#harley just lives forever in my brain now

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 4

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. Happy to be posting another chapter! Please enjoy :)

We drive all morning.

The leafy dirt and tilted trees of the quarry crawl past our windows, and they take about an hour to turn into cement roads, gas stations, pharmacies and corner stores with the windows busted out. We're in an empty town, now, trailing the sidewalks like a long line of ants.

At the head of the group is officer Rick's car, leading us left and right 'round the edges of danger and death, 'cause that's what cops do. Behind him is Morales' car. Then, me and my Dad are in the middle, and behind us is the RV. At the back, sandwiching us all together, 'cause he's the only other cop, is officer Shane. His voice crackles up on the walkie every few minutes, goin', everything lookin' good up front, over, which Rick's voice answers, all's good, over, except for that one time, 'cause there was a dead buck blocking the road, and they had to get out and shove it off.

Sometimes we'll get a, Daryl, from one of them, which means, How's Harley, which means, Do we need to pull over and shoot your daughter in the face, and my Dad always answers with a, Keep drivin', and he throws the walkie down like it tried biting him.

Adults like addin' layers onto what they say, 'cause the truth is too offensive to say out loud.

My Dad's watchin' me real close; closer than the road, even. He's chewin' on his thumb.

Things were a little like this when it was just us, in the beginning. All we did for the first three days was drive.

Then, we found these people.

I think about Rick — And how just for one more day, he saved my life.

He split Sophia's Dad in half with a bullet, to keep him from ripping me up. Without him, maybe those teeth in my shoe would'a had one more moment to sink into me, and I'd be dead again, some other way. The only reason I'm able to feel the sun on my skin right now, and listen to the birds as they flutter and chirp on the phone lines is because of Rick, the man who killed my Uncle. I'm half-dyin', and Rick — He's half-good. There might be walker germs inside my body, and they might be squirming their way into my lungs, and my heart, and eventually, my brain, which will turn me into one more dead name the living will have to carry around with 'em, and my Dad will be sad forever, but today, I get to watch the sky pass over us.

That's just enough, I think, for me to only hate officer Rick with half of everything I got.

The walkie chimes.

"Daryl?" It's Rick, again, and I know his police badge is prolly winkin' in the sunlight.

Do we need to shoot your daughter in the face? Did I fail?

Dad snatches up the walkie. He don't like answering the secret question that Rick's askin', not one bit.

"No. Keep drivin'."

He throws it down and goes back to chewin' his thumb, bouncin' his knee, and glancin' at my arm. If he could, he'd blast the music so loud that there wasn't enough space left in his head to think so hard about everything. I go back to watching the clouds pass by, just for today.

We drive all morning, and then after that, we drive all afternoon.

Somebody honks twice, quick. Honk, honk.

That's code for, everybody pull over; something's wrong.

"Stay here, chicken," My Dad mutters, before he hops out. We're in a parking lot for a supermarket.

The adults gather, and the kids are all lookin' at each other through the windows, mouthing what's going on, and frowning. We all shrug.

My Dad comes back a few minutes later.

"Old man says the RV's runnin' on fumes." Dad reports, folding him arms on my window.

"What's that mean?" I ask him.

I can feel nausea spilling in through my stomach; rolling inside my skull, for the third time today.

"Means we're gonna have to stay here for a little bit." He sighs.

The first thing I do when he lets me out the truck is retch my guts up onto the front tyre.

Heads turn, and I know everybody's already makin' excuses in their heads, like I'm just feeling car-sick, but it's just not true. I'm not car-sick. I've been throwing up since yesterday, and everyone knows it, 'cause they watch me like hawks.

My Dad helps me use a spare shirt to wipe my chin clean, and then he sets me up in one of the camping chairs people are pulling out for the long wait. He makes me drink some water, three big sips, and he finds me an apple to nibble on, nagging me to eat as much I can. I hesitate, 'cause it's just gonna end up in another slimy puddle of vomit some hours from now, but I bite into it, anyway.

He tells me to stay put, and then he's leaving with all the other men to search for gas. The women hover around me — Some sitting, some leaning, some standing, but all of 'em starin'. Except for poor, poor Andrea, who's not staring at anything other than her shoes. I feel like Andrea.

More apples and water get passed around.

"Sweetie, I just wanted to tell you I'm so sorry." Lori says to me. "I should have been paying more attention. I shouldn't have let you run off."

I force myself to look at her. "Don't be sorry. It's my fault."

"Oh," She sighs, and she just looks so, so sad. "Please don't say that. It's not your fault."

But, "It is my fault." I tell her. "I ran away."

Carol speaks up. "Honey, what happened was not your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was just... a terrible, terrible accident."

Jacqui nods. "Don't blame yourself."

"Rick feels awful." Lori admits. "After Atlanta, after Merle... Now, this. God. He's just so torn up about it."

I shrink into my chair, 'cause I don't wanna hear a single word 'bout Rick, or his feelings. He saved me, but he's not my friend, and I don't have to care about his feelings; especially not when they're about murdering my family. I don't have to care about any of their feelings. I think they're forgetting that I'm also waiting to see if I die. They keep glancing at my skin, my eyes, and my fingers, which aren't twitching, yet — But, so am I. I don't want to die. I want to listen to the birds every day. I want to see my Dad, too. I want to watch the stars at night, and pick out the shiniest one.

"Okay," Is all I can croak out, 'cause there's something very thin inside of me that's stopping me from crying, and I don't wanna break it.

Then — "God," It's Andrea, and she's laughing. "She's dying! The kid is dying, people!"

I whip my head up. The other women gasp.

"Last thing she wants is you people pestering her all-damn day, so just do her a favor and shut your traps."

Everyone is gobsmacked, as Dale likes to say. Their mouths are hanging open, and their eyes are all shifty, like they're lookin' around to see if everyone just heard what they just heard. But, yep, they heard right. Andrea just said the word dying, which is basically a cuss word, and nobody can do anything to take it back.

You can't swallow words you already said. I know that, 'cause I've tried, like the night I told my Dad he killed my Momma.

"Or Daryl's gonna come back and do it for you."

Andrea don't even care 'bout the stares. She goes back to eating her apple. 

"I don't think that's appropriate," Lori tells her.

Jacqui sighs. "Let's just talk about something else, y'all, huh? Like, uh..."

"There's nothing else to talk about, Jacqui. We're all just playing the waiting game, here. Whether we talk about the damn weather or not isn't gonna change the fact that we might have to shoot Harley in the face in a few hours."

Andrea's right, and nobody can change it.

After that, all we do is wait, and wait, and wait, for me to start twitching. Nobody likes this game.

To keep busy, me and the other kids scribble flowers and stick-men into the tarmac with some chalk that Carol finds in a trunk, and she makes sure to compliment my drawings way more than the others, even though they're kinda wonky. Carl snacks on some jerky. Then Dale wonders on back, and we get to listen to some more of his poetry book, which has teeny-tiny letters that he needs to put his glasses on to read. It makes him look more like everybody's grandpas than he already does. My Grandpappy Dixon, though — He wouldn't read no damn poetry book. He'd chop it up and use it for firewood, just so he could burn some more poetry books.

We're on a poem about a newborn lamb when the men come back.

They're all carrying jerry cans and plastic tubing and heavy, droopy frowns that mean bad news. Glenn flops onto a chair and when he shakes his head, sweat goes flying off, and his arms are covered in black car soot. Morales and T-Dog pinch and shake out their sweaty shirts.

My Dad stands behind my chair, squeezing onto the muscles on either side of my neck.

"You eatcher apple?" He murmurs to me.

"Yeah," I murmur back, and he nods.

Everybody straightens.

"Alright, y'all." Rick hooks his thumbs into his belt. "At the moment, we're only getting gas from 'bout one outta every fifteen cars we check, which'll have us back on the road in about a couple hours. I'm aware that ain't ideal. I'm aware we're on a time limit, here. But we don't have a lotta options."

"There's space in the RV." Comments Dale. "We could ditch one of the cars; pile in the RV."

Shane tries to laugh. "That's a whole lotta pilin', there, Dale."

Glenn looks like he hates to say it, but, "He's right. We've already got me, Jacqui, Carol, Sophia and Andrea crammed in there."

Dale deflates and goes back to stroking his beard.

"Now, this here's a parking lot, people." Shane announces. "There's cars here. There's gas. We're just gonna have to stick it out 'til then."

There's a general wave of disagreement passing over everyone's faces.

I know what they're thinking.

"Is someone going to say it?" Carol huffs, and nope, nobody's going to say it, so she has to. "Harley can't just, 'stick it out'."

We haven't had a real conversation about this. My imminent maybe-death has only been passed around in whispers and mumbles, like a bad stain nobody wants to hold onto for too long. Nobody wants to mention my weak stomach or just how much I've been hurling up my food, because that way, it can't just exist in the background, anymore. It has to take a front seat, where they can see it; where it's scarier.

As soon as the words come out Carol's mouth, eyes start jumping around, as if it's easier to discuss my death if they can't see me.

"I'm sorry, but that's the reality, here." Carol's taking a page out of Andrea's book. "Daryl, how many times has that girl thrown up today?"

His hands grip me harder. "'Bout... 'Bout four-five times."

"Right. So, I think it's time we throw the possibility of those scratches bein' nothing out the window." She says, grim.

Glenn rubs at his forehead. "Oh my God."

"W— H-Hold on, now." Dale's stuttering, shaking his head. "We can't just diagnose her from— from one measly symptom."

"This doesn't change anything." Shane suddenly argues.

My Dad starts, "The Hell it don—"

"We're headed to the CDC for a cure." Shane talks over him. "We're headed there, and that's it. It's all we can do."

Dale's just totally appalled. "I think there's a lot more we can do."

"That supply run from a few weeks ago," Glenn's frowning, "I brought back some good stuff. Maybe that can... Stave it off."

It, meaning the germs reaching my brain, once and for all. I recall the posters in my old science classroom, where a person's head would be sliced in half and you could see all the brains on the inside, and I imagine that it's my brain, and that there are millions of little ants chewing away at the edge, and then one of them breaks through, 'cause all it takes is one, and they eat my brain from the inside-out like an old melon, then that's the end — I die.

My Dad can tell what I'm thinking, 'cause he's magic like that, and he silently takes my place in the chair, and sets me in his lap. His arms wrap around my waist, and Jacqui reaches over to put her hand over mine.

You can't stave off turning into a walker. You can try — Like, with cables, and apologies — but really, it doesn't work like that. We're all just meat and bones and guts and skin, and rules like dying apply to us, even if we don't want 'em to. We're all just animals, even if we read poetry.

Shane scrubs his face with his hand, and he looks like he really wants to call Glenn a cuss word. "Glenn—"

"It doesn't work like that, I know." Glenn snaps. "You think I don't know that? You think I'm an idiot? You think I wanna watch a kid die?"

Rick pipes up. "Nobody's sayin—"

"'Nobody's saying that', I know," Glenn argues, "But you're all thinking it. What? You don't even want to try?"

"No. It's a good idea." Rick disagrees. "In fact, I'm all for it. Daryl?"

My Dad's gone quiet. He gives a nod.

"Well, then I don't think it's anyone else's decision to make." Rick concludes. "What do we have?"

"Kaopectate, Ibuprofen. Nausea stuff." Glenn lists, calmer now.

"Still stuck sitting on our asses, though." Morales sighs, holding Eliza, who's not full of germs. "Wasting time we don't have."

"CDC's not going anywhere." Jim shrugs.

Suddenly, Dad's not quiet anymore. "How 'boutchu go ahead and share whatcher fuckin' problem is with the class?"

Jim claims, "Don't got one."

"Nah, matter fact," Dad scowls, "You know what? You said my daughter's life ain't worth a few drops of gas this mornin', if I 'memmer right, so why don't you go ahead and shoot a fuckin' hole in yer head 'fore I get up 'n do it for you? Right here, right now?"

Jim's jaw drops. "Woah—"

"Hey — Let's just get back on track, here." Rick holds up his hands, always the peacemaker. "There's no need for this."

Jacqui whips her hand in the air, squinting. "Hang on. What?"

"Yeah," Dad's getting heated; his voice higher. "This fuckin' string-bean bastard, you know what he said to me this mornin'? He said, 'Let's just think 'bout how much gas this is gonna cost us', with some lil' fuckin' smirk, when we were talkin' about savin' Harley."

Jim bursts, "Oh, that's compl—"

Conversation breaks out, but my Dad's shouting over all of it. "Yeah, man! S'what you said, right to my face!"

"That's—" Lori's gobsmacked. "I don't even know what to say to that, Jim."

"H— H-hang—" Rick's trying desperately to squash all this arguing down, but the shouting and the bodies — standing, now — are drowning him. Underneath me, my Dad's legs are jerking up and down, up and down, like that day in camp, 'cause he wants to get up and beat Jim until he's just a lumpy, red smear in the road. Suddenly, there's half a dozen people out of their chairs, forming one hostile voice. "H— Hang on, a secon—"

"You know what," Shane's booming, "I thought there was something off 'bout the way you said that, Jim."

"Is that true?" Glenn's asking, eyebrows screwed tight. "That's messed up, man."

Morales frowns, "Would you say that about my daughter?"

"Calm down," Dale echoes Rick. "Calm down."

"What, you gonna hit me, now? That's whatcher gon' do?" My Dad goads, grinnin', now. "Really?"

"Calm down," Jacqui says.

"Calm down," Lori says.

"Calm down!" T-Dog says.

"Calm down!!" Rick bellows, furious, absolutely furious, and there's a cracking gunshot — a bang — aimed into the clouds, and then silence.

Absolute, total, complete silence. It's so solid that people are stuck in it. So solid that I can hear the bird on the hood of Dad's truck jumping back and forth on its little talons, twenty feet away. It watches, oblivious, hopping and shuffling, until people start remembering to breathe again.

Even Rick is disturbed, and he's the one that pulled the trigger. "That's enough," He exhales, lowering his revolver.

"That's gonna pull a lot of geeks this way." Glenn whispers.

"Good thing we can leave right now, then." Rick pants, and he's staring down Jim, now. What does he mean? Leave right now? But we're stuck here. He said that. His cheekbone looks like an old plum, from where my Daddy punched him a couple days ago, and his eyes; they're piercing, like sharp, blue shards of glass melting under a blowtorch, and suddenly, he don't look like much of a peacemaker no more. "'Cause, Jim, your seat just became available."

His seat? What's that mean? Is he—?

"You're leaving me here?" Jim cries.

"Next bullet's goin' in your leg." Rick tosses the words at Jim, tired. "You doin' this willingly, or not?"

Jim cries out again, and that's how he goes down — He goes down crying and kicking and screaming, bastards, bastards, bastards, but the words mean nothing, and Dale's tryna stop them but neither him or Jimmy are strong enough to fend off four other grown men. I find myself in Lori's arms, right beside Carl, watching with my heart in my mouth, as Shane, Rick, Morales, and my Dad pin Jim down like he's an angry cat, and beat his fighting hands into a long coil of rope that they twist — God, you don't have to do this, please, you don — it tight, and then they anchor him to a shopping cart bay, and they leave him there, with nothing but a jar of peanut butter, a steak knife, an unloaded gun, and their bitter regards.

Dale's blubbering, speaking up for everyone who won't; can't. "This isn't right—"

But they brush past us, into the cars. Rick grabs Lori. My Dad grabs me. Shane starts unloading his Jeep, 'cause we're leaving that behind, too.

"We're leaving Jim?" I shriek quietly to my Dad, who's ushering me back into the truck.

He yanks my seat-belt down. "Ain't our fault," Click. "Fella deserves it."

"But—"

The door slams shut.

"Please!" Jim cries. I scramble to peer outside, and I see him kicking the air. "Please! I'll die out here!"

"If yer smart, you'll cut yourself out with the knife, and you'll ration the jar." Daddy calls out as he hops in the driver's seat. "But it's like I said." Slam. "Bag'a bricks."

"No, no, no! Please!"

More doors slamming shut; engines roaring to life. Rick shouts out the radio channel, again, as a reminder.

I can still hear Jim screaming when we peel out onto the highway.

"Everything lookin' good up front? Over."

A pause.

"All's good. Over."

I never wanted this.

Outside the windows, the sunset is melting purples and oranges all over each other like hot wax, and the tips of wheat fields are whipping past.

There's a long list of things that have happened the past few weeks that I never wanted.

I never wanted to leave home. Homes aren't meant to be left. That's why we got a word for house and a word for home, 'cause they're different. House is the walls and the bricks and the paint, but home is the twenty-year-old sofa that's in it, and the people that have been on it, and the old pictures stuck on the fridge. It's where I made memories in the day and dreamt about 'em at night. It's where I took my first steps, and it's where I cried, and laughed, and broke my first bone, and got my height scribbled into the doorframe. It's where I miss — deeply, like a wound I can't put a bandage on — every moment of every day. It's where I won't get to grow up. I never wanted to drive for days and go nowhere. I never wanted my Uncle Merle to turn into a star. I never wanted a dead man to scratch my own death into my skin, and there be nothing I could do to stop it besides stave it off. I never wanted to die; not yet, not now, not before I could live.

And parents aren't supposed to live longer than their kids. It's just one of them rules that everybody's born knowing.

I think that's why my Dad is cryin' again; crying, crying, crying, and he just can't stop. My Daddy never cries. Toughest man in camp, I'd say.

The common assessment, now, is that I really am infected. I'm going to die.

I remember my Dad's wallet, with all the photos tucked into the sleeves. I remember all the other photos we lost, or left, or didn't think to capture. I remember my last birthday, which was my seventh. Such a small number. Not even all my fingers. Some people get two number-candles on their cakes before they die. I only got one, but that's okay, 'cause I got other things. I got a day just for me, and I got I love you's, wrapped up in pink and even pinker birthday paper, and I got it all even though my Daddy didn't have much money. I got to live. I don't know how many days are in a year, but I know it's a lot. There's even more in seven years. I got to be alive for every single one of them. Isn't that lucky?

We left Jim to die, and I never wanted that, neither. Nobody deserves to die. I don't.

"Daddy, are you gonna leave me?" I ask. Maybe I won't get shot; I'll get left. I don't know which one I'd choose. I don't wanna choose at all.

"God," My Dad snuffles, smackin' away his tears. "Don't fuckin' ask me that."

"I— It's gonna happen, though." The germs will reach my brain, and that'll be it. "E-everyone thinks so. I'm sick."

"Shut the fuck up, Harley." My Dad whispers, and I wish he was singing again. 

"Dad—"

"Don't."

"Maybe you should— Maybe you shoot me instead."

"This weren't never supposed to fuckin' happen!" He shrieks, suddenly, and punches the horn. "Fuck!"

Then, right on time, the walkie chimes.

"Daryl?"

Do we need to shoot your daughter in the face? Is it over?

With a rage like I ain't never seen before, my Dad steals the walkie off the dash and smashes it into the horn, over and over again, honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, until a piece breaks off, and then another, and another, until the buttons all pop off and the plastic cracks in half, like a broken heart. Then he chucks the whole thing out the window, and it's gone forever, and he sucks in a breath that sounds like a chainsaw tryna start, and he cries.

I feel sick again. My stomach's ballooning up and shrivelling down at the same time, and I'm gonna be sick.

By now, all the cars are pulling over, 'cause my Dad honked the stop, pull over signal ten times over, and then some.

"Daddy, I need to get out—" I'm sayin', gagging.

"Fu— I know. I know." He's sayin' back, and he swerves onto the side of the road, into the wheat.

He leaps out, slams the door shut, and runs around to my side, but by the time he yanks my side open, I've already thrown up all over my feet. I lurch, and then there's more, and my stomach empties again, and there it is — I see the apple, and I see- I see blood, streaked through it, like red-brown poison. I cough more up while my Dad soothes my back and holds my hair out the way.

Then, there's Rick and Dale, standing at either one of my Dad's shoulders.

"Is she okay?" Dale's panting.

"That's it. There you go." Dad beats on my back, and I spit the last of the apple-slime onto the floor. "It's done?"

I murmur a uh-huh, and then I realise what I've done. "I'm sorry."

"Hell you got to be sorry 'bout?" He frowns, still half-crying; still mourning me while I'm still here.

"The— The truck."

"Huh? The tr—?" He huffs, confused, and then shakes his head. "Truck's the last thing I give a damn about."

Rick's tryna put a smile on, but it don't look quite right. "We've got tissues in our car. We can clean it."

I wish they'd all turn away, 'cause it's like I'm naked. My vomit, and the blood, is just sittin' there like a puddle of evidence and dead people germs, for everyone to see. My Dad pulls me out by my wrist, and then we're sitting on the steps of the RV, and he's cradling me, and I'm crying like a baby, and the seven years mean nothin', 'cause I'm zero years old again, like I was in that picture at the hospital, a little pink newborn, so new and alive, and I just need my Momma and my Daddy to kiss it all better again. All I got is my Daddy, now. He's tryin'. But all the kisses in the world won't bring my Momma back. They won't give me another birthday. 

"Sh, sh, sh, baby." He's sniffling into my hair, kissing where it meets my skin. "Shhh. I'm sorry, baby. Stop cryin'. Stop cryin'. Please."

But I can't. Not when I'm dying, and I ain't even lived, yet.

Lori and Rick clean the car out for my Dad, and when I climb back in ten minutes later, it's like it was never there, but we all know it was.

We continue driving into the night.

Carl can balance spoons on his nose.

He can also bend his thumb all the way back, twirl a coin like a spin-top, and cross and uncross his left eye. It's pretty cool. Now I know five things about Carl.

"Check this out." He says.

We're sitting at the RV booth, 'cause I get to sleep in here again, tonight. Morales is driving my Dad's truck for us. It's nearly us kids' bed-time, but Carl's trying all this stuff to make me feel better, and his Momma's lettin' him. My stomach's still whirling around, and my eyelids feel bloated, but it's working. I'm not crying anymore, not so much.

"How do you do that?" I giggle, sniffing. He passes me the spoon, and I try copying him.

I wish we had actual toys to play with, but we just gotta make do with what we got.

He shrugs. "I don't know. I just kinda do it."

Lori's chuckling to herself in the passenger seat, next to Dale.

I drop the spoon. This is hard.

"Show me again," Demands little Eliza, who looks far too grumpy for someone so small. "Show me how it works."

Carl's like Glenn — He's a good sport — So, he tilts her head and moves her spoon around until it stays, and she's giggling, too.

"Wanna see what else I can do?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

There's more? Just how cool is Carl?

He takes Sophia's spoon, and he takes my spoon, and then he grips them both so they're cupping each other. He shakes them. Cluh-clink, cluh-clink, cluh-clink. Music!

"I need a piece of wheat to chew on or something." He smiles, pulling an uh-huh, look how awesome I am, face. "Cowboys used to play the spoons, right?"

I grin. "You should have a cowboy hat, like your Dad's. Then you'll be a real cowboy."

"And a horse!" Sophia adds.

"And a gun!" Louis snarls, excited.

Lori gives us a sassily raised eyebrow. "Uh. I don't think so."

It's so silly that we all start laughing together. Carl, the spoon-clinkin' cowboy of the West.

"Oh, and did you know—?" Carl's got another trick. He presents the spoon to me, backwards.

My upside-down reflection stares back at me. For a second, I'm curious, but the feeling quickly fizzles away. Is that really what I look like? The little girl in the spoon got blonde hair that's all spillin' out of a rushed pony-tail in shoulder-length strips, and choppy bangs, and heavy brown eyebrows at the bottom of her face. She got one little black mole dotted onto her cheekbone, a fairy kiss, like Momma called 'em, and another one under her nose. She got purple-ish craters above her lids. She got red cheeks. She got a pair of green eyes, blinking at me from her upside-down prison inside the spoon. She's me, but inverted; wrong. I don't like this trick.

The girl in the spoon is frowning.

"What is it?" Carl asks. He pulls the spoon away and inspects it. "It didn't work?"

"N— No." I quickly tell him. "It worked."

"Then, what's wrong?" He asks, but not in the way adults do. There are no layers to anythin' he says, 'cause he ain't learnt to add 'em, yet.

I think of the spoon-girl, and I compare her to my school photo — The right way up; healthy, a neat ponytail.

"I just look so different," I shrug, 'cause I ain't learnt neither.

Sophia looks like a little dolly when she pouts. "Yeah..."

"What's it feel like?" Eliza asks.

She leans forward, 'cause she wants to hear a secret. Am I allowed to tell her one?

Everyone at this table's seen somebody turn before. Sophia saw her Dad turn. Eliza and Louis saw their Aunt and Uncle turn. Carl was there when Amy... I saw a hitch-hiker turn, once. There's not really an exact moment where someone changes. There's no switch. There's only a slow decline, and then a last breath. Then somebody else wakes up, in your body. This is what I say to the other kids. I think they're picturing each step happening to me as I describe them.

Louis goes, "Woah..."

Then, Eliza asks the un-askable. "Harley, you should show us what's under the bandage."

We all look at her. A proposition. We're all thinking, is she crazy, but then I say the un-sayable, 'cause lookin' won't hurt.

"Alright," I murmur, glancing at Lori and Dale. Their backs are turned. "I'll just lift the corner, okay?"

They all nod and lean even closer.

I pick at the edge of the seal, and it burns, just a little, and nope, the adults are still not looking, so I keep peeling and peeling until there's a little hole. We all contort ourselves to peer inside, and I keep going and going, and it's halfway off, now. It's like I'm opening a little door into a different dimension. I'm expecting melting, pizza-cheese skin, and maybe some gross, alien fungus carpeting a layer of yellow ooze, and blood bubbling up under my muscles, and we can almost see the scratches, now, and I wonder if—

"Hey." I whip my head around — we all do, like meerkats — and it's not Lori, or Dale. It's my Dad, coming in through the bedroom door. He's too tired to be proper angry, so he just sighs. "What the Hell do you think you're doin'?"

"Sorry—"

Wordlessly, he comes up to me and sticks the patch back down.

"What's going on back there?" Lori asks. "You guys behaving?"

"Takin' her bandage off." Dad snitches on me.

He kisses me quickly on the hair to balance out the scolding. He's never done that before. Then he pulls a box of pills off the kitchen shelf.

"Time for yer second one of these."

Lori gets up to pour me a cup of water, and Dad pinches my nose, and I swallow the pill in one gulp.

This is what some people would call a last ditch attempt — Racing to the CDC, filling my stomach with Glenn's medicine, and not being allowed to fiddle with the bandage, to stave it off. Rules are just words, but I'm supposed follow 'em, anyway. That's why I say I'm sorry again, but Dad don't like that, either. He says it's bed-time.

"Say goodnight to everyone," He tells me, 'cause he likes when I have good manners.

He grabs my pyjamas off the back of the driver's seat, where Dale's trying not to fall asleep on his face. I say goodnight to the other kids, and Lori, who gives me a hug. Dale calls out a goodnight, too, and he reaches over to ruffle my hair, like a grandpa. Then my Dad tugs me back into the bedroom we spent the last night in. The kids mumble goodnight to me again as I'm dragged away, but they feel a little too much like goodbye.

I hope Carl knows he made me feel better, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Apparently, we're on the outskirts of Atlanta now. When I peek outside, I see skyscrapers.

"We're gonna make it, right? To the CDC?"

I won't run outta time?

Dad freezes for a second.

"I'll drag you all the way there myself if I gotta." Dad says, and I know he's dead serious. Outta Hell on hot coals.

We're not stopping for the night. We can't. The engine's rumbling below me when I hop onto the bed.

My Dad grabs my hair-brush from our back pack on the floor, and he settles himself behind me on the covers to do my hair. My Daddy's a Dixon, and that doesn't just mean that he looks out for me and hates when people see him cry. It means that instead of saying I love you, he'll show me I love you. This is what he's doin' right now, by carefully running the brush through my messy hair, petting my baby-hairs into place, and threading his fingers through it all from scalp to end. He's done my hair so many times that I couldn't count, even if I used all my fingers and all my toes. He'd brush it while I sat in the bath when I was littler, and when he was gettin' me ready for school. He ain't that good at it, 'cause his hands are made for tools and guns instead of little-girl-hair, but that don't matter. The I love you matters more.

After that, he helps me into my pyjamas even though I don't need any help at all, and I realize that he's got that same intense look on his face that he did on that night in the quarry. It's not so much flaming, anymore. It more of a sinking, heavy look. I study it as he wraps me up in my button-up dinosaur pyjama shirt. Does he think this is the last time he'll put me to bed? 

"Can you sing for me tonight, Daddy?" I ask, suddenly. If he gets to brush my hair and do my buttons, then I want to hear him sing.

He was just about to do up the last button. He hesitates.

"Yeah." He says. Then, he pinches my cheek, and he finishes looping the button. "I'll sing, little chicken. Lay down."

I burry myself in the thick covers. My Dad sets down his crossbow on the side-table, and shirks off his red flannel shirt, leaving him in a white tank-top. It's warm enough in here that he can do that, and I wish it was his lamb-skull tank-top, the one with all the crumbs, and I wish I still had my Raggedy Anne doll, which Uncle Merle found on the side of the road but I loved with all my heart, anyway, and I wish we were home. He kicks off his mud-caked boots. That's the last step. This is it.

Dad clicks off the lamp.

The room turns dark, and he rolls onto his side, facing me, but on top of the covers. I reach out and touch his mole, 'cause it matches mine. Lots of him matches me. His blonde-ish hair, his thin mouth. If time let me, I might've looked a little like him when I grew older. Then, I touch my name, permanently marked into his skin. Another I love you, shown and not spoken. I wonder if this will be all that's left of me if I don't wake up. He watches me, and I must be pretty interesting, 'cause he does it for a while. It's like when he was staring at my baby picture. He cups his giant hand over the side of my head, and I can feel his thumb wagging back and forth. Then, he starts whisper-singing, and I close my eyes and I imagine home. Home, where I belong. Home, where everyone I love, plus me, are all still alive.

I dream of a tyre swing and baby lambs.

I hear retching outside.

It's so dark I can't even tell if my eyes are closed or not, and my Daddy's already half-way on his feet, but it's not me, this time. I was sleepin', just a second ago. He notices, and then he's just confused. Who's throwing up? The lamp clicks on, and ugh, that's real bright. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Dad's pulling his flannel back over his tank-top. He tells me to stay here, baby, and he grabs his crossbow and hurries outside. I crawl to the window.

We're pulled over in an emergency lane. The headlights are beaming a spotlight onto all the commotion.

It's Carl, hunched. He's throwing up over the guard rail, and Lori's crouched next to him.

Why's he throwing up?

My Dad pokes his head back in, hand outstretched, and he says I'm allowed to follow him outside, so I pad alongside him into the night. We reach the small crowd that's gathered around Carl, and I grab onto one of my Dad's belt loops and hide behind him, 'cause I'm scared. There's this terrible moment where I think that Carl is also bitten, or scratched, somehow, but Rick rips Carl's shirt off and rolls up his shorts, and nope, he's totally clean. Lori feels his forehead. It must be hot and wet, 'cause she frowns, but mostly, they're all just really, really confused. Weird, weird, weird.

"What's goin' on?" T-Dog asks, jogging over from one of the cars.

Dale answers, tense. "We're not sure, yet."

Rick searches for me and my Dad amongst the others. "Daryl, bring Harley over here."

We squeeze past some people and into the light. Dad stands me right next to Carl, and now I'm gettin' spun and poked and peered at.

First, me and Carl's skin is the same blotchy white. Weird. Then, our eyes are the same red. Weirder. We've both thrown up. Doesn't make sense.

"They have the same symptoms?" Jacqui asks.

How could we be the same typ'a sick, if he ain't even infected?

"How could this happen?" Glenn's asking for everyone.

"It can't be anything contagious, right?" Dale guesses. "Otherwise, we'd all have it."

Nobody knows what to do or say, 'cause this is the biggest, weirdest mystery in the world. Rick looks back and forth between Carl and me. Lori does, too. My Dad's got a frown on. But then my Daddy's eyes shift off my face and down to my arm, and he gets an idea and it's a weird one, 'cause he pinches the edge of my bandage, and I flinch, and then all in one go — ouch — he rips it off, just like he told me never, ever to do, and it lands on the road, and there's my arm.  The cars fill the silence with hums. Am I dreamin'? Am I really still in the RV, sound asleep? My arm— It's not fuzzy or melting or oozing. It's—

"It's healed?" Rick shakes his head, eyes wide, and he grabs my arm like my Dad, to bring it close to his face.

I can't believe it. My arm — It's healthily scabbed over, with not one skin cell outta place.

I gasp, "Daddy, my arm."

"Am I seein' this right?" Dad asks Rick and Lori, suddenly breathin' as if he's been running.

"It— It looks completely healed." Lori breathes.

Several people come forward to take a look at me. Nobody's quite believing it. I'm not—? I'm not dyin'? Is that what this means?

"Have either of you kids eaten the same thing these past few days?" Asks Shane.

It's a weird question, but I have to answer, so I think really hard and so does Carl. The fish fry? The peaches? The—?

"The jerky!" We both shout.

"The—?"

"Who made the jerky?" Dad's lookin' through the crowd; desperate, not breathing, not yet. "Who was it?"

"It was m— I made it." Glenn confesses, but he doesn't know what it is he's confessing to.

"How'd you make it?" Dad asks, and he's pointing, now. So many strange questions, tonight. "Tell me exactly how you made it."

Glenn stammers, and we all listen to him list his jerky recipe like it's the most important thing in the world. "W—Well, I guess I took that meat you bought back — The possum? — And I don't kno— I sliced it, and then I—" Dad barks at him to tell us the exact thickness of the cut. "I guess, like an inch. Then I smoked it, I guess, on a stick over the campfire. I don't know, man. I—"

"You ain't salted it? You ain't cut the fat off?"

Glenn's lost. "No. No, I guess not."

My Daddy, then, drops onto his butt on the tarmac and he does the most confusing thing. He huffs out a big lungful of air, like he's boutta cry, but he doesn't cry. He starts laughing. He starts laughing, hard, like it's all a giant, funny joke that no one has gotten until now. Rick stands and starts laughing too, but his eyes have gone wet, too, and slowly, surely, everyone else starts sighing and laughing and clapping. Even Andrea's smiling! I'm smiling too, because I feel like I'm allowed — Like there ain't some catch. The jerky. Glenn made botched jerky. All those times my stomach was clenching like a sore fist — I weren't dying. All those times I was hurtin', back at the quarry — It weren't nerves. It was the jerky, messin' up my insides, 'cause it weren't made right. Jacqui runs for the food supply and she comes back with a zip-lock bag full of Glenn's jerky, and—

"God!" Everyone cringes all at once.

It's absolutely covered in mold. It's the worst-cured jerky in the entire world.

"Daddy—?"

"It was the fucking jerky?" Glenn's never looked so happy to be an idiot. "It was the jerky?"

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." My Daddy grabs both my cheeks. "You're fine. You got food poisonin', baby."

"I'm not dyin'?" I ask, just so I can hear him say no again, and then I ask it three more times, just to be sure. My Dad kisses my forehead, and then I'm in a big, strong, hug, and I'm alive. I'm alive again! And I can feel my heart-beat in my chest, and I can breathe, and I can do whatever I want, 'cause I'm alive. All that pacing and worrying and breaking of hearts and grave-digging of old memories, just for it to be Glenn's fatty, unsalted jerky. He's coming closer, now, and my Dad pulls away from me just enough to let Glenn give me a little hug.

He almost killed me. I think that makes us friends, now.

"Hoo! Praise Jesus!" T-Dog hoots, and Carol thinks he's bein' silly, 'cause she slaps his shoulder.

"I'm not dyin'." I laugh.

It's like we've won the lottery. All one camp, all happy, together. Rick grabs my Dad's arm and gives him a nod, a nod that says, It's over now, and my Dad nods back. I think to myself, randomly, that this is what family looks like. None of us were born together, and we ain't even know each other before, but we're all cryin' and laughin' together, and we chose each other. We chose to be scared together, and now we get to be happy, together.

"Man, we gotta keep you away from the food for a while!" Shane's teasing Glenn. "I mean, whoo!"

"I love you, Daddy," I'm suddenly admitting to my Dad, under all the happy shouts, while he stares up at me in the light of the truck.

He says somethin' he ain't said in years. "I love you too, Harley."

I get another kiss on the head, and another hug, and maybe, I'm thinking, this could be home. I might get to grow up here, instead.

I'm alive.

"Somebody throw that damn bio-hazard jerky in the trash!"

Author's Note. Hehehe, that last scene. So much fun to write. Stupid Glenn.

There's actually quite a few lines of foreshadowing in all the chapters leading up to this one. We all knew that Harley was probably going to be fine, but I tried using the food poisoning to keep everybody on their toes. Drama. Gotta have it, hehe.

I really hope you enjoyed reading. Thank you for being here! :)

[influenzalake]

Batfam and Superfam + as Chapsticks

Bruce: Basic Medicated Blistex - everybody knows this one and has most likely used it at some point. mf burns your lips though, not for the faint of lip 

Selina: Vaseline Rosy Lip Therapy - one of the popular faves, this one is somehow always getting lost?         ((who else loves the pop and click)) 

Clark: Classic Burt's Bees - a sweet but strong lip balm, seen everywhere but also not for everyone

Lois: Classic Chapstick Cherry, Spearmint, and Strawberry Lip Balm - multifaceted, a balm for your best moments, iconic

Dick: Carmex Classic Lip Balm - the balm you swipe 30 layers on but this shit strong. prepare your lips for peeling and your nose for the fumes. do NOT underestimate.

Wally: Eos Vanilla Bean Lip Balm - so f*ing smooth but always gone when you need it, youll pat your pockets for a while until you realize you either left it, finished it, or lost it 

Starfire: C.O. Bigelow My Favorite Night Balm - this balm will change your life. You WILL be left with an inch thick coat of this stuff on your lips and you WILL never use anything else 

Jason: Vaseline Cocoa Butter Lip Therapy Tub - a little bit different form of lip care, but those who give it a chance will have the healthiest lips , you gotta let it set though! 

Roy: Palmers Coconut Oil Formula - overlooked until deeper into your chapstick journey unless you started here, now you open the cap just for the smell 

Tim: Chapstick Coffee Collection - no comment just laughs, leaning into that Tim Coffee Addict stereotype 

Conner: Eos Spheres (any and all flavors) - was SUPER (*) popular, huge surge, then faded into the background go queen live a normal life 

Damian: Carmex Cherry Medicated Lip Balm - if you open and apply this mf in a public space be ready for some looks. if you use this on the regular and dont flinch you either have broken glass for lips or you eat broken glass for breakfast 

Jon: Nivea Cherry Shine Lip Balm - super cute design super cute flavor but stronger than you think, you apply it in 3 swipes religiously no more no less 

Diana: Chapstick Classic Spearmint - apply at your own risk. seen as an "older person's" chapstick but really the person who uses this chapstick has seen their fair share and chews ice for fun

Harley: Lip Smacker Best Flavor Forever - the variety pack you find at your local Claire's but think about fondly when your brain gives you junior high memories at 3 am

((this is a FANFICTION, do not take as professional / genuine lip care advice. 

I AM NOT A DOCTOR.)) 

see my wattpad for photos

[chopcult]

From Ricky at @anchormoto - Hello hello here it is all done and got it fired up. Sometimes I need to stop the eternal hustle and just build something for fun. Motorcycles are supposed to be fun after all. Think once you make a living at it you have this battle that occurs in your brain. Work on bikes or ride bikes. I mean my kids like to eat and I have a record buying habit to support. But every once in awhile it’s really fun to whip out a bike with nothing but pure heart and soul. Looks rad and will ride even better. Again this bike came to me from a little old man who bought it new in 79. Reused as much as I could from the motor but is all freshened up now. Let the heat cycles begin. #anchormoto #purelove #motorcycles #79 #ironhead #harley #kickit #tight #fun #work #balance #ihavenone #radicalgarbage #chopper #forever #chopcult #enjoytheride https://www.instagram.com/p/CoKW-fwLDln/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[hotmessteaparty]

Hiiiiiiii 😍😘 Just wanted to stop by and LICK ALL OVER YOUR SEXY BLOG. Letting the world know you belong to me now, there's no going back. You're stuck. (Channeling my inner Harley here, annnd maybe a little Jacob, too 😏😉)

I love you so much, thank you for being the incredible person you are! My life is infinitely better with you in it! 😍😘

Aaaw you lovely motherfucker 😭💖💖 (channeling my inner Vaas here too 😏)

Gonna lick and claim you right back!! I'm so happy I have you in my live, you brighten up my fucking day and it's been such a blast knowing you ❤️ and damn right, there's no going back you are stuck with me in your basement forever 😏

Love you to the moon and back, I love your babes and thank you for introducing Harley & Evangeline to me!! They are now also stuck in my brain forever

[bergamo-money-bergamo-problems]

There was a great deal of tension in the air as Nina twitched and started to behave strangely. The glowing mark just above her cock, the way her body started to act stilted and awkwardly, the sheer force of her hands as they clasped Harley's wrists and held her to the bed. The danger. The excitement. Harley's laugh grew a tiny bit nervous and strained for a moment, looking up into those inky pools with sharp green shining out of them. And then, as she always did, she made a snap decision. One she wouldn't regret; or at least, wouldn't be able to once it was all over.

She stuck out her tongue and licked up the streak of vanilla-flavored cum Nina had left laid across her cheek and corner of her mouth, popping her lips with satisfaction as she pulled it back into her mouth.

"Did I fuckin' stutter? Put. A. Baby. In. My. Womb.," she demanded, her eyes twinkling with madness and delight. This was wrong, this was insane. She knew that. She chose that. A life of being pumped full of cum, of being used as a broodmare, her choices taken away from her, but only after she'd given that right to choose up herself.

"I don't care if you turn me into a slab of meat you mount on your wall and fuck into a paste every night, or take your time and fuck me casually every once in a while. I want it. I need it. I need your fucking baby in me, right here, right now. I want to be your little baby-makin' whore. I want to be ya slave. I want to wake up and feel your kid in my belly and know that once they're out of me, I get to do it all over, again, and again, and again. Forever." She stuck out her tongue as Nina's throbbing cock dragged across her face, running the flat, wet length along the underside of Nina's shaft and head, and wiggled her torso from side to side to batter the drooling cock with the cleavage of her tits. Her breath quickened, coming out in tiny little huffs. She knew this was a decision she couldn't come back from, but that just made it better. Her teeth glistened white as her smile spread from ear to ear, the tension in her body climbing until she spread her legs to give Nina easy access. She cocked her head mirthfully with one flick of her neck, and gave Nina one last cocky quip:

"So what're ya waitin' for? Fuck that baby into me, and my brains outta me. I ain't gonna need much to be ya live-in whore and baby mama."

⚔️?

(action starter? Action starter!)

Middle of the day patrol. You know what you do when you're paroling the streets in the middle of the day? Rescuing cats from trees, helping people who need directions. The kind of thing that USED to be done by the cops, back when they just patrolled the streets on foot and bothered to talk to people.

Still, if they were going to give up the space of being the friendly neighborhood person making people feel safer, Cybergoth certainly could fill that space! And nobody would comment about how she looked, considering how superheroes tend to be just... Like That.

You know, incredibly attractive people in skintight latex and the like.

Action? She had yet to really SEE action. She didn't have flight or anything like that, just a motorcycle and a connection to the police band. Most of the time, if something gets called in either the police are swarming the site (and wouldn't want some random goth forcing her way in.) or some other hero's already dealt with it!

No, sadly, so far her day to day was handing the nice little girl her cat (who was only mildly confused his claws couldn't stick into the strange woman who easily pulled it free from the tree branch with strength alone) and walking back to her bike, adjusting her goggles and breather mask that was the real component of her hero 'outfit'.

Seriously, what did it take to get some action around here? Something that stands out?

[kskdndksmdksndkwsk]

just watched the entirety of the harley quinn show and oh my god i already want to watch it again

[demoncrypt1066]

Can you please do a Suicide Squad imagine where the reader is Rick's wife and George flirts with her and rubs her thighs, which makes Rick extremely angry?

A/N Thanks for sending this in, I haven't written in like forever so sorry for the length of it. Hope you enjoy x.

Pairings: Rick Flag x Reader

Warnings: swearing and slight spoilers for the beginning of The Suicide Squad.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Marriage is a partnership between two people. Not someone becoming whole or completing you, it’s a partnership and every partnership s different. Requires a different way of doing things and in a situation like this, the only option was to be unconventional. There was no white picket fence, you weren’t a housewife, there was just an apartment barely lived in, rooms in the compound and then of course each other.

You knew it would be like this when you married him, looked in his eyes, the hope in it before you said yes. You both had a willingness to make things work and that you did. There were times you have separated thanks to Waller, but you were the best, better than that and you worked better as a team. It was why you married each other in the first place.

You each had a person, he had Harley, who was insane in the most entertaining way possible, and you had Harkness, or George, Boomer or even Captain when you wanted to see the tight jaw and frown of Ricks face. It was just a harmless game, a little flirting on both of your sides, you’d never let it get too far but it was a way to make things interesting on these suicidal missions you went on.

This took you to now, sitting in a plane, laughing at half the team being scared of a damn weasel, Boomer strapped down on your left while you stood, a hand on the strap above you. “I’m starting to think none of you have seen anything outside of a damn prison cell because how the fuck did you mistake a weasel for a dog.”

“Don’t group me in with these fuckers’ sweetheart, I actually have a brain on me,” Harkness said, looking up at you, the smile on his face the same as always, he was this close to saying something maybe a little too suggestive.

“Oh please, the only thing you’re good for here is your aim. I’m the brains of every operation were on.” You smiled down at him.

“My aim isn’t just good with these boomerangs.” You chuckled lightly but before you could respond Rick stalked over to your side of the plane.

“Aright everyone up, we’re jumping, Boomerang first,” Rick shouted the order looking straight at Boomerang as you opened up the door over the open sea. He stood at the opposite side of the doors, frown on his face per usual, Boomerang always the joker picked up on it.

“If you think I’m that much a threat to your girl you should make your aim a little better than mine.” You tilted your head at Rick with an expression he interpreted as leave it alone. He grumbled something neither of you caught and took a step away from the man.

“No, but seriously, you should leave that guy, he’s too boring for you,” Harkness said, making you scoff. His hand moved to tap your ass lightly and slide across your thigh.

“George, stop.” You said sternly pulling his hand roughly from you but before you could turn to scold him a foot hit his back making him stumble out of the plane.

It took you a moment after he hit the water for you to turn to Rick. “Did you have to kick him off the plane?”

“He’s fine.” He said, turning away from you gesturing for everyone to line up to jump.

You scoffed, looking between Boomerang in the water and your husband who couldn’t quite look you in the eye. “I’m not exactly sure he’s going to stay fine with that look on your face.”

“If he dies, he dies, it’s the job.” He shrugged.

“Rick are you being serious. Are you jealous right now? The man is literally a criminal, in jail and I can handle myself.” You said in disbelief at his actions.

“I know you can handle yourself I just don’t like the way he talks to you. Is he like this all the time, the two of you work together daily?” His shoulders relaxed with a sigh as he realised just exactly what he implied.

“He’s like that with everyone, and we make a good team, take it up with Waller if you have a problem.” You said back at him, turning to the open sea.

“We make a good team, he’s just second best.” He was starting to sound a little childish, it was making you get increasingly annoyed at the man.

“Seriously Rick I don’t sit here jealous of Harley I love the girl.” You said gritting your teeth.

“She’s right captain, she really does like me, remember when she got us that night out at a bar after Fiji.” You both turned to her, a light smile on your face and the signature frown on his.

“Everyone out of the damn plane.” He shouted.

Harley was the first to move with a salute, “fine captain, Mrs Captain.”

The others shuffled out slowly, wanting more to see the argument brewing between the two of you than facing whatever they would on that beach. The weasel was last, it tried to communicate something to the two of you but in his impatience, Rick pushed it into the water.

You watched for a moment, before looking at Rick who was huffing at the wall. “I’m not entirely certain the weasel can swim.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“No look.” The weasel flounders for a moment as the both of you jump down. Waller confirms that the weasel has died as Savant drags it onto the beach.

Instead of carrying on with the mission like professionals, Rick looks at you about to say something when you cut him off “I’m not having this argument with you on this damn beach in the middle of nowhere. Especially not about fucking Harkness. What is it are you insecure, of him? How many times do I have to say he’s in jail?" You sighed deeply before looking him straight in the eye, "I love you, I chose you I married you, Rick”

“He shouldn’t be touching you like that.” You groaned at him.

“And he won’t again, I would have handled it had you waited 30 seconds.” He turned to you with a sigh pulling you into him with his free arm. “Are you alright now.” You whispered.

“Yeah, it's fine, just try not to die.” He kissed your forehead and you smiled up at him.

“I love you too Rick.”

Just when you were about to move into your own position the comms opened up, “can you stop with the sappy shit and do your damn job.” Waller said sternly from her office.

“Yes ma’am.” You both mumbled in unison, smiling at each other before you walked into the absolute shit show of a mission.

[hotdamnhunnam]

Congrats again on 2K. i’m so happy for you ❤️

For the emojis: 🔥☕️🚧

For the character: Jax, i feel like those emojis have a Jax vibe

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! And thanks for the congrats! 💗

..................................................

Roadblocks Don’t Suck

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, car sex (quick & rough, light choking, Jax’s leather gloves (they’re a whole kink)) Word Count: ~1.4k Emoji Prompt: 🔥☕️🚧 (key words are in bold)

Jax Teller is a lot of things. Pussy-whipped isn’t one of them, but somehow when you ask for things he gives in to a ton of them. On some level in his alpha male soul that sort of stings.

He’s in the driver’s seat grumpy and grumbling like a five-year-old. You’re really in the driver’s seat with all the power that you hold, over the prince of Charming, destined to be king.

He lights a cigarette. The little flame matches his mood flickering sharply with resentment and regret, that he had caved to what you said.

“How’s your goddamn coffee,” he snaps, bitter and full of sass. Gruffly, to hide the fact that you can turn him into such a goddamn softie.

“It’s fucking lovely,” you proclaim, taking another sip and gloating without shame. This morning you’d asked Jax to drive your car to where the two of you are headed, rather than taking his Harley as he typically prefers instead. You wanted to sit comfortably with your coffee and finish up the book you’ve almost fully read.

He doesn’t know yet you were also hoping you could give him road head.

“Fuck!” Jax suddenly rasps as he steps on the brake just when you reach the end of your book, causing you to look up out the windshield in shock. It’s just a bit of bad traffic but your man sounds as furious as if your car was hit by a damn truck. “Ugh, there’s a fucking roadblock. This shit fucking sucks.”

Jax really just can’t deal with traffic at a standstill. He is seething, heavy breathing, living proof that looks can kill.

Glimpse flashing lights and obstacles with slanted black and yellow stripes to mark construction that’s in progress up ahead. Prince Fuming grits his bright white teeth around his cigarette like he wants someone dead. Possibly you. “See, bitch if we were on my bike I could’ve just driven right through…”

“Would you just stop? Here, I’ll give you a handjob,” you decide, casting your finished paperback off to the side. Sometimes—a lot of times—you’d rather make Jax Teller cum than hear him talk. “Shut up, just sit back and enjoy your smoke and let me stroke your cock.”

“What are we, fifteen-year-old kids? You’ll grab my dick and let me grope your tits?” he laughs, as you reach in his jeans to grip and squeeze his massive shaft. “Get down and suck.”

You take your hands out of his pants and cross your arms over your chest tightly, to tell him no such luck. “Maybe I would have if you’d asked nicely, you bossy little fuck.”

“You love it when I’m bossy.” Jax is well aware that his dominance gets you wet and juicy. “Know it hits you in your kinky little pussy.”

“You don’t know shit about my kinks,” you lie.

“You think?” he challenges with a dark glimmer in his eye. The heat of hell behind his smile. Glances out the window at the standstill traffic and decides to put the car in park so he can make this goddamn ride worthwhile.

Asking nicely isn’t really Jax’s style.

You can act like you don’t want it but there’s no point in denial. Every goddamn thing about him drives you wild.

When he wants something he takes it—bends your will to fight him off and fucking breaks it—snaps a finger and you’re naked—he makes sure you want it wholeheartedly too—but that shit’s never hard to do.

He always has you spouting off a senseless stream of oh God Jesus Christ Jax yes fuck yes in two seconds or less. Knows he’s your ever-living weakness. Face you see when you scream Jesus. Knows you’re his to play with any way he pleases. Knows just what buttons to press, to get his girl to be a wet whimpering mess.

Has you spread out on the backseat, shaking in heat, as he strips off your summer dress. Stays fully clothed because he knows it’s fucking torture when he doesn’t let you cleave against the smooth skin of his chest. Settle for clutching at the leather of his vest. The leather Jax Teller wears best.

Or is it…? Though you’ve never mentioned this before, Jax saw the sparkle in those pretty eyes of yours, when you watched his hands on the steering wheel clad in his leather gloves and thought that shit’s fucking exquisite.

To be honest it’s ridiculous that he’d wear leather gloves to drive a car. Today’s ride isn’t even far. You know it’s just so he can feel more like he’s riding on his Harley and it’s dumb as fuck but you don’t care about that given what a slut you are. Jax in the leather of his kutte is hot enough—but these damn gloves… they have you seeing fucking stars…

You’d wanted him to push your head deep in his lap while you bent down to suck him off. Feeling the smooth warmth of the leather in your hair and on your cheeks as you devoured his enormous cock and showered it with love.

He’d like that very fucking much, without a doubt, but in this moment he would rather see your gorgeous glowing face than have it buried in his crotch. More in the mood to fuck your pussy than your mouth. He wants to watch, the way your inner slut is spinning out—surrenders to his touch… the way your features melt, descending into ecstasy past anything you’ve ever fucking felt… as he traces his thumb across your bottom lip with one hand while the other frames your hips—taking you in his leather grip—tight as a belt, sharp as a whip.

And it’s insane the way it makes your pussy drip. Your brain is on a fucking trip. Can leather get you fucking pregnant? On the road the traffic’s still completely stagnant, but your man will have to get back in the driver’s seat again soon once the cars begin to move. There’s not a lot of time to get into the groove. No time for fun and games and foreplay—just a frantic feral fuck here on the freeway—love and lust one and the same to make and take when you two have nothing to prove.

Outside of sex, you know that it’s your job as Jax Teller’s old lady to continually kick his ego down a couple pegs. But it’s a different fucking story when he’s hovering above you and all set to shove his meat into the aching soaking heat between your legs.

A piece of prey for him to eat. To read your body as it breaks and burns and begs. Jax is the undisputed king when he has you spread in his bed or the backseat. And as his leather-clad hand wraps around your throat you gasp at how it feels so sweet because you know what’s coming next…

He applies just the perfect pressure and oh fuck you’ve never felt such perfect pleasure.

You can feel his power pouring through the leather. You can feel it pounding through your blood, as he plows deep inside your pulsing cunt, that fucking instant, with a savage fucking grunt, rock hard as he drives home and hits a flood, ‘cause you’ve never been wetter. You’re his fucking slut. Forever.

Two or three bucks of his hips—he sucks the prayer of his name off of your lips—tightens that leather fucking grip—your grip on consciousness begins to fucking slip…

Just came undone, though this had only just begun. He spills inside you that same second and you’re both sprawled on the seat sex-dumb and drunk.

Two seconds later all the cars outside decide to fucking honk.

He really doesn’t give a fuck. You’re both so bulldozed by the love you made you probably wouldn’t notice if this steamy little car of yours got totaled by a truck. Honk all they want for all you care—the two of you are far beyond the world out there—you’re stuck in heaven with no plans to come unstuck.

Maybe try fucking one more time to piss off everyone outside and push your luck.

Jax reads your mind because it’s his. Leather glove soft around your throat now as he smiles through a cigarette-and-coffee-flavored kiss. “Maybe roadblocks don’t suck.”

..................................................

Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

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[the-ace-with-spades]

I forgot to say that in the meantime, ignition chapter 3 is coming soon:

“Isn’t that your firefighter?”

The question Javy asks doesn’t register at first — the Hard Deck is already really loud, even though the evening is only about to begin and there are some people waiting for them to free up the darts so the chatter is constant  — so his brain freezes for a second.

“He’s not my—Wait, what? Where?”

Javy grabs his arm before he can turn around toward what Javy’s been looking at a second ago.

“Play it cool, Seresin,” he says. “You don’t want him to think you’re too crazy about him.”

“It’s not like I’m stalking him,” Jake defends half-heartedly, fidgeting. He wants to look, god, he wants to look so badly. Bradshaw won’t disappoint, he knows. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“He’s out of uniform but I could recognize that mustache a mile away,” Javy remarks as he lets go of Jake’s arm. “He’s not looking so you can take a peek. Just act normal, I beg you, act normal.”

Like Jake could ever be normal about Bradshaw.

It’s Bradshaw, he’s standing at the bar, talking to Penny and some old-timer, turned half-away from them and—It’s Bradshaw and Jake now can see his hair, too — dirty blond, curly, curling behind his ear a little, a sweaty strand flopping onto his forehead, his thick neck sharpened by the fade.

Jake licks his lips.

“Be normal,” Javy repeats. “Assholes aren’t sexy.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Jake walks up to the bar counter, winks at Penny when she notices him, and leans on his elbow, a confident grin on his face.

Third time is the charm, after all. It’s not like they’re going to keep meeting each other forever.

“As I live and breathe,” he says because it feels adequate.

Penny’s eyes widen but she quickly goes back to pouring the drinks. The old man that sits near Bradshaw stares at Jake for a second before turning away, leaning his chin on his hand.

Bradshaw turns toward him — he’s wearing a leather jacket, a Harley Davidson one, with flames on his sleeves and Ride Free at the back. There are droplets of sweat on his chest, it’s too hot for leather, and his white t-shirt is skin tight, almost see-through. He’s wearing an ugly Hawaiian shirt underneath, too, a blue one with obnoxiously orange palm trees.

The firefighter!Bradley and naval aviator!Jake thing you wrote about the aerial firefighters is so good oh my god it needs to be a full fic 

Thank you! I'd love to write it someday (all sorts of firefighting are so my jam) so hopefully we'll have it in a fic form at some point 👍

Hope you're doing well! And thank you for the ask!

[redwinterroses]

Could you do something with 3rd Life Joel?

Harley I saw your reply on my 2AM post last night and YES the weird Joel thing IS from your ask. XD I had no idea what to do with this originally because Joel has a lot of good moments but I really wasn't in the mood to do much angsty with him (Joel kind of... exudes anti-angst. He's just so factual about everything and the sarcasm is Off The Charts. I love it.)

But I was getting ready to sleep and randomly scrolled past a post about the myth of Black Shuck and the Wild Hunt and my brain was suddenly possessed by a wild spirit of fanfiction so.... Here. Have this Very Odd piece.

(It works best if you read it in a messy Irish accent, lol.)

(also this may be a lead-up to my Trickster God Scar and Archangel Grian thing someday. We'll see.)

~*~

The Wild Hunt

.

.

.

Listen here, child, and I’ll tell ya a tale: the tale of the Wolf King, and a Wild Hunt.

What? Ya know the story? Sit down and hush—you ain’t heard it the way I’ll tell it. And I should know: I seen him myself.

Would ya call yer old granny a liar? For shame. Sit down, you. Eat yer cookie. Listen.

(don’t pinch yer brother, ya nugget, or no more cookies for you.)

He were born out of flames and fire and smoke, y’see. Born when he died, t’be fair, but born in fire all the same. ‘Twas the Grave Maiden what set his roof aflame, she an’ her undead hoard, and of course the Trickster was there as well—fat lot o’ good that did the Wolf King. But he chose his bed, and he laid in it, and we all reap his dreams thereafter.

So there he were, all newly grey and smoulderin’ and his eyes a’burnt like coals and fire and his belly growlin’ for revenge. But he weren’t the Wolf King, not yet—he were then only a lowly red, with naught but one life—like you or me.

(how’d he start with more than one? Well he were a god, weren’t he? Or he were meant to be. No, I don’t know who choses them things—prob’ly the Archangel but don’t tell the cleric you heard that from me. He don’t like me puttin’ the Angel over the Trickster or the Red King. Clerics don’t have much imagination, y’see.)

So what did he do with his one life? With his one, bloody, beatin’ red heart? “Well,” he says, he says to himself, “I need me an army, if I’m gonna take down the Grave Maiden.”

(Shush, child, don’t spoil the story. Yer brother don’t know how it ends.)

“I need me an army,” says he. “But no one will ally with me, and if they did: I’d kill them anyway—” y’see, he had taste for blood, woke with it in his teeth, like any good wolf. “—I’d kill them anyway, the whole world is my enemy.”

So instead of allies, he went to the wolves. And he went to the great da wolf and the great mam wolf, and he says to them, he says: “Give me some of yer children, to fight in my wars.”

And of course the wolves said that was crazy, they weren’t gonna send their children off with some grey-faced red-lifer on a quest to fight the gods. But the Wolf King—

(No, he weren’t the Wolf King yet. No, I don’t know what he were called before. He didn’t matter before.)

The Wolf King—who wasn’t the Wolf King yet—bared his bloody teeth at them wolves and growled at them and said in the words of wolves that they could send their children with him, or he could take ‘em on his own.

Now, wolves is wise—remember that, nugget—wolves is wise, and wolves is knowing. And they looked at this red in front of them and they were knowing that he weren’t lying. And they looked at this red and they were wise and said “Fine, alright, you can take any of ourn that’ll go with ye.”

“Fair enough,” says he. And wolf pups ain’t so wise and so knowing as their parents—remember that, nugget, parents know more’n you give ‘em grief for—so he left with his army: a passel o’ young, foolish wolves.

(Well. Some might say they was foolish. Some might say they was grand and brave and the best wolves to be born on this earth. Some might say that they can be both. Don’t ya go askin’ the cleric though.)

So there he be, this Wolf King and his pack. His army: his teeth and his claws. And now, on moonless nights, ye can hear ‘em: forever huntin’ for the Grave Maiden and her Fallen One and her hordes—she’s his sworn enemy, ya know. But that don’t stop him fightin’ with the other gods too.

He loves to chase the Red King over the mountains—sometimes ya can hear them in the night, howlin’ back and forth at each other, the wolves runnin’ the King and his Hand over the peaks and into the desert dunes. And sometimes the Red King comes after him and the pack too, o’course, but that’s a story for another night and older ears. It’s a bit too sad for cookies by the fire.

(No, love—yer mum’d kill me if I sang the Fall of the Wolf King with yer brother here. He’s too young for that tale.)

He’ll never defeat the Grave Maiden, and he’ll never catch the Red King, and he’ll never burn down all the Flower Kingdom no matter how many times he tries: that’s the nature o’ the gods, y’see, and it’s what makes us happier creatures. ‘Cause they can never finish their stories—they’re trapped in a forever dance of give and take, alliance and war, love and hate. But it’s all real, an’ it’s all true.

And believe me or not but cross my one bleedin’ heart and hope to die (that’s another thing not to repeat in front o’ the cleric, ya hear me, child?): I seen him.

I seen the Wolf King. Just once, but that were enough.

I seen him under the moonlight, racin’ across the moors with his bayin’ army at his back an’ at his front an’ all around him: a sea of white fur, frothin’ about like foam on the surf. All their eyes were burnin’ in the moonlight—I swear it on the Dragon herself. Burnin’ red, they was, like the very flames the Grave Maiden lit. They looked right at me, and I knew—I knew I were his next kill.

(The Wolf King ain’t nice, child. Of course he ain’t nice. He’s mad is what he is. And madmen don’t make for good people to meet when you’re crossing the moors alone of a night, on yer way home from a dance in Crastleton.)

(What do ya mean ya don’t want a sad story? The sad part’s over, child—clearly I didn’t get gobbled up by the Wolf King’s pack, or else who’d be here tellin’ ya this story now, I ask ya? Sit back down with yer sister and listen.)

So I seen him over the crest of the hill, with the moon a silver ha’penny in the sky above and the stars all a-glimmer and a-shinin’ like the lights of the Widow’s crown. And they came down the hill and they swept over me—all them wolves, all glory and soft and fang and hot breath on me face and I closed me eyes—I did!—and just waited for them to gobble me up.

But ya know what happened instead? ‘Course you don’t, that’s why I’m tellin’ ya. Instead o’ teeth and claws and my one life bleedin’ out on the moor… I hears a voice.

No, he didn’t say nothin’, it weren’t words. The Wolf King don’t use human words no more.

But he were laughin’.

Imagine that! Imagine me, not so much older than you, love, alone out on the moor and ringed about by the Wolf King’s army all a’swirlin’ and boundin’ around me: and the Wolf King laughs.

I couldn't help meself, though I'll never know why: but I laughed too.

And then he grabbed me by me arm and we ran.

Oh, my children. If I live to be a thousand I’ll never forget that night.

(Don’t you repeat this to the cleric. Or yer mother. They both think I’m dotty as a bat as it is.)

The Wolf King and his pack run faster than birds can fly—faster than horses, faster than hounds. Faster than I could run, even then: but it didn’t matter. They carried me along, light as a feather and more nimble than a hare. Over the mountain, down the vale, through the ruins of the Flower Kingdom—yes, I’ve seen the Flower Kingdom, but only by moonlight and we didn’t stop, but I heard later that there was fires again so he must have gotten his bite at the Widow and the Soldier when I weren’t lookin’.

And all the while, the whole pack was howlin’. Howlin’ like the front gale of a nor’easter comin’ up the coast: the wolves was howlin’, and the King was howlin’, and Void take me if I weren’t howlin’ too, just like this—

(Oh hush, child, that weren’t even so loud. End’s all, if you ain’t a skittish little creature—get back here and eat another cookie.)

We ran all night, runnin’ and howlin’ and leavin’ fire and fang in our wake. But it couldn’t last forever, as the Wolf King only wanted me runnin’ with him as long as it was sportin’, and even with the wolves carryin’ me along I did get tired. More tired than I’ve ever been before or since, I don’t mind tellin’ ya.

So come mornin’, come dawnin’ of the next day’s sun, I find myself back on the road to Crastleton. My dress were in tatters and my feet were a bleedin’ mess of cuts and blisters that never did hurt, my hair tangled with wind knots and wolf hair, and my throat hoarse from howlin’.

And just before he left, him swirlin’ about with a millin’ mess of wolves around his feet, the Wolf King looked at me—looked at me, I tell ya—and gave me a grin that were full of as many teeth as there are leaves in a tree. He tossed me this, and then he were gone—sweeping up and away off the moor like nothing more than a ghost in a dream.

(Here, look at it. What do you think it is? I’ve always said it’s a claw, but what kinda creature has silver claws, I ask you? Give that back to me now, child—it hasn’t left me side in six times so long as you’ve been alive, and it’ll be buried with me if I can get someone other than the cleric to do the job.)

So of course the Wolf King is real! And so the Trickster and the Archangel and the Grave Maiden and the Widow and the Soldier and the Red King and the Hand and all the rest of them. If ye’re very, very good, and very, very lucky, mayhap you’ll even see them one day.

Because of course, they might be gods, child. But in one way, they’re just like you and me: they’ve got but one life—red and bloodied and barin’ their teeth.

And the Wolf King runs forever, chasing after the Grave Maiden and her Fallen One and even the Traitor when the mood strikes him. He’ll never catch her, but she’ll never outrun him either. The Wolf King hunts forever.

Now—you finish up that cookie and run outside. I hear your mama callin’ for you. And remember: we don’t tell Mama anything Granny says about the cleric, alrighty?

Alrighty.

Goodnight, children—sleep tight; don’t let the phantoms bite.

And just maybe—if you’re real, real quiet—you might hear the howling.

Howl back.

[homeformyheart]

For F: “That position looks impossible enough, let’s try it.”

thank you V for the prompt!! this definitely got away from me, but I hope it works!

author’s note: thank you for the request, @hunnybadgerv. i hope this does your prompt justice and sorry for the length, all the intimacy feels got away from me (and i have to give a lot of inspiration credit to @gavcowles). this is very soft, the smut really plays a secondary role to the intimacy and respect for the boundaries of an aspec partner. *just fyi: my enby detective harley uses she/they pronouns and is aspec. hope you all enjoy!

copyright: all characters, except the oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – felix hauville x nb!detective (harley bishop) rating/warnings: 18+; ns*w smut noted between the 🔥⚡ and ❄💧 icons (minors dni) based on/prompt: nsfw dialogue prompts // 73. “That position looks impossible enough, let’s try it.” (in bold) word count: 1.7k summary: felix learns harley’s boundaries and encourages them to be intimate on their terms.

on their terms

felix balances a pile of thick, heavy books on one arm while reaching up toward a shelf above his head. he realizes he underestimated the ladder rung that would get him the closest and it’s too late now to change course, given how he’s already balancing on one leg, the other extended behind him.

he very much looks like a ballerina-in-training.

in his haste, he accidentally grabs a few thin volumes stacked closely next to each other and leaps down to the ground. he glances at the one on top, the smallest of the bunch by far, and his eyebrows rise in surprise and curiosity.

he drops the rest of the books so he can flip through his new discovery, wincing at the sound of heavy texts crashing to the floor in a heap. he knows he’ll get an earful from nat for leaving them there, but he’s too excited and runs off to harley’s room.

they’re reading through some reports when he bursts in and climbs into the bed to sit next to them.

“look what i found in the library! nat’s been holding out on us,” felix grins, showing them the cover. “i am definitely not letting her live this down.”

harley raises an eyebrow in surprise at the title: sex positions through the ages.

“why are you assuming it’s nat’s?” they ask curiously, putting aside the reports and curling into his side as he wraps an arm around them.

this is one of his favorite (although everything about harley is his favorite) things to do with hayley – hold them and be held by them with the feeling of complete and utter belonging blanketing them both.

he flips through the pages quickly, taking in all the various illustrations the book offers. harley hums in agreement every few poses, until felix comes across one that makes him pause.

“that position looks impossible enough, let’s try it,” he suggests, moving the book over so harley can get a better look.

the position in question requires quite a bit of maneuvering, flexibility, and strength – none of which are “impossible” for him per se. but it’s still one that he hasn’t ever tried before, and felix is usually up for trying anything at least once.

he draws circles above harley’s hip, slipping his hand underneath their shirt carefully, watching their reaction out of the corner of his eye. they’ve been together long enough that he’s learned to read the subtle tells of their moods most of the time, but he still tries to encourage them to speak up more often.

harley remains still but he can feel their heartbeat against his ribcage. their hand hasn’t moved from its spot on his chest. he removes his hand from under their shirt and pulls it gently back down to cover their exposed skin.

if anything happens tonight, it has to be on their terms. even if harley hasn’t quite articulated their terms exactly – and he wishes they would soon so he could always know what lines must never be crossed – he’s still getting a feel for their boundaries.

his intuition hasn’t let him down yet.

he closes the book and leans down to kiss their hair softly, gently tucking his arm under their knees to pull them into his lap.

“thank you,” they murmur against his neck.

“of course, babe. i hope you never feel like you have to pretend with me,” felix responds as they pull back to look at him. “whatever we do, i always want it to be on your terms, okay?”

and he’s pretty sure the smile they give him could sustain him for the rest of his life.

“shower with me?” they ask suddenly and before he can respond, they’re pulling him out of bed and toward the bathroom.

their back is to him as they undress and step into the shower, adjusting the settings to the lukewarm temperature they know is at the upper limit of his tolerance and he follows suit, an ear-to-ear grin on his face at the sheer happiness filling his chest at the sight of them – comfortable and allowing him to see them this way.

the water gently flows over their bodies while they reach for the soap and he adjusts the showerhead pressure, grinding his teeth slightly at how extreme the adjustment feels until he gets used to it, standing behind harley with his hand on their hips and space between them as they finish washing their body.

his gaze moves up as they reach for their shampoo and he places his hand on theirs.

“let me,” felix murmurs quietly, grabbing the bottle and squeezing out a palm-sized amount onto his hand.

he knows, through observation but also trial-and-error, how much shampoo and conditioner to use for harley’s long, color-treated hair. and there’s something about how they let him gently massage their scalp (especially after the first few times when he was too eager and rough) and weave the products slowly down the length of their locks that makes his heart soar.

the bright blue color dulls a bit under the weight of the water and conditioner, but that’s how he knows he’s used enough. that, plus the quiet sighs of contentment leaving harley’s mouth sending a warmth blooming across his chest.

he shifts so that the stream of water hits their head directly, continuing his gentle massages as he rinses the products out of their hair. he carefully weaves his fingers through their tresses, untangling any knots that he can find as best he can without pulling at the roots – and he can tell, because their head jerks a centimeter back whenever that happens.

after a few minutes, the water runs clear down their back and he gently wrings their hair out, placing it over their shoulder. he reaches for the loofah before hayley stops him and turns to face him.

🔥⚡ 🔥⚡

they pull him forward a step so the water hits his back before placing their hands on his hips, tiptoeing up to kiss him softly before kissing down his jaw and neck. their hands mirror the movement, inching down his thighs as their lips reach his collarbone. he sucks in a breath at their hands moving to the inside of his thighs, trailing their fingers upward as their lips continue their journey down his chest.

felix shudders, and it’s not from the hammering pain of the water pressure on his sensitive skin.

no, that’s faded to a numb rhythm in the background as harley takes him in hand and begins to stroke him slowly.

his cock stiffens under their touch and he makes an effort to open his eyes and look at them, mouth parted and ready to make sure they know he’s not expecting or needing them to do anything and they—

“i love how responsive you are to me. i love knowing that i do this to you,” they murmur against his stomach, lips fluttering against the hair they find there and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

their eyes are teasing and serious at the same time and he wants to—oh, his brain stops processing for a moment as their strokes quicken, hands alternating and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. they continue kissing down his happy path but he stops them with a gentle stroke of their jaw with his thumb.

they look up at him questioningly and he returns with a suggestive smirk of his own, reaching up to grab the curtain rod and lifting himself up so his hips are at their shoulder-level (he is very thankful that the agency installed reinforced rods directly into the walls as a precaution against the “activities” that some of the team is known for getting into).

the look in their eyes shift from confusion to adoration to gratitude to eagerness and oh, what he wouldn’t do to capture those expressions forever.

“this way, you’re not on your knees,” he says softly, his breath ending in a moan as they move his legs to rest over their shoulders and wrap their lips around his cock.

that feeling alone makes him want to explode right then and there—

but he holds on, because it’s harley and them together.

he vaguely senses that his body is shivering despite the warm steam from the shower but he is too preoccupied with how hayley is moving their head up and down his cock, the position allowing their hands to freely play with his balls. he tightens his grip on the curtain rod, reminding himself the last thing he wants is to fall on top of hayley.

felix glances down and they’re gazing right back at him, as though he’s been spilling all of his inner thoughts out loud, and maybe he is – he’s not sure and can’t be bothered to recall in the moment. not with them hollowing out their cheeks and taking him deeper into the back of their throat, pushing him all the way to the edge until he can’t hold back anymore.

and then he lets go, making an effort to move away but they hold him tightly against their mouth, swallowing eagerly without breaking eye contact. and for him, knowing hayley is giving as much as they are willing to give and on their own terms—

it’s everything.

“geez, harley,” he breathes out their name, a deep, throaty groan that synchronizes with their final swallow as they move off him and gently bring his legs back to the floor. he holds their face in his hands and kisses them deeply, the smile on both their faces making it so their lips don’t quite fit.

❄💧 ❄💧

felix steps out and reaches for a towel, holding it wide open as he turns back to them. they tilt their head at him curiously.

“your turn,” he says warmly, eyes soft and heart full.

harley steps out of the shower and into the towel he wraps carefully around them, their eyes never leaving his face.

“i love you,” they whisper as felix carefully dries every part of their body before handing them the robe hanging on the back of the door.

harley slips the robe on while felix wraps their hair up with a smaller towel.

“i love you more,” he replies, kissing their cheek and leading them back into the bedroom so they can cuddle.

* * * * * taglist: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @gloynporslen; @writer-ish; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @ambrosykim; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart;

[shipskicksandgiggles]

Heya I know you reblogged it forever ago but I’m just now seeing the touch prompts and was wondering if you’d be up to writing something for the tiny hands in big hands prompt. I wanna see what you can come up with and who you picture this prompt for :) -🌸

!!! that's totally fine, no one sent anything anyways and I'm running into a wall with everything else rn so this was a great way to get my brain moving again

this was a really fun challenge! I bounced back and forth between a few ideas including a toddler Peter or a baby Harley, both with Tony, but honestly they felt too basic, so I did this instead? idk it felt like a missing scene in IM3 that we deserved, and I'm really happy with it so yeah. hope you like it!

prompt: tiny hands in big hands (from this list)

Read Hands to Guide You here on ao3

~~~

Tony shifted awkwardly from foot to foot while he waited for someone to answer the door. There was a car in the driveway, but there wasn’t much proof of life unless you count the creaking of the house. His baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes

Was it invasive to have JARVIS find out when she wasn’t working and the kid was at school so he could do this? Probably, but he didn’t really care.

He decided to knock just in case the doorbell wasn’t working.

“Just a minute!” A few moments later, a harried looking woman with fiery red hair answered the door. “Sorry ‘bout that. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you, but are you Ms. Keener?”

She eyed him warily. “Who wants to know?”

He removed the cap so she could see his face. “Just a mechanic ma’am.”

Her eyes widened. “Lord have mercy on my soul,” she breathed. “Come on in.”

“I’m sorry for dropping in like this,” Tony said as he squeezed past her to stand in the entryway, “but I felt like we should talk.”

Ms. Keener showed him into the living room and gestured for him to sit. “Not to sound rude, but what does one of the most famous men in the world need to come to an ordinary family in Tennessee for?”

“You’re Harley’s mom right?”

“I know we don’t look terribly alike, but yes I am. Did he do something?”

“He saved my life,” Tony said simply. “Right before Christmas when everyone thought I was dead because a terrorist bombed my house, I landed nearby because I was looking into the death of Chad Davis and I had the coordinates programmed into the Iron Man suit. The suit ran out of power when I landed, not to mention the fact that it was malfunctioning anyways. Your son helped me repair it.”

She shook her head. “I’m sure he would have told me about that.”

“Would you have believed him?”

“I guess not,” she laughed. “How’d he manage to hide that from me?”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I think you were too busy to pay attention at the time. I’d put money on the Christmas rush, but he let me use the garage until I was back in the air and kept quiet about it. You raised a good kid, Ms. Keener.”

“Call me Macy,” she said. “I like to think I did alright, all things considered.”

“I know it’s not my place, but for what it’s worth, your ex-husband is missing out on one hell of a family.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony, I insist.”

“Then thank you Tony,” she said. “It’s not always easy, but that bastard walking out was the best thing that ever happened to us.”

“That reminds me, if you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to ask. Consider me in your debt.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly-”

He waved her off. “Ask anybody that’s ever met me, I’m terrible with thank you’s, so this is the least I can do. Plus I wanted your permission for something else.”

“What’s that?”

“Your son is a talented engineer. I’d like to furnish your garage with equipment that won’t break down or hurt him if it fails so he can tinker around and work on projects at home.”

“You would do that for him?”

“In a heartbeat. It’s not every day you see a kid with such raw passion and talent for these kinds of things. I just want to give him the resources he needs to succeed. I’m prepared to set the whole thing up while he’s at school, I just need your go-ahead.”

“Well I-”

“Mommy?”

The adults turned at the sound of a small voice. A child stood at the base of the stairs. Harley’s sister, Tony realized.

“Abigail, momma’s busy right now. Give me just a minute, okay sweetheart?”

“No, no, it’s okay. You said her name was Abigail?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry, she had a doctor’s appointment this morning and she didn’t want to go back to school.”

“Macy, I said it’s fine. Actually, I have something for her too. Do you mind if I…?”

“No, go on ahead.”

He stood up and went to crouch down in front of the little girl. “Hey Abigail, I’m Tony, I’m a friend of your mom’s.”

“Hi Mr. Tony.” She sounded shy, so he sat down criss-cross-applesauce in front of her.

“Now, a little birdie told me that you lost your watch, is that right?”

She nodded.

Tony patted the front of his pockets. “Well, how about that?” He pulled out a new Dora watch, the same type Harley borrowed for him. “Was that something like what you lost?”

The girl gasped when she saw it. “That’s it! That’s my watch!”

“How about we put it on you, huh?”

She held out her hand, and Tony tried not to panic over how small and delicate they were. He wrapped the watch around her wrist and turned it on so it showed the time already programmed in.

“There you are, Little Miss. Let’s go show your mama, okay?” He held out his hand for her to take, and when she latched on to one of his fingers, his heart melted.

Abigail led him back over to the couch where he had been sitting before and ran excitedly over to her mom. “Look mommy, look!”

“I see,” Macy laughed. “Now what do we say?”

“Thank you, Mr. Tony.”

He knelt down in front of her so he could look her in the eyes. “You’re welcome, Little Miss. Now, if it’s okay with your mom, I need your help with something.” He glanced up at Macy, who nodded subtly.

“What is it?”

“I want to surprise your brother with something too, but you have to help me keep it a secret. Can you do that?”

She seemed to ponder this for a moment, and then nodded solemnly. “Yes I can,” she whispered conspiratorially in the way only small children can manage.

“Good,” he stage-whispered back. “You can’t tell him I was here, got it?”

“Got it. I promise, I won’t tell him anything.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if a promise is quite strong enough. Let’s shake on it.”

“Shake on it?” she asked.

“Like this.” Tony held out his hand to her and motioned for her to do the same. “Now you grab my hand- just like that, good job! And shake- one, two, three.” He guided her hand up and down, mimicking the handshakes he uses in board meetings. “You’re gonna have a killer handshake someday, Ace.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Macy cleared her throat in an attempt to get their attention. “Is there something you came down for Abbie?”

“I just wanted to ask if I could have my after school snack even if I wasn’t at school.”

Tony looked at the clock, and sure enough the bus would be coming to drop kids off any minute.

“Sure honey. Go into the kitchen and sit at the table. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay! Bye Mr. Tony!”

“See you around, Little Miss.” He waved to her until she was out of sight. “I should get going. I can get the whole thing set up while Harley’s at school tomorrow. You got a number I can text if I need anything?”

She wrote one down on a post-it note and handed it to him. “Really Tony, thank you.”

“Feel free to use my number if you need anything at all,” he said in lieu of an actual response. “I meant what I said, I owe you.”

“Alright.”

Just then, he heard the bus pull up. “Thank goodness I walked here from town. You got a back door to this place?”

“Of course.”

Tony waited until Harley let the door slam to shut the door behind him, and walked out a ways before donning his baseball cap and looping back towards his hotel. He’d be back in the morning.

[taking-over-his-life]

Colt

 Written by my internet friend Colt many years ago.

     I woke up to the intense pain like that of a migraine headache.  I could feel every hair on my body it seemed, with an undertow of muscle aches all over my body.  My mind was spinning round and round, trying to figure out where I was.  The room was dark, I could sense that the room was strangely familiar, but I couldn’t make the connection.  Oh, the pain, how I wished it would go away.   As I grappled to sit upright, the pain instantly started to tighten its grip on my head.  My eyes started adjusting to the darkness of the room.  Fear and panic started to run through my mind, this just wasn’t where I remember going to sleep.

       The last thing that I remember was that I had gone to a friend’s party.  I had started feeling strange at the party so I had left and went home.  I vaguely recall entering my house and going to my bedroom and falling face first onto my bed.  And that was all I wrote. 

       But, now here I am in this room that I have no idea how I came to be in.  My eyes started adjusting to the darkness of the room.  I could make out that there were two small kids sleeping on cots, and another person that I could hear breathing but couldn't place where they were.  I realized that I was now sitting up on a sleeping bag that was on the floor.  My brain struggled to figure out where the hell I was.  Completely paralyzed by the fear I felt continued its grip on me.   And the ungodly pain in my head.  I couldn't even wish that much pain on even my worst enemy.  Yet, for some reason, the surroundings were so familiar, but I couldn't make the connection with my excruciating level of pain.  I must be having one of my migraines and hallucinating at the same time.  That was the only explanation that I could think of at this point.

       When I quit trying so hard to remember my surroundings, the answer hit me with a vengeance.  The room I was in was my Aunt and Uncle’s basement.  Their basement had a one very large room with a pool table, tables, couches, and a bar.  Ok, I must be dreaming, this just can’t be real.  It didn’t make any sense to me.  As I sat up on the sleeping bag, I realized that I was wearing full biker leathers.  Judging by what I could feel against my skin, I had on a pair of leather pants tucked into tall boots, a leather shirt, a leather jacket and tight fitting gloves on.  The leather felt very warm, moist, and sweat soaked against my skin.  The leather felt like it fit me like a glove all over my body which felt soothing on my ragged nerves. My eyes had now adjusted to the darkness and I could see well enough to get around the basement.    

       I NEED air!  I couldn’t make any sense of how I come to be in these surroundings.   I was still petrified of what has happened to me, and maybe some fresh air will help.  I carefully stepped around the obstacles in the basement, acting like a cat trying not to make a sound as I made my way upstairs.   The boots and leathers I was wearing started to make plenty of noise, so I did my best to adjust my movements to quiet down the leather creaking.  It seemed as though my hearing abilities were magnified greatly over normal, it must have been the fact that it was dark in the room and of course the fear I was experiencing.  It seemed to take forever climbing up the non-carpeted steps without making any discernable level of noise.  After climbing up the steps, I found myself in the kitchen.  I needed something to drink to my quench my dry mouth.  I carefully opened up the fridge and grabbed a Mountain Dew (I almost did not recognize the Mountain Dew can) and left the kitchen.  Finding the back door to the house, I gently opened the door so as to not wake anyone up.  I stepped outside onto the cool patio cement floor, it was obviously summer time.  I set my Mountain Dew down on the patio table.  The night was deafening to me, it just seemed too quiet for some reason.  As I sat down on a bench on the patio in the bright moonlight, I could see something that almost gave me a heart attack.  In the driveway were my cousin’s Torino, '40 Ford and my Uncle’s Dodge truck that they had back in the early 70s.  Also in the driveway were two Harley Davidson motorcycles.  The Harleys could explain why I'm clad in full biker leathers. This can’t be real!  I went and looked at the license plate of truck, and it had 1973 stamped into it.  Looking out towards the front of the house, I could see my Dad’s GMC pickup truck with its camper shell on it that we had back then too.  In front of Dad's truck, was a Chevy Malibu.  It looked as though we were on one our annual summer vacations back to Denver Colorado.  I could feel something in one of the pockets of my jacket; it was a pack of Marlboro reds in a box that were just a bit smashed.  I managed to pull out a few cigs without breaking them.  The cigs were not totally damaged, just a bit bent from being squished a bit in my jacket from laying on them.  My hands were very shaky trying to strike a match to light up that magic first Marlboro.  My leather covered hands finally made the match come to life and lit that first Marlboro.  I took a very slow and deep drag, feeling my tenseness starting to subside 

somewhat.  Exhaling slowly making smoke rings in the night air with the bright moonlight casting its light on the rings.  The smoke rings against the bright moonlit night fascinated me for a few minutes distracting me from my situation.  I was completely puzzled, trying to figure out a rational explanation for my predicament.  I could only remember that when I went to sleep last night, the year was 2003, 30 years from where I was now.  And all of a sudden I realized I’m NOT the same person.  In the summer of 1973, I was only 9 years old, how could I be this adult sized person?  As I finished that first cig, I started to panic again with a new found fear, I lit another cig.  Then I popped the top of the Mountain Dew can on the table.  I took a big gulp of the magic Mountain Dew, cooling my throat all of the way down to my stomach.

       Realizing that there was something in one of the jacket pockets, I reached into the pocket pulled out a wallet.  I slowly opened the wallet, afraid of what I would find; I hadn’t even looked at myself in a mirror yet.  Using the bright moonlight, I looked at a driver’s license for someone that never existed, yet here it is.  The license was a Florida driver’s license.  Well, my family used to live there in 1973.  I carefully inspected the license, looking at the picture, the printed information, realizing that I must truly be this “new” person.  The name printed on the license was Kirk Derek Colten McCormack; the birthday was October 15, 1956; and the address was where we had lived in Florida at that time.  OOOOOh my God!!!!!  I must be somebody else, but in my own family?  The Twilight Zone was REALLY  happening to me I thought.  My hands still shaking, I lit another cig.   Right now, I couldn’t get enough nicotine to alleviate my fears and anxieties.  At that point, I couldn’t discern one reality from the next.  I was in a REAL Twilight Zone.  Where was Rod Serling?  He had to be around here somewhere telling the television audience of my predicament it seemed.   Did I really look like the guy in the license picture?  My curiosity compelled me to run over to my Uncle’s truck to look in the mirror to see what I looked like.  The reflection startled me so much that I jumped back a bit after the initial view of myself in the mirror.  It was ME, the guy in the license picture and in the mirror.  Yikes!  I could swear I must be having a nervous crack-up or something. 

       I know I must be dreaming this whole thing.  I thought I should just go inside and go to sleep and I will reawake in the year 2003 where I belong as Jeremy McCormack.  Quietly opening the back door to the house, I slipped inside.  I decided to lay down on the couch in the family room.  To my relief I fell asleep rather quickly. 

 Chapter Two

       I awoke suddenly to someone shaking my shoulder.  I opened my eyes slowly, hoping that I had just been experiencing a vivid nightmare and that all was back to normal.  My Aunt Ruth and I made eye contact and it startled me.  Oh, my God!  It looked as though I was going to continue to suffer this mind bending nightmare.  Aunt Ruth was talking to me, but I really couldn’t make sense of what she was saying.  She repeated what she had just said to me.  Aunt Ruth kept saying that I didn’t look very well, and that I appeared to have a very high fever.  Her hands were like ice on my face.  Aunt Ruth said it must be all of the leather I was wearing.  I think I was delirious to say the least.  All of a sudden, my “brother” Jeremy and sisters Rebecca and Jeanette popped their faces in front of me asking me if I was alright.   I jumped back a bit again, seeing my “own” self in front of me. At that moment I was truly freaked out and jumpy to say the least.  It seemed like everyone in the house (my parents, cousins, brother and sisters and my Aunt and Uncle) were surrounding me like I was the star attraction, looking at me making their own diagnosis of the situation.  I could sense that they must have thought I was high on something, because of the way I was acting (not realizing at the moment that Colt experimented with drugs occasionally).  Finally I sat up, still feeling dizzy.  I finally convinced everyone that I had a migraine last night and just needed to take a shower and clean up and that that would help me feel better.  I somehow managed to stand up even though I was a little disoriented and negotiated the steep staircase to the basement.  I now realized that I was feeling the same way I did when I went asleep in 2003.  Someone must have slipped me some kind of drug back in 2003, and I was just having a brilliant nightmare.  My thoughts were that I must go with the flow of this “dream” so I could survive it and then it would be over and I could return to who I was originally. 

       I went downstairs into the basement.  I found where "my" stuff was which was in a duffle type bag next to a sleeping bag on the floor near my Uncle's pool table.  I opened up the bag to go through the duffle bag looking for some clothes to change into after I took a shower.  Somehow I had to get some time alone, to try and get my wits together.  While I continued to be in deep thought, Dad walked over to me asked whether or not that I felt good enough to still go on our planned motorcycle ride.   I quickly answered that I thought it sounded groovy. Going for a motorcycle ride would most definitely give me the time to sort things out without too many interruptions.  I could then deal with my situations without my family thinking that I was an absolute stoner and high on something.

        I went back to rummaging through the duffle bag so I could get a better idea of who I was now, that is when I discovered quite a surprise.  I had mostly motorcycle leathers, 3 or 4 pairs of leather pants, several pairs of tall boots, several pair of leather western shirts, a leather vest and several motorcycle jackets completed the leather gear.  The scent of the leather gave me a momentary "high" that I could never get enough of to tell the truth.  I was rather stunned for a minute.  The leather gear was very soft and actually rather stylish for the time.  Several pairs of the leather pants, some were the 70s style bell bottom styles.  A couple pairs of pants were vintage (to me any how) motorcycle styled with zippered pockets instead of the regular kind of pockets.  What surprised me was the fact, that there were motorcycle leathers in the suitcase.  My last “lifetime,” we didn’t own any street motorcycles, just an old dirt bike. The rest was the usual 70s styled clothes and stuff of the like.  There was also a small box that was full of Indian turquoise silver jewelry.   

       I settled on a set of leathers similar to what I was already wearing.  A sleeveless black leather western shirt, a pair of breeches, and a pair of highly polished knee high engineer boots (which I had on at the moment).  I went to the bathroom, closed the door, and began to take off my sweat soaked leathers.  I started with taking off my gloves. On my fingers were several Indian silver rings and a wide silver bracelet laden with different colors of turquoise.  When I slipped off my jacket, I noticed a wide black leather watchband.  I sat down on the toilet and pulled off my glossy boots.  When I took off my leather shirt, I felt that I had a few silver necklaces around my neck.  I pulled off a leather strap that held my long hair into a pony tail.  I felt a thick mustache on my face that was shaped like an upside down horseshoe.  I finished getting undressed and turned on the hot water to the shower and slowly entered the stream of hot water.  The hot steamy water of the shower beating down on my face felt so refreshing.  

I soaped myself up thoroughly not paying attention to my "new" body.  I did notice that when I was washing my hair that I had several earrings pierced in my left ear.  I must be really into jewelry.  My life in 2003 I could have cared less when it came to any kind of jewelry.  The hot water soothed and relaxed my entire body.  After I was rinsed clean I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off.  That was when I noticed that there was a full length mirror on the back side of the bathroom door.  I took a towel and cleaned the steam off of the mirror.  I looked in the mirror, and I noticed my “new” body was quite attractive.  The reflection of my “new” face in the mirror was a young teenager and those pearly whites were flawless looking.  I stood probably about 6' tall and my body was very muscular as though I spent years lifting weights.  My straight, thick, long, dark brown hair fell between my shoulder blades.  My long brown hair was so soft and silky.   My face had chiseled features with a pearly white smile that was just flawless.  My thick soft manicured mustache made me look like a rock star with my long hair.  I could now see the ear piercings in my left ear.  My darkly tanned skin was smooth, tight, with a soft and fine covering of dark brown hair all over.  My eyes were an unusual purple color that could mesmerize anyone.  My strong hands started feeling all over my body sensing the newness of it all.  My hands of course found their way to my crotch.  My hands found my cock with huge balls and started working it over a bit.  In just seconds, it stood tall and proud at least 12 inches long and nicely thick.  Within another minute, I shot a huge load all over the full length mirror on the back side of the bathroom door.  The orgasm seemed to last for minutes, and a release that I so desperately needed.  At that moment, I froze for a moment as I shockingly discovered that I was staring at TWO cocks both hard as a rock.  When I had shot my load, it came from BOTH cocks.  Ok, so now I am some sort of freak was the next thought on my mind.  But then I realized that two cocks were better than one, with double the pleasurable sensations.  I guess it won't be that bad being a freak.  

 Chapter Three

        My mind realized that I had better finish getting dressed.  I slipped on the cool black sleeveless western leather shirt.  The shirt fit like it was tailored for a perfect fit.  I only snapped the front of the shirt about halfway exposing the valley of my chest between my well defined pecs and the brilliant silver necklaces.  I placed the wide watchband on next.  I kept all of the jewelry on while I took my shower as didn't want to deal with that detail.  Then I slipped into the black leather breeches (these breeches were non-flared) making sure that I adjusted for my cocks, one down each leg.  The fly was made with exposed metal snaps from the crotch all the way up to the waistband.  Rather sexy looking I thought.  My thighs filled out the legs of the breeches so smoothly.   I tucked in my smooth black leather sleeveless western styled shirt.  Then I snapped up the fly of the breeches and buckled up the wide basket weave belt.  The pant legs, now that was a different story.  Each leg had a zipper that extended from crotch to the bottom of each pant leg.  I put on a pair of socks and then I zipped myself tightly into each leg of the breeches.  The leathers that I had just shoehorned myself into were the tightest leathers that I had ever remembered wearing in my other life.  At the bottom of each leg was an elastic stirrup that looked like it was designed to keep my breeches from bunching up when I sat or stood up.  The breeches fit perfectly like the shirt.  The breeches fit so smoothly that there was no way I could put much of anything into the pockets.  Next, I pulled on my highly polished tall engineer boots which the boot shafts came to just under my knees that were made by Dehner Boot Company.  The closest way I could describe how I looked for the most part was that of Maxwell Caulfield in the movie "Grease 2" when he was in his slick full leathers at the end of the movie.  I stared at myself in the full length mirror on the door admiring myself for a few minutes and absolutely delighted with what I saw.  I was a little narcissistic for a few minutes at my killer looks.  I finished getting ready by brushing my hair and teeth.  I tied up my long hair into a pony tail with a strip of black leather with a snap on it.  I was as ready as I could be to face more of my continuing dream.

       Mom (who wouldn’t be my Mother this time around obviously - because Mom and Dad hadn’t gotten married until 1961), knocked on the door to see if I was done, so Dad could clean up.  I told her a few more minutes and I would be done.  I quickly cleaned up my mess and finished getting myself together. 

       I went back to my sleeping bag and grabbed my 50s D-pocket styled motorcycle jacket which I noticed was lined in a light weight red perforated leather and a pair of black tight fitting gloves.  The gloves I placed into my breeches back zippered pocket about half way in.  I gently placed my mirrored aviator sunglasses on the front of my leather shirt where it was snapped up halfway.  Where I placed the glasses drew attention to my exposed chest.  These few details such as the gloves in my breeches pocket, and hanging the sunglasses onto my shirt just seemed to flow out of me naturally.  I could feel my raw sexual energy emanating from my body which I had no control over.  There seemed to be an overwhelming power over me on how I carried myself (as Colt).  My movements seemed to be guided by that power that I couldn't put my finger on.  I guess it must have been Colt's sub consciousness that was controlling me.  It seemed as thought my mind was an overlay on top of Colt's mind. 

       I double checked to make sure my wallet was still in my jacket and grabbed another pack of Marlboros and matches which I put into a pocket of the leather shirt.  I went upstairs to the kitchen where Aunt Ruth offered me breakfast, but I decided on a couple of cans of Mountain Dew instead.  My nerves were too shot to eat anything right now.  My sisters, brother (me before this dream started), and Mother were in the kitchen eating breakfast with my Aunt.  Dad was downstairs in the basement getting ready to go on our ride.

       I went outside onto the patio with my smokes and the cans of Mountain Dew.  Sitting there on the patio smoking and taking big gulps of Mountain Dew my mind was doing quick flashes of my "life" as Colt.  The temperature was warming up quickly.  It must have been around 80 F now, sunny with brilliant blue clear skies.  The time was probably around 10:00 am.  The warmth of the day made my leathers start to glue themselves to my skin.  The sensations of the leather against my body began to turn me on.  I was becoming highly aroused at this point. 

       I decided to find a distraction to suppress my hormones for a while.  I turned to my mounting curiosity to check out things around the house to see if I could remember more.  So I decided to walk around and check things out.  I walked around the house to the front yard and was checking out what I thought was a Malibu that I saw last night (I was a car enthusiast back in 2003 so this car was intriguing).  When I got closer to the car, I noticed that there were not any Malibu or Chevrolet nameplates on the car.  There were a lot of differences from that of a Malibu.  At first I thought it was a customized car but there were nameplates that read Beaumont SD and 396.  The nameplates had a maple leaf on them.  The car must be Canadian.  I thought what a strange name for a car and perplexed as to why it was in the States.  As I did a quick look over of the car, it became apparent that I was beginning to "remember" more and more of Colt (and less of my former self) and that the Beaumont was mine.  The Beaumont was red inside and out and appeared to have every gadget you could possibly order on a car back then when it was new.  The car just plain sparkled. I must have been a stickler for keeping it looking impressive all of the time. 

           As I returned to the patio to sit down, everybody except Dad and I were leaving to go visit our Grandparents.  I lit another Marlboro and opened the other can of Mountain Dew. I sat transfixed upon the gleaming Harleys sitting in the driveway.  One of the Harleys was a red and black Electra Glide with a bunch of accessories and goodies on it.  The other Electra Glide was silver and was a bit more spartan.  My mind was flashing more bits of Colt's memory.  I then knew that the red and black Electra Glide was mine.  It was a '70 model that I paid cash for.  I thought how could a teenager pay cash for a late model Harley?  I probably would remember the answer to that question soon as well.  The silver Electra Glide belonged to Dad and it was a '65 model (the first year of the electric start Harleys).  I noticed that the driveway was clear of the cars and truck.  Everyone but my Aunt must have gone to work.  On the far side of the garage was a trailer.  I suddenly remembered that Dad had towed the trailer from home.  Dad brought the Harleys in it and some of our luggage.   

       Dad called out to me from the back door of the house.  He said he would be ready in about 10 minutes.  I went inside and grabbed my jacket.  I slipped on my 50s motorcycle jacket.  The red leather lining felt terrific against my naked arms.  I stuffed my smokes into my shirt pocket.  Gently pulling my sunglasses from the front of my shirt I slid them onto my face adjusting them for the perfect position.  I grabbed my black leather gloves from the back pocket of my breeches and slowly worked each glove onto my strong hands.  I found the keys to the Harley in one of the jacket pockets.  I moaned softly with the pleasurable sensations of being totally engulfed in tight fitting, shiny, and highly polished black leathers.  DAMN!  I knew at that moment that I was HOT looking exuding sexual energy at full power.  My cocks started to snake down each leg with considerable strain as my tightly leather clad legs were doing its best to prevent it.  I knew that it would be just a matter of time before I would shoot a considerable size load of cum down each leg.  At that point I didn't care, I welcomed it actually. 

I loved it!  I went outside to the bikes and started my Harley.  Dad walked out of the house (and locked the door) fully clad in glistening black leather from his neck down.  I realized that I had an air of confidence that I had never felt or experienced even in my "previous life" being around my Father.  Dad's personality was totally different from my last "life".  Dad and I (Colt) seemed to have a very tight knit bond between us in this life.  Dad was now a very cheerful person and was insistent on having fun whenever possible.  He also had a very different physical build of his body.  He was much more muscular than he was in the other realm.  We both seemed to feed one liners to each other so we were laughing a lot. 

  Chapter Four

       Dad strutted over to his bike fluidly.  It was almost sexy.  He started his gleaming silver Harley Electra Glide.  My bike was pretty much all warmed up and ready to go. Oh the feel of the exhaust pulsating from the two Harleys just made my pulse quicken and start my adrenaline pumping.  Oh I was pretty excited about going for the ride.  I told Dad told me to lead the way as I knew how to get to Evergreen by going the long way.  We were going to have lunch in Evergreen and then cruise around and head back to my Aunt and Uncle's house in Westminster.   Dad thought our ride should last about 4-5 hours.  I then lowered myself on to my vibrating Electra Glide.  The vibrations made my cocks come to life again.  I slowly zipped up my 50s leather jacket up to the snapped lapels.  I reached up and turned up my collar to look "cool".  This ride is going to be great I thought.  I kicked my bike into first gear and slowly let the clutch out and I was heading down the driveway.  I gently eased the bike onto the street with Dad behind me.  Once I was on the street, I had to just let loose on the throttle and raced Dad to the end of the street.  Dad was right beside me.  Oh, my gawd, this was certainly better than the Harley I had in 2003.  Just feeling the raw power of the Harley going down the road was thrilling my senses.  We headed over to the Boulder Turnpike and went towards Boulder.  The warm sun beating down on my black leathers and the wind in my face and from the speed going down the highway was so invigorating.  I surely enjoyed the wind blowing through my long hair. Between feeling the heat from my leathers to the vibration from the engine of the Harley, I suddenly shot copious amounts of cum down my legs in my leather breeches.  Oh that felt so good!  What a way to have an orgasm!  I didn’t care that I was going to have a mess to clean out of my breeches when we were done with our ride. 

       As Dad and I approached Boulder (it sure looked different from what I remember in 2003), my mind was starting to remember more memories of Colt the “brother” I had become.  I was beginning to see more and more memories flashing in my mind.  It was so strange to feel my two lives becoming one.  More memories began to come through the more relaxed I became.  My old life was starting to fade to where it was beginning to seem like it was the dream.  The real Colt personality was taking over my old personality little by little.   I could feel the transformation take over me.  I was feeling so revitalized with more energy and drive, but with a sense of a responsibility that I was here to accomplish something that I couldn’t do previously.  On the west side of Boulder, Dad and I turned onto Hwy. 93 heading south towards Golden.  Oh, the thrill of it all.  Everything seemed to be making more sense and I started feeling more comfortable with myself being Colt.  I decided to let my mind relax enough so that I could remember more of Colt's memories.  Being on the motorcycle with the wind in my hair I now was able to be by myself to where I could just let the memories flow through.

[kittylaboo]

HC: Peter Parker didn’t know he was Bi until Harley Keener

So this took a turn I wasn’t expecting, also it’s a lot longer than I was expecting I’m sorry also Idk how to do the cut thing so my bad  

 TW: Mentions of Rape

Okay so Peter Parker is *Straight*

He likes girls, really likes girls

He literally went on a date with Liz (it may have ended with her moving away bc he put her dad in jail but that’s besides the point)

And he may have had a brief crush on MJ 

So Peter Parker is *Straight*

Boys are gross, and trust Peter he knows

He doesn’t ever want to think of men in a sexual matter

He 10/10 supports anyone who comes out to him 

But anytime he thinks about how boys could possibly be into him, his brain immediately goes to Skip Wescott 

And how Peter was 9 when it started and that he never wants to be in a position like that again

It was horrible and scary, and Peter Parker likes women and only women, and he will never be anyone’s Skip. And he will never put himself in a position where there can be another Skip.

So Peter Parker thinks men suck. 

(Obviously beside Ned and Mr Stark, they’re cool, but Peter has known Ned forever and Mr Stark is literally a super hero, and Peter only became such a huge fan of Iron Man and Tony Stark because of what happened)

His therapist tells him it was his way of coping with what happened 

Then one day Happy picks Peter up at school on an non-lab day because Mr. Stark has someone that he wants Peter to meet

Peter really hopes its the Black Widow (because they’re both spider themed heroes !! how cool !!!)

Peter meets Mr Stark and this mystery person in the living room

Mr Stark introduces Peter Parker to Harley Keener

Harley Keener looks hot good, hes tall and wears a leather jacket and cowboy boots with skinny jeans. He looks so out of place, but he doesn’t look bothered by it either

Peters heart skips a beat, but Peter chalks it up to be anxiety 

“Hey there Peter, I’m Harley”

Oh my god he has an accent, an actual southern accent

And doesn’t that just make Peters heart race 

“Tony here tells me you’re a real Einstein” He laughed

Harley laughed. Peter is not laughing

Peter hears his blood rushing, and feels himself go cold. His spidey-sense is just going off

Peter looks to Mr Stark whose smile falters at the look of pure-fear on Peters face

Mr Stark doesn’t know. Peter never told him. Any files about what happened never include Peters name, or any family members name, so Mr Stark wouldn’t have stumbled on it, unless he went into Peter’s Therapists notes, which he hasn’t because he may be nosy but he isn’t invasive 

Peter knows what this is, he knows he’s going into a panic attack. He was triggered and he needs to get out. Out out out before anything can happen

“So-sorry, I’ve gotta, I gotta go, something came up wi-with May. It was um, it was nice meeting you Harley.”

Peter left, and made it back home, though he doesn’t remember how he made it from Manhattan to Queens and into his apartment.

He’s home and it’s not the safest place, can’t go into his bedroom but it’s better than there

Tony beat him to the apartment (without Harley), already sitting with May when Peter walks in

May is quick to give Peter his favourite over-sized sweater (it makes him feel safe) sitting him down in the living room, putting a knit blanket over him, and giving a bottle of water. 

“Pete, you okay kid?” Mr Stark asks 

And Peter is fine, he always has been, so he nods 

“Do you want to talk about why you were triggered into a panic attack” His voice is soft as he speaks to Peter, like Peter would break

May sits next to Peter, pulling him into her 

“Adrian Toomes was not the first person Spider-Man sent to jail” Peter started the story like this because it was easier to tell it, his therapist may not be happy with it but she’ll be happy he’s making progress by telling some

“Spider-Man was 11 when he sent his first person to jail. It was a year long trial, one kid versus one 18 year old. He used to call Spider-Man, Einstein”

Peter seemed to be done with his explanation after this, deeming it enough information for Tony to understand what happened

It wasn’t 

But May sending a text that said “Search Skip Wescott” gave Tony the opportunity to find out what happened later 

(Tony is really pissed when he reads what happens, and makes sure Skip get transferred to worst prison and that he can never leave)

“Okay, Pete, I’ll talk to Harley about not calling you that. But Harley will be going to the same school as you, okay? That’s why I wanted you two to meet.”

After that first night Peter goes back to being his usual chipper self

And Harley starts at Midtown 

Peter was just rounding the corner outside of the school to see Harley getting dropped off by Happy

After a moment of hesitation Peter went up to Harley and offered to help him on his first day (because Peter will not let his overwhelming fear take over and he will be friendly for the sake of Mr Stark and that is all)

Despite Peter’s uneasiness and distrust Peter and Harley get on like a house on fire

Peter started to feel really close to Harley, and Harley would often throw his arm around Peter’s shoulder and call him things like sugar, or sweet thing or darling

And Peter liked that a lot, except he didn’t because it was weird (but he really did)

And Peter would always go tomato red whenever Harley was around

Even Ned and MJ recognized the crush Peter had on Harley and vice versa

“Dude when are you going to make a move on him?”

“What the fuck, Ned? I’m straight, Harley and I are friends”

“Peter are you being serious right now? You both obviously have a crush on each other. Harley knows you like him too.”

“The fuck MJ, I expected you to be more understanding about this. We are friends. Maybe I come off as gay to you because I choose to respect people and am not the exact definition of a ‘toxic male,’ but I don’t fucking like you guy assuming that I like men. Men ain’t shit and I’m not going to find myself in another situation like I used too. I like women”

“What’s your issue Peter? You homophobic now? Didn’t peg you as that.”

“Fuck MJ, this isn’t your business. I’m an ally, people love who they love, but I don’t like men, and you need to stop pushing that on me. I have my reasons, you have yours.”

“Peter, the way you’re going off on MJ isn’t really helping your point much-”

“Would the two of you just shut up about this. I don’t like other guys. Women are it for me. I will not be stuck under another man. Fuck, I’m straight and you need to stop pushing the idea that I’m into Harley just because you want me to live out your little fantasies of what my life should be like.”

Peter didn’t talk to them the rest of the day. Not because he was angry but because he was embarrassed that he said too much 

At the tower Peter and Harley were cuddled together sitting next to each other watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and talking

Peter really loved Harley’s Blue eyes

And his accent

And his face

And Harley in general

But totally only in a friends way

They’re bros

“I want to try something real quick, you can tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am” 

And then Harley kisses Peter

Harley Kisses him

And Peter freaks out

Without even thinking about it, Peter pushes Harley off of him and bolts, leaving the tower without his phone, shoes or bag, Peter just leaves

Once Peter gets outside he throws up, before his anxiety takes over again and he just runs and runs and runs

Harley is left now sitting on the ground, tears in his eyes, confused and hurt about what just happened

Tony makes it to Harley in record time thanks to Friday, and without a question Harley explains what happened

“I thought he liked me too, Tony, I really did. I don’t know how I messed up this bad.”

“I’m sorry Harls, Peter has been hurt a lot and I just don’t think he was ready yet emotionally for a relationship.”

Tony knows that Peter has probably just been triggered. He’s only heard Peter talk about girls romantically, never boys, but he was sure that Peter and Harley were going to be together at some point

Once Harley finally calms down enough and goes to his room Tony calls May

“May, is Peter with you, he left all his stuff here.”

“No, I thought he was staying with you tonight. what happened?”

“Harley kissed Pete, and he freaked out and ran out without any of his stuff, I was hoping he was with you. His phone is here too.”

“I think I know where he is, College Point Park. Ben and I used to take him there after any court date.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“What about Harley?”

“He’s already asleep, I’ll meet you there.”

Tony and May get there in record time, finding Peter sitting on the rocks facing the East River.

“Peter?” May called out.

Peter turned around, his face clearly red, tears streaming down his face.

“I don’t understand” Peter finally said as May and Tony got close enough

“What don’t you understand?” Tony asked

“Harley kissed me. He kissed me. I expected to hate it. But I didn’t. I liked it when he kissed me. I should hate it though. He’s a boy. I shouldn’t have liked it.”

“Peter it’s okay if you liked Harley Kissing you, and it’s okay if you like him romantically too” May tried to comfort

“But it’s not May, because if I like Harley, and I like him kissing me then that means that I liked it when Skip kissed me. And I didn’t like anything he did to me.”

“Peter, I like when Pepper and I kiss, but that doesn’t mean that if May were to kiss me that I’d like it. Same thing goes for you kiddo.”

“I like girls though. I can’t like Harley.”

“You can like both boys and girls. You could be Bisexual or maybe not. No matter what it’s okay.” May said again.

“I need time. I can’t- I need Dr Rosenburg and I need to not be Spider-Man and I need to not see Harley or Ned or MJ. I need time.”

“Okay baby, you can have as much time as you need.” 

Peter ends up taking a week off of school, with daily appointments with his therapist. He went completely ghost mode. Wasn’t active as Spider-Man, wasn’t active on social media. Didn’t read or respond to anyone’s messages. Only talking to May or Tony and only if they were at the apartment.

After his week off, Peter finally reappeared at school, still having not responded to anyone’s messages, preferring to just deal with things in person.

“Peter oh my god you’re alive we all thought you died.” Ned shouted from down the hall going to greet his friend, MJ and Harley in tow.

“I’m fine guys, I just had some stuff from the past come back up that needed to be dealt with before I did anything that would hurt other people.”

“What are you talking about Parker, you wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone anyone else.” MJ said confused

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready too but I’m not there yet. My therapist thinks I made good progress this week though.”

“Your therapist?” Ned asked.

“Uh yeah, sorry. MJ, Ned, I really messed up with how I treated you guys the other day, regarding my sexuality, turns out I may of been wrong and you guys were right, I just repressed any of those emotions due to trauma. So, I’m sorry you didn’t deserve that.”

Ned and MJ obviously forgive Peter bc duh they’re friends

“I would like to talk to Harley privately though, so you guys wouldn’t mind?”

So Peter pulls Harley to the side finally getting the chance to talk to him, and wanted to say his words before he lost his nerves.

“Peter I’m sorry-”

“I liked when you kissed me. That’s why I freaked out. I didn’t think it was possible for me to like that, or men. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I wasn’t prepared and my brain automatically went to a dark place. I like you Harley Keener, but I have problems and I want you to be aware of that before we do anything.”

“Okay.”

“If we are going to try this I need you to be aware of my limits. I have a lot of them apparently, and I’m not sure if more will come up or not, but my therapist said that I should talk to you about this stuff before we do anything. If you still like me, that is.”

“Peter Parker you are too precious, of course I still like you, I don’t plan on not liking you for a while yet.”

And then Peter smiles and he feels relieved, because getting to this point took a lot of work and now he’s here and he likes a boy who likes him back who won’t hurt him

[jazziwritesthings]

We Were - Derek Hale

Inspired by We Were by Keith Urban

Lyrics in Bold

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader

Word Count: 2082

Warnings: Cancer, Death, maybe swears

A/N: I’m Sorry.

*******

We were just a couple years short of the age By my name on a fake ID And still 'bout a hundred away from the day Your daddy said you could run with me We were a couple of line steppers Who just couldn't wait to step over the line

Derek met you when you were both 17. You tried so hard to try to get him to trust you. He wasn’t about to let himself get invested in someone again. Not after Paige. It had only been a few years and Derek was still broken about it, but that was something that would never leave him. He knew he couldn’t make that mistake again. No, he wouldn’t, or so he thought. After almost a year you had worn him down and got him to open up a bit. He liked being around you. You made him feel like a normal teenager. Then the fire happened. You got a call from an unknown number, it was Derek at the sheriff station. He asked if you could pick him up. You borrowed your dad’s car and definitely went over the speed limit trying to reach him as fast as possible. You ran into the sheriff's station and saw him just sitting on a bench. You walked over and stood in front of him. Without warning he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his head into your stomach. You could feel his shaking and eventually you heard his sobs. You just stood there playing with his hair telling him you loved him, all while trying to keep the sound of your sobbing controlled.

We were gonna make it, weren't we, baby? Had it all laid out in our mind By the time we knew time was runnin' out We done run out of time

He had to leave Beacon Hills. He had no choice, he was a minor and now Laura was his guardian, and she couldn’t stay here. You understood why but you didn’t want to be separated from your best friend. The day they left was one of the toughest days of your life. You and Derek had spent the night in your room. Your dad wasn’t around much since your mom passed, so it was always just you and him. That night was the night when you both admitted you loved each other, more than just friends. That was the night you gave him everything and he gave everything to you. The next morning was rough. The car was already packed and Laura was just waiting for Derek. You stood in front of the garage with your hands on his chest and his on your waist with your foreheads touching. “I love you so much. Promise you won’t forget me?” He let out a slight laugh/sigh and pressed one last kiss to your lips, “ I promise.”

And we were leather jackets hangin' onto a Harley Two heartbeats in the moonlight

The first year he was gone he had tried to keep in contact with you. It wasn’t easy, he didn’t have a phone and could only reach you by pay phone. Laura said it wasn’t a good idea to keep that kind of stuff because it meant that hunters could track them easier. Derek would never tell you that part. As far as you knew, he was normal. His whole family was normal and the fire was an accident. Eventually it got hard for him to keep contacting you. Every time he heard your voice or you told him things that were happening around Beacon Hills he became so homesick and it reminded him too much of his family. It hurt too much for him to continue. He didn’t mean for it to happen how it did. He just quit calling and writing and before he knew it, six years had gone by. Laura had told him she had some business to attend to and that she would be back in a few weeks. When she didn’t call Derek at all the first week he started to worry. He finally went through Laura’s things and found where she had gone and why. She had gone home. He packed what little they had and raced back to Beacon Hills.

He arrived and it seemed like nothing had changed. Everything looked the same and honestly he felt homesick all over again. He didn’t know where to go so he went to the only place he knew he could. Walking up the front steps of his childhood home brought up a lot of pleasant memories. Most of them were his mom sitting on those stairs giving some of the best advice she could offer. He looked around the porch and noticed there were bouquets everywhere. Some were very dead and others looked semi-fresh. He’d been there about a day when he heard someone pull up in a car. He secretly watched out of the upstairs window. As soon as she got out of the car Derek knew who it was immediately. He could smell her all the way up the stairs and she still smelled the same. He got brave and quietly went down the stairs. He watched as she turned and walked back to her car. He walked out onto the porch, “ Y/n?” You froze at the sound of your name. In all the years you were coming here no one had even stepped foot on the property. You turned around and were surprised to see a man standing there staring at you, “ I’m sorry. Do I know you?” He walked off the porch and when the sunlight lit up his features she took a step back, “ Derek?” He looked at you with a huge smile on his face, “Yeah.” You looked at him for only a moment before your mind was made up. You walked over to him and grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss. The butterflies and the fire were still there. You had had other boyfriends before, but none of them ever measured up to Derek. No matter how hard you tried nobody could compare to him. It wasn’t that long before he disappeared on you again. You shouldn’t have been surprised but you were, and it still hurt just as much as the first time.

At least there's a little bit of sweet in the bitter Though a part of me is always gonna miss her I am who I am, I just miss who I was when we were

You had always remembered your time with Derek fondly. He was your first, for just about everything. You had tried to get into contact with him through the teenagers he had here. They periodically checked up on you and you assumed they reported back to him. Eventually they stopped coming around. So when you got sick, there was no way to tell Derek. Your doctors told you it wasn't a great chance. The surgery could work or it could make it worse, you may not even make it out. You had done what felt like hundreds of rounds of chemo and nothing was working to get the tumor to shrink. It was in a place that was very hard to operate. It was in your brain. There was a chance that if they were able to get it that the cancer wouldn’t return. You knew the risk of surgery was dying, but if you didn’t try you were going to die anyway. Before you went in for surgery you wrote a letter and mailed it to the McCall house, addressed to Derek.

Friends say, "Oh well, let that ship sail" "You gotta let go of her" "Just wasn't meant to be" But somewhere down deep I still believe That we were

When Derek finally returned to Beacon Hills he went to Scott’s house first. The boy had said he had something important for Derek. Derek knocked and waited before Scott opened the door. “Hey man! We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for like a year!” Derek nodded, “ Yeah I was busy, what do you have for me?” Scott picked an envelope off the coffee table and handed it to him. He read the return address and when he saw your name he froze a bit. “Okay.” He left Scott’s house without another word. He walked to your old house and saw that there was a different family living there. He decided to just walk while he read.

Dear Derek,

Hey. You know I was never any good at this sort of thing, but I figured this would get to you eventually. I want you to know that you are my best friend. I can tell you that I would not have survived my teenage years if it wasn’t for you. I know I wouldn’t have made it through the time after my mom died without you. I need you to know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. Even though you did ignore me for most of our 20s. You need to know that no matter what I love you. Always. I don’t care how many bad things happen, you are and forever will be my person. I couldn’t have lived this life without you. So thank you.

Derek quit walking and chose to sit down on the sidewalk. This felt like a goodbye.

I know I know. I’m getting all sappy and you hate that sorta stuff. Deal with it. What I’m about to say is going to make you angry. I kept a secret from you. I got sick. I know we all thought it wasn’t a genetic thing and that I would be okay, but I’m not. I’m sick and I’m going to die. I’ve had so many rounds of chemo that I can’t even tell you how many. So many failed attempts at remission. The tumor is in my brain. I’m opting to have a surgery to try and remove it. If the surgery works then I should be cancer free. If the surgery doesn’t work, well that would mean I would die. So either way I’m pretty screwed, the chances of survival with the surgery are about 5%. So either way I guess. I don’t want you to be angry. I know you're not mad at me, you’re going to be so angry at yourself for leaving me but Derek it’s what had to happen. I’m glad you haven’t seen me lately. I don’t feel or even look like myself. Remember me how I was that night. You know the one. So I guess this is a goodbye. I never thought we would have to do this. I’m sorry Derek. Please keep living for me. I love you. Y/n

By the time he finished reading he felt completely numb. You were gone. He would never hear your voice again. He would never kiss you or hold you again. He stood up and ran. He ended up at a spot that you and him had been so many times. He walked over and his gut was right. Where there had been one stone for so many years, there were now two. He walked over and sat down in front of it. He ran his hand over the words, Y/n L/n The light of everyone’s life. The date was from over a year before. You had been gone a year and he didn’t even know it. The love of his life was gone and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. He all of a sudden couldn’t breathe. He was a mess of tears and sobs. He put his head in his hands. If he would’ve known he could’ve done something. He could’ve gotten you turned. As soon as that thought crossed his mind he got angry. He couldn’t have saved you. If you had known about him and the supernatural, you wouldn’t have wanted the bite. You wouldn’t want it because it would’ve changed everything. He was pacing now. His anger and grief got the best of him as he let out a very loud roar. He knew all of Beacon Hills probably heard it, but at the moment he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was gone and never coming back. He looked down at the head stone before kissing his fingers and placing them gently on the top, “ I love you too.”

[loeyslover]

secrets

      you looked down at your glass of whiskey as the loud music resonating off the club hit your ears. at this point, you didn’t even wanna look back, as the sight you had seen was forever embedded into your brain. your longterm boyfriend with the hands that touched you every morning wrapped around a frisky blond’s dress clad hips, every now and them moving to cup her ass while they danced along to whatever song was playing, you’d lost count. however, you weren’t just sitting at the bar feeling sorry for yourself, you were awaiting the attention of someone other than your boyfriend.

      even with sorrow clouding your thought, you still felt him when he graced the club with his presence. the aura around you changed, the energy radiated danger and adrenaline, something your blood was urging to have. he didn’t look like he belonged here, more like he came straight out of a harley davidson magazine issue. his long, thick thighs were clothed with a pair of black denim jeans, his steps were walked in ink black combat boots, his muscles restrained by a black and white cotton tee, and the final piece perfecting this man’s calloused image was his beat up leather jacket, it perfectly showed the rippled and strong muscle held in his arms, as everytime he reached over to grab his beer, the leather would tighten around his biceps. you took slow sips of the whiskey you would normally down, as you wanted to savor in the moments you were able to take quick glances at him.

      he looked like the bad boy your parents would hate to see corrupt their daughter, the kind of guy your friends would warn you about because he would break your heart, but the guy you would go back to a million times because you loved the thrill and the rush of living on the edge with him. his eyes, dark and mysterious like a sky you wanna look at forever, but would never decipher, his black hair shaggy and covering most of his forehead, and on his face were the luscious lips you badly wanted to taste.

      you didn’t know it, but he had been eyeing you too. you thought your glances were being careful, when they were in fact very obvious. chanyeol wasn’t trying to be noticed or take anyone home tonight, he just wanted to relax at his favorite bar for as long as he could, maybe down a few beers, but he thought that if he took someone home, it might as well be you. 

      just as you finished your last sip of alcohol and reached into your pocket for a twenty, you stopped at the sound of a palm hit against the bar table, and that’s when you looked up and saw him. he towered over you, looked down, and offered a small smile at your form. “umm, what’s this about?,”you asked, as you held the crisp bill you fished out from your pocket in between your index and middle fingers. “you’re telling me i’m tryna be nice and pay for a pretty girl’s drink, only to be hit with a what’s this about?,” you heard his raspy, deep voice say over the music.

      “you don’t know said pretty girl, that’s why i’m asking,” you responded, and that’s when you felt his large hand creep up onto your face, and take your chin between his middle and index finger. “i think i know you pretty well from all that staring you were doing earlier, princess,” he said, as your eyes went wide with shock and cheeks flushed up in embarrassment. “i wasn’t looking at you, though. i was looking at my boyfriend,” you sassed back. he raised his eyebrows in amusement and said, “the boyfriend that is currently humping another slut and has his tongue down her throat?,” you turned your head back and were met with the exact sight he described. 

      you tilted your head down in disappointment, but it was instantly raised by chanyeol’s hand. “tell you what pretty girl, i’ll take you on a ride if you can keep a secret.” he said over the song playing and didn’t even give you a chance to respond, as he intertwined his palm with yours and dragged you out of the bar to the parking lot.

      you followed his lead until you were met with a motorcycle, so the mysterious stranger was a biker. you looked at the squeaky clean exterior painted a sleek, night black and in that moment decided what you wanted. “show me, handsome, show me darkness, baby show me deepness. i’ll ride with you.”, you told him, and before you knew it you were straddling his back on his motorcycle, hanging on for dear life as the engine roared.

      you felt the fresh breeze of the three am air flush your cheeks and kiss your hair, as you sped out the bar’s parking lot. soon you were met with the bright lights of the buildings and skyscrapers of the night in seoul, you felt chanyeol rev the bike and accelerate, as he sped down the lonely streets of the city. 

      you rested your cheek against the cool leather of his jacket and inhaled the strong scent of his cologne through the material. you closed your eyes, and felt truly at peace with a complete stranger you felt you knew all your life, as your arms wrapper tighter around his muscular torso. you sighed in content, as the bike sped further into the night and sky, you were sure you never wanted to return, the thrill of this man too addicting.

hey guyssss, so i have a little something here for you, i really hope you like it. i was thinking of writing it further into a smut, so if that’s something you wanna see, then be sure to tell me please.