#he brings the blue flannel back to do hot boy shit

[supacutiepie]

They couldn't let this episode air because no one would ever believe Stiles was just the 'twitchy sidekick' ever again

this is not a loveable side character that is a fuck boi and we love the blue flannel phases of stiles so fucking much

[bowiebond]

Two Rules, Boy

A Jonathan x Neil oneshot ☠️

CW: Neil. Neil is a fucking warning. Consensual turned dub/noncon, underage Jonathan (17), daddy issues, spanking, virgin bottom Jonathan, forced cum eating, blowjobs, gagging, little to no prep, painful sex, crying, blood, violence, degradation, implied incest & SA, Past Child Abuse, infidelity (Jancy), slurs

Set post Billy’s death, pre Byers move

It was a chance meeting. It could have been anyone for either of them. Maybe that’s just how fate is. A cruel prankster who thinks they’re just so funny.

“You look a little young for this place.” Jonathan flinched from where he had been staring at his drink. It tasted awful, and he couldn’t bring himself to finish it despite buying it. It smelt like the cheap shit his dad used to down like water.

He was dressed casually. Deep blue and black flannel with specks of white from the plaid design, tucked into dark jeans secured with a belt. Jonathan mistook him for any other small town guy. A well groomed trucker maybe since he had hands that weren’t blackened with grease.

“I’m old enough.” Jonathan spared a small smile, gesturing to his drink as if that would sell his lie. He had eye bags that could put a thirty year old nightshift worker to shame. That was his ID into these places.

He sipped the drink and tried not to grimace at the burn in the back of his throat, the taste that killed any feeling in his tongue for a few seconds.

“Still. You look young. You shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

Jonathan knew that. It was a hotspot for gay guys, the occasional lesbian. It was the only one near Hawkins and Jonathan shouldn’t be here. Mostly because he had a girlfriend but he’s been considering breaking up with her ever since his mom announced the move to California. He didn’t know if he could do long distance. He didn’t know if he could even afford college in a years time, especially not the one Nancy wanted them to go to.

Everything was changing again and Jonathan would suffer through it without complaint like he did when they left Lonnie behind, but it didn’t mean he had to like being uprooted again when he had something good here this time. Or decent at least. California might be hell. Or better. Jonathan didn’t know and it hurt to even think about, so he stopped. He chucked his drink back and swallowed, screwing his eyes shut when they burned a little. He cleared his throat and felt a little dizzy from how quickly he downed it.

“If you know what this place is, then you shouldn’t be reprimanding me for being here.” Jonathan looked at him, his dark moustache and strong jaw, short cropped hair. Looked like the authoritarian type. Probably did time in the military from the way he stood, back straight, chin jutted ever so slightly. He didn’t look relaxed at all, and Jonathan couldn’t tell if that was just him or something else.

He offered him a tight smile.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful to your elders. Your father didn’t teach you manners, boy?”

“My names Jonathan. And no. My dad was a useless drunk.” He was more than that, worse when he delved into the details, but he wasn’t going to spill his sob story to this man. In this kind of place, you had two goals. Get shitfaced, and get laid.

“We have one thing in common.” His smile looked a little more genuine this time, if a bit resentful, lips closed, stretched thin. He took a sip of his whiskey.

“Your dad was a drunk too?”

“Only reason I never overindulged in anything that wasn’t a red or white.”

“I’m not much of a drinker either.” Jonathan looked away to the floor, leaning an elbow on the bar. He jumped when the older man moved it off, calloused hand holding his elbow.

“Never heard the phrase, ‘elbows off the table’?”

“Does it count if it’s a bar?” Jonathan was tempted to shake him off, but it wasn’t bad. His hand was warm against his knobbly elbow. He had left his jacket in the car since it was still hot out, even in the evening it was humid.

“You really have no respect, do you?” He chuckled, shaking his head and taking another sip.

“I only respect people who earn it.”

“That’s a dangerous line to walk on, boy.”

“Not every adult deserves respect off the bat.” Jonathan said before he could think on the chance that separating himself from adulthood was not a good look, but the older man said nothing, just pursed his lips.

“You really shouldn’t come to places like this. You can’t get yourself a girlfriend?”

“Can’t screw the queer out of me, unfortunately.” He drawled sarcastically and he chuckled, seeming to be amused.

“If only. World would be a better place.” Jonathan’s stomach roiled at the way he phrased, but refrained from fight him on it. If this guy had demons to deal with, that wasn’t his business. For once, he wasn’t going to try to fix the broken thing in front of him. He’s not very good at fixing things. Only the occasional pep talk.

“What are you here for then?”

“Someone younger.” He looked out into the crowd as he said it, sipping his whiskey, and Jonathan felt a faint kick of arousal in his gut when his dark eyes caught his over the glass in the dim bar. The lanky brunet swallowed and shifted on his feet. “And you?”

“…Someone older.” He couldn’t meet his eyes when he said it, turning back to his empty glass with his elbows propped up on the bar. His back straightened when a warm hand ran up it, inhaling sharply. He smelt like aftershave and old spice as he stood behind him, close enough for his skin to buzz with anticipation but for nothing to touch.

With a small tug, he brought his elbow off the bar, his forearms resting against it instead as the older man ran his hands up his arms and squeeze his shoulders.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He murmured, a touch disapproval in his tone, and Jonathan’s ears burned.

“Sorry.” It’s quick, hushed, and the other doesn’t back away. Jonathan’s glad for it. He’s not much shorter than the older man, but the guys still bigger. Once upon a time, that made him anxious, made him scared.

Now, it made the blood rush down south. He could feel his cock filling slowly, creating a bulge in his loose jeans. He sent a silent apology to the heavens, his mother and Nancy for what he was about to do.

He licked his lips nervously and turned his head to get a glance at him.

“You never told me your name.” He needed a name, something to call him by.

The older man squeezed his shoulders once more, dropping his hands from his shoulders to his waist with a soft sigh that made Jonathan shiver.

“Neil. But you’ll call me ‘sir’.” Jonathan’s cock was fully hard now, and distracting, especially with the way it twitched at the title. Better than daddy. Jonathan had enough issues.

“Okay.” Jonathan said softly and Neil gripped his waist tighter.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay…sir.” The word was foreign on his tongue, but he spoke it softly and Neil’s grip eased.

“Good. Come with me.” Jonathan wondered how many times he had been here to know where he wanted to take him, but he followed obediently, trying awkwardly to conceal his erection from the rest of the bar.

The bathroom was stuffy, but currently empty, and Jonathan was thankful because once Neil guided him into one of the only stalls with a functioning lock, he didn’t know how well he could stifle his voice. He had never done anything public like this. He skin was alight with nerves, watching at Neil locked the door. He rolled his shoulders back, dropping them and turning around to face Jonathan.

“Your father didn’t teach you proper manners. So I’ll do it for him.” Neil took his jaw in hand, not gentle but not harsh. Jonathan flexed it beneath his fingers, gaze caught by intense dark eyes.

“I’ve never done this before.” Jonathan admitted, mouth moving before he could process it. “With a guy, I mean.” He quickly corrected.

“I’m not a ‘guy’, boy.” Neil’s grip grew tighter. “I’m a man.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled, the word slipping out without a second thought. It was like his mouth and his brain were losing connection the longer he was alone with him.

“Sorry, what?” He clenched his jaw, stern, and Jonathan stood taller in reaction to it.

“Sorry, sir.” He remedied and Neil eased his touch. It still ached, under his skin. He hadn’t felt such firm hands on him in years.

Neil’s worn hand slid forward and down, exploring the expanse of his pale throat. It clicked when Jonathan swallowed, the lightest pressure leaving him breathless.

“I have two things I pride myself in, boy.” Jonathan’s not sure if Neil even remembered his name. “Respect, and responsibility. Say it for me.”

Jonathan licked his dry lips as Neil’s hand rested upon the base of his throat, atop his collarbone.

“Respect and responsibility.”

“I’ll teach you the easy one first.” Neil touched his shoulder and applied pressure. Jonathan followed after a moment of confusion, flames igniting from the crackling wood in his belly. With one knee to the tiles, and then the other following, he was at Neil’s feet, cock beading pre inside his boxers.

Neil’s hand came up to his hair, sinking his fingers into the locks. Jonathan raised his gaze to the bulge in Neil’s dark jeans, stomach clenching as his cock throbbed.

“Taking responsibility.” He tightened his grip on his hair and raised Jonathan off his heels to bring him closer to his taunt zipper. Jonathan stared a moment, cheeks tingling before he looked up at Neil. The elder looked at him expectantly. “Go on. Get it out.”

Jonathan shifted, trying to ease the pressure of his cock as he reached up to unbuckle Neil’s belt. It felt like forever, pulling the leather free from the first loop, then pulling the clip from the hole and out the other loop. He doesn’t bother removing the belt entirely, and Neil doesn’t ask him to. He glanced up anxiously before flicking his gaze back to his task, unbuttoning the jeans with trembling fingers.

He was nervous, mostly. He hadn’t done this before. On a man, at least. Nancy liked his mouth, but then again, it was easier to make her come that way then to get wrist cramps trying to clumsily finger her. He pulled the zipper down and found his mouth beginning to water as he took in the thick cock trapped in white underwear. Neil was bigger than him. Jonathan felt that maybe, he should be miffed, but instead he was burning beneath his itchy clothing.

He tugged the waistband of the underwear and jeans lower, just enough for the cock to spring free. It was thick, brushing six inches, and hung low, off to the right. Jonathan swallowed hard, Neil’s hand running through his hair to push it back from his face. He looked up and Neil’s expression was impassive at best.

“Go on. You’re an adult, aren’t you? You must have an idea of what you do next.” Jonathan did, but he was looking for encouragement, instruction more so than taunting, yet it didn’t kill his arousal. Only heightened it. God, he must have a loose screw in his head.

He was seventeen about to blow a man who had to be about his own fathers age in a public bathroom. His mother would throw a fit.

“Hey. If I ask you a question, you answer.”

“Yes — sir.” Jonathan tacked the word on last second. “Sorry, sir.”

Jonathan placed a hand on his thigh, steading himself, and wrapped his hand around his cock. Neil let out a low, pleased hum, and it tickled up Jonathan’s spine, cheeks growing ruddy. He stroked the length, base to tip, and parted his lips to press an open mouthed kiss to the tip. Start small. Work his way through.

A kiss to the crown, a lick along the underside, a soft suckle of the slit that tasted of bitterness. He could take his time. Neil was growing impatient though, and Jonathan could feel it in the tightening of the grip in his hair. He groaned softly and reached up to ease it, but he pried his hand away.

“Your approach won’t get you anywhere, boy. Responsibility is to be taken on without hesitation.” Jonathan grimaced as Neil let go to adjust his hold on the younger’s head. He took his cock in his other hand and tapped it to Jonathan’s pink lower lip. Jonathan shyly parted his lips, apprehensive about his skills.

Neil glided onto his tongue with ease and Jonathan opened his mouth wider to accommodate his girth, eyes falling shut as he focused on the hot flesh filling his mouth. Jonathan pinched his brows when Neil kept going past his mouth, brushing his gag reflexes and making the younger flinch back. His hand was firm though and Jonathan made a sound of protest as the older man began to rock his hips.

It was fine when it was teetering on the edge of his reflexes, but his cock hit the back of his throat and he gagged, shoving Neil back just enough to cough, ducking his head even as the tip of his spit soaked cock brushed his cheek.

Neil wrenched his head back and Jonathan winced, eyes squeezed shut.

“Respect and responsibility. It’s not hard to take responsibility, boy.” He spoke sternly, and Jonathan’s whole body burned.

“I haven’t- done this before.” He reiterated, tears in the corner of his eyes from the gag. “Sir.”

“I’m teaching you. If you wanna be a cocksucker, then you can stand to do it right. Be grateful.” He huffed out through his nose and Jonathan was brought back to his cock, the length rubbing against his cheek. A small bloom of self loathing unfurled in his chest, that tiny feeling of failure and the need for approval making Jonathan parted his lips once more to let it into his wet, warm mouth. He gripped Neil’s unbuckled belt, squeezing the leather in both hands as he was guiding up and down his cock.

Neil fucked his mouth through the gagging this time, repetitive and nudging far enough to make his eyes water until he opened up his throat.

Neil took the chance to bury himself as deep as possible and Jonathan’s tight throat convulsed around his cock as he suppressed a gag, choking on it and the sudden lack of air. Spit was starting to spill from the corners of his lips as Jonathan’s eyes fluttered. He pulled back and Jonathan gasped for air, coughing as spit slipped down his chin.

He was better prepared for the next intrusion, Neil’s thrusts getting faster, gliding in and out of the wet hole, drool running down his bobbing throat as the older man made use of it. He could feel him throbbing on his tongue, pre coating his tastebuds as the man fucked his throat.

He pulled out suddenly, leaving Jonathan gasping and painfully hard. He should feel disgusted, being used so aggressively, but Neil’s hand was running through his hair now, smoothing it.

The older man took his jaw in hand and pulled him to his feet, Jonathan scrambling to follow. He almost tripped over his own two feet as he was pressed into the cold tile wall, moaning softly. His cock was crushed against the wall and it was the only relief he had gotten since he entered the bathroom.

Neil was against his back again, caging him there, and his breath smelt of whiskey. Not heavy, but Jonathan could sniff it out. He turned his face to the wall, Neil’s hands smoothing up and down his sides, over his scrawny frame.

“Fuck, can you—“ Neil grabbed his jaw roughly and clamped his mouth shut.

“Respect,” He hissed. “Means not swearing at your elders. Apologise.”

“‘M sorry,” He mumbled. Neil’s hand cracked against his ass and he cried out, biting his lip at the ache.

“Sorry what?” He sounded angry now, thumbs slipping into the waistband of his loose jeans. Jonathan moaned softly as they hooked into his underwear.

“Sir. Sorry, sir.” He corrected in a weak voice.

“Better.” Even though it should have been a compliment, it sounded like he was exasperated. Johnathan squirmed as his jeans fell around his ankles, underwear following. He flushed at being so exposed, the tip of his cock a deep red and leaking onto the tiles.

Neil bunched his shirt up to his neck, smoothing a hand down his back. His hand smacked against his left cheek, gripping the reddening flesh as Jonathan flinched and shied from it. Neil squeezed his ass and parted his cheeks to show off his pucker, untouched and twitching.

Neil pressed his wet cock between them and smeared the drying spit along his taint and crack, pressing the tip against the pucker hard enough to make Jonathan flinch in fear he’d really fuck him open dry. But he didn’t, just teased and taunted with his cock, reaching up to his face to stick two fingers in his mouth.

Jonathan groaned and lathered them in spit, getting the bigger picture. Neil snatched his hand back and pressed a finger into him. It was tight, the younger tense and Neil forced the finger in to the knuckle, Jonathan giving a little gasp. He clenched and squirmed.

“Feels weird.” He breathed, heat roaring in his gut as the older man spat on his ass, the dribble sliding down his crack and being used to keep him wet as he eased a second finger in. It was too soon, too quick, and he groaned, forced to take in as the man grabbed his hip, stilling him.

“I’m going to fuck you, boy.” Neil murmured in his ear, twisting his fingers deep inside him and Jonathan moaned. “I’m going go fuck you, so what do you say?”

“Th—“ Neil spat once more and fucked in a third finger, Jonathan’s face pinching as he spread his legs further. “Thank you- thank you, s-sir.” His mouth felt dry as the three digits stretched his ass out, a gasp slipping out when they brushed his sweet spot. It was like electricity, zapping through him, his deflating cock sparking back to life. “Fuck, please, please, right there, sir—!”

Neil cracked his palm against his ass, his ring splitting the skin, and Jonathan’s voice broke around his cry, flesh stinging hot and red as Neil continued to open him up.

“That fucking hurt, shit, don’t-“ He pulled his fingers out and hit him again on the other cheek, the spit swiped along the red handprint. Jonathan trembled. He had been shoved, smacked around, punched, but he had never been spanked before. Like a child. It was humiliating.

His watery eyes threatened to spill over as he bit his quivering lower lip.

“I told you not to swear at me, boy.” Jonathan’s stomach twisted with dread. He hadn’t meant to. God, he hadn’t meant to. Lonnie would have washed his mouth out with hot sauce and then soap if he was caught swearing in his vicinity, or at all. His mother was laxer on the rule.

“M sorry. I’m sorry, dad - sir.” His mind was scattered right now, and his tongue was loose. He quickly corrected himself but waited for the comment, the disgust, and honestly, Jonathan was disgusted in himself for even thinking about his father with his pants around his ankles.

Neil sighed.

“You need discipline, boy. A whole lot of it.” He tutted and pressed Jonathan into the wall. The brunet shivered, teary eyes widening when he felt the tip of his cock against his hole.

“W-wait,” Jonathan needed a moment, needed more preparation, Neil was thick and long and Jonathan was pretty sure he’d die if the older man fucked him right now.

Neil didn’t stop though, forcing his length inch by inch into the tight hole squeezing his cock in a death grip. Jonathan sobbed at the splitting ache that tore through his rim, his ass, Neil’s cock rocking deeper and deeper despite his babbled protests. His cock wilted at the pain, his cheeks blotchy and red as tears stained them. It hurt. It hurt so much, Jonathan wanted to puke.

“Hurts, please, stop, stop, sir, please.” He begged, whimpering when the man bottomed out, his cock sitting heavy and hard inside his ass. If he wasn’t sniffling and hiccuping at the burn, he might have moaned at how good it felt to be full. And it did, but everything else made his skin hot, eyes burn and throat tight.

“Of course it hurts. It’s your first time.” He said it like he didn’t just push into his spit prepped ass, like he had been gentle and nurturing even though Jonathan knew he hadn’t been. Yet his hiccups eased slowly, Neil’s hand coming around to strip his cock. Jonathan moaned despite the pain, pleasure taking his focus.

“That’s it. You can take it. A faggots only good for one thing, and you’re just now getting the hang of it.” Jonathan wanted to be offended, angry, but the word hurt more than anything. Hurt like the ache in his ass, slowly dissipating yet teetering around the edges. Neil changed the angle, releasing his cock to grip his hips as he began thrusting faster.

Stars burst behind his eyes as he nailed his prostrate, fucking right into it brutally. Jonathan’s eyes rolled back with a loud moan dragged out of his throat.

“All you fags are good for is being a spare pussy when there’s none putting out.”

He wailed as Neil slammed into him, his hands barely catching himself against the wall as the older man drilled his cock into his hole, chasing his releasing more than the brunets, hands bruising as they grabbed at his hips and waist and thighs, whatever gave him the best leverage to fuck the boys no-longer-virgin ass.

Jonathan’s sobs renewed, punctured by broken moans and enticing whimpers, cock drooling as Neil grunted and groaned, echoing in the bathroom. Jonathan didn’t know if anyone was in there with them, but if they were, he wasn’t even in the right state of mind to apologise for his volume.

“Fuck,” Neil grabbed the back of his neck and Jonathan moaned, sweaty face pressed against the cool tiles. “So tight. Shoulda done this years ago.” Jonathan groaned, clenching around his cock. Neil swore and slipped his hand into hair, wrenching his head back as his hips stuttered.

“God, Billy.” Jonathan’s lips feel open in a gasp as hot cum flooded into his hole, Neil fucking it deeper as he worked himself through his orgasm. A soft moan left his lips at the warmth, Neil pulling out and tapping his messy dick against Jonathan’s ass. His legs crumpled beneath him as his leverage disappeared, whimpering.

His ass ached dully now, full of a strangers cum. A stranger who moaned a name that wasn’t even his. He didn’t even cum.

Jonathan sniffled, reaching down to strip his cock, to finish himself off so he could leave. He should have stayed in with Nancy. Fuck.

Neil spun him around and Jonathan fell on his ass, jizz leaking from his puffy, red hole. There were streaks of pink on Neil’s cock and it made Jonathan nauseous. He should have used protection, a condom.

His legs were visibly shaking as Neil knocked them apart with his boots to stand between them. There was little fight left in the boy as he pried his jaw open and fed him his soft cock.

“Clean it. You made my dick dirty, boy.” Silent tears slipped down his cheeks as he sucked the cock clean, still aching to touch himself but too scared. He was glad Neil was older, that he needed more time to go another round, or else he was sure Neil would fuck his throat until he couldn’t speak.

He pulled the cock from his lips, a thin string of spit between the head and Jonathan’s lips.

“Now clean up your mess.” Neil gestured to the small puddle of cum growing beneath him. Jonathan recoiled and shook his head. The public bathroom floor was gross enough.

“That wasn’t a request. It was an order.” Neil shoved him to the floor and grabbed him by his hair, forcing his face into the mess with a stoic expression.

“Clean. Up. Your. Mess.” He bit out and Jonathan’s lips trembled as he tried not to cry again. He opened his mouth and tentatively licked at the puddle, suppressing a gag, trying not to think about it, about the bitter taste and the piss and chemicals on the floor.

“That’s it. Finally useful.” Neil patted his back and Jonathan sniffled, closing his eyes tight as he licked up the mess and swallow every bit like he was told. Neil wiped the cum from his cheek and nose and fed it to him when he was done.

Jonathan sat there, humiliated and unsure. His entire world felt flipped on an axis.

“You look good like that.” Neil crouched down to his level and patted his cheek with a disingenuous smile. Taunting him.

Eventually, his smile fell and he sighed.

“I think I’ll leave first, yeah? I have a long drive ahead of me.” Neil stood up tall and Jonathan closed his eyes in relief. He wanted him to go already so he could cum and go. This night was a mistake.

“Just to be safe.” Jonathan looked up at his words just as a fist cracked against his face and the world went black.

When Jonathan woke again, his ass was crusted with cum and leaking, his face and hair covered in the stuff too. His clothes were bundled in the corner of the stall he had been left in.

He tried to stand but slipped back down, his whole body aching. His dick was spent, a condom filled with spunk wrapped around it. Jonathan looked down at his chest and his stomach dropped.

LOCK THE DOOR AND USE ME

IM A SLEEPY FAG WHO LIKES IT ROUGH was scrawled across his chest, between his nipples. He dragged his fingers through the mess on his stomach and stared, wide eyed.

A sob bubbled up his throat. It came out rough, hoarse.

Fate was a sick prankster. And Jonathan was it’s unlucky victim today. He never should have come to the bar.

He prayed he’d never seen Neil whatever-his-last-name-is ever again.

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Alone Together

Summary: After an awful breakup you were expecting to spend Christmas alone. You and Steve end up spending it together.

Pairings: tattoo artist!Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson sister!reader. Abusive ex boyfriend!Brock Rumlow x reader

Warning: mentions of abusive relationship, smut, swearing, daddy kink, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex

Tagging: @titty-teetee @blackmissfrizzle @olyvoyl @liquorlaughslove @harrysthiccthighss @mariahthelioness29 @whiskey-cokenfanfic @olyvoyl @hqneyyincc @queenoftheworldisdead @iam-laiya @donutloverxo @slytherinandoutasgard @zaddychris @brattycherubwrites @love-more122

(A/N: yay I made it! Merry Christmas guys! Reblog always 💜 ✌🏾)

——————————————————————————

Okay yeah so it was stupid. You should have known better when you’d done it. Well, you did you just... well you don’t really know what you were thinking.

Red flags just look like flags when you’re wearing rose colored glasses, yeah fuck off you stole that from Bojack. So when you were with your ex and doing all this dumb just you thought would make him happy it ended up being kind of awful in the end.

When they finally came off you noticed the things you dealt with. Scared to piss him off so you started treating okay times like they were really good. All the stupid things he had you do to prove yourself.

You were paying for this one right now. Right in another parlor. Covering up that mistake with something you actually liked. Not that most people could see it because it was on your underboob. Said he wanted it to be this hidden thing all for him that no one else was allowed to see.

The first time he asked you’d laughed and said no thinking it was a joke. The second time you it happened you tried to be a little more firm. Except that just meant you couldn’t prove your love for him. That you were devoted. That he’d get a tattoo for you on his arm that he never had time to get for some reason.

It was so fucking dumb you know. The cursive Brock tattooed right under your boob. You could see it every time you took your shirt off and it really bothered you. It always had, but you were trying to convince yourself that you loved him before. Now you looked at it and saw the new of a person you wished you’d never even met.

Steve was your older brother’s best friend. He ran this super popular tattoo shop. They’d met in the military and the friendship just stuck. It’s kind of why you ended up moving to New York. You were kind of the outcast of the family, but Sam never treated you any different. You were his baby sister.

So after a few weeks you asked him if he could cover it up. Except his only available day was Christmas Eve. You didn’t go home anyway and Sam was going to meet his girlfriend’s parents this year. Not that you weren’t invited, but you just wanted this thing covered up. Maybe that would make you forget.

You winced as the needle dug into your skin. Not like it wasn’t worth the pain. “Hey, relax, okay,” he said, softly rubbing your arm. He’d been so much help since the breakup. It was funny. Brock hated him. Was always ranting about what an asshole he is. You could tell he didn’t like your brother either. You really didn’t know what but you knew it was something over their friend Bucky or whatever.

Yeah it was a whole thing. Not that you really knew the details.

Normally you’d spend the holidays with his family. Though a little uncomfortable it was nice being with him. So this was your first year in three that you were alone. Hanging with Steve was nice.

“I’m fine,” you were trying to keep a brave face.

He was almost done. Just had to finish up the shading. Honestly you’d been expecting him being that close to you to feel weird, but it was actually nice. It’d just be nice if you didn’t date another tattoo artist.

Yeah Brock also tattooed. He’d met Steve because they’d worked at the same shop once. You remember how Brock was seething when he found out that Steve had opened his own.

You wish you could go back in time and tell Leila to never go into that damn shop. To never ask you to go with her because she was nervous for her first tattoo. Somehow it ended up with Brock promising you a discount if you let him tattoo you if you gave him your number. Being a cliche you got a butterfly on your shoulder.

Somehow it didn’t bother you as much. Maybe because it didn’t look like anything resembling him.

“You sure? We can take a break,” he offered.

You shook your head. “No. I’m okay.” You chuckled with a smile.

He chuckled before clicking his tongue. “Alright. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“How’s your mom’s trip?” You asked. His mother had decided to vacation to Hawaii with his step-dad. Which is also why he was here. Not that he couldn’t have went with Nat and Bucky to his parent’s house. Except last time he’d done that, he ended up having to sleep next to Bucky’s incredibly touchy aunt. He was better off spending it alone.

“She’s great. Talked to her this morning.” He chuckled, “apparently she’s bringing me back a Hawaiian shirt.”

“You could pull it off.” You replied trying not to laugh too much.

“You think so?” He asked.

“Yeah just keep it unbuttoned and don’t wear a shirt under.”

He stopped to laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“I dunno. Just doing a service for the girls,” you said. “Don’t act like you don’t know that you’re cute.”

He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Why Miss. Wilson, you’re not flirting with me are you?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No. Just... stop. You know you’re hot.”

His jaw dropped as he grin. “Now you think I’m hot?”

You sighed dramatically. “Look, Steve. I’m just joking.”

He went back to work with this kind of goofy look on his face. You couldn’t deny it. Steve is hot. Anyone with eyes could see that. Your eyes traced along his tattooed forearms. The sleeves of his flannel pushed up to elbows. Until you were distracted by his broad shoulders.

Your mind finally started to relax. Kind of enjoying the buzzing of the gun. You kind of missed that sound you loved going to the shop with a Brock while he worked.

Your only days off were weekends and since he usually had shit to do on those days, you’d be there while he worked. Sometimes even helping out when their secretary was out.

“And, done,” he said taking a deep breath and smiling down at his work before turning off the machine. “How you feelin?’” He grabbed your hand to help you to your feet.

“Well, a little sore, but good.”

You turned to look at it. Smiling at the flowers that were there now. “It’s beautiful,” you said, looking at Steve before throwing your arms around his neck. “Thank you so much.”

“Hey,” he pulled away to rub your arms, “I got you.”

He was so close, eyes trained on your lips. So you started wondering maybe this was why Brock hated Steve. Saw how magnetic he was that he could definitely pull you in.

That couldn’t have been it, though. Brock never saw you with him alone. His dislike went much deeper than you. Today had kind of added insult to injury. Not only did you cover up that thing, but he was the one to do it. It’d be a slap in the face.

Maybe that’s why you did it. Except you’d always liked Steve’s work. You’d seen so many pieces he did or sketches he made and had wanted him to work on you for the longest. Maybe next time it would be something you didn’t need to cover up.

Your phone went off and you groaned softly pulling away. “Hey, Sam,” you greeted your brother. Of course it had to be him of all people.

Looking back over at his best friend who was cleaning up the station now. It was probably a good thing because your heart had started to thump in your chest. You didn’t need that.

You raised your shirt up so you could see it finally. “Just calling to check up on you. Steve’s lazy ass taking a break? I don’t hear buzzing in the back.”

“We just finished actually.” You laughed.

“How’d it come out?”

“Good,” you answered. “Tell Maya I said hi.”

You finished talking to Sam before finally hanging up. When you finally looked at your new tattoo, a smile grew on your face. It looked so much better than before. “Like it?” Steve asked.

“I love it,” you replied. You grabbed your bag so you could pay him.

“Um, excuse me, Miss,” he said. “Your money is no good here.”

“What? I’m not going to have you do all this work and not pay you, Stevie.”

He sighed. “Think of it as a Christmas present.”

You rolled your eyes still taking your money out. “I can’t-“

“I’m not taking it,” he pressed.

“Fine at least let me give you a tip.”

“I’m not taking that either.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes. For such a nice boy he was always so stubborn. “Fine. Then... dinner. I’ll make dinner. If we’re spending Christmas alone then it might be fun to spend it together.”

He smiled softly. “Yeah... that sounds nice.”

“Great.” You looked into his eyes again. They were like the prettiest blue ever. Especially with those little specks of green.

After a trip to the store, he escorted you back to the apartment you shared with your brother. You could have moved out, but you were kind of afraid to live alone. That’s why Sam had been a little surprised that you’d declined the invitation to go with him. It was nice to have Steve there.

You’d decorated the apartment even though you hadn’t planned to do anything. You still wanted to be a little festive. Maybe it would pull you into a better mood. It worked a little.

You quickly started on dinner. Steve helped by cutting up vegetables. He’d taken off his sweater letting his incredibly muscular tattooed arms taunt you. Okay so yeah you had a little bit of a crush on him. Like a lot of other women, you just liked to look.

“Thanks for dinner,” Steve said, taking a sip of his wine. “I don’t get home cooked meals a lot.”

“Can’t cook?” You asked with a smirk.

“Yeah I’m pretty hopeless at it.” He shrugged.

“So do you want to watch Christmas movies after this?” You asked.

He laughed. “Yeah that’d be nice.”

The night was going by kind of quick as you settled down to watch A Christmas Story. You were a little tipsy honestly, but you and Steve were sharing a fluffy blanket. Which meant he was close.

You’d carefully showered so you didn’t get your tattoo wet and changed into a sweater shirt and s pair of matching shorts. Getting all bundled up so you could curl up beside him. “You look so warm.” He chuckled as he got a little closer.

“Do you need an extra blanket?” You asked.

“No I’m okay,” he replied.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked because the thought had crossed your mind again. This time you’d finally worked up the nerve to ask.

“Why don’t you and Brock like each other?” You asked.

He sighed. “You’re not the first person I’ve had to save from him. He and Bucky used to be close and I noticed him kind of spiraling. Rumlow was pumping him full of all of these drugs and I dunno I didn’t want to lose my friend.”

Your stomach started to turn. This was the first time you’d ever heard of any of this. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?”

“I wanted to, but Sam said we needed to let you make your own mistakes. To not push you away. There were so many times that I thought about... look I just know that I’m never letting him hurt you again. Okay?”

You nodded, biting your lip. This glazed over look in your eyes. Steve noticed and pulled you closer pretty much placing you in his lap.

“Hey, it’s okay, Honey.” He rubbed your back. Trying to at least comfort you a little.

“No I’m fine,” you replied leaning into him. The soft fabric of his jeans rubbed against your bare legs. It was nice to have him comfort you like this. “You know I think the worst thing to me is that and I’m sorry if this is too much information, but he’d use Sam against me. Say that if I didn’t do what he wanted he’d tell Sam about the things we did in bed.”

Steve sighed. “You know he wouldn’t have cared.”

“I know, but it still felt embarrassing. He knew how secretive I was about it. None of my friends even know the kind of things I’m into.” You took a deep breath, trying to relax because you felt way more tense than you wanted to.

He chuckled. Trying to lighten the mood. “I get it. I used to be the same way until my last girlfriend put it all out there when we broke up.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah I remember that.”

“Yeah. She was something else.” He tossed his head back as he laughed. “One night she came to the shop, talking about how she’d let me tie her up one more time.”

“Brock used to say stuff like ‘come on, Babygirl, do what Daddy says or else I’ll tell your brother what you’re up to.’ It used to grate on my nerves.”

“God. What a fucking asshole,” he said, hoping you didn’t notice when he felt himself get suddenly hard at hearing you say that.

“Yeah, but I’m so glad this thing is covered.”

“Yeah. Glad I could help,” he said with smile. “Shit do you mind actually if I take a picture of it? For Instagram.”

You nodded. “Yeah that’s fine.”

He took his phone out of his pocket while you laid down across his lap, rolling your sweatshirt up so that it was exposed. “Perfect,” he said as he snapped the picture the flash making you close your eyes all tight, making you move your hand so you could rub your eye.

Making your entire breast become exposed. “Shit,” you said, pushing it back down as you sat back up. Your eyes connected to his again and that’s when he kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to do it back. Your mouth moving against his ever so softly. Like the two of you were afraid to really do what you want, but also didn’t want to pull away. Until he finally started to deepen it.

You stroked his beard as he held onto you tightly. You came to straddle his lap as he cupped your ass. He started to lay you back.

Your phone interrupted you, making you jump away. You scrambled to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Hey. Just checking on you,” Sam’s voice came through.

“Oh. I’m fine, Sam.” You took looked over at Steve who closed his eyes and stood up.

“Is Steve with you?”

“Yeah he walked me home,” you said. “Actually I have to go I’m going to shower.”

“Okay. Text me before bed.”

“Okay.”

Steve was gathering up his things to leave by the time you got off your phone. You watched him move around. He shrugged his coat on. “I’m just gonna head out.”

“Yeah...” you pursed your lips.

He licked his lips. “I, um, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me... I-“

“No. It’s okay,” you replied taking a deep breath. “I’ll walk you out.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

You watched as he walked away heading towards the elevator. You still couldn’t believe that happened. Lips tingling from the way he kissed you. Apart of you was cursing Sam from ruining your moment.

Another part of you was kind of happy that he did because as much as you hated it, Brock still had this hold over you. It wasn’t that you felt guilty. It was more like you were afraid of what would happen if he found out.

God, you wish he didn’t have this hold on you. You were starting to close the door when Steve came back. This time he didn’t stop himself as he kissed you. Or picked you up, kicking the door shut behind him. Didn’t stop himself as he carried you to your room.

He laid you down on your bed, getting on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Trying to be as close to him as possible. Fuck he felt so good on top of you.

Scratching at his muscular shoulders. He pulled your top off first. Exposing your tits. His mouth went to them as he tried to avoid your tattoo. He swirled his tongue around your nipple.

You whimpered, biting your lip as you looked down at him. He’d switched to the other one to give it the same treatment. “So fucking beautiful.” He started kissing down your body so he could take off your shorts and panties. He kissed along your thighs, still looking into your eyes as he parted them.

Before he could put his mouth on your pussy, he went back up. Kissing you again. “Is this okay?” He asked resting his forehead to yours.

You nodded, reaching out so you could start undoing the buttons of his flannel. He helped you, pressing his lips to yours again. This time he put his tongue in your mouth.

Kissing him was different than Brock. Steve’s lips seemed to mold with yours better. There was this feeling in the pit of your stomach that felt like it was about to burst, but like you wanted it to. You really shouldn’t be comparing them, but Steve was making you feel so good and you were kicking yourself from having missed out on this as you wasted your time.

He pushed his shirt off his body then undid his pants. Sliding them down his legs along with his underwear. He got back on top for you, kissing your neck. Leaving little nibbles and sucking on your skin like he knew your body already. “Daddy,” you cried out, then sat up when you realized what you said opening your mouth to apologize.

“Oh yeah, Baby. You want me to be your daddy?” He asked, going back between your legs. “Want to be a dirty girl for me only?”

You nodded suddenly feeling drunk off of his words. Never did you think in a million years that Steve would be talking to you like this. He was getting you so wet just from that. He started licking your clit first.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he feasted on you. Pussy juices making a mess on his beard. “Yes,” you gasped out as he started to finger you at the same time.

That same bursting feeling in your stomach was getting intense. You cried out for him as you felt yourself reach your peek. You grabbed his hair, grinding your pussy against his face.

You took a deep breath as you tried to sit up, but he put a hand on your stomach to hold you still. “I’m not done.” He growled. “Hold still while Daddy makes you cum, Honey.”

You nodded bracing yourself as he went back to eating you out. It didn’t take long for him to bring you to another orgasm or another one after that. When he was done he kissed you, making you taste your juices on him.

As you made out again he went back to rubbing your cunt. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he said. “Gonna make you cum over and over again. Gonna take care of you.”

“Oh god yes,” you whimpered.

“Fuck I don’t have any condom,” he said, as he’d started to line himself up with your entrance.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m on birth control.”

He licked his lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I want you so bad, Daddy.”

He grinned as he kissed you softly. “I want to know your safe word first, Honey. Just in case.”

“Strawberry.”

He kissed your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. He pushed into you as your tongues came into contact. Your tongues carassing against each other.

You stretched around him and you started to understand why he’d spent so much time eating you out. Fuck he was thick. You stretched around him looking into his eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered into your lips. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s too much!” You cried.

“You can take it, Honey,” he kissed you again. “Be a good girl and take Daddy’s dick.”

He started fucking into you a little harder. You could feel yourself leaking around his dick. He’d really worked you up first even if he was still too damn thick for your pussy.

You scratched his back, biting his shoulder. He was thrusting so deep. You don’t think you’d ever been fucked this deep before. You’d definetly never been stretched open like this.

“Right there! Don’t stop!” You begged as he started fucking into your spot. “I’m fucking cumming!”

“That’s it, Honey. Cum for me.” He groaned because your pussy was so tight. Especially as you came. You were tightening around him and if he wasn’t so determined to give you a few more he would have let go inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Daddy!” You cried. He didn’t let up. Fucking you through it.

“Nasty girl, squirting for me,” he said getting on his knees so he could watch you.

“Oh god!” You didn’t stop. Your pussy gushing around him. He bent your legs back with his hands on the back of your thighs. Watching his cock all slick anytime he’d pull out only to push back into you.

He chuckled as it happened again. Your eyes all clouded over as you came again just like that last time. More juices squirting out of you.

“Please,” you said, but didn’t know why.

“What do you want me to do, Baby?” He asked.

You couldn’t say anything back because you were to far gone. Thoughts had officially left your head. All you knew was him and the he was fucking you so damn good. Still pressing into your spot.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” he hissed, getting back on top of you with his bicep wrapped around your thigh so he could keep you spread open. He kissed you again this time deeper. Fucking your mouth with his tongue.

You moaned into him and thrusts became to falter as he started to pump you full of his cum. He thrusted into you deep as he gave you every bit of it. Wanting to completely fill you up with him.

He laid on top of you trying to catch his breath. You were panting underneath him. Not even wanting him to move because he was so warm. You buried your head into his neck.

It took you a minute to come down from your highs. He smiled down at you, kissing you softly. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You shook your head, already closing your eyes because you were so comfortable like this. “I’m great.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smiled lazily as he finally rolled off of you. He brought you close to him, kissing your nose again. “Stay with me.”

“There’s literally no other place I’d rather be,” he said.

You’d spent all night messing around. Taking little cat naps in between. Right now he had you on your stomach as he fucked you from behind. You never expected to spend your holiday with him, but now you couldn’t picture spending it with anyone else.

You hadn’t even thought about your ex and the meltdown he’d have if he knew about this. It was nice feeling so free. Especially as Steve’s tattooed arms wrapped around you from behind.

Hints of daylight had started to break through the slits of your curtain. He chuckled. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered into your ear as he didn’t even let up the way he was fucking into you.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” you whimpered.

He kissed the back of your shoulder. “Gonna spend Christmas letting me make you my girl?”

You nodded trying to peek up at him over your shoulder with a smile. “Your girl?”

“After this I’m not letting you go,” he said, kissing your cheek from behind. “We might need to make this a tradition.”

“I like the sound of that.”

[obx-paradiseonearth]

The Bet | Rafe Cameron

Hey lovelies, this is my first Rafe Cameron fic and I hope y’all like it! It’s set with him and y/n in university and he’s for sure a bit out of character- no murder in this house he didn’t deserve that shit- but that’s okay because this is fanfiction! Please enjoy loves and let me know what you think!

Description: Rafe Cameron and y/n go to University together and make a bet at the beginning of the year: who can make the other fall in love first. This is the climax of such. 

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Warnings: SMUT: basic things, oral (female), regular sex, dirty talk (mild?), might be important to note she’s a virgin in this

Word count: 4.9k

Tags: Fluff, Smut, tiny bit of angst at the beginning if you squint super hard

// If heaven and hell had equal say in creating one person, it would be the man with his head between her thighs //

          She sighs, her toes burying themselves in the carpet as her arms reach well past her head in a much needed stretch. Her room is dark, the only light coming from her cheap desk lamp. The pounding in her head, for once, isn’t enough to drown out anything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. None of this was supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to get this far. It was always just a game, wasn’t it? She runs a shaky hand through her hair, her knees wobbling slightly at the thought. Get it together, y/n. 

          She pulls the scrunchie from her hair, her muscles coiled tightly, letting it fall around her shoulders wildly. Her skin is burning up under her jumper and she pulls it quickly over her head too, letting it land in a heap at her feet. Slipping her jeans off, and socks too, she reaches up again, only this time to turn the ceiling fan on. It whirls to life quickly and she’s left in nothing but her sticky skin and the black star lace set that he always adored. 

          Him.

          All she can see is his face, and the way his blue eyes would dance up her body if he was here. She can hear the breath he would take. No she can feel it, in her own lungs, swirling cool peppermint in her chest like it’s his own. His touch, light at first, moving slowly downwards, over the hills of her breasts, against the curve of her waist, until finally over-

          No.

          She doesn't want to think about him anymore. She needs to move, do something other than stand here and feel bad for herself. What would her mother think? And her sister? Actually she knows what they would think. They would say, ‘Y/n what have you done?’ No, actually, just her mom would say that. Her face would scrunch up and her nose would do that crinkle thing it always does when she’s disappointed. Which is a lot. Her sister, though, would be firm. Her sister would say, ‘Pick yourself up y/n. Get it together, he is not going to win this one. You do not let a boy do this to you.’ Her sister would be right, like always.

          The problem is she wants to scream. She wants to claw at her throat until all the sounds come pouring out. She wants to rip out her hair and scrub at her skin until she can’t smell anything but iron and fire. Anything but pine and sandalwood and him. She needs the memory of his hands to fade. Fast. But she can still feel his fingers tracing patterns on her back and the urge to scream gets so much stronger. It’s building in the pit of her stomach, the same way it used to, but this time it’s dangerous and angry. It makes an unfamiliar heat run through her veins. Visions of ripping her posters off the wall and smashing her laptop against her desk fill her head. She needs to calm down now.

          This time she does move, towards her bed, and sits on the edge, gripping her sheets with all the strength she has left. Something soft brushes her thigh and she glances down to see a brown shirt. Of course it’s here he must have forgotten it. Despite everything she pulls it over her head and curls into a ball. Just as she thought, it smells like the forest. 

          Sleep comes easier than she thought it would, her eyes fluttering closed in a pine scented sedation. Maybe he’ll come to her in her dreams. At least she can still have that. She lets herself sink a little deeper into her comforter as the pine gets a little stronger. 

         “So this is just it, yeah?” His voice is as slow as honey in the darkness of her room. Great, now she’s hearing his voice in her head. 

          She pushes her head against her bed, ready to let the sleep handle this. Except now there are footsteps, and they get louder, like they’re coming towards her. What the hell is going on.

         She rolls over in time to watch a blurry Rafe walk into her dorm room. Well, more like storm into her dorm room, in all his open-flannel, black-jean fury. It takes no time at all before she feels her feet touch the shag of her carpet again but this time her toes curl in order to keep her upright. 

         When his face comes into focus, he’s less than a foot away from her. “What are you doing here?” 

          Her voice is pure ice but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. His ocean eyes are black in the darkness. She can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, beckoning her to reach out and touch his burning chest. She has to close her fingers around the hem of the shirt- his shirt- to avoid accidentally doing just that. He’s fuming. 

        “What the hell was that back there?” His voice is slightly louder than before.

        She’s still staring at his chest. “Rafe get out of my room.”

        “Y/n, I’m not asking again, what the fuck was that?” 

        His chest heaves as he takes a breath and her hands itch to reach up and feel his hot skin, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

       She takes a step back. His being so close is making her head spin in dizzying loops. He only follows though, closing the space between them more than it already is, if that’s even possible.

       “You left. After everything I said you just fucking left!” His voice is strong but she doesn't miss the slight crack. It shoots a pain like she’s never felt before through her chest. 

        She can’t help the harshness in her words. “It was a game, Rafe.”

        “We both know it wasn’t, y/n.”

        At his words all the air gets sucked out of her lungs. 

        “You need to go.” It’s no more than a whisper, so quiet she’s not certain she actually said it. 

         She turns away from him, stumbling to lean against the posts of her bed, attempting to remain upright despite how weak her legs feel. She can hear his labored breaths from behind her and she screws her eyes shut, willing him to just walk away before either of them get even more hurt than they already are. Or at least more than she already is. 

         But of course, he wouldn’t be Rafe if he gave up that easily. 

         “Y/n you don’t mean that,” his breath is on the back of her neck and she shivers, trying not to squeeze her thighs together to make it last a little longer, “you can’t resist me and you know it. Just look at what you’re wearing.”

        She spins around quickly, a new rage igniting in her stomach and overpowering everything else in its wake. He’s always so damn arrogant. It makes her want to punch him in the face and maybe split one of his full lips. 

        She throws her arms up in exasperation, not meaning to lift the shirt past her hips. “What the hell do you want from me, Rafe!”

       His eyes lower and he sucks in a harsh breath, just the way she had imagined he would earlier. “Fuck.”

       “Rafe this was your idea! You won. Isn’t that enough for you?” She pulls the material back down, crossing her arms over her chest.

       He continues staring at her legs, greedily taking in every inch of bare skin. The heat between her legs roars to life again. She throws her hair back up, hoping to cool down even slightly. He makes her so damn mad all the time. This was never a good idea. She knew something like this was going to happen but, of course, she had to do it anyway. Stupid y/n. 

         She turns around again and steps away from him, praying he’ll leave. “Just go please.”

         She almost expects it when his hands grab onto her waist but she can’t help the sharp inhale she takes. His hands are life giving, despite everything that’s happened. They could still bring the dead to life again.  

         “You don’t want that, do you?” His words are warm against her now-revealed neck. 

         “It was a game. It wasn’t real, Rafe.” She tries to make her words firm but they come out as soft mewls instead. 

        His nose skims her neck and she knows he can feel her trembling in his grip. “Who are you trying to convince here, y/n, me or yourself?” 

         He plants a burning kiss against her skin- one she knows he has to bend over significantly to do- as his hands move inward, resting on her abdomen in the dip between her hips. She barely stops the moan from tumbling out of her lips. There’s no way she can respond right now or she’ll be done for. She’s seconds away from caving in. 

          One of his hands begins sliding slowly towards her chest and it takes everything she has to not throw her head back against him as her breasts swell in anticipation. His other hand, though, is creeping dangerously close to breaking her resolve. His fingers dance over the top of her panties and ignite every inch of skin he touches. Her ears are ringing so loud they drown out her own panting breaths. She’s a complete and utter mess in his arms. 

         “If you can honestly tell me that this is all a game,” his fingers continue to lower at a tantalizingly slow pace, “then I’ll leave.”

          She can’t help but lean further into his chest as his hand gently squeezes her breast and his thumb rolls over her nipple from over his shirt. She can hear her sigh over the ringing in her ears. The whole floor probably hears it. His other hand quickly finds her and he slides a lazy finger over her aching sex. She doesn't need to hear the moan to know it came out. 

         His voice is honey again, dripping down her spine with every sickly-sweet word. “Fuck, baby, if you can tell me that how wet you are for me right now is just a game then I will leave and you won’t have to see me ever again.”

         His words are the final push it takes to give into him. 

         “Rafe.” His name falls from her lips like a praise.

         As soon as he hears her he spins her around, lifting her with an arm under her butt and a hand gripping the back of her neck. His lips crash onto hers feverishly and she tastes peppermint with a hint of cigarettes, letting it consume the last remaining parts of her that want to deny him. Her legs wrap around his waist, warming from the bare skin of his abdomen. She can feel him against her as she tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling lightly at the roots.

          “Baby,” he moans into her mouth, sending tingles racing to the pit of her stomach, “it was never a fucking game. You've always been mine.”

         He walks her backwards with his mouth latched on her neck, no doubt leaving marks everywhere his tongue traces. He sets her on the edge of her bed, gently pushing her onto her back before shrugging off his flannel and kneeling between her legs on the floor. Even in the faint light she can see his eyes devouring every part of her. He takes his time running his hands up her legs, rubbing small circles wherever he wanders. She props herself up on her elbows, watching him take in all of her. He leans down to kiss the insides of her thighs. 

          If heaven and hell had equal say in creating one person, it would be the man with his head between her thighs.

         “Rafe, please.” she falls back when he moves closer to her covered flesh.

         “What do you want me to do baby,” he looks up at her as he places another kiss to the junction of her thigh, “I need you to tell me what you want.”

          Another moan slips out when his fingers graze over her panties.

          “Y/n, I need to hear you say it.” He sounds like he has all the time in the world. He slips his thumbs into her waistband and pulls ever so slightly.

          “Rafe, fuck, I-” his lips press against her hip bone and her mind scrambles to think of any words that will make even the slightest bit of sense together- “kiss me, fuck, please kiss me Rafe!”

         He looks up at her through his lashes, his hair falling in his face and a beautiful smirk carved on his lips. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

         Before she can process what’s happening he’s pulled the lace fully off her legs and his mouth is over her, his tongue swirling around her sex in agonizingly slow circles. Every nerve in her body sings his praise all at once which is funny considering he’s the one on his knees for her. It takes everything in her to not squeeze her thighs tighter around him if only to make sure he never leaves her. She settles for once again gripping his hair between her fingers. 

         He slips a finger inside her and curls it, pulling another one of the endless moans from her. She raises her hips, trying to get as close to him as she possibly can. She doesn't think she’ll ever be close enough though. They could be the same person and she would still never be close enough to him. His tongue circles her clit and she almost loses it. She never used to know why they explained it like a ball of fire in the pit of your being- like a mini sun exploding within you- until him. 

         “Rafe.” His name tumbles from her mouth of its own accord. 

         His eyes look up to meet her and that’s when the little sun explodes, the most delicious flames consuming her body like they always seem to do when he’s around- only this time a thousand times stronger. 

         He doesn’t stop sucking on her flesh until she’s panting from the overstimulation- her bones nothing but mush- and pulling him from her thighs and on top of her. His bare shoulders are smooth and powerful as he holds himself over her, her fingers crawling over the taut muscles feverently, his hair falling in his face once again. He looks at her in awe, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed- like it was his greatest pleasure to bathe her in ecstacy. She can’t help but pull his face to hers and press her lips against his. That’s all it takes to start the mini sun forming and twisting inside her again. Her lips move to his neck as her hands trace over his panelled stomach and pop the button of his jeans.

          “Fuck, y/n, baby are you sure?” He hisses slightly, sucking in some air as she wraps her hand around him, squeezing lightly. 

          She starts to nod before stopping herself, the words clawing at her throat, “yes Rafe, I’m sure. I need you.”

She’s ready to beg if she has to, her fingers squeezing again, her cheeks heating when he murmurs her name again. She’s never been one for drugs but the way he says her name? Oh, she’s hopelessly addicted.

          He looks at her and for the first time tonight he looks a little unsure of himself. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

          Her heart flutters in her chest at his words. “You have to, please. I don’t want anyone else to do it. Only you.”

         His eyes flash, his hand moving to grab her jaw. “No one else is ever going to fucking touch you, you hear me?”

         She bites back the smile before it takes over her entire face, instead choosing to say the one thing she knows he needs to hear the most right now. Her hands slide over his chest, curling over his strained shoulders and squeezing. She can almost feel her blood running through her veins- thick and hot and determined- as she says it.

          “Rafe I love you.”

          The room is silent for the first time since he walked through the door. It’s nerve wracking, to say the least. His eyes search hers thoroughly- as if trying to decide whether or not she’s telling the truth. His chest heaves, brushing hers with each labored breath. She can honestly say this is the first time she’s ever seen a shocked expression on his face. It’s quite heartbreaking, to be completely honest.

          “What did you say, baby?” His voice is barely a whisper.

          “I said I love you, Rafe Cameron.”

          He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers, “again.”

          Her brows furrow, her heart pounding. Did he not hear her? No, that can’t be right. She hadn’t stuttered, hadn’t fumbled. She was quite clear. Her heart thunders painfully, her chest aching. Does he not want to say it back?

           “Baby, please,” he opens his eyes and she gasps, the shine clear even through the darkness, “I need you to say it again. I need, fuck, I don’t know-”

           Oh. 

          Oh no, no, no. 

          “I love you,” she pushes her hands up his chest and through his hair, tugging him closer to her, a wave of something fierce flooding her body, “I love you, Rafe. I love you so much it hurts.” She presses her lips against his, biting his lip hard before releasing him, her eyes searching his face desperately, “didn’t you hear me earlier? You won! You made me fall in love with you! I am in love with you, Cameron!”

          His mouth falls open slightly and, for a moment, all she can hear again is his panting breaths, wild and hot, like an animal finally set free, “Rafe-”

          He smashes his mouth against hers, cutting off her words and replacing them with her moan- so loud she’s certain it, too, like his lips, could wake the dead. Maybe in a way her moan does. Maybe it slams through Rafe’s ears and veins and bones and makes him feel alive- makes him feel like he has a purpose, even if it’s just to bring her the greatest pleasure of her life. She can’t be sure but if the way their teeth clash together and his hands rub across her skin- like he’s trying to start a fire with his bare hands- are any indication then she could die a happy woman knowing he’s finally alive.

          “I love you.” His tongue slips into her mouth and she groans, the peppermint exploding over her senses again, “I’m in love with you.” His voice is husky- strained from something she knows she wouldn’t be able to understand- and she sighs, her chest welling with an aching longing on he can erase, “have been for way too long.”

          She’s breathless, lost in the way he says the words. It’s like he plucked each word from the sky, fished each one from the sea and pressed each together with only his hands. Each word is special. Stars and pearls and diamonds. I’ve been in love with you for way too long. She’ll never ask him for a necklace or a ring- he just ruined her wanting anything material from him- she’ll only ask that he never stops saying he loves her like it’s the only thing that matters.

          Hearing him say the words makes her light up, a passion burning through her veins that makes her crave an outlet of sinful proportions. She slips her fingers back into his jeans, this time tugging him free and pumping her fist slightly, her mind going fuzzy from how big he feels in her hands. Will this even fit? She swallows thickly, forcing her mind back to his velvety skin. He’s long and hot, searing into her hand as her thumb rolls over his tip, spreading the moisture and pulling a throaty groan from his lips.

          “Fuck, I need you baby,” he mumbles, his hand dragging down her side, his fingers slipping back inside her. 

          He curls his digits again, twisting them hastily, as if desperate to hear her soft moans again. If that’s his goal then he succeeds indefinitely, her core clenching with the slip of his name from her lips. She squeezes her hand around him, breathless from the feeling of him throbbing between her fingers, mirroring the way her body responds to his ministrations. 

          “Rafe, please,” she doesn’t know exactly what she’s begging for but she’s compelled by the way he thrusts into the palm of her hand when she says his name, “fuck me. I need you to fuck me.” 

          Saying the words make her tingle, her skin flushed and yearning. They feel so wrong in her mouth- obscenely so- but she craves the way they make him buck against her, pulling her skin between his teeth and biting. She lifts her legs and pushes her heels against his hips, trying her best to convey how hungry she is to feel completely full- not just with his fingers. Come on, Rafe, please.

          “Yeah, you want me to fuck you baby?” His mouth is on her ear now, his voice low but strong. Her belly squeezes at his words, his tone dripping with sweet torture. His thumb flicks over her clit slowly, his eyes watching every little movement she makes. It’s becoming explicitly clear just how long he’s been waiting for this moment. The thought alone makes her moan. “I can’t hear you baby. Should I fuck you right now?”

          The coil in her belly tightens further and she moans as he removes his fingers, his hand latching on to her hip. Something tells her this is Rafe Cameron at his most restrained self.

          Time for that to change.

          “I want you to fuck me, Rafey,” the nickname slips from her without hesitation, her own way of proving she’s ready for him, her pride swelling when he squeezes her tighter, “right now.”

          That’s all it takes for him to kick his jeans off, jostling her body closer to him. She groans when he runs his tip over her clit, teasing her entrance with the first true glimpses of electricity, her skin crackling and sparking wherever he meets her. By the time he finally lines himself up she feels like she’s seconds away from combusting. The flames licking at her- just barely contained under the surface of her skin- roar when he pushes in the first two inches. 

          She gasps, tasting metal in her mouth, “holy shit, Rafe.” He feels like fire inside her, like he’s burning himself into her, her body igniting from the inside out, “too big. You’re too big.”

          He chuckles and the sound is like water. No, not like water. She’s pretty sure it is water, pouring over all the parts of her that roar when he pulls out and pushes back in a few more inches; soothing her like the ocean lapping at her body on an especially hot day. It’s a fitting notion; him being her ocean. She could drown in his presence. 

          “I promise I’ll fit, baby.” 

          Because you were made for me, she fills the rest in herself.

          With a final push- one that makes her wonder if she’s supposed to taste the flames on her tongue- he bottoms out, stalling as she adjusts to him. She swallows a few times, her mouth going dry from fighting her groans of pain. She doesn’t know when her hands found his shoulders but she doesn’t think about it, she just digs her fingers into his skin, tipping her head back and squeezing her eyes shut.

          “Rafey,” she whines, her voice hoarse in the sudden silence.

          “I know, baby,” he coos back, his lips meeting her jaw and his hand massaging her side.

          The ache subsides slowly- the fire fading from inferno to smolder- and she shifts her hips, trying to find a more comfortable position and- oh.

          Oh holy shit!

          “Oh my god,” she gasps, dragging her hand across his back, sinking her nails into his skin as a wave of white hot pleasure jolts up her spine. 

          She bucks her hips against his- she has to, it feels like magic- her thighs climbing around him, her ankles crossing behind him. He laughs again, his lips brushing over her neck. He pushes one arm under her back, the other hooking around her knee, pulling her closer to him. She moans when he slides slightly inside her, stretching her in a way that makes her see stars.

          “Baby-” she clenches and he hisses- “fuck, I’m taking that as a go ahead,” he murmurs, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into her heat, “god, you’re so tight baby. So fucking perfect.”

          He pulls out again, pushing back in a touch harder. Her toes curl when he sets a steady rhythm, his shaft meeting depths she didn’t know were possible. Her room fills with the sound of his skin slapping against hers and the little moans she can’t contain, emphasized by his own, softer groans. Every time his hips meet hers she feels that ball of fire- the sun she didn’t know existed inside her- grow a fraction. Soon it’s humming, pulsing in the pit of her stomach and begging to explode.

          Rafe pushes up on his arm, pulling her hips to stay aligned with him as his eyes devour her, his mouth falling open with a groan. The tiny sun squeezes at his hungry expression, the fire behind his eyes feeding the fire growing steadily within her. 

          “You look so pretty baby, wrapped around my cock like that,” she moans, the words fuel to her fire. “Do you like my cock, baby?” Her core squeezes and he bites his lip, his hand digging into her hip. “Someone clearly likes hearing what I have to say but can she speak?”

          Her cheeks flare with heat but the ball of fire only grows once more, “I love your cock, Rafey. It’s-” she gasps he pulls out before slamming back into her, her eyes widening from the tangible pleasure rolling through her- “it’s so good.”

          “That’s better baby. I want this whole building to hear you scream,” he growls out, snapping his hips, “to know you’re mine.” He shifts his thrusts, brushing a spot that makes her gasp, his eyes lighting up dangerously, “got it, baby.”

          “Rafe, what, I don’t under-” 

          “Trust me baby.”

          He pulls her leg up his chest, her ankle hanging from his shoulder as he picks up his thrusts. Her eyes widen as he somehow feels deeper, brushing a spot that makes her whine. He slams into her relentlessly, his fingers dancing down her leg until they find her clit, pressing down gently and circling. She moans- louder than all her other moans before- and shivers as the tiny sun pulses, the familiar feeling of ecstasy creeping over her bones again. She digs her heel into his shoulder, biting her lip and twisting her fingers in her sheets.

          “Oh fuck,” she gasps, her voice strangled.

          “That’s it baby,” Rafe encourages, his movements becoming sloppier, “louder.”

          He presses his fingers harder, his hips jutting precisely into her and all of a sudden the mini sun enters supernova, the coil in her belly snapping as her muscles squeeze deliciously, “Rafe!”

          He thrusts into her a few more times before tensing, his head thrown back with a choked moan. The sight alone is enough to make her want to do it all again but combined with the feeling of him twitching inside her, the warmth blossoming alongside his release, it’s dangerous- if she wasn’t before, she’s now painfully addicted to Rafe Cameron.

          He falls beside her, pulling out with a final, shared hiss. She reaches for him automatically, craving the feeling of his arms around her and his pine tree scent, now marred with the aroma of their actions. Her whole body still buzzes slightly but her limbs are weighed down with sleep, the fatigue wrapping around her bones and tugging. He pulls her against his chest, his hands sliding up and down her back, his fingers pressing into her muscles. 

          “That feels nice,” she murmurs, her voice sounding far away from her as she tries hard to chase away the blackness nipping at her vision, “I’m so sleepy now.”

          He presses his lips against her forehead, laughing lightly, “don’t fight it baby.” His voice is like a lullabye, soft and slow, pushing her closer to the brink of unconsciousness, “you’re about to have the best sleep of your damn life.”

          She hums, her eyes now closed and her face pressed against his arm, her fingers curled around his bicep, “love you, Rafey.”

          If her eyes were open she would see the way he smiles at her- the way he can’t wipe the grin off his face for fifteen minutes- and she would smile too. Her eyes aren’t open, though, so instead she has to make due with his words.

          “I love you, y/n.”

          It’s not a bad compromise. 

          The last thought the flits through her mind before she caves to the sweet call of post sex sleep is one that she tells herself she has to make sure to tell Rafe in the morning. It’s important. 

          She needs to tell him that she won.

[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter 5

Kids

Read on ao3

-

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. She’s going to Morocco.”

There was something in Steve’s throat, making his voice waver and sound reverent at the same time. 

“She’s going to Morocco.” Billy pressed his hand down Steve’s back, dragging his fingertips along his skin, surprisingly smooth and soft. 

Steve had his head on Billy’s chest, their bodies stuck together uncomfortably with sweat, but neither of them could be assed to move. 

They were wrapping up their little movie night, Almost Famous playing to a close on Steve’s laptop, perched on the kitchenette counter, just where they could see it from the bed. 

“Okay, that was really good.”

“I fucking told you. My mom showed me that movie when I was, like, eight. Shit changed me fundamentally.”

Steve shifted his leg a little bit but stayed silent. Billy could feel his muscles tensing uncomfortably.

“What?”

“What what?”

“I can tell you’re tense.”

“I just,” Steve sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention your mom before.”

“Yeah. Don’t really like talking ‘bout her.”

“Did she, you know ?”

Yeah. Billy did know. 

“Nah, she didn’t die. She left. Not long after that movie night.”

Steve’s head popped up from where it was rested on Billy, giving him those big fuckin’ eyes looking sappy and sad as all hell. 

“I’m sorry.”

Billy didn’t know what to say to that. 

He doesn’t tell people about his mom. About her lovely life that she’s built without him in it. 

It breaks his heart just to think about. 

“She’s got kids now. A husband.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’m just. Sorry.”

“I don’t know what I want to hear. But yeah. T’sucks.”

“You wanna know something that makes me sad? So we’re even?”

Billy huffed a laugh through his nose, bringing his hand up to tuck some of Steve’s messy hair behind his ear.

“Only if you wanna tell me.”

“Remember how I said I was supposedta get my high school diploma soon? Well, by soon I mean, like, maybe within the next few years.” Steve wasn’t meeting Billy’s eyes, and he put his head back down on his solid chest, his shoulders tensing up around his ears. “I never went to school. Not even when I was little. I’ve had the same tutor on the road since I was a kid, and he’s good. Tries his best. I just. I’m- not good . I’m not smart. You need to pass this test to get your high school GED if you’ve taken an ‘ alternative route ’. Like I have. But I can’t take it until I know the shit that’s on it, and my tutor, Scott, he’s too nice. Says I’m okay. That I’m on track. But I saw the program he teaches from. Says it’s for ninth and tenth graders. I’m nearly nineteen, and I’m in fucking ninth grade .”

Oh fuck. 

Oh fuck . 

Billy’s 98.6% sure Steve is fighting back serious tears right now. 

It was crushing Billy’s soul and making him feel like he was gonna join right on in.

But for how much Billy is a goddamn little crybaby, he sure is useless when other people start crying.

“It’s, Steve- that’s not your fault. You’ve literally never gone to school. Plus, like, I’m sure you don’t do your tutoring like I did school. Five days a week for like seven hours since I was five or something. You’ve been. Busy. You travel around and do all these amazing things, and, and, you're not dumb. Your parents just chose to not put you in school and then got mad when that didn’t work out as planned. It’s got nothin’ to do with your brain.”

This is gonna sound shitty. 

And Billy really doesn’t mean it like that. 

It’s just, well. Billy didn’t realize Steve was so. Fucked up. 

Traumatized. Might be a less harsh word for it. 

Billy just never woulda thought, when he first watched Steve ride like a fucking expert, or when he first noticed him strutting around the grounds of the rodeo, that there was actually something really sad behind that denim and flannel. 

It made something in Billy’s gut twist and turn. 

Because he’s the exact same way. 

Because underneath the layer of carefully maintained hot muscle-head douchebag jock, there’s a really sensitive boy who was abandoned by his mother and gets regular hits from his father. 

He can’t really decide if being able to see through Steve is a good thing or a bad thing, though. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to act like a fucking baby over it. I never really talk about it, so I guess the bad shit just kinda all decided to explode out all over you.”

“Nah, Pretty Boy. S’okay. I’m used to bad shit.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I meant it more in a bummer way, I guess.”

“I am sorry about your mom. It seems like you really loved her.”

Little bastard had brought it back around to Billy’s shitty baggage now. 

The gorgeous little dickhead.

“I do.”

And that’s probably the worst thing about it. 

All these years of feeling abandoned and forgotten. Of trying to make himself hate her, he still loves her so much. 

He is her. 

So much of himself modelled around the aspects of her he found most beautiful. 

The things, try as he might, he can’t help but love.

Billy felt Steve take a large deep breath on top of him. 

“Do you, like, talk to her much?”

“Nah. Should be getting a FaceBook message for my birthday next week. And then nothing ‘til Christmas. That’s how it goes with her.” She was literally the only reason Billy still kept his FaceBook account around. 

Mostly because when he was feeling sorry for himself he’d go over to her profile and peruse the album labelled “Family ❤️” until he felt worse. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizin’. Not your fault she couldn’t handle it all.”

“Was she really young, or something?”

“Yeah. It was a case of too young and her own shitty father giving her enough issues to make her wanna marry the first asshole that told her she was pretty.” He’s never said all of this out loud. 

But he couldn’t. Stop. Talking. 

“Then when he turned out to be a bigger dick than she imagined, she split. Basically fell off the Earth for a few years. Served my dad divorce papers out of the blue one day. Now, she’s got a family that doesn’t suck, and barely spares any thought for the kid she left down south. Not that I blame her.”

He does, and he doesn’t. 

It’s an odd situation. 

He blames Neil for everything, when he’s thinking clearly. 

He pushed his mother away with the same violence, the same painful rage he shows Billy. 

But he also blames her. 

She could’ve taken him before she scrammed. Could’ve fought for custody over him while she and his father met for Skype calls with their lawyers to settle the divorce.

Their split was easy, because she didn’t want anything. 

Not their house, not their belongings.

Not their son. 

“Wow. I thought my family was fucked up. Not to be rude, or anything.” Steve flushed, but he had the ghost of a smirk on his face.

“Every family is fucked up. Just in different ways.” 

“I guess you’re right. I should probably get my head outta my ass and quit bein’ so selfish, then.”

Billy smiled fondly at Steve.

“You’re not selfish. Just don’t got a lot of outlets, I assume.”

Steve nodded, and Billy understood. 

He doesn’t either. 

The only person he even considers close enough to vent to, is Max. And even then, he doesn’t tell her all of it. Not nearly any of it. 

She knows he’s gay only because she knows Neil’s a fucking homophobe. She knows he gets beat only because Neil does it in front of her. She knows his mom left only because sometimes Neil gets drunk and spits in Billy’s face that it’s all his fault she’s gone. 

But she doesn’t know that Billy agrees with Neil on that last bit. 

That maybe if he fought for her better-

Got in between her and Neil when he was goin’ in rough and hard on her down in the kitchen, instead of hiding under his bed with his hands pressed over his ears. 

He’s got no one to work through all this shit with, and by the sounds of things, Steve hasn’t got anyone either. 

And maybe that’s what they could be. 

For each other. 

Billy shook himself.

“You wanna start your movie?” He asked Steve, trying to redirect the evening back to their Favorite Movie Double Feature, and out of Billy’s Hopeless and Has Feelings territory. 

Because time was ticking down. 

And no matter how much Billy felt like Steve was the perfect compliment to his frayed and ragged soul.

Steve was leaving. 

Steve was always leaving. 

[catharrington]

26 and 40 for sleepy prompts??

Thank you so so much for the prompt~~ I am in love with this list!! Always accepting more ;)

Sleepy prompts: 26/“I know it’s embarrassing I still sleep with a Night light” && 40/“It’s just a nightmare, it’s nothing real.”

***

Steve was warned about Billy Hargrove from the second he got the college’s Email listing his new roommate. Whispers about how he’s a jerk, walks around with no shirt on, maybe no pants, leaves beer cans crushed around his room. The type to hang a sock on the door knob to let you know he’s busy.

Steve braced himself as he packed up and moved into his senior dorms. The boxes of his sparse belongings and heavy books itching on the palms of his hands.

Billy Hargrove ticked off a box as soon as he opened the door. He was laid out on his already claimed bed, kicking his legs so his cotton exercise shorts rode up his thick thighs; and he was shirtless. Steve’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he took in curling muscles tanned glittering copper. Still sticky, still sweating with it. Like he just got back from riding his golden chariot laps around the sun.

Steve moves his eyes to his small desk at the foot of the one unclaimed bed. Sets his box down hard like he stumbled, when really it was more to try and wake himself up.

“Hey,” he turned around all practiced plastic ease, running a hand through his messy hair he knows he’s let grow out way too long. It’s curling over the bottoms of his ears. Billy’s eyes flick down to follow the movement. “I’m Steve Harrington,” he introduces himself.

Billy leans back more on the bed. His abs flexing. He licks his lips, replies, “Billy Hargrove,” like he’s doing Steve a favor.

Steve takes his hand back that was outstretched, that’s just fine with him not getting burnt. He glances around the small room a few times just to take it in.

Their beds are parallel to each other running along either wall, at the foot of each bed is a desk and matching bookshelf, and separating them like a line in the sand is a floor length window that looks out to the campus. Billy’s got a couple band posters up, one of just some guys crotch in leather pants, the other a sunny yellow Cerberus foaming at the mouth. And a hot to the touch lava lamp sitting alone on top his bookcase.

Steve doesn’t have more than him, maybe he’s got a little less. Where Billy has his posters Steve leaves his wall blank, but where Billy’s bookcase is comfortably filled with reading material, Steve’s wood threatens to give out under the weight of his medical textbooks. Stacks and stacks of hard bound bricks take the space quickly, some on one side of his desk crowding his laptop and some even making a pile on the floor under his bed.

“Nursing?” Billy asks the second day they are existing in the same space.

Steve’s the one lounging out on his bed, highlighter behind his ear and hair pinned back with a thick clip so it doesn’t bother his studying. Hasn’t gotten it cut quite yet, doesn’t know if he ever will while Billy keeps taking long glances at it.

Billy’s talking to him over a Mark Twain novel as if Steve’s more interesting. “Yeah,” Steve shrugs, feels a blush rising at the attention, “want to do something important. Figured it would help people.”

“Must be pretty smart for that?” Billy’s eyes are a pretty shade of blue. Like the sky.

“I mean- I guess I am? but nah, more like,” Steve’s stuttering, “It’s really just lots of memorization. Remembering terms and locations- that I’m good at. When it comes to getting creative I fall flat on my face,” he laughs.

Billy laughs with him, simmering into something warm and sunny. They go back to their books and it’s not until next week Steve picks up that Billy’s a Language Arts major in creative writing. He feels like he’s shoved his foot in his mouth maybe a tad, but doesn’t want to ask.

He’s laying awake in bed thinking about it, letting his eyes wander over the spines of all of Billy’s bookcase in the low light and wondering what he writes. He’s never seen him write. When he hears him for the first time.

It’s just a low groan, a pained noise starting in his chest and dripping from an open faucet slowly through his gritted teeth. Sounds like he’s hurt, sounds like he’s scared. The lava lamp is molten next to his bed casting him in a glow of fire that burns his copper skin until it melts fat drips of sweat across his forehead to his pillow case. The noise gets louder, Steve lifts himself to one elbow, waits for a second as it gets louder still, then right as Steve’s gripping his blanket... Billy stops.

He exhales, twisting in his bed to kick his flat sheet into a pool around his hips. Steve doesn’t know it but he exhales too. Lays back down and grips his blanket to his chest as he watches Billy’s naked chest rise. The sweat dry on his skin.

Steve doesn’t know when he passed out but when he wakes up he’s alone in the room, and the lava lamp is turned off.

He found it annoying once, just once, to have the whole room washed in tones of red every night. Reminded him a little of his pool back home in Hawkins and how the blue light clung to his bedroom window like fungus. How he used curtains and blankets to drown himself in pitch black. But that never helped, and this red light seemed to be something Billy takes comfort in.

At the very least, comfort in a scheduled way. An hour before he sleeps he sips at a beer chilled in their shared mini fridge, Steve using his shelf for protein bars and Billy using it for a six pack that never runs out, leaning over his desk while his rippling back muscles block Steve from seeing what he’s doing. What he’s writing, Steve imagines again, his fingers lightly playing over his laptop as he listened intently to pen against paper even louder than his keys clacking.

But louder still, louder than the crushing of beer cans or the rush of blood in Steve’s head as he watches Billy from the corner of his eyes strip to his boxers to go to sleep, is the volume of Billy’s groans keeping him awake at night.

They are sporadic and every couple days, some dismissable, but some worse. Steve struggled with ignoring them when he knows he can’t. Knows his eyes are fixed on the way Billy’s strong rib cage flutters under his skin as he gulps for air. Watching mute as Billy’s stocky fingers rolls his sheet up to cover his neck, just to bring it back down.

The red light is on. The lava is moving shapes around the room. Shadows that are crawling mad like a pack of wild dogs to get to Billy. He groans and growls and fights back before he exhales. Always the same. Steve exhales himself now, counts the seconds until Billy’s rib cage jumps return to normal. Wonders briefly, if he should be using his nursing schooling for this.

He’s forced to, quicker than he wanted to, still scared to get burnt by that copper skin. But it’s two months they’ve been living together. Two months of nightmares and red lights. Never sleeping and drinking too much coffee. Two months of Steve laying awake cataloging, highlighting, memorizing, the way Billy’s hips turn inwards sometimes when he dreams in the exact motion of getting kicked in the ribs.

It’s on this day, this red lit night, that Billy doesn’t groan. His snarls soften to whimpers before they even start. Billy doesn’t wiggle as if he’s fighting back, he simply reaches out one hand, towards the middle of the room. Into the streaks of light the cheep curtains over the window lets in. His fingers curl in a begging way, reaching out.

Steve closes his eyes, tries to ignore when he knows he can’t. Listens for the symptoms of it slowing down and stopping but they never come. He opens his eyes only to notice Billy’s crying. Fat drops of tears look molten lava down his pretty face. Turning his golden freckles to tar with their tracks. Billy’s hand stays out, grasping, fingers clawing.

Steve lifts himself up on one elbow. Moves his blankets off his body with one arm. Sinks down to the ground in his soft flannel pajamas and worn high school basketball tshirt and kneels by the edge of Billy’s bed. Steve gathers Billy’s begging hand up in his own, intertwining their fingers together and clutching flushed hot skin to his chest.

It takes a moment for Billy to wake up. Steve slouches against Billy’s bed, using their joined hands to hold his chest up while his other hand moves to ginger colored curls. He tucks one behind Billy’s ear. Let’s his fingers graze over the metallic skin flushed and burning blood red, let’s it light his skin on fire. Steve runs his hand from Billy’s chin to his chest, tracing the hammered sword edge of his collar bones as they vibrate with the noise of his whimpers.

Steve presses the length of his fingers to Billy’s skin until he doesn’t vibrate. Until his breath is evening out. Steve’s doing his job, helping, trying not to get burnt. He watches with a medical detachment until blue eyes flutter open. Then Steve’s breath is hitching.

“Steve,” Billy mutters, his voice raw. His blue eyes glance around them for a moment, taking in the way Steve’s got his hand and whole arm possessively tucked under his body weight and the way his feather light fingers haven’t lifted from his skin. Still pressing his collar bones just with the fat of his fingers, as if he’s steadying himself to press down ivory piano keys.

“Steve?” Billy repeats his name in a question. Then he lifts one hand to drag across his face in embarrassment, and when he moves the rainfall of sweat collected there he seems to get it.

“I’ve been noticing these are happening frequently, but this is the severest they’ve gotten yet.” Steve explains in a calm voice he thinks his emergency response professor could be proud of.

“You’ve been noticing shit bout me, pretty boy?” Billy coos back.

Steve’s tone of voice crumbles. “You’re very loud, y’know?” and it’s more like a squeak.

“Sorry,” Billy lets the word roll loud and heavy from his chest. He turns like he wants to pull away. Wants to hide and pretend it’s normal, most likely. Steve doesn’t think he’s done holding Billy’s arm.

“Don’t have to be sorry about nightmares. Everyone gets them.” Steve traces collar bone to shoulder, runs over the swollen curves of his biceps to his glowing red arm wrapped in his own. Cuddles up to Billy’s arm like his pillow left forgotten on his bed. He folds himself over more in a way he should be called crazy for, doesn’t seem to have the energy to care. He hasn’t been sleeping much. Hasn’t been sleeping at all.

“It’s just a nightmare,“ Steve continues. His chin bumping into tanned skin with every word, “it’s nothing real.”

“It was real once,” Billy whispers out. Blurts the words quick. His swollen red eyes move to watch Steve’s reaction. His emergency response professor would be proud in the way Steve only gave a gentle smile in reply. Prompting for more with a nod.

Billy reads him, line for line, before he continues on. “My old man used to get drunk, take a whiskey bottle by the neck and just swig until he felt like a different man. He used to stumble into my room and remind me I ain’t shit. I wasn’t wanted. I was forgotten and I’ll always be forgotten,” Billy’s talking like he’s not paying attention to his words. He closes his eyes and turns as he speaks, rolls this time towards Steve. Bubbles him in with hot skin and melted tears and intertwined fingers finally tightening their grip.

“Sounds like you’re a survivor, Billy. You’ve lived and grown. It’s okay to be afraid, it’s okay to remember, but in this dorm he isn’t real.” Steve notices the way Billy’s crying again. He hopes it’s not because of him. “You are safe now. Here, you are safe. No one is coming in that door.”

And Steve really hasn’t had much course on therapy for trauma survivors, other than the symptoms of shock. He can set a broken bone and stitch a cut, give CPR, but for this he stops blowing dust off his piles of text books. He doesn’t care what his professors think, he’s biting his lip as he worries unprofessionally about Billy understanding how safe he is. How much Steve won’t let that happen again. How much he wants those blue eyes to open up, washed garnet gemstones in the lamps light and sparkling just as brilliant with his crying.

How Steve wants only to pet across that skin until the motion settles him and the shadows of lights from the boiling lava stop appearing as wild dogs.

Turn into clouds shifting though a sunset sky. Turn into safety.

Billy opens his eyes. They find Steve’s easy in the dim light. “I know it’s embarrassing I still sleep with a night light,” he says playfully.

Steve laughs back. Turning his eyes down before looking back up. Catching those eyes anew always seems to take his breath away. He must be burnt a special shade of crimson under this light. “It’s not embarrassing. Lava lamps are hip, very retro cool,” Steve teases.

Billy rolls his eyes, but he’s tugging on Steve’s arm and motioning with a tilt of his impossibly sharp jaw bone towards the bed. “Wanna get up off the floor? Pretty boy like you shouldn’t have such dark circles. People are gonna think I’m,” he trails off, lets his eyes scan over Steve’s faded tshirt once before flicking back to his in a way that made Steve’s eyelashes flutter.

“I’m abusing you or something in here,” Billy finishes.

Steve smiles, not a smile to produce comfort or reassurance; but just smiles because he’s happy. He lifts himself from the floor enough to scoot into Billy’s narrow twin size bed with him. Billy doesn’t move his arm Steve has basically claimed. Steve doesn’t get his pillow from his own bed, so he keeps a hold of the well crafted bicep to use as a pillow.

This close Billy smells sweaty, there’s beer on his breath, but there’s also something earthy. Pressed paper that holds the smell of ink, and leather, and trees.

Steve runs one hand up Billy’s chest and gets his hand back on his collar bone, while Billy reaches out a hand slower and almost hesitantly until he’s pushing Steve’s messy hair off his forehead. Billy gathers up silky locks in his large well worn hand before tucking them behind Steve’s ear. His thick fingers follow the way it curls under his ear. Billy follows the way Steve’s soft skin gets softer behind his ear and around to the back of his neck.

There he lets his hand rest, cupping Steve’s long neck as if it was the most natural thing to do.

While Steve kept his hand right next to Billy’s pulse. Examining for a flutter as they slept that thankfully never came.

[writingjoycebyers]

Can you do prompt 97.“Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” . Maybe where Lonnie is being very violent with Joyce and hopper walks in and saves her.

I'll try, anon. I've always avoided writing something like this up until now, because I worried I might not be able to picture it with the right emotions or details. I've luckily never experienced any violence and I'm totally against it, so this is purely and entirely fictional, just like all my other writings. I've still tried to express the angst and everything! Hope you like it. 😊 Plus, Jim's perspective plays a role here, so that's a little different too. Enjoy!

Warning: mentions (detailed) physical/domestic violence. Don't read if that's not for you! 💥💥💥

Joyce x Hopper - you're safe

It was 10.37 pm when Jim got the call from Flo at the station. Callahan had brought Lonnie Byers in for domestic disturbance, but someone had to go check in on the woman. Lonnie Byers, woman. That was... Joyce. She had refused to be taken care of, refused to go to the hospital.

Hospital. Hop frowned. Was it that bad?

Hopper felt anger and fear boiling up in his veines as he told Flo he'd do it himself, and that he'd be out of duty for the night then. Hopper had just returned to Hawkins half a year ago, and he realised that this was the first time he felt any other strong emotion than grief.

He started his engine and left the parking lot he'd been in, making a u turn on the road to head towards the Byers house right outside the center of Hawkins.

Five minutes later, he parked in front of the small house, dim light shining through its windows and he left his car, walking through the high grass that could have made a nice garden.

.

.

.

Joyce was sat on her sofa, when she heard a knock on the door, staring at the wall that held the one and only family picture of her, Lonnie and the boys. The glass was smashed.

A knock on the door, ah shit, the policeman had told her he'd send someone over again. Oh, no. She didn't want to open, she wanted to be alone, but could she really ignore the police?

So she slowly got up, as good as she could with her whole body aching and feeling sore. She made her way towards the front door, avoiding to look into the mirror hanging next to the shoe-drawer by the door. She didn't want to see herself, didn't want to face herself.

She'd been sitting on the couch for an hour, head throbbing from the crying, and she hadn't yet inspected her injuries, but it couldn't be worse than that one time Lonnie... never mind.

She was startled up when she heard another knock, realising she'd just been standing by the door without actually opening it. With shaky hands she turned the doorknob, only to find... Jim Hopper in his police uniform right outside her door. Right, he's back.

.

.

.

When Joyce opened the door for him, and her small frame revealed itself in the shabby door frame, he had trouble believing his eyes. Where has that girl gone? Funny, bright eyes, a laugh that could heal all his wounds?

She stood there, a weak smile on her lips, eyes teary, hair messy, and oh, fuck. The bruises.

Her lip was cracked open, dry blood covering her skin below her mouth, and her cheekbone was slowly but steadily turning into a deep shade of red and blue. Scratches on her neck and collar bone lead to another blue patch, disappearing inside of her blouse. The hand on the doorknob has fingerprints on its wrist, dark blue. He gulps audibly.

"Can I come in?", he asked, and she just turned around and lead the way. When Hopper enters the living room, he's shocked too, to say the least. It's a mess. A smashed whiskey bottle on the floor, and she was walking barefoot. Chairs fallen over, and pictures broken on a wall, right around Joyce's height frame. That scumbag smashed her against a wall.

.

.

.

Joyce sat back down on the sofa, as if Jim wasn't even there. Not once in her teenage life would she have guessed that Jim Hopper would once check in on her for domestic violence. Domestic violence. That's what it was.

Her eyes filled up with tears again, and added on to her feelings of shame, fear and hurt came embarrassment. Jim, her old friend, her first love, was here to see her like this.

.

.

.

"Where are the boys?", Jim asked with concern.

She didnt answer, Joyce was sitting on the sofa in unbearable silence, staring at her own hands.

He went to kneel down in front of her, gently patting her knee, afraid to startle her up with any kind of touch or movement — you never fully know what damage he's done to her.

But she let's him touch her, and it wakes her up.

"Jon's at a friend's house for the night, Will's with my Mom.", she says, nearly whispering, her voice sounding nasal and hoarse.

"Okay.", Hop stated, taking over control. "You're coming with me.", he said.

She did not even bother to protest or ask what he meant. When he helped her up by taking her arm, lead her to the front door and helped her into her jacket and shoes, she didn't even question it.

They got into the car and drive, and minutes later they arrived in front of Hopper's childhood home.

"I'm selling it. It's too big for just me, but I've lived here since I arrived back in Hawkins and til I've found a good buyer.", he explained, as if Joyce cared in that moment. But she hasn't forgotten of course, that his parents died a year ago.

He guided her inside gently, a hand on her back when they entered, as if she didn't know the way from years ago. Or maybe she didn't after all, knowing the way sneaking through his bedroom window way better.

She flinched a little at his touch, and her little, anxious move made his heart ache. He hadn't felt this... much since.. since Sarah.

This was the first time he was letting any feelings in, even if they were highly concentrated on the wish of sending Lonnie Byers to hell or prison, or both.

He let got of her back, careful not to pressure her with anything, and they entered the spacious living room. Not much had changed since the death of Hop's parents. Not much had changed since his childhood days.

Joyce looked around the room, taking it all in, not knowing where to stand or sit, or go.

"What do you need?", Jim asked and she looked at him, shrugging her shoulders. Decision questions seemed to be hard right now, and she noticed she felt a strange feeling forming in her gut, anxiety hitting at the thought of being perceived as crazy Joyce.

"Come on.", he said, leading her up the stairs and into the bathroom. He made sure she sat safely on the edge of the bathtub, after bringing her a bottle of water and a spare toothbrush.

In that moment, when he put some old flannel and boxer briefs of his onto the drawer by the sink, she couldn't help it. No one had ever taken care of her like this for... years, not even she herself, and it made her cry helplessly in front of that man she used to know, who had seen her cry in their lives before. It must have been the shock, she thought, that she started to cry, that she was just at a very vulnerable spot, but if she was honest with herself Hopper still made her feel safe, like it was okay to not always be the strong one.

Hop was just about to leave the bathroom, to give her some privacy to shower, rinse off the crusted blood and ease the bruises with the warmth of the water, when he heard her little sobs. He turned around and saw her, his flannel in her hand, tears falling down, running across the blue of her cheek and further down, mixing with said crusted blood.

She was a mess, he thought, but a mess he cared for, after all, a beautiful, broken mess he couldn't let go of, not even after all those years of having lost touch.

"Come here.", he said. "It's okay.", a weak try to reassure her, because nothing was really okay. Not for him, nor for her.

He opened his arms for a hug, but he asked her first. He didn't want to scare her with his touch again, although he knew it was nothing against him.

She nodded quietly, whispering a mouthed 'yes', and that was his sign to pull her close, in the middle of his parent's old bathroom and hold her. His hands stroked her hair first, soothing and calming her pulse down, before he gently wrapped them around her torso and squeezed a little, to make sure she knew he was there, strong and like a rock, and she was going to be okay.

She was still crying, muffled into his shirt now, and it broke him a little. "Shh...", he tried to soothe her somehow. "I've got you, you're safe.", he said, knowing it was only true as long as she didn't return home or Lonnie kept sitting in a cell.

When he squeezed her, to reassure her, she winced a little though. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"Ribs...", she whispered, and his heart dropped. "Let me see", he asked, wanting to make sure nothing was broken.

He raised her shirt and let it drop again as soon as he saw the blue covering her small ribcage. She must have taken a few punches, but he was in no place to ask. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but what was he sorry for? That she had married a complete jerk?

He gently stroked her side with his fingers, as if a gentle gesture could repair any of what another man's rough gesture had destroyed. He then moved to the bathtub and ran her a bath.

"Alright, Joycie.", he said. She was startled up by his old nickname for her, but she didn't protest. It felt like a timetravel to better days, easier days. "You're gonna take a good bath, warm yourself up, calm down, soothe those bruises.", he tried for a smile to encourage her.

"I'm gonna be right outside, next door, in the bedroom. And you'll just have to say a word and I'm there for whatever you need me."

She listened to his words and nodded, waiting for him to leave the bathroom, before undressing and climbing into the tub. Her whole body felt sore, and she felt rather like eighty than thirty-something. She let the hot water take her over like a foggy cloud, warm and safe.

When nearly 45 minutes later, Jim Hopper respectfully knocked onto the bathroom door, opening it a little without looking in, she had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep already.

She had drifted off, turned off the water, and had given in to her exhaustion.

It took Jim a few loud "Joyce"'s to wake her up, get her to the bedroom, and tuck her in.

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

And I Love Her

Harry Styles x OFC

Warnings: drinking, mentions of substance abuse

A/N: I have a lot of fics I'm working on at the moment. I have so many ideas I just can't keep them in my head. I hope you guys enjoy this one. Please let me know, the feedback is always appreciated. Much love to you all

  The summer of '92 in Seatle Washington was like some weird fever dream. Nirvana was hot, everyone smelled like teen spirit and the dirtier you were, the sexier. We partied all night, slept all day, didn't give a fuck about the man and smoked all the pot we could get our hands on. I crashed on friend's couches or slept under the stars when it was nice. The freedom of having nothing to tie me down was intoxicating and I ate that shit up. So when my best friend Anna asked me to go out with her to see some bands at a local bar, I didn't hesitate.

    It was a shitty little bar. But I guess it was supposed to be. It was the 'aesthetic' of the day.

     My best friend Anna tugged me along behind her. The music was loud, the makeshift stage upfront holding a band that looked like they were plastered and played just about as well. The singer crooning into the mic about losing someone they loved and how life was a bitch. Didn't we all know it too.

    Anna pulled me to a booth, out of the way of the small crowd that had crammed into the bar to hear this band play. People thrashing and head banging, twisting their bodies and writhing to the music. Red lights set an ominous glow, the smell of booze and weed filling my nostrils.

    I slid into the booth beside her, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. She ordered two shots from the waitress that came by while I fiddled with my lighter.

    "I thought Shannon and Reggie were meeting us here." I said loudly in her ear. Christ you could barely hear anything over the dude screaming on stage. I rubbed my temples, a slight headache forming.

    "They are. But they had to work. Said they'd walk over after....not everyone can live off of painting and commissions." I rolled my eyes. I was a visual artists. I did a lot of abstract and weird art. You'd be surprised by all the people that are willing to buy the craziest shit. There's a lot of weirdos like me out there.

    The waitress came back with our shots and I downed mine immediately, ordering a beer behind it. Anna sipped hers, don't ask me why, she always did shit like that. I was getting ready to say something to her about the band playing when I saw him. He came in through the front door and my eyes immediately landed on him.

   He had long curly hair that looked as though it hadn't been brushed or washed in weeks. He wore a baggy plain black shirt, ripped blue Jean's and what looked like jet black Doc Martens. A green flannel draped over his shoulders and sunglasses draped on his head. If I had a type, he was it.

He was with a group of people. Anna was talking in my ear but I couldn't hear her, entranced by this good looking man who was now making his way towards our booth.

"You look like a prince." I smirked as he walked by, stubbing out my cigarette. The boy stopped, turning to look me up and down. A wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Would a prince do this?" He grabbed me by my forearms, pulling me to the ground and flipping me onto my back. The floor was soaked in beer, my dress instantly wet as I squirmed beneath the boy above me. He grinned triumphantly as we rolled around, wrestling against each other.

"Stay down." He commanded, pressing my wrists into the floor. I smirked up at him, shaking my head.

"Never." He licked his lips.

"You're a fighter....I like that." His accent was thick. His words rolling off his tongue like poetry as he spoke. It had to be English. His voice was low and deep, his words slow, enunciating every word.

"You have no idea." He stared at me for a moment, eyes leaving my face, trailing down to my chest, I squirmed again only to have his grip on me tighten before his eyes snapped back up to mine.

"Sassy one aren't you." He let me go, getting off of me and helping me to my feet. "Sorry about that love...I really couldn't resist." His shirt was wet with beer, his hair matted and pressed against his cheek and neck. "I hope you stick around for the rest of the show."

"You playin'?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Could be....gonna have to stick around to find out." He reached out, wrapping a hand around my wrist and pulling me towards him again. "If you do decide to stay, meet me in the hallway after the set yeah? Wanna see just how much of a fighter you are." He winked at me before letting go, leaving me breathless and blushing.

What in the fuck?

"Tabbi, you know who that is?" Anna asked me with wide eyes. I shrugged, climbing back into the booth, my dress soaked and reeking of the spilt beer that had lathered the floor. "That's Harry Styles."

"Okay?" I said, glancing up to see him conversing with the band setting up on stage. "Is that a big deal or something?" she looked at me like she couldn't believe I didnt know who he was. it was annoying really.

"He's in the band about to play. One direction and...." she leaned forward across the table, trying to whisper now. "He's just....there's a lot of rumors about him. I'd steer clear if I were you." I wasn't impressed. I thought maybe she wanted him and was jealous of our little flirtatious action a minute ago. I rolled my eyes.

"Come off it Anna. It was just a little harmless flirting. Nothing more...."

Anna didn't say anything else, our attention turning to the stage as the soundcheck was coming to an end. Girls screamed endlessly as Harry stepped forward, guitar slung around his shoulder, a confident smirk on his face.

They opened with a number called 'Little Black Dress.' Wasn't really my style but I listened, observing the band as they played. The short, lanky bassist, covered in tattoos, the drummer with the arrow tattoos on his arm, he was cute too. The blonde one playing guitar alongside the boy I had wrestled-Harry.

And boy did he know what he was doing. Once the song ended and they started 'Stockholm Syndrome' his movements became so sexual. He stroked the mic stand with his fingers, loosely twisting his wrist up and down it, grinding against it, licking his lips, winking and sending kisses into the crowd. The men seemed to love it almost as much as the women.

"Hey guys!" Reggie and Shannon showed halfway through the set. I waved half heartedly, still intrigued by the boy commanding the stage. The music wasn't my favorite. But damn if he wasn't a great performer.

"She was wrestling with Harry Styles." I heard Anna telling them what had happened. Reggie called my name but I ignored him in favor of the band. I wasn't going to explain myself. I hated judging people based off of what other people told me about them. I'd rather find out for myself.

I decided not to meet him after the show. It was true, I was attracted to him. But he was going to have to work for it.

We were standing outside, huddled in our group, smoking and talking about the music when I felt an arm snake it's way around my waist.

"Left me in the hallway. Tsk. Tsk. What a tease." My stomach flipped and I gasped as his fingers slid just beneath my t shirt, just enough to trace over the waistband of my Jean's. I turned to see Harry, his pupils were blown, the green of his eyes only slightly noticable, giving his eyes a soft glow. I smirked, leaning in close, eyes darting to his lips before looking him in the eye.

"Don't you know? It's all about the chase." He chuckled, running his hand through his hair. His fingers glinting with the rings on them when they caught the streetlight.

"The thing is...I don't chase baby." He looked me up and down again, sighing heavily, as though he were bored. "You'll come to me when you're ready for me."

"Harry-" I gasped, a blonde girl shoving me back as she threw herself at Harry, kissing him hard on the lips. I rolled my eyes in disgust, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart and the disappointment in my stomach.

"Hey," I turned to see the bassist, the other one with a shit ton of tattoos. He smiled at me, holding his hand out. "I'm Louis. Sorry about Camille. That's Harry's girl."

"No worries. I'm just glad I didn't hit the pavement." He chuckled.

"Can I bum one?" He asked, watching as I pulled out my cigarettes. I held the pack out to him, he took two, stuck them in his mouth and lit them at the same time. 

"Neat party trick." I teased. He shrugged.

"Nicotine addiction. You know."

"Lou." Harry's voice was low, his tone darker as he shouted at his bandmate. Camille had her arms wrapped around his shoulders, he had one hand wrapped around her waist. "We gotta go. Get a move on yeah?" Louis smiled at me sympathetically, pulling a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket.

"My number....I'm havin' a party at my place in a couple days. You should come through. I like meetin' new people. Be cool to hang." I check out of the corner of my eye and see Harry watching me closely, nostrils flaring as I stick the piece of paper in my bra, giving Louis my most seductive smile. Harry wasn't going to win me over. Not that easily. Like I said I like the chase.

"Cool. Maybe we'll swing by."

"Tommo." Harry said louder, a warning beneath his tone. Louis shook my hand again.

"By the way," he asked, before letting go, "what's your name?"

"Tabbi. It's Tabbi." He smiled, bringing my knuckles to his lips and kissing them gently, his lips were soft and he was sweet.

"See ya later Tabbi." I looked, just in time to see Harry look me over once more, licking his lips before walking away with his bandmate and his girl. I kept hoping in a small way that maybe he'd look back.

He didn't.

[candy-and-writing]

Fresh Mountain Air For A Not So Fresh Beginning

Summary: After a mission went horribly wrong, and resulted in you getting hurt and suffering from major PTSD and anxiety, your boys move you to the mountains to heal

Warnings: 18+, implied rape, past rape, PTSD, anxiety attacks, PTSD attacks, smut, oral, minor angst

Taglist: @imsonick @forever-a-cynical @captainn-americaa @natdrunk @patzammit @stupendousshepherdloverpony @thereluctantlady @bangtan-serendipity​

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Steve sat on the balcony, hot mug of coffee in hand as he watched Bucky raise the axe and bring it down, chopping the wood into two. The weather was supposed to get bad this week, so he made sure everyone was doing their chores now in case they lost power. You were sitting on the couch, humming along to the radio as you finished folding the laundry. Steve had gone into town for groceries earlier this morning and did the dishes, and Bucky was chopping firewood. You were pretty high up in the mountains, so the forecast wasn't clear on exactly how bad it was supposed to be. If you had to go a few days without running the dishwasher, it would be alright.

Steve came back inside, shutting the screen door behind him. He set his coffee down on the dining table before taking his coat off, moving to hang it up by the door.

"Hey," you said, folding one of Bucky's shirts in your lap. "Buck almost done?"

"He should be, he's got enough wood to keep us warm all winter."

You stopped, a pair of boxers in hand as you looked out the window. "If he doesn't come in soon, you might have to go get him. It looks like the wind's starting to pick up."

Steve nodded, setting his mug in the sink. He'd wait for Bucky to get in and have his coffee before he washed it.

The door that led to the garage opened, Bucky bumping it closed with his backside. He struggled to toe off his shoes, a string of curses leaving his mouth. His arms were full of chopped firewood, his nose and cheeks rosy from the cold. His recent haircut was hidden underneath a woven cap, keeping his ears warm. He was wearing the heavy wool flannel jacket you liked to steal from time to time when you were cold.

"Hey, doll," he greeted, piling the wood on the rack by the fireplace. Steve was right, he chopped enough wood to keep you warm all winter. "How's laundry goin'?"

"I'm almost done," you replied, a warm smile on your face. "If you want me to wash those, though—" you gestured to his clothing, "—you should change. I think I could manage to scrape together another load with the clothes from last night and this morning."

Bucky shrugged. "They're fine, sweetheart, don't worry about it."

Steve asked where Bucky had put the rest of the firewood, he responded with, "out in the garage. Figured it'd stay dry there."

You finished folding the laundry as Bucky warmed up with a cup of coffee, talking to Steve about the impending storm. When he finished his coffee, black with a little bit of sugar, Bucky and Steve met you in the bedroom to help put the clothes away. Bucky put things in drawers, and Steve handed you clothing to hang on hangers. That was what you always did, it was your routine. It worked. And when Buck was done putting the folded clothing away, he helped between handing Steve empty hangers and handing you the hangers that had clothes on them.

It was moments like these that made you forget the reason you moved up here. That made Steve retire early and made Bucky available only for short and sweet missions. The reason you had nightmares and woke up screaming each night, and your boys would struggle to comfort you because you were so stuck in your own head it became difficult to tell what was real.

It would be six months tomorrow, if the calendar was correct. It wasn't marked or anything, but it was easy enough to count down the days, the weeks, when they've been so blatantly haunting you. Like Steve said, one day at a time, and you counted every single day, waiting for it not to hurt anymore.

You had been on a mission with Bucky. Steve was with Sam in a small Siberian town while you two were in Turkey. It was hot and bright and it was sweaty. It's one of the reasons you moved to the mountains, to avoid the heat.

You had been checking out some old HYDRA intel. Bucky thought it was probably nothing, but you needed to be safe rather than sorry. It wasn't a big deal.

It wasn't supposed to be a big deal.

You and Bucky had split up. He took the upper levels and you took the lower ones. You had made it to the basement, so far finding nothing but empty file cabinets, too large of spiders, and outdated technology. Bucky had been sure to tell you to make sure and check that none of the computers worked.

You remembered calling Bucky through your comms. He said he hadn't found anything, and you were about to say the same. You had barely taken two steps into the room when you heard something shift behind you. Before you could turn around there was a sharp pinch in your neck and you winced, stumbling. Your vision became cloudy and your head spinny and you fell over before you even realized it.

When you awoke, Bucky was chained to the wall. You were chained down in the middle of the floor, your uniform gone. You—

"Y/n? Sweetie, you with us?" Bucky's voice dragged you from your thoughts. Steve was looking at you, a hand reached out and eyes full of worry. Bucky wore the same expression.

"Yeah," you smiled. "Sorry, I just blanked for a second. What were you saying?"

Steve continued to look at you with his worrying gaze. You just smiled at him, hopefully convincing him you were fine.

"I'm trying to convince Steve we need a dog," Bucky said. "We talked about it, but Steve still has a stick up his ass."

"I don't have a stick up my ass," Steve argued. You huffed out a laugh. "If we get a dog, we'll have to build a fence. And in moments like this when the weather is bad, we'll have a hard time taking care of it. We've had this discussion, Buck."

"So we invest in a therapy dog, those are a thing, right? It'd be trained, and we can have it to help Y/n. Or myself, Lord knows I need a dog sometimes."

Steve sighed. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

Bucky smiled. "I'd be willing to negotiate a cat?"

Steve looked over to you. You just smiled and shrugged. You both knew he wasn't winning this argument.

"We'll look into it after the storm," Steve sighed, defeated.

A smile broke onto your face, Bucky following. "Maybe Pepper can find some shelters?" you suggested.

"Yeah, I'll talk to her."

You kissed his cheek. Bucky pulled him in for a kiss, grabbing your hand and pulling you back into them. He kissed your head, Steve hugging you.

"I want a golden retriever," Steve demanded. You laughed.

"Deal."

••••

You lost power by eight o'clock that night. The wind was howling outside your windows, the blizzard knocking against the glass. You were eating ice cream and drinking the bottle of wine Steve had bought for date night when the TV shut down and the lights turned off all at once.

Steve had lit as many candles as he could while Bucky gathered your collection of many blankets. You sat on the floor, wine in hand and wrapped in a knitted blue throw while playing a game of Monopoly.

"That's bullshit!" Bucky shouted, throwing his hands up. "That's the fourth time I've landed on this stupid thing. Y/n, baby, please, you gotta help me out here."

You giggled. "I'm not trading this property with you, Buck. Not unless you give me an offer."

"Come on," Bucky whined, "work with me, baby."

Your eyes widened as your mind flashed back to that night, back to the basement. Come on, baby, work with me. You felt his hands on you, his fingers creeping up your skin. Bucky watched the color drain from your face, tears prickling at your eyes.

"Doll?" When you didn't respond, Steve realized what was happening.

"Shit, Buck, she's having a flashback." Steve stood, swiftly tucking his arm under your knees and picking you up.

It'll feel real nice, baby, just relax.

"I'll put her playlist on, can I do anything else?"

Steve was careful to set you on the bed, still cradling you and wiping the tears from your cheeks. Even in the dim lighting of the candles, he could see the fear in your eyes. "Warm a kettle over the fire, we can make her some hot chocolate."

Bucky nodded before rushing out of the room. You were shaking now, struggling to catch your breath.

"It's alright, baby, it's okay," Steve cooed. "You're safe, you're home. No one can hurt you, you're safe." He gave you a quick squeeze, his arms tightening around you.

He went through the list your therapist gave them back at the compound. Soft music, check. Dark room, check. Tight hug or pressure from Steve or Bucky, check. The weighted blanket was under the bed, he could have Bucky grab it if you wanted it.

Get her to open up, don't let her close herself off.

"Sweetie, I need you to talk to me," Steve uttered. "I can help get you through this, you just need to talk to me, to us."

You took a couple shaky breaths, opening your mouth before closing it again.

"The. . . the basement—I—and. . . and Bucky—"

"Buck is just fine, sweetheart," Steve answered, smiling slightly. "He's making you some hot chocolate."

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and watery. "He is?"

"Yeah, he should be in any minute."

You mouthed a silent 'oh' and curled back into Steve's chest. Bucky stepped in the bedroom quietly, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. He handed the black and gold star-spangled mug to Steve—it was your favorite, you claimed it reminded you of both your boys. Your hands shook as you took the mug from Steve, your grip lax and careful as you took a small sip. You mumbled a small thank you and looked at Bucky, who gave you a sad, small smile.

"Keep talking, sweetheart," Steve whispered into your hair. "Can you tell me five things you see around you?"

He heard you swallow, gathering your voice, and you started looking at the room around you. 

"I, um—I see Bucky," you said, your voice unsure. "I can see your shirt. . . the painting you made for me for my birthday, the wall, and the lamp."

"Good," Steve praised, "that's good. Tell me four things you can touch around you?"

You took another sip of the hot chocolate, the hint of cinnamon leaving a ghost of a smile on your face. "I'm touching my favorite mug, the one Bucky got me for Christmas last year. I'm touching the bedsheets. . . I'm touching you and your shirt by leaning on you, and if I reached I could touch Bucky."

Bucky reached out and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb along the skin below your knuckles. You sighed, relishing in his touch. He asked you to name three things you could hear, Steve kissing your temples.

"I can hear your voice, I can hear Steve's heartbeat, and. . . and I can hear the wind outside."

"You're doing so good, doll, we're almost done. Name two things you can smell?"

You thought for a moment, inhaling to smell your surroundings. "I can smell. . . the hot chocolate you made me, with the cinnamon in it. And. . . I can smell Steve's cologne."

"One thing you can taste?"

The hot chocolate, you replied. Steve smiled and kissed your forehead, hugging you as Bucky squeezed your hand.

"How do you feel?"

"Better," you sighed. You clenched and unclenched your hand, your nerves tightening after the anxiety started to fall. Your head ached, your brain pounding at your temples. "I'm sorry I. . . freaked out."

"You don't have anything to apologize for, sweetheart," Bucky said. "We just want to make sure you're alright." You nodded, closing your eyes as you focused on Steve's heartbeat jumping steadily through his sweater.

"Can you tell us what caused this?" Steve asked. You were silent for a long moment, thinking back. You weren't quite sure yourself—one second you were drinking wine in the living room with Bucky and Steve, and the next you were in bed, clutching onto Steve because you couldn't breathe.

"I think—I think Bucky said something," you said. "Something that. . . that he had said and it just—it made me spiral."

"I'm so sorry, doll," Bucky said, kissing your knuckles as he looked at you apologetically.

"What did he say?" Steve asked.

You shook your head. "I don't know." You pushed your mug into Steve's hands, and he set in on the nightstand by the side of the bed. Your hands covered your face as you stifled a sob.

"Come here, sweetheart." Steve's heart broke as he hugged you closer to his chest. Bucky crawled over to the empty space on the bed next to you and rested his hand on your stomach, kissing your head. "Talk to us."

"I thought I could get past this," you told them, crying. "I—I can still feel him, I can still feel his hands on me and I don't know how to get it to stop!"

Steve looked over to Bucky, who looked back at him sadly. It was hard, seeing their best girl like this, and they were never quite sure how to help you. You didn't like them touching you a certain way after you were attacked, but maybe—just maybe—that was what you needed.

"How 'bout Stevie and I try something different tonight?" Bucky said, running his hand up and down your arm. 

"Like what?" you sniffled.

"We know you haven't wanted us to touch you since. . . you know, but do you think that would help?" Steve asked, looking down at you. "You keep feeling him on you, maybe we can help wipe him away? We're willing to wait as long as you need us to, baby, we just want to help you."

"I—I don't know."

"Are you willing to try?" Bucky whispered against your temple. "If you don't like it, tell us and we'll stop. Is that okay?"

You thought for a moment, nodding carefully. Steve placed a chaste kiss on your neck, inhaling your scent.

"Are you sure? We don't want to pressure you—if you don't feel comfortable doing this, we won't."

You shook your head. "I want to try. I want to see if I can do it. . . please."

More than anything, you wanted to please your boys. You wanted them to be happy and proud of you, you craved their appraisal like an addict craved pills. You weren't sure this was going to work, but you wanted to try, you'd try anything just to be able to feel Steve and Bucky touch you again.

Steve placed his hands under your arms, lifting you and shifting you so you sat in between his legs. Bucky crawled so he kneeled over you, and suddenly you were trapped. But that was okay, you were safe. You were with the two people you trusted the most, and you trusted they'd take care of you.

Bucky cupped your cheek with his hand, bringing you in for a soft kiss. Your shoulders relaxed as you leaned into his touch, Steve trailing kisses down your neck. You hesitantly moved your lips against Bucky's, placing your hands on his face and bringing him closer to you. You let out a whimper as Bucky licked your lips, asking for access. You allowed it, opening your mouth and letting his tongue roam with yours. He pushed you against Steve's chest, your back collided with solid muscle, Steve's hands trailing up under your sweater. You shuddered at the warmth, at the ghost-like touches he left in his wake as Bucky buried his hands through your hair.

It was almost too much, their touches, the way they were everywhere all at once. Their touch burned, but in a good way, almost. You didn't want them to stop. If they stopped now, you were certain you'd combust.

"Can I take this off?" Steve husked against your ear, tugging at your sweater. You nodded, and he was quick to pull it over your head, leaving you in your push-up bra.

Steve bit back a groan, nibbling on your ear as Bucky trailed sloppy kisses down your jaw. You whined out a moan, Steve grabbing at your breasts. A spark of panic shot through you and your eyes shot open. You pulled away from Steve, pushing Bucky away.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart," Steve cooed, reaching out to grab your arm. "It's okay. You're okay, baby. It's just me."

Your chest fell and rose heavily. Bucky cupped your cheek, kissing your nose. "It's just us, doll. You're safe. . . . Do we need to stop?"

You looked up at him. You didn't want to stop, you wanted to enjoy them, you wanted to make then feel good. But this damn sense of panic wasn't going away.

"I want to keep going," you told them, eyes watery. "I want to make you feel good, I want to feel good. I just. . . can't stop this."

"Just relax, baby," Bucky muttered. "Focus on us. On our touch. Know that it's us and just focus on how good we'll make you feel."

You nodded, leaning back against Steve's chest. You told him he could touch you again, guiding his hands to your chest. He added the slightest pressure and squeezed, your breasts in his hands as you shuddered out a breath.

"Oh."

"That feel good, baby?" Steve asked, kissing your neck as Bucky attacked the other side. You nodded, sighing as you melted into his touch. "I bet it does, sweetheart. I can't imagine how you feel, not being able to let us make you feel good. We're here now, we're gonna take real good care of you."

"I love you," you sighed, digging your nails into Bucky's hair. "Both of you."

"We love you too, doll." Bucky kissed down your collar bone, his lips at the edge of your bra. Steve reached and unclipped your bra, letting it slide down your shoulders. Bucky was quick to dispose of it, throwing it to the floor. "You're so beautiful, baby."

You cried out Bucky's name as his lips latched onto your nipple, Steve rolling the other one between his fingertips. You focused on your boys, on the sensation of Bucky—of his tongue swirling against your hardened bud, of his hand cupping your cheek, of his hand in your hair. You focused on Steve—on his hands, on the solid muscle behind your back, of the feeling of his hair in your fingers.

Bucky's hand fell to your pants. "Can I take these off, baby?"

You nodded, afraid to use your voice. He unbuckled your jeans, slowly sliding them down your legs, off your feet. You had on cheeky lace underwear. Suddenly, you thought back to when you used to wear much less conservative underwear. Steve and Bucky always liked those—your decorative thongs, your favorite pair used to be lace with flowers. You got rid of them after you were attacked, but maybe you could get some new, less casual ones.

Bucky licked his lips, staring at your clothed core. Steve's hands kneaded at your breasts, thumb brushing over your nipple as he kissed a line on your shoulder. Bucky was quick to pull at your underwear, leaving you completely exposed.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Steve asked quietly. You nodded, keeping eyes on Bucky.

Bucky looked up at you, eyes dark. The flickering flame casted a reflection upon his face, giving him a goldish glow. The wind howled outside, ice hitting the window. Normally, that sound would've had you jumping three feet into the air in terror, but now you couldn't care less—too caught up in the way Bucky's eyes darkened as he asked for permission. When you nodded, he slid down, laying on his stomach, and dove in.

You had almost forgotten what it felt like to have Bucky's tongue wrapped around your clit. You moaned as he licked up in a broad swipe, focusing the tip of his tongue on your bud. Steve massaged your chest, tweaking your nipples and running over them with the pads of his fingers.

"Oh, God. . ." you whined. "Keep going, please. Don't—don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it, princess," Steve moaned.

Bucky continued to work his mouth on you until you were burning, writhing and struggling in both his and Steve's grasps. You were sure you were going to explode. When Bucky entered a finger into you, you cried out. It wasn't enough. You needed more.

"How's that feel, baby?" Steve cooed, hands focusing on your breasts. "Buck doin' good?"

You nodded frantically. Steve chuckled in your ear, voice gravelly and low.

"Buck here almost couldn't wait any longer, all we wanted to do was get his mouth on you, sweetheart. It's what he dreamed about when he touched himself, when he sucked me off. He's been waiting for this."

Bucky hummed into your flesh, sending vibrations up through your clit. He was careful as he pushed a second finger into you, looking for the spot inside you that could shatter you. That coil inside you was tight, threatening to explode and send you over the edge. You began to babble, endless pleas of 'don't stop,' and 'Bucky, please.'

He pushed the pads of his fingers up, still teasing your bundle of nerves and that was all it took. You cried out, the coil snapping like a taught rubber band and you grinded back into Steve as you tried to pull away, overstimulated. Steve shushed you, whispering in your ear as Bucky rode you from your high until it was simply too much. You whined, your voice cracking, and Bucky seemed to get the message. He pulled away, his chin slick with your juices. Still blissed out, he hooked his finger under your chin, bringing you in for a sloppy kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and tangy.

You didn't realize you were crying until Bucky wiped away a tear. "You okay, doll?"

You nodded. "Yeah. . . yeah, I just—I hadn't realized how much I missed this. I'm sorry I made you wait on me."

"You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart," Steve said, kissing your cheek. "We'd wait as long as you needed us to."

You sat up, turning so you straddled Steve's lap. You hung your arms over his shoulders, brushing your noses together.

"Can you do something for me?" you asked, your voice low and sultry in post-orgasmic bliss.

"Anything," Steve answered, ask too quickly.

"I want you to fuck me. I want you to erase any memory of that man inside of me. Can you do that?"

"Happily."

He kissed you then, loving and dominant and so incredibly Steve. Bucky kissed up your neck, sucking a deep red spot next to the many Steve had left. You whimpered into Steve's lips, dragging your hands up his shirt. He pulled away for a second, discarding his shirt and sitting up on his knees, shimmying off his pants. He turned you around before settling back down, having you straddle his thighs.

"You sure you're up for this, baby?" Bucky asked, kissing behind your ear as his fingers danced around your nipples.

You nodded, whining. "I—I can do it."

Steve hummed, feeling himself brush against your folds. Bucky gave you his signature dorky smile, which you returned as best you could. Steve eased into you slowly, both men watching for any sign of discomfort. You were wet enough, but you were still awfully tight. Tighter than usual. Even after your orgasm, Steve was having a hard time fitting himself inside you.

The three of you haven't had sex since before the attack. Bucky and Steve had quick shower sex in the morning sometimes after a run, when they were sure you were still asleep, but they didn't like doing it without you. You were apart of them, doing such an intimate act without you didn't feel right.

Steve groaned at the feeling, the silky heat of you clutching him like a vice. He grunted, wrapping an arm around your front and hugging you close to his chest, carefully rocking his hips up. His thrusts start out slow and deep, until you're writhing and mewling for more.

Bucky crawls up and straddles both you and Steve, his tongue curling around your nipple. He wraps his tongue around your bud, sucking lightly. You let out a whimper, moaning as Steve speeds his pace up, pounding into you in the most delicious way. Bucky guides your hand and wraps it around his cock, moving it up and down in long, slow strokes. You withdrew your hand like he had burned you, your eyes wide. Steve stills inside you, watching your back muscles tense.

"It's okay, doll, it's just me. . . . Do we need to stop?"

You blinked. "No, no—I'm okay. I'm sorry."

"Are you sure?"

You nodded. "Please, I want to keep going, I can do this." You reached out and grabbed for his length, your nimble fingers wrapping around him.

It's just Bucky, he won't hurt you. You're safe here.

Quickly, you fall into the rhythm Steve has set, your other hand moving to clutch Bucky's shoulder as he fucks into your hand.

It's easy, the three of you moving in tandem. You don't know how long it's been, how long either of them have touched you like this, or when you last touched them. You feel guilty now, forgetting something that made you feel so good.

"Steve," you moan. "Bucky, please."

"You're doing so good, baby," Bucky praised. "You—ah, fuck—you feel so good."

You whined, Steve picking up his pace. You weren't going to last much longer, not with Steve pounding into you the way he is, not with him groaning in your ear and not with Bucky using your hand to get himself off.

"Can I come inside, baby?" Steve moans. "Fill you up, wash out every memory of that day. Fuck—we're gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart, all you have to do is let us."

"Yes," you nodded frantically. "Yes, please, please. I need you. Come inside, please, Stevie."

Bucky reached down and rubbed at your clit, sending you over the edge. You screamed, seizing up and convulsing around Steve's cock. Steve cursed, feeling you pulsate around him. He came with a grunt, coating your walls with his cum. Bucky finished soon after, covering your stomach with his cum.

You released Bucky, falling back against Steve in exhaustion. When you opened your eyes again, Steve was petting your hair while Bucky cleaned up his mess with a wet washcloth.  Steve whispered sweet nothings in your ear, running his fingers through your sweat soaked locks.

I'm so proud of you.

You did so good.

So perfect for us.

We love you.

After Bucky tossed the cloth in the wicker laundry basket, he laid down in the space next to you, hugging you close to his chest. Your hand rested across Steve's pecs, your head above his heartbeat.

"You did so well, sweetheart," Bucky purred, tracing circles along your back. "How do you feel?"

"Good," you hummed, snuggling closer to Steve's warmth. "Real good."

"That's amazing, baby," Steve murmured. "Did it help any?"

You nodded. It helped a lot, actually. The throbbing between your legs was welcoming, euphoria coursing through veins. You hated yourself for connecting your boys with the kind of hate you experienced, for making them wait so long.

"Let's go to sleep, doll." Bucky kissed your shoulder. "We can talk more in the morning, if we have power I'll make some waffles."

You hummed in content, sleep overtaking you. Bucky wrapped an arm around your middle, with Steve wrapping his arm behind you both.

"I love you."

[stardancerluv]

Gotham Lockdown 2020

Part 15

Summary: Christmas sentiments fill the air.

As you went down in the elevator you slipped on your mask. You were happy, to be able to do this.

The engine was purring when she walked into the garage. Getting in you caught Victor, singing Jingle Bells. You rose an eyebrow and looked at him. “Victor?”

A chuckled came from him. “What can I say, Doll-Face puts me in a good mood. She brings out the holiday spirit in me.”

*****

Once Roman heard the bell for the elevator ding, did he practically leapt out of bed. He took a very fast shower and shaved. Pulling on a black sweater and pants, he called his connection.

“I’m ready.” That was all he said.

Going to his bar, he downed a scotch and grabbed two bottles of Cristal Brut. To show generosity he brought the extra bottle. He had better done good on his promise. Going back to the bedroom, he grabbed one of his guns and hooked it on his belt and put his sweater over it.

He really hoped it all went alright. There wasn’t he wouldn’t do for his girl. He picked up, Doll-Face, on the way to the club level.

“I think its really sweet what you’re doing.” She gave him a smile.

Roman, smiled. “There isn’t much, I wouldn’t do for her.”

“I’m sorry I told her last night.”

“Don’t be. She has a away of cutting through the shit. She’s called me on it from time to time.”

“Yeah, she a straight no chaser. I like that about her.”

“Me too. Roman smiled proudly.

Going over to the back door, he waited. Roman’s phone buzzed. He looked down and smiled.

Knock three times. And announce that you are the grinch. He typed.

The three knocks came followed by the announcements. She just looked at him. He shrugged. “I had to make sure they are on the level.” Together you lifted up the metal bar and took care of the locks.

He had one bottle in the open, he kept the extra hidden, in case they were all shitty. He withdrew his gun. “Ready?”

She nodded, slowly she opened the door. And Roman put a gun to the guy’s temple.

“Damn it Sionis, Merry Christmas to you too.”

“Look, last night I was shot. I had to be sure.

“No shit?”

“No shit, let’s see what you brought me.” Roman, tucked his gun back into his belt.

A lanky fellow, with a mop of red hair and piercing green eyes stood there. His flannel shirt, muddy boots and torn jeans completed the country, farmer boy look. In the alleyway there were five different Christmas trees lined up.

“Will, you be needing one of our large ones for New Years?” The kid asked as Roman considered the trees.

He grimaced. “I will let you know.” His eyes were narrowed. He barely breathed. He was focused.

******

As you walked through the boutique, Victor stopped. “What?” You looked around. “Is everything ok?” You drew close to him.

He pointed to a lovely shawl that was wrapped around a mannequin.

“Oh, that is quite lovely.” You encouraged him. “Grab it, she will love it.”

“I want her to have something in case something ever happens to me.” He paused as he gently touched the fabric. “She can wrap herself up in it. It could be like I can still give her a hug.”

You grabbed his arm. “Victor, you are invincible.” You smiled up at him. “No one could ever do anything to the two of you.”

He smirked, “You’re right I will grab it for her.” Going over he gently took it down from the mannequin.

You held open one of your bags. Closing it, the two of you continued to walk on.

“Oo, look at those.” You went over and picked up the loviest green gloves. “You know how she loves green. I am sure she will love these.”

He smiled, “I bet she will.”

You checked the sizes, then grabbing her size you slipped a pair for her into your bag.

*****

“I will take that one.” He chose the one that was much taller then him, it will be so much fun to decorate.

“Thank you.” He took the stand and opening the door, he let the kid carry just in and put it against the wall in the hallway.

Roman turned and smiled. “Doll-Face, did you want one for you and Victor?”

You shrugged, and looked at the kid. “Do you have an extra tree stand?”

The kid beamed. “I do.”

Doll- Face, smiled. “Then I will take one too.”

Of the ones left she grabbed a talk but fat one.

Roman nodded. “That’a good one.” Reaching down he grabbed both bottles. “Here you go, you did good.”

“Oh, you spoil me Sionis.” He chuckled.

Roman shrugged. “Just you and yours stay healthy and safe. I will let you know about new year’s.”

The kid smiled, as he held the bottles close to him going back to the truck.

*****

“Ooo” You couldn’t help yourself when you Victor came across the jewelry store. “There is a few things here, I think Roman would like.” You chirped happily as you looked at the cufflinks first.

“I am sure. It is Roman after-all.”

You smiled at Victor, “Why don’t you find some jewelry for Doll-face.”

He shrugged. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nudged him. “Of course. Nothing huge, she has a subdued taste like me.”

He shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

You smiled as you saw him begin to look. Before, cufflinks were something you noticed on a good suit. But to actually buy them you had never thought to do until you became Roman’s girl. In the end, you settled on a lovely pair of sapphire ones for your favorite blue suit and a sterling silver pair that had gears and moved. They were very fun.

Moving the watch case, that a little harder to look through. Roman already had a nice selection of them. Though, he could always use a new one. With a smile you soon found one.

Looking over at Victor you smiled even wider as he held up two completely different necklaces. Resting your cheek in your hand, you looked at him. “Need any help.”

He grimaced. “I thought for sure, I could choose.” He looked at you. “What do you think?”

You looked at what he held up, one was a traditional heart pendant and the other was a very elaborate but beautiful compass. That intrigued you. “Victor, why the compass?”

Because she has helped navigated me in the world of love and a few times in well what her and I enjoy doing.

You raised your eyebrows, “Dispatching people for Roman or Falcone ?”

“Victor!” You cooed, excitedly. “Then get her the compass! That is very touching.”

He smiled. “I was leaning towards that one.”

“Good.”

******

After Roman, gave Doll-Face half the lights and ornaments, he was stuck trying make sense of the tangled lights.

Setting up the trees in their stands had been easy this, not so much.

Every so often, he would bark out a fuck .

He would test them, then go up on the stool and string them. A few times, he got tangled himself. He’d curse even louder. Though eventually the lights all made it to the branches of the tree.

Seeing, snow begin shift from the heavy clouds, he got from the mass lights that ended up not being needed and the ornaments, that sat in the boxes waiting to be plucked up and hung, he made some hot cocoa and some popcorn. He leaned against the counter and strummed his fingers, admiring his handy work while waiting for treats to be ready. With the snow beginning to fall. He would much rather have you home.

By the time, he heard the elevator ding, he was beyond the point of getting up. “Doll-face or Baby?” He called out. The cocoas were near him, and he had munched on some of the popcorn. He really hoped it would be you.

“I’ll be right there.” He heard you call out. You were a blur as you ran by.

“Alright!” He called back smiling, he couldn’t wait to see what you thought.

*****

Quickly, you ran to your closet. You had hoped he would have been in his office but as you stood there, pulling off your boots it dawned on. Were those Christmas lights? What had Roman been up too? Pulling your sweater off you sighed to just be in your cami and jeans again.

As you came out to the living room area. In Roman’s penthouse, it was hard to even label areas, well except for those that were separated by walls and doors. The things had collected over the years before and after you met hung or stood or even leaned thought the places in various bunches.

You gasped, your jaw simply fell open as you saw a really large Christmas tree and light twinkled and shone from the branches.

Roman, sat near the tree. As the floor creaked as you came closer. He smiled as he looked at you over his shoulder. “Hi baby.”

“Hi!” You said softly as you took it all in. “Roman, you began to get the penthouse ready for Christmas.”

He nodded, running his fingers through his hair. “I did, I know how much you love Christmas.”

“Oh!” Excitement, filled you. “I love all of this so much.” Not able to contain yourself, you went and hugged him. Loving how handsome he looked in that wintery, Christmasy sweater. Both of you chuckled as you practically knocked, Roman over.

“So I guess you like your surprise?”

Your eyes met, the scent of fresh pine filled the air, the lights twinkled above the two of you, your lips locked. A sigh came from him, as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you deeper.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obession @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @starwarsprequelfangirl @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @whyisgmora @theblackmaskclub @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @top-rumbelle-fan @primadonna-girl23 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @rosionis @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @guns-n-marvel (your first tag!)

[billie-ford]

1

Days Gone By

6

Houston. The biggest city in the state of Texas and the second largest in the country. But more intimately, it was the home of Billie Ford. She was known well throughout the countryside of Houston and even into the inner city as the kid that went the extra mile. A star runner on the high school track team, destined to make state. The friendly mechanic that willingly made house trips and sometimes took a hot meal as payment. The devoted wife and mother, the lively younger sister known for her exuberant energy. The street she lived on for more than half a decade was once known for it’s exuberant energy too; music bumping from almost every open window and a potluck every other week. It was now a decrepit wasteland. One of the first cities to fall when the virus broke and when it fell, it fell hard.

Every inch of public road was cluttered with debris, abandoned cars, streaks of blood and dead bodies - roaming or not. Music would not be heard on these streets ever again - unless you chose to count the mindless humming from Billie every now and again. Despite how sparse supplies had grown, Billie couldn’t bring herself to leave. Having already abandoned her once warm, loving home, she was now holed up in a strangers house on the other side of the city. Boarded up, furniture pushed against windows and a makeshift bed of sheets and couch cushions positioned messily in the center of the living room. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to call it quits, no matter how ghostly it had gotten in the last few months. Something was keeping her here, and she just couldn’t describe what it was.

(six months since the fall)

“How long will you be?” 

Despite his name, Hunter Hammond was no scavenger. He was a meek man, all five-foot-nine of him. Abraham used to tease him when their families got together for a dinner, joking that Billie had managed to fuse her bisexuality and marry both a man and woman all in one. Hunter never liked Abraham too much.

“I’ll be as quick as I can but who knows what those streets look like now.” Billie tightened the laces of her boots before standing and slinging a backpack over her shoulder. Just behind Hunter, their son Devin played with plastic cars in their couch cushion bed. His smile and bubbly laugh was a constant reminder of what the world had been once, and for both Billie and Hunter it gave them hope.

Billie cupped her husband’s cheek, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “Back before sundown. I promise. C’mere sweet boy,” she kneeled down and kissed her toddler on the head, breathing in the scent of his cloud-like curls. “You take care of your ol’ man for me, m’kay?” The boy smiled and nodded.

“Board this right back up.” She gave Hunter a stern look as she moved the furniture from the back door, their backyard a quiet enough escape to the road behind them. “I mean it. The second I’m out.”

“Don’t worry, I got you. Come back to me safe, Bill. I mean that.”

Hunter had shut the door before she could give him a second look, the sound of the couch scraping on the other side signaling she was now trapped on the back porch. She took off down the patio stairs, through the neighboring backyards and through the small line of trees that shielded the house from from the main road.

Billie liked to call them walkers. They reminded her of how her dad used to walk when he had knee surgery and ended up with a walking frame for a few weeks; hunched over, slow, lazy. Her father was an intimidating man - strong and stern, a frequent yeller who, just by cracking the buckle of his belt, had Billie stood straight and ready to accomplish any command. But even Abraham Sr. didn’t scare her as much as those things did. Her father could be reasoned with if you showed him enough respect; they could not. The howls of sorrow trapped inside distant memory disturbed her more than when they ran her way, jaws chomping and drooling for a taste of human flesh. Something she had only seen in her brother’s horror movies, and even those couldn’t prepare her for the sights she had seen. It was the humanity lost somewhere within them - that’s what terrified her. She remembered the first time she caught wind of the pandemic beginning to break across the globe; her ear just barely picking up the sound of the radio over power drills and welders.

She hadn’t been able to find Abraham since things really went to shit.

The military did what they could when things started to get out of control, but even they had families to protect and sticking around to maintain order just seemed foolish. Multiple trips were made to the Ford residence with no luck; Cupboards were barren, clothes strewn about and that picture he had on the mantle of the two of them one Christmas was busted out of its frame. Despite her excuses - he didn’t have time to come for me. they were in trouble. he did come by but I was already gone. he’s still around, we just keep missing each other. - she couldn’t kill the eating thought that he just left her. His baby sister, abandoned. He broke his promise. Subconsciously, that was the biggest reason she kept one foot in Houston - he was still coming back for her. But with every day that passed with no sign of life, the hope that he was still close - and breathing - faded further and further away...

7

The camp was far beyond the rest of civilization. And good for it. The tops of buildings looked like shoe boxes interwoven with visibly abandoned streets in the far distance, gray in comparison to what it once used to be. This flat plot of land had barely been touched by human hands when it was found; turned up dirt and rock accompanied by machinery and port-a-potties. A construction sight soon to be turned into a number of vacation homes, that much they gathered from the weathered sign stuck in the ground at the base of the hill.

Breakfast ended an hour ago; watery eggs with sparse salt and bitter potatoes. Everyone was busy now, in the full swing of their day; taking buckets of dishes to the river to be washed while another group returned with wet laundry to hang dry.

“You should let these grow so I can push them to the side. You don’t really want all this hair in your eyes do ya, hun?”

Jane Ford, forty-two, a high school swim coach in what now seemed to be another life now sat in her husband’s tattered flannel and blue jeans tucked into yellow hospital socks. With her eldest between her knees, she snipped away at the atrocious bob the child had given herself a year prior. Her bangs stuck out every which way and no amount of water, time, or prayer would set the needle straight hairs into place. Jane huffed in defeat and dropped the comb and fabric scissors into a cup at her foot.

“I like it like this, momma.” The ten year old stated while playing with the torn ear of her stuffed bunny, given to Jane as a baby shower gift from her aunt. The dirty old thing brought her comfort more now than ever, a reminder of her favorite - well, her only - aunt.

‘You hug this little guy every single night. And wherever I am I’ll be sure to feel it.’

“Leave her hair alone, darlin’. If she likes it than she likes it.” Abraham watched his girls while sipping a black coffee, occasionally looking out into the horizon to scan for survivors or otherwise. “We Fords have the tendency to look good in whatever hairstyle we’re rockin’.” He winked at his daughter who grinned.

“Tell that to your tenth grade mullet.” “You still had a crush on me didn’t ya sweetheart?” “Oh, stick it!” “Last time I did we ended up with the twins..” “Ew, dad!”

He howled with laughter and beckoned his child to come towards him. She jumped up into his lap and he tussled her wet hair, the act earning him a curse from his wife. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and took that moment to thank God. His family, all five of them, were together and secure. But every thankful thought was followed by the sudden sorrow he felt for his first family; his baby sister. Big Bad Bill. 

He was a military sergeant and when he was called to duty the only thing on his mind was getting this issue under control. He only evacuated the quarantine camps when he had absolutely no choice and by the time he reached his home in the suburbs it was too late to go the inner city. She was just too far away from him. He couldn’t count on all fingers and toes how many times he’d been down in that area since then, practically swatting her home the second he could. Empty. She had taken the photo of them from his high school graduation on her fireplace.

Despite the “no man left behind” attitude instilled in him during boot camp, he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that his sister was still alive. She was tough, but she wasn’t survive-life-or-death-situations-tough. She was just a mechanic.

A familiar shrill voice followed by marching steps in the gravel snapped him out of his pity party. With a groan, he shooed his daughter away to play with the other kids before standing to meet the five-foot-two hurricane that was Marizol Espinosa. “Dios mio Abraham! My Rosita should have been home days ago!” The group he had sent out nearly three days ago had yet to return and despite the majorities silence, everyone was a little worried about their return. Marizol was not one of the silent ones.

“Te quiero fuera. Out there. Searching for them.” A manicured hand rested on a jutted hip, the other pointing a bullet like index into the ginger brutes face. Jane’s eyes flickered between the two cautiously as she busied herself with cleaning chunks of dark hair from her lap.

“Mary, I wouldn’t have sent the group that I sent if I didn’t think they could handle their hides. Give em the day darlin’, I’ll radio in from time to time and if nothin’ still I’ll send a crew after em.”

“Oh dios- get more people lost! Or killed! You listen to me jengibre...” As she opened her mouth to grill him with undoubtedly ruthless insults, the radio on his belt crackled with life. A female voice just barely came through. Abraham gave Marizol a smug grin.

8

“I’ve always loved you, and made you happy...and nothing else could come between...but now you’ve left me, to love another...you have shattered..all..of my dreams..” Breathless, Billie trudged along the side of the road as the afternoon heat caused beads of sweat to rolled down her jaw. With daylight running low she was worried this would be another unsuccessful supply run, having already searching multiple stores and homes throughout town. “You are my sunshine. My only sunshine..you make me happy when skies are gray..you’ll never know dear- fuckin’ hell it’s hot.”

She came to a stop outside of a gas station. A run down shack of a business that she had been to multiple times for a cigarette and a beer during her commute back home after work. But with its busted out windows and disregarded hoses it looked to be a completely foreign shop.

In and out quickly was the plan, and smooth enough it went. She packed what she could; in her months of scavenging she learned quickly that if you looked for things where those things weren’t meant to be, you could find what you needed. With a bowie knife in one hand and a half melted snickers from the cash register in the other she wandered the aisles freely, skimming underneath shelves for stray cans and water bottles. As she was preparing to leave, check today off as a successful enough day, one too many walkers began crowding the door from which she came, falling through busted windows and disemboweling themselves on shards of glass. She took down what she could with her bowie, hoping to clear a way to the road but for every one she killed two more crowded in its place. “Fuck.”

Searching hastily with a newfound feeling of vertigo, she spotted the employee exit behind the counter. A pipe had been lodged into the handle and bent outwards, trapping it shut. She cleared the counter, shivering at the feeling of rotting hands skimming the back of her arms before forcing the pipe out of place and slamming the door shut behind her. Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she searched her bag for a flashlight, her knife wielding hand still raised defensively.

“Grab them!”

Billie felt the sharp pain of a shoulder in her spine as she was tackled to the ground, her cheek crashing into the cold pavement and the wind escaping her lungs as her knife slid feet away from her grasp. She was frisked for her weapons, her bag tore violently from her shoulder as a knee remained snug between her shoulder blades.

“You one of the bitches that jumped us?” “Huh!? No!”

The cool metal of a gun barrel met her temple and she stuttered, “I ain’t here to hurt no one! I’m just stuck! On the bible, man!”

“What do you mean stuck?”

“There’s an ocean of them dead fools out that door behind me- gotta be packed to capacity by now. Man can you get off my back you’re hurting me!”

She was hoisted to her feet as a lamp clicked on. The room lit up in a small yellow glow, revealing a number of people surrounding her. To her left, brunette hair was pulled back under a military cap and tan hands secured in fingerless gloves held a glock steady to her head. Latina. Her glare was strong, eyebrows knitted as she trained her sights on Billie.

“There was a group in here yesterday. They locked us in.” In front of her, a young asian boy sat on a railing. They were in a garage. “Think you can help us out of here?” The man previously kneeling on her spine asked. He was the stockiest of the group; dark skinned, a gap tooth, and a flat cap concealing a bald head. 

She didn’t have much of a choice. Either they all got out or none of them got out. “I can try once your friend gets that barrel off my cheek.” She huffed. A delivery truck sat begging to be used in the middle of the garage. A full tank but no keys, they say. Luckily for them, Billie didn’t need keys. She looked towards the latina, and only after the asian boys pleas did she lower her weapon.

After she jimmied the lock for a while, Billie got the door open and jumped into the driver seat, the latina following her every move as she popped off the connector to the ignition. She looked down to the only other woman and quirked a smile, “you wouldn’t happen to have a bobby pin would ya, hun?” Deadpanned, she dug into her hair and retrieved two bobby pins, slapping them into Billie’s hand who muttered a thank you. In seconds she had the pins poked into each hole of the connector and the truck growled with life. First the lights, brightening the room even more but she refrained from turning the engine, alas, suffocating them all with toxic fumes. Billie turned to the woman below, already used to the bitter gaze she sent her way. “You get the door open and you’re home free.”

“You should come with us.” Once stepping out of the truck she was greeted by the man that had tackled her to the ground, now smiling at her apologetically while extending a hand to shake, “call me T-Dog.” The latina huffed in protest. “She’s useful, Rosita.” Rosita.

“I would love to but uh..I got people waiting on me.” “They can come too.” “There’s no way you’re getting this truck up that road.” “We’ll wait.” “We can’t wait for some stranger, we’ve got people worried about us.”

“I could go with you!” It was the asian boy again, short black hair now covered with a baseball cap. He approached Billie with a smile that rivaled T-Dog’s. These weren’t people that Billie would coin as survivors - all but Rosita maybe - but here they were anyways. “I know my way around the city. We can pick up whoever you’re with and head back to camp.”

“So there’s more of y’all..?” “Loads.”

Rosita shook her head again. “No, no. That’s too many more mouths to feed and we’re already low on supplies.”

“Actually, Rosita, I don’t think supplies will be an issue...”

A voice echoed from within the newly unlocked truck, the sliding door disconnecting the storage space from the front seat now wide open. They followed the sounds of his footsteps to the back door where it was then unlocked from inside, flew open with a loud clang, and revealed stacks upon stacks of unopened cans, bags of chips, and soda. The man - the eldest of the group - smiled down at them, particularly Billie. “That solves that problem young lady.”

“Look at that,” the asian quipped, “we’ve got food for a few more mouths, someone who knows their way around a sticky situation, and you got us to watch your back. Sounds like wins all around to me!”

Everyone seemed to be in agreement of letting this squirrely stranger and her mystery companions join the group, all but Rosita, who had Billie wondering if she had cut her off in traffic one time.

“She helped us when we needed it, Ro,” he reasoned, “she didn’t have to.” He seemed keen on having Billie join them but she just shrugged; made no difference to her. Even the older man, who looked to have been on a fishing trip before they got locked in here, threw in his two cents. “Always room for a survivor.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Rosita squared up to Billie with folded arms. “You get that door open and you get to come back with us. Bring your boyfriend or whatever. Bien?”

“Gracias, a-mee-go.”

If you looked for things where those things weren’t meant to be, you could find what you needed. - Billie’s Law. 

Billie knew garages like the back of her hand, and she knew of the spare clicker that came with every garage system. It was a shot in the dark, hoping the door would even work if she found it, but she searched high and low despite it. Even despite Rosita’s smug bark of ‘we looked for it already’. Like a dog on a scent she overturned garbage cans and tools boxes all while she watched impassively. No clicker. But underneath a uniform coat, beneath a stack of scrap metal, was a car jack, and Billie knew more than a few ways to use one of those.

With a loud bang and a rustic whine, Billie managed to jam the jack underneath the door enough to bend it and gave the handle a few pumps to lift it all while T-Dog and Rosita readied themselves to bash the skulls of any unwanted stragglers. She managed enough space to roll under and the asian boy quickly followed, keeping an eye out for her while she finished the job. Eyes stinging with sweat, Billie picked away at the lock while disembodied moans approached her, silenced by the lead pipe her new comrade armed himself with. The door was finally freed in minutes; they were free and she had a new home for her baby boy.

“Looks like you’re ours now.” The boy smiled again. “Glenn.”

She shook his hand, her grip firmer than his. “Billie.”

[yikesharringrove]

Now I want to see a story about Billy falling in love with Pastel Punk Steve at a show when he gets in the face of some "gatekeepers" being mean to a baby punk, maybe Will at his first show?

Little combo action.

Pastel punk Steve

anonymous asked:

Can we PLEASE get more punk Steve and billy?? Punk is my WORLD and I need my boys to participate.

“Look at this little poser.”

Billy rolled his eyes at the loud voice, the stupid laughter.

This happened at pretty much every show, some group of assholes that thought they were God’s little punk gift to mankind got shitty and pushy, defeating the whole fuckin’ idea of punk.

Billy flicked his cigarette, stomping it out with his boot, ready to intervene with the shit-stirrers.

“Leave him the fuck alone.” Billy turned to look at who beat him to the punch.

This guy was standing in front of a wide-eyed kid.

His hair was wild, a pretty dark brown. He was wearing ratty black jeans, had pastel blue biker boots, little yellow sunflowers painted along the heels. His jacket was oversized soft pink denim covered in pins and patches, words scrawled along it in permanent marker.

His fists were clenched by his sides, staring down the smirking guys.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Princess?” Pretty Boy pulled his arm back, planted his fist right in the guys nose. Billy was on his feet in a second, jumping into the fight that had broken out.

Pretty Boy looked at him as he slapped one of the shitty guys across the face.

“Get the fuck outta here if you’re gonna be shitty.” Billy knew he was intimidating, he was big, with thick muscles, the spiked on he leather jacket certainly helped. The first shitty guy slapped the chest of one of his friends, glaring at Billy as they turned around,walked outta the venue.

“Hey, are you okay?” Pretty Boy was talking to the kid, soft smile on his face.

“Yeah, I, thanks.” His eyes were wide and panicked, flitting between Billy and Pretty Boy.

“This your first show?” The kid nodded. Billy smiled at him. “Well, they’re not always like this, usually. Most people aren’t assholes. What were they saying to you?” The kid shrugged.

“Just like, calling me a poser. A queer. that stuff.” Pretty Boy made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“Fuck them! Being queer and punk are not mutually exclusive.You have a place here, more than they do. Being shitty is not punk rock.” Billy smiled at Pretty Boy.

“You have fun at the show, kid?” The kid nodded. “You need a ride home?”

“No, uh, my brother is gonna be here. He live, we don’t live in the city. He’s supposed to be picking me up from the diner.” He pointed to the diner across the way, a twenty-four hour greasy spoon.

“I could go for some coffee. C’mon dinners on me.” Billy clapped Pretty Boy on the shoulder. “I’m Billy, by the way.”

“Will.”

“Steve.” Pretty Boy said.

They slid into a booth, Steve sliding in next to Will, across from Billy.

“So, Will. What brings you to the punk scene of Indy?” Billy was lounged across the booth.

“My brother was really into punk. He got me into the music and stuff. I love X-Ray Spex, and they I was so excited to hear they were coming.” Steve was smiling down at him. In the better light, Billy could see the light dusting of pink shimmer along his cheek bones.

“I’m sorry those assholes tried to ruin it.” Will shrugged.

“I’m kinda used to it. I get picked on at school and stuff too. I gues I’m pretty obvious about it.”

“God, I hated high school. I got shit for being queer too.” Will looked up at Steve with wide eyes.

“Wait, you are too?”

“Me too.” Billy offered.

“I, I don’t think I’ve ever met other queer people.”

“You probably just didn’t know it.” Steve was sipping at his coffee, scrunching his nose up at how hot it was. Billy thought it was adorable.

The bell above the door jingled, a tall skinny guy in a ratty flannel looking around the diner, zeroing in on the back of Will’s head. He came over, smiling shyly at Billy and Steve.

“Hey, Will. Are you ready?” Will beamed up at who Billy assumed was his brother.

“Jonathan! Hey! This is Billy and Steve. They beat up some guys that were being rude to me.” Jonathan’s eyebrows shot up.

“Holy shit, are you guys okay?”

Billy scoot over, patting the booth next to him. Jonathan slid into it.

“Yeah, Stevie and I are fine. Just defending the faith.” He winked at Will, made him grow red.

“I’m sorry to break this up, but we’ve got a long drive, and you know how mom’ll get.” Jonathan rapt on the table, giving them each a small smile, thanking them for taking care of his brother.

Billy refused the cash Will tried to push into his hand, Steve sliding him a napkin with his phone number on it in case you ever need saving.

“So, Steve,” Steve looked at him through his lashes. “You got anywhere to be?”

“Nah. I’m good here.”

[almostkoo]

Taehyung on the Cliff (01)

pairing: taehyung x reader (platonic), jungkook x reader (platonic)

summary: series! ponyo!au, ponyo!taehyung, basically the story of ponyo! reader finds taehyung and becomes friends with him, while taehyung figures out his next move on land ( slice of life, slight humor)

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mild language (unedited)

The cool early morning breeze came over you in a chill. You hugged yourself tighter, arms covered in a thick, corded blue sweater. Midterms were finally over and walking along the side of the shoreline had become your second home. You found yourself resting on top of your favorite rock that you lovingly named Fred. Fred, had kept you company many of nights when you found yourself often breakdown from your courses.

You rubbed your hand against the top of the rock. Taking in the sunrise, you let out a sigh.

“Well Fred, I’d say we’re about done here. Midterms are all wrapped up. I have nothing but time on my hands. Feels like I can finally catch my breath.” you smiled. You wondered if you should call up some friends to celebrate. You pulled out your old cracked phone, scrolling through the contacts until you settled on one. You hit the call button and waited for the rings. Hopefully your friend would be awake.

“Jungkook? Did I wake you up?” you hesitated slightly.

Your friend let out a soft chuckle. “Surprisingly no. I’ve been up all night kicking ass playing Overwatch.” you scoffed at Jungkook. The boy found out Overwatch existed and hadn’t gone a day without playing. The only time you saw him if it was your study group for English Comp. You could picture Jungkook sitting there on his beanbag, pitch black room probably a couple of stray cups of ramen on the side of him. You were surprised you didn’t walk past his room and it smelled.

“Please tell me you have your Visine drops by you.” you groaned.

“ Yes Mom I have my eye drops. I’ve been taking breaks. Albeit five minute breaks if that. It still counts for something. What did you need me for? It’s like five am. Are you in trouble?” he asked.

“No I was just gonna ask if you had plans this evening. Midterms are over. We have at least two weeks before everything goes back to shit might as well live in the moment and enjoy it. I’m trying to celebrate.”

“What do you mean: celebrate? I am celebrating. I’m doing a Overwatch marathon. It’s what I deserve for all of my hard work thus far.” you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

“You know what I meant, Jungkook. Like a party or something like that.”

“Are you inviting Jimin?”

“If I invite Jimin will you take a break from Overwatch to celebrate with us? Or are you still going to stay holed up in your room the whole time?”

“No I’ll come out. No worries. But there better be food too.”

“You can’t throw a party without food. We’ll plan when I get back I’m sure you’ll still be up.”

“Maybe. I’m not gonna make any promises. I know you’re at the beach. Bring me a seashell back if you see a pretty one I can add it to my collection. Gotta go.” and with that Jungkook ended the call. You shake your head, pocketing the device. You watched as the waves crashed. The sound is comforting. You stood up off Fred and rolled the cuffs of your pants up. You slowly walked into the water letting it rise up mid calf. You let out a deep breath. Inhaling the salt water. You looked at the sand trying to spot a seashell to bring back to Jungkook. His collection had started when you started your own trips to the beach.

The only downfall to collecting seashells was time you had accidentally brought one that had a small sea crab in it. On the upside you passed the small crab over to your friend Yoongi, who worked at a pet store. Hopefully he had been able to take card of the small crab.

Your eyes scanned the floor until you landed on a clear jar a few feet away that had a fish inside. You carefully stepped over to the fish taking caution to any stray shells or other debris along the ground. You picked up the jar examining the fish inside. It had pretty blue scales that seemed to reflect different colors as you moved it. The fish inside had big eyes. It almost seemed as though the both of you were looking over each other. How did a fish get trapped in a jar? The jar was about the size of a container of mayo and had strange writings on the side. You went to unscrew the lid of the top when the fish started frantically swimming in a circle. You paused looking at the fish.

“What’s wrong little dude? Don’t you want to go back home?” you asked it as if it could talk back. You could’ve sworn the fish swam in a way that would have been equivalent to a person shaking it’s head no.

“Well little dude” you sighed, walking out of the water. “ maybe Yoongi might know what type of fish you are. He’ll probably know all about your species. Probably would know all different stuff about you. Don’t worry you’ll be in safe hands for sure.”

<>

You opened up the door to the apartment, being wary of the fish you carried under your arm.

“Jungkook? Jungkook?” you called. Your friend came out of his room. Jungkook’s hair was all over his head, as he rubbed his eyes. You doubted he actually had his eye drops with him. He wasn’t going to be satisfied until his eyes turned red from playing that game. He was dressed in the same flannels and black shirt you saw him in two nights ago that raised questions you didn’t even know if you want the answer to.

“Did you bring back a shell?” he grumbled.

“Nope! Even better!” you held the jar out proudly to show the blue fish.

“Dude why would you bring that thing back? That’s another mouth to feed. We can barely cover ramen and drinks.” Jungkook groaned.

“Stop complaining I’m gonna pass it over to Yoongi . We just have to hold on to it until he gets it. Now the real question is I need somewhere with more space so the little guy can swim around. So would you rather me fill up the tub or kitchen sink?” Jungkook huffed, tilting his head back.

“Fuck it. Fill up one side of the sink and put it in there. I still have to take a shower.”

“Thank you, Kookie. I love and appreciate you.” you blew a kiss to your roommate. Jungkook made his way to the refrigerator , peering inside of it,

You turned the faucet letting cool water flow into the sink and you grabbed the stopper. You unscrewed the lid on the jar, slowly letting the water and the fish flow into the sink. When suddenly your grip slipped and jar slipped causing the top of it to break. A piece of glass cut into your hand. You yelped out in pain, blood dripped out of the wound into the water. The blue fish looked at you swimming up and leaping out of the water and latching on to your finger. You shook your hand off, the fish fell back in the water and into the corner of the sink facing away from you.

You muttered a soft. “What the fuck?” and walked down the hallway to the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit. You kicked open the door. Jungkook was topless and in the middle of pulling his sweats down.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He jumped back in shock.

“My hand is bleeding!” you showed him the cut on your hand. Jungkook covered his mouth like he was about to vomit.

“You could’ve told me and I would’ve believed you the same. I still would have believed you.” he turned away.

“Move over I need to get to the cabinet.” you pushed him out of the way. Reaching for the handle to the cabinet door underneath the sink. You pulled the first aid kit out with your good hand. Sitting down on the tub you opened up the kit, grabbing the antiseptic out you started to clean your hand.

“So was the noise I heard in the kitchen you causing this?” Jungkook asked, as he leaned in the doorway of the bathroom.

“Don’t be an asshole obviously it was me. The fish jar slipped out of my hand and cracked, a shard cut me.” Jungkook shook his head. You tended to draw misfortune in the kitchen. In the time you and Jungkook had been roommates you had so far: broke the handle off a knife, shattered a hot porcelain pot under cold water and accidentally tore a cabinet door off the hinges. Which Jungkook fixed before the landlord came for the monthly evaluation of the apartment.

You wiped the blood off your hand, expecting the cut to be there. But it wasn’t. Jungkook looked at you in confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“The cut isn’t there. There’s blood, but no cut like it disappeared. I know I cut myself I felt it.” you inspected your hand.

“That’s… weird.” Jungkook stepped over to you, grabbing your hand in his. He turned yours over inspecting your hand just as you did. Right when you went to open your mouth to respond you both heard a loud noise from the kitchen. You both froze, catching each other's eyesight.

“Did you lock the door when you came in?” Jungkook whispered.

“ Yes I locked the door when I came in.” You snapped. You were scared. When you came in you closed the door, adjusted the jar in your grip, called for Jungkook, walked in the kitchen. Wait. Wait a second. You did not lock the door. You felt your blood run cold. There was probably a robber in your apartment, because you did not lock the door. You were gonna die because you did not lock the door.

“You didn’t lock the door did you? I knew you didn’t. Oh my God we’re about to die.”

“We are not about to die. We are about to go and fight” you grabbed the can of Lysol that rested on the back of the toilet and handed Jungkook the plunger. “You are a wall of muscle and now you have a plunger we are gonna defend our rinky dink apartment.” you whispered. You turned him around by the shoulders and slowly lead him out of the bathroom. You hid behind him, treading towards the kitchen. You gripped the Lysol can hard. The kitchen slowly came into view and much to your surprise, it wasn’t a burglar but a wet scared naked man.

He was attractive too. Why was the stranger in you and Jungkook’s apartment attractive? Wait, why was he there?

“Dude, you better say something right now or you’re getting a plunger and Lysol combo.” Jungkook warned.The handsome stranger turned around placing his hands in front of his lower regions. His blue hair fell in front of his eyes as he shook his head back to get it out of his field of vision.

“Can one of you tell me what year it is?” The man said. His voice a deep, low tibre. You and Jungkook both looked at each other in confusion.

“2020?” you both replied in unison. The statement came off like a question. The man’s face contorted further in confusion.

“Are you alright? Can you at least tell us your name?” Jungkook asked, dropping the bat slightly.

“Taehyung.” He replied, shortly. Taehyung turned in circles attempting to make himself aware of his surroundings. You and Jungkook studied the man. He didn’t seem to pose a threat. He too himself was confused and didn’t seem to pose a threat.

“So did you like- break in? Or what?” You asked. Taehyung’s eyes darted from you to Jungkook back and forth.

“The sink. Well technically the ocean. I got sort of trapped by a fisherman’s daughter-” Jungkook threw his hand up signaling for Taehyung to pause.

“The ocean? Why were you in the ocean? Were you like lost at sea or something?” He asked.

“Well if you would’ve let me finish” You and Jungkook paused to allow Taehyung finish.”The fisherman didn’t let his daughter keep me. So she threw me overboard without releasing me and eventually I made my way to the surface where you found me.” He said, pointing at me. Jungkook looked at you and then back at Taehyung.

“Wait, so do you mean to tell me that Taehyung was the blue fish in the jar?” Jungkook asked. Thoughts started racing around your mind. You looked closely at Taehyung. His blue hair almost matched the jar fish’s blue scales to a tee and oddly enough something about his eyes seemed slightly familiar. You walked over to the sink to check if the fish was there and surely it wasn’t.

“Okay you could have thrown the fish out the window.” You stated.

“I kind of believe him. To be fair we do believe in aliens, it’s just for once the weird stuff is happening right here with us. At least it isn’t a yeti or something right?” Jungkook cracked.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” You said, dropping your head.

“I can’t go back home right now either.” Taehyung said, quietly.

“You WHAT?” You and Jungkook questioned in unison. Taehyung shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s a long story. I can pull my weight around here. I can find a job to help you two with bills. I even healed your cut. I'm a reliable person.” You listened to Taehyung ramble. Until you processed the second half of his statement.

“Taehyung, what was the last half of that statement?” You asked.

“I licked your wound after you broke the glass in the sink. My saliva.. Has healing properties.” You and Jungkook paused, stiffening up a bit.

“I don’t think I wanna know why.” Jungkook softly said to himself. You were taken back by his statement. Very confused but very curious. You looked over at Jungkook who’s brows were furrowed in confusion that matched yours.

“Well” you said. “I mean you don’t seem like a threat. You seem pretty harmless.”

“He has magic.” Jungkook said.

“Okay but that’s not a bad thing.” The sentence itself sounded more like a question instead of a solid statement. You weren’t quite sure if the magical person standing in your kitchen was completely harmless. Taehyung didn’t look scary. He just looked like a man with blue hair standing in front of you trying to figure out what was going on.

“So what ? You want to let him just stay here?” Jungkook asked.

“He can sleep on the couch” you looked at Taehyung. “If you don’t mind me asking what exactly do you eat?”

“I can eat human food. If that’s what you’re wondering.” You and Jungkook let out a breath of relief. Trying to put together some intricate meals for Taehyung was gonna be a problem so hearing he can eat the same food works into the ramen budget you and Jungkook set aside.

“What’s the worst that can happen? If he stays here at least that’s money going towards the rent right?” Jungkook shrugged.

“Okay you can stay here but we’re going to find you a job today.” You said. Taehyung smiled, wide and boxy.

“Thank you so much I promise you won’t regret it.”

And you hoped you wouldn’t.

[stanbillyhargrove]

Ghosts Chp 1

Billy x Katrina

A/N: this is a multi chapter series that will contain smut, angst, fluff, substance abuse

Billy's POV

Mid February

"Hey, passed a moving truck on the way in. Did you meet your new neighbor yet?" Steve started talking as soon as he let himself into my apartment.

"Ever hear of knocking?" I quipped, dropping my xbox controller on the table to take the pizza box from his hands and bring it into the kitchen.

"What, afraid I'll see you naked? We had gym class together."

Steve kicked his shoes off at the door and walked to the kitchen to dig in the fridge for a beer before pulling a couple slices of gooey pizza onto one of the plates I'd grabbed.

I laughed, "maybe I had a lady here, you don't know."

"I have a key, I could come in anyway. And you told me to bring pizza for gaming, idiot. I knew there was nobody else here," he flopped down on the couch, "so, is that a yes or no to meeting the new neighbor?"

I shrugged and joined him on the couch, taking a huge bite of pizza as I did, "building's full of people I never met. Don't need to meet the newbie."

An hour later we heard a crash come from the apartment next to mine followed by loud swearing. Steve was up in an instant.

"Where you going?"

"Didn't you hear that? She obviously needs help."

I rolled my eyes before it clicked, "wait. She? How do you know?"

"I met her coming up the stairs, she's really nice and super hot," he explained, a smirk on his face.

I got up slowly, giving him a pointed look, "you're telling me there is a lady moving in next door and you didn't tell me? What the hell, Steve?"

Steve laughed, "I asked if you wanted to go meet her, you said no."

"You left out the very important detail of her being a her," I grumbled, slipping my shoes on, "fucking dick."

"Hey, where you going?" he asked between laughing.

"To go help her! Gotta be a good neighbor, Steve."

He followed me out into the hall, still giggling to himself, and to the next door down. Inside was my new neighbor, glaring down at an upside down couch and loosely holding a coffee in one hand. She had black and blue hair messily pulled up on top of her head, piercings dotted across her face and was wearing an open grey flannel over a black top, ripped black jeans and chunky black combat boots. Dotted over the bits of exposed pale skin were black tattoos that I wanted to memorize, trace with my tongue. I wondered if she had more hidden under her clothes.

"Hey, Katrina!" Steve chirped.

She startled a little and turned to see us watching her, a slow smile spreading over her face, "oh hey, Steve! Is this the boyfriend you were telling me about?"

Steve choked on his laugh when I sputtered and laid a hand on my shoulder, "yep, the love of my life."

"You fucking asshole," I groaned, pushing him away from me to walk into her apartment with my hand extended, "Billy. Steve is my idiot brother, not my boyfriend."

She laughed and placed her hand in mine, shook it once, let it linger a little, "Katrina. You guys don't look anything alike."

"I adopted him," Steve explained.

Katrina nodded slowly, "that makes more sense."

Steve pointed at the couch, "you need some help?"

She huffed, "yeah, I can't move that thing by myself. Just dropped it on my damn foot."

I smirked, "yeah, we heard that."

Steve and I spent the next couple hours helping Katrina get a little more settled. Moving things around and putting together her IKEA furniture while she unpacked boxes.

"Thank you boys, I owe you one," Katrina smiled, "give me your numbers, I'll text you for pizza or something, my treat."

-- 2 weeks later, March

"No...you can't be here...left you.."

It was nearing midnight when I started to hear Katrina talking through our shared wall. The wall happened to go through our bedrooms which was a little awkward and also annoying when I was trying to sleep. The sound moved further into her apartment, muffling her words; it sounded like she was arguing with someone. Maybe a shitty ex she tried to run away from found her? But there was no other voice, only hers. I grabbed my phone and quickly sent her a text.

Me: You okay?

I didn't have to wait long before she answered.

Hot Neighbor: Yep, sorry if I woke you up. Pizza tomorrow to make up for it?

Me: Sure, see you then

--

"So, Katrina, why'd you move to New York?" Steve asked before filling his mouth with steaming pizza.

The black roses on her shoulder rose and fell as she shrugged, "needed a new start. Get away from all the shit back home y'know? Something about New York just called to me," she gently touched Steve's arm when she asked, "what about you boys?"

"Billy convinced me to come out here for school after we graduated, been here for six years."

A slow smile spread across Katrina's face and she turned to me, her hand moving to quickly touch my arm, "and you? Why'd you want to come here so badly?"

"Same as you mostly, new start. That and Max wanted to go to school out here."

I watched her eyebrows scrunch a little, "who's Max?"

"My little sister."

"Real sister or another adopted sibling?" She joked, gesturing at Steve.

He took a drink from his beer and answered her, "step sister. Well, actually Billy's her legal guardian so technically more like his daughter?"

I swiped my hand at him, knocking his arm at the same time that Katrina added, "you have a daughter? That's adorable, I bet that gets you all the ladies, girls love dads."

I gave Steve a pointed look, "she's only a few years younger than us and that's not usually something I brag about."

"Why not?" Katrina asked, "that's really cool of you to do that."

My cheeks heated up, "well, I didn't have much of a choice at the time but she's all I've got other than this idiot."

--

"What do you think of Katrina?" I whispered to Steve once we were back in my apartment.

He looked at me, his eyebrows scrunched a little, "I think she's nice...really cool..definitely out of your league."

I scowled at him.

"Why?"

"I dunno, sometimes I hear her at night and it's like she's arguing with somebody but there's no one else there...and she's kinda touchy, don't you think?"

Steve laughed, "what? A girl touching you first scares you? And she's probably talking to someone on the phone, Billy."

My mouth tightened in a hard line, "no, it's just..she doesn't know us, why's she so touchy?"

Steve set his hand on my shoulder, "maybe she wants to kill us...Oh!" He feigned a shocked face, "I know this might be shocking to you but maybe she's just nice!"

-- April

"You can't be here!" Katrina's voice floated through my walls again.

It was two in the morning, she'd just gotten home from her shift at the bar and once again I was listening in on a one sided argument. Except this time, it sounded like she had an unwanted visitor.

Well, fuck. I can't just let her deal with an intruder by herself.

Grumbling, I rolled out of bed and threw on a pair of sweatpants before walking to her door. I didn't even get to knock before she was barreling out of the door, running right into my bare chest. Her face scrunched a little when she pulled back, her hands still on my arms.

"Oh! I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

I looked down at her, took in the dark makeup around her eyes, the red lipstick that was wearing off around the ring in her lip and the revealing outfit that she had on and felt my dick twitch. With a great deal of effort, I moved her to the side and pushed past the door of her apartment.

"Is there someone here?"

Katrina's eyes flicked over to her kitchen before she shook her head, a light smile on her face, "nope, just me."

"I heard you say someone was here."

"Well you must be hearing things," she said quickly, pulling me back out the door so she could lock it behind us.

"Are you okay? I can get rid of whoever it is."

"Night, Billy," she murmured before walking away as fast as she could.

What the hell just happened?

@champagnesugamama @charmed-asylum

[babbushka]

Two Doves (2/6)

Drafted into a war he didn’t want to fight, Flip Zimmerman comes home to a country that doesn’t want him. With your help, he works through it all.

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Wordcount: 5.3k Warnings: NSFW, graphic description of violence, graphic description of injury, gun violence, war, angst

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

All our fear

and hate

Poured from our rifles

Into

the man in black

As he lost his face

In the smoke

Of an exploding hand frag.

---  Frank A. Cross, Jr.

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

 “September 2nd, 1971. Hi honey, it’s me – you know I don’t know why I always start these messages out with ‘it’s me,’ of course you know it’s me, I sent this to you. I don’t know. I want you to know it’s me. Your wife. Mrs. (Y/N) Zimmerman.”

Flip wanders the village, headphones over his ears to block out some of the noise. He’s listening to your tape, listens to it for the first time. The care package came that morning, and he wanted to tear it open then and there, wanted to rifle through the contents like a young boy on Hanukkah morning, but they had needed to keep moving.

They were finally in the village now, a small town surrounded by yellow fields of a crop Flip didn’t know, probably rice. He didn’t remember rice being golden. The sky was blue for once.

He walks down the paths listening to your voice, it sounded so different on the recording and yet exactly the same. He wonders how that worked, as he looks up into the fields.

A woman waves to him, and he waves back.

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

Flip can’t remember the last time you cried this hard, as he clings to you for dear life, clings as you shake and rattle against him, as he can feel the tremors wrack through your body. You sob, and he can’t help but sob too, can’t help but crush you to him right there in the kitchen.

“You’re not real, you’re not real.” You wouldn’t stop saying that over and over, and Flip’s heart wouldn’t stop breaking hearing it.

He cradles your head in his hand, holds it against his chest as you try to get impossibly closer to him.

“I am, I’m home, I promise.” He whispers, afraid of raising his voice, afraid that if he did he’d just start yelling, screaming.

There’s something already clawing at the inside of his throat, something already begging to just let everything out – so much to talk about, so much to do now that he’s home, to do to you that it suddenly feels like there’s no time, can’t possibly be any time for it all.

“If this is a dream – ” You start but Flip tips your chin up to stop that train of thought right then and there.

“It’s not, it isn’t ketsl.” He promises, smooths his thumb over your lip.

His eyes darken as you take the finger into your mouth, mesmerized as your white white white teeth bite down into the pad of his thumb, as your tongue swirls around the tip of it, as your spit glistens in its wake.

“Prove it.” You look up through your lashes with heat in your red-rimmed eyes, tears staining your cheeks even then, a fire through rain.

He proves it the only way he knows how, with a searing kiss that has him walking you backwards, has him wrapping your legs around his hips, carrying you up the stairs two at a time. He’s carried far heavier through far worse conditions; this is a blessing in comparison.

He sets you on the bed gingerly, too afraid of hurting you like he hurt so many these past two years, too afraid to lose himself. He rips the buttons of your flannel – his flannel – open, pushes it down your shoulders.

How long had he dreamed of this? How long had he been waiting to see you, touch you, taste you? Now he finally could, now the time had come, and he found he couldn’t stop himself from shaking so badly that his hands on your tits seemed almost like a blur to him.

“Phil I need you, please.” You beg for him, use his name, his real name, one he hasn’t heard in so long, one he almost forgot altogether.

“I’m right here, I swear I’m right here.” He assures you, but really, is assuring himself.

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

“It’s been eleven months, three weeks, and two days since you left – but who’s counting? I am. I want you back home. I hope you’re safe, God I hope you’re safe. Jimmy’s been helping me around the house, just like you told him to. Harry and Bridges have been stopping by too, checking in on me to make sure everything’s okay. I painted the dining room, I was sick of looking at the white walls. It’s brown now! I hope you like it. If you don’t I’ll paint it a different color.”

 Flip envisions the house, envisions the dining room. He thinks about the table in the center of the room and the chairs that circle around it. He thinks about the one chair that always wobbles, no matter how many times he fixes it. He thinks he can picture it with brown walls, but he’s never been very good at visualizing.

You don’t know, but the small things like this keep him sane as he walks up and down the village, walks through the fields. He’s starting to dream about home too much, each time it looks a little different. He’s starting to forget what it really looks like, and it scares him. You don’t know, but your voice soothes those fears.

He cuts through the fields and goes down towards the water, the edge of a pond where rice shoots stick up. He can see his reflection in the pond, and he’s surprised by what he finds. He looks like how your voice feels, coming through the cassette player; exactly like himself and nothing like himself at the same time. He knows it’s him, knows that face, but he doesn’t know the age in it, doesn’t know when the fuck he started looking like his father.

He sits down at the edge of the pond, lays on his back and watches the clouds move. It’s the first time in weeks he has been able to lay down without fear of being shot in the stomach, and that relief is not lost on him. The sun shines brightly, reflects off the water in sparkles that make him sick.

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

You’re in control this time. If Flip were honest, you were always in control, always the one in charge. You told how you wanted him, whether it were with words or touches, and Flip obliged, was more than happy to oblige.

If you said jump, he’d ask how high?

You’re telling him now, ordering him on top of you with the way you pull at his shoulders. You need this, he knows you do, needs this just as badly as he does, and oh he wants to give it to you, want to make you happy – make you come.

He wants to be sweet with you, wants to take his time and treat you right, wants to make you come as many times as he can before he even shoves his cock into you, but you’re whining and crying underneath him, begging him. He obeys, shucks his uniform off, lets it fall to the floor to deal with later. He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t give a shit about it, not when you’re desperately reaching out to him, for him.

“Fuck me.” You demand, and Flip is weak, too weak for you, wants nothing but to please you, give you everything.

“I’m here.” He whispers, not trusting his own voice, as he parts your thighs and slides inside you.

He can’t move, not right away, too caught up in the feeling of you surrounding him. Your cunt is hot and wet and so so tight, gripping his cock like a vice as he bottoms out inside you, as he lets you envelop him completely. Your pussy had been waiting for him, waited two years for him, and now it was practically sucking him in, demanding he fuck you.

Flip was never one to deny you anything.

Curses drip from his lips as he thrusts, slowly at first, hips nudging against you, the head of his cock knocking up against your cervix and making you hiccup out a moan. Your tears have stopped for the time being, your face too concentrated on the feeling of finally being filled the way only Flip can provide.

“Yes!” Tumbles from your lips, travels right to his cock, tingles up his spine and into the backs of his eyes, “Yes, Phil, you’re so good – too good to me – oh!”

The praise spurs him on, his chest soars that he makes you happy, makes you feel good.

“Harder, you’re doing so well sweetheart, harder.” It’s addicting, your voice, the raw unfiltered force of your voice, and Flip moans just from the sound of it, the feel of your hand in his hair.

As he picks up his pace, he can feel the adrenaline rush through his veins, has to shut his eyes and try and breathe so that he can keep his rhythm. If he looks at you now, he’ll come, so overwhelmed at the smell and feel and taste of you – he has to taste you. You’ve got your head thrown back and he takes advantage of your exposed neck and chest to suck bright red marks claiming you as his.

You taste like salt and sweat and sex, and he can’t get enough, can’t stop laving his tongue over your pulse where he can feel it beating wildly. It’s a reminder that this is real – how can he be so fucking lucky for this to be real?

You’re his, he’s with you, he’s home.

“Fuck – I missed this – god I missed you.” He moans through gritted teeth, unable to stop a few tears from sliding down his nose, watches as it drips onto your sternum, as it mingles and soaks your skin. He’s not sad, neither of you are sad, not right now. No, now it’s hunger and anger and lust and love, all mixed up like the sweat on your chest.

Your tits are bouncing from the force of him, and he’s practically punching gasps and moans out of you, but you compose yourself enough to hold onto his face with your hands, palms cupping his cheeks and curling around his ears, bringing him in for a kiss, sucking the breath out of him in desperation.

“I love you, I love you so much – you can’t ever do that to me again.” You insist, demand.

You’re angry – so angry that your teeth are clenched, even as he’s railing you into the mattress. Not angry at him, never him, but at the world, at the war for taking him away from you for so long – for taking him away at all.

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

“It’s been so rainy here, I’ve been wearing your flannels. They’re almost starting to lose the smell of you. Don’t make fun of me, but sometimes I light one of your cigarettes and wave it around, just to have the smell of the smoke, the smell of you.”

 Flip sighs, wishes for a cigarette desperately. He wonders if he’ll be able to exchange something for some, maybe bum one off Eric who keeps winning them in poker matches. Kid’s too young to be smoking anyway, Flip thinks as the clouds go by. Never mind that he started smoking when he was fifteen, never mind.

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

“I won’t, I promise I won’t – oh shit – ” Flip loses himself, his arm gives out just a little as he slips against the sheets.

He topples on top of you, grabs at your thighs with calloused hands and forces you deeper into the mattress, yanks your hips as close to his as they can go, fucks the anger of you, out of the both of you.

“Right there! Oh! Flip!” You’re yelling now, shouting, you don’t even realize how loud you are. It’s not late, not dark out yet, and the neighbors are probably outside, probably hearing him make you scream.

Fine, he thinks, brain fuzzy and addled with pleasure enough to not give a shit, let them hear. Let the whole fucking world hear me love my wife.

He’s getting close, curses to himself for not wearing a condom, curses that he’s going to have to pull out of you.

“I have to – ” He starts but you shake your head, dig your heels into his lower back to prevent him from going anywhere.

“Come in me! Come in me it’s okay.” You say, adamant, stunning him. He’d never come in you without a condom before, even though you were on contraceptives yourself.

“Are you sure?” He asks, hips on autopilot, moving of their own accord, moving in compliance with your wishes.

“Yes, please, please Flip.” You beg, and there are the tears again, there they are making your eyes too bright, making you look wild and frantic, desperate.

He knows what you’re thinking, and he’s worried his heart’s going to stop.

“I love you, oh my god I love you.” He kisses you all over, pants into your neck as his hips thrust once, twice, three more times before they push into you with a stop.

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

“I haven’t gone to the station in a little while, it hurts too much to see your desk empty. The whole house feels empty without you. I’m sorry, I know this is a depressing message. I’ve been playing your tapes over and over again, I’m almost afraid I’m going to fuck up the cassette player. Shit I’m running out of room on this one, go play the second tape – ”

 Flip’s heart pangs as he laughs, chuckles to himself, chuckles over how human you are. Despite everything, you were so human. He loves hearing you complain about the mundane things, loves hearing the tsk you do when something doesn’t go right. He wishes he could go back to the simple life, sitting in the office never seemed like such a luxury.  

He takes the headphones off, reaches into his pocket for the cassette player to switch out the tapes – when he hears the gunfire and screaming.

He’s frozen only for a moment, and then he’s running into the village, running and running and already checking to make sure he has ammo, frantically searching for who, for what, for where.

He finds it when a window shatters next to him, glass exploding into the side of his face, his neck. He doesn’t have any time to react to the pain, instead taking all his energy and focus to fire into the chaos. The Viet Cong had found them, caught up to them in the South yet again, and were torching everything in sight.

Homes of the villagers went up in flames, thick black smoke engulfing the skies, the orange glow of a raging fire picking up wind and sucking oxygen from all the plants and trees around it, feeding the flames. He shouts, just because he can, just because he has to, shouts into the smoke as he shoots and shoots, soot stinging his eyes and making him cough.

How ironic would it be, going to war and dying from soot, of all things?

The town blazes, houses burning to a crisp, and Flip has to duck and dodge bullets, with no where to hide.

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

In the quiet space, Flip rests his head in the crook of your neck. If he could, he’d crawl into you and live there, curl around your heart and protect it from everything, protect it from the harsh world he lived in, the one he fought in. You were everything to him, everything. He didn’t even know what he was fighting for, if not for you.

In the quiet space, your hand finds its way into his hair, and he could cry if he weren’t out of tears.

In the quiet space, it felt like years hadn’t passed. No, with his nose pressed against your jugular and your hand in his hair, it felt like just yesterday that he had seen you. Like yesterday and a thousand years ago, all at once.

“Let me look at you?” You ask, breaking the silence after who knows how long.

The sun has started to set, deep gold over the mountains just outside your property.

“I’m okay, I promise.” Flip says softly, thinking about just how painfully okay he wasn’t.

“Let me look anyway?” You ask, hearing him, hearing what he’s thinking.

Flip sits up, and you follow suit. His eyes track your every movement, he watches as the sheets pool and twist around you, the light cotton kissing your skin and caressing the spots where his fingertips dug hungry marks.

You reach to turn the light on, and then the inspection begins.

You did this sometimes, after a long day of Flip at work, or after a dangerous mission. You touched every inch of him, ran your fingers over every single centimeter, looking and feeling. You had his whole body mapped out in your mind, had every single mole and freckle and scar memorized.

He knew your body inside and out, and you knew his, just by virtue of being together for so long, so in love for so long. The feeling of your fingers lightly dragging across his skin brought goosebumps to his arms, a shudder to his shoulders.

He lets his eyes close and revels in the touch, leans back until he’s laying down, his head at the foot of the bed. You climb on top of him, straddle his hips in an entirely non-sexual manner as you reacquaint yourself with his body.

He has so much he wants to say, doesn’t know where to start, so for now he remains silent, too afraid to break this spell, too unsure of where to even begin.

After so long of anger and terror, this gentle caress is almost more than he can bear. He doesn’t even realized how starved for your touch he had become. It was like how one doesn’t realize it’s raining until the rain stops – in the absence of the pain, there was only the overwhelming relief of you.

“What’s this one?” You ask as your fingers walk up his neck, brushing against a thin scar that was no longer than an inch long.

“Just some broken glass.” He murmurs, catching your wrist with his lips, kissing the pulse there.

“Did you do these stitches yourself?” You ask softly, trying your best to chuckle through it, trying to be lighthearted. It falls flat, and Flip sighs.

“Yeah.” He swallows.

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

The shooting stops in time for Flip to hack up a lungful of smoke.

There’s a hand on his back and he whirls around, already ready to punch, fist balled up tight. He swings, can’t see in the smoke, but Eric dodges just in time. Flip sighs with relief that it’s him, just him.

“Did they get you?” Eric pants, face bloodied and beaten when it’s all over, like he had fallen face first onto a rock.

“Huh?” Flip asks, turning his head and catching a glimpse of his collar soaked crimson all the way through. He reaches a dirty hand up to his neck, remembers the glass and winces. “Oh fuck, no, this is from glass.”

“You need to get that closed before it gets infected.” Eric says, like he’s not completely covered in cuts too.

“I would but they burned down the fucking clinic.” Flip gestures to the smoldering building, coughs into his elbow.

They need to get to a clearing, need to get the fuck out of there.

They need to get the fuck out of Vietnam.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Eric asks, and Flip sighs.

“In the backpack, but I don’t have a mirror to –”

“Here.” Eric hands him one. It’s a broken shard, not much, but it’s enough to give Flip enough of a reflection where he can tend to his own wounds.

“Fuck I can’t watch this.” Eric sucks in a breath as Flip pulls needle and thread through skin, too numb to even feel anything.

“Then don’t.” Flip says, putting away the pieces of this trauma, packing it all up and storing it inside his brain somewhere he can deal with later, because he just doesn’t have the time, the energy to deal with it now as he sews himself shut. “Just keep the mirror still.”

“Jesus how can you – ” Eric gags, and Flip snaps.

“Just! Keep the mirror still!” He shouts, breath heaving. He’s bleeding again, has to re-do the whole fucking thing.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry.” Eric says softly, holds the mirror steady.

Flip doesn’t know how, how his hands don’t shake.

“What are we going to do now?” Eric asks, looking awfully young. Too young and too old all at once.

“I don’t know.” Flip sighs, feeling awful, feeling every ache and pain in his back and in his knees, feeling like his father when he doesn’t have an answer. The thought exhausts him, somehow more than the fighting did. “Backup is coming, we have to wait for them.”

“You’re still bleeding.” Eric points out.

“Well do you want to do a better job?” He asks.

“They look great.” Eric says, and despite it all, the two of them laugh.

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

“You okay?” You ask him, bringing him back.

“Yeah.” He lies, and you see right through it.

You’ve always seen through him.

“You can talk to me, you know that, don’t you?” You whisper and he nods his head.

He will, he’ll tell you everything…he just can’t right now. It’s all too raw right now. You nod and understand, Flip wonders how the hell you were always so understanding.

Most people would have left him for less than this, he knows that, is painfully aware.

But you pull him into your arms, you hold him tight as he hides his face, hangs it low. He doesn’t even know how to describe what he’s feeling, doesn’t know how to articulate it. He doesn’t know, and it’s so fucking frustrating, just like everything else is.

He wonders if he’ll ever know.

“Everything’s fucked, over there.” Flip says, takes all those thoughts and comes up with that.

“I know.” You reply as you smooth your hands down his hair, down his back, across his shoulders. “But you’re home now.” You say.

He smiles, is about to reply when he yawns, big and loud right in your face.

“I’m sorry – ” He says, mortified, terrified that you’ll be mad at him for being so rude, but that’s a silly thought because you’re laughing, chuckling so fondly at him.

“Don’t, don’t be. We can sleep, let’s go to sleep.” You nudge, even though the sun has barely barely set behind the mountains, even though it’s still a golden evening in your room.

He looks at you for a moment before realizing he doesn’t care, and nods, kisses you.

“Lay on your back?” He asks quietly, “I just need to feel you.”

You don’t even ask what he means, you just do as he says.

Sometimes, Flip wishes he could marry you all over again. Times like these, when you welcome him with open arms as he shuffles on top of you, rests his head on your chest. His ear is right above your heart, and he counts the heartbeats there, breaths in time with your breaths.

12…13…14…

He counts and counts, taps his finger against your side, until he can feel himself start to lull into sleep.

“I love you.” You say softly, so soft, hand gently carding through his hair.

“I love you more.” He mumbles back.

33…34…35…

“No I love you more.” You huff out a small laugh, and Flip looks up at you with lidded eyes.

“Well I love you most.” He says, so sincerely that you can’t help but smile.

“You win this round.” You say, and he settles down against you, finally finally finally content.

58…59…60.

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

“Don’t laugh at me for this.” Eric asks as they’re walking to a clearing, walking towards the fields Flip sat in earlier.

“What?” He asks, wondering where the rest of their group is.

They pass too many dead bodies on the ground, men and women and children that make Flip’s whole body churn. He’ll throw up about it later, he doesn’t have anything in his stomach right now to give. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help them.

He can’t, none of them can.

“Would you tell me a story?” Eric asks. Flip’s learned he does this to deal, talks through it. It he doesn’t talk, he’d scream. He doesn’t know what he’d do.

“What, like a bedtime story?” Flip asks back, and they reach the clearing, golden fields of rice paddies untouched by the rage of war.

“Yeah.” Eric says, kneels at the edge of the pond.

Flip tries not to think about how fucked up all of this is. He fails.

“Okay.” Flip sits down next to him, and they begin washing their hands, their face in the cool water. Flip’s nauseous from the way the water turns pink. “What about?”

“Anything, I don’t care.” Eric says softly, scrubbing his face and turning it towards the sun, letting the water evaporate and warm his skin.

Flip can’t think of any stories in that moment. He hates that feeling, knowing that he had read a thousand, had been read a thousand more by his ma, and now he can’t recall a single one.

“You ever heard of Harold and the Purple Crayon?” He asks finally, when he can see a crescent sliver of the moon shining in the blue sky. Flip wonders how one could see the sun and the moon at the same time. He adds it to his list of things to ask you, you always know these sort of things.

“Nope.” Eric shakes his head, and curls his knees up, wraps his arms around his legs like he’s giving himself a hug.

Flip doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if he should hug this kid, so he just sits down next to him.

“Well once upon a time,” He starts, because that’s how all stories should start, he thinks, “There was a boy named Harold. He had a purple crayon.”

“Riveting.” Eric snorts, and Flip smacks his arm.

“You want me to tell the story or no?” He asks playfully, desperately trying not to think of the scorching village behind him.

It’s fucked, the whole thing’s fucked and --

“Sorry.” Eric says softly, and Flip sighs.

“He decided to go for a walk in the moonlight, but there wasn’t any moon. And you need a moon for a walk in the moonlight, so Harold took his purple crayon and he drew one.” Flip pretends to draw a moon shape with an invisible crayon, wonders if Eric can see it.

“Now he had his moon, but there was no path to walk on. And you need a path to walk on for a walk in the moonlight, so, he took his crayon and drew one. He drew it long and straight so he wouldn’t get lost. He walked along the path, but he found it wasn’t very exciting, so he left it and drew himself a shortcut, and the moon walked with him.”

“The shortcut led right to where Harold though a forest ought to be. So, he drew one. He didn’t want to get lost in the forest, so he only drew one tree. It happened to be an apple tree, and he thought the apples would be very tasty when they got red, so he drew a dragon underneath the tree to guard the apples. When the dragon came to life, he got scared and sailed away, and the moon sailed with him.”

“Harold made land, and on the beach he wondered where he was. The beach reminded him of picnics, which made him hungry, so he took his purple crayon and drew himself a feast. He drew himself not one, but nine different kinds of pies, all the kinds he liked best. There was so much leftover that he decided to draw a very hungry moose and a porcupine to finish it up. So off he went looking for a hill for him to find, a tall hill to help him see where he was, and the moon went with him.”

“Harold knew the higher up he went, the farther he could see. He figured if he went high enough he could see his bedroom window. It was getting late, and he thought he ought to get to bed. But he slipped, and with the help of his purple crayon he drew a hot air balloon. He had a fine view from the balloon – but he couldn’t see his window, or a house. So he made himself a house, with plenty of windows, and when he landed, the moon landed with him.”

“He made big windows and small windows, lots and lots of buildings with windows, but none of them were his. He couldn’t think of where it might be, so he drew a policeman to ask for help. The policeman pointed, and he walked away. He was followed by the moon, wishing he were in his room and in bed. When suddenly – Harold remembered where the building was, always right around the moon. So Harold drew himself a bed, and drew up the covers, and Harold dropped off to sleep.”

Flip finishes, and it’s quiet. Far too quiet.

“If I had a purple crayon, I’d draw an end to this war.” Eric says softly, reaching a hand up to trace the moon in the sky.

Flip doesn’t have time to respond before an explosion goes off.

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

He wakes up in a cold sweat, some hours later.

It’s dark outside, and he panics, eyes frantically searching in the night for enemies unseen, hand automatically reaching for his gun when his palm nudges you instead.

Oh right, he thinks to himself as his whole body sags with relief. You’re sleeping next to him, in your bed, the light of the moon caressing your body, lining you in silver that feels too ethereal to be true. He reaches his hand out further to trace the contour of your body, careful not to wake you up.

You wake up anyway, startled too, eyes wide before you recognize who it is next to you.

You’re both so fucked, he thinks as he collects you in his arms silently.

He doesn’t know what time it is, but he doesn’t care. It’s the most restful sleep he’s ever had, simply because it’s next to you.

“Bad dreams?” You ask, already pulling him close, already grounding him with your touch. He shakes his head, this wasn’t a bad one, not by a long shot. You frown, unconvinced. “Then why are you up?”

“Habit.” Flip swallows, wipes the sweat from his brow, “Couldn’t sleep more than a couple hours over there, in case.”

He doesn’t need to explain why, doesn’t need to tell you. You already know, can read it in his face.

You study him for a moment, before checking the time. He doesn’t bother looking, doesn’t care to know.

“Do you want cocoa?” You ask, surprising him.

“Hm?” He asks back, wanting to make sure he heard right.

“Hot cocoa, I can make us some.” You offer, and Flip huffs out a laugh.

It’s the middle of June, it’s far too hot outside for cocoa, and yet you’re already reaching for your robe, already sticking your feet into the slippers he bought you years ago.

“What – ketsl no, go back to sleep.” Flip pats the bed but you shake your head, a gentle smile on your lips.

“You’re delusional if you think I’m not going to stay up with you.” You say, “You can stay here if you’d like, I’ll bring it up.”

“No – ” Flip panics, making your eyes soften. “I mean, I want to be where you are.” He swallows, swallows his screams, the shouts that want to break through.

“Me too.” You whisper, hold out a hand for him.

You hold out your hand and he takes it.

He doesn’t ever want to let go.

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

Thank you all for reading! Tagging some pals, if you’d like to be added to the taglist or removed, please just let me know!  @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kylo-renne @callmehopeless @kyloxfem @formerly-anonhamster @thepilotanon @solotriplets   @fullofbees @spinebarrel @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @glitzescape @adamsnacc-kler @ladygrey03 @venusianmaiden marvelous-blog-221 @edwardseyelashes (i’m sorry if i’ve forgotten someone!!) 

[doobler]

Stay

Autumn breathed in deep. The cold air that filled his lungs soothed what lingering heat remained trapped in his chest. He always ran hot after a job, blood thrumming through his veins like the beat of a hummingbird's wings. Here, atop the roof of an abandoned warehouse, he could see both the city sprawling to his left and the icy ocean to his right. Salty spray made his skin feel a little raw but he enjoyed the sting.

"You've never stayed this close before."

Autumn chuckled. He knew that voice well now.

"I'm feeling daring I guess," He retorted, rolling his shoulders casually. "You gonna cuff me, detective?"

"Not today," Pierce grunted as he walked the precarious iron beams. "I'm technically off the clock on this one."

"Ah. Damn shame. I was feeling a bit charitable. Barely woulda put up a fight."

Pierce snickered, his laughter dying down when he took in the mercenary's appearance. There were dark bags under his eyes and his skin was ghostly white. Pierce edged closer, eyes owlish.

"Hey, uh, is that blood on your shirt?" He tried to sound calm.

"Yeah, but surprisingly, it's not someone else's" Autumn looked down at his own chest, tugging on his tank top. "Been havin' uhh a rough day as it were."

"Do you... Need a doctor or...?"

Autumn let out a sharp barking laugh, blood-tinged spittle flying off his lips.

"What, so you can cuff me mid-appointment? Polite pass."

His face screwed up rather unattractively. He bent down, hawking up a foul mouthful of bloody phlegm. Pierce cringed. 

"I've got a thing," Autumn swiped the nastiness off his chin with the back of his hand. "So it's fine."

"A thing?" Pierce echoed. "I'm pretty sure that's called 'internal bleeding', ya fucking psychopath. Maybe you should see a professional."

"Nooo, no, no, I've got, y'know. A thing!"

When Pierce refused to back off, Autumn let out a frustrated noise. He chewed down on his lower lip, dropping his head as he thought long and hard. This weird little cat-and-mouse chase had been going on for a couple years now. It'd been a bit longer since he'd seen... Her as well. He was feeling strangely trusting. Plus, Pierce just had an oddness about him. He was easy to talk to, terrifyingly so. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to trust someone again.

"... Let me show you." Autumn finally spoke, peering up behind his waterfall of golden hair.

"Show me...?" Pierce raised his brows.

"My thing."

Autumn held out his hand, flexing his fingers like an invitation. To his shock, Pierce only hesitated for a few moments before taking it. Autumn's eyes rolled back, the world dropped away completely, and everything went black.

---

It was dark. Unsettlingly dark. Unnaturally dark.

Pierce looked down at his hands. He looked ghostly. Ethereal. Inhuman. Was he floating up? Or down? It was hard to tell with no floor, no ceiling, no walls, just nothingness. He flipped and turned and spun for seconds and minutes and hours and days. Finally, his feet found the ground.

Waiting for him was a small child. He had big grey eyes and a heavy smattering of freckles across his face. In his hands was a cat, it's neck snapped. He looked proud, like he was showing off a project. Pierce opened his mouth to speak and the world went upside down again.

When he regained his footing, he was beside a teenager. The boy's body language was absolutely terrifying. He was trembling, his eyes unblinking, a permanently wicked grin stretched across his face. There was blood on his hoodie. Pierce had a feeling it wasn't his own.

This time, when the floor dropped, he was ready. He flashed past images of a woman he'd never seen before. Her smile looked fake and her gaze was cold and unfeeling. Pierce watched as her flirtatious advances turned to ice. Kisses turned to screaming, hugs into stinging open-handed slaps. While there was no sound, Pierce felt a sharpness in his ears, like she was yelling directly at his face. Soon, though far longer than he liked, she faded away, too.

Now Pierce was walking, waking through the dark to the end of the path. Autumn was there. He smiled, waving him closer. A figure slipped out of his shadow, one with ankle-length hair that laid flat and hung heavily. It had three eyes, two that glowed like hot embers and one that shined like gold. The way it draped itself over Autumn wasn't sexual, it was possessive. 

If you hurt him, it whispered in his ears, I'll eat you alive.

Autumn let the creature fawn over him, raking long clawed fingers through his hair, across his chest, along his arms, all the while never breaking eye contact with Pierce.

"This is my thing," Autumn's voice echoed. "Now you know."

---

Pierce came to, gasping for air. He grabbed at his chest, the weight having settled there finally lifted. He looked over to Autumn, terror stabbing its frozen fingers through his heart. He was vomiting blood, making all sorts of horrible sickly sounds. Pierce lunged forward, scooping him up in his arms. 

"Fuck, you're heavy." Pierce groaned, trying to drape most of his body along his shoulders and back.

"I... Work out..." Autumn groaned. He was barely conscious.

When their heads knocked together, Pierce could hear that voice again. It was feminine and masculine, old and young, speaking in a whisper that still sounded crystal clear.

Save him.

"I dunno what the actual fuck you are, blondie," Pierce huffed, very carefully easing them both towards the roof's access ladder. "But I'm not gonna leave you here to die."

Autumn exhaled what felt like a sigh of relief before going completely unconscious. Pierce staggered but kept his pace. He'd get him somewhere safe and no one, of Earth, Heaven, or Hell, would stop him.

---

Autumn woke up in a bed. A nice one, too, nicer than what he had back home. Well, home was a relative term, he lived in the office of an abandoned factory at the very edge of town, comfort and luxury wasn't something he currently had access to.

He looked around the room, instantly wide awake. A dark wooden desk sat against the wall, covered in a variety of paperwork alongside a rather old looking computer. One whole side of the room was lined with tall metal filing cabinets. There was a small dresser at the foot of the bed, a rather generic looking painting of the countryside hanging above him, and a single slightly worn armchair. Pierce was fast asleep sitting up, arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed down to his button up shirt, the top two buttons undone, and his slacks were swapped out for flannel bottoms. Autumn was mostly confused by his clothing choice but he wasn't here to judge.

Right. Here.

He saved us.

"Yeah, I put that together," Autumn groaned, slowly easing himself upright. He felt like absolute shit. "Where are we?"

His home. His office.

"And where is that?"

... Not sure.

Autumn let out a frustrated sigh. He whipped back the duvet and held his breath. Oh. He was in someone else's shirt and his own briefs. Alright. He tried not to think too hard about the benevolent detective patiently stripping him down, cleaning away all the blood, and tucking him into bed. That definitely wouldn't follow his subconscious for a good while.

He eased himself out of bed, creeping around the room to the window. They were in the heart of the city, far away from the docks and no where near Autumn's own housing situation.

Why are we trying to leave?

"What do you mean--" Autumn pressed his fingers against his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. "I need to get home, dumbass. You're so clingy and willing to trust for a fucking demon--"

He could've turned us in. We were unconscious and vulnerable. But he took us home and took care of us.

"Yeah but--"

We like him. We've always liked him, ever since we saw him. This is our chance. This is the time to stay.

"But what about--"

This isn't her. This is him. This is Pierce. We can stay this time.

"And what if it goes to shit, huh?" It took everything in Autumn not to scream. "What if we get hurt again?"

He looked over to the sleeping detective. Pierce looked so peaceful, long eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks, lips parted slightly as he breathed. Autumn's heart clenched. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If he hurts us...

Autumn shuddered as images of gore flashed behind his eyes.

We'll kill him. 

"... Okay. Okay, fine. We'll... I'll trust him. This one time." 

Autumn rolled his eyes as waves of warmth echoed through his chest. He snuck back into bed, pulling the covers up to his neck. Just as he got comfortable, Pierce woke up, snuffling and stretching in his armchair.

"Oh, blondie, you're awake," He groaned, popping his shoulders. "How do you feel?"

"I'm... Alive, thank you," Autumn chewed on his inner cheek. God, how could someone's eyes be so damn blue? "You... Didn't have to--"

"Don't even start," Pierce smiled. His body language was so relaxed. "After what you showed me... I couldn't just leave you there. I'm starting to understand you're not just some maniac, you've got a lotta baggage and that makes things a lot more complicated. But... I'm willing to learn and listen. For now."

Pierce grinned and offered the mercenary a cheeky wink.

"Until you give me an actually good reason to slap some cuffs on you."

Autumn squeaked, covering up the sound with a wet cough.

"Do you uh," Pierce rose from his seat, rubbing his hands together awkwardly. "Wanna stay for dinner?"

"... Depends on what that is."

"Beef stew? And some crusty bread?"

Autumn raised his eyebrows, tipping his head forward.

"... Possibly some whiskey."

"Alright, sold." Autumn grinned.

"Fantastic," Pierce looked rather proud as he headed for the door. Sure enough, the heady waft of beef stock and root vegetables floated through the air as soon as he opened it. "Stay right there, I'll bring you back a bowl."

With that, he was gone and, much to Autumn's surprise, he did in fact stay.