#i tried to steer away from just flat out Rambling and make it at least a little bit readable lmao

[lostgirl677]

Revenge Part.5

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Part.4

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N and the Winchester brothers are on the trail of a mysterious werewolf, but who knows where this may lead them? Another successfull hunt or a more serious mess?

Later in the day, we decided to keep looking for Joe and Glen Kyle by looking in Glen’s building and if possible the basement.. We were back in the car with Ramble On blasting, but Dean wasn’t singing. He was just telling stupid jokes. That was weird because usually we were his audience while he did his best performance of this song. But not here. Sam threw me a look in the mirror. Even though he was smiling like a goof, I knew something was not right. Something was definitely on Dean’s mind and it troubled him, I could tell. He was just trying to distract his mind. I wanted to confront him so bad. But it was not the right time, nor the right place. So I just asked “What’s the plan again?” Dean used the rearview mirror to look at me and said “ First, we go to the morgue and ask to see Glen’s file in the archives. Then, we go to his ancient building, we’ll tell them that we are looking for asbestos or crap like that so we’ll need to check the whole building to find clues about that son of a bitch.”

I furrowed my eyebrows a bit. “Why would he still live there? He could just have left and changed his name. Are you sure it is a good idea and not a total waste of time?” His green eyes were no longer on the road but solely on me. “I know that if he’s alive, he probably won’t live in this flat anymore, Y/N. But there might be a chance that he’s still around. We can’t reject this possibility. We’ll also look for Joe and maybe Zeke, too.” His tone became oddly calm. “Okay. If we find him, Joe or Glen I mean, what do we do? Try to kill them on the spot, without questions asked?” The green of his eyes became darker. “We can’t let them live one more second knowing what they did to innocent people.” I could see his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. This time, Sam said “ Dean! We need to know their motivations, about their scheme, we need to…” It seemed that Dean completely snapped at these words. “And what your fees will be Doc, huh?! We’re not here to play shrinks! I don’t care about their motivations! I don’t want to hear about it! We have to kill them right away!” Dean was screaming at this point. For the only answer, Sam just threw him a dirty look but it contained everything he wanted to say to his brother.

A heavy silence fell in the car and the tension soon became unbearable. I regretted a bit to have asked this question. I must admit that I agreed with Dean but I couldn’t take part in this.The rest of the trip was dead silent. Even without a single word from them, each look they threw at each other seemed full of unspoken anger. I really hoped that our federal roleplay would ease the tension at least a little bit. Once we arrived at the morgue, we all got out of Baby and tried to look professional. 

As always, Dean used his charm to get us Glen’s file. Much to Sam's exasperation. They left us alone while they went for lunch.We were all seated in the archives with multiple pieces of the files in our hands. “So, it implies the 3 gunshot wounds in the chest Dean inflicted on him. And also a cicatrized bite mark on the back of his neck.” said Sam, showing us the pictures of the corpse. “It also mentions that the bullets were made of silver. The death occurred between midnight and 1 AM.”  Dean sighed and Sam put the file back on the table. “Do you think that means that he is really dead?” asked Dean. “Maybe not. The silver of the bullets could have slowed the healing process and once they were out, he regenerated himself.” said Sam. “Okay. That could make sense. But what about the forensic? He would have noticed something.” I asked. 

Then Dean replied “Except if he was an accomplice. But that doesn’t make sense. I think he is completely dead and that we wasted precious time..” We all sighed. Our main lead seemed to be a waste of time. “ It means that we are left with Joe. But we also have to find Zeke.” said Dean, rubbing his temples. “Do you really think that there is a link between these two? Joe and Glen, I mean.” I asked. “Well, maybe. We can’t be sure of anything. After all, if he knows about Supernatural, he might have read the books and took the name of a fellow werewolf to lead us in the wrong direction.” replied Dean. I saw something in Sam’s eyes, as if he was irritated that such a smart reflection came out of Dean’s mouth instead of his. I guessed that he was still a bit mad about earlier in the car. “I guess it’s time to go to his old flat. Joe might have left another ridiculous bait for us, but it could also help us.”

After a quick trip to the motel to change our costumes,  we finally  arrived in the neighborhood in the middle of the afternoon. Sam and I were already in costume to pass as asbestos inspectors, while Dean was in more casual clothes. It seemed like a nice suburban place. Not the kind of place where you'd expect a werewolf to be on the loose. As we walked, I noticed a realtor’s bench. Their names were Evelyn Taylor and Phil Bixby. “Hey, guys.” I said. Both Dean and Sam turned their heads toward me. “Have you seen this?” Dean glanced at the picture and said “Guess we might run into them. I’ll take care of this.” He flashed me a seductive smile. I couldn’t help but blush just at the sight of his smile. Sam rolled his eyes and said “Alright, Casanova. Y/N and I are going inside and we’ll tell them that we come to check asbestos.Then we go look for his apartment and the basement. While you do your ‘thing’. We’ll meet in front of the car.” As we walked away from him, I waved at Dean and, after hesitating,  he vaguely waved back. I didn’t know why but he seemed at war. Sometimes close to me, sometimes aloof. Something was wrong, it wasn’t my imagination.

Sam and I stepped inside the building. It was quite charming. But I didn’t have the time to look properly when an attractive woman came to us. I recognized her, it was Evelyn Taylor. She smiled at us and asked “Hello. What can I do for you?” “Uh, we’re Chris Holmes and Alice Cooper from American Air Testing. We’re here to do an asbestos test.” She seemed to be surprised and said “But we never asked for your services.” I was quick to say “Your colleague, Phil. He called us to schedule a test. Maybe he forgot to tell you? It doesn’t surprise me. He seems very forgetful ” She seemed to doubt. My stress level got higher when she retorted “I’m calling him and..” But she never finished her sentence. Dean appeared and threw her a bright smile. She suddenly forgot about us. She just threw us a set of keys and went all over Dean. “Hello, Sir. What can I do for you?” She was basically swooning over him. He smiled even more and said “I’m looking for a flat. Maybe you could help me?”. She giggled, grabbed him by the arm and walked away as if Sam and I weren’t even there. “So, we go to his flat first?” I asked Sam. “Guess so. I don’t know if we’ll find anything but it’s worth a shot.” He replied while shrugging his shoulders. We both headed to apartment number 1.

“Found anything?” asked Sam from afar as I closed the closet. “Squat. You?” I replied. “Same”. He said as his voice sounded closer to me. “Apparently, this flat was unoccupied for quite a long time.” I said as I tried to get rid of the spider web stuck in my hair. Sam gave me a hand to get the web out of my hair. “We already looked for every nook and cranny here. I guess we’ll have to go to the basement now.” He said. I looked one last time at the whole flat. Then I said “Okay, let’s go.”

We were now going to the basement. It was bigger than I thought. As we tried to find Glen’s box, I felt a feeling rising in me. Even though I had to stay focused on our case, I couldn’t help but feel a bit angry at this Evelyn Taylor. And Sam seemed to notice. “What’s going on?” he asked. I was about to say “nothing” but I needed to get it off my chest. “Have you seen her, simpering over him like a schoolgirl? Drives me crazy!” Sam just chuckled. “Uh oh, looks like someone’s jealous.” I could feel my cheeks getting warmer. “It’s not funny and I’m not jealous.” Sam threw me an amused look. “Okay, I’m jealous. What do you think he’s saying to her?” Sam shrugged and replied “The usual crap he uses on almost every woman I guess. But don’t worry too much, you know how it always ends up.” I sighed and said “I know. But this time, it’s different. Dean’s different. Something’s not right.” This time, it was Sam’s turn to sigh. “You’re still on that? His supposed sudden weirdness? Listen, Y/N. I know my brother. He can be weird but it doesn’t mean a thing, okay? Now try to focus, please.” This time, I was angry. I turned to face him and said “No. You, listen to me. I can feel that something changed when he came back and I can’t put my finger on it. He’s not like the Dean we know. He still does his jokes and all, but it feels different.” 

Sam looked a bit taken aback by my sudden outburst. He seemed to think for a bit, then asked “What if Dean was a shapeshifter? I mean, you said it yourself. He still acts like himself but something is weird, not like his usual self.” This suggestion surprised me, to say the least.  “You’re sure, Sam? Maybe something simply happened? But a shapeshifter? I don’t know. I mean, first a werewolf and now a shapeshifter? It would be too much. Maybe you’re exaggerating a bit?” “You’re the one who’s obsessed with his behavior. We’ll just have to be careful. Maybe something happened but that doesn’t rule out the shapeshifter possibility.” I tried to think about it but this possibility was scary because it meant that the real Dean was trapped somewhere in the city. But at least, he was still alive.”Hey! I think we’re near Glen’s box.” I said in an attempt to change the subject.

As we opened the metallic door, clouds of dust flew in the air. We both cough and put our arms before our faces. I switched the light on and discovered just a few cardboard boxes in the back. Probably stuff nobody reclaimed. I looked at Sam and said “ Time to snoop.” We then began to open the boxes. It was filled with clothes and various trinkets. But nothing relevant. “There’s nothing here.We should find Dean,” said Sam while getting closer to the door. I then noticed another box. “Wait, Sam. There’s another one. Maybe it contains the answers we’re looking for.” As I lifted it, I found something interesting. “Sam! Come here, I think I found something.” Indeed, it was interesting. It was a trap door leading deeper under the building. There were deep claw marks on it. “What is it?” Asked Sam. “It looks like a door to somewhere deeper. Hold my lamp.” I said, handing him the lamp as I tried to open the trap door. It was stuck by the rust. “Do you think you can help me open it?” I asked Sam. He nodded his head and began to try to force it to open . After a lot of effort, the trap door gave in and we were able to open it. Sam glanced at me and asked “You want to go in there? You don’t want to check that box first?” I shook my head. “We have to check this first.” I grabbed my flashlight and without another word, I jumped into that black hole.

As I landed hard, more dust flew around. “You okay?” Asked Sam from above. I managed to answer “Yeah.” between two coughing fits. I soon heard Sam jumping behind me. I switched my flashlight on and began to scan the area. There were even more claw marks on the floor and the brickwalls. But the beam of my lamp reflecting on something else caught my attention immediately. Broken chains. There were broken chains still firmly attached to the wall. Someone definitely knew that Glen was a werewolf. I turned my head and called Sam. A dim light suddenly lit the room. Sam just switched the light on. When he arrived next to me, I said “Have you seen this? Those chains were certainly to hold Glen when he transformed into a werewolf. And apparently, he broke free. Someone knew that he was a werewolf and they helped him.” He just hummed and walked away to inspect further. I was sweeping the area with the beam of my lamp when Sam suddenly arrived in front of me. ”Do you think that…” I didn’t have the time to finish my sentence. Sam’s eyes flashed with a silver glow when my flashlight shined on him. He was a shapeshifter! I tried to grab my silver dagger but he jumped at me. 

This made my dagger fall on the floor. He then tied me to the wall with another set of chains that I didn’t notice. “Tks, tks, Y/N. I’m really disappointed. And you’re supposed to be an experienced hunter? A shame, really…” He said with a sassy laugh. “Who are you?!” I spat. He came closer and replied “So, little Y/N can’t recognize me? I’m a bit upset. But to your defense, the last you saw me, I wasn’t looking like that.” He came even closer and whispered in my ear “I still remember the smell of the cocktails you almost spilled on me at the convention.” I tried to fight against the restraints. What was he talking about? Then realization struck me like thunder.  He was the guy I bumped into. “You followed us? Why? What did you do to Sam?” He smirked and said “Easy tiger. Of course, I’ve followed you. Ever since Lebanon, in fact.I didn’t want to at first but Joe was really persuasive. When he mentioned the Winchester, I couldn’t let this occasion go. And to answer your last question, Sam is somewhere where you can’t find him. At first, I wanted to take Dean. But the diner was too crowded last night. It was easier with Sam this morning. That guy comes running every morning at hours where practically no one’s around.” I looked at him in the eyes and spat on his face. His smile faded quickly and he squeezed my face in his hand, making me wince a little. He suddenly scrunched his face as if he was in pain, opened his eyes, smiled again then told me “You know, Sam told his brother about your ridiculous feelings for him. And Dean laughed his ass off. Dean recently told him how much he loved to toy with your heart, how powerful it makes him feel. I should have taken Dean’s appearance, it would have been better. Just to see your little heart shatter” I knew he was lying but it stung nevertheless. I knew that Sam would never do such a thing to me.

I finally asked “What do you want?”  “Oh, I just want to have some fun.” He replied with a demented smile. I never thought that Sam’s face could ever become scary. He came closer to me and whispered in a secretive tone ”Did you know that the books imply that your love for the elder Winchester is one-sided?” He was so close that I managed to kick him in the knee. He didn’t even flinch. He just looked down at his knee then lifted his head. His smile sent shivers down my spine. “Oh oh, it seems like I struck a nerve.” I tried to throw him the most murderous glare I could.”Don’t look at me like that. Not my bad if nobody loves poor little Y/N” I knew that he just wanted me to crumble. But I would never give him this satisfaction, not if I could help it. “You can say whatever you like, I don’t care. I know that you are here to separate us, to cause distrust and to make us lose our time. As soon as we get Sam, you're dead, asshole.” He faked indignation. “Wow, easy with the insults. Now I see why nobody loves you. You’re a killjoy.” He said as he tapped my cheek. He then checked his watch and said “Anyway, I have to go. I wasn’t glad to finally meet you. But business is business, dear.” With that, he threw me the hardest and the most painful blow I’ve ever received in my life. I just had the time to see him running away before losing consciousness.

@deans-spinster-witch @hobby27

Part.6 soon

[azurajay]

I would like to know anything about the ocs u are willing to share who are they where are they from why does one of them have a tail why so many crosses

OHMYGODD HI HELLO HI I HONESTLY DID NOT EXPECT AN ASK AT ALL FROM THAT UEUEUE you are also literally my first ever ask so thank youu u so much for that im so excitedhsjdfgjkfjg

This might end up a long post so apologies in advance, I will try to keep it minimal ksdjk

OKAY okay so the baker lady in the first drawing, her name is nancy, she is the one with the tail<3 she's a mermaid!! if youve ever seen the tv show h20, her mermaid abilities are like that, in that if she touches an amount of water she undergoes the transformation. but unlike in h20, she was a mermaid First before she was human, she just lives more as a human now because she wanted that experience instead, and runs a lil bakery :DD

she wears the bandana on her head to cover some of her hair post-mermaid transformation, because it turns her hair Pink and it takes a day or so to go back to brown again. she also gets scales that show up on her skin, so she dresses accordingly after she's spent time as a mermaid so that they're hidden sjdkfgj but her group of friends help to keep her secret too :]

the whole story is set on this (made up) tiny island just off the south-ish UK coast in the 80s (but both time and place are kept relatively vague throughout), and that's where all of the characters are from!!

as for the crosses, one of the staple centre pieces of the island is the church!! pretty much everyone on the island was brought up religious, but in the story, one of the main characters (elias) and any of the other teens/young adults who are also on the religious side focus more on the saint of the church, st. eudocia. this leads to some uh,,, Interesting characters, one being the man with the cross earrings at the centre of the poster plan drawing (his name is greysen), who has a slight obsession with the saint figure and is attempting to reach immortality to be on her level !! fun !!

this causes a wholeee lotta trouble which is essentially the domino for the overarching plot so i simply will not go into all of that, but basically the boy in front of greysen (elias) is lead to believe his brother teddy (the guy Behind greysen) is dead/has been killed, and funky murder mystery shenanigans ensue :DD

(elias actually ends up being sort of "chosen" by st. eudocia, much muchhh to greysen's anger (which again leads to trouble) but elias has always looked to eudocia for guidance and to praise so it's sweet. she's got his back.)

teddy is also the one with the glasses in the first pic, and he's with jackie - i imagine that's not long after him and jackie meet, and teddy's taken him over to see nancy, who's one of his rly good friends!! :DD

then the second pic is during a moment when nancy is having a Rough Time following the news of teddy's death, and lars shows up to check on her, and they have a moment of quiet together as lars helps her bathe. they make me soo :((((

I JSUT REMEMBERED I HAVE THIS IMAGE okay so here is a Labelled Diagram of who everyone is :DD

greysen is the leader of the little evil-doers gang, consisting of pippa, sadie, and harywn, and then teddy is the leader of the little good guys gang consisting of lilith, nancy, lars, and jackie :D (both gangs need official names i just simply cannot think of anything yet <\3)

lilith is teddy's longterm childhood bestie, and they end up partly framed for teddy's death, which (alongside teddy's disappearance) is cause for turbulance btwn teddy's lil group - which is also something that plays into that second drawing with nancy and lars :(

BUT this image completely misses out elias' childhood best friend, toni, who is the most endearing little guy<3 the two of them spend an obscene amount of time together, and they work on dumb lil pranks and projects all the time. (this,,, gets offset by the disappearance of teddy, and the introduction of a new friend that toni makes, alongside greysen-induced-factors, drives the two apart at the lowest part of the story, but Fear Not because i hate sad endings, everything gets resolved<33)

this is her!! :D

okay now in favour of keeping this from getting any longer than it is, i will end it there, but i need you to know that pippa and sadie are in love. that is all.

but also seriously thank you so much for the ask, i really didnt expect anyone to see the post at all, let alone send an ask, so it means a wholeee lot ;-; thank you for lettin me ramble about my funky little guys :]]]

[cherry-lipbalm]

survival of the fittest. spencer reid.

5.3k words.

masterlist

“ If they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them. ”

three hours earlier

Y/N was ready to go home - more than ready. They'd gotten back from a hard hitting case in Boston, touching down by early afternoon meant they were expected back at the HQ, which henceforth meant piles of paperwork were in their future. Y/N knew her complaining would only go reprimanded by Hotch, so she kept to herself in her cubicle, shoved into the corner of the bullpen, and desperate to get the documents out of the way.

Over the scribbling of her pen, she heard the mutterings of Morgan and Reid's conversation beside the latter's desk not too far away from her own. She sighed in defeat, because she knew she wouldn't be able to resist joining them, especially when the opportunity arose to take the mickey at Spencer.

When it did inevitably arise, she pushed herself away from her desk and allowed the wheels on her chair to escort her over to the men. At the sound of jagged rolling, Morgan stepped aside to make space for her to insert herself, a snide smug painted on his face.

"Did I just hear the word 'Spencer' and 'girl' in the same sentence?" She asked, leaning on the armrest to shove her shit-eating grin into Spencer's face; he only rolled his eyes and gave an insincere 'ha ha'.

"Your ears did not deceive you, baby girl," Morgan said, receiving a smack on the arm from Spencer. The warning stare he gave him almost made Y/N stop pestering him. Only almost.

"Oh my! Spill the beans, who is she?" Y/N gushed, steering her chair even closer to the Doctor while Morgan watched on amusedly.

"There isn't a she," he grumbled, head bowed to his paperwork in the hopes that if he ignored the Agents they'd just go away.

"...a he?"

"No!" Spencer exclaimed, snapping his head upwards.

"Hey! It's no skin off my nose, Spence."

He groaned, then turned back to his work and allowed for Morgan and Y/N to exchange a glance as they both tried to hold back snickers at their friend's flustered existence.

She stayed huddled around with them for a few more minutes, but as soon as she saw the clock hit 5, she jumped from her chair and kicked it back to her desk. Announcing that she was off, she began to gather and pack her things. While she did so, she heard Spencer make the same announcement.

"You're off earlier than usual," she called back, "let me guess... Doctor Who marathon?"

Spencer's smile gave him away; Y/N chuckled and draped her coat over her shoulders, standing by his desk while he adjusted his satchel.

"Busy man," she commented, then proceeded to listen to whatever sci-fi related ramble Spencer was emitting, interjecting with exclamations of intrigue or surprise whenever she deemed suitable (they were all timed guesses, but she didn't waver once).

"...Christopher Eccleston is actually the second favourite, despite the fact that a lot of people skip his season, but he has a 52% popularity–"

"Wait, why do people skip his season?"

"Oh, because he preceded David Tennant. He's the favourite, with a 69% popularity."

"Ha, 69," Y/N muttered under her breath with a crude smirk. Spencer only gave a restrained smile and raised his eyebrows. The two fell into a silence, except from a 'thank you' Y/N said softly when Spencer opened the door for her.

The elevator button illuminated under her touch, and they stood in front of the steel doors, awaiting their opening. Y/N tapped her foot senselessly, and Spencer rolled on the balls of his heels.

In amidst the silence, Y/N looked up to Spencer and they exchanged a warm smile. The beep of the elevator distracted them, and after stepping aside to let people out, they ambled in and finally relaxed when the doors closed on them again.

"Today was relentless," Y/N sighed, checking her watch.

"Have any plans?" Spencer asked, out of courtesy.

"Well, I have to head to the repair store to pick up my phone, but after that there's leftover Chinese food in the fridge with my name written all over it," she chuckled.

"What happened? To your phone?"

"Morgan happened," was all she said. Spencer joined in on her judgement even though he didn't know the story, he did know that 'Derek Morgan' was simply a reason in itself that didn't warrant an explanation. Then, they lulled in the return of silence.

It wasn't until the elevator jerked and came to a sudden stop that the two spoke again.

"That's not right," Spencer muttered, and he immediately began to jab at the ground floor button before Y/N smacked his hands away, because she was already deep in a panic, so it was even worse when the next astounding jerk hit. She screamed when they were thrown off balance, and hoped she hadn't got a concussion from where she collided with the back wall upon the motion.

"What the hell?" She panted. They came to a still, but it made her even more nervous because she knew they hadn't been in there long enough to reach their floor. That, and the fact that they had just ripped through the air at about a hundred miles per hour.

Spencer's eyes furrowed, and he licked his lips in the way he did when he was focused on something. Judging by the way he assessed the doors, Y/N thought he was about to pull some thwarted stunt, or more likely reel off some facts about steel.

"I think something's wrong," he mumbled.

"No shit, Sherlock,"

"Ah, elementary my dear Watson," Spencer replied so quickly that Y/N was almost inclined to believe it made any sense.

"Did you know that Sherlock Holmes never actually said that? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle never wrote those words, they were only adapted into the movies years later-"

"Oh my god, Spencer, are we stuck in this elevator?" Y/N shrieked, her knuckles whitening under her tight clutch of the hand rails on the wall: half from fear and the other from frustration.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I think so."

Upon Spencer's bluntness, she stepped forward, desperate for any attempt of an escape plan, she began pressing the ground floor button repeatedly; when that didn't work, she resorted to aimlessly smashing all the buttons on offer. 

"That's– that's really not gonna do anything," Spencer said in the background.

"Do you have a better idea?" She snapped, turning to him with a glare before resuming her actions.

"Try the - try that one!" He pointed to the red button with an alarm bell engraved on it, and Y/N felt stupid under his stare for not noticing it before. She pressed it, and the ringing noise that emitted from it seemed to do nothing but that: ring. She was certain someone was supposed to come to their aid through a speaker, so she pushed it continuously, but derived nothing further. At least she gained some comfort in the panic of Spencer's voice that told her he was shitting himself as much as she was.

"It's not doing anything!" She cried, and when he leaned over her and pressed it too, she bit her tongue and raised her eyebrows to tell him 'see?', infuriated at the fact that he thought she could be somehow pushing a button wrong. But, then again, she'd have been even more angry if he'd done it and it had worked.

When it didn't, she alternated to the next best thing.

"Help!" She yelled, slamming her palms against the doors. She didn't know what floor they'd been wedged at (or even if they were just floating in some space between levels), but someone had to hear them; they were bound to...right?

Spencer seemed to think so at least, because he was joining her in pounding his fists on the steel. Sooner rather than later, the harsh echo made Y/N's ears ring, so she stopped and took a step back.

"Well, this is great," she sighed, slumping in a lean on the wall as she rubbed her temples.

"I'm gonna miss Doctor Who," Spencer whined, pouting.

Y/N just rolled her eyes at him and told him to call somebody. She was sure she'd seen JJ just before they left, still huddled in her office; hopefully she'd be able to call maintenance and they could be released from this death trap of a machine.

"I can't, my phone died. Use yours."

"What?"

"My phone's flat, can you use yours?"

Y/N just stared at him. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt because the adrenaline rush of panic can make memories a bit hazy, but her skin was flustering under the rage she was feeling, her forehead was already beginning to perspire and the walls were so small and entrapping and - is it hot in here or just her?

"My phones at the store," she reminded him through gritted teeth, and watched his composure fall in both comprehension and defeat.

"Great," he remarked.

"Oh, like it's my fault?"

"Well, it's not mine."

"And it's not mine either so don't talk to me like that!"

It was only a short exchange, but it made Y/N's blood boil; if they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them.

Spencer gulped, and Y/N was sure that had he the opportunity to he would be storming away right about now, but unfortunately for the both of them that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. The wonderful reality of this hitting Y/N, she kicked off her shoes and planted her bum down on the floor.

Spencer looked at her curiously while she did this, then quirked his lip and proceeded to do the same. He used his satchel as a pillow to support his head, and sighed loudly (it seemed deliberate just how exaggerative it was).

"No one is ever gonna find us here," Y/N said.

"We're not dying–"

"You don't know that. We could be suffocating as we speak-"

"Suffocation is impossible in elevators: the cars are designed not to be airtight and there's vents that allow air to move in and out," he pointed up at the grated opening above Y/N's head. At being proved wrong by Spencer and his big, unfathomable brain, she crossed her arms much like a stroppy toddler and even pouted her lip.

"We could still die," she mumbled.

"The statistics of that are still very unlikely; in fact, the people that die the most in elevators are elevator technicians themselves. An average of 26 people die in elevators every year in America–"

"And you're ready to be one of those 26?"

"We're not going to be. We won't suffocate, and it hasn't fallen."

"Yet," she said. "Plus, theres other ways to die. Like, I don't know, murder perhaps?" She said with a potent glare in his direction. He gave her a blank stare partnered with a sarcastic smile, one that only made Y/N more devoted to her other-ways-to-die initiative.

"We just have to wait a while... Did you know the longest duration of time someone was stuck in an elevator was 41 hours? Nicholas White. And all he had to eat was a packet of Rolaids."

More than accustomed to tuning out Spencer's rambles, Y/N barely heard what he was talking about, in a dazed trance where she was focused intently on where the paint didn't match the wall, she was so invested she almost missed what he said.

"Wait... oh my god. Do you have food?" She asked, sitting up from her subsided posture.

Spencer's face softened in dread, which didn't bring any aid nor optimism to their situation.

She watched him sit forward, shoving hands into the pockets of his blazer, coat, trousers and pulling out nothing but a few crumpled pieces of paper. Y/N matched him with an empty gum wrapper and a Walmart receipt displaying a concerning amount of pregnancy tests she had purchased last month.

"Do I even wanna know?" Spencer asked, chucking it back to the ground with a grimace as if it was riddled with germs (it probably was but, still).

"All you need to know is that I'm not pregnant," Y/N scoffed, almost amicably, but her eyebrows creased and she was back to a fuck everything this sucks expression in less than a second.

"Well we can't survive on this."

"You really haven't brought any food?" Spencer pestered.

"No, I had Chinese leftovers on the cards for tonight. And I don't see you offering anything up; what's your excuse?"

Spencer only groaned, again. He kicked his feet out and let his head fall onto the wall back in the same place. He ran a hand through his hair, and the scarce gel he had used to keep it in place disassembled around his face in random strays of curls. The sight of him relaxing like he was settling in for the night didn't appease Y/N one bit.

While Spencer closed his eyes, Y/N got to her feet and decided slamming on the door again was a better pastime. Spencer, however, did not agree.

At the banging, Spencer's eyes shot open and his body shook in alarm. His eyes darted around the space frantically until they landed on Y/N's figure aligned with the doors on which she was unleashing hell. If yelling could open an elevator, they'd have been out in a jiffy.

"I think we've established that doesn't help," Spencer said.

"Then you help!" She shouted, continuing the thrashing of metal.

"How?"

"I don't know!" Her shriek echoed, and she yet again gave up on the violence. "Use that big brain of yours and find us a way out of here."

"The 7 steps to surviving being stuck on an elevator are fundamental; we've already done them. They include pressing the open button, the alarm and call button. We still have our light source, otherwise finding one would have been number two. We've tried yelled for help. The only one we haven't done is stayed calm," he said with a heavy emphasis in her direction. Currently, she was the epitome of panic.

Y/N furrowed a brow at him, "That's six. What's number seven?"

She watched Spencer inhale deeply before he told her, "wait it out."

Y/N felt her heart sink. The possibility of her going insane while being confined within this space was only increasing as the minutes passed by. And with that, she felt like oxygen was depleting alongside it. She took a big breath to remind her that there was still air to breathe, and Spencer caught sight of it.

"Are... are you claustrophobic?"

"No!"

His eyes widened at her outburst, and he even raised his hands in defence should the situation present itself, which was looking pretty inevitable.

"I'm not, I just... get a little... panicked, that's all."

"You don't say," he murmured, and —with a grunt— got to his feet again. He treaded towards the damned doors. Y/N thought he was going to bang on them again, and she took front-row seat on the floor to watch the imprudent, futile attempt. Instead, Spencer's long arachnid-like fingers dug into the crevice of the doors and he tried to pry them open. This was an even vainer approach; his strained groans showed such.

"It's no use. We're gonna be here for a while. I can offer you a juice carton," Y/N spoke, making Spencer turn attentively at the word 'juice'. He looked down to where she was rummaging through her bag and depositing a few random objects while she did so. In a very Mary Poppins like fashion, the entities incessantly kept coming and coming, gathering in remarkable piles on the floor. There seemed to be more things than space available, but then they were trapped in an elevator and space was one of the many luxuries the agents realised they had taken for granted. Despite his astonishment at the growing belongings, there seemed to be a concerning lack of food present.

She was, however, holding out an apple juice carton, and Spencer figured that you get what you're given. So while her attention focused to the remnants of whatever was in her bag, Spencer punctured the carton with the straw, and began sucking. He made a squeal of surprise and relief when he saw her pull out a feebly wrapped, half eaten bag of crackers.

"Oh, I forgot about these," she announced, with the first smile Spencer had seen from her since the elevator had broken down.

He leaned down to grab the bag, dusting off the sprayed crumbs and then took a seat to Y/N's left. He left space between them for chivalrous purposes and also to allow space for the bag of crackers to sit.

They made attempts to ration the snack, but it soon developed into an every man for himself situation when Y/N noticed Spencer had started to take two at once.

She wasn't even hungry anymore, but the hunger for beating Spencer at something prevailed and disregarded any logical thought that they ought to save food, so she dove in again for another cracker. Unluckily, she did so at the same time as Spencer, so it made for an awkward encounter when their hands collided but neither was willing to give up their slot in the bag.

Eventually (because they didn't want the other to notice their blush), they gave up when time ran too long and reached a compromise with halving the cracker. Y/N gave Spencer the bigger half of her failed equal snap, but neither of them addressed it.

Neither of them addressed anything actually, for the next... god knows how long they were cooped up in there. They sat in a pleasant silence, free from any awkward glances or trepidations: it was both from the fact that they were in their own heads, and a serendipitous comfort in one another.

"I'm sorry you're going to miss your Doctor Who... thing," was what broke the silence.

"Oh, it's okay. I can just watch it on repeat tomorrow."

"Okay," Y/N laughed softly, and they floated into another quiet.

"I'm sorry you're stuck in an elevator."

"Ha! Me too."

"When we get out of here maybe we can go for Chinese food," Spencer suggested, craning his neck to look at her with a discreet smile.

"Sure," she agreed. "By the time we get out my food at home might have rotten anyway."

And then time after that just... passed. In Spencer's satchel he had an uncanny assortment of reading material to thrive on, and amid her odd collection of pretty much everything she had ever owned, Y/N found an old MP3 player and some earphones (only the left ear worked, but it was as good entertainment as she was going to get).

There comes a point, though, when one person can only listen to so much music from their teen years; Y/N's taste back then was... questionable, to say the least. And her earphone seemed to agree with her, because it gave out just when the unmistakable sound of an NSYNC song began.

"Ugh, just when it was getting good!" She complained, tugging the bud from her ear and throwing it onto the miscellaneous pile.

Spencer's head quirked to Y/N, but his eyes only followed after he had finished a sentence on his page. When he did, he saw her curiously leaning over his shoulder and squinting at the words.

"You can borrow it if you want," he said. "This is my third time reading it and I have others."

He gestured to his pile, which had evolved into a makeshift bookcase in the corner of the elevator. A few pages were torn, and the spines were so worn down that she could barely make out what the titles were. Not from a lack of TLC, but rather copious amounts of it; having been read over and over again. 

"No, it's okay. You continue, I'll just... meditate, or something."

"It's a good book," Spencer said, and he sounded like he was trying to persuade her, so she gave in and nodded. Readjusting her posture, she focused again on where the paint didn't meet the wall as she listened to the one thing she thought she wouldn't ever be able to stand: Spencer Reid's voice.

———

Which, to her and Reid's surprise, she found quite calming. Her hidden envy and not so hidden annoyance with his ability to reel off facts and wisdom like he was only recalling what he had for dinner hindered any fondness Y/N could associate with his voice. Until now, that is.

He was reading Strangers on a Train, supposedly his third favourite book, and they were reaching "the best bit" according to Spencer, but then every bit within the past forty five minutes since he'd started reading had been "the best bit", so Y/N wasn't sure.

But she's pretty calm, as calm as she can be stuck in an elevator, so she's actually thankful she has Spencer of all people beside her. She knew that if Morgan was in his place they'd have attempted murder at least a couple times by now; not to say that Y/N hadn't considered stabbing Spencer at all, but there's only so much damage a blunt pencil at the bottom of her bag could do.

So, she's calm. She's barely following the story because she only joined in halfway through, but she's grasped the basis of it because Spencer reads so eloquently and so well that he's practically painted the vividness of the narrative for her, even though he vouches it's down to Patricia Highsmith's words, which is true, but Spencer has a role in it too.

One thing Spencer recites makes Y/N wonder why she's never had him read to her before.

"People, feelings, everything! Double! Two people in each person. There's also a person exactly the opposite of you, like the unseen part of you, somewhere in the world, and he waits in ambush."

The story portrays an uncanny resemblance to the plots of the abundant crime scenes they analyse daily (Y/N wonders how Spencer comes home from work only to read about the same gory instances): the same mannerisms, behaviours and intricate understanding of criminal attitudes. It's accuracy is so astounding that Y/N asks if the author was ever a profiler of sorts.

Although it's selfish, because Y/N is not the real victim, she wished there was some way Highsmith's words could spring into real life and provide tainted rose coloured spectacles to which she could observe reality through. In some sick way, Y/N needed to see beauty in things like murder. She sometimes forgot that what they were doing had a purpose, and they tended to be the good guys. But there was no writing beautiful enough for Spencer to read and glorify the crimes with.

But even Y/N thinks Spencer's reading could help her see life through more of the silver lining rather than shrouded by the dark cloud that accompanied it.

The moment of rare serenity within Spencer's words is suspended, however, when he suddenly stops with no obvious justification. Y/N wonders if she's missed something profound within the story again so she goes to read over them on the page this time (because she's been rather entranced in Spencer's voice rather than the actual words), except when she looks up she sees a look of horror depicted on Spencer's face: one that doesn't register with her primarily because what's happening in the story is rather quite mundane compared to the dismay on his face. It's so poignant that she thinks something must be fatally wrong.

"What is it?" She asks, sitting up (and away because she thinks he may be about to vomit. But no, the real reason is even more horrific).

"I need to pee."

Y/N gasps; she hadn't even conjectured this predicament. It was a basic human necessity, how had she not anticipated this would happen? At first she thought, hey it's not that bad, better him than me— he can stand. Until she realises that there isn't really anywhere to stand.

"Oh no," she whispers, and he looks at her dauntingly. "You shouldn't have drank that apple juice."

"What was I supposed to do, bathe in it?" He scorns, and the two connect in an unwavering exchange eye contact with one another. Y/N dreads looking away in fear of what he'll do when she has her back turned.

So, like I said, Y/N was pretty calm, and I'd say Spencer was too; reading was a delight, and he found Y/N almost as endearing (almost). Life was bearable until Spencer needed to pee.

And it is here that they throw all peace out the window (if there was one) and give up on step number seven, and instead say hello to their old friend step number five: frantic yelling.

The energy pent up from lazing around reading and being read to is released fairly effectively. Y/N thinks she's never screamed so loud in her life, and Spencer knows he hasn't: entrapment and a full bladder can take one hell of a toll on a man.

And when the profusion of footsteps and the clanging of doors sounds, it is glorious. It is what they imagine heaven to sound like and more. Y/N collapses to the ground in relief, and Spencer throws his hands up in a prayer of thanks (even though he doesn't necessarily believe, but he is just so high on adrenaline and the discomfort of needing a wee that he'd just about believe anything now if it meant he could get to a bathroom).

"You guys okay in there?" A voice calls in from above them (Spencer genuinely thinks it's God) and Y/N has never been more happy to hear Derek Morgan.

"We're good! We're good! Oh my god, get us out of here please!"

"Right on it, baby. Bet y'all thought you were gonna die in there, huh?"

"Worse," Y/N called, "I thought I was gonna have to see Spencer's dick!"

Morgan laughed (music to their ears: any voice that wasn't each other's fit that criteria in that moment), and then told her he didn't want to know. Spencer and Y/N heard him holler behind him, and even more footsteps approached. Y/N couldn't see much from the slither between the doors that had just been pried open, since they had fallen a considerable distance from their floor. What she could see was only half of Morgan's face while he knelt on the ground.

"What happened?" Spencer asked, trying to gain some understanding for the reason behind missing his Doctor Who marathon.

"Power cut. The whole city's in blackout."

"You're kidding," Y/N replied, then turned. "A whole lotta people just risked that 1 in 26."

"Us included," Spencer said.

They recognised the voices of the maintenance team, and even a few uniforms of firefighters that worked on opening the doors with as much force as they could muster. Y/N looked again to the wall and paint mismatch, finding it too unsettling to look at their rescue attempt (that had way too much potential to go wrong) and even more unsettling to look at Spencer who was practically cradling his crotch.

"Ladies first!" A fireman called, and his hand reached into the space they had managed to (barely) increase, hoping that it wouldn't prove to be too difficult. From what Morgan told them, Spencer wouldn't have any trouble getting through it if they had halved the space ("the kid's a sherbet stick, I'm telling you").

"No, we've got a man here who's about to explode," Y/N joked, forgetting that the word 'explode' is a term one should use lightly within the headquarters of the FBI. She was blissfully reminded of this when the few surrounding agents brandished their guns. They almost didn't let them out until Spencer yelled that if he didn't get to a bathroom that instant he would give them a real reason to get their guns out.

So he was lifted out first, falling into Morgan's arms the chance he got to. He, somehow, managed to wait until he saw Y/N definitely leave the elevator before racing off down the hallway. Maintenance didn't even bother telling him that the doors have been locked because officially work finished three hours ago; they figured he had enough vigour in him to knock a wall down, never mind a door.

"Are you alright?" Morgan asked Y/N, lifting her up onto her own to feet. She's given a shock blanket, which is a pretty cool souvenir.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Miraculously. I don't know how you survived in there with him; I'd go insane."

"Eh," she chuckled, "he's not too bad."

———

After gathering their belongings, Y/N and Spencer make their way to leave work, again.

Morgan's nonchalant explanation of the blackout is in no way accurate to the genuine portrayal of, what Y/N can only describe as, a thriller movie come to life. She's looking out the wide scale windows in the bullpen room and can only see her reflection. It's creepy. Skittishly, she jumps when Spencer's image shows up behind her own. 

"Jesus, haven't I had enough near death experiences tonight?" She asks, holding a hand over her heart that she's sure just kickstarted (for various reasons).

"Sorry," he laughs. Placing his hands in his pockets, Y/N can sense he's more relaxed now that he's peed and no longer trapped within the restrictions of one metre.

They smile, then look out again to the darkened abyss before them. Y/N has never seen the city so quiet, yet she knows it's anything but. Once she steps outside it's bound to be hectic central.

"You normally get the subway, what are you gonna do?"

"Oh, I guess I'll just walk," Spencer shrugs.

"Absolutely not. I'll drive you home."

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that—"

"Spence, I just spent the last three hours in a confined space with you, I'm sure I can do twenty minutes more," she said. "Get your stuff ready, we can head off now."

She swung her bag over her shoulder and turned to walk out the bullpen, her heels reverberating throughout the room. Spencer watched her stride out by her reflection in the window, as to not be caught staring.

"If my car breaks down I'm gonna commit murder!"

Spencer laughed loudly, which made Y/N smile as she passed the kitchenette. When he continued to chuckle to himself he realised he wouldn't mind another three more hours stuck with her— at least he'd have an excuse if the car broke down. Maybe if he set off now he could get there in time to beat Y/N to her car and slash the tyres. He kindly reminded himself that that's illegal while he retrieved his satchel off the back of his chair and strutted out the office.

He wasn't too far behind Y/N when he suggested getting a Chinese on the way back.

"Is that a date?"

"If eating a Chinese takeaway in your car is your idea of a date," he sang.

"It very much is," Y/N grinned irrefutably.

He held the door open for her, she said thank you, and their giddy (dare I say lovesick) smiles dropped when they faced the elevator.

They've taken the stairs every day since.

fin.

[spookyboywhump]

May 15th

AHAHA I FINISHED IT AND I LIKE IT

Soft content for Eli’s birthday, featuring some baby Eli content as well

CW: fluff. Eli cries a bit. It’s actually quite happy

***

He kicked his legs excitedly as he sat there in the booth, his brand new shark stuffie clutched tightly in his arms. He was so small, it was quite big compared to him, but that just made it all the better in his opinion. He was only just now turning six years old, but he was certain this was the best birthday, and the best gift he’d gotten in his whole little life.

Everett had kept him home from school that day, he was already excited to brag to anyone who would listen tomorrow about how cool his brother was for doing so. He had made him breakfast, pancakes with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, and after that he’d let him choose his own clothes for the day, instead of the strict and stuffy outfits their mother preferred he wore. He didn’t even fight him on his hair, simply tied it back in two ponytails for him instead of fighting with a brush while he cried. To him, it was already a great day just from the morning.

After that, he’d taken him out for the day. He’d repeatedly asked him where they were going but Everett simply assured him it was a surprise, only serving to make him more excited. He hadn’t been able to guess where Everett was taking him, but when he saw it was the aquarium, he had accidentally squealed from how excited he was, happily flapping his hands until Everett picked him up and had him sit on his shoulders so he wouldn’t run off in his excitement, as he was known to do.

He was completely in awe of the exhibits they passed through. They spent nearly thirty minutes in front of the tank of moon jellies because he just couldn’t stop staring at them. He thought that was the best, at least, he did until they entered one room where they could actually touch things. Everett was hesitant to do so but he set him down in front of the low tank, and he had absolutely no issue with sticking his hand into the water, gasping when his fingers brushed over the back of a small passing stingray.

“E-Ev- Ev! It’s a, it’s like a, like a pancake!” He giggled excitedly. He snatched his hand out of the water, spreading his hands out as he said, “It’s uh, it’s uh, it’s smooth and flat, it’s like a- like a pancake!” He said, waving his hands excitedly.

“A pancake? Really?” Everett laughed, and he nodded, happy to stick his hands back into the water, a look of absolute glee on his face.

They spent a long time at the aquarium, simply because he felt the need to look at everything for a prolonged period of time. Everett didn’t seem to mind though, he let him take his time and on their way out they stopped in the gift shop. He wasn’t the kind of kid to ask for anything, he knew the answer was likely to be no, but he couldn’t stop staring at the shark plushies, and after a while of him looking between them and his brother, Everett said he’d buy it for him, since it was his birthday after all.

He took him out for lunch once they finally left, and then to a park so he could run around, holding onto his shark while he did so so it wouldn’t get dirty. And now, as the day was ending, he brought him to a small ice cream shop, an especially rare treat for him. He’d gone to get their ice cream, leaving him there alone but still in his line of sight. He perked up when he saw him coming back, he had a cup with large scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream for him and one with strawberry ice cream for himself.

“Here you go, kid.” Everett said, setting it down in front of him as he took a seat across from him.

“Th-tha-thank you!” He said, grabbing the spoon and excitedly shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“Have you had a good day?” He asked him, taking a bite of his own ice cream while he happily nodded.

“Mmhm! I-I- I had- had fun!” He giggled softly. “I like- I liked the- the- the fish! And- and my shark! I love my- my- my shark!”

“Are you gonna name it?” He asked, and he looked to the shark, making a face as he thought it over.

“Mmmm… Ev.”

“Yeah?”

“N-No- no his name- his name is Ev.” He said, looking up at him. “Since Ev got him- got- got him for me, his name- his name is Ev.” He said, and Everett smiled at him.

“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?” He said, and he giggled, happily shoving more ice cream into his mouth.

By the time they finished he was bouncing in his seat, even more hyper from the sugar. Everett cleaned up after them, getting up and leaving the table for a moment. He watched his brother, on his way back he stopped somebody, asking them to take a quick picture of them together and explaining it was his birthday. When they agreed, he sat down next to him, pulling him into a hug, both of them flashing big grins as the stranger took a picture, commenting on how cute the pair of siblings were as they handed the phone back to Everett.

“Can I- can I- can I see?” He asked, getting up on his knees, and Everett showed him the phone, the photo of them together, he had a big grin on his face, one of his front teeth missing and his shark still in the background. “Oooohhh! I- I love- I love it!” He giggled, and Ev smiled, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Happy birthday, kid.” He told him, and he clung to him tightly, a big smile spread across his face.

After they left, Everett carried him home, having to carry his shark in one arm so he wouldn’t drop it. It was quite late in the day, and after spending so much time out and being so active, he was quickly growing sleepy, struggling to keep his eyes open as they got closer to his apartment. Once there Everett carried him back to their shared room, laying him down and handing him his shark, taking a moment to pull his shoes off for him.

“I’m glad you had fun.” Everett said, brushing wispy strands of brown hair back from his face.

“I- I- I had…” He paused to yawn, finishing with, “I had lots- lots of fun…” He murmured, curling up and cuddling his new shark close. He was asleep in only minutes, a content smile still on his face. Everett smiled as he looked down at him, so happy and so relieved he’d been able to do this for him.

***

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Not just yet, we’re almost there.” Zander told him, steering him by the shoulders. “And no peeking.” He told him, Eli snapping his good eye shut when he said it. They’d spent the day out together, Zander had taken him to the aquarium and listened to all his talking and rambling, and now they were finally returning to his apartment, but Zander was insistent that he kept his eyes shut. He heard him unlock the door and push it opened, tugging him inside by his wrist and only stopped in what Eli assumed was the dining room just off his living room.

“Alright- you can open your eyes now.” Zander told him, and he didn’t have to be told twice.

“Surprise!”

He nearly jumped back, startled but a grin quickly spread across his face at what he saw. Cara, Lila, Alec, even Alondra were there, crowded around his dining room table. They’d hung a happy birthday banner on the wall behind them, and gotten blue and white balloons for him, tying them to the chairs. They’d hung pale blue streamers from the ceiling, and on the table was takeout food from his favorite restaurant, and a cake with blue icing and number candles for “25”, and the words “Happy Birthday Elias”.

“Eli- shit, kid are you okay?” Zander asked, sounding worried as he brought his hands up to cover his mouth, blinking back tears.

“I’m- I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m sorry, I love it!” He laughed.

“Aww, Elias you can’t cry on your birthday!” Cara said, coming around the table and pulling him into a hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, no I’m so happy! This is perfect, I love you guys!” He said, reaching up and wiping at his eyes. Cara pulled away so they could all take a seat at the table, Alec using a lighter to light the candles, the small group singing happy birthday for him while he tried to keep from crying again.

“Make a wish!” They told him and he blew out the candles, smiling as Zander ruffled his hair.

“What did you wish for?” He asked him, and Eli laughed.

“I’m not telling, I want it to come true.” He said. He gladly accepted a slice of cake when Alondra passed him a plate, looking excited.

“I hope you like it, they said this was your favorite.” She said, and he grinned when he saw the inside was layered vanilla cake, one layer white and one colored blue.

“You made this?” He asked, and she nodded as he took a bite, only for his eyes to widen. “Oh shit- this is amazing!” He covered his mouth to hide the grin on his face, looking up at her. “I love it! Thank you so much!” He said, and she grinned at him.

“I’m so glad!” She looked both happy and relieved at the same time, as though she’d really feared he wouldn’t.

It was easily one of the best nights he’d had in a while, surrounded by his friends as they ate and talked and laughed. Once they had all had their fill of food, they brought Eli into the living room, having him sit down on the couch in front of the coffee table, a few gifts placed in front of him that they insisted he opened.

Cara and Lila had gotten him matching pink and green squid shaped pillows, and Alec had gotten him a set of books he’d been collecting. Alondra had given him a homemade apron, made from jellyfish printed fabric and a set of blue baking spatulas with white polka dots, measurement conversions printed on the back, and Zander had gotten him an adorable cat shaped lamp, which would fade through different colors when it was one. He was so excited over each and every one of them, to the point of frantically flapping his hands as he thanked them, looking overjoyed.

“Oh, there’s one more thing.” Zander told him, going across the room to get something from the closet.

“We all picked this one out for you.” Cara told him, and Eli grinned as Zander brought back a rather large gift bag, filled with blue tissue paper. He had to pull quite a bit of it out to get to it, but his face lit up as he saw the item inside.

“Oh my god! I love it!” He cried, pulling out the large dolphin stuffed animal. It was absolutely adorable, he instantly hugged it close to his chest, already in love with how soft it was.

“We’re glad you like it.” Zander said, ruffling his hair. “Happy birthday, kid.” He said, sitting down and pulling him into a hug, only for the others to join in as best they could. It took all his self control to not burst into tears again, overwhelmed with happiness and love for his friends.

***

That night he laid in bed, Zander next to him as he had stayed the night. Zander had passed out after a few too many drinks but he was still awake, laying there and watching the pale light from his new little lamp change. He smiled, turning onto his side and cuddling both his shark and his new dolphin close to his chest, thinking over that year’s birthday wish.

I wish to be this happy all the time.

[eydi-andrius]

The Beginning after the Finale

Pairing: Yoonbum x Foreigner Detective Female Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: Idk I used my notes for this. :/

Warnings: May or may not continue this one.

- Also, this is my first published fic cuz' I'm a coward so there will be many grammatical errors but I did try to proofread it. I SWEAR!

- Lastly, I'm a new user of tumblr.

- Oh yeah! ALWAYS WEAR YOUR SEATBELT and I did wrote some curse words...

Summary: A childhood acquaintance of Yoonbum came back to find out that her first case in South Korea will include Yoonbum as a victim.

(I'm always looking for fics about after KS but found a little so I created one for myself.)

The story starts after the chapter ending of Killing Stalking.

You just came back to your hometown after studying and working a bit in US. You never really want to stay there in the first place but your parents doesn't like you staying alone in South Korea. You can't really argue with that. A 16 year old highschool student alone and living on a "not so safe neighborhood where a renter uncle beat the shit out of his nephew while his grandmother watch the whole ordeal afraid of his son putting his anger on her."

You can't help but sigh after remembering what happened to your childhood friend whose name you can't remember.

Him, his uncle and grandmother rents a house your parents owned. The rent was cheap because your parents doesn't really care about the money. At that time they just want a good neighbor to live next to the house where their daughter lived alone.

The uncle appeared to be friendly, caring and kind when he applied for the house. Having his mother lived with him was a plus to your parents because at least someone old will took care of you for sure. However, after his nephew's parents died on a tragic accident, the uncle became aggressive and unreasonably hit his nephew and blame him for what happened.

Of course when your parent's found out your mother's hystericlly ordered you to go lived with them abroad. At that time, you flat out refused them but after hearing their second angry suggestion of kicking out the renter, you just decided to go and obey them afraid of making it worse for the nephew.

"The nephew hmnnm..." you murmur as you try to recall that nephew's name and face. It's been too long and you only remember bits of information about him. Like how feminine his stature was. The way he look shyly when you greeted and passed by him on the streets while walking to school. How his face powdered with red whenever you saw him and smiled widely at him. However despite all those memories, his face and identity remained a mystery. His face was blurry, same with his name.

You huffed angrily as you drum your fingers on the steering wheel. You're annoyed to yourself for forgetting the most important information. Nostalgia seeped through you whenever you think about him. Maybe because you thought he was unique and had an honest air around him. You liked that and you'd like to see him again. And deeply you hoped that he was doing fine.

"DEATH PENALTY FOR THAT BASTARD PSYCHOPATH!" You got spooked after hearing a loud booming voice from a megaphone. It was a quiet day and a shout like that can be heard throughout this town. Luckily the traffic light blared red and so you've got a chance to observe what is happening outside.

Lots of people are yelling with placards on hand in front of Jonggan Hospital. Young and old were gathered outside. Looking and shouting angrily to put a certain someone named "Sangwoo" to jail until he die or punished him with death penalty. You frowned. Death penalty isn't a thing in South Korea anymore right? This person probably did something horrendous to get a suggestion like that from old and young folks.

"Good heavens! What happened to this small town?" You questioned as you shake your head then look at the countdown for a greenlight ready to go forward. Two seconds more. You said on your head.

One last look on the crowd and you decided to drove off when a scrawny boy decided to run when the greenlight was on. You stopped before you run over him but your car still bumped his body. Making him fall over the pedestrian lane.

"Fuck!" You yelled shocked and angrily from the unexpected accident. Hurriedly, you got out your car to see if the man was okay.

You heard the loud beeping noise of horns behind your car when you got out furious at you for stopping so suddenly. However, you are more concerned to the man you almost run over with your car.

"Are you okay!? Do you know how dangerous running on a pedestrian lane with greenlight on!?" You yelled worriedly as you crouched down to check if he was okay.

The guys seemed shocked about what happened and continued to look down on the cement. And so you decided to touch both of his cheeks with your hands and forced his face to look at you. Your eyes went wide as you recognize the face infront of you.

"I'm sorr-"

"Yoonbum!" You interrupted the guy's apology as he spoke when you recognized that small and scrawny face of your childhood neighbor. The nephew you're thinking about just earlier.

Yoonbum blinked when you yelled out his name in surprise.

"Do I k-know you?" Yoonbum stuttered as he frowned questioningly at you.

"Oh my gosh! It's really you! This is me, [Y/N]. You look thinner than you do when we were younger." You beamed as slowly all of your memories of him came flooding back. That scrawny, shy and honest boy you knew is right in front of you.

"[Y/N]? I-" The angry noises of car horns stopped Yoonbum from talking and you realized where the two of you at the moment.

"I'm glad that I got to see you again but the road is not a place for our little reunion. C'mon!" You smiled as you offer your hand and help him to get into your car.

You repeatedly look at the rearview mirror to confirm if the guy you just saw and almost run over was really Yoonbum. Feeling your eyes at him, he looked at the rearview mirror too and your eyes meet. He immediately look away while an obvious blush painted his cheeks.

"I really can't believe this. I was just thinking about you earlier you know. And pondering over what's your name and how do you look but then I run over you. I mean, almost." You chuckled as you slightly looked at him while driving.

You wet your lips and continue talking. "I'm so happy to finally meet you again, Yoonbum." Smiling slightly while looking at the rearview mirror. This time, your eyes meet again but he didn't look away.

"Uhmmm.." You heard Yoonbum uttered softly so you glance his way. You saw him twiddling his thumbs.

"Go on." You nod while looking at the road to encourage him to say whatever he had in mind.

"Do I know you?" Surprised, you stopped and your car screeched loudly. You heard a loud thud beside you.

"Awwww...."

You gasped in horror when you saw Yoonbum's bloody forehead. You immediately grab some tissues on the back sit and dabbed softly on his open wound. That's when you realized that all this time he was not wearing his seatbelt. You cursed under your breathe and muttered a silent sorry to Yoonbum for driving carelessly. You just didn't expect him not to know you when he voluntarily rode your car and listen to your ramblings about him.

Luckily you're on your way to the hospital parking lot. You were really worried about Yoonbum earlier that you decided to bring him to the hospital to be checked by the doctors if he had any injuries from the almost accident.

You got out of the car immediately and guide him to the emergency entrance. On your way there, you saw a police in uniform narrowed his eyes on your direction and jogged angrily where the two of you are. You felt Yoonbum's grip tighten on your hand.

When the police was just two steps away from you and Yoonbum. You hid him fast and pushed the officer away.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! What do you think you are doing? You are scaring my friend, officer." You said sarcastically as you shoved the glaring guy in front of you.

The police officer eyebrows knitted into one. "Ma'am, I mean no harm to you and your friend. But I need to talk to him." He emphasized the word friend as he tried to look behind you. You felt Yoonbum cowers in fear. You hold tightens on his hands. Clearly, there was really something wrong here. However, even though you want to fight the man in uniform, Yoonbum needs his wound treated.

"I'd like to let you, good sir but my friend's head is bleeding and he needs immediate care."

You didn't wait for his reply and you brought Yoonbum to the nearest nurse to help him with his wound.

From your peripheral vision, you saw the officer followed the two of you. When the nurse finally assisted your friend, you immediately stop the officer from interrogating Yoonbum further.

"You know, I don't have any clue about what you need from Yoonbum but can you stop? He almost got into an accident today and by the way his body responds to you, you were making things harder for him. So can you please stop." You glared daggers at the officer who just replied on your statement with a frown.

"Ma'am-"

"[L/N], [Y/N] [L/N]" You interrupted him which made his frown into a scowl.

"Okay, Ms. [L/N]. By the way you look, you're probably just got here and don't know what happened. Your friend there, Mr. Yoon was a victim of a serial killer. Him being out is not good for he was still suspected to be an accomplice even though the court already ordered his innocence." He nonchantly explained as he pointed his hand to Yoonbum who's being tended by a nurse.

He left your mouth agape with his revelation and walked pass you to sit beside the now patched Yoonbum. You followed and immediately hugged Yoonbum protectively from the officer who didn't even tell his name yet.

Then you remembered that Yoonbum doesn't remember you still and so you dropped your arms and just crouched in front of him to look into his eyes. You hold his hands and help him remember you.

"Yoonbum. This is me [Y/N]. The ow-"

"Owner of the house my uncle rented for us." You smiled when Yoonbum continued your sentence. He smiled back with that boyish innocent smile you remembered before but with eyes full with uncertainty and sadness.

"Sorry for interrupting your little reunion but didn't I told you Mr. Yoon to not go out alone to Jonngang Hospital?" The officer glared at Yoonbum who was trying to look and move away.

You bit your lips and stand up to fight the officer for being rude to the obvious scared Yoonbum.

"You nasty off-"

"Seungbae. Officer Seungbae for you Ms. [Y/N]" He interrupted looking at you. As if telling you to fight him.

"Okay, Officer Seungbae. I do understand that you're just trying to protect Yoonbum but can you please stop being nasty and rude to him. He was obviously shooked from what happened to him earlier-"

"And if you don't know Ms. [Y/N], the foreigner. In Jonggang Hospital lies the culprit who broke your friend's legs and forced him to do nasty things for months. And if the people caught him there, the people might become more hostile and believed further that he was an accomplice. Just letting you know in case you don't know" Your jaw clenched at the sneering statement of the officer. You're not annoyed by the fact that you know nothing on Yoonbum's case but the fact that this officer was basically putting all of his anger at you and making you look like a fool.

Instead of continuing the banter with him, you looked at Yoonbum's eyes again who continued to look away.

You have these cases in the US when you're still working there as a detective. Some serial killer let a victim alive to break them and make them believe that they were just like them. Cases abroad are nastier than in here but after hearing that your friend had suffered directly from a psycopath made your heart wrenched in sadness for him. It will take some time to heal them but knowing the person who suffered made you want to help them more wholeheartedly.

"Yoonbum please look at me" You placed both of your hands upon his cheek guiding his face to look at you.

"I don't know what happened and do not know the real reason why you still want to see him despite what he did to you. Maybe to see him suffer or whatever but I believe that you're innocent. Maybe he ordered you to do nasty things to make you crazy or make you believe that you're just like him but I still do believe in your innocence because you are a victim of him too. Whatever you have in mind, I'll listen to you and guide you through the process. Trust me." You looked at him with your heart out to let him know your sincerity to help him despite the years you hadn't been with him.

Yoonbum looked at you for sometime and then nod squeezing your wrists near his cheeks.

You smiled at him.

You admire how strong he was despite all the struggles he suffered through his lifetime. You promised to yourself that you will help him this time and will not runaway because its dangerous or whatsoever.

You squeezed his hands tight and nod at him happily.

P.S. Notes are highly appreciated. Thank you so much!

[lightsupinthenorth]

Harringrove teachers AU part 3

Part 1 - Part 2 

Thank you to everyone who read, liked and/or reblogged the previous parts. Also, the people who said something nice in the tags or in reactions own my heart. Just thought you should know ;) <3 

Tag list: @twoprettyboys, @inkedplume​, @marianaosborne​, @liglitterbug​, @hmg621 @spreckle @goldenweatherharringrove @yikesharringrove @yogurtfordinner @wingedbears @charlotte-frey @hargrovesharrington​

If anyone wants to be added to or taken off the tag list for the future posts of this AU, let me know ;)

I hope the tags are working because I recently had some trouble with them (ah, Tumblr is a mess). 

I was planning on keeping the chapters short but every part has been longer than the last so far ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (then again, it’s still pretty short so I guess it’s fine ^^). 

I’ll stop rambling now.

*

Billy didn’t know how he had ended up in this situation, this situation being Steve and he making out in the otherwise empty teachers’ lounge, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He wanted to keep Steve’s soft lips on his forever. Sadly, he didn’t get his way: there was a loud bang, and suddenly Steve’s lips were gone. Steve was gone too, as well as the teachers’ lounge. Billy woke up at home, in his bed, hard as a rock in the basket-ball shorts he was wearing as pajamas.

Great, he got an erection just from dreaming he and Steve were kissing. What was he? A teenager? That was pathetic.

Billy was considering rubbing one out, despite the embarrassment, but there was another loud bang that made him remember why he had woken up in the first place.

What the fuck was happening this early on a Saturday?

Billy instantly worried Max had fallen or, worse, that someone had broken into the flat and would hurt her (highly improbable in such a small town, but Billy wasn’t alert enough to be logical). The concern killed his arousal in two seconds tops. He shot up from bed and exited his bedroom in a hurry.

He found Max in their open kitchen, mixing what appeared to be pancakes ingredients.

“What was that noise?” He asked, in lieu of a greeting.  

“I dropped the pan. Sorry.”

“There were two noises.”

“I dropped the mixing bowl too. Let me live! It’s your fault, you stored both these things on the highest shelf” Max complained.

“Hey, no need for a defense, I’m not accusing you. I was just worried, shitbird.”

“Oh… well, I’m okay.”

“And you’re making pancakes, so I’m certainly not going to complain.” Billy added.

“Who told you I was making some for you?”

Billy pouted, even though he knew Max was bluffing. He could see the amount of batter in the mixing bowl. She had quite an appetite, but there was no way she’d be able to eat all of that on her own.

“So mean, so early in the morning.”

“What can I say, I love messing with you.”  

Paradoxically, Billy was happy that she did. When they had first met, he’d been a perpetually angry teenager, and teeny tiny Max had done everything she could to stay out of his way. Once Susan had announced she was ill, though, Billy had tried his hardest to be the brother Max deserved. After Susan’s death, Billy had looked after Max and kept her safe from his father until he had turned legal. He had then fought to get Max away from Neil and had obtained full custody of her.  

It had been hard to balance getting his degree, working part-time jobs, and taking care of Max. Even more so with Neil trying to steer trouble every now and again. But they had made it out alright, in the hand, and Billy didn’t regret a second of it.

“Sit your ass down.” Max said as she turned the stove on.

“Oh no, no way. You ‘sit your ass down’. I’ll take it from here.”

Max was good at finding the best recipes and at mixing ingredients, but the cooking process was another thing entirely: she had nearly burned the kitchen down almost every time she had tried using the oven or the stove. Her cooking privileges had been revoked after the fifth time.

“Ugh, fine.”

Billy had two plates full on pancakes in no time. He put one in front of Max and went to sit down with his own on the other side of the table. The second his ass touched his chair, Max asked:

“So, you have plans with Steve and Robin this afternoon?”

Billy frowned.

“First of all, it’s Mrs. Buckley and Mr. Harrington for you”, he started, just to get on her nerves (he didn’t give a fuck how she called her teachers), “and second, how do you know that?”

Max arched an eyebrow.

“You literally talked about it with Steve right in front of me yesterday”, she said, ignoring Billy’s reprimand (no surprise, there).

“Oh… right… I did.”

Truthfully, Billy had stopped paying attention to Max and El the second he had laid eyes on Steve and the dumb spot of blue paint that had been resting on his cheek as if it had any right to.

“So, what are you guys going to do?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re going to grade papers.”

“Well, that’s exciting.”

Her sarcasm was off the charts.

“Tell me about it”, Billy mumbled, around a mouthful of pancake.

“Ew, gross.”

Billy stuffed even more pancake into his mouth, in defiance, before he spoke again:

“So, Art club, uh? What’s up with that?”

They hadn’t had an opportunity to talk about it the day before, because Friday night was movie night, and they had eaten dinner in front of the tv. Plus, Billy would have been too distracted to hold a conversation (Steve hadn’t left his mind).

“Steve said I should come. He noticed I haven’t been speaking to a lot of people, and he said it might help to do an activity in a smaller group…” Max wasn’t looking at Billy as she explained.

“Anyway, I think he was right. He’s the best!” She beamed as she said it, finally looking up from her slowly but surely diminishing pile of pancakes.

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

Billy was glad, really. He was also a bit frustrated that Steve had managed to talk to Max about making friends, when Billy hadn’t known how to bring it up without offending her, but he wasn’t petty enough to show he had a problem with it. Even if Max calling Steve “the best” was treason of the highest order, Billy just wanted her to be happy. If Steve’s intervention helped more than Billy himself could, then so be it.

They finished breakfast, got ready for the day and then went grocery shopping. As they got back to the flat, Max went to her room to chill, and Billy read for a while before he started preparing lunch. Keeping busy distracted him from thinking about seeing Steve in the afternoon. Well, he didn’t think about it too much, at least.

-

When Billy made his way into the coffee shop, Steve and Robin were already seated, talking animatedly… in another language.

“Hi. Was that Italian?”

They must not have noticed him approaching, because as soon as he greeted them, they stopped talking, and Steve looked up at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Hey Billy”, Robin said, “as a matter of fact, it was.”

“Don’t you teach French and Spanish?”

Billy was perplexed.

“I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t speak Italian.”

“It figures”, Billy shrugged.

He wanted to ask Steve where he had learnt Italian, because it intrigued him. However, he chose not to. He didn’t want to talk to him unless it was necessary. It’d be better for everyone if they had the bare minimum of interactions together, surely.

“Are these new piercings?” Robin asked, gesturing toward his ears.

“Uh, no. I’ve had them for a long time. I just don’t wear them at school.”

“Well, you should. They look really cool, and I’m sure no one would have anything to say about it.”

Billy stared at Steve pointedly, but Steve looked away as soon as he caught his gaze.

“I’ll think about it.” Billy finally said.

Steve and Robin already had their orders, so Billy took his wallet from his bag and went to the counter. He glanced at the display case and eyed the cherry pie with envy, but decided against it. After this morning’s pancakes, it wouldn’t be reasonable. Plus, he hadn’t hit the gym in a few days. He had to start indulging less if he wanted to stay in shape. He went for a simple black coffee. As the burly man behind the counter, whom Billy guessed to be Benny, asked him if he wanted anything else, Billy nearly surrendered, but he powered through. He handed Benny a ten-dollar bill and put the change he was given in one of his pockets.

When Billy went back to their table with his cup of coffee, Steve was blowing on his cup of steaming hot tea. Billy’s eyes caught on the ‘o’ shape of Steve’s lips, which reminded him of his dream. He averted his eyes, praying to God he wasn’t blushing, now that he couldn’t hide it behind his tan anymore (screw Hawkins, Indiana).

As Billy sat down, he noticed Steve had a piece of the pie he’d been eyeing. Not fair. He nearly started pouting but caught himself. After all, his pie-less state was his own fault. Why did he have to be reasonable?

Billy took his pen and the essays he had to grade out of his backpack to give himself something to focus on. But then Steve started eating. And he moaned. Quite obscenely.

“Mh, this is so good. Benny is a magician. You guys want a bite?”

Billy really wanted to say yes, not only because he wanted pie, but because Steve was the one offering. It would have been weird, though? Right?

“No thanks” he ended up saying. What a hard thing to say.

Robin had no such qualms. She needn’t have, since she and Steve were actually friends. Not only did she get to experience Steve warmth and kindness, she also got a bite of his pie. Did she even know how lucky she was?

Billy got into his grading. And he was already past the no-pouting stage of the afternoon. It sucked to be him, sometimes.

“You should probably wait for Steve to finish eating… and drinking too, to be honest, before you put your students’ paper on the table. That man is a disaster.”

Billy had to admit Robin was right. He ate lunch with Steve on a regular basis, and had therefore seen him spill a bunch of things on himself. Thankfully, nothing he had ever spilled had reached Billy, so they were probably safe.

“Oh come on! We’re on opposite ends of the table.” Steve objected.

“I know, but I’m sure you’d find a way.”

Steve scoffed but didn’t try to argue his case any further. He looked adorably ruffled when Robin laughed at his expanse.

They didn’t say anything more for a while, as they were finally doing what they had come here to do. At some point, though, Robin brought up a point one of her students had made about the French translation of “Newspeak” in George Orwell’s 1984, which led her and Billy to launch a discussion about the novel.

Steve offered no input whatsoever, but he had stopped grading and had been staring at them for five minutes straight.

It was making Billy’s skin itch.

At some point, he couldn’t take it anymore and asked:

“What’s your opinion Steve?”

“Uh… I… I don’t really have one.” He stammered, caught off guard.

“How come?”

“I, uh, I haven’t actually read the book.”

“Oh. Well, you should. It’s an amazing book.”

Steve fidgeted with his red pen, repeatedly taking the cap off and then putting it back on.

“Uh… I don’t know about that. It’s not really my thing.”

“How can you know it’s not your thing if you haven’t read it?” Billy asked, a tad defensively.

“I didn’t mean the book… I meant, reading.”

Steve bit his lower lip.

“Why not? Is that beneath a math buff such as yourself, or something?” Billy’s tone had become hostile.

And, by pulling accusations out of his ass like that, he had gone from defensive to straight up aggressive.

“No. ‘course not… It’s just… reading is hard for me… I’m, uh… I’m dyslexic, so…” Steve trailed off, looking down at the pen he was seemingly holding in a vice grip.

Billy was speechless with shame and regret, as Steve offered a wobbly smile and said: “I’m gonna… go get some more tea”, before leaving the table.

Billy stared at his retreating form before he turned to Robin and found her glaring at him. If he could have felt worse than he already did, he would have.

“So… should I go apologize right now or should I leave him alone and apologize later?”

Teenage Billy would have probably not apologized at all, but present-time Billy knew better. He felt like the biggest jerk.

“I’d say, go for it.”

Billy followed Robin’s advice and, with knots in his stomach, he went to Steve, who was waiting for his tea behind the counter.

“Steve, man… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay…” Steve said, but his eyes didn’t leave his own shoes.

That wouldn’t do. Billy had made Steve feel shitty, and he would make it better if it were the last thing he did.

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Billy had let his frustration with Steve get the better of him, and that was unacceptable. Steve was not particularly nice to him, so what? It wasn’t a reason to be outright mean to the guy.

“Really, it’s no big deal… It’s not like it’s a secret… my dyslexia, I mean.”

“Yeah, but you obviously didn’t want to share this piece of info with me, and I should have dropped it.”

“I just… I was afraid you’d find me stupid… But you probably thought I was stupid already, anyway… what with me never having anything interesting to say when Robin and you talk about literature.”

“Hey, I don’t…”

Benny placed Steve’s cup of tea on the counter, cutting Billy mid-sentence.

“It’s on me”, Billy said, fishing his five-dollar bill of change out of his jean’s back pocket and handing it to Benny.

“You didn’t have to.”

Was Steve blushing or was it a trick of the light?

“I want to make it up to you.”

“There’s nothing to make up for, but thanks.”

Steve grabbed his cup of tea and was going to go back to their table, but Billy held him back.

“Wait… I want you to know I don’t find you stupid, okay? I know I’m kind of a jackass, but not enough of one to actually think dyslexic people are stupid.”

“Good to know”, Steve replied.

“So, are we good?”

“I told you, we are.” Steve assured, smiling brighter than he had ever smiled at Billy before.

The knots in Billy’s stomach loosened, and his heart filled with warmth. So that was how it felt, when Steve’s sunshine fell upon you? Billy couldn’t wait to experience that feeling again.

“We should get back to Robin.”

“We should” Billy echoed, before following Steve, awestruck.

[edens-breathless-melodies-moved]

words: 3.8k

pairing: haiba l. x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: cursing

summary: this isn’t how his night was supposed to go.

he was only meant to pick you up from the frat party as a favor for yaku who was too drunk to get you home himself.

it was not supposed to be him carting your drunk ass through downtown tokyo  instead of getting you home. (but he wasn’t about to complain getting the chance to be near you more.)

______________________________

“ca-li-fornia girls! we’re undeniable!~”

emerald eyes opened blearily, sleepy pupils trying to focus on the dark ceiling of his bedroom as the sound of his phone ringing woke him up.

groaning and rolling to face the side his phone was on, lev’s eyes slipped closed again as he blindly fumbled around on his nightstand for the buzzing device, quickly growing irritated at its incessant ringing.

cursing under his breath as he continued to blindly flail his hand around for the phone, he sighed when he finally felt it under his fingertips, the phone buzzing once more before finally fallen silent.

grasping it tightly, he rolled onto his back before hovering the phone over his face. lev tiredly tapped the screen with his opposite hand, hissing slightly as the brightness from his lock screen momentarily blinded him.

quick to swipe up and lower the brightness, his eyes eventually adjusted and he cursed again under his breath as he took in the five missed calls from ‘yaku💀’ and the time.

“really? it’s 01:45 in the morning,” he grumbled, unlocking his phone and going to the missed calls. he tapped on yaku’s contact and brought the phone to his ear, tiredly raking long fingers through mussed silver hair. “what could he possibly want at 01:45 in the freaking morning…”

in reality, only a handful of seconds passed, maybe even a minute going by as he waited for yaku to answer. but to lev, it felt like hours had crawled along as he listened to the phone ring.

his eyes slipped close again, and he almost fell back asleep until the sound of yaku accepting his call and the sudden blaring of music brought him back into the land of the living.

startled awake, lev brought a hand up again to lazily scratch his cheek, eyes only barely opened.

“yaku-chan, what’s going on…?” he murmured into the phone, eyebrows scrunching together as he barely picked out the sound of yaku speaking over the loud bass of the music and the distant screech of laughter in the background.

‘is he at a club?’ lev wondered as he barely heard yaku explaining that (y/n)) needed to be picked up from wherever they were at.

at the mention of your name, lev sat up straight in his bed, sharp eyes focused as he suddenly found himself very awake.

“why does she need to be picked up? are you guys okay?” he questioned, twisting his body and throwing his comforter off as he stood up and stretched his long limbs, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

a snort could be heard from the other line, “yeah, yeah. we’re all fine and dandy here, but I think (y/n) has had just a little too much to drink. i know this isn’t her first frat party she’s been too,”

lev hummed quietly to himself. ‘frat party, not a club.’ though he wasn’t so sure that that was any better of a place to be shitfaced at. “but she kinda went overboard with the jungle juice, and i’m pretty sure kuroo challenging her to see who could handle the most shots wasn’t the best idea.”

lev groaned audibly this time, dragging a hand down his face as he walked out of his room and towards the front door, shuffling his shoes on and slipping a hoodie over his head before grabbing his keys and exiting his apartment.

“why would you let her and kuroo do that if you knew her tolerance was shitty to begin with?” he exclaimed exasperatedly as he remotely unlocked his car and climbed in, shivering slightly at the cold october breeze.

lev had known you since his first year of high school, with him being part of the boy’s volleyball club, and you being their cute second-year manager.

he hadn’t meant to develop a crush on you, you were his manager and senpai, after all. but he couldn’t help but become entranced with the way your (e/c) eyes shined like stars whenever he correctly received or blocked the ball during practice matches.

the two of you eventually grew closer, lev keeping his crush on you a secret in fear of ruining his friendship with you.

that didn’t stop the team from finding out and picking on him whenever they got the chance. and though their teasing was almost unbearable sometimes, that didn’t stop him from falling for you any less.

eventually, you graduated, and a year later so did he. you both wound up going to the same university in yokohama. you had already been there a year before you found out lev was going to be attending there as well. 

although you majored in pharmaceutical science with a minor in liberal arts, you can only imagine the shock on your face when lev had texted you saying he was majoring in marine and mercantile engineering, but if that didn’t work out, apparently his sister alisa has a backup plan for him.

“i know, right?! it’s kinda crazy for me to believe whenever i say it out loud, too!” he laughed as you stared at him in shock over facetime.

“that’s just… wow.” you said in astonishment, not being able to fully wrap your head around the fact that this giant, volleyball obsessed goon would be majoring in engineering of all things. 

“i could’ve sworn you would’ve attempted to go pro, at least…” you muttered more to yourself than anything. you didn’t miss the way lev’s smile drooped at your comment, however, and your face flushed in embarrassment and mortification that you could’ve possibly hurt his feelings. 

“n-not that that means you won’t be good at it! you’ve always had good grades at nekoma, and you’re such a creative kid!” you rambled as you attempted to fix your stupid mistake.

your arms stopped flailing around once you heard his laughter waft from the speaker on your phone, and a small blush crept up your cheeks when you saw his lighthearted smile aimed at you again, cat-like eyes shining brightly.

“i know you meant no harm, (y/n)-chan~. and you know i only got good grades cause you helped me study!” you felt your blush grow darker at the cute lilt in his tone whenever he said your name but grinned right back at him.

“exactly! so don’t get too cocky, punk.”

and while you chose to live in one of the campuses dorms, lev settled for a cozy but modern flat about 10 minutes from the school.

(he didn’t have the heart to tell you that his parents weren’t fond of the school’s dorms and instead opted to tell you that he just enjoyed the freedom of being on his own for once when you complained about not dorming near each other.)

you both had grown so much from the volleyball dweebs you were in high school...

snapping out of his trance at the sound of his phone pinging, he brought it away from his ear as he saw that he had received a text from yaku, who was still on the call.

“here’s the address of the frat we’re at.” yaku slurred slightly from the opposite end. lev let out another sigh as he put the phone in its holder connected to his dash, putting the address into maps. 

another tired sigh escaped his lips as he buckled his seatbelt, seeing that the frat was almost half an hour away, very close to where they all went to high school together.

“okay, okay, i’m on my way. just don’t lose sight of her.” he grumbled as he put the key into the ignition and began backing out of his parking space and turning to leave the development’s parking lot.

another slurred ‘yes sir, i’m 6’5 now! headass,’ rang out from his phone’s speaker before yaku hung up, causing a chuckle to leave lev.

sharp emerald eyes paid attention to the road as he began the drive to downtown tokyo to go pick up the woman he loves, shitfaced out of her mind.

a groan escaped him again as he came to a red light, lightly smacking his forehead against the steering wheel. 

this is going to be a very long night.

_________________________

“kurooo, l-let gooo!” you whined as you struggled to remove kuroo’s iron-grip on the waist of your shirt, flailing around to get him off.

a drunken giggle passed his lips as he tugged you back to sit between him and a very sober and very annoyed kenma, who wrapped an arm around your waist as well to keep you locked to the porch’s last step.

“no can do, (y/n)-chan~” kuroo sang as he tightened his grip on you. a weak ‘yeah!’ can be heard from yaku who was slumped against kenma’s legs, holding onto the old setter for dear life as he tried his best to keep the room from spinning.

“you can’t keep running away every time you get wasted, (n/n)-chan,” kenma murmured as he gently rubbed comforting circles into your side to relax you, eyes never leaving the screen of his phone. it was working too, as you began to lean into his side more and relaxed, a content smile on your liquor scented lips. 

“besides,” he continued, a small smile on his lips as cat-like eyes watched you from the side, ready to gauge your reaction. “yaku has already called lev. he’s on his way to come pick you up.”

your relaxed frame stiffened at the mention of the tall green-eyed male, and both kuroo and kenma tightened their grip on you in case you tried to pull a fast one and make a run for it.

“you did w h a t?!” you screeched, clawing at kenma’s and kuroo’s arms in an attempt to flee the area before lev had a chance to see you completely blasted. both men grunted as they continued to hold you against them, though a small smile and large smirk were on their faces, respectively.

a quiet chuckle was heard from yaku too, and you stopped struggling against your old classmates as you narrowed (e/c) eyes onto the ashy haired man. “you!” you hissed before picking up your leg to kick the ever-loving shit out of the unsuspecting male.

at least, that would’ve happened if your veins weren’t swimming with questionable amounts of jungle juice and eight shots of silver patron.

instead, your foot merely shoved the poor boy off of kenma’s legs, (who totally didn’t sigh in relief) and caused him to flop on his back onto the cold concrete sidewalk that lead to the house.

a whine left yaku’s lips as he pouted at the abuse, but he made no move to get up from his temporary napping spot.

yaku closed his eyes as he hummed, not seeing the way your (s/c) cheeks flared with color when he said, “oh please, why are you mad at me? it’s about time you confessed to the giant, lord knows you both are too dense to do anything on your own.”

the end of his sentence made your eyebrows scrunch together in drunken confusion, and both kenma and kuroo cursed under their breath at yaku’s idiocy.

‘she doesn’t know he likes her back, dumbass!’ both boys were glaring daggers at yaku’s body on the concrete, who paid them no mind.

“w-what do you mean ‘both of us’?” you slurred confusedly, hands coming up to form the quotation marks.

before any of them had a chance to say anything, the sound of a car turning onto the nearly empty street distracted them all, and your heart started beating faster when you recognized the grey honda civic driving up to you guys.

the car parked right in front of you guys, and the passenger’s side window was rolled down, revealing a very tired pair of green eyes with an equally tired smile to match it. 

you swore your heart stopped when those eyes locked with yours, gleaming with amusement and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on because, you know, you’re off the fucking chain, right now.

“hey, (y/n)! wanna go for a ride?”

_______________________

a content sigh left your lips as you happily munched on a hashbrown, eyes closed in bliss as you savored the salty delicacy. lev smiled at you softly from across the table, chin resting in his palm as he watched you basically inhale the food.

you guys were currently sitting at an outside a 24/7 mcdonald’s that had recently been built about 15 minutes away from where you used to go to school.

before you guys stumbled upon it, lev was trying his hardest to keep you from getting in trouble or hurting yourself as you drunkenly pulled him along the semi-empty tokyo streets.

even at 2 am, the city never truly slept, so it was to be expected that random people on the streets would giggle or stare at the sight of a small drunk woman dragging around a man two times her height, ignoring his pleads of “slow down, you’ll hurt yourself!”.

“leeev!” you whined, (e/c) eyes shining with exaggerated tears as you puffed your rosy cheeks out. lev gulped as he stared into your orbs, a small blush coloring his pale cheeks.

god, you’re so fucking cute.

“i’m hungry! and you won’t let me stop anywhere!” lev sighed as you pouted, adorably stomping your foot on the ground. “(y/n)-chan,” he sighed. “it would be best to get you home and get some sleep, we both know you’re gonna need it.”

you hmphed, crossing your arms as you raised an eyebrow at him. “since when we’re you so mature?” you challenged him, and a blank look overtook his face.

there was silence between the two of you as you never broke eye contact. finally, a wide grin stretched across his face, and you felt your heart flutter at the genuine expression.

your cheeks heated up even more without the help of the liquor running through your system as you took in his handsome features, those emerald eyes seeming to peer right into your soul.

“you’re absolutely right!” he chortled, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. lev slung a long arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side as he began walking you down the street. 

a small squeak left your lips as you were practically shoved into his side, your right arm automatically coming around to wrap around his waist to steady yourself. 

the blush on your face only burned brighter at the close contact, but thankfully, due to his height and the fact that he was looking straight ahead, he couldn’t see the fire pulsing in your cheeks.

and that’s how you both found yourselves at the mcdonald’s. lev continues to smile fondly at you as you ate, even if you were basically devouring the two bags of hashbrown minis and decimating the orange juice. (He offered to buy the food, much to your chagrin.)

it was only when you wiped your mouth free of the evidence from your massacre meal that you looked up and met his eyes.

shock ran down your spine at the pure, unfiltered look of adoration and love that was in his eyes, and that familiar blush made its home on your face again.

lev must’ve seen your eyes widen, but didn’t connect it to being concerned with him, because a small laugh made its way past his lips as he reached across the table and wiped away a stray piece of hashbrown you must’ve missed from the corner of your mouth.

“i’m gonna guess you’re still hungry?” he teased, hand still hovering by your face. you don’t know what it was, maybe the alcohol still buzzing in your system, or maybe it was the warmth in his eyes that made you feel safe, but you just hummed as you nuzzled your face into his palm, a small smile on your lips as you closed your eyes.

emerald eyes widened as you continued to nuzzle your face into his large palm, lips parting in disbelief as his heart ran amok in his chest.

unable to tear his eyes and hand away from you, lev cautiously ran his thumb over your cheek, and your smile grew as you continued to hum at the soothing gesture.

a small smile of his own crossed his lips and lev settled more into his palm as he continued to stroke your cheek. he wanted this moment to last forever, the sight of your blissful face and the softness of your face in his hands was almost too much for his heart to handle.

when he woke up not even two hours ago to pick your drunk ass up, he never imagined it going like this. If only you knew how much he loved you…

the same thought process was running through your head as you felt like you were floating, the warmth from his hand on your cheek sending you into orbit. it would be an injustice to say that you weren’t head over heels for this big goof.

you’ve liked him since he first stepped foot into the gym for practice in your second year, and you’ve loved him since he cried while crushing you into his chest the day you graduated.

your heart swelled at all the happy memories you’ve made with him, and you wanted him to be in your life for as long as he’d let you. suddenly, a brilliant drunk idea popped into your busing mind, and you nearly slapped yourself at your own genius.

just confess already.

sober you is currently rolling in her grave as you open your eyes and locked gazes with the most perfect man you’ve ever seen across from you.

nothing could’ve prepared lev for the words that left your mouth, but his thumb paused on your cheek as his breath caught in his throat.

“i love you, Lev.” that dopey smile still on your plush lips, a faint pinkness on your cheeks that he was almost certain wasn’t from the alcohol that was almost clean from your system.

“wha-” he didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before you cut him off, continuing.

“i’ve liked you since you stumbled into practice one day demanding to be placed on the team,” you giggled, pressing your face further into his frozen hand. “and i’ve loved you since you ruined my makeup at my graduation when you bawled like a baby and refused to let me go.”

another giggle left your lips and lev flushed at the embarrassing memory and looked away to the side, trying not to remember the scolding he got from your mother who had yet to take photos.

“i know i’m not in the best state of mind right now, and i know you might not feel the same about me cause why would you?”

lev whipped his head back to look at you again, shocked that you would say that. his heart throbbed as he saw the sad smile on your face and the tight look on your eyes. why would you ever-

“because i know there are better people out there for you that could make you a million times happier than me, t-that could fit your personality better than i ever could,” tears began forming in your eyes as your lip trembled, but you refused to let them fall.

“but i just wanted to get this off my chest and tell you that i love you so much it hurts, even though i know you don’t love me ba-”

your words never finished because before you knew it, warm, slightly chapped lips were pressed against yours, and a familiar warm hand left your cheek and made its way to the back of your neck to push you more into the kiss.

shocked, you didn’t have time to kiss back before he pulled away, wide eyes staring into sharp emerald, your tears slipping slowly down your cheeks though you didn’t cry.

lev continued to lean across the table as he cupped both of your cold cheeks in his hands, thumbs brushing your skin soothingly as he stared into your eyes, determination shining through them.

“there is no one, and i mean no one, who could possibly compare to you, (y/n).” he declared with such confidence that you couldn’t help but nod dumbly. 

“i’ve crushed on you since the first day of practice, and when the team found out they gave me hell every day for it, but i couldn’t bring myself to confess because i didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

the sheepish smile that spread across his face as he continued to look into your eyes made the love in his green orbs so much more tangible it made your heart stutter. “hearing that you love me back after all these years is such a relief, i feel like i could die.”

a small snort made its way past your lips, and lev couldn’t help but chuckle with you.

“please don’t think even for a second that someone could complete me more than you. i’d rather kill myself than chose someone other than you.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from frowning before reaching up and smacking him lightly upside his head, a whine leaving his lips as he pouted at you.

“don’t say stupid shit like that!” you scolded as he brought his face closer to yours. your heart began beating erratically as his face neared yours again, his lips almost brushing yours as his words were whispered against your flesh. “can’t help it if it’s true.”

when his lips pressed against yours again, you were ready this time. you kissed him back in earnest, desperately trying to pour all these years worth of restrained love into it, to make up for the lost time. 

lev responds with the same enthusiasm, his left hand trailing down your side before squeezing into your soft waist, startling a gasp out of you.

quickly, his tongue darted into your mouth before tangling with yours. you both fought for dominance, tongues thrashing and slidding against one another as you simply took in the taste of each other.

 the need for air became too much and you separated, panting as you tried to regain your breath. lev fell back into his seat as he panted, his eyes never leaving yours.

you both sat there for a minute, trying to regain your bearings. once your breaths evened out, and the color of your cheeks returned to normal, you both busted out laughing as he reached across to intertwine your fingers together, your hand engulfed by his.

“so…” he began, nonchalantly running his thumb over your knuckles as he rested his cheek in his palm again, eyes twinkling in the city lights.

you laughed before mirroring his pose, an impish smile on your lips as you stared at this devastatingly gorgeous man you now got to call yours. “so…” you parroted back.

“together forever?” 

a chuckle.

“together forever.”

[phobiadeficient]

If you wouldn't mind, could you do a scout x fem sniper? I've seen stories of both females or femscout, but not very often does fem snipes get any love.

welcome to “this request got out of hand and i basically just wrote 5k words of scout tf2 being a goddamn simp”

(no warnings)

-

How the fuck was it that Scout kept ending up head over heels for women who both could and would kill him without any hesitation? Hell, maybe he had a type of something. Who knows?

And he’d kind of done a joke about it, when he heard there was a girl on the team, right? Been all ‘hey, hell yeah, at least boredom won’t be an issue!’, right? And then he’d gone to meet the team and for a minute he’d figured it was the Pyro since he didn’t exactly see a lady and the flamesuit didn’t give out much information. But then he’d seen the figure sitting off to one side facing away from him with the wide-brimmed hat pulled down low and the big shooter’s glasses and the crossed arms and the braid that just barely reached her back and he pieced together some stuff. So he walked over and introduced himself with a handshake and all because he was trying to be polite to everyone up front, good first impression and all, and apparently then he made a mistake, because he called her ‘Miss’.

And then suddenly that handshake turned into his wrist being bent in completely the wrong direction, and her standing up and holy shit she was tall and her voice was way deeper than he’d expected as she calmly informed him that if he called her ‘Miss’ again she would be packing him up in a burlap sack and sending him on a long roll down a short pier, and in fact that her name was Sniper and he could call her that and only that, clear?

So pretty much she was way more intimidating than he would ever be and he was a little annoyed with himself about how hot he found that.

Just his fuckin’ luck, that his nerves got the best of him so bad whenever he really had a thing for a girl, made him act like such an idiot. And he already kind of had his shit wrecked in front of the team once and he wasn’t looking to be turned into the official laughingstock of the group, so he tried his best to leave her alone and steer clear of her before he looked like a complete idiot.

It was just that holy shit she was tall, and every once and a while he would see her in the common area reading a book—like, an actual one—and her voice was kinda gravelly and she could pop a guy’s head from a hundred and fifty feet without even thinking about it and this one time when most of the team was waiting outside the infirmary for Medic to fix them up from battle she fell asleep in the chair across from him and her glasses were all crooked and her hat was lopsided and it was just really really cute—

Okay, so he had a thing for her. The main issue was that he didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

Because, like—she was so fuckin’ cool. And he hadn’t talked to her much for not wanting to look like an idiot reasons, but he’d gathered that while she wasn’t, like, twelve PhDs or mad doctor kinds of intelligent, she was pretty damn smart. And she wasn’t exactly Doris Day or whatever, but he thought she was pretty in a different sort of way. In a could-kick-his-ass kind of way. And also she had a bunch of freckles, which he was just all about.

But he didn’t have the best track record when it came to cool, smart, attractive women wanting to associate with him. Namely, they just straight up didn’t. Mostly they called him annoying or laughed in his face when he hit on them.

Which you would think would start to hurt less after a while, but boy, would you be wrong.

Then again... hey, his luck had to turn around eventually, right?

That’s what led to him putting on the only shirt with buttons that he owned and a pair of nice-ish pants and strolling all the way out to the camper van she lived in instead of the room they had for her in the base.

He knocked, and for a good ten seconds he didn’t hear anything at all and thought maybe she wasn’t even in and he’d have to do a walk of shame all the way back, but then he heard the sound of movement within and a good ten seconds after that, she opened the door.

She was clearly trying to wind down after work, down to her tank top but still in her boots and shades for some reason, and most notably she was holding that big fuckoff knife she always carried into battle. She stared at him, expression flat.

“Uh,” Scout said, eyeing the knife, thrown entirely off of his game for a second.

She went to shut the door again.

“Aw, c’mon, wait a sec!” he whined in protest, stopping the door with his hand. “I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“You had a look on your face like you were planning to ask me to prom,” she deadpanned, and he flushed.

“Did not!” he protested.

She sighed hard, opening the door again. “Alright, then what’s all this, then?” she asked, gesturing loosely at his outfit with the knife.

“Uh,” he started, and fought hard to kick his brain back into motion, to try to piece back together the script he’d had in his head, but they were already wildly off track. “Uh, I was uh—I was just, y’know, I was wondering, if you’re—are you uh, busy?”

She stared at him. “...Am I busy,” she repeated, and he realized how dumb that sounded. Of course she wasn’t busy. None of them except maybe the eggheads were ever busy.

“I uh I meant did you have—y’know, plans or anything? Tonight?” he tried. She raised an eyebrow. “I mean y’know because I was just kinda wondering if maybe you’d wanna go and uh—and get a drink or somethin’. With me, later. Uh, tonight.”

“Mate, you wanna take another run at that without the stutter?” she asked, voice still flat, but her expression had shifted a little, the slightest quirk to her lip.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, shelving his pride for the moment. “Do you wanna go get drinks with me tonight?” he tried, and forced a hard stop at the end, biting his tongue before he could keep rambling and ruin it.

She looked at him. Moved to lean her shoulder against the door, to cross her arms. He glanced at the knife and back up to her face again. Her expression was hard to read.

“What, at a bar? In town?” she asked, tone a little lighter.

“I mean, yeah, sure, whatever’s cool,” he shrugged. “I’ve—I’ve got a motorcycle. Or, uh, I could borrow Demo’s car maybe, he uh, he’s really cool about lending it to me whenever as long as like, like if I’m heading to get food or something I bring back somethin’ for him, and I gotta pay for gas if it’s a long way or whatever but I figure that’s probably fair since I’m the one usin’ it most of the time anyways, I figure that’s a fair trade-off—“

“Scout,” she cut in, and he shut up. She paused. “Rather not go to a bar, if I’m being honest.”

His shoulders sank. “Oh. Uh, yeah, okay, that’s—that’s fair, I uh I totally get it—“

“But I‘ve got drinks here,” she cut him off again, voice raised a little to be heard over his mumbling, and when he looked up she had an eyebrow raised again. “Swing by ‘round nine or so, yeah?”

“Oh. Oh! Uh, no, yeah, totally!” he agreed quickly.

“In something besides the polo, if you don’t mind,” she deadpanned, head tilting to look at his shirt pointedly. “Aren’t exactly a fancy establishment.”

“Sure, okay,” he nodded, and shuffled on his feet for a second before taking the cue and starting to head off back towards base. “Uh, see you then!”

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmured. A pause. “And if you bring flowers I’m locking the door on you!”

“Hah, sure!” he laughed, and waved, and she went back inside.

Two hours later, a few minutes after nine, he’d changed into something more closely resembling his usual outfit, and noted that Sniper had also changed, just a little, putting on a different shirt he’d never seen her in. He realized belatedly that he’d never actually seen her out of the clothes that made up her uniform. It was a nice shirt. He tried extremely hard not to stare at her chest. He mostly succeeded.

And he was proud to say that if nothing else, he could at least hold his alcohol as well as she could. Most of the guys made fun of him and said he was probably a total lightweight, but he wasn’t actually that bad, mostly on account of eating full meals and getting a lot of exercise. She drank a brand of beer he didn’t know shit about, and it wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. And they talked a bunch, about work mostly, but he went on a bunch of tangents in the middle about other stuff, music and movies and home and stories about all his brothers.

Luckily for him, she was apparently pretty patient, and didn’t get annoyed with him and tell him to leave. Mostly she just sat and listened, nodded along occasionally, snickered at a joke every now and then (which was a grand slam victory every time). And by the time he looked at the clock and realized it was pretty late and he needed to head back, maybe it was just the buzz of the alcohol, but she seemed more relaxed, her usual deadpan replaced by the slightest little smile. She offhandedly mentioned that she wasn’t busy around the same time next week, and maybe they could hit an actual bar or something that time.

And he was through the fuckin’ moon over that already, then he was standing outside the door and trying to agree and make sure she was serious as best he could, stammering like a dumbass probably but she already knew he was a dumbass so it was fine, but then he wasn’t stammering because she tilted his face up and kissed him full on the mouth for one, two, three seconds before pulling back and saying she’d see him later and shutting the door behind her.

And he was about halfway back to base when his brain turned back on, and only barely managed to talk himself down from sprinting directly into the common room and announcing what had just happened to the entire team because holy shit he was pumped. But no, no way, he had to keep cool about this. He didn’t know the most about Sniper, but he knew enough to figure she probably wouldn’t be psyched about that.

So instead he just chilled out and wrote in the date and time on his calendar with minimal exclamation points and calmed down.

Mostly.

And, well, he knew he had kind of... a thing, about jumping into relationships a little too quickly, about zooming around the bases and then promptly striking out next time he tried to talk to a girl again, about seeming like he wasn’t really taking things seriously so the girls he dated also didn’t commit super hard and then lo and behold they think he’s a two-weekends-wonder and wander back off again and leave him by the wayside unless they get bored and circle back, then rinse and repeat.

He knew it was partly his fault, and if he wanted to get taken seriously he should really slow the hell down, and god damn it he was committed to not completely fucking this one up, if nothing else then because any kind of messy breakup was gonna make the next god knew how long out in the desert a real problem.

So he kept his hands to himself as best he could, relying more on bumping elbows or jostling shoulders so she didn’t get the wrong idea, kept the flirting exclusively verbal, and kind of joking even then. 

But also at the end of that actual bar date then she’d kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, and she tasted sugary like whatever those technicolor drinks of hers had been called, and she only jokingly complained about how he tasted like tequila, and she smelled like leather and dust and somewhere under that, vanilla—wait, was she wearing perfume? Had she put on perfume for him? Holy shit.

And they were like, right outside the camper, mostly because she’d had just a little bit of trouble standing up and he wanted to make sure she didn’t fall and eat shit on the way back since he was doing just a little bit better, but he had to remind himself over and over, no, no, take it slow, c’mon idiot, don’t ruin this. And so he inched back, kept just a little more distance, and it didn’t take long before Sniper pulled back and glanced him over, from the hands placed at a nice, respectful point on her waist to how he was visibly trying to reorient himself.

“Sorry, mate,” she said, a little quirk of her lip to indicate a smile. “Too much?”

“Uh,” he said, and was cut off as Sniper leaned in and gave him a parting peck on the mouth, followed by a short one to his cheek. “It’s, uh, fine, just, y’know. You’ve had a lot to drink and all and so have I and, y’know, I don’t wanna rush or nothin’—“

“Sweet of you,” Sniper cut in, and that smile was ticking up just a little further. “But it’s alright if you just don’t feel like more than a date, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, nodding and then processing what she said a second later. “Uh. I had fun! This was good. Great! Kicked ass!”

“Again soon?” Sniper asked. “Not next weekend, got other business to do, but soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, totally! Uh, I’ll see you around, uh,” he said, and he had to tip up onto his toes to give her a kiss on the cheek, and then he was bumbling his way through a goodbye.

And then he was in his room jerking off to high heaven, muffled into his hand, mind full of mixed drinks and leather and vanilla and quirked lips and desert heat.

He held himself together for two more outings, once more to a pub and once impromptu in the middle of a Sunday to get tacos from a place Scout liked. And he held himself together almost the whole way through another date in the camper—Sniper made it pretty clear that she liked the privacy of it—even though half of it was spent sitting together on her bed, idly drinking soda and beer and talking about nothing in particular.

But then she was leaning in against his side, a warm weight there, and he couldn’t just not kiss her with her that close, and then he felt her fingertips inching below the collar of his shirt, and it was so damn hot in the camper and he reached for his own shirt and glanced at her with “is this okay?” right on the tip of his tongue but she kissed it right out of him and urged his shirt up and off in a moment.

And before he knew it he was lying on his back and she was half-draped over him, practically pinning him down and kissing him until his head spun and his heart thumped and he hoped to god that she wouldn’t feel that he was getting pretty damn hard already.

“Uh, I-I-I uh I don’t wanna uh, assume nothin’ but uh—“ he stammered out when she leaned back briefly, only to shut directly up when he realized she was taking off her shirt and dropping it off to one side, moving back in to kiss at the place below his chin. “Uhhh but y’know uh I wanted to—to ask, uh, can I—?”

Sniper took hold of his hands where they were lying tangled against the sheets and placed them at her now-bare waist, settling back up to kiss him again, a hand carding into his hair.

“Uh yeah okay,” he mumbled against her lips, and tentatively at first his hands wandered, one sliding up her lower back and feeling out the ridges of her spine and the other hesitating around near her ribcage.

Hesitation, trying to just deal with how wildly unexpectedly good she was at kissing when it got down to it, before his hand trailed up farther, farther.

A pause just as his fingertips reached the edge of her bra. He managed to untangle enough to get a breath in, inhaling to ask a question. “Uh so is it okay if I—?” he started to stammer, then she caught hold of his chin, tilting it up to face her. She had an eyebrow raised at him, expression firm.

“Scout,” she deadpanned, and he shut up. “If you start doing something I don’t like, I’ll bloody well tell you. Unclench, mate. I can handle myself. Stop babying me.”

He gulped, nodded, and reached up to cup at one breast firmly.

“Bloody finally,” she sighed, and sank back in to start kissing a line up his neck.

He felt overheated again, cupping and squeezing and just feeling out her torso, namely what was hidden under firm fabric, fixated and aroused. It wasn’t until his fingers slipped on the cup and he pinched just over where he figured a nipple was that he managed to wring a noise out of her, a soft sound in the back of her throat, and it made his whole body thrum. God. Fuck. God. And she tolerated him playing around for quite a while—patience and all—before getting impatient and tugging his hand around to her back, and seemed pleased that he knew how to handle a bra hook without fumbling. And then he got that burst of confidence, and he was using the arm around her waist to haul her up a bit so he could throw his mouth into the mix.

He talked a pretty big game, he knew that. And he also knew that he did exaggerate a little bit about stuff sometimes. Or a lot. Or made things up.

But he really did actually know what he was doing in bed, honest, even if he usually ended up fucking things up outside of the bedroom often enough to ruin it for himself before he even got there.

All he knew was that Sniper seemed to be caught off guard by both the enthusiasm and his ability to figure out how exactly he could make her feel good, where to kiss and where to suck and overall what he needed to do to get more little noises out of her.

He had his free hand a solid distance down the front of her slacks, sliding with purpose against the front of her underwear and idly admiring the heat of her through the fabric before his brain caught up with him, and then he was pulling back a little. “I, uh, I don’t have—uh anything to uh—“

She hummed, lifting his chin and planting a kiss to the corner of his mouth before leaning over to try to fish through a drawer without needing to untangle from him. Impatience took hold of him fast, made his mouth wander across the expanse of her neck, made her fumble and swear and take just a few extra seconds to pull out a strip of foil squares, tearing one off and dropping it on his chest.

By the time he managed to fumble open the wrapper she’d stripped her slacks off and settled back into place straddling his hips, and he choked on air briefly when she settled back further, weight and heat against where his pants had gotten very tight very fast. She had that quirk to her mouth again. His head was spinning. He reached down to pop the button of his pants, pretty sure he was like, going to die otherwise.

And then condom-kitted fingers were teasing at her, and he watched the way his playing and exploration made her face draw up tight, the way breath puffed out of her unevenly, watched her thighs tremble when his thumb drew soft circles just against the nub hidden just a bit further up between soft folds and fuzz and—

She groaned a plead under her breath just before she teetered over the edge, and it made his hips buck involuntarily, which rocked her and sent her back down much harder than before, and she cried out, thighs going tense, and he felt like he’d touched a live wire watching her jolt through it and back down again, jittery and desperate to move but just barely holding himself back.

She panted hard on the way back down, and some of her hair was sticking to her face with sweat, and she blinked down at him after a second, and her eyebrows furrowed after a few moments.

“...Are you holding your breath?” she asked, eyes narrowing, visibly puzzled.

He exhaled and inhaled and the second he had air back in his system his mouth was running a mile a minute. “Yeah sorry I just y’know I was kinda worried I was gonna start just kinda yakkin’ away there and I didn’t wanna like fuck up my concentration or like throw you off or nothin’ because I kinda do that sometimes and it sucks so I really try my best not to fuck it up like that anymore y’know because uh—“

She rolled her eyes lightly at his shenanigans, moving to stretch briefly, taking a deep, satisfied breath.

“—because y’know heat of the moment stuff I kinda end up just goin’ on and on and on about shit and I don’t just mean in like a dirty talk kinda way even though it’s also that too I just mostly mean like in a sorta just rambling about like—

She reached back over to the strip of foil squares, snapping one off and shifting a short ways further down the bed—not that there was much room, but she managed.

“—like just kinda how gorgeous y—people—uh, girls, I meant girls—!”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise let him keep babbling, just pulling his pants and briefs a short way down his legs and ripping open the foil square with the help of her teeth.

“—uh y’know just how fuckin’ good-lookin’ girls will be because like holy shit y’know? And it’s just like y’know I’ve gotten like compLAINTS—“

His voice rose up into a yip for a moment as she rolled the condom on in a swift motion and squeezed on the upstroke, and he swallowed hard to get his voice back to slightly less shaky, needing to glance away, face flushing at the way the noise had made Sniper grin.

“—uh like about me talkin’ way too much so I figured just better safe than sorry and I’ll just shut up to begin with unless I’m like makin’ sure everything is totally kosher but also you told me to shut up about that too and I didn’t w-w-woah, hah—“

He trailed off with a wheeze followed closely by a very embarrasing squeak as she started to sink down, and he promptly clamped a hand up over his mouth to prevent further noises and found that an added benefit his own shutting the hell up meant he could hear the way she hummed, her shaky breath, the soft sound that rose up in the back of her throat when she’d finally settled.

She finally took a short breath, hummed again, and looked down at him. Her face was flushed down to her collarbones, and her freckles faded into that flush, and she had that quirk to her mouth again. She took hold of his wrists, pulling his hand away from his mouth and where it tangled in the sheets, and instead set it against her chest, the other to her waist. “None’a that,” she murmured, and he nodded quickly, and then she shifted her legs, settled her weight, and started to move.

It took all Scout had just to keep his hands from shaking as he stroked at her skin in rhythm with her movement, watching her move with appreciative, hungry, slightly-awed eyes. His thumb rubbed circles around one nipple, and it made his breath catch seeing the way she bit her lip to keep quiet, the way her eyelids fell that much further, feeling her internal muscles fluttering.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he breathed, honestly and enthusiastically, and she looked up at him, and the quirk of her lip seemed almost sheepish and so he continued. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you. You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Her lip quirked that much further. “No need for the flattery, there,” she breathed back, voice similarly low. “You’ve already in bed with me.”

“Ain’t flattery if it’s true,” he shot back, and squeezed at her breast and made her jolt into a harder motion for a moment. “I’m serious, look at you! I’d sit here and watch this all day if I was allowed, you’re like every painting and sculpture and drawing all rolled up into one, and even then you’re better because those can’t drink me under the goddamn table.”

She huffed a laugh, thrown off her rhythm and falling still for a moment as she grinned down at him as if not entirely sure what to do with him.

“I’m not jokin’!” he insisted, and he was smiling too, even as his breath returned to him. “If I could just sit around with a view like this all the time, it’d totally ruin me. I’d probably sit there until I starved to death and then the last thing I’d ever do was thank you for the fuckin’ privilege.”

“You’re a sap, Scout,” she said, clearly going for a tone of vague disapproval, but she couldn’t quite wipe the smile off of her face.

“Guilty,” he shrugged, and was only a little surprised when she suddenly leaned down to kiss him, and he smoothed hands up her back to hold her there for just a few seconds longer when he thought she was about to pull back away.

“Well,” she murmured, half against his lips, and then sat back up and steadied herself, rolled her shoulders. “Bit refreshing to hear sweet rather than just filth, but either works for me, yeah?”

And she didn’t exactly give him a chance to respond before she was back in motion, so he just nodded again, head falling back briefly.

“God, you feel good,” was all he managed at first, drawing the nail of each thumb down her sides like seams. When that went pretty well, he continued down the outside of her thighs, then back up the inside starting at her knees. “All hot and—and slick—fuck—“

He took hold of her hips and helped support her weight, started rolling his hips along with her rhythm in increasing force until her breath caught alongside every thrust.

“That good, huh?” Sniper asked, and she was grinning again.

“So fuckin’ good,” he agreed, voice dropped, trying hard to keep his head on straight but finding it increasingly difficult.

The room felt sweltering, and the heat alone was making everything spin. That, combined with the heat and weight of another body on top of him—

“Fuck,” he swore again from behind clenched teeth, rhythm faltering as suddenly he felt just a little too close for a moment, and she echoed the sentiment, reaching a hand down between her own thighs, eyebrows all screwed together and thighs trembling. “Wait—“

He brushed her hand aside and found her clit within a moment, rubbing firm circles against her and feeling like the king of the fuckin’ world at the way that made her cry out, rhythm ticking up in speed.

“C’mon,” he urged, and she panted, choked on a moan, and that was it for her, making a series of bitten off noises.

He clenched his teeth and tightened the muscle in his thighs and held on and held on, and only once she was back to limp and out of breath did he slide out and tug himself over the edge. He would’ve been embarrassed about how loud he was as he finished, but it was soothed pretty quickly by the way Sniper settled forward to lay against his side, pressing a brief kiss to his temple and another just below his ear.

“Holy shit,” he breathed in a very unsteady voice, and managed to get his arms to move to lie more comfortably, an arm over her waist. “You’re fuckin’ incredible.”

“Not bad yourself,” Sniper murmured, voice a hum, sounding much more relaxed and much less grumpy than usual.

“Again soon?” he managed, tilting his head towards her.

A hum of affirmation, a pause. “You’re sleeping here, by the way,” she informed him, squeezing with the arm around his chest.

“Hell yeah,” he murmured. “Uh. I wake up kinda early, just so you know.”

She hummed again. “You gonna do the whole nine yards, cook breakfast and all that nonsense?” she mumbled in a deadpan.

“Well usually it’s ‘cuz I go for a run in the morning,” he explained, “but sure, if you want. Got plenty of exercise already, huh?”

A light smack to his flank only made him giggle more, and he felt her shaking her head at him. “Hooligan,” she chided like a term of endearment, and that was when he became certain that he hadn’t fucked everything up.

Well, yet, but he figured if he made it this far, maybe he really did stand a chance.

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Anxiety Oatmeal

CW: Negative self-talk, modern slavery, institutionalized slavery typical for the Box Boy Universe, implied past abuse, implied past torture, human pet,

 Amal pulled some bowls from the wooden shelves his roommate had mounted to the wall last summer, as they renovated the small kitchen together, and tried to remember what his sister had told him about box boy care. 

Make sure to give them something easily digestible at first. Oh, and the website says to hydrate them immediately- 

Smacking a half empty oatmeal bag on the countertop, his lips twitched into an involuntary smile. 

Seems like chamomile tea was the right choice then. 

He had been on autopilot, really, when the boy had stumbled into the flat after him. He was skin and bones, all pale, long limbs wrapped around a shivering body. 

Amal had steered him through the small hallway and sat him down at the cream colored kitchen table, wrapped in Amal’s favorite blanket, before either could process what exactly had just transpired. 

“So,” he rasped awkwardly, pouring milk into a bowl. “I hope you like oatmeal with honey and fruits? We have only frosted strawberries, though.” 

“I-,” he began, then paused, unsure of himself. “Yes, sir?” 

His voice was so thin Ama could barely make it out. 

“Please,” he said as he turned around, an uncomfortable smile plastered on his face. “Just call me Amal, okay?” 

Grey, terrified eyes shot up from the still untouched yellow mug. “I- I didn’t mean to.... I’m sorry I- I meant to...” 

“Hey, it’s...” he trailed off. He held his hands up in a soothing gesture, trying to calm the skittish boy in front of him. 

His eyes screwed shut at the motion and the boy jumped a little, hitting his head against the refrigerator. 

Up until now, Amal never realized how much he talked with his hands. Stuffing them quickly in his pockets, he couldn’t help but stare at the shivering boy in front of him. 

The big blue woolen blanket had slid off his shoulders, revealing thin collarbones and a slim neck with a collar wrapped tightly around it. His eyes traveled up to a delicate face, all high cheekbones and full lips. But his cheeks looked hollow, and dark shadows had made themselves at home under still closed eyes. A big scar cut through his right eyebrow all the way up into his hairline, short black hair hiding nothing. A second, smaller one curved nearly perfectly along his cheekbone. 

He must be around my age. 

The realization hung in the air like the faint smell of burning milk, making Amal’s stomach twist. 

“Hey. It’s fine. I- “ 

I what? 

I'm new to this? Didn’t want to get you? 

Could never ever hurt you. 

The thought popped into his head so suddenly it nearly startled him. His sister’s static voice rang distantly through his head. 

Reassurance and setting clear rules is very important at the beginning. Box Boys are trained to please their owners, you know?

Filled with a new kind of determination, Amal set two steaming bowls on the kitchen table. 

“I’m not mad. Everything is ok. You did everything just fine. You-," he paused, the last words tasting strange in his mouth. “-were a really good boy.” 

Tension left the boys shoulders, just a little, as he risked an anxious look at his new master. 

A good boy? 

Him?

The unexpected praise fizzled warm through his rib-cage. 

And his owner really didn’t look mad. Did he? 

But then, they never do at the beginning. 

“What’s your name?” 

He still couldn’t shake his nervousness at his master’s gentle voice. 

“What- Whatever you want it to be.” 

Amal’s brows knit together, considering. “What did your old... ehm old Master call you?” 

A faint blush crept over his face tinting his ears pink. “Humpty-Dumpty.” 

“What?!” 

Amal bit his lip ruefully as the boy jumped again, spluttering a hasty apology. “Sorry I-“ 

“No no. You have nothing to be sorry for. We just gotta find you a better name, eh? Shouldn’t be too hard. But let’s eat something first.” 

The two sat in silence for a moment, each waiting for the other to make the next move.

“Um, what’s wrong? Aren’t you hungry?” 

Slim fingers fidgeted with the blanket. “You- You haven’t given me permission, yet.” 

“Oh. Go on then, dig in.” 

The boy tried to suppress the slight tremor of his hands as he lifted the first spoonful to his lips. Cream colored mush, marbled red from melted strawberries and gold glistening honey sat before him, almost too pretty to eat. The scent of sweet milk, cinnamon and safety filled his nostrils, and the strange urge to cry crept up his throat. He swallowed it down with the soft sweetness on his spoon. 

“Mhhhhm.” He felt his face heat up at the low moan that escaped his lips. 

His Master munched through his own bowl, a sheepish smile on his face. 

God, when was the last time he had something this good? 

Had he ever had something this good? 

Way too soon, his spoon scratched the bottom of his bowl. He continued scraping until the last bite, determined not to waste a single drop. 

“You really like oatmeal, hm?” 

“Ye- yes. Thank you, sir.” All color drained from his face at the realization of his misstep. 

How could you be so useless?

Not even able to follow one order?

You didn’t deserve to be fed such good food, disobeying your Master like that. 

Bad, stupid Pet! 

There was only one way to atone for this. Holding his hands out, palms and the sensitive skin of his wrists facing up, head bowed down low, nearly touching the table, he choked out: 

“Please, forgive me.” 

The least he could do now was take his punishment like a well-behaved pet. 

“Whoa, hey, no.” Amal stopped short, staring at the thin scars crisscrossing soft skin. Faded white and fresh pink ones painted a bizarre picture of pain across his wrists. 

The Boy shook heavily, struggling not to flinch away as Amal’s hands took his. 

The awaited pain however, never came. Only soft palms cradling his own. 

His master’s hands were so small. 

“There aren’t any punishments here, okay?” 

His heart nearly stopped as he lifted his head, not daring to pull his hands away. “No punish-?“ 

Amal rubbed soothing circles in his palms. “No. And don’t worry about calling me Sir, okay? You can do that if you want to.” 

If he wanted? 

He could feel his head spin, just a little, but Amal kept rambling on, not giving him any time to think. 

“Ehm, also I- I came up with a name but it's okay if you don’t like it. So it’s- what do you think of Paxton?” Amal rubbed nervously at the back of his neck, feeling it grow hotter as the other just stared at him. 

Then, nodding slowly, he replied.

 “I’d like that.” 

  This was also improved by the fantastic @finder-of-rings thank you for being my beta reader

A quick disclaimer: I’m not a native speaker and apologize for any mistakes I might have made. Writing in another language is a bit scary in an exciting kind of way. :) I always appreciate criticism and ideas on how to improve, so you guys can enjoy my writing even more :)

[himbowelsh]

18 with winnix for the kiss prompts please!

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy  💋 (accepting!) 18.   kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

this definitely...  escalated far past where you wanted/needed it to go, and turned into more of an exploration of their post-war relationship, when winters joins nix in new jersey...   i had fun with it, but oof, did it ever kinda spiral.  there’s definitely kissing towards the end, though, so i hope you enjoy!!

To be fair, Nix never promised him an enjoyable night.

His first pitch was “a party”. Dick, who’s had enough experience with the sort of parties that go on in Nixon, New Jersey, replied that he had paperwork to catch up on. It was a good excuse because it wasn’t a lie. Nix brooded for a solid thirty seconds before popping back up, smile bright, to declare, “an evening affair, then, and you’re my date. You have to be, since I need one, and I haven’t got anyone else.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “What about that girl, the one with the — the red hair —?”

“Hah,” replied Nix, in a flat tone that suggested his redheaded girlfriend was ancient history.

“One of the lobby girls, then.”

“Hah.”

“Blanche?”

“Hah!”

“I’m sure your mother would be honored to go with you.”

Nix had to grip the edge of the table to keep from falling down, laughing.

By the time he regained his composure, Dick was pretty much resigned to accompanying him for the evening. He’s never been able to say no to Nix anyways, even during the war. Being home — Nix’s home — and seeing him in his element — for better or worse — just makes it harder. Something about Nix in the bustling atmosphere of the New Jersey social scene is beguiling, electric, and a bit haunted. Like watching a film noir, Dick can never look away.

He doesn’t expect to have a good time. Nix’s parties are not designed to be good times for people who don’t smoke, drink, or gamble. Nix was kind enough not to remark on the novel tucked into the inside pocket of Dick’s suit jacket as they strode up the walkway towards the roaring party. Loud music blared from open windows; lights and laughter twinkled from beyond the spacious French doorways. It was only nine o’clock, but Dick could feel exhaustion creeping up on him already.

“Come on,” Nix encouraged, guiding him into the townhouse with a proud hand on his elbow. “Let’s set you up on a nice sofa and find a Shirley Temple. Extra cherries, just for you.”

The one thing Dick will credit Lewis Nixon’s parties for — they’re never stingy with the cherries.

Now, three hours into the affair, he sets aside his most recent soda and scans the crowd. As the hours wind away, the raucous group has started to thin out. Either the partiers are headed somewhere else, or all have appointments to keep in the morning, because they show no signs of lingering into the early hours. Dick can be grateful for that much, at least. Those types of parties typically end with him dozing on a stranger’s sofa until he has to steer a very drunk Nix into the back of the waiting car at 3am. Dick has suffered through enough late evenings to never want to see another one again — though, time after time, he ends up coming out for Nix.

It seems like a quiet one tonight, though, thank goodness. The music has faded to a lull, someone thrumming out a thoughtful tune on the piano. The rowdiest partiers have taken leave, and all that’s left are Nix’s regular companions— the home’s owner, another Ivy League man Nix knows well, along with several of his mistresses; a few other Nixon Nitration folks Dick vaguely recognizes, and their dates; Nix’s sister Blanche, leaning languidly over the piano in a shimmering silver dress; and Nix, sprawled in a chair, top buttons of his shirt undone and hair disheveled.

He looks utterly debauched, and something about it thrills Dick. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, of course, but Nix in his sanguine element is magnetic. He’s like a panther — sleek and relaxed, dangerous under a veneer of nobility. No matter how much he’s had to drink, Nix’s dark gaze is always piercing; he always seems to know something the rest of the room doesn’t, and sometimes it plays on his lips like a hidden treasure.

He’s smirking like that now, and the smirk’s trained directly on Dick… and he can’t look away. It’s impossible. Even if he wanted to, Nix reels him in with that penetrating gaze. It’s all Dick can do to sit up straighter, pretending he is comfortable in this rakish crowd, the only one sober and the only one out of place.

“Speaking of saints,” Nix says at once — loud enough to cut in on whatever theological ramble his Yale buddy was in the middle of, “here’s one now. Sitting in front of us. Dick, come here. Show these fellows what a true Saint Augustine looks like.”

Dick would rather do anything else… but he’d cross a mountain for Lewis Nixon. Crossing the length of a trashed ballroom is only a bit more challenging. He comes to stand at Nix’s side, clearly uncomfortable, while Nix’s friends take him in as though seeing him for the first time this evening.

“You know I’m not Catholic, Lew,” he tries to quip, to break the tense mood. Nix’s hand catches his, squeezing lightly, and Dick’s own unease only grows.

“Neither am I, but we’re pretending for tonight. Gives all the sinning a bit more zest, you know?”

“Sure.” Dick’s hand comes to rest on the back of Nix’s chair, unconsciously craving something to do. One of the host’s mistresses, with bright red lips and sharp eyes, doesn’t miss it.

“Ohh,” she hums, like the word is a wave she must ride to the shore. “Don't say it, Lewis. This is your handsome date?”

Something about the way she says it has Dick’s shoulders tensing in instinctual alarm. Maybe Nix has had far too much to drink, or can read this crowd too well; he doesn’t even flinch at the implication.

“Afraid so,” he replies, a hand creeping up Dick’s sleeve. “Nice enough to hang around all night, even though he’d rather be back home pouring over...  productivity reports. Employee reviews? Staff... surveys?”

“Something like that,” Dick says.

“Something like that.” Nix’s hand runs up and down Dick’s arm, blatantly fond. It takes everything in Dick’s power not to tense up.

None of the assembled crowd seems bothered by such a display, however. Nix’s friends exchange knowing looks, smirking around lit cigarettes or crystal glasses. One woman languidly kicks her heels onto her date’s laugh, shaking her head. From the piano, Blanche runs a hand over her glossy hair, gaze sharp on her brother and his companion. “He’s out of your league, Lewis,” she chimes. Her smirk is catlike, voice like molasses dripping onto spring grass. At times, she looks dangerously like her brother, and Dick isn’t sure how to handle either of them.

Nix’s grip settles around Dick’s upper arm. “Isn’t that the truth?”

When Dick looks down, Nix is looking up. Something about his whiskey-bright gaze knocks the breath from his lungs. It’s too… soft, too tender. Too intimate for this party, to exist among strangers. Nix’s grip on his bicep is firm, and Dick has no desire to pull away. He doesn’t get the chance to question — not even a flicker of uncertainty, a breathless what's he doing — before Nix gives a tug, and Dick all but tumbles into his lap.

He regains his balance like a newborn colt, to the bubbling laughter of Nix’s audience. His cheeks flare, bright red; Nix’s touches, usually so welcome, now linger on his skin like a hot iron. He’s straddling his best friend’s knees, Nix’s arm wrapped around his to steady him, and it’s all Dick can do not to leap back to his feet to salvage whatever slim slice of dignity remains.

“Nix,” he says, voice low in warning.

“Relax, Dick,” he answers, equally softspoken. “It’s all a game. Don’t you see? None of it really matters.”

It matters to me, he wants to say...  because Nix has never held him without it mattering, has never caressed him without every sensation engraving itself permanently into Dick’s memory. Nix has never… not mattered to him. Some part of Dick, an small yet insidious murmur, wonders when he became insignificant to him.

The way Nix caresses his face is anything but meaningless, though… as is the way his dark gaze lingers on his lips, simmering for so long that Dick can feel its heat. Nix’s thumb grazes the corner of his mouth, and instinctively Dick draws back.

Something hurt flashes in Nix’s eyes. Dick cannot feel guilty. He doesn’t want this — can’t Nix understand that? Not here, not now, not putting on a show for an audience. Not when Nix is whiskey-soaked and careless, so far gone that Dick could get drunk off the taste of him. If this is a game, Dick doesn’t want to play.

“Father isn’t around for you to give a coronary, Lewis.” Blanche’s voice echoes as though from the other side of a tunnel, practically bored. “Save it for the next family dinner, at least.”

Gradually, Nix’s grip on Dick’s waist loosens. His touch pulls away from his face, finding Dick’s hand instead. He raises it to his mouth and lets it linger there — a sweet mockery of a kiss — before releasing Dick entirely. 

Dick pulls away, regaining his posture and his dignity. The eyes of the room are all on him now, as surely as they were on the jazz singer earlier in the night. He can’t take their weight, or their curiosity. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead, he brushes himself down and murmurs an excuse to Nix. “Just going to get some air.”

Nix doesn’t try to stop him.

Stepping out into the cool night is like being released from prison. Dick braces himself against the stone railing of the townhouse’s balcony, gazing at the gravel drive only a few feet below. He could jump it, if he really wanted to — easier that than going back inside and leaving out the front door, wrangling Nix away from his clan. They’re not so far from home — he could walk it, in an hour or so. The fresh air would do his head good. At least in the dark, no one would be able to see him, to wonder and scrutinize…

His mind has gone to a strange place now, and is twisting itself in tangles. Recognizing his own impossible daydream, Dick sighs, slumping forward. A hand finds his hair, rumbling it. For a long moment, he only breathes, focusing on the autumn air filling his lungs and the crickets chirping in the night, to drown out the storm raging inside.

His nerves are too taut not to notice when someone comes up behind him… but the scent of perfume is familiar, so he doesn’t jump. She sidles up alongside him, inhaling softly in the night air; she blows out the same way Nix does, from deep within her chest. When Dick raises his head, Blanche is not focused on him at all, but looking ahead down the driveway.

“Planning your escape?” she asks lightly. Her mulberry lips curl upwards, without the chore of looking at him. “I don’t blame you. That was painful, in there.”

Dick arches an eyebrow. “You felt it too?”

She has a drink in her hand, but the glass is empty. As Blanche’s attention drifts to it, she seized upon the olive, still speared and languishing inside the glass. With delicate, manicured fingers, she plucks it out and scrutinizes the tiny fruit.

“You can’t let him bully you, Dick,” she says after a moment. The scent of wine may be heavy on her breath, but her words are perfectly sober. “He doesn’t mean to, but it’s instinct around these people. They all like to show off, and he’s proud of you.”

Dick’s brows furrow. He’s not some brand new car, or a gold-plated watch. “Why?”

“Because you’re nothing like them.” Blanche’s dark gaze flickers up to him; for the first time tonight, Dick feels entirely seen. Her lips purse, like she’s fighting back a smile, but something in her eyes reminds him of loneliness. “You don’t belong in this set… and that’s nothing against you, darling, only what you know as well as us. My brother prizes you so highly; he’s proud that you’re here, that you’re with him, that you give him your time and agree to accompany him to these parties, even though you’d much rather be doing anything else.”

Dick’s lips purse. Blanche waits a moment, as though expecting him to protest… but he has nothing to say.

“Rich little boys love their toys. You need to remind him that you aren’t one.” Her fingers drum against the rim of her glass; each clink-clink-clink pierces Dick’s nerves like shrapnel wounds.

“He doesn’t mean anything wrong by it,” he protests, because he knows Nix well enough to understand that. 

“Of course not. If he didn’t care about you…” Blanche’s words trail off, along with her gaze. She drifts back out to the driveway, painted lips pursing like she’s considering something far away. After another silent moment, she glances at Dick once more. “Last chance to run.”

Dick smirks. “I’m considering it.”

Blanche sighs into the night, pushing her folded arms off the railing and stepping back. Dick no longer feels inclined to stand out in the darkness, alone. As she steps back into the well-lit hallway, he follows her.

When they reenter the lounge, Nix is holding court, in the middle of an animated story Dick’s heard before. “— of course, I couldn’t have known there was a cat involved, otherwise I’d never have set foot in the apartment. So I sit down on the couch and the damned thing launches at me, yowling like a bat out of hell —“ He cuts off, mid-flail, gaze landing on his sister and companion. “Ah. Was wondering where you too made off to.”

“Nothing untoward,” Blanche drawls, slinking back towards the bar. “I offered, but Dick’s too upstanding.”

Nix locks onto Dick, and again, his gaze is painfully warm. Dick feels the same way, like a furnace is burning under his collar. Uneasily, he lowers himself onto a settee at the far edge of the room, back to the door so he won’t be tempted. So long as he’s in Nix’s sightline, his presence counts… but he doesn’t have to make himself the object of a crowd’s fascination again.

Nix understands, in that easy way of his. His lips curl up in the slightest smile, before he turns back to his audience. “As I was saying…”

His story winds on for a little while longer, before he grows bored with it. By then, the crowd has grown equally bored with its malingering, but still too languid to get up and do something about it. One of the women slips behind the piano and tries to start up a dancing tune, but no one bites. Her song devolves into something slower, more thoughtful. The host pours himself another drink from the bar, and doesn’t offer to serve anyone else; his mistresses chatter in an undertone, lipstick stained crystal glasses sitting beside them. Nix reclines back in his chair, perfectly debauched. His hair is a ruffled mess, bow-tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. The top of his shirt is still open, carelessly displaying his collarbones and a flash of dark hair across his chest. 

You’ll catch a chill, a voice in Dick’s head that sounds too much like his mother chides. He’s seized briefly with the inexplicable, intense urge to cross the room and lean over Nix to close the shirt himself. It passes, of course, and he politely averts his gaze.

Perhaps he’s doing too good of a job not looking at him. “Dick,” Nix finally says, from right behind him. “Ready to go?”

A wave of relief washes over him. He hasn’t wanted anything so badly since his discharge papers. “Let’s go,” he replies, rising to his feet.

They pay polite goodbyes to their host; Blanche waves them off with an eyeroll for Nix and a blown kiss for Dick. Then, finally, they leave through the front door, and slip into the night.

While they drove here themselves, Nix is in no state to command the car. Dick is already prepared to take the wheel, when the valet steps up with keys in hand. “Do you require a ride home, Mr. Nixon?”

Dick’s surprised gaze swivels towards Nix, as if to ask do we? (He’s still so unused to the world of chauffeurs and butlers, and every encounter leaves a foreign, coppery taste in his mouth.) Nix dwells on the offer for a moment with lazy-eyed disinterest, before shrugging and gesturing the valet towards his car. “Why not? Roy likes to be generous. Let him do us a favor for once, huh?”

Dick, who has never personally done Nix’s friend Roy a single favor, just nods.

Nix’s car is sleek and expensive, a top of the line Plymouth Deluxe in glossy black paint and felt seating. Dick has sat in the passenger’s seat enough times that sliding into the back feels like a mistake, something to double back and correct before he manages to embarrass himself. Nix slides in right behind him, not giving him the chance. The scent of car freshener can’t disguise the stuffy air in the back of the car; there’s not much separating the back from the front, but the forward row of seats stretch up, practically creating a barrier to separate both ends of the car in half. Dick hears the driver slide in up front, but in the darkness, it’s hard to see.

“Turn on the radio, will you?” Nix requests as the car stirs to life. Obligingly, the driver turns a few knobs; what threatens to become an awkward silence immediately finds itself drowned out by a staticky love ballad.

“And when I kissed you, darling It was more than just a thrill for me It was the promise, darling Of the things that fate had willed for me…”

The timing is astonishingly poor. Dick slumps back against the seat, all but defeated. At his side, Nix chuckles.

When Dick looks over, it's impossible to catch his eye. The night is too dark, and these roads aren’t well-lit; shrouded by shadows, Nix’s eyes are two black holes, drawing all trace of light into them and holding it hostage. Dick catches a flash of something pearly, which must be the jagged cut of Nix’s smile; the silhouetted shoulders rise up and down, in what isn’t quite laughter.

After a moment, Nix goes still. Dick can’t see, but he knows he’s being watched.

“Well?” Nix finally says. “When are you going to tell me what an idiot I am?”

Dick turns his head, looking out the window nearest to him. “Never occurred to me, Nix.”

“Maybe not to say it, but you were thinking it. Come on, Dick.” A smooth-palmed hand finds his in the darkness. Dick allows it. “I knew I screwed up the moment you pulled away. Knew it as soon as I saw your face, really, but damn me if I know how to stop… come on, that’s what I bring you to these things for. To keep a leash on me.”

Dick thinks Nix’s social circle picked up on that, at least.

He doesn’t realize how tense he’s gone until Nix’s thumb strokes along the back of his knuckles; his hand, Dick realizes, has gone stiff as a corpse’s, gnarled with tension. When he looks down, he’s suddenly ashamed. He tries to pull away, but Nix holds fast.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sudden and sincere.

“You didn’t do anything,” Dick replies. “If I didn’t want to be there —“

“You don’t want to be there. You come to these awful things for me, even though you can’t stand it, and you’re a fish out of water the whole time. I’m being cruel to you. Downright uncharitable! And you know the reason why.”

Dick’s gaze is drawn back to him again. This time, as a flash of light passes through the car, he glimpses Nix’s face — eyes bright with drink, devastatingly earnest, his lips curled downwards and jaw tense. He’s handsome without trying… and cruel, too. More careless than he realizes.

Blanche’s words echo in his ears: rich little boys love their toys.

“It might be a game to you, Nix,” Dick says softly, “but it isn’t to me. Whatever show you were putting on in there… I don’t want to be part of it anymore.”

Nix is silent for a long moment. The air between them is thick as curdled cream. “I understand,” he finally says. “I… I get it, Dick, christ. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Of course he knows. Doesn’t Nix realize he doesn’t have to put on a show for anyone, just do Dick will stand by his side? Doesn’t he realize the whole reason Dick goes to these parties, time and time again, is for him? Because he’d shatter the entire world and piece it back together, fragment by microscopic fragment, just to make Lewis Nixon happy?

“It’s never been a game to me, Nix,” he says softly.

In the darkness, Nix’s hand finds his again. This time, Dick squeezes tight.

He doesn’t know exactly how they come together, what magnetism pulls them or the way their bodies fit together. His shoulder presses up against Nix’s; his fingers find the threads of Nix’s hair; Nix’s thigh is a solid weight as it drapes over his own, his skin is warm, and suddenly Nix is practically in his lap.

It felt better this way. Dick likes the cover of darkness, is painfully grateful for it, just as he is of the way his hand fits over Nix’s hip. He likes holding him so much more than he likes being held… and something in the sigh Nix breathes against his lips suggests he likes it this way too.

“It’s not a game to me either, Dick,” he murmurs. “You matter too damn much”

The distance between them closes on its own will. Nix tastes like whiskey and coffee and August twilight; his lips are smooth, gliding over Dick’s own as though he’s wet them a dozen times since their conversation began. Their embrace is tender, but the hand gripping Dick’s shoulder is desperate. When Dick sighs against Nix’s lips, he utters a soft noise, almost like a whine. Dick’s fingers run along his scalp, soothing the dissatisfaction away.

“I much prefer this,” Dick mutters. “It suits us both better… privacy.”

“If it suits you,” Nix replies, “that’s all I need to know.”

It’s not perfect, and it’s not quite laid to rest… but they make it home at a reasonable hour, and Dick holds Nix in the privacy of their own home. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

[samsbastardzone]

kiss meme: 16, 32, 45, 47. for osfyr and chef’s pick of partner. also these were randomly generated so i do not actually know what these are as i send this

you givea me the rights.... hohoho

readmore for the rights of anyone scrolling past this!

16. One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

It’s only right, of course it is, that Osfyr should be doing this. It’s their old friend they’re talking about, of course they want to find him. But as he’s watching them do the final check on their pack, Xerxes can’t help but be a little sad.

“It’s hard to go from Constant Boyfriend to No Boyfriend, you know?”

Osfyr jumps and looks over at the doorway to see him leaning there, a smile cracking their face. “Babe, I’m hardly leaving you forever. We can talk, like, SO many times per day, for a whole twenty-five words each!”

Xerxes’s lips quirk briefly before descending back into a pout. “But I don’t know how long you’ll take to find them,” he begins to cross the room, “and besides, doll, I’d much rather have you here...” His hands brush Osfyr’s waist and settle on their hips, but they turn away, laughing.

“X, why don’t I call Yelkian and ask him to stay here for a bit if you’ll be so lonely without me?”

Their voice is teasing, but Xerxes’s frown only deepens. “But I want you.”

Osfyr’s heart flutters a little at the sight and the sentiment, and all they can think to do in response is plant a solid kiss on Xerxes’s lips. They can feel his pout smooth out under their care, and by the time they break apart he’s smiling too.

“I’ll be home when I can. I’m only going off to find them in the first place, it’ll be easier to visit them when I have more to go on than drugged-out rambling. And I’ll call often.”

Xerxes’s smile is soft and loving. “Say hi to Drago and Jennifer for me, alright?”

Osfyr breaks away to buckle their bag shut before kissing him again, briefly. “I will.”

32. A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.

They were going to have to fight, of course– no way around it. He’d been pretty sure they were going to win as well, but there’s never certainty in these things. He trusts Osfyr– enough to listen to them when they told him he wouldn’t be safe in the city, although he’s not sure he believes it. So he’s been hunkering down with their family for a time, with various degrees of tension– the parents and one brother have been mostly ignoring him, while the sister and the other brother are much friendlier. Still, it’s been a hard few days.

It’s a lovely late spring evening, and Yelkian is inspecting the burned-out shell of a house in the dying light when he hears a thump behind him. Whirling around, hands already in a casting pose, he sees Osfyr crouching on the ground awkwardly and looking up at him, relief and joy evident all over their face, and his shoulders relax.

“Well?”

“We won.”

And suddenly they’re crossing the short distance to him in a single bound, and pressing their lips to his, and all the air leaves his lungs in a single instant. Their hands come up to grab his face and keep him there and he’s not objecting, just rests his own on the small of their back finally finally finally and hangs on for dear life. When they pull back, their face is wet with tears, and for once in their life, they’re speechless. Their forehead presses against his, and the sounds of the grassland at night hit him all at once– they’re surrounded by a full complement of crickets. He doesn’t want to move from this spot.

“Hey,” they say, and it sounds like a promise.

“Hey,” he says back, and it’s a witting response– yes, that was alright, I’d like to do that every day until I die or you do.

They seem to understand, and they’re certainly not rushing to reunite with their family, so Yelkian is content simply to stand there in that crumbling town, feeling more stable than he has in years.

45. Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

The sounds of the party fade in the background, replaced with hurried footsteps and labored, stair-climbing breaths. “How the hell do you manage all these stairs every day?”

“I got used to it, weaksauce, and now I have these to show for my troubles.” Jupiter lifts her dress just enough to show off her strong calf, and Osfyr immediately misses a step and falls, because they are a Disaster. Jupiter stops and offers a surprisingly firm hand up off the ground, which Osfyr accepts graciously. “Don’t worry, though, we’re almost there, and I intend to have you much more than fall down at my feet.”

As Osfyr hoped, as soon as the door closes to Jupiter’s private quarters, they’re bracketed against it and being kissed senseless. One of her forearms is braced on the door by their head, and one hand is on the side of their neck, thumb stroking their cheek. They gasp, and squirm, but she’s got them tight, only pulling back to drop a line of kisses down their jaw and bite across their collarbone.

“As lovely– oh– as this is, unless you intend– hnnn– to have me against this door, we should probably move.” She responds with a wicked grin and a deliberate grind of her hips into theirs, and their eyes flutter closed. “To the bed, Jupiter.”

Her eyes twinkle in the lamplight. “I’m terribly sorry. Of course. Right away, oh saviour of Boralus–”

She’s cut off by another kiss, Osfyr planting their hands on her hips and walking her backwards towards... something. Osfyr’s never been here before, is the thing, and it’s sort of hard to navigate someone else’s house when 1. The lighting is practically nonexistent, and 2. Most of your field of view is filled with said person’s eyes. There’s a reason people tend to close their eyes while kissing. All this to say, Jupiter’s back hits another doorframe with an oof sound, and that’s just fine. Now it’s her turn to gasp as red marks are sucked into her neck, hands tangled in thick hair.

It doesn’t last long, though. “Osfyr– Osfyr this is the kitchen. I’m sure there are better places– fine, I’ll just show you.” She tries to push them, but they aren’t budging, and in the end she just sort of steers them towards her bedroom still latched to her. Except, then they nip a little at a sensitive spot, and she forgets completely that she was unpacking a  new chest of dresses that morning, and suddenly she’s on the floor with a willing partner under her, eyes wide and panting, and then their hand is on her hip pulling her down and their other hand is on the laces of her dress and maybe the rug will do just fine after all.

Next time, they make it to the bed. The time after that, just the couch, then the bed again, then they make a game of it and aim for the kitchen just for fun.

47. A kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged.

Osfyr wasn’t expecting it to break this badly. They’d tagged along last minute on a vacation with Jupiter and Krem, hoping to spark a bit more of a connection with their girlfriend’s boyfriend. They’d gotten attacked on the journey, though, and said boyfriend had been laid flat by, of all things, a dragon– an escaped  “monk” out for revenge. Jupiter had saved the day while Osfyr was busy having a panic attack.

When they finally come back to themself, Jupiter is kneeling over Krem and pouring a healing potion down his throat. He sits up, sputtering a little, and gazes at Jupiter above him, and just wraps his arms around her and buries himself in her shoulder. Osfyr looks on as they try to stop shaking and sobbing. Eventually, they succeed, but they’re still crouched rocking in the dirt, oblivious to the world.

Without much preamble, Krem is kneeling before them, having untangled from Juupiter. “You hurt much? Are you doing better?”

They take a deep, shuddering breath and nod, finally looking up to meet his gaze– the intensity is startling, not least the clear depth of his worry for them, and they can’t help but to surge up, kissing him briefly but mainly wrapping themself around him as tightly as they can manage. He’s muscly enough to do a damn good hug, and Osfyr is also clinging tightly enough to make Krem wince.

“Ouch– bruised rib–”

“Whoops– sorry Krem–”

A shadow looms over the both of them, and Jupiter extends a hand up to each of them. “I’m glad you both got through that, boys.”

[inspired-by-the-music]

Chapter 14: Someday

Ae-Young’s POV

The day after the engagement party, I think Kyuhyun wanted some sense of normalcy in our relationship. It didn’t matter how much he apologized the night before, and it didn’t matter that he had delicately avoided the topic when he held open his car’s passenger door— I was still too red in the face to look at him. 

My gaze was fixed on the blur of trees outside the window when he decided to apologize again. 

That only made me squirm. Why should he have to feel so concerned about my feelings when they were a humiliating overreaction? Although talking about it was the last thing I wanted to do, I would have to explain myself. That was the only way to bridge the uncomfortable distance that had settled between us, so I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry too.”

He broke his focus on the road just briefly enough to shoot me a bewildered stare. “What are you sorry for?” He tried to insist, “You were only reacting to a situation that wasn’t your fault.”

I don’t know how he had rationalized my tantrum, and I was too flustered to ask. For some reason, it made me feel smaller— the fact that he didn’t hold me accountable— and that’s why my voice was barely a whisper when I said, “It was an overreaction. It’s just—” I actually choked on my embarrassment. “I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to act the way I did.”

Kyuhyun didn’t react. To calm my nerves, or to at least seem a little less anxious than I was, I shuffled through the tracks on the CD he always liked to listen to while driving. “I’m not trying to excuse myself or anything. I— for years, Heechul has been making fun of me because I’ve never been with a guy that way or any other way—”

Maybe I should be grateful for Kyuhyun’s interruption since it prevented us from having to discover where my rambling would lead. “That’s stupid,” he huffed. 

I gawked at him because ‘stupid’ didn’t seem like a word he would ever use. 

His eyes met mine, and he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to disrespect your brother, but that’s probably the most immature nonsense I’ve ever heard. You’re only 22—”

“23,” I corrected, proudly straightening in my seat at my age. “I just turned 23.”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as if counting out the years before agreeing, “Right— well, you’re still very young. And even if you were my age, there’s no shame in innocence.”

Of course, I thought that myself, and I couldn’t even count the number of times I’d told myself that I shouldn’t listen to Heechul’s teasing. So why didn’t I ever feel truly reassured until Kyuhyun verified what I had always thought? 

I decided against trying to explain that while there was no shame in innocence, there was a little shame in never having had the opportunity. There was a little shame in having never held that kind of appeal for anyone, even though I wouldn’t have known how to react to that kind of attention. There was a little shame in being unable to think about that without going all red in the face.  

“I know.” I sank in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest defensively. “But that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing when that stuff is brought up and Heechul just starts laughing at me.”

Calling it ‘that stuff’ made me feel more childish than ever, but what else was I supposed to say? Imagining how I must have looked like a two-year-old sulking in my fiancé’s car because of Heechul’s stupidity, I laughed out loud. “Wow, I sound so silly!”

Kyuhyun was reluctant to laugh with me until he parked the car and looked at my no longer blushing face. “So you’re not upset anymore?” He beamed at me. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I shrugged as I snapped my fingers. Then, I added, “At least until that stuff comes up again. Maybe if I get my first kiss— wait—” I jumped up in my seat and pressed my palms flat against the window, asking, “Where are we, Kyuhyun?”

“You like gardens, right?” He grinned while opening the door. He took my hand into his and led me into a public garden I had only visited once on a school trip.

I cheered, “I love flowers!”

Maybe I should have been more conscious of my roller coaster of emotions. I should have considered how I probably seemed completely insane to Kyuhyun, but I couldn’t help but run toward the sea of pale pink roses. I didn’t think to drop his hand, which was the only source of warmth on that chilly day, and he didn’t let me run off alone, so I guess he had no choice but to adopt my careless pace.

“Yeah,” he wheezed when I released him to sit before the flowers. He stood, probably worried that the grass would stain his coat. “Yeah, I can tell.”

It’s so beautiful, I have to take a picture. Rising to my knees, I patted around my pockets and frowned. More to curse my mindlessness and less to communicate with Kyuhyun, I grumbled, “I left my phone in the car, and I didn’t bring my camera, so I don’t guess I can take any pictures—”

“Here.” Kyuhyun held his phone out to me and promised, “I’ll send you any pictures you take today.”

I’m not sure what I was thinking. As soon as I took his phone into my hand, I snapped a picture of him. His attention was already turned to the landscape of flowers, so I would have gotten away with it were it not for the blinding flash that made him laugh and shake his head while I hummed an unapologetic “Oops!”

“Do you want your own garden?” He asked a few moments after I had risen to my feet and set to photographing the scenery. “At our home, I mean.”

Kyuhyun likely watched as my cheeks turned a shade of bright pink that rivaled the color of the roses, but I was careful to keep my eyes trained on the screen as I replied, “All I’ve ever really wanted in a house is a garden and a window seat— you know, like the one the Darlings have in Peter Pan—” Realizing that he probably had no idea what I was talking about, and fearing that I sounded like a rambling kid, my voice fell flat. 

Thankfully, a breeze blew through the garden at the precise moment that I went silent, so Kyuhyun probably thought my shivering rendered me speechless. 

Delicately placing his coat around my shoulders, he said, “I know what you’re describing.” He stepped closer to me, I assumed, to glance down at the screen and to ensure that his coat wouldn’t fall onto the grass. “We’ll find a house like that.”

While I returned his phone just so I could slide my arms into his coat— just so I could transfer a note from my pocket to his— I realized that this time, his plans for our future didn’t sound so distant. We’re really getting married. It’s not just some crazy idea Dad considered quietly before dropping it on me at family dinner. It isn’t just the dream I’ve been dreaming since I was a little girl. It’s a reality. Someday isn’t too far away. 

For a moment, it didn’t matter that Kyuhyun wasn’t in love with me. I couldn’t wait for someday to arrive. 

[tarithenurse]

Reunion

Pairing: Sam Wilson x fem!reader Prompt: “Reunion” from Becca’s 1k Writing Challenge. Contents: Swearing, mention of loss and trauma, awkward socializing, casual drinking, protected smut/lemons. A/N: Yeah. I had a million ideas for this prompt. Still do, actually, but the summer heat has gotten to my brain twisting anything into something steamy. But hey, it’s Sam and don’t we all love him? But do me a favour and don’t read if you’re too young.

Reunion 58th Rescue Squadron

The scattered conversations aren’t enough to mask the warbled sound from the music dock. Country. Who the hell plays country at a get-together? On the other hand, the dismal tones do fit the mood in the room rather well because no matter how big the group originally was, it’s painfully obvious that the reunion’s catering to fewer people than that. Sam’s avoided going to these things for that reason even if he’s claimed that it’s because he’s too busy with the Avengers or something…anything to avoid looking for people he knows aren’t there.

Making his way to the bar, Sam recognizes some of the faces. These were people he trained with, entrusted his life to, and still he’s got absolutely no clue what to say to them. How ya been? That doesn’t quite seem to cut it. Some had been married back in the old days but asking about that’s like stepping into a minefield. At least the beer is perfectly cold, drawing a sigh from the ex-soldier. Savouring the slightly bitter taste, he rechecks the exit options out of habit - fire escape leading through the backroom behind the bar, another at the long side of the room, and of course the double doors that are the official way in and out of the pastel-yellow conference room of the hotel.

“Wilson?” The mirror behind the shelves reveals a guy with a buzz-cut, polo shirt, and a fading tattoo peeping out from under the sleeve. “I thought’t was ya! Good to see ya, man!”

So much for laying low. Dragging himself to look up from the dark-green carpet to face the man. “Heya, long time.”

The “secret” handshake for the squadron flows effortlessly through Sam’s limb to the delight of the guy. What’s his name again? A brief glance to the sticker on the pecs reads “L. Laker”. Right, Later-Laker. He’d made the mistake of telling a superior officer that…never did it again, though.

“Heard ya runnin’ some group on the side?” Planting himself on a stool, the former colleague gets a refill and drains it before Sam’s gotten just three sentences into the explanation on the work he does with veterans and PTSD.

…

At least it’s not a formal dinner but a standing buffet with tons of finger-food and Sam’s overjoyed to be able to ditch Later-Laker under the pretence of checking out the option. The guy’s been relentless in the questioning about the Avengers and it’s only gotten worse as he got more beers inside. Probably needs a cap soon.

Hand full of a napkin containing a veritable treasure-trove of snacks, Sam begins a search for a quiet corner, eventually finding one where just one person’s standing. Hot damn. Even with the back to him, there’s no doubt who it is. The stance, the shape of the hips, the curve of the neck. Oh yeah, the years have been kind to you. As if you can feel his gaze on you, you turn and a wicked smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, making the [Y/E/C] eyes sparkle challenging. Seeing you in a modest but tight dress…no: simply seeing you brings back memories.

He’s never seen you dressed in anything but the uniform before…although he’s seen you out of it. It wasn’t allowed to have any sort of relationship with a comrade if it wasn’t purely professional, and the flings back then could have costed your careers…probably would have if it hadn’t been for your planning and rules that prevented the two of you from getting caught. Once or twice it got too close for comfort, making Sam swear never to give in to temptation, but it wasn’t until after Riley that he managed to stick to the promise thanks to the distance.

“I thought I heard your sweet voice,” you purr.

Nothing comes out of Sam’s mouth the first time he tries to answer. “Hrmh erm eh hi, [Y/N],” he offers lamely, “long eeh long time no…see…”

Your arms are wrapping around him, pulling him into an all too comfortable embrace that allows the Avenger to enjoy the scent of perfume on warm, honeyed skin. As if compelled by some unknown force, Sam realizes, he’s hugging you back. Fuck, it feels too good.

“Let me see you, handsome.” Pulling away, your eyes roam along his figure leisurely, like controlled lava. “Oh yeah, perfect as ever,” you smirk.

“Says you…”

Sam’s hands are itching to feel your body again, to be close. It’s like time has stood still around you and he’s been dragged into this bubble from the past, falling into his old habits.

…

Oh man! ThisissonotwhatIshouldbedoingbutdon’tletitstop! Nails are digging into Sam’s partially undressed shoulders, dragging the shirt further down until his arms are restrained from still being in the sleeves. A few tugs later and his hands are roaming your back, pressing you hips close to his own. Oh jeez. The jeans are getting much too tight and the friction from your pelvis does absolutely nothing at all to still the throbbing strain.

Arching your back in the hope of getting a look at Sam’s exposed upper body doesn’t get you what you want because he chases you, pressing kisses to your throat while his fingers fumble eagerly with the zipper on the back of your dress. It falls to the floor with a soft rustle.

“So eager,” you breathe into his hair, but the whisper turns into a groan as he responds by wedging a thigh between your legs, and soon you’re the one who has a hard time restraining yourself as you rock against the grey material.

The two of you haven’t gotten further than just past the hotel room’s door, already handsy and needy, but now Sam lifts you and carries you to the bed where he dumps you unceremoniously. Damn, he could live off the laughter that tumbles from your pretty, lipstick-smudged mouth. Eyes glittering and dark with lust, you scoot backwards, not minding that the bra is crooked, allowing your boobs to swell over the seam as you get comfortable.

Sam Wilson’s a confident man, sure of his good looks and skill as both the Avenger known as Falcon and as a lover. Faced with you, however, he feels like a giddy teen again. Embarrassingly eager to shove his cock into the soft heat in return for praises…but you’re not any random chick who’ll make do with a slobby job. That’s why he takes his time stripping down completely (and rolling on the condom) before working his way up your body, and by the time his nose buries into the bellybutton you’re writhing beneath his hands, urging him for more than the lavish kisses, teasing bites, and tantalizing massage.

“C’mon!”

His fingers skim along your sides only to disappear between the mattress and your back. “Patience, honey.” The hot breath seeps through the lace of your panties and goosebumps erupt.

A flick is enough to release the clasp, and Sam can slide the bra away to tease (or torture) your sensitive nipples. It’s driving you crazy and you love it. Sliding your calves up the veteran’s thighs, you try to steer his body closer without any real hope of success, not even when you hook the heels against his perfect ass and pull. It does earn you a bite to the hipbone, though.

Warring against his own needs, Sam moves horribly slowly as he drags down the panties, kissing and suckling at the inner thighs that have gone lax under his ministrations. Soon, the lace’s gone and flat hands are shifting to find a grasp that can both hold you down and let the Avenger’s thumbs play with your clit then part your folds to let his tongue swipe broad and gentle from the entrance to the throbbing bundle of nerves, unhurried by the attempt at bucking your hips to meet him.

“Fuck!”

Sam chuckles against your pussy, sending vibrations through you. “Patience.”

“Ah! I got…oh…got no pa-tience justlikethat please!” You’re reduced to a rambling mess, hands fisting the sheets in borderline ecstasy.

Back when Sam was still enlisted, he’d be the one at your mercy and always begging for release while you rode him slowly after he’d gone down on you already. Sure, you’d blow him, to bring him to the edge or just to keep him hard…but it wasn’t until you were satisfied that you allowed him to come.

This time is different. You are the one balancing on the edge of sanity without being allowed to fall. Body thrumming to the beat of Sam’s tongue, toes curling, chest rising and falling rapidly. Skillfully, he pushes all the buttons that have you gasping in equal parts delight and near pain as your muscles clench around nothing. Cramps are lurking around the corner, waiting to pounce on your legs and ass.

He’s been waiting for it, eager to see how far he can push you now that the roles have been reversed, and the former soldier doesn’t even try to resist when you topple him over and straddle him, breasts brushing against his chest as you reach to find his lips. Already, your slick’s rubbing off against the balls and shaft of his cock. Warm and slippery, so alike and still so different from the heat of your tongue as it explores the salty taste left behind in his mouth.

Your mind is clearly set on what you desire as you roll your hips to align his cockhead before slowly straightening up. Dark eyes burn with a fiery passion behind black lashes, and Sam watches as your own hands roam your curves just to tease him. Entice.

“Damn, you look fine.” He’s always admired your body nearly as much as your soul and seeing it above him sends a surge of desire from head to toe…and to head.

There’s no reason to the restraint it must take as you lower yourself slowly, every inch sending the walls fluttering, clenching hard, and the sensation pulls a moan from you and it grows in volume as you sheathe him fully. Head back, hair messy and sticking in places to the sweaty forehead. Fuck, she’s amazing.

Careful not to rush you, Sam tightens the glutes to push just a tiny bit further. Damn, it feels good and the sound you make is so pretty he just can’t help himself but has to do it again. And again. And soon you join him in the rolling rhythm even if you shake from the exertion it takes to coordinate the movements at this point. Sam feels the speed of your cunt clenching grow rapid, feels the stiffening of your body as your back arches and he’s all you have to hold on to, like an anchor keeping you from drifting away with each way of your orgasm. The spasming tightness around the Avenger’s cock becomes too much and he too comes with a groan of your name.

You have collapsed onto him and it’s all you can do to roll off so Sam can remove and tie up the condom. When he turns to look at you, it’s with a smile on his face because he can recognize the hunger for more just simmering under the surface.

“Just give me half an hour, honey.”

[alltheprettygirlsintheworld]

That I then scorn to change my state with kings

My fic for day five of @ineffablehusbandsweek​!

Day Six Prompt: Trip/Drive/Destination

Words: 1255

Summary: Crowley had planned out everything, which of course meant that anything that could have gone wrong had done so.

On Ao3 here

---

Crowley had planned out everything, which of course meant that anything that could have gone wrong had done so.

Crowley had planned to take them to St. James’s, so they could talk about- things. About what had happened after the apocalypse hadn’t happened. But the moment that Crowley had tried stepped out of the Bentley it had begun to rain in a nonstop downpour that was so intense Crowley couldn’t even miracle himself dry.

So that plan was out the window.

His next plan was to bring them to the Ritz. They had done that before- many times over, but Crowley was determined to make this time different. Special, dare he say it. He would seat them at a private table in a corner and they would talk and Aziraphale would take a ridiculous amount of time eating his food, and then he would steal some of Crowley’s, which was fine with him as long as he got to see the angel’s eyes close as he made that little noise of delight that always happened when he was enjoying something. And then Aziraphale would set his hand on the table and Crowley would take it, intertwining their fingers the way Aziraphale had done on the bus back to Crowley’s flat, and maybe they could finally- well, Crowley didn’t want too far ahead. But that plan was shot to hell as soon as Crowley saw that the restaurant was closed for a charity event. It would have been easy enough for them to sneak in there, but then he would have to watch as the angel made his way through the “charity donors” (most of whom were just there to flaunt their wealth, but Aziraphale didn’t need to know that) and Crowley would have to entertain himself by making the rich people suffer through slightly messed up food orders and an unfortunately popped button or two. But tonight, Crowley didn’t feel like sharing the angel with anyone.

That left Crowley with one option, one that he had been guarding in the back of his mind for almost sixty years. Aziraphale had been the one to suggest it, all those years ago. But Crowley had never thought it would actually happen. He had hoped, of course he had. Had imagined every possible way this could go.

“Crowley, you don’t have to do all this.” Aziraphale had unfortunately been with him as his plans had utterly failed, and had been oddly quiet the whole time. “We can just go back to the bookshop and-”

“No,” Crowley interrupted him, “I’m taking you up on your offer. I know a place.”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to. What offer?”

“Soho, 1967. You said we could go for a picnic.” Along with other things.

“Oh.”

Crowley grabbed the nearest cassette he could get and put it in the player, gritting his teeth as Freddie Mercury began to croon about the crazy little thing called love. Aziraphale pulled out a small book from a pocket and began to read, absentmindedly tapping one finger on the cover. Crowley forced himself to look at the road, pressing down on the gas pedal.

This was going to be a long drive.

The country landscape flew past them as Crowley drove them down the open road. The rain had stopped and the sun had begun to shine again, changing colors as it began to set. The orange light covered the countryside, casting the rolling green hills in deep shadows. They had been driving for about an hour and Crowley had turned off the music about ten minutes ago, not sure if he could handle any more singing about broken hearts and good old-fashioned lover boys. Aziraphale had set his book down and was looking out the window, oblivious to Crowley staring at him. He couldn’t help it, he was a demon after all, he was supposed to encourage temptation. And Aziraphale was the biggest temptation of them all. The light from the setting sun caught on Aziraphale’s curls, illuminating the tips of his hair and giving him a fuzzy halo. Crowley couldn’t look away, which was unfortunate, as that was the moment that Aziraphale turned to face him, and caught Crowley staring at him.

“What is it my dear?” Aziraphale smiled and bless it, the light caught Aziraphale’s eyes, enhancing the already inhumanly blue color.

“I- it’s just- er, what book are you reading?” Stupid.

“An older version of Shakespeare’s sonnets.” Aziraphale patted the cover lovingly. “From before that dreadful man changed all the pronouns. Really, that was quite rude of him.” Crowley made some noncommittal noise and they continued on in silence.

“Do you have,” Crowley started after a few minutes of silence, “Do you have sonnet 29?” Aziraphale smiled softly, opening up the book.

“Yes, I do believe I have it here.”

“Can you…read it to me? I’ve always liked that one.” Well, liked wasn’t quite the right word. It was the sonnet that Crowley had always thought was a bit of a mockery, far too true and personal. Too similar to words he had written and then hidden in the centuries past. And now he was going to hear Aziraphale read it to him. Why had he suggested that?

Aziraphale began to read, his voice clear and more beautiful than any of the heavenly choirs.

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself, and curse my fate,”

Crowley’s only sin was asking questions. He had never truly meant to Fall. All he had ever wanted was answers. He dropped one hand from the steering wheel, clenching it in a fist next to his leg. Aziraphale continued speaking, oblivious to Crowley’s thoughts.

“Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Crowley had thought about the angel far more than he cared to admit over the millennia. Had thought about the way that Aziraphale's eyes lit up whenever he had a new book, about his drunken rambling that Crowley could listen to all day. And, when he was the most upset, the most vulnerable, he thought about the times he had helped Aziraphale. The fall of the Bastille was always one to revisit.

"Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;”

Crowley spoke, finishing the last two lines.

“For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

Aziraphale closed the book, staring at him. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Aziraphale reached up and removed Crowley’s glasses, setting down gingerly on top of the book.

“Oh, Crowley.”

Aziraphale took his fist from where it was resting on the seat, Crowley unclenched his fist and let Aziraphale intertwine their fingers the same way he had on the bus the evening the apocalypse hadn’t happened. Crowley felt his cheeks turn red. He looked at their hands, then at Aziraphale, who was staring at him expectantly.

“Angel-”

“Crowley, I’m- I’m ready to catch up with you.” Aziraphale smiled, his cheeks flushing pink slightly. Crowley squeezed his hand before turning back to face the road. He pressed the gas pedal down, pushing the Bentley faster.

Crowley was done going slow.

[ainarosewood]

Prompt 12 Crossing Fingers Plummeting

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

“We’re going to climb a little higher to get about that storm folks,” the hyur pilot stated as he steered the Bronco Class airship into a climb.  

On its deck were a few more passengers than normal. Ever since Ishgard had rejoined the Eorzean Alliance nobles from Ishgard were clamoring for passes so they could visit the other city states.  Tradesman also took advantage of the newly opened city as an opportunity to expand their clientele and sell their wares by taking regular trips, by both land and air, back and forth to the icy city.

Aina sat down on the deck. This was not her first ride between Gridania and Ishgard and this particular part of the flight path was always plagued with storms.  And she well knew, despite being a fast ship the Bronco was going to at least clip the storm before they rose above it.

“You might want to sit,” she said to the nearby noble family, “It’s going to be a bit bumpy while he gets her above the storm.”

The young son of the group immediately sat down. He had recognized the Savior of Ishgard from he moment they boarded and was in awe.  The mother awkwardly followed her sons example clearly uncomfortable with the idea of sitting on the deck instead of a chair. She tugged her husbands sleeve and he did as well the annoyance at the supposed indignity of it clear on his face.

Shortly however the Bronco showed them exactly what she had been taking about.  It began bucking and bouncing like an enraged chocobo. Rain lashed the deck soaking all of the passengers and the wind howled all around them.  Those who had been standing were thrown mercilessly to the deck.  Lightning began flashing all around them as the pilot tried desperately to steer them above the storm.  Its incandescent glow illuminated the frightened faces of the passengers and his grimly determined one.  Suddenly a bright bolt came close enough for all to feel the energy and slammed into the engine killing it with a burst of sparks.

“SHITE!”  the pilot shouted as the tiny airship plummeted into the raging storm spinning as it went.  The passengers began shouting in fear as Aina threw herself to the engine compartment.

The spin of the ship slammed her into the wall of it before she tore herself away to the engine itself.  Please let this work please let this work, she thought as she began frantically pulling wires and adjusting them hoping to bypass the smoking melted portion of the magitek engine.

Her fingers fair flew as she gave a silent thanks to Sezul and the Ixal of the Ehcatl Nine for their training in making an airship and Cid for all his ramblings about airship engines.

After a few heartstopping moments of the ship spiraling towards the ground she finished what she hoped would be the repairs as she rushed back out of the engine compartment to the helm slamming on the engine ignition button.  The abused engine screamed to life and she grabbed the wheel an helps the pilot get the airship back under control.

“It wont work for long,” she told him grimly, “We best set her down,”

He nodded and steered the ship to a near by flat expanse asking, “How did...?”

“Sheer luck and thanking the twelve that I think to listen to those who know what they’re taking about.” she replied

Once the Bronco touched down all of the other passengers made a mad dash for solid ground.  The pilot looked at her and said, “Thank you if you hadn’t done..whatever you did to save the engine...”

She shrugged, “It was as much to save my own skin as everyone else’s.  I really am not that familiar with magitek.  I worked with the Ehcatl Nine to help them get their airship in the air and...well when the Chief of the Garlond Ironworks talks about engines I trust his knowledge.”

He just smiled then stepped off the ship himself asking, “Is everyone alright?” 

All of the passengers murmured they’re assurances to him as he continued, “ Pray for give me for the horrifying flight. I shall try to contact the company and see about getting help.”

He stepped to the side then contacting his employers. Aina could hear most of the conversation.  We don't have any engineers that we can send at present Rile and we have no way of determining your exact location....is there any indication as to where you might be?

“Not that I know of,” he murmured, “I have a ship full of passengers bound for Ishgard and they are relieved for the moment that they survived but....we are somewhere between the Twelves Wood and Coerthas aside from that I can’t really give a location.”

Aina strode over to him and said, “I could try contacting the Ironworks.”

He blinked at her for a moment then said, “Right you did say listening to the chief of.....please if you think he can find us.”

She smiled, “Cid is a very crafty man if anyone can find our location its him and I think I have a way.”

She then used her own linkshell activating the line that was directly to the Ironworks.

Garlond Ironworks Cid speaking. a distracted voice answered the sounds of machinery humming in the backround.

“Cid,  its Aina is there anyway you can track m location from my link pearl?” she replied

I should be able to just what fryer am I pulling you from this time? 

“Nothing serious just a near airship crash between the Shroud and Coerthas. Due to a lightning struck engine” she replied cheerfully, “No where near as dangerous as you've done in the past.

The other end was silent for a moment then he replied ruefully Never a dull moment for you eh? 

“Nope” she responded with a grin, “Oh and there are several other passengers as well.”

Not to worry I’ll have the Enterprise ready and grab Biggs and Wedge as well as materials.  

“See you when you get her Cid,” Aina said, “Oh and Cid, thank you”

Eh just another day you've pulled us outta more trouble then I can count 

She laughed, “That's not what Im thanking you for though I am grateful.  I’ll explain when you get here.”

Understood, got your location we should be there in a few bells.

“See you soon,” she then toggled of her linkshell and turned to Rile, “Cid will be here with the Enterprise and two of his engineers shortly.  They’ll have the Bronco fixed in no time.”

“Thank you so much,” Rile said, “I don't know what would have happened had you....”

“I did what I always do, help people in need,” she deflected 

He just shook his head at her then turned to the assembled passengers, “Help is on the way folks from the Ironworks.  So we should be back aloft within a few bells, On behalf of the Highwinds Skyways I apologize once again for this harrowing flight.  Rest assured the company will be happy to compensate you for any inconvenience this has caused.”

I should stop by the Ehcatl Nine and thank Sezul as well, Aina thought as she turned and looked toward the now clearing sky waiting for the all too familiar blue sail to appear. 

[thetruecaptain-blog]

if I could learn to let go

This is my first attempt at a fic - like, ever - and I'm a nervous wreck but here goes! I catch myself often thinking about what Naomi went through when Marco first took Filip from her. I decided to try my hand at writing it out as I imagine it may have happened. This is the first of what’s likely to be several chapters, and has heavy Nemesis Games spoilers, as I’ve used her memories in NG to sketch out the events.

Special shout out to @perrinmywolf for reading this over ahead of time and giving me some constructive criticism, as well as just generally listening to my constant flailing/anxious ramblings. Also, thanks @the-roci for your kind and encouraging words, they really helped me get past the worst of my nerves! 

I’d appreciate kudos/comments on AO3 if you can! Especially comments, as I’d love to know what you think of this. You’ll also find the Belter Creole translations there. 

Gone

Naomi wakes from a dreamless sleep to an empty bed. The events of the night before are a blur but the one thing she remembers - the one thing that’s stuck - is the resolve. It’s the first time since the death of the Augustin Gamarra that Naomi has felt anything but guilt and despair. Her certainty is like a boulder standing fast against the current. It’s the only thing that keeps her from drowning.

‘We’re leaving. Filip unte mi.’

Marco had been calmer than she’d expected when she told him. He’d been angry, she could see it in the way his jaw hardened, the way his eyes went sharp and hard like flint. Heard it in that clipped Belter cant. But he hadn’t argued.

‘You’re tired. Not thinking straight. Sleep on it. Talk more tomorrow.’

Then he’d left, closing the door softly behind him.

In the darkness, Naomi presses her palms briefly against her eyes and draws in a slow, steady breath. There’s a knot of anxiety and anticipation in her chest. The decision to leave wasn’t an easy one to make, but it’s right. Her life is here, and the people she has come to see as family. Filip’s family. But she can’t look at them anymore, can’t even look at herself. Out is the only way. She reaches for her hand terminal, taps the display to check the time. With a sharp gasp she sits upright, calls for the lights. She's already scrambling off the bed to Filip's crib, her heart beating like a bird fluttering wildly against the bars of its cage.

The crib is empty.

No, no, no.

Naomi fumbles with her hand terminal, opens a connection to Marco. Seconds later - too many seconds - his handsome face fills the screen. His eyes crinkle at the corners the way they do when he smiles at her. The sight of it used to flush her with warmth but now it makes her feel nauseated.

"Filip is-"

"I took him," Marco cuts her off, leans in closer to his display the way he does when he wants to make the conversation feel more intimate. Except now Naomi suspects that Marco doesn’t want her to know where is. “Wanted you to rest.”

"Kepelésh to?" She manages to make it sound casual, to her own ears at least, but she's gripping her hand terminal so hard that her fingers ache. Where is my son?

"Don't you worry about that," Marco answers with another of his disarming smiles. Naomi's heart sinks and she wants to scream, wants to shout at him to tell her where he is so she can go to them. So she can go to her son. “Take the day to rest. Talk more tonight.”

He ends the transmission without waiting for a response and Naomi is left standing next to Filip’s crib. The silence is deafening. For nearly a year she has been surrounded by Filip's sounds - his coos and laughter, the way he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and giggles. The quiet noises he makes even in his sleep. Helplessness settles over her like a great weight, makes her shoulders sag. She's trembling and can't tear her eyes away from Filip’s crib, as if somehow that will make him reappear.

They'll be back. Tonight, Marco said. He took Filip to give her time to rest. He just wants to talk.

She can't stop shaking.

------

When the door opens Naomi is waiting, her eyes sliding over and past Marco in search of Filip's chubby cheeks and curly dark hair. She's already reaching for him, ready to swoop him up and press sloppy kisses to his neck in the way that makes him squeal with laughter and delight. She aches to hold him, a need that manifests itself in the tightness that sits in her chest.

He's the only thing pure and good left in her life.

Marco steps into their little hole alone and closes the door. Naomi stops and draws back, frowning because Filip isn't there. She even cranes her head to look around Marco as if Filip is somewhere behind him, an irrational gesture but one she can't help. She feels a bubble of panic but swallows it down, forces herself to meet Marco's eyes. He's watching her with something that might have been sympathy. Not long ago Naomi would have interpreted the tilt of his lips as earnest, but now she sees smugness.

"You said-" she starts, but Marco cuts her off by raising a hand.

"That we'd talk tonight," he says, his tone both firm and placating. He steps forward to close the distance between them. Her instinct is to retreat and it's obvious in the way she leans away from him. She tastes something toxic and bitter. This closeness he forces between them; once it felt like intimacy.

Now, she feels trapped.

He puts one hand on her shoulder, lifts the other to stroke his thumb down her chin and looks into her eyes as though they're sharing a moment. His voice is soft and sad when he speaks. "Much to talk about. Sit." He gestures to the bed, the only piece of furniture in their small rental other than Filip's plastic crib. Naomi remains rooted in place, casting another glance at the door as if it can tell her what Marco has done with their child. Marco squeezes her shoulder. She blinks and forces her gaze back to him.

"Where is Filip?"

"Don't worry yourself." There is a light in Marco's eyes that Naomi never noticed before, or perhaps she didn't want to. It's triumphant, as if she's saying exactly what he anticipates. She has the sudden impression that this is all a scene Marco has already written and she’s playing her role perfectly.

"I want-"

Marco puts a finger to her lips to cut her off a second time. He steps forward again, this time to force her to move back toward the bed. "I know. Need to talk, like I said. Sit."

Stubbornness surges through her. She stands fast, pulling her shoulder back out of his grip. She lifts her chin, meets his eyes, opens her mouth to argue that she has every right to know where Filip is. Something shifts in Marco's expression. His jaw hardens, his head cants slightly to one side. She isn't sticking to his script and it isn't acceptable. His hand reaches for her again, this time curling around her upper arm to dig his fingers painfully into her flesh. Without further comment Marco steers her over to the mattress.

Naomi sits. She perches on the edge of the bed with her feet flat on the floor as if she’s ready to bolt at the first opportunity. She has to twist her fingers together to keep from fidgeting. Dread sits heavy in the pit of her stomach.

"We're worried about you, setara." We ? A faint frown creases her brow but Naomi remains silent. She senses that he's building up to a carefully rehearsed monologue. He won't take kindly to any interruptions. Everything Marco does is deliberate, planned, as if life is simply a play that he's writing as he goes. Naomi, like everyone else, is nothing more than a supporting actor meant to make Marco Inaros shine.

Why did it take people dying for her to see it?

He crouches in front of her to look up into her face with pity and sorrow, his hands coming to rest on her knees. "You haven't been right. Haven't been taking care of yourself. Hardly eating or sleeping. Everyone sees. Now you want to leave. You aren’t well." His hand comes up to brush a strand of curly dark hair away from her eyes and there is such love and concern on his face that Naomi almost believes it. Wants to believe. She feels the tightness in her chest move up to her throat, feels the tears pool in the corners of her eyes.

He isn’t wrong. It's all she can do to get through the day. Two-hundred and thirty-four people dead. Filip is her only light.

"I want my son." The words spill out before she can stop them. She meant to make it a demand but it comes out as a desperate plea instead. She hates herself for being so weak. Her hands grab hold of Marco's. “Where’s Filip?“

Marco's eyes are full of sorrow. His lips are smug.

“Séf.” Seconds pass in silence as this sinks in and she understands what he’s saying. What he’s not saying. You tried to take him, so I took him first. Something large shifts in Naomi’s chest and it’s like her insides have turned to water. A wave of vertigo hits her as her blood pressure drops and then spikes again. She pulls her hands away from Marco’s and twists her fingers into the thin blanket she’s sitting on, an attempt to counteract the sensation that she’s spinning wildly out of control.

When she doesn’t speak Marco rises and turns to sit on the bed beside her. “You’re not thinking straight.” He tilts his head to look at her with an expression that is a perfectly rehearsed mix of pity and sorrow. “First year of motherhood im mal, ya? Like you náterash, nating ta hold you down.” He spreads his hands and it’s all Naomi can do not to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he tells her where Filip is. She feels a scream rise in her throat and swallows forcefully, then focuses on breathing in and out through her nose. “Im kowl gut. It’s okay to need help.” He takes her chin in his hand, lifts her head so she’s forced to meet his gaze. “Won’t let you take my son.” His voice hardens and his dark eyes go cold, dangerous as they bore into hers. Naomi feels a shiver wash through her. She shouldn’t have told him. Should have left when she could.

“Where is Filip?” It comes out hardly louder than a whisper.

Marco stares at her long enough that she knows he wants to make her uneasy. Intimidate her. Naomi can’t feel anything but the need to know where her child is.

“Trying to be supportive, mi,” Marco says with a heavy sigh, as though he can’t imagine why she’s being so difficult. He stands and paces across the little room, then turns again to face her with his hands spread in a helpless gesture. Except nothing about Marco Inaros is helpless. It’s an act. Has it all been an act? From the very start? “Wan da sheng? Pains me to say,” he pauses, looks at her for a long stretch that is full of regret, like he doesn’t want to hurt her. “Can’t trust you with Filipito, not like this.” He gestures to her and Naomi is made hyper-aware of how she must look to him. Pale face, dark circles under haunted eyes. She must have lost weight in the past weeks because she can hardly stand to look at food, let alone eat it.

“I would never hurt him.” It should have been a statement full of certainty and strength and anger that he would suggest otherwise, but her voice wavers as if she’s on the edge of breaking. Something shifts in Marco’s eyes - a flash of triumph, and Naomi realizes she’s walked right into a trap she had no idea he was setting.

“But you would take him from his father? Rip his family apart because you can’t deal with your own felota? Think that won’t hurt him?” You’re selfish. He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. “Need to get your emotions under control, Naomi. No good to him like this, you.”

“Ya. Ya, you’re right.” Naomi stands, moving toward Marco with her hands raised in supplication. “We’ll stay. I’ll stay.” Her hands are shaking and she knows she looks desperate, pitiful. She can’t stop herself. Doesn’t care . Just wants her son back. “He hasn’t been away from me like this. He needs me. Fodagut.” She can feel the tears now, falling freely down her cheeks. She’s breaking apart. He’s broken her. Is breaking her. “Fodagut.”

Marco shakes his head and purses his lips, looks at her the way a person might look at a lost puppy. He’s moved to the door, one hand already lifted to slide it open. “Take some days, get it together.  Mi gonya kom wámotim. Then we talk.”

Then he’s gone. Naomi sinks to the floor because her legs have gone too weak to support her. A sob escapes her, a quiet, broken sound that seems to echo in the too-empty hole. Should have seen this coming. Should have seen it all.

There’s no one to blame but herself.