#but after death i like to think we will all drink somethin hot and eat cookies together

[ripmacbeth]

i know everyone has a different experience but as someone w a beloved dead person, any question i had about there being ~something~ after death went away after my mom died. maybe it's misplaced hope. but I'd love to see her again someday.

[thatrandomwriter]

Rooftop Romance

merle x reader

warnings: swearing, gore, sexual language

“You sure he’s worth it?” T-Dog asked, skepticism written across his face.

“Him and Daryl are our best hunters. They may both share about three brain cells, and Merle is about the biggest asshole I’ve ever met-“

“Hey, fuck you,” Merle cut in. I ignored him.

“But the fact is we need them to survive. We’ll make it out of the city, but you need to go before the others leave without you,”

T-Dog looked conflicted, but after a few seconds he dashed out of the door, racing down the stairs. I pulled the door shut, locking it behind him. There was a strong chance that I had just ensured my own death as well as Merle’s. The sound of the dead beating on the door almost as soon as T-Dog had left seemed to give Merle the same idea.

“Well fucking come on then princess, I ain’t getting any younger over here.” He had that god awful smirk plastered across his face. “You know, there’s a lot I can do with these hands. Maybe I can show ya once I’m free,” he made a crude gesture with his cuffed hand.

“Maybe if you didn’t say shit like that all the time, someone might actually wanna fuck you. You’re disgusting, you know that?”

Instead of waiting for his no-doubt even worse reply, I walked over to see what had been left in Dale’s toolbox. It was mostly screwdrivers and spanners, nothing of any use to me, but I noted a hammer and most importantly a hacksaw. Hopefully it would be strong enough to get through the metal of Merle’s handcuff.

“Call me disgusting all ya like, everyone knows you want a piece of this,”

My cheeks grew hot and I fumbled the saw, almost dropping it as I walked over to him. It was a humiliating feeling to know that he was right. To know that despite what a piece of shit he was, over the few weeks I’d known him, I had developed some form of feelings for him. Merle had found me while out checking the camp’s perimeter with Shane. Having just escaped the city, I was exhausted and terrified, and just about ready to collapse on the forest floor and give up. Of course, Merle’s reasoning for taking me back likely had more to do with wanting to fuck me than anything else, but I wasn’t entirely convinced that Shane would have taken me back if Merle hadn’t been there to bear witness. We weren’t exactly close, but we shared a fondness for drinking and he taught me a few things about using a crossbow. I didn’t fool myself into thinking he wanted anything more than a one time fling with me; he flirted with just about anything with tits. But some small, stupid part of me still hoped for more.

I sat next to him, pulling his hand toward me to get a better look at the handcuffs. When I looked up, he was staring into my face with another stupid grin. I sent him a glare back.

“Come on now, don’t be like that. Last I checked we’re all alone up here, no-one needs to know, part from maybe a few walkers,”

“Would you quit it? I’m trying to save your life.”

“Jus’ trying to lighten the mood. You should really try lightening up sometime, wouldn’t kill ya,”

I rolled my eyes, corner of my mouth twitching upwards slightly.

“Looks like cutting through the cuffs is gonna be a no go, but this pipe you’ve been cuffed too looks pretty old. It’s worth a try at least,” I lined up Dale’s saw, and began working at the metal.

“So I’m gonna be stuck with a friendship bracelet from Officer Friendly?”

The thought made me laugh a little.

“It’s not like you don’t deserve it; threatening everyone with a gun wasn’t exactly your best moment.” I teased. In his defence, he had most definitely been high as a kite when he’d started pointing the gun. Not that that really made it any better.

“I wasn’t gunna shoot em. Definitely wasn’t gunna shoot you, ya far too beautiful,” Merle said.

“And so’s Andrea, right? And Lori, and Jackie, and every other woman who isn’t trying to eat us,”

“I dunno, some of those walkers ain’t too bad,”

I hit him on the shoulder.

“Can’t I make a joke? Or are ya gunna get jealous, hmm?”

I stopped talking to him after that, focusing instead on trying to make any headway with the pipe he was handcuffed to. After an hour or so, I had only made a tiny dent in the metal. Merle was getting increasingly annoying, and the sun was starting to slowly set in the sky. If we wanted to leave today I’d have to hurry; travelling the city in the dark was a death sentence. At least the walkers at the rooftop door seemed to have given up, or gotten distracted by some other unfortunate souls. They had stopped pounding on the door some time ago.

The saw blade bent slightly, but I persisted, determined to succeed, speeding up. Under the strain of my sawing, the blade bent sideways, and suddenly snapped under the pressure, coming clattering to the floor.

“The fuck did you do?” Merle demanded.

“The blade wasn’t strong enough. It couldn’t get through the pipe. I’m sorry.” I felt suddenly numb. I couldn’t look at him. I’d failed. I’d failed him. He was stuck here, to starve or to be eaten by walkers.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m gonna fucking die up here, god fucking damnit. Look at me, the fuck did you do?” He grabbed my shoulder with his free hand, gripping me hard, shaking me, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” It was one of the first serious, genuine things I’d said to Merle, and it was a death sentence. Tears pricked my eyes. I didn’t have the energy to hide them.

“No. Fuck that, we’re ain’t done yet. You got a knife, right?” He was still staring into my face, but desperate anger had shifted to urgency.

“Yes, but it won’t cut through metal,” I said.

His grim expression told me that he had already figured that out.

“You can’t be serious. You want me to- I can’t,” There had to be another way.

“You got no choice. It’s my hand or my life.”

It took me a few seconds to process this. The only way out would be to cut off his hand. And I would have to be the one to do it.

“Fine. But I’ll do it first thing in the morning. We don’t have time to get out of the city before it gets dark, and I don’t want you bleeding out overnight.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared about me,” His shit eating grin was back. Only Merle could look this smug after discovering his hand was about to be cut off.

“Good job you know better then,” I smiled and sat next to him, looking out over the darkening city. At least we were stuck somewhere with an impressive view. The setting sun sent orange streaking through the sky, bathing buildings in a warm glow. I glanced to my side. Merle appeared to also be taking in the sunset in a rare moment of silence.

*

“I’d do the same for you ya know,” Merle said, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

“No you wouldn’t.” I replied. It wasn’t something that upset me, it was just a fact - if the roles were reversed, I had doubts that Merle would have stayed on this rooftop even for Daryl.

“Course I would. Yer one of the only people I can stand in that group, not to mention ya got a mighty fine ass,” He grinned over at me. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah, course I do. I could stare at it all day,”

I hit his shoulder with mine.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I ain’t good with the mushy stuff, don’t push it,” He was still smiling, eyes looking into mine for once instead of straying to glance down my shirt.

“Sounds like you care about me, Merle. More than you usually let on at least,” I was teasing him but this moment meant a lot; in short, Merle was shit at showing anyone affection. For him, this was like a declaration of love.

“Yer not gonna make me say it again so drop it,” he huffed.

“I’m just kidding around. And I didn’t just stay here because you’re a good hunter,” I confessed, staring pointedly into the distance to avoid his eyes.

“Course ya didn’t, ain’t no way you’d let me die without getting a piece of this,” It seemed to be his way of lightening the mood, diverting the seriousness of the conversation.

“We should get some sleep, busy day tomorrow.”

*

When the hot sun awoke me the next morning, I found myself nestled into Merle’s side, head on his shoulder, his free arm wrapped around me. I took a moment to enjoy the feeling of his broad body against mine, before pulling away to wake him up. The sooner we were gone, the better.

“Mornin’ “ he grinned lazily.

“You ready?” I asked, and his expression dropped to one of determined focus.

“As I’ll ever be,”

I retrieved my knife and a lighter from one of the pockets of my rucksack. It would have to do as a means of sanitising the blade as I had very little in the way of medical supplies. Shrugging off the button down I wore over a tank top, I folded it ready to use as a bandage for Merle. I could have sworn his eyes slipped down to my cleavage, far more noticeable now the shirt was off, but I wasn’t in the mood to bring it up.

“Can I have your belt?” I asked.

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” He said, the implied innuendo obvious. He unbuckled it with his free hand and tugged it loose.

I strapped it around his forearm, tight as I could make it, a makeshift tourniquet that would hopefully do something to stop the bleeding. It had to be enough.

Merle reached inside his pocket, and withdrew a small bag of white powder.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” I asked, very aware of the dangers we’d face in the city even if he survived losing his hand. Merle being off his face wouldn’t do us any favours.

“Need a little somethin’ to take the edge off,” He tried to form his usual smug grin, but his mouth wavered slightly. I nodded. Who was I to make that decision for him?

I gave him a minute or so, and when he nodded at me, I took my knife to his wrist and began to cut. There was far more blood than I had thought. And despite Merle’s best efforts to remain stoic, and the effects of the drugs, he was in an unbelievable amount of pain. I had to fight the urge to just give up and cry in a corner, but I did it for him. Even when he begged me to stop, to just make the pain stop. His yelling had begun to attract walkers, a few were banging on the rooftop door and the longer this took the more there would be. He gripped my arm as I cut, hard enough to bruise.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I muttered over and over again as I finished, his hand dropping to the floor with a sickening thunk.

Merle was breathing heavily, gasping through the pain. I pressed my shirt against the wound, tying it tightly and leaving the belt in place. There was so much blood. On my hands, my pants, the rooftop.

“Stay there. I’m going to clear the stairwell, I’ll be right back.”

He nodded.

I unlocked the door and wedged my foot under the door to prevent it opening all the way, a walker slamming forward and right onto my knife. It slumped to the floor. Another was quick to take its place. I worked my way through several before they finally stopped coming. Hopefully only a few had been close enough to hear Merle.

I hurried back toward him. The bleeding seemed to be slowing slightly, though it still showed no signs of stopping. He was losing too much blood. But I wasn’t willing to face that reality.

“You think you can stand?”

“Course I can,” he replied through gritted teeth.

I grabbed his good arm and pulled him forward, helping him stand, putting the arm around my shoulders so I could take some of his body weight. He was heavy, but any help I could give him I would.

We walked to the door and I lead him down the stairwell; it wasn’t wide enough for the two of us side by side, but he leaned on my back and I did my best to steady him on the way down. He stumbled a couple of times, no doubt the blood-loss making him dizzy, but we moved as slowly as I dared, me supporting him when he needed it. At the bottom, another walker lunged towards us. It took me a moment to grab my knife and stick it between its eyes, and I kept the blade in my hand after that. One free hand would have to do to help Merle. It was strange, having to protect him like this. Normally I was certain he’d object to me coddling him like this, but he had no choice but to rely on me for once. We made it to a fire exit around the back of the building in a room with several gas stoves. Merle wasn’t looking his best, blood dripping through the makeshift bandage on his arm. He seemed to have the idea at the same time as me.

“Do it,” He nodded grimly and I grimaced, but didn’t hesitate to light the nearest stove, placing a metal tray on top on the flames to heat through enough to cauterise the stump of his wrist.

“We’re gonna make it back, you know. “

“I know,” He said, but it was easy to see the uncertainty in his eyes.

The metal tray seemed hot enough, and I could tell he was gathering the will to do it, slowly, reluctantly unwrapping the open wound. I wasn’t entirely sure Merle could bring himself to. Gently, I took his arm in my hands, unwrapping it myself. Instead of watching the shirt unravel, he stared down into my face. Despite the circumstances, he still made my cheeks hot with the intensity of his gaze which I somehow managed to meet. I reached up, hooking an arm around his neck and a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. He waited for me to move closer first, and when I leaned my face towards his, he wasted no time in bridging the gap between us with a searing kiss. He was perfectly distracted. It was a shame to waste this moment but I did what had to be done, and drove his wrist down onto the hot metal on the stove.

“Son of a fucking bitch!” He exclaimed, yanking his arm away from the stove, and I winced.

“Shit, I’m sorry, but the bleeding’s stopped, right?”

He glared at me through the pain. “You serious?”

“I said I’m sorry, and I did just stop you from bleeding to death,” I smiled tentatively, and he shook his head, still cursing.

“So ya kiss like that fer a distraction? I’d love ta know what the real thing feels like,”

Kissing him had been stupid. But I was in the mood to be stupid, and I couldn’t resist kissing him again. He somehow mustered up that stupid, endearing grin as I pulled him towards me, lips meeting as his good arm found my waist. I could lose myself in the feeling of kissing Merle, all teeth and tongues colliding with no need to be gentle. His hand scooped me in closer until I was pressed up against him, before drifting to my ass with a squeeze. I hummed in pleasure, forgetting to breathe as he kissed me harder. When we finally broke apart all I wanted was to lean back in and kiss him again and again, to stay like this, pressed as close against him as I could be, not thinking about anything else.

“Knew ya wanted a piece of this,” Merle smirked. God he was insufferable. But I was willing to suffer, so long as he kept kissing me like that.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Words: 2,084 Triggers: Anxiety, spiraling thoughts, medication withdrawal, death mention, feeling ill, food, and talk of gross things in food. Characters: Virgil, Logan Ships: Analogical (but not actively) Universe: Generic College AU Genre: Friendship (and a hint of hurt/comfort)

   Virgil felt… off. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling. It wasn’t like something was wrong or he was forgetting something. It was more like… everything was just a little to the left. He felt fine this morning. Well, as fine as he normally feels, anyway. This just… felt odd. Weird. Off. Virgil absentmindedly tapped his forefinger to his thumb a few times trying to think if he had forgotten something or missed something. He pulled out his phone to check his calendar. Nothing. Notta. No reminders. No missing appointments. Already working on the homework that was due. Maybe he could just chalk it up to anxiety, though it didn’t exactly feel like anxiety. Virgil went back to doodling in the margins of his homework while he stared at the problem. This percentile shit is supposed to be the easy part of Statistics. The professor just breezed over it in the lecture. Why couldn’t he wrap his brain around it?

   “Good evening, Virgil,” Logan nodded to Virgil sitting on the floor at the coffee table as he stepped into the apartment.

   “Hey, Lo,” Virgil mumbled and gave him a weak salute. He started chewing on the end of his pencil while he read the textbook’s explanation again. He tried plugging the numbers in and once again got an answer that barely made any sense and certainly didn’t match the textbook’s answer key in the back. How was he supposed to do the real homework if he couldn’t finish the practice problems? Virgil leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He was actually starting to feel a little dizzy. He put the back of his hand to his forehead and things felt normal, though his hands were a little clammier than usual. Actually, when did they start shaking? Why are his hands shaking?

   “Are you alright with soup for dinner?” Logan asked from the tiny apartment kitchen and Virgil looked over to Logan bustling about in the kitchen. Why was he blurry? Why did he feel a little left now, too? Virgil waved his hand in front of his face, and that looked odd, too. Like it was going at the wrong speed and the wrong height somehow. How could it be the wrong height? Virgil looked around the living room. Was everything at the wrong height? Virgil looked down and stared at his hands, trying to figure it out, but his brain felt like it was burning with too much input. But even that feeling was just out of reach.

   “Virgil,” Logan tapped Virgil’s shoulder, but it sort of felt rubbery instead of the way it should. That’s weird. Virgil chuckled slightly and shook his head. Feeling his bangs hit his face was fun, so he did it again. His bangs stuck this time, and he reached up to push his bangs off his sweaty forehead. Was it always so hot in here?

   “Hey, Lo. Is it hot in here to you?” Virgil said, shifting out of his hoodie and folding it up slowly.

   “Virgil, I asked if you are alright with soup for dinner? A Vegetable minestrone?” Logan asked, sounding annoyed.

   “Yea~ah, dude, that sounds nice,” Virgil said breezily and carefully finished tucking the sleeves in and placing his neatly folded hoodie on the coffee table next to his work. He attempted to pick back up his pencil. He kept missing and laughed again. That’s so dumb. Why can’t he pick up a pencil? Was it to the left?

   “Virgil, are you alright?” Logan asked, leaning down to Virgil’s height on the floor- wow, he was so tall- and looking concerned.

   “Peachy-keen, Laura Jean!” Virgil chirped and raised his arms victoriously into the air. Logan just pursed his lips and felt Virgil’s forehead with the back of his hand.

   “Virgil, you feel very clammy, are you sure you’re alright? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything even resembling the sentence you just said in the past,” Logan said, looking confused. “Are you… ‘trolling me’?”

   “Ugh, that sounds almost wrong coming out of your mouth,” Virgil tittered and dropped his arms to the floor like limp noodles.

   “I don’t think it’s nearly as uncomfortable as you saying that you are ‘peachy-keen’ or calling me ‘Laura Jean’ without even a hint of sarcasm,” Logan furrowed his eyebrows. Virgil stared at his face and it looked like Logan was tilting oddly.

   “Lo-bro, why you tiling down low?” Virgil said lazily and blinking slowly as he looked at Logan’s face slowly shifting to an angle.

   “Virgil, you are the one tilting,” Logan said, putting his hand on Virgil’s shoulder and straightening him back up against the couch. Virgil laughed at the sudden sensation.

   “So I was! Crafty me, very crafty,” Virgil chirped and popped his lips without really knowing why. That’s weird, too. “This is weird,” Virgil said lackadaisically.

   “That is an understatement, to say the least,” Logan huffed and balanced Virgil against the couch again. He didn’t even see the world tilting that time, he only noticed when it was upright again.

   “You know I can never look at condiments the same way after reading that one article about the amount of rat feces allowed in table condiments. Like, would you like some tomatoes with your rat-shit slurry?” Virgil said, flicking his fingers in an alternative pattern as his brain started to fret about the homework he wasn’t doing.

   Virgil tried to pick up the pencil again, but his hands weren’t paying any attention to him. But the homework was due in two days and he didn’t understand it in the least. He needed both days to do it. Why was he so dumb? He was going to do a terrible job and lose his scholarships and have to drop out of college all because he couldn’t understand calculating percentiles. He barely understood what they were used for, he was so dumb. He was going to be homeless.

   “Virgil! Look at me!” Logan said loudly and Virgil’s eyes shot back to Logan.

   “Wha’?” Virgil asked, his tongue feeling weird now, too. Oh god, was he dying? Because he couldn’t do percentiles? What the fuck?

   “Virgil, you’re shaking, breathing hard, and cool to the touch. I don’t think you are well. Please go lie down in bed,” Logan said, sounding concerned.

   “I’sso hot! There’s warm in the bed!” Virgil objected, now struggling out of his shirt.

   “I will get you some ice water,” Logan said firmly and got up. Virgil’s view started tilting again. He was now staring at the shirt in front of him wadded up on the carpet. Virgil was pulled back upright and a cold glass of water was pressed into his hands and he sighed in relief. Logan’s hands stayed wrapped around Virgil’s and the glass. He carefully pushed it up to Virgil’s face and he drank some water. It was so cold it hurt his teeth, but after a few strained blinks he felt like he could think just a little straighter and his tongue felt less weirdly heavy.

   “Thanks,” Virgil drawled and looked over to Logan.

   “Virgil, can you walk me through your day?” Logan asked, looking Virgil right in the eye.

   “Uh. Banana. For breakfast, I mean. And, um… bus to class? Took notes. Literature. Other class. Stat. Worked at craft store. Came home. Homework after shower,” Virgil recalled, though he struggled to remember the little details and the order of things. He tilted his head and made a mental tally in front of him.

   “Did you eat lunch?” Logan asked, taking the glass from Virgil’s hands. Virgil let his hands drop to his lap.

   “Um, no. Talking to professor. Running late,” Virgil admitted, feeling kind of stupid and looking down to his hands.

   “Did you take your medication?” Logan asked seriously.

   “Oh, shit,” Virgil deadpanned. “Pills?” Virgil asked, looking desperately up to Logan.

   “I’ll get you a yogurt for your empty stomach,” Logan nodded and got up again, leaving Virgil on the floor. Virgil leaned forward to press his head against the cold glass on the coffee table while he waited. Logan came back with a yogurt cup and a spoon and peeled back the lid before handing them both off to Virgil. It took another few blinks for him to be able to take them and start eating. Virgil’s stomach turned as he ate it, maybe from letting it run on empty for so long and maybe the dizziness that still pervaded the back of his head. He wasn’t sure. After Virgil finished as much as he could, Logan twisted off the cap of his anxiety medication and placed a pill in Virgil’s hand. Virgil reached out for the water and tossed the pill in the back of his throat to swallow it.

   “Um, thanks,” Virgil mumbled, slowly and shakily putting the glass back down on the coffee table.

   “Please lie down on the couch and I will monitor you while the medication starts working again,” Logan said, helping Virgil off the floor and up on the couch.

   “Do you think when they say the coffee beans are inspected they mean checking every individual bean or do they just like stir the batch and bit a shrug like ‘good enough’? Because maybe we should buy raw beans and roast and grind them ourselves if that's how they do it. I don’t want to have like ground weevil or whatever in my coffee. It’s so gross,” Virgil rambled mindlessly as Logan pulled a throw pillow under Virgil’s head and made sure he was solidly on the couch before standing up again.

   “We would have to buy a roaster and a grinder for that, Virgil,” Logan said plainly as he headed back to the kitchen.

   “Yeah, well, that’s the cost of not drinking weevil juice. Oh, we should make our own ketchup!” Virgil said excitedly.

   “That’s an excellent idea,” Logan commended him as he turned into the kitchen. The silence was filled with the sounds of can openers and the things being poured into a pot on the stove.

   “Did you ever see that photo of the other side of the moon? It was so boring,” Virgil said and played with his bangs, trying to see the strands of hair in front of his eyes.

   “It was still an impressive photo. The definition was very high,” Logan stated, sounding amused.

   “Yeah, but how cool would it have been if there was something there?” Virgil asked, leaning up on the couch to look at Logan bustling in the kitchen, but gave up quickly when it made him dizzier.

   “It would have been very interesting. Do you want rotini or rigatoni in the soup?” Logan asked candidly.

   “I want the big fucks,” Virgil said brightly. “I hope there’s not rat poop in the pasta too. Don’t let me look that up. I couldn’t take it if I couldn’t eat pasta anymore,” Virgil said.

   “I always wash the noodles of residue if that helps,” Logan supplied from the kitchen.

   “Yeah. You’re cute. I like that about you,” Virgil smiled and reached his arms up, scratching at the ceiling in his head.

   “You’re delirious and confused, Virgil,” Logan sounded exasperated and Virgil listened to the sound of dry pasta being poured. It was a very satisfying sound.

   “You being cute and me being a little to the left are completely unrelated,” Virgil said staunchly and adjusted to lie on his side and hold the pillow.

   “A little to the left? What does that mean?” Logan asked, peeking over the open view from the sink to Virgil.

   “You’re just avoiding me calling you cute, huh?” Virgil asked, feeling a little offended.

   “I’m genuinely curious what ‘a little to the left’ means,” Logan said with a raised eyebrow.

   “You know,” Virgil said. “I’m here,” Virgil held up his right finger. “But I’m also here,” Virgil held up his left finger and drew them apart slightly.

   “That explains absolutely nothing,” Logan furrowed his eyebrows and went back to prepping dinner by washing the noodles.

   “And you claim to understand quantum physics,” Virgil scoffed, crossing his arms lazily.

   “Understanding theoretical photon interactions and the potential implications differs completely from whatever you’re describing,” Logan huffed.

   “You’re cute when you use big words,” Virgil smirked and Logan blushed. He turned away from the sink to the stove and Virgil maybe wasn’t entirely sure where he was or why his shirt was off, but he knew Logan was flustered and he wanted to see more of that. 

[mwolf0epsilon]

Story about something crashing on little Sammy parents farm. Maybe the government comes and forces them out for a while to collect it?👽

Warning for disturbing imagery and dead animals!

Summary: Joey Drew Studio is snowed in, so while everyone tries to keep warm for the night they end up reminiscing about the oddest things they had ever experienced. Sammy ends up recalling a rather bizarre event from his childhood.

---

[[MORE]]

"I'm sorry to impose so much Mrs. Harrison. I trust Abigail will behave, she's a little angel I assure you." Sammy fidgeted with the phone chord nervously as he listened to his elderly neighbor. "Yes, yes thank you... Oh certainly! Let her on so I can wish her a good night..."

Susie watched as the tired look on the music director's face melted away to welcome a gentler smile. She could sort of hear a child's voice on the line (his little sister that he'd mentioned a few times). It was quite endearing to see Sammy with such a calm and content expression instead of the usual grumpy scrawl that scared half the band into submission.

"Good night Abby, be good to Mrs. Harrison." The call was coming to a close. "I love you too."

Susie smiled at him and nodded, taking her turn to call home now that he was finished.

"Wally is heating up soup in the break room. The stove's thankfully working." She called after him as she dialed the number.

"Everyone camping out there?" He asked as he looked back at the voice actress.

"Everyone but Joey, that devil of a man actually has an insulated office... The rest of us are sleeping by the stove." She sighed "Thankfully Norman and Grant thought ahead and brought a few blankets to stay warm."

Clever thinking and also a necessity, as Grant's office was very drafty, and Norman's booth got cold from the pipework frosting over a bit (since the music department had been a repurposed bathroom) in cold weather. Mr. Cohen also knew the likelyhood of Joey having paid the heating bill. Slim to none.

"Great... Just what I wanted, to sleep in a stuffy room full of people and the smell of that rancid soup..." A soup he'd enjoyed at first (due to it reminding him of his father's cauliflower soup which had little bits of bacon in it), but which had lost its luster on the third week of being asked to take a few cans home. Abby hated the stuff so he'd had to eat it himself. "Don't you just love getting snowed in?"

"Only when I was a child. The snow usually meant no classes." Susie finished dialing and waited for her mother to answer.

He left her alone to go back into the break room where Wally and Norman were passing around bowls of soup. Grant greeted him with a blanket, which he graciously took. The damn studio was absolutely freezing in November. The freak snowstorm hadn't helped.

Honestly he'd loved the look of a snowy New York when he'd first moved here with his father. It had looked beautiful and new, almost magical, unlike the ranch he'd grown up in until he was 11. Looking back now, he missed the expanse of snowy fields instead of the cold streets. He also missed watching a few of the animals play in the snow.

Getting stuck in the studio made him a little nostalgic.

"Here ya go Sammy!" Wally passed him a bowl of soup, which he nearly dropped in surprise, and grinned "It ain't my ma's beef stew and it definitely lacks a spoon since we don't got that many of those to begin with, but at least it'll keep you warm from the inside!"

"I, yes at least that." He sniffed it and grimaced. Pork grease and chunky bits that definitely were less bacon and more cartilage. "You ever wonder how they made this slop?"

"I'd rather not think about it. It's like hot dogs ya know... The less you know about it, the better they are!" The janitor shrugged and went to sit on one of the chairs closer to the stove. Everyone was very much huddled close by, swaddled in shared blankets, rubbing their hands together to keep them warm, or drinking soup.

Norman nodded at the music director once he sat down to join the group. Not too long after Susie was sitting beside him, and he offered to share his blanket with her.

"So, what do we do now?" Wally asked as he looked around. The issue would be sorted in the morning but it was still only a quarter to eleven and no one was particularly keen on sleeping just yet.

"I'll tell ya what we could do!" Shawn called out from his spot, voice slightly muffled by his big red scarf. "I say we pass t'time by indulging in the ye old grand art that is story tellin'!"

"Story telling? What, like a sleepover?" Jack questioned. Sammy found it amusing that he'd swaddled himself in his blanket in a way that pressed his hair tight against his skull, to the point where it looked like a makeshift scarf and ear mitts. "Like when we were little kids?"

"Well we're all sleepin' here t'night aren't we? And ya don't need t'be wee little ankle biters t'go tellin' stories." Shawn huffed "Besides, what better way t'know yer co-workers than share some harrowin' tales? I sure got a few that'll intrigue you folks I'm sure."

"Is it about potatoes?" One of the art department workers asked, only to get a slap on the back of the head and an elbow to the ribs.

"Very funny, that muppet over there's a real comedian coddin like that..." The Irishman rolled his eyes. "Right, you folk ever hear 'bout the legend o'the banshee?"

Everyone gave him a peculiar look, which Shawn took as permission to carry on.

"The tale varies some dependin' on t'person who tells ya. But the way me ma told it to me was somethin' like this: The banshee is a sweet singin' virgin, pretty as a button, a real feek." He tapped his chin thoughtfully as he recalled his mother's words. "Sometimes she has long black hair, other times it's a bright red like fire. Always pale... But don't be thinkin' she's just some little lady, oh no. The banshee is a spirit, one that heralds death in the family. Her ghastly cries precede the death o'loved ones and fill ya with a mighty chill o'dread... And I saw one when I was just a wee lad."

"Ya saw... A ghost?" Lacie wrinkled her nose. "And ya sure it wasn't some regular girl you just saw?"

"Couldn't o'been. She was right outside the window Lacie. And me room was on the second floor..." Shawn shook his head "And I knew it had to o'been a banshee. She looked just like me cousin, who died o'the shakes a few months prior. My pa always did say she might come back as the household haunt, she wasn't ready t'leave just yet."

"So, that's it? You saw some apparitions at your window and think it was some folklore horror?" Sammy rolled his eyes.

"Yep. An' then in the morning me grandpa was dead. Dreadful song she went and had t'sing. I was just 5 too! T'damn beour coulda gone bother me brother instead... He was t'one that used to scare us wee lads with these tales o'ghosts n' ghoulies..."

Well, that wasn't a very nice story. And it likely had a reasonable explanation behind it too. Just a small child frightened by tales and likely still coming to terms with losing a cousin.

"Oh, that's nothin'!" Wally grinned. "Ghost stories aren't anythin' compared to what I found in a ditch when I was 8!"

"Oh yeah? Then enlighten us, oh scare Meister!" Shawn barked back, glaring slightly. "What coulda been worse than a banshee?"

"How about a maneater?" The janitor offered.

Shawn fell quiet and others began to whisper among each other at the claim, before Norman began to hush everyone.

"Go on then... Yous can't just say that an' not tell us."

"Oh man, it was the dang scariest thing I'd seen as a kid!" Wally grinned. "Us tykes from Brooklyn? We didn't grow up with monster stories and such. Our mas and pas told us about kidnappers and murderers instead, cuzz those are like, real dangers you know?"

He took a sip from his cooling bowl of soup, before clearing his throat.

"But you know what kids are like. They like adventure and don't really listen too much cuzz, you only believe it when you see it!" He carried on. "Me? I was with a couple a pals exploring this old ditch that had some neat stuff people used to throw in there. Busted watches, trinkets, sometimes a lost wallet with a little bit of cash in it...Well that day there wasn't just goodies."

Sammy sipped his own soup and felt Susie's arm brush up against his as she got on the edge of her seat. She was excited to hear wherever Wally's story was going.

"Local news had like, been going on about this one loon that had run off from the big house or somethin'. Some big mug who was a pervert or whatever. Adult stuff we kids didn't care for." Wally looked around as he spoke. "Only he wasn't no pervert, just really messed in the head. A cannibal. A cannibal that liked eating little tots. You know, stories like Little Johnny went pokin' around where he shouldn't and now there was no Little Johnny no more? Yeah that nearly was us."

"You found the guy in the ditch?" Sammy guessed.

"Nope! Found my neighbor, Sally, partially eaten and all kinds o' messed up." Wally replied "I figured we were in trouble so we ran like our butts were on fire and screamed the whole way back. Coppers caught the fucker and his picture on the paper still gives me nightmares. If we'd found him instead, we woulda ended up like Sally!"

Everyone looked extremely disturbed at the thought of a couple of 8 year olds finding another child's partially eaten corpse.

"Shite... No wonder yer such a mog. Brooklyn's fucked up!" Shawn winced.

"Hey!" Wally pouted.

"Also your story was misleading. You didn't actually encounter the "maneater"." Sammy pointed out. "That's not how you should advertise a tale you twit."

"Would ya rather I have found the creep that did it?"

"No, next time just don't make it sound like an actual encounter when it's an anecdote about another outcome entirely."

"Don't go bein' an ass Lawrence." Norman called out. "I thought the story was good. Messed up, but good... Granted it don't top what I experienced when I was still in the cradle."

"Oh, this ought to be good." The blond smirked. "Word of mouth?"

"My Nanna never told no lie. Yous won't find a more honest lady." Norman smirked back.

At this point everyone had finished their soup and was practically laying or leaning against one another for warmth. It helped that the story telling atmosphere had all but made everyone forget about the cold.

Norman being so tall and obscuring the stove ever so slightly, cast strange shadows on the wall.

"Now, this happened a few months after I was born. My Nanna was lookin' after me while my mama and memaw was helpin' my pops and pepaw out in the cotton fields. My brother and sister wasn't that much older either, not yet ready to go pickin', so they was in their room playin' together." He leaned back in his chair, a content smile on his face "Nanna was just preparin' lunch while I was layin' in this big ol' basket full o' pillows and blankets, just sleepin' away like babies do. She turned 'round to chop up some carrots when she had this weird feelin' all of a sudden."

Sammy put an arm around Susie as he listened. Norman was a pretty good story teller. Had this voice that just pulled you in. He could almost imagine a little chubby baby in a basket while an old lady prepared food in the kitchen.

"Nanna Polk always had a feel for when things were no good all of a sudden. She'd known when Poppop weren't doing well in the head, and she knew how to pop a shot into a big gator when it got too close to the house. She wasn't afraid o'nothin'." Norman carried on. "But she was afraid. She was afraid when the blade o'her knife caught the reflection o'this big brute pullin' my basket out the window."

Sammy winces and Susie tightened her grip on his arm. The others were quite aghast as well, at the thought of an innocent little babe getting snatched away by some stranger.

"Nanna didn't scream. She didn't wanna scare my siblings you see... Instead she tiptoed towards the backdoor, knife in hand, and kept outta sight o'the man that was tryin' to take me away." Norman hummed as he thought back on what Nanna had told him. "You know, they often tell ya 'bout southern hospitality. If yous is friendly and respectful, yous always got a friend. They don't tell yous about Louisiana ladies like my sweet Nanna tho... They is forged of iron and grief. Strong and protective o'their youngins... She knew what that man wanted from me, an' she wasn't bout to let it happen."

"What did she do?" Wally asked, bitting his knuckles as he put his legs up to his chest.

"Put the knife through his back. She pushed him so he wouldn't go an' fall on me, oh 'course, and that basket well about saved my life cuzz it was damn well padded and didn't so much as wake me when it hit the ground."

"Holy shit..."

"Now, that might sound a little extreme to yous, but I trust Nanna's judgement." Norman began once he noticed the horrified looks on his coworker's faces. "That man woulda taken me somewhere no one could'a gotten me from, an' she wasn't 'bout to lose anyone else to them creeps. Nanna was smart, and Nanna was hard workin'. She buried the bastard where he fell, an' planted a tree t'remember it too. I got to put a swing on it when it grew big enough to support the weight."

"Where were they going to take you?" Sammy finally asked, once he realized no one would do so. "The man?"

"Hm, well I don't know exactly. But she did say it was where my Poppop grew up, so I know it wasn't a good place." Norman frowned. "They did bad things to him, made him messed up in the head an' dangerous. Nanna saved me from endin' up the same way... Don't care if it wasn't the right way t'do it, them folks don't deserve no pity if they go stealin' babies from their cribs t'do god only knows what."

"Well... For what is worth, we're glad your nanna saved you Norman. You're a gem." Susie smiled which got the much larger man to chuckle.

"How's that for a story then? Anyone steppin' up to top it off?"

No one seemed to have anything that quite matched the energy of this... What should he call it? Cultist kidnapping story? It certainly sounded that the man was some underground cultist if he was taking babies to indoctrinate, or whatever...

The blond watched, saw no one step up to the challenge, and then remembered.

"Well, it may not be as bad as getting snatched away. But I do recall a rather peculiar set of events from before I moved to New York with my father." He began, the band members snorting and whispering among themselves that it was probably something stupid. He glared their way before looking at Norman who gestured for him to go on.

"Floor's all yours Sammy."

"Right." He thought back, way back when he was 10. Just a year prior to his mother's death. It was all a little foggy but the more he concentrated on what his father had told him about that night, the less his explanation made sense once correlated with his own memories. "I didn't exactly grow up in the city. Not until I was 11 that is... I actually lived in a cattle ranch for a while."

"That explains why you call us sheep." Johnny laughed.

"No, I call you sheep because your job is to follow me, you damn goat." Sammy snarled back at the interrupting organist.

"Ouch." Jack winced.

"Either way, as a child living with a father who raised cattle for a living, one can expect that I was often tasked to help with a few of the animals. Mainly cleaning the pens and, if I was particularly lucky, shearing the sheep." The sheep, he confesses, had been his favourite. They were dumb and cute. "My father usually dealt with the larger animals. When this event occured, he'd just bought a big healthy heifer. His ornery old bull had covered our best breeding cow but she'd not been having calves."

"Was she called Bessie?" Wally grinned.

"The name of the cow isn't of importance!" Sammy rolled his eyes. "It was Felicity by the way."

"My mistake."

"Either way, my father was a breeder, so his breeding female not producing offsprings was a big deal. I was a kid so I wasn't particularly interested if Felicity had issues, I just liked watching her when she had little calves. They were the cutest thing right after the baby lambs." Sammy carried on "The new heifer, Clarabelle, arrived that day and immediately the bull was put to working. My father thought That'd be the end of his problems... An easy fix. Except it wasn't..."

"She sterile?" Norman asked.

"Oh I wish that had been it. I was 10, had seen animals in plenty of states from sickness or wild animal attacks. But never had I seen a cow turned inside out, other than in a damn butcher's..." Sammy shuddered. He could still remember it... Going outside to get the eggs like his father had asked, and just finding this massive dead heifer with no skin on her body. His mother had said he'd screamed like the devil himself had been before him.

"Oh god..." Susie gagged slightly. "That couldn't have been nice..."

"It wasn't. I was freaked out and my father was furious. Clarabelle had been an expensive purchase. And she wasn't the only casualty." Sammy shook his head. "The pen was wrecked, the bull was in better state but no less dead, and poor Felicity must have run into whatever butchered them both because she had a massive wound on her hind. Every animal was spooked out of their minds and even our sheepdog wouldn't come out of the house. Peed himself when we tried coaxing him."

"Did ya find what did it?" Shawn asked.

"No, we couldn't find anything that explained it." Sammy carried on. "No tracks, no trails of blood, nothing. The pen was just ruined, like it had been splintered apart, and Clarabelle looked to have just... I don't know how to explain it. Pop? Like a balloon?"

"I figure your father wasn't too keen on going' about business after that?"

"He wanted compensation, but you can't exactly put the blame on anything if you can't even find a cause." The music director sighed "We eventually just decided to call it quits on figuring out what the hell happened and went on with our lives. But then things just got... Weird."

Strange lights at night, bizarre noises, and horrific night terrors. Sammy's father had lost his patience when he'd found their dog's remains and called the authorities.

"We were all on edge, unsure what was going on at the ranch, and losing animals every night. My father called the cops, saying someone must be playing some seriously messed up joke to terrorize us. He'd made a lot of enemies with his attitude over the years, so I wouldn't have been surprised..." He trailed of, beginning to feel goosebumps as he recalled the final night of these strange occurances. "And then one night I saw something strange out of my window. Stranger than anything else."

Everyone was eager for the conclusion, he could tell. Taking a deep breath, he recounted what he'd been a witness to.

"I wasn't sleeping well, no one was, but I just couldn't settle in bed that night. It felt too warm in my room so I got up to open a window." His 10 year old self had always struggled with the latch on his window, but not that night. That night it opened without a fuss. "I saw... A figure. Out in the fields. Cast in weird green light that I couldn't put a source to. They were tall, and I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but I assumed man because there wasn't a hair on its head... I just stared, and it looked to be staring back. Next thing I know, I'm outside in my pajamas, staring up at this pitch black figure... Taller, imposing, faceless. No eyes, no nose, no mouth... And yet it felt like it was glaring hatefully at me. Frustrated, angry... It pointed at the woods and I don't... I don't know what it wanted and I was just a scared kid."

He gulped heavily as he recalled how oppressive everything had felt.

"Again I blacked out, but this time awoke inside to my mother fanning me. My dad was yelling at the cops and it was morning." Sammy frowns "Yelling at them to get that damn thing off his property, and to fuck right off since they were so useless at their damn job."

A soft amen from a member of the writer's department. Followed by a chuckle from another one.

"My throat was raw, and when I tried to ask what happened, my mom told me they'd found me outside at the edge of the woods, screaming until my voice went. Screaming about wanting out of the woods. Screaming about wanting to go home... Screaming that nothing here was good to eat and that I was going to die... I don't recall doing it, and my father said I'd probably had a nightmare of some kind. A fever dream even, since mom had been trying to cool me down for a good reason." He bit his lip "It's odd, I'd just fallen ill overnight and everything was fuzzy... I asked why the cops were here, and my father said when he'd gone to get me he'd spotted a weather balloon of some kind in the woods. The cops were there to take it away."

Everyone stared, confused and trying to figure out how these events connected. He gave them a shrug.

"I have no idea what was going on, so don't ask. I was 10, animals were dying weirdly, and I got so sick all of a sudden that I started sleep walking and hallucinating demonic figures. No one ever said anything about the weather balloon in the local paper either, so I don't even know what to think of that." He leaned against Susie "It was weird, but it stopped. Still that thing kept appearing in my nightmares for a while... It faded with time but it bothered me while it was still fresh in my mind."

"Sounds like aliens." Wally pips up.

"No such thing." Bertrum laughed at the suggestion. "Just a bunch of vandalism, fallen governament property, animal attacks, and a child's overactive imagination."

"No, I'm serious! Stuff like that happens in farms all the time! Stuff no one can explain..."

"Wally, there's tons o' things none can explain in this world already." Norman pointed out. "I'm not sure what sorta thing Sammy might o' stumbled upon as a kid... But little green men don't sound plausible."

"Oh come on, ain't it obvious? Cows gettin' killed, the strange damages? The fallen thing in the woods? The spooky figure? The one person who no one would believe being chosen to see the alien? Then the cops just swoopin' in and covering it up? Happened just the same to my uncle Paul!"

"What I saw wasn't little or green. Don't make it another one of your outlandish tall tales." Sammy grinned, enjoying how much Wally was puffing up.

"Bite your tongue! It ain't a tall tale!"

"Sure it's not."

"Boys don't fight... Because I've got one heck of a story that'll make Norman's and Sammy's feel like child's play!" Susie cut in, with a devilish grin of her own.

And so the night carried on, with more stories to be shared. All the while Sammy laughed and listened, content with the situation.

Although... He did still wonder what he'd seen out in the field. Surely it couldn't have been extraterrestrial.

Hm... Yes, surely not. Just a bad dream and some sick prank. Had to have been.

[thrushpot]

the craft (1996)

“id love to see the craft made into a fic” requested by anonymous.

warnings: death, attempted noncon, alcohol

a/n: first movie-inspired fic of more to come. centered around Billy (Skeet Ulrich’s character) and the witchy stuff getting played on him as karma. highly recommend watching if you like cult classics!!

—

You could’ve guessed before even moving here that Hawkins was gonna be a fucking drag. The weather was gloomy, the air wasn’t fresh like you’re used to, and it was so uncomfortably quaint that it made you feel stranded and claustrophobic. You bit your nails the entire flight and even after landing, while the pouring rain soaked your clothes and drenched your hair when first stepping foot in the small town.

It was an especially frightening discovery after a gritty argument with your folks, spouting on about what a brat you’re turning out to be, how much of a disappointment you’re bound to become; so in the midst of a fit enraged, not moving from where you lay stubbornly on your bed with angry tears, you had accidentally slammed the door shut. After realizing what you’d done, curiosity had replaced vexation. Neither of your parents could call the cops or toss you in some looney bin, so you chose to avoid catastrophe by keeping it low and only using it if bored in private. It felt oddly empowering, treasuring the gift, but you’d never been compelled to use it for harm before.

After eating dinner with empty conversation and the only background noise being imaginary crickets and the rain, you’d excused yourself once your plate was wiped clean. Stomping back upstairs, ignoring any distasteful remarks aimed at your departure. You wondered that if the town sucked ass, then that meant school likely would too.

—

It wasn’t hard to see from a mile away that you did not come from nor belong here. Cliques scattered the halls, although this school surely isn’t as big as your last it still has its fair share. Jocks and douchebags, popular cheerleaders, edgy goths. Those titles never served to you, naturally feeling better going alone. Nobody tried approaching the new girl just to say hi or bother looking in your direction. That is until basic jock Billy Hargrove did with a mischievous smirk during lunch a couple tables away, noticing you’re all alone sipping on your school milk. With crass confidence in his stride, he makes his way over to you in the most dramatic, full-of-himself way as possible taking a seat across from yours.

“Lookin’ pretty lonely there, new girl. Y/N is it?” he raises one brow, not asking for permission before snaking Doritos from your lunchtray, chomping while maintaining a smug expression. You scoff before shoving the red bag of corn chips toward him.

“Help yourself. And yeah, that’s me. Who are you?”

Billy has taken the bag with a don’t mind if I do attitude, answering you with his mouth full while licking the stained nacho cheese off his fingertips. “Name’s Billy. So why you here all alone? Haven’t found your crowd yet, or you just a ‘fraidy cat?”

You roll your eyes before playing along with his stupid game. “Well Billy, I just moved here and haven’t talked to anyone besides my lunch buddy that just hogged my chips,” you snip, watching the cocky blonde tilt the bag up to his mouth to finish the rest of the crumbs at the bottom. When he’s done with that portion of your meal, he points to the carton of two percent.

“May I?”

“Nothing’s stopping you,” you bite with sarcasm. He chuckles at your obvious distaste but nevertheless resumed picking at your food and chugging a good amount of the dairy drink down.

“You owe me fifty cents, by the way.”

“Oh yeah? How ‘bout I repay you with a little somethin’ else instead,” he inched closer, the proximity allowing you the feeling of his breath fanning your cheek. You’d been rendered speechless, caught off guard with how shameless and flirtatious he turned. “I’ll repay you with a few pointers, what with you being a little newbie ‘round here. Sound good?” he finished, grinning at how tense and worked up he made you in seconds. “What is it, sweetheart? D’ya think I’d repay you with somethin’ else?” he snickered, taking your carton again and quenching his thirst, the white drips of milk falling down his chin.

“Nope. Just don’t give a shit about your advice,” you snap back into character, his arrogance provoking you to try using one of your little tricks; maybe make him stutter or choke just so he’ll leave you alone. But that would be breaking the rules, and you were strict against taking advantage of it to cause trouble.

“I’ll give it to you anyways. See, my crew over there thinks you’re pretty cute, so you could come around anytime you like. Definitely avoid those freaks over there,” he slyly nods his head over in the direction of two girls dressed in black, chainsmoking. “They won’t be too welcoming.”

“What’s up with them?” you hush inconspicuously, intridgued by their scandalous bravado. You could see yourself hanging out with them even if that meant disregarding all the misinformation Billy feeds you.

“See the little one on the left? That’s Nancy the Slut Wheeler. Nickname sorta explains itself. She fucked more than half the guys on my team and cheated on her long-term boy toy Harrington,” he explains, not shy about what’s coming out of his mouth no matter how derogatory or degrading. “Not speaking from experience or anything. And the bigger one is Robin Buckley, she’s a dyke.”

“Uh, okay. That all the dirt you got or what?”

“Nah, there’s more shit floatin’ around here about stuff they do. I’ve heard they’re into witchcraft, but I dunno if I believe that one.”

Now that snagged your attention, but you wouldn’t share a thing like that with a guy like Billy. “Anyway, thanks for sharing lunch, Y/N. Was a pleasure. You should come to my practice after school, we could have another fun little chat. Whaddya say?” he licks his lips, holding your stare to persuade you into visiting. “Please?”

You really could give a fuck about watching a bunch of sweaty guys toss and argue around a ball, no matter which sport, but it was hard to find courage to decline his pleading yet intimidating stare. “Maybe I’ll swing by,” you hesitate, earning an enthusiastic holler out of Billy before he gets up from your table and makes a pit stop near you for a moment to whisper in your ear.

“Really looking forward to it, new girl.”

Successfully hiding your hot cheeks as he pats your back, sending a wink over his shoulder before heading back to his circle of friends not-so-subtly watching. When the bell rings to signal lunch’s end, Nancy and Robin catch your eye, ashing their cigarettes, fixating on you. Flustered from getting caught, you quickly snatch your lunchtray and dump whatever’s left in the trash, hanging your head low as you make your way to your next class.

—

Biology class was humiliating. After approaching Nancy and Robin about a group project assigned on your first day, Robin gawked as Nancy glared without a yes or a no about letting you join them. It was a long shot anyways. While awkwardly nodding as they both continuously stare you down, you shuffle to the very back of the classroom. With nothing better to do, thinking no one was paying attention, you flick your pencil in the air, making it stand as your hands stay in your lap. Moments later, getting lost in thought about Billy, wondering what his intentions were, how you were ever gonna fit in here; Robin witnesses the unworldly telekinetic party trick. Her mouth hangs in awe, not believing she allowed Nancy to bully her into rejecting you.

“You don’t know what you’re even talking about,” Nancy argues, popping her chewing gum as she gazes in the bathroom mirror and applies another sloppy smear of eyeliner.

Robin’s scoff is followed by a sigh before turning Nancy away from her reflection. “I know what I saw! She can... do things. Like with her mind. She’s our third, I know it,” the girl vigorously nods her head. Nancy remained unconvinced but decides to give in if it’ll shut her dimwit of a best friend the fuck up.

“Fine, okay! We’ll talk to her after school, see what happens. You better not be fucking with me on this. We don’t need any incidents happening because you’re seeing things that aren’t there,” Nancy stares her down like a wolf threatening to attack, eyeballing the taller girl with satisfaction as she gulps submissively.

—

You decided there was nothing better to do than make an appearance at Billy’s basketball practice after school. As he dribbles the ball and taunts his opponents, he spots you from afar and takes his attention off the game and momentarily directs it towards you instead. With a wink, he sticks his tongue out teasingly before taking his tank top off and giving one of his teammates a high five. While lost in the dance of seduction with Billy, you neglect to notice the presence of two girls lingering behind you.

“He’s not actually into you, you know.”

Snapping your head back in shock, you recover from the cheap scare before identifying the voice as Nancy Wheeler. The one Billy had accused of being the school’s slut. Right beside her stands Robin, not looking quite as vicious as her partner in crime. Robin, the significantly gentler and taller one, gives you a warmer greeting of a wave and a tight smile. Billy said that she was the infamous “dyke.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, not easily trusting her word but also not believing Billy’s rumors either. Nancy looks over to the court where Billy skips around effortlessly, making a basket for his team and earning praise and applause from his coach.

“He did the same thing to me. See, first he’ll try talking you into sucking him off, then when that doesn’t work he begs you to fuck him. Says all the right things, you’re beautiful Nancy, please baby, I won’t tell anyone if you just come sit on my cock. Then after you tell him you’re still not ready, he tells the whole school you did it anyway. Makes shit up to impress people.” Nancy bites as-a-matter-of-factly, nodding over in Billy’s direction on the court. Billy, busily unaware of being your topic of conversation, jukes an opponent and snatches the ball, slamming the weaker boy down to the ground with a snap of his body being thrown to the ground. You tightened your hold on your schoolbag not knowing who to believe anymore. Hearing one thing and then another gave you a fucking headache.

“Look, it’s not— I’m not even here for him. It’s not what it looks like,” you stammer as Nancy raises her brow with dubiousness. She cracks a salty grin at you then turns to the boys playing on the court.

“Go Billy! Score that basket, baby!” Nancy shouts with manic laughter, sickly happy when the distraction disrupts his focus, causing him to lose the ball and get shoved backwards by another opponent. Nancy turns and slowly struts closer, sitting on the bleachers and leaning over to whisper in your ear with a ruthless ball of hate gleaming her eye. “He’s a jerk. I’d stay away if I were you.”

With that, she jumps off the bleachers and orders Robin to follow. The taller girl weakly smiles again as you sit and stare as they exit the gym and light a smoke outside. Billy watches them leave and huffs, jogging over.

“Hey. Thought I advised you to not hang around them,” he tisks, spreading his legs before pouring a cup of water down his chin to cool off. You blush and look the other way, clearing your throat.

“I wasn’t. They just sorta came and started talking to me,” you mutter with an attitude.

Billy scoots impossibly closer and fixes a stray hair dangling in front of your face, petting your cheek as if you were a child. “Well, don’t believe whatever shit comes from her fat mouth, alright?”

“Um— okay I guess.”

“That’s a good girl. Glad you came, by the way. Wanna gimme your number so we could do this somewhere a little more private, hm?” he beckons, taking another generous swallow to quench his thirst while holding your stare. You’re stunned and backed into a corner again to comply, nodding while grabbing a pen from your bag. Billy holds out his palm and nods to the pen in your hand, encouraging you to get writing. You waver another moment, unsure if it’s smart getting involved, before saying fuck it and writing the ten digits on his palm. Billy’s name gets shouted from his coach, breaking the thick tension that grew as the moments wore on. He yells back that he needed a quick break before blowing you a kiss. After tossing himself off the bleachers and getting back in the game, he stares down at his hand where the black smudged writing is and smirks, looking up only to find that you’re already gone.

—

“Almost didn’t think you’d answer, maybe gave me a phony number or you’d be with those weirdos again,” Billy snorts, bottlecap flying before handing a beer over. You chuckle uneasily before accepting the beverage, tasting the warm mediocrity before swallowing. It didn’t take long for him to call, now being week two attending Hawkins High. His choice of setting for this “date” was a rooftop of some dark building, stars out and streetlights being the only source of light. Billy’s arm has wrapped around you as you both sip on the beer he provided, an awkward silence suffocating the air.

When the blonde got bored, he’d started trailing his fingers down your back, tiptoeing them teasingly awaiting your reaction. When he gets nothing but you stiffening up, he swoops down to devour your neck, feeling you tilt your head for him to give more. Jackpot. His wandering tongue sucks a deep purple mark as his grabby hands reach to grope you through your bra, making you gasp and feel dumbfounded on what to do and what to say.

“Billy, I don’t think—“

“Mm, what is it new girl? You want more, don’t you?” he mumbles in your neck, then gets greeted by the feeling of blue balls and disappointment when instead of coming closer, you pull away. He scoffs and sits up, straightening himself out.

“I’m just not ready for... that. Sorry,” you weakly apologize, outrageously uncomfortable by the invasion of space and feeling wrong when you notice the growing tent in his jeans. “Are you... like, mad or something?”

Billy sighs, humiliated by your rejection that poked a hole in his ego. He won’t give up on his conquest that easy.

“C’mon, beautiful, not like I’ll tell anyone. We could just have a little fun—“

“No, I-I really gotta go. But I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

Billy glares at the ground, kicking a rock by his feet in annoyance before rolling his eyes. Guess he’ll just have to improvise instead when he brags to the boys tomorrow.

“Yeah, fine.”

—

The next day, sly comments were thrown at you before first period started. He didn’t talk to you at all like usual, your classmates whispering and giggling about the alleged “fun” you shared with Billy the jock Hargrove. Dirty details travelled around locker rooms, even raunchy ones about you supposedly riding him in the backseat of his car calling him “daddy.” He threw in another lie that you asked him to slap you in the face as he fucked you. The purple splotch he sucked on your neck didn’t help defend yourself.

“Hey, Billy!”

The jock turns away from the boisterous crowd that had worshipped him all day. Once he catches your eye he whispers to a boy next to him, whatever secret so hilarious that he clutched his stomach and snorted when Billy finished. He swiftly strolls over to you and folds his hands, faking formality with a plastic smile.

“Yes, new girl?”

“I wanna know why you said that stuff about me. You damn well know we didn’t do anything! How could you?” you whisper-shout, feeling disgusted and violated. Billy snorts a laugh and regains his composure a second later as if all this is some comedy sketch.

“Oh yeah? Really, new girl, I’d love to do it again sometime. Truly... I just don’t like sloppy seconds. You were great though, I had— nah, Daddy sure had a blast. But we’re done here.” Billy pats your head with mockery before strolling over to his circle of friends without a care in the world.

“You know what? Fuck you. Next time I’ll charge a buck an inch, make it cheap.” you spit, barely making it to the bathroom to scurry and wipe the tears desperately spurting from your eyes. You crawled to the corner of the washroom and hugged yourself, quieting down when you hear footsteps inching closer before entering. It was Nancy and Robin.

“Can’t say we didn’t warn you —“

“I know I should have listened to you guys. But now I wanna fuck with this bastard.”

—

Lovespells don’t take much, and the rumors were true. The Bitches of Eastwick had let you in, only took more convincing of your worthiness to Nancy, but she warmed up to you. When she saw what you could do she had to give Robin credit, you truly were their third. And finally, you’d been put in a place you genuinely belonged.

“Is he— is he staring still? What’s he doing now?”

“He’s totally still watching you. Holy shit Y/N, it’s working, I can tell!” Robin whispers as she muffled her laugh with the back of her hand, seeing how Billy couldn’t take his eyes off you longer than five seconds even in the middle of a lecture. As the bell rang, you and Robin gathered up your things to meet Nancy for next period. Billy wasn’t far behind, trying and failing to remain inconspicuous as he followed you.

“He’s behind us.”

“What?”

“Look out.” Right on cue, Billy pushed you and Robin apart to make room for himself while tripping over his shoelaces.

“Uh, hey Y/N,” the boy gulps, scratching the back of his neck, seeing his posse from afar giving him a “what the fuck” look. He flips them off and rubs his hand over your back. “I just wanted to, yunno, apologize for that shit I said. I feel real bad ‘cause you didn’t deserve it. You deserve a gentleman and I can be that for you now,” he explains, blocking your way. His eyes are void of hate or ridicule, instead swirling with awe and devotion as he bit his lip awaiting your forgiveness. You pretend to think, giving his head a noogie like an obedient pet, then grant a forgive-and-forget.

“It’s cool. Maybe tell your friends later that you’re a lying sack of shit, but for now, carry these books for me and my friend?”

He nods vigorously like a soldier eager to please, graciously taking your heavy books from you and Robin and stacking them in his arms. “Of course, Y/N. Anything in the world. Um, do you think I could sit with you in math?”

—

Billy had no fucking clue what happened to him, but he wholeheartedly couldn’t find it in him to even pay it a speck of attention. It didn’t bother him that nothing gave him any pleasure nor satisfaction anymore, the world shrinking to this dead, lifeless black and white, the only light and color he could see that brought joy was her. He could die just feeling her in his arms and he wouldn’t be sad. With complete and utter tunnel vision blocking him from surroundings, everyday he devoted himself to any task she wanted, even pathetically following her and her friends to the girls’ bathroom. He got in deep shit from the entire female staff, but he remained indifferent.

If she said jump, Billy asked how high. If she wanted him to braid her fucking hair, he’d learn fast and make sure it was done thoroughly and flawlessly. Billy was touch starved, weak, losing sight of everyone else around him. No more charming girls into bed, no more basketball wins for the team, his only purpose being solely Y/N’s love or validation. All priorities from the past drastically altered, but there were no second thoughts. No questions, just wants. Needs. The power she held over him was substantial and beautifully overbearing, like black magic or something.

Weeks after the spell kicked in, she now sits in his Camaro with her feet on the dash as Black Sabbath roars from the speakers. No complaints were heard on his end when you demanded he change the music, happily turning it to your favorite station. You plop a sucker in your mouth, tasting the cherry red flavoring before patting Billy’s head and calling him a good boy. Billy blushed and leaned into your touch, pulling over by the pier and shutting the car off.

“You don’t even know what’s happening, do you?” she asks with a laugh. He joins her even though he wasn’t aware of what’s funny. But he finds her delightful, so anything she does or anywhere she goes, he follows.

“No. No I don’t, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters. Just you and me,” he promises, playing with a strand of her hair before leaning in. He missed her candy-tasting lips when she turns her head, then feels something in his stomach churn after getting denied her kiss.

“Tough luck, champ. I don’t want that from you, just wanted to talk.”

Talk? Billy recoiled, clenching his fists at his sides. Something inside him is intensifying, he just doesn’t know what. Before he knows what’s happening, he’s shaking, burning with a need that feels so close yet so far. There’s no control stopping it.

“I mean, do you even eat or sleep anymore? It’s pathetic. This should be wearing off soon...” she trailed off, watching the waves crash at a distance.

“I won’t fucking eat or fucking sleep until I get what’s mine, you understand? I don’t care about anything else. I just wanna... why won’t you hold me?” he implored, yanking the collar of her shirt so she’s closer to his lips. It almost feels too good to be true.

“Stop! Jesus, I didn’t mean for it to go this far! You’re under a spell, you jackass, now let me go!” she squeals, punching his chest. Billy ignores it, that indifference coming back. He reached for his belt when he thinks he has her where he wants her but gets stopped by a righteous kick to the crotch, making him howl in anger.

“Goddammit!” the boy whined, cradling himself through his jeans from the excruciating pain.

“Stay the hell away, you hear me? Don’t ever come near me or my friends again,” she threatens, exiting the vehicle before stomping away. Billy scrubs the tears off his face and punched the steering wheel with miserable frustration.

—

“He... he grabbed me. Wouldn’t let go this time,” you gulp, feeling the ghost of his frighteningly tight grip pulling you. Steam shoots from Nancy’s ears as Robin takes comfort and asks if you’re okay. Nancy has already stirred up a plan for revenge as she flips through the pages of spells, searching for the perfect one.

“Nance, what are you doing?” you ask with reluctance, knowing it isn’t anything good.

“We need to make him pay. He was gonna hurt you, case you forgot. Hargrove’s always been a goddamn scumbug, but he tried fucking you without your permission and he won’t get away with it this time.”

—

Billy gulps the last of the beer from the solo cup and belches, eyes half-lidded and bloodshot. They widen a bit when he spots Nancy enter the house party. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you again, and if he has to talk to your leech of a best friend, so be it. The blonde seeks Nancy upstairs and follows her to a vacant room.

“Where is she?” he demands lazily, eyes faltering once again as he loses balance and falls to the bed back first. He gets comfy with the beer nestled in his grip, still expecting her to give him insight on your disappearance.

“How cute. Miss tormenting your little wife, don’tcha, hot stuff?” Nancy mocks, crawling over to where he lays on the bed and trailing two fingers over his crotch. Billy reacts with stealth, disgusted as he roughly shoved her hand away.

”Don’t. I’m warning you,” he threatens. “Tell me where the fuck Y/N is. I need, I need to talk to her—“

“I’m not telling you shit! She doesn’t want you, understand? You meant nothing to her this whole time. She used you.” Nancy laughs and points her finger at him. Billy rolled his eyes, calling bullshit. You wouldn’t do a thing like that, not in a million years. This is typical Slutty Wheeler, throwing tantrums because she couldn’t get a taste of his dick anymore.

Nancy’s blood boiled, veins popping out of her forehead; on the verge to end this already. But she has to fuck with him like he fucked with her first. The teenage girl burns with hostility as she recalls the spell, working her magic. She runs her hands over her face as it morphs into yours. She takes a look in the mirror and finds your eyes staring at her reflection. With a sick, evil smile, she gets back on the bed and runs her hands down Billy’s chiseled chest, feeling him jump until he sees your face. He gasps, too dumb from the spell and drunk from the liquor to realize he was being tricked again.

“Baby, I’ve missed you so damn much,” he mumbles to who he thinks is you, unbuttoning Nancy’s shirt and kissing every inch of skin he sees. She moans in ecstasy, laughing at how fucking easy he is, then sticks her tongue down Billy’s throat. They were all over eachother for another twenty minutes until a furious knock interrupts.

It’s you and Robin.

“What the fuck?” Billy wipes his mouth of Nancy’s spit then throws himself off the bed in a hurry. Her spell wore off, now changing back to her usual self, giving Billy a playful wave.

“You’re — you’re a witch! They were right!” Billy stutters, his world turning upside down making him sick to his stomach.

“They usually are,” she shrugs.

“Nancy, you got what you wanted. He’s freaked out, now let’s go.” you ordered, the guilt eating you alive. Nancy doesn’t stop.

“Your lover’s a witch too, yunno. The only reason you’re obsessed with her is cause we cast a spell on you. But that’s why I’m here, helping you forget.”

Billy’s chest heaved up and down rapidly, shaking his head, sobering up. “No. No, she didn’t — she wouldn’t do that,” he denies, sweat gathering on his forehead and heart hammering fast.

”NANCE! This is fucking over! Now let’s go!” you beg, loathing his puppy-dog eyes. Robin stands frozen beside you, knowing how unpredictable Nancy got when she’s angry.

“You’re just jealous.”

Robin gulps and closes her eyes, knowing that’ll set her off.

“Jealous?” Nancy emphasized, preying onto the boy as he backs away. “You’re Y/N’s servant. You barely fucking exist to me. This whole time you’ve treated girls like whores, but you’re the whore!” she cries, feet lifting off the ground, towering over him as he backs further towards the window. Billy’s beyond petrified now, weeping quietly as he dares try calling for help.

“I-I’m sorry, Nance. You know I didn’t mean it. I liked you last year, but— but I’m in love with her now, and I’m sorry!”

His sorry ass apology does nothing besides push the last of her buttons, feeding into her wrath.

“Did you hear that, Y/N? He says he’s sorry! Oh, what a shame we have to kill him, ‘cause at least he’s sorry!” Nancy claws are her hair, spinning back and fourth, screaming nonsense as Billy pleads and holds his hand out to you.

“Who’s it gonna be, Y/N? This rapist scumbag slut, or your friend that took you in when you were a nobody?”

Tears of your own had escaped, mortified by how escaladed things have become. You shook your head helplessly, holding onto Robin for safety. There was no stopping her now. Like a wave from a natural disaster, Nancy thrusts her arms in the air and hurls the boy out the window with God-like force. You’ll never forget the sounds of his cry for help on the way down and the SPLAT when his body hit the pavement. Nancy lets out a sigh of relief as if a long day’s work is finally over, and wipes the sweat beading off her forehead. She turns to you and Robin after catching her breath.

“What’re you staring at, guys? C’mon, let’s find Robin a girlfriend next.”

—

my first whack at a horror-ish/thriller instead of drama/romance. I freaking LOVE this movie, def go check it out if you haven’t cause there’s a lot more plot I left out. thaaaank you all, I’ll be starting the next movie fic soon !:)

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [6]: Remembrance (Fear)

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer-- both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams..” —Bram Stoker

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante doesn’t bother to turn on the radio for this trip. It’s a first, and it unsettles her. From the few things she’s learned about him since they met—the confidence that borders on arrogance, the fleeting moments of kindness beneath the gruff exterior, the fact that he loves and hates cop-house coffee—the affinity for classic rock is the most prominent, and the lack of it now only cements how badly she has messed up. Humiliation had given way to shame once she was out of the precinct, and now shame is circling right back to anger, though this time it is mostly aimed at herself. She hasn’t even been in Red Grave City for four days yet and she’s gone and shown herself to be an unreliable loose cannon as far as her new Chief is concerned, someone who might not be suited for the type of crime that comes with big cities.

Needing something to break the silence, she leans over to fiddle with the knobs, only for Dante to shut the radio off as soon as she’s turned it on. “Not now,” he says shortly.

Lir bristles, tries not to. “What? You’re gonna sit over there like I’m some sort of, I don’t know, wild woman who might claw your eyes out?”

“No,” he replies.

“Then let me turn the damn radio on.”

“No,” he says again. “I’m gonna talk, and I want you to take that chip off your shoulder and listen. You can bitch at me when I’m done.”

“Fuck you.”

Dante curses as he pulls into a spot outside of her building and puts the car in park. “That’s what got you into this mess. You let your temper get the best of you and, yeah, Morrison was right to send you home because you nearly fucking ruined our chances to put Miller away with your little stunt in interrogation.” He runs his hands through his hair, upsetting the strands so they fall around his face. “I get it, Lir, I fuckin’ get it. I’m just as pissed as you are. You think I like that there’s a guy out there hurtin’ women? Fuck no! I hate it, and I hate that we can’t seem to get a lead on him. But Miller ain’t him, and you forgot that.”

“He’s just as bad!” She protests hotly. “Marie didn’t deserve—”

“There’s a reason we don’t call victims by their first names,” he points out quietly. “You’re gettin’ too close, Lir, too personal with this. Any other time, I’d say that’s a good thing, maybe you could figure out what we’re missin’, but if it’s gonna send you off half-cocked . . .”

Lir understands where he’s going with that line of thinking and snaps, “Don’t you dare try to take me off of this case, Dante.”

“My first partner was a lot like you. Spitfire, hot temper, bleedin’ heart. You know what she did?” He looks at her steadily, unflinching. “She got herself killed. Found a lead and went after the perp without backup, broke protocol. Yeah, we nailed the bastard in the end, but only ‘cause she put a bullet in his thigh just before he beat her to death.”

It’s a sad thing to think of. If she weren’t so pissed, she might have offered sympathies, but all she can think of is Sophie Marsons, like she’s a dog and this is the bone she can’t stop chewing on even when her obsession turns it to splinters that cut into her gums. “I’m going to find this guy, Dante. I’m going to feed him his balls and crucify him. You hear me?”

He moves so quickly that she has no time to react at all. One minute, he’s in his seat, turned to face her; the next, he’s over the console, one hand braced on the back of her seat and the other on the handle of the door, his arms a cage that trap her in her seat. Being cramped up like this, locked between the bulk of his body and the door of the car, Lir fights to keep her breathing controlled. The warm, humid air inside the cab is heavy with the scents of sweat and cologne and the unique musk of damp fabric, but under all of that is something else, something other, that makes her so keenly aware of the space he takes up that it almost frightens her. No, not frightens; it's not fear that makes her pulse race, or her palms damp, or her throat dry. It's desire, plain and simple, to be touched, to be held, to be kissed.

To feel human again.

Dante is so close that it would take no effort at all to sit up and seal her lips over his. A desperate, foolish move that would cost her her reputation and her career—it's always the woman's fault in matters of seduction, whether she initiates it or not—but the idea sticks once it's been born. Easy, sure. And then she could invite him up, see how the stubble on his jaw feels on her breast, and when Morrison calls her into his office to force a resignation she can look at him and say, "Sorry, boss, but I really needed a good lay."

"Back off," she hisses through clamped teeth. Dante doesn't move, just watches her, his eyes half-lidded and burning where they linger on her face. "Back off, Redgrave."

"You gonna go off and get yourself killed?" he rumbles.

Her shoulders tense. "No."

"I want your word, Thorne."

The fact that he's back to using her last name stings after hearing him use her first for a scant twelve hours. "Fine. You have my word. I'm going to sleep, and then I'll see you at the precinct." Saying the words aloud soothes her a bit. They make her sudden need for him make sense: it's just sleep-deprivation. Just exhaustion.

He studies her for a moment longer before he nods and moves away, settling back into his seat. “It’s . . .” Dante checks his watch. “ . . . noon. On Monday. Christ. Morrison doesn’t want you back in until tomorrow. Trust me,” he says wryly at her frown, “you come back in today, he’s gonna put you on administrative work for a week. Go shower. Sleep. Get somethin’ to eat. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

“What about you?” she mutters, playing with the door handle.

“I’m gonna crash myself, then catch up with Trish, do the report on Miller.”

He’s taking tasks off of her plate, and she mumbles her gratitude as she climbs out of the car and heads inside. Her apartment is cool and dark, blessedly silent. Lir stands in her living room and looks around and the half-unpacked boxes and the clothes she’d left on the floor Saturday afternoon and lets out a long sigh before getting to work. First she picks up her mess, depositing her stuff in the hamper and hanging her coat up on the back of the bedroom door to dry, then she slowly peels out of her damp clothing and takes an indulgently long, hot shower. She makes her bed, puts on pajamas, towels her hair and combs it out, wondering idly if it’s time for another trim. Then she returns to the living room, making a pit stop in the kitchen for a glass of wine and to toss a frozen burrito in the microwave before grabbing a box and settling on the floor with it.

It’s labelled books a-c, and she takes a sip of her wine as she opens it and begins laying the books in neat stacks around her. She’d done her best to keep them organized while packing, but some things got moved around to make them fit in the box, and she puts them back in order and carries them over to the bookcases on one of the windowless walls. There’s four cases total; slowly, breaking only to eat her burrito and refill her wine, Lir fills them with a variety of novels ranging from biographies to horror stories to mysteries to true crime accounts, until all of the boxes with books scrawled on them are empty and collapsed for recycling. She eyes the next stack, these labelled living room, then the clock on the microwave. It’s just after five, and Lir shakes her head and puts her empty glass in the sink. Exhaustion is making her nauseous now—that and too much aspirin and wine on a stomach with only a burrito to keep them company—and she just wants to sleep.

The pizza, she thinks, climbing into bed and putting her phone on her nightstand. We never ate that fucking pizza. Wonder who did?

Lir slips easily and quietly into dreams of her father. In them, she is five years old, and her father, a man named Augustus Thorne, a man who would die when he answered a robbery call at a convenience store and was bludgeoned to death with a bat, is sitting in his recliner, a dusty, threadbare thing that her mother only half-feigns horror at having in their den. She is at his knee, working a puzzle that she has completed before, bright splashes of color in the shape of a barn, a horse, a cow on large pieces fit for a toddler’s hands. The room is warm, painted with early July sunshine, and motes of dust dance lazily in the air. Soon, he will put away the newspaper he reads every day, and drink the last of his coffee, and then he will take her outside until he has to leave for his shift. Maybe they’ll work on the truck that runs on a prayer, though she hopes that he’ll push her on the swing instead. The truck scares her.

It scares her mother, too. It is a slipshod, bastard of a truck, assembled from whatever serviceable parts her father could find, the paint mismatched and rusting, the engine a beast that snarls and sputters when awoken. Her father calls it the Beast with the same affection he uses when speaking of the stray dog that sometimes sleeps on their porch, a loving sort of exasperation that makes all of his threats of selling the truck empty. Her mother simply calls it dangerous.

“Lirael,” her father says, folding up his paper with a dry snap that has her looking up from her puzzle. “What do you say we go out, get some ice cream?”

It’s more than her five year old mind ever dares to hope for, and she leaps up with a squeal. “Can we, papa? Really?”

“Yes. But you have to promise not to tell your mother.” He makes a grave face, running his fingers across his mouth in a zipping noise. “And to eat all of your dinner tonight. Otherwise we can’t go.”

“I promise, papa!”

“Even the peas.”

Her face screws up in disgust that only momentarily tempers her excitement. “Do I have to?”

“Mm-hm.” Her father nods sagely. “Peas are good for you.”

“Okay.” Her shoulders sag. “Even the peas.”

He smiles then, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepening to slashes that run to his temples. “That’s my girl. Clear away your puzzle and put on your shoes.”

Lir dutifully does as she’s been told, her tongue peeking from between her lips as she carefully puts the pieces back in the box and carries it to the shelf. Then she gets her sneakers from the rack by the back door and puts them on, whispering, “Over, under, pull it tight. Make a bow, pull it through, do it right.” Her mother had taught her that little rhyme in January, wanting her to know how to tie her shoelaces before she started kindergarten in fall, and, even though her loops are uneven and the knot crooked, she gets them both done on the first try.

Her father takes her hand and leads her outside, where he helps her into the car her mother insisted he buy when they learned they were having a child. Lir waits as patiently as she can while he fastens her seatbelt through the slots of her booster seat and checks to make sure the safety lock is on. He ruffles her hair affectionately before closing the door, and she sits up straight to look out of the window as he gets in the front and starts the car. Their little house, set on a nice yard, is twenty minutes from town, and Lir always loves the rides there and back. She likes to count the different things she sees, pointing out the other cars and houses and people to her parents, who humor her. Sometimes, her father will play little games like I Spy with her while he drives, too. 

Today, though, he’s silent, not even the radio turned on, and Lir squirms uncomfortably in her seat, which feels too small. “Lirael,” he says quietly, “what are you doing, girl?”

She blinks, looking at him now through eyes that are now adult, the handles of the booster seat digging painfully into her hips, which are too wide despite her slender frame to fit within it anymore. “Father?”

Augustus does not turn to her. Horrified, she watches as the back of his head begins to distort, caving in on itself as though there are phantom blows striking him, and his voice is hoarse and full of blood when he speaks. “You can’t deny what you see, Lirael. You can’t drown it in a bottle, or between a woman’s legs, or with a man between your own.”

“I don’t see anything,” she whispers, afraid. Her hand scrambles for the door, needing to get out, only for the safety lock to keep it firmly closed. “Please, papa, please, I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do,” he replies, as amicably as a dead man can. “You understand just fine, and you’d understand better if you’d stop running. That’s what I did, girl, remember? Oh, how your mother and I would fight over it, until she told me she wanted a divorce. I never did apologize for you hearing that, did I?” He sighs wistfully. “You were never meant to.”

“I’m not running,” she protests weakly. God, let me wake up, please, God, I can’t do this right now. It’s bad enough that she has to deal with spirits—or hallucinations, as her mother had called them, when Lir was too old for imaginary friends to work—but for it to be her father, when she’s asleep and supposed to be safe . . .

Only now does he turn, and she sees the terror of her father’s face, or what she always imagined it looked like before the undertaker took care of him. One eye is turned, staring blankly at nothing, bulging from its socket like it’s going to fall out at any moment, blood streams from his crushed, broken nose and cut lips, and his teeth, when he smiles, are broken and jagged. There’s a stench of rot in the air, of dead things long buried, and she cranes back into her seat, her throat clogged with clawing panic. “You’ve been running for twenty years,” he says, “but you can’t anymore.”

Then there is a blaring horn and Lir screams as a truck careens towards them, one of the big ones used to haul freight and cargo, it’s headlights baleful eyes that pierce the cabin of their car as it strikes them head-on, glass shattering and steel screaming as it crumples—

Lir wakes, the piercing ringing of her scream echoing through the bedroom. She takes one shuddering breath, then another, before she crumples, sobs tearing harshly from her aching throat as she curls her knees to her chest and hugs them as if to keep herself from falling apart. How long has it been since she dreamed of her father? Since she graduated the academy, maybe, and the shock of seeing him like that, torn and broken, brings a grief she hasn’t felt since she was ten. Knowing that she is powerless against it, she allows it to flow freely, her tears soaking her shirt where they fall into it, the fear-scent of her sweat pungent and sharp. Father, father, she thinks, shaking. Why did you have to die? You should have known better than to answer that call, you should have taken back-up, you should have cleared the fucking store before you went in, playing the goddamn hero!

When the crying has tapered off to sniffles and her limbs have stopped trembling enough for her to move, she stands. In the bathroom, Lir washes her face in the dark, not wanting to see her puffed eyelids or reddened cheeks, splashing frigid water on her skin until the shock of it stops her tears completely. Then she pats herself dry with a towel and strips to wipe the sweat from her body before pulling on her bathrobe and returning to the living room. Her nightmare is too fresh, too vivid, for her to go back to bed. 

The clock on the microwave reads 3:01. The witching hour, and she stares at it dully for a moment before settling onto her couch and turning on the television. Lir flips through the channels until she finds a rerun of Red Dragon, and she pulls the duvet from the back of the couch over her shoulders as she settles into the familiarity of the world of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. In the morning, she’ll call Dante, needing human company to truly feel at ease again.

For now, she watches as Will Graham shouts at a reporter and waits for the fear to let her go.

[returnn-of-the-mac]

How about the companion (+faction leaders) react to Sole taking Elder Maxson’s coat with them as a souvenir after a night of riding his “rocket 69?” Bonus points if Maxson doesn’t realize it’s gone until he’s already given them their marching orders and sent them on their mission for the day, and doesn’t get the chance to ask for it back until they show up wearing it to lunch three days later with a shit-eating grin. Double bonus if they ask if they can keep it. Triple bonus if he lets them.

Wow, now that I actually live in a home with furniture, I can get right back to reacts! This one was kinda a wild ride, and the intro is really long but. It was entertaining. I hope this how you wanted it; please enjoy!

FO4 Companions (+Faction Leaders) React: Sole Stealing Maxson’s Jacket After a One-Night Stand

After having a few drinks with Ingram and their companion at Prydwen’s bar, an exhausted Sole sauntered back to the Quarters to call it a night. At the end of the hall, they saw Maxson approaching, wearing a skin-tight Brotherhood uniform,

his battle coat off and draped over his arm.

“Good evening, Knight [name],” he greeted, “I spilled some wine on my coat. You haven’t happened to see any Initiates up and wandering, have you?”

Sole ignored Maxson’s question, as it immediately dawned on them that they had never seen the Elder without his signature coat on. For the first time ever, Sole noticed everything: his broad shoulders, his muscular arms, his perfectly sculpted ass. 

“Knight? I’m speaking to you.”

Sole caught a whiff of his breath; it smelled like sweet red wine. 

 “I’m sorry Elder, I have not seen any Initiates. I highly doubt there are any awake at this hour. But if you’d like, sir, I may have some stain removal in my quarters for the time being.”

Maxson nodded and Sole beckoned for him to follow.  

When the pair got to his Quarters, Sole closed the door behind them and locked it.

“Knight, what are you—“

“I always lock my door at night. You can never be too safe,” Sole explained. They then began removing their clothing.

“Put some clothes on! This is highly inappropriate! I could have you terminated!”

“I’m just changing into my night gear,” Sole hummed. The Elder rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Now let me fix up that jacket of yours.”

Sole fumbled around their Quarters, looking for the stain remover they knew didn’t exist. As they bent and turned, they made sure to arch their back and emphasize their ass.

Maxson remained on the bed, taking in the scene. He never realized just how shapely Sole was. He turned beet red as he tried to eliminate all his dirty thoughts. Must be the alcohol.

Sole noticed their charade was working and let out a “frustrated” moan. 

With that, Maxson’s bottoms got tight. Extremely tight. And he got hot. Very hot. He quickly threw his jacket over his crotch. “I need to get going now, Knight.”

Sole walked over to him, internally grinning. “Oh but we need to take care of this jacket,” Sole defended, lifting the coat and revealing Maxson’s massive erection.

Sole looked at Maxson in the eyes. He looked like a deer in headlights. They then looked at the large bulge in the Elder’s pants.

“Elder are you—?” Sole began, pretending to be surprised.

“Knight, I apologize for my indecency, I should get going.”

“But Arthur,” Sole began, running a careful finger up his chest and up to his chin, “I feel the same way.”

Sole leaned, lips parted, and to their surprise, Maxson reciprocated by slipping his tongue into their mouth. Sole moaned and pushed Maxson down on the bed.

...

The next morning Maxson awoke, naked and in bed with Sole. His heart skipped a beat.

“Fuck Arther,” the Elder cursed to himself, “If anyone finds out about this...you’re reputation is destroyed.”

With that, Maxson sprinted out of the room, leaving Sole alone in bed.

...

When Sole finally awoke, their heart fluttered. Last night was exhilarating! They eagerly turned to greet their lover when they suddenly noticed they were in an empty bed. Sole put two-and-two together and realized that Maxson had bailed. Sole sat up, feeling hurt and betrayed. It was then that they noticed his battle coat resting on the bureau. In his haste, the Elder had forgotten it. A sinister smile crept over Sole’s face as they hatched an idea. They headed to the main deck to receive their marching orders, internally plotting their scheme.

...

Three days layer, Sole entered the Prydwen’s cafeteria for lunch, wearing Maxson’s battle coat. They sat down between Maxson— who had choked on his water at the sight— and their companion, who suspiciously eyed the jacket:

Curie: 

“[Madam/Monsieur], is that the Elder’s jacket,” Curie asked, surprised, “Did he give it to you?”

Sole deviously smiled and beckoned at Maxson, who was sitting beside them. The synth curiously eyes Maxson, expecting an answer.

“Y-Yes. Yes. I did give my jacket to Knight [name]. I ordered a new one and thought they deserved my old one as a token of appreciation for their loyalty to the Brotherhood.”

Curie beamed, “Oh yes, [Madam/Monsieur] really does care deeply about your cause! I’m so glad their hard work is being noticed and appreciated!”

Codsworth:

“[Sir/Mum], why on earth are you wearing the Elder’s jacket? And why would you sit next to him while wearing his coat? Do you have a death wish?”

Just as Sole opened their mouth to speak, an anxious Maxson cut them off.

“I gifted it to them,” the Elder began, “They deserved a token of appreciation for their dedication to the Brotherhood.” 

“Well...I can’t argue with that,” Codsworth chucked, “Congratulations, [sir/mum]!”

Cait:

“So what’s the story,” Cait began, “Why’re ye wearin Maxson’s clothin?” 

“That is none of your business, ma’am,” Maxson hissed. 

Cait smirked and redirected her attention to her companion. “Ye keepin it as a trophy for a one night stand?”

Sole grinned and Maxson turned beet red. 

“No. That isn’t it at all,” the Elder fibbed, “It’s merely a token of appreciation for this Knight’s loyalty to the Brotherhood.”

“Yeah, and I’m the princess of Ireland,” Cait scoffed, “If that were true, why hasn’t that fellow Danse gotten any appreciation yet? He’s been bustin his arse for years, it seems.”

Maxson remained silent.

“Don’t lie, Elder. It’s against Brotherhood protocol.”

Piper:

“Nice outfit, Blue,” Piper started, “It’s not yours, though.”

Sole smirked and waggled their eyebrows and Piper gasped. 

“No way! Oh my gosh. You’re full of crap,” the reporter laughed. She then leaned forward, directing her attention to Maxson, who was avoiding eye contact, “Right Elder?”

Maxson bit into his sandwich, pretending not to hear Piper. This made the reporter squeal.

“Blue, you’ve gotta let me write about this. This is definitely a front pager. Just imagine it: Brotherhood of Zeal? Elder Maxson’s Passionate Night Out.”

“That’s enough,” Maxson shouted defensively, “How dare you spread that fake news!” 

“Fake news,” Piper mocked, “But Elder—“

“If you must know, I gave this jacket to Knight [name] as a gift for their unwavering loyalty to the Brotherhood.”

Piper giggled, “Yeah, okay. And what about the loyalty of the Recon Team who risked their lives in Cambridge? Rhys? Danse? Haylen? Are they not important enough to get recognition? Does the Brotherhood play favorites?”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Maxson spat, standing up, “Please excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

Preston:

“General? Isn’t that the Elder’s battle coat,” Preston asked, “Why are you wearing it?”

“I gave it to them,” Maxson insisted, “It was a gift for Knight [name]’s loyalty to our cause.”

Preston smiled, “That was extremely thoughtful, Elder. [Name] sure is an incredible individual. I’m glad you’re recognizing their dedication.” 

Gage:

“Yo boss,” Gage chuckled, “How did you manage to snag a treasure?”

Sole flaunted the coat and Maxson clenched his fists.

“How much ya think that’s worth? Maybe 3000 caps?”

“It’s not for sale,” Maxson spat.

“Oh shit, boss. He caught ya. Whatchya gonna do? Want me to take him out for ya?”

“Actually, I gave the jacket to Knight [name],” Maxson announced, “It was a gift.”

“Huh,” Gage paused for a moment, then smirked, “Wanna gift ya boy somethin too?”

“No.”

“Damn,” Gage turned to Sole and shrugged, “Well, it was worth a shot, boss.”

Hancock:

“Ain’t that Maxson’s battle coat,” Hancock asked, “Takes some serious balls to wear that, my friend. Did he give it to ya?”

Sole smirked.

“Oh, I get it. One night stand memorabilia?” 

Maxson nearly choked on his sandwich. “No,” he chimed in, “If you must know, ghoul, it was a gift.”

Hancock scoffed, “Alright, big guy. Chill out. No need to get your britches in a bunch.” 

Strong:

“Why human wear leader coat?” Strong asked.

“None of your business, creature,” Maxson hissed.

“Strong no care about drama anyway. Just care about meat,” the super mutant announced, taking a bite of the brahmin meat in front of him.

Maxson grimaced and redirected his attention to his food.

Deacon:

“Hey! Nice getup! Ya look snazzy,” Deacon complimented, “How’d you manage to get your paws on it? Did you pickpocket it, you sly dog, you?”

“No, they did not,” Maxson firmly stated, “I gave it to them as a gift.”

“What? You could’ve given it to me! I’m always down for a charitable donation to my costume closet!”

Maxson scoffed, “It would be an insult for such a sleazy individual to sport my apparel.” 

“Says the guy who prides himself in his pursuit of genocide. Yeah, I’m definitely the sleazy one here, bud.” 

Desdemona:

“Cute jacket,” Desdemona complimented, “I’ve definitely seen it before, but not on you. What’s the catch?”

“It’s a gift.” Maxson piped up.

“For..?”

“Knight [name]’s loyalty to the Brotherhood and their cause.”

“Ah,” the synth mused, lighting a cigarette, “Looks more like a trophy to me. But that’s none of my business, Arthur.”

MacCready:

“Isn’t that Maxson’s battle coat,” MacCready laughed, “He’s gonna be ticked.”

“It’s fine,” Maxson mumbled from the other side of Sole, “I gave it to them.”

“What’s the catch? You don’t seem like the sharing type.”

“There is no catch,” Maxson insisted, “I wanted to reward them for remaining loyal to the Brotherhood.”

MacCready raised an eyebrow suspiciously but ultimately decided to drop the subject.

Longfellow:

“New look? I like it,” Longfellow complimented, “Very suave, I must say.”

Sole smirked.

Longfellow raised an eyebrow, “Hey...Isn’t that Maxson’s battle coat? Or..?”

“Yes, it is mine,” Maxson confirmed, “But I gave it to them as a token of appreciation.”

“For what?”

“Their dedication to the Brotherhood’s mission.”

“Is that right then,” Longfellow raised a glass full of whiskey, “Then cheers to [name]!”

Nick:

Nick eyed Sole as they casually sat down between himself and Maxson, casually sporting the Elder’s prized battle coat.

“Do I even want to know how you obtained that?” Nick asked flatly.

Sole chuckled and Maxson turned beet red.

“This isn’t what it seems,” Maxson began, “We—“

“You know what? I don’t want to know.”

X6-88:

X6 looked up from his lunch when Sole sat next to him. He immediately noticed the battle coat but didn’t say anything.

After about five minutes of silence, Maxson cleared his throat, attracting the attention of both Sole and the Courser. 

“I know you haven’t said anything, but silence can speak louder than words,” the Elder began, “That jacket your friend is wearing, yes, it is mine. But I gave it to them as a gift. A gift to honor their unwavering loyalty to the Brotherhood of Steel.”

X6 looked up from his food. “Sir, I am trying to enjoy my lunch. I don’t care about your personal life.”

Father:

Father stated angrily at his scrambled eggs when Sole sat down next to him. He gave them a venomous side glance but remained silent. After several minutes, he finally spoke.  

“Having an affair with the leader of the Brotherhood is not a good way to earn the approval of the Institute.” 

Before Sole could react, Maxson leaned around Sole, looking directly at Father.

“Who said anything about an affair,” the Elder asked, “I gave this to Knight [name] as a gift for their unwavering loyalty to the Brotherhood.”

Father raised an eyebrow, “If that were true, I wouldn’t be here right now, now would I?”

Maxson gritted his teeth as Father redirected his attention to his food. 

Danse:

Danse’s eyes followed Sole as they took a seat between himself and Maxson.

“Soldier,” Danse began, “Isn’t that Maxson’s battle coat?” 

Sole promptly nodded.

Danse raised an eyebrow, “May I ask how you acquired it?”

Sole and Maxson both remained unusually silent. An oblivious Danse pressed further.

“Well?”

“Paladin,” Maxson piped up, “When was the last time you polished your power armor?”

“Yesterday, why?”

“Well, it looks filthy. Deplorable, Paladin.”

Danse turned bright red, “I-I sincerely apologize, Elder. I‘ll clean it up immediately.” 

Ada:

“[Sir/Ma’am], that is not your usual attire. But it does look familiar...” Ada was quiet for a moment to process the information, “That’s right, it belongs to Elder Arthur Maxson, leader of the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“Correct,” Maxson piped up, “It was mine. But I gave it to Knight [name].”

“Why?”

“Because I appreciate their dedication to the Brotherhood.”

“According to my auto-polygraph, you are lying.”

Maxson turned red. “There must be a mistake, then.”

“I can assure you my polygraph diagnostic scans are very accurate, sir.” 

“I think you need a tune up. Go find Proctor Ingram.” Maxson insisted, “I gave it to them as a gift.”

Ada scanned Sole, and then turned back to Maxson. “I have detected the presence of foreign bacteria in their system. Sir, did you give them the gift of chlamydia, too?”  

[artisticestheticreads]

SWEET TOOTH

A/N: So I saw a post from @wakandascrystal that said “hear me out,  (Y/N) got 4 older brothers who won’t hesitate to end a nigga life if they try anything with their baby sister..but The short yellow off the shoulder dress (Y/N) got on at the neighborhood cookout got Erik ready to risk it all.” LIGHT BULB. Don't worry. I got her permission and she wanted to be tagged so here it is. There are also links in this piece so watch for bold and italicized font. 

A/A/N: So, this is still a reader and Erik one shot but you will go by the nickname “Sweets” and “Baby Girl”...oh and your last name is Moore.

WARNING: Contains drug use, swearing, sexual puns, angst, and fluff

SONG RECOMMENDATION: Nite and Day by Al B. Sure!

  It was a hot July day where the neighbor was holding its 50th Annual Block Party. There was old school music playing loudly, children in swimwear running around with water toys, mothers bringing tons a food down to the eating area and men playing games like dominos, spades, and poker. The smoke of the grills filling the air making people even more hungry. At one home, a young man stood on the porch in a crisp white tee, tan cargos and white running shoes with a chain with a ring, another with a gold ankh and a matching watch on his wrist. He dreads were tossed to the left and he had a Budweiser in his right hand. He was with his long term friend Ron who looked like Odell Beckham with no tattoos and short hair. 

    “It’s good to have you back, E. Real talk. You been gone for too long” Ron said as he rolled a blunt and began to smoke. Erik sipped his beer and said “yeah, decided to visit my real family. My Aunt is like my moms now, T is like that annoying ass big brother that think he know everything and princess was showing me some sneakers she making for me. They coo.” What he didn’t mention was the scars he had for ever kill were removed and how he was dead for like a week and brought back to life by his genius cousin and also that he had royal blood in his veins.

 Erik saw a group of four men walking to a house across the way; the Moore Brothers. From left to right, there was Darnell, Andre, Mitchell, and Junior. “Welp, there goes the Nigga Turtles”, Erik said before Ron laughed. “Yeah, they keep getting bigger to keep niggas away from Baby Girl.” Speaking of, a white Nissan Altima pulled up passed the orange sign that cut off the street and parked; that’s when Erik saw her as if they were in slow motion. Her skin was a bronze glow that glittered in the sun. Her 4c curls resembled a cloud that framed her round, babyface with big roasted chestnut eyes that can hold heat in them. She finally walked from the driver side to show her figure. Her off the shoulder yellow dress hugged her thick body oh so well. Her curves screamed ‘look at me’. Her breasts were sitting at attention and her behind was like a chocolate peach. She showed off her legs in a pair of wedges and her golden chain read ‘Sweets’. The back of her right shoulder was home to an adorable baby jaguar tattoo. 

   “There’s our Baby Girl”, Darnell said getting her families attention. She opened up her arms to her mother and father with a smile receiving hugs then her brothers waited for their turn. Erik watched as he placed his hands in his pockets and when he saw them walking in their home, Baby Girl, walking behind, he whistled. She looked around and finally saw Erik. He nodded at her with a smirk and she waved small with a wink before walking in. “Cuh, you must got a death wish or somethin’. You know damn well them negroes do not play ‘bout their sister.” Erik turned to his friend with a chuckle. “Ron, aint no one scared of them muthafuckas, dawg. You talking to a man who has killed at least 2,351 people around the world. I’m a Navy Vet, they should be scared of me.”

   “E, they don’t care about that shit. To them, you still Lean Bean to them,” Ron said as he smoked. Erik cringed at how he used to look and said: “Why you gotta bring up old shit for, huh?” He turned back to the street to see Nat and Baby Girl walking down the street with trays of food. Erik smiled and walked down catching up to him as Ron followed. “How y’all ladies doing”, E asked making her smile. “We good. How about you? Long-time, no see, E”, she said with her brow raised. “Eh, I’ve been good but who told you to get thick on me, looking a cute fine apple”, he said with a smirk. “Good one, E. But I can say the same about you”; they smiled at each other.

   He looked behind to see that the brothers were nowhere in sight. Erik got closer and she said “getting a little close there. You don’t wanna get in trouble by my brothers, do you?” He chuckled and said, “I ain’t worried about them.” When he was about to wrap his arm around her neck, he felt a palm on his chest and they looked to see it was the Moore Brothers and Sweets rolled her eyes. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t Lean Bean all grown up. What you tryna do”, Darnell asked as he signaled Mitchell to remove his hand. “Guys, we were just talking and besides, I’m not a baby anymore. I can handle myself”, Y/N said making everyone look at her. Erik held her hands up with a chuckle and said “y’all heard her. She can handle herself.” Darnell’s eyes cut to him then he said to Andre “get the food” and signaled Junior to flung her over his shoulder. Darnell said “that was strike two. First was whistling at her. We watching you, Lean. Bean”. They walked into the crowd but Sweets and Erik’s eyes were still on each other. Ron looked to Erik who stood with a look in his eyes like he wasn’t about to give up. Erik started walking and said  “that gives me one more strike. I love a good ol’ challenge.”

“Fuck. This is like high school all over again”, Ron said following him. Erik saw Baby Girl being put down, fixing her dress, poking each brother in her chest and taking the food from them walking away; the brothers walked the other way. “I need you to cover me. I’m going in”, Erik said to Ron. He saw her in the food area, dropping off the food and stood by her. “You okay, Sweets”, he asked and she looked up to him. “My bad. I’m good. I just wished they would stop babying me. I’m gonna be thirty soon for God sake.” Erik nodded, started to caress her arm and said “I get it. You the only the girl and you the baby. You gotta put yo foot down, Baby Girl, if you want them to respect you. I mean you are a grown-ass woman after all.” 

   She looked up at his face and grinned as he did the same. They noticed how the music was turned down so she took his hand into hers and made their way onto the curb with everyone else. The neighborhood got into a huge oval and the leader of the block with her family stood in the middle; she had a headset microphone. “Good afternoon, neighborhood. I just wanted to thank everyone who has come out and brought out many dishes to this affair. I have a few announcements to make beforehand though. I would like to congratulate the new addition to the Smith Family. Jeremiah Richard Smith was born at seven pounds and 8 ounces.” Everyone cheered and Erik leaned into Y/N’s ear and said “that’ll be ours one day”; she grinned. The leader continued with “and also congratulations to the neighborhood’s favorite baby girl, Y/N “Sweets” Moore for her grand opening last week of her own bakery called ‘Baby Girl’s Sweets’ located in the Crenshaw Mall. We are very proud of you”. Everyone applauds and the smile on her face lit Erik’s whole world. 

  “And finally, we would like to welcome back Mr. Erik Stevens for his safe trip back home from being in the Navy and from his home country of Wakanda.” Everyone cheered and laughed as he took a cheesy bow. “Now, everyone please bow your heads and join hands as we go into prayer.” Everyone did so but before Erik did, he looked across the way to see the Moore Brothers with joined hands and death stared across the way. It reminded him of the US Movie and he could have sworn he heard the horror version of ‘I Got Five on It’ somewhere. Y/N looked up to him and caressed his beard, saying “E, it’s ok. Look down”; he did what he was told after she kissed his cheek.

“Lord Jesus, our brother, be with us today. Bless our happy gathering, and bless this meal that we share. Protect us all, and help us to grow in your love. Lord Jesus, we praise your holy name forever. In Jesus Name, Amen.” Everyone started to make their plates and Y/N with Erik made theirs the same; grilled chicken, mac n cheese, greens, potato salad, and cornbread with cups of her Koolaid. Erik asked, “so, how the bakery doing?” She sipped her drink after she ate a chunk of mac n cheese. “It’s actually really good. My folks have been spreading the word getting me noticed. Even ABC 7 came down. You should come and try some of my cake.” Erik looked at her as she ate again and said “why try some? I want the whole thing.” She looked at him and scooted closer to him. “Be careful. You may get a sweet tooth.” He took her soft hand and kissed it. “Girl, I’ve had a sweet tooth for years now”, he said smoothly and she blushed with her cute nose wrinkled. Nat and Ron came to the table with plates and drinks were dead silent.

  “How the food, y’all”, Darnel asked with a smile and cup in his hand, sipping. “Good”, Nat and Ron said but Baby Girl and Erik only looked at one another until Junior and Andre pulled her seat far away and place their seats between them. “Yeah, Ms. Richards did the damn thing with the mac and cheese,” said Mitchell as he pulled up a seat next to their sister and began eating his plate. “Boy, if you don’t stop smacking in my ear, Ima hurt you”, she said ith her brow raised that made E smile. As the group ate, Erik and she would steal looks at one another. As Junior and she talked, Erik sipped from his cup, noticing Darnell looking at him. Nigga staring too damn hard but I got something for all of them, he thought to himself, leaning back into his chair with a smirk.

  “So, Baby Girl, when can I try that cake of yours?” Everyone at the table looked at him and she answered “anytime you would like. But, I should warn you. It will be the best cake you have ever had and ever will”, she said. “I would love to have some right now if you don’t mind”, he said and with that, she stood, looking at him with a grin of her own. “Coming. Right. Up.” She looked at Nat and they made their way to the dessert table. Erik watched her with a grin and his head slightly tilted. “Strike Three”, Andre said and Darnell added, “you think you slick, huh nigga? Tryna fuck with our baby girl like we ain’t here. That's aight. Let’s go.” The brothers stood and Ron looked at E. “Cuh, you a dead man. Real talk.” 

  “Man, shut yo ass up,” E said looking into his friend’s soul. After dessert, the group sat and talked for a little but there was no sign of the brothers anywhere. Erik and Sweets talked and laughed until the announcer said “aight, calling all men. It is time for the basketball game and Andre & Darnell volunteered to be captains. They will call their other four members one by one. Winners get a $50 Visa gift card.” They all applaud and Andre started to read off names. “Aight, so I choose Junior Moore, Toni M. Montell, Chad Jordan, and Ronald D. Duke.” Erik, Y/N, and Nat looked at Ron who stood slowly walking towards his team confused. Darnell said “on my team. I chose Mitchell Moore, Wolf Thomas, Erik ‘Lean Bean’ Stevens and Daniel Bryant.” Baby Girl looked at Erik and shrugged as he stood making his way. 

  Two hoops were across from one another a couple yards away and the guys were preparing themselves. Y/N stood in front since she was tad short and Erik slid his shirt off, making her lips part. He looked at her and walked over to her with shirt in hand. “Hold this for me, yeah”, he winked and kissed her head. The game was going and it was tied 20 - 20. Darnell’s team actually got along, like if they were family. They cracked jokes and played fought on the sidelines like nothing happened...or was it? There were two minutes left in the game and the opposite team missed the shot but Erik took the rebound. He ran down court being guarded by Mitchell. He looked over at Baby Girl with a smirk and right when he was about to shoot it, Mitchell hit him with a hard elbow to the nose resulting him to fall hard to the ground: he still made the shot. 

  Mitchell, Junior, Darnell and Andre ran to Erik as the others watched and aimed to attack him. Darnell hit him with a left hook, Erik did the same and Baby Girl screamed “stop it! Leave him alone.” She slipped out her mother’s hands and stood in front of the flying hands which stopped. “Y/N ‘SWEETS’ MOORE, GETCHO LIL ASS OUT THE WAY, NOW. HE AIN’T NO GOOD. WE PROTECTING YOU”, said Darnell but she said “NO! I CARE ABOUT HIM TOO MUCH AND HERE Y’ALL ARE! THE FUCK Y’ALL JUMPING HIM FOR! Y’ALL ACTING LIKE A GROUP OF PUSSY ASS NIGGAS! What y’all couldn’t do one on one or something? He did nothing to y’all but y’all being such fucking idiots that you think you’re protecting me but you’re actually hurting me!” The brothers looked at her and as Darnell reached his hand out, she pushed aside and smacked him with the black side of her right hand. He covered his jaw as his mother pulled them out the street. “Team Andre is disqualified. Team Darnel is the winners.” The crowd went away from the drama and back to the party. 

   Y/N stood in front of him with nose dripping blood and his head held up. “E, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what to do to make this better.” He snatched his shirt out of her hand and held it to his nose. “Don’t bother. Ima just catch you later”, he walked off and heard muffled crying behind. He wanted to stop and hold her but his feet wouldn’t let him. He was in Ron’s house, lying on the couch with an ice pack to his face and eyes closed. “She tried to help, E”, Ron said and Erik said “I know, Ron. But the Moores are right. I ain’t good for her. I wasn’t back then and I’m damn sure not now.” 

“E, she don’t give a fuck so why should you? I mean Sweets smacked the dog shit outta her brother and told them off. She didn’t deserve what you did,” Ron said and Erik sat up looking at Ron as he sat in his armchair. “You right. I guess I’ll go apologize since my nose stopped bleeding.” Erik went into the bathroom to see his nose slightly swollen and had a scar on it. He grabbed a band-aid to place on top and took a few aspirins, he put on a black shirt and walked out the door to the dance floor. The sky had gotten dark and the street lights were on. “Hey, Stevens. Wait up”, Darnell said but Erik kept walking. The Moores rand and stood in front of him making him stop. “What the fuck y’all want? Y’all tryna try and jump me again,” he asked and Darnel sighed. 

   “We sorry, man. I mean, we can be a bit protective but what you expect? We got a baby sister and this shit hard. She ain’t little anymore and we just don’t want her to get hurt”, Mitchell said. “Yeah, we just tryna make sure she good but I guess she can make her own decisions”, added Junior. Andre had his arms folded and said: “Y/N is literally our world and we just don’t want to see her cry.”

“But we made her cry because we tried to kick ya ass. We hate seeing her cry and all. We apologize and if it means anything, we think you cool. The laughing we did earlier was real. You a cool ass nigga, Lean Bean. No hard feelings”, Darnel said and reached his hand out. Erik looked at them all and took his hand into his shaking it. “If y’all don’t mind, Ima go to apologize to my girl”, he said walking to Y/N who back was turned. He tapped her shoulder and she looked up to him. “E, I’m really, really sorry. I didn-”, she said before his thumb grazed her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I mean. I shouldn’t have been mad at you. Sweets, I love you a lot. I’ve always had.” His lips touched hers in a peck then eventually, as “Nite and Day” by Al B. Sure played through the air, the kiss got needy and intimate with fireworks popping in the background.

𝕊𝕀𝕏 𝕐𝔼𝔸ℝ𝕊 𝕃𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ

   It was late July when Erik walked into a huge bakery in jeans, a black tee and matching sneakers Shuri gifted him. He went to the counter to the cashier who had a big smile. “Hi, sir. How can I help you today?” Erik nodded and said, “yeah, lemme get a slice of the famous Sweetie double chocolate cake, a whole Lean Bean pie and lemme get a cute four-year-old Hershey Kiss.” With that, he heard a pair of little feet running to him. He felt a pull at his jeans and a cute little girl with her curly hair pulled into a pineapple style. She wore a pair of jeans with a cute chef jacket and a mini pink apron. “Hi, daddy”, she said smiling up at him. He picked her up and said “hey, baby girl. Where my kisses”, he asked and she kissed all over his face. “That’s more like it. Now, who told you that you can look cute pineapple today?”

  “Her mommy did”, a voice from behind the counter said. It was Y/N in a similar outfit and hair as their daughter, Mariah. He leaned down and kissed her lips softly making Mariah giggle. “Are y’all on break now,” he asked Mariah and she nodded hard and fast making them laugh. He sat her down in his lap as Y/N stood at the counter with her cashier. Mariah pulled down his bottom lip and he said “uh, baby girl. What you doing?”

“Momma told me about the stowy of when y’all fell in love and I’m making suwe youw teeth awe okay.” He looked at his daughter confused until she asked “daddy, do you still have a sweet tooth?” He chuckled and looked at his wife. “I will always have a sweet tooth, baby girl.” Sweets looked at them as he looked up at her and they winked at each other with a smile.

𝒯𝒜𝒢𝒢𝐸𝒟 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐸𝒮

@muse-of-mbaku

@im5ftbutmythroat66

@chaneajoyyy

@melanin-samii

@theunsweetenedtruth

@doux-ciel

@unicornluvin8765

@vikkidc

@wakandantings

@thadelightfulone

@mzamethystp

@simbiann

@tropicalsun10

@babydoll756

@notoriouslynay

@vminax

@quinsly

@pinkdemolition

@quietstorm-73

@chaoticcashfancroissant

@bugngiz

@chocolatedippedinhoney

@yafavcocoa

@lostgalaxies

@mbakuwife

@youreadthatright

@babygotl01292003

@acceptyourselfloveyourself

@madamslayyy

@yoyolovesbucky

@theogbadbitch

@wakanda-inspired

@bitchacho25

@toniilaney

[blooms-of-ice]

RP Log: Wyda and Nazyl catch up on each others’ busy lives

Nazyl Tharazyl found himself at the Heartwood residence yet again, his steps a tad lighter than usual. The night before seemed to have been rather eye opening. Seeing the lobby empty again, he deigned to head downstairs to see who he would find tonight, "Anehone here?" He hadn't made it to the bottom of the stairs yet.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn loiters in the company bar, a neat row of empty bottles forming a wall between her and the empty seat across from her. A familiar voice, and one that she hadn’t heard in several moons, calls out. “I’m here. Who’ss here?” She responds in kind, speech slightly slurred.

Nazyl Tharazyl made it to the bottom, not wearing his typical silver armor, "Mm? Oh, evenin'! Yer uh..." He blanked, hand raising to his head, "Well this is embarrassin'. I'm sure i know yer name, but I mighta taken a few too maneh blows ta the head recentleh..."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Nazyl?! Nazyl!” She gets up and slams her hands on the table, causing a couple of the bottles to topple over. “Huh?! It’s...It’s Wyda. Blows to the head? What... what’s happened to you?” Seeing the lalafell dressed in non-armor comes as a surprise to her as well. Is this really Nazyl, or simply someone who walks and talks an awful lot like him?

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Wyda...OH!" He snaps his fingers, "That's right, we were tryin' ta break ye outta prison! Gods, how long has it been...?" He went red, seeing how she seemed to remember him, but the reverse wasn't exactly true, "Gah, sorreh. I've been buseh huntin' a terrible demon that terrorizes the oceans. It's been...a stressful time." He approached the table, climbing into a stool, "Where do i even start?"

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Glad ta see ye've been proven innocent....I hope that's what happened, right? I ain't been around..."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn shakes her head and laughs. “Far too long it seems...Though you never struck me as the forgetful type. Must’ve gotten a good conk on the head, eh?” She settles back into her seat and pushes the empty bottles to the side with a noticeable lack of grace. “There’s a lot to catch up on...hah! But why not start at the beginning of your tale? What sorta demon were you chasing after?”

Nazyl Tharazyl removed his hat and shook his head to rufle his hair, setting the cap on the table, "Hooboy. So...a disclaimah, the hunt itself is s'posed ta be confidential. I don't think I can take on othah huntahs without some...complications." He cleared his throat, "But, it started when I was called ta accept a platinum level leve, ta find n' slay a terrible voidsent by the name o' Focalor. All the info I had was that it was aquatic, n' that it was approachin' from the Sea of Ash."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn tries to take a sip from her bottle, only to find it empty. She peers up into it, giving it a disappointed shake. “Fo..Focalor? And did you find the bugger?”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "I've taken some folks I can trust ta deal with such awful creatures, includin' Yami. Shar uh...sorta came inta the scene on her own, was tryin' ta avoid that." He sighed, "We prepared by aidin' some Sahagin so we could ride Elbst inta battle, n' petitioned the Maelstrom ta give us a raft similah ta the Whorleatah ta combat our foe. Oh we found it."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Focalor is a massive beast. Ye evah seen the ship that's been drowned in Silvahtear Lake?"

Nazyl Tharazyl: "it's about that size. A shark with horns n' magic tendrils, bladed fins n' endless teeth.....we even had Dragonkillahs readeh ta deal with it."

Nazyl Tharazyl closed his eyes and reminisced, "Weren't enough. It shrugged off the guns n' invited chaos ta the sea, a storm that destroyed our raft n' sent us ta the cornahs of the world. We all ended up meetin' in the Ruby Sea inj the end."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Though I want to, I don’t think I’d be of much help to you. I punch as hard as a soggy pup now, after spending so much time in jail. That, and the sea and I aren’t on good terms..” She leans her face against the palm of her hand, weight braced against her elbow and the table. “Gods, that big? Sahagin? Dragonkillers? WAIT, destroyed your raft? D-did you /swim/ back to shore or something?!”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "...Things happened, terrible things. Innocents were alreadeh gettin' caught up in the crossfire, n'..." He deflated some, then perked at Wyda's question, "....Kinda. I ended up doin' battle with the ebast alone, in the cold waters someplace east."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "All i remembuh was chokin' on the water, n' a bright flash....n' when i awoke, I was on the shores of an island I'd nevah seen."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "That's when things started goin' south..." He frowned, "I didn't wanna see death, especialleh of those that weren't related ta the hunt." He seemed to avoid disclosing the details on that particular incident, "I was chased by a powaful darkness, where I ended up escapin' ta Othard, where I met up with A'mariss...ah, she's me partnah of sorts. When we banished the darkness, we met back up with Yami too."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Sounds like you’re lucky to be alive! Seven hells.” She pushes an unopened bottle towards Nazyl, a concern tugging on her face. “Innocents...don’t beat yourself up too much about that. If you weren’t there, even more would’ve gotten involved. Can only do the best you can do, and sounds like you did an awful lot.”

Nazyl Tharazyl glanced to the empty bottles strewn across the table, rolling one with a finger, "We all gathahed where the Kojin live, n' figured out that Focalor had squatted there, corruptin' the waters n' the life within. We set out ta remove the source of it." He caught the bottle with his other hand, looking it over. He really shouldn't drink, but it looked so tempting.... "We did what we could. Sometimes I wish i could use magic." He sighed again, "The source was within an undahwater cave that-

Nazyl Tharazyl ||-housed the cultists worshippin' Focalor. They summoned a massive voidsent that looked much like a Kraken, n' we did battle with it n' its armeh, I think they named it Phorcys, if the mutterin's were anehthin' ta go by."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "It took a long while, but we ended up killin' the thing, n' removed the source of darkness from the Sea. Focalor has moved since then, n' now its location is unknown..."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "We've come back half broken n'...a lil' more than rattled in the head. I wish doin' this didn't cause so much damage..."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn listens with as much attention as she can muster, but it’s a tad hard with all the alcohol pumping through her system. “Phor...phorcys, and Focalor. Damn, if there’s one thing the world needs less of, it’s evil worshipping cults. You said you were chased by darkness? What’s that like?”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "A figure of incredible powah, that I could do nothin' against. I dunno where it came from, or why it sought me, but without the aid of othahs, I'd not be talkin' ta ye right now."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "I...I'm not sure what caused it ta chase me." That was a lie, "Strange things happen when ye deal with creatures that can bend realiteh."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn lets out a long sigh. “I’m glad you’re here Nazyl, but I can’t help but worry. You said that this demon, Focalor. It’s still out there? And it sounds like it’s done so much already, that...well. There are risks in the business after all...” Her voice gets quieter as she talks around the topic of death, and loss. She doesn’t know quite how to word that she’s scared he won’t come back a second time.

Nazyl Tharazyl gave a half smile, weak and frail, "I...know the risks. I assure ye I'm not ridin' on some false bravado that I'm some invicible warriah. It's indeed still out there, n' I'm currentleh researchin' its wherabouts...." He lowered his gaze to the table, "Death will always be loomin' behind me. The last hunt against a voidsent o' this caliber was similar, where each moment our lives held on by mere threads. It was a miracle we even came back from that alive."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "...N' yet, there will onleh be mroe tragedeh if we let it alone. Dangerous though the hunt may be, it's so that othahs won't have ta suffah. Even if it means some of us...don't make it back." he shook his head of that thought, "But, that's also why I'm a paladin, ta protect those who throw themselves with me lot. So that they can return ta quietah homes, with the thought that they achieved the impossible!"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn vacantly stares at the table, tired eyes cast downward. She wishes she can just tell him to...not hunt voidsent. But that’d be like telling him not to breathe. It was out of the question. “No one ever said being a hero was easy, right? Gods, it’s just that...I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn looks back up, determined to lighten up the mood. “So, was that your first time to the far east? Like it there?”

Nazyl Tharazyl gave a small laugh, "No hero is forged by ridin' it easeh. Though what we do is dangerous, it's necessareh. I don't plan on dyin' anehtime soon, so don't be lookin' like that alright?" He held a fist out, "Just wish us luck, n' we'll bag the biggest fish ye've evah damn seen." He blinked at the question, "Actualleh, no. I've been there befer once."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "...So, funneh storeh. A while back I had been browsin' a bookstore, lookin' fer somethin' fer a lass I had been sweet on at the time. Turns out the store was actualleh a front fer a group of sky pirates who had been accused o' holdin' a Garlean citizen of import within their ranks. Just me luck, I happened ta be there when the Maelstrom showed up."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn tries her best to put on a happy face. “I look forward to it! When that happens, we’ll be eating sashimi for days.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "I didn't get ta plead me case, they jsut lumped me in with the pirates. So we escaped by the skin of our teeth, n' took an airship across the world, with the Maelstrom hot on our trail. Our ship was fastah, thankfulleh, n' we ended up stoppin' in the Far East...we were forced ta live there while we had a diplomat deal with the Maelstrom n' clear our names. Fer a few moons, Othard was me new home."

Nazyl Tharazyl seemed to have fond memories, from the wistful look on his face, "I got ta see the swordsmanship of the east, the legendareh creatures of Yanxia, n' even got inta some Hingan intrigue."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Oh! I even befriended an auspice! Ye know, the talkin' animals...have ye seen one?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Sky pirates? A...a lass you were sweet on?!” Eyes open in surprise, and she shakes her head to clear her thoughts. “Ahem, okay. One step at a time, one step at a time...Anyway, that’s a pretty crazy story. Glad to know I'm not the only one the Maelstrom has wrongfully chased.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Auspice? You mean like...a moogle?”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Aha...does me likin' a lass realleh seem that s'prisin'? It ain't the first time someone has admitted such..." He shrugged, "Ah...not quite! Though mayhaps it's somewhat similah...I would reckon they'd think Moogles are a type of auspice."

Nazyl Tharazyl: "So, as Shiroitachi had told me...he's an auspice, a wee weasal...an auspice is born when an animal gains reasonin' aftah livin' fer ovah a hundred or so cycles! They become immortal n' can speak with us like regulah folk, it's rathah fantastical!"

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Some even possess magical powahs that can rival mastah mages...."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Wasn’t sure you had time for romance, between demon hunting and all.” She sends Nazyl a good natured, and clearly drunk, grin. “Some folk seem too busy to dabble in such things.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn sways a little as she considers what he’s telling her. Animals that live forever, and learn to talk. She repeats the idea in her head, and doesn’t understand it anymore the second time. “Talking weasel. Magic talking weasel? Okay, are you tugging my chain now..”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "...Mayhaps now I don't have the time, aye. It's...difficult ta keep a relationship while skirtin' with darkness evereh othah sun. Eventualleh I just accepted that mayhaps I'll be a bachelor fer a long while." He smirked, "A tall tale aye, but 'tis true. I even live with a talkin' catfish by the name o' Gyosho, sent by that vereh same auspice!" he beamed, "He's a Namazu, as he tells me. They like ta live around the big rivahs."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “No shame in being single! I, for one, enjoy being a lone ranger.” She shuts her eyes as she smiles, and there’s a long enough pause to wonder if...she’s fallen asleep. But then Wyda jolts back awake. “Talking catfish?! Okay, now I’m certain you’re making up tall tales. What next, walking and talking wolves? Hah.”

Nazyl Tharazyl leaned forward as Wyda dozed off temporarily, reaching to poke her until she jolted back up, causing him to recoil, "I assure ye, it's all true! In fact, me hosue ain't actualleh far--in the Mists is where I keep me office. Gyosho acts as me attendant, handlin' much of the papahwork. Should come by sometime!"

Nazyl Tharazyl: "...Ye holdin' up alright? Looks like ye might need ta find a bed soon..."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “You’re awfully confident, to keep this story up for so long...really starting to doubt myself...” She rubs at her temples, confused. “Huh? Oh, don’t worry. Just haven’t been sleeping well as of late.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn has noticeably dark bags under her eye, the other being covered by a bandana.

Nazyl Tharazyl: "If I hadn't seen these events with me own two eyes, I'd probableh have trouble keepin' it tagethah. Realiteh is oft more strange than aneh fantaseh book I've evah read." His eyes narrow somewhat, focusing on her eye for a moment, "...What's keepin' ye up? With this much drink I figured ye'd be down fer the count, but I s'pose ye hold yer drink well."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “I’ve learned that...There really aren’t any rules to reality, is there?” A hollow laugh escapes from the Seawolf. “I’m alright when it comes to drinking. But it’s hard to sleep when your evil twin is just a room away.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "....Evil twin?" He blinked. This is a new development.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “I wish I could tell you that this was just some terrible, dumb lie. But yeah...” There was a lot to unpack. At the moment, Wyda had decided to just...ignore the whole situation, which made it worse. “Looks like me. Has my voice. Has my memories. It’s weird, and I hate it.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Has yer -mem'rehs-? How in the seven hells...?" He stared, mouth agape. Twins was one thing, being practically the same person, mind and all... "Now that would just plain weird me out. I dunno how much I would like havin' anothah me out in the world..." He says, but might have an uncomfortable story on that very topic.

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Explains why ye were jailed I reckon. Is this the one that uh...." he tried to recall the events prior, "She's the one with the pirates?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn quickly downs another drink, but it does little to wash away her frustrations. “Right, she’s the reason I was tossed in jail. My old crew has gone rogue, and she was there, with them. Committing crimes and all.” Wyda narrows her eyes, a muddled doubt growing behind her eyes. “/She/ was there, and I wasn’t. I wasn’t there...”

Nazyl Tharazyl couldn't help but feel like the woman was trying to convince herself, rather than anyone listening. Whatever events had played out since he left appeared to have been rather strange, "So yer twin shacks up with some pirates...folks ye knew, n' causes trouble in yer name. I guess by capturin' the othah one ye've proven that ye've got yer own identiteh. But she also ain't in custodeh so..." He quirked a brow, "What's all happened?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Muneshige brought her in, and I was cleared when other members brought in proof that my twin was still out there, doing evil, even with me in jail.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Moonay...who? Twelve we've realleh been gettin' a lotta new membahs huh...has heartwood been makin' a name fer itself?"

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Well, it's good that they saw reason at least. I guess what remains is what we'll do with yer twin...."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “He’s a funny guy. Really wants to fight all the time.” She smiles, grateful for the momentary change in subject. “And yeah, we’ve grown a bit since you’ve been gone.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "I s'pose questionin' is in ordah. Though I wouldn't know how receptive she'd be..."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “I’ve been talking with her. While she’s tight lipped when it comes to any future plans her crew may have, she’s open to talking about useless things.” Wyda fidgets with her hair, looking a little shaken. “Which doesn’t help me get a wink of sleep, really. Not when she’s so confident that I’m the imposter, instead of the other way around.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "I...aye, I dunno how I'd feel..." He looked down, scratching his head, "I'd definiteleh think somethin' fisheh is up. When ye both share the same past, somethin' ain't right. Eithah she ain't the real ye, or..." The other option was even weirder...but it was possible. He trailed off, not really wanting to go down that way.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn - The corner of Wyda’s mouth pulls into a small, defeated smirk. “...Or I’m not real.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "...Not what I was goin' fer, but I s'pose that's...also a possibiliteh." He froiwned, shaking his head, "What if yer both...parts of a whole?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “I’m pretty sure I’m real though.” She nibbles on the bottom of her lip. “Is that even possible? Then again...everything we’ve been talking about sounds pretty out there.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Truth is oddah than fiction, I've realized. There's a few storehs I have that I'm not even sure -I- b'lieve, n' I was there when they happened!"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “If anyone walked into the middle of this conversation, they’d definitely peg us as mad conspiracy theorists.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Ta think this is tame compared ta some o' the shite I've seen in the past cycle or two..."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “We deserve a vacation. A simple, calm vacation that's demon free, and hell. Magic free too.” She chuckles lightly.

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Ain't that the truth. A whole moon o' just...relaxin', worreh free? I might get used ta that life..." He smiled bitterly, "Which is why it's probableh good that I ain't gettin' that aneh time soon. Gotta stay sharp."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “It’s not a bad thing to go soft.” Wyda sighs longingly. “Why not be selfish for awhile? You totally deserve to treat yourself.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn - The pile of empty bottles by Wyda clearly shows the flip side of ‘treating oneself.’ She’s none the wiser though.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn - The pile of empty bottles by Wyda clearly shows the flip side of ‘treating oneself.’ She’s none the wiser though.

Nazyl Tharazyl glanced at the bottles. he knew the reason for such vices...kept everyone sane. But his case was a little different. He shook his head, "I'm marrehd ta me duteh, 'cause if I ain't there when danger occurrs...who'll be there in me place?" He offered a sad smile, "Mayhaps there'll be a time when I can rest, but at the nonce, it ain't soon."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “You’re very responsible...that’s a good thing. Just make sure you don’t crack under all that pressure, you hear?” She sighs, but can see where Nazyl’s coming from. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from him, someday. But that day won’t be today. Wyda gets up and stretches, intoxication catching up to her. “Alright...I’m off to take a nap. Nice catching up with you, Naz.”

Nazyl Tharazyl: "Likewise. It puts me heart at ease ta know yer safe now, so get some good sleep aye?"

Nazyl Tharazyl slipped out of the stool himself, adjusting his gear. It was so strange being out of armor...

[m-602]

The Road to Mayhem

((So I was struggling to come up with a story that wasn’t filled with absolute angst... Then I got the idea to make a bunch of lighthearted one-shots between the sonas over at Discord. Specifically, this includes me, @astel4, @sillypanda3, @foxyfan666‘s Reaper, @kittydoesthings and her void baby Shadow, and @a-fanfic-fan‘s Silver.))

((Also... Yes, M’s full name has been revealed to be “Mikearu”... Yes, he’s in the body of a shadow lich child... No, I’m not giving context as to how that happened. It was a Discord RP and explaining it here would take up WAY too much text space...))

((Warning. There is some swearing here. Sorry!))

((Anyways... I hope you enjoy!))

((Happy Thanksgiving!))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Panda, put that halberd down right now!”

“No! I don’t think I will!”

That describes basically every day in the house. What would normally be every parent’s nightmare is just an everyday occurrence to the strange family of friends. When you hear about family spending time together, a self-entitled mother chasing around a halberd-wielding feral child wouldn’t even crack top fifteen. And yet… here we are.

Just family things.

Astel: “You’re gonna hurt yourself! Or someone else!”

Panda: “Is that a challenge?~”

A: “Wha- No! Now give it here!”

P: “Nope! This is mine!~”

Well, it would’ve still been hers. But a magical aura around the weapon indicated the end of that. It floats over to Astel’s outstretched hands.

A: “That’s enough, young lady!”

P: “What the fuck?! Give it back!”

She wasn’t giving it back. Mom mode Astel is currently trying to tame the feral child - a hopeless endeavor, yet one she attempts anyone. She cares about her too-

Silver: “Oooh.~ Shiny!~”

And with that, the halberd was out of Astel’s hands, the thief literally sliding the stairs as if they were rails.

A: “Gah! Silver! Get back here!”

Yep… Just family things… 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To take a break from the chaos, let’s transition to something every family can relate to - actual family time, of course! The fireplace adorned living room is perfect for this, a familiar, bright blue flame warming the room from the cold, snow-less night. Everyone was simply doing their own thing, relaxing after running out of things to do. Chaos already reigned for most of the day, so it’s time to let order take the wheel. And as expected… it’s rather nice.

Mikaeru: “I go’ ho’ choco!~”

Even better - hot chocolate! Who doesn’t love hot chocolate? The lich, who decided to stay in his child form after the whole memory dive event, was now coming out of the tray filled with mugs. Within each one was a swirling, chocolatey beverage that warmed one to their very spirit. Even Mikearu, who didn’t need to drink or eat, enjoyed the stuff!

He offers one to Kitty. She gently takes a mug from the tray to avoid spilling it. And then proceeds to start slurping it down.

He offers one to Astel. She accepts in a heartbeat. She really loves chocolate…

He offers one to Silver. She immediately stashes it in her backpack. What a strange little thing…

He offers one to Reaper. She accepts it rather quickly as well. Likely for the added warmth.

He offers one to Panda. She’s too busy listening to music through her headphones. That’s fine, though! He just places it next to her in case she wanted it later.

He places his own drink on the table, dashing into the kitchen to put away the tray. When he returns, he’s immediately seated on the couch, finally taking a moment to relax.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying the silence - odd for a “family” of chaotic idiots. It’s around this moment that Panda would try to cause mischief or Silver would… be Silver. But nope. Nothing of the sort here… It’s kind of terrifying how all these people, who were the direct opposite of order in their own ways, could just sit around and enjoy themselves in the quiet.

Subconsciously, he let himself lean on the closest person on the couch… Which turned out to be Kitty. She just shrugged and placed an arm around the child.

He had brought his hot chocolate closer, taking sips of it as the azure flames roared from the fireplace. This is what he had imagined when he thought of “spending time with friends” - it’s not much… but it’s something… 

He didn’t even notice his eyes start to flutter close as he drifted off to sleep, a nearly finished mug of hot chocolate at rest on the table in front of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And judging by all the screaming, we’ve fallen back into the chaotic routine.

Reaper: “Who the hell gave Silver the wheel?!”

A: “Silver, did! She stole the wheel!”

A child who embodies cartoon logic at its finest is probably the last person you want driving the car. Mikearu had been traveling side by side with the vehicle… Now he’s trying to get anyone he can out of the death-mobile’s way. He sends a message to Astel within the shared mind.

M: ”A-Astel! Can’t you stop her?!”

A: “I’m trying! She won’t give me the wheel! She won’t even let me get close, and I’m sitting in the damn driver’s seat!”

Eclipse: “You know… You could always try freezing her like an ice sculpture.~”

Ikearu: [“OR JUST LET ME TEAR HER APART.~”]

M and A: “NOT HELPING!!!”

A cacophony of screams (excluding Silver’s overly enthusiastic laugh) roared from the out of control vehicle as it barreled down the road. People scrambled to jump out of the way - the strugglers were pulled away by a black and blue blur.

S: “Oooh.~ Railroad tracks!”

R,A, and Kitty: “WAIT, WHAT?!”

Yep. They were heading for railroad tracks. Hey, at least there wasn-

*HOOOOOOONK*

There was a train heading down the tracks. Right towards them. And Silver, being the maniacal child she is, wasn’t stopping.

M: “Oh, for the love of-”

Doing the only thing he can think of, he chained the rear wheels of the car, keeping them from spinning. Unfortunately, this also caused them to completely snap of the car due to the amount of force they were exerting. The rear of the car suddenly dropped lower as it slowed down exponentially, coming to a stop just before the tracks. Just in time, too - the train had just passed by them the moment they stopped. Any moment later, and…

Everyone (except Silver, who was still laughing) breathed a sigh of relief as they evacuated the car. Mikearu stood behind the vehicle, massaging his neck. He looked like the embodiment of stress.

M: “You know… A’ leas’ one of you has powers… You could’ve done somethin’, too!”

A: “I was kinda busy trying to get Silver off the wheel!”

R, gesturing to the car: “And I didn’t want *that* to happen.”

K: “Hey, at least we’re all safe…”

Silver had just hopped out of the car at that time.

S: “Woohoo! Let’s go again!”

Everyone else: “NO!!!”

S: “Aww… You’re no fun!”

At least one of them was about to correct her and say they also weren’t crazy… But likely didn’t since that would’ve been a direct lie. Everyone here is crazy - that’s why they’re a “family” after all.

Using Mikearu’s chains, Reaper’s strings, and everyone’s effort (excluding Silver - she’s still mad), they started dragging the car back home… which was quite a ways away from where they were. On the topic of home, a thought crossed Reaper’s mind.

R: “...Was it a good idea to leave Panda by herself in the house?”

Everyone else: “...”

It was safe to say that they were coming back to a trashed living room… And weapons sticking out of the couch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Speaking of Panda… She’s been acting kind of weird lately… You surely wouldn’t expect her of all people to hold her hands up to Astel and ask to be picked up.

P: “Up?”

The teenager turned mother picked her up upon the request, taking her over to the couch. Panda is rested on her lap as she’s held close.

A: “What’s wrong, hun?”

P: “Me. A-All I do is h-hurt you or Mikey or Reaper or even Kitty. I-I’m a b-bad person…”

A: “That’s not true, hun…”

P: “It is! I’m bad! Bad!”

Astel just held the self-loathing girl in her arms, trying to calm her down. It… was kind of bewildering to see her like this. She’s normally not the kind of person to be this upset over something. Either she shrugs it off or reacts with anger.

A: “...We don’t mind being hurt, y’know?”

P: “T-That doesn’t make sense!”

A: “What I mean is… We don’t mind being hurt if it means you’re okay…”

P: “But why?! W-Why do you care about me?!”

A: “Because we love you.~ We love you for who you are…”

P: “B-But… I’m nothing special… A-All I do is h-hurt-”

A familiar black and blue blur made its way to the couch. Panda suddenly found herself being hugged by a familiar lich child.

M: “You’re special to us! We like havin’ you around! And more importantly, we’re always here for you, Panda!”

P: “...”

The trio just kind of hugged it out, one of them kind of uncomfortable with the sudden affection. But she wasn’t about to ruin the moment… For once, she’ll stay quiet about this…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

E: “‘Stel!! How the hell do you make this shit?!”

A: “*snrk*”

Thanksgiving dinner was taking quite a while to make… Why was that? Because Eclipse had decided it was the perfect time to take over… Right when Astel was starting to make pie and cranberry sauce… Even more unfortunate is the fact that, for some reason, Astel decided to try making both at the same time.

E: “THE CRANBERRIES ARE BOILING OVER!!! ‘STEL, WHAT DO I DO?!”

A: “Literally all you have to do is lift the pot for two minutes, it’s fine.”

I: [“WHO KNEW THE DREADED NIGHTMARE QUEEN WAS A TERRIBLE COOK?~”]

M: “Pffft…”

E: “Quiet! The both of you!”

And of course the other minds are not help either. They’re enjoying the show!

Kitty would’ve helped… If she wasn’t laughing at the Nightmare Queen’s terrible cooking skills, too. Occasionally, a stretchy arm would give her the utensil she needed… But only once or twice.

E: “When the hell am I supposed to take out the pie?!”

A: “Not now, dumbass! I just put it in before you decided to take over!”

E: “Why you-”

M and I: “CAN YOU PLEASE JUST FOCUS ON THE DAMN FOOD?!”

Astel’s shadow trying to cook is proving to be harder to handle than the whole “kill everything” plan. Mainly because even said shadow has no idea what the heck she’s doing. Then again, Eclipse did this to herself when she decided to take over Astel’s body.

E: “What do I do now?!”

A: “Just wait! The food needs to cook!”

The door slamming open cuts them both off… As well as Kitty’s outburst.

K: “Shadow, wha- Did you kill those yourself?!”

Shadow: “Well… duh. How else were we gonna get a proper Thanksgiving dinner?”

K: “We could’ve just bought one!”

The void child just shrugged with two dead turkeys in either hand. Eclipse just stares at the child, coming to the slow realization that they’ll want a cooked turkey.

A: “Sure you don’t want me to cook?~”

E: “Well- Wait, hell no!”

I: [“YES, CAUSE YOU’VE BEEN DOING SO WELL BEFORE…”]

E: “NOT HELPING!!!”

Welp… Sucks to be you, Eclipse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After much bickering, culinary incompetence, and screeching, Thanksgiving dinner was finished. It’s honestly a miracle the house didn’t burn down with how clueless Eclipse was.

The food was already at the table the moment it was prepared. You can thank Mikearu for that…

Everyone had taken their seats, ready to dig in to the massive meal - even those who didn’t need to eat or didn’t eat normal food were waiting patiently to prepare their plates. Their reasoning?

M: “I’ s’Thanksgivin’! Why wouldn’ I?”

R: “Agreed.”

Sh: “I killed it. That’s all…”

And nothing more was said. Yep, just the usual.

The only problem was convincing Eclipse to give Astel her body back. It took a lot of mental and physical bickering to finally get the Nightmare Queen to give in, with Ikearu not doing the lights any favors.

I: [“SHE COOKED THE FOOD. LETTING HER HAVE ASTEL’S BODY FOR A GOOD WHILE SHOULD BE REWARD PLENT, HM?~”]

M: “Just shut up, you irritating pest.”

I: [GRR… YOU!]

It was as exhausting as it sounds. Definitely made the actual meal itself worth all the trouble. Though all the grumbling in the shared mind indicated that Eclipse wasn’t too happy with the arrangement in any way, shape, or form.

What children…

Surprisingly, the food was delicious! Guess a lot of good fortune saved their skins… and their stomachs.

It was nice. And it was more than just warming silence during a cold night. Everyone was chatting, making jokes, getting on each other’s nerves, the usual. It was all one could ask for a Thanksgiving dinner.

M: “Mm… I’m grateful to have me’ you guys.”

A: “Aw… Same here!”

K: “Yep.”

R: “Happy Thanksgiving, guys!”

Sh: “Heh… Whatever…”

P: “Yep, sure…”

And Silver was stuffing food into her backpack… Again… At least she was eating it, even if she wasn’t actively engaging with anyone else.

For a bunch of idiots on the Road to Mayhem… They were actually having a good time together…

If you didn’t know any better… You could probably call them a real family… 

[mrs-hollandstan]

Undercover {6} || Undercover Cop!Reader x Mobster!Bucky

Warnings: drunk reader, some sexual references but vaguely, showering together, nudity implied, character death, gun violence, medical & police talk, language

Word Count: 5,873

Author's Note: oof. It's been a hot minute, but the recent love for this and the love on the masterlist made me want to finish this part. This sets up the sort of conflict so... we're almost there. 😊 Enjoy and let me know what you think!

⟵ Previous || Series Masterlist || Masterlist

The giggles from your drunken self caroming off the walls of Bucky's estate had fully armed guards poised to barrage at their leader. He paused in the hallway with a wide stance and an unamused glimpse towards each man. They apologized profusely, standing down immediately before watching him sulk off with you thrown over his shoulder. When he gently laid you on his bed, you giggled again. He smiled down at you, standing between your legs, his arms just over your shoulders.

"That was fun Mr. Barnes." He chortled, reaching down underneath you to unzip your dress. Dragging it from your body, you hum, "What are you gonna do to me?" He chuckles again, "I'm gonna dress ya and put ya to bed. Like a good man should." He smiles down at your pout, gently reaching behind you to unclip your bra and slide it from your shoulders. Walking to his closet, he listens to you hum and sigh in your drunken stupor. Picking a plain black button up, he walks back, taking your hand and sitting you up, "These are pretty panties babydoll. I can't imagine... that they're comfortable but you had to go and drink all those negronis and I don't like leaving ya home by yourself when you're drunk. So uncomfortable, but pretty panties it is." You yawn, wrapping your arms around his waist before he can button the shirt up, "Why won't you make love to me?" He strokes your cheek, a smile on his perfect pink lips, "Because I won't corrupt you like that. Not yet." Your pout turns down further, "I want you to." He shakes his head, "Not like this. Not when you're not in your right mind." "But I am." You whine. Crouching down in front of you, he buttons up the far too big button up before taking your hands. Helping you stand, he walks you around one side of the bed, pulling back the navy comforter and helping you inside before tucking you in. He sits at the edge when you take his hand, your beautiful, curious eyes darting between his own, “You haven’t said it.” He cocks his head, running his thumb along your knuckles, “Said what darlin?” Playing with his fingers, you're intruiged by a tattoo on the inside of his ring finger, "That you love me." He freezes, his smile fading, "I-I-" "Its okay," you yawn, "you don't have to. No one else does." His heart snaps in two as he strokes hair from your face. When you open your eyes, he smiles and leans in, his lips against your cheek, "I love you." He knows you won't remember. But it brings a giddy smile to your face and he's never been more in love. If you were any other woman, you wouldn't have said it. He would've dismissed you. But not you. You giggle and hold his hand tight in your own and Bucky swears he'd give everything up for you. "I love you too." He's not used to hearing those words. He's used to closing himself off and hearing you say those three words has his heart stuttering. He didn't know he could be so affected by something. When he stands, you whine, "Where are you going? Aren't you coming to bed with me?" He nods, "I got some business to do and then I'm comin. Try and get some sleep." He pouts down at you when you do the same, squeezing your much smaller hand in his own, "Okay. Goodnight Bucky." You slur slightly. He smiles, "Goodnight doll." As he walks from the room, turning the light off and closing the door behind him, he sighs and assigns Steve to stand at your door. He knows that he needs to take a cold shower because he can't feel like this. He can't already be saying he loves you. He can't truly show those feelings just yet. Not with business deals emerging. Not when his business is starting to pick up. Not when you can be used against him.                                                      --- You woke with a groan, your head pounding from all the drinks. Rolling over, there was a grunt behind you, an arm shifting beneath your neck. You turned, your back pressed against Bucky's broad chest, his hair a mess on the pillow beneath his head. You smiled, giddy that this is how you were seeing him. Without his hardass facade. Without worry or pain. Without him pestering you not to look at his scars or not to be shirtless. Completely turning over, you lay on his arm again, stroking his cheek. He frowns in his sleep, grunting again. Snuggling into his warmth, he rolls onto his back, allowing you to prop yourself on your elbow on his chest. Leaning in, you kiss his jawline, listening to him hum and purr in his sleep. Giggling, you kiss him a little harder in the hopes of waking him. When it proves futile, you crawl beneath the comforter, rubbing your hands along his muscular thighs. He gives a manly whimper before his feet shift beneath you. Giggling quietly, you trail your hands further up his legs until you've reached where you're focused, palming him gently. He makes a few more noises before he shifts and the comforter is torn from your face. You giggle, kissing him over his sweats as he stares down at you with a still half-asleep look, "What're you doin down there darlin?" "Fightin off a hangover. What're you doin up there?" Taking hold of your arms, he drags you up to lay against his chest, "I was sleepin next to the most beautiful girl in the world. That's the best sleep I've ever gotten." Laying your head over his heart, it raps out against your ear gently, "That's good. My head is pounding right now." He pouts, stroking hair off to one shoulder, "M'sorry darlin. I tried to tell ya not to drink so much. But ya didn't  listen. Let's take a shower yeah? Maybe the steam'll help you feel a little better." You nod, standing and letting him climb from his bed, before he swoops in and picks you up with a growl, carrying you to the bathroom. "Holy... shit." You gasp when he sets you on the counter. Turning to the huge glass door shower, he twists the nozzle until water pours from the rainfall shower head. When he turns, a smile breaks out across his face, at your wide eyed, open mouthed look, "What's that for?" You shake your head, blinking a few times to bring back your thoughts, "This bathroom is... ridiculous." He chuckles, starting to unbutton the shirt of his that you're wearing. Glancing down, you try and remember how it got on you, but your brain is fuzzy after the third Negroni he warned you against. He watches you frown, knowing exactly what you're thinking, "I put it on when I brought you here. I could just imagine you being by yourself all drunk and I didn't want to leave you alone. Your..." he pushes the shirt from your shoulders, paying your beautiful body attention, "apartment isn't to my liking so I figured I'd bring you here. We could shower and sleep in a big bed and eat breakfast from a personal chef. You could look around while I do some paperwork today." He boasts as he strips from his clothes, pulling you from the counter to take your underwear off. He smiles down at you, hand at your lower back as you shake your head, "You're ridiculous." He chuckles, "Yeah, well." Pulling you into the shower, he presses his lips against your own, humming as warm water washes over his broad shoulders. Holding his arms, you work your mouth against his, running your fingers up his arms and through his hair. He lifts you, pressing you to the tile wall at your back, drawing back to let you gasp before he goes back, his lips pummeling your own. Digging your nails into his shoulders, he grunts against you, chuckling breathlessly when you chant his name. "Buck." He pulls back, "You don't... you don't want this?" You giggle, clutching onto him harder so he didn'tslip away in insecurity, "God yes...yes, I'd be stupid not to want it but... let's wait a little while longer. Give us somethin to look forward to yeah?" He hums, setting you on your feet. His lips rest against the space between your eyebrows, "That sounds like a good idea." Running your hands up his arms, you reach up for his shampoo, "Can I wash your hair Buck?" He shrugs nonchalantly, but his smile is playful, "Sure." Crumbling to his knees, he kisses your hip and you giggle, squeezing his shampoo into your hands and lathering his hair. He hums quietly, eyes closed and arms bound around your legs. For the first time, he can feel all of his fears and worries diminishing as you scratch at his scalp with skilled digits. Soon enough, you're smoothing soap from his eyes, "You can get up." You mutter through a smile, taking his hands and helping him stand to rinse his hair out. While he does so, you turn and search for a bar of soap or some body wash, finding  an unmarked dark brown bar. He kisses your shoulder blade, letting you wash your torso and legs, "I don't exactly have a razor for you to use." Glancing back at him, you shrug, your lashes fluttering as he kisses the back of your neck, "I don't mind. I shaved before I came and saw you yesterday." He nods, brushing hair aside to kiss more exposed skin. His head is jutted forward when you turn, running the soap across his body. Leaning in, you giggle, a smile blessing his lips as you graze yours across his own. Drawing you into him again, he sighs, "I don't think I've ever felt this relaxed before. I'm like a whole new person with you around." Hokding his forearms, you sigh and nod, "I kinda like this new you. Its sexy." He silently agrees, staring at your lips, inches from his, "Lemme wash your hair pretty doll." Nodding, you turn, waiting until you feel his fingers in your hair to tip your head back. Within a few seconds, he's finished, taking your arm and pulling you back to rinse your hair out. The both of you wash each other with stolen glances and nearly no words said. Only when he offers you a towel does he speak up, "What do you want for breakfast? Anything you want." When you open your mouth, there's a knock at his bedroom door, a frown pulling at Bucky's face. He turns his head to glance in the space the noise built in, pursing his lips. Turning to look at you when it sounds again, he clears his throat, "Think on your answer. I gotta get that." You nod, clutching the towel closer to your chest as he struts away from you. Pulling one of the large, black, French doors open, there's mumbling, your attention only called to when Bucky jostles the door getting closer to whoevers beyond it. Slowly creeping forward, you hear him whisper, "she cannot know." before your phone in your clutch on a chair in the corner rings. Bucky glances back inside before you open up your bag, flashed with Davis's name. A small curse has Bucky turning around completely, doorknob held in his hand as you answer the phone, "M'sorry Jay, I know I was supposed to call you." "Yeah, thank you for that. But uhh... that's not why I called you. What happened... what happened with him?" Frowning, you shake your head, "Nothing why? We went to dinner and I got drunk and slept over. Nothing happened. Why?" Bucky holds a finger up to whoever is beyond the door before taking a step forward, "Doll, who's on the phone?" Holding your own finger up, he reiterates his statement, "Davis, why?" Bucky goes for the phone but you swat him away, waiting for Davis to answer. He sighs on the other end, "Y/N, chief was found murdered this morning. He's been dead about twelve hours. I think they know about you and him." Staring up at Bucky, there's worry etched into his features. But you're not sure if it's because he knows what you're being told or if it's because he knows how you'll react. Davis sighs again, "Can you come in? We need ya. We don't know who it was and... if Stark is locked up, we might be in more danger than we think." There's uncertainty in his voice. Reassuring him you'll come in, you quickly hang up and avoid Bucky's eyes as you find pieces of your clothes, "Darlin-" "Someone knows about us. My chief was murdered and I can't... I can't have this keep happening. If more of the force dies its blood on my hands and I can't have that. I can't-" "Babydoll," Glancing up when Bucky takes your chin in his fingers, his eyes are soft, "I can keep you safe." "And what about my coworkers Barnes? What about the people I care about? They find out about you and me, who says anyone that's in my life is safe?" He draws back like he's been shocked when you call him Barnes. You haven't in days. He thought the two of you were closer than ever. But watching you slide your dress up over your hips, he can feel you growing distant once more. Sliding into your heels, you pick up your clutch and start past Bucky. He doesn't speak or make any moves, just watches you pass out of his peripheral vision. You pause in the door, Steve standing just before it not looking at you. Sighing, you spin on your heels and round Bucky again, taking his face in your hands and dragging him down to you. The moment his lips meet yours, he feels a wave of emotions. He's relieved that you're not pissed and you aren't holding him accountable for what's happened overnight. He's excited that he gets to keep you. But he's also weary of what's to come. He's afraid of the retaliation to come if it comes back he had something, anything to do with the death of a man you've worked with since you joined the force. Pressing your forehead to his, he nods in understanding before you hurriedly walk away from him.                                                      --- The station that once held promise and laughter in your life held a gloomy new signature as clouds loomed over it. It was as if the gods above knew that your captain had been killed and were mourning his death. Walking through the same doors, you found the station quiet. No hustle and bustle like always, the chatter of angry civilians with complaints about their neighbors or exes. No music from Officer Vincetti in the corner who was always crotchety early in the morning until he had coffee and a donut. It wasn't quiet because no one was in. It was because everyone was either in shock, or angry. The moment you stepped foot in your and Davis's office, he stood from his chair, "Bout time you showed up. I was thinkin I was gonna have to have you meet me at the scene." "Yeah, sorry, I had to..." glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one was listening, you glanced back at him, "I had to go home from his place and change and drive here. I did everything as fast as I could." He nodded, "That's fine. Just... we gotta go. I've already gotten my ass chewed out by Nickson. He's pissed they gave the case to us." Grabbing his keys and holding the door open for you, he gives you a halfhearted smile, following you through the station. A few of the officers look to you, a few courteous smiles pulling at their lips, a scowl on a few others. You avoid their eyes, following Davis to the parking structure. When you climb in the passenger seat and the both of you are enclosed in the car, he sighs, "Are you sure Barnes was with you all night?" "Davis, he's been dead twelve hours, I was buzzed and we were still at dinner twelve hours ago. Yes... yes he was with me." Davis swallows, "I just want you to know what you're getting into. I don't want you to get hurt or be used against your job because of him." "He's not like that Jared." Checking both ways before pulling out onto the street, he sighs again, "I definitely hope so," Glancing at you, you can see the uncertainty and fear swimming in them, "for your sake." The rest of the ride is silent, the quiet, steady chime of the petty crime continuously happening without falter since the chief's death. Pulling up a few feet from the yellow caution tape, Davis puts the car in park before  glancing at you, "We're in this together. I don't know what it looks like either." You nod, sliding your hand across the center console and into his, "I know J. I know. But... let's not let our emotions cloud anything okay? It's a job. We can't show that we knew him okay?" He nods back, squeezing your fingers. Giving a tight lipped smile, he drug his NYPD windbreaker from the backseat, checking that he had gloves in the pocket before opening the door. Climbing from the car, you followed suit, buttoning the jacket up. "What do we got?" Davis asked, ducking under the crime scene tape. A young, crime scene investigator looked up from his crouched position. He glanced at the coroner across from him to speak first. Standing straight, he did, handing Davis a small evidence bag with the single bullet inside. "COD is a single gunshot wound to the head. Nine millimeter bullet. Point blank range. Whoever did it was standing just beside him." "There's a significant amount of gunpowder residue across the left temple. He was having a conversation with this person. Whoever did this, had information the police chief wanted. Any idea who it coulda been?" Looking over the evidence bag in his hand, Davis's jaw clenches, "We would if we hadn't locked Tony Stark up. It's most likely someone in the mob sidea town. But... unfortunately we've hit a wall. Stark's locked up which means someone else is still out there." "What about James Barnes?" Davis's eyes cut to you for just a moment before he licks his lips and opens his mouth, "From what we've seen of Barnes's gun, the ammo doesn't match. Barnes owns a Magnum revolver. That's got .357 caliber ammo. It doesn't match. He was a suspect up until you mentioned ammo." All three men look to you as you speak up, Davis's mouth still held open. It snaps shut as the CSI speaks again, "But he's got a number of men behind him. None of them have the same gun? He's the only mob boss still out there." You and Davis look to each other, "From what we've learned about Barnes, he does things himself. He doesn't like to assign his men to do things for him if it's important. This  would spill over into this. If it's his business in jeopardy, he's not gonna take it lightly. He's gonna wanna make sure that no matter what, he knows for a fact that the chief is dead. It's not gonna be taken as a joking matter." The three of you nod as Davis states his thoughts. Walking forward, he crouches beside the chief's body, glancing down into the cloudy eyes of the man that swore both you and him, as well as dozens of other men and women into the force. He swallows back the lump in his throat as he analyzes the bruising in his face as his blood rushed to the front of his body as he died. "Is there any sign of multiple suspects?" The CSI shakes his head, "Two sets of footprints. The chief's and the suspects. Just one." Davis nods, looking to the gunshot wound, "Blood is significant to him being dead on impact. There was no suffering." Davis muttered. The coroner scoffed, "He had a bullet lodged into his brain point blank. He was shot, hit the ground and didn't come back up." "Bruises on the knees?" Davis quickly implied. The coroner shrugged, "We were waitin for you. Don't really know what else he's got." "So you assumed the COD is gunshot." "What else would it be agent?" Standing, you can see the look in Davis's eye. Turning to the CSI, you speak up, "His vehicle. It's still here?" He nods down at you, "Around the back of the building. It's dead now. It was running when the call came in but the battery's done." Nodding, you reach out for Davis, "Come on. we'll go look." He doesn't nod, but his eyes follow the coroner as he walks towards you, leading you back around the building, "What did I tell you about turning your feelings off? If he feels threatened enough to report you, we're both off the case." "He thinks it's a joke Y/N. He fucking laughed about it. I was just trying to infer and he thought it was funny." "He's doing his job. He sees more bodies than you and I will ever. It's a job to him and that's that. There's nothing more to it. He doesn't have that emotional connection. You can't give him anything." Turning to look at you, you can see the tears in his eyes, threatening to spill, "I can't do this. I can't do this case Y/N. Seeing him like that. I can't." Opening your arms and taking a step forward as you click your tongue, he crumbles into you, your arms bound tight around his shoulders, "I know. I know how much it hurts. I feel it too. I didn't know him as well as you did but... I can feel it too Jare. We just gotta power through." Stroking your fingers through the close cut hair at the nape of his neck, he sniffles, his arms tight around your body. Catching a glimpse of black out of the corner of your eye, you draw back, those signature blue eyes and black suit meeting you. "Bucky?" He nods as you glance behind you to make sure no one else can see him, "what're you doing here? You can't be here." You rush forward, Davis on your heels, pushing Bucky against the back of the warehouse. Bucky holds his arms up as he lands back against the wall with a thud. The three of you stare at each other for a moment, Bucky and Davis's eyes locked as they stand at full attention, fully ready to throw you behind them in the event the other snaps first. Taking hold of Bucky's face, you draw his eyes back to yours, "Why are you here Bucky?" His eyes dart up to Davis's after taking a look at your lips, "I came... I came to help. I want to help you both." "They think you're a suspect right now. You can't be of help." Davis snaps. "I know that. But... I want to help anyway that I can. Literally anything." Glancing up at Davis, you swallow, "How about... how about we meet you at the club tonight? We need to rule you out and we can only do that if we know none of your men had the gun our bullet came from." Glancing at the bag in Davis'shand, he juts his chin out towards it, "Can I see?" Davis doesn't blink, doesn't move, just stares right at Bucky's face, "Jare, it's okay. He can see it. Let him." Finally blinking, Davis swallows before holding the bag up. Bucky takes it, looking it over, "Nine mil. This could be any number of guns I know about. But only two of my men have guns that take nine mil. One of em has a CZ P-10 C and the others got a Colt 1911 Combat Elite Commander. The one with the CZ is on a leave. His wife just had a baby. The other was at my place last night. He always is. He's new. You can come down to the club tonight and I'll bring all of em in and lay their guns out, but I seriously don't think you'll find that any of my men did it." Davis nodded along, his eyes never leaving Bucky's face despite Buck's blues darting between you and him. "Just gotta rule it out." Bucky nodded, his eyes landing on Davis, "By all means. I said I wanted to help." Davis clenches his jaw and nods, "Yeah... I heard you." Turning to look at you, Davis sighs, "Get rid of him. I'll be at the car." You nod, watching him walk away before turning back to Bucky. His own jaw clenches, "What was..." gesturing to where you and Davis stood a minute before, he looked back to you, "what was all that?" You tsked, "Bucky he's struggling. That man mentored him. He swore all of us in and now he's just gone. He was like a second father to him and he's back there, laying in a pool of his own blood, dead. And as far as he's concerned, you had something to do with it. He doesn't trust you and he's scared of losing me." Stepping forward, Bucky gathered your face in his hands, "I am too. Babe... I'm scared to lose you too. I'm offering help because I care about you. I care about how you feel. The way you looked at me this morning when you found out your chief was dead broke me. I... I just want you to be happy and as far as he goes, if he hates me that's on him." Holding back a giggle, you walk into his arms, wrapping your own around his middle, "You hate him too though. The feeling is quite mutual. He's just hesitant because he can't lose anyone else." Bucky binds his arms around you, resting his hands at the middle of your back, "You're not goin anywhere. Not on my watch." Closing your eyes, you sigh, melting into his touch as he rests his chin over the top of your head. He sighs, "You gonna wear that pretty little number like the first night in my bar?" You giggle, slapping his shoulder blade gently, "Why would you wanna see that if there's a chance I have somethin better?" Bucky scoffs, "You're really just lookin to get yourself bent over the desk then huh?" You giggle again, standing back from him. You lick your lips and press your hand to his chest, "You need to get lost. Someone finds out you're here, you're gettin cuffed." He nods, licking his lips. He's at war, wondering if he can lean in and kiss you. He wants to so bad but he doesn't know the boundary. You decide for him, spinning and walking towards Davis the stale perfume still on you from the night before wafting back at him. As forbidden as your love is, Bucky is grateful for you. He'd deny it, but he would be more than willing to go into the Witness Protection Program for you if you wanted. All you had to do was ask.

"Do you... think you're rushing into things?" Davis asks, the question almost exactly like the one he asked the other day when you discovered Lilith in Bucky's office. Shifting a rock in the gravel beneath him with the toe of his boot, Davis looks up, forrest colored eyes searching your own for any non-verbal answer. You shrug, pulling new gloves on. Opening the back door to the police station issued Escalade, you lean in on the leather seat,

"I dunno J. But... you do... huh?" He shrugs as he leans into the driver's seat, sorting through the papers and items in the cup holder before clicking the 'on' button on the built in computer,

"I don't know either. He seems to really like you. And... if you're okay with it... I guess I don't see a problem." He shakes his head, eyes locked in the lit up screen. Pulling the tiny flashlight from your belt, you search the nearly perfect, detailed backseat where a fugitive would sit, handcuffed if the chief had tried to bring one in. Davis looks around the dash in front of him, cocking his head when he realizes the headlight knob is turned to on. He turns it back before searching the key in the ignition out. The SUV sputters in an attempt to jump back to life, but the clicks grow futile as the juice left in the battery is depleted,

"Lights were on. Thing's dead. Why, if you were meeting someone, would you leave the car practically on unless you were forced out of it?"

"You know what, that just disproves that he was held at gunpoint to get out. You wouldn't cut the engine, but leave the lights on unless you were under pressure. You don't want anyone to hear the car, or you to run out of gas, be stranded out here and have to explain yourself out of that one, but you're nervous enough to forget to turn your lights off." Davis nods along, chewing at the inside of his cheek,

"So you're thinkin he felt threatened, but not enough to assume he would make it out alive?" You shrug and nod, glancing over as the computer comes back to life. Focusing back on the seats before you. A question that plagues you about Bucky strikes you and you look up, mouth open until you see Davis's face,

"What? What's the matter?" He cocks his head, leaning against the base of the steering wheel to look at you,

"Now why the hell would he be lookin at Stark if he's behind bars and that paperwork is sittin on his desk?" Looking at you, his face is serious. He looks between your eyes, watching you swallow,

"I brought him that file myself. Told him you should be rewarded for working your ass off to bring this motherfucker in. He knew Stark was in cuffs. So why would you be lookin into the file?"

"You think he's workin with someone? Another crooked cop?" He stares down at the computer again, no words said. When his jaw clenches, you sigh, leaning in towards them,

"J... you knew him on a work basis. There's no saying if he was or wasn't a bad guy-"

"Y/N-"

"No-"

"Y/N! Look, I get that you think that this pep talk is gonna change my mind and all and I'm just gonna agree with you but... I went out for drinks with this man. I've been OUT with him. He's not who you think he is. He's not... he wasn't a crook. Same way you aren't. Just cause you both are involved in this shit show that is the Barnes vs. Stark fight doesn't mean you're bad people." He mumbles, sighing out. You stand in silence, Davis doing the same. He huffs,

"I didn't mean to yell at you."

"No... I get it. I really do. You're... you're right. But what logical reason can you think of for looking into Stark. It says he's in prison." Davis shrugs,

"Maybe he was just finishin up that paperwork. Who knows?" Standing straight from the vehicle, he rounds it once to inspect before pausing before you,

"Nothin. I got nothin." You nod, watching him pull his gloves off and scratch at his hairline. He looks out at the sea, taking a deep breath. Placing his hands on his hips, his jaw clenches again and he licks his lips before reaching up to rub his eyes with his index finger and thumb on his right hand. Closing both doors to the Escalade, you walk towards the redhead, tucking your flashlight away and taking your own gloves off. Shoving them in your pocket, you run your hand down his arm to his hand,

"How 'bout I drive? We can stop by your house and get you an outfit for tonight before we go back to my place and get ready." He hums, eyes lingering on the ground for a moment longer before he looks up, cocky smirk on his lips as he tucks a hand in his pocket and squeezes your hand,

"You want your oaf of a man to come for my throat?" You tut, a faint smile if your own playing on your lips,

"He won't touch you."

"Why cause he'll be touchin you?"

"Jared!" You squeal, a snicker slipping past his lips. He releases your hand,

"Not like you wouldn't let him. You've already done it before."

"Not... that."

"No, but you've done sexual stuff before. Its leading up to it Y/N." Leading you towards the precinct car you arrived in, he glances down at the coroner who's partner has arrived. He rolls his eyes which makes you giggle into your palm quietly. His eyes linger on the sleek black body bag they've settled the chief in. Despite his averted eyes, you know that the look in them is agonizing, all the memories of him and the chief flooding back. You know that a lump is in Davis's throat, and his eyes are starting to water as he stares down at where the man you both look up to lays, dead and abandoned as if he was a nobody, someone expendable to whoever murdered him. You reach out and rub his arms,

"Come on. We gotta get goin." He swallows, finally blinking at the disruption. He nods before clearing his throat and walking towards the car. When he climbs in the passenger seat, offering up the keys, his eyes dart around the scenery in front of you,

"You sure I shouldn't meet you at the bar? I mean... if he ends up talking you into coming home with him, what am I supposed to do?" You smile, the car humming to life beneath the both of you,

"One, I stayed at his place last night, drunk off my ass and we're in an open investigation. I don't have time to stay with him, have my own, personal time with him yet, so I won't be staying tonight, and two, IF I WERE, I'd give you my keys so you could drive my car. You could... take it back to your place and get it back to me at a later time." He smiles, head snapping in a quick jolt to look into your eyes,

"Okay slick, you're my ridin buddy. But don't leave me alone with him. One of us will end up dead." You smile back, putting the car in reverse to drive from the end of the alleyway,

"Yes sir." He chuckles, leaning in on his hand, elbow leant into the joint of the window and door, watching the traffic and wondering what to wear to look at least decent beside you.

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[babbushka]

Blue Moon (5/?)

New York, 1987. The air was filled with smog and the streets were ridden with crime. Just another day in paradise. Your quiet life turns upside down when a striking man moves in across from you. You’re falling, fast, into a love that could never, ever, happen…or could it?

Pale x Reader

(Could be interpreted as modern!au Kylo Ren/Reader for those who don't know who Pale is, but really this is Pale from Burn This!)

Word Count: 7200 (I know it’s a bit shorter, my apologies, school kicked my ass over midterms lol)

Warnings: N*FW content! (Language, mentions of drug use, explicit content), Violence (graphic depictions of violence [not against reader])

Also on AO3! 

Chapter 5: Presents

He didn’t know what to do with himself, didn’t know how to stop shaking like he was.

He wanted to yell, he wanted to scream. He had you in his arms and felt sane for the first time in a long time, but like he was going crazy too. Was it always like this? There was somethin’ wrong with him – he had to go to the fuckin’ doctor, ask the doc why his heart was beatin’ so fuckin’ fast, ask him why –

“You’re back.” You sighed, and everything stopped, and you were holding him tight, and everything was okay.

“I told you I would be.” Pale said, not trusting his voice but talking anyway. It sounded raw and hoarse, like he’d been yelling – of course he’d been yelling. He’d been yelling for all of two fucking weeks.

“You smell like the ocean.” You said, taking in deep breaths, big deep breaths like you were trying not to cry.

Wouldn’t that’ve been somethin’? Someone crying happy tears over him.

“I haven’t fuckin’ washed these clothes, didn’t expect to be gone longer than I was.” He grumbled, and you looked up at him, smiled at him so big he could see all your teeth.

“I missed you.” You were plastered to him, wearing nothin but a pair of panties and his jacket – so you had found his jacket.

Did you find the other shit he left you? The money and the food? You looked like you were tired, like something bummed you out. Maybe you meant it, what you said. Maybe maybe maybe – he hoped you meant it.

“Yeah I bet you did.” He said, giving you a smile of his own, a certified grade-A smile.

“Kiss me?” You asked, and it was like any ounce of restraint he had had vanished.

He ripped – literally fuckin’ ripped – your panties off, pushed the jacket off your arms until it was a sad leather heap on the floor, and kissed you.

He was on you in an instant, held your upper-arms in a death grip. He wondered if you could feel his hands shaking, if you could tell they were bruising you from the strength of him. He crushed you against him, kissing you, biting at your lips, feral almost.

He felt cagey the whole fucking time he was down in Miami – a fuckin’ circus animal pacing his cage, too much pent up frustration to even fucking think straight.

“God I’m gonna fuck you so hard, I didn’t even so much as jerk off the whole fuckin’ time I was down there – can you fuckin’ believe that?” He bared his teeth at you.

You kissed him, sucked gross wet kisses onto his lips, his chin, his cheek. Licked into his mouth and walked backwards to the bed, god he had missed your bed, your shitty bed that was way too fuckin’ small but somehow just right all at once.

“You’re here now, you got me to fuck now.” You said, breathing in sharp little breaths when he gripped you too tight, pushed you onto the bed and crawled over your body.

He tweaked one of your nipples hard, made you make a face at him. He did it again, you smiled. Fuck, that smile did something to him.

“Yeah that’s right, my whore waitin’ for me – god you’re fuckin’ beautiful.” He couldn’t help but say, prying your mouth open, shoving his fingers there getting them wet.

“Are you high?” You asked, sounding funny with his hand in your mouth, all muffled.

“Yeah yeah yeah I’m high. You’d be too if you had to deal with those fuckin’ people. I don’t like planes. I don’t like the fucking turbulence or whatever the hell they tell you it is when the giant metal death trap in the sky starts rattling. So what if I’m high? Let me taste you.” He licked his lips, gathered up your spit and smeared it between his fingers, before pushing them into you.

“Pale – !” You said, a bit of a laugh to your voice, like you had been waitin’ for this for a long fucking time. Well, so was he.

“I ain’t fuckin’ had a bite of you in two fucking weeks, I’m starving over here.” He said, and you nodded, kissed him, pushed his shoulders down and spread your legs for him – fuck he loved it when you spread your legs.

He made out with your cunt, drank you down like he had never had a drop to fucking drink before. He buried his nose right between your folds, so it nudged at your clit when he worried his teeth at you. He was getting drunk off the noises you made, the little fucking whimpers and gasps, like you hadn’t been fucked in years and years and years.

Your hips kept moving, kept pushing onto him, and he almost wanted to smile, too hungry to bother. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, yanked you down to the edge of the bed where he could kneel and get proper leverage. He was so much fucking stronger than you, it made him dizzy, made him dizzy that you wanted him, wanted him to fuck you – to eat you out, to make you feel good – he was drunk he was high he was on fire.

He spared a glance to look up, but all he saw were your perfect fucking tits. You must’ve thrown your head back, and he did smile then.

You didn’t give him a warning before you came, he could just feel it, feel the way your thighs clenched down around his head, how you cried out. He tasted your come on his tongue, sucked it down and rolled your clit until it was too much and you arched your back off the bed.                                  

He pulled back, grabbed at the flesh of your thigh, bit a hard mark there.

“You ready for me? Huh? You slut.” He asked, wiping his mouth on your stomach, making his way up your body.

He took your hands and pulled them to his belt, you quickly got the memo and undid his belt and popped the button of his trousers off, unzipped him.

“Yeah, please, give it to me, I missed it – I need it.” You said, reaching inside his pants and stroking at his cock.

“What do you need?” He panted, already dying for you, for the feeling of your now pleasantly stretched pussy swallowing his cock.

“Your big dick, please, I’m starving too.” You said, looking up at him with big eyes.

He wanted to set something on fire for you, the way you looked at him.

“We got a lot of fucking time to make up, don’t we sweetheart?” He grabbed at your jaw, and you smiled and re-settled yourself further up the bed, bringing him with you.

“Fuck.” He groaned, pushing into your wet heat for the first time after so long of not having you.

He understood now, why there were people addicted to sex, sex addicts. He got it, got it completely when he fucked you, thrust into you hard, drew those noises out of your pretty fucking mouth – he could drown in those noises.

He hiked your leg up, there were so many positions he wanted to try with you, but fuck he liked you on your back – liked the way you took him so well.

“Say my name, say my fucking name you slut.” He pushed into you harder, fucked you so hard the headboard was slamming into the wall, he was gonna fucking break it, he was gonna break the fucking wall and the headboard and he wouldn’t stop fucking you even if he did.

“Pale! Pale please, you’re so good, fuck, Pale!” You grabbed at him, your hands were all over him, in his hair digging into his back and shoulders.

He pressed a hand against your neck, covered your mouth with his own and breathed into you, breathed in your air until you were both dizzy. He spit into your mouth, right on your tongue, and you swallowed it – because of course you did.

“That’s right, god – you’re mine, ain’t that right?” The headboard slammed and slammed into the wall, solid fucking wood meeting concrete.

“I’m yours, only yours – fuck Pale!” You shouted, loud loud loud, tears in your eyes kind of loud.

You reached down for a second, but he snatched your wrist and bit down on your hand, pinned it above you.

“No – you get to come on my cock or not at all, you got that whore?” He wanted you to come just from this, just from his dick fucking into you, just from the force of him.

“Okayokayokay.” You nodded, crying – so wet, slippery all over, sweating crying, coming, and coming and coming and coming.

“I’m – fuck I’m going to come.” He had wanted to last, but it was too much, so much all at once, you felt too good, he could feel you coming around him.

“Do it, please, come in me, Pale.” You nodded encouragingly, hands flexing from where he had it pinned.

“Fuck – !” Pale said, shoving so far up into you that he pushed you up the bed with the force of it.

He came and he saw stars and fireworks, and there was all this fucking applause inside his head –

…Until he wasn’t so sure it just in his brain, and he wasn’t so sure the fireworks weren’t real, and he was confused and exhausted and the coke had worn off and he didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked you, panting into your tits, just wanting to feel his skin on yours. He was too hot, sweating in his clothes.

“It’s New Year’s eve.” You said, breathing hard just the same, your eyes glazed over and a satisfied smile dancing on your lips.

He experimentally thrust his hips slowly, starting to go soft but wanting to shove all his come deep inside you, smiling at you when you hissed at the oversensitivity of it.

He pulled out, discarded the rest of his clothes, threw them right on the fucking floor, not giving a shit about the pleats in his pants.

You reached for him, and something in his chest hitched, the way you reached for him.

He laid down next to you, pulled you too close, too tight to him, but you were like putty in his arms, still pliant and so so fucking warm.

He was exhausted, the stress, the flight, the fucking – all of it.

Out of the window you both watched the fireworks, a calm coming over Pale that he hadn’t felt in a long fucking time.

He’d deal with that later.

For now, he wrapped an arm around your waist, his chest pressing into your back, and watched the fireworks.

“Happy new year, (Y/N).” He whispered when he could feel his eyes growing heavy.

You turned around to face him, shuffled as close as you could, and kissed him sweetly, too sweet, sweeter than he fucking deserved. You gently nuzzled your nose against his, pressed a kiss to his cheek. Sweet, sweet, sweet.

“Happy new year, Pale.” You whispered back, and it was, for the first fucking time – it was.

He stayed the night again, couldn’t bear to leave you yet, not after just fucking getting back. Not yet. He’d stay. This wouldn’t become regular, he told himself as he blinked awake, he wouldn’t get used to this, but for now he’d stay.

You were still asleep.

He liked the way you looked when you were asleep.

It wasn’t peaceful exactly, and that troubled him, but fucking everything troubled him, so he didn’t read too much into it. If something happened, you’d tell him about it.

He missed you. Fuck what a sentimental thing to think, he thought, but he missed you.

His hand felt strange, naked without his ring. He felt naked, like he was lying. He was a liar. But he wasn’t really, not if you really think about it. Or so he tells himself.

It was too early, always too early and Pale was awake.

So he watched you.

Watched the way you puffed breath out of your lips onto his chest, watched how your nose twitched and your fingers clenched every now and again. He wondered what the fuck you were dreaming about, if you remembered your dreams. He hadn’t had a dream in a long time. Maybe he’d ask you when you woke up.

He had his arms around you, smiled at that. See? He’d say, see it’s fuckin’ natural, you bein’ in my arms. Don’t even need to be awake to know that’s where you fuckin’ belong.

He’d say that, maybe.

Maybe he did say it, out loud.

It was too quiet, too hard to tell.

It didn’t matter, you weren’t awake to hear it anyway.

“I’m gonna take you to central park.” He whispered, “I’m gonna rent us a fuckin’ rowboat and kiss you on the fucking lake. It’ll be like a post-card. You’d like that, huh?”

You didn’t answer – of course you didn’t, you were asleep.

Why the fuck would you answer?

He waited a minute for you to answer anyway.

“I used to collect post-cards as a kid, we didn’t travel much though, it wasn’t a very good fuckin’ collection. I almost sent you one from Miami – what a fucking nightmare of a trip that was.” He whispered, talking to you, wondering if somewhere deep down in dream-land you could hear him.

You just breathed, in and out, drooled on his chest.

“You got me, you know that? You got me real fuckin’ good. I think I’m dying sometimes, when I think about you.” He frowned, not liking how that sounded, “Not in a fuckin’ bad way or nothing. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. This ain’t bad, you ain’t bad. You’re too good. Too good for me, too good for your own good.”

In and out, in and out.

“Sometimes you make me feel like I’m losin’ it. Maybe I am fuckin’ losing it. I don’t know. You make me jumpy, I’m always fuckin’ thinking about you. I’d do anything you want, you know that? Any fucking thing. I’d kill someone for you, no fuckin’ joke. That’s how good you got me.”

He stared out your window, stared at his own, cold apartment.

“You know I didn’t even check my place yet?” He whispered, “I came straight here. Fucking threatened a guy with a tire iron for a parking spot, that’s how fucked you got me. I had to see you, and now look at you, you’re asleep.”

He didn’t need to look back at you to know you were still asleep, so he kept staring out your window.

 He stared until the sun came up.

 Stared until you stirred in his arms, and then he blinked, and suddenly the room was filled with golden light, like he had missed the part where it was all fuckin’ bright and pink and pretty, that’s how long he’d been staring.

“Pale?” You beamed up at him, and he found he didn’t miss the sunrise so much.

“The one and only.” He said softly, getting that starstruck fuckin’ feeling again.

You hummed a sleepy laugh, started stretching out on top of him, easing out the sleep from the muscles in your legs, your arms.

You couldn’t get very far, he was holding you too tight. He didn’t want to let you go get, not yet.

He could feel the heat of your cunt from where it pressed against his thigh, let one of his hands roam on over, slip into you.

“Mmm.” You sighed, your eyes closing again, licking your lips as he stroked your pussy.

“Just stay relaxed for me, would ya?” He asked, sliding out from under you.

You buried your face into his pillow, took in big breaths, getting the smell of him. He moved behind you, kneaded your ass in his hands.

His cock was hard, like it always fucking was when you were around, and you were so hot from sleeping that it was practically fucking drooling all over you, begging for you. He didn’t even bother denying it, he lifted your hips and held them as he thrust into you, making you make little gasps from over on the pillow.

Your cunt made the most obscene noises, even more so when he spit onto his dick and fucked it into you, making the drag easier.

“Pale.” You sighed, tucked your calves under you to prop yourself up better for him.

“Fuck, (Y/N).” He mumbled, pushing his hips right up against you, holding you there, holding your ass right in his fucking hands at seven-thirty in the fucking morning.

He was glad he told Jerry he’d not be back for another fucking day or two, glad he didn’t have to stop fucking you.

He fucked you like that, not nearly as hard as he was gonna after breakfast, but hard enough to get you coming all over your bedsheets, hard enough to come in you.

He pulled out, fed his come back into you, pushed it all right back into that fucking cunt of yours. He patted your ass, he was fucking thirsty.

“Good morning.” You grinned at him, blissed out.

“Nine-teen-eighty-fuckin’-eight.” He whistled low, caged you in his arms, hovered over you.

“A whole ‘nother year, can you believe it?” You asked, reaching up to kiss him. You tasted sour, but he didn’t mind, he kissed you back.

“No.” He said, making you smile. He rolled off, stretched his back and his arms, “We gotta use the bathroom, come on.”

“Will you make breakfast?” You asked, lookin’ real fuckin’ pretty with your nipples out and perky like that.

He just had to lean over and kiss at your tits, who the fuck could blame him?

“What kind of rhetorical fuckin’ question is that, of course I’m making breakfast. But you don’t want to fuckin’ sit at the table covered in dried sweat and come, it’ll itch.” He said.

“It’s already itchin’.” You laughed, and he smacked your thigh lightly.

“See?” He pulled you up, you held onto his hand on your way to the bathroom.

He tried not to think about that feeling in his chest.

“It’s really incon-fucking-venient you don’t have a shower, you know that?” He frowned, wrinkled up his nose at the thought of getting into an entire bath.

He had forgotten for a fucking second, that you didn’t have a shower.

“Yeah I know.” You smiled, settling into the hot water.

You didn’t bother with bubbles, this wasn’t a long fuckin’ soak, this was a scrub-down, and he could at least appreciate that. He climbed in after you, settled behind you, washed your back.

You felt kind of distant, it made him anxious.

“You okay?” He asked, real serious. He could be serious, he was always fuckin’ serious.

“Yeah, I’m okay, promise.” You said taking his hand, his left hand, kissing the knuckles there, not sayin’ nothing about the ring, or lack there of. “Just thinkin’, is all.”

“Thinkin’ about what?” He prompted, letting you hold and kiss his hand.

“Lots of things. I got you something for the holidays.” You smiled at him.

“Why the fuck’d you do that?” He frowned back, making you smile even bigger.

“Because I felt like it. It ain’t nothing big, don’t worry.” You let go of his hand, but he just grabbed yours anyway, his turn to kiss at you.

“I got you something too.” He said, and you rolled your eyes, he could practically hear you callin’ him a fuckin’ hypocrite.

“We can have a good ol’ fashioned exchange.” You hummed happily.

“After breakfast?” He asked, with a raised eyebrow. He needed to go down to his fucking car and get everything for you, it was a lot of stuff.

“Yeah, what’re you making?” You asked, and he splashed you with some water, trying to wipe the smug grin off your face.

It didn’t work.

He didn’t mind.

 The two of you stayed in the tub until you were clean and impatient, toweled off and shrugged into clean underwear. Pale tugged a wife-beater on, briefs and a pair of socks, it was fuckin’ cold in your kitchen. You were wearing one of his shirts, and he had to kiss you for it, just fucking had to.

“You like tea?” He asked against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth before going on a hunt in the cabinets for a kettle.

“I don’t drink it that much, not as much as coffee.” You said, and he liked that about you, liked that you were honest like that. “But yeah, I like it.”

“It’s calm, you know? Good to start the year off with calm.” He said, all sorts of shit clanging around in the cabinets as he pulled out one of those old-fashioned-whistle-on-the-stove kinds of kettles.  

“You started the year off with come.” You said, a big cheesy smile on your face.

“You think you’re real fuckin’ funny, don’t you?” He asked, fighting a smile of his own.

“You’re laughing, ain’t ya?” You asked, and fuck, he did let out one then.

“Come here and put that mouth to good use.” He said, putting the kettle on the stove.

It was gonna need some time to heat up anyway, and you looked too good sitting in his fucking shirt like that.

He was thinkin’ you were gonna just come over and kiss him, so when you sank down to your knees and rubbed your face all over the front of his fuckin’ briefs, he had to almost steel himself against the counter with how hard he got so fucking fast.

Looking up at him, you tugged his underwear down his thighs, wasting no time at all sucking him off.

You were an actual fucking angel, he decided, right then and there. An angel with a tongue sent straight from Heaven.

He took a fistful of your hand and held your head in place, but you weren’t in any hurry or nothin’, sucking his dick and drooling all over yourself.

“I’m gonna fuck your throat.” He announced, and you hummed around him, opened your throat for him, stuck your tongue out for him.

He thrust lazily into your throat, wished he could see the way it looked bulging out your neck as he did, but the way your eyes shut and the corner of your mouth lifted was good enough for him – it was more than fucking good enough.

He fucked your mouth until he was close to coming, and then backed off, letting you suck and suck and lick and kiss his cock and his balls and scratch at his thighs until he was there, painting your smiling mouth and cheeks.

The kettle whistled, startling you.

“Tea time?” You asked, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” he replied, dazed, “Tea time.”

  He kept you in bed all fucking day, fucked you for most of it.

He just couldn’t get enough of you – didn’t want to. He’d never ever fucking get tired of this, get used to it, the feeling of your skin on his, the faces you made for him and the noises he ripped out of your throat.

You were so loud for him, doing all the right fucking things that drove him wild – you drove him wild, did you know that? Did you know? He didn’t know, he was balls-deep and he didn’t fucking know anything.  

He was fucking you when there was a pounding on the front door, kept fucking you still, thinking it was just the headboard – how’d you not put a fucking hole in the wall yet?

The banging didn’t stop, but it was clearly aggravating you just as much as it was him, so he slowed his hips enough – not all the fucking way, but enough – to try and pay attention.

“What the fuck is that?” He asked, looking down at you.

You were covering your face, mortified.

“Oh my god, Pale – I think that’s the neighbor.” You said, trying not to burst into a fit of embarrassed laughter.

“Neighbor?” Pale asked, and then he laughed, making you laugh then, freely.

He swore he never fucking laughed this much during sex – wasn’t so sure he hadn’t laughed this much ever.

“Yeah, Eric, he normally works day shifts, I guess he’s home for the holiday.” You burned, the mood practically destroyed with each fuckin’ bang on the front door.

“Fuck this – ” He sucked his teeth, pulling out of you cold turkey and rummaging around the floor for his briefs.

“Pale!” You gasped, watching him storm out the room.

He heard you yank the sheet off the bed, saw you wrap it around yourself through his peripheral vision as he made his way to the pounding front fuckin’ door.

He yanked it open, coming face to face with a pasty brown-haired guy that was maybe half Pale’s fuckin’ size.

The guy, Eric, immediately gulped, clearly not expecting him.

“Hey man, I’m glad you two are having a good fuckin’ time over here but you gotta knock it the fuck off, it’s one in the afternoon. We’re trying to have lunch.” Poor fuckin’ guy tried to stand his ground.

Unlucky for him, Pale didn’t like that attitude too much.

“What the fuck you say to me?” He asked, clenching his jaw.

Eric must have just fuckin’ noticed the state of things, and awkwardly looked away – served him right, bastard coming over to ruin the fuckin’ party.

“Jesus could you put some clothes on?” He asked, and Pale glared.

“Listen pal, go back to your fuckin’ apartment before I make you regret this little fuckin’ interruption.” He said, tall and unmoving as a fucking mountain. “Me and (Y/N) were having a real nice time before you decided to get off your flat ass and walk over to our door and bang on it like you were some fuckin’ fireman checking for a heads-up. You ever heard of ringing the fuckin’ doorbell? You tellin’ me you’re so fuckin’ uncivilized that not only do you gotta interrupt a man fucking his woman, but you don’t even have the decency to ring the doorbell?”

“I don’t mean no fuckin’ trouble, it’s just embarrassing hearing all the fuckin’ yelling.” Eric said, blushin’ real bright.

“You got a girl?” Pale clicked his tongue, growing impatient.

“What?” Eric asked, dumb.

“What?’ A wife, a girlfriend, a fucking fuck buddy?” He snapped.

“Yeah I got a wife.” Eric gulped.

“Then why the fuck are you standing here instead of eatin’ her pussy, huh?” He asked, and you groaned.

“Pale, oh my god.” You covered your face, had to leave the room you were gonna start laughing so fucking hard.

Pale wasn’t laughing. He was pissed he wasn’t coming all over your tits right now.

“Maybe if you made your old lady yell half as loud, we wouldn’t fuckin’ be here, huh?” He sneered at Eric, before slamming the door in his face.

“Pale! You’re gonna get me evicted I swear to god.” You shook your head from the living room.

“Yeah? So what, you’re too good for this fucking place anyway.” He sucked his teeth, tugged your hand and walked into the bedroom. “Come on, we’re gonna have a little fun…”

 Soon he was fucking you harder and faster than he had, making a real big show of it, making you shout and yell and slamming the fucking headboard against the wall, pounding against the concrete with his fucking fists.

“Fuck! God you’re so fucking good.” He panted, holding your jaw and licking your teeth.

“Oh – oh!” You could barely get any words out, that’s how fucking hard he was ramming his cock into you.

“Say my name, you whore, come on say it!” He couldn’t keep his own grunts and groans quiet, the effort from fucking you alone had his throat raw.

“Pale! You’re so fucking good – I’m your whore, yours Pale.” You shouted, an angel an angel an angel, all for him, his fucking whore, his girl, his his his.

“You fuckin’ hear that? You hear that 5-A? You fucking hear that 5-B? 5-D?” He shouted, the veins in his fucking neck popping from the volume of it.

“Pale you’re going to get the cops called on us.” You laughed, burying your face into his neck, moaning high and loud as he railed you.

“So what, let them come, I’ll fuck you right in front of them.” He sneered, eyes lighting up when he felt you clench real fuckin’ hard around him. “Oh, you like that? Dirty girl, you like giving shows, that’s right, that’s fuckin’ right, isn’t it?”

“Fuck.” You blushed, and fuckin’ bingo.

“Maybe I’ll invite them over, make em watch as I fuck you right in front of them, spread your fucking pussy for them – they can look but they can’t fucking touch, ain’t that right?” He was sweating, always so fucking sweaty, he bit down on your jaw.

“Yeah, only you Pale.” You nodded, before another loud cry slipped outta your lips, making him smirk.

“God you’re so fucking sexy, you know that? Perfect fucking slut, fuck.” He couldn’t look at you without coming right on the fucking spot, wanted to make sure you got to first, had to warn you “I’m gonna come in you and you’re gonna fuckin’ thank me for it, you got that?”

“I got it – Pale, let me come? Please?” You begged, sounded so fuckin’ pretty when you begged.

“Say it louder honey.” He said, and you smiled, smiled so wide for him.

“Can I come? Please let me come.” You yelled, breaking into a laugh that he muffled with a hand over your mouth.

“Go ahead.” He grunted, grinding into you hard and fast, and you came

“Fuck – ”

“Oh shit.” He came with you, and he slapped his fucking hand against the wall one last time before his muscles shook from the thrill of the whole fucking thing, and he fell down on top of you, the two of you breathing real hard.

“Thank you, thank you Pale.” You said, dizzy, blissed out and fucking perfect.

“Anything for you doll.” He found himself saying, anything anything.

  “I got your voicemails.” You said, a long time later.

It was well into the afternoon, the two of you alternating between eating, dozing off in the sunlight, and fucking like rabbits.

You looked good in the sun, looked good in general. He missed bein’ able to look at you, drank in the sight of you. He was so thirsty.

He smoked a cigarette, the nicotine soothing his nerves, how the fuck was he so relaxed and so fucking jumpy at the same time?

“Some of them weren’t too pretty, huh?” He finally said.

The voicemails were the only fucking thing keeping him sane, down in Miami.

Down in Miami, that should be the name of a fuckin’ movie, he thought.

Down down down. He’d been real down. Yellin’ and fighting and yellin’ some more. In lows and wives and kids and aunts and uncles, it was too fuckin’ hot in Miami.

He’d done too much coke, down in Miami. That sounded like a line to a song.

Maybe he was losing it.

“I liked hearing your voice, I wish I coulda called you back.” You said, and he sighed. He wished you coulda called him too.

“I couldn’t risk her picking the fucking phone up.” He explained, but you just nodded.

“I know, I know.” You said, real gracious – you had always been so gracious about him, about his fucking mistakes and his fuck-ups.

He wondered what went on in your head, how you rationalized all of it. He didn’t think he’d ever find anyone like you, anyone that liked him like you liked him. You made him dizzy, he told you that once, didn’t he? You were always too gracious, too sweet, making him dizzy.

Miami had been bad, but maybe it wasn’t Miami. Maybe he’d take you down there and bring you to the beach and rub sunscreen all over you and fuck you real good while the sun set over the ocean. Maybe he’d show you where he threw his fucking ring over the pier, maybe he’d see some loser with a fuckin’ metal detector finding it, fishing it out of the ocean. It wasn’t worth much or nothin’ there were no diamonds on it, it was just the silver band.

But it was at the bottom of the fucking ocean now, and he was here, in your bed, and you were kissing his neck real sweet, too sweet.

“Catch me up, what’d I fuckin’ miss while I was sweating my ass off down there?” He asked, tucking some of your loose hair behind your ear, pinching playfully at your earlobe.

“Nothin’ much. Went to work, came home.” You shrugged.

“That’s all?” He frowned, that couldn’t be all.

“That’s all.” You shrugged again, and he gave you a stare that brooked no fuckin’ argument, making you sigh. “Well, there was this thing, with Marty.”

His blood ran cold.

“I’ll kill him.” He went real still real fast, mind already spinning.

“No, I’m okay, he was flirtin’, that’s all. Wouldn’t quit it. I didn’t like the way he was talking about you.” You frowned, and he sat up real fast, the room spinning.

Flirting. He was flirting with you, that no good son of a bastard fucking bitch –

“What’d he say about me?” He asked, jaw clenched and eyebrows knit.

The universe was hell fucking bent on pissing him off today, wasn’t it?

“Nothing but bullshit.” You said, frowning too. Pale didn’t like it when you frowned like that, made your forehead all creased up, made your big eyes angry. No one was supposed to fucking make you angry.

“He touch you?” Pale asked, quiet, so quiet, like if he spoke he’d scream. Maybe he would scream.

“Tried holding my hand.” You nodded.

He snapped.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He snarled, and threw the covers off of him.

His blood was pounding in his ears, he could only think about one fucking thing at a time but a hundred different fucking thoughts came at him all at once.

What if he had hurt you?

Did he make you cry?

He had to teach the fucking punk a lesson, but first he had to find his fucking pants.

He picked up the wrinkled pair that he had thrown down the night before, the pleats were all wrong but it didn’t fucking matter because he was about to get blood all over them anyway. Where was his shirt? No shirt no shoes no service.

“Hey, why don’t you kiss me a little first, huh? Calm you down some.” You tried, bless you you fuckin’ tried, but he wasn’t having it.

He found his shirt, angry, so fucking angry – he goes away for two god damned weeks and the scum of the earth thinks it can run fuckin’ wild and free, not on his watch, not now that he was fucking back.

“Is he downstairs?” Pale asked, careful not to be harsh with you, careful to be gentle.

He didn’t want you to be afraid of him, but fuck he couldn’t stop, he had to do something – had to teach Marty not to touch what was his.

“Of course he’s downstairs.” You said, not sounding afraid.

Thank god for that, Pale thought.

“I’ll kiss you later, we’re gonna go have a little fuckin’ chat with him.” Pale scowled, leaning in to kiss you anyway.

You looped your arms around his neck and he kissed you and you kissed him and and and. He was shaking, shaking from rage, he wished he were drunk, or high, or maybe that he could just keep kissing you. He had to beat the shit out of Marty – fucking Marty.

“Pale you can’t go killing the deli guy, who’s gonna make our sandwiches if you do?” You asked, and he laughed, how were you so perfect?

“I can fucking make them.” He said, smiling and kissing you before the smile dropped and he was shoving his feet into his fucking boots and you were scrambling to get dressed while he stormed downstairs.

 The deli was thankfully, empty. It was Friday, but it was just before the fucking lunch rush.

Marty glared at him through the fucking window, and Pale shoved the door open with a little more force than necessary. Maybe he slammed it a little too hard, maybe. Who fucking cares, he thought. Two seconds later you showed up, lookin’ real pretty with your hair pinned up and in whatever decent clothes you had close-by. Pale opened the door softer for you, held it for you as you walked in, held his hand in your own.

Marty didn’t like that, didn’t like the look of you standing with your hand in his, so he turned to leave, but Pale wasn’t having none of that.

“Hey!” He called to get Marty’s attention, fuming, absolutely fucking seething with rage. “You fuckin’ botherin’ my girl?”

That got his attention, and he spun on his heel, lookin’ incredulous in a stupid way.

“Since when is she your girl?” Marty demanded, a crazed look in his eye.

Pale was smart enough to know all the fuckin’ ways this guy probably knew how to butcher something, but he was also mad enough to not give a shit. He gave your hand a squeeze without even realizing it, detangled your fingers from his own so he could walk right up to the counter.

“Since always, dipshit – now listen, I’m a real reasonable fuckin’ guy, so I’m only gonna break your face into two pieces instead of two-fucking-hundred, you got that?” He asked, cracking his knuckles.

“What – ” Marty didn’t even get a fucking sentence out before Pale had grabbed him by the apron, and was hauling him over the counter, away from the fucking knives and the machines that could probably take his head off.

He hadn’t gotten into a good ol’ fashioned fist fight in a couple of months, he was itching all over from it, crazy, he felt crazy.

The first punch landed right in Marty’s gut, his stomach tensing but not having enough muscle to do much about it. He went reeling, doubling over from the pain of it.

The second punch was right to his fucking face, right on the cheek – he’d knock out a couple fucking teeth if he were lucky.

Marty managed to get a couple hits in, staggering to his feet and throwing his fists wildly, they were uncoordinated, he was clear he didn’t know how to fucking fight. He did get a couple hits, right in Pale’s side and an upper-cut that knocked his jaw up a little, but Pale just went feral on him, beat his face into oblivion.

Pale couldn’t focus on anything, too focused on everything all at once. He pushed and shoved Marty into shelves, up against the counter, choked him and punched him and punched him and punched him. Even kneed him in the fucking stomach, knocked the wind right out of him.

“I told you he wasn’t gonna like it.” You said, leaning against the door, blocking the view from anyone seeing or coming in.

Pale grabbed Marty by the front of his now very stained apron, pointed his face in the direction of where you were standing.

“She don’t want you to fucking touch her, you don’t touch her. She don’t want to flirt with you, you don’t fucking flirt with you, you got that?” He seethed.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” Marty spit blood out onto the floor, onto his own fucking floor – now Pale had seen a lot of poor restaurant practices, but that one took the fucking cake as far as he was concerned – before glaring at you. “Aren’t you gonna fucking do something?”

He didn’t mean that to be to you, did he? He had a whole ‘nother fucking thing coming if he thought he was going to fucking talk to you like that.

You shook your head, shrugged at him, and Pale growled low in his fucking throat, “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

He had half a mind to snap the man’s fucking neck, but he settled on bashing Marty’s head into the counter and letting him fall to the ground unbalanced.

If he went any further, he’d kill him.

He looked back at you, still standing there, just watching, wary. You didn’t run away yet, didn’t call him dangerous, didn’t tell him you were afraid of him, not yet anyway. He took Marty’s dishtowel and wiped his hands down, decided not to kill him.

Instead, he looked Marty dead in the fucking eye as he picked the phone off the wall, dialed 9-1-1.

“Operator? Yeah, there’s been some kind of fight here – yeah sure thing, no he’s okay, just a little beat up.” He answered the questions the woman on the other end of the line asked, and then hung up.

He took out a stack of hundred dollar bills and went around the counter, stuck it in the fucking register.

“Don’t fuck with her again.” He said, jabbing a finger in his fucking direction.

Marty nodded, sitting up. He really wasn’t that beat up, just had some nasty bruising and maybe a broken fucking nose. Big deal, who didn’t have a broken nose every once in a while?

“We cool?” Pale asked, and Marty nodded again.

“Yeah, we’re cool.” Marty said, “Sorry (Y/N).”

“It’s alright Marty.” You replied, reaching your hand out to Pale.

The fucking knuckles were split, and he knew your medicine cabinet didn’t have everything he needed to stitch them back up, which meant –

“Come on, let’s go.” He said, taking your hand in his, leading you out of the deli.

No one on the streets had known nothin’, not one single person bothered to look or to care. Pale crossed the street, actually fucking waited for the little green man to pop up on the sign so you wouldn’t get hit by a fuckin’ car – no one knows how to drive in this damn city – crossed the street and held your hand and tried to breathe.

“Where are we going?” You asked, confused.

“To my place.” He sighed, and you immediately perked up with interest, about to ask probably a thousand questions – and rightfully so – but he put a hand up, “When we get inside, okay? I’m bleeding all over the fuckin’ sidewalk.”

“Everyone bleeds on the sidewalk sometimes.” You shrugged, but you were smiling, and you weren’t running from him, or crying, or hurt, or angry, and that’d what mattered to Pale in that moment.

So much for starting the year off with calm, he thought, but with the way you were smiling at him, the way you held onto his arm like you were his date at some big fucking gala, the way you helped him push the button on the elevator, the way you just were, he knew things were going to be okay.

  Tagging some pals! As always, if you’d like to be added or taken off the list please just shoot me a message!  @fullofbees @spinebarrel @dreamboatdriver @thecurlycaptain @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @aweirdlookingtree @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @adamsnackdriver @glitzescape @arwarz @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne @attorneyl

[thetriggeredhappy]

15 for speeding bullet cause I’m a sucker for the way you write them

hell yea man!! (warnings for cuddling and sappy shit)

15.) “When I’m with you, I’m home.”

Coldfront was, speaking completely objectively, the worst place on earth.

Now, Scout knew cold. He was better off than most of the team when it came to cold, beaten only by Heavy (three steps away from a literal actual bear) and Pyro (who Scout wasn’t even completely convinced felt pain, let alone things like temperature). Growing up in Boston, so close to the seaboard, family unable to pay the heating bill every other year and with hole-filled hand-me-downs as his only option for clothing, it made him get used to feeling cold really quickly. He knew when to start pulling on two pairs of socks and a second t-shirt under his jacket to keep warm, knew to eat a hot meal whenever possible and keep out of the wind and to only start worrying about his extremities the moment they stopped aching with cold. He knew cold.

But Coldfront, in the dead of winter, was cold cold. Frostbite-after-twenty-minutes-of-exposure kinds of cold. Negative-twenty-windchill-in-the-height-of-day kinds of cold. Heavy-putting-on-gloves kinds of cold.

The fact that they almost always got stationed in Coldfront for at least part of the winter every year was what started to convince him that their boss straight up hated them.

He always felt especially bad for Sniper when they were stationed in Coldfront. He didn’t know how to stand to best hold in body heat or to take off your jacket to thermoregulate when indoors, and didn’t ever really have major cold to deal with anyways. He was born and bred and built for raw, sweltering, pavement-boiling heat, and couldn’t do cold. The first year they ended up in Coldfront, the first night ended with Respawn firing up at one in the morning and Sniper stumbling out of it, having frozen to death in his camper while he slept. He was left cold and miserable from the weather, and horribly stressed since he could no longer sleep in his camper and instead had to bunk with everyone else, something he was very much not used to.

A necessity of the cold was having the mercs pair up and share rooms during the worst of the cold half the time, as only some rooms had heating or stoves or fireplaces, and there weren’t enough for everyone to have one room for each of them, and they needed the additional bodies to heat rooms even that much more.

Once Scout and Sniper became… best buddies, it was unspoken that if everyone was going to be rooming together, they’d pair up to share, an immediate improvement of the previous arrangement of Demo and Soldier and Scout sharing a room, with Soldier and Scout getting in fistfights frequently enough for Engie to stick a dispenser in the hall outside and Demo being enabled to drink even more than usual once he had people who were willing to drink with him on hand at all times.

The room had two twin beds, but right up front, the two of them pushed the twins together to make one large bed, already knowing they would end up sharing.

Scout finished off his nightly routine by shoving more wood into the stove that stood inconveniently in the middle of one wall, then moving to get under the three quilts they’d piled on the bed to join Sniper. Sniper didn’t hesitate to pull Scout over, as he was growing used to. Sniper was faintly shivering, even under the blankets, and had informed Scout on more than one occasion that he was like if a hot water bottle was a person. Scout was okay with dealing with Sniper’s cold hands for the sake of cuddles, not that he’d ever say it out loud. He had a reputation to keep.

With their combined body heat, the cold of the room was chased away fairly quickly from under their multiple blankets, and soon they were left feeling toasty for the first time since the previous night. Sniper’s shivering faded away, and he slowly started untensing, Scout helping him along by kneading at his shoulders idly. He gave a soft noise of approval, well and truly sinking into Scout.

“Y’know the one good thing about this awful place?” Sniper murmured, voice muffled by the pillow he’d buried his face in.

Scout hummed in question.

“Get the excuse to hold you like this all the time,” he said. Scout’s heart swelled in his chest, and he felt a goofy smile pull at his cheeks despite his best efforts.

“Sappy,” he chided quietly, holding him a bit tighter for a second.

“Maybe.”

Scout chewed on a thought for a few seconds, considering whether he would be laughed at if he said it. Given how cheesy Sniper had just been, he doubted he would, but he did think about it for a minute regardless.

“Y’know,” Scout finally said, making up his mind, “I remember when I was a kid, we, uh, there were some years when we didn’t have heating. There was this one winter when I was little—like little little—when we didn’t have heat an’ it got real cold at night, and so one night I just, went into Ma’s room and asked to share with her for the night because it was so freakin’ cold. A few of my brothers—we, uh, shared a room, y’know?—wanted to know where I ran off to when I didn’t come back, an’ they ended up sharin’ too. We ended up with like, the four youngest an’ Ma all piled on a queen-sized for the night. It was, uh…” He realized all at once that he probably sounded ridiculous. “…It was nice.”

Sniper hummed, and it was quiet for a second. “Did somethin’ similar as a tyke. M’dad hated it. Thought it’d make me soft, headed to share the bed with my mum every time I heard the dogs barkin’ outside tryin��� to send up the alarm about some predator or another wandering too close.” A short pause again. “And maybe it did. Dunno. Did help at the time, though.”

“I just had my brothers for that sorta thing,” Scout hummed. “I ever woke up from a nightmare, I’d just be in a room with like at least five dudes who all could and practically have scalped a guy for pickin’ on me. Upside of bein’ the youngest. And if I ever did call in Ma on someone, that’s, uh, yikes. She takes no hostages.”

“Your mum sounds pretty great,” Sniper said.

“So’s yours,” Scout replied.

A pause. “Yeah. Most’a the time,” he agreed carefully.

Scout tilted his head a bit. “What’s the hesitation?”

Another pause, longer. “Just… she did… her best,” he said, just as carefully. “She couldn’t help… the, the fact that I was… fact that I am, just…”

Scout tilted his head a bit further, but Sniper pulled him closer, keeping his face out of sight.

“She couldn’t help that there’s somethin’ not right with me, and she tried to help me work around it,” he finally settled on. “Did what she could. Didn’t kick me out. Still… talks to me an’ all, even though I ran off.”

Scout frowned. “Not right with you?”

Sniper shook his head lightly, exhaling. “It’s a lot. I’ll… explain later,” he said. “I just wanna enjoy this.”

Scout was still grappling with the concept of not being unconditionally fond of one’s family. His brothers pissed him off, sure, and he sometimes went a good week or so being mad at them, but he would never hesitate to say that they were good overall (except to their faces). No matter how annoyed he was with them, he would never waste a second jumping into a fight to defend their honor, just as they always did for him. The thought of not having that was…

It made his chest hurt to think about. He didn’t get it.

“Don’t you miss them?” he asked quietly. “Don’t you miss being home, and… and goin’ around town seeing what all’s the same, what’s different, and… and talkin’ about what all the neighbors have gotten up to, and what the latest drama is, and…”

Sniper shrugged lightly, careful not to dislodge Scout. The motion did move the blankets just slightly, and a tiny burst of air flooded into their haven under the blankets, surprisingly refreshing. “Never really had that,” he said quietly. “Town was a while away from the farm. A good few miles’ walk got me to school if I cut through the brush, but town was always a drive. And the house was… the house was work, usually, shepherding, takin’ care of the land, the few non-sheep we had. I suppose I have the van, but that was always just me, and I was always moving.”

“But what was home?” Scout insisted, a grief sinking into his chest at the prospect Sniper was explaining.

Sniper was quiet for a few moments, thinking, and just that pause made his chest ache even worse. “Dunno what makes somethin’ count as one,” he admitted, voice gravelly.

Scout thought for a second. “Just… somewhere safe, somewhere that makes you… feel good. Like, like you’re allowed to relax, like you can just… be, like nothin’s gonna go wrong, and… like you’re…” He took another second. “Like you can just recharge there, and if somethin’ does go wrong, that’s where you can go to recover. It’s… a place you know, and it’s reliable, and it’s safe.”

Sniper was silent. Contemplating. Scout counted a good dozen heartbeats before he spoke again.

“When I’m with you, I’m home,” Sniper finally said, voice quieter than ever before, and all at once Scout was paralyzed. He tried to pull back enough to look at Sniper, but Sniper wouldn’t budge.

“Hey. Look at me,” Scout requested, hand stroking over Sniper’s back in what he hoped was a soothing motion. Sniper did pull back after a second, and Scout cupped his cheek cautiously, aware that suddenly this moment became fragile, that breaking it might just be irreparable. He chose his words carefully. “I’m gonna be the kinda home you’ve got for a long time, alright?” he said softly.

Sniper had to break eye contact, blinking a few times, stubbornly holding back the wetness in his eyes, swallowing hard. “Thank you,” he said, voice thick despite his best efforts.

“Hey. I mean it,” Scout said, tilting his head to get back in Sniper’s line of sight. He tried for a smile. “You’re stuck with me.”

That got him a smile and eye contact, at least for a moment, before Sniper pulled him back into an embrace. “I hope so,” he said. He took a breath, exhaled shakily. “God, I hope so.”

[mayleebaby28]

Historical AU: A Dream in my Eye and a Prayer in my Heart

Stephanie passed Tim a drink, ignoring the really drunk man at the end of the bar who was trying to make a pass at her. If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t be hitting on Jason’s girl.

“You been in here every night,” Stephanie said, waving at someone over by the piano. Probably Jason. “He due home soon?”

“Shh,” Tim hushed her, glancing around. Just because they didn’t have a law against it, that didn’t mean one of the other townsfolk would toss him in the river. And without Conner around, he wasn’t the strongest if he was ganged up on. “It’s been four months since they left.”

“Yer as purdy as a little red heifer,” The man at the end of the bar slurred.

“Jason!” Stephanie called, and the man stalked over, raising a brow at her. “Tromp his britches and get him outta here.”

Jason grabbed the back of the man’s shirt and started pulling him out of the saloon while Tim and Stephanie let out a laugh.

“Look, Drake, just because you’re missing his Johnson don’t mean you gotta come in here and get plumb drunk and jawin’ me ta death,” Stephanie said, grabbing the man’s empty glass from the bar and wiping it out with her rag. “Go back to the ranch, ya got some things to take care of before he comes home.”

“Stephanie,” Tim hissed, glancing around the bar. It was mostly empty, a few guys at one of the tables, but the town was small and with no women in town except Steph, they didn’t go out to the saloon much until late.

“He’ll probably want to shag as soon as he gets home,” Jason said as he strode over and sat on one of the bar stools. “Best get that house ready.”

“Hesh up, you two, it ain’t like that,” Tim scowled down at his drink.

“Tim, we ain’t tryin’ ta rile ya up,” Jason said, and Tim sighed.

“Yeah, we’re your friends,” Stephanie added. “Just lookin’ out for ya. Them cowpoke’ll be back in town before ya know it. And then you’ll be back to yerself and having fun instead of sitting in here gettin’ drunk.”

“It’s just startin’ to get colder,” Tim mumbled. “At night, I’ve got to use a few blankets to stay warm. He ain’t got a lot out there, he could be freezin’.”

“Honey, how many drives has Conner been on?” Stephanie asked, leaning over the bar. Tim thought, his head swimming a bit with the whiskey.

“Dozen or so,” Tim admitted. He’d gone on one or two every year since he was 15, back when their town was just dirt and a ranch.

“And how many times has he come back?” Jason asked.

“All of ‘em,” Tim sighed. “But last time he was sicker’n a dog for days. He ain’t what he used to be. One of these times he ain’t comin’ back.”

“What a downer,” Jason shook his head. “I ain’t gotta toss you our on yer ass, do I?”

“No, I’m goin’,” Tim shook his head, downing the rest of his drink and slamming the glass down on the bar. “You two comin’ by in the morning?”

“Sure am,” Stephanie nodded. “Someone’s gotta take care’a ya’ while your cowboy’s away.”

*****

Tim was barely awake when he heard someone moving around in the house, and he panicked for a moment before he remembered that it was just Stephanie and Jason.

When the three of them took off for the west as kids, it was just because they had no more family and nowhere to go. And they showed up in town with a horse and little else.

But then Tim met Conner, both 15 at the time, on his way out. Said he and his dad were going on a drive and someone had to watch their ranch, offered to let the three of them stay so long as they didn’t steel anything.

Right from the start, Conner put all his trust in Tim.

Then somewhere in the last 10 or so years, Jason and Stephanie built their own place, the saloon, and started living above it. Stephanie was the only woman in town, except those passing through occasionally, and Jason took a lot of pride saying that she was his girl. They never married, and really never planned it either. Steph always said she wasn’t a wife, and she wouldn’t be treated like one.

So once he was left to himself, Tim took care of the ranch, and spent time with Conner, now alone that his father had died. They were just two men looking over the cattle, tending their horses, and Tim started working at the bank in town.

And before he knew it, Conner was gone on another drive and his chest ached, like it never had before. It was like someone had torn his heart out and left it in the dust. He had never felt happier than when he saw the gang riding back into town through the bank window, and Tim left his post to greet them.

Sure, Conner smelled atrocious, and he looked like he’d fallen in a river, but Tim was still thrilled to see him. When he got home from work that evening, Conner freshly bathed and waiting up, they made the most passionate love together, something inside them snapping and feeling alive.

And Tim felt that way every day they woke up together, and he felt empty again every time Conner was gone.

“You’re not still in bed, are ya?”

Tim opened his eyes and saw Jason standing in the doorway, smirk on his face.

“Go away,” Tim groaned, pulling one of his blankets over his head.

“Not a chance, Tim,” Jason laughed, and Tim huffed as he got out of bed. “Steph whipped up some breakfast for ya. Best go eat, before it gets cold.”

“Go to hell,” Tim said as he passed Jason on the way out of the bedroom to the kitchen. Jason laughed behind him.

*****

Tim was feeding his horse, and Jason was trying to fix the porch. One of the boards had busted when Tim tripped on his way home last week, and he hadn’t had the chance to fix it.

Conner usually did the fixing while he was home.

“Hey, Tim!” Steph called from the porch, bucket of water in her arms. “I reckon someone’s headed this way.”

Tim turned and looked towards town, hardly visible from the ranch, but there was a horse galloping towards them.

A beautiful white horse that Tim would know anywhere.

Tim’s face broke out in a grin, and he started running in his bare feet, the dirt hot but he didn’t care.

Conner got to him in no time, stopping his horse and hopping off to catch Tim in his arms.

“Yer a sight for sore eyes,” Conner said, keeping a grip on Tim’s backside so he wouldn’t fall.

“I could say the same,” Tim mumbled.

“Missed ya somethin’ awful, Honey,” Conner whispered, tightening his grip on the man. “Think you can wait for me to run a bath?”

“Hardly,” Tim chuckled, letting his feet down until he was standing again.

*****

Jason and Stephanie had left not long after the two got back to the ranch, neither wanting to interrupt their reunion, plus they had a saloon to open. Tim promised they’d be up later to celebrate.

But before they could do that, they had to celebrate alone.

“I don’t think I could tell ya how much I thought about doin’ that while we were on the drive,” Conner said as he walked up behind Tim, putting his hands on his hips and kissing his neck. Tim was trying to make Conner something for lunch, since all he’d had for months was food cooked by Bart.

“At least let me feed you before you go riling me up again,” Tim moaned, tilting his head to the side to give Conner better access.

“I don’t need ta eat,” Conner mumbled into his neck. “Need you.”

“Conner,” Tim groaned. “Food first. You need it. You’re skinner than when you left.”

“Alright,” Conner sighed in defeat, taking the plate and heading for the table. He paused and gave Tim a kiss on the cheek as a thanks. “Love you, Honey.”

[imaginenola]

Young and Beautiful

Dwayne Pride x reader

Words: 2,154

Warnings: angst, pure sadness

Notes: loosely based on the song Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey. this is the first imagine I’ve ever written so it might not be the best. also big thank you to @dwaynepride for helping me make this account & story a reality! thanks for believing in me (: also the spaces might be a little wonky, sorry! I worked really hard on this so please don’t steal it, all work is my own. enjoy!!

I’ve seen the world, done it all

Had my cake now

Diamonds, brilliant, in Bel-Air now

When you interviewed for a job at NCIS in New Orleans, you were a young and eager cop. Only a few years out of the academy, you had made more cases than most could make in their entire career. Your boss and partner both pushed you to apply after you expressed interest in NCIS. A few days after your interview, you received a call from none other than Dwayne Pride. You had been chosen for his team.

Hot summer nights, mid July

When you and I were forever wild

The crazy days, city lights

The way you’d play with me like a child

It began with slight flirting, just for fun. You never meant to get involved with your boss, but things soon escalated. You were both experts at keeping your work and personal lives separate. You two weren’t partners anyway, so for the most part, it was easy to not let feelings get in the way of doing your jobs.

A few months in, Pride asked you out for drinks after work. The two of you made your way to a jazz club, where you drank and danced and drank some more. Pride twirled you around and around until you had no memories of what happened that night. The next morning, you woke up naked in your boss’s bed.

Will you still love me

When I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

I know that you will

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

Six months after that night, and you were still going steady with Pride. He was the perfect gentleman, and working together had only brought the two of you closer. You were only a few years older than his daughter, but he always made sure you knew that age wasn’t a problem between the two of you.

Your partner, Tammy Gregorio, kept telling you she ‘sensed’ that Pride was going to propose soon, but you weren’t so sure. Of course you had a strong bond and everyone believed you were a match made in heaven, but it made you nervous to think that you might have to leave the team. Sure, two co-workers dating could be overlooked, but married co-workers? Especially between an agent and their superior? You didn’t think so.

I’ve seen the world, lit it up

As my stage now

Channeling angels in a new age now

Hot summer days, rock and roll

The way you play for me at your show

And all the ways, I got to know

Your pretty face and electric soul

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, and you were out on a walk around New Orleans. You barely ever got a day off, but you made sure to enjoy it while you could. All of a sudden, you were being pushed into a black SUV, door locking behind you. You pulled your gun out of your holster until you recognized your captor: FBI Agent Isler.

“What do you want, Isler?” You asked, remaining calm and collected. You knew this man well, and you knew whatever it was he needed help with had to be important. Isler never dropped by just to say hello.

“Hello, Agent (y/l/n). The FBI needs your help on an undercover mission in Los Angeles. Once we get to the motel, I’ll give you the case file. It’s a highly classified operation involving corrupt Naval officers and a drug trafficking ring.” Isler said, shifting the car into drive. “Wait! Isler, I didn’t agree to this. Stop the car, now,” you demanded.

“I’m sorry, Agent (y/l/n), but you don’t really have a choice. This is a joint investigation between the FBI and NCIS, and you were picked by the big boys. I’m the only person in Louisiana who knows about this, and we’re keeping it that way.” You rode the rest of the drive in silence, until Isler parked in front of a decrepit motel on the outskirts of the city. The motel room was stale and unwashed, the air thick with swamp water.

“We’ll be staying here for a couple of days to prepare you for your mission. Once you step off that plane in Los Angeles, your undercover identity will be all you know. You will eat, sleep, and breathe this mission from start to finish, Agent (y/l/n).”

“How long do you think I’ll be gone?” You asked, afraid of the answer. Isler looked at the ground for a moment, then passed you a box of hair dye. Black. The girl on the picture seemed happy with her hair color, but you weren’t so sure.

Will you still love me

When I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

I know that you will

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

“Hard to tell. Could just be a few months. Eight, maybe. Possibly a few years. Hopefully nothing more than five, six.” Five years? Six? You would be in your thirties by then. How different would things be? Pride might find someone else. Forget about you. The whole team would probably forget about you, by then.

“There’s one other thing,” Isler trails, “by now, your family and friends will be receiving the news of your gruesome death.”

-

Today was your last day in New Orleans, and you didn’t know for how long. After three days stuck in a hotel room with Raymond Isler, memorizing your new persona (Heather Watson from Montana, by the way), you were going stir-crazy. That was how you convinced him to let you attend your funeral. He thought you were crazy, you knew you were crazy, but Isler did feel bad. He knew about you and Pride’s relationship, and since he couldn’t give you Pride, the least he could do was give you closure.

The balcony of St. Patrick’s had been closed off due to unstable ground, but you arrived early in order to slip up to the balcony, lay on your stomach, and peer through the small slit under the bench. To your surprise, everyone you had ever worked with at NOPD and more had arrived. Friends from the academy flew in, and family members you hadn’t seen in years were there. You felt so, so horrible for tricking them like this. For this hole you had gotten into and you probably wouldn’t ever get out of. Six years undercover, living and breathing the life of someone you weren’t? You’d rather die, maybe. Rather die as yourself than live as Heather Watson. You only wished you could’ve said goodbye.

Dear lord, when I get to heaven

Please let me bring my man

When he comes tell me that you’ll let him in

Father tell me if you can

All that grace, all that body

All that face, makes me wanna party

He’s my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

You knew it was all over for you when Pride arose from his seat, wearing his black suit. You could see the tissue peeking out from his pocket, full of tears he cried for you. “(y/n) (y/l/n) was the strongest, most determined, an’ most loving human I have ever known. I knew she was the one from the day I laid eyes on her. I hope she knew how much I loved ‘er, and how much all of us at NCIS appreciated her. She’s always been a light-” Dwayne’s voice broke. The occasional tear spilled down his cheek. You could hear the desperation caught in his throat, the need to wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was going to be okay. But as far as he knew, you would be six feet under in a few hours. A closed casket for the horrific boating accident you died in. Your limp body caught in the blades. They could barely piece your limbs back together.

“-I was plannin’ on proposing to her at dinner Sunday night. I had this diamond ring picked out, and now it’s just sittin’ in the box. I wished I could’ve said somethin’, wished I coulda saved her. She- she was tha love of my life, and I know she’d want us to remember her as a dedicated cop and a-a beautiful young woman who was gone- gone too-” Pride choked out, sobs overtaking his body. You could feel your heart breaking into microscopic pieces as Chris got up from his seat and assisted Dwayne. They sat down and Chris gave Pride’s shoulder a quick squeeze in solidarity. The rest of your team respectfully placed a hand on Dwayne’s back for his courage in facing your memory, your mourners. Your family, his future family. If only it hadn’t been for this goddamn mission.

Tears rolled down your face. Oh, how you missed the comfort of Dwayne’s arms wrapped around you when things got tough, when you became sad and he was the only one who could help. Now, even less than a hundred feet apart, it felt like there were planets between you. He was going to propose? Tammy had been right all along.

-

Your silent sobs combined with your uncomfortably warm outfit and position in the hot balcony suddenly prompted your exit. It was easy to slip out of the church unnoticed as your sibling gave a heartwarming speech about your childhood. Isler was sitting in his car in the parking lot, working on his computer, when you knocked on the window. He unlocked the door and let you in. “How was it?” He asked without looking up. “I shouldn’t have gone. Big mistake. Pride was supposed to propose to me that night. This is sick, Isler. Everyone thinks I’m dead. I might as well be, for what it’s worth,” you fumed, tears clouding your vision. You weren’t thinking straight.

“We’re going to have to drive to a more concealed position. I just have to get a few more papers emailed from HQ and we’ll be all set to head back to the motel. From there, I’ll drive you to MSY and you’ll get on your flight. Then, it’ll be out of my hands and into the hands of your new FBI case agent.”

-

You sat in the parking lot of an abandoned building. You knew it was near NCIS, which made it near Pride’s bar, which was where your reception was going to be held. The place you once dreamed of marrying Pride in, dancing to the jazz music as newlyweds. Now, it would never happen. You weren’t dumb; you knew with an undercover operation this long, it was likely someone would find out your secret and brutally murder you. As long as you got intel, that was all that mattered. No one cared if you were collateral damage.

Before either of you knew it, you were reaching across Isler at the speed of light and unlocking the passenger door. “(Y/n), wait!” Isler yelled, chasing you as you ran away from his car. Something told him where you would be heading.

Will you still love me

When I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

You knew the song, one of your favorites. It reminded you of your and Pride’s whirlwind relationship, of the appeal and the secrecy, the pure love and affection. Percy was singing, the only flaw in her beautiful voice being the rawness in her throat from crying. Pride was next to her on the piano, playing along what he knew from when you would sing with him. When you didn’t have a care in the world, when it was you and Dwayne and no one else. Nothing standing between your love for each other.

Suddenly, the music stops and people crowd around Pride’s piano. Laurel, your co-workers new and old, and your family stood behind Dwayne as he picked up his glass from the top of the piano, raising it as far as his arm could extend. You couldn’t see him, but you heard his voice ring out, “a toast to (y/n), tha best cop I’ve ever known. wherever you are, babe, I hope you’re raisin’ some hell.” to which everyone joined in, “cheers!” Tears fell down your face as you watched as Pride began your favorite song once again, reminding you how you fell in love with the man with an electric soul.

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

Will you still love me when I’m not young and beautiful?

[portalford]

So Come What May (Long Live Us)

AO3

this one’s based off that headline “scientists fight crab for mysterious purple orb discovered in cailfornia deep,” because it’s hilarious and also very Stan and Ford.

Stan can already tell that this is going to be one of those occasions he looks back on and laughs at.  Something to use during an argument to one-up Ford, something to tell the kids about over a hot drink and feel proud when he makes them laugh.  He’ll be happy about it, later.

Right now he’s just pissed off.

He woke up to a glowing purple orb hovering in the galley (he just wanted a cup of coffee in peace, or what passes for peace with Ford around), and the day hasn’t improved since then.

“Ford, I swear if you got assimilated into an alien consciousness again I’m gonna leave you this time.”  Talking to himself, great.

(He doesn’t even mean it; he’s just worried, and that pisses him off more.  He spent thirty years working to get Ford back, and his brother seems absolutely determined to get himself killed anyway).

Stan is too old for this.

‘This’ includes, but is not limited to, early mornings, purple orbs, and idiotic brothers.

Ford has been missing for almost an hour with no calls or texts or signs of returning, and if he has another near-death experience in the next four hours Stan’s heart might quit.

The orb is also missing, and that doesn’t bode well for Stan’s heart or Ford’s general wellbeing.

Stan takes a deep breath, because he can’t drop dead at least until after he’s found his brother, and thinks.

He’s got two theories (god, Ford is rubbing off on him):

Ford was attacked by the orb and taken away.  Not likely, because Ford would have put up a fight, and Stan definitely would have heard that.

Ford saw the orb at some point after it floated out of the kitchen and went after it.

Yeah, it’s probably number 2.

Either way – Stan leans over the rail, and yep, those are bootprints in the sand leading away from the ship, so either the orb grew legs or Ford’s gone AWOL again.

They’ve been docked here three days, and while Ford hasn’t shut up about the magic mumbo jumbo readings he’s getting from the island for more than one of those seventy-two hours, they haven’t seen any actual signs of life so far.

Stan knows better than to trust ‘so far,’ so he digs up his knuckledusters before he hits the beach.

It’s an easy search, until the tracks disappear up the beach where the sand turns to some kind of rock.

All right, plan B.

“Ford!”  Stan cups his hands around his mouth for better volume and shouts again.  “Stanford!”

Nothing.

The anxiety he’s been trying to ignore redoubles its clamoring.  He does his best to shove it down.

Why, why does he have to be the responsible sibling sometimes?  He’s not even getting paid for this.

“Right,” he says, just for the sake of hearing something other than his too-rapid heartbeat.  “If I was a floating purple orb, where would I go.”

Ford would throw a fit about rhetorical questions, and maybe offer a story about how he’s actually been a floating purple orb at some point in his life (Stan thought he was jaded after ten years on the street; he hadn’t heard nothin’ until Ford shared some of his portal stories), but he’s not there, so the only answer is the rush of the waves.

Unhelpful, but the caves up on the shoreline look promising.

Stan uses the time-honored decision-making method of eenie meenie miney moe to pick a cave, and walks in.

He’s immediately greeted by the sound of a scuffle.  Good thing he brought his knuckledusters.

He rounds a rock formation and pulls up short.

It’s Ford all right, but Stan can’t decide if he wants to laugh or scream because his brother is wrestling a nightmare crab.

Not a crab like the kind you catch and eat; those things can’t do much more than pinch your fingers a little.  This monster's eyestalks are almost on level with Ford’s nose, and it’s thrashing at him with a claw big enough to snap him in two.  The other claw is holding the orb that caused this whole mess, and Ford seems hellbent on getting it, regardless of crabs with footlong claws.

It’s absurd, and definitely something he’s going to laugh about later, but right now he’s tired and irritated and overwrought and he’s got about eight things he wants to say, but all that comes out is “what the hell?”

Close enough.

Ford and his opponent both startle, but the crab’s got a better grip on the orb and comes away victorious.  It immediately shows its street smarts by scuttling further into the cave instead of staying to gloat.

Ford finds his footing as fast as he lost it, shaking sand from his hair and clearly half a second away from sprinting after the crab, so Stan lunges forward to snatch at his sleeve.  

“Ford, I’m serious, what the hell?  What is that?  What are you doing?”

“Let go, Stanley!”  Ford yanks away, rounding on Stan.  His eyes are fever-bright, that look he gets when he’s within reach of an answer but can’t quite grasp it. “It’s got the transmission bubble, we have to–”

“We?  Ford, you ran off!  You didn’t even leave a note!”  Stan’s aware that he sounds like a nagging parent, but he feels entitled to it right now.  Ford does it often enough to him.  “I thought that orb thing had hurt you or somethin’.”

Ford at least has the grace to look penitent.  “I’m sorry, Stanley, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I wasn’t worried, I was just–”

“We can argue about this later, I promise.”  Now Ford’s tugging at his sleeve, imploring.  “Please, can you just help me catch that crab?”

And as frustrated as Stan’s been all day, there’s really only one answer to that.

“You mean all this time I’ve spent tryin’ to get you to go fishing and all I had to do was suggest we catch crabs instead?”

Ford’s grin looks a little manic – he’s in fine form as he immediately bolts down the tunnel, shouting, “It can’t have gotten far!” over his shoulder.

Stan grumbles, “Moses, Ford, where’s the fire,” but he’s right on his brother’s heels.

Ford’s correct, as usual; the crab isn’t more than twenty yards ahead of them

It doesn’t get two more before they’re on it, and the thing doesn’t stand a chance.  A left hook to the eye from Stan and a solid thump to the claw from the butt of Ford's space gun (which Ford won’t fire because he doesn’t want to kill the thing, probably) and it drops the orb with a screech.

Like clockwork, like a team, Ford dives low to snatch the orb and Stan straightens up to cover him.

Times like this are what make all the glowing orbs and monster crabs and magic junk worth it – just him and Ford working together, each trusting the other to do his part, just like when they were kids.  It makes Stan feel like he could take on the whole damn world.

Or a giant crab.

The crab makes a halfhearted effort to get past Stan to Ford and the orb, as if that’ll ever happen.  It seems to realize this pretty quickly, making a noise that’s like nails on a chalkboard before rushing away into the dark.

Stan laughs, shaking his fist at it.  “Yeah, run away!  Tell your friends not to mess with the Pines twins!”  He turns around, high on adrenaline and a successful fight.  “We sure showed– Ford!”

Excitement flash-freezes to shock, then fear, at all the blood on his brother’s face.

Ford, of course, shows his usual amount of respect for his own wellbeing by scowling and pulling away when Stan tries to grab his head for a look.

“Stanley–”

“You’re bleeding Stanford!”

Ford looks genuinely surprised, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand.  He glances at the impressive read smear and makes a soft noise that might be a ‘huh.’  Stan kind of wants to smack him.  “It’s not serious, Stanley,”  Ford says, and he’s using that tone he gets when he’s trying to soothe or cajole, and Stan’s really not in the mood right now.  “Head injuries always bleed a lot.”

“Yeah?  Did you eat this morning?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Your blood pressure, genius.”  Ford is the smartest person Stan’s ever known.  He’s also the dumbest person Stan’s ever known.  Contradiction, thy name is Stanford Pines.

Ford looks genuinely embarrassed about that one.  Good.  “Well–”

“No, don’t answer that, I’ve had enough for today and it’s only–”  Stan checks his watch.  “11AM.”  He takes Ford by the elbow and pushes him back toward the mouth of the tunnel.  “You’re gonna let me look at that cut, and then you’re gonna eat something, and then we’re both gonna sit down do nothing for the rest of the day.”  That last one’s probably pushing it, but Stan’s going to milk this situation for all it’s worth.

Ford seems to understand that Stan isn’t screwing around, and only nods.  Besides, he’s got what he wants.  Whatever that is.

“What is that thing anyway?”  Stan asks as they make their way back to the ship.

Ford lights up.  “It’s a communication device of some sort!  I believe it’s a language or code made of different lights or pitches, and I think there’s a puzzle component, or maybe–”

Stan tunes out most of Ford’s nerd babbling, listening only for the gist and the rare occasions his brother takes a breath to offer an encouraging noise or a nod.

There is no way Ford’s gonna sit and do nothing, not with this orb to obsess over.  At least he’ll probably be sitting, when he’s not pacing with frustration or fidgeting with concentration or jumping around with excitement.

Ford doesn’t do the still and quiet thing very well.

Stan suddenly has a thought, and he butts in on something about telepathy.

“Wait, how’d that crab get ahold of it?  You followed it off the ship and then a crab just grabbed it from under your nose?”

“Not exactly.”  Ford tucks the orb protectively under his arm.  “I’d caught it to get a closer look–”

“You touched the floating, glowing mystery orb?”

“How else was I supposed to study it?”

Stan doesn’t know why he bothers (that’s a lie, but he’s lied about more important things so he’s gonna keep on telling this one).  “Forget it.  So you were holding the potentially dangerous orb, and…”

“I set it on the ground so that I could draw it and the crab snatched it when I wasn’t looking.”  Ford’s looked embarrassed more times in the past twenty minutes than he has in the two months they’ve been traveling previously.

Stan’s grinning now.  He can’t help it.  “So you got into a wrestling match with a crab that weighs as much as you do.”

“Well I wasn’t going to just let it take this.  Besides, it was probably going to try and eat it, and that might have killed it.”

“And you still thought it was a good idea to touch it?”

“I’m not going to eat it,”  Ford says, exasperated.

“Damn right you’re not, because I’m making lunch when we get back, and that’s what you’re going to eat.”

“Spare me.”

“Stanford.”

Ford’s scowling again, but he hasn’t got a leg to stand on here and they both know it.  And he still has that orb, which is what he wants, and he’s going to eat and leave Stan in relative peace for the rest of the afternoon, which is what Stan wants, so everyone’s a winner.

Maybe this day can improve after all.

At the very least, it’s definitely an occasion to look back on and laugh.