#cap tripping over his own feet and stumbling through a sentence

[natjennie]

😌💭 the captain's "weeuugh!" dork supreme fumbling autism moments unintentional rizz meets havers' enchanted adoration and vehement unwavering horniness. the epitome of "well I can't not fuck him"

[tinyyoungblood]

Did you see my Peter Parker request bestie of you coming through peters window and him helping you patch your wounds like you have done for him in the past. He was the only place you could think of with as much pain you were in on little to no time you almost faint when you get through his window. And he might kiss some of your wounds because he’s not really sure what else he can do to make you feel better ? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻🥰🥺🥺🥺🥺

ring pop | peter parker

pairing: peter parker x avenger!reader

warning: angst, mention of blood, fluff

a/n: writing headcanons for so long has literally butchered my ability to string proper sentences together so this is rough lol, but i loved this request! listen to “ring pop” by jax if you want the full fluff experience. enjoy x

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

��Before you say anything—” You held up your palms as Peter’s eyes widened in the dark, taking in your battered form from where he lied on his bed. A chill creeped through the opened window, making you shiver and grit your teeth. “I just want to let you know that if I don’t make it tonight, you have full permission to use my eulogy as a posthumous lecture.”

“A posthumous—” Peter cast his notebook to the side and got to his feet. “Y/N, you’re bleeding. What happened?”

“Is May home?” You asked quickly, ignoring his question.

“May?” Peter repeated, staring at you like he had never heard of that woman.

“Your aunt?” Your vision started to get patchy.

“My—” He shook his head. “May isn’t home, it’s just us. But you know that, it’s Wednesday, she always works late on Wednesdays.”

Peter was rambling now, talking to you like you weren’t dripping blood on the pillow on his floor. Or maybe he wasn’t, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the stabbing pain on your left shoulder, piercing into your arm like lightning.

At once, Peter stopped talking. “You’re not okay,” he pointed out, though he had said it to no one in particular.

“What gave it away?” You retorted half-heartedly. Narrowing his eyes at you, he stepped forward. Before you could protest, Peter was already in front of you, lifting your arms carefully as he raked your body.

You winced as his hand bumped into your waist and he immediately let go, flashing you an apologetic look. His voice was laced with concern. “What happened to you?”

Your neck ached a little from a muscular knot you’d hardly noticed before. It throbbed now with discomfort and strain. You offered him a crooked smile. “I slipped.”

“You did not slip,” Peter scoffed, ever the realist, and took your hand, lacing it with yours while guiding you to sit down on his bed. “You’re one sneeze away from death, Y/N. Tell me what happened.”

Peter kneeled on the carpet floor and retrieved the first aid kit from under his bed. It was covered in glow-in-the-dark cars stickers, which you recognised from a fair that you had once went to together. It was the only thing you had won that night and Peter had smiled so brightly when you gave them to him, but somehow, you still found yourself surprised to see them in his possession.

“I fell off a roof,” you said, tracing the lining of his blanket as Peter popped the lid open. His eyes flicked to yours before he went back to taking out some cotton balls. He stepped into the space framed by your knees and peeled off the remnants of your suit, rolling it to rest at your waist. A deep punctured wound glared at him.

“Did you fall into a thorn bush?” Peter asked drily. “Or was there a spear on the sidewalk that impaled you?”

You winced as he tapped the soaked cotton balls on your skin, the alcohol burning in a way that you weren’t used to. He was gentle and froze whenever you flinched before continuing, but you knew by his flat gaze that he wanted the real answer or nothing. You cleared your throat and fixed your eyes on his dishevelled curls. “Fine,” you murmured. “Someone pushed me off the roof.”

Peter glanced at you. Without saying a word, he pressed the bottle of rubbing alcohol into your hands. You watched as he picked up some gauze and signalled for you to lift your left arm. Cautiously, he draped the clean piece of cloth around your forearm. His knuckles brushed against your skin. You took a breath. “There were four guys trying to break into the flower shop across Delmar’s. One of them got ahold of my sheath and things got ugly. But I swear I’m fine,” you added as Peter worked on your other arm.

He tied the ends into a knot and nodded to the bandage that he had just secured on your left arm. “You’re already bleeding through your bandages. I wouldn’t call that fine.”

You glanced down. A faint red blossom of blood had spread on the bandage. You tugged awkwardly at the strip of gauze. “Subjectively fine,” you amended before looking up, turning your narrowed gaze to his. “This isn’t fair. I don’t see why you’re making a big deal out of this when you slip into my room nearly every night while bleeding to death.”

Peter looked affronted at that. “It’s not the same.”

“How is that not the same?” You asked incredulously.

“Because it’s me,” Peter snapped. “I’m the one bleeding. Not you. That’s what makes this not fine.”

“Oh, please.” Scorn dripped off your lips. “Don’t pull that white knight bullshit on me. I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself.”

You snatched the gauze out of his hands and fiddled with it. The next bandage had to be wrapped under your arm and around your shoulder. You knew how to take care of wounds—the task had become a vital skill in not only your life—but this was more challenging than you would ever admit. You simply couldn’t reach that way. Your limbs were still aching and you felt the beginning of an awful headache coming. Having Peter watch you intensely didn’t help your case either, especially when annoyance and pity flashed in those brown eyes that you normally sought out for comfort. There was no comfort in this.

But you weren’t going to be the one to ask for help, and Peter knew that. He loosened a breath and held out his open palm to you, waiting patiently for you to relent. You stared at his hand for a moment and dropped the gauze roll into it. Silently, Peter worked on your arm, leaning in to loop the bandage behind you. You were both aware of how close he was. His warm breath fanned over the shell of your ear.

Peter wrapped the strip around your arm twice and tied it near the joint. You expected him to step back, facing you with an expression that was most likely regret or spite or both. But he didn’t budge. Both of you had gone utterly still.

Your pulse picked up. You knew that Peter could hear it, probably see it too. You wondered if it matched his own beat. But before you even knew what his intentions were, Peter lowered his head.

His lips hovered just above the warm juncture between your shoulder and the column of your neck—a spot that Peter always seemed to gravitate to. You drew in a sharp breath. The barest movement and his lips brushed your skin. Desire and a sense of familiarity coursed through you.

“I don’t want to fight,” he mumbled. “I just…I don’t know what else to do.” He left a trail of warm, soft kisses down your slender neck. You exhaled slowly and let Peter say what he needed to say without uttering a single word. He pressed a kiss to the end of your jawline and moved smoothly up to your ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Then he stepped back and looked you in the eyes. “It’s fine,” you said, the beginning of a smile forming on your lips. “Just don’t give me a hard time when it’s uncalled for. You patched up my wounds. That is enough.”

Peter didn’t look convinced. He lifted an eyebrow as you pulled him forward, pushing him into the mattress so you were lying side by side. Comfortable silence fell. Your eyelids felt heavier with each second, memories of vivid city lights blurred inside your head as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You knew you had to change out of your suit, but the softness of his duvet was too alluring. Too peaceful.

You felt warm breath fanning over your arm, followed by the soft press of familiar lips.

“What are you doing?” You asked, opening your eyes and pushing Peter’s face gently away. His curls fell carelessly onto your cheek as he looked up at you with raised brows. You caught a whiff of his shampoo. You loved that smell.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m kissing your boo-boos better.” He made to lower his head again, and you laughed.

“Don’t call them boo-boos. I was literally stabbed with a knife.”

He growled against your collarbone. “Don’t remind me.” Again, those lips on your skin.

If you had thought that peace was the cosiness of Peter’s bed, then you stood corrected. You found peace in the careful and tender kisses Peter left on your skin. You found it in the way his thumb rubbed mindless circles into your waist—careful not to touch any bruises. Even the citrus smell of his shampoo, surrounding you like a daydream felt like peace to you.

Everything about Peter Parker brought you peace and comfort.

“I have something for you,” Peter said, grinning excitedly.

“Oh?”

You watched as Peter rose to his feet, almost tripping over the notebook he had tossed to the ground after you had climbed through his window. He stumbled to the desk and shuffled through his papers until he found what he was looking for and let out a pleased hum. He lied back down beside you, propping himself on his elbow before presenting you a small object.

“A ring pop?” You asked, amused. Peace, peace, peace.

Peter shrugged, eyes cast downward. “Yeah, is that okay?” He said. “I know it’s not enough but—”

“It’s perfect,” you cut in, the corners of your mouth began to hurt from how broadly you smiled.

“I…” Peter blinked at you. “You’re sure?”

You nodded and your mouth quirked to the side. “As long as this is not my engagement ring, it’s more than enough.”

Chuckling, Peter slipped the ring pop on your finger and gave the back of your hand a kiss. He then twisted and grabbed the water bottle standing on his night stand. He unscrewed the cap and took off the plastic ring that sat at the neck of the bottle, offering it to you.

“It’s just a promise,” he explained before shooting you a toothy grin. “So we can both be each other’s annoying white knights.”

“I like that,” you responded, mirroring his grin. You slipped the plastic ring on his finger and frowned. It was hardly big enough and sat awkwardly at his knuckle.

“It doesn’t fit,” you said uselessly, and Peter waved you off.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get me a ring pop when your organs work again.” He shot you a wink. “Everyone deserves an edible promise ring, don’t you think?”

You laughed.

Peace, peace, peace.

* * *

stay hydrated pals

[pascalpanic]

Miller Morales Mechanic Shop (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Part One of Miller Morales Mechanic Shop

Summary: Something is wrong with your car. What, exactly? You have no clue. So you bring it in to some professionals- who also have a toddler running around the shop.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: language, Frankie is a dad, brief mention of divorce and trauma bc poor Frankie, there is a child heavily involved in this so if you don’t like kids this isn’t for you :)

A/N: WELCOME TO PART ONE EVERYONE! This is such a cute AU and I’m BEYOND excited to start sharing it with you all! I don’t know how many parts this will be or anything but I can’t wait to take it and run with it.

Marisol Morales behaves for very few people. One of those is Ben Miller. Unfortunately, she has decided to break her own rules today.

Frankie loves summer. He loves his little girl playing outside in her baby pool, taking her for walks around the neighborhood with their three-legged dog, all of the fun parts. The hard part is when the nanny goes on a vacation and Mari has to come to work with him.

Benny and Frankie, ever since the chaos that was the Lorea mission, run a small mechanic shop together. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop isn’t necessarily the busiest place in town, but they make enough to get by and have some disposable income too. Mari loves to hang around the shop with her daddy and uncle. She’s there more than Frankie would like, but he supposes it’s not the worst thing in the world. When Frankie and Jules split and Frankie won full custody, he’d hoped a nanny would take care of most everything when Mari is home all day in summer. Sadly, he was in for a rude awakening when no Mary Poppins showed up on his doorstep.

It’s normally not too bad; Benny hung the moon in Mari’s eyes. If she won’t do something for her daddy, which is still somewhat rare, she’ll always do it for her Uncle Benny. That makes the day run much smoother. Mari has a whole host of quiet-time activities and toys to play with, and the men generally trade off periods of either working on the cars or being with the little girl.

Her favorite activities at the shop include drawing on the concrete with thick sticks of chalk and playing with her toy helicopters and planes. Benny insists tanks are cooler, but Mari prefers flying her Polly Pockets in the chopper, running through the garage and making flight noises. She’s a smart little thing; for her age, she’s picked up big words and can make sentences out of three words, which is quite a stretch for a baby just over two years of age. She calls for Benny and Daddy and knows the names of his tools: wench, scu-dwive, and her favorite, win-seeled wipe fwuid. She loves to babble at customers while they get their oil changed.

-

Being shit with cars is no fun. It only increases the anxiety when some light flashes on your dashboard. The lights can mean so many things that you find it ridiculous; “check engine”? Check it for what? To save yourself the anxiety, you find your nearest mechanic and pay them to deal with it.

Today, as you pull over into a gas station, you check your phone and find that the nearest shop is a place you haven’t heard of. It must be new. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop, 0.6 miles away. The name implies something more local and homegrown. You’re more than willing to support a place like that, so you start up the engine, pray you don’t explode, and make your way over to the shop.

It’s nearby, like the map indicated. The outside is a quaint little place, tucked in a strip mall next to a coffee shop, a dentist, and an insurance agency. The three car bays are empty, and knowing next to nothing about how these shops work, you pull inside and park your car, letting it run as you wait for an employee. The bell dinged to let them know you were here, so you stay patient and listen idly to the hum of the talk radio show from your car’s speakers.

After a minute or two pass, you realize that maybe this wasn’t the right place to be. Maybe you were supposed to go in the front or something. Concluding that you probably aren’t where you’re supposed to be, you turn off the car and get out only to be greeted by the sound of buzzing lips.

You can hear a baby’s voice, mimicking some kind of vehicle’s sound, and for a second you’re worried this place must have you hearing things. Then, from a swinging door to the front comes a little girl, running and babbling to herself about her toy helicopter.

She has a head full of dark brown curls, tied back into two puffs with pink scrunchies, and matching pink leggings and a t-shirt far too big for her, the back emblazoned with the shop’s logo. She’s barefoot, tiny feet slapping against the cold cement.

“I told you I had to piss, Fish!” A man’s voice shouts from one end of the garage.

“No you didn’t, dipshit!” Another man shouts back. Being caught in the middle of their argument is quite comical, if you’re being honest with yourself. “She’s fucking two! You can’t leave her alone like that, man!”

The first voice is matched to a person as a tall blonde man emerges from the customer service side of the shop. “Marisol Morales, come here,” he insists sternly as he rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit. “Come on, you’re gonna trip.” Ben is embroidered on a patch over his heart.

She pouts at him before stumbling forward and continuing to run, stopping as she sees you and looking up in confusion. Her lower lip sticks out in a pout as her eyes scan your face, as if she’s trying to remember if she knows who you are. “Hi,” she finally concedes as you bend to her level.

“Hi there,” you smile and hold out a hand. “What’s your name?” You pick her up, holding her on your hip so that she doesn’t trip, like Ben so desperately feared.

The second, unknown voice shouts for the little girl again before boots clunk on concrete up to you, rounding your car and stopping. This must be the girl’s father, you realize, as you rake your eyes up his body. He wears the same navy blue jumpsuit as the other man, though it’s unsnapped over his chest, exposing the white t-shirt beneath. The patch on his chest reads Catfish. He wears a ball cap and warm brown curls peek out from under it. He has scruff and a hooked nose that perfectly matches the one on the little girl. “I Mari,” she introduces herself proudly.

“Hey, leave her alone, Mar,” the man shakes his head as he hoists her up to hold her on his hip. “I’m so sorry about that,” he says with an embarrassed smile, showing a dimple beneath the scruff on his chin.

“No, it’s not a problem,” you laugh then set her down and tell the little girl your name. “Aren’t you just the cutest?” You chuckle as she looks at you. She blushes and buries her face in the man’s chest, giggling shyly.

He looks down at the little girl then up at you again. “Well, uh, hi. I’m Frankie, and you’ve met Mari already.”

“Your daughter?” you ask as you look at the pudgy little girl, who now stares at you in awe.

Frankie nods and adjusts his ball cap, pushing his hair back with it. “Yep. Our nanny is on vacation, so she gets to hang out around here,” he chuckles and kisses her head, setting her down. “Go see Benny, yeah?” He asks her. She happily waddles off towards the blonde man, who gives you a wave then heads into the back. “What brings you in?”

“Would you laugh if I told you I don’t really know?” You admit with a shy smile. “My check engine light came on while I was on the highway. I don’t know the first thing about cars, so I was hoping you’d figure out what that meant.”

“Nah, no laughing here,” he nods and gives you a genuine smile before looking over at your car. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ll have you pop the hood for me and I’ll give it a look?” He asks.

“That would be great. Thank you,” you tell him, the desperation for his help in your voice. Now that you get the chance to really look at him, he’s quite attractive. His eyes are deep set and a beautiful brown, and they crinkle when he smiles. Facial expressions only accentuate the lines in his face, but he’s certainly not old. His eyes still hold his youth.

“No problem.” He leads you to the car and you pop the hood open before getting out. “Could I take your keys?” he asks you. “Just so I can turn it on and off and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod frantically and hand them over to him. “I’ll… be in the waiting room?”

“That’s how we usually do it,” he chuckles as he takes the keys from you. “Just shout for Benny if Mari annoys you again.”

That makes you frown. “She’s not annoying at all. She’s adorable,” you smile as you look over your shoulder and see her and the blonde man playing together.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he laughs and points his wrench at you as he walks to the hood of the car.

Shaking your head, you can’t help but laugh as you head back to the waiting room. You walk in and Mari perks up, turning to look at you. “Hi! Playing helicopter,” she tells you in her stunted speech as she holds up the toy.

“You sure are,” you nod and sit next to her. “Can I play?” You ask, looking up at Benny, silently asking him the question too.

He nods and Mari squeals happily. “Friend!” She shrieks and hands you another helicopter. “Go pew pew, okay?” She drags them across the toy mat like they’re cars, and you follow suit.

“Okay,” you laugh. Looking up at the blonde man, you extend a smile his way and introduce yourself. He’s busy repairing a Barbie dollhouse with a screwdriver.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ben, Benny, whatever you wanna call me.”

Driving your helicopter around the ground, following Mari’s lead, you chuckle. “No preference?”

“Fish calls me Benny.”

“Fish?” You ask and tip your head.

“Frankie, whatever. We’re buddies from the service. His code name was Catfish,” the man explains with a shrug, testing the hinges of the plastic door.

That makes you smile down at Frankie’s daughter. “Really, just buddies? Could’ve sworn you’d be brothers,” you tease the blonde, blue-eyed man. “Does Frankie know how to do his daughter’s hair?” You ask and fiddle with her two pigtails.

“Yes, he does,” Frankie insists as he walks out to the front, cleaning a wrench. “But just barely.”

You look up at him, embarrassed. “Her pigtails just look a little messy. Then again, she was running around like crazy,” you laugh and watch her rush over to Frankie, insisting he pick her up.

Bending down to grab her, Frankie groans at the ache in his joints. “She was. I could use some pointers, if you’ve got ‘em.”

“Of course,” you nod and stand too, brushing the dust from the concrete floor off on your pants. “What’s the verdict on the car?” You ask.

Frankie turned, watching as Benny walks out to the shop, but he turns back to face you. “Oh, right. The engine was misfiring, and unburned fuel was being put into the exhaust system, and that damaged the catalytic converter.”

You nod as you listen to him, really staring at his face more than anything. He’s just so damn pretty, you note as you admire the curve of his nose, his slightly sunken and dark eyes. His lips look beautiful and soft, even though they seem a little chapped. When he stops talking, it takes you a second to process it. “I don’t know what that means,” you admit with a shy smile. “I told you. I don’t know shit about cars,” you laugh, playing it off like you were lost when you were really lost in his eyes.

He shakes his head and laughs, bouncing Mari on his hip. “Your car is gonna need some work. Couple hours,” he shrugs. “If Benny and I get to working on it together, an hour and a half, maybe?” He admits.

“Yeah, that’s great. I can watch Mari,” you offer.

Frankie would never be this trusting normally. You’re a straight-up stranger, but your demeanor is good enough for him. Besides, you’re right here. He can check on the two of you every so often, and Mari seems to love you. “That would be great,” he smiles. “You really don’t have to.”

“No, I have nothing better to do,” you chuckle and look at the little girl. “You wanna play?”

Mari nods excitedly and Frankie sets her down. She rushes back to her toy mat and you watch her go. “Thank you, again, for fixing all this.”

“Just doing my job,” he nods. This time, it’s his turn to admire you. He stares at your face, examining the curves and angles that make you up. Your eyes are kind and warm as they follow the little girl, and he can see that he’s making a good choice here.

When you sit down, Mari comes and sits cross-legged across from you. “What are we gonna play?” You ask her, looking at her wide variety of toys. Her pile includes dinosaurs, Matchbox cars, lots of toy helicopters and planes, Barbie dolls, and a plastic tea set.

“Tea party!” She says and hands you a tiny plastic cup and a felt muffin.

“Oh my goodness,” you gasp in a fake accent. “How delightful!”

Frankie peeks over his shoulder at the two of you. He could really get used to that sight.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @deltadebelleza @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal @wintermuteway @maievdenoir @dobbyjen @beskarboobs

[capncassas]

Teammates Nothing More P.1

AN: I was inspired to start writing this after reading Slow Hands by @sinner-as-saint and if you haven’t read it already and you enjoy some steamy Cap daddy vibes totally check it out. This is chapter 1 of a possible serial involving Steve x Reader. Hopefully, you enjoy. Lots of angst coming.

Summary: You’re training to be an Avenger and have had feelings for Steve for a while, but since he told you that he doesn’t return those feelings, it seems like he is harder on you than anyone else on the team.

836 words

Tag List: @littlebirdofrivia @smile-sugar

—

“Ready to give up, Princess? The doors right there.”

What made you want to scream, aside from the fact that you were struggling to breathe, was that Rogers didn’t even look winded. Apart from the sweat soaking his t-shirt as you spared, it was the only sign that Steve was exerting any effort in your training session.

“I’m not… giving… up.”

With a grunt, you pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees, forcing yourself to climb to your feet and get back into your fighting stance.

Why was Steve being so hard on you?

Was it because you had a visible crush on him? That couldn’t be it. Your feelings aside, you wanted this. From the moment that Stark discovered you, you knew that there was nothing else in the world you wanted more than to be an Avenger and when you turned eighteen and told Steve how you felt; he said he didn’t feel the same way, and that was okay.

You were teammates and nothing more. You could live with that. It wasn’t like you’d never had a crush on someone before, and they didn’t feel the same way.

Was it crushing? Of course, but would you eventually get over it? Again, of course you would. The world would not end just because the man you wanted didn’t want you back and from the second that conversation ended you put your nose to the grindstone and started doing everything you could to prove you weren’t just tagging along because you like-liked Captain America.

He pushed no one else as hard as you, and long after everyone else vacated the gym, you were still here. Before you could ready yourself, Steve came at you, barely blocking his advances, letting him box you in.

“Stop!”

You shouted, stumbling backwards, tripping over your own tired feet, and landing hard on your bottom.

“I wasn’t ready!”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Do you think that out there in a real fight the enemy is going to wait for you to catch your breath, cupcake?”

Steve’s tone was biting and cruel as his tall frame loomed over yours before he moved to one knee, effectively trapping you on the ground.

That did it. You couldn’t stand the hardness in his eyes anymore as you reached up, grabbing him by the back of his neck and used your legs to flip his muscular body over yours and flipped yourself on top of him. Maybe any other time, sitting on his chest would have brought you some kind of joy, fuel for your shower time fantasies, but right now you weren’t thinking about the way his body felt beneath yours.

“Screw you, Steve.”

“Lan- “

But you didn’t give him a chance to speak.

You climbed to your feet, breathing hard. “If you’re going to train me, then train me. Not beat me up and lecture me about how I’m not good enough for the team.”

You swallowed, using your hands on your knees to push yourself to your feet again. Practically running away from Steve, just as Bucky was coming through the doorway, and smacked straight into him.

“S-sorry, Buck- “

You couldn’t even finish your sentence as you ran out of the gym and far away from America’s Super Soldier. You couldn’t take it anymore.

—

“Turn on shower.”

You said getting into your room and speaking to the AI as you stripped your clothes off, close to tears, but you could hold them in a little longer. Just for a few more seconds. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t cry until you were under the water.

It was a stupid promise, you knew, but it was one of the few things that you could control right now.

Upon reaching your final haven, you let go, sobbing beneath the spray as you brought your hands up to your face and sunk down to the tiles floor.

Why was he doing this to you? Why did he have to be so damned hard on you when he was never like that with anyone else? It wasn’t fair. All you ever did was like him, want him. Was that such a crime?

You could understand having no feelings back, but to be so cruel? You thought maybe that was Steve’s strange way of pushing you away, to make you stop wanting him, and it was working.

How could he be so good and so ugly all at once?

As you cried, the water ran cold and the aches and pains in your muscles dominated as you stiffly stood up and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself and took some Tylenol to bed.

The last thought that crossed your mind as you cried into your pillow was, maybe Steve was right? You weren’t cut out for this, and he saw that when everyone else was just being nice to you. What if he wasn’t being cruel—he was showing you a painful truth the only way he knew how?

[puckinghell]

If It’s Just Pretend | Brock Boeser

Summary Request: “I’ve spent the last nine months telling my family about my amazing partner and they just dumped me before the winter break; please be my fake partner”  Word count: 5,4k Note: aka lou’s favorite cliche

---

“So,” you say, sliding onto the couch next to Brock and putting a beer on the coffee table in front of him, “why are you moping?” 

Brock’s eyebrows raise up as he looks up at you. “I’m not moping,” he says, but it sounds extremely mopey, so you roll your eyes.

“I know you better than that,” you tell him sternly, and take a sip of your drink. “You haven’t even made fun of Tuna once.” 

You pointedly shoot a glance at Jake, who’s wearing a Santa hat but no shirt as he loudly sings along to Britney Spears’ version of My Only Wish, and waltzes around Bo’s living room. 

Brock sighs. “Yeah, I guess that is unlike me, huh?” 

But he doesn’t expand. 

It’s the Canucks unofficial Christmas party, the one that comes after the official one at Rogers Arena with all the Canucks executives where everyone dresses up in suits and sparkly dresses and drinks champagne.

You’d been to that one too, but this one is the one you’ve been looking forward to. 

The one with your favorite people dressed in ugly Christmas sweaters (or no sweater, if you’re Jake Virtanen) singing Christmas songs and drinking beer and destroying Bo’s carefully decorated flat. 

You think you just heard Rouss yell something about fighting the Christmas tree. 

Now Brock is your best friend on the team - he’s been your best friend since he walked into the coffee shop where you work one day and made a pointed comment to some guy that was rude to you, after which you gave him a free coffee and your number - but you’ve spent so much time around the rest of the guys that they’re all kinda your friends, now. 

Team parties, movie nights, you’ve attended them all. Nobody ever thought it was weird that Brock brought you, not even when he had girlfriends that he probably should bring. He never did. He always brought you.

Until about 9 months ago, when he started bringing Amber around. But, even then, he made sure to always invite you, too. If it was an official team event where players were only allowed a plus one, he’d make Petey bring you.

(“I don’t mind,” Petey had said, “I like you a lot more than any other people I could bring”) 

It still... hurt, to say the least. You know it’s ridiculous, but it still felt like you had been replaced, still felt like you hadn’t been enough. 

It’s never been like that, for you and Brock, even if that’s what you wanted it to be in the beginning. It remained platonic, and you didn’t have the guts to move it along, and then Brock started dating other girls, so you just kinda gave up.

But the girls had never lasted, and you’d always been the first priority, so it was fine.

Until you weren’t, and it wasn’t. Until Amber. 

But tonight, Amber isn’t here, and Brock is sulking, so you turn around and smack Brock against the chest. He’s wearing a sweater with a gingerbread man on it, that you end up punching straight in the face.

“Stop ignoring me,” you chide. “Tell me what’s got you out of the Christmas spirit.” 

You know Brock loves Christmas: he goes all out every year, and this party is one of his favorite evenings of the year, so it must be something serious to have him sitting on the couch staring stoically ahead while nursing the same beer all evening. 

Brock sighs, and you can see the stubbornness leave his shoulders as they sag down. 

“Amber left me.” 

And... oh.

That’s not what you were expecting. 

“Oh, Brock,” you mumble, reaching out to squeeze his knee, “I’m sorry...” 

“No you’re not,” he interrupts, a little gruffly. “You never liked her. None of the guys did either.” 

You feel your cheeks flush: perhaps that’s true, but you didn’t think Brock ever noticed. He never let on that he did. 

It’s not even that you didn’t like Amber, as a person: she was fine. Not really your type of girl, but fine. You just didn’t like the way she spent her evenings clung to Brock’s arm; how you felt like you couldn’t truly be yourself with your best friend when she was around. You didn’t like the looks she shot you sometimes, as if you simply being there offended her. You didn’t like how Brock’s smile dimmed when she was around.

He always told you that he was happy, that she was great, but you never saw it reflected in the way he acted around her, or the way he looked at her. So you thought that even if they’d been together for over half a year, it probably wasn’t going to last. 

Except now he looks genuinely upset and you feel a bit bad for being right. 

“I’m not super sorry that she’s gone,” you admit, because lying to Brock is useless: he’s always been able to look straight through you. “But I’m sorry you’re upset. Why did she break up with you?” 

Brock fumbles with the label on his beer bottle. “Just, our lives didn’t really fit together...” he drawls, and you can tell he’s deflecting.

He’s not telling you everything, and any other day you would push him. But this isn’t the time, and it’s not the place, and at that time Jake trips over his own feet and nearly takes down the dinner table, so you get a little distracted.

It’s not until the end of the evening that you see Brock again. You would’ve stayed at his side like a good friend should, but it seemed like Petey had that covered, and Bo put you on Jake duty - “You’re the only sober person here, you watch him” - so you had your hands full. 

But at the end of the night, most people gone, Petey comes up to you with Brock trailing behind him. 

“He’s drunk,” Petey states, which is surprising because before you left Brock alone he’d been sipping the same beer all night, and now he’s suddenly stumbling over his feet as he’s got his big body draped over Petey’s back. “You take him home.” 

“Why do I have to do it?” You cross your arms, narrow your eyes at him. “Why can’t you do it?” 

Petey sighs, motions to Brock. He seems annoyed. “Brock, I’m going to take you home.” 

“Noooo,” Brock whines, and he’s drunker than you thought, his voice slurring and his words jumbling together. “I want Y/N.” 

Petey snorts and pushes Brock towards you. “Have fun with him.” 

“Y/N?” Brock slurs, wrapping his arms around you. “You’re here!” 

“Yep...” You nearly buckle as he puts all his weight on you. “You’re gonna have to put in some effort here, bud, I can’t carry you.” 

Brock giggles. “I could carry you though.” 

“Not right now you couldn’t.” You start guiding him to the door, that Bo already has opened for you.

“Uber’s outside,” he says, shooting a pitiful look at Brock. “Is he gonna be good?” 

“You know what, Cap, I have no idea,” you tell Bo truthfully, and then you begin the impossible task of getting Brock in the Uber.

It takes a full 10 minutes but finally you’re in the back of the car, driving towards Brock’s apartment. He’s awake but barely, his head keeps bobbing down, and finally he drops it onto your shoulder.

You feel something squeeze in your chest. You barely ever see Brock like this: he’s not the type of guy to hide his emotions, but he is genuinely a happy go lucky guy, always positive and cheerful even when things are going wrong. Even when bad things happen, he shoulders the pressure and stays strong. He always holds it together; always holds you together. 

But now he’s gripping your hand tightly, like you’re the last thing tethering him to the earth. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” you mumble, carefully carding your fingers through his hair. Brock exhales softly, and you can feel the tension slipping away from his body. 

“It’s not even about her,” he says, and the words are not only slurred together but also barely above a whisper.

You hear it, though.

“What’s it about, then?” 

“I spent... fuck, I spent nine months telling my parents how great she was, and they were so...” He pauses. “Happy, you know? That I found someone. Because they worry sometimes. About me. And they were finally gonna meet her at Christmas. And now they can’t and they’re gonna worry, my mom, she’s gonna be so worried and...” His voice trails off. “It’s not about losing her, it’s that I don’t have anyone now, and that’s gonna worry my mom, and I don’t want that.” 

Maybe, in another world, where Brock isn’t drunk on your shoulder, where you’ve got your feelings a little more under control and your heart isn’t beating in your chest, you would just pat his head and let him cry it out, leave an aspirin on the bedside table and text him tomorrow to find out if he’s still alive.

But you’ve never been good at hiding your feelings, when it comes to Brock, and Brock has never seemed so vulnerable, so you blurt out:

“I can pretend to be your girlfriend and come to your house for Christmas and your mom doesn’t have to worry.” 

The second the words leave your lips you feel your cheeks heat up: that’s stupid, obviously he’s not gonna want that, he wants Amber, not you...

But then Brock’s head snaps up and his eyes are wide as he asks: “Really? You’d do that for me?” 

You nod, and you don’t tell him you’d do just about anything for him, and somehow a week later you find yourself with Brock’s head on your shoulder again, except this time he’s asleep, not drunk, and you’re not in an Uber but on a plane to Minnesota. 

--

“This was a bad idea.” You’re standing in front of the house Brock grew up in, and you know his family is inside. Brock is next to you, holding a suitcase. 

“Why?” he frowns. “Are you nervous? You already know my parents.” 

“Yeah, but...” You don’t finish your sentence but you know Brock knows what you’re saying. You know his parents but you know them as Y/N, the friend, and not as Y/N, the girlfriend, and somehow it changes everything. 

“Hey,” Brock says gently, nudging you with his elbow. “They already love you, and they’re just gonna love you more now. It’s gonna be fine.”

And it means nothing, because he can’t know that, but something settles in your stomach. 

Then he takes your hand and you think, oh, and then, I’m screwed.

Because of course, in order to be his pretend girlfriend, you’re gonna have to act like his girlfriend. Which is just gonna be massive reminder of everything you can’t have, everything you can’t ask for.

Brock opens the front door.

“Mom, dad?” he calls out, dropping the suitcase at the door. The first person that appears is Jessica.

“Hey Jess,” he smiles, hugging her.

Suddenly, family appears from everywhere: Laurie comes out and then Paul, followed by a bunch of dogs, who are the first ones to acknowledge your presence. 

“Y/N, honey, you’re here!” Laurie says, reaching out to hug you too. “Brock, I thought you said you’d bring your girlfriend.” 

“Uhm,” he answers, and you can’t help the way your heart drops.

Because of course they wouldn’t think you’re his girlfriend. You’re just the friend. You’ve always been just a friend, you’ll always be just the friend. You’re just not girlfriend material, not for someone like Brock.

Brock scrapes his throat, hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. “Mom, Jess, Paul, you know Y/N. My girlfriend, Y/N.” 

There’s a silence, one beat, two. Then, it’s Jess that breaks out into a grin.

“Yay,” she says, “I like her.” 

And it’s like that’s it, the seal of approval; suddenly Laurie has her arm around you as she hoards you into the living room, chatting excitedly while Paul slaps Brock on the back. 

“Finally got your head out of your ass, huh?” you hear him say, but you don’t have time to overthink what that means, because Duke is there.

“Honey,” Laurie says, “it’s Y/N! She’s Brock’s girlfriend!” She turns to you. “I told him it was gonna be you but he didn’t think so, he said you were way too good for him.” 

“Hey, I heard that!” Brock protests. “Talking bad about me behind my back, pops?” 

And it’s easy, from that moment on: easy to let Laurie make you a hot chocolate, to sit by the fire talking to Paul, petting a dog, easy when Brock sits next to you and slings his arm around you. It feels comfortable, familiar; like you’re already part of the family. 

It’s easy that night too, to help Laurie with dinner, joke with Duke about football, join Paul when he teases Brock. 

“Evil, evil woman,” Brock groans, and he drops his head in your lap and you card your fingers through his hair and let yourself believe, for one night, that it’s real. 

Of course, that illusion shatters when it’s time for bed. 

“You’ll be staying in Brock’s room, I assume?” Laurie asks.

“Of course she will,” Brock says, and it’s not until you’re both in his old room that he turns to you with a frown.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks. He’s looking pointedly at the double bed. “I can sleep on the floor.” 

And, well, you’ve slept in a bed with Brock before, but only when you’re really drunk, and it doesn’t feel the same now; it feels like this is something, like it matters, not a stupid decision by two friends who both refused to take the couch.

But you’re here for three days and you’re not about to let Brock sleep on the floor at his own house, in his own bedroom, so you shrug.

“It’s fine.” 

It’s very much not fine, when Brock crawls into bed next to you wearing only sweatpants and you can feel the heat radiating off his body; or when you wake up in the middle of the night and he’s got one arm slung across your body, his warm breath stroking your cheek with every exhale. 

I’m just helping a friend, you tell yourself. It means nothing, and I can stop myself from feeling like it does. 

But then a soft snore escapes Brock’s lips and you know you’re absolutely, royally, completely fucked. 

---

The next morning Brock walks into the kitchen with his eyes half closed and his voice laced with sleep, as he mumbles a “good morning” and goes straight for the coffee maker.

You know he’s not much of a morning person but it’s still hilarious that it takes him a full ten minutes to notice. 

“Are you cooking?” His voice sounds a little more normal, but it’s still gruffer than normal and you wish it didn’t affect you so much. 

“I thought it would be nice to make breakfast for your family.” You send him a tentative smile; you didn’t discuss this, and you don’t know if you’re crossing some kinda boundary, but everyone is so busy making sure you’re taken care of that you can’t help but feel a little bad. 

Brock laughs. “Oh boy, if you thought they loved you before, they’re really gonna love you after you make them pancakes. They’re gonna be so upset when we...” 

He cuts himself off, and his eyes widen slightly. You know he didn’t realize what he was going to say, and that it’s probably not the place to say it. 

Anyone could walk in at any minute, and it wouldn’t be good if they overheard you talking about your breakup. 

Fake breakup. Whatever. 

You frown down at your pan. Maybe this breakfast thing was a bad idea, maybe...

“Hey,” Brock says softly. You look up from the pancakes and suddenly he’s standing right there, and he carefully threads his arms around your waist. “Don’t,” he mumbles, “don’t worry about it. That’s my problem, okay?”

It is his problem, but it very much feels like your problem; you don’t tell him that, though, instead smile and flip the pancake. 

“Be useful,” you scolds him, trying to get it to feel normal again, “and go set the table.” 

“Okay, babe,” Brock says, and he presses a quick kiss to the side of your head before going off to find some plates, and it very much feels not normal at all, because there was nobody around to act for. 

And so, this is where you ended, at some kinda crossroads where you can either remind yourself that it’s not real and feel miserable the entirety of Christmas, or you can allow yourself to pretend and feel miserable after. 

You watch Brock as he carefully sets down the plates, gets the coffee maker going again and baby talks the dogs as he pots around. 

It’s gonna hurt anyway. You might as well enjoy it, even if it’s just pretend. 

---

You have breakfast with the family, after which Laurie tells Brock to “go show you the town”. So you drive around the town and he shows you where he grew up: his school, old house, favorite park, and of course the rink. 

“Spent way too much time there.” The rink looks like every other ice rink in the world, but Brock is smiling at it so fondly you’d think it was a person. “That place kinda made me who I am now, you know.”

It feels strangely personal, to see this side of him. You thought you’d seen your best friend from every angle, but you’ve never seen nostalgia out of him. It softens his edges and makes everything in the car feel warm and fuzzy, a little like a dream. 

Then, on the drive back, Brock reaches over the console to grab your hand and you’re sure it must be a dream. 

He doesn’t look over at you, doesn’t speak. Christmas music is playing softly on the radio and it’s starting to snow; just small white puffs floating through the air. You allow him to thread his fingers through yours and then, suddenly, he’s smiling.

“I have an idea,” he says, and you’re proud of yourself for sounding relatively chill when you ask “what”. 

If someone would just hear your voice, they’d have no idea you’re freaking out on the inside. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” 

“Where?”

“Where” turns out to be a deserted pond, in the middle of a field. You have to climb a fence to get there and Brock ensures you that it’s not trespassing because he knows the owner, so you decide not to question it. The ice is thick and filled with bumps. 

“I used to skate on this pond,” Brock says. He carefully steps onto the ice and presses his foot into it, almost as if to make sure it’s really there. Then he holds out his hand and you step down, grasping his hand for support.

You’re not a professional hockey player, and you’re wearing boots with no profile; it’s not as foul proof as Brock might think, and you’d rather not break your leg in some abandoned field in Minnesota that might or might not be someone’s private property. 

“How?” you ask. “It’s so bumpy.”

Brock laughs. “It’s a pond. That’s how they work. But you’re right, I fell all the time.” He shrugs. “My mom says I used to come home so black and blue she was sure I would one day just not come home at all.” He pauses. “But she always let me go anyway. Knew it was the only place I wanted to be.” 

He walks to the middle. Your hand is still tightly in his, so he pulls you along, sliding on your shoes. In the middle, he stops, and you slide into his side; he doesn’t seem to mind, simply holds you there. 

Brock is staring at the sky when he speaks, almost like he’s talking to  himself, or the air, and not you. “Whenever I was upset about something,” he continues, “I would come here and I would stay here for hours. I always told myself I could just live here, until it got cold and then I went home.” He chuckles, then becomes somber again. “And now...” 

The air is charged with something, and you’re afraid to speak, afraid to break it. But the pause lasts too long, so you risk it anyway. 

“And now?” 

Brock smiles and looks at you; there’s something written all over his face but you can’t quite read it, can’t quite put a finger on it.

“Now I go hang out with you,” he finishes. 

You don’t know how you end up where you do, but Brock’s face is so close you can nearly count his eyelashes, and he’s staring at you intently, and you don’t know who leans in first but suddenly your lips are pressed together.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and his fingers are cold against your skin, a stark contrast with the warmth of his lips on yours. You’ve had a few first kisses but they never felt like this; they felt exciting, sure, but also scary, and unfamiliar.

With Brock, you don’t have to work to find your footing. You fit together like the perfect puzzle, and everything feels exciting, but in the same way it feels exciting to come home after a long day. Every nerve in your body settles, and you feel comfortable, safe. Like you belong. Like it’s real.

It’s not real. 

You step back, Brock’s hand dropping to his side almost comically slow. Instantly, he’s frowning.

It can’t be weird, you’re gonna die if you made it weird, because you still have to be his fake girlfriend for two days and...

How on earth are you going to survive this?

“No one to pretend for,” you joke, but it sounds foreign either to your own ears, like the words are coming from someone else. You hear a low buzz that you’re pretty sure is coming from inside your brain. 

“What?” Brock stammers. “No, Y/N, fuck, that’s not...” 

“I think,” you interrupt him, and you hear yourself sounding a little hysterical, now, “that it’s better if we go home! I promised Jess we’d watch Elf, tonight, and I wanna make some popcorn. Let’s go.” 

You jump off the ice and nearly run to the car, repeatedly reminding yourself not to cry, and spend the car ride staring out of the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. 

Brock doesn’t say anything, not until the car is in the driveway and he puts it in park. 

“Listen,” he sighs, and there’s no way you’re gonna make it through this conversation right now, so you jump out of the car and slam the door. 

The house is warm when you walk in, and almost immediately, you hear quick footsteps coming down the stairs. 

“Y/N!” It’s Jess. “I was about to paint my nails. Wanna come so I can do yours?” 

And you’re not in the mood, but it’s Jess, and it’s not her fault, and you know it’s a big deal for her to open up to people, so you plaster on the biggest smile you can muster. 

“Sure.” 

---

“Red?” Jess asks, showing you a bottle of nail polish. “For Christmas?” 

“Yeah, okay.” You really could not care less if you tried, but Jess doesn’t seem to notice. You’re sitting on her bed, in her room, and she falls down next to you comfortably, taking your hand and putting it on her leg as she opens the nail polish. 

There’s Christmas music playing.

“You’re a pretty big fan of Christmas, huh?” you ask her. 

She nods. “When I was little, I already had that.” She motions to the corner of the room, where a small plastic Christmas tree sits on a desk. “And I would put it up in October, even before Halloween. Everyone said it was crazy, and mom and dad always asked me to wait until after Thanksgiving at least, but Brock would help me put it up and say, if it brings you happiness, you keep it close to you as long as you can.” 

She smiles. “I’m glad he kept you close.” 

And you wanna yell at her: it’s not real, he doesn’t, it’s all fake, but you don’t, because with everything, he’s your best friend, and you wouldn’t do that to him. 

“Uh, yeah, me too,” you say, instead, and it comes out as a whisper. 

Jess switches hands, moving on to the other nails. 

“I know he can be a bit of an idiot, sometimes,” she muses. “But I knew even he’s not dumb enough to let go of you. Like, he never told us he was dating you, but we all kinda knew. He’s always talking about you, you know, and when he does he always sounds so in love. He just can’t keep it out of his voice. He’s an open book, like that. When he loves someone, it’s written all over him, and he clearly loves you.” 

Every single word that falls from her lips seems to hit you right in the chest, and by the time she lets go off your hand, nail polish done, your hands are shaking. 

Jess doesn’t notice. “I’m glad that it’s you,” she says, with a smile. “I never liked the girls he dated before, but I like you. I’ll tell him to stay with you forever.” 

And it’s in that moment that you decide you can’t do this anymore. 

---

“I’m going home.” 

The words are loud in a quiet living room. It’s just you and Brock; you waited until everyone else went to bed, after the movie. It was torture, to wait; your heart beating in your throat the entire 2 hours, and you were so sure Brock was going to feel it vibrate out of you, even though he kept his distance.

You guess you sufficiently freaked him out earlier, at the pond.

Now, his eyes widen and he sits up straight.

“What?” 

It’s too hard to look at him while you speak, so you stare at your hands. Red nail polish. You’ve already peeled it off because of the nerves.

“I have to go home, Brock. I can’t do this anymore.” 

Brock sits so still you can’t tell if he’s even still breathing. When he speaks, his voice is a little shaky. 

“Is it because I kissed you? Cause I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. It just kinda happened, and...” 

“And it didn’t mean anything?” you finish for him, and it’s like a switch gets flipped. Now you’re mad. “That’s exactly why I have to go, Brock, because it doesn’t mean anything to you but it means something to me!” 

You jump up, cross your arms.

“I know this is my own stupid fault, I should’ve never come here, but I was trying to be a good friend. Because that’s just the thing, that’s all I’m ever gonna be to you. A good friend. And I know that. But this? This is just one big reminder of what I want but can’t have. Having your family act like I belong here, having you act like I belong here, it’s too much because I know that I don’t.”

Brock stands up, now, but he doesn’t say anything and you don’t really give him the time. 

“I had to listen to Jess tell me that she’s so glad I’m your girlfriend, because she likes me, and how much she can see in your eyes that you love me. And I had to sit there and say nothing because I knew if I opened my mouth I would’ve told her that she’s wrong. I love you, but you don’t love me, and I thought I could just pretend, but I can’t, Brock. It hurts too much.” 

“I didn’t know...” Brock tries carefully, but you can’t let him finish that sentence, can’t let him attempt to let you down gently. 

“I know you didn’t, because you wouldn’t have invited me over here if you did,” you tell him softly. The anger has disappeared, now, floated out of you like it was never there at all. “But you know now. So I should leave.”

And with those words, you disappear upstairs to grab your stuff. 

A little, teeny tiny part of you hopes that Brock will follow. But he never does.

---

You’re sitting on the porch, waiting for your Uber to the airport. You don’t actually have a flight yet but you’d rather sit alone at a busy airport than stomach this for a second longer: you’re only just managing not to burst into tears. 

It’s no longer snowing, but there’s a thick layer of snow across the yard. Foot prints lead up to the door. Your footprints. Then, next to them, bigger ones; Brock’s. 

God, you hate this. 

You’ve just dropped your head in your hands when the door opens behind you. It creaks, then closes and clicks softly into the lock. 

You know it’s Brock before he even sits next to you. You don’t know if it’s the sound of his footsteps or the smell of his cologne or the fact that your heart seems so tethered to his that you can literally feel his presence, but you’re not surprised when his voice cuts through the quiet night. 

“I lied to you, about why Amber broke up with me. It had nothing to do with our lives being on different paths.” He pauses, and despite yourself, you look up. He’s staring straight ahead, but then he turns around and his eyes catch yours. 

Your stomach twists.

“She broke up with me because she didn’t want to spend her life being the second most important thing in my life.” 

“Hockey,” you say, because that’s what all WAGs joke about; how they have to be okay with being the most important thing after hockey. 

But Brock shakes his head. “No, you.” 

And, uhm, well, what?

“What I did to her wasn’t fair. I dated her because I knew I had to get over you and I thought she could help me do that. But if the both of you needed me at the same time, I would fly to the moon to be with you before I’d drive to the other side of Vancouver to be with her. And she knew it, and she finally decided she wasn’t going to put up with it anymore.” 

He shrugs. “I was upset, but for all the wrong reasons. Not because I lost her. But because I knew then, that I was never going to get over you.”

“But...” you start, but now it’s his time to cut you off.

“No,” he says, gently but firm, and he turns to you completely; his knee is pressed into your thigh and he reaches out, takes your gloved hand in his. “Let me say this. You say it hurts, because I’m making you feel like you belong here and you don’t. But that’s not true. You do belong here. And you belong in Vancouver. And you belong anywhere I am, because you belong with me. And God,” he laughs, humorlessly, “believe me, it hurt me too, to see you fitting in with my family so well, as I knew you would. I knew they would love you. Because they can always tell when I love someone.” He pauses, then, softly: “And I love you.” 

This time, you know it’s you who leans in and connects your lips, but Brock is right with it, presses the palm of his hand into your lower back as he deepens the kiss. 

It feels like hours and seconds at the same time, when he pulls back; only slightly, only enough to breath.

You sigh, happily this time. “This would probably be a lot more romantic if it was still snowing,” you mumble, a smile spreading across your face.

Brock seems unbothered as he shrugs.

“We can just pretend.” 

[jordan102791]

Velvet Lace part 9

The stillness seeped into her bones. The occasional page turn chirping from the quiet that seemed eternal until broken. Screaming so loud it made ears ring. An old smell pleasantly raining in the air. Diana leaped into the leather throne she had claimed the second day in the shop.

Quinn had pulled her from her backpack carrier within seconds of Josh stepping through the portal from the real world to this one of fantasy and mystery, romance and horror. She would argue that the people in these tomes were more real than often given credit. To escape the dull gray of this world and enter another that was closer than it seemed. Close enough to just be a finger tip's distance away. The older man had brought down a towel from the store room, preparing for her arrival. Bunching it up into the chair and tucking her in. Her own dais from which to watch the strangers pass by. Some reaching out to brush the fur on her side before continuing on.

The tinkling sounds from above the door announce the newest entrant, but not a new customer. The woman in her peach dress that the wind bites starvingly at has been in most days at least once that Diana had noticed. But this wasn't all the shadow had noted in her black book about the woman. No, she watched the way the woman's gaze lingered on Josh when she swayed passed, skirts dancing in time to her hips. The woman wasn't shy, but certainly not the type to usually make the 1st move, no matter how much the idea scrolled across her face. She would just quietly flirt and behold the man who had yet to notice her attention. Men, the cat thought. Anyone could see that her insignificant search requests were only the ruse her heart wished would communicate to his own. Anyone except Josh Wells apparently.

She would need to be going on her way soon she supposed. But perhaps, she mused, she could leave his life a bit happier than she'd found it. Maybe someone to comfort him in his time of need when she would make her escape in the night, venturing into the world of one of the adventures penned in a book she surrounds herself with each day. Yes, he has been kind to her. Kinder than any other has been to a stray on the streets. She would try to do him this favor.

The creeping black smoke rolled across the floor to where her temporary master kneeled to pull a jacketless book from a box. The ripened peach tucked around the corner, being summoned like a beacon. The predator laying in wait for her chance to strike. The woman's fair skin, glowing from the sun raining through the windows steps around the end cap bringing her knee to face with Josh. Startled, he stands. Fishing for the words to ask if she needs help. The quiet chatter awkward as they both stumble through sentences that would make a sinner's ears bleed with how polite they are.

Now. This is the chance, Diana hoped she would be strong enough, but only her actions would tell. Strolling up, she rubs her cheeks to the man's pant leg. Lulling into a false sense of safety. The black cat lunges, throwing all her weight to the backs of his legs. He fumbles the book gripped in his hand as he tries to right himself. His hands going to the woman's arms, pushing his body close to hers. Steadying himself, he makes a quick retreat. The interaction reddening both parties' cheeks, murmuring apologies. A gentle, not wholly disappointed, smile pings her lips, while her eyes cast down to the floor. "Ummm... If you're all right, I'm gonna head to the back to grab more books," Josh practically whispers before racing off.

How can he not see the heady flush that took over the woman's face at the contact? A cherry blossom blooming into spring. The cat shakes her head before heading back to the warm leather arm chair, scheming ways to get him closer to the pleasant fruit he might enjoy a bite from if he just plucked it from the tree.

*****

A screeching shatters the reverie, a peaceful one for once, jolting Diana awake. The warm blankets and solid length beside her skittering across the bed away. Her golden eyes opening, scanning for dangers she cannot perceive.

"What? Why are you screaming?" She asks in a stranger's voice that hasn't been her own in many moons.

"Stranger in my bed. Stranger in my bed," his tone edging on hysteria. "Naked stranger in my bed. Pretty, naked stranger in my bed."

"Shit," she says full of emotion.

"Shit? That's all you can say? Shit? Who the fuck are you? And why are you in my bed? And where are your clothes?"

At his final question, she finally peers down, confirming his words. Her lush body, a distant memory now firmly cemented in her face. "Shit," she says emphatically, scrambling to tug the sheet from the bed around her body. Twinning snakes coiled tightly, holding butterfly wings around her.

"Yes! You said that already, but who the fuck are you? And how'd you get in my house?"

"Shit, this is awkward. I haven't done this since I was a wee kitten," shame steeping her voice in dread. "I'm Diana. Your cat."

"Ok, so you're a very pretty, insane, naked girl in my bed. Fantastic. I'm gonna go ahead and call the police now."

"No, no, no! Josh, stop! Don't do that!"

"How do you know my name?"

"I told you. I'm Diana. Your cat," her tone hinting the answer should be obvious. Listen, if I wasn't Diana how would I have gotten in? Or know you work at the book store? Or know that the cat's name, my name, is Diana?"

"Bc obviously you're stalking me." His fingers ppised to dial the emergency number.

"Josh I'm not stalking you. Just stop for a second. Let me explain!" She takes a step towards him, tripping in the sheet. His retreat hasty to keep the space between them. "Josh please," she pleads. "5 minutes. Just give me 5 minutes to explain and convince you. And if after that you still don't believe me than call the police and have me hauled away."

"Oh, so I need your permission to call the police?"

"No of course not, but please, I'm begging you. Just 5 minutes." The sincerity in her golden eyes that he shakes the familiarity off at the sight of, warms him only mildly. But it's still just enough the thaw his fingers from their rigor mortis around the phone.

"5 minutes. That's it. Starting now. Go!"

"I really am your cat," she says holding up a hand, waving off his denials. "I'm a shapeshifter. This is what I really look like, but I can become a cat too. In fact, I've been a cat for a very long time now. And last night was the 1st time I've lost control of a shift since I was a kid. I'm sorry, you were never meant to find out, especially not like this. I was just supposed to slip out one night and you never see me again."

A confused stricken look envelopes his features. "Say I believe you, you were just going to leave?"

The embarrassed shame she already felt being drowned and twisted into the shame that now ate anyway at her belly. Eating her, consuming her from the inside out. Chasing heat up into a face that felt it might burst from the blood packing in. She doesn't answer him. Her bright eyes avoiding a meeting in the middle with his own.

"Right." He sucks his teeth and nods. "So you're a cat, huh? Fine. Show me."

Her eyes snap up to his finally. "Show you?"

"Yes. Show me. Turn back into my cat. Prove that you are what you claim to be. Seeing is believing and frankly I'm not sure I'll believe it until then."

Running throught the scenarios in her head, she nods to the carpet. "All right. I'll show you." She looks to him, searching his face. Preparing heraelf to run when things go badly. She knew she needed to leave soon, she just didn't expect it to be like this. Taking a step back to the middle of the room, she drops the sheet. His gaze too startled by the bones crunching and reforming to think on her brazen behavior.

And the shouting began again. He hadn't thought she really could change, the midnight fur running from her curly hair across the curves and planes of her body. A tail creeping from her skin, swishing and slashing the air. Compacting down to the feline he had shared his bed with for almost a week. The only thing remaining of the gorgeous woman in the equally remarkable cat were those amber eyes that glowed in any light. The blood slamming down into his feet making him sway and catch himself on the dresser.

His furry companion shifting her weight on her feet before growing and becoming again. "You really are a cat," his eyes wide, showing whites like a horse reading to bolt.

"I am," her voice barely a whisper, but he still hears it in the gelatinous silence filling the room. Her nakedness not seeming to concern her, he bends to snatch up the sheet handing it back to her. She nods her thanks before cacooning herself back in it.

[puffdragongirl]

Secrets (Not) to Keep (Team Secret Stab Wound)

Stacking the very last of the day’s reports on her desk, Shirayuki leans back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. Stretching her arms above her head, she savors the silence of the office after the chaos of today. Between her lectures and the sudden rush of patients from the summer cold going around Scholar’s Street, she had been busy nearly the entire day. She had barely managed ten minutes to scarf down some buns an equally-harried Suzu had brought back from a street vendor for lunch. Her stomach growls at the thought of food, and she glances at the clock.

Obi is late again… It isn’t entirely surprising, but she can’t help but frown. Obi usually sends word when he is running this late, but the past few weeks have been an exception. Makiri, citing his self-proclaimed specialty of bandit hunting, had put Obi in charge of an investigation of the sudden spike of robberies and assaults in the area. Although he still made a point of stopping in the pharmacy at least once a day to check in, adding the oversight of extra patrols and scouting of leads to his existing duties kept him from their usual shared dinner more nights than she would prefer.

Sighing, she pushes back from her desk and heads towards the kitchens. They had been planning to try out a new place in the tent district tonight, but if Obi was still working this late, he might not even return before the restaurant closed. He might be content to make do with whatever he can rummage from the pantry on late nights, but Shirayuki hates the thought of him capping off a long day with such a meagre meal. Her stomach also reminds her of her own hunger, so as she walks she considers what options will be quick to cook, but also hold for the next few hours. We had stew yesterday so that’s out, but I think we have shrimp in the ice box, and Yuzuri did bring us that garlic…

A bang from the stockroom draws her away from her planning, and she comes to a halt. Turning, she finds the door slightly ajar, although no light from candles shines from within. She is certain everyone else had left, and had not heard anyone return, so who was in the stockroom? Add to that the sounds of drawer after drawer being yanked open, of hands scrambling roughly through their contents, not to mention the recent rise in robberies, and she is more than a little concerned.

Cautiously, she approaches the room, and peers through the crack in the door.

“Ryuu?” the boy startles, head whipping around from where he was pawing in a drawer, “What are you doing here?” It isn’t unusual to see him in the pharmacy late, especially when he was in the middle of a project, but she knew he had plans tonight, “Weren’t you and Kirito having dinner tonight?”

“I, uhh-,” he stumbles over his words, looking more nervous than she’d seen him in ages, “We did, but…” His eyes dart around the room, and he speaks slowly until they light on his messenger bag, then the words tumble out, “I just remembered I had to…to restock my kit.”

“Your kit?” she asks, not missing his unusual behavior, “Didn’t you just restock yesterday?” His mouth opens and closes, and his eyes travel around the room again as if to search out another excuse for his presence. “Is…is everything okay?”  

“No, I mean, yes, I mean…” he holds up his hands in supplication, a habit he’d picked up from Obi, and she spies the edge of his sleeve, where a red stain has soaked into the cloth.

“Ryuu!” she gasps, grabbing at his arm, “Is this blood?!” She pushes up the sleeve, inspecting his arm frantically for any sign of injury, “Oh my Gods, are you hurt? What happened? Come on, let me look – ”

“No!” Ryuu interrupts, pulling her hand from his arm, and she feels the cold sweat gathered on his palm, “I-I’m not hurt; it’s not mine.” He looks to the side, mouth trembling a bit as he struggles to force out the words, “It-it’s Obi’s…”

Shirayuki nearly sprints to the training halls, clutching the strap of her medical bag the whole time. Skidding to a stop before the double doors, she shoves them open and looks frantically for her injured knight. Obi leans against the far wall; head back, eyes closed, and brow furrowed slightly in pain. One hand is pressed tightly to his side, and even from the door she can make out the slightly darker patch where his blood has soaked his shirt.

“Little Ryuu,” he calls, hearing the bang of the door against the wall, but not yet bothering to open his eyes, “I think you are worrying over nothing.” He snorts, then continues, the gold of his eyes coming into view slowly, “If anything the Miss is going to be mad at me for this. I’m the one who –”

She can tell when he sees her, since his words cut off mid-sentence. Sheepishly, he offers her a grin, straightening from his slump against the wall, “Ah, Miss, I was just thinking about you.”

She blows out a breath to steady herself, frustration at the secrecy, worry for his injury, and relief that he is at least well enough to joke all warring within her.

“Let me see,” she kneels by his side, pushing his hand away and pulling his shirt up and off his torso. He hisses as air hits the wound but submits to her poking and prodding. The gash is deep, running just along the bottom of his ribs, but thankfully seems nothing but a flesh wound. Reaching for her bag, she pulls out a clean cloth and some alcohol. To distract him from the sting, she prompts him to talk, “Do you want to tell me what happened? Ryuu was too shaken up to.”

“Ah, well…” he sucks in a breath at the first touch of the cloth to his skin, “Little Ryuu was concerned after that attack on the convoy two months ago; that one with Little Kirito’s friend.” He shifts slightly, nodding towards a blood-stained dagger abandoned in the ring, smaller than Obi’s own but clearly well-made, “He asked me to show him the ropes, so we’ve been practicing, with wooden blades of course. Today was the first he had a real blade in a spar, so he was a bit nervous. He tripped, and it was me or him so…”

The sheepish grin returns, and he shrugs. She doesn’t need him to finish the sentence to know it wasn’t really a choice. Obi would never let him be hurt, even if securing Ryuu’s safety meant sacrificing his own. Although she wants to rail at him for his recklessness, she knows she would have done the same. Explanations out of the way and tensions eased, they sit in a companionable silence as she cleans and stiches the wound. It is not until she coats the injury in ointment and presses a pad against the wound that he breaks the silence.

“Sorry for missing our dinner time,” Obi apologizes, shifting as she wraps bandages around his chest to secure the pad, “It was just an accident, but Little Ryuu was afraid you’d be angry with him.” He fiddles with his shirt, pulling a face at the part sticky with partially-dried blood, but pulls it back on once she finishes the wrapping, “I knew you wouldn’t be angry with him, but he was so worried I didn’t want to upset him more by arguing.”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t upset he wanted to hide this” she admits, stepping back to give Obi room to climb to his feet, “But I’m just happy everyone is okay.” As they head for the door, her stomach grumbles loudly, protesting her lack of dinner now that everyone is safe. She feels her face heat with a blush as Obi laughs, but soldiers on gamely, “I am also a little upset my knight abandoned our dinner plans.”  

“Well, never let it be said I left my lady unsatisfied,” wiping tears from his eyes, he offers her the arm on his uninjured side, “To dinner, Miss?” 

Along the way, they stop in the pharmacy, where Ryuu has been reorganizing the storeroom he tore apart in his panic. Relieved to see Obi back on his feet, he rushes as if to hug him, but stops just short as if unsure of his welcome.

“It’s okay, Little Ryuu,” Obi reaches out to pull the boy into a one-armed hug, ruffling his hair, “These things happen.”

“But let’s try to have them happen less in the future,” Shirayuki chimes in, but softens her words by tugging Ryuu into a hug on her own. “Come on, let’s get Obi in a clean shirt and head to town for dinner.” She glances at the clock, “If we hurry, we can probably still make it to the Snuggly Duckling before closing.”

“Snuggly Duckling?” Ryuu questions, but follows along as they head for Obi’s quarters, “Is that the new place in the tent district? Kirito went there and he said…”

Fun facts:

They do make it to the Snuggly Duckling in time for dinner, and find the apple dumplings delightful, although the savory buns aren’t nearly as good as those from the street vendors.

Ryuu is leery of continuing dagger practice for a few days, but eventually gets back into it when Shirayuki agrees to sit in on practice. Nobody is surprised when Shirayuki joins the lessons a few weeks later.

[borkingbarnes]

The Price of Kindness

This is my submission to @withstarryeyes‘s writing challenge. Congrats on 300, babe! 💕

Prompt: “That is way too expensive!”

Characters: Steve Rogers, Avenger!reader, Sam Wilson

Word count: 1.5k 

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD and war, veteran coping, but happy ending? 

A/N: This took a waaaaay different turn than I intended when I first started writing, but here it is. I’m not sure how I feel about this one because of the turn but feedback would be lovely! 

ps: I’m going to link the Veteran’s Support Foundation donation link here if anyone wants to donate. I think the work they do is very important. And of course, a thank you to all the men and women that serve/have served. 

pps: thank you to @jaamesbbarnes for giving this a read ahead of time and giving me feedback! I have hella love for you, babe! 

Walking through the automatic doors of the grocery store, a blast of cold air hits you, making a shiver run down your spine. As you’re about to go grab a cart, you see the super soldier beside you freeze in place from the corner of your eye. Looking over to him, you can’t help but smile at his expression. 

His eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted as he takes in the expanse of shelves before him. The view was so surreal to him that for a moment he just stood there. 

“You alright, Cap?” You ask him, right before he stumbles forward as Sam runs into the motionless man in front of him. 

“Sorry. Just never seen so much food in one place before”, Steve mumbles and give him a small smile before grabbing his hand so he wouldn’t continue to block the doorway. “There’s enough food here to feed a small village.” 

A sympathetic frown makes its way onto your face, though you try to hide it. You can’t help but feel sadness for the super soldier. He was so young when he enlisted for war, still a kid. He had fought battle after battle as Captain America, but no one bothered to think about Steve Rogers, the kid that never got to grow up normally. From missing so much time of his life to having practically been shoved into the future and having to cope with the loss of his past and readjust-- it made your heart ache for him. You had certainly tried to help Steve whenever you could, and though his amazement at advancements was endearing, you couldn’t help but feel for the man. 

Shaking your head slightly to clear your mind, you rip the grocery list in two and hand half of it off to Sam as he comes back with two carts. You part ways with him as Steve trails along behind you, still looking around with an awestruck look on his face. 

You had been sentenced to grocery duty after drinking the last of Tony’s chocolate milk. In your defense, you hadn’t known it was his, it hadn’t been labelled or anything. It had simply been in the shared kitchen’s fridge. How were you supposed to know it was his?

Steve had volunteered to come along, knowing how extensive the Avengers’ grocery list was. With such highly intensive lifestyles, the amount of food that passed through the compound put buffets and restaurants to shame. He also had just wanted to see what modern day grocery stores were like since he hadn’t been in once since the 40s. 

Sam had owed you a favor which you decided to call in, but not without some grumbling on his end. It was no unknown fact that it took way too many trips to carry in all the groceries. 

“Alright. First thing’s first, we need milk. Birdboy drinks so much milk we should just get him a cow,” you grumble as you walk beside the cart that Steve is now pushing. It wasn’t uncommon to see Sam walking around the compound drinking out of a 4 litre jug of milk casually. The worst part was that he went through multiple jugs a day. Was it possible to die from calcium overdose? 

As you picked up a jug of milk an incredulous “WHAT?!” sounded from beside you, effectively startling you as you drop the jug back into place. 

“WHY IS MILK MORE THAN FOUR DOLLARS?!” Steve exclaims as a few people around you begin turning their heads your way. You duck your head, a little embarrassed by the scene the super soldier was causing, but can’t help but find the whole ordeal to be quite funny. 

“Inflation,” you giggle, taking the jug he held in his hands and placing it into the cart. 

“But—But it was only 10 cents back in my day! That is way too expensive! How the hell do people afford to live these days?!" He asks, brows still furrowed. 

“No idea, Stevie, I guess it’s a good thing Stark is rich” you say, piling in five more jugs into the cart before practically dragging Steve from where he stood, still ogling at the price. 

The two of you continued along, with Steve occasionally exclaiming things such as, “what do you mean a sack of potatoes is almost five dollars?! They were only fourteen cents back in the day! Fourteen CENTS, Y/N!!” and, “why is a carton of eggs five dollars now?! Are they breeding super-chickens now?? Will these eggs cure people of diseases? They have no right being so expensive!!” 

However, despite all the comments, you still caught Steve sneaking a few things onto the cart. Mostly sugary snacks. The man had a major sweet tooth quite possibly due to growing up during a time where sugar was scarce, so he just couldn’t get enough of it now. 

“Hey Steve, you think we could use your senior citizen’s discount?” Sam asks after you guys have met up again. The joke earns him a snort from you as you try to cover up your laughter. Steve however, looks displeased, shaking his head at the both of you. 

After checking out your groceries and stuffing the back of the car with everything that was bought, you made your way back to the compound. 

“Stop the car.” Steve says suddenly, barely waiting for Sam to pull the car up to the curb before he’s getting out already. You hear the trunk open and turn around, looking at the super soldier confusedly as he rummages through the groceries in the back. However, your heart soon swells at the sight of Steve carrying an armload of food towards a homeless man sitting against a building a few feet away. 

You couldn’t help but let a smile make its way onto your face as you see Steve kneel down and begin talking to the man. He wasn’t in uniform in front of cameras or speaking at a public event; this was all Steve Rogers, the man with a golden heart. He wasn’t just an act or a face to the values that Captain America symbolized, he fulfilled them. Steve Rogers really was the kind, loyal, and giving man that the suit was meant for. No charades, or facades, or acts, it was all him. 

You reach for the door handle and get out of the car too, emptying a bag out and replacing its contents with non-perishable foods for the man as Sam does the same after parking the car. Walking up beside Steve, he’s already in deep conversation with the man. 

“Thank you, God bless your souls” the man says as you and Sam hand him the bags of food. 

“Y/N, Sam, this is Frank, he’s a veteran” Steve says, sadness tinging his tone. You knew that this hit home for him and Sam. Since he had known about suffering war veterans, Steve had volunteered countless hours to give talks and offer support. Sam also routinely donated to Veteran’s Aid support groups as well. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Frank” you say to him, offering him a kind smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am. Not many pretty dames stop by to chat with a fella like me anymore. Think I’m finally beginning to accept that I’m not as handsome lookin’ as I was a few years ago” he says, and you can’t help but smile. It was clear that despite his conditions, he had not lost his humor and charm. 

Sam’s phone began to ring and he walked off as you and Steve continued to talk to Frank. He had grown up in Manhattan, enlisting at the age of 21. After he had served, he was no longer able to locate his family and his PTSD prevented him from being able to hold a steady job. Your heart broke for this man. It just wasn’t fair that he had risked his life for his country and received a life on the streets in return. 

“We’ve gotta go,” Sam says frowning, as he walks back over. “Mission briefing from Fury himself.”

Steve and you nod as Sam reaches into his wallet, pulling out the remaining money he had and handing it to Frank with a nod. 

“I’m going to make a call to a VVA Service Officer friend of mine,” Steve says, taking out a pen and the small sketch pad he kept in his jacket pocket. “This is his address and phone number. You can even head on over now if you’d like. He’s just a couple blocks from here. I’ll let him know to expect you, okay?” He says, ripping out the sheet of paper and handing it to the man. 

Frank nods, a smile on his face now. “Thank you, guys.” He says as you give him one final smile. The whole encounter had truly humbled you, making you realize just how good you had it. 

Your mind wanders to Steve and you realize that maybe there were other reasons that had made Steve relate to Frank. Steve too had gone to war and came back to having almost everything stripped from him. From his family, to his previous life, and even certain emotions he was allowed to show. You really hoped Steve’s VVA friend could help Frank find some peace, and even more so, you hoped that Steve could find some peace as well. It was sad that the world could take advantage of such a kind soul and continue to batter it for so long. 

It was silent on the rest of the way home, each person lost in their own thoughts. 

“So uh, I’d say your first trip to the grocery store was a success, huh Cap?” you say as the three of you pull up into the garage of the tower, trying to ease the mood. 

“Yeah,” he replies, “The prices of food may have grown, but it’d be willing to pay just about anything in the name of kindness.”

Tags: @withstarryeyes @wildlifepixie @sgtjbuccky @silver-starburst @chrevastan @boopboopbarnes @goldenkillmonger @just-add-butter @1xxmrsalphaxx1​ @sadbhabie2020 @coal000 @jaamesbbarnes @dewy-biitch

Masterlist

[bangtaninink]

i’m too lit to dim down a notch IV

Summary: Jeongguk is the new kid in town. Kind of. He’s looking for an Authentic College Experience™, and you have no problem helping him out with achieving that (fratboy!AU)

Part: 1 | 2 | 3

A rhythmic knock at his door makes Jeongguk flinch and nearly drop his shirt.

“Um, come in?”

He’s just about to wonder why the fuck someone’s bothered to knock because no one in the frat house ever bothers to knock, but all questions die on the tip of his tongue when he sees you walk in, dressed in a Doosan Bears jersey, black jeans, and white sneakers, holding a navy blue cap between your teeth as you pull your hair up into a ponytail.

“Mornin’,” you greet, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

Jeongguk fumbles, drops his shirt and scrambles to pick it up, tripping over a pile of dirty clothes that are in dire need of washing before he gets himself composed.

“Hi. Hey. Hi,” he stammers, so desperate to get his shirt on he almost runs into a wall. “G-good morning.”

“Sorry I’m a bit early, but I got out of the house as quick as I could because there’s a party happening at our house tomorrow night and the others are in some mad rush to get everything planned out. Some of the more senior sisters get a bit anal about making sure shit’s organised and I don’t like to be around them when that’s happening.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t mind me, okay? We’ve got heaps of time. Just pretend like I’m not here.”

Easier said than done, Jeongguk thinks, but he holds his tongue and tries to continue getting dressed, even when he sees you flop down to lie on his bed, cap resting on your knee as you hold your phone above your head. It’s ridiculous, the way your presence has all of a sudden got him question every little thing about today -- should he really wear this shirt today? This cap? Don’t even get him started on his hair!

Jeongguk freezes when the sound of your humming cuts through the quiet, resisting the urge to turn and look over his shoulder and watch your humming transition into quiet singing. Admittedly, you’re not that good. He doesn’t have particularly high standards (he leaves that to Yoongi), but he’s pretty sure even you wouldn’t call yourself the next IU. Still, just the fact that you’re here, in his room, singing-but-not-really-singing Two Melodies without another care in the world is enough to make Jeongguk’s cheeks warm with an unexplainable fondness for you.

He tugs his shirt on quickly, crosses the room to open up the door to his wardrobe to check himself in the mirror, all the while avoiding looking at you. Jeongguk tries not to wince at how unkempt his hair looks, and does his best to comb his fingers through it as casual and nonchalant as he can look trying to flatten out a cowlick or two. The cap, he thinks, is definitely gonna be needed today.

“Hey, Jeongguk?”

Jeongguk turns so quickly he hits his knee on the edge of his wardrobe’s door.

“Uh, yeah?” he replies.

“Can I ask you something?”

Dread washes over Jeongguk, and irrationally, he thinks, here it is. She knows what I did last night. Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck. Bye, world! It was nice while it laste--

“Two things actually,” you continue. “How’d you get into Beta Tau so quickly, and if you’re a sophomore, why are we in the same anatomy class?”

Jeongguk nearly cries with relief.

“Oh, um. Well, my dad’s alumni,” he answers, giving up on his hair and slapping his cap on, kicking his wardrobe shut with the heel of his boot and moving to sit beside you, a complete bundle of nerves but, hopefully, looking calm. “He studied in Seoul and made it into Beta Tau Sigma when he was a student here. The frat has that rule about automatically letting family relations in or whatever. I forget the proper wording.”

“Oh, I know that rule,” you say, tucking your phone back into the pocket of your jeans. “That’s how Tae and Jin oppa got into Beta Tau as well.”

“Oh. Wait, wait. Seokjin hyung’s your brother too?”

“Nah, he’s my cousin. Might as well be my brother though. What about anatomy class?”

“W-well,” Jeongguk starts, trying to not jerk at the way you nudge the side of his thigh with your knee. “Uh, I did a lot of extra classes back in Busan last summer. Kinda built up enough credit that I might be able to graduate a year early. Or at least a semester.”

Strategically, he leaves out the part about having so few friends back in hometown that he had way too much time to himself in July that he’d resorted to just... studying.

“So... you’re like a super nerd then,” you laugh, teasing. “I like that. It’s a nice change from the other Busan boy.”

“Who, Jimin hyung?”

“Yeah. He wouldn’t have made it to senior year if it weren’t for me and Hoseok oppa. He spends way too much time doing everything else but studying, even now. I mean, I’m not really one to talk, I guess.” You sit up, resting your arm on Jeongguk’s shoulder, missing the way he tenses briefly. “But then again, I can find time to fuck and get fucked on the regular while getting straight As, so he really has no excuse.”

Jeongguk chokes on his own spit.

“Um, wow,” is all he has to say. You laugh quietly.

“Oh, I have another question for you. The other day, when I first met you? What’d you mean when you said you wanted to be a physiotherapist for athletes because you probably “won’t get to be one”?” you say, fingers curling in imaginary quote marks. “Who says you won’t get to be one?”

“Uh, no one, but... it seems a bit unrealisitic for me to aim to be on Yoo Heekwan’s level. Or Park Taehwan. Like, they’re gods, and I’m, like, a pleb.”

“You play baseball, Guk?”

“Yeah. And swim. Mostly swim. Well, no. Well, I dunno yet. Tryouts for the baseball are on Wednesday. And the swim team tryouts are on Tuesday. It’ll be a fucking miracle if I make it into either one, honestly.”

“Can I come?”

Eyebrows raised so high they almost disappear into his cap, Jeongguk looks at you with unabashed shock.

“To... to the tryouts?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Um... why?” It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, and he stumbles over his words trying to recover. “No, I mean! N-not that I don’t want you there! Or... w-well, I dunno. Do I want you there? I-it’s a free country. I guess you could technically go whether or not I say y-yeah, but...” He trails off when you start to laugh.

“You’re cute, Guk. But I’d like to come and watch if that’s okay with you, because, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a fucking lunatic for baseball -- or just sports in general -- and, also, I wanna be there to tell you ‘I told you so’ when they ask you to join the team right then and there. Plus, swimmers are hot.”

Jeongguk blinks, dumbfounded and trying to listen to what you’re saying, instead of staring down at your lips while you speak like he wants to.

“But... you haven’t even seen me play or swim,” he replies.

“With a body like this, Jeon Jeongguk, I’m sure you play and swim great,” you laugh, lightly smacking his chest.

(He hardly feels a thing.)

“Um. Uh. Okay. Y-yeah. If you want to, noona. Wait. C-can I call you that?”

“You can call me anything you want, babe,” you say, chuckling as you stand, fingers wrapping around Jeongguk’s wrist to pull him up onto his feet. “C’mon. Let’s go see some epic shit.”

“Holy shit. That was amazing!” Jeongguk cries out, skipping backwards to remain facing you as you both leave the stadium, the afternoon sun warm on your heads.

“God, how does he make it look so fucking effortless?” you add, jogging after him. “I need me a man like Yoo Heekwan.”

“Yeah. I’m not even gay, but amen to that, noona. A-fucking-men.”

Laughing, you quickly grab Jeongguk’s wrist, pulling him away from the path of an incoming cyclist as he draws nearer to a pedestrian crossing. The adrenaline is still well and truly pumping through your veins and his, and another win for the Doosan Bears means neither of you will be calming down anytime soon.

“Hey, Guk. You hungry?” you ask. “Let’s get some food.”

“I’m down for that. Where do you wanna go?”

“Let’s get some burgers, babe.”

“I like burgers!”

Shaking your head, you laugh, not letting go of his arm as you lead him down the road to the nearest burger joint, a usual stop of yours after a game. It’ll be a welcome change today, for someone to actually eat with you and talk about what’d just happen, instead of the normal ‘do you even know how many calories are in a regular cheeseburger?’ lecture and constant eye-rolling at you waxing poetic about athletic form and pitching speeds.

(”Jesus. Okay, Bora. Just calm down and let me finish this in peace. I’ll get you your fucking salad in a sec.”)

In the middle of his monologue on a spectacular catch by Min Byunghun, Jeongguk reaches forward to pull the door open, letting you step inside first, not even breaking sentence or losing his train of thought once. You almost trip over your foot walking in, so not used to the chivalry, even if the both of you are just entering a fucking Burger King. Unphased and oblivious to your surprise, Jeongguk keeps talking right up until the both of you have made it to the counter to order.

“Hi. Can I please have a Grilled BBQ set with cheese, and a side of onion rings?” he orders, already reaching into the back of his jeans to pull out his wallet. “What’re you gonna have, noona?”

“Jeongguk, you’re not gonna pay for me.”

“Hmm?” Jeongguk turns to look at you, first with a look of confusion, then with a smile. “What’re you talking about? Of course I’m gonna pay. You bought my ticket to the game, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but I asked you to come out today. Put your wallet away.”

“Noona, it’s just Burger King,” he says, laughing. “No offense.”

“Hey, dude. None taken,” the cashier says, waving a dismissive hand. “Think I care about this place that much?”

“See? This guy knows what I mean. Order whatever you want, noona. I’ve got this.”

Door opening and meal paying? This is too good to be true, you think.

“Fine. If you insist,” you say.

“Yup.”

“I’ll have a Supreme Cheese set, no pickles, and some extra cheese fries.”

“Too easy,” the cashier replies, punching in the orders, hand outstretched as Jeongguk surrenders his card unprompted.

“You can go find a table, noona. I’ll bring the food over when it’s done,” Jeongguk says, taking his card back.

You choose a table close to the back wall, still within view of the front counter. Cradling your chin in your hand, you look at Jeongguk’s back as he waits, fingers tapping against the counter top while he looks down at his phone, too busy wondering how the hell this kid can be such a... gentleman in this day and age? No one treats you like this, not even the rest of the guys in Beta Tau Sigma, so you can’t help but be taken aback by all of this. Does he not know who you a--?

It suddenly dawns on you that Jeongguk is new to Seoul, to the college you and the rest of the guys attend, and he has absolutely no idea what kind of reputation you’ve built for yourself over the years.

There’s this brief twinge of regret and paranoia that passes over you when you realise what could happen if anyone who knew you were to see Jeongguk with you, wondering what could happen if they were to start talking. What would they say about you? What would they say about Jeongguk? How shitty would you seem if you were to ruin all chances of him enjoying his college life in peace?

Before you even have a chance to work yourself up, however, Jeongguk appears in front of you, setting down the tray as he chews on a mouthful of fries.

“This is my kind of fine dining,” he says, swallowing before letting out a soft chuckle.

“Ooh, yeah,” you reply, reaching for your cheese fries. “This easily beats every five-star restaurant I’ve ever been to for sure.”

“You’ve been to a five-star restaurant, noona?” Jeongguk asks, handing you your burger.

“Probably twice? Yeah. Once for my dad’s birthday. We went to this really fancy place in Gangnam. Second time was for Christmas after my dad married Tae’s mom.”

“So that’s how you and Taehyung hyung are related. Kinda.” You hum around your burger in agreement. “Is Seokjin hyung your cousin cousin, or your... step cousin? Is that a thing?”

“Step cousin, yeah,” you say, chuckling. “If that is a thing. He’s Taehyung’s blood-related cousin, so I guess we’re just cousins by, like, association? This is confusing. I dunno.”

“Nah, I get it.”

“Like I said though, he might as well just be another brother. He nags like one. Or, like, an extra parent.”

“I can relate to that,” Jeongguk says, nodding slowly with a mouthful of his burger stuffed in his cheeks. “He’s, like... the mom of the frat. It was kinda weird, but... it’s good. We can’t all be a bunch of hooligans in that house, y’know?”

“Yeah. I’m sure without Jin oppa’s motherly ways and Yoongi oppa’s anal-ness, that house would’ve burned down years ago.”

“Yup.”

“You said your dad was alum though, right?” you ask, dipping fries into the melted cheese at the bottom of the paper basket.

“Yeah, he was. He seemed pretty happy at least one of his sons went to his alma mater. Even if I’ve only got about two years to go.”

“Oh? You have siblings?”

“Just an older brother. He decided to study in the States for his undergrad, and ended up staying there for his masters. Seoul’s been a big enough culture shock for me as it is. I dunno how he’s managed to survive in Chicago for longer than a semester. But then again, we’re, like, polar opposites, so I guess if anyone was gonna be able to live in America on their own, it was gonna be him.”

“Do you miss him?”

Jeongguk smiles, a little sadly you notice, picking at an onion ring, saying, “yeah. Heaps. He’s always been the one who kinda keeps me sane, even back in Busan.” You don’t say anything, just watch as Jeongguk seems to reminisce quietly to himself while you eat. “Like, it’s not as if I’m not on bad terms with my parents or anything. I love them. I miss them heaps too. But it’s like... my brother was -- is -- the one I can talk to about anything, because he kinda understands what I’m going though whenever something doesn’t make sense.”

“Must be good,” you chuckle, wiping your fingers on a napkin. “Having someone you can talk to about everything, I mean.”

“You don’t have any siblings, noona? I mean, like, blood-related. Not including Taehyung hyung and Seokjin hyung.”

“Nah, I’m an only child in that sense,” you reply, picking at the set cheese on the wax paper. “My mom left before she had anymore kids with dad.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk puts his drink down back onto the table slowly. “Your mom... left.”

“Yeah. I don’t really care about it though. She left when I was pretty young. To be honest, I don’t really remember much about her.” You shrug, ignoring the weird weight in your chest. “Taehyung’s mom is really nice though. It’s probably still pretty weird. She pretty much got a daughter overnight after marrying dad, but she’s been really good at treating me like I’ve been there the whole time, like I’m not just some kid that appeared out of nowhere. I can see why Tae turned out the way he did.”

Jeongguk seems a little hesitant about saying anything, so he doesn’t, and just continues to sip at his drink quietly, burger and onion rings demolished.

“That was probably the deepest conversation to have happened at a Burger King. Fuck,” you mutter.

You barely have time to flinch away before Jeongguk is spitting out his drink, tiny droplets of projectile soda hitting you in the face and chest.

“Oh fuck, noona, I’m sorry!” he says, coughing as he beats his fist against his chest. He’s going to apologise more, he swears, as soon as he can breathe properly, but when he looks up, wiping away tears from the corners of his eyes because choking hurts, he’s shocked, but, admittedly, a little relieved, to find you’re clutching your stomach as you too struggle to breathe, laughing hard.

“Jeongguk, you dick,” you say, breathless as you dab at the corners of your eyes, careful not to smudge your makeup.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk says, but he’s laughing, and silently marvelling at the way the drops of cola that landed on your cheeks now look like small freckles. “But you can’t just say something like that, noona!”

“God,” you groan, but there’s no malice in your voice as you carefully wipe your face and proceed to throw the scrunched up napkin at his chest, watching it bounce off him and land onto the table. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re the worst. You just ruined a nice moment,” Jeongguk counters.

“I love fine dining.”

“Noona!”

“Jeongguk, you didn’t have to walk me home. What the hell?”

“But noona,” Jeongguk says, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. “Look how dark it is. How could you walk alone in this?”

“God. You are really something,” you say, shaking your head with a barely concealed smile.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry ‘bout it.” It’s warm out tonight, the air just borderline humid, a small teaser of what might be a very hot summer, and you’re starting to feel a little uncomfortable wearing so much. “Anyways. How’re you finding Seoul so far?”

“It’s alright. Not really what I expected if I’m honest,” Jeongguk replies, shrugging a little.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you ask, chuckling.

“Uh... both?” He chuckles with you. “Nah, it’s good, mostly. There’s just a lot more people here. Not that Busan is the smallest city in the country or anything, but, y’know...” He shrugs again.

“Yeah, it gets a bit crazy up here, huh? It’s hard to get bored in Seoul though, I think. But I bet being so close to the sea is amazing.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great. My grandparents live pretty close to Haeundae so we’re usually there during the summer. This... it’ll be the first summer not by the beach for me, actually.”

You notice Jeongguk’s step slow just a little, and you barely catch the little shift in his expression as he no doubt is hit with a wave of homesickness.

“Jimin always goes back to Busan for a couple weeks in the summer,” you offer. “You could always go with him, if you don’t mind him talking your head off the entire train ride back. I swear to God, he never shuts up.”

“Jimin hyung does talk a lot I’ve noticed. So does Taehyung hyung,” Jeongguk says, the corners of his lips twitching with a smile. “I can hear them talking about aliens at, like, two in the morning. They’d make great swimmers with their lung capacity.”

“Tae doesn’t exercise. And Jimin only ever dances. Good luck getting them anywhere near a pool, Guk.”

“I could throw them in.”

“If you do, I better be there to record the whole thing. I wanna be internet famous.” Jeongguk breaks out into a wide grin. “What time are your tryouts, by the way?”

“Um.” He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his phone as the both of you come to a stop at the lights. “Swim tryouts are at four, baseball’s at four-thirty,” he reads off.

“Tuesday and Wednesday, right?”

“You’re really coming, noona?”

“You don’t want me to?”

“No, I... I do. Really.”

“I could be your lucky charm, Jeongguk. You might set a new school record. Or hit a home run. Or both.”

“I doubt it,” Jeongguk says, chuckling, stepping forward as the pedestrian light turns green.

“You never know,” you say, singing your words as you jog ahead of him.

[aercanum]

“if it makes you feel better, i—i never thought you had any authority.” eddie @ steve   |   haven sentence starters   |   @bridgesburnd​​​​​

“...s’great. thank you, munson.”   he’d suspected it before, but now steve’s absolutely positive dustin’s new bad attitude is a direct consequence of eddie munson exposure.  admittedly, he’d thought that dustin had picked up all that extra bite from him initially, but steve’s not clever the way dustin is, the way eddie can be, his insults blunt instruments rather than thin blades.  eddie’s hovering close, closer than steve’s strictly comfortable with, but he hasn’t missed the tiny tugs on the back of his sweatshirt every time eddie stumbles, or trips over his own feet with a mumbled curse.  he’s not enough of a dick to speed up and leave the metalhead to his own devices while they trek through the woods towards lover’s lake.  “nice to know nobody listens to me.”

dustin’s curly head, topped with his signature thinking cap, is bobbing up ahead, and steve can see him waving his hands animatedly.  probably detailing his latest madcap scheme to solve this newest garbage fire of a situation that’ll, miraculously, somehow work.  “honestly, man, i’ve given up trying to flex any authority over these kids.  they know more about this upside down shit than i do anyway.  i just whale on whatever looks big and monstery, and keep them alive.  that’s like, the extent of my participation here.  and y’know, no one can tell nance what to do.  robin either.” 

[multifandom-damnation]

Torment and horror and the forceful drugging that was the night before has left Roy bedridden, filled with shattered ribs and puss-filled stab wounds, covered in old itching bandages and a pressure in his chest that made it burn and his breath leave his lungs with every shift.

But his loves take away his breath and break his chest, his heart in a whole nother way, and he'd prefer their method to the Hatters, thank you very much.

Hey all! Just a little warning before we got in here: if you either didn't read or couldn't make sense of my tags, there is a mention of rape/non-con/ underage/ child abuse in this story. It's just a line, a sentence, but those who are uncomfortable with it be weary. There is also a large mention of children being kidnapped and "hypnotized" (for lack of better term) and they are in very provocative clothing because Jervis Tetch is a delusion and terrible man. That's just backstory, however, and this fic mostly focuses on Joyfire and the love they all share. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it x

(Also Femdom and Kori being amazing towards the end, few crude references and lots kissing but considering you're here, you'll be fine)

Roy huffed, fiddling with the old metal lighter on his bedside table. He flicked the latch, a flame igniting at the tip and flickering around his fingers. He closed the lid, and the flame died.

He could hear Jason banging around in the kitchen, pots and pans clanging together and Spanish music wafting in through the speakers, the ticking of the burner lighting as Jason turned it on. Kori was singing, loud out of tune singing from the other room, soft thumps from her dancing feet pattering across the wooden floor and Roy strained to hear if she was singing along to Jason’s music or singing a song of her own.

Scratching his chest, he placed his hand by his side and went to heft himself up, only for the stitches on his side to tug, making him grunt and slowly lower himself back down on the cushions. He made a face and swatted one away, watching the mini baby blue beanbag fling across the room. One out of many, the suffocating amount of cushions piled up around his head and behind his back, convincing him that Kori had replaced the matrices in the spare bedroom in favour of a pile of pillows.

It wasn’t really a spare bedroom. It was his old room, before they decided to screw being proper and just buy one king-sized bed and sleep in Jason’s room, the largest room in the house. Roy’s stuff was still on the wall, some clothes that didn’t all fit in their shared wardrobe piled in the corner of his own, spare caps in a uniform tower by the window, pictures and posters and postcards and memories all tacked to the walls with too-sticky glue tack, leaving ugly grey stains in the place where it had peeled off the already chipped white paint.

Kori thought that moving in here would be safer, the solidarity comforting and the stillness a better alternative to Jason’s snoring and their sleep-induced fights with the darkness, Kori’s unsettling nature to levitate whoever she was holding up with her and drop them when she let go, the constantly moving mass of tangled limbs like a spider in a web and the night-terrors that seemed to grip their hearts and rip it through their already broken rib cages.

Yes, Kori thought Roy would be safer in his old room, away from the hurricane that was his sleeping loves.

Roy looked down at his chest, the bruises hidden by white bandages, speckled with blood and green oozing puss from the wounds and stitches that had torn and needed to be replaced, winding along his chest and his sides down to his belly-button, his cracked ribs making it hard to breathe, to move, to lie. He lifted his hand and peaked under the bandages, lifting the highest ones to check if the slice was still there, still dripping and oozing and with all stitches attached.

Slowly lowering it back down, he cursed himself for being so careless. He reached across to his bedside table, grabbing the glass of water and taking a swig, before swishing it around in his mouth and spitting it out into the bin by his side. The taste of last night was still in his mouth, and Roy felt like throwing up at the memory. He wouldn’t though, he probably wouldn’t ever throw up again for as long as he lived if he could help it, needing to vomit up whatever glowing green toxin the Mad Hatter had shoved down his throat the night before had turned him off puking for the rest of his life.

He rubbed his wrists, the red rashes and bruises still pressed into his skin from where he had tried to pull at his bonds, his wrists bound by rope behind the chair seated at the tea-party. Hatter had tried to make him drink from the little porcelain cups, but he obviously didn’t think that far ahead, and when Roy wouldn’t- couldn’t- drink, the Hatter tipped his head back, grabbed his neck and poured it down his throat. It burned when it touched his skin, making him woozy and dizzy and all kinds of messed up, and Kori had told him later his eyes were like a neon sign, glowing the same colour as the tea, half-lidded and absent.

He had shoved two fingers down his throat the moment they brought him home and he stumbled into the bathroom, head right over the bowl and heaving the liquid up, someone was holding his hair back, but he wasn’t sure who, didn’t care- he found out later that it was Jason, who’d sent Kori out to make coffee and get the first aid kit, which is when she had smothered his room in every pillow she could find- he just wanted to get it out.

He’d insisted he was alright, said he could help out and take care of his wounds, but he’d run into the table and the fridge and tripped over his own feet on his way to the couch leaving blood-stained handprints on the walls so many times that Kori ended up carrying him to his old room, and he hasn’t moved since.

He could hear Kori giggling from the lounge, the music turned down low enough to hear their voices through the walls. He couldn’t make out the words they were saying, but it was definitely something to do with Kori convincing Jason to teach her how to dance, and Jason laughing and spinning her around by the hand.

Roy sighed, adjusted his position on the bed scratched his chest again. The bandages were old, rough and itchy, irritating his skin over the already healing scars from earlier missions. He made a mental note to get more once Kori and Jason would let him leave his bed.

They’d had a deal a long time ago, a proposition for when one of them got hurt, to carry on with their lives and not worry about the other unless it was to bring them food or water or company and Kori and Jason were great at that, could distance themselves enough so that they could still be concerned by their injured other but not let it hinder them into an uncontrollable mess of worry and fear.

Roy had never been good at that. He got too attached to people and their problems too quickly, losing sleep over the wellbeing of the people he cared about. Often times, someone had to drag him away from the bedside, forcing him to eat and holding him down in the bed so he couldn’t escape and give in to his closing eyes and let exhaustion overtake him. It was usually Kori, being nearly invincible and extremely hard to hurt, she usually was the one to drag Roy away from Jason’s bedside and make him take care of himself.

The music outside turned off completely, Jason’s soft chuckles floating through the air. Roy tried to get up again, but a flare of pain from his rips had him falling back down, rolling his eyes and groaning in pure annoyance.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, the rabid cackling of the Hatter ringing in his ears and the circling strobe lights of the casino burned behind his eyelids. The memories were burned into his brain almost like the green toxin that had made a permanent home in his gums.

“Where’s my Alice?” on repeat, again and again, “Oh, there she is! Come meet my Alice.” He was directed to stare at one of the many women in blond wigs, blue dresses, smeared red lipstick and glazed over eyes, black and white striped garters and bruises up and down their skin. Roy had eyed them as they sat down, silently and with droopy eyes, a drowsy smile plastered on their porcelain painted faces.

A pair of purple cat ears had been placed on Roy’s head, his hat discarded and his arrows gone. Closing his eyes, he tried to resist the lull of the lights and the too-sweet smelling tea and treats littered around the table like a spoiled kid’s birthday party.  “Now now!” Tetch chided, slapping Roy’s face until he opened his eyes. “You haven’t even had any tea yet! No point falling asleep before it’s even begun, aye? Children!” He turned, called down a corridor, wide opaque glass doors hiding the dark hallway. “Bring the Cheshire Cat some tea before he disappears, would you?” Clanging, giggling, heavy breathing, footsteps and then silence down the hall.

Roy snorted, “If you think I’m the Cheshire Cat, you’ve obviously never met the real Cheshire.” You’ve obviously never met Jade because you’re still alive. He wanted to say, wanted to laugh in his face that the mother of his daughter would die before she let him near Lian, let him near any child and any girl in need of a hand to hold and a warm place to stay.

The Hatter turned to him with wide angry eyes, a cattle rod raised high in his right arm, but the door opened and a row of children in sequined mini dresses and dress shirts walked out, some in blue butterfly wings and hookah pipes on their belts, others with bunny ears and gloves, but all with the same identical bruises and glazed-eyes as the Alice’s, fake smiles plastered on their too-cheery faces.

A little girl with a black eye and newly-crooked nose brought him the green gunk in the tiny tea-cup, and Roy could see bruises up and down her legs in the rounded shape of fingertips showing from underneath her sequined dress and she walked away with a shuffling limp. Roy had grit his teeth and clenched his bound fists from behind him, but the Hatter laughed in his face and was pouring the green liquid down his throat, and Roy was suddenly feeling groggy and sluggish and unsteady, eyes blurring and mouth going dry, fingers and toes going numb, mind going cloudy and then stopping altogether.

He was aware that there were explosions and gunshots from somewhere else in the casino, but all that mattered to the Cheshire Cat was the tea he wanted to drink to please his dear friend and the tales he had heard of the Jabbowoki, the cookies and the crumpets and the tarts he promised he would eat and many gifts he had to give his darling lost Alice-

A knock on his door brought Roy from his thoughts, and he quickly swished his mouth out with more water and spat it out before he told them to come in.

A golden-brown hand opened the door, accompanied by purple manicured nails and the waft of chilli, and Roy smiled to greet her. She walked through the doorway with a smile on her face and his breathing stopped.

Her hair was braided into two-semi circles like suns on the side of her head, her fringe swept to the other side like an ocean wave and the longest parts of her hair tied up into a high ponytail with her own hair as the band holding it all together. Her lips were painted a perfect shade of deep purple, eyelids the same colour, a tinge of gold to them. Grey leggings with a light blue racing stripe were clad on her legs, a baby pink crop top and a short turquoise jacket on her shoulders. She had on lace up sandals, the same purple as her lipstick. The breath was taken from his lungs in a burst as if his Princess had ripped it out as payment for being in his presence. She smiled, and Roy felt himself going lightheaded, had to lean his head back against the cushions.

Jason came next, grey hoodie over white patterned t-shirt, hair as if he walked through a cyclone, tussled and messy. He had a tired and welcoming smile on his face, his eyes slightly lidded, his lips red and puffy, tints of purple ringed the edges, a dark bruise on his neck, also ringed in purple like a border. Roy had to remind himself to breathe as Jason licked his lips and sauntered into the room, threading a hand through his already messy hair, staring holes into Roy’s very soul.

“How are you feeling?” Kori asked, sitting down gently on the edge of the bed, placing the bowl of chilli on the bedside table. Jason leaned against the doorframe as Kori rearranged the pillows around his head.

Roy shifted, trying to sit upright again, but he hissed as he felt his cracked rib shift. Kori tutted at him, gently resting a hand on his back and lifting him up so he could shuffle backwards and lower himself back down. “I’m alright,” He grunted as his stitches pulled. “I’m feeling a bit better. I’ll be out of bed in no time. I can’t get the taste of the stupid green stuff out of my mouth though and these bandages are itchy as hell, but I can deal.”

Jason chuckled, pushed himself off the door frame and moved around Kori to the other end of the bed and sat down, leaning against the backboard. “We got them out Roy,” He answered the question in Roy’s eyes. “The kids. We got them out. Jarvis is in prison, we called the GCPD and they took them home. They’ll all be needing some sort of therapy, maybe even rehab, but we got them all out.”

Sighing and closing his eyes, he leaned back heavily against the pillows. Kori put a hand on his shoulder. “There was a little girl.” He said quietly, thinking back to the moment. “She gave me the green stuff. She had a broken nose and a black eye- “

“And bruises on her legs and a limp?” Jason finished and Roy’s eyes shot open, he nodded frantically. “We got her. She was a daughter of one of the GCPD officers, he was the first in there. She’s safe.”

Roy raised his hands and pressed the palms hard into his eye sockets. “Thank God.” He muttered.

“What do you remember?” Kori asked, gently dragging the tips of her fingers down his cheek, sliding down to his bare shoulder and trailing along his arm, the skin tingling and sending a shiver down his spine.

I thought I was in wonderland. He thought, blinking a few times to get rid of the psychedelic swirls. “Nothing,” he lied, biting his lip as Jason looked him up and down, a hunger in his eyes Roy only saw in rare moments of pure desperation in the secret of their bedroom. He lost his train of thought as he thought about it, struggling to get back on track. “I don’t remember anything after the tea.”

Kori looked at Roy as though she knew he was lying, but she let it slide, instead leaning back on one hand and running the other through her hair, closing her eyes for a moment. Roy smirked at a fading yellow bruise he had kissed into her hip not too long ago, the skin peeking out from below her riding up crop-top.

Leaning forward and pressing his lips to Roy’s pulse point, Jason mouthed over his neck, kissing purple stains into the pale skin. “Get better soon, Roytoy,” He purred, deep and husky, making Roy’s eyes flutter and his breathing hitch in his chest. “You’re no good to us bedridden, and nobody can work their tongue better than you.”

Chocking on the breath that finally, suddenly forced its way out his lungs, Roy felt a heat crawling up his chest. He licked his lips and made contact with Jason’s lust clouded eyes and he smirked again, in control of the situation for once in his life. “Yes, Boss.” He sneered, watching in satisfaction as Jason’s pupils grew, his cheeks turned as red as the hood he adorns and his breathing grew uneven and jaunty. It wasn’t often Roy got to have authority, and he was savouring every moment of it, savoured the power he had over Jason right at this moment and loved to watch him, make him, squirm-

Purple nails gripped his chin and yanked it quickly to the side, nails digging into the flesh of his cheek, and Kori narrowed her eyes at him. “He’s not the boss around here,” she whispered, colliding her lips against his and turning her face this way and that until it was almost painful- but Roy didn’t tell her to stop. Didn’t tell her that he couldn’t breathe and that his chest was burning because he had already given her his heart and his air and his soul, he belonged to her and Jason, belonged to her in every possible way, and he lived for it, lived for loving her, lived for loving them, and when Kori pulled away and traced Roy’s lipstick covered lips with her nail and half closed her eyes with the smirk of a devil, he didn’t take in another breath.

Not until she leant forward and mouthed breathe on his skin, the opposite side of Jason’s as she liked and sucked and bit and pulled the veins on his neck until he was sure she was drawing blood, that he opened his mouth and gasped a shuddering breath as she pulled back. “I am.”

When she shoved his chin away, he fell hard against the headboard with the breath knocked out of him, purple smeared across his face and bruises on either side of his neck. Jason and Kori were both staring at him with the eyes of hungry wolves. “You look like you want to eat me alive.” He panted, not making any move to clean his face.

Kori’s grin turned demonic, her teeth showing as she tilted her head back so she was looking at him through half-lidded eyes and full lashes. “That might not be a bad idea.”

Roy spluttered as Jason dug his nails into the meat of Roy’s leg making him gasp. “Don’t get too cocky,” he snickered, paying Roy back for the fleeting moment of victory he had before. “I’m her second in command.”

“Whoa,” Roy muttered, head spinning and eyes flickering closed, breaths coming in fits and starts. “You two are going to be the death of me.”

Kori laughed, loud and melodic like a wind chime outside during a storm, the in charge persona entirely dissipated until all Roy had of it was the memory. “I hope not,” she pushed herself upright and kicked off her shoes, floated a foot off the bed so she could flip around in the air and land gently so she was on her stomach, her chin in her hands. “Our lives would be rather uneventful without you.”

Snorting, Jason pushed himself backwards until his back was leaning against the wooden board at the foot of the bed, his legs crossed. “It would also be less stressful too.” Roy reached behind his head and threw a pillow at him, but Jason reached up and caught it with a chuckle, putting it behind him so he could lean on it. “But really, it would be so boring.”

Roy smiled, felt a warmness in his chest, but not the blushing sort, the sort that made you feel all warm and fuzzy when you felt love and love back and Roy stared at the works of art in front of him, the beauty that was the view he got to look at every single day of his life.

“Hand me the chilli then.” He sighed, hand outstretched and Kori sat up a bit to reach over and hand it to him. “Let’s hope you didn’t make it as hot as Ollie does. If you did, I swear I’m breaking up with you.”

Kori giggled, floated eye level with Roy and kissed him again, softly this time. When she pulled away, Jason came forward and did the same. It was strange, how even the smallest kind of affection from the loves of his life could take his breath away. It made the broken ribs and the stabs and the bleeding worth it.

“No you won’t,” Jason yawned, leaning back. “You love us too much.”

“Yeah,” Roy admitted, “I really really do.”

Kori raised her hand, palm towards Roy. “I love you, Roy Harper.”

Jason did the same, hand touching Kori’s and lacing his thumb with hers. “So do I, no matter how annoying you can be.”

Roy forgot about his chilli, placing it on the bed so he could join his hand with theirs, tangling their fingers together. Their matching tattoo stark on their wrists, the gun, the arrow and the sun warming Roy up from the inside out at the depth of their love. He had many tattoos, didn’t think that one more would matter, the tattoo on his side testimony enough to his deep and evolving love. Jason says it’s a phoenix to better cope, but Roy made sure he asked for a Robin, a degrading Robin on purple flames as a tribute to his loves. Jason hates it until Roy tells him that without the death of the Robin, Jaybird would never have been born, and Jason shuts up with tears welling in his eyes.

“I better get well soon, then.” Roy squeezed their hands and they both squeezed back. “God knows you need me.”

Kori laughed. “Eat up, or I’ll feed you.”

Jason cackled as Roy feigned mock fear, shoveling mild chilli into his mouth as though his life depended on it. Yes, Roy could deal with the aching in his chest from puncture wounds and broken bones, but the everyday breathtaking sight of his loves are what he really lives for.

[willelbyers]

Purple

Summary: Lucas finds out Billy’s been hitting Max. Pairings: Lucas/Max (pre-relationship) Notes: About 1,500 words, mentions of abuse. This is for a prompt from @lucassinclairstan: @he-lives-on-mirkwood One where Max comes over to Lucas’s house after he hits her. Or Lucas finds out Billy’s been hitting Max. The latter would be nice.

My first Lumax story! I posted it on Ao3, too, linked here as well as written out under the cut. Hope you enjoy!

Lucas shivers as he trudges up the pavement to The Palace, almost slipping on a huge patch of black ice on the curb.

“Shit,” he mumbles, catching himself at the last minute. He shoves his ungloved hands into his pockets and glances through a window, seeing Dustin, Mike, and Will already inside. Dustin is playing a casual game of Pac-Man as Mike and Will exchange laughs, Will’s smile still exhausted (but he’s trying). El is nowhere in sight, but that isn’t surprising considering she’s still housebound until further notice.

He spots their bikes in the rack by the front of the arcade, and he wishes he had his, but someone—probably Troy—slashed his tires so he can’t use it. Not that it would be very helpful, in this weather, but hey, his friends managed. He’s just heading for the door when someone slams into him, and he stumbles.

“Hey, watch it!” he yells harshly, grabbing on to the bike rack to stay standing as the other figure crashes to the ground. Then he realizes who he’s looking at, and he immediately feels awful.

Max is staring up at him, except he can’t actually see her. The only recognizable feature of hers is the long red hair spilling out from under her cap, which is pulled low over her forehead. A scarf is thrown over her mouth and nose, thick-rimmed glasses obscuring her face and making her eyes look huge. Lights from the arcade shadow the left side of her face. For a moment he’s back in those tunnels, feeling the air turn toxic in his lungs and his panic rocket through the roof as they go further than anyone (other than Will and El) has gone before. For a moment he watches Dustin fall and Steve swing his bat and Mike is with Will and then he’s with them and Will is lost and El is gone and Max just screams and screams and screams.

And now she’s looking at him, wide eyes magnified behind her huge glasses. And there’s something that Lucas doesn’t like there, something he’s seen before—not often, sure, but he’s seen it, though never directed at him.

Max is scared.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, tripping over his words. “Max, I’m so sorry.” He starts to hold out a hand to help her up, but she just puts a palm on the ground and stands on her own.

“It’s fine,” she says, muffled by the scarf, and on the surface she sounds normal but Lucas can hear the tremor behind her voice. He opens his mouth, hand dropping back to his side, but she cuts him off. “I’m fine, Lucas. Really.”

“I, uh…” he trails off. “I thought that you said you were busy all this weekend. If I knew you weren’t, I’d have called and invited you…”

“I was busy,” she tells him, eyes sliding to the ground. “I, uh. Didn’t know I was free until just now. I didn’t know you would be here, either.”

“Oh,” he says, internally screaming at himself because Wow, Lucas, so eloquent! “I uh, didn’t know you wear glasses.” Way to save, Sinclair.

She stares at him incredulously, though her lip twitches. “Yeah. I usually have contacts, but… glasses today.”

He nods. “Oh. Kay. Do you… want to go inside?” No, she’s just standing out here for no reason. Do you even think before you open your mouth?

Max’s eyes flicker over to the door and she seems to finally notice the three boys inside. Her eyelashes flutter. “Oh. Uh, no. I should probably… I should probably get home before Billy or my dad…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, her usually hostile and attentive presence much too distant and tired, and it makes Lucas’s heart stutter in fear. “Max, I don’t think—”

“Bye, Lucas,” she says quickly, already turning away. Something isn’t right. Something in Lucas’s brain clicks, and his arm shoots out as though on its own accord. He grabs her shoulder, and she whips around, her scarf falling down in the process and her face suddenly awash in light.

Lucas’s heart just stops. “Max, what…?”

There’s an angry purple bruise down the whole left side of her face, from the corner of her eye all the way down to her chin. Her lip is nicked and swollen. He suspects that her large glasses and hat are covering up more damage closer to her ear, which he can’t see.

“Lucas, it’s fine,” she insists before he can say anything at all. “I’m fine. I just fell off my skateboard.” She doesn’t have her skateboard, and he knows it’s a lie.

His hand shakes as it comes up to her shoulder to hover over her cheek. She doesn’t flinch away, though her eyes dart down to her feet, so he takes a risk and lightly presses his hand to her face. Her skin is pale and cold, and he thinks about the quarry last year and Will’s body that wasn’t real, but he knows that the blood raging underneath the surface is practically the sun against the winter air. And she’s real. This is real. “Max… was this… your father?” Because this can’t happen, this can’t be Will all over again.

“No,” she says sharply, and though her voice is defensive he can sense she’s telling the truth. “No, it wasn’t him. Lucas, I’m fi—”

“Stop it,” he chokes out, no bite to the words, because this is hard and he hates seeing this again and he hates that it’s happening to her. “You’re not fucking fine. Max, please. Tell me.”

She turns her face so that her left side is in shadow once more, his hand falling away. “It wasn’t my dad. I actually haven’t seen him in a week, he just got home an hour ago.”

“Was it your brother?” he asks, because he seems to want to feel that pain.

She hesitates, then nods reluctantly. “Yeah,” she says, voice almost a whisper. “It was Billy. It’s always Billy.”

It’s always him; so this isn’t the first time. I’m gonna kill him.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he says out loud. “I’m actually gonna kill him. It’ll be easy compared to everything we did last month.”

Max shakes her head. “Please, Lucas, don’t. He’s… it’s not safe, not for… Eleven or Will, even, definitely not for you, and I think Steve’s already claimed that job anyway. I just… I just needed to get out of there for a while. But I didn’t know you guys would be here. I didn’t want you to…”

“I know,” Lucas says, mind filling in the blank: I didn’t want you to see me like this. “It’s okay. I won’t pretend to understand but I’m sure the others will be just as ready to help if you want to go inside.”

She looks uncertain, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “I just… think it might help. To not be alone.” Because, dammit, he never was in a situation like that himself but he and Mike know better than anyone how to help someone else through it. Dustin, too, though he’s never seen the worst of it. And Lucas know Max can’t do this herself, no matter how strong she is—no one can. Will couldn’t, and he’s one of the bravest people Lucas knows. Max deserves to be helped. And he can’t do that alone.

He so desperately just wants her to be safe.

Max bites her lip, glancing at the arcade’s door. Her glasses slide down her nose just a little, red hair shifts around her shoulder, and Lucas’s heart skips another beat. For a moment, he’s perfectly content with lying to himself, with saying that he’s just worried about her and the injury really does look bad, but he knows. Because yeah, he is worried about her but she’s also powerful and beautiful and he thinks he loves her, bruised purple or not, and Lucas really doesn’t know what to do with that information, but that’s the truth.

“Okay,” she says, looking at him, and for a moment he just watches the colorful lights of the arcade reflect in her eyes. “Let’s go.”

He holds out a hand again, but instead of ignoring it, this time she takes it. “You can stay at my house tonight, if you want,” he offers as Max squeezes his hand.

She smiles at him. “That would be nice.”

They walk forward, she reaches out to push open the door, and Lucas dares to tell himself that it’ll all be okay.

Not that it's relevant, but I love the idea of Max having glasses. And I hate Billy (I guess that is relevant).

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, and you can scream at me about story ideas or theories anytime. Read more of my stories over on my Ao3. Thanks for reading!

~Logan

[teachingoutsidethebinary]

The D Word (Part 2)

Summary: Tony Stark means the world to Peter Parker. So much, in fact, that Peter slips up and calls him 'dad' on more than one occasion. In other words, the two times Peter prays Tony doesn't hear him say 'dad' and the one time he wishes he did.

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Aunt May, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Warnings: none really

A/N: Hope you like this next part!

The D Word (Part 1)

Peter walked through the cemetery completely numb. He had no idea where he was going, but his feet kept propelling him forward. He scanned each cold, grey headstone, trying to make sense of the dull carvings.

A whimper stopped him in his tracks. Peter whirled around, trying to find its source. His eyes finally landed on a small boy standing in front of two headstones. The boy was dressed in a suit that was slightly too big, and his hands wiped angrily at his face. Peter walked over and knelt down next to the boy.

“You okay?” Peter asked, his voice cracking. Tears rolled down his own face, but he wasn’t exactly sure why he was crying.

The boy shook his head, but Peter still couldn’t see his face.

“Where are your parents?”

The boy pointed to the headstone, and Peter gasped.

Here lies Richard and Mary Parker

Beloved father and mother, husband and wife.

When the boy pointed to the second headstone, Peter was sure he was going to faint.

Here lies Tony Stark.

Peter couldn’t read anything after the first line. He collapsed to the ground, trying to blink away the black dots swarming in front of his eyes.

“Wh-wh-what?” he stuttered. “What is this?”

The boy turned and Peter was face-to-face with himself. The same wavy brown hair, the same long, awkward limbs, all of it was the same. Except his face. Little Peter’s face was completely blank, with small, puckered slits where the eyes, nose, and mouth should have been.

Peter screamed and stumbled backwards, trying to escape the child. It had to be a trick, it had to be a mind game.

“Peter…” A disembodied voice seemed to come out of Little Peter’s face. He held out an arm to Peter and stepped closer.

“Go away!” Peter exclaimed, falling over the cement path. Gnarled tree roots seemed to appear out of nowhere to trip Peter as he tried to escape.

“Peter…”

“Stop it!” he begged. “Please just stop!” He covered his face with his arms and cowered down as he prepared for the worst.

“Peter…Peter…”

“Peter!”

Peter jolted up from the couch he was sleeping on, panting heavily. His heart thumped wildly as it got harder and harder to breathe. He shook as a pair of soft hands cupped his face and turned him to the right. Aunt May stared back at him, her brown eyes full of concern.

“M-M-May?”

May nodded. She carefully reached out a hand and ran her fingers through Peter’s hair, just like she used to do when he was little. His resolve crumbled as he practically jumped into her lap, wrapping his arms around her in a vice-like grip.

“Shhh, baby, I’ve got you,” May whispered. “I’ve got you.” She cradled him in her arms as he sobbed.

“T-Tony...he’s, he’s…” Peter tried to form a complete sentence, but the words kept getting caught in his throat.

May pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Tony’s gonna be okay. Look.” She nodded her head to the side, and Peter followed her gaze.

Tony was lying in a hospital bed, with a thin sheet covering his lower body. Bruises covered his face, and their dark color contrasted the stark white gauze wrapped around his chest. Peter heard a faint beeping noise and realized a heart monitor was connected to his unconscious mentor.

“He’s alive?” Peter whispered, afraid to let himself be set up with false hope. “Really alive?”

May nodded and began to explain. “One of the people who came to get me, Barnes maybe? He said they were able to get him to some machine in time. He’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Peter’s arms gave out and he clumsily laid back down on the couch. May somehow made a pillow appear and rested the soft material on her lap so it was resting under Peter’s head. She continued to play with his hair as he tried to truly comprehend that Tony was okay. Soon, his breathing evened out, and he turned to look up at his aunt, who was gazing down at him.

“You’re mad,” he said, swallowing thickly.

“Furious,” she replied immediately. “But we’ll talk about that later.” Peter sighed, relieved he wasn’t going to have to deal with May’s wrath right away.

“Can I ask you something?” Peter nodded. “Captain Rogers...god I can't believe I can say I know him." She shook her head. "Anyway, he said he had to sedate you. That you were screaming and saying some things…” She trailed off, and Peter knew that she knew exactly what had happened in the jet.

He slowly sat up and couldn’t meet May’s eye anymore.

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked.

“No,” he replied softly.

“Then I’ll talk,” she said. She took a deep breath, and her eyes shone with tears. “You’ve lost way more people in your life than any kid should ever have to deal with. No one will ever replace your uncle. Or your mother. Or your father. No one.” She cleared her throat as she calmed her own emotions down.

Peter clenched his jaw and gripped the edge of the couch tightly. He knew she was right, and that he was stupid for thinking of Tony like that. Like…

“But,” May continued, “you are so lucky to have some great people in your life. People who are like fathers.” Peter turned his head. “Honey, it’s okay. What you said was okay.” She reached out and covered one of his hands with her own.

Peter’s breath came out in short spurts as his face heated up. Before he could stop it, a fresh batch of tears fell down his cheeks. He kept nodding his head as he tried to process everything. He was just tired, so, so tired.

The consistent beeping from the heart monitor suddenly spiked with rapid beeps. Peter and May looked over and saw Tony stir under the sheet. His eyes fluttered open and a shaky hand gripped the handrail of the hospital bed.

He groaned and tried to sit up.

“Tony!” Peter cried, standing up. “You’re awake!”

Tony’s gaze finally landed on the relieved teen. “Hey kid,” he coughed.

Peter thought his heart might burst at the sound of Tony’s voice. “I’ll go get someone!” he rambled. “I should get someone, right? Or do you want water? Water would help your voice. Not that it sounds bad! It’s just...I mean...I’ll-”

“I’ll get someone,” May cut in. She smirked at Peter. “You stay here.”

Tony gave May a weak grin. “Oh, I’m definitely dead,” he joked. “Only heaven would have a beautiful angel like you here.”

“Cut the crap, Stark,” May shot back, pointing a finger at him. “I’m glad you’re not dead because now I can kill you myself.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What the hell were you thinking?! Bringing him on a mission?!”

Tony coughed and winced as pain shot through his chest. “Okay, first of all,” he replied, “I just got shot in the chest. Can we maybe do this later?”

May’s eyes softened, but not by much. “We are going to talk about this,” she said, pointing a finger at him.

“Maybe over dinner?” Tony asked, a familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. “I know a great place in Little Italy. Fantastic wine pairings.”

May merely scoffed and shook her head as she walked out of the room, leaving Tony and Peter alone.

Peter tipped back and forth on the balls of his feet. He weaved his hands together, trying to find a purpose for them. He held them behind his neck, around his shoulders, and even on his waist.

Tony’s rolled his eyes. “Kid, I can feel your antsiness from here. Relax a bit, would ya? Have a seat. Not like I’m dying or anything.”

“S-sorry,” Peter replied, sitting down on his hands. An odd silence filled the room as each one tried to figure out what to say to each other.

“She’s right, you know,” Tony finally said. “You shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have let you come.”

“S’not your fault,” Peter mumbled. “I wanted to help.”

Tony sighed. “Maybe, but you’re young. You didn’t need to see all of…” He trailed off and waved his arm over his bandaged chest. “I shouldn’t have put you through that.”

Silence fell once more. Peter swallowed a few times, trying to get the courage to ask a question that had been bothering him since he had woken up.

“Can...can I ask you something?” he whispered quietly. “Why did you say that you were sorry?”

Tony’s head fell back against the pillows as he contemplated his answer.

“My dad was never around,” he started. “And he was a bit of an asshole. I know Cap has different feelings, but, in all fairness, he was a popsicle when my father raised me.” He cleared his throat and blinked a few times at the ceiling. “And,” he continued, “when I met you, I thought this was my chance to make up for all the ways he screwed up. A chance to really be there for you.”

Tony took a deep breath and frowned. “And I messed up. If I had been there for you the way I wanted my father to be there for me, you would have never been on that jet. I should have known the risks and that our intel could have been faulty. Instead, it went to hell and you got the brunt of it. I-”

“I called you ‘dad’!” Peter blurted out, unable to keep his secret any longer. His cheeks flushed, and he focused his gaze on the ground. Tony had no clue how to respond, so Peter kept talking. “When you passed out on the jet...I didn’t want to lose you. I...I was scared I was going to lose you.” His voice hushed to a whisper as he dared to look up at Tony.

To say Tony was shocked was an understatement. He tossed sentences around in his brain, but none of them seemed right for this situation. Peter looked so vulnerable sitting there on the couch, and his eyes were filled with fear at what Tony would say.

“L-listen, kid,” Tony began. “It w-was an...intense situation. We, uh, say things like that when...we’re, uh stressed.”

Peter shook his head. “N-N-No, you don’t g-get it,” Peter stuttered. “I, um...well I...it’s just that I…I’ve done it before.” He paused and took a deep breath. “And I meant it,” he said strongly. “And...And I liked that I meant it.” He sniffed and rubbed his face against his shirt sleeve. He scrunched his eyes and waited for rejection to come.

Tony's heart filled with an indescribable joy. He had always seen himself as a screw up. He knew he was selfish. He did take after his father after all. He never expected in a million years for Peter to feel something like this for him. Maybe he wasn't doing it all wrong. Maybe...

“Peter,” Tony said softly. “Look at me please.”

Peter slowly lifted his gaze and met Tony’s. The man he saw as a father looked back at him, his eyes warm and kind.

“I liked that you meant it too.”

TAGS: @buckyappreciationsociety @iamwarrenspeace @theassetseyeliner @yknott81 @4theluvofall@sammnipple @snapplejuice @fuckkoffcourtney @capttainamericaa @wificrazymisfit @ninetales144 @series-obsessed @coffeekeyboardsss @chemicallyginge

[omgdatphantho]

The Inexperienced Top

Summary: It’s 2009 and Dan’s topping Phil for the first time.

Warning: Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 2,841

Ao3

Fanfic Masterlist

Phil’s bedroom door opens all of a sudden, hitting the wall with a slight thump. Dan tumbles through the doorframe, having been leaning onto the door. The toe of his sneaker drags across the carpet, causing him to stumble and teeter towards the ground. Phil’s strong right arm tightens around Dan’s waist. His left arm is straining from his tight grip on the doorframe.

Dan giggles as Phil pulls him close to steady both of them. “Did you have a nice trip?” Phil whispers, his face less than a five inches away from Dan’s. Dan brings both hands up and braces them against Phil’s chest, lightly pushing him backwards. Phil’s arm slips away from Dan’s waist. His fingers dragging slowly over over Dan’s hoodie as he’s reluctant to relinquish their contact.

A wide smile is spread across Dan’s lips and his teeth are parted to allow a groan to slip through. He’s rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he retreats deeper into the room, still facing Phil. “You’re the worst I swear,” Dan declares as he attempts to remove his shoes with only his feet.

Phil watches as Dan’s foot catches in one of the shirts lying on the floor, causing him to trip backward and land on the bed. Dan propped up on his elbows, looks up at him with eyes the size of saucers, and his mouth dropped open. His breath is caught in his throat. Giggles spill out of Phil’s mouth before he can even attempt to suppress them. Dan’s breathing restarts and he lets out a harsh exhale through his mouth. His brow furrows and his lips dip into a slight frown, his gaze fixed on Phil. Phil crosses the room, stopping at the edge of the bed. He gives a playful shove Dan’s right shoulder.

“And you call me clumsy,” Phil lets out between giggles.

“That’s because you are the clumsiest person I’ve ever met,” Dan counters with fake annoyance. Phil chuckles.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he retorts. Dan shakes his head and flops backwards so he’s laying flat on the bed, staring at Phil’s ceiling. Phil maneuvers onto the mattress so he’s also lying on his back. Their arms squish tight against one another.

“What are you looking so intently at? Are the answers to greatest mysteries of the universe written on my ceiling? Is there a message from a far off alien planet that you’re hoping to decipher?” Phil asks with a mixture of teasing and genuine curiosity. Dan blinks a few times, as if he hadn’t noticed that he’s been staring at the same spot of white plaster for a few minutes now.

“I can’t believe that I’m here,” Dan sighs. Phil’s brow crinkles with confusion. He turns on his side to get a better look at Dan, propping his head up with his left arm.

“What do you mean? You’ve been here to visit before this,” Phil states. Dan sighs. He goes silent for a moment.

If it was anyone else, Phil would be nudging to regain their attention. Not Dan though. Phil knows that he’s trying to gather the words to best express whatever is going through his head at the moment. Dan’s aware that Phil’s letting him have a moment. That’s what one of the things he appreciates about Phil because he never pushes Dan to be anyone but himself.

“I’m aware that I’ve been here before, but you’re AmazingPhil. I don’t know if that will ever stop being incredible and bizarre. I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve this privilege, but I’m forever in debt to past me,” Dan states. Phil shakes his head the best that he can.

“You’re here because you’re a great person. You, the you right here, helped make this happen. I’m Phil, not a celebrity,” Phil says, trying to reassure Dan. Dan looks at him like he doesn’t believe him, but he’s not going to push the issue. They sit in silence for a moment before Dan speaks.

“It’s also the first time I’ve been here since-. Well you know,” Dan says, trailing off his words and flipping his hand in the air, alluding to the rest of his sentence. Phil nods his head, aware of Dan’s meaning. This is the first time Dan’s visited since they’ve started fooling around.

Fooling around isn’t probably the correct word for what they’re doing. Dating is a bit too serious. They both are unsure if they want to try long distance dating. Getting each other off is a phrase that Phil finds to be crude understatement. Them being them is a nice way to put it, but maybe a bit ambiguous for other people.

In the grand scheme of everything, it doesn’t matter what they call whatever is going on between the two of them. They’re both happy and that’s the most important thing. Also, Dan’s lying in Phil’s bed and looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes. It’s as if Dan is hoping Phil gets the hint and takes the lead so that he doesn’t have to ask. Phil leans down, gently brushing his lips against Dan’s.

Dan presses back against Phil’s lips and hums. The corners of Phil’s mouth turn up. He parts his lips and runs his tongue across the seam of Dan’s mouth. Realizing that Phil’s asking for access, Dan relaxes his jaw and separates his lips. Phil pokes at Dan’s tongue with the tip of his own. Dan lets out a squeak.

Phil pulls back and lets out a chuckle. Dan huffs. Phil rolls his eyes and drops his head back down, worming his tongue back into Dan’s mouth. Dan wraps his arms around Phil’s shoulders and drags him closer. Phil shifts so his left leg is between Dan’s and he’s bracing himself on his elbows. Dan runs his fingers up the back of Phil’s neck, threading them through his hair, and tugging on the strands. Phil moans softly.

Dan pushes Phil back somewhat, so there’s barely breathing room between them. Their breaths mix as small puffs of air escape their lips. Both of their pupils are spread wide and Dan’s fingers dig into Phil’s hair.

“Please,” Dan pleads as he bucks his hips. His erection nudges into Phil’s left thigh and a shiver runs up Phil’s spine.

“Yes babe,” Phil answers, grounding his cock into Dan’s thigh. Dan moans and pulls on Phil’s hair.

Phil climbs off of Dan and reaches to his nape, tugging his hoodie over his head. Dan gets the hint and leaps off the bed, wiggling around as he strips. Phil tosses his clothes onto the floor. He’s kneeling on the bed, his uncut erection curving up against his stomach. Dan’s lip quips in appreciation. Phil can feel eyes on him and turn his attention to Dan.

Phil’s eyes study Dan’s naked form. Dan sees that Phil’s looking and averts his eyes. Dan’s hands are covering his crotch and his shoulders are slightly hunched. A dusty pink coats his cheeks and Phil suppresses a coo.

“Let me see you please,” Phil requests. Dan inhales deeply and drops his hands. Phil’s breath catches in his throat. Dan’s uncut cock is swollen and hovering slightly away from his stomach. Phil can feel saliva starting to pool in his mouth. He takes Dan’s hand and pulls him back on the bed.

Dan plops down and drops his head. His eyes narrow in on Phil’s bobbing erection. He swallows hard and sucks air through his nose. Phil reaches out and cups Dan’s chin, tilting his head up.

“What’s wrong?” Phil asks in a gentle tone. Dan bites his lip.

“You’re big,” Dan whispers. Phil frowns and looks down at his crotch. His cock is average in length, but somewhat thicker than Dan’s own.

“It’s not monstrous if that’s what you’re thinking,” Phil states, trying to reassure Dan.

Dan shakes his head. “I’ve only had my fingers in my ass. I’ve never taken a cock before. I don’t know if I could take you,” he babbles.

Phil gives him a gentle smile. “You never have to take it if you don’t want to. There’s a lot of things we can do instead. I can always bottom if you would like or we don’t have to have penetrative sex if that’s what you prefer,” he reassures him.

“You’ll bottom?” Dan asks in disbelief. Phil smiles and nods. Dan lets out a sigh of alleviation. “I was worried that I was going to have to bottom always because I’m more of the twink,” he explains.

Phil frowns and clasps Dan’s shoulders in his hands. “Now look here. You never have to do anything that you don’t want. So society say that a ‘twink’ should always bottom. That doesn’t mean that society is right,” he states. He uses air quotes to emphasize his point. “The only people who matter in this relationship are you and I. If you never want to bottom, then you don’t have to. If you ever want to stop while we’re fooling around, all you have to do is say so. If you ever want to try something, all you need to do is ask. We’re equals in this relationship.”

Dan’s mouth drops open and tears spring to his eyes. He falls forward and wraps his arms tight around Phil, burying his face in his neck. Phil holds Dan as tight, placing gentle kisses along his crown and rubbing his back.

Dan pulls back and slots their mouths together. Phil returns the kiss with earnest. Their erections had slightly flagged while they were talking. It doesn’t take long for them to spring back to life as they nudge against one another.

“Show me what to do,” Dan whispers in a husky tone.

Phil smiles and places a chaste kiss against Dan’s lips before untangling himself. He moves across the bed and roots around in his side table drawer. He turns around holding a small bottle of lube and a few condoms in his hand.

Dan gives him a lopsided smile and Phil squeezes his arm in a reassuring manner. Phil lays against the pillows, slipping one under his hips. Dan settles between Phil’s legs and gently pets his thighs. Phil sighs at the sensation. He hands Dan the lube after a moment.

“I’m sure you have an idea of what to do with his,” Phil states in a lighthearted tone. Dan nods and flips open the cap, spreading the liquid over his twitching fingers.

Phil plants his feet flat against the bed and spreads his thighs wide. Dan can see the faintest hint of Phil’s hole between his cheeks. He skirts his fingers over Phil’s ass before tapping the tip against his hole.

“Don’t shove it in. Tease my rim a bit before easing it inside,” Phil instructs.

Dan nods and takes a few deep breaths, trying to control his pounding heart. He drags his finger around the puckered hole before gently dipping the tip of his finger inside. He repeats the process many times, each time sinking his finger deeper inside. Once his finger was quite seated inside, he twirls it around.

“I can take another,” Phil says after a moment. Dan nods and retracts his finger. He presses two fingers tight together and wiggles them slowly inside of Phil. After a beat, Dan moves them begins to scissor them. It’s only a few minutes later before he’s adding a third and spreading them wide.

Phil’s hips begin to cant as his muscles start to loosen. Dan’s twisting his fingers and pushing against Phil’s prostate. Phil’s hips leap at the sensation.

“I want you. Please,” Phil pleads.

“Okay,” Dan states as he retracts his fingers. There’s some fumbling with the condom as his fingers are slick and his nerves are slightly frayed. Yet, it doesn’t take him long to ready to himself.

Dan presses the flared head of his cock against Phil’s hole. He’s sucking his breath harshly through his nose. Phil strokes his arm and waves his fingers to get Dan’s attention.

“I’ll let you know if you’re hurting me. If you want to stop, at any point, we can,” Phil assures him. Dan gives a timid smile, nods, and kisses Phil instead of answering.

Slowly, Dan pushes forward. He watches in awe as he begins to disappear inside of Phil. Phil breaths deep as he begins to stretch to accommodate Dan. It’s slow going. Dan refuses to rush out of fear of hurting Phil. Phil has a firm grip of Dan’s hips, controlling his movement. It’s been awhile since he’s bottomed.

Dan stills once he’s fully seated inside of Phil. Phil takes a few deep breaths as he wills his body to relax and adjust to the intrusion. Dan braces his hands on either side of Phil’s head.

“Are you okay?” Dan asks.

Phil takes one last strong breath before he feels the tension slip from his body. The mild pain gives way to pleasure. “You can move,” he informs Dan. Dan nods and shifts Phil’s hips so they’re raised slightly from the pillow. Phil wraps his legs lax around Dan’s waist and his arms around Dan’s neck.

Dan eases out and glides back inside. His movements are slow and a little choppy as he fills Phil again and again. Phil whimpers every time Dan brushes against his prostate. Small grunts escape Dan’s lips every time he’s flush against Phil’s ass.

Phil begins to move his hips, meeting Dan’s thrusts. Dan picks up the pace. Phil’s hole is fluttering around his cock and squeezing it every other thrust. Dan moans and drops his head down slightly, pressing his face against Phil’s neck. Phil turns his head and buries his face in the crook of Dan’s neck.

Dan alternates between panting and pressing chaste kisses to Phil’s skin. Phil licks at Dan’s neck before rotating betwixt kissing and nibbling. Dan lets out a loud moan as Phil tightens around him.

“I’m not going to last,” Dan confesses. Phil’s taut around him and he can feel the heat seeping through the condom. Dan’s orgasm is coiling tight in his stomach and he’s biting his lower lip in an attempt to starve it off.

“Let go babe,” Phil whispers.

Dan thrusts hard a few times before slamming all the way in and throwing his head back. A loud moan escapes his throat as he floods the condom with his release. Phil holds Dan close as he shakes through his orgasm. Dan stills on top of Phil, trying to catch his breath for a moment before pulling out.

Phil hisses as Dan retreats. Dan pulls off the condom and drops it in the nearby trashcan. He looks down at Phil’s sweat glistened form and frowns. Phil’s erection is thick against his stomach. His foreskin is pulled back, revealing the dark red crown and his need to cum.

“You didn’t cum,” Dan states with confusion.

Phil nods his head in agreement. “Not yet,” he states with a wink. He slides his hand down his torso and brushes over his nipples. Then, wraps his fingers around his cock. He starts to move his hand up and down. It’s a little drier than he would prefer, but he knows that he isn’t going to last long.

Dan pulls himself out of his stupor and bats Phil’s hand away. He wraps his hand around the erection and starts to move. His hand is kind of tacky due to the lube from earlier. Phil doesn’t care. He’s bucking into Dan’s fist as he chases his orgasm. Dan watches in fascination as the head of Phil’s cock appears and disappears in his hand.

“Cum for me,” Dan says in a low voice. Phil arches his back, scrunches his eyes tight, and cries out Dan’s name as his release spurts onto his stomach. Dan goes slackjaw at the sight of Phil coming. He feels his spent cock twitch against his thigh in interest.

Phil sinks against the bed, his body going lax as the post orgasm glow takes over. Dan wipes his hand against the sheet and moves to grab something to clean them up with. Phil grabs Dan’s arm, pulling him down onto the bed and slings it over his body and hums with contentment.

“Was that okay?” Dan asks with hesitation. Phil looks at him with hooded lids and flashes a wide smile.

“You were marvelous,” he assure Dan. Phil kisses him before settling snug against him. Dan smiles into Phil’s hair before kissing his head.

“Good,” Dan murmurs as relief floods his body. “We should clean up,” he says after a few beats of silence.

Phil grabs the blanket and pulls it over them. He closes his eyes and nods. “Sleep now. Clean later,” he informs Dan. Dan knows that the cum on Phil’s stomach is going to itch when they awake, but if Phil doesn’t mind, then he doesn’t either. Dan drops off to sleep to the sound of Phil’s steady breathing and a smile on his face.

[writtenwordsoffic]

In Your Head - Part 2

Jughead Jones x Reader 

Reader: Y/N 

Brother: Y/B/N

Summary: You are almost 3 months into a relationship with Jughead Jones. You are going through a tough time being too much in your head as the anniversary of “that night” comes closer. Jughead can sense something is wrong.

Warnings: Features sexual content, as well as a rape flashback and parental abuse. Please don’t read if easily triggered.

The final bell rang of the day. You closed your locker and made your way outside. You had several minutes until your bus left. That was the plus side of a small town, there was only 3 of them. You waited for when Jughead would meet you goodbye, until *SLAM*! Your bag and books went flying with some loose paper tossed along with it. You looked up to some laughter coming from Reggie and Chuck and you glared back. Chuck gave you a long stare looking you up and down until you looked away. You counted back from 10 in your head, focused on grabbing your stuff while gently saying out loud “breathe, just breathe”. 

You heard a fast pace of shoes behind you, “you okay”?!?! Jughead grabbed the rest of your stuff before looking up to see that Reggie and Chuck were walking away still laughing. 

He stood up with determination and you grabbed his arm looking up at him “always”. 

“They shouldn’t do that to you, let alone anyone else…” his glare was still on the two teenagers. 

You grasped his hand, “Hey, Pops later”? You eyed him with a reassuring nod. 

“Okay”, he huffed some air before grasping the bottom of your jaw, pulling you in with your hand and giving you a long kiss. It was a rather change of pace than the typical PDA at school, as neither of you were too into shoving it in anyone’s face. His lips felt soft, and were kissing you with purpose. His embrace felt secure and you had never felt safer.  

“Geez, let her breathe!” Kevin spoke up. You looked at Jughead gleefully as he released your lips, “I got to go and meet Y/B/N. See you tonight?” While you weren’t always 100 percent you could, you asked anyway. 

“Yeah. Betty, Kevin and I are going to go through the “murder board” again”. 

“My dad likes to tell me things he probably shouldn’t about the case”. Kevin seemed happy about that though. 

“Alright, I’ll message you later”. You waved your hand to Kevin and gave a quick peck to Jughead before making it to your bus while looking back to give another smile behind you. 

You sat in your usual spot looking out into the parking lot of the school, seeing Chuck and Reggie get into a car together. Your body tensed up, repeating again “breathe, just breathe”. You got out your novel, and began to read. Trying to escape out of the current world you were in, even if for 15 minutes.

                                                   * * * * * * * * * * * 

You looked up from your book after about half a chapter and got off 2 stops before your usual block. You had made it to the middle school about 3 minutes until their bell rang. Still walking with your nose in your book, you stopped to lean against the wall next to the bike rack. Their bell, while higher pitched than the tone you have grown accustomed to at your own school, rang. 

A few moments later, you were greeted by Y/B/N and slowly started to walk together. You cornered the page on the sentence you finished and looked to him, “So how was the presentation”? 

“Good, I forgot a part of it but was able to make a joke about it. Teacher gave me a B”. He adjusted the poster with Aristotle’s picture on it. 

“Ah, 7th grade….you were a simpler time…” you gave a slight smirk pertaining to the sardonic tone in your voice. 

“Yeah yeah….but thanks for helping me with it”. 

“Yeah sure Bud. Whenever you need it. So, I made plans tonight, you think everything will be okay so I can meet up with everyone”? Your voice got a little more stern. 

“Yeah, I mean she is usually better when Dad is out of town. You should be fine”. You nodded. It had been a while since an incident, actually since about your birthday that June. 

“I think it helped that you grew like a weed over the summer…” you started to joke with your hands of how short you were now compared to that of Y/B/N. You made it to the outside your house and entered as usual through the garage. You made sure your stuff was away and that your brothers poster was put in the shed with the other school things. You came back in the house, and said hi to your mother gently. She ignored the greeting. You chalked up the courage into talking about going to Pops tonight. 

She slightly grunted, “homework”? 

“Not much. I was going to take some of it with me and then finish the rest of my math when I got back”. You tried to say as surely as you could before talking a deep breath. “Um, I got invited to Veronica’s house and Betty was going to be there too”. You knew your mother wouldn’t approve of a party, let along a large one at the likes of Cheryl’s house. So you refrained from fully lying but rather decided to keep her only aware of where you would be staying. 

“When?” Your mother didn’t look up while stirring her cream into her coffee.

“Tomorrow night. I’m meeting Betty at her house so there won’t be a problem driving me”. You glared down at your feet. 

“Fine, but I’m not picking you up either”. She went back to the TV and plopped down sipping her coffee. You made sure you were out of sight before you smiled. 

You went to the kitchen to make something for Y/B/N before grabbing towels to go into the laundry. You grabbed some homework out of your bag, glanced at yourself in the mirror by the door and were on your way. Before leaving the outer area of the house, you texted Y/B/N, “there’s food in the fridge for ya”. You looked up to Y/B/N’s window and he gave a slight wave from his room. 

                                               * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

You grabbed your book back out and began your walk. The plus side of this town, versus the last one, was that you could walk to anywhere important pretty quick. You had the diner in your view, as well as a familiar car out front. You gently, breathed before looking up to seeing both Betty and Jughead in the window. He looked up from his laptop and gently smiled at you. You went through the door - another bell dinged. 

You were greeted by Pop who asked what you wanted. 

“Just a strawberry shake, thanks”. You weren’t really hungry. You gave a quick smile before hearing a familiar voice talking with Cheryl behind you. You deemed your focus on Jughead and slid into the booth next to him. 

“Hey”, he squeezed your knee slightly while giving you a peck on your cheek before grabbing a fry from his plate. Luckily, it seemed Cheryl and Chuck were done with Pops and started to leave. You could at least have all of your focus on the beanie capped boy next to you. You heard the ding again and looked up to see Chuck give a slight stare again before Betty had sat back down with her burger in hand and giving you your shake. 

“Ugh, I loathe that man”, Betty rolled her eyes. 

“A common feeling we share”, you looked at your shake while Betty gave a slight questionable look. At that point you had all started to talk about your day with the Blue and Gold included. Once again, it was a nice feeling to have friends. 

                                                     * * * * * * * * * * *

 *heavy breathe* 

You stumbled over a rock, looking down at your ripped and wrinkled dress. You were cold and lost your cardigan somewhere but weren’t going to give a chance going back there. You wiped the tears from your face just trying to focus on your walk home. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and not just because you were cold. Looking down, you hadn’t realized your tears hadn’t stopped yet. You heard a car and scurried into the side of a tree, making sure no one saw you. You tripped and your bare feet hit something. You hid before trying to make yourself stop crying again. You hear a horn….

 *scream* 

You woke straight up again but along with a cold sweat, this time you had some tears running down your face. You swiped the alarm off your phone, and tried to focus on your day once again.

[nlc-nessa]

Sungei Api Api

“If you go there, then you jolly well don’t come back!”            Sungei Api Api was notorious for its ghost stories. Josh never spotted a real spirit roaming the area, but his mother warned that they preferred to appear in other forms.

“And if you ever see a chicken, don’t make eye contact!”

Josh’s mother was a devout Buddhist, and she believed in every superstition surrounding the neighbourhood river. When Josh was six, his neighbour took him for an evening stroll along the mangroves while his mother was at work. She tasked the old man to look after her son, but she did not specify what kind of activities were out of bounds.            “Remember when that crazy Uncle Hock brought you there? You came home with one hundred spirits following you!”            They only found this out after their house plants started wilting for no reason, so she immediately dragged Josh to the fortune teller with her. The medium informed her that her son had just returned from a “dirty” place and urgently needed to be cleansed. Apparently, the medium could see the souls of one hundred people standing behind Josh, all in a single file and following his every move. The fortune teller proceeded to sell eighty-five dollars’ worth of talismans and herbs to Josh’s mother, which meant less pocket money for him to buy his favourite Cheese Rings from the minimart downstairs. When his mother found out that Uncle Hock was the one who brought the unfortune onto them, she cut all ties with him. She never trusted any of her neighbours since then. 

 “Do you really need to walk through there?” Josh’s mother had asked before he left the house one morning.

           “It’s the quickest route to their place,” Josh replied. “Besides, it’s still so early. Where got ghost?” 

           Josh had informed his mother about his new job as a private tutor, and she would have been happier for him if it did not take place at one of the landed properties along Pasir Ris Beach. The park connector that ran alongside Sungei Api Api was the quickest shortcut there by foot. If Josh were to walk by the main road, it would take him thirty minutes longer.  His mother desperately suggested for him to learn how to cycle, but the trauma from losing his father prevented Josh from ever wanting to plant his two feet on the pedals.

“Remember what happened to Pa when he rode his bicycle?” Josh snapped at his mother. They stared at each other in silence, recalling the time when two police officers knocked on their door one night to deliver news of their father’s accident. Allegedly, his father had been cycling along the river when he abruptly swerved and dove off course. Thrown off the bike and towards the mangroves, he hit his head on a sharp rock and rolled downwards into the river where he drowned. They had found white feathers stuck in the spokes of his wheel and a dead hen on the road, laying in its own blood. 

“It wasn’t the bicycle, you know. The chickens killed him,” Josh’s mother said. Josh was getting late for his lesson and he knew that arguing with his mother had no end. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t believe in ghosts, and he didn’t care if another hundred spirits hitched a ride on his shoulders on the way home. There was no use in her praying at the altar for hours on end or forcing him to drink those dark, herbal concoctions if Josh’s luck in job hunting was still at an all-time low. But now that he had secured a job, he didn’t have time to entertain his mother’s superstitions. 

“I know, I know,” said Josh before hauling his backpack over his shoulders. A rich little nine-year-old kid in desperate need of Math tuition was waiting for him, and he could not afford to be late. 

“I’ll be careful, Ma,” Josh said before heading out and locking the gate behind him.

From the tenth floor, Sungei Api Api was just a harmless, pandan-green river that snaked through Pasir Ris, flowing past new condominiums, alongside the old HDB flats, and onwards towards the sea where the wealthy lived in three-storey houses by the beach. However, being on the ground floor where he was close enough to hear the waves and smell the rotting fruit in the soil, Josh had to admit that it was a little too close for comfort. He walked on anyway, thinking about the luxurious house he would be sitting in fifteen minutes away from there. 

Josh made sure to avoid stepping on any fallen leaves that had collected rainwater. What if he slipped and fell and hit his head? He also kept his phone in his pocket and made sure to stay on high alert in case any chicken, lizard, or cat decided to dash out from the bushes. There were not many cyclists or joggers at that time as the sun was slowly climbing above Josh, beaming a painful ray of heat through the sparse trees. Walking along the river, it was only Josh, the mosquitoes buzzing round his ears, and the Asian koels hidden among the branches. No clucking yet, Josh noted. 

As Josh approached a musty underpass, he noticed that the ground changed from tarmac to concrete. It was cracked all over, as if someone had just rampaged through the area with a sludge-hammer. Although an obvious tripping hazard, the green metal railings on the side of the path prevented anyone from plummeting down towards the river. If you cracked your skull open here, at least you wouldn’t drown. 

As Josh emerged through the other end, he caught sight of an old man sitting on a wooden bench. Between the old man’s legs nestled an absolute hulk of a rooster, resting its chin on the man’s thigh. Unlike the wild chickens Josh was used to seeing, this rooster was the complete opposite of a scrawny kampong chicken. Its crimson red comb was high enough to tower over his owner’s knees, and its legs were as thick as chicken drumsticks.

“Want to pet him?” the old man asked. Josh hadn’t realised that he was staring. He smiled and waved his hand to refuse, and kept on walking. 

 Josh’s tutoring session with the child went smoother than he expected. The father had shaken his hand, invited him to the living room where a makeshift plastic table was set up for his son, and gave him a packet of ice lemon tea from the fridge. Ninety minutes passed by in an instant for Josh. 

“You live nearby, right?” The child’s father asked Josh as he was leaving. 

“Yeah, within walking distance,” Josh replied. 

“Oh,” said the father. He looked at Josh’s shoes and noticed the grains of soil glued to the sides. “You walked by the river?”

Josh looked up at him and said, “Yeah, why?” 

“You’re not scared of the...” The man finished his sentence by bending his arms and flapping them up and down like a pair of wings.

“No,” said Josh. He studied the growing frown in the father’s face and realised how serious he looked. Coming from someone else other than his mother, he wondered if he really should be afraid. “Should I be scared?” 

“Hmm, just be careful,” the man said. “Someone died there, you know?”

Josh’s fingers went cold as he struggled to secure the rest of his shoelaces. Desperate to avoid further small talk, he tucked the excess string into his shoe and turned to leave. 

“See you next week,” Josh said. The man nodded and opened the gate for him, and Josh headed back to the park connector with his hands clenched within both pockets, thinking about what other stories these people living by the river knew. 

 Walking back down the path and avoiding the same slippery leaves, Josh began to wonder when these ghost stories first came about. He could not recall if his father had ever mentioned these things, or was it purely his mother speculating these reasons to justify her husband’s freak accident? 

“Ah boy!” A voice called out to Josh. He turned around and saw the old man with the giant rooster again, except this time they were taking a stroll and the old man had a cigarette pinched between his lips. The monstrous bird was disciplined to only walk beside its owner, stepping in sync with the old man. As if dressed in matching colours, the old man wore a red baseball cap, a porous white singlet and khaki cargo shorts. His grey rubber slippers were covered in mud, and Josh wondered if there was a farm nearby he had never heard of. 

“Ah boy, your shoelace!” The man called out again. As Josh whiffed the approaching cloud of tobacco, he looked down and saw that his shoelaces had come untucked and were now hanging outside of his sneakers. He squat down to tie it with more diligence, in case any other stranger decides to yell at him like a little boy again.

“Must be careful you know, wait you fall down how?” The man and his rooster were now approaching Josh, and by the time he fastened a double-knot on his second shoe, the rooster was within pecking distance of Josh’s face. The massive creature looked even more threatening up close, making Josh stumble and fall backwards. His palms scraped against the road and loose pieces of gravel pressed into his flesh. 

“Aiyoh, don’t need to be scared,” said the old man. “My Benny here is very well-behaved.” 

“Benny?” said Josh. He pushed himself off the ground and stood up, striking his hands against his jeans to lose the dirt. The rooster flinched at Josh’s movements and he felt sorry for flinging the soil into its eyes.

“Yah, this is Benny. Handsome, right?” The old man bent forwards and gave his rooster a thump on the back. He then proceeded to stroke its feathers from head to tail. Benny the rooster leaned into the old man like a puppy would to its new master. 

“Why is he so big?” Josh asked.

“He only eats premium food,” said the old man. “His favourite is Hokkaido sweet corn and Russian kale.” 

“Such a good life, huh?” replied Josh. They were now walking towards Josh’s block, but it was clear that the old man had some knee problems and could only take the tiniest steps forward. 

“I found him on the grass around here four years ago,” said the old man. “Poor thing couldn’t walk so I brought him home.”

As if joining in the conversation, Benny let out a squawk and scratched the ground with his thick claw. Josh laughed at the bird’s sudden reaction, but the old man thought otherwise. Squatting down and pulling Benny into a bear hug, the old man said, “Shh, chicken crossing the road.” 

As if on cue, a brown hen the size of a soccer ball emerged from the mangroves and made its way across the path. Its neck bobbed back and forth as it walked towards the opposing grass patch, looking for food. Benny was getting agitated, but the old man shushed him with more calming strokes and a series of soft coos into its ears. 

“What’s wrong with the chickens here?” Josh asked, lowering his voice.

“Boy, you stay here and you don’t know?” 

“My mother only says not to disturb them,” Josh replied. 

“Good,” said the old man. “Listen to your mother.” 

“But why?” 

Benny and the old man were now inching towards another wooden bench, not far from Josh’s block. The old man sat down with a grunt and spread his legs, allowing Benny to huddle in between them. 

“Maybe it’s better if you don’t know,” the old man said, pulling out a zip-lock bag of uncooked rice from his back pocket. “Unless you have a big boy like Benny to protect you!” He held the rice in front of Benny’s face, allowing the bird to peck at it directly from the bag. Studying the short grains, Josh guessed that it was probably some sort of imported Japanese rice. 

“Okay Uncle,” Josh said. The old man didn’t seem willing to reveal any more about the chickens, so he thought it wiser to just leave things there. “Take care.”

 “Why so late then come home?!” Josh’s mother yelled the moment he stepped through the front door. 

“Ma, it’s only two o’clock.” Josh sat on the sofa as he struggled to untie his shoelaces. His mother scanned him from head to toe with a feather duster in her hands. 

“You walk home by the dirty river, is it?!” His mother said, pointing at his sandy shoes. Josh made a mental note never to wear those white sneakers again. 

“There’s no ghost at this timing lah, Ma.” 

“How you know? You can see them meh? Should I bring you to my fortune teller again?” 

Josh threw his shoes onto the rack and headed for his bedroom. 

“I’m gonna take a nap, don’t disturb me.”

Before his mother got another word out, Josh slammed the door and locked it. He threw his backpack into the corner of the room and plunged into bed, covering his eyes with his forearm. He was sick of his mother telling him what to do and shoving her silly beliefs down his throat. He was already twenty-five but still felt like a little kid at times, not having the freedom to walk where he wanted and whenever he wanted. He wondered what life would be like if that stupid chicken hadn’t run in front of his father’s bicycle. The smell of burning incense wafted in through the gaps of his door, and Josh was lulled to sleep. 

 White wings, sharp claws, and a dangling red flap beneath his chin. Josh was a chicken, and he was running through the darkness. He didn’t know what from, but he was scrambling along the river, hopping over mangrove roots and digging his claws into the soft mud. Find the light, a voice told him. Run. An orange glow beamed from beyond the mangrove and Josh hurled himself towards it, tucking his wings tighter against his body. Mud soon turned to grass, and grass then turned to pavement. The screeching of brakes filled his ears before he was knocked in his side by a tire, and was forced to watch his father roll off his bicycle and down towards the murky waters. Josh tried calling out for him, but nothing escaped his throat except a spurt of warm blood.

 Josh woke up to the sound of chiming bells, yet another one of his mother’s daily rituals to cleanse their home. Combined with an even heavier scent of incense now, it drove Josh mad. He needed to prove to his mother that there was no such thing as haunted chickens, that the accident was just a coincidence, and that he didn’t deserve to be subjected to a life of unnecessary spiritual cleansing. He grabbed his keys and left his room. 

“Where are you going? It’s so late already!” 

“Going to buy dinner,” said Josh. He slipped on a pair of flip-flops and rushed to unlock the gate. 

“But I already cooked for you!” 

Josh closed the door on his mother and slammed the gate shut. He couldn’t stand to listen to her shrieking any longer. He needed some answers, and perhaps breathing in the river’s scent could help him. His side was still aching from his nap, and he couldn’t stop thinking of his broken wings and the man he hit and left to drown.

Josh glanced at his watch and then the route ahead, wondering how it was already that dark at seven thirty. Dim orange lamp posts sparsely lined the trail ahead, leaving large black gaps in between. The darkness matched what he saw in his dream, except for the mangroves that now looked even thicker from the outside. The tangled trees and protruding roots made it dense and unexplorable, and Josh could barely see the water on the other side. But the occasional splash and the smell of mud reminded him that the river was still there, ready to swallow anyone who took a wrong step. Josh stared ahead and walked, accompanied by the ballooning sounds of the mangrove forest. The calls of crickets, frogs, and birds were all mushed together in a constant ring. It was hard to distinguish the noises around him, but Josh was certain that none of the sounds belonged to a chicken. He wondered if he should start cooing like the old man in order to lure them out. 

When Josh reached the end of the underpass with the cracked cement flooring, he noticed a giant wooden signboard right beside the exit. It had the words “Sungei Api Api” painted faintly in white on its planks, and it was nailed against two sturdy logs that were hammered deep into the soil. The entire wooden structure was scratched up, and one of the posts had a deep “18+ only” carved in its side. 

Past the signboard, Josh spotted a figure ahead of him. It looked tiny in the distance, but Josh could tell that he was no jogger or night stroller. He had on a light blue shirt with rolled up sleeves, long pants, and a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. Perhaps he lived in one of the beach houses up ahead, but Josh found it odd that he was walking instead of driving.

Josh tried catching up to him to ask if he knew about the chickens, but the man had made a sudden right turn towards the river, trudging through the grass with his black dress shoes. Josh watched the man march forward until the faint shine of his shoes disappeared completely into the mangroves. 

 Josh jogged to the spot where the man had left the path and peered into the trees. He squinted as hard as he could, but the faint orange lights from the path could not penetrate the dense forest. Although he could not see the man, Josh managed to spot a glowing white orb scampering through the roots of the mangroves. Finally, a chicken!

Josh stepped off the path and ventured towards the wall of trees. The grass pricked his toes with every step, and the closer he got to the trees, the stronger the scent of fresh flowers, like the pink ones his mother would buy from the market every Sunday morning. He then recalled her advice to keep his mouth shut if he ever encountered such a sweet smell in a strange place. It meant there was a spirit nearby, and he had to protect himself from swallowing one.

Josh pulled out his miniature torchlight attached to his keyring and shone the light into the trees, scanning the area. There really was nothing to see except fallen leaves, roots, and the occasional litter of plastic bags and cans. He inched closer and closer till he heard footsteps come from within. Josh stopped moving and listened. There was a sudden girlish giggle that made his hair stand, and he would have backed away instantly if it wasn’t for the deep cough that came right after. All thoughts of the supernatural aside, Josh assumed it to be the man he had seen earlier on.

Just then, two people emerged from the shrubs and Josh pointed the light at their faces. Just a stone’s throw away from him, Josh could tell that it was that same man, still in his office wear but with mud smudged around his ankles. The man was probably in his late forties. He had well-groomed silver hair and a dark blue tie, half loosened around his neck. Hooked around his arm was a fair and plump woman. The man was clearly shocked by Josh’s presence, but the lady seemed disinterested and almost annoyed. She had on the brightest red lipstick Josh had ever seen, and her skin was ghostly pale. Silky black hair framed her face and hung down to her waist. Josh had a million thoughts running through his mind, but the couple took off before he could say anything. The man had grabbed the lady’s wrist and dragged her downstream towards the beach. Her flowy white dress swept the floor beneath her and Josh realised that she was barefoot. He couldn’t stop staring at her feet. They were incredibly clean, unlike the man’s own mud-covered shoes. 

“Hi sir, looking for someone?” A voice sang behind Josh. He turned around and there stood another young lady in a white dress. She had the same shade of red on her lips, but her skin was tanner and glowed orange under the lamp posts. Her black hair rested neatly on her shoulders. 

“Uhm, I’m just taking a stroll,” Josh said. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the pretty lady by telling her about his hunt for chickens. His torch dangled downwards, shining its white light towards her toes. They were barefoot and clean.

“Would you like me to accompany you?” she said. Josh was once again hit by the intense smell of flowers, this time with a hint of rotting fruit.  

“No thanks,” Josh mumbled through his teeth. He didn’t dare open his mouth. He started to walk away but the lady did not leave his side. 

“Why are you here then?” she asked, bursting into a slight jog to keep up with Josh’s strides. Maybe if he made himself sound like a mad man, she would leave him alone. 

“I’m looking for some chickens,” Josh replied. “I’m going to bring them home and feed them with premium Japanese rice and sweet corn.” 

The lady’s neck straightened up and she smiled. She jumped in front of Josh and stopped him in his tracks. Her eyes looked strangely yellow, and Josh could not turn away. She wrapped her bony fingers around his wrist and tugged him towards her.

“I’ll bring you to them.”

Josh couldn’t refuse her offer. Something about her grip made him submit to her every move and follow her around. She walked further down the path as her nails dug into Josh’s skin, dragging him along. Perhaps, out of all the people living there, this lady would have the answers Josh was looking for.  

“Come sir,” she said, and just like the man from before, she stepped off the path and turned towards the trees by the river.

“Where are we going?” Josh asked.

“You want to see the chickens, right?”

As they reached the edge of the mangrove trees, she let go of Josh and used both hands to push her way through the dense branches. It looked impenetrable from the outside, but giving them a slight shove made it easier to walk through. The ground beneath them got softer and muddier the further they walked in. Josh clenched his toes around his flip-flops, hoping they wouldn’t fall off and get lost in the mud.

 “Are the chickens sleeping?” Josh asked.

“No,” the lady said, chuckling again. “They’re waiting.”

The lady picked up her pace as her excitement grew. The river was getting closer and Josh could see the moonlight bouncing off the surface. He followed the white dress in front of him and wondered how she learnt to see so well in the dark.

“Look what I brought for you girls!” the lady squealed into the darkness. They had reached a clearing large enough for Josh to stretch his arms out. There was an open space around him and Josh could breathe slightly better, although the cold air continued to sting the back of his throat. Josh turned his torchlight back on and looked around. Small cardboard boxes were laid out in a semi-circle in front of him, and in each box nestled a chicken. The moment they saw Josh they rushed out of their boxes and gathered at his feet. He counted four of them.

“Oh, cute,” he said, amused at how friendly they were. 

“Pick one, sir,” said the lady.

“What?”

 “Pick one that you like.”

Josh panicked and thought that he had somehow gotten involved with some illegal animal trading. He started to back away from the lady and her wares.

“Wait, I’m not here to buy a chicken,” Josh told her.

“But you came all the way here!”

“I was looking for something else!”

“You said you were looking for a chicken,” she replied, gripping Josh’s wrist again. “So, pick a chicken.”

“Okay, okay,” Josh replied. He was afraid to anger her further. Besides, the lady had the upper hand of navigating the area better and potentially murdering him right then and there. The sleek mud would make it even easier for her to drag his body towards the river and leave him to drown like his father. 

Josh looked down at the chickens and pointed at the biggest one. It had light brown feathers and a little black tail. It beat its wings so vigorously that Josh could feel the wind cooling the back of his ears. 

“I’ll take her,” Josh said, mumbling once again. He found it difficult to hear his own voice over the chirping crickets who were getting louder, as if cheering Josh on for making his selection.

 “Great,” said the lady. She smiled again and Josh felt somewhat relieved. She huddled the other chickens back into their boxes.    

“Have fun and come back before sunrise.”

“What?”

The brown chicken Josh picked began to cluck as it morphed. He shone his torch on its distorting body as its stubby neck stretched upwards and its breasts grew outwards. Its skinny chicken legs plumped up into fleshy calves, and wrinkled claws grew into two smooth feet, barefoot and clean. Her brown dress flowed loosely around her thighs as she took her first steps towards Josh. 

“Shall we?” she asked. Josh stared at the fully-grown woman in front of him. Her curly black hair covered her eyes, and her red lips made it look like she had just dipped her mouth in a bucket of fresh blood. Even with no shoes on, she towered over Josh. He could not move.

“Are you okay?” she asked Josh again. He wanted to scream, but his throat made no sound. He felt like he was dreaming again, except this time, it was harder to run with two aching knees and no wings to help him take flight. 

“I’m sorry,” was all Josh could master after snapping out of his daze. He tried to run but the tall lady grabbed his shoulders and spun him around.

“You can’t leave,” she said. Her sharp nails dug into Josh’s flesh and the pain made him drop his torchlight. “You picked me.”

The lady moved her face closer to Josh and prodded his cheek with her parrot-beaked nose. Her eyes were like two glowing yolks, making Josh feel like vomiting. He dove to her left and tried to take off, but he tripped over a snaking tree root and fell with a resounding crunch onto one of their boxes.

“My eggs!” screamed the lady. Josh pushed himself off the ground and looked beneath him. A gooey liquid seeped through the box and had smeared all over his shirt. Everything went quiet. No crickets, no frogs, no birds. Just his heavy breathing and the drumming of his heartbeat in his ears. Everyone had stopped moving. Find the light. Josh spotted a faint orange glow leaking through the opening they had come from earlier. Run. He locked his eyes on the clearing, took a deep breath and leaped towards it. Wet leaves slapped against his face as he bulldozed through the shrubs. Screw the slippers, Josh thought. His toes no longer had a grip on them, so he burst out of the mangroves barefoot and ran back towards the underpass. 

 Grotesque clucking followed him as he ran, piercing the air with what sounded like a massacre of screaming children. Josh was hit with a sudden headache, but the pain was nothing compared to the guilt he felt for not listening to his mother. Josh’s muscles contracted with every step and he could feel himself sinking lower and lower to the ground. Josh ran so fast he felt like he could fly. He finally reached the wooden signboard but it looked much bigger than before, and Josh wondered if he had gone the right way. He pushed forward anyway, desperate to get out of that place and return to the main road, far away from the dirty mangroves. Josh didn’t want to die that night. He didn’t want to vanish like his father. 

The ground beneath him felt like broken glass, and the sand under Josh’s toes dug deeper into his skin with every step. The crumbling cement of the underpass didn’t slow him down though. Josh was already halfway through, but the end seemed to stretch further and further away the more he ran towards it. It didn’t help that the walls around him started spinning and that his head was bobbing back and forth. Josh’s vision grew blurry and he felt like throwing up again.

“There’s nowhere for you to go!” sang one of the deranged women. Her chilling voice gave Josh an adrenaline boost and he scampered on till he heard the sound of speeding cars ahead of him. Josh gave an aggressive lunge forward and pushed himself off the ground, spreading his wings and flapping as hard as he could, hoping to land back within civilization.

 “Mummy, look!” A boy shouted. Josh whipped his neck towards the voice and felt a jerking weight beneath his chin. He tried grabbing it but his arms could not reach his face. Josh didn’t even have arms anymore. Just two feathery wings that beat furiously up and down. His vision started stabilizing, but the lights were overwhelming, and the scene was a strange mix of purple, green, and a whole spectrum of colours Josh had never seen before. He stood there and watched as the cars drove by and the pedestrians walked around him. The little boy continued to stare as his mother dragged him away.

“Don’t disturb them,” she said to her son. “The chickens are dangerous.” 

Josh thought about his own mother and how much he wanted to go home. He tried to cry but no tears came out. Josh could only hear himself croaking. He struck his claws against the concrete and spun round a few times deciding on a direction to head towards, but it didn’t matter which way he went. Someone had already picked him up and cradled him like a baby. 

“Ah boy, I told you to be careful,” said the old man. Josh recognised the scent of tobacco on his fingertips, followed by the smell of sweet corn. The old man was now carrying Josh and walking back towards the darkness. A second voice grunted beneath Josh, saying, “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.” 

As Josh, Benny, and the old man walked back towards the river’s edge, Josh thought about his mother and how she would cope with his disappearance. Perhaps his bedroom will now be filled with more statues of deities and a pot of incense that will never burn out. He wondered how much money the fortune teller could now exhort from his mother too, when he tells her that her son has been turned into a chicken.