#jesus christ it's nearly 1 AM i should go to bed

[danieyells]

Could I pretty please ask for any Haru stuff you found? 🥺 I've been afflicted with the Haru simp disease and only information/content of him can cure me 🛐

HARU'S CHANGED MY FEELINGS ON HIM not that i disliked him at all before but like. . .you know how he acts like the team mom? His voicelines make this worse. I thought he was more like a meddlesome but chill guy with a lot of energy. The truth is this poor man is a single mother with two unruly kids, a house full of animals, and VIRTUALLY NO HELP BESIDES YOU. No wonder he drinks nearly every fucking night. I get why Jabberwock doesn't have ordinary students but jesus christ please get some helpers in here. My man is overworked.

I ended up putting almost all of them in because. . .he is struggling poor boy. I have officially edited this to contain all of Haru's voicelines! Sorry for the wait!!

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"Hey, nice timing! One sec, I've just gotta finish feeding everyone."

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"You've got some letters! Better open them before that goat lookalike makes a meal out of them!"

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"Folks are going wild over the Anomalous Animal Back To Nature Tour, and this is your chance to experience it at a discount rate! C'mon, help me hand out these fliers!"

"Everyone stuffs up sometimes. Don't let it get to you—just think of it as a funny story you can pull out later and laugh at! Gahaha!"

the only way he knows how to cope with his pain is to laugh at it. . .my therapist told me that was good actually! he's well adjusted! disregard the nightly drinking.

"You sure are fond of {PC}, aren't you, Peekaboo? You did nothing but bite me for the first three days after we met."

tbf you were from another house and it was probably fresh after the clash. . . .

"You reckon I work hard? Nah, this is nothing to write home about. All right, let's head to the next zone!"

"Hey, nice work out there today! Let's knock a few more jobs off the list then take a break, hey?"

oh my god you take breaks? or are you telling the player to take a break while you keep overdoing it. . . .

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"Morning! Let's get this show on the road!"

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Hey, {PC}! What a coinkydink! I just finished my rounds."

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Ren? He's working at that whacky restaurant again. I'll have to go pick him up later."

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Towa's off to that hill again? I was gonna ask him to hold down the fort... Guess I'll have to stay put tonight."

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Am I tired? Nah, don't worry, if there's two things I have confidence in it's my stamina and my bad luck!"

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"The Sinostra folks are causing a kerfuffle again... I don't need any of that! You should take care not to get dragged into their mess too, you hear?"

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"You wanna know how to get the animals to like you? You just gotta show how much you love them, like this— Ow! Don't bite me, Peekaboo!"

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"None of our critters have warmed to Ren at all, even though he spends all day with them... Guess that handsome face only works on humans."

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Phew, time for a bre— Hm? That sounded like the Capybus! I'm gonna go check on her, watch Peekaboo for me!"

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"All right, the kids are all in bed. I'll just ask those two to hold down the fort, then I'll head out for a little walk..."

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"I went to wake that sleepyhead Ren up this morning, but it was like he couldn't see me even though he was looking straight at me. Reckon his eyesight's bad?"

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Course I eat, don't worry about that! Just earlier I pinched some of Peekaboo's veggies when I was making his lunch and had them with a piece of bread!"

Please eat food. . . .

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"So much to do... Gotta take in the washing and get the shopping done... Argh! There's not enough hours in the day!"

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"This? It's an energy drink. Don't feel like the day's started till I have one. (gulp) (gulp) Pwaaah!"

PLEASE EAT FOOD AND SLEEP. . . . . . . . .

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"Ah man, there's soap all over the walls again! You're so good at playing with the animals Towa, if you could just learn how to clean up after you'd get full marks..."

Towa i love you but please help your mother boyfriend captain. . . .

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Ah! I can't do dogs! How'd you get in here?! Towa!! Come here!! No!! Don't bite me!!"

He is terrified of dogs????? Towa absolutely electrocuted the shit out of that dog. Rip in pieces. That dog truly fucked around and found out. It will never go in the dorm again.

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Thanks for helping out again today, you're a real lifesaver. Sorry I can't walk you back..."

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"You reckon I look like an acrobat when I'm using my stigma? Gahaha! Maybe I'll practice balancing on a ball then!"

Baby no you are not a clown please what if you break something again--

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"...(gasp) Crap, I fell asleep... Did you put this blanket on me? Cheers... Maybe I'll grab a few more minutes..."

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"I swore I'd take responsibility for protecting all the lives in this park. I can't let anyone die on my watch."

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I don't know where I'd be without all the critters in this place if I'm honest with you. Well, gotta be my animal magnetism that's keeping them here anyway! Gahaha!"

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Hm? There's some critters whose nails were getting dangerously long so I was giving them a clip. Come here, I'll do yours too if you want!"

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Oh, off for a cheeky night out? Gahaha! I know a good place, want me to take you?"

get wasted with him and give him somebody to talk to!! he needs someone besides romeo and rui to listen to him rant sometimes!

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"A soft bed to lie down in and someone to chat with till I drift off... I'm really living the high life here."

He's a simple man. . .it's easy to imagine him holding your hand here while he dozes off. . . .

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"Really learned the ropes here, haven't you? Once we have a little cash to spare, I'll buy you your own Jabberwock uniform!"

they must be expensive if it takes until Affinity 25 to get you one! He's so conscious about his finances(disregard all of the stuff he buys and never uses--) that being given a purchased gift is surely the highest tier of affection from him haha. But also. . .he treats the anomalous animals and oftentimes even the other ghouls in Jabberwock like they're his kids. This is his way of saying 'you're part of this family too.' Which is very sweet.

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"Today's shearing day for the fluffy squad! It's actually a pretty hefty task, so I've gotta hop to it if I want to be done before summer..."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Bucket, check. Trowel, check. Me and Towa are heading to the mountains to pick some veggies. You wanna come?"

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"We've been getting a lot of balmy days lately, and the sun's up longer. Can't help but dilly-dally when I'm working..."

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I've gotta clean out all the sparrow nests soon or they won't be able to look after their kiddos properly. Looks like there's... 61 nests total..."

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"A lot of customers have been saying they wanna stay cool in the summer so I changed up the course. Now we have a special summer-only waterside tour!"

(between 11am and 4pm)

"It's hot so I invited Ren to go fishing, but his face screwed up like a prune and he yelled at me. What's he got against fish?"

Probably the same thing you have against dogs. . . .

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Phew... Finally finished harvesting all the feed crops for the day... Everyone's health is dependent on their quality, so now's the time to do it right."

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Lotta bugs around this time of year... But they're important for the food chain, so I've gotta take care of them... Argh!! Give it a rest with the buzzing!"

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"Hey, nice timing! I'm about to make a fire with the dead leaves I collected so I can bake some potatoes, take a seat!"

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I like the Jabberwock uniforms. They're made out of high-performance fabric that keeps you warm when it's cold out and safe when you're handling venomous critters!"

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"The hibernation squad's gonna start eating us out of house and home this month... The food bill's gonna be rough... Eeek!"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"You reckon that's a rabbit on the moon? No way, it's a toad! C'mon, look closer!"

apparently the pareidolic toad in the moon is a Chinese myth! I wonder if they mean to suggest Haru is actually Chinese.

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"Rounds are quicker in winter since some of the critters hibernate. Makes things a little easie— Why's the kitchen on fire?!"

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Brr... Can't help but get green-eyed looking at the furry critters when it's this cold..."

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Nice and toasty... Hm? I'm talking about Peekaboo! He's better than a hot water bottle in this weather!"

Haru putting Peekaboo on your tummy when you're having cramps or just in pain in general is a cute mental image, especially since Peekaboo likes you lol

(between 8pm and 5am)

"It's cold outside so some of the critters have been sneaking into our rooms at night. You heard Ren scream just now, right?"

His birthday: (September 20th)

"It's my birthday?! Oops, totally slipped my mind... Thanks for remembering!"

Your birthday:

"Happy birthday. The Capybus is all yours today—I've got a custom birthday tour all planned out for you!"

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year! How'd I ring it in? I was milking the cow and when I looked up I'd totally missed the first sunrise! Gahaha!"

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"You're kidding, I can really have this?! They say a little sugar helps sweeten a tired day! Thanks a million, this'll keep me going a while!"

White Day: (March 14th)

"Ta-da! I bought you some hand cream, for the chocolate you got me last month. Thanks for everything you do here."

hand cream when you do all of that manual labor and probably have to wash your hands a lot is a really practical gift actually, gg haru

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"Can you believe this? Ren got up early, and Towa fed everyone for me! ...Tried to make a joke for April Fools but it just made me feel empty inside..."

Halloween: (October 31st)

"Check it out! The pumpkin Capybus, in town for three days only! I sacrificed sleep and some of our budget to get her ready!"

If it's painted I really hope that paint is waterproof. . .never know when Towa's gonna make it rain. . . .

Christmas: (December 25th)

"Merry Christmas! This is a reindeer, she lives up in the mountains! And I'm Sagara Claus! Gahaha!"

just don't let romeo see it lolol

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"Hey there, miss! Looking gorgeous as ever! ...Wait, I was kidding! Come back!"

(13 affinity and above)

"You seem pretty flat out today... Nothing for it, I'll get a few other things out of the way while I wait for you to get back."

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"Phew, that's a relief... I was worried one of ours ate you... Glad to see you back."

Once again. . .an absolute sweetheart. And a single mother who is desperately in need of some help around the house. That April Fool's line really got me lolol poor guy. All of his have a lot of energy to them so i feel like i posted more than Haku, who's kind of a more low key guy lol. . . .

[queenofbaws]

And from the prompt list: different ways to say ‘i love you’:

[cups person b’s cheeks] “you are a menace and you almost died back there if it wasn’t for me.”

Conrad&Fliss

“how did you even get sick? you look ugly. come here.”

Ashley and Taylor (since it say it can be use for friendship,too! And this looks like something Taylor will say in an affectionate way...maybe!🤣)

Thank you~!��

definitely more than six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

Taylor didn’t make it a habit to be early for John’s class, and there were good reasons for that: (1) showing up early made you look like you cared about a class, and spoiler alert, she couldn’t have cared less about creative writing if she’d been asked to care less about it; (2) you always ran the risk of being left alone with the professor themselves, and God help her, she’d rather be burned at the stake than have to make idle chit-chat with John; (3) even if you weren’t left alone with the professor, you might be left alone with your classmates, and she’d rather hang herself than deal with Angela for more than twenty seconds; and most importantly, (4) it was just boring.

Still, she’d gotten out of her previous class a few minutes before she should’ve, and it hadn’t been nearly enough time for her to duck into a dining hall for a snack or anything like that, so early she was. Bored, too. Mostly bored.

As she sat in her usual seat, scrolling through the endless bullshit her Facebook timeline had to offer, it occurred to her that she could’ve just…skipped. Gone back to her dorm. Slept. Not dealt with any of this crap at all. It wasn’t like anything was due, and they sure didn’t have a midterm or anything, so…ugh, except she’d gotten there early. It would’ve looked real bad if she just dipped now.

She started out of her thoughts as something hit the ground next to her chair, Ashley’s familiar messenger bag laying cocked against the table. “Oh hey there, sport. How’s—Jesus Christ Almighty, what bus hit you?”

Ashley pulled her own chair a few inches away from Taylor’s, widening the space between them from the usual couple of inches to a gulf. “Hey,” she said, her voice smaller than normal (which was saying something). She sniffed once, bringing attention to how red her nose was. Before, Taylor had just sort of been keyed in on the bags under her eyes. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad?” Taylor asked, sliding her phone into her pocket and laying her arms on the table, angling herself to get a better look at Ashley. “You look like a piece of roadkill someone popped in the microwave to warm up for lunch, Ash.”

“Uh…ew. And…thanks? I guess.”

She watched her in silence for a beat, her eyes narrowing further and further with each motion Ashley brought herself through. Out came her notebook. Out came her pencil pouch. Out came her usual mechanical pencil. Out came her extra eraser. Open went her notebook…it was too  much. Finally, Taylor reached over, covering the lined page with her own hand. “You’re sick.”

“Um…yeah, so maybe you shouldn’t be touching my—”

“Oh no. Oh nononono, this isn’t about me.” Yet. “I don’t get sick. I ate so much playground dirt as a kid, my immune system is like…iron-clad. But holy shit, lady, why the hell are you here? You should be in bed! Resting! Or at least, y’know, moaning into a tissue like Oliver Twist with a wasting disease.”

Ashley laughed, but it was obvious at once it hurt. Her entire body seemed to cringe back from the sound she’d made, her face scrunching up. “Ow ow ow…” she muttered, one of her hands going to her throat. “I know, Taylor, I know, but…I don’t…I don’t miss class, okay? That’s not who I am. Besides, I’m fine, I can…” She sniffled loudly, then promptly dipped down to rummage through her bag for the aforementioned tissue. “I’m fine.”

“Nope.”

“N…huh? What do you mean nope? We—”

She slapped both of her hands down on the table in front of them, making Ashley (and Andrew, who she’d only just noticed across the classroom) jump. “This is college, honeybabe, not middle school. There aren’t attendance awards! Nope. Decision made. C’mon. I’m taking you home.”

“You’re…what?”

“Yup,” she said, nodding fervently, grabbing her own bag from where she’d slung it over the back of her chair. “I can’t just sit by and watch you suffer here for an hour and a half! That’d be sadistic! I’m going to personally see to it that you get back to your dorm safe and sound, tucked into bed all nice and cozy, and maybe, if you play your cards right, I’ll even microwave you some soup for that achy throat of yours.”

“I…” Ashley didn’t seem especially convinced, but Taylor had long-since learned the trick to getting her to loosen up; as long as you took the reins and talked with enough confidence, eventually you could (and would) wear through her anxiety. “I mean I guess…I probably shouldn’t be sneezing on other people…” Slowly, very slowly indeed, she started reversing her little rituals, shutting her notebook and slipping her pencil back into its pouch.

Too slowly, in fact.

Way too slowly.

“Afternoon, people,” John said as he bustled through the door, not exactly looking at any of them but nodding in their general direction. “Hope you did the reading, because we’re—”

“Ashley’s sick,” Taylor proclaimed, and that got John to look at them. She only felt her resolve grow stronger when she saw the expression there: confusion. “Like, really, really sick.”

Ashley flashed a sheepish smile—then she started moving double-time, putting her stuff into her bag and going to grab it. Taylor beat her to the punch, though, slinging the messenger bag over her own body so Ashley wouldn’t have to carry anything.

“Uh…sorry to hear that?” John said slowly, clearly trying to figure out what the point of the little scene was.

“She’s running a crazy fever. Probably super contagious. I’m gonna head out and make sure she gets home safe—you guys have a good class without us!” And then, half-leading and half-pulling Ashley along with her, she ducked out of the classroom, breathing a sigh of relief once they hit the relative safety of the hallway. “Not too shabby if I do say so myself…”

Beside her, Ashley sighed a shaky, tired sigh, but it came with another tiny attempt at laughter. “Wow,” she joked, “That was so smooth.”

“I thought so!”

She rolled her eyes, still watery and only getting worse once they stepped outside into the sun. “You’re so friggin’ transparent, do you know that? It’s like, incredibly obvious you were just looking for an excuse to cut class.”

“Whaaat?” Taylor gasped, pressing a hand to her own chest in shock before grinning like the goddamn Gerber baby. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The only thing I am is super-duper-duper worried about my bee-eff-eff-sie being sick ay-eff.” She threw her arm across Ashley’s shoulders, hugging her close as they walked the familiar path towards the residence halls. “Seriously, you look so bad. I’m doing you a favor, hiding you from society.”

“Oh my God. You don’t have to be a bitch about it,” she laughed, though she didn’t even try to push her away. “Can’t even take pity on me when I’m dying, huh?”

“Nope!” Then, because they still had a walk ahead of them, she gave her a sidelong smirk, nudging her with her hip. “How’d you even get sick anyway? You been mackin’ on Hartley while he has the sniffles or something?”

“Ughhh…know what? I changed my mind. I’m going back to class.”

Taylor only held her tighter. “Nuh-uh. Sorry, but you’re officially my hall pass, and I’m not lettin’ go.”

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU Pt. 6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

---

tw: general howard stark warning

---

There is a buzzing by his ear.

At first, Tony doesn’t really notice it, waking up in short increments before being pulled back under. But he keeps waking, unsure what keeps tugging him out of his dreams, hand flapping around his face as he tries to stop the incessant ringing.

“Blergh,” he mumbles into his pillow.

Batting his hand around to quell the source of annoyance, he comes to grip his phone, squinting as it lights up inches away from his face and vibrates against his palm. For a second he thinks it’s his alarm, but then he remembers that he didn’t set one. It’s a succession of text notifications cascading down his screen that alerts him out of the slope of slumber with a start.

The only time his phone goes off like this is an emergency. The first thing he registers is that it’s only eight-minutes after seven. He blinks, sight clearing from the sleep wedged in his eye as he reads the flurry of still-incoming texts.

> so thanks for last night > yknow > for the ride > i mean > you know what i mean > anyway > so that folder i gave you had my BIO notes, not econ > im such a doofus > i need them back > don’t bother looking at them lol > can we meet up?

Tony groans, eyelids heavy as anvils. Jesus christ. He didn’t get home until four after dropping this guy off and he’s already up and bothering him? What gives?

Exhausted and annoyed, he tucks his phone under his pillow and sets it on do-not-disturb for extra measure. There ain’t no way he’s getting up at seven on a Saturday for fucking class notes. Prick.

In his opinion, he’s filled his quote of good deeds for the month and he doesn’t need to be up for another few hours. Whatever it is, he thinks, snuggling into his pillow, he’s sure it can wait.

---

The next time he wakes it’s just after nine. There’s a gap in his curtains allowing a sharp shard of sunlight into the room where it directly pierces into his eyelids. 

He groans tiredly into the drool patch on his pillow, willing sleep to come back to him, turning on his other side, gripping the edges of the quilt and tightening it around himself until he is firmly cocooned within it. It’s nice and warm, and sleep is such a rare commodity to him so it’s novel to bask in its dregs. But there isn’t any more sleep to come he’s quick to realize, giving up after a few minutes and blinking up at the ceiling. 

Nine is practically six. It’s criminal to be up this early.

There’s an unusual flurry of texts on his phone, some from Rhodey, but most of them are from Parker, an endless ladder of increasing franticness. 

Tony tosses his phone to the end of his bed carelessly. 

It’s been literally less than twelve hours since he’s had to deal with the shithead. Surely whatever was lodged up his ass couldn’t possibly be as important as Tony ignoring him. 

Swinging his legs off the bed, he stands and stretches his arms up high, fingers curling. The stretch feels good and he takes a quick sniff of his armpits to gauge if he can forego a shower for the third day in a row. 

The stench is wicked. It’s possible that he’s overdue.

He strips off as he heads towards the adjacent bathroom, naked and nursing a semi.

He can’t help but shudder as his back meets the cold tiles, the intuitive shower head following his body with a mechanical whir, miscalculating its aim and spraying him in the face.

Ah. That will need to be recalibrated, he notes. 

But, he can’t say he really minds, tolerating the spray, even as it hits his mouth like a fire hose. He ducks his head to wet his hair, reaching blindly for the touchpad to dial down the pressure. Once the water is to his liking he reaches down to take himself in hand, leisurely stroking himself.

It’s just a perfunctory part of his morning ritual; he doesn’t really have anyone in mind as he brings himself to full hardness, just the fleeting memory of lips around his cock, the next of a well rounded ass, not feeling particularly creative. 

Okay, so maybe he pictures some big, brown eyes and dark hair he can run his fingers through. And maybe he goes off like a rocket. That’s his business.

Anyway, once he’s out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he inspects his appearance in the mirror. The bruises on his face are still pretty gruesome, deep purple and beginning to yellow around the edges. The cut on his lip seems to be well and truly scabby.

Turning to the side, Tony takes observation of his overall torso region; his stomach is not as defined as he’d like it to be - probably due to his affinity for carbs and sweets, if he’s honest. Between a few fingers he can pinch the skin and pull it a little -- and look, he’s a bit soft around the middle, but he lifts, alright. Maybe he isn’t exactly steel cut like the dudebros on the football team who have made being ripped their life mission, but he has musculature under the adipose.

Is he a little self-conscious about it? Sure. Is he worried about it enough to give up garlic bread and cronuts? No. Especially when he spots a new chest hair nestled comfortably between his pecs.

Probably a bit too proud of himself because of a singular piece of hair, Tony gets dressed in a pair of jeans that have seen better days, speckled with singe marks and thinning at the knees and a singlet, slinging on his leather jacket for the finishing touch. 

He almost forgets the bot.

“Look at you,” he says, to the mangled mess of metal on his desk. Scooping the injured, beeping bot Tony stuffs it into his backpack. “Come here, darling. Shh, you’re okay.”

Peering both ways out of the hall to ensure the coast is clear, he quickly descends the stairs, shushing the bot the whole way.

On the ground floor, he pauses when he hears voices coming from his father’s office. It takes a second to recognise the voices, his father and Stane arguing over one another, loudly, then softly. He tries to listen in, catching somewhat audible hisses about the company finance officer.

Careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak he tiptoes to the kitchen to pocket a few muesli bars and a water bottle from the fridge. 

The voices get progressively louder as he sneaks to the front door, silently saluting their maid as he passes. She waves back at him, offering a sympathetic smile as he goes out the door. 

His heart pounds as he reaches his car, parked around the corner street. 

“Alright, baby,” he grins, revving the engine. “Let’s go.”

---

“The fuck?”

It’s hard to be sure, but perhaps Rhodey doesn’t expect Tony’s unannounced arrival at his front door. Not if the furious scowl and bunny slippers on his feet are anything to go by.

Nonetheless, he slips past the front door, welcoming himself into his friends home, despite the exasperated outcry of for fucks sake Tony, it’s Saturday and it’s not even noon, can’t you call ahead? 

No, he can’t call. Well, actually, he reconsiders, heading down the hall to the basement, his friends footsteps echoing behind him, he probably could, but it wouldn’t make anyone less mad at him, so what’s the point?

Besides, judging by the empty driveway and barren living room, Rhodey’s family is already out, he’s not sure what the issue is.

“The issue is I am tired, man,” his friend complains, following him down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Me too, honeybear, freakin’ exhausted,” Tony mutters, skipping down the stairs. “Go back to bed. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Oh sure, and let you solder your fingers together again. Nah. Not taking the fall for that.”

“I’m not going to solder my fingers together. I’m a pro.”

“Unless you need me to remind you of last summer,” Rhodey takes a seat at the workbench, “I suggest you shut up.”

“You’re rude, you know that?” Tony asks, retrieving the bot from his backpack and setting it upon the bench. “I’ll have you know that I’ve learned since then.”

“And yet you still refuse to wear gloves,” his friend sighs, settling heavily upon the adjacent chair. There’s a comfortable quiet between them while Tony works, carefully settling all the pieces onto the table, moving each with care.

It’s hard to miss the weight of observation on the back of his neck, but he lets his friend drink his fill before he’s ready to speak.

“You fuck up something?” He points to the bot.

Tony shakes his head, pressing the solder into the circuit board. “No. Well, yes. The coding is perfect, as usual, but this idiot isn’t any smarter than a Roomba. He’s meant to be smarter.”

“So?

“He is smarter. I dunno, sometimes he messes up,” Tony mumbles, reaching blindly for the bent-nose pliers before Rhodey places it in his hand. “He’s not bad, just dumb. It’s not his fault.”

“And again, what happened? Did you run him over?”

“No, the old man got sick of me playing with ‘toys’. Dumb-dumb here met the wall in a very dramatic fashion. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.”

There’s a sigh from behind him.

“Does that explain your face?”

Tony glances behind him and smirks. 

“You mean my dashing good looks?”

“Tony.”

“Honestly? I got into a fight with a feral racoon that ran off with some old lady’s purse. It nearly cost me an eye, but I saved the day. She called me a hero, gave me some stale crackers from her purse and then gave me her number.”

“Tony.”

“Fine. I was skateboarding. I was in the middle of executing a super complicated kickflip but lost control when an enlarged gutter rat scurried in front of me. I flew headfirst into the gravel. Very embarrassing. That work?”

“Tony.”

“Look, just leave it will ya? God, you’re like a nagging wife. Pick whichever story makes you feel all nice and fuzzy inside.”

Rhodey is suddenly before him, waving something in his face. “Your phone, jackass. Your better half is calling?”

Huh?

Tony blinks, gently setting down the pliers and the chip he’d removed, taking his phone. It vibrates, Your Better Half flashing across the screen. 

“Parker, ugh.” 

He really should have changed the contact name by now, he thinks, swiping to answer.

“Alcoholics Anonymous,” Tony answers by way of greeting. “How may I direct your call?”

“Ha ha, very funny, asshole. So you are awake. I’ve been trying to contact you all morning.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think you actually might have separation issues,” Tony says. “I just got rid of you like eight hours ago.”

“I’m calling about the folder. Didn’t you read my texts?“

“Oh, I read them,” Tony settles back on the stool and continues to work on the main circuit. “See, I was just ignoring you. Hoping you’d take the hint, but I forget subtlety is lost on you.”

“Look, I need my notes. Can we meet up?”

“Right, for Bio,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“No. I, uh -- I have a test first period. I need to study for it.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember, the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. You’ll be fine.”

“I take AP Bio, asswipe, I’m aware of that. Can I just get it back, please?”

“You take AP Bio? Was that an admin error or something?” he asks, holding the chip he’d retrieved earlier up to the light to inspect for any damage. 

It looks to be ok. The damage to the bot overall seems to be mostly cosmetic, couple of scratches, a few dents. Nothing that a few replacement panels wont fix. Whatever he hasn’t already got stored here Rhodey will surely have spare parts, it’ll be fine. God, what would he do if his friend didn’t lovingly tolerate Tony using his space for storage and barging in whenever he lucks. It’s lucky Rhode’s parents are so chill though, unlike his own. He may be a hot-head but he’s practically a saint compared to -

“ - hello? Are you still there? I can hear you breathing.”

Tony blinks. “Right. Your notes. Look, I’m kinda busy. I have a life outside of you and I don’t actually care about your academic integrity, so, you’re gonna have to wait.”

“For how long?”

“I’ll drop them off this evening, like six-ish. Hey, maybe we could do that interview with May if she’ll be around.”

“...I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“C’mon, I already told you I’m not actually hot for your aunt. I’ll be professional.”

Rhodey shoots him a bewildered look.

“That’s not what -- look, whatever. Just don’t be late okay. I have a life outside of you too.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I’ll try and not get in the way of your weekend plans of crying while you masturbate.”

“I literally hate you.”

“And yet you aren’t denying the crying. Anyway, I have to go now, try to clean yourself up before I get there. See you at six, bubby,” he hangs up, cracking his neck before refocusing on his mangled creation. “Now where were we?”

“What the fuck.”

Tony pauses, pliers in hand. There is a particular expression on Rhodey’s face erring on the side of confused and haunted. 

“What?”

“’Bubby’?”

“Don’t say it like that - it’s like an inside thing. Don’t repeat it to him, alright, he’ll get pissy. And then I’ll get pissy.”

“You know it’s just a project, right? You two aren’t actually married.”

“Thank god. Could you imagine being married to that guy?” Tony shudders. “Scary.”

“Two weeks ago you said he was the bane of your existence. Now you have ‘inside things’ with him? You saw him last night?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. Yeah, he doesn’t really have a good explanation for any of that. 

The thing about himself, Tony’s found over time and trial, is that he really, really likes to press buttons. He likes to test variables, wants to see what would happen if he did something he wasn’t supposed to, and map out the world as it occurs in motion around him. Curiosity means he likes to test the parameters, to see what can yield, what will bite back.

More often than not that kind of impulsive brand of curiosity has gotten him in some sort of trouble. Turns out not everything and everyone appreciates being tested - and many things like to lash out when pressed.  

Parker, Tony has found, is somebody that doesn’t yield or bite. If Tony was a betting man he’d have placed his money on the boy being more of a yielding type - but what he does is he presses buttons just as much as Tony does, buttons he didn’t even know he had to be pressed. 

And that very much interests Tony.

He just doesn’t know what to do with that information, except to keep pressing.

“I’ll explain later,” Tony promises, mentally crossing his fingers. “In the meantime, can we forget about Parker and focus on my broken baby here?”

Rhodey relents, but Tony knows that look in his eye. He’ll be hearing about it later and at the most inconvenient time. And he’s gonna tell Pepper.

Wonderful.

He really should change Peter’s contact name in his phone.

---

By the time he leaves the Rhodes residence and heads to his next destination, his robot is in somewhat in working order again. It remains fairly immobile though, just until Tony can replace the damaged infrared and touch sensor. It clicks its metal claws sadly towards Tony in the passenger seat as he drives.

It’s a Roy Orbison kind of day, so the music is loud and the guitar is heavy as he makes the drive to Harlem.

And if Tony frees a hand to pat the bot on its’ metal head every so often, that’s his business.

When he reaches the other side of the city he parks in his usual space at a nearby lot and contemplates whether or not he should leave the malfunctioning bot in his car for the sake of being professional. It clicks at his jacket, weakly grasping the material as if on a plea - and damn, Tony knows the thing isn’t actually sentient but what kind of asshole would he be if he left it here for the day.

Heart squeezing with sympathy, Tony delicately places him in the backpack, leaving the zip partially open for ‘air’.

Next, snacks.

While he’s retrieving a pack (or two) of Reeses, he comes across Parker’s folder that he’d stashed there last night. Their conversation from earlier returns to the forefront of his mind.

Look, Parker might not be the knuckle-dragging, monosyllabic dumbass Tony initially suspected that he was, and yeah he was savvy as demonstrated during their trip to the rental market - and yeah, definitely smarter than his social circle would suggest, and is absolutely and a source of constant surprise to Tony - but is he AP Bio - or AP anything material? 

Time to find out.

The first thing that Tony notices is that the notes are definitely not for Bio. They’re for Econ, as initially prescribed. 

The second thing he notices, as he flicks through the papers, skimming over the complicated graphs and annotated research, is that what he’s reading is actually good. 

Well, I’ll be darned, Tony thinks, eyes getting progressively wider as he flicks through the pages. Not bad at all.

Makes him wonder why Parker thought he was missing his Bio notes though.

The answer to that becomes clear when a crumpled envelope falls out of the stack onto Tony’s lap. He picks it up, at first thinking it’s a part of the research, but pauses. It’s open and it’s addressed to May Parker.

“Um,” he says.

It’s from Queens Presbyterian Hospital, which should make him drop it as if it were burning. It doesn’t, though. Either it’s meant to be included in the folder, or it’s not and that’s why Parker has been acting like a crazy-ex all morning.

Hmm. Tony sits there, torn, debating whether or not to look into it, the overdue stamp standing out against the crisp paper like a warning sign. On one hand, he’s running kinda late and, y’know, privacy or whatever -- on the other, his fingers are already itching to know what’s in it.

Mind your own business, he can already hear Rhodey saying, mind your own business, Tony.

Curiosity and a distinct lack of a moral compass wins, as always. Just a quick peek, that should be okay, right? The envelope is already open anyway, so, it’s not like anyone will be able to tell.

God, this is none of my business, he tells himself, even as he’s retrieving the letter from within and starts reading it. 

Oh.

Tony quickly stashes the letter back into the envelope and back into the folder. Yep, definitely none of his business. 

Yeah, he really shouldn’t have done that. Big fucking yikes on his behalf. And yep, there’s the guilt -- or at least he thinks the stomach churning is guilt, it could be the stale muesli bar he ate on the way.

Nonetheless, it hangs over him like a dark cloud as he picks up his backpack and heads out to the garage across the road. What kind of asshole looks into someone’s mail because they can’t help themselves. This dick, that’s who.

Fixing a grin he doesn’t really feel, he heads to the back office. He knocks on the window, ducking his head into the open door.

“Yo,” he waves to the man sitting behind the desk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey kid,” the man looks up, smiling before his face drops. “Tony, your face. What happened?”

“This? It’s nothing --”

“-- is that why you couldn’t come to work yesterday? Not that I mind,” the man stands up. “Are you okay? Was it --”

“-- Was it nothing to worry about? Absolutely,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “Just an unfortunate encounter with a wild, feral squirrel in Central Park. I tell you, they’re deceivingly cute, but they’re pests. Totally out of control.”

“Tony.”

“Jarvis,” he interrupts, gesturing to the cars in the garage behind him. “C’mon. Look, let’s get to work, okay? Save the violins for later.”

And by later he means never.

The man sighs, world-weary, looking at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. At first he’s certain his boss is going to push the issue, but it must be a day for dodging bullets because he relents.

“Alright, kid. I got a ninety-four Ford sedan back there with your name on it. Busted fan belt, overheated engine. Probably needs a new set of spark plugs while you’re at it.”

With a grateful nod, Tony heads back, locating the vehicle in question. It’s rusted to all hell and probably not worth the cost of repair, but he gets stuck into it anyway, keen for a distraction. He sets his bag and bot down near him while Jarvis blasts Alice Cooper’s Poison.

Tony might not have all the answers to life’s problems, but this is something he knows how to fix.

---

He probably distracts himself a little too well, because by the time he’s wrapped up with the Ford it’s already five-thirty and he’s a mess of engine oil and coolant.

It’s only when Jarvis squeezes his shoulder and points to the clock on the far wall does he realise that he’s lost his sense of time. How the fuck is he supposed to clean up and get all the way from Harlem to Queens at this time of night?

“Ah, crap,” Tony mutters, setting down his socket-wrench in his toolbox. “I’m late.”

“Late for what? You got a hot date or something?” Jarvis asks, stepping back to give him some room as he rushes to the staff bathroom. 

“What, no,” He calls back, running the faucet and pumping soap over his hands. “I gotta go see about a guy.” He struggles to hear his boss over the running water but he doesn’t have time to stop and figure it out. 

“From school?”

“Yes, and a prime pain in my ass,” Tony mutters, drying his hands on his jeans, walking back into the garage. “Anyway, see you Monday, chief?”

His boss nods, passing Tony his earnings for the week in cash. Tony should have known to dash and run because he starts hearing the proverbial violins when Jarvis clamps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in a way that is more paternal than Tony is comfortable with. 

“You know you can call me, you have my number. You come up and see me and the missus whenever you want.”

Tony fake snores.

“Jarvis.”

“We have a spare room,” he insists, shrugging sheepishly and stepping back. “It’s yours at any time.”

“I see you enough, okay, don’t push it. I’ll see you Monday,” Tony draws him into a one-armed hug and claps him on the back. “Don’t you worry about me.” 

“Don’t make me worry.”

“No promises,” Tony salutes, slinging his backpack on shoulder and walking backwards out of the garage to the street. “Hug the missus for me.”

Jarvis salutes back. 

With that he sprints across the street when there’s a gap in traffic, bot snapping gently at his hair as he runs.

Sweaty and sore, he is full of energy, a sense of accomplishment coursing through his blood, like an afternoon of work can only provide. He should fire off a text, he thinks, as he starts the ignition and heads out onto the road, yeah. Let Parker know he will be late.

And he does genuinely mean to send a message at the next traffic stop, but then Queen starts playing on the radio and Tony isn’t a fool, okay, he turns that up loud.

Next traffic stop, he promises himself.

---

“I’m beginning to think you can’t read the time,” Parker opens the door with a scowl. “You said six.”

Wincing in the hallway, Tony looks at his phone. Six-fifty-nine. It’s not totally his fault, okay. There was a pile up along the way and traffic was a nightmare of  ridiculous proportions. He swears he’s gonna be the first person to invent a commercially viable flying car just for the sake of personally avoiding road congestion.

“Yeah, so. Here’s the thing: I had things to do, okay, priorities --”

“You and your priorities, I swear to god --”

“Here,” Tony cuts him off, passing him his folder, letter neatly inside where it isn’t going to obviously slip out. “Your folder, dumbass.”

Peter grips it, holding it to his chest as he stares at Tony for a moment, before passing it to the nearest flat surface, a weathered and small table that holds their keys.

“Okay, thanks,” Peter nods, smiling grimly, looking behind his shoulder. “Appreciate it. You can go now.”

“So where are the Econ notes,” Tony blurts, wincing as he plays dumb. “I mean, if you had something prepared.”

Peter blinks, surprised. “Oh, uh. Um, It can wait until Monday, can’t it?”

“The assignment is due Wednesday.”

“Right. Um, just give me a sec --”

“Is that Tony?”

May appears behind Peter, smiling brightly. Tony waves, rocking back on his feet. 

“Hey, Missus Parker.”

“Hey there, handsome,” she hip-checks her nephew, joining him in the doorway and glancing between the two. “You didn’t mention we were having company tonight, Pete.”

“He’s not handsome and he’s not staying --”

“-- I was just dropping something off,” he looks to Peter. “And excuse you, the lady has spoken and I have to agree. I am handsome. Some might even say that I’m debonair.”

“And some might say that you’re deplorable.”

“Hmm, I think you mean adorable.”

That prompts a smile out of Peter. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up, all haughty.

“Tony Stark, you are many things, but adorable isn’t one of them.”

He leans in, pouting playfully. “Oh come on, Parker. I’m a little cute, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Uh, let me check,” Peter pauses before smiling sardonically. “Verdicts in - jury says you’re one-hundred-percent despicable. Sorry.”

"I’m sure I could sway the jury.”

“I think you mean you could pay the jury.”

Tony nods, pretending to be serious. “Well, yeah. You know, for consensus.”

Peter licks his lips, shifting closer.

“Consensus is important...”

“...Well, if you two are done,” May says after an extended period of silence, tying her hair back into a ponytail. “We were just about to head out to a Thai place around the corner. Tony, you should join us.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I should go --”

The rest of his words are cut off by a truly monstrous growl of his stomach. He winces, scrunching up his nose sheepishly. He probably should have eaten more than Reeses all afternoon.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” May says, stepping out of the doorway and beckoning Tony in. “Come in. Sorry about the mess.” 

It’s with Peter still staring at him that he reluctantly enters their apartment, brushing past the other boy. It looks the same as it did the other week, mostly tidy and smelling like incense. There’s a sizeable stack of unfolded laundry on the dining table, however, that wasn’t there before. 

Tony’s distracted by a pair of dancing-bulbasaur boxers sticking out of the pile when May leans in close to sniff at his hair. 

“You’ve got something in your hair, honey. Is that paint?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, palm coming back streaked with green. “Oh, uh, radiator fluid,” he explains, holding up his hand. 

“Can I ask what you did to your face?”

“I saved a homeless guy and his beef-sandwich from a pack of rabid, angry dogs. No need to call me a hero.”

May looks at him oddly. “Oh, well, if you say so. Go get yourself washed up and we can head out.”

The burn of Peter’s stare follows him all the way to their bathroom.

---

The meal is less awkward than Tony thought it would be.

Well, for him at least.

Over larb and khao pad they’d gotten through an informal interview with May about her experience as a caregiver with a single income. Not only was it informative for his own future financial independence, but she has been generous enough to speckle in colorful anecdotes of her nephew’s upbringing. Parker’s face has been getting progressively redder all night and it has nothing to do with the spice in his food.

Tony has enjoyed the evening thoroughly.

“ - and of course, we were lucky we hadn’t decided to go cheap on the health insurance. Especially when Pete here broke his wrist at gymnastics when he was eight.”

Tony barely holds back a snort. 

“You did gymnastics, Parker?”

Peter tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and sighs. The flush seems to be creeping down his neck too, Tony observes gleefully. He stuffs a large mouthful of rice in his mouth to mitigate the urge to tease. 

"Yes, he was very good, weren’t you, Pete? So talented, you should see his medals.”

“Stop, please.”

“C’mon, no need to be embarrassed, Pete, you were amazing,” she says. “You’re still a flexible little bug, aren’t you?”

Tony chokes on his rice.

Peter has his eyes squeezed shut and looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“May, I’m literally begging you.”

“Uh,” he beats at his chest with his fist, swallowing roughly. “So how long did you do that for?”

“Until I was fourteen.”

“Why’d you quit?”

There’s a very deliberate, weighted pause. May and Peter share a look between them and Tony gets a deeply uncomfortable sense that he’s just stuck his foot in it. Retract, he thinks, already regretting opening his mouth.

“Well,” May clears her throat, her tone light. “After my husband, Pete’s uncle Ben died, we moved away and we had to make some... financial cuts at the time.”

The bite he’s just taken goes to ash in his mouth. God, he really is a big idiot isn’t he. He’d assumed that May never got married to the man in the photos or that they’d just divorced, he didn’t realise that he’d passed - and so recently, too. Welling up with shame, he can’t stop himself from glancing at Peter, who’s staring at the table, lips pursed.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” May waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is strained. “Anyway, what about you, Tony? You’re severely asthmatic, right? That must have been hard, growing up if you wanted to play sports.”

Tony’s eyes widen.

“Yes, um, so hard. Luckily I’m not really an exercise-y kinda guy. I personally prefer to keep a heart rate below eighty beats per minute.”

“Did you have any hobbies growing up?”

“Yeah, driving my parents crazy,” Tony says, glad for the shift from the somber topic. “Escaping from nannies, seeing how quickly I could get them to quit.”

“You like tinkering,” Peter says quietly, looking up. “You mentioned, before. Cars and stuff.”

He shrugs, starting to feel as if he’s under the microscope, especially when Peter looks at him, eyes glittering with thinly-veiled interest. 

“I mean, I don’t know. I like - building stuff, I guess. Machines and robots, y’know, cars. It’s like, whatever.”

“You want to be the next Elon Musk or somethin’?” Peter asks, not unkindly, resting his chin on his hand.

“Nah, I wanna be the first Tony Stark,” he scratches his cheek, suddenly bashful. It’s an uncommon feeling for him. One hard to avoid, however, particularly when there is a boy who Tony doesn’t really hate who’s asking about his life like it might matter. 

He clears his throat. “Anyway, mostly it was just me cataloguing all the ways I could make the vein in my fathers’ head pop. I’m still working on that.”

May looks between them, smiling.

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Sure was.”

Still is, apparently, no matter how much he tries to stay out of the way.

The silence that follows is punctuated by the sounds of cutlery scraping across plates, of shrinking ice cubes rattling against glass. It feels pensive at the same time as it does thorny, like Tony opened the door to let someone in but accidentally let out a few ghouls.

And despite knowing he’d stepped on a landmine with the Parkers, he can’t help but wonder what other pieces of the puzzle he’s missing. Why Peter doesn’t live with his parents. Not that Tony is invested in him or anything.

He just doesn’t like mysteries, that’s all.

May excuses herself after to head to the bathroom not long after. It’s during that time that the waiter brings the check, which Tony takes immediately, slipping in some of the cash he’d gotten earlier, despite Peter’s protests. He was gonna do it anyway, even if he didn’t have the letter in the back of his mind.

“Stop paying for me,” Peter says after he passes the check-book back to the waiter. “Your family is rich, I get it. I’ve told you, I don’t need your charity.”

Tony shakes his head. It’s not worth mentioning that the only money he spends doesn’t come from his family.

“It’s not charity. Do you really think I’m that nice, eh? C’mon. Maybe I like lording it over you.”

“Well, at some point I’m going to pay you back.”

“And when that time comes I’m not going to accept your money.”

“You will,” Peter smiles wryly down at his plate. “I have my ways.”

“As do I, sweetums. Now, do me a favour: shut up and finish your larb.”

Peter does, but something about him shifts. It seems more quiet and contemplative, his eyes staying longer on Tony than they normally would. He wants to tell him to take a picture, but for once, Tony thinks it’s probably best if he keeps his mouth shut.

---

Back at the apartment, Peter goes to retrieve his ‘Econ notes’, taking the folder from the table and retreating to his bedroom. In the interim, May offers to let Tony stay over, inviting him for what he’s sure would be a rousing game of Mario Kart. 

He politely declines.

“You sure? Winner gets to choose a movie.”

“I should really get home,” he says. “Thanks though. And thanks for dinner.”

“No problem. Thank you for paying, you didn’t have to do that. Let me pay you back.”

“No need. Think of it as payment for your services and letting us pick your brain tonight.”

She reluctantly accepts with a lot less pride than what her nephew displayed and that makes Tony feel a little sick, because it’s evident that she’s a proud and stubborn woman by nature. Her acceptance, albeit laboured, speaks volumes as to the reasoning behind it.

What takes him by surprise is when she hugs him goodbye and kisses his cheek.

“You’re a good egg, Anthony. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

It’s probably the most maternal touch he’s had since, well. Probably since he last went to stay with Jarvis and his wife. Fidgeting in the hold, he’s not sure if he wants to squirm or to sink into it.

May leaves when Peter comes back in, a familiar stack of notes in his hands that he passes to Tony.

“You gonna kiss me goodbye, too?”

“What?” Peter blinks.

"Uh, never mind,” Tony waves the papers at him. “Thanks for this.”

Peter looks around to make sure they’re alone before leaning in rather promptly. 

“Wow, hold up on the proximity there,” Tony inches back, startled by their sudden closeness. “I was joking about the kiss --”

“You read the letter, didn’t you,” Peter whisper-hisses.

“What? Letter? What letter?” Tony says, voice strangled. “I don’t know of any letter.”

He gets a painful poke in his chest for his lies.

“Don’t play dumb. It wasn’t where I left it.”

“I’m not -- ow, quit poking me.”

“Then stop lying. You’re unbelievable -- don’t you know that opening someone else’s mail is a crime?”

Tony’s shoulders slump as he concedes.

“Look, it was an accident, it just slipped out. And also, it’s not technically a crime, if the envelope was already open.”

“Oh and the letter magically opened itself and forced you to read it.” 

“That could be argued.”

“Why couldn’t you mind your own business?“

Sick of being poked, he shoves the papers between his arm and his ribs to hold them and takes Peter’s fingers in his hands, squeezing the digits when they struggle to break free of his hold.

“I should have, I admit it - I didn’t think, okay, I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

Peter stops struggling, looking over his shoulder again.

“I don’t know,” he leans in again to whisper, “I only found it yesterday, I haven’t spoken to her yet. Look, I know you hate me, but can you please not tell anyone about this?”

“Why would I tell anyone?”

“I don’t know, because you’re the devil, and you get a kick out of seeing me suffer?”

“True, but I’m not going to tell anyone. Promise. That would make me look like an asshole and you like a martyr. Ergo, I shut my cake hole and continue looking better than you.”

“You’re a real prince charming,” the other boy huffs, but seems to take him at face value. “If I find out differently I’m going to come after you. You’re going to need dental work afterwards.”

Tony lets go of their joined hands, balling his fists and raising them to his face, mimicking what the other boy had done last night. 

“You wanna tousle, huh?”

He gets a light shove out the doorway for his attitude.

“Alright, smartass. Get the fuck outta here already.”

“Going, going. Goodnight, princess.”

He mock bows, peering up under his eyelashes, momentarily arrested as he watches Parker roll his eyes and bite his bottom lip in an attempt to smother a smile. 

His heart continues to beat a bit oddly all the way down to the car, where he sits in contemplative silence for a few moments until the sound of metal clicking shifts him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, hey you,” he coos, gently retrieving his bot from his bag and placing it in the passenger seat, instantly feeling bad. “I didn’t think I would take so long. I’m sorry.”

Placing a seatbelt over the bot and buckling him in, Tony begins to narrate his night to him as he pulls off the curb and begins driving.

“I guess that Parker isn’t so bad,” he tells the bot, who swivels its head in response to his voice. “I mean, he can’t dress for shit and has questionable tastes in friends - oh, and cannot hold his liquor - but I dunno, baby-bot. He’s okay. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though -- and oh my god, did I mention he did gymnastics, what a fucking dork...”

The thoughts churn and buoy him until he pulls up to his house nearly an hour later. From the driveway he can see his fathers office light still on.

The sight of it makes his stomach drop, all good cheer gone in an instant. 

“Damn,” Tony whispers to himself, tapping his knuckles against the steering wheel. This time of night on a Saturday can only mean one thing and he is really not in the mood to be in the crosshairs of whatever his father and Stane are up to.

But before he can work himself into a worry his phone vibrates in his pocket.

> hey, look, thanks for not being a total dick tonight about everything > and last night as well, I guess > yknow what i mean < ur welcome < by the way, i’m proud of you  > for what < not finishing off ur aunts beer tonight < takes strength < asking for help is the first step > omfg i take back what i said > ur the worst < and ur a pain in my ass > they have creams for that u know > anyway, g’nite, butthole > p.s. you’re still not adorable Tony smiles down at his phone. < goodnight bambi The bot clicks at him, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Don’t look at me like that. Let’s go in, but you gotta keep quiet, okay.”

He manages to avoid detection and attention from anyone, despite accidentally stepping on a squeaky floorboard. Maybe it had something to do with the record player and raucous laughter coming from the office.

In any case, Tony’s just happy to make it back to his bedroom. There, he toes off his sneakers and starts getting ready for bed, stashing the leftover cash into a drawer.

It makes him think about Peter’s reluctance for Tony to pay for over the last couple of instances, and how freaking annoying that is. And rude. 

Honestly, the dude should count himself as one of the lucky guys - Tony is not that magnanimous. He doesn’t experience an impulsive, unthinking eagerness to provide for just anybody.

Oh.

Tony stills in the middle of his bedroom.

Oh no.

He knows what this is.

“This is bad.”

---

*

*

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny,  @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers @starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen

[luvspence]

roommates (III)

i’m literally obsssed

I, II , IV<- additional roommate fluff

prompts i used: 1 2 3

spencer reid x reader

synopsis: and they were roommates

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

————

sunday paper

to you the paper was just something to be eventually recycled

but to spencer it was something so special, so special he’d wake up at 8 am on a sunday just to grab it. usually waking you up in the process

“spencer why”

he was perched on his chair, coffee in hand getting settled in to read

“why what?”

“why must you get up at 8 am, that stupid news paper would still be there at noon”

“i don’t wanna risk the neighbors stealing it, they’re sketchy y/n”

“believe me spencer no one wants to steal your news paper, and anyways wake up when you want but you don’t need to be so loud”

“hey it’s not my fault i tripped over your 100 cords plugged into the wall”

you rolled your eyes are we about to go back to bed when spencer called out

“so you don’t want the cross word y/n?”

you immediately turned around, you had a love for crosswords

you stood in front of him “give it”

he tuts “i thought you said my news paper was stupid”

“it is, give me the cross word”

“you have to respect the newspaper to get the cross word”

you scoffed

“fine i respect the news paper”

“and?”

“and??????”

“what else”

“it’s very cool and it’s totally not a waste of paper and ink when you could just look at news online”

he nods and hands you the crossword, that you work on fervently

——

white board

you and spencer had a little white board that was on your fridge, you’d write little notes to each other as you came and went

“we’re out of coffee creamer

- reid”

“okay i’ll get more creamer, why do you sign your name? there’s only two people living here

-l/n”

“the new creamers great, thanks. and i don’t know what if someone broke in and decided to leave a note. it could’ve been them

-reid”

“fair enough, have a good day spence!

-l/n”

—

“y/n, question that’s too awkward to ask any other way: do you miss me when i leave on cases?

-reid”

“yeah of course i do, i miss having someone to talk to constantly, of course i miss my best friend when he’s gone spencer was kind of question is that. but it’s not too bad because we work together and we’re always on the phone. anyway yeah i do

-l/n”

“oh okay, that’s good to hear because i miss you too, i never wake up in the middle of the night to find morgan baking in our hotel. and i miss hearing the singing from the bathroom. anyways,,, we’re leaving on a case tonight (as your most likely aware). don’t forget to feed the fish for me!

-reid”

-

“have a good day y/n!

-reid

p.s. attached is a drawing of a lady bug!“

“i quite enjoy your lady bug spencer, have a good day as well!

-l/n

p.s. i tried to draw a bee”

“y/n i love you but that’s the most a.) terrible drawing of a bee and b.) most scientifically un accurate bee i’ve ever seen, why is its stinger so big?

-reid”

“dont stinger shame my bee, he likes himself how he is

-l/n”

——-

blackouts

you and spencer were both in the home office, you were sitting through emails and spencer was reading a book under the lamp, when suddenly the light went out

“my computer! i was just- my emails!!”

“ugh now i can’t see my book”

“dont you have that book memorized at this point spencer”

“yes, but i like to re read”

you laughed and went under the sink to pull out the flash lights

you stood up, immediately tripping over spencer

“jesus christ spencer dont sneak up on me like that”

he caught you mid fall

“apologies, do the flash lights work?”

you clicked them on and off, gave the back of them a good smack as well

“shoot no, i think i have some candles”

you wandered off into your room, spencer hearing another loud thump and rushing to see if you were okay

“y/n?? are you okay?”

“yes i’m fine, this wall came out of no where”

you found the few candles and the lighter, giving a couple to spencer to spread around the apartment

you were criminally bored, your whole life revolves around your computers, which were useless without an electricity

spencer was reading his book next to one of the candles, he looked like an 18th century philosopher, crouched down with a tiny worn out book in his hands, next to the light of a candle

you were hanging backwards off the couch in boredom

“spencerrrrrrrr”

“yes?”

“i’m bored. the super said the power won’t be back for a whole TWO hours”

spencer looked around, your apartment wasn’t nearly illuminated enough to play any sort of game

“do you want me to read to you?”

he flashed you the book, “the prince” by niccolo machiavelli

“it is much more secure to be feared than loved”

“ahh you’re an expert already”

he crawled on the couch next to you, moving another candle near him to start and reading the pages to you

you listening peacefully as spencer read the pages to you, his voice like music to your ears

———

spiders

spencer was finishing up his nightly routine, about to enter his bed when he heard a scream from tour room

he immediately ran in “what’s wrong? are you okay?”

you trembled as you pointed to the spider on your wall, you then took refuge under spencer’s arm

“y/n seriously? it’s not going to hurt you”

“i don’t careeeeeee!! spence kill it please please please”

he looked at you, you were glossy eyed and had a terrible fear of spiders. he didn’t wanna kill it, but he’d do anything for you, including insect murder

he grabbed a tissue and crushed the spider, disposing of it in the trash

“my hero!” you flung your arms around him, he stroked the back of your head

“y/n if the food chain in this apartment is thrown off now i’m blaming you”

———

keys

“hey y/n you ready to go home?”

you wearing in the cave with penelope

“hey tonight i’m gonna stay a little late, penelope can give me a ride home”

“oh okay, see you at home then”

you guys waved to each other

penelope started to tease

“you’re so in love”

“am not!”

penelope put her best spencer impression on

“are you ready to go home the dearest y/n? ready to come with me? your genuis future boyfriend?”

you threw a piece of paper at her

“shut up! oh my gosh it’s not even like that”

a couple minutes later you get a call from spencer

“hey spence what’s up?”

“okay so, i um. am locked out? i t-think my key fell out on the jet?? i’ll check tomorrow but for now can you please come and open the door for me”

you laughed and told penelope

“yes of course i can my love, sit tight i’ll see you soon”

“okay thank you y/n, bye”

you put down your phone and laughed to yourself a bit

penelope dropped you off at your yet apartment, you found spenxer sitting on the steps on the front door

“spencer?”

“oh hi y/n sorry for making you come out”

“hey no worries, i live here too”

you opened the door and spencer followed you in

“thank you y/n, you’re the very best roommate”

you nodded but in your head you said

“if you like me as a roommate you should see me as a girlfriend”

[hotdamnhunnam]

My beautiful brilliant bestie Laur 🥹

I am so full of love for you and for this story and for everything we’ve been through on this journey and tonight I decided that I don’t want my praises on your fics to be contained to our DMs anymore!! Now that I’ve come out of my tumblr ghost phase, it’s only right that my effusive reactions to your fics should be shouted from the rooftops, so I’ve dug them all up, and am going to be reblogging them in the coming days ✨

I’m calling it the Laur love tour 💗

Here’s what I sent you when I first read Breathe 3 sooo many months ago! (I’m starting with this chapter because my reactions to Parts 1 and 2 were mostly just inarticulate keyboard smashes about how happy I was to have found such an awesome twin Hunnam hoe 😅)

I love you so much and can’t wait to dive headfirst (or 🐱first?) back into this incredible series as soon as I’m in the right place for it. There aren’t words for how much I adore it 💖 But nonetheless of course, below the cut are an absolute shit ton of words 🤣

………………………………

OKAYYYYY so I already read Breathe 3 last thing before bed and first thing when I woke up this morning, and I think I’m going to reread it again now so that I can gush about specific things (lol ‘gush’ in more ways than one 🤣💦) and quote some of my fave lines back to you!!

UGH THAT FIRST SCENE when he sees her in the gym and is all smiling and sauntering and drawling and winking and eyebrow-lifting and exuding BDE is hot as FUCK (and thank you for mentioning how good his ass looks!! 😋🙏🍑). And of course thank you for all the references THROUGHOUT this chapter to how he is literally dripping with sweat. They were so vivid. I died DEAD. 🥵💦💀

The foreplay between them in the gym is fucking AMAZING?! “watching you like his prey” MMHMMM OKAYYYY. Also I used to do a lot of yoga so I appreciated the descriptions of how certain poses can really put one’s body on display 🧘🏻‍♀️🤸🏻‍♀️👀😂

“he didn't know what the fuck he was doing” – I LOVED this moment of the captain departing from his characteristic deliberation as she brings all of his walls crumbling down and the fact that he *knew* from the moment he saw her that she would be his undoing?!??! Crying screaming swooning!!! 😭😫😍

Ok at this rate I’m just going to quote the whole fic 😆 Let me keep rereading and try not to rant about every little thing.. Oh but their first kiss had me fucking DRIPPING 💦 And the “Yeah?” that he breathlessly mutters?!?!! WHY IS THAT A WHOLE DAMN KINK ❤️‍🔥

“Jesus Christ, look what you're doing to me” — but LOOK WHAT YOU’RE DOING TO ME MISS LAUR 🫠 The trail of soft golden hairs and her reaction to his HUGENESS 😩🍆 Then the way his iron head HAMMERS her and your description of “his lower abs and coarse hairs around his cock rubbed against your clit” like I have a whole kink for his pubes lol and you’re hitting me right where it hurts WHY U DO DIS. 😵💘

Then “We’re going to my place”— “I'm not nearly done with you”—just run me over with a fucking truck why don’t you 🙃🛻

They’re just so painfully eager for each other and it pulsates through every word of this chapter and it’s so HOT I just CANNOT 🔥

And the little touches of sweetness and softness?? The nose-rubbing when he says he’ll be all-in 🥹 I’m so in love with ALL OF THIS 💗

“godly flesh”—yes indeed ma’am—and I came when he saw the mess of her panties and said “God damn” 🫠🌊

“dark glare from him as he loomed above you”—DOM!WILL CUMMING THRUUUUU 😈

I LOVE how you convey her submission and worship of him!! You KNOW that’s my jam and this whole bj scene is straight outta my dreams. Again with all the bits about how good his sweaty body feels and smells and tastes and everything I’m fucking bursting at the seams 🤯

You’re truly INCREDIBLE at showing what a sex god he is through every word of this—“you appreciated every muscle working and straining to provide you every bit of pleasure he could”—SOO GOOD

And then THIS SHIT—“It was becoming compulsive, needing to feel and taste his sweat on your lips, tongue and skin, the scent of his exertion nearly overpowering that of your sex that filled the room, each breath you worked to take leaving you even more breathless as you desperately tried to fill your lungs with it”—I’ve reread that line like several hundred times ughh it hits me to the core of my soul and is fucking exquisite 🤩

Then THE LAST FIVE PARAGRAPHS GODDAMN MURDERED MEEE like omggg the purity and intimacy and that last line specifically had me feeling all of the feelings and my heart exploded for him almost as hard as my 🐱 fuck like HOW ARE YOU SO GOOD AT THIS. I am going to sue you for damages. 😩❤️‍🔥💔

Okayy so there was the play-by-play 😅 Hopefully that wasn’t too incoherent or anything and conveyed at least some of what I’m hoping to convey!! Hands down the best tumblr fic I’ve EVER read, I can say that with full confidence without even having Part 4 yet. I could keep going on and on but in con-fucking-clusion THANK YOU for this beautiful blessing of a fic, and I cannot wait to read more of your writing about our favorite ironheaded dick!!! 🍆🥰💗

Breathe

Part 3

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 5.9k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Unprotected intercourse. Swearing. Public sex. Oral sex (M receiving). Too many mentions of his sweaty body 🫠💦 Slight dom/sub dynamics.

Summary: You're back at the gym attempting to distract yourself from thinking of Will, your conversation from the night before weighing on your mind, but it turns out Captain Miller has even less restraint when it comes to you than he thought he did.

A/N: The smut is finally here, and it's really long. That's what she said.

Part 1 Part 2

---

Coming to the gym at this time of day was bliss. Hardly anyone was ever here - having already rushed after work so they could get home to their families - leaving you without distraction to focus on your routine and enjoy this time for yourself.

It seemed like when you were here you could really shut your mind off and just be; no work, no stress, nothing filtering in or out that was worth a second thought.

Lately it had been very different, though, and today was the worst out of all of them. You still couldn't keep count of your reps to save your life, your mind completely occupied by Will. Getting through work was bad enough, every thought regarding your job followed by one of him, and now you knew it was impossible to rid him from your mind.

You did your best not to continuously glance around the gym in hopes of seeing him, but there was no use denying you were craving to lay your eyes on him again especially after last night, his powerful words playing on repeat.

“I want you.”

Regardless of wanting you, he had made it clear that he wasn't acting on it, so you needed to do your best to lay these feelings to rest and work on self-preservation.

You placed the dumbbells you had just finished using back on the rack and grabbed a disinfectant towel to wipe them down, switching out for a heavier pair in hopes that struggling through a little pain would help set you straight.

Just as you vowed to forget all the ways he made you feel, you caught in the reflection of the mirror in front of you the Miller brothers walking in through the front doors.

Blue eyes instantly locked with yours, and the slight smile tugging at his perfect lips had your heart leaping into your throat and your stomach fluttering with excitement and arousal as it always did whenever he was around.

You cursed to yourself when he started sauntering over right when you started into your first round, doing your best to focus on your form and not let his presence disturb you too much.

"Hey," he drawled, placing his hands on his hips.

"Hey," you panted, attempting to limit the amount of effort showing on your face.

"You been here long?" Will asked, looking around before peering at you from under those long, blond lashes.

"Uhh, not really, no," you huffed, dropping your weights and smoothing your hair out of your face, taking the opportunity for a rest before your next set. "I'm almost done with this and was going to do the stairmaster before doing a long stretch. I'm still sore from the other day."

You gave a small laugh, watching the side of his mouth turn upward, his eyebrows lifting in amusement.

"Maybe I'll join you for that stretch," he spoke, his voice low. "I've gotta help Benny and then he's heading out for training."

"Well, you know where to find me."

"Okay." He winked at you, sending a pulsing need straight to your core, the sight of his ass in his shorts as he walked away not helping your case.

In a fury, you picked up your dumbbells and powered through your last sets with more energy than you had ever had, putting your frustrations to good use.

The music in your ears was louder than it should be, using it to drown out all the thoughts you were having, each step on the circulating, automatic stairs working to take you to a place that maybe didn't include him. It was helpful that the cardio machines were all facing away from the weights, so even though you knew he was somewhere behind you, you had the view of the night sky and streetlights to look at instead of him and his brother lifting what always looked like more than double your bodyweight.

Punishing yourself for what crossed your mind after that, you pushed the button to increase the incline as well as the speed, needing to use this burnout to displace the buzzing in your mind.

After another five minutes you turned off the machine, feeling the effects on your legs and glutes tenfold as you lowered your feet back onto the floor, the tremble in them almost too much as you were forced to climb back up to wipe down the stairmaster.

As you walked toward the open section where you would perform your stretches, you glanced over to see the Miller's hard at work; sweat dripping off of Will's nose as he spotted Benny through a heavy set of bench presses.

"Okay, that's good, Benny," Will told his brother, helping him replace the barbell back on the rack after he completed his final rep. "You're gonna be too gassed to spar tonight."

Benny sat up and checked his watch, "Yeah, I should get over there anyway. You hanging out here for a bit?"

Will craned his neck to look over a machine, spotting you on the floor with your legs in a precarious position.

"Yeah, man, I'll see you at home," he nodded.

"I'm going for beers after, so I'll be in later," Benny explained, grabbing his ball cap out of Will's out-stretched hand to place backwards on his head, doing a poor attempt at keeping his wet, longer tresses contained.

Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One, two, three.

You repeated this with each movement, flowing through a relaxing vinyasa, feeling your muscles lengthen and stretch out that held onto the warmth from your workout to make it all feel that much better.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you were only focused on your breathing, not having to consciously remind yourself to do it, your rhythm slow and controlled.

You transitioned from downward dog into chaturanga and back again, peddling out your heels alternatively to stretch your hamstrings and calves, indulging in the sensation of your tight muscles loosening up.

Continuing this a few more times, you prayed that a view of your ass sticking up in the air would draw over Will's attention, and while in your last downward dog, you glanced through your legs to find him sneaking a peek as he jogged on the treadmill.

Tucking your lip between your teeth to stave off your smile, you moved forward into a plank, holding position and breathing through for a minute before folding into child's pose, then up into table top where you slowly rotated your head from side to side. You arched your back, exhaling as you felt relief in your spine in cow, then rounded it up into cat, each exchange between the two poses putting you perfectly on display.

You wouldn't hesitate to admit you were holding your poses longer than was necessary, the wind-down from your intense workout feeling almost as rewarding as knowing there were a set of blue eyes locked on you; anything to tempt the man watching you like his prey.

Will always had a plan. Everything he did was deliberate and carefully executed, but as he slammed the stop button on the treadmill and dismounted it before it even had the chance to stop and walked over to you now, he didn't know what the fuck he was doing.

He couldn't take it any longer, seeing you bent over like that on the mat, stretching your nimble limbs that he kept imagining tossing about and manipulating into different positions; the walls of composure and collection he worked so hard to carefully build up crumbling to the ground because of you.

No one else had ever made him feel like this, making him want to lose control, and everything in him knew you would be his undoing the moment he laid eyes on you.

You had finished your show for him and were making your way toward the change rooms, making Will take a quick scan of the gym as he followed, spotting one guy who had recently come in and started his workout over on the far side, and a woman who conveniently carried all her belongings with her moving contentedly on an elliptical. There was only ever one staff member on shift at a time - tonight a teenage kid whose face was glued to the screen of his phone - and otherwise the gym was dead.

Within a few long strides, Will was behind you, his stealth catching you by surprise when he gently took hold of your elbow and made you flinch and pull it away instinctively before clasping your hand to your chest, your laugh and smile only increasing his ferocity.

Your expression quickly shifted into curiosity, tilting your head slightly as you must have registered the hormones pouring off of him, knowing he had no way of disguising the dark look in his eyes or the way his body worked to lean close to yours.

Will held his breath as he let what little patience he had left give you some grace, waiting and watching as your eyes fell from his down to his lips, your pulse quickening in your neck a cue that everything in you knew what was about to happen.

You met each other without hesitation, lips crashing against one another furiously, the first taste making you moan loudly and him growl appreciatively, taking only a couple of sloppy, hasty kisses to find a tempo that already had Will hard and you desperate for more.

He walked into you, forcing you back against the wall, the air in your lungs blowing out as you thudded against the painted concrete blocks.

His hands cupped your face and he pulled away for a moment, wanting to check that he wasn't getting carried away in everything he was wanting.

Your lips couldn't look more inviting, glistening with his saliva, already slightly puffy from his beard roughly moving against them, and the look in your eyes told him everything he needed to know; you were done waiting and were ready for him, whatever the consequences.

He narrowed his eyes, still searching yours for a firm answer, and breathlessly muttered, "Yeah?"

You nodded in return despite how firmly he was holding your face, your own 'yes' dying on your lips as you leaned forward and kissed him hard, your hands reaching up to claw at his damp t-shirt.

You knew Will would taste and smell divine, but it was impossible to fathom him being this craveable, the more your tongue probed and rolled against his, the more you knew you needed to have your mouth on every inch of him.

Your hands slid down his chest to his waistband where you slipped them up beneath the hem of his shirt, skirting them upward to feel the smooth skin covering the ripples of thick muscles and flesh. He groaned into your mouth, the rumble of his low octave reverberating through you to increase your desire to please this man even more, making the wetness between your legs match the amount of sweat that coated the rest of your body.

Your fingertips easily slid across his torso on account of his own layer of sweat, and you could taste it on his lips with each kiss; being able to experience this raw, accelerated version of each other all the more alluring and empowering.

The sound of a heavy weight clanging against metal brought you both back into awareness of your location; the hallway leading to the change rooms not the most discreet choice for your heated make-out session.

Will cast a hungry glance at you and nodded his head toward the men's change room, thinking it was more likely for a man to be less offended in walking in on anything than a woman.

Having dreamt of this for longer than you could imagine, you pushed your inhibitions aside and followed him willingly, your arousal spiking as you abandoned all modesty.

A guttural sound that you knew was meant to be a chuckle tore past his lips as he backed you up against a set of lockers, the steel against the exposed skin under your sports bra making you jolt forward into him.

"Jesus Christ, look what you're doing to me," he whispered before capturing your lips again in a needy kiss.

Your fingers danced across his torso again, under his damp shirt, following the trail of soft, golden hairs that started below his belly button and continued beneath his shorts.

Will tugged at your bottom lip roughly with his teeth as you dared to explore further, his breathing increasing with his lust, his impatience for you to take him in your hand growing along with everything else.

Continuing to kiss you like he was trying to steal your air, he hastily tore his shorts down over his ass, grabbing your hand and shoving it down the front of them where you eagerly took hold of his swollen cock and stroked it appreciatively.

A long moan that turned into a whine blew past your lips, having assumed from all the times you had stared that he would be big but didn't think he was this huge, your fingers closing around his thick girth as you moved up and down his generous length.

Your core ached and throbbed with a need to have him buried inside you and stretching you out like never before, your skin tingling with what felt like electricity at the anticipation of it.

Will knew it was risky, aware that anyone could walk in at any given moment, and even though he had done a thorough evaluation of who was currently in the gym, that someone new could show up and head right into the change room where he was about to fuck you without care of anyone seeing. It wasn't like him to be so careless, but for the first time since the Publix incident, his basic instincts were taking over, clouding his mind and betraying his control.

The way you were working his dick had him on the brink already, and in a rageful haze he shoved his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and peeled them down your thighs, doing the same with your slick-coated panties next.

The tight spandex of your leggings had your legs trapped at the knee, hardly allowing any room for you to spread your legs apart, and after swiping his long fingers through your soaked folds and up to lubricate your swollen clit, Will took hold of your ass and your hip with each of his hands and drove his cock into you.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he growled, pulling all the way out before slamming back in again, filling you to your deepest point where you cried out and clawed your nails into his shoulder.

He hammered you recklessly, the control he had over you and his unrelenting thrusts the only thing he did have control of, the rest of him lost and consumed by your panting, open-mouthed kisses and your wet pussy encasing him like a vice.

The door of the locker supporting you made noise with every thrust, his force amazing you and sending you closer to your climax each time, the sensation of his long, hard cock dragging in and out tightly against your walls making you fall faster than ever.

You did your best to move along with him, cursing the restriction of your pants that trapped your legs no further than hip-distance apart, but Will made up for it with the motion of his own hips, rolling up into you so his lower abs and coarse hairs around his cock rubbed against your clit with perfect pressure and tempo.

"Fuck! Will!" you screamed, burying your face in the crook of his sweaty neck, attempting to quiet yourself as you plummeted into ecstasy.

Feeling you clench around him and soak his throbbing dick only made him work harder, fucking you violently to carry you through your orgasm, aiming to intensify and extend it as selflessly as he could.

The sounds pouring from you and the way your body shuddered and quivered in aftershocks sent him barrelling into his own orgasm, and borrowing confidence from you, he let himself give in to his release.

"Cum in me, Will, please!" you begged, holding onto his frame desperately, rocking your hips against him to aid in his pleasure.

"Fuck!" he roared, bucking into you wildly, supporting your body with only his cock and one of his hands as he slammed his other against the locker beside you, his aggression spurring you into a second climax.

His hot seed filled you and coated your overly-sensitive lips and clit perfectly, transitioning you from one orgasm that hadn't ever died down to another, even more intense one.

Will didn't stop moving in you until he knew you had ridden out every second of your high, and as you both began to quiet yourselves from your pleasure, he kissed you ardently, his hand reaching up to hold the back of your head to keep you securely against his mouth.

Despite wanting to stay buried inside you but becoming aware of your situation again, Will slipped from you and pulled his boxers and shorts back up, watching as you slid your panties over your perfect thighs to re-cover your even more perfect pussy, the way your leggings hugged your curves nearly making him hard again already as they smoothed along your gorgeous skin.

He looked from you over his shoulder and then back again, licking his lips before he spoke in a low tone.

“We’re going to my place,” he instructed, giving you no choice, “I'm not nearly done with you."

You grinned when he turned his back to you, taking your hand to lead you through the gym and out the doors quickly and efficiently, the Captain in him shining and making you burn with desire to see everything he was capable of.

His house wasn't more than two minutes away from the gym - much to your approval - even knowing he was driving his truck faster than the speed limit permitted and was likely taking the fastest route he had figured out ages ago.

You sat leaning against the passenger-side door, eating him up shamelessly as he drove, admiring the veins in his arms and hands that rippled through his tattoos, the focus straining on his still-sweaty face as he concentrated on getting you home as quickly as he could.

The traffic light ahead turned to yellow, making Will's cheeks flinch as he clenched his teeth out of frustration, his dire need to get to you again filling you with fresh want that complimented the swell of your ego.

“What happened to self-control…only doing the things you're supposed to be doing?" you asked, your voice sultry and barely recognizable to your ears.

He gave a sly, sideways glance at you, his fingers tapping the dash as his hand hung loosely over the steering wheel, his eyebrow cocked on his forehead as he caught the cheekiness in your question.

"Or not trusting yourself?" you boldly continued, his silence prompting a false confidence in you.

The light turned green and he let his foot off the brake, letting the truck roll forward before he eased on the accelerator.

He turned his head to look at you fully this time, his eyes alight with something playful that made your stomach flip.

“I never said I was good at following those rules.”

Even in his rush to get you home, Will drove with precision, only driving a little more recklessly when he turned onto his street and sped toward his driveway, pulling in and slamming his pickup in park while reaching up to hit the button to open the garage door on the visor above his head.

You made to get out, your hand pulling on the handle to open your door, only to be stopped when you felt Will's hand grip around your other wrist to pull you back, his lips crashing against yours as soon as your body twisted toward him again.

Your kiss slowly broke, his lips still brushing yours gently, his voice low when he muttered, “I still don't trust myself with you.”

His nose rubbed against yours back and forth before he pulled away a little more, a stormy colour tinting his usually lighter blue eyes.

"I told you I would be all-in, and I meant that.” He looked at you seriously, and you wondered if this was the same look he gave fellow soldiers after delegating a command. "This is your time to go if you don't want it."

You felt your voice catch in your throat, your lungs struggling to find air, but somehow managed to speak with surety, committing yourself completely.

"I'm not going anywhere, Will."

Making it inside the house was a blur and became almost impossible, the inability to keep your hands and mouths off each other making the distance from the truck to the door further than it was.

Will blindly found the door knob and twisted it, kicking it open with his foot so forcefully it thudded against the wall with a bang, the sound lost on both of you.

The smell of the house was somehow familiar, lingering with traces of the scent you now knew was his, along with a faintness of laundry detergent as well as what you only assumed was the Miller brother's dinner from last night.

As curious as you were to look around and see what the walls that made up Will’s home contained, your priority was to satisfy your curiosity in seeing the body you had imagined naked so many times in all its godly flesh.

Will hesitantly paused in kissing you when your fingers skirted along the hem of his shirt, lifting his arms up over his head to allow you to pull the drenched cotton off of him, a playful smirk tugging at his lips once he was able to see you again.

In utter amazement at his form that was the perfect combination of toned muscle and thick skin, you smoothed your hands up his stomach to his pecs before going further to the wide column of his neck where you pulled him down slightly in order to kiss him more. He hummed into your mouth, relishing in how good you tasted and felt on his tongue, his whole body still charged and buzzing from finally being able to put his lips on yours.

You felt yourself starting to become hyper-aware of every part of his body that contacted yours, and feeling his fingertips wedge under the band of your sports bra, you were ready to fall apart right then. The sweat that saturated the already tight-fitting garment made it difficult to remove, but Will made it seem effortless as his hands stretched it away from your clammy skin and peeled it over your head. A hungry growl reverberated through him as he took in the sight of your bare chest, appreciating the soft curves of each breast with his slender fingers before plucking and twisting your stiffened nipples between them.

You moaned, closing your eyes and tipping your head back, the goosebumps that poured out over every inch of your skin reaching your scalp where a shiver shot straight down your back.

"Will…" you breathed, praying he would never stop touching you.

The sound of his name coming from your lips like that made him feel feral, and there was no more time to waste in getting you fully naked so he could fuck you again and feel every part of you on him.

His lips dove to your neck, kissing you roughly while his hands traveled down your waist where his fingers took hold on the band of your leggings sitting snugly against your waist, a growl vibrating through him as he stripped them down your legs.

As gracefully as you could, you reached down to peel them away from your ankles, holding onto his broad shoulders for support as you did, the way the damp material clung to your skin not making it an easy task.

You stood in only your soiled panties, waiting for him with bated breath to rid you of those too, thankful when he made it his priority. His fingers grazed over your barely-covered pussy, and he huffed a shaky laugh in feeling how saturated the thin cotton was, his mouth covering yours in a claiming kiss as he pressed his thumb on your clit and circled it over top of the fabric.

You pressed yourself down on his hand, needing more friction, rolling your hips slightly to make the wetness lingering from the quickie in the gym spread more across your aching sex.

Will could hear his blood pounding in his ears, ready to cut loose everything he was trying to restrain, the soft moans pouring from your sweet lips making him rip your thong from you, the sight of his cum settled in the crotch of it and glistening on your pussy satisfying his most savage needs.

"God damn," he growled, seeing the mess he made of you drop to the floor heavily, your feet stepping out of them carefully before he grabbed under your bum and lifted you up, carrying you quickly to his bedroom with your legs wrapped around him.

Setting you down, he pushed the door closed so hard it slammed, returning to you in a rush to consume all of you, his tongue tangling with yours again as he held your chin to deepen your kiss.

You felt desperate to have him naked, the tease you got of him at the gym simply not enough, your want to memorize every inch of him overpowering and all-consuming. Your hands pushed against his chest, silently telling him to back away, your interruption resulting in a dark glare from him as he loomed above you. Swallowing, your mouth already watering at knowing what you were about to witness, you tugged at his shorts, the brisk motion making his hard cock spring free and bounce up and down in the most alluring way.

Tilting your head up to capture his lips again, both of your hands moved between your bodies, gripping one around his shaft and the other cupping his sack. You massaged him gently, increasing your pressure the more the movement of his lips increased in fervor with yours, his hips bucking into your hands slowly as you worked him. His skin was hot and damp, the sweaty, musky scent potent and making you drunk on him and eager to taste him.

Will still held your face, carefully prying you away from him with a sigh, his hands shifting to run over your hair to the back of your head where it all met in a ponytail, pulling at it slightly to tip your head back. His lips peppered along your throat as he slipped your hair tie down and out of your hair, letting it fall freely onto your shoulders while the elastic dropped to the floor. You whined when he raked his fingers through it, your nipples hardening even more at the sensation, unable to believe the reactions he so effortlessly brought out of you.

Stilling your strokes on his throbbing dick, you opened your eyes and kept them locked with his vibrantly blue ones, slowly dropping to your knees as you let your hands trail down his thighs, squeezing the vast muscles of his quads.

Maintaining your eye contact, you hoped you conveyed your worship of him, ready to submit to him and his every command, the flex of his cock and the appeasement on his face telling you you were.

Before you even dared to put your lips to him, you breathed in, inhaling deeply to capture as much of the smell of him that you possibly could, the intoxicating mix of his sweat and cum and your own tangy scent making you shift on your knees, trying to allay the ache between your legs.

"Don't even think about touching yourself," he barked, his hoarse voice making you hold your breath in shock that he somehow could read your mind.

You smiled slightly, looking up at him again as you brought your lips forward, teasing the tip of his cock back and forth to coat them with the precum that leaked from it. Parting them more, you let his head spread them open fully, giving little resistance as he pushed into the heat of your mouth, his legs tensing beneath your palms while you whined as you took him to the back of your throat.

He tasted better than you had imagined, the saltiness of his sweat and his cum the best thing your taste buds had ever experienced, your eagerness to keep sucking on him clear in how you expertly swirled your tongue around his length, your head moving in a precise rhythm with aim to wreck him.

Will's breathing was already ragged, feeling like he could explode at any moment, his mind split between fucking your mouth until he came down your throat and nearly choked you or prying you off of him so he could finish in that tight pussy of yours again.

"Jesus Christ, baby," he groaned, moving his hips in tempo with your head, your hands wrapping around to grab his ass to encourage him to do so.

Looking down at you, he nearly fell apart, seeing your teary eyes still locked on him faithfully, spit seeping from the corners of your mouth, turning into more of a mess with every movement along his throbbing cock.

"Up," he strangled out, his voice hoarse but still clear in his demand.

You continued as you were doing, applying more forceful sucks to his head, your selfishness outshining your obedience.

"You heard me."

His words washed over you like a drug, the look on his face tempting you to risk defying his order again, but ultimately did as you were told and released him with a crude 'pop', a sated smile dressing your lips that Will wiped clean with his thumb.

"Sorry," you cooed, still smirking at him as you stood.

"No you're not," Will half-grinned, shaking his head slightly.

He swallowed your laugh as he covered your mouth with his again, demanding full access to it with his tongue, making you feel weak in the knees, your previous cockiness vanishing in an instant.

Will walked forward, guiding you to the edge of his neatly made bed, continuing until your knees contacted the mattress and forced you to sit, moving yourself backward as he crawled on top of you.

His thigh wedged beneath yours, pushing it upward with easy force so you opened your legs wide, his dick nudging against you as he nestled himself between your welcoming spread. Rolling his hips so he slid through your slick folds, he continued kissing you fiercely, his hands smoothing up your legs and sides while pinning his full weight on you; choosing to paw at every part of you he could rather than support himself above you.

In one slow motion, he pushed into you, stretching you and filling you completely, his growl of approval drowning out your broken whine of pleasure bordering on pain. His lips abandoned yours to dig into your neck, pressing against your tender skin roughly, his beard both scratching and tickling you as he began thrusting in and out.

Each drag of his cock within your walls was hard, but deliberate, and carding your hands up and down his back, you appreciated every muscle working and straining to provide you every bit of pleasure he could.

Close to the brink, you matched his movements as best as you could, aiming to meet him each time his head blew against your g-spot, the way he found the perfect angle to ruin you making you see stars.

The way your voice sang his name and how your nails dug into his back, shoulders and ass in turn was wrecking him, breaking him down piece by piece while turning into the only sound he ever wanted to hear again.

Sensing your quickly building climax, Will pushed on, encouraged to make you fall apart as intensely as you deserved by the way you squeezed around his length in a strong, calculated pattern until you no longer could and gave into his assault.

The bedframe adopted the same motion demonstrated by your bodies, rocking steadily over the worn, hardwood floor and creaking as its limits were tested just the same as yours.

The sweet song he had been making you sing was quickly exchanged for a scream, your body taken over by that addicting, blinded ecstasy as you convulsed and tensed under his ministrations that he didn't relent on, pummeling you further into euphoria as you coaxed out his own end.

Will shoved his tongue back into your open mouth, seeking to take as much from you as he could, his hips thrusting into yours violently as he pulsed inside you to fill you once again. He gradually brought down his movements, expending every ounce of that dizzying high, effectively stealing your breath as he sought to find his own air.

Your chest heaved under his, feeling your nipples graze across his pecs with each rise and fall, his skin alight as your hands easily moved across his slippery body.

It was becoming compulsive, needing to feel and taste his sweat on your lips, tongue and skin, the scent of his exertion nearly overpowering that of your sex that filled the room, each breath you worked to take leaving you even more breathless as you desperately tried to fill your lungs with it.

There was no hurry in pulling out of you now, the need to indulge in you for as long as he could being the only thing that mattered to him. Your kisses eventually slowed, becoming lazy pecks against each other's swollen lips, cheeks and neck, your fingers raking softly through his wet, messy hair and over his forehead that dripped from his efforts.

A slight disapproving groan rumbled through him as he slipped out of you, but the smile that reached his clear, blue eyes replaced any sort of disappointment he felt as he looked down at you laying perfectly under him, and he wondered if all of this was a simple fabrication of his imagination.

You smiled back at him, continuing to smooth your finger tips along the lines that surrounded his eyes and creases that flanked the sides of his mouth, admiring every bit of emotion playing on his face as a sort of bashfulness hinted on his features brought on by your attention.

"You're incredible, Will," you praised, the desire to exalt this man as much as he deserved coursing through your veins.

He huffed a disbelieving laugh, nestling his face into your neck where he rubbed it back and forth as if he was using you to scratch his beard, prompting you to wrap your arms around his torso to keep him close to you.

"I mean it," you assured, your eyes closing at the sensation of his exhale blowing out over your dewy skin.

Will didn't dare open his mouth to speak, worrying if he did that his voice would give away everything your accolades brought out in him, the fear of falling too hard and too fast mixing in with his instinct to do exactly that.

---

Part 4

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @blairsanne @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered

[thorne93]

History Repeats (Part 1)

Prompt: Life’s hard, right? Well throw in a not so great job, a broken heart, and chasing a pipe dream in LA. But could someone come along to make all the bad shit disappear? Or is he just another heartbreak waiting around the bend?

Warnings: language, drug addiction, alcohol addiction, angst/heartbreak

Word Count: 1562

Note: Aesthetic made by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo because she’s absolutely amazing Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo . Brainstorming from @carryonmyswansong

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I wanted a room with two queens and an east facing window!” the woman with short, curled hair informed for the tenth time, her face already beet red as she yelled at you.

“Ma’am, I am sorry. I see we booked you with two queens and you’ll be on our seventh floor, with a south facing window,” you started to explain calmly.

“Does south sound like east to you? Jesus Christ, where do they hire you lazy brats?” she asked. 

Your poker face didn’t waiver though. You didn’t close your eyes, or take a deep breath, or shake your head slightly. You continued to smile and apologize. 

“You’re absolutely right, ma’am. But with the awards in the city and the influx of visitors for the winter--”

“I don’t care if all of Europe is here, I booked this trip over three months ago! My room should be available to me now!” she shouted, causing other patrons in the nearly full lobby to stare at the two of you. 

That was the good and bad thing about being a hotel right outside the city center, just on the outskirts. You didn’t get entirely booked a lot, but on rare occasions you did, it meant something.

You had been asked to step in for your coworker Danielle, when the woman found out she wasn’t on an east facing window. You’d been going back and forth with her for over twenty minutes now, her screaming in your face. This wasn’t super atypical as a hotel manager. Angry patrons of the hotel, confused guests, exhausted tourists, frustrated honeymooners...It was your job to ensure every stay here was a pleasant one, and you did want that. Why wouldn't you? But on some days, people like Mrs. Taucht here really wore on your nerves. Why did people have to be so cruel and mean when all you were doing was trying to provide them with excellent service? 

Smiling your best customer smile, you offered sweetly, “I am terribly sorry. I can refund you some of your money and perhaps you could take the south facing room, and as soon as an east facing room is available I’ll inform you.”

“Some?! Some of my money?” she shrieked, shaking her head. “I want all of my money back and free room service! This is absolutely ridiculous.” She turned to look to another guest waiting to check in. “Do you believe this?” she asked him, and you’d been so preoccupied focusing on her, you hadn’t noticed that the lobby was so getting backed up. You quickly turned to Danielle. 

“Open up check in five, and start taking everyone from this line immediately. Check everyone in as fast as you can,” you quietly spoke to her as Mrs. Taucht ranted to the man in the line behind her. 

Danielle nodded and waved everyone over from your line, telling them that she could help them at the end of the counter, while Todd, Eric, and Trish helped as quickly as they could on their lanes. 

“Actually, I can,” the man with golden hair responded politely. “I’ve been to this city many times and you wouldn’t believe how crowded it can get and how fast,” he informed.

“But I made these reservation months ago,” she reiterated.

“Well, with all respect, ma’am, you do have a room,” the guest retorted. “It’s just not the one you wanted. If I were you, I would ask for a full refund of your room, take that, and go the room they have booked for you. I would prefer any room, to standing here in the lobby, shouting at the manager…But that’s just me.”

Mrs. Taucht stared at the man, then turned back to you slowly. “What he said,” she sighed. “Can you give me the full refund and forget the room?”

“Absolutely, ma’am. It was our mistake, and I do apologize. I will throw in free breakfast every day for your stay, for your patience and understanding. Is that alright?”

She nodded her head side to side. “I would say that’s fair. Thank you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I will get to work on this refund for you, and it’ll be settled when you leave, okay?” you sweetly said.

“Alright.”

At that, she took her things and left, heading for the elevators to the rooms. You wanted to take a deep breath, but refrained, trying to keep composure for the nice guest that was next. 

“Just a moment, sir, let me enter some notes for her account,” you said politely before clacking in all the notes for you to finish later tonight. “I deeply apologize for that. I know you’ve been waiting and now you’re about to wait more.” You let a small laugh out, hoping to lighten the mood.

“I’m in no rush, besides, you’ve got your hands full,” he said with a sideways grin. He was rather handsome, now that he was closer. Warm, brown eyes, dark blonde hair, a reserved smile...But something about him seemed familiar. He had said he stayed in the city a lot. Maybe he’d checked in once before. But...his face didn’t look like one you’d forget. 

“You noticed that, hmm?” you asked with a bigger laugh. 

“Hard to miss,” he remarked.

“Too true. Thank you, for putting in a good word for me, there, by the way,” you said. This random man had no  reason to stick up for you or make your job or day easier. 

“Oh it was nothing. I was just trying to get her to move so I could get checked in,” he said evenly.

The humor whisked away from you as you nodded, realizing he wasn’t really helping you.

“Right,” you concurred, as you finished up the notes, your eyes shooting down to the computer screen. 

He leaned forward and smiled at you. “I’m joking. I was happy to help.”

Your eyes flitted back up to him as a giant grin spread across your face. This was new for you, unusual. People didn’t really go out of their way to help you. You were a bit of a wallflower all your life. Not an outcast, but not the brightest star. You were the girl that no one picked out of a crowd. You were the girl that was overlooked, rather than looked over. It wasn’t so much your looks, you’d always felt you looked average. But that was the problem: you were average. Average looks, average grades, average car, average education. Nothing about you was stellar.

Maybe that’s why Jason had left. Your boyfriend of two years had decided to dump you five days ago, just after the new year. What a way to kick it off…

“Well thank you, again. What name is your reservation under?” you asked as you queued to the page to look up check ins.

“Hayden...Christensen,” he warmly informed, seeming to hesitate though.

You smiled and nodded. “Ah. Found you. Two queens, sixth floor, room 602. Is that alright?”

“As long as it has a bed and a TV, I could care less,” he said with a shrug and a smile. 

“Simple man?” you lightly inquired as you got out his room keys and began to scan the code to them.

“Relatively,” he replied with another shrug. “You? Simple woman?” he asked. 

“In some ways, yeah, I’d like to think so,” you said, contemplating. 

“And in others?” he inquires.

“Well...none of us are simple, are we?” you questioned, a bit of ominimity in your voice. 

He nodded slightly. “I suppose that’s true.” 

You stared at him a moment longer, not exactly realizing you were staring until it became awkward and you realized you needed to hand him the room keys and information. 

“Ah! Here are your keys, here is a brochure to the spa, restaurants, and room service. Here is the number to the concierge, the manager--me, and the hotel operator,” you said, pointing at everything with a pen.

“Thank you very much,” he said, taking his cards and the pamphlet. 

“Any time, sir. I’m Y/N if you need anything, or if you need a manager, feel free to give me a call at any time,” you said warmly. Typically, you didn’t lay on that extra charm unless a customer was overtly rude or incredibly nice, and in this case he was incredibly nice, very handsome, and you still had this gnawing feeling that you’d seen him somewhere before. Therefore, if he was a returning patron to the hotel, you wanted to make him feel extra special.

“Will do. Thanks,” he said as he grabbed his bags, waved to you, and took off toward the elevators.

Once he was out of sight, you dealt with the new family coming up to check in and your day continued as usual. The rest of the shift, you were racking your brain trying to remember where you’d seen him from. You couldn’t place it at all, and that bothered you because typically you didn’t forget a face. After awhile though, you shrugged it off, figuring it would come to you later.

In your down time, after verifying the room service orders were fulfilled, requests were taken care of, and the kitchen staff was on schedule, you sat down and began playing around with some music, scribbling down some lyrics in your ratty notebook that you carried with you everywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag: 

@essie1876

@magpiegirl80

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

@marvel-imagines-yes-please

@missinstantgratification

@thejemersoninferno

@rda1989

@munlis

@thefridgeismybestie

@bubblyanarocks3

@igiveupicantthinkofausername

@kaliforniacoastalteens

@feelmyroarrrr

@kaeling

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo 

@damalseer

@heyitscam99

@yknott81​

@sorryimacrapwriter

@glitterquadricorn

@bittersweetunicorm

@alyssaj23 

@alyssaj23

@princess76179

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@sarahp879

@malfoysqueen14

@ellallheart

@breezy1415

@marvelmayo

@lyniboy

@paintballkid711

@pandacookieowo

History Repeats/Hayden

@haydens-moles

[tinyboxxtink]

“My Fairy Abogado” *Part 6*

Fair warning, this chapter starts fluffy/sexy and takes a hard left turn, idk a “trigger” word for that. 😐 Tag List

@wanniiieeee

@dumauier

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@objection-argumentative

@word-scribbless

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 7

Your parents shower wasn’t that big, after all it was the Barrio. It was almost like cramming two people in a bathroom stall. 

“Maybe this wasn’t a great idea,” You winced as Rafael’s elbow nearly missed your eye. 

“Well, maybe we can’t go for round two, but I can still pamper you hermosa,” He lathered shampoo in his hands and began massaging your scalp. It was like he had magic fingers, the way they moved all around your head, hitting pleasure spots you were unaware you even had. 

“Mmmmm,” You purred. The head massage with the warm water, all of your stress just melted away. You weren’t thinking of the kids, or the restaurant, or even the Diablos. It was just you and Rafael, here in this moment. 

“Now rinse,” Rafael instructed, and you obliged. As the water cascaded over your face, he began massaging your shoulders with soft kisses mixed in. 

“You’re killin me smalls,” You groaned with a laugh.

There was zero way you were having sex in this shower without someone breaking something. Still, it was too enticing. You turned to face him, lathering shampoo in your own hands and rubbing it into his hair gently, pulling him in to kiss you as you did so. Pretty soon you could feel his erection against your naked thigh. 

“How’s your upper body strength?” You asked devilishly.

“It’s...adequate,” Rafael saw the wheels turning in your head.

“Well then I better work fast,” You grabbed him into a hard kiss and jumped into his arms, pushing him inside you. 

“Mmmph!”  He knew what was coming, but it still took him aback as he tried to distribute your weight in his arms without slipping and killing you both. However once he got a rhythm going, the feeling was intoxicating. He bounced you up and down while you had your legs tightly wrapped around him like a tree. 

“Are you almost there baby? I really oversold myself here,” He grunted, making you giggle. 

“Aw honey, is the arthritis kicking in?” You teased him, pulling on his hair as you bounced.

“Ha ha,” He couldn’t even come with a witty comeback, he was at capacity all around. 

“Alright alright, let mama help,” You balanced on him with one hand, as your other reached down and went inside you, between his ball sack and your clit. You started rubbing it around as hard as you could, encouraging completion from the both of you. You must have done a hell of a job, because one moment you heard you both moaning in pleasure, and the next you were waking up on the floor of the shower, Rafael still inside you.

“Fucking Christ! What happened?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdness of this whole thing.

“Shit, fuck are you ok Y/N?” Rafael pulled out of you and frantically searched your body for injuries. 

“Yeah...I think I bumped my head,” 

“Yeah I um...we both...and I dropped you,” He turned bright red, making you laugh harder.

“It’s not that funny,” He grumbled, helping you to your feet.

“Aww, baby I know, I know,” You giggled as you rinsed the suds that were all over him. 

“Are you sure you’re ok? That was a pretty hard thump on the head,” He searched your eyes for dilation, making sure you didn’t have a concussion. 

“Trust me, my hard head can handle a lot,” You assured him. 

“Okay, good. Now no more shenanigans, I can’t end up in the hospital over sexcapades,” He chuckled as he finished cleaning himself. 

“Oh yeah, what would the people say?!” You feigned shock.

“They’d say that’s still pretty tame to some of the other government officials' dirty deeds,” He chuckled as you rinsed off and went to grab some towels off the rack. 

“Oooh scandalous,” You giggled, turning off the water and handing him one of the towels. You both dried yourselves off, then stopped to look at your reflections in the mirror.

“Well, this is one image I never expected to see in this mirror,” You smirked, reaching and ruffling Rafael’s hair. As you turned to face him you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

 “Yeah this is a whole 180 from kicking me out of your place,” He smirked. 

“I didn’t kick you out! You were already outside!” 

“Semantics,” He rolled his eyes as he walked over to his clothes and began to put them on.

“So you really, never thought--?” You perched yourself at the foot of the bed, still wrapped in your towel.

“In the middle of you screaming at me? No, I can’t say that it did,” He chuckled.

“I’m really sorry about that,” 

“Don’t be,” He kissed your forehead. “It’s far behind us,” You smiled and pecked him on the lips.

“Speaking of,” He glanced at his phone. “I am FAR BEHIND schedule, I better go. I still have to go home and get into abogado mode,” He chuckled as he grabbed his leather jacket and walked out of the room into the hall. You trailed behind in your towel, down the stairs and to the back door where he paused and held you for a moment. 

“I hate to say it, but next time you see me…” 

“You’ll be abogado Rafael Barba, not Rafa,” you finished with a sad smile; you rolled the R as he did the night before. 

“Yeah…” He played with your hands in his, looking sadly at the floor.

“Well it’s good we got that out of our systems then,” You half smiled, making his head jerk up. 

“....Seriously?” He asked with so much hurt in his voice. 

“I was feeling you out, guapo,” You pushed his shoulder playfully as he let out a sigh of relief. 

“But seriously, that’s gonna have to last us for a while,” You stroked his cheek. “I can’t have the kids thinking…” 

“I know,” he put a hand over yours on his face. “I can’t have people talking either,” 

“But as SOON as my parents are home--” You batted your eyes. 

“Oh it’s on, mi amor,” He pulled you in for another kiss, you smiled into his lips. 

“Alright, well have Mr. Barba call me later, yeah?” You chuckled as he mounted his bike. 

“He will definitely be in touch, Miss Y/N,” He winked before driving out of the alley way and down the street. 

You leaned against the doorway, drinking in the whole night/morning. You were so lost in happiness, you didn’t notice the shadow figure emerging from down the alley.

“Hola, Y/N,” Diego’s voice startled you so bad you almost dropped your towel.

“D-Diego,” You whispered, unsure what to do. 

“I knew it, the abogado wanted him some nice chicano ass, those boring gringa Barbies ain’t shit,” He chuckled. 

“That’s NOT--” 

“No you know what it’s not? It’s not okay for you to disrespect me like this,” He shook his head. 

“Ay, mami. I tried to be nice, I really did. I gave you a nice warning and everything,” He put hand to your cheek but you jerked it away. 

“You leave us alone, Diego,” You summoned all the courage you had to stand up against him. 

“Ohhhh, kitty’s got claws now!” He laughed harder. “That’s cute,” 

“Rafael already put one of you away, he could finish the job,” You got way too cocky for your own good. Diego got in your face, his hands almost around your throat.

“Or I could finish him, puta!” He growled.

 “Rafa thinks he’s chico grande because he climbed up out of here, and yet look at this, he’s still slumming it,” He nodded at you with an evil smirk. “I think he needs to be reminded who still runs this place,” 

And that was it. You didn’t remember anything else until you heard Mari screaming at you. 

“Y/N!!!! Oh my God… Y/N!!! Are you ok? Please wake up, please wake up…” She was shaking you. It took you a moment to return to consciousness, but as your brain started to wake up, so did the pain. 

“Ow…” You muttered. Mari let out a breath of relief as she threw her hands around your neck and pulled you up. 

“What the fuck happened?!” 

“Diego…” You muttered, still not quite able to form full sentences. 

“Diego? Why would Diego beat the shit out of you?”

“Rafa…” You mumbled back, walking over to the mirror of your backroom. Your hair was disheveled, gravel all tangled in it. Your face was black and blue, your lip was bleeding. You removed your towel to asses the damage to your body. Black and blue bruises were forming on your rib cage. It was obvious once Diego had punched you out he literally kicked the shit out of you. 

“Jesus Christ...we should get you to a hospital,” Mari came up behind you with tears in her eyes as she saw just how badly you were hurt.

“No!” You spun around to face her. “That is the LAST thing we need to do,” You hobbled up your stairs. 

“Seriously, Y/N? Look at you, you can barely walk!”

“I’m fine,” You walked back into your parent’s bedroom, Mari trailed right behind you. You winced in pain as you sat on the bed. You looked over to the spot where you and Rafael had just been together hours before; how did it go from that to this?

“Wow, it looks like you had sex in here....” Mari trailed off, looking at you. “OH MY GOD,” 

“Can you not yell, please?” You held your ear in pain.

“That’s why Diego came after you! Rafael was here, wasn’t he?” Mari was starting to get angry.

“Maybe…”

“Oh that son of a bitch,” Mari started pacing angrily. “I can’t believe he let him do that shit to you!”

“He didn’t,” You winced more as you tried getting dressed. “He left, and then Diego jumped me,” 

“Where’s your phone? That pendejo is getting a piece of my mind--” Mari started going for your phone on the dresser.

“NO,” You grabbed it before she could. “If you call Rafa, he’ll just come right back down here and he can’t deal with all of...this,” You gestured to your bruised body.  “He has a job, he doesn’t have time to worry about me,” 

“He did this to you!”

“I did this to myself, Mari,” You sighed. “He came over last night and I should’ve told him to leave-- but I didn’t,” Tears stung your eyes as you spoke. 

“And now the universe is severely punishing me for it,” You threw your hands up. “I should’ve known not to fly close to the sun-- I got burned,” 

“And then some,” Mari looked at you sadly. “Well, obviously you can’t see him again,” 

“Obviously,”  You sighed, doing your best to keep a brave face. “Can you...Would you go downstairs and open for me? I need a minute,” 

“Absolutely babe, you take as long as you need,” Mari nodded and gave you a hug as she left and closed the door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You collapsed onto the bed in sobs; pathetic, loud, carnal sobs. 

How could it end like this?

[mypoisonedvine]

Double-Edged Sword: Capt. Syverson x Reader (Chapter 1)

[I decided to ignore my WIPs and my URL and write something for Syverson because he is just…. a beautiful, meaty man and he deserves some more love.

To those of you who follow me for Witcher stuff only, I promise we will return shortly to the regularly scheduled programming.  As for the rest of us who are thirsty for Cavill in any context… enjoy!]

Summary: As a Major in the Marine Corps, you work with other units and branches relatively often.  That said, you had never really had to ask another unit for help before, so you felt pretty awkward when a mission required you to travel to a nearby Army camp and take shelter with them for the next two months.  Of course, their smack-talking, free-wheeling Captain isn’t going to make it any easier on you, either.

Word Count: 5k (oh jesus christ)

Rating: E

(warning for dub con and people being sexist assholes, cause yknow, it’s the military.  contains lots of angst and bickering and arguing, and of course, smut.)

“Listen, I’m not going to stand here and pretend I’m Ms. Popular,” you sighed, “but hopefully you all can appreciate that I look out for all of you.”

No one said anything, because they were standing at attention at their cots.

“At ease,” you added, and they all relaxed a bit, “but keep quiet so I can finish.”

A few sat on their beds but most still seemed to be paying attention.

“When it’s just us Marines, I don’t mind much whatever you call me when I’m not around.  Or when I’m around.  But once we get where we’re going tomorrow, we’re shacking up with the Army.  And as much as I want everyone to get along, I’m not sure how likely that is.  Anyways, what I’m trying to say is… right now it may be me versus you, but soon it’s going to be us versus them, Marines versus Army.  And us Marines need to stick together.  Does that make sense?”

There were a few nods, but you weren’t sure they were getting it.

“Alright, allow me to be a bit more literal.  Don’t tell the other soldiers that I’m a bitch,” you requested.  There were some scattered chuckles.  “I know it probably seems fine since you say it to each other but I need you guys to help me get their respect.  I’m not saying to go in there and tell every Army nimrod that I’m everybody’s favorite officer.  Just… don’t let them see any cracks they could exploit.  Because I have to start ordering these guys around and I’m already batting a thousand.”

“Seems reasonable,” Private Cole replied, and most of the others agreed.  You smiled and left them alone to have a somewhat relaxing night before they had to ship out.

“I don’t want this to be Marines versus Army,” you told Captain Syverson the next day when you met with him for the first time.  Of course, that was what you had told your own unit would happen, but he didn’t know that.  “I’m sure you know that this is an officer versus enlisted issue.  And us officers should stick together.”

He was smiling back at you from across the table, but it didn’t seem that friendly.  

“I don’t see why there’s any ‘versus’ at all.  You and your unit are guests here.  We get this project over with and you’re out,” he shrugged.  

“Maybe you haven’t had much issue getting control of your soldiers.  But it took me a while to get mine to trust me, and now I have to go in blind and command your unit.  So I hope you’re on my side,” you explained.

He went from smiling in an unhappy way, to laughing in an unfunny way.  You regretted the way you had approached this conversation.

“Sounds like you’re not a good leader, if it was so much trouble for you,” he scoffed. “Maybe you should work on that.”

You didn’t get angry very often, but this was the closest you’d been in a while.  You understood his distrust, even a little duplicity was merited.  To just outright insult you to your face was, of course, hurtful, but mainly just stupid.  You’d always known Army guys were total morons, but this was just ridiculous.  What could he gain from going against you?

“How many years until you get promoted?” you asked him suddenly, standing up from your chair.

“About two and a half,” he responded.

“Well, if in two and a half years we’re both still alive, and I’m not already a lieutenant colonel, call me and we’ll talk about who’s in charge.  Until then, back off,” you huffed, and turned to walk away.  You yelped when he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you back.

“You’re on my base,” he reminded you sternly.

“And we’ll try to be respectful while we’re here, regardless of how we’re being treated,” you grimaced, wrenching your arm out of his grasp.

“You’ll try to be respectful?  On my base?!  How generous,“ he scoffed.  "You can’t just show up and start running things.”

“I have no desire to micromanage your little sandhut, Captain.  I don’t give half a fuck what goes on in here.  What I do have is the final call on any decision made in this mission,” you explained.

“On whose authority?” he pressed.  You laughed.

“Cap, somewhere in your desk there’s a little piece of paper– it’s got a lot of pretty gold and silver stars on it– and it explains how commanding authority is ranked in every branch of the United States military.  Feel free to go and check me on this, but I’m pretty sure that ‘Captain’ is here,” you motioned in the air, “and ‘Major’ is here,” you moved your hand up an inch.

“Well, sweetheart, there’s a sign outside the front of this base that says ‘Army’ on it, and a little sticker on your chest,” he poked it, and you couldn’t decide if you hated the physical contact or the deriding pet name more, “that says USMC.”

“Rank is rank,” you argued.

“So if you’ve got a doctorate in physics and I’ve got a master’s in English, you have the right to lecture me about fuckin’ Grapes of Wrath or whatever?”

“My doctorate is in American History,” you frowned. He laughed in frustration.

“Only a Jarhead could miss the point that hard,” he groaned, “and find a way to brag in the process.”

“Call your superior,” you growled, “who is notably a Major, and ask him who has authority on this base while we’re here.”

You stormed out before you could hear his reply.

~

When the time came, the two of you discussed how you would approach the mission behind closed doors.  Not like it was fun or anything, but you managed to stay off each other’s throats for a while and agree on a few things.  It was nice enough that you actually let your guard down, so much so that you were totally blindsided when he waited until you were in front of the entire company to disagree with you.

“That’ll never work,” he suddenly interrupted as you explained the plan, “we’ll divide and conquer.”

You looked at him with confusion.

“That’s not what we discussed before,” you reminded him.

“I changed my mind,” he shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t.  So we’ll do it my way.”

“My men, my rules,” he growled, stepping closer to you.

“Half these people,” you corrected, since a few of your unit were women, “are mine, and you’re below me.”

“Fuck you,” he said casually, smiling while he did it.

“You couldn’t handle it,” you spat back.

A few of the enlisted ‘ooooh’ed but for the most part it was very, very quiet.

Finally, Captain Syverson silently turned on his heel and walked away, looking exasperated.

“Looks like the Captain is going to take a little break,” you smiled with fake enthusiasm, turning back to the company, “and I’ll keep explaining this mission to you all.”

“If Captain Syverson doesn’t approve it, we’re not doing it,” one of the Army kids announced.  Your Marines were notably silent, but the rest of the Captain’s unit nodded in agreement.

“I’ve got a word for you, boys.  It starts with ‘N’ and ends with ‘subordination,’” you frowned.  They all groaned.

“It’s not insubordination because you’re not in charge of us!”

“Manage your own people, Jarhead!”

You uncrossed your arms and let your voice get a little louder.  “Hey, hey, settle down!” 

It mostly worked, but everyone seemed pretty displeased.

“Captain Syverson and I had a discussion with our superiors and it was concluded that I am highest ranking and I get the final call on every tactical decision,” you explained.

“That’s not what he told us,” one of the Army boys chuckled.

You tried not to seethe in front of them, you tried to keep it professional, but how were you supposed to work in these conditions?

“As you were,” you resigned through your teeth, storming off to where the Captain had gone.  You found him in his quarters, relaxing on a sofa; you nearly kicked the door in to talk to him.

“What the fuck was that?!” you exclaimed.

“I changed my mind,” he repeated calmly.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you growled, shoving him where he sat.  He stood up, clearly agitated.

“Get your hands off me, lady.”

“Major,” you corrected through your teeth.

“Only Major you are to me is a major waste of my fucking time,” he replied.

“Take it up with the Department of Defense, they’re the ones who gave me the title,” you defended.

“You know, lately I’ve been having issues with a lot of their decisions.  I’m still trying to figure out why the fuck we’re doing this anyways.”

“The mission?” you asked.

“The war,” he corrected.

“Ah,” you nodded, looking around nervously.  You were more comfortable with the arguing than the awkward silence. 

“Whatever,” he scoffed, crossing his arms and slumping his shoulders.

“Go tell your unit the plan- our plan.  Better yet, tell them they answer to me,” you demanded.

“I couldn’t have made it any more obvious that I’m not gonna do what you tell me,” he frowned, crossing his arms.

“Will you at least cooperate with me enough to get this mission over with?” 

He thought about that for a minute, and you tried not to lose your patience.

“Hmm… no,” he decided finally.

“Then will you shut the fuck up and stay out of my way?” you suggested instead.

He stepped up to you until he was uncomfortably close, and you had to crane your neck to meet his gaze.  He had these really bright blue eyes and they didn’t fit with the rest of his face, which was significantly angrier and grittier.

“Not a chance,” he answered.  But his voice had lost the intimidating tone, and his expression had changed at some point without you noticing… he looked sort of calm, considering the situation, and you realized that he was examining your face.

“You know,” he said suddenly, “you’d be pretty if you weren’t so…” he trailed off.

“Mean?” you finished, having heard this sort of comment more than a few times.

“No, it’s not that.  The mean thing is sorta hot,” he corrected casually as if it were nothing to say.  You bit your lip and broke the eye contact, trying not to blush.  It was a good thing you didn’t find him attractive- because of course you didn’t, him being this dirty brute and all- but still, it was uncomfortable.

“You’d be pretty,” he decided, “if you weren’t a Marine.”

You laughed and shook your head incredulously.

“Yeah, well, maybe you’d be pretty if you shaved that raccoon off your face,” you suggested, “and took a shower.”

You smiled as you left the room.

~

You delayed the mission briefing a day, to give you and the Captain more time to hopefully come to some decision, and you hoped it wouldn’t mean you and your unit had to stay at this camp even just one day longer.  You met with your Marines privately, and they were sympathetic but seemed to be getting along with the other soldiers enough to sympathize with their unwillingness to cooperate.  One soldier said he would only listen to you and not ‘Sy’ as they called him, but you told them to always listen to their commanding officer even if he’s a complete tool.

You were walking back to your quarters for the night when you passed by an open tent, a half-dozen Army boys inside playing cards.

“Hey Major, what size bra do you wear?” a soldier hollered at you, and the others snickered.

“I think they’re bigger than they look in that uniform,” another added.  “Double ‘D’s, at least.”

You stopped and decided to address them, unable to let a comment like that go.

“Oh I’ve got double ‘D’s alright,” you smirked.  “Dishonorable Discharge.”

“Aw, we’re just messing around,” the first dismissed with a frown. “Can’t you take a joke?”

“I can take a joke, but I can take your job, too.  Maybe stay on my good side.”  You winked, just to keep it playful, but you were really screwed either way.  You’d tried playing along with jokes before and all it did was make you seem like some creep and/or slut who liked getting hit on (was this even what that was?) by subordinates.  But getting stern didn’t seem to make you any friends, either.  That’s why you were so comfortable with not having any friends.

“Your good side?  You mean from the back?” one of them murmured, and you wondered if he was trying to be just loud enough for you to hear, or just quiet enough for you not to. 

“Dude, she’s probably a dyke anyway,” Private Lipowitz responded.

“Am I supposed to find that insulting?” you asked him.  He smirked, as did the others, as if it was obvious that you should, but nobody said anything.  “Maybe I am a dyke.  And maybe I could give your girl back home more pleasure in five minutes than you’ve given any woman in your whole life combined, eh Lipowitz?”

“You better not talk about my girl, Major,” he challenged, standing up and puffing up his chest.  “I know you’re not supposed to hit chicks or anything, but seriously, I’ll take out anybody who talks about my girl.”  You decided not to point out that you’re not supposed to hit your commanding officer, ‘chick’ or otherwise.

“Then you better start with your boys first,” you responded, motioning to a few of the other soldiers, “because word on the street is they found those saucy little pictures she sent you.”

Lipowitz turned to the other men with wide eyes, and suddenly you were the only one smiling.  Enlisted seem to talk so much more and so much louder than they realize.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed, dashing to his pack, presumably searching for those photos.  When he didn’t find them, he stood up and pushed Private Mason back by the shoulders.

“Where are those fucking pictures, dude?”

“I don’t have ‘em, I swear,” Mason defended, but all the other guys were laughing.

“Seriously, guys, whoever has them, just give them back!”

“You’re not going to want them back in the state they’re in,” another finally admitted, “trust me.”

They all burst into laughter as Lipowitz went on a rampage, yelling and kicking and threatening to beat up the other guys.  You took the commotion as a good opportunity to sneak away mostly unnoticed and get back to your quarters for the night.

You weren’t there very long before you decided to spend some time in your temporary office instead.  You had taken your hair out of the tight regulation bun, intending to change into pajamas and go to sleep, but you remembered some paperwork that needed to be done by tomorrow night and decided to make some progress on it, since the Captain got in the way of your productivity during the day.

Of course, you weren’t an hour into it when he knocked on your door, though you didn’t know it was him until you told him to come in without looking up from your files.

He entered but stopped and didn’t say anything.

“Can I help you?” you asked eventually.

“You look different with your hair down,” he observed, and you looked back at him with a confused expression.

“Yes, I’d figure so,” you replied.

“You sleep in your uniform?” he asked, noticing that you were still in your fatigues, though you’d shed the camo long sleeve and just had on the green undershirt.

“Do I look like I’m sleeping?” you asked incredulously, looking back to your papers.  He snorted but didn’t say anything.  "Besides, I don’t think you’re ever in uniform.“

"Not when I don’t have to be,” he shrugged.  “I’m not sure why you wear it when you don’t have to.”

“I barely get taken seriously with it on, so it’s the least I can do,” you explained.

“About that…” he began, and you looked up in surprise. “I’m sorry they give you such a hard time.”

“Oh, I see,” you nodded, getting up from your chair to put some papers in your filing cabinet, “you talked to them and heard some of the awful shit they call me.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Well, you only have yourself to blame for that.  You had plenty of chances to instill respect for authority but you decided it would be more fun, I suppose, to go rogue and turn everyone against me,” you bit back with sarcastic cheeriness.

“Shit, I’m actually trying to be nice to you, and you’re still impossible.  You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he nearly yelled.  You felt like the word ‘brat’ specifically targeted the fact that you were younger than him, which you didn’t appreciate at all- you would rather be judged on your merits, even if the judgment was poor, than be treated differently just because you were young.

“I’m in charge of you,” you corrected, “and you’re refusing to listen to me.  So, if anything, you’re the brat.”

“What I would give to put you in your place right now,” he growled to himself.

“Oh, my place? And what place is that?”

“Bent over my desk and getting your brains fucked out,” he answered with a deep voice.  

A lot of guys probably fantasized about rough sex (or worse) as a means of revenge against you for all those extra push-ups and boot camp humiliations– a few had even made comments about it, though most hadn’t realized you could hear them at the time.  You’d learned quickly how to not let that stuff get to you.  But this got to you… and not in the way you prepared for.  Your face burned and your gut sank and your insides throbbed, as if out of nowhere.

“I figured you liked your women without brains,” you quipped in reply, trying not to show any signs of weakness.  

He dashed to close the space between you, pressing you back against the wall.  He was so big, and he smelled like sweat and beer and pine.  You were surprised, and confused, but you didn’t worry that he would hurt you, for some reason.

“Seems I like my women with a mouth on ‘em, because every time you make some little comment like that, I swear I get harder than steel.”

He pushed his hips into you and yep, there it was.  Your breaths began to stutter but you didn’t want him to see how much this affected you.

“Just wish you put that mouth to better use,” he added with a devilish grin.

“You’d better get back,” you threatened, without actually mentioning any potential consequences.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me,” he purred, and leaned down to speak against your ear.  “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?  I can tell you’re getting turned on when we argue, too.”

“You’re confusing arousal with irritation, Captain.”

“Mmm, I like when you call me that.  I assume the intention is condescending, cause you just have to remind me that you outrank me, but I like it anyway,” he presumed.

“It’s the proper way to address another soldier, nothing condescending about it.  You know, I actually don’t have any problem with your rank.  Or your branch.  My problem is with your personality,” you corrected.

“That’s fair.  I have a big personality,” he smirked, and pressed his erection harder against you… it felt pretty big but you couldn’t get a good impression through your fatigues.

“Well, that might explain your ego,” you murmured.

“Just tell me you don’t want it and I’ll leave you be, we’ll go back to bickering an’ shit,” he offered.  “Just look at me,” he prompted, putting a finger under your chin and guiding you to look up at him, “and tell me you don’t want it.”

As you met his gaze, you let yourself really get a closer look than you had before.  It had always been obvious that he was good-looking, but right now he looked oddly gentle considering the circumstances.  The look in his eyes lacked the confidence you were expecting… as if he really didn’t know if you wanted him or not.  As if he really wanted you to want him.  As if he really wanted you.  And it had been a long time since someone had looked at you like that.

“Fuck it,” you growled and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.  His beard rubbed against your face but it wasn’t as scratchy as you’d imagined- not that you had imagined this or anything.  

He inhaled through his nose and stepped back, pulling you with him and putting a hand on your hair and the other on your hip. 

“Looks like you’ll have to settle for bending me over my desk,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Not gonna bend you over anything yet,” he replied, putting his hands on your butt and lifting you up until you were straddling him in the air.

He walked with you wrapped around him until he could set you down on the desk, and his hands felt so damn big on the small of your waist.

He pulled back so he could pull your shirt over your head, and he took off his own while you slipped off your sports bra.  You both took a moment to stare at each other’s toplessness, a silent acknowledgement that you’d both been wondering about the other’s body.  You ran your hands up and down his chest, and he just looked at you while you did it with a difficult-to-read expression.  Of course you were familiar with muscle, you saw shirtless soldiers all the time and they were all in great shape, but this guy was just enormous.  His shoulders dwarfed you and with him so close you felt uncharacteristically small.

He didn’t say anything as he pulled you into another kiss, and this one was a bit gentler than the last.  You felt giddy and nervous and so desperate for him; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt like this, honestly.

His hands trailed down your back and you slid off the desk until you were standing.  He spun you around and pushed you down between your shoulder blades until you were face down on the desk, the cold wood making your skin break out in goosebumps.

He reached around your hips to open your button and fly, pushing your pants and underwear down to your knees.  You gasped a bit when you felt the air hit your skin.

“Oh shit, you’re wet already,” he noticed.  “Really wet.”

His fingers slipped through your folds and you tried to spread your legs but the pants got in the way.

“Just fuck me,” you demanded.

“All you know how to do is give orders, huh?” he laughed.

“This might be my first order you actually follow,” you considered, hearing him unzip the fly of his jeans.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he explained, “it’s an all-male unit, after all.”

Internally, you wanted to point out that being in an all-male unit doesn’t stop plenty of soldiers from getting it on, and that he shouldn’t be hooking up with anyone in his unit regardless of gender, but you realized this was not the time for explaining rules.

“Don’t need them,” you replied, “as long as you promise you don’t have anything I can catch.”

“You’re being so reckless,” he teased as his hands ran along your back and grabbed your ass, “it’s so unlike you.  What happened to that stubborn little rule-follower, hm?”

“She got really fucking horny,” you growled, “now get inside me, damn it.”

And without much warning, without any preparation, he slammed himself into you all at once.

“Oh fuck!” you cried out, much louder than you meant to.  He was big, really fucking big, and your walls struggled to fit him.  He didn’t slow down though, instantly setting a fast and brutal pace.

“Not so loud, sweetheart.  Not that I don’t love you screamin’ for me.  But if the other guys found out we were doing this…” he trailed off.  “Actually, I bet I’d be the most popular officer at camp if they knew we were doin’ this.”

“You already are,” you pointed out, struggling to focus on forming sentences. “And we’d both get in a lot of trouble– ah, god– if anybody reported it.”

“You’re right.  Better keep you quiet, then,” he sighed, leaning forward and stuffing two fingers into your mouth.  Your moans became sputters and chokes yet you eagerly sucked on his fingers and took them all the way down your throat.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he growled.  “If you’d deepthroated my fingers like that when we first met, I bet we’d have gotten along a lot better.”

That’s not really the way I do business, you wanted to respond, but you couldn’t say much when you were busy with the task at hand.

His fingers pulled out and you felt his hands wrap around your elbows.   He grabbed your arms and held them back as he slammed into you so hard that the desk scraped across the floor with every movement.

“So tight,” he observed.  “Bet no one’s done this to you in a long time. Bet what you always needed was a good fuck to loosen you up– literally.”

He landed a hard slap against your ass and you moaned.

“Oh, you like that?  You like it when I hit you?”

“Yes,” you answered through bared teeth.

“Dirty little slut,” he said, but the way he said it sounded more like a compliment than an insult.

He spanked you again, just a bit harder, and you yelped but found yourself pushing your hips into him and arching your back as an invitation for more.  He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, pressing as deep inside you as was physically possible and grinding against you.  You sobbed and he grabbed you by the hair, pulling you up until his chest was against your back.

“Anybody ever been this deep inside you before?” he asked, his lips right against your ear.

“No,” you whimpered.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck down to your shoulder.  You weren’t sure how to feel about him calling you ‘baby.’

He let go of your hair but kept you close to him by wrapping his arms around you as he started to thrust again.  It was oddly intimate, and your head fell back onto his shoulder as you moaned and sighed and whimpered.

Calloused hands began to grab at your breasts, teasing and pinching your nipples; you hadn’t realized how sensitive you were there, because it sent sensation shooting straight down to your inner walls.

“I’m close,” you gritted out.

“That was quick.  You’re easy to please,” he replied, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Just don’t stop,” you pleaded.  He pushed you back down onto the desk and began to pick up the pace.

“Oh, I won’t stop, I promise you that.” His voice sounded different than normal- deeper and scratchier and oddly weak in a way.  You liked the idea that this had such an effect on him.

His thrusts slammed into you so hard and fast that you were sure you’d have bruises from it, and probably on your thighs where they were hitting the edge of the desk.  For some reason, that thought was what sent you over the edge.

“Ca-captain!” you cried out as you came, and he growled a bit against your ear.  You figured he thought you were calling him that as some sort of sexy nickname, a flash of authority, but it’s just the only thing you could think to call him, the only thing you’d ever really called him.  

He, on the other hand, responded with your first name, even though you’d never gone by it and never even told it to him, mixed in with his grunts and moans as he pulled out and came all over your back.  

It was strange to go from so much noise– skin hitting skin, moans and yelps, the desk screeching on the concrete floor– to just heavy breathing and the sound of the ceiling fan spinning above you.  Or maybe it was you that was spinning; you felt sort of dizzy and numb.

He leaned away from you until you couldn’t feel his touch anywhere, and you heard him zip up his jeans.  You awkwardly lifted yourself off the desk, pulling up your own underwear and pants as well, and looking around for something to wipe yourself off with.

“Did you come?” he asked, and you felt shame and fear and anger bubble up inside you.  This had been a really, really bad idea, and both of you could lose your jobs over it, or worse. And he was such an asshole and you were supposed to be setting a good example for the women in your unit and here you were with some Army dumbass’ cum all over you and he didn’t even have the courtesy to make sure you’d finished before he did… what a joke.

“Oh, I came alright– came to my fucking senses.  Get out of my office,” you barked.

He laughed like he saw all this coming.

“Your office?  It’s my base.  Everything here is mine.  Even that jizz you’ve got on ya,” he grimaced.  “Kickin’ me out before it’s even gone cold.  You’re a real ray of sunshine as always, Major.”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Major,” you realized. “Let’s make that the only thing done tonight that we turn into a habit, alright?”

He shrugged and turned to leave, but of course, he had to have the last word.  “You can fuck the ice queen but you can’t melt her, I guess.”

“Is that what this was?  Some sort of sexual scavenger hunt, to prove you were macho enough to get the prude to spread her legs?”

“Well, it worked didn’t it?” he grinned.

“I said get out,” you reminded him, hoping he’d leave before you started crying.  He did.

You didn’t cry very often, not something you had the luxury of doing after a decade at war.  And you still didn’t let yourself do it for very long, because you were morally opposed to crying over boys.

[myblueeyedbuggers]

My Boys

Chapter 9

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairings: Reader x Steve Rogers (best friend) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1851

Warnings: Slow Start, Language, Tiny bit of Fluff

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change

So, hi again…I’m gonna be completely honest I’ve practically had no time to sit down and write for the past couple of weeks, college rained down tons of assignments and work kept asking me to do extra shifts. Hopefully you all understand the delay in updates, I’m determined to finish this book for you all, anyways I’ll shut up Enjoy 😊

Whoever decided to wake me up and drag me away from the glorious land of sleep will suffer my early morning wrath, slowly I opened my eyes and the outline of two very stupid and annoying boys filled my vision. “Have you two never heard the saying don’t tickle a sleeping dragon? I quite clearly need my beauty sleep!” why is it every time I threaten to murder these two they just start laughin’? what the hell is wrong with em?!, “ Well good mornin’ to you too doll face, as much as I’d like to stay here and trade threats mama wants you outta bed for breakfast so get ya butt moving” My eyes narrowed at Bucky as he started to follow Steve outta the room, the smirk on his face widening as I reluctantly moved out of bed.

I’ve only been here a week and I’ve nearly killed him at least 50 times, wait that’s not something I should be proud of is it? in my defence Barnes can be a right little shit when he wants to be! Two days ago, he thought it’d be funny to drench me with water in the middle of the day, it’s safe to say he didn’t climb down the tree for a fair few hours. The smell of bacon and pancakes made me completely forget whatever the hell I was talking about, I shouldn’t have rushed pulling my pants on cause my dumbass failed to see that the left leg got caught on the draw knob and I was once again hugging the floor with my bloody face. Great that didn’t hurt at all!

Right let’s check for damage, bruises? Nope scratches? Nope pride and dignity? That went a long time ago who am I kidding? “Y/N You comin down or what?!” Jesus Christ that boy has a voice like a flipping fog horn, I wouldn’t be surprised if they heard Steve in queens! “Yeah give me a minute will ya! No need to get your panties in a twist Stevie” I’m pretty sure I can hear Becca and Bucky laughin’ from up here. Okay enough time’s been spent getting dressed, at this rate the boys will have inhaled all the food…the thought alone is enough to terrifying!  

“Right you lads better of left me at least one pancake and 3 strips of bacon or they’ll be hell to pay later” as a rule most people say good morning but I like to start the day with a decent dashing of threats and insults, cause I’m a friendly person…okay nope that’s a big pile of bullc**p and I know it. “Well mornin to you too y/n, the pancakes are on the table and the bacons on Bucks plate feel free to take some” a muffled sound of protest could be heard over my laughter as Bucky shot Steve a look of utter disbelief. “I think I’ll skip on the bacon then Stevie, by the looks of it Bucks already drooled all over it” Steve and I shared a look before we burst out laughing, Buck was glaring at the both of us with syrup dribbling down his chin and I gotta be honest it looked hilarious. “You guys done laughin’ at me yet or would you like to gang up on me some more?” is this boy dumb or somethin’? “Buck, I’d be on my deathbed and my final words would be some form of insult towards you”.

And there I go signing my death sentence again, at this point Steve wasn’t even on his chair anymore, instead he was lying on the floor completely pissin’ himself laughing while Bucky slowly stood up and started walking round the table. “Oh would you look at the time! Gotta go guys my appointment with the grim reaper’s in a minute!” hey y/n maybe it’s time you start running?! With a small shriek I turned and bolted out the backdoor with a pretty pissed off Barnes boy on my tail. The sunlight blinded me for a couple of seconds, so I was kinda running without knowing what was around me…and as per usual life decided to firmly kick my ass using the form of a bloody tree. A sharp stinging sensation spread across my entire face, huh reminds me of when I ran into that door…only that didn’t hurt half as much and there wasn’t an annoying brunette prick absolutely creasing with laughter behind me. I’m pretty sure that in the process of the tree b**tch slappin’ me I cut the left side of my cheek…oh would you look at that there’s the blood that should have stayed inside me, I couldn’t stop the small groan of pain that slipped outta my mouth, the lower half of my back was more than likely battered to all hell and the stinging in my cheek wasn’t helping either.

Apparently, the sound of my suffering seemed to break the idiot outta his little laughin’ session, I raised my eyebrows at him when it finally dawned on him that I hurt myself and that was pretty funny, all the colour drained from Bucky’s face, his eye’s widened when he noticed the lovely new edition to my face and pretty soon he reached a hand out to help me up. Such a gentleman… that’s if you replace the gentle bit with idiotic. The second I was on my feet, he pulled me into a hug and began checking my face and head, I’m hoping to god he can’t see my flamin’ cheeks cause I know for a fact he would never let me live that down. To be completely honest all I could concentrate on was the gentle touch on his hands on my cheek and the look on Bucky’s face, his eyes were completely focused on my cut. How have I never noticed that his eyes have the smallest flecks of green in them? Or how his dimples show when he frowns?… more importantly why do I feel both excited and terrified but somehow warm at the same time?

My little daze was broken when I realised that his lips were movin’ and I had no idea what the hell he just said, but he must of asked me a question cause he was lookin’ at me waitin’ for his answer. Bollocks. “What’d you say Buck?” Jesus Christ could I have been anymore obvious?! Maybe I should make a giant banner and smack him in the face with it, oh for godsake am I blushin’ again?!, the small smirk on his face grew into a sh*t eating grin as he threw his arm around my shoulders and dragged me back to the house. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say that you y/n were completely blow away by the masterpiece that is my face” oh great I’ve managed to inflate his ego even more, “Actually I wasn’t gonna say anythin’ but you’ve got a little somethin’ stuck in your front teeth” and just like that all the cockiness drained outta his body.

The arm around my shoulder disappeared rather quickly, to my amusement the boy next to me did as well, I could feel the little smirk on my face as I carried on walkin’ forward as he stayed behind more than likely doin’ that cute stupid thing with his eyes. Wait what did I just say?! What the heck is wrong with me these days? Its like a flippin’ alien’s taken over me and made me into a normal girl! .It feels all kinds of wrong. A sudden cough disrupts my inner monologue, my eyes roll to the sky as the smirk reappears on my face, I can’t help the laugh that escapes me when my gaze meets Bucky’s. He was stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed as I continued to laugh and slowly his face formed a pout as he waited for me to finish completely wetting myself with laughter. “You done yet?” his brow was pulled in as he tried to fight off the smile, “Do I actually have somethin’ in my teeth or were you just being a bully?”.

“Nah, just needed to keep your ego in check before it inflated and carried you away into the wind” Buck looked like I’d just shot him in the chest, I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughin’ at him as I turned and started walkin’ back to the house. “Ya know you can be a real piece of work when ya wanna be don’t ya?” thank you captain obvious! “I know I am, you know I do it out of love don’t ya?” I shot him a small smile as I wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him in for a side hug, Bucky shook his head with a small smile, but accepted the hug anyway. After that we stayed in a comfortable silence as we walked back towards the house, his arm never pulled away from me till we got inside, that was until Mrs Barnes walked into the kitchen and saw the cut on my cheek, to simply put it she completely freaked out.

I watched her quickly shoo everyone outta the kitchen, she somehow managed to pull a chair out and sit me down while grabbing a towel and bandages, question after question was fired at me while she gently started cleaning to cut. After a while the conversation died out, Mama B was completely fixated on cleaning the cut and if I’m honest the silence was peaceful, well it was for the 5 seconds it lasted.

Bucky burst through the door lookin’ like someone was trying to murder him, not that I could blame them, 2 seconds later Steve and Becca burst through the door armed with…wait is that eyeshadow and lipstick? I watched as Bucky backed into the corner, his eyes wide as he begged them both of them for mercy, whatever he did to piss the pair off clearly warranted this man hunt and there is no way in hell I wanted to stop it just before it got good. Soon enough Becca and Steve some how managed to pin down Buck, and despite the many protests, the pair managed to smear the lipstick all over his face and dump most of the eyeshadow in his hair.

I tried my hardest not to laugh I swear, but he looked like a very disturbed and demented fairy princess and I couldn’t hold it in anymore, soon enough we were all having a little laugh at the poor bloke, eventually Buck saw the funny side of it and he too joined in with the mess that was the Barnes family.

So, I’m gonna be honest here this is more of a filler chapter/character development hopefully it didn’t suck as much as I think it did XD Okay I’ll stop rambling, Thanks for reading!

Rose Xxx

[gilmores-glorious-blog]

5 times Klaus regretted wearing a skirt +1 time he didn’t

1.

Considering he was a child soldier who heard the screams of the dead, being queer was not the strangest thing about Klaus Hargreeves by a long shot. Still, he wasn’t quite sure what to think when he started liking boys as well as girls (and everyone in-between) at age eight. Or when he realized he wasn’t quite a boy a year later. 

He knew not to tell anyone. That was the last thing this family needed. Besides, Klaus already felt so isolated from his siblings, he knew being ‘the gay one’ wouldn’t help matters. So, he kept to himself, and occasionally he’d find ghosts who were nice enough to talk to about things. There was one ghost in particular who he enjoyed to talk about boys with- a blond soldier, who told Klaus that he was also gay. 

Once when he was nine, Klaus met a ghost who looked like a woman, but talked like a man. They told Klaus they were what was called a drag queen. Klaus’ eyes lit up as the ghost talked to him of dressing up in skirts and makeup. He was so entranced by it all that he could nearly ignore the gruesome strangle marks and bruises around the ghost’s neck. 

That night, while Allison was off in the attic with Luther, Klaus snuck into his sister’s room and picked out her nicest skirt. He ran back to his room and locked the door behind him, ignoring the dead around him. 

Klaus looked in the mirror on the back of his door as he put the skirt on. Smiling, he twirled around a few times and watched the pink fabric spin with him. He liked this. It was loads better than the stupid outfits his dad made him wear. 

He was so caught up in his happiness that he didn’t notice the door was opening until it hit him in the face.

“Klaus! Oh my gosh, are you okay?” He heard his sister’s voice from the ground he’d been knocked to.

“What are you wearing?” Luther’s voice this time, a little behind Allison.

Klaus sat up tentatively and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Nothing?”

Allison glared at him. “You stole my skirt!” 

Klaus jumped up and took the skirt off, disappointed to remember how he looked with just jeans on. “I only borrowed it! For a bit!”

Allison said nothing, just snatched the skirt back from him and looked it over as if to make sure Klaus hadn’t ruined it for the two minutes he’d had it.

“Why’d you even want to wear that?” Luther asks. “You’re not a girl.” 

Klaus knew his brother didn’t mean for the words to hurt, but they did. A lot. 

He shrugged, not making eye contact. “Dunno. Wanted to see what I looked like.”

Luther just looked confused. Allison rolled her eyes. “You’re so weird, Klaus.” 

They left his room, leaving the door open. Klaus could smell his father’s cigarette smoke coming up from downstairs, and for what wasn’t the first time, he wanted more of that smell. 

2.

It took three years, but Klaus finally got his sister to let him borrow her skirt. He hadn’t asked for a while after the last time because of how badly it had gone, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how he looked while wearing it. And how he felt while wearing it. Klaus wanted to feel like that more.

So he’d started to butter up Allison- mostly by letting her use him as a test subject for all her makeup. Klaus did genuinely enjoy that, though. It gave him more time with his sister, time he’d never had before, and on the rare occasions Allison didn’t screw up and leave him looking like a reject clown, he loved how it felt to wear makeup and have painted nails. 

Klaus finally felt brave enough to make his skirt request one day when Allison had just finished painting his nails a dark blue.

“These match perfectly with that skirt of yours, Al.” He said, nodding toward the where said skirt was hanging in the open closet. 

Allison gasped a little. “They do! You should put the skirt on!” 

Klaus resisted the urge to pump his fist. “Are you sure you’re okay with that?” 

Allison nodded eagerly, jumping off the bed to grab the skirt. “Of course!”

Klaus smiled, gladly taking the skirt from her and putting it on. It was long, meant to be floor length, and it nearly went down to his feet (he was a lot taller than Allison). The fabric was shiny and swishy and Klaus couldn’t stop twirling.

Allison clapped her hands suddenly. “Ooo! I just remembered something!” She grabbed her brother’s hand and started to drag him out of her room.

“What?” Klaus was curious, but wasn’t sure he wanted the rest of the family to see him in the skirt. Dad was in his office, though, and Klaus supposed everyone else would be fine with it. So he let his curiosity get the better of him. 

“I think I’ve seen Mom wear heels that are the same color as the skirt!” Allison was leading Klaus’ towards their mother’s closet. He had to admit, heels sounded very exciting. 

“They should be around here somewhere…” Allison muttered, tossing other shoes out of her way in search for this specific pair. “Oh! Here!” 

She turned and presented her brother with a pair of stilettos that sure enough, matched his skirt and nails. Klaus grabbed them and put them on. 

He promptly fell against the doorframe. “Shit!”

Allison laughed, taking hold of his arm and leading him out of the room. Slowly, Klaus sort of got the hang of walking.

“Christ, these are hard to move in!” He shakily let go of Allison’s arm, but he kept his own extended for balance.

“They’re not that bad once you get used to it. I borrow Mom’s heels all the time just to practice walking around in them.”

“Why in the world would you do that?”

Allison shrugged. “If I’m gonna be a famous movie star, I should know how to wear high heels.”

Klaus smirked. “Right, of course, how could I forget about your Hollywood plans.” He put on a high-pitched voice, “Look out world, I’m Allison Hargreeves!”

Allison slapped him, nearly causing him to fall again. “Just for that, I’m making you walk all the way downstairs to show Vanya your outfit.” She began to move down the staircase they had found themselves at the top of.

Klaus took this as a challenge. “Oh, you think I can’t go downstairs in these shoes? I bet you I can run downstairs in them.” 

“Klaus, that doesn’t sound like a good idea-”

He ignored her and took off. “Vanya!” The more people around to watch him beat Allison at something, the better.

Surprisingly, Klaus made it almost halfway down before something went wrong. He saw that his shoe was caught in the skirt, but not in time to stop it. 

“Klaus!” He heard Allison cry from above him as he crashed down the rest of the stairs, hearing the fabric of the skirt rip.

Jesus Christ, his mouth hurt.

Vanya and Allison reached him at the same time, and they worked together to pull him up from the floor.

“God, Klaus, you’re bleeding.”

Klaus spit out some blood and attempted to talk. “No shit.” 

His brothers all came running, having heard the fall from where they were training. Ben immediately crouched in front of Klaus and examined him with concern. 

“Dude, what did you do?!” Diego exclaimed.

Klaus tried to talk again, but it hurt too much. Allison answered for him. “He tripped while running down the stairs. Which I very clearly told him not to do…” She pointedly added, staring at Klaus, who spit blood at her and enjoyed watching her jump back with a shriek. 

“I think you broke your jaw.” Five said with shockingly little sympathy in his voice. “I’m going to go get Mom, she’ll know how to help.”

“You know, you shouldn’t have worn those heels. Something like this was bound to happen.”

“Gee thanks, Luther, I hadn’t thought of that!” Klaus managed to speak. Damn, it hurt to be sarcastic. 

“...Or the skirt.” Luther said, trying like always to get the last word in.

“Yeah, okay, I got it!” Klaus spat, raising his voice a little. It was the last he would speak for eight weeks, but at least Luther didn’t get the last word.

3. 

“Bennnnn!!!” Klaus hollered, knowing his brother was downstairs, but too high to be bothered to move. 

He lay his head on his bed, waiting to see if Ben had heard him. Judging by the footsteps coming up the stairs and the annoyed mumbling, he had.

“What?” Ben said, opening the door. He clearly wasn’t in the mood for Klaus’ bullshit, but Klaus had his mind set on something and he needed his brother to do it.

“I…” Klaus sat up shakily, gesturing at himself with a flourish, “am going to come out to Dad.”

Ben’s eyes widened and he moved fully into the room, closing the door behind him. “You’re… you are? Really? Now? Are you sure?”

Klaus lit a cigarette. “Yeah! Why not?!”

“I can think of plenty of reasons why you shouldn’t, the most notable being our father isn’t exactly warm and cuddly, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Awww,” Klaus batted his eyes at Ben. “You’re so sweet. But I’m fine. The guy has hurt me enough, I can deal with a little more. Plus, he already hates me for the drugs and shit, so this can’t make things all that much worse.”

Ben bit his lip and looked nervously at his brother. “If you’re sure, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. But you have to be careful.”

Klaus put an arm around Ben. “I am fifteen, now, brother, and I have lots of money that I’ve acquired through all sorts of legal means. Plus, Pops still needs me for missions and publicity stuff. And we all know I’m the pretty one, so he can’t fuck me up too bad.”

Ben laughed a bit. “Right. You’re the pretty one.” He stood, ignoring his brother’s offended gasp. 

“So. How are you gonna do it? Sit the whole family down for a chat?”

Klaus looked disgusted. “Hell no, that’s way too fancy. Plus I’m pretty sure everyone already knows, even though I’ve only officially told you and Diego so far. I’m probably just gonna dress up all feminine, go downstairs, and improvise.”

“As far as plans go, that’s about a three out of ten.” Ben remarked.

Klaus stood, throwing his extinguished cigarette aside. “Sounds good to me!”

Ben sighs. “What do you need me for? I mean, I’m glad you told me about this, but please tell me I’m not directly involved with your shitty plan.”

“I need you, brother dearest, to raid Allison’s room.”

Ben just stares at him. “No.”

“Come on! I gotta get femme stuff, and I haven’t bought any myself yet. And we both know Vanya doesn’t have any. I just need a skirt, a cute top, and some makeup.”

“And why can’t you acquire these things yourself?” Ben crosses his arms.

“Because she’s sick of me doing that, and she’ll get mad. But you’ve been elected Nicest Hargreeves, and she’ll never get pissed at you.”

Ben didn’t comment for a while, just stared at Klaus. Klaus thinks something about his whole sad, broken, victorian boy aesthetic must have convinced Ben, because the next thing his brother says is, “Fine.”

***

Half an hour later, Klaus is dressed in a sparkly pink skirt, a white crop top, and insane amounts of makeup. 

“You look pretty.” Allison smiles. Ben ended up having to fill her in on what was happening, but she was more than supportive. She just wanted to make sure her brother didn’t ruin her clothes again.

“Thanks, Al.” Klaus did love how he looked, but he was too nervous to appreciate it fully. His high had worn off and now he has no idea what made him think this was a good idea in the first place.

“Alright, you ready?” Ben asks. 

Klaus takes a deep breath. He looks at his brother and sister, smiling at him. His gaze sweeps over the corpses starting to reappear now that the drugs are wearing off. 

He makes eye contact with one of them, one he hasn’t seen in years, since the first time he wore Allison’s skirt all those years ago. 

The blond soldier smiles at him kindly, with what appear to be tears in his eyes. He says something that Klaus can’t quite hear from across the room, but it looks like he says ‘you’ve got this, soldier.’

“Number four!” Klaus hears Reginald call from the library. He flinches, but reminds himself that the disdain in his father’s voice has nothing to do with the way he’s dressed- not yet, anyway. 

He turns and looks at where Ben and Allison are huddled at the foot of the staircase. Ben gives him a thumbs up and Klaus walks into the library. 

“Yes?” Klaus responds, a cheeky tone in his voice that’s hopefully hiding the fear that’s hidden there.

Reginald turns to look at him, and Klaus nearly passes out in the seconds it takes for his father to scan him up and down.

“What on earth are you wearing!?”

Klaus does a little twirl, “a skirt. Among other things.” He thinks if he dissociates himself from the conversation and just lets his instinct take over, it won’t be quite as scary.

  “You can’t be wearing that.” Reginald replies instantly.

“Why not? I think I look quite dashing.”

“You’re a boy! It makes you look very queer, and that’s the last thing your reputation needs.”

Klaus resists the urge to look at his siblings again for encouragement. This moment is entirely yours, Hargreeves. They can’t help you now. 

“But I am! Queer, that is. Not quite a boy.”

Klaus feels a hand connect sharply with his face. 

It would hurt more if that same hand hadn’t hurt him loads of times before. 

His father is still talking, still yelling, still hitting him. Klaus ignores him. He wants out of this skirt. 

4. 

When Reginald didn’t accompany his children on missions, there were a few things that changed. Diego didn’t stutter as much, for one. And Ben wasn’t forced to kill quite as many people. Allison’s rumors weren’t quite as harsh, and Luther didn’t hit the bad guys quite as hard. They still got the job done- they were The Umbrella Academy, and even though they were getting older, they had a reputation to maintain- but they weren’t nearly as violent without their father there, encouraging them to hurt more people. 

As for Klaus, when he went on missions without dear old Dad, he wore and did whatever the fuck he wanted. He knew as well as all of his siblings that he wasn’t in any way helpful to missions unless somehow the job getting done required communication with ghosts. (And even if it did, Klaus would almost definitely be too drunk or high to talk to the dead.) So it had been unofficially decided that when Reggie let the kids do missions on their own, Klaus didn’t really do anything unless completely necessary, and they were all fine with that. 

Klaus still enjoyed tagging along on missions, though. He knew damn well that he was still a fan favorite, so to say. He was inexplicably more charming than any of his brothers, so interviews were mostly comprised of him and Allison being endearing and the rest of the siblings standing there looking tough. Today’s mission, Klaus was feeling bold enough to wear a skirt- one that actually belonged to him this time! Allison had bought it for him at their last birthday, and though she claimed to only be doing it so he wouldn’t keep stealing hers, it was a very sweet gift and Klaus was excited to finally wear it during a mission. 

The job was taking longer than it normally would, and Klaus was passing the time by making out with a very cute boy he saw watching him in the crowd. Klaus didn’t particularly want to hook up with his fans, but anyone that actually knew him was too repulsed by what they saw to want to be close to him, so he took what he could get. 

Eventually his siblings finished whatever they’d been doing, and Klaus was interrupted by a smack on his back. 

“Come on lover boy, we gotta go.” Diego said. 

“Fine,” Klaus whined. He took a pen from the boy’s pocket and scrawled his number on his arm. “Call me.” He winked and let Diego drag him away while rolling his eyes. 

It wasn’t until they got home that Klaus realized the consequences of what he’d been doing. 

The moment they walked in the door, Vanya was waiting there to greet them- which was odd, usually she was holed up practicing her violin. 

“Klaus!” She said, sounding panicked, grabbing her brother’s arm before he could walk past her like he was going to. 

“Uh… hi Vanny?” Klaus was unclear on what was happening. 

“Did you intend to come out on national tv?”

“I’m sorry, did I what?!”

“Come here!” Vanya kept a hold of Klaus’ arm and dragged him towards the nearest tv, the other siblings trailing behind them with concern.

Klaus had no idea what his sister was talking about. He was a bit scared, very confused, and also in no way surprised if Vanya was right and he had accidentally come out on national tv. That is one hundred percent on brand for Klaus Hargreeves. 

Sure enough, when they got to the tv, a news reporter was talking over a blurry photo of Klaus kissing the boy from the mission. The headline at the bottom of the screen read Umbrella Academy’s Klaus Hargreeves Secretly Gay? 

No one says anything for a minute as they all listen to the reporter talk. Finally, Klaus says, “I didn’t think I was keeping it a secret.” 

Ben laughs weakly beside him. “Yeah, guess the public just has a terrible gaydar.”

“Dad’s gonna kill you.” Diego whispers, getting a grunt of agreement from Luther. 

“Probably.” Klaus agrees, still staring at the screen where the reporter was now discussing/judging Klaus’ choice of clothing. “I feel bad for the kid, I hope they don’t identify him.” 

“The kid?” Allison remarks from behind Klaus. “Jesus, Klaus, do you not even know the name of the guy?”

“Didn’t cross my mind to ask.” Klaus responds, ignoring the sounds of horror from his siblings. “Vanya, where’s Dad?”

Vanya jumped a bit at her name. “Uh, I think he’s in his office. Do you want me to get him, or…”

“Hell no!” Klaus scoffed. He did not want to face his father about this. They had just gotten to a point where Reginald wasn’t constantly murdering Klaus with his stare for the first time since Klaus came out to him. But his Dad was definitely not going to love this latest development, since he had made it very clear that he didn’t want the world to know that Klaus was pan and non-binary. 

Klaus turned to leave, avoiding his siblings’ disappointed and judgmental looks. “I’m gonna go smoke.” He muttered.

Klaus tried to pretend he wasn’t bothered by what they were saying about him. And he did a pretty good job of it, at least in front of his family. But that night, alone in his room, he broke down. His father hadn’t come out of his office the rest of the day, and Klaus was terrified. He opened up his old laptop and went to the ‘trending’ section of the news. Among articles about some political debate and what type of lettuce was safe to eat, his face was scattered. He clicked on a handful of the articles. 

Klaus Hargreeves rumored to be gay.

The Seance caught kissing a boy!

Sorry girls! Looks like national heartthrob Klaus Hargreeves isn’t one for women.

Number Four, the Seance, seen wearing a skirt.

Klaus rolled his eyes at some of the headlines. He really didn’t want to make any sort of public statement on this whole disaster, but he would very much like to clear things up and make it crystal clear that he is ‘one for women’, thank you very much.

Not all the articles are that bad. They’re all somewhat insensitive, considering they’re all making assumptions about Klaus based off of one blurry photo, but some are decently respectful. Of course, Klaus only focuses on the ones that aren’t. 

One of the Umbrella Academy members found to be a queer.

Seems to me that a lot of people are no longer going to have a favorite member of the Umbrella Academy.

The Seance may be able to speak to the dead, but he can not pull off a skirt.

Klaus Hargreeves should stick to talking to ghosts from now on. 

Klaus reads them all in his father’s voice.

Abruptly, he jumps of his bed and rips off his skirt, throwing it across the room. He lets out a cry of frustration. 

Klaus spends the rest of the night doing dangerous amounts of drugs and drinking every last bit of alcohol he had stored in his room. The last thing he remembers seeing before he passes out is the ghost of the blond soldier watching him with concern from the corner of the room.

5. 

It took him 26 years, but Klaus Hargreeves was finally trying to pull his shit together. Well, more accurately- it took Ben Hargreeves 26 years to convince his brother to pull his shit together. 

Klaus had woken up in the back room of some bar/drug den, mostly naked with random people laying next to him. 

His brother stood above him offering a condescending hand to Klaus, since he knew Klaus couldn’t actually touch him. 

“Hey there. Your head hurt?” 

Klaus tried very hard not to rub his throbbing head, as to not prove Ben right. “Christ, don’t you ever go away? There’s no way I’m sober right now, so why the fuck are you still bothering me?”

Klaus knew why, and Ben knew he knew why. And somewhere, deep down, Klaus was glad Ben didn’t leave. He was glad there was always someone there when he hit rock bottom over and over again. But Ben was also really bloody annoying, always telling Klaus to ‘eat a vegetable’ or ‘take a shower’. Stupid stuff like that. 

“Klaus, why do you do this?” Ben asked suddenly, as Klaus was stumbling up off the floor. 

“Do what?”

“You know what. All of this. Drugs, booze, hooking up with random strangers and then never seeing them again, living on the streets, the list goes on and on.”

“Ben, are you really still asking me this? You’d think after twelve years of it, you would stop trying to get me to give up all my lovable quirks.”

“They’re not lovable quirks!” Ben snapped, even though he knew his brother was only joking and embellishing his words like always. “They’re… they’re terrible, awful things you do to yourself and I am the only person who’s stuck with you through it all because you’ve pushed away everyone else, and do you know how hard it is that you don’t listen to me? That I have to watch you live your life- something that I didn’t get to do- so dangerously, so irresponsibly, like you don’t even care whether you live or die!” 

“Well, maybe I don’t!”

Ben’s face softened. “Klaus…” He took a deep breath and started again. “Klaus, I know it’s hard. I know our childhood was shit, and our dad was abusive as all hell, and the ghosts are unbearable. I know all that. But it could all be so much better if you tried a little bit. If you sobered up enough to get a job, so you could get money, so you could an apartment. Klaus, I don’t care if you buy the shittiest, most rundown apartment in the whole city- I will cry tears of joy if you have a place to live for once. Or... or you could do what Diego does! You could work for someone in exchange to live with them. Speaking of Diego, what about trying to live with him? You know he loves you like crazy, even though he doesn’t act like it. Talk to him, talk to Allison for god’s sake, she’s filthy rich and I’m sure she’d give you money. You don’t have to isolate yourself from your family! God, I don’t understand why you all pushed each other away! Do you know how much I would give to be alive with all of you right now?! Why don’t any of you appreciate this life that you have! Klaus, you have no fucking idea how terrible it is to be dead and watch the people you love throw away their life!” 

Klaus didn’t know ghosts could cry. 

He watched in horror as his brother curled up on the floor, wiping away tears. Ben looked so small, like he was as young as he was when he was alive. Klaus blinked and saw their father standing over Ben, yelling at him for not trying hard enough. He blinked again and saw an eight-year-old Ben, sobbing on the floor of a bank after murdering a group of people for the first time. He saw every other time he walked into Ben’s room and saw him doing that after a mission- too many times for Klaus to count. 

“Okay.” He found himself saying. 

Ben looked up at him, standing hesitantly. “Okay… what?”

“I’ll try to find a job.” Klaus meant it, shockingly. Ben was right, and he knew it. He didn’t like it, but he needed to do something to thank Ben for sticking with him.

The look on Ben’s face made it all worth it.

***

“Bennn why is finding a job so hard?”

“Klaus, we’ve been looking for thirty minutes. That’s nothing. And I still think we should go see Diego or Vanya or someone with a computer so you can research places to work, not just wander around until you find something.”

“No, no, nope. I am being nice and doing something for you, but I promise you that by the time this hangover wears off, I will have lost all motivation to do so. We gotta get me some paperwork or shit so I’ll be legally obligated to not back out of this.”

“When has the law ever stopped you?” 

Klaus glared at his brother. “Giving up on this now…”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m very proud of you. Let’s keep looking.” Ben reached out like he was going to pat Klaus’ shoulder, but stopped. Even after Ben being dead for nearly ten years, both brothers forgot sometimes that they couldn’t touch. Klaus would never admit it, but he would give anything to hug Ben again. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the mood brought down by the cruel reminder of Ben’s death. 

“Oh! Klaus!” Ben said suddenly, pointing at the window they were passing. Klaus followed his brother’s finger and saw the Help Wanted sign. 

“Well that looks promising…” Klaus wandered over to see what the store was. “Goodwin Hardware… a hardware store? That’s so boring!” 

“Come on, it’s the only place we’ve found. And at least there’s sharp objects you can play with!” Ben pleaded.

“Okay, calm down there Diego, I’m still going to check it out.” Klaus used the window as a mirror, adjusting his hair and overall trying to make himself a little less disheveled. He was wearing a blue button up and a silver skirt- both things he had found on the floor he woke up on, and he was pretty sure neither of them belonged to him the night before. 

Klaus walked into the store, the jingle of the bell on the door nearly as loud as Ben’s gasp of excitement. 

“Can I help ‘ya?” A gruff voice barked from the front counter. Klaus followed the voice to see an old white guy look up from the fishing magazine he’d been reading. Figures, Klaus thought- it was a hardware store after all, but Klaus had been hoping it was one of those cool, lesbian-owned hardware stores. 

Klaus felt himself freeze up, seeing just a little too much of his father in the man’s face, but Ben whispered encouragement from behind him, and together they walked to the counter.

“Hi, yes, I was wondering about your help wanted sign? You see, I’ve recently decided to acquire a job, and this looks like a lovely place-”

“No.” The man said, returning to his magazine like the conversation was over.

“...No?” Klaus repeated.

“I don’t hire queers,” The guy glanced up again and gave Klaus a look like it should have been obvious what he was talking about.

Oh.

Klaus heard Ben mutter his name from behind him, the same disappointed tone in his voice that Klaus was used to hearing.

“Well, sir, I don’t think being gay hinders my ability to shelf tools.” Klaus bit his lip as he spoke, trying his hardest to remain polite. Do it for Ben, do it for Ben, do it for Ben-

“Listen, sissy, I told you the answer’s no. Now get out of my shop.”

Okay that was it. Klaus reached across the counter and tore the magazine from the man’s hands, throwing it behind him. 

“You’re going to give me this fucking job!” Klaus hissed. He ignored the fact that Ben was telling him to stop, telling him that they would just find another opportunity. 

The man grabbed Klaus by the collar and pulled him close, scraping him across the wood of the counter. Klaus flinched, being reminded once again of his dad. 

“No, ‘m not. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of my store before I have to tell you a third time.”

Klaus spit in the man’s eye. A fist met his face. 

He woke up in what had lovingly been dubbed “his” prison cell. 

“God, my head…” He rubbed at his face, feeling a lump from where the man had hit him. 

“Oh. You’re awake.” Ben said from across the room. 

Klaus remembered all that had happened. (Although why he went to jail when he was the one who’d gotten hit, he wasn’t sure. Probably had something to do with the fact that his cop-in-training brother used arresting Klaus as an excuse to check up on him.)

“Ben, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to make this into a whole thing-”

“But you did! You egged that guy on when we could have just left and kept looking! Jesus, Klaus do you ever know when to stop?!” Ben rubbed his eyes and turned away from Klaus, making it clear the conversation was over and Klaus was left with a bitch of a hypothetical question. 

He picked at the fraying silver of his (not his) skirt. He closed his eyes and saw a tv headline, saw his father’s hand hitting him, saw the floor fall out beneath him, saw his brother and sister’s judgmental faces. 

Maybe he should stop wearing skirts. 

+1. 

Klaus had made a promise to himself that he would stop wearing skirts. Nothing good happened when he did. The only time he’d broken that promise since the hardware store incident was at his father’s funeral- sort of as a final fuck-you to Reginald. And hey, things couldn’t get any worse, right? At least that’s what he thought until his baby brother showed up, rambling about doomsday. 

But, Klaus had made that promise in 2016. And this was 1968. So technically, Klaus hadn’t made the promise yet. Besides, this skirt was really cute.

So Klaus bought it, bullshiting some excuse about buying it to send to his little sister back home (as if Vanya would ever wear this), because as nice as the Saigon residents were, he wasn’t about to tell them he was a gay soldier sneaking away from camp with another gay soldier. 

He and Dave weren’t fully sneaking around, exactly. Everyone in their unit had a break this weekend, it’s just that most of them weren’t in Saigon. Klaus wasn’t sure where they were exactly, but he knew that he and Dave weren’t in risk of being seen by anyone they knew. So they only had to worry the normal amount about being gay in the 60s! Yay!

Klaus sat waiting outside their motel room, because Dave was a sap and wanted to pretend like he was picking Klaus up for their date, even though they were staying in the same space. Not that Klaus minded- he loved that Dave was such a romantic. It was just one of the many, many things that made him different- and better- than any partners Klaus had before. 

It felt wrong, comparing Dave to other partners. They weren’t even on the same plane as him. Klaus had never been with someone because he cared about them before. He’d never really been with someone at all, actually. Three weeks didn’t exactly count as a long-term relationship, especially when he was only doing it for a place to sleep. The point was, Dave was different. Dave was special. Klaus knew it from the moment he saw him. Something about him looked familiar, like Klaus had known him before in a different time. 

It wasn’t like Klaus was planning on staying in the middle of a war that happened twenty years before he was even born, but he didn’t exactly have a reason to go back to 2019, either. And he realized about an hour into his time in Vietnam that he did have a reason to stay there- a blond, hot, blue-eyed, Jewish reason, to be exact. And look, it happened to work out well for Klaus (surprisingly, since things so rarely did) when a month later he learned that his reason for staying wanted him too.

Klaus was so lost in thought that he almost forgot how boring it was waiting for Dave. ...Almost. 

“Hey!” He stood, rapping on the motel door. “Hurry up!” Klaus didn’t care if Dave wasn’t ready to go out yet- in fact, it was probably more fun that way.

“God, Hargreeves, don’t you have any patience?!” Dave’s voice came all the way from the far side of the room, but Klaus could still hear the affectionate tone it carried. Dave only called Klaus by his last name when he was doing so in a teasing manner. Klaus called Dave by his a lot more, ever since he learned that David Katz was allergic to cats, and he never let him live it down. 

“Nope! None at all. Now c’mon, or I’m just gonna leave without you.” He wouldn’t, obviously, and Dave knew it too. 

Klaus heard footsteps on the other side of the door and he had a brief moment of panic about what he was wearing. Shit, why did he break his promise? Dave had seemed fine up until now about Klaus’ gender expression and the way he dressed or wore makeup or acted feminine, but what if he really wasn’t? Klaus knew it was already hard for Dave to be comfortable in his sexuality, and he didn’t want to be the reason Dave retreated back into the closet. The last thing this tentative gay soldier needed was a reminder of just how queer the man he was dating is. Klaus very nearly tore the skirt off, even though he wasn’t wearing anything underneath it, but the door opened before he could make that very stupid decision. 

He froze as Dave, wearing the same button-up he’d worn the first time they’d kissed and a new pair of pants he must have bought that afternoon, quickly gave Klaus a once-over. They made eye contact and Klaus instantly relaxed upon seeing the fondness in Dave’s eyes.

“You look beautiful.” Dave smiled.

Klaus entered the room, shutting the door behind him with one hand as he held Dave’s face in the other. He kissed him, smiling wide against Dave’s lips.

“What was that?” Dave asked when Klaus pulled away. 

“A kiss, you idiot.” 

“No shit, Klaus, I just didn’t know why you did it.”

“I did it because you complimented me and I am desperate for validation. Don’t flatter yourself or anything, I kiss everyone who says I look nice.”

Dave laughed, “you better not.” He was the one to kiss Klaus this time, pushing him against the door. 

“Hey.” Klaus held onto Dave’s shoulders and moved him far enough away that he could lock eyes with him. “I love you.”

Dave didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch away or act disgusted, even though it was the first time Klaus had said it and he had been sure the response would be negative. 

“I love you too, Klaus.”

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 7)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed ™ with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

Chapters 1-7 are up on ao3 under the same username!

(The EYE speaks in glitched text.  Jon’s thoughts are italicized.)

WARNINGS: illness, hospitals, medical talk, addiction mention

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

P̘ͮnͯͧ͋̏e͓̳̭͗ͩu͔̲ͥ̽̿ͯ̾m̲̑̉̿̏̅ͨ̿̔o̭͚͗̏̉̂̌ͪ̿͗n̪̟̫̩͉̍̓ͤ̈̿̂i͙̥͕̱̯̿ͮ͋̄ͣ̄̀a͎͔̮̻͗͊ͣ̓ͯ̄͛͒͑ ̝͇͍̯̫̺̋ͫͯ̍́ͤ̄ͤS̹͍͓̪̠̙̯̟̥̔ͬ̑̋ͪ̚e̻͉̳͈͕͔̟͍̲̖ͭ̈́̎̿ͦv͈͓̼̲̭͍̖̲͐̒̿͊ͬ̉ͭͅe̻̫̞̬̬̤̯̹ͨ̃ͤͩͤ̉ͦ̈r̪͚̙͖̩͉͓͙ͤ͐̆̽̑̊͒̚i̼̘̖̼͕̫̦̻̩̙̬͐̓ͣ̇̚t̤̙̹͉̭ͭ̄̔ͭ͊̍̓͛͋̚ẙ̼͙̩̻͈͙̈́́̒ͣ̿̋ͣ̚ ͙̺̱̣̪̒ͩ̋͑ͫͤͭ̓̌Î̺̼͓͇̖͖͋͒ͥ̓͋̇ṇ͇͎̓̿̄͛̐̂̽̿̓d͚̤̩̹ͤ̍̈ͭ͐̄͗e̫̺͓̺̤̺͋̒͋̂x̖̟̦͊͂͂̾̓ ͈ͨ̈̾ͣ̿̅Ŝ̗̗̈́̇c͓ͪͧ̓o̭̜re:

aͦ ̀c̤̏l̠ͪi̻͍n͉̿̋i͖ͨ̉c̘ͬͬa̗̖ͅl̹͊͂̈ ͉̊̉̔ẗ̗̥̣ö̻̳̓̄o͒͛̋̈́̚l̘̳͂̃͒ ͎̋͌ͪ͋f̙̖͑ͥ̒̍ọ̼̭ͭ̈̃r͎̥̪̓̏̇ ͖̞͍̐ͫ̀m̱̣̖̤̎ͯͩe̮̫̙ͯ͐̚ͅȧ͉̥ͨ̂ͧͣs̮̟̗͇ͧ͒̅u̥̥͕͔͕̔̾r͙͍̘ͨ̈́͗̂ḯ̠͙̹̘͒̍n̗̐̌̎̋́ͭ̊g͚̝̜̳̬̈́ͦ̂ ̘̗̗̓͂ͭ͊͑t͓͙̯̩͒͌̾͌h̲̳̝͓̊̓̆̚ẻ̥͚͉͙̑͒̑ ̫̤͊ͦͥ͊̄̈́l̮̦̯̏̎̽̈́ͥỉ̟̖̲ͯ̿̓̊k̜̬̮̙ͬ̑͂̂ḛ̭͕̽͊̄ͦͅl͇̺̼̤̿ͦ͒̚ï̠̙̮̪̠̓̎h̯̱͔͖ͭ͗̉ọ͖̝̘̔̊ͮo̳̬̬̩ͧͩ͋d̲̦̩̰̿̍͒ ̲ͨ̀̾͋͋ͩo̤͖̤͋ͨͭ̚f͌ͥ̈͂̄̅̈́ ̞ͨͭͬͭ̚m̮̪̄̆͋̔o̬̰̺̤ͥ̈́r̘̳̈́̔̐ͅt͕̳͇̎̉a͓̤̫͕ͪl̤͍̰͋ͮì̫̠̂͒t͙̥ͧͥẙ̤ͦ̓ ͓͇̺̻f̤́͂r̼͑̏o̦̱̘m͐̓ ̲ͮp̙̀ṉėu͉monia.

A̮ ̞s̬ͨc̥͈ǒ͆r͈͂e̪ͤ̚ ̼ͬͯiͭ̾̑s͙͗̌̓ ̮̪̝͙g̻̿̊͛i̹͛̒ͬv̯̄̿͊ͦe͚̺ͣͨͦn̙̹͂ͤͩ ̠͙̝̊͒b͊̇̔̆̉a̝̰ͧ́ͨs͕͖̝͗̌ḛ̣̥̄ͣḓ̥͌̄ͩ ͚̙͈͊ͯu̘ͪ̋̊̂p͕̥ͫͫ̚ȯ͖̙̒ͬn̗̓ͮ̎̿ ̘̽̈́̊͂t͙̞̻̯̏ḫ͉̰͕͚e̼̫̳̩̤ ͇̐͆͆̅f̓ͭ̄͛ő̜̯̫l̹̉ͪ̂l̩̘̻ͦo͔͕̊w̯̞̃i̇̍̈́n̞̾ͩg͙͒ ̻̊f̻̚a̽c̰t̄ors:

God, shut UP.

Jon buries his face in his hands, the familiar hunger-driven brain fog beginning to settle in.  It’s been nearly thirty minutes since Martin had his x-ray, and he’s been dozing ever since.  Left with nothing but the silence for company, Jon’s head has been spinning with information that he doesn’t want, he doesn’t need, he doesn’t understand.

He rubs at his eyes.

Christ, I am exhausted.

Before he can sink further into his misery, there is a sharp rapping on the door, and Jon is forced to pick up his head and push wearily forward.  Martin’s eyes flutter open along with the door, which reveals Aaron, cheery as ever.

“Hi again, how are we doing in here?” he says, flashing a wide smile in Martin’s direction.

Eyes still half-lidded with sleep, Martin gives yet another thumbs up in response.  At this, Jon cannot help but roll his eyes and sigh, sharing a sidelong look with the doctor.  Aaron returns the look, nodding at Jon in acknowledgment before he continues.

“That good, eh?  Well, the results are in, and—drumroll please…”

With a flourish, he slides Martin’s x-ray in front of the lightboard and points at dense-looking white spots on Martin’s lungs.

“You’ve got a pretty significantly sized infection in your left lung, with a small spot of infection in your right.  Which means that it’s a double pneumonia, and a pretty nasty one at that.  But you knew that already, I’d wager.”

Martin lets out a faint sigh, and nods.  Seeming to sense his growing fatigue, Aaron lowers himself to sitting on a rolling stool, and turns to address both Martin and Jon in a softer voice.

“What happens next is this: we need to get that fever down a bit and get you some antibiotics.  So we’re going to keep you here for a few hours while we get you those, as well as an IV to get you some liquids, and see what happens from there.  If you seem to be doing better, we’ll send you home with oral antibiotics and oxygen, in case you need it.  If not, we’re going to have to send you to the hospital in Aberdeen for treatment tonight, since I can’t keep anyone overnight here.  Does that all make sense?”

Sending a glance towards Martin, Jon squeezes his hand to elicit some sort of response, but he merely continues to stare at the doctor, blinking owlishly.  Jon clears his throat.

“Err, yes—that makes perfect sense, thank you,” Jon replies for him, certain that Martin had not taken in anything that had just been said.

“Happy to help,” Aaron replies, shooting Jon a lopsided grin. “Anything else I can do for you in the meantime?”

Jon takes a moment to think, watching as Martin’s eyes droop closed once again.

Basira.  She’ll want to know.

“Actually, yes—is there a phone I can use here?”

“’Course, just take a right down the hall.  Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.”

Aaron stands from his stool then, clapping a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“No trouble!  Isla—Martin’s nurse—will be around to get all that stuff to you.  I’m just a shout away if you need me, alright?”

“Right.  Thank you, Aaron.”

He dims the lights as he exits, closing the door behind him.  Turning his attention back to Martin, still drifting into fever-induced slumber, Jon takes up his left hand again, holding it in both of his own.  Slowly, nervously, he begins working his fingers over Martin’s palm, clumsily imitating Martin’s well-practiced massage technique.  He looks down at his own hands, scowling at the scars peppered across them, faded and pale against the dark of his skin.

My hands are too rough, this is foolish.

He is proven definitively wrong when Martin lets out a soft sigh of contentment, fogging up the mask instantly.

Jon grins from ear to ear and keeps going.

(13:37)

His left knee aches as he walks unevenly toward the hall phone, old injury pulling at him in the wake of half-carrying Martin to the car that morning.

Should have brought my brace.

Martin has been sleeping on and off for the past few hours, rousing only to cough or smile pleasantly at Isla when she comes by to tend to him.  He’s been set up with IV fluids and fever reducers since noon, and his first dose of antibiotics went down with little issue.  Left only with the prospect of waiting to see what happens, Jon finally feels comfortable enough to leave a sleeping Martin in the room for a while to call Basira, grab some coffee, find a bite to eat, and—

No, you will NOT smoke today.  Not an option.

Reaching the phone, Jon hesitates for a moment, mulling over what to say before finally dialing Basira’s number.  She lets it ring out a few times before picking up brusquely.

“Hussain speaking.”

“Basira?  It’s Jon.”

“Jon?  I don’t recognize this number.  Where are you?  What’s going on?” she asks rapidly, voice ticking up in concern.

“I’m calling from the village clinic.  You said to call if Martin got worse, and…well, he has.”

“Shit.  What happened?  Is he alright?”

Jon sighs exhaustedly, running a hand through his hair.  He can’t quite keep his voice from shaking.

“I’m…not sure, yet.  They’re keeping him under observation for the rest of the day to see if he needs to go to the hospital.”

“Jesus.”

“He was running a fever of nearly 40 this morning and sounded like…well, like he couldn’t breathe, so I took him here for help.  Apparently he’s got pneumonia.  He’s fallen asleep, so…I thought I’d call to let you know.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Y…yeah.”

Jon’s voice breaks roughly.

“How are you holding up?” she asks, in what might be the gentlest tone Jon has ever heard from her.

A lump forms immediately in his throat, making his eyes sting and his vision swim at the edges.

Pull it together, come on.

Tipping his head back for a moment, he blinks away the tears and takes a damp, shuddering breath that must have been audible on the other end.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” she soothes, her voice nearly a whisper.

Jon clutches at the receiver, as if it will somehow bring her closer.

“I-I’m fine, Basira.  Just…just tired.  And worried,” he says, voice thick.

“And hungry?”

“…yes.”

She sighs at this, pulling her phone away from her face for a moment.  Jon braces for her tone to be harsh upon her return, but to his relief, it remains decidedly softened— understanding, even.

“The statements should be there by tomorrow.  So there’s something good, at least.”

“R-right.  Something good.”

Silence falls for a moment before Basira continues, her voice returning to her usual matter-of-fact register.

“He’s going to be alright, Jon.  Even if he does have to go to the hospital.  He’ll recover, and then you can get back to your usual hopeless pining.”

At this, Jon can’t resist huffing out a laugh.

“Well…it’s not so hopeless anymore, actually.”

She gasps in shock.

“You’re joking!  You actually went for it, then?”

“Not-not exactly, it just sort of…happened.  I don’t know exactly how, but—yeah.  It’s…good.  Really good, actually,” he stammers, unable to keep his smile from bleeding into his tone.

“God, listen to you.  You’re like an enamored schoolboy,” she replies fondly.

Jon sputters in mock-indignation, pulling a hearty laugh from Basira.

“Well, I’m happy for you both.  You deserve something lovely, for once.”

“So do you, Basira,” Jon replies softly.

“…thanks.”

They allow the silence hang for a moment.  Basira then exhales sharply before continuing.

“Well, enough of the mushy shit.  Let me know what the doctors say, alright?  And tell Martin I hope he feels better soon.”

“I will.  Call you later, then.”

“You’d better.”

She hangs up on him, as always.

(14:43)

Half-empty coffee and a bagel in hand, Jon walks back to Martin’s room from where he had been standing outside, fiddling with an unlit cigarette for the better part of an hour.  It had taken everything in him, but he had managed not to light it, instead walking back through the clinic doors and deciding to snag some food on the way back to the room.  He cannot help the guilt welling up inside—for his struggle, for the way his hands are shaking, for bringing the cigarettes with him in the first place—

He opens the door to see Martin smiling back at him, and it all fades away.

Cheeks flushed and face pale, Martin is half-sitting in up in bed now, the heat no longer rolling off him with such vicious intensity as before.  His oxygen mask has now been replaced with a nasal cannula, allowing Jon a clear picture of the sunny smile Martin offers so freely.

Something warm tugs at Jon’s heart, and a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, look who’s got an upgrade,” he says lightly, stepping toward the bedside.

Martin’s own smile widens at this, and he reaches out for Jon’s hand as he sets his coffee and bagel on a nearby table.  Scooting his chair closer before sitting, Jon gently takes Martin’s hand in both of his own, closing his eyes and lowering his lips to the back of Martin’s palm.

3̙̩8͖̓͊.̘̹̎7͖̏.͙

At last.

Jon smiles against Martin’s hand for a moment before looking back up.

“Your temperature’s down,” he says, trying not to sound as dizzy with relief as he feels.

Martin nods quickly before clearing his throat, causing something to catch in his chest.  Turning away at once, he presses his face into his elbow as heavy-sounding coughing erupts from him, causing Jon’s brows to knit closer together in worry with every moment that passes.  Mercifully, the coughs fade away after about fifteen seconds.  Martin flops back gracelessly against the pillows, panting and exhausted.

And still smiling.

“Lucky to have you,” he rasps, lifting a hand to Jon’s cheek.

Jon leans closer, expression lightening, and brings up a hand to press against Martin’s palm where it rests.

“Lucky to have you,” he whispers, gazing intensely into the warm hazel of Martin’s eyes.

They remain like this for several seconds, neither wanting to violate the sanctity of this moment.  Martin then inhales sharply, mouth open to say something—before snapping it shut again, looking suddenly nervous.  Jon’s brows furrow instinctively.

“What is it, darling?” he asks, head tilting to the side of Martin’s palm.

The corners of Martin’s mouth curl up at the term of endearment, pulling a deep flush to his cheeks and ears.  Looking up again, he determinedly matches the intensity of Jon’s gaze.

“I…I love, you, Jon.”

He inhales more confidence.

“I love you.  Just…so much.”

Every nerve in Jon’s body is on fire.  Vacantly, he knows that his mouth is hanging open, his eyes wide, his face flushing with heat—but for a moment, he cannot move, nor breathe, nor speak.

Martin LOVES me.

Martin loves ME.

At last, he regains some measure of control, managing to keep hold of Martin’s left hand while shifting his weight to sit on the edge of his bed.  Reaching out his other toward his face, he cups Martin’s cheek with a still-shaking hand.  Their faces are just inches apart now, hovering, begging to be pressed together.

“I love you too, Martin Blackwood.  More than…more than I know how to say.”

Martin smiles then, wide and charming, before craning his neck up to brush his lips against Jon’s, questioning.

“Say it like this, then?” he whispers.

“Gladly.”

Their lips meet in a gentle blush of a thing, hesitant and brief, before deepening into a warm, unhurried kiss.  Martin’s hands move into Jon’s hair as they find the perfect rhythm, gentle and passionate and utterly their own.  When he manages to pull small noises of pleasure from Martin, Jon grins against his lips in pride before pulling him back in for more.

After nearly a minute, Martin urgently pushes back against Jon’s chest.  Immediately breaking contact, Jon pushes himself away frantically, careful not to touch him, panicked at the thought that he’d done something wrong.

“M-Martin, I’m so sorry, what ha—”

He is cut off as Martin pitches forward violently, coughing deeper than Jon has ever heard—as thick grey fog pours from his mouth, his eyes, his nostrils.

“God, Martin, here, here—”

Jon braces him by the shoulders as he leans forward, chest rumbling in desperation to clear the way for oxygen.  Guilt floods Jon as he feels the force of Martin’s convulsions beneath his hands.

Why did you kiss him?  Damn it damn it damn it

Dense fog is filling the room now, and Jon is struck with terror at the thought of anyone entering the room to see this.  The tendrils have nearly reached the door, could snake beneath it at any moment—

Tͮ̀h̥ͫ̎̂ë̗̹̯̜y̬͔͖̝̅̇ͧ ̯͙͈͖͙̈́͛̚w̮̺̻̜̔̈́ͬͩͮi̙̠̙͍̤̒ͩ̂̽l̺̣̣͕̩̥̟̈́̔ͨl̯̺̩̳̰͂̍̉̈́͌ ̼̼̬̟̞̘̏̈́̌͑ñ̩̞̲̯̤̅̉ͮo͓̝̠͌ͤ͊͗̿ͤṭ̯͂̈ͥͧ̂͆ ̳̦̣̃ͬ͒c͓ͥ̍͛̃o̔ͪ̈́m̓ͮe.

Jon pays for this knowledge with pain, every Mark on his body throbbing furiously.

Breathe it in, and let it go.

Breathe, let go.

Focus.

At long last, Martin’s hacking subsides, leaving him utterly spent and hunched forward on the bed.  Jon begins rubbing slow circles on his back with aching hands, calming him as he finally manages to regain his breath.  After a few moments, Jon gently guides him to lie back against the pillows.  Tears leak out of the corners of Martin’s eyes as he does so, and Jon’s heart clenches briefly with sympathy before Martin begins to laugh, a toothy grin spreading across his face.

“Wh…what is it, Martin?” he asks, confused.

“I think…I think that was the last of it, Jon,” he says, voice wobbling.

Jon inhales sharply, taking Martin’s hand.

“What? Really?”

“Y-yeah, really.  I can feel it, I…I think it’s really gone.  I’m not…I’m not Lonely, anymore.”

More tears spill over Martin’s cheeks as he resumes his weak laughter.  His own eyes brimming, threatening to cascade over a growing smile, Jon cups Martin’s face in his hands, wiping gently at his tears with his thumbs.  He then moves upwards, stroking a hand through Martin’s soft curls, watching as the last remaining bits of the fog dissipate forever.

A few minutes later, Martin smiles up at him, playfully swatting at his forearm.

“Let’s not do that again until I can breathe properly, though.”

At this, Jon laughs in earnest, before pressing his lips tenderly against Martin’s forehead.

I love him I love him I love him I love him

And he loves me.

He loves me.

[uglymanchronicles]

Ugly Man Chronicles: Reignition Book 1 Chapter 5: Out With a Bang

I AM STILL DOING THIS

“Take me to someone who can teach me about magic.”

At least, that's what Evan thought he wrote on the skin-wick he'd prepared for the lamp. Bleeding himself wasn’t hard; during his restless, do-everything college years he'd studied to be an EMT in the evenings, and hooking up an IV was child’s play.  Making the wick was a bit messier, but a potato peeler proved effective for procuring a slice of skin of the appropriate size.  The tricky part was deciphering the arcane pseudo-language the lamp required.  Fortunately, some of the symbols in the book he'd gotten from Delman matched those from pre-brain-drill Evan's notes on the Book of Fate, but even so he could only approximate the words.  There were just too many concepts missing from the translation.  

But the wick had inexplicably ignited when held to fire, burning with a disturbingly large and deep red flame that wavered for a moment, then bent at the middle at an uncanny right angle, pointing west.  So west he went.

By the time he'd passed through the Navajo Nation, the flame was pointing decidedly more north. After the third time he filled the lamp (it seemed to burn for about a day per filling), he estimated that it was taking him to central Nevada.

Then the RV's air conditioner broke down.  In the middle of June in the middle of the American Southwest.  Evan found he didn’t mind the heat as much as he used to—a fact that he chalked up to his newfound supernatural vitality—but he was sweating a lot.  It felt wrong to drive much longer with part of his home malfunctioning, so he decided to stop somewhere to get it fixed, if only for the upholstery’s sake.

The lantern burned out about half an hour before he found the appropriate off-ramp, but his priorities had shifted.   The sun was dipping below the horizon and, as it turned out, it was too late for him to get the problem fixed in one day.  He threw a few necessities into the Volkswagen and drove a few blocks across the small town to a motel.

Once he was back in the blessed embrace of air conditioning (okay, maybe he’d missed it more than he had wanted to admit), Evan went through the painful process of re-lighting the lamp.  Something seemed to be wrong, though—the skin caught fire as it had before, but the flame sat fat and squat at the base of the wick.  

Evan sat on the creaky bed and stared at the flame for nearly fifteen minutes, hoping that every little wiggle and twitch of the flame was an indication that it was working again.  Eventually he gave up, dumped the burning blood into the toilet, and went to bed, frustrated.  Tomorrow he’d double-check that he’d gotten the language right and try again.  He had to make it work.

  Evan couldn’t say what woke him up.  He didn’t violently start awake, like he might from a sudden noise—in fact, there was no noise at all save for the air conditioner.  But he was suddenly wide awake, his heart rate picking up speed. He didn’t move except to open his eyes ever so slightly.  What he saw made him inhale sharply and kicked his heartbeat up a notch from ‘pounding’ to ‘hammering’.

By the combination of moonlight and sickly streetlamp light filtering in through the room’s cheap blinds, Evan could see the small entrance hallway in the reflection cast by the window. Something was sliding silently up the door towards the handle.  Moving as quietly as he could, Evan reached over the edge of the bed to where he’d left his clothes and eased his revolver out of its holster.  Then he lay back down, pistol gripped in his right hand under the pillow.

He could see now that the thing moving up the door was a wire with a hook on the end, and he saw then that it wasn’t going for the handle.  Whoever was manipulating it from the other side of the door had done this before; it caught the loop of the swing-bar lock on the first attempt and pulled it away from its bolt.  Then the handle began to turn—the person outside must have already picked the lock. Evan thumbed back the hammer on the revolver as the door opened noiselessly.  

A man slid into the room as soundlessly as he’d opened the door.  Evan couldn’t get a good look at his features, but he could tell that he was nearly as tall as Evan, but much thinner.  He was wearing some kind of hat and had something on his face, but the more important detail was that he was reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun of his own.

Evan swung his arm out from under the pillow and sat up as fast as he could, levelling the revolver at the man.  

…who wasn’t there.

Something hard pressed against the back of his skull.  

“Put it down.  Nice and easy.”

The voice was measured and calm, but a little louder than Evan would have expected for someone breaking into a motel room in the middle of the night.  Evan slowly raised his left hand and gingerly laid the revolver on the bed with his right, then raised that hand as well. There was a slight shuffling behind him and what Evan had to assume was the barrel of a gun moved away from his head for a moment.  The man was reaching past him with his right hand, moving to pick up Evan’s gun.  

Evan whirled in place, swinging his right arm down to trap the man’s arm.  The man yanked his arm back, causing Evan’s revolver to slide off the edge of the bed and onto the floor.  Evan caught a quick glimpse of the man’s face—tanned and gaunt, a scruffy goatee and sideburns, a medical eyepatch over his right eye (the one-eyed man!), features tightening into an expression of irritated surprise—before the man simply vanished.

There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke, no eye-watering blur of speed, no Bamf. He was just suddenly several feet away from where he’d been, glaring at Evan and holding the pistol at arm’s length. Evan thought he might have felt a small movement of the air, but nothing like what should have been generated from someone moving that fast.

“Real cute, shithead,” Eyepatch growled, his nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily.  “Now if you don’t want me to add a third nostril to that trash fire you call a face, you’re going to—son of a bitch!”

Evan dove off the bed for his gun.  Before he hit the floor, he felt his left arm suddenly yanked back and the landed ungracefully on his face.  Eyepatch was suddenly in front of him again, kicking Evan’s gun away from him and under the dresser.  There was that weird breeze again, too…

“What the hell--?” Evan pushed himself up with his right hand and looked at his left.  His wrist was connected to the bedframe at the foot of the bed by a set of worn-looking handcuffs.  The metal was strangely hot against his skin.  

Before Evan could work out what had happened, Eyepatch kicked him in the side of the head, sending him backwards with his arm painfully stretched over the mattress. Eyepatch was gritting his teeth now, and spoke between deep, hissing breaths.

“Where… the fuck… is Moreno?” he wheezed.  Evan could see sweat beading under the brim of his tweed flat cap.

Evan titled his head. “Who?” he asked, with a tone of confusion that was only partly exaggerated.  

“Do not.  Play fucking dumb.  With me,” Eyepatch hissed.  “Caesar. Fucking.  Moreno.  Your boss. The dipshit who sent your ugly ass after me.”

Evan adjusted himself into a sitting position on the floor.  “Seriously, dude,” he said, holding up both hands, “I don’t know who that—agck!”

It was more of a yelp of surprise than a cry of pain when Eyepatch shot him in the thigh.  It sure hurt more than the .22 to the gut had, though. Definitely a bigger caliber. Though it no longer came as a natural reflex, Evan clamped his hand over the wound (and the hole in his favorite boxers) and hissed through his teeth.

“Jesus, man!  I'm serious!” he gasped.

Eyepatch sneered, then stomped over to the dresser and snatched up the Guiding Light.  “Christ, of course.  Fuckin' amateur hour in here.  I wonder if your boss even knew he was setting you up with a cursed tool.”

That worried Evan a lot more than the bullet fragments he could feel pushing their way out of his thigh.  “The Guiding Light's cursed?”

Eyepatch laughed a sharp, humorless laugh.  “’Guiding Light'?  Fuck, did you seriously believe that something with a name like that was the real deal?  Are you fucking retarded?” He shook his head, chuckling dryly.  “This is a Finder's Folly.  Anyone you search for with this will know you’re coming.  Sure, normies may just write it off as a feeling of foreboding, but anyone who knows dick about shit—which you clearly don’t—knows something's comin' for them.”  He tossed the lamp into the corner with a look of disgust.  “Oh, and speaking of comin' for you, don’t expect anyone to come check up on that gunshot.  Nobody outside this room can hear anything that happens in here.”  He reached in his shirt and let a necklace drop in front of his skinny chest.  A chipped ruby set in tarnished brass glinted faintly in the half-light of the room.

Does everyone have one of those?!

“Is that so,” Evan said flatly.  “Well, I have a magic trick or two of my own.”  He lifted his hand from his leg, revealing the completely healed wound. “Ta-dah!”

It had the effect he’d hoped for.  Eyepatch’s unpatched eye widened in surprise, his mouth started to drop open, and he began to recoil.  Evan didn’t waste the opportunity.  He swung his right hand across his body, grabbed the corner of the bedsheets, and violently yanked them off the bed.  For a moment, the space between Evan and his attacker was completely filled with billowing sheets, and Evan took the opportunity to lunge to his feet. Eyepatch suddenly was on the other side of the bed, panting again.

“What… the fuck… hey! What the hell--"

Evan had planted his left foot on the bedframe and was pulling his left arm back as hard as he could. Veins began popping out along his arm as his bicep bulged in what he hoped was an intimidating fashion.  He looked up at Eyepatch and grinned a theatrically wide grin, his eyes bright and manic.  Then, mostly for effect, he began to yell.

“RrrrrraaaaaaaAAAAAAAA----"

Eyepatch was shouting something and gesturing with his gun, but Evan couldn’t hear him over his own dramatic roaring and the sound of warping metal.  Then, with a ping, the cheap bedframe gave up the ghost and Evan lurched backwards, an unattached handcuff hanging from his wrist.  

Evan and Eyepatch both stared at the dangling cuff.  Evan held it up, gesturing to it as it swung in front of his face.  He waggled his eyebrows.  "Ahh? Ahh? Ahh?"  

Eyepatch gawked for a moment, and Evan seized the opportunity.  He lunged toward the bed, grabbed a bottle of water off the nightstand, and squeezed it.  The flimsy plastic lid burst off under the pressure, sending a spray of droplets towards Eyepatch.  Evan followed them, vaulting over the bed with his other arm.

Eyepatch moved without moving again, but instead of circling around behind Evan again, he moved backwards towards the door.  Evan chuckled inwardly as everything seemed to slow down around him while his brain kicked into high gear.

He moves through the intervening space between his positions, so he's not teleporting.

The air isn't whipped up like it would be if he was moving super fast.  

He moved away from the water instead of through it.  He can't touch or maneuver things while he moves, except what he's got on him.  

It's crazy, but that has to be it!

"I've got you figured out!" Evan roared gleefully, rushing towards Eyepatch with his arms spread wide.  The other man vanished again, but as soon as Evan registered his disappearance, he threw himself backwards and to the side, into a gap he'd left intentionally open. His hip collided with the man's back, and he heard a surprised gasp as his attacker tumbled forward.  The gun clattered to the floor.

Evan spun in place, dramatically pointing a finger in triumph. "You're stopping time, aren't you!"  

 He didn't wait for a response--a suddenly grimace of shocked anger from the prone man told him all he needed to know.  He dove towards the man and managed to get a hand around his ankle.  Then something unexplainable shifted.

Everything went dark. All Evan could see were grayscale outlines of the room, lit by light that didn't seem to quite reach any surface. It seemed like the beams of streetlight shining in through the window were caught in their own shadow, which gave him vertigo to even try to comprehend.  When he involuntarily gasped at the realization that he was literally out of time, his lungs failed to inflate.

There's no air here! he realized, fighting rising panic.  Of course--nothing can move!  He has to hold his breath when he does it!  That's why he was getting so winded!  

Fighting the urge to grab his throat, Evan raised his head to look at his opponent.  It was difficult; the air felt like it was an infinitely thick chunk of wet cardboard.  The blood was pounding in his ears by the time he managed to raise his gaze, and he felt a surge of anger in his fading consciousness when he saw Eyepatch smirking down at him through tightly clamped lips.  He almost didn't notice the shimmering emerald light beaming from behind the eyepatch.

Son of a bitch is trying to suffocate me!  If I let go now, he'll have the upper hand again!  I've got to get him to undo this...

Evan's could barely see through his own veins throbbing in his eyes. With agonizing slowness, he reached his arm upwards.  Eyepatch's eye widened as he realized what Evan was doing.

See you hold your breath through this, you scrawny sack of--

Evan clenched his fist around Eyepatch's crotch and twisted.  

Evan would later swear he saw the man's eyes bulge so much that his eyepatch nearly popped off his face. For a moment his cheeks puffed out comically, then the world snapped back to normal as he exhaled in an explosive wheeze.  Evan gasped and coughed as the air found traction in his lungs once again, but he did not let up.  He let go of Eyepatch's groin, raised his hand, and brought his fist down in a hammer blow on the man's abdomen.  There wasn't much air in his body to expel, but what did come out was accompanied by streamers of thick, phlegmy drool.  Still gasping, Evan pushed himself to his knees and crawled up his enemy's body, straddling his hips and grabbing both his wrists.  As the other man struggled weakly while fighting for breath, Evan set his jaw and concentrated.

Reach out with the idea of your arm...

When Evan had shut down the pain monster's powers, he had gotten the impression of shoving his arm into a pitch-black barrel of angry, leprous eels.   It had been disgusting and painful and extremely unpleasant, but it felt like it was supposed to feel like that.  It made sense for a monster.  

This was something altogether different, and somehow at the same time less awful and much, much scarier.

Evan didn't see or hear or otherwise actually perceive anything different with his normal senses, but the instant his 'cords' made contact with the other man's, he got the impression that he was inside a massive machine.  The feeling was claustrophobic and kenophobic at the same time: Evan could sense an impossible density of gears whirring and grinding and clacking, pressed around him without even a nanometer of space between them, but at the same time, the space felt so immense and empty and unknowable.  He couldn't tell where the walls were.  He couldn't tell if there was a floor.

Evan felt himself start to lose it.  The paradoxical combination of fears was pulling at his psyche in ways he'd never even thought possible.  But Eyepatch was still struggling beneath him and glaring at him, and if he stopped time again, or even just got his breath back, there would be trouble.   Evan gritted his teeth and thrust his imagined arm into the maybe-existent gears.

Evan felt a recoil like the sound of a fuse blowing and both he and Eyepatch froze.  Evan knew he'd done it.  He grinned.

“Alright!  Now, why don't we--”

Eyepatch's right hand shrunk and slipped out of Evan's grip, then contorted into a narrow point and plunged into Evan's left eye.  

Evan screamed as the left half of his face exploded in agony and half his vision vanished.  The pain hit without any of the buffers he'd thought he 'd gained from the pain demon and he involuntarily let go of Eyepatch's other wrist as he grabbed for his face.  This turned out to save his other eye, as Eyepatch lashed his left arm like a whip at Evan's face.  As it was, the impact of the blow was enough to knock Evan off-balance and he toppled to the floor as Eyepatch bucked his hips.  The smaller man thrashed his body again and was suddenly on his feet, ripping the eyepatch off his right eye.

“What did you do to me, you motherfucker?  What the hell did you do?”

Through his remaining watering eye, Evan saw that Eyepatch’s now-unpatched eye was surrounded by a spiderweb of fine scars, like cracks spreading out from the epicenter of a broken window.  Eyepatch blinked the eye hard a couple of times, then rubbed it, blinked again, and then glared at Evan again.  Evan saw his head jerk towards his gun, which lay on the carpet a couple of feet from Evan’s left.  Evan thought he saw him tense to pounce, so he rather impotently kicked at him with his right leg.  

That turned out to be a mistake.  Moving with a furious grace that didn’t match his scruffy appearance, Eyepatch caught Evan’s foot in both hands, then twisted it sideways and lifted it upwards.  Evan dug his hand into the carpet to resist being turned over, but he realized too late that he wasn’t going for some kind of hold or joint lock.  

Hot-cold terror shot through Evan as Eyepatch opened his mouth just a little too wide.  He didn’t have the time to kick with his other leg or the leverage to wrench himself away.

Eyepatch sunk his teeth deep into Evan’s ankle, just above the heel, and ripped away a three-inch chunk of flesh.  Evan screamed as horrible agony raced up his leg and his foot went limp.  

“What the fuck, man? What the fuck!”

His voice was cracking and warbling with pain, but dignity was the last thing on his mind.  

Why does it hurt so much now?  Why am I not healing?!

As if on cue, a disgruntled, hollow gurgling sound resonated from his guts.  He was suddenly aware of how long it’d been since he’d last eaten. After the frustration with the AC and the Guiding Light, he’d gone straight to bed without dinner…

“Oh, you gotta be fucking kiddi—augh, what the fuck?”  

Eyepatch had spat Evan’s own Achilles’ tendon into his face.  Combined with the fluid from his seeping, ruined eye, Evan’s face was now completely slick with his own gore.  But through the blood and tears, Evan could see Eyepatch opening his mouth freakishly far again to take another bite—this time behind the knee.  

“Oh no you don’t!”  

Evan swung his left leg up and cracked Eyepatch in the back of the head with his heel, then squeezed him between his legs as best he could.  Even before he’d bulked up, Evan had thighs that could crush a watermelon, but Eyepatch somehow managed to go limp and slide out from between Evan’s legs, winding up on top of him.

As Evan raised his hands to stop Eyepatch’s renewed attempts to relieve him of right eye, Evan realized he was shaking.  It may have been exhaustion or pain, but Evan realized he was also afraid.

It’s like I’m fighting a cat!  He’s some kind of monster!  He just looks human!  What is he?! What else can he do?!

Eyepatch had given up on the gouging and now was punching fiercely at Evan’s head and shoulders while straddling his chest.  He was stronger than he looked, and the punches had a rough sort of finesse to them—quickly in and out, never two to the same spot in a row, a staggered cadence that made it hard to anticipate when the next one would come… his torso was twisting back and forth, whipping his wiry limbs at Evan like a willow tree in a whirlwind.  And his movements were getting faster.  Through the flurry of blows, Evan could see the greenish light beginning to shine from Eyepatch’s right eye again, as if a lightbulb was slowly turning on inside his head and the light was seeping through cracks in his skull.  

Shit!  His power’s coming back already!  Time’s slowing down for him!

Eyepatch’s outline began to blur as the punches increased in speed.  They were beginning to scrape Evan’s skin where they landed, like tiny carpet burns.  Evan realized it was now or never.

He’s not a monster!  He’s just a man with special powers, like me!  He must have some kind of abnormal range of joint motion!  He’s just another freak!  I can beat him, but I have to do it now!

It was time for a sacrifice play.  Evan dropped his guard and thrust his left hand up into Eyepatch’s face, wrapping his fingers around his face like he was palming a basketball.  Eyepatch twisted his head, opening his mouth to pull Evan’s ring and little fingers between his teeth.  

Evan felt his face twist into a grin.  You can have them!

Before Eyepatch could bite down, Evan yanked his arm off to the side, pulling Eyepatch off-balance. Then he planted his left heel on the floor for leverage and twisted his whole body.

Different fighting styles have different opinions on where the strength of a punch really comes from, but many martial arts depend on rotational force generated by the twisting of the midsection and hips to generate the force of the blow. Normally, it would be very difficult to utilize this sort of motion from a prone position, but Evan was far from normal.

The practice of multiple forms of dancing throughout his life had taught him to manipulate his abdominal and oblique muscles with an unusual degree of strength and control. And now, those muscles were huge.

So when Evan swung his right fist into Eyepatch’s ribs, it was not a desperate ‘get off me’ punch; it was akin to a heavyweight’s knockout hook.

Eyepatch seized up for a moment as the blow rocked him.  His teeth were halfway through Evan’s fingers, but that worked in Evan’s favor. Since Eyepatch couldn’t easily slip free, Evan was able to half-fling/half-drag him off his chest. Then, using the smaller man as leverage, Evan pushed himself up on his good leg.

Eyepatch was also trying to stand, but Evan’s weight on his head was forcing into a sort of hunch. He was still trying to bite through Evan’s fingers.  Evan gritted his teeth and yanked his left hand back.  

The sensation of his fingers being torn off was traumatic, but Evan was already executing his next move. As Eyepatch straightened up from the sudden removal of weight, Evan pushed off with his left foot and threw his right fist forward, using the momentum of his fall to punch Eyepatch square in the stomach.  

It was as a clumsy blow, but neither man was steady on his feet.  Eyepatch was thrown back against the dresser, his breath forced out of him. Evan toppled after him, but with only one functioning foot, he couldn’t keep his balance well enough to maneuver strategically.  He slammed into Eyepatch, smashing him against the dresser again, but their bodies separated as Evan bounced back from the recoil.  Evan frantically flailed at Eyepatch as he started to fall forward again, but the smaller man was out of his reach.  Then, as Evan began to fall forward for real, Eyepatch blurred into near invisibility for a split second just before Evan landed on him.  

Something hard and blunt stabbed painfully into Evan’s chest, right on his left nipple.  Gasping in pain, Evan looked down and saw his own huge revolver, the barrel pressed so hard into his skin that blood was leaking onto the barrel.  Eyepatch’s right eye was closed again, his scars glowing faintly as he fixed Evan with a furious glare from his other eye.  For a moment, both men simply breathed, slow and hard, staring at each other, frozen in an uncomfortable, gory tableau.  

Evan finally spoke. “Go ahead,” he said, breathing heavily through his nose, “it won’t do you any good.”

Eyepatch regarded him, unmoving, for a long moment.  Then he shrugged.  “Okay.”

[contrivedcoincidences6]

The Transformation of Dana Scully- Pt. 2

Pt. 1 

**

Mulder's hand is warm and it envelops my own. I stroke the top of his hand with my thumb. I want him to hold me but I resist. My own feelings have become too strong toward him. Memories of rejection keep me at bay as we walk still holding hands. When he leads me into a more private area he invades my space, not unusual for him but his face is intent upon mine. His expression strikes fear and butterflies in my stomach at the same time.

It’s the same one he wore before he nearly kissed me outside his apartment.

And oh I want him to kiss me so bad but when he moves in to do so I turn my head so his lips meet my cheek.

My face is hot and I retreat quickly giving him a peck on the cheek and leaving swiftly with no further explanation.

I know he takes a few steps toward me as I retreat but his own confusion holds him to the spot and I am grateful for it because I’m not sure I can handle discussing what just happened.

We’d moved past our last near kiss and we will move past this one, just like we moved past our brief make-out session years ago.

The same deep pain I’d felt that night makes its way back into my chest and I struggle to breathe for a moment. When I am back in my car I do what I’ve been doing for years when that memory comes up.

I use it. I take all the hurt and anger and use it as a reminder of what happens when I give into my feelings for Mulder.

It’s not that I doubt that he cares for me.

I know he does.

But his shows of romantic affection always comes out during times of extreme emotion and I don’t doubt that he would run away just like he’d done years before and I’m not sure my heart can handle such rejection again.

So I’ve decided to be the rejecter.

When I get home I examine the broken capillaries in my face as the bath fills with water that is nearly too hot. Sighing I resign myself to the fact that my face will look like this for the next couple weeks.

Maybe it will be useful in keeping Mulder at bay until whatever has taken over him has passed.

When I hear his knock at the door I sigh, pull on my robe, and turn off the faucet before heading to the door, unsurprised.

I plaster on a carefully neutral expression before opening it up.

Mulder’s face is unreadable but my practiced eye sees the frustration and confusion in his hazel eyes.

I want to kiss his brow and comfort him. It has been a hard last few weeks. But I keep myself at a safe distance.

He closes the door and turns to look at me.

“What was that about at the park?” Mulder’s voice is strained. I notice a faint odor of alcohol on him but he doesn’t appear drunk.

“Which part?” I ask in feigned confusion.

“Come on Scully, Jesus Christ, can you open up just this one time?” He takes a dangerous step forward and I move back. Mulder looks like he’s been slapped.

“Why are you acting this way?” He looks away and then at his feet, “ I thought- I was beginning to feel like we were moving in… a new direction.”

I don’t trust myself and so I don’t respond.

He waits a beat and then continues, “I just want to know why.”

Suddenly I’m angry. Years of hurt bubble up and fall out of my mouth before I can hold back the tide.

“Why what Mulder? Why I don’t want to go through that again? Do you have any idea how much you hurt me last time? God, I can’t do it, Mulder. I can’t take that kind of rejection again.”

I take a breath and don’t look at him before continuing, “It’s fucked up that you would rebuff me one moment and then try to kiss me the next and I can’t take it.”

I take a peek at his face and he’s baffled.

Resigned I go to the door, “I would like for you to leave.”

“Scully I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

With that the anger flares back up, “How dare you.”

He searches my face and I see the moment he realizes what I’m talking about. The fact that it meant so little to him is just another stab in my already wounded heart and I fight back the tears that come.

“After your abduction…”

I nod, close my eyes, and open the door, “This is humiliating enough Mulder, please leave.”

Naturally, he doesn’t.

“Why do you think I left that night?”

I’m aghast and silent.

It dawns on him, “You thought I was rejecting you.” He moves toward me and yet again I dodge him, “Jesus, Scully I wanted you so bad that night. I still think about it at least every other day. Leaving was so difficult, almost impossible but-“

I cut him off with a raise of my hand, “Please don’t patronize me, Mulder.”

The tears fill my eyes but I just don’t care anymore.

“I’m not.” When he moves toward me this time I’m too weak to move away. His hands-on my shoulders burn through my robe.

He cups my cheek and looks at me deeply as if he could communicate every unspoken word from the last few years through one look.

“I love you, Scully. God, I’ve been in love with you for so long. It’s why I had to leave that night. You’d just been through serious trauma and the thought of you regretting sleeping with me was too much to bear. I felt like I was taking advantage of you, I had to walk away.”

A tear slips down my face and over his thumb and he wipes the next tear out of the way.

“I’m so sorry you thought I didn’t want you because God Scully I want you so bad, constantly, I need you. I should have told you that, you deserve better.”

Cautiously, he pulls me against him and cradles my head to his chest.

The information is difficult to process and so I silently wrap my arms around his middle and listen to the steady beat of his heart as I ponder his words.

My heart lightens as I realize how vulnerable he’s just made himself and my arms tighten around him.

“I love you too.” I whisper into his chest but I can tell he hears me because he kisses the top of my head.

I gather the courage to look up at him painfully aware of the burst blood vessels, chapped lips, tears, and probably snot on my face but he just stares at me as if I were the most precious thing in the world.

I unattractively use my sleeve to rub under my nose and his eyes fill with mirth before I kiss the playful smile off his lips.

Mulder responds as if he truly has been waiting years to kiss me again. He runs his tongue over my chapped lips as I stroke my fingers through his hair, mindful of his head wound.

The scorching want I’ve tried to hide away for years returns like a geyser and I press my body against. I’m so desperate that with anyone else I’d be embarrassed, but with Mulder I can tell he’s just as desperate. I feel him hard against my stomach and my hand trails down his body before I run a solitary finger down his erection. Unbidden he thrusts into my hand and I smile into his mouth.

But my feet are getting tired from standing on tiptoes and he can tell so he sweeps me up like some kind of romantic hero. His lips move to my chin and neck and he asks in a husky voice, “Couch or bedroom?”

I can tell he’s on edge waiting for an answer. I pull out of his arms and his devastation is evident until I grin and take his hand, leading him toward the bedroom. He follows far too close but I don’t mind. It takes us too long to get to the bed because of Mulder's hands, which wouldn’t let go of my hips and his lips that wouldn’t let go of my neck.

“Mulder….” I complain without any real annoyance. When we draw close to the bed I spin him around and push him down. His shocked grinning face looks up at me and he takes my hips as I kneel over him.

Slowly I undo my robe and slip it off my shoulders. He has laser intensity as he looks at me. When his eyes roam over my body I feel a tickle of anticipation between my legs. I want to take him right there but I let him look and then feel, he’s so tactile. His thumbs run gently over my nipples for a minute before traveling down my waist and my hips before finally grabbing my thighs. With incremental, and far too slow, movements he draws both hands to my inner thigh and finally between my legs where he carefully pulls my lips apart and strokes me. My legs shake with the effort of staying up but I don’t struggle for long. With an almost desperate air, Mulder begins to try to pull me forward. When I realize his intentions I gladly comply and move over his face where he immediately gets to work.

It’s the single most erotic moment of my life while also being the most romantic. For a moment I’m caught up in the emotion of it all, this is Mulder, and then his thumbnail grazes my clit and I am drawn back into the pleasurable haze.

Mulder sucks and licks away as if I’m some kind of exotic fruit driving me nearly to the brink. After an unknown amount of time, the thought that I’d like to come with him crosses my mind but I feel the orgasm begin to build and can’t hold back. I lose control and deprived of anything else to use to steady myself I grab onto Mulder’s head for dear life.

After a few spasms, I come down a fuzzy halo of pleasure still clouding my vision. It takes me a minute to come back to reality as I fall sideways. When Mulder catches me I see the wet smile on his face and cup his cheek.

“Sorry about almost suffocating you.”

He licks his grinning lips, “Trust me I didn’t mind.”

That’s when I notice he is still clothed.

I get to work right away on his belt and run myself against his erection and he hisses. When I pull away to take them off I’m pleased to see the wet spot I’d left on his pants.

Marking him as mine.

When he’s pulled his penis out he moves as if ready to go right then but I need to see the rest of him.

Unsure how to express this between kisses I just mutter, “Off. Skin to skin.” While pulling at his clothes.

It feels like hours until he’s finally as naked as me and it was worth the trouble. He lets me look him over as he did me.

I’ve seen him before but this is so new. Aroused Mulder post cunnilingus pre-sex is a glorious sight. Painting of a god in repose.

Well, not full repose because after a few moments I can tell he is getting impatient.

“How do you wanna do it, Scully? I’m up for anything.” Even in his desperate state Mulder wiggles his eyebrows and I can’t help but giggle.

I don’t giggle much these days, I missed it.

Lying on my back I pull him over me, locking my ankles above his ass.

I snake my hands between us and position us but he pauses and just looks at me with the most tender of expressions.

I give him a quick Eskimo kiss and push down my with legs until he moves inside me. His exhale is hot against my neck as he loses all ability to hold up his head. Mulder is still for a few moments too long so I pull his face up to look at me.

Mulder’s eyes, always as elusive as he is, stare back at me hazel and watery. When I run my thumb over his lips he smiles and begins to move.

And it’s earth-shattering. Of course, it is.

I’m still sensitive and the sensations are almost too much. Mulder tries to keep his eyes open but fails and I enjoy the way his lashes splay across his cheeks as his mouth drops open.

He’s beautiful and I take it in while stroking his face and murmuring to him.

The memory of our first kisses are far from my mind when I watch him come.

When we part Mulder pulls me to him and lays his head in the crook of my neck. He falls asleep uncharacteristically fast but I watch him for a few minutes before finally closing my eyes.

For the first time in so long, I feel completely at ease.

[hms-chill]

RWRB Study Guide: Chapter 10

Hi y’all! I’m going through Casey McQuiston’s Red, White & Royal Blue and defining/explaining references! Feel free to follow along, or block the tag #rwrbStudyGuide if you’re not interested!

Earl Grey (267): Earl Grey tea is an incredibly common caffeinated tea. It is the base of a London fog.

Hamilton to Laurens, “you should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent” (267): This quote is from an April 1779 letter and is immediately followed by “But, as you have done it, and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on one condition; that for my sake, of not your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me”. Essentially, “you were rude to me, but I love you so much I forgive you as long as you look after yourself”. Just before it, Hamilton’s like “you taught me what it means to love”. (You can find it here)

Pyramus and Thisbe (268): The pair of lovers whose story inspired Romeo and Juliet, they were separated and could only talk through a wall between their houses (I’ve written a very in-depth analysis of this myth, which you can find here).

Dulles International to Heathrow (268): Dulles International is the airport in Washington, DC, and Heathrow is the classy airport in London.

John Cusack (270): An American actor largely known for his roles in the 1980s. This line in particular likely references Say Anything..., a romantic comedy known in part for a scene where Cusack’s character stands outside a girl’s window and plays music from a boombox.

Y’all had to marry your cousins (270): A reference to the royal tradition of only marrying other royals, which led to a whole lot of inbreeding.

Consummation (275): To consummate a marriage is to have sex for the first time, therefore making it “official”. 

Wilde’s complete works (276): Oscar Wilde is an Irish author famous for writing satires and also defining gay culture in the late 1800s. 

Fit of pique (277): If someone does something in a fit of pique, they do it spontaneously and out of anger at being wronged.

Mr. Darcy brooding at Pemberley (278): In Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (spoilers, though it’s been out for 207 years), after Elizabeth rejects Darcy’s first marriage proposal (which is essentially “your family sucks but you’re hot; marry me”), he goes back to the house his family owns and thinks about it and misses her.

Anmer Hall (278): A house owned by the Crown in Norfolk, England; it is currently home to Prince William, Duke of Cambridge.

Mel and Sue (280): A comedy duo and hosts of The Great British Bake Off. Sue was outed in 2002, but claims that “being a lesbian is only about the 47th most interesting thing about me”.

South Kensington (284): A district of West London known for its high density of museums and cultural landmarks.

Prince Consort Road (284): Prince Consort Road is a street in London named after Prince Albert, consort to Queen Victoria. A consort is a royal’s spouse or partner (hence Alex laughing at the idea of his being a prince’s consort)

Ferris Bueller/ Sloane (284-285): Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is a popular movie from the 1980s about Ferris, who skips school for a day of wild shenanigans in Chicago. Sloane is his girlfriend who’s roped in for the ride. 

Victoria and Albert Museum* (285): The Victoria and Albert Museum, often abbreviated “V&A”, is the world’s largest museum of applied and decorative art and design. (you can explore their collections here)

Renaissance City (285): Room 50a of the V&A is full of Renaissance sculptures. (photo here) 

Seated Buddha in black stone (285): The V&A has a bunch of Buddha sculptures, but this one is the only one I saw that’s in black stone.

John the Baptist nude and in bronze (285): Possibly this piece from 1881 by French sculptor Auguste Rodin and is in the V&A’s collection.

Tipu’s Tiger (285): A nearly life-sized semi-automaton that shows a tiger mauling a man in European clothes. The tiger makes growling sounds and the man screams and waves his hand when a handle on the side is turned; it also contains a small pipe organ on the inside and was created to show the power that the Tipu Sultan of India held over invading Brits. The “give it back” that Catherine argues for is officially called repatriation, it would mean that (Western) museums have to give back stolen objects; British museums are famously bad at doing this. (see Tipu’s Tiger here)

Westminster (286): Westminster Abbey, a church in London where royals are crowned and buried. It is covered with intricate carvings and beautiful stained glass.

The Great Bed of Ware (286): A bed made by Hans Vredeman de Vries from the 1590s; it is ten feet wide and made of oak. (see it here)

Twelfth Night (286): A Shakespeare comedy full of chaos that includes a woman cross-dressing, then her twin brother being mistaken for her. 

Epocoene (286): A 1609 play that includes a boy dressing as a woman to dupe a man into giving his son an acceptable inheritance. 

Don Juan (286): A Spanish figure known for his powers for wooing women; the first text published about him was in the 1630s.

Florence (287): Florence is a city known for its art; it was the cultural center of the Italian renaissance. 

Gothic choir screen in the V&A’s Renaissance City (287): This Roodloft, or choir screen, carved by Coenraed van Norenberch is in the back of the Renaissance City in the V&A. It’s a stunning piece; the link above has great pictures and a more in-depth description than I could give.

Zephyr statue by Francavilla (287): You can see this statue here; it was one of thirteen statues commissioned for the garden of a villa near Florence. According to Greek mythology, Zephyr (the west wind) was married to Chloris, goddess of flowers.

Narcissus (by Cioli) (287): This statue may have once been the centerpiece to a fountain with Narcissus looking into an actual pool; it depicts him in the moment he sees and is mesmerised by his reflection.

Pluto stealing Proserpina (287): Likely the statue “The Rape of Proserpina” by Vincenzo de' Rossi. I couldn’t find it on the V&A’s site, but there’s more info here.

Jason with the Golden Fleece (287): This is a sculpture of a very naked Jason, the Greek hero who stole the golden fleece. He was helped by its owner’s daughter, who was in love with him, but whom he later abandoned. You can see the statue here.

Samson Slaying a Philistine (287): You can see this statue here. Henry does a pretty good job of explaining the incredible history behind it; all I have to add from my (limited) research is that it is remarkable in part for the fact that there is no one point on it that draws the eye-- it demands to be looked at completely or not at all.

Victoria and sodomy laws (288): Queen Victoria famously instituted a whole lot of anti-sodomy laws.

Viau on James/George (288): A 1623 poem by Théophile de Viau:

“Apollo with his songs

Debauched young Hyacinthus

Just as Corydon fucked Amyntas,

So Caesar did not spurn boys.

One man fucks Monsieur le Grand de Bellegarde [a friend of Viau],

Another fucks the Comte de Tonnerre.

And it is well known that the King of England

Fucks the Duke of Buckingham.”

“Christ had John, and I have George” (288): This is an actual thing that James I/VI said to the heads of the church. Here’s the full quote, from wikipedia (emphasis is my own): “I, James, am neither a god nor an angel, but a man like any other. Therefore I act like a man and confess to loving those dear to me more than other men. You may be sure that I love the Earl of Buckingham more than anyone else, and more than you who are here, assembled. I wish to speak in my own behalf and not to have it thought to be a defect, for Jesus Christ did the same, and therefore I cannot be blamed. Christ had John, and I have George.”

George iii (289): George III was the king against whom the American colonies revolted. He was deeply religious and instituted laws declaring that royals could not marry without the approval of the court.

Convent church of Santa Chiara in Florence (290): This church is no longer a church, but the altar chapel is in an alcove in the V&A. It is the only Italian Renaissance chapel outside of Italy. (you can see photos of it here and here)

Santa Chiara and Saint Francis of Assisi (290): Saint Francis of Assisi founded a few different monastic orders and is one of the most celebrated saints; Saint Clare of Assisi founded a women’s monastic order and wrote the first set of monastic guidelines by a woman. 

Blessed Mother (290): Mary, the mother of Jesus, one of the holiest figures in Catholicism. 

“Come, hijo mío, de la miel, porque es Buena, and the honeycomb sweet to thy taste”** (290): “My son, eat thou honey, because it is good; and the honeycomb, which is sweet to thy taste. So shall the knowledge of wisdom be unto thy soul: when thou hast found it, then there shall be a reward, and thy expectation shall not be cut off” -- Proverbs 24:13-14, King James Version (yes, that King James. He translated the Bible to make the church stop hating him). 

David and Jonathan (290): An aggressively gay couple from the Bible who have been presented as friends for centuries. Jonathan was a prince and David a shepherd, but God promised that David would be king one day. Rather than argue this or hate David for it, Jonathan welcomed David into his household and loved him despite the prophecy that he would one day usurp him. Following Jonathan’s death, David took in Jonathan’s son and looked after him. 

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, amen (291): Many Christian prayers end with “in the name of the Father, the son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen”. It’s a way of celebrating the god who gives you all of the good things in your life while also giving up control to them. 

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A fill in from chapter 1, as requested by someone on AO3: 

Deputy Chief of Staff (Zahra’s position, 23): The Deputy Chief of Staff is the top aide to the president’s top aide, and is responsible for ensuring that everything runs smoothly within the bureaucracy of the White House. 

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*This museum puts out books called “maker’s guides” that teach you how to make pieces based on things in their collections; they’re super duper cool.

**I’m not a theologian, but I am a pastor’s kid, and just... this gets me. This whole bit, but this Proverb especially. Like obviously there’s the “oh we’re kissing and I’m thinking about honey tasting sweet”, but verse 14 coming in with the “when you’ve found what’s right, you will be rewarded with the confidence of that rightness and you will have hope”? Just kill me outright next time. Don’t make me google my own murder weapon.

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If there’s anything I missed or that you’d like more on, please let me know! And if you’d like to/are able, please consider buying me a ko-fi? I know not everyone can, and that’s fine, but these things take a lot of time/work and I’d really appreciate it!

—–-

Chapter 1 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 11 

[cilldaracailin]

A Kind of Magic

Hey everyone. I am back with the squeal to Under Pressure. This story is also on AO3 and can be found here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097855/chapters/58006354

Hope you all enjoy it :)

1

“Never stop just because you feel defeated. The journey to the other side is attainable only after great suffering.”

“Can I get you anything to drink sir?”

“Just some water would be great, thank you.”

Taron carefully took the small plastic cup from the air hostess and thanked her again as he put it gently down on his tray table, slotting his elbows back into the small space he had as he sat in the middle seat of row twenty-seven on the flight, taking a painful breathe in as sudden turbulence jolted him in his tiny seat.

Inhaling through his nose and then out of his mouth, he moved his body so it was slightly more comfortable in the hard seat, resting his head on the back of his chair. It was a breathing technique he had learnt less than a week ago and he had put it to use many times since he had stepped on the airplane and the reason why he was on the airplane was because of the person who had taught him that breathing technique he was using.

Robyn.

That letter she left for him in the hospital has caused an emotion Taron hadn’t expected to experience and that was loss. After another long sleep helped with medication, he woke only to remember once again that he didn’t get to talk to Robyn before she left and with all the time he had to sit and think in the hospital bed, the more Taron realised that he was not only hurt by the conversation that never happen but at a loss by her sudden departure. He recalled a chat they had had in the store about Robyn needing to take a flight home but with the nightmare they had been through, he really didn’t expect her to go so suddenly. In a day or two perhaps but not a few hours after they had been rescued from the 7/11. He knew she had her own injuries too and having experienced her level-headedness many times throughout their time together in the store, when she made the decision to take her flight, Taron really didn’t believe Robyn was thinking clearly.

His time in the hospital hadn’t been as relaxing as the doctor told him it would be. The decrease in his pain medication on the Sunday night, really brought to light how sore he was and although the pain didn’t compare to anything he felt while sitting in the 7/11, his body ached, stiff muscles and joints feeling the twinge once he was brought to his feet. After his full day of sleeping straight through on Saturday, thanks to the medication he was given, Taron then found it impossible to switch his mind off and spent his time dozing rather than deeply sleeping and any time he did manage to comfortably sleep, he was woken up by doctors on their rounds and nurses checking his IV line. Doctor Hart had come back to see him on Sunday afternoon and did another complete examination of him, and was so pleased with his assessment that he took Taron off the monitor that screened his vitals as well as the oxygen. He left him with his IV as Taron was still finding it difficult to eat anything more than a few bites, though he was pleased to see that this patient was drinking fluids. With some initial help from Ruth, Taron had also managed to be get up and walk a little by Sunday evening, and although his movements were slow, he felt less restricted and by Tuesday could smoothly walk around and had walked as comfortably as he could with his injuries down to the hospital coffee shop with Richard.

Richard, who had to fly back to Chicago on Tuesday afternoon to finish filming, had come to visit him on the Sunday morning as he had promised the day before, bringing with him some clothes so Taron could get out of the hospital gown and change into more comfy sweatpants and a t-shirt and stayed with Taron to be his moral support as he made two important phone calls, one more so than the other.

First was his mam and he wasn’t afraid to admit that as soon as he heard her voice, he broke down and cried, his mam being the one to comfort him instead of the other way around, as it was his plan to reassure her because he knew she would have been worried sick at hearing he was in the hospital.

“Taron, love it’s ok.” Soothed Tina as she heard her son break down in a sob, that cut her to the core, even more so when she couldn’t be there to hug him. “Richard and Robyn have both spoken to me and I know everything love. I know what has happened and that you will be ok.”

It took a few minutes before Taron could actually get any words out and speak to his mam and once he started talking he couldn’t stop, needing to get everything that happened off his chest, his mam listening to every word and interrupting when needed to comfort her son. “It was so frightening mam. I have never felt a pain like it before and there was just blood everywhere.”

“I can only imagine Taron.”

“It was just so easy for that man to shoot off a gun and not think twice.”

“There are some idiots out there but you can’t focus on what happened in the 7/11. You need to look at the positives and the first one I can think of, is that you are here, alive and talking to me.”

“Mam I don’t even remember most of what happened to be honest. There are moments that are completely blank for me.”

“And that is why I am so relieved Robyn was there Taron. I can’t even bare to think about what would have happened to you if she wasn’t there.” It was Richard who had explained to Taron’s mam about how he was given CPR in the store, as per Robyn’s instructions in the letter she had left him, making sure Tina knew how quickly he was revived, more importantly how Taron was going to make a full recovery with no complications and it was information that had really shaken her, knowing she had nearly lost her son. Tina understood so much better now why Robyn had left out so many details of what had happened in the 7/11 when she had called her, the young woman knowing it was only when Tina spoke to her son for herself that she would believe he was ok.

Tina heard her son go quiet very quickly once she mentioned Robyn. “Taron? Taron what’s wrong.”

“Robyn’s gone mam.” He answered quietly.

“Wait, what do you mean gone? I was only speaking to her yesterday.”

“She has gone home. Back to Ireland.”

It was hard for Taron to explain why Robyn left because he didn’t know the answer and it was a surprise that was echoed in his mam’s reaction too. “I don’t understand Taron. She just went home?” Once Richard had spoken to Tina and actually explained what had happened in the 7/11, Tina was desperate to speak to the young woman who had saved her son’s life, particularly when the way she explained what she did for Taron as ‘simple first aid’ was nowhere near the truth. “I really wanted to, well no, I needed to speak to her again.”

“You and me both mam. She just left me a letter explaining that she was sorry and she had to go home.”

“Oh, Taron love.”

The conversation with his mam lasted nearly an hour and then another half hour while he spoke to his sisters, all of them finding it hard to say goodbye to each other, Taron needing another emotional pep talk from his family as tears quickly came to his eyes again as they said goodbye.

His second phone call was to Matthew, his director, who appeared in his hospital room on the Monday morning during visiting hours.

“Jesus Taron.” Was his first reaction when he walked into the room, seeing Taron on his feet as he walked back from the bathroom, wheeling his IV with him as he moved.

“Good to see you too Matthew.” Taron cringed as he sat on the bed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well I heard my lead actor had an accident. You look like absolute shit.”

“You didn’t need to fly out here.”

“Yes, I did. You are my friend first and foremost and I wanted to come and see you. Make sure you are ok.”

“I am going to be ok. I can actually walk by myself today and it hurts less to move”

“I’ve heard your look of lying on the floor of the 7/11 was worse than this.” Matthew sat on the chair beside the bed.

“I’ll live.” Replied Taron as he eased himself back onto the pillows behind his back.

“I have also heard rumours that you nearly didn’t.” Taron looked to his director from under his eye lashes. “So, it is true. Isn’t that something you think you should tell me.”

“Who were you talking too? My mam?”

“No Richard. I called him when you were quite sparse with the details of what had actually happened in the store. Why didn’t you bloody tell me you were given CPR Taron.”

“It’s not something I really like to talk about. It’s not good to dwell on the fact that you died for a minute.”

“Ahh shit Taron.” Taron couldn’t meet his eye. “What happened?”

“The doctor told me that the combination of all the injuries I had sustained and sitting in the store for over nine hours with no pain relief just caused my body to shut down.”

“Jesus Taron.” Matthew had no idea Taron had been through such horrific trauma. “The paramedics gave you CPR?”

He took his head. “There was a girl, well a woman… Robyn and she gave me CPR. Got me back breathing in under a minute.” Matthew sat back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “I am going to be ok. All my tests and results came back clear and the doctor is really happy with my recovery so far, quicker than he expected too. I have been up and walking around the ward and they plan on taking my IV out tomorrow. I was told I will be sore and tender for a few weeks and need to take it really easy.”

“CPR Taron, Jesus Christ. How did she not break your ribs?”

Taron shrugged his shoulders, regretting the simple movement as his left hand went to his right arm to soothe the twinge he felt from the wound there. “Doctor Hart was left puzzled too but it doesn’t mean she didn’t go hard.” Taron pulled up his grey t-shirt letting Matthew see the palm shaped bruises on the middle of his chest. “She went hard.” Repeated Taron as he pulled his t-shirt back down. It wasn’t until Taron took a shower that morning, one that was badly needed, that he saw the bruises on his chest from Robyn’s hands, bruises that hit home to him, just how important Robyn’s actions were. If Taron’s chest was sensitive and uncomfortable, he could only imagine the state of Robyn’s hands.

“She saved your life.” Taron nodded, his hand resting on his chest. “Well where is this woman. I would very much like to meet her.”

Taron lay back in the bed really not wanting to have this conversation again but with a calming breathe, he began to relay the story of ‘Robyn’.

Matthew left Taron with a hug and assurance that the filming of the movie had been suspended until Taron was back to full health and it was the way it was going to be, no matter how much Taron protested over it.

“Excuse me can I just get past you please? I need to stretch my legs.”

Taron was pulled from his memories and looked to the man sitting to his left. The downside to sitting in the middle of the row at the window, was having to move every time the passenger next to him needed to leave the seat and this was the third time since they had left the airport in South Carolina that the passenger to his right had wanted to get out of their seat. Gritting his teeth, Taron lifted his plastic cup of water, drank it down in one and then clicked his table back in and gingerly getting to his feet as his ribs protested at the quick movement, slid out of the row and into the aisle, allowing the customer to exit the row.

“Thank you.”

Taron gave him a nod and turned to the other passenger in the row. “I think I will have a stretch too.” He said using it as an excuse at not having to sit back down and then having to get back up again. He didn’t think he would able to hold in the groan if he had to get up and down twice in the space of five minutes and with his body already objecting to sitting so straight and so still for the last two hours, he thought maybe a walk would loosen his tight muscles.

Pulling his hat further down on his head he started to take slow steps down the skinny aisle. It was an overnight flight and the majority of the passengers on the flight were asleep, taking advantage of the low lighting and hum of the plane. Taron hadn’t properly slept in the last five days and couldn’t help but feel jealous of those who easily slumbered in their seat. It was actually his third flight and thankfully his last one before he landed in Dublin and the late-night flight would have him in Ireland at eight fifty am on Thursday morning.

However, it hadn’t been so easy as hopping on a plane. He had to fight his case with Doctor Hart to be discharged from the hospital four days earlier than planned.

“No Taron. Absolutely not.”

“Please just listen to me.”

“No Taron.”

“You told me that if I listen to the nurses and walk around you would discharge me.”

“Yes, at the end of the week, not today Tuesday. End of the week, Friday, probably even Saturday.”

Taron followed the doctor out of the door his room and to the nurse’s station. “I am not asking to be discharged today.” He said as the doctor stopped at the desk where Ruth was sitting. “I am asking to be discharged tomorrow.”

“For goodness sake Taron, are you trying to end up back in the hospital? You have only just come off the IV line.”

“I promise I will rest and take it easy but I need to go. I need to leave the hospital and I can’t do that until you discharge me.”

“And I am not going to do that Taron. I am sorry but even with your quick recovery, I won’t risk it.”

“Then write on the fucking papers that I understand the risks and let me go!” Shouted Taron, running his hands frustratedly through his hair, wincing as he brushed the dressing on his forehead.

“Taron…” Ruth stood up. “Hey, take it easy.”

Letting a sigh leave his lips, Taron looked to the Doctor. “I am sorry.” He said. “I am really sorry but I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t sit in that bloody room with my thoughts. I need to leave.”

“Taron, it’s four more days.” Replied the doctor. “I really want to be sure that you are not carrying any secondary injuries.”

“You told me I was clear on Sunday. You said you were amazed at how I had gotten to my feet so quickly, at how I adapted to the change in my pain relief.”

“And I am.”

“Then please let me go.” Begged Taron.

“Why are you so desperate to leave the hospital?”

“Robyn.” Answered Taron simply.

“Robyn? Sorry Taron you are going to have to explain that a bit better to me.”

He pulled the letter from the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled down the neck of his t-shirt. “These are the only two things I have from Robyn. A letter and some bruises. I cannot explain it, I don’t know how to explain it but all I know is that I feel empty, hurt and at a loss that this is all I have from the person who saved my life with no way to contact her.”

“You also have your life.” Chipped in Ruth. “You said you only have two things, but you have three. The letter, the bruises and your life.”

Doctor Hart looked impatiently to Ruth who shrugged her shoulders at him. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me discharging you early.”

“Ooh are we having a staff meeting?” Doctor Keane walked up. She was completing her rounds, when she heard raised voices at the nurse’s station and recognising one of those voices as Doctor Hart, went to see what was going on. She was surprised to see his patient standing beside him, looking frustrated and upset, even more surprised to see Taron on his feet as the last time she saw him, he was almost writhing in pain. “Hey Taron, it is good to see you on your feet. You look really well. Really well actually. What’s going on? Are you trying to raid the nurse’s chocolates?”

“He is asking to be discharged.” Scoffed Doctor Hart.

“What? Taron?”

“Robyn left.” Taron turned to the new doctor. “I mean the woman who…”

“… Gave you CPR. Yeah, I know her. I stitched her up.”

Taron had to double take. “You stitched her up.”

“Well yeah. I popped two stitches in her shoulder and examined her when you all came in from the 7/11.” Phoebe watched as the Taron’s eyes widened in surprise. “But you wouldn’t know any of this because she left and went home. Did you even get to see her before she left?” She watched as Taron shook his head, causing her to move forward and place a hand on his shoulder. “She took her flight home, didn’t she?” Taron nodded again, feeling that sadness he had been trying to keep at bay creeping into him. “Please tell me you are not going after her.” She was met with watery tired green eyes. “Taron…”

“Don’t.” He said talking two steps backwards so her hand fell from his shoulder. “Don’t ‘Taron’ me. I am not ashamed to say that I was shit scared in that 7/11 and there was one person there keeping me calm and together and that was Robyn. She never panicked. She never showed an ounce of fear and she didn’t think twice to helping when I was caught under that shelving unit. She held my hand for near five hours straight and she only let go to find a way, that I have learnt since, that risked her life so she could save mine and then she undertook something that I can’t even begin to comprehend because it causes my chest to tighten up and my stomach to turn and I haven’t been able to talk through my daunting emotions because the one person I needed desperately to talk to left. I am not going to go and do something stupid. I am not going back to work. I am going to go and find her; I need to find her.” The two doctors and the nurse watched as Taron took two breathes and closed his eyes as he tried to settle his emotions. “I cannot wait until Saturday.” He said his hands rubbing his eyes as he wiped unfallen tears away.

Doctor Keane looked to Ruth. “You got a spare chair back there Ruth.” The nurse nodded and the doctor walked around the desk of the nurse’s station and wheeled the chair around behind Taron. “Will you sit for me?” She asked him and held onto the chair as he carefully lowered himself into the soft leather, his head going straight into his hands, a wince filling his features with the movement. Phoebe could see the young man in front of her starting to crumble and she was nervous about him standing, much more comfortable when he was sitting down.

“Taron, look at me.” Doctor Keane knelt in front of him, placing two hands on his knees, feeling his legs shaking under her touch.

“Phoebe…” Started Doctor Hart but he stopped when he saw the look on Phoebe’s face. It was one he was used to seeing from his colleague when she was displeased.

“Taron, sweetheart, look at me.” Beautiful green eyes which were laden with grief and pain unwillingly looked at her. “Why do you need leave the hospital today? Why can’t you wait until Saturday? You know you were seriously hurt and although you are up and walking about and might feel a lot better than you did three days ago, your body is still healing and when we ask you to stay in the hospital, it is for a reason.”

“You looked after Robyn?” Asked Taron looking at the doctor and when she nodded, he continued. “Did she speak to you about what had happened?”

“To be honest, not really. I kind of had to drag it out of her. She was battling with a lot of emotions.”

“So after speaking with her, you can understand how I am feeing right now but the one person who properly understands what I am going through, the one person I needed to talk to and see when I woke up was gone and all that was left was a letter. I know you are all trained professionals and you have all taken such great care of me and helped me and I am so thankful to you all but please realise it is Robyn I am indebted too. It is Robyn’s solid presence I crave so I can get these building emotions under control because I feel like I am going to burst and as much as I need Robyn, it seems like she needs too. Richard and I have had the chance to talk about what has happened, but who has Robyn spoken too? I know we are strangers but I learnt one thing about Robyn as we were pushed together in such a horrific situation and that is, she is very stubborn.”

“Well that is something we can agree on. Robyn is a very determined young woman.”

Taron looked to the doctor. “I was breaking through those walls. She let me help her and I can’t explain how she helped me. I can’t form the words to describe what she did for me and if I am feeling so shaken and almost traumatised by what happened to us, imagine what Robyn is feeling. I need to talk to her. I need to see her. I just can’t wait until Saturday.” Taron placed his head into his hands again, trying to stop himself from breaking down in a flood of tears.

Doctor Keane turned to look at Doctor Hart and giving Taron’s knee a squeeze stood up and looked to Ruth who moved from her place at the nurse’s station to stand beside Taron as his body started to shake with effort he had just made to fight his case. It had taken a lot of energy which he didn’t have.

“No Phoebe. Don’t even start defending him. He is my patient.”

“And Robyn was mine.”

“She was nowhere as badly hurt as Taron was.”

“I don’t think that is something you can prove Steve. Just because Taron’s injuries are more visual than Robyn’s.”

“He was shot with a bullet.”

“And she gave him the CPR that saved his life and we both know it is the person who performs the CPR that is affected more and before the CPR came into play, wasn’t it Robyn who cleaned Taron up and stopped him from panicking. It would have been a very different outcome if she wasn’t there.”

“I understand all that Phoebe and I have met Robyn and saw that she was very vital to Taron’s condition when he arrived at the hospital. I saw her talk to him kindly before I brought him to the CT scan and believe me I know how she saved his life, I examined him but I just don’t feel comfortable letting him leave the hospital only four days after he was admitted, a day after coming off an IV line.”

“Steve, he’s not going to go and do anything reckless. He just wants to go and see the girl who saved his life. Don’t you agree with him when he says Robyn is the only one who understands what he has been through?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then shouldn’t we give them both the opportunity to heal their mental health too?”

“She chose to leave.”

“It wasn’t as easy as that for Robyn. Believe me. Her emotions were very raw too, just like Taron’s and while at the time she saw Taron as her responsibly, once he was in the hospital being cared for, she had her own responsibilities to think about and being a very sensible adult, she made a decision that was extremely hard for her. I have no doubt in my mind that Robyn wouldn’t have left if she didn’t have too.” Phoebe took Steve’s elbow and led him down the corridor a little. “They need to talk this through with each other. If he arrives at her door, do you honestly think she is going to turn him away?”

“He needs rest, not a reunion.”

“I am sure you have gathered by now that Taron is not from here and is working here, work that I am sure has been postponed until he is fully fit. He is not going to stay in America to rest, he will want to go home so he is going to have to take a flight where he will more than likely go to his apartment or house and be by himself…”

“… Or to his family.”

“Who have no idea what he is going through and I would like to point out that you have not argued with me on the ‘flight’ part of that sentence.” Doctor Keane continued before Doctor Hart could protest. “Surely he would be better off going to see the person he has been connected with in the most unusual way possible. There is no one else who Taron can talk to about this and I know for a fact, seeing as how I was the doctor who looked after Robyn that she desperately needs someone to talk to as well and that person should be Taron.”

“He wants to leave tomorrow Phoebe.”

“And?”

“And he has sustained some serious injuries.”

“And?”

“Phoebe!”

“For a man who has been shot, technically died and been through so much stress and anxiety in the last four days, he is still pretty resilient and you and I both know he will not give up that easily and as I speak, he proves my point. Here he comes.”

Taron couldn’t hear the conversation that was going on once the two doctors had moved away from him so even though Ruth tried to stop him, he got up from the chair and walked over to them.

“Look I am sorry for causing a fuss over this. I really don’t mean too. I just… I can’t… I don’t…” Taron stopped and took a shaky breath as he tried to think of what to say, taking another as words failed him. “The hurt, more than the physical hurt, is indescribable and intense and the only person who is going to help me get through this is Robyn and I truly believe that I can help her too. I promise I am not going to do anything that is more than getting a flight, seeing Robyn and sleeping a lot.”

Taron didn’t know if it was the private chat from the second doctor or his pleading but Doctor Hart agreed to discharge him the next day, with strict instructions that he was to rest, take the medication he was to be prescribed and if he felt faint, dizzy or short of breathe he had to go to the local doctor at once.

“Can I ask a favour though?” Chanced Taron talking more to the doctor who had looked after Robyn, feeling it was because of her that Doctor Hart had agreed to sign his discharge papers early. “I don’t know where she lives. I don’t even know her surname. Is there any way you can give me her address from the medical forms she had to fill in please? Or even a surname and I can try and find her myself.”

“That’s some serious breach of doctor and patient confidentially Taron.” Smiled Doctor Keane but without a second thought, walked to the nurse’s station and pulled out Robyn’s file. “Robyn Quinn, Poplar Road, Kilcreen, Co Kildare, Ireland.” She enjoyed the genuine smile that lit up his handsome features as she read out Robyn’s address to him and the unexpected hug he walked around the nurse’s station to give her too.

“You must promise me that you will look after yourself and Robyn too.” She said as she gently hugged him back.

Taron thought he was going to have a tougher battle on his hands when he called his mam to tell her that he wasn’t actually going home to Wales but rather to Ireland but Tina, who desperately wanted to see her son and hug him tight, supported his decision completely.

“Do not apologise to me Taron. Of course, you know I would rather you came home but I also understand this is something you have to do. You need to mentally heal after what you have been through and as much I would love to be that person to help you do that, I know it can’t be and I agree with you, Robyn needs this as much as you do.”

It was his mam who helped him to book the flights over the phone there and then but unfortunately as it was coming to the end of the summer season and most flights were fully booked, the only way to get to Ireland was by taking three flights. One from Tampa to Orlando, Orlando to South Carolina and then South Carolina to Dublin. It was a trip that would take about twenty hours with layovers included but it was his quickest option to get to Robyn so he took it without question.

Richard had already dropped his duffle bag off to him when they had said goodbye to each other Tuesday afternoon, Richards own work commitments meaning he had to leave his friend and Taron was so thankful for Richard when he opened the bag to see brand new t-shirts and jeans in his duffle as well as a peaked hat, some hoodies and a packet of turtles. Taron had only packed shorts and light t-shirts for the weather in Florida. He had already confessed to Richard that he was planning to go and find Robyn when they had a coffee yesterday morning and instead of telling his friend he was stupid, Richard told him he would bring his bag to him, filling it with new clothes, giving him a very supportive hug before he left.

Taron passed by the air hostesses as he walked down the aisle, giving them a smile as he kept going towards the front of the plane, the walking helping a little to relax tired muscles. With the flight being booked so last minute, Taron could only take whatever seat was available to him. He wasn’t bothered by travelling first class or anything like that but really would have liked to have gotten a window seat for the longer flight to Dublin but unfortunately was stuck in the middle for each flight and it was hard having no space either side of him to stretch or move a little and sitting in the middle meant there was not a chance of getting some sleep. He was thinking about using his table as a pillow but figured he would end up regretting staying in that position for too long, so he sat with his hat pulled down low, his eyes closed. He had already taken his pain killer before he got on the plane and it was helping to take the edge of the more severe pain he felt but as he walked up the aisle, each step caused a ripple of discomfort through his side and head.

Taron turned and started to walk back down toward the back of the plane and his seat. Right now, he may have been on the plane on his way to Ireland, but once he got there, he was at a loss of what to do next. It was a rush of booking flights, getting prescriptions filled and completing final examinations so Doctor Hart was absolutely sure he was happy to discharge Taron and he had left the hospital just before six that morning to get to the airport so once he got off the plane in Dublin, he actually didn’t have a plan for what to do next.

He had Robyn’s name and address and that was it and would figure out the rest when he landed. He reached his seat and apologised as the passenger at the end who had to get up to let him back into his seat which he carefully shuffled into, easing himself down. He clicked his seatbelt back in and leaned his head against the chair, closing his eyes and ignored the butterflies in his stomach.

[beautifulletdownfics]

‘someday, someday’ :: tumblr edition, #21

I woke up to Harry.

"What are you—

"Shhh," He interrupted my sleepy confusion, his arms were digging under my body and pulling me out from the back of the sofa I had been sleeping on, "Just hang on a minute ..."

He leaned over me slowly and lodged himself between the back of the sofa and my body, his arms tightly holding around the duvet I was burritoed in. I very much felt like I was about to fall onto the floor and an involuntary yelp escaped me to express the thought. The jolting movement caused an unpleasant rush through my head pointing to the hangover brewing.

"I've got you," Harry reassured me, straightening up and pulling me even closer against his chest. He wiggled his legs slightly to sandwich mine and help us both to sit snuggly. Flashes of our intimate moments the night before rose in my mind as Harry’s cologne triggered a vivid memory.  His hands now were soft and gentle but my mind remembered them searching my body lustfully and I couldn’t stop the way my heart started racing from the memory.

"Your hair is wet," I told him dumbly, feeling the cold wetness from a stray lock stick to my cheek.

"I had a shower." "Here?" I frowned, Harry hadn't been here when the girls and I had arrived back at my house sometime around four in the morning.

"No," I could feel him smiling as he pressed his lips to my forehead, "I showered at home and came straight here to make sure you survived the night.”

I turned my head up to meet his, grinning back at him when he seemed surprised by the movement. I went straight for his lips, wanting to feel the same sensation of glorious mindlessness that I had kissing him last night. Harry hummed against me and quickly deepened the kiss, dragging a hand up my back to hold the back on my head. The material of the knitted jumper he was wearing scratched my cheek and I smiled against him when he flipped one of his legs over both of mine to trap me further. Just when my body was starting to get into the rhythm of the kiss Harry slowly pulled back from it. His lips found my chin and my nose and then the side of my mouth before he stopped completely and just looked at me.

He didn’t say anything for a few beats, "That was very nice. How was the rest of your night last night? What did I miss?”

I pressed my pointer finger to his chin, inspecting the way his lips were pinker from having kissed me, “I think I have a bruise on my leg from a bar stool.”

Harry’s laugh exploded out of him before even he could contain it and I lowered my hands back between us against his warm chest to snuggle down in the cuddle, “What on earth did you get up to with a bar stool? Should I be jealous?”

“We ended up at a karaoke bar and Bel needed a boost up onto a stool but she fell off and it crashed into my leg. She has an egg on her head.”

“Jesus Christ, is she okay?” Harry’s chest was shaking with laughter.

“She’s mad she messed up the lyrics to Life for Rent.”

Harry nearly snorted when a deeper laugh overtook him and he settled into a long, deep laugh, “She picked a Dido song?”

I was grinning at the way Harry could hardly get the words out. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to be the one causing this bubbling of joy from him but I loved every second of it. I closed my eyes and settled into the feeling of being held and tried to forget the headache swirling around my head.

“Life for Rent is actually a beautiful song,” I defended quietly.

“It it,” Harry agreed, “It’s just so left of centre. I was surprised ... I needed that laugh, thank you.”

"My pleasure, but if my leg needs to be amputated, boy, are you going to be sorry your initial reaction was laughter."

"Didn't think I'd ever see a day I could say Nina Lawrence was being over-dramatic," Harry said dryly.

"You've unleashed a monster."

“Sounds like you had a fun night?" He asked quietly, his lips moving against my check, "What time did you get in?"

My mind was running at a million miles from Harry being so close and stumbled on my answer, "I did. Somewhere around four I think."

"And you're a good host so you've let them take your bed?" He asked, referring to the girls.

Yes, but I wish I’d taken you up on the offer to stay in yours last night.

"Four in the bed was a bit too much." I confirmed.

"You looked very cosy out here, I wasn't going to join you but I found I couldn't resist."

"I wasn't expecting you this morning," I said, broaching the topic of why Harry was at my house.

He'd surprised me last night when he stayed with my family after my performance at Royal Albert Hall until midnight. Eventually he’d whispered in my ear he needed to leave if he was going to be able to sing properly today. In the excitement of my performance I had forgotten he had his own to think about.

Soon after I ended up going out with the girls, who were keen to have one last dance in London before going back home up North. I wasn’t complaining about him being here this morning, but I thought we had our Christmas farewell the night before.

Up against Harry’s car. For about twenty minutes.

"I'm here to sneak you out for a quick breakfast before the others wake up,” He said, and I felt myself blush at what I had been remembering from the night before, “I was thinking about it last night after I got home and I just kind of decided I wasn’t particularly happy with not seeing you this morning when if I was organised I definitely could.”

Harry’s fingers were drawing distracting circles on my back and feeling the vibrations from his voice as he spoke from having my head pressed against his chest only made it all feel a special kind of intimate.

A lovely warm feeling filled me at his words. If seeing him hold his own with my family and friends last night wasn't already enough to reassure me of Harry fitting in my world surely seeing the effort he put into getting to spend time with me was convincing enough. If only the dirty voices of doubt in me could see that.

I hadn't said anything, Harry squeezed me slightly, "Can I have one more date before you leave?"

"'Course you can," I mumbled back, dragging my hands up and tugging at the neck of his jumper.

"A true gentlemen would have come over and cooked breakfast for all of you ... My compromise is that we bring breakfast back for the girls, what time do you think they'll wake up?."

"They won't surface before midday. The train we’re getting is at 1:30.”

"Great, we have plenty of time then ... On a scale of one to ten how much does <i>your</i> head hurt right now?"

"A four but growing."

"You need some food. And fresh air," Harry said decisively, "A green juice and some breakfast and you'll be good as new."

At the thought of getting up a heavy weariness fell over me, "Or we could just stay like this all day."

Harry hummed into my hairline and squeezed his arms around me again, "Very tempting. But I'm actually extremely hungry, I went for a run earlier."

"Earlier?" I groaned, "What could be earlier than this?"

Harry laughed and without any warning sat up, keeping his hold on me and forcing me upright as well.

"Wait," I protested meekly, needing a moment to take stock of exactly how bad I was feeling.

"Are you going to vomit? Should I be worried about alcohol poisoning?"

I hit his arm lightly, "No, just give me some warning next time."

Harry gave me ten minutes to creep around upstairs and get myself decent for breakfast. It required sneaking into my room for a change of clothes, the three lumps that were Isobel, Sam, and Georgie taking up all of my bed didn't make a sound or movement while I did so. Still, I scrawled out a note for them at left it on top of Sam's phone where it was charging.

Harry had waited for me on the sofa, and when he heard me coming down the stairs he met me at the bottom of them, all rugged up in this coat and a scarf. I followed him out the door, sneaking a look at his bum in the trendy, loose blue jeans he was wearing. He looked fantastic.

Harry grabbed for my hand when outside I started walking towards his car, "Nope, this way," he corrected, tugging me towards him and starting to walk in the opposite direction down my street, "I Googled, there's a nice looking place just around the corner. I thought we could just walk there?"

"You're a man with a plan," I commented, swinging our joined hands between us.

"I'd hate you to think I don't have my shit together," Harry quipped back, "Besides which, I take you and breakfast very seriously."

Oh boy.

"My brain can't decide yet if food sounds good or bad," I groaned, pulling my sunglasses down from the top of my head. The wintery London chill was in the air but we were being graced with an uncharacteristic sunny morning.

The cafe Harry had in mind was a little busy, but Harry walked in with purpose, asking for a table for two of us. We ended up tucked into a corner, Harry sat with his back to the window and immediately opened the menu reminding me not for the first time just how hungry he was.

I didn’t spend a lot of time looking at the menu, the third thing on the breakfast list was ricotta pancakes with strawberries. I didn’t need to see any further options.

Harry deliberated over two or three options however, looking crestfallen when the waitress came over and he had to make a final decision. He was trying to avoid dairy for the day to help with his voice.

Once I ordered food with a coffee he pointed to the menu and said “I’ll have this one. With bacon,” a small frown, “And mushrooms.”

He also ordered two green juices, promising me it would help with the thudding in my head.

“Is an OJ not good enough?” I lamented after the waitress left.

Harry grinned at me, “You’re a precious drunk.”

“I am not still drunk,” I defended quickly, taking my sunglasses off my head and putting them on top of my phone on the table.

“Precious hungover then,” He edited warmly. "I really like your family and friends. Last night was great.”

“I thought so to. Although they’re all a bit mad too,” I cringed remembering Bel and Georgie singing a very, very old One Direction song at Harry last night at the hotel. Tequila shots made them quite musical.

As if he knew the moment I was thinking of, Harry spoke up, ”I liked it, it was fun. If I was a plumber they’d have made sewerage jokes all night. It’s okay. I can take it.”

"They all went easy on us, trust me,” I was thinking of all the times my mum made eyes at me throughout the night when she’d caught Harry watching me or being sweet in some way.

"I'm looking forward to getting to the stage where they don't. Hopefully."

He was fishing for reassurance, I smiled and squinted at him, knowing he knew what I was going to say but it was important I said it anyway, "They all love you, don't worry."

Harry's smile brightened and his eyes locked on mine, “I like this ... You never used to make eye contact, it would drive me mad.”

My friends forgotten, suddenly I felt I was under his scrutiny, his attention wafting from one line of conversation to another without warning, "What?"

"You'd look at my chin or my nose, and if we made eye contact you'd look away so quickly it was as though it never happened. It drove me crazy."

I winced, "I can't imagine why you bothered persisting. Sorry."

“I could tell you, but I’m not sure your hangover can weather how sappy I’d get,” Harry said, saved by the bell that was our drinks being brought over to the table.

I was sure the waitress had heard the last of the conversation though, and felt her looking between us knowingly. I felt my face heat and when I chanced a glance across to Harry he looked like the cat that ate the canary.

“Are you still buzzing from last night?” Harry asked when we were alone again.

“Yeah,” I smiled at him, “But the better question is are you excited for your performance tonight?”

“I am” Harry provided carefully, adding a perfectly measured spoonful of sugar to his black coffee and stirring it through.

“But?” I prompted

“I’m a little nervous,” He admitted. “I always am when it’s a telly thing, they’re always a bit awkward. Singing to a camera and then an audience that’s not really into it … It feels like work where proper live shows don’t really. But it will be nice to be back up on stage with the lads.”

I nodded at him diplomatically, “A healthy dose of nerves is a good thing I’ve been told, means you don’t take it for granted.”

“You’re telling me even Protégés even get nervous?”

“Are you ever going to drop that?” I groaned.

“Nope.” He said easily.

“I was shitting myself before last night … I’ve never been good at the ‘healthy dose’ part of that,” I said with a slow smile.

Harry’s face dropped just a touch, but I hadn’t meant to berate him in any way. It had served as a reminder of something to him though and I watched him struggle with what to say next. I decided to rescue him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” He answered immediately, looking painfully earnest.

“You were so kind to me, right from before I even realised you knew I existed …” I paused, not know how to ask the actual question part, Harry watched me carefully, “Why?”

Some part of him relaxed slightly, “I’d like to think I’m kind to pretty much everyone. It’s the default, my mum would always tell us that when we were kids: Being kind should be your default setting.”

“And what about if someone is a jerk?”

Harry’s smile returned, “Kill them with kindness.”

“What about if someone is kind of standoffish and disinterested in even a pleasant, casual social interaction? What if they barely give you the time of day to be kind?”

“Are you referring to yourself?”

“Maybe.”

“Wear them down until they date you.”

Now I was left without knowing what to say, and my shock evidently played out in my expression because Harry watched me carefully but smiled at whatever he saw. He’d won that discussion by being honest and I could see Harry knew he had me.

“Nina it was never about polite kindness with you.”

Our food had arrived and the smell of sweet, warm pancakes made my stomach rumble with delight, “What does that mean?” I asked, waiting a moment before taking my first bite. It was delicious.

“I’d heard Rodger and Max talk about you well before I met you. They’re nuts about you and the way Rodger would speak about you used to annoy me, if I’m honest. Early on he corrected my assumption he had a thing for you, I think I told him to just hurry up and marry you already,” Harry shook his head at himself, “I used to think ‘if she’s so bloody great how come she never comes to anything’. I started joking that you didn’t really exist, that everyone had invented you as a wind up.”

“You did?”

Harry was laughing at the memory, “I did. Then I left my hat at your place and Rodger told me you would be home to give it to me.” “I’d forgotten about that,” I said, “I always think Rodger’s party was the first time we met.”

“That hurts,” Harry feigns a pain over his heard, “Standing outside your house feeling as though I’d been stabbed in the heart or I was about to throw up is one of my most memorable moments.”

I winced, “What a memory.”

“The second I saw you I was done for, Nina." He said slowly, his expression sincere but cautious as though he was treading carefully with his words, "I’d had all this build up from everyone about about how incredible you were that as soon as I saw you I got a crush ten feet tall and as wide as the sea ... Everyone had failed to mention you were gorgeous too.”

I knew I was bright red, but I could see Harry wasn’t going to save me from my embarrassment, he held eye contact and waited for me to stop internally protesting what he had said. Hearing that Harry's attraction had been so instantaneous both reassured me and had me feeling guilty, it had taken me weeks to get to that point.

"I should really start paying Rodger for whatever he's saying about me."

Harry laughed and nodded, "You really should ... I wasn't just being nice for the sake of it, Nina. I wanted you to like me as much as I liked you. I had that fun but soul destroying feeling where you're so into someone it's addictive and you just want to see them again. It was so annoying not get enough time with you on your own—I’m sounding like a maniac right now, I know,” He hurried, “But I’d find myself so pissed off at Rodger speaking over you or Max jumping in to save you from having to answer. I knew if I just had the time with you alone you’d open up more. I hated that every time I saw you it was coincidental, I just wanted to get to the point where I could plan when I'd get to see you next on my own. I’d make plans with Rodger or Max not knowing if they'd bring you along as well.”

"Harry," I said gently, waiting his remembered frustration play out in his features.

"I'd be crushed every time you didn't appear," He continued slowly, "And after the Regina show, you disappeared for weeks and I never felt like it was my place to reach out directly. I was pretty sure you hated me. "

"I'm sorry, I never hated you."

"I know," Harry smiled, "I can be a romantic dramatist."

"I think I thought I'd embarrassed myself to Kingdom Come and you'd want nothing to do with my drama anyway."

He deflated a little, "I'm not going to be like him, Nina," Harry paused to make sure I knew who he was referring to, "If you're going through something I want to know."

I sighed and dropped my chin into my hand, propped up on the table, "You're pretty lovely, know that?"

"I'd really like this to work for us, Nina, and I don't want to push you but at the same time I don't want to allow there to be any room for you to doubt it. Or me."

We were both finished eating and I watched Harry for a moment. He never seem phased by anything, so having him reveal his feelings when I was hesitant to assume them was pleasant in an unexpected way. Usually the thought of someone noticing me in a social setting made my skin crawl, but knowing Harry had been watching and wanting to know me better was settling somehow. To also have him acknowledge what I had told him about my last relationship and the dynamic there was also reassuring, if not scary. It was always a heavily guarded secret inside me, and I wasn’t used to having him privy to it yet.

"This means I'm going to have to add you to my Christmas list, doesn't it?" I asked playfully, delighted when Harry's face lit up in response.

"You sure do.”

“I think an M&S voucher should suffice,” I teased, trying to look thoughtful.

Harry raised his eyebrows at me, “That would be lovely actually, I could use some new underwear.”

Harry looked proud of his quickness, and he took his time taking a long sip of his coffee, watching me over the cup. I simply smiled back and tried a little of the juice he had ordered for me, scrunching my nose up at what I could only describe as a green flavour.

“Oh god,” I coughed, “That tastes like a garden.” Harry beamed at me, “It’ll put five years back on your life.”

+++

“Bye Harry!” “Bye Harry, we’ll be texting our review after tonight!”

“Harry,” Bel leaned forward between Harry’s front seats, looking as though she was tossing up between multiple things to say, finally settling on, “Don’t trip.”

Harry barked out a laugh at that, promising her he wouldn’t, “It would probably make great TV though,” he added, “I’m sure there are lots of people that would love to see me land on my arse.”

Bel seemed to consider that for a moment, then seemed to shrug it off, “We’ll see you when we see you, Harry. Thanks for the ride.”

I turned in my seat to watch her slip out onto the footpath outside Farringdon station. Harry had made good of his promise to take breakfast back to my house for everyone. We left the cafe with arms of pastries and coffees, and then he insisted on saving us the Uber fare by driving us to the train up North himself. Harry popped the boot for them and looked in the rearview mirror to make sure it had opened.

“Have a great Christmas,” He said quietly, pulling me back, Harry’s eyes flicked back to the mirror as I registered that we wouldn’t have much time to do this goodbye.

“You too,” I said, turning to face him in my seat.

“Have fun and be safe and miss me loads,” He added, shifting around and leaning on the middle console towards me, he curled his index finger at me, “C’mere.”

I smiled and leaned in towards him, Harry’s thumb and pointer finger met my chin and he gently pulled it up to the right angle for him to lower in for a kiss. Harry pulled back after one chaste attempt, giving me only enough time to lick my lips before we were pressed back together, his tongue giving only the shortest tease. He dropped his fingers from chin and sat back in his seat.

“I’ll see you on the 28th,” He confirmed, turning his head to me, “But I’ll talk to you before then.”

“Yep,” I nodded, “Break a leg tonight. And save me some of that croissant bread and butter pudding your mum makes.”

Harry laughed, “I will. She’s going to adore that you’re so keen for it.”

Georgie’s face appeared next to my window, “I need to go.”

“You do,” He agreed, reaching for the side of my face and pulling himself over the console again to give me one last kiss, “Be good.”

I screwed up my nose at him as I opened my door, “I’m always good.”

“You still need to sign the program from last night for me," He said quickly, just as I was about to shut the door, "I’m getting it framed.”

I rolled my eyes at him, "Bye Harry,"

"Merry Christmas, Protégé!"

++

"I fucking hate you.”

I did. I really did. But my face cracked into a grin and I walked back into Bel’s family lounge room carrying a tray of teas. Georgie was modelling a One Direction t-shirt she had pulled from God knows where and Bel was busy pinning a Liam badge to her pyjama top.

“Where did you even get those!”

“It was a two for one deal online,” Georgie told me happily, “Sam didn’t think it was a good idea for us to keep teasing you, but if you ask me she’s being unsupportive.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sam said, moving over on the two-seater she was on to make room for me. I linked my arm through hers when I sat.

Bel’s parents were away visiting with her sister and brother-in-law in Glasgow, not returning until the following morning. Her dad had the TV sound system to shame all sound systems which apparently meant we had to watch Harry on the telly there. The empty house was enough to sell me on the idea, mine was full of cousins and family who would delight in teasing me about Harry. But this would be the first time I would properly witness him singing and I didn’t think I could handle it if I couldn’t just focus on him and what I was seeing.

We were making an old school sleepover of it, which we had decided upon on the train back earlier today. We all had gone to our respective family homes and then repacked for a night at Bel’s. The food had been ordered in and it was about half an hour until the program started. While we waited for Indian to arrive we chatted our way through numerous pieces of gossip from our wider friendship group in Blackpool, and back to our family Christmases.

It was tradition that we met at the pub on Boxing day where it seemed everyone we knew under thirty five who was home for the holiday season all went to debrief after surviving spending an extended period of time with their families. The same thing happened on New Years Day before everyone headed back to London or Manchester to their regular lives.

"How's that bruise on your leg?" Bel asked suddenly, looking across at me and nodding at my covered legs.

"It's okay, how's your hea—

"—You should’ve gotten Harry to kiss it better,” Georgie cut me off.

“Yeah,” Bel agreed, a devilish smile on her face, “I bet he’s really good at that kind of thing.”

“What!” I squawked, watching Sam stand up when the doorbell rang. She waved off any help in collecting the food and I was left to Bel and Georgie’s inappropriate giggling.

“Harry’s fit, take it graciously.” Bel said.

“He is!” I defended, “But I don’t need to bloody hear it from you.”

“If I had a guy like Harry I’d be snug as shit about it,” Georgie exclaimed, standing up to help Sam unpack the food onto the coffee table. “I could use some new relationship sex. It’s always so delightful.”

“Oh my god,” I groaned.

“Here we go,” Bel rolled her eyes, “Horny Georgie.”

Georgie had the audacity to look wounded, “Sorry, what year is it? I won’t be shamed for liking sex!”

“Nobody was shaming you, George,” Sam said calmly, “But next time take a breath before you mention Nina’s new boyfriend and then sex, mmm?” “I wasn’t saying I wanted to bang Harry!” Georgie said to me quickly.

“I know,” I smiled, wanting to get as far as I could from this conversation as quickly as possible, “Pass me a plate.”

We already had plates and cutlery ready. I watched as the containers were popped open. Bel moved to kneel at the table and started to serve herself bits of all the different curries we had ordered. Sam gave Georgie one last look, and I wished I knew how to save them from each other’s strong opinions. Really I just wanted to move the conversation away from my sex life. I didn’t have the energy to explain why Harry and I hadn’t slept together yet.

Food was just the distraction needed to reset the conversation.

We spent the next hour talking and eating our way through the first part of the Charity Gala on the telly. There was an all-star line up with all the usual suspects in the London music and comedy scene. We gossiped our way through who was who, who was good and who wasn’t really actually funny.

I felt like by the time it was One Direction being introduced that I had lived half a life time in nervous anticipation. I had been preparing myself for a shift, or for at least seeing a side of Harry that I hadn’t before which had the potential to make me feel uncomfortable.

I knew that the band hadn’t performed together very much in the last twelve months. Harry had said that much himself, and it was a fact that was getting played up all night in the lead up to them performing. The world had missed them, the presenter kept saying, as the moment they were on stage was built up—it was clear they were being presented as the big act of the night.

Finally they were announced to be after the ad break. Which gave me enough time to refill my glass of wine and chew my way through a handful of Dairy Milk buttons.

“Don’t eat your hand, Nina,” Bel joked from her spot across the room.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, “It’s this or projectile vomit on your mum’s good rug.”

"Why are you freaking out so much about this?"

"I haven't seen him perform before," I provided quietly, trying to hide the quiver to my voice.

Sam's arm came around me and she held me in a side hug, "This shouldn't change your opinion of him," she said just to me, sensing there was more going on than I was letting on.

"I just haven't seen it before," I reiterated, wondering what 'it' was and why something about the whole concept of seeing Harry perform made me feel uneasy.

The ad break came to a close and there was no introduction to the act or the song, a thumping drum beat started and panning shots of the audience facing the stage took over the screen. The girls quietened around me but Sam kept her arm around me, giving my shoulder a slight squeeze.

The introduction to the song went too long. I kept anticipating the start but the drums kept going and the intro rolled on. Eventually I heard what was distinctly Harry's laugh through a microphone and then he started singing.

The camera panned on him first. He was grinning and a little red but he stood where he was and sang beautifully in an impeccable upper lower register. He swayed slightly to the beat, the silky material of the shirt that was poorly tucked into his jeans moving softly with his hips.

"That's your man, Nina," Georgie clapped towards the TV when Harry stopped singing and someone else took over.

The camera panned over all the members of the band, holding on the drummer for a little while and then going back to get the shot of the audience with the four members of One Direction facing them.

Harry had lovely tone to his voice. It rumbled out of his chest smoothly and his harmonies cut through the melody perfectly. He looked like he belonged exactly where he was on stage. Each time he was on the screen he was interacting the the camera, the audience or a bandmate. Harry made it all look fun and when the song came to and end he joined the others in happily greeting the people in the room with them, thanking the crowd for having them.

"And all of you at home too," A voice off screen said, I wasn't sure which member.

Harry appeared on screen again, screwing the lid back onto a water bottle, and then leaving it to walk back to his mic stand, "Thank you for having us," He said simply, "This is Story of My Life."

They played through the slower song and I stared at Harry's spot on the stage the whole time, only noticing his bandmates when the camera left him and I was forced to. The girls were making observations around me but I wasn't really listening. It was so strange to be looking at Harry in that setting.

He had slowly become such a strong force in my life and I was finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that there was such a huge part of him, of his life, that I'd not experienced at all. We hardly spoke about his job and I was left wondering why. He was clearly so good at it and I was concerned by the fact he hadn't shared much with me.

The next song started and I turned to Sam beside me, "Harry never talks to me about his job. Is that odd?"

She craned her neck to look at me properly, her brows drawn like she didn't understand where my question was coming from, her features then rose into surprise, "Nina, I ... No, I don't think so. Don't ... Don't psyche yourself out. Harry's so into you, you'd have to be an idiot to miss that."

I looked back to the screen, watching Harry sing his heart out on live National television, "We don't talk about who he is. I mean, look," I waved my hand at the television, "He's fucking Harry Styles ... Why is that only just hitting me?"

"Because he's not that to you, babe," Georgie added gently from across the room, her eyes understanding, "He's just a lad. He's just your Harry. And I know we give you both shit ... Well, mostly me," She half shrugged, "We give you shit about him but if he was some famous fuckwit we wouldn't act like we do." "He's set the tone," Bel jumped in, "He didn't walk in and throw his name around, and now he's sharing it with you. It's probably awkward for him to bring it up with people."

"I think it's my fault," I said. "I've been so bad at asking him about himself, I alway feel so awkward and I didn't want him to think I was digging for that, you know?"

"Don't overthink this," Sam hugged my side, "He's mad about you, and I bet he appreciated not feeling like was a factor with you.."

The only real window into Harry's job and the status that came with it had been my attending the dinner earlier in the year where I'd met some of his friends. Friends, who as it turned out, had sent a photograph of the night to someone working at a media corporation. I'd been distracted by the fact Harry had lied about how we knew each other, and I hadn't focused really on the fact that was what his life was like sometimes, and why.

The 'why' was this, what I was watching, Harry being on stage and a part of this universally known and loved band.

"Nina," Sam pulled me out of my thoughts, "He's really bloody good. Appreciate his job for that, don't get stuck on the rest of it ... You've got music in common, let that be something wonderful."

She was right. Having music in common with Harry was wonderful.

"He's so cool," I said without thinking.

"Right," Georgie huffed, "How do you think we all bloody felt watching you last night?"

"His voice is really lovely," I could feel a blush rising.

"Now we're talking!" Sam said, jamming her fingers into my ribs, "That rockstar is yours."

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I replied softly, hoping nobody would elaborate on the matter. I regretted saying it as soon as it came out of my mouth. I hadn't felt any pressure with Harry on the topic, so why it fell out of my mouth in that moment I couldn't say.

“Ah,” Georgie waved off my comment easily, “You’re whatever the step before boyfriend is.”

I hope so.