noticing the change in color signaling that it was nearing early evening. “I bet Clem and Vi are back. You wanna gather the supplies, wash your hand and greet them?”

Prisha looked down at her hand; her fingers were covered with the whitish yellow paint. “That would be a good idea.”

The two talked excitedly as they made their way to the water basin. Taking out some of the water, they washed the brushes and their hands before placing away the supplies. When they had just finished cleanup and had made their way back to the courtyard, they heard the happy barking of Rosie and the eager hissing of Garbage that made it known to all that Clementine and Violet had returned. Louis and Prisha made their way over to the two just as they had reached Omar and set down the buckets with a few fish in them.

“Hey, Clem!’ Louis leaned in and placed a kiss on her cheek. “How was fishing?”

“It went really well today. Vi and I were able to bring back a pretty good haul,” Clementine smiled over at Violet.

“Eh, I still missed a ton but yeah, I was able to get a few of them,” Violet gave a half-hearted shrug.

“Well it looks like you brought back a lot,” Prisha added, standing by Violet’s side.

Violet looked up at her for a second before glancing away, a small smile appearing on her lips.

“So, Omar, how long till dinnertime?” Louis tilted his head to try to peek into the pot.

Omar looked up from his prep. “It's gonna be a while. Maybe at least an hour, and no, Stew with Lou would not help,” Omar had seen the playful look in Louis’ eyes and wanted to stop it before he had to hear the classic spiel that Louis gave. Not that it was really that annoying… the first time. But after the amount of times Omar had heard all the variants of Stew With Lou from Louis, he figured he should try and space it out if he got the chance.

“Well in that case, Violet? I want to show you something before dinner back at our room,” Prisha’s words caused Violet to look up at her girlfriend with a confused expression.

“Okay, sure,”

Prisha reached down and gently intertwined her fingers with Violet while the pair made their way back to the dorms. When they had passed by Louis and Clementine, out of the corner of her eye Prisha could see both of their excited expressions and Louis giving a small thumbs up.

Violet and Prisha walked in silence through the halls. Prisha felt her heart race with each step that she took. She wasn’t sure whether her nervousness or excitement were stronger within her. She’ll like it... right? Prisha felt a small inkling of doubt appear in her mind.

“Prisha?”

She looked over to see Violet who seemed slightly concerned about her. Prisha gave a small smile.

“Sorry, just got lost in thought for a moment,” Prisha looked up and saw that they had arrived at their room. Stopping in front of the door, Prisha turned to look at Violet. “Okay, I need you to close your eyes.

Violet studied Prisha’s face for a few seconds.“I’m pretty fucking blind, but okay,” Violet closed her eyes. Prisha then opened the door before carefully grabbing both of Violet’s hands into her own. Steadily guiding her through the room, Prisha positioned Violet in front of the bunk beds. She took a quick second to make sure everything looked good. “Alright, you can open them,” Violet’s eyes slowly fluttered open. It took her a few seconds to see what the surprise was. But when she did her eyes widened in surprise. Her mouth was slightly open while her eyes traveled around to take in all of it.

“Louis helped me paint. He did the stars on the ceiling,” Prisha moved forward. “I did the ones by our bed. I know how much you miss seeing the stars at night. So I thought since we haven’t found a way to get your sight back yet, I would bring the stars to you.” Prisha watched as Violet silently made her way up on the bed and sat in front of the mural of stars that Prisha had painted. “I wanted to capture the beauty of the night sky and while I know it doesn’t compare to the actual thing, I hope-”

“Prisha,”

Prisha paused when she saw Violet’s hand reach out for her. Taking a place on the bed beside her, Prisha took her hand.

Violet was still busy staring at the stars when she spoke. One of her hands had touched the wall, brushing over the different stars. “Holy shit. I... You did this for me?” Violet looked over with slightly watery eyes.

“Of course,”

The two stared at each other for a minute when suddenly Violet reached her hands up and cupped Prisha’s face. Leaning in, she captured Prisha’s lips in a deep, loving kiss. Prisha felt her heart soar. Reaching up her hand, she placed it on Violet’s face and leaned further into the kiss. Right there in that moment it felt like she could melt into that kiss. Get lost in this feeling forever. She never wanted it to end.

After a while both of them pulled apart in need of some air. They looked at each with loving smiles while Prisha’s hand held onto Violet’s.

“Is it okay if we stay here for awhile?” Violet asked, rubbing the back of her neck while she looked over at her girlfriend.

“Sure,” Prisha looked at the smile on Violet’s face. It really had been worth every single second of struggle to see that rare bright smile that Violet had.

The two lay down and faced the wall. Prisha’s arm gently wrapped around Violet who curled up beside her. Violet’s hand reached up and intertwined with Prisha’s caressing the side of it as Violet stared at the wall. A warm smile appeared on her lips, her heart filled with happiness. “I love you,”

Violet’s words made Prisha’s heart skip a beat. There was no other feeling in this world that was quite like this. Nothing seemed to compare to it. The way that Violet made her feel, the peace and joy that having Violet in her life gave Prisha.

“I love you too,”

Prisha nuzzled her head against Violet as the two lay there, enjoying the moment, staring at the stars that Prisha placed in the sky for Violet.

[venusxxlangdon]

Garden of Eden

summary: beware of your wishes when you wander in the Garden of Eden, especially if the Antichrist has the keys. 

pairing: outpost!Michael x fem!reader

words: 8.9k

warnings: smut, fingering, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, choking

To Katherine, Sofi, Sam & Caitlin

A big mansion loomed proudly behind the iron gates, flanked by the rows of green freshly-trimmed trees crowned in crimson blossom, swaying gently in the summer breeze. Ivy and fern grew through the crevice of the white marble of the walls that kept the secrets of the mysterious owner of the house. Michael Langdon was an exquisite neighbor, and if one dared to ask what he did for a living or who he was, nobody would be able to answer. Numerous rumors ghosted around his persona because Mr. Langdon himself was a very private man. He never honored any of the public events with his presence, for what he was deeply disliked by others. It was the paradox of life when one chose his own path, detached and aloof, and was strongly judged for it.

 “He thinks he is better than us,” an old lady with her wrinkled hands adorned with heavy rings and pearl bracelets thought to herself when she stopped by Michael’s house and complimented his wonderful garden. In fact, she did not really want to say it aloud because it would squeeze her into admitting that his tenure was superior to any other yard in the neighborhood. However, the beauty of Langdon’s garden was so conspicuous that it would make anybody confess their trepidation before it and fall victim to its unbelievable excellence. The sweet, almost sickly smell of roses cut through the soft scent of the July summer. Red, pink, and white buds scattered on the bushes and ignited them with burning flames of vivid colors. In the middle of it, there was a big marble fountain with sculptures of Aphrodite, Hera, Athena, and Artemis around it. They stood like guardians, keeping a watch over the crystal flows of water that sounded like a giggle of a young nymph in the peaceful silence. No wonder everybody wanted to get inside just to look at the worldly Garden of Eden.

“Mr. Langdon?” The woman called his name again after he did not respond to her question.

A tall, stately man was sitting on a patio with his legs crossed and a volume of Voltaire in his right hand. He was holding a glass filled with blood-red wine in his left hand; the heavy bands of his rings clicked against the fine glass every time he brought it to his lips to take a sip. He slowly took his gaze off the book and dragged it to the lady who suddenly felt like an annoying schoolgirl, hungry for his attention. She shivered uncomfortably when two topazes of his piercing blue eyes stared at her. It felt like he was looking right through her, paralyzing every muscle of her decrepit body. Michael slightly tilted his head to the side, letting the sunlight caress the smooth, silky locks of his licentious hair. He found it amusing that the old cranky twat, who had spent years ruining the life of her daughter in law (she found the young girl absolutely unworthy of her son’s attention) in the most revolting ways, even dared to speak to him.

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Shepherd,” the velvet baritone if his voice reverberated through her bones, “but it’s the roses you should address your compliments to. I don’t own their beauty.”

Despite the fact she had been working in public relations for thirty years, Mrs. Shepherd found herself at loss for words. Surprisingly she felt so small and vulnerable that her only desire was to leave. She nodded and opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again, pressing her thin lips into a tight line. Trying to gather the remaining of her confidence, she adjusted the cuffs of her dinner jacket, as if it could help her stay grounded, and lifted her chin up a bit too high than it was necessary.

 “I am just wondering how you manage to keep your garden in such an impeccable state. Pardon my bluntness, Sir, but I have never seen you weed or water it.”

The corners of Michael’s lips twitched, and he put his book aside on a small table next to him, folding his hands neatly on his crossed thighs.

 “You are not the Lord to see everything, are you?” He smiled, showing her his perfect white teeth.

 “Excuse me?” She nervously started playing with a pearl necklace around her slender neck. It was very uncomfortable to talk to him like that when he was still sitting on a patio, and it seemed like he did not have any intentions of approaching her for a chat.

 Michael ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip; a faint smirk was ghosting across his lips as he kept wandering around Mrs. Shepherd’s hectic mind, looking through her entire biography, which he could read like a picture book. What a pathetic soul stood before him! He had no interest in her; what was alluring in the lost essence of her elderly being if she had not learned a thing in her life? Nothing. There was someone else who piqued his interest a long while ago. Ignoring the awaiting expression on Mrs. Shepherd’s face, he looked away at the neighboring house. When his eyes landed on a second-floor window, he saw a shadow that flashed behind the sheer curtains. Michael smirked.

 His rose was spying on him again.

 Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed that Mr. Langdon turned his head in the direction of your bedroom, and you hurried to fall to your knees and crawl under the windowsill, praying that he did not see you. With the trembling fingers, you reached for the jacquard drapes and pulled them, trying to cover up the transparent organza of your curtains. You had no idea why you were doing it again after you had promised yourself not to spy on your neighbor anymore. It was wrong and creepy, and you felt embarrassed and, what was more terrifying, aroused by it. You bit on your knuckles in an attempt to suppress a whimper that got you all aflutter.

What an idiot.

 You drew your knees against your chest and wrapped your arms around yourself securely, trying to calm down a swirling vortex of anxiety in your head. The effect that beautiful man had on you was indescribable: you felt strangely attracted and intimidated at the same time. The mysterious aura of Mr. Langdon kept you awake at night and made you sneak on your tiptoes to the window to look at the dim light in the window across the street every midnight. You wondered why he was always awake at such a late hour.

 Asking your parents about him was pointless because they truly had not been the biggest fans of Langdon, since you moved into a new house, and wanted you to stay away from him. When you asked your dad why, he shrugged and said “He’s no good” through his gritted teeth, but could a man of no good grow such beautiful flowers in his garden?

 Everybody seemed to either hate or love Michael Langdon, so the rumors about him were on the two opposite poles accordingly: either extremely notorious or suspiciously celestial. You tried to do your own research, but the only thing you managed to find out was the fact that his parents had abandoned him when he was a child, and it was his grandmother who had raised him. He was believed to have property somewhere in England, or Romania, which would be a strange choice in general.

 You wanted to talk to him, but for the past six months you had spent in the new neighborhood, you did not have the guts to say hi when he was out in the backyard. You found yourself blushing and embarrassed, unable to form such an easy question as “how are you doing, Mr. Langdon?”, so what sort of a small talk one could expect from you? He looked no older than thirty, yet he made an impression of someone experienced, tempting, and even sinister.

Biting your lower lip, you reminisced about his gorgeous chiseled face, framed with the soft blond curls that reached his shoulders. He was always dressed irreproachably perfect, with no wrinkles on his ironed shirt in sight. Instead of going out with your friends and doing whatever mirth your young soul desired, you often stayed home in your small bedroom to watch his silhouette behind the thick curtains. Around 8 pm he liked to go to his garden, and you could see his lips move as if he was talking to someone, but you did not see whom. Michael most certainly did not have a dog, or a cat, although some people rumored that there were snakes in his garden, but you never had a chance to witness them. He always moved graciously around his flowers, brushing his gnarled fingers against the petals, and you once caught yourself imagining what his touch would feel like. That was a point of no return when you realized that you were unconditionally fascinated by the insanely beautiful man across the street. You felt like a stalker but could not fight the desire to keep eyeing him.

 xxx

It was a regular lazy Sunday you decided to spend doing nothing in particular, especially due to the unbearable heat. Even the trees looked defeated: the leaves that should have been crispy and firm looked flaccid instead. Whenever you went outside, you felt like the sun was going to melt you as if you were nothing, but a cube of ice, so you hanged out in the kitchen with AC turned to the maximum, reading books and watching whatever there was on TV.

 “I swear Langdon does something to his roses,” your mom said, wiping the drops of sweat off her forehead. Your head flew up immediately at the sound of the familiar name. “His garden looks like an oasis in the desert.”

You looked through the window, where you could see the blooming roses, irises, and hydrangeas behind the gate. She was right; it looked wonderful indeed despite the temperature.

 “I’ve never seen him watering it,” you mom continued, not paying attention to an absent look on your face. You frowned when two white heaven-bound birds ricocheted as soon as they appeared in the radius of Langdon’s property. It seemed like there was an invisible shield around it. Surprised, you pulled the curtains aside to take a closer look. What the hell was that?

 “Maybe he does it at night? When it’s not so hot,” you said slowly, without taking your narrowed eyes off of the door of his house.

 By 9 pm the heat started to cool down, and you decided that the whole day at home was enough for you, and it would be nice to ride a bike before going to bed. Moreover, you needed an excuse to get closer to Mr. Langdon’s garden and do some investigation. You had no idea what exactly you were looking for and if there was something wrong with his mansion, but your mother’s comments and the two birds kept rewinding in your head, causing major anxiety.

 “I’ll be back soon!” you shouted from a garage, hoping that your dad could hear you through a loud tv noise.

 Riding a bike was one of the greatest pleasures of summer when even though you pedaled, the iron monster with a little wicker basket automatically took you down the street. The wind tangled its warm fingers in your hair and toyed with your white sundress with cherry print on the linen fabric. Your legs remained in motion, as your thoughts stayed in the moment, and you allowed them to get back to Michael.

If he were home, he would definitely notice you, and then what? You would have to explain your business and it would involve having an actual conversation with him.

You pressed the breaks, stopping the bike. Fuck. Just the thought of it made your palms sweaty. You looked across your shoulder, spotting the white walls of his mansion in the distance.

You did not know how much time you spent staying in the middle of an empty road, contemplating your plan, but eventually, it felt like your bike started living its own life, taking you back to Langdon’s property, and all you could do was to keep pedaling and trying to breathe steadily.

 His imposing figure was visible from the distance way before you approached him. He was standing with his hands behind his back, his long hair tied up in a low ponytail with the loose strands of it framing his defined face. You took a tight grip on the handlebar and slowed down the bike.

 “Good evening, Mr. Langdon,” you could not recognize your voice that sounded so high-pitched it made you scrunch up your nose in disgust. As your feet touched the ground, he looked up at you with a hazy smile across his full lips. He stepped forward, and your breath hitched at his appraising glance. Michael did not even try to hide the curiosity he was looking at your sundress with, examining your naked legs.

 “Ah, what a great surprise,” he said in a singsong tone and outstretched his hand. You nervously gave him your palm, and he took it with just the tips of his fingers. He gently turned your hand downwards and bent at the waist until his lips were inches above your skin. He never touched it with his lips, just let his breath ghost over your hand before letting go of it. You could feel the heat spreading across your cheeks, painting them in scarlet hues. “Good evening, Ms. Y/L/N.”

 You smiled, trying not to stare at the man before you. It was the first time you saw him so close, and his vibe was overwhelming. You could feel the power radiating from him in hot waves that had nothing to do with the summer heat. He towered over you despite the distance and the bike between you two. He was handsome from the depth of his cobalt blue eyes to the gentle expression of his smooth voice. You could swear he was inhumanly beautiful. Mr. Langdon was probably used to the sudden pauses in people’s natural reactions when they fell silent and just admired him.

“I’m sorry, I just...,” you stuttered, nervously tugging a piece of hair behind your ear. “I just wanted to look at the roses.”

 You nodded in the direction of the beautiful flowers flowing and swaying around the men. He chuckled softly, unable to take his eyes off of your blush that accompanied your words.

 “Your garden is so beautiful,” it felt like you could not stop bubbling, “even in this horrible heat. It seems like you really love it, Mr. Langdon,” you mattered. The delicate, blooming petals stood out in the grass, bathing in the radiant sunlight; the air was perfumed with the exuding scent of the flowers.

 “I surely do, my dear,” Michael said, his voice low and honey-like, encapsulating your entire being. His long, aristocratic fingers brushed against the tight buds, where inside the layers of green, there were colors that, eventually, would ignite the new roses into the vibrancy of life. He slowly dragged his fingertips down a stem and picked one.

 “My garden keeps a lot of secrets,” he looked at you through his heavy lids and extended his hand to give you the flower. “You know, all our desires that we wish we could hide in the darkest corners of our souls.”

A faint smirk across his full lips made your stomach flip as your mind rushed to the memories of you watching him through the window of your small bedroom. You hesitantly took the flower from his hand, and when your fingers accidentally touched his, your body jolted as if lighting pierced through you. Michael pretended that he did not notice it, gazing at you hazily with an unbothered look on his face. The only thing that could indicate his interest was the waves of a deep aquamarine polling in his eyes. Each hue seemed brighter in the reflection of the sunlight.

 “Thank you,” you whispered under your breath and put the rose in the basket. You did not know what to add, especially after his remark. Was it a hint that he knew what were you doing? You put your right feet on a pedal as if you were about to leave.

 “I hope you’ll have a good night, Mr. Langdon.”

Michael shook his head and made his way to the antique gate, holding a key you had not noticed in his hands before. He opened it with one swift motion of his wrist and leaned against the ornate door.

 “What about the garden? I thought you would like to see it.”

 You looked at him with wide eyes.

 “Oh, are you sure, Sir?” You asked hesitantly, “I don’t want to be a bother, plus it’s getting late, you probably have other plans...”

 “It would be my pleasure to show you around,” his velvet voice cut you off in the middle of the sentence, and you froze, enchanted by his eyes that were looking right through you.

 You hopped off your bicycle and leaned the handlebar against the gate.

 “That’s really nice of you, Mr. Langdon,” you smiled, stepping closer. You thought he would move, so you could follow him inside, but he waited until you were inches away, almost pressed against his chest in the small space of the doorframe.  

 “Please, call me Michael,” for a second it seemed like the world froze around you. As if someone in charge of winding the Great clock of time pressed the button, and everything stopped moving. All you could feel was the scent of Michael’s cologne. It was surreal. You parted your lips to say something, but his eyes got you hypnotized; you realized that you were holding your breath all that time.

 Langdon was the first one to break eye contact.

xxx

Walking in Michael’s garden was one of the greatest pleasures you had ever experienced in your life. It seemed like the farther you went, the more beautiful it became. Numerous flowerbeds painted the lawns in vivid shades of watercolor. The miniature shrubs were trimmed neatly, and everything one could desire was to run among them, breathing in the exquisite sent of flowers.

 He was watching you amusingly: how you bent over to brush your fingertips against the delicate petals and smell the roses, the way your cheeks turned crimson every time you caught him staring at you.

 Michael could not help himself and let his magic wander around you, making its way into your radiant ephemeral mind. From the corner of his eye, he noticed his snakes crawling under the marble bench and flicked his wrist, ordering them to stay in place.

 “So red and white roses are your favorite?” You asked curiously, spinning around to face him, and he hurried to fold his hands behind his back as if nothing had just happened. His eyes traveled down your body, catching the sight of your skirt flowing in the wind.

 “The red rose whispers of passion,” he answered, stepping closer to you, “and the white rose breathes of love.* Yes, there are,” he took a pause, thinking if God had decided to mock him by sending an actual angel. An angel with devilish desires. “But I also have a penchant for lilies,” Michael nodded at the flowerbed next to you.

 “You sound like a poet, Michael,” you said, still a bit embarrassed to call him by his name. Langdon, on the contrary, shivered every time it rolled off your tongue. His mind painted pictures of the situations where he could make you repeat his name like a mantra.

 “Well, thank you, but I will have to disappoint you,” his lips curled into a fake pout, “the author of these beautiful lines is an old chap O’Reilly, not me.”

 The yellow ball of the setting sun merged with the sky, changing it to the hues of orange, and then almost red. Summer sunsets, a prelude to a warm night, were well-known for being beautiful. The sun cast its golden rays down upon Michael’s blond ponytail, illuminating it like a halo. It cascaded onto the trees and his house like the glory of paradise.

 “You definitely used them for the right occasion,” you chucked, “oh my God,” you sighed in pure delight, “how amazing it must be to own such a beautiful garden and wander around it every day. I think I would get lost in it!”

 “Not all those who wander are lost, darling.**”

 For the reasons unknown to you, your mind went back to your fantasies about Michael. You considered yourself lost in them, but what if you just wandered?

xxx

Time dissolved into itself in a blink of an eye. You did not notice how one topic of conversion flowed into another, and you most certainly missed the moment when Michael invited you into his house. Even though you understood that it was not right to abuse his hospitality, you could not say “no” to his invitation.

“Would you like some wine?” he asked you, as you walked around the dining room, observing the luxurious interior. From your location, you could also see the fireplace in the living room, the family crest adorned with the ruby red needlework hanging on the wall, the antique furniture that cost more than your college tuition. Michael was standing by the cabinet, considering his wine choice for the night.

 “Yes, please,” you nodded, brushing your knuckles against the gliding surface of the oak table. On top of it, there were exquisite sets of the finest silverware. “But I’ll have to rely on your taste because I’m no expert when it comes to wine.”

 Michael took a bottle out and opened it. A gold-colored Moselle was poured in two crystal glasses.

 “A well-chosen wine, my dear,” you still could not understand if he really meant that nickname, or if it was his regular way to address everyone he knew. You looked away, hoping that he would not notice your wide grin. “Either sets a great mood or ruins the impression,” he took the glass and made his way to you. “Forever.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around the stem and bringing it to your lips to take the first sip. Michael watched you attentively, waiting for your reaction. The liquid tasted beautiful and rich, coating your taste buds like acerbic honey.

 “That’s a really great wine, Michael,” you said, feeling the warmth spreading through every cell of your body. He smirked, and you found yourself staring at the wine drop on his bottom lip.

His lips, plump and pink, looked million times more beautiful than any rose in his garden. You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping that the pain would help you to remain sane, but the longer you looked at him, the cloudier your mind got. It was impossible to say what exactly made your head dizzy: the scent of the fine wine or Mr. Langdon who looked like the Eighth Wonder. The thoughts you had been trying to suppress all the time, were suddenly unleashed like demons and flooded your subconsciousness with the vivid images. Your breath hitched, and you had to take another sip of wine, pretending that you were enjoying the taste when instead you used it as an excuse to look away.

 “I knew you would enjoy it.”

 Your mind tried to come up with any topic that could cut through the electric tension between you two, but all you could think was him. Him. Him. Kissing you, savoring every inch of your exposed skin — it was an all-consuming obsession. You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling extremely hot as if the temperature increased by several degrees.

“I have noticed your family crest over there,” you nodded at the living room, “does your family have a long history?”

 Michael tapped his fingers against the glass and put it aside on the dining table.

 “Not really,” he scoffed, and you wondered if the topic about his family was not his favorite, “my grandmother was so obsessed with the idea of being one of the nobility that she made it come true,” he glanced over the enormous dining room.

 “Your mansion is beautiful,” you said honestly, looking up at him, “so is your garden, and...oh my God, there is a snake!” You cried out at the sight of a green snake that was slowly making its way to Michael along the perfectly polished floor. The intruder was so unexpected that you knocked his glass off the table, and it shattered into pieces with a loud noise. You gasped and immediately fell to your knees to collect the remains of the wineglass in your palms. Embarrassment washed over in tides, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes, ready to spill out from the humiliation you had put yourself through. Everything felt wrong.

 “I’m so sorry,” you whined in a broken voice, “Michael, I did not mean to...oh God, I am so sorry... I will pay for the glass, I promise...I just...”

 “Y/N,” he interrupted you softly, but stern. Still being on your knees, you left your gaze up at him to meet the icy fire of his eyes. “Stand up.”

You gulped heavily, but obeyed, slowly standing up on your wobbly feet. He carefully took the pieces of the broken glass from your hands, making sure not to leave any cuts on your tender skin. Michael put them aside on a thick cotton napkin and grabbed a clean one to wipe off the wine off your palms.

 “It’s okay,” he said, examining your skin carefully in case there were micro cuts he did not notice, “no big deal.”

 The feather-light touch of his fingers was soothing. You looked across Michael’s shoulder, trying to spot the reptile, but did not see any.

 “I saw a snake,” you whispered, “over there.”

 He put the napkin aside but did not let go of your hands.

 “I believe I have not introduced you to my pets,” the plural form made you look around as if right after his words numerous snakes would crawl out of nowhere.

 “So it’s true,” the rumors sprang on your mind, and you squeezed his fingers instinctively, not actually realizing what you were doing, “you do have snakes.”

 Michael’s lips curled in a smile.

“Three of them,” he took a step closer, the crystal beads of glass crunched under his shoes, but he did not seem to care. “Don’t worry, there are not poisonous,” he answered your silent question. “However, they always come where there is fear.”

 You frowned. His fingers snaked up your palm to wrap around your slender wrists. You looked at him in confusion. What if other rumors were true? The snake you had just seen looked way too terrifying to be harmless, and fear creeping up on the back of your neck indicated that the worry was not pointless.

 “Michael, I don’t think I understand what you mean,” you started slowly, trying to break free from the steel grip of his fingers, “It’s getting really late, I better go...”

 You fell silent when the fingers of his left hand ghosted over the contour of your face, but never touching it. He hummed approvingly when you stopped talking and just stared at him in fluttering admiration.

 “You talk too much, my dear,” he said, finally honoring you with his touch, dragging his fingertips along your cheekbones and a sharp line of your jaw, “but you don’t say what you really think,” his eyes twinkled in the dim light of the room.

You took a step back, but the corner of the table prevented you from moving farther. You were trapped. Michael was so close; it felt intoxicating. You looked down at the skirt of your sundress, which unfortunately got stained with wine as well.

 “What do your fear, Y/N?” he caressed your cheek, the cool metal of his rings left burning kisses on your skin. They bloomed like revolutionary fire, destroying the remains of your self-control.

 You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. The question was confusing, and Michael did not seem to care to elaborate. Human beings were cowardly by their nature, so it was impossible to understand what exactly he meant when he had asked you that. Did he want to know about your phobias or the insecurities? Or the dirty little secret of yours that you hid from him?

 “Yes, that one,” your eyes fluttered open when Michael called you out on your thoughts. Again.

 “I don’t know what you are talking about,” you said without looking at him. Your heart was drumming so fast, you could feel the blood pumping in your temples. Michael reached for your wineglass.

 “You know, darling,” he cooed, dipping his fingers into the burgundy liquid and bringing them to your lips. His every movement was dripping with mannerism and erotica. “I don’t tolerate lies,” he whispered, his breath scorching your face, as he smeared the wine across your lower lip, firmly pressing on it for you to open your mouth. You parted your lips and he slid his thumb right into the awaiting warmth, smiling devilishly when your eager tongue wrapped around his digits. The acid taste of wine burned on the tip of your tongue.

He tugged a loose strand of your hair behind your ear and leaned forward to whisper:

 “Tell me, kitty, what are you scared of right now? Why are trembling, huh?” his body was pressed so close to yours you could feel the decor of his jacket living ornamental imprints on the bare skin of your arms. You were shaking with anticipation for the beautiful man before you. Dazed, you felt his lips brushing softly against your ear and sliding to the sensitive spot behind it. Your breath hitched when he left a soft kiss, and your knees buckled. If you had not clung to the lapels of his jacket, you would have probably slid down and melted into a puddle before Michael.

 “I’m scared of myself,” you whispered, tilting your head to the side and letting Langdon’s lips travel to the sinew on your neck. His right hand slid up your leg, folding your dress around your waist. His palm rested on a soft flesh of your thighs.

 “Why?”

 His fingers wandered over the outer part of your thigh and then maneuvered between your legs to pet the inner part of it. Instinctively you tried to close your legs that Michael had possessively spread a second before to cover up the embarrassing wetness of your panties, but his firm grip prevented you from doing so. You looked up at him pleadingly.

 “This is all wrong,” you could hardly form the sentences when the gorgeous men started bending over to continue kissing your neck and moving down to your cleavage, “I should not be so attracted to you, we have just met...I don’t even know you.”

Michael seemed to ignore your protests. Your body language and thoughts were telling him completely opposite things, and he drank off the euphoria that was clouding your mind. He wrapped his right arm around your waist and the next moment you were placed atop of the table with him between your legs.

 “I think you know me better than anybody else,” he smirked, playing with the straps of your dress. His fingertips ran along the cotton fabric of them, making your skin crawl. “You’ve been spying on me a lot lately, haven’t you, Y/N?”

 He thought it was impossible for you to blush even more, but you proved otherwise. You bowed your head low, biting the insides of your cheeks in embarrassment. There was no point in denying the truth.

 “I swear I’m not a stalker,” you whimpered, shifting on the table uncomfortably. Michael carefully placed his fingers, /those goddamn fingers you wished could work you open/, under your chin forcing you to look up at him.

 “I could care less about that,” he said, circling your mouth with his thumb, “it’s what you do afterward has piqued my interest.” His eyes were getting darker with every word that rolled off his tongue; the black abyss was savoring the ocean blue hues of his iris. He took your hand in his and dragged it to your core, under the folded skirt of your dress. “I want you to tell me who you think of when you touch yourself late at night.”

Your eyes widened at the vulgar words; the stern tone of his voice made you speechless. All you could do was to watch him take your hand and guide it to your core. Your knuckles brushed against the damp fabric right in the center of your panties and you knew that Michael felt the wetness too.

 “Who are you?” you asked, your mouth fell open when he messaged your clit through the thin cotton.

 “A man of sin, a liar and deceiver whose natural abilities Satan enhances by supernatural power in order to confuse people in the end time***.” Michael confessed.

 It all felt unreal, you were falling down the rabbit hole with no chances for salvation. The trap sprang shut — you were caught between opposing needs. Your common sense was knocking on the remains of your subconsciousness in a pathetic attempt to reason you, but your soul, a detached essence of your true being, was longing for Michael. No way was he lying: every weird thing about him made sense, forming a complete picture in your head like a puzzle. There you were, locked in fear and reverence, servility and obsequiousness. His words rocked your mind, leaving you unaccustomed to a mix of emotions swirling in your head.

 What if he was a maniac? A psycho?

 You put your hands on his chest, trying to push him away, but none of his muscles moved.

 “Haven’t you always considered yourself special?” He spoke in an alluring tone, and his words pinned you to the table. You raised your eyebrows at him, and Michael scoffed. “You have always longed for something exclusive, a big mystery that would open only for you, an immortal being,” he cupped your face in his hands, looking you in the eye, “You thought your loneliness was an omen, that something greater was coming...”

 “Stop,” You pleaded, shutting your eyes.

“Look at me,” Langdon demanded, taking a fistful of your hair and slightly tugging it strong enough to get your attention, yet gentle not to hurt you. “When I’m offering you what you have wanted, you reject it. Why? Unleash the desire, darling.”

 He was everywhere: his hands roaming around your body, lifting your dress higher, his lips covering yours in a passionate kiss, the scent of his cologne around you ghosted like a silvery mist. His lips were like silk, kissing you softly, but with so much confidence and determination that you were taken aback. You did not have time to comprehend what was happening. He was heaven and hell at the same time, drawing you deeper in the pond of lust and desire. You moaned into his mouth when his tongue entwined with yours, fighting for dominance and immediately winning. You were putty in the skillful hands of Michael Langdon. Surrendering to him felt wrong, especially if he was an actual Antichrist, but at that moment you were a helpless puppet in his hands.

 “Michael,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck. He grinned into the kiss when you admitted your defeat and presented yourself to him. Sliding the straps of your dress off your shoulders, he stroked your soft skin, making his way to your breasts and squeezing them firmly.

 “Shhh, keep still, pretty girl,” you shivered when he tucked your bra along with your dress down to your waist and covered your nipples with his palms. You were like a low-voltage coil, receptive of his touch. It was impossible to find out if he used his powers on you to help you relax in his arms when you suddenly felt brave enough to run your fingers through his soft locks and guide his head down to your breasts, hungry for the sensation of his wicked tongue. A velvet ribbon that was holding his hair in a ponytail helplessly fell on the floor beneath his feet.

Apparently, Michael was extremely good at multitasking. As he savored the pink buds of your nipples, he placed one of his hands between your thighs, pulled the panties aside and ran the tips of his index and middle fingers up and down your wet folds. You whimpered, clawing on his shoulders. He was still dressed in his perfect dinner jacket and a dress shirt as if it had not been incredibly hot all day, while you were sitting in front of him half-naked. You were practically shaking when he easily inserted the index finger inside of you, working you open for him.

 “You look for this special something in everyone you meet,” he whispered in your skin and bent his finger, rubbing the knuckle against the spongy spot inside you. You gasped, your body jolted from a sudden impulse. “What is it that you need? Divine connection?” He added the second finger, stretching your tight walls out. You hissed at the unpleasant feeling that was quickly flooded with pleasure. It had been a while since you let a man touch you.

 “You,” you breathed out, throwing your head back and leaning into his touch. Your hips were sliding against the polished surface of the table, meeting Michael’s fingers.

 “Hm?” he arched his eyebrow and grabbed you by your chin with his free hand, brutally forcing you to stay in your place. “What was that?”

 “I might have been waiting for you...oh my God,” you arched your back, bucking your hips up, letting his fingers pierce through you. Hard. Simultaneously, he pressed his thumb to your swollen clit and started massaging it in a circular motion, drawing another moan from your chest. He kept teasing the sensitive bud by rubbing, stroking, pressing on it until you turned into a soft, pliant mess beneath him.

“She might have been waiting,” he smirked. “Darling, I’ll make sure to fuck the doubt out of you,” he caught your earlobe between his teeth and playfully bit on it. He ran the tip of his nose against your scarlet cheek, and you almost lost your mind from how intimate it felt. The tight knot in the pit of your stomach swelled in anticipation.

 To your disappointment, his fingers left your warm core with an obscene “pop.” Michael’s large hands hooked the crumpled fabric of your dress and pulled it down your legs, tossing it aside and leaving in you in nothing but your bra tugged under your breasts, and a pair of panties. You blushed, bowing your head low and letting your hair fall onto your chest to cover the hardening nipples. He undid the clasp, and the bra followed the destiny of your dress. Agonizingly slow, he kneeled before you and placed his palms on your kneecaps, spreading your legs. Instinctively, you shifted closer to the edge, giving him a full display of your wet undergarment and a glistening pussy pocking through it.

 “I have not dined yet. What a lucky coincidence, isn’t it?”

 As he spoke, his fingers drew loose patterns on the bare skin your legs. He stroked the undersides of your knees and went up to your awaiting thighs. Your heartbeat raced at the view of such a gorgeous man standing before you on his knees, yet still managing to hold great power over you. He leaned forward and trapped the hem of your panties between his teeth, slowly dragging them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. Michael wrapped his fingers around your ankles and helped you bend your legs, placing your feet on the table, so your pussy was on a full display for him. His face was so close to your throbbing center, you could feel his hot breath ghosting over it.

“Ah, Michael,” your head lolled back when he stroked your folds, slightly parting them with his fingers.

 “The most beautiful rose I have ever seen,” he whispered mostly to himself. The second his tongue licked a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, you were a goner, knocking the expensive silverware off the table in an attempt to get ahold of his hair. Langdon hummed in satisfaction, clearly giving zero fucks about the mess you were making. He began lazily encircling your clit, closing his plush lips around the sensitive bud and lightly sucking on it. You reeled forward, moaning plangently and spreading your legs wider.

 “Better than any wine,” he noted, licking the beads of your arousal off your puffy folds. He placed his right hand on your stomach, stroking your lower abdomen and brought the fingers of his left hand back into your aching core. He was impossibly good at locating the most sensitive spots within you. You choked on air and your own saliva when he brushed against your g-spot, making you cry out his name. Waves of pleasure rippled through your body, becoming more and more intense with every swirl of Michael’s tongue and a push of his fingers. You started grinding against his mouth, whimpering like a bitch beneath him; you could already feel the release building up inside you.

 “You feel so good,” you moaned brokenly, tugging on his hair. The feeling of euphoria was engrossing, impossible to resist. You were so touch-starved that it seemed like the tiny bit of attention to your private parts was enough to send you over the edge.

 Michael pulled away, hungrily licking your juices off his lips. You moaned at the sight of him: to witness such a beautiful man giving you head was definitely worth dying for. If he ordered you to take a bullet, you would gladly do it on that very table, which was your personal deathbed. He leaned forward to kiss you and let you taste your own sweetness. While he was kissing you, Michael slid the jacket off his shoulders and started unbuttoning his shirt. You sighed heavily, pressing your forehead against his and helping him get rid of the unnecessary clothes.

“What an eager girl I’ve got here,” he teased and left a quick kiss on your lips. “Gotta be patient, kitty.”

 You let your hands wander over his naked torso that looked like as if it was carved by angels and gods out of the finest marble. Michael was watching you amusingly, excited for what you could do next.

 “How long has it been since you let a man touch you?”

 “A while”

 Michael quickly undid his belt, quickly discarding his black slacks. You ran your fingers along the prominent outline of his cock through his boxers and looked up at him as if you were seeking his permission. He nodded and you snaked your hand inside his boxer briefs, wrapping your fingers around his erect shaft.

 Michael inhaled through his nose and closed his eyes, concentrating on the ethereal feeling of your soft palm around him. A deep sigh escaped your mouth when you saw him in full glory, hot and heavy with a glistening tip and beads of precum covering his glans. Your pussy quivered when you imagined how good it would make you feel, and you stroke a prominent blue vein on the underside of his shaft. Michael growled at the filthy thoughts in your head.

 “Alright, sweetheart,” he impatiently slapped your hand away from his cock and spit on his palm, “as much as I would like to let you play a bit longer, I need to fill you up right fucking now,” as he spoke, Michael started smearing his saliva along the length. He could not wait to bury his cock inside you.

Langdon took ahold of your hips and pulled you a bit closer, positioning himself right between your legs. The head of his dick was pressed against your clenching entrance. He leaned forward, slowly pushing it inside and never forgetting to shower your neck and bare shoulders with kisses. You moaned at the burning stretch and clanged to Michael’s biceps, leaving crescent marks on his sweaty skin.

 “You are so big,” you sobbed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

 “It’s okay,” he cooed stroking your cheek, “you are taking me so well, baby. Such a good girl for me.”

 He froze when the last inch of his cock was savored by your pussy, giving you time to adjust. You had never felt so fucking full before. Looking down at where he and you were connected, you thought that Michael might have actually split you in two. He picked up the pace, drawing himself in and out of your pussy, leaving just the tip of his cock, and then filling you up to the hilt again. Your soft whimpers were making his head spin, and soon enough, when you fully adjusted to his length, he started slamming into you at animalistic speed.

 “Michael!” You cried out and bit his shoulder to suppress your scream, even though it was too late and it escaped your throat, echoing through the dining room. He could not help himself. He needed you right there on that table. Hard and fast.

“I bet you could not reach your sweet spots with your fingers when you were playing with that pretty pussy of yours,” he growled in your ear. His voice and the wet sound of his balls slapping against your ass were the only things you could hear. Michael lifted your hips a little, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

 The new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. You watched him going harder, fucking the living force out of you. You ran your fingers across his jaw, outlined the shape of his nose, adoring the perfectly sculpted features. He was so inhumanly beautiful. When he leaned forward to kiss you, his long blond hair brushed against your breasts, and you pulled him by the roots against your flushed chest, wishing to melt into him.

 “Michael, please...” your plea contained everything you would never admit even to yourself. Michael, please, be my lover. Michael, please, do not stop. Michael, please, hold me in your arms forever.

 “You are mine,” he rumbled, wrapping his hand around your throat and applying just enough pressure to make your toes curl and your eyes roll into your head. “Do you understand it? Mine.”

 He whispered the last words into your open mouth and tightened the grip on your throat. You were so pliant and vulnerable, he felt like he could break you in any moment. Your pussy throbbed at his possessiveness, clenching around his cock and driving him crazy.

“Yours,” you gasped, arching your back. Skin on skin. Your bodies were moving in sync. The heavy air in the room smelled like sex and Michael’s cologne. With every sway of his hips and every thrust that aimed right at the sweet spot inside you, you were getting closer to your release, and he felt it too.

 “I can feel you clenching around me,” he brought his palm to your clit and started circling it ruthlessly. “Are you close?”

 He looked you in the eye, and you nodded, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation that was piercing through you. Michael was merciless, fucking you so hard that at one particularly deep thrust the table beneath you shifted.

 “Y-yes, Sir.”

 You felt his dick started pulsing deep inside you, and the thought that you were not using any protection crossed your mind for the first time. You looked up at him, and before you could even note it, Michael hushed you:

 “Don’t worry about that,” he flicked your clit between his thumb and middle finger, “Just come for me, kitty.”

 He did not have to repeat twice. Your arousal licked by the swell of pleasure finally unrevealed, crushing everything in its wake. Every cell of your body was engulfed in the burning heat of pure lust and desire for Michael who was protectively holding you in his arms. When the fireworks before your eyes started to fade away, you brought your focus back at him. He pulled out, and you whined at the empty feeling inside you. Michael pumped his cock a few times, concentrating the pressure around the bright pink head, and with a low groan came all over your stomach. His beautiful face was countered in pleasure: brows frowned, and lips slightly parted. To some extent, you even felt unworthy of watching him fall apart like that before you.

For a while, the sound of your rapid, shallow breathing was the only thing interrupting the silence between you two. With a deep sigh, Michael pulled you closer, resting your head against his chest. You still clanged to him with a death grip, afraid to burst the comfortable bubble enveloping you like a shield. Suddenly you felt so tired as if silvery fatigue was poured into your veins. Michael’s radiant warmth and the overall state of being completely fucked out made your head heavy, and you closed your eyes tiredly, nuzzling into his chest.

 Michael absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair, inhaling the scent of it. Never had he felt so calm and content. He pressed his lips to the top of your head and closed his eyes, enjoying the light touches of your fingers dancing on his bare arms. At that moment nothing mattered, his ruthless demonic nature was in peace.

 “I think I should go home,” you whispered. As much as you hated yourself for ruining the mood, you remembered that your parents had been waiting for you, and to make them worry was the last thing on your list. You looked up at Michael, who brushed his knuckles against your cheek, thinking how wonderfully innocence and depravity entwined within you.

 “You can spend the night with me.”

 He reached for the napkin to wipe off the white stripes of cum painted on your stomach. You closed your legs wincing at the throbbing sensation in your pussy; it felt like Michael was still inside you.

 “My parents will be worried,” you were genuinely sorry, and he could read it in your thoughts.

 Michael took his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. You blushed, but tugged it tighter, nodding at him in a sign of gratitude. Your skin instantly absorbed his warmth.

 “Please, come visit me tomorrow,” he pleaded. If it had not been for the sincere look in his eyes you would have never believed that a man such as himself wanted to see you again. You looked at him in awe, and it all seemed like a dream to you. Just the day before he was your neighbor you had been spying on for months. You needed time to think everything over and talk to him without lust clouding your vision about what he had told you moments before.

 “A man of sin, a liar,” his words echoed in your head.

Michael could sense your doubt.

 “Y/N,” he sighed, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing every knuckle. “Sleep it all away tonight, okay? And tomorrow I’ll tell you everything, just come to me.” His voice flowed out like a fragrance released in rain.

 Of course, you would come to Michael. All he ever needed was to call for you, and you would be there, ready to present yourself with your whole being to him. You would run into his arms like a river that flowed inside the ruins of your chest; the ruins Michael left with his presence. He shattered your inner world into pieces but gave you the hope of building a new one.

 The next morning when you woke up there was a white rose on your nightstand with a small card attached to it.

 “Tonight at 8 pm. I will be waiting for you, my rose,” said intricate handwriting, and you smiled, pressing the piece of paper to your chest.

A single flower he sent me, since we met.

All tenderly his messenger he chose;

Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet—

One perfect rose.

 Dorothy Parker

*The White Rose by John Boyle O’Reilly

** Tolkien

*** Second Epistle to the Thessalonians

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