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honeyhenry · 4 years ago

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Captain Confusion

A/N: Inspired by this video that makes me weep with its cuteness! I just had to write this okay 🥺🥺🥺 This is in the same universe as Homeward Bound, which happens after this story. Feel free to give it a read after this, if you haven’t already! ALSO should note that the lovely @ohmygoodie is my Sy partner in crime and without them this fic would not be made possible :)

Warning: mention of operations/hospitals, and a whole lot of fluff!

It was a simple procedure and so it hadn't worried you too much, other than the usual fears when a loved one is under the knife while in the hands of trained doctors. Sy’s hernia had been authorised for operation only five minutes into the doctor’s appointment you had all but dragged him to, and scheduled for 4 days later. Not really much time to prepare mentally, but you knew it was necessary with your big bear of a man in pain. Despite the painkillers prescribed, he was walking with a limp and groaning in bed for all the wrong reasons.

In the waiting room, you and his Ma kept busy during the 45 minute wait by looking through magazines, talking about how the Captain’s quality of life will improve, and what kind of minor jobs you’ll have him do around the house while he’s recovering as you continue to work.

“I hope the recovery isn’t as long as some people have said. I know for a fact he’ll not want to be cooped up all day. If he’s anything, he’s stubborn” you sigh, knowingly.

Ma smiles, looking at you pointedly, knowing that she is in the presence of the only other soul who knows what is best for her son. “He knows better now that his health is his wealth. He’s got a lot more riding on being well now. After all, it’s not just him he’s gotta be there for anymore.”

“Yeah, I mean I always tell him, he’s not 25 anymore. Or even 30. I’ll need you to back me up, he does anything you say. I’m his equal, you’re his Mom.”

You both laugh a little, hers warm and kind, while yours tinges with the remaining hopeful nerves of an army Captain’s wife. You don’t like not knowing about your Sy, especially since you spent all those years apart, not knowing if he was safe, or even alive. The waiting, in any capacity, is the hardest part.

You’re flipping through a random tabloid magazine, when the surgeon in charge walks through to the waiting room.

“Everything went really well with Captain Syverson. He’s coming to from the anaesthetic and asking for his Ma?”

Ma grins before sucking her teeth between her lips watching as your mouth drops. You both move from the waiting area to follow the surgeon towards where your husband is resting. You speak under your breath, only wanting Sy’s Ma to hear you; “I hope he still remembers how to grovel after this.”

Ma enters the room with you following her, arriving only a couple more corridors along from where you’d last seen him earlier that morning. He may not have asked for you but you were going to see Sy whether he wanted it or not. A grand push of the door allows it to swing open, and suddenly there he is. A little disoriented but has a large dopey smile plastered on his face as soon as he sees his Ma. His heavy head lolls to one side as he rests it on the plush hospital pillow.

“Hey Ma” he groans out as she bends over her large son to give his forehead a kiss, taking his hand in hers. He spends a moment just gazing at her for a while, the love he has for her evident on his face, as she tells him that everything went well, and that he can go home tomorrow.

It’s only after this tender mother and son moment, that he notices you.

“Ma.... why ya bringing a beautiful girl here when I’m like this...oh god I’m not wearing underwear Ma!”

His feeble attempt at trying to cover himself means that you actually end up seeing far more of him than you expected. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but it definitely hasn't happened in front of his own mother before. The whole situation makes you blush and giggle a little as you try your best to avoid eye contact with Ma. You can only imagine the look on her face, and you don’t want to get any more involved with Sy’s naked form than you need to right now.

Rather than put you and your poor Sy through any further embarrassment, Ma speaks up.

“Oh darlin’, this is y/n. You remember her, right?”

And while he’s listening - or at least pretending to listen to his Ma fussing over him again - he’s just staring at you, gazing in awe as if you were the one to hang the stars in the sky.

“You are.... so pretty” he slurs, making you break out a genuine smile that he mirrors, glad that he was the one to make you look even more pretty.

“Well thanks handsome. How do you feel?” you perch on the edge of the bed and hold his hand. To him, the gesture feels warm and inviting - even if he doesn't know you, he recognises something about you in the comfort that you bring.

“Feel like shit. Oh fuck i said ‘shit’ in front of the lady” he whines again, scrunching his eyes closed as hangs his head in shame. It looks like he might even cry with the realisation that he’s made such a foolish impression of himself. It takes Ma shushing him and making him take a sip of juice from his bedside to calm down, dabbing his face with a cloth when his juice spills from his mouth.

“Oh Logan Daniel Syverson...what did they do to ya?” she lightly scolds as she helps clean up the mess he’s unknowingly created around him. That’s your Sy, a hurricane of mess that somehow fits into order just how he likes it.

You giggle a little more at his shameful expression, before he refocuses, giving you his undivided attention once more.

“How is it that ya know my Ma and we’ve never met? Or have we? ‘Cause I think i’d remember a face like yours”

“Well...” you start, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear to let him see your entire face, hoping it would jog his memory. As you do so, the ring on your fourth finger glints in the hospital light, and for the first time since you've entered the room, he’s noticed.

“Oh...man...knew a girl like you would be snatched up already. Whoever has the honour of being yours is a very lucky man.” He smiles softly, a wistful look in his eye, while makes you realise that you can’t wait for the drugs to leave his system, you have to remind him who you are and who he is, right this very moment.

“Sy honey... we’re married. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife. I think the drugs are making you more than a bit loopy.”

It’s his turn for his jaw to drop, his eyes are unblinking as he takes in what you’ve just said. He turns sharply - more than his doctor would have probably liked - to his Ma, and then back to you, and then his Ma again, waiting for one of you to burst out laughing at the prank you surely must be playing on him.

“Wha-? A wife? I have a wife?” you nod and he exhales a deep breath of air in amazement.

“YOU’RE my wife? Really?” you nod again and Ma smiles at you as she watches the scene of Logan meeting you all over again.

“Am I still in the army? I’m a Captain ya know”

“You left just a few months ago. You still work in the local camps, of course. You like it there, and you’re home every night and most weekends.”

“Does Ma like you?” You don’t even get a chance to finish as he turns to his mother “Do you like her? is she nice? Does she like your new kitchen? I built it y’know.”

You knew when you met, dated, and married him, that Sy was a Momma’s boy. He loves his mother so much, that her opinion will always mean the world to him.

Ma nods “You two are the sweetest couple. She’s the best addition to the family, gives you a run for your money alright. She’s my new favourite.” You get a soft hug from her as she says this, with her wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. She’s always felt so grateful that her Logan found you, because my goodness did he love you ferociously, and he needed you in his life. You were the making of him, and the whole Syverson clan will forever be grateful to you for it.

"And where did we get married? If we really are married.” He continues his line of questioning.

“At the ranch, on your family’s land. it was such a special day. We had the reception there too. And we went to Italy for our honeymoon.”

Sy is basking in every word you say, praying it to be true, as if he could will it into existence if it hadn’t already happened, wanting badly to remember sunset kisses and italian food and beach days all spent with you. He perks up at the last thing you say, taken by complete surprise.

“Honeymoon?! Oh my god have we...ya know..?” A blush fades over Sy’s face, and even though you love his Ma, you really wish she wasn’t finding out so many details about your personal life today, like how your son rails you on the regular in many ways, and in many places. He must somehow remember or at least accurately imagine your past endeavours, as he grins like a little shit.

You smack his arm, lightly but with a firm hand.

“Be quiet, or the whole ward will know about our sex life” you threaten. “Yes we’ve had sex. i’d hope so given that we have a kid on the way.”

If Ma had had to deal with her son getting horny over his “new”wife, she was being fully compensated for it as she witnessed him fall head over heels in love with you, all over again.

“A kid?...Tell me ya not messing with me...are we really- I-” he swallows and his tears come even easier than before “We’re havin’ a baby?” With the sudden realisation, he turns to his Ma. “This beautiful woman right here’s havin’ my kid, Ma?” He looks between the two of you again, watching as you both nod and beam from ear to ear.

“You know you cried just as much when i told you for the first time too. i promise when the drugs are out your system it’ll all make sense again.”

Sy smiles, clutching your hand in his warm palm, almost scared to let go as the door is knocked and he feels you might be taken away. Instead, it’s a welcome visitor.

“Hey doc,” Sy greets the man who reenters the room, now freshly out of scrubs to visit his patient - who if anything is now simply love sick, no hernia to be found. “This is my wife, and she’s having a baby.” he looks back to you with a quirk of his eyebrow “My baby?” You roll your eyes and he confirms it; “my baby.”

“Oh, congratulations...again.”

The doctor’s evaluation and explanations don’t take long, and while Sy is being informed, you start rubbing your belly as a form of self-comfort. You will need to remind your child that while their father looks incredibly stern and impossibly large, he is silly and goofy and already loves them with his entire being. Over the course of the afternoon, Sy talks with you while the anaesthetic wears off. It turns out they had given him a pretty high dosage based on his height and muscle mass, so he would be out of action for a couple of hours at least.

“Oh, i have your ring” you pipe up before he starts getting too sleepy again, taking the thick gold band off of the necklace around your neck, placing it on his finger carefully.

“That feels better already” he sighs, as he begins to doze in and out of consciousness. Before he closes his eyes once more to rest peacefully, a small tear slides down his cheek, which you of course, notice. Sy has cried maybe 5 times in the time you’ve known him and three of those times have been in this very room.

“Honey what’s wrong? Are you in pain? i can call the doctor-”

“No i’m fine i’m fine i just-” he sniffs and tries to clear his throat from the sad, heavy pain he feels in his chest. “I’m gonna be real sad when I wake up from this dream. What if I can’t find you when I wake up?”

Oh your sweet, silly man.

“Bear it’s not a dream, I’ll be right here when you get up properly and we can go home and cuddle and I’ll heat up your favourite meal. I’ll be right there with you.”

“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide. almost nervous to ask.

“Well they have to come too, they're with me. We can look at their pictures again so you can get reacquainted. And Aika will be so happy you’re back. We’ve been gone the whole day.”

“Aika!” your husband perks up, “Oh Aika, man....I love that dog..”

“I know you do bear, you just get some rest for now and then we can go home.”

Before you know it, he’s fallen back to sleep, his mouth wide open as he slumps against his pillow, completely out of it.

It’s dark outside when Sy opens his eyes again, watching as his Ma passes you a small herbal tea in the dimly lit hospital room. Technically visiting hours are over, but no one was going to argue with the Captain’s family. You smile, and he feels like he can finally relax, in your presence

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he growls lowly, and you look up at him from your phone, beaming in surprise, glad that your husband had woken up feeling a bit more like himself.

“Oh hello again” you smile and squeeze his hand, his slow blinking already indicating a much clearer mind, and that he knows exactly who you are.

“Again? What’d I miss?”

“The drugs” he stops you mid-sentence for a sweet kiss, acting as though a minute more without your lips would be the source of his downfall. “Mmmh, the drugs made you so loopy, it was the sweetest thing, Sy.” You grin as he pulls you up beside him on the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly with no recollection of any of the past events. Yet still, he smiles.

“Yeah? How’s baby?” he holds you close to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist so he can cover your tummy with his palm.

“They’re great. Glad to have daddy back and sane.”

You swear that as you say that, he starts tearing up again, this time however he doesn’t let them fall. He was openly weeping earlier, but you won’t tell him that. Not yet.

“Damnit. Must be something in these drugs they got me on.”

“Mm-hmm sure bear.”

You stay close that evening, both curled up on a hospital bed that is already quite a tight fit for your husband alone. But as always, he makes it work. You’re half on top of him, both of you fast asleep, when the nurses come to do their rounds. Ma had left just after he had woken up, sneaking off into the night to let the rest of the family know how her most middle son is keeping after the operation. You’d cuddled and doted on each other until you’d fallen asleep, Sy following not long after as he bid goodnight to you and your precious cargo with a soft kiss to your lips, and protective rub of your stomach.

He counts himself more than lucky to have something so good, that it would pain him to forget. He was living the life that he’d been too scared to ever dream of, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

taglist: @ohmygoodie @michelehansel @la-cey @palaiasaurus64 @sassy-pelican @brandycranby

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babybatscreationsv2 · 4 years ago

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Chikan

Marvel | Starker + Peter/OCs

The first time Peter gets groped on a crowded subway, it was completely unexpected. All the other times... well, let's just say he enjoys teasing old business men. The only thing that could make it better is if Tony Stark would notice.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings under the cut

Warnings: initial romnoncon, old man kink, exhibitionism, possessiveness

The first time wasn't his fault. It was a hundred damn degrees in New York and the only way to survive was to dress light and stay out of the sun. Which meant wearing a small pair of shorts and a thin t-shirt. He hadn't thought anything of it. After all, he'd never been sexually harassed before. It wasn't something he had ever thought to avoid.

So, crammed into a crowded morning train, Peter thought of his outfit other than that it was saving at least his legs from getting sweaty. His shirt was starting to cling to him. Someone brushed against his ass and there was no room in front of him to move without cramming his groin against the woman in front of him, therefore there was no where at all to move. He assumed it was an accident. Then it happened again. Just a light little touch. Then a firmer, more deliberate one.

Peter froze, mortified. The hand went away and he turned around to look. Behind him were several older business men, not one of them was younger than fifty. None of them looked at him and he had no way of knowing who it was. So he turned back around and tried to forget it ever happened. Until it happened again.

A rough hand palmed his ass, rubbing and squeezing. Fingers traced the bottom of his ass cheeks where they must have been sticking out of his shorts. The man behind him grabbed the waistband of his shorts and pulled him up. The material pulled up into his ass crack and he knew his full ass was out. His face heated, burning red. He didn't know why he didn't stop it. It would have been easy to whip around while that hand was still on his ass and see who it was and tell them off. But he liked it.

They rubbed and palmed and groped his ass. All the while Peter's mouth watered and his dick started to harden. A finger teased between his legs, touching him through the fabric. It felt unbelievably good.

He shifted, spreading his legs a bit. The man grew bolder, grabbing his crotch with his full hand, rubbing and squeezing him there too. Peter's legs shook. Then the train started to slow and the hand withdrew. Peter wanted to right his shorts, but he was so embarrassed that he couldn't even move. Not until the crowd began to push through the doors.

The second time it happened was entirely on purpose. Peter even went out and bought shorts in a thinner material so he could feel it better and he wore nothing underneath. He was nervous, but he hopped on the same morning train in the same car. He stood right in the middle holding on the strap above his head. It wasn't quite full yet so he hoped his groper would take the bait.

As people filled in, Peter didn't see any of the men from before. His heart sank with disappointment, but as the subway began to move, someone brushed his ass. He froze again. Then he relaxed. He tried to hide his smile. Someone else was interested.

He didn't think they were going to try again, but eventually they did, slowly growing bolder with each touch until they were palming his ass. Peter licked his licks. Fuck, he was addicted. They pulled their hand away and Peter risked looking behind them. They were all older, graying, business men, but different men than the last time. Some part of him wanted to turn around and beg to suck their cocks, but it scared to even think he could be that slutty.

He thought he had spooked the guy, but the hand came back, fully palming his ass. Peter wished he had something to rub his cock against. He was way harder than last time. Maybe because he could really feel the heat of that hand through the thin material.

A finger slid down his crack, rubbing when it found his hole. Peter moaned, biting the inside of his cheek in panic. He got a quick glance from the woman beside him, but she didn't bother to investigate.

When he rocked his hips against the finger, the man behind him must have realized that Peter was not an unwilling participant. He pressed closer to Peter's back until he could feel the heat of his hand. The smell of Barbasol filled his nose. He was gonna have to buy a can and start jerking off with the stuff.

The finger pushed, the tip of it slipped inside him. Peter's eyes went wide. He clamped a hand over his dick trying not to cum. He felt a breathy little laugh against his ear.

The hand withdrew and Peter let out a breath. He loved being touched, but he really didn't want to cum in his shorts. Yet, when the old man touched him again, he just spread his legs. He pulled Peter's shorts to one side and pushed his finger all the way in. It was slick, probably with spit, and it felt so fucking good. The finger pumped in and out. Then another pushed in.

Peter looked around him at all of the half-awake faces. No one knew that he was standing there, getting fingered, while they all dreamed of their morning coffees.

He felt the stubbly brush of a beard and chapped lips kissed the back of his neck. Peter bit down on the side of his hand, wishing he could scream, and he came in his shorts. The material was so thin that it leaked through, making a nasty stain. The man gave him another kiss, then left him alone. Peter covered the mess with his hand, face burning with embarrassment as he ran to the nearest shop to buy himself some new pants.

It became a regular thing. Peter started packing a change of clothes in a little drawstring bad. He kept wearing the tiny, thin, shorts and a thin t-shirt, every time he got on the subway. Hands touched and groped, usually staying on the out side of his shorts. Sometimes they didn't though and those were his favorite times.

This guy was feeling him up good, squeezing his ass cheeks to hard it might bruise. Then his hands went around to his front to palm his cock. Peter spread his legs and tried not to die on the spot because he was in fucking heaven. Then a second hand appeared, risky on a train. It slid up his abdomen and found his chest. Through his shirt then man rubbed his nipples. Peter could feel his hot, pervy, breath on his neck. He pressed his ass back, biting his lip when he felt his hard cock. He gave as good as he got, rubbing his ass against the man while he rubbed his cock and his nipples. When he pinched then hard, Peter thought he might faint. This couldn't be happening because it felt so fucking good.

Then the old man took the hand off his cock. Peter was disappointed for a moment only to stand shocked as he felt what was definitely a dick, rubbing against his ass. He rubbed it all over Peter's shorts, then slipped it between his legs, rubbing against his hole and his balls. Peter rocked his hips. He wanted him to cum on his thighs so bad. He squeezed them together, giving him something to fuck.

One hand held his hip while the other kept playing with his nipples. The old man slowly fucked his thighs. Peter felt him shake as he came, splattering mess all over his skin. He didn't play with his cock any more after that, just his nipples, leaving him hard and desperate when they left the train. Peter ran to the bathroom and jerked off in the stall using the stranger's cum for lube.

He had developed such a Pavlovian response to gray haired old men that even working in the lab was driving him insane. He's catch the subway, get so deliciously groped, change his clothes, and then turn up at SI only to rinse and repeat as he saw Tony.

If the man suspected anything, he said nothing, but he had to be aware of Peter's permanently red cheeks and how some days he came in with his nipples all hard under his shirt. There was one man who liked to play with them until they were raw and they ended up hard and sore all day. One time he forgot to change his shorts and he ended up sitting cum all day. He wondered if Tony could smell it.

He was always day dreaming about him. What Tony was one of the old men? What if he caught the subway one say and slipped in behind Peter and couldn't keep his hands to himself? That would be incredible. There was no way, though. Tony wasn't a pervert and he understood concepts like consent and personal boundaries. The problem was that Peter desperately wanted him to violate him.

Horny brains do horny things, though. Which meant that Peter was finding it increasingly difficult to remain professional. Especially on the days when he didn't cum. He had gone from gushing compliments to outright flirting. Flirting which was taking a very obvious and pointed turn.

"Have I mentioned that I love your hair?" Peter said one day.

Tony ran a hand through it. "It's getting pretty gray, huh? Bout time I had it dyed."

"No, I mean it. I think it's sexy."

"Sexy?"

"Yeah. You're kind of a silver fox."

"We'll I wasn't named Sexiest Man of the Year seven times for nothing." Tony winked at him.

Sometimes Peter caught himself staring. Especially when Tony got hands on, working in a tank-top with bend metal into shape. When Tony called him out, he panicked.

"Take a picture, kid," he teased.

"Uh, sorry. It's just uh..." he swallowed. "Your arms- I mean I- you're really strong Mr. Stark."

"All hard work, baby." He grinned.

Peter turned away and made himself look at something else. He couldn't be that oblivious could he? Not that Peter wanted Tony to know that he was hot for him. It would make things awkward.

Then came the day that Peter forgot to change his shorts when he really, really, needed to. Not only had he cum so hard that it had leaked through and there was cum very visible on the fabric, but there was a hand print on his ass from a guy smacking him as hard he could. A couple of people turned around at that one, but Peter had gotten good at hiding his reactions and no one said anything.

Tony looked him over, hands tucked in his pockets. Peter held eye contact only due to becoming a deer in the head lights and feeling physically unable to move as he realized why Tony was looking at him like that.

"What's up, Pete?" Tony popped his lips. Was he angry? He looked kind of angry.

"I uh... what's up with what, Mr. Stark?"

The look he got at that was even worse. "You keep coming in here, looking like sex, stinking like it too, and it's fine. I get it. Your in your twenties. You're young and horny and that's great, but we need to set a boundary here because you're making me insane."

Peter stared. "I'm making you insane?"

"Yeah. I don't know what orgy your going to that happens at six am every morning, but I do recommend reigning it in."

"Uh..."

"I was a party boy so I have no right to nag, but at least tell me you're getting tested."

The look he was getting was such an odd mixture of pain and concern that Peter couldn't help it when he blurted out, "I've been letting old men touch me on the subway-"

Tony blinked. Rapidly. "You... I'm sorry, you're doing what?"

"It wasn't my fault the first time," he babbled, trying to explain. "It was just really hot out and I was wearing short shorts and this guy started feeling me up, but I really liked it so I bought even shorter thinner shorts and now every morning a different guy touches me and sometimes I cum in my shorts and I make a mess and I usually change before I come inside- I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark."

There was silence for a moment. "Oh. Alright. That sounds-"

Peter's eyes stung with tears, but he kept rambling. "Bad. I know. Someone assaulted me on a train and I liked it because I'm sick and I'm horny for old men and I think I'm gonna throw up now."

He bolted, running for the bathroom. When he got there he heaved, but nothing came up. He sat on the floor, crying his eyes out. Obviously Mr. Stark would think he was gross or insane. Obviously that was the stupidest thing he had ever done and he could never take the subway again.

The bathroom door pushed slowly open. "Pete? You okay?"

Peter sniffled. "I'm fine. You don't have to come in here."

"Yeah, I do." Tony walked in and crouched beside him. He waited until Peter peeked at him from behind his knees. "There's nothing wrong with you. Yeah, its not good that people are touching you without asking first, but there's nothing wrong with you for liking it."

"Really?"

"Really. Come on. Let me make you a drink."

"It's like seven am."

"Sometimes you gotta day drink, kid."

They sat together while Peter sipped something strong and Tony had a coffee. They didn't say much or really anything. Once Peter was calm, it was like the whole thing had never happened. He went and changed his clothes and they got to work same as always.

Then the next morning, Peter got on the train. The first thing he noticed was a familiar cologne. The scent had his toes curling already. It must have been one of his regulars behind him. He closed his eyes, already excited as a hand palmed his ass. They felt him up good, with greedy handfuls, like they owned his ass. Peter pushed back for more. The hand slid down, feeling his thighs, then up to his chest to tease his nipples. A beard scraped his neck.

"Is this what you like?" Tony whispered in his ear. Peter froze. What was Tony doing here? Why was he touching him? Was he making fun of him?

"Don't worry, baby boy. I get it now. This is why you've been flirting. You wanted me to be the one touching you, hm? Is that it?"

Peter nodded.

"Dirty boy. I'm old enough to be your father."

Peter shivered. He looked around, but no one seemed to be listening.

Mr. Stark didn't have the same reservations the others did. He grabbed Peter's arm and forced the crowd to move aside so they could stand by the door. Peter faced out toward the full train while Tony was behind him. His hands rubbed his cock and palmed his ass. Peter's legs shook and he pressed kisses to his neck. He gasped as Tony's cock slipped between his legs.

"You feel that, baby? That's what you did to me. With your tiny little shorts." He grabbed the back of them and pulled them up so his ass was out and the material was tight against his cock.

"Your old men every put it inside you?"

Peter shook his head. "Well I'm going to." He whimpered.

"You want that don't you?"

Peter nodded. He squeaked, biting down on his lip when Tony pinched his nipple. "You gotta promise me something."

Peter nodded again. He'd do anything for Mr. Stark already, but now he was offering his cock for it. Nothing was off limits.

"No more strange old men. You want an old man to touch you then you call me, got it?"

Peter nodded his head. "Tell me, baby."

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"Good boy."

His cock was slick with lube when it pressed against his hole. Peter pushed up on his toes and Tony pulled him back on it. It felt so big, forcing its way inside. Peter trembled, barely standing on his own. He couldn't help it when his body started to move, rolling his hips to fuck himself deeper.

"That's it, baby, good boy," Mr. Stark purred. "I'm gonna fill your little hole and you're not gonna change your shorts. Do you hear me?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir."

"That's right. Your gonna let my cum drip out all over you. Let it dry on your skin. Your gonna be my nasty little cum dumpster today. You deserve it for not coming to me first. You let those other men touch you. But you're all mine now right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy. Keep grinding on my dick. Make yourself cum in your little shorts like a dirty little boy."

Peter gripped the bar in front of him. He closed his eyes and hoped no one was looking at him. Tony fucked him slowly, barely moving, but it was enough. Getting fucked by an old man on the subway, even if that old man was someone he knew, was way too fucking hot. Tony's hand slipped down over the front of his shorts and Peter's eyes went wide. His hands clasped over his mouth. He groaned low in his throat trying to hold it in. The guy in front of his gave him an odd look, but decided to mind his own business.

"Good boy," Tony purred. Peter shivered all the way down to his toes. "Squeeze my cock, baby. Milk it."

Peter chewed his lip and his did his best to obey. Tony's stubble burned his skin as he ran his lips along the side of his neck. Didn't make a sound, but he gripped Peter tight as he came. Peter felt wet inside as he pulled out. They fixed their clothes and stood waiting for the train to stop.

The next day, there was a car out front of his apartment. No more subway. Just Tony, feeling him up and making him cum in his pants as they rolled through the busy morning traffic.

#marvel #starker #peter/oc #public s*x #old man k*nk #romnoncon

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zend-pixie · 4 years ago

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Who took the nuke?

So, Tubbo’s nuclear warhead was stolen recently. That’s bad, very bad - especially since Tubbo confirmed that it can be manually set off, without the need of dual keycards.

And though it may seem like the answer is clear, it isn’t??? There’s a couple possible people here. And I wanna talk about those possibilities today.

1) Ranboo - The Obvious Answer

So for starters, we have the answer everyone’s expecting - Ranboo, in his enderwalk state, stealing the nuke. This seems really plausible - further proved by the fact that the doors were canonically locked the entire time. Who else would be able to seamlessly teleport in and out? Who can only teleport in a certain state, and not their awake one?

So, our scenario here looks like this: Ranboo got into his enderwalk state, teleported past the security (the doors and Mr Buttons??), took the nuke, teleported out, most likely hid it somewhere, and woke up again. But, this is the scenario everyone is expecting - and the Dream SMP has a habit of bending our expectations quite a lot. I mean, how fun is a series when you know the answer to every mystery?

Although, on the other hand, we all expected Wilbur to be Pogtopia’s traitor - which is why we immediately ruled him out. And guess who ended up being the traitor, in the end?

2) Ghostbur/Revivebur - The Fun Answer

Now, our second probability is Wilbur. The reason I put a slash there for Ghostbur is because - well, you know all those theories that Wilbur is already back, but disguised as/in the body of Ghostbur? Yeah. So either that, or Dream already brought Wilbur back and he respawned outside the prison.

This is the answer people are expecting as well, but this one isn’t definite - it depends entirely on the fact whether or not Wilbur is still dead, and if not, if he’s outside the prison. If the answer is “no” to any of these, our man is immediately ruled out.

We know how much Wilbur likes his explosions at this point - and the prospect of the nuke being a “dead man’s switch”, as Tubbo referred to it, might be that much more convincing to him sadly. Whether or not Wilbur will actually end up working with Dream, if he goes out again, it will be with a big bang once more - literal or not. And on a meta note, with the 1.17 update coming along... the server getting obliterated for good sounds all to likely for us to be comfortable here.

3) Tommy - The Angsty Answer

Listen - I know Tommy may seem like the last person who would willingly blow something up after all the explosion trauma, but hear me out.

Now, there’s two options here:

A) Tommy’s secretly working with Wilbur.

B) Tommy is doing this in secret to have a definite last-resort of taking down Dream and Wilbur.

For Theory A - there’s been many speculations going around that Tommy is hiding something from us. And they don’t stem from empty paranoia, per say - Tommy really has been acting suspicious ever since he left the Afterlife.

He acts scared of Wilbur, despite not seeming too frightened in the Afterlife with him (from the small glimpse we got, at least)? His building skills have improved all of a sudden (I’m choosing to make that canon, hush)? Not to mention, he has access to a nuke keycard.

Now, I know he got that card by accident in a non-canon bit with Jack but.. why is it still in his enderchest, then? Tommy has since long proved that that place is reserved mainly for important attachments or other lore-heavy things - he even moved his 23 diamond blocks to a completely different location recently. He has no reason to keep it in his enderchest rather than his regular chest, unless he needed it.

So here’s our scenario - Tommy died, spent some time with Wilbur in the Afterlife. But rather than just “playing solitaire for months”, they planned something out (I mean come on, you can’t tell me that Wilbur spent 9 years in the Afterlife and seems like some kind of entity rather than a human being, knowing exactly when the universe ends, and Tommy spent multiple months there and is completely the same). Tommy, knowing Dream’s manipulation tactics by heart at this point (ouch.), used a little reverse psychology on him - begging not to have Wilbur come back is like a sign-up sheet to Dream doing the exact opposite like the petty bitch he is. Tommy is doing something in secret with Wilbur here - most likely against Dream, but we don’t know if it’s for or against the rest of the server as well. This can either be disproved or further proved by the fact that Tommy acts afraid of Wilbur around other people as well. What makes this theory exciting is that cc!Tommy pretty much never kept something in the dark from us about his character. We always knew what was happening with Tommy, we always knew what he felt. But it seems as though ever since we weren’t let in on the secret that is what truly happened in the Afterlife, we’ve been kept in the dark a bit more. And it’s so interesting because we’re not used to it. And the less you expect, the scarier it becomes.

Now, there’s also Theory B here - that Tommy wasn’t lying to anyone about what he felt, and genuinely wants to take down Dream and (possibly) Wilbur. That he stole the nuke in secret, as a last-resort - without telling either of his friends, knowing they’d worry.

This one is more angsty out of the two - the first implies a possible crime boys villain duo, and the second - a broken child, ready to sacrifice himself once again for the safety of his friends.

Theory B can proved a couple ways as well - mainly by disproving Theory A. We could always say that the glimpse of the Afterlife that we got didn’t seem angsty because it was only that - a glimpse. We don’t know the full extent of what they talked about. According to Glatt, Tommy (VoidInnit or GhostInnit) seemed speechlessly terrified all the time for a while - only being able to stammer out that Dream murdered him. That’s enough proof that we don’t have all the information here, either.

Another thing is that Tommy could’ve simply not been lying. He seemed genuinely afraid of taking damage and Wilbur coming back. Now, you could say that he’s just good at acting but... well. We don’t know if c!Tommy has the same skillset as cc!Tommy, here.

Though, like I said - this possibility has sad implications. Tommy taking the nuke in secret means that he might be planning to use it on Dream and/or WIlbur - and as Tubbo said, the only way to do that without a keycard is manual detonation. Which means Tommy would have to go down with them. It would explain why he wouldn’t want to tell either Tubbo or Ranboo - they care about him and seemed pretty protective after he came back. They’d obviously disapprove of the idea immediately - perhaps even making extra sure Tommy had zero access to the nukes, just in case.

We know how, sadly, suicidal Tommy got in the series. We know how he’d be willing to use his own life as a bargaining chip if it only meant that the people he cares about are safe. I know he got severely thanatophobic after his final death but.. we don’t know if it still counts for self-sacrifices.

And the idea of Tommy going down with his enemies, despite everything, just so his friends can still live their lives happily and without fear... it’s a sad end, but I feel as though it’s fitting.

Although.. Tommy does have a nuke keycard as I said... And we don’t know how many lives he has now - it may be more than one, like how Jack got all 3 back. Maybe he’ll be fine. Perhaps we’ll get dramatically jebaited, see Tubbo and Ranboo cry out in anguish, only for Tommy to come out of the corner with a “hey guys what’d I miss why are you crying”

I’d love to hear your theories, too! If you have anyone who might be likely here to take the nuke as well, tell me why! I’d die to know what you guys think :D

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 27 - ao3 -

Matters settled, eventually, and just as eventually, it started getting better.

At first, Lan Qiren wasn’t sure if matters were actually better, or if he’d just grown numb and accustomed, but after the past year and more he thought that there was a serious possibility of it being the former rather than the latter.

Probably the biggest difference was the birth of little Lan Huan, who’d joined the world as a fat and squalling infant that Lan Qiren had loved at first sight and sleepless night – he was still too young to be separated from his mother, or at minimum his wetnurse, but Lan Qiren made a practice of visiting every few days to try to prepare himself for caring for him. The women were generally happy to shove the baby into his arms and let him play guqin or xiao for him until he fell asleep. Apparently Lan Huan was actually a very peaceable baby, an assertion which Lan Qiren had initially doubted on account of the circles under everyone’s eyes, but when he’d said so, the wetnurse had glared at him and pronounced that saying such things meant that the next child would be a true wild terror, and probably a biter to boot.

The frequency of Lan Qiren’s visits was actually less about Lan Huan, although he liked his nephew very much, and more about trying to establish a precedent for visitation. He hoped, eventually, to be able to bring Lan Huan to see his mother on such a frequent basis, once or even twice a week, knowing as he did that He Kexin lacked the temperament for seclusion. To his regret, she’d ended up spoiling that plan not long after she’d recovered from her pregnancy, misinterpreting his frequent visits as an interest in her, and he’d been forced to cut back for a while out of sheer disgust at the mere concept. He bitterly scolded her in his mind for being seemingly incapable of seeing any other reason that he would visit so often, especially during the times that Lan Huan was already asleep, although he suspected in his heart that the real reason was simply likely a longing for a connection with the only other person she regularly saw.

He still had hope of negotiating regular visits with his sect elders, eventually, but now he knew he’d probably be lucky if he managed to make it once every fortnight, when originally he’d hoped for twice a week.

Disturbing female disciples is prohibited, after all. Lan Qiren had a very good reputation, being widely known to be frigid as a stick of ice, using his brother’s terms, but there was only so much he could do when there was known to be an expressed interest on the other side, especially an interest of adulterous nature. And couple that with what had happened between them before…

At least she’d restrained herself to only making a verbal offer, this time.

Lan Qiren did not know how to explain to He Kexin in a way that she would understand that although he visited her regularly as a matter of duty, and although he was the only person other than his brother with whom she regularly conversed, he did not enjoy his time with her – that he blamed her in part for the destruction of his dreams, the shattering of his heart in a way that would likely never heal, even though he did not blame her for his brother’s obsession with her. It was not her fault that his brother had fallen in love with her, or that he had taken such extreme measures for her, and yet…

“She’s still a bitch,” Cangse Sanren announced, and her new husband smothered a snicker in his sleeve. “What? She is.”

Lan Qiren sighed, and Wei Changze, smiling, made an excuse to depart and let them talk between themselves. He was a good man, with an irrepressible sense of humor that regularly made Cangse Sanren laugh without any shame at all, howling and hooting like a monkey. He had courted her assiduously even after she’d departed the Lotus Pier, headed off to complete her education regarding the mortal world in the various Great Sects, and yet had been oblivious to the fact that she treated their liaison as a serious one – perhaps he had only truly believed that she would give herself to him when they actually married, their interminably long courtship finally ending the way any blind man would have guessed it would from the very beginning.

“I asked you to come here so that you could meet A-Huan,” Lan Qiren said. “Not to relitigate the matter of He Kexin, who at any rate is already suffering the punishment for her unwise actions.”

“Unwise is an understatement. She killed a man! On no basis, and without even a formal challenge! If she’d just kept her sword in her sheath and not jumped ahead three steps –”

“I’m aware.”

Cangse Sanren made a rude noise, but settled back, grumbling. “The baby’s cute, though,” she added begrudgingly. “Looks like you.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you, he is my nephew. To the extent you can identify any traits whatsoever in a roly-poly puppy like A-Huan, they’re family features.”

“Of which you’re the finest representative!”

Lan Qiren gave her a look, and she grinned unrepentantly at him. “Heartbreaker,” she teased, but a moment later her smile faded. “Have you spoken with your brother?”

Lan Qiren’s gaze dropped to the table. “There’s no need,” he said. “He has always been torn between pride in his capability and the admiration of others on one hand, and a yearning to retreat from the world and its annoyances in order to focus fully on his cultivation on the other. Other than occasionally meeting with his wife, he is now able to wholly focus on the latter, and unlike He Kexin, his temperament is suited to the strictness of our seclusion practices.”

“There might not be a need,” Cangse Sanren agreed. “Did you speak with him anyway?”

“Once,” Lan Qiren said, voice short. After a few long moments, he added, a little painfully: “He said that our father had always seen seclusion as a means to reunite with his wife.”

Cangse Sanren hissed in a manner not unlike a very angry cat, or possibly an agitated snake, her eyes very nearly turning red from rage: naturally she knew about the whole awful background, the many years of age between Lan Qiren and his brother and the way his brother had always blamed Lan Qiren’s belated birth for the death of their mother, and by extension the shattering of their father’s heart when she left him behind, gone too early.

Lan Qiren’s brother had also said other things, mad things, things that Lan Qiren sought to forget as soon as he’d heard them but which he knew would likely haunt him in the dark of sleepless nights for the rest of his life. The worst of it was that Lan Qiren still loved his brother, who he’d idolized for so long: his brother who was the perfect gentleman when he wanted to be, capable of being kind and charming and generous, of excellent cultivation and who excelled in each talent, who was thoughtful and reserved and in his own way a very good sect leader – the Qingheng-jun that the rest of the world had seen, the one that Lao Nie had befriended, the one so much of his sect had pinned their hopes on.

Lan Qiren felt, as always, like an inferior substitute.

No one had made his brother fall in love, nor to take such terrible actions to protect his love from her own foolishness, and yet, if Lan Qiren could have found another way out that the sect would have accepted, he would have. It would have been better, in his view, to lash them both with the discipline whip until they lacked flesh if it meant that they would stay free. A human could live with pain, but he wasn’t so sure they could do without freedom or hope…

Aren’t you just the same as me, his brother had sneered at him through the door that would part them for the rest of their lives, lashing out like a rabid dog that sought to hurt others in order to ease its own hurt, or else would you snap yourself into a thousand pieces begging for a scrap of my approval, which you will never receive, or whoring your vaunted righteousness out for a smile from your ‘sworn brother’?

Lan Qiren hadn’t done that, and wouldn’t. Unbelievable as it seemed, his stubbornness had stood up against Wen Ruohan’s and won; it had been Wen Ruohan who had changed to match him, rather than the other way around. He had vowed that the Fire Palace remained useless, and Lan Qiren believed him, especially when even Lao Nie confirmed it to be true. They had taken to exchanging letters this past year, since Lan Qiren could not visit the Nightless City until he had stabilized the Cloud Recesses and – sworn brotherhood or no – a visit by Wen Ruohan to the Cloud Recesses would be taken as a formal exchange, sect leader visiting sect leader.

Perhaps now, after a year, when he had more fully settled into his role…

“Did the trash say anything else?”

For a moment Lan Qiren was unsure whether Cangse Sanren had somehow managed to follow his thoughts and was now referring to Wen Ruohan, against whom she still bore something of a grudge, but then he realized that she meant his brother.

“Anything of value, anyway,” she huffed, tossing her hair and baring her teeth in the way she used to do before she realized that human beings didn’t use threat displays in that manner.

“He picked a courtesy name for A-Huan,” Lan Qiren said. “As is his right, of course.”

That had been Lan Qiren’s true motive in going to see his brother, in fact. He had refused to go see his brother for months, even if etiquette suggested he should go to pay his respects; it was only after A-Huan was born that he had finally yielded. It was only upon seeing the round and innocent face of little A-Huan starting to smile that he felt compelled to bend his stubborn back and compromise himself to reach out – there was very little, he found, that he wouldn’t do for his little nephew, who had no one else in the world.

His brother had been largely disinterested, though, even when Lan Qiren had inappropriately brought the child over for him to see – it had been too early for propriety, before the first month ceremony which marked the moment when the child could be exhibited more broadly, but Lan Qiren’s heart had hurt at the idea of his brother not seeing his son before the rest of the world had had a chance. It was not a large distance between the seclusion house his brother had chosen for himself, the same one that their father had planned to use before his suicide, and the house set aside for He Kexin, which Lan Qiren had taken to privately calling the Gentian House on account of the flowers that crowded around it.

Everyone had turned a blind eye to Lan Qiren’s little excursion – but his brother hadn’t cared.

It was He Kexin that he loved, that he was mad for, and in his selfishness he could not see extending that love to anyone beyond her. Lan Qiren was resolved to teach A-Huan to do better, to think of others first, to care for other people and think not only of them but of the people beyond them, just as he looked at He Kexin and thought to teach him to make his own judgments of people, to listen to their side of the story and analyze it carefully based on what he knew.

He could only hope that it would help.

When his brother had told him to leave, that he didn’t care to see the child, Lan Qiren had left, returning Lan Huan to his mother’s care, and returned himself to his brother’s door, boiling over with rage, to give him a piece of his mind.

It had backfired on him, of course. He would have been better off not going back at all – the rules said Do not succumb to rage, and they were right. All he had managed to obtain was a sore throat from all the yelling and a fresh set of nightmares.

And a name.

At least he had gotten Lan Huan a name bestowed upon him by his father, as he deserved.

“He selected ‘Xichen’,” Lan Qiren said, drawing out the characters and passing it over for Cangse Sanren to see. “It’s a good name.”

“Lan Xichen,” Cangse Sanren said, sounding it out and thinking over the meaning of the characters. “Yes, that’s a good name. Full of ambition and well-wishes…I bet the rotten trash-heap sees A-Huan as another incarnation of himself.”

Lan Qiren didn’t exactly disagree. Still, it would be rude to say so; he coughed and shook his head. “What about you?” he asked instead. “Are you and Wei Changze planning on giving A-Huan a playmate?”

And himself a student, in a dozen years or so. He’d started accepting students from rogue cultivators and other sects, just the way he’d planned; it was still in the early stages. He was still writing to small sects with fewer resources and offering to take their problem children because he knew that that was all they’d be willing to send to him, an outsider – there had always been lectures offered by the Great Sects, but they were one-off things, often accompaniments to discussion conferences or else excuses for the sects’ adults to gather and socialize while the children learned a few days’ worth of material. Taking another sect’s child for a full season, the way he planned to, was a much bigger ask. Much less to teach them his Lan sect rules, which weren’t even seen as applicable by the rest of the world…

Still, Lan Qiren had hope that eventually he would be able to demonstrate his merit; if his teaching worked with this first set of children, he hoped that it would work in the future for more of them. He hoped he’d be able to help them learn something, but even if he didn’t, they would at least have the experience of traveling – of visiting another place all on their own – so that if something happened in their lives to rob them of their freedom, they would at least have that much to remember. And in return, he would have them, his students, the feathers to brighten and color his dull nest and let him experience a little of what the world was still available to him.

Cangse Sanren laughed. “Not for a few years yet,” she said, eyes dancing. “You’re still safe! We want to have some time for ourselves, first – we’re going to travel around as rogue cultivators. I’ll write to you from every city, and send you things!”

Lan Qiren smiled.

“But only,” she said primly, “only if you promise me you’re not actually going to go through with growing that awful beard of yours again –”

“I’m a teacher now. I’m entitled!”

“You’re too young! You have to wait until you’re at least thirty for a beard.”

“By what rule?”

“My rule! Also my aesthetics; you’re so pretty –”

“I explained to you my reasoning already,” Lan Qiren complained. “What do you have against it, other than an aesthetic preference which is completely irrelevant to me?”

“I’m a rogue cultivator from Baoshan Sanren’s immortal mountain,” she proclaimed. “I seek to improve the world wherever it may be, fight evil and promote good, and keeping you clean-shaven is such a clear and vast improvement to the beauty of the world that it must be fiercely fought for –”

“Cangse Sanren!”

She burst out laughing. “How about this?” she giggled. “You can grow it after you’re thirty, or else whenever I’m not here, so that you can have it when you’re teaching your classes.”

“Thank you for your generous permission,” he drawled.

“No, no, it’ll be good!” she beamed at him. “That means that when I’m gone for good, you’ll have something to remember me by.”

Lan Qiren’s smile disappeared. “Cangse Sanren –”

“I told you long ago that I was doomed,” she reminded him. “Anyway, I’ve kept a low profile, haven’t I? I’m not dead yet, and you never know what might happen. And anyway, like I always said, a short life in exchange for a good life is a bargain I’m willing to strike…anyway, enough about me. Tell me about your children! The students, I mean; are they really all terrible bear children, without a single good trait between them?”

“They’re fine,” Lan Qiren said, distracted by what was quickly proving to be a new favorite subject. “I don’t know what everyone complains about with them. So what if they’re mischievous at first? In the end they all learn, you just have to give them attention and figure out what it is that they like, what will work to give them a basis to use in the future…”

“Surely some of them have to be disasters.”

“Don’t worry, I’m certain that your future child will be a fiend in human flesh born for the sole purpose of wreaking havoc on the serenity of my classroom,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “To be matched only by the inevitable offspring of Lan Yueheng and Zhang Xin, should they ever choose to put aside their furnaces and chemicals long enough to have them.”

Cangse Sanren giggled. “Just you wait,” she warned. “They’ll have a whole host of children, just like the common folk do; none of this two-and-done that you noble scions of the Lan sect prefer. They’ll have an entire horde for the next generation, and just when you think that you’re finally done with them, they’ll have an ‘accident’ twenty years too late, a child of their old age, and you’ll have to teach them alongside children young enough to be A-Huan’s heirs…”

“Why must you curse me?” Lan Qiren complained. “What have I ever done to you?”

It had been a good visit.

Yes, Lan Qiren thought, he was starting to adjust, little by little. The life he had now was not what he wanted, not what he’d dreamed of, but he could live with it – he had to, of course, but he thought that he also could. He would play for his nephew instead of a nameless crowd in a distant city, he would teach students a generation too early, he would only leave the Cloud Recesses on short excursions – night-hunting, or discussion conferences, or visits to his friends, to play with little A-Jue over in the Unclean Realm or the slightly older A-Xu in the Nightless City, whose would-be sibling had not made it despite Wen Ruohan’s concubine’s best effort. Wen Ruohan had written in his letter that he had promised her another as compensation, but only in a few years, once her body had fully recovered and A-Xu was old enough that another child wouldn’t be seen as a threat, which seemed fair to Lan Qiren.

He would live.

He might even enjoy it.

He only wondered a little, about Wen Ruohan – his sworn brother had, he thought, expressed some mangled version of feelings towards him, feelings that well exceeded the ordinary course for sworn brothers and which he thought he had made clear were not unwelcome, but amidst the hubbub that had later ensued Wen Ruohan had not spoken of it again. Lan Qiren could understand that he had been distracted, first by Lao Nie’s marriage – now ended, according to Lao Nie, who seemed as unperturbed by his announcement that his wife had disappeared permanently and would likely never be returning as he had by anything else about this mysterious woman that Lan Qiren had never had the chance to meet and now never would – and then by Lan Qiren’s brother’s situation.

And yet, he would have thought that there would be something…

Wen Ruohan has lived for generations, he reminded himself. He is an ancient monster of the old sort, unmatched by any other living being, excepting only perhaps those that long ago retreated into seclusion or the mountains. Waiting a year or even a few is for him little more than a brief pause. He may yet reach out again – and, of course, you could do the reaching out yourself, if you weren’t such a coward.

It wasn’t cowardice that stopped him, of course, no matter what names he called himself. It was uncertainty, and also, in his own way, a form of care – it was the Lan sect’s curse to love too strongly, to prioritize their hearts above all common sense. Lan Qiren did not want to burden Wen Ruohan with an offer that would not satisfy him, to hang around his neck an obligation of unwanted feelings the way his brother had done to He Kexin.

Lan Qiren could not see a way in which he could offer Wen Ruohan his heart and not his body, yet he knew himself well enough to know that he would be unhappy if he tried to offer both. He could exert himself if he really had to, force himself to go through the motions that seemed so dull and unpleasant, all squelching amidst bodily fluids and inelegant grunting and none of the attraction that other people had to compensate for it. But he couldn’t do so sincerely, and he wouldn’t be able to do it for very long without developing resentment at being forced to endure such a task routinely – and it did seem that regular people wanted it all the time.

Such a feeling, if ignored, would breed disorder between them, poisoning their hearts…no, Lan Qiren could not make the first move, to take the step that would breach the paper between them, change them from their current status as brothers and nothing more.

He had made his position clear.

The only question was – what would Wen Ruohan do about it?

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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obeymematches · 4 years ago

Note

Could i request 😘😳📺💌🌧 for lucifer and belphegor?

yesss thank youuu <3

belphie do be popular at this hour ig, i got 2 requests for him within a couple of minutes, usually it takes days-

emoji asks!

Lucifer:

😘 - Where does he like to be kissed?

This might sound like a vanilla a__ take but i don't think you can ever go wrong with kissing him on his lips. Be a little rough sometimes. Stay gentle. Do your thing. He won't complain.

If you want to be more spicy attack his inner tights instead <3 yes that is going to take some planning and waiting for the correct timing but if you want to catch him off guard there is no better way

😳 - Him realizing you have feelings for him

Ok out of all the characters in the game he is pretty much the first who can tell if you have something going on. (no that is called bending the truth actually. i think he just assumes after he notices like one or two signs even if he might be wrong.)

If he feels the same he just falls in love a bit more than he already did. Blushing a little when you are on his mind. He has to make sure to spoil you just a little bit. Definitely teases you about it though! Which might make you feel like he doesn't reciprocate your feelings but don't let that fool you- That's just him being him

In case he doesn't feel the same though... I think his ego likes the feeling of it & because of that he isn't turning you down on the spot but I feel like he wouldn't lead you on. So he doesn't have the talk with you right away but what's late doesn't mean it'll never happen.

📺 - Movie night with him

Oh that is a rare treat. Unfortunately with him this can't be made a weekly thing, but once a month it can happen probably.

I feel like he'd want to watch old goodies like Seven Samurai.

He does not like silly popular ones of this age though. Like if it's romantic then it's a strong maybe?

Can't watch Bad Movies with him because he'll snap within the first half hour. Or just opt to make out with you instead as tonight's movie is a waste of time and money. Might as well do something better.

He stays quiet most of the time so you can pay attention to the movie though, so if you are into that he is the ideal movie night buddy

💌 - Making the first move! Is it him or you?

Listen you might think he'd make the first move but if we are being real, you taking the lead goes a long way. So if you are 100% sure he is into you pls just shoot your shot. go for it. catch him off guard. be the first. trust me!!

on that note if you want to make the first move pls make it as romantic as you can. don't have to be over the top but don't be too casual.

🌧️ - Getting caught in the rain with you

Hm it's unlikely that he forgets to check the weather so if this happens you can assume it was intentional

The only reason he is not annoyed is because you are there with him

Definitely time for the cliche making out in the rain scene & he is living for it. Secretly wanted to do this with you for such a long time but timing was never right.

Makes sure to warm you up properly once you get home! all the acts of service you can think of if you let him. But pls do the same for him :(

Belphegor:

😘 - Where does he like to be kissed?

here!

😳 - Him realizing you have feelings for him

He has assumptions but he is going to act oblivious for a long time so that's something you have to deal with

If he isn't into you that much though he'd be blunt about it. Maybe a bit too blunt. No hard feelings though

If he likes you back he's just sitting there. smiling to himself. Beel catches up on this instantly but nobody else could tell what is going on. Suddenly starts thinking about his life choices, leading up to this moment. I mean you and him have quite the history, if you know what I mean- He is just so glad you could work it out though & he never would've expected it to turn out like this. Might think it's a bit too much & he isn't so ready but don't worry leave that talk up to Beel

📺 - Movie night with him

Okay unlike with Lucifer, you can have a regular movie night with good old Belphie.

He is very much into horror though so if that's not your cup of tea idk how to balance this out-

With him you can watch the Bad Movies and actually have fun picking on it so that is something to keep in mind.

I feel like he would fall asleep during romantic movies.... or long movies in general... no way he has seen the Titanic in one sitting

In general he doesn't talk a lot; if you are watching a horror movie he might scare you on purpose though :(

💌 - Making the first move! Is it him or you?

Oh in this case it's almost definitely you. Unless you act very oblivious thus tease him into it, he wouldn't make the first move. Ever.

🌧️ - Getting caught in the rain with you

Well someone doesn't find this romantic all that much- but now that it has happened he might as well make the most out of it?

I mean the getting wet part he hates but the after part at home? hehe

Definitely loves to take a shower with you once you finally get home then cuddle in the clean sheets of your warm bed. this is life.

#obey me #obey me swd #om! swd #cursed #om! lucifer #lucifer swd #obey me lucifer x you #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #om! bephie #om! belphegor #obey me lucifer #belphie swd #belphegor swd #obey me one master to rule them all

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illfoandillfie · 4 years ago

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Impersonal

As promised, here’s the smutty followup to yesterday’s blurb! This is the fifth post of seven in my Platonically themed event. Again, it’s not really been edited because it’s late and I’m very tired but alas, thats how it goes.

Words: 2,278

Warning: some vague dom/sub dynamic stuff with a more dom Ben, spanking, it’s P in V sex but theres a lot of talk about butts. Also they’re still dorks.

It had been a nice day. You and Ben had gone out with a few friends, just a little picnic in the park to catch up with everyone. If you’d been at all worried about publicly being together on a no romo day, then it was for nothing. As much as everyone there considered you and Ben to be an item, it mostly went ignored, aside from a couple of questions about how you’d gone living together so far. But having such a big lunch, everyone having brought something to share, neither of you were especially hungry at dinner time. Ben whipped up a pot of butted noodles for you to pick at as you watched TV but it was soon set aside as you shifted to lean against the arm rest with your legs stretched out to lay over Ben’s thighs. Each of you were engrossed in your phones more than the quiz show he’d flicked on, occasionally sharing something you saw or read.

You had opened tumblr and were scrolling through your dash, pausing to read longer bits here and there but mostly just liking images and reblogging memes. Until you hit a patch of not safe for work content. One of the porn blogs you’d long since forgotten you’d followed had hit a rare patch of activity, every second post one of theirs. Those posts you paid a little more attention to, especially when videos and explicit images were involved since you knew they were likely to be taken down soon and you didn’t want to miss out on seeing something hot. Unfortunately your headphones were in another room so you weren’t game to turn the sound on for any of the videos but the visuals and erotic comments below were enough to make you feel as if the room as heated up. You could feel yourself getting wetter at each new post but couldn’t seem to stop looking at them.

A particularly good video of a sloppy blowjob made you clench your thighs together, your foot rubbing against Ben’s thigh as a result. His palm came to rest on the top of your foot, rubbing it soothingly, though his attention was still elsewhere. In fact, his gaze didn’t shift until a little later when you were looking at a very hot gifset of a woman on all fours, crying as she was pounded from behind. He cleared his throat. You jolted a little at the sound and tried not to look too guilty as you met his eye. “You okay?” “Mmhmm,” His eyes travelled over you from the lip between your teeth to your tightly pressed thighs and your fingers wrapped firmly around the phone. “I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, clearly meaning to do exactly that, “but ummmm, are you watching porn right now?” “No,” you answered too quickly. “Hey, you don’t have to hide it if you are, go nuts. I’m just a little curious about what’s turned you on so much you’re practically panting. And can I help?” “I’m not watching anything. It’s just some gifs I saw.” “Well I think QPR law states you have to show me or you’d be a big meanie.” You chuckled and handed the phone to Ben, a little curious about how he’d react. Ben watched the gifs through a couple of times before nodding, “Yeah, that’s uhhh, that’s pretty hot,” he rubbed your foot again as he kept watching the looped footage. “Are you turned on?” “Yeah, a bit,” “Hmmm, same.” “Should we-” “Do you wanna-” You spoke at the same time and then both laughed a little as you simultaneously agreed, “Yeah.” Immediately you swung your legs around intending to walk towards the bedroom and Ben followed for about two steps before he stopped suddenly, “Wait. This is a no romo day, right? Do you still feel anti-romance?” “Yes and yeah I think so. Why?” Ben shrugged, “I don’t think we’ve ever had sex on a no romo day so...how does it work?” “Oh, good point. Well.” you wanted to keep it brief, already worked up and wanting to move to the fun part, “I think it’s probably best if we keep it on kind of the rougher side, a little impersonal even. Could you maybe hit it from behind? I’m not really sure eye contact and all that stuff would be as fun for me right now.” “No need to ask twice. My hot partner wants me to look at her gorgeous arse while I fuck her? Yeah definitely into that.” “Jesus I’d forgotten you’re an arse man.” It was true too. As much as Ben might prefer ass to tits he also enjoyed the visual stimulation of watching you – seeing the pleasure on your face, watching your body react to his. So, while doggy style was a regular position for you, variations of missionary and cowgirl were probably a little more frequent. Which was wonderful, except not what you needed right then. Ben responded by poking his tongue out you but he seemed quite as eager to move things along, “So rough doggy then? Can I spank you?” “You’d be into that?” He shrugged, “I know we haven’t really done anything kinky yet but yeah, I enjoy spanking. I mean...watching an arse jiggle after it’s hit is incredibly hot.” You giggled, “spanking is very okay then. You could be a little mean too if you wanted, maybe calling me a degrading name to get at that impersonal thing. Slut maybe.” He hummed uncertainly, “I can try it if you really want but I gotta admit I’m not as into degrading stuff as I am spanking.” “It’s fine if you don’t, whatever works. Honestly, I’m already super horny so just do whatever you’re comfortable with and don’t get too gentle or loving with it, and I’ll be happy.” “I can definitely do rough for you. For instance,” You gasped as Ben grasped your hips and turned you around, positioning you in front of the arm of the couch before he pushed you to bend over it. It was a surprise considering Ben’s typical nature. He had his controlling or domineering moments but generally seemed happiest when he was showering you in affection or letting you take charge. Adding to the surprise was the way he tugged your pants down to your knees and began to touch you through your underwear. It made you squirm, trying to find a little more friction, but he only gave you a quick spank. Not overly hard but it didn’t have to be to make you feel tingly. Just knowing Ben was capable of an action like that was hot enough. All the same he pulled your knickers down too and ran his fingers through your folds. “Wow, okay. You meant it when you said you were horny. Pretty wet already.” “No shit Sherlock. You know I don’t need lines like that that get you interested in fucking me.” He gave you another slap for your insolence. “Better get you stretched out then, hadn’t we?” You felt two of Ben’s fingers rest against your entrance and expected to feel them sink into you too. But it didn’t happen. “What’s the hold up, Tiger? Ow,” the spank had been a little harder than the last. “If you want them so bad, do it yourself.” Your breath caught as you realised what he meant and you shifted your hips back, levering yourself against the arm of the couch, until you felt his fingers penetrate you. “That’s it Kitten. You’re too horny to wait, aren’t you? God you’ve got such a pretty arse. Giving me the best view right now. Your needy cunt soaking my fingers while your arse,” he hit you again, “jiggles. It’s making me so hard.” You whined, unable to find a better response, and rocked back against his fingers, slowly fucking yourself on them. He let you go on like that for a little while, happy to listen to your hitched breaths and needy sighs as you got a little of what you needed. But then he pulled his fingers from you. You let out a disappointed whimper, “Ben, c’mon,” “I’m so hard from watching you be so desperate. Just gotta get my pants off. But you can play with yourself for me, can’t you?” You nodded and shifted so you could drop your fingers to your pussy. Ben gave your arse another slap, “Not what I meant Kitten. Play with your arse.” Startled by the low growl in his voice you quickly complied, leaning on the couch as your brought both hands up to grab your arse cheeks, squeezing them and pulling them apart to better show off your holes.” “That’s very good, Kitten. Spank yourself.” It wasn’t the same as when Ben spanked you since you knew what was coming and the position didn’t allow you to get as much force into your hits as he could. But it was definitely arousing and it definitely seemed to work for Ben. You’d barely registered the sound of his pants dropping before he was sliding into your wet and waiting cunt. “I can take it from here,” Ben’s hands replaced yours, groping your arse as you dropped your arms back to the couch, though you felt it was useless to try and prop yourself up on them. It would only be a matter of time before you collapsed entirely.

At first he kept the pace slower, letting you adjust to him, though each thrust was forceful, just as you’d asked it to be. But gradually Ben sped up, hands still playing with your cheeks, sometimes grabbing and sometimes spanking them. He tried to say more about how hot it was to take you like that but his own breath was escaping him as the words seemed to be. So he let his body talk for him as he pounded your cunt and dug his fingers into your flesh. And then he pulled out. You were on the verge of asking him who the fuck he thought he was when he said, “one second. Just want to try something.” and then, remembering he was meant to be acting mean, added, “And you just want me to keep fucking you, so you’re not going to complain.” In a disgruntled daze you let Ben help you up onto the back of the couch so that one leg was bent to lean against the arm he’d just had you bent over and the other dangled towards the floor. It took a little more adjustment before Ben was happy. First pulling you back towards him and the corner of the couch, and then pressing you to lean forward so your hips were raised and he could better access your pussy. You had to grab onto the back of the couch for support, digging your fingertips into the leather as Ben resumed fucking you. The angle had changed a little and the position was slightly more awkward to maintain but it was worth it for the way your clit rubbed against the smooth leather, leaving a trail of wetness behind. Each thrust rocked your hips in such a way that you quickly found yourself getting close to release.

That, however, seemed to be Ben’s plan as he began telling you how good you were going to make him feel when he made you cum. “I know you’re close Kitten. So just cum. I want to feel your cunt on me when you do.” He lay another few spanks to your arse cheeks and that tipped you over into your orgasm. But Ben didn’t stop. “I th-think you can do bett-er than that,” he grit out as you clenched around him and he seemed to thrust twice as hard as he had before, “You were so,” You grunted as he plowed into you. “So desperate before. So you can cum better than that. Right kitten?” You nodded and gasped out a, “Yes” as your arms shook with how hard Ben was fucking you. But he didn’t relent. He kept going until he felt you tighten again and heard you moan, nearly sobbing as relief flooded your system. That seemed to be enough for Ben and he let himself go too, holding your hip tightly as he pressed deep into you.

Ben leaned his forehead against your back as he tried to regain his regular breathing rate and gave you a quick kiss there before he righted himself and helped you to dismount the couch. The evidence of your orgasms was still smeared across the leather but neither of you paid it any attention. “Sorry I never called you a slut or anything,” Ben said with a slightly self-conscious chuckle, avoiding your eye as he hitched his pants back into place. “I just like Kitten better.” “Don’t be,” you said mirroring his actions to looking at him, “Kitten worked perfectly. Also, that was really good. Maybe you could be rough and mean more often?” “The double orgasm was a pretty good indication that it worked for you,” “Of shut up, I was being serious. It was really hot.” “Yes but I like teasing you, remember,” “Prick.” “That hurts,” he said with a fake gasp and a hand against his chest, “Keep talking like that and I’ll have to spank you again,” “Ha ha, very funny. Tease me all you want but we both you enjoyed it as much as I did.” “Maybe I did.” he conceded, “but I wasn’t going to hate it when I was watching your arse.” “Alright, you perv. Was there any leftover noodles? Bit peckish now.” “Yeah, in the fridge. Grab me some too would you?”

#my writing #my blurbs #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy smut #ben hardy imagine #does this make sense? who knows!#am i turned on from thinking about it? absolutely!#am i also literally about to fall asleep? yes!#its after midnight and this has been a long week!#g'night!!#platonically event

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quinncupine · 4 years ago

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Hiiii quinn! I never realised you did requests but if it would be fine (and also because its my sole goal) could you do a boom boom boi and izubby with having their own cat or dog as a pet??? I'm seriously thinking that boom boom boi would be both a cat and dog person, don't u agree? (Ily lots and don't feel pressured to do this if you have a lot of stuff going on!)

Hi Dorki! I'm finally making my way through my requests and I was really excited to write this one! Okay, hope you like it!

Quinns Masterlist

Wanna request something?

The Boys with Pets

Word Count: 1,750

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo!

Warnings: dogs, cats, cursing

Izuku Midoriya

Now Izuku loves pretty much all animals, but I can totally see him getting a dog. Dogs are loyal and full of energy just like a certain green-haired hero. The perfect duo.

He would probably rescue one from the pound, the one with the biggest, saddest, cutest eyes because how could he not? But someone has to go with him because he'd try to rescue them all if there was no one there to stop him. Once a hero, always a hero I suppose.

I'm thinking for names, he would definitely pick a name that reflects his favorite heroes. Don't be surprised if he names his dog something super cheesy like Mighty or Rocky…

Wait, okay, I've decided, he names his dog Mighty and that is the hill I will die on.

The life of a hero is quite busy so when he goes off on long missions, he drops the dog off at his mom's house. Inko has fallen in love with this sweet pup, so much so that she sometimes begs him to stop by with the dog for a visit. It's the closest thing she's got to grandbabies at the moment, she'll take what she can get :)

Now, this cute pup draws in the attention of just about everyone so he's gotten an influx of attention and a few numbers slipped in his hand during their walks, much to his flustered surprise.

Best wingman ever.

This dog goes on regular runs with Izuku and sometimes even helps him with training. I'm thinking a Collie or an Aussie would just be the perfect fit for him to keep up with his personality and lifestyle. He needs an active dog!

I can see it now, he goes on his daily morning runs with this cute Lil furry training buddy and they race the whole way! A few regulars on the trail know about this and it's become sort of a tradition to cheer the two on as they pass.

...

The morning air was crisp with the slight scent of the coming autumn, the perfect morning for a run. Izuku, dressed in his usual training wear, had a steady rhythm going for the last forty minutes, letting out even, controlled breaths. This was the easy part of the run, a warm-up if anything, and he hadn't even broken a sweat yet. The canine jogging by his side was enjoying the dewy morning air as well, tongue happily flopping out the side of her mouth. The shared morning ritual between man and man's best friend: Mighty.

Her tail picked up speed, wagging uncontrollably as they neared the bend where the giant jagged rock towered over the path. It was the place marker to start the race. A three-mile run to the top of the hill located at the center of the park. It was also Mighty's favorite part of the morning.

"Ready girl?" Izuku grinned down at the ecstatic dog who barked in reply.

The instant the two of them passed the big rock, they both broke out in full speed, leaving behind a cloud of dust. Happy barks filled the air as she gained the upper hand. Izuku laughed as the dog turned to look back at him lagging behind her. He always did these races without his quirk to assist him. It was only fair and it helped him work on his natural stamina in case he was ever in a situation where he couldn't use his quirk. Always good to be prepared.

He watched as she bounded up the first steep hill on the trail. There were a few small hills on this route, but this one was the hardest to climb and Mighty had the advantage with her four legs so she always managed to pull ahead first. She stopped at the top and barked him on before quickly disappearing over the crest.

When he reached the top, he stopped for just a second to take in his surroundings. This part of the park was a heavily wooded area with numerous trails that many people used to hike or run. It also served as a great view of the city skyline and he couldn't help but stop and admire the rising sun from between the foggy buildings every time. Then Mighty barked to pull him out of his thoughts.

"It's not over yet!" He called after her and raced down the hill, putting on an extra burst of speed to easily close the distance.

Tail wagging, she nipped playfully at his feet as they sprinted along the path, side by side. There weren't many people out this early so he usually had the trail to himself. The only sounds were the wind in the trees, the leaves crunching under feet and paws, Mighty barking beside him, and his own unrestrained glee as they ran together.

These were the mornings he loved. Just the two of them, away from the stresses that came with pro-hero work. He wouldn't trade being a hero for anything, but sometimes it got to be too much so coming here to clear his mind with a little run was always a cathartic release, only made better by the furry companion by his side.

The short bridge that arched over the creek signaled the last mile. Getting more serious, Izuku pulled ahead of Mighty, not able to hold back the giant grin as he streaked across the bridge, startling a few birds off the railings which Mighty barked at as she came up behind him.

Up ahead was a large open meadow with a small duck pond near the center. A few benches were scattered about the path and he saw the same elderly couple sitting in their usual spot with a bag of rice and seed to feed the plethora of ducks waddling around their feet.

"You got him this time Mighty!" The old man looked up as the two of them zipped down the path towards the couple.

"Show 'em what girls can do!" The woman cracked a smile, waving her hands.

"Morning Mr. and Mrs. Fujino!" Izuku waved as he passed. "Don't count me out yet!"

Mighty barked her greeting and took a detour, herding some ducks closer to the couple then with a quick lick to Mr. Fujino's hand, she sprinted back to catch up to Izuku.

The Fujino's marked the last leg of the race. The only thing left was to climb the top of the largest hill in the park to the old oak tree at the top. That was the finishing line. It was always a gamble as to who finished first every day, but Mighty sure had a competitive spirit.

Izuku pumped his legs as he steadily made his way up to the dirt trail, Mighty just behind him before she suddenly veered left and disappeared into the shrubbery. He was so focused on the tree that slowly came into view just around the curve as he neared the top that he didn't notice.

Just as the path leveled out, almost to the finish line, he glanced back to see no sign of his dog. The tree was a few feet away when a furry mass ambushed him from the side, knocking him clean off his feet. The pro hero landed in the grass with a heavy Oof. Sitting on his chest was Mighty, looking quite proud of herself.

"Cheater!" He laughed, trying his best to hold back the slobbery licks she was determined to give him. "Okay, okay, I'll call it a tie!"

Katsuki Bakugo

Now Katsuki on the other hand would totally be a cat person. Not that he has anything against dogs, but cats are more his style. They don't need constant attention and are pretty much self-sufficient. Just the way he likes it.

That being said, Katuski would go all out on toys and the latest gizmos to take care of his cat. Has a self-cleaning litter box, a waterfall bowl, an automatic feeder, etc. You get the picture.

Oh, and toys galore. If he has space, this cat is getting a personal jungle gym that lets him walk up to the ceiling. S.P.O.I.L.E.D.

Doesn't like to tell people just how much he actually loves this cat because he's never been one to express emotions, but this cat just gets him to his core. They share the same wavelength and he appreciates that. The cat is the only one he trusts to open up to, so sometimes you might catch him ranting to the poor thing who just stares back with big wide eyes and occasional meows. Yup, totally gets him.

I see him with a super chill cat, like maybe a Ragdoll or a Russian Blue. Something that tolerates his constant screaming and explosions.

This guy is just as bad at names. It'll definitely be something long and dramatic like Lord Cat Explosion Demon God of Furballs. Yep. He doesn't take criticism so most people call him Lord Furballs, much to his disdain.

Katsuki won't ask for attention from the cat, but the little furry feline is a total cuddler and will often find itself curled up in his lap or even on his neck if Katsuki's sitting on the couch. You better believe this guy won't be moving until that cat decides it's time to move. He's been late to meetings with friends because of this cuddly cat.

He's a hero so this cat is definitely being treated right. Katuski is no slacker when it comes to caring for his lil buddy. The vet is on speed dial should anything ever happen.

Did someone say a custom-made collar that matches his hero costume to a tee?

He's never loved anything more.

...

"Uh, hey Bakubro, why is your cat glaring at me?" Ejiro asked, staring down at the feline.

"What?" Katsuki didn't even bother to look up from his laptop.

"Your cat. It's giving me the evil eye. I thought it was supposed to be friendly." The red-haired hero frowned, not able to break eye contact with the cat. "I don’t think it likes me."

The small furry creature had lazily curled up in the sunspot next to Katsuki's feet, purring away without a care in the world. It seemed harmless enough, except for the heavy glare it was shooting Ejiro's way.

"Heh," Katsuki finally glanced down and crossed his arms. "He's not glaring. That's just his face."

"Ah," Ejiro nodded, "like father like son."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean!?"

Taglist: @thecindy @peachsenpie @awilddreamerwrites @miriobaby @kiyoobi @dragonsdreamoffire @amive2567 @justscar @kenmaskitten10 @freckledoriya

#izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #izuku midoriya headcanons #katsuki bakugou headcanons #my pets #cute dogs #cats #yes i did name his dog Mighty #come at me #I got really inspired so i wrote lil stories to go with these headcannons #i laughed when I wrote Katsuki's #of course that cat would pick up on his mannerisms while being a precious sweetheart #and that dog is literally just Izuku in dog form so #this turned out so goofy #lol #request

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impala1967dwinchester · 4 years ago

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Dean Winchester: Brandy

*Credit to the gif owner*

Pairing: Dean W. x Fem!Reader

Pov: Deans

Warnings: Drinking, drunk texting, bad dancing, having to rescue Dean, Friends to loversish, Believing in destiny kinda.

Summary: Dean spends the whole night at the bar, tryin' every bottled drink. Ends up drunk texting Y/n and being completely honest with her

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: (Based on the song Wine, Beers, Whiskey by Little Big Town)

Dean Winchester Master List

Main Master List

I sat at the bar of the old bar. It reminded me of Harvelle's. The old smell, the plaid-up men and women that I noticed came walking in through that door.

It was amazing. I was a drinker, always had been. The first drink I had with my dad, I was fifteen. A beer we shared, that should be an amazing moment for father and son, but it was ruined for the simple fact that we had no home, and my father and instructed me to take care of my younger brother.

I grew up, mostly without my father after that. He prioritizes hunting and saving people over me, and over his youngest son. Everything was always secrets. So many secrets, that it's started to become how Sam and I live.

There were certain things that I had learned from my father. How to protect, how to be anger almost all of the time, and how to handle my liquor.

So I sat at the bar, my hand around an iced cold glass of beer. I sipped and watched people. I wasn't in the mood to hook up with any. I mean yeah sure there was probably someone out there that was meant for me, but that's getting into destiny shit.

You know how bars, almost always have music playing. Well being in the good old state of Kansas, so pretty much any place you walk into is playing music more specifically country music.

It started to come through the speakers. I had already been here for what seemed like hours, I had enough beers, that I had switched to drinking something harder.

Something like a whiskey.

"My friend named Jack"

"He's got my back"

"He always seems to know right where I'm at"

Well, this is definitely a song I could get used to listening to. I don't think anybody else was listening. All having their own private conversations. The barmaid was a beautiful young lady, but even still with her crop top of a shirt and the cleavage that was burst out of her shirt.

I wasn't interested in her. Every time she'd come over. "You need anything else sweetheart." Bending halfway down to try and have me look down.

I waved her off. Maybe I should try something else. Waving her back over, I asked "Do you have something stronger?" she looked at me sideways, before saying "If it's something stronger than you want I've got you" and then she walked away.

When she returned with the rest of the bottle of Jose. A half left standing in the clear bottle. "Here's something stronger, forty percent." She said taking my empty beer bottle and empty cup that had been holding the recently downed Jack Daniels.

"My friend Jose"

"He likes to play"

"He's always up for anything I say"

I downed the rest of the bottle, not even needing the new glass she had bought for me to use. Slamming the bottle down on the countertop. She snapped her head around, our eye making contact before she grabbed something off the shelf.

"If that's the type of night you're having you should have said." She said handing me a half empty glass of crown apple. "Thanks, I can handle my liquor so no need to worry about me," I said as she left to take care of other people sitting at the bar.

I sat alone. Like I always have, it was the best way to number one people watch, but it also gave me a reason to think. Nobody trying to pull my belt out of my jean loops. No need to save someone this was my safe haven sometimes.

Alcohol was my safe haven. It's always been that way. It's always been able to understand me ten times more than Sammy. Well I mean there was always Y/n, she lived with us, but she was my friend, my best friends. There is something that she just doesn't need to know.

I took a swig, drinking down most of the bottle.

"Little bit of red, lotta bit of crown"

"Don't matter what it is"

"I'm gonna drink it down, down, down"

Was it just me or was this song getting better by the second. Maybe, It was just me. I looked around me, couples stood dancing to this song, some sat with clasped hands. And the older men sat at the bar, I was an older man sitting at bar watching like a creep.

"The wine, the beer, the whiskey"

"Are the only things that fix me"

"I'm not saying it's a problem"

"I can stop it if I wanna"

"But the wine, the beer, the whiskey"

"They always get me"

Wow, I'm started to get the idea that I can relate to this song. The lyrics are right you know. Liquor is the only thing that can fix me, calms me down and then I sleep it off. It's right the lyrics I can stop if I wanna. But do I really wanna stop?

"Here," The young lady said, handing me a made drink "Here's a gin and tonic." Walking away yet again to take care of other patrons. A gin and tonic, not a drink I was every ballses enough to try.

Taking the little green umbrella out, I took my first sip. "Shit that's actually really good," I said more to myself than anyone else. I looked up from my gin and tonic drink, looking at the glass wall.

It held so many drinks that I hadn't heard of before. Like a new drink called "Screwball", "Kingfisher". Odd brand names but they all looked like awesome drinks. But of course, there was the regular drinks, the brandy, sherry which is a wine, and Jim Beam

"My friend named Gin"

"She's got some friends"

"I'm talking Brandy, Sherry, and their brother Jim"

"Hey, so it sorta looks like we're going along with the song, so I'll grab you a shot of rum, Captain." She said pulling a tiny shot glass out and pulling the bottle off of the shelf.

She slides the small glass across the table, I caught some rum tipping out and falling over my thumb. 'I wonder what Y/n would do if she was here with me? I wonder if I would have her pushed up against the wall, kissing down her neck.'

Shaking my head; stop thinking of her that she... She doesn't think of you in the same way, you are an idiot. Taking my rum-filled shot quickly. I pulled out my phone.

'Don't do what you're about to do'

"I'll be fine," I said to myself. The room was starting to spin. Or maybe I was just spinning. 'Stop thinking about Y/n. She doesn't need to deal with your drunk ass' "Oh come on I'm not that drunk" I was still sitting at the bar, but people were starting to look at me.

>Y/n, you know I've just gotta say. YOu're beautiful.

Dots played at the bottom of my screen.

>Dean that's very nice.

Minutes pass, so I send another message.

>You know I think I'm falling.

Immediate answers came

>Falling?? What do you mean?

>Winchester? Where are you?

She asked, she only ever called me Winchester when she was pissed off, but I was too worried about telling her the truth.

>Y/n, I've spent the past forever fawning over you. I spent it, wanting, yearning for you. I guess after years of wanting you, years after having nobody in my bed. Wishing and hoping that it was you.

>Dean send me your current loca!

>We can talk more tomorrow

I was able to send her my location, she pulled up in a rather crappy car. Walking in distress, her black night shorts, a pair of slippers on, and my red and black plaid shirt on.

She came over, apologizing grabbing my arm, and wrapping it over her head. "Dean, let's go, now," she said dragging me out. "You smell so good Y/n," I said going to pet her hair. She rested me up against the side of the baby.

"Where are your keys, Dean?" She asked her voice starting to become more worrisome. "In my.." I stopped talking and just reached for her hand, shoving it into my jacket pocket. "Right here!" I said I let go of her wrist and she looked up at me.

She got me into the car, somehow. I rested my head against the back of the front seat. "I felt and heard the rumble of baby engine. "Dean, what were you doing?" I looked over at her. "I wanted a drink."

The rest of the drive was quiet, she helped me out of the car after shutting the loud engine off. The sound finally stops bouncing off the cinderblock walls. "Dean. Couch, bed, or table?" She asked.

"Couch, comfier," I said breathing in more of Y/n's scent. I've never been this close to her, for this long. she smelled like a garden of flowers and honey. she smelt of summer. She looked like summer half the time.

"Are you a god?" I blurted out. Her eyebrows creased, licking her lips. "No, Dean I'm not a god," Y/n said reaching around behind the couch and grabbing a blanket but not before untying my boots.

She tossed the blanket over my body and went to walk off. "Y/n?" I asked. "Yes, Dean." She said with a sigh. "Can you get me a water, so I can maybe explain myself?" I asked.

A pleading look on my face, the puppy dog eyes I had learned from Sam. "Fine Winchester, but you've five to explain yourself." She said stomping off into the kitchen, and back with a tall glass of ice water.

She stood next to me. "Can you sit? Please Y/n?" I begged. I sipped on the water, trying to regain any sort of control of myself. She sat crisscrossing her legs. Her exposed legs, my eyes drifted from her legs.

My eyes came back up to hers. "Start explaining Winchester, you've got four minutes." I shook my head, clasping my hands together. I cleared my throat.

"I've sat here for the past few years, wondering why everything seems weird. It's hard. y'know because that song was right in the bar. I don't want to be alone not anymore, I don't wanna watch the couple dances anymore, I wanna be one of the couples, that hold each other hands."

I said, looking at her. She broke our eye contact when she started to fidget with the bottom of my flannel. "You know that's my flannel?" I asked grabbing her hands.

"I want you, I want you in my bed. I want to drink with my girl. I want to love you because Y/n that's really the truth." I said, "I love you Y/n" We sat in silence for a few, "Y/n please say something?" Now I'm begging her, this entire night has been a fucking mess.

"What are you waiting for you dumb Winchester? Come kiss your girl." It only took a few moments for the words to click in my mind. I grabbed the back of her neck and she fell into my lap.

It wasn't like fireworks or lighting coming down. It just fit so well, it was more like finishing a puzzle, puzzle pieces just fitting together so well. A missing part of me found filled and always there for you.

"Dean? Y/n?" I heard Sam said and properly say "Nevermind." And leave. I felt Y/n's lips leave mine. Realizing that I needed air, my lungs burning but in a good way.

"That was something," I said, catching my breath. "That's was awesome!" Y/n said kissing chastely. "Did you hear Sam?" I asked her, she giggled she rolled her. "I bet he's in there going I just knew it," Y/n said. I laughed and hugged.

"My feet hurt, I think I may have blacked out and started dancing by myself," I said, flexing my socked toes. "You dancing!?" Y/n questioned, "Oh we've gotta go back to that bar and get that tape, for FBI reasons." Y/n said.

My mouth gaping open. She laughed more, and she started to have a few tears. "You know Y/n. I'll you back for that, now come on. You'll love the memory foam bed." I said, Whispering closing to Y/n's ear "It remembers you Y/n." My hand landing on her lower as we walked to my room.

Completed on: 05/12/2021

Posted on: 05/14/2021

Dean Winchester Tag List: @akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @hit-meup69 @fofisstilinski @doctorlilo @wonderfulworldofwinchester

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triscribe · 3 years ago

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Swing Batter Batter

Part of a larger fic posted on AO3 over here, in which token metahuman abilities are pretty common, and it’s not unusual to encounter a circus kid who can fly, or a cop who gets impressions of a person’s intentions when shaking their hand, or in this case, a street thief with super strength.

-Swing-

When he registered the Bat standing over him, Jason didn’t think, he just grabbed and swung as hard as he could. If he’d been a regular scrawny street kid, he didn’t doubt the tire iron would just bounce off with barely a bruise to show for the effort. But Jason stopped counting as ‘regular’ last year, and his skinny arms were plenty strong enough to land a blow that knocked the Bat clear off his feet.

Jason then promptly ran for his life.

He made it to the end of the alley and swerved first around the corner, and again into the narrow gap between wall and dumpster. There he froze, heart pounding, hands shaking, as he waited for either Batman’s footsteps to go past his hiding place like so many others, or for one of those big hands to grab his hoodie and yank him out into the open.

...a couple minutes of nothing went by.

...and then a few more.

Jason’s heart kept pounding at breakneck speed, but shifted from running on adrenaline to fear. He eased himself back out from behind the dumpster, and peeked around the alley corner. Just to double check; maybe the Bat decided to chase him from above, and that fourth tire could be retrieved after all-

Except two thick-soled boots were laying next to the fancy car.

Shit.

He’d killed the Bat.

Shit shit shit - every crook in Gotham would be out for Jason’s blood, looking to curbstomp the little pest trying to make a name for himself. Or worse, someone nuts would show up like the effing Joker in order to get revenge over not getting to off the Bat himself-

One boot shifted. A deep voice wheezed. Jason nearly fell over in relief.

And then, because the Bat didn’t move again, and because Jason was an idiot of the worst kind, he edged his way back towards the car and the crimefighter lying prone beside it. “Uh. Batman? You gonna be okay?”

Another wheeze. Jason got close enough to peek around the car’s fender, and saw the man just staring upwards through the narrowed lenses of his mask. It took a second, but the Bat could apparently tell when he was being watched, because he tilted his head and the lenses opened up a little more so he could stare back. “...’f Robin were here,” the man grumbled, “He’d ask, if you swing for the Knights...”

Jason’s face spasmed as he tried not to laugh. “Nope. Maybe when I’m older, if they pay good.”

Batman snorted, and then wheezed again, one hand starting to grab for his stomach only to stop and clench into a fist. “Got the same spot, as Killer Croc, two nights ago.”

At that, Jason winced. He’d only ever seen Croc in newspaper pictures before, but the guy was definitely huge, and it didn’t take a leap of logic to assume he hit hard, too. “Uh. Sorry?”

The Bat gave an aborted huff. Slowly, he pushed himself up, palms flat to the ground. Then he rolled, to pull one knee underneath himself, and gradually stood while leaning against the car. Jason made sure to keep out of arm’s reach.

After that, the man just braced himself and breathed for a minute, before shifting enough to once again peer down at Jason. “I assume you took the tires to sell.”

He nodded.

“How much?”

Jason lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Depends on which chop shop I take ‘em to. At least a hundred apiece, maybe a bonus if I get all four.” That probably wouldn’t be an option, seeing as he’d wasted enough time for the Bat to get back to his feet. Honestly, Jason needed to run at this point, but he still felt kinda bad. Batman was just about the only good thing in Gotham as far as working folks were concerned, and even if he wasn’t dead, it didn’t seem right to leave him alone and hurting in Crime Alley...

Jason blinked when a roll of green suddenly appeared in front of his face. “Five hundred,” Batman said dryly, “If you bring back the other three.”

Well hot damn.

In the space of twenty minutes, Jason not only brought back the tires he’d spirited off, he went ahead and put ‘em back on the car, just ‘cause the Bat didn’t seem inclined to bend and use his stomach muscles any time soon. And besides, five hundred dollars. That would be food and rent and even new clothes when the weather turned cold.

As he worked, though, Jason couldn’t help but feel Batman’s gaze on him. It didn’t seem angry, didn’t raise the hairs on the back of his neck like when certain guys leered, but he still started to feel just the slightest bit antsy. And then, right as he was tightening up the bolts on the final tire, the Bat made his move. “You don’t want to go into foster care, do you.”

Jason scoffed at that.

“Have you been flagged as a meta?”

“‘Course not, never told anyone. Didn’t get strong until after I was on my own, and I’m not stupid enough to put a target on my back to get ‘recruited’ by any of the gangs.”

The Bat hummed.

-Swing-

Jason Peter Todd-Wayne

Date of Birth: August 16th, 1996

No Known Meta Abilities

“Man, rich people get away with anything,” Jason huffed. “Park wherever you want, buy shit you’re not s’posed to have, falsify your paperwork...”

Bruce just grunted, but it was an agreeable sound rather than an annoyed one. And, privately, Jason couldn’t help but feel pleased by the adoption paperwork, his brand new name right at the top of the page.

Which just left the matter of deciding on his other name.

When Bruce had found the pages torn out of a notebook with costume designs sketched out and messy notes in the margins, he’d glanced at Jason out of the corner of his eye and haltingly said he could be the new Robin. And part of Jason felt thrilled by the idea, but-

But.

Robin flew. He soared around skyscrapers, did somersaults mid-air, zipped along just above the ground to take crooks out at the knees. Jason didn’t do that - Jason couldn’t do any of that. The closest he’d ever get to flight would be grappling from perch to perch like Batman did. Which, admittedly, was really insanely awesome, but still.

Jason couldn’t be Robin.

-Swing-

...at least, not until he sat on the Manor roof one evening a few weeks later with Dick Grayson, who sighed and smiled at him. “You could wear them, y’know. My colors. My suit.”

“But- our powers-”

“Are different,” Dick agreed, “But that just means we bring different strengths to the playing field. Literal strength, in your case.” He grinned and ruffled Jason’s hair.

Batting away the playful fingers, Jason took a few moments to consider it. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I will.”

(Dick still argued viciously with Bruce in nine out of ten conversations. But every so often he’d come by to pick up Jason, and they’d go flying over the forested property, or drive into the city to get ice cream, or a dozen other things Dick very firmly insisted on referring to as Civilian Brotherly Bonding Activities. And a couple years later, when Jason started having his own problems with Bruce, and found his birth certificate in an old box with a different woman’s name listed as his mother-

Well.

He knew just who to go to with it.)

#Jason Todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #batman au #fan fiction #fix-it fic #metahuman au #DC comics

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ladyseaheart1668 · 4 years ago

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Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 56)

Description: The Catalysts attempt to return to their lives as River Skye finally comes home. tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11

Chapter 56: Not Over

Alodia

I almost can’t believe how quickly I start to feel better once the fever breaks. The pain, which had felt like some hellish demon with teeth made of red-hot iron gnawing at my lower back, begins to recede within hours.

“That’s how it tends to go with an infection like this once we find the right antibiotic,” the doctor tells me. “You are fortunate, though. These days, a lot of bacteria have developed resistance to antibiotics. But the infection is responding well to treatment, and all your vitals and your blood work look good. And your daughter appears as healthy as a baby horse. ...I would just like to take a quick look at how you’re healing from the birth if that’s okay.”

I nod, turning onto my back with Jake’s help as the doctor draws the curtain around the bed. Improved as I am, I know I’m not at full strength yet, because moving still hurts. I guess I must have winced, because the doctor raises an eyebrow in concern as she pulls on a pair of gloves.

“You okay there?”

“I think so. Guess I’m still pretty sore.”

“That’s to be expected. You probably won’t feel one-hundred percent for another week or two at least.”

I draw my knees up and part my thighs while the doctor pulls up a stool at the foot of the bed and lifts the blanket. I keep my attention focused on Jake’s face above me and the pressure of his hand on mine as the doctor carries out her checks. Occasionally, I let my eyes wander around to the multiple bouquets and mylar balloons that have built up over the past couple days, gifts from the Catalysts, Tahira’s team, my aunt and uncle, and Jake and Diego’s parents.

“Everything is healing beautifully. Stitches should be dissolved by next week. You’re probably going to be feeling pretty tender for a while though.”

“Yeah, we had the whole tearing conversation with my OB in California some time ago.”

“Good. If you have any pressing questions regarding the birth and recovery, you can of course ask me, or one of the maternity staff. We can also forward your hospital records to your regular OBGYN.”

“How long do you think it will be before we can go home?” Jake asks.

She pulls the blanket back down and stands, peeling off her gloves. “Well, the fact is, we want to get her and your baby out of here ASAP to lower the chances of either of them picking up a secondary infection.” She smiles at me. “Now that the fever’s gone, we’re gonna get you off the drip and onto some oral antibiotics, and we can pretty much start the discharge process immediately.”

“So soon?” My own question surprises me, but it’s out of my mouth before I realize it’s on the end of my tongue.

“Believe me, it’s better we get you both out of here.”

“I know. It’s not that I want to stay here. It’s just...thinking about how we’re going to get home...how soon we can get home…”

“That’s all taken care of, Princess. Aleister is having Castor and Pollux deep cleaned, and he and Grace are gonna put us up for a few days until Mike gets up here from Santo Domingo. Diego and Varyyn are with Estela and Quinn, and your aunt and uncle basically paid for hotel rooms for everyone else.”

His infodump has my head reeling a little, but there was one particular tidbit I find myself fixing on.

“Why is Mike…?” I trail off as realization crashes down on me in an icy wave. A bit of information I had nearly forgotten in my struggle to bring my baby safely into the world while fighting a fever. Jake wasn’t worrying about me for all that time from the safety of our home in California. I don’t know the details, but I have a sinking feeling that has something to do with the reason that Mike isn’t here with us now.

Jake folds my hand between his palms, glancing at the doctor. “Hey...do you have everything you need? I’d like a few minutes alone with my wife, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll get the ball rolling on your discharge.”

I wait until I’m sure she’s well clear of the room before I reach to stroke Jake’s cheek. “...I know Lundgren got his filthy hands on you. ...Fiddler told me. ...I’m guessing he got a hold of Mike, too.”

He leans into my touch. “...And Sean and Michelle. Nabbed us all as I was bringing ‘em back from the island.”

“I don’t know if she told me that. That conversation got swallowed up in worrying about you, and then I got sick and River started coming, and…” I swallow, running my thumb along the fuzzy ridge of his cheekbone. “...Did they hurt you? Any of you?”

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Knocked us all around a little. Michelle’s the smart one, of course, so she escaped the worst. ...Mike’s in Santo Domingo having his prosthetics repaired. Lundgren ripped them out ot torture him.”

I shudder. “Oh, god...Oh, Jake, I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…”

I’m crying before I realize it. And as soon as I do realize, it turns into sobbing. Jake reaches down to gather me in his arms and cradle my head against his shoulder, rocking me tenderly.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s okay. He’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. In a few days, we’ll be home with our baby.”

“I w-wanna be home,” I hiccup. “I wanna be home with River, but I’m scared of leaving everyone again. I just wanna bring them all home with us…”

“Well, it’s a very big house. ...On the other hand, you cram us all into the same house long term, it might start to feel less big. Plus, it would mean a brutal cross-country commute for some of them.”

I can’t help chuckling a little bit, which makes the sobs start to die down. Jake gives me a moment to get myself under control before he speaks again.

“...How are you feeling, Princess? Really?”

“Physically?” I pull back gently to lie down on the pillow again. “Definitely better. My head is clearer, and I don’t hurt as much. But I’m still worn out. And by the way, you’re gonna have to make due with blow jobs for awhile, because it’s gonna be a long time before you stick that thing in me again, if ever.”

It’s his turn to laugh, and he bends to kiss me. “Princess, I will tug it for the rest of my life as long as you’re still a part of that life.”

“I will be a part of your life as long as the universe allows,” I promise. “...But Jake, we both know this isn’t over.”

He sighs, and I see his forehead crease before he presses it to mine. “I know. I know you’re right. But for River’s sake--and mine--will you let the others take care of that for now? I ain’t saying don’t worry, because I know that’s impossible. But River and I need you healthy. Can you stand to let yourself be looked after for a while?”

I feel a rueful smile tug at one corner of my mouth. “Am I to assume that arguing is pointless?”

A tapping at the open door to the birthing suite distracts Jake from answering. We both look up to find Raj and Diego hovering in the doorway, Raj with a paper bag in his hand, and Diego with his right arm in a soft blue sling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since River was born, and I sit up a little straighter as he hesitantly steps over the threshold.

“...Are we interrupting?”

The baby has started fussing, and Jake eases off the edge of the bed to go pick her up. I open my arms to Diego. Just before he rushes into them, I see his face twist with anguish. And as he falls against me, his one-armed grip is surprisingly strong.

“Goddammit, Allie,” he whispers quiveringly. “Goddammit…”

“...Did I scare you?”

He pulls back sharply, enough so he can look me in the face, but he keeps a grip on my shoulder. “Did you scare me?! You had me on my knees saying the Ave Maria! Do you know how long it’s been since I said the Ave Maria?!”

There isn’t really a lot I can say to that, but I smile ruefully. “...Thanks for staying with me.”

“What, you thought I’d bail?”

I snort. “God, no. But I can still be grateful.”

“...You’re really okay?”

I nod. “I’m fine. The fever is gone, and the wound doesn’t really hurt anymore. I’m still pretty sore down there, though.”

A smile finally starts to play cautiously around his mouth. “...Well, that part’s Jake’s problem.”

“How about you?” I ask, gingerly touching the strap of his navy blue sling.

“That’s nothing serious. It was dislocated, but they popped it back in. Just got to wear this for a few more days, and take it easy once we get back home. ...Raj brought food, by the way.”

“Oh!” I pull back a little to smile at Raj. “Sorry, big guy. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

Raj chuckles. “We’ll blame it on the new mommy brain and leave it at that. Speaking of which…” He shoos Diego back enough that he can drag my bed table over across my lap, and sets an insulated lunch box on top. “I figured you could do with something better than hospital fruit cups and oatmeal, so I brought you a special Raj lunch. Michelle supervised its creation, and it’s full of stuff that’s supposed to be good for new moms.”

“What is it?”

“So glad you asked!” With a flourish, he opens the bag, and pulls out each item in turn, presenting them like a game show prize lady. “A sandwich of salmon, spinach, and poached egg on whole wheat bread with a garlic white bean spread; in case you are extra hungry, a side of gourmet trail mix made from an assortment of nuts and dried fruit; and to drink, a pineapple-orange-banana smoothie with extra protein powder, and just a few extra leaves of spinach!”

I can’t help but be uplifted by his enthusiasm, and hold out my arms for a hug. “I must be the most spoiled new mother in the world.”

Raj embraces me lightly over the table. “As you should be. You know in some Asian cultures, a new mother spends a whole month resting while her mother-in-law takes care of her and the baby.”

“Oh yeah?” I look at Jake. “Think your mother would spend a month taking care of me?”

“Honestly, I bet she would. The problem would be getting her to ease up and let you start taking care of things after the month was up.”

“Hmm...probably best not to give her ideas then.”

“Probably. We’ll have my folks over in few more months, when we’ve had a chance to get settled.”

“...But…” Raj says, “in the meantime, do you think you guys will be needing any extra help? I know it’s going to be a pretty full house as it is, but Diego’s going to want to take it easy with lifting and stuff for a while, and Michelle says Mike will probably need time to recover, too. If you need a couple extra pairs of hands and someone to do the cooking, I have some downtime, and I know Lila would be happy to come along.”

I look questioningly at Jake, who shrugs. “I don’t have anything against that. It’s a big enough house. And if Varyyn and I are gonna be the only ones at full strength for the time being, I wouldn’t say no to a couple extra pairs of hands.”

“And probably better those hands be Raj and Lila than anyone’s parents,” Diego adds. “I bet Varyyn would prefer not having to wear his disguise twenty-four-seven.”

“Yeah. And,” Jake adds with a sigh, shifting River to rest against his shoulder, “it’s probably preferable not to involve anyone who ain’t already involved in the bigger picture. ...Like you said before, Princess, this ain’t over.”

“But for now, we’re all safe and sound, and Allie has a lunch to eat.” Diego smiles encouragingly as he pushes the tinfoil-wrapped sandwich toward me. “Go on. Dig in.”

Jake

I gotta admit, it does my heart good to see my wife savoring the meal Raj brought her and enjoying our friends’ company. She seems almost back to her old self as she talks and tells jokes and teases with them. Although, as I put River in her arms, I can’t help but be reminded that she’ll never be exactly like her old self again. Not now that she’s a mama. Not like I’m ever gonna be exactly like my old self again either. I’m a daddy now. That’s gonna change me forever. The thought scares me, like it has a lot over the past nine months. But just a look at that precious little face is enough to reassure me that I am never gonna regret it.

Diego and Raj eventually leave us on our own again. After nursing and burping, River sleeps just long enough that we can fill out her birth certificate, nestled side-by-side on the bed. From there, it’s not more than an hour or two before they’re wheeling Alodia toward the hospital exit with River in her arms again while I walk at her shoulder, a baby carrier in the crook of my elbow and my arms laden with flowers and mini mylar balloons. Any staff we happen to pass on the way out smile and wave or give us their congratulations. I have a feeling that in a hospital, any chance to see a patient off happy and healthy is a cause for celebration, and that probably goes double for a new mama leaving with a baby.

Grace is waiting in a car for us at the curb outside the hospital. One of Reggie’s old carseats is in the backseat. Grace settles the baby in the carseat while I help Alodia into the seat beside her.

“There’s a surprise for you guys when we get to our place,” Grace informs us as I circle around the car to get in on the other side of River.

“Nothing too strenuous, I hope,” Alodia quips. “I am not up for a party yet.”

Grace chuckles as she starts up the car. “Oh, believe me, I realize that. No, everyone is pretty sure parties are off the table for you for the time being. ...But you do know that everyone is going to want to see you before you leave, right? You gave us a scare, and no one wants you to go before we all know you’re okay. ...Plus, everyone wants to see River.”

“I am not opposed to visitors,” Alodia assures her. “Just...only a few at a time.”

“Absolutely. We won’t let you get overwhelmed.”

“River, either,” Alodia adds, stroking our sleeping daughter’s downy hair. “Poor thing is probably overwhelmed as it is, suddenly coming into all this noise and color and light.”

“Birth is the craziest thing that ever happens to us, and none of us remember it,” I remark, letting the blade of my forefinger run gently back and forth across the soft back of River’s tiny hand. Her little fingers twitch just slightly, and the base of her pacifier rocks back and forth across her lips, but she doesn’t wake up. I don’t expect the quiet will last.

River does sleep throughout the half hour or so it takes to drive to Aleister and Grace’s luxury Northbridge apartment. As we pull up to the curb, I realize what our surprise is.

“Mike!”

I must have been a little louder than I thought, because River wakes up with a cry that can only be described as irritated, but it doesn’t fully register until I have already launched myself out of the car towards Mike. He’s balancing on a walker, so I at least have the good sense not to jostle him, but I can’t hold myself back from grasping him firmly by the shoulders. He grins, carefully removing his hands from the walker one at a time to grasp me back.

“Good to see ya, Grandpa.”

“Shit, you too! We weren’t expecting you for another couple days! How are you feeling?”

“Well, as you can tell,” he says, nodding at the walker, “I’m not quite ready to run a marathon yet. But my new legs are healing up nice. ...Good to see you, Goldilocks.”

His gaze shifts over my shoulder, and I turn to look back at my wife supporting herself on Aleister’s arm while Grace bounces River in her arms. Alodia smirks at me, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I feel like I should make a joke about you abandoning your wife and child in the car to go hang out with your buddy,” she drawls.

I grin sheepishly as Mike carefully returns his grip to the walker. “Sorry about that. Let me make it up to you.”

I lunge and sweep her up bridal style, and I have the pleasure of feeling her arms twine around my neck.

“Mmm, much better. However, unlike your daughter, I am actually capable of walking.”

“But you don’t have to. Not right now, anyway.” But I do return her to her feet after capturing her mouth in a kiss. I don’t entirely take my hands off her yet, though. After her ordeal, I don’t think she’s really that much steadier than Mike right now. Her grip as she slips her arm through mine confirms my concerns.

I’m standing between my wife and my best friend, and neither of them are fully able to stand under their own power. I’m starting to feel that much more grateful to Raj for volunteering to help us out for a while.

I think Mike notices Alodia’s weakness, too, because his forehead creases just a little. “You all right, Goldilocks? From what I hear, you gave everyone a real scare.”

“It was pretty scary on my end, too. But I’m fine now. How about you?”

Mike shrugs. “Ahh, you know. A few weeks of rehab, I’ll be a six-million dollar man again. In the meantime,” he adds wryly, stroking the frame of his walker, “it’ll be hard to call Jake ‘Grandpa’ when I’m dottering around on this thing.”

“You just called me ‘Grandpa’ two minutes ago.”

“And I cannot tell you how hard I internally cringed. Seriously, if you could have seen my internal expression, you’d have thought I was sucking lemons.”

I am morally obligated to reach out and swat him for that, but before I can, Alodia abruptly steps forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. It’s an awkward embrace, encumbered by the walker and both of them still being weak, but it’s a sincere one, and Mike leans into it gratefully.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Alodia murmurs.

“You too,” Mike says softly, reaching up to pat her shoulder with one hand. “But can we go inside? I wanna properly meet that baby you’ve been carrying around for the past nine months!”

***

The Catalysts come by in shifts throughout the afternoon and evening, apparently having planned it all out beforehand. No one stays more than an hour at a time, which proves to be a good thing, since Alodia is clearly worn out by about eight in the evening. We’re set up in the guest room of the Rourke apartment, with River in a bassinet beside us, and Mike on the foldaway bed in the living room.

Alodia nurses River and rocks her to sleep before lying down herself. At first, I curl up beside Alodia in bed. She’s asleep within minutes, but I’m not as quick. And after an hour, it’s pretty clear that I’m not on my way to dreamland any time soon. I don’t want to leave Alodia or River. I never want to leave Alodia’s side again. But I’m restless. Anxious. And eventually, the desire not to disturb what precious little sleep my wife might have before our daughter wakes her up again wins out over my irrational need to pace back and forth between them. I check the windows, making sure they’re locked, then I slip out of the room as quietly as I can, heading back out into the living room.

I find Mike, Aleister, and Grace all seated in the living room. On the coffee table are four short, round glasses and a bottle of golden red liquid that I’m guessing is some kind of whiskey.

“We were starting to wonder if you had also fallen asleep,” Aleister says. He gestures to the glasses. “We thought you might like to wet your baby’s head.”

“Kind of a weird expression,” I remark. Nonetheless, I pick up the bottle and take a seat in an armchair to read the label. “Ooh, Irish Mist. Fancy.”

“It is not every day that one becomes a father. The night Reginald was born, Diego, Varyyn, and I toasted his birth with Irish Mist.”

I crack open the bottle, and lean forward to fill each of the four glasses about halfway. I set down the bottle and raise my glass, the others following suit.

“To River Skye McKenzie, my beautiful angel. And to her mother, my better half, who is truly the best and bravest of us.”

“Here, here!” Grace says. We clink glasses, and I take a long, deep drink, savoring the sweet notes of honey and spices riding atop the alcoholic burn of whiskey. I return my glass to the table empty and lean back in my chair.

“When my sister and I both were born, my grandpa had my dad and the men of the neighborhood over to smoke cigars on the porch.” I chuckle a little. “Rebecca remembers helping our grandma in the kitchen, and seeing all the men outside smoking. She says what she remembers most about the day I was born was our dad coming in from outside to give her a hug, but she pushed him away and said, ‘No, Daddy! You stink!’”

My story prompts the expected laughter.

“I am afraid Irish Mist will have to do tonight,” Aleister says. “I did not think to buy cigars. Nor would I know enough to ensure I was purchasing a quality product. As I understand it, Cuban cigars are the best, but those are illegal.”

Mike shudders. “Honestly, I think the smell of a Cuban would be enough to give me flashbacks. Lundgren used to smoke contraband Cubans.”

“Same here,” I agree. “I mean...there was that one time…”

“...That one time what?”

I chuckle a little, rubbing the back of my head. “Okay, no one currently in this room was there when Zahra blew up MASADA…”

“What’s that got to do with Cuban cigars?”

I sigh, but in spite of myself, in spite of how literally everyone else in the room with me was in some kind of bad situation at the time, I feel a smile playing around my mouth at the memory.

“Okay, so it’s me, Alodia, Sean, Quinn, Estela, Craig, and Zahra trying to find another way out of the complex after the gondola gets severed, and when we go through a control room, Zahra gets the idea to blow the whole thing up. We figure it’s worth the couple extra minutes, so we let her do it. And while she’s rigging the system, I find one of Lundgren’s Cubans somewhere on the floor. ...And I light it up. But only to spite the bastard.”

“But did you enjoy it?” Mike asks.

“Hell, yeah! The hype ain’t a lie, buddy. Not saying I’d do it again unless it were one of his personal stash, but that was a real good smoke. ...Still...it wouldn’t be right to celebrate River with Cuban cigars. Lundgren and Rourke did enough to taint her birth.”

“Nothing has been tainted,” Grace says firmly. “She and Alodia both came through it well and healthy.”

“I ain’t losing sight of what’s important,” I assure her. “But I can’t let my guard down, either. ...We all know this ain’t over.”

Grace sighs. “...No, you’re right. It isn’t over. ...Which means...I should probably tell you what I learned in Ireland.”

Diego

I knew that the Catalysts wouldn’t have sat on their hands while any of their own were in danger, but I am surprised to learn just how busy they were during the time that Allie and I were in Arachnid’s claws. I’m even more surprised--and frankly unsettled--by some of the things they learned. Yvonne might be alive. Lundgren flew the same plane that killed Allie’s parents, even though the twisted wreckage of that plane is the property of the NTSB. The whole mess with Allie’s mom, that weird AI message from a program made by Allie’s mom. It all leaves us with a lot more questions than answers.

I told the police everything I felt like I could safely tell them. I went so far as to tell them that I think Everett Rourke might be alive because that’s who our kidnappers claimed they were taking us to. I don’t know if they believed me. I don’t know if the future of the Vaanti is safe. A part of me hopes that they lose interest in the case since everyone who was abducted has been recovered safely. But I also know that none of us are really safe until Rourke is either back behind bars or dead.

Aleister and Estela make all the travel arrangements for those of us going back to California, including my folks and Allie’s. Castor carries me, Allie, Jake, Varyyn, Mike, Raj, Lila, Rebecca, and River. For once, Jake and Mike aren’t going to be flying. Pollux is taking our families. A third plane, smaller but no less luxurious, takes Jake’s parents back to Louisiana. They’re reluctant to leave him. They don’t want to be apart from their son, or their daughter, or their granddaughter. He assures them they can come visit soon, but that their daughter-in-law needs some time to recover first.

At the airport, Allie’s aunt and uncle hesitate to part from her on the tarmac. Allie stands with River in her arms, patiently enduring as Molly smoothes her hair and kisses her forehead, asking if she’s sure Allie doesn’t want her and Rob to wait at the airport in California to drive her home. When Allie insists she’s sure; that Molly and Rob should go ahead and get home so they can rest. Rob says they’ll make sure there are cars waiting for us to take us all back to the house in Laguna.

My parents board the plane before I arrive at the airport. On board the plane, I nestle up with Varyyn on one of the double-width leather seats. I wind my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He kisses the top of my head.

“Are you alright, my love?” he murmurs.

“...I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I’m just...disappointed. I knew my parents weren’t ready to meet you. But I had hoped...I don’t know. I had hoped it wouldn’t be like this. Even if I knew it probably would be.”

Varyyn sighs, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek. “They may yet come around. Or they may not. In the end, it is up to them. All I can promise is that I will love you regardless of their decision.”

“...I love you, too.”

“You guys all set?” Raj’s voice makes me look up. The others are boarding behind us and finding their seats. Jake helps Allie settle in and get her seatbelt on, River still cradled in her arms.

“Are you sure a plane is really the best way to travel with a newborn?” Lila asks.

“When the choices are between a rental car, a train, or a private plane for a cross-country trip, a private plane is hands down the best option,” Rebecca declares. “I mean, if we were on a commercial plane, I’d think twice, since those things are basically flying petri dishes. But this plane has been deep-cleaned, unlike the train. It’s more comfortable than a car, and faster than both the car or the train.”

“Yeah, but what about her little ears? All the pressure?”

“The doctor says that if I nurse her during take-off and landing, that should keep her comfortable. Besides...I just want to be home.”

Home. The word washes through me in a way that comforts me even as it makes me want to cry. Images flash through my mind of the house I share with my husband, my best friend, her husband, and his best friend--and now, my little niece and goddaughter. Watching movies in the living room with Allie. Sharing dinner around the table or out on the balcony. Cuddling with Varyyn in the hot tub in the evening, letting the warm, swirling water sap the energy from my body, and then sliding into bed beside him and drifting off to sleep in his arms. At home, I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to walk on eggshells or worry about losing anyone’s love. At home, I’m safe and free. I meet my best friend’s eyes, offering her a tired smile.

“I’m with you, Allie. Let’s get home.”

Raj

Nothing but the best for my friends, that’s my motto. I came to the house in Laguna Beach to make sure that my friends would have the best care while they needed it, and I waste no time in getting down to business. Alodia, Diego, and Mike need space to convalesce. But with a new baby in a huge house like this, there is a lot to be done. Jake and Varyyn can’t be expected to do everything, and that’s where I and Lila come in.

River is constantly monitored. Whenever she cries, someone is ready to come running to change her diaper, or to bring her to Alodia for feeding. I prepare meals ahead of time that can be easily heated and served, so no one goes hungry. Lila helps me cook and keep the house clean. Alodia’s aunt and uncle attempt to send cleaning and catering services to her at one point, but they end up being politely refused. Lila and I have everything under control, and none of us want strangers poking around here.

Alodia is occasionally moody, snapping at everyone to stop fussing over her, and she can’t wait to be free of this gilded cage and go back out into the world. This is usually followed by tearful apologies, with all of us assuring her that we don’t take it personally. She just had a baby, she’s allowed to be moody. Besides, the moment someone places River in her arms, it seems like everything is right in her world, and everything is right in our world, too.

...Except it’s not. Not entirely.

River is happy and healthy. Alodia is getting her strength back. Diego gets rid of the sling, and Mike starts to get around without the walker again. But underneath the surface, there is still trauma. There’s still fear.

“They’re having nightmares,” I tell Lila one morning as we’re preparing breakfast. She pauses for a moment with a knife poised above an orange before swiftly slicing it in half.

“Is that so surprising?” she asks. She doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but concentrates on making sure the thick, white heart of the orange half in her hand is positioned properly on the cone of the juicer before she presses down and begins to twist. Bright yellow juice splashes down into the container below.

“Well, no. But it is sad. Jake and Alodia especially should be concentrating on enjoying their new baby, not having nightmares and worrying about whether Rourke’s coming back for them.”

Lila pulls the now-deflated orange rind off the cone of the juicer and tosses it on the countertop. Ribbons of tattered orange flesh cling to the inside of the rind. She picks up the other half.

“...Do you ever have nightmares from Mr. Rourke?” she asks softly.

“Of course,” I reply. “Not as much as before, but I think we all have them sometimes. After what we all went through, I think I’d be more surprised if any of us didn’t.”

The twisting of the orange on the juicer slows just slightly. The toaster pops behind me, and I pluck four pieces of perfectly browned bread from the slots to toss onto a plate.

“...I have nightmares, too.”

The butter has been softening on the counter, and my knife slides easily through it. The heat from the toast softens it further, and it spreads cleanly.

“...You want to talk about it?”

Lila shakes her head, picking up her knife and another orange. “No. Not now. They don’t really matter anyway. They’re about things that happened in the past. I’m less scared of them than I am of what happens in the future.”

“Do you mean Rourke’s next move?”

“Of course that scares me. ...But more than that, I’m scared of him trying to use me against all of you again.”

“We won’t let that happen, Lila. You’re safe with us.”

“...But are you safe with me?”

I pause a moment before putting down my knife. I turn to Lila, put one hand on each of her shoulders, and turn her toward me.

“Lila...look at me. ...Has Rourke approached you at all since you’ve been with us again?”

Her eyes widen in what looks like genuine surprise. “What? No, I...that isn’t what I meant!”

I relax just a little. “...Okay.” I slowly take my hands away from her shoulders. “...You’d tell me if he had, wouldn’t you?”

She nods. “Of course.”

“Good. ...Because if he approaches you again, we can help you. We can help keep you out from under his thumb. ...We’re not gonna let him just have you back.”

A weak smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “I believe you.” She hastily turns back to the oranges in front of her. “You should...um...finish buttering before the toast gets cold.”

Overhead, the sharp, piercing cry of an infant rings through the air. I smile. Another morning blending into another day. It’s not perfect. We’ve got reason to worry. But for now, all is well.

Diego

I keep my head down as I move through the halls of my high school, clutching the straps of my worn-out backpack. It’s the same shabby gray one I’ve been carrying since freshman year. I’m a junior now, and the corners near the bottom are starting to fray where the sharp corners of paper-bag covered textbooks have dug into them.

My stomach growls. I skipped lunch again today. My parents were gone to work early again, and I didn’t leave myself enough time to make myself anything this morning. I barely had time to scarf down a banana for breakfast. I didn’t have enough cash for a cafeteria lunch, either, and besides, I preferred spending my lunch period playing on the computer in the library to sitting by myself at the end of a table filled with noisy strangers anyway.

If I can scrape together enough change from the bottom of my pencil case, I might have enough to get a bag of chips from the vending machine before I have to go to my after school job. But for now, my hunger isn’t all that sharp, and I am heading towards English Lit, the only class I currently look forward to.

The class is taught by Mr. Hunter. He also teaches the film-making class I want to sign up for next semester. He’s in his early fifties, and not handsome. He is tall and lanky, with gray-green eyes and a dark helmet of slicked back hair that sits atop a rectangular face. He has one of those mustaches that seemed to be popular in the 1970’s that always make a man look a little sketchy. He wears paisley shirts and slacks, and his voice reminds me of Bert from Sesame Street.

Mr. Hunter is the best teacher I’ve ever had at this school. When we studied Romeo and Juliet, he started off by giving us all a printed-off list of Shakespearean insults. When one girl tried to mumble her way through a line-reading, he shouted, “Put some feeling into it, you saucy wench!”

Mr. Hunter is also gay, and he does not attempt to hide this. When my parents ask about my teachers and which ones I like best, I leave this fact out. If they knew, they would make me switch to another class. Mr. Hunter has a picture of himself with his boyfriend on his desk. I’ve seen it when I’ve gone up to hand in assignments. His partner is bald and ruddy-skinned. He’s not handsome, either, but he has an open, friendly smile. Sometimes, I imagine them kissing. I worry that I have a crush on Mr. Hunter.

On the post of every classroom door is a laminated pink triangle, with a message proclaiming that this is a safe space for LGBTQ students. These triangles are mandated by the school district. Not every teacher honors them. One teacher actually tore hers down and refused to put it back up. She was fired. Last year, two girls were voted “Cutest Couple” in their senior class. I look at the triangles, prominently displayed as I walk into each classroom, and I don’t feel particularly safe. I feel safe in Mr. Hunter’s classroom.

Inside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, two boys from the football team act out a love poem with one of them in a curly blond wig and the bottom of his shirt tucked into his collar to create a crop top. They end with a flourish, with the boy in the wig jumping into the other boy’s arms and goosing him. Everyone applauds their performance, including Mr. Hunter.

Outside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, guys of all stripes growl “faggot” in my direction, and even the girls who are nice to me seem pitying more than anything. There’s a Pride club that meets after school two days a week, but I don’t dare join. I’m slowly realizing I can’t deny the truth anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can just announce it to the world.

I have just enough change to buy a bag of chips after school. I put it in my backpack as I make my way toward the library where I work for a few hours each day. I see Sam Dzugan eyeing me as I pass through the main doors to the school, and feel dread so familiar that it’s almost dull. Of all the bullies at this school, Sam is the worst. He also knows where I work. If he’s bored and hungry for a power fix tonight, I’m in for a rough walk home.

But he doesn’t follow me to work. At the library, I set to work filing back the books from the return cart. As I do, my mind wanders to the same place it always does: Alodia.

Alodia. My ideal friend. I conjure up an image of her beside me. She would be pretty, like all the most popular girls at school. I summon a small, pale figure with blonde hair, big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. I talk with her in my head as I wander the aisles of the library with the return cart. I can picture her cheeky smile as clearly as if she were really beside me. I have spent many years getting the details of her perfect. Early incarnations of her were dark-haired. Green-eyed. Taller. I drew pictures of her. I wrote down her description in a private notebook that I kept under my mattress. But she never felt as real as when I wrote her with golden blonde hair and sapphire eyes.

She laughs at all my jokes as I work the rest of my shift. I forgot to eat the chips I bought, and I’m hungry enough now to start feeling dizzy. ...Alodia would invite me to dinner at her house. A huge, fancy house with a pool, where a chef would have prepared a gourmet meal.

“Don’t worry about Sam,” she would say. “If he gives you any trouble, I’ll fight him off.” ...Because Alodia would be fierce. A fighter. Alodia was a hero. A hero who loved me unconditionally.

Alodia was never meant to be my lover. I wasn’t looking for a lover when I first dreamed Alodia into existence, which is probably why I always imagined her as a girl. I could scarcely imagine having a lover before I had a friend. That was what Alodia was to me. A friend. A friend who would always love me. A friend who I could tell my secrets to without judgment. A friend to fight for me and protect me, who saw value in me, and needed me back.

But my friend is a fantasy. And when I leave work and Sam corners me in the encroaching darkness, Alodia vanishes…

...I wake up with a gasp, bolting upright in the darkness of my room. Beside me, Varyyn grunts in his sleep and rolls over, the moonlight reflecting off his blue skin. I stare at his sleeping form for a moment, trying to take stock of myself. I’m shaking. My pajamas are damp with sweat. I feel cold. I feel sick and empty with fear. I don’t exactly remember what I was dreaming about, but one thought keeps echoing in my mind: Allie. I have to find Allie.

I slip out of bed as gently as I can while I’m still trembling. I don’t want to wake Varyyn. As I slip into the hall, motion-sensitive lights plugged into the sockets near the floor illuminate my path. My dream is still hazy, but bits and pieces trickle back as I shuffle down the hall with my hand on the wall. I was alone. Allie didn’t exist. It was a timeline that I have all but forgotten, and it felt entirely too real.

I need to find her. Or at least evidence that she still exists. The door to the nursery is slightly ajar, enough that I can see the soft glow from the lamp on the bedside table. I peek through the crack in the door and relief floods through me. Allie, bundled up in her robe and slippers, sits in the rocking chair with River in her arms, gently rocking back and forth. I exhale slowly. I should go back to bed, but I am not ready to let her out of my sight yet. I start to push open the door. She gasps a little, looking up sharply.

“Oh, Diego!” She smiles at me, settling back into her chair. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” I whisper back. “...Did I wake up River?”

“No. I just fed her, so she’ll probably be out for an hour or two.” She looks up at me as I come to settle into the armchair across from her. “...What are you doing up?”

“...Bad dream,” I admit. “...About...about you. I had to come check on you or I was never going to get back to sleep.”

I half-expect her to joke about me being a creeper watching her while she sleeps, but instead she sighs. “...I kinda know the feeling.”

“Yeah. I bet you do.”

“You wanna stay up with me for awhile?”

“Yeah. But I feel like I should be telling you to get some sleep while you can.”

“I probably should be sleeping,” she admits. “...But I don’t really want to let her go.”

There’s not really much I feel like I need to say to that. I understand. I don’t think there’s anyone in this house who doesn’t empathize with that feeling in one way or another. Especially now.

“...Diego…?”

“Yeah, Allie?”

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, though her mouth opens and closes a couple times. Then, she swallows and takes a deep breath.

“...I love you. I love you, and I love Jake, and Raj, and all the Catalysts…”

“We love you, too, Allie.”

“...When you imagined me. In that other timeline. When I didn’t come to be until the Island...did you ever imagine my future?”

I can’t help flinching. Her words feel like a cold pinprick at the top of my spine. “...Allie...I...I don’t really remember that timeline…”

“I know. I know. But...it happened. It existed. I was once born to be what you needed. What all the Catalysts needed. ...But now...now I have River. Someone new who needs me. She needs me more than any of my Catalysts.”

“I...I think that’s true,” I say slowly. “...We all love you, and we want you with us. But River is your child. She’s helpless and new. She needs your love and your care and your guidance to survive.”

“...I’m scared, Diego. I’m scared by how much I love her. I’m scared by how much she needs me.”

My earlier fear is being replaced with concern that is entirely for my friend. “...Allie...are you okay? Is this some kind of postpartum depression?”

“I don’t know what this is, Diego. I know that I love River more than I ever thought I could love anyone alive. I would have torn myself apart for my Catalysts without hesitation. I gave up my existence to give my Catalysts the world. ...But I can’t consider that anymore. Because River needs her mother.”

“Oh, Allie. That’s not a bad thing. None of us want you to tear yourself apart.”

“I know. ...But I am afraid of what happens if the world asks for it. ...If I end up at the Threshold again, or a new Raan’losti…” She looks up at me. “...Diego...I think I have to face what’s in the pool shed.”

I feel my blood run cold. I know what’s in the pool shed. The collection of objects that were left for us in the Crystal dimension when we went to rescue Tahira. Including…

“...Are you sure?”

She nods. “...It was left for me to find for a reason. I have to touch the Andromeda idol again.”

#playchoices #choices stories you play #pixelberry choices #Endless Summer #hero

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washymylifeaway · 4 years ago

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SakuAtsu Fanfic recs pt2 leggo

I promised a pt 2 and here it is! Link to pt 1 here :) I was lazy so given summaries (I cped this time, but in the future I might paraphrase), and ofc these aren’t all of the ones I loved, just some :D So in no particular order, have some SakuAtsu <3

As always, pls check WARNINGS, TAGS, and SUMMARIES for fics before reading (esp cause I didn’t put individual warnings PLEASE make sure you’re okay with the content!!!!!!) and make sure you’re taking care of yourselves (since mental health is key!) Stay healthy loves <3

Teach Me, Tune Me, Tempt Me by Anonymous (E) 38.8k // Sakusa Kiyoomi needs to conquer many lifelong fears in order to enter his first romantic relationship. Miya Atsumu is there to guide him every step of the way, even if the one Sakusa desires is someone else.

Flowers Bloom In Our Masks by UnicornFlowers (G) 24.5k // "Mysophobia, also known as verminophobia, germophobia, germaphobia, bacillophobia and bacteriophobia, is a pathological fear of contamination and germs." "You read that off of Wikipedia." "That's the point, Omi-kun. I read up on it fer you."

the art of folding a handkerchief by Emlee_J (T) 5.6k // “Atsumu-san’s just realised he likes Sakusa-san,” Shouyou says simply, as though announcing the weather. “Ahh,” Bokuto nods sagely, standing up straight and nodding his head, as though this was a perfectly normal thing to hear and not monumental in any way. “'Ahh?'” Atsumu protests, indignantly, “what do ya mean ‘ahh?’” “We were wondering when you were going to notice,” Bokuto shrugs, and Atsumu gawps at him. “'Scuse me?” He splutters, and whips his gaze around to Shouyou, who bobs his head at him in confirmation. “How did you two notice before I did?” Atsumu blurts out. "Most people do," Shouyou says softly. -In which Atsumu develops something annoying, like feelings for a teammate, but at least he has a couple of wingmen and Tobio's seemingly infinite resources to help him out.

for whom the heart beats by cielelyse (T) 1.6k // Atsumu's heart keeps skipping a beat whenever Sakusa's around - so often that it's baffling and honestly downright concerning. "I think I might have a medical condition," he says into the phone. "Good," says Osamu, and hangs up.

as you are by papertulips (G) 5.8k // Kiyoomi learns that falling for Atsumu is the easiest thing in the world.

Hide and seek by badreputation (E) 10.5k // It’s just a fleeting infatuation. As long as he pushes through it he’ll manage. So what if nowadays there isn’t a night where he doesn’t dream of Sakusa pinning him down on his own bed, in the shower or make Atsumu go down on his knees in the hallway? Those are just pesky details.

People Will Say We're in Love by tirralirra (T) 9.5k // “Saku...Atsu? What does that even mean?” Atsumu says, squinting at the device. People seem to think that Sakusa and Atsumu are in love, so they come up with a list of things to do to deter that. Maybe it would work...if they weren’t in love.

do not separate! by aalphard (T) 5k // He knows he likes peanut butter and the tuna onigiri Uncle Shamu makes for him. He knows he likes volleyball and the way his daddy looks so, so cool when he’s on court. He knows he likes drawing and playing with toy swords. He knows he likes reading and it’s even better when Atsumu is the one reading for him. He knows he likes to have pancakes in the morning but he also really, really likes tamagoyaki and he knows his daddy can’t make those at all. He tries, but fails every single time. He knows his daddy’s teammates like him and he knows they’ll help him if he wants to play with them one day. But the thing is he likes Uncle Omi-kun more than he likes the rest of them and that is a secret he won’t tell anyone that’s not his daddy. He doesn’t like to make people sad.“Omi?” “Yeah?” “Nao said he likes you more than he likes the rest of the team. Don’t tell’em.” or atsumu is a single dad and kiyoomi can't help but fall for him.

you make my heart burn by myhopeisjhope (G) 9.2k // “What’s up with that awful expression?” Atsumu asked. He leaned against the counter with his hip, looking directly at Kiyoomi, his regular fox-line grin plastered on his face. Kiyoomi made eye-contact with him then, his eyebrows knotting in annoyance, but Atsumu was too interested in the cute pair of beauty marks above Kiyoomi’s eye to care about the glare that was sent his way. “What’s up with that awful hair?” Kiyoomi shot back. And that was exactly when Atsumu decided he liked the guy.

somewhere in the middle (i think we lied a little) by akanemnida (E) 4.3k // “Body worship,” Miya said instantly, after Kiyoomi asked him what he wanted as reward as the winner of their service ace competition. “I can do that,” Kiyoomi said with a frown. “God, you really are the vainest person on this planet—”Miya shook his head, smirking. “Nuh-uh, Omi-kun. I meant I wanted ‘ta worship ‘ya.”(Or: Sakusa and Atsumu and all the blurred lines in between.)

san'yō expressway, 6:17 pm by yamabato (T) 8.1k // Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe. Kiss him again, maybe. They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

affection by papertulips (G) 2.1k // "I gave you the key to my house for emergencies only." “This is an emergency.” “What?” Atsumu pouts, looking up at him with wide eyes that definitely work on Kiyoomi but he will never admit it. “I missed you.”

love could be labeled poison and we'd drink it anyways by myhopeisjhope (NR) 21.3k // "Huh?" is Atsumu's response, and it's seemingly the only thing the man could think of after the minute-long silence that stretched between them. "We should break up," Kiyoomi repeats, more clearly now. He doesn't let any emotion seep into his voice, keeping it neutral and detached, as if breaking up with Atsumu was the easiest thing ever, while in fact it's the complete opposite.

And I'll Ask for the Sea by meeks00 (T) 6.9k // When a couple of his teammates reveal that Atsumu has feelings for him, Sakusa doesn’t react well. It doesn’t help that Atsumu is his typical petty and salty self. --“Come on,” Atsumu is saying in a wheedling tone behind a bright grin. “Just stop,” Sakusa snaps suddenly. “Will you just leave me alone for once? I don’t even like you!”Normally, Sakusa’s words don’t phase Atsumu at all. He’ll talk over Sakusa or brush off any harsh words easily enough and might turn to someone else for the attention he apparently craves. But this time, Sakusa’s words seem to stop him cold, the smile freezing for just a moment on his face.

the Definition of Miya Atsumu, by Sakusa Kiyoomi by orphan_account (G) 4k // Miya Atsumu is a self-centred prick who thinks he's top shit. Underneath the word 'asshole' in the dictionary is a picture of his stupidly pretty face. Sakusa Kiyoomi's definition is, according to him, 100% correct, until he takes a closer look.

i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by liliapocalypse (T) 7.6k // Seeing Sakusa stressed out, Atsumu writes random letters on Sakusa’s skin to soothe him during the team’s assisted stretches. Somewhere along the way, the touches shift from barely tolerable to something Sakusa actively craved for. One day, though, Atsumu accidentally writes a confession instead.

it ain't no matter of 'if' honey, it's just a matter of 'when' by irleggsy (M) 2.1k // With a beer in one hand and an accusatory pointer finger on the other, Sakusa slurred, shouted even, “Atsumu. If you wear those godforsaken cutoff camo jorts one more fucking time I’m breaking up with you.”Atsumu made a noise in his throat caught somewhere between a wheeze and a squawk that came out more of an avant-garde honk noise than anything else. He stared up at Sakusa with wide eyes, a bewildered smile just barely glued onto his face. Or: The MSBY Black Jackals go to a bar. Sakusa likes to run his mouth when he's drunk.

dog eat dog eat dog world by perennials (T) 8.4k // You are your first and only line of defense against the universe.

Who Could Have Seen This Coming? by crone_zone (M) 16.7k // Peering out the side of his eyes at the man walking beside him, Sakusa wondered why he’d impulsively changed his mind about his plans this evening when he’d noticed Miya’s reluctance. Surely he wasn’t worried about this asshole, was he?--In which Sakusa impulsively invites Atsumu over to his apartment when he sees he's upset and something entirely unexpected happens: he realizes he likes this asshole. Cue [off-camera]sex, mutual confessions, insecurity, and adorable losers who are opposite in all the right ways.

Miya Atsumu's unwavering love for Sakusa Kiyoomi and an unholy amount of terrible food analogies that should not have the right to Exist by aiviloti (G) 5.6k // Five times Miya Atsumu talks to (harasses) his friends and sibling because he has feelings for Sakusa and doesn't know what to do or how to deal with them and the one time he talks to Sakusa about it. “How do you make friends apart from showering them in praise?” Atsumu wails one night, and Osamu thinks, oh god, here we go again.

Sakusa's Secret Admirer by TwilaFrost (T) 20.2k // Every day after practice, Kiyoomi finds another letter inside his shoe locker. It's only every signed: -❤ He's determined to find this person. Is it crazy to fall in love with someone you've never met?

take what's yours and make it mine by claudusdiei (T) 5.9k // (this has a second fic hehe) atsumu falls in love four times in his life (or: in which atsumu gets his heart broken twice, has the self-awareness of a sober mule and really likes yellow tulips)

School Bus Yellow by yuuki (G) 4.9k // Atsumu has a crush on Sakusa, and it’s kind of ridiculous how much he likes a guy who wears ugly colored jackets and is afraid of germs.Though, Atsumu’s probably not all that great himself. He’s still figuring that part out.

show me how by emeraldpalace (G) 2.9k // Sakusa isn’t sure when or how it happened, but the fact remains: Miya Atsumu has become a comfortable constant in his life.

touch me (i want you to) by melstar (G) 3.9k // He should have seen it coming, really. Spend six months tip-toeing around the line of domesticity with the team’s resident germaphobe, and there was no way he’d be able to think of the guy the same way anymore. Or, Atsumu touches Sakusa's arm once and thus begins a downward spiral into the inescapable jaws of attraction.

Dreaming of You, Talking About You by kitkatwrites (T) 1.1k // Osamu learns that Atsumu talks in his sleep, especially about a certain wing spiker from Tokyo.

If your world falls apart, I'd start a riot by Serendipity (jenjaemrens) (NR) 3.1k // "It was Atsumu who was the older brother, but it was Osamu who was more protective of him. He would always protect Atsumu from things around them that could hurt him. "Or, the story of Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu through the eyes of Miya Osamu.

but soft what light by min_mintobe (T) 2.1k // "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day, Bokkun—" Atsumu drawls, "—hot. "In which Miya Atsumu woos Sakusa Kiyoomi by (gratuitously, seductively) quoting Shakespeare. One-shot.

sakusa kiyoomi's fixation on (miya atsumu's) lips by catsoncocaine (E) 3.7k // Everything about Atsumu is fucking beautiful, but there is one specific part of his that is like kryptonite for Kiyoomi. It is both his curse and his remedy, rendering him useless and yet egging him on to move at the same time. Kiyoomi hates it as much as he loves it.

The Jacket In Your Closet by dai_naning (T) 8.6k // According to the gossiping players around him, Miya Atsumu is an asshole. He's an incredible player in court and an obnoxious person off the court. He taunts people, points out their weakness, and doesn't give a shit if he's disliked or not. Some even say his teammates ostracize him. Sakusa looks at Miya Atsumu and can only see a player who keeps his eyes firmly forward, demanding the same to the players who want to stay on the court. Sakusa can't fault him for that. (That doesn't erase the fact that he's an asshole though. And that he's still the one who gave a jacket to a stranger.)

sakusa kiyoomi is....an uncle? by miyaudrey (T) 5.9k // “Oh, by the way, my nieces and nephews are going to be there.” “Your what now?” Or, Atsumu finds out three hours prior to a Sakusa family gathering that Kiyoomi is an uncle.

Confessions of a V-League Setter by Anubis_2701 (T) 3.3k // "Never?" Sakusa's lips thinned. "No, never. Now stop talking to me." Or, Atsumu discovers that Sakusa Kiyoomi, germaphobe and reluctant heartthrob of the Black Jackals, has never been confessed to before. He decides to change that.

Touch Me by cajynn (E) 3k // Sakusa actually likes being touched but he's very picky when it comes to who and how. When the who turns out to be Miya Atsumu he has a crisis.

Please Stop Crying by dauwtrappen (G) 2.9k // Friday starts off well until it doesn’t and Kiyoomi can hear something crash, feel something snap inside him when Miya, about to set him up for a quick attack, suddenly starts crying in the middle of their three-on-three. Kiyoomi doesn’t even react when the ball bounces off his head, doesn’t cringe when his face is smushed against the net briefly because he forgets to land in front of the it. He’s too shocked, too appalled with the tears pouring out from Miya’s eyes to care.

I can't take much more of your hesitating by playexodus (T) 2.7k // The curved sides of Atsumu’s pecs peek through that absurd tank top at just the right angle. Sakusa swallows. “Your entire chest is hanging out of that shirt. We’re in public. You could at least pretend to be a decent, morally upright person. Not to mention that this Los Angeles beach boy aesthetic is terrible on you.”Glancing back down at Atsumu’s chest to glare at his sharp, glistening collarbones is a bad idea. Sakusa wills his eyes to stay fixated on Atsumu’s face. As it turns out, this too, is a bad idea. “Oh?” Atsumu turns his half-lidded gaze onto Sakusa, the corners of his mouth curling. “Just to be clear: you’re definitely not enjoying the view then, Omi-Omi?”

curse breaking by allicanseeispink (T) 9.2k // Nearing the fourth hour of the silent treatment, Kiyoomi’s already frayed nerves began to whittle down to their last fibers. Today, it was raining. A proper Tokyo monsoon tantrum just shy of a full-blown typhoon that left puddles on sidewalks and fell from an angle so wicked it eluded umbrellas. It was raining and they haven’t spoken in almost four hours. (In which Sakusa wanders into the minefield that is Atsumu's feelings and tries not to blow things up.)

Summer Special: Omigiri by mika60 (T) 6.9k // Miya Osamu always comes up with the perfect marketing plan for his shop, even if it involves the two biggest idiots he knows.

a list of things sakusa kiyoomi hates by BrenH (T) 7.3k // “Just fuckin’ write shit down so ya remember it then. ”It was probably supposed to be a joke, just Osamu being as annoying and unhelpful as always, just reminding him that he shouldn’t have bothered trying to count on his brother for help. He’s forgotten about the whole thing until a few days later when he’s shopping and comes across a small, black notebook shaped like a cat, and his brother’s stupid suggestion flashes through his mind. Before he knows it, the cute little notebook is dropped in his basket, purchased, and in his possession. Or, the one where Osamu suggests Atsumu keep a notebook to track all the things Sakusa hates that he does, and he takes it further than he means to.

A Challenge, A Cat, and A Confession by Kitaa (G) 6.2k // Atsumu enjoys bothering Sakusa. One day he bothers him enough to be invited over to his apartment, only to discover that Sakusa has a plant, a cat, and a cute laugh.

Multiples Of Two by yuuki (G) 3.3k // He does everything in multiples of two. The day Sakusa Kiyoomi died, Atsumu checked his pulse twenty-eight times. Okay, so Sakusa Kiyoomi has never died. And Atsumu has never been close enough to Sakusa to be able to check his pulse. So what if Atsumu is just being dramatic again? He’s allowed to be dramatic when he’s in love with a man who has less emotion than a rock.

gold rush by sketchedsmiles (T) 18k // When the MSBY Black Jackals sign their newest team member, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Atsumu makes it his personal responsibility to befriend the indifferent player.

got sand in my eyes (and my shorts too, damn you miya) by luxnoctre (T) 4.7k // On one of their rare rest days, Hinata takes the part of the MSBY team to the beach. Chaos ensures. (or alternatively, do not piss off Sakusa when he is in the middle of relaxing)

mortality is found in the flesh of your sins by citronnes (M) 10.6k // dickhead one, sakusa kiyoomi. dickhead two, miya atsumu. neither understand how to communicate. Pray tell, why are you drawn to him?Are you drawn to him in the way he looks beautiful even when crying? When his eyes are red, shiny tears streaking down, lips quivering, is he beautiful?

This was v long ahahaha.... Anyway, is this finished? No LOL, but I’ll just make small additions via reblogs (?) over time. Maybe :) Sorry if you wanted me to ramble on about SakuAtsu,,,, slide into my messages/asks for that LOL. Maybe over time I’ll add the commentary from other posts I make in the future :’)

#sakuatsu #haikyuu fanfic rec #haikyuu fic recs #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq fic rec #anime #manga #sakuatsu fic recs #i'm a lazy person #also if you saw me saying i was gonna post kyouhaba #no you didnt #like i just said #lazy #there are a lot of fics in that one #anyway #all of these are really good #like i couldnt not put them all #ya know?

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insomniamamma · 4 years ago

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Liminal: Ezra and Cee

A/N: Contemporary AU in which Ezra becomes his niece, Cee's caretaker after an automobile accident kills his brother, Damon, and costs him his arm. Same AU as "Ferris wheels are for old people." No reader insert character, just Ezra and Cee on the road. Written for @autumnleaves1991-blog ‘s Writer’s Wednesday.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma/injury. Drug references in a song. Some language. I tried to research body powered transhumeral prosthetics to get some idea of how Ezra's prosthetic arm might work, but then I fell into an overthinking morass, any inaccuracies are mine.

"Willin'" is written by Lowell George. The version referenced in the story is recorded by Linda Ronstadt.

lim·i·nal /ˈlimənl/

adjective: liminal

1.relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process. 2.occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.

--"Willin'"--

"’... been warped by the rain, driven by the snow,’" Cee sings along with the music rattling through the truck's speakers, "I'm drunk and dirty, don't you know. But I'm still willin'..."

The road stretches long and straight in front of them, harsh, rust-colored land dotted with scrub under the arc of an impossibly blue sky. Ezra asked Cee to compile the playlist. You are my co-pilot for this mission, he'd told her, and as such your duties include, but are not limited to, navigator, snack supervisor and DJ. DJ? Really? Make us a playlist, Little Bird, every adventure needs some good road music. And she had really delivered. "’...Out on the road late last night, I'd see my pretty Alice in every headlight, Alice, Dallas Alice...’" Ezra'd expected hours of auto-tuned pop or loud screamy music where he couldn't understand the words, and while there was some of that, Cee had taken her duties as DJ very seriously, creating a huge genre-bending list that all worked together.

He knew a lot of it. When he was still weird Uncle Ezra and not Legal Guardian Ezra, Cee made a habit of pawing through his vinyl collection when she and Damon would visit, picking a record to play and then peppering him with questions about it. Still, some of the tracks she picked surprised him, like this one, Linda Ronstadt's version of "Willin'" a road trip anthem if there ever was one, but something he didn't expect Cee to be familiar with. On their first go through the playlist, he'd asked her, where'd you hear this one, Birdie? You remember that movie, The Abyss? It's in that movie, the director's cut though, not the theatrical cut, the theatrical cut is bullshit--and he'd just listened to her go off about all the things wrong with the theatrical cut, the movie itself he barely remembered, something about divers finding aliens underwater, he'd listened and grinned, Cee could go so quiet sometimes. It was always a relief to hear her sound alive and interested, especially after-- "’And I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari," Cee sings and Ezra joins her, "Tehachapi to Tonopah...’" Cee's voice is sweet. Ezra's voice is not, but that's never stopped him. They've got the windows down. The AC started smelling funny a couple days ago, and, in this part of the world, a breeze to evaporate the sweat is just as good as AC. Cee's hair makes a flyaway halo as they sing-- "’Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made, Driven the backroads so I wouldn't get weighed. And if you give me...’" Ezra and Cee smile at each other, suck in deep breaths for the big chorus, "’...Weed, whites and wine, and you show me a sign...And I'll be willin' to be movin'"

--Petroglyph--

The rust colored forms on pale stone walls peer out at them. Some loom large in the foreground, others recede into the background as if the weathered rock is a portal a window into some other place that lives just below the skin of the world. The back of Ezra's neck prickles. Sometimes the world is thin. Sometimes he feels as if there is a larger world moving and shifting beneath the surface of this one. Sometimes he feels like things are happening out of order, reality stripping and skipping like a loose bicycle chain-- Cee's warm hand creeps into his, "They're a little scary, aren't they?" She says. "Indeed they are," says Ezra, "One has to wonder what they were thinking. What they were trying to say. Are these gods in these pictures? Or just regular men?" "Does it matter?" Asks Cee, and he jerks his head to look at her. She is utterly entranced by the red figures and sigils. "Of course it does," he says, "You don't think so?" "I mean, it matters, I guess, but what matters more is that people made these," she says, "People like us. People with hands. Not that Ancient Aliens bullshit." Ezra laughs. Cee squeezes his hand. "C'mon," she says, "let's see more."

--Rest Stop--

"Hey MOM!," a child's voice snaps Ezra out of his reverie. Cee is in the truck stop, using the restroom and restocking their snack supply. At these stops he fuels up and then gives her some cash and sets her loose inside. And then they stretch their legs and sit outside for a spell. Ezra sits at a picnic bench letting the sun hit his closed eyelids, "MOM! That guy's got a ROBOT ARM! Like WINTER SOLDIER!" Ezra opens his eyes to a little boy, maybe four with a bunch of curly hair and big eyes, pointing at him. "Daniel!" His mother hisses, and pinches at his arm, "That's rude. I'm so sorry. Danny, what did I tell you about staring--" "Ma'am? It's quite alright, Ma'am," says Ezra, and hunkers down so he's eye level with the little boy. "Hi there," he says, "Daniel, is it? I'm Ezra." He offers his right arm, the double hook at the end open, titanium alloy padded with silicone. Daniel solemnly grips the hooks and shakes. "You've got stickers!" Says Daniel, and for a second Ezra is confused, and then he grins, looking down at the bedecked black plastic of his prosthesis. He stands. "My girl decided that I must have a sticker for every state we stop in," says Ezra, he stands and smiles at Daniel's mom, "Like an old steamer trunk. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name--" Cee steps out of the air-conditioned cavern of the truck stop, slits her eyes against the brightness of midday sun glittering up from the concrete, plastic bags full of crap-snacks and energy drinks threaded over her arms. Ezra handed her a couple twenties and told her to go nuts. Re-supply runs have turned into their own sort of game. She always grabs the usual stuff, chips and Snickers bars and Paydays (Ezra has an absolute weakness for Paydays. They don't taste like they used to, he'd griped, but that didn't stop him from eating them), but somewhere along the line, Cee decided to turn this into a battle of the wills. Her unspoken mission is to find something so utterly weird at one of these stops that Ezra won't eat it. So far, she has been unsuccessful. The closest thing was an aloe juice and cucumber drink that smelled amazing, but felt like swallowing cold snot. That one was a draw. She has high hopes for the dill pickle-sriracha gummy worms nestled in the bottom of the bag. The packaging looked like Christmas in hell. More important than the snacks is the plain, flat paper bag she holds. Ezra's near the picnic benches chattering at some lady with a kid. Menace, she thinks, but smiles. Ezra was always the extrovert before, and it's good to him smiling so big and open in the sunshine, making friends with random people at a truck stop. She sees an echo of her and him before, when she and Dad would visit when she was small and he'd tell her some outrageous tale and she'd say Uncle Ezra, you're so weird, and he'd scoop her up and swing her around, planting a prickly kiss on her cheek and saying oh, little bird, you have no idea, and this always made Dad laugh.

"Oh, Ez-ra," Cee calls, and when he turns, he sees her devilish grin, holding a small brown paper bag up beside her face like it's contraband, "Look what I found." "So I get to witness the sacred stickering?" Asks Ezra's new friend. "Indeed you do," says Ezra, "This is Cee. Cee, meet Jody, and that little man playing in the dirt there is Daniel." "Nice to meet you," says Cee, "Stick your arm out, old man." "Don't you want to document this momentous occasion?" "Oh, right," Cee pulls out her phone, "Hey, uh, miss Jody? Can you take some video? I got it all set up." "Cee is documenting our adventures for posterity," says Ezra. He extends his prosthetic, already covered in overlapping ovoids, enough that they are starting to resemble dragon scales, "What do you think?" Cee and Daniel circle round. "How bout here?" asks Daniel, tapping just above the articulated elbow. "That's a good spot," says Cee and peels the sticker from it's backing with a flourish. She smiles up at her phone recording in a stranger's hand, "We have now infiltrated the state of Nevada," she grins, "Evil-doers beware." "Yeah!" Says the little boy, pudgy hands planted on his hips for the benefit of the camera, "Or Winter Soldier will KICK YOUR ASS!" �� "Daniel!"

--Stars--

Cee wakes in the dead of night, disoriented, a darkness so thick that for a moment she's not sure where she is, and then she hears Ezra's rhythmic snoring off to her side, reaches out and brushes fabric of the tent and lays back, puzzled, muscles pleasantly sore from a day spent scrabbling up and down eroded granite boulders that looked like they belonged on Mars or Tatooine, walking trails and marveling at the strange ecology of the high-desert, so unlike back home. Bad dream? She wonders, probably. She feels her eyes getting heavy, feels herself lulled by Ezra's sleep sounds, snores punctuated by mumbles. Sometimes full sentences, his side of whatever dream-conversation he's having. Probably has no idea he does it-- Cee sits bolt upright, hands clutched in fists against her chest, a high-pitched wail cuts the cold night, a sound like a woman screaming, and another wail threads through the first, so loud it could be right outside the tent, and then a sound like gruesome laughter. The back of her neck prickles and her heart pounds in her throat. She tells herself that it's just some wild animal making noise, some desert bird maybe, but wasn't the California desert the last known home of the Manson family? Maybe not this desert, but still-- "Ezra," she hisses, and he mumbles something incoherent, "Ezra, wake up!" She reaches and pokes him hard, "Ezra!" "Whazzit birdie?" "Listen!" The screams rise and fall again like something from a horror movie. "s'just coyotes," says Ezra, "probly next county over. They don't hurt people, they're just loud." "You sure?" "Go back to sleep, Cee."

"Ezra," He's dreaming, some place with Joshua trees the size of skyscrapers, spiked limbs under a red sky. Cee's with him somewhere in the bloodlight but he can't see her, just hears her calling-- "Ezra!" He blinks awake, the red sky receding. Cee is shaking him. "Yuh. M'awake birdie," "I gotta pee," she says. "You know where the outhouses are, just right down the trail," "I'm not going by myself! Not with those things out there!" Ezra pushes himself up and shakes his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He can just make out Cee's form against the faint light of the sky leaking through the tent. "Alright, just gimme a second," he says. "I'll get the light," "We don't need it," he says. "Ez-" "We got night eyes now," he says, "No light pollution out here. You'll see."

Ezra stands transfixed in the chill dark, head cocked upward. The more he looks, the more he can see. More stars than he's ever seen in his life spread across the vast inverted bowl of the sky, no summer haze out here, no light-wash from streetlights. He is dizzy with it, the vast sweep of the sky, and as he stares and his eyes adjust further, he can see the arm of the Milky Way angled across the black, can actually see the dark band of dust threaded through the silver-blue light. He doesn't hear the outhouse door shutting, doesn't notice Cee beside him until she folds his hand into hers. "Look up, Little Bird," he breathes and it feels like a prayer, his heart suddenly full, squeezing in his chest, Cee small and warm next to him. "Oh, wow," she says, barely a whisper, "That's the Milky Way isn't it?" Tears blur the stars and fall hot against his cheeks. "It is." He looks at her, her face upturned, cheeks and hair frosted in star shine, limning her eyes, her smile. They've lost so much, him and Cee, but they've gained each other, and that's not nothing is it? "We're so small," says Cee, "Us. People. This whole planet. All of us. We're just a little dot." Ezra smiles in the dark, even as tears dry in his lashes. He squeezes her fingers in his. "C'mon, let's get back in the tent before we freeze."

--Hoodoo--

Cee sleeps in the passenger's seat. She'd helped break camp and pack everything up even though it was early for her. They had spent an extra night in Joshua Tree and now had to make up the difference. It's time to go home. There are things he wants to do before Cee goes back to school, things they need to take care of. So he woke them early, promising Cee that she could sleep in the car as long as she needed. She'd helped him get ready, half-peeling a couple candy bars and putting them were he could easily reach. "You want the playlist?" She asked, "I can get it going." "Not right now. I want some quiet." “'Kay," and Cee was asleep before they were to the next mile marker.

Hoodoos rise on either side of the highway, striated red cliffs against the slowly lightening sky, cut into improbable formations by long gone rivers, thin spires topped with boulders, first glints of sun hitting the higher cliffs while everything else still exists in that liminal space between day and night. Ezra glances over at Cee, hair in a messy halo, face slack in sleep, cheeks sun-reddened and newly freckled, closed eyes moving, dreaming. Ezra thinks of those first days, wracked with pain and trying to navigate the new, dark-shrowded territory of her and him, each of them crippled by loss, each willing to lash out at the other. Ezra thinks of how far they've come since then, uncurling like relaxing fists and learning to be with each other. They drive into the dawn and the first bit of light touches her hair, turning it to fire. She shifts in her sleep, turning away from that first hint of sun. He doesn't know if she's awake or not. "I love you, Cee." "Love you to, Ez," she murmurs and settles back into sleep. Ezra looks out over hoodoo country spread red tinged and stark against the rising light, the miles of road ahead. We're gonna be ok, he thinks and means it.

#writer wednesday #ezra prospect #cee prospect #contemporary AU #ezra and cee

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softbiker · 4 years ago

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Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader (not Stucky)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: maybe a couple curse words? I don’t remember. Lots of coffee

Summary: Steve is fond of a particular barista. Bucky has a favorite customer. Let’s see where this goes!

A/N: Somewhat inspired by real life events, this is (hopefully) going to turn into a new series! No idea where I’m going with it or how often it will update, but let’s have fun and see where it goes! As always, let me know what you think and thanks for reading <3

It’s July - early morning and already hot - and the door squeaks loudly somewhere over her shoulder as she preps a fresh batch of coffee to brew. She doesn’t look up or turn around, intent on her task, but she calls a distracted “good morning”, along with her coworkers. The humid morning air has left a sticky fog on the windows and doors, on skin and clothes, and it follows them inside, in spite of the air conditioning. She’s already regretting the long-sleeved shirt she plucked from her laundry pile, though it was the only passable shirt she could find and still be in dress code.

“Hey, you got front?” Bea, her supervisor, pipes up over the headset. Her head bobs over the open door of her bar fridge, where she’s counting milk.

With a nod, she turns back around from the brewing machine, putting on her customer service smile as she sees-

“Oh, morning, Steve,” she laughs, her smile blooming genuine. “I barely heard you come in, sorry.”

“No worries,” Steve smiles. His eyes look tired, but she knows hers are as well - it’s 6:30 in the morning and they’re already into their work day. He ducks his head, leaning a hip against the front counter. “I’m quiet, I guess.”

“What can I get for you?” she asks, tapping away at the screen to open her till. “Just the americano with stevia and almond milk?”

Steve chuckles and blushes under the dark stubble on his cheeks, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. It strains the seams of his plain white t-shirt, stretched too tight already across his broad shoulders.

“I’m predictable, huh?” his nose scrunches as he asks, and she drops her eyes back down to the screen in front of her, displaying his order as she rings it up.

“Nothing wrong with that,” she shrugs, pursing her lips in an effort to contain her smile. “Anything else for you?”

“Uh, yeah actually, can I get an iced coffee, too? With a little bit of cream?”

“Sure thing,” with a couple of swipes at the screen she’s got the order rung up. She pushes it through, prompts him to swipe his card, and glances down towards the bar, wondering where her coworkers have suddenly disappeared to.

“Well - I guess I’ll get those ready for you,” she quirks an eyebrow at him as she makes her way down towards the espresso machines, with Steve following along, separated by the counter between them. He watches, her head down, labeling a cup and pulling espresso shots, turning for a stevia packet.

“So,” he clears his throat. “How you been?”

“Oh, you know,” she shrugs. “I’m here - and it’s 6:30. And hot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs. “Tell me about it. I’m already sweating.”

“Same here!” Her face disappears as she bends down to dig in the fridge for a tetra of almond milk. “I mean, I really played myself today - wearing long sleeves. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Wow, rookie mistake,” Steve shakes his head.

She slides the americano out at the end of the bar, after adding a cardboard sleeve to protect against the scalding heat of the water. Their eyes meet over the drink, his fingers just slightly brushing hers even as she spins away and grabs the cup for his iced coffee. Conversation lulls; he clears his throat, takes a small sip of the drink and enjoys the slight burn on the tip of his tongue. She’s fast and smooth, never quite looking at him but never turning completely away from him; he’s in the corner of her vision and she’s the center of his. The cream swirls downward into the iced coffee, softening the color and the taste - though Steve has never been a fan of cold coffees, but he knows how Sam takes it.

“Here you go,” she holds out the iced coffee with a polite smile, plucking a straw from the caddy next to her and extending it in her other hand.

“Thank you-” he trips over whether or not to say her name; he wants to say it, and it’s written right there on her apron, offered on the tip of his tongue. He’d like to taste it. But the leap of familiarity scares him, as it has the last two months he’s been coming in here, and he swallows down the letters. Settles for an answering smile.

“Guess I’ll see ya tomorrow?” he half-jokes, coffees in hand, backing towards the door one step at a time. He watches her head bob as she ducks down to grab a rag out of her sanitizing bucket; she wrings it out and wipes down the counter, sparing him a lifted eyebrow, a sly sideways glance.

“Maybe-” she smirks, swiping an already clean spot on the counter before dropping her rag back in the bucket. “I might be off tomorrow.”

“Might be?” Steve’s head quirks to one side. “You don’t know?”

“Well…I asked someone to trade shifts with me so I could have the weekend off…” she sighs and crosses her arms. “But I haven’t heard back from her, so it’s probably not happening.” Her wry smile is accompanied by a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s just as well, though. This place would probably fall apart without me.”

“Oh, definitely,” he chuckles. “So I guess, maybe I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have a good one, Steve!” she waves as he ducks out the door, bell jingling overhead at his departure. It really is hot today - her cheeks feel warm. Her whole body does, actually; but the cafe is quiet and empty now, the sun just rising over the buildings outside, and she gets a sip of water from the cup she keeps stashed under the front register.

“So how’s your man today?” Bea jokes over the headset. Looking over, she can see Bea’s mirthful expression peeking around the corner from the back of house where she’d been washing whip canisters.

“Yeah, when are you and Steve gonna go out?” Ally’s voice joins in the teasing, innocently sarcastic in her trademark way.

“Come on, guys,” she huffs, glad that neither of them is out front on the floor, where she was unable to hide her smile. “Steve is just a customer. He’s just another nice regular, that’s all.”

“Uh huh. That’s why you giggle every time we bring him up?”

“I do not!”

“Well, you just keep telling yourself that,” Bea smirks, banging through the back of house door with an armload of milk. “But you should know that store is taking bets on when he’ll finally ask you out.”

She chooses not to answer, just rolls her eyes and heads out the front door to set up the patio umbrellas. It’s July, early morning and already hot, but at least there’s a breeze out here - enough to cool the blazing in her cheeks even as she wrestles the umbrellas open to shade the outdoor tables. Her mind drifts away, to Steve’s easy smile and Steve’s breathtaking eyes, and the way he always dropped a dollar or two in the tip jar. Not to mention, the stretch of his white tees across those ridiculous shoulders.

Well, anyway. He is a nice regular. That’s why she enjoys him coming in every day, that’s all.

**********

“She there today?” Sam smirks as he eagerly plunges the straw into his iced coffee, swirling the cream into its depths. He waggles his eyebrows at Steve’s flushed cheeks while he takes the first satisfying sip.

“Yes.” Steve clears his throat, keeping his eyes down on his own drink. They’re sitting in Steve’s office - well, Steve is sitting, safely behind his desk. Sam posts himself in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his feet crossed. He watches his friend’s flustered fluttering behind the desk - Steve shuffles papers, taps on the keyboard of his computer to open his email, moves his coffee to one side of the laptop and then the other.

“Well?” Sam prompts, gleefully swirling his iced coffee, listening to the ice rattle before taking another loud slurp. “You ask her out yet? Give her your number at least?”

Steve scowls up at his buddy over his laptop screen.

“Sam you don’t get it-” he huffs. “This girl…she’s - God, she’s so beautiful, Sam. You know how many guys must hit on her every day? In a town like this?” He shakes his head. “I’d just be another asshole to her; she’d file my number away with all the other guys she’s not gonna call.”

“Whatever, dude,” Sam rolls his eyes. “That’s just an excuse for you to not take a chance on it. You just gonna keep going in there early in the morning and wasting money on coffee you used to brew at home?”

Steve doesn’t dignify that particular dig with a response, instead choosing to take a large swig from his coffee - he had to admit, she made a damn good cup. Simple as it was. But he knew, as many excuses as he made, he was addicted to more than just the espresso; her sweet smile perked him up in the mornings the way caffeine just couldn’t quite cut it.

He’d been going into the cafe at the crack of dawn for at least a month now. Sam practically begged him once to go out for an iced coffee, an early morning at the end of May, and with a sigh he’d agreed, though he complained loudly about wasting money on expensive coffee shop brews when he preferred to make his own in the coffee pot sitting three feet away from his desk.

The bell dinged over the door, the sun already streaming through the windows at the early hour, summer flushing full and bright. Familiar coffee shop sounds and smells carried across the empty cafe as he strolled in, hands in his pockets, taking in the quaint tables and mismatched chairs, an overstuffed sofa invitingly empty in one corner. Cute. He shuffled towards the counter, not really looking, till he heard a voice welcoming him in and-

She turned around from the brewing machine behind her, smiling soft and brilliant, her eyes a 6 am combination of sleepy brightness, caffeine buzzing in her own veins already.

One hit. That’s all it took to get him hooked.

*********

Her shift couldn’t have ended soon enough. The bright sun and gorgeous summer weather had her itching under her apron, aching to get outdoors in spite of the heat. Every few minutes it seemed she turned to the register to check the time, or slipped her phone from her pocket. Never quite time, never quite close enough. Until-

“Okay, if you’ll just wipe down the bar, you’re good to go,” Nat sighs as she ties her apron, looping the strings around her waist and knotting it in the front. Nat usually takes afternoon and evening shifts, so they haven’t gotten to know each other well, but there’s something about the redhead that she both likes and fears.

With a little whoop of joy, she whirls around to her bucket and grabs the rag for the last time (today at least) and wipes away the splashes of syrup, coffee, and milk that have accumulated over the course of her shift. The counter is a little sticky, but a little elbow grease dissolves the tacky syrup puddle, and with a flourish she stows her carton of coconut milk in the fridge under the counter, tosses her rag back in the bucket, and flashes a peace sign to the other baristas on the floor.

“Alright, I’m out you guys!” she calls, already tugging her apron over her head. Her tote bag hangs on a hook in the back of house, and she rolls the apron up into it before stepping over to the computer to clock out.

“Whatcha doin’ this afternoon?” Bea is off now as well, having handed off the keys to Nat, and was tucking her own apron into her backpack, her Juul sticking out of one corner of her mouth.

“Mm. It’s such a beautiful day…” she sighs. “I think I’m going to go read at that new place I like, get a cold brew, maybe sit outside.”

“Leaving this coffee shop and going to another one?” Bea laughs, taking a hit off her vape, a little cloud puffing in front of her face. She’s not supposed to have it inside the building, definitely not supposed to use it inside at least, but the current manager hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to tell her to stop, so she carries on as she pleases.

“Gotta support local business.” She swings her tote bag up on her shoulder, regretting her habit of stuffing it so full that it’s uncomfortably heavy, and then she’s on her way out the door. “See ya later!”

Besides being a proud supporter of local businesses, she’s also totally addicted to the Garage - the other café and pub she frequents whenever she gets the chance. Their cold brew? Smooth and chocolatey. Their patio? Perfectly shaded and comfortable. Their vibe? Grunge-y without being dirty, hipster without being pretentious. She’d loved it from the first moment she stepped inside on her afternoon off, looking for an iced drink and a cozy spot that wasn’t her own home. What she found? A near-perfect coffee shop with amazing sweet potato fries.

“Oh, hey welcome in!”

Well. And there’s that, too.

“Hi, Bucky - how’s it going?” she smiles at the barista and bartender behind the counter, who is currently stocking the pastry case with an assortment of mouthwatering scones. His hair is swept up in its usual bun, and his mechanic’s shirt is tucked into a pair of black jeans, the short sleeves rolled over his biceps to reveal one flesh arm bearing a full sleeve of tattoos, and one gleaming polished prosthetic.

“Oh, it’s going,” he shrugs, a little bashful. He wills his eyes back down the the pastries at hand, though it’s hard with the way she smiles, hands in the back pockets of her shorts as she approaches the counter.

“Been busy today?” she asks, giving the menu a customary glance, though she’s too far gone on their cold brew to ever order anything else.

“Not too bad, no,” he shakes his head, sliding the glass panel behind the pastry case shut and tossing paper box from the bakery in the trash bin. “Little bit of a rush earlier around lunch, but nothing like what you guys get in the mornings.”

“Oof, for your sake I hope not,” she shudders. “The morning rush is wild, you’ve got no idea.”

“Oh, I’ve got some idea, I’ve seen that drive thru line,” he smirks, leaning his elbows on the counter. Unconsciously she takes a step closer, leaning against the other side of the wood, a mere couple of feet between them.

“I’m literally triggered by the words ‘drive thru’,” she says, with an exaggerated eye twitch that makes him laugh.

“Alright, alright, I won’t bring it up again, my bad,” he raises his hands in supplication, an almost prayer, watching her nose wrinkle and rearrange the pattern of the freckles there.

“Well, anyways, can I get a cold brew, please?” she sighs, looking at him under her lashes.

“You got it,” he nods, tapping the counter. “Perfect day for it, too.” They both glance out the wide front windows of the café, where the patio furniture is arranged under a well-shaded awning strung with criss-crossed globe lights. In the midsummer afternoon, it’s a perfect place to be lazy in public, to sip a drink and read, to pretend to be the sort of person who gets to do those things in the middle of the day.

“It is,” she sighs, looking wistfully at the patio.

“You can go on and get a seat,” he lowers his voice as a couple new customers shuffle into the café. “I’ll bring it out to you.”

“Oh, you sure?” She glances around, noticing that he seems to be the only staff member here. Their shop is laughably less busy than hers, able to survive on a single barista for any length of time during the day, but she still doesn’t want to make more work for him. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“Nah, it’s no problem,” he smiles, dimpling his scruffy cheeks. “I’ll have it out in a minute.”

She’s back out the door and at her favorite table; he can see her from his place behind the bar, with her feet tucked up on the sturdy outdoor ottoman, her bag stuffed under her chair and book already cracked open in her lap. She’s not looking at the page, though - the beautiful day seems to distract her, as she lifts her face into the breeze and stretches her legs out further across the ottoman, spreading out to catch even more of the sunlight.

Wanda hip checks him as she breezes through from the kitchen, having come in through the back door.

“Your girl here today?” she teases, raising one brow suggestively. Bucky scowls at her, embarrassed and flustered and a little guilty.

“She’s not my girl, Wanda,” he corrects her. “She’s just a customer.”

“Pretty regular customer,” Wanda shrugs.

“Doesn’t mean anything. We’ve got plenty of regulars.”

“No other regulars that you look at like that.”

He doesn’t respond. Turning his back on her, he takes a straw from the condiment bar and grabs the cup of cold brew he just poured, and stalks around the counter towards the door.

Wanda stands in the kitchen door, a bin full of dirty dishes under her arm, and watches as he crosses the patio, tucking one hair behind his ear and smiling at the sweet girl with the book in her lap. The girl smiles back, squinting in the bright summer sun, and laughs at something Bucky says, while Buck ducks his head and shoves his hands in his front pockets. He lingers, lingers far longer than required for delivering a single cup of cold brew.

Yeah, sure. She’s just a regular, alright.

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