#down to the gallon of water he had to buy last week because there was desert heroing to do

[kariachi]

Really there was a good space for money to be a point of conflict between Kevin and the Tennysons. Like, we get the show going 'oh that Kevin isn't he greedy' but, I mean really a thing.

Because here's the thing, the Tennysons are middle-class teenagers living at home with parents who take care of them, one of whom ends up with merchandise. If they're hungry, there's probably gonna be food in the fridge at home and they did not need to worry about getting it there. If they decide to splurge, the only things they have to worry about cutting funds from are non-essentials. If their valuable shit is damaged, somebody else has to worry about replacing or fixing it. If they get hurt, somebody else's insurance is covering it. If they decide to step back from the Plumbers and just not work for a while? They don't need to worry about a roof over their heads.

And Kevin is, very much not middle-class living at home with parents taking care of him and merchandising deals on the side. Even discounting WoG it's clear he doesn't live with his mother, probably for reasons relating to the absolute mess that was a childhood that left him homeless longterm. He's paying his own bills, he's buying his own groceries, whenever his car gets wrecked that's on him. And I doubt the Plumbers medical funds cover freelancers, so we can reasonably assume any damage he takes prior to Basic Training? The medical bills are on him too. If he decides he needs a break? He's still got expenses he needs to cover, he has to worry about making sure he's got an nest egg enough to keep him for however long first. And this isn't something new to him, he's first introduced as homeless at 11-years-old, and aside from his time in prison and with the Rooters? There's no indication anyone else was funding his ass. He's been having to worry about this shit since before he even met the Tennysons, and the position he's in as of UAF is likely only recently as good as it is given his age and the work and time it would take to reach any level of true success in the black market.

Just, it would have made for a good episode in 'we're more mature now' UA, to hit on the difference between how they look at money, how they spend their money, and why.

[writing-good-vibes]

you are now leaving illinois

before the weird sex and the american dreams and the realisations that only the open road can bring, there was the beginning (well, almost). or: corey and michael leave illinois for the first time.

WARNING for mentions of shoplifting, carjacking, smoking and very mild angst, but this is actually pretty mellow. idk corey cries a little bit but that's not out of the ordinary for him.

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (if anyone else wants to be tagged in corey related things, just let me know !!)

The first stop they make since leaving Haddonfield is at a Walmart about 20 miles from the state line. Corey goes in, hood up and head down, just to grab some essentials for the road.

Bags of chips, cans of soda and bottled water. An armful of cup noodles and a loaf of bread. A half-gallon of chocolate milk. First aid supplies because he knows he's not the powerhouse that Michael is; rolls of bandages and gauze, a bottle of painkillers, antiseptic cream. He grabs the cheapest electric razor they sell.

He thinks about 'lifting his haul, but he doesn't want to draw anymore attention to himself than he has to -- not before they make it over the state line, anyway -- so he pays at the checkout. It'll make a dent in his wallet, but he'd saved enough to last a while, and it's an expense he's willing to spend for now. He's sure Michael won't mind them scrimping a bit in the future. Hopefully.

The checkout lady tries to talk to him, those empty niceties that he was so scared of before now feel maddeningly absurd after the week he's just survived. Even so, he tries to act as normal as possible, giving her a tight smile that has no chance of reaching his eyes.

Michael waits in the car, parked in a dark corner of the lot. He's wearing the mask, of course, he'd put it on as soon as he'd wrestled it back off Corey. He knew he was going to be in big trouble over that one, but Michael would have to wait a while to exact whatever revenge he wants on his new... accomplice? Amid the raging sea of emotion that is churning his gut, Corey feels a sick sort of thrill at that thought, at taking whatever Michael will deal out to him once they're in the clear.

Jogging back to the car, Corey throws the grocery bags in the backseat before sitting up front. Corey slides slightly across the bench when Michael makes a sharp turn out of the lot and back towards the highway.

Darkness surrounds them on both sides again, as they head out of town. Corey reaches back and routes through the bags until he finds the razor. He unboxes it in his lap, finding the charging cord and plugging it into the port on the dashboard.

"They're gonna be looking for us," he says, slumping in his seat and watching the side of the road where their headlights just about reach.

Michael doesn't say anything, but Corey knows he understands. Michael's been on the run before, he should know what he's doing. Although he has no practical experience, Corey had wiled away his adolescence thinking about how he could run away, far enough that Momma would never find him. There are worse people to worry about than Momma now.

At the next gas station they make another stop; a run-down mom-and-pop place, the type that Corey had assumed didn't exist anymore. The type of place he assumes won't have company policies or CCTV that backs up to a cloud.

Corey leaves Michael in the car again and heads into the garage. The burning adrenaline is starting the wear off, and he buys fresh pack of cigarettes to soothe his obliterated nerves, then makes a beeline for the bathroom, a single stall with a toilet and basin.

Corey's hands grip the edge of the sink and he looks at himself in the cracked mirror, the aged silver surface mottled around the edges. He'd never thought much of his looks, never had anyone to impress or any real reason to care, especially after the accident. But now, oh god now he feels like this is the last thread connecting him to his old self to everything he's done and did not do, and it's not as easy to cut as he expected.

He picks up the razor, clicks it on and feels the vibrations through his hand. Watching, eyes fixed on the halo of curls around his head, he brings the razor up, runs it through his hair, just above his ear. A tuft of hair drifts into the sink. He looks down at it, and even as he squeezes his eyes shut, the tears make their way out anyway. Pathetic, he thinks.

The sink fills up, tawny like a birds nest, and when Corey is finally finished, he almost doesn't recognise himself. He looks so different like this. Running a hand over his buzzed hair, Corey steels his gaze.

Corey had never been to Missouri before. In all fairness though, there were a lot of places he'd never been. Michael doesn't seem too affected, as they cross the state line, the Mississippi River raging beneath them. Missouri didn't even seem much different than Illinois, though in the dark of the night, he supposes he can't really tell. He's heard there are more cornfields, maybe, but other than that, the long stretches of highway felt the exact same as back home.

Home. Shit.

He wondered what home even meant anymore. It felt strange to even think they'd never be going back to Illinois, though he was pretty sure at this point they never would. Michael's home was gone, razed to the ground in a bid to wipe him clean off the face of the town that had ruined him; Corey had nothing to go back to either, nothing that hadn't ruined him, nothing he hadn't torn to shreds and set a blaze before leaving behind.

For the first time in his life, the open road seemed like the only real, tangible thing. Not just a pipedream or a childish fantasy anymore. He'd been stagnant, wasting, for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to really move. Corey felt alive and he wasn't going back to the way things were, not ever.

Just on the horizon, Corey can see the watery grey-blue of the sunrise approaching. He doesn't notice that the white-noise rumble of the road beneath them is soothing him to sleep until his head drops to Michael's shoulder. Michael's eyes stay firmly on the road, and Corey decides, like most things about their partnership, that as long as Michael will let him have this indulgence, he's going to make the most of it.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Suptober, 2 Oct.: Pillow talk

They weren't supposed to do this kinda thing on cases.

deancas, new relationship

It took three seconds to dash from the Impala to the motel room. During this time the pop-up October thunderstorm doused Dean and Cas with approximately 900 gallons of icy rainwater. Ah, autumn. Once Cas performed his angel magic, he and Dean were no longer sopping wet, so Dean had that going for him. 

Unfortunately, the motel quilt was the saddest, thinnest piece of fabric he'd paid money to sleep beneath in years, which was saying something. He wouldn't take a black light to this room on a bet: ignorance was the only way to even pretend to be blissful in such a shoddy place. The heater wheezed and clanked and showed no sign of working correctly, and then a bolt of lightning struck something painfully nearby and plunged the entire block into unelectrified darkness – well, except for the disco-seizure flashing created by subsequent lightning. 

Trying to balance on his side of the last available mattress in town while his fingers went numb, Dean flinched as the storm rattled the draft window frame like a ghost demanding entrance. He turned over and observed the bed's other, calmer occupant, who hadn't even taken off his trenchcoat.

Fuck it, he thought.

He closed the two inches of distance by scooching over until he had flopped himself mostly atop Cas like a grouchy cat and was rewarded by being enveloped in warmth. 

"You could've just said you were cold," Cas murmured, caressing Dean's back. 

"Hrrmm," Dean responded, burrowing in like he could live in Cas's chest.

They weren't supposed to do this kinda thing on cases. Or, at least, they hadn't been. Not that it had been a point of discussion or anything. Just, Dean had mostly kept his hands to himself. For four days. Four long, damp, gruesome days. He sighed and pushed his face into the spicy, comforting scent of Cas's throat where his collar was loosened.

He drifted for a while, listening to the storm ebb and flow like a violent sea. Eventually a specific noise roused him.

"What'reyoulookingfor?" he slurred through a yawn.

"Oh, nothing." Cas zipped, or unzipped, something again. 

Dean smiled tolerantly, without opening his eyes. "Little raccoon hands."

"What?" Cas sounded deeply confused.

Dean stretched a bit and lifted his head just enough to see his own leather toiletry bag on the bed beside Cas. Cas had been habitually noodling around in Dean's belongings for years now. Dean didn't mind, though he knew Sam found it weird as hell, and it was occasionally helpful to have another memory to tap when something got misplaced. Still.

"Why do you like going through my things so much?" Dean asked, honestly curious. 

Even in the dim light Dean could tell he was being looked at with an earnest expression; he wanted to kiss Cas very badly.

"You pack interesting things," Cas said. "Like that silver bullet and vial of holy water in there with your toothpaste, toothbrush, and deodorant." 

"Sometimes I gargle with the holy water. Helps me stay minty fresh," Dean said, elated to see Cas have to try to keep from smiling. 

"Also two expired condoms," Cas continued. "Those you should probably throw away."

Dean put his head back down, struggling to not blush and failing, and thankful for the room's shadows. "Ah," he said, more hoarsely than intended.

He'd never had condoms expire on his watch. Horrors. What had he even been doing with his life lately.

"We should buy more on the way home," Cas said. His tone was as matter of fact as if he hadn't heard Dean's heart stutter.

Oh yeah. There weren't replacements in any dresser drawer back at the bunker, because they'd used the last two less than a week ago.

Dean mentally high-fived himself. "Solid plan." He cleared his throat. "That reminds me."

"Yes?" Cas shifted to wrap his arms around Dean more securely. 

"I mean." Dean found an untucked section of Cas's shirt and slid his fingers under it, rewarded with Cas inhaling sharply. "There are definitely things we could do now anyway. If you wanted."

Cas traced his thumb around the lobe of Dean's ear and Dean made an involuntary gasp, covered quickly by a cough. "That wouldn't go against the rules?" Cas asked.

Dean blinked. Propped himself up again. "What rules." All innocence.

"I'm pretty sure there were rules." Cas held his gaze. The unyielding quality there made Dean's skin prickle with heat, as did Cas's thumb brushing a line down Dean's throat, all of Cas solid and warm beneath him.

"Well," Dean said, lowering his mouth to Cas's, "it'd be more fun breaking them."

[peter-parcoeur]

Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

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« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“  Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower.  Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house.  The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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

The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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

You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

[fishproblem]

ohhhh fishblr. yesterday was hard. trigger warning for all sorts of death, I suppose. a really fucking sad story below the cut.

my across-the-hall-neighbor and dear friend from NYC passed away last week. it was awful, and unexpected, and completely tragic in a sad, quiet way.

as the inspiration for (and only check on) his ill advised and not always responsibly-executed passion for the aquarium hobby, it landed on me to deal with his aquariums yesterday. he felt very “bigger is better” about fish. He also had no idea what he was doing. He loved his pets though. He just wasn’t terribly well equipped. His family didn’t even know where to begin with the fish, but they knew they were important and they needed to get cared for. I haven’t seen him in months. we haven’t been neighbors since I moved back to providence a year ago now. I got up at 6:30 yesterday to get into Brooklyn to meet his family at the apartment at 11.

there was a lot of loss. less than i thought there might be, but it was really excruciating. by the time I walked in yesterday, it had been two weeks since he’d been admitted to the hospital. his 75 gallon african cichlid tank was in pretty good shape. one dead fish, the rest very hungry. but they ate happily and did well. the fish in his 55 gallon were good too. i think the cichlid in there is a jack dempsey, and it was with a black catfish looking cyprinid that i couldn’t ID.

the smaller tanks fared less well. he was weird with moving fish around sort of unnecessarily, and with getting incompatible fish and putting them in small holding tanks to buy time to figure it out. one 10 gal held a single african cichlid, what looks like a gold spotted pleco, and the rotten bits of another fish. a 20 tall held only a blue phantom pleco. i’ll get it out of the way now - i’m heartbroken because that fish didn’t make the trip home.

the last smaller tank held more unidentifiable (probably another african cichlid) remains, and some sort of more common pleco. I think a female bristlenose.

I emptied the smaller tanks and did water changes on the bigger ones while i waited for my friend’s family to decide what they wanted to do. one of his sisters wanted to keep all his fish, but wasn’t sure what she could fit. I spent hours in his apartment breaking things down, clearing out dead fish remains, assessing the living fish. I moved the bristlenose into the 75 gallon with the cichlids. I started acclimating the other two plecos to clean water.

the temp in the blue phantom’s tank had been about 90 degrees.

my friend’s sister decided she could fit a 55 gallon into her apartment. the cichlids and the one pleco all fit in there. so i broke down the 55 and the 75, and i moved all the fish into a 40 gallon tote. we loaded up the car with the tank, stand, fish, and supplies.

I had the blue phantom and the gold spot together in clean water at this point. both were active and looked good.

We drove to her house and i set up the 55 with the cichlids.  The jack dempsey and black mystery fish would be coming back with me to just figure out what to do with them. my dad’s building a pond this year. it would be cool to keep the jack dempsey in a holding tank and let him hang in the pond in the summer. still no idea what the black fish is, but it’s jumpy as hell.

an hour into the three hour drive home, the blue phantom is on its back gasping. there’s nothing i can do. the water feels cold. i try to slowly warm it up with hot water from the dunkin donuts at the rest stop. it seems to work for a while. but by the time i got home at 3:30am it looks either dead or in shock. i tried acclimating it to my 30 gallon tank and putting it in. it fell to the bottom of the tank, on its belly, not moving, but i couldn’t (wouldn’t) tell yet for sure if its dead. i felt like it was though. by this morning i was sure.

the mystery black fish is a black shark. one of my friend’s bad decisions. it’s going to need a 200 gallon tank. it jumped out of the rubbermaid bin and onto the floor twice last night. i didn’t sleep because i was listening for it. i covered the bin after the first time with saran wrap, taped on tight. i heard the fish jump into it once, twice, then a third time. and i hear it hit the ground. it jumped through the fucking plastic wrap, tore a hole right through it jumping from a water level a foot below. i moved it to a tiny holding tank with a tight lid. its looking fine today, but i need a solution asap. 

I can’t just bring them to the pet shop. I need to know they’re going somewhere they’ll be safe forever. I wish I had the space to keep them. The black shark and the dempsey shouldn’t even be sharing a tank at this point though. I’m glad I could help his family, but this is a really hard way to mourn my friend. I blame myself fully for what happened to the blue phantom, and it was such a special fish. I hope the gold spot acclimates well. I hope I figure out how to keep the two monsters for the time being.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

The Warmest Thing I Own

Feeling good enough for the time being to attempt herding Mulder in a grocery store ... 

Our Moments: Chapter 1: Five Words (post-Leonard Betts) Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense (post-Memento Mori) Chapter 3: Interim (floating somewhere around Unrequited) Chapter 4: Max 2.0 (post-Tempus Fugit/Max) Chapter 5: Shadowed Grey Eyes Chapter 6: The Warmest Thing I Own @today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

The following morning, she woke him up, stretching beside him, humming as her muscles flexed and moved, liquid twist of spine and limb. He felt her and opened his eyes, finding the room grey but light, “what time is it?”

Her voice scratched out an, ‘I don’t care’ before burying her head back in the pillow.

“Are we not caring today? ‘Cause I can get behind not caring today.” Reaching out to poke her side, “how are you feeling?”

Rolling in his direction, she gave him a smile that could have lit the city had she come with plug and adaptor, “I actually feel okay. I don’t think I’ve slept like that in weeks.”

“No nightmares?”

“No. Only dreams of farmhouses and men in kilts.”

Mulder laughed, “more than one?”

“Maybe.” Sighing deep, “it’s Saturday, right? Now, I know we’d normally share the worry today but I think I’d rather ignore it completely and go grocery shopping and maybe make dinner and eat a gallon of ice cream.”

“It’s actually Friday but I’m good with all that anyway.” Finally able to see the clock on her nightstand, “it’s 8:27 so I vote you call Skinner while I go shower, then we commence.”

Booping his nose, “you’ve got five minutes or I’m coming in.”

Good God.

He knew she was joking. Had to be joking. But he found himself washing a little slower than usual, wanted to see what she would do at the five-minute mark.

She stood outside the bathroom door at 4 minute, 45 seconds, hand on knob. She felt giddy and free and happy and relatively well and the thought of opening the door made her stomach tighten but would it be all kinds of stupid?

Five minutes.

She felt her hand turning the damn handle.

Just as Mulder pulled the door open.

She stumbled forward into wet flesh, towel around waist holding fast as Mulder took a step back, catching her in his arms, “hi there.”

Both knew she had been opening the door.

“Hi.”

“Almost didn’t make it.” Eyes sparking down at her, given he now knew she had been opening the door, “damn slow water heater.”

She was red.

It amused him.

“Were you coming in for something?”

Something, at the moment, in her mind, was removing his towel and taking him back into the shower but instead, she pointed around him, “toothbrush.”

His grin made her shake her head, slip under his arm, brush her teeth, and keep taking deep breaths.

They were both crazy.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Grocery shopping with Mulder was akin to herding cats. She looked left at something, he threw three things from the right into the cart. She questioned two of them and winning, turned right to replace them on the shelf while Mulder, pouting, turned left, tossing in two other things, plus a box of Twinkies.

Finally, she threated to make him sit in the cart and while he looked her square in the eye, evaluating life and limb, he reached up, tipping a box of CocoPuffs from the top shelf into the cart, never breaking eye contact.

By the end, they had at least remembered the juice boxes.

Steaks were the order of the day, Mulder waving away her cheap-ass $6.00 on sale frugal fingers in favor of the New York strips, thick, red, mouth-watering, and definitely not $6.00. Mistaking her longing look for hunger, he gently turned her away, “we need to cook them first.”

Swallowing, “I know.”

Mashed potatoes followed, “yes, I’m getting the box of potato flakes because real potatoes are too damn much work.”

“Fine by me.” Then came the three pounds of mushrooms, “who the hell is washing all these dishes?”

Mulder smiled, tossing a bulb of garlic in the cart, “dishwasher. You have one but you never use it. I’ll teach you how tonight.”

She just kept stealing glances at the steaks.

Ice cream came last, small tubs of chocolate, cherry, orange sherbet, mint, dark fudge, and peanut butter swirl, “I like variety. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m just wondering if either of us will be able to fit through the front door by the time we’re done.”

“You could stand to gain twenty pounds.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, bring reality into their fun but glancing at her, he saw understanding in her eyes, her hand finding its way into his for a moment, “I’d rather not do it all in one night, if that’s okay?”

She got a long hug for that, shoppers steering around the odd couple embracing in the freezer section but smiling at them regardless because, really, there’s nothing wrong with a little love in frozen foods.

Mulder paid the bill and Scully didn’t fight it, especially after she saw the amount of items he’d stashed in the basket under her radar, “how did I not see any of this?”

“Once you caught sight of the steaks, I could have jammed an elephant in here and you’d have never noticed.” Handing the cashier his credit card, “little woman’s got an appetite.”

Swatting him on the arm, “Mulder! Did you see how many things of ice cream you got? I don’t know how we’re going to fit all that in the freezer.”

The cashier grinned, handing him his card back, “you can always buy her a bigger freezer.”

“This is very true. Freezer shopping next.”

Scully gave up, “that’ll be tomorrow’s trip. We’ll just have to eat all this tonight.”

“Challenge accepted.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

Back at the apartment, groceries spread from one end of the counter to the other, Scully was mid-ice cream put away when she stopped, hand shaking, head spinning. After a second, she turned to Mulder, his back to her, “I’m, um, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go lay down.” Her hand was already rubbing her forehead, “are you okay putting everything away?”

Turning, his stomach sank at how pasty pale she’d become in the last two minutes, “yeah. I’m fine. Go take a nap.”

She was already moving, one hand on the wall of the hall to steady herself as she headed to the bedroom. Once alone, he slowly, methodically, put the groceries in their proper places, shutting cupboards quietly, trying not to rattle pasta or click jars. Five minutes and a fully stocked kitchen later, he realized it was only a little after one. She’d made it four hours. It had been a good four hours but …

If he dwelled on that, he’d scream at the top of his lungs, cursing the sky, fist shaking in the air. Instead, he pulled the mushrooms back out, deciding some manual cooking labor would keep his mind occupied.

That and trying not to cut the tips of his fingers off.

Three pounds of mushrooms, a stick of butter, six cloves of garlic, a teaspoon of salt, and ½ that of pepper later, and small, diced onion to boot, he set her crockpot to warm, snapped the lid tight, and wondered what next.

Sheets.

Put the sheets in the dryer.

Checking that the stains were gone, he hit the button to set the machine humming.

Clean up.

Last night’s Chinese cartons and chopsticks were still on the coffee table. Trash. Check.

Take out the trash. It smelled. He killed five minutes tying the bag, walking it to the garbage chute. Coming back inside and locking the door.

Then he stood there. Tight circle rotating, trying to find something else.

He knew what he wanted to do but felt he shouldn’t. She was fine. She would yell for him if need be.

Bu something kept pulling him in the direction of her bedroom.

“Fuck it.”

He made his way to her door to find her curled on the bed, small lump under thick covers. Stealing to the other side, he carefully lay down, sliding under the quilt in silence. If she wanted to, she could hit him later for arriving in her bed unannounced.

He would love it if she had the strength to hit him hard enough for it to make an impact.

Then again, she’d hit him before and it never made an impact.

It mostly just made him more stubborn and annoying.

He couldn’t help a small smile as he thought about how irritating he could be but she just kept coming back anyways.

She’d come back from this, too. She had to.

She had no choice.

He could see the tension in her face, even while asleep, forehead wrinkled, eyebrows tight. Reaching out, he began massaging between her eyes, imaging that fucking tumor only an inch below his thumb. How the hell could they not take the damn thing out? It was right there.

Right.

There.

Another thought he had to banish from his mind or screaming would ensue, he kept rubbing, watching her face slowly relax, pinched look disappearing, “mmmhmm.”

Soft sound in the back of her throat told him to keep going, small circles, occasionally venturing to the round bones surrounding her eyes, the bridge of her nose, up to her hairline. Another ‘hhmmmm’ later, then a deep sigh, she rolled to her back, making his task a little harder, arms more awkward in their reach.

Shifting slightly, arm now across her chest, he continued. Feeling himself drifting off, his thumb movements lighter and slower, he felt her turn her head, face him, “Mulder?”

“Hi.” Rolling towards him once again, her hands slipped under his arm and one palm to his face, she moved forward, kissing him. Shocked, he pulled back after a moment, “are you awake or asleep?”

He saw her suddenly blink, head shake, both signs she was just waking up, “what? Mulder?”

Knowing she didn’t recall anything because there was no embarrassment turning her red, no heat in her cheeks, eyes innocently confused, “nothing. You said something and I thought … I just wasn’t sure if you were awake. Go back to sleep.”

Caught in limbo of dreams and Mulder, she didn’t care, and scooted closer, into his arms, “you are the warmest thing I own.” Snuggling into him, about as up close and personal as they could get fully clothed on a Friday afternoon, “I like it.”

She so totally did own him and he would be perfectly fine declaring that by billboard, sky writer, or booming voice from the sky. Lips to her forehead, he left them there as he agreed, “I do, too.”

&&&&&&&&&

[96thdayofrage]

'Water is a human right': City of Jackson still in dire need of infrastructure help to fight water crisis

National Guard sergeants fill gallons for a resident at a public water distribution site last year after cold weather caused large numbers of water outages in Jackson, Mississippi.

Laurie Bertram Roberts walks 3 miles down a nearby hill to the store to fill up her 5-gallon jug with filtered water. The mother of seven makes the trip every week to make sure she has 1 gallon for each family member.

She stopped counting the boil water notices since they can happen at least three times a month. The longtime resident of Jackson, Mississippi, has been drinking filtered and bottled water for years due to scarce or dirty water. She doesn't use the town's water for drinking, bathing or cooking.A year ago, a winter storm shut down Jackson's entire water system, leaving tens of thousands of residents without water for a month in the middle of a pandemic. That only made matters worse for Betram Roberts, who had to buy baby wipes, extra underwear, disposable plates and microwaveable food -- necessities she resorts to when she knows her family will be without clean water.

When she knew she was going to be without water for a while, Betram Roberts became concerned for her twins, who have autism and eczema head to toe. She was scared that the little dirty water she had access to would get into a skin crack or open sore on their skin. She then decided to take the 27-year-old twins almost three hours away to Tuscaloosa, Alabama, for a couple of weeks.

"I think the fact that our water has become something that we joke about a lot, tells you a lot about where we are at," she told CNN. "It's become this running commentary that is just so ubiquitous, and you don't really think about how messed up that is. Water is a human right."

Betram Roberts has been making the trip to fill her jug for several years now because of her hesitancy to use the city's water. It has become so normal to her that it's now part of a weekly routine and has become a necessity. It's a matter of survival for her and her family even though she says it has become a joke to others.

Residents like Betram Roberts paint a picture of how this city of more than 151,000 people has been forced to deal with a water crisis as well as a pandemic. After the storm last year, leaders of the majority Black community begged the state for $47 million for water and sewer repairs, but the legislature gave them only $3 million. The Environmental Protection Agency also recently announced $74.9 million in federal water and sewer infrastructure funds for Mississippi. However, the mayor says it would take $2 billion to fully repair and replace the dated system that has too much lead in its water.Town administrations have dealt with this issue since the 1900s. 

The town's first African American mayor, Harvey Johnson, held office for two terms and faced the challenges of poverty, a loss of population and a lack of federal and state resources. Even with his efforts to mitigate these circumstances, Jackson's water system was still a concern at the end of his term in 2005 and still is four mayors later. Jackson Mayor Chokwe Antar Lumumba took office in 2017.

Although Lumumba says he is aware of the ongoing challenges, residents continue to report low to no water pressure and raw sewage flowing in city streets and neighborhoods. Jackson residents say they have been boiling their water to make it safe and traveling to cities like Braxton, 30 minutes away, to buy bottled water. This has highlighted Jackson's outdated and neglected water infrastructure, which community leaders and experts say is connected to environmental racism. The city is about 82% Black and 17% White.

Lumumba told CNN a lack of political will and years of neglect on a national level has prevented Jackson from getting the help it needs to fix its water and sewer crisis.

"We're going to take every bit of money that we can get to contribute to the problem," Lumumba said. "There's a lack of understanding of the challenges that happen in Jackson. We're going to keep beating the drum and making it clear that this is going to require a more substantial investment."

[thewankbankuk]

There was six inside! Well, when I say six they where not human anymore more like souls trapped within if, they could choose to leave they wouldn’t want to. Brian was the latest trapped inside he didn’t know about what would happen if he didn’t follow the rules?

Brian was a Firefighter in his hometown of Longridge. Since leaving school at 16 he had longed to fight fires, deep down inside Brian had a thing for protective gear even from his childhood would get excited when he saw firefighters. It was a sort of zing! He felt he was the only one who had it after all nobody else in his station mentioned getting excited about bunker gear! After 11 years of firefighting in the small town he was starting to get bored, same thing every day, sitting around waiting for something to happen, Tuesday was training day, training meant nothing at all when you live in a small town hardly anything fire related happened if he was lucky. Brian was single, never kept in a relationship he had the chances of settling down but, chose not to. Brians sex life was no existent, in a small town like Longridge everyone knew everyone so he found it hard trying to have one. Behind locked doors was the only place where Brian could relax.

Unknown to his fellow firefighters has well as anyone else Brian was gay. This was the reason he wanted to become a firefighter. To look at him you would say never in a million years. 6’4” of pure muscle, he worked out every day toned to protection not an ounce of fat. But, with no-one to show it off to. He had a thing for protective gear and at home had everything he had at work protective wise. When he got home the first thing he would do was to strip down naked and put a full head to toe rubber suit his bunker gear on, the feeling of rubber and his gear over flesh made him horny has hell. Then he would walk into his garage and take a fresh cylinder of air and attach it to his harness and attach his gas mask and then work out in his gear, this was his little piece of heaven until his air ran out, taking all his gear off, time for a shower then to bed where Brian would dream of his future. Brian lived on the edge of town, his place was quite however, he had to be careful as his neighbours would know what he was up to. It was bad enough that every now and then they would take parcels in for him and put in his hallway, just having bunker gear there just went to prove he was just a firefighter and it would be normal. Brian wanted more though. He had firefighting gear however, he was longing for something else, something his station didn’t have and wouldn’t never need……Hazmat gear! Longridge didn’t have any industrial or chemical works neither any mines or even a railroad track in which chemicals would be exported. It instead had a mall on the other side of town, a couple of supermarkets and a few call centres downtown, other than this the town was boring and Brian knew this. Really he thought to himself is it worth it?

Every time there was a course for hazmat training he would apply and would be knocked back by his chief, reason not needed in Longridge. Brian knew this but however, still wanted to try it. Knowing that if he did get a chance to get on a course he wouldn’t be able to strip naked and have fun in a suit. It was mearly for training reason however, still the answer was no. Brian started to subscribe to firefighting magazine looking at chemical protection gear suppliers and places to buy but, His hard drive was full of photos of men in hazmat suits, getting kitted up and working in the suits he wanted this badly and Brian wanted the real deal. He wanted a transfer but, from a small town to a city or an industrial centre questions would be asked why the change and Brian would never be able to say why so he stayed where he was and just went along with daily life. He longed to try a hazmat suit, he purchased a suit off eBay but it did nothing for him. It was a yellow level B suit attached boots and gloves hood for the mask to sit, still it did nothing for him. What he wanted was a level A sadly it was out of his reach. Then it happened right out of the blue. A new company was coming to town! A chemical company was planning a new site just out of town bringing jobs and for a small town like Longridge this was a blessing and for Brian, it meant that the training he sort he would be getting it now. The Chemical company was to have its own in house fire department on site but also needed someone to train with equipment they use from the local fire department. The Chief made the call and selected Brian to be the one from the station to go after all it had to be Brian after all the times he had been turned down. Training was to be out of state at another site, a four week course leaning everything about the company, what it makes, chemical compounds and what Brian really wanted hazmat training. He couldn’t wait. He returned home that day got undressed and put on his yellow level B and had some solo fun in the suit. He cum inside his suit ribbons of milky white man milk stained the inside of his suit, Brian was happy and still in is spunked trapped suit went to bed.

Brian had a few days off and decided to keep the suit on for has long has he could, he wanted to see how long he could go wearing his suit, he showered wearing it in his mind he was preparing for his course showering just decontamination of the suit. Still the inside was covered with sweat, piss and cum which excited Brian no end causing him to rub himself again and again 24 hours in this suit Brian was still on cloud9! However, when it came to take the suit off the stench was amazing. Being naked in the suit was fantastic, he hanged it up in the garage not washing it out waiting for his next play in his suit. Weeks past slowly waiting for his training time to arrive but, each shift after work ended he would return home and instead of his bunker gear would bring out his hazmat suit, kit up and wank off wearing it leaving it on all night. Then the day came. Training out of state meant that he would have to fly 100’s of miles leaving his home for 4 weeks. He was put up in a motel, a quiet mom and pop place. The first 3 weeks was all desk work about the company, practice and chemicals the last week was an introduction to the suits…. Do’s Don’t and NEVER DO! Brian was in a team of five other men who where to be the retained firefighter for the company, These men worked for the chemical plant but where trained for hazmat work whilst Brian was to still keep his job at his local department and would be on call at times of trouble. The trainers had four different kinds of suits that the company used for different spills, each was a level A suit, blue, red, orange and yellow. Each made by a different company and according to spillages a different suit to be used. However in the corner of the room was two very different suit, Auer green ones each hung from the boots and had S4 and T6 on the back. These suits excited Brian because they where different, rubber inside and the smell only just noticeable but he could smell it all the same, he asked the question are we going to try those on. No they where just for show he was told. To Brian these where special for all the wrong reasons has far as he could see these suits had a black rubber inside, just by looking at them he thought best of both world in one suit! Level A, rubber inside and green outside what’s not to like. He lusted over them, knowing that he couldn’t have them. The real reason for these suit was the trainers wanted to see if any of the six men showed signs of interest in them and it looked as if they had found one. The men where taken to another room were they where kitted out with sensors stuck to all parts of the body, shown to put the suits on each day they would wear a different suit and whilst in full kit do different tasks from crawl space training to fixing a leaking valve whilst gallons of water would be applied. Then heavy training whilst wearing the suits, teamwork etc etc, the monitors and probes where attached to show in real time how the men where enjoying the suits or not. Really, it was to see who had an interest in the suits and to whom it was just a job. Brian was passing but, for all the wrong reasons which made the instructors very happy indeed.

Brian was enjoying himself but not trying to show that he was but, the monitors knew other wise, whilst know one was watching he would have a quick grope of this dick inside the suit which the probes would pick up on and send information what he was doing back to the trainers. At the end of each day the other men would be glad to get out of their suits after all being a retained firefighter they would only be in the suit for a few hours no longer however, Brian would alway be the last one out really because he wanted no one to see that he had wet spots on his pants. But, it was too late it was noticed which made the instructors know what they had got their man. The last week of training went too quickly and by time everyone was saying goodbye to each other and see you soon when the plant opens. Brian was last in the room but before he was to leave he had to return back to the room where the green Auer suits hanged from the boots all week. He was the only one in the room but still being monitored by CCTV he popped his head in the hanging suit and took a deep breath… OMG he thought to himself, hoping he was alone. He started the lick the rubber inside and at the same time put is hand down his pants, his cock strained in his trousers and he began to stroke it. All this time he was being monitored and what seemed liked minutes in Brians mind was seconds. Bang! The door swing open and in walked the instructors. Brian explained its not what you think, they both looked at him and said we have been observing you from the moment you arrived and that these two suits have played an important part of your training. Brian looked suprised, confused. Little did he know the purpose of these suits and the role they played in his life from now on.

They explained having two suits in the room was to make interest normally in a group of six, two men would find interest in the Auer suits and want to try them on at the beginning of the week, they would be monitored during the week has the fascination continued and by the end of the week when others would be leaving they would be ask if they wanted to try out these suits for themselves. Both men would jump at the chance of wearing the suits and it would be too late for them, they would be told that these suits play a special purpose and are used when we cannot risk putting normal hazmat fire fighter in difficult situations however, the students who were attracted by them would agree to wearing the suit naked and sweat from there hot bodies would be the catalyst to converting them into hazmat bots usually in 48 hours however, in times of desperation students who didn’t want to wear the suits where drugged, stripped and placed in the suits, with the process not enacted properly they would try to escape before the programming kicked in they would have the choice become trapped in with free will or to escape by tugging the zipper, when opened only remain in soul, their bodies would melt away as soon as the air came into contact with the process. The suit would be left hanging to dry out the remains of fluids left behind but, never washed out for fear of contamination. This time it was different, the process had already started. Normally it took days for the attraction to kick in but, Brian by licking the inside had started it, without knowing his body was being transformed by nanobots. He looked ahead eyes glazed Brian was different though he really wanted it. It was more than a fetish to him. He wanted to be part of it. He stood there in a trans like state. Still with his hard on, his cock standing to attention and the other hand at his side, The instructors had to act fast, they locked the door and suited each other in their own Red level 1 suits as not to get infected, Brian just looked ahead not moving. Strip, they said and right away without hesitation he did what he was told, revealing his torn and ripped body, standing there to attention still sporting a hard on, they looked at him knowing that they could not have him or risk getting infected themselves has the process had began so quickly they placed over his naked body a backpack and gasmask making sure that it was correctly placed, then ear pods where put in. The rubber that clinged from the suits inners formed a hood and helmet trapping the mask inplace along with the ear pods then the rubber started to consume his entire body from head to toe, Brian remained hard during the entire transformation his body rocking slowly back and forth as if he was enjoying the process taking place. The instructors then spoke to Brian that his suit can and will never be removed and it’s not there just for show, you’re body is changing you are becoming a Hazmat Bot, you’re breathing still and is just for show when the tank is empty your training will begin. We will zip you up and the suit will continue to breath for you and give the illusion of that there is a person inside and not a bot. The black rubber inside bonded with Brians flesh has he continued to breathe. The visor of the suit when went from clear too black even though he could still see out his eyes where being upgraded, to look at them you would only see black orbs no features of his face just a black on black mask and visor. Then is visor turn jet black however, Brian could see out no-one could see in. Brian just stood there, his body and mind being re written his DNA changing still some of Brian existed, Just then his eyes rebooted and data hit towards his new digital brain, he knew his name and who he is becoming because Brian wanted it to happen he still remain a bit of Brian they had created him this way if he was going to be a special hazmat bot who would deal with exstream situations that no-one else could attend and be transported at short notice attend the many chemical plants they had, to the

outside world he was just a man in a hazmat suit. The instuctors could not believe it this had to be the quickest conversion they had ever done. One thing that’s important with Brians freewill they explained is that the suit can never be taken off! If it removed you will cease to exist has a physical being and will be trapped in side with the other souls who had worn it before you. Brian nodded and in a monotone voice said ‘Understood!’ The suit number on the back transformed from ’T6’ to ’T7’ Brian now known has T7 had no reason to remove the suit it was all he always wanted. Silently he stood there for hours whilst is programming and training took placed the trainers in their red suits knowing a job well done walked out of the class room with him, down two flights of steps, double doors where keycards where swiped into a restricted basement, there Brian was placed with other Auer hazmat bots in a tiny room all closed in tight waiting patiently, even though he was a hazmat bot his programming pleasured him until it was time to go to work. Information flooded his programming that team work was important to him now he was part of something bigger a wash of green rubber hazmat bots all packed tightly rocking slowly together until needed. His programming kicked in again explaining the importance of team work and being in a team. This went on looping in his mind. His instructors left him with is new teammates to finish his transformation in T7’s mind he was home this was all he ever wanted, meanwhile news was sent to the Chief of the fire department that Brian was killed in a car crash leaving the training centre to the airport and never made it home.

[bi-naesala]

A way to relax

Fandom: Yakuza Rating: T Warnings: / Relationships: Han Joon-gi/Zhao Tianyou Characters: Han Joon-gi, Zhao Tianyou, Kim Yeonsu Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Intimacy, Hair Washing Summary:

Zhao's stressed, and not just a little. Luckily for him, Han knows exactly what to do to help.

(Also on AO3)

From the moment that he’s stepped back into the apartment, Han could tell immediately that there’s something wrong with Zhao, even when the other’s still keeping his usual façade.

At first he decides to let him alone for a while, let him work through his bad mood on his own, but as dinner time approaches it’s obvious that, whatever got Zhao like this, it’s not going to disappear just by waiting for time to pass.

He has to do something.

He finds Zhao in the small living room, plopped down on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest, and a deep frown on his face. It seems that he hasn’t moved at all since the last time Han has seen him.

In another occasion, he would’ve joked about the fact that he looks like a statue, but he has the feeling that he would just worsen the situation if he does, so he keeps quiet.

What he does, instead, is sitting beside Zhao. Usually, as soon as he’d do that, Zhao would be all over him, and not necessarily for something… spicy, but even just to lean on him. This time, though, he remains still, almost like he hadn’t seen him…

Not knowing what he should say, Han decides to make a great show of clearing his throat. He has the confirmation that Zhao mustn’t have noticed him because he gets startled.

“Who the-- Ah! Fucking hell dude, you scared me,” he says in fact, finally looking at Han.

“I apologize, but you seemed to be lost in your thoughts…” Han observes, making Zhao scoff.

“So? You could’ve patted my shoulder or whatever.”

 This is going nowhere, Han thinks, but before he can say or do anything about it, Zhao sighs.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be mad at you…” he mutters. An opening.

“It’s alright, though I am curious as to what has gotten you in such a bad mood,” Han replies.

At those words, Zhao slumps into the couch even more than he already was. “Seong-hui didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“About the problems with my boys… Well, former boys I guess…”

Han shakes his head, which brings forth the umpteenth sigh from Zhao.

“Figures…” he mutters, more to himself than to Han however. “Maybe she thinks if I get involved instead of you, they’ll listen…”

It’s then that he realizes that this was a two-way conversation, and finally deigns Han of an explanation. “Some former Liumang aren’t too happy about the merge. They keep making impossible demands to Seong-hui, and then get mad when she refuses.”

“Do you think they’re preparing a rebellion?” Han asks, frowning. This could be bad.

Zhao shakes his head. “Nah. I mean, they’ll probably try something, but they’re too stupid not to get detected, or to actually get it done in the first place,” he says.

 There’s a moment of silence in which Han ponders about Zhao’s words.

A Liumang rebellion? Well, it was obvious that not everyone was going to accept the merge of Liumang and Geomijul, but to try anything while both their numbers are at their lowest feels like too much…

Should Han have to get involved directly? Crack open a few skulls and show these people that you don’t fuck with them?

 Before he can reach a conclusion, however, he hears Zhao chuckle, but it’s a bitter laugh.

“It’s not like they even want me back. I know these are the motherfuckers who are regretting not skipping town with Mabuchi,” he says.

“What makes you say that with such certainty?”

Zhao looks at him, and Han can hear him even though he’s not uttering a word. He’s asking him if he’s fucking dumb.

“C’mon, Han-chan, you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I was a bad leader, of course they wouldn’t want me.”

Han wants to reply that it’s not true, that just because he didn’t want to do it it didn’t mean that he did a bad job, but he knows that his words would fall into deaf ears. Besides, from the way Zhao’s sulking, it’s obvious that he wants to drop the subject and not talk about it possibly ever again - but they’ll have to, eventually - so he decides not to add anything, since he doesn’t want to have a fight.

 Still, he feels he has to do something, anything that could help him relax… Yes, that’s it! Zhao needs something relaxing that will help him forget this bad mood of his.

Han would offer to make dinner so that Zhao doesn’t have to - he’s always the one cooking - if only he wasn’t so bad in the kitchen. Truly, he’s only good at cutting vegetables.

A massage sounds good, or… Well, there is something else that Zhao loves indulging in from time to time.

 Han gets up, having decided what he’s going to do: he’s going to prepare him a bath.

  As he walks to the bathroom, he can’t help but to smile at the thought that, finally, neither of them have to stick to a certain schedule when it comes to stay clean, like they had to do when they were living at Survive Bar. Another advantage of sharing a flat with just the two of them.

Being alone still feels like a novelty, since it hasn’t been long since they’ve acquired this flat, shared primarily because rent is cheaper if it’s divided, and definitely not because of their need for privacy. Lots of love to everybody in their motley crew of misfits, but sometimes they’re a bit too… suffocating.

 Besides, it’s easier to let their guard down when it’s just the two of them, which is still quite hard, but they’re getting better at it. Some things just simply require a lot of work put into them.

  The bathtub is small, barely enough for one person, and definitely too small for two - they know it, they’ve tried it, and almost got stuck in the process.

It’s good enough: after all, this is for Zhao, not for him, except that it’s hard to shake what is practically a lifetime of serving people off so easily. Han wants to be good to Zhao, wants to please him, and in turn he’ll be pleased as well.

So maybe he would’ve liked to partake in what he’s preparing for Zhao… but for now it’ll do like this. Maybe once they get enough money to buy a bigger tub…

 He’ll think about that when - and if - the time comes. He shouldn’t get distracted.

He opens the waterflow and, as the bathtub begins to get filled, he rummages through the cabinets to find what he’s looking for… ah, there they are, the bath salts Zhao has bought last week!

Luckily, there’s still something left for this bath. Usually Zhao uses them for long relaxing baths, during which he also happens to smoke some weed - he says it enhances the feeling, though Han, not having tried it, can’t confirm nor deny the truth of this statement.

There are some instructions on the salts’ box about how much should be poured per gallon of water, but Han knows for a fact that Zhao doesn’t follow them, so he won’t either and pours the entirety of the box’s content inside the bathtub, since there was little enough for it not to be excessive. He hopes that Zhao won’t get mad at him for finishing the salts, but if he does he’ll offer to go buy them as soon as they’re done.

Soon a delicate smell of lavender begins spreading through the air. Han can see why Zhao’s so inclined towards these particular salts: even just the smell is relaxing.

Will it be enough though? Only one way to find out…

 Once the tub’s filled to an acceptable degree, Han turns off the tap and goes to find Zhao who, as he expected, is still on the couch, but at least this time he’s more present, because as Han approaches him, he looks up at him, sending him an interrogative gaze.

“I prepared you a bath,” Han says, without the need of mincing words.

Zhao clicks his tongue. “Didn’t figure you were my fucking servant, Han-chan”.

Despite wanting to roll his eyes at those words, Han doesn’t give Zhao the satisfaction of a reaction; if he wants an excuse to fight, he’ll have to look elsewhere.

What he does instead is grabbing Zhao by the hands and dragging him - or more like guiding him, since after the first few steps Zhao doesn’t oppose any more resistance - to the bathroom.

“You’ll love it,” he says then, trying encourage him to go along with this.

“Promises promises…” Zhao mutters in reply, and there’s a faint shadow of a smile on his lips that makes Han hopeful that yes, he will indeed love it.

 As soon as they step inside the bathroom, Zhao immediately catches the lavender smell, then he raises an eyebrow at Han.

“You got my salts?” he asks, and now the previous shadow of a smile has become more evident on his face.

“I might have, yes,” Han replies, curling his lips up as well, before gently taking Zhao’s glasses off and setting them over the sink. “Come on, now, strip.”

“So forceful, Han-chan~ What are you gonna do to me?” Zhao teases him, but he does as he said. Han could pretend not to be eating him with his eyes as he does it, but he doesn’t feel like lying at the moment. Still, he looks away as soon as Zhao turns his attention back to him, even though he’s pretty sure Zhao knows that, for a moment, he was having his undivided attention.

“Can I go in now? Or do you need to order me around some more?” Zhao jokes. The fact that he’s letting himself go to such levity is already a good sign.

“By all means,” Han replies, keeping his response in line with what Zhao’s said.

 Once he gets in, he gets quiet, sinking until his face is barely below the water as he closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

He’s always like this every time Han tires to do something romantic for him: at first he acts like he doesn’t want it, but once it happens, he greatly enjoys it. When he acts like this, it reminds Han of a cat.

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff,” he groans, rising a bit from where he was sinking. “Really needed that.”

“I figured,” Han replies, matter-of-factly, as he gets behind Zhao, sitting on the tub’s edge. It isn’t very comfortable, but it’s the best Han can get at the moment; it’s fine, he’s had worse.

He silently gathers some water in his hands and uses it to get Zhao’s hair wet, making it quite obvious to the other what he wants to do.

“You don’t have to,” he tries to protest then, but it’s a weak attempt at best and they both know it.

“Let me do this for you,” Han insists, and this time Zhao doesn’t do anything at all, giving in entirely.

 Zhao’s hair routine isn’t that different from Han’s, though Han’s more than willing to go the extra steps needed to make his hair truly perfect, while Zhao’s more laid back about this kind of stuff - sure, appearance is important, but it’s also such a bother!

He gets Zhao’s shampoo - minty fresh - and pours some on his hands, then he begins to massage Zhao’s scalp, even going as far as to use some light scratches in places where he knows it’ll make Zhao melt - again, the image of a cat comes back to Han’s mind.

The more he keeps going, the more Zhao relaxes under his ministrations, sinking further and further inside the bathtub, to the point that Han has to softly ask him not to lower himself so much.

“Sorry,” Zhao mutters, barely able to stifle a yawn while he does so. He sounds tired - Han knows he must be - but at least he also sounds less stressed than he was before, so Han considers his mission as complete.

 Time passes. Neither of them try to feel the void of the silence that is stretching out second by second.

They never thought they’d get to have this, and even less having someone to share this with, this kind of domesticity that people like them - people who belong to the underworld of society - shouldn’t get to live through, but here they are.

One could ask themselves if they deserve this, or if it should be this good since they’re supposed to be hardened criminals, but neither Zhao nor Han are very passionate about philosophy, so they just take this small moment of intimacy that they’ve gotten to share with each other, they accept the occasion that has been given them.

 “You know… These salts really do smell good.”

Han has never been one for small talk, but during moments like this, it comes natural in a way that, if he thinks about it too hard, scares him.

Zhao’s chuckle, thankfully, is enough to distract him. “They do, don’t they? You should try it.”

“Perhaps next time…” Han concedes. He’s not one for this kind of stuff, but he’d lie if he said that the idea of trying it at least once doesn’t appeal to him…

“I’ll also give you the best massage you’ve ever had.”

… And if Zhao’s there too, then it’s even better.

 Even after he’s done washing Zhao’s hair, Han still keeps massaging his scalp, letting his fingers through the soft locks - they’re always oh so soft - and even untying some knots that had formed in the meantime.

“You’d be a great hairdresser,” Zhao says at some point.

“You think?” Han asks, amused. He never really thinks about what he would’ve been hadn’t he gotten involved with the criminal world, but Zhao’s endearing enough that he’s willing to hear him out.

“Of course. Aren’t your hair always so great? And when you do mine, it always feels nicer and softer than it ever was,” Zhao continues, before chuckling. “You might even be able to fix Kasuga-kun’s hair…”

“I don’t know if I’m that good…” Han replies, serious at first, like he’s truly considering the idea, but soon both he and Zhao share a laugh, sure that Ichiban won’t mind if they make fun of him; it’s all in good spirit after all, and you don’t need a great haircut to be a great man.

“Since we’re talking jobs, I assume you’d choose cook?” Han asks then, going back to their previous subject.

“Think so,” Zhao replies. “Streamer would be fine, but I like cooking too much not to go with that.”

“Thank god for that,” Han says, making Zhao turn towards him, accusatory.

“Why? You think I’d be a shitty streamer? Wouldn’t I be entertaining enough?”

“It’s not that. I just really enjoy your cooking and I wouldn’t want to let it go.”

Zhao glares at Han for a moment, studying his face, but soon he turns back around. “Flatterer,” he mutters, but it’s obvious that he’s happy to hear that.

 “Anyway…” he says then. “Water’s starting to get cold. I should get out.”

Han nods, and finally he can get up, even though almost the entirety of his lower body is numb. He still manages to get Zhao his bathrobe, and to take the towel he left previously on the sink, which he uses to dry Zhao’s hair, while he puts the bathrobe on, trying to move as gently as possible.

This time, Zhao doesn’t even try to protest, which Han is grateful for, also because he hasn’t stopped before and he wasn’t going to do it now.

 Even though he needs to raise himself on his tiptoes in order to do it - just a bit though - he leans to give a kiss to Zhao’s forehead.

“Better?” he asks, then, still drying Zhao’s hair.

Zhao nods, sincerely, then he leans forwards, pressing his lips against Han’s in a chaste kiss.

“Thank you, and sorry for being an ass earlier,” he mutters.

Han smiles and shakes his head. “As long as you’re fine now…”

 They kiss again, and when they pull away it’s Zhao’s time to grab Han by the hands and take him somewhere, specifically to the kitchen, uncaring about his state of dressing, or lack of thereof.

“C’mon let me treat you to something special!”

“Something special? And what could that be?” Han asks. As if everything Zhao makes isn’t special already.

“It’s a surprise~” the other chuckles, and Han can’t help but to smile, seeing him like this.

This has to be his favorite version of Zhao, he finds himself thinking: as long as he’s happy, he’s happy as well.

[hermannsthumb]

Hermann preparing for date night with Newt by selecting where to eat solely by what he has a coupon for. Or, ya know, frugal connoisseur Hermann. <3 ksci

inspired by a convo re: the fact that ksci @k-sci-janitor likes to make fun of me for never letting a coupon go to waste even if it means walking like 2 miles in the cold to use it :/ like im gonna NOT get a free Baja blast. (there is one small little allusion to some M rated stuff towards the end in this)

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

It’s not a rare occurrence that Hermann will treat Newt to dinner when the mood of dining out strikes them, but the point is that he’s doing it in a way that’s supremely…shifty tonight. Well, maybe not shifty. Weird? For one thing, he didn’t tell Newt where they were going until they were already on the bus headed there, for another, it’s their sharing-a-lab-anniversary, which tradition dictates they evenly split a bill (even if the origins have more to do with both trying to show up the other and take advantage and order the most expensive shit on the menu). The weirdest thing is definitely that, when Hermann got up to pay the bill five minutes ago—a small, folded piece of paper clutched in his hand—he left his wallet laying next to his wine glass on the table.

Newt stirs his straw around in his cup of soda, clinking ice cubes against the sides, and squints at the wallet. Did Hermann bring cash to pay with? He could’ve stuck some in his pockets without Newt seeing, or his bank card, even, which would explain the forlorn wallet. Or maybe forgetting the wallet was totally an accident, and he’ll be back in a few seconds to pick it up and pay for real when he realizes. That’s probably it.

When Hermann comes back to their table, though, he doesn’t bother with his wallet—he takes his seat, picks up his wine glass, and tips it at Newt. “That was quite lovely, wasn’t it?”

Newt hums. “It was.”

“I quite liked the fish I got,” Hermann says.

“I loved my noodles,” Newt says. “We should try to copy the recipe back at the base.” He sets his straw delicately on the table. “How’d you pay without your wallet?”

“My wallet?” Hermann says. He makes a show of catching sight of the wallet, arches his eyebrows in mock surprise, and picks it up. Here we go. “Oh, goodness. Did I forget this? Well—it’s not as if I needed it…” He tucks it neatly into his inner jacket pocket.

“Hermann,” Newt says, rolling his eyes. “What’d you do, get a hundred-percent discount by reminding them we saved the world a few months ago?” Hermann shakes his head, and takes a long sip of his wine. “Did you write a check? Did you pretend we got food poisoning or something?” Hermann shakes his head again, and this time, his mouth begins to creep up into a smug smile. Newt remembers the piece of paper. “Dude. You got us a fucking Groupon. No wonder you were being so weird about what I was ordering!”

(“I think we ought to stick with the entrees labelled B, Newton,” Hermann had said, flipping a page forward in Newt’s menu. “They look—er—far better.”

“More expensive,” Newt had said.

“What’s it matter? I’m paying.” Hermann had pointed at the noodle dish Newt had ended up getting. “Look, I reckon you’d like that.”)

Hermann finally grins triumphantly. “I did—and saved us quite a decent from our ‘date night’ fund. Pity it didn’t extend to dessert, I suppose, but we could always find some ice cream at the commissary later.”

Newt can’t even pretend to be exasperated. The noodles rocked. And they would’ve rocked even more if he knew that Hermann was saving them a few bucks. “You’re such a weirdo,” Newt says, shaking his head, though he’s mirroring Hermann’s grin. “Is that why you picked this place?”

“Not entirely,” Hermann says. He takes a long, slow sip of his wine. “Mostly I picked it to make a point.”

“About?”

“About my being right.”

Newt sighs. Only Hermann would dredge up old arguments on Lab Anniversary Night. It wasn’t even an argument, really—all that happened was that Hermann asked Newt to hand him his glasses cleaning cloth from his parka, and it took Newt almost ten minutes because Hermann’s pockets were so jam-packed with a million little coupons for everything from granola bars (which they can get from the mess hall for free) to mouthwash (which Newt can snag from the commissary, also for free, whenever they need it) that he couldn’t find anything but. A majority of them were expired. Then Newt remarked on how Hermann was nuts, and Hermann remarked on how Newt didn’t understand the value of making smart financial decisions, and they went back and forth for a bit like that. This was a whole week ago, too. In terms of Newt and Hermann arguments, that’s more than ancient history. “Are we really talking about the fucking coupons now?” Newt says.

“Frugality pays off,” Hermann says, cryptically. “Now we really ought to head out. The forecast is calling for rain, and I don’t fancy getting caught in it.”

They get caught in the rain anyway. Newt invites himself over to Hermann’s bunk to dry off, because Hermann bought a space heater back when they were stationed in Russia, and it travelled with him here to aid through the long nights of overpowering A/C. Right now, it’s aiding Newt through stripping out of his wet clothes. When he’s down to just his boxers, he snags the quilt from Hermann’s bed, and waits for him to finish up in his little en suite bathroom to hopefully catch a hot shower. One of the unexpected side effects of the world not ending and most nonessential personnel leaving the ‘dome in doves is that they almost never run out of hot water anymore. Newt can take a shower at midnight and not freeze his ass off. It’s awesome, really.

Hermann emerges from the bathroom in a dorky little pair of pajamas, a dressing gown knotted at his waist. “Oh, Newton,” he sighs, and prods at Newt’s blanket cocoon with his cane, “not my grandmother’s quilt.”

“I’m dry!” Newt says. “Mostly!”

He gives up the quilt to Hermann and ducks into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He stuck a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet at some point, for when he was too sleepy and lazy after makeout sessions to go back to his bunk, and sure enough he finds it alongside a suspiciously generic-looking tube of toothpaste. It doesn’t even have a label. He doesn’t think much of it until he starts to use it, which is when he immediately gags and begins to rinse his mouth out with hot water. “What the hell is this toothpaste?” he chokes out. “It tastes—awful.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. He ducks his head into the bathroom, looking a bit sheepish. “Well. I found a coupon for that brand, and I know it’s not very, er, pleasant, but—I saved forty percent, Newton.” Newt continues to rinse his mouth out, this time adding some mouthwash into the mix. “Oh, really, now you’re just being dramatic. It’s only toothpaste.”

“Dude,” Newt says. “I feel like I just rubbed, like, acid cement all over my gums.”

“Ah,” Hermann repeats, guiltily.

A bit later, Newt goes in to kiss Hermann goodnight as they settle into Hermann’s bed together, but pulls back with a sad little pout when Hermann merely flinches away from him. “Oh, Newton, I’m sorry,” Hermann says, quickly wrapping his arms around Newt and kissing his neck. It softens the blow somewhat. “It’s that bloody toothpaste. You still smell like it. You’re right, it’s rubbish.”

“Tell you what,” Newt says, grumpily. “I’ll buy you a brand new tube tomorrow. My treat.”

Newt mostly forgets about the coupon thing for a bit. The odd little item crops up in the lab that makes him roll his eyes fondly at Hermann, but nothing as major as the Groupon or toothpaste. Hermann’s preferred tea brand swapped out for something Newt’s never heard of in a flavor that Hermann clearly detests, if his face when he drinks it is anything to go by, for example, the chocolate digestives Hermann keeps in his desk replaced with plain ones, his new box of chalk all in a salmony shade of pink and weak enough to snap apart under his fingers if he presses down too hard on his chalkboard. When Newt asks about the changes, the answer’s always the same: Hermann had a coupon for them, or they were less expensive than his usual. Newt just wishes he could understand where this sudden bought of thriftiness came from. It’s not like it was back during the war, where they had to pinch pennies and save in every area they could if they wanted to supplement their nonexistent funding. They’re actually getting paychecks now, on behalf of the UN’s guilty conscience! They have free room and board! They even put a few neat bucks away from some (heavily-redacted) interviews they did back in late January.

What Newt’s getting at is Hermann doesn’t have to limit them ordering out sushi to only places with free delivery on date nights, or skimp on his pizza toppings (four-topping down to two) so they can use a better coupon, or buy any of those subpar teabags or digestives or toothpaste tubes. But he just…is.

The tipping point occurs on a Saturday night about a month after the Groupon incident.

“Nn. Hermann. Do that again.”

“Do—?"

“Yeah.” Newt groans, turning his head to the side. “Oh, shit.”

“Newton—” Hermann kisses his throat. “Newton, you’re—”

“Wait.” Newt pauses. “What is that?”

“Oh, er.” Hermann pulls his hand away. “You mean the—the—?”

“Yeah. It feels…weird.” He frowns. “That is not what we used last time.”

“Oh. No. It isn’t.” Hermann clears his throat. “Well, Newton—see—we were out, so I thought I’d—I’d buy a larger bottle, to last us longer, and I happened to find a coupon for this lovely—er—gallon-sized—”

“You’re kidding,” Newt says.

“Only I thought it was a very frugal purchase,” Hermann says. “We do tend to, er, burn through it rather quickly.”

Newt rolls away from him. “Dude. We need to have a talk.”

Some brief amount of time later, they sit together on the end of Hermann’s bed, clad in their pajama bottoms and, in Hermann’s case, one of Newt’s sweatshirts. Newt waits until Hermann meets his eyes blushingly before he proceeds. “What is up with you lately?” he says. “You’ve been acting so—weird. Weirder than usual,” he amends. “Since when have you cared about saving a couple bucks on random shit like pizza?”

Hermann fidgets, and sighs, and finally reaches to pull open the drawer of his nightstand. He retrieves a piece of paper folded into quadrants, and for a wild moment Newt thinks it might be another Groupon. “Oh, I wanted it to be a surprise,” Hermann says. “I was going to wait until it was all finalized—but it’s close enough now, so I suppose there’s no harm in it.” He thrusts the paper out at Newt, and Newt—still wondering if it’s not another Groupon—unfolds it with surprise to find what looks like a flight itinerary. Two tickets for Hong Kong to Boston, with a short layover; then two more tickets a week after they land for a short trip from Boston to some town in Maine Newt recognizes as being seaside. They’re made out to Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler and purchased a little over a week ago.

“You kept telling me you wanted me to meet your father,” Hermann says, and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “And—I thought it might be nice, to have an—er—vacation, for a few days. We’ve certainly earned one. And it’s not as if we have any truly pressing obligations at the moment that can’t be put on hold for a week or two. I was planning on booking us a little cottage up in Maine—or maybe just a hotel room, I hadn’t decided—but we don’t have to if you don’t—”

“And you’ve been saving up for it?” Newt interrupts.

“For a few months now,” Hermann says. “Since February, in fact.”

“And that’s why…?”

The tips of Hermann’s ears turn red. “Every penny helped,” he says.

Newt carefully re-folds the itinerary, sets it aside, and then kisses Hermann soundly. It would be safe to say that Hermann’s thoughtful, romantic moods tend to be on the spontaneous side, probably as spontaneous as they are in Newt, so when one strikes Hermann (and in such a perfectly Hermann way as this one) Newt doesn’t like to take it for granted. “Of course I wanna go on vacation with you,” Newt says. “You rock. Seriously.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hermann says, looking pleased.

[spaceskam]

Follow up to this ❤️ special thanks to ul1tsa on ao3 for idea!

ao3

Warnings: talk Jesse and his bullshit & bombs

Michael waited a few weeks before he got drunk and lost that thing in his brain that kept him from doing dumb shit.

He went to the cabin and unlocked the door with his key. He didn't usually use keys, he had one in his brain, but there was something about having a key to Alex's place that felt special. Besides, he needed to make sure that's actually what it was. He pushed the door open and tried the light switches. The bulb on the porch was out. He'd need to get a new one.

He slowly navigated around the space, making a list of tiny things that were bothersome. He didn't even know if he was welcome here... But why else would Alex give him a key?

It was a two bedroom and had a bathroom that connected the two rooms. The kitchen was small and it didn't have a washing machine or dryer. The living room was old. None of it looked like Alex. What exactly would Alex's space even look like? He'd figure it out.

He went back outside to the wrap around porch, walking around it slowly and holding onto the rail. There were a few old boards that could stand being replaced. There was a window unit in each bedroom. He didn't figure it'd be too hard to change that for a central air system.

Michael went back inside and towards the kitchen. The refrigerator was unplugged, so he moved it to plug it back in. The cabinets were empty aside from some old canned beans and a single pan. He went back to the living room.

The couch was even more uncomfortable than he remembered, hard and a little dusty. He sat down anyway and rubbed his hand over it. When he laid down and breathed in, it didn't smell like Alex. It was unfair. Cruel, even.

He laid there anyway, lulling himself to sleep with the memory of Alex's skin.

-

It became a thing.

When his mind got chaotic and he needed something to do with his hands, he'd go to the cabin. He replaced boards, cleaned, hooked up a washing machine and dryer. After a couple months, he bought a comfier couch from an old lady who was selling it. He took down the hunting memoribillia and tried to find things that Alex might like. A couple trinkets bought during a trip to the nearby reservation, a painting bought from an artist who showed her work at the renaissance festival, and a hand-woven blanket from an older lady who traveled all the way from the Navajo Nation to sell the two she made a month at the market–and then vowed that he would never pay that much money for anything ever again.

He started spending more time there than he spent at his airstream and, after passing out on the couch after spending his entire day off trying to set up a central air system, he decided it might be worth buying food. So he did. He bought a few things, added three extra locks to the front and back doors, and brought his thrifted silverware and dishes from the airstream to set up a place for himself there.

It was slowly coming together. It felt like a home. He bought a broom.

He didn't tell Isobel or Max about any of this, they didn't need to know about Alex. Instead, Michael kept it to himself and spun lies about where he was whenever they asked questions. Usually they didn't. He was Michael, after all, it wasn't that odd for him to drop off the map.

He eventually started fixing up the bedrooms which were a little harder. It looked too much like a middle aged man stayed there and that was absolutely not the look he was going for. He got new bedspreads and sheets from a discount store and matching bedside tables from the dump that only needed some sanding and some finish to make nice. A new showerhead made out of things he found around the junkyard fit nice too. He played with the water heater until it stopped needing to be manually reset every 60 gallons, sanded and put finish on the dresser, built a new bed frame and headboard out of scrap wood, and fixed the janky doorknob of the closet. It looked livable now.

Alex's birthday came around and he didn't have a number to reach him, so Michael did something a little stupid and a little sentimental and found himself at a thrift store. He bought a set of two identical rocking chairs for the back porch. He almost threw them out three times, but he decided on leaving them there and just ignoring them until he stopped feeling like they were too much.

There was something about the cabin as it came together that both felt like home and like it was far  too sacred to make a mess of. He kept it cleaner than he'd ever kept a place before. The dishes were always done, his dirty clothes always ended up in the laundry basket, never let himself get drunk enough that he'd be compelled to make a mess, and he swept and mopped every Sunday. His shampoo and body wash didn't leave rings in the bathtub.

It was nice.

-

It was about a year into renovating and six months into practically moving in when he found a broken telecision in the junkyard that someone had dropped.off. Curiosity got the best of him and he found himself trying to make it work in his free time. There was a strange sense of pride when he plugged it in and it turned on, the picture only slightly tinted blue and the sound as perfect as the speakers would allow. He wrapped it up in a couple blankets and loaded it into his truck, stopping by a thrift store on the way to the cabin to buy a few interesting DVDs for 50¢ a piece. He couldn't remember the last time he actively sat down to watch a movie for fun.

It took about thirty minutes to mount it above the fireplace, but eventually it was up and he found himself smiling as he put in a shitty mid-2000s straight-to-DVD teen movie. It played easily and he smiled wider. If there was one thing fixing up the cabin did, it was make him smile. It felt good to fix things up.

Michael grabbed a beer that was beside the leftovers in the fridge and settled on the couch, kicking his shoes off and pulling a blanket onto his lap. His phone was on the coffee table and charging with an alarm queued up to wake him up for work in the morning .It was the most normal he'd ever felt and he never wanted to give it back.

And it seemed like he wouldn't have to until the door creaked open.

Michael shot to his feet, standing like he was caught red handed as Alex stepped inside. He was still in uniform, a duffle bag hanging off his shoulder. His eyes were wide with wonder, though, as he looked around at all the shit Michael had done. It was the first time he regretted it.

"I'm sorry," Michael blurred out, catching Alex's attention, "I should've asked. I shouldn't have changed shit and I shouldn't have stayed here, I'm sorry, I'll go."

"Guerin, relax," Alex said, smiling in a pure way that Michael hadn't seen since they were seventeen, "I knew you were staying here."

"You did?" Michael asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he said, carefully putting down the duffle bag and closing the door, "Electric bill?"

Michael's eyes widened. "Oh, fuck, I forgot about that, I'm so sorry."

"Guerin," Alex laughed, "Stop. I'm happy you're staying here. I don't mind, really."

Michael swallowed and tried to believe him when he said he was happy. Because Michael was happy. Happy to be here, happy to see Alex, happy to see where tonight led. He tapped his hands against his thighs as Alex took another look around.

"I didn't expect all this, though," Alex breathed.

"It's, uh, not all of it. I can show you around?" Michael offered awkward. Alex smiled wider and nodded.

So Michael gave him a tour of his own house. He showed him the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, and how the locks on the doors worked. Alex put the duffle bag in the closet and gently touched Michael's shirt that was hanging in there like he didn't believe it was actually there. Michael stood with his hands clasped behind his back and rocked up on his toes as Alex felt over the headboard he made and the blanket on the bed. He shook his head, looking over at Michael.

"I can't... I can't believe you did all of this," Alex said, looking at him. He wasn't smiling anymore. Instead, he looked like he was about to cry.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"Michael," he cut him, laughing softly as he came closer. He touched his arm, his hand sliding up as he moved in closer and draped his arms around Michael's neck. Michael rested his hands on his hips. "I love it so much. But it's so much. How much did you spend? Let me pay you back."

"No, don't. Most of it's stuff I fixed from broken stuff or I got for super cheap, I barely spent $300 over the last year," he said. He purposefully left out what he spent on the more decorative things, those could simply be gifts from all the birthdays he missed.

"Still," Alex said, swallowing hard as he reached out and touched Michael's cheek. Michael leaned into it. He hadn't realized how successful he'd been at distracting himself from missing Alex until then. "This is all so nice. I-I don't even know what to say. I didn't expect this at all."

"I mean... I just didn't like that it looked like an angry old man lived here, I get enough of that with Sanders," Michael said. He was struggling to see what about the dumb little things made Alex emotional. In fact, they were selfish. He wanted to pretend Alex wasn't a million miles away. That was as selfish as it got. But Alex laughed and kissed him and Michael stopped feeling guilty.

"Thank you," Alex gushed against his lips, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Everything about this was completely contrary to Alex's last visit home. It wasn't confusing or blurry and he felt safe. He felt loved. He clung to Alex and kissed him hard, trying to quench the desperate, overwhelming feeling in his stomach.

"I gotta take a shower, I'm gross from that fucking plane and I need to be clean for the things I  wanna do to you," Alex breathed, pulling away just a little. Michael nodded, going in for another kiss anyway. Alex giggled and leaned back. "It'll be quick, I promise."

"I worked all day, I need one too, so let me join?" Michael asked. Pleaded, really. He didn't want to let go.

"Good idea," Alex said, "Do you have a security system set up?"

"It's next on my list," Michael said honestly. Alex grinned, cupping his cheek in his hand and slowly starting to pull him to the bathroom.

"Good boy."

-

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything and you know it."

Alex huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Michael loved seeing him like that. His hair was slightly past regulation, laying on his forehead and smashed against the pillow. After a long shower and stumbling into bed, they'd finally wore themselves out. Now they were in bed in Alex's house.

Their house.

Alex shifted to face him, face a little too serious consider the circumstances. Michael slowly faded to seriousness to fit it. Alex reached out, fingers grazing Michael's cheek and down his neck, over his shoulder, down to his torn up hand. Michael very quickly got serious and watched him pull his hand up to his lips.

"It's embarassing," Alex said.

"Since when have I been known to judge you?" Michael asked, stretching his leg out to wedge between Alex's. Alex parted his knees just enough to lock their legs together.

"I just... I've been thinking about my dad," Alex whispered.

"Uh oh," Michael said, trying to lighten the mood. Alex rolled his eyes.

"I've been trying to work through all my issues, I guess, since I realized you were staying here. I want this to work, you know?" Alex said and Michael was all ears, "And I think I didn't realize he was a bad guy until I saw him do this."

"What do you mean?" Michael said before he could process if that was a smart thing to ask.

"Like, I spent so many years thinking that my mom was the bad one because she left and at least my dad was there. It didn't matter if he beat me as long as he was there," Alex explained. Michael didn't really understand, but, with all the things they felt that overlapped, it was fine if he didn't understand that one thing. "And I... Even when I rebelled, I just wanted his approval. Part of me still does. I think I always will. Which is stupid because all the attention he gives me is solely on his terms, especially when it's positive."

"He's not worth it."

"I know," Alex said, smiling slightly before he kissed his hand again, "Logically, I know. But illogically... I'm still trying to remind myself he's a bad guy. It just took me so long to see it."

Michael didn't say anything, simply nodded and let Alex touch him as he needed to keep himself calm. Whatever kept him in bed, kept him in their space. He didn't know how long Alex was going to be home and he was too scared to ask, so he didn't.

"But, I'm trying," Alex sighed, looking at him in the eyes. He was so intense with every look and sometimes Michael felt compelled to look away, but not in moments like this. Never in moments like this. "I don't want to mess this up by trying to please him."

"I don't wanna fuck up either."

"I think we're on a good track, though," Alex smiled, tightening his legs and tugging Michael impossibly close. Just where he wanted to be. "Off topic, but I'm hungry."

Michael laughed softly and was incredibly thankful for a subject change. "I have leftover pasta in the fridge if you want that."

Alex smiled ridiculously wide for something as meaningless as day old pasta.

"Leftovers," Alex repeated in a whimsical tone, "You're gonna make a good little househusband."

"Shut the fuck up," Michael laughed, shoving his shoulder. Alex laughed right back and moved to get up. Michael followed suit without question. There was no way he was leaving his side.

"Let's eat."

-

Michael woke up to his alarm and an empty bed.

Panic struck him and he thought about calling out for Alex, but his voice wouldn't work as if subconsciously knowing the answer. Terrified, even. He slowly pushed himself out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. Dread continued to pool in him as he tiptoed out of the room and into the empty living room. But it smelled like coffee which was definitely a good sign.

It took him only a few seconds to see that Alex was out on the back porch in one of the rocking chairs. His heart seemed to skip a beat or two or four. The sun hit his shirtless body perfectly and he seemed to fucking glow. Michael had to take a few deep breaths before he stepped outside.

""Morning," Alex hummed, looking over at him. His hair was still a mess, but he looked better rested than Michael had seen him in a long time.

"I thought you left," he said stupidly. Alex shook his head.

"I can't really sleep in anymore and I didn't wanna wake you up. Sorry if I scared you."

"It's okay," he said. And it really, really was. This was the perfect sight to see in the morning and it made him angry at Sanders for employing him. "I, uh, I have to go to work. I can call in, though."

"Don't," Alex said with a warm smile, "I'll be here when you get home."

Michael felt his whole body heat up at that. Home. Alex would be here. He wasn't sure he would actually believe it until he saw it.

"Yeah, uh," Michael said, clearing his throat, "How-how, like, how long are you..."

"Michael," Alex said, standing up and walking closer. Michael was going to melt if he kept saying his name. Alex kept his mug firmly in one hand and touched his cheek with the other. "I'm home for a month."

"A month," Michael breathed. Alex smiled and nodded, leaning forward to kiss him. It sounded like a short period of time, but it would be longest consecutive time they'd ever spent together. Ever. It sounded fake.

"So, go to work. I'm not going anywhere," he promised. It was hard to listen, but he did.

And you know what? Alex was home when he got there that afternoon.

-

"Where the fuxk are you living?"

"Airstream."

Michael spoke casually as Isobel stood by his feet as he worked on the car. He knew it was wrong to lie to her about something like this, but, fuck, he was barely sure this was real himself. He'd woken up to Alex for three whole weeks and he only had one left. He wasn't wasting that time and he wasn't bursting his domestic bubble.

"Stop lying to me! You haven't lived at the airstream for months now," Isobel argued, "You're never here at night and if I call you, it takes you for fucking ever to get to my house. Where are you staying?"

He sighed, trying to ignore her more and more. It didn't work very well as she stood her ground and basically decided she would follow him when he left work if he didn't tell her.

"It's a cabin outside of town, okay?" he caved, deciding on a half-truth. He didn't need to say it was Alex's.

"A cabin?" Isobel asked skeptically, "And you just haven't told me or shown me? What if something happens? I need to know where to find you, Michael."

"Fine, fine, okay?" he sighed, "Just, give me a week. It's a fucking wreck."

"You promise?" she asked. He nodded. "Good."

If he couldn't keep his home a secret, he could at least keep Alex to himself for a little while. He could deal with that later. In a week, his house would be empty. In a week, his bed would be empty.

He could deal with her then.

-

The bed was a lot of colder than he remembered.

-

January 30th, 2017 at 21:45.

Or, at least that's when Michael found out. The actual event happened on the 26th, a bombing injuring 30 Airmen and killing 3. There wasn't an article about it and he didn't receive a call. Instead, when he was stalking one of the mothers of a guy in Alex's group, he saw she posted about the bombing and saying her son was one of the lucky ones and thanking God. Michael nearly had a breakdown.

He spent the next hour calling Alex and when that didn't work, he started calling down a list of military hospitals. He found him eventually at Landstuhl and had to lie about being his brother to get him on the phone along with a warning about him being drugged up. But at least he was alive.

"Alex?" Michael whispered. Once again, he found him scared that Alex wouldn't answer. But he's spent an hour panicking and he wasn't about to just not talk.

"Huh?" Alex said, voice hoarse. Michael closed his eyes, bowing his head. It was small, but it was something.

"Hey," Michael croaked, doing his best not to cry. He wanted to go see him. He couldn't. It didn't work that way. As nice as it was when they pretended they didn't have a care in they world, they did have a care. His name was Jesse Manes. Not to mention the giant alien hole he hadn't even told Alex about... "You scared me."

"Sorry," Alex said. Michael breathed in deep.

"No, it's okay. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he whined, "I wanna see you "

Michael looked up, blinking away tears as quick as he could. It was difficult, but he managed it. He could cry later.

"I know, I wanna see you too. Maybe you can come home soon and I can," Michael suggested. Alex hummed a noncommittal tune. "So, uh, what all happened? Did you get, um, get burned or something?"

"A little," Alex said. Michael swallowed harshly. "Hey, you know what they did? They took my leg."

Michael's breath caught in his throat.

"What?"

"My leg," Alex repeated, that sort of dazed tone in his voice, "Couldn't save it, had to go."

Michael didn't know what to say. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to this. There wasn't a handbook. Instead of letting himself react like he was the one who lost something, he fed off of Alex's tone.

"How do you feel about that?" Michael asked. Alex hummed.

"My foot itched all day and there was nothing to scratch."

Michael huffed a laugh, rubbing the hell of his hand beneath his eyes to try to get rid of the tears.

"Well, if that's the worst of it, sounds like you're doing good."

"They gave me so many drugs," Alex told him, yawning halfway through. Michael smiled and nodded even though he couldn't see him. "I'm tired."

"Do you want me to let you go to sleep?" Michael asked. Alex didn't answer and that felt like an answer enough. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Mhm."

"I love you so much," Michael said. He didn't think about it, he just said it. It needed to be said.

"Mhm."

Michael huffed another laugh again, "Goodnight, Alex."

He ended the call and looked around the house that he'd spent over a year of his life renovating. He tried to picture Alex in it again, a version of Alex who might need accessibilities he didn't think of when he did things the first time around.

And now he had new projects.

-

Turns out it was pretty easy to widen doorways.

It took Michael about two days to widen one Interior door, ripping off the door frame and sawing through the wall itself. He widened them all from 30" to 38" in width and felt thankful that the exterior doors were all double doors. He didn't even know if Alex would be using a wheelchair, but it felt like a safe option regardless.

He ripped out the tub from the bathroom, replacing it with one with a little more traction on the bottom. He installed bars all around the bathroom and a wooden seat that was attached to the wall so it could fold up or down when he needed it. 

Again, he found himself taking a lap around the porch to check for any loose boards or nails. He fixed any that even might've been questionable. It gave him the idea to add ramps beside the steps to the porch. He built them and jumped on them as hard as he could go make sure they didn't break.

It helped when he got angry–ngry at something, angry at nothing, angry at everything–to put things back together again. It made him feel useful even when phone calls consisted of Alex being short with him and hanging up. He was focusing on PT and learning how to use a prosthetic and Michael knew it was frustrating. He could hear it in his voice even when he refused to talk about it. He always refused to talk about it. Some days he refused to talk at all.

He refused to let it out distance between them.

On extra bad days, Michael would drink and Google random accessibility ideas. He knew Alex. As sweet as he thought his renovating for him was, he knew Alex would be too stubborn to ask him for help on anything. He wanted to make it so he didn't have to as much as possible. Open spaces, all but gluing the rug down, a bench at the foot of the bed, a chair in the bathroom, a stool with wheels in the kitchen, sanding down the sharp edges of the kitchen table, dumb shit that might help maybe once.

He was trying because Alex was trying. They still wanted to make this work.

And they were going to no matter what.

[sickviking-fr]

This is a long one, fellows. Buckle the fuck up.

Y'all know I only started this job two weeks ago and was all excited but it all went to shit day one. Well I got an offer from Walmart to start at a dollar more and I took it.

So last night was my last night at this grocery chain and I guess the universe knew it. The manager was happy for me so that was good, he'd been super nice and supportive for the few days since I gave him my resignation so I came in deciding I was going to give my all and do the best I could. I shot down four energy drinks because I knew it was going to only be me and one other on the shift and I was determined.

Those energy drinks took an hour to kick in but once they had I was WIRED and Manager appreciated it. About half an hour into the shift, Manager pulls me and the other guy (we will call him Jack for no reason) to the side, clearly high on caffeine himself, to give us the low down. He gives us a huge list of stuff to do and says he's sorry, its ordering night and he's all alone so he can't help us. And like, I get it, shit is the opposite of streamlined and efficient here, as you all know from my bitching, he's got a lot of work ahead of him. Jack and I have to do the work of 6 people and Manager has to do the work of three.

"Time is our enemy tonight, guys, we don't have a minute to spare standing around talking. lets get to it!" he finishes his speech.

Me, being out of my gourd on energy drinks, yell "NO BOSS! WE CAN'T ALLOW TIME TO BE THE ENEMY! LETS GO BOYS, WE'RE MAKING TIME OUR BITCH TONIGHT!" Manager punches me in the shoulder and says "Heck yeah, thats the attitude I wanna hear, why the fuck are you leaving me?!" and with that he's gone.

Now. When I said that, Time looked over at God and said "Hold my flower. No, hold my fucking flower! Who is making who their bitch? We'll see about that!" And God sayeth unto Time "Kick his ass babe, I got yo flower."

So my first task was to stock Gatorade and the energy drinks which I did in record time, taking only a half hour to do about two hours of work, working three pallets and condensing them down to one AND wrapping it up so Manager can swing by with the forklift and haul it off no questions asked. I'm feeling invincible. Next, me and Jack have to go stock water. He's exhausted, was up all day and feeling sluggish so not a whole lot of help tbh. Thats okay I'm running on four energy drinks and the high of imagining the boss begging me to stay, I've got this!

There's several pallets of various types of water container on the floor to be organized and stocked, and I'm on it like a fly on dogshit. In only fifteen minutes I put up a full pallet worth of gallons (Probably about 60-70 gallon jugs) before Time makes her move.

I don't know where Jack is, I'd sent him to move another pallet a while ago and he's not back yet. I move on to the 2.5 gallon jugs with spigots (Different brand but this same jug tbh) get about twenty up, only have four or five more that can fit on the shelf. Both hands are full of these heavy ass jugs, I lift one up onto the shelf and the spigot comes off. It just pops the fuck off. I drop the second in surprise and its spigot pops off. There's water pouring everywhere, I'm now soaked and panicking trying to gather up these jugs and get them turned in a way so they aren't pouring water everywhere and I am swearing profusely this whole time.

The wooden shelf is soaked, I'm treading water and Jack comes around the corner to see if I'm okay, sees me juggling water and starts laughing his ass off. We double team taking down all the water I just put up so I can mop the floor and the shelf. It takes the two of us over half an hour to dry everything and get the water back on the shelf.

Jack starts in on the 2 gallon bottles while I finish cleaning up. As I come back from throwing the broken containers in Claims, I see Manager has arrived with a fresh 5.5 foot high pallet of these 2 gallon waters (Its also vital to note that these come wrapped in plastic in packs of 6, which we are separating to sell individually), both are laughing, Jack is facing away from me doubled over with laughter.

"All I hear" He says "Is suddenly 'SHIT...SHIT SHIT! FUCK-SHIT FUCK!' and then just 'squeak squeak squeak'. His shoes sounded like Spongebobs boots!!" And at this point I realize my shoes are squeaking in the water but their shoes are not (I still do not know why...) As soon as Manager hears my squeaking shoes coming towards them, he also becomes consumed by giggles. Ha-ha, okay y'all shut up so we can carry on. I'm still trying to be impressive here! But I guess we are opening the water packs too slowly for Manager because he takes his special plastic cutting cutter and starts slicing open packs so we can just grab the jugs and throw them up.

EXCEPT HE'S NOT PAYING FUCKING ATTENTION! He cuts this one pack thats on the edge of the stack, three of the waters immediately start to fall over dragging the whole pack with it and now six, two gallon jugs come crashing onto my foot and also suddenly I'm wet again. Manager doesn't realize it hit my foot, but I shout and he says "Don't worry, its plastic they wont break." This phrase gets repeated ad nauseum the rest of the night to mock him.

"Well that would be great except they all fucking exploded!" he just looked at me stupid, then started swearing too. My foots fine, thanks for asking. Actually its not, my ankle is killing me as I'm writing this but whatever.

All six jugs broke open at the bottom seam and are now spewing fresh spring water onto my newly mopped floor, under the pallet and soaking into my shoes. Again. I'm running around trying to gather as much of these jugs as I can as fast as I can and get them to the sink. Again. Meanwhile my shoes are squeaking anew. Again. Jack cannot stay standing, what between laughing at Manager for busting open six gallons, repeating "It'S pLaStIc! iT wOnT bReAk!" and laughing at my squeaking footsteps running all around the two of them.

Manager has us leave the spilled water and stock, then when we are done he moves the pallet and sends the janitor over with the zamboni to clean up the water while sending us to fill up a display of cases of 24 bottled water other-where. Jack is now awake and still melting into fits of giggles every few minutes, and with his newfound energy he's tossing the cases up onto the display and then punching them into place instead of just putting them there. Toss a case, punch-punch-punch, flex, repeat. (Did I mention Jack is 18? What is it with teen boys constantly wanting to show off? Like bro who are you showing off to? Its literally just me and Manager here.) I keep telling him to knock it off but eventually, you guessed it, he pops a couple bottles.

Its already the four hour mark by the time we clean up all the water and get the rest of the packs all on the display. Smooth sailing from here on out, yeah? We're done with water, everything that needs to be on a shelf is on a shelf. It has to be easy from here. We think so anyway. It can't possibly get worse, we've still got shit to do! Innocently, we go to lunch and I chug down another energy drink. Okay so we are done stocking, its now time to face the shelves(AKA make them look nice). Manager sends me and Jack to the opposite ends of one isle, Jack arranging pickles and vinegar and I'm freshening up condiments. Suddenly I hear Jack yelling and cursing.

For several days, theres been a mystery bottle of vinegar by the Huntz that no one knows where it came from but also no one has bothered messing with. We've just been nudging it to look nice lined up with everything else and if someone buys it good if not, well it seems happy there. Its kinda shaped like this but plastic and not quite a gallon. It's filled full to the lid.

Jack decides to remove it today. He grabs it, lifts it about three inches, and the neck comes off. Just comes the fuck off. Its a perfectly clean separation at that seam where the neck connects to the body. The entire contents are now soaking into Jacks clothes from mid-chest to his shoes and puddled all over the floor. I rush over to see that he's okay and then go to get the mop for him. I can smell the vinegar from four isles away. It takes nearly another thirty minutes for him to get that properly cleaned up and then he has to take a break to change into his spare shirt because the smell is giving him a headache.

By the time he comes back, I've finished that isle and moved on to the cereal + juice isle and the store is now open. I tell him that he must have felt left out that Manager and I both made bigger messes than him with the water so he had to one-up us. This seems to make him feel better. Jack starts working juice while I'm tidying up the snacks and gummy candies. An older couple come up to me to ask about Rice Krispy Treats. I don't know where they are other than the ones I'm holding so I go to ask Jack. Poor Jack. I call out to him as he's kneeling in front of orange juice with both arms shoulder deep in the shelf and as he looks at me, for some fucking reason he squeezes his arms together in a hugging motion around maybe 8 jugs of juice.

Several fall into his lap and a customer must have gotten thirsty yesterday because someone took the cap off one jug and just left it there. Jack is now soaked chin to toes in orange juice. There is a looooot of swearing as I run over to check on him and then run off to get the mop and bucket from the back.

At some point the janitor had taken the mop from where we left it by vinegar and used it to mop up milk that the Dairy folks had spilled (so the bad luck wasn't just towards our crew, Time was taking her frustrations out on everyone). Anyway, the bucket is full of maybe four gallons of milk water and also the vinegar from earlier so it stinks but I don't have time to put fresh water in it because there are customers in the store now and the juice is a major slip hazard.

I'm pushing the bucket through the isles and I run over a drain like I do every day and thousands before me have done, except the drain cover decides TODAY IS THE DAY, NOW IS MY TIME. It kamikaze pops off and the bucket wheel goes straight in the hole, tipping the bucket over and spilling four gallons of stanky milk water every-fucking-where. Also, apparently this POS building wasn't built so that the floor sloped towards drains so the water is just flowing further and further out in every direction. Now I'm panicking trying to push as much of this water into the drain asap so I can get the bucket over to Jack so he can mop up the OJ. And I see the older couple are still waiting, toe tapping and pointing at their watches as soon as they see me. And then get all pissy that we didn't have any smaller packs of Rice Krispy Treats in yet.

Jack fucks off to the bathroom to dry as much as he can of himself while I do my best to hunt down the Janitor to send him and the Zamboni down juice, vinegar and the main pathway where the vinegar-milk-water spilled and is still stinking up the joint. Jack didn't come back for probably 40 minutes, I was honestly surprised he came back at all, I didn't think he was going to.

Manager has no idea any of this shit has happened because he's been darting off everywhere like a squirrel on coke doing his own thing. He's got the rest of those 2 gallon bottles from earlier on the fork lift and has us follow him to the frozen section. He wants us to add what's left to a display over there where we are selling the full 6-pack cases. He drops off the pallet and is gone before we can say anything. Jack, understandably, is beside himself pissed and starts literally throwing the water up onto the display and then punching them into position. Like, he's full force punching these things like gym equipment and chanting "It'S! pLaStIc! iT! wOnT! bReAk!". And of course, he pops two bottles. We still have 2 more hours of our shift left, plus 2 hours of mandatory overtime.

THANKFULLY, once we cleaned up that water the rest of the shift was uneventful, but it took forever because we were exhausted physically and mentally and pissed

[parkerpeter24]

summer on you

Pairing ➳ harrison osterfield x reader

Warnings ➳ anxiety, swearing, fluff, ugh this is literally based off my blood-sucking teacher.

Word count ➳ 2.3k words

So, let me wish all my birthday buddies! First of all, a very happy birthday to haz boy! Next, I would like to dedicate this fic to my lovely friends @allegra-writes​ and @spideygirl2003​​ also, this was inspired by the song ‘ summer on you’ by PRETTYMUCH

Baby, I ain’t got no money

All I got is time

And I’m gon’ spend that time on you

But when they pay me

And I can buy the sunshine

Take you away, we’ll drink champagne

While holed up in a room

“Yes ma’am, you don’t have to worry about that.” You uttered in the speaker of your mobile typing away the details on the empty spreadsheet that was now on the screen of your laptop. You had spent most of your week like that, sitting in a corner and completing the details of your colleagues in the said spreadsheet. It was killing you, but your boss gave you no option. You just wanted to ditch her and get some rest, or a long, relaxing bubble bath at least.

Then your phone went off, again, pulling you out of your relaxative thoughts and you groaned loudly. Without even looking at the contact you picked up the call and started in the same hoax voice, “Hello, ma’am!”

You were expecting her to go off on you again because you were taking such a long time in typing the name of a few fellow mates and creating the spreadsheet as “higher authorities” had asked for them immediately, but all you heard was the sweet voice of her best friend, “Still working?”

You sighed in relief, pushing your laptop farther from you on the table and rested your head on the cool glass surface. You hummed along as he chuckled. You knew he didn’t mean to make fun of you, it was rather a pity chuckle, “Why don’t you just stop for a while,” he gulped before continuing, “What the hell is that green juice on your dining table?!” He complained, making you gasp and let out a giggle.

“I knew it! Now, what exactly are you doing at my house Haz?” You asked in a serious tone, but failed miserably, “You know I didn’t give you my keys so that you can barge in my house at any time you want!”

He just laughed it off and you sighed, putting the phone on speaker, and pulled the laptop in its initial position to start typing.

“What’re you doing in the office anyway?” He questioned, hearing the soft typing sound of your laptop as he moved towards your kitchen to grab some of your homemade cookies, “I thought it was supposed to be your day off.”

“Ms Vibha sent me here to get the essential files to fill in some fucking details in this fucking spreadsheet.” You gritted your teeth. Haz could sense your expression from your tone as he sighed, “I didn’t even grab any food today, I was in such a rush-” You continued but stopped when you realized that there was an eerie silence on the other side, not a sigh, not even the sound of a footstep, it almost felt intimidating.

“(Y/n),” Haz finally spoke up, his tone serious, making you shift uncomfortably in your work chair. You hummed after a good few seconds, “Wh-what’re anti-depressant pills doing on your kitchen counter?”

Your eyes widened in shock, ‘shit!’ you cursed under your breath. You didn’t realise that you forgot to put those pills in your bag when you were “in such a rush” this morning.

You fell silent contemplating on whether to say something or stay quiet. He didn’t say anything, making you more anxious than ever, and the most depressing part was that your anti-depressants weren't with you. You cleared your throat uncomfortably finally deciding to break the silence, “Haz I can-”

“Can we meet when you get off work?” He asked and you gulped, nodding your head even though you knew he couldn’t see it. There was no way you could escape from it now, he found out that you had anxiety, he would probably leave you forever now.

“Okay.” You said finally before he hung up the phone. You groaned seeing five missed calls from your boss. What an asshole.

----------

You rang the bell beside the door when you reached Harrison’s apartment. Soon the door was opened and you were led in until you were sitting on the couch and a glass of water was placed in front of you on the wooden table.

Harrison had been quiet the whole time you were there. He seemed to think about something deeply as he cleared his throat. You looked at him expectantly but he only stared at the ground.

“Haz,” You finally said in a shaky voice making him look up at you, fast enough to notice the tears in the corner of your eyes, his expression softened, “I have the pills because-”

“Would you go on a road trip with me?”

“W-what?” You asked in return to his sudden question.

He gave you the best ‘seriously?’ face he could muster before speaking, “(Y/n), you are in the dire need of a vacation.” He stated, getting up from his designated chair and sitting on the same couch as you, but he sat on the other end rather than sitting right beside you. He knew it would take a lot of efforts to finally convince you to take this break.

“But- but my boss, and the spreadsheets- I- it’s not possible Haz.” You stuttered and Harrison’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘Poor thing’ he thought. What the fuck has that blood-sucking a-hole done to you?

“Come on...” He pouted, extending the last syllable, “Just two days, give me two days. Please.” He pleaded. Now, to be honest, Harrison is a charming boy. And when he asks you something as tempting as that, you can’t resist the offer.  Besides that, you had always adored the blond haired man, you always have, and you could bet that he had the same heart in his eyes while looking at you that you had whenever you saw him. You sighed in defeat while a smile painted on Harrison’s face.

“Two days. That’s all you get.”

Darling, I've been working all week

I've got so much on my plate

Always saying “poor me”

Although my boss is an a-hole

That's when you call me

Said you've been making a plan

To hit the road with me

You sighed, feeling the wind brush against your face and your hair flowing with the wind. Harrison turned to look at you for a moment before fixating his gaze back on the road.

Everything was peaceful. Finally. Harrison has taken your phone away from you in the prospect of keeping your anxiety at the lowest level, and to be honest, it was working. You were smiling softly when Harrison saw you. You looked like an angel in that beautiful dress and your hair flowing back. He made you smile. The thought made him smile proudly as a blush adorned his face.

You turned to look at him with the same smile plastered on your face. You were on a long road surrounded by trees all over. The sky was grey, it was about to rain. People would say the scene looked that of a cliché thriller movie, but you were loving it. Everything was perfect. The weather, the company, the way he looked, your hand brushing his on the gear, feeling him stealing glances at you. Perfect.

The car finally came to a halt and you looked at the small lodge in front of your eyes. It was a typical wooden cabin surrounded by a dense forest, away from the urbanisation, and you loved it.

You tried to help Harrison with carrying the bags inside but every time you offered, like a gentleman, he denied and told you to fuck off.

Just like a gentleman.

It was raining when you finally settled inside your respective rooms. You made your way out of the room and into the common room. You had a long time before dinner to yourselves –it seemed like it would be a long time until the rain stopped– so you started fidgeting with Harrison’s guitar.

He watched you with a smile as you tried to play a song but it sounded out of tune. He laughed and you squint your eyes at him, “What’re you laughing at?”

“It’s just that, you’re cute when you mess the chords up.” He laughed some more as a blush covered your face.

“You can’t play any better than me.” You mumbled, but he might’ve heard it because the next moment he was next to you, holding the guitar, ready to play a song.

You smiled, a flutter in your heart, as you saw him strum the strings to your favourite song, the pitter-patter of rain complementing the soothing voice of guitar.

We’ll hit the coast on the late night

Make love ‘til daylight

I love it when you play with my hair

You know it feels so nice

And I’ll do what you like

Naked in the moonlight

We don’t care if we are broke

When love is all we own

The loud sound of thunder woke you up. You suddenly sat up in your bed. You were not scared, just shocked by the suddenness of the storm brewing outside and a little worried.

You made your way to the next door and slowly opened it, feeling the cold doorknob against your skin.

Harrison was sleeping peacefully as you leaned against the doorframe. You couldn’t stop but stare at the sleeping beauty, it calmed you a little.

You sighed, moving to sit on the bed and gently shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes ever so slightly and looked at you, “Hey,” You greeted sheepishly.

“Hey, ever heard about sleep?” He questioned with a hoarse voice, and his british accent made it even more beautiful, sending a soft shiver down your spine. He saw you playing with the hem of the bedsheets and asked, this time with a more concerned voice, “What is it?”

You looked at him with slightly wide eyes. Harrison felt like someone had just splashed gallons of water on his face and the next moment he was wide awake, you looked so beautiful under the soft lamplight and when the thunder roared, the light reflected on your skin. But you flinched a little, “Can I- can I stay in here tonight?”

He smiled, opening his arms so you could lay there. And you did, sighing as his warmth engulfed you already making you feel protected.

As another loud thunder sounded outside you snuggled into Harrison, his hands in your hair, brushing the soft (y/h/c) out of your face.

When you woke up, the next morning, you were alone in the bed. You rubbed your eyes and looked around to see any sign of Harrison but you couldn’t find him anywhere. You roamed around the old cabin and finally found him in the front, loading some things on top of the car. He saw you standing by the door and smiled, “Morning, sleepyhead!”

You laughed, moving closer to where he was, “What is all this?” You asked. He just pointed towards the clear, blue sky as you followed his finger.

“If you haven’t noticed darling,” He started, making you blush at the nickname, “The sky is all clear and so we’re going to the beach!”

I’m singing hey babe

Two jobs on minimum wage

Although the rent’s late

Still got a smile on my face

We ain’t got the sunshine

But we got hearts in our chest

To feel the love like this

Stronger than anyone else

You were really excited throughout the car ride to the beach, and on finally reaching there you ran out of the car. It was mostly empty with a few people around, overall a nice place to be.

You and Harrison had the day to yourselves. You spent the day swimming in the ocean and splashing water on the other, it was great. Laying under the sun after lunch, and finally, you decided to go surfing.

You sat on your surfing board watching the enticing view when the sun started going down, Harrison beside you, silently watching you instead of the beautiful pastel sky.

You were literally very happy that Harrison took you to this place. You needed this break. And even if you didn’t know what would happen when you returned back to your normal, hectic life, you didn’t care, not right now.

 “What is it?” You asked, eyes still set on the sunset. Harrison’s eyes widened a little when you caught him staring, “Do you want to say something?” You asked again, waiting for him patiently but he just stared at you with an open mouth, you chuckled, “I’m really happy that you convinced me to come here with you.” You said with a grateful smile.

He just looked at you and smiled back before silence filled the surroundings. A few moments later, the sun had almost disappeared into the horizon and you suggested to Harrison that the both of you should head back to the cabin, but he didn’t say anything, just staring ahead, “(Y/n),” He sighed finally.

You looked at him expectantly, “What happened?”

“I do have to say something.” He looked into your eyes with his beautiful aqua blue ones. You waited for him to continue, “I-I felt it my responsibility to make you happy when I found those pills just sitting on your kitchen counter. You should’ve told me earlier (Y/n)! I would’ve never let that get to you! And I-”

“I love you.” You cut him off mid-sentence, “I’m sorry I made you worry.” You looked down.

“Hey,” He swam closer with soft eyes, “I love you too.” He smiled, stopping just beside you, close enough that you could reach over and just kiss him senseless.

But he did it first.

He led your chin up with the help of his finger, guiding you to his soft lips and you melted into him. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you down from your surfing board as he smiled into the kiss. You could feel it in the air, it was something different. And you knew it was going to stay like that for a long, long time.

Oh I will spend my summer on you.

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[theravencawsatmidnight]

Best In Show pt Four

Hawks is an attraction at an aquarium with reader as his new caretaker. Over the weeks Reader starts to notice he is not happy and plans to break him out, returning him to the sea.

The one night in your home you promised Hawks turned into a few months. The aquarium had been calling and calling trying to reach you since you were not showing up and you were under suspicion of taking Keigo out of his tank , you did leave the wagon there after all. It was a little hard to go out now since the police were looking for you. You had to cut your hair short and dye it a different color. Why were you still home? You could not eat into your savings forever. You woke up seeing the restroom floor and Keigo looking down at you from the tub , his arm hanging out to hold your hand. Slowly you sat up whining from the hard floor and leaned into the tub kissing the mermans cheek.

Keigo helped you sit comfortably and fixed your hair for you brushing it behind your ear , his voice was quiet and gentle but also full of concern. “How are you two doing?” He asked you looking down at the bump in your stomach.

At some point you had fallen pregnant , it was most likely the night you broke him out. You were three months along and everything was getting harder. You had put off leaving to be happy with Keigo , but at the same time you had to dodge the police and cell phone. You could not tell anyone.

“ we are.. good i think. Feels like a little guppy” you joked forcing yourself to stand up, your back screaming from it .

“ y/n.. please talk to me.” Keigo pushed himself up to touch your stomach . “We can't stay here, you can't sleep here every night it's bad for your back and our baby”

You lightly grabbed his fingers holding them, he was even more sad now. You could not keep him in your bath tub forever, you promised him the sea, not this .

“I know Keigo.. im just lost on what to do.”

Keigo hugged your stomach, sighing heavily. “I know, but if we stay any longer you'll be unable to get around like you do now.”

You ran your fingers through his golden hair thinking about the situation. You needed money for the beach cottage, for the baby.. food.. water.. “what if.. I sell the house. Then we go” Hawks blinked glancing up at you, he nodded once and you leaned down to kiss him.

••

It took maybe three weeks to get the house sold, you left all the furniture and only took clothes, blankets and all the bottled water in your fridge. Right after you sold the house you hurried to the bank to empty out your account and rush back home, stopping once along the way. When you arrived home you opened the trunk tying a rope to the back seat and dragging it behind you with a skateboard in your other hand.

Keigo was in the tub watching his tail hang out the other end. He loved being at your home with you but it had been so long since he swam around, jumped. You were truly a blessing for him, and now he was going to be a father. He heard the restroom door open and saw you staring at him.

“Okay, lets go, Keigo.” You set the skateboard down and the rope.

Keigo fell out of the tub dragging himself onto the skateboard and grabbing the rope. “Y/n..”

“We have to be quick, i moved my car up to the door so you don't have to worry about being seen.”

Keigo did not say anything, instead he tugged the rope and pulled himself through your house to the trunk of your car. You followed close by taking one last look at the bathtub. You had to pour water on Keigo every few minutes until he pulled himself into the car. He was greeted by 20 gallons of water and a waterproof dog bed. He gave you a look and you put the rope and the skateboard in with him. “ it was cute.” He chuckled and you closed the trunk getting in your car.

••

The ride would take two hours and you already bought the cottage, it was half furnished. Only a bed and basic needs but you did not need much else. You could see Keigo's hair in the rearview mirror and everytime he dumped water on himself. It was quiet for awhile.

“...do you have any names?” You asked him, turning the radio down.

“Azrith..”

“That's a lovely name..”

“Y/n. “

“I don't regret doing this, Keigo. Not one bit.”

“You sure?”

“ i promise.”

“How much longer?”

“Half hour. Almost home.”

“Are you doing okay?”

You looked in the mirror to see him , his chin resting on the seat .

“I'm doing okay. Promise”

“What are we going to do if the money runs out?”

“No one knows me in this city, and there's a small little farmers market I can drive to every week for food. I can get a job there , i was thinking of buying a laptop to work from home.”

He smiled, shaking his tail. “Thought of everything”

You couldn't help but giggle. “Yes, I have.”

The ride was soon over and Keigo looked out the window at the tiny cottage. It was a light pink and right on the water just like you said . A small white fence around the front with a beach in the back along with a deck connected to a small part of the house.

“We're home.” You said parking and looking back at him.

••

First thing you did was open the trunk and set everything up, thankfully you did because Keigo was out of water and looking dreary.

“Why didint you say anything?”

“I was nervous about you having to go into stores.”

You kissed him . “We dont have to worry about that now. “ you grabbed the skateboard putting it down and tossed the rope to the beach. “Cmon Keigo”

He grabbed hold of you falling lightly onto the skateboard and grabbing the rope. He pulled himself towards the beach with excitement all over his face. The water, the sand, the smell.. so cloose.

You followed him till he ditched the skateboard, his hands digging into the hot sand as he pulled himself, his tail slapping around. The second he felt a wave hit his fingers he jumped up and into the water.

“Keigo…?” You scanned all around the water for him. He splashed you and you saw him swimming around and jumping out of the water.

“The sea!!!!” He jumped again.

Tears fell from your eyes as you sat down in the shallows watching .

Keigo swam to you hugging you tight and kissing you. “Y/n..” his hand fell to your stomach and you kissed him back placing your hand over his.

“We are home.” You whispered, relieved.

•

@redflannel

[angstysebfan]

If You Love Me, Why Did You Hurt Me? 2/?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader  Other Avengers Mentioned: Steve, Sam, Natasha, Tony Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism; cursing

Summary: You dated Bucky for 5 wonderful years! You thought he was the one! Then, without reason, he ends your relationship, and gets a new girlfriend 2 days later! While you are both Avengers, you still have to see him, and his girlfriend.

Series Masterlist

2 weeks later and you still have trouble thinking what could have gone wrong. You go to step out of the bed and step on the empty vodka bottle on the floor. Guess you have to get another bottle. Alcohol is the only thing that helps you feel numb enough to get sleep, or to even function. You slowly get out of bed and head into the bathroom.

Once you are dressed in your workout clothes, you peek you head out to make sure the coast is clear. The last thing you need is to see your ex boyfriend or his new girlfriend in the hall. You have been actively avoiding them, since he introduced her to the group 2 days after you broke up. They were all confused, but try to be nice to the girl. 

Brittney was the complete opposite of you. Where you had dark hair, she had platinum blonde (definitely store bought), and where you were short and had curves, she was tall and skinny. The only curves on her were the 2 fake breasts she had. She was everything you were not. Everything he apparently wanted.

You quickly walk to the end of the hall to get into the elevator. You wait as it comes up, hoping not to see the “lovely couple”. Alas, as the elevator reaches your floor, you here the giggling inside. You knew who it belonged to. You quickly put on a blank face, “don’t let him see your pain”, you thought to yourself. 

The elevator door opened to see Bucky and Brittney in a loving embrace, kissing eachother stupid. They weren’t moving, so you cleared your throat. Bucky quickly pushed away. Brittney looked at you, almost smugly. Bucky had somewhat of the decency to look apologetic. The 3 of you stood there for what felt like forever, but it was probably 5 seconds. 

“Are you moving? I need to get into the elevator” you said to no one in particular. 

“Oh, yea. Sorry” Bucky said, quickly grabbing Brittney around the waist and leaving the elevator. 

You jumped inside and hit the button to heads towards the training room. As the doors closed you looked out and saw Bucky looking at you. For the first time in 2 weeks, he actually showed an emotion when looking at you. Sadness.

You entered the training room and went straight for the treadmill to warm up. 15 minutes and 3 miles later, you jump off the treadmill and start wrapping your hands. You were going to dance with the punching bag. You put your headphones in and started going at it.

Sweat was dripping from you, but you didn’t feel tired. You just kept seeing them kissing, and a new wave of anger would surface. You didn’t notice anyone entering the gym, and just kept beating the punching bag harder and harder. You knew your knuckles were bleeding, despite the tape, but you did’t care. You needed the pain. You needed something, anything!

When you stopped for a second to take a breath, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You quickly turned around and swung. Steve grabbed your wrist, “Woah, killer!” You take your headphones out of your ears.

 “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Steve looked at you concerned. “Yeah, I guess you didn’t with your headphones in. You okay? You look like crap!”

You breathlessly laughed, “You can say shit, ya know. Cause I know I look worse than crap. I feel worse than crap.” Your eyes started to water, but you quickly shook your head. “Did you need something?”

Steve kept his concerned father look. “I just wanted to see if you were okay. I haven’t seen you much. You’re either in your room, leaving the compound, or in here with headphones on.”

“I’m... fine. I’ll be fine. I’m not the first woman to have her heart broken, right?” Steve sadly smiled at you. You look down at the floor so you don’t see the pity in his eyes. 

“Did you want the bag? I’m almost done.”

Steve looked at your hands. The blood starting to seep through the tape. “You are done. No more bag for a few days. Let your hands heal.” Then he turned and left the room. Once you knew he was gone, you quickly put your headphones back in and started to beat the bag again.

After your work out, you went up to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. Walking through the common room, you see Bucky and Sam talking. Since Bucky was the last person you wanted to see, you tried to quickly grab your bottle and leave without being noticed, but of course, Sam never makes things easy.

“Hey y/n! Good workout?” He waved you to come over. You waved your hand meaning “no thanks” and said, “Yeah, now I gotta go run errands. See ya.” You quickly left the common room and headed toward your room. You missed the longing look from Bucky as you quickly left.

After a quick shower, you head out to the liquor store. You also figured you should get food, because you no longer take your meals with the team. You don’t want to be in the same room with Bucky (or Brittney) any longer than you have to.

45 minutes later you enter back into the common room from the elevator. You start heading toward your room, when your arm is yanked from behind. 

“Where have you been sneaking off to?” Natasha. She looks at you with sad eyes, and you look anywhere but her face. You were tired of the pity in everyone's eyes. It made you want to cry.

“Just had some errands to run. Ya know how it is.” You go to turn back around, but she doesn’t let go of your arm.

“You just ran errands 2 days ago. In fact you run errands every other day. What’s going on?” 

You knew she knew exactly what you were doing, but that doesn’t mean you had to tell the spy. You just shrugged your shoulders.

“Just get inspiration to buy things.” She looked at you like she didn’t believe you, but decided to keep her mouth shut. You turned and walked to your room. 

“FRIDAY lock my door, and don’t let anyone in please.” “Yes Ms. Y/L/N.”

You sat on your bed, took out you laptop and put on the saddest movie you could think of. You took out 1 of the gallons of vodka you bought, grabbed your snacks and settled in for the night. 

By the time the movie was done, you ran out of snacks, and you finished most of the bottle of Vodka. You were now do drunk you couldn’t feel anything. That’s exactly what you wanted. You laid on your bed and just stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.

The next day, you wake up to a loud knock on your door. Your head is pounding from the amount of vodka you drank, and all you wanted to do was sleep, or puke. 

“FRIDAY who is at my door?”

“It is Mr. Stark ma’am.”

You groaned. “Tell him to leave me alone please.” You turn to lay on your stomach and put the pillow over your head.

Once there is silence, you think he is gone. Suddenly your door opened and in came Tony Stark. You look over your shoulder and scowl at him. 

“This is an abuse of power. I said leave me alone, not come in.” You quickly shove your head back under the pillow. 

Tony comes over and sits on the edge of your bed. “Talk to me kiddo. I’m worried sick here.” You just groaned.

“I’ll sit here all day if I have to.” Tony says as he surveys your room. The empty food containers, and several empty vodka bottles. His heart feels heavy. “Please talk to me.”

“I’m fine Tony.” You say muffled under your pillow. “I can handle it.”

“Kiddo, you know how much you mean to me. I can’t sit by, while you slowly kill yourself.”

You move the pillow and turn to face him. “I’m not going to kill myself. I just need something to help me sleep and to not feel the pain. Give me another week and I’ll be back to my old self.”

Tony shook his head, looking at you with sympathy in his eyes. “I wish I could believe that kid, but I know that’s a load of bullshit. I can’t have you doing missions when you are in this condition. You will put yourself and everyone else in danger.”

You quickly sat up. “Tony, I swear I am fine! Don’t take me off missions, please! It’s all I have left!” You started crying. You could not believe that Bucky had officially ruined your whole life. 

“If I can’t go on missions, then what’s the point of being an Avenger?”

Tony hugged you, and surprisingly, you let him. “You won’t be off forever. Just for a little while until you feel better without liquor and hurting yourself. You will always be an Avenger.”

You’re sobbing now. How did you let it get this bad? “This is why you never show emotions!” you think to yourself. Tony is rubbing your back as you continue to sob. You turn and look out toward your open door and see Bucky standing there with a sad expression on his face. Suddenly you sadness turns to anger, no... rage.

“What the fuck are you looking at Barnes! This is all your fault! You did this to me! You ruined my life!” 

You quickly got up and walked to the door. Bucky didn’t move and looked shocked at your outrage. “I fucking hate you! I never want to see you or speak to you again! You ruined me!” You slam the door and fall to your knees. 

Sobbing loudly. Tony quickly runs over to you and holds you in his arms. He rocks back and forth whispering “it’s okay” over and over. He plants several kisses on the crown of your head. 

Meanwhile Bucky looks at your closed door. He feels completely helpless, because he knows you are right. He did ruin your life, in more ways than one. You will never forgive him for this. Tears start slowly falling from his eyes as he hears your sobs from the other side of the door. All he wants to do is go in and hold you. Beg you for forgiveness and kiss you, but he knows he can’t. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He turns and walks to his room. Once the door closes, he slides against the door until he sits, and sobs quietly.

Chapter 1   Chapter 3

I know this is only chapter 2, but I am really enjoying writing this. The thing I love is that I have no plan as to how this is going to go. I am just writing as it comes to me. Please tell me what you think!

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 13

Catch up on Chapter 12 here

“Not true!” You scoff. “I missed you! And I didn’t get to see you on your birthday!” You return your voice to normal, taking your eyes off of the road to look at him real quick. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Van laughs. “Worst hangover I’ve had in years. Or maybe I’m just too old to handle ‘em now.”

“Could be,” You tease. “27, really getting up there now.”

or

You try to make Van’s (belated) birthday special for him.

Word count: ~11k

A/N: content warning for a little bit of under-negotiated edging and some negotiated bondage :)

Chapter Thirteen August 2019

Van sends you more snaps on his birthday than he probably has the entire time you two have had each other added on there.

“Ugh!” You sigh as you sit with Mary in your usual booth at the diner. You’ve got your phone held away from you, both of you leaned over the table as you open the third batch of snapchats from Van today. These ones include photos of the cake the boys had surprised him with, and a small stack of badly wrapped gifts they’ve presented him with. You pull the phone away from Mary when the interesting parts are over, when the snaps turn to clips of Van harassing the boys; Bondy laughing as he flips off the camera, Bob shying away as Van tries to shove the phone in his face. 

“I haven’t gotten him one single fucking gift,” You groan, lowering your head onto your folded arms.

“Sit up, Alexis is back,” Mary tells you, and you pull yourself into a sitting position with another sigh, as Alexis comes back to the booth with your food. You’re absolutely starving, but can’t find it in you to dig into your club sandwich in your sour mood.

“Oh, Jesus,” Mary sighs in exasperation, watching you pick at your french fries. “It can’t be that hard to think of something!”

While Mary speaks you finally take a bite of your sandwich. “It is!” You argue after you’ve swallowed it down. “He’s a millionaire! Anything he wants he just buys it for himself! What am I supposed to contribute?”

Mary narrows her eyes in thought as she chews on a bite of her veggie gyro. “Alright. What do you guys do when you’re together?”

“We fuck, we eat, smoke, watch Netflix, and sometimes hang out with his friends.” You tick each activity off one of your fingers.

“Okay. How about you just cook him something nice? You know, have a nice date but, like, at his house? I’m sure he’d like a home cooked meal after touring.”

It’s a good idea, but still you sigh. “I don’t know what he likes.” No matter what you cook, Van both eats and compliments it. You have a suspicion that everything you make actually sucks and he’s just too polite to say. “He literally eats everything. You should see those boys on tour. They’re maniacs over the catering.”

“Plus,” You continue, “There’s no way I could cook at Van’s house. It’s a fucking dump right now.”

Mary’s eyes widen as she sips her iced tea. “What about paying someone to come clean it? He’d probably love coming home to a clean house. Especially when he thinks he’s got to deal with it.”

That’s not a bad idea, actually. You don’t feel comfortable letting strangers into Van’s house without permission, but a new idea has bloomed in its place.

“I’ll clean it,” You tell Mary. “I don’t know how he’d feel about random people coming in when he’s not even in the country.”

“Okay, so that’s one gift.”

“I’ll clean the house and…” You gaze down at your food when the next idea works its way into your mind, “I’ll get him dinner from his favorite restaurant.”

“Yes!” Mary claps her hands together in excitement. “What are you gonna get him?”

You try to spit out the name of the French restaurant Van likes the lobster dinner from.

“No fucking way, you’ve been there?” Mary’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know that’s where he took you out!”

“I’ve been there twice, actually,” You admit sheepishly. “That’s where we went for Benji’s birthday.”

“You lucky bitch! Theo and I have tried so hard to get a table there for our anniversary and their waiting list for reservations is so long! I guess the rumors are true. They really do only give a fuck if you’re famous.”

“Weird, I’d never heard of them when Van took me there.”

Mary only shrugs, but you figure you already know why she’s heard of the place when you haven’t. It’s not obvious behind her down-to-earth personality and humor that made you adore her from your first meeting, but Mary comes from money. She’s even got a degree from Stanford to prove it. It’s in accounting (because those were the easiest classes for her), it’s never been used a day in her life, and was entirely paid for by her parents.

“When’s your anniversary?” You ask, ready to change the topic now that you’ve gotten two gifts under your belt. You’ve got a little under two weeks until Van will be back in town for a couple of days, and now you were feeling more confident that you could pull something together.

“The end of September, but they’re booked until next year,” Mary sighs.

\\

When you get out of the shower that night, there are three missed calls from Van. You don’t even bother to get dressed before calling him back, sitting on the edge of your bed wrapped in your towel, the ends of your hair dripping onto your comforter.

The phone rings until it’s almost gone to voicemail. At the last second Van accepts the call, and there’s some rustling before you decide to speak.

“Hi, birthday boy,” You giggle softly down the line. “How was your big day?”

“It’s been good, yeah. Good.” You’ve heard Van stumble over his words after drinks, but never slur like this.

“You sound like you’ve had a good day,” You laugh. 

“Had a class night,” Van agrees. “Fucking class.”

You’re still not used to communicating across a time difference. The mention of nighttime brings it back in your awareness. “Wait. What time is it for you?”

There’s some rustling noises while Van checks the screen, then the phone is pressed back to his ear. “Half four. Just got back to the hotel.”

“Jeez, Van! Why aren’t you sleeping already?”

“‘Cause I wanted to talk to you,” Van replies. “It’s not right.”

You’re beaming, charmed by this drunken Van. “What’s not right?”

Van scoffs. “That I don’t get to see my best mate on my birthday!”

“You spent the whole night with them, didn’t you?”

“The lads. Not you.”

The earnesty in his voice makes your heart squeeze. “That’s okay. I’m gonna see you soon, right?”

“Yeah. Really soon. Super soon.”

You smile to yourself. “Where are you?”

“In my room.”

You cackle out loud at that. “I know that. I meant the country!”

“Right. Um. Christ, I don’t fucking know. I forgot.”

“You’re so drunk,” You tut. You expect him to deny it, but listen to his distant laughter instead.

“I’m completely fucked,” He agrees. “Beyond pissed.”

“But you had fun? Was your cake good?”

“Loads of fun. Loads and loads of fun. I don’t remember how many pubs the lads dragged me to. As soon as one closed, bam, next one. It was great.” There’s some shuffling, then: “I forgot about the cake. Gonna have some right now, as a matter of fact.”

You hear the chaos of drunk Van serving himself a piece of cake.

“Wish you would’ve been here,” He says through a mouthful of dessert. “Woulda had so much fun.”

You don’t know which one of you he’s declaring would’ve had fun, but it seems he’s still not over the fact you two have spent the day apart. “I know,” You sigh, feeling a pang of disappointment for not the first time today. “I wish I would’ve been able to see you today, too.”

“Next year.” You hear the soft gulp of Van swallowing another bite down, and then his voice is much clearer. “Better request it off work now,” He teases. “You’ll never spend another first of August without me.”

“Okay,” You agree, only to mollify him. “You should probably get to bed. Text me tomorrow, okay?”

“If I’m alive,” Van chirps.

“You’ll be okay,” You assure him. “Drink lots of water.”

“Yeah.” Van’s voice is starting to grow quieter, rumbling like he’s close to falling asleep. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” You promise. Your heart hurts at the fact you’re both sleeping alone, the distance between you two suddenly feeling overwhelming. “I miss you.”

Van yawns, and you have a feeling he didn’t catch your words. “Goodnight. I love you,” He slurs.

His words send a cold shot of adrenaline rushing through your veins, even if you know he doesn’t mean them. You almost end the call right there, but you don’t.

“I love you too,” You say instead. “Night.”

Even if Van’s declaration only comes from a place of drunken sleep-deprivation, it feels nice to have the opportunity to say it back. There’s something relieving about admitting it out loud, for the first time, even if this’ll be the only time. 

Van’s breathing is soft on the other end as you hang up.

\\

If giving Van’s neglected house some TLC was going to be the foundation of your gifts, you had no time to waste. His place was massive- not a job that could be tackled in one day- and during the week you had absolutely no desire to do anything after your workdays. You’d have to put some real work in on the weekends to make sure you pulled this off, which is why bright and early on Saturday morning you were pulled up to his gate, struggling with the 8 on the keypad.

You’d made a trip to the store last night to prepare your arsenal, and you struggled to lug it all inside. Unsure of what horrors you’d encounter, you’d bought different cleaning sprays for an assortment of surfaces, mildew, molds. You had boxes of trash bags, not sure whether Van was stocked with his own; and plenty of air freshener to try and chase away the stagnant smell that hit you as soon as you walked in. Then there were the tools; fancy antibacterial toilet brushes, fresh sponges and cleaning cloths. Lots and lots of paper towel. You even haul in a gallon of laundry detergent (and the accompanying softener, of course) and some detergent for the dishwasher. You knew that if you were going to be efficient, you’d need to eliminate time trying to understand where Van would store the things you might need. 

His living room is just as you two had left it the night he went to the hospital. There’s a lump of blankets overtaking half of the couch, and seven mugs of tea, three with leftover liquid that was now home to some fuzzy mold. The crewneck he had changed out of is rumpled on the floor, reeking of B.O. from his sweaty fever. The briefs nearby smell similar.

In the spot where there used to be a stunning monstera plant by the front door, there’s now a yellowed, withered corpse, surrounded by dead leaves that have fallen to the floor. You inspect its limp stem carefully before solemnly declaring it dead. You really had your work cut out for you. 

Your main thought as you turn your bluetooth speaker on and get your phone connected, prepared to blast the cleaning playlist you’ve carefully assembled, is that Van better fucking love this gift. 

\\

By the time you’re heading home, you feel satisfied with what you’ve gotten done. The kitchen is cleaned, the dishwasher rumbling as it sanitizes the mugs and dishes that had been left lying around. Your biggest obstacle had been locating the washer and dryer (which are nestled in a tiny room at the end of the living room hall), but now you could hear the sound of rushing water as the washer started on tonight’s load of laundry. You’d throw them in the dryer tomorrow morning, when you’d be back to tackle the half bathroom down the hall and start on the next level of the house. You carefully close all of the windows and lock the patio doors, which had helped air the place out today, before locking up the front door behind you.

There’s something domestic about cleaning Van’s house that keeps the project from being entirely unpleasant. You pick up little quirks of his in every room you explore: wrappers in the trashes reveal his favorite snack foods, the bathroom cupboards only store one chosen brand of toilet paper. His cereal cupboard is well-stocked but with only a small variety. His mailbox by the gate is overstuffed from his time away, and while you throw away any junk catalogues you note what companies he receives bills from. All of the important envelopes are addressed to his legal name, a small detail that amuses you endlessly. 

In the process, you also manage to get a few gifts out of it. You pick up a ficus during your weekly grocery shopping to replace the dead monstera plant by the door, and while passing the candle section you decide on impulse to buy him a candle for his bedroom. He had decided not to take one of his bags to Europe with him, and had instead left the suitcase of dirty laundry to stink up his entire room. You haven’t figured out his scent preferences, but you decide on something that smells like pine trees just because you keep picking it up to sniff it. It’s in these moments- casually grabbing some things at the store for him- where your mind wanders over the what-ifs. What if he was your boyfriend? What if you two lived together? What if he had someone around to make sure all the food in the fridge didn’t rot when he was away? What if you didn’t have to squeeze time with Van into your schedule, because your life would be entwined with his? You know most of the reason he doesn’t want a relationship is because he thinks it would make things complicated, but to you it feels like everything would be much simpler. 

You sigh sadly to yourself, place the three-wick candle carefully on the child seat so that the glass can’t be damaged in the cart with your other things, and continue shopping.

\\

When Tuesday finally comes, you’re bouncing with excitement as you leave the office early, preparing to pick up Van from the airport. He had tried his hardest to resist, dead set on letting you finish the workday while he grabs an Uber home, but there was no way you were gonna let that happen. You head home to change and pack your overnight bag to stay at his, grab the wrapped gifts you’d left on the kitchen table, and head over to Van’s, where you make sure everything is ready. 

You’d be stopping by the restaurant to pick up the carry out on the way back from the airport, so you carefully set the dining table in advance. You put out two plates, two wine glasses, and you’d even grabbed a package of tealights at the store. You set three of the little tins between your place settings, and stash the rest in his miscellaneous drawer. On the end of the dining table that wasn’t being used tonight, you display his wrapped gifts. The ficus has to rest on the floor, but you’d tied a nice silk bow around the plastic trunk. Was it all a bit cheesy and over the top? Probably. But with the way Van is quite the romantic, you think he’ll enjoy it. 

\\

You never get tired of the feeling that washes over you the first time you see Van. He looks dazed and exhausted fresh off of his flight, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his worn leather jacket slipping off of the other. As soon as he sees you he perks up, starting to walk at a faster pace as you approach him.

You reach out for a hug without a second thought, and Van smiles as you pull him in, happy to have him within reach. It doesn’t feel real the way his body is solid against yours. It feels like the dreams you’ve started to have on occasion, ones that leave a fog of disappointment lingering all day. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” You sigh when you pull away, because those words just aren’t enough anymore. 

Van smiles, but it’s a tired smile. Suddenly you worry he won’t have the energy for any festivities tonight. “Missed you,” He croaks.

He laces his fingers with yours, swinging your palms slightly as you two head to collect his baggage. You take one suitcase, he takes the other, and then you head out to the Range Rover.

“Are you hungry?” You ask nervously, once Van’s slumped into the front passenger seat. You’d been excited for tonight, but with the way Van’s energy is off your confidence that he’ll love what you have planned has instantly dissolved. 

“Fucking starving,” Van groans. “I’ve been living off of airplane peanuts all day.”

“You didn’t eat on the flight?”

“No,” Van adjusts his jacket on his shoulders. “Been sleeping. Wanted to make sure I wasn’t shit company tonight.”

You’re busy navigating the parking lot, but still reach one hand out blindly to nudge him playfully. “You’re never bad company!”

“Yeah, right,” Van rolls his eyes. You’re relieved to hear him start to shake off the sleep, sounding more like himself. “Bet you’re just glad you didn’t have to deal with me the last couple’a weeks.”

“Not true!” You scoff. “I missed you! And I didn’t get to see you on your birthday!” You return your voice to normal, taking your eyes off of the road to look at him real quick. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Van laughs. “Worst hangover I’ve had in years. Or maybe I’m just too old to handle ‘em now.”

“Could be,” You tease. “27, really getting up there now.”

“Oi. Shut up.” Van grumbles, but he’s not able to keep a straight face. He gazes out the window for a moment. “Why’re we taking this way home?”

“There’s an accident,” You lie. “Got caught in stop-and-go on my way here.”

Van accepts your reasoning, lifting his hips so he can pull his phone from his back pocket. You watch him flick through different notifications, staying blissfully unaware of your route until fifteen minutes later when you’re pulling up to the restaurant. 

As your car slows, Van comes back to reality. “What’s up?” He asks, looking around. 

You avoid an actual explanation as you put the car in park and start to unbuckle. “Stay here, I have to run in real quick.”

The carryout is already prepared, a large bag with ‘McCann’ written on it sitting on a surface behind the hostess booth. You pass over your card, trying not to cringe at the price, and in return you’re passed the bag of food and a cardboard carrier with two bottles of Van’s favorite wine. It was all a bit pricey, sure, but worth it when you see Van’s eyes widen through the tinted windows of the Rover when he sees what you’re up to. 

“Are you fucking kidding?” His voice has risen a few octaves in his typical amused/disbelieving tone. “What have you done this for?”

You set the food on the back bench before climbing into the driver’s seat. “You said you were hungry!” You laugh. “I hope you’re in the mood for lobster.”

Van is grinning so wide that his dimple is making an appearance. “Why the fuck did you do this?”

“For your birthday!” You exclaim, starting the final stretch of the drive to Van’s place.

“My birthday was two weeks ago!”

“A week and a half,” You correct him. “And I didn’t get to see you, so it doesn’t count. So today is technically your birthday all over again.”

“Ridiculous,” Van shakes his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t wanna celebrate with me,” You shoot him a glare. “Mr. ‘you’ll never spend a first of August without me again’.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Van. “Did I say that?”

You nod. “You did.”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t remember a word of that phone call.”

“Well, you were very drunk,” You shrug. “Drunker than I’ve ever heard you.”

“Why don’t we ever go out to pubs? Do you get pissed with Mary?”

“I used to go clubbing with Mary a lot,” You tell him as you turn off of the main road, the hill of his neighborhood visible in the distance. “Never really been a bar person, but we could go out one weekend.”

Van makes a displeased noise in the back of this throat. “Not here, in all these hipster cafes. You gotta come to London, we can do a proper pub crawl.”

“I don’t have a passport,” You admit sheepishly, as if that’s the only reason you can’t leave the country on Van’s whim.

“Christ. Americans never do! Mental.”

“Yet again,” You start, leaning out of the window slightly to punch the gate code in, “You hate America so much but you keep coming back!” 

“The lobster is good here,” Van deadpans as you pull into the driveway.

Van grapples with both of his suitcases while you’re busy trying to unlock the front door with the food in your hands. You hold the door to let him in first, watching him carefully. He barges his way to the middle of the room before he pauses, realizing what he’s walked into. 

“What is this?” He’s got a confused smile, looking over at you by the door. He’s gaping at the clean living room, and the surprise on the dining table.

“Surprise,” You giggle nervously, letting him take it all in.

“You tidied up the living room?” Van asks, carefully looking around. The mantle is dusted, the rug is vacuumed, and the place finally smells like someone actually lives here. 

“I tidied up everywhere, actually,” You admit. “The bathrooms, the bedrooms, the kitchen. All clean.”

“Holy shit. You shouldn’t have. Really.” He’s clearly stunned by the gesture, carefully removing his shoes and even going so far as to set them on the mat by the door. “You really did not have to do this, love.”

At the nickname, you know you’ve impressed him. You glow with pride as you bring the bag of food to the table, making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab some utensils to transfer the food out of the containers and onto the plates.

“Do you wanna open your presents before or after we eat?” You ask, carefully spooning the seasoned butter that was melted at the bottom of Van’s container onto his food. 

“After,” Van says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he starts to seat himself. You grab one of the bottles of wine, heading into the kitchen to find the corkscrew.

“I love the tree,” Van says when you return, nodding to the ficus standing proudly with his bow at the head of the table. “Thank you.”

“Your plant died,” You inform him, pointing to the empty space by the front door where the monstera used to sit. “It feels empty without it.”

Van frowns. “I told Bob not to give me anything that needed watering. I’m shit at remembering.” He shrugs. “He had a good half a year.”

“Bob got you it?”

Van nods. “For Christmas. It was one of his, to be fair. Got a green thumb. Great at pawning off his plant spawns to us lads.” He smiles affectionately, and you can’t help but smile as well. They were such a strange group of friends. 

You don’t sit down after you’ve poured wine for you two. “Do you have a lighter?” You’d forgotten to grab one in the kitchen for a tealights. 

Van procures one from the front pocket of his button up without question, and you light the candles before you sit down. You notice that Van hasn’t started eating without you. 

“Very posh,” He smiles at your setup, raising his glass of wine. “Cheers.”

“Cheers to 27,” You add, clinking your glass with his. 

There’s not much conversation as you two eat. Van is ravenous, and is done with his meal before you. You’re only halfway through your chicken parmesan, but you decide to save the other half for later. It wouldn’t do you any good to get all sluggish and bloated before the night’s even begun. 

You start to clear the table, Van standing to help automatically.

“Don’t help!” You scold him. “This is a gift!”

“You’ve already cleaned the place once!” Van insists, holding his dirty plate out of your reach when you attempt to take it from him. “That’s more than enough!”

He helps you rinse the dishes, marveling at how you put them directly in the dishwasher. It’s clearly not a habit he’s developed. 

You two keep the wine glasses out, not finished drinking for the night. Then Van opens his gifts while you radiate nervous energy the entire time.

He’s not someone who gets worked up over gifts, but his quiet gratitude is special in it’s own way. He loves the wooden rolling tray you’ve gotten him to replace the dented up tin one he carries around, and he laughs at the pack of THC water you’d gotten from your clients. He places the ficus by the front door, refusing to untie the bow around its trunk. When he’s done he pulls you in for a big hug.

“I know it’s not much…” You start nervously, but Van shakes his head.

“Thank you,” He cuts you off, rocking your bodies side to side. When his arms finally loosen you tilt your chin up to look at him and he leans down to give you a kiss.

“Thank you.” He repeats, giving your arms a small squeeze before releasing you.

“What do you wanna do?” You ask, now that dinner and gifts are over.

Van shrugs. He’s gazing out of the patio doors at the Hollywood cityscape. “Do you wanna go for a dip in the hot tub?”

That’s about the last thing you expected him to say. In all the times you’ve been over you have never seen Van use his pool. But you wouldn’t be the one to say no to the birthday boy himself. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“I’m all cramped up from sleeping on an airplane seat,” He explains. “Nothing sounds as good as those jets.”

He heads upstairs to get changed, but you’ve got nothing to change into. You’ve got your matching set of lace bra and underwear on, the same set you’d worn on your first date with Van. In any regular case you’d be strictly opposed to swimming in them, but you did have a change of clothes in your overnight bag, and you’re curious about how Van will react.

When Van comes down in his swim trunks, he realizes you’re still in your clothes. “Oh, fuck. Do you have something to wear?”

You can see he’s ready to retract his request, so you offer him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, let’s go!”

He clearly doesn’t understand what you’re up to, but leads you into the kitchen and out into the backyard. It’s the one area of the house that stays perfectly maintained no matter how long he’s gone; he’s got a landscaping company that comes over regularly to trim the grass and clean the pool. 

At the bottom of the cement steps that descend from the kitchen, Van makes a right around some lounge chairs. You don’t understand what he’s doing until he tugs back a heavy set of curtains, revealing a small cabana built right into the house.

“Are you joking?” You gape in disbelief as you check it out. There’s a seating area, a television mounted on the wall, and a door to a small bathroom in the corner. “What the fuck is this, oh my God?”

Van shakes his head, popping into the bathroom before coming back with two swim towels in hand. He passes one to you. “It’s my patio!”

“A patio is outside,” You correct him, “This is a cabana with a fucking television that’s attached to your house.”

Van gestures to the pool past the open curtains. “It’s got curtains. It’s outside.” The way he’s smiling reveals he knows exactly how luxurious it is. 

The pool thermostat is installed in one of the walls, and Van pokes at it before you hear the rumble of the hot tub coming to life, the jets starting to bubble. 

Van heads straight for the hot tub, but you start to get undressed while he’s not paying attention. You kick off the sandals you’d worn over here, peel off your shirt and shorts, and dig around in your shorts pockets for a hair tie. 

A bra and underwear set has the same coverage as a bikini, but there’s something about openly walking across the backyard in your underwear that feels forbidden. Of course, nobody’s able to see you considering Van’s privacy bamboo that surrounds the house, but the sun is still out and you still feel exposed as you approach Van.

He does a double take when he finally settles onto the stone seat that encircles the small spa. You use the metal railings to start stepping in, pretending you don’t notice him staring.

“I knew you didn’t have anything to wear!”

You smile, giving a small shrug like this is nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m wearing something, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but now your knickers are soaked.”

You frown as you sit next to him, the hot water saturating the padded cups of your bra. “Ew. Don’t say knickers.”

He snorts, sinking deeper into the water until the ends of his hair are wet, the jet foaming directly on the back of his neck. “Fuck. This feels so good.”

The legs of his trunks have floated up around his thighs, and in the clean water your eyes can linger over him while he’s got his eyes closed, enjoying his makeshift massage. 

“So how was tour?” You ask after there’s been some silence. 

“Incredible,” Van tells you, sitting back up. His back is in front of the jet now, and he arches into it. “Europe fucking loves us. The crowds go wild every night. We only play Glasgow in Scotland, everyone loves that. It’s such a good time.”

He tells you some stories about the festivals they’ve done, some ridiculous questions interviewers have asked. You relax into the warm water as you listen to his voice, falling into a content daze. You suddenly feel like nothing in the world could feel as good as relaxing in a hot tub with Van after a couple of glasses of wine. 

“How’s work been?” Van asks when he’s finished filling you in. You can feel your muscles start to tense, your mind start to remember the numerous frustrations that have been chipping away at your sanity lately.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” You sigh, shaking your head as if that’ll clear your thoughts. “I just wanna forget about it and have a nice night with you.”

“Fair enough.” Van shrugs. “Are you?”

You’re resting your neck against the cement edge of the tub, your body floating weightlessly in the water as you gaze up at the light-polluted sky that is rapidly becoming darker as the day comes to a close. “Am I what?”

“Having a nice night?”

“Um, yeah,” You answer like it’s a stupid question. “We should use your hot tub more often. This thing is magic.” You imagine this is what babies in the womb must feel like, completely doused in warmth and without a care in the world.

“We should. You can keep a suit over here.”

You laugh at that, sitting up and looking over at him. You shiver as the tops of your shoulders are exposed to the air. “Why do you keep mentioning my suit? Do you not like what I’m wearing?”

“That’s the opposite of how I feel, actually. Just figured an actual suit would be more comfortable.”

You smile at his admission. “Oh, so you don’t actually hate this set?”

The water has carried one of the straps of your bra off of your shoulder, and you watch Van’s eyes dart to your bare skin. 

“Course I don’t. Christ.”

Now it feels like you’ve got him where you want him. You ease up onto your knees, Van’s eyes dragging over the sopping lace as gravity pulls the cups lower, revealing more skin. You fight the urge to tug your strap up as you move closer to Van, who licks his lips.

“Okay.” Your voice is quiet, your body dangerously close to Van’s. You can feel the steam radiating off of his flushed body. “I was worried for a second.”

Van can tell you’re teasing, and he breaks out in a grin. “Shut the fuck up,” He laughs right in your face before his hands are on your hips, yanking you off balance and onto his lap. There’s the rush of water splashing around your bodies and a sickening twist in your stomach as you lose your balance. 

The first thing you comprehend is Van’s lips against your neck, hungrily mouthing at your damp skin. Your knees have found their way to either side of his thighs, your hands gripping the edge of the tub for dear life. As soon as you feel steady again you stop clutching at the cement, gripping Van’s dripping shoulders. You let your hips sink down, your thigh muscles loose and relaxed enough to open wider without any discomfort. 

You can’t feel if he’s hard through the water, but the way he groans is enough of a hint. Every noise you two make bounces off of the water, magnifying the sound.

You wrap your legs around his waist, his hands leaving your sides in order to cup your ass through the lace. You feel his fingers pinch at the fabric, rubbing it between his fingertips before he nestles his head into the crook of your neck, biting down where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“Van!” You gasp in shock. His body is rocking so you grab the ledge to steady yourself. There’d always been an unspoken rule not to leave marks. At his name Van pulls away with a guilty grin.

“Too much?” He asks, carefully watching your reaction. 

“No,” You assure him breathlessly. Your hand comes up to stroke his hair, wetting his roots in the process. You were aching for him to do it again. “But warn a girl, alright?” You breathe.

Van’s grin widens. “Yeah, alright,” He promises before his arms tighten around you, his mouth latching onto the same spot. This time the sting of his teeth makes you moan, your legs tightening around his waist, trying to press him as tight against you as humanly possible. 

You close your eyes, your nose buried in his hair. You breathe in the scent of chlorine as you let him take the lead for this brief moment. It’s something you want to savor before you go upstairs, where the dynamics will be different.

When he pulls away he presses his lips to the top of your shoulder before you start to untangle yourself from him. You watch his expression cloud in confusion.

“You haven’t even seen the bedroom yet,” You tell him, starting for the steps. Out of the water, gravity feels too strong, the air icy cold compared to the water. You regret leaving, but there’s more in store. 

The spot on your neck that Van had focused on throbs in residual pain as you grab your towel off of one of the lounge chairs, trying to dry off as best as you can. Van turns the jets in the tub off, closing the curtains to shut down the cabana.

“Want your clothes?” He asks, and you realize your shoes and outfit are slung over the couch.

“I’ll grab ‘em tomorrow,” You decide. You wouldn’t need them anymore tonight, so there was no need to waste precious time on a distraction.

The two of you struggle up the stairs to Van’s room, your muscles feeling like jelly. 

You proudly open the door to present the room for him. Fresh sheets, washed comforter, fluffed pillows, and an empty hamper. Van laughs in disbelief.

“I got you this, too,” You tell him, holding your damp towel around your body with your elbows as you pick the pine candle off of his dresser. You hadn’t wrapped this gift, instead wanting to make it a nice touch for tonight. “I dunno if you like pine-scented things, but I thought it smelled good.”

“Love pine,” Van nods, coming up behind you. He opens his hands for you to pass the candle over, and you do. He sniffs at the wax before nodding his approval, passing it back to you. 

“Hand me a lighter,” You request, and Van tosses you one before he starts to strip down, keeping the room neat by placing his wet towel and trunks in the hamper.

You struggle to get all three of the wicks lit, but you’re pleased at the warm glow the candle emits. 

Van is already tugging the blankets down, ruining your hard work in the name of climbing into bed naked. You peel away your soaked bra and underwear, dropping them in the hamper with Van’s things.

“So,” Your heart starts racing now, but you try to remain nonchalant as you stride over to Van’s closet, sliding the door aside. “Do you have a robe anywhere?”

“Yeah, you need one? I have one hanging in the bathroom.”

You didn’t actually need one, but you nod, grabbing your overnight bag from the floor. “I’ll be right back.”

You feel like you’re about to start hyperventilating as you lock the door behind you. Van’s plush robe is dangling from the hook on the back of the door. Duh. You were the one who had washed it and hung it there, after all. The nerves were clearly getting to your head. 

Your hair looks like a frizzy birds nest, every section a varying degree of damp. You extract your hair tie from the mess, and borrow Van’s brush to do some damage control. Once you’ve parted your hair correctly and smoothed it down, you look a million times better. 

The only thing left to do was get dressed. You grope around in your bag until you feel the silky cloth of the lingerie. You’d purchased it just for this occasion, a sheer scrap of black fabric that Mary had helped you choose. The website called it a ‘babydoll set’, a lace bra with a silky transparent fabric draping off of the band. The airy cloth fell just below your ass, but it didn’t really matter how low it covered because you could blatantly see through it. There was a slit directly down the front, giving Van the ability to easily push the extra clothing aside in case he needed to access your skin. It had come with a matching thong but you don’t bother to put that on. You figure the bra is enough. 

You unravel the tie of Van’s robe, your fingers shaking. You take a steadying breath before finally twisting the doorknob, turning the bathroom lights off as you step back into the bedroom. 

“Oh, Christ.” Van groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You want me dead.”

You head to the bedroom door first, sliding the dimmer all the way down. The room is still lit from the flickering candle and the lights of the city shining through the open window, but without the overhead lighting everything feels much more relaxed.

You approach Van then, sitting down on the edge of the mattress next to his body. While you’d been adjusting the lights he’d propped himself up into a sitting position, and as soon as you sit down his hand comes to rest against the back of your neck.

You don’t speak. You want to poke around for some reassurance that he likes what he sees, some validation that Mary had been right when she’d pressured you into adding this finishing touch. But instead you let him cradle the back of your neck while he takes you in, his neck craning so he can give you a full onceover before meeting your eyes again. 

“I’m convinced you’re trying to give me a heart attack,” He jokes, before hauling you in by the back of your neck for a kiss. “What is it with you and lace?”

“This is, like, all of the lace I own.” Per usual, you’ve got to brush off the compliment even if it’s the confidence boost you needed.

“And I got to see it all tonight? I’m one lucky lad.”

He looks annoyingly smug, the face of a boy who knows he’s about to get laid tonight. You kiss him again (and again) just so that you don’t have to look at him anymore.

You climb onto the bed completely, crawling into Van’s lap. Van startles when the robe tie crinkled in your hand brushes his ribs. 

“What’s that?” He asks, peering down at your hand for a better look. You extend your fingers, the length of cloth unfurling, tumbling onto Van’s lap. “Is that the string on my robe?”

“Yeah,” You confirm. You want to explain, but your mouth suddenly goes dry, waiting for his reaction.

“What’ve you got that for?” He cocks his head in confusion, looking between the rope and your wide eyes.

You gulp. “I was thinking, y’know- if you were into it- we could try something kind of like the last time?”

Van’s expression is blank for a few moments, no doubt trying to recall your last time having sex. You watch his expression change as soon as he’s remembered. 

“Are you gonna tie me up? Is that what this is?”

His voice has gone up in pitch, like he doesn’t really believe this is actually happening. You nod slowly.

“I mean, if you want. Just your wrists. Unless you have cuffs?” You ask the last part hesitantly, predicting Van’s answer. He confirms your suspicions when he shakes his head. “That’s what I thought.”

“You know how to tie me up with that?” Van asks, nodding at your palm. 

“Yeah. Hold on.” You shuffle off of his body, laying the tie out flat on the mattress next to Van. It’s a trick you’d learned from Mary years ago, and was easy enough to Google and relearn. With minimal fuss you’ve tied a handcuff knot, holding it up for Van. 

“No shit. You’re full of surprises tonight,” Van marvels. 

“So… do you wanna try it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Van grins. “I’ve already told you, you can do whatever you want to me. Consider me at your mercy, always. How do ya want me?”

You giggle, rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “Off of the bed,” You instruct him. 

“How kinky are we goin’ tonight?” Van asks as he clamors off of the mattress. “Am I supposed to get down on my knees?”

He’s teasing, beaming down at you from where he’s standing. You get off of the mattress as well, trying to nudge it downwards.

“I need some space between the headboard and the mattress,” You explain, out of breath with the effort of trying to move it on your own. Van’s headboard was solid wood, not wrought iron like yours. You’d need to secure his wrists to one of the support beams holding the mattress up. 

“You really thought this out, huh?” Van gets on the other side of the bed, helps you nudge the mattress a few inches down.

You don’t answer him, distracted with rearranging his pillows nicely before patting them. “Come lay down.”

Van obliges. As he’s holding his wrists out so that you can loop your handcuff knot around them, he nods to his bedside table.

“Don’t forget to grab a condom,” He reminds you.

You pause where you’re tightening the cloth against his skin. “About that.”

“We could skip it,” You suggest, trying to keep your voice light. “I mean, I know you’re clean. I’m on the pill. And I’m clean, but I don’t have, like, the records on hand, so, if-”

“Skip it.” Van cuts you off. “Deffo.”

The robe fabric is nice and snug against his skin, and you’re pleased when Van tests the restraint and it holds perfectly. Suddenly, everything is feeling very official. 

You need your phone flash light in order to loop the extra length around the support slat you’d moved the mattress to reveal. When you’re done tying that knot you’re out of breath.

“Good?” You ask Van when you stand up. He’s got his elbows bent, his wrists comfortably resting right above his head, and when he strains to move them there’s not anywhere for them to go.

You get back on his lap, but the air in the room has changed. The anticipation is stifling. You’ve never felt so unsure and so certain at the same time. You desperately hoped everything went off without a hitch.

You could do anything to Van with the way he’s restrained, but for some reason it feels right to get a hand around him, starting to jerk him off slowly. It’s weird to think you’ve never given him a hand job before, as simple the act is. You only really get your hands on him for foreplay purposes, but thankfully Van doesn’t seem to mind, arching his back into the sensation. Then you remember his balls, and your other hand slides between his thighs, brushing against the soft skin of them. You feel them tighten reflexively away from your fingertips, Van whining when you cup them. 

You could be minimal with Van’s foreplay, let your eagerness get the best of you, but you don’t. You keep your hand slow and steady, your rhythm perfectly even, and feel him swell in the palm of your hand, his hips wiggling to chase more friction. 

You snap out of your trance when you suddenly feel Van’s thighs tremble underneath you, a small dash of precome blurting from the head of his dick when your hand brings his foreskin down. You hadn’t realized how close he was getting, too engrossed in touching him. You bring your hands away from his dick but let his balls still rest in your palm, giving them some gentle attention while you let Van back away from the edge.

Once Van has cooled down, that’s usually your cue to get started. His breathing has relaxed slightly, not so harsh and loud, and he’s not shaking anymore. But without really thinking about it you wrap your palm around him for a second time. His stomach tightens in surprise, but he doesn’t protest, so you decide to experiment with starting your slow, even tugs again. 

This time you push your luck, still jerking him off even as you feel the warm drops of precome drip onto your fingers. You wait until he’s progressed past the trembling, until you feel his thighs tighten in anticipation of his orgasm before you release him, his dick coming to rest against his belly. While he’s trying to catch his breath you release his balls, letting them hang heavy between his legs in favor of having another hand free. He groans at the loss of contact, but you’re surprised at how quiet he’s been. You rub your hands up and down his thighs, accidentally rubbing his own precome over his skin. You wait until you feel his muscles unclench, until he relaxes into the mattress again with a sigh before you start up yet again.

There’s a strange thrill at what you’re doing, a dopamine rush like you’re playing the lottery. Van is clearly coming undone, hissing through his teeth at every slight touch, twitching and tensing helplessly beneath you. This time when you withdraw your hand you’re afraid you’ve misjudged him, because he tries to buck his hips up against your weight, his dick throbbing, and you’re positive he’s about to come all over his stomach even without your touch. When he doesn’t there’s a strange rush of pride that consumes you, only adding to the adrenaline rush.

Van’s been a good sport, but when you trace the vein on the underside of his dick with the tip of your finger, giddy with the way he startles, he stops staying quiet.

“Holy shit,” He gasps, and you can see his biceps flexing against his handcuffs. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” He chants, his eyes squeezing shut so tight you’re sure he sees stars when he blinks them open again.

“Too much?” You’d assumed Van was having a good time, but your heart sinks when you realize that he had no sort of safeword, that maybe you were getting a little too power hungry. 

“You’re driving me fucking mad,” Van groans, slamming the back of his head against his pillow. 

“Do you want me to stop?” You’ve stopped messing with him in case that’s what he’s getting at, absentmindedly tucking your fingertips under one of his knees, petting the thin skin back there. 

“I would like to fuck you some time this year,” Van snorts, his voice laden with frustration.

You keep caressing the back of his knee. “So… stop?”

Van lifts his head enough to shoot you a weak glare. “You can do whatever you want. Just wondering how long a lad’s supposed to fucking hold off.”

It takes one more go to rid Van of his pesky stubbornness. He’s reduced to a flushed, sweating heap on top of the sheets, and although he doesn’t tap out you wouldn’t feel comfortable edging him any longer. 

His body jerks as you rub up and down his sides, trying to ease him into the next thing. He clearly thinks you’re getting ready to play games again, unable to settle down. 

“I’m done, I’m done,” You find yourself whispering, his body instantly starting to relax in relief. “Are you good? Still want me to fuck you?”

Van cracks a smile at that, although he doesn’t look like he’s entirely with you. “You better,” He croaks. “Don’t let that be for nothing.”

“Still want to skip the condom?” You decide to double check for good measure. It had all been fun and games until now, when you feel an increasing sense of duty to make sure Van’s taken care of. “Do you want your hands free?”

“You’re acting like you broke me,” Van chuckles. “Yes to skipping. Leave me be and get on with it.”

You offer his cheek a reassuring pat before brushing the sweaty hair away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear as you’ve so often seen him do. You lean down for a kiss before sitting back up, positioning yourself over him. 

The absence of the condom is strange when you hold the base of his dick, and you jump when you start to position his head between your legs. He’s warm and throbbing with anticipation, and you can feel every pulse of his heart beat against your opening, your stomach fluttering as your body prepares to make room for him. 

“Oh my God,” You gasp as you start to lower down. Condoms had a tendency to make things a bit dry, to make the first few thrusts a bit tricky, but you’d forgotten how much simpler sex was without one. Van slides in without the slightest hold up, easily working his way deep even as you feel yourself tighten, your body instinctively trying to draw him in deeper. Once seated you force yourself to draw in a few shaky breaths, mentally willing yourself to relax around him.

As you’re lifting yourself back up Van moans, a vulnerable noise that has you clutching at his ribs.

“Oh, Van,” You whimper, aware that you’re losing control of the situation. But it’s been years since you’ve had unprotected sex, and that was when neither of you had any idea what you were doing, and this is a million times better, and Van is watching you with wide, blue eyes as you struggle to fuck him. “This is so good. Fuck, Van, it’s so good.”

He’s watching you in awe. “I know,” He nods, too consumed in you to fight his restraints, his wrists resting limply. 

It’s evident that neither of you are going to be able to hold on; your time apart, the hot tub makeout, fantasy turned reality and the lack of any barrier between your bodies has made tonight come to a rapid boiling point. Your hands scramble against his skin as you try to keep your balance against the shocks of pleasure that twist through your stomach, each one feeling like an orgasm that doesn’t quite make it to climax. With each exhale you’re making what you’d consider the most unattractive noises possible, crying out in desperation when each shock doesn’t make it all the way, your own body keeping you on edge the same way you’d done to Van. 

“I’m gonna fucking blow,” Van breathes after you have to pause to catch your breath against the feeling in your belly. “If you don’t want me inside get me the fuck out.”

“You’re fine,” You assure him, steadying yourself for another thrust. This time you support all of your weight on the palm pressed into Van’s chest, your other hand slipping between your legs so your fingers have access to your clit. When you meet Van’s gaze he’s gaping at you, mouth ajar.

“What?” You ask as you start quick, tight circles that combine perfectly with the fullness of Van. 

Van shakes his head. “You’re incredible,” He sighs, melting back against his pillows.

Your orgasm blooms hot and heavy between your legs, the pressure of your fingertips becoming unbearable, your legs collapsing under the weight of anticipation. You scream Van’s name embarrassingly loud, desperately wishing you had a pillow to muffle yourself. 

His own orgasm is unmistakable when it arrives only moments after yours. You have a flash of panic when you feel the warm gush of Van coming directly inside of you before you relax, remembering that it was intentional. This orgasm lasts noticeably longer than his usual ones, and with each pulse of his dick inside of you you feel impossibly fuller. When he’s done, his face smoothing out as he finally blinks up at you, you’re distracted by the syrupy heat between your legs, terrified for him to pull out.

“Don’t pull out yet,” You plead, your arms shaking as they continue to support you. 

Van gives you a lopsided grin. “Couldn’t if I wanted to.” He tugs at his tied wrists for emphasis. 

At this you can’t help but laugh. “Right.” It takes a strenuous amount of core strength to lift both of your hands, picking away at the handcuff knot until Van could slide his wrists out. His palms immediately come down to hold your hips in place, his skin warm against the wispy fabric of your lingerie. 

“I’ve got to take a shower,” You explain, your body shivering against his. You can feel Van shivering, too, the intensity of everything putting your bodies into overdrive. 

“I’ll take one with you.”

You cringe as you finally lift yourself off of him. Although things feel normal for a moment, by the time you’re standing next to the bed on shaky legs you can feel the trickle of Van’s come sliding down one of your thighs. There’s nothing to do but helplessly allow gravity to do it’s thing while Van leads you into the en suite, getting the hot water running in the shower.

As soon as your bra is a silk puddle on the floor and you’ve both stepped in, Van closes the glass door behind you before standing directly above the drain, pissing right into it.

“Are you peeing?” You ask incredulously.

Van twists his neck, grinning over his shoulder as he finishes. He gives himself two firm shakes, the shower water cascading down his shoulders and rinsing him off. “Yeah. You don’t piss in the shower?”

“I mean, yeah,” You admit, shifting your weight uncomfortably. You actually needed to pee right now, but there’s absolutely no way you’ll do it in front of Van. “When there’s not an audience.”

Van just shrugs, using his fingers to work the warm water through his hair. He reaches out for the bottle of shampoo he keeps on the small shower ledge, but before he can pop the lid up you wrap your own hand around it.

“Lemme do it,” You say quietly, not meeting his eyes as you take the bottle into your own hands, pouring an ice-blue dollop into the palm of your hand. 

Van doesn’t protest, instead stepping out of the stream of water so that you can warm yourself underneath it instead. He turns so that his back is facing you and you reach up, starting to work the shampoo into a foam over his scalp. He’s always felt so much taller than you, but his head isn’t too far out of reach, and you realize you two are closer in height than you’d thought. 

Standing in the small glass square space of Van’s shower, the events that just happened in the bedroom feel surreal. Usually, you two snap right out of your bedroom mentality, moving on to the next part of your day easily. But something about tonight lingers over you, and as you wash Van’s hair you get the feeling he’s on the same page. Everything still feels tender and vulnerable, your bodies still shivering even in the steam, and the protective urge to make sure Van’s comfortable and safe still hasn’t faded. You’re careful to use the side of your hand to smooth any suds away from his forehead, keeping his eyes shampoo free, and when you’re satisfied that his hair is clean you lean forward, planting a kiss on his shoulderblade. He switches places with you silently, rinsing himself off as you gather some stray streams of water into the palm of your hand, flushing between your thighs out as best as you can. 

“Want me to suds you up?”

You hadn’t planned on washing your hair, but considering you’d gotten it damp with chlorine in the hot tub you might as well. “Yeah.”

You shift so that you’re in front of him, your back to him. Van squeezes some shampoo into his hands, and suddenly his palms are smoothing over your head. His hands trail down the back of your neck in long, even strokes as he makes sure he distributes the shampoo all the way from your roots to the very end of each strand.

At first you’re gazing out of the shower walls at the enormous marble countertops housing the his-and-hers sinks, but once Van’s done smoothing his hands over you and starts to dig his fingertips in, really scrubbing at your scalp, your eyes lull closed. You hadn’t expected him to be so thorough, rolling your head back to lean into his fingers as he massaged every inch of your head, the foam of the shampoo running down your back. 

“Lean forward,” Van grumbles, gently tipping your head forward again. “You’re messing me up.”

You do as you’re told, disappointed when the washing finally comes to an end and Van withdraws his hands from your hair, stepping out of the water so you can have a turn to rinse. 

When you’re both finished you get to see Van’s reaction to the bathroom closet brimming with freshly washed towels. He doesn’t seem to understand the extent to which you’ve cleaned, and you suspect he’ll be pleasantly surprised for weeks to come when he sees all the work you’ve put into the guest bedrooms, not to mention what you’ve done with his favorite sunbathing patio. You swipe the towel over your skin, wiping away the excess droplets before wrapping it around your hair. You reach for your overnight bag again, this time to grab your Las Vegas shirt. You pick your lingerie up from the floor and slip it back into your bag, mentally congratulating it on a job well done. 

When you’re done tugging on a fresh pair of underwear (cotton, since itchy lace was no longer needed) and removing your contacts, you come back into the bedroom to see Van’s pushed the mattress back in place and remade the bed, his robe tie crumpled in the center of his comforter. He’s got a fresh pair of boxers on, and shakes his box of cigarettes in his hand as soon as you step out. 

“Let’s smoke.” He nods toward the giant glass window that stretches across the front wall of his room. There’s a narrow balcony on the other side, bordered by a sleek glass railing. You’re confused about how to step outside, but Van easily slips his fingers against the edge of the window, which slides open to expose the bedroom to the outdoor air. 

The balcony is unfurnished, Van plopping himself down in the corner, his back against the house. He’s brought the ash tray from his bedside table out, and you sit down next to him, stretching your legs out in front of you as Van doles out cigarettes to you both. 

“I didn’t even realize that window was a door,” You mumble before inhaling as Van holds the lighter flame to the end of your cigarette. Once it’s lit he does his own, peering out at the city twinkling beyond the railing.

“Don’t really bother to come out here,” He shrugs. “Rather just go out on the patio.”

“So why are we out here tonight?” You ask, looking down between your bodies at the ash tray while you tap your cigarette into it.

“Needed some fresh air. Get my head on straight.”

He punctuates his sentence with a long drag of his cigarette. You let the silence drag on, your body feeling heavier as the adrenaline from the sex starts to wear off.

“Was it good?” You finally decide to ask. You don’t know if it’s the same for Van, but the whole handcuff thing feels like the elephant in the room. For all intents and purposes it seemed Van had enjoyed himself, but now you’ve got the creeping anxiety that the reality might not be as appetizing for him as the porn made it seem. 

“The sex?” Van asks, looking over at you. When you nod, he hooks his thumb over his shoulder, grinning as he gestures to the bedroom. “Are we talking about the same thing? Because that was clearly brilliant.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, your arm coming to rest over his shoulders. You give his body a playful shake. “You know what I’m talking about. Would you do it again? That… whole thing?”

It’s Van’s turn to roll his eyes before exhaling a warm burst of smoke right into your face. “Christ, I hope we give that a go again. You weren’t fucking kidding about celebrating my birthday. You were absolutely mental in there!” He’s beaming right at you, nudging you with his shoulder. “I’ve never seen you act like that! With the lingerie and everything! What came over you?” 

He’s clearly having a blast teasing you, so now it’s your turn to smoke him out. It only pleases him more to know he’s embarrassed you, a blush blooming over your cheeks as you remember how it felt to be completely in control of Van. You lift your arm from his shoulders to ruffle his hair, and he snuffs his cigarette butt out, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“This is a daft question, since the deed’s been done and all…” You can feel his voice vibrating against your skin. “But you’re not fucking anyone else, right?”

You can’t see his expression while he asks, the only thing visible in your peripheral vision the part of his hair as his cheek stays pressed on your shoulder. As you ash your own cigarette out you plant a quick kiss in his hair. It’s more romantic than you would allow yourself on a regular day, but tonight wasn’t a regular night. “Nope. Just you.”

Van lifts his head from your shoulder. “You really got the shit end of the stick. Sorry, love.”

“Shit end of the stick?”

“Well, yeah! You’re in there in lace tyin’ me up, and all I’ve got to offer is some shit missionary.” 

“I like missionary,” You frown. “And you’re forgetting about the head.”

Van frowns. “You think it’s good?”

You shrug, looking away. “Best I’ve ever had.”

Van knows from your previous conversations with him that’s not a lie, so he doesn’t argue. You watch his eyelashes as he blinks, and it looks like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“You tired?” You ask, unwinding your arm where it’s snaked around him so that you can lift yourself off of the ground. 

He yawns, nodding. He takes your hands and you help hoist him up until he’s standing over you. 

Once inside, you both immediately climb into Van’s bed, the sheets still smelling like the fabric softener you’d used on them. 

Van doesn’t even go on his phone, too exhausted from today’s travels to fight his exhaustion. The lights are clicked off, and Van’s back is to you, his usual sleeping position.

You should roll over too, like you always do, but for some reason you nestle yourself against his back, throwing an arm over his side so that you’re spooning him. 

“What’re you doin’?” He grumbles, clearly almost knocked out after only five-ish minutes of silence. 

“Spooning you,” You say, as if that was any explanation at all, and kiss his hair again. You let your face linger by his scalp for a moment longer, breathing in the smell of his shampoo, before resting your head against your pillow. The skin of his stomach is soft against your fingertips, and the feeling of his body shifting rhythmically with his breathing immediately has your eyelids drooping.

You just loved him so, so, so much. And even if he didn’t love you back, you hoped he realized how much you cared for him. Because you realize now it’s more than you’ve ever cared about anyone else. 

\\