#fucking papers will get damp just sitting out. its RIDICULOUS

[lowpawly]

do landlords ever feel bad about renting out unliveable houses or are they just chill with it

[fanficimagery]

When Enough is Enough pt. II

Imagine being let down one too many times by your best friend, only to end up making some new ones in the process.

Words: 8.5K Author’s Note: Okay so some of you asked to only be added to part 2 of this while others asked to be added everything Bucky.. and a few others weren’t exactly clear. So if you want to be tagged in any future Bucky related imagines please let me know so I can get your blog name written down on my list.

Tags:  @aya-fay @70s-chic @sipsteacasually @kaitlyn2907 @scarlettwitch99 @thingsforimagination  @mimilh @felicityofbakerstreet @eternalharry @eliwinchester99 @intothesoul​ @wintershadowkat  @b1sexualtonystark  @meredeph @miszswan

The Sunday before you are to return to work, you sleep in until nine in the morning. Your thoughts are immediately on Bucky's impending arrival and you couldn't help the butterflies that took flight in your stomach. He's a friend, just as all the others are, but you couldn't help but notice just how attractive this new friend of yours is. But not only does his attractiveness draw you in, his easy-going teasing and protectiveness does too. However, Bucky Barnes is still a man trying to find his footing in this world after all that's been done to him and finally getting his name cleared, and if he finds comfort with you then you're going to try your best and be the friend he needs.

So since you're not dressing to impress, you dress in your favorite lazy outfit after your shower- leggings, sports bra, a faded sleeveless band tee with the arm holes having been cut down to around your ribs, and a pair of socks. Damp hair gets gathered up into a messy bun and you walk around your apartment to pick up some things you had unknowingly left out.

You've skipped breakfast, so when there's a knock on your door and you open up to find Bucky standing there, you groan in relief. He raises both hands with paper bags hanging from each. "I come bearing sushi. Wanda let it slip how much you love it."

"Yesss." You step back, quickly taking in his own comfort outfit of sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt under an opened jacket. "Did you bring plenty of wasabi? And you can just kick off your shoes anywhere."

"Of course." He hands you the bags so he can kick off his shoes and strip out of his jacket before hanging it up. You don't know why, but seeing him in a short sleeve shirt makes you happy, knowing full well he was weird about his metal arm being out in the open. "And plenty of dipping sauce as well. Wanda was more than happy to give me advice."

"Wanda, huh?" You chuckle, leading the way to your kitchen. "You actually told her where'd you be?"

"Apparently I looked very pensive this morning. She asked and I figured she was a better confidant than Steve or Sam who would have made a big deal about us hanging out."

"True." Setting the bags down, you let him empty them while you head to the fridge. "Beer?"

"Yeah."

Grabbing him a beer and yourself a can of Cola, you return to the table and your eyes widen at the sight of all the sushi. "Damn, Barnes. That's a lot of sushi."

"Don't act like you won't eat half of it."

You laugh as you take a seat, handing him his beer and pulling a few trays to your side of the table. You take a container of wasabi and dipping sauce for yourself, and grab a pair of chopsticks to start digging in.

You moan in delight at your first taste, happily shimmying in your seat before taking another. Eventually, you ask, "So what are you going to do when I'm back at work and I can't keep you entertained by getting shitfaced?"

Bucky grins around his mouthful of food before chasing it down with a swig of his beer. "We actually got a mission comin' up so I'll be leavin' around mid-week."

"Well that sucks." You sigh. "Now who am I going to send random pictures to when I have downtime at work?"

He grins. "You can still send them to me. I just won't get back to you until after the mission's complete."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of you continue to eat- Bucky dodging Steve's texts about where he is and when he's coming back, and you sending the middle finger emoji over and over to Wanda who keeps wondering how your date is going. Then once most of the sushi is gone and Bucky puts what little is left into the fridge, the two of you head to the living room. You immediately flop onto the couch as Bucky takes the plush recliner, only for you to hear him moving the chair into its reclined position seconds later.

"Oh. I definitely need to get one of these."

You laugh as he snuggles down and you pick up the remote to bring up your streaming services. "Anything you've been meaning to watch?"

"Not really. Just show me your favorites."

You start off with some humor by playing the Goonies. It's a movie that no matter how many times you've seen it, it always seems to make you laugh. And it seems Bucky is not immune either when they make Chunk to the truffle shuffle. Titanic plays afterwards, but only after making sure Bucky found it somewhat interesting after reading the movie summary to him. He is interested from beginning to end and doesn't even laugh at you when you shed a few tears for the old married couple who opt to stay in their bed as the room floods.

When a break is needed, you head off towards the bathroom as Bucky finishes off the leftover sushi. Both of you check your phones and read each other the missed text messages from Steve and his worrying behavior.

"Wanna tell Steve to fuck off via video message?" Bucky takes a moment to think on it before he grins and nods. "Excellent. Sit in the recliner. I'm gonna crawl up all in your business. That okay?"

"Yeah."

As Bucky gets comfortable in the recliner, you sit on the armrest before sliding down sideways onto his lap. You bring up the camera app on your phone and switch it to video, sliding your right arm behind Bucky's neck while holding your left arm out to capture the two of you on the screen. "Ready?"

"Sure, doll."

You chuckle quietly and then smirk mischievously as Bucky relaxes his expression into his best resting bitch face. After you hit record, you say, "Hey Rogers, stop being a little bitch and sending us text after text. I'm tryin' to fuck your best friend here." Bucky's expression cracks as he barks out a laugh and you turn to face him while grinning. You share a laugh with him before facing the camera once more. "Only joking, but seriously stop buggin' us. I promise to send him back in one piece."

As you prepare to send the text to Steve, Bucky says, "You're terrible."

"Whatever. Admit it, you adore me."

"Occasionally."

You huff another laugh as the video message finally sends. You and Bucky both watch as the delivered status turns to read, and then those three little dots appear as Steve starts typing his reply.

"Tell Bucky to wrap it before he taps it." You burst out laughing at Steve's text, Bucky's rumbling laughter only fueling yours even more. "God I hate your best friend sometimes." And before you climb off Bucky's lap, because honestly you were getting a little too comfortable, you send Steve a few middle finger emojis before deciding on a third movie to watch.

The third movie you choose is one that never fails to make you laugh- Bridesmaids. You had a moment of hesitancy because of the sex scenes, but you figured they were ridiculous enough that it wouldn't be awkward. Thankfully you're correct and you get the added bonus of hearing Bucky's laughter again during Megan's scenes, especially when they get food poisoning and are all fighting for the bathroom.

You and Bucky take yet another break after the film, just stretching and finding something to drink.

"So what's the verdict, Barnes? Are you enjoying the films?"

He grins. "Your taste is all over the place, huh? That last one we watched was raunchy."

"But hilarious! You need to watch the Hangover trilogy, but you definitely need to watch that with Steve and then watch him squirm at the pictures that roll with the credits."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Jurassic Park holds his attention and he can't help but comment how stupid one has to be to replicate dinosaur DNA and then open up a park with live dinosaurs. You laugh, but don't bother commenting. You'll tell him later there are more movies involved, with yet another idiotic man who felt he could get the park up and running once more.

It's getting dark, but it's still a little too early for dinner. One more movie and then you'll order or go out and pick something up.

"So this last one for the day is a movie that's directed more towards the female viewers, but you did ask for my favorite films and Practical Magic is my absolute favorite."

"Well put it on, doll."

As you press play on Practical Magic, you quickly grab a throw blanket and snuggle in. Instead of watching Bucky, you watch the film and mumble certain quotes to yourself. The magic scenes always bring a soft smile to your face just as Gary's confession to Sally of I wished for you too breaks your heart, and Sally and Gillian's heartfelt sister moment makes you cry.

Afterwards, Bucky hums in thought. "So that's your favorite?"

"Absolutely." You tell him. He's watching you curiously and you grin. "If I show you something, you promise not to laugh?"

"I'll try."

"Whatever. That's good enough for me." Standing up, you walk towards him and kneel, and tell him to pull your shirt sideways by the armhole next to your left arm. There on the back of your left shoulder and forever etched into your skin is a salt shaker, a rosemary plant, a lavender plant, and a heart. You then rattle off one of your favorite quotes to him. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

Bucky chuckles as you get up, retaking your spot on the sofa. "You really are a fan of the movie."

You nod. "As a little girl, I was fascinated by magic. I thought I'd grow out of it, but I only grew more fond of it. And then I found Practical Magic and it had a bit of everything I adored."

"So what's the one scene that just gets you every time?"

"Ugh. You're making me choose?!" You feign being distraught and he grins. As you think about it, you keep coming back to two scenes in particular. "So there's two," you tell him, "and I'm not choosing between them." Bucky nods, awaiting your answer. "Gillian's possession. When Sally calls together the other mothers who were mean to her in order to make a temporary coven to save her sister, and Gillian begs Sally to just let her ghost ex have her."

Bucky hums. "That was a bit sad, doll. I saw you shedding a few tears over that."

"Mhm. And the other scene is when Sally comes clean to Gary and admits that she did a spell as a child to call forth her perfect love thinking it wouldn't exist, only it did. When Gary tells Sally that he wished for her too, it just breaks my fuckin' heart."

"Let me guess, you were one of the girls who cast her own spell after seeing that scene." You stay quiet for a moment and the second you feel your face heat, Bucky laughs. "What did you wish for?"

You groan quietly. "If I tell you, you can't laugh!" He only smiles in response and you know he won't drop it until you tell him. "Fine. So even though I knew it would never work, I gathered the weirdest objects and wished for a significant other with dark hair and colored eyes. He had to be protective and funny and love me for me. Simple."

For some reason you can't seem to meet Bucky's gaze then and you feel awkward the longer the silence stretches on.

"So dinner?" He asks.

"Oh god, yes please. Pizza and wings?"

"Sounds good."

You have the nearby pizza place on speed dial, so after finding out Bucky's preferences you make the call and place the order. It's going to be about a thirty minute wait, so you fill the time sending Steve pic after pic of Bucky who's none the wiser as he scrolls through his own phone and adding the most asinine comments to each picture. Steve thinks it's absolutely hilarious.

Then when the pizza and wings arrive, you beat Bucky to the door and thrust several bills at the delivery boy. He's more than happy with his tip and you hurriedly wave him off before shutting the door. You laugh at Bucky's disgruntled expression and then place everything on the table while gathering a beer for both you and him.

"Don't let me have more than two," you tell him while handing him his own bottle of beer.

Bucky agrees and the two of you dig into your own personal pizzas and boxes of wings once you're situated around the table. As you're eating, Bucky asks about what other movies you hold near and dear. You fill him in on a few others and he hesitantly puts it out there that he'd be up for another movie marathon when you both have a day off. You agree that that's doable.

Halfway through dinner, as you and Bucky are chuckling over the thought of making Steve sit through Bridesmaids, there's a sound of glass breaking from your living room and a muffled curse. The two of you immediately cease making any type of noise and Bucky is up with a gun in hand.

"Where the hell did that come from?! You hiss.

The telltale sound of a window then sliding shut can be heard.

"Shut up and get behind me."

The authority in his voice makes you freeze and your heart flutter at the same time, and you have to mentally scold yourself before you quickly do as he says. You follow Bucky towards the living, ready to duck at the ready, only to sigh and roll your eyes when you see who it is.

Bucky stands tall and lowers his gun. "Parker." You can practically hear the annoyance in his voice.

"Mr. Barnes?" Peeking around his shoulder, you raise your eyebrow at your best friend who's been too busy for you and is now frowning at Bucky. When he catches sight of you, he asks, "What's going on?"

"Uh, well we were having dinner until we thought someone was breaking in."

"Alone?!"

Your brow furrows at Peter's incredulousness, only for him to realize you're not impressed with his tone. You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms over your chest. "Did you need something?"

"Oh, um, yeah." He shifts from foot to foot, gesturing to his face where there's a scrape on his cheekbone. "My ribs took a beating too. Can you patch me up?"

"Sure." You sigh. "Why not."

Before you can leave to go to the bathroom to get the supplies you need, Bucky says, "I'll just get out of your way then."

You stop and face him. "What? But we haven't even finished our food. It won't take me long."

"It's fine, doll." He grins when he realizes you're trying to get him to stay. "You gotta hit the hay early anyway. We'll talk soon."

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, sighing when he won't budge. "Well at least take your food with you. No use in it going to waste."

Bucky nods and heads back to the kitchen, collecting his food. You watch him and then follow him to the door, holding his food while he bends over to lace up his boots. Once he retakes his food and you open the door, he thanks you for the time away from the tower and disappears down the hall.

Shutting the door and then heading back into the living room, you tell Peter to get back into his regular clothes so you can get to his ribs while you go gather your medical supplies.

Meeting Peter back in the living room and setting everything down on the coffee table, he says, "So you and Bucky-"

"Don't." You pick up the peroxide bottle and soak a cotton ball in it. "Bucky and I are friends."

Peter manages to keep his mouth shut as you clean the scrape on his cheek and place a small bandage on it. Then when you've checked his ribs and tell him he just needs to ice them, he mumbles, "Friends who apparently lick each other." You snort and think nothing of his sullen tone, but when you look at his face you see he's actually being quite serious. There's no chuckle or boyish grin and for a moment you're absolutely floored at his attitude. "I don't think I'm comfortable with Bucky being alone with you in your apartment."

"Are you- are you kidding me?" You huff and take a step back from him. When Peter just continues to frown, you shake your head at him. "First of all, I'm an adult woman who can make her own decisions."

"I know, but-"

"I'm not finished!" You snap. Peter's eyes widen, but he smartly ceases talking. "I am allowed to have friends whether you like them or not. We have a pact, Petey, and since I'm still abiding by it I would hope that you would too."

"Yeah, but that's for significant others!"

"Significant others or friends, it doesn't matter. And you should be grateful I've kept my mouth shut when it comes to you and Leslie because let me tell you, I've been biting my tongue a lot these past few weeks. Bucky and the others have stepped up since you've abandoned me, so you have absolutely no room to tell me that you're uncomfortable with him or any of them being around me."

"Leslie isn't that bad and I have not abandoned you." You snort, but don't bother opening that can of worms even further. He finally gets annoyed with your quietness. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You're here because you needed a bandage. Tell me, Peter, where are you going after here? Where are you going after making five minutes of small talk and calling it a night?" He opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, shrugs, and you shake your head at him once more in disappointment. "Exactly. Just go, Peter. I'm so over this conversation right now and I have work in the morning."

"Wait, but we promised we'd never leave a conversation where we were still annoyed with each other!"

"And we also promised we'd never judge who the other decided to spend time with, but here we are." He frowns at you. "Go to your girlfriend, Peter. We'll talk again in another few days or weeks or whenever. I don't care right now."

Peter stands there, gaping, before he pulls himself together and makes his way back towards the window he had crawled through. He glances at you one last time, but you merely keep staring until his mask encompasses his head once more and he lifts the window before taking his leave.

As the window shuts behind him, you sag in on yourself and your breathing stutters in your chest as your eyes fill with tears. You've never been this angry at Peter and the fact that he thinks it's okay to ignore you until he needs something and then has an opinion about who you hang out with was just too much for you to let slide.

You quickly gather everything from your coffee table and return it to its rightful place in your bathroom, and throw away the trash. Your appetite is long gone, so you put up what's left of your food and then head to your room to gather some clothes so you can shower and get into bed.

By the time you've crawled into bed, you're still a bit annoyed. So grabbing your phone, you pull up your text messages and click on Bucky's thread.

To Bucky: Well that was a shit show. I don't think I've ever made Petey leave my apartment while we were still angry with each other.

From Bucky: I'm sorry, doll. Anything I can do?

To Bucky: If he gives you attitude, get a non-serum individual to punch him. You, Steve, and probably Nat will send him flying into the wall.

From Bucky: If I remember..

To Bucky: Well I mean if you forget, I won't complain. I'll probably laugh when he comes crying to me.

From Bucky: You're a terrible human being.

To Bucky: Whatever. You adore me just the way I am. And now I should get some shut eye. I'll talk to you soon. Night, Sarge.

From Bucky: Night, sweetheart.

For the next couple of weeks, you keep yourself busy with work. Bucky and a few others do go on a mission as he said they would, so you keep your texts to a minimum of three each day- a good morning, a random story from that day, and a good night. They're gone for four days and in those four days you've not heard from Peter. The only reason you know he's not completely done with you is the fact he likes your posts that you put up on social media.

But since you're not currently speaking to your best friend and are too exhausted to hang out with anyone else, you're in a bit of a funk and completely caught off guard one evening when the patient a police officer brings in smacks you right across the face. You had been trying to insert an IV into his arm when he completely lost his shit, and then you were hit so hard that you were strewn across the gurney behind you. And in your vulnerable position, a fistful of your hair had been grabbed and yanked right before the police officer had intervened and pulled the patient off of you.

You had been given a bit of time to ice your cheek before you had to get back to work, but your face and scalp were hurting you the entire time.

On your way home, however, you're surprised to receive a call from Pepper. You're heading towards your apartment complex when she invites you to dinner there at the tower since Darcy is finally back in town, and you hate to do it, but you're not exactly up to be around such a rowdy bunch. So you apologize to Pepper and ask her to apologize to Darcy for you, and take a rain check. Immediately she knows something is wrong, but you only tell her you had a rough night at work and all you want is a hot shower and to crawl into bed. She hesitates but wishes you well, and the call ends moments later.

When you get home, you waste no time in locking the door behind you and heading straight for your bathroom. You strip down and take the hottest shower your body is capable of handling, and let yourself relax in the steam-filled room. Afterwards, as you're drying off, you gently dry your hair since your scalp is still sensitive and then get dressed in some of your comfort clothes.

Then heading out into the kitchen, you find some leftovers in your fridge and heat those up, tiredly sitting at your kitchen table and digging in. Just as you're done with your food and heading towards the living room, someone pounds on your apartment door. You sigh, hoping they go away, and have only plopped down onto the sofa when a familiar gruff voice speaks through the wood.

You quietly groan as Bucky tells you he knows you're there and you get up to open the door for him. He's on the verge of knocking again when you swing the door open. "Hey. Pepper said-" He trails off as he takes in your appearance, expression going slack before his jaw clenches in anger. "Who?"

You shake your head, gesturing him inside as you turn around and walk towards your sofa. You hear your door click shut before the footsteps follow you. "Work got a little hectic. No need to hunt down anyone, Barnes. I'm fine."

"Half your face is bruised, doll. You are not fine."

"It's all part of my job." You shrug and plop down onto the sofa once more. Pulling a blanket over your lap, you stare up at your friend. "There will always be a drunk and disorderly patient. I was just lucky he didn't do more damage."

Bucky frowns, but he doesn't push you on it. Instead, he walks over and sits next to you, angling his body towards yours when gentle fingers grasp your chin to angle your face more towards him. "What exactly happened?" He asks as his eyes dart over every inch of your face.

"Some petty criminal did some damage to his head in the back of a patrol car. Police officer brought him in and he seemed pretty docile up until I jabbed him with the IV. He got the drop on me. It happens." Gentle fingers brush along your cheekbone and you flinch. Tears sting your eyes as you sniffle. "I'm fine."

"Just because you keep sayin' that doesn't mean it's true."

Your bottom lip wobbles at his words and you lose the battle with keeping the tears at bay. The moment they fall, Bucky pulls you into a hug and you cry into his shoulder. "Dammit," you mumble. "See what you started!"

Bucky chuckles and he holds you a few moments longer, rubbing a hand up and your back to offer a semblance of comfort. When he lets you go, you fall back against the sofa cushions and wipe the tears away with your blanket. "So what are we watching?" He asks while settling in next to you and draping an arm behind your head.

"Shouldn't you go back to the tower and have dinner with the rest of them? I'm-"

"If you say you're fine one more time, I will drag you back to the tower and let Steve motherhen you."

You sigh. "Low blow, Buckaroo."

"And for that horrendous nickname, you've lost the privilege of choosing what we're going to watch."

You laugh and don't bother arguing with him about it as he leans across you to snag up the remote. When he settles back down and you snuggle into his side, you huff a small laugh when he settles on TLC which is showing 90 Day Fiancé.

"Why this show?" You ask.

"Because it blows my mind that some people are so oblivious and can't see that their chosen partner is only in it for the green card."

As you let his reasoning sink in, you can't help but giggle as you picture Bucky sitting in his own apartment and bad mouthing the TV because he didn't like the decisions the people were making in their love life. You watch along with him, cringing at the more obvious couples that are only headed for future divorce and smiling when one of the couples is actually in it for love.

You manage to almost watch a complete two hour episode when there's a knock on your door, but you're too comfortable to get up and answer it.

"You get it," you say as you nudge Bucky.

He nudges you back. "It's your apartment."

"Yeah, but I don't feel like getting up."

"You could have at least come up with a better excuse."

You grin, finally taking your eyes off the screen and glancing up at Bucky. "M'too tired. Brain's not working fast enough." He continues to give you a deadpan stare until you jut out your bottom lip. "Please?"

The second Bucky's lips twitch, you know you've won. He huffs and roughly pushes himself up off the sofa as if answering the door is a hardship, and you go back to watching TV. At least until you hear a familiar voice stammer, "Uh, h-hey Mr. Barnes. Is Y/N home?"

Your gaze snaps towards the door where Peter is standing out in the hallway, hands in his pockets as he sheepishly stares at Bucky. The man in question turns and raises an eyebrow at you as if saying what do I do and you give him a terse nod to let him know it's okay. Bucky steps aside and Peter readily walks in.

"I should be getting back to the tower," Bucky suddenly says. "You kids have fun."

This time it's your turn to give him a deadpan stare and he smirks right before slipping his boots back on. Then as soon as they're laced up, he's walking out the door and shutting it behind him. Peter, who hadn't stopped staring at the intimidating man, finally turns to look at you. And when he does, his eyes widen.

"What happened to your face?!"

You sigh. "I'm fine. Just had a little incident at work."

"And Mr. Barnes was what? Comforting you?"

"First of all, can you stop calling him Mr. Barnes? You two avenge together and what not. I'm pretty sure that means you're on a first name basis." Peter grins as he takes a seat on the recliner near you, shrugging. "And Bucky was here because when I turned down dinner at the tower, Pepper figured something was wrong. Bucky took it upon himself to check in."

"So are you two like a thing or something?" He wonders.

"We're just.. friends," you say. "For some unknown reason we clicked and we're comfortable in each other's company."

For a moment Peter doesn't say anything, nor will he meet your gaze, but then he's looking at you and sighing. "I'm sorry." You blink at him, surprised to hear the apology. "I shouldn't have freaked out that one night. Who you are friends with and who you decide to date is your business."

You finally smile, even though it's rather small. "Thank you. And don't get me wrong, I know you meant well, but you should have dropped it and just trusted my judgment."

"Yeah. I know," he mumbles.

"Soo.. are we good?" You ask.

"Yeah."

"Good. I was getting tired of you liking my posts and not commenting on them."

Peter snorts. A moment of silence passes and then he says, "So you'll be glad to know that Leslie and I aren't together anymore. I broke it off earlier tonight."

You wince. "Sorry."

"Nah. Don't be. She was totally using me for access to the tower." You're torn between being smug about being right and being sad for your friend who just ended his relationship. "I only realized it earlier when she got upset because Mr. Rogers posted a picture of you and Mr. Barnes together, and she had a few choice words to say about it."

"What? Steve posted a picture of us?" You quickly pull out your phone, checking social media for any notifications. There are none, but as you get on Instagram you check Steve's page and sure enough there's a new pic that shows Bucky staring fondly at you as you laugh at something on your phone. "That little shit didn't tag us!"

As your thumbs move furiously to give Steve a piece of your mind and to comment how adorable you and Bucky look, Peter can't help but say, "You're attracted to him."

Your texting falters and you quickly glance at your friend to gauge his reaction, but when he just looks amused, you shrug. "I mean have you seen him? How could I not be attracted to him?"

"Does he know?"

"I have a feeling he does. Asshole likes to fluster me every now and then."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure he likes you back." You snort and go back to finishing up the comment on Steve's post. "I'm serious. When we stopped talking, he threatened me. He was pissed that I made you cry and said I was lucky. He's actually really scary when you're on his bad side."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in and when they do you can feel your ears heating up, followed by your cheeks. Peter starts to laugh and you groan in embarrassment. "Why is this so weird? Dating should be easy!"

"Well he is an Avenger.."

"I don't care about that! He's just- he's really, really hot. It's intimidating."

"Wait, what?" Peter huffs. "So you're intimidated by his hotness and not because he's a super-soldier with a metal arm?"

"Well yeah."

Expression melting into one of confusion, your friend eventually shakes his head at you. "You're on your own with that. Good luck."

You hadn't realized how much everyone had known about your and Peter's brief falling out until the two of you were laughing together once again at the tower. It seemed like everyone had sagged in relief now that the two of you were poking fun at one another once more, and you had to apologize for apparently making it awkward for them.

And now that your best friend knew of your crush on a certain super-soldier, there was lots of teasing material. Of course you kept him in line when you could, but there was no stopping the force of Peter, Wanda, and Darcy combined.

It's a random Tuesday night when you've driven over to the Tower, Bucky having called you over for dinner with a few friends. You had the day off so you didn't mind heading on over, but as the elevator doors slide open after having ridden up to the communal floor, you yelp in surprise as the small gathered crows that shout, "Happy birthday!", at you.

Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Peter pop confetti poppers as you step out of the elevator, eyes wide as you glance between each of them. "My birthday is not until tomorrow!" You hiss.

"But you work tomorrow." Wanda frowns.

"Mhm." Your eyes then narrow, glancing behind them at the streamers and balloons hanging from the ceiling. "And how'd you guys even know?"

Everyone glances at Peter and he takes a step back when your gaze slides to him. He chuckles sheepishly. "I might have hid your birthday cupcake here and Steve found it."

"Petey," you groan. "Why couldn't you just hide it at aunt May's like usual? You know I dislike birthday celebrations."

"You don't dislike them. You just dislike all the attention being on you."

"Whatever. Where's Barnes? He's the one who lured me here under false pretenses. I got a bone to pick with him too."

Everyone turns around and Bucky's head appears from around the corner. He smirks and you glare at him. "Not false pretenses. We are having dinner," he says. "It just so happens to be a birthday dinner. And it's running a little bit late, so until the food gets here you get to open presents."

"You guys all suck."

Peter and Wanda each take a hand and drag you further into the room, heading towards the kitchen. Bucky fully steps out from behind the wall and you aim a kick at his shin as you're walking by. He laughs as he easily dodges it and then you're standing by the kitchen island that's been cleared of everything other than birthday presents.

You huff a small laugh and shake your head fondly at them. "I love you guys, but you do know you didn't have to get me anything, right?"

"Shut up and open the presents," Bucky says.

"Open mine first," Sam says, reaching into the small pile and pulling out a white envelope. "Unlike the others, I was literally told within the last thirty minutes we were doing this so yeah. It's not the best present, but I think you'll enjoy it."

You smile at Sam as you open it, chuckling at the plain birthday card and his brief personal message written inside. But it's what else that's inside that makes you meet Sam's gaze once more, smiling fondly at him. "Thank you. I can't get enough of bubble tea and I'm sure I can do some damage with this gift card."

"You're welcome."

"Mine next." Peter reaches in for a medium-sized box and hands it over to you. "I know you're not a fan of presents, so I got you something I actually knew you'd enjoy."

Raising an eyebrow at him, you pull the lid off of the box. Then glancing down, you snort before pulling out a bottle of Patron Silver Tequila. "I knew we were best friends for a reason."

Steve groans. "Please drink responsibly."

"Please. Responsible is my middle name, Rogers." Everyone snorts and instead of trying to remain serious and feign offense, you end up laughing. "Sam and Buck are good babysitters. You have nothing to worry about."

"That's to be determined," he says. "Here. Open mine. I honestly had no idea what to get you, but Peter assured me you'd enjoy this."

Putting the bottle of tequila back in its box, you accept Steve's gift. Pulling off the ribbon, you can't help but laugh when you see what's inside. "Cards Against Humanity." Peter cheers. "We're playing this the next time I have off," you say, grinning at Steve.

"What is Cards Against Humanity?" He wonders. "I just picked it up and boxed it."

"It's possibly one of the most confusing card games or raunchy card games you'll ever play," Sam says. "I, for one, am looking forward to it."

"Thank you, Steve. I seriously can't wait to play it."

"You're welcome."

Wanda claps her hands. "Mine and Darcy's next. She ordered online and I had to pick it up earlier. But, um, I'm not sure you want to open it up in front of everyone."

"Oh god. Don't tell me it's a vibrator."

Sam laughs out loud as both Peter and Steve start blushing. Bucky looks rather amused and intrigued as Wanda slides two boxes over to you. She shakes her head, giggling. "Not quite."

For a brief moment you're relieved, but then her answer sinks in and you're hesitant all over again. You groan. "Is yours safer? I feel like it is. Which one is it?"

Wanda only smirks as she pushes her box towards you. You open it, marvel at its contents, and then put the lid back on much to the boys' displeasure. Trying to keep a straight face, you look at Wanda. "How many sets did you get?"

"There's four. All in colors that will look amazing against your skin tone."

"Thank you. I'll send you pictures when I wear them."

"Yes please! Natasha wants to know how they fit as well. She was the one who suggested them."

"I'll send them to the ladies group chat then."

"Well that's not fair," Sam complains. "First for not showing us what's inside the box and then you guys have a ladies only group chat. I wanna be in the ladies only group chat."

"But then that defeats the purpose of it being a ladies only group chat," you muse.

"Come on," Peter then whines. "What was the present?"

Your gaze slides to Peter, but instead of outright saying what it is, you say, "Think back to that one Halloween night where you wouldn't let me out of the dorm until I switched costumes."

It takes him only a minute to understand and when he does, he snorts. "That wasn't a costume! That was lingerie."

"Whoa, what?" Sam exclaims, grinning.

"Lingerie can be worn as a costume?" Steve wonders.

"I was actually a Victoria's Secret Angel, complete with the most amazing set of wings, and Petey forbade me from leaving the room. It was a sad, sad night."

"As much as I wanna get into that," Sam says, "I wanna know what Barnes got you more."

You chuckle and glance at Bucky, smile faltering when you see him tense. But then he seems to shake himself out of it and offers you a grin. "Open the bigger one first."

Wanda clears away the other presents as Bucky slides his two towards you. You feel giddy as you grab the bigger box, untying the black silk ribbons and lifting the lid. There's tissue paper you open up and you gasp, happily giggling. "You didn't?!"

"Well you did say it was your favorite movie, sweetheart."

"Yes!" You glance up, beaming at Bucky, and your heart swells at his own smile being directed at you. "I really, really love this. I can't wait to hang it up."

"What is it?" Peter wonders, trying to peer across the island.

"It's a quote from Practical Magic," you say and Peter huffs a laugh, knowing full well your love for that movie. You carefully pick it up and turn it around so everyone can see it as you read it off by heart. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

"Aw," Wanda coos. "That's adorable."

"I made Bucky watch this movie a while back," you say. "I need to show it to you one of these days."

"I'm looking forward to it," she says.

With nothing else to say, you place it back in its box and set it aside in favor for the second box. It's a little smaller, but you're excited for it nonetheless. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, you immediately laugh at the white petals scattered atop the tissue paper.

"Barnes, you smooth sonuvabitch," Sam mutters.

Steve and Peter laugh, but you're so focused on the notecard that's under some of the petals. Lifting it up, you read the note to yourself because immediately you know it's personal. My better half has to be funny, get along with my friends, won't judge me for my past, and has decent taste in movies.

Heart fluttering, you bite the corner of your lip when it feels like you're smiling way too much.

"Well what does Prince Charming have to say?" Sam asks.

"That's none of your business." You close the note and then tuck into your back pocket, chuckling when Sam and Wanda complain. When you meet Bucky's gaze, you immediately flush and mentally curse yourself when you see him smirk in return.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you center yourself and then part the tissue paper. You look at the second portrait and gasp after you read it.

"What? What is it?" Peter wonders.

This second portrait is of a hand drawn bowl with a tipped over salt shaker, a small bundle of lavender, a small bundle of rosemary, and a heart beneath it. Above the bowl is a swirl of flower petals and inside the swirl of petals, in very pretty cursive writing, are the words I wished for you too.

Did he just- did he confess his own feelings by using a Practical Magic quote? Or was this just you overthinking his present? You glance to meet Bucky's gaze and at his gauging expression your eyes fill with tears.

"What did you do, Barnes?!" Sam scolds him. "You made the poor girl cry at her own birthday celebration!"

But Bucky isn't paying him any attention, instead he's solely focused on you. You set the present aside and walk around the kitchen island on shaky legs, and Bucky readily reaches for your waist as you grab his face and pull him down into a kiss.

You can't believe you're kissing Bucky, but then he squeezes your waist and returns the kiss, and you know you made the right choice.

Someone gasps, but then the following words let you know exactly who it is. "Darcy is going to be so angry she missed this." Wanda. That is Wanda.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam wonders. "What type of present can cause this type of reaction?"

You smile against Bucky's mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before falling flat on your feet after having been on the tips of your toes in order to reach his mouth.

"It's my favorite quote from my favorite movie," you say. You turn around to address your friends, but Bucky doesn't let you go far. He wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you back so you're resting against his chest and tucked beneath his chin. "It's a movie about witches," you explain. "These two little girls are being raised by their aunts and they see them performing love spells for a local woman. Basically, one of the young girls refuses to fall in love after witnessing a love spell gone wrong and she does her own spell to call forward a love that would be impossible to find- a man who's favorite shape would be a star and who had one green eye, one blue. Years down the road, the sisters accidentally murder a man."

Sam snorts. "How the hell does one accidentally murder someone?"

"Shush." Wanda admonishes him. "I want to hear the story behind the gift."

You and Bucky chuckle, and you continue to explain. "Anyway, they send in an US Marshall to investigate the disappearance and the one who had done the love spell at a young age starts to fall for this man. She ends up telling him about the murder, but he doesn't quite believe her. Then they're on the verge of hooking up when she gets a good look at his eyes- one green eye, one blue."

"Oh my god. That's so cute!" Wanda says.

"It gets cuter. And sadder," you say. "So she explains to this man about her family, the murder, and how she can't be with him because he's only attracted to her because of a love spell she did when she was just a little girl. At first he's skeptical about this spell bringing him to her, but then he ends up believing her. And as he's walking away from her, he stops to tell her I wished for you too."

"So you made out with Barnes because of that?" Sam shakes his head, chuckling. "Wow."

"It's fuckin' adorable. Stop ruining the moment, Samuel!" Bucky laughs at your words and pulls you closer to him.

"So while I'm happy for Buck," Steve says, "I'm still really curious about what Darcy's gift is."

Peter nods. "Same."

Wanda giggles, but says nothing as she grabs the box and slides it over to you. You groan because you know it can be nothing good, but you still open it since everyone is watching and waiting. As soon as you part the tissue paper and read the box, alongside taking in the picture on the box, your face flames as you shove the lid back on. Wanda cackles.

"I hate her."

"She said to give the remote to-"

"Don't!" You cut Wanda off, blushing even further. "I know who she means to have control of that."

"They- they make underwear that does that?" Bucky muses and you die a little on the inside in embarrassment. You elbow him as he starts to laugh behind you.

Sam instantly knows what the gift is now and starts to laugh, but Steve and Peter apparently need some help.

"Lewis got you vibrating panties, didn't she?"

"Oh my god, Sam, if you don't shut up I'm gonna punch you in the throat."

Steve is torn between laughing and trying not to make you even more uncomfortable, but his amusement wins out. "Given Y/N's flustered state, I'm assuming Darcy wants Bucky to have the remote."

"I mean this seems like it could make for an interesting night."

Everyone laughs at Bucky's sudden interest in the box you're doing your damnedest to keep shut, but luckily Peter steps in. "As much I love watching Y/N squirm, can we get ready to eat? I'm starving."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go wait downstairs for it, kid."

Sam and Peter head for the elevator to take them down to the lobby, and you turn around in Bucky's hold. "Help me take this stuff to my car so I don't have to do it later?"

"Sure thing, doll." He grins. But instead of stepping away, he pushes you further into the kitchen island. You smile as he cages you in and then huff a laugh when he reaches for the box behind you. "So exactly how long do we have to be dating before we can test these out?"

You slowly lean upward so your lips brush his as you say, "I'd say very, very soon if you would put your ass into gear and help me move these presents like I asked."

Bucky laughs and presses a quick kiss to your lips. "Then let's get to it."

The telltale sound of a phone's camera goes off and you turn your face towards the sound. Wanda is beaming, her phone pointed towards you and Bucky. "Darcy wanted evidence I wasn't lying. She's going to be so happy."

Bucky turns his face to look at her then, his cheek brushing against yours where he's yet to back off from you. "Tell Lewis I said thanks for the present. I'll give her my review of them in a few weeks."

Wanda's eyes widen and you immediately blurt, "Don't you dare!" But she's already texting and you know the group chat full of ladies is going to be full of messages that you'll have to reply to later. Quietly groaning, you slap your hands against Bucky's waist and push him back. Looking up at him, you shake your head but the corner of your lips turn up in amusement. "You're terrible. I would threaten to withhold sex, but I've been looking forward to that for a while. I'd just be punishing us both."

"Just tell me when and where, sweetheart, and I'll be there."

"Oh no. You guys are going to be that couple," Steve complains.

And without missing a beat, you face him and say, "Fuck off, Rogers!" Bucky snorts.

"You're cranky when you haven't gotten laid."

You gasp as Bucky bursts out laughing right in your ear, but he quickly catches you as you try to lunge for his best friend. "You know what, I was going to be discreet when banging your best friend, but now I'm going to tell you all the filthy things Bucky likes to do just to annoy you. I will go into excruciating detail about the look and taste of his dick!"

Steve blanches as it's Wanda's turn to burst out laughing. "You've done it now, Steve."

And as Steve looks to Bucky for help, he merely shrugs. "You brought this on yourself, Stevie. Hope you enjoy the play by plays."

Relaxing in Bucky's hold and moving so you're hip to hip with him, you slide your arm behind his waist and hook your thumb into the belt loop of his jeans. "We're going to have so much fun."

[barrysjumpsuit]

our little family - rafe cameron x barry

summary: while cleaning up after a storm, rafe and barry find a kitten, which barry insists they keep 

wc: 1.3k

warnings: drug use, profanity, soft barry, usual rarry stuff

a/n: pure unedited fluff

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

The most recent storm had been a big one.

The screened-in porch attached to Barry’s trailer was no match for it, nor were the tarps they had pinned up. Water had seeped into the ratty old carpet, and all the chairs left outside had been blown over. Thunder shook the building, Rafe unable to sleep despite Barry’s arm slung over him during the night. His boyfriend stirred early to find Rafe reading a book that laid on the nightstand in the dim light from the battery-powered push light above the bed.

“You better’ve not lost my spot, Cameron,” Barry murmured, tightening his grip on Rafe.

“I would never,” Rafe scoffed, flipping the book to show Barry’s bookmark – an old Dollar General receipt – sticking out from the middle of the book.

“Couldn’t sleep? Barry asked, his voice still tired. Rafe looked down at him; his hair was messy, his face still squished against the pillow, gazing up at Rafe with a small smile.

Rafe just shrugged, putting the book down. “It’s a lot louder here than at Tannyhill.”

He almost said home, but realized that Tannyhill never really felt like home. Home was here, in a torn-apart trailer that in all honesty should be condemned.

Damn, who would have seen that coming.

After laying in bed together for another half hour, Barry pushed himself up, rolling over to push aside the curtains to peek outside. Rafe had gotten up at the first light, looking outside to survey the damage before returning to bed. “It’s a mess outside,” he told Barry quietly.

“You got any plans today?” Barry grunted, flopping back down beside Rafe, who just shook his head. “Good, cuz I think we got some work to do today, cleaning up n shit.”

Rafe nodded, leaning down to kiss Barry’s forehead before they both got up.

“Fuckin’ hate this shit, man,” Barry grumbled as his bare feet hit the wet carpet. He pulled down the tarps to reveal the carnage that awaited them in the yard. Luckily, the sandy soil had meant that there weren’t any puddles or standing water (outside of inside the trailer, of course), but the wind had done most of the damage.

Their bikes had been spared in the makeshift “garage” they made, somehow still upright. Rafe followed Barry into the yard and he began cleaning up the trash and mess of outdoor furniture while Barry checked on his boat.

Once Barry was satisfied, he came to help Rafe move the old couch that sat outside beside the trailer to where it would get some sun and hopefully dry off before it was beyond saving. Barry pulled the cushions off, tossing them into the yard, before they each took a side.

With a slight grunt, they lifted the couch, shuffling to move it. Once they started moving it, a small orange shape darted out from underneath the couch and disappeared through a hole below the trailer.

“The fuck was that?” Rafe asked, as Barry dropped his side of the couch.

“You ain’t ever seen a cat before, homie?” Barry asked, dropping to his knees and then stomach to look underneath the trailer. “You got a flashlight?”

Rafe pulled out his phone, but it was dead. He went into the trailer and grabbed a flashlight that lived on the kitchen counter; he went back outside, handing it to Barry, who used it to look under the trailer. “Hey, lil guy.”

“You’re worried about a cat?” Rafe asked, squatting down beside Barry.

“Hell yeah I’m worried about a cat, you see them mice inside?” Barry grunted, crawling to stick as much of his body inside the hole as possible. Rafe could hear him talking to the cat, his words muffled before he called out louder. “Rafe, can you pull away this siding?”

Rolling his eyes, Rafe did as he was told, pulling back the flimsy siding. Barry immediately wriggled inside, just his bare feet sticking out.

“C’mere, little bastard,” Barry called in a sing-songy voice, and Rafe couldn’t help but laugh. “Shut your trap, country club,” his boyfriend shot back. “This guy’ll be more useful than you when it comes to the mice.”

“What do you mean?” Rafe whined, peering inside. He could see the kitten hunched defensively a few feet from Barry’s outstretched hand.

“Because you never check the traps!” Barry’s flashlight was in his mouth now, pinched between his teeth. “Come here, buddy.”

The cat – it was small, so it must be a kitten – took a hesitant step towards Barry’s outstretched hand. It looked scrappy and was soaking wet. It took another step, and then another, until Barry’s hand darted out to catch the kitten by the scruff of its neck.

Barry hauled it out, the kitten wailing pitifully, sitting upright after he wriggled back outside. The kitten scrabbled at the air with its little paws. “Go get a towel.”

“What am I, your bitch?” Rafe asked sarcastically.

“Uh, yeah. I thought we’ve been over that.” Rafe rolled his eyes while Barry held the kitten out towards him. “You wanna hold this thing instead?”

Obliging with a sigh, Rafe went back into the trailer and pulled out an old towel, returning to Barry who was talking to the kitten in a soothing voice.

“Why don’t you talk to me like that?” Rafe muttered, holding the towel out to Barry. The kitten squealed as Barry wrapped it up in the towel, vigorously drying it orange fur.

Barry spent the rest of the morning infatuated with the kitten. He took it inside, opening a can of tuna and putting it on a slightly damp paper plate. After some hesitation, the kitten took ravenous bites, before jumping up onto the couch, curling up, and falling asleep.

“Ridiculous,” Rafe muttered, sitting cross-legged at the coffee table, a fresh line in front of him while Barry gently ran his fingers over the kitten’s fur.

“What should we name it?” Barry asked, ignoring Rafe’s attitude.

“Well, is it a boy or a girl?” Rafe asked, and Barry just shrugged. “We keepin’ this thing?”

Barry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You really are dumb, aren’t you?” he retorted, looking at Rafe. “He’s part of our little family now, whether you like it or not.”

Rafe was taken aback by Barry’s words. Our little family, he said. When he put it like that, Rafe knew he had to be on board with the kitten.

“Uh… Coors? Miller? Budweiser?”

“You’re shittin me, country club.”

“I don’t know!” Rafe protested. “I’ve never had a pet.”

“Nah? No purse dogs in the Cameron house?” Barry asked. Rafe stood with a grunt and went to sit beside Barry; the cat was taking up a whole cushion, so he crammed in next to his boyfriend, his body pressed against his. Barry snaked an arm around his waist. “What about… Socks?”

“You’re shitting me,” Rafe said, using Barry’s own words against him. “Socks?”

“Look, he’s got little white socks!” Barry exclaimed, pointing at the kitten’s four white feet.

It did fit, and when Rafe looked at Barry looking at the damn kitten with that much affection in his eyes, he couldn’t help but not smile.

Leaning to rest his chin on Barry’s shoulders, Rafe reached out to gently pet the kitten. It let out a small chirp and moved under his touch, stretching before curling into an even tighter ball.

Rafe murmured, close to Barry’s ear, his lips tickled by his hair. “Socks it is.”

---

tagging barry’s baddies @starkey-babie @hartigays @pxisonoak @maybanksslut @seap1geon @bigdrewenergy

[kechiwrites]

tension headache

Ground Zero x Publicist!Reader

wc: 2.2k

“Being Ground Zero’s publicist comes with its own set of challenges, luckily there are quite a few benefits to sweeten the deal.” warnings: anal play, dirty talk, light degradation, light spanking, d/s undertones (or overtones w/e), bakugo being the king of bullies

author’s note: i’ve been writing this since august and it’s finally done. special thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​, @some-kindofgnome​, and @nightly-tales​ for betaing! 

Your head is throbbing. The sort of building tension headache you became most familiar with in high school; the kind that starts in the morning and gets stronger with every little irritant. You’re sure it's a tension headache from having your shoulders hunched up to your ears most of the day, a seemingly ever-constant by-product of trying to keep Pro Hero Ground Zero from biting a journalism student's head off. The obscenely large TV hanging above the receptionist’s desk plays Ground Zero’s greatest hits on mute as your heels click-clack towards the steel and glass elevators. 

It’s almost the end of his patrol and you know he’ll be up soon, sidekicks and assistants (two this month, because the first had the good sense to resign soon, lucky bastard) in tow. Four consecutive texts rattle your phone in your pocket to confirm this. Each one an iteration of “on our way up!.” Waving at his secretary, you let yourself into his office setting your purse on the floor. Further behind you can already hear the clamor of voices and activity that announces Ground Zero’s arrival, people no doubt scurrying out of his warpath lest they incur his wrath. He pushes open the heavy door and says nothing to acknowledge your presence. 

Your forehead throbs with irritation at the snub. You know it’s only a matter of time before either of you begin to push the other’s buttons but your employer seems to have a secondary quirk he uses only for you.

You like to call it Extreme Irritation.

“Would it kill you to be nicer to the press?” You give first, sitting on the overstuffed leather couch pushed against the easternmost wall underneath a frankly, unnecessarily large, framed photo of U-A’s graduating class. “Why do you insist on making my job so hard?”

“Can’t pay you for fucking nothing,” he scoffs, leaning against the desk in the center of his office. Carefully he divests himself of his gauntlets, handing one to his senior assistant, and placing its twin onto the desk next to his big gaudy nameplate, muttering; “Take this to Yumikawa, I think I broke the fucking thing.” When he’s halfway past the threshold, Ground Zero adds, “And tell her to do better with her shitty paint jobs!” His gaze snaps to the newest recruit, a tiny shivering thing who looks like a stiff wind could blow her over, “What the fuck are you standing there for? Go with him! Do I have to fucking tell you everything?”

She practically leaves a dust cloud in her wake. You roll your eyes and begin reading through news updates on your tablet, nails clicking lightly against the screen. Tweet after tweet and article after article summarize Ground Zero’s latest exploit, every title and byline more sensational than the last.

“Ground Zero Overshadows Daring Rescue with Another Tirade!”

“Is Ground Zero the Meanest Pro-Hero Ever?!”

‘imagine ground zero calling you stupid 🥴 #imahole’

You could almost laugh if it weren’t for the startlingly large amount of retweets on that last one. Finally, the pro hero deigns to address you; “I did as you asked, I smiled, I laughed, I didn't blow anyone up.” He actually sounds proud. You blubber in shock. “You called the reporter a fuck wit! They can't even air that!” For good measure you hold up the tablet to replay a heavily edited fancam of Ground Zero sneering at some poor junior reporter. “Isn't that what you wanted? Less of my insults on TV?” He is so smug, it drives you crazy. “Not like that!” You toss the tablet onto the couch beside you and stand, stomping towards Bakugo, who’s leaning against his desk, clenching his jaw, arms crossed, as if he didn’t spend the entire morning making you wish you’d never laid eyes on him. The two of you are growing more and more irritated with each other and it’s evident in the rapidly rising volume of your conversation.

"I'm serious, if you want to be ‘Number One’,” you stress through your teeth, “people have to like you, at least a little bit. That. Includes. The. Press.” Every word is punctuated with a strong poke to his sternum, and you try to ignore the pain of jabbing your finger into his brick wall of a chest. It feels as though the pristine white collar of your button-up shirt is digging into your throat while you try to restrain yourself from biting his stupid, perfect nose off.

Now it’s Bakugo’s turn to roll his eyes, “People like me.” He looks to his sidekicks for confirmation and you pointedly ignore them bobbing their heads in unison.

“Who?! Who are these people that like you?”

Bakugo gestures wildy at his sidekicks, “They like me!”

“They’re afraid of you! They respect you but they don’t like you!” You shake your head in disbelief.

“You like me!” He barks at you.

You almost choke on your surprised laughter. He really was absolutely ridiculous.

“I have to like you, you pay me!”  

“That’s right. I sign your cheques, you deal with all the media bullshit and make me look good.”

“You make it impossible for me!” If it weren’t for the intense tunnel vision your arguing was giving you, you would have seen Ground Zero’s sidekicks inching slowly towards the door.

“Well maybe you’re just shit at your job!” He turns away from you to push papers to the side of his desk, the gesture a clear dismissal that only serves to rile you further.

“Oh fucking bite me, Katsuki!” As soon as it’s out you slap your hands over your mouth, eyes wide as dinner plates.

You were exhausted and tense and so mad but it’s not what you agreed on, never at work and never in front of subordinates. In an instant it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. Bakugo’s expression is furious when he whirls on you. You chance a look over at his assistants and all colour has left their faces, ‘Impressive,’ you think idly, ‘Considering Haruto is literally purple.’ 

“Out. Now.” He growls, and his teeth are clenched together so hard you think they might shatter, his throat is rapidly turning red and his hands are clenching and unclenching around nothing. The sidekicks hesitate and you’re a little grateful for their loyalty. 

“Fucking out. NOW!” He yells, and they nearly fall over each other trying to get out the door. 

“And there goes the loyalty,” you murmur while you watch their hasty retreat. “I’m sorry,” you say, turning to face him head-on, apology punctuated with the slamming shut of his office door. You focus on the wall of windows behind him, the city skyline slowly lighting up in the nighttime, preparing for an infamous Ground Zero meltdown. “That was inappropriate, especially in front of subordinates.” Idly, you wonder what the theme this time will be; Disrespect? Insubordination? Or just a good old-fashioned dress down? He’d become quite wordy over the years, you were almost beginning to enjoy them.

While you muse Bakugou inches closer to you, cheeks a mottled red. His shoulders rise and fall repeatedly, like he’s bringing himself down from the peak of his anger. For a moment you think he’ll just outright scream in your face, but when he pulls you, first towards him and then past him until your stomach presses against his desk, you realize quickly what he’s planning. 

His forearm presses against your back until you’re bent over his desk, your hands palm down between the wood and your chest to prevent your face meeting the cool oak. It’s bordering on humiliating how easy he can manipulate you. But they don’t teach hand to hand combat in the business sector, and although you’d toyed with the idea - being in a high-risk industry and all - you never put stock in seriously learning. 

The blond’s hand snakes over your shoulder, slightly damp palm advancing until it’s pressed against the smooth flesh of your throat. Katsuki pulls you towards him this way, and for a short moment breathing is a laboured task. The other hand makes quick work of divesting you of your skirt and underwear, coming down in an instant to make contact with your bare ass. He rubs at it covetously, a shallow attempt at soothing your stinging skin. 

There’s no formality when he thrusts into you, only a few seconds between feeling  the head of his cock parting your embarrassingly slick folds and him being fully seated within you. You grit your teeth against a whine, fingers scrambling for purchase when he withdraws and fucks into you again, and then again, pace slowly gaining momentum until you can swear the heavy oak desk (and seriously that thing weighs a fucking ton) is shifting with the force.  Your stomach presses painfully into the gilded metal decorating its edge but it’s good. Katsuki is so fucking good at taking you apart with every inch he drives into you. Above you he mutters lowly about how fucking wet you are, how eager you must’ve been all day, waiting for him to fill you. It goes on like this for a while, you bouncing between his hips and the desk, him whispering filthy, untrue shit in your ears that makes your nipples hard and your breathing shallow. 

He places his free hand on your back, first up under your shirt, then slowly slides it down, until it’s resting on the roundness of your ass again. You don’t know what he’s planned till his thumb’s parted you, sliding softly over the clenched furl of muscle above your stretched open cunt. 

“Bakugou, no!” you whisper hoarsely, your voice just edging on hysterical as you struggle against his hold. 

“Excuse me?” He hisses between his teeth, thrusts not slowing for a second. The hand around your throat tightens and when he pulls you closer so his sneering mouth is brushing the shell of your ear, you unwillingly tighten around his dick in response. 

“(Y/N),” his voice is almost pleasant, and had you not been split open on his cock in his office, you’d ask him who taught him an ‘interview voice’. 

“Can you tell me who's name is on the building?” While he teases you, you can feel yourself getting wetter around him, thighs tensing and relaxing with the sensation of being spread open beneath him.

“Yours.” You wish you could fall through the fucking floor.

“I’m sorry?” His thumb presses a little more insistently against your pucker. The pressure is foreign, but not at all bad. Dear God, you’re really about to let him do this to you.

“Yours, sir.” You pant, the burning sensation in your cheeks and neck a mix of exertion and shame.

“Fucking say it,” Katsuki tightens his hold on your throat and your whimpers are barely audible over the sound of his hips brutally meeting your ass.

“G-Ground Zero.” you choke out through your clenched teeth. 

“Oh good, so you can read!” Katsuki releases you from his hold and you fall forward. With every thrust, your feet lift off the floor, and you lurch forward like a ragdoll. Katsuki pushes his thumb further inside you, belly-laughing when you cry out in pleasure.

“Where’d all that resistance go, sweetheart?” His digit fucks in and out of you in tandem with his cock, keeping you full constantly. “You know what? Next time, I’m gonna take my time stretching you, keep you wide open, maybe you can wear a plug for me, huh? And then after you’ve been soft and needy all day, I’ll slide right into you, fuck you till you gape for me.” 

You’re incapable of firing back, mouth occupied with moaning incoherently while you drool against the desk. Katsuki chokes off his own moan, using his unoccupied hand to hike up your leg so he can have easier access to your clit. The calloused pad of his fingertips press hard against you. He goes so slow, pushing and nudging at you until your entire body feels feverish and your climax takes you by surprise, forcing a yelp from your lips when your legs begin to shake. 

“That’s it. Come for me. Come on my dick.” Once he’s sure you're done, he pulls his finger from your ass and releases your leg, blanketing your back with his chest. His hips are quick to lose their rhythm as he fills you, ropes of his spend coating your insides. Katsuki shudders against you, hands running a course along your hips. He pulls away, the evidence of your time together sliding down the inside of your thigh without Katsuki’s cock to hold it in.

“I’m going back to working for Hawks.” Your voice is hoarse when you can finally speak again and levering your chest up off the desk onto shaky knees only serves to make your head spin more. You glare at your boss your boyfriend as he dresses.

Katsuki’s grin is derisive while he tucks his softening dick away, “Like fuck, you love working for me way too much to work for that fuckin’ pretty boy.” He leans down in front of you and slides your underwear up from your ankles back into place, followed by your skirt before pressing soft lips to your forehead, smoothing his hands over your cheeks. 

At least your headache is gone.

taglist: @enjifuckersupreme @pleasantanathema

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

The Forgotten - Chapter Five Punishment

Here is the fifth Installment

Full story here

Warning: Blood, gore, mild torture, mild smut

 Aurora utilized those precious few moments she still had with Leo, running her hands over his face, arms and torso drinking in as much of him as possible, before they came for him. He looked so peaceful lying there, eyes closed, taking even unhurried breaths. Like so many times before when she’d wake before them memorizing every scar and scrute as they dreamed peacefully, another life time, so far away.

 Leaning forward she took her final taste of his lips as the door opened to her room.

Aurora ordered Leonardo’s unconscious body returned to the location they had apprehended him. He couldn’t stay in the base, no matter how bad she wanted to keep him close. Though if and when Donnie returned, the genius would want access to his brothers. But she needed him out of there before he escaped and gave away their location to Bishop’s troops. Her first priority was to the people here, if their safe haven was compromised everything would be lost.

 As they hoisted Leonardo onto the cart, Casey stepped in front of Aurora insisting the kunoichi didn’t accompany them. Her first reaction was to object but after a few moments she reluctantly agreed. At this moment she was too emotional, she could change her mind and go get him. So, she added not to be informed of the drop site.

 She watched them prep him for transport; sound canceling headphones were put over his ears set to an annoying brand of music and his eyes covered with dark fabric. Before the hood was pulled over his green crown Aurora bent down cupping his cheeks to gather his warmth in her palms.

 “You have an hour to get him there and get clear before the pressure points wear off. It usually takes a few hours on a human, but the mutagen helps him recover faster, his muscles don’t hold the pressure as long. Don’t stop; don’t engage any hostiles, especially his brothers if you encounter them. Get in and get out.”

 They left with the leader a few minutes later and with a huff Aurora sat down on the edge of her bed. Her hands ran back into the messy sheets finding them still a little damp from their tryst. She suddenly had an insatiable need to smell him again. Crawling onto the mattress her face ran over the sheets taking in his scent that still lingered there. She had touched them all except for Michelangelo today. But she knew when Leo returned home and the youngest found he was the last to leave his scent on her Mikey would rectify that rather quickly.

 Wrapping the blankets still thick with Leonardo’s scent around her, Aurora closed her eyes and found slumber quick to take its hold. Leo’s face flush with pleasure was the last thing she thought of before she fell asleep.

 She slept for several uninterrupted hours cocooned in their memories and smell. It wasn’t until a soft tapping at her door that finally woke her from sleep. Her voice groggy and sleep laden allowed entrance into her room.

 The heavy door opened slowly and April came into focus as her eyes adjusted to the hallway light from the doorway. In her hand was a plate and the wondrous smell of bacon filled the large space.

 “Rise and shine sugar tits. Casey scored some bacon on his way home last night; I thought you’d enjoy some.”

 “That big beautiful idiot, it’s about time he made himself useful.” Sitting up in her bed Aurora’s hands rose above her head to stretch out the sore muscles in her body. “God I think it’s been a year since I’ve had some.” Accepting the plate Aurora bit down on a still hot slab of pork. The salty goodness burst with flavor coating her tongue delightfully and Aurora’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. “Fuck, that’s delicious and you made it crispy just the way I like it. You do care….”

 “Most days……”

 “Bitch…” Aurora laughed slipping the rest of the piece in her mouth. “How long have I been out?”

 “Ten hours, but you needed it. If it wasn’t for this pipin hot pig and a lead to follow I’d order you to stay in bed a few more. But alas duty calls, I need that fine ass up, showered and in the war room in 30 minutes.” April leaned down to Aurora and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

 “Ok mother.”

 “Don’t sass me little lady. You’re lucky I don’t ground you after last night’s debacle.”

 “You would have done the same.”

 “Touché, I’m just glad no one was killed. He could have easily cleaned house last night. I think if you weren’t here last night it would have been a completely different outcome.”

 “I agree, sadly.”

 April stopped at the door and turned back around to face her friend; her face held the seriousness of the situation but as their eyes met April’s lips curled just a little with mischief. “For…..reasons…..how was it?”

 “Heartbreakingly good.”

 “I’m glad but I’m sorry at the same time.”

 “Thanks.”

 The hot spray of the shower was usually a relief to Aurora, the warmth seeping into her tired muscles and washing away her daily tasks. But the thought of washing away the evidence of Leonardo’s visit was excruciating. What had transpired was dangerous, he had nearly killed her the last time they met, but she could see it in his eyes. He was a desperate man and she gambled with her life, it was stupid but she needed it as much as Leo did….maybe more. That piece he shared was just a taste of what she had been missing all these years. People would think it selfish and maybe it was but what miserable existence they had. All that they had given up, no promise of life with each mission, a little happiness was due every once in a while, no matter how short lived it was. For all she knew she would never see them again.

 Finished with her shower Aurora pulled on fresh clothes and headed out to the war room anxious to hear about the new lead that was found.

  The warmth of her was gone, but as he came to the scent remained strong and evident on his flesh. Taking a deep breath Leo tried to sooth the swimming headache throbbing in his skull. She really did know how to adjust the pressure points on their bodies taking in account of the shells on their backs. Curiouser and curiouser, each time they had an encounter with that woman……Aurora, things seemed to become more confusing yet more clear. If that was possible, someone was lying that he was certain but was his master or the woman who was driving him and his brothers insane? But right now he had bigger problems.

 He had woken up where he had laid his trap. A carefully planned scheme he had worked on for months down the drain because of that woman. That infuriatingly beautiful woman, she really did have some sort of hold on him. Maybe there was truth her to lies, she said something was in him? What did she mean by that?

 Stumbling to his feet Leo began his trek back to main headquarters and Leonardo was not looking forward to reporting his failure to Bishop. The man did not take failure well; his tolerance was paper thin but Leonardo rarely came back with bad news so there was hope…..perhaps. The rebel base was supposed to be overrun with his brothers and Bishop’s men by now. If he hadn’t been weak and sought out the blonde, his mission would have been successful. Her name even if not spoken out loud had a profound effect on the leader. Leo’s heart tightened and his insides spun with an unknown feeling. A feeling that took control of him as he searched for the vexing woman’s room in their base and claimed her in her ridiculously large bed. It could easy fit him and his brothers along with her……like it was meant for them all.

 A sudden vision of Raphael, Mike, and him with another turtle wrapped around Aurora sent his head spinning and his chest constricting in unimaginable pain. It intensified as he focused on the fourth mutant turtle he had never seen before but somehow looked familiar. Purple was wrapped around his skull and he was taller than them all, for some reason he knew he was a genius. Brother? Another heart stopping shot of pain surged through his chest and Leo toppled onto his knees clutching at his harness as he struggled to breath.

 What was that, a memory? Why did it hurt so much? Holding his labored breathing Leo closed his eyes and cleared his mind until the pain passed allowing him to stand and resume his return to base.

 The moment he entered into their home base both Raphael and Michelangelo were on him.

 “Where the fuck have you been? You were supposed to call us hours ago!”

 Leonardo ignored his hothead brothers’ questions pushing past him to make his way towards their shared quarters. He was not in the mood, but Leo should have known Raphael was not one to be ignored. His brother’s large mitt encircled his arm and yanked him to a halt.

 “Fuck you if you think you’re gonna pull the silent leader bullshit today. Despite your failure to inform us of the rebels base Mike and I were fuckin worried.” Raphael whipped his older brother around to look into his eyes. He wanted a fuckin explanation. “You were supposed to get ‘caught’ and taken to their base to escape then tell us where ya were so we could overtake them………” Raphael’s nostrils flared, and his line of questions halted abruptly. The grip on his brother’s arm intensified as his eyes dilated with realization.

 Leo winced at the increasing pressure and tensed further feeling his youngest brother get closer scenting the air as well.

 “Ya bro, what kept you?”

 Raphael leaned in close almost pressing his beak to his brother’s plastron and took in a long pull of air. Then something unexpected happened, his hothead brother pulled away with is mouth open wide in a toothy grin and started to cackle. It was a deep sound that started in the depths of his chest.  “You botched the mission for a piece of blondie?!”  The barreling laughter began to rise. “This is fuckin rich! Mr. Self-control couldn’t keep it in his pants to finish the mission.”

 Mikey hit Raph in the shoulder trying to pull him away from Leo, “Shut up Raph. If Bishop hears that he’ll….”

 Refusing to give Raph the satisfaction of acknowledging his weakness for the woman Leo ripping his arm free and pushed past him but stopped in his tracks nearly running into his master.

 Bishop though smaller than the three brothers stood with such confidence the mutants stepped back falling into line on instinct. The dark shades that sat upon his nose was adjusted and his suit jacket opened with a flick of his thumb and forefinger. “Is this true Leonardo? Did you fail in your mission over the blonde commander?”

 The usually stoic leader’s head fell unable to look Bishop in the eye. “Master, I went to her chambers to subdue her. She is a formidable fighter, but I have a weakness for the woman that I cannot comprehend. I am drawn to her and she welcomes it. I lost myself in her and she took full advantage rendering me unconscious. I will not fail you again Master.”  

 A heavy sigh came from the man as he took his sunglasses from this nose ridge to clean them. “I am disappointed in you Leonardo. You, out of your brothers are the most disciplined and to let a mere woman take you from your mission makes me question your loyalty to me. Was I wrong to give you the highest command in my army?”

 “No Bishop, you were not. I….”

 Bishop cut him off moving past the leader to his younger brothers. “You see Leonardo, when you are the leader; you hold the lives of your men in your hands. The responsibility of the mission, of your success rests on those large shoulders of yours.” Bishop moved around Michelangelo to Raphael. “You see, I chose you. Because I knew you could handle the pressure, but I am aware you are still human….so to speak. You are not without your flaws, but you see, there has to be consequences to your actions.”

 Leonardo did not like the way Bishop was circling his brothers eyeing them like they were prey, “Yes, I am fully prepared to receive my punishment Master.”

 “And receive you shall.” Bishop’s hand reached for the top of Raphael’s shoulder and pulled. “On your knees Raphael. You and your brother are going to help me show your leader what happens when he disappoints me.”

 Honeyed eyes met blue, weary of what was happening, but Raphael swallowed the rising lump in his throat obeying his superior sinking slowly to his knees. “Master Bishop, Leo isn’t the only one distracted by her. Mike and I…..” The man’s hand squeezed painfully into the muscle of his shoulder making the brute wince.

 “Quiet Raphael, know your place.” His hands moved to his glasses and pulled them free of his face and folded them carefully placing them into his jacket pocket. “Your team is small, so the effects of your decisions affect them more, but you ultimately suffer the most.” Bishop leaned down wrapping his long fingers around the hilt of Raphael’s long blade strapped to his side. Slowly he removed the blade from its sheath and rested the business end against the scales of his red banded brother’s arm.

 Leo’s brother instincts kicked in and moved forward to protect his brother. He wanted to reach for his katanas, Bishop was their Master, their commander, their savoir but right now he was threatening the only two people he loved on this miserable planet.

 “Unless you wish for their punishment to be far worse, I suggest you stay where you are Leonardo. And if your brothers do not wish for this to happen to you, I hope they do the same. You need to be taught a lesson Leo; no deed goes unpunished.”

 Movement halted but his senses were still on high alert. Leo’s hands clenched into tight fists and his eyes locked with Raph as his green scales gave way to the sharp metal of his own blade. The tip sunk into the dense tissue and began its decent down the deltoid drawing a steady river of crimson in its wake. “Please, not my brothers, I’ll take this, it’s for me and my failings not theirs. They weren’t even there!” Leo voice had risen in pitch watching Raphael groan in agony but stayed where he was told.

 “That would be too easy, you are self-sacrificing Leonardo so taking this pain, this punishment would not heed the lesson. But if you witnessed your loved ones suffer this, it would be engrained in your memory a constant reminder not to fail me again.”

 “I’m fine fearless, I can take it.” Raphael tried his best not to make a sound while the blade began to carve through the thick muscle of his bicep. His nostrils flared trying to regulate his breathing. Something he was taught..by….not Bishop…..but by who? His mind began to scream at him adding to the excruciating pain radiating through his arm. Raph closed his eyes taking in heavy uneven breaths and a hoard of rats swarmed his vision.

 Bishop paid no attention to Raphael keeping his sight solely on the panicking leader. “You did this, you did this to him. You three are beasts, unworthy of love. You actually think that woman truly cares for you….FOR ANY OF YOU! She is a kunoichi, a deceitful vile whore trying to wear you down, gain your trust so she can find me to kill me.” The blade pulled from Raphael’s flesh with a sickening sound and Bishop thrust the tip into the exposed side of Raphael’s body between his plastron and shell. Almost instantly he began to drag the blade down opening up a large weeping gash in Raphael’s’ side.

 This time Raphael gasped in pain letting out a breathless growl, “F..uh….uck.”

 “You are nothing without me, I am all you have. If it wasn’t for me you would have been put down in the labs I found you in! I spared your lives, ME! I gave you purpose!  The rebels only want information from you nothing more. You are freaks; monsters and they will kill you the first chance they get.”

 Gritting his teeth watching his brother in pain Leo kept the fact the rebels had done no such thing. The only thing they threatened was to take him to R&D and remove what was ‘inside of him’. None of them had looked scared or even disgusted by his appearance.

 Blood was now pooling at the brute’s feet slipping down his green flesh like a waterfall.

 “That’s enough!” Leo couldn’t take it anymore. The look on Raph’s face was cutting into his soul squeezing his heart to the point of him unable to pull in a full breath.  

Bishop’s eyes darkened at the challenge put after a few never ending moments he pulled the knife free turning to Michelangelo to continue his ‘lesson’.

 Not to be outdone by Raph, Mikey held his ground ready to take his part in all of this. Planting his feet the youngest stood tall but soon found the solid walls of his brothers in front of him an impenetrable force keeping Bishop and his punishment far from their little brother.

 Leo growled at Bishop holding the bloody knife that was just inside his brother’s side a few moments ago. “I said that is enough. You’re point was well taken.”

 It took their master a few agonizing moments to come up with a decision whether to punish them further or concede. He took a fresh cloth from his breast pocket and wiped the crimson from the knife and held it back out to its owner for retrieval. “Very well, but next time Michelangelo will get it much worse than Raphael did…..much worse. I tire of these games the resistance plays. I want this over with. I want that base found and those three commanders caught and executed. They have caused us too much trouble. They need to be made an example.” Bishop watched Leo’s eyes darken with defiance further but remained where he was. “Do we have a problem with those orders Leonardo?”

 Raphael and Michelangelo watched their brothers hands tense at his sides and his back straighten. “No.” Leo ground out darkly. “I will personally make sure those orders are carried out.”

 “Good, I will not tolerate failure again.” And with that Bishop left leaving the three brothers alone.

 After the hallway was clear Raphael finally stumbled into Leonardo’s arms. Mikey quickly came up to the other side of his brother helping Leo brace his immense weight. “Fuck Leo, I hope it was worth it.”

 Leo adjusted his brothers’ weight and pressed his palm into the weeping gash doing his best to slow the flow. “It was…enlightening, and don’t throw stones Raphael. You know full well if you were given the chance you would have took part in her body without hesitation. Now let’s get out of the hallway and to our quarters. We need to tend to your wounds.”

 Without any word of protest all three made their way to their shared room. When they had been brought to this facility after Bishop and his men had freed them from a secret lab doing tests on animals, they were each offered up their own rooms. Something deep inside them found the thought unpleasant and asked to be housed together. They had even moved their beds together finding comfort in each other’s warmth. Like they had been sleeping close years prior.

 Carefully they set Raphael down on a chair in their living quarters and Mikey began to address his wounds. Leo brought over their med kit and pulled out the tools Mike would need and left to fetch something to flush the gash with to clean and disinfect it.

 Returning to his brother’s Leo handed Mikey the supplies and assisted with keeping Raph’s steady for treatment.  

 Raphael finally broke the silence eyeing Leo suspiciously. “You really gonna kill her?”

  The war room was empty except for Casey who was sitting on the edge of large table in the middle of the room. His booted feet swung slightly as the dark haired man cleaned out from beneath his nails still unaware of her presence.

 “April would be fuckin pissed if she saw you doing that in here.”

 Casey yelped dropping the small knife from his fingers to grab his shuttering chest. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna give me a heart attack! I need to get a bell on you!”

 Aurora giggled hearing him whisper ‘fuckin ninja’s’ under his breath as he slipped from his perch to grab his lost blade. She moved into the room and took his spot crossing one leg over the other. “Then I wouldn’t be effective now would I?”Her fingers reached down to her knee high boots and straightened the seam to lean back to watch her friend. “She said you had something for me, and by the lack of backup I can assume it’s not for everyone’s ears.”  

 Flipping his knife closed Casey shoved it back into his pocket. He turned away from Aurora, took a few steps to the white board and stopped. She watched his shoulders lift with a few deep breaths and he turned around with a very sheepish grin plastered on his face.

 “I did somethin’ stupid..”

 “This isn’t something new Case, I love ya kid but you’re as unpredictable and careless as Raph. That’s why you two were best fuckin pals. Why don’t you tell me what you did and we’ll go from there?”

 Casey moved quick until he was just in front her and his palms were on her knees squeezing with enthusiasm. His eyes were now ablaze with excitement and he licked his lips. “I followed him….well to a certain extent.”

 There was only one person he could have followed, but the moron wouldn’t have been that stupid? Right? April would have skinned him alive. “Who did you follow?” her voice was a whisper hoping she was wrong but her intuition knew better.

 “Leo, I followed him for about a half an hour, hoping I could at least get a general direction of Bishop’s base.”

 “Casey!”

 His hands came up resting on her shoulders, “Wait, wait, …hear me out. He was still groggy when he woke up, stumbling, holding his head. So I figured I’d watch him as he went. I know him; known him for half my life so I know when he’s out of sorts and when he’s not. I followed him until he wasn’t walking funny and he quit holding his left shoulder. When I noticed he was more aware of his surroundings I backed off. At least I had a direction, we needed something Aurora, I took the opportunity. We need to find that base.”

 Aurora pushed him away and jumped from the table. She began to pace, “You idiot….I….I know what you did was for the cause and I appreciate it. But Casey he’s the best, you were so fucking lucky he didn’t know you were following him. He could have captured you, tortured you.”

 “Hey, I ain’t weak, I’d never give up the base…..ever.”

 “I know Case, but the end result would still be your death.” Aurora turned back to face Casey and he looked a little hurt. “I’m sorry, I know you were doing what was needed. I just……I just don’t know what I’d do if I lost you….April…..” she could feel the tears brim and settle into the corner of her eyes. “You two are the… last….my family.”

 “I know I know, April was pissed too but I had too. This was too good of an opportunity to let it pass by. It’s been nearly 10 years of this god damn war and we’re losing and I know you know this. Each day we lose more and more people to Bishop’s hold. So any edge, anything at all was worth the risk.”

 Wiping a stray tear free Aurora let out a long sigh and gathered Casey into an embrace.

 Then a new voice broke them from their moment, “He’s an idiot but…he did good.”

 Both Aurora and Casey looked up to see April standing in the door way.

 “He spent all night trying to narrow it down. He thinks he might know where they are. But we need to make sure before we go in. Casey is good but inconspicuous he is not. We need someone to go in and confirm the location. Someone quiet, someone who can slip in and slip out without being noticed. Avoid detection, which means recon only, you hear me?”  

 Aurora slapped her hands over Casey’s cheeks and pressed them together, “Where should this ninja go for said mission?” she pressed closer giving Casey fish lips which he worked playfully.

 “Rockefeller State Park Reserve.”

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

The evening air had cooled enough to ease the uncomfortable thickness in the air; if it wasn’t for the task at hand it might have been a good night to watch the stars. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky leaving the stars glittering like diamonds.

 Aurora had ditched her bike a mile before she had entered the reserve and continued on foot. Keeping mostly to the trees she moved soundlessly searching the acreage for any sign that Bishop’s base was close.

 They had never thought to search state parks, thinking the madman would find it too difficult to build his compound in the middle of nowhere. But he was a stubborn man and if anyone could make it work Bishop would find away if it kept him hidden from prying eyes of his enemies.

 It took hours to search, but what a peaceful evening it was. The frogs and bugs were creating a wonderful symphony that echoed throughout the forest floor. Even a few lightening bugs were out flashing across the long grass trying to find a mate.

 As she moved through the forest it began to get thicker, the foliage getting denser and then something caught her eye. The moonlight caught the refection of something and Aurora moved back into the shadows pulling out her binoculars.

 Zooming in she saw something that didn’t belong in a park reserve, a motion sensor.

 “Now we’re onto something….” Climbing higher she disappeared into the foliage concealing her presence further and moved forward her senses now on high alert. As she got closer more sensors popped up with the addition of cameras. Soon men with guns began to come into play and that’s when Aurora knew she was on the right track.

 “Good boy Casey, good boy.”

 Then she saw it, a large compound hidden in the park surrounded by a large fence littered with armed men swarming the grounds. “Oh goodie.” She mused watching a guard cross below her unawares of the danger looming above them. “Fresh meat.”

 With no sound made Aurora dropped down on her prey finding luck was on her side catching a female guard and rendered her neutralized. She stripped the woman of her clothes and ID badge and quickly hoisted the woman into the tree to conceal her work. Pulling on her clothes assuming her identity Aurora pulled the brimmed cap down and made her way to her next task.

 The shadows concealed her perfectly as she scaled the fence with ease. She waited for the flood lights to move past before she dropped down into the inner grounds of the base. A passing truck served as a shield bringing to a side door and with her stolen ID badge she was allowed entrance.

 Keeping her head down she disappeared into the crowd following them into what looked like a mess hall. There were many tables filled to the brim with brain washed New Yorkers. All oblivious to their predicament following orders of a man they once fought against. She needed to keep moving, she needed to make sure this was the place, she needed a visual, she needed to see Bishop, or one of them. They would be in the same facility as Bishop; he would want to keep them close.  

 Moving away from the loud space Aurora made her way down another hall searching for her target, keeping an eye out for those god damn sun glasses and that well tailored suit, pompous asshole. Soldiers, doctors, and what looked like civilian men and woman littered the halls. Waves and waves of people came, this was a busy place, very important no doubt.

She needed to be quick though, the longer she was there the more chances there was to be seen, exposed, and even captured.  Then green, large striking green and orange came from the distance. The youngest came striding down the hall, an unpleasant frown plastered over his face, jackpot, she had found it.

 As the crowd parted for the determined terrapin like the red sea Aurora’ saw his massive mitts covered in blood. Whose blood was that? He looked very upset and stressed. Her happy ray of sunshine looked so angry and she fucking hated it. Wanted to run up to him and kiss him, make him smile she even had to refrain from calling out to him. It hurt to hold it in, hold in his name. It turned bitter on her tongue and it swirled around the remaining saliva on her palette to wash the anger from her mouth.

 Then she watched his stride hesitate. He slowed and his nostrils flared as he neared her position. His dull blue eyes widened, brightened, his current mood momentarily forgotten he began to search the crowd frantically.

 Jesus fucking Christ those god damn mutant noses, he had smelt her! A flawless entry and she was compromised by their over achieving mutant senses.

 “God damnit.”

 She had to think quickly, she needed to disappear before he followed that god damn nose like a fucking blood hound.

 As luck would have it a man wearing an ungodly amount of cologne walked up next to her. She reacted quickly and shimmied up to him batting her violet eyes and smiled.

 “Helloo.” Her hand reached for his chest adjusting his name tag so she could read it. “Mattson…I’m new here and you look like a man who knows where things are.” Her hands ran over his chest to his shoulders keeping her proximity close to keep him interested.  “Would you be willing to show me where the mess hall is. I’m starving.” Her hands ran down his arms trying to get as much of the reeking scent of his over compensation all over her hands. Anything to mask her natural scent, to throw Mikey off her trail.

 The man looked Aurora over and his smiled widened enjoying the intimate contact. “Sure thing sweetie, I can show you whatever you want.” His arm snaked around her low back and he pulled her closer.

 As she pulled him away from Mikey’s last know location, down a different corridor both of them were grabbed.

 “I heard this one needed a tour, I’d be more than happy to show you around blondie. I can get you into far more places than he can.” Mikey was leaning down practically lapping at her ear. Fuck, fuck, fuck…..

 “Oh I’m sure he can show me around, it’s ok I don’t wanna bother you, you look important.”

 “Oh no, no bother at all and I insist. I’ll take it from here Mattson.”

 The man looked terrified as he pried himself away from the two and high tailed it down the hall leaving Aurora in Mikey’s clutches.

 “Not smart.” Mikey growled nuzzling into the back of her hair while pushing her towards a door.

 She didn’t struggle; Michelangelo wasn’t drawing attention to her to out her presence  so she didn’t either. His beak was pressed into her hair taking in deep breaths, his grip was secure but not too tight, she would easily be able to break free but something told her to follow his lead.

 Allowing him to usher then into what looked like an unused office, she turned when Mike pushed her into the room and quickly locked the door behind them.  

 There he stood, full height; the shortest of his three brothers but Mikey still had an impressive stature. Just as bulky as Raphael but not as tall. The dullness in his eyes was gone, vibrant baby blue hues swirled in his irises as he took her in, up and down. He gawked hungrily, mouth open in a wicked smile.

 “M-mike.” She whined suddenly finding it difficult to breath. That fucking look was devouring her whole. “Say something…do something.”

 He moved quicker then she had remembered him able and found herself pressed up against the wall with a brutal shove. The back of her head clacked with the dry wall pushing a huff from between her lips which was quickly silenced by his mouth. Mikey slanted his lips over hers plunging his board tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth still hung open from shock.

 The thought was to fight back, to push him away but that god damn mouth of his, that tongue swept away any and all resistance that remained in her head. God he was good and tasted even better, pure bliss.

 He must have felt her melt into him because the deep rumble that emanated from his chest vibrated into her chest as his reached down to grab hand fulls of her ass. Her hands moved around his thick shoulders grasping wildly at his bald dome, more, More, MORE!

 Mikey’s mouth separated from hers with a wet pop and descended down her throat nipping and sucking at the flesh growling and groaning like a wild beast.

 “Mikey….” Her words breathless as his hands cupped her backside squeezed at the plump flesh in his palms spreading her cheeks.

 “Again.” He mewled against her throat cooling the saliva spread across her flesh.

 She obliged willingly giving him his full name, “Michelangelo.”

 “Unngghh fuck yesssss…..” He lunged forward and his teeth sunk into her neck as he began to grind his titanium hard cock along her clothed core.

 “God Mike I miss you.”

 “Do you?” his breathing was labored as he tried to keep his cool but was failing miserably. He rocked his hips again mesmerized by the friction.

 “Every day, since he took you and your brothers from me.”

 One hand relinquished its hold from her ass and his finger drug along her hip lining the top of her pants before slipping below. He smiled against her throat finding no underwear beneath. It gave him better access as his thick digit parted the swollen folds sinking into the accommodating heat it sought.

 “Did you enjoy Leo last night?” he husked sinking his finger deep hooking it to gain a gasp from his prey.

 Aurora arched into his hand clawing at his shoulders as he hit the section of nerves at the top of her snapping cunt. “Mikey!”

 Mikey pressed the spot again leaning into her ear as his voice dropped an octave. “Did you?”

 “Yesss, I did. It had been so long, it hurt a little. I miss taking you too Mike, Raph too. I miss your tongue, your laugh, your cooking….arghhh…ahh…..fuck!” true to form Michelangelo was the best with his hands. The talented little shit always knew how to bring her to a shuttering climax the quickest compared to his brothers and just with his fingers. And today was no exception; she could feel it rushing through her blood, lighting up her central nervous system setting her ablaze with need.

 He worked that finger inside her swirling the pad of his finger over and over making sweet grunting moans in her ear. His sounds always got her going, bringing her closer to her peak quicker.

 “Can you cum for me?”

 Just then his thumb gathered the moister from her core and circled with the right amount pressure against the soft pearl at the hood of her sex and Aurora gave way. If it wasn’t for his hold on her Aurora would have collapsed as she toppled over into her climax. Her body clenched around his finger gaining a groan from the youngest.

  “That’s it, cum for me. Good girl.”  

  She began to shake as he helped prolong her climax repeating the stimulating motion rocking his finger in and out of her. Then he pulled her ear lobe into his mouth and sucked gently as he slowed his motions allowing her to finally come down.

  As the last of her climax subsided Michelangelo pulled his drenched fingers from her body and brought them to his mouth. Keeping eye contact the terrapin slipped them into his mouth and sucked them clean. His eyes closed as he savored the taste swirling his tongue to get the last trace of her essence. “Even better than I had imagined.” Slowly he moved forward brushing his lips against the shell of her ear and whispered. “I have a birthmark.” 

  A test, but she knew what he was talking about, so intuitive, smart. She tried to calm her breathing, Mikey was intense when he wanted. “Your left ass cheek, I always told you it looked like a slice of watermelon. I always enjoyed chewing on it when you laid on your stomach after a shower. That ass makes the perfect set of bongo drums. ”

  He stopped moving and pulled back, his eyes were wide with surprise and Mikey let out a long breath.  “I want to remember, I really do. But you need to get going though; he can’t know you’ve been here. Please hurry, he’s ordered Leo to kill you.”  @imthegreenfairy88 @tmntspidergirl​ @ravn-87​ @alonia143​ @blossom-skies​  

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Heartbreaker- Part 3

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 6332. Yikes.

Warnings: Sexual content, language, angst

Moodboard@peterquillzsblog

AN: The third part of this thing I did for @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I’m a bit insecure about this part, and it was hard to write but I hope ya’ll like it. Shout out to my girl @shannygoatgruff for helping me and encouraging me with the writing process. You da best.

Part 1, Part 2

...

The stars were mocking her, she was sure of it.

Her eyes were glued to her ceiling, the stupid LED’s sparkling brighter now that the sun had completely set and the moon had taken its place. She started learning her constellations when she was 10, the age when shit at home started to hit the fan. It was her attempt at an escape to avoid her parents fighting in the other room. She ignored the yelling and banging against the walls by running to her tiny window and staring out into the sky in the hopes of catching sight of Orion’s Belt or any of the dippers. The stars were nicer then, comforting her as she did her best to drown out her mother’s screaming. They weren’t so visible now that she lived in Oslo, the city lights blocking everything that glowed in the sky. She had to settle for the cheap projector she purchased off amazon when she first called the city home, and it had been enough for her to get by until now. It ridiculed her, the fake stars shimmering together as if to form a smirk.

Fuck that.

She reaches behind her nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall with force, cutting off the starlight and leaving her ceiling pitch black. The candles were still flickering as the only light source, the scent of roses still strong. At least it smelled nice. Flopping back against her pillows, she runs her hands down her damp face from her salty tears, dropping her arms to her sides and dragging the sheets over her still naked body. She hadn’t moved since he left. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Her body felt rooted to the mattress, her skin glued to the sheets. She gives the dark ceiling one last glare before rolling to her side, burying her face into the pillow where Ivar’s luxurious hair had left the fragrance of his coconut shampoo and his Armani cologne. She was fucking pathetic.

Sending him away felt like a mistake.

She wanted to feel powerful kicking his ass out. She wanted to feel in control and confident watching him leave, but she didn’t. He wasn’t even angry. As soon as she told him to leave, he silently gathered his wrinkled clothes thrown about in their haste. In rigid movements he dressed himself, grabbed his crutch, and turned to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shape of her body under the thin sheets. He said nothing, just stared at her with this look of longing, like they were the most unfortunate pair to grace the earth. It certainly felt that way. Then he reached over, holding her head gently to place a kiss on her temple before leaving her bed. All she wanted to do was to cry and call him back as soon as she heard her front door close with a soft click.

The facade immediately collapsed and the smirk slipped from her lips, settling into a deep frown. Her eyes welled up with tears and cascaded down her cheeks without so much as a fight. She had felt a heaviness in her chest, a burning that ached over her as if Ivar himself had reached inside her and ripped out her heart. He had broken it, so why did it hurt just as much when she tried to hurt him?  

Because she loved him. She loved Ivar.

She was in love with him. Completely and hopelessly and stupidly in love. Like a fucking idiot. She loved him when he visited her at the museum. She loved him when he took her home. She loved him when he took her to bed. And she loved him more when she watched him leave, his expression forever implanted in her mind like a photograph. She’d never seen such a look on him before.

When the hell did it start to get to that point? She wasn’t too sure. It started simple enough, boundaries were set, and they were both happy with what they had. The sex was great, and even greater still when she realized her feelings were getting involved. She found love in the simplest things. She felt it in their little touches whenever she handed him something, in the smile that lit up his face when she made his favorite meal of steak and potatoes, or the way he looked at her when he knew she was wearing something particularly naughty under her clothes. Or maybe she loved him from the moment they met at that fucking party. Apparently it only takes the brain 2 seconds to fall in love with someone. She couldn’t even remember where she’d read that. Probably from that corny lifestyle magazine she picked up while waiting her turn at the dental office. Whatever. The damage was already done.

She fights to ignore the delicious throbbing between her legs, her body craving more of him and his touch. It bothered her, how her body was betraying her. With a sigh, she shifts away from Ivar’s scent, curling into herself and making a mental note to wash the bed sheets as soon as possible. A bath would be nice, preferably with lots of bubbles, but she was too lazy. She’d just have to wake up earlier.

She takes even breaths to calm her heart rate as she watches the candle on her nightstand flicker, hoping she’d find sleep soon.

.

Morning came a lot quicker than she hoped.

She was the epitome of a zombie, which meant she’d need her morning coffee. Her eyes were sensitive against the morning light and her body ached from more than just a sleepless night. She took a quick shower, fed Benji, and made her caffeinated drink. She was in complete autopilot, that is, until there was a knock on her door. Irritated at the early disturbance, she goes to the door with half a mind of what was on the other side of it.

Pink daisies. Twice as many as before. This time, they were arranged in a stained glass vase, much like the windows of a cathedral, with vivid colors of green, blue, and red, depicting a simplistic design. It must have cost him a pretty penny no doubt, but money was never a problem for him. It was lighter than the porcelain vase, but still heavy in her hands. She places it on the counter, her fingertips skimming over the silky petals as gently as she could without damaging them. They were beautiful, but she found herself unable to admire them. She had a melancholic view of them now. They couldn’t be her favorites anymore.

There was that white card again, hiding within the stems of the bouquet. She hesitates, her fingers grasping the rough textured paper, reluctant to peer inside in fear of another hurtful message. With a shaky breath she flips it open.

I’m sorry.

Love, Ivar.

The words were written messily, unusual for him as he had perfect penmanship learned from his years in boarding school. Again, the water from the vase dotted the card, causing the black ink to bleed a bit. Her fingers follow the streaks down to the edge, picking up some of the faded pigment. It was as if he were the one crying this time, asking for forgiveness with fucking flowers. Either this solution worked for him in the past or he was just really fucking stupid.

She bites her lip, fiddling with the card before opening her junk drawer and tossing it inside. She didn’t have the strength to get rid of it. She carefully takes the vase in both hands, setting them down on her coffee table and arranging her candles and other knick knacks around it until it pleased her. She sits on her sofa, watching Benji put both his paws on the surface of the coffee table, curious of the new scent in the flat. Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she searches her contact list, going to her blocked numbers. Ivar’s name was the only one on that list.

Unblock?

She pauses, her finger hovering over the button. One tap, and she would be signing up for more heartbreak. Then the image of the blonde appeared in her mind, her in bed with Ivar, smirking and devious. Mocking.

It wasn’t worth it.

With a sigh she tosses her phone onto the table with a loud clack, the corner smacking against the edge of the vase and spooking Benji. She sucks her teeth.

Forget it.

…

Ivar runs his large thumb over the smooth cream colored domino piece, watching Hvitserk deal the pieces out to him and Sigurd. He’s been in a foul mood since the night he left her flat and he’s been hugging alcohol and cigarettes to his side like long lost friends, specifically Patrón and Marlboro. They dulled whatever strange feeling he felt that fluttered in his chest whenever he thought of her.

Normally, women were never a problem for him. It was always the same routine. He’d find himself a pretty girl, date her for a bit, and find another one when he got bored. He’d tell them that love was out of the equation and that was it. There were a few that grew attached, but he’d nip it in the bud before it could escalate. Others were understanding. They’d have their fun and go on their merry way to do it over again with some other asshole. It was supposed to be simple. So why was she making things so fucking difficult?

Well, he wasn’t being entirely fair, he had to admit. They were both difficult. She had fallen in love with him after he warned her not to, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep away from her after he’d sent her away. He had a routine, dammit, but now all he finds himself wanting is a fucking routine with her. Like maybe a normal one. He had gotten use to her, her smile, her touches, her scent, fuck. How long had it been? A year? The longest he’d ever been with a girl. Seriously. And now Freydis was up his ass for attention. He knew the bimbo didn’t feel anything past physical attraction for him. It was just for his time and money, which he didn’t mind at first, but the bitch was terrible in bed and an unpleasant person to be around.

And so he hoped she’d appreciate the flowers. Women loved flowers, right?

Ivar gives the longest sigh he could muster in order to keep his thoughts at bay, deciding to stare at the domino in his hand. It had 2 giant black dots, and the longer he stared at it, the more they appeared like scrutinizing eyes, judging him and his decisions. He slams the piece face down on the table with a glare. Fuck, he was going crazy.

"Where'd you even get these?" He grunts, snatching up his forgotten beer and taking a sip. It wasn’t tequila but it’d have to do for now.

"Bjorn bought them for me from Cuba." Hvitserk says pointing at the little wooden box they came in with the Cuban flag expertly painted on the surface.

"He brings domino's but no cigars?" Sigurd grumbles, arranging his pieces away from the prying eyes of his brothers, “I’d rather cigars.”

"Domino's are way cooler than cigars, Sig," Hvitserk argues, "And maybe Bjorn doesn’t like you enough to bring you fucking cigars, but forget that. What I really want to know is why our baby brother here looks like fucking shit." Both the older brothers turn to look at Ivar with knowing looks, ready to tease if need be.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ivar argues, slamming his first piece down to commence the game. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping much these last few days. And maybe he had bags forming under his eyes and wasn’t eating much, preferring his alcohol and chimney sticks, but he wouldn’t go as far as to say he looks like shit. Then again, he wasn’t looking into his bathroom mirror much either.

“Hvits is right. You look like a kicked puppy, and not even a cute one.” Sigurd snickers, placing his own piece down with that stupid little smirk on his face.

“There is no such thing as ugly puppies.” Was the grunted reply.

“Point is, you look like shit. Have you been sleeping? We know how much you love your beauty sleep.”

“And fucking,” Hvitserk chimes in, placing down his domino, “I think Ivar has us beat. He’s competing with Bjorn at this point.”

“Or maybe it’s that little vixen of his causing trouble. How is she doing by the way? We haven’t seen her in a while.” Ivar flares his nose at the nickname that Sigurd had given her. He fucking hated it now more than ever.

“Shut. Up.” He snarls, sliding his domino piece hard enough to push the rest off the table.

“What the fuck, Ivar! If you break my shit, I’ll-”

“So this is what you guys do when I’m not at the office?” Ubbe bursts in through the door of their little lounging area, a frown forming on his lips as he eyes them in pure displeasure before they settled on the game pieces, “Who’s idea was it to play dominoes when we have clients blowing up our fucking phone’s? And drinking beer? That’s just brilliant. Assholes.”

“That’s why your girl is the secretary, Ubbe, she can handle it.” Sigurd waves his hand around, glad that Ubbe’s outburst overshadowed Ivar’s. When the youngest got mad, it wasn’t pretty, but it was fucking entertaining.

“It was my idea, by the way,” Hvitserk chuckles, placing all the pieces that fell back on the table top, “Wanna play? There’s more beer in the mini fridge.”

“You’re all fucking garbage.” Ubbe mutters, but heads over to the fridge to pull out a beer before plopping down on the empty chair beside Ivar with a sigh, “Before I forget, Ivar, Torvi says some guy just came by to drop something off for you.”

“I’m not expecting a package.”

“You sure? I’ll tell her to bring it in.” After a few minutes, Torvi peeks her head in through the crack of the door before fully opening it, a bouquet of wilted pink daisies in her hands. The color drains from Ivar’s face as the blonde approaches, handing him the flowers with this odd look on her face. Who would send Ivar fucking flowers anyway? And dying ones at that. His brothers immediately start to laugh at Ivar’s stunned look, another session of teasing on the way.

“You have another admirer, little bro?” Hvitserk chortles, mixing the domino pieces for a quick shuffle before dealing them.

“The flowers look like shit.” Comments Sigurd, leaning back against his chair. Ivar, still bewildered into silence, blinks stupidly. He stares at the wilted daisies, the petals easily falling off when he brings his fingers to touch them. They really did look like complete shit. Just like how he felt.

“There’s a card clipped in there. You gonna read it or what?” Ubbe taps his youngest brother's shoulder to elicit some kind of reaction from him. Ivar composes himself before quickly snatching the white card. It was one he had already written a message in by the looks of it. The card was bent at the edges, and he recognized the black ink from his favorite fountain pen.

Finally summing up the courage to read the message, he flips the card open, his previous simple apologetic words were crossed out. A new message was written below it that had his little cold heart hammering in his chest. He bites his lip, his blue eyes scanning the 4 words over and over again.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

…

The Tune ship is a fast sailing vessel able to transport passengers quickly across 100 meters. It is speculated that the vessel was a warship, able to carry its passenger and light cargo farther distances at a much faster-

“Ahh, there you are. In the library just as I assumed.” She quickly removes her eyes from her laptop screen in favor of the intruder that addressed her. She immediately stands, pushing it aside and placing her hands behind her back. The museum director, Mr. Kent, chuckles at her nervousness, smoothing a hand down his pale beard. He must have been a blonde in his youth as his hair had a faint yellow glow when under sunlight. He was a decent man of English origin, specifically from Winchester, who had taken over as the museum director about a year ago. He was a man who loved to dress well, fancy suits and shoes to demonstrate his abundance of money, but it wasn't haughty, not like the Ragnarsson’s. Mr. Kent came from even older money, and apparently from a line of kings that ruled England centuries ago. He had a massive reputation, to say the least. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m actually in need of a favor. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Kent, what can I do for you?”

“Please,” He chuckles, “Ecbert is fine. As for the favor, my grandson will be moving from Winchester in a few short weeks, right before the gala for the Tune ship exhibit. I’d like for him to shadow you during your tours, if that is alright with you?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. It would be an honor.” Fuck no, it wouldn’t. The last person that shadowed her was super fucking annoying and ended up getting fired anyway, but since this was Ecbert’s grandson, it would be different, he’d have privilege. Hopefully he wasn’t douche.

And shit. The fucking gala. She’d almost forgotten about it. It was the only event that the museum held in which she could attend, dress up, and feel pretty, but it was the one event that made her more nervous than anything else. She’d be surrounded by the richest people in the country, patrons of the Viking Ship Museum and other prestigious institutions and universities.  And champagne, lot’s of champagne. Rich people knew how to party.

“Excellent,” He smiles, clapping his hands together as if to solidify their agreement, “Don’t let me take up more of your time, I know you're doing your research for the new exhibit. I’ll be happy to give you access to the archives if you’d like? You might find something of interest that isn’t in the scholarly journals online.”

“That would be fantastic, Sir, thank you.”

“Have a great day.” She watches the older man leave, before plopping back down onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. He wasn’t as intimidating as their last asshole director, but she still treads softly around him. You can never get too comfy with those above you.

She did some more research for another half hour before checking her watch. Another tour of the Oseberg ship was scheduled in a few minutes and she would be free to go home and feel sorry for herself and her love life. She puts away her laptop in her purse, quickly rushing over to her office to freshen up before the tour. It was a busy day at the museum as they were now at the start of tourist season, which meant the museum allowed for bigger groups to be guided, and more people meant more noise and more irritation. Walking toward the entrance of the museum, she scans her eyes over the group of the afternoon, suddenly hoping to find a pair of blue eyes looking back at her. But that wasn’t the case. She frowns. He wouldn’t come looking for her after that fucking stunt she pulled. She shouldn’t want him to look for her anyway.

She sighs, plastering the fakest smile on her face before greeting the group.

.

Her phone was truly the devil. Honestly, did it intend to constantly notify her on Ivar’s posts and images? And since when did he post so damn much? She’d have to turn off her notifications, or block him off of Snapchat. Actually, why not just throw the whole fucking phone away? Ridiculous. She grumbles to herself, wondering why she hadn’t deleted him off of any social media apps yet. There was an answer to that, she just didn’t care to admit it. She was never into that stuff anyway, just keeping her accounts for communication purposes for her friends and family back home. It was getting rather lonely. Her time was mostly spent with Ivar, and now that they’re having their little rift, she realized her lack of friends. Had she really revolved her life around him? Shit.

Stretching her legs down the length of the sofa, she makes herself comfortable for the stupid shit she was about to do. She grabs her phone, scrolling through her apps and goes on Instagram. Ivar had posted 3 new photos. He was out at some bar in the city having a good ass time it seemed. His best friend, Heahmund, was in all of them, probably as a chaperone since Ivar couldn’t handle his liquor much. Heahmund was a good friend for that and Ivar was lucky to have the British fuck look out for him.

Ivar’s story was filled with clips of him goofing off. He was totally drunk, she could tell by how lidded and unfocused his eyes were, and how pink his lips were from constantly pursing them over a glass. His hair was all fucked up and out of its usual bun, as if he were fucking someone right before the video was recorded. Almost immediately after the thought, a drunk Freydis comes into the shot. That explained it. She should really throw her phone away.

Freydis giggles at the camera before placing her lips to his cheek, trailing them down his neck in sloppy kisses.

A rage boiled within her and she felt her fingers tighten around her phone. She needed to calm down. He was doing his own thing and she might as well do hers, though it was much easier said than done. The other videos he posted were of him taking shots of whatever it was, most likely tequila, and grinning into the camera like an idiot. Or maybe she was the idiot. Why should she mope around while he was having the time of his life? She knew how to have fun!...Right? Well, sometimes. Okay, maybe not. That party she met Ivar in? It was an invitation she had refused countless times. She couldn’t be bothered with the guy who begged her to go, but she went anyway due to her lack of socialization at the time.

Going out and partying was never fun when she was always the sober one. She did drink of course, but her tolerance was a lot better than most, say, like Ivar. She couldn’t count with her fingers the amount of times she had to call an Uber to get his ass home. The very few times she’d gone out with his brothers, it always ended with the same outcome, except Ubbe would end up saving their sorry asses.

Ubbe was the sweetheart, why couldn’t she have felt this way about him instead? Right, he had a girlfriend. She grumbles to herself, thinking she's better off alone.

…

“Where are you going?” The scent of alcohol had rooted itself deep within Freydis’s pores, her breath tickling his ear in an unpleasant manner. She stops him when he slips off the bar stool, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like how her hands felt on him or the look she wore. He didn’t like any of it. The loud trap music that blared from the speakers had activated him earlier that night, but now it made his head ache something terrible. The bass seemed to be vibrating right through him and he rubbed the side of his temple to subdue the growing headache. He reached out to stabilize himself on the bar counter. He was so fucking drunk.

“I gotta pee. Get off me.” Ivar grumbles, pushing her away with little grace. Clingy bitch.

“What?” The blonde scowls, her eyebrows arching and her lips set in a tight line. Shit. He said that out loud?

“Nothing.”

“I think he called you a clingy bitch, actually.” Heahmund repeats Ivar’s demeaning words, a chuckle escaping his red stained lips from the wine he was drinking. This was the fun part of the night for the older man. Ivar had no filter when he was drunk. Well, he never really did have a filter, sober or not, but it was a lot funnier when he had alcohol in his system. He could be ruthless.

“I fucking heard him, asshole.” Freydis snaps, seemingly sobering up now that she was angry. Heahmund breaks out in a smile to which she glares in return.

“I gotta pee.” Ivar announces again, not bothering to look at Freydis before stumbling towards the restrooms. He belches after letting out a series of hiccups, pausing to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was so fucking drunk. How many shots of Patrón had he taken? 3..4..? He started counting out loud, bringing his unoccupied hand to his face in order to use his fingers. Wait, there weren’t enough fingers on that hand. He stumbles again when he lets go of the wall, using the other hand to make his calculations. 5...8? Shit, he lost track. Forget it. It was a lot of Patrón.

Using his shoulder, he bursts in through the restroom door, mumbling an apology when he runs into someone. Ignoring the blurry image of the guy scowling at him, he makes his way into a stall and pisses his life away, his head resting against the cold tiled wall as he scrambles to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t happy. The alcohol wasn’t making him happy. Freydis wasn’t making him happy. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a simple man with simple pleasures yet for some reason, a basic routine and a basic girl weren’t enough anymore. This was all her fault. Why was she torturing him without even trying? In his intoxicated state he could still remember how her voice trembled when she cried and how her eyes looked when they glossed over with tears. How drunk did he need to be to admit that he had hurt her? Really fucking drunk. Like now.

He slams the red door of the stall open, not even flinching when it banged against the stall beside it, maneuvering himself clumsily over to the sink. Gripping the porcelain, he leans forward to get a good look at himself through the streaky mirror. His eyes were so low he could barely see himself, cheeks flushed bright pink and lips matching in color. When did his bun get loose? He looks at his wrist hoping to find a hair tie but scowls when he finds none. He grunts in annoyance, turning on the tap to wash his hands before dragging his wet fingers through his hair. The cold water felt good on his heated face and he closed his eyes for a moment. He gazes at himself one last time before coming to a decision. He needed to talk to her. Right now.

Digging in the pocket of his simple denim jeans, he whips out his phone, struggling to find her contact name before pressing the call button and bringing the device to his ear.

You have reached the voice mailbox of 45-

Fuck. He forgot. She blocked him.

He wanted to throw his phone in frustration. Why did she block him? Did she not understand that he needed to talk to her right now?

Oh wait. Snapchat. Snapchat has video calls. That’s it. Ivar immediately takes a fat finger to scroll to the app, forcefully pressing down on the little ghost in haste. Finding her name in his contacts list, he presses the little video icon, hoping she’d answer. After a few seconds he almost gives up, but then his screen lights up, and he is rewarded with her tired eyes.

“Hey,” He breathes, noting the dim light in her room, “Were you sleeping?” He slurs, and immediately curses himself for sounding so stupid. He clears his throat in the hopes of gaining his language skills back.

“Ivar?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. It was exactly how she sounded when he used to wake her up in the morning with soft, lazy kisses to her shoulder. He missed that. “It’s like 2am. What are you calling me for?”

“I...I don’t know. Missed...your voice.” The words poured out his mouth like vomit. Actually, he was shocked he hadn’t gotten to that point. He threw up at least once after a hard night of drinking. His eyes fell shut as he leaned his head back against the wall beside the sink. God, this speech impediment was bad. He hears her snort tiredly on the other end.

“You’re drunk.”

“Mm...noooo, no. Mm not.”

“I can smell the tequila from here.”

“Wait, really?” His eyes pop open as he brings his phone closer to his face. He couldn’t focus all that well, but he could make out her sleepy features. Those pretty lashes of hers brushed over her cheeks with every lazy blink, and her messy hair was placed in a high ponytail at the top of her head.

“No.” Was her flat reply, pure irritation seeping through the word. Ivar stares at her displeased look for a moment longer, sighing in an almost dream like manner.

“You look beautiful.” He answers back, sliding down the wall to sit in a much more comfortable position. He didn’t care if the floor was dirty, he was drunk, and he didn’t want his legs to start hurting like a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” She says, “Words of a drunk.”

“I’m being serrrrious,” Ivar whines, “You always look amazing, you know that?”

“Right. Is Heahmund still there?”

“Yeah,” He pouts, “Why? You’d rather talk to him? You like him or something?” Ivar had never been the jealous type, but he was whenever it involved his brothers or Heahmund. When he had started seeing her, their interest zeroed in on her like fucking hawks, and so he made it abundantly clear to them that she was off limits. She was his conquest, no one else’s. So no, he wouldn’t consider himself the jealous type, but everyone else needed to stay the fuck away from her, even if she wasn’t his to play with anymore.

“No, Ivar, to make sure you’re gonna get home okay.” She sighs, shifting in her sheets and rubbing her face in frustration, “And it seems you will.”

“Aw, you worry about me?” He grins stupidly, his mood shifting wildly as he rubs his phone on his sweaty cheek as if to send her affection.

“No more than you do for me. How’s Freydis by the way?” The bitterness in her tone was enough to bring him down from whatever high he was feeling. Ivar scowls, shifting the phone back so they were now directly looking at each other. He blinks, trying to clear his head again. Freydis. He forgot about her already. And he didn’t really care anyway.

“Clingy bitch,”  He muttered his words from earlier, “I don’t wanna talk about her. I wanna talk about you.” He almost laughed when she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“What about me, hmm?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs, his eyes searching hers through his fingerprint covered screen before passing them over her visible form again. She was wearing that one t-shirt she favored, the comfy one with the large neckline that always slid down enough to expose one of her smooth shoulders. Her messy hair and tired eyes reminded him of the many nights spent together tangled under his sheets. It made him swallow thickly as he brought a hand down the center of his jeans to ease the growing ache. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together. Still, in their silence he conjured up images and ideas in his head that he certainly shouldn’t at that moment, but fuck it. He licks his lips, feeling the sly grin stretching across his face at the words his brain had given to him, ready to spill from his mouth, “Maybe I just want to talk about the way your back arches under my hands, or the sounds you make when I-”

“Ivar,” She stops him immediately, her face blooming that pink color he loved, “Kindly shut the fuck up.” She looked like she was about to say something more, something much harsher and meaner, but she stopped herself. Instead, she takes in a breath, rubbing her eyes, and suddenly, she didn’t seem all that tired anymore. “Did you like the flowers?” She asks instead.

“Huh?” His eyebrows curve in confusion as his hazy mind tries to decipher the meaning behind the question. What was she talking about? Flowers? What flow-Oh. Right.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the tiled wall. He could hear the transition of trap music out in the bar to some basic pop he hadn’t heard on the radio in years. He was in no mood for Kesha.

“I hated them.” He mutters truthfully. The wilted daisies made his heart sink. He’d never felt that way before. Was that how he made all those other women feel? He chews the inside of his cheek, ignoring the pulse behind his eyes and the ache in his head. Finally, the nausea kicked in and his stomach churned for the inevitable. He swallows thickly, running his hand through his messy hair, her eyes following his every movement trying to read his expression. Even in his intoxicated state, he made it hard for her to read him.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He says miserably. Why does he fuck everything up? If he had never gone to that stupid party in the first place, he would have never met her, and he wouldn’t be feeling that way he does now. Like complete trash.

“What a shame,” She says, cocking her head to the side, her ponytail brushing against her cheekbone, “Just take your own advice, and try not to fall in love.” She gives him one last look before she hangs up, having him stare at his screen for a few seconds to understand what just happened. He remains seated on the dirty bathroom floor for a few moments longer, continuing to ignore his churning stomach and the tightness of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Heahmund bursts in through the door, immediately grabbing hold of Ivar’s arm and helping in lifting him up to his feet, “You’ve been in here for 20 minutes. Freydis left in a cab.”

“Good for her.” Ivar grunts, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He pushes Heahmund away, going back to stand in front of the mirror. He looked sick, sweat building up near his hairline.

“What’s wrong with you, hmm?” The older man questions, crossing his arms and using that tone on him as if he didn’t have 4 fucking older brothers already.

“Being a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Ivar says, closing his eyes as his chest burned with that familiar sensation.

“Finally feeling bad about what you did, huh?” Heahmund questions, “You know, no amount of fucking flowers and alcohol is gunna fix anything or make you feel better. You needed a reality check. She gave it to you.”

“And you call yourself my friend, traitor?” Ivar managed to say before pushing past him and into a stall, heaving out all the contents from his tequila filled stomach.

…

The Tune ship exhibit was coming together.

The fragments of the ship were strategically pieced together to form the remains of the ancient ship to its former glory. Well, most of it anyway. It was a fraction of what it once was in the past, but it was still an impressive archeological find, and although it wasn’t as massive as the Oseberg or the Gokstad, it was still considerable in length. She felt like a speck of dust standing beside it despite its lack of framework. She observes the rotted wood and the grooves within each ancient plank, wishing she could reach out and touch it; to feel what they must have felt like a thousand years ago. It’s been 2 years since she began working at the Viking Ship Museum and she still found herself in awe at every artifact that entered their exhibits. She supposed it was the bookworm in her. Ahh fuck. That’s what Ivar calls her.

She immediately frowns, her face twisting in displeasure. Somehow, her thoughts always went back to him, and that irritated her greatly.

“Hello?” The unrecognizable voice echoes throughout the empty exhibit. She looks over her shoulder at the intruder, her gaze gravitating to meet the clearest blue eyes of a boyish young man. The blackest hair she’d ever seen frames his blushing cheeks and the tips brush softly over his shoulders. She blinks at him, cocking her head.

“Uhh, hi?”

“I’m sorry,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, looking around the unfinished exhibit to avoid meeting her eyes from his embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He had a gentle voice, a hint of shyness in the undertones. And extremely British.

“No it’s fine,” She approaches him, sticking out her hand to greet him with a handshake and a small smile, “You must be Mr. Kent’s grandson. I wasn’t expecting you so soon…?”

“Alfred,” He answers, grasping her hand and offering her a timid smile back, “It’s a pleasure.” 

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff​ @syrenak @soleil-dor @walkxthexmoon​ @zuxiezendler @homeyzeus @redenzione​ @mariaenchanted​ @laricebabe @hecohansen31

There are some of you that Tumblr won’t let me tag! They are in bold. I’m sorry 😭

[gravelgirty]

Hi could you talk more about caves what you said on that post is really interesting

Sure thing!

First of all, it was an amazing cave I worked in. You never forget that. I'll pick one of my favorite topics,

the FALLOUT SHELTER AGGRAVATION TAX.

Clears throat.

Limestone caves are literally stone libraries in the geologic record of the world. Twice a year the airflow would change and then you'd smell smoke from decrepit old torches dating as far back as 1812. People made saltpeter in these caves, they were natural mines for things that went boom, and one of those 'requirements' meant airflow so you wouldn't suddenly and embarrassingly, drop dead of too much Underground. This is why the coal miners were eternally bemused and asking us questions like airflow. Sometimes you gotta canary. Sometimes you are the canary. This often led to predictable questions that was these old gents trying to be polite, but what they really wanted to know was,

'why the hell are you being paid $10 a trip plus tips to walk us 1.1 miles underground up to 3 times a day and no one has a mortgage gun aimed at your head?'

To which I would say, 'it wasn't quite that bad. If no one shows up at all we get paid $10.' ...Dear Saint Barbara, Chango, and the Gods of Deep Mystery, the things we tell ourselves. $10 a day. Crap. Thank goodness I had Granny's House, dad was paying the property tax, the water was on a well, and garbage was less that $20 a month. A shame we can't afford a TV, but hey, we can stay busy digging up that quarter-acre garden that will keep us fed plus the road kill Deer in the fall.

But the conditions that created saltpeter (I'll go into depth on that later if people are interested) also convinced some weird-ass people in Washington DC that caves were the perfect place to do a DR STRANGELOVE and people could go hide out in the caves, free of...well, nothing, really, because radiation = straight lines +caves, air, irradiated air and water, and everything goes down into the caves...

Look. It made people feel safe, ok? And it wasn't the worst decision the Pentagon ever made, considering they were telling the scientists working with HOT RADIOACTIVE MATTER to stay safe by sticking the stuff on a long pole so they wouldn't have to touch it.

Everybody knows about the bomb shelter President Kennedy was prepared to run to with his family in case of Cold War. It was in the Greenbrier Resort in White Sulphur Springs (I prefer to think of it as the HIDDEN FIGURES birthplace). FYI everybody who lived here knew where it was. There are only so many power stations one measly little resort that cries that it can't afford to pay for its own water bill can keep.

[insert sniffle boohoo sobbing of the pro-confederates who run that place and while I can't be there for you, try to imagine the joy I am stockpiling for the day when we have another traitorous uprising and this time, the resort doesn't get a GO PASS GO by dangerous romantics and is finally burned to the ground.]

Anyway, the important people like the President, his family, his Secret Service, his staff, cook, maid-in-waiting, bootblack and et al got to go bunker down in the luxurious bomb shelter at the resort, which probably wouldn't be very resort-y after a certain point of Castro going, 'fuck you, you whippersnapper Irish Dog' or Khrushchev throwing a little more than his shoe around. I'm not convinced it was that great of a place to hide, really. I mean...they have lightning rods on the trees over there, and believe it or not, cavers in that country have been hit by lightning while underground. Because. Lightning. If it can bake entire acres of potatoes in the field, two subterranean surveyors with metal measuring tape haven't got a prayer.

I want you to know that I can't at this point go into detail (space restrictions) on the importance of all these caves to Union Sympathizers, slaves on the Underground Railroad, and the Far-Righter MAGAS called Confederates. Trust me when I say, if you didn't know where these caves were, you had absolutely no right to know.

In Appalachia, limestone caves were listed on properties and handed down because of their value. Thomas Jefferson made a point of making sure there were lots of caves to provide nitre for the Gunpowder Committee. I don't know if landowners had to pay taxes for having saltpeter caves (probably), but when the Cold War came around, they definitely and cheerfully sold the access rights to the government because...it was the government. I am not in the least bit joking when I tell you there are people over there who are still pissed off over George Washington's Whiskey Rebellion.

If you really want to get into the psyche of Appalachians, go read up every scene Terry Pratchett ever wrote about Lancre in his Discworld books. Just give them more libraries and a LOT of coffee stations.

Oh, dear. I forgot all about the owling and the Prohibition.

Owling = the practice of moving your herds of cattle from one ridge to the next to avoid a higher payment when the taxman came a-calling.

Prohibition = The Second Oldest Profession.

These days, many of the Fallout Shelter caves are being used for...modern needs. Meth labs, if you're a sensationalist, but if you aren't, bear in mind that hiding out stolen cattle and horses still requires big places out in the middle of nowhere. But when Mr. Gov't Man came around and offered cash for the access rights to grand-daddy's old saltpetre cave? Goodness gracious, we know we aren't supposed to take people's money from them because that's a sin, but...taxes...you know how it is... (most of the mountain folk had no real quarrel with Kennedy despite his heathen dog Catholicism because it wasn't his fault he was brought up Catholic, but when it came to the government...well, it was the principle of the thing).

In short order papers were drawn, and shelters were built and good god, they were ugly. Clapboard shantytowns, I swear. They were stockpiles whacked together with off-brand plank and tenpenny nails for where the selected few could bunker up in the cozy, damp, dripping, chilly, dusty, sneezy, probably-warm-from-stray-radiation environs. I have no idea who the Pentagon hated enough that they would send them to these caves. They had a bottleneck opening for easy defense, yes, but there was no defense against puking yourself to death or accidentally taking off your own skin with your uniform at the end of your shift.

YOU THINK I"M KIDDING?? YOU THINK IT IS A COINCIDENCE THAT CLASSIC DR WHO SHOWS DALEK HISTORY IN AN OLD STONE QUARRY? WELCOME ABOARD!

A fallout shelter's stockpile generally consisted of

*High-quality medical equipment, even though some of that stuff had a shelf life of three minutes.

*Radio Equipment. Which was probably a real belly laugh to the folks running the NARO satellite dishes up in Green Bank, because families in the most rural portion of WV (Pocahontas County) spent their evenings parsing Latin and teaching the young lads and lasses the wonders of shortwave and how to rig up your own crystals in case you needed to jackleg your own.

*Food. God. Awful. Food. It was designed to keep you alive, but you can't say anything more charitable about it. Honestly, I'm surprised nobody tried to corner a government contract on dehydrated water.

*Water. Potable water for drinking, but, I should say, I couldn't find any means with which you could make a potable distillery. Or, how much of this potable water was going to be used to rehydrate the ghastly awfulness of the dehydrated food, or the canned goods that included stuff the military couldn't wait to forget. Go ask your grandparents how much canned horse Circa WWII they ate while they served, m'kay?

*Candy. High energy, easily digestible candy. Flavor optional, at the discretion of the same government that made the WWII Chocolate Bar.

*The containers themselves. Yep, they counted. They were heavy metal barrels and tough buckets or small drums, plus the amazingly dense metal and plastic containers for medical kits, candy, and misc. I'm not sure if they had a requirement other than impervious, waterproof, and on sale. In fact, the smaller drums/buckets were supposed to be lined with the plastic used to wrap the other goods, and convert into a toilet.

Cold War comes and goes. I'm sure what happened next is shocking:

1) medical supplies goes missing in the dead of night.

2) Electronics follows. That probably makes the electricians feel good, because...what good would they have done in the wet, dust-filled atmosphere of the caves?

3) Candy. Candy, did you say? I don't remember seeing any candy..?

4) The gradual disappearance of the food rations is mysteriously in proportion to camping trips multitasking with double-dog-dares. Who needs a frat pledge if Freckles here has never been introduced to the joys of Dehydrated Ketchup?

5) If you think the backyard blacksmiths are making forges with tire rims, do you think metal containers stand a chance?

This leaves the barrels of water, but who would want to drink that stuff? It's been sitting around for how long? Ew. And the boards for those shelters...cripes.

This inadvertently makes up a tiny little side bonus for the hard-working tour guide. Because these shelters are usually ridiculously close to the entrance of the tour caves. You have to take your tour group in stages, see, and once they finish gasping and wheezing their way through the first 300 steps, you have to take their minds off how miserable they are and pause at the shelter with your flashlight, and describe this little chapter of history. By this time the bats are hanging off the boards (your chance to remind them of the exorbitant federal fines for hurting these little mosquito-hunters), the occasional lost salamander, and the beginnings of the Dreaded Cave Cricket (ten minutes with these little monsters and you'll never think pink is an effete color ever again).

And the mold. There are patches of mold the guides have been watching for YEARS. Some of them have even bothered to look them up, because...tourists. They love to stump the guides and use it as an excuse for not tipping you because you haven't taken a Master's in The Encompassing Topic of Karst Everything and are clearly a dumbass, hah-hah I'll spend my money in the overpriced gift shop, peasant.

But no, folks. If you ask them one more damn time if they're sure all the candy and drugs are gone...we're too tired to take your bleeping bleep bleep tip anyway.

[darter-blue]

bec, darling, would you do body worship from your prompt list for lil ol' me? 🥺😂😈

Hey there dearest. Well, Ali. I must apologise because this turned from Kinktober to whumptober. And to start its a bit more body horror? But it will work it’s way to Body worship I promise.

So here is part one of your Fic - Resurrection

Warning for Bucky Barnes recovering type anxiety and hurt/comfort

Bucky wakes to the sound of water running. The smell of wet earth and dead leaves permeate his senses as they slowly open to his surroundings. 

He aches. From head to toe, his body aches. He needs to get his eyes open to properly assess the damage. But it sure feels like he's been hit by a tank.

Or he'd fallen from some ridiculous height… had he fallen?

Bucky's last memory is of the cold… of… fear. 

Of Steve.

Steve

His memories are fleeting but he has something, an image, caught in his hand, and he curls his fingers around it to hold on. 

Steve was in the train, they both were. Zola's train. And Hydra… and that fucking Canon of a gun, some Hydra tech, blasting a hole in the side of the train… and Bucky…

He fell… didn't he?

His eyes snap open.

He looks down to find himself lying on a damp, soft surface, definitely not the snow he's expecting. 

He blinks into the mid-morning brightness, shaded by the structure above him, a jetty. The sound he's hearing is a river, a rocky shore line at his feet, dead leaves beneath him, trees behind him.

And he's… he's definitely not in Austria. Glancing around him it's all lush vegetation and rocky shorelines but there's something oddly familiar about it all and yet so, so wrong.

And as he looks down to check the ground he's woken up on (is there a bed roll, did he collapse here?) he catches sight of his outfit and then, by extension, his left arm, his left hand, and his brain freezes.

He doesn’t understand what he’s looking at but what he sees is… well it’s not good. It’s… his hand is... he wants it to be encased in some kind of metal glove. He wants this to be some elaborate costume. Steve gets to have an elaborate costume, maybe Bucky has one too. Maybe this is just the boys’ idea of a joke. 

It doesn’t feel like a joke. Bucky tries to wiggle his fingers but something is wrong. They wiggle, but it’s not… it's like there’s a lag or… they’re broken, or he’s had some nerve damage maybe. And they’re not… they're stiff and twisted and they won’t do what he wants them to do and it feels stilted. It doesn’t feel right.

And he knows. Bucky knows. This is not a costume. This is his arm. Or…

This is what has been attached to him. In place of his arm. It’s not his… it's a machine. 

And he’s waking up with it. In pain. In a strange place. With no idea how or why he’s here.

He needs to find Steve.

First things first, he needs to get up off the ground, but fuck. It hurts. His whole body feels like it’s been crushed by something. His chest aches, his head aches, his legs feel like garbage. His shoulder, his fucking shoulder is on fire. But focussing on any of this is not going to help him right now. He needs to get up. So he does.

He puts that pain in a box in the back of his mind. He uses a pillar of the jetty for support and he lifts himself up. And it's too much, for a second, it’s too much, and he vomits.

God, okay, he tells himself to just breathe. He breathes. And when he gets it together he walks. Carefully, gingerly, he walks to the trees and makes his way through them, using trunks to lean on as he passes. Letting the smell of the earth and the bark overpower the blood and the bile and whatever else it is on him he can smell.

He doesn’t know where his army uniform is. He doesn't know why he’s dressed in these strange pants with what look like black catchers pads on his knees. Covered in knives. No gun. There’s a belt and straps that don't attach to anything and no food. No rations. Nothing useful in any of the thousand pockets. 

He tries not to speculate as he walks. It won’t do him any good to panic. He needs to figure out where he is. He needs to keep as quiet as possible (though he’s not doing a great job, with the limp and the dizziness) in case he comes upon Hydra or Nazis out here. Though… it all feels so wrong.

And he realises why as he gets closer to civilisation. It looks like farm land, but it’s not european farmland. The first building he sees is a business of some kind, the sign is in English and what looks like Native American, though the name doesn’t sound familiar (he notes with some positivity that both his vision and hearing seem to be as good as ever). It looks like some kind of national park. And no one is around. He doesn’t see or hear anyone. And necessity being what it is, Bucky moves closer.

Piscataway Park, the Accokeek foundation, appears to be a national park owned and operated by the US Department of the Interior. The US. The US of A. He’s in fucking America? He sits down for that information to sink in. And then gets back up to get closer to the visitor’s centre. 

Which is empty. And pretty easy to break into with one of his handy knives, inside is food and water and so much… everything looks wrong. Bucky has seen some crazy shit fighting Hydra but this is all just… different and yet somehow the same as the America that he left behind for the war. Everything is so bright and clean and expensive. The prices on the food, on the signs over the freezer, it’s way too much. And the food itself, the packaging is so colourful. There’s so much writing… it’s all just… too much…

There’s a phone but it’s… there’s buttons where the dial should be. The handset is not even connected by a wire… and Bucky can’t use the damn thing anyway - he has no idea who to call… There’s no switch operator, just a dial tone. 

He does find some less conspicuous clothes to wear. A t-shirt and some kind of hooded sweater to cover up his monstrosity.

He finds bathrooms, full of fancy looking equipment nailed into the walls, but there’s a sink, and paper towels, and a mirror, and fucking hell. 

What happened to him?

His reflection is… jarring. His hair is long and rancid. He has a bruise under his eye and one on his temple. He has stubble. He didn’t have this much stubble when Steve pulled him out of Azzano. And he looks… bigger. His shoulders and his arms. Arm. His one arm. 

But mostly he looks…haunted.

Well. he has just woken up in the wrong country, in what seems like the wrong year. With no idea what has happened to get him here. So that really makes sense.

He takes a good minute to remove the leather contraption he’s wearing as a jacket and stares at his chest in the mirror. It takes him a minute of staring to catch his breath because what he’s looking at, the reflection of his own body, it’s… horrific. It’s… a nightmare. 

The skin around where the metal of the arm is fused to him is red and raw and painful. Covered in scar tissue. And it feels so heavy. It’s pulling at him, from the inside. Like someone has a hand inside him and is just twisting and yanking at chords of muscle, cutting into his bones. 

His chest is bruised, but nothing seems damaged. It feels like broken ribs that have been healing for weeks. Though he knows he heals fast now. Faster than before the war for sure. Gabe was always questioning him about it. Never happy to just let it go. 

And wow, okay, the muscle there is so much bigger that he remembers. Sort of like Steve’s, what he’d seen of it (tried not to look too hard, too much) the few times they’d been thrown into the same tent, or woken up from having rolled into each other camping out with the boys and washing what they could reach with freezing cold water from their canteens. 

Bucky never mentioned it, because it made Steve uncomfortable, when people talked about him the way they did. About the size of him, the look of him, the strength of him. So Bucky let the changes fly over his head and he paid attention to the important stuff instead. Was Steve eating enough for his twice as big body now? Was he sleeping enough? He seemed plenty warm, Bucky could never quite get over all that nice new warmth (Bucky’s Steve, brooklyn Steve, had always been so cold, Bucky had had to force blood into that kid’s toes with his own hands too many times to count), but was he breathing good, did his back hurt, was he getting everything he needed?

Turned out Bucky didn’t need to worry about that stuff too much after Azzano (didn’t stop him, he just learned to hide it better). 

Turns out Bucky has bigger things to worry about now. 

He throws up most of what he eats. He keeps some of the water down, refills the bottle from the tap. He washes himself as best he can with what he has and dresses in the shirt and sweater from the visitors store, drags himself back out of the bathroom, and passes a stand of pamphlets on the way to the door.

And one of them catches his eye. It has dates on it. Tour dates, it says, for March. March of 2014. 

2014.

Bucky has woken up in the future. Seventy years in the future. 

He gets behind the store counter and finds more papers with the date on them. Everything he can find is dated up to december 2013. So maybe that’s when it is. Although it seems like the place has been closed for a while - so maybe it’s later than that. 

Bucky sinks down to the floor and rests his head against the counter. He closes his eyes. Maybe if he sleeps again he can wake up back in 1945. And this is something that he and Stevie can laugh about. Maybe he can tell Stark about it.

Maybe he’ll find a flying car. 

He can’t sleep anyhow. Everything hurts. He feels so sick. And hot. And cold.

After a while he gets up again and finds a map of where he is. Maryland. He’s not far from Washington actually, he could probably walk the distance in a few hours (maybe more than that - in his current state) and in the city he’d have access to more information. He could find out… anything. Anything that might help him figure out how he got here. Why he might be here, How he can get back.

So he has a plan. And that’s what his brain needs to push that pain away again. He can do this. He can stay on task. He can get information.

And that’s what he does. He sticks close to the road, but far enough away to avoid suspicion, or cars. (The cars! They don’t fly, but fuck are they fast, and big! And colourful!)

It takes him much longer than it should. But he gets there. He avoids the smaller towns because he won’t be able to blend in there, he avoids the smell of the food from the roadside restaurants which has him bringing up more bile. Sipping more water. He follows the not great map and makes the best decisions he can make in the moment to get himself across the bridge. And then another bridge. And then finally he’s in Washington.

It’s more than his senses can take. It’s huge. The buildings are huge. The roads are crazy. The people are everywhere.

It’s not that different from what he remembers, but just more somehow. He has the hood of his sweater up to cover his mess of hair, as much of his face as he can. And it's a very good thing. Because the first image that accosts him, from screens that cover a back wall of the first busy bar he walks into, screens with colour pictures, brilliant pictures, is his own haunted face.

It’s Bucky, this new terrifying version. And he’s reeking havoc. Shooting up a crowded street. He’s watching the pictures and it has him ready to vomit again, though there’s truly nothing left in his stomach, and he’s on his way to find a bathroom or a dumpster to do just that, when the image on the screen changes and it's Steve.

It’s Steve.

He looks dead.

He’s being lifted onto a stretcher, he’s being placed into an ambulance. Bucky uses his hearing, hones in on the newscasters voice to hear her say he’s being taken to a hospital. She doesn’t say which one.

So that leaves Bucky to figure out how many hospitals there are and just go to them all until he finds him. 

And then the footage changes again and it’s Bucky again… and he’s… he’s shooting at Steve in the street. 

Oh god, no. That’s not right. That’s not him. He wouldn’t do that. Maybe Hydra cloned him. Maybe the pictures aren’t real…

But he can feel in his gut that something is so very wrong

Oh god.

Oh god.

He needs to find Steve, he needs to get out of here, he needs to breathe. To breathe. People are starting to stare and he has to get out. He bursts onto the street and runs. To anywhere, he doesn’t know. His legs give out soon enough and he ducks behind a building to collapse. 

He breathes. He keeps breathing until he starts to calm down. The nausea passes somewhat. The image of Steve lifted into an ambulance, being shot at in the street, is enough to shut the panic down. There is important work to be done, he has no time to fall apart. He needs to find Steve.

It takes him a few small thefts here and there, the minor break in of an unoccupied newsstand, to find a page of hospital listings and directions to follow.

It takes him even longer to find the right hospital.

But when he comes upon Medstar Georgetown University Hospital, the extra hustle and bustle, the armed men at the main entrance, he figures this has to be the place. Bucky pulls his hood low, (he’s had his metal hand kept securely slotted into one of his many pockets all night) and finds the easiest and least noticeable way to get inside through a huge concreted underground parking garage where the staff entrance is sitting completely empty of armed men. 

Once inside he sticks to the crowded areas, watches the movements of the people looking the most military, they’re milling mostly around the third floor. At least they're looking after Steve better here than at the entrance. But Bucky will have to be more careful because of it. A hooded sweater and an indifferent attitude probably won't get him to Steve unnoticed. 

He takes note of the people looking the most harried, the most like hospital staff. It's hard to tell the doctors from the nurses from the orderlies, they all seem to be wearing different versions of the same uniform. Almost like pyjamas. And this could work in Bucky’s favour. He takes his time to wander back down to the floor below and finds a tall silver trolley full of folded linens and clothing, he requisitions some of the pyjama like pants and a matching shirt and then from an unoccupied utility closet, finds a hair net to hide his mess of hair up into and blue gloves to pull over his hands. He squeezes his way to getting changed inside the closet, leaving the long sleeve t-shirt under the uniform to cover his metal arm and straightens it all out as best he can. He grabs a folder from a nearby desk, just like the ones he sees other hospital staff walking around with, no one is paying him any mind, and then makes his way back upstairs. 

And from there it's a snipers game. At least an hour of watching and waiting, breathing through pain and nausea, until he finds his opportunity to get into Steve’s room. A man he recognises from the footage at the bar, footage of Bucky shooting at Steve, a man who had been wearing wings and flying, actually flying through the sky, exits the room and speaks to the guards before leaving for parts unknown. 

And Bucky, who has passed the guards now a few times looking busy, passes by them now into Steve's room with a nod and one of his most casually trustworthy smiles (Bucky knows just how to use his face to get out of trouble - even as sallow and pale as he is looking right now). And he stops short at what he finds inside. 

Bucky is all too aware of how much damage Steve can take in his new body. But this is…

This is terrifying.

His face is black and blue, bloody, swollen. Bucky might say unrecognisable, but it would be a lie. Bucky doesn't need to see Steve's face to recognise him. Bucky could recognise Steve by the sound of his breathing, by the smell of him. By the essence of his presence alone. Bucky would know Steve anywhere.

Did he do this? 

Did Bucky do this to Steve?

His moment of indecision doesn't last. He's propelled forward by the movement of Steve's chest rising. By the flutter of his ridiculous lashes. He presses close to Steve, leaning over from his bedside, touching him gently with his flesh and blood hand, his own hand, to feel the warmth of him through the bedclothes, through the gloves. 

A sigh of relief runs through Bucky at that familiar warmth under his fingertips. 

And it's as Bucky stands by Steve's side, hand flat against his chest, face just inches from Steve’s, that those bright summer blue eyes Bucky knows so well blink slowly open. His head turns just a little to look up at Bucky and his cracked, bruised, bleeding lips spread into a smile.

'Steve?' Bucky whispers, 'Oh thank god, Stevie.'

But something in his tone hits wrong. Some kind of desperation maybe, because Steve’s smile is waning. A hardness is flooding his expression. The more conscious he becomes, the angrier he looks. 

He pulls back from Bucky, just a fraction. An inch at most. But it's a chasm to Bucky, that distance. And Bucky pulls back too, instinctively, removing hishand from Steve’s chest. 

Steve looks at him, at as much of Bucky as he can see from the position he's in, and then to the room around them. 'What is this?'

‘Steve?’

‘Who are you?’ His eyes are flicking around the room like he’s looking for clues. He’s panicking.

'It's me, Stevie, it's Bucky.' Bucky uses the calm voice he always needed to bring Steve back from an episode. ‘It’s me.’

'No.'

And that hurts. That cuts into Bucky like a blade. This is his Steve, he knows it. But maybe… maybe in the future Steve doesn't know him? Doesn't remember him? 

He steps back a little and takes the net from his hair. 'I look different, I know,' he says, working to keep his breathing even, to keep the stress out of his voice,  'Something… something happened to me.'

And Steve is looking at him. Watching him. Bucky lifts his chin, tries to let Steve see him. Looks him in the eye and hopes, prays, that Steve can see him in there. 'Bucky?' Steve finally whispers, reaching towards Bucky with an aborted movement, 'Buck?' He says louder, slipping as he tries to sit himself up in bed.

‘It’s me, it is me,’ Bucky says, placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to discourage him from moving and dislodging the cacophony of tubes that seem to be connected to him and a million pieces of flashing, beeping equipment.

Steve looks down at the hand on his shoulder, the metal hand, not really Bucky’s, and Bucky reaches down to slip his real hand, his right hand, over Steve’s where it rests on the bed. ‘It’s really you?’

And Bucky wants to cry at the relief in  Steve's tone. But it scares him too. 'Oh god, Stevie' - his breath hitches on Steve’s name - 'oh god, what happened to us?'

'Its okay, Bucky, it's okay,' Steve is shushing him, has reached his other hand over to cover Bucky’s where it covers Steve’s, 'It's not your fault, it wasn't your fault.'

'Wasn't my fault?' Bucky asks, not understanding.

'Hydra, any of it. What they did to you. What you did. It wasn't you.'

(Hydra. It's always Hydra, isn't it? Whenever he closes his eyes he can feel them waiting there in his nightmares. Of course they would be torturing him still. All the way into the future).

‘What they did?’ Bucky asks again, and then hears Steve’s words, remembers the film stock from the screens at the bar, ‘What I did?’

‘You don’t remember?’

'I don’t really remember much,’ he says, shaking his head like he can jog something loose, find something hidden, ‘How did we get to the future, Steve?'

And Steve is looking at him. His eyes wide. He's working himself up the bed, up to a sitting position - despite how painful it must be. 'What do you remember, Bucky?'

‘I…’ Bucky looks at Steve, at the raised eyebrows, at the clenched jaw, the tight fisted grip he has on the sheets under Bucky’s hand, ‘I remember the train,’ he says, swallowing, trying to fit his horror into a small, sealable box, ‘I remember falling,’ he looks aways from Steve for the first time since he entered the room, ‘I remember your face, getting further and further away.’

Steve’s breathing has ticked up. He’s doing that thing he does to hide his short sharp breaths from Bucky, but this is not an asthma attack, this is anxiety. This is worry. For Bucky. ‘Buck, it’s okay.’

‘I woke up on the side of a river, in a national park, not in Austria, in America, Steve, and it’s twenty goddam fourteen,’ he’s whispering and it’s painful, he’s got no control over the words, they just come right out of his mouth, like more bile, ‘I woke up in the future Steve, the future! What happened, why was I shooting at you? Why was I shooting at everybody? What did they do to me?’

Steve is reaching up one of his giant hands to cup it around the back of Bucky’s neck, squeezes it, kneads his thumb into the pressure point below Bucky’s ear. Bucky just leans into it, leans into Steve’s fingers, their weight around his neck. Leans into that comfort. ‘Bucky look at me, listen to me,’ Steve turns his laser focus to Bucky’s eyes and holds him firm, ‘You weren’t you, when you were shooting at me, you were compromised-’

Bucky dreads to think what compromised means, especially the way it sticks to Steve’s tongue, like he can barely get the word out.

‘-But, Buck, we need to get you out of here,’ Steve looks around at the rest of the room, at the door, at where he’s probably sure the guards will be standing, ‘Sam and Nat will be around somewhere, hopefully, and I can probably get them to help us, but nobody else can see you, okay?’

Bucky is nodding, he figured as much anyway, but he doesn't want to interrupt Steve, not when he’s so spooked. And Bucky can hear the flying guy on his way back, can hear him talking to the guards outside, and quickly adjusts the net back over his hair, tucking it away. Steve must be able to hear him too, because he’s moving his hand down from Bucky’s neck and back to the bed.

Bucky feels the absence of it like a blow. 

And when the door opens Steve holds out a hand to the man who freezes at the sight of Bucky. Looks to Steve and puts his hands up. Lets the door close behind him and doesn’t take his eyes of Steve and Bucky.

‘Steve?’ the man asks, doesn’t elaborate.

‘It’s okay, he’s friendly, he won't hurt us,’ Steve is saying, calm and even, like he’s talking to a skittish animal, ‘Sam, don’t do anything, just hear me out.’

Bucky wants to shrink into himself. Wants to disappear for putting that look on the man, Sam’s, face. ‘Okay,’ Sam says, his voice low and rich, his arms loose and by his sides, ‘You have ten seconds.’

Bucky is pretty sure that won’t be enough.

[ayatosmlktea]

Oh! Thank god you're ok with im requesting an imagine. Um if its not much to ask, can i have uh angst turns happy modern au levi x s/o imagine. Levi's s/o suffers from anxiety and mild depression so she gets really anxious and scared when she heard rumours that levi is cheating (which he is not) thank you!!

𝑹𝒖𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔

Y/N knew that she hadn’t been the best company the last few weeks. She knew that her depression was getting the best of her, coupled with her anxiety Y/N found herself more often than not retreating into herself. Levi constantly told her that he was there for her and that she could always come to him but Y/N knew that he was busy, now so more than ever. She put up a fake smile long enough to have him believing that she was fine but behind the facade she just wanted to lie in bed and disappear. 

Unfortunately, being a responsible adult with bills to pay meant that she had no choice but to drag her ass out of bed and go to work. Everyday was the same, spending eight hours a day sitting at her desk, filing paperwork, making phone calls and forcing herself to sit through conversations at lunch she didn’t want to be a part of. Y/N was taking a much needed bathroom break, the day was dragging on and she had woken up with a migraine that no amount of caffeine could tame.

 She needed five minutes to herself where people weren’t screaming at her over the phone over issues that were out of her control. It wasn’t their fault their director had decided to completely bypass their advice and do the exact thing they had told their client NOT to do. Y/N massaged her temples, willing her migraine to leave, she still had a few hours of work left and knew that it was going to be a long day. If Levi hadn’t been swamped with work negotiating new trade deals she would have gone to see him for a quick head massage. His fingers could work miracles. Just as she was about to open the stall door she heard hushed voices entering the bathroom.

“Are you serious?”

“I saw it with my own two eyes dude! They were kissing!” Y/N rolled her eyes, the office was always buzzing with gossip and she didn’t ever care for it. Especially not when all she wanted to do was hide under her blankets at home.

“Why would Levi be kissing Petra?”

Y/N’s hand froze over the latch of the stall door, the air was suddenly kicked out of her lungs.

“Have you seen the way she looks at him? You can practically feel the sexual frustration radiating off of her”

A ball of nerves settled in her stomach, her eyes were wide at hearing Levi, her Levi, being seen kissing someone else. A million thoughts were racing through her mind as she tried and failed not to picture the two of them together. Petra was nice, she knew they were together. She wouldn’t do something like that to her...would she.

“Oh my God do you think Y/N knows?” Y/N could hear the blood rushing in her ears, her whole body felt uncomfortably hot.

“I don’t think so. They came in together this morning and I saw him kissing Petra last night.” 

“That’s so embarrassing! I kind of feel bad for her”

The voices gradually grew fainter as the girl’s left the bathroom. Y/N felt like a  knife twist was being twisted in her gut, why hadn’t Levi told her? He had mentioned that he was going to be working late and had told her not to wait up for him, was this why? Y/N felt like throwing up, finding out that her boyfriend was cheating on her, from work gossip no less, didn’t help the growing feeling of despair. 

Rubbing her eyes to wipe away any tears that she refused to let fall she finally stepped out of the stall. Grabbing a paper towel she tried to dry her eyes as best as she could, there was only so long she could stay in the bathroom without drawing suspicion towards herself. Her eyes were bloodshot but there was nothing she could do about that, at least she could blame it on her migraine.

As luck would have, Y/N bumped into Petra on the way out of the bathroom. The orange haired girl smiled brightly at her like she always did and while Y/N usually returned it, she couldn’t bear to look at her. The fact that Petra was acting like she hadn’t been kissing her boyfriend behind her back was enough to make Y/N want to punch her in the face. Heat spread across the back of her neck and she stared straight ahead, completely ignoring Petra.

Sitting back at her desk she tried to focus on getting her work done but her thoughts kept torturing her with images of Levi doing things with Petra that he’d done to her. It was masochistic but she couldn’t stop them. A sinking feeling settled over her and the longer she thought about it the more she realized that it was probably her fault that Levi had felt the need to seek comfort from someone else. She knew that she could be unpleasant to be around, she had a tendency to push people away when she was going through a depressive episode.

Guilt and self-loathing made themselves at home weighing on her heart heavily, maybe it was for the best that they broke up.

Petra was Levi’s equal in their field and Y/N was, well, unimpressive. Nothing about her really stood out, she wasn’t funny or outgoing or as friendly as Petra was. Y/N bit her lip hard enough to keep herself from crying in front of all her coworkers. The final hours of her shift dragged on but she had somehow managed to survive until the end. Grabbing her bag she hastily threw on her jacket hoping to avoid running into Levi or Petra on her way out.

It seemed that the universe and everything else was against her, before she could even make it to the elevator she had been pulled into Levi’s office. The familiar smell of his cologne made her want to sink into his embrace but after having spent the entire afternoon stewing in her own self-destructive thoughts it made her feel sick.

The kiss he pressed against her temple left an acidic feeling in her throat.

“I missed you, what do you say we order in tonight? All these shitty contracts are giving me a headache” It had taken a while for Levi to completely warm up to her, while he wasn’t one for pda especially at the office she had taken pride in getting him to at least kiss her in the privacy of his own office. Now it felt like all that time they had spent getting to know each other was for nothing.

“Actually, I think I’m going to stay at my place tonight.” Y/N refused to meet his gaze, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I’m just not feeling well, I don’t want my bad mood to rub off on you” She mumbled, pulling herself away from his embrace but Levi’s grip on her biceps tightened.

“I know when you’re lying to me, brat. Now tell me what’s wrong” Against her will hot tears threatened to spill over.

“Do you still love me?” Levi’s eyebrow raised, his eyes bore into hers wondering why she was asking him such a pointless question.

“You know I do” Her eyebrows knit together, turning her face away from him. She wanted to believe him but her anxiety was getting the best of her. He was probably only saying that because he didn’t want her to find out about him and Petra. He couldn’t really love her, not when she was such a mess. She could barely get out of bed in the morning, why would he want to be with someone like her?

“Hey,” Levi’s voice is soft, the tone he uses for when they’re alone. The pads of his thumbs brush away the tears that were falling down her face.

“Are you in love with Petra?” Gunmetal eyes narrow as his fingers stop moving along her damp skin.

“Where the hell did you get that ridiculous idea?” Y/N felt herself shrink under his gaze, no matter how many times she had seen it this was the first time she had ever been the subject of it.

“I uh, I heard some of the girls in the bathroom talking about how they saw you kissing Petra last night.” Levi sighed, his hands cupped Y/N’s face.

“I didn’t kiss her Y/N, I would never betray your trust like that!”

“Then why are people saying they saw you kissing her?” Y/N really wanted to believe Levi but if there were witnesses then maybe he was just really good at lying to her. She didn’t want to be caught off gaurd and end up looking stupid for not seeing the signs of a cheating boyfriend right in front of her.

“Baby, listen to me. I would never cheat on you! I love you so much and I wouldn’t do anything to ruin us. Petra wasn’t even with me last night. Please trust me” Levi’s eyes never lied, but she was too far gone in her doubts to shake them off.

“Why me?” Once again trying to pull away from Levi’s grasp she felt a wave of disgust course through her. She wasn’t special! There were so many other people who were better than her! She wasn’t pretty like Petra, she was just ordinary! Easily overlooked, there was nothing about her that Levi could possibly love. Who would want to be with something that was always depressed? It would be better if she just disappeared, he’d be better off without her.

Levi looked heartbroken, he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth.

“Is that really how you feel about yourself?” Y/N felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she realized she had exposed the thoughts that were in her head had come out without even knowing it.

Tilting her chip up with two fingers Levi’s lips brushed against hers in a soft slow kiss.

“You are beautiful” he mumbled between kisses. There was no room to escape, Levi’s dominant presence always managed to make her feel cornered more so now that her back was literally against the wall.

“You are an amazing woman, I don’t care who you think is better than you because everyone else pales in comparison to you.” Y/N’s eyes began to water again, she hated crying in front of Levi but fuck if he didn’t know just what to say. Burying her face in the crook of his neck her hands gripped the material of his suit jacket like he was her anchor, the only thing keeping her from slipping into the dark recesses of her mind.

“I’m sorry” her words almost completely muffled but Levi caught them. It made his heart heavy to know that stupid rumors had caused Y/N to spiral into a mess of self-doubt and hatred. The fact that she had even considered the possibility of him cheating on her meant that he wasn’t doing his job of loving her properly.

“Come on, let’s go home. I think we could both use a shower and some pizza” Kissing the top of her head Levi stepped back, the sight of her bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks pulling at his heartstrings painfully.

“I love you, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to those stupid rumors.” Y/N tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, an anxious habit Levi had picked up on before they had started dating. Grabbing her hands in his he held them over his chest.

“I want you to be able to come to me when you’re feeling down. I don’t care how busy I am, your feelings are important to me! You are no less beautiful or strong to me, even when you’re struggling” Y/N’s face lit up in a way that he hadn’t seen in weeks. He missed her smile and would do anything to make sure she always felt loved. Before the night was over Levi was going to make sure Y/N knew exactly how special she was to him.

[loftec]

Hi i don't know if anyone haven't ask you about it or i'm the only one who wants to read it but CAN YOU PLEASE SHARE YOUR NOTES (ch.44) i don't know if you were serious about that but i really would love to read them cause i'm obsessed with everything what is ntw related 🖤 hope ur well

Hi friend! It’s possibly just you (or one other person, in case of separate anons) but that is enough! I was absolutely serious. 

Note on the notes! This is not all of it, because my notes for this chapter were often repetitive and very messy, and some older notes were from four years ago when I didn’t bother writing things out properly, so they barely make sense even to me. But! I’ve done my best to sort everything in some kind of linear order, and removed most of the repetition. And, well, you asked for it... sorry! 🖤

Ian shows up in the morning, Mickey digs out the magazine Iggy stole from Amelia’s dentist’s office the other day and confronts Ian about the big-ass article in Rolling Stone about IAN’S BAND, says he’s listened to some of their songs, takes out a paper where he’s written down some lyrics that sound strangely familiar.

You’re famous!

I’m in a band, people know about us right now, tomorrow they might not. I’m not famous.

You’re kinda famous.

Ian talks about Mickey recognizing him because of Frank. Hints that there might be several songs inspired by Mickey. It’s awkward as fuck, didn’t want you to know.

Were you ever gonna tell me?

Oh yeah, I had a plan. 3 dates, dinner and a movie, day out with Yev, dinner at my place turned vigorous love-making. Second prong; cohabitation, engagement, marriage, then on our wedding night I tell you about crushing on Justin Timberlake when I was 12,

then I tell you I’m semi-famous, if it still applies.

Mickey thinks his face might be on fire.

What the?

I’m fucking with you, Mick. Figured you already knew.

This again?

You angry?

No, I’m not fucking angry. Just-

Freaked out.

Kinda, yeah.

You shouldn’t be. Please.

It’s weird that I didn’t know, I feel like a schmuck. (And I’m pretty sure by your count we’ve already been on those first two dates.)

I’m sorry. I thought you knew and by some fucking miracle didn’t treat me different. I’d been gearing up to maybe have to have this conversation on our date, ‘cause it’s shit sometimes, you know? I don’t do interviews and I never talk about myself when I gotta do them, but there’s still a limelight and a lot of bullshit that complicates

I’ve been crushing on you since we met basically, and I thought I’d just… let it run its course, keep my mouth shut about it and deal until it went away and we could remain friends without me fucking it up.

Didn’t work, by the way.

Good.

Mickey is talking about it with Etch, who suggests that Ian’s been writing at the diner for a reason.

Etch looks up some lyrics and Mickey caps locks them to Ian

You might have inspired a few lately…

Fuck off. How many?

Since we met? Pretty much all of them.

Maybe one or two made it on to the album, but I wrote those before we really got to know each other so they’re just like… about moments, and how I would feel around you.

Didn’t think of it as creepy but it kinda sounds that way now.

No it’s fine

I won’t do it again.

Said it’s fine. Kinda like it.

Yeah?

You gonna tell me which ones are about me, or is that a secret too?

What are you doing tonight?

Thought you said you were going on tour?

We are, it starts tonight. It’s a small fan club gig here in Chicago.

You have a fan club?

Kinda. I’ll put you on the guest list if you want to come.

(Mickey calls Svetlana to make sure Yevgeny can stay with her over the weekend.)

It’s fine if you don’t want to, we’ll do something else when I get back.

Calm your tits Gallagher, course I wanna go. Needed to make sure I’ve got Yev covered.

Oh okay, good. You’re on the list. Doors at 7, gig starts at 8, no support.

You’ve got no chill.

(Ian doesn’t answer for a while)

I like it.

Good, that was torture. Never doing that again.

(Etch teases him about having his nose in his phone, and makes him aware of new guests arriving)

Gotta get back to work

Yeah, me too. See you tonight?

No chill at all.

Ian invites him to the concert and gives Mickey his phone number. Mickey makes sure Yevgeny stays with his mom on saturday, and after work he goes home and gets ready. Showers and cleans himself thoroughly, puts on cologne and a band t-shirt he hasn’t worn in ages, it’s gotten kinda tight on him since he got it. (He puts on a dress shirt first, tucks it into his pants and glares at his reflection).

He’s on the guest list when he gets there, the girl in the box office can’t find him at first but then Anne shows up and points him out, he’s on the VIP list and gets a pass that he’s told he needs to carry so it’s visible. He makes a point of shoving it in the admission guy’s face, but then shoves the ostentatious thing down the pocket of his jeans. Anne shows him in and tells him about the gig, about how the fan club got started. Anne says he can go backstage but he says he’ll pass, thank you. He gets a beer and finds a good spot, there’s a balcony halfway through the venue where he’s got a perfect view of the stage without having to stand in the front.

They text a little, Mickey says he’s there and Ian says he’ll make a sign when they play a song inspired by him.

run-through of the concert, Ian touches the side of his nose when the song is about Mickey. He’s sexy as fuck, and has some ridiculous stripper moves.

He takes off his hoodie at some point, and sweating through his tank he and Anne put on gloves and start hitting the barrels with crowbars.

Anne is the maestro, maybe Ian crowd surfs at some point? Warren Ellis that violin, man. He has little routines with Anne, and some with Jon too. One song, Anne gets one of his guitars and he does noisy stuff with his violin and plays on the oil barrels with Stran, completely in sync.  

They got some good stage banter going, and at some point Ian does a Tom Waits impression, and Anne groans and says he’ll sing the whole thing if they’re not careful. There’s a reason why he’s

For the encore, Ian touches the side of his nose and they start playing a song, Anne saying that this is a first. It looks like Ian is about to sing, but then it looks like he changes his mind and they start playing a song that Mickey sure as fuck hope isn’t about him. The insufferable man on a date right next to Mickey tells the woman he’s with that they were about to play the mysterious title track from their last album that never ended up on the record

“it’s derivative, but cute”

how can it be a title track if it’s not on the album

the guy talks about how he’s got a friend working as an engineer in the studio and he’s sent him an early demo version. It’s not their best song by far, but it’s cool that pretty much no one else has heard it.

Mickey asks the girl if she’s ok with this joker, and she says she’s fine. He offers to get her a cab or something, if she wants to get out of there.

She says she’s not interested

Lady, if I wanted to get with either of you, it wouldn’t be you. Just sayin, I ain’t picky, but that guy would’ve gotten the boot ten minutes into the date if he were here with me, no offense.

WHAT IF.

The concert is over, and crowd starts to let up. Then a fight breaks out at the front and Mickey makes his way towards it. It’s over before he gets there, and sees a guy in his 40s with a bleeding nose, and Lip shaking out his fist, a security guard between them.

Mickey talks to the guard and defuses the situation, putting the bleeding man in the position of a sad overzealous fan. It somehow warms Lip to him, absurdly, and he finds himself apologized to, Lip shaking his hand and wincing when Mickey grips his bruised knuckles a little too hard. Lip vaguely explains that that was an old ex of Ian’s, a real piece of work, and then offers Mickey to come backstage with them to see Ian. Mickey declines.

It’s Lip, Carl and Debbie (Liam is too young, and Fiona too pregnant).

“I was drunk, and wrong, and when I’m wrong I say I’m wrong. (IT’S FROM DIRTY DANCING YOU LITERALLY FORGET EVERY TIME AND HAVE TO GOOGLE IT WHENEVER READING THIS NOTE should I really be quoting Baby’s dad in this fic? Probably. If anyone can, it’s Lip.) And Ian tells me you’ve been there for him a lot lately

I wouldn’t say that

But he did, he doesn’t tell me a lot these days, but he told me that.

Mickey gets another beer at the bar as people mill towards the merch and exit, he sits on a stool with an eye on the backstage passage. He watches the band come out to talk to some of the lingering fans and sign shit. Ian comes out and is immediately surrounded by fans, he locks eyes with Mickey across the room and Mickey raises his beer in a silent cheers. Ian comes up to him after a few minutes, he looks damp and exhilarated and unexpectedly nervous,

How was it?

Not bad, Gallagher.

he asks Mickey over. He has to pack up his shit and do the rounds, but he’ll be done in half an hour, tops. Mickey says he’ll meet him outside.

Ian leaves and Mickey finishes his beer, watching Ian talk to some fans, signing shit and taking pictures. He goes for a piss and then goes out for a smoke.

Ian comes out after twenty minutes, carrying two guitar cases and a large wheelie-bag. Mickey takes one of the guitars off his hands and they walk together.

(maybe Ian has a banjo and he gives it to Mickey to carry and Mickey is all really? I wanna kick your ass so bad right now, country boy, but then carries it anyway.) (banjos are cool)

Walk from the club. Mickey mentions talking to Lip. They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it) (Note from 2020: I DID NOT REMEMBER IT.)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

Ian tells him a little about his different instruments, Mickey picks up the beat up guitar Gus first gave to Ian and strums it, Ian asks him to play him something but Mickey snorts and says he’s counting on getting laid tonight and him playing would be detrimental to that plan. Ian doesn’t think so, but accepts it when Mickey gives him the guitar.

”I’ve walked some thousand miles,” he starts softly, eyes on his left hand, moving over the strings, ”I have slept many hundred nights, and people’ve said hello and bye through the years since you were mine. But don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue. Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser I cry for you.”

”Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie,” ”My darling boy, sweet old times, as long as I keep you in mind I will remember what love is like. So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue.”

”Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser.”

”I cry for you.”

I’M THINKING OF WRITING MY OWN SONG BECAUSE I WAS THIS MOMENT TO BE MORE BEFORE SUNSET THAN ANYTHING, ALL SMILES AND DRAMA FREE. SO MAYBE A TEXT THAT IS A LITTLE MORE STRAIGHTFORWARD.

Ian plays the song and when he’s done, Mickey kisses him and they have really enthusiastic sex on the couch. Mickey is about to leave after when Ian invites him to stay,

How about some long-ass foreplay on the couch and then they move into the bedroom.

They start on the couch, they take it to the bedroom, they collapse on the bed after and Mickey is feeling too good to argue when Ian mumbles at him to “stay”.

(Sings the song, says it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a song, it’s one quick thought put under a spotlight. Feeling like he should have known Mickey his whole life already. It’s too much, isn’t it? In the kitchen.

”do you normally take guys home and serenade them?”

”nah, don’t think it’d be very effective with most.”

”But you figured I’d swoon?”

”Figured you’d want the truth.”

”which is?”)

??? Need to find a good mix of excitement and new and easy, balanced with ho shit wtf are we doing this isn’t going to end well i think i fucking love him shut the fuck up. needs to be sexy and a little rough, as well as painfully sincere against better knowledge. kissing will do that. they’re doing stuff the way they usually do stuff, but for some reason it feels completely different.

Important that Mickey kisses him.

They stand up and stand chest to chest, Ian says they don’t have to do anything, Mickey says shut up and get naked

he helps ian take his shirt off and kisses him the second his face comes back into view

They fucks on the couch.

OR ALT FADE CUT END and don’t go explicit. Just saying, it’s an option. A valid option.

They can go at it in one of the sequels? Like the roadtrip can be more explicit? If I want? But also not?

I mean, there is such a thing as a nice middle ground right.

I just don’t think I’m interested in going all out porn after 40+ chapters of whatever.

THEY KISS AND THEN THERE’S A MOTHERFUCKING FADE TO BLACK MY FRIEND, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I HAVE DECIDED. Soz

WHAT IF!!

Iggy comes in, is all: guess what I found at the dentist this morning?

M: again? Did Amelia break another tooth?

I: It’ll grow back, take a look at this

E: Did you steal that from the dentist’s office?

M: Rolling Stone, wtf?

E: your dentist’s got rolling stone?

Mickey reads the headlines out loud as a customer comes in and asks Etch about something they’ve lost the other day, and Etch starts rifling through boxes behind the counter as Mickey moves over to sit down in Ian’s booth, rifling through the magazine.

M: what am I looking for?

I: I marked the page

E: what’s this note?

Mickey starts reading the article, realizing that the blurred picture is of Ian, and the interview is with Ian, and holy shit. Ian is legit famous.

Etch starts reading the list of coffees, eventually turning the page over and pointing out that there’s a phone number.

Iggy comes to the diner in the morning, Etch is rifling through stuff behind the counter and Mickey is doing the rounds with the few guests still there after the morning rush.

Iggy shows him the magazine he found at the dentist’s and Etch is in the background like wtf is this, reading from Ian’s note with the coffee orders, Mickey only half listens, trying to take in the fact that Ian is fucking famous.

Etch says there’s a phone number too and Mickey brushes him off.

Then he’s like, hold the fuck up! And gets the note from the trash and tries the number, and Ian fucking answers. And they have the you’re famous conversation on the phone and voila, Mickey has his number and vice versa.

So Mickey calls Ian in the morning, then there’s text talk during the day.

From Ian

So, you’ve had my number for x days and you only now decided to use it?

That’s cold.

From Mickey

You wrote it on a piece of paper you then balled up and threw on the floor, asshole, it’s a miracle it didn’t end up in the trash. didn’t know I had it until this morning.

You suck at this. (This is a nice revelation that he likes, but Maybe that doesn’t come across in text.

Not a complaint btw, just gleeful observation.

From Ian

Are we still on?

From Mickey

Of course.

Dumbass.

Ian

I probably deserved that.

At some point Mickey starts capslocking and sending lyrics to Ian, who has to explain through text why he’s written songs about Mickey, saying that he’ll point them out tonight.

HERE’S A QUESTION

SHOULD I SKIP THE WHOLE “WRITING SONGS ABOUT MICKEY” BUSINESS??

Isn’t it enough that Ian is famous and kept this fact from Mickey? Isn’t the writing songs business a little creepy? and if he did write songs about Mickey, would he really publish them without Mickey’s consent? No. Maybe I’m deliriously tired and about to fall ill right now, but I actually think I should skip that part. It’s a little sad because it’s been part of this idea for three years, but if I’m uncertain about it now imagine how I’m going to feel about it later?

When I started writing this story, it was supposed to be a quick and silly thing, and now it’s something else. It’s not important or anything, but also it is. To me. And making a decision on the rating was a big deal for me, and I think this is another one of those things. I’ve been holding on to this idea for so long but when I really think about it, is it even romantic? It’s romantic in that kind of teenage dream way, maybe? It’s more romantic to me if they fall in love for reasons other than Ian writing songs. But he’s written NTW, and he still thinks about performing it live, but we skip the whole thing about songs being about Mickey.

So they talk on the phone in the morning, and then there’s a text coming in after a little while asking if Mickey wants to come to the show.

HEYHO IT’S A REVOLUTION AND I FEEL FREE

Mickey and Ian text after the show (after Mickey declines going backstage) Ian asks him to meet him round back in twenty minutes. When Mickey goes out there, he sees Ian talking to a couple of fans by the bus and Mickey hangs back to smoke while he waits. The fans leave and Ian looks around, checks his watch, he has a bunch of guitars with him.

I AM LEANING HEAVILY TOWARDS MICKEY KISSING IAN HERE. He’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters against the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

They’re in the elevator, then they’re in Ian’s apartment. Ian plays him the song, Before sunset ending.

almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

(almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

yeah, it’s not a very good song. is why we cut it from the record

oh yeah? thought it was ‘cause of the like, intensely personal subject

that too)

They smile at each other like fools and Mickey feels like he is exactly where he’s supposed to be, and there’s no rush. Fade to black.

Etch finds the paper, says there’s a phone number on it. Mickey dials the number and goes out back as it rings out. When Ian answers, he reads a question from the interview and they talk.

He goes back into the diner and basically blows the whole thing off, it doesn’t make any difference to him and he has to go back to work. Yevgeny does his homework and Iggy leaves, and Ian invites Mickey to the gig via text. Etch invites Yevgeny to stay over at theirs for a movie night.

Does Mickey tell Yev about the gig?

Start with Mickey out back, smoking. The phone rings and he waits for Etch to take it, but it keeps ringing. He bangs the door and yells PHONE and then it stops ringing. He kills the cigarette and goes back inside. Etch is behind the counter talking on the phone and going through the lost and found, looking for whatever the caller has lost. Mickey clears a table. It’s afternoon. Etch hangs up but keeps going through stuff in the box, talking to Mickey, when Iggy comes in.

It’s maybe more like afternoon (?) when Iggy comes in and shows Mickey the magazine. He calls Ian and they have a quick conversation (he probably goes outside to have it, to escape his audience) and they establish that Ian is sorta famous. Then they text back and forth a little, until Ian invites him to the show.

Mickey calls Svet to arrange it so Yev can stay with her, and then accepts. He goes home after work to eat, have a shower and change out of his clothes. He wears the only band tee he owns, mostly because it’s funny and because it’s kinda tight and he doesn’t think he looks too bad in it (and a dress shirt is way too much for a concert not-date, not that he tried on a couple first. Then he does a little bit of cyberstalking only to find very little personal information and a lot of crazy fans. Maybe he watches a couple of music videos, but they’re all really weird cartoons so they give him nothing. They’re cool though, and guess the music’s alright, even though he doesn’t have a connection yet to it so it’s hard to tell if he likes it.

Yevgeny calls, because Mickey switched the days and he wants to know why. Mickey asks if he knows about the Broken Bells, and Yev’s like duh who doesn’t? And freaks out when Mickey tells him about Ian. He doesn’t tell him about the whole date situation though, just that he’s going to the concert. Maybe Yev asks for some merch.

Mickey takes an Uber to the venue, even though it’s not too far from the diner (but on the other side, so at least a 30 minute walk) and it seems like they’ve already started letting people in. He hangs back until the admissions office is clear and then tells the lady that he’s on some kinda guest list. She can’t find him, and he’s about to give up and go home when he sees a familiar figure in the background. He calls her Stay-puft first, but then also remembers that her name is Anne and calls her that too. She remembers him, and finds him on a different (VIP) list, the venue staff woman is embarrassed, but Anne is borderline flirting she’s so nice about the mistake. Mickey gets a pass that he’s supposed to keep around his neck, but he shows it to the guards and then tucks it down his back pocket. Anne shows him inside the venue and asks if he wants to come backstage and say hello, but he kindly declines.

He has a quick peruse of the merch table (he checks the CDs, and then sees a smaller table next to the merch with a guy handing out pins, Mickey talks to him and finds out that it’s “fan club” pins to commemorate the gig and Mickey asks if his VIP pass gets him one, it does, and then the guy asks if Mickey wants to sign up for the newsletter) and then gets a beer, before finding a good spot on the mezzanine floor. He’s got a balcony railing for support and beer holder, and he’s got an excellent view of the stage. The floor is filling up with people packing themselves against the front. He texts Ian saying he’s here and they text a little back and forth. He gets someone to watch his spot and goes to the restroom. There, he finds a kid getting cornered by a middle-aged man. The kid looks vaguely familiar and not older than sixteen. Mickey steps in and casually accuses the guy of creeping on a kid and the guy immediately backs off, the kid says thanks and that he’s eighteen (because it’s an 18+ gig) and Mickey says sure.

Getting back to his spot, There is a douchebag on a date behind him that he wants to move away from, but he doesn’t want to surrender his good spot. He decides to tune him out, he’ll hopefully shut up once the set starts. It’s just a couple of minutes after eight when the lights dim and a song comes on louder than before, and the band start coming out on the stage. Ian is wearing jeans and a hoodie, like he normally does, but he’s clean shaven and his normally smiling face is set in blank determination. Anne is the front person, and she commands the audience with the slightest gesture. It’s obvious that the venue is filled with old fans, they all know exactly what to do exactly when she asks them to do it. Ian’s got like four guitars and a whole lot of other shit around him, and he’s super focused on doing his stuff, but now and then he does little routines with Anne and Jon, and gets a big cheer for his occasional solos.

A few songs in, Ian gets up to stand on one of the oil barrels, and Anne starts banging on it with a crowbar. That’s when Mickey starts to really get into it. It’s cool, and it’s a lot harder than Ian made it out to be, but kind of theatrical at the same time. Ian is brilliant, even though he dances like an uncoordinated stripper.

There is banter between the songs, mainly between Anne and Stran (girl sure bangs those drums!) Anne starts banging one of the oil barrels again and Ian and Jon do a little step dance next to each other across the scene.

At some point Ian takes off his hoodie. He’s wearing a white tank and he’s already sweating through it. He gives his guitar to Anne and puts on gloves. Him and Stran do a little bant-y thing and then they start a new song by both banging the barrels in unison while Anne and Jon start playing (maybe Jon plays something else, like an electric piano or a marimba?). At the crescendo of the song, Ian takes out a baseball bat and goes to town on the barrel, sweat shining on his muscly arms and his wet hair flopping down his forehead.

They go off the stage, but come back when the crowd chants a song, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. Anne says they’ve got one more song for them, and they start playing. She moves away from the microphone and it looks for a second like Ian is going to step up and sing. Douchebag behind Mickey tells his date about an unreleased b-side to the last album. But then Ian steps back and says something to Stran, who nods and moves into a slightly different beat. Without blinking Anne, steps back up to the mic and sings the last song.

Some of the crowd lingers by the stage after the lights have gone back on, but most move towards the bar or the merch table. Mickey hangs back to watch the crew take down the stage, and the two oil barrels being handed over to someone in the audience, along with set lists and left-over picks. Walking down from the mezzanine floor to go look for the restrooms, a fight breaks out on the floor. Mickey immediately recognizes one of them as Lip and the other one as the creep from the bathroom, and intervenes by clearly positioning himself on Lip’s side and reminding the creep that he could get him in trouble, the creep backs off and agrees when Mickey tells the security guards it was an accident (in a way that isn’t obviously helpful, but in the end still makes sure that Lip isn’t hurt or arrested for punching a guy) (because he did, he punched a guy, who is thrown out by the guards after Mickey’s intervention). Lip, Carl, Debbie, and Liam is there, but it’s only Lip who knows who Mickey is. He hangs back to talk to Mickey while his siblings go backstage (and PROBABLY DOESN’T tell him a little bit about the guy being Ian’s ex, making it clear that Lip really doesn’t like him). He also apologizes to Mickey for last time. He asks if Mickey wants to go backstage, but Mickey declines. He’s decided earlier with Ian through text that he’ll wait for him and thinks it’s better to do it somewhere that isn’t backstage where he might get asked questions and have to talk to people who aren’t Ian.

He gets another beer and stands in the bar next to the merch, watching as Ian and the rest of the band come out to sign some stuff and shake hands. Ian still looks slightly damp from sweat, even though he’s obviously changed clothes and run a towel through his hair. Mickey wonders if his skin tastes like salt. He drinks his beer.

Ian comes up to him after a little while, asking well? (or texts him, which probably makes more sense? But I also want Mickey to see Ian post-show)

Not bad Gallagher, not bad at all.

Ian looks pleased and asks if Mickey wants to come over, even though Ian has an early morning. Mickey says yes and Ian asks him to wait until they’re done packing up.

Mickey finishes his beer, goes to the restroom (where he sees douchebag by the urinal) and then he goes outside to wait for Ian. (He talks to douchebag’s date and offers to get her a taxi before the guy comes out.) He smokes a cigarette, and before he knows it, Ian is by his side, carrying a fuck ton of guitars. They decide to walk, for some reason, talking on the way.

HEY

Ian says he’s got a car coming and they walk a little bit to where they’re getting picked up. They talk about trumpet lips and stuff and Mickey kisses him. They get interrupted by the car arriving, and Ian picks up his guitars and says “you coming?”

Fuck yes

They sit in silence in the car, but it’s a good one. Ian says

Lip told me what you did back there.

He didn’t tell you shit.

He did, told me you stepped in and stopped him from getting arrested

He was getting his ass kicked, someone had to help the guy

And Liam told me you got him out of a tough situation in the restroom

That was Liam? Some pedo’s creeping on a kid by the urinal, I’m not gonna stand by doing nothing.

You know that’s not what happened

Yeah, well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

He isn’t a pedo, and Lip would’ve beat the shit outta him if you hadn’t stepped in.

You defending this guy?

No, trying to say thanks.

You’re shit at it.

Thank you, Mickey

Better.

So… friend of yours.

No. (Ian isn’t forthcoming with the info)

Alright, whatever.

And he’s definitely not someone I wanna talk about, tonight.

(Ian is smiling at him, all the promise in the world in his eyes)

Fucking fair enough.

They arrive.

OR Ian joins Mickey outside and they stand around and talk

They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

That’s when a taxi pulls up and Ian walks toward it

Could use some help with these.

They ride in silence

They carry Ian’s instruments from the car, and Ian says something cute

Mickey’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters on the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

There he asks Ian to play him something that other people don’t get to hear (mostly to be a cheeky monkey, but also because he wants it) and Ian plays him None the wiser.

I’ve walked a thousand miles to end up in your corner booth

Grinning idiot when you bitch, falling fool for your dirty mouth

Sitting on my busy hands when you swagger by and I say -

Hey waiter, pour some coffee in my cup and bring me my toast, before you fuck me up

I’ve been in some thousand fights and it’s clear that so have you, too

Faded threats and cigarettes, sharp glass polished by the sea

Wish you’d put your hands on me and make your feelings clear

Hey waiter

meet me ‘round the back door, tell me I’ve got it wrong and fuck me up some more

‘Cause I’ve fallen a thousand times but never felt this way before, like I should have met you long ago

Walked with you by my side and had your back through thick and thin

Sickness and health, come what may, and I say-

Hey waiter

pop the damn champagne

None the wiser

you fuck me up again

Hey waiter

tell me you’ll be mine

I’ll give you my life

and fuck you up in kind

I wish I was just a plain white shirt

then you could wear me off to work

and I’d be one of the things you keep close to your heart

soft white cotton wrapped around your heart

(Contrasts have faded now

but color still haunt my mind

And words ripped off from their lines

Make bitter tears flood my eyes

Don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you)

Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie

My darling boy, sweet old times

As long as I keep you in mind

I will remember what love is like

So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you

’Cause I always say ’I love you’

when I mean ’turn out the light’

And I say ’let’s run away’

when I just mean ’stay the night’

But the words you want to hear

you will never hear from me

I’ll never say ’happy anniversary’

Never stay to say ’happy anniversary’

Bom-chaka bom-chak 23 verses

And he climbed up a mountain

And he looked around

Some kind of forest

With all these dinosaurs

And he stripped his woman

He stripped her bare

But there was a pterodactyl

There!

[inthesummerswelter]

Michael Clifford goes to uni with a mountain of advice on what to expect.

None of it, it seems, turns out to actually be true.

University was supposed to be the best time of his life. Or, that’s what everybody told him, citing all the enlightening courses he would take, the raging parties he would attend, the rampant feeling of indestructible freedom he would exult in.

They failed to mention how he would be waiting in the laundry room at three in the morning because all his clothes were frankly beyond stale-smelling and starting to offend his roommates. They failed to mention that all the dryers would subsequently be filled with like, five loads of pink lacy things during his quick run to the minimart for a midnight snack to tide him over until next morning’s breakfast. They failed to mention how fucking long it takes for like, five loads of pink lacy things to actually run through a drying cycle.

Michael Clifford sits in the basement of his dormitory, a pile of dripping laundry beside him in a plastic basket with one of the handles broken, trying desperately to not fall asleep. It smells like dampness and mold and copious detergent spills.

He runs a hand through his hair and rubs along his neck, checking to see if there’s any excess dye from his escapades earlier with a bottle of purple he'd picked up on a whim last Thursday. There is, of course, and he wipes his palm along his denims.

Except he's forgotten that he's not wearing his black denims because they're all stacked up beside him. He's just wiped a streak of dark purple all down the leg of his last clean pair of pajama bottoms.

"Fuck me," he says, grumbling and rummaging among his laundry things for one of those fucking stain sticks that Calum always bugged him about getting whenever they went to the shops together. His fingers snag it but, as he's trying to extricate it from the tangle of wet, black fabrics, it slips out and rolls under one of the dryers that's still chugging along.

"Oh, fuck me."

He's so exhausted, but Michael knows from past experience that the stain will set if he doesn't treat it soon.

So, he gets down on hands and knees and just as soon as he's gotten his whole arm shoved under the dryer, fingers searching the dusty cement for the stick, and his face pressed up against the glass front of the dryer, there's clattering footsteps coming down the stairs.

"God, you fucking perv!"

What?

It takes him a second to determine that it's him that the shrieking voice is addressing, mostly due to sleep deprivation and the fact that one ear is filled with the tumbling thunder of the machine.

"What?" He didn't say he understood why he was being addressed. Through his one available eye - the one not stuck up against the glass pane showing all the pink lacy things - he can see a flurry of long limbs flying towards him and instinctively throws himself away from the dryer.

A girl stands before him in a floppy set of sweats, arms crossed and arms furious. “You think it’s cool to drool all over a dryer with my knickers in it, huh? Think you’re smart or something, perv?”

Immediately he puts his hands up defensively. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god, no! I dropped something under the dryer and I was just trying to reach it. Jesus!”

Grumbling under her breath, she whips through the laundry room towards the row of dryers and, in one economical movement that defies the laws of physics, manages to pile all five loads of pink lacy things into a basket, and leaves in a hurricane.

                                                          +

When they told him about university, there was a lot more emphasis on the amazing things he would learn and less on the amount of time it would take for him to learn them. A lot more emphasis on renewed perspectives and a lot less on how long it would take sitting at a table in the university library reading things dead people wrote over seventy years ago to actually understand why his perspectives needed renewing in the first place.

They also neglected to mention how much of a maze the university library was and how all of the easily-accessible tables were always taken ridiculously early in the evening.

Michael Clifford sighs as he pushes himself through the gaps between the shelves, turning his body sideways so he can get back to his table as quickly as possible and still have some time to complete his coursework before today turned into tomorrow.

Of course, as he’s making the final turn at an insane angle in a narrow passage that makes it impossible to see around the other side because this is university and why would anything as simple as walking back to his table be easy for chrissakes, he bumps into another body.

Well, bumps really isn’t the right word. Crashes is more accurate. Vaguely, his mind catalogs the sensations as he begins to fall backwards from the collision: long hair whispering along the side of his neck, sharp pain in his chest from the edges of textbooks, the condensation coating the outside of a water bottle soaking into his shirt.

“Shit!” The word explodes from his mouth as he bumpers off the shelves behind him, thankfully not knocking any books off the shelves.

He’s immediately chastised by a harsh whisper.

“Will you keep it down? We’re in a library, genius.”

Snarking back automatically, Michael says, “Oh, really? I thought this was a zoo.”

“Well, it might be,” the girl on the ground replies, giving a pointed look at his hair as she readjusts her glasses.

It’s the pink lacy girl, this time dressed in an entirely different set of baggy sweats, not a speck of pink or lacy anything on her.

Fuck this, fuck his history of religion paper on transcendentalism in 19th century America. What did those dead people know anyway?

“I don’t need to put up with this shit, thanks,” he says as he picks up his books from the floor and heads out the door.

He’s going to go take a nap.

                                                          +

When they told him about the textbooks that he would have, they expressed how miraculous they would be, how every page he turned would bombard his brain with information he couldn’t live without now.

They failed to mention how much each of those pages cost. After his trip to the bookstore at the beginning of term, one would have thought that each book was bound in genuine Italian leather and illuminated in gold leaf by an isolated sect of monks who only work once every eight days and take three month-long holidays each year.

Which is why, two days later when he actually goes about writing the essay on transcendentalism in 19th century America because he really doesn’t want to flunk out of uni and have to head back to the Southern hemisphere, he’s having a mild panic attack.

His book is gone, his history text that cost him more than two weeks’ worth of wages at his part-time job, and in its place is a pro-fem book detailing the struggles of minority women after the end of the Civil Rights Movement.

It’s actually quite intriguing, and he finds himself reading through the introduction before he remembers to look in the inside cover for a name.

Michael Clifford finds what he’s looking for in blocky script written with a hunter green gel pen: Tal Harrison.

To his horror, he searches her name in the student directory and finds that she lives in his hall, on his floor. The other end of the hall, granted, which is like over fifteen doors down, but still. On his floor.

His horror mounts as another realization strikes him. If he has her book, then she must have his.

The thought of more confrontation with the pink lacy girl makes him a touch queasy. Not as queasy as shifting the majority of the food-money in his monthly budget over to paying for another copy of this book, though.

Mustering up his nerve, he takes one last look at her room number before shoving his feet into a pair of slippers and grabbing her textbook. He shuffles down the hallway, counting the doorways under his breath.

He needs to know exactly how far away from him she is so he can forevermore maintain that distance at all costs.

Stopping in thirteen doors later, Michael bites nervously at his lip before bringing his hand up to knock at the door. Three knocks, then a pause.

Which stretches out obscenely long.

He knocks again, three more times. Another pause.

Goddamn, he really needs his book back, especially considering he’s fallen into another fit of procrastination and left off the essay until tonight, even though it’s due tomorrow morning at the beginning of lecture.

Michael is just about to knock again when the door to his left opens up and a head pokes out of the frame.

“They’re never in this early, so I would suggest you stop knocking and leave. Some of us are trying to study, y’know.”

It’s the girl. The pink lacy girl. The girl that has his book.

Tal Harrison.

He starts to talk, to try and defend himself and also to ignore the fact that he failed to correctly count to fifteen, when her eyes widen, gaze dropping down to the cover of the textbook he’s still got in his hand.

“Hey,” she says, “You’re the asshole who took my book in the library! And the asshole perving in the laundry room!”

“Excuse me, I’m the asshole trying to return your book right now, thanks. And I was not perving in the laundry, Christ! I was waiting for a dryer to open up because you had filled up every single one with your shit.”

To his surprise, Tal – he figures he better start actually using her proper name now – colors, cheeks pinking up just a few shades lighter than her pink lacy things.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, ducking her head. “I…mis-prioritised. Left the wash until I ran out of everything.”

“Is that even a word?” The question is out before he can catch it, and his face flushes, realizing exactly how rude he probably sounded, especially after she had apologized.

“Nope.” She pops the p, motioning him over to her doorway. “Here, I must have your book then, right? If you have mine, we must have switched them accidentally.”

Her room is nothing like what he had expected. Although, granted, his only expectations – bare walls with a magenta punching bag in the corner – stemmed from aggressive encounters with a girl who wears loose sweats and pink lacy things.

Instead, there’s only a minimal amount of painted brick walls exposed. The rest are covered with whiteboards, which themselves flash in a rainbow of dry-erase markers detailing out complicated-looking diagrams and equations with too many foreign symbols for him to understand.

There is a neat, patterned bedspread in shades of dark blues and purples as well, along with a full bookcase and well-organized desk crammed into the rest of the space in the small single.

“Here,” Tal says, locating and extracting his history book easily from one of the stacked piles at the corner of her desk. “That’s yours, right?”

He takes it from her absentmindedly, eyes still overwhelmed by the formulas on all the whiteboards. Michael honestly thought Luke was the only one crazy enough to be into all that maths shit.

“Physics.” She plays with the pencil behind her ear and readjusts her glasses. “I’m Physics and Gender Studies. Joint degree.”

“That’s…” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“Totally weird, I know, it’s difficult to explain --”

“I was gonna say that it’s really impressive. Like, really impressive.”

She pinks again, looking pleased. “Oh. Oh, thanks. What’s yours? I’m Tal Harrison, by the way.”

Now he’s the embarrassed one. “History, just history. And I’m Michael, Michael Clifford.”

                                                          +

Someone is being killed down the hall. If there’s any way to judge by the noises, Michael would suppose that whatever the method of homicide is, it’s not a clean one.

There’s another piercing scream that cuts through the guitar solo blasted through his ears.

They didn’t mention anything about mass murder in when they told him about living at uni.

Okay, hell, they really didn’t tell him anything actually applicable to life at a university in general, so he’s just going to stop mentioning it at this point.

Five more seconds of shrieking later, and he gets up in a huff, pulling on a jumper over top his boxer shorts and puts on his slippers again. Trekking out into the hall only amplifies the noise as it bounces down the narrow passage and back up.

After some investigation, Michael finds that the sounds take him to the door to the women’s washroom.

Fuck.

One lengthy internal debate later, he tamps down the urge to walk away and turn the volume back up on his headphones. The screaming has intermingled with sobbing now, so he grits his teeth and slowly pushes the door open.

In hindsight, knocking first may have been a good idea.

The door to one of the shower stalls has become inexplicably unlocked and now sways inwards. The contents of a shower caddy are dumped across the floor, shampoo bottles and those weird poofy things that his mom keeps in their bath strewn and rolling around on the slick tile.

Tal is in there, water turned off with the world’s tiniest towel preventing him from getting an eyeful, body quivering and legs knocking.

She’s staring, petrified at the drain in the center of the shower, shallowly breathing.

He clears his throat. “Um, Tal?”

Head snapping up, her eyes widen. “Michael, thank God. Help me, um, please?”

She gestures down to the drain, motioning to the thing he previously thought was just a clump of hair in stuck in the metal grate.

“Holy hell.”

There’s a big-ass spider down there, sitting on top of the drain. He stares at the big-ass spider. The big-ass spider stares back at him and twitches its legs threateningly.

Tal shifts nervously. “Michael?”

He and the big-ass spider exchange glances once more. The eight beady eyes only serve to harden his resolve. “Okay, you’re gonna have to jump over here. I’m not getting any closer to that.”

“Jump?”

“Yeah,” he says, motioning to the little bench where the plastic shower caddy once sat. “Just, like, step up there and jump across to me and I’ll catch you. No worries.”

She wavers, indecision showing as her eyebrows furrow. “But what if I slip?”

“I’ll catch you.” He sounds much more confident than he actually is. He hasn’t worked out in a few weeks, and he’s pretty sure that chicken-boy Luke could bench more than him at this point.

But, when she does jump, she does slip. Everything slows down to half time, and he can only watch, arms outstretched to catch her, horrified as she throws her hands out to break her fall. The world’s tiniest towel drops to the ground just as she crosses the last bit of the gap between them and lunges into his chest.

Boobs. Boobs pressed against him.

Michael takes a long, hard look at the ceiling tile and contemplates his grandmother’s undergarment choices and the last time he found Calum in their room dancing suggestively around to the newest emasculating pop song.

He tries to ignore the sensation of her wet hair dripping on his collarbone as she shakes, repeating over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God, I touched it with my foot, I touched it, oh my God.”

“Tal,” he starts after she’s beginning to calm down. “Tal, um, I’m going to let go of you now and close my eyes so you can get your towel, okay.”

“Okay.”

She’s not brave enough to get anything else besides her room key and robe, and, honestly, Michael’s not either. So, they end up in his room, her in his borrowed shirt and sleep trousers – the one with the purple stripe down the leg because he didn’t end up getting to it in time after all – perched on the edge of his desk chair while he sits on his bed and makes them a cup of fortifying coffee.

They end up talking until three in the morning, even though they’ve both got early lectures the next day.

                                                          +

Okay, he lied. They did tell him one thing about uni that seems to be marginally true.

There is, often as not, a greater chance of finding really good mates at university. Some of those friendships might happen after traumatic incidents because, hey, sometimes, near-death experiences with spiders in bathrooms really bring people together.

Some of those people might be certain particular girls. Those particular girls might live on his floor.

Those particular girls might be named Tal Harrison and smell nice and are the optimum combination of really fucking smart and really fucking cute.  

Michael Clifford might have a little bit of a crush.

Tal ends up routinely saving him a spot at her reserved table in the library when he wakes up late from his afternoon nap. In return, he supplies the coffee and the occasional apple that he manages to steal from Calum’s hoard of assorted fruit.

“Hey,” she says, grinning. “Make yourself at home.”

Silently, he presents the traditional offering of coffee and fruit and they settle down to their work, her on more physics coursework and him on a mountain of history readings he needed to complete by yesterday.

He can’t keep quiet for long though, as he’s distracted by the question that’s been burning on his mind for weeks. It finally bursts out.

“Why were you so mean to me when we first met?”

She twirls a piece of hair around her finger as she continues to copy down notes from her book. “Well, you were in a compromising position. You were kind of a dick. And kind of cute. So, I got flustered.”

Michael blinks. Cute?

“Also, you really did look like you were perving on my knicks so I was totally justified there.”

“You’re cute.”

Oh God, he said that out loud.

She pulls her head up to look at him for a long moment, before her eyes crinkle up in a smile. “Thanks, Mikey.”

So, when he takes her hand later as he finishes his reading and she works through the rest of her notes, it isn’t weird at all.

This is the one thing he’s going to write home about.

[calleo-bricriu]

1996-ish.

((Chatting with @absintheabsence earlier today, we thought it’d be amusing to make Grindelwald listen to 110 or so year old Calleo describe @tmvoldemort in the most over the top, dramatic way possible so...but also, I absolutely love the way Voldemort was described in the books and will always be salty that the movies made him into a weirdly buff, blue eyed, not all that frightening guy with a very low, sultry voice instead of the skeletal, red eyed, no lipped, sharp teeth filled fucking creepy thing with a high pitched nasally voice. ))

"Officially a new administration," so much for hello. So much for not just shifting back at the window and tossing a copy of the evening Prophet onto that rickety desk.

"Again, I mean, we've had--this is third this decade alone. Put the former head of Magical Law Enforcement in as Minister, maybe to make it look legitimate but probably because he was always a slimy little," Calleo cleared his throat and ended that phrase with, "man."

"And he was always easy to influence; with the way he's been talking in those press conferences, he's either got a wand at his neck or he's being otherwise controlled, just not enough to make it immediately obvious." He hadn't really looked to Grindelwald for a reaction to any of that, as a reaction wouldn't have made any difference and the most likely reaction would have been one similar to his own: A combination of entertained and annoyed.

"Whatever." Calleo flopped back down on the always changing thing he kept Transfiguring into different shapes good for sitting or laying in positions not easily allowed by things like traditional furniture. This time it left him half sitting, half laying, with one leg over something that vaguely resembled a chair arm and the other propped up on the back of it so he could tap one of his shoes against the stone wall.

"The only part of it that's interesting is the Dark Lord," he wiggled his fingers menacingly at Grindelwald, "has been making quiet rounds to department directors in departments that apparently warrant his direct interest instead of just sending some low level sycophant. So, you know, obviously, I got a visit. About damn time too, but, realistically, the lift was 'broken' for several months and Maintenance couldn't seem to get it fixed and there's only one other way in that he doesn't know."

"Have you ever seen photographs of the dead things Muggles drag up from those abyss areas of the ocean? The things that are all translucent skin stretched over bone and are made of mostly teeth? Imagine one of those in ratty black robes and with an aversion to wearing shoes."

"Actually don't, I can describe him more properly!" Calleo grinned in that sharp sort of way that might have sliced through part of the stone walls as though they were made of wet paper.

"I'm not the best judge of height because mine changes so often based on the shoes I'm wearing, but he's not nearly as tall as I thought he'd be. I don't know if he's got other robes or not, but the ones he was wearing look like they came directly out of someone else's coffin. His toenails are long. Not, like, in that sort of way you get if you're just a bit nasty and don't clip them, it looks almost as though he's specifically grown them long to file them into points."

"Might be why he doesn't wear shoes," Calleo shrugged and laughed, "Matching nails on his hands, which is perfectly fine. He's almost see-through he's so pale, though. Not pale like you're pale or I’m pale, pale like a sheet of bleached white paper, you can see a great deal of his circulatory system; I'm almost convinced if I were to peek inside his robes under good lighting I'd be able to see whatever it is he's got for internal organs!"

"It looks...damp, as well, his skin. Very, very smooth but there's this sheen to it that makes it look damp and I don't think it is. Not too keen on touching him to find out as if he is damp, it's going to be the worst possible sensation. Rail thin, skeletal really, I'm not sure how it is he moves apart from just hand-waving it with ‘a Wizard did it’, because he really is THAT thin!"

Calleo shifted in the--thing he was sitting on and was nearly upside down now, with both feet up against the wall, grinning at the cell's other occupant upside down, "But his FACE though, you should see it, it's ghastly and fascinating at the same time! I had my guesses some time ago about what he'd done and how he'd seemingly been smacked right in the face with a killing curse and survived, but I can't ask him about that because I'm sure he thinks it's a secret despite knowing what my job is and where my expertise lies."

He reached back--or down, depending on one's perspective and started removing Merlin knew how many hairpins from his hair, with the bits that slowly came undone ending up pooling on the floor as he still hadn't sat back up. "Anyway, I don't know how many he'd made or has left but whatever he used to get himself a body again must've been about the size of one of these," one hairpin was flicked across the room at Grindelwald, "because he looks barely human. He's just sort of human-ish shaped and speaks at least one human language."

"Anyway," a laugh, entirely inappropriate given the topic, "apart from the tightly stretched, nearly see-through, damp and smooth looking skin, he's got these bright red eyes with cat pupil slits and that might be unsettling on its own but I keep the lights low in the Archives so they can't stay little slits if he wants to see, and they do the same thing as cat eyes! They go ROUND! But, still, I don't mean red eyes in the sense that he's not had any sleep in a few weeks, they're just bright, almost glowing red. Black pupils, everything else red. I've heard of that happening--well, read about it, I've only ever known people who've knocked themselves into two pieces, never more than that, and they just sort of get that 'I'm not high, what are you talking about?' sort of eye redness that's easy to hide."

"Then he's got this nose that's, I mean, it's there, he's got holes in his face for breathing and all, but the area is flat and just has slits, like you'd expect to find on a Muggle burn victim or something. He's got to have lips of some sort, maybe just very small ones, but whatever they are they don't cover even a third of his teeth, which are sharp, if you were at all curious. Like one of those awful looking things dredged up from the ocean floor. He might also have a forked tongue; human looking otherwise, just split, but I'm not sure, I figured staring at his mouth for too long would give the wrong impression."

Calleo shifted again, but it was only to roll a bit so he was laying on his stomach with his head turned toward Grindelwald, "But the part that would've likely got me killed if I weren't so good at knowing how to NOT react to things with anything but Basic Ministry Neutrality was his voice. Part of it's the nose, I think, then the weird mouth--at least he doesn't also lisp--and maybe he's got some completely fucked up internal throat structure, but his VOICE! I can't--"

This time he had to pause to collect himself after a not insignificant amount of near giggling, "It's so high pitched and nasally! And that's his normal speaking voice!" Of course, Calleo simply had to pinch his own nose shut and raise his voice a couple of octaves, "Can you just imagine how much it goes up if he gets his wand in a knot over something? Because," mercifully, he didn't keep the imitation of Voldemort's voice going for more than a few words, "most peoples' voices go up a bit if they're angry or really excited about something and imagine what I just did there, only even higher pitched in that sort of situation."

"I would love to study him as a specimen, as I've never met anyone who's dragged themselves back with only a sliver of a soul but that's another thing where I think it might give off the wrong impression; I'd hate for him to think I'm interested in him rather than interested in him."

Evidently, laying (or sitting) still wasn't a thing Calleo was willing to do just yet, and he was now on his back, gathering his hair around to one side of him to start braiding it. "The thing is, I know who he is--or was. Albus ( @everyheartbesure ) kept bouncing back and forth between calling him Voldemort and Tom back when we first talked about it in 1981 and I remembered a student with the same name that he'd mentioned to me a few times, who was also the same person that worked at Borgin & Burke's for a few years. I only remember him because he wasn't a Borgin or a Burke and, by default, significantly more pleasant to deal with. Well-spoken, intelligent, seemingly well educated on everything in the shop, decent looking; dark eyes, dark hair, not translucent, spoke a little strangely now and again but who doesn't if they're working with the Dark Arts?"

"Knowing that in hindsight made it a little more clear as to how he was able to charm his way into a following; I do recall him being very polite and charming and coupling that with the way he looked, it likely wasn't very difficult to convince nearly anyone to go along with whatever he was telling them."

"He's going to have to really ramp up the charm to compensate for the lack of looks, I can tell you that much, unless he's planning to drop the 'charm' aspect altogether and go with, 'You can do what I say or I'll make you sit across from me while I try and make human facial expressions while looking like this.'"

"Shame, really." Calleo finished with the braid and curled up on his side, still facing Grindelwald; it would be rude to face the wall, after all, since that wasn't who he was talking to. "Interesting, but still a pity he ended up like that. On the plus side, he seems to want to try and run the Ministry so that's going to guarantee he ends up having everything pulled in so many ridiculous directions at once that he'll likely be in and out within five or so years maximum!"

"Anyone who decides they want to try and run the Ministry deserves what they get. I'm not sure he has the ability to tolerate the level of nonsense you have to be able to tolerate to even work there long term, let alone try and control it."

[better-be-reddie]

Absconding, Aberrations, & Alligators

'It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title. He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of. Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.'

or

Richie takes an impromptu trip to Florida, somehow it all works out.

Hey! So I posted this fic to ao3 awhile ago but now that I have a blog I’m porting it here too. Rated T for language I guess No warnings, just 11,000 words feat. Richie’s gay crisis.

It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title . He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of.

Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.

Apparently Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier was never really off his bullshit. It's just, the nearly nonexistent filter he did manage to keep was corroding faster than he could keep track. And if he's being honest, it didn't actually start on that meager lounge stage in LA.It didn't even start three months ago when answering a knock at his front door forced him face to face with one Edward Kaspbrak, fresh from serving his now ex wife-mother monstrosity divorce papers. 

"Just looking for a place to lie low for a bit." Eddie had shrugged in front of his small mountain of suitcases.

 "What and they ran out of fucking housing in New York?" Richie had come back with.

"Fuck you, man! You said if I ever needed-"

"Yeah yeah," Richie made sure to cut off the would-be rant, "Get in here then." He'd said, throwing the door open and stepping aside, letting Eddie into his sorry excuse of living quarters. 

He quipped and sassed his best in order to keep the fact that he was internally screaming hidden. Especially when he noticed all of Eddie's little facial ticks giving away just how abysmal he found Richie's standard of living. The thing was, when they had parted ways in Derry, Richie had been ready to let go, to push down his feelings and the impossible level of affection he'd held for his friend. Afterall he had lived twenty-something odd years of his life without Eddie, so he reasoned that he could keep on living without him. 

That's what he had told himself anyway, over, and over, and over in the month it took Eddie to just show up unannounced. Richie didn't want to admit just how awful his pining had gotten those four weeks alone, but it had been bad. Somehow being reacquainted with the man had set off his aching heart almost more than he could care to control. But no, this shitstorm he was about to set off didn't start that day three months ago, nor any of the subsequent days after wherein Eddie settled in and became an integral part of Richie's daily routine. It didn't even start those four months ago when Richie walked into that damn Chinese restaurant and saw Eddie for the first time in decades, which had him falling dick-first into one hell of a sexuality crisis. Again. It didn't start when they were awkward, gangly thirteen year olds and Richie was stabbing his hands full of splinters in order to carve an embarrassing hommage to his dear first love on the rails of the Kissing Bridge. If Richie was being honest with himself, which he rarely ever was, he would admit that it all started a good thirty-four years or so ago when Richie was fresh into the first grade. Sometime after he'd mastered his ABC's but before he got his glasses that would magnify his eyes and really solidify his place as a loser; early enough that Richie would brag about being a master of mud-pies but back before anyone knew he was certifiably blind, except for Stan and Bill who worked as mediocre guide-dogs while everyone else just labeled him as a clumsy kid.

 It was a cool fall day when Stan and Bill hadn't been around which left Richie particularly vulnerable to his "clumsiness", this time to the result of him tripping and scraping his hands up. Richie had huffed and tried to wipe the mud off his palms and onto his pants when a pair of sneakers entered his bleary vision.

 "You should really clean off that dirt." The newcomer spoke.

"What?" Richie had asked dumbly.

The smaller boy sighed and readjusted the fanny pack strapped to his waist before replying, "If you don't wash the dirt out and patch up your cuts they'll get infected and you'll die." 

Richie had been startled but also bemused. He got cuts and scrapes all the time, and was almost always covered in dirt from playing. 

 "I won't die!"

 The boy shook his head, "my mommy told me that if you keep dirt in a cut it'll go bad. You don't want to have to go to the doctor and sit in the awful rooms just to make sure they don't need to cut anything off."

 Richie laughed, "That sounds fake, why would they cut anything off?" 

"If the cut goes bad they might have to!" The boy spoke, growing irritable, "Know what? Forget it, I might have something in my pack." The boy dug around in his overly stuffed fanny pack making Richie smile."Got it, now hold still and let me fix your gross hands." The boy said, followed with, "I'm Eddie, by the way." 

Richie's smile grew at how the boys- how Eddie's voice turned shy as he introduced himself.

"I'm Richie."

 It was that moment, decades ago on a school playground, that had started the chain of events that would build, and build, and build until Richie was so unbelievably in love that he would never really be able to move past it. It was the first domino in a series of ridiculous and probably ill advised life decisions that would leave him standing on a small stage in LA about to segue into his next joke featuring the infamous "girlfriend" character his writers just loved him to bitch about. It was a bit that he had rehashed over and over in his different routines, this new variation he had mastered last week before ever setting foot in the small lounge.

That was probably why his mind was elsewhere as he began, he was debating in the back of his head what Eddie would like for dinner later, whether he should pick up take out on his way home or   it took him a moment to realize that the next words out of his mouth were not exactly what he'd practiced from his script, 

"So, my boyfriend Eddie and I decided to try and -" Richie stumbled on the sentence, his brain kicking in a moment too late as a couple surprised noises came from the audience, and a few claps and hollers rang out. 

Thirty- something odd years of pining and daydreams of the day he'd finally get to call Eddie his had finally broken through his shitty barrier and merged his fantasies with reality. Boom. Domino effect.  

Richie began to realize not only had he just come out, unscripted onstage, but also that this show was being streamed online...live. 

He also knew that he couldn't afford to fuck this up, or make it look like he'd fucked up again so he stumbled his way through through rest of the sentence and ad-libbed the joke with alarming grace considering he felt like he was about to throw up. 

His manager was going to kill him.

He knew taking it back would have only ruined the show made it even more impossibly awkward, so he pushed on until the act was complete, rushing off the stage a little more quickly than he normally would, if only so he could hide behind the scenes and panic good and proper.

If Richie's manager didn't take him out in the next five minutes, Eddie surely would.

---

Richie had less than five minutes alone to panic in the dingy back hallway that lead to the club's emergency exit before his manager was marching up to him.

"You had one job!"

 "I-I know!" Richie said, voice possibly a tad strained.

 "Rich, what the hell."

 "I know !"

"You're single handedly making me go grey! Okay calm down- we can- we can roll with this- see online opinion polls and then come up with a strategy. God we might have to renegotiate-"

But Richie wasn't listening to him anymore, he didn't have the brain capacity to listen or be grateful to the man who had, once again, watched as Richie doused himself in gasoline and lit a match. He should have felt bad for the guy, and maybe when his own panic died down he would, his manager was only trying to offer an extinguisher. He definitely felt like he was on fire- and not in the good way of speaking. Sweat dripped off his brow and his skin prickled as his stomach churned, twisting and writhing itself into knots. All he seemed to be aware of was the near constant vibration against his thigh that his phone was giving off, as it blew up with notifications. 

Richie's hands shook as he reached for his device, the finger scanner refusing to work due to the alarming dampness of his hands. He unlocked the phone using his code instead and balked at the notifications. He could see Bev’s name pop up next a bold 10 to indicate how many messages she alone had sent so far, and the little numbers over his text app were steadily going up as the rest of the losers blasted him. 

Great.

 Good to know he had an audience.

His heart seized as the screen changed suddenly and Eddie's picture took over, blocking his home screen. It was a great picture, a wonderful candid Richie had taken of Eddie in one of his full blown road rage meltdowns. Richie had laughed heartily when he'd seen how the picture turned out; Eddie, on the other hand, had been less pleased and demanded he delete it. Naturally Richie made it the man's profile picture instead. The photo always managed to get a giggle or smile out of him as if he were some schoolgirl with a crush. He wasn't laughing now. His eyes darted between Eddie's comically angry face and the green answer call button. Richie felt frozen unable to respond as the tightness in his chest grew, he felt dizzy as the walls closed in around him. The vibration of the phone stopped and the screen flipped back to his home page. A new notification for another missed call appeared, followed seconds later by a notification for a new voicemail. 

Richie gasped and began to move quickly towards the exit door shouting an excuse to his manager who called out in alarm behind him. He all but fell against the metal door and staggered out into the hot LA sun, the thick air and humidity nowhere near the relief he wanted against his already flushed skin. 

His phone jumped to life once more, vibrating in his hands as Eddie's familiar picture flashed onto the screen once more. Richie gulped and swiped over the green answer button and brought the device up to his ear with shaking hands.

"Richie? Fucking finally- what the hell?" 

Richie's eyes widened and he quickly hung up, nearly dropping the phone in order to do so. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream, an uncanny hysteria bubbled in his chest and everything just felt like too much. Eddie must hate him. There was no way he couldn't. His phone alerted him to text another text. 

Eddie.

'You better have been disconnected.' 

Richie's phone rang again. Richie swiped to ignore.

 'Pick up. We need to talk.' 

Panic seized him. There was literally no good reasoning behind the phrase ' We need to talk.' God, he even added a period at the end. His phone rang. The panic boiled, crested in a mind blanking peak. 

Richie blinked owlishly at the broken remains of his phone. Shattered against the dirty pavement of the alley. Great.

 "Hey...Rich?" 

Richie definitely did not jump. He turned to see his manager behind him, peeking out from the door.

 "You good bud?" 

He was definitely not good. 

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

 "Okay, okay, you sure? Cause you sort of seem not good?" 

Richie had a strong sense of deja vu all of the sudden. He shook his head. His mind was coming back online and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn't just stroll into his house like nothing was wrong, Eddie was waiting for him at home and Richie liked his dick attached to him thanks. He looked back to the shattered phone. 

"Hey can I borrow your phone?" His manager side-eyed him dubiously, cautiously and then the broken phone on the ground.

 "I guess- as long as it isn't going to end up like that."

 -

Richie's first instinct had been to call Bill, he was closest afterall, and he was the man with a plan; but that would have been his most obvious move. Eddie would no doubt storm the place in the midst of a rage so deep Richie didn't even want to picture it. So Bill had been mentally crossed off his list. Stan, Richie loved , as much as he could platonically love someone, but that would be obvious too. Plus he and Patty had been on somewhat of a retreat. Something about doing something relaxing and therapeutic after nearly dying and Richie really didn't feel like intruding on that. Beverly would have his back. She would laugh in his fucking face, but she would also give him one of her hugs after and let him mope. The problem with Bev though, is that she came with Ben. Now Richie adored Ben, it was literally impossible not to, however all it would take was one angry look from Eddie and the man would crumble faster than a house of cards in a hurricane. He couldn't lie for shit, especially when emotions were high. And that really left Richie with one last alternative. Which is how he found himself stepping off a plane, with no more than his wallet and the clothes on his back, half way across the god damn country, in fucking Florida. Richie looked around the airport as if it had personally offended him, and honestly it sort of did simply for being located in such a subpar fucking state. He really didn't see what the hell Mike saw in the place. He really didn't get it. Speaking of Mike.

"Richie!"

 Richie looked up and saw the man of the hour waving him over. Mike beamed at him and greeted him with arms wide open.

 "It's good to see you man!" Mike said,

"Yeah, yeah you too." Richie agreed.

It was good to see Mike again, they'd stayed in contact the same way they all had; through group chats and Skype calls mostly but this was the first time since they all separated in Derry that Richie had seen Mike in person. He really wished it was for better reasons. And not in Florida. 

"Alright, let's get your bags and then we can head out. There's a good diner not far from my place, I think you'll enjoy it." 

Richie shuffled awkwardly, "I'm all here man!"

 Mike looked confused for a moment then somewhat incredulous."You- you're all-? Did you not bring anything with you?"

 "I said it was an impromptu trip didn't I?" Richie said.

The look Mike shot him appeared as if he were waiting for Richie to crack a joke, when none were forthcoming his brows raised.

 "Alright man. I guess we can stop and pick you up some stuff you'll need. I have an extra toothbrush at home you can-" 

"You were always the most prepared outta us!" Richie cheered possibly putting too much energy into a...toothbrush. 

Richie knew it was weird, the whole situation was weird. He knew it was weird, and he knew Mike now knew it was weird. He could only hope that his fake enthusiasm could be obnoxiously distracting enough that Mike would let it slide unquestioned. 

"Uh-huh." Mike said still eyeing him up, "Well, follow me I guess."

Richie breathed out a sigh that at least they weren't going to have this conversation in the middle of the Arrivals gate.

 -

Mike's home was small but cozy, it had the foundations of something older with character that had maybe been remodeled sometime in its recent history. The living areas were clean but cluttered; books, and notebooks, and loose leaf were strewn around in somewhat organized heaps that probably made sense to Mike and Mike alone. The home was nestled amongst a forest of tall trees and brush that gave a sense of privacy, and to the side was a barely visible trail which Mike had pointed to when they pulled up and told him went straight to a little beach. Richie had eyed it dubiously, on one hand, beach day but on the other hand, he didn't feel like running into any gators, or snakes, or whatever the fuck else lived in this hellscape of a state. If he wanted to die that badly he would've stayed in LA thank you.

The first night the two of them had enjoyed boxes of take out which were supplemented by maybe a bit too much alcohol. They talked into the night, catching up in a roundabout way that dodged the elephant in the room. Of course that was mostly in part to the way Richie would circle the conversation back around to another of Mike's many research projects whenever the man looked like he was readying himself to broach the subject on what the real reason for Richie's visit was. Apparently Mike had been in an out of service area at the time of Richie's show and either hadn't yet heard about the disaster that it was or was too polite to corner him about it. Still, it sort of left Richie feeling like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then again, that could have also been caused by the fact that he was still without a phone and thus had no clue how extensive the damage he caused actually was. Well, he had a tiny idea. He'd already ruined the best damn thing in his pathetic life, what did the rest of it matter? Richie ended up taking the bottle of vodka to bed with him that night.

 -

The next day Mike took them both into town to pick up some more things for Richie under the disguise of grocery shopping. During which, Mike casually asked if Richie was thinking of replacing his phone.

 "You said it broke right?"

 "Yeah," he sighed, " Yeah, okay I guess I should get on that." 

Before his manager had a full on aneurysm. He was sure his publicists were already dead from shock or stress.

After spending way too long in a small outlet shop in a nearby strip mall Richie finally had a new phone set up. Richie played with the device as Mike drove them back towards his house. He hadn't turned it on yet, he simply passed the phone from hand to hand, it gave him something to do. He got the same model as the one he'd broken so that he could keep using his old SIM card. He told himself that he would turn it on once he got inside, face the music. Of course once the two made it back Richie went about the rest of his day doing anything but set up his phone. Richie even let Mike lead him down the death trail to the small beach, which would have been really nice had it not been in Florida.

"And not a gator in sight!" Richie said enthusiastically as he sat on the sandy shore.

"You joke, but that pic I sent you guys last week was only a twenty minute walk from here, in a river that a-ways." Mike gestured behind and to the left of where they sat and Richie shot him a dirty look.

"I came here to try and relax." 

Mike only laughed. 

-

That night, after the sun had set in a myriad of colors much less impressive than the ones which shone in good ol' Cali. Richie found himself curled on a deck chair Mike had on his front stoop, watching the moths and other bugs circle the porch lights with an intense fixation, the darker it got the more of them had appeared. His phone was once again in his hands. It had been charging all afternoon, face down on the coffee table. He sighed and finally stopped his fidgeting to turn his attention to the device. He waited for it to load up after he turned it on. Before long he was staring at the familiar screen, there was only about a second of silence before the phone jumped to life and loaded the-

Jesus Christ -over a hundred notifications. He felt a little bad as he skimmed over the list of people vying for his attention, mostly he had messages from the Losers. Maybe it had been a kind of dick move to drop off the face of the earth for two days. He quickly turned to his email. He winced at the couple he had from sponsors. Well, former sponsors he assumed without having to open them.

He instead concentrated on the email from his manager.   

  'Alright  Rich,     I'm assuming you still have access to email, despite your sudden vacation but please make sure you tell me when you have a reliable phone, I'd like to discuss some things further.        Good news: Your live-stream is trending, and there's been a lot of supportive interest within a whole new demographic. With a little work-shopping we can pull this all back together and make something out of it.    Bad news: we lost a few sponsors, some of the higher ups weren't happy with your unpredictability. Also there's been some negative press from some previous demographics, as well as some confusion on whether you were serious in your bit.      After hashing things out with the team we think you should start forming more of an online presence, we are working on getting your Twitter verified. Make a statement, control the flow of rumors, if you would like I can talk to the writers about coming up    with a statement for you. We need to encourage support from this new demographic by reassuring people your coming out bit  wasn't just a bad joke.      Call me once you've read this, and get your ass back to LA.' 

Richie let out a shuddering breath. A bit of the hysteria he had felt back in LA had begun to crawl up his spine. He could feel his pulse quicken at the mere thought of taking to social media, especially to what? Tell everyone he's gay? Again? Hadn't the first time been horrific and awkward enough?

His teeth clenched together as he worked his jaw until it ached, his breath seemed to burn his nostrils and tightly wound throat with every motion. Emotion thick and cloying wrapped around him until he felt as if he were drowning. He felt the sudden urge to jump up and run. As if he had anywhere to go in fucking Florida that wouldn't end with him in the jaws of some ugly reptile.

He placed his phone to the side and rubbed his hands together, feeling inexplicably dirty suddenly. He had run half way across the country and he still felt just as bad as he had in LA. All the gross intrusive thoughts were still there, the voices telling him how disgusting he was, how he'd disappointed his friends, driven them off. That he'd wind up sad and alone again. Behind that overwhelming fear was shame, shame that he had been lying for so fucking long, and yet behind that was the fear of anyone finding out, which circled back to more shame over his feelings to begin with. He shot his phone a scathing look. His manager wanted a statement? What the fuck was he supposed to say? What the actual hell was he supposed to Tweet out?  ' Hi guys, it's true, I love cock but don't worry I hate myself more than any of you ever could!' ? Yeah, like that would go over well.  Richie tried to amuse himself by picturing the look on his publicists face. God, it was suddenly even more tempting. Though he really couldn't afford to lose another one, especially while dealing with this latest fuck up. He wondered if he should finally face the music, open up all of the Losers unread messages. He opened his messenger app and immediately felt even more overwhelmed. His thumb hovering over the list of names. His eyes fixated on 'Eds '. Still, he hesitated. Terrified by what he'd see. 

A small part of him tried to hold onto the sliver of optimistic news his manager had relayed, however it seemed slippery and hard to keep hold of it lieu of all the other shit. He pressed down over Eddie's contact name and held until it highlighted and with shaking hands he quickly deleted the message thread, erasing all of their previous conversations as well as the slew of unread messages. Almost immediately he felt as if his stomach had fallen into his gut. Regret and fear churned in him and he felt more strongly than ever as if he'd lost something. Richie startled as his phone buzzed obnoxiously; he looked down, heart in his throat, expecting to see Eddie's picture and was surprised to instead see Stan's.

He swallowed thickly before accepting the call.

 "Hello?" Richie winced at how tepid his voice sounded.

"So, he is alive." Said Stan, dryly. 

Richie groaned and slumped even lower in his chair, covering his face with one hand as if blocking his vision could also block out his embarrassment. There was a beat of silence before Stan asked,"So, what's going on Rich?"

And Richie couldn't help it, all the stress and emotional upheaval- that fact he was in Florida of all places - hit him all at once and bubbled up. First as a near silent giggle, then falling apart into gasping, full bodied laughs. Tears tracked down from his cheeks and Richie honestly couldn't tell what sort of emotion was behind them. Stan, bless his heart, waited patiently for him to gather his wits and calm himself down before prompting him again with a: "Yeah?" 

Richie nodded despite knowing no one could see him, "Yeah." He agreed.

"The groups been pretty worried." Stan pushed gently. 

"I- I don't know what to say." Richie admitted, feeling his guts churn with unease. 

"Well, that really is something isn't it?" Stan said, "not everyday we find something that shuts you up."

 And Richie can't help the startled laugh that escapes his throat. Despite his unease, his fear, the smile doesn't leave right away."It's been an eventful few days." He finally agrees.

"And how do you feel?" 

Richie pulled a face, "Who are you? My therapist?"

 "Pretty much except the pay is shit. Now answer the question." 

Richie sighed, "I feel-" he cut himself off trying to discern a word he could use, "bad." 

Surprisingly Stan didn't mock him for his eloquence, or lack thereof.

Richie tried again. "I'm…" 

His guts continued to knot and squirm until he had to physically draw up his long legs to his chest, hoping for a respite, "I feel kinda sick." 

"You always did get queasy when your nerves were high. You threw up on the first day of school." 

"How the fuck do you remember that?" 

"Like I'd ever let you forget. You threw up all over Greta Keene's light up shoes." 

Richie groaned, "I mean, she kinda ended up deserving it?"

 "True." There was another beat of silence, but this one was much less awkward. 

Richie looked out into the dark foliage, lost in thoughts. "I can feel you thinking." Stan said softly. 

"I fucked up." 

"A bit, but probably not as much as you fear." 

"I-I doubt that. Did you- Did you see it? The show?" Richie asked tentatively. 

"Yes," Stan said after a moment's pause, "not while it was live...but afterwards." 

"Then you know I fucked up." 

"Yes, but as I said-" 

"I don't know what to do." Richie interrupted Richie could hear Stan sigh through the phone. 

It didn't sound like a noise made out of frustration but Richie's own self doubt was making him question everything.

"It's okay to be scared."

Richie felt his throat constrict at the words and he had to close his eyes against their sudden burning. He suddenly really wished Stan was here with him.

"I- I am. Scared." He said, haltingly.

"That's okay. You're not alone though, you know that right? You don't need to be alone." 

"What if- what if they hate me?” ‘What if he hates me?’

“They could never. There's no way you're getting rid of any of us that easy." 

Richie let out a humorless chuckle. 

"Why do you think they would hate you?" Stan asked softly, though the question felt more like a prompt than asked out of genuine curiosity.

Stan always had a way of sounding older than he was, like he already knew the answers he was trying to make you understand as well. Richie felt suddenly off kilter as he wondered if Stan had somehow already known.

"Because-- Because I'm- Gay." He swallowed down the bile that suddenly threatened to rise up. He had never said it before. Not out loud and never to anyone else. 

There was a pause as Stan waited to make sure Richie had said all he was going to before answering.

"Richie." He said, "None of us think any differently about you. You need to know that." 

"How- how do you know- I mean what if-"

 "None of us think any less of you. I'm not going to say this isn't a big deal, because to you it is. This is, well, it's obviously been something eating away at you. And sure, maybe you decided to come out in somewhat of a dramatic fashion and freaked yourself out, but you don't have to face all of this alone. We are going to be here to support you one hundred percent." 

Richie sniffed back a few wayward tears that threatened to escape. 

"Are you...are you sure?"

 "Have you read any of the messages they've sent you?"

"No- I- no."

 "You should. I think it will help. Also everyone was super worried when you went AWOL. You are...safe aren't you?" 

Richie felt a pang of guilt at the hint of unease that marred Stan's voice. 

"Yeah. Yeah I'm safe." He eyed the bushes warily, "as safe as I can be."

 "Good. But...I could be in LA in just over a day you know." 

Richie felt his heart swell and he wiped away a stubborn tear that refused to be pushed down. "Thanks, but I'm okay...plus I'm...not exactly in LA right now." 

"You're not?" Stan said sounding a bit alarmed. 

"Nah, taking a small vacation."

 "Have you told Eddie? He's been-"

"We haven't spoken."

"Richie." Stan sounded tired now.

"I - I can't, okay? You saw the fucking show. What the fuck am I supposed to say to him now? 'Hey! So I told the whole world about my big gay crush on you! Oh, by the way, I have a big-'" 

"Richard!"

 "What!" 

"Promise me you'll talk to him. Whatever happens, it won't be as bad as you're making it out to be in your head."

 "Fine." Richie said begrudgingly followed closely by a put upon huff.

"Thank you. Now, will you be okay?"

 "Yeah," he said, and though it was with little confidence, a little was still more than he'd felt previously. 

"Good. Call me anytime if you need to talk. But you should try messaging the others, I know they'd like to hear from you and...they'll understand Richie. Losers gotta stick together." 

Richie smiled despite himself. "Losers gotta stick together." 

He parroted back. 

"And call Eddie." 

"Okay mom."

"I'm being serious Richie." 

"Goodnight Stanley!" 

Stan sighed but gave in, "Goodnight." 

Richie took the phone away from his ear and ended the call. He sat staring at the screen until it flipped automatically back to his homepage. He hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening his messaging app. He clicked on the first name on his timeline list and began to scroll, eyes darting over the string of texts, a small smile making its way into his face as he took in the words of, yes shock but also support. Once caught up, he moved on to the next Loser until he had read through them all.  And no he definitely didn't cry. 

Well, maybe only a little. He felt another pang of loss when he remembered just why Eddie's name wasn't on his messaging list. He quickly opened up a new message draft and selected Eddie's name off his favourites list and then froze.

 Stan's words played over in his head, encouraging him. All Of his friends show of support warmed him to his core, he could do this- A loud rustle from the underbrush sent Richie's heart jack-hammering in his chest. He froze, wide-eyed as he stared into the dark. A loud snap of a twig sent Richie vaulting over the side of the deck chair and nearly ripping the screen door off its hinges in his haste to get inside.  'Not today Satan', he thought as he slammed the front door closed behind him and slid the deadbolt into place. Richie huffed and wandered over to the pullout bed that had become his new home and collapsed onto it. He looked at his phone once more, and the opened draft before he deleted it and turned the device off. He'd message Eddie tomorrow.

 -

Richie did not message Eddie the next day, nor the day after that.However, in his defense, he had been busy. Richie helped Mike with odd jobs around his property and was becoming more and more convinced that there was a large reptilian monster of some sort living on the grounds. Mike could roll his eyes all he wanted but the truth of the matter was that one day Richie swore he saw scales moving slowly through the brush. 

Richie had also taken up his managers challenge and started trying to revamp his online presence. Now that he was officially verified he began, as the young ones would say, shitposting. His first order of conduct being a small tweet which read:

Richie Tozier @OfficialTrashmouth 'Turns out my biggest joke was pretending I was straight.' It had taken him a good three hours of nervous sweating before he had finally been able to post the tweet but he had also felt an immense sense of relief after receiving a screenshot of his own tweet from Bev minutes later followed by some words of love and way too many emojis. The rest of the losers had also sent their love and support through the group chat and private messages. He mostly ignored his twitter feed though, he had made the mistake of checking up on the tweet and its relevance earlier and had immediately felt overwhelmed. Not to say that most of the feedback was bad or anything, however as someone who had spent such a long time clinging to a carefully constructed persona, suddenly being unmasked and thrust into the spotlight was...scary. it was hard not to feel the shame and frustration he had been fighting off all his life. 

Later, Mike had proven that he wasn't as much of an internet phobic recluse as Richie had begun to believe him to be, when over dinner that night he had clapped Richie on the back and told him only a little awkwardly that he was happy for him and that he hoped he could live the rest of his life with more confidence in who he was. Which? Okay, damn.

Richie had simply nodded, taken aback from how touched he'd been, luckily Mike had not seemed to be expecting anything back from him and the rest of the night flowed into something more familiar. Before they split for the night to retreat to their own sleeping arrangements, Mike asked if he had spoken to Eddie yet. 

"Bill said Eddie was sounding pretty worried about you."

Richie had felt the swirl of something related to guilt settle over him, leaving him feeling restless with a negative energy he couldn't quite shake off. 

"Eddie's a big boy, he'll be fine." Richie said, mind already wandering and worrying.

 Mike sighed but let it drop before wishing Richie a good night. Another day another battle.

 -

Richie lay awake well into the night, going over all the little dominoes that had fallen over and lead him to where he now was. Which of course meant that, mostly, he thought of Eddie. He reminisced about hot summer days spent by the quarry, of nights spent tempting Eddie out of his bedroom window to go look at the stars, he remembered the nights when they would talk about all the things they wanted to do with their lives, about how much they wanted to leave Derry behind but never each other. Their pinky fingers interlocking in quiet promises that extended far beyond the reaches of Derry. 

He wondered a little bitterly how he could have kept his feelings contained even as long as he had, when there had been so many moments, so many times when he felt ready to explode with them. All the times he felt the need to pull Eddie’s metaphorical pigtails because he just couldn’t stand not being the center of his attention any longer. God, had he gotten good at it though. He couldn’t help but smile as memories washed over him, so precious for how long he’d gone without them. A chasm opened up in his gut though as his thoughts drifted back to his future, and its shaky foundations- hell, it didn’t even have foundations to be built upon. All Richie had was an email from his manager and the knowledge that Eddie must hate him. The thought of moving on with his life without Eddie by his side somehow seemed so improbable, so completely terrifying that Richie’s chest seized considering it. He wondered angrily where his conviction he’d had just over a month ago had gone. When he’d been so ready to keep lumbering onward. Maybe he had succeeded simply through lack of foresight. By waking up each new morning with a heavy despair in his chest and starting his day by pushing it down, down, down, before he could find the curiosity to examine it. By busying himself with distraction after distraction. 

He wondered why his patented technique wasn’t working now. 

Eddie had stepped into Richie’s apartment and scrubbed it until it sparkled and he must have done something to Richie himself as well. It was like the moment Eddie had stepped back into his life he’d swept away all of his previous coping mechanisms. Richie felt a wave of irrational anger suddenly. Anger at Eddie for throwing his life off its axis by his mere presence, at himself for growing comfortable with it so damn quick that he’d tricked himself into believing it was permanent. 

Richie stewed in his tumultuous emotions in the darkened living room of Mike’s Florida home with nothing to distract him from his circling thoughts and growing loneliness except the obnoxious singing of the swamp insects that inhabited the area.

 -

“It’s not a swamp.” Mike said, shaking his head and fixing Richie with a tired look.

“Listen, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a-”

“It’s a floodplain.”

“It smells like shit and is full of fucking snakes and gators Mikey.” Richie argued sometime during the next afternoon.

He’d gotten a somewhat fuzzy photo of a snake curled up next to a tree by the water and had uploaded it to his Twitter account with a “ Get out of my swamp!” caption and had been arguing with Mike on and off ever since.  Honestly Richie had been on a roll with creating a new Twitter, uploading mostly photos and quips but he wasn't really in the mind to be too serious while on the platform. His manager was still thrilled.

“What is with you and the alligators?” Mike questioned with a shake of his head, “You haven’t seen one since you got here and you’re still somehow obsessed.”

 “Do you know how old those things are Mike? They are nature's perfect killing machine. Evolution fucking stopped cause it got it right on like the first go, it just just paused long enough to make them a little smaller. They were here before us and will probably outlive us.” 

“Eddie tell ya all that?”

Richie scoffed and made a bit of looking awfully offended. Mike laughed so he counted it as a win. Sort of. 

“...speaking of-” Mike began.

Richie’s gazer darted to Mike, eyes narrowed.“He called this morning.” Mike continued.

Richie felt his heart rocket into his throat and his stomach drop into his gut so quickly he had to swallow down the urge to dry heave onto the sand. 

“What?” 

“He’s looking for you. Did you honestly not tell him where you were going?”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Richie gasped.

“Hey now- calm down Richie. He just sounded really worried.”

“Did you tell him?” Richie demanded. Mike sighed then replied, “I told him I’d get you to call if you popped up.”

Richie’s eyes narrowed but he wasn’t such a dick that he would call Mike out for lying without proof. “I can’t face him right now.”

“Why not? I mean, it sounds like you have a lot to talk about.”

“Nope.”

“I saw the video.”

“Oh for fucks sake!” Richie threw his arms up, “Isn’t privacy a thing anymore?”

“You live streamed the show Rich, I don’t think privacy was a concern at the time.”

Richie folded his arms and scowled. 

“Listen, just, call Eddie. Before he drives Stan and Bill crazy.”

That made Richie pause, “Stan and Bill?”

“If you would go into the group chat instead of hiding you’d know what I mean.”

“The moment I go on everyone will be able to see, including Eddie, so.” Richie shrugged, “No group chat.” 

“Full offense, bud, but you’re treating this whole thing like a child would.You won’t be able to avoid Eddie forever.” 

“Watch me.” Richie muttered, knowing full well that he was only reaffirming Mike’s accusations.  Mike rolled his eyes but seemed to give up the argument and left the porch to retreat back inside to let Richie mope in peace. Not long later Richie heard the shrill ring of Mike's home phone. Why the man bothered to have a home phone instead of working off a cellphone like a normal person Richie would never know, regardless, he couldn't pick up what was said from where he sat.  A few minutes later Mike was back out on the porch.

 "I'm going into town for a bit. Got some errands to run. Why don't you relax and think about what I said? Maybe call Stan." Mike suggested, shuffling his feet a little awkwardly. 

Richie took in the man's tense posture and shifting eyes. Mike was usually the type to stand strong, make eye contact as he spoke. Richie started to feel a little bad, thinking perhaps he'd been a bit too much of an ass today. 

"Sure, okay." He said agreeably in an effort to make up for his earlier prickliness.

 "Need me to pick you up anything?" Mike asked as he circled around his truck.

"No," Richie said, already feeling like he'd put Mike out enough for crashing at his abode for so long. 

Mike shrugged and tossed his keys with almost a nervous energy before nodding and saying "Alright, well, I'll just, uh, be going then." 

Richie nodded and waved him away, "if I'm not here by the time you get back, assume the gators got me." 

Mike huffed but there was a smile on his face as he hopped into the cab of the truck and started it up. He waved to Richie again as he circled around and started down the long drive to the main road. Richie was bored by then end of the hour. There was very little to do while in the boonies that didn't run the risk of being eaten by the local wildlife, especially without Mike there to help spot potential risks and watch his back. 

Richie wandered about Mike's home, exploring and generally being a nosy little shit. He was able to amuse himself for a good thirty minutes after he found an honest to God banjo tucked away in the attic. He brought it down to the porch ready to strum like mad and make a damn good nuisance of himself when Mike got back. However, as the minutes ticked by Richie's attention wandered and he poked around some more, flipping through Mike's extremely niche and weird collection of books, his notes, examining his bits and bobs. He took pictures of things he found particularly weird and bizarre, he was busy going through his photos and trying to think up anything that might have been considered funny to Tweet about, because that was really a concern now apparently, when Richie finally heard the telltale roar of Mike’s truck engine coming up the drive. He sort of hated the flash of excitement he got from the sound, he was a grown adult who should be in enough control over his life that he didn't rely on others to bring him amusement; of course that being said, if Richie had any semblance of control he wouldn't have even been in Florida, would he?

Richie stood up from the deck chair and raised a hand in greeting when the truck came into view, the banjo resting behind him ready to go. However, as the truck moved closer and the sun reflecting on the glass of the windshield shifted Richie began to become aware that Mike wasn't alone in the cab of the truck. Richie walked off the porch and into the front yard to try and get a better look but it wasn't until Mike was all but pulling onto the property that Richie's eyes locked onto none other than Eddie fucking Kaspbrak glaring daggers at him through the glass.

Now, Richie had experience many terrifying things in his life, the variety of traumas he had locked up would be enough to personally fund some lucky psychologist for years if he felt so inclined to go. So it's with great authority and experience that Richie swears that seeing Eddie fuming in the passenger seat of Mike's god damn car, in fucking Florida, was the second scariest occurrence he had ever witnessed. Only being trumped by the horrifying reality he'd been forced to watch in the deadlights. He knew he must have made one hell of a picture, still slightly hungover, hair unbrushed, jaw dropped and eyes wide. Richie felt frozen in shock at the sight, Eddie, his Eddie in fucking Florida. The truck had barely finished rolling to a stop before the passenger door was being thrown open and Eddie was bursting out of it like a mini tornado of rage.

Richie couldn’t help but note the state Eddie seemed to be in, hair usually perfectly groomed looked knotted and windswept, his skin pale despite having tanned in the LA sun and his eyes looked haggard, dark bruises from sleepless nights weighing heavily, even his usually ironed shirts and slacks looked wrinkled; his rough appearance did little to take away from the bright angry sheen in his eyes as he fixed Richie with a sharp look and began to march over. Richie had known for a long time that there was something seriously wrong with him, what, with his seemingly perfect ability to self destruct at every possible turn, however the point was really hammered into his head when the only thought that seemed to penetrate his shocked and empty brain was ‘My God he’s fucking gorgeous.’ 

That was until of course Eddie’s sneer picked up a notch and he opened his mouth to let out a scathing,

“You fucker!”  

Richie took a giant step back shaking his head eyes fixed so solely on the short angry demon marching up to him that he didn’t even see Mike get out of the truck afterwards.

“I can’t believe you! ” Eddie continued, “Don’t you dare take another step Richard, I swear to God!”

And all at once, all of Richie’s survival instincts were kickstarted back online.

“Nope!” Richie said, voice a little higher pitch in his fear, and he turned and ran. 

“RICHIE!” 

Richie didn’t turn to look back, he just went for it, dodging past Mike’s small home and straight into the Floridian woods. There wasn’t any logic to his actions, he didn’t even bother to stick to the trail, Richie simply pushed his way through the trees and grasses. He had no destination in mind, just the strong urge to run, much like the one he felt during all of his life's most uncomfortable moments. He ran, and ran, and ran, until he could no longer hear the sounds of Eddie and Mike calling after him. It was only when he felt like his chest was about to explode that he stopped to wheeze against a tree, he clutched at his side as he sputtered pathetically at the ground and silently cursed the decades he’d spent mostly ignoring his physical health. 

“Jesus fuck” He grumbled once he’d finally remembered how to properly pull air into his lungs and breathe. 

He took a moment to look around only to realize that he had absolutely no idea where he was. Mike had to have, like, neighbors somewhere, right? Richie groaned he knew this was stupid, he had nowhere to go except further into the Florida wilderness and that was one stupid way to die. Sighing, and mentally preparing himself, Richie turned to go back the way he thought he had come from. 

He snarled as he pushed his way through the thick bushes and trees grumbling at the sticks that caught the fabric of his clothes and scratched at his skin, he was going to look like he’d come out of a fight with a pissed off alley cat after this shit. God Eddie was going to be so incomprehensibly furious at him. He cried out in victory as he pushed through some particularly thick bushes, only for his cries to turn almost immediately alarmed when the ground under his feet seemed to disappear and sent him careening down a muddy, slick embankment and face first into green tinged waters. 

Richie resurfaced with a loud gasp as he flailed and coughed out a mouthful of disgusting water, swearing profusely. He splashed until he was able to finally get his feet somewhat stable on the thick muddy bottom of the riverway he seemed to have fallen into. The water luckily seemed to be slow moving without too much of a current.  It was however, quite deep, reaching up to his chest. He glanced around and cursed his luck, the river was narrow but he definitely didn’t recognize it. Which meant he had most definitely been moving in the wrong direction. He cursed again, this stupid shit wouldn’t have happened to him back in LA. 

All at once Richie felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his whole body erupted into a strong shudder that had more to do with instinct than the cool waters. He turned, eyes darting back and forth along the murky water when movement locked his attention to the opposite embankment. Richie felt ice cold terror grip him as he watched a huge alligator pull itself down the muddy shore and slip gracefully into the slow moving water. Panic seized him and he spun around to begin clawing at the shoreline desperately, uselessly, his hands coming away with chunks of mud and grass, doing nothing to pull him out of the water. A noise he wasn’t proud of escaped from his throat as his mind whirled. This was not how he wanted to die, not in some fucking swamp water, not to a fucking alligator and certainly not in fucking Florida. 

He pulled himself along the shore trying to get to a narrower portion he could climb up when he heard a splash behind him. Richie didn’t turn to look though everything in him wanted to, but right in front of him was a tree, and Richie wasted no goddamn time pulling himself up. Thinking back, he had no idea how he found the strength to climb all the way into a tree when he could barely make it up two flights of stairs without needing to pause for air, but one moment he was in the water with certain death and the next, he was curled up in the branches looking down. Richie looked over the water and shouted out a relieved cry at the pair of reptilian eyes he could swear were staring at him, no more than ten feet away, 

“Yeah, fuck you! Not getting any of this today pal!” Richie laughed and felt himself sag against the scratchy bark, “Now just, go fuck off so I can leave.” 

He finished with a grumble. And then waited.

 And waited

And waited

And-

Richie was going insane, every time he would begin to think that stupid animal had finally buggered off, there would be a ripple in the water or he’d catch sight of a pair of eyes bobbing above the waters surface. He had no way to call for help, his phone abandoned somewhere back on Mike’s porch, and even if he had had it with him Richie wasn't sure the device would have survived his impromptu bath. He had tried calling out for help a few times but had gone completely unanswered. He was totally alone. 

Besides from stressful, being stuck in a tree because of a potentially murderous gator was beyond boring and extremely uncomfortable. There was nothing to keep his mind occupied and distracted enough from re-analyzing the series of events that had him stuck here in the first place, and the hot humidity in the air made it so he never really dried off from the water and instead just became more and more itchy and cranky. 

As the minutes dragged on into hours, he had taken to singing, badly, to himself when another sound caught his attention. Richie paused his singing to listen, ears perked for anything out of the ordinary. For a moment there was nothing, and then all at once he heard it again. His name, distant but there. 

“HEY!” Richie shouted as loud as he could, “OVER HERE!”

Richie felt an intense burst of relief as his cries were immediately answered by another shout of his voice and a barely heard: “ Where?”

“HERE!” He shouted again,

“Richie?!” Mike’s voice.

“BY THE RIVER!” He called out hoping Mike was familiar enough with the land that he knew what that meant. 

“ARE YOU HURT?” Eddie’s voice rang out, so much closer.

Eddie.

Richie’s chest tightened but he would willing sit through whatever lecture Eddie had as long as he got away from this stupid- oh god.

“WAIT!” He shouted, “BE CAREFUL! GATOR!”

“WHERE?” Mike again

“RIGHT FUCKING UNDER ME!” Richie yelled glaring spitefully at the large reptile that had decided to make camp on the sand, less than a body's length away from his tree. There was rustling in the undergrowth, and Richie knew they were close, 

“You’re close, I can hear you, be careful!” 

Moment’s later Mike and Eddie burst through the thick bushes with a swing of a long machete Mike was wielding. 

“Jesus, Rich-” Mike cursed when he got a good look at the precarious situation Richie had gotten himself into. 

Next to him Eddie wasn't doing much better.

“What the fuck? What the actual fuck Richie! Are you kidding me, are you fucking kidding me? Can you go literally nowhere without pissing shit off? That's a fucking alligator!” Eddie began screeching and pointing. 

“I fell into the water!” Richie tried to defend, 

“Oh my GOD!”

“Hang tight Richie, I’ll call the animal control or something I guess,” Mike said, taking out his phone.

Even as he did though, Eddie was bending down to pick up a large rock from the ground, eyes wild and half-mad looking. The smaller man grunted as he winded up and threw the huge stone, hitting the alligator right in the side with a thunk. 

“FUCK OFF!” 

“Eddie! Shit , Stop!” Mike cursed, phone half way to his ear. 

Eddie wasn’t listening as he picked up a large branch and threw that next, the gator made a loud hissing noise and thrashed it’s tail to the side, spraying sand into the air. Richie’s jaw dropped at the sight of Eddie attacking a fucking alligator, it honestly would have been the hottest thing he’d ever seen if he wasn’t so instantly terrified that it would end with Eddie dead. 

“Eddie, Eddie fucking stop it, I swear to god!” Richie said, even as he began calculating how he could throw himself onto the damn thing if it decided to charge his friends. 

Eddie picked up another large stone and threw it, cursing the gator out as it sailed through the air and hit the large beast right in the eye. The animal recoiled and Richie felt his stomach drop thinking that it was going to retaliate for sure and that he was going to have to die to try and stop it, but for once in his miserable life luck seemed to be on his side.  The alligator pushed itself quickly away, sliding into the water and making a B-line for the other side of the river.

Eddie barely took the time to breathe before he was yelling at Richie further,“Get down! Get down right now, or I swear to god Richie, I’ll use Mike’s fucking machete to cut the tree down with you in it and leave you to the swamp!” 

Richie was only scrambling to obey, and after nearly falling twice, his feet finally touched the ground. 

“Phew,” Richie said and whistled, “That was sure an adventure, huh guys? And you said this place wasn’t a swamp, I swear it almost smells as bad as-” 

“Beep beep, Richie.” Mike said, looking too exhausted.

Richie’s mouth snapped shut and he felt a little guilty for causing the man so much stress. He sighed as he walked over to the other two,

“Look, I’m-”

“Don’t.” Eddie said, cutting him off.

Richie looked at him and frowned, Eddie appeared more stony faced than he had been since he’d shown up hours before. 

“Mike, lead us back.” Eddie demanded.

Mike took a moment to look between the two before he nodded, “Sure, follow close and watch your step.” 

The walk back to Mike’s house was spent in mostly weighted silence that had Richie growing increasingly uncomfortable with each step he took. It was of immediate relief when they made it back to the small abode, Richie’s eyes were trained on the door as he made a B-line for it, he couldn’t be out of the open air fast enough, he needed a shower and maybe to sleep for like a week. He carefully wasn’t looking at either Mike or Eddie when he was stopped in his tracks by a hand gripping his sleeve. 

“Go on ahead Mike, we’ll be in in a minute.” 

Richie gulped nervously as he sent a silent plea for Mike to save him. Mike, though, barely took the time to glance at them before he was nodding and heading into the safety of the house. 

Richie took a deep breath and knowing that he couldn’t possibly run anymore turned to face Eddie. Eddie for his part seemed to be working himself up again, there was a deep furrow between his brows and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Richie waited a moment to see if Eddie would speak first, before he decided to just get it over with himself, he had barely parted his lips to speak when the silence of the early evening air was broken.

“Florida Richie? Fucking really?” 

Richie’s snapped his mouth shut.

“I can’t believe you just took off like that! You didn’t even text me! Do you have any idea what that was like? You just disappeared! Once I realized you weren’t camping out at Bill’s or Stan’s or-or the others, I freaked! I thought you were fucking dead, man! What the fuck!” 

“Wow, breathe Eds.” tried to deflect, noticing just how red Eddie’s face was getting.

“FUCK YOU!” Richie winced and looked to the ground. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“I looked everywhere for you, I was so worried,” Eddie continued, softer this time, “I even went through your phone numbers and called your manager, but he told me he couldn’t divulge any information about clients and-” Eddie sighed, shaking his head and said, “You can’t ever do this again.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richie’s heart was thumping in his chest. 

Eddie’s face twisted, “Why the hell did you take off like that?” 

“I-”

Richie didn’t even know where to begin, all of the past weeks emotions were battling it out in his chest and abdomen, made somehow even more striking with Eddie standing right in front of him, his fist still clenched around Richie’s sleeve as if he were afraid that Richie would bolt again if he let him go. Eddie was looking up at him, eyes cleared of the anger that had been burning so bright since he’d shown up, he looked confused, worried, and maybe something else that Richie couldn’t quite name. But he was looking at Richie with all of his attention, and god, Richie almost wished he’d never stop, never stop looking at him, holding him, it terrified him how much he wanted Eddie.

He almost cracked a joke, because of course he would, but he held back, swallowing it down at the last moment. The thought of lying to Eddie, was causing him even worse discomfort than he was already in. So, for the first time in a long time Richie decided to be brave.

“I was scared.” 

Eddie’s brow creased again. 

Richie took a shaking breath, “I was scared and I didn’t- I didn’t know what to do-”

“So you ran to fucking Florida?” 

Richie sighed and shot Eddie an annoyed look.

Eddie snapped his mouth closed and motioned for him to continue, “I panicked, and yeah, I ran to fucking Florida because-because even this god damn swamp was less terrifying than going home and having to- having to lose you and-”

“Lose me?” Eddie interrupted again looking impossibly more bewildered. 

“You-You saw the show. I fucked up- I know I did but-”

“Did you mean it?” Eddie said, cutting him off again.

“What?”

“In the show, was that- was that some sort of joke to you? Were you jerking me around or did you fucking mean it?”

Richie was sweating, he was sure of it, his wide eyes burned from how much he wanted to just blink, but he was frozen, everything around him seemed to have stopped, his field of vision narrowed down to Eddie. The rest of the world could have evaporated and Richie wouldn’t have known the difference. In the stillness, he knew that the next words out of his mouth were important, more important than anything else he has ever said. He could feel another one of his life’s dominoes tipping.

“Every word.” He whispered, “It wasn’t a joke, I hadn’t even meant to say it, but I did mean it, every damn word. I- I like you Eds, I have for years. Almost as long as I can remember, even when I couldn’t remember- it was always you.” 

The silence was deafening. All at once Eddie’s hand which had been holding his sleeve was gone and Richie felt as if his heart was going to shatter. He tried to prepare himself, for the rejection or disgust, but even so he wasn’t sure how he could possibly survive it. Suddenly, he felt hands clench at the collar of his shirt and yanked him off his center of balance, he barely had the mind to stop himself from falling before everything went blank and he died. 

Or at least, Richie was assuming that’s what happened because there was no way that Eddie would be kissing him otherwise, he had to have died. It took his brain a second more to realize that no, this was happening, Eddie was kissing him, and that he needed to fucking respond before he ruined it.

Richie brought his hands up, one to grip Eddie’s hip and pull him closer, and the other to gently cup his cheek as he finally began to kiss him back. All at once Richie felt himself settle, all of the turbulence and anxieties that had plagued him for as far back as he could remember finally dissipated, his head felt light as the elation hit him even as the heat coiled in his belly, grounding him. Richie could scarcely believe this was happening, he sighed into the kiss as he felt one of Eddie’s hands trail up to tangle in his curls.  

Eddie was the first to pull away, only when the need for oxygen grew too strong. Richie couldn’t keep the smile off his face as Eddie kept his hands on him, leaning up to rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air. Richie opened his eyes, unsure of when they’d even closed, and took in everything he could. The slight flush to Eddie’s cheeks, the small upturn of his lips that hinted at a smile, Richie wanted to kiss him all over again- and then keep kissing him. But before he could, Eddie was backing away.

“God I can’t believe I did that.”

Richie had a brief flash of anxiety as he suddenly worried he was about to lose it all.

“You were practically swimming in that swamp , god you’re filthy! Uhg, no, no more, go inside and shower right now! I’m not kissing you again until you do.” 

Richie’s face broke out into a huge grin, he didn’t know it was possible to feel this happy, the suddenness of it felt like getting whiplash. 

“But Eds-”

“No, absolutely not! And that’s not my name!”

Richie’s grin grew impossibly large as he opened up his arms and went in for a hug, delighting when Eddie screeched and tried to dodge him. The two of them chased each other up the porch and into the house, Richie giving up the game and instead taking Eddie’s hand in his, his stomach swooping pleasantly when Eddie not only allowed it but gave him a reaffirming squeeze. 

Yeah, they still had a lot to talk about but Richie had never felt more excited to do so.

-

It ends with Richie walking out onto a large stage in LA, his palms sweaty as he smiles and waves at the cheering crowd. There was a nervousness clawing at his chest as he made it to center-stage, but with it also a giddy sort of anticipation. He picked up the microphone and stared out over the audience, not seeing much due to the bright lights shining over him, but still the silhouettes carried a touch of intimidation. He breathes, smile growing as he greets his audience, his voice steady and loud, cheers rise up in accordance and he plants his feet, grounding himself, readying. Yet despite that, the usual pres-show dread that Richie is used to feeling crawl in his stomach is absent, in its stead is a right sort of deliberateness that he’s never felt while walking out in front of a sold out crowd- or any crowd for that matter, not since being picked up decades ago in LA. There’s something peaceful about the steadfastness of his conviction, about knowing however the audience takes this new show will be a drop in the bucket compared to the opinions of the people he’s already shared the script with. Eddie’s approval meant more to him than any of these fuckers combined. So it was easier for him now, more than any other time in his life to recite the words from his script- words he himself had written. 

Yes, he was nervous. But he was also resolute as he turned to look into the camera and the audience and say:

“So, my boyfriend moved in recently, like officially and-”

The smile that broadens Richie’s face is more genuine than any one he’d given on stage before as his audience hoots and cheers. Maybe he’d really send that fruit basket he’d been considering over to his publicist, or his manager for convincing him to take to Twitter to improve his fan-base. Fuck it, he’d send his whole team fruit baskets. A thank you to everyone who had been supportive of him, who continued to back him while he figured his shit out. People who gave him the opportunity to stand on stage and feel the pride that ballooned in his chest at each laugh and holler each of his jokes got. Pride was a feeling he’d had very little of in his life, it was hard to grasp when you’d spent most of your life in hiding. There were moments even now, despite everything, that had him instinctively wanting to curl up and slink away, because having pride in oneself is a learned behavior and one Richie was working on still. It got easier though, with every smile from his friends, any and every little touch Eddie blessed him with, and every morning he got to wake up and have Eddie right there next to him- everyday was full of little moments, little opportunities for him to feel so fucking lucky. So, yeah, walking out on that stage was an ending. A metaphorical book closing on a life lived in hiding and in shame- and he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.

Richie was starting a whole new novel, one composed of all those little and big moments worth holding onto, even if they were scary, maybe especially so; because for the first time in as far back as he could remember Richie wasn’t running away. He was pushing forward with the strength of more than just himself, and he was making a conscious decision to finally make his leap of faith, because even if he fell, he had six great people waiting to catch him. Richie pushed onward, because even though this was an ending, it was also the start of something so much greater. -

[bettercallsabs]

Choteau

A/N: hello my dearies! I’ve been mia, not a surprise lol, but after a long move I’m finally transitioned into our new home, and have had sometime. Anywho, I am back with a new short series. I know, I know. Oh lawd someone stop me now, right? But without further ado, here is part one of my Steve Rogers cowboy-esque series- the one I promised months ago 😂 As usual, unedited, because this is fucking tumblr. Enjoy dearies! P.s. remember I do cover art? 

Taglist is open, so never miss a post!

Thee Masterlist

Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: fully disclosed- talks of domestic abuse.

Word count:3k+

Your lungs burned with such intensity, it felt as if a hot flame licked at their very walls, with every intake of breath, or lack thereof. Every inhale seemed to fuel the fire, as you desperately fought to fill your lungs with air, but to no avail. You could feel your head growing fuzzy, the sensation of prickling needles engulfed your head. starry  lights overtook your visual field, until there was nothing but darkness...

You startled awake, your heart thudding against your chest, as you rubbed at your neck, panting as you managed to catch your breath. It was just a dream, you whispered to yourself with a sigh of relief. it was just a dream. You sat up, the scratchy sheets of the cheap motel rubbed against the exposed skin of your legs.  Looking over, your daughter slept soundly next to you, the slow rise and fall of her chest, brought ease to your heart.

You felt awful, bringing her into this situation, uprooting her life, taking her out of the only home she’s ever known. But you couldn’t stay anymore. Your recent brush with death was too much. You couldn’t bare not being in your daughters life... She needed her mother. And she needed her mother unbroken for once.

You swung your legs over the bed, placing them firmly on the floor as you gripped at the edge of the bed with both hands. You glanced at the clock that sat on the dinky little end table. 5:47 A.M. it read in bright red numbers.

You definitely weren’t going back to sleep.

With a heave from the bed, you felt immediate stiffness in your back, as you walked to the small bathroom. You brought in your oversized navy blue duffle bag, pulling a compact bag from with in it. The overhead fan buzzed as you took a seat on the edge of the cold tub, causing shivers to descend down your spine.

You opened it, pulling the contents from within.   You held in your hands the only money to your name. Slowly counting it out. $3759... you could do this... No, you have to do this. For her. For Bennie.

A soft knock at the door made your heart spring in your chest.

“Mommy.” Bennie’s soft voice brought your heart to ease. You had to remind yourself Aaron wasn’t here and you were safe. You tucked the loose bills back into the bag, tossing into the tub and pulling the curtain before opening the door. There stood your doe eyed little girl. Her hair was a mess. Those copper locks you loved so much were matted flat to one side of her head. You couldn’t help but smile, pulling her tiny frame into you for a big mama bear hug.

“What are you doing up so early mon petit chou?” You kissed the top of her head, brushing the dried drool  soaked hair from her cheek.  

“I’m hungry. My tummy rumbles.”

“Oh, you’ve got a case of the rumbly tumblies?”

Her head bobbed up and down, as she patted her tummy.

“Well, we can’t have that. Can you hangout for a bit while mommy takes a shower, and then we can grab some breakfast? I’m thinking waffles... with strawberries maybe?” A wide grin spread across Bennie’s face.

“Yay! Waffles!”

Bennie exclaimed as she bolted for the bed, tucking herself beneath the cover of her favorite purple fleece Minnie Mouse blanket.

The water didn’t take long to heat up, and for this you were relieved. White tufts of stream rose from the  steaming water, as you watched it fall from the shower head. You reached your arm in testing the temperature before submerging yourself in the delicious heat. You could hear Bennie’s soft giggles trailing in, faint over the shower. You rested your head against the tile of the shower wall. That laughter, that little girl, is what kept you going through all the pain, the agony you had endured. You smiled as you let yourself become lost in her innocence.

Your shower ended far to quickly. It seemed to be over as soon as it started. You moved sluggishly, wishing for a few moments more under the scalding water. Wrapping yourself in the small hotel towel, you starred into the fog covered mirror, thankful you didn’t have to look into the mirror. You dressed hastily. Throwing on your favorite pair of medium wash denim jeans and an old hoodie. You tied up your damp hair in bun, if you could call it that. Bennie picked out  her own outfit, a pair of unicorn tights, with a metallic ribbed skirt, and a red tee.

“I’m a pop star mommy! Like Barbie!” Bennie struck a pose, her lips protruding in a pouty face.

“You sure at Bennie! A true pop star!”

Stepping outside, the chilly morning Montana air kicked at your cheeks. You knelt down to Bennie, zipping up her sweater- that was a hassle to get her to wear, because according to Bennie, it just didn’t go with her outfit.- You tucked a sterling hair behind her ear before pulling the hood over her head. “There, nice and cozy.” You smiled lovingly at your toddler, gentle running your thumb across her cheek before settling her into her car seat.

You slid into the driver's seat of your quick buy, ‘06 Malibu. The dashboard clock read 6:32am as your car roared to life.the streets were empty, the town quiet. No hustle and bustle, of the city that you were used too. You drove around for about 15 minutes until you entered the small downtown area. The Buildings were rustic, carrying a late 19th century vibe to them. A quaint family restaurant was nestled between a flower shop and the local barbershop. As you pulled closer, you saw the open sign swaying back and forth on the door. Perfect” You thought to yourself, as you pulled into a parking spot. “Ready for some yummy waffles?”

Bennie nodded, the bun on top of her head bobbing back and forth.  You remove yourself from the car, before unbuckling Bennie from her harness. The restaurant had a charming demeanour. Old photos hung from the shiplap walls, remembering the town in it’s beginnings. A free standing sign read “Please seat yourself”.

“Where should we sit Sweetie?” you asked, watching her excitement grow with anticipation. Grabbing your hand, she dragged you to a booth, just big enough for two, in the back left corner of the restaurant.

A petite and plump older lady began making her way towards you. Her graying hair was nestled in a messy bun, a few stray bangs, dangling in her face. A wide small graced her lips as she approached the table. It was an infectious smile, warm and nurturing.

“well good morning. My names Gwen. What can I start you two off with this morning?”

“Juice mommy, juice!” Bennie chimed.

“Apple or orange?” Gwen asked Bennie directly, her smile never fading.

Bennie’s brow furrowed as she was in deep thought, her hand bald in a fist under her chin.

“um, apple.” It came out more as a question rather than a direct answer.

“Apple juice it is. And for you?” Gwen’s focus was now on you, as she adjusted the pocket sized notepad in her hand.

“I’ll take coffee please. Lord knows I need it.”

“Say no more hun. Half and half or creamer?”

“Half and half would be great.”

“Be back with those drinks in a jiff.”

Bennie sat across from you, smiling contently as she opened the box of crayons.

“So what brings you to Choteau? We don’t get many visitors outside of hunting season, around here.” Gwen placed the cups onto the table, pouring fresh coffee into your mug.

“Just needed to get away for a bit. Pointed to a random place on the map, and here we are.” You put your best smile forward. It wasn’t like you were telling a complete lie.

“Well, were always happy to see new faces around here. You’ll find our smile town can be quite lovely. Now, what can I get you ladies to eat?”

“We'll take the Belgian waffles with strawberries and a side of breakfast potatoes.”

“Coming right up.”

Gwen shimmied away, leaving you to face a very eager child. She sat on her knees, Elbows resting on the table, dragging the blue crayon over the paper in erratic movements. Her eyes met yours with a smile, and your heart began to sink a bit. She was completely unaware of what was going on… why her father wasn’t around anymore. When you first decided you had to run, to get as far away from him as possible, you worried about Bennie-afterall, she was the reason you stayed. Bennie had stopped constantly asking about her dad, and you were thankful for it.

The last few months on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder had taken its toll on you, and the last thing you needed was the guilt. Although Paul treated you like you were less than human, he was a devoted father to Bennie, and she adored him, he was her hero.  It was almost enough for you to stay to endure the ridicule, the bruises, until it nearly cost you your life…

You were startled from your thoughts when two large plates of waffles were set onto the table.

“you alright hun?” gwen's voice was laced with concern as she set down a bowl of potatoes.

“uh yea, yeah.. I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.”

“well hun, if you ever need to talk, I’m around. Now enjoy your breakfast, and let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled softly, a look of worry in her eyes as she turned to walk away. You grabbed the plated that was set in front of Bennie, pulling a fork and knife that were wrapped in a napkin.

“What kind of syrup would you like baby? Mulberry, maple, blueberry?”

“um… Blueberry!” She practically yelled with glee.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. In all the things to happen in your life, Bennie truly was the best.

You were stuffed as you sat back in your seat. Your stomach felt like it may just explode. You should have stopped eating halfway in but that waffle was thee most delicious waffle you had ever had. You never could have imagined something as simple as a waffle could taste so good. Bennie looked about the same, her eyes growing heavy as her head bobbed up and down. She definitely was going to fall asleep on the ride back to the motel.  

You flagged down Gwen with a wave. If you didn’t get out now, you’d be stuck lugging Bennie’s deadweight to the car. And any parent knows, there’s not much heavier than a sleeping preschooler.

“I can see someone is ready for a morning nap.” Gwen’s laugh was so pleasant, like windchimes, chiming in the light summer breeze. “Here’s your check hun. Anything else you need?”

You were hesitant in your response, but there was something about Gwen that made you feel relaxed, like you could be open for a moment.

“uh, Maybe you could offer some advice. I think we're going to be around for a bit, know of any jobs? Or places for rent? I don’t think the motel off of 45 is going to do the trick.”

“”I’ll be right back.” She hustled off in a huff, her shirt legs moving swift with every step, as she disappeared into the kitchen, door swinging behind her.

While she was gone, you grabbed your wallet from your purse, pulling the cash from your wallet, setting it onto the papercheck.

When you looked up from the table, Bennie’s eyes were nearly closed. Damn. You were not making it out of here with her awake. You coxed Bennie over to you, who sluggishly walked towards you, crawling into your arms. As soon has her head hit your chest, a soft snore trailed through her mouth. You brushed at her soft bronzed copper hair, placing a light kiss on her hair covered forehead.

The sound of a swinging door drew your attention from your daughter, it was Gwen, walking towards you, as if she was on a mission.

“Alright-“ She approached you, slightly winded, as if she had been running. “Sorry that took me so long, had to discuss it with my husband, and boy is he quite the talker. Anywho, he said it should be no problem at all to let you stay in our old house.”

“Your old house?”

“Yes. You see, we’re getting up there in age, and it’s an older farm house, and those stairs were becoming far too much for my Henry, so we built a small ranch home. I promise it is in great condition, a local boy helps us with the upkeep. So, it’s yours if you want it.”

A house, a whole house? You were flattered, but there was no way you could afford to rent a house. “I… I am flattered, I truly am, so thankful for the offer, but I couldn’t afford-“

Gwen held up her hand to shush you. “No need for any of that. You can help me out here, until you find something that better suits you. I really could use the help, with the way my knees have been feeling lately.”

You were dumbstruck. Never had you been met with such kindness, and from a stranger nonetheless.

“I don’t know what to say…” You felt the pressure building from behind your eye as you held back the floodgates.

“Run off back to the hotel and collect your things. We’ll get you settled.” You laid Bennie down on the bench of the booth, hauling yourself to your feet, wrapping your arms around Gwen in a coveted hug.

“I can’t thank you enough.”

Gwen returned the hug, it was an embrace that reminded you of your mother, and you savoured it.

“Now, you run along, and hurry back, okay?” Gwen pushed you back at arms length, wiping tears from your cheeks with a smile. You had known this woman all but an hour, and it felt as if you had known her a lifetime.

You gathered up a sleeping Bennie with a grunt, trying to steady yourself. God she was getting heavy. Her head rested on your shoulder, her wild locks falling into your eyes. Heading for the door , you took it one step at a time, longing for the days when Bennie easily fit into your arms.

Using your hip, you pushed the door open, the bell that sat over the threshold chiming it’s tune. You were incredibly thankful for your parking spot parked just a few feet from the door. You steady yourself against the rear passenger side door, your left knee supporting Bennie as you scavenged through your mess of a purse for your keys.

“God dammit.” You huffed in annoyance, as the keys you dug for slipped from you grasp, clanking against the asphalt.

“Here, let me help you with that.” A deep voice called from in front of you, your head snapping  in the direction of the melodious voice. There, before you stood the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. Dreaming blue eyes stared at your from beneath a tan ridgetop crease, felt hat. His chiseled jawline was brimming with freshly trimmed scruff. He was lengthy, his height seemed to be accentuated by his dark denim wrangler and heeled cowboy boots. From what you could tell he was toned, his baby blue button down shirt that cling nicely to his well defined arms.

“Ma’am.”  His arm was extended out to you, keys dangling from his fingers.

You realized you had been staring, your cheeks growing warn as you quickly tried to regain your composure.

“Oh, um, I... Thank you so much.” You smiled nervously, pressing the unlock button on your key fob, a little too hard, causing the button to stick.

“Don’t mention it. Now you have a great day. Going to be a nice out today..” A wide and inviting smile spread across his face, revealing a perfect smile. It felt as though your heart was melting in your chest, a feeling you hadn’t felt in ages.

“You too, and thank you again!”

Your gaze lingered a bit too long as you watched him make his way into the restaurant. What a man.

You sighed heavily as you began buckling in Bennie.

“Get it together Y/N!” You coached yourself. The last thing you needed was to get distracted. You had important things to think about, and he wasn’t one of them.

You were in and out of the motel in no time at all. The small car was packed with what little belongings you had. Your stomach was in jumbles, as you sat behind the steering wheel.  You were nervous, understandably, as the unsettling thoughts began flood in. Did you really think this through? We’re you being to rash? Was staying in the same location more than a week safe? Could you really trust these people? You could trust anyone?

You sighed heavily, laying your head against the steering wheel. You couldn’t keep running forever s your funds wouldn’t allow it, and it wasn’t good for Bennie, she needed stability after these last couple of months, you owed her at least that.

And Gwen, you’d never met someone so genuine in your life, second to your mother. In fact, she reminded you of your mother and she went out of her way to help you when she had no obligation to..

You were staying. This was going to be your fresh start. You had to start somewhere, and what better place than Choteau?

You arrived back at the family restaurant, Bennie still sound asleep, the soft putter of her snores filling the car. You could see Gwen standing in the window from your parked car. She must have been waiting for you. She gestured for you to wait, before waltzing her way out of the front door, that infectious smile beaming.

You rolled down your window as she approached the idling car.

“Alright Hun.” She handed you a slip of paper and a key. “Follow these directions. You can’t miss the house. It’s white -well off white, but nevermind that- with a green roof. I’ll stop over after my shift to see how your settling in. And my numbers below if you have any questions. Now you hurry along hun. I’ll see you later.” She have your hand a quick squeeze before heading back into the restaurant.

You took in a deep breath, flipping  your car into reverse, as you headed in the direction of your new home.

ForeverTags:

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

@itsanerdlife

@sea040561

@dsakita

@princess-evans-addict

@marvels-queen-bee

@mariekoukie6661

@flashfanfics

@patzammit

[flightsoffandom]

A Strange Visit to A Doctor

Pairs: None, Left open-ended. Dr.Strange is featured alongside the Reader.

Words: 1937

Summary: Running around New York on a hot day was never a fun time but today was worse. After passing out you find yourself in a strange building with an even ‘stranger’ person

Notes: I couldn’t help myself with the joke in the title. Left completely gender-neutral. Does contain some cussing, if that’s not your thing. I did already use this prompt for a Star Trek One-Shot, but I am wanting to challenge myself by using the same prompt with different fandoms and try to make it as unique as possible.

I found this writing prompt @wordfather and went with it.

A: Who are you?

B: Your doctor.

A: Okay, Mr. Doctor, where’s your white coat and other… doctor things?!

B: You are aware that… it would be ‘Doctor’… and not ‘Mister Doctor’?

A:

B:

A: Well, sorry if I’m not articulate enough when I wake up in strange surroundings!

New York had been crazy today. Not that it wasn’t crazy all the time anyway, especially after that whole New York incident years ago. Today was the day you had set aside to get all your errands done. It would have been hard enough if everything was normal but there was something about today. Something in the air that made it more miserable than anything you could remember. You had been shoved so hard that you almost feel to the ground many times. You were late for every appointment you had that day. It was a shitty day. It was hot, to the point you felt like you were being roasted alive. As you traveled about the city you tried to take breaks as often as you could and keep drinking water. The closer to noon it got the harder it was to rest at all. You usually found yourself stuck in the middle of a horde of people. Crammed in tight like sardines with no way out, so you were forced to keep walking. It was torture but you didn’t have any other time when you could get these things done.

Being swept along by the current of people you already felt exhausted and it was now noon. You could feel your muscles ache. You didn’t have time for it but you had to stop. You pushed your way through the sea of people. Catching elbows and other pointy parts to your body as you walked through. Finally, when you emerged from the crowd you scrambled to found a bench. You pulled out some papers from your bag and started to fan yourself. You took a moment to look around. Several restaurants surrounded you. All the smells finding there way right to your nose. When your stomach growled you had to think back to the last time you had eaten. It was probably this morning but you didn’t have time to stop to rest, let alone stop to eat. So you tried to ignore your stomach’s angry demand for food. You picked yourself back up off the bench. Standing up made your muscles feel worse than before. As you trudged back into a crowd of people you started regretting your short break. You felt light-headed but figured it was just from the hunger and trekked on. Walking a few more blocks your skin started to feel cool and not long after a dizzy spell hit you. You stopped dead in your tracks and closed your eyes tight. You held your head and tried to reorient yourself. It didn’t help that people were pushing into you as they walked by, causing the dizziness to get worse. You opened your eyes and stumbled over to the side. You placed your hand against the wall and tried to figure out what was going on with you. Your vision started to blur. You had barely enough time to lower yourself to the ground. Then your vision completely went to black.

When you woke up your head was throbbing. You opened your eyes and moved your hand over them to block out the light. You felt cool still but when you moved your head a damp cloth fell off. You slowly sat up. Looking around you it appeared as if you were in a weird museum of some kind. There were glass cases everywhere with old objects displayed inside. You see movement out of the corner of your eye. When you turn to look you could have sworn you saw a cape, flying on its own. You shake your head and tell yourself that clearly, you were imagining things. You close your eyes for a second while you try to compose yourself. Hearing footsteps makes you open your eyes again. You look up and see a dark-haired man with grey streaks and odd-looking facial hair. When you try to speak your voice comes out hoarse. “Who are you?” The man looks down at you, “A doctor.” He moves his fingers to the pulse point on your neck and looks down at his watch. You tense up when he touches you. Your thoughts are muddled. You weren’t sure this wasn’t some weird hallucination to go along with the flying cape you saw earlier. So in your jumbled state, you speak without thinking about it. “Okay, Mr. Doctor, where’s your white coat and other… doctor things?” You immediately know what you said didn’t make a whole lot of sense. He lets out an annoyed sigh, “Why does everyone think that’s a normal thing to say?” He removes his hand from your neck. You still couldn’t trust your eyes but it looked like his hands were shaking. With plenty of attitude, he states, “You are aware that it would be ‘Doctor’…” He pauses long enough to give you a disapproving look before he continues. “And not ‘Mister Doctor’?” You scowl at him, not exactly loving the rude tone he had taken with you. As your starting to think clearly again you snip back at him. “Well, sorry if I’m not articulate enough when I wake up in strange surroundings!” He rolls his eyes, acting like you made a bad joke, “If you knew who I am then why did you ask?” You look up at him, extremely confused “I don’t know what you mean. I have no idea who you are.” It seems as though a bright sparkling light appeared behind the doctor. You rub your forehead as you add, “I’m honestly starting to think maybe I died on that sidewalk.” Somehow he got another damp cloth and holds it to your forehead. “Doctor Stephen Strange.” You make a face. The name sounded familiar and you had a feeling you may have heard it on the news. The man continues, “And your not dead thanks to me. Your welcome.” You huff, “Thank you… I guess You don’t have to be such an ass about it.” He shoots you a look, “Saving you from a heatstroke took a lot of time out of my day.” You scoff “I’m sorry me almost dying inconvenienced you.” You grit your teeth and start to stand up, “I’ll just leave then.” Right when you stand up, you start to feel dizzy again. Making you fall back down onto the ottoman you had been resting on. He stares down at you, “Unfortunately for both of us you’ll need to rest here for a few hours.” That weird sparkly light appears behind him again and he hands you a bottle of water. He starts walking away as he directs you, “Stay hydrated, don’t move, don’t touch anything and try not to faint again.”

This was ridiculous. There was no way you were planning on staying in the same building as this asshole. So you looked around and made sure to gather your things before standing up again. The dizziness came back almost right away but you were so annoyed at this point. You would rather be anywhere but here. You take it one step at a time and make your way to a set of stairs. Right as your about to take a step down your grabbed from behind. You let out a loud yelp before turning around. All you see is a cape, floating right in front of you. Startled you take a step back. When your foot finds no ground you start to fall backward. But, the cape grabs you gently pulling you back up. Once both your feet are on the ground the cape starts more forcefully leading you back to the seat. Bewildered you go along with it and end up sitting down on the ottoman again. You keep an eye on th cape. A corner of the fabric floats up, coming towards you. Unsure of what else to do you flinch away. You feel the fabric pat your head a few times before floating off. You stare down at the ground clearly going insane. Stephen strolls into the room, responding all too slowly to the yelp you emitted earlier, “I said don’t leave.” You look up at him, “What the actual fuck is going on here… did you drug me while I was unconscious?” He seems annoyed that you are even asking that question. “I would have no reason to do that. I would have taken you to the hospital if ‘it’ would have let me.” You freeze, “Wait… you said that like that cape has feelings…“ Stephen corrects you, “Cloak of Levitation.” He glares at the cloak as it floats back up, “And for some reason it likes you.” You cross your arms, getting defensive “Maybe because I’m an actual likable person unlike you.” You see the cape mimics your movements as well as your emotions. You watch it move as you do, like some kind of funhouse mirror. Stunned you but lost in thought you ask again, “What is going on here?” Stephen’s eyes stay disapprovingly locked onto his cape as he answers. “You are in the New York Sanctum for the Masters of the Mystic Arts.” You start laughing, “Ohh… You’re like a children’s magician or something.” You reach out to look for the wires that are moving the cape, “It’s a very good prop. You should be nicer though if you work with kids.” As you try to search for the hidden strings the cape slaps your hand away. You pull your hand back. As you do the cape moves, placing itself on Stephen’s back. The doctor’s clothes turn into a costume of some kind. Before you can say anything Stephen once again corrects you, “I am not a Magician. I am the Protector of this Sanctum.” You shake your head, “Ooh kay bud, I think I’m gonna go.” You start grabbing your things wide-eyed. Sure magic is cool. But you started thinking about how trouble follows superheroes around. You didn’t want to be stuck in this building when some sort of monster came looking for Dr.Strange. Stephen doesn’t stop you, encouraging you instead. “Please do. I have a reality to protect.” You just nod and pick up your bag before going to leave. Once again your only able to make it to the stairs before the cloak flies over and hands you something. You take the weird-looking double ring from it, “I don’t think I should take this.” You direct your response to the floating fabric in front of you. Even as you feel Stephen’s eyes bore into you, “That’s not for you” The cloak stays, blocking your way. When you try to give it back the garment refuses to take it. Instead, it starts making a circular motion at you with one of its corners. Stephen appears to have had enough and start making his way over to you. You’re not sure if you did it out of spite or curiosity, or even both. But you slipped the ring on and made a circular motion like the cloak was showing you. After a few rotations, Stephen is ready to take the ring from you. Suddenly golden sparkling light appears in front of your hand. You gasp and the sparkles quickly fade. Stephen shares a look with his cloak before the fabric smugly returns to his shoulders. You stare down at the ring in your hands. You take the ring off and hold it out for Dr.Strange to take back. Dr.Strange pushes your hand away. The words that come out of Stephen’s mouth surprised both him and yourself. They even sounded nicer than anything he has said to you so far, “You should stay. I can teach you.”

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (Part 4)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.

Rating: Mature

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Found on Tumblr  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff ​ @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook@skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog

Remnants of ocean spray hit him as he drives them away from shore, the salt catching in his eyes while he focuses on the headlights of his boat and guiding them to where he wants to anchor for dinner. He’d wanted to do this during the daylight so that Emma could see the sun glistening on the ocean, but the one time he’d been free during the day had gotten away from them spending it on the beach before Emma mentioned she’d never seen Star Wars.

That just wouldn’t do.

He’d been remised to see Emma go inside and change out the absolutely sinful red bikini she had on (damn, those were some wonderful tiny pieces of fabric), but he couldn’t let the lass go anymore without watching Star Wars. He’s got various feelings on the movies, ones which he held back, but they’re classics. She can’t have not seen then, so he had to rectify it before he headed off to work that day.

So they’d thrown on some lounge clothes – but he knew that Emma kept her bikini on from the red string on her exposed shoulder from the oversized sweater she had on – and settled into his living room, diming the lights and closing the curtains to watch the movies. They didn’t talk much, not more than him answering questions, but they didn’t have to. She became enraptured with the movies, though she did keep getting up to go get something to eat without caring if she missed some of the movie, and he’d pause and wait for her to come back. Every time she got up and came back, he swears she sat a little closer to him on the couch. For awhile, he convinced himself that he was imagining things, but then her shoulders brushed his and her feet kept bumping into his.

He might have been going crazy, but he was pretty sure that Emma was doing it on purpose. It was like he was an awkward teenager hanging out with a girl while Liam wasn’t in the house, but he is a thirty-two year old man in his own home…with the girl he likes.

Likes.

Loves.

It’s one of those two.

Likely leaning toward the second option the more time he spends with her.

He’s gotten to know her through texts, phone calls, and ridiculous videos, things he never realized could bring him so close to a practical stranger. They’ve become intimate without actually being intimate, and honestly, he kind of prefers it that way. He’s been betrayed and wronged so many times by people who he doesn’t get to know first before fully leaping in, and while this has all been kind of a gamble, he thinks he might have come out on top with a winning hand.

Or maybe he’s getting there.

He had to go to work eventually, the show sending him a driver so he wasn’t driving home in the morning dead on his feet, and he left Emma with the movies. When he came home around six the next morning for a short break between filming, Emma was conked out on the couch, fast asleep with the television still on and her body half hanging off the couch. He was tempted to move her, but he honestly wasn’t sure if she’d want that or if his tired body would be able to. So he’d padded upstairs and gone to sleep himself before getting up four hours later and heading back to work.

His day had been impossibly long, most of the scenes he filmed full of swordfights and running back and forth between sets, but Emma spent her day exploring Santa Monica and asked if he’d be willing to take them out on the ocean when he got home from work. He really wanted to sleep, but he only gets these few days with her. He can suck it up and not be tired.

Turning the key in the ignition, he powers down the boat and anchor it to its spot before walking around to where Emma’s sitting in the sunken seats at the bow, her lips wrapped around the neck of a bottle of beer. Is it ridiculous to think that he’s jealous of the bottle? He thinks it is, but then he remembers how Emma’s lips feel, soft and warm, as well as how they taste, like the red wine she’d had to drink that night along with the chocolate dessert the caterers had served at the Christmas gala. Now they’d probably still be soft and warm, but he’s sure they’d taste like salt and beer, an entirely different yet no less desirable combination.

Maybe more desirable since he truly knows Emma now.

He feels his cock twitch in his jeans, and he has to calm himself, thinking of anything and everything undesirable – artichokes, the workouts his trainer is going to kill him with after taking a week off, Liam and Elsa doing…anything – before settling down on the cushion next to Emma and propping his feet up against hers. He stares out at the darkness of the ocean, which is the smallest bit more blue by the light of the moon and the stars, and he just breathes it all in.

This is his happy place if he’s ever had one, and he likes sharing it with someone else other than his family more than he thought he would.

“This is nice,” Emma sighs before taking another sip of her beer, a drop of liquid running loose and landing on her chin that he can’t help but want to lick…woah, down boy. If he wasn’t driving on so little sleep, he’d take one of those in an instant to try to dull his heightened senses. “You know, I’ve never been on a boat before. I mean, like, I’ve been out to the docks and near all of the sailboats in the harbor, but I’ve never actually been, you know…”

She motions to the water around them, and he chuckles, getting her meaning. “Well, love, you never forget your first.”

“Shut up,” she giggles, reaching back and slapping his chest. “Some people do want to forget their first.”

“Why, love? It didn’t get the boat a’rocking? Waves weren’t made? There were rough waters?”

He accentuates his words with a waggle of his eyebrows and a swivel of his hips, but when he expects Emma to continue her laughter, she doesn’t. Instead her features are focused on the label of her beer, picking at the damp paper and flicking it away. Her immediate change in demeanor worries him, and while he doesn’t want to overstep their boundaries, he can’t help but ask.

“Swan, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves him away before twisting so that she’s facing him, wisps of her hair falling out of her braid, “I was just thinking about firsts.”

“Boat rides?”

“Boyfriends. Or loves really.”

“Oh, um, I don’t…” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear, trying for the life of him to think of something to say. He has nothing. He basically speaks for a living, devouring words on a daily basis, and suddenly he can’t think of his own.

“It’s…I don’t expect you to say anything, and I don’t mean to be Debbie Downer or Emma Emotional or whatever but – ”

“Wait. Emma Emotional?”

“Just go with it,” she laughs, the smallest of smiles tugging up on her lips. “I have a horrible history with relationships. Not a one has worked out, obviously, or else I imagine I probably wouldn’t be here with you…not that this is a, uh, um a – ”

He reaches forward and grabs her forearm, squeezing even as his heart rate picks up. “Go on, love.”

“His name was Neal,” she restarts, shocking him even if he knew where this was going, “and he was the first person to ever love me but at least the tenth to ever leave me if you include my real parents and foster parents and the couple who almost adopted me until they had their own miracle baby. And while all of those things screwed me up, I don’t think anything screwed me up as badly as having someone love me and then just disappear into thin air only to pop up five years later with a wife and two kids who were definitely his and definitely older than five.”

What an arsehole.

“He’s a fool.”

“I know that…now.” She smiles when she says the last part, and like it’s instinct, he wraps his arm around her shoulder and tugs her into his side, holding back so that he doesn’t kiss her temple. “I just – I could never understand it, why people kept leaving me for other people. It’s like I was good enough for a moment and then I did something or said something and just wasn’t anymore.”

“Emma, when people leave us like you’ve been left, that’s not on you.”

“Yeah, but I’m the common factor. That’s got to mean something in the long run. The first person to ever stick around was Ruby and then Mary Margaret and David by extension. And while I know that logically they’re my friends and they love me, this voice in the back of my head that sounds a lot like Neal is telling me that they’re going to leave too. Shit, Neal didn’t even stay with me when he was with me. I was literally the mistress and didn’t know.”

His hand cautiously moves up and down her arm while the boat rocks beneath them. “It’s not your fault he was an arsehole. And your friends, they’re not going to leave.”

“How would you know?”

“They’re smart people. And I know you. No person worth their salt would be dumb enough to leave you.”

She sniffles against him before her hand reaches up to wipe away the stray tears that have fallen. Her head lifts from his shoulder, the loss of heat almost instant, before dropping back down again. This is not the conversation he was expecting to have tonight, but he feels honored that Emma would share with him.

“Me coming to see you is a big fucking deal, one that I’m not even sure how I made. I’m not…I don’t want to come off as weak or insecure because I’m not, but I almost backed out at least ten times.”

He rubs his hand up and down her arm before leaning his cheek against the top of hers. It’s…he can’t believe so many people have betrayed her. She doesn’t deserve that. No one does, but it happened to her.

“I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am, too.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me. I feel honored to get to know that much more about Emma Swan. I’m glad that you trusted me with all of that. I know that it means a lot.”

She’s silent for a moment before she twists against him. He thinks that she’s going to move away, but she doesn’t. Instead she wraps her arms around his waist and nuzzles herself into him. He can feel her everywhere, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to drop a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m sorry for bringing the mood down.”

“Don’t be. I promise another night I’ll share my sins and tragedies.”

“What a weird way to say that.”

“I’m actually pretty sure it’s a line in my filming for tomorrow.”

“Wow, can’t even come up with his own lines. Classy, dude.”

“Okay, so one day when the mood is light, I’ll tell you about my messed up childhood and fucked up exes. And then you’ll know almost all that you need to know about me.”

She laughs against his chest, pulling him a little closer as her hair begins to fly in his face, getting caught in his eyes and his mouth. God, how does she have so much hair? It’s like it’s constantly growing.

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

“My name is Killian, love.”

“Yeah but nothing rhymes with that.”

He laughs against her head before pressing another kiss there. He wonders if she feels a weight lifted off her shoulder or if she feels heavier. He hopes that it’s the former and that her secrets and past that have been weighing her down fall away into the waves. Maybe he should do the same.

“Hey, love?”

“Yeah?”

“I was the other woman too.”

“Wait, what?”

“Other man,” he weakly chuckles, trying to concentrate and not flounder his words. “It was, well, I said another night I’d tell you, but I can’t not tell you now. You’re important to me, and you’re not alone in any of this. I was twenty-five, had just landed my first big role, and I met a woman, Milah. Beautiful, vibrant, but also married with a child. I just didn’t know it at the time. I found out because her husband worked at my agency. And I almost didn’t care, was almost willing to still see her because I loved her so much, but then I overheard her on the phone talking about me as if I was some plaything.”

“I’m sorry.”

He hears no pity or rage in her voice, all of the things he heard from Liam and Elsa when he told them, Robin and Will too. It was just two words, but she understands. He knows that she does from what she’s said, but he feels like she would even if she didn’t.

“Me too, love. But I think it’s all okay. We’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

“I mean, I don’t own a boat, but I’ve got a rocking shoe collection.”

“Shoes are obviously better than boats.”

“I think so, too. Are we ever going to have dinner?”

They eat dinner where they are, spreading the food out over the seats between them and devouring it while boats and ships move around them and back to shore. Conversation is much lighter, carefree, and he finds himself nearly forgetting the fact that they began to bare parts of their souls to each other. This week has been one of the best he’s had in a long time, and it’s moving far too quickly for his liking. But right now, sitting with Emma out on the ocean being gently rocked by the waves beneath them, time might as well be standing still.

He docks the boat around one in the morning, his feet dragging behind him and Emma’s arm around his waist as he guides her back to the car so he can drive them home. It’s only a short drive from his house to the marina, and it’s one that he usually walks, but when he pulls into his garage ten minutes later, he’s glad to have taken this route. Emma yawns as they walk into the house, kicking her shoes off in his kitchen and leaving them there instead of neatly placing them on the shoe rack. That’s one of the things he’s learned about Emma this week. She’s messy. It’s not an unbearable messy, but it’s definitely not how he is. It’s probably an aftereffect of living in foster homes for her entire life and being scared to leave a single item out of place, and now that she has her own home, she leaves her shoes places and doesn’t always fold her clothes. He internalized it another way, keeping his neat freak ways, but he’s gotten better about it lately. So no part of him minds when he kicks his sneakers off as well and leaves them jumbled up with Emma’s.

“What time do you have to go to work tomorrow…or today?”

“At nine,” he sighs, the drowsiness really beginning to hit him. “Do you…do you want to come with me?”

Her eyes light up, and it makes him a little less tired. “Really? I can actually come with?”

“Of course. It just means you have to wake up early.”

“I think I can do that.” She takes a step forward, her thumbs reaching and touching under his eyes, and he nearly sighs in relief at having her skin touch his. God, he’s pathetic. “You need to go to bed. You look exhausted.”

“That’s always what a man wants to hear.”

“Yeah, well, you need to hear it.” She pats his cheeks. “Time to go to bed.”

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

He hasn’t been this tired in years.

He wakes up and goes to work. After filming for at least twelve hours a day, he comes home and spends as much time as he can with Emma before crashing for about two hours and doing it all again. He’s used to this kind of a schedule when he’s filming, barely having time for anything but sleeping and eating, but he’s never had someone to come home to afterward. Okay, well, he’s not technically coming home to her. She’s just staying at his home, and he only has three more days with her including today…which is really two because she has to leave on Sunday.

So basically just tomorrow night and a little of Sunday morning.

That’s not a hell of a lot of time.

Really no time.

Shit.

This may very well be the fastest week of his life, and he just needs it to slow down.

But by some kind of stroke of luck and maybe a little bit of a southern California miracle, it’s raining, and every single outdoor scene they were going to film today is cancelled so they’re inside the studio. Emma’s with him today, sitting in a chair off in the corner with Robin chatting away while he films.

None of his friends knew Emma was coming in. Hell, none of his friends even really know about Emma. It’s not that he hasn’t wanted to tell them. He has. But he wasn’t sure exactly how to go about it. They’re friends, and he doesn’t exactly make an announcement to his other friends and family whenever he makes a new friend. That would be…odd. This entire thing is odd, and he’s going to sit down and talk to her about it tonight, especially since Robin unexpectedly showed up on set today.

And because he should have already. He already treated her poorly with the way that he left after their date back in December, and he can’t do something like that to her again. He might not be dating her – but he damn well wants to – but he cares about her. He doesn’t want to hurt her anymore than he already did.

Then Robin had shown up and immediately recognized Emma from the video of her online. He’d given Killian a curious look before plastering a smile on his face and shaking hands with Emma, telling her it was nice to meet her and then promptly asking if he had forgotten that he set up a fan engagement for her. Emma’s cheeks had gone red and her mouth had gaped open like she didn’t know what to say. That’s when he’d realized his mistake and promptly told Robin that he and Emma had been getting to know each other and she was here as his friend.

His phrasing was probably a mistake, too, and while he knows Robin is going to have a hell of a lot of questions when Killian’s done filming, he and Emma seem to be getting along.

That’s good because he’s not sure how exactly the conversations he has to have later are going to go.

When his scene is finishing filming, he walks over to Emma and Robin, who is animatedly using his hands as he talks to Emma.

“ – and he just falls on his arse. We had to ice it, and he was bloody black and blue for weeks. And to be frank, he was the biggest pain in the arse for an entire week.”

“Hey,” Killian laughs, already knowing Robin’s telling her about the time his harness broke on the set of one of his first gigs, “there’s no need to tell the lass about all of my most embarrassing moments.”

“Oh, Killian,” Emma sighs, popping up on her toes and wrapping her arm around his shoulder, “that’s all we’ve been talking about for the past two hours. I know all of your dirty little secrets.”

He shoots Robin a look, and the man simply shrugs. “You’re the one who brought a girl to set, mate. I can’t help that I had to entertain her.”

“You’re a bloody arse.”

“No, I think that’s apparently you.”

Robin barks out a laugh at Emma’s teasing, and he looks down at her to see her lips painted into a smirk while her eyebrow is practically raised to her hairline. She’s a bloody wonder, and he had no idea how nice it’d be to see her joking around with one of his friends. Gods, this week has been like some kind of dream, and he doesn’t even care that he’s the butt of the joke…pun intended.

“You’re being cheeky, love.”

“Again, that’s you.”

She rolls her eyes, and out of instinct, he leans down and kisses her temple. He lingers there for a moment, inhaling her scent, and only pulls back when he realizes that he’s just kissed her without thinking about it…again. Out on the boat last night was different. That was an emotionally charged night. This is a casual setting, and that was casual affection. It was her forehead and not her lips, but still. He doesn’t need to freak her out or make her run by caring too much. He doesn’t dare look at her after his lips leave her skin, but he hears her intake of breath and sees Robin’s questioning look.

“Are you…are you finished for the day? I was kind of thinking we could go get dinner or something.”

“I’ve got two more scenes, darling. Why don’t you walk over to craft services or my trailer and get something to eat? Just show them your credentials card, and you’ll be right jolly.” “Right jolly? What the hell, Jones?”

He laughs before pushing her away. “Go on, Swan.”

When she walks away, pulling the hood of her rain jacket over her head, he doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Robin smacks his shoulder, hitting right over the necklaces he has on so that the metal digs into his skin.

“Bloody hell,” he hisses, looking up to see Robin staring at him with an indignant look on his face, “what was that for?”

“What the hell are you doing bringing your video date here? Really? I know you two kissed and then shagged, but I had no idea that was still going on. Or that you were going to fly her out to California.”

“First of all, her name is Emma, and we did not shag, not that it’s any of your business. She’s a friend who I very much like, and we’ve been getting to know each other.”

“Why is she here?”

“She had to use up her vacation days before she lost them, and she asked if it would be alright to come visit.”

“And you just let her?”

He shrugs. “I wanted to see her.”

Robin studies him for a minute, and Killian tries to hold his gaze without squirming or blinking too much or scratching behind his ear. Robin knows all of his tells, and he can’t exactly hide much from his manager. Never has been able to, especially for how long they’ve known each other.

“Ah,” Robin sighs, crossing his arms over his chest before looking Killian up and down, “you’re in love with her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s written all over your face. I should have seen it sooner.”

“Mate,” he hisses, gulping and trying to control the urge to spill all of his feelings right then and there, “I’m not in love with her. We’re friends. Don’t you have friends?”

He’s a damn liar, but he’s not about to tell someone else before he tells Emma. And he’s not sure he’ll ever get to tell Emma.

“I do. But I don’t kiss them on the forehead and mentally undress them with my eyes.”

Killian takes a step forward, laying a smacking kiss on Robin’s forehead before looking him up and down, making his smile as salacious as he possibly can. “Yeah, well, that’s what I do.”

Emma walks back in at the moment, her hands full of food in what looks like a Tupperware container. She must have run into Beth. The woman is always sending food home with people.

“Don’t tell Liam about any of this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t, and you know how he gets when I have a new girlfriend.”

“I thought she wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“Piss off. You know what I mean.”

“Hey,” Emma greets, a smile on her face while she balances all of the food, “look at all of this. This woman, Beth, just gave it all to me when I told her why I was here. You want some?”

“Uh, no, love. I’m good. Maybe later. I’ve got to go change in wardrobe. Why don’t you go hang out in my trailer until I’m finished for the day? It shouldn’t be too long.”

They get back to his house around ten that night, Emma still carting around the damn Tupperware containers, while he can’t stop thinking about everything that’s happened today…and since the beginning of December really. It’s going to drive him mad to not talk about it, and he can’t very well let this all simmer inside of him for too much longer.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m putting away this food, but I don’t want to mess with your weirdly organized fridge.”

“No, Emma,” he tugs on her arm until she turns around, her face framed in the light of the refrigerator in the dimness of his kitchen, “what are we doing? You and me?”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Are we acquaintances? Friends? Something else? Bloody hell, love. Do you want to kiss me again?”

Her lips part and her eyes widen before blinking, her bare blonde lashes moving against her cheekbones while she simply stares at him, a container of lasagna in her hand. Why the hell is he focusing on the lasagna? Why the hell did he just ask her if she wanted to kiss him again?

“I mean…what? Do I – I want to kiss you again.”

“Are you asking or are you saying?”

“S-saying.”

“So I can…”

Emma rolls her eyes before nodding, and he steps forward and cups her face, pulling her into him and capturing his lips with hers, everything that’s been upside down and all over the place this week righting itself as Emma’s soft and warms lips move against his and a whimper escapes her throat, the container of lasagna between them falling to the ground and breaking them out of their trance.

“That was – ”

“So much better than last time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, resting her forehead against his, her breath hotly brushing over his lips, “you want to fall asleep on the couch again and then run out of the house the next morning too?”

“Swan,” he hesitates, backing up from her but leaving a hand against her cheek, “I’m sorry about that. I know I’ve apologized until my face turned blue, but I can’t say it enough. I was a wanker.”

“And I was joking. I know that you’re sorry, but we’d just met. You didn’t owe me anything.”

“I owed you more than my exit.”

“Yeah, well, I think you have plenty of time to make up for it.”

He smiles, moving back against her, and then she kisses him again.