#fuckin burnt my pizza rolls

[ikikroqs]

Fellas, I fear that it is indeed gay

[patchiko]

Can you write a Jason Todd x reader where reader is a vigilante with element powers

And their eyes turn the color to represent the element they are currently using

Also if they could not have total control over their powers and Jason comforts them

hey anon! id love to write more about this but i need some more deets! if you have a more specific plot set down or a specific prompt, let me know in my inbox >:D

heres a short fic on

Jason Todd Comforting Element Powered!Reader

(SFW COMFORT FIC)

tw; overstimulation, physical discomfort,

Your body felt hot and overstimulated , like it was 85° and you had no fuckin’ AC to turn on. Curled into a ball, body burning, the cement around you burnt. Barely able to think straight, the physical discomfort around you made your head spin. Your tears rolled down your face from the physical discomfort of your powers, the sweat, the burning feeling in your palms. Starting to let out shaky breaths as the heat in your body got worse as your emotions exceeded your daily limit of bullshit.

“Hey.” His voice in itself was like a cool winter breeze, all you could do is peer your heard to look at him.

Jason was 10 feet away from you, so he wouldn’t get burned if you had an outburst. You still clutched at the fabric of your clothing, rocking yourself as tears streamed down your face. “You need to breathe, slow.”

Jason’s voice instructed. Your body was frozen, so he repeated again flatly. “Slow, you need to breathe slow so I can help you.” It took you awhile for you to control your breaths.

Mind buzzing back together slowly, you were in an alleyway, the pizza you were holding got cold, you tried to warm it up with your powers, and exploded the whole thing on accident. You had a shittier then shitty day and this was the final push, so you broke down in the alleyway. Turning every rat into a free steak.

You jumped as you felt Jasons hand press against you, tapping his fingers against you to be sure your skins not gonna make his palm melt off.

“Sorry.” He said softly, smoothing his hand against your shoulder,”Bad day?”

“Terrible.” you choked out. Wiping your tears and sniffling. “terrible…” you whimpered out again, letting your palm drop to the floor. Molten feeling like its ready to seep from your body, the burning sensation licking at your skin.

“Well, I can’t help you out if you turn me and this entire block into Gotham’s biggest campfire, so I need you to look at me and calm down.” He was half joking. He still won a chuckle out of you, peering into his eyes. Your red pupils slowly fading back to your original eye color. Continuing to breathe slowly, to count the sheep in your head, just like he would tell you to.

“How many sheep?” He asked

“62”

“105, and then i’ll get you icecream and we can talk about it.”

“Alright.” You looked down, he sat besides you and you leaned onto him. A tranquil silence falling between you two :)

sorry this took awhile anon D:

[badgloop]

burnt my stupid fuckin mouth on stupid fuckin pizza roll

[clowncalvary]

Reading All of Garfield (Up Until This Point) The 1981 Post

So in a hilarious and delightful turn of events I have managed to circle back around to loving reading the Garfield comics again! I'm sure this won't develop into the ups and downs of binging Garfield or anything.

Anyway, read the Garfield Archive and join me!

I personally enjoy that Lyman was even an option for who ate Jon's sock. Is that something that he does often? I love that for the months that we do not see Lyman he is out here eating Jon's socks. Absolutely the worst roommate ever.

Look at that! The nap attack bit is back! We had this one last year and I did not enjoy is that much then either. But I'm trying to look at this with fresh eyes! Anywho, Garfield The Archivist.

OH GOD, IT'S HAPPENING, JON IS WEARING LYMAN'S SHIRT

Ooo, the linework has changed for this panel! It looks like from here on out Davis is using a different kind of pen!

I'm.... Do you usually put mayo on salads, Garfield?

Why living a boring life just to have a boring death? Enjoy your demise, Garfield~

That is just how an owner talks about their cat though, absolutely savage. Also this strip made me fuckin' gasp while laughing so it gets an A+ for that.

A literal reaction to some of these strips, I think I am in the flop era. Either that or I am just anticipating the mighty return of Lyman. I know he's out there somewhere!

I'm Sorry, Jon.

Okay, I take it back, no flop era, I love every comic with Nermal in it~

Now this is just god (Jim Davis) having a laugh at Garfield's expense! Also, I would hate mondays too if they involved having pianos dropped on me!

LYMAN IS BACK, WE LITERALLY HAD NOT SEEN HIM SINCE JAN, BUT HE IS HERE AGAIN JUST IN TIME FOR GARFIELD'S BIRTHDAY! Now back into the closet with him.

One of my felines would disagree! She loves the leash and harness because it means that she can go roll around in the dirt.

She used to date Lizzie Borden!? I'm not sure if this is an age joke, or honestly just a fun thought experiment.

Oh you just KNOW that, that cat food is going to taste terrible. Sorry, Garfield, you're too honest to act.

Honestly, me too, I can't keep a straight face through nasty food either.

So, first I had to look up what the heck an "apteryx" was; and then I had to look up why this comic would be funny. Shout out to this thread on reddit where someone was as puzzled as me.

I too would like to become a moose because my life has gotten too routine.

Love how ready he was for this bit, man positioned himself in front of that mirror and everything, he was ready to make sure she knew how pretty he is.

Jon really went and taught Garfield how to fetch, that is fucking adorable. Look how happy Garfield is about it too! This cat just needs to let himself enjoy life more often in a simple way!

In a different timeline this is where Jon died. I really should have been keeping track of how many times that happens.

Imagine putting a landmine in your cat's breakfast. I can't imagine that this was the kind of spice that Garfield was wanting with his breakfast.

WHY DOES HE LOOK SO HAPPY ABOUT THIS?! For everyone out there that does not have cats count yourself lucky that you have never had to deal with wet cat food. Bathing cannot save you from the smell of cat food in your hair.

After I finish reading all of these I have to check out a garfield family tree, poor Uncle Nick.

HOLD UP! 🫵

ENHANCE

ENHANCE

FREEZE FRAME! THERE ARE NO ANCHOVIES ON THAT PIZZA! THAT IS VERY CLEARLY A BURNT TO ALL HELL PEPPERONI!

I have beheld that struggle, most relatable Garfield comic to ever exist.

When I tell you my eyes got so wide. I want there to be a returning bit where Jon is forced to chase his own mice and gets one of these put on his chest in the night

A perfect place to end this year! On A Threat.

[thelovelydoggycatmadi]

Lion has left me alone, currently I’m watching dragon maid characters being brutally murdered on loop. 

LIFE COULD BE A DREAM

I WANT OUT. I WANT OUTTTTT

LION LET ME OUTTTT

MICHEAL DONT LEAVE ME HERE- *RATCHED COUGH* MICHEAL MICHEALLLLL HELP ME-

Lion is back and now has more than soggy pizza rolls to eat.

“How was 11 year old me amused by this,” -Lion 

“They start the serious stuff fairly early-“ *Guinea pig in the next episode thumbnail* 

Jess is just an expert in yappology huh. 

Vhiscler “he had a wife and kids” 

THEY SAID BASTARD

WHO WAS THAT CREEPY GUY BRUH 

Jess/Aph is literally the personification of “thoughts and prayers thoughts and prayers,” 

SQUEAKERS 

Jess you can’t just commit arson like that

They’re taking forever to deliver this body.

SHES SUGGESTING THAT SHE RIDE A DOLPHIN WHILE DRAGGING VICSHLERS DECAYING CHARD CORPSE THROUGH THE WATER

Jess has shit taste in Guinea pig colors. 

Vylad committing grand theft boat??? Based???? 

I refuse to call the giunea pig Shawn Connery 

Lion sent me a guy looking sexy while cooking so now I’m animating Zane doing the same

Lions is starting to break (he hates puns) 

Why do people try and tell me this show is good 

Cuddlezilla can fight god 

Why wasn’t Ethan, Vischer, or Paul on the tier list 

Maybe I’m miss remembering but I’m kinda sad they didn’t bring up or even make a joke about the weird world Gen, like the village is LITERALLY on the water. You chouldnt make a joke about Donna’s village getting flooded and she had to take refuge here? Like- Come on guys the possibilities are endless! 

Ace finally came in and scared her cat and immediately left 

MY KNEECAPS AAAAAAAA MY KNEECAPS ARE GONE REDUCED 

She still hasn’t named this place I just realized 

WHY IS THE GUIENA PIG SO MASSIVE 

Aph is injecting the cake with hormones to help with the population problem, tbh she should just make a McDonald’s commercial that seems to work apparently- 

Aphmau commits a kidnapping 

At times like these I’m reminded that Zane is currently committing war crimes 

Fuckin something interesting is finally happening I guess, where burnt out today though. Rip garroth. 

MY FUCKING ELBOW HAS BEEN REDUCED

I can see why Garroth getting shot was left out in rebirth, props to Jess for seeing the obvious padding in the original and just made it so Brendan was dying. 

So far me and Lion fail to see how this is more appealing than MS, which it’s probably too early to tell. But I don’t want anyone to ever lie to my face and say that these episodes are better than anything MS has to offer. 

todays the day weenies.

this is where me, Lion, and Ace will be documenting my overall thoughts on MCD after 10 years of not touching it.

I hope you enjoy the ride!

[avintagekiss24]

GOOD STUFF || ANDY BARBER

pairing: Andy Barber x black!reader || word count: 3,798 || warnings: smut, sex, slight degradation, cum play, public sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying kink, praise kink || request: #39 - “they have good stuff down at the farmers market” w/ lawyer daddy Andy

authors note: back on my bullshit with this man. this is the first 4k celebration fic! i actually got this request some time last week when I first reblogged one of the prompt lists. inspiration for the sexy time came from @honeychicanawrites​ headcanon (🥴🤤 so fucking good), line divider by @firefly-graphics​!

You tap your fingernails against the open refrigerator door as you bite the inside of your cheek, your eyes bouncing around. You push a few items around, open the drawers, then move more items around, failing to find anything particularly appetizing. You could order a pizza; or chinese - Andy loves Chinese… but you know he’s been in court all week, his long days turning even longer; he can’t even relax when he’s home. The jury has been out for two days, and he’s worried. A home cooked meal is exactly what he needs.

You close the refrigerator and spin on your heel, grabbing your keys from the table and sling your purse over your shoulder and chest. You smile gently to yourself as you move out into the garage, hearing Andy’s voice in your head. Again? What is it with you and that farmers market?

It’s a short drive to your favorite little market, and within twenty minutes your nose is full of the fresh smell of fruits and vegetables, your fingers wrapped around a small basket. The air is crisp as autumn starts to blow through, the leaves on the trees all burnt oranges and browns, but the breeze is unseasonably warm. You browse slowly, stopping more frequently than not to pick up a ripe tomato, or an ear of corn just to smell them.

You scan through recipes mentally as you move through the large, crowded market picking up a little of everything on your way. Your phone buzzes in your hand, Andy’s name flashing across the front as you turn it over.

“Babe?” You say gently as you lift the sleek phone to your ear. Your stomach drops a little - it’s hours before he’s supposed to be home. The decision is in.

“We won.” Is all he says and you can hear the relief in his voice.

You close your eyes and tilt your head upwards, a smile on your face, “I knew you would baby. I’m so happy for you.”

“Well, you were the only one that knew,” his low chuckle rumbles in your ear, “I need to get the fuck out of here before I pull my hair out.”

“I’m at the store, so I’ll meet you at the house.”

He pauses, “Again?”

“What do you mean again?” you laugh, “I haven’t been to the store this week.”

“I know you better than that, you’re at the damn market again.”

You laugh, “They have good stuff down at the farmers market.”

You can practically hear his eyes roll, “I’ll meet you there in twenty.”

“No, babe, just go home and take a nice long shower.” You start, smiling as you pass a twenty to the young girl at the stand, “Get in your sweats - just relax. You can turn on some stupid Eddie Murphy movie and fall asleep with your hand down your pants and I won’t even complain.” His laugh travels through your ears and you can’t help but smile, “You deserve it.”

You can hear the soft click of his briefcase in the background, his steps against the marble floors of the courthouse, “I’ll meet you in twenty. Love you.”

The phone clicks before you can get out another word. You shake your head but smile as you slide the phone into your purse and start to move towards the front, to wait for him.

Andy Barber is nothing but punctual. Twenty minutes on the dot you spot his black Audi pulling into the parking lot and another smile spreads on your face. You continue to watch as he emerges from the front seat, pulling off his suit jacket and throwing it in the back seat before he slides his sunglasses over his eyes. He moves around the back of the car, undoing his cufflinks and rolling his sleeves up his forearms as he walks.

Your core tightens as you look him up and down, having to take a deep breath and expel it out of your nostrils to combat the sudden heat that flushes through your body. Your smile widens when he lifts his head and smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrows as he approaches.

He reaches for you, holding out his large hand and without thinking, you slide your smaller palm into his, letting him pull you into his hard body, “Hey baby.” His voice is deep, slow - tired.

You squeeze him, letting out another deep breath, “Hey, you.” You lean back after a few seconds, cupping his face in your palm as your eyes move around his face, “You look tired.”

He nods slowly, running his hand through his hair before he smiles softly at you again, “Nothing I can’t handle. Come on.”

“Lynn is going to give you a break, right? Is she gonna give some stuff to Neal for a change?”

He cuts his eyes at you at the sound of his name, “Not if anything big comes along, but yeah, she will.”

He links his fingers with yours, holding your hand tight as the two of you start to move down the aisle of the market. The breeze whips around you as the two of you make small talk, you careful not to bring up the case unless he does. You know it’s the last thing he wants to talk about. Taking your cues from him, you watch him out of the corner of your eye as he pokes and prods at random pieces of fruit. You run your hand up and down his long arm, up over his shoulder and massage the back of his neck as he pays for some blueberries, popping a few into his mouth as you laugh.

“I told you not to do that,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his back, “You need to wash them first.”

He shrugs and thanks the older woman before he pulls you around his body, tucking you into his side as he throws his arm over your shoulder. He kisses your forehead, “You look cute today.”

You laugh again, “Don’t ignore me, you can get sick from doing that, Andy!” He tickles the back of your exposed thigh, making you jump and squeal, giggles falling from your lips, “Andrew Barber!”

“That’s my name, you can totally wear it out.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh again, rolling your eyes, “What a fuckin’ nerd.”

“I’m a nerd because I like hearing you scream my name?” He asks seriously, stopping in front of you.

Your mouth drops open as your eyes widen, “Shhh!” you hiss, looking around, “Keep your voice down!”

He wraps you back up in his arms, pushing his chest and crotch into you, “Okay,” he whispers, “I’m gonna fuck you into the mattress when we get home.”

His words suck the air right out of your lungs. Your lips part as you blink back at him, your face hot, your legs turning to jelly at just the thought. You inhale sharply, a dumbstruck look on your face as your mind goes blank. He laughs at you, “Cat got your tongue, baby?”

“Andy,” Is all you can mutter.

He sucks his teeth, glancing over the top of your head as he sneaks his hand up into your skirt, palming your ass, making you gasp, “I haven’t fucked you all week. I’m horny, my cock misses you.” He purrs into your ear, gently swaying the two of you back and forth.

You exhale hard. Your eyes skirt around the market as your heart starts to beat faster, the blood rushing in your ears. He pinches your ass, then slides his hand slowly around your hip before he cups your sex, his fingers rubbing your slit through your panties.

The air chokes in your throat. You hear him grunt softly as your panties start to stick to your skin. He chuckles before he leans down to kiss your lips, “Such a responsive girl. Come, let’s get you home, hm?”

He grabs your hand, linking your fingers with his as he takes a few steps, “Better yet,” he says, bopping your nose with his index finger before he grabs your wrist and starts to pull you through the aisles in the opposite direction.

You follow behind him, almost having to jog to keep up with his long gait. He pulls you out of the small market and crosses the street, looking both ways as you run behind a few moving cars. He pulls you between two office buildings, stopping and turning suddenly to grab your face and crash his lips to yours. You drop the bags carrying your food around your feet, moaning into his mouth as you squeeze his sides.

He backs you into the brick building behind you, lifting your leg by your thigh and throwing it over his hip. You can’t object - you can’t find the words. You just wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him to you as he nips at your neck, right underneath your jaw - just how you like it. You tilt your head towards the sky, grunting softly as you arch your back from the wall, pushing your hips into his.

He grips your thigh tight, his wedding ring pressing into your skin - searing your flesh. He bites down into the crook of your neck and you jump from the sudden pain, your mouth falling open, a sharp moan slipping from your lips. He chuckles, deeply, slowly, into your ear as he runs his fingers over your pussy, palming your hot sex through your underwear, “You like that, baby?”

He leans back, his blue eyes bouncing back and forth between your dark eyes as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. He circles your clit, pressing the pads of his fingers against your heat. You roll your hips into his hand as you pant heavily, trying to keep your eyes linked with his. You have to sink your teeth into your own lip to stop yourself from getting loud - and he loves it. He loves doing this to you in the worst places.

He grabs your lips with his again, kissing you hard - his velvet tongue sweeping over your lip and the roof of your mouth as he finally pushes your panties to the side, “Andy-” you hiss, sucking in air as he pushes his fingers through your sticky folds, “Fuck, Andy.”

“Can you be a quiet girl? Hmm?” He asks softly, turning his head slightly to glance towards the sidewalk, “Can you be good for me?”

You nod quickly, completely out of breath and nearly vibrating from the lust pooling in your stomach, “Yes.” You whisper hard.

You drop your eyes to his crotch, watching as his hands start to undo his belt and pop the button of his expensive slacks. You whine audibly - digging your fingers into his shoulders in anticipation of that pretty cock. He pulls himself free and you could melt into a puddle. He’s hard, and long - thick - his tip shiny and wet from the droplets of precum that have dribbled out. He wraps his hand around his girth, stroking himself slowly - from his base to the tip, sweeping his fingers over his slit.

“Andy,” you beg, pushing your hips into him, wanting to feel him spread you open, “Please, baby.”

He smiles.

He slips his cock through your folds, rubbing your clit with his tip before he pushes at your opening. He flicks his eyes up to you and rests his forehead against yours - his lips brushing over your swollen lips, “You gonna be a quiet girl?”

“Yes!”

He licks your lips with his hot tongue, “Good girl.”

He pushes slowly and you help - sinking down onto his thick cock - letting him spread your tight, wet muscles. Your eyes flutter - your mouth drops open as he occupies your depth, filling you right up. You wrap your arms around his neck again as he nuzzles into the side of your face, his soft beard rubbing against your cheek, adding to your desire. You dig your fingers into his hair, grabbing a handful to gip as he starts to move, pulling completely out of your cunt before he delves back in.

You can’t help the moans that fall from your lips and fill the air as his hips push you slightly up the wall. You keep your leg thrown over his hip as he fucks into you, one of his hands around your throat, the other flattened on the bricks to hold his weight. He pushes the tip of his thumb into your mouth, and you bite down before you push your tongue along it, inviting him to shove the rest of it in so you can suck on it.

“You are such a good girl,” he grunts into your ear, nibbling and pulling on your earlobe.

Your heart jumps into your throat at the praise, your chest swelling with pride. You are such a good girl. He continues to pound his hips into yours, bouncing you up and down on his dick as he lifts your hand, his fingers playing with the big, shiny rock on your finger. He kisses it before shoving your fingers into his mouth, a thick, heavy moan scratching at the back of his throat.

A shiver runs the length of your spine as his tongue swirls around your thin digits, his hips still digging into yours. Your slick muscles start to squeak from the wetness; from his warmth pushing and pulling from you, filling every inch of space your sweet pussy has to offer. You can feel your arousal slipping down the inside of your thigh, thick and warm, a mixture of your slick and his seed.

Andy pushes deep inside of you, halting his hard rhythm to wiggle his hips slowly, wanting to go deeper - to feel every part of you. He leans back again, his eyelids low as he watches you squirm. A slow smirk covers his mouth as he pumps his hips just once, pushing deep again, “Do I feel good?”

His voice is husky - full and silky as he teases you. You nod as your head swims, your stomach and chest tight, your clit swollen and achy, begging to be touched. You writhe, pushing your tits and hard nipples into his chest and roll your hips, catching the faintest touch of his pants against your bundle of nerves, making you shiver again. He slams into you unexpectedly and you squeal, digging your nails into his bare forearm.

“I asked you a question,” he murmurs, his words slightly slurred as his own arousal gets the best of him, “Do I feel good to you, baby?”

“You know you do, Andy, baby,” you groan, rolling your hips again, “S’good.”

He slips his hand down your body and between your legs, pushing his fingers against your clit and begins to rub you slowly, his eyes staying on yours, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “You like being my little whore, don’t you baby girl? Hmm?”

You grunt at the words. Your body tenses as your lust and need of him unfurls in your stomach. This man - this reticent, straight-laced, uptight man turns into the absolute devil at the sight of you - and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Gone are the eloquent speeches he laces together on almost a whim to charm and convince his jury. All that’s left are the dirty, lush, hot words that strike you to your core. It must be the Gemini in him.

You pull your hips back, his cock sliding out of you before you roll back onto him, pushing that fat cock back in, “I love being your whore.” You whisper, biting your lip just as the last word slips between your teeth.

He shutters. You feel it roll through him and you can’t help but smile. You love this little game.

Andy hisses as he pulls out of you slowly and jams himself back in, nipping at your mouth with his as he starts his pace again. His fingers continue to push against your clit, rough and quick as your octave starts to rise. He stops suddenly, shaking his head as he places his index finger to his lips, “Be a quiet girl.” He reminds you, his voice hushed, “Or you won’t get anymore.”

You sink your teeth into your lip again and nod frantically, urging him to move. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling his chest into yours and slam your eyes closed as he sends you on a journey. He fucks into you hard and fast, grunting and growling in your ear as your cunt tightens around him.

“Fuckin’ hell, girl,” he mutters, his chest tight, his large palm gripping and pinching your thigh.

You slam your hand over your mouth to muffle your cries as shockwaves start to roll through you. Each pulse of your orgasm gets harder and more intense, your legs shaking, your hips jerking into his as it washes over you. Your choked mewls fill the small area between the two buildings that shield you from view as you arch your back away from the wall, pushing your thick nipples into his hard chest.

“You want my cum, baby? Hmm?” He asks, his voice strained, “You crave my cum, don’t you girl? That’s right,” he breathes, “You love my cum.”

It isn’t long after that - the convulsions of your heat, the slick of your femininity - coax his untethering. His strokes punctuate each spit of his cock, his thick, silky cum filling you up to the very brim. He grunts, low and deep - scratchy - as his dick jumps inside of you, giving you every ounce of him. He slips out of you seconds later and falls to his knees, pulling your short, flowy skirt up to your waist.

He pulls your panties down, leaving them in the middle of your thighs before he pushes your legs open as wide as they can go. He grabs your arms and wraps them over your stomach, holding your wrists in one of his hands, pushing them into you to keep you still as the other hand slips through your folds. You squeeze your muscles tight, wanting to keep every drip of him inside but it trickles out, running down your thigh.

“Aww baby,” he coos, flicking his eyes up to yours, “That pretty little pussy is so full! You need me to help you keep it all in, don’t you? You always need daddy’s help.”

You whimper, pushing your hips into his face as he drags his fingers up your thigh, collecting his cum, pushing it back up to your messy pussy. He shoves his thick fingers into you, groaning loudly as you tense and jump - still sensitive, still reeling from your shattering orgasm. He pumps his fingers inside of you, staring at your wet, sticky, puffy cunt, sucking his teeth and moaning all the while.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” he praises, still holding your arms tight so you can’t move, “You are such a good girl, taking my cum like that. I love how well you take my cum.”

You pant hard, your face breaking as emotion starts to roll down your cheeks. You cry softly as he fingers your delicate, sore cunt, pushing his cum back inside of you. You start to shiver, whimpering and crying as you rest your head against the wall, tilting your head towards the sky. It feels so good to be so full of him - his fingers, his cum - it just feels so damn good.

His tongue skirts across your clit and you sob, your body jerking at the sudden spark of electricity that flashes through you, “Oh my god,” you cry, “Andy.”

He sucks your clit into his mouth, sucking hard before he pulls away with a loud smack - moaning as he watches his fingers plunge in and out of you, “You’ve earned this baby girl,” he says softly, “For being such a good girl while I was working. I hate neglecting you.” He moans again as he pushes his face into your sex, sucking your flesh back into his mouth before he pulls away again, “You are my favorite girl in the whole world.”

You cum again within minutes, all over his fingers and face, his soft hums vibrating through you as he laps it up. Your legs are jelly as he kisses the insides of your thighs and down to your knee as he continues pushing his fingers in and out of you, curling them gently, massaging your taut muscles.

He thumbs your clit as he peppers kisses up and down your leg. Your clit stings from the stimulation, your heart pounds in your chest - the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears. When he knows you’ve had enough, when you can barely stand any longer, he pulls his fingers from you. He kisses your swollen cunt sweetly before he stands and pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

He hugs you tightly, his large hands sweeping up and down your back, “I love you so much,” he whispers softly, dropping kisses along your forehead and cheeks, over your nose, in the corners of your mouth, “I love you so, so much. You know that, right? I can’t ever get enough of you, baby.”

You ball his shirt in your hand as he lifts you from your feet, wrapping your legs around his waist. You’re a crying mess - unable to verbalize your love for him, but you know that he just knows. He holds you tight, rubbing your back slowly as you nuzzle into his neck. He only sits you back on your feet once you’ve calmed down, hovering over you, his thumbs wiping at your cheeks to remove the wetness of your tears. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you gently, purring as a smile tugs at his lips.

“Your lips are always so soft after you cry.”

You smile soft, your eyes still closed as you run your hands up and down his veiny, hairy forearms - still grounding yourself, “Yours are always soft.”

He smiles, warm and gentle, making you swoon like you were back in college, laying eyes on him for the very first time. He pushes his hands along the sides of your face again, both of his thumbs brushing over your plump lips, “Let me drive you home.”

“I’m fine,” you giggle, “Just grab the bags for me, please.”

“I don’t want you driving.” He brings your hand to his lips, kissing the backs of your fingers, “I’ll come get your car later. Come.”

His tone is stern. You know better than to argue with the best district attorney in all of Massachusetts.

[andromedacorp]

LOG003_RECORDING.MP4 — 03:22/2045/11/23

DAITHI: Fuck, Dan— what time is it?

RT: Eh… a little bit past three? That’s not really important right now, though. I’ve got something to talk to you about.

DAITHI:Eight missed calls…? I thought somethin’ bad happened to you.

RT: Oh! No, no, sorry, nothing bad. Something good, actually! 

DAITHI: It better be. Eight calls… fuckin’ tree ay-em…

RT: Come on now, hear me out. I’ve been lookin’ through Lewis’ old things, right? Mostly old plans, typical boring paperwork, but I’ve found somethin’ really interesting. Arasaka blueprints for some big project… You know how hard it is to get these? This could be somethin’ good for us— for Andromeda. I was thinkin’ that you could help me with them? You’re the best tech I know, so I figured if anyone would have any idea how to make this stuff, it’d be you.

DAITHI: … Did you say blueprints from Arasaka?

RT: Heard me right! Now, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue how Lewis managed to get these, no clue how legitimate those dealings were— Ah, you know how it is— but this isn’t an opportunity we can just pass up, is it?

DAITHI: Alright, alright, fine. I’m gettin’ up. Fucks sakes…

RT: Attaboy! I figured that’d get your attention. 

DAITHI: Well, it’s not every day you start callin’ me your best tech… And I’m already fucked if McCorp tries lookin’ for that android, so… might as well aim for the next biggest corporation, right? … You can be a real convincin’ prick, you know that?

RT: Ah, stop it, you. Makin’ me blush. You did most of the work for me, anyways. So, you’re in?

DAITHI: ‘Course I am. Anything for you.

RT: … Is that your microwave in the background, there? Are you actually making chicken nuggets right now? I’m about to have you signin’ NDAs and you’re making chicken nuggets?

DAITHI: First of all, I’m makin’ fuckin’ pizza rolls— second of all, you woke me up! I’m gonna be up all damn night now listenin’ to you talk to yourself, I might as well make breakfast. Aah—! They’re fuckin’ hot, shit…

RT: They just came out of the microwave…? Show some restraint. And could you focus? This is important, you know—

DAITHI: AnD cOuLd YoU fOcUs? Shut up, man! Ugghhh, I think I burnt my finger…

RT: That’s what you get, interruptin’ me. 

DAITHI: ThAts WhAt yOu GeT… nyeh nyeh nyeh!

RT: …

… Sorry.

RT: Where was I? Ah, right. So, it seems like it’s still a work in progress— lots of pieces missin’, it’s disorganized, the like— but from what I gather, the basic premise is that it’s a collection of separate AI, each designed to perform different tasks, that you’re able to store on… say, a computer, and at any point you’re able to transfer those to a memory chip, right? Which you’d put in your neural processor, and the AI’d be able to watch and listen to what’s goin’ on and sort of… analyze it, I suppose. Give you advice, manage risk, store information, maybe even more. I mean, can you imagine the sorts of things that could be done with this? 

DAITHI: Shit… that sounds like self-learning AI, yeah? They only run those for cybersecurity and data analysis— but one that you can use on a day-to-day basis? I bet you Arasaka thought they were wastin’ their time with hard coding, you know how fast they learn? You could teach them anythin’... completely personalize it to whatever ye need… Jesus. This could completely fuckin’ transform the market for cyberware— this is some serious shit, Dan.

RT: Yes, exactly! See? I told you it was important. This could be revolutionary, for you and me— not to mention what we could do with it on a larger scale. Just about every person in Night City could find a use for this. I’ll be sendin’ the blueprints and other details over to you soon so you can take a look at it all… er, along with all the necessary paperwork, you know the drill. I’ll keep the fine print brief this time.

DAITHI: Yeah, yeah. ‘Course I will. Ugh, gotta reschedule all my fuckin’ appointments… Might have to move Bri’s thing to next week… Knowing you, you want this set up as soon as possible.

RT: Oh, ‘course. Better sooner than later. Progress waits for no man! Er, well, man or whatever Brian’s supposed to be. He’s holding up well, I take it?

DAITHI: Mhmm. Just got done installing all of his body plating, just gotta make sure everythin’ is workin’ before I do any other body mods… he’s been askin’ for some stuff, you know how he is. Impatient and all. Maybe… hmm. I could use his help to set up, but d’ya think he could sign an NDA and be legally bound by it? Probably, right?

RT: Ehm… I’m not sure, actually. I don’t think we’ve ever needed to have a combat mech sign one— not that Brian is, by any stretch of the mind, a typical combat mech. I’ll check with my legal team, but one way or another I’ll get him over here. Oh, and make sure he’s recognized as a neutral mech and not one of MC’s, yeah? Wouldn’t want our system to clock him as a threat. Should be some sorta chip you can take out, that’s pretty standard.

DAITHI: Right, right. It’ll take me an hour or two to reschedule all of my shit, then I gotta get another CPU, maybe a couple, just to run more of ‘em at once. You should have some stuff, already, but— ugh, I’m too fuckin’ tired to think about this, man. We can be there by… around three or four today, maybe? Does that work for you?

RT: Sure, sure, that’ll be grand. Bring whatever you need to, I’ll let ‘em know you’re headed over. See you then, Daithi.

[y0itsbri]

it's pizza night at the gallagher-milkovich household!

word count: 2k

usually they order a couple pizzas from some local joint: thin crust chicago supreme for ian and deep dish meat lovers for mickey, though they steal pieces of each others' all the time (even if mickey has to pick off all the onions from ian's chicago supreme.)

but tonight ian wanted to do something different. the tomatoes and bell peppers from the garden were finally looking ripe. ian, with his green thumb, had spent most of spring and summer nurturing a row of plants in the community garden of their apartment complex. mickey had thought it was boring as fuck at first when nothing seemed to be changing, but eventually seeing the plants shoot up and seeing ian excited about all the new growth gave him a paternal kick somewhere from deep inside him. he even found himself wondering how the plants were holding up after a particularly bad thunderstorm one night. for fuck's sake -- was he a plant dad now? when the fuck did this happen?

and if they were going to make their own pizzas with ian's fresh vegetables, they sure as hell weren't going to cut any corners with the store-bought dough. though mickey would never admit it, he was getting pretty good at baking, which was something ian was both a little jealous and very proud of. at this point, mickey was basically a pro specifically at making orange cranberry bread (which ian had become immediately hooked on for a few weeks after jill brought over a loaf as a 'sorry-my-boyfriend-pissed-off-mickey' gift) and also at his favorite peanut butter chocolate chip cookies (mickey has such a sweet tooth, and ian has no idea how he hasn't had more cavities.) surely pizza dough couldn't be too much different than the rest of mickey's pretty impressive baking skills.

after work wednesday evening, mickey emerged from the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist. he peeked out into the living room expecting to see ian zombified on the couch with the usual two boxes of pizza balanced across his legs. however, mickey was thrown off a bit as he spotted ian behind the kitchen counter rummaging through cabinets, occasionally opening the fridge, and proudly wearing his "i like to get high (quality ingredients)" apron, which had been a very appropriate birthday gift from lip.

"what's with all the ruckus in here, big bang," mickey teased. ian's wild eyes calmed a beat after they had finally noticed mickey standing in the doorframe. he checked out his husband up and down once over as a mischievous smile blossomed on his face.

"it's a surprise, but i'm gonna need you to put some clothes on," ian announced, even though his darkening eyes were saying quite the opposite.

mickey was rather hungry and curious about the shitstorm of a mess in the kitchen, so he decided not to push his luck with ian's lustful gaze and instead obediently turned around to pull on some sweatpants while mumbling something about "can't be too good of a surprise if i have to put on clothes." ian smirked from behind him.

mickey swaggered back to the kitchen wearing one of ian's old rotc t-shirts, hoping it would get enough of a rise out of ian for him to enthusiastically take it off late in the night. as if ian needed a reason.

"alright, alright, tough guy. what's the big surprise?"

ian slid his arm around mickey's waist and pulled them flush together as they stared at the array of ingredients sprawled out.

"Pizza," he stated as if it were a simple fact.

mickey's brow furrowed. there clearly wasn't any pizza on the counter. "where's the fuckin' pizza? or did you get too high," he teased, poking at ian's apron.

"ha. ha. very funny, babe. just high quality ingredients, remember?" ian winked and mickey smirked, musing at his dork. when mickey didn't counter him again ian cleared his throat and continued, "no, but for real. ya know how i've been growing vegetables in the garden here?"

mickey nodded. as if he could forget.

"well, for pizza night i was thinking that we could make our own with some of the vegetables and i was hoping," he dragged out the word and squeezed mickey's waist, "that you would make the dough, seeing that you're the star baker of the house."

mickey rolled his eyes. he didn't know where ian got the impression that he was the next best thing to a professional baker when he would usually just take the easy way out. especially when he was hungry and it came to pizza night. but he was secretly very excited to try the food that ian had spent so much time cultivating.

"yeah, man, let's get it." mickey leaned over the counter to turn the bluetooth speaker on and connect his phone, 'wait by the river' by lord huron playing. he grinned as he allowed ian to slide his hand down his arm and lace their fingers as they swayed together for a moment before pulling away and promptly getting to work on food prep.

ian hummed while he washed and chopped the vegetables, occasionally making comments about how he can't believe how colorful they are or how they had grown from nothing. mickey entertained his comments while he made the dough, "well not quite nothing. there was the seed and the sunlight and the shitty ass soil and you watered it a bunch and stuff. all that love ain't nothing." ian warmly smiled at how casually his husband talked about all forms of love now.

once everything was cleaned and diced and the dough was divided into two equal slabs, they got to shaping their crusts. mickey, being the little shit that he is, had extra flour on his hands and wiped some across ian's cheek. he took off behind the counter and into the living room before ian was able to even get out an agitated "what the fuck, mick!" ian was soon on his heels though and tackled him into the couch, wrestling and straddling him and pinning mickey's arms above his head with one hand and smearing flour from his own hand across mickey's cheek as he struggled.

"payback's a bitch," ian teased through his fits of laughter as mickey's face was twisted up in utter disgust, "oh c'mon, mick, can't take it?"

"you know exactly what i can take, asshole," mickey wiggled his eyebrow as he grumbled lowly. ian's face dropped in complete shock as he was taken off guard, and his grip loosened. mickey used that moment of weakness to flip ian off of him and straighten up his shirt as he stood, no mind to the floured handprints placed haphazardly all over himself, and definitely not entirely from his own hands.

"great, so pizza, then?" he smiled over his shoulder at a disheveled ian as he went to go shape the dough, innovatively using a can of beans as a rolling pin.

ian joined him behind the counter and smacked his ball of dough. "hmm"ed and paused. mickey turned to investigate the curious glint in ian's eye when he heard and felt a similar smack on his own ass.

"oh my fucking god, ian. we're never going to get anything done. i'm fucking starving," he groaned.

"as if you didn't start it!"

mickey paused for a moment. sure, fine, yeah. ian had a point with this one, "whatever." he poked ian in the side and then turned back to his pizza. after they were rolled out enough, ian picked up the spoon to put sauce on.

"nah, man! what the fuck are you doing?" mickey snapped, more with urgency than actual agitation, "we gotta cook them for a little bit first before putting all the shit on there, ya know?"

ian put his hands up in innocence and slowly backed away from both the pizzas and the oven, "my bad, chef, carry on."

mickey flipped him off before slipping the two crusts into the oven for a couple minutes. while they waited, ian picked up mickey's phone and pulled up a youtube compilation video of gordon ramsay 'critiquing' his chefs.

"hey mick, this is you in the kitchen."

they watched for a couple minutes as ian laughed his ass off.

"oh fuck off, you'd burn the place down without me," mickey retorted, carefully pulling the crusts out of the oven. ian just rolled his eyes and resumed playing the music from a spotify playlist that mickey totally did not have named 'date night🥀.'

they took turns spooning sauce with chunks of fresh tomato onto their half baked crusts and then sprinkled on some grated cheese and pepperoni, which they had picked up at the farmer's market on their last trip with a couple of the women in their complex they had accidentally befriended.

as much as mickey ate like a broke college kid when he was left to fend for himself most days, he really didn't mind vegetables (except for fucking onions -- those could rot in hell.) despite this, ian still looked on astonished as mickey piled on the veggies just as much as his pepperoni. that was really saying something.

mickey glanced up, "what, popeye? like you're the only one that gets to enjoy the shit from the garden? i gotta taste for myself all the hype that went into this!"

a look of pure adoration flashed across ian's face as he laid a smooch on mickey's forehead. mickey's felt fucking butterflies in his stomach. he thought that being married to the guy would make those feelings simmer down, but as if it was even possible, the flames burned even stronger.

as they waited for their pizzas to cook in the oven for the final time, they giggled like lovestruck teenagers as they wiped the flour off of each others' faces, making an even bigger mess than they started with, as mickey's hair was now dripping wet. they then cleaned off the countertops and packed the extra ingredients in some blue-lidded tupperware set that debbie had recommended.

ian got two beers out of the fridge, "special occasion," he reasoned. mickey scoffed. as if they needed a reason to get fucking smashed.

soon the pizzas were done, and only slightly burnt at the edges, "adds flavor," mickey reasoned. as if anything mickey actually put effort into cooking would be less than perfect.

ian sliced the warm pizzas as mickey grabbed a couple plates, pausing in his steps to not-so-subtly stare at his husband's biceps flex with the force of the pizza slicer.

they didn't even bother to put on a tv show in the background as they ate. mickey's phone was still playing some chill, lowkey romantic music, and they were just excited to dig in. at this point mickey was fucking starving. mickey quite literally moaned as he took his first bite. ian snapped his head to stare daggers at mickey, watching his throat intently.

"shiiiit. that good, huh?" ian murmured.

all mickey could manage to do was nod as he swallowed.

"might have to do this more often," ian suggested as he took a bite of his own slice. shit. this was good.

"good job growing this shit, man," mickey praised through a mouthful. he swallowed, then added on teasingly, but actually oh-so-serious, "might wanna try growing some mary jane next year if you keep it up with your green ass thumb."

"sure, mick." ian took a sip of his beer. ian would agree to anything mickey would ask of him right now, tipsy on both his beer and his fondness of his husband. as if he could read his mind, mickey reached his hand out to rest on ian's thigh, squeezing once before resting it there for the remainder of dinner.

they finished off the beers and pizzas in bliss, leaving the dishes near the sink to be tomorrow's problem. they didn't even make it out of the kitchen before ian started to tug on the hems of mickey's shirt.

[samingtonwilson]

Apartment 8C - Chapter 4

The First, First Date

SERIES MASTERLIST // PREVIOUS PART

Summary: college au. you and bucky are the closest of friends, the most functional of roommates, and… exes. but just because it didn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean he has to move out! it’s not like he’s so deeply in love that he can barely breathe. totally not in love. at all. not even a little. maybe.

Pairing: bucky x reader

Warnings: LANGUAGE, the use of marijuana/pot/weed/reefer/that loud

A/N: i had a bad thought while writing this chapter and i’m not going to share it with y’all because that might put y’all off this story. actually fuck it, i’ll share the thought. isn’t it so weird how obsessed we all are with love? like these are college students with so much more happening in their lives but they’re sitting around and always talking about love. and a lot of us do that shit too. weirdos. 

There’s a knock at the door and Bucky replies to it with a groan. A loud, I don’t give a fuck if the neighbors hear me kind of groan. 

Slumped on the couch, phone balanced on his stomach and remote control set on his thigh, he very nearly snarls. He doesn’t bother to pick up either electronic as he stands, letting his phone fall face down on the area rug while the remote knocks against its corner with a clang. 

His journey to the door is comprised less of steps and more of a slide, a glide, a bit of a skate. He’s thankful he kept his socks on and unlocks the door, eyes half-lidded and heavy head tilted back. “The delivery instructions said to text and leave the bag at the door, not to knock and make me get up.” 

“That how you talk to delivery people? They should ban your sorry ass from Doordash.” 

He straightens his head and glares at Steve— smirking, smug, smart ass Steve who holds a large brown paper bag in one hand and a six pack in the other. It somehow makes Bucky frown deeper. “You intercepted my delivery?” 

“And brought you beer,” he holds the cardboard case up and shakes it, smiling. 

That smile fades, however, when he pauses in thought for a moment. He frowns then, indignant. Pushes Bucky out of the way to cross the threshold into the apartment. “So, you know, you’re fuckin’ welcome, you ungrateful jerk.” 

A sigh and Bucky shuts the door. He watches as Steve appraises the room and feels no shame at the look of disgust on Steve’s face. Instead, he rolls his eyes when Steve fully faces him. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“You clean out your fridge? It broken or something?” Steve asks. He sets the bag and beer onto the coffee table, shuts Bucky’s dead laptop that he hasn’t bothered to charge. Steve then places Bucky’s phone and the remote control on the couch and begins to gather the empty take out containers still cool from the refrigerator. 

Bucky grits his teeth at the sight. “Steve, just— What the hell are you doing?” 

“Picking all this shit up so we can eat and watch the game,” there’s a cheerful lilt through his words. He sends a smile Bucky’s way, humor in the blue of his eyes, as he passes to toss the containers into the trash. “Thanks for asking, Buck. What the hell are you doing?”  

“I—” Bucky still stands by the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in incredulity when Steve crosses to the couch once more and falls into the cushions with a sigh of relief. “Steve, I’m not in the mood today, man.” 

“In the mood for what?” The volume of the television is turned up, Steve hugs the elephant cushion to his chest. “You were gonna watch the game anyway, so was I. Might as well do that in the same place and eat a li’l somethin’ while we’re at it.” 

Bucky’s sigh is one of defeat. He takes steps back to the couch rather than skating over, and sits beside Steve with a mumbled, “I didn’t order anything with your fat head in mind.” 

Steve leans forward to pull the bag open, paper crinkling as he pulls a sandwich from the depths. He tosses what remains in the bag onto Bucky’s lap. “Stopped at a deli on the way here. Don’t know what the fuck you’re eating but it smelled like dog shit.” 

He smiles to himself. Wryly. “What deli you stop at?” 

“Shelsky's.” There’s pride in Steve’s voice. Arrogance in his posture. “I didn’t want to cheap out and settle for something worse.”

“That’s where I ordered from, you fucking snob.” 

“Must’ve ordered something nasty then.” 

A sarcastic hum of agreement and Bucky shakes his head. He narrows his eyes at the television as Steve flips through the channels in an attempt to find something more entertaining than the advertisements currently airing on Fox. “Why’re you really here?” 

“It’s Thursday night,” he replies, using a keychain to pop the cap on a bottle of beer. “Titans are playing the Jags.” 

“You don’t care about either of those teams.” 

Steve drops his smile now. He scowls and settles back on Fox, unsatisfied. “Can’t a guy eat a sandwich, drink a beer, and watch a game with a friend without the third degree?” 

“Couldn’t have done that with Sam?” 

“I do a variation of this with Sam almost every night. Wanted to spend time with you today.” 

“But—” 

“Buck, for shit’s sake, let me be here for you without making us both live through me saying why.” He reaches forward to pull another beer from the carton, placing it in Bucky’s lap, and slouches back against the soft grey velvet. “And if you wanna talk about it, I’m here for that, too.” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Bucky asks, more rhetorical than expecting an answer. 

There’s a pause as Bucky gazes at the television with practiced focus. His arms fold over his chest again. His knee bounces.

“She’s on a date,” he continues after the lull stretches for too long. “She was going to start dating eventually. I’m okay with it. Happy for her. T’Challa’s a good dude. Good looking, good soccer player. Smart. It’s nice. Good for her. I’m happy for her. She deserves someone like him. I’m happy for her. 

“He actually came to the door. Didn’t text her to meet him downstairs, didn’t show up empty-handed. We both know how uncomfortable she is with actual romantic gestures and I guess he knows, too, because he gave her a Ziploc of peaches like she had in class the day they met. It’s nice. He’s a good dude. I’m happy for her.”

Through the thick silence that falls over them, Steve blinks. “Christ, you know you just spoke for a minute straight without taking a breath? I think you said ‘I’m happy for her’ thirteen times.” 

Bucky’s inhale is loud and pointed, his exhale a huff. He’s no longer interested in eating the sandwich he’d ordered, suddenly full from all the leftovers he’d tucked into just minutes ago. All he wants is for Steve to leave. 

Well. That’s not all he wants. 

But it trumps his other desires. Momentarily. 

“I know you’re happy for her,” Steve says as Bucky parts his lips to tell the former off. Bucky shuts his mouth now, though. And just listens as Steve’s voice grows softer, eyes no longer dancing in humor. “But I know you’re fuckin’ miserable, too.” 

He knows there’s no point denying it. No point denying what’s so plainly written across his face. 

But he tries anyway. “M’not miserable. I’m ha—” 

“You can be both.” Steve, unwrapping the parchment from his sandwich, keeps his eyes on the television. “It’s possible to be happy for her but miserable at the idea of it all deep down. S’why I thought you might wanna move out.” 

“She’d still go on dates if I’d moved out.” 

“You wouldn’t have to watch her going on them.”

“I’m okay with her dating.”

“I’m okay with a lotta things, too. Doesn’t mean I wanna see it all happen in front of me.”

Bucky watches as Steve takes an impossibly large bite out of the sandwich, Russian dressing smearing over his lips. “I’ve got a date, too.” 

“Buck,” Steve’s mouth is full. Horribly so. And Bucky scowls at the sound of his thick voice. “This ain’t a date. Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you. I just don’t feel that way about you, man.” 

A sarcastic smile and even more dry laugh. “Shut the fuck up. I’m talking about Connie.” 

Steve scowls as he swallows. “That perky little brunette from the bar?” 

“Perky?” 

“I can just look at her and tell she was on her high school cheerleading squad.” Around another bite, he adds, “Seems nice enough, I guess.” 

“She is nice.” He pauses only to mumble more to himself, “And emotionally available.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow and briefly looks at Bucky in skepticism. “What, you determined that from just a few days of talking?” 

“On the second day she told me she’s liked me since freshman year orientation.” He sighs your name then. Slowly. Laboriously. “She was somethin’ else entirely. You know how long it took her to admit she liked me?” 

Steve nods upwards and flips the channel when the commentators on the pregame show begin to argue. 

“Took her three months after we started dating to admit she liked me. And she never said it again after that.” 

Steve drags the back of his hand over his lips, wiping off a bit of stray dressing. In visible disgust, he wipes his hand on the discarded butcher paper. “Some people show their feelings rather than say them.” 

Bucky seems to smile at that. Unbeknownst to himself, there’s a slow grin spreading over his lips. 

He thinks of instances. Instances when silence would act as a wall but actions a wrecking ball. 

The morning after your third date when you’d tried your best— despite your absolute inability to cook— to make the breakfast he always orders at the diner in Astoria. 

The eggs were runny in places, burnt in others and the bacon was traumatically floppy under a layer of not-even-close-to rendered fat and added oil. You’d apologized as he scrubbed the pan and plates, bright yellow dish rag waving as you insisted repeatedly that you couldn’t live if you’d given the guy you’d only just begun to date salmonella. 

Independence day when you’d Irish-goodbyed from Steve’s birthday party only twenty minutes after arriving to steal away to the rooftop of Mama Wilson’s brownstone in Harlem. 

You’d said something about fireworks and pizza, a six-pack of beer already snagged off the kitchen counter. Played it off as Sam’s idea, his house keys in the pocket of the navy blue bomber jacket you’d “borrowed” from Bucky. Nothing about Bucky’s hatred of parties at the Rogers-Wilson residence, though. Not even a hint until he overheard your apologies to Sam’s mother for the intrusion— an apology you later denied, kissing him silly to make him forget any further questions. 

The week before you’d broken up— a week Bucky remembers less for the distance you’d successfully created— when you sought comfort in him after a long day. 

Your boots had been kicked off by the door, your bag and its contents scattered beside them. You’d tearfully slurred words together, words he barely caught, in explanation. Something about work, and school, and your mother’s unnecessary opinions about your major and future. Something which forced sobs from your chest as you set your head against his. You’d wrapped your arms around him tightly, the two of you huddled together on his worn barcalounger as he stroked your hair and pressed kisses to the crown of your head. 

It’s well after the game has ended— Steve vengefully chowing down on your once-hidden stash of This is for when I have my period chocolate, Bucky barely paying attention to the episode of The Office the two had resorted to watching— when you come home. 

Hair mussed, lips swollen with gloss smudged every which way, you stumble through the doorway with a laughed, “No more rule-breaking on the first date, T’Challa.” 

The door is shut and locked just as T’Challa begins to respond. You spin and press your back to it, still laughing but quietly, more to yourself. You open your mouth to greet Steve and Bucky, both looking at you in either confusion or amusement, but shut it as a knock at the door cuts you off. 

“I’ll call you,” T’Challa promises through the wood. There’s a chuckle laced through his words, a smile in his voice. 

Exaggeratedly, you scoff. Still grinning however. “Who calls?” 

“I do,” he replies without concern that your neighbors may complain about his volume. “And you’re gonna pick up.” 

“Oh, am I?” 

“Yeah, you are. ‘Night.”

You don’t respond beyond a hum and stand at the door until you’re sure he’s gone. A nod to yourself and you step away as you remove that navy blue bomber jacket to toss it onto the counter. You also toss a smile over your shoulder to Bucky. “You here just to eat my chocolate, Rogers?” 

“No,” Steve says without a glance in your direction. “I ate your ice cream, too.” 

You shut the freezer. Empty-handed. Frowning. “Your stomach’s just a bottomless pit, huh?” 

“I’m a growing boy.” 

“Have I told you how uncomfortable it makes me when you call your grown-ass self a boy?” you remark, settling for a bottle of water from the refrigerator. You pause before shutting the heavy steel door. “You clear out all the leftovers, too?” 

Steve peers at Bucky, the latter stuck in a thoughtful, sad stare, and nods. “Yeah. We’re all out of food at my place and I don’t get paid ‘til tomorrow night.” 

You’re frowning in consideration as you walk to the barcalounger and fall into it sideways, legs swung over the opposite armrest you’ve set your back against. “Fair enough. How was your day, Buck?” 

The question breaks him from whatever daze he’d fallen into and he blinks. Averts a steady gaze when you shift a bit to look at him. “The Jags won.” 

You smile. It’s warm, a little honeyed. “Is that good or bad?” 

“Neutral.” He can’t help but smile himself. It doesn’t even falter as he asks, “How was your date?”

A shrug. Your eyes narrow at Michael Scott as he attempts to toss pizza dough. “T’Challa got a large popcorn at the movies.” 

“Damn, he’s got money.” 

You laugh, startled. Bucky grins when you do, too. “That’s what I said! I also beat your high score at pinball in the theater arcade.” 

“Went on a date with a guy who’s got money, beat my pinball score. You’ve just had a magical day, haven’t you?” 

There’s a softness and affection in the way Bucky speaks and looks at you, your responding giggles just as sweet. Steve, sitting between the two of you, almost feels as if he’s intruding on something, an empathetic ache in his chest as he watches. “Explain the pinball thing.” 

“Bucky and I went to the movies last month and fucked around the arcade while waiting for our showtime. And he got so competitive.” You roll your eyes at the memory. “We ended up missing the movie because he was determined to beat the high score this poor kid had just set when we got there. Took him hours and, like, forty bucks in tokens.” 

“It didn’t take me hours.” 

“We got there in the afternoon and by the time we left, the employees were cleaning the popcorn machines,” your expression and tone leave no room for argument. “Only took me two hours.” 

Steve looks between you two, fighting the urge to scoff at the satisfaction in your eyes and the combination of annoyance and so much adoration in Bucky’s. “Two hours? You miss the movie again?” 

“No, I snuck out before the movie ended. Said I had to pee and went straight to the machine so none of the kids in our auditorium could take it before I got there.” You ignore Steve’s disappointed gaze. “T’Challa was confused and probably unhappy I made him sit there for so long while I played.”

“Probably unhappy?” 

“I didn’t ask.” A nonchalant shrug and you flash them a knowing smile. “Beating Bucky’s score was my priority so I could come in here and casually mention it like I’m not bragging only to bring it up everyday for the rest of his life.” 

Your eyes meet Bucky’s and, at the look you’re giving him, Bucky has to remind himself that the two of you are no longer in a relationship and he can’t just kiss the arrogance away. “Sucker.”

—

It’s a makeup caboodle. 

Pale pink and lime green. A tropical flower sticker pasted to the clasp. There’s a ribbon tied to the handle— deep magenta velvet in a neat bow. 

It’s unassuming. A little innocent looking. Like it should belong to a seventh grader in the nineties just learning how to use glitter eyeshadow and lip balm palettes. 

It’s when you pop it open, the mirror attachment springing up only to reflect Wanda’s skeptical features, that the pungent smell permeates throughout the kitchen and small living room. Skunky, but a little floral. 

A speckled glass pipe, multicolored glaze splattered over a white base, sits in the top compartment alongside a few toothpicks and a package of rolling papers. In the compartment directly below rests a round steel grinder, three-tiered and emblazoned with the engravement of a manufacturer’s name. 

The biggest compartment holds many small glass jars. Tiny mason jars you’d bought at a flea market. All different colors, all labeled with white circular stickers. 

Wanda sits up in her stool at the sight, pulls the caboodle toward herself and sifts through the jars. She removes three of the jars and looks at you with widened eyes. “You’re insane.” 

You shrug and take the grinder when she hands it to you. “I like being organized.” 

“You should see her room,” Bucky says as he shuts his bedroom door behind him, shoes in hand. He smiles at the two of you, beard freshly trimmed to just barely above stubble and eyes a bright blue. “Most organized mess I’ve ever seen.”

You nod, tearing a bit of the sour diesel bud apart to place carefully between the metal teeth in the topmost chamber. You smile at her from your spot atop the counter, legs folded and back pressed against the shelves behind you. “There’s a method to my madness, Wan. Hand me a toothpick.” 

She complies and removes a blue jar without a label. “What’s in this one?” 

“Blue dream. Jar’s blue and I ran out of stickers.” There’s a click as the lid is magnetically snapped back onto the grinder. You twist it to the left twice, then to the right once. “You picking her up or meeting her there?” 

Bucky, leant against the wall as he slips his shoes on, looks up. “What says ‘This is a real date, not a hookup’?” 

“Going to dinner and not having sex after.” 

He replies with a dry laugh and narrowed eyes. “Which of the two options— picking her up or meeting there— says that?” 

“Picking her up.” You tear the stem off the bottom of the bud and place it as a barrier over the hole in the pipe’s bowl. “Might be too late to tell her that now, though.” 

“Already told her I’d pick her up. I was just making sure I did the right thing.” You see his lips spread into a self-satisfied smirk when you finish filling the bowl. “Looks like I did.” 

You smile back, though sarcastically. “Girls like a little humility in the guys they date, you know.” 

“She’s liked me for three years now,” he says. He pulls on a jacket and pats every pocket on him to make sure he’s got his wallet and keys. “She knows what she’s herself getting into.” 

“Bucky, baby, I live with you and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.” 

Wanda snorts a laugh at that, taking the pipe and a bright pink lighter from you. 

Bucky’s eyes fall into a glare. “So normal first dates don’t end in sex?” 

“No, they don’t. Most people actually wait until after the third date. It’s, like, in the dating manual for successful relationships.” 

“Huh,” he breathes. He takes his phone when you remove it from the charger to pass it to him, smiling up at you. “Looks like we were doomed from the start.”

“Maybe.” You watch as Wanda exhales a steady stream of opaque smoke punctuated by a soft cough. You slide her bottle of water to her. “Or maybe we’re the exception to the rule. Apart, we should follow normal date conventions. But together, we were too hot to wait that long.” 

Wanda hands you the pipe and lighter. “What happened to humility?” 

Before sparking the lighter, you answer, “I’m not dating a girl.” 

Your next inhale, once you’ve adequately charred the top layer of pot, burns in your throat and you hold it in your chest. You smile at Bucky when he shoots you a sly grin, lips in a cirlce as you exhale. “Have fun. Don’t order the tiramisu. They skimp on the espresso.” 

He nods once and straightens his jacket. You watch as he unlocks the door, opens it, and steps through with a simple wave. Your eyes remain on the door even after it shuts. 

It isn’t until Wanda’s fingers brush yours that you break your stare. “What?” the question is nearly barked when she offers you a look of something eerily similar pity. 

“Nothing! You just— You look a little lovelorn.”

Your features crumple. “Ew. No, I don’t. I look amazing, you look lovelorn.” 

“Okay, Queen of the land Defensiva,” she mutters once she’s exhaled. “I’m just saying. You were staring at that door like you want to take it home to meet your mother.” 

“Maybe I do. It’s a nice color. I picked the yellow out myself.” 

“Nat told me about that night at the bar. About how Bucky flirted with that Connie chick right in front of you.” She watches as you take a hit and your head lolls back against the shelves. “That must have sucked.” 

“It did.” You trace the bumps on the ceiling and sigh. “But it’s okay. Larger picture, broad scheme of things. It’s okay.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

A shrug. You take a sip from your own bottle of water. “We’re both okay. We’re both moving on, we’re still able to be friends and roommates. I can sit here and watch him go on dates with her if that’s what it takes. A little pain for the larger cause.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Wanda takes a long drag. You break it as you muse, “Do we talk about this shit too much?” 

“Yeah, maybe. Should we order a pizza?” 

--

CHAPTER 5: ARE YOU OVERCOMPENSATING?

[silverhandy]

I saw the devil (in me) - chapter 2

contains some heavy spoilers for the devil ending

chapter 1 I ao3

If he was expecting a profound sign that V is gone, he found none. Night City was just as Takemura remembered it - crowded, flashy, and devoid of taste, both figuratively and literally. Vendors were outshouting one another, each determined to lure a potential client into an inevitable culinary disappointment. Takemura found himself navigating through the busy market that an unfortunate shortcut led him through. In hindsight, he should have ordered a cab and arrive at the address Viktor provided unscathed and in a much shorter time, but he felt the need to stretch his legs, or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself. He still had plenty of time before the memorial service started and he didn’t want to arrive either too early or too late - the first one would no doubt result in a lot of uncomfortable silence and the latter would make it seem like he didn’t care. Takemura wasn’t too keen on either of these options and that meant a long stroll through the city.

He could never grasp why V seemed to like this place so much. She spoke about it often, cursing corporations, gangs, and ever present exploitation to kingdom come, but she also seemed to fit in like a perfect piece of the puzzle, a small, but necessary cog in a living, breathing machine. She moved through it freely, her loud confidence and necessary caution interchanging in a wild dance that made the entire city spin. Where V shined, Takemura found himself losing rhythm, coming from the strict, organized world of the Arasaka military, and eventually realizing that he’d never learn the dance that made one feel at home in a place like this.

As he approached Vista del Ray, a strong smell of old frying oil and fish gave way to more subtle scents, identical all around the world in places like this, Heywood or Shinjuku, it didn’t matter. Cigarette smoke floating up and chasing the wind, too much cologne on a young, elegantly dressed men that almost bumped into him, too focused on going through his emails to look ahead, a dinner burnt, tenants desperately attempting to air the apartment by opening a window as wide as it would go, which unfortunately for them wasn’t very far. All of that mixing, shifting, evolving into what could only be called a smell of desperation and longing for an opportunity.

Takemura left the main street and turned left into an alley, feeling the intense stares of a group of young men leaning heavily on a graffiti-covered, brick wall. He knew the type, so he just gave them a warning glare, aiding them in measuring the odds. As expected, none of them approached him, having done the math and realizing that they stand no chance. He wasn’t a local, so maybe if they stumbled upon someone else like him they’d go for it, but Takemura had Arasaka written all over his features, suit and tech.

El Coyote Cojo seemed like a bar identical to many others, but the second Takemura walked through the door, he was sure he was in the right place. There was no music playing, the room filled with a murmur of hushed conversations between all the people who came to say their final goodbyes. And there were quite a lot of them. Takemura felt the corners of his lips go up in a sad smile. Of course, V had a lot of people who’d want to be here, the open suite full of them, standing in their small, respective groups, some around the tall tables, others hunched over their drinks at the bar. From where Takemura was standing, he hardly saw any familiar face, but then again, in those short few weeks he got to know V, there wasn’t much opportunity to get to know all the people she was close with. There was no time for that and more importantly, he didn’t feel like it was his place to intrude into her personal life. After all, they were just coworkers, of sorts, helping each other towards a common goal.

That is, until that stakeout on the roof. If Takemura was to pinpoint a moment where he could in full confidence call V a friend, it was those few hours they spent going over the entry points to Arasaka Industrial Park, analyzing the routes of transports going in and out, coming up with yet another idea how to get in without getting shot on the spot.

Then they got pizza and the conversation naturally shifted into something more casual, them reminiscing on their pasts and their futures. How different things were back then. V in what might’ve been her best, determined to get her life back and him doing the same.

It seemed none of them got what they wanted.

Someone passed next to him, whispering something about him getting a move on under their breath, and only then did Takemura realize that he was still standing in the doorway, staring somewhere above the heads of the mourners. Glad that he hadn't caught the attention of everyone in the room, he took a few steps forward and then, finally, he noticed Viktor, waving at him from his seat at the edge of the bar.

When Takemura approached him and took a seat next to the ripperdoc, the first thing he noticed was that Viktor looked noticeably older, dark circles under his eyes only adding to the feeling. Dressed in a classy, black suit that sure has seen better days, Viktor looked out of place, almost like...

"I was already thinkin’ you wouldn't make it." he started, mindlessly rolling the nearly empty glass in his hand. "How was your flight?"

Small talk, then.

"Good enough, thank you." then, after a moment of deliberation, Takemura added. "I usually do not fly commercial."

"Oh? What on earth stopped Arasaka’s golden boy from taking an AV?" Viktor asked, calling a bartender with a wave of his hand.

Takemura hesitated for a moment, but before the looming pressure of every passing second making the situation more awkward had a chance to set in, the bartender, a tall, heavily tattooed Latino man approached them to take his order.

"Just water, please." the bartender��s brow shot up, as if asking Takemura if he was sure, especially considering the occasion, but seeing that his client wouldn’t backtrack, he simply pulled up a glass. When it was full, two cubes of ice clinking inside, Takemura looked back at Viktor, still patiently waiting for his answer.

"My higher ups don’t exactly know that I am here." he finally said, taking a sip from his glass to wash down the ping of anxiety he felt swelling up the moment he mentioned his unauthorized trip across the ocean. Not that it mattered anymore. The sword laid at the bottom of his suitcase, carefully wrapped in silk, just waiting for him to get some closure he apparently longed for so desperately.

This time, Viktor’s brow shot up.

"No leave to mourn a friend?"

"I’m afraid they would not consider it a reason important enough to neglect my duties."

"You clearly did."

"Yes, fully aware of the consequences that await. But I could not miss it, I suppose I needed some…"

"Closure? And they wouldn’t let you have that? No wonder they call it a soul sucking job. Sorry to pry, but why don’t you just quit? Put in a two months notice or somethin'?"

"It does not work like that. Not when you have been there for as long as I have."

Viktor clearly wanted to say something, but just as he opened his mouth, everyone present started walking up to the area on the left from the bar, gathering around a small table covered in freshly lit candles, V’s photo in the middle. She was smiling, little reflections of the candle flames dancing in her eyes. V’s hair was shorter than Takemura remembered, it must’ve been taken well before they met. In a better time.

It was Viktor who stood in front of the crowd to address them. His voice sounded strained at first, unusually high, but he cleared his throat, once, twice and didn’t let his voice break even once. He spoke with confidence, yet calmly, the same reassuring voice Takemura remembered from when he ended up in his clinic alongside V, with multiple gunshot wounds and some more or less minor lacerations.

After Viktor was done, a young woman with colorful hair took his place. Clearly battling with her shaking voice, she told about the time she and V went diving in the ruins of her childhood hometown. How she still had the camera that V fished out for her and how she’s still trying to fix it, but even if she won’t be able to bring such an antique back to life, a braindance they recorded together will keep a piece of V alive forever. After that, people started taking turns, each with their little story of what V meant for them. Takemura couldn’t quite focus, each new face blending with another, a never-ending litany composed of the good deeds of a woman that no longer was among them. When it was his turn to speak, Takemura hesitated.

"I did not know V for as long as most of you, but I am honored to have been able to call her a friend."

And that was it.

                                                              ***

"A lot of people came."

"I’d say a third of them were fixers from every single part of this fuckin’ city. Never took them for a sentimental type."

"Me neither."

"You know...you know what she told me in those last few weeks? “Viktor, if you dare to shed a single tear at my funeral, I swear I’ll rise up from the dead again and kick yer sorry ass”. It was one of the last things she told me, anyway. Couldn't really speak much later on." Viktor took another swing from the bottle, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of an already ruffled suit jacket.

Takemura didn’t ask how V was doing in those last moments. Didn’t need to, when he arrived at the clinic professor Kusama didn’t spare him any of the details. Quite the opposite, she was elaborate, listing all the end-stage symptoms in a cold, clinical tone. Upon hearing them, a thought crossed his mind that if it was about him, he’d beg to be copied and stored into Mikoshi. But not her. V wasn’t a coward like him and faced her death the way he’d never be able to.

"Viktor, I am..so deeply sorry." he just muttered, unable to form anything more concise. What was he supposed to say, anyway? How did his remorse and guilt compare to Viktor’s pain, who got a front row seat seeing all the ways V was withering away, day by day? Who must’ve spent hundreds of hours at her bedside, making sure that she’s comfortable in those last moments while Takemura spent those months bundled away in an office reviewing mountains of meaningless documents, too scared to even call her?

"Nah." Viktor waved his hand, almost knocking over Takemura’s glass. "She wouldn’t want us to mope like this. Imma be okay soon enough. After all, grieving is a process and all that. What about you? Been holdin’ up okay?"

"Yeah." Takemura said, but his voice came out coarse. He cleared his throat. "As much as circumstances allow."

Viktor hummed, clearly not convinced. For a second Takemura was sure the other man would push the matter, but he dropped it. Two shots of tequila seemingly materialized on the counter before them when Takemura wasn’t looking, too focused on Viktor and his own thoughts.

"How ‘bout just this one and we call it a day?" Viktor asked, taking the glass into his hand.

"I suppose it can’t do any harm." Takemura replied, raising his own glass. "To V?"

"To V."

                                                             ***

Paradoxically, only when cigarette smoke filled his lungs he could finally take a deep breath. He excused himself a few minutes after their fourth round of shots. It’s not like he didn’t enjoy Viktor’s company, but the doctor was too perceptive for his own good and with each sip of alcohol chipping away his composure, Takemura felt that steel grip on his throat grow tighter and tighter.

He was alone in an alley right next to the entrance, cold winter air slowly sobering him up. Most guests have already left, only a few hindered behind, talking in the same, lowered voices he heard before. Not like he could hear any of that through the music, an old rock song he couldn't recall. Takemura slowly exhaled, a cloud of smoke dulling the air in front of him. It was time.

"Do you mind?" a woman's voice, right next to him. Takemura cursed under his breath. He was getting careless, much too distracted for his own safety. He turned his head and to his relief, he recognized her. A friend of Viktor’s, this tiny blonde woman, she ran some kind of an esoteric shop in the front. Misty was her name. They chatted a few times during the weeks Takemura would drop by the clinic to check on V.

"Not at all." he replied and moved a little to the side, making room for her to lean on the brightly painted wall. She didn’t take the invitation and remained standing, her big, brown eyes staring at him in a mix of emotions he could only describe as pity. Or maybe it was concern? He couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"You know," Misty started, her voice even softer than Viktor’s during his speech. "your pain is not lesser than his."

Takemura’s hand froze halfway from taking another drag of the cigarette. "Excuse me?"

"I’m just saying you shouldn’t cut yourself off. Viktor does that too, but not like this. The pain will not disappear if you keep running from it. It’ll just chase you up, no matter what you do. It’s better to make peace with it."

He didn’t know what to say. If he was in his right mind, he’d probably make up an excuse and walk away, but her words struck a chord in him that made him freeze, not daring to move even a little.

"I have made peace with it" he finally said, putting out the cigarette on the stone wall. He’ll find a trash can to throw it in later.

"I’m not the one you need to convince, Goro."

"I..I am sorry, but I have to go. My return flight leaves in a few hours."

Misty gave him a sad smile.

"I hope you’ll soon see that you’re exactly in a place you’re supposed to be in."

[stardust-walker]

High Hopes

word count: 2767

If anyone wants to be added to my taglist, just let a girl know!

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter 5

Dove felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach turned as she closed her eyes to keep from spilling the already minimal contents of her stomach onto the rooftop. A sudden shout followed by a click caused her eyes to shoot open. The brunette nudged her way past Glenn as she stared down at the other men in their group, weapons all pulled on each other except for T-Dog. Her heart sank before she heard Rick’s voice. “Drop it. Or I swear I’ll do it. I don’t care if every walker in the city hears it.”

There was an audible exhale from Glenn as the crossbow was lowered, but the way Daryl stared at T-Dog still made Dove uneasy. She stood on the edge of the platform as Daryl finally spoke. “Ya got a do-rag or something?” Much to her surprise, T-Dog reached into his pocket in order to provide Daryl with a blue bandana.

Finally feeling safe enough to descend, Dove to the few steps down to the rooftop slowly. Backpack straps clutched tight in her hand as the cool metal almost dug into the palm of her right hand, she came to a stop between T-Dog and Rick. It was like a train crash, you want to look away but you can’t.

“I guess the saw blade was too dull for the handcuffs,” Daryl spoke as he picked up his brother’s hand in a surprisingly delicate way, “Ain’t that a bitch.”

“I mean if I ever saw anything that looked like the definition of ‘ain’t that a bitch’ it might be that hand,” Dove whispered to Rick. Her stomach lurched again and she swallowed hard as she watched the hand be deposited in Glenn’s backpack. Glenn didn’t look pleased, but it wasn’t like any of them were going to stop Daryl Dixon anytime soon.

“Must have used a tourniquet. Maybe his belt? Would have been much more blood if he didn’t,” Daryl pointed towards the ground and Dove’s eyes scanned the fresh blood stains. Daryl began to walk off and with a nod from Rick, the others followed.

“I’m just going to pretend that Merle Dixon’s hand isn’t in my backpack right now,” Glenn said through gritted teeth as T-Dog walked off to collect Dale’s tools.

“I’m tellin’ you right now, if that shit starts stinkin’, I’m taking it out and using it for batting practice,” Dove shook her head. “Man this fuckin sucks.”

Daryl’s sudden shouts for his brother were definitely startling. Not only for the volume, but for the fact that they didn’t know if there were any walkers in the building that might hear him. She prayed there weren’t any.

As they walked into a room and saw two walkers down for the count, Dove let out an appreciative whistle.

“Had enough in him to take these two out one handed,” Daryl said as they all surveyed the room.

“That’s one tough son of a bitch,” Dove mumbled as she tiptoed past one of the walkers on the ground.

“Toughest asshole I ever met. Feed him a hammer, he’d crap out nails,” Daryl nodded as he reloaded his crossbow.

Dove walked slowly around the room, a quick peek out the window showed her there was nothing to see outside except the walkers roaming. Not that she expected much different.

“Any man can pass out from blood loss, no matter how tough he is,” Rick raised his gun and began to walk through the room.

“Plus, he was probably running on pure adrenaline. He might have crashed at some point. But like you said. Toughest asshole you ever met, right?” Dove raised an eyebrow at Daryl as she went to walk past him into the next room. “I mean I’m sure he’s fine,” her apology was lost as Daryl clenched his jaw, shook his head, and walked forward into the next room.

“Nice going,” Glenn shot her a thumbs up as he came up next to her.

“Shut up,” Dove grunted and stomped ahead, not wanting to fall behind too much.

 ~

The smell from the stove hit her before she even entered the room. Dove coughed and covered her mouth.

T-Dog covered the lower half of his face, “God what is that?”

Dove’s answer was muffled through her hand, “Burnt skin.” She caught the wary glance of her friend and shrugged. “What? I used to work in a crisis unit right out of college. Saw a lot of shit. But the smells would always be the thing that got me,” she shivered slightly as she stepped into the room just in time to see Rick approaching the stove.

Glenn approached from the side asking what it was and Rick just confirmed her suspicions. “Skin. He cauterized the stump.” That was it. Dove retched and ducked back out of the room. The contents of her stomach spilled out on the floor in front of her as she placed her hands on her knees to recover.

She heard footsteps approach and held a hand out into the room. “’m fine. Just give me a second.” Another cough echoed through the hallway before she was able to straighten up and reenter the room as she wiped her face on the sleeve of her shirt. “Sorry…”

The looks she got ranged from annoyed to sympathetic before Daryl shook his head and broke the silence. “He ain't dead. Nothin can kill Merle but Merle.”

Dove had to appreciate how much faith the man had in his brother. It was admirable. Just like she had to admire the fact that, in spite of an injury that could take another man out, Merle Dixon had somehow made it out of the building.

“Why the hell would he do that,” Glenn squinted at the bright light from the broken window.

“Why wouldn’t he? He’s out there alone as far as he knows,” Daryl mused as he pulled back from the window.

“You call that surviving? What are his odds out there,” T-Dog motioned towards the window.

“He’s right. Any sane man would assume that people who left him chained to the roof wouldn’t come back. Not that ya’ll didn’t have your reasons,” Dove shifted from foot to foot as T-Dog stared at her. She didn’t mean anything by it, but to her it seemed like nothing but facts.

“You couldn’t kill em,” Daryl stepped up to Rick. “Not so worried bout a dumb dead bastard.”

“What about 1,000 dumb dead bastards,” Rick snapped back. “Different story?”

“Take a tally, do what you want. I’m gonna go get him.” Daryl went to march off before Rick was able to stop him.

Dove’s wide eyes met Glenn’s shocked gaze as the two men argued about whether Daryl was going on not.

“You can’t stop me,” Daryl practically shouted.

The next thought that went through Dove’s head was that maybe Rick was actually a good cop as he was able to empathize with the other man. “He’s family, I get that. I went through hell to find mine. I know exactly how you feel.” It actually seemed to get through as Daryl stopped pacing like a caged animal. “He won’t get far with the injury. We could help you check a few blocks around but only if we keep a level head.”

T-Dog spoke as the attention turned to him, “Alright but only if we get those guns first. I’m not roaming the streets of Atlanta with just my good intentions.”

Rick turned his head and nodded towards Dove. The young woman paused for a moment. “T’s right. I’m in but…I mean if it comes down to it, a gun is much faster than a crowbar and I would just feel a lot safer if we got the guns first.” Her hazel eyes glanced towards Daryl and she furrowed her eyebrows. “But I do want to help you find your brother. Because if it was my sister, I wouldn’t stop lookin until I found her or I knew she was dead.”

The expression on Daryl’s face was unreadable as he nodded his head. “Alright. But we best go get those guns, then. Don’t want Merle bleedin out,” his eyes narrowed at Rick again before he shouldered his crossbow. This might be the most agreeable that they had ever seen him, even if he still looked like he was ready to fight.

~

The five of them had settled down in another room so that Glenn could look at the map. He knew where the guns were and he knew the city best. Dove had perched herself on the edge of a desk and it was there she sat, legs crossed, when Glenn mentioned his plan about going out to find the guns. Alone.

Rick immediately interrupted, “You’re not doing this alone.” Dove’s hands shook as she ran a hand down her face.

“Even I think it’s a bad idea and I don’t even like you much,” Daryl agreed.

“It’s a good idea,” Glenn interjected from his spot on the floor.

Dove threw a thumbtack from the desk in his direction. “It’s a fucking awful idea! What do you got a death wish or somethin’,” she hissed at the younger man as she bounced her leg and shook her head.

“If you just hear me out,” Glenn almost pleaded. She couldn’t even believe they were having this discussion. “If we go out in a group, we’re slow. We draw more attention. If I’m alone, I can move fast.”

She hated the fact that he sounded right. She tuned out the mapping of the city until she heard it. “That’s where Daryl, Dove, and I will go.” Her head snapped up as she looked across at Daryl. He looked equally confused.

“Why me?”

“You’re crossbow is quieter than his gun,” Glenn shrugged his shoulders.

Dove sighed, hopped down from the desk, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Yeah but why me?”

Glenn stared up at her, “Next to me, you’re the fastest. I mean you played sports.”

“Yeah like ten years ago in high school!” Dove rolled her eyes.

“But, you’re fast. If things go wrong, you run for the guns. They're the most important thing.” Glenn pointed to the map on the floor.

Dove’s eyes scanned the crudely drawn diagram of the streets with narrowed eyes before finally letting out a sigh. “Alright. I guess I’m in.”

“While they wait here in the alley,” Glenn placed a gum wrapper on the board, “I run up the street, grab the bag.” He then explained the positioning of the others in the group. It sounded way too easy and usually when things sound that easy, they aren’t. “Whichever direction I go, I got you in both places to cover me.” Dove nodded her head in appreciation as he finished his explanation.

“Hey kid,” Daryl finally spoke up, “What’d you do before all this?”

Glenn squinted, “Delivered pizzas. Why?”

Dove’s eyes widened as she let out a quiet snort of laughter before she nodded her head. “Makes sense. Gotta learn the backstreets to make those thirty minutes or less, ain’t that right?”

~

The ladder that they had to climb down was less than ideal. Dove sighed as she looked down at it before she held a hand out in front of Glenn. “Uh uh. Didn’t you ever hear of ladies first? Plus, I don’t exactly feel like having anyone check out my ass,” she held two fingers up to her eyes before turning her hand to point at the two men. She swung her leg over the edge of the building and placed a foot on the top rung of the ladder as she heard Daryl speak up.

“Not much to check out,” he said just loud enough for her to hear.

Dove smirked wickedly for a moment. “Then check this out,” she raised her middle finger at both of them before she began her descent.

She heard Glenn say something about being nice to Daryl before beginning his own descent. Wouldn’t that be the day.

A few rungs from the ground, Dove hopped off the ladder and landed with a quiet grunt before she stepped to the side.

Glenn stepped past her once they were all on the ground. “C’mon,” he motioned down the alley.

Dove followed close behind Daryl, crowbar raised slightly as she stood next to the dumpster. She still didn’t like this.

“You got some balls for a Chinaman,” Daryl stated.

“I’m Korean,” Glenn corrected.

“Is now really the time for this,” Dove hissed through gritted teeth

Then Glenn was off. Dove moved forward slightly before she felt a tight grip on her arm. Her knees hit the ground as she was pulled behind the dumpster, a retort lost on her lips as Daryl motioned for her to keep quiet. As quietly as she could, Dove moved to position herself between Daryl and the wall. Back against the dumpster, she said in a barely audible whisper, “What the fuck was that?”

“Someone’s comin,” Daryl whispered just as quietly. Before she could even think about anything else, he had jumped to his feet, crossbow raised.

“Whoa don’t shoot me,” another voice shouted as Dove jumped to her feet, “What do you want!”

“I’m looking for my brother. He’s hurt real bad, you seen em?” Daryl didn’t lower his crossbow. Dove’s gaze shifted quickly between the two men. Or rather, Daryl and the boy.

Suddenly the boy shouted in Spanish.

“Shut up! You’re gonna bring the geeks down on us! Answer me,” Daryl growled as he approached with the crossbow. Dove stepped out from behind the dumpster.

“Daryl stop it! He doesn’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped at him. She hoped she was right. All of a sudden, the boy wouldn’t stop screaming for help. Dove ran towards Daryl just in time to see him hit the boy in the face with the crossbow. “Ah, shit.”

“Shut up,” Daryl repeated as he held a hand over the boy’s mouth. A yelp of surprise slipped through Dove’s lips as two men came barreling down the alley. The shoulder of one of the men connecting with her own as he ran past her. Her back slammed against the wall, the world started to spin as she hit her head. The crowbar was wrenched from her hand and she watched as the two men started to beat Daryl.

A quick burst of adrenaline hit her like a truck and she mumbled a quiet, “Motherfucker,” as she stumbled to her feet. The one closest held her crowbar in his hands. She took two quick steps towards him and grabbed the crowbar, her hands wrapped around the man’s own. “Stop it,” she grunted through gritted teeth as the man fought to get control of the crowbar back. The woman’s nails dug into his fingers and she thought she had it for a second before she felt the air leave her lungs. An elbow to the stomach sent her reeling back. 

A commotion near the entrance to the alley stopped the two men. Her eyes went wide as she saw him. She was hoping he would have to take the other alley. One of the men screamed, “There’s the bag! Take it, take it.”

Dove shook her head and attempted to stumble to her feet again, the crowbar was close by. She thought about throwing it, but then the screams of one of the men drew her attention back. Daryl was up on his knees. He had shot the guy right in the ass. Any other time, she might have laughed. Glenn’s screams for help chilled her to the bone as she scrambled to regain her footing. Even when she did, the elbow to the stomach was really messing with her. “Glenn, run!” But it was useless, because they already had him. She was hot on Daryl’s heels as the car pulled away from the alley with Glenn and the men inside.

“Come back here! You sumbitches,” Daryl shouted as he started to pull the gate shut.

Dove tried to slip through the hole in the gate. She wanted to run after the car, run after Glenn. It was stupid and she wasn’t thinking straight, but she couldn’t let her friend die.  A strong grip on her arm was the only thing that made her stop. She spun around, a wild look in her eye and met Daryl’s angry gaze as he shook his head. Dove’s attention turned back to the gate as the walkers began to pile against it. She couldn’t even hear the car anymore.

Glenn was gone.

 ----

@crossbowking​

[arsonistslut]

Chapter 27: Jeff Vs Jane

Eventually, after hours of wandering around in the dark, dingey alleyways of New Orleans, he came across a large, slightly rusted gate that beheld a long dirt path, leading to a towering home that he quickly recognized. Janey's new home. He'd seen it on the news during his stay in that mental institute sometimes, but he obviously never got to see it in person like this. Woods found the lack of a chain surprising..she was practically inviting him inside at this rate. Pushing open the door and proceeding down the driveway, he licked away the splattered blood near his mouth, the metallic sting that hit his tongue tasting much more familiar than it had any right to, this far forward from the day he mutilated his own face. He tried to open the front door, and when it didn't budge, he forced it open with his shoulder, seeing no point in not making a ruckus due to the secluded nature of the house and Jane being the only tenant that he knew of. Gripping the handle of his knife tightly, he called out to her.

"Oh, Janey! I'm here!"

He could already hear a door open upstairs, so he looked in the fridge and grabbed a bottle of red wine, pouring himself a glass from the cabinet as a frazzled-looking Jane cautiously walked down the stairs.

"C'mon, Janey..try it. I ain't afraid of you. Try and kill me, my back's turned."

Jeff downed the entire glass in one go..no attack came.

"Jeff..I'd sure as shit like to, but..hatred fucked me up. I think..I think I just need to forgive you, since..what you did has stayed with me for the last year. Besides..it might help you, too, and you seriously need it.."

Woods shook his head, letting out a long, pained sigh, his back still turned to Arkansas.

"I can't be helped, Jane. I don't want to be, either. Last time that happened, we both know how that ended. More fucking people died, that's all my life is! An endless cycle of death and..fuckin' depravity!"

"...Jeff. It doesn't have to be like that, though. I-I want to help you, I want all of this to just-"

"I'm unfixable, you dumb whore!!"

Jeff turned around as he yelled at Jane, the blood staining his clothes becoming all too visible as he approached, drawing his knife from his jacket's pocket.

"Look at me! I'm a goddamn monster, and that's all I'll ever be!"

"Who..Who'd you kill this time..?"

Morbid curiosity drove her at this point, horror plain on her rapidly whitening face. She could hardly describe how surreal it was seeing him face-to-face again..the flesh on his body stretched impossibly thin from heavy scarring, his face still split open from the knife he took to his face a year ago, blood riddling his whole body and dripping from his blade like a leaking faucet. It called to mind the horrifying mental images of the monsters she dreamed up in her head from mere description when she read a horror novel, except that horror was plain to see. It stood plain in front of her, holding a blood-drenched blade, fury in it's all too human eyes.

"Your adoptive family, Janey..old Donnie and whoever your brother was."

"No..you didn't..p-please tell me you didn't.."

Jane knew the request made no sense, but she refused to believe he'd taken them away, too..they were all she had outside of the news people she spoke to on occasion.

"Oh, they're dead, girlie..and you're fuckin' next! I'm about to finish what I started when I torched your house and cut your bitch's head off!"

Arkansas felt a tidal wave of rage begin to overtake her as he spoke. She didn't have anyone anymore. Jeff had taken everything, but he'd forgotten a principle rule of life.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

As Jeff let out a war cry and charged Jane at full speed, she grabbed a fire poker from the fireplace and rammed it into his upper lip, dragging it upwards until she'd cut straight through his left eye and it flew out, bits of his pale flesh still stuck to the poker. Woods fell backwards, leaning against the wall and screaming out in pain, dropping his knife as he screamed and cursed.

"My fuckin' eye!! You-"

Jeff was quickly interrupted by the sound of firewood igniting. Jane had thrown a lit zippo into her fireplace, and she grabbed him by his hoodie and proceeded to throw him into the fire, the wounded side of his face being pressed against the harsh flames. However, she was unable to do any more damage before he scurried away, half of his hair and the side of his head burnt, skin melting off like cheese on a pizza. Jane snatched up his knife and ran at him, leaping in the air only to be tackled mid-flight and sent through her coffee table with a crash, Woods sitting up and straddling her quickly as he attempted to wrestle the blade away from her. However, a shard of glass from the shattered table driven into his side hindered his attack, Jane sliding out from underneath him as he willed himself to remove the glass from his side. He looked behind him and saw Jane holding his knife, raising it in the air to stab him in the back, so he kicked her straight in the jaw with his foot, sending her reeling backwards from the force of the kick.

"I'll make sure this place burns as well, y'hear me?!"

He spat out at Jane, getting up and ignoring the pain shooting through his face and jamming the shard of glass into her shoulder, lifting her by the neck as he did and gaining a running start. Jeff flung his adversary straight through the door to her guest room, Jane narrowly dodging her head being crushed when he followed up with trying to jump on her head. He cackled maniacally between breaths, the adrenaline pumping through his veins serving as an intoxicating drug that kept him fighting. Narrowly dodging a blade to his neck, Woods grabbed a baseball bat from underneath the bed and swung for the fences at his rival, who dodged underneath and stabbed him in the knee with frightening speed. Forcing him down to a knee, Jane took her alarm clock and smashed it against his face, blood flying from his mouth as he fell onto the bed. Arkansas ripped the knife from his leg and went to stab him again, climbing in and smashing the blade next to his head, a narrow and costly miss.

He delivered a destructive fist right to Jane's cheek, before grabbing her black dress and smashing his head into her nose, shattering it like a window. Jeff kept hold of her, striking her in the gut with his knee before she broke out of grip, stumbling backwards as blood flew from the massive wound in his face. He knew he needed to end this fight sooner rather than later, so ripping the knife from the bed, he drove the blade deep within her stomach. His breath hitched as she screamed, the satisfaction he'd longed for finally arriving in an orgasmic wave. Longing for more of that sweet catharsis, he pressed Jane against the wall and twisted the blade, awful growling noises emanating from him as he savored every second, every droplet of Arkansas's blood running over his fingers, every disgusting noise she made as she coughed up blood.

"I..am the deadliest man on earth!"

He proudly boasted, a heat of the moment statement that was quickly cut short when Jane kicked him full-force in the balls.

"You..are the most self-absorbed lunatic on earth."

She hissed out as she fled, Jeff in too much pain to retort or give chase. Once he recovered, he scooped up the knife she'd pulled out and began hunting for her, listening as closely as he could for any noise, even though he'd lost his hearing and his vision from Arkansas's initial assault with the poker and the fireplace. Following the trail of blood she'd left behind from her various wounds, Woods went upstairs and walked toward his enemy's room, swinging open the door.

"Come on, Janey..I know you're here.."

The door slammed behind Jeff, Jane standing in the way with a lit molotov cocktail in her grasp.

"That doesn't matter now, does it?"

"...Oh. Oh, I see! You wanna burn me alive again..tell me this, how are you gonna get out of this exactly?"

"I don't intend to. Not anymore."

Jane threw the cocktail on the ground between them, the fire quickly spreading around them. Jeff's first idea was to escape through the window. No dice, they were boarded up from the inside. He couldn't tell from the outside due to the shades blocking his view of the boards, and she was in the way of his only exit. It didn't matter. Jeff ran forward, ignoring the fire around them and lifting Jane up before she could react, slamming her through the wooden, flaming floor of her room and landing in the bathroom, the ceramic bathtub breaking before their combing weight.

The harsh landing the two shared winded them both, Jeff and Jane lying in a pool of their mixing blood for what felt like centuries. Suddenly, Jane grabbed a shattered piece of the bathtub and smashed it over Jeff's head, sending him rolling away from her as she used her vanity to get up, sparks and flaming wood falling around her as the upstairs caught fire. Arkansas watched and smiled as Jeff ripped a towel rack from the wall, charging her and swinging wildly and desperately, leaving himself open to a punch in the wound in side, doubling him over and giving Jane the opportunity to send him stumbling back into the living room. They could both smell smoke, the house was beginning to burn down around them.

"Anything to say before I send you straight to hell?"

She asked, grabbing a hold of Woods's ankle. He couldn't respond..he could barely stay conscious at this point.

"Oh, don't go to sleep, Jeffrey..you won't wake up."

Jane broke his ankle with a loud snap, his foot bent at a horrid angle as she left him there to die.

Arkansas nearly passed out herself as she dragged herself out of the rapidly-igniting house, not caring that everything she owned was inside, charring away. She didn't notice any officers arriving, so as her vision got blurrier and blurrier, she turned around and flipped up both her fingers at the raging inferno her home had become, before finally passing out in her driveway.

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Six):Burnt Offering

Notes: So, given that the last chapter was kind of short, at least by my standards. I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter this month. We're starting to near the point where what I post and where I'm at in writing are meeting up, I have chapter 7 done and am currently about halfway through writing 8,  so don't be shocked if we end up with a slowdown in chapters like what's had to happen with my other fic series. It just happens, such is life. 

Word Count: 9243

Chapter Warnings: Blood, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, POV Switches, Talks of the Testicle Festival,

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

The cruiser door shuts with a heavy thud, followed by Rook’s boots hitting the asphalt. Staci stifles a laugh, the newest addition to the Sheriff’s Department has a pea sized bladder and a penchant for guzzling energy drinks like an idiot. He’s had to pull into the Golden Valley Gas Station for her to run off to the bathroom, again.

His joints pop and crack as he gets out of the car, taking the chance to stretch his legs. The sun hangs high and bright in the great blue sky, warming his skin as rolls his shoulders to get out the kinks. It’s nearly noon and if he has to be here, he might as well find something to eat, the door of the gas station chiming as he walks in. He looks over the hot food options, garbage mostly, but tasty garbage. Hamburgers, pizza, hot dogs-

“You getting lunch?”

Staci jumps at the sudden question, a voice over his shoulder that he wasn’t ready for catches him off guard. A soft laugh as he turns to look at Rook who’s just scared him, sometimes she’s like a bull in a china shop and other times she’s silent as the grave. He can’t keep up and ends up glaring at the smirking woman. She finds way too much enjoyment in his misery, she’s the probie, he’s supposed to be giving her shit not the other way around.

“Someone needs to put a fuckin’ bell on you, I swear.”

“I thought you could ‘hear me coming a mile away’,” she says trying to imitate his voice when he mocked her earlier.

“That was then, this is now, and right now, you’re a sneaky bitch.”

He can’t resist the chance to wipe that dumb little smirk off her face and grabs her cheek between his fingers, stretching the soft tan skin. A small sharp pain in his wrist when she smacks him away, but it’s more than worth it to see her looking a little less cocky.

“Bite me.” She says and knocks against his side as she grabs a hamburger, nearly throwing him off balance.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Ew.” Rook grimaces at his little attempt at flirting, like an asshole. Then again, with her, she may not realize he was trying to flirt.

He grabs himself one and follows after her to the drinks, he watches her line of vision immediately go to the large sized slushie cups. They’re nearly the size of the short deputy’s head.

“No,” he tells her, voice low with warning, he already has to worry about pulling over  for her constantly.

“What?”

“You drink that and you’re gonna be needing twelve more bathroom trips before our shift ends.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You nearly pissed yourself, five minutes ago.”

“I’ll be fine.” Rook rolls her eyes as she fills up the giant cup with blue slush. No matter what he says, he swears she’d break her neck just to do the opposite.

They buy their lunches, if it can even be called that, and leave the gas station. The weather’s too nice to eat in the cruiser, a soft breeze and a clear sky to eat under instead.  Staci instead sits on the trunk of the car, balancing his drink on his thigh as he eats. Rook follows his lead, for once since she’s been here, and sits down on the car as well. She pulls one of her legs up onto the car and under her, keeping her drink in hand.

It’s quiet as they eat, but unlike the awkward still of when they first started patrolling together, this silence is surprisingly pleasant.  Staci has never liked quiet, making those first patrols painful to sit through, but their time spent in silence has grown more bearable with every shift.

Rook is weird, but not bad; he’s decided. She’s quiet and serious, especially so at the start. But, she never misses a chance to talk back or give him hell, which might be his own fault.  She’s dedicated to the job and never seems to shy away from what it entails, only ever seeming bothered by the work when she was stuck pushing papers.  Despite her constant scowling and resting bitch face, Rook is eager to help people.

He doesn’t know much about her, which is only natural with her short time with the department and her lackluster communicative skills. She likes her job, Hudson, animals, and giving him hell. She hates crowds, churches, and talking. That’s about all he’s got. And dress codes he guesses? Though since the Drubman incident she’s stuck with modest tanks and tees under her uniform, other than buttoning it up, it’s the same damn thing. Hell, even Hudson and him don’t button it up all the way. 

When she was first hired, the week separating her hire and her actual first day, he asked Whitehorse what he was thinking when he hired someone so young. The sheriff just laughed, saying she had a good heart. He supposes her jumping to help Mary May the day of her interview was proof of that.

There are a lot of reasons why people become cops, not all of them necessarily good or right. Staci himself is exhibit A of that. He’s always been honest with himself and others that he became a cop to get laid, it was nothing short of a whim. Something women are attracted to and didn’t require too much education, so he could avoid debt. No ideas of helping people or delusions of keeping the peace; he chose his career based entirely on the prospect of getting his dick wet.

Hudson is better than him in that regard, well, in many regards but that’s beside the point. But, her choice mostly stems from her family. Almost everyone in her family has had a career in either the military or law enforcement. Her mom is a veteran and her dad a veteran turned police officer, retiring early due to injury.  One of her brothers works as an officer in Billings and the other currently in basic training. It only seemed natural she’d follow one of those paths, becoming a cop because it’s what they do in her family. A fact she’s always taken pride in. 

Danny, not to speak ill of the dead, was probably a hall monitor in high school. He was a stickler for details and rules, he enjoyed being the one enforcing order. But Staci isn’t confident that Danny enjoyed it because he believed in what was best for the public so much as he liked rules for the sake of rules and being the one to crack the whip. It’s strange to say after so many years of butting heads, but Staci misses that asshole. It hit Joey hardest, Danny being her partner, but it hit him too. Danny was with the station since before him or Joey were hired on, for him to just be gone one day… Hope County is a sleepy little place, it can be easy to forget how dangerous this kind of job can be when speeding and hunting violations are the biggest crimes. Danny was a grim reminder and hopefully, the last one Staci will ever get.

“That’s gonna fall,” Rook’s voice cuts through the quiet, her finger pointed at the drink balanced on Staci’s thigh.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses her out of hand, and she rolls her eyes, sunlight making the brown look nearly gold. 

She’s cute, it’s something he’s had to admit, as much as he’d rather not. While he’s always been a bit of a womanizer, it still feels weird acknowledging he’s attracted to his newly acquired pain in the ass. But…Rook is real easy on the eyes. Even with her constant sourpuss of a face, she's cute. Though the rare times he’s seen her smile… It’s a good look on her.  Hell, it's a good enough look that he asked her out on an impromptu date to the F.A.N.G Center the moment he saw it. Though that ended up being botched; the Junior Deputy inviting Joey along and then abandoning them partway through the day.

He’s gotten to spend hardly any time with her outside of work, between that and her never tagging along to The Spread Eagle, a part of him has to wonder if she just doesn’t want to deal with him when she doesn’t have to. God knows, it’s not Hudson, he’s pretty sure Rook would break her neck to spend more time with Joey.

Staci’s mind is drawn back to Rook’s dismissal of his mild flirting, she seemed uncomfortable with Adelaide’s more…forward tendencies too. But there’s no denying she has a huge annoying crush on Joey. Her face going redder than a lobster anytime the two are near each other. He’s asking her on dates without even meaning to and he’s not even sure what way she swings.

“So, what’s your deal?” He decides to just ask, it might be a long shot, but no harm in seeing if he has a chance. Right?

“My deal with what?” She raises an eyebrow and takes another slurp of her drink.

“Well, I know you’re into women; so are you gay?” Rook chokes on her slushie, blue dribbling down her chin as he continues, “Bi? Pan?”  

“What the fuck, dude?!” She yells, scrubbing her slushie covered hand against her jeans, her blue stained tongue catching his eye as she freaks out.

“It’s just a question.”

“A real fuckin’ personal one.” Her face is a vivid red, making her blue chin and tongue stand out even brighter.

“What? You worried ‘cause, ya know, Montana?”

“No, I’m not worried because of that.”

“Good, because I promise you most people here don’t give a fuck.”

“No, it’s not, I just don’t like talking…”

“You can honestly stop that sentence right there.”

“Pff,” she lets out a soft laugh and the corner of her mouth curves up as she says in a gentler voice, “I don’t like talking.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He gives her the out and she groans.

“Look, dude, not that it’s any of your business but I barely know what the fuck’s going on in my own head. If I can’t figure that shit out, how the hell am I supposed to explain it?”

“I know you like Hudson.”

“Yeah, I do… I can’t say I’m not attracted to men? I don’t think, I’ve thought men are attractive. I just, women catch my eye more,” she shrugs, face still red, “though I don’t know if that’s because of me or ‘cause of the….selection here.”

“What do you mean?”

She glares at him, dark eyebrows furrowed as if she’s trying to figure out if he’s serious while she slurps on her slushie. He can nearly see the gears in her head desperately trying to turn.

“Dude, seriously?” She asks raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t budge.

“Seriously, you make it sound like the men here are drooling apes.”

“Women in Hope County.”

Rook points out a woman stepping out of her car, long tanned legs and daisy duke shorts.

“Men in Hope County.”

She gestures towards a man at the gas pumps, bent over with his jeans half falling off his ass with plumber crack on display for the world.

It’s his turn to choke, pop catching in his windpipe as her sputters and gags on his laugh, leg jerking and sending his entire drink falling into his lap.

“Jesus fuck,” he manages to cough out as cola soaks his crotch.

“Told you it was gonna fall.”

“At least I don’t look like I blew a Smurf.”

“Fuck off.” She roughly shoves him as they both laugh.

“So, all us Hope County men are just too ugly for you?” He says with mock hurt in his voice as he stands from the trunk, walking around the cruiser.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“No, no, I get it, I mean, how could anyone stand to even look at me.”

“What do you want from me?” She’s glaring at him now from over the cruiser, each at their respective doors as they talk.

“Nah, it’s my cross to bear, I have to learn how to deal with being hideous.”

“I mean, we can always get you a paper bag.” Her face breaks into a smile and she starts laughing halfway through her own joke, blue tongue pressing against her canines.

“Wow, fuckin’ wow, just double down.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” she rolls her eyes, face still flushed from laughing, “for what it’s worth, you’re one of the more attractive guys in Hope County.”

“Thank you,” Staci can’t help but genuinely smile, between the compliment and her expression, something about the moment settles warm in his chest.

“Which is kinda like being a tall dwarf.”

“Fuck you,” his outburst makes her laugh and he can’t help but laugh right along with her, “you can’t let me have anything can you?”

“Nope.”

They’re still smiling, stomachs and cheeks aching as they climb into the cruiser. He turns the key and starts up the engine, pulling them out of the parking lot. The soft tapping of Rook’s finger against the door is the only sound as they drive through the valley. She’s always moving, he’s not sure he’s ever seen her completely still.

The cola on his jeans has barely started to dry by the time the radio starts to crackle, dispatch putting out a call.

“Units please respond, we have a domestic disturbance at the Ramsey Residence, neighbor reported yelling coming from the home and threats of violence.”

The Ramsey place is about fifteen or twenty minutes out from where Benjamin and Julie live. They’re familiar with the Sheriff’s department. He hates to sound so jaded and cynical, but they’ve done this song and dance so many times.  Benjamin has been an abusive drunk since as long as Staci’s lived in Hope County. No matter how many times they cuff and drag him away; Julie refuses to press charges, bails him out, and welcomes him back with open arms. It’s an endless cycle and Hope County doesn’t have the resources to break it. With that in mind, he grabs the receiver.

“Deputy Pratt and Hale responding, over.”

He flips on the sirens, lights flashing and the speaker squealing as they rush towards the Ramsey house. Tires spitting up gravel as he drives along the backroads, following them to the old farmhouse. It was once a beautiful house, he’s sure, but it’s started to fall apart over the years. The white paint peeling and the wood of the porch starting to rot away.

There’s a tension in the air as the deputies get out of the cruiser, grass crushing underfoot as they make their way to the home. Despite being Staci’s subordinate as far as standing in the department goes, Rook is in front of him and taking the lead. Not because he wants her too; she just does that.

The porch lets out a loud creak when the junior deputy takes a step, straining under her weight. That doesn’t bode well for him, while not a particularly heavy guy, he’s over a foot taller than Rook and fit. She may have muscle mass, but he’s sure he still weighs more at the end of the day. 

“You might wanna be careful,” she warns him, standing next to the door, clearly having gone through the same thought process as him.

“Yeah, this porch has seen better days.”

It strains and creaks, echoing a louder under him as he takes the steps up. Then his foot goes through the porch. He curses as he starts to fall through, broken rotted wood splintering into his jeans and boot. A hand wraps around his wrist, Rook steadying him as gets his bearings. He grips the railing as he his rips his foot back out of the wood; breaking and ripping apart boards with the force of it. The smell of mildew, rotted lumber, and muck getting kicked up from it.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

He has to shift back onto the steps that were able to hold him, he could step over or around the broken gap, but the chances of it just breaking through again are high. Rook lets go of his wrist once he’s on stable footing and turns back to the door. She knocks on the door three times, before calling out.

“Hope County Sheriff’s department, we got a call, just here to make sure everything’s okay.”

There’s no response, of course they’re in no rush to open the door for police. A beat of silence  and then something breaks from inside the home, like glass crashing to the ground.

“You ever deal with them before?” Rook asks as she tries to open the door, but it’s locked.

“Plenty, he always has to be taken kicking and screaming. ”  

“Is he dangerous?” She’s slid a pick into the door lock, twisting and turning it. Why the hell does she know how to pick locks?

“Only to his wife, every time I’ve dealt with him, he’s no worse than a drunk toddler.”

“Hmm,” she nods in understanding, “go around back and see if there’s a back door or something, we can’t take anyone out this way. I’ll head in.”

“Since when do you give the orders, probie?”

“Pratt,” she says his name like a warning, just as the door clicks open. She’s right and he Staci knows that, but that doesn’t mean he has to like being bossed around by the probie he’s supposed to be teaching the ropes.

He waves her off and goes walking around the house, all this trouble and splinters in his shin over some damn drunk who should have been locked away years ago. There’s a set of concrete stairs up to the backdoor, not attached, but sturdier than forty-year-old rotted wood. He shakes the backdoor and finds it’s locked, because of course it is.

Staci slams his shoulder against the door as he hard as he can, putting all of his weight into it. The lock and frame give out from the force, a boom and splintering sound ringing out.

“Fuck!”

It’s Rook’s voice, no mistaking it, a groan of pain punctuating the curse. Staci’s blood runs cold and he runs into the house; feet hitting the floor in heavy thuds as he runs to where he heard the sound. Nearly tripping over himself as he enters the living room.

Adrenaline coursing through him, Staci recognizes two figures instantly as he enters. Ben Ramsey standing over a curled up figure dressed in the familiar green of their uniform, blood is on the carpet, soaking it through.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! What’d he do? What did that son of bitch do to her?

From his angle, Ben’s back to him, Pratt can’t make out anything other than her fallen body. He can’t tell if she’s breathing, if she’s moving, where the blood is coming from, if she’s even alive.

Words stick in his throat and his mind only spins curses, his hand pauses, body frozen. Only a moment in reality, but in eternity to Staci; just enough time for the old drunk to pull his leg back and slam a boot into the young deputy on the ground. A sickening crack and curse from the young woman.

And for the first in his career, Staci pulls his gun out. It may be too quick of a move and maybe in the hours after he’ll think of how he should have gone for the baton or taser, but his hand is on his gun. Pointed at another human being. There’s a shake to his hands.

“Ben Ramsey, you’re under, under arrest! Put your hands up!” His words stall for a moment and he curses himself for the way fear seeps into his voice at the worst times.

“Fuck you-“

His words are cut off by a yell, Ben’s body convulsing for a second before he hits the ground with a heavy thud. Rook taser in hand moving as it happens, quickly cuffing him, and Staci can breathe again. He’s not going back to the station alone. The side of her head is stained with blood, hair matted in it, her left eye shut and that half of her face red. Her nose and lip are busted open, blood streaking down her chin.  She’s hurt, but she’s alive. His head is swimming, drops his grip on his weapon, his shoulder aching and making him realize just how tense he was. He’s not even certain his finger was on the trigger, he realizes as he holsters the thankfully unused gun.  Her lips move over and over again, but the words don’t cut through the fog of his brain until another moment passes.

“Pratt, radio backup, now!” Her hands are on the man’s cuffed wrists, keeping him in place on the ground, subdued for the moment as the man’s thankfully still dazed from the shock.

He’s hesitated, his delay to grab his radio no doubt wasting precious seconds. Why does he always fucking hesitate? He’s tripping over his words as he talks, because of course he is.

“Officer Pratt, we need backup and, and emergency services to the Ramsey house, immediately. Officer injured, suspect is belligra-belligerent and dangerous.”

“Suspect’s wife is injured as well.”

There’s more than three people in the room, Julie Ramsey curled up in a ball beside the couch, sobbing desperately at the entire scene. He didn’t even notice, fuck, he fucking hell.  He gives the exact address and gets confirmation that someone is coming.  Staci crouches down, closer to Rook’s level where she’s kneeling next to the suspect, he’s able to get a better look at Rook’s injury. He can smell beer, both from the suspect and from her head, shards of brown glass clinging to the blood-soaked skin. He bashed a beer bottle over her head, then kicked her in the face while she was down.

He needs to get something to hold against her head, to help stop the bleeding. Staci’s starts to move to get his overshirt off, thinking it’d be better than nothing, but then sirens screech at them. Police officers for the station and EMTS coming through the house. It’s going to be okay.

No thanks to him. He did nothing. He wants to pull his hair out, scream at himself, why the hell is he this fucking pathetic?

Ben Ramsey is arrested and charged, taken to one of the officer’s police car. Meanwhile Julie and Rook are assessed before being taken to the back of ambulance. Staci follows them, moving on instinct to follow and make sure Rook is okay.

He doesn’t speak the entire way, just grateful to be allowed in the ambulance, he listens as they access her. Lacerations, contusions, possible skull fracture; the words swim around his head as they look her over in the ambulance. He watches as the EMT forces Rook’s left eye open, seeing why it’s been shut, blood vessels damaged across part of the white, red irritation in the other half that goes into the brown, blurring the edge of the iris.

Ideas of her losing vision in that eye flood through his mind, how severe is the damage, could it impact her career? Is she going to be out of here before she’s even finished probationary hire? He was supposed to be looking out for her.

He sits outside her room at the Hope County Clinic, privacy or some sort of doctor crap, he can barely even remember the rest of the ride there. His back against the wall as he sits on the floor, ringing his hands, mind racing through a million possibilities. 

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse’s voice is what ends the frenetic mess in his head, if only for a second. The presence of the sheriff easing some of his nerves, knowing the older man will be able to handle this, whatever the situation may be.

He scrambles to his feet and explains everything that happened; from the porch falling in, him pulling his weapon but not firing, and an injured Rook having to subdue the suspect. Each word of it making him feel just a bit more pathetic, a bit weaker, he really fucked this up.

Whitehorse squeezes his shoulder, a warm heavy hand to comfort him.

“It’s okay, Pratt. Everything is gonna be fine, Rook’s made of tougher stuff than this.”

He sighs, unsure of how he feels by the statement. It’s meant to comfort him, and it does some part of him. He wants Rook to be okay, fuck does he need her to be okay.  But, Whitehorse’s unwavering faith in her strength, makes him feel all the more pathetic in comparison.

The hospital room door opens, a doctor walking out, looking over at Whitehorse and Staci.

“You can come in now, if you’d like.”

Staci follows behind Whitehorse as they walk into the little clinic room, off white walls and floors greeting them. Rook’s sitting on the side of the white sheeted bed; seeing her cleaned up and moving is instant relief for Staci’s frayed nerves. Her face is bruised, her eye still messed up, but she’s no longer painted red with her own blood. His hands twitch, he realizes he wants to hug her, to pull her close and feel that she’s truly okay. But he can’t find the nerve to do it, unsure of how the young woman would react. 

“So, what’re you dealing with?” Whitehorse asks her and she sighs. 

“Needed some stitches, some glass scratched my cornea so vision in this eye is gonna be a little blurry, but it will heal. Minor skull fracture.” 

“Skull fracture?” Staci can’t help but blurt out, that’s  bad, isn’t it? Skulls are kind of important, being the thing that protects your brain. Why the hell is she just shrugging it off?

“It’s not bad, they don’t do anything for it. My head is gonna hurt like hell for a bit,” she shrugs, “if spinal fluid starts coming out my ears and nose, call 911, though I think that’s the rule for everyone.” 

“Alright,” Whitehorse speaks up, “there’s gonna be some paperwork to take care of with your injury and your time off.” 

“I’m not taking time off.” She’s emphatic, shaking her head like the sheriff is ridiculous to even suggest something like that. 

“I’m not sending you out like this, Rookie, you need to worry about healing up.” 

“You want me to take time off, during my probationary hire, that’s ridiculous.” 

“Don’t stress, it’s not going to affect anything, just take two weeks off-” 

“One week, max.” 

“Fine, one week," Whitehorse gives him with a hefty sigh, "just take it easy. And actually take it easy, not doing anything to hurt yourself in the meantime.” 

“Pfff,” she huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes, hopping up from the bed. 

“We’ll go back to the station and take care of the paperwork.” 

Whitehorse puts a hand on Staci’s back; the other on Rook’s as he walks them out the door. Staci feels exhausted as he gets into Whitehorse’s truck with them, someone having taken the cruiser back to the station for them. His body slackening into dead weight as he leans against the door; his nerves are shot to hell and back, he just wants to collapse after everything. She’s okay and that’s what matters most; his own insecurities be damned. 

They arrive at the station; since it’s regarding just her injury and leave, Staci isn’t needed for the paperwork on this one. He instead waits outside, he’s not sure why, but he doesn’t feel ready to just go home yet. It’s after shift and usually he’d be at The Spread Eagle by now, sipping cheap beer and shooting the shit with Joey. 

Speak of the devil, the older  deputy is coming down the hall, nearly jogging towards him. And he’s wondering if she’s felt the way he did when he heard something happened to Danny, before they told him about the former deputy’s death. That anxiety of knowing something is wrong but not knowing the details, fear building ideas of what could have happened. 

“What the hell is going on?” 

“Rook got hurt, she’s gonna be okay, but, uh, Whitehorse is giving her the week off.” 

“Thank god,” Joey lets out a sigh of relief, tension noticeably leaving her body, “I thought, jesus, I don’t know what I thought.” 

“Yeah, uh, been a rough day…” 

“How you holding up?” 

“I fucking choked, Joey. The asshole was trying to kick her damn brains in and I choked.” 

“You can’t blame yourself,” she tells him, a faraway look in her eye, “I get it, I do, but you can’t blame anyone but the asshole who hurt her.” 

“It's not just that…” He sighs; is he really going to have this conversation? It feels so damn pathetic. 

“So, what is it?” 

“I...don’t worry about it.” 

“Well, I’m certainly not gonna complain about skipping the feely talks. But, uh, for what it’s worth, hindsight is twenty-twenty. Beating yourself up over what you should have done, what you wish you’d have done, is pointless. You do your best in the moment and it’s all you can do.” 

“I guess…” 

“So...how this affect your little crush on Rook?” She asks after a beat of silence, trying to turn the conversation light-hearted.

“Ugh, don’t call it that. The only crush around here is Rook’s on you.” 

“Yeah, right. You got it bad and we both know it.”

“I might have asked her if she’s gay.”

“Seriously, Pratt?” 

“What,” he says halfway through a laugh, “she always follow you around like a puppy dog, I had to make sure I even had a chance.” 

“Well, do you?” 

“Maybe…if she stops crushing on you.” 

“Eh, that’s nothing, she’ll be over it before you know it.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“The only reason she’s like that with me is ‘cause she thinks I’m pretty, it’s completely superficial, like a little kid.”

“Well, do me a favor and stop being pretty?” 

“No can do, you just gotta sack up and ask her out.” 

“‘Cause the F.A.N.G Center went so well.” 

“Okay, so ask her out and this time, be specific and talk slow.” 

“She’s oblivious, not brain damaged.” 

“Ehhh, debatable.” 

He thinks for a moment, he likes Rook, he does. She’s cute and spending time with her is nice; being able to tease each other has made his job way less mind numbing. Relationships that go beyond the bedroom have never been his forte; it’s honestly been a while since he’s been on an actual date. But, he thinks it could be nice with her. There’s no telling if they’d actually click romantically, that’s not something you find out until you try it. It could be worth a shot. 

But he thinks about today and thinks about the future for a moment, something he’s not fond of doing. Rook is still on probationary hire; who’s to say she’ll be here after the six month period. He doubts Whitehorse will get rid of her, maybe due to her age, he handles her with kid gloves and he’s always been a bit soft as far as sheriffs go anyway. But,  it’s always a possibility if she crosses too big of a line or does something unforgivable. 

Hell, she might decide she wants to leave, might realize Hope County is just not the place for her and head back to Louisiana. 

 At the moment he just likes her, nothing intense, nothing he can’t deal with losing. If he found out tomorrow she was fired and leaving, he’d be bummed sure, but he’d recover relatively quickly. But if they started dating, if it worked out and one date led to another. If they hit it off, meshed as well as he thinks they could and that ‘like’ grew into something more and then she had to leave... 

“Once her probationary hire is over, I’ll do it,” he says out loud, committing himself to the action in front of Joey. Once that threshold has been crossed, once he has a little more reassurance that he can pursue Rook without fear of her leaving, he’ll go for it. 

“You sure you can hold out that long?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You tell me, Mister asked her out on the first day.” 

“Shut up.” 

Dahlia signs the last of the paperwork, her hand cramping, all of this fuss because someone hit her with a beer bottle. She’s still sick from the idea of having to take off a week, better than two, but she’d rather just do her job. So, her vision in one eye is a little blurry and her head hurts like crazy, big deal. 

“There’s something else to address.” 

“What’s that?” She raises an eyebrow at Whitehorse, let her out of paperwork hell, please. 

“It’s up to you if you want us to press charges against him for assaulting you.” 

“Oh.” 

“If it matters, we’ve dealt with Ben a lot, he’s been beating his wife black and blue for years. But, she’s never willing to press charges and nothing’s been severe enough to bring him up on charges from the state.”

“Let’s do it, then.” She’s not sure how much it will help, without counseling and after care, who knows if the cycle can break. But, if she can get the guy put away, it will at least give her a chance to get out without fear of repercussions. 

There’s some more paperwork associated with that, filling out a statement and the like. But, that’s more than worth it. She finishes it up and is massaging her hand to help alleviate the muscles that are cramping in distress. 

“Also-”

“If I have to sign one more piece of paper, I’m gonna kill you.” She cuts him off and earns a chuckle in response. 

“No, I just wanted to tell you, hell of a job, today.” 

“All I did was get beat up.” 

“You were in a high stress situation and you resolved it as best you could, you subdued him without deadly force, and showed you know how to handle yourself.”

“The standards are low, aren’t they?” 

“You did good, be proud of yourself for a moment,” he tells her, squeezing her shoulder as he passes by.  Her heart warms at the gesture, he thinks she did good. Despite being stuck taking a week off, he still thinks she did well. 

Hands in her pockets, she’s grinning as she leaves the office, Hudson and Pratt are just outside; talking about who knows what. They’re usually off drinking right now, but he seemed freaked out about her injury, maybe he’s trying to make sure she’s okay. She’d appreciate it if that were the case. 

“Hey, Rook,” Hudson greets her, bright smile, and Dahlia gives a small nod of her head. Unable to force words out of her throat. 

“Everything taken care of?” 

“Yeah...guess I’ll get to see you guys in a week,” she grumbles, still upset about it. 

“Hey,” Hudson stops her before she can leave, “why don’t you come out to The Spread Eagle with us?” 

“You know I can’t drink, right?” 

“They serve water and pop,” Hudson says, shrugging. 

“Um, okay…”  Dahlia scratches sheepishly at the back of her neck, she gets to go out with them, her heart is warm. Between Whitehorse’s praise and being invited out with the other deputies, this is a pretty good night. 

“Is that why you weren’t tagging along with us?” Pratt asks as they start to head towards the door. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to tag along…” 

“Oh my god, you awkward little disaster.” Pratt ruffles her hair as he insults her and she playfully smacks his side, happy to see him joking around again. 

The neon sign of The Spread Eagle flickers above Dahlia’s head as they walk to the old bar. It’s cheesy and ridiculous the logo of a scantily clad woman with she assumes eagle wings.

 “So, I'm gonna live my life like it's my last damn night.”

“Cause when the clock strikes twelve, we're all gonna go to hell”

 The jukebox and lowlight greet them, people spread around drinking at the bar and cozied up over the wooden tables. A little stage in the corner for those nights when they have live music. Behind the bar, Mary May works away at getting people their drinks, honey blonde hair tied up in a bun and her flannel’s sleeves pushed up to her elbows. A window behind her shows a glimmer of the kitchen, an older man with dark hair slaving over the orders.

“You’re late,” Mary May teases Hudson and Pratt as the deputies all grab seats at the bar, Dahlia between the two of them.  

She’s never sat at a bar before and something about it feels decidedly mature to the young officer. That is until she can barely climb up there and unlike her two coworkers, her legs aren’t long enough for her feet to comfortable rest on the ground or even part of the stool. Her legs left to swing like a child’s.

“You can blame the probie for that one.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll try not to get my ass kicked in the future.” 

“You finally gonna get your round of free drinks, hero?” Mary May asks her, a slight smile on her face and dear god, why must the women in this county be so pretty? The apples of Dahlia’s cheeks are growing warm. 

“‘Fraid I can’t, still got a year before that’s legal,” she says, never mind if it’s maybe a bit closer to a year and three months. 

“Well, a free meal it is then.” 

“No, no, I can’t do that,” She quickly dismisses the idea, local businesses tend to need every dime they can get, she’s not letting Mary May cut herself short just because Dahlia did her job. 

“Seriously, if it weren’t for you, I’d be shut down for the month, it is the least I can do.” 

“Give it up, Rook, she’s not gonna budge,” Pratt tells her. 

“She’s stubborn as a mule,” Hudson warns. 

“You heard them, cowboy, your money’s no good here.” The cowboy nickname is a new one, but Dahlia doesn’t mind it, or the way it makes her smile. 

“Fine, free meal, but I’m tipping.” 

“Okay, okay, I can work with that.” 

Hudson and Pratt get cheap weak beers and Dahlia gets a pop as they look over the food options. Everything makes her stomach growl; desperate for something more than convenience store food or microwave meals. There’s a sign below the window into the kitchen, saying they deliver, she wonders if the trailer park is too far away for it.

She decides to try something she’s never eaten before, a burger with huckleberry barbecue sauce, never having heard of the condiment before. Orders in, she can’t help but look around the room, taking in the decorations. Newspaper clippings beneath a neon blinking sign for Lease Lager, a little flag for Hope County Cougars, and a smaller flyer advertising something she’s seen billboards for all over; the Testicle Festival, advertised with a little screaming cartoon bull.

“The fuck is a Testicle Festival?”

“Pffff,” Pratt laughs and chokes on his beer, pulling it away and licking the beer away from his lips. Hudson cracks a big grin, pressing a hand to her mouth to hold back chuckles.

“I mean, it’s basically exactly what you sound like,” the older woman says, shrugging her shoulders.

“People get together and eat bull balls,” Pratt adds.

“Willingly?”

They both laugh as Dahlia looks at them wide eyed, that’s so fucking gross, why the fuck would someone eat that? She’s never been one to turn her nose up at any meal, but that so disgusting, her stomach churning at the very idea.

“Yeah, it’s a thing, I, don’t know what to tell you.”

“Montana is gross…”

“Oh, shut up, I’m sure they eat gross shit in Louisiana too.”

“Not really,” she shakes her head at Pratt, trying to think of the weirdest food she’s ate, well weird to them, “I mean, I’ve had alligator before.”

“You’ve ate alligator?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t think that’s weird?”

“I didn’t eat it’s balls!”

They cackle and laugh at her outburst, she’s joining along before she knows it, face flushing as she cracks up. She barely can remember the ache in her head or the blur in her vision, the more painful moments of the day forgotten as she loses herself in dumb banter and jokes. The burger is incredible, she’d lick the plate clean if she wasn’t in public. Hell, that fact is barely holding her back. She’s not sure how many colas she’s drank her way through, but at some point, her bladder is screaming at her.

“Let me guess, you gotta piss,” Pratt taunts her, reminding her of their little bickering match this evening, she’s an adult she’s allowed to piss.

“Fuck off.” She grabs a grimy fry off the ground andt she drops it down into his beer as she walks by.

She uses the bathroom and washes her hands, catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she does so. It’s the first time she’s got a proper look at herself since she was beat up. Stitches over the laceration under her eye, the skin bruised, the white of her eye purple with busted blood vessel with the brown of her eye blurring into it. An absolute mess and she grins.

There’s something fulfilling about getting in a fight, not starting but, making it through one.  Having the marks to show it, knowing she held her own. Whether it was fights in school or when she’d fight back against her step-father, no matter how it ended up, she’d feel proud of herself. Whether because she fought back or simply because she survived. The aftermath was nothing more than a badge of honor marking what she went through. She’d take a thousand more stitches and bruises over the week off, if she’s being completely honest. Dahlia leaves the bathroom once her hands dry, shoving them in her pocket as she goes.

Oooh, oooh, ooh~

If I told you a lie, you could smile, my love.

You’d never understand.

The jukebox hums and Dahlia finds her eyes looking around the room, taking in the faces of the patrons. A shift of a door and the step of boots draws her eyes towards the door. Her breath catches in her throat, what the hell is a Seed doing here?

John Seed, the youngest of the brothers, is walking through the door. All of the siblings make her uncomfortable in some fashion, largely to do with their religiosity, but then they each have their own unique brand of unsettling. John reminds her of a sleazy car salesman, too sharp smiles that don’t reach his eyes. Even when he shook her hand at the church, something about him felt off, like he’s wearing a mask but she can’t quite tell what’s under it.

If I told you a tale, you’d cry, my love.

You’d never hold my hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mary May yells over the bar, when she sees him.

There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes when he looks at her, not unlike a cat finding a mouse to tear apart.  He strides to the bar with purposeful steps and he smirks, but unlike those salesman smiles, it reaches his eyes.

“I just thought I’d check in,” his eyes lazily scan the room, looking at the beer bottles and glasses of whiskey in patron’s hands, “do we really need to have this conversation again?”  

“It’s a bar, the hell you expect me to serve?”

“I expect,” John puts his hand on the bar with a sharp sound, “you to listen to reason and start to understand your position.”

“Is something wrong?” Dahlia’s question escapes her without another thought, everything about John’s body language putting her on edge. 

When it all bleeds out, you don’t know.”

When it all bleeds out.

John’s eyes leave Mary May and land on Dahlia, those piercing blue eyes cutting through to her core. He looks her up and down, as if she’s the mouse now. But she doesn’t shrink away or avoid his gaze, unwilling to show any signs of backing down in the face of his intensity. 

Wake up, little man.

Don’t you break her heart. 

“Dep-yoo-tee,” John speaks in a low drawn out way, emphasizing every syllable with the slow drag of his gaze on her.

“Stay out of it, Rook,” Pratt warns her as she walks past him and Hudson at the bar. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, why the fuck would she stay out of it? Supposedly, John already tried to get members of Eden’s Gate to steal Mary May’s alcohol shipment and now he’s showing up to push her around; fuck that shit.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Oh c’mon, little man.

Don’t you fall apart. 

“I was just trying to have a little talk with Mary May, though she’s never been one for civility. More importantly, what happened here?”

He reaches out towards her face and she flinches out of reflex, John’s fingers grazing her bruised cheek before she smacks his hand away. Not sharp enough to truly hurt, but enough to force him away.

When the devil’s got you, but only by the hand. 

“Hazard of the job and, please, don’t touch me.”

John’s eyebrows furrow, eyes growing dark and face scrunching for a moment in anger before he forces a soft smile. It doesn’t touch the stormy look in his eyes; another little mask hiding whatever’s lurking beneath the surface.

Let go, little man.

Let go, little man.

“Ah, you poor thing, you” his voice deepens with concern, but it feels more like pity. He fidgets with his sleeves and lets out a sigh, irritation seeping through the false concern. She has to resist the urge to smile, something satisfying in seeing his true emotions bubbling up.

“It is what it is, are you done with your ‘little talk’ now?”

His nostrils flare and he bites his lip, it feels like poking a bear, but she’s having fun with it. He gives another fake smile and she wants to wipe it off his face.

“With Mary May, yes, but I was hoping to speak with you more. Though,” he looks around, “this is hardly an ideal setting. Have you given any more thought to tomorrow?”

“Like, I said before, I have to work,” she says the white lie and dismisses him with a shrug, hopeful it will appease the Gucci wearing gremlin in front of her.

“You know, it’s not often The Father goes to the trouble of inviting someone himself,” he tells her, as if it’s meant to entice her. Instead the title ‘The Father’ just makes her skin crawl, not unlike the title her step-father took on with his own church. As if she needed more reasons to avoid these people.

“What are you talking about, Rook? You got a week off for your injury, remember?”  Pratt pipes up and Dahlia’s blood runs cold, why the fuck would he do that to her? Why would he do that? John’s eyes go bright and a sly smile stretches across his face.

“Wonderful, I’ll see you there, dep-yoo-ty, service begins at nine in the morning.” John gives her arm a hard squeeze before he leaves, Dahlia’s skin crawling beneath his touch. Empty air where he once was within the next moment.

Yeah, I vow to the moon, yeah, I howl at the wind.

I’m bleeding and I can’t stay clean.

 She’s expected to come to the service, dear god. The air is punched out of her lungs. Even being outside of a church put her nerves on edge, she’s not sure if she could step foot in one without getting sick.  She moves behind Pratt and puts her hand on his shoulders.

“Hey, Rook, what are you-uuck-” Pratt’s words cut off as she moves and wraps her hands on either side around his throat. Not hard enough to genuinely hurt him, but enough to feel it as she shakes him and pretends to wring his neck .

“Why the fuck would you do that?!”

“It was funny,” he defends himself when she lets go and throws herself onto her chair, bringing one foot up into the seat as she leans back. Her body going slack with exasperation, she’s seriously going to have to go church?

“I fucking hate you, I actually fucking hate you.”

“God, you’re dramatic. It’s church, not like I volunteered you for a root canal.”

“I’d rather have the root canal.” She tosses her head back with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. Pratt doesn’t know her issue with religion, she knows that, so she can’t truly be angry at him. But, fuck, would it have killed him to keep his mouth shut?

“Well, I think I should probably get out of here before Rook kills me,” Pratt says as he pays for his meal and drink, standing up from his seat.

“I’m gonna head home too,” Hudson stands up and ruffles Dahlia’s hair, “cheer up, Rookie.”

Dahlia doesn’t even have the energy to get worked up about Hudson’s touch, peacefully letting the casual touch come and go with a mere blush. Then the two have left and Dahlia is trying to gather the energy to get up, with the looming reality that she’s expected to go to church in the morning, she no longer wants this night to end.

“Deputy,” Mary May says after a moment, baby blues watching Dahlia sigh and rub a hand down her face.

“Hmm?” Dahlia straightens her posture enough to look at Mary May properly, realizing how somber the bartender’s expression and posture really is. The blonde chews her lip, looking away, visibly searching for her words.

“Eden’s Gate has been in this county for a long time, hell, I was in high school when they moved in on us. They started buying places out left and right, they own half the damn county, now.”

“They have that much money?” Dahlia can’t help but ask, aren’t churches relatively low profit ventures, assuming you aren’t selling snake oil or asking people to donate money for Jesus.

“Got that much money, that much power, and they know how to twist the law to suit their needs. They want the entire county and everyone in it under their thumb…”

Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of the bar, a far away look in her soft blue eyes. Dahlia puts her hand over Mary May’s, hoping the warmth of her touch can help ease the sting, even if she’s not sure what’s hurting the blonde. It’s enough in the moment, it seems, Mary May looking up at her and giving a soft smile, speaking again after a beat of silence.

“You’re one of the few people around here who’s not rolling over and letting them do whatever the hell they want. I don’t wanna see that change. Just do me a favor, don’t drink the Kool-Aid.”

“Look at me,” Dahlia looks directly into Mary May’s eyes, “I’d rather play jump rope with my own intestines than join a church.”

“Good.”

Mary May is satisfied with that answer, smiling as she’s called away to get someone else a drink. Dahlia’s not sure what the history is there with her and John, but clearly something has happened. Other than the Eden’s Gate members stealing alcohol and Lonny’s asshole behavior, there’s not conclusive evidence that they’ve done anything more than petty theft. John’s opinion on Mary May selling alcohol, supporting that he might ask them to do that. Otherwise, anything else is just bad feelings and hearsay. She wants to trust they’re good people, just staunch in their beliefs and a little strange, always wanting the believe the best of people. But, she’s going to be sure to keep an ear to the ground and stay wary of them, knowing she’s apparently not the only one concerned about their shit.

Dahlia shakes her head and gets out her wallet, getting out enough for the meal and then some, calling it all a tip for the sake of getting past Mary May’s generosity. She puts it down on the bar under her plate, letting the bartender know she’s taking off for the night.

The night air chills her skin as she leaves the bar before she’s caught. She pulls a cigarette out as she loiters outside the bar, leaning back against the building’s porch. Dahlia takes a deep inhale looking off into the distance.

Even in the valley, the statue of Joseph Seed is looming in the distance, the tallest thing in the entire county. There must be light around it, setting the statue aglow at night. She lets out the smoke in her lungs as she’s reminded of the real man. It wasn’t long ago she could barely believe he was a real living person. The statue makes him seem too large, too imposing, too important to be tangible. Meeting him and his family still feels like a fever dream.

Faith is like a living fairy, floating along in a white dress with flowers in her hair. An ethereal being with long dirty blonde hair and bright green eyes. Dahlia’s dream or perhaps exhaustion induced hallucinations of chasing after her still making the woman feel like a specter.

John feels like someone pretending to be human or maybe it’s just how out of place he seems in the rustic little county.  Dark slicked back hair, designer shades always on top of his head, silk shirts, and tailored vests; he looks like a Ken doll someone drew tattoos on.

The brother who didn’t bother to offer his name cuts possibly the most intimidating figure of them. He seemed larger than life. At least six foot six and wider than a door, dressed in army attire with his ginger hair shaved at the sides. The man could snap her spine in half if he had a half a mind to.

Then there’s Joseph, The Father, goosebumps raise on her skin when she thinks of his title. It’s bias, projections of her trauma that bring up those gross feelings when in reality he’s done nothing to her. His statue is true to his likeness in some ways, dark hair pulled back in a small bun and the full beard that seems standard for all men in Eden’s Gate. But at the end of it all, the statue is a composed sterilized version of the intense man who stood in front of her. The concrete can’t capture the intensity of his blue eyes, the way they cut through her, the way his choice of sunglasses turn them green. His unblinking stare as he stood out in the cold of night, shirtless with ink and scars marring his skin, sweat still sticking to him and strands of hair falling into his face.

But despite the wild appearance, he spoke calmly, he spoke deliberately and with devotion. He’s intense and he’s all encompassing, everything about him is too much, from his stare to the way his touch lingered for a moment more than it should have. His presences like a raging fire that can’t be ignored. 

She has no real reason to dislike him, he’s done nothing cruel, he hasn’t wronged her. But every fiber of her being screams at her to stay away, that he’s everything she doesn’t want near her. A forest fire that her body is urging her to run away, lest she be burned to ashes.

It may be paranoia and experience perverting her feelings; and it may be gut instinct trying to save her.  

But regardless, it seems she’ll be burned alive come morning.

[soft-for-arachnid-sauce]

HHHH can i request Beej reacting to hearing his s/o swear for the first time? like full on blue-streak sailor talk kind of swearing

Sure thing, friend! There were a few ways this could have gone, but I wasn't in a huge angst mood, hope you don't mind.

Swearing is a Curse

"Baaaabes." Your ghostly boyfriend whined as he stood next to you.

"What do you want, Beetlejuice?" You were preoccupied with making dinner.

"I want..." He paused. "Yooooooooou." He sang. He was doing the whole "All I Want For Christmas" bit. It was the beginning of September.

You ignored him in favor of dinner preparations.

Beetlejuice was unhappy at the lack of attention he was getting. He walked off into the living room, pouting as he went.

You continued with your work, shucking corn, ripping the hair off of it. It was a delicate process. When you were done you put the corn on a baking sheet. You went to put it in the oven, but your forearm touched the its roof. At first you didn't realize, but a split second later, you pulled your hand away, hissing at the pain. You had dropped the baking sheet before it could sit properly in the oven. Most of the corn rolled to the floor and the sheet made a loud noise, causing you to flinch.

"Fuck. Shit, no, god dammit. Shiiiit." You said, getting louder as you talked.

"Babes!?" Beetlejuice ran into the room, assessing the situation. "Babes, are you okay?" He walked over to you.

"No. Ow, fuck." You inspected the burnt area on your arm. "I just fuckin' burned myself on the goddamn oven and the motherfucking corn went everywhere. Shit. I'll be fine, babe."

Beetlejuice looked at your arm, before turning to the oven to turn it off. "Hey, hey, it's okay babes, calm down. God, I've never heard you swear like this before." He started picking up the corn, piling it on the baking sheet. He placed the baking sheet on the counter. "Actually I don't think I've ever heard you swear."

"Well, now you have." You said, angrily, though the anger was clearly directed at the burn mark forming on your arm. "Fuuuck that hurts."

He closed the oven door. "You need help, babe?"

"Get me an ice pack." You said, sitting on a chair, still holding your arm. You let out a few more curse words.

"Babes you're scarin' me." Beetlejuice said, handing you an ice pack.

Soon everything wound down. You ordered a pizza instead of dealing with the corn and your burn pretty much felt fine. You sat on the couch with Beetlejuice.

"So you haven't heard me swear before today?"

"I don't think so. Definitely not like that, holy shit babes."

"I'm surprised." You let a few moments pass before asking. "Hey, do you want to know my favorite swear?"

"Is it fuck because that's what you like to do with me?" He asked, slyly.

"Haha, no." You said, deadpan. "It's more of an amalgamation of swears. It's 'piece of bitch'."

Beetlejuice laughed. "Great, babe." He smiled at you, pulling you into a hug. "How's your burn?"

"Doesn't hurt like hell anymore."

[fanfictionized]

The Hating Game - Where It All Began (8)

Characters: Lance Tucker x Latina!OFC

Chapter Summary: The Reader has a hard time believing that people - especially Lance- can change. He’s about to prove her wrong...

Warnings: fluff, making out

Words: 3.4k

The Hating Game - Masterlist // Previous Chapter

Lucy couldn’t stop squirming in her seat, getting home and taking a shower and getting all dressed and ready half an hour before he would come to pick her up.

She sat back in her chair, tugging at the burnt-sienna-colored dress with the low cleavage she had decided to wear (because he deserved that much), a denim jacket bound around her hips in case it’d get cold because she still didn’t know where the heck he’d be taking her and those dark brown, knee-high leather boots so that she wouldn’t be having any trouble with being a lot shorter than him and kiss him more easily-

Oh, but her mind didn’t just stop there, no. She wanted to do so much more than that.

She wanted to fucking destroy him in bed which was weird since he had been suggesting to do the same thing to her pussy ever since the day they met.

And she’d probably not even keep up with her expectations and his because it had been so fucking long. She wanted to cry.

Because she wanted him so fucking much.

Even though she was still just the tiniest bit wary of him, or more clearly, his intentions, she couldn’t believe how intense her lust for him already was.

The reason she had been able to read him like a book was because he had always been a very open one.

Told her unashamedly how much he was into her so there shouldn’t be any fears technically, but that still didn’t keep her anxiety from making her insecure, biting her lips nervously as she looked at herself in the mirror.

She hadn’t overdone it with her makeup, she wouldn’t want to seem desperate or like she gave that much of a shit or that she actually took longer to get ready than she actually did…

Nothing about that really made any sense in her head, but anyways…

There’d be thirty more minutes of waiting before she could walk out into the world and into Lance Tucker’s arms.

Fuck, she wanted to touch those arms again.

Calm your tits, Lucia.

The voice in her head chimed in and strangely it wasn’t her own. Neither was the smug grin she could see in front of her closed eyelids as she took a deep, calming breath.

Before the loud hum of a vehicle’s motor came to a halt in front of their house and pulled her out of her thoughts.

She walked over to the kitchen to spy through the window, seeing the black car from a few nights before standing across the street.

It was dark outside, but not dark enough to hide his silhouette through the windows of his car. Him, smoothing his hair back nervously and thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

She giggled when she saw him acting all nervous and it made her believe that it’d somehow make this whole thing easier when she wasn’t the only one fidgeting.

She decided to do a little something to mess with him, ease the tension because she wouldn’t get into the car until it had escaped at least a little.

She dialed his number into her phone. She’s had it for quite a while. Emergency purposes, considering Ana of cause.

The phone rang and she saw him reach for it from his back pocket, staring at the screen for a few seconds until he picked up.

“Hey” His voice was strangely collected, but she smiled through it anyway because she saw his reaction when he heard her voice; grinning silently into the receiver.

“Hi, Lance.”

“You miss me already, darlin’?” He tried to be so cocky and she found it adorable, knowing how excited he sounded as he was talking to her.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She retorted, biting her bottom lip to suppress another giggle “Since you’re parking in front of my house.” She saw his mouth fall open before his head whipped over to the side, searching for her until he spotted her looking at him through the kitchen window, waving at him while his cheeks grew hot.

“Fuck” He whispered and hung up, seeing her laugh and walk away so he got out of the car, straightening the white dress shirt before he crossed the street to get over to her house.

The door opened slowly.

“’M sorry, I thought you wouldn’t notice-” He began before he saw her standing in front of him in her full glory. He stopped halfway to reaching her door and held his breath as he let his gaze wander over her form, drinking it all in.

She looked so fucking stunning. The hair, the dress, the heels…

His dick twitched in those dangerously tight pants.

“I- You…” He started before she cut him off.

“You look handsome.” She smiled as she eyed him as well.

“You do. I mean, you don’t look handsome, you- you’re hot. I mean-” He stammered.

Oh my god, what’s wrong with you?

She walked closer until she closed the space between them to press a kiss to his cheek, halting his actions like she’d just pressed the shut-down-button.

She pulled away with the cutest grin, keeping her hand on the side of his neck and he hoped to god she wouldn’t feel his pulse fluttering underneath her touch.

“Let’s go?” She asked sweetly while all he could do was nod.

.

.

.

“What’re we doing here?” She asked, raising a brow as she looked out the window, eyeing the gym hall from outside.

“I forgot something earlier.” Was his only explanation as he got out of the car, getting around to open the door for her and she could almost swear that he didn’t even have to think about doing so before he’d already done it.

The word ‘Gentleman’ laid on the tip of her tongue before she thought of who she was actually with, smirking at the thought.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, getting out while she walked alongside him.

The gears in her head turned when he saw him fiddling with the keys in his hands, seemingly on edge.

Her grin only widened.

“And why exactly do you need me to come with you…?” She bugged and made him roll his eyes at her for the very first time. He knew he wasn’t kidding anyone, but admittedly, he had never done this sort of thing before.

Something with a moderate amount of thought behind it.

“Just… trust me with this, okay?” He chuckled before pushing the doors open, both of them walking through the office until he had found the light switch in the dark, illuminating part of the hall to reveal a table standing in the middle of the room’s space with two chairs pushed to each side of it and food waiting for… the two of them she realized.

She bit her lip as she turned around, facing his boyish grin when he looked down at her. He seemed so proud of it, she couldn���t hold in her giggle.

“I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to say right now. This is awesome.” She admitted as she walked into the gym, her heels echoing off the high walls and ceiling.

“Right?” He asked excitedly “I fuckin’ aced this.” He drawled and she shook her head.

“Don’t ruin the mood.” She muttered until he sneaked up behind her, pulling out the chair for her to sit on.

“And which one would that be?”

“One where you just take the freaking compliment and don’t act like you’ve invented date ideas.” She raised a challenging brow at him while he sat down across from her.

“Okay, ouch.” He pouted “How ‘bout you fix your attitude, princess?”

She inhaled a sharp breath at the sound of his pet name for her slipping past his lips.

He grinned. She glared back at him.

“How ‘bout you do it for me?”

The risky question had shot out of her before she had even had time to think about it, making her eyes go wide with realization a second later.

He looked equally stunned before he let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Deal, sweetcheeks.” He chuckled darkly, winking at her as he opened two beer bottles.

“But for that you’re gonna have to take me out for a drink first.” He said sarcastically, raising his own bottle.

She scoffed and clinked their glasses together.

“Oh, so this is what then exactly?” She retorted, raising the bottleneck to her smiling lips.

He leaned back in his chair, the cockiness never having left him.

“This is me enjoying the view, darlin’.” He replied before taking a few big gulps, his head leaning back slightly, still maintaining eye contact as he grinned.

“You’re such a pain in my ass, you know that?” And the second she realized it could also have a very different meaning, seeing him inhaling to comment on what she’d just said she blurted out “Don’t even, Tucker. I swear to god- “

To which he only suppressed a laugh and shook his head in embarrassment as if to correct himself or rather his naughty thoughts being the first ones to fill his head.

“Realized it the second you said it.” He chuckled, making a motion as if to zip his mouth shut.

“Seriously, don’t mess this up.” She began, fidgeting in her seat as she was desperately trying to get the rest of the words out.

“I’m really glad I’m here.” She admitted, biting the inside of her cheek as she awaited his reaction and his cocky smirk changed into something softer- something she had only ever seen a few, rare times since she’s met him. Only ever when he was with her.

“Me too.” He smiled brightly and it made her loosen up, smiling back and moving her hair behind her ears.

“So…” She started “What’s on the menu?”

He laughed.

“Only the best pizza in town.” He chuckled, opening the cardboard box to reveal the pepperoni pizza that was laying in front of them.

“Classic. Beer and pizza.” She chuckled.

“If it’s not from Stefano’s I’m going to be very disappointed.” She sighed, smelling the still-warm food.

He scrunched his face up as he looked back at her.

“Girl… the best one’s from that pizzeria down the street.” He stated, making her scoff.

“And I thought you could be trusted when it came to food.” She gasped.

“I’ll make you a deal” He smirked “You don’t like it, we go straight to Stefano’s right the fuck now.” He raised a challenging eyebrow at her.

“Fine” She pursed her lips before taking a slice and taking a bite, chewing for a moment before shrugging.

“Meh.”

Lance almost jumped out of his chair outraged, hand gesturing wildly.

“Wh- What’s that ‘meh’? Do you not have any taste buds, woman?” He protested, making her grin as she continued eating. Making him the one lashing out once in a while was fun. She did that while chewing on the piece.

He only realized she was still eating when he was halfway through his clamoring. His mouth fell shut.

“You like it?” He asked, perhaps a little annoyed.

She nodded “It’s good.” She giggled with a full mouth, making him huff.

“But not as good as Stefano’s.” She shrugged after having taken another bite, making him let out a chuckle.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He muttered as he took a bite out of a slice.

She smiled as she looked at him and perhaps it was a little bit of everything;

The dinner itself in the gym where they first met, the fact that he’d brought pizza and beer instead of steak and wine, the way he looked in that white shirt and how they could joke around and tease each other without making it awkward…

But in that moment she realized that she really liked Lance Tucker.

And that realization didn’t make her shudder like it would’ve a month ago. No.

It rather filled her stomach with an indescribable warmth.

“Hey, uhm…” She began, the two of them already having finished two slices each as she wiped her fingers on the napkin lying next to her.

“I just wanna say that-” She started but as soon as she’d begun to make her confession, he’d shushed her, looking somewhere behind her with eyes wide open and terrified.

“What?” She stopped, turning her head to look over her shoulder.

The light in the room behind the back entrance had switched on, yet she couldn’t see anyone there, assuming that maybe it had been on the entire time.

“Lance?” She turned back to him in confusion, but before she could say anything else he had stood up and grabbed her hand, pulling her from her chair in surprise and walking them both across the gym.

“Hey!” She whined as they stopped in front of the storage room, fiddling with his keys.

“I’m not proud to say this” He began, pushing the door open before pushing her inside, following her into the darkness.

“But we gotta hide.”

“What?” She hissed loudly, the door clicking shut and her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the little light that shone in through the small window, fresh air pouring into the room along with the brightness from the street lantern, illuminating them just enough to keep them from bumping into the utensils, ladders and shelves.

“I’m so sorry, god-” He muttered, taking her hand into his and stepping between two shelves which sheltered them and prevented anyone who entered the room from seeing the two of them.

“It’s security outside, but the new guy who doesn’t know me and would think we’re here illegally and call the cops on us, it’s- “

He huffed, running a hand through his hair.

“We’re kinda…” He mumbled, looking around the small space “Not allowed to be here right now?” He tried an awkward smile but even in the almost complete darkness he could see that she wasn’t amused, rather shocked and speechless.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She sighed, holding a hand against her forehead as she closed her eyes in annoyance.

“I wish I were.” He said before a small laugh burst out of him.

“Don’t fucking lie to me Tucker, I swear if-” She started, just as confused as she was frustrated but she couldn’t let out any more of her anger on him before he had pressed a hand against her mouth to shut her up, moving her back against the shelf as his eyes were trained on the door and the light that was pouring in from underneath it, seeing the shadow of the security guys’ feet moving closer until he had stopped right in front of it.

Lucy’s breath came quick and hotly against his hand, staring up at him with big eyes as his gaze was so focused, brows knitting together while his shoulders tensed up.

She barely noticed the sound of the man rattling the door handle from outside to prove that it was truly locked, the pulse of her core thrumming through her entire body, deafening any potential noise that could distract her from looking away from his gorgeous face.

God, he was so fucking hot. And he cared. For her not to get caught, turning his broad back instinctively to shield her from anyone who might waltz through the door and ruin the scenery she was already making out inside her head.

He cared for his little sister. She had never witnessed any man as concerned for her as he had been that night a few days back, clutching the steering wheel as he had raced through the city, risking to lose his license and sanity to get Ana to the hospital and make her feel well again. Even brought her flowers.

Those damn flowers.

She regretted not having put them up in her own room from the beginning, enjoying their smell and let them take her back to better times back when she lived outside the city without all its smog and garbage.

Fuck, she wanted him.

She wanted him so bad.

“I think he’s gone-” He whispered, his gaze softening before he looked down at her, seeing her already dark eyes glinting somehow mischievously, but not smugly like she was about to throw a snarky comment at his head- more like desperately because there was so much lust pooling behind those eyes the sight of it made him forget what he was about to say, looking at her with such wonder and also puzzlement he couldn’t think of anything else but her.

“I, uhm…” He breathed, voice faltering and only then did he realize how closely they were actually pressed together. Against each other.

His hands were resting to each side of her head, having shielded her body with his own somewhat automatically and if he hadn’t lost his ability to speak before, he surely did as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to meet his lips with hers.

His eyes shot wide open, seeing the slight furrow in her brow as she kissed him deeply, her hands holding the sides of his neck while he could only stand there like an imbecile, his brain not quite yet registering and catching up with the information of what the fuck had just happened- was still happening.

But once her hand went into his hair, tangling her fingers through the gel-stiffened strands to make it softer and easier to hold onto, his eyes fell close in an instant, stiff body loosening and sinking into her embrace as his arms immediately wound around her to pull her even closer. There was no way he was gonna fuck something up he’d been waiting to do since the minute he first saw her.

A small moan left her lips when his palm pressed into the small of her back urgently, driving her closer to him and making her arch her back as she opened her mouth for him- his tongue already having slid across her bottom lip to grant him access and so she did with just as much fervor.

Of cause he was battling for dominance, how could he not, but she had no desire to deny him that when he was just so- so- good at it.

You wouldn’t regret a night with me, babe.

His words had floated in her head ever since he’d said them out loud and in that moment, with his hands feeling over the fabric of her dress, moving lower to grab a handful of her ass and making him groan at the feel of it, she suddenly couldn’t wait to make those words come true fast enough.

She jumped up when his hands held onto the backs of her thighs, wrapping her legs around his waist and feeling her calves against his ass which was driving itself forward to rub his denim-clad erection against her dripping core.

His hands just couldn’t stop exploring.

Feeling the swell of her hips and ass underneath his touch was fucking amazing.

But what made his cock really twitch in his pants was running his fingers along her neck, grazing the pulse point to make her inhale a sharp breath before he’d bury them in her hair to tilt her head back and attack her throat with sucks and bites, nibbling and kissing until he’d reached her collarbone, already having her writhing and gasping in his arms.

“Lance…” She moaned and his pelvis involuntarily thrust forward at hearing his name fall from her plump lips so beautifully, his clothed cock rubbing against the thin layer of her panties which were separating him from driving himself inside her.

Her back was bumping into parts of the shelves’ metal behind her, making them rattle and shake until packages were raining down on them, landing on the ground with a dull sound.

Lucy pulled back long enough to break their kiss and gasp for air, making him listen to her as he was trying to catch his breath.

“You wanna… uhm-” He started, stealing her words. She grinned happily before she simply had to interrupt him.

“Your place or mine?”

*

*

*

Taglist: @culturespark

[evangelene]

Soft Bias Tag

I was tagged ages ago by the ever lovely @wooyujinseol​

who is your bias?—  Uh, Taehyung & Seokjin, Lucas, Daehyun, Changbin, Dami, Jiwoo, Donghun, S. Coups, Jisoo, Jinhwan, Elkie, All of Day6, Hyerin, Yuqi, Xiumin, Mark, Sunny, Yesung, Lime, Inseong (SF9), Inseong (KNK), Jimin, Jessi, I.M., Yanan, Kyla, Wendy, Ken, Sammy, Xero, Yezi....like which one? When you’re too multifandom for your own good

*goes to a random generator to help decide*

I.M.

what made you notice them?— My dumbass didn’t notice him for a bit actually. I kept getting him confused with Kihyun (purely based on looks) and I was like. DAMNIT SAM YOU NEED TO GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. And so I watched Monsta X Right Now and pulled it together and I realized that I.M. was my bias when he held a seashell with his foot.

We don’t ask questions as to how my bias comes about, okay? Okay.

what’s your favourite thing about them?—  Honestly, the fact that he appeals to my sense of humor is perfection enough for me. But the fact that he is a genuinely kind person who just tries to unashamedly be himself makes me love him so much more. Also, I’m just so happy to see how far they’ve come since the survival show--I know it took a lot for him to be accepted and it’s so nice to see how integral he is to the group and how integral they are to him. IDK I’m just so soft for this boy.

who would initiate skinship more?— Lol, probably him for the first time. However, the moment I realize that it is okay for me to be mushy gushy huggy on someone, good fuckin luck getting rid of me. Then it would be be me, 100%.  

who would hog blankets more?— Me. See, my poor partner says that I’m a blanket hog but he doesn’t actually try to take them away from me. The problem is, when I sleep--I’m out, I won’t wake up for shit--and I have a tendency to roll so when I do that I roll the blanket up with me like a burrito. Alls you gotta do is rip it from me and we’re good--I won’t even wake up.

who would be more clingy?— Me. Like I said, the moment you show me that it’s okay to cling to you the more I’m going to do it.

who would say ‘i love you’ first?— him. Fucking tried to say it first once and then I just spiraled into a depression after I was rejected. Hell to the no would I be doing that again.

who would be more easily flustered?— Me. I get flustered when someone compliments me or shows any interest in me. I’m always pointing to myself like me? Really? Why? Are you blind?

what cuddling position would you two have?— I’d probably be his backpack, honestly. Which in normal cases is called big spooning but I like to thank Olivia from Smosh for awakening me to the idea of calling it jetpacking.

which color remind you of them and why? — A tan, earthy pink. You know, basically like a “nude” (it’s not nude for anyone why the fuck is one shade suddenly nude?) but like that color. Yes. I feel like it’s warm and comforting and it’s a color I’m always gravitated to and surprised by and IDK man I just think it fits him nicely.

what season would you like to spend with them? — He screams summer to me, mostly because I feel like we would both adventure and you’d just find us doing stupid shit wherever. In winter it would be too cold and we’d never go out and the inbetween seasons are vibrant enough to me for Changkyun.

which one of you would make bad puns and how would the other react? —He’d be the one making puns because rarely do I make puns, I just make dumb comments in the corner or under my breath. I would probably react to him the same way I do to my dad, with a frozen look of digust on my face whether he’s done talking or not.

who would bake cookies and who would steal the batter?— I would bake cookies and he would steal the batter--any other bias and it would probably be the other way around but he is a bit more mischievous than me so I feel it would be him.

who would want to adopt 50 dogs and cats? — Me. Hands down. This honestly doesn’t matter which bias it will always be me. However, I don’t think Changkyun would stop me and we would just have a house full of fluffies.

which one of you would nearly burn down the kitchen trying to microwave a poptart and who would come to the rescue?— Him, I’m not that much of a nightmare when it comes to cooking. Like I can do it if I try. Therefore it would probably be me coming to the rescue. *flashbacks to when one of my best friends burnt a cheese pizza to a black disc and then tried to convince me she could still eat it because it smelled like teriyaki*

who likes to lean over trail railings and who pulls them back?— Him. Funny fact about me, heights aren’t always scary, but I am deathly afraid of any railing that is not chest height. And it is literally because I am afraid that I will fall because I am so klutzy and I can see myself just spilling over the edge.

what would watching a horror film with them be like?— Him clinging onto me for dear life while I laugh maniacally at murder.

who would be the cheesy flirt and who would be the smooth flirt?— I think we’d both be cheesy. Changkyun is a ball of cheese and I’m as smooth as apple crisp.

who is more competitive?— Depends on what, but it’d most likely be him. I can be competitive, it just depends on what mood I’m in and what it’s over. However, if I am competitive, he won’t win. Period.

who would have to be given constant reminders (reminders to eat. don’t forget your keys, etc)?— Me. My poor partner still has to text me to remind me to eat and drink because I literally will forget to eat for like three days.

who sends memes and who sends cute “i miss you” texts at 3am?— He’ll send me “I miss you” texts and I’ll respond with memes.

Lol, let me know if you guys want to see this with any of my other millions of bias’.

I tag @agustdomain​ @g-d0818​ @queenjunghoseok​ and whoever else wants to do this! <3 <3 You dun have to though