#if my boss asks no I didn’t make this on my work canva account

[capseycartwright]

i thought about buck and eddie speed running their relationship from friends directly to marriage a little too long and made this. bon appétit.

no ok, in all seriousness. i have never done anything like this before so bear with me, but: with valentines day coming up, i thought it would be an absolute delight to make february the month of friends to fiancés and challenge you lovely talented people to create fun friends to fiancés content for buck and eddie - fic, art, and everything in between.

because friends to fiancés is the trope of all tropes for buddie. they're going to realise they're in love and run to the courthouse and its deeply important to my mental wellbeing that we collectively decide to embrace friends to fiancés as much as humanly possible during friends to fiancés february.

please. i even made u a banner about it.

[kitsuna-ri]

So I lost my job yesterday and while I know it’s for the best (because ooh boy constant anxiety and stress) things were kinda fucked how it went down and I just want to make sure I’m not crazy. Here’s the rundown (it’s long, sorry):

Accepted SM assistant role last August. Was upfront about having limited experience, mostly either with accounts that had no budget or having long steps to go through to get a post approved. Said I was primarily a social WRITER but could make simple graphics and what not because I can use Photoshop and Canva. Basically hit the ground running, had virtually no real training and vague instructions. I was also suddenly in charge of way more categories, some of which had their own separate pages on social platforms and I would have to be responsible for all of them. I started with 5 categories, three of which consistently had multiple weekly or monthly events that needed posts. I also had to help boost, do mild comment and message moderation, and live tweet well into late hours or over the weekend. After getting settled I took on more work because we were a small team and I wanted to be as helpful as possible. I ended up taking on a weekly filming task that meant filming and editing the video in less than a day’s time. It took time because I had mentioned I don’t have strong video editing skills but I was willing to learn and try my best.

In late January, I was hit with a surprise move. I was told I had to be out by March and it was a few days from February. I was scrambled. But I still continued to take on what I could while panicking about my living situation. I get the move scheduled to not cost me too much missed time in the office. I asked my manager if I could WFH the day before my move just to wrap things up and was told to come in. I complied.

All this time, I have never once been approached about my quality of work from my clients or my boss. In fact, I even received a glowing yearly review and told I’m doing wonderful and I work great with my clients. We did have one of my categories break off and essentially took over their own social media with an influencer. It came as a big shock but I tried to roll with the punches and keep working hard for my other clients.

Then we had a HUGE event, like all hands on deck kind of thing. Still not given a ton of direction just “make as much content for this event as possible.” So I did. Now, around the end, I was having some trouble in my life (worries about my health, parents, etc) so I was admittedly burned out. I dropped a few balls. Nothing bad happened, no social catastrophe or anything, just didn’t pay attention when reposting a post and didn’t realize it was a carousel and not just one photo. I used a photo by prof photographer from a preview party and my manager felt the angle wasn’t good and took it down. Then, after she talked to me and was wanting to offer to show me some tips and tricks which I was eager for. Then there was an issue with a department she had basically dumped on me with little explanation and told me to use artist bios and I used one from the artist’s site and apparently that wasn’t ok. I told her I’d definitely be much more careful.

Then, I asked our intern to post a video on TT to continue a series we had started. Our intern was out but told me she could post things no problem even when I voiced concerns. She posted the video and apparently there was a typo. My manager completely loses it in in Teams but worse yet, in a group chat with one of my coworkers. I had a panic attack and was trying to explain what happened, apologizing and taking the Ls and offering solutions. She demands a conversation the next day so I agree.

She realizes like late morning that she had berated me in front of our coworker and apologized. But we were still having our convo. In this talk she’s telling me suddenly that my work has only ever just been “ok” which is the first time I’m ever hearing this feedback. We had monthly one on ones and she Never. Said. Anything. But now suddenly I was a problem and I needed to reconsider things, see if this is the right position, and she said she’d work with me and I was like “ok. I’m going to improve, I’m not going to screw up like this again.”

So the process was I sent her the design and proposed copy of what I wanted to post and she’d give me feedback. She NEVER came to shoot with me or show me tricks or tips except like once near the end. Instead she started “not giving a fuck” Because she was getting demoted from director to manager and was mad about it. She started half assing things and even being really curt and rude to clients. Meanwhile, I’m busting my ass to create only the best with minimal to no direction or real advice but I was noticing improvement. Plus, my clients were so happy with the work I was creating and how I was working with them.

I had another one on one and she tells me I’m doing great, she’s happy to see me taking everything to heart, etc etc.

This continues and other than one misunderstanding, I thought everything was great! I was doing more with video editing and really trying to make dynamic designs.

This month comes around and we’re suddenly hit with three BIG events in one of my categories, all happening at the same time, two events in one of my other categories, and I had also agreed to take one one other category which had weekly events as well. That meant for this month I ended up having 10 events to promote. We also lost our ability to boost ads so everything was relying on purely organic engagement. I made assets, I tried to balance posting with the three big events because they all had to post on the same IG/FB page. I didn’t want any one to be out shined and wanted to make sure the page didn’t seem spammy with so many posts each day because my other coworker also had two categories that shared the same page. So A LOT was being posted.

We have a meeting and someone asked if we were posting about a specific collection on social. We said yes, for sure. Because I had been posting. Then he continued on to say that he knew the lack of bids was just because this collection had way too high prices. Didn’t say anything else about social or our posts.

But my manager messages me basically berating me for not posting enough and why the fuck wasn’t I working hard. I was like ???? And explained my reasoning and immediately got told I was wrong and I had ten days to get posts up to three per event per day. So I proceeded to bust my ass.

Now, here’s the thing, I couldn’t post if she didn’t review my stuff. So I sent her all these posts to hit this new goal annnnnnnnnnnnd I got nothing back. For a day and a half. I had to ask for them three times before finally getting the feedback. But I still kept working. Then I unfortunately got food poisoning.

BUT because we had our new director starting, I took pepto and sipped on ginger ale so I could make it into the office. And I did. I did wind up leaving early but I had still been creating work and sending it.

However, because I suppressed my food poisoning the next day I was MISERABLE. So I finally decided to take the day. I sent my manager a message and hear nothing back so I make sure all my shit is handled and ended up having to do a whole video while feeling like death. But I did it.

I still had things ready and scheduled so I at least would be good to go. Now, in the afternoon my manager finally messaged me only to try and yell at me about a post my other coworker had done. She did say “apologies” and then asked if I’d be in the next day. I said I was going to do everything I could do I wouldn’t fall behind.

The next day, I did go in. A few hours later she suddenly showed up (she doesn’t work in office on Fridays). I’m working on some stuff, I had already sent her some things to approve, and she suddenly messaged me asking if I had a sec.

And that’s when she walked me to a conference room that HR was in. I even asked her if everything was ok while we were walking and she was like “mmhmm”

They didn’t let me pack my stuff, I had to ask my friend to get my things. They tried to be like “this isn’t a firing for anything bad…you just weren’t the right fit.” And my manager kept saying “we had all those discussions” but I’m over here like ?????? We’ve had maybe TWO and one was THIS WEEK!!! And it takes more than a day, hell a week, for HR to process a firing. I had formal write ups and yet I was done.

I’m so mad and also scared and just ugh. Fuck Capitalism, fuck that lying bitch, and just…fuck my life.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Summary: Spencer is not that kind of doctor, but he'll always come when Y/N needs him, even if germs are involved.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Warnings: One cuss (sh!t), kisses, small insecurities

Word Count: 2.5 k (was not supposed to be this long but I'm a monster)

Author's Note: From this list (3, 12, 14) since I hit 300 followers! Thank you! This request is from @willowrose99 (look for the bold)

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Spencer’s half done with his third book that weekend when his phone rang. A weekend spent in the company of Nietzsche and Sartre is, according to Spencer at least, a weekend well spent. He can feel the relaxation that settles in his bones come crashing down as he phone rings.

Thinking it’s Hotch calling the team in for an unexpected case, Spencer, lethargically, walks over to answer the phone. However, realizing the caller is not his boss pulling him away from a restful weekend, but Y/N, his heart rushes with a sudden urge of excitement.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts. He’s more than happy to have Y/N interrupt his weekend; they even made plans for a day out on Saturday at the new Anthropology museum that opened downtown. But all of Spencer’s made up plans fall in front of his face, as he hears Y/N’s quiet sniffles.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know that you’re probably enjoying your rest, but I guess I have a cold. One of the kids at school, I suppose,” Y/N tells him in between sniffles. Her voice is scratchy and Spencer tries not to think about how his brain seems to short circuit at the way his name sounds.

“I’m coming over,” Spencer says, cutting her off. He doesn’t like doing that, in fact he hates when that happens to him, but right now he knows that Y/N is going to try her hardest to stop him from coming over.

“No Spence, it’s germs. You hate germs and I’m really gross and snotty and—”

“Stop, Y/N. Don’t say another word. I’m on my way” Spencer says. He feels a little guilty for hanging up on her, but he knows that if he stayed on the line any longer she’d end up convincing him that he didn’t need to rush over. There’s not a lot of people in this world that can convince Spencer to change his mind, and he’s pretty sure that Y/N is one of them.

Spencer walks into his bedroom, looking for some supplies like a man on a mission. He decides to pack a small bag for the next three days. He’s off from work anyway, why not spend that time making sure Y/N gets better. Spencer packs away a couple of sweaters, flannel pajama pants and two thermal shirts. In the back of his drawer he spots a very old college tee shirt.

A memory, an early memory with Y/N, comes flooding to the surface. They got caught in a rainstorm after a picnic in the nearby park. Spencer changed into his comfortable tee shirt and pajamas. He would never forget the look on Y/N’s face; the way the rain collected on her glasses and for some reason she had yet to wipe them off. She called him an angel. Maybe it’s for bringing her some warm clothes or maybe she’s slightly on edge from their dash into Spencer’s apartment. Whatever it was that made her call him an angel, Spencer never wanted her to call him anything else. Besides his own name, in that scratchy sick voice that made him feel a little guilty for liking so much.

Spencer collects some other things he needs for his stay. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hair brush, and his hair serum that Y/N says she likes the way it smells. When she told him that, Spencer could hardly wait to buy the entire supply from the CVS down the street. He tucks away in this bag with a small smile.

Walking out of his apartment, Spencer locks up and makes his way down to his car. He glances at his watch, realizing that it only took him a couple of minutes to get ready for Y/N. Quicker than what it takes for him to get ready for an emergency case. Then again, tending to a sick Y/N seems much pleasurable then looking at served bodies and mangled limbs.

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After making a pit stop at a small convenience store near Y/N’s apartment, Spencer pulls into the guest parking spot near her complex. He attempts to shoulder the weight of his go bag; even though he only packed a couple philosophy books, they are quite dense. In his hands, he grasps the grocery bags.

Y/N’s apartment, thankfully, is on the first floor. Spencer approaches the door and thinks twice about knocking or ringing the doorbell. The last thing he wants to do is wake a sick Y/N up. He rummages in his pants for his car keys. Attached to the keys is a cat keychain with a spare key to Y/N’s apartment. Balancing the groceries and his own bag, Spencer quietly attempts to open Y/N’s door without possibly waking her up.

Once he finally gets the door open, Spencer realizes all too late that a large orange cat guards the tight hallway entrance. Spencer Reid, though a genius in his own right, is completely aware of the fact that he has two left feet.

“Oh, Zelda! Oh shit!,” Spencer yells as he trips over Zelda, Y/N’s orange cat. Zelda, scared from the noise, leaps from her spot guarding the hallway to the kitchen. Spencer brushes himself from his fall and picks up the groceries that fell during his tumble.

“Zelda, baby?” Y/N calls from what sounds like the couch from the other side of the wall.

“Hi Y/N, it’s just me. It’s just Spencer,” He says, placing the oranges back in his canvas bag and on the kitchen table. He sees Y/N laying on the couch. Surrounded by a pile of crumpled tissues, she smiles weakly at Spencer. He walks over to her and like an involuntary muscle, she scoots her feet so Spencer has room to sit.

Spencer, setting the beg on the floor, tucks Y/N’s legs over his. He rests a comforting hand on her calf that’s covered by a worn quilt.

“You didn’t have to come Spencer. I’m really okay, I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t ghosting you this weekend,” Y/N explains. The TV has been left on, but on mute. The colorful lights illuminate Y/N’s face in her dimly lit apartment.

“Nonsense, Y/N. What are friends for,” Spencer offers, wondering beyond belief if he messed up calling them friends. Their relationship had been quite strange for the past couple of weeks. Intense moments of silence where Spencer thinks he’d have the time to memorize every freckle on her nose or small grazes from fingers to wrists where Spencer swears she left scars that he hope would never heal.

“Friends,” Y/N says quietly. Spencer, offering a tight lipped smile, leans forward to straighten the blankets under Y/N’s chin. He presses the back of his hand towards Y/N’s forehead, feeling her warm skin under his knuckles. He’s not sure if the heat he feels is from her bug or from the adrenaline coursing through his veins at being this close to Y/N.

“You’re hot,” Spencer says, not moving his hand from Y/N’s forehead. She, loving the way his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed, uncovers her arm from under the blankets and holds onto his wrist, keeping him attached to her forehead. Not that he’d want it any other way.

“So are you,” Y/N says. Spencer flinches and moves his hand from her forehead like she scorched his hand. In reality, her comment pierced his heart with hope.

“How much cough syrup did you take?” Spencer asks, choosing to face the situation with humor. There’s no way in the world Y/N could ever find him “hot” without the aid of cough syrup or another mind numbing substance.

“None,” Y/N says, reaching around to turn off the television. Spencer, getting increasingly nervous as the minutes of that intense silence passed, mentions to Y/N that he needs to put the groceries away.

“You really didn’t need to do that, Spence. I feel bad enough that you came here just to get sick yourself,” Y/N says. She’s folding the blankets that she was just resting under.

“I’ll always come when you need me to, Y/N” Spencer says, his breath catching and his eyes latching onto Y/N. He looks at her too long and there’s that intense silence again. Silence that is as thick as fog. Spencer can’t see facts through all the love that swallows him whole looking at Y/N.

“Maybe I knew that, and maybe that’s why I called you,” Y/N murmurs quietly, almost like she’s more scared to admit it to herself than to Spencer.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, breaking her gaze to put the half melted tub of green tea ice cream in the freezer.

“I think I’m going to shower, I need to put a fresh pair of pajamas on. I’ll be right out,” Y/N tells him, turning on her heel and leaving Spencer along with his thoughts.

Spencer can hear the water from the shower turn on. He estimates that Y/N will take at least 5 minutes in the shower, accounting for a margin of error, he supposes that he should start to heat the soup he bought from the store now, so it’s ready for Y/N when she’s done in the shower. Too bad all Spencer’s brain power is good for his statistics and numbers, not recipes and romance.

As it turns out, not a single statistic, nor a single digit could account for the possibility of Y/N walking out her bedroom, her hair damp and skin practically glowing, wearing Spencer’s worn college tee shirt. Spencer reckons that his eyes must have been bugging out from his head, given the spirited smile Y/N wears.

“I’m sorry, Spence, you know how much I love this tee shirt. I was putting some of your stuff away in your drawer and I saw this and I just couldn’t help myself. God it even smells a little bit like that hair gunk you wear,” Y/N rambles. She stands, leaning on her door frame, staring at Spencer who holds a wooden spoon that he used to stir the soup.

“You look like an angel,” Spencer says before he can stop himself. He just knows that his face is flaming red.

“You remember that?” Y/N asks, her voice light and hopeful. Spencer recognizes something in it. It’s the way his voice sounds when he talks to her, about her, with her. He can only hope that this is the way she always talks to him. He hopes with every fiber of his being that she uses that light and hopeful voice with him and only him.

“Of course Y/N. Then again, even if I didn’t have an eidetic memory, I’d still remember every single detail about you,”

“Now you’re making me feel guilty about stealing your shirt. You’re being all sweet and kind with me, it makes me fuzzy in the head,” Y/N confesses. She walks to her kitchen table, slowly closing the gap between her and Spencer.

“Keep it, it looks better on you anyway,” Spencer tells her. Her eyes grow big at his words and she presses her lips together like she’s holding something in. But something in her switches. Something in her grows a little sad and Spencer watches before his eyes as Y/N withdraws into herself.

“You can’t say that stuff to me, Spencer. You can’t say that stuff to me and not expect me to love you more than I already do,” Y/N says, her eyes shut and her lips pinched so tightly that it almost looks painful.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts, unsure what he’s supposed to say. His brain always seems to be playing catch up around Y/N. “Can I say it if I do love you back?”

Y/N eyes flutter open and narrow at Spencer, as if she’s reading him. Her eyes scan for any sign of a joke, of a prank, of Spencer trying to trick her. Maybe he should be upset that Y/N is doubting him, but all Spencer can feel is hatred for the person that made her doubt herself so much to not believe him.

“I’ve never felt what I feel when I’m with you, Y/N. No one else has made me feel truly me except you, Y/N,” Spencer professes, setting down the wooden spoon on the counter to reach Y/N’s hand.

“I never thought you’d feel the same way, Spence. I love you, God. That feels so good to say,” Y/N says, letting out a strained laugh. Spencer standing up next to her, places his hands on Y/N cheeks, and tries to lean in lower to kiss her, but Y/N’s finger on his lips stops his movement.

“I’m so sorry, I should have asked. I thought that this is-” Spencer stammers, suddenly very concerned that he violated Y/N in some way.

“Shhh, angel. It’s okay. I want you to kiss me. I really do, but I just want you to tell the facts on you getting sick if you kiss me,” Y/N says, not moving her finger from Spencer’s soft lips. He kisses her finger and grasps her hand with his.

“Sorry, I just had to do that,” Spencer smirks, “but to answer your question, unless you have a bad cough, and some of the respiratory mucus has made its way into your saliva, the cold virus will not be transmitted by kissing,”

“That’s good, so please kiss me, Spencer,” Y/N practically begs, eager for Spencer to leave pieces of him all over her. Eager for him to leave physical evidence of the marking he’s already left on her heart.

“You just might have to take care of me next week,” Spencer counters, peppering kisses over her jaw, knowing he’s purposely avoiding her lips.

“Spencer, I’m sick! Don’t tease me, just kiss me,” Y/N whines, and Spencer caves. He leans in slowly, meeting his lips to Y/N’s. It was the kiss that Spencer knew he’d be waiting for. A kiss that seals fate without a return address. A kiss that reminds him that he’s alive. A kiss that says forever and always.

Spencer, resting his chin against Y/N’s head, closes his eyes. The intense silence that existed between them, now is this light and hopeful air.

“Y/N, do you use my hair gunk?” Spencer asks. He can’t help but giggle with her and breathe in the familiar scent of her hair. He places three kisses on Y/N’s head and gently pushes her hair to the side to kiss down the back of her neck.

“I’m not sure what I love more, the smell of your hair gunk or the man that wears it,”

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[thelastdrop]

Surprise

Momoland Nancy & Momoland Ahin x Male Reader

6586 words

Categories: smut, threesome, shower sex

Read on AFF

Editors: @worldsover​​ and @nsfwflint​

A warm summer’s air passes into the open window of your company car. Why the company would ever give you an Audi as your company car is still beyond your knowledge, but there is no way you were going to complain about getting a free ride. You would have taken anything they gave you, so the black leather seats, touch screen interface, hands-free calling, and all the other bells and whistles were novel amenities that took some getting used to.

On your right you see the sign for your apartment complex’s parking. You take the turn over the sidewalk and begin to descend toward the garage. An automatic gate is lifted as a sensor picks up on your car's barcode from a sticker on your front windshield. Living in a complex that has a nice garage like this was one of the main things you were looking for when you and your girlfriend were picking out a place to live.

You and Nancy have been having a great time together recently. Your relationship had taken the next step when you both decided to move in together about a month ago. Living together not only gave you both the opportunity to see each other more, but it also gave you something to look forward to after you would come home from work. Nancy is always there to greet you with a warm smile and a hug as you walk in the door.

You park your car in your ‘assigned’ spot. Not that they were really assigned but most residents would park their cars in the same place every day so they could take a short walk to the elevators. Stepping into the elevator, you press your floor number and it lights up causing the metal doors to close in front of you. A sigh of relief is exhaled from your lungs. Finally you made it to the weekend and won’t have to worry about work for the next two days. 

With a soft bing bong the metal doors open again. Exiting out onto the intricately designed carpeted floor, you make your way down the well kept corridor towards your apartment. Picking out your apartment from everyone else's is made easier by Nancy’s love of home decor. A different wreath always hangs on your door depending on the season, and this one happens to be a vibrant green leaf wreath with yellow Daylilies interwoven throughout. 

“Welcome home oppa!” Nancy announces as you walk in the door. “How was your day today? I hope it wasn’t too hard.” She approaches you and gives you a kiss on the cheek while you take your coat off and hang it on a coat rack near the entrance.

Nancy’s love of decor doesn’t stop at the door. She’d fallen in love with a contemporary style of decorating after seeing it in one of her friend’s places. On the cream walls are splashes of color found in different objects, your favorite being a Marilyn Monroe painting you’d picked out after seeing a street artist selling it. The background of the painting looked as if the artist took red, yellow and orange paint and threw them on the canvas. After letting it dry, they came back and painted a very minimalistic face of Marilyn Monroe using only black to outline and white to fill.

“No it wasn’t too bad. I actually got praise from my boss on my work with the Kosak account.” 

“That’s great! Well I do have a bit of an ask from you…” she trails off. Her eyes narrow, gauging your reaction from your face.

Nancy has a problem with always wanting to help her friends out. No matter what the issue is she will, without fail, say yes to whatever they need her help with. It’s caused her to miss dates before, show up late for work, it’s even made her forget to pick you up from the airport. So you already know that this is going to be a major ask since she never runs these things by you.

You let out a deep sigh. “I hope it isn’t something that’s going to mess with my birthday,” you sternly reply since it is 5 days away.

“Oh no oppa, I would never forget something like that,” she says as she takes your right arm between her boobs, knowing how much you like them. “I just wondered... if it would be okay... for Ahin to stay with us for the next week while she looks for a new place?” Nancy asks with her voice getting higher by the end of her question.

“You want what?” you say with mild annoyance, “Nancy we barely just moved in together and now you want to throw someone else into the mix? She could ruin the good thing we have going here.” You pull your arm out from between her boobs and turn to walk into the living room.

Nancy scurries in front of your path and buries her face in your chest. “But please oppa? I promise it’ll be like she isn’t even here,” Nancy says with big puppy dog eyes focused on you.

Her ultimate move. You have never been able to tell Nancy no whenever she looks up at you with her dark brown eyes and puckers her lip. The other thing this look did was always give you a great view down her shirt, which you're pretty sure is why she wore her thin strapped tank top today.

“A-Alright she can stay over. But only for a week,” you cave as your face warms up causing you to turn your head away.

“Yay! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you oppa! You're the best boyfriend ever!” she says as she jumps in front of you, her tits bouncing up and down.

In the middle of her celebration, a gentle knock raps on the door.

“Oh that must be her,” Nancy says, skipping over to the door.

“Wait... you already asked her? What if I said no?”

“I know you weren’t gonna say no,” she says in a sultry tone giving you a wink.

You smack yourself in the head on missing an opportunity to have Nancy begging for something. How far would she have gone to have her way?

Fortunately, it wasn’t one of Nancy’s other friends. Yeonwoo and Hyebin were two bombshells that you’ve always been attracted to. Obviously not as much as Nancy, but having one of them around could have led to some… interesting situations.

The last time you saw Ahin she had a short bobbed haircut with bangs. She never really struck you as an overly sexy type of girl, but rather as someone who you could bring home to mom and dad. She had a very homely kind of aura about her calming your worries about having one of Nancy’s friends stay over with you. 

“Ahhhh! I’m so glad you’re here,” Nancy says through the slit of the ajar door only big enough for her to fit through. She reaches both arms through and gives the person on the other side a hug. The door knocks open as they jump and hug each other, revealing a bouncing head of blonde hair on the other side of the hug.

As they break the hug, you get a good look at the other girl and you're left speechless. If this was Ahin, she’d almost completely re-invented her image. What was once a short brown bob with bangs is now long flowing blonde hair that’s parted in the middle. It frames her face so much better than her old haircut did, making you focus on things like her piercing hazel eyes and her plump red lips more than you would have.

You knew Ahin had a pretty good figure, especially when she would wear tight shirts that showed off her large bust, but this just blew you out of the water. A thin strapped darker pink dress with roses and irises hugs her in all the right places, showing off her massive tits and giving you plenty of cleavage to gawk at. It also clings tightly to her stomach and ass, not leaving a lot to the imagination. 

When your eyes finally start to work their way back up Ahin’s body, she stares right at you. She gives you a subtle wink as Nancy snaps you out of the trance. 

“Come on oppa, greet our guest,” Nancy says, pulling you in closer to the two of them.

“Oh, yeah. Um hey Ahin... you look, like, really good.” you say as you stumble your way through the conversation, “When did all of this change happen?”

“Oh this?” Ahin says as she does a little twirl, “Nancy didn’t say anything to you about it? Ah, what kind of friend are you that you don’t brag to your boyfriend about me?”

“I was planning on telling him, but something must have happened and it slipped my mind.”

Ahin extends both of her arms. “Well don’t be shy now. Nothing’s changed, I'm still the same old Ahin as before, so can I have a hug oppa?” she says with a little head tilt.

You quickly glance at your girlfriend for reassurance, but she just gives you a ‘why are you looking at me’ look. When you step forward and embrace Ahin, she pulls you deeper into the hug pressing her boobs against your chest. The feeling of her soft mounds pushing up against you covers a much larger area than Nancy’s do. 

Before you break your hug, Ahin goes up on her tiptoes and whispers into your ear, “We’re going to have a lot of fun while I’m staying with you oppa~.” As she finishes her sentence, she blows lightly on your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

“Well, come with me Ahin and I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping while you’re here,” Nancy says as she grabs her hand, pulling Ahin toward the guest bedroom you’ve been using as a stay at home office. 

“Oh, and oppa! Grab Ahin’s bags for her would you!” Your girlfriend calls out from the other room.

“Sure thing!” you yell back as you pick up the rolling suitcase and walk towards the room where the two women are.

—

It’s been three days since Ahin came to stay with you and Nancy, and to say Ahin was having fun messing with you would be an understatement. Everything that she wore was extremely revealing. If Ahin had a thin strapped tight tank top, she would walk in front of you while watching TV and pick something up off your coffee table. You swear you saw a silhouette of her nipple poking out from those beautiful round mounds, but you quickly averted your gaze when you heard Nancy make some noise in the other room.

As you got home today, you’re relieved that the work week was finally over. All you can think about is a nice warm shower, before getting into some comfortable clothes and watching TV with Nancy cuddled up beside you on the couch. 

Opening the door to the apartment, you aren’t met with your usual warm welcome you’ve become accustomed to. 

“Hey I’m back,” you call out to the dark, quiet apartment to see if you could get a response, but no luck.

After taking off your coat and hanging it up, you walk into the kitchen and flip on the lights. A note left on the marble countertop.

“Gone out to the store. Be back later with food~” - Nancy ♥

You love how in sync you and Nancy are. Even without telling her you wanted to just stay home tonight and just order something, she is already getting some food for you two to eat tonight.

Rummaging through a drawer beneath the counter, you pull out a pen and write a response to her note.

“If I’m still in the shower when you get back feel free to join me ;)”

And now a nice warm shower awaits you. You make your way through the apartment and notice that the light to the room Ahin is staying in was also off. Looks like Nancy forgot to turn off the lights in your bedroom though. It follows much of the same style the rest of your apartment does. Your bed frame is made out of black wood and the sheets and pillowcases that adorned it are eggshell white. You have no qualms about the style since Nancy really knew what she wanted when she found the place. 

The buttons on your shirt easily come undone as you walk into your bathroom. You toss all your clothes into the hamper before turning on the shower. The ice cold water catches your hand so you quickly try to remove it before getting hit by the painful chill. Letting the shower warm up, you move over to your sink and take your contacts out. Click. Click. The front door. Nancy must be here.

You quickly throw the lenses into a small trash can and scamper into the shower. Luckily the water is nice and warm now so you aren’t entering a cold shower. Closing the glass door behind you, you splash some water onto the two glass walls of the shower to make it seem like you’ve been in there for a bit.

Soon enough the door to the bathroom creaks open, but you pretend not to hear it. With some shampoo in your hands, you lather your head thoroughly. You begin to pick up what sounds like different articles of clothing quietly hitting the floor. Some heavier than others signaling that Nancy is trying to be quiet and sneak up on you.

You decide to play along and have some fun with it. Keeping your back turned to her, you continue to wash yourself. A sudden rush of cold air enters the almost sauna-like shower.

Wasting no time, a pair of hands reach around and caress your chest before working their way down the front of your body. A soft hum comes from your closed mouth and they reach your hardening cock. One hand slowly begins to pump as the other one massages your balls.

Your eyes flutter closed as the hand that was gliding up and down your shaft begins to fist the head of your cock.

“Fuck that feels so good…” you let out breathily as you slowly begin to hump into her hand.

“Mmmm now I see why Nancy wanted you to move in with her so badly.” A voice different from your girlfriend says in a sensual tone.

Your eyes snap open and you spin around to see Ahin completely naked standing in the shower with you. The blonde woman stands there with lustful eyes as she scans you up and down, like an animal examining its prey.

You take a step back out of the water and retreat under the showerhead. Ahin doesn’t flinch to walk into the warm water and let it cascade over her body. Streams flow between her soft mounds then down her tight stomach, before they finally reach her thighs. Not a single drop goes down her body and hits the drain without you staring at it. It’s just water after all.

“I know Nancy wanted it to be a surprise tomorrow, but I just couldn’t wait any longer. Teasing you the last few days has been way too much fun, and I know you can’t take your eyes off me.”

“N-nancy wanted it to be a surprise tomorrow? W-what does that mean?” you stutter out while this goddess of a woman pulls her wet hair back so none of it is in her face.

“Nancy wanted to give you a really nice birthday present,” Ahin says as she steps forward out of the water and places her hands on the tiled wall behind your head, “and asked if I could help her give it to you. But I really couldn’t help myself after seeing your little note.”

Ahin reaches down and wraps her hands around your cock. Her hands corkscrew in opposite directions as they glide up and down the length of your rock hard shaft. Your head lurches back against the tiled wall, closing your eyes from the pleasure of her soft hands..

Wasting no time,Ahin latches onto your exposed neck and begins kissing upwards along your jawline. “So if you’re willing… to keep a secret… till tomorrow… you and I… can have a little fun… before Nancy gets back…” Ahin says in between each of her kisses.

In a flash Ahin is on her knees in front of you. She releases your cock and takes her boobs before she sandwiches your cock between them. Nancy has done this for you many times before, but there was something different about the way Ahin felt. Maybe the pressure, the movement, it may just be doing it in the shower that made the difference. Whatever the reason, it feels immaculate.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss out.

“You like that oppa? You’ve been staring at them all week so I thought you’d enjoy this.”

Unable to fully respond, your groans are enough to let her know you want her to continue. Regaining enough composure, you look down at Ahin. She stares right at you, studying the slightest movements in your body while taking mental notes of what you seem to be fond of. A big grin appears on her face right before she quickens her pace causing your face to contort in pleasure.

With all of your blood rushing out of your head and the heat that is sitting inside of the shower, you lose all inhibition against the bombshell throwing herself at you. You reach down and grab Ahin’s wrists, bringing her back onto her feet. You pull them above your head to spin her around, then you pull them back down, locking them behind her back. Her ragged breath fogs up the glass while her tits press up against the cold glass shower wall.

"That’s it oppa. Fuck me like I know you want to," Ahin says in a lurid tone as she sticks her ass out to sandwich your cock in between her plump ass and your stomach. You let go of her wrists and bring your hands around to cup her breasts.

She lets out a pained whine when you squeeze her soft tits. 

“If we do this, we have to tell Nancy as soon as she gets back,” you grunt out as Ahin grinds her ass up against you.

“I have a better idea.” Ahin smirks as she pulls away from you and reaches out of the shower door and grabs her phone. She opens up her camera then grabs your hand and puts it on her supple breast. 

“Well come on! Get in frame,” she says looking back at you. Maybe you shouldn’t send something like this to your girlfriend. “Trust me Nancy will love this.” 

Still unsure about how this might play out you can tell that Ahin won’t let this go. You reposition yourself so you can see your face in the picture. Ahin poses seductively with one hand wrapped around your dick and another hand stroking the opposite tit to the one you’re grabbing. Giving a smirk and wink to the camera she snaps the picture.

Ahin takes her hand off your dick and begins to fiddle with her phone. A few seconds later she reaches back out of the shower door and places it on the sink counter. “There that should get her home faster,” she says as she turns back to you.

Without hesitation, Ahin throws her arms around your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. At this point you’ve given up on resisting her advances and wrap your arms around her waist to pull her deeper into your lip’s embrace. The faint taste of cherries passes across your tongue as you work her lips open and invade her mouth. Ahin moans as your hands find purchase on her plump ass to pull her up on her tiptoes.

“God, I need you to stick this in me right fucking now.” She moans as turns around and places her hands on the glass wall.

“No. I want to do it over here.” You pull her through the water so you're both under its warm current. Ahin lets out a little yelp but it turns into a giggle as she realizes what you are doing. She then places her hands along the tiled wall and arches her back so her ass sticks out for you.

“Now fill me up oppa,” she says, looking back over her shoulder.

You line up with her folds as the water rushes down her back and over her ass. Wanting to tease her a bit, you slowly push the head of your cock into her, causing a long moan to escape her mouth. Inch by inch, you sink into her warm velvety cavern as Ahin tries to push back against you to speed up the process. However, you hold her hips in place and continue until you hilt inside her. Ahin lets out a satisfied moan when your thick cock fills her. You hold her there a moment, enjoying the feeling of her walls stretching around your length.

Pulling your hips back till your head is the only part that remains inside her, you snap your hips forward. Your pelvis and her ass clap loudly at your force, splashing water as you relentlessly thrust. A yelp escapes Ahin’s lips, invigorating you even more. You build a steady rhythm as you continue to make Ahin moan. Her warm walls feel tighter than Nancy’s, clinging to your cock in an almost desperate manner. 

You lean over Ahin’s back and kiss the back of her neck as you continue to thrust into her. Her big beautiful breasts swing back and forth putting you in a trance. You swear you could hear them calling out to you, begging you to grab them and fill your hands with her smooth tits.

As you grasp each one in your hands you begin to knead them, making Ahin sigh in bliss. Wanting to earn even more a reaction out of her, you pinch her stiff nipples with your index and thumb and pull on them lightly. Your reward is given quickly when Ahin’s legs quiver at the pleasure mounting from your fingers and your pistoning shaft. She takes one hand off the wall and circles, clit with it.

“Oh SHIT! Just like that… don’t stop… please don’t stop,” Ahin chants as she is pushed closer and closer to the edge.

Not needing to be told twice, you double your efforts and place one hand on her shoulder and return the other to her hip giving yourself better leverage. Long and hard strokes into her tight cavern aim for the same sensitive spot every time. Each thrust causes Ahin’s body to lunge forward slightly, moving her up onto her tiptoes. 

Suddenly, Ahin lets out a loud moan as her walls begin to clamp down around your cock. You feel your balls begin to tighten while the muscles in your groin begin to burn. Her orgasm doesn’t stop you from thrusting with all your might and your own climax soon follows. You pull out of Ahin and stroke yourself as you aim your dick at her back. Long streaks of white arc across her back and ass when you are sent over the edge.

Breathing heavily, Ahin turns around and leans against the wall as you place a hand beside her head to steady yourself as you try to gain some composure back. 

“Holy shit Ahin. That felt amazing.” you pant. Her hazel eyes pierce yours, your vision returning from a blur.

Ahin smirks and begins to move in for a kiss but stops just short of your lips, tilting her head to look over your shoulder with a sly smile.

“Finally decided to join us Nancy?” Ahin says in a joking manner.

You spin around to see your girlfriend standing there with an annoyed look on her face. Her arms are crossed, lifting her chest up, as her foot taps the ground snappily. Before you can say anything Nancy cuts in.

“Really Ahin! I told you to just hold it in till tomorrow and you’d get to have all the fun you wanted with us. But noooooooo I guess you couldn’t silence that inner slut of yours for just one more night.”

You and Ahin stand there in stunned silence looking at Nancy as her eyes dart between the two of you. You look back at Ahin with a look that says “I thought you said this was okay!” This deafening quietness is broken by Nancy once again.

“Alright fine. He can just have it tonight… But you owe me a round before you get both of us,” Nancy says as she pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it to the floor and turns to walk out.

Ahin tries to hold in a giggle.

“Well come on oppa! I know you’ve got way more stamina than that!” Nancy calls out from inside your bedroom.

You're stuck in place, with the water still running down your back, baffled at what you just heard.

“See oppa~ I told you she would like the text,” Ahin whispers before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and scooting around you to exit the shower. She grabs a dry towel off the rack and pats herself down before following Nancy into the bedroom.

Still trying to comprehend what just transpired, you still can’t move as all of your mental capacity is being diverted to understanding the situation you’re in. Your girlfriend asked her best friend to come over and stay with you until your birthday so she could surprise you with a threesome. Not only that, but she also told Ahin to tease you regularly, wanting you riled up for what was coming. Then, it hits you. There are two unbelievably attractive women waiting for you in your bedroom.

You cut the shower off and almost slip with how quickly you step out of the shower. Steadying yourself on the towel rack you grab a dry towel and run it across your body quickly before running through the doorway into your bedroom.

Both women lie on their sides and face one another, exposed fully for you on the bed. Their round plump asses stick out at you and reveal just how wet each of them are. Ahin has her hand on Nancy’s thigh caressing it up and down as the two of them look at you with eyes full of want and desire.

“Come on now. Don’t keep her waiting any longer,” Ahin giggles as you step towards your girlfriend.

As you put a knee on the bed and begin to lean over Nancy, she places a hand on your chest and looks you in the eyes.

“Uh uh. Lay down, you got to have your fun with Ahin and now I want to have my fun with you,” Nancy says pushing you back.

Something primal must've washed over her. When you lay back to let Nancy have control, she crawls over you and looks at you as something she needs to mark as her own. Watching you and Ahin for that brief moment in the shower made her desire grow further. 

Her thick thighs press against your legs when she straddles you. Nancy leans, down placing her hands beside your head. You watch her hair fall along the sides of her face as she moves in closer. Her breath is brief on your face before her soft lips make contact with yours. You instinctively push your head off the bed to deepen the kiss, while your hands find their way to the small of her back pulling her into you. 

Nancy quickly counters your movements in an attempt to maintain control by pushing her tongue into your mouth. The two muscles wrestle with one another, battling for dominance. Your hands slide down Nancy’s back till they reach her round, firm ass. You give it a solid squeeze once they make it there, earning a muffled moan from your girlfriend.

Sensing she is losing control, she pulls away from your kiss and gazes intently into your eyes while breathing heavily. She then sits upright on your lap and maneuvers one of her hands behind her and in between your leg grabbing your hard cock. 

Still slick with Ahin’s juices, your dick slides into Nancy’s tight pussy with ease as her muscles grip it firmly. You both let out moans and groans while she sinks down onto your cock letting it fill her up. You start to move your legs up so you can plant your feet into the mattress, but you’re stopped when Nancy takes your hands off of her ass and pins them above your head.

“Oh no no, you need to be punished for starting without me. It was supposed to be a surprise for tomorrow,” she says looking back at Ahin who is intently watching the two of you but then averts her gaze when Nancy leers at her, “but since that was spoiled I want to have some fun before you get to have yours.”

All you can do is nod at her request. Nancy then moves her hands to your chest as she raises up onto her feet to squat while making sure to keep your dick inside her.

“Don’t move those hands until I say so. Got it oppa,” Nancy says in an authoritative manner.

“Yes, Nancy.”

Nancy then picks her ass up off of you before slamming it back down, spearing your dick deep into her wet walls. A long moan followed by some quick breaths escape Nancy’s lips before she begins the process again. A steady bouncing rhythm starts to form as her tits bounce up and down with her movements. Your eyes dart from the contorted face of your girlfriend to her boobs to your glistening cock appearing and disappearing into the soaked cavern it so desires to be in.

All of Nancy’s focus seems to be on her maintaining her ability to continue bouncing on your cock, so when Ahin sneaks beside you she doesn't seem to notice or care. Ahin crawls behind your head and looks down at you smiling devilishly. She hangs one of her large boobs only an inch or so away from your mouth. Her head is over your chest looking down at you, while you struggle to maintain the promise of not moving for Nancy.

“Go on oppa. As long as you don’t move your hands until Nancy says, you can do whatever you want with them.”

You look back to Nancy whose head is completely arched back. She has returned to her previous position and now straddles you with her meaty thighs and continues to bounce herself on your dick. You quickly dart your head up and capture Ahin’s large, round breast in your mouth. Ahin obviously needed some sort of stimulation because as soon as you latched onto her nipple and your tongue began making erratic movements over it, she let out a pleasurable sigh.

“Mmmm that’s a good boy,” Ahin muses as you eagerly devour her sweet tasting skin.

You can hardly contain yourself from sitting still any longer and decide to help both women out. Planting your feet into the mattress you begin to thrust upwards into Nancy with reckless abandon. If Nancy can’t get a word out then she couldn’t scold you for moving when she told you not to. Nancy’s moans rise another octave as you relentlessly pound into her. You can tell she is getting extremely close to climaxing when her walls start to throb around your dick.

Before Ahin has a chance to say anything either, you wrap your arms around her, pulling her soft globes deeper onto your face. Not expecting it, Ahin is forced prone with her boobs squished against you, almost suffocating you. You wiggle your face into her cleavage where you kiss and lick at whatever skin your mouth can reach.

“So this is what you were warning me about Nancy?” Ahin asks giggling.

Nancy is now matching the timing of your thrusts with her own as her legs tighten around your waist. Her breathing has become so rapid and shallow you're surprised she isn't passing out.

"Cumming," airlessly exhales Nancy through gritted teeth.

She spreads her legs wide as they begin quivering. You slow your pace as you let the wave of gasps wash over you while Nancy's body is gyrating out. You try to keep your mind focused on not cumming yourself.

Nancy takes a moment to collect herself before lifting up off of your cock, which slaps wetly against your stomach as it exits Nancy. Ahin quickly lunges forward and takes it into her mouth, slurping hungrily at your cock covered with Nancy’s fresh juices.

“Fuuuuuucckkk,” is all you can manage to let out as she deepthroats your cock. Your hands run through your own hair as you continue to stave off the urge to cum again so quickly. Ahin’s tongue glides over every inch of your cock, wanting to taste as much of Nancy as she can. 

Breathing heavily, Nancy lays on her side beside you looking at you and your pained expression.

“You better be saving that load for me. If Ahin gets two before I get my first I may just completely drain you out tonight.”

The dirty talk Nancy adds on top of Ahin’s glorious mouth working on your cock does not make it any easier. Luckily for you, your girlfriend sees how hard you are trying to hold off and gives Ahin a firm slap on her ass.

“That’s enough you little slut. Give him a break.”

Ahin lets your dick out of her mouth with a little pop. “Aw, but hearing his moans was so much fun.”

“I think it’s time we let him have his fun with us,” Nancy says to her friend as she gets on her knees next to you, “Get off of him so he can stand up.” 

Nancy jokingly pushes Ahin off of you, sending her rolling on her side snickering.

“Alright oppa, go ahead and stand up at the foot of the bed.” Nancy says as she looks down at you.

You sit up and scootch your way to the edge of the bed before standing up and turning back around to face the women. They both look lustfully at your cast-iron cock standing proud covered in a mixture of Ahin’s saliva and Nancy’s juices while dripping with pre-cum. Without saying a word to one another, you watch as the two gorgeous women position themselves for you.

Ahin lays on her back with her feet over the edge of the bed, while Nancy crawls on top of her, straddling her waist and sticking her plump ass out at you. Nancy shakes her ass inviting you to join them. You approach the two of them and drop to one knee before affixing your face into Ahin’s wet folds and sticking your tongue out. Ahin lets a breathy moan out as you run your tongue upwards through her folds and then in one motion do the same to Nancy’s coaxing a similar moan from her. 

The two distinct tastes linger on your tongue as you raise back up and position your cock at Ahin’s pussy lips. With one thrust you hilt into Ahin making the girl’s head snap back against the bed when you hit her g-spot directly. A guttural moan rips out of her vocal cords as you begin to hammer away at her soaking pussy.

“Looks like he chose me first,” Ahin says between heavy breaths and moans, taunting Nancy.

“He just wants to make sure he finishes in me,” Nancy quickly snaps back.

Being so close already, you can’t stay inside of Ahin’s tight walls for very long. As you continue to thrust into Ahin you lean over Nancy’s back and whisper into her ear.

“The faster you make her cum, the faster I get to cum in you.” 

Nancy gets a sly smirk on her face before sliding her hand down Ahin’s tight stomach. As soon as she reaches her clit, Ahin looks at Nancy with wanton eyes when she nods her head and bites her bottom lip. You feel Nancy’s hand working on Ahin as you continue to bottom out into her with long, hard thrusts. Soon enough, Ahin’s velvet walls constrict around your cock as you struggle to thrust in and out. You watch her legs shake as she hits another climax tonight, this one seeming to hit her harder than the one in the shower had.

Slowing your pace, you let her orgasm ride itself out before you pull out of Ahin and immediately thrust into Nancy.

“Don’t hold back baby. Fucking tear that pussy up.”

Your hips take off in a bestial lust as you fuck your girlfriend. You place both of your hands on Nancy’s ass and spread it apart as you piston in and out of her. Her moans are like music to your ears. Mixed with the sounds of Ahin’s still heavy breathing, you can hardly contain yourself any longer.

You wrap your arms around her torso, pressing into her back. She turns her head and arches her neck back just enough for you to capture her lips and push your tongue in. Looking up at this hot scene, Ahin wants to get in on the action and latches onto one of Nancy’s perfect, round orbs.

Almost as soon as you release Nancy’s lips, your girlfriend pulls Ahin off of her tit and pushes her tongue into Ahin’s mouth. Ahin happily accepts it with a smile and continues to play with her friend’s boobs. 

Smirking, you unravel your arms from around Nancy and bring them to Ahin’s tits. They are jiggling slightly from the rocking your thrusts into Nancy’s tight cunt. You start by pinching her nipples and attain a second muffled moaning girl underneath you. Ahin’s face scrunches as both her and Nancy let out pleasured whines in between the breaths they take.

The slick walls of your girlfriend's pussy along with both girls’ muffled moans are enough to finally spell your end.

“I’m about to cum.” You say thrusting more erratically.

Nancy quickly pulls away from Ahin and looks back over her shoulder at you.

“Give it to me baby. Fill me up. I need it.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before you’re buried as deep in as you can, and you tremble as your cock throbs, releasing a monumental load of sperm into Nancy. You put your face close to Nancy's and let out a breathy moan as she does likewise.

You stay intertwined with increasingly soft pulses coming from your sensitive dick. Eventually you pull out, all three of you collapsing on the bed.

Ahin and Nancy take their place beside you after you crawl to the middle of the bed. You lay an arm out for each of them and they both cuddle up to you as you pull them in close. 

“How was it oppa?” Nancy asks looking up at you.

“If this is what I get on the day before my birthday, I can’t wait to see what I get tomorrow.”

A/N - Hey everyone~ I’m finally back with a new piece! I hope you all have been well and enjoyed this oneshot that I started wayyyyy back in August before my account was all sorts of fucked up. I’m happy to say I’m back now and will hopefully be able to spend more time with you guys this upcoming semester. I want to give a huge shout out to @worldsover​ and @nsfwflint​ who really went ham when editing and fixed a LOT of my poor writing after being gone for so long. Like always feel free to leave any suggestions/thoughts/comments either below this post or in asks if you’d rather stay an anon. Thanks for reading and stay happy and healthy!

[ressyfaerie]

Request: I saw this tattoo programme where 2 lesbian friends went on and they got to pick the other's tattoo and they can't look till it's done. One picked "you mean everything" for the friend and she was so worried about her seeing in case she hated it. Then hers (from her friend) was "I love you". This had them all emotional and got them both to confess & get together. Anywaaaay, a similar idea for Tyka?

Sorry for the late response! I’m working again and still recovering! This is the LAST FIC REQUEST of this askbox being open!

Soooo likkee. Once upon a time I talked to someone about a tattoo shop AU? This gave me some serious inspiration sooooooo here we gooooo

Halfway through I remembered! I (mentally?) based a lot of this idea on @ishkajules tattoo tyka shop AU!

Oh, disclaimer, I want a tattoo but know NOTHING about them aaaahhhahaha

“You’re a great artist, but you’re scaring away your clients.”

“Why do you care, Tala?”

“I don’t. They come to me after you reject them, or make them so uncomfortable they sit in the next chair over.”

“So then, why are you telling me this?”

Kai cleaned his equipment. It was nearing the end of the day, he figured he wouldn’t have any more walk-in customers.

“I just thought I’d let you know. You’re losing us money. If you don’t fix it, I’ll change your pay to commission only.”

Kai scowled. Who did he think he was? Threatening his pay like that?

“Like I said. You’re a phenomenal artist. But you're lucky I hired you. No one else will with your personality.”

Kai gave him a glare, “I’ll try to do better, boss.”

“Good. Keep that mouth in check.” Tala gave him a ‘I’m watching you’ gesture.

As soon as he turned away Kai rolled his eyes.

The bell in the shop rang.

“Hello! Welcome, how can we help you?” Tala welcomed the new customer with his regular fake friendly greeting.

“Hey... I’m Tyson.”

The kid seemed nervous. He didn’t have any art on his body.

Blank canvas.

“Um. Is Kai here?”

“Kai? Are you looking for him specifically?”

“Yeah! I follow his stuff on instagram and I really want my first tattoo to be done by him!”

The boy’s face brightened the whole shop. Kai’s lip curled.

“Of course! Let me get him for you!”

Tala made his way to Kai in the corner, he got up in his face.

“Listen, this kid’s a newbie—”

Kai rolled his eyes, “you know I don’t ink tattoo virgins—”

“Think of it as a blank canvas. As artists we all like a good canvas, look at him! He’s perfect!”

Kai took a look at this Tyson character. He hated to admit Tala was right. He was a good blank canvas. But Kai hated working with newbie clients; always so nervous, worried about the pain. He would just rather work with a regular.

Tala got angrier, “you will tattoo him. You’ll do exactly what he wants, and above all, you will be nice.”

“Or else what?”

Tala shrugged his shoulders and smiled, “or else you’re fired.”

Kai didn’t want to admit that Tala's threat got to him. He sighed, played off as if he was slightly annoyed but obedient, “fine.”

“Good. Now go do your job.” Tala pointed to the front desk where the new client was waiting.

Kai shot Tala a glare, as he made his way to the desk. He put on his biggest fakest smile.

“Hey, I’m Kai.”

Tyson held a backpack around his shoulder, he grasped it firmly, while giving Kai the widest grin.

“I’ve been following you for a long time! I um… decided when I had enough money I wanted my first tattoo to be done by you…”

Awkward silence.

“Uh, what do you have in mind?” Kai learned how much it hurt when you kept smiling.

“I know you specialize in birds… I would love to have a red phoenix. Eventually I want a dragon. But I’d love to start with your strongest area!”

“Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

Tyson watched Kai like he was a celebrity. He had a popular art account, but that was about it. Kai just stared back at him.

“Um... I think I want it on my back…” Tyson trailed off as he grew more nervous.

“That’s a good choice. Do any designs come to mind?”

Tyson bit his lip, he looked up to the ceiling in thought, “oh!” He pulled out his phone.

He passed it to Kai showing him an old post of his. It wasn’t his best work, but he understood why he liked it.

“I can do that design easily.” Kai wondered why he was so worried—”

“I just… Don’t want it exactly like this.”

Ah right. Newbies.

“So what do you have in mind then?” Kai’s eyebrow twitched.

“I um.” Tyson rubbed the back of his head as his cheeks turned a bit red.

Kai sighed, “kid, I can’t work on you if I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Tala called to Kai, “Hey Kai! Don’t forget about your happy little tattoo gun over here!”

Kai reluctantly put on his big smile, “yeah boss, I haven't forgotten!”

He turned back to Tyson. “So what are your ideas?”

Tyson bit his lip.

“Do you have a reference I can make a design off of? Anything?”

“I… do.”

“Then show it to me.”

Tyson exhaled, then slid his backpack off his shoulder. He opened it and pulled out a sketchbook. He had it turned away from Kai making sure he wouldn’t see. He flipped through a few pages, and turned it towards Kai.

Kai grabbed it, and placed it down on the counter. He saw the sketch of the phoenix that was clearly an imitation of his style… with a twist.

Kai found himself impressed. It was a good design.

“I’ve worked on this for a few months… I’m pretty confident this is what I want… What do you think of it?”

Kai was trying to be extra nice, but he couldn't deny it was good. “It’s well done.”

“Thanks!” Tyson grinned.

The more Kai inspected the drawing the more detailed it became, it gave him new inspiration, a kind he never had before.

“Do you..” Kai cleared his throat and prodded the page with his finger. “Do you want this exact design or a design done by me?”

Tyson looked ecstatic, “would you be willing to make me an original design!?”

Kai thought for a moment. His original designs were usually reserved for regulars or people willing to drop more cash. But something about this design called to him…

He convinced himself he was inspired by his jealousy. He couldn't let this poor imitation see the world.

“I can make you a design based on this one.”

“Really!? Wow, thanks!”

“Can I borrow this sketch book?” Kai asked, while flipping the book closed.

“Um…”

“I need the design.”

“Could you take a picture?”

“I’d prefer to work with the original.” Kai’s lips hurt from smiling.

“Okay… You can borrow it.” It seemed Tyson was an extremely shy guy. “Be careful with it, okay?”

“I will.”

Kai stayed late in the shop. He worked in the studio.

“I’m locking up. Kai, I’m surprised you're still here?” Tala twirled the keys around his finger.

Kai was hunched over the small desk. He had already drawn out a few sketches. Tala inspected his work over his shoulder.

“Can you not?” Kai spat back.

“It’s a good design. I’m surprised you're putting so much effort into this kid's request. It’s not like you.”

Kai shrugged.

“He’s not loaded, you know? You’re not going to make up for it in tips.”

“I know.”

Tala felt a strange proud emotion emerge. “Alright,” he dropped the keys on the desk. “You can lock up. Have fun with your drawings.”

Kai watched the keys as they fell in front of him. He heard the door open, and close.

He sighed, then scrunched up the paper he was working with into a ball, and tossed it into the bin with the rest of the failed projects.

The sketchbook laid in front of him. He wanted to take a look at the design again. But he had lost the bookmark.

Shit.

He had to look through the book to find the right page.

There better not be anything dirty in here…

He opened it to another design.

Oh, wow.

It was a dragon, scribbled with faint watercolour. Kai grew curious, what other masterpieces did this book hold?

He began to flip through, curiously studying each design.

There were tons of dragons. Kai was interested, as he had always wanted a dragon tattoo, but he hadn’t yet met an artist who could ink scales the way he wanted.

These designs were so close to what he wanted, until—

He turned to a page with a very detailed dragon design. It took up the whole page. The colours were perfect, mixes of blues and silver. He was immediately captivated by it. His mouth hung open slightly.

It had been a long time since an art piece caught his attention.

He ran his finger down the page, careful not to smudge the drawing.

“Wow.”

Two days later Tyson came back to the shop, eagerly awaiting his tattoo.

Tala gestures to Kai from across the shop, pointing to the front desk where Tyson had just entered. He mouthed the words ‘be nice!’. Kai looked to the ceiling to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Kai got up from his station. The night before he had pulled an all-nighter. Until finally—he came out with the perfect piece. He knew Tyson would love it. He was upset with himself for putting so much thought into it, after all, he was just a newbie.

Kai tossed a black file folder on the desk.

Tyson jumped a bit, then settled back in with his backpack on his shoulder, “good morning, Kai!”

Kai put on a smile, “good morning.”

Tyson tilted his head, it was kind of cute, “did you manage to come up with anything? I know it hasn’t been long—”

“I did, I think you’ll enjoy it.” Kai opened the folder and revealed a paper, he placed it on the desk and flipped it around to show the blue-haired boy.

“Woah! Holy shit that’s so cool!” Tyson placed both his hands on the corners, admired it with an open mouth.

“Is it what you wanted?” Kai accidentally let his smile drop as he awaited the response.

“It’s perfect!” Tyson was so happy you could see his dimples.

It made Kai perform… maybe… a real smile.

“I have a test here, do you want to see what it would look like?”

“Can I? Oh man that’s so fucking cool…”

Kai gestured behind the desk, Tyson happily pushed himself through the gate. Kai pointed to his station “that’s my chair, put your stuff anywhere out of my way. Take your shirt off.”

Tyson suddenly stopped smiling and froze, Kai almost ran into him.

“Hey!” Kai started to lose his temper, but saw Tala’s red hair in the corner of his eye, he took a deep breath. “You said you wanted it on your back didn’t you?”

“Yeah…” Tyson answered back nervously.

Kai dropped the folder on his desk near the chair, “then take off your shirt and lay on your stomach.”

Tyson swallowed a hard lump in his throat.

Kai just stared at him.

Newbies. It’s just some skin. So annoying.

Tyson let his bag slide to the floor, he kicked it to the corner of the room, then he folded his arms.

Kai turned around, ready to place the stencil, then he frowned, “why do you still have your shirt on?”

Tyson went to say something, but stopped.

Kai sighed, “it’s just bare skin. I’ve worked on way more intimate body parts. You have nothing to worry about.”

Tyson shrugged, he acted confident but Kai could tell he was nervous. He grasped the ends of his shirt and rolled it over his head, throwing it on top of his bag.

“Now lay down.” Kai gestured to the chair that was horizontal from the last client.

Tyon nodded, and laid down in front of Kai, “is it going to hurt!?”

Kai closed his eyes for a moment, it took everything in him to not retort with sass, “it’s just a sticker, so we can determine the placement. It won’t hurt.”

Tyson nodded.

Kai flicked his arm, “you need to have your arms near your sides… like this.”

Kai had grabbed his closest arm and manipulated it like a rag doll, Tyson hid his face, hoping his idol didn’t see him blush.

“Okay, I’m applying it now.”

Kai expertly placed the test paper exactly where Tyson had described he wanted it. Along his right shoulder. Tyson barely moved, but Kai wasn’t sure how he would react when the actual inking started.

“Done. Take a look in the mirror.”

Tyson jumped up, nearly running to the full length mirror in the shop, twirling his body so he could see it better.

“Wow! It’s so cool!” His voice rang through the whole shop, even Tala’s client looked up from his chair.

“Thank you, Kai!”

“No problem.” Kai sat down in his chair, he picked up his tattoo gun and started to tinker with it, he looked at Tyson. “So are you ready?”

Tyson’s eyes grew wide, “r—right now!?”

Kai gave him a genuine grin, “no better time than the present.”

Tyson made his way back to Kai’s station. He looked down at the chair, “is it going to take a while?”

Kai nodded, “I’ll do the outline today. Then you can come back tomorrow and we will ink as much as we can.”

Tyson sat on the chair, still too nervous to lay down.

“Hey kid!”

Tyson looked around the shop for the echoing voice.

It came from the client on Tala’s chair. He was covered in different tattoos, “don’t be worried! But remember it's addicting! Once you get one you can’t stop!”

Tyson laughed, “thanks man!”

The man gave Tyson a thumbs up, Tala smirked in Kai’s direction.

He must enjoy torturing me… asshole.

Tyson gave Kai a huge smile, “I’m ready!”

“Good.” Kai had reached over to his station, he placed a pair of glasses on his face.

“You wear glasses!?” Tyson was intrigued.

“Yeah? Why is that surprising?” Kai wondered why Tyson cared so much, they just met after all.

Tyson mumbled, “you just… never shared anything on your instagram I guess…”

“There’s more to me than my online persona. Get on your stomach.”

Tyson instantly obeyed. He curled in his fists.

Kai made the necessary procedures, he wiped his back with a sterile wipe, Tyson shivered.

Kai had to bite his tongue from sighing.

“Sorry… it was cold.” Tyson muttered.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” Kai tried to reassure him but realized he had never really reassured anyone before.

Kai prepared the gun, Tyson turned his head to him, “how much… is it going to hurt?”

God damn it. Why do they always ask...

“Not as much as you’re going to love it.”

Kai impressed himself with his response.

Tyson nodded, and turned his head away from Kai.

“Alright, I’m starting.”

Kai had done it a million times before, but it was Tyson’s first. When the gun first ran along his skin he tensed up, he made a quiet high pitched noise. Kai kept going.

He kept tensing up, too much, it would ruin the work, and Kai’s concentration. Kai stopped for a moment, “you have to untense. It hurts now but it’ll go numb soon, then it won’t be so bad.”

Kai just saw the back of Tyson’s head as he nodded.

Kai grasped his shoulder, “good, now untense.”

Tyson tried to loosen up, but his muscles were still tight.

“Breathe.”

Kai wasn’t sure what to do, but he still had his hand on his shoulder, he gave Tyson a gentle rub with the edge of his thumb.

He heard Tyson exhale, and his whole body relaxed.

“Good job.” Kai readjusted his glasses, and continued. He was leaning over Tyson’s body.

Tyson was aware just how close his idol was, he could feel his breathing as he worked. His face turned red. Over the next hour he grew used to it. He was loving the closeness. He was excited to see what it looked like done.

Tala was surprised, usually Kai put his earbuds in and avoided talking to clients. But this time, Kai kept glancing at Tyson’s hair, as if he wanted to say something, but was stalling. At just over the hour mark, Kai made his move.

“I have to admit. I looked through your sketchbook.”

Tyson jumped, “what?”

“Don’t move—”

“Sorry, but why did you do that?”

“I lost the page the design was on. Then I just kept looking.”

Tyson went silent, clearly he was upset.

Kai stopped for a second, “they’re really good.” he immediately started again.

Tyson went stone cold.

Kai continued, “your dragons are insanely intricate. I’ve never seen scale work like yours. Are they all original?”

Tyson hesitated, “yes…”

“I’m quite fond of the silver-blue dragon, the one near the end.”

“I know which one you’re talking about. It’s one of my favourites too.”

“Mhm.” Kai trailed off, still not ready to ask the question he wanted to.

A few hours later, Kai stopped, “I think that’s good for today.”

Kai put his equipment down, and laid his glasses back on his desk.

Tyson went to get up, “ow…”

“Sore?”

“Yeah, I’ve been in this position too long…”

Tyson slowly rose to a sitting position. Kai admired his shoulder.

It’s great work. I did well.

“I want to see it!” Tyson jumped to his feet making his way to the mirror. He looked in the mirror and gasped in awe.

Tala had approached, he observed the design and raised an eyebrow, “it’s really good, Kai.”

Kai crossed his arms, “come back tomorrow. I’ll colour it. But it will be a bit of work.”

Tala agreed, “it might be best to split the coloring into two appointments. Since it’s his first… How was it, Tyson?”

Tyson was still admiring his tattoo, “the pain? It was fine once I got used to it, Kai really helped.”

“Really!?” Tala looked at Kai in disbelief.

Kai shot him a glare.

Tyson put his shirt back on while Tala described how to take care of it. They made their way to the front desk and finished off some paperwork.

Tala had gone back to his desk, still within earshot.

“Thanks so much. Kai! It’s going to be awesome!” Tyson grinned, “but um… can I have my sketchbook back?”

Kai nodded, then went back to his station, and came back with the book, he slid it across the table, but held on to it when Tyson tried to take it.

Kai didn’t let go of the book, he looked into Tyson’s eyes, with his first genuine expression, “I have a question. About your design.”

“Huh?” Tyson looked up to Kai. He was positive there was nothing he could ask that he wouldn’t know himself.

“I want to buy it.”

“What?” Tyson’s voice rang with disbelief.

“Well, I don’t want to buy the rights. Just the design, so I can have it tattooed.”

“You want my design!?”

“Yes, is that a problem?”

Tala’s ear twitched, the situation tickled his interest, and he made his way back to the counter.

“I uh—um.” Tyson was lost for words.

“How much?” Kai badgered him.

Tala intervened, “Kai leave the poor kid alone, let him think on it.”

Kai looked at Tyson, Tyson stared back.

Tyson let go of the book, “keep the book till tomorrow… I’ll think about what you said…”

Tyson backed up towards the door, “b—bye! See you tomorrow!”

He had left the shop faster than either of them could say bye.

Kai still held the sketchbook, he looked down at it. Tala was immediately furious.

“Kai Hiwatari, what the hell!? Are you an ass or head over heels? You’re going to bully some rookie artist into stealing his design? What is wrong with you—”

Kai had opened the book to his favourite page. Tala’s voice changed right away.

“Shit.”

Kai held the open book close to his chest, “I know. It’s well done.”

“You’re not kidding, here let me see—”

Kai handed him the book. Tala admired the drawing for a long time. Before flipping through the book. He let out a long high pitched whistle.

“Could you do it?” Kai asked.

“Do what?”

“Could you tattoo this for me? I want it on my right shoulder—”

Tala laughed, “no. My specialty lies in fangs and fur. I’ve never done a dragon, plus these scales… this could only be done by the original artist.”

Tala looked up from the book, “if you love this design, it has to be done by the original artist. Does he know how to use a gun?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Ah, shame.”

“How come?”

Tala went back to flipping through pages, “because I'd hire him on the spot.”

Kai was dumbfounded, “for real?”

“Absolutely.”

Dude I have so many more ideas for this AU it’s INSANE. AAAH but this is all I have time for now <3 if there’s a demand for more I might write more!

[hypmic-writings]

Congrats on your 2nd year! So glad I came across your account. Your fics truly inspire me to write again. I’m the one who asked for the father-daughter bits but that could defo wait. For now, a 73 for Doppo, pretty please with a female colleague who’s slightly his opposite. Thank you so much! 🥰

73. “How did they…how are they doing that?”

Thank you, and I’m glad I was able to inspire you a bit! Yes, once the askbox is open again, definitely send in that request, it was super cute!

I’m so sorry, I don’t know what this is. You don’t know what this is. Your cat doesn’t know what this is. I know this was a suggestive prompt, but I just had this idea and decided to run with it. There’s definitely more suggestive Doppo in the inbox though, so don’t worry, you’ll get some NSFW with him, I promise! Hope this is okay and that you enjoy this regardless~

Word Count: 1,867

Genre: NSFW (PG-13); Fluff

�� ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

You walked through the empty hall of the art museum, tapping your pen against the clipboard and going over the itinerary once more. This was the 10th anniversary for the annual gala that your company put on and you were easily chosen to be on the planning committee due to your friendly demeanor. You had taken on the duties with a smile and grace only you possessed.

“Should this go here?” Doppo asked, pulling you attention away from your clipboard of action items and towards a box of party favors.

“Yea, that’s perfect, you can leave them right there. The others will be back tomorrow morning so they can finish up before the evening,” you said, shooting him a smile. You watched him closely as he nodded and shuffled off to grab the rest of the boxes before sighing to yourself.

How could a grown man be so…cute?

You had been working with Doppo for over a year now and you still weren’t sure if he considered you a friend, although if you had it your way, you would be much more than friends. What had started as admiration for your colleague’s work ethic quickly into a small crush which then quickly turned into wanting more.

But you had only ever had conversations in passing with Doppo before this. Maybe that was why you had chosen him to be a part of the planning committee for the gala. You remembered back to when you had first asked him to join you and how stressed and flustered, he had reacted. You had immediately retracted your invitation, but for some reason or another he insisted that he had time for it.

Unbeknownst to you, Doppo felt quite the same way.

Whenever he was constantly under the stress and pressures of work, you were his saving grace. If coworkers were trying to chat him up in the break room and he was becoming anxious, you were always there to turn the attention elsewhere. Whenever he didn’t know how to respond to his boss or a client, you were somehow there with a solution or answer.

Your happy-go-lucky personality mixed with your hard-work and determination made you someone that Doppo admired. Well…he admired you in other ways too. Your eyes were always sparkling with happiness or excitement and it made him feel comfortable around you. Along with thinking you were absolutely stunning, he would always watch the way that you smiled and laughed around other colleagues, and would feel a little jealous.

There was no way someone as perfect as you could ever love a useless nobody like him…right?

“Okay, that should be it,” you said, marking off the last box on your To-Do list. “Thanks for all your help, Doppo!” you exclaimed enthusiastically. Doppo nodded and walked over to you.

“It’s kind of late…were you going to take the bus back? We can get a cab if you want. That might be safer…” he offered, his voice small, but echoing in the large room. You hummed a little as you looked around.

“Actually, I wanted to take a look at some of the paintings before heading home,” you mentioned, glancing around the room. “Do you want to look at them with me?” you offered sweetly.

Doppo felt his heart race in his chest at the prospect of spending more time alone with you as he nodded slowly.

“Yes, I wouldn’t mind that at all,” he said, rather quickly, feeling the heat rise to his ears as he turned his gaze away from you. Your smile faltered a bit at his reaction and you wondered if he was feeling burdened by your ask. Was he only staying because he felt obligated?

“O-okay! Let’s start here then!” you said, pushing away your doubts and walking over to the closest wall.

The paintings lining the walls were all complex, abstract pieces. This was the modern wing of the museum and most had been donated by wealthy individuals. You gazed over each one, taking your time to look at them, fascinated by what you thought you could see and what the artist was trying to portray.

Doppo was silently watching your intensely focused face from beside you and noted the way that you mindlessly bit into your lip when you were concentrating hard. It was something he had noticed when you were working on projects together and something he had found extremely adorable.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, preparing to ask you the question he had been preparing all night.

“Y/N – ”

“Hey Doppo – ”

You both glanced at each other in surprise as you spoke simultaneously. You smiled a bit and offered him to speak first but he insisted that you continue.

“I was just going to ask what you think this painting is,” you said, turning towards the painting and tilting your head slightly. “It’s called Lovebug but I can’t really make out anything,” you added, bringing a finger to your chin.

Doppo followed your gaze to the painting and took a step closer to you as he looked into the bright, vibrant red hues that covered a white canvas. He followed your lead and tilted his head, trying to make out any shapes.

“Oh wait…that kind of looks like a man,” you said, pointing towards the left side of the canvas. Doppo imagined the outline of a man and squinted ever so slightly.

“Ah, yes…it kind of does,” he said, nodding a bit. He was still nervous from moments before, but the painting was a good distraction and he was now interested to figure out what it was.

“Oh, that also kind of looks like…” you mentioned, trailing off a bit. Doppo raised eyebrows as he looked over at you. To his surprise your face was flushed and your eyes had widened a bit.

“What?” he asked, suddenly confused as he looked back at the painting.

“Nothing…uh…,” you began. You feared having to explain exactly what it was you saw, but by the look in his eyes you knew he was concerned.

“Y/N, are you okay? W-what did you see in the painting?” he asked, hurriedly, his voice filled with worry. You shook your head, feeling the heat rise to your face as you pointed back to it slowly. The picture that was blurry was now clear as day and you found yourself embarrassed when looking at it.

Especially when the man you were interested in was standing right next to you.

“Nothing…just…” you began before sighing a bit. “It’s…um…it also has an outline of a woman in the middle,” you explained, trying to get Doppo to see what you were seeing. Now it was Doppo who was intensely staring at the canvas as you watched him closely.

“I don’t…” Doppo began, before the imagine in front of him suddenly became clear. There was a moment of silence as he stared at the painting before he tilted his head slightly. “Oh…how did they…how are they doing that?” he mumbled, his face also flushing a bit.

His mind was screaming at him to say something, anything, to make the situation less awkward. But the idea of commenting on such a sexual, lewd painting when the current center of his affections was right next to him seemed cruel and impossible.

You glanced back at the painting, clearing your throat quickly. This was ridiculous, there was not reason to be this nervous in front of a colleague. It was a painting in a museum, not some picture on a shady internet website.

“I’m…not sure…” you stated, plainly. “But, I’m sure the artist meant to convey strong meanings of lust and passion or something like that…red as a color is used that way a lot,” you explained, trying to lighten the tension of the room. Doppo nodded along in agreement.

“Yes, I’ve heard that as well,” he added, actively avoiding glancing back at the painting.

“Like this one!” you exclaimed, quickly pointing to the next painting. “Look at how the red is used to convey passion, but as anger instead of lust,” you explained, already feeling less awkward.

You and Doppo finished looking at the paintings rather quickly and before you knew it you were back where you started.

“That was nice!” you exclaimed, you usual exuberance returned. “Thanks for looking at them with me. I think tomorrow is going to be a complete success,” you added, giving Doppo a thumbs up.

“Yes, I agree. Thank you for letting me join you…” he said, his voice a bit softer than usual. “Ah, and yes! The gala tomorrow is going to be good. You worked really hard on it, so I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,” he added, more strongly.

You were about to mention that you were going to take a cab home when you suddenly remembered something.

“Oh hey,” you began, turning to face Doppo. “What were you going to tell me before? I cut you off and you never told me,” you said, smiling kindly at him, trying not to think of the awkward moment with the painting that had taken place after that conversation.

Doppo felt his heart skip a beat at your words. He knew exactly what he was going to ask you, he just needed to do it.

‘What if she says no? What if I ask her and she shoots me down? Will she hate me forever? Would she laugh at me? There’s no way, right? What if she thinks it’s harassment? Will she tell my boss and everyone at work? Oh god, am I going to get fired? But I need this job for the money for rent! Am I going to get kicked out of the apartment if I don’t have it in time? And what if I get put on a list and then I can never have another job and I won’t have any money and I won’t – ’

“Doppo?” you asked, as the man in front of you seemed to snap back to reality. You frowned a bit and looked at him was worry. “Are you okay? You were kind of mumbling something but it sounded like you were in pain,” you explained, reaching out, but stopping before you put a hand on his arm.

“Ah, no, it’s nothing like that!” he exclaimed quickly. He took a deep breath and tried to remember what Jakurai had told him to do whenever he felt a mild panic attack.

You waited patiently for Doppo to compose himself and once he did, you were surprised to see an unusual look of resolve and confidence in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice strong. “Will you accompany me to the gala tomorrow night?”

As soon as his words left his lips you felt your heart rate speed up. You were surprised, of course, but you were also beginning to feel ecstatic. You bit back a grin as you discovered that Doppo in fact did return your feelings and you quickly nodded at him.

“Yes, I would really like that,” you said, nodding happily.

You watched as a smile of relief covered Doppo’s lips as he excitedly asked you what time you wanted to meet and where.

[kikizoshi]

Gogol Dialogue w/ Turgenev then Dostoyevsky

Gogol stared suicidally down at a blank page.

        He didn't bother brushing off the itchy black flakes accumulated in his hair from the quill nib's scratching, nor did he concern himself with the fact that he was, as was he every evening, due in the dining room in about… negative five minutes, so indicated the glowing clock. His only care, rather, was the fact that, in the four hours he sat staring at the page, not a single image in his mind seemed to want to grace its empty canvas.

         Unlike many who tried this craft, he wasn’t want for stories. He imagined a Tsar enjoying a heroine, embracing her and singing her praises as she slid a knife from her thigh into his back. He remembered two young men talking in a plain drawing-room, sparsely furnished--especially compared to the men, one of whom’s shiny black suit hugged his frame in place of the woman long-since gone; the other who quite resembled a gentlemanly peacockish clown, with frilly lace and a quilt of vibrant patterns--yet the atmosphere remained homey and comfortable nonetheless. He saw through his mind’s eye these stories as clearly as the neon numbers before him, but he couldn’t find /written/ words to express them.

         If Gogol wanted to orate the story to someone, to make a grand spectacle of it, the words would flow endlessly. He could go on for hours about the most inane of matters, and men would hang on his every word. However, those magical, honeyed phrases he just never seemed to be capable of forcing through his quill.

         And so tonight, exactly as every night for the past three months, a restrained knock came upon his door, and Gogol sighed.

         “Come in,” he said as he resignedly set the quill down. “I was practically finished anyway.”

         “Ah, good,” the man's voice came muffled from behind the door, which he opened thereafter. The relatively average-sized man--an Ability user by the name of Turgenev--held quite the appearance of the black-suited man previously described, though I’m afraid Gogol neglected to mention the quite striking scarlet hair. “Dinner’s ready," he continued, "I know you probably don’t feel like eating, but you should at least come out of your…” he looked around, blatantly fraternally concerned about the, frankly speaking, hovel of a room his friend managed to subsist in, “nest.”

         Gogol chuckled and stood, cracking his back at an alarming volume. He waved for his friend to leave, and went about the room, picking up the black-and-white vest he discarded as too confining hours ago and grabbing his cape from the hat rack. While he went on reassembling his outfit, Turgenev spoke once more.

         “You didn't get up once?”

         “Mm, yes, so it seems,” Gogol said, agitated, after a moment. “I’ve taken your advice to ‘try and write something’, but nothing comes to mind! It’s not even art block… I just have nothing I want to tell the page.”

         Turgenev sighed. “You don’t /have/ to write, it was just a suggestion. Now, frankly, I wish I’d said trapeze instead and avoided this whole ennui.” He held the door as Gogol moved to exit. Gogol shuffled out.

         “Seriously,” he continued as they entered the hall, “at first I thought some rest would do you good, but now it’s clear that being cooped up for days at a time is draining the little sanity you have left. What am I supposed to do when you get jobs that have you killing again? Watch your slow descent into madness from the sidelines like some half-rate circus hand watching the clown set the tent ablaze?”

         Gogol forced a laugh, “Well, why not? All of your work--which has always been excellent, at least as long as I’ve known you--has been shrouded. Where’s the harm in a change of scenery?”

         “I said seriously.” Turgenev sighed. “Be serious.”

         “Hmm, well, seriously,” Gogol considered, turning into the dining room and taking his seat across from his friend, “Seriously, then, isn’t madness the point? After all, my namesake wouldn’t /be/ my namesake without his madness! And what am I, if not, his namesake-ee?”

         “Ha,” Turgenev said, “Hilarious, I’m dying. Have you considered stand-up?”

         “Eh? No, I’m writing stories right now.”

         “Comedians can tell stories. I know, become a trapeze comedian.”

         Gogol huffed merrily, “Well, why don’t you?”

         “/I/ don’t-”

         “Excuse me,” the butler of the house, Gregor, interrupted, “I wasn’t instructed to account for the palate of Gogol, so I need to have your order now.”

         “Hm, well Gogol,” Gogol said with a conspiratorial wink, “probably wants--though I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him directly for confirmation, God knows where he may be--whatever’s leftover. I’ve heard he’s not picky! Although that could be just a rumour…”

         “Very well,” Gregor said, unperturbed, and turned to Turgenev, “and for you? I’m afraid I wasn’t informed of your coming either, Sir.”

         “Ah, no,” Turgenev said, “that’s because I won’t be eating here. There’s an assignment I’ve gotta do not long from now, but I wanted to see Kolya here first.”

         “How gentlemanly,” Gogol gasped, starry gold eyes twinkling, “I’m almost jealous of your lover, Vanya! If this is the treatment she gets...”

         Turgenev simply smiled. “And I,” he said, “am not in the least jealous of yours.” Gregor took the moment to slip away.

         “How proper…” Gogol gazed at Turgenev, lost in bittersweet memories, “You never used to be so cordial, to imply I’d manage something as sophisticated as that.”

         “Don’t be ridiculous,” Turgenev scoffed. He flatly punched the side of Gogol’s arm in jest, “I’m still every bit of the strapping young chap you knew. Just… in a different skin.”

         “Hmm…” Gogol donned a severely suspicious face, “But old Vanya wouldn’t have implied such! No, you must be Ivan Sergeyevich now… If not, then tell me: where’s the grin in your eyes?! The coil in your limbs?! The fire in your heart?!” All of a sudden, Gogol’s face fell into a deep melancholy, and he lay a single finger over the centre of Turgenev’s breast, “It’s bitter cold in here now, I can barely feel myself.”

         Turgenev frowned. “It’s cold,” he said, “because fire without fuel always burns out eventually. There’s no if, and’s or but’s. Oh, but one but,” Turgenev rekindled some warmth into a smile, “you should still be able to feel yourself; the fire hasn’t gone completely. It’s just muted right now.”

         “A muted fire…” Gogol thought aloud, retracting his hand, “How very… poetic.” He laughed, “Like your hair.”

         “My hair?” Turgenev tugged at his short red ponytail in confusion. “How is my hair poetic?”

         “Exactly in the way that it exists!” Gogol exclaimed, “In this dull, drab, dreary, /monochrome/ colour scheme our boss seems so fond of, not one colour stands out when you’re away! Not Sigma’s grey-and-darker-grey hair, not our boss’ white-and-black suits, and /especially/ not either of my own! The only slight argument you could possibly make is for the Recluse’s eyes, and their purple is so muted they might as well skip the middle man already and turn black. No, only yours,” Gogol concluded, “is a colour that inspires.”

         “Well, I disagree,” Turgenev said, smiling, “For you at least. You’re not wrong about the Recluse, definitely, but you have some colour in your eyes. Yes--they’re pale. But they’re very expressive, even when they’re trying not to be. They have a liquid shine, so maybe they’re the gasoline that keeps the red flame burning.”

         Gogol clutched his chest dramatically, “My, how sincere! If I were a woman, no kings or horses could ever restore me after how far I must’ve fallen!”

         Turgenev’s face lit up, and he laughed, “So, in other words, the women in my life are eggs? Give me a hundred years and I’ll never crack what on /earth/ that’s supposed to represent!” He cackled and nearly fell over. Gogol grinned along.

         It wasn’t just Turgenev’s face that lit up when he laughed, Gogol thought, but his entire being. His shoulders relaxed from their usual stiffness, the rigidity melted away and the true man--the ‘Vanya’, as Gogol loved to refer to it--shone through with a blinding passion.

         Every time Gogol saw it, it was as though the gamma was suddenly switched from near-debilitating dark to enlightening technicolour. Alas, the times nowadays that such an occurrence happened were few and far between. And unfortunately, Turgenev took the time in Gogol’s silence to check his watch.

         “It seems my stay is up,” he rose, “or was up way too long ago. But eat when Gregor comes. He went through the trouble of getting it ready, so don’t be an ass.”

         Gogol nodded and waved as Turgenev hurried off, smile taking time to fade from his face. He sighed. Along with Turgenev’s departures, Gogol’s happy interludes vanished just as soon as they appeared.

         ‘It’s just as well,’ he thought, ‘happiness isn’t something that’s meant for me, and Vanya’s too nice to be corrupted by me for long. Plus, I shouldn’t get carried away. He’s wrong about my eyes… If anything, mine are like Fyodor’s--no, worse, because mine aren’t weathered by compassion. Maybe an empathy, but I have no compassion to keep some sort of innocence in my eyes like he. If Fyodor’s eyes are the dead twigs left in the ashes of the fireplace, mine are the cracked stone, with no hope of ignition. But we’re both dead.’ Gogol sighed at his conclusion. ‘Lone Vanya, then, has the only touch of colour, the only spark of happiness in this God-forsaken world of ours. I suppose I should thank Him that happiness isn’t my goal.’

         “...Are you going to eat?” A voice, soft but not hesitant, crept past his thoughts.

         Gogol forced the mask of his smile into place and turned to look at Fyodor. “Yes! Yes, I’m just waiting��” As he spoke, he noticed the distinct smell of seasoned tomato. Quite strong was it, in fact, so strong that it surprised him, and he looked down to see an innocent bowl of tomato soup staring politely up at him.

         “Gregor brought it while you were disassociating,” Fyodor supplied.

         “Hm…” Gogol contemplated for a moment, mask still firmly in place, and continued, “Hm, well, I suppose…” But he, so lost in a state of confusion, couldn’t figure out how to continue. The boy seemed to take pity on him, and sat gently next to him with a bowl of his own.

         “Turgenev sent me to you,” he went on, “to ensure that you would eat. So you will eat?...”

         “Yes,” Gogol said, a spark of amusement in his eye as he replied. “I will eat.” He noticed, looking at Fyodor’s eyes, that his former thoughts were eerily close to the mark, though perhaps Fyodor was more like he than initially suspected. The simmering mania and deep morbidity felt sickly familiar.

         “Good,” Fyodor replied. He left it at that and stirred his soup quietly. He must have known, Gogol realised in that instance, what Gogol and Turgenev thought of him--that they called him the Recluse. He was smart, even if young, and so Gogol couldn’t help wondering why Fyodor would waste time on them. On a whim, he inquired thus.

         “Why?” Fyodor paused, then smiled benevolently, “‘As you do to the least of these, so you do unto me.‘” Gogol raised an eyebrow.

         “You fancy yourself our saviour, then?” Fyodor merely sipped his soup carefully in lieu of a reply. Despite the care, he winced as the tomato seared his lips, and set his bowl down. After a moment, he appeared to deem it worthy of a second attempt, and brought the bowl’s lip to his own gingerly. He blew softly this time on a tilted portion before sipping slowly, and, as evinced in Fyodor’s lack of reaction, he managed to consume the cooled viscous liquid harmlessly. For reasons unknown, the boy’s actions struck Gogol as odd.

         “Well, if that’s the case, then surely you’ve a plan for our salvation,” He prompted as Fyodor set his bowl down once more, “Care to share?”

         “A plan…” Fyodor considered for a time, “For you two, no, not yet. Is it necessary?”

         “‘Is it necessary?’” repeated Gogol, as though he couldn’t believe the words were uttered, “Of course it is! How can you save someone without the slightest clue of how you’re to go about it? Your enemy--no matter how metaphysical--isn’t going to just sit there and wait patiently for you to come up with plans. If you start a performance haphazardly, if the bar gets tossed just a second too late without the safety net of a plan, the trapezist comes crashing down and all the show is ruined.”

         “Much to my fortune, the trapezist is more than capable of catching himself and his fellow performer.”

         “No, not like that,” Gogol said. “That’s my point. If I’m a trapezist, then I can’t perform with a cape--it’d ruin everything preemptively! And so I couldn’t catch anyone. It’s up to the choreographer to ensure that the performers have a set route more ingrained than their own morals. If a saviour can’t ensure the safety of his save-ees, then he’s no better than an incompetent stage director.”

         Fyodor frowned and drank more of his soup. After all that remained in the bowl was a splotchy red residue, and he had nothing else to occupy his thin mouth with, he sighed and rested his chin on his palm. The angle couldn’t have been comfortable, Gogol mused. Fyodor’s wrist bent at a right angle and his sharp chin dug into the delicate skin of his hand, where Gogol could already see the blood gathering under the surface. Gogol’s own hand ached in sympathy.

         “Safety of what?” Fyodor asked after another moment. “If the matter is of the physical, then you’re correct. However, if it’s the soul, then so long as a person devoutly follow their God, their spirit shall be forever saved.”

         “And eviscerated over time,” Gogol continued for him, “as what’s first assumed as a benign happenstance crushes self-expression and crumbles autonomy. Metaphor or not, we’re talking about performers, and performers can’t perform if they can’t hold a simple form.”

         “...Eat your soup, please.” Gogol sighed, but acquiesced.

[justjessame]

If Only Someone Looked At Me Like They Look At Guns 1

When I bought the secondhand bookstore in South Boston, my dad thought I'd lost my mind. What was I, a native West Virginian, going to do all alone in Boston? Sell books, I'd thought. And live my life, finally, I added.

I had spent a healthy portion of my life being the perfect daughter. The one who gave and gave and made sure that I did everything in my power to make my parents proud. I gave everything to everyone, until there was little left for myself. Now, at thirty years old, I could finally have something for myself.

Besides which, have you ever seen Boston? It's gorgeous and colorful. However, when my dad helped me move into the apartment I'd leased within walking distance to my new, old store "As the Page Turns" he wasn't impressed.

"Really, Tessa?" He asked, looking around. "You're going to be homesick. This place is too noisy, it's too dirty. You're going to miss good ol' West Virginia."

Dirty and noisy? Coal mines, I thought, and the plants that made it smell or shot smoke up into the air weren't the same? Instead of arguing, I diverted him with the manual labor of the move. "You going to help me with this bed, Dad? Or should I ask a neighbor?" That got him moving.

It didn't cure his nagging. Not before he headed home, nor after he'd arrived. It made the weekly phone calls a bit of a hassle. I wanted to talk about how I was making my store a success. He wanted to bring up the things I'd left behind. I wanted to discuss the changes I made as the money started to come in earnest. He wanted to listen for a sign of homesickness. Not a call passed without at least one, "You ready to come home yet?"

Two years, I thought, walking to work in the early morning sun. I was smiling. I loved my life. I was busy. I made the store a reasonable success, adding a coffee bar and pastries to the space. And I had regulars and new customers almost daily. Success was sweet, I thought, as I unlocked the beveled glass front door and listened to the comforting jingle of the bell.

The phone rang almost as soon as I dropped my bag behind the counter. Since I wouldn't be opening for another half an hour, I had a pretty good guess of who was calling.

"Morning, Dad!" I answered, taking the cordless phone with me to start up the coffee and espresso machines. I wondered if his call would be over by the time my daily pastry delivery came. "What's up?"

"Tessa, you shouldn't answer the business phone like that." He admonished. Great start, Dad, I thought. "Why don't you have your cell phone on?"

Ugh, I thought, the chastisement with a side of criticism. Lucky me.

"My Blackberry is in my pocket. I must not have heard the call come in." I answered. "Sorry, Dad." Tessa, I thought, stop fucking apologizing, you're an adult. "How are you? Is something wrong?"

I heard him sigh. "Yes, in Boston."

"What?" I asked, wandering the store to make sure I'd put everything in order when I'd closed the evening before. The counters were clean, the leftover pastries went to the soup kitchen nearby, and the shelves were stocked and orderly.

"Don't you read or watch the news?" Irritation was so heavy on his voice that I could feel the glare across states. Why couldn't my parents have had another child so I could share this guilt and misery? "Those vigilante murderers are back in Boston. I think you should come home."

I rolled my eyes. "Dad, I do watch the news. It's just been busy. This past week's been insane." I rolled my shoulders, feeling the tension build. "And why would I care about vigilantes? Didn't they kill mob people? I sell used books and coffee." Logic, I thought, would hopefully work. "Why would I be in danger?"

"Tessa, they killed a priest." He groaned. "Why wouldn't you listen to me before running away to Boston?"

Running away? I was thirty years old when I relocated, for fuck's sake. "Dad, I'm not Catholic, nor are you." I reminded him gently. "I'm certainly not a priest." I let out a sigh I hadn't noticed I was holding. "I'm fine. I'm happy." The stress moved from my shoulders to my neck belying my words. "I'll be safe. Besides, I highly doubt they've returned. And even if they had, they couldn't be stupid enough to come back to their old stomping grounds."

Another sigh and groan from his end. "You never used to be this stubborn." Yeah, because I was too busy making sure everyone else was happy. "Didn't you tell me the bar they used to frequent was close to your store?"

Damn it. Why had he remembered that tidbit in all that I'd told him about my store? Why couldn't he recall how excited I'd been at finding the rare book one of my customers had asked for? And why had I thought sharing the 'local colorful history' of my new home with my overbearing dad? In my defense, I didn't know that someone would kill a priest.

A tap came to the front door and I nearly cheered at the interruption. "Dad, I have to go, my pastries are here." Rushing through another round of I'll be safe and ending with round of "I love yous".

I let out another sigh and ran to unlock the door. The jingle of the bell calmed me a bit as Marco, the bakery's delivery guy came in with the first load of boxes. As I rolled my shoulders and tried to crack my own neck to release the tension, Marco left for the second and last load. After checking to make sure everything was accounted for, I offered him his usual tip. A double espresso.

"Ah, that hits the spot, Tess." He smiled. "You ok?"

I assured him I was fine and we chatted about this and that.

"Better hit the road. Don't want the boss to get pissed." He said, tossing the small cup in the trash. "See ya tomorrow." I waved him out.

"Could you flip my sign?" I asked, and he smiled and did it. "Later, Marc."

I moved to fill the pastry case. Using the decorative towers and plates that I'd picked up at one of the Farmer's Market stalls. The jingle of the bell made me raise up and offer my usual greeting. "Welcome to As the Page Turns, can I help you?"

He was taller than me, but then again almost everyone was. His incredibly blue eyes crinkled with a smile as he took me in behind the counter. The pastry boxes were almost all empty and the display was filled. I was wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a loose v-neck brown t-shirt, and a pair of canvas sneakers. My auburn hair piled loosely into a bun on the top of my head and my ever present and much needed glasses perched on my nose, not thick enough to hide my green eyes.

Since he was clearly inventorying my assets as it were, I decided to do the same for him. Dark hair, looking like he'd used shears to cut it in the dark, crowned his head. His skin was sun kissed but not tan, and he wore a peacoat, black t-shirt, jeans, and boots. I could see a bit of a tattoo peeking from the collar of his coat on the left side of his neck. Another tattoo was on his right hand, along his index finger. A word, "AÈQUITAS". Huh, Latin. Justice? I felt a tingle of curiosity.

His smile turned to a smirk and I waited, raising an eyebrow under my glasses. I had my usual customer service smile on, but felt a little smirk of my own forming. Both confirming our inspection of the other, and finding it agreeable. He finally spoke.

"'Eard dis wus de place fer a master coffee on dis street." His Irish brogue is full and strong.

"Did you now?" I asked, my smile widening. "Whose singing my praises?"

"Doc." Ah, I thought. The sweet, if a bit different, owner of Mcginty's Bar, the place my dad had brought up in his call.

"What can I get you?" I asked, grinning at the thought of how many day drinkers Doc sent my way to sober up. This man, however, looked like he had recently woken up. Perhaps,he had a late night, if the slight red in the white of his eyes were telling the tale properly.

"Two av the largest black coffee yer 'av. Strong." He answered. A late night then, I smiled.

"Shot of espresso sounds in order." His eyebrows raised. "Don't look alarmed, I'll add it to the regular coffee." I turned to the machine behind me and started the two cups. "How is Doc?" I asked over the noise and my shoulder.

"'E's gran. Jammers, oi tink." Jammers, I thought, trying to make sense of the words he used. Traffic jams came to mind so I translated that Doc was busy. I had plenty of Irish immigrant customers, and I was slowly learning some of their vernacular. It was rough going, but interesting.

Capping the two large cups with black lids and sliding them into the brown sleeves that would protect my customers from burning themselves on the heat pouring from the hot coffee inside, I turned. "Well, tell him I'll try to stop over this afternoon with his favorite treat." I handed him the coffee. "Are you new in town?"

He shot me a strange look, but seeing me waiting behind the till, he gave another grin. "Aye, just visitin' for business." He chuckled at his own joke. "Ye new? Yisser accent is different."

I had heard that a great deal when I moved here. "Yep, I'm from West Virginia." My smile stayed in place. He's an odd duck, I thought, but Doc never sent me anyone dangerous or violent, so I felt safe. "Hope you enjoy your visit." I told him his total and he handed me a large bill. Opening the register to give him his change he waved me off.

"Naw, lassy, that's for yer." His smile was sweet, but the tip was twice as much as his coffees cost. I opened my mouth to protest, but he stopped me again. "Naw, oi ill in my brown 'ear it. Doc acts loik de sun shines from yer side av de street an' oi can tell why. Yer take care av 'imself, an' we take care av ours."

"Doc's a sweetheart. He reminds me of my late grandpa." I answered, smiling at the jist of what he said. "It's no hardship to check in on him." I put the extra cash under the drawer. If this strange man came back, his coffee was paid for. "I'm Tessa, by the way." I held out my hand.

"Murphy." He answered, simply, taking my hand. His hands were calloused and rough. Like the men I was raised around and the ones working in the factories here.

"Nice to meet you, Murphy." I said, my smile genuine.

The bells on the door jingled again. Another strong Irish voice called out before I could give my standard greeting. "So that's wha yer were- keepin' company wi' a juicy lassy instead av bringin' de coffee, yer arse."

I looked up and the usual greeting caught in my throat. Dear Lord, I thought, the dim light of the store allowing the beams of early morning sun to settle around the newcomer like a halo. Sun bleached brown hair, cut as haphazardly as Murphy's, light blue eyes, and scruff on the planes of his tanned face. Clearing my throat and my mind of how beautiful he was, I finally found my voice.

"Welcome to As the Page Turns." Jesus, why did I sound squeaky and breathless at the same time? "Guess one of these is yours?" I gestured at the two cups on my counter.

He turned his full attention to me and my mouth went dry as I watched him take the same inventory of me as Murphy had. Only this time I felt inadequate. I fought the urge to squirm.

"Damn it, Conner, stop starin' at 'er loike she's bill skinner. She looks loike a colt ready ter bolt." Murphy's voice broke the weird hold. 'Bill skinner'? I wondered. The horse bit I completely understood.

I cleared my throat again. "So, Connor, is it?" I asked, holding out the same hand that Murphy had shaken. "Visiting for business as well?"

Connor, the archangel of beauty choked on his own tongue as he took my hand and shot a look at Murphy. They were silent for a beat, my hand locked in the calloused heat of Connor's while they stared at each other. Great, pretty, but another weirdo.

"Aye, business." He answered, a smile and chuckle as he returned to face me. "An' yer are?"

I really wished I knew the joke. That had these two laughing every time I mentioned business.

"'Er name is Tessa. Whaich yer wud 'av known if ye'd gotten oyt av scratcher and cum wi' me, loike oi tried ter git yer ter." Murphy answered, smirking.

Connor released my hand and I leaned my hip against the counter. "Are you business partners?" I asked, wondering what type of business they could be in. Rough hands, sun kissed skin, peacoats, hair that looked like a blind barber and blunt shears created the cut weren't usually what I'd associate with business travel. They could be sailors, I supposed.

Connor and Murphy laughed. Each picking up a cup of coffee. Murphy with his right hand, Connor with his left. "Business partners?" Connor smiled, taking an appreciative sip. "Naw, brothers."

Murphy sipped his own. Closing his eyes and sighing in gratitude. "Twins in fact." He added, opening his eyes.

Connor took another drink from his cup. He moaned indecently and it made my stomach clench. "Dis coffee is rapid. Yer 'av a gift. An' I'm jealous yer git ter enjoy it al' de time."

It was my turn to laugh. "Oh, I don't drink coffee." The look of horrified disbelief on both their faces was priceless. "I make it. I love the scent of it, but drink it?" I shuddered. "No thanks."

Murphy's eyebrows rose. "'Oy can yer make it if yer allerge it?"

Connor chipped in, shaking his cup. "An' make it taste loike dis?"

I noticed the ink on his hand as he shook the cup. Another word tattoo. "VERITAS" I reached into my tiny bit of high school Latin. "Truth," I said out loud, startling all of us. I blushed as their eyes fell to mine. I swallowed. "The truth is- my parents love coffee. When my mom died, I learned to make a decent cup so my dad could wake up to it. Worked as a barista for a bit. Still hate the taste."

Connor's eyes burned into me, making me curious again about the two of them. "Konnor, perestan' pyalit'sya, ty yeye pugayesh'." Murphy broke the silence in a murmur. The language sounded almost guttural. Russian? Strange.

Connor's eyes never left me as he answered. "Notò la mia mano, Murphy. Pensi che chiamerà la polizia?" The language he'd chosen sounded more lyrical. Wait, 'polizia'? Police?

I cleared my throat. "Well, this has been- interesting." I smiled, hoping to defuse whatever tension was between the three of us. "Could you please let Doc know I'll be over around lunch?" I asked, needing time to process. Hoping desperately they'd take the hint.

Murphy spoke again, tugging his twin away from the counter. "Naw problem, lassy. We'll be 'appy ter let 'imself nu. Say take 'er 'andy, Connor."

"Clap yer lay-ra, lass." Connor said, allowing his brother to steer him out the door, Murphy shooting me a wave.

Well, then, I thought. Going back to the pastry display, I started clearing the empty boxes. What the hell was all that?

Russian translation from Murphy: Connor, stop staring. You scare her.

Italian translation from Connor: She noticed my hand, Murphy. Do you think she'll call the police?

[meet-me-in-the-kitchen]

Imagine: Two Ghosts (PART ONE)

TRIGGER WARNING: ...there’s a sLiGHtly steamy scene. angst**

The one where he’s with Kendall, while she’s standing alone in a crowded room.

“Y/N, for the thousandth time, I can’t come with you, but I promise I’ll get there soon after,” Harry states, continuing to fold his clothes and place them inside the little suitcase and travel pack laying open on their bed. Frowning at his lack of sorrow or any remorseful emotion, Y/N moves closer to him and nudges him reproachfully.

“Harry, this is really important to me. You know that,” she says softly, unable to express how much she wanted him to be there.

“It’s just a party,” he mutters, raising his hands in defense when Y/N’s face fell. It was the Halloween party held in an Art Exhibit where all of Y/N’s friends and her boss from work would be there to support her. The art exhibit held at a museum an hour and a half away was famous for its modern art, depicting the past from the perspective of the current year. Y/N had created a series of pieces painstakingly over the pay two years.

She had calculated every shade and stroke she would brush onto the canvas. Now was her moment to get her art some exposure from some very famous judges coming down to the museum for both the event hosted there, and an art contest awarding the artist with the best technique and most creativity instilled within their collective pieces. Y/N could feel something good coming out of the blood, sweat and tears she had spent on the project. At least, she hoped that was the case.

She wanted Harry to be there in particular, because he was her muse and motivation. The entire piece depicted Harry, from the softness of his curly hair to the hues of forest green in his eyes and the craters indenting his cheeks. The faint amusement and shyness in the purse of his cherry lips as he smirked, and the innocent furrow of his eyebrows. It was him. It was her love on a series of canvases, all set to unravel the love of her life.

Harry didn’t know.

He didn’t know that there was a contest, and she’d entered it with her masterpiece being him. He didn’t know she’d spent months sketching and painting what she remembered from when he’d laugh with his dimples showing and his eyes alit like a child on Christmas Day. He didn’t know she’d spent months putting what she felt onto paper, restarting over and over if the slightest feeling was inaccurately expressed. He probably didn’t know how much she loved him. But that was okay, y/n had decided, because she wasn’t quite sure of the measure of that, either.

He didn’t know she had spent hours and days at a time painting in the art studio downtown where she kept her work, because she was painting him. He had assumed she was working on some other project and that the exhibition event was just a Halloween party. Nevertheless, Harry had been the one to text Y/N repeatedly when she had fallen asleep in the studio, paintbrush in hand as the moonlight swept over her cheeks and hair. He had been the one to coo and half carry her grumpty, half-awake self into the car, where she would fall asleep and wake in her warm, safe bed with him the next morning.

“Baby, you needa eat,” he’d scold Y/N half heartedly, his eyebrows dipping in concern as he lifted her up from where she’d nodded off, standing in front of a canvas and had nearly fallen and hit her head on the hardwood floor beneath them.

“Don’t look!” Y/N yelped, panic in her eyes as Harry merely rolled his eyes amusedly, and brought her closer to his chest when he had her up in his arms in bridal style.

“Only got my eyes on you, petal,” he murmurs, sponging kisses to her cheeks, and down her neck, making her giggle softly.

“Not here, you goose,” she stops him through laughs as he continues to assault her with kisses and lovebites- “there are paintbrushes everywhere, and there’s paint on the floor. Not on the floor, Harry!”

“‘M house and my girl. Can do it anywhere we’d like,” he says gruffly, smirking slightly as he lowers a happily shrieking Y/N onto the floor safely, her body spread underneath his. Silencing her giggles in one movement, he has his fingers pressed there, and she gasps quietly, her fingers fisting before her nails scratch down his back. Biting his shoulder, she tries to conceal her gasps and moans as he moves his fingers in tight circles over the flimsy fabric covering the swollen button of her heat.

“What d’yeh day, then,” he asks, voice smug and causing a confused, flustered y/n to stutter as he stops his movement, removing his fingers and lifting them towards him as if in inspection. “W-what?”

“Want it, then?” He hums, still smirking, but now rubbing his fingers into her hipbones comfortingly.

“Y-yeah,” she agrees breathily. And that’s all the confirmation he needs. Afterwards, he makes sure she has food in her and sleeps soundly.

Now, Y/N was half wishing that Harry had known something about the art exhibit. Even a little detail that would urge him to attend the exhibit sooner. All she’d said was that everyone from work would be dining there, and she might get a promotion (which was true, as y/n really might get one tonight). She had also mentioned the museum it would be held in was famous for its artwork, which was also true. The only part she hadn’t let slip was her involvement in the exhibit. Harry knee how much she loved art, and had probably assumed she just wanted to appreciate it visually, from a distance.

“Promise you’ll be there?” Y/N asks uncertainly, leaning back and crossing her arms tighter over her chest. Rolling his eyes, Harry nods. “Yes. For fuck’s sake, Y/N. I’ll be there.” Y/N was caught frowning at his choice of words, Harry’s expression softening slightly at the fiddle of her fingers. Rolling to her in his rolling, wheeled chair, he pulled her down to his lap with a startled squeak from her.

“I’ll be there, yeah?” He hums, wrapping his arms around her soft waist, pulling her up so her bum was comfortable in his lap. “You’ll see me with a sign with your name on it, lovie one of ‘em from the airport. I’ll be proper dressed for it, too. Maybe I’ll even wear a thong-“

Shoving him back slightly, Y/N let a giggle out as she placidly stayed on his thick thighs. Letting out a shrill, fake moan, Y/N rolls her eyes before truly beginning to smile again.

“Be right there,” he hums, pressing his lips to her forehead. “In the front row, center, button.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Don’t forget to wear a costume though. It’s Halloween themed.”

* * *

Harry doesn’t show up.

It’s a minute past eleven, and the exhibit had started quite a while ago. There were people crowding around portraits filled with thin lines of self proclaimed modern art. There were scatters of university students, the elderly, and the occasional middle aged or teenage person; acting as sad salesmen instead of artists as they tried to attract people walking by.

Some people were drunk on the rich wine the sponsors had splurged on, grinding on the dance floor as if it were that of a club, instead of one with floors that looked like they belonged on palace walls. The room was dark, but there was a dim glow inviting passers going by to glance at the artwork. Vampires hidden in the darkness whisked away ballerinas, demons pulled angels close, and jocks in costume twirled alongside nerds.

Candy was everywhere, but so were ghosts and demons. Statues which burst into life the moment you walked past them.

“Your boobs look great!” Kristina from accounting yelled at Y/N, nearly toppling over from the alcohol she had consumed. Muttering a ‘thanks’ between her amused chortles, YsB found a little enjoyment in the Halloween themed night. A few polite and playful catcalls and whistles were directed to Y/N , from overly drunk people. She couldn’t help but feel a little smug for her costume.

She, herself, was dressed as Jessica Rabbit. Y/N had thrown a crimson wig on, and had gone all out for her costume. From the tantalizing, sexy red dress she had on, and the sleazy expression she’d spent minutes perfecting over the weeks to come. Hell, she’d even switched up her perfume and done her makeup painstakingly flawless. She wanted to look good for herself. Of course she did. What soles her confidence more than dressing up as a symbol of desire in cartoons? She looks good and she knows it. But she also wanted to look good for Harry. She wanted to see his jaw drop at the low dip of the front and back of her dress, the slit at the side. Her ginger locks.

Clearly, that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Y/N was jealous. Not of the art. Of the people who had their loved ones right by them. The ones who cared enough to come. She knew it was irrational. At least slightly. There was still at least half an hour left before the exhibit ended with prizes and congrats to the winning artists. She still had time to show Harry. And, besides, her coworkers were dining and gawking at her art. They were clearly excited, even without the buzz of alcohol in their veins and the spark Halloween brought.

So, Y/N waited some more, keeping herself busy with the crowds, artists, and judges amazed by her artwork. She smiled politely and mumbled ‘thanks.’ If the muse for her masterpiece would’ve been present, she’d have been beaming. It didn’t feel special anymore. It felt pathetic she spent months painting someone who didn’t care enough to even drop by an exhibit for a few minutes.

“And the artist winning this competition with her masterful technique and emotionally attractive piece is... Y/N Y/L/N!”

The applause are deafening, serenading Y/N as her heart sinks with every congratulating statement. Her coworkers break into proud roars, and her boss ushers her to the stage, where everyone is waiting to get a glimpse of the artist who had stolen the prize with her technique.

Y/N’s heart breaks more as she joins her artwork up on the stage. Every bit of Harry is captured and waiting, instead of Harry himself. It makes her want to shred the canvases and scream. Her eyes trace over the applauding crowds of men and women in costume, searching for him. But he’s not there. She’d feel it if he was. That doesn’t stop her from wishing otherwise.

The female judge has a bright smile on her face, handing over a large trophy, certificate, and signature sheet allowing the museum to store the art for days to come. The idea of him being there forever causes Y/N’s heart to skip a beat. The judge begins talking, introducing Y/N and her artwork. Congratulating her. The claps and appraising words seem to swerve over her, or go inside her ears for a faint moment, before escaping once more. She feels nothing and everything. All at once.

“And now let’s let this talented young woman talk about her artwork for a moment. Our words cannot do it justice.”

The audience erupts into polite silence, watching her every move.

“Hey, everyone,” she started, feeling clueless and as if she was having an out of body experience while speaking. “First of all, I would like to thank all of the people here supporting me tonight. Friends and colleagues who took the time to attend something that means something to me, not because it matters to them, but because I matter to them.”

The words coming out of her own mouth only make her feel worse.

“I always criticize my work too hard. I’ll create something and use all of my energy, pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into the piece, and afterwards take one disgusted glance at the artwork and throw it into the trash. As they say, an artist’s worst critic is the artist, themself.”

Many members of the audience nod and groan with the relatable habit.

“Everything I create, no matter for how long, there’s always this sense.. this need to destroy it. I find every flaw in something flawless, simply because I created it, and so there has to be something wrong with it. I over analyze my analysis until the unmoving artwork is more lively than I am. I grow disgusted, tired, and I feel like something has restricted my creative process. I wonder what is wrong with me, and how I can still dare to call myself a lover of the arts- or an artist, at all.”

“But I could never grow disgusted with this piece,” she said softly. Tracing her fingers of the places the paint splattered brush had roughly skated over the canvas, the dips and rises of colour, the audience waited for her to finish.

“I could never grow disgusted of this canvas and the splatters of paint on it, because it represents him. The boy I love. And I know it’s so pathetic and it’s so overwhelming to spend months painting an emotion, such as love onto paper. I know it’s impossible to record how fast my heart beats when he smiles. How safe I feel when he’s around. How powerful I feel when both of us are together, in this relationship, as equals. How it can’t be possible to use colour to represent how I feel the pain he does when things don’t work out, or the worry I feel when he scrapes his finger while trying to cut an apple again, because he never learned how to properly. The feeling I get when he looks at me in a room full of people. It’s a sad excuse of trying to portray how happy I feel when I’m with him. When his green eyes widen, because he’s obsessively watching The Vow, and although he knows what’s going to happen, it never fails to make him cry. His hair after he’s just run his hands through it; his hands intertwined in mine, with rings he wears as a ridiculous replica of Mick Jagger.”

“I know,” she whispers into the microphone. “This piece of art can’t possibly accurately show my insecurities and my fallacies and how he’s enough to become what I’m not and I’m enough to become what he’s not. I know that I can’t ‘draw’ the half choice, half unconscious feeling to fall helplessly, incredibly in love with him; but I also can’t not try.”

Clearing her slightly clogged throat, and fighting back tears prickling in the corners of her downturned eyes hotly, Y/N finished the speech.

“The boy I’m in love with— his name is Harry Styles. He’s my muse. He’s the one who these paintings represent; and therefore they will never be disgusting, because no part of Harry Styles is anything less than perfect. This is my greatest piece yet and will probably be forever, and I am so grateful that I had the chance to share it with you. Thank you.”

The audience breaks into genuine applause, with people wiping their tears and smiling real smiles, and Y/N wants to bask in this moment, but she can’t ignore the dejection. The feeling that she’s so submerged, in because of Harry choosing not to show up. Because of him breaking his promise. Her portrait has lost its purpose, in a way. It has failed to even give him a glimpse of how she feels.

But he’s made it clear how he feels.

It’s not even that dramatic, now that Y/N thought it over as coworkers swarmed over her in heaves of congratulations. Harry didn’t ask her to do this for him, but she had. She’d spent months on a series of paintings that encompassed him and how she viewed him, and her feelings for him. He couldn’t even show up one night, after countless reminders.

Y/N tried not to let it affect her too much, but it really hurts when you’re the one who cares more than the other person. Relationships were supposed to be like ones that are symbiotic. With equal care and give and take. That didn’t seem to be the case anymore.

He’s probably not doing something fun, y/n tried consoling herself. Maybe he just forgot.

But it’s half hearted.

“Okay, so I didn’t want to do this so quickly,” Y/N’s boss began, her voice excited and beckoning all of her colleagues closer. “I just figured with the overflow of good news, I might just add.. Drumroll, please, Chad... Y/N’s been promoted!”

Fan-fucking-tastic.

It wasn’t that Y/N wasn’t elated. She was. She had been waiting for this promotion for so long, and had worked her ass off for the position. But he was supposed to be here to feel happy for her, too. He was supposed to be here, and he wasn’t. Unlike the times when shed bee at every exhausting concert to support him. Every recording. Every late night when he struggled to come up with lyrics. She’d been there. He wasn’t.

“Oh my God, thank you so much!”

She tries to come across as how she would’ve responded, if she hadn’t been feeling the strange feeling of betrayal and abandonment. After a few minutes of celebrating within their circle, toasting to Y/N’s promotion and success, Chad asks the question:

“So, where’s Harry?”

Where’s Harry?

“He has the stomach virus. It’s really bad. I wanted to stay home, but he insisted on my coming here.”

Lie. She didn’t know where he was. (Truth)

Nodding, Chad walked to Melissa, the receptionist. Pulling out her phone and knowing it would already be a mistake, Y/N exited out of the many frantic texts she’d left Harry, and instead clicked on the ‘Google’ application. Harry Styles. She tapped the search button.

The headlines were differentiating and great in number, but they all had the same gist and idea:

Harry Styles and Kendall Jenner Partying in London

Hendall Back Together?

Y/L/N Replaced With Jenner

With her heart racing and fingers shaking, Y/N breathed raspily and tapped on one of the news articles. Her heart dropped as it was met with a clearly stoned, drunk Harry staring at and laughing with a jubilant Kendall Jenner. She had herself all over him, and he was doing nothing to stop her. Feeling a sob nearly breaking from her throat when she realizes it’s not photoshopped, Y/N makes an excuse and walks out of the art museum, into the dark night with the star speckled sky her witness as she wraps her arms around herself in her dress. As she dials his number frantically, again and again, even when it goes to voicemail. Fuck her exhibit. She wasn’t letting him make any stupid decisions or risk his health by driving home intoxicated.

On the third try, he picks up.

“What?” Harry asks, his voice slow and slurred slightly.

“H-Harry!” Y/N cries. “Where are you? If you’re drunk I can come get you. I don’t want you driving like thi-“

“Fuck off,” he snaps, voice cold and unfamiliar. y/n feels herself shifting into an even darker place in her mind. Harry knew how her previous boyfriends had treated her. How they had yelled and shifted emotions from content to cold so frequently, she couldn’t trust them. Now, he reminded her of them.

Shivering slightly, Y/N begins to speak again when he starts to laugh.

“Yeah, Kendall, take your top off!”

I’m the background, there are hundreds of voices chanting the same thing. Just as the same voices begin cheering, he hangs up.

Breaking into sobs, Y/N types one more message and sends it, hoping he’ll remain faithful and Harry.

I’m coming in five minutes. Please don’t do anything stupid.

In a few seconds, the response arrives:

Fuck off dgnt wnt u hre

She goes anyway, telling her coworkers her ride is here, and she won’t be driving back with them. They’re slightly disappointed, but very understanding, beginning to leave themselves. With her trophy in hand and other letters and such informing her of her promotion and place of her artwork at the exhibit, Y/N calls a taxi and leaves to where Google says Harry is. The internet is a scary thing, but there are far more scarier things.

“Here, please,” Y/N muttered, requesting the cab driver to remain at the grounds for a few more minutes.

The security guards recognized her as Harry’s girlfriend and let her in, immediately. When Y/N enters the party, her brain feels like someone is hammering it. The stench of alcohol makes gag, weed and hard drugs beside stoned celebrities and rich people. The women are topless, and nearly all of the men are stripped to their boxers. Some people are in skimp Halloween costumes. Everyone was grinding or getting high.

This was what Harry would choose over Y/N.

Keeping her head down and trying not to punch every person who made comments about her body inappropriately, Y/N skimmed the area for her boyfriend. Finally, there he was. Chugging down drink after drink with a near naked Kendall Jenner by his side. Walking to him slowly and shakily, Y/N tapped his shoulder, trying not to cry right there. When he turns around, his happy expression turns sour and cold. “Let’s go home, Harry,” she pleads, touching his arm. He shakes her off, unconsciously rough. “No.”

Trying to pull him out again, Harry now shoves her off, his eyes narrowed and fists clenching. His nostrils flare out in anger. “I said fucking no!” He booms. The room grows silent for a moment and Y/N feels hot years skate down her cheeks. “You fuckin’ go home. Stay at your place. I don’t want you anymore. You’re boring as fuck,” he muttered icily. Turning back to the people behind him, he grins again, throwing back another drink as he pushes Y/N towards the gate, security intrusively escorting her of the building.

“Sorry about that, guys. My ex girlfriend’s clingy as fuck. Now, let’s get this shit started.”

Begging the guards to take her back, because she knows how Harry gets nauseous, sick, and his asthma acts up when he takes too many drugs, and although he’s not being himself at all, she just wants him to be okay. This isn’t him. This isn’t her Harry. But, as much as she repeats this to the guards, they don’t care. They push her out and don’t look back.

Sobbing, she looks for her cab driver, and gets into the car. He looks slightly sympathetic, but when she admits she only has twenty pounds, his face also morphs into an icy one. “I can’t drive you if you do not have the money,” he replies robotically, receiving the money and doing nothing to calm a now frantic Y/N, who had used the minimal money she’d brought with her to the event tonight. It’s funny how people only help you when you are of use to them.

And so, she walks the streets alone, lost and scared with sobs racking throughout her body in heavy, loud releases. Her head aches and so does the rest of her body. Everytime she passes a man or hears a cat call, she sinks into herself. Everytime a car whizzes by, she moves away from it. Her phone has died from all the times she’s called and attempted to interact with Harry. She prays she’ll be okay. She prays he’ll stay.

Please don’t leave me.

The one where she walks the streets alone at night, and he doesn’t want her anymore.

i had an out of body experience trying to get this done fast enough so please read this!

MASTERLIST|Requests are open!

There will be a part two if requested.

[hollandroos]

Run To Me; Part Two

Blow a kiss, Fire a gun: Teaser Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11 Pt.12 Pt.13 Pt.14 Pt.15 Pt.16 Pt.17 Pt.18 Pt.19 Pt.20 + NSFW Alphabet with Mob!Tom

Run to me: Prologue | Pt.1 | Read on wattpad!! | Playlist!

Chapter Summary: How many nights have you wished someone would stay? - (Infinity, one direction)

Warnings: Violance

- There are a lot of dad/mafia series, so if this seems similar to yours then message me for credit.

Words: 4.1k

I APOLOGISE IF THE READ MORE DOESN’T WORK ON MOBILE

The first while after you’d left had been the worst for Tom. He wanted to tear his heart of his chest and stomp on it with two bare feet, cursing whichever god above that was making him suffer a great deal and for what- a mistake he made as a child? A stupid, ignorant child trying to impress his father.

Of course, he didn’t blame you at all. You were most likely riddled with scars both mentally and physically and he possibly couldn’t understand the extent- maybe he could, Tom liked to ignore his feelings and push them away until he was downing an entire bottle of alcohol and swaying throughout the long hallways of his own home, singing along to Mayday parade and because that was his guilty pleasure.

He thought he was doing better, focusing purely on work and work alone, ignoring the colder half of his bed and the bobby pins he sometimes found scattered around the library. There were even the ceramic mugs he’d try to ignore, going as far as to chuck out the one that you always used to use. He had a draw full- but you insisted on drinking from the same one.

They key word is ‘thought.’ Tom thought he was doing better and he was until suddenly he wasn’t because when he saw your name on the screen in jet black, bolded letters his heart deflated and he was reminded of those old feelings. The desire to once again, claw at his skin and rip out his own heart was back and worse than ever and hidden beneath layers of anger, tucked up behind regret was despair. Tom wanted- needed answers and as much as he hated to admit it, he needed you.

The second Aiden walked into the room he was shoved roughly into the wooden chair by Harry, already sweaty palms shook with fear as he eyed the office. Good, Tom thought. He should be going out of his mind right now. It wasn’t Toms normal office, that one was off limits for most and he only used it when he was sure there’d be no blood shed.

Their conversation starts as one normally would, Tom taunting the man and Aiden coming up with pathetic excuses for simply not paying the man his money. It was all a little game to Tom, let the guy think he’s going to be let off the hook for now and then pull out the big guns- literally.

-

“How do you know her?” Tom spits.

Aiden tries backing away before his back hit the seat, hardwood clawing at his spine. “Who?”

Tom wasn’t here to watch this man play innocent or drag things out. He was antsy and wanted answers and as many as he could wrap his mind around before putting a bullet through the guy's skull. Earlier the mobster had been eager to get his hands dirty but now he actually felt a hint of anxiousness, wishing that in fact, he’d stayed out of the bank details and just left the guys corpse to float down the nearest Avon.

“You know who the fuck I’m talking about.” Anger laced every word.

“I have no idea.” That was almost a lie, almost. Aiden almost wished he could go back in time and google ‘How to run from mess’s you make?’ and find a wikihow on how to get out of this. But he was sure that right there, at the top of the page under tip number one It’d be clear, don’t lie to the mob boss.

“The money- my money that’s all getting transferred to somehow else's bank account.” Tom found that he couldn’t even say her name, instead of feeling content with ‘she’s’ and ‘hers’ because if he didn't say her name then it made this whole situation a little less real, right? “How do you know her?”

Something seemed to click in Aiden’s brain and he looked up, wide-eyed wondering why exactly the biggest mafia boss wanted anything to do with his girlfriend- a mere waitress. “She’s my girlfriend, I help her out sometimes.”

His money was only getting transferred into one other person’s bank account, after all.

Tom didn’t believe it straight away, the claim going in one ear and out the other. “Bullshit!” He hiss’s, only visualizing what it’d be like to pummel the guys face in- watch his teeth tear from the gum and blood stain the raven shirt.

“It’s the fucking truth- what do you want with her?” Mistake, big mistake.

Tom hated being asked questions almost as much as he hated answering them. It made him feel lower, oddly enough. Like he had something to work up to when he was already at the very top. There was no hesitation, no ‘what after?’ as he swung his fist back. The sick sound of skin hitting skin echoing throughout the office and the younger brother didn’t even blink.

Aiden’s tongue ran over bottom teeth, a metallic taste invading as he regained his strength. Slowly, the world stopped spinning but the ache in his jaw remained and Tom was still unsatisfied with the one blue and purple bruise that was going to form there, no matter how big. He wanted- needed to give this guy more, to inflict more pain and turn him into the perfect mix of a human punching bag as well as canvas.

“Y/N wouldn’t be with you unless there was a reason. She had the fucking world- What do you have to do with her?”

Tom’s hand falls to the gun that sat securely on his waist, fingers reaching for the cool metal. His fingers wrap around the weapon while Aiden's wrap around the arms of the wooden seat, mind exploding with curses and panic reeling.

“What do you mean she had the world?” Aiden's eyes were drawn to the gun that was now peeking through the shirt, a lump forming in the back of his throat. “She has no idea about what I do-”

“Answer my fucking question or I swear to god I’ll have Harry here tear your eyes out.” The man gulped, two sets of eyes on his while his stared down the barrel of the gun that was now far too close for his liking.

“I don’t know, okay? I’m not positive why or how things have worked out but she needs me- for the kid.” A sweat formed just above his brown, hands growing clammy yet at the same time, they were icy.

That got Tom’s attention- actually it only increased his attention, making his finger slip off of the trigger of the gun and for a moment he showed weakness, walls slipping. There was a kid- since when? It seemed that a lot had happened in nearly five years. Tom wondered how much he missed while his head was back in the clouds.

“What kid?” The mobster snaps, mind swimming with a hundred and one questions that were seemingly eating away at any sanity that remained.

“The girl, her little girl.” He swallows thickly, warm blood dripping down his throat almost making him gag in distaste.

Aiden was reminded of the girl with feet the size of a salt shaker, little brown curls that were sometimes tucked back by a Minnie mouse headband and sometimes in a tight ponytail or even the braids that Y/N had learned how to do just for her daughter. Rarely ever did the girl have her hair out, not being able to handle the frizzy strands. She had issues that not even he could explain, running deep. Maybe deep down he felt something for the family of two but it’d have to be very, very deep down- so deep he sometimes doubted it even existed.

“How old?” Tom hisses, gritting his teeth. Was it fear he felt? “How old is the fucking kid.”

“Four years old. Rosie, her names Rosie.”  Aiden murmurs, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the plush carpet. “Why do you care about this girl anyway? She’s a nobody, barely worth anything that I give her.”

Was it betrayal that Tom felt? Anger? Everything felt numb, walls closing in slowly but maybe that was just Toms’ throat. Not even the ache in his knuckles could bring him back down to Earth, or his brother urgently pulling out his phone to do some research. How was his heart going a million miles an hour, yet seemingly not beating at all?

It had been five years since the anniversary of Harrison’s death and five years since Tom had found himself waking up alone at the crack of dawn, only to go down to the personal gym in his basement because taking all of his anger out onto one of the many punching bags was better then staring at the ceiling for hours on end, allowing his mind to come up with every other possible outcome.

Aiden watched the man’s mind run, features twisting and turning as his grip on the gun would loosen, before tightening once again only moments later. Neither mobster felt that they could breathe, lungs constricting at an odd pace but Tom couldn’t give two shits about the dealer in front of him, in fact, the urge to hit the trigger was so bad that Harry had to physically take the gun from him, setting it on his own waist instead.

Tom stared the man down, trying to come up with a plan that’d cause him just enough pain that Tom would feel satisfaction, but he doubted that was possible by now. If he thought that he was walking away from this scene then he was even bigger of a fool then the boys had originally pegged him for. “I’d watch every word if I were you, you’ve fucked up enough to be buried six feet under and she’s the only reason you’re still breathing.”  

“You can have her if you want, I pay for everything from the power to the fucking therapy.”

Tom lowered the gun, aiming the barrel at the man’s feet as to not remove it from the picture completely. It was still a threat. “Therapy?”

“Some trauma from a few years back. A friend died, been screwed up ever since and it’s rubbing off on the kid.”

Why did it come as a shock to him that you had been left with mental scars from that day? Tom blinked only twice, lips forming a straight line and he almost wished he still had the gun to show the dealer what happened when his clients spoke back.

“Don’t mention the friend.” He only takes a step closer, aching knuckles begging for more. “You said she doesn't know what you do, correct?” Tom asks, crouching down to get to eye level with the man. Tom was so close, “Are you lying to me?”

Aiden shook his head profusely. “She thinks I work at an IT company.”

Tom nods his head, looking for any signs of Aiden lying to him but when nothing shows up he gets dangerously close to the fellow mobster, pit of his stomach burning with an intense fire that seemed near impossible to put out.

Every nerve in Tom’s body was screaming at him to do something, to get rid of the guy that’d laid hands- even gone near his wife but he had other uses for him, a plan he’d thought up earlier the morning circulating like a merry go round.

“I’m going to ask you to do something for me and if you agree then you get to walk out of this room with your head still attached to your body, got it?”

-

There were times where you’d look at the small girl in front of you and think with a fully clear, somber mind ‘You’re your father's child.’

It wasn’t due to the little, coffee brown curls that hung in ringlets, sometimes loose waves if she decided to fiddle with her hair and attempt a braid or to put it into a bun herself. Nor the deep brown eyes but that, however, could’ve been a factor.

It was due to the fact that she was sharp, not one to be messed with and ran around with a mind of her own even for four years old. There were very few things that the four-year-old was afraid of and one of them was the dark because she stated that you never know what lurks, and boy was she correct.

There was also the fact that you could just imagine her in eleven years swearing like a sailor, tongue sharp and backtalk spewing. All in a good way, of course. She was her own person, independent even for a child.

But there came times- like at this very moment where she was quiet, in too much thought to focus on anything else but the task at hand because when Rosie put her mind to something she was stuck to it until said task was complete. It was something Tom used to do when he’d sit at his desk, pen in one hand as he stared down at the paperwork ahead of him.

Tom never used to look up from the work until he was a done, a hard- almost angry look remaining on his features as he worked to complete. Rosie had that same look.

Rosie was in a way, her father's child- a Holland despite the fact that she’d been fully raised by you.

“There’s this dinner tomorrow that I need you to attend with me. My boss invited me and I can’t go alone.” Aiden begins, a look of determination plastered on his features as he looks over from ‘his’ side of the bed. The entire bed was yours, he’d just claimed that half.

You look up from the back of Rosie’s head, the hot pink hairbrush remaining in your hand as you continue to brush out her wet curls that were now actually dead straight, a few little baby hairs springing up into action, however. The little girl hummed along to the tune of some Disney show as she viciously slashed your phone screen with her stubby pointer finger, grumbling when she lost a round of ‘Fruit Ninja’ and smiling brightly when she didn’t.

She was dressed in a pair of purple pajamas, little white clouds placed all over for a decoration and a fluffy, pink blanket around her shoulders. Overall the girl was in heaven.

“Tomorrow’s a little short notice isn’t it?” You point out, continuing to brush out the strands of wet hair. She grunts when you hit a knot, tugging too hard. “Sorry, Roo.” You apologize immediately, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her head but the little girl seemed too immersed in what was going on inside the screen to even notice.

Fathers child- Tom’s child.

“Yeah, my boss only asked me today,” Aiden pays no attention to the girl in your lap, focusing all of his attention on getting you to the event. “So I need you to dress up in one of those fancy dresses and come along as my plus one.”

What was meant to be a question came out as a demand. The thought of leaving the house at night- leaving Rosie at the house almost made you sick. Your stomach did an unhealthy flip, mind-rattling with negative possibilities. “I don’t think I can tom-”

To say that your boyfriend was already expecting that answer was an understatement. “It’s just one night- one dinner.” He pushes, not bothering to listen to what else you had to say. Yes it pushed your buttons, yes it made you frustrated and angry and a whole lot of other negative feelings that you weren’t ready to dwell on.

“You know, I-”

“This is important to me.” It’s not. Important was the last thing this was. Truthfully Aiden was scared out of his mind. The barrel of the gun he’d previously stared down was a looming threat.

“What about Rosie? We don’t have a babysitter.” You point out, something telling you to try and get her to come with. The four-year-old couldn’t sit still for the life of her and though she didn’t exactly speak more than other children she still liked to point things out that sometimes- really should stay inside.

“We can get one. Use one of those online sites to look.” Aiden says, thumbs working as he sends a text.

You almost grimace at the comment, over the moon about the fact that Rosie was still staring down at the phone screen now with her tongue between her teeth as she tried to crush a reasonably easy level of candy crush. It meant that she couldn’t hear nor was she focusing on your more one-sided conversation about bringing in a complete stranger to look after her for a few hours.

“I don’t trust-” You begin, once again getting cut off.

“Have you been out and done something ever since you gave birth to that little girl?”

The thought taunted you because actually, no. You hadn’t properly gone out for dinner, been on a shopping trip or even to a cafe for a drink with a book or magazine in toe ever since the little girl was born. Truthfully you didn’t want to considering that all of those things ran the risk of triggering an attack. Malls were busy, they were loud and they were crazy. Restaurants- somehow even louder if you went at the right time of night. Glass could be dropped and people cheering out of the blue and before you knew it your skin would be growing hot and clammy, everything around you becoming nothing more than a haze as your mind decides to run a hundred miles an hour.

Wrapping an arm around your daughter's waist, you pull her into your chest and Rosie shimmies back more until she was fully pressed against you, legs pull into her chest as a small yawn escapes. Her still slightly dripping hair was wetting your shirt, causing a small stain to form but you couldn’t care less.

“I haven’t had the chance.” You mutter, feeling the little girl in your arms let out a small, slightly audible yawn followed by more gentle humming.

“Now’s your chance. Come out with me tomorrow, meet my boss- god knows he wants to meet you.” Aiden grit his teeth, finding your reluctance borderline irritating. Maybe it was the fact that if you said no he’d deal with the anger of the biggest mob boss in London, meeting his feet with a bullet or worse.

Aiden still didn’t understand how or why Tom Holland was so interested in you, a part of him felt that he was putting you on the line here but Tom’s gruff, threatening voice bounced around his head like a ping pong ball. Every word burned into his memory.

Sighing, you realize that you weren’t going to win this conversation.

“I can get my dad to look after her, he hasn’t seen her for a while.” You offer. Just like that anxiety was creeping into your chest, crawling right back into your mind like it hadn’t even left in the first place. “I don’t know how Rose will feel about it though.”

“She’ll get over it, you spoil her too much.” He points out. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. That was a debate you weren’t up to having at ten past eight at night. “You have a dress to wear, right? It’s most likely going to be fancy dress and god only knows what the other girls will be wearing.”

You remembered the red dress sitting in the very back of your wardrobe, not having been worn in around five years you doubt that the thing would even fit but it was worth a try. “I’ve got something,” you say, “I’ll call my dad tomorrow and ask him if he can look after her.”

“If he says no then I have a few friends that’ll happily take her for a few hours.” You’d never met Aiden's friends before so that offer was off the table the moment it left his lips, already mentally nothing to beg your father to say yes to this.

“Okay,” You hum despite your reluctance. Your boyfriend was looking down at his phone again, lips curling upwards slightly and tightening your grip around Rosie, you stand up, taking the phone out of her hands and she scrambles around to take it back from you.

“No, mama.” She whines, voice already drowsy. ”I wanna keep playing.”

“What have I told you about staying up on the phone too late?” You carry her down the hall to her room, flicking on the light and she mumbles something under her breath.

“My eyes will turn into squares.”

-

“Mum?” Rosie’s voice was slightly hazy as she began to settle down into bed, her arms curling around a little brown elephant instead of her usual teddy and you remember to look for that later. She looks up, pink bed sheets pulled up to her chin tightly.

You climb next to her, the little girls head immediately moves so that her curls are hanging over your thigh. Only a few minutes ago you’d been brushing her hair out and already the curls were back, a little frizzy and with a little less volume but they were still there.

“Yeah?” You answer, knowing Rosie wouldn’t continue unless she knew that she had your full attention.

The hand that wasn’t gripping the elephant ear plays with the hem of your nightshirt, the thin cotton fabric soft on your fingers. “What are your nightmares about?”

“Nightmares?” You try to play dumb but truthfully you were taken back by the question, eyes widening slightly as she nods as best she could without changing position.

“You have nightmares.” The four-year-old points out. “I know because I hear you in the night and you told me about nightmares, remember?” A wave of guilt washes through you when she says that, but Rosy continues before you can begin to apologize profusely. “Sometimes I get them too and it’s okay- if you get them then you can come and lay with me because you let me lay with you in your bed when I get them.”

You crack a smile, and so does the little girl, recently cleaned teeth peeking through before her smile falls, her eye’s fluttering shut out of exhaustion and you begged her to fall asleep before she asked any more questions that you didn’t exactly know how to answer.

“Are there monsters?” It was a question that every kid asked at least once in their lives. They wanted to know all about the monsters that lurked in the back of their closets at night- and the ones that hid under the bed and that’d snatch you up if you stuck a foot out from beneath the duvet and over the edge.

“No.” You straighten out the plush, pink duvet. It depended on her definition of a monster. The world was full of them, ruthless people with no morals or sense of care for anyone else. They’d hurt you without thinking twice and leave you with the type of trauma that didn't just disappear overnight. “There was- but someone got rid of the monsters.”

Nick was a monster.

“Who?” She seemed intrigued, the brown elephant now forgotten as she rolls over, looking up excitedly. “They must be really strong if they can get rid of monsters.”

You nod without hesitation. “He is strong, he took on three at once with the help of his friends.” Tears prickle the corners of your eyes and your bite back a sob, instead of keeping your attention drawn to your daughter who listened intently.  “Thanks to them we don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

“They can’t hurt us?”

“Never again.”

The thing is, some monsters were able to hide in plain sight. They didn’t have to wear scary clothing, carry guns in their back pockets or have a dirty past. They were sly- always two steps ahead of the game and often you don’t realize who the real monster was until it’s too late. Of course, you couldn’t tell your four-year-old daughter that it wasn’t the nonexistent monsters in the closet or under the bed that she should be worried about but the ones in everyday life.

-

Part 3!

Remember that updates are partially dependant on your response (as well as my love for writing these) ♡

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[dispatchvampire]

Out Go The Lights

Pairing - Steve Rogers x OC, 

Warnings: Some swearing, minor violence, nothing terrible

Summary: Clint and Delilah go to a haunted house within a haunted house. Shenanigans ensue. It’s amusing and traumatic for everyone. 

A/N: This is part of the Slow Burn series, and in the same universe as Brighter Than the Sun. It’s out of order but I wanted to share it because of Halloween. 

“Come on, HP. You know you wanna go. It’ll be fun.” She kicked her bare legs over the side of the table like a small child with her well-loved canvas shoes barely hanging on to her toes. It wasn’t really shorts and tank top weather, but then, it wasn’t like Delilah got cold, either. She reclined on the empty workbench across from her friend, watching him painstakingly assemble some part for his Iron Man suit. 

Tony pushed his welding goggles up his forehead with a disapproving frown. “Oh yeah, absolutely. Random people jumping out at me and yelling. Not at all flashback inducing or bad. Not to mention it’s a haunted house within a haunted house. Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

The Junior League Haunted House was an annual charity event to raise money for Toys for Tots as well as their ongoing youth initiatives. From all accounts it was one of the most fun haunted houses in the city. The fact that it was in a building that dated back to almost the Victorian period and was rumored to have its share of spooks and specters was just a bonus. 

Now it was her turn to frown. “Since when do you believe in ghosts?”

“Let’s just say I don’t not believe and leave it at that, can we?” He readjusted the equipment in front of him and cocked his head as he looked it over. “I would have thought Capsicle would take you. He seems like he’d be into that kind of thing.” 

“Steve…” she rolled her gaze toward the ceiling as she considered how to phrase her thoughts. “He doesn’t quite see the point of going to a haunted house and I’m still working on having him wear a costume to your party, so I need to pick my battles. Not to mention the whole ‘people leaping out at him’ thing might be a bad deal.”

“See? It’s not just me!” Tony crowed triumphantly with his welding torch held aloft over his head. 

“Boss, Agent Barton is outside, shall I let him in?”

Tony nodded and flipped his welding helmet down. “Yes please do, FRIDAY. Especially if it means an end to this tedious conversation.”

“God, you’re such a child. It’ll be fun. I think you’re allergic to fun.”

“It’s not my fault your idea of fun is both dull and trite.” 

The glass doors to Tony’s lab whispered opened behind her, and in strolled Clint in a vintage Dokken shirt with cutoff sleeves over a pair of jeans that was more shreds than actual denim and his armguard. He winked as he passed her by on his way to the workbench where Tony was modifying a different part of his suit. 

“Yeah… so those new explosive arrowheads you wanted me to test?” The way he cringed when he spoke had the engineer powering down his arc-welder and giving the man his full attention.

“How bad?” he asked as he raised his helmet again.

“More sparkler on the Fourth of July, less ‘Death from Above’.” Clint pulled a box from the threadbare pocket of his jeans and slid them gingerly across the table toward Tony. 

Her dark-haired friend stared at the box for a long moment before heaving a sigh and dropping his face shield back into place. “Okay. I’ll add them to my list of shit to do in the relatively near future.”

The blond beamed as he slapped him on the arm. “Thanks man.” 

“Can I get a light?” Tony held up his welding torch in Delilah’s direction. She’d taken to lighting it for him when they worked on her brace and cane, prior to the nanite installation. He’d helped her so much, it was really the least she could do. 

She hopped off the table and lit him up with a flick of her fingers. “Only because I love you.” She slapped his ass before wandering across the room to the fridge for a bottle of water. 

“Buttering me up isn’t going to make me go, Hotstuff.” He looked over his shoulder in her direction and even though she couldn’t see his face, she could hear his smirk. 

Amused by their interaction, Clint hopped up on the table where she’d been sitting, effectively stealing her spot. “Where are you trying to drag him?” 

She sighed dramatically and cracked open her beverage. “I got two tickets to the Junior League Haunted House and Nervous Nellie over there won’t go with me.” Delilah couldn’t help the pout that followed that sentence. It had been a while since she and Tony had hung out outside of him making her gear and she missed his cranky butt. 

The archer’s big blue eyes lit up the moment she said ‘haunted house’. “Ooooh, the one inside the actual haunted house?”

Dee nodded eagerly. “Yeah! It’s supposed to be great. I figured we could make a night of it.”

“Cap doesn’t want to take you?” 

Her lips pursed as she thought about her conversation with her boyfriend. “Yeah, he’s not really into it. He’d go, but he doesn’t really see the point. Plus the moment someone jumped out at him, he probably wouldn’t react well.” 

Clint blinked several times as his eyes unfocused imagining just such a scenario. “Yeah, probably for the best.” 

“Uh huh.”

“I’ll go,” he offered with a nonchalant one-shoulder shrug. 

“Really?” She was practically bouncing on her toes in glee. 

“Sure! Phil’s off on a mission, so we’ll hang out. It’ll be great.” 

“Fantastic, I’m glad that’s settled. Now both of you, get the hell out of my lab!” 

Tony was on the receiving end of one stuck-out tongue and one obscene hand gesture as they left. 

“He’s a spoilsport.”

“Allergic to fun, I’m telling you.” 

********************************************

The ride uptown was pretty quick, just a couple subway stops before they were out on the street and headed to their destination. 

Delilah had changed into more appropriate outdoor attire of a white cable-knit sweater, corduroy skirt, and black riding boots. Steve had been very appreciative of the look before they left. Clint had opted for a faded green henley that showed off his muscular chest and arms over the jeans. Dee promised Tasha she’d defend his virtue if she had to. 

The line to get into the three story Queen Anne Victorian mansion wasn’t too bad for mid season. It helped that Dee’d already scored the tickets, but still, they didn’t have to spend the evening fending off the cold. 

The ground floor was opulence defined. Persian rugs, dark wood paneling, imposingly large chandeliers, the works. It was straight out of a Hollywood backlot period piece. Only she got the feeling most of what she was seeing was, in fact, the real deal. Their journey started when they mounted the stairs, passing out of the well-lit parlor and into the daunting blackness of the second floor. 

“You wanna hold hands?” Clint whispered. She’d felt the heat of him moving a bit closer to her, though she wasn’t sure if it was for his protection or hers. 

She snorted, her eyes moving as she heard a noise coming from the darkness on her right. “I’m good, bud. You?” They were the only two in their group and the further they made it down the hall, the more oppressive the feeling around them became. 

The archer straightened away from her and squared his shoulders. “Nah, I’m—fuck me running with a chainsaw!” he squealed and jumped behind her as the door at the end of the hallway shot open, revealing a neon-lit corpse approaching them, head in hand. 

“Okay, that’s bad.” The ‘ghost’ moved pretty spryly for someone whose eyeballs were now waist-high, and the attention to detail and realism was disgustingly impressive. 

The ‘spectre’ shrieked and ran at them, chasing them until they rounded a corner, at which point, Dee and Clint paused for a minor hysterical freakout breather. “Now there’s something you don’t see everyday,” she huffed out between pants. “You were saying?” She couldn’t resist tweaking him just a bit, just because. 

“Oh whatever, dude.” He took her hand decisively, almost like he dared her to say something else. 

They walked for a bit, hearing noises and footsteps, seeing things move out of the corners of their eyes, feeling people in the darkness move closer to them and then away again. It was a very creepy vibe and they were both winding up for the next jump-scare. 

“That was a pretty high-pitched scream for an assassin,” she mused softly as they neared another door. 

The growl next to her was totally worth it. “It wasn’t a scream and let us never speak of it again.” 

“Fair enough,” she agreed magnanimously. When nothing jumped from behind the door, she held it open for him with her hand out. “Shall we?”

The darkness of the hallway gave way to a weirdly lit funhouse area with strangely patterned walls and floors and a strobe light that was almost nauseating to observe. An agonized wail drew their attention to the corner of the room where a person dressed in a white clown suit with crazy red hair and a rictus grin painted on his neon white face was pulling the intestines out of a woman strapped to a table. It was disturbing as he looked over his shoulder and noticed them, running at them with the innards in his hands. 

“Fuckin’ hell!” Dee pulled her friend along behind her surprisingly quickly for someone with a limp until they made it to the next room. The performer got a lot closer a lot faster than she would have preferred. 

“That was interesting.” He sounded amused, like he knew they were even now and had no problem rubbing it in. 

“No goddamn clowns,” she muttered darkly. 

Clint picked up her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles as he exhaled a quick laugh. “Noted.”

The next couple scares got even closer still, with each performer chasing them, and they were only just able to flee to safety. It was an adrenaline rush and a half, but even then, her feeling of oppression--like something bad was about to happen--never left her. 

“They’re not allowed to touch you, right?” Clint asked as they mounted the stairs to the third floor. 

“I wouldn’t think so,” she answered, though her tone said she wasn’t quite as sure as her answer would indicate. 

The feeling of unease that had beset her the moment she walked in the building was now a buzz in her head, an itch just out of reach, and only getting stronger. It was almost enough for her to want to mention it to Clint, but she knew he’d laugh at her and then she’d have to kick him in the shins again. It was too much effort. 

They left the stairwell and were immediately enveloped in a kind of darkness that qualified as sensory deprivation. No sound other than their breathing and her heart in her ears, they walked along a path indicted by a rope on one side, with Clint in the lead. Delilah wasn’t happy about bringing up the rear, but given that they were a party of two, her options were minimal. 

From the corner of her eye, a white light drew her attention and brought her to a halt. It was across the room, and bobbing around, but it was clear as day. 

“You see that?” she murmured, as she tapped his hand. As soon as the words left her mouth the light cut out. 

“See what?” 

Hell. “Nevermind.” It wasn’t something she felt like explaining but as they walked along, she knew they weren’t as alone as it seemed. The lights appeared and disappeared again a couple times, dancing closer each time before winking out and since Clint didn’t bring them up, she didn’t either. 

It felt like they’d been walking forever in the darkness and the suspense was unbearable, but then it happened. 

A hand gripped her wrist firmly and she snapped. Shrieking high enough to make glass vibrate, she yanked her wrist toward her body and used the momentum to smash the person who grabbed her in the face with her fist at least three times that she could tell. When the scare happened, with an airhorn going off loudly all around them as the lights blazed to life suddenly, what Clint saw had him doubled over in laughter. 

Delilah stood over her victim, victorious as she kept a foot on his chest, hands up like she’d learned in training. Natasha would be so proud. The kid on the floor would have been rolling around in pain, but the blood flowing out of his nose and down his cheeks when he pulled up his black faceless mask said everything his moans of pain couldn’t. 

“Jesus, lady!”

All at once she came back to herself, realizing where she was and what was going on. “Oh fuck! I’m so sorry! You shouldn’t have touched me, but I’m so sorry! Holy shit! I’m so sorry…” she repeated it as she gingerly removed her foot from his chest and took a step back. 

“Easy, killer.” Clint, wiping mirthful tears from his cheeks, leaned over and helped the kid to his feet, breaking into giggles as the young man in the black bodysuit’s legs crumpled underneath him. “She really rung your bell, huh, kid?”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen!” the teenager whined as another performer came through to see what the ruckus was about. As the archer handed him off to his coworker, his blackened eyes widened comically. “Holy shit! You’re Hawkeye!”

Clint was at her side in an instant later. “Time to go.”

Dee couldn’t agree more, doing her best to keep up with his quick pace as he squired her out of the room and on to the next scene. And if she happened to hear a snickering giggle coming from an empty corner of the room right before they left, well, that was between her and the wall. 

The scenes after that were tame to the point of being mundane. Apparently when you pummel a performer, word travels quickly. By the time they made it outside, they were greeted by a small crowd that had gathered around the ambulance and the police car at the front of the mansion. 

Clint’s lips twitched, but wisely he kept quiet. Hoping for a quick and discreet exit, they left the grounds and headed in the opposite direction of the way they came. “We’ll get an Uber,” he told her as they crossed the street away from the scene of the crime. 

“No need,” a voice behind them called, bringing both of them to screeching halt. They turned slowly to see the grinning face of one Tony Stark, looking like a cool suburban dad in his leather jacket and trendy jeans that cost more than most of the cars parked on the street, strolling up to them looking like he was having the time of his life. “How’s it goin’, Boom Boom? Though ‘First Punch Ford’ has a nice ring to it. Maybe ‘The Schenectady Steamroller’? No? ‘Midtown Mauler’, then?”

The nicknames broke Clint, and it was all she could do to keep him upright and off the sidewalk as he dissolved into a heap of gasping, sloppy giggles. 

“He shouldn’t’ve touched me,” she offered defensively. She was horrified that she’d hit a performer, but he was actually pretty lucky she’d only punched him. A few times.

“Uh huh. Pretty sure he’s not going to be seeing or touching anyone else for the next couple days. Go you!” Tony linked his arm with hers, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss to her temple as he led them down the sidewalk to the waiting black Mercedes with Happy and Steve both leaning against it with matching crossed arms and disappointed looks. Over his shoulder, he yelled down the block, “Catch up, Legolas! Let’s go get some tacos.”

Happy opened the back door and Delilah folded herself into one of the seats. She was followed by Tony and Clint, whose eyes were so red, it looked like he’d been binge watching ‘This Is Us’. Last but not least was the love of her life, Steve, in his brown bomber jacket and jeans that really magnified the national treasure that is his ass. He had The Look™ and she shuddered to imagine the lecture she had coming her way.

The ride to the taqueria was filled with Clint’s highly embellished debrief of their adventure in the haunted mansion, right down to the sound effects. Surprisingly enough, he left out the part about him screaming like a banshee at the headless corpse. By the time they rolled up to the restaurant, all the guys were laughing and she was left with a flaming blush and a smile made entirely of rue. 

Delilah got out of the car last, taking Steve’s hand as she emerged on the sidewalk. So far he hadn’t really said too much too her, and she was honestly mortified. She would never want to embarrass him with her actions and this totally qualified. Pausing on the sidewalk just outside the doors to the restaurant, she turned to her boyfriend. “Look, babe—” 

He slung an arm around her shoulders, drawing her to his side and kissing her forehead, effectively silencing her. “So…” he gazed down at her with laughing eyes and the most affectionate smile she’d ever seen. “You were the one worried about my reactions, huh, Sugar Ray?”

The nickname brought an unbidden bark of laughter to her lips as she lightly slapped his chest. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, chuckles.”

His beautifully perfect face wrinkled up into a shit-eating grin as he grabbed the door with his free hand. “Don’t mind if I do… slugger.”

[paperclipninja]

Younger Season 6 Official Trailer warm-up ramble

Ok, I have had every intention of writing a bit of a ramble about the Younger season 6 official trailer since it was released 3 weeks ago and now here we are, one week out from the premiere (how has the time gone so quickly?? But also, I have re-watched the entire series four times since last season ended and started an Instagram account solely dedicated to the show to get me through the hiatus so it has also been FOREVER...also I may possibly need to find some other hobbies (she says as she writes an essay about a promo trailer)...) So I thought I’d better dust off the ol’ over-analysing part of my brain in preparation for the new season because it has been a while since I’ve rambled or reviewed.

Frankly, there is so much to take in in that 2 mins of gloriousness that this is guaranteed to be incoherent at least some of the time, so let’s just start with the beginning and that moment on the brownstone stoop when Charles is telling Liza he has had feelings for her for 16 years and seriously, straight out of the gate, I’m not coping. I mean, I know in my brain that Charles and Liza are now a couple but seeing it, actually SEEING them standing there in broad daylight being all couply and flirty, my feelings were not ready. I am also not ready for the moment I have been waiting for with an absurd amount of anticipation, the Maggie/Charles meeting. Yet here is a glimpse, them sitting all comfy and barefoot on the couch just chatting away, Maggie giving him the bff once-over as appropriately ominous music provides the required effect of DRAH-MAH. I can’t wait to see that scene properly, I just have such high hopes for a Maggie/Charles friendship and I will be waving that flag this whole season.

Through the rest of the Maggie voice-over part of the trailer we get some Amato wisdom about two people who have been through a lot being perfect for each other or dragging each other down like anchors but honestly, at this point I’m finding it hard to concentrate because we have some ‘man coming up behind woman as she’s getting ready for work’ trope in play, which is very distracting for a number of reasons. And then there’s the Liza casually telling Charles she loves him thrown in and EXCUSE ME, for this I was 0% prepared (as was Liza it seems) and 26 seconds in, my deceased status is not boding well for actually making it to the June 12 premiere.

We also get confirmation that everyone at work finds out about Liza and Charles. I am HERE for the ‘it’s ME’ moment because who doesn’t love an open plan office workplace affair reveal (p.s. who ARE all those staff in the office? Where have they been the past 5 seasons? Do they know where Josh’s friends are?)? I’m loving the fancy looking event, this show rocks the glam and Diana, Enzo, Charles, Liza in a room together, seeing them all out and plus-1ing it, I want it all. 

I too want to hear about the regime change Redmond, thank you for asking and this Quinn situation looks every type of intense and I cannot wait! I just LOVE that they’ve made her book suck. The editing of the music to coincide with Quinn’s table taps in the restaurant is just too much, and honestly, the ‘guess who wrote a masterpiece, it will be our first release’ chant, that random lady joining in, Liza asking what’s happening = pure 24 carat tv gold. 

The Kelsey/Zane situation seems like it’ll continue to play out in season 6 and I hope we keep getting to see more sides to Zane because I felt like I was finally beginning to get a more filled out version of the character in season 5. Lauren continues to be Lauren it seems and that is exactly as it should be because she is perfect and I hope we see her do Heller good this season with all that ambition and drive she has.

The big cliffhanger from last season, the Josh/Clare baby ‘who’s the father’ scenario is still front and centre and look, I said it last season and I’ll say it again, I just cannot see why they would bring pregnant Clare back if the baby wasn’t Josh’s. It would be so unbelievably awful to Josh’s character, who just wants to love so wholly and is a refreshing representation of a young guy openly yearning to be a father, that I just can’t imagine the writers of this show going the whole ‘he thinks it’s his but then it isn’t’ route. And after the somewhat stagnant storyline for Josh’s character last season, I would love to see this character have the happiness he deserves and to develop as a stand-alone character whose purpose and development isn’t tied solely to him wishing he was with Liza. I big L LOVE Josh’s friendship with Maggie so I’m happy seeing him chatting to Liza and Maggie about what he should do. 

Which brings me to the scene I have joked about in the past but never thought I’d actually see and that is Charles and Josh laughing together (I’m assuming alcohol is involved) and I tell you, I want that image printed onto canvas and hung on my wall. I mean look, the writers of this show are smart and also, Josh and Charles have to at least get along civilly because otherwise the story is stuck. If Josh doesn’t want to engage with Charles or remains bitter towards him, then Liza is put into a really difficult position, as she would be if Charles took issue with her being friends with Josh or if he didn’t want anything to do with him. The show can’t move forward properly with that kind of set up IMO so I can’t believe that I’m now saying this and it could be a possibility (because I wrote about it as a far-fetched wish at one point), but I would love to see Charles and Josh strike up a friendship and I can actually imagine them chatting about fatherhood and there being a respect there for the fact they both care about Liza. I have no idea of the context of that laughing scene but I’m 99% sure that I will be playing it on a loop after it’s aired.

Ok, before we wrap things up (and lawd knows we need to, I mean, all these words from the trailer, heaven help us once the episodes start again!) there is an axe-throwing, police line up Diana and Kelsey situation that I am going to need much time to absorb once I see it in full but I already know that it’s going to be everything and nothing I expect *praise hands* 

Speaking of scenes that are everything and nothing I knew I wanted, whatever the dance sequence is with Liza in the white dress twirling into a very dapper Charles, I can only assume it’s some kind of dream/hallucination type thing (unless they somehow get roped into a dance competition somewhere??...will reserve my theories and predictions for another day) I am legit so excited to see it because it looks like nothing we’ve ever seen on this show before and after last season’s Cabaret gem, I’m all for these delightful nuggets and love that Younger continues to find new ways to surprise us 6 seasons in.

I think the big emphasis of the ‘you are running my ideas past Charles’/’are you questioning my loyalty?’ indicates some workplace tension between Liza and Kelsey and that Liza trying to balance her relationship with Charles and Kelsey is going to be a real challenge. Not to mention that ominous end to the trailer in which the music cuts out and we hear Charles say ‘I left my company to be with you’ *dun-dun-dunnnn*. My hope is that we see Liza continue to be the strong manuscript dropping boss woman from season 5 and to tell Charles that she never asked him to do that. I mean, I’m sure there’s a whole lot more to the convo, but where would the drama be in that?

As always, Younger have managed to cut together a premium trailer with the appropriate amounts of intrigue, suspense, misdirection and general excellence we have come to love and expect.  

So buckle in and get ready, the countdown has begun. Bring on Season 6!

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Second Chance at Forever - Chapter 14

Chapter 14 of this year’s entry for the @dwsecretsanta, my present to @wordsintimeandspace!  Beta’d by the always-kind @stupidsatsuma​.  Thank you!

@doctorroseprompts​ and @timepetalscollective​ as an AU fic

General warnings for: alcohol use, cursing, discussions of sexual activities and mature situations.  No explicit love scenes.

Masterlist

AO3

Summary

Once upon a time, a boy and girl met at a bar and fell in love - until he ghosted her.

Five years later Rose Tyler’s best friend Mickey is getting married, and arranges a dinner for her to meet the groomsman she’ll be walking with - unaware that the two already know each other.

John Noble’s not sure how his friend and mentee managed to connive with the Universe to bring the One Who Got Away back into his life; all he knows it carefully built and maintained walls are crashing to the ground with no warning.

At first, John’s few functioning brain cells assumed the noise was his pulse beating in his ears.  He and Rose were tangled on the couch, her hand in his pants while his were occupied at her chest. They were kissing frantically, sloppily, too focused on the pleasure they were bringing their partner to concentrate properly.

Then he heard his name.  Not just the sexy way Rose was whispering it, but his sister’s obnoxious loudmouth calling for him.

Reluctantly tearing his mouth away from hers, he propped himself up slightly and strained to listen.

“No, shh, John,” Rose pleaded, and the way she said it meant he wasn’t imagining things.

“Please tell me my sister’s not outside our door.”

She pulled him back to her by his half-undone tie, mouth latching onto his adam’s apple.  “She’ll go away.  Don’t stop.”

The choice was taken away from him by the door slamming open, and they both moaned in regret.  With no time to hide what they’d been up to, John just shifted higher to cover Rose’s bare chest as Donna stalked in.

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” the redhead fumed as she came around the couch and found them lying together.  “I’ve been calling for an hour!”

“Go away,” John said firmly, knowing if she had gone to the effort of showing up something was seriously wrong but wanting to hold onto denial a few moments longer.  “We’re busy.”

“You have the rest of your lives to shag,” Donna was unsympathetically blunt.  “But I need Rose, now.”

“So do I,” he muttered before her words processed.  “Wait, what?”

Rose wriggled beneath him, achieving nothing more than torturing him.  “Donna, can you give us a minute?  Maybe wait in the kitchen?”

Standing above them with her arms crossed, lit by the moonlight coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows, Donna cut an imposing figure.  “I’ll be at the window.  Don’t you dare do anything but stand up and put yourself back together.”  She spun on her heel, walking the few yards to stare out at the city.

Glancing down at Rose, he held her eye for a moment before she pinched his side.  Sighing heavily he stood, offering Rose a hand up.  It didn’t take them long to make themselves presentable, though John winced as his zipper made a loud noise in the otherwise quiet room.

Once they were ready Rose turned on the light on the end table, bathing the room in a soft glow.  “Sorry, Donna.  What’s going on?”

Donna returned to them, and the two women sat gingerly.  Not quite ready to meet his sister’s eye and needing time to get himself under control, John busied himself in the kitchen preparing tea.  He couldn’t hear much of what was being said, but didn’t need to; he knew his sister, and it would have to be an absolute crisis at work to show up at Rose’s door unannounced at midnight.

Fetching Rose’s purse from where it had dropped by the door, he fished out her phone and plugged it into the charger on the counter.  Sure enough the screen showed more than a dozen missed texts and calls from Donna. Fixing each a cuppa to taste, he brought them back to the sitting area just as Rose buried her head in her hands.

“Here, love.”  He would be lying to say he wasn’t irritated at the interruption, but made a conscious effort to clear his expression before she looked up.  Whatever was wrong wasn’t her fault, or at least not deliberately with the intention of ruining their night.  She had been plenty understanding the few times he’d been called away for a medical emergency, not least of which being his month-long trip to Haiti; now it was his turn.

A relationship, a marriage, like the one they were building would only succeed with equality.  Support went both ways, and he would be damned before he gave her any reason to hesitate about his commitment.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly, settling one palm on Rose’s back as she sank into his side, blowing gently on her tea.

“This morning Rose presented a new spread to our- her biggest client, and the meeting went well, they loved it,” Donna sighed, watching Rose with sympathy.  “But… the meeting was with the number two guy.  Apparently when he presented it to his boss, at ten o’clock tonight no less, she flipped her shit.  We’ll lose the account if it’s not redone to new specs by eight Friday morning.  It took more than an hour to negotiate them down to that, if you can believe.  The owner wanted it Monday morning, but Harriet – the owner of our firm convinced her that was unreasonable.  If they like what we come up with by Friday, they’ll pay for both sets of designs and stay clients; if Yvonne doesn’t, she won’t pay a penny and will pull her business.”

“And she’s an important client?” John gathered.

Rose moaned.  “Millions of pounds a year.  We’ve been working on this for months, it was perfect.  Witch.”

“What can I do to help?”

His girlfriend straightened up with a pout.  “Not much, I’m afraid.  I’m going to have to work pretty much straight through to get this done in time, even with the extra help Harriet’s promised me.”

“Then you’ll do that,” he said brusquely, already formulating and discarding half a dozen plans.  “I’ll handle everything else.  Take a shower, wash your face.  I’ll have some war supplies ready for you by the time you’re done.  Go, go.”

Rose stood, taking the time to lean down and kiss him.  “We really will have to wait for after the wedding now,” she whispered, but he just shook his head, pressing his lips to hers.

“Don’t worry about that.  Do what you need to.”  As soon as she disappeared down the hall he went into crisis mode, heading for the kitchen and pulling out canvas bags, his sister trailing behind.

“So, sorry for interrupting what I walked in on,” Donna mentioned, leaning against the countertop.

“Me too,” was all he said, focusing on his plan.  Grabbing down every insulated travel mug they had, he started filling them with tea before refilling the kettle for more.  Opening the snack cabinet, he pulled out everything relatively healthy and started throwing it in a bag.  “Can you...”  Gesturing towards the whistling kettle he didn’t wait for a response, heading for the bedroom.

Locating her overnight bag in the back of her closet, he efficiently packed two changes of clothes and comfortable shoes.  A quick raid of her gym bag produced on-the-go toiletries, which got tossed in as well. Returning to the kitchen with a detour to drop the bag by the door, he took over the tea-making, tightly closing the lid of the last travel mug by the time Rose reappeared in yoga pants and a tee, one it took him a moment to realize came from his own drawer unless she’d gone to Cambridge Med School without telling him.

“Right, I’ll head in and get started, Donna, go home and get some rest.  I’ll need you first thing,” she started, before stopping to stare at the now-cluttered counter.  “What’s all this?”

“Supplies,” John shrugged, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter.  Donna’s gaze was burning a hole in the side of his head, making him flush, but he refused to feel ashamed of showing how much he loved Rose.

She slowly shook her head, expression softening.  “I know you said… thank you, John.”

“Anything for you.  There’s also a bag by the door.”

Padding up to him, she tugged him down for a firm kiss, momentarily sucking at his bottom lip before releasing him.  “I love you.”

“Love you too.  You’re taking a cab, yeah?”

Rose nodded.  “I’ll text you, but probably won’t be home before tomorrow night.  Er, tonight, I guess,” she corrected herself, seeing the time. “Don’t forget to feed the cat.”

“I won’t.  Now, shoo.  The sooner you go the sooner you can come back.”

With one last kiss for her and a wave to his sister, the girls were gone in a whirlwind, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

Tardis came barreling in then, jumping up onto the counter and nosing around some of the food he’d left out.  John sighed, pushing her away and starting to restore the room to normalcy.

“Guess it’s you and me now, girl.”

The next day was Saturday, and he puttered around the flat for part of the morning before deciding to unpack some of the boxes sitting around.  Most of them were books, cds, and knickknacks, and he took his time arranging them just so.  Rose had cleared some space for his things, and he killed some time reorganizing for fun.

He spent the afternoon polishing the finals for his various classes, drawing up study guides and planning the last week of lessons.  By teatime he was bored and lonely, unable to remember how he’d survived on his own for so many years.  The cat was somewhat of a comfort, having a living creature there to talk to instead of thin air.

Rose appeared around nine, taking a shower and scarfing down a salad before collapsing into bed.  Despite the early hour he went with her at her request, holding her close in the dark as she slept.  When he woke at dawn she was already gone, and he trudged through most of the day in a grumpy mood.

When five rolled around and he didn’t hear from her he texted her himself.

How’s it going?

She responded almost instantly.  Ugh.  Ok, I guess, but UGH, with an angry person emoji attached for good measure.

Dinner?

Probably takeaway in a few hours.  Too busy.  Sorry.  This time, the tiny face was pouting.

Tapping the phone against his thigh as he debated, he ran his idea past Tardis.  “What do you think, girl?”

He took the meowing for a yes.

“Ugh, that’s not going to work,” Rose groaned, throwing her pen on the table in front of her and closing her eyes in frustration.  The office was empty on a Sunday evening except for them, so they’d taken over the main conference room to make use of the large whiteboards.  She was incredibly grateful to the ragtag team Harriet had scrambled together for her, but so far all they had to show was a lot of terrible ideas and a few with potential.  The idea was out there, just waiting to be had, but they were running on fumes at this point.  “Let’s… let’s take a break for a few minutes, order some dinner.  Yeah?”

There were five of them; Rose and Donna of course, and to her surprise Harriet as well.  Her boss and mentor had roped in one of the more junior girls, a lovely if too-perky woman named Mel, and an intern named Bill, who had lots of brilliant out-of-the-box ideas that would work for any other client, but not Yvonne.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Donna commented, staring behind her.  “Look.”

Rose looked over her shoulder, gasping when she realized her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.  Jumping from her chair, she hurried to the door and threw it open to let John and two other men in.  She didn’t know who they were, but one carried pizza boxes and the other a bag of chips and pop, so she didn’t care.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked in delight, throwing her arms around John.  He hugged her back, the bags he carried thumping against her spine but she didn’t care, too happy to see him.

“I brought reinforcements and some temporary help, hope that’s all right.”

Mindful of the glass walls of the conference room she didn’t snog the daylights out of him like she wanted to, merely squeezed tighter.  “Thank you.”

Taking one of the bags from him they walked in together to find one of the two men already regaling the women with a lively story.

“Jack,” John said in a warning tone, and the man turned with a smile.  He was handsome, tall and broad shoulders, and if she didn’t have John he would’ve been just her type.

“What?  Trying to lighten the mood!”

“That’s what the food is for.”  The other man was dressed in a three-piece suit, and said it with such a resigned, fond air that said maybe Rose wasn’t Jack’s type after all.  “You all look like you need a break, come eat.”

“Thanks, Yan.”  Donna was first to the food, the other three exchanging bewildered looks as they followed her.

“Yes, thank you…” Harriet trailed off expectantly, raising an eyebrow at Rose as she put some salad on a paper plate.

“Oh!  Of course.  Um, Harriet, this is my boyfriend John, and… I honestly have no idea.”

Donna snorted.  “Pretty boy is Jack, he’s a friend of ours, and this is Ianto.  Hopefully here to be our barista?” she smiled sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes up at Ianto and making him laugh.

“Certainly.”

Everyone filled a plate, relaxing at the conference table to eat and chat.  Settling down with John next to her, Rose grinned to see her team come alive again.  Using her left hand to eat, she laid her right on his thigh under the table, squeezing in thanks.  Glancing at her he grinned, taking her hand with his as they ate.

After an hour Jack cleared his throat, smiling as the laughter from his last story died down.  “Now, I believe we’ve taken up enough of your time and recharged your batteries.  We can go if you’d like to get back to work.”

Donna bolted upright, eyes going wide.  “Jack!”

“Donna!”

“I’m an idiot!” she gushed.  “You used to work for Yvonne Hartman, didn’t you?”

Jack and Ianto exchanged glances.  “We both did, why?”

Rose followed Donna’s train of thought.  “Oh, perfect!  We can’t confirm or deny if she’s a client of ours, but would you mind if we bounced some ideas off you that she might like?”

Jack’s eyebrow raised, but he nodded.  “Absolutely.  What’s going on?”

The week passed slowly, Rose spending the majority of her time at the office and coming home only to sleep.  John took the opportunity to greatly extend his office hours, and was pleased that most of his students stopped by at least once.

When he would finally pack up he’d call for takeaway, stopping by Rose’s office so she could take a break and they could eat together.  The team had been good for brainstorming, but Rose was handling most of the work to keep consistency.  He would fill their dinner hour with teaching anecdotes and stories from his travels, doing his best to keep Rose laughing and at ease.

Once she’d get back to work he would pull out his laptop, sometimes taking up her couch or working at Donna’s desk if she needed the room to herself.  He had plenty of his own work to keep busy with, and the hours would pass quickly until she was ready to call it a night.

When her alarm went off at five on Friday morning, he wrapped his arm around her waist to keep her against him.

“Jo-ohn, I’ve gotta go,” she whined, nonetheless happily rolling into his chest and burrowing down.

“In a minute,” he promised, “just need a morning cuddle.  And to talk to you.”

“Mhmm?”

“Can you come home after your presentation?”

Rose tensed in his arms for a minute, before sighing.  “Depends on what Yvonne decides.”

“You’ve had a long week, and you need a break,” he said firmly.  “The rehearsal’s tonight, the wedding tomorrow, and you should decompress first.  Even if it’s to come home and nap.”

“Is that your suggestion as a doctor?” she teased, pressing a kiss to his bare chest.

“Yep.”  He patted her bum before releasing her.  “Think about it, I’ll be here all day unless a crisis comes up.”

Rose rolled out of bed, stretching her arms above her head before moving towards the shower.  “I’ll text you one way or another.”

Watching her bum sway as she moved, he wished the wedding would be over soon so he could finally follow her in.

Two more days.

John looked up from the textbook he was reading, brow furrowed.  Music was coming from the hall, but before he could go see what it was, the song coalesced into We Are the Champions, and he stood grinning as Rose burst into the flat.

“-keep on fighting, til the end!”  Kicking off her heels and dropping her purse at the door, she sprinted towards him and leapt into his arms, laughing.

“I take it the presentation went well?” he rumbled, holding her tighter as she sprinkled kisses over his face.

“It went perfectly,” she gushed, wrapping her legs around his waist.  “She loved it!  She’s still a bitch for making us redo it all at the last minute, but honestly this was even better than the original and she’s going to keep us and I got a raise and I love you so much!”

John laughed, returning to the couch and settling down with her in his lap.  “That’s amazing, love.  Congratulations.”

“Mhmm.”  She kissed him leisurely.  “And I know I’ve already got next week off but Harriet’s going to give it to me without using my time, so I am all. yours.”

“You weren’t already?”

“Oh, shut up.”  Rose was smiling too hard for him to take her seriously though.  “All we need to do is get through tonight and tomorrow, then we are off to Bermuda for a week.”

John hummed.  “Sand, sun…”

“Sex,” she corrected sternly.  “Play your cards right, and I’ll let you out of bed to eat.  Maybe.”

“Sounds perfect.”

They snogged, hands roaming and clutching long enough to be breathing hard when they finally pulled away.  “What do you say we head to the hotel early?”

John smiled and pointed at the bags waiting by the door.  “Say the word, my love.”

They were able to check in when they got there, and Rose threw herself onto the bed with a laugh, pleased when she bounced.  “We’ve got four hours before we’re supposed to meet, whatever shall we do?” she teased, giving him her best ‘come hither’ look.

John joined her on the bed, stretching out next to her with an amused smile.  “You were asleep in the taxi, love,” he said gently, putting his hand on her hip.  “I think a nap’s in order.”

She pouted, sticking out her lower lip.  “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He groaned, leaning forward to capture it between his own.  “Temptress. A little longer won’t kill us. Let’s get through the rehearsal dinner, yeah?  Then see what happens tonight.”

“Mhkay.”  Cradling the back of his head with her hand, she pulled him with her as she lay down.  “Kiss me to sleep?”

The last thing she remembered was his tongue in her mouth and hand on her bum.

They walked into the ballroom arm in arm, stopping just inside the doors as Rose gasped.  “This is beautiful!”  Nearly all the decorations were up except the flowers, which were due for delivery the following morning.

The wide aisle was marked with three sets of three-foot high pillars, waiting for vases of white roses.  Candles lined the space between the pillars; for safety reasons they were battery-operated candles, but Rose suspected the visual would be no less stunning because of that.  At the end of the aisle stood a dais with a frame, sheer white drapes drawn back and secured with ribbons.

They were still early despite being the last ones there, and her brother was the first to notice them.

“Rosie!” he shrieked from the front row, racing down the aisle to fling himself at her.  “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, silly, I’m in the wedding too,” she teased, swinging him up into her arms as they moved towards the rest of the group.  “You remember John.”

“Hi.”  Tony waved with a grin.

John smiled.  “How’s it going?”

“Good!  My Rosie’s here now.”  The boy nodded seriously, and Rose coughed to hide a laugh as John winked at her.

“I know exactly how you feel, mate.”

The rehearsal seemed to take forever, though Rose didn’t know if that was because of the wait for dinner or the expectation of what might happen with John when they were finally alone again.

They spent most of the practice sharing smiles, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else.  Being the lowest ranking members of the wedding party worked in their favor; they walked first, stood at the end of their respective lines, and had zero responsibilities during the ceremony itself.  A few times Rose caught glares from her mother, but she ignored them in favor of making faces at John in a bid to get him to laugh.

When the rehearsal was finally over and it was time for the dinner, they held tightly to each other as they followed the group to the hotel’s restaurant.  They were in a private room, still a rather intimate group at fourteen around a single, long table.

Once they ordered came the toasts.  As the hosts of the dinner, Rose’s father stood and said a few kind words about Mickey, and by some miracle managed to keep her mother from speaking as well.

Mickey’s toast was funny and poignant, and Rose leaned into John’s side as she blotted away tears while they raised their glasses.

“All right?” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her back and pulling her closer.

She nodded, smiling up at him.  “I’m just so damn happy for him.  He deserves the world, and I think Martha’s the answer to that.”

“Agreed.”

The dinner went quickly, jokes and personal stories flying from every corner.  Rose spoke about when she and Mickey were children, while John shared stories from trips he and Martha had taken with Doctors Overseas, highlighting her bravery and calmness under pressure.

Due to the early morning the group split not long after dessert, though by mutual agreement John and Rose headed for the hotel bar instead.  Settling together at a table near the edge of the dance floor, they ordered wine.

“To the happy couple,” John toasted, holding up his glass.

“May they have a long and happy life together,” she added, clinking their glasses before sipping.  “I still find it a little hard to believe, Mickey getting married.  I think I half expected him to be a perennial bachelor.”

“That’s what Donna’s always said about me,” he snorted, leaning closer.  “Look at us.”

“Mhmm.”  Rose slid her chair a little closer, tangling her legs with his under the table.  “Not planning on permanent bachelor-hood, then?”

“I think I found an acceptable alternative.”  His palm was warm on her knee, thumb rubbing back and forth at the inner crease of the joint and making warmth pool low in her gut that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Is that so?” she murmured, and they met in the middle for a chaste kiss.  When they pulled apart a band was setting up on the small stage, a singer dressed in forties garb talking to the bartender.  “Looks like there’s about to be music.”

John merely took her hand, waiting until the singer introduced herself and the first strands of music began to play to say, “May I have this dance?”

“Of course.”  Rose let him pull her to her feet, stepping into his arms just as she recognized the song, smiling.  “At last,” she sang softly in his ear as they swayed, “my love has come along.”

“My lonely days are over,” he took it up, “and life is like a song.”

Rose let herself sink deeper in his arms until they were pressed tightly together, barely moving to the music.  The song felt like the sign she hadn’t known she’d been waiting for, but nothing had ever felt more right than this moment.

She loved this man with all her heart, trusted him without hesitation.  He’d long since proved himself to her, shown the true depth of character she’d seen hints of the first time they were together.  Her doubts were gone, having evaporated months ago, and any last stubborn spots were wiped clean by how he’d handled the previous week.  Never pressuring her in any way, never suggesting she do anything other than what she needed with the exception of getting more sleep, he took care of her, being there when she needed him and waiting patiently in the wings if she didn’t.

This was it; this was their moment.

At last.

As the final strains of the song faded out, she went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.  “John?”

“Yes love?”

“Take me to bed.”

[3wisellamas]

Graffiti Wiener

(Oops, my recent fanfic kick spilled over from AT to OK KO.  tl;dr:   Darrell starts vandalizing the plaza every night and the bodega kids find it entertaining as heck.  It’s very long, set aside some time for it.  Also, disclaimer, don’t do crimes kiddos, yadda yadda yadda.)

--

It was early shift at Gar’s Bodega.  Rad opened the store that day, looked at the relatively stocked state of the shelves from the day prior, and floated to the break room for a post-wake nap.  Enid arrived second, and seeing nobody to keep her accountable she swiped an issue of Alt EDM Monthly from the magazine rack to peruse as she lounged on her counter.  As usual, KO excitedly burst through the door last, waving at his mom as she parked the car to start her own day.  But, this early on this quiet a day, his enthusiasm only took him so far into his cleaning duties.

It was too early to be at work, the three silently agreed.  Then, as if a direct challenge to their morning ennui, their boss Mr Gar angrily smashed through his office door.

“KO!  Enid!”  He turned towards the break room door in the back.  “Radicles!  Front and center!”

The three slowly marched forward, Rad in particular taking a few extra seconds to come into the store proper, yawning.  It was too early to be taking orders, the three silently agreed.

Their lack of enthusiasm only raised Mr Gar’s volume.  “You three shape up and come with me.  I got work for you.”  He stomped towards the back of the store, out the loading dock, with his employees in tow.  The four exited the building there, passed the trucks and the junkyard, and turned into the alley, where the sight that awaited them definitely made the early morning shift less dull.

Taking up almost an entire wall of the plaza alleyway was a large graffiti mural, unusually detailed and elaborate for the spray paint it was created with.  The cans of paint in question had been carelessly discarded all over the alley afterward, simply left behind in what seemed like a hurry.

“Disgusting, isn’t it,”  Gar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose behind his glasses.  “Someone vandalized the plaza last night, and today I’ve got two jobs for you!”

KO wasn’t listening.  He immediately rushed over towards the wall to get a better look.  “It’s so pretty!!”

“Yeah, this is pretty sick,” Enid agreed.  “They did this in only one night?”

Gar snapped his fingers to regain their attention.  “I have two jobs for the three of you.  First, you’re cleaning up this mess.”  He kicked a stray can out from under his feet, and pointed to a large bucket of white paint, a tray, and two paint rollers he’d set up underneath the mural.  “I want every trace of what happened here last night gone, understand?”

“Yes sir, Mr Gar!”  The three saluted enthusiastically.

“Good.”  He paused.  “KO, I only had two paint rollers and they’re pretty short, so you clean up the trash.”  

“I’m on it!”  KO gave a big smile, bouncing on his heels at the thought of having his own special mission.

“Now, the second thing…”  Mr Gar leaned forward over his employees, to gain a more intimidating presence.  “I want you three to come back here tonight, and keep watch over the plaza.  If the creep who did this comes back, you’re to stop them at all costs.  Understood?”

Enid and Rad looked at each other nervously, before giving their boss a shaky thumbs-up.  

“If this wall isn’t sparkling white when I come in tomorrow morning, I am going to be very.  Very.  Disappointed in you.”  He leaned back into his normal posture, and even a little further to crack his back.  “Welp, time’s a-wastin’, Bodegamen.  Get to work!”

All three shouted “Yes sir!” after him as he departed back towards the loading dock, leaving them to their tasks.  

KO excitedly hopped around gathering spray cans, while Rad and Enid set up the paint tray.  Enid in particular looked up at the mural again, studying the various scenes it depicted:  A giant orange dragon along the top, who seemed to be desperately chomping and grabbing at a bunch of glittering technoes in mid-flight.  In the center, a nondescript man in a cowboy hat riding a yellow horse, shooting what looked like a revolver at the dragon, and missing all six shots.  Off to one side, a cute cartoony mouse glowing a gross nuclear green, and with what looked like toxic waste dripping from its mouth.  On the other side, the artist’s tag, reading “DB” in simple, red block letters.

She sadly contemplated what she would soon have to do to the piece.

“So...who do you think could’ve made this anyway?”  KO asked as he ducked between his friends to grab a paint can.

Rad didn’t even hesitate.  “It’s Darrell.  No question.”

“Are you sure?”  Enid gestured towards the parking lot with her thumb.  “I know he’s a graffiti wiener, but usually all he does is tag our sign every now and then.  I didn’t think he was able to do stuff like...this.”

“You know any other graffiti wieners with the initials ‘DB’?” he asked, pointing towards the tag.  He coated his paint roller in the tray, and raised it to the mural.  “Welp, guess we better get paintin’.”

“Hold up a second, Rad!”  Enid put down her roller and took several steps back, motioning for him to move aside.  She produced her phone from her pocket and took several pictures of the wall, occasionally stepping to the right or the left to get a better angle.  “It’s kind of a waste to just cover it up like this, you know?”

“Dude, Enid, it was painted by a Boxbot.”

“Oh well?  I still think it looks cool.”  She took one final picture, and then swiped back through them.  “I’ve been reading a bunch of articles in Alt EDM Monthly about this DJ that also posts a ton of graffiti tutorials on Social Media, so I guess I’ve been on a real street art kick.  And this…”  She cropped a picture of the mouse portion.  “...is my new lock screen.”

“Heh, okay then,” Rad scoffed.

She put her phone away and grabbed the roller again.  “Alright, now let’s get to work.”  

I didn’t take long before the whole wall was covered in two coats of plain white, letting through no traces of the graffiti underneath.  The alleyway was spotless, with KO even finishing with the paint cans early and then using the time to collect the rest of the place’s usual debris.  It was at least an eventful start to a dull early morning shift, the three silently agreed.

--

The late shift, though, was another story.  Mr Gar had let his employees leave early to make up for coming back so late, and they were refreshed and ready for a Boxbot fight.

They took up a lookout position in a part of the fenced junkyard overlooking the alley, hiding behind a large pile of trash and robot parts.  Enid checked the time, quietly signalling to the other two to keep their eyes open, but three hours later even she was ready to call it a night.  Not even a tiny dinosaur had passed through the alley at all.

KO looked up at his friends and yawned.  “I think we should just go home.  I told Mommy we’d be out past my bedtime, but not this late…”

“You wanna take a nap, go ahead kiddo.  I’m about there too.”  Rad shifted to a slightly more comfortable position, not an easy feat in a pile of scrap metal.

“Guys, don’t stick me with lookout.”  Enid continued scrolling through her Social Media feed to keep awake, not even paying attention to her duties at all.

They heard a metallic thump, and Enid looked up from her phone. “Rad, was that you?”  She shook him awake when she got no response.

“It sounded like it was coming from the parking lot!”  KO whispered.  The three peeked out from behind their pile to see a hooded figure sneaking into view around the front of the plaza.  The intruder kept nervously looking around to make sure the alley was clear, before jogging back to the site of their previous mural.  The bodega employees couldn’t be sure in the dark, but it looked like the figure sighed as they laid a bright green backpack on the pavement and pulled back their hood.

The exposed brain case and large, single eye in the center of their forehead as they whipped their head around to do one last sweep of the area were unmistakable.

“Yep, that’s a Darrell.”  Rad pulled the other two back behind the pile.  “Ready to smash ‘im?”

“...You know what?  Hang on a sec.”  Enid grabbed Rad’s shoulder and held him in place.  “We’ve still got that white paint, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then…”  Enid let him go to peek at Darrell, squinting to see better in the dark.  “I say we just let him go.  I kinda wanna see what he does.”

KO peeked around the other side of the trash pile.  “But Enid,”  he whispered, “What about Mr Gar?  Darrell’s gonna mess up the wall again.”

“We’ll just repaint it once he’s done.”

“Oh…”  

Darrell dug in his backpack for a few moments, before finally pulling out the aerosol can he was looking for.  He popped the top off, just letting it clatter along the pavement, and shook the can vigorously before laying down the first marks of a new piece.

“Orange!”  KO excitedly whispered to the others.  “He’s using orange first!”

“Yeah.  Looks like he’s got a flame theme with this one,” Enid and KO both quietly got comfortable to watch the show.

Rad rolled his eyes.  “I guess I just don’t get it.”  He didn’t exactly stop watching Darrell work, though, from over KO’s shoulder.

The robot finished the base coat on the flames, and set the can down at his feet.  He dug in his bag again and pulled out a can of yellow, and then a can of red, using them to add variation to the flat orange.  With the flame background detailed, he placed the red can with the others and stepped back to take in his work.  Satisfied, he dug for yet another can, and started painting black vertical bars across the entire canvas.

“Aw, what’s he doing?”  KO pouted.  “He’s ruining it!”

Enid clapped her hand over her little friend’s mouth as his whispering got just a little too loud for comfort.  “Let’s just see where he’s going with this.”

As he started focusing on a portion of the canvas, though, Darrell suddenly started to act uneasy.  He whipped his head around again, scanning the alley for anyone watching his efforts.  The bodega trio ducked back behind their garbage pile just quick enough to avoid being spotted.  He stared towards the junkyard for more than a few seconds, before finally turning back towards the wall and continuing with the black paint.

“Phew…”  Enid held KO on her lap as Rad leaned back into the trash.  He didn’t do so as silently as he’d hoped, though, and a small piece of scrap metal above his head loosened and dropped, loudly skittering across the ground as all three looked on in horror.

In the alley, Darrell jumped at the noise, throwing his paint at a nearby trash can.  Like a startled rabbit, he bolted towards the parking lot, not even bothering to check what had made the sound.  As he turned the corner out of sight, the trio heard his rocket boots activate and fade into the distance in the direction of Boxmore.

Enid released a breath she’d been holding for what seemed like the entire night, relieved she could finally do so without watching her volume.  She and KO left their post to examine the fresh mural their archenemy had left behind, while Rad leaned against a clean wall nearby.

Between the black bars, Darrell had been painting a pair of hands gripping two of them when he was interrupted, one of which appeared to be melting and dripping down into the flames below.

“Huh.  He’s a tortured artist.  I like it.”  Enid pulled out her phone again to snap pictures, using the flash to illuminate the area.

Rad, however, started investigating a much more intriguing target.  “Hey, guys, look what he left for us!”  He picked up the paint-filled backpack and draped it over his shoulder.  He had forgotten to actually close it, though, and as he whipped it around about a dozen paint cans labelled in various colors fell out and scattered down the alley, which KO helpfully ran after.

“You guys, quit bein’ so loud!”  Enid couldn't help but laugh at her coworkers’ antics, though.  

“You’re one to talk, E.”  Rad set the bag down between his feet and opened it wide.  “Toss me one, KO!”

He did so, though his aim was a bit off.  Rad quickly grabbed the tossed can in midair using his telekinesis, guiding it home.  “Good shot, buddy!  Keep ‘em coming!”

While the boys repacked the backpack, Enid got to work preparing the rollers and paint tray.  It took just about as long as it had done earlier to apply the two coats and hide all evidence that anyone had vandalized the plaza once again.

“Just one thing left to do I guess.”  Enid motioned toward the backpack draped over Rad’s shoulder.  “Let’s toss that thing back across the street.”

Rad resisted.  “Actually, I got a better idea.  I’ll hang onto it for now.”  He put on the backpack a bit more properly, with both straps around his shoulders.

“What, you repainting your van with that stuff?”

“Naw, you’ll see.”  He smirked.  “Besides, maybe if Darrell doesn’t have this he won’t be able to come back tomorrow night.”

“I don’t think that’ll stop him.”  Enid sighed.  “We might want to keep an eye out for him tomorrow too.  Meet me here at midnight?”

KO and Rad agreed.  The latter checked his phone, and groaned.

“Speakin’ of my van, yeesh.  It is way too late.  I’ll drive us home.”

KO looked up at the moon, barely visible over the alley wall above them.  “Yeah…I definitely missed my bedtime.”

--

Darrell did return the next night, as the trio expected.  This time he carried a light blue backpack, with an ‘S’ and a few of what were either flowers or tiny sawblades embroidered along the top.  He was much more careful to make sure he was unwatched, however, to the point of even walking up to the junkyard fence to check behind the piles of trash.  

Luckily, the bodega employees had taken up a new lookout spot on the roof, just above the wall Darrell had taken to painting.  They peered down at him periodically as he worked, using the sound of his spray can to judge when it was safe to do so.

From that angle, it was difficult to miss the large crack in Darrell’s brain case.

“Hey, we blew him up today, right?”  Enid whispered.  KO nodded; this was definitely a different body than the one they’d chucked into the junkyard piece by piece earlier in the day.  

The robot started spraying again, so Enid leaned over the ledge, checking his progress.  So far, he had finished what looked like a portrait of himself, simplified of course, and with a sad expression on his face.  Darrell stepped back, though with his eye luckily focused forward, and she noticed he was mimicking the expression on his real face.  Then he looked down at his feet, searching for one of the colors he’d used previously, as Enid ducked back to safety.

“He’s getting a little more literal today,” she commentated to a curious KO.  He took the next turn to lean forward, with Rad tightly holding onto his hand just in case.

As KO was pulled back, he quietly reported the next developments.  “He started drawing...something around his head.”  He looked down.  “I couldn’t tell what it was yet.”

Enid scrolled through her phone.  “Rad, you’re up.”

The alien peeked down for a second, then quickly leaned back.  “He’s got teal.  I think he’s drawing my fist,” he whispered, making one to illustrate his statement.

“That’s...weird.  Is he drawing us fighting him?”

“I dunno, KO.”  Rad took another peek.  Looks like he’s got yours and I think Enid’s fists too.  And a bunch of others…

“Let me see.”  Enid set down her phone and took her turn once Darrell was distracted again below.  There were indeed a number of arms ending in fists aimed at the painted Darrell’s head -- she recognized Rad’s immediately, and KO’s with his armband, and one plain human one that had to be hers, but there were also a bright orange one, one with a red glove, a catlike yellow claw, a couple of purple ones, and a green one.  And a large open space at the very top, which she could barely examine before she needed to duck away as Darrell glanced up towards it.

The three stayed far from the edge for a while, just listening as he sprayed that final arm, which seemed to take longer than all the others.  Eventually, the sounds of the robot shaking cans and spraying paint gave way to some sniffling.  Then, the sound that they had been waiting for, as Darrell rustled through his backpack again, and all three leaned over the ledge to see the final result.

In that top spot was a bright yellow chicken claw, not just aiming at the painted Darrell but actually smashing right through his brain case, with bits of the green glass and even little fleshy chunks painted around the wound.  The robot’s eye had also been painted over with a large black X.  They momentarily glanced down at Darrell, who had stopped searching his bag and was wiping away a few tears.

The three ducked back, still silent.  Enid looked at the boys, with an expression of horror.

“Okay, he’s a really tortured artist.”

Rad nodded.  “This got dark.”

They were interrupted by Darrell shaking another can, this time much more vigorously.  Rad held out KO to watch as he began haphazardly painting what eventually turned into a crude depiction of Lord Boxman’s face, finishing with his bright red eye.  Darrell stood there holding the can of red for a moment, sadly looking at the second piece...and then angrily crossed it out.  And then again, and again -- he wildly swung the can around while spraying, as if to assault the image with the paint.  Eventually he threw the can itself at the image, and, still frustrated, even started kicking at the wall with his boot until he had finally vented all of his rage.  

He stepped back again, picked up the can of red, and quickly finished the piece by placing his tag in the corner, in red block letters:  “DB”.  He then unceremoniously kicked aside the cans he’d used, put on the backpack, and ran out of the alley, leaving the area empty for the bodega employees to descend.

Enid once again snapped plenty of pictures of the wall as KO and Rad picked up the scattered spray cans, though this time without a backpack to catch them in.  As the teens worked at covering the graffiti, Rad spoke up.

“Do you think this actually happened to him today?”

“Well…”  Enid compared the damage she had seen from above versus the damage in the painting.  “Maybe a super angsty emo-teen version of what happened to him today.  Guess things aren’t going so great at Boxmore right now.”  She looked down, and stopped.  “Wait, shoot…”

There were bright red footprints going down the alleyway a short distance, from the mural site to the sidewalk in front of the fitness dojo before they finally faded, likely from Darrell’s boots as he ran.  She remembered KO’s report of the robot kicking at the red paint and facepalmed.  

“Oh geez.  So much for cleaning up all the evidence he was here…”  She ran her finger over one of the tracks.  “It’s already dry.”

“Hang on, I think I know how to fix this!”  KO searched through the paint cans he’d collected and found the black one.  He slowly shook it as he’d seen Darrell do, then, holding it with both hands, pressed down on the top to spray a large black blob of paint onto the asphalt, covering the footprint fully.

Enid giggled, and patted him on the back.  “Vandalism is wrong, Brush Head.  But, good idea.”  She found him a lighter gray can for the sidewalk, and let KO cover the rest of Darrell’s tracks while she helped Rad finish on the wall.

--

Darrell’s subject matter wasn’t nearly as dark the next night, or the night after that.  They noticed from the roof that the crack in his head had been repaired, and he smiled and even hummed off-key as he worked, covering the wall in some more abstract, experimental images, like a door being shut in someone’s face with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging on it, and a princess tiara being chewed on by a swarm of rats, and a few frogs jumping around in a puddle of oil. 

He seemed to be using the latter two to practice his shading, and even worked it into his “DB” tag, trying a gradient effect on the letters the fourth night, then a failed chrome effect the fifth night that he angrily painted over in plain red, and finally another attempt at the chrome on the sixth night that was a clear success. 

Of course, every night after he finished painting the wall, the trio painted over it once again, though not before Enid could take a photo.  She flipped through them at work on the seventh day since Mr Gar had tasked them with keeping the wall vandalism-free, until Red Action stopped her on one.

“Dude, this one’s sick!”  

“I know, right?  He’s actually getting really good.”  

“Man, it’ll really stink when you guys finally make him stop in the alley.”

Enid shook her head, trying to empty out the cobwebs and process what she had just heard.  “When...we make him stop?”

“Dude, you’ve been stayin’ up a whole week watching ‘im, right?  That can’t be good for ya.”  Red pointed out the dark bags under Enid’s eyes, and the fact that she’d dozed off at least twice since Red entered the bodega.

Enid recounted the number of graffiti murals she’d photographed.  There were seven, it had been an entire week.

No wonder she was so tired.

Enid yawned after being reminded of the fact, watching it spread throughout the store as KO and Rad both copied her.  

“We seriously have been up every night for an entire week, huh.”  She pressed at her forehead.  “Yeah, we gotta stop this.”

“I mean, it’s still cool and all, but whatever.”  Red scoffed.  “Probably for the best you just sleep and let ‘im go.  You gotta take care of yourself more.”

“What’s Mr Gar gonna think if we don’t cover it up every night, though?”  Enid shuddered.  

“Well, that’s why you gotta chase him away!”  Red unconsciously formed her hand into an arm cannon.  “Just blast ‘im a couple times, like you do when they bust over here during the day!”

Rad interrupted from aisle 2, “I can blast him tonight no problem!  Right in his robo-butt!”

Enid just shook her head, smiling.  “Rad, please think before you open your mouth for once…”  She finished ringing up Red Action’s order, waving her off as she left.  With the store now empty, Enid’s coworkers gathered around the counter.

“So, we’re really gonna stop Darrell tonight?”  KO yawned again.  

“Yeah, bud.  There’s no way we can keep this up.”

The other two were quiet, leaning against the counter to stay up.  Enid was so tired she didn’t even care they were touching her sacred space.

Suddenly Rad seemed to realize something.  “Hey, Enid, can I...try something tonight, when we see him in the alley?”

“Sure dude, what did you have in mind?”

“Remember when I took his backpack with all that paint, and I said I had a plan I was working on?”  

KO lit up.  “Oh yeah!  You were gonna repaint your van with that stuff!”  He laughed as Rad playfully punched him in the shoulder.

“No, squirt.  I was gonna do somethin’ cool for us, but it might work better to try it on him tonight.  You know, instead of just smashing his face.”  He looked uncharacteristically serious.  “The thing is, though...I gotta go get some stuff ready after we stop him.  So, can you and KO hold him there for a couple of minutes?”

Enid and KO looked at each other, and nodded.  

“Well, it sounds like we’ve got a plan,” Enid announced.  The three put out their fists, bumping them across the counter.  “See you guys tonight.”

--

For their final night of watching Darrell, the trio again hid in the junkyard, trusting that their target had relaxed enough to not look behind the trash piles again.  To their relief, he didn’t, and as he arrived Darrell simply set down his backpack and began rifling through it for the right color as usual.

“So, when he tries to run…”  Enid pointed towards the alley exit, on the parking lot side.  “Rad, you’ll catch him, then pass him off to us.  We’ll keep him here until you’re ready to go.”

Rad gave a thumbs-up, and readied himself alongside KO.  As Darrell finally selected his can and started shaking it, he loudly shouted, “Hey!”

Darrell turned around, his eye widening in shock at the sight of the alien jumping out from behind a trash pile and floating over the fence, the other two shrouded in a pink glow as he brought them along too.  He shrieked and bolted towards the parking lot, just as Enid had predicted, tossing the easily-dodged paint can in Rad’s direction.  Rad’s finger glowed as he quickly grabbed the robot’s legs with his telekinetic powers, then the rest of him, and yanked him back into the alley, where Enid and KO grabbed his arms and held him in place on the ground.

“You good?”

“Yeah, go for it!”  Enid adjusted her grip as Darrell struggled, and Rad sprinted away towards the loading dock.

“Stop it, Darrell!”  KO used a free hand to pat him on the head, to the robot’s confusion.  “We aren’t gonna fight you this time, okay?  Rad’s got a plan!”

“Oh, so what, you’re gonna turn me in or something?”  Darrell made another attempt to get free, but no success.

“No, you jerk.  We wanna talk.”  Enid paused, then experimentally loosened her grip to show she meant it.  “You cool with that, dude?”  

Darrell squinted.  “...Really?  Why?”

“Hang on, lemme show you something.”  She dug her phone out of her pocket.  “We’ve been staking you out here every night this week, to see what you paint.  And, I guess to cover it up too before Mr Gar sees.  But, we think it’s really cool, okay!”  She turned on the lock screen, showing the nuclear rat she still had on it.  “See?  I took pictures of all of them before we cleaned them up.”

Darrell looked up at the phone and, appropriately, made a tiny, scared squeak.  

“You’re...You’re gonna tell my dad I’ve been coming here, aren’t you?”  He stopped struggling, instead sitting up a bit and curling defensively into his cloak.  “That’s your plan, isn’t it?  Get me in trouble again, for sneaking out after curfew every night, with proof?”

“No, dude!”  She released her grip entirely, now that the robot was pacified.  “We’re saying we like your art!  Right KO?”

“Yeah!”   The boy giggled.  “I really liked the cowboy fighting that dragon, and that one with a lot of fire, and the snakes!  They were all really beautiful!”

Darrell paused, unsure how to even react.  “...R...Really?  You...thought they were...cool?”  He blushed, turning away from his archenemies.  “You guys thought...I was cool?”

“Eh, you’re still kind of a nerd.  But yeah, your art really is cool, Darrell.”  Enid unlocked her phone and flipped through the photos again as he watched.  “You’re getting really good.  Where did you even learn to tag like that?”

“Well, there’s this DJ on Social Media who posts a lot of tutorials.  I was just following those…”

“Nice.”  Enid flashed him a thumbs-up, but then landed on the painting of Darrell having his brain case punched in.  The robot shifted uncomfortably at seeing it again, averting his eye.  

“Is...there some bad blood going on between you and your dad right now, Darrell?”

He sunk into his cloak a little more, shrinking into the space between his captors.  “I don’t have blood,” the robot said matter-of-factly.  “But...I guess I was having a bad day.  You really saw that, huh?”

“Yep.  All of it.”  Enid shrugged.  “Sorry.”  She noticed Rad poking his head around the corner, beckoning them towards the back of the plaza.  “Hey, come on.  Rad’s got something for ya.”

“We don't know what it is,” KO added as he led the others, “but we know it’s not Lord Boxman!”

Darrell gave a small smile, and willingly followed the kid around the corner, gasping when he saw…

“My backpack!”  He dropped onto the ground and hugged it.  “I was looking everywhere for this thing!”

“That’s not the surprise, dude.  Look up.”  Rad stood proudly in front of three large shipping pallets, the kind the bodega received every day, all painted with the same white paint they had been using on the wall.  He had them leaned against the loading dock’s door, a ready canvas begging to be painted.

“Wait, these are...for me?”  Darrell stood, taking several seconds to process the situation.

“Look, buddy, graffiti-ing the plaza is...kind of illegal, but you weren’t really hurting anyone with it.  And this way you’re not actually painting anything on the plaza, and if Mr Gar doesn’t like it he can just toss ‘em and I’ll get you some new ones.”  Rad pointed to the pile of used pallets by the door.  “Seriously, we have so many…”

Darrell snapped out of his processing.  “So, I can come here at night...and tag these?  And you guys’ll let me?”  The bodega employees nodded.

He hugged his backpack tighter, not even bothering to hide the excitement on his face.  But then he thought for a moment, and set the bag down, pulling out a few random cans of paint.  

“Hey, um...If you guys want…”  He held one up towards KO.  “You wanna tag with me?  Just, like this once…”

KO happily took the paint.  “We’d love to, Darrell!”  He glanced at Enid and Rad, who just smiled and obliged, taking cans for themselves.  

The four each picked a portion of the canvas and got to work, not stopping until they started butting in on their neighbors’ art, and with the entirety of the three pallets covered they stepped back to admire the finished piece.  They could only laugh together at how much the art clashed, from Radicles’ rough depictions of muscled teal cats, to Darrell’s abstract gears and wires, to Enid’s ninja clan logos and a “DJ Fireball” tag, to KO’s very rough but lovingly-rendered painting of him and his friend Baby Teeth riding a unicorn to a hot dog stand (as he described it to his confused audience).  

Enid pulled out her phone to photograph the mural as this time Darrell scooped up the used cans into his reclaimed backpack, but as she was trying to get a clear shot Rad edged into the frame, standing in front of his section while contorting his face into the silliest possible expression.  KO almost immediately followed suit, ignoring Enid’s attempts to get the two to move.  Then Darrell backed into the frame as well, throwing an amazingly corny finger gun pose in front of his section, and Enid couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Rad?”

“On it.”  He used his power to hold the phone up and tap the selfie button as Enid took her place and ridiculous pose as well, and once everything was in place he snapped the picture.

“That was perfect!”  Darrell cried out, cracking up once again as he saw the final result.  He put on the backpack, then nervously tapped his fingers in front of him as he tried to think of what one was supposed to say to their mortal enemies after genuinely having fun together for over an hour.

“Th-Thanks for...all this.  Really.  I’ll...I’ll see you tomorrow when I attack the plaza, I guess.  Bye!”  He smiled and waved as he ran around to the parking lot again, using his rocket boots to cross the street.

The others stayed for a bit, still admiring the graffiti, but then KO broke out into laughter once again.

“What’s so funny, kid?”  Rad giggled a little along with him.

“You guys...we just hung out and painted a picture and took a funny selfie with a Boxbot.  Friend-style!”

The other two sat up in shock.  

“We...we really did, huh Brush Head?”  Enid joined in, laughing alongside KO and Rad.

“Oh man, I kinda wish we could tell Lord Boxman without Darrell getting in trouble.  I just wanna see the look on his face!”

“Don’t worry Rad, I bet he’d just be like…”  Enid made a face somewhere between ‘seething rage’ and ‘just ate the sourest candy in the world’, to the others’ amusement.  

The two picked themselves up and piled into Rad’s van, ready to finally call it a night for good.

--

“KO, Rad, and Enid!!”  The three immediately snapped to attention in front of Mr Gar, but then looked on in pure terror as their enraged boss held up a blue embroidered backpack full of spray paint.

“Anyone care to tell me what this was doing in the alleyway this morning?”

“Oh.”

“Uh…”  Enid and Rad searched for a way to explain the night’s activities, but then KO spoke up.

“The graffiti wiener came back last night, sir.  But we scared him before he could paint in the alley!”  Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

Gar harrumphed before handing the bag to the child.  “Well, good job I guess.  Now go do something with this where I can’t see it.”  He stomped back into his office, grumbling something about having to throw away a bunch of shipping pallets as well.

The employees breathed a sigh of relief, returning to their daily bodega tasks.  As KO began to carry the heavy backpack into the break room, though, the Boxmore alarm blared.

“Cob, now?  Really?”  Enid pinched her septum and hopped over the counter.  She led the charge to meet the two large boxes crashing into the parking lot, which seemed to be...yelling at each other?

Darrell and Shannon both broke out, focusing more on each other than the plaza.

“Look, I know you took it, so just tell me where it is!”

“I told you like three times Mushroom-Head, I don’t know where you left it!”

“You’re seriously still saying I lost my-!”  She looked at KO, still holding the backpack, and pounced, ripping it out of the child’s hands.  “My backpack!  What the heck are you losers doing with it?!”

KO glanced over her shoulder at Darrell, now very anxious that he’d been caught in his lies, and winked.  Darrell tried to wink back in return, but it ended up as more of a regular blink.

“We stole it!  And filled it with trash!”  KO claimed, as Shannon opened it to reveal the spray cans.  She tossed the bag aside in her confusion, and whipped out a sawblade right into his face.

“How dare you, you little…”

Rad yawned as he lifted her away with his telekinesis, throwing her right into the path of one of Enid’s fireballs, which in turn redirected the robot less-than-gracefully into the pavement.  With a final power punch from KO, Shannon was down for the count.

The three turned then to Darrell, who drew out his arm cannon but otherwise paused before his attack.  

“Hey, guys, um...I’ve gotta fight you right now, but...is it cool if we hang out again tonight?”  He shrugged.  “It was really fun.”

“Honestly that sounds awesome, bro, but…”  Rad motioned for Enid to continue as he dropkicked Shannon’s backpack over to Boxmore, for her to pick up once she rebooted.

Enid rubbed her eyes, still with dark circles under them.  “We have a lot of sleep to catch up on, dude.  Maybe next week?”  

Darrell gave her a thumbs-up in response, then powered up his cannon and charged into battle.

[sophisticated-angel]

The Night We Met

Character: Dean Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warning: mention of Alzheimer’s and parent death

Word Count: 4,915

Story

   The first time they meet, Dean is pretending to be her father’s work associate. A series of suspiciously similar deaths – her father’s included – warrants an investigation. He won the bet that let him be the one to canvas the wake while Sam spends the night looking at bodies in the morgue. It’s a cool evening, summer; the wake goes into the night, and he feels out of place the whole time. Everyone has money and they act like it. One can tell by the way they talk that they’ve never seen a number with fewer than five digits in it. Dean suspects they were all weaned on some fancy food with an unpronounceable name.

   She has no answers to his usual questions. There haven’t been any cold spots or strange smells in the house, and nobody was acting odd around the time of her father’s death. “Everyone was a little off, if that’s what you mean,” she tells him. “Nobody wanted to talk about Dad but still felt like they had to. It was uncomfortable.”

   “Alzheimer’s, right?”

   She sighs. “That’s the thing . . . don’t tell anybody, but the doctor couldn’t conclusively figure out what it was.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “He said the symptoms were similar, but they came on too fast and too strong. Instead of forgetting the little things, he started forgetting whole days right off the bat. Whole events. It started with the recent ones, but then he forgot the time he took me to Paris when I was eight, going to my high school graduation, the time in college when I brought home that boyfriend he hated . . .” She goes a little misty-eyed at the thought of it all, and Dean feels bad for committing this necessary evil. “Anyway, the doctor said the severity progressed too quickly to be Alzheimer’s. That disease takes years, but Dad was gone in three months. We needed something to put in the obituary, though.”

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Thanks. So, um, how did you know my father again?”

   “We worked together. I’m in . . . advertising.”

   “You must be a new hire. I never saw you around the office.”

   “Yeah, I’ve been working some from home. Dealing with some . . . family stuff.”

   “Well, that means you haven’t had a chance to network. Come on. I’ll introduce you to some people of note.”

*    *    *    *    *

   The second time they meet, she’s in her father’s private office. In the week following their CEO’s death, the family has banded together to keep their company afloat until the replacement gets here – some distant cousin who’s been honeymooning in Italy. She’s changed out of her black dress and into a blue skirt suit and a pair of heels that, especially with her hair pulled back in a neat bun, make her look incredibly professional. When Dean enters, she greets him with a polite smile and invites him to sit down.

   “What brings you back?” she asks.

   “I have another question for you. I heard there was a nurse who took care of your dad, but I don’t know his name.”

   “Jedediah Coombs. He was a godsend, showed up when Dad was homebound and made the whole thing easier on all of us. You looking for somebody?”

   “Yes,” Dean lies. “I’ve got an elderly uncle who could use some looking after.”

   “Jed’s the best there is. Expensive, but worth it. I should have his card still.” After digging in her purse, she finds a tattered business card and hands it to him. It bears a name, a number, and a short list of some of the services provided.

   Later, he talks his way past the daytime maid service and has a look around the house. Due to its sheer size, it takes him a while to do much searching, but he focuses on the father’s room and the bedroom where he assumes the nurse was staying. There’s nothing out of the ordinary that he can find – no hex bags, no EMF, no sulfur, or the like. It’s starting to look like these identical deaths are nothing more than a freaky coincidence, and he says as much to Sam when he gets back to the motel.

   “Actually, I think you’re wrong,” Sam argues. “That nurse you had me look into? I think he’s been with every one of these victims. The obituaries mention a caretaker, and when I talked to the wife of the last family – the Hathaways – she said hiring the guy was the best thing they ever did.”

   “So he’s our guy. How’s he doing it?”

   “No clue. If there’s nothing on the house or the bodies, maybe it’s psychological. Some kind of djinn?”

   “Djinn put people to sleep, not suck out their ability for higher functioning.”

   “Something new?”

   “Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

   “And get this. I can’t track Jed, but Mr. Hathaway was seeing a therapist, and I’m pretty sure all the other victims were, too. Problem is, nobody can remember anything about anybody, so I’ve got nothing else.”

   “Jed’s got an accomplice. Great.” Dean’s cell phone rings. The number is (y/n)’s which worries him at first, but all she wants is to meet him for lunch tomorrow. She explains that if he’s still interested in hiring Jedediah, she could give him a firsthand account to see if it’s what he’s looking for. He’s aware it’s a personal offer. A letter of recommendation would do the trick, but instead she wants to meet with him for lunch. He knows what she wants and because he rather wants it too, he takes her up on the offer.

*    *    *    *    *

   The third time they meet is the next day for that lunch. There’s a private restaurant at the top floor of her father’s company building reserved for higher ranking employees and their guests. As with the wake, Dean feels drastically out of place among all the fancy business people despite the fact that he’s wearing his ‘Fed threads’. By the time he arrives at the restaurant, (y/n) is already at a table and offers him a menu when he sits.

   “Not late, am I?”

   “No, I’m early. Dad always insisted on punctuality.”

   Dean notices now that she’s wearing the same outfit as yesterday. All that’s changed is that her hair is a little bit messier. “Weren’t you wearing that yesterday? Don’t get me wrong, it looks good on you, but you strike me as the sort of woman who has a different outfit for every day.”

   “I am when I think about it, but with all that’s been going on, Dad, the business . . .” she makes a gagging motion.

   “You don’t like working here?”

   “It’s not my thing. Everything thinks I’m the best one to take over the company because I’m the boss’s daughter, but Chris is the better choice. I’m just filling a role until he gets here.”

   “Chris?”

   “The cousin. Second cousin, technically.”

   “Ah.” Dean clears his throat. “You said you wanted to tell me about Jed?”

   She gives him a confused look. “Did I? I don’t remember that. Then again, I would have forgotten about lunch if the secretary hadn’t reminded me. Stress, I suppose. What can I tell you?”

   “What’s he like?”

   “Kind, understanding, patient even on the worst days. Dad started sleeping well after we hired him. Mom always said Jed had a magic touch.”

   “Where’d you hear about him?”

   “Well, running a company is stressful, so Dad was seeing a therapist. When he got sick, his therapist told us about this guy who did hospice care.” She laughs and toys with the corner of her menu. “Do you really want to talk about this?”

   “That’s why we’re having lunch, isn’t it?”

   “If I’m being honest, I have . . . other goals.”

   “I’m a ‘goal’ now?”

   (y/n) blushes. “I just meant – I’m sorry, this is . . . this is very suddenly a mess.”

   “Would you feel better if I said I have ‘goals’ too?” This bring a smile to her face. Dean likes it, and he moves away from the subject of Jedediah. “So, what’s good at this place?”

*    *    *    *    *

   The fourth time they meet, it’s for dinner at her house only two days after their lunch date. Without saying anything, they agree to keep their meeting up a secret. They’re not sure how her mother would react to her daughter exploring a relationship so soon after their loss, but family friends have been stopping by every day since the funeral. He brings Sam along as well. They wait on the doorstep after ringing the doorbell.

   “There’s something else I noticed about these deaths,” Sam tells him in a low voice. “There are more that follow. First, it’s the CEO, then a couple months later the spouse dies. Cops rule it a suicide every time, and then the heir disappears. Trail always runs cold, and then the company capsizes. I didn’t notice it before because the second obituary comes so long after the first, but then the Hathaways . . .”

   “What about them?”

   Sam sighs. “I went back there today. Mrs. Hathaway was found dead two days ago, and their son disappeared this morning.”

   “So these monsters . . . they’re going after families? Why?”

   “I have no idea.”

   Before they can discuss it further, (y/n) opens the door, smiling at them both. She introduces them to her mother, and then she turns to a well-dressed man with a long but well kept beard and hair to match. He looks like a hippie. “Dean, this is Mr. Coombs,” she explains.

   Dean forces himself to be polite through the introduction and the appetizer course. He fakes it well, but all the time he’s wondering what exactly the hell Jedediah is and where his friend is. And also how to kill them both before they get to (y/n) and her mother. Sam actually attempts to make conversation with him.

   “So, Mr. Coombs-”

   “Please,” Jed says in his Southern drawl, “call me Jed.”

   “Jed, I don’t mean to pry, but why are you still here? You don’t have a job here anymore.”

   “Well, these kind folks have been through quite a lot lately, and I want to do what I can to help them in their time of grief.”

   “Oh, he’s being humble,” says (y/n)’s mother. “He’s been such a help to us, connecting us with that therapist.”

   “Therapist?”

   (y/n) cuts in, “It’s nothing.”

   “Honey, it’s not nothing. You know it could be serious if we don’t get a handle on it.”

   Dean asks (y/n), “What’s going on?”

   Rolling her eyes, (y/n) explains. “Mom and I, we’ve been forgetting little things more often than usual. Jed thinks it’s stress related, and he’s asked a friend of his to come in and teach us a few stress management and relaxation techniques. That’s all.”

   “Why not see your dad’s therapist?”

   The two women look at each other. “Dad never had a therapist.”

   Dean glances at Sam. “I guess I’m mixed up. Who’s the therapist?”

   “Paul Walker. Jed can give you his information, I’m sure.”

   “I’m good, thanks. We actually have to be going. There’s a . . . thing, I forgot about.”

   “The business world waits for no one. I’ll walk you to the door.” She does exactly that. Before Dean can leave, though, and when no one is looking, she sneaks him a kiss on the cheek. He would float on this, but there’s a more serious matter to think about.

   Dean stops halfway to his car and looks back at the door. “We’re too late. I don’t want to leave her in there with him. God damn it.”

*    *    *    *    *

   The fifth time they meet, it’s the same night. He’s in his motel room looking for anything to help him take down Jed and his accomplice, but whatever they are, they’re either novel or obscure. It’s a break when his phone rings and uplifting to recognize the number.

   “My mom went to bed early,” (y/n) says, “so I’m all alone in this big empty house.”

   “Are you asking me to come over?”

   “Hell no. I need to get out of here and have a little fun.”

   “It’s almost midnight.”

   “Bar’s open ‘til two. You game?”

   “Yeah, that sounds like fun. I’ll swing by your place in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he grabs his jacket and his keys, assuring Sam that it won’t be all fun and games tonight.

   That was sort of a lie. It’s a lot of fun and games even though he keeps an eye out for questionable characters. First, this pretty Daddy’s girl gets into his car wearing jeans and a simple blouse, and her hair is down and loose. The simple change affects her in such a way that he has to make a comment about picking up the wrong girl. Second, she shows him the side of her that isn’t all about business or wrapped up in grief over losing her father. He meets the pool-playing, beer-drinking girl she was in college. They talk as friends rather than grieving daughter and pretend businessman. All too soon, the bar is closing, and he has to drive her home. In the stillness after parking the car in her driveway, it goes from no words to her leaning in for a kiss with a hand on his cheek. When their lips part, he smiles, smelling the lingering scent of beer on her breath.

   “I knew there was more where that came from,” he murmurs.

   She furrows her brow. “What are you talking about?”

   “The kiss you gave me earlier after dinner. I suspected you were saying something with that.”

   “You didn’t come to dinner. Mom and I ate alone, Jed stopped by a little later, but that’s it.”

   “(y/n), I was there, we – what did Jed want?”

   She scoffs and pulls away from him. “What is it with you and Jed? It’s all you ever talk about. He wanted to set up a good time for Paul to come over, okay?”

   “I don’t think you should meet Paul, and I don’t think you should hang around Jed either.”

   “What are you talking about? Don’t do this. Don’t ruin the entire evening we just had.”

   “I’m sorry, but this is really important. I don’t trust him.”

   “You wanna talk about important? My dad couldn’t sleep, couldn’t take care of himself, and he was angry and scared all the time. But then Jed comes along and makes his suffering easier. Jed knew what to do when the rest of us didn’t, and now he’s helping my mom and I get through the worst thing we’ve ever experienced. If you don’t think that’s important, then . . .” She trails off, fuming.

   “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

   “Go to hell.” She climbs out of the car and stalks into the house.

   Dean drives back to the motel in silence.

*    *    *    *    *

   The sixth time they meet, he’s broken into her office searching for anything on Jedediah Coombs and Paul Walker. It’s after the work day is over, after dark – even the janitor has gone home. He sent Sam to watch the house for signs of Jed, so he’s all alone here. Over the years he’s found this to be a peaceful moment in any hunt even if his search is fruitless. Whether the monsters have wiped evidence of themselves or if it got screwed with in the mess of the last week, there’s nothing about a nurse or a therapist. Frustrated, he shuts down the computer and leaves the office and runs blindly into another human being.

   “Dean!” (y/n) exclaims. “I didn’t see you. What are you doing here?”

   “I, uh, forgot my keys.”

   “Oh. I left my phone here.” An awkward pause fills the space between them.

   “I . . . should go . . .”

   “Wait, Dean. About last night . . . the whole thing was stupid.”

   “No, don’t-”

   “It was. I mean, I can’t even remember what we were arguing about, so it had to be stupid. I overreacted.”

   “I was annoying. I should’ve let the Jed thing alone, I was just-”

   “Who’s Jed?”

   Dean’s stomach drops. “Your dad’s hospice nurse.”

   “I know Dad had a nurse, but . . .” She shakes her head. “I don’t really remember him. I suppose that’s another thing Paul can help me with.”

   “Have you met him yet?”

   “No. He’s coming over tomorrow. Listen, I’d like to see you again sometime. Maybe we could try ending on a more positive note.”

   “Yeah, sure. You know, we could go now, we could have a couple drinks, maybe we’ll end up at my place this time.”

   “That’s sweet, but I should get home. Maybe Friday?”

   “I don’t want you to be alone. We could just drive for a while, if you want.”

   She looks down at her feet. “I guess just one drink won’t hurt.”

   He isn’t watching the clock, but it doesn’t feel like more than an hour before they’re making out behind the wheel of the Impala. They didn’t make it inside the bar. Distracted by conversation, they let time pass, and they kept moving closer and closer together until their hands touched. From there it only took one little sloppy kiss to push them both over the edge. She took a breath to comment on how deftly he was able to pull her shirt off but promptly started working on the buttons on his. He thought they would at least make it back to his motel, somewhere safer than his car, but obviously they wanted each other too much to wait. After it’s over, he reclines across the seat with his head against the window and hers on his chest. He feels the warmth of her skin on his and the press of her ribs when she takes a breath. One of her hands rests on his collarbone, and one of his is stroking her bare shoulders.

   “I like you, Dean,” she confesses. “I haven’t felt like this since college, and I’ve only known you for a week. There’s something about you.”

   “I’m pretty attractive, I know.”

   “And so humble.” She lifts her head to meet his eyes.

   He smiles back at her. “I like you too.”

   “So . . . when can I see you again?”

   “Whenever you want, sweetheart. You’ve got my number.”

   Dean doesn’t do dates. He does bar pick-ups and one-night stands that maybe last while he’s in town, but he doesn’t date. That’s for people who are looking for a relationship. These last couple of times he’s been with her, he’s told himself it’s for her own protection. She knows nothing about Jedediah and what he’s done and will do to her family, but he does. If he’s being honest with himself, he really has enjoyed their time together. Two dates and one dinner don’t exactly say she’s soulmate material, but for the first time in a while, he wants to stay with her. But first he has to kill a couple of monsters.

   “(y/n), I have to tell you something, and it’s gonna sound insane.”

   “Okay, what is it?”

   “There’s . . . things you don’t know about me. I’m not who you think I am.”

   “I’ve known you for a week, so that not surprising.”

   “That’s not what I mean.” He takes a deep breath. “There are things out there, bad things, and they go after people.”

   “Like a serial killer?”

   “Worse. And I’m not in advertising. I . . . I hunt these things. I’m kind of like a bounty hunter without the bounty part.”

   She’s silent and stares at him. There’s no way she could understand this, but he’s said too much to cut it off now. Either he stops talking, or he pushes forward.

   “There’s a couple of them after you. They’ve killed other people, ruined their lives, their companies-”

   “And now they’re after me? Do you know how insane you sound right now?”

   “Yes, I do, actually.”

   “So, what, I’m being stalked by a killer and you’re here to save me?”

   “I’m here to stop them from hurting anyone else. That includes you. I like you, (y/n), and I don’t want you to get hurt. The nurse is one of them, and the therapist you’re planning on seeing is the other.”

   “What is that supposed to mean?”

   “Your dad didn’t die from Alzheimer’s. The nurse did something to him and passed it off as a disease. Now they’re coming after you and your mom.”

   “Shut up.” She sits up and heaves a breath. “Is this what you’re like? You pick on people who mean something in my life and then tell me lies to make me believe you? To make me stay?”

   “I’m not lying to you. I promise.”

   “Don’t promise me anything.” Angrily, she pulls her clothes back on. “Just drive me home.”

   “I can’t. You’re not safe there.”

   “Take me home, Dean. Now.”

*    *    *    *    *

   The seventh time he sees her is at her house again. He’s going to get her away from Jed and Paul if he has to carry her away from here himself. It’s still early when he gets to her place, and he pounds on the door relentlessly until it opens. Rather than (y/n) or her mother, a maid opens the door and chides him for his rudeness. Seconds into his argument with her, (y/n) rounds the corner into the foyer and stops cold when she sees him standing there.

   “I’m a little busy, Dean,” she says coldly. “Why don’t you come back later, and you can tell me more lies in my free time?”

   “I need you to listen to me! You are not safe here.”

   “Miss (y/n)?” A familiar southern drawl echoes from another room, and a moment later a horrifyingly familiar face pairs itself with it. “Is everything alright?”

   “I’m alright, Paul.”

   But it isn’t Paul. It’s the face of Jedediah Coombs, and he’s wearing the same suit he wore to dinner. The minute their eyes meet, Dean knows he’s been remembered. Jed – or Paul – doesn’t act as if he knows Dean, but rather he takes his hand and shakes it warmly.

   “I’m Paul Walker.”

   “Pleasure to meet you,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

   “Likewise. Now, you seem like a man who could use a few tips on anger management. I am happy to help you, but I’m afraid I’m with Miss (y/n) at the moment. I’ll have to ask you to leave so we can get back to our session.”

   “(y/n), please, you-”

   Jed/Paul closes the door in his face, and he’s left standing on the porch like an idiot. The first thing he does is call Sam. His message is clear: he’s been recognized, and they’re out of time. As he hangs up the phone, a scream echoes from inside the house followed by a sob. It’s all cut off by silence. Dean doesn’t even bother calling her name, he just slams into the door shoulder first, twice until it bursts open. He races inside and doesn’t have to go ten feet before he almost steps on the body of the maid who opened the door. She’s sprawled facedown across the bottom of the stairs with blood pooling beneath her from a hidden wound. He steps over her and heads up the stairs. At the top is (y/n)’s mother in the same shape as the maid.

   “(y/n)?!”

   There’s no answer. Fortunately, he finds her in the first bedroom Unconscious, but she’s got a pulse. As he presses his fingers to her neck, her eyes flutter open, and she starts to scream at him to get out. Something strikes the back of his head, and the world goes black.

*    *    *    *    *

   The eighth time they see each other, (y/n) is in Dean’s line of sight when he comes to with a throbbing in his skull. She’s crying silently and trembling, and her hands have been tied to the bannister behind her. They’re on the staircase, rope binding them both and two dead bodies at the top and bottom. The knots are good and tight, too.

   “Dean,” (y/n) whimpers. “What’s happening?”

   “Just stay calm, okay? I’ll get us out of this.”

   “And how do you think you’ll do that?” Dean looks up, and there’s the monster watching them from the top step. “You aren’t exactly free at the moment.”

   “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”

   “Tell me when you do.” Jed/Paul leans against the wall and folds his arms. “You don’t even know what I am, do you?”

   “I can think of a few fitting names.”

   “Oh, good. Because I don’t exactly have one. I like to think of myself as an energy vampire. You know what happens to my victims. The deterioration, forgetting themselves, losing themselves – I sucked their essences out. Now, here’s the clever part. Forgetting yourself is a stressful experience, but all I have to do is make them forget about being stressed out. All of a sudden they’re sleeping better, more at peace then ever before. And it’s all because of Jedediah Coombs.”

   “And when the family is grieving their death, you turn on them.”

   “Turn on them?” Jed/Paul chuckles. “No, Dean. I help them. See, losing a loved one is hard. They get so stressed out and lost in grief that they start losing their minds a little bit. They need help, and then Paul Walk is there.”

   “Is that what you did to my dad?” (y/n)’s voice shakes. “You sucked out his soul?”

   “Not his soul, my dear. His thoughts, his feelings, those things that make us who we are. I’ve been doing it to you, too.” He descends the stairs until he’s in front of (y/n) and crouches in front of her. “Normally, I like to do this slowly, over months. I get more out of you that way. But unfortunately, I have to leave today, so I’m a little short on time. Just hold still, my dear. This won’t hurt . . . much.”

   He covers her face with his hand, and his eyes roll back in his head as a white glow lifts off (y/n)’s face. It soaks into his palm like water to a sponge.

   “No!” Dean strains at the ropes with all his might. He’ll be next if he doesn’t get free, but worse, (y/n) will die. With a yell, Dean breaks free, and the bannister splinters with it. Now he’s loose and he’s got a jagged weapon in his hand. Without thinking, he jumps on the vampire and knocks him over. He plunges the sharpened wood into the monster’s chest, and it lets out a shriek of agony. Still, it’s able to rise up and shove Dean down the stairs.

   Dean feels every step on his way down. Now he’s got a concussion and a pissed off energy vampire after him. The next attack is quick, but he sees it coming and rolls out of the way. He scrambles for his weapon that has become dislodged and swings it in front of him. Only the whites of the monsters eyes show, and it hisses at him.

   “You want me?!” he taunts. “Then come get me!”

   The monster rushes him, and this time it gets the upper hand and pushes Dean down to the floor. It moves its hand to his face, and Dean fights to hold it back. Suddenly, the door bursts open and the monster is startled enough for Dean to get out from under it. He sees Sam in the doorway wielding a shotgun in one hand and a blade in the other. Bullets do nothing but stagger the white-eyed vampire except stagger it a bit.

   Dizzy, Dean shouts, “Head! Cut off it’s head!” He jumps the creature from behind, knocking it to the ground and giving Sam the opportunity to sever head from neck with a single machete swipe. Finally, the creature stops moving, and both brothers exhale. Then Dean staggers back up the stairs and pulls the ropes off (y/n)’s hands. Her head lolls, but she’s breathing.

   “Hey, wake up. Come on, (y/n).”

   “Mmm,” she murmurs. Slowly, her eyes open, and she picks her head up. “Who – where am I? What’s going on?”

   “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

   “Who are you?” The look on her face is honest, truthful. He didn’t get to her in time. She doesn’t recognize him anymore. Then she looks at the bottom of the steps, sees the bodies, and screams.

   “Hey!” Dean grabs her by the shoulders and steadies her. “It’s okay! He was a monster!”

   Her screams subside into terrified sobs. Her body tenses up and is wrought by tremors, and she becomes catatonic. No matter what he says, she can’t be brought out of it. All she sees is the blood, the bodies, the bloody spike that used to be a bannister.

   “Dean, we should go. Before she sees her mom.”

   “I can’t leave her. I can’t leave her like this.”

   “I know.”

   “This isn’t fair.” With a lump in his throat, Dean pulls the shaking woman close and kisses the top of her head. She doesn’t respond, but he whispers, “I like you, (y/n).”

   Slowly, he lets her go. He stands, and he steps over the bodies at the bottom of the steps, and he follows Sam out the door.

@pureawesomeness001 @super-not-naturall @gabriel-themightysugaraddict @mogaruke @mrswhozeewhatsis @hexparker @kdfrqqg @little-castiel13 @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester

[loveinpanem-blog]

A Candle For The Caribbean: Charity Anthology

Titles and Summaries of Stories and Fanart

The outpouring of support from artists and donors has been truly inspiring. As of today, we’ve raised $1650.00 in funds, all donated directly to organizations supporting the ongoing relief efforts in the Caribbean.

We’ve received the first proof of the anthology, including the list of works being offered. For a minimum donation of $10.00 to any reputable charity supporting victims of Hurricane Maria, you can receive this collection in e-format containing all the creative works from The Hunger Games, Outlander and Overlander fandom, to be published on December 7th. We will continue accepting receipts through the end of January, 2018. Send these to titania522@gmail.com.

Below the cut, you will find a preview of all the stories and works being offered, including the titles, authors and story summaries or opening paragraphs of the works to be published.

We here at Love in Panem cannot express enough how grateful we are for the number and quality of stories and the number of people who’ve stepped up to contribute to this cause. This includes the wonderful banner makers and betas who have made this anthology a success.

Without further ado, find the list and summaries of artists below. A warning: It is quite a long list :)

Table of Contents

The Hunger Games

5 Winds by @lollercakesff

Summary: When the winds of fate blow, there is no stopping these emergency responders from rushing in. After five disasters and five collisions of fate, can they finally find each other?

Capitol Gym by @neverstopwhileyoureahead

Summary: Katniss would do just about anything for her little sister. It's why she reluctantly agreed to be her plus one to Capitol Gym. What she didn't expect was for a blue-eyed employee to make her suffering a little more bearable.

Como Duele by @mega-aulover

Synopsis: Katniss Everdeen world flips upside down after her beloved father dies. She takes on the responsibility to care for her mother and the Coffee Bean Hacienda. Everything goes from bad to worse when she is forced to marry Peeta Mellark. In the midst of a storm things take a dangerous turn when people who have crossed her end up dead.

Costra Nostra by @shesasurvivor

Summary: Katniss Everdeen is a performer for The Mockingjay, a hotel and casino run by mob boss Coriolanus Snow in Las Vegas. Peeta Mellark is the accountant who might be a plant for the FBI in The Mockingjay’s business office. The two are instantly drawn to each other, but how can anything possibly end well when they are on two opposing sides? Especially when the mob will have no problem harming Katniss’s sister if she betrays them. 1950’s historical AU set in mob-run Las Vegas.

Death, Time, Love by @elricsister            

Summary: verlark contemporary AU. Katniss has lost everything, she hates Peeta and just wants to be left alone. The visit of three strangers spanning 12 years will hopefully change that.

Forever, My Muse by @alwayspeetamellark

He needed new inspiration and fast. It was over four months ago he had his last exhibition and this creative rut had found him. Simply nothing was coming out right. He had tried everything, from taking a trip and getting away from things but to no avail. He still lacked the inspiration and when he put brush to canvas nothing came to life, as it should have.

From Peeta with Love by @PatriziaNordsee

July 2017 - Peeta / Lufthansa Flight 707 to Puerto Rico

10 hours is a long time. How will I spend 10 hours sitting in the economy class of a plane with nothing to do but wait? Nothing to do with my hands and nothing to think about but the reason why I left Germany and am now on a plane to Puerto Rico. Left the country I called home for such a long time.

Now flying into the Caribbean. 10 hours is all it will take to bring me from Frankfurt in Germany to Juan Santa María International Airport. 10 hours to transfer my soul from Germany to Puerto Rico.

Hurricane Force 5 by @thegirlfromoverthepond

Peeta was exhausted.

Or rather, he was beyond exhaustion.

He wished he could find solace in the landscape in front of him. The endless blue of the sea, marked here and there with little puffs of white, meeting the sky, in a never ending palette of blues. It would be breathtaking if he could take his mind of the disaster all around him.

Let’s Hurt Tonight by @katnissdoesnotfollowback

Summary: Inspired by (not based on) the film Collateral Beauty and the associated song, Let’s Hurt Tonight by OneRepublic, a short peek into the lives of the Everdeen women. Canon compliant.

Love Letters by @javistg

Summary: Katniss Everdeen learns about her past as she gets ready to face her future. Everlark. Canon-compliant (mostly), Post Mockingjay, Pre-Epilogue.

My Favorite Mistake by @titaniasfics

Summary: They begin as simple acquaintances who quickly become confidantes. When Katniss Everdeen’s friendship with a very-married Peeta Mellark morphs into something deeper, mistakes are made that will change their lives forever.

Panem Cruises by @alliswell21

Synopsis: Everlark meet in a cruise ship, where mishap after mishap brings them to a happily ever after.

Perhaps, Maybe by @everlarkingjoshifer

Weariness bore her sleep addled thoughts as Katniss leaned her head against the car window while rows and rows of unlit mast poles passed by. Blinking slowly she suppressed a yawn as yet another tree the length of a small apartment building whisked by. Furrowing her eyebrows, she tried to guess which kind it could be, but it passed by too quickly and her sluggish thoughts fogged her memory. Unable to conceal yet another yawn Katniss repositioned herself against the all too comfortable seat.

“Tired?” Peeta asked giving her a sweet smile.

‘No shit Sherlock,’ she internally said but thought better of it, choosing instead to just shrug nonchalantly.

Not With Haste by @llmarmalade

Summary: Prim and Peeta were never reaped, Peeta married Delly Cartwright who died and Katniss never married. The Revolution occurred naturally after President Snow died. Prim was killed in the City Circle bombing.

Redemption by @notanislander

She sits alone in the sand overlooking the bay. After pulling the overnight shift at the hospital, this is her favorite place to be. The sounds of the waves crashing and the gulls calling to each other gives her a sense of calm that she cannot seem to find anywhere else. The breeze softly blowing her hair soothes her. She’s glad it’s high tide though, sometimes the smells at low tide are a bit overpowering. She sits there, contemplating the past few days, contemplating her life, contemplating what brought her here to 4. And why she stayed.

Ride Through the Meadow by @savvylark

“Get back on the saddle. Just like riding a bike.” Johanna's words echo in my head as I ride my way through to short cut through the meadow to my favorite park. That’s the problem, dating is nothing like riding a bike. There’s a focus, you can see the terrain ahead of you and know what you’re facing. There’s a clear goal and destination in mind and, if you have a companion on your journey, you keep the same pace, there’s an understanding with the common goal ahead that spurs one another on.

Smitten With You by @litlifelover

These days Katniss enjoys her life as an editor for children's books, which can be stressful at times, but never to the degree of her former career as an event planner. She likes her quiet evenings and lazy weekends, loves that she can visit her family regularly and is able to spend time with her nephews. There’s even the flexibility to meet with Madge after a work day, enjoy a cup of coffee and talk about everything best friends talk about.

Someday by @norbertsmom

Summary: In this Everlark take on West Side Story, Katniss is a Puerto Rican girl living in the Seam neighborhood of the town of Panem. Peeta is a white baker’s son living in the merchant area. Their families each belong to rival gangs. Can the star crossed lovers survive when the feud comes to a head?

That’s How You Change The World by @geekymoviemom

I wake, shivering, in the dark of the night. Peeta is passed out cold, the morphling I shot into his arm nearly three hours ago keeping the worst of his pain at bay, at least for now. But it’ll be all too soon before he wakes again, startling with the intensity of his agony before he remembers that moving makes it all that much worse.

The Buzz Around Town by @florence68blog

Due to unfortunate circumstances, the relationship between Peeta and Katniss ended before it even began. Ten years later they meet again. However, the only thing Peeta is able to observe is that Katniss is even more unreachable than ever …

The Lucky Ones by @historywriter2007

West Virginia, December 1969.

“Peeta Mellark, you need to get back here and fix this right now.” Glimmer screeched.

Peeta stopped halfway down the walk to turn and face his fiancé. Her blue eyes were clouded with anger, he thought she would understand but obviously, he was wrong.

“There's nothing I can do, Glimmer. I got my draft notice, I'm not going to turn my back on my country.” Peeta raised the letter in his hand, his blood began to boil, how could she not see this was the right thing to do?

Too Familiar by @hutchhitched

Katniss smiled as she read the text messages that flashed on her phone screen. Her co-worker and friend, Peeta Mellark, and she had enjoyed a running commentary for the past few months—ever since they both begrudgingly admitted that they shared the same corny sense of humor. Katniss found him remarkably funny and had lost track of the times she’d (literally) laughed out loud at a quip he’d sent.

Unsafe Waters by @jobanana7

Sept 6th JFK international airport The day was finally here. After a month apart from his love, he was coming home and he was ready for it. Before his company asked him to go to New York to do this presentation that Peeta hadn’t thought would take so long, he asked her dad for permission to marry her before he left. Had she known he did she would’ve teased at him for sure but he was ready with his Grandma Sae’s rings on his person and a beautiful would be bride by his side. He was ready. He just hoped she would accept his proposal.

When You Kiss Me…by @chele20035

Dog trainer Katniss Everdeen got to help wounded vet, Peeta Mellark. Neither one knew what to expect when they receive invites to a special New Year’s Eve ball in London, England.

Outlander

Jamaica by @bonnie-wee-swordsman

Summary: A scene that we haven’t yet gotten in Outlander canon, even four books afterward: Brianna tells Jamie about the dream she had about her parents being in Jamaica. Based upon Voyager (Chapter 61) for Jamie’s side of the event, and Drums of Autumn (Chapter 40) for Brianna’s, so expect spoilers for both.

Memories Of The Moon by @phoenixflames12

He sits on the white boulder below the cave, gazing up at the moon. The cup of weak stew that Young Jamie had brought up that evening clasped between hands that are numb with cold.

Multifandom

Hackers Unite by @lilyaceofdiamonds

Alec Hardison sat at his computers a few days after the Irma and Maria hurricanes hit the islands in the Caribbean. Parker and Eliot were off buying supplies, they had just finished a job in New York. Hardison was just testing a program to search for any potential clients that Leverage, Inc could take on when his laptop dinged with a new email.

Sense8

Resist and Bite by @fiftyeightminutes

BPO has Wolfgang. The August 8th cluster have Whispers and Jonas. What is the cluster willing to risk in order to get back their missing piece?

Fanart

Jamie and Claire by @ombradellaluna

Gregor the Overlander by smokestarrules (deviantart)

Banner Makers

@akai-echo

@everlarkingjoshifer

@damndonnergirls

See you on December 7th!