#my tailbone does hurt though. ow.
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we prepared pretty well for the storm and didn't lose power but we're Still iced in. it stopped sleeting for long enough tonight for me to strap some microspikes onto my sneakers and walk to a convenience store for milk, which made me laugh because even back in new hampshire i never needed microspikes for anything except hiking. when it ices here, there is nothing to be done. nh infrastructure is full of salt trucks and plows and shovels for sidewalks and whatnot, but here there will be full inches of ice on the road and on the sidewalks until it melts. usually it melts in a day! when you're feeling the effects of ongoing climate catastrophe, tho, it does not. It Cold
anyway it felt good to get out of the house and stretch my legs but my calves and feet are now burning So Bad. walking a mile having to dig spikes into ice with every step is probably the physical equivalent of 2-3 miles on normal terrain.
also i fell once when the spikes on one foot slipped off but i didn't die. đĽł
#my tailbone does hurt though. ow.#i actually like the burning feeling in my legs it FEELS like i just did a tough hike and accomplished something#the tailbone pain i could do without. but it's all right#(sidewalks are the responsibility of property owners but like. people dont know how to de-ice here)#(they can barely get out of their own driveways they are not prioritizing their sidewalks.)#(and none of the property management companies or apartment landlords have dealt with their sidewalks either.)#current events
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Hii!! i wanted to ask how like the 141 would react grim sneaking in a stray cat or dog <33 I also wanted to say how much i love your grim au its literally one of my favs, you stay safe and take care of yourself!!
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New Pal
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
pairings: platonic 141 x grim
warnings: none!
summary: grim introduces a new furry friend to the team
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
the team had quickly come to realize you had a deep love for animals. this was never a secret, though.
there were times while on missions that ghost would have to get you back on track after going out of your way to pet whatever animal youâd found in an alley.
youâd been staying at a safe house with the team after a mission. you were bored, and the house was just too stuffy with all the boys cramped into a small house, so youâd decided to step outside for a bit of fresh air.
the boys started to worry after youâd been outside for a bit too long for their liking. they stepped out to find you, expecting you to be sitting on the porch. instead, they found you in the clearing off to the right of the house.
you were slowly creeping to a doe. trees towering over you, and a hand stretched out with greenery in your small palm. bright brown eyes met your soft ones. your steps were calm and calculated, wanting the deer to see you werenât a threat to her.
she took a step forward, and you halted your movements. your body went stiff as you held your breath in fear of scaring her off.
the boys watched with gleaming eyes as the doe met you and sniffed the greenery before tentatively eating it out of your palm.
you raised a hand slowly and lightly rest it on her coat, making small strokes against her fur. the sun beams leaking through the trees made her warm.
the doe only left once sheâd eaten all the food. you watched on as she made her way into the forest, small hoof prints left behind in the dewy grass.
once she left your sight, you turned around to go back inside.
the teamâs eyes found yours and you gave a small smile, âhey guys! howâs it goin?â
âgrim, howâd you do that?â soap all but sputtered out. his eyes were blown wide at the thought of getting that close to a deer. âwas she soft?â his voice softened as he imagined running his fingertips through the coat.
you nodded enthusiastically, âoh yeah! super soft. but, i gotta go wash my hands.â and with that, you brushed passed the boys and made your way to the bathroom.
âââ
the team was anticipating the day youâd bring in an animal. but, as time went on, and they never saw one, they thought theyâd underestimated your ability of self control. and soon, theyâd stopped thinking that.
until they started to notice youâd spent more time in your room.
to your benefit, it wasnât unusual, per se. while you enjoyed being the most annoying person on base, you also liked your space.
it got to the point, theyâd almost thought you were having a small episode. and if that was the case, they knew youâd come talk to one of them at some point. when you were ready. the team never pushed you, because youâd never pushed them. and they liked that about you.
but, this was just excessive. you always cracked after four days, and this was the fifth day you went off to seclude yourself after a meal. they were over it.
your door burst open, causing you to jump out of your skin. a small squeak left your lips and you fell to the floor below you.
âow- shit.â you hissed as your hand fell to your ass, rubbing your tailbone.
âokay, grim. just tell us whatâs wrong, kid.â price spoke up. the team were looking over his shoulders, varying looks of concern and confusion on their faces.
soap was scared something had happened on base and you just werenât telling them about it. he almost felt hurt that you felt you couldnât talk to them.
confusion crossed your features, brows furrowing and lips pursing. âi have no idea what youâre talking about. nothingâs wrong..?â
âdude, youâve been holed up in your room for five days. you only come out to eat and shower. you havenât even torn my door off itâs hinges this week. whatâs wrong?â gazâs head peaked over your captainâs shoulder.
âdude, thereâs nothing wrong. scouts honor.â you held up the boy scouts sign from where you sat on the floor. âi swear, if something wa-â
meow
silence. it coated the room, and thick tension filled the room. so thick, in fact, you bet ghost could cut through it with the knife strapped to his thigh. although, you figured it wouldnât be that hard seeing as his knives were furthest from dull.
â⌠grim. explain. now.â ghostâs voice spoke from just outside the door.
âheh. uh, yeah! yeah- okay! guys, meet the newest team member. her name is spoon! i think sheâd really be able to provide some insight on our missions, and uh, yeahâŚâ your voice trailed off into a whisper as four pairs of eyes just blinked at you.
in your hands was a small black kitten. her fur was fluffy, making her appear as a small, round void in your cupped hands. she squirmed a bit, but settled in your lap.
âplease say something.â your whispering voice broke the eerie silence that blanketed the room after your revelation of the small kitten.
âyou canât- you canât keep her, grim.â price hated telling you no, but rules were rules. and he wasnât about to break them for some cat youâd found outside.
âNO! wait- please! i need her. i hate being alone all the time, and i know i can get annoying. please let me keep her. she can be useful! she can gather intel, i mean look at her intelligent eyes!â the cat simply blinked, no thoughts. âi promise to take care of her and shit. like, take her on walks, and feed her, and bathe her. plus, i already named her. she marked me. weâre soulmates now. no take backs.â you all but pleaded with your captain.
he stared into your eyes. blue fighting yours. your gaze never wavered, you held strong.
âif she leaves, i leave.â you huffed out. price knew he wouldnât win this.
his shoulders deflated as he sighed. another squeal left your lips as you held spoon closer to your chest.
âthank you! oh my gosh. thank you!â you rocked the kitten back and forth as a beaming smile took over your features.
âbut- the moment that cat even steps out of line a little, sheâs gone.â
âdeal!â
the cat left your lap, making her way to your team. they stepped out of her way, wanting to know her intentions.
she stopped right in front of ghost, peering up at him. then, she did the unthinkable.
scaling up his side, claws out before she settled upon his stiff shoulder.
everyone held their breaths in anticipation before his eyes met yours. a hard glare set in them.
then he did the unthinkable. his hand moved up to pet spoonâs little head. purring sounded through the room, before he left and stalked down the hall.
âwhat just happened?â soap spoke up, his head turning to watch the lieutenant and the small cat turn down the hall.
âhe just stole my fucking cat.â with that, you were up and pushing your way through the boys and down the hall.
âGHOST- GIVE ME MY FUCKING CAT YOU BASTARD.â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
a/n: thank you for reading! merry christmas, and happy holidays! <3
#grim au#john price#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#soap cod#ghost#john soap mactavish#cod#cod mw2#john price x reader#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#soap x reader#ghost x reader#cod mw2 imagine#cod mw22#ghost cod#mw2#mw2022#mw2 x reader#141 x reader#task force 141
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Hurt/comfort Enid has a nightmare that Wednesday has to wake her from and the comfort that follows
thanks for the prompt anon! <3
cw: gore (?), angst
(find on ao3)
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Enid lasts four days without sleep.
Theyâre four exhausting days, filled with classes and extracurriculars and preparing for the Poe Cup again, and every single time Enid returns to the dorm all she wants is to plop on the bed and sleep for days. But everytime she closes her eyes for more than a second she sees blood and claws and big, terrible eyes; she goes off to the balcony and lets Wednesdayâs typewriter lull her into a haze.Â
(Winter break had been exhausting. Exhausting and horrible and filled with sleepless nights and passing out on the couch and waking up to Momâs tirade.)
(âGirl, what the hell happened to you?â Yoko asks the third morning, and then wiggles her eyebrows. âIs Ms Goth Psychopath keeping you up?âÂ
âYoko! Itâsâweâre not like that!â
âYet,â Yoko mutters, rolling her eyes.)Â
But sleep is sleep is sleep; on the fourth day Enid thinks, just a few seconds, and makes the mistake of actually lying down on her bed. Itâs just so comfy and god, was this blanket always so softâ
She drifts off. Â
Blood.Â
Itâs always blood and itâs always Wednesdayâs. Sheâs lying in it, covered in it, hair matted and sticking to her gaunt, perfect face; Tylerâs claws have torn her chest into ribbons of skin that barely connect. Sheâs always late, Enidâs always fucking lateâor she never registers Wednesday as safe and sheâs the one who kills the love of her lifeâshe howls and howls and howls, attacks the Hyde with his inhuman, cartoon eyes, and ThornhillâÂ
Enid gasps awake.Â
Thank God. It was just a dream. Sheâs shaking though, covered in disgusting sweat. Automatically her eyes fall to Wednesdayâs side of the room. She isnât there, and Enid sighs. Gets up to take a shower and immediately slips on something wet. She falls down and hits her tailbone hard. Fucking ow. Enid looks around to see what the hell she slipped on. The moon glints on the floor and Enid brings a hand to her face to push away her hair andâitâs bloody. Her hand is bloody.Â
She blinks hard. Looks around. Wednesdayâs neck looks unnaturally bent in front of her, Thing lies stabbed next to her. Her eyes are lifeless, her hand outstretched towards Enid.Â
Enid screams-
âENID!â
Enid wakes violently and almost claws Wednesday across her face. Only Wednesdayâs inhuman reflexes save her.Â
âOh my god! Iâm so sorry, did I get youââ
Wednesday blinks, and the action is so startling that Enid immediately shuts up. Wednesdayâs hands are tight on Enidâs arms and the touch feels grounding and cold against her feverish skin. Enid almost wants to lean into her touch; since their hug, Wednesdayâs been tolerant of Enidâs touches, but this is the first time sheâs initiated it and shit, Enid almost wants to forget all about the reason Wednesdayâs leaning over her like this.
âEnid,â Wednesday says, sounding flat and annoyed. âYou were screaming.â
Enid swallows, viscerally aware that nightmares mean something different to the girl in front of her than it does her. âA bad dream, thatâs all,â she says.
Wednesday hums. âAre they why youâve been avoiding sleep?â
âI didnât think you noticed.â
âI notice everything about you,â she says casually as if that sentence doesnât make Enid almost swoon. âNow come on, I think Thingâs finished running that bath for you.â
Wednesday slides her hand down Enidâs arm, leaving goosebumps in her wake, and takes her hand as if she knows how much Enid will collapse if she doesnât get some skin to skin contact. They walk there with their hands linked.
They stay quiet for a while; Wednesday turns away when Enid undresses and only turns back to her when Enidâs sinking into the bubbles. The smell of lavender hangs heavy in the airâprobably Thingâs doing. The only sound Enid hears is the faraway sound of wildlife; that and Wednesdayâs slow heartbeat, but thatâs always in her periphery. She moves her hands along the bubbles, gathers them up and god, everything about this seems so surrealâdid she trip out of a nightmare straight into a dream? Â
âHave you ever had one? A nightmare?â
Enid winces; what the hell kind of question is that? Nightmares are for Wednesday what dreams are for Enid. She sneaks a peek at the goth. âI mean, not the kind you enjoyââ
âOnce,â Wednesday says, cutting her off, like the answer is dragged out of her. Sheâs frowning a little at the tiles of their bathroom, her hands tight on the edge of their claw-footed bathtub. Her lips are pursed, and then she looks up at Enid, eyes as dark as the night-sky, unfathomableâand fuck, why does everything Wednesday do be so fucking intense? âAfter Nero. I taught myself how to lucid dream after that, on the rare occasions I decide to sleep.â
âOf course you did,â Enid says, fondness bubbling out of her for this girl in front of her. She wants to take Wednesdayâs hands and press her lips to them, wants to pull her into herself, wants Wednesday to fucking break her and remake her into whatever she wants; Enid wants to let this girl do anything with her, as long as she gets to have her back. Enid wants, and sheâs never been good with wanting. She always wants too much or not enoughâbeen too much to ever be wanted, or been the wrong thing altogether. Even now, even after wolfing out, her problems havenât magically disappeared, though she wishes they had.
But Wednesdayâs a constant. Sheâs always fucking constant, immovable. Thornhill and Crackstone and even Tyler werenât enough to crack her. Sheâs just as disdainful with the world, just as cold, just as insaneâbut sheâs also now someone whoâs here, comforting Enid in her own way when Enid knows, knows, sheâd rather gouge her eyes out.   Â
It has to mean something. It has to fucking mean something.
(Enid will break if it doesnât.)
âIâll leave you to it,â Wednesday says after a few moments of Enidâs inner monologue of angst. âViperâs in a crucial moment.â
Enid nods, swallowing her disappointment.Â
(After Wednesday leaves, the nightmare creeps up on her. Enid cries in that tub, muffles her sobs; scrubs her hands hard, obsessive, even though thereâs nothing to scrub away.)
After minutes, hours, days, once the water gets too cold to ignore, Enid gets up. At some point, Thing mustâve left her favorite comfort clothes near the sink. She pulls them on and pads out into the room, lethargic and loose. Wednesday sits typing, but stops as soon as Enid deliberately steps on creaking wood. It sends a thrill up her spine, knowing that Wednesday knows that Enid only steps there when she wants her attention.Â
âWill youââ Enid clears her throatââplay the cello? Please?â
Her roomie turns and eyes Enid; sheâd avoided the mirror, so Enid has no idea what Wednesday sees on her face, but she ultimately nods.
Enid settles down in her bed, arranging it to her liking, while Wednesday gets her cello out. But instead of going to the balcony, or even using their spare chair, Wednesday sits on the edge of Enidâs bed and looks at her. Her eyes are softer than Enidâs ever seen them.
(It has to mean something, she thinks desperate. Please god, let it mean something.)
âAny requests?â
Enid shakes her head. She scoots closer to Wednesday, curves around her but doesnât touch her. Wednesday eyes her and says stiffly, âYou can put your arm around me, Enid.â
Enid gapes.Â
Wednesday turns back to the cello, but Enid sees the tick of her mouth, and feels warm all over. She puts her arm around Wednesday and buries her head in her hip. She takes in a shuddering breath.
Soft cello tunes float around them, no song Enid can identify but feels in her bones.
They stay like that for a long while.
Wednesdayâs hands bleed all over the cello, just like the blood in Enidâs nightmares, but Enidâs long asleep before then.
(It means something. It always meant something.)
#wenclair#wenclair prompt#prompt me to write#my writing#one-shot#hurt/comfort#pining#wednesday addams#enid sinclair#asks#anon ask#wenclair fic
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Close Encounters of the 10th KindâŚ
Ed 10 AU: It's the night of November the 6th, 1983. In different universe, it would be just another night for Eddie. Here however, that isn't the case, and fate has swung in a very different direction. As round of experimenting with the Watch runs into the night, he finds that something is lurking within the forest.
And it has him in it's sights.
Trigger warnings: Strong Language, Referenced Period-Typical⌠Issues (idk how else to put it, 80s bs is a thingâ˘ď¸ in this, unfortunately)
Part 1 is here
"Whoa whoa whoa whoa-!"
A loud crash broke the relative silence, a few birds scattering in freight due to the sound. Their terrified squawks and shrieks creating a cacophony, one that disrupted the peace of night.
Eddie groaned as he slid to the ground, collapsing in a heap at the base of the tree he'd run into.
If one were to look at him, however, he certainly wouldn't look like himself.
He currently appeared to be an odd-looking Velociraptor, though he was taller than a human. Clutched beneath two-toed feet were a pair of black orbs. Stretching out from his tailbone was a long black tail, with five blue stripes racing down it. His arms were long, with a spike extending from his elbows. At the end of them hands that ended with three fingers, covered by bulky black claws. On his head was a black cone-like helmet, a protective visor with blue markings pulled over his face.
This didn't last, however, as suddenly the visor slid upwards. This revealed a blue face with green eyes, black lips, and stripes that ran under and between his eyes.
He was wearing a black jumpsuit/turtleneck hybrid, with a sleeveless jean vest sitting over it. The grey and black symbol of the Watch sat on his chest, standing out against the dark color surrounding it.
Eddie got up with a grimace, pushing himself off the ground with a heave.
"Ow⌠why does using super speed have to be so hard?!" The augmented teen whined, his voice now raspy.
It had been a little over a week since he found the Watch, and all he had were questions with no answers. In that time, he'd done his best to pretend that nothing had happened.
Which - he would like to add - was really fucking hard.
Especially the day after, when he nearly had a heart attack upon seeing the Watch on his wrist, since he'd thought it was all a dream. It was only after he'd woken up more, and his brain wasn't clouded by sleep that he remembered what had happened.
And then he was slapped across the face by the fact that, much to his utter horror, the fire he had caused was all over the news.
Thankfully, no one had been hurt, and it seemed like the blaze was being blamed on a "satellite" that had crashed nearby. Eddie knew for a fact that wasn't what happened, but, well he couldn't exactly tell anyone that.
He'd also been forced to lie to his uncle, who had asked if he'd seen anything. Which, y'know, it sucked major ass that he had to do that, but like, what else could he do??? He couldn't just say "oh yeah, any alien watch got stuck to my wrist last night. Weird right?".
He was pretty sure that'd be a one-way ticket to the looney bin.
It wasn't until the afternoon of the next day, that was when he showed off the Watch to his uncle. Now granted, he didn't tell him where it really came from, instead he just told Wayne that he'd bought a cool-looking watch.
Ever since then, he's been trying to figure out what this thing can do. Since y'know, it was kinda stuck to his wrist.
The answer was: a lot.
There were at least ten⌠creatures? Monsters? Aliens???? inside of it. Eddie had tested out (including the fire one and the one he was right now) five of those ten, leaving the most inhuman ones to be delt with later.
So, here he was: screwing around in a clearing near Mirkwood, one that (if he wasn't mistaken) more than likely used to be a campsite? Just going off of the abandoned picnic tables, and the (honestly pretty old) trash that was buried in the overgrown grass.
Huh, wonder what happened to it?
"Though really," He mused as he rubbed his head, whacking an old beer can with his tail as he walked, "that just makes it easier for me. 'Least it means I don't get spotted, anyway."
And wasn't that a mortifying thought? Christ, people didn't like anyone who played D&D, how the hell would they react if they saw him like this?!
Well, he knew the answer to that.
"Pitchforks and torches~!" He sang in a oddly cheery tone, taking a seat at one of the picnic tables (albeit awkwardly).
All he had to do now, was wait for the Watch to time-out. After that he'd probably head home, looking at how late it already was.
That being said⌠with all he did know about it, he still had no idea what he was going to do with the device. He couldn't take it off, obviously, so what to do?
A thought popped into his head, but he immediately brushed it off. It was something so absolutely stupid given who he was to Hawkins at large, he was honestly surprised he thought of it at all.
But then⌠why did it enchant him like a Siren?
'You could be a hero.'
A hero, hah! As if this place would accept him as a hero, especially seeing as some of these guys (like the one he was right now) didn't conform to "social norms". Whatever the hell that should mean.
'Heroes have secret identities,' The traitorous part of his mind whispered, 'why shouldn't you?'
He gritted his teeth, tail thrashing in reaction to his emotions, 'I can't. Everyone would know it's me like, instantly!'
Although⌠he did look different between forms, and most of the guys he's used so far have different voices to his own. The only outlier so far was that weird, blob-like guy, who's voice sounded like his over a radio.
He still didn't know what that one did.
Plus, he didn't have to use his actual name. What superhero did that, anyway? He'd been thinking about making nicknames for the creatures anyway, since having to specify every time was a bit⌠well it was a pain in the ass.
âŚMaybe he could do-?
The sound of a twig snapping brought his thoughts to a screeching halt.
Eddie leapt to his feet in an (almost literal) instant, his eyes narrowing as he attempted to see into the darkness.
Oh Christ what is he gonna do?! This place was supposed to be abandoned, deserted, vacant! So why the fuck was someone here?!
"âŚUh, who's there?! Show yourself!?" The teen didn't think his current voice could raise and crack in such a way, but apparently it could. Fun.
His panicked words didn't elicit a response at first, a dead silence hanging over the clearing. Soon however, there was loud rustling and snapping as foliage was (assumedly) stepped on and shoved.
It was then that the Watch decided to make itself known, by speaking.
"Warning," A robotic male voice droned, scaring the life out of the teen as it continued, "unidentified extra-dimensional lifeform detected. Caution is advised."
Wait⌠this thing can talk?!
He glanced down at the watchface on his chest, about to snark at it before the⌠extra-dimension-whatsit started moving again.
Eddie tensed with every sound, the noise gradually growing closer until it stopped at the treeline.
More silence followed.
Finally, the thing stalking him revealed itself, stepping into the clearing slowly.
He kinda wished it didn't.
It was fucking huge, and would tower over him if it stood up fully. It had these long and thin limbs, looking like it had lost a fight with a taffy machine. It⌠didn't have a face, from what he could see, the head being slightly long but barren of any features. What was really weird (outside of well, everything else) was it's skin: it was soaking wet, like it had taken a nose-dive into a lake and hadn't dried off.
He stepped back at the sight of the thing, eyes wide as he took it's appearance in, his tail and back pressing against the picnic table behind him.
The thing hissed, an awful noise that raked against his ears. It's face shifted and moved in ways that no normal thing should.
Oh fucking hell this thing was horrifying. They way it moved, the way it looked, the sounds it made. It was like some abomination crawled up from hell, something no living thing should ever have to see.
But, that did raise the question: why was it here? What even was it?
Of course, these are all questions that the metalhead asked himself after his brain started functioning again.
The Watch beeped, the face flashing red as his time ran out, "Hostile entity confirmed." It spoke again, uncaring towards his distress, "Transformation time limit has almost been reached, retreat is highly suggested."
"No shit!" Eddie wanted to shout at the device, his panic only increasing. Instead, his mouth stayed stubbornly shut, his body frozen as he watched the thing.
Then it hissed, shifting as it stood to it's full height, and oh fucking hell was it big. It stood on two legs and damn-near dwarfed him, he⌠really didn't wanna know how big it'd look if he was normal right now.
The thing then let out a loud shriek, it's face moving in a way that⌠shouldn't be possible. He couldn't tell exactly what it was doing, since it was too dark out, but something told him he really didn't want to know. Either way, he could see the front of it's face peel open, it almost reminded him of a flower, weirdly enough.
Moving on, it was only as the thing suddenly lunged forward, that his body started moving again. He zipped out of the way quickly, letting the thing crash into the table he was sitting at. Loud snapping and cracking followed as the picnic table collapsed, the⌠monster screeching as it landed.
Eddie's heart pounded, staring at the thing with wide eyes, "Jesus ChristâŚ!"
The Monster climbed out of the wreck, snarling as it locked "eyes" with the teen.
'Oh hell no.'
Before the thing could leap at him again, he did the one thing his mind was screaming for him to do.
He ran.
---------------
By the time he made it back to the trailer park, he was exhausted, confused, and scared. The Watch had given out about a block or two away, which while still pretty bad, wasn't nearly as horrible as it could've been.
He would know, those scenarios are floating about stubbornly in his mind, nagging at him incessantly as he approached his uncle's trailer.
Thankfully, the front door was still unlocked. Wayne probably kept it that way, not wanting to lock him out of his only real shelter. That, or the man had simply forgotten to secure the thing.
Either way, Eddie sure wasn't complaining as he pushed the front door open.
He ignored the howling gale of questions as he stepped inside, shutting the door with his foot. He also ignored it as he trudged towards his bedroom, only half-noticing that Wayne was fast asleep on the living room couch.
It was only once he was in his room, and the door was shut that it hit him.
He flicked on the lights before falling onto his bed with a groan, the tension in his body releasing the instant he hit the mattress.
That didn't mean his brain relaxed, quite the opposite. Now that he was (relatively) safe, his mind was going a mile a minute.
So⌠there's a monster lurking in the woods, apparently. One that was a very very big asshole, and attacked things on sight. It didn't have any eyes (that he saw), but could somehow see? How does that work?
He⌠he had a feeling this thing wasn't normal, like - something that isn't part of the "Hawkins Lore". He wasn't a hundred percent sure, but he sure as hell wouldn't forget hearing about something like⌠well that.
âŚHe was gonna need a damn library, wasn't he?
Whatever it was, it's dangerous, that much was obvious. It definitely wouldn't have any problems with attacking innocent people - which, honestly, typical monster shit right there.
Despite this, he ran. Eddie ran like a fucking coward, he used super speed to do it, for Christ's sake!
Some "hero" he was, eh?
Moving from one brick wall to another; the Watch could apparently speak??? It sounded like someone talking over the radio, but it was definitely the Watch that was talking. It⌠it honestly reminded him of the Star Trek computers, if that made any sense.
It was yet another mystery to throw onto the pile, he guessed. Which, yeah - great because that's what he needs right now: more fucking questions!
He kicked his shoes off with a sigh, standing up before going to his light switch and turning it off. He then returned to his bed, rooting himself under the blanket as drowsiness overcame him.
Little did he know, that the next morning would begin the town of Hawkins'decent into madnessâŚ
#text post#my writing#writing#fanfiction#ed 10 au#ben 10#stranger things#ben 10 au#stranger things au#crossover au#eddie munson#omnitrix#ben 10 xlr8#demogorgon#still learning how to tag these#looks like i have a new writing project�
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Fjord and 17 for the writing prompt? No pressure tho :)
17. Worst âsomeone finding out youâre ticklishâ experience?
âYou okay, man?â
Everything hurts. Fjord doesnât even bother keeping the whine from his voice. âI think this is it for me, first mate⌠itâs getting darkâŚâ
âThat was, like, seventy sit-ups, come on - Iâve literally seen Jes feeling up your abs, so I know you have them-â
âTell the others to remember me kindly,â he groans, hiding a grin as Beau scoffs at him. âAnd tell Veth if she touches my stuff Iâll haunt her from the afterlife.â
That earns him another laugh, this one a little louder as his impromptu drill sergeant stalks over. âUp and at âem, sailor, youâve gotta give me fifty more pushups before breakfast!â
With one arm flung lazily across his face to block the first searching rays of dawn, heâs caught completely off guard as Beau digs her bare toes into his side. âNnh! - hey -â
He flings his arm down to protect himself, already squirming away from the prodding sensation before he catches the look on Beauâs face. âOuch,â he rushes out, trying to distract her, âgods, did your teachers kick you like that?â
âYep.â She somehow manages to pop the last letter while maintaining the biggest leer heâs ever seen. Itâs terrifying. âHow the fuck have you kept that a secret for so long?â
Fjord eyes her warily. âSomehow, it never came up.â Somehow being a lot of held breaths and stifled coughing while various clerics poke at him. Heâs not half as bad as some of the others, anyways, as far as he knows - and maybe he wishes it would come up, sometimes, sitting at the edge of piles of tangled limbs and easy laughter and muffled squeals of protest that never seem to be serious enough to take notice of, but - well. Thatâs a can of worms heâs not really sure how to start opening.
Beauâs still grinning. âSo⌠pushups or I tell Jester?â
He gapes. âYou wouldnât.â
Beau shrugs. âDonât have to, if youâre laughing your ass off loud enough to wake her up.âÂ
She levels ten wriggling fingertips in his direction. Fjord shudders, an involuntary motion starting somewhere around his tailbone and shooting up to prickle at the back of his teeth. âAnd if Iâm not going to get those pushups without some encouragement, then-â
Fuck it, heâs never been good at waiting for things to happen to him. âYeah?â he jabs, rolling to snatch Beauâs calves and bring her down on top of him before she can retort.
âFuck,â she yelps. And then, more desperate, as he wriggles a hand into the soft part of her side - âFuhuhuck!â
He laughs and levers himself up on an elbow, just about ready to declare his victory - and then Beau clamps an arm around him, pushing him down flat as insistent fingers worm between them and onto his stomach, and he canât stop laughing.Â
âHhhah - ahahha - shit, shit, help-â He wasnât joking about everything hurting, and even as he does his best to wrestle her off heâs finding his muscles donât want to help with much except curling up into the fetal position and letting the writhing, helpless feeling dancing under his skin squeeze every last bit of breath out of his lungs.Â
âOh, now you want help? Didnât seem like you wanted my help with training, asshole,â Beau threatens - but sheâs laughing too, almost childish giggles leaking out of her as she crushes him into a bear hug and tickles at his sides.
âPleheheeese,â Fjord wheezes. âOw, shit, my face hurts.â
âFiiine,â Beau complains,finally, a little breathless herself as she rolls off him. Not that it stops her from digging her knuckles painfully into his shoulder. âThe pushups arenât going away, though, weâre just gonna do them tomorrow.â
Itâs objectively a bad idea to try and tickle her again in revenge, Fjord thinks. He does it anyway.Â
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Twisted Bones
Whumptober 2020 No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury
Sam was glad that it was only his back that was hurting. And the hurt wasnât so bad after the first initial week of healing. And then he told everyone he was fine. He had to be. What with hunting, trying to save the world yet again, taking care of Jack, having to be ready at any momentâs notice to sacrifice himself or put himself in harmâs way to keep his family safe⌠So Sam was busy. And his back didnât bother him.
Then it did bother him, months later.
During a ghost hunt heâd gotten whacked in the lower back with a broken wooden beam. And hell, the beam hadnât even been that sturdy, but neither was Samâs back.
He managed to stay upright, and he finished the hunt, and even made it into the Impala. Sam was even fine making it to the bunker. And he told everyone that as he made his way to his bedroom that night after showers and dinner.
It wasnât till the middle of the night when the pain decided to get really bad. Which was a problem because Sam had to get up to pee. He told himself his back was just a little stiff and that heâd be fine. But as he shifted to get out of bed, and put one leg down on the floor, an ugly CRUNCH! sounded from somewhere in his body. Pain shot down the inner part of his right leg. Sam flinched from the unexpected pain, and then found himself taking quick breaths in and out through his mouth.
The pain was stabbing, reaching down in a tingling line from his pelvis to the bottom of his foot. Numbness danced lazily around the edges.
Sam tried to get up anyway.
Iâm fine, Iâm fine, Iâm fine.
Samâs left hip cracked, and something in his back seemed to click. He ended up groaning in the once-quiet dark of his room, and he tried to brace himself by leaning down and putting his hands on the bed.
That hadnât been one of his more brilliant ideas because bending down had pain wrapping around him, starting from his lower back.
Even with the pain, he knew that this had been something that had started months ago. Maybe he shouldnât have ignored his body.
No, it was good he had. His family had needed taking care of. And he was alright.
Sam pushed himself up from where heâd nearly collapsed on the bed, and then he hobbled over to the door. The pain was going down the inner parts of both his legs now. The entire middle of his body seemed to be yelling like an angry toddler, I HURT! I HURT! I HURT!
Yeah, no shit, Sam responded to it.
Of course, that didnât do anything at all, except make everything feel pointless and ridiculous.
Somehow, Sam made it to the bathroom, even managed to relieve himself, and wash his hands. And then he tried making it back to his room, not wanting anyone to see him like this. At least only Dean was around since Castiel had taken Jack on a hunt over in Washington.
Dean came out of his room just as Sam was passing by, presumably to go to the bathroom. Or maybe he was getting a beer and a midnight snack. Sam was startled, and flinched back. This left his body seizing tight with pain, and he winced as he tried to remain standing.
Dean immediately reached out for him, hands cupped under his triceps near his armpits, and helped hold him up.
âWhoa, Sammy, you okay?â
Sam hissed in a breath, then answered, âIâm fine.â
âYeah, nice fairytale, Samsquatch. Come on. Back to your room.â
Sam pulled out of Deanâs grip.
âStop it! Dean, Iâm alright.â
Dean put his hands on his hips, and eyed him, a determined look in his eyes.
ââKay, then give me ten jumping jacks.â
Sam stared at him helplessly.
Maybe he was hurt. But he wasnât ready to admit that heâd ignored it for so long. In his opinion, he could keep ignoring it.
âJust let me get to bed,â Sam argued, trying to brush Dean aside.
He managed that, and even managed to get to his room. Dean stared him down from the other side of the hallway.
That went well, Sam thought with quite a bit of sarcasm.
And then he tried to get back to sleep.
Which was really no use because the little sleep he did get was restless, and he learned that the only comfortable way to sleep was on his bed, legs straight out, and a pillow under his butt.
He hated himself when it was morning and he had to call for Dean.
Dean didnât seem at all smug when he came in. Sam had half expected an I told you so, but he never got one.
âNeed some help?â Dean asked.
âYeah.â
âOkay, letâs figure this out. What happened?â
So Sam told him about how his back had been hurting, and how heâd been ignoring it, assuming that his back was just going to be like that for life, and heâd have to suck it up and deal with it. He told him what he thought had made it worse recently. And maybe exerting himself hadnât been helpful either.
There was anger in Deanâs eyes, but not necessarily at Sam. It seemed to go deeper than that, like he was angry with whatever had taught Sam to be this way. It couldâve been a number of things: Johnâs A plus parenting, the hunting life, torture showing him a little pain was not that bad. Or maybe it was from nearly everything out there telling him that he didnât matter over and over again.
It was also possible that Sam had just inherited his stubborn jackassery from his parents. Or heâd learned it from Dean.
âAlright, Stand up,â Dean ordered.
Sam did so, and Dean lifted up his shirt to look at his back.
âSo whereâs it hurt?â Dean asked.
âLower back. Maybe my tailbone too.â
Dean felt around, trying to find the pain area, and just how far it reached. So yes, tailbone and lower back.
âUh, I donât know what Iâm doing, but bend over.â
Sam did that, gritting his teeth and whimpering from the pain.
âIâve seen enough bodies and done enough field medicine to know that your back does not look right. Okay, straighten. Anything else hurt?â
âMaybe my hips?â Sam told him, unsure. âPelvis too.â
âDamn, Sam, youâre a mess.â
âLearned from the best,â Sam got out, fishing for Deanâs laughter.
His brother did laugh, and Sam felt just a little better. Then he was told to lie down on his back, and Dean crouched over by his feet, looking at him dead on.
âYeah, this is uncomfortable,â Sam told him.
âShut up. Concentrating.â
âYou, concentrating?â
âDidnât I tell you to shut up?â
Sam decided to listen to him, though he didnât like the way Dean was frowning. Sam looked down at himself to see if he could notice the same thing. Without any warning, Dean got up quickly, and then pulled on Samâs feet.
âOw! What the fuck?â
âTesting something.â
Dean was crouching down again, peering at him.
âUh⌠Not like I went to medical school or anything, but Iâm pretty sure one leg isnât supposed to be raised up a little more than the other.â
âWhich one?â Sam asked.
âRight one. You have a lot of pain there?â
âIn the hip.â
âSo⌠right hip is out of place? And uh, Iâm not gonna try figuring out your pelvis, but Iâm sure thatâs not right either. Sammy, Sammy, SammyâŚâ Dean got up, and pat Sam on the thigh. Thankfully Sam was lying down with his legs straight out, so the action didnât hurt much. âYou are one hell of a mess.â
âSo what do we do?â
âWell, I can put joints back in the socket, so I guess itâs time to add sub-dislocations to my repertoire. You ready?â
Sam stared at him, wide-eyed.
âDean, donât you daâ!â
Dean gripped Samâs side and his right hip.
#whumptober2020#no.30#wound reveal#ignoring an injury#supernatural#fanfiction#pain tw#injury tw#sam winchester#spn
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I saw youâre a writer. Do you take prompts? If so, can we get tony with a motorcycle giving peter his first ride? đ thanks
You got it! Thanks for being my first prompt!Â
Starker: Peter is 22yo. 3k. Smut below. Smoking. Tony is guilty and Peter is a little shit.Â
âIâm not sure about this,â Peter says. Clutched in his hands is a motorcycle helmet, a great black glossy thing with a tinted visor that he knows gives no impression of the features that might be lurking underneath. Heâs seenâokay, admiredâit enough on Tony. Part of him laments it when Tony comes ripping up to the curb of Peterâs apartment to visit him, because it should be a fucking crime to hide a face like Tony Starkâs. Another part of him doesnât mind because it totally looks cool. âItâs only two miles back to the bus station. I really donât mind the walk.â
He really doesnât mind. What he would mind is looking like an anxious, fearful kid in front of this man. Â
Tony is rifling through the inner pockets of his leather jacket. Heâs smoking, a cigarette pressed between his lips. He insists on standing an insulting distance away, downwind, so as to keep his second-hand smoke away. Peter doesnât usually make a habit of being jealous of inanimate options, but itâs a common occurrence when Tony purses his full mouth around the filter and sucks so indecently, when he sips from a glass of whiskey and holds the alcohol in his mouth, eyes tight shut like in the most painful ecstasy before swallowing. Peter canât help having an oral fixation. Nor a Tony fixation. At last Tony tugs free a pair of aviator sunglasses which balance so nicely on the bridge of his nose. Itâs a little unsettling though, not seeing his eyes, knowing that he could be looking at Peter and heâd never knowâthen again, in what world would Tony Stark ever be looking at Peter. âA no is a no, kid. If you donât want to rideâthen I donât want you to ride.â
âI didnât say thatâthat I didnât want to,â Peter says, voice a few octaves higher than heâd like it to be. He swallows but his throat is parched and his mouth no better. âI just. Well. You know. Iâve never ridden beforeâa motorcycle! Iâve never written a motorcycle.â
Tonyâs lips twitch around his cigarette, but he masks it by reaching up to steady the smoke while he takes a drag. Like to balance Peterâs sudden plunge back six years to puberty, Tonyâs voice is just a little deeper when he says: âI can guess itâs your first time, kid. Not to toot my own horn (though itâs a hell of a horn to toot), who better to have your first time with? You know. On a motorcycle.â
Peter can feel his face burning. He must be so red that thereâs no way Tony could miss it. He canât help having overactive capillaries. He also canât help but feel like theyâre having two different conversations. Theyâve been flirting like this for months, ever since Peter graduated MIT and came back to New York to work under one of the R&D labs at Stark Industries. Itâs no secret that Tony is a notorious flirt, and Peter has always contented himself with the fact that if Tony makes too many double entendreâs, itâs just part of the older manâs nature. Heâs never made any other moveânot even a hint at a move. Never a hand on his back, never standing so close as to let his breath brush Peterâs neck. If anything, Peter once saw him circumnavigate the entire lab to avoid brushing against the young manâs back by squeezing through the narrow space between Peter and a nearby lab table.
Tony isnât interested. Period.
He shoves the helmet down over his head, taking in the cool, dark tint of the world around him. His curls are plastered to his forehead, but he sees the appealâat least Tony canât see his burning face. âHow do I look?â
Tony snorts, but heâs smiling. âLike a bowling ball balanced on a toothpick.â
Peter wrenches the helmet off. So much for that. He holds it out. âItâs yours anywayâI canât take it from you. Headgear is important.â
âYeah, it is. Which is why youâre going to wear it.â
âNoâno.â
âNo exceptions. No helmet, no ride, kid. Those are the breaks.â
Peter balances the helmet on the seat of the Harley. âWell, then, I better get walking. Itâs supposed to get dark soonââ
Though he canât see it, he has the distinct impression that Tony is rolling his eyes. âI see what youâre doing Peteââ
ââand I hate to be out after dark, you know, itâs not safeââ
ââdonât even joke about thatââ
âJoking? Whoâs joking? Look at me, Iâm walking away! See you on Monday, Tonyââ
Now Tony looks angry, brows low and disappearing behind the mirrored shades. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and points it at the helmet. âPeter, Jesus fucking Christ, put it on so we can get moving.â
Peter spreads his arms, walking backwards so as to keep Tony in his vision. âIâm twenty-two, an adult perfectly capable ofâfuck!â
His ankle rolls under him and he crumples, twisting so as to land on his palms and knees instead of his tailbone. Pain makes his whole foot throb in time to his heartbeat, and his hands are scraped and blood when he shifts to sit in the gravel. His eyes sting with pain and embarrassment, and then Tony is there, warm hands engulfing Peterâs, and wow, they are so much larger than his, so much more weathered and calloused, and also ow.
âDamn it, Pete,â Tony mutters. His cigarette is gone, smoldering from where he dropped it when he saw Peter go down. âWhat hurts, kid?â
âItâs my ankle. I sprained it once as a kid and itâs never been the same.â
Tonyâs hands take Peterâs foot, as delicately as if he were Cinderella about to try on the glass slipper. The heat of his skin burns through denim and cotton, right down to Peterâs feverish skin. Very carefully, he twists Peterâs foot this way and that, frowning when he winces. âProbably just sprained it again, but Iâm taking you back to the Tower to have it looked at. Can I carry you?â
âHuh?â Peter feels dazed, squinting up at Tony crouched over him as if he was squinting up at the sun.
âTo the bike, kid. Can I carry you?â
Thatâs how he kneels in the gravel, getting dust on jeans that probably cost a monthâs worth of his housing allowance back at MIT. Tony slips one arm under Peterâs bent knees and the other around his back, scooping him upânot without a wince himself and the distinct sound of joints popping like popcorn.
âYouâre too old to carry me like this,â Peter says, embarrassed.
âSpending so much time with you has aged me prematurely,â snarks Tony.
Peterâs nerves alight as Tony guides him onto the motorcycle. He knows next to nothing about bikesâjust how it looks, how it makes him feel. Itâs a comfortable-sized V-2 engine, black and shining chrome. Thereâs no real seat for a passenger, not like on some of the bigger bikes heâs seen in the city. Instead, heâll have to plaster himself to Tony, practically wrap his legs around him.
âJesus,â he mutters, already feeling like he needs to adjust himself in his jeans.
Tony frowns, mistaking his oath for pain. Mercifully, he secures the helmet to the side of the bike. Peter doesnât think his fragile, fragile ego could handle any more blows. âDonât worry Pete. Weâll have you to the Tower before you can blink. Just hold on tight, okay? And lean into the turns.â
Tony mounts the bike, shifting back until Peterâs thighs are flush against Tonyâs sides. Reflexively, he squeezes, legs clenching together. Tonyâs boot slips in the gravel, twisting to get better traction. Face red, Peter forces himself to relax. It just feelsâdifferent. Having a person between his thighs like this. Sure, heâs not a complete virgin (heâs done plenty of stuff at MIT, thanks very much), but it isnât as if heâs swimming in willing partners. And none of them could ever compare to Tony Stark.
Clearing his throat, Tony reaches back for one of Peterâs arms to curl it around himself. âSorry, kid. But you have to hold on to me.â
âItâsâokay,â Peter says. He doesnât know how to say that itâs very, very fucking okay. That this is the closest heâs ever been to Tony, close enough to smell the scent of leather and expensive cologne and cigarette smoke, close enough that when he lets his head lean forward, it rests against the nape of Tonyâs neck, hairs tickling at his nose.
The bike comes to life and it vibrates. Peter tries to scoot his hips back, groaning, hoping that the sound is lost in the roar of the engine. Heâs more than half hard now, arms wrapped around Tonyâs trim waist. Tony shifts back further, bringing them flush against each other again, and when his erection presses into the older manâs back, Peter ends up whining into his neck. God, he hopes that the older man canât feel it through his jacket and shirtâ
âYou hurting that bad, Pete?â Tony turns his head to ask.
Peter shrugs. Sure. His blue balls hurt, at least, the throbbing in his cock taking the notice away from the throbbing in his ankle. Because he loves the pain, he lets one of his hands slip between Tonyâs open jacket until itâs flat against his thin t-shirt. The fabric does nothing to disguise the burning heat of Tonyâs skin just beneath, the hard cut of his abdominals. The muscles underneath his hand jump and twitch, maybe just because theyâre moving now, gravel flying under the wheels until they turn onto the asphalt road.
They were close before, but now momentum presses Tony back into the cradle of Peterâs hips and thereâs nowhere Peter can go, nothing he can do but take it. Wind makes him tuck his head into Tonyâs shoulders and he doesnât even try to check his impulses, inhaling like a man coming up from water desperate for breath. One of Tonyâs hands comes down to press against the outside of Peterâs knee, squeezing maybe to offer comfort though it makes the younger man decidedly more uncomfortable. He canât feel his ankle anymore, can barely feel any of his limbs, all of his awareness centered on the hot hand burning through his jeans, his aching erection, the smell of Tony.
Peter canât take itâhis cock is downright painfulâand he begrudgingly separates one hand from around Tonyâs waist to palm at it, knuckles just brushing the back of Tonyâs jacket. The pressure helps as much as it hurts, but then Tonyâs hand has drifted back and up further from its place on Peterâs knee until heâs pressing against his thigh.
âI said hold on to me, kid,â Tony says, voice nearly eaten up by the wind.
Peterâs face burns as he puts his arm back. He refuses to rut against Tony, just digging his fingertips into the older manâs abs and pressing his forehead against the ridge of his spine.
Thatâs when it happensâwhen he realizes heâs on a motorcycle. Theyâre going at a speed that seems dangerous through the thick forest, trees blurring as Tony rides like the devil is chasing them. The road has only been curvy until now, but the steepest curve approaches and he canât remember what Tony saidâlean into it? Or against it? His heart is in his throat, arousal and ankle forgotten. Heâs going to get them killed, heâs got to say somethingâ
Pressing himself flat against Tony, chest to back, his hands scramble against the older manâs jacket, trying to convey his panic and fear, and one of his hands slips too low where it brushes against a noticeable bulge. The man flinches. Peterâs breath catches. Tony is hard.
Tony is hard.
They take the turn. Peter leans in on instinct, following Tonyâs lead. His eyes are open and burned by the wind but he barely notices. Swallowing, he lets his hand drift down again, adjusting to make it appear as if it was on accident and yes, thatâs definitely a hard on, solid and straining against the jeans. The motorcycle swerves even as Peterâs hand jumps away to press flat against Tonyâs abs again. Tonyâs hand is back on Peterâs leg, palm against his outer thigh, fingers curling. Peter thought maybe he was gripping so tightly in a warningâdonât touch meâbut the grip doesnât lessen, and he wondersâ
He slides his hand down, purposefully, palm dragging over cotton and denim to palm Tonyâs erection. Fingers flex on his thigh, and Tonyâs head tilts back ever so slightly, like it canât help but loll. Peter does his best to curl his fingers around the thick cock, feeling it as best as he can through the jeans, thumb running along it to find the arch of the headâ
Tony swerves. His hand comes off of Peterâs thigh and then they are turning off of the asphalt road and onto another gravel path, the road rougher and making Peterâs balls ache where theyâre underneath him. It only takes a few hundred feet for the trees to mask the sight of them from the main road. Tony is off the bike in an instant, stumbling as if drunk towards the woods.
Peter sits balanced on the bike, breathing heavily. His ears still ring from the roar of the bike even though it is quiet now. The noise is loud though as Tony goes off the gravel road and into the brush, twigs cracking until he stops, partially obscured by the trees.
âTony?â Peter asks. His throat is dry, erection flagging. Whatâs going onâis Tony going to be sick? He steps off of the motorcycle, careful not to topple it over. He squints, trying to get a better glimpse of the older man. âAre you okay?â
âFine,â Tony groans. âGive me a minute. Stay on the bike, okay?â
Peter swallows. He takes a few careful steps (ankle aching now) and has a better view. Tony has one arm braced against the rough bark of a tree, and the otherâ
âJesus,â Peter mutters under his breath.
Tony is jerking off. With his back turned, Peter doesnât have the best view, but thereâs no mistaking the stance, legs spread, the leather clad arm that is moving rhythmically, stripping his cock with a steady, slow rhythm. The only sound are ambient noisesâbirds in the distance, crickets coming out for the eveningâand Tonyâs harsh breaths puffing out through his nose. His head tilts back just like it did on the bike when Peter palmed him, and Peter gets a glimpse of his eyes squeezed shut, the side of his jaw, mouth openâ
Peter palms at his own cock still in his jeans. Heâs harder than heâs ever been, feeling like he could blow with just the gentle pressure of his hand. If Tony turned just a little, just enough to give Peter a glimpse of the older manâs cock, heâd be done with for sure. He shifts.
A stick cracks under his feet.
Tonyâs head snaps around, eyes wide and wild. He rakes them over Peter still on the gravel road, and Peter canât imagine how he looks, obscenely hard in his jeans, hand doing his best to jerk himself off through the denim. The horror of being caught evaporates from Tonyâs face and Peter can tell that its arousal thatâs left in its wake. The groan Tony gives reminds him of the purr of the bike between his thighs and a sound slips free from the back of his throat, too close to a whimper for his face to not burn at the indignity of it.
âChrist,â Tony mutters. He turnsâno use hiding nowâto press his back flush against the tree. âWhatâs with you and not listening to me today, Pete?â
Tonyâs pants have been hastily undone, and his cock pulled free. Itâs thick and long, flush in the dim lighting through the thick canopy of trees overhead. Tonyâs hand continues its motion and Peter is enamored with the way the head disappears and reappears through the circle of Tonyâs hand. His mouth waters, jaw aching.
âGod, Tony, pleaseââ Peter gasps. ââplease let me have it. God, pleaseââ
He groans again, the arm not jerking his cock comes up to press over his eyes. âJesus Peter, donât say thatââ
âWhy not? Is itânot for me?â
Tony snorts, still not looking. His hips cock upwards, fucking into his own fist. âPretty sure youâre singlehandedly the cause of all of my erections for the last nine months, Pete.â
Peter swallows. If he doesnât, he might drool. âThen thatâs mine. I should be able to have it, if its mine.â
Tony shakes his head. When his arm moves, his face is twisted in pain, pleasure, guilt, desire. His voice is ragged, destroyed, when he says, âNo.â
âButââ
âNo means no.â
And Peter canât argue with that. Whatever is holding Tony backâPeter has to respect it. Even if itâs hurting them both. Peter stops touching himself, determined not to miss a single moment of what heâs seeing. He nods, and Tony closes his eyes in thanks, letting his head loll back against the tree even as his hand speeds up on his cock, legs shifting a hairsbreadth wider.
âI still want it,â Peter says. His voice is low enough to almost be carried away by the nature around them, but he knows by the way Tonyâs throat bobs as he swallows that the man heard him. Face burning, he canât stop, the words cathartic. âWhen youâre readyâif youâre ever ready. Please let me, Tony. I want toâGodâI want to suck you off, want to touch you and smell you and taste you. If I have one more dream about riding you, I think I might go crazy.â
âFuck,â mutters Tony. His mouth opens, and he gives a handful more brutal thrusts into his fist, knuckles nearly white with how tightly heâs gripping himself, before he lets go, cum bursting from the head of his cock onto the ground and over his fingers. The relieved noises he makes are almost enough to make Peterâs eyes drift close, balls drawing up tight. Thankfully, he doesnât come untouched.
It takes an entire minute for Tonyâs breathing to slow to something resembling normal. Inside his jacket is a handkerchiefâhonest to God, Peter didnât even think people under 60 carried those anymoreâand he wipes his hand on it. Peter tries not to whine, salivating at the waste. Tony tucks himself back into his pants and carefully makes his way out of the brush and back onto the gravel road.
The older man clears his throat, hand replacing the sunglasses from where he pushed them up to his hair. âWe shouldâshould probably get you to that doctor. Maybe now I can drive without getting us fucking killed.â
âYeah,â Peter laughs weakly. Theyâre close enough that Peter imagines he can smell the musty scent of cum, and it revives the ache in his cock with a passion until heâs the one groaning. Heâs pressing his hand against himself, he realizes, but itâs barely helping. And Tony is watching him. âTonyââ he gasps. Swallows. Tries again. Reaches for Tonyâs hand, the one that was just covered in cum. âWould youâplease.â
Tony breathes deeply, steps closer, until their breaths are mingling together. Tonyâs hand is warm when Peter takes it, warm and still a little damp. Keening, Peter presses it to his mouth, licks a hot stripe across the palm. The flavor bursts across his tongueâsalty, a little bitter.
âJesus, kid,â Tony says. His fingers flex under Peterâs tongue. He closes his eyes. âDo what youâve got to, Pete.â
Peter takes Tonyâs hand and presses the palm flat to his throbbing cock. The pressure is incredible. The fact that itâs Tony is incredible. It comes over him quick, balls drawing up so tightly its painful, and he grinds into the palm as he comes almost immediately, pressing his lips closed so as to not whine out loud. His cock jerks a handful of times, orgasm pulled from the pit of his gut in the most agonizingly pleasurable way. It feels like it lasts forever and is over in a blink. Tonyâs fingers twitch, thumb rubbing against the head of Peterâs denim clad cock, making him groan. A few more moments of that and heâs nearly positive he could get hard again.
Tony presses a kiss to the crown of Peterâs head. âIâm sorry,â he whispers into the younger manâs hair.
Peter laughs softly, resting his forehead against Tonyâs collarbones. âIâm not.â
#starker#tony's leather jacket is like mary poppin's bag#author knows nothing about motorcycles#but she did her best
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East of Nowhere - Year Two
Sam x Reader
Series Masterlist
Summary: Â You and Sam are strangers trapped in a desolate mountain town where you live alone, isolated from the outside world, for five years.
Warnings: language, violence, smut, talk of past trauma
Words: 8.5k
Beta: Â ilikaicalie Â
This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<
-
YEAR TWO
One Year, Three Days
âThis is the one.â You stand beside Sam in the fading light of the afternoon, the wind tossing his hair around his face. Crossing your arms you pull the jacket tighter around you. Youâve been inside every house in the residential area of Shadow Hill, but none of them felt quite right, not until this one.
Itâs at the very end of the cul-de-sac, where thereâs more room between the houses, not to mention the edge of the forest in the backyard, which flanks your new home with thick pine woods.
You know just by looking at the outside that this one is the right fit. The deep blue siding reminds you of the color of the ocean in books, a rich blue that feels calm and peaceful.
âYou sure this is the one? How do you know?â Sam inquires, tilting his head, trying to determine what makes this place different from the other forty houses youâve spent days inspecting. Â
âIâm not sure,â you shrug, admiring for another moment more, then grabbing the wrist of his jacket, pulling him toward the steps. âIt just feels like us.â
Once inside, your instincts are only confirmed. The living room is warmly lit with a soft fire, filled with overstuffed chairs and rich colors. Leading off the main living area is a grand oak dining table, big enough for an entire family. The kitchen is new and sleek, pots and pans hanging from hooks above the island. This house feels like a home, almost like someoneâs lived here before.
âI like it,â Sam nods in approval, pouting his bottom lip. âLetâs check out the second floor.â You follow Sam upstairs, finding several bedrooms with large beds, each more luxurious than the last. Itâs a far cry from the shitty little hotel room that youâve shared for the last year.
âWhy are there so many pillows?â Sam squints, âno one person could possibly need that many pillows.â
âTheyâre decorative. I like them.â You smile at him, swinging your hips like a happy-go-lucky child.
âI wonât even attempt to fight you for a room, you choose the one you want.â Sam grins, nudging open the door at the end of the hall, peering in. You frown, a sudden reality hitting you for the first time. âWhat?â He asks, his smirk falling at your abrupt shift in attitude.
âItâs gonna be a little weird not sleeping in the same room, thatâs all.â Â You walk past him, inspecting the bathroom, thrilled to see a soaker tub big enough for three people. Â The look on his face is hard to read, âIâm used to waking up and seeing you right there, talking and farting in your sleep.â
Chuckling, Sam shakes his head âYou donât even want me to tell you some of the noises you make.â You raise your eyebrows and he continues âYeah, Iâm not the only one who talks in their sleep. Oh, donât stop, harder....lots of sex dreams.â
âSam!â You yell, slapping his arm. You drop your eyes out of embarrassment, giggling because you have a pretty good idea of who you were dreaming about. When you look up, thereâs a broad smile plastered across his face, chest shaking as he quietly laughs to himself. âI hate you,â you grit slapping him again.
âWho am I to say what it was about, maybe youâve just been dreaming about a really great full body massage.â He cracks himself up, leaning into the wall for support.
âYouâre a real comedian.â You sigh, trapped in the space between embarrassment and amusement. âI want this room, the big one.â
One Year, Five Weeks
You think the house will help to alleviate some of the tension between the two of you and, for a couple weeks it does. Sam has one rule above all others, you donât separate. You get it, you understand why itâs important that youâre always within earshot. In theory, anything could happen, but the fact is nothing ever happens. Your lives become a mundane routine, planned around books and spells and meals thatâs wearing you down day by day.
The little things Sam does drive you crazy and not in a good way. Like the way his spoon always hits the side of his bowl when heâs eating soup or how he chews on the ends of all the pens until theyâre twisted into mangled plastic. He leaves the toilet seat up and the milk on the counter and he always has to know where you are, every fucking moment.
âIt works better if you use the scrub brush,â Sam recommends, sipping his coffee.
âI like the sponge.â You side eye him, elbow deep in rubber gloves and dirty dishes.
âYou know, you donât really have to do that. If you just wait, theyâll clean themselves.â He leans against the counter, seemingly intent on watching you wash.
âNo, I do have to do it. Otherwise, theyâll sit here all day and every time I come into the kitchen, I have to stare at a sink full of dishes.â The organized scientist in you has reared its ugly head. Samâs a wonderful man in so many ways, but heâs obscenely messy.
âWhy are you mad?â Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.
âIâm not mad,â you grit, jaw clenched.
âReally? Because you seem angry.â
This is the point in cartoons where steam blows out of someoneâs ears. Every bit of resentment, indignation, and sexual frustration is boiling to the surface.
âI said Iâm fine.â You turn away from him, dropping a bowl to the floor where it shatters with a sickening crack. âGod, damn it!â You scream, clenching your fists.
To Sam, this seems like a massive overreaction, but for you, itâs about so much more than a broken bowl.
âItâs not that big of a deal. You get the big pieces and Iâll grab the broom.â Sam moves toward the cupboard.
Thatâs when you erupt.
âSam, for fuck's sake stop telling me what to do! Jesus, Iâm capable of cleaning up broken glass!â You shake with rage.
âWhat the hell is your problem?â He shoots back, both ready for a fight.
âYouâre my problem!â You scream. As if it had been planned, you step with all your weight directly onto a sharp shard of glass that cuts into your foot like a knife through butter. You shriek, falling onto your butt, coming down hard on your tailbone with a sickening smack on the tile floor. âFuck, owâŚ.ow.â
Sam crouches in front of you, with his hand around your ankle before you have a chance to process whatâs happening. He lifts your foot up to get a better view and cringes, âthatâs deep.â
âLet me go,â you kick at him, not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to get a point across.
âI need to get it out,â he scoffs, tightening his grasp.
âIâll do it myself. I said donât touch me,â you hiss, pulling your leg back again. This time, he lets you go, you wince as you scoot away from him.
âIâm just trying to help.â His tone betrays the words and thereâs venom under the surface.
âI donât need your help, Iâm fine.â
He watches from the other side of the kitchen as you inspect your foot. He was right, it is deep, maybe three or four inches sunk into flesh. Itâs a thick gash thatâs pooling blood all over the light grey floor. Your stomach turns a little when you realize that youâve backed yourself into the corner and have to pull it out of your own foot.
The pain comes without warning as if seeing the injury triggers the physical response. A sharp ache rises from your foot and up your legs and tears well over your eyes before you can stop.
It fucking hurts and suddenly youâre worried maybe youâve managed to really injure yourself. What if you hit a tendon or actually did some permanent damage? The distress rises to your chest as you break out into a sweat.
The pain spirals and the blood isnât stopping. God, you hate the sight of blood, itâs always made you lightheaded.
âSamâŚâ you panic, voice trembling.
âHere, letâs get you up.â Without missing a beat, he scoops you into his arm and carries you to the living room like heâs done it a thousand times before. Thatâs all it takes for him to forget what a bitch youâve been; he hears the fear when you say his name and all is forgotten. After jogging to the bathroom, he reappears with a small bag.
âIt hurts,â you spit, covering your eyes with your arm. You donât want to look, the thought of all that blood and glass makes your stomach turn over.
âI bet,â he raises your leg into his lap, blood dripping all over his jeans. He doesnât seem to care, though. You feel his wide hand slide under your yoga pants, halfway up your calf, squeezing lightly. âIâll take care of you.â
With those words, Sam bears down, holding your leg still with a firm grip and rips the glass out. Not only is there pain, but more concerning is the steady stream of blood gushing out that is warm and slick, streaming down your heel. You donât speak, you just make a strangled noise that Sam responds to by squeezing your upper thigh.
Your eyes pop open and the look on his face makes you feel even worse, âItâs bad huh?â
He nods tightly, âYouâre gonna need stitches.â When you whimper, he just nods. âDonât worry, you wonât remember. Gonna get you real drunk first.â
One Year, Four Months
You twirl spaghetti around a fork, coiling the noodles in just the right amount before popping it into your mouth. âOh my gosh, Samâ you nod enthusiastically, âthis is really good.â
âSee, Iâm getting better. I used the recipe this time,â he grins and you both dig in.
Youâve been swapping childhood trauma stories all night and now itâs your turn.
âWe used to go on these camping trips when I was kid. Every year, my dad would pack up way too much shit in the back of our station wagon and drag us out to the middle of nowhere.â Sam sits back in his seat, sipping his beer. He likes when you tell the stories, he always seems fascinated by what was usually your boring, run of the mill childhood memories.
âYour dadâs an outdoorsman?â he inquires, crossing his ankles.
âBig time. He was in the army and when he got out, he spent years teaching wilderness survival. Heâd live outside if he could.â You pour yourself more wine, then you continue. âSo, he decides that weâre going to the Smokey Mountains for two weeks. He drags the whole freaking family out there, my mom and sister, my cousins and asshole uncle Ted. I didnât care about any of them, I was so excited just to spend time with my dad. Heâd taught me, what I thought at the time was a lot of bushcraft skills, I mean, I was just a little girl, but I knew how to build a fire and get a fish off a line, so I thought I was hot shit. I was desperate to prove myself. I never wanted to be like other girls my age, I wanted to hunt and fish and chop trees. I donât know, I guess I thought it was the best way make my dad proud. So, weâd been there about a week when I decided that I wanted to go off on my own adventure. I packed a bag and wandered off. My cousin, Ryan, was supposed to be watching me, but he was too busy reading comics and no one else noticed.â
âOh noâŚâ Sam winces, rocking back in his chair.
âIt gets better,â you promise. âI followed the trail for a while and then decided that I was fully capable of making my own way in the world and I ventured off into the woods. I probably walked for an hour before I decided I wanted to go back to camp, but it was too late; I was so lost. I walked in every direction and had no freaking idea which way was out. I was eight years old, with a âMy Little Ponyâ backpack and a pair of pink binoculars. I wasnât dressed for anything more than a trip to the park and the sun started to go downâŚ.I was so scared, Sam. This huge storm was rolling in and when it started to rain, I just remember curling into a ball and cryingâ
âWhat did you do?â Samâs enthralled, picking at the label on his bottle.
âI started thinking about my dad, he always said that if you arenât finding a solution, you're contributing to the problem. So, I looked for a solution, which in my case, was finding the thickest pine tree I possibly could and crawling underneath. It hurt like hell, I was all scratched up, but I knew it would at least keep me out of the rain. And that storm, God, I hate thunderstorms to this day. It was so loud and there was so much lightning. I remember being curled up in the mud under that tree, freezing, and telling myself out loud that I was going to be alright. Â Even as a kid, I knew that I had to make myself believe that I was going to survive and I was capable of handling the situation. It was going to be awful and I was going to cry - but that was okay, as long as I made it through.â
âYou were out there all night?â Sam leans forward setting his drink on the table.
âYup. It was almost twenty-four hours before my dad found me. I was wet and dirty, but I was in one piece. You know he didnât even yell at me? He just hugged me and told me he loved me.â
âThatâs incredible, the whole thing,â he shrugs his shoulders, âIâd like to meet him.â
âYou will,â you take a sip from your glass, pulling your knees up to your chest, âheâs gonna like you. Heâs a âget shit doneâ kind of guy. You kinda remind me of him.â
âYeah, weâll see.â Samâs been less and less positive as the months go by.
âYeah, we will,â you confirm.
Samâs still for a moment, his eyes shifting as his own thoughts rush in.
âWhen, ah, Dean and I were kids, my dad was gone all the time. My first real memory is being in this smelly, dirty motel room and crying because I just wanted my dad to stay with me. I didnât understand why he left, you know? Dean must have gone out or something because I distinctly remember that when he came back to the room, I turned my pillow over because I was afraid heâd see it was wet and heâd know I was crying.â Sam loses himself in that memory for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck.
âHow old were you?â
âI donât know, four maybe? Young enough that no one in their right mind would leave Dean in charge of me.â He scoffs and takes a drink, âThatâs just how it was though. My mom died and dad needed to hunt, needed to fill that void.â
âSounds to me like he was coping the only way he knew how t,â you suggest. Samâs talked about his father before and you know thereâs never ending layers to that relationship.
âI donât hold it against him, not anymore. He did the best he could under the circumstances. Â For a long time, all I wanted to do was everything that he hated. Just be a normal guy, get married, have a couple kids, and be a better father than he ever was.â
âWhat? You donât want that anymore?â
âIâm thirty-three and, forgetting for a moment that weâre stuck in Shadow Hill, Iâm deeper into this life than my dad ever was. If you care about people, you donât make them a part of this life.â
âMaybe you donât get to make that choice for other people,â you shoot back. âEveryone has their shit, Sam, and Iâll give it to you that your shit is crazier than most, but that doesnât mean you canât be happy.â
âYeah, maybe.â He gulps down the last of his beer, âIâm going to bed.â
One Year, Five Months
Youâre going alone, youâre going no matter what he says because you donât care about his rules anymore.
Samâs reading in the living room, so engrossed in The Handmaidâs Tale that he doesnât really hear you when you square off your shoulders and say, âIâm going for walk.â
He just smiles up at you, completely oblivious to whatever you just told him, âWhatever you want.â
If weâre being a hundred percent honest, you know itâs going to piss him off. But, thereâs no way you are both going to survive without a little alone time every now and then. If it keeps up like this, one of you is going to kill the other.
You wander down the street and behind the houses to Millerâs Path, leading out of the town and into the looming pine forest that surrounds every side of Shadow Hill. After walking for some time, you veer off the path, heading toward a clearing in the distance.
You maneuver through the brush, the trees of yesteryear, fallen in storms long forgotten. The seasons have been harsh, stripping away the bark and outer layers, yet rendering them all the more beautiful. They have the appearance of driftwood, twisting in patterns that remind you of seaside waves; even the color of the moss is kelp-like. They are soft and damp, yet your fingers come away dry.
You tilt your head upward, feeling your hair tumble further down your back; the pines are several stories tall, reaching toward the golden rays of early fall. Birdsong comes in lulls and bursts, the silence and the singing working together as well as any improvised melody. A new smile paints itself on your face, rose-pink lips, semi-illuminated by the dappled light. Before you know it, your feet have begun to walk, body and mind both on autopilot - it's around noon and you donât think youâve been gone that long.
You find the clearing, trotting happily back out into the sunlight.
âWhat the fuck are you doing?â Samâs voice booms, snapping you out of your solitary moment. You whip around to the sight of him standing at the edge of the tree line, his chest huffing and eyes wild.
âWhat, Iâm just...out here.â Youâre caught off guard more than anything else, stumbling over your words. Samâs mad, breathless, nostrils flaring, pissed the fuck off.
âJust hanging out?â He throws his arms up, stepping closer to you.
âI was just taking a walk, I told you where I was goingâŚâ You step back, he looks like he might throw you over his shoulder and lug you back to the house himself.
âYouâre acting like a damn kid sneaking around. What if something happened to you?â
âNothing is gonna happen to me. What do you think is going to happen, Sam? Nothing ever fucking happens here. Itâs just the same shit day after day and itâs driving me insane. Itâs making me resent you and itâs not even your fault, I know that. But, I need to be able to take a walk or go to Tolliverâs or do just one damn thing on my own.â
âY/N-â
âIâm not done! Let me finish. Look, if I could choose anyone to be here with, it would be you, Sam, it really would. I had no idea I needed you in my life before I met you, which I know sounds nuts and makes no sense whatsoever, but itâs how I feel. I like spending time with you, but I need time to be alone, I feel like Iâm going crazy.â
âWhat if you decide you want to go for a stroll and you never come back? You just disappear. Huh? What then?â
âIf Iâm going to disappear, itâs going to happen whether you know where I am or not. I could be sitting next to you on the couch and poof, gone. Just like that,â you snap your fingers for added effect and he winces.
âOkay, sure, letâs just throw caution to the wind. You donât care, right? Whatever happens, happens!â Heâs screaming, pointing at you with an accusatory thrust of his arm.
âI never said that,â you glare, âstop being so dramatic! God, I hate you so much right now!â
âScrew you,â Sam, spits, lunging toward you and the next thing you know his mouth is crashing into yours. Youâre still in shock, mouth hanging open as his tongue snakes past your lips, meeting your own. He tastes like almonds and salt and it is fucking wonderful. His arms engulf you, enveloping you in a crushing embrace, pulling your body flush with his. You tip your head to the side, mouth opening further to give him full access, a move which he accepts eagerly, his tongue exploring deeper as this kiss becomes less about rage and more about a year and half of sexual frustration. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it occurs to you that despite how good this feels, youâre still pissed. Groaning into his mouth, you place two hands on his chest and push back, parting in a breathless smack. Sam looks down at you, his shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath.
âYou kissed me.â You meant it as a question, but instead youâre just stating the obvious.
âYeah,â he flexes his jaw, âI did.â
âWell...I...â Just a moment ago there was so much you needed to say, but your head is swimming and you canât think. âIâm not saying that I didnât like it, but I wasnât done-â
In the distance thereâs a faint noise, growing louder. At first, you both look from side to side, but the closer the sound gets the more you realize itâs coming from above you. By the time you identify the noise as paper fluttering in the air, you can see the mystery object plummeting down toward the ground and it lands with a heavy thud on a patch of grass. You both inch toward it, Sam moving in front you with his arm out, âDonât get too close.â
You stay behind him until you realize what youâre looking at and step forward as he grabs at the back of your shirt. âItâs alright, itâs just a book.â You bend down and pick up what appears to be a very worn, very old copy of Pride and Prejudice.
âWhat the..,â Samâs voice trails off as you show it to him. Thereâs a feather sticking from between the pages and you open it to reveal a small line of text thatâs been underlined by hand.
Glancing up at Sam you clear your throat read the text, âSometimes the last person on Earth you want to be with is the one person you can't be without.â
âWhat is that, like Jane Austen?â he asks, completely perplexed.
You suppress your urge to comment on the fact that he recognizes Jane Austen when his face twists. You can watch the flutter of realization cross his face. âWhat?â You shift the book in your hands, âwhatâs wrong?â
âSomeoneâs watching us,â he snorts.
âBut,â you hesitate trying to decide what the right questions are, âwho?â
âI donât know, but literatureâs greatest hits donât just rain the from the heavens. That was meant for us.â
âThis is freaking me out.â You wipe your mouth, feeling the weight of the novel, and looking behind you. Â
Samâs words sink in; someoneâs watching.
He looks from you to the book, then up to the sky. Thereâs a moment of silence before he loses it. âWhat is this? A lesson?â he shouts, turning in a circle with his arms outstretched. âWeâre listening, weâre fucking listening! Hello?â Nothing. Heâs fuming, his cheeks bright red and fists clenched. He looks like heâs ready for a fight and not the kind that utilizes words. He wants to break something, frantic for anything to hit and watch his knuckles bleed.
âSam,â you reach out, grabbing his wrist. He recoils when you touch him, pulling back as if heâs going to smack you. Itâs muscle memory, something dormant left over from too many years of staying constantly vigilant and sleeping with a gun under his pillow. He cocks his fist and you stumble back, nearly falling over as he catches you.
âShit, I didnât mean to-â his face scrunches, to your surprise there are tears welling up in his eyes, âI wouldnât hurt you.â
What Sam canât tell you is the combination of emotions coursing through his veins. Heâs so frustrated that he canât even control his own reactions and it makes him feel painfully impotent.
âI know, Sam,â you drop the book to the ground and wrap yourself around him, pressing your head over his heart, âI know you wouldnât.â
One Year, Seven Months
After the âDr. Darcy Incidentâ, as you dubbed it, Sam does his best to give you more space. And just like you predicted, your relationship with him begins to heal itself almost immediately. Time away eases the urge to pick at each other and allows you to enjoy your time together again. Itâs a morning like any other, except Sam isnât there when you wander half asleep down to the kitchen. Samâs always awake before you, a pot of coffee already brewing by the time you crack your eyes open for the first time. You assume he must need the sleep and try to recreate his normal morning routine, so that by the time he wanders into the dining room, thereâs two eggs and wheat toast waiting for him.
âGood morning,â you greet him, setting your plate next to his.
âGood morning,â his voice is low and he blinks at his eggs.
âYou still asleep over there?â
âI think so,â being the man that he is, he just throws you an appreciative glance and digs in. Â He spends the rest of the day going through his normal routine; run, weights in the basement, then a shower and off the to the library to grab a few books he wants to add to your growing in-home library. By that evening, heâs looking pale, dark circles forming under his eyes. He tells you itâs just a cold and that he just needs some sleep. You donât think twice. Maybe heâs not feeling well, but it doesnât set off any alarm bells. The following morning, youâre up earlier than usual, feeling uncharacteristically rested. Lacing up your sneakers, you hit the snowy pavement as the sun is rising over the horizon. Itâs a beautiful morning, too cold for a walk, but itâs perfect as you pick up speed out of the neighborhood and head towards town. For several miles, all you hear is the controlled sound of your breath and your feet hitting the ground. You push further and faster than you ever have before, extending your route up the hill past Hillâs Cinema (the one room movie theatre) and winding back down around the city center park. By the time youâre trotting back to the house, the sun is high overhead and the chill of a bitter winter day is creeping in. Covered in a thick sheen of sweat, you head for the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of water and drink it. After a few moments, you happen to see a foot peeking from around the corner near the bottom of the stairs.
âSam,â you call high pitched. You donât want to look. The tight grip of fear rises in your chest as you round the corner and find him sprawled on the floor, face down still in his pajamas. Dropping to your knees, you turn him over. The moment you touch his torso, you can feel the sweat soaking through his shirt, heâs drenched. âSam, can you hear me?â You brush away the damp hair stuck to his forehead. Heâs burning up, his whole body is radiating heat. Youâre not sure what to do, the only semblance of medical training you have is from watching re-runs of House on daytime cable. Shaking your hands in a panic, you try to mentally put together a list of priorities. At the top of that list is his breathing, so you press an ear to his febrile, damp chest and listen. Heâs breathing shallowly, but his heart is galloping a hundred miles a minute. Heâs so hot, you know it has to be dangerous, his body temperature must be cooking him from the inside out.
âSam!â You yell, right at the shell of his ear. Heâs three times your size and you know thereâs no way you can move him on your own. âSam! Wake up!â
When he doesnât move, you do the only thing that comes to mind, you slap him, hard and fast right across the face. He jerks and his eyes flutter open with a groan. Thank God.
âHey, can you hear me?â You hover over him, his eyes rolling back into this head for a moment before settling on you.
âWhat?â he slurs, his face contorting.
âYou gotta help me Sam, you have to get up.â You move behind him, lifting him into a sitting position and fuck if he isnât ridiculously heavy, his limp body doing nothing to assist you. âI canât do this by myself. We just have to get to the shower, itâs right there.â
You grab his face and turn his focus to the small bathroom just off the entryway. âOkay,â he gulps and squeezes his eyes shut, âIâm dizzy.â
âI know, but we gotta do this now. Come on.â You stand in front of him, taking his hands and pulling with every ounce of strength you can muster. With a minimal amount of assistance, you hike him up, his arm grasping at your shoulders. The two of you shuffle down the hall, his weight threatening to take you both down. You get him into the shower, where he collapses onto his butt with a thud.
âMy brain feels like itâs boiling,â he rubs a hand over his face.
âYouâre gonna feel better in a minute.â In reality you have no idea if what youâre doing will help in the slightest, but he doesn't need to know that. You climb in the tub behind him and he instantly falls limp between your legs, his back crushing your chest as his head leans back on your shoulder. The fever is practically pulsing through him, his cheeks are bright red and heartbeat still quick, threatening to beat out of his chest. With your shoe, you kick at the faucet until a burst of freezing water erupts from the shower head and gushes over the both of you. You both yell in shock as the icy stream soaks your clothes and washes over your skin. After a few torturous minutes, the drop in temperature seems to calm his body. Youâre shaking, teeth chattering as you feel his hand grip your knee. He turns his head toward you, his face at your throat.
âThis is not at all how I imagined taking our first shower.â
âFirst?â You laugh, completely exasperated, chin trembling, âtalk about presumptuous.â
You wrap an arm around him from behind, squeezing his wide shoulders and kissing his cheek, âYou scared the shit out of me, Sam.â
âSorry,â he mumbles, âdidnât mean to.â
Once heâs fully coherent, you give him aspirin, find him a change of clothes, and tuck him back into his bed. He grabs your hand as you walk away, pulling you beside him. âThanks for taking care of me.â
You smile, patting his chest âItâs what we do, right? You and me âtill the wheels fall off.â
One Year, Nine Months
Sam has no intentions of going through your stuff, heâs just out of toothpaste and youâre out for a run. He pads into your en suite bathroom, feeling like a kid whoâs trespassing in his parent's bedroom. Neither of you have ever said your rooms were off limits, but thereâs an unspoken respect for personal space. He pulls open a few drawers, pushing around lotions and q-tips when he sees it. He knows what the pills are the moment he lays eyes on them. Ameliaâs were in the same pink, little plastic case she pulled out of her purse every time the alarm on her phone went off. Looking behind and satisfied youâre nowhere nearby, he pops the case open, to find half the pack empty.
Youâre taking birth control pills.
If heâd asked you about it, you would have told him that you found them in the pharmacy a year ago, right after the âalmost kissâ and figured that taking precautions was the smart thing to do. You didnât know where this thing with Sam was going, but it felt like it might sneak up on you someday and you didnât want any more surprises.
Sam looks at the pills again, weighing out several scenarios until he hears you bounding up the stairs. He hastily shoves the pack back in the drawer behind an open box of tampons. He finds the toothpaste just as you swing through the doorway, sweating and breathless.
âJesus Christ,â you jump startled at the sight of him.
âSorry,â he smiles tightly, waving a tube of Crest, âjust trying to brush my teeth.â
One Year, Ten Months
You slide on sock feet over the hardwood of the living floor and take a seat at the edge of the arm chair. âIâm going to the greenhouse.â
âYou want me to come with you?â Sam glances up from his nest on the floor with a pen between his teeth. Â Heâs sitting cross legged in front of the coffee table, books and notes everywhere.
âNo, Iâm good, I need some quality time in with my African Violets.â You tie your sneakers, watching him as he shakes his head and makes a note on an already crowded legal pad. For a moment, you let your mind wander. The intellectual in you, the woman that loves historical fiction and collects vintage copies of the periodic table, canât help but be insanely attracted to this man.
He will never know how utterly delicious he looks in a v-neck t shirt, barefoot, and lost in some obscure text. Samâs always a little sweaty and at this very moment, thereâs a sheen layer of perspiration right at the hollow of his throat thatâs nudging your mind in a thousand directions. Itâs been way too long since youâve had sex, but you donât hold onto hope because Sam might as well be the president of the Shadow Hill Abstinence Society.
âIâll bring you lunch,â he offers, without looking up.
âSounds good, see you later.â
You hop on your bike and enjoy the ride to the greenhouse. Itâs on the far side of town, a little over a mile, and you shiver in the cool morning air, your thin coat doing little for the brisk ride.
Green Thumbs, as the sign reads, is a fully functioning hot house as big as a barn. The heat hits you in a wave as you open the frosted glass door, enjoying the smell of the flowers and earth that overtakes your senses. You check on Samâs plants first, the ones he asked you to cultivate for spell work. You fuss over the Mugwort and water the Ladyâs Mantle before moving to your orchids that require repotting. At first, you didnât know if youâd be able to grow anything, with Shadow Hill wiping the slate clean, but the greenhouse has proven to be space that allows change to stick. Your flowers and herbs grow tall and strong, perhaps better than they should. You lose track of time, surprised when you hear movement behind you.
âHey you,â you see Sam and turn to greet him with a sweet genuine smile.
Sam gulps. Itâs hot in here and you're in a tank top thatâs sticking to your sweaty, glistening body. Thereâs dirt smeared over your stomach and arms and a little just beside your nose. Your hair is a wild mess, barely contained by the failing ponytail. Heâs been having a harder and harder time with his own self control when it comes to you, but this is the moment he knows that itâs only a matter of time before the dam breaks.
âSandwiches,â he holds up a paper bag, looking at you with the familiar yet strange look he gets from time to time. You have no idea what goes in that head of his, but youâd like to find out. You wash your hand off with the hose and join him on the small wooden bench for turkey sandwiches. He hands you a bottle of water as you catch his eyes wandering over your body.
You glare at him, âI know Iâm a filthy mess. Â I promise Iâll shower before I sit on the furniture, okay, dad?â
Sam just chuckles, looking at roses and biting into his food, âYouâre so far off base you donât even know it.â
One Year, Eleven Months, Two Weeks
A deafening crash of thunder rips you from your slumber, as your heart beats nearly out of your chest. The second boom makes you jump, as lightning illuminates your room. Itâs so loud, that it sounds as if the heavens might crack open from the power. Rain is falling heavily on the roof as you crawl out of bed and look out your second story window. The clouds look low enough that the far mountain peaks appear claustrophobic at the proximity. Between the flashes of lightning, thereâs an inky darkness that sinks into the marrow of your bones. You glance at the clock next to your bed, but itâs black. Great, the power must be out. You donât like storms. Most of the time, youâre an adult and you can power through it, but this is loud and bright and something feels uneasy and electric all around you. You make your way across the hall and rap at Samâs door.
After a moment, you hear, âY/N?â You turn the handle and creep inside as he sits up, shirtless and dazed.
âI um, I just...the storm woke me up,â you shift from one foot to the other, standing in his doorway.
âYou want me to get up with you?â he mumbles, trying to shake himself from his sleep.
âNo, Iâm being a baby, go back to sleep. Iâll read or something.â
Sam throws back the sheets on the open side of his bed, and nods with his chin, âGet in here.â
You donât hesitate, you crawl in beside him, and he pulls the cover up to your waist. You donât know if heâs fully coherent or not, but he rolls into you, as if itâs no big deal. His body presses into your side, his face burying into your neck and his hand sliding across your stomach and coming to rest on your hip.
Shit.
You lay like that for a while, now more awake than ever before in your life. Everywhere heâs touching you feels excruciatingly sensitive, like youâre in overdrive. Samâs breathing hot at your neck just under your jaw and instead of softening with sleep, itâs only getting faster and faster. A crack of thunder roars down from the night sky and you involuntarily jerk. Samâs hand tightens around your hip, his body pressing into your side as he murmurs, âIâve got you.â
You feel the shift of his head as his lays a soft kiss to the skin of your neck, itâs not a grand gesture, but itâs supremely intimate as you lay here in his bed. He kisses you again, this time moving down a little further, just the tip of his tongue darting out to taste your skin.
Your breath catches in your throat as you tip your head away, giving him more access. His hand moves from your hip back over your stomach, resting his palm just below your belly button.
âCan I touch you?â he murmurs at the shell of your ear. You exhale in a desperate, fractured moan.
âYes,â you whisper, nodding.
Sam pulls at the hem of your nightgown and before you know whatâs happening, itâs up and over your head, leaving you completely naked. He makes a guttural grunt of approval, pleased to see youâve forgone undergarments. Still on his side, he leans over and cups one of your breasts with a calloused hand, taking your nipple into his mouth. You gasp, his wet tongue sliding over the hardened bud before tugging gently with his teeth.
His fingers play down your abdomen, barely grazing, as his touch sinks lower. You feel his fingers swipe over your sex, the tip of his fingers delicately stroking over your lips. When he feels that youâre wet, he pushes further, coating his fingers with your own slick. The pressure of his finger shallow inside you makes you quiver, your thighs falling apart.
Continuing to mouth your breast, his finger moves upward, out of your pussy to find your clit with expert efficiency. He rubs over the little bundle of nerves, eliciting a buck of your hips.
For what seems like a lifetime, he works your body just like this. His hand between your legs and nipple between his lips. His finger moves back and forth across your clit, rubbing and coaxing soft moans as you rock your hips up into this hand. Sam rolls his tongue over your nipple, then clenches down sending shocks that reverberate in your nether regions.
âIâm going to taste you,â he explains calmly, pressing a kiss between your breasts, moving downward placing his lips at the crown of your ribcage.
âSam,â you puff, his words only adding to the anticipation, just a vague outline of whatâs to come next, leaving him to fill in the details. The caress of his lips travel down your stomach, stopping for a moment to trace the outline of your belly button with his tongue. As he moves lower, he readjusts his body, crawling between your legs, hooking his hand behind one of your knees and bending your legs, using his shoulders to hold your shaking thighs open for him.
Thereâs a scrape of his teeth over the mound of your sex and you feel his breath before anything else, hot and warm with his face so close to your apex. Then his fingers; Sam uses his thumb and index finger to peel you open, revealing the throbbing little bundle of nerves.
Thereâs a tight swell of anticipation building in your stomach, but itâs nothing to prepare you for what comes next. With the tip of his tongue, slippery and warm, he scoops up and over your clit, once, twice, three times.
âSam,â you groan, your back arching as he repeats the same, slow lick, just his tongue and fingers to hold you open. With his free hand, he reaches up, spreading his palm wide over your stomach, holding you down. Without warning, his whole mouth engulfs you, running his tongue flat and hard over the sweet spot that now controls every inch of your body.
Samâs fantasized plenty of times about what you would taste like, but itâs different, better than he imagined. Youâre salty and metallic in his mouth, making him only want more. Â He has a plan for this first time, what and how he wants to pleasure you. Between the noises you're making and the insistent thrust of your hips into his face, he knows heâs right on target.
He could do this for hours, incandescently happy with his head in a vice grip between your thighs, with a mouth full of tangy slick.
You donât know long heâs down there, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes? All with his tongue making spine-tingling circles around your most sensitive parts. He knows what heâs doing too, changing his rhythm, adjusting the pressure of his tongue to keep you from coming, he doesnât want that yet.
He knows you want more, he almost fucks you with his fingers, but he wants the first thing you feel pushing inside to be his cock. He wants you to come for the first time while heâs in you. He wants to watch you pulse and shake while heâs sunk deep. His dick is rock hard, grinding against the sheets as he thinks about it.
âSam,â he scrapes his teeth over your clit when you call his name, groaning into your pussy. His tongue dips down, teasing between your folds before moving back up to his focus area. All you want is something, anything to fill you up, his tongue, his hand, his cock, the specifics donât matter.
âYou want me inside you?â he asks, looking up from your thighs.
âPlease, God yes,â you groan at the sight of him, crawling back up over your body.
He settles his hips between your own, pushing his sweatpants down his thighs. His hand brushes stray hair out of your face and then he kisses you for the second time since youâve known him. His lips meet yours, diving deep with a scoop of his tongue.
Lost in the bliss of his body weight and mouth, you feel his hand between you, then the head of his cock rubbing over your clit and between your folds. Thereâs the sweet moment when he presses the tip into you for the first time, slowly sinking as you stretch around him. You moan into his mouth, his kisses deepening as he slides thick and stiff until heâs fully seated.
You feel impossibly full, itâs an incredible sensation that sends pleasure shooting out from where heâs sunk inside you. You wiggle your hips, canting up to his, desperate to take as much of him as you can.
Breathless and panting, Samâs mouth parts from yours. He reaches up to grab the rung of the headboard for leverage and drops his mouth to the hollow of your throat, kissing sweat soaked skin as he moves, pulling out and thrusting back into you with a force that makes your eyes pop wide.
âOh my God,â you gasp, reaching for the pillows, the other hand clinging to his arm as his veins bulge with tension.
âYou feel so good,â Sam groans as heâs trying his best to make this last. He wants you to remember this first time as intense and incredible, but heâs not sure he can last as long as heâd prefer. Youâre so tight around him, like heâs balls deep in hot silk. Youâre squirming under him, rubbing your pretty little body up into his like your life depends on it.
He looks down at you, your lip caught between your teeth, naked and straining at the sheets. Sam thinks you twisting under the weight of him is the best thing heâs ever seen in his life. He fucks you hard and slow, pushing all the way in and grinding his hips in slow circles that turns you to into a quivering mess of wet, raw nerves.
His mouth is everywhere, at your mouth, neck, biting at the ball of your shoulder. He moves from those mind blowing grinds to a steady rhythm as the rooms fills with the rolling thunder and the wet, carnal slap of his body into yours. Youâre both close, the pumping of his hips faster and harder than before.
âCan I come inside you?â he pants, a growing desperation in his voice.
âOh God,â you sink your nails into his back, frantic to pull him deeper at the very thought. âYes, Sam, donât stop.â
He props himself up on his elbows, his hips snapping fast as your breasts bounce with every thrust. Your nipples are still hard and he canât help but take one back into his mouth, sucking hard as his hand snakes between your bodies.
His thumb presses over your clit, flicking up and down as he slows his movements. He grinds slow, just like before and you tip over the edge. You come in a glorious crescendo of pulsing nerves and taut muscles, clinging to him like a life raft.
Sam feels it, your body throbbing around his cock as you chant his name. Youâre so beautiful, head thrashing to the side, mouth open, lost in the pleasure.
Before your orgasm has completely ended, heâs moving again, quick hard thrusts that make your muscles clench. Sam comes with your name on his tongue, filling you with everything he has, rocking slowly as he empties, twitching inside you. His forehead falls to the crook of your neck as his movements slow to a snail's pace. You rub his back, hands trailing up and down until heâs totally still.
Kissing you, he pulls out then flops onto his back and you lay side by side, silent in the dark as the rain continues to fall in sheets outside the window.
Sam brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing softly. âIâve wanted that for a long time.â
âMe too,â you confess. This has wide ranging implications, none of which you want to think about right now. Youâre sated with Sam and pleasure and thatâs where you want to stay for the rest of the night. You feel him shift onto his side, his hand over your stomach again, dipping between your legs to feel the wet of your thighs, the product of his hard work and your arousal. âI need to get you into a shower.â
âThe power was outâŚâ You glance to his bedside clock which is lit up like a Christmas tree.
âLooks like it came back on,â he sits up.
âNot yet, I want to lie here a little while longer.â When you protest, he moves back to you, pulling you into the crook of his arm where you're both sweaty and overheated. âI just wanna be like this, just for a few minutes.â
âWhatever you want,â he concedes, not five minutes later heâs snoring gently.
But you donât fall back to sleep. You lie in the dark, as the storm rages outside. You think about Sam and Shadow Hill and wonder if all this will actually last.
-
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Chapter 3 From The Top!
(Prof H X Ted)
Ted walked into the studio in basket ball shorts and just a shabby tee shirt. It's not what Hidgens would have suggested Ted where but it will suffice.
"Good afternoon Ted,"
"Yo" Ted nodded uncomfortably at Henry.
"I should have asked this yesterday. How much dance experience do you have exactly?"
"That would be a solid none."
"Ok," This is going to be interesting, "did you stretch before you got here?"
"Uhhhhhh, yes"
That was a blatant lie.
"Ok, Just watch me and do what I do. Alexa, play warm up playlist."
Ted struggled along to the stretches. If this was hard for him the rest of the class is going to be a struggle. He's dedicated though, it really looks like he cares. That's sweet.
"Ok for this stretch you're gonna need to lay on your back and put your legs up against the wall." Henry stood up and directed Ted to a wall. "Ok now you're gonna speed your legs."
"Hey, at least take me to dinner first" Ted smugly smirked up at Hidgens. Henry proceeded to knock Ted's legs from their spot on the wall. This action basically put him into middle splits. Well almost middle splits if we're being generous. Ted inhaled sharply from the pain.
"Hey you're hips are actually relatively flexible considering you dance experience." That was a weird thing to say? Why did he say that? Why did he notice that? Why?
Ted winked up at Henry. He could feel his face warming up. Henry didn't know what to do. So he just pushed down on Ted's legs putting him into a deeper splits and consequently putting him in immense pain. Ted flopped off the wall.
"Ow what the fuck."
Hidgens didn't really mean to hurt him. He just didn't want to think about... that anymore. He offered Ted a hand up. Ted begrudgingly accepted the help.
"Sorry about that, I just wanted to push you to go farther." Stupid Stupid Stupid. Henry is what are you doing.
"Yeah whatever. Are we done with stretching yet?" Ted was starting to look inpatient. It's nice how he cares about this.
"Just about. Are your legs ok?"
"Yeah I'm fine"
"Ok so we are going to start with the basics of ballet. Most dancing that you will do will incorporate these basics. First of all I'm going to need you to adjust your posture. Your slouching a little." Hidgens mirrored Ted's poor posture then adjusted it. Ted tried to adjust his posture but if anything it got worst.
"Do you mind if I?" Henry walked over to Ted and adjusted his shoulders back. They were sturdy. Ted was a relatively unimposing, so this caught Hidgens off guard. "Now straighten your pack and tuck in your tailbone."
"My tailbone?"
"Stop sticking your ass out" That seemed like the easiest way to tell him what to do.
"that's the first time I've been told to do that!" Ted chuckled.
"What... I don't even... ok whatever." Henry did not understand where the joke was in that. Ted was an interesting person.
"This is very uncomfortable." Ted's posture was still mediocre but greatly improved. He was taller, still short next to Henry, but taller.
"You'll get used to it. Ok now we're going to go over ballet positions."
"Oh I know all about positions." Ted smirked and winked at Henry through the mirror.
"I feel like these are getting progressively worse." Hidgens stopped looking in the mirror and turned to the man standing next to him. He took a deep breath and faced the front mirror again. "Watch me carefully. This is first position... this is second position ... third... fourth... and fifth. Do you understand?"
"Uh wait does my left foot also go in front at one point or is it just all in the right?"
Henry couldn't help but to chuckle. It's kinda cute how fucking stupid he is.
"Sorry That was a stupid fucking question." Ted looked really embarrassed.
"No no I'm glad you're asking questions." Henry smiled at Ted.
The rest of class went on similarly until...
"Well I guess class is over. Weird it feels like class just started." Ted looked at the clock.
"Time flies."
"Hey Henry you have any classes after this? You wanna grab some food? I'm fucking starving."
This was Hidgens last class for the day. He was totally free to get food. But why would he willingly spend more time with this douche bag.
"I'd love to"
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love | Modern Poe Dameron x Reader | Part One
A/N: So I saw Life Itself and now Iâm unhappy, so it seems like a good time to reveal a new series Iâve been working on. The prompts are from this sensory prompt list and itâs basically important moments in a modern Poe Dameron and readerâs relationship! I wanted a super pretty title and my heart told me âloveâ. Is it too basic?
Rating: T
Warning: None.
Word count: 733, I guess!!
Prompt: 5. Trying to walk on ice
Summary: "That's what I get for trying to be a hero, huh? Poe Dameron."
He held his hand out and you told him your name as you shook it. "At least I'm not the only one to fall now."
You were really stupid to have been so sure of yourself.
I can carry it all in one trip, your lazy, in-a-hurry mind had suggested.
Now you were staring across an icy parking lot with four full grocery bags in your arms, wondering if your car slid to that super far spot or you had been delusional when you thought you parked close to the building.
You had to do this, though. You couldn't just walk back into the store and get a cart to put your bags in.
Well, you could, but your natural pride wouldn't allow it.
So you put one foot in front of the other, carefully skirting around patches of ice. Why did it seem like you weren't getting any closer to your car?
You came to some ice so large that it stretched from one row of spaces all the way to the row across from it. Your options were to turn to the right or the left and take a very long way around while trying not to step on many patches of ice, or try to make your way across and hope the tread on your boots was enough to get you to your vehicle, which seemed closer now.
You took a more tentative step, planting your foot firmly on the shiny surface.
Then you moved your other foot.
A smile came to your face as you stood perfectly still.
But, with only ice under you, you took another step and your feet immediately went out from under you. Your grocery bags went flying â much like you at the moment â and, ow, your tailbone was going to be hurting for a few days.
"Whoa! Are you okay?" Quick footsteps, then a slightly manly yelp as your handsome, wannabe hero landed on his ass right in front of you.
You blinked in surprise, watching him grimace and rub his hip. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, Iâ" He looked at you and himself, pausing, before he started to laugh.
It was such a genuine laugh that your lips twitched into a smile. A second passed and you were giggling loudly with him.
"That's what I get for trying to be a hero, huh? Poe Dameron."
He held his hand out and you told him your name as you shook it. "At least I'm not the only one to fall now."
"Hey, that means I'm still a hero." He had the sweetest grin, you noted as he stood and helped you to your feet. Your boots slid on the ice and he tightened his grip on your hands, meeting your gaze. "You good?"
"Yeah." You moved off the ice and he didn't let go until you were only standing on asphalt.
He followed, crouching down to start gathering your groceries.
"Oh, you don't have to do that..." You were crouching with him immediately, tossing a couple boxes into a bag.
"Don't worry about it." He took two of the bags in his arms and straightened up. "Which way to your car?"
You opened your mouth to protest his chivalry, but decided against it at the look he gave you, which told you he wasn't going to let you take all four bags. "This way." You took the long route, stepping around ice as you lead him to your car. You balanced the two bags you had so you could unlock it, opening one of the back doors and leaning in to put the groceries on the seat.
You stepped aside to allow Poe to put the rest in, then he leaned an arm on the roof of the car and gave you a charming smile. "So, what does the hero get?"
He was handsome and it would be shameful of you to offer yourself. Only because you didn't know him.
You reached into a bag, feeling a bunch of bananas and taking one off, holding it out to him. "Potassium."
"Thanks." He took it, chuckling. "I probably don't get enough anyway. You probably want me to leave you alone, but stay safe, okay?" He started to back away. "Don't slip without me."
You wouldn't have minded if he stayed and you both lived in the grocery store parking lot; a strange fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless.
He slipped on some ice and quickly stumbled off of it, giving you a thumbs up before he walked off, leaving you giggling again.
#poe dameron imagine#poe dameron x reader#star wars imagine#poe dameron fic#I might change the title if I find a better word#unless you guys really like it#love
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MAS WEEK Day 1: Â Alternate Universe
To tell you the truth he didnât really think it would work. See, Ace had always assumed his so-called âpowersâ were a lie made up by a guilt-ridden Garp. Just something the old man could give him from his dead mother, something that didnât need physical proof.Â
When Ace was small and angry he took those words for face value. Sure his powers sounded far-fetched even to him back then but that was all he had. He clutched to the notion that those words, those promises of resting powers were true beacuse it was a way to connect him to the woman formally known as Portgas D Rouge.Â
As he got older he realized that it was impossible. Just another white lie told to children, like the tooth fairy or the gift baring Marine Boy- that last one he never believed but why tell Garp to stop bringing him presents?- it was just a thing said to keep his childlike wonder alive.
For if it had been true then why had his mother died?
He never mentions his powers to anyone- well maybe Sabo once when he was still alive- and for a long time he even forgot about them. They were pushed to the back of his head, part of his childhood which he never really thought about until someone else brought it up. He lived his life as free and as daring as any pirate could, all up until the point he was captured then thrown into a war over his life.
It was ironic, that those powers were there all his life and they only awake when his life ended. It was only three seconds before he breathes his last that his body started to glow and Ace was able to access the power of the Portgas family.
Itâs much like his fire so he reaches for that sensation and doesnât let go. Not even when it feels like heâs buring inside out.Â
It was terrifying waking the first time.Â
He had just had his chest blown apart, lava eating away all his internal organs and the smell of burnt flesh was still in his nose, sitting like a long unwanted guest. Honestly, who could blame him that the first thing he did was scream?
Scream as if though he was dying- is dead? He had died right?- thrashing about in a panic attempt to get the pain to stop. The pain that felt so real only seconds ago but now wasnât there- even if he could still feel it. Â
Beacuse his chest wasnât ripped apart, it was whole perfect besides the beating of his panic heart.Â
Ace didnât know what to do, he hurt but he wasnât injured- at least he hopes so- and his death was so fresh, too close to not have been real why wasnât-
âAce!?â A voice yells right before tiny hands land on his shoulders. It was the wrong thing to do. Ace didnât react well- donât touch me donât touch me donât touch me- his hand shooting up to snatch the offending hand thinking only of lava and pain. Â
He didnât even register the loud snap, not until a young maleâs voice scream in agony. It was imminently followed by crying, and pain gasps- a child's voice.Â
Ace was many things, but as a former abused child, he could not ignore when a child screamed like that. It took everything he had but the WhiteBeard Commander forced his mind to calm down, take control of his fear and think.Â
He snaps his eyes open, ones he hadnât been aware he had close and came face to face with a sobbing Sabo, tiny and young just like he remember him being. The little blond was holding his arm, crying horribly his face twisted in pain, his wrist twisted in the wrong direction.
âOh fuck! Sabo!â Ace screeched springing up. Despite the confusion, the fear, or the questions he could never ignore Sabo in pain. Even though his death had been years ago, Ace could never think of anyone that he hadnât cared for as much as Sabo....well there was Marco but that was a dream of a desperate eighteen-year-old who never got the courage to try and let the other know about his feelings.Â
Sabo though? Sabo was the one person who took the chance on Ace, in a time when no one else would have and for that reason alone he would always remain as the true holder of his heart. Â
âSabo?! Oh, Sea Iâm so sorry! Let me help-â He tries to reach out but the other flinch from him shaking his head. It pretty impressive that he hasnât passed out yet, tough kid.Â
âNo! Iâve seen you use Healing Magic- youâll make it worse! You can barely even hover!â Sabo gasps between sobs. His voice wavering with pain  âGet your mom to fix me! Hurry it hurts!â
Healing Magic? Hover? His mom?Â
âI donât-â
âAce it really really hurts! Please! You said- ow ugh - you said you would take care of me! You said I wouldnât be a slave to you!â Sabo sobs a plea in his tone like he is hoping Ace will confirm something for him as he is leaning on the ground body curling over his injured arm and thatâs when Ace notices it.Â
At first, he hadnât really paid attention, not really. Everything happening too fast for him to care about the long blond bunny ears that were randomly attached to Saboâs top hat but with the boy leaning over the soft white little ball sitting near his tailbone gave him pause.
Sabo shirt had lifted up allowing Ace to see that the ball wasnât part of his blue shirts- no it was part of Saboâs skin. That means it was his tail. Sabo had a tail.
what in all the blue fucking seas!?
âBoys what is going-Sabo! Sweetie, what happened?!â A woman shouts. She had been opening the door, a frown on her face until she caught sight of the kneeling child.Â
Ace watches her come in with the grace of a season killer, steps fast but silent. Her long blue dress barely makes any noise as she rushes forward one of her hands glowing an odd blue- kinda similar to Marcoâs flames. She places her hand on the crying boyâs back and she mumbles soothing words to him until he unfolds.Â
She gently takes his injured hand, sweeping her strawberry sunshine hair out of her face as she chants short words and the glowing blue fire starts to heal the boyâs broken wrist. Saboâs whimpers start to die down and he is left sniffing, his wrist twisting back into place.
Itâs kind of sicking to watch.Â
 He doesnât know who she is, much less what devil fruit she is wielding but she isnât hurting Sabo. He doesnât do anything but watch her work, and then when she finishes he gives her a hard glare.
One she easily matches- in fact, Ace is shocked to see itâs exactly like his. Down to the freckles placement too.Â
âYoung man you will explain to me why your familiar's wrist is broken.â She demands, hugging the shaking Sabo to her bosom. Ace watches her tap a collar that is around Saboâs neck and it light ups under her fingertips  âYou just made a pack with him. Donât you dare tell me you lied about protecting himâ
âWhat are you talking about?â Beacuse no really, what is even going on? Is he even dead?
She squints at him, her entire face too much like his own that it makes him highly uncomfortable before it clears and she looks shocked. Maybe a little pale when she whispers  âAce? Honey is that you or is that....another you?â
Here Ace jerks. No one knows. No one is supposed to know, not beside him and Garp.
âOh, honey.â The woman says sadly. She looks at him like she understands everything and Sabo peaks at him looking almost curious âHow old are you? My Ace is only ten.â
Ace doesnât answer and she nods  âOkay. I can tell you donât know me. My name is Portgas D. Rouge. Iâm a mage, and this is the 98th dimension. Where are you from?â
Ace swallows. No his powers werenât real. They werenât-
âThis boy here is Sabo. Heâs a half-familiar hybrid- my son made a pack with him recently. Heâs a mage in training.â She continues when all Ace does is stare. She pets the boys head- his top hat having been knocked off and leaving behind two long bunny ears that shouldnât be there.  âToday, he was going to be engaged to the Whitebeardâs eldest. But Iâll send them a letter and let them know you arenât feeling well.â
Ace canât breathe. He really canât- his body doesnât feel right. Tiny. Small. Weak Heâs dead. Just died in battle in Luffyâs arms. Â
Rogue smiles sadly at him âJumps are scary. Donât worry we will help you back. After all, you may be an alternative version of my Ace but youâre still my son.â
 Ace wonders if he can tell Garp that he believes him now. That his power to jump into his other lives, isnât as made up as he thought. Or maybe he can tell him that heâs gone completely and utterly insane. That works too.Â
#MarcoAceSabo#Masweek2018#Day 1: Â Alternate Universe#warning: panic attacks#dimension hopping#idk#(later on Ace falls for the AlteMarco and AlteSabo but then is ripped away from them to his own world)#(wakes in his coffine screaming)
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Unexpected Companion
Summary: Dean wakes up in bed next to someone unexpected...
Square Filled: Â ClaireDean
Pairing: Dean x Claire
Word Count: 2,200ish
Rating: explicit (smut (implied drunk sex, protected sex), language)
A/N: Written/created for @spnkinkbingo
Dean woke up feeling something warm and soft under his arm. He smiled, recognizing it as that of a bare womanâs back. He fluttered his eyes open, the back of a patch of blonde hair staring at him.Â
His head pounded and he knew he couldnât remember who this woman was but her hair smelled like honey. He loved when he could smell the shampoo still in a womanâs hair. The sheet was barely covering her ass but he woke up half-hard and was curious if sheâd be down for more. Normally heâd expect the woman gone by now or heâd slip out until she got the picture to check out on her own. But the curve of this oneâs back, the dip of her tailbone before it curved up over what Dean guessed was a very cute butt...
âMorning beautiful,â said Dean quietly, leaning over, kissing her shoulder. He felt her shift, burying her still unseen face in the pillow. He trailed them down her spine as she shifted some more, waking up now. Dean moved back as she rolled to her side. âHow about we-Claire!â
Dean was wide-eyed as he saw the confused young woman staring at him.Â
âLoud much?â she said, smiling to herself. âActually you are kind of loud if Iâm thinking about it.â
âWhy are you naked in my bed?â asked Dean, shifting back. Thatâs when he saw the pang of hurt over her face. âDo not tell me-â
âI knew this was going to be a mistake,â said Claire, throwing back the covers and turning away, reaching down to the floor for her underwear and a bra. âI just knew you wouldnât be able to see me any other way than a kid. Everything you said last night, that was a lie, wasnât it?â
Dean wasnât even sure where to begin. He certainly didnât remember last night or saying anything or even Claire if he was being honest.Â
âHold up kid, what-â
âIâm an adult, Dean. I can screw who I want. Stop calling me kid, douchebag,â said Claire, walking to the other side of the motel room, picking up a pair of jeans.
âClaire,â said Dean. She ignored him as she pulled the denim on. âClaire.â
âWhat,â she said shortly, throwing her hands up. Dean saw how upset she was and how well she was hiding it. But he needed some answers before she walked out that door.
âI donât remember anything. Anything Claire. Nothing,â said Dean, Claire crossing her arms over her chest, popping out a hip.
âYou were like super drunk. Called me for a ride,â said Claire, she said, dragging her toes back and forth through the carpet. âYouâre real chatty about what you want when youâre wasted.â
âThanks for getting me back here I guess,â said Dean, rubbing the back of his neck. Somehow he got a flash of a memory, of small hands running over that neck not so long ago and he sighed. âHold up.â
âLater Dean,â said Claire, throwing on her shirt and grabbing her coat. Dean was out of bed and pulling up his boxers, pushing the front door shut just after she opened it. âOh donât do the nice guy act. You were drunk, you wanted some, you got some.â
âWe had sex last night. I want to know why,â said Dean. âI donât care how drunk I was. You were a willing participant in all this.â
âBecause youâre hot. Youâve got that older guy but still youngish thing going on. God, donât get all clingy,â said Claire, moving Deanâs arm away from the door.
âWhat did I say I wanted,â said Dean, planting it down hard. Claire glared at him but rolled her eyes.
âYou said, I donât know, sweet guy crap to make me flustered so you could get me in bed,â said Claire. âWhatever, Iâm over it.â
âIâm not,â said Dean. âI donât do that. Something happened to me and you arenât telling me the truth.â
âIâm not gonna tell you,â said Claire. Dean took her by the hand and sat down on the edge of the bed, Claire trying to shake him off but sighing. âYou got all...weird. Like saying you liked me weird and not in that big brother way I always thought we had going on.â
âWhat did I say,â said Dean, rubbing circles into the back of Claireâs hand.Â
âYou said you wished you could be that brave sober,â said Claire. She looked him dead in the eye and Dean suddenly felt like the young one, unsure of how to handle the situation. âLike I said, you were drunk and itâs fine. Just forget this ever happened.â
Some of it was coming back to Dean. The taste of her, the way her skin felt velvety smooth, the curve of her body...that hot, hungry desire that felt strangely safe with her. Dean was doing the math in his head when he realized there was no need. She was an adult. Something happened last time they worked a case, when she was bitten by that wolf. Something he never wanted to admit to himself out loud.
For one, Jody would probably kill him. Claire too if he ever told her the truth. Dean put his head in his hands when he remembered he did tell her. He told her everything last night. That was way too much to put on her, put on anyone really. Yet here she was, still there after those drunken admissions, still choosing to go with him after they were said.
âClaire,â said Dean, reaching for her hand when she stood up. âStay and weâll talk about this.â
âEither you were lying when you were drunk or youâre scared and about to start lying now. Itâs done Dean. Youâre carâs at the bar on sixth. Iâll see you around,â she said, shaking him off. Dean watched her leave, unable to find it in him to go after her.
âWe just had to go and fucking tell her we liked her, dumb idiot,â said Dean, falling back in bed, deciding to hide away in the motel room for a while longer.
Two Weeks Later
Claire was quiet, looking like she was trying to hide away in herself which scared the shit out of Dean. Sure, part of her tougher attitude was an act but Claire was a strong person and could hold her own. So the fact that she called him when her hunt went bad, the fact that she wasnât talking still even though it was settled and done...he knew she shouldnât be on her own right now.
âSamâs not here right now,â said Dean, letting Claire look over the bunker, temporarily getting lost in it.
âWhy does that matter,â she said, adjusting the bag on her shoulder.Â
âI was just telling you. Geez,â he said, pressing against the small of her back, leading her into the hall. He stopped at an empty room and opened it up. âYou can crash here as long as you need.â
âIâm fine,â said Claire, dropping her bag and pushing him out. âGoodnight.â
She shut the door in his face and Dean sighed, walking to his room at the other end of the hall and slipping inside. It was late and heâd driven a while to go get her, wanting nothing more than to pass out in bed. Dean slipped out of his jeans and into a pair of black sweats, his flannel tossed in his laundry basket, socks balled up and thrown in along with them.
He wandered to the kitchen, threw on a pot of water and dumped in some stove top mac and cheese. It was easy and he was hungry. He didnât even bother to sit down and eat, just standing next to the half full pot, shoveling spoonful into his mouth as he glanced around at the quiet room.
âFood,â said Dean a minute later, knocking on Claireâs door, putting the bowl down on the ground just in time to see it swing open. He glanced up and her face was soft. She held out her hand and he handed it to her, catching the slight eye roll as she realized what heâd made. She took a spoonful and nodded her head, Dean turning to go.
âWait,â she said. âThanks for...getting me.â
âI owed you one,â said Dean. âKitchen is just down the hall. Leftovers in the fridge if you want more.â
Dean would have walked away, given her some privacy but she was just staring at him with big wide eyes as she ate quickly. Before he knew it, she was done and putting the bowl down on the desk inside.Â
âDo you need anything?â asked Dean. She nodded and he waited for her to speak. And waited. And waited and she just stood there, looking up at him like she was waiting for him to do something. âClaire.â
âCan I sleep with you?â she asked. Dean blinked a few times as she shifted on her feet. âI donât want to be alone right now.â
âOkay,â said Dean, stepping back, leading her down the hall to his room. He knew that feeling, the one after a bad hunt where he needed to feel something up against him to keep him grounded.
Dean watched Claire get in first, settling in beside her, not used to sharing his actual bed with someone. She closed her eyes and curled into his side, burrowing her head against his shoulder. He moved his arm around her without realizing.Â
âClaire,â said Dean quietly. She grumbled and he brushed his thumb over her cheek. She tilted her head up to look at him. âTell me whatâs going on.â
âYou said you donât like sleeping alone,â she said. Dean gulped. âYou really donât like letting people take care of you, do you?â
âI like it. It doesnât mean I deserve it,â said Dean, seeing the eyes staring back up look down. âClaire, you should forget everything I said. Youâre young and you can find a way less screwed up guy out there.â
âHave you met me Dean?â asked Claire. âMy lifeâs been screwed up since I was a kid. So has yours. A less screwed up guy isnât going to understand all of that.â
âWe shouldnât. You need-â
âGrow a pair and tell me the truth. Do you like me or not?â she asked. Dean leaned in and kissed her slowly, remembering that taste, doing his best to not let it fill him up and overwhelm him. After a few seconds he pulled away, searching her face for something to tell him he could have this.
She leaned in this time, more force behind her actions, Dean letting her and practically smiling against her lips.
âI like you too,â she said, pulling back, straddling her legs over his torso.
âClaire,â said Dean, trying not to groan when she kissed along down his jaw. âYou have got to be honest with me right now, before we go any further. When I said like, I didnât mean in the I want to screw you way. I meant-â
âI know what you meant Dean. Relax. Iâm not doing this for the sex,â she said. âEven though it was good.â
âJodyâs going to murder me,â said Dean, sliding his hands up Claireâs back.
âNo she wonât. Weâll just have to explain it to her,â said Claire, tossing her shirt to the side, pushing Deanâs pants down enough to expose him. âIâm a big girl. I can pick who I want.â
She didnât have the patience to let Dean take her underwear off and neither did Dean for that matter. He caught her waist and pulled her down next to him, listening to her groan. Dean reached into his nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom and tore it open fast, rolling it over his length.
Claire watched him as he did it, her breaths growing heavier before she got back on his lap, pushed her underwear to the side and sunk down fast.
Dean didnât know why he thought sheâd want something soft and slow but damn he wasnât going to last if she kept riding him like that. He went to ask her to slow it down but when her eyes met his, he decided he felt too good and to just lay back and enjoy it. Thereâd be plenty of opportunities to learn every inch, every touch, every thing she liked.
He came first, hot and hard and Claire clenched around him when he did, ripping an honest to God moan from him. She giggled, liking the noise obviously and went a bit faster, chasing her own end, finally coming herself and nearly sending Dean into a second orgasm if he could have had one that soon.
âWas that okay?â she asked, like she thought maybe Dean hadnât enjoyed himself. He helped her off and discarded the condom in the trash, pulling his pants up and giving her shirt back.Â
âThat was definitely okay,â said Dean, pulling her into his body the second she was dressed again. She laughed and he kissed her forehead.Â
âAre you sure youâre okay with this? With us being a thing?â asked Claire. Dean only held her tighter, throwing his legs over hers. âIâll take that as a yes.â
âNight sweetheart,â he said, pressing a kiss to her lips.Â
âNight Dean.â
#spnkinkbingo#supernatural#spn#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfic#dean#dean winchester#dean fanfiction#dean winchester fanfiction#supernatural smut#spn smut#dean x claire#dean smut#deanclaire#dean x#dean winchester smut#winchester#dean winchester x claire#dean supernatural#dean spn#supernatural one shot#spn one shot#dean one shot#dean winchester one shot
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my b
on watt @ longerr_hours
So Camilaâs having a really extraordinarily bad day. Sheâs had bad days before, tons of them but this one just takes the cake as the worst day in history of bad days.
It started out with waking up after her alarm, a furious mother coming in rambling about âthe sixth tardy in ten daysâ and âjust set multiple alarms if you know youâre going to sleep through the one.â Because of her delayed start, Camila had to skip out on eating breakfast, but since Camilaâs such a strong advocate about the most important meal of the day, she made Dinah get her a coffee from the schoolâs cafe.
This coffee of course just led to the inevitable spill not only on her light pink sweater, but also all over her flash drive with her english project. Luckily enough sheâd saved the project onto google drive but sheâs pretty sure she had a small heart attack when she thought sheâd ruined it for her and her group. Obviously she forgot about the google file at first and spent her study hall retyping what she could, only noting the wasting of the period once she realized she had the back up, and not getting her math homework done.
She tripped on the stairs in front of her crush on her way to history, making her blush like an actual idiot, even more when she saw the amused smile on Laurenâs face. Then she tripped again while trying to play it cool. The two of them werenât friends at all though, so itâs not like she could play it off by laughing at herself and making a joke, especially since she lost all ability to speak without sounding like a complete moron when the older girl was around.
The rest of school she managed to get out unscathed, but she isnât as lucky when she misses her bus ride home after school and has to walk because Dinah has student council meetings after school. She trips on the curb at one point, which not only adds a bit of a limp to her already clumsy walk, but earns laughs from the sixth grade boys hanging out at the basketball court she does it next to.
Getting home she had realized she left her textbooks she meant to pick up after school in her locker meaning she has to go in early to do any of her homework, then finds out that her laptop is dead and her charger is another thing she meant to grab.
Sofi whoâs never anything but a sweetheart is learning from Dinah how to be full of attitude and prank ideas, which would normally just lead to playful bickering, but when Sofi throws confetti at Camila when she rounds the corner with her plate of dinner, she kind of snaps, yelling at the younger girl and then having to deal with feeling guilty for the rest of the night but not wanting to be the one to cave and apologize first because sheâs stubborn like that.
The cake on top is her parents arguing which has been happening a lot lately and she knows itâs just because the election results and changes have been stressing everybody out, but it just kind of makes everything feel a hundred times worse because now sheâs thinking about how that disgusting excuse of a man is the president and how her parents are fighting a lot lately.
Calling Dinah is kind of second nature. She doesnât crack until half past eleven, meaning Dinah is well into her beauty sleep since itâs a Thursday and she needs a full ten hours daily, but Camila needs her and she knows Dinah will answer.
It takes the second call to wake Dinah up, grumbling a âthis better be good,â before Camila goes into a rant about how awful everything today and just in general lately has been.
Dinah just listens for her part and thatâs how they always go about it when one of them needs to vent about something. She hums to reassure that sheâs still awake occasionally, but she just lets Camila pour out everything she needs to before responding to any of it.
âYou up to go out right now?â Dinah proposes after Camilaâs finally gotten to the end of her long list of complaints.
âI am,â Camila mumbles out with a shaky breath, more grateful for Dinah than she has been in a while because sheâs just such a good friend. âI really just need a hug and some sad food and maybe a chick flick and also a nap but I canât sleep and-â she begins rambling and feels herself getting more trembly-voiced because sheâs getting emotional but Dinah cuts her off before she can get too deep.
âChancho donât cry yet, Iâll meet you at our spot then we can go get ice creams and cry together okay?â Dinah says hurriedly over the other line and Camila can hear the ruffling of movement meaning Dinah is already up and moving.
Camila knows how good of a friend Dinah is, but itâs always emphasized when she does stuff like this. Dinah âsleep foreverâ Hansen waking up once sheâs already asleep and moving at all just because Camila is having a rough day shows how much she cares about her and makes Camila remember why the sometimes overly sassy girl is her favorite person in the world.
âIâll be there in ten,â she hears Dinah confirm and nods, remembering a moment later that Dinah canât see her so voicing her agreement before hanging up and making her way down to get her keys and take off. She doesnât bother telling her parents sheâs going out because sheâs pretty sure they donât care at the moment whether or not sheâs within the vicinity.
Camila gets there in five minutes since the park is closer to her, and waits in her car for a moment before deciding to head to the tree they usually meet at with the view of the small pond.
The two had stumbled upon the quiet area when they were in seventh grade and playing tag like six year olds. Camila had been the one to trip down the hill obviously and Dinah the one to follow down chuckling and then theyâd both stopped their game to admire the peaceful aura they found themselves surrounded by.
But itâs almost been ten minutes so Camila makes her way down to the hidden area slowly, knowing Dinah is usually late so she has time to kill. Sheâs shocked however when she turns the last corner to get there and sees a figure sitting on the rock her and Dinah usually take up residency on.
Now, Camila had had a bad day, as stated before, and sheâs not had a lot to look forward to in a while, so ice cream and Dinahâs hugs is something to excite her, right? Right! So instead of greeting Dinah in the normal way that people do, she decides to take the better approach of sneaking up and jumping on her in a koala hug.
Bad idea.
âWhat the fuck?â a voice that is definitely not Dinahâs screams out in fear as the arms Camila has latched around flail out in attempt to break free from the hold theyâre under.
âGet the fuck off I have mace and rape whistle Iâm not afraid to cut a bitch,â the voice continues and-
okay Camila has already let go as soon as she realized that it wasnât her friend, but that wasnât as smooth as she wouldâve liked since she was literally hanging off of the stranger and is in result now on the dirt with a pain in her tailbone to add to her list of bad things (buybadthingsoniTunes) of the day.
Sheâd let out an equally as surprised yelp when she had hit the body and realized it wasnât Dinah, but now sheâs narrowly avoiding a heart attack as she realizes who exactly she had accidentally attacked in her mistake.
And of course itâs Lauren Jauregui, the one girl sheâs unable to form any sort of logical explanation for.
Camila recognizes her voice after the second question because itâs Laurenâs voice and itâs so hot itâs impossible not to recognize, but also because the girl is squinting down at her as she rolls around in pain to try to figure out whether or not sheâs a threat.
âFuck Iâm- oh my god Iâm so sorry I thought, Dinah was- fuck oh my god I canât believe I just-â Camila rambles as her hands reach down to try to feel her tailbone for any clear sign of being snapped in half, squirming again in pain when she accidentally presses what seems to be an early forming bruise too harshly. âHoly shit I did not just jump onto Lauren- fuck Jauregui fuck Iâm so so so-â
âWoah slow down, are you okay?â Laurenâs voice cuts in and, like okay Camila realizes itâs probably because sheâs realized Camila is no threat whatsoever by her embarrassing squirming, but she also thinks itâs sweet that Laurenâs first concern is her after probably giving the green eyed girl a heart attack.
âYeah Iâm just dandy down here but holy shit no Iâm not Iâm mortified by- fuck I canât believe I just-â Camila stops herself to press her hand against her forehead in attempt to maybe cover her face enough that sheâll disappear and never have to admit that she just did that or face what, âI am so unbelievably sorry I probably scared the crap out of you. Iâm supposed to meet my best friend here and I just assumed you were her which thinking about it is a dumb excuse because why would I want to give her a heart attack when sheâs the one being nice and coming out to help me get over my bad day and-â
âHey calm down, nobody had a heart attack, but you may have broken your butt or something. Seriously are you okay?â Lauren jokes with a small laugh, trying to ease the tension as she perches down to try to assist Camila in getting up from where sheâs lying basically in fetal position on the ground, on hand clutching her head, the other reached to cup over her lower back.
Camila letâs go of her head to reach for Laurenâs hand and props the other on the ground in attempt to push herself, silently freaking out at the thought of touching Laurenâs hand but more relieved than anything that Lauren isnât kicking her and cursing her into next week for being obnoxious.
âHere let me help-â
âFuck owe,â Camila snaps out on reflex as Lauren tries to pull her up completely straight and her back flexes. âSorry reflexive thing, didnât actually hurt that much,â she tries to play off but Lauren gives her a look saying she doesnât buy it.
âTurn around and lift up your shirt,â she instructs with a neutral tone.
âGeez at least take me to dinner first,â Camila jokes to ease the tension sheâs feeling at this point and is relieved when instead of faking a laugh or just groaning in annoyance at Camilaâs humor Lauren barks out a loud laugh as she turns on a phone flashlight to examine the damage.
âShit youâre going to be sore tomorrow, itâs a bit blue already but like Iâm sure if you ice it it shouldnât be as bad, I had something like this from softball last year and it sucked at first but like, after a few days it goes away completely,â Lauren explains as she gently lowers Camilaâs shirt again and the smaller girl spins around to face her again.
âDarn it, I swear I have the worst luck out of everyone in the whole entire world,â Camila scolds herself slightly because like as if this day werenât bad enough. âLook Iâm like really sorry about jumping on you, like I said Iâm supposed to meet my friend here - who by the way is really late now I think but thatâs beside the point. If thereâs anything I can do to-â
âYou said you were having a bad day? If anything Iâm sorry for intruding on you and your friends plans because this probably didnât make it any better,â Lauren jokes lightly as she perches against the large rock again, Camila staying standing still because sheâs pretty sure she canât lean on anything at the moment. âBut if Dinah is late, do you want to like talk about anything, itâs the least I can do for stealing your spot,â she continues making Camilaâs eyes snap back up from where theyâd been shamelessly attempting to check out Lauren in the dark because sheâs like, Lauren Jauregui, how could she resist. (Plus sheâs kind of assuming/hoping that itâs too dark for Lauren to see where her eyes are at).
âOh god no I donât want to bore you with my long list of embarrassing mishaps that pooled together to ruin my day,â Camila jokes and smiles a little when Lauren chuckles at that.
âLike tripping up the stairs maybe?â Lauren jokes back, and Camila feels herself flush at the memory but also wait a second that means Lauren recognizes her which i something.
âHowâd you recognize me, same groan of annoyance when my feet fail to hold me up?â Camila jokes again and Lauren laughs back before replying.
âActually Camila I just recognized the coffee stain,â she laughs and Camila feels herself flush again before realizing that holy shit Lauren Jauregui knows her name what the fuck. âBesides, I wouldâve recognized the hug if youâd given me a minute, pretty sure youâre the only person Iâve seen give these out so it kind of narrows it downâŚâ she trails off teasingly, nudging Camilaâs arm who flushes again at being called out, but also at Lauren Jauregui knowing anything about her.
âHey Iâm obviously very sorry for the⌠brutality of my approach but you should be honored that you got to experience one,â Camila jokes and Lauren smiles brightly before the younger girl continues. âI feel like I kind of have to make up for almost scaring you to legit death though, I mean câmon âI have maceâ? You were scared shitless donât try to deny it,â Camila teases and Lauren chuckles before holding up her hands in surrender.
âYou caught me, I was pretty terrified, but you try being jumped on in the middle of the ight in a dark woods,â Lauren argues. âMaybe make it up to me sometime this weekend? Dinahâs bringing you ice cream now but how about you get me some later?â she proposes with a burst of confidence.
âYeah umm, that sounds like- yeah thatâs definitely something I could do to-â
âJust give me your phone dumbass,â Lauren stops Camilaâs adorable rambling and holds her hand out to grab the younger girlâs. âHere,â she says, biting her lip and making Camila giddy as she enters her number then shoots herself a quick text, now weâre getting somewhere,â she jokes and Camilaâs face is already covered with a bright smile because no way did she just get her crushâs number by ambushing her in the woods at night.
Sheâs about to reply, not knowing what to say but sure that her dazed brain will say something embarrassing to continue conversation, when a recognizable voice breaks the bubble, âWalz! I stopped early for the ice cream because I figured youâd want to sit here instead of- oh hello we have company,â Dinah stops herself, holding two cups of ice cream and shooting Camila a smirk and questioning look as her eyes find the green eyed girl who Camila was just complaining about tripping in front off on the phone.
âHey, this is Lauren I donât know if you guys-â
âYeah we had accounting together last year, hey Laurenza long time no talk. Now what are you two kids up to in the woods all alone,â Dinah greets with a teasing smile towards both of the girls who are too busy trying to hide their own blush to notice the otherâs.
âUmm nothing, just waiting for you and I bumped into Lauren,â Camila explains with a shrug, hoping Lauren wonât out her embarrassing tackle move.
âYeah, but I should get going, I was just on a run and wanted to take a break but Iâll let you guys chat,â Lauren explains, smiling at Camilaâs audible sigh of relief when she doesnât tease her for koala attacking her. âIâll see you around though?â she perks up and amila smiles brightly at that and Dinah is ignored because theyâre too caught up looking at each other, but she is teasingly smirking from the sidelines.
âYeah yeah umm, definitely Iâll text you or something to make up for- yeah,â Camila agrees nervously, blushing when Lauren chuckles at her reaction.
âOkay then Iâll take off,â Lauren smiles and Camila is kind of hypnotized by it but- âlet me know how your butt is,â she winks and fucking fuck Lauren Jauregui just winked at her so Camila doesnât even care that now she has to explain it to Dinah.
âI will,â Camila calls after the girl who waves over her shoulder. âDinah,â she starts once Lauren is out of sight and sheâs sure she can fangirl. âYou have no idea how amazing this day was.â
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The Boy Who Fell Through the Underground
Ernest T Smith liked his name quite a lot, so it was with very thinly veiled irritation that he endured all manner of taunts that used his name like a weapon against him.
If he wasn't being called âEar-nestâ for the way his bowl cut made his large ears appear to stick out even more than they already did, he was being told that his last name was not, in fact his last name.
âIt's Chan, right? Or Ding-Dong or somethinâ. Whatever it is, itâs not Smith, so stop lying to everyone already. Where are you really from?â someone, probably Randy Welch, who delighted in telling everyone how his father employed nearly a quarter of the people in London and was therefore more important than nearly everyone else at school, would jeer. Â
The cocky boy was far more popular than scrawny, dark-haired Ernest, with his Young-King-Arthur looks and his wealthy family, and it was obvious that he relished his status. Randy even wore a gaudy, jewel-encrusted necklace on a thick chain to school every day and bragged that it had been in his family for generations.
âDing-Dong isnât even an Asian name,â Ernest would reply, âbut I hear thatâs what they used to call your mother back before she had you.â
His brain was always a few steps ahead of his feet, which was why he often found himself at the wrong end of a fist soon afterwards. Â
It wasnât that Ernest didnât have friends, but he was prone to alienating the few he had by saying something cruelly witty before he realized that it was probably a bad idea to say it. Â It didnât help that he was literally one of the only students at his private, all-boys school, whose parents hadnât paid through the nose to get him in. Â He wasnât a stellar student, but he wasnât a dropout either, which meant that he was worse than either of these things.
He was, unfortunately, unremarkable, except for one very important thing.
Ernest Smith could sometimes see the future.
Luckily, it didnât happen every day, a mercy for which Ernest was rather thankful. It was disorienting to find himself randomly shoved face-first into the future for a few moments before being dragged back into the present, which usually ended up with him tripping on something or having an awkward conversation with someone who wouldnât take ârandomly popped out to look at the future for a bit, but Iâm back nowâ as an explanation. Episodes of future sight felt a lot like being pushed underwater in a fast-moving river, and he had to struggle to keep himself focused on what he was seeing enough to figure out what was going on.
Secondly, it rarely provided useful information. Â Though Ernest was fairly thankful that he wasnât left with infuriating, vaguely worded prophecies after one of his âepisodes,â his forays into the future were not exactly inspiring. Â He could see very clearly what would be served for lunch and which line was the shortest at the snack bar, but since he always brought his lunch from home, he never really needed to use the information for himself. Â He could see what people would be wearing the next day or the day after, but beyond a few bets he made (which dried up after he won more than once), that information hadnât exactly yielded positive results either.
And so, Ernest just tried to ignore his so-called âgiftâ and refrained from telling anyone about it. Â His mother had at least an inkling about it, for heâd brought it up when he was much younger, but heâd spent a lot of time convincing her that he had grown out of it (though, really, how does one âgrow outâ of seeing the future?). It was, he decided, a ridiculous explanation, but his parents seemed relieved at the lie.
As he grew older, Ernest was finding that lies often worked quite a lot better than the truth when it came to parents. Selective truths made up the rest of it. It seemed that cruel truths of the world were simply too much for the grown ups of the world, and Ernest wasn't about to upset them, not when they had the power to make his life miserable.
Seemingly unrelated to the obnoxious episodes of being pushed randomly into the future, Ernest also had recurring dreams about glossy black wings and the scent of mint as someone with a gruff voice whispered something unintelligible to him. Â It was an oddly soothing dream that he looked forward to having, though he certainly didnât have much love for any of the garbage-stealing corvids that made a mess of the rubbish bins around the city, and he hadn't smelled the scent of real mint since the summer before, when heâd gone to the country to visit family.
It was on a fairly forgettable Friday that Ernest made the first terrible decision in a series of terrible decisions that would change his life forever.
It was his first class of the day and he slipped into his seat only to feel something cold and slimy underneath him. He jerked out of his seat and fell to the floor with a scream that echoed through the classroom.
Everyone stared and a few people began to point and laugh. Ernest turned his head to see that someone had piled his chair with cold, slimy noodles.
Shame colored his cheeks as he slowly pulled himself to his feet.
âThought you'd appreciate a bit of chow fun this morning! You should thank me, Chinaman!â Randy jeered, his cronies surrounding him like an assortment of particularly dim rocks.
Ernest muttered something angrily under his breath just in time for the surly biology teacher to enter the classroom.
âMr. Welch!â Professor Mungin growled, looming over the suddenly very contrite boy. âBullying students again are we? Â You will clean up this mess and apologize to Mr. Smith. Then, I think that you and I shall take a little stroll down to speak with the Headmaster.â
Randy looked a bit panicked at that, but he appeared to think of something quickly enough and his expression turned smug.
âOh, Ernest knows that it was just a joke. Harmless fun, right Ernest?â
The way he said it promised dire things if Ernest did not agree.
âNo. Not right,â Ernest replied bitterly, wincing at the twinge of pain in his tailbone. âHe was just laughing about having done it.â
âIs that so?â Â Professor Mungin glared angrily at Randy, who was not even bothering to disguise the look of utter hatred on his face.
Ernest knew it was a mistake the moment he heard the door to the classroom close. The rough, rock-faced boys gave him the sort of look that made his breath hitch with fear. One drew his finger across his neck and then added, as though Ernest couldn't have understood the obvious meaning of the gesture, âYer dead, Smith.â
Randy didn't return to class with the teacher and Ernest sank even further down in his seat, which, though it had been wiped down, was still cold against his somewhat soggy trousers.
He dreaded the end of the day.
âOi!â Â The voice was sharp and full of undone violence.
Ernest did not turn back. He ran.
He could barely hear anything over the roar of the blood in his ears, but from the chorus of shouts behind him, he knew he was in trouble. Ernest had short legs, but he also wasn't very tall. Normally, these two things were the respective banes of his existence. It was hard to get other blokes to take him seriously when he was nearly a head shorter. Being small and sleight was a boon, however, when running away from a group of murderous thugs in a crowded, bustling city.
Ernest flew into the street and sidestepped a lorry just as it barreled on through the intersection without even slowing down. As he landed on  bus flew by behind him at breakneck speed and he could hear his pursuers swearing over the cough of exhaust that escaped the giant beast of a vehicle as it braked to turn into a bus stop. Ernest ran ahead and ducked down behind a large dumpster.
Sure enough, the group of angry thugs ran by, and when he was sure they'd gone, he quickly took off in the opposite direction.
Heâd made it all the way past the turnstiles and was standing near one of the support beams near the subway platform when he someone grabbed his shoulder and pushed him...hard. Ernest let out a shout and half-stumbled towards the end of the platform. He finally caught himself and turned, only to find himself face to face with a furious Randy Welch.
âCome back here, you slanty-â Randy let out a noise somewhat like a balloon being deflated as Ernest headbutted him in the stomach.
âLeave! Me! Alone!â Ernest ground out as Randy grabbed his arms and began to push back against him, his mouth a comical âOâ of pain as he struggled to catch his breath.
âJust you wait âtil my friend Freddy gets here,â Randy gasped out, his fingers curling around Ernestâs arms like steel beams. âHe doesnât like your sort.â He snarled. âHalf-breeds.â
Ernest only had a moment to turn his head before Randy spat on his cheek, the warm, thick sensation filling Ernest with a deep, unsettling desire to fight and flee at the same time. Â His blood boiled in his ears as he began to struggle like a caged animal against the stronger, bigger boyâs grip. Â Ernest felt as though he was looking down a long, dark tunnel, his only desire to hurt Randy until he let go and then get away.
There was a whistling sound in the distance as policemen ran down the platform, but it might as well have been a million miles away. Â The rumbling and hot hiss of air as an approaching train filled the stagnant underground station, but Ernest was focused only on one thing.
Get away. Get away. Getawaygetawaygetaway.
Ernest clawed frantically at Randyâs chest and his fingers hooked around something cold and solid.
The pendant on Randyâs stupid necklace.
â-are you crazy-â Randy was shouting something else, but Ernest pulled in the opposite direction blindly, his mind only coming back to him the moment his right foot hit empty air.
There was a horrible metallic snapping noise as the chain snapped and Ernest fell backwards, his head turning to see a bright light growing brighter in his eyes until he couldnât see anything at all.
There was a scream, and Ernest wondered vaguely if it was his own, but then, with a blast of heat and light, his forehead slammed against something hard and then he didnât wonder anything at all.
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