#nice save man you’re still getting punched though

[fordpinesmpreg]

how'd you think Stan reacted to seeing that Ford transitioned between pushing her in and getting her out (based on the fact you said she transitioned in the portal era in your headcanon)? 👀

I’m so glad you asked

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 2: Just Be Nice to the Gentlemen, Fancy

Previous | Next | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI

Vampire! Poly 141 x Fem! Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A/N: Y’all are getting updates to two fics in a row bc my Wellbutrin has well and truly kicked in. Say thank you to big pharma or whatever

A week passes. You tucked that wad of cash into your special hiding spot behind the vent above your bed. It still feels like it’s burning a hole through you. You made lists of things everything you could possibly spend it on, how much each item costs individually, how much it might help if you save it. In the end, you decided - rather impulsively - to get all new water filters for your entire apartment. The shower head and both sinks. It eats away most of the cash but you’ve never felt so clean - never realized the amount of sludge sticking to your skin until it wasn’t anymore.

The four men haven’t come back, at least to your knowledge. Most likely they’re done with you after that single meeting. They’ve gone back to Cherry and you’re back to working as a server - having meager tips shoved down the bust of your dress and too rough hands grabbing your inner thighs.

After the gentile treatment you received, though, you feel a bit disgusted. Reminded that they choose to be this way. That vampires aren’t just like that, they aren’t made like that, they choose to treat you - to treat humans - terribly. It makes your gut churn with anger in a way it hasn’t since you were an over-achieving teen sneaking out to attend protests in the lower city square.

It is what it is. Life goes on.

The train lurches on your way to work, as usual. News and advertisements scroll along the screens lining the top of the cabin.

TWO DEAD: LOWER THIRD STREET - BOTH EXSANGUINATED

DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUE TO GROW IN NUMBER IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

ONCE AGAIN THE CITY COUNCIL OVERRULES SUIT FOR HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE CHAIR

UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE FOUND IN JANE DOE

With grit teeth you tear your eyes away. People around you whisper, conspire about what might be going on. As if you all don’t already know what’s happening. As if there isn’t a cancer in this city centuries old.

Nothing is new under the constant night.

Life goes on.

You sigh, quietly checking yourself in the mirror before locking up your things in the employee break room and punching in your time card. Before you can even step foot toward the main floor, a girl with pitch black hair begins charging toward you.

“You!” Cherry stomps up to you, voice cracking with anger. Her platform boots raise her up above your level.

You nearly jump out of your skin, instinctively backing away and against the wall. “W-what -“

“You stole my clients!” She shrieks.

“I- what?”

“Cherry.” The owner warns, appearing behind her. A shadow looming over the two of you. A man ready to grab the scruffs of two warring kittens. A few other girls who just arrived for their shifts stare with wide, nervous eyes.

The last time there was a fight here a girl got her eye stabbed out.

“You took them! They’re my best paying clients and you took them! What did you do, huh? You suck their cocks for free?” Her face is barely an inch from yours and a sharp acrylic nail pokes your chest so harshly you’re surprised it doesn’t break skin.

It’s your turn to fume - face hot and hands balling into fists. “How dare you! I swear to god I-“

“Ladies!” The owner booms, grabbing both your shoulders, effectively putting an end to this little spat before it can escalate further. “Quiet. Our guests will hear you. Cherry, go smoke a cig and cool the fuck off. Fancy, follow me.”

You feel a bit like a child on their way to the principles office as you follow the owner toward the bar, wringing your hands and glancing around wildly. Despite your irritation, fear creeps through every part of you. The other girls are staring - whispering to each other behind perfectly manicured hands.

“I - sir - I really didn’t-“ You stop when that same gold tray is shoved into your hands.

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.” He sighs loudly. “They’re requesting you.”

“But I don’t-“

“I. Don’t. Care.” He points at you in much the same fashion as Cherry before him. “Your job is what our guests want you to do. So go do your job”

Your jaw clicks as you shut it. Cherry is glaring absolute fucking daggers at you from the back room, her sparking red dress nearly matching the shade of her face. You can’t blame her. You’re taking her clients, her paycheck, her survival. It makes you feel a bit monstrous, if you’re honest with yourself. There isn’t any time to focus on that too much as you’re ushered to the private booths. There’s no reason for you to give this up, either. If they want you they want you, and it’s their fault for kicking her to the curb.

It’s your survival too, at the end of the day.

It feels eerie to walk down this corridor again. To stand before that heavy curtain again. Your hands don’t shake this time, though. Even with the added tension from your previous interaction they remain steady.

They’re seated the same as before. Simon’s mask is different - a regular balaclava as opposed to the skull. You realize that his eyebrows and lashes are blonde - so strangely soft for such a harsh looking man. They’re all dressed far more casually, it seems. All the way down to Johnny’s sneakers that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe based on the brand. John has traded his suit coat for a simple one with sherpa lining. Kyle braided his hair since last time.

“Evenin’, Fancy.” John smiles warmly. The way it makes your heart flutter is utterly shameful.

“Hello.” You smile, tilting your head and setting down the tray. Same as before. Rinse and repeat. They ordered liquor this time - bourbon, you think. Maybe scotch. Same difference. “You’ve gotten me into trouble.”

“Have we, now?” John drapes an arm over the back of the booth.

“Cherry isn’t exactly happy.” You fake pout as you hand out the glasses. “Thinks I did something salacious to steal you away.”

“How do you know you didn’t?” John gives you a once over. Blue eyes dragging down every curve and angle of your body.

“I suppose I don’t.” You sigh. “Nothing in my right mind, though.”

“Sorry about that, love. It’s for your own good.”

“Right.” The only thing more powerful than plausible deniability is actual deniability. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Can get yer pretty little arse over here.” Johnny grabs you by the waist, setting you down in his lap. You gasp at the sudden motion, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders for balance.

“I think ‘little’ is a bit of a misnomer, there, hun.” You snicker.

“Aye, as it should be.” His hand wanders to pinch your hip.

“You’re a dog, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Och, ye wound me, lass.”

You glance over at Simon briefly, eyes meeting his. He tilts his head forward. Those dark eyes hold no less intensity than before. They take you in like they want to eat you whole. He probably does.

John must signal him - a nod or a curl of finger - because you’re being passed into the center of the booth again and set right up at John’s side. Vampire covens are simple things. Strong hierarchies that are rarely challenged unless a leader falls or fails spectacularly.

Top dog gets the chew toy.

“I like the change of attire.” You smile, tugging at the soft sherpa of his coat.

“Suits not your style?”

“They’re nice… I see so many of them, though.” You lean into his side, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Besides, this fits you better, I think. Matches the beard.”

You let your hand venture up to trace along his jaw, reveling in the gentle scratch of his beard. It’s pleasant. Well cared for. You briefly wonder what his budget for beard products is. He leans into the touch. You’ve always wondered how you to feel to them. Is it a gentle warmth or a scorching flame? Either way, they never seem to mind.

“You boys planning on talking business tonight?” You tilt your head.

“Ah, not tonight.” He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “Tonight is purely about rest and relaxation. Need it after the week we’ve had.”

Somehow the other three manage to melt into the background. You might not know much - if anything - about him, but John Price is the type of man to fill a room all on his own. You felt that the first time you saw him.

“I can certainly help with that.” You grin, letting your hand trail up his thigh. You move slowly, waiting to see how he reacts, and go to hook a leg across his lap to straddle him.

To your surprise, he just grabs your waist and sets you back into your seat. “Don’t need to do all that, luv. Just talk with us.”

Part of you wants to laugh. There’s no way guys like this are the lonely, chatty type. But then, as you take in his face, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. Vampires don’t get bags under their eyes or stress lines, but it still shows. Still swirls in their irises so distinctly.

“Wanted to pick your brain about somethin’, actually.” John sighs, taking a slow sip from his drink.

You scoff. “Me?”

“You’re a smart girl.”

“Am I?” You can’t help but laugh. “What, you need help picking out some lingerie for your mistress?”

John rolls his eyes at you. Kyle chuckles behind him. They’re far more quiet than last time. At least, the little bit you remember form last time.

“Our company has had some recent… expansions.” John mulls his words over carefully, which sets of alarm bells in the back of your mind. “We want to take the opportunity to do something for the lower city.”

“Why?” You spit far too honestly - involuntarily dropping the facade of an escort. What are they doing to pull this out of you? Is it compulsion?

Just as John opens his mouth to answer you, a phone rings. Loud and piercing through the tension in the air. Simon sighs loudly and answers, speaking so low you aren’t sure if he’s speaking at all. All eyes are trained on him. Except yours. You look around at the strain in their faces. The dread.

Simon grunts something before hanging up. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” John demands.

“The kind we can’t leave til’ tomorrow.”

There’s a collective groan throughout the room. Johnny looks like he wants to smash the closest thing he could find.

“Fuckin’ hell…Sorry, darling. Looks like we’ll have to resume this another time.” John sighs loudly and takes your hand to help pull you from the booth. He pauses with you off to the side - glancing over his shoulder and nodding to the others as they pass through the curtain before turning back to you. “Can I trouble you for a kiss at least? To tide me over?”

“Always.” Once again, the response is far too automatic for your liking. Then again, there are worse things than happily kissing a good looking man. Even if he is what he is.

John chuckles. It’s low and rich and causes you to lean forward despite yourself. Sometimes you forget just how alluring they’re built to be. Made to draw you in. An angler fish. John leans forward to meet you, still holding your hand in his. His lips are cool, a little rough but also gentle. There’s a hint of almost desperation in the way he pushes closer before who you can only assume is Simon clears his throat.

“Pay for a full night plus tip - as an apology for leaving so suddenly. Take the rest of the night, dove.” John smiles down at you and presses another tied roll of cash into your palm. “Don’t want my favorite girl having to scrape by for tips after we leave. Bad look, that.”

“T-thanks…” You murmur, keeping your eyes locked on him. Almost afraid to look down at the amount in your hand. There’s a heft to it that you both appreciate and are terrified of.

John pats your hand and leans forward to place a rather chaste kiss on your cheek before disappearing out the curtain just like that first time.

You’re not sure how much more unbridled tenderness you can handle.

~~~

It’s not even a full week before they’re back. This time, it’s just Kyle and Johnny who greet you on the other side of the curtain. That fact should relax you - not having to focus your attention on so many men should make it easier. Instead, it feels foreboding after the way they left last time. It makes your shoulders tense.

Why are you worried about John? A little voice in the back of your head questions. Why are you worried about a fucking vamp?

“Hello.” You murmur, setting the usual tray on the table seemingly in slow motion. “Just the two of you today?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Kyle grins. “We’re more than enough company.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You hum, passing out their drinks and sliding into the curved booth to get between them.

“Nothing to cure a shit week like blowin’ off a little steam with a pretty woman.” Kyle tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh. Dogs without their leashes.

You hum. “Work got you down? You had that ‘problem’ last time.”

“Och, aye. Been a right bitch lately.” Johnny groans, tilting his head back and slinging an arm around your shoulders on the back of the booth. “At least we got that one bit sorted.”

“It was your own damn fault.” Kyle scoffs at him.

“Oi. Maybe if you payed attention to who-“

Kyle grabs Johnny’s lips, pinching them shut. “Price said not in front of the girl.”

You glance between them. The last thing you need is to be sat in the middle of a vampire brawl. Goodbye mortal plane if so.

That seems to be enough to get Johnny to drop it, opting to throw back his drink in one fell swoop and scoot in closer to you, strong arm looping around your waist.

Kyle’s hands trace down over your shoulders. “You’re a fuckin’ luxury, baby girl.”

“Can I have a kiss, hen?” Johnny leans close, fingers tracing your jaw.

Your lip quirks up. “Can you afford a kiss? Seeing as I’m such a luxury, apparently.”

It’s Kyle who moves next - pulling you fully into his lap and pushing you further into Johnny. “We can afford much more than that, love.”

The tip of a fang grazes your neck. It’s slow, gentile, not nearly enough to break the skin. Not quite a threat.

A promise.

It’s barely a hair of movement. A slight tilt, a minute lean and your lips press against Johnny’s. His lips are cold but softer than you expected. Your hands find his shoulders, his tongue darts across your lower lip and you part for him. A well memorized dance. Kyle’s hands drag up your hips to rest on your waist, holding you in place between them.

“D’you have any idea how good you smell?” Kyle murmurs in your ear.

“Or taste.” Johnny sighs into your lips. You pull back, snickering and wiping your lipstick off his lips. He has the prettiest, dopiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Come home with us?” Kyle asks, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “We’ll take such good care of you.”

“You just got here.” You murmur.

“An’ now we’re askin’ if ye’d like tae come home with us.” Johnny grins.

You tilt your head back, debating on how to ask about pay. It’s a question that needs to be asked, but a sensitive one at the same time. You don’t want to offend, but you don’t want to end up walking away from their home empty handed. Just as you go to open your mouth and subtly talk rates, you’re cut off.

“How’s 5k sound, lovie?” Kyle murmurs. Are they fucking mind readers?

You pray they don’t notice the way you choke briefly, body tensing for a fraction of a second. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! That’s more than twice what you make in month.

“I’ll take that bewildered stare as a yes.” He laughs, moving a hand from your waist to knead at your hip.

They call a car. You don’t have to explain where you’re going to anyone - being pressed between them is enough. It used to be a little shameful for you to walk out on a man’s arm for the whole club to see. When you were young and not quite so resigned to the state of the world - when you hadn’t quite realized that the only god you should care for is green and made of paper. These days you couldn’t care less. They all know, and they’re all taking part in the same debauchery (or jealous that they can’t afford to.) It’s all goods and services, at the end of the day.

Johnny wastes no time pulling you into his lap as soon as you climb into the car - a massive, black SUV that still smells brand new. At least the seats are soft on your knees as you hover over his lap.

“No, no, full weight on me, bonnie.” He grabs your hips and pushes you to sit on his thighs. “Tha’s it.”

His hand disappears under your skirt, two fingers tracing up your sex through the thin cloth of your underwear. Messily grinding while placing sloppy, open mouth kisses along your neck and shoulder. You gasp and whine as he presses against your clit. Just enough to tease, always moving away before you can properly grind down on him. Fucking tease. Kyle watches with an appreciative grin lazily spread across his face.

Your eyes widen to saucers as you pull up to the building. One of the biggest residential skyscrapers in the city. A glowing paragon. One of only five you can see at all times from any part of the city. You’re pretty sure, if you could get to the top, that you would be able to point out your apartment. If you could see it through the smog, that is.

Kyle pins you to the wall of the elevator, lips intertwined with yours and a hand twisted in your hair. Yours knot into the material of his coat. He tastes like liquor and something you can’t quite place. Something sweeter than candy and far more satisfying.

You glance over his shoulder at Johnny just as the man readjusts his pants. He grins, keeping his hand there to palm himself as soon as he catches your eye.

Cheeky bastard.

The elevator stops so gently you might have missed it if not for the dinging and the doors parting. Kyle pulls you out into a small foyer while Johnny fumbles for a keycard.

You think you might have a heart attack when they slip you through one of the two massive front doors. It has to take up the entire floor - or at least most of it. There’s a whole pool on the right side of the balcony. An area that looks like a greenhouse mirrors it to the left. Floor to ceiling windows allow you to see the faux stars so clearly up here.

“Do you all live here?” You ask quietly, staring around the massive penthouse.

The decor is simple. Dark, heavy woods and expensive, rich toned fabrics. It doesn’t have that sterile air that so many vampire homes have. It looks lived in. Used. Even with the obviously untouched kitchen. To this day you don’t understand why vampire homes have them at all. A formality, you suppose.

Johnny nods. “Och, aye, but John and Si are… workin’.”

You decide it’s probably smartest not to pry into whatever “work” means. “So, the mice will play while the cats are away?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Kyle nods, a little smirk playing across his face.

You glance away, debating on asking a possibly invasive question. You can’t ever be too careful with the hierarchy of covens. “And John doesn’t mind you… having me first?”

They blink at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. Your face heats. It makes you feel childish, as if you asked a stupid question. It’s not a stupid question. It’s perfectly valid! At least thats what you’ve heard from other working girls…

“Oh, no, doll. He doesn’t care.” Kyle grins and hooks an arm around your shoulders.

“Might be a bit miffed he wasnae here tae join in on the fun but he’s not jealous like tha’.” Johnny mimics him with an arm around your waist as they pull you to the side.

The two exchange a look briefly with grins plastered across their faces before turning you to the right and leading you down a short hallway. A large, wooden door opens into a bedroom that could swallow your apartment whole. The decor is a bit chaotic - clothes lay across the floor leading to the bathroom and two walls are covered from the floor to halfway up with drawings and paintings.

You know what you’re here for but you can’t help wandering over to them and staring. They’re so intricate. Every detail rendered perfectly. Some are from the city, others are from far away places you aren’t sure exist anymore. A few portraits of the boys here and there and some other people you don’t know. A sketch of a man with scars littering his strong face catches your eye.

“Whose are these?” You ask in a hushed whisper, as if speaking too loudly will disrupt them.

“Ah, mine.” Johnny saunters up behind you, hands resting on your broad hips.

“They’re beautiful…” You’ve only seen art like this in the museums you visited in school.

“Could do one of ye. Ye’d make a bonnie portrait.” He murmurs, pressing his cheek to yours.

Your gut reaction is to say yes. Is that how you want to be remembered, though? Just another face only immortalized on some creature’s wall. A nameless face from eras gone by. Would he write your name down? Would they remember you in a hundred years? In fifty years? In ten, even?

You settle on a gentle “Maybe.”

Johnny takes the hint, turning you toward the bed where Kyle is already leaned. “Gonnae tear a hole in my damn pants if we donnae get a move on.”

The bed is huge, to say the least. Circular and outfitted with layers upon layers of soft pillows and probably the highest thread count sheets you’ve ever seen. It’s unmade, the comforter falling halfway off one side of it. Not that you need it for what’s to come.

Johnny kneels behind you as soon as you step between Kyle’s legs where he’s sat on the bed. Deft hands unbuckle the straps of your heels. Little nips and kisses trail up your thighs. Kyle reaches around you and presses his lips to yours - so softly - before carefully pulling down the zipper of your dress.

It’s so easy to let them take charge. To be a doll for them to do as they please. There are worse things in life than being delicately undressed by two handsome (and well paying) men. Their hands are far more gentle than you expected while they strip you, muttering little appreciative hums and compliments so low that you almost miss them. You stand bare before them, letting them take you in. Hands and eyes roaming. Johnny presses a sweet kiss to your cunt before standing, sending a little jolt up your spine.

He grins like he won some game you didn’t even know you were playing.

You turn to carefully peel off Johnny’s shirt. Your lip catches in your teeth as you run your hands over hard muscle and through a layer of thick, downy hair that leads to the waistband of his pants. So distracted by the sight before you that you don’t notice Kyle pressing against your back, locking you between them as they kiss above you. A shiver runs through you as you watch their jaws flex and hands grapple for one another.

Fucking Christ.

Sometimes you forget how good it is to fuck people you’re actually attracted to. Even if they are paying customers the same as the rest.

An unceremonious squeak escapes you when you’re suddenly flung onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to bounce until Johnny appears on top of you, fingers pinching at the soft fat on your sides and laving at your neck with a cool tongue. He keeps his teeth out of the way as he moves down your body to take your nipple between his lips. Much appreciated.

“Need a taste, bonnie. Ye smell so good. So sweet.” Johnny whines, kneeling between your legs. You watch him lower himself slowly as Kyle slots in behind you, shirt long forgone and hands tracing up your sides to knead at your breasts.

As much as you want to pout at not getting to see Kyle undress, you can’t focus on much other than Johnny’s mouth diving into you. Your instinct is to close your legs at the sudden onslaught, but Johnny’s hands keep them solidly in place - spread wide and hooked around his arms.

“Fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back onto Kyle’s shoulder. Your hand wanders down, carding through Johnny’s mo-hawk. He places a harsh suck to your clit and your fingers tighten around the hair at the base of his neck involuntarily pushing him further into you.

You expect him to be upset, for a brief moment, that you’ve been too rough with him. Took too much charge. Instead he just keens desperately against you, picking up the pace - devouring you like a man starved.

“C-Christ, Johnny!” You gasp, fingers digging further into his scalp and the sheets.

“He likes it when you’re mean t’him.” Kyle murmurs in your ear. “Got him fuckin’ pussy drunk already.”

You roll your hips down onto his tongue as he flattens it against you, grinding his face into your pussy. He shifts, never breaking contact, and slips two thick fingers inside you. You whine, eyes screwed shut as you ride it out. Kyle grabs your chin, tilting you back into a kiss. All it takes is Johnny curling his fingers to send you toppling over the edge, back arching sharply.

Johnny rears back onto his haunches just as you peel your eyes back open, chin slick and shiny. His hands desperately pull at his belt and fly. “Cannae take it anymore.”

Kyle chuckles, smiling down at you. “You’d think after two centuries he’d learn a little patience.”

You smile back, quip dying in your throat as Johnny grinds his uncut cock between your folds - coating it in your slick. Fuck, he’s thick - punching every bit of air in your lungs as he pushes in.

“So fuckin’ warm.” He moans, brow furrowed and lips parted.

Lord help you, he’s beautiful. Even beyond that statuesque perfection all vampires have, he must have been gorgeous in life. Kyle is too, you realize as you tilt your head back to kiss him. You wonder what they would look like with ruddy cheeks - with faces warm as yours is. If Johnny would blush all the way down to his chest. If they tanned. Burnt. Freckled. Ran warm or cold. All the little differences that come with a beating heart.

All thoughts disappear at once as Johnny rolls his hips into you. You gasp, “Please.”

That’s all he needs, apparently, setting a brutal pace off the bat. Pushing you back into Kyle with every thrust with enough force that your teeth nearly knock together. Kyle’s fingers continue to pluck at your nipples. You can feel his still clothed cock pressing against your back, hips twitching at the brief friction.

“Fuck. Alright.” Kyle grunts, moving from behind you - leaving you flopping back on the bed with your hands fisting the sheets. You can hear his belt coming undone but can’t bring yourself to focus on it with Johnny relentlessly pumping into you. That is until Kyle taps the head of his cock against your lips, kneeling beside you.

He’s pretty. Not as thick as Johnny but perfectly proportioned. He doesn’t even have to ask or press forward, you want it between your lips. Seek it out. It’s cool on your tongue, calming under the relentlessness that is Johnny.

“Been tae long since we had somethin’ so nice an’ soft in our bed.” Johnny whines. As if that fact genuinely pains him.

Kyle hums in agreement, taking his time fucking into your mouth. “That it has.”

He reaches over to grab Johnny by the back of the neck, pulling him until their lips crash together. Johnny’s hands tighten where they hold you and Kyle’s pace picks up.

“Fuck, she likes tha’.” Johnny pulls back just enough to speak. “Clenchin’ down on me.”

All you can manage is a whine in response - body on fire. Every nerve feels like it’s pulsing, the whole of you utterly consumed by them. Johnny lifts your hips off the bed, arching your back so that he can fuck up into you. The new angle leaves you desperately moaning. Practically singing around Kyle’s cock as your climax hits you like a train. Rocking through you and tensing every muscle.

“Thassit, love, doin’ so good f’us.” Kyle cards his fingers through your hair. It’s strangely gentle, considering the way his cock now bullies the back of your throat while Johnny’s ruts against your g-spot. “How’s she feel, Johnny?”

The man in question just babbles incoherently, fingers digging into your wide hips enough that they’ll surely bruise. At least he’s aware enough not to crush you entirely. Kyle chuckles at him, the sound cutting off in a moan as you angle to take him deeper and wrap your hand around the length you can’t take.

“G-gonnae cum.” Johnny stutters, rhythm faltering and becoming more shallow as he approaches the edge. He pulls out with a choked groan, fucking his fist as he spills onto your thigh.

Kyle mercifully pulls away, letting you gasp for air. Your voice will be raw tomorrow, but fuck if it isn’t worth it when you’re getting fucked like that.

Johnny sighs, collapsing on his back. “Gi’ me a minute…”

“Gettin’ old, Johnny?” Kyle quips.

“Feck off.” He grunts, turning to look at you as you catch your breath. You can’t quite interpret the look in his eyes - whatever it may be - before Kyle is lifting you up at the waist.

“C’mere, love.” Kyle pulls you, sitting back on his haunches and turning your back to him. Your legs tremble uselessly, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves you into place. He doesn’t waste time sitting you on his cock. Kyle isn’t as rough as Johnny, taking his time with lifting off and dropping you onto his cock. A slow motion of your hips while his hands squeeze the soft layer over your waist.

“Fuck, Kyle…” You sigh, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Y’like that, baby?” He murmurs, kissing up your shoulder and neck. One hand moves from your waist to travel up the valley of your breasts. It doesn’t quite wrap around your throat, just rests at the base of it - index finger hooking into your necklace.

It’s a leisurely roll of your hips against each other. A break from the brutal pace before. He’s not desperate like Johnny - instead taking his time whispering sweet nothings and dirty words into your ear. Movements slow and easy.

You think, for a moment, that this is the closest you’ve ever been to “making love.”

Then again, maybe you’re just cock drunk.

You don’t notice Johnny getting up until he’s in front of you, hands on your thighs and lips crashing against yours. Already hard and leaking again after only a handful of minutes. Even for a vampire, that’s pretty damn impressive.

“Bonnie, please.” He moans into your mouth. Cool hands take yours and wrap them around his cock, setting a rhythm to match Kyle’s thrusts into you. “Yer fuckin’ perfect.”

It’s overwhelming. Kyle’s hands roam over your body as you bounce on his cock, draping himself over your back and nipping at your ear. Johnny’s tongue continues to explore every part of your mouth as he thrusts desperately into your hands. His fingers slip down to your clit, moving in leisurely circles that have you bucking forward into him.

“Gonna cum f’me, pretty girl?” Kyle groans into your ear. “Chokin’ my fuckin’, cock.”

You whine against Johnny’s lips, eyes screwed shut. He’s close again, pace quickening. His fingers roughly grind against your over sensitive clit. Someone is chanting, begging, and it takes longer than it should to realize it’s you. “Please, please, just - fuck - I can’t - fucking Christ-“

“Thassit, thassit, fuckin’ hell look at y’two.” Kyle pants, bottoming out with every thrust.

You cum with a choked cry, falling forward against Johnny as he coats your hands and moans. Kyle isn’t far behind, painting your back with a pretty, low groan and a jumble of praises for you and Johnny alike.

Your body feels like jelly, limbs trembling and weight leaned entirely against Johnny. He coos at you and soothes down your hair. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders to steady you. Kyle comes back with a warm rag - when he left, you’re not sure - gently wiping you down with a an unfamiliar level of care.

“I can do it.” You reach for the cloth.

“No, no, love.” He says gently, taking your hands and carefully cleaning them off with precision. He stops to rub the back of your hand with his thumb, something unreadable and warm behind his eyes.

“Drink this.” Johnny holds out a glass to you. When did he even get that?

“Tap water?” You frown slightly, looking him up and down.

“What’s wrong with tap?” He snorts. Oh. Right. Upper city.

“Thanks.” You murmur, chugging it greedily. The physical exhaustion begins to creep up your bones, your legs already practically useless. Keeping up with vampires is a young man’s game and you’re just starting to see the signs of aging out. “I better g-“

“Better lay down.” Kyle cuts you off, taking the glass and pushing your shoulders to lay flat on the bed.

You chew your lip. You don’t usually stay at client’s homes overnight. Then again… the sheets seem to envelope you in a cool cocoon. Calming on your too-hot skin and tired muscles. Muscles that do not want to walk all the way to the train depot. Besides, Johnny and Kyle have been so nice. If they want you to spend then night then what’s the harm, right? You’ll just sneak out in the morning.

So, you let them crawl into the bed bracketing you on either side. Johnny’s arm slings over your waist, cool breath puffing against the back of your neck. Kyle lays in front of you, placing small kisses across your face before pulling the comforter over the three of you.

There are worse fates than sleeping with two handsome men on high thread count sheets for a night…

You wake shivering violently. Between the cold air and Johnny and Kyle’s cool skin you feel like an icicle. Your throat burns and you croak out a groan as you try to sit up. Kyle was rougher than you’d realized in the moment. Johnny has your back pinned against his chest with a strong arm thrown around your waist, not even breathing. It’s so easy to forget that they don’t have to. Kyle truly looks like a statue like this. Entirely still, solid as marble and just as perfect.

You sigh, quietly and carefully wiggling your way off the bed. You don’t pay attention to whose clothes you grab - some tshirt that’s more fitted than you’d like but covers enough to get the job done. You hiss at the slight creak of the door. Neither Johnny nor Kyle stir. If they woke up, they don’t react to you padding out to the main house.

That first door across the hall is slightly ajar, a low stream of cool toned light pooling in the floor just below it. Against your better judgement, you stop, looking around before peeking inside. Not that you can make out much other than a large bed with a dark canopy pulled closed around it. The rest of the room looks barren - the only source of light coming from what you assume to be an attached bathroom.

“Lookin’ f’somethin’?” A baritone voice grunts behind you. You squeak quietly, whirling on your heel and coming face to face with Simon. Well, face to chest considering his sheer height.

“Sorry!” You croak, voice still hoarse. “I didn’t mean- I-“

“S’fine.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. You hope it’s amusement, at least. “Need somethin’?”

“J-just getting some water.. sorry to bother you-“ You begin backing away, giving him a wide birth as you step toward the kitchen. Even without inhuman strength you fully believe this man could snap you in two.

“Come on, then.” He nods toward the kitchen, stepping in front of you. You nearly protest, but opt to just follow. He already caught you snooping at best - at worst he thinks you were planning to steal. If letting him accompany you keeps you alive and out of trouble with them then you’ll gladly trail behind this behemoth of a man.

You pause by the kitchen island as Simon goes to grab… a mug? You watch him fill an electric kettle and flick it on, digging through the cabinet to produce a small packet. A tea bag labeled Honey Vanilla Chamomile.

“Y-you don’t have to-“

“How’d our boys treat you?” Simon asks as he opens the little packet with deft fingers - oddly precise for the size of them.

“Good.” You blurt, hands wringing as you shift your weight side to side.

“Johnny behave himself?”

“The picture of civility.” You snort. If leaving bruises on your hips from fucking you six ways to Sunday counts as civil.

Simon chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. Just puts together a little mug of tea for you, stirring and steeping perfectly before pushing the thing across the counter. You take it slowly, eyeing him. Waiting for some sort of tell that you shouldn’t drink this. Then another shiver runs down your spine and you grab the warm cup happily.

“Should get a heating system put in…” Simon grumbles under his breath, looking around the apartment. You wonder just how much more he can see than you in the near pitch black environment.

“Why?” You snort. “You don’t need it.”

“You do.”

You blink at him rather stupidly - brain too tired and muddled to make sense of whatever that might mean. Probably just means humans in general. They probably have plenty of women and men over on a regular basis. Even if it is just for the night. Oddly considerate, either way.

“What’s the deal with the mask?” You blurt again, the slight lapse of silence putting you on edge.

Simon just shakes his head. “To ‘ide my face.”

“Booooring!” You boo, throwing out a dramatic thumbs down. To your surprise, you’re not met with annoyance. Just a deep chuckle and another shake of his head. “Thanks for the tea.”

Simon nods and snags the now empty mug from you. You chugged it far faster than you realized. It worked, too. Your voice isn’t as hoarse and your throat doesn’t sting when you swallow.

“I should probably…” You murmur, looking back toward the room where Johnny and Kyle are assumably still sleeping away.

Simon grunts in agreement, following you back to his own door. You don’t know what possesses you to stop beside him. To turn and meet his gaze with far less confidence than you’re used to wielding. You owe him for the tea, though.

“Do you want…uh…” You murmur, glancing into the room behind him.

Simon looks from you to the bed behind him - only to turn back with those smile lines forming in the corners of his eyes once again. “Not tonight, pretty girl. You’ve ‘ad enough.”

You jump involuntarily when his large hand cups your cheek - thumb caressing ever to gently over your cheekbone. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that non-sexual touches are so rare in your life, but either way you find yourself tilting into it. Just a little.

“Sleep well, sweet’eart.” With that he steps into his room, shutting the door with near deathly silence behind him.

Oh.

Okay.

You stare at his closed door for a few seconds too long, a slight furrow in your brow before turning back to Johnny’s room. The two of them haven’t moved much since you left, though Johnny has somehow ended up spread eagle across most of the bed. With some gentle maneuvering you manage to curl up in the crook of his outstretched arm with your head on his chest and back pressed against Kyle’s.

These men are going to be the death of you.

A/N: I wanted to put more into this chapter but I had to draw the line somewhere so it’s going to just have to get pushed to the next one.

Part of me was worried they’re fucking too early but then I remembered I can do what I want🫡

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

141 NSFW Headcanons

Requested: No

Warnings: NSFW, spanking, choking, pet play, age gap, dirty talk, exhibitionism, Degradation

Price

Favorite Kinks:

Spanking

This one is fairly obvious, I think. It combines with his authority kink while also showing you your place. Sometimes he likes to combine it with humiliation and spank you in front of his Sergeants if you’ve been particularly bratty or aggravating for a longer period of time. But overall, even if you were perfect, he’d find the littlest things to punish you over just so he could hear your whimpers every time his hand or belt came down on your ass, gets all smug when you can’t sit properly for the next few days.

Cock Warming

Speaking of sitting, this one is a kink that Price just loves. For a variety of reasons but the main one is that he likes to see you squirm, panting and whimpering, trying to rock against his cock for any kind of friction to satiate your need but every time that you do he ends up smacking your ass as punishment along with giving you a stern order to stop moving. The way your eyes go all dumb and teary gets him going but he’s more than satisfied to just have you hold him in your tight walls. For now.

Scent

Should start by saying that this man has the nose of a bloodhound. Subtle scents that most other people wouldn’t notice are like a punch to the face for him. No scent goes unnoticed by him. But he didn’t think it could be a kink til he met you. The smell of your skin after a shower, after a jog, after sex. It’s all so intoxicating to him. Your natural scent and the smell of your various hygiene products. He’ll get pissed if you, say, switch up your usual choice of perfume. Will bitch and moan about it til you hop into the shower to scrub it all away and come back out so he can bury his face into your thighs and just smell.

Favorite Positions:

Him standing with you bent over the bed

This position is usually accompanied by his hand on the back of your neck and another one your hip, absolutely wrecking your insides and not giving you even an inch of room to wiggle away from him. Grunting and growling as he tells you to take it like the good little slag you are. He likes the position because of the power but also because he likes to see your ass jiggle with everything thrust.

You pressed face first against a wall with him behind you

This position also plays into having power over you, keeping you still. He adores how there’s nowhere his body isn’t touching you. Pressed against you so close that it feels like you can’t breathe. Like you’re being crushed but in the best way as he fucks into you from behind. This one is more saved for quickies or bouts in his office though, as he does usually prefer you spread out on his bed, surrounded by his things.

You laying on your side with him kneeling and your legs curled over his hip

This is one of Price’s softer positions. One of few that actually gives you room to breathe. Hunched over you, breath tickling your ear as he goes slowly in and out, one of his hands holding yours, fingers intertwined as he tells you how good you’re taking him. So sweet for him, so perfect. Just stay nice and still for him, Lovey. That you’re his, always was and always will be.

Most Common Dirty Talk:

“Shhh, Love. You can take it. Just stay nice and still for me.”

“Bend over, Love. I can’t let your disobedience go unpunished.”

“Stop wiggling, or I’ll have to find ways to make you stop.”

Gaz

Favorite Kinks:

Age Gap

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Gaz is a Milf/Dilf fucker. God, he goes feral for an older person who is just so goddamn beautiful. Laugh lines, crow’s feet, streaks of grey hair. He is just….he’s such a simp. Staring very respectfully from between your thighs, absolutely fucking wrecked with lust.

Thigh Fucking

There is a lot going on in Gaz’s brain but all of that fucking disappears the second he sees a nice pair or thighs. The thicker the better, god help his soul if they squish together and leave absolutely no room in between. His dick is hard and his brain is gone, and he will take every opportunity to fuck them and absolutely cover them in his cum, making sure to take a pretty picture after. (It becomes his Home Screen and yes, he changes it every single time he gets a new one. So like, every other day.)

Marking

This kink is one of the lesser ones among his favorites but it is still very prominent. But his methods of marking are actually not. He prefers more subtle marks. His dog tags around your neck, his name written somewhere on you, his cum sprayed all over the crotch of your underwear. Little things that taunt him throughout the day and drive him crazy with lust.

Favorite Positions:

Cowgirl

This man is a power bottom and I will stand by that. Making you ride him, his hands on your hips guiding you at the exact pace that he likes, watching his tags bounce against your sweaty chest with each drop, in love with the way you shudder when he bucks up into you every once and a while or just grabs your ass and starts manually lifting you instead of just guiding.

Reverse Cowgirl

Yes, it’s incredibly similar to the Cowgirl position but Gaz thinks that’s it different enough to make note of. And god does he just love to see the way your ass jiggles with each bounce, wanting so badly to grab at it but knowing his hands will get in the way so he has to settle for your hips, growling and repeatedly interrupting his own rhythm with a few harsher thrusts just to see how loud the sound of your ass clapping can get.

69

The perfect mix of your thighs around his head and your lips around his cock, he literally could no ask for a better position. His only problem with it is that he can’t angle himself to bite at every inch of your thighs like he usually does, but he’ll settle for scratching down the back of them. For now, at least.

Most Common Dirty Talk:

“Fuck. You feel so good, you know that? So perfect for me.”

“This must be what Heaven is, these beautiful thighs wrapped round my head.”

“Just-Just let me fuck them a little, please? Need to cum so bad, Love. And you get me all hot and bothered just looking at you.”

Ghost

Favorite Kinks:

Wrestling

I’d imagine this to be a newer kink of Simon’s, probably discovered during some self defense lesson. Both of you breathing heavily, sweating, one of you pinned beneath the other. In other situations it would be annoying or perhaps scary but with you…with you it was exciting. He’ll go out of his way to spar with you from then on, neither of you commenting on his hard bulge being rubbed against your ass whenever he manages to pin you down.

Choking

The intimacy of you letting him choke you is something that gets to him in a way few things do. Letting him hold your life in his hands, trusting him to treat it delicately, to treasure it. Believing whole heartedly that he’ll return it instead of just taking and taking and taking until you’re….gone. It’s not often he gets that kind of trust and it goes right to his cock (and his heart).

Collaring

Possessive mixed with humiliation go brrrrr. Simon just fucking loves walking you like a dog, his name so clearly visible on the tags clipped to your collar. Calls you his good little fuck puppy as he’s buckling up your collar, black leather digging into your neck just the slightest bit. God, and the way you whimper up at him. He’ll never get enough.

Favorite Positions:

Him standing and you lifted against a wall, your legs around his waist

A display of strength along with the ability to keep you tight where he wants you, clinging to him for dear life as he slowly rocks up into you, the pace torturous, entirely too lazy for you but perfect for him. The nice slow drag giving him the ability to feel every inch of your insides, the sound of your heat trying desperately to suck him back in music to his ears.

On his back with you laying on top of him, laying against his chest

Simon likes this position because of the way he can feel to it heart racing, thumping wildly against his chest as he moves your hips for his own pleasure, groaning and huffing in your ear like a beast instead of a man, convinced there’s nothing more heavenly then the feel of you against him, your hole gripping him tightly, a fight to even move.

Him sitting with you on lap facing off to the side, leaning against his chest

This position is usually reserved for nights of cock warming at the pub or poker with the rest of the team. One of his hands under your knees, pinching you when you get a bit too squirmy for his liking or soothingly petting you when you start to whimper with need. He’ll tell you the others have no idea what you two were doing but…it was pretty obvious.

Most Common Dirty Talk:

“Who said you could speak?“

“On your knees now, Pet.”

“Spread your legs, show me what I own.”

Soap

Favorite Kinks:

Pet Play

Puppy Boy. God, he’s so dog coded. Call him your precious boy or your mutt, either way his dick is getting hard. Put a collar on him, make him hump your leg, give him a cute tail. Anything, anything at all. He’s yours! Your mutt, your puppy, your dog. Fiercely loyal and obedient, willing to choke and die at your command.

Exhibitionism

Yeah, Johnny’s such a freak in the bedroom and while it isn’t 100% the same outside of the bed, he is still pretty freaky when walking about. God, and the thrill of being in the halls, balls deep inside you were anyone can see, rutting so fast and deep like he was gonna die any second if he didn’t cum.

Degradation

This is kind of a double edged sword because Soap loves to both give and receive nasty words. You’ll snap at him that he’s just a filthy mutt when he’s going too hard and fast and he’ll just give you a wolffish grin and say that you must be a bitch in heat then, letting a mutt like him mount you and fuck you full.

Favorite Positions:

Doggy

A bit self explanatory, goes with the pet play thing and he also just likes how he can rest his face on you as he’s thrusting, drooling all over your skin as he pants and groans, occasionally biting and sucking whenever he can reach. In his mind, there is simply not a better position to be had. Might actually get a bit pouty if you want to do a different one.

Face down ass up

Once more, very similar to the first one but to Soap there is a very important distinction. That being that he can stare at your ass as he fucks you, spank it more freely, claw at it as much as he wants. Or he could hold your face down in the pillows by the back of your neck and get an even deeper angle.

Him kneeling as you sit, your knees up to your chest

This is his most common way of eating you out just because of how much access it gives him. He can lick all over your sex, suck, bite, spit on. It might be a bit uncomfortable for you but you’ll have a hard time thinking through just how much of a mess he’s making of you. Which is just how he intends for it to be.

Most Common Dirty Talk:

“Please don't stop, please please please please please.”

“Feel so good, Love. Please lemme cum inside, gonna die without it.”

“I need it. Need you. Please, just fuck me!”

[wandascosmic]

you've got a smile that could light up this whole town (2)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part two of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 3868

warnings: sexual harassment in the workplace, talks of sexism and racism, small mention of blood in a joking setting

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

“That’s the thing. It’s very sturdy paper,” you speak to the client on the phone. “And on the back it says 100% post-consumer content.” 

You’re on the phone with Mr. Deckerd, the CEO of one of your biggest clients who amounts to about 25% of your commission for the whole year. Wanda makes fun of you for buying a mini bottle of champagne every time you make a sale to him and his company, but you can’t help but celebrate a little. This year, you’re pushing recycled paper on them for about 1% more, so maybe you’ll buy a medium-sized bottle of champagne if you make the sale. 

Suddenly, you hear a static noise in your ear. “Hello?” you ask, wondering if your client is still there. You plug the ear that isn’t touching the phone to hear Mr. Deckerd better, but the static sound continues. “I’m sorry, Mr. Deckerd I think I’m losing-” 

But then you can’t hear anything because your stupid desk neighbor is shredding his papers at his desk. 

“Hello? Hello?” But you can’t hear anything because of the stupid shredder. “Hold on one second,” you reassure your customer, even though you have no idea if he’s still there. 

“Sam! Do you really have to do that right now?” you yell over the shredder.  

“Yes, I do,” he responds, barely paying you any attention. “I should’ve done this weeks ago, actually.” 

You flip him off under your desk. 

“Mr. Deckerd, I'm really sorry,” you speak on the phone. “What were you-” 

You still can’t hear anything, and it makes you give Sam an annoyed expression. “Can you give me one second?” you tell Mr. Deckerd on the phone in your fake nice sales voice. “Yeah, just one second. Thanks.” 

You press the off button on Sam’s shredder with your pointer finger, and he narrows his eyes at you.

You shrug back in response. 

“Hello? Oh, that’s it. Perfect,” you let Mr. Deckerd know. “So, what I was saying-” 

Sam hangs up the phone for you by pushing a button on the docking port and you want to slap him in the face. 

“Hello?” when you hear nothing but the dial tone, you set the phone down and run your hands over your face. “Thanks a lot, Sam.” 

“Retaliation, Y/N. Tit for tit.” 

“That’s not the expression.” 

“Well, it should be.” 

Now you want to punch Sam instead.

“Solitaire?” you ask Wanda, popping a jelly bean from the candy dish at her desk into your mouth and leaning over it to peek at her computer screen. 

“Yeah, freecell,” she tells you, brows furrowing in focus at the game. 

“Six on seven,” you point to the digital cards. 

“I know I saw that,” she nods.  

“So, why didn’t you do it?” you ask. 

“I’m saving that,” she gives a shy smile, “cause I like it when the cards go…” she imitates the shuffling cards. 

“Who doesn’t love that?” you shrug, smiling at her. 

She giggles in response, and you help her win the rest of the game.  

Tony comes out of his office. “Everyone in the conference room,” he announces. “Diversity day seminar.” 

Everyone gets out of their desk to go meet in the room, but you stay on the phone in order to make the sale to Mr. Deckerd.

“Y/N,” Tony states. “Wrap it up.” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Uh, Mr. Deckerd-” 

“L/N, hurry up, please.” 

“Uh, Mr. Deckerd, I'm actually going to have to call you back,” Damn it, you were so close. “Thank you, sorry about that.” You hang up the phone.

Wanda meets your stride as you both walk in together and she wraps her hand around your elbow absentmindedly. 

The two of you usually sit together, but unfortunately, you were both the last to walk in due to your phone call so you both take a seat on opposite sides of Thor.  

Once you sit down a man from corporate hands you a blank card for you to fill out by writing down a work-related incident you found offensive, and you and Wanda look at each other, knowing exactly what incident you were both going to write. 

A couple weeks ago, the head of corporate, Thaddeus Ross had made disgusting remarks and had acted completely sexist and racist to every single female or ethnic worker in the office. He had reduced every single person to just their ethnicity or sex and had made incredibly vulgar remarks that you didn’t want to think about again because of how offensive they were. In fact, they were so ugly that those who had taken the worst of his comments didn’t come into the office for the next 2 days because of how violated they felt.  

You bite your tongue as you remember the lewd comments he had made about Wanda that day. 

“Wanda’s really easy on the eyes, don’t you think?” he had whispered to you, his coffee breath making you want to push him as far away as possible. “I bet she’d make way more money on her knees rather than behind that desk…” 

You had frozen in your seat, shocked at the words Ross uttered out of his mouth. You were about to reprimand him and let him know how inappropriate his comments were, but you didn’t get the chance because he got called over by Tony right after uttering those awful words. So instead, once he was gone from your sight, you had immediately stood up and gone over to Wanda at her desk while she was faxing documents Bruce had given her to let her know about the disgusting comments Ross had made. 

Wanda’s expression had hardened once you told her, and she had taken many deep breaths to reel in her emotions. “Thank you for telling me,” she had breathed out. “Honestly, I’m not surprised with the amount of times he’s cheated on his wife,” she had told you with a weak smile. Ross always confided in Wanda about his affairs for some reason, and he gave her a copious amount of detail about his nights spent in bed with other women. 

You had watched her brave resolve crumble as she played with the rings on her fingers, a nervous tick of hers, and it made you see right through her act. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I'm ok,” she had told you, “But I’m never staying within six feet of him again for safety reasons,” she gave a shaky laugh.   

For the rest of the morning, you were able to tell that she was still rattled, with the way she kept zoning out while doing her work and kept playing with her rings and biting her nails. 

So, you decided to do something nice for her to calm her down. During your lunch break, you had gone out to buy all of Wanda’s favorite things. Initially, you had told Vision to do it after letting him know about the incident while he was working down in the warehouse, but all he had responded with was that he was busy and would check on Wanda when he had the chance. 

You knew of his busy schedule, so instead, you thought it would be good to go yourself, and it ended up being so worth it. 

That day, you had bought Wanda chicken paprikash from her favorite restaurant, many packages of the obscure Sokovian candy she really likes, a pocket-sized package of her favorite book series because she was a sucker for miniature items, her favorite perfume because you could tell she was running low based on the way it was becoming less and less strong as the days passed by, a box of chocolates just because, and a mini disco ball, which you bought as a joke hoping it would put the smile back on her face. 

You had definitely gone overboard based on how your bank had called you that day because of how much money you spent, but Wanda didn’t need to know that. 

Plus, you didn’t really care because, well, it was Wanda.  

“Hey, Wands,” you had gone up to her at the end of the day with a plastic bag in your hand. 

Which to Wanda by the looks of it, seemed very heavy. 

“Hi, Y/N,” she had greeted you back softly from her chair. “What’s in the bag?” 

You smiled as you pulled out the mini disco ball, pressing the button so it lit up and placing it on the ledge of her desk. 

“For you,” you had told her, “so every day is a party,” you joked. 

Wanda had picked up the disco ball between her fingers, “you bought this just for the sake of making that joke,” she had answered back with a grin. 

And the disco ball had worked just as you wanted it to, because she had smiled again for the first time that day. 

You shrugged. “Maybe, but it did make you laugh, Maximoff.” 

“Smiling isn’t laughing Y/N,” she said cheekily. Before you could respond she asked, “What’s in the rest of the bag? It’s definitely not that heavy with just a tiny disco ball inside.” 

You slowly pulled out each of the items one by one, making sure to keep the mystery for as long as possible. And it was so worth it, because with every item you pulled out Wanda’s smile widened more and more. 

“Wow…” Wanda trailed off, slowly dragging her index finger over each item as if they were made of glass, until her finger stopped at the candy. “Y/N! They only sell these at that store 40 minutes from here!” her eyes gleamed with worry as she looked at you since there was a snowstorm that day too.

“30 minutes,” you corrected, “and it was nothing, Wanda, honestly. This is supposed to be kind of like a ‘Ross Sucks’ fund. You were shaken up, so I wanted to do something nice for you.” 

Wanda had pushed her tongue against her cheek as she watched you with tears in her eyes. She made her way around her desk until she was in front of you, and had hugged you as tight as possible. “Thank you,” she had whispered while squeezing you as tight as she could.  

As she pulled away a couple moments later, she had kissed your cheek and gave you a soft look while whispering the words, “I’m really glad I have you as my best friend.” 

It was the best gift anyone had ever given her. Somehow, you had singlehandedly turned Wanda’s awful day into one that would bring a smile to her face for the rest of her life. 

The next day, the mini books and disco ball had ended up displayed at Wanda’s receptionist's desk, and Wanda had given you a cheeky smile while popping a candy into her mouth. 

The man from corporate took each of your papers back with a small thank you, eventually creating a large stack. 

“Alright, so I’m here today to talk about diversity,” the man began. “It has come to my attention that a recent issue from an anonymous source has made you all very uncomfortable, so I was called here. We are all still unaware of who made the offensive comments we have heard of, so corporate thought it would be best to put all of the Shield Industry branches through this seminar to be safe. Let’s get started.” 

You started zoning out in worry at losing your biggest client, since Tony had made you hang up the phone due to his lack of patience when it came to being late to an event. After this morning’s exchange with Sam, you hoped he would continue to remain with you as his salesperson. 

You didn’t even notice that you had stopped paying attention until Wanda tapped your shoulder to whisper about how the man from corporate looked a lot like Dracula from Hotel Transylvania, and you responded that you should test if he’s really a vampire by putting blood in Sam’s bag so he’s the first to go.

You don’t know how much time has passed until suddenly, Tony’s voice brings your attention back to the meeting. “Hey man, I’m sorry, but you need to leave.” 

“What?” The man whose name you still don’t know responds. 

Long story short, Tony kicked out the man and forced you all to get back to work simply because he didn’t like his face. 

“Uh, hi, is Mr. Deckerd around?” you spoke on the phone. “Oh, well, could you just have him call me after lunch? Thank you.”

You ran your hands over your face in stress, god, you really hoped you didn’t lose your biggest client. 

“Attention, everyone!” Tony yelled out stepping out from his office. “The replacement seminar corporate is making us go through will occur immediately after lunch, so don’t be late!” he stepped back into his office. 

You’re too anxious to eat anything, so you spend your lunch break playing solitaire with Wanda while she eats the sandwich she packed this morning, since she usually spends it answering calls anyway. It’s the perfect pass-time because you’re still near the phone in case Mr. Deckerd calls, and she’s excellent at distracting you and making your worries fade away. 

The last ten minutes of your break are spent at your desk staring at your phone, the busy tone ringing out suddenly seeming like it's mocking you.

Around 1 pm, a tall short-haired lady walks in, “Hi, I’m here to lead the diversity seminar?” you hear her introduce herself to Wanda at the front of the office. 

Wanda stood up to shake her hand. “Welcome, I’m Wanda. I’ll let Tony know you’re here.” 

She ran into Tony’s office to inform him of the woman at the front, and from your point of view, you could tell that this new woman was attracted to Wanda based on the way she was staring at her from behind. 

“Everybody in the conference room!” Tony yelled out as he stepped out of his office, leading the orange-haired woman corporate hired in the direction of the room. 

Thankfully, this time, you and Wanda walked in a little earlier so you could sit next to each other at the back. 

Wanda had a clipboard in her hands to take notes as part of her job as a receptionist, and while she wasn’t looking, you drew a small smiley face at the corner of her page, a long-time tradition since you first joined the office a year after her. 

“Alright, now that everybody’s settled in, hi, my name’s Pepper, and I’m here to lead the diversity seminar after this morning’s complications,” the lady said, giving Tony a look. “To start off, what can you tell me about diversity?” 

Sam raises his hand. “It means having a diverse background.” 

“Yes, very good. Anybody else?” 

“It means being inclusive to people of all race,” Bruce answers. 

While Nat is answering, Wanda notices the small smiley face at the corner of her page and smiles softly. 

“What about you, hon?” Pepper asks Wanda while she’s lost in thought. 

Wanda’s head snaps up, “Sorry?” she clarifies. 

“What do you think about diversity?” 

Wanda pauses to think for a moment, “I think it’s acceptance of people of different background that’s not only limited to race but also gender, economic status, age, social class, and sexual orientation.” 

“Wow, impressive,” Pepper smirks, staring Wanda down like she’s almost a piece of meat.  

Wanda’s eyes widen and she shifts uncomfortably under Pepper’s stare, as she feels incredibly objectified once again. 

“Nerd,” Sam coughs into his fist. 

But Wanda can’t focus on Sam’s comment, because for some reason Pepper’s gaze is starting to remind her a lot of the way Vision looks at her. 

But it’s probably nothing, it’s probably just that he’s attracted to her because they’re engaged. 

Pepper’s seminar goes on for another 30 minutes, and while she’s discussing an acronym called HERO, you hear the phone ring. 

You don’t mean to be rude, but you’re so anxious you’re going to lose the sale you sprint out of the conference room to answer the phone. 

“Hello? Hello?” you answer, but you get no response. You tap your foot nervously on the ground and hang up the phone, running your hands over your face. 

You really hope Mr. Deckerd answers soon. 

Back in the conference room, Wanda still feels Pepper’s gaze on her and it makes her increasingly uncomfortable. The way Pepper was eyeing her like she was her prey to devour mercilessly made her feel so awfully degraded, like she was just an attractive object to be used and not another person. It made her want to jump out of her seat and run away as far as possible, or at least to you, since you were her best friend after all and you could calm her down with just a touch. 

But Wanda calms down when you walk back in and take your seat next to her, giving her your infamous smile despite the way she can tell you’re stressed due to your stiff posture, and it fills her heart with warmth. 

Pepper is still on the same slide as when you left, so you don’t think you missed much. 

“Diversity, equity, and inclusion are the three factors needed in running an office that feels safe to people of all background,” Pepper continues and you can tell that everyone is starting to get sick of the seminar. 

“How much did I miss?” you whisper in Wanda’s ear. 

“Barely anything,” she whispers back, and Wanda feels her nerves settling. “She’s been repeating the same thing in different ways for the past 5 minutes.” 

You let out a small laugh. 

And Wanda does too. 

And you both try your best to suppress your laughter for the next two minutes.

You sit there for a while trying your best to listen to Pepper’s speech, but it proves to be an incredibly hard struggle because her presentation voice is ridiculously robotic. 

“Excuse me, Pepper,” Sam states. 

“Yes?” 

“What’s diversity again?” 

God, this was going to be a long seminar. 

You were in the middle of zoning out for the third time when the phone rang, causing you to spring out of your seat and sprint out to answer it. 

“Mr. Deckerd!” you greet into the phone the second you get in your chair. “We didn’t lose your sale today, did we?” you chuckle. “Excellent! Okay..” you pull out a pen. “Let me just get your– What’s that? No, we didn’t, we didn’t close last time,” your brows furrow in confusion. 

“I just need your, uh–Oh! What code were you given?” you’re still confused. “Oh, okay. Yeah, no, he’s actually another salesman here.” Oh, now you realize what’s happened. “Yeah, I can redo it if you want to do that. He gave you a discount?” Well played. “No, no worries, I don’t blame you,” you reassure him. “Okay, thanks, have a great day, Mr. Deckerd, it was nice speaking to you.”

You slowly place the phone back onto its docking port, sighing, and putting your head in your arms on the table.  

It was official. 

Sam had stolen your biggest client. 

You walk back into the conference room with your hands in your pocket, noticing that Pepper is coming to the end of her presentation. 

You sit down, thinking about how you hope that Sam enjoys the mini champagne you left on his desk. 

Then, all of a sudden, you feel a soft weight on your right shoulder, causing you to snap out of your thoughts, and the scent of your favorite vanilla perfume fills your senses. 

You turn your head to take a closer look at her, and once you see her face, a huge smile breaks out across your own. 

Wanda Maximoff has fallen asleep on your shoulder. 

And it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Her features are soft and relaxed, devoid of all the stress the office usually brings her, and Wanda’s delicate beauty is completely on display for you to see. She looks ethereal, as if she’s been crafted piece by piece by every single goddess to ever exist. 

You stare at her for what feels like an eternity, and she seems so soft and so Wanda that it feels like a small delicate butterfly has landed on you, and you never want her to go away. 

The smile doesn’t leave your face as you do your best to sit as still as possible for the next few minutes in order to avoid waking Wanda up while Pepper wraps up her speech.

“All right, everyone, it’s after 5, so you’re all dismissed,” Pepper announces once her presentation comes to a close. “Hope you learned something today.” 

Slowly, everyone makes their way out, and you hear their soft muttering about how the seminar was completely useless as you watch them from your seat, careful not to disturb the brunette angel sleeping soundly on your shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you two were together,” Pepper says once everyone has left, packing up her bag.

“Hm?” you ask. 

“You and Wanda,” she points to you and the receptionist. “She seems very nice, you’re quite lucky.” 

“Oh!” you laugh. “No, Wanda and I aren’t dating. She’s engaged,” you clarify. “And yes, she’s wonderful.” 

Pepper laughs, “Oh, good to know. Sorry for assuming, she just seems very fond of you.” 

“No worries,” you reassure her, “I’m very fond of her too. She’s my closest friend,” you say, giving a small smile.

“Well, I wish you two the best. Have a good day, Y/N,” she waves goodbye to you. “And tell Wanda I’m sorry for making her uncomfortable during the seminar, I recently got out of a breakup and was looking for a distraction and she was the first thing I saw, but it was wrong of me,” she admits. 

You frown. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” you respond. “Thank you for letting me know, I hope things get better for you soon.” 

Pepper smiles and nods, heading out the door. 

As she walks out of the office she can see you staring through the window of the conference room, and she knows that Wanda’s not just a close friend to you.  

You and Wanda are left alone together, and you give her one last soft look before deciding to finally wake her up. 

“Hey,” you whisper causing Wanda to begin to stir. 

“Hm?” she asks groggily, rubbing her eyes, slowly coming back to her senses. "Oh,” she quietly murmurs, slowly blushing as she realizes she fell asleep on your shoulder and lifting her head off.  

“We can go now,” you let her know with a small chuckle. 

“Yeah, um, sorry,” she mumbles apologetically, getting up from her chair and grabbing her clipboard. 

“That’s okay,” you let her know with a soft laugh. 

“Um, I'll talk to you later,” she says shyly, walking out. 

“Yeah, talk to you later,” you agree, following her with a smile still on your face as you look at your shoes. 

And as you pack your bags, the phone at your desk where you lost your best client only a foot away, suddenly, it’s not a bad day anymore.

part 3

[intricatechaosofyou]

Blind Date Gone…Wrong?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x f!reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Summary: Maybe getting stood up isn’t the worst thing ever

Warnings: drinking, alcohol, language

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

You glanced down at your watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. It was 7:45, almost a full hour after you were supposed to meet your date. Convinced you needed a boyfriend, or at the very least a hookup, your best friend insisted on setting you up with one of her friends at the office. Having nothing better to do, you agreed.

Your blind date, Thomas, and you had talked, agreeing to meet up at an Italian restaurant on the beach. Putting on one of your favorite dresses that did wonders for your ass and donning a little extra makeup than usual, you had arrived at the restaurant five minutes past seven, fully expecting Thomas to be there. When you discovered he wasn’t, you shrugged it off and ordered yourself a drink while you waited.

You waited for ten minutes before texting him. You never got a response but you decided to wait a little bit longer.

Ten minutes turned into thirty.

And thirty minutes had turned into forty.

The waiter had been asking you if you were ready to order for the past twenty minutes, and yet you still insisted you needed more time, praying that Thomas would walk through the door.

You were starting to get blatant looks of pity from the patrons seated around you.

He wasn’t coming.

You were flagging down the waiter, ready to pay so you could escape the restaurant with some of your pride still intact when a man slid into the seat across from you.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Darlin’. Maverick kept me late and then traffic was just awful,” he announced loudly before leaning across the table and planting a kiss on your cheek. His voice dropped in volume so only you could hear him when he whispered, “I’m Bob. Just go with it.”

You nodded slightly and tried your best to smile at the man, Bob apparently, once he pulled away from you. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I was more worried than anything.”

The waiter smiled at the two of you. Whether he was glad your date had finally showed up or glad you were finally going to order, you couldn’t tell.

Once the two of you ordered and the waiter was out of earshot, you turned back to the man seated across from you. “Thank you so much.”

He blushed and nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. “It’s no problem, really.”

“I appreciate it though,” you admitted. “Got stood up and I was getting all those looks of pity.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

You smiled. “So, your name’s Bob?”

He nodded. “Lt. Robert Floyd, but everyone calls me Bob.”

“Lt. Robert Floyd?” You repeated. “You Navy?”

“Yes, ma’am. How’d you know?”

“We are in Fightertown, USA,” you mused with a grin.

“I guess you’re right,” Bob chuckled.

“I’m (y/n) (l/n),” you introduced yourself, sticking your hand out for him to shake.

Bob smiled and grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips to leave a kiss on the back of it. “Nice to meet you, (y/n).”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you replied, blush creeping up your face at his actions. “So is this your typical Friday night? Going around saving girls who got stood up?”

“N- no, this is the first time I’ve done this. And whoever stood you up is an idiot,” Bob replied.

You smiled at the man, head tilting slightly. The way he had said it was so genuine, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell at the comment.

“Thanks, Bob.”

“Anytime, Darlin’.”

———————

“No way!” You giggled. “I don’t believe it!

Bob shrugged, bashful smile on his face. “Yup. Punched him right in the face.”

“What happened after that?” You questioned, trying to contain your laughter so you could hear more of the story.

“Suspended for two weeks.”

“And the other kid?”

“Nothing.”

You gasped, utterly appalled. “But he was the one being a bully! You were just standing up for your friend!”

“School didn’t see it that way.”

“Well, I do. Looks like you’ve always been a hero, Bob.”

A blush spread across his cheeks. “Anyone would have done it.”

“I don’t think so. You don’t give yourself enough credit, honey.”

The blush on his cheeks deepened as the pet name rolled off your tongue. “It really wasn’t a big deal.”

“If you say so,” you said with a laugh, resting your head on your hand as you gazed at the man.

The two of you had been talking for hours, meals long gone and a crème brûlée now being shared between the two of you. The conversation flowed naturally despite never having met before. You had talked about almost everything, from why you were in Miramar, childhood memories, to your favorite ice cream flavors.

“So, what’s it like being in the Navy?” You asked, pointing your spoon at him.

“It’s fun. I’m a Weapons System Officer which means I’m in charge of all the weapons in the back of the plane. Phoenix is my pilot.”

“Phoenix?” You question, tilting your head.

“That’s her call sign. Everyone has one,” Bob explained. “There’s Phoenix, Rooster, Hangman, Payback.”

“So what’s yours?”

“Uhh…Bob,” he admitted bashfully, eyes not meeting yours.

You grinned and let out a small giggle. “I like it. I think it suits you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, short and sweet.”

“Calling me short, Darlin’?” Bob joked.

“Definitely,” you replied with a wink.

———————

When the cheque came, Bob swiped it up before you could even touch it.

“To repay you for letting me crash your date,” he explained.

“‘Crash my date?’” You repeated. ��Bob, you saved it.”

“Then to repay you for your company.”

You pouted and leaned back in your chair. “Fine. But you let me pay next time.”

“‘Next time?’”

Your cheeks heated up as you realized your mistake. “Not that there has to be a next time. I just had a lot of fun and thought maybe we could do this again. But that was a very bold assumption,” you rambled.

“Actually, I was gonna ask if I could see you again?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I had a really good time tonight,” Bob admitted, awkwardly shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Smiling, you reached across the table to grab his hand. “I’d like that.”

“Next Friday?” Bob suggested.

“It’s a date.”

———————

The two of you walked outside the restaurant hand in hand, giggling like a couple of high schoolers.

“Well, my car’s this way,” you mumbled, pointing behind you.

“Mine’s the other way,” Bob replied, frown making its way onto his face.

“Then I guess this is where we part,” you sighed dramatically. “But I’ll see you next Friday?”

Bob nodded. “Six o’clock.”

You smiled. “Goodnight, Bob.”

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

With a sudden burst of confidence you grabbed his collar and pressed your lips to his, relishing in the small gasp that left him. His hands came to rest on your hips as your mouths slotted together almost perfectly.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was long enough to leave Bob a mess when you pulled back. His glasses were knocked askew on the bridge of his nose, his cheeks were flushed, and a bit of your lipstick was now staining the side of his mouth.

You giggled at his appearance and patted his bicep. “You good there, Robby?”

“Better than that,” he whispered.

“I should get going.”

He nodded and pecked your lips once more before letting you go.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but spare one more glance at the man. He was walking in the opposite direction, fist pumping as he went.

You smiled to yourself. Maybe this blind date wasn’t a total disaster after all.

TAGLIST

@pono-pura-vida

[the-daiz]

Arachnophobia | One Punch Man

Synopsis; How One Punch Men would react to you calling them to get rid of a spider in your house.

Characters; Saitama, Genos, Zombieman, speed-o’-sound sonic, Flashy flash, Child emperor(platonic)

Genre; Crack, fluff

A/N: I was just daydreaming abt zombieman cuz I love him so much and thought of this scenario so why not have it with the rest of these guys (and boy)

this can be viewed both platonically and romantically, except child emperor, he’s purely platonic ofc

SAITAMA

When you first call him, and you hesitate a bit while trying to explain you situation since it’s slightly embarrassing for you, he rushes you then gets a bit worried thinking it might be something serious

he then proceeds to say “seriously…?” When you finally tell him why you’re calling: there was a spider in your house and you were too scared to do anything but stand on top of your table, keeping a wary eye out incase the soider tries to approach.

At first he was about to decline and tell you to just squish it with a shoe, or trap it under a cup and throw it out your window, but when he hears the actual fear in your voice, he sighs and puts on his slippers. He’s supposed to save people and stuff after all…

Surprisingly, when Saitama arrives to kill the creature… he sucks at it. It keeps just escaping from him, no matter how fast or strong he was.

Saitama started to grow mad with every passing second, trashing your house as he jumped from spot to spot trying to catch the thing, with you pointing and yelling frantically from your safe-zone on the table.

”IT’S RIGHT THERE, NO- NO- WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU AIMING AT, SAITAMA?! YOU SUCK AT THIS- OH MY- ITS RIGHT THERE, KILL IT!!!” -You “STOP YELLING YOU’RE MAKING ME LOSE FOCUS.” -Saitama

Your house quickly becomes almost like a war-zone with both of you yelling at eachother from the top of your lungs, you out of panic and him out of frustration.

Saitama eventually squishes the spider…. Then an army of tiny spiders erupts from it.

Saitama tries to deal with them quickly, throwing punches at all of them.

when he’s done, he turns to you with a fulfilled expression on his face but deadpans once he catches you lying passed out on the table and foaming at the mouth.

Ofc he takes you to the hospital though.

GENOS

Unlike Saitama, he takes it very seriously when you call him and tell him the predicament you're in.

He doesn’t quite understand the big issue, it's just a bug… but he can detect when someone is in distress, and either way, he would do anything you ask of him.

When he arrives at your home, he’s already gathered enough information on how to safely deal with spiders to take the best approach he can to this.

he grabs a glass container and a piece of paper, proceeds to efficiently trap the spider, and throws it outside.

He does listen to your instructions though and releases it at least a kilometer away from your home.

He then comes back to check on you and gives you a small, almost pitiful, pat on the back.

”Don’t worry about it, you did good.” -Genos, with his very stoic expression

ZOMBIEMAN

MY MUSEEEE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

Sorry, anyhow, when you call him, your voice is obviously on edge, and you tell him what’s wrong. The first he does is reassure you over the phone, telling you everything will be fine and he’ll be right there.

And as he said, he was right there.

He checks up on you when he first enters the house, then goes to search for the spider.

When he finds it, he ALMOST stomps on it with his shoe out of surprise but quickly remembers how it’ll probably cause a bigger problem, and like genos he uses the good old glass container and paper method and throws it out.

After that, he helps you get down from the table, with his hands firmly holding you from your sides.

If you’re still uneasy even after he gets rid of the spider, he’ll give you a reassuring embrace, with his large build basically consuming you.

He then takes you out somewhere nice to eat.

SPEED-O’-SOUND SONIC

Ahhh, speed of the sounds

Calls you stupid at first, and tells you to just kill it or leave it be, its more scared of you than you are of it.

But not a second later he’s at your door and asking where the spider is.

He REALLY doesn’t get what the big deal is, it’s just a spider. Nonetheless, he doesn’t really question it much and helps out anyway.

He grabs the spider gently with his hands and throws it out the window, then flashes you an unamused look.

Again, he calls you weak but then tells you not to worry so much when you have someone like him around.

FLASHY FLASH

Sassy flash

He’s irked by your call, then hangs up on you

….

He then calls you again not a second later and asks if you’re actually panicking, and when you say yes, suddenly he busts down your door.

He HATES spiders. But that doesn’t mean he can’t deal with them

thanks to a previous encounter he had with the creature, he learned killing them is a bad idea.

So he hesitantly kept trying to get the spider under the damn cup, but every time he did and it would move, he’d dash to the other side of the room instinctively, releasing the spider once more.

It takes him about 10 tries to finally get the spider out of the house.

After making sure that you’re ok, he then tells you to never waste his time on such ridiculous things ever again

he doesn't mean it though, don’t worry, he’d do it again for you

CHILD EMPORER

He is scared of spiders too

Reluctantly he shows up at your house.

He tries to act tough but you can clearly see the sweat running down his face as he uses his robotic equipment to slowly look under the couch for the spider.

When he finally catches it, he screams, prompting you to scream, and blasts the area of the spider with a laser beam.

the both of you stare intently at the area of the blast and let out a sigh simultaneously as the ash clears and the arachnid has been successfully vaporized.

You both give each other a pat on the back for being so brave

Then you offer to take child emperor to a nearby store and get some ice cream together

he happily obliges and you both skip out of the destroyed apartment with your hands intertwined.

[niki-phoria]

Heyo! I was wondering if you could make a gn reader chishiya fic based on the aib characters saying sorry. I really liked what you made the argument about and can totally see it happening so pretty please if you are taking requests could you do this.

doctor chishiya >>>

pairing: chishiya x gn!reader (they/them pronouns) genre: hurt comfort word count: 1.7k

warnings: ooc chishiya, blood, stitches, are stitches considered gore?, canon typical violence, canon divergent game (i have run out of games to write about), arguments, kuina threatens to punch chishiya (kuina best girl !!), reader is called beautiful (if that needs a warning ??) but boys are beautiful too, this kinda turned into a journal entry at the end lmao

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i'm glad you liked the post about them apologizing. i didn't want to leave this as angst so it has a happy ending and i changed a few things so that it wasn't exactly the same. i hope you like it :))

the post they're talking about -> chishiya, arisu, and kuina apologizing after an argument

requests open !! read my rules first

“y/n!” you can hear chishiya yelling at you as you rush to push the man out of the way, taking the blow for him instead. you hit the ground hard. your shoulder aches, both from the stinging cut and the impact. 

the man you saved is quick to scramble to his feet, kicking your attacker away from you before grabbing your arm and pulling you to safety. “thank you,” he pants. chishiya presses a hand against your back. blood seeps through your shirt. you nod at the man, trying to catch your own breath. 

the man rushes off in a different direction afterwards. you watch him leave, hiding further into the shadows to avoid detection. “shit,” chishiya curses. “this is deep. we need to get out of here. you need stitches.” 

you nod, forcing yourself to stand up. you reach back, replacing his hand with your own. “i’ll be fine. go win the game.” chishiya glances between you and the tagger before you gently push him away. “go!”

you’re not sure how long you stand in the shadows. the brick feels uncomfortable against your back as you hold your breath, waiting for the tagger to pass by the alley you’re hiding in. thankfully, they don’t notice you before your phone chimes, ending your torment with a simple “game clear. congratulations.”

the drive back to the beach feels awkward. chishiya keeps a close eye on your shoulder. you know he needs to keep pressure on it, but you can almost feel the irritation radiating off of him. 

he remains silent as you arrive at the beach, picking you up and carrying you into the basement. he sets you on the metal table, searching through various different cabinets for bandages, gauze, and supplies for stitches. the metal is cold against your skin. it feels nice against the warm blood still flowing from your wound. 

you don’t say anything about the slight tremble in chishiya’s hands as he presses the bandages against the cut. his stitches are quick and efficient - almost robotic in his movements. worry builds in your stomach. 

“we need to talk about this.” it sounds more like a question than a statement. like you’re asking if he’s ready to interact with you when he’s still so obviously angry, though you still aren’t sure exactly why. 

“after i finish this.” his words do little to console you. so, you simply nod, trying to relax your body as he continues tending to your wounds. 

“okay.” 

the air feels tense around you as you follow chishiya back to your shared room. he closes the door after you, silently leaning back against the wall. you awkwardly sit across from him on your bed, waiting for him to make the first move. chishiya crosses his arms over his chest, jaw clenched. you avoid eye contact, fidgeting with your hands. 

“that was stupid.” he finally says. 

“saving someone’s life is stupid to you?” 

“he was going to die anyways and you almost got yourself killed with him.” 

“i couldn’t just leave him there! he was begging for help!” 

“he could’ve gotten it from someone else!” his voice raises as yours does. chishiya sighs, running a hand through his hair. “what about these people makes them so worth saving?” 

“what about them makes them not worth saving? they’re people, chishiya, isn’t that enough of a reason?” 

“not when it puts you in danger! it was reckless!” 

“what else was i supposed to do?” 

“why can’t you admit you were wrong for once?” his words sting, but his demeanor is what makes you flinch. chishiya nearly glares at you from across the room. “have you ever considered that i know what’s best? you made a stupid decision, get over it!” you can see the immediate regret spread across his face. he almost shrinks back away from you. you bite your tongue, willing the tears building in your eyes not to fall. “y/n…” 

his words trail off when you stand up. “i need to be alone for a while. come find me when you’re ready to talk to me like an adult.” 

you furiously wipe the tears away from your cheeks as you rush out of the room. 

“y/n?” kuina furrows her eyebrows, opening the door to her room to let you inside. “what’s wrong?” 

you’re sure she can see the dried tears on your face. “i got in a fight with chishiya.” 

“oh, honey,” she wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a hug. you cling to her as she rubs a hand against your back. she pulls away after a few minutes, wiping another few stray tears you hadn’t realized had fallen. “do you want to talk about it?” 

“not really. i just… i got hurt helping someone and he yelled at me because it was reckless.” 

“are you okay?” 

you nod. “i’m fine. just a little sad, i guess.” 

kuina reaches over to grab your hand. it’s a welcome feeling of affection that breaks against the swirling thoughts in your head. “whatever happens, i’ll always be here for you, okay? you can tell me anything.” 

this time the tears that build in your eyes are ones of thankfulness. trust in the borderland is hard to come by, but when kuina squeezes your hand with a small smile and starts telling you about new gossip she heard around the beach, you know that you’ve found an ally. a friend. “thank you.” 

“kuina,” chishiya calls. he walks over to where she’s sitting, awkwardly stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. “do you know where y/n is?” 

she briefly glances up at him, taking the wooden cigarette out of her mouth. “they’re on the roof.” 

“thanks.” 

“hey, chishiya,” she stands up from the beach chair, stepping closer. “if y/n ever shows up at my door crying because of you ever again, i’ll punch you.” 

he steps back a little, nodding. “it won’t happen again.” 

“good. now, go talk to them. they’ve been waiting for you.”

chishiya doesn’t wait any longer, quickly making his way back into the hotel to the roof. true to kuina’s word, you sit at the edge of the building, staring out at the coastline. the sun has just barely begun to set, casting a golden glow on everything. “y/n?” you turn to look at him over your shoulder, gesturing for him to sit beside you. chishiya obeys, dangling his legs over the edge of the building. you don’t move away when his knee brushes against yours.

you sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the sunset. finally, he speaks. “i’m sorry.” you glance over at him, waiting for him to continue. “i shouldn’t have yelled at you. i was scared because you got hurt and i blamed you because it happened while you were trying to help someone.” 

“i’m sorry too.” you pull your knees up to your chest, resting your hand in the space between you and chishiya. “i know it was reckless and i understand why you were upset.” 

chishiya hesitantly reaches over, taking your hand into his. you reciprocate by intertwining your fingers, storking your thumb against his skin. “none of what happened was your fault. i’m sorry i yelled at you. you didn’t deserve that.” 

“i forgive you.” you turn to face him, bringing your right hand up to cup his cheek. you move it behind his head to the nape of his neck, slowly pulling him in to press your lips against his. chishiya takes your cue to lean in, pressing another peck against your lips when you pull away. 

he smiles a little when you pull away, coaxing you to lean against his chest. the sun glistens against the water, hues of pink and purple painting the sky. chishiya tucks his chin over your head. 

“do you know why i helped him?” your voice is quiet when you speak again. it’s getting darker now. the temperature drops as the sun disappears further behind the coastline. 

“no.” chishiya murmurs. he wraps an arm around your waist, rubbing your side. 

“i know it’s hard for you to open up to people, and i’m grateful everyday that you let me in. but it’s hard to survive out here. you survive by shutting everyone out. you built your walls up so high that it takes years to scale them, and even then, you didn’t fully let your guard down for months.” you pause, taking a breath. “i survive out here by relying on my humanity. i have to believe that people are good, because if they aren’t, then nothing else matters. none of the good deeds or random acts of kindness or small moments that remind me that love is everywhere around us matter. i don’t want to live believing that. so, i help people. i put myself in danger for strangers because i rely on my humanity. if i lose my humanity, then i lose everything.” 

silence falls over you once again. chishiya pulls you even closer so you’re fully sitting in his lap, wrapping his arms around you. he leans over your shoulder as the sun fully disappears behind the horizon. the stars are just beginning to appear above you. “i think there’s good in humanity too.” he finally murmurs. “i let you in because i know you’re good. and you’ve done nothing but show me that i was right about you.” he leans down to press a kiss against your shoulder. “you’re strong,” another kiss - this time against your neck. “and loyal,“ his lips brush against the underside of your jawline. “and beautiful,” this time they’re against your cheek. “and good. you’re a good person. one i don’t deserve. i’m thankful for everyday you’re with me.” 

you take the initiative this time, pulling him into a sweet kiss. chishiya pulls you back in again. you sit on the roof together, kissing underneath the stars until your lungs are begging for air and the air chills your bones. you rest your forehead against his when you pull away, letting yourself drown in the overwhelming love you feel. “i’ll take you home,” chishiya whispers. “i promise.” 

[tgmsunmontue]

Where do I know you from? 3/10

Hangster crackfic. There are too many Jakes and Bradleys for Jake and Bradley to be dealing with. Or the Universe is just as fed up with them being blind.

PART ONE PART TWO

PART THREE

                Rooster Nine arrives in chef whites, which he guesses answers the question of what he does for a job, although he’s getting asked a whole raft of questions by Three and Five.

                “What are you two writing down?”

                “Well, every Bradley here has a Jake in their Universe. I think we’re meant to find you yours.”

                “We don’t need to find him. I know where he is.”

                “You’ve met him already?”

                Jake stares at them both.

                “Considering you’re both meant to be super smart, you’re thick as bricks. I recognized you all,” Jake says, waving his hand at the accumulating Roosters, who seem to be arriving at an even faster rate. “Of course I’ve met him. I’ve saved his life. We see each other nearly every day.”

                Rooster Three and Five exchange looks.

                “And you’re not together with him?” Rooster Five asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow and of course he looks exactly like Rooster, but it’s not him and Jake scowls.

                “I think I’d know,” Jake snaps.

                “Maybe that’s why we’re here. To get them together. Me and my Jake had to swap bodies before we figured our shit out.”

                “It’s as good a theory as any,” Rooster Three concedes and Jake pulls a face.

                “I don’t need alternate versions of my… work colleague, trying to hook me up with him,” Jake says, and then wonders if that even made sense.

                “Bob would probably know.”

                Jake is about to ask why Bob would have any idea about this kind of thing but the door is swinging open and he knows it’s going to be yet another Rooster.

                “Oh wow… what is going on here. It’s like there’s a rip in time and space and only I can use it. This is super weird. Hey Jake…”

                The way he greets Jake and says Jake’s name is syrupy warm and a few of the other Roosters snort in amusement. Rooster Ten is stepping close and giving him a hug, brushing a kiss across his cheek and Jake pulls back.

                “What the fuck man. I don’t know you.”

                “Bet you want to though.”

                “No. Apparently his Bradley is just a work colleague.”

                Nearly every Rooster in the close vicinity scoffs and this many Bradshaw’s are really starting to get on his nerves. Rooster Ten rests his hands on his shoulders, massages them and as nice as it might feel Jake is not having it.

                “Get your hands off me.”

                Immediately Rooster Ten is backing away, hands up in easy supplication, although his eyebrow is quirked in that same challenging way Rooster has and he has to resist the urge to punch it off and he needs to calm down and deescalate the situation. He grits his teeth.

                “Surely your Jake wouldn’t want you, uh, touching another Jake.”

                “Oh, I know for a fact that he’d be more than okay with this. We have discussed this fantasy in detail.”

                Jake doesn’t even know how to begin addressing that, just turns toward Three and Five, because despite their nerding-out over the science they haven’t tried to hit on him. Other then Three giving him a wink, which compared to the other shit happening is completely benign. Still, Rooster Ten doesn’t seem too put-off, settles in the chair next to Jake and just watches, accepts the beer from Rooster Six.

                Rooster Ten went to USNA. He’s the first Rooster here who went to USNA and Jake wonders if that’s what makes him more confident. Except all of the Roosters are confident in their own ways. Of course, that’s when Rooster Eleven arrives, and he looks like he’s wearing body paint, he doesn’t have the same bulk as some of the others, but he’s still well muscled. Jake can tell under the body-paint-esque workout attire that Rooster Eleven is wearing.

                Rooster Ten reaches over and closes his jaw, dabs at the corner of Jake’s mouth with a napkin.

                “Just a work colleague huh?” Rooster Ten murmurs, and Jake gives him the finger.

                “What do you do?” Rooster Three asks the new arrival.

                “I’m a dance teacher. Are you documenting all this?”

                “For science,” Rooster Three and Five answer and Rooster Eleven just nods, shrugs his shoulders easily. He seems very relaxed.

                “And is Tom Kazansky alive or dead…”

                “Dead… what kind of question is that?”

                “We’re just trying to figure out all the potential pivot points of the timelines. So is Maverick with Penny in your Universe then?”

                “No. He’s with Beau.”

                “Who?”

                “Ah, Admiral Simpson.”

                Jake is glad he isn’t the only one spitting their drink out in surprise.

PART FOUR

[fanfic-scribbles]

Dinner Date Chapter 35

Masterlist

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>> (in progress)

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 35: The Mission Part 2

Chapter Summary: In the wake of the Winter Soldier's attack and reveal, an important conversation is had, and Steve and his partner decide what they want going forward.

Chapter Word Count: 7214

A/N: Two chapters in one month! It barely counts, I think, because these are basically two halves of a whole, but I’m probably going to be mad at myself next month when I’m struggling to get out the next part. For now though: no regerts <3 Enjoy.

~

I managed to drag myself through work. Not especially well, if I was going to judge by the way everyone else gave me a wide berth that grew even wider as the day went on. But I did my job and I didn’t bite anyone’s head off, so I didn’t really care. Walking towards the subway after work, I was flipping through my messages; I had texted Steve a few times through the day, just checking in, but there was still nothing from him, so I sent another one.

Me: Text me when you’re out of medical

I didn’t want him to go home and be alone, and I doubted he would go be with anyone else right now. It wasn’t really about ego, just about practicality– Sam would want to talk about things, Natasha was super awkward, I could only imagine how awkward Clint might be, there was no way he had the patience for Tony…and so on. By process of elimination, I was the only one who might let him get away with pretending like he was fine. I didn’t actually intend to– but he didn’t have to know that.

There was still no response when I walked the last leg home, nor was there anything a half hour after that. I kept pacing around, checking my phone every few minutes, until my unease was too much to bear.

Me: Hey Me: You can tell me you don’t want to talk to me Me: But at least tell me you’re all right Me: Or else I’m going to get Natasha

A few knocks came just seconds later and I tripped over myself, accidentally running into the wall next to the door on my way to check the peephole. I breathed a giant sigh of relief at the hulking mass of blond man hunched outside, and I practically ripped open the door.

He was distracted by something down the hall so he didn’t look at me right away, but when he did, he blinked. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” I rubbed my sore shoulder a bit and tried for a smile. “Nice of you to call.”

The way his face fell when he didn’t even look that happy to start with was heartbreakingly impressive. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I’m off duty right now and I don’t want to be alone,” he said and hunched in on himself– and winced as he did so.

“Hey, hey, it’s all good and I’m glad you’re here.” I pulled him inside (gently) and as soon as the door was shut, I kissed him. “But if you rip open a stitch or otherwise hurt yourself, I’m going to be pissed.”

His smile was wry, like a punch of sarcasm all on its own. “Pissed enough to rip out all of my stitches?”

“If you’re going back to the hospital we might as well make it worth the trip, and quell some of my rage while we’re at it.” But it didn’t feel very funny, considering how Steve was right now, and how he got that way. “I– I didn’t mean– I wouldn’t–”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said gently.

I sighed. “Can you handle me being super neurotic?” I asked, only partly joking.

“Can you?” he asked, even less joking. He pushed his hair back with one hand. “I’m pretty sure I’m worse company right now.”

“You’re not bad company. I’m glad you’re here.” I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my head to his chest. “Saves me a trip to your apartment. And you know how cranky I get after the subway.”

“Well, I’m pretty cranky right now too.” But he wrapped one arm around me and breathed deeply. “I really should have called, huh?”

“It was mostly a joke. You’ll get it when you check your phone messages.” I stayed there for a few more moments, and when I pulled back, I took one of his hands. The other had a backpack in it, but I didn’t comment on it. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry,” he said and let me lead him over to the couch.

“Something light?” I asked hopefully. “You need to eat to heal up.”

He looked askance, but I continued to stare at him, so when he finally did look at me, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see me. He hesitated, so I took a chance and tried to look as sincere as possible. Surprisingly, that got him. “Something light and small,” he said firmly.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said and squeezed his hand before leaving him to get comfy while I tried to figure out something we could both stomach.

Dinner was…fine. Awkward, with both of us trying to find something to talk about that wasn’t…well, unappetizing. Afterwards we did cuddle for a bit, carefully, and he started to relax a little. I could feel it, with how he let his head drift into my shoulder, the way his body started to curl into mine…

And I, trying to get more comfortable, lifted my foot to set it on the table only to shove it into our half-empty dinner containers, knocking them down to the other side of the table where they cracked open, making an immediate mess and ruining everything.

“Fuck,” I said as Steve sat up and away. I almost told him to ignore it and come back, but he was already bracing himself to get up, so instead I tried damage control. “I’m sorry; stay here and I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s fine, I can help,” he said and, stubborn jerk he was, went to the kitchen. That was better than the alternative, though, so I went to pick up the trash and waited on my knees for him to get back with the paper towels. He wouldn’t be doing any bending or crouching if I could help it; he was still moving stiff and careful, and I really didn’t want him to have to go back to the hospital. I wanted him here; safe and warm and not bleeding.

“Thanks,” I said as he put the trash containers in the bag they came in and tied it firmly shut. I did one last wipe around the floors to make sure I got all the splatter. Once I was certain I wouldn’t have any weird smells in the aftermath, I went to add them to the trash can.

Only to see Steve, with the lid propped open and the food bag still in his hand, staring at it like he was trying to solve an equation. Admittedly, the trash was very full. He even looked at me, at it, and back at me again. He gestured at the used paper towels in my hand. “I don’t think even those are going to fit.”

“Very funny,” I said, but it was nice to hear him joke. Even if it was stupid.

I dumped the paper towels, and then, since he was pinning the can already, took the trash bag out and helped him shove the smaller bag down in there before tying the whole thing off. “See? No problem.”

“Your ability to put chores off to the last possible second continues to inspire,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, I’m amazing,” I said and flexed. He motioned his hand for the bag. I shook my head. “I’ve got it. Go sit down; I’ll be right back.”

Something changed in his expression. It was more like a flash, like there was something in his eyes, or the way his lips moved, but I wasn’t fast enough to really take note, let alone name it.

However, he then shook his head, swallowed, and tried for lightness that was very obviously fake when he said, “Why don’t you let me take it?” He even moved to do just that, but he stopped just before I could poke him right in the stomach.

“Get back on the couch, Stitches,” I said. “I’d have thought you’d be glad not to have to deal with the trash.”

“Better me than you, considering the amount you manage to accumulate,” he said, eyeing the bag.

“Watch it, mister, or I will beat you with it.” I slipped on my flip-flops. “Hang tight; I promise I’ll be right back.”

“Let me come with,” he said quickly. “I won't touch the bag. Promise.”

“Steve,” I said, trying to be gentle because he had every right to be as paranoid as he wanted to be, but it wasn’t good for him. “I’ll be fine. Two minutes.”

He stepped close and gave me…the puppy eyes. Damn him. “Humor me?” he asked and there was nothing light or joking in his tone. So I caved, and let him do what he needed to do. Admittedly, it was nice to have someone open the door for me, but when he winced at lifting the chute cover, I glared him down until he backed off and stood watch. Once the garbage was done with, I opened my arm to him, and he forced a brief smile, linked his arm with mine, and we walked back home together and flopped onto the couch.

“See?” he said with a little too much ‘told you so’ for a man who basically supervised one of the easiest (if most annoying) household chores.

“I saw quite a bit,” I said and poked at his bicep. However I then started rubbing it, and when he actually let out a sigh that sounded like relief I started in earnest. “Are you sore?”

“In some places more than others,” he admitted. “I’m…mostly just tired, I think.”

“Okay. A little rub-down, and then we’ll hit the hay,” I said.

He actually took the bait. “What kind of rub-down?” he asked, but while his voice was light, it wasn’t as enthusiastic as he might have been normally, even if all he was going to do was make a stupid follow-up to my already stupid joke.

Still, I gave it some thought. “Would you like that kind of ‘rub-down?’” I asked, because sometimes an orgasm was a nice way to relax yourself for sleep, and if anybody needed to let out a little tension, Steve was it.

He actually took my suggestion for careful consideration. And I had my answer when his face fell. “Maybe I am worse off than I thought,” he said, almost mournfully.

I stood up, and held out my hands to him. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

He let me take one hand but used the other one to push himself off the couch. He-of-little-faith wasn’t wrong in assuming I couldn’t do much right now, given I was tired too, but it was still vaguely insulting. “I can’t even surprise you by picking you up,” he complained as we made the short trek.

“Oh noooo,” I said, mocking sadness. “Whatever will I d-o!”

Steve wrapped his arms around me from behind and yanked me back into him so he could bite the back of my neck. I let out a laugh and smacked at his hand. “Fucking vampire.”

“Mm hm,” he said and nuzzled that part of my skin. Getting ready for bed was extra challenging, because Steve was so reluctant to let go. And reluctant to acknowledge that in any way. I tried to give him a hint with a hip bump or two, but he came right back next to me, touching or holding whatever he could, and I did my best to work around it. No wonder he was still exhausted, if he was still this on edge and hypervigilant, but we got into bed without tripping over each other, and while Steve didn’t let me lay on top of him, he did pull me right up close to his body, and draped an arm and leg over me. Despite all that, though, he barely relaxed.

“SHIELD’s wasting time on a security detail for me,” I said softly, running my hand up and down his arm.

“I know,” he said. He swallowed. “And it’s not a waste of time.”

“So sleep,” I said, forestalling the argument that was going to come out of that last part. “If anything happens, you’ll know about it.”

He sighed. “I wish it was that easy.”

“I know,” I said. “But…try.”

He blinked a few times, but nodded a bit and shut his eyes, at least. I shut my eyes, and tried to stay awake with him, but exhaustion was too strong, and I could only hope it was the same for him.

~

I woke to the sound of my alarm and had an immediate reaction of ‘fuck no’ so strong that I flopped around for my phone and took it in hand. Steve was stirring, which made me a little mad, since he actually had fallen asleep at some point. I checked the time, but I knew my boss was up, since he was definitely an early riser, and when I called him to call out of work for the day, my voice was so naturally rough he let it go without a comment other than a generic wish to get well soon.

At the end I croaked out a “Thanks,” hung up, and snuggled back next to Steve.

He pulled me even closer and chuckled. “Liar, liar, pants on fire…”

I grabbed Moo Cow Milk Tea and thwapped Steve in the head with him. “Go back to sleep, or I will literally set your pants on fire.”

“But you’ll buy me a new pair,” he said and nuzzled me.

“Nope; I’ll let you do the walk of shame.”

“Or maybe you just want to keep me here. Pantsless.”

I smiled and tried to hold back my laughter. “Ah, you have discovered my nefarious plan to keep you all to myself forever,” I said as flatly as I could. “You may never leave now that you know my villainous secret, Captain America.”

“A villain has me in her bed and only wants to take my pants?” He kissed my neck. “You might be the worst wanna-be evil-doer I’ve ever faced.”

“Watch it, buddy; I think that Porcupine asshole is way less efficient than me. I mean, how are you going to fight other bad guys without pants? They’d never take you seriously.”

“But then they’d be too busy laughing and I’d beat them handily.”

“Because you’re shameless.”

He chuckled against my head. “Because I’m shameless.”

We went back to sleep together, but I woke up alone to the late morning sun. Moo Cow Milk Tea was on Steve’s pillow, positioned on his back with his arms (mostly) behind his head, like he was relaxing. I snorted at the sight.

“I tried to get his legs to cross, but they wouldn’t stay,” Steve said as he walked in with two cups of coffee.

“It’s so nice to see the two of you finally getting along,” I said, and made grabby hands for one of the mugs.

“It’s a stuffed animal,” Steve scoffed as he sat in his spot, but he gave me what I was nonverbally asking for. However as soon as that hand was free, he grabbed Moo Cow Milk Tea and tossed him flippantly behind himself, where the poor inanimate object hit the wall and fell to the floor.

I stifled laughter and focused on swallowing the drink I was trying to take in. Once it was safely down my gullet, I said, “A stuffed animal you gave me.”

“So I can take it back,” he said faux-snobbishly.

I gave him a serious look. “One: no,” I said flatly, even though I knew he didn’t mean it. “Two: it’s a stuffed animal you gave me and that’s why I like it, you doofus.” I blew on the hot liquid. “It’s nice to have around when you aren’t here.”

“Well…I guess that’s all right then,” he said, slightly mollified and dropping the act. He leaned in for a kiss, and I rolled my eyes but met him halfway.

“Morning,” I said as I sat back.

He bobbed his head, and smiled a little bitterly. “Yeah. It– it sure is a morning,” he said, looking down at his cup.

“Did you eat?”

He grimaced. “I’m not hungry,” he said. He barely had the words out before his stomach rumbled, and he ducked into his shoulders more as a light flush graced his face.

“Your stomach disagrees,” I said as sympathetically as I could. Needing to eat but not wanting to– been there; who hadn’t.

“I don’t know what it’s talking about,” he said sourly and took another drink.

“Hmm.” I sipped mine. “What about just trying some toast? It’s relatively easy to get down, but if you decide you really don’t want any, I can finish it up for you.”

He was quiet, and kept his mouth close to the lip of his mug. I didn’t think the coffee was helping much with whatever nausea he might have been feeling, but he didn’t need me nagging at him. He was a grown man; he could decide if and when he wanted to eat. For the moment I simply enjoyed his company, and the start of a day relatively sheltered from the ambient noise of the city in motion outside. After a few minutes, he capitulated. “Maybe just a couple of slices,” he said quietly.

When he got some food in him, though, his appetite opened up, though he was hesitant to indulge it. I tried to make suggestions, but when he started being more resistant, I backed off. Much of the day passed like that, in a weird, quiet haze, with me trying to take care of Steve with intermittent suggestions of food and shower and rest, and he allowed it at certain increments, and to certain points that didn’t make much sense to me. He relented to a shower, but refused the nice warm clothes I tried to give him; he ate a bowl of cereal, but shook his head on my offer to order a good lunch, even though he was obviously still hungry.

I didn’t know if he was in his head and doing this for reasons known only to him, or if this was a weird act of self-recrimination– take only the bare minimum I could give, or asked him to do, and allow himself no other comfort from it. I didn’t like the implications, but talking was also not something he was willing to do much of. Being at home on a random work weekday was surreal enough, and Steve being quiet and moody only added to it.

I was still happier to have him with me, though. The thought of him having to suffer alone at home was a miserable one. Maybe the day kind of sucked. But the whole situation sucked, and was going to suck no matter what. I leaned against him in relief, and after only a moment of tensing, he relaxed, and wrapped his arm around me.

In the evening, after coaxing him into finally having his first real, full meal of the day, he was sitting on the couch, fiddling with something while I cleaned up and got some drinks together. When I got back to the couch, Steve was flipping through a thin, battered-looking folder.

“What’s that?” I asked as I sat down next to him.

“The new file we found on the Wi- on Bucky,” Steve said and let it flop shut. He was quiet and I let him be as he sank back into the couch cushion, looking lost in thought.

I nudged his arm. “I got that fancy juice you like,” I said and held it to him.

“Thanks sweetheart,” he said, words without thought, but he did take the drink and sip at it. He held it down on his thigh and sighed. “I’m sorry I’m so…”

I made sure he wasn’t going to finish that sentence before I responded. “You get to be any which way you want right now,” I said. “There’s no right or wrong way to deal with this.”

“Sam’s got suggestions,” he said wryly.

“Because he’s your friend,” I said. “He knows therapist shit because it’s his wheelhouse and his interest. But you know anything he tells you now is because he cares about you.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I just…don’t know that I deserve it.”

I leaned against him and chewed on that. “Is it better to think that?” I asked quietly. “Does it make you feel better to think that–”

“There’s no feeling better right now,” he said, flat, fast. He shook a little and I sat up to see tears barely brimming at his eyes. He actually let them fall. Or maybe he just had so little control right now. I could wish for the former, but I feared it was the latter. He swallowed a couple of times, and confirmed said fear when the tears stopped and he abruptly rubbed his face dry. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “No judgement, but is touch okay, or not okay?”

He gave it some thought. “Small touch,” he said, in a small voice. I was slow as I slid my hands over one of his, but when he didn’t flinch away, I held it, and pushed back the desire to grip it for dear life.

“I have to find him,” he said. He wrapped his fingers around mine and looked at me. “I have to help him.”

I nodded. Of course he was going to; this was Bucky, he was Steve’s everythi-

Oh.

A lump lodged in my throat. Logically I knew this might happen, and still I couldn’t help but be stupid and selfish about it. “Of course,” I said, shoving back all the ugly feelings I didn’t want to know the details of. I hated what had been done to him too, and while I didn’t know Bucky, I knew enough via Steve to want him safe and happy. By proxy if nothing else. “Are you…are you going to–…do you want to–…is this–…”

“Oh, God.” Steve inhaled sharply and gripped my hand tighter. “Sweetheart, no, I– I have no idea where his head’s at. I know he’s been back in the city at least twice. That he did everything in his power to make sure I didn’t notice him once.” He swallowed again. “I love him. I knew I always would. Like I love Peggy, and always will.” He turned and leaned his forehead in to touch mine, and I could hear– and feel– how ragged his breathing was. “And I love you. Right now. And nothing can change that. I’m not leaving you; this isn’t– unless you want–”

“I don’t, I don’t,” I said quickly. I swallowed back some of that emotion, now that imminent doom wasn’t hanging over my head. “I just know how much he means to you.”

“Do you know how much you mean to me?” he asked and gave me a small, slow kiss.

“I try,” I admitted, because thinking too much about that felt…egotistical in a way I still couldn’t quite grasp. Sometimes, maybe. Not now, though; not with Bucky back throwing everything for a loop. Well, for a definition of ‘back.’

“But…”

I looked up. His eyes were still down. “I will have to leave at some point. Physically, at least.” He looked right at me, forcing eye contact and squeezing my hand hard when I tried to look away. “I don’t know how long it will be, how long it will take, but I have to find him. I have to help him.”

I opened my mouth on instinct. “I–”

“Just– listen for a moment,” he said, and at that point he looked away again. I did as he said and waited, until he gathered himself together again. “I don’t want to break up. But I know this situation is…it’s fucked. It’s all fucked up and you don’t have to deal with it– no, I know you care, I know everyone cares, but this is so much more than anyone should have to deal with. I’m choosing it. Actively. Even if it means going against SHIELD.” He gave me a wry smile. “They don’t trust the Winter Soldier, and I understand why. But I trust Bucky. I know he’s been getting on all right, but after this last time…it’s obvious his luck won’t hold forever, and now that I know he’s alive, whether he wants anything to do with me or not, I still have to do this. No matter what, I have to help him, and to do that, I have to find him. I might be gone more frequently, and for longer. And asking you to wait for me while I chase after him is…”

He shook his head and sat up, backing away from me just slightly. “It’s a lot. I know it is, and while I’m ninety-nine percent sure I know what you’ll say right now, I am asking you, sincerely, to take time and really, really think about it. I would not think one bit less of you if you decide it’s too much, but I can’t stand the thought of you committing to me, committing to all of this mess, without really, truly, thinking it through.” He looked at me again. “And when I say that, I mean I want you to think about what you want too. Not just what you think is the right answer, or what you think I want. So please, can you take some time, and really think it over?”

I knew what I wanted to say, but he gave me a stern look. I stuck out my tongue, and he actually moved as if to nip at it. “Hey!” I said in mock-offense, but some of the tenson broke, and Steve came back to me, smiling, and nipped at my lips until I opened up and let him in.

I tried to hold back, but part of me wanted to devour him; take all this comfort for all it was worth, but I drank him in steady doses, until he slowed, and we rested our heads together in silence.

The rest of the night was pretty quiet. The TV felt too loud, and none of my music sounded right, so I let it be, and so did Steve. After a while he picked up the slim folder again and started flipping through it, on the side opposite me, and I tried to respect his wishes and keep my eyes away. I could have gone to get a book. Or pulled out my phone. Instead, I sat there, and stayed in the comforting knowledge that, right now, Steve was here, and Steve was safe.

He wouldn’t always be. I tried to do as he asked, but my answer was much the same– if Steve didn’t want to end things with me, I didn’t want to end things with him. I saw no point in dragging that out. I loved Steve, but he was already complicated as all hell. He was an active-duty hero, who didn’t know when to quit, who had a lot of PTSD and issues and…love. He and Peggy weren’t together anymore, but he still loved her. Bucky was– had been– gone, but Steve’s love for him was sometimes strong enough I could almost picture him on Steve’s other side when he was sitting beside me, the few times he felt good enough to indulge in those stories.

So I had to wonder– was I okay with that maybe being a reality? True, we didn’t know where Bucky’s head was at, and the guy had a hell of a lot going on these days; but given Steve had, apparently, broken intense and painful brainwashing not once but twice, it felt stupid to think there were no shared feelings there. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with him again, for whatever reason. But they both still loved each other. Was I okay enough to deal with that?

“I’m not going anywhere,” I blurted out. Steve’s hand slowly stopped its absent sliding up and down the page, and he flipped the manila folder shut. I stared at my lap. Was it foolish? Maybe. Was it easy? It probably wouldn’t be. Did I still know the answer with a certainty I’d never had for anything else in my life? Unequivocally yes. Which just made me second-guess myself more, honestly. “I don’t know what else you want me to do to prove it, but…I know what I want. And I want to stay with you.” I swallowed any potential lingering fear and doubt, and shut my hands to tight fists. “I’m not going to overthink it– I’m just going to take you at your word, and trust that you want me. So…trust me too.”

I kept my head down, but he slid his hands over mine, curled his fingers to hold my fists, and squeezed. “Okay,” he said softly. “So…we’re in this together.”

I lifted my head to look at him. His eyes were a little misty, and he didn’t move to ‘fix’ them. “Yeah,” I said. I uncurled my fists and turned my hands so I could squeeze his in return. “We’re in it together. All of it.” I paused. “Except for any punchy bits. You can keep those.”

He let out a watery little laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah. Trust me, you don’t want me. I can’t even take out a fly at work that’s been making my life hell for like a fucking week now.”

He started laughing, though he also tried not to. “That sounds real tough, Sweetheart.”

I widened my eyes and gave him the saddest pout I could manage. “My life is the hardest, ever.”

He broke. Mostly into laughter, but the tear dam fell a bit too– not a lot, but some. He swallowed and blinked them back, or out, and I brushed my fingers over the escapees to dry his cheeks. He took my hand and almost smiled, but his expression straightened into something serious. “On a sort of related note, I want to ask you for just one more thing,” he said. He looked right at me. “Don’t refuse the SHIELD detail.”

I let out a tiny little sigh that I wanted to make a much, much bigger sigh, but also didn’t want to antagonize him into an actual fight. “Steve–”

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “I know– maybe it’s overbearing, but Bucky– he is the Winter Soldier. He almost killed Fury. He almost killed me. The mention of his code name terrified Natasha to the point where she couldn’t hide it. He is coming off brainwashing and drugs and training and while I know the man I love is still in there, I also know what can still happen if the wrong people get at him.” He put my hand over his bandaged shoulder. “And I won’t risk you for anything. Not even him.”

It still seemed silly– if Bucky was some big-time assassin, what could a couple of SHIELD agents do other than maybe get killed. If everyone really was as worried for me as they kept saying they were, then I doubted I would be allowed the free rein I (apparently) still had over my life and where I went and what I did.

But…I kept circling around that last part, and the implication it held. That if Steve had to, he’d go to the mat for me. For me. And while it was probably some (more than a little) for Bucky too, since the man Steve knew and loved wouldn’t have wanted to be a killer of random civilians, the sentiment still punched all the hot air right out of me. “Will it really make you feel better?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said without one iota of hesitation.

I sighed for real. “Fine.” It made me uneasy– because if Bucky did come around, I didn’t think SHIELD was going to be as lenient in their use of force as maybe Steve would, given Fury’s entire demeanor at that meeting and how even Phil had looked so tense, but even if Bucky knew about me, I truly believed he didn’t care one way or the other, and that was about the only thing that made this tolerable.

“Thank you.” Steve kissed me. “You won’t even notice them.”

“So everyone keeps telling me, but I don’t think that’s as reassuring as you all think it is,” I said dryly. It got a little chuckle out of him, and an understanding (perhaps commiserating) nod. I sighed. Well, that was that. However…

“I, uh…I do have one other thing about all this to bring up,” I said. I probably would have felt worse about it, but I was entirely drained. “Sharon drove me home after…after I visited you in the SHIELD medical…thing. She mentioned she was waiting to see Peggy in person to tell her, but I…I asked if she would let you give her the news instead.”

He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look anything but exhausted, and stared down at his lap. “I don’t…I don’t know how to even say it.”

“I know.” I took both his hands in both of mine and squeezed. “It’s going to suck, and it’s going to hurt, and you don’t have to, but…I think you should. I think she should hear it from you. I think you should be there for each other.” I swallowed hard. “I’m gonna be here for you for every bit of this, day or night, whatever, whenever you need, but…no one’s going to feel this the way the two of you are. And I think you should. Together.”

He squeezed back, and we just sat like that, for several minutes. Over that time, he slowly folded in on himself, and I leaned on him, and I let his tears flow over my hands like water draining from a cracked cup, until eventually they stopped, and he lifted himself up. Just slightly. “You’re right,” he said. “I want…I need to be the one to tell her.”

I was silent while Steve pulled himself back together. I did try to help dry some of the tears, and he leaned into my hand. “‘Whatever, whenever,’ huh?” He gave me an attempt at a smile. “What if I need company for a run at four a.m.?”

“You know I can’t run,” I said. But since his tone was only barely a joke, I added, “…But, we can walk. And I’ll limit myself to only three complaints.”

He actually perked up. “What if I get you a coffee?”

I tried not to show that I was biting down an internal scream. He was actually going to do this to me, I could already tell. But there was still seriousness even in his teasing, and it wasn’t like he slept great before all this bullshit happened, so, in the interest of making sure I would still be a safe place for my boyfriend to come to while the rest of his life fell down around him, I fucking sucked it up. “Coffee will bring me down to…two complaints.”

His smile grew a little more and he turned his head to give my hand a kiss before he sat back. “I won’t abuse that privilege,” he said, a little too seriously.

“You might have to come shake me awake,” I warned him. “But. You know where I sleep.”

“Mm.” He smiled weakly. “That actually sounds nice right now.”

“Yeah?” It really did, and if Steve thought he could sleep, then that was better than nothing. I stood, held out my hand, and this time he took it easily. “Let’s go to bed.”

~

I actually woke before my alarm. Given the fact we had gone to bed a lot earlier than I would have normally, that wasn’t surprising. That Steve was still asleep, though, was. I kept my victory fist-pump to myself, made sure to turn my alarm off for the day, then carefully considered my escape. Steve’s hand was on my side, and his face was right behind me, but I did some incremental sliding towards the edge of the bed and he didn’t seem to appear bothered, so I kept up my snail’s pace, until I was too far to take his hand any further, very carefully lifted it, and then set it on the bed. Again, he didn’t stir; just let out a little huff of air and snuggled into the pillow. I resisted the urge to give him a kiss, and went to the bathroom to start getting ready.

It was a slower process than usual, but there was only so much I could do to keep quiet. I kept the door shut for my shower, but had to come back out for my clothes. I kept the door halfway shut to block most of the light, and the way it opened kept direct light away from him, so for most of my morning routine I let it be, and just tried to keep it down while I got ready. I was almost done when I banged my hand against the counter hard enough to make me start a, “Fucking–!” before I remembered I was trying to be quiet. I looked over, and sure enough, he was watching me.

“Hey,” I said quietly, mindful that only one eye was open, and shook out my aching limb. “Sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you.” I was going to shut the door, but I stopped and leaned on it instead. “Do you want me to call out of work again?”

He shook his head. “I have some things to take care of today,” he mumbled sleepily, and he smiled. “I like watching you get ready.”

I snorted. “I can spit toothpaste like no other.”

“I was really impressed when you tripped into your pants,” he said. I almost wanted to call out just because he looked so stupid-cute, half-snuggled into the pillow, but if he was going out later anyways, then I might as well go to work.

I flicked off the bathroom light and went over to briefly sit on the bed, leaning down to give him a kiss. “Take your time,” I said.

“Mm hm,” he said, and pulled me in for one more kiss, before letting go. I pulled the blanket up to his shoulder, leaving his arm out the way he preferred, and watched him start to snooze again, before I grabbed my things, turned off the lights, and left him to a peaceful rest.

~

Later that morning, the fly landed on my cubicle wall, just off to the side, within arm’s reach, and stared at me. Or maybe it wasn’t staring at me. But it felt like it was. I scowled just in case and considered another attempt to swat the thing, but I was already testing my neighbor’s patience with how hard I had smacked the wall twice already today, and I knew from experience that all I was going to get for my trouble was a stinging hand and pointed glare from over the other side. So instead, I picked up my phone, took a picture, and sent it to Steve with a simple message.

Me: THIS MOTHERFUCKER

I put my phone down and tried to get back to work, only swatting at the thing when it got too close to my head. (That buzzing right near my ears made me want to chew through my own jaw.)

But then there was a different kind of buzzing. From a different person.

Sam: Hey, so, I try real hard not to snoop… Sam: But I walked in and saw Steve doubled over and I was worried he was crying so I peeked at his phone. Sam: And while now I’m pretty sure he’s laughing– Sam: Still. Continuously. Endlessly. Etc.– Sam: I wanted to ask: Sam: Are YOUokay?

I smiled and chewed on the question while I responded to an urgent email from my boss. And came to a conclusion.

Me: You know Me: I think I will be Me: We both will.

~

When I arrived home, there was no Steve, but the living area had been picked up, the kitchen counters were cleaned off, and there was a bundle of flowers by the sink with a note sticking out of them. And Moo Cow Milk Tea hugging the base of the colorful cellophane-wrapped pot. I picked up the note and read through it.

“Sweetheart–

I’ll be away for a couple of days. I have that thing to take care of. In D.C. I told Sam, and he’s going to stay close by in case I need him. So don’t worry– I’ll be okay. In my absence, I have instructed Moo Cow Milk Tea to take care of the house while I’m gone. He’ll take good care of you ;)

I love you and I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Love, Your boyfriend. AKA Not-a-stupid-stuffed-animal. AKA Steve.”

I laughed even as I rolled my eyes. I almost regretted bringing the damn thing up, but then I picked up Moo Cow Milk Tea and…smelled him. He smelled like Steve. Like Steve’s cologne, when he got stuck going to some stupid-ass fancy party.

I blinked away tears, and hugged the stupid stuffed animal before I grabbed my phone.

Me: Don’t worry Me: You are still number one Me: Moo Cow can’t order takeout when I don’t want to deal with the phone Steve: Ah yes, fingers: why I am the best Steve: Wait Steve: I didn’t mean it like that

I grinned.

Me: No, you’re right. On both counts.

I sent the kissy face. He sent a lot of blushing faces back. I stood there for a moment, mind blanking, until I realized I still didn’t really know what to say.

Me: Say hi to Peggy for me Steve: I will Steve: Take care sweetheart. I’ll be in some SHIELD meetings when I get back, but I meant it: I promise I’ll be back soon

‘Not leaving yet,’ I took that to mean.

Me: Well, call if you need anything Me: ‘In this together’ and all that

Together– in boyfriends-turned-assassins back from the dead, and potential four AM wake-up calls. One of those was decidedly less pleasant than the other, and, in my humble opinion, it wasn’t the one full of knives. Ugh.

For now, I heaved out a giant sigh, then picked up the stuffed animal and flowers all together and took them to the living room. I set the flowers in the middle of the coffee table, where they could look pretty for a few days, and held Moo Cow Milk Tea as I set up a favorite movie guaranteed to make me cry. I was still on edge, and I needed a release to get me back to semi-normal. Nothing about this was going to be easy, even if Bucky showed up randomly tomorrow, so I had to be strong and steady for whatever was coming next. Because I was here, with Steve, for all of it, and knew I would be, no matter what.

~

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>> (in progress)

[thighsoverlives]

Savior - 1/?

⋆ relationship ⋆

John Price x F!reader

⋆ summary ⋆

Your deadbeat boyfriend up and leaves you, turning your world upside-down. After a mishap at the local liquor store, an older man with a mysterious background takes interest in you.

⋆ notes ⋆

found this in my docs lol. its like 4 months old but i decided to finish this part of it (where is this motivation coming from??). hopefully it turns into something half decent but god knows because i have no idea where i want to take this. soo.. enjoy lol.

⋆ warnings ⋆

implied/referenced harassment (very brief)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

hope you enjoy! (●'◡'●)

Part One : Bad Decisions

Your hands are trembling as you angrily pull at fistfuls of hair. All of you want to do right now is feel anything but this stabbing pain. You’re drawing in unstable breaths but it still feels like you can’t breathe. Like all the oxygen in the world will not be enough because your lungs feel like they're going to collapse in on themselves. Like they’re going to explode. Your vision is blurry from all the tears you’ve been crying. You hate this feeling. Hate how the area under your eyes stings as more hot tears stream down your cheeks. You want everything to stop, stop, stop. You can’t do this right now.

Just last week your deadbeat piece of shit boyfriend had up and left you, using the excuse that he’d found someone better. That he’d been seeing that someone for a while. The insinuation that you had never ever been good enough for him in the four years that you’d wasted with that fucking piece of garbage hurt you more than you expected it to. You’d already emotionally detached from him months ago but it still hurt so much. Even though he was the absolute epitome of trash, he was still a major part of your life. He was stability in the sense that your life had been relatively the same for the past four years. Now that he was gone, what were you supposed to do with yourself? Were you just supposed to pick up the pieces that he had so haphazardly broken and discarded and put them back together? It seemed impossible. 

Your breathing was again becoming more labored. Your body physically fucking hurt. Everything hurt. You wanted things to go back to normalcy. Even if normalcy meant feeling alone with him. Even if normalcy meant suppressing your tears every time he made a backhanded comment or cruel remark. Even if normalcy meant being in the worst emotional pain you’d ever felt for the last four years. You hoped maybe he’d come knocking on your door in the dark of the night, telling you how sorry he was and how he’d treat you right this time. But this wasn’t a fairytale. He wasn’t your knight in shining armor, here to save you and take away all your pain. Hell, even thinking that he would apologize or give you anything that even resembled comfort was a fever dream. Why did you still want him to come back? You knew the promises of changing his behaviour were empty and hollow. But you wanted your normalcy back so fucking bad. Stop, stop, stop, stop. You wanted to yell at yourself for even thinking that. Fuck. He had screwed your brain up so much. Fuck, you hated him.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to break something. Wanted to punch a fucking hole in your wall. Wanted to break everything in your shitty apartment. God, you were such a fool. You’d wasted so much time on him and he was such a piece of shit. Fuck. This apartment was suffocating you. The walls felt like they were closing in, coming to crush you. You had to get out. You grabbed the nearest hoodie and pulled on your sneakers and in nothing else but shorts, you left your apartment. Liquor and Tylenol sounded like a nice combo to forget this shitty week. If you were lucky enough maybe you could forget the past four years too. 

The chilly March night air nipped at your bare skin as you pushed the lobby door open. You should have bothered to put a decent pair of pants on and you could hear your father’s voice in the back of your head saying “This is how you catch a cold,” but you pushed on. 

The streets were quiet. The sun had long since set so there weren’t many people out and about. The liquor store was only a couple blocks away but it probably wasn’t a smart idea to be going out in the first place. Your neighborhood wasn’t exactly what one would call safe. The apartment was dirt cheap, and for good reason too. This side of the city was riddled with crime and shady personnel. It was all you could afford though. It didn’t matter much either. You just wanted booze and some pain killers. The store wasn’t that far away and you’d never been hassled.

The door to the liquor store opened with resistance as the chimes hanging above announced your arrival. You went right to the cooler. It was slightly isolated from the rest of the store, the sliding doors separating it from everything else. The cold once again sent goosebumps racing up your legs as the doors slid open. You walked to the back of the cooler, in search of a six pack of Heineken. Maybe you’d get a twelve pack. You were pulled from your thoughts as three men approached you. 

One of the three stepped forward. He was wearing a baggy hoodie with grey sweatpants splattered with stains. “What’s a lovely lady like you doing out at this time of night?” His breath smelled of cigarettes and alcohol, with a pungent undertone of something you could only describe as shit. 

“Just picking up some beer,” you replied flatly. You had suddenly become aware that they were blocking your exit and a twinge of panic began to bloom.

“How ‘bout I take you back to my place. I can show you what a real party looks like.” He gave you a smile and it sent shivers up your spine. You should have never left the safety of your apartment. 

“No, it’s okay, my boyfriend is waiting for me at home.” You tried to return a smile and hoped your bluff didn’t sound too far fetched.

“C’mon, don’t be lame. This would be way more fun than going home to your boyfriend. Just come with me, yeah?”

“No, really, it’s okay-”

“I don’t think you’re getting the fucking hint.” He reached for your wrist, grabbing it tightly. The two other men that were with him took a step closer. 

Your stomach dropped. You were so fucked. 

“Do we have a problem here, gents?” A thick British accent came from behind the group of goons.

“I think you should mind your own fucking busines-” Before he could finish his sentence, he jaw was connecting with the British man’s fist. You were pulled forward for a second before you were able to release yourself from his grasp. He crumpled into a pathetic mess, blood pouring from a gash in his cheek. One of the other goons went to swing but was stopped by another man who kicked at the back of his knee and sent him sprawling to the floor like his friend. 

“I’d suggest you leave now.” The other man spoke in a low, calm tone as he bent down to look the two men in the eyes.. His voice was also thick with a British accent.

The group of men left the cooler quickly without any more protest.

“You alright?” 

Your hands were once again trembling as you stared at the little splotches of blood on the floor. You should have never left the apartment. What were you thinking? God you were such a fucking idiot. 

“Ma’am?” The voice was calm and soft as it broke you from your trance.

“Fine. Yes, I- I’m fine.” You stumbled over your words, hands still shaking uncontrollably. 

“Uhm, the name’s Gaz, and this is Price. Sorry about what happened,” he paused. “Is there anything we can do for you?” 

“N-no, it’s fine.” You felt lightheaded, like you were going to pass out any second. What the fuck just happened? Your head was spinning. 

“Did you come here by car?” The one named Price asked. Price, a funny name, a last name? It must have been a last name. Price. Like a price tag.

“Walked.” 

You might’ve been more concerned if not for your dazed state. These men were still strangers and despite the fact that they saved you, they could also be acting with ill intentions. Why was he asking if you had a car anyways? Was it so he could determine whether or not you were an easy target? Your head was spinning 

Trembling hands grasped for a case of beer. This night was just getting shittier by every passing second. You had to get out of this cooler. It was suffocating you just like your apartment was.

You pushed past the men, bumping into the older one as you left. 

“Ma’am, are you going to b-,” His voice was cut off abruptly. The younger one said something to him and the talking ceased. They were probably plotting to abduct you. You were so, so stupid. Why on Earth did you ever leave the safety of your apartment? Sure, the complex was shitty and the security wasn’t great but at least you’d be behind a locked door. 

 You tossed the case of beer onto the counter, paying little mind to the cashier.

“Everything okay? I heard a commotion in there.” He scanned the beer, eyeing you as he did.

You scoffed, not replying. It felt like the world was against you. Maybe you were confusing genuine concern for something more insidious but you could care less what he was thinking. 

The bells chimed once again as you exited the building. As you began walking towards your apartment, you saw the two men who’d beat the goons up getting into their car. A black sedan type. You were thankful it wasn’t a white van. You sighed, pulling your hood up over your head. You were so tired of this shit. 

[late-to-the-party-81]

The best laid plans...

AN: This silly little fic was written for @buckybarnesbingo Square C5: A picture of Bucky waiting against a wall, holding a gun. I hope you enjoy the sass and crack. Thanks to @drabbles-mc for cheerleading and beta-ing

Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Moodboard by me, with robot image by Rafael Amarante 

Master list| BBB Master list

Summary: Bucky and Nat had a date night planned, but you know what’s said about best laid plans?

Relationships: Established Bucky x Nat, Established Sam x Steve, Cap Quartet friendship.

Word Count: 2.4k

CW: Crack, Sass, Snark, Flirting, Innuendo, Swearing, Robots being smashed, a bad-guy getting his come-uppance, Sam and Steve are like a pair of horny teenagers, Bucky is done, Nat is always right.

Bucky came to a halt a few feet from the bunker entrance, his back pressed to the smooth, grey concrete with his assault rifle held in his right hand. Snowflakes swirled around him.  

This was not how he’d intended spending his Friday, but here he was. The bad-guys never had any respect for his plans, the bastards. Or rather his and Nat’s plans. Not that they’d had anything major organised, just a quiet night in, the pair of them, the cat’s, a box set, some wine and some blini’s. Maybe a little ‘something-something’ later on, if he played his cards right.

But, here he was, in the freezing cold - and god-knows he hated the cold for many legitimate reasons - waiting for the signal from Nat, before the pair of them stormed in to save Sam and Steve from whatever-the-fuck mess the pair of them had managed to get themselves in to. If Bucky recalled the briefing notes he’d skimmed over on the way here, it was robots of some sort. Which was better than aliens, and a one hundred percent improvement on wizards. That Strange guy gave him the willies, despite Tony’s assurance that his cough friend was on their side. He still wasn’t sold on Howard’s son’s judgement, despite the years that had passed since the ‘Siberia Incident’.

Robots, though - he could handle those. To steal a line from Bruce, with robots he could “smash”, and not feel bad. Not that he felt bad when he punched aliens. Or wizards. But robots were like Nazi’s. Not sentient in Bucky’s humble opinion.

He did briefly wonder how Steve and Sam had managed to get themselves captured, but that knowledge would wait for later. They’d probably got distracted from the mission because they were making out or something equally as stupid. They could at least keep the PDAs to a minimum in the field, like he and Nat did. Although he did get it - Steve could let himself be seen now, in a way he hadn’t been able to back in the day.  And Bucky wasn’t blind, Sam was an attractive man, even if he did act like a cocky dickhead about it ninety nine percent of the time.

“Stupid Steve and stupid Sam.” He hadn’t even realised he’d muttered under his breath until a slightly tinny voice sounded in his ear.

“Be nice, Yasha. They are our friends after all. Even if they did ruin our date night.”

Bucky’s lips twitched upwards at Nat’s admonishment. “Can you blame me, malyshka? I was looking forward to a night-in with my best girls. All cuddled up together, all cosy. Maybe a bit of kissing, a bit of…”

“Okay, cool it lover-boy. I don’t think Al and Liho would be appreciative of your kisses.”

Bucky’s smile broadened and he let a bit of ‘40’s’ into his voice. “Is that your way of saying that you would be?”

“I plead the fifth.” He could hear the smile in Nat’s voice. “Now, get ready. I’ve almost reached the East Entrance. We need to breach together.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, glad that Nat wouldn’t be able to see.

“Not my first time out, Natalia. Just because Steve likes to go in without a plan and Sam seems to have adopted his technique, doesn’t mean I’ve lost my sense of strategy. I’m ready on your mark. As always.”

“The way it should be. But James, don’t roll your eyes at me. You know how it annoys me when you’re passive aggressive. Now…breach!”

Bucky pushed away from the wall and kicked in the door. He rolled through the opening, coming to a halt on his knees, gun raised. 

There wasn’t anyone or anything there.

“No bogies here, Nat. You?”

“Nothing. It’s suspiciously quiet.”

Bucky rose to his feet and slung his rifle over his shoulder.

“I’ll work myself toward the centre and meet you there. First to find our disaster gays buys pizza.”

He heard Nat laugh over the comms, clear and unaffected. “You always make it so easy for me, kotenok.”

“Only because you’re easy for me.” Bucky couldn’t help but tease her. He could imagine the faint pink blush dusting her cheekbones about now. She was probably doing that cute nose wrinkle too.

“Bucky!” Nat hissed, but her tone didn’t hold any real censure.

“Okay, okay. I’m all business now. I promise. See you soon.”

Bucky pulled one of his knives from its sheath, gave it a cursory flip to check the balance, and then made his way toward the next door. If there was anything behind it, it would know Bucky was there - he hadn’t exactly been quiet when he’d come through the first door. He placed himself on the hinge side of the door, noting that this one opened towards him, and with a steadying breath, he pulled it open.

Immediately, laser blasts peppered the space Bucky would have been standing in if he’d opened the door like a normal person. He observed the rhythm of the shots for a few seconds, then rounded the door, his knife flying forward from his hand. There was a satisfying thunk, followed by a crash as the robot landed on the floor. Bucky walked towards the pile of metal, taking in its form as he pulled his knife from its ocular sensor. Why mad scientists had to mimic human biology by putting the CPU in the most obvious place constantly baffled him, but at least it made it easy.

He didn’t have long to ponder though. He heard a whirring noise and looked up to see four more robots bearing down on him. Sheathing his knife, Bucky unslung his rifle, holding it in his right hand. With his left he picked up the late robot to use as a shield. He felt the impact of the laser blasts, and peaked around the metal shell to aim his weapon. He squeezed the trigger, letting off three bullets at a time, and kept moving forward. One of the robots wouldn’t go down, so as Bucky approached it, he decided to use the one he was holding as a bludgeon. There was the screech of metal on metal, and the fizzing of wires as they broke, still sparking, then there was a pile of twisted steel on the floor. He opened his comms.

“Everything okay, sweetheart? I’ve had a few tin cans to deal with over here.”

“Doing fine, baby. Hang on…” Nat went silent for a moment, but Bucky knew it was just because she was concentrating. He heard the high-pitch whine of her Widow’s Bite deploying, followed by a hollow clang sound and then she was back. “How many have you taken out?”

Bucky looked around him.

“Five.”

“Ha! Six. I’m winning.”

“Malyshka, our competition isn’t about numbers, remember?” Bucky drawled, letting a small amount of condescension into his voice.

“Yours might not be, but mine is.” God, he loved this woman. She challenged him everyday and he couldn’t get enough.

“Always gotta be the winner, huh?”

“No ‘gotta’ about it. Just ‘am’, kitten.” He could see her smirk in his head. She was probably coyly twisting a lock of hair around her finger as she spoke as well. “Now, I gotta get into that next room.”

The comm line went quiet again and Bucky smiled to himself as he thought about all the ways he was gonna worship her when they got home. After he’d torn a strip off Steve and Sam for being idiots. However, he had to find them first.

He wasn’t surprised to discover more robots as he entered the next area of the bunker. They weren’t too difficult to deal with, especially considering how frustrated Bucky was feeling. A couple of laser shots grazed his jacket, the burning leather smell filling his nose unpleasantly. A replacement jacket was definitely coming out of Steve’s pocket.

Six more robots lay in a sparking, dented mess on the floor, but he just walked around them, moving forward. It was only a minute until he came upon a bulkhead door, the mechanism for opening it on his side. Bucky could also see that the door was dented, hit from the inside in what he assumed was an attempt to open it from the other side by someone exceedingly strong. It would take a lot to deform it like that.

“If you’re not behind this door, Steve”, Bucky muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna kill you.” He reshouldered his rifle and grabbed hold of the bulkhead wheel. It was tightly closed and the metal groaned under Bucky’s hands as he turned it. “Fuck Sam and fuck Steve, idiotic, stupid idiots.” He didn't know exactly what he was going to find when he got in there, but he wasn’t too worried. They might have some scrapes and bruises, at the worst be unconscious, but they were tough and no two-bit robot maker was going to get the best of them. Not for long anyway. 

The catch on the door fully opened and Bucky pulled it ajar. He slipped through but came to a dead halt at what he saw. This was definitely not what he expected to find. In fact, he was so taken aback that he didn’t notice the door swinging shut behind him, until he heard the clunk.

Sam and Steve leapt apart. Steve’s short blond hair was sticking up all over the place, evidence of Sam’s fingers having been threaded through it. Both their lips were kiss swollen, and their chests were heaving. Steve pulled the shield across his lap. Sam just used his hands to cover his crotch.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut. “Really, guys? You get stuck in the lair of a mad robot inventor, so you just end up making out like teenagers?” Steve flushed, his ears going bright pink, but Sam just gave Bucky a grin.

“What can I say, man. Stevie boy can’t keep his hands off me, even when we’re in mortal danger.”

Steve shot Sam a glare. “It wasn’t like that. We tried to get out, but the doors were too thick, and glass didn’t want to break either.” Steve waved over to the far wall, which was half glass, and appeared to have some kind of observation room on the other side. There was a door in that wall too, as equally as dented as the one Bucky had come through, giving credence to Steve’s story that they’d at least attempted to get out before getting bored and starting to get handsy with each other. “We knew you’d come when we didn’t check in, so we were just waiting. But you’re here now.”

“Unfortunately, though,” Sam drawled, “Because you let that door shut behind you, we’re now all stuck.”

“As long as you two don’t start sucking face again.” Bucky made a gagging noise.

“No chance of that, Bucko. Don’t you know that cyborgs kill the mood,” Sam fired back.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and cocked his hip. “Nat doesn’t seem to think so.” He held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers, the vibranium plates clinking and servos whirring. “In fact she…”

“...Would most likely kill you for having this conversation.” Steve cut him off. “And speaking of Nat…”

Steve pointed into the observation room, where the door into it had burst open and a man in a white lab coat and goggles was staggering through it, a very angry Russian redhead sat atop his shoulders. Nat rained blows down onto the man's face before doing her patented twisty thing where she spun herself down and hurled the guy across the room by his neck. He crashed into a table which had various electronics and tools across it, and didn’t get up. Nat, of course, landed on her feet and tossed her hair back. At that moment, Bucky didn’t think he could love her more.

Nat walked over to the control panel, a swagger in her steps. She peered down at it for a few moments and then pressed a button. The door to the side of the glass opened with a creak and Nat sauntered over and pushed it further open.

“I win, kotenok.” 

Bucky reached in a few long strides and, in an uncharacteristic display of public affection, wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close.

“How do you figure that, sweetheart? I was obviously here first, and we haven’t done the final count of robots dispatched.” He smiled down at her and brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face.

“But I took out him,” she jerked her head in the direction of the felled robot creator, “and you got yourself trapped in with Dumb and Dumber over there. I think that means I can rightly claim the win.”

Somewhere behind them, Sam shouted out “Hey!” but both Bucky and Nat ignored him.

“You think, do you? I’m not sure I agree.” Bucky’s lips twisted up into an amused smile and Nat reached up and bopped her finger against the tip of his nose.

“Of course you don’t agree. You’re always wrong, Yasha. Now, let’s get home and you and I can try and salvage the rest of date night. You owe me a pizza.” She slipped effortlessly from his hold and spun away. Bucky looked over his shoulder at Steve and Sam and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say ‘what are you gonna do?’ and followed in her wake, picking up their unconscious captive and throwing him over his shoulder on the way.

They got outside and as they neared the two jets Bucky looked over at Nat, silent communication passing between them. She jogged towards the jet they’d arrived in for their rescue mission and Bucky peeled off toward the one that Sam and Steve had used. He jogged up the ramp ahead of his friends, and as he reached the top he pressed the ramp close button and dumped the robot maker on the floor.

“Um, Buck… What are you doing?” Steve called out to him through the narrowing gap. Bucky grinned back. “It’s only a two hour flight back to the compound. Surely you can wrap your legs around your boyfriend for that long.” He shot a wink at their outraged faces as the ramp closed and then whistled to himself as he made his way to the cockpit. 

Childish? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely.

Bucky sat down in the pilot’s seat, put the headphones on and switched to his and Nat’s private comms channel as he started the jet up.

“So, malyshka, what do you want on your pizza?”

Tag list: @km-ffluv @christywrites @alexakeyloveloki @doasyoudesireandlive

[imsparky2002]

Barbie in the Nutcracker: First Thoughts

The following is my thoughts while watching this for the first time.

Credits look awful. Still, it’s 2001 and this is the first installment so I’ll give it a pass.

Only know the basic Nutcracker song and theme but nice that it uses an orchestra

Barbie herself doesn’t look too bad but her little sis… yikes.

Kinda weird to see these dolls moving like mocap performers.

Heh! Barbie’s voice actor has the same name as her little sister.

Kelly very clearly sounds like an adult woman trying to do a kiddish voice.

Lipsyncing is odd, looks more like generic flapping.

Surprisingly decent snow effects.

I’m assuming Clara’s parents are either dead or abandoned them. Or they could also just be on vacation.

Is it wrong that I find Grandpa cute? Gives off a very distinguished vibe. Especially that voice.

They call gingerbread houses “christmas boxes”? That’s… interesting.

Kinda wish they gave Clara a different voice from Barbie, or at the very least a different hairstyle.

The lighting is actually pretty good! Nice warm hues, makes me feel like I’m at a cozy inn.

Her little brother looks like the kids who played Fortnite and would tease me in high school. Of course his name is fuckin’ Tommy.

This CGI is reminding me of early PS2 cutscenes.

Aunt Drosselmayer’s got that 90’s Leo DiCaprio/Hugh Grant parting in her hair. Bleh.

Why is Clara the only blonde in the family?

Ooh! We’ve got some family drama between Auntie and Grandpa. This is getting juicy.

Elizabeth is giving me confident bisexual vibes with the voice and manner of movement. Bet you that’s why Grandpa doesn’t trust her.

Looking at the wiki I just found out that Trixie’s VA voices the Aunt, Starlight’s VA is Barbie and Cadence’s VA is one of the kids! Must be a Canadian production.

I will never not find the word “nutcracker” to be hilarious.

Clara, why tf are you fighting over a toy with your lil brother? You’re like… 17? 18? I dunno but it’s way too old.

Seriously they gave Tommy the most punchable face ever. Not that I’d ever punch a kid but I can see why other kids his age would deck him.

Magic shenanigans are ensuing.

I like the medeival look of the rats. The CGI actually fits them well.

Clara wakes up to see an anthropomorphic warrior rat right next to her eating something and is just like “goddamn it, git ya varmint!” I love it.

Oh, she thinks she’s dreaming. That makes sense to why she’s so calm.

Hmm… I feel like the Rat King should look a bit more evil, and larger as well. Still, TIM CURRY! I’m gonna LOVE this.

Woah! We’re getting a fight scene! A swordfighting scene to be exact!

Oooh the Rat King’s magic and can shapeshift his weapon. That’s metal AF.

Tim Curry putting everything into his performance as usual.

I’m kinda surprised we’re already getting a Nutcracker-Rat King battle. I’d have thought they’d save that sorta thing until the third act.

Did they really have to change it to Sugarplum Princess? Fairy just sounds more powerful.

Wow! This snowy cave is beautiful! Something out of a classic painting.

EWWW THESE LIL SNOW FAIRIES LOOK DISGUSTING!

Did this nutfucker not realize that an icy fortress would have ice for the walls?

The fairies doing ballet looks weird because they have nothing to stand on.

Please don’t tell me the small fairy is staying, I hate her.

Dance is currently reminding me of Fantasia.

“The fairies probably went off to make a blizzard somewhere”. The way he said that nonchalantly had me cackling.

The effect of Clara’s footsteps turning into flowers is beautiful.

Pimm sounds like he’s an absolute troll online. Also gives me Psychicpebbles vibes (though I know it’s not him).

Wow the Rat King is a straight up genocider.

Why do all the kids look like Kelly?

OH DEAR GOD THAT LITTLE BOY LOOKS HORRIFYING.

Wait Prince Eric? Are they legally allowed to call him that? We all know how much Disney loves copyrights.

Man these kids are little shits and their outfits are gagworthy.

Major Mint definitely got a big personality, and the voice actor does a good job with it.

Ok Mint is hilarious and is so far the best part of the movie.

Nice to see some Asian rep with Captain Candy.

Wow, Rat King turns his failed employees into stone. Dark!

The zoom in on the Rat King as he says “that’s it?” made me giggle.

Thomas Astruc looked at the Rock Golem and got his first idea for an akuma.

Wait how the hell does Clara know that the Nutcracker is Prince Eric? I mean I already assumed because of the plot of the original ballet, but how does she know?!

The bridge scene gives me the willies, since I’m afraid of heights.

Wow this flower fairy is the only kid-looking character that has a decent design.

Didn’t expect a song to be interrupted by an enemy.

Lol, the Major’s monocle falls off as he sees the giant.

Glad to see the fairies serve a purpose other than dancing. Kick that giant’s ass!

Captain Candy’s a better man than Mint, as he actually makes sure that he gets saved.

Once again, the island is beautiful! Reminds me of Oz with the colored roads.

Ooh clever! At first I thought the castle’s backdrop looked really fake but I just factored it was because it’s 2001 CGI. But it was actually a trap!

Nice we see a test of Clara’s character that she passed.

The invisble hand touching Clara’s hand is actually making me feel kinda teary-eyed internally.

The Rat King definitely has a Napoleon complex.

Loving the character arc for Nutcracker with his final duel.

Ah! So now the Rat King is growing. Fits for the climax.

Huh… Prince Eric looks more like Jimmy Pesto than a prince.

Lol Major Mint realizes he’s been shittalking the prince.

Huh, so Clara’s the princess? I guess it sorta makes sense since it’s her dream.

For those princes out there who are hated by the public, all ya gotta do is fight a giant mouse.

Mint and Candy got the moves! Best dancers of the entire movie.

The final dance between Eric and Clara is absolutely gorgeous.

The villain was taken down by a snowball… I love it.

God Kelly Sheridan and Kirby Morrow really put everything into the scene where Clara disappears.

Lol Kelly’s Canana accent shows up when she says “It’s not a story”.

“What’s all this foolishness about mice kings and bats, Clara? Enough of your womenly hysteria! Time for a lobotomy!” Grandpa, basically.

Actually now that he’s in a suit, Eric looks a lot hotter.

I’m surprised Barbie’s little sister had the attention span to listen to a 1 hour story.

I'll be making a full review of the film soon. Let me know thoughts in the comments and reblogs. @artzychic27 @msweebyness

[penrose-quinn]

Green Light | Part Eleven

"You look like you're about to drown," you reasoned as if the closeness needed one, straddling your legs on his lap.

Shinichiro hooked a hand behind your knee, uncertain if he's cradling you to him or if you're lifting him up because he felt as if he's already flung himself from the bridge, six feet deep into rushing water, and you're diving down the river to go after him but somehow, nothing was agonizing when your hand brushed the hairs on his arm, then the vein stretched out like a branch on the bone of his wrist.

He mulled over how you could think that you'd only ever destroyed what you touched. His little finger nudged your knuckle a bit and you curled on him like you're making a promise to be careful with his heart.

pairing: shinichiro sano/gn!reader

content tags: they/them pronounces for reader, but ‘their’ is only used once. childhood friends. angst and hurt/comfort. slice of life ft. gangs. idiots to lovers. old friends trying to reconnect but are being dumbasses about it. they don't deserve the friends to lovers tag because they're stupid and pining. the second part of my sad attempt at writing shinichiro’s backstory but he isn’t a [redacted] here. dysfunctional relationship (for shinichiro and izana). underage smoking and mentions of gang violence. non-explicit sexual content at the end (no gendered terms). tokrev manga spoilers.

a/n: this backstory wouldn’t make a lot of sense if you hadn’t read the first part :’) he isn’t a [redacted] here lol, but i’m still tackling on whatever went on between shinichiro and izana (and everyone else). i won’t accept that he missed out on his adult years in this timeline and simply had to suffer on the other. i’m putting the best of what i could make up and write in this version of his backstory so i very much appreciate every like/reblog/comment this receives!  

m.list ❁ read on ao3 ❁ part 12

There was a time you asked him what he wanted to do someday when he was at the peak of attaining everything.

You were still at the edge of eighteen. Still entangled in each other from the riverbank.

Shinichiro felt a nudge from your socked foot against his leg. Your boot was safeguarded close to his armpit for keeping it away from you. His hair was even mussed-up for it, but he couldn’t recall what the both of you were fighting about earlier ago.

You claimed that you were serious and he shrugged because he had the Black Dragons.

“You’re still planning to be in the gang after high school?”

During that time, it didn’t occur to him that you wouldn’t. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Be real. You can’t keep punching guys and meddling in their unresolved issues forever! It’s unsustainable. You’re more than that, Shin.”

You shook your head in disapproval like Takeomi though he would’ve probably enthused him to keep ruling over Tokyo, be the King.

Takeomi basked in their era like a man who found immortality and you just denounced him for letting the shameless power-trip rot his brain. Shinichiro chuckled, even though you accused him of it too. Called them losers.

You told him you wanted to go to college.

Everyone’s expected to, was what he wanted to say because that’s the least thing any good, grateful child should do for all their parents’ hard-earned labor. He hadn’t visited their grave in awhile. Mused over what flowers to bring them while you meandered on how you’re going to get a job, save up a lot of money to have a place of your own: high-rise studio, spacious room, and a balcony with a nice view of the city. 

Shinichiro didn’t appear like he was listening though his lips fondly tilted up throughout because the sun rose with your voice and he never doubted you.

“You will,” he said finally. He knew because you could see the future.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t know what’s gonna happen to you without me.”

You sounded a little vulnerable. Shinichiro attempted to reach for your wrist but his fingers fiddled around the cold button of your cuff sleeve instead. He didn't want to think about what you actually meant, digressing with a remark that you looked good in the gang uniform, and you just rummaged for his pack and lighter in his pocket with a scoff.

He's lying down on the ground, one leg bent to the other and arms behind his head in the lackadaisical manner where he’s looking forward to a weekend of nothing because he hadn’t really crossed that point where he could have a life untethered to where he was now.

The both of you were still covered in wet grass stains till daybreak, and the world moved on.

How could age stack up like bills, pilling high until it left one bankrupt?

Shinichiro used to count how many stitches he had in a bad scar from a fight. Now, he counted his gains and losses over the years. Learned to budget the good left for himself. The best he could do was work. He had to make this work.

S•S MOTORS used to be a small, forgotten building wedged in the bustling landscape of Shibuya.

There’s the skeleton of an exposed ceiling, water stains on the walls, and a smashed window at the backroom. Shinichiro constantly mulled over if this was worth the loans while toiling himself over wet plaster on cracks. He’s starting from scraps again, though he figured he could be the architect of his future from here and he had a vision unveil itself in the ruins of a building, of the aspirations of a new generation.

Kanda went to see him yesterday. He was with the current president of the Black Dragons.

I want to bring back that place where everyone can belong, Shinichiro-san.

A family, a place to belong; Shinichiro reminisced how much he dreamed to build a home.

Company was divided into strays, regulars, and new customers.

Shinichiro still thought of you, walking in here one of these days.

It felt odd when everyone began to come to terms with your absence – his friends didn't have much to say about you anymore but they hoped you're faring well – and then, perhaps without being deliberate, passed his sentiments over to Seishu to the point the boy had probably ceased to guess what kind of presence you would be in his motor shop.

Seishu stayed in longer than he should, this hovel of scattered hopes and broken machine parts though he liked to watch him work in earnest, digging a hand wrist-deep into an engine as if he could find a damaged, beating heart inside.

He never spoke of that aloud, most of the time he didn’t speak at all, though he never had to tell him what happened to his face or how he's used to people seeing the burn scar before him. Shinichiro just saw a lost boy with raw, torn knuckles.

His thoughts went to Izana, and then back to Seishu, if he had somewhere to return.

He’d wander back in here the next morning.

Seishu opened up that he had a childhood friend who was smarter than him.  

It’s a brief, trusting exchange, though what seemed like one of passing felt more momentous than what it was.

Shinichiro grinned, claiming that it's nice they had something in common. Seishu tilted his head at that before perusing the dead husk of a Suzuki Intruder, eyes frosted over in latent thought. He didn't question him about it like how he would on calmer days, sharing about scuffles and stories rekindled over a freely offered soft drink to soothe the bruises.

There's an irony to Wakasa punctuating on how he shouldn't be feeding the kid with too much sugar. Benkei stepped in the room with him, brandishing a paper bag of meat buns. No one hesitated to bring back the old man misunderstanding to get a rise out of the big guy. Crates shifted together, grating against floorboards, unserious threats, more jeering.

Shinichiro sighed expectantly on how his startup business was diving down into a rowdy one.

There were little, amused blips in Seishu's unaffected expression every time.

Shinichiro asked Seishu if he liked motorcycles.

He shrugged, handing him a torque wrench from the set laid beside him. He’s already familiar of the tools and quick on the uptake with a reserved attentiveness that should’ve been pored more on his studies, though he’s at that rebellious age where he felt like he should be elsewhere than losing himself in the monotony of real life.

Shinichiro understood, remembering a time when his youth had been overbearing, not taken seriously, and full of pent-up, adolescent anger.

Seishu didn’t believe he held that kind of rage, and Shinichiro smiled because you’d probably say otherwise.

Even so, he’d tell him that it’s liberating being true to himself in the same breath he kept bringing up that school was a bit better than his motor shop because he didn’t want the kid to screw himself over a lifetime of stinking in gasoline and grueling manual labor in the future. There’s a lot of options for him, just give it a shot.

Shinichiro had gotten better at enthusing that without being intrusive about it. Or at least that’s his assumption when Ken seemed more motivated attending his classes after having a similar conversation some time ago. He wondered if Seishu might get along with him more than Manjiro. His brother was rather selective on his clique of friends and Haruchiyo devoted being by his side till now.

In the end, Seishu chose the path of a delinquent in the Black Dragons.

Perhaps, that’s better than being alone on the beat-up couch in his shop.

Shinichiro wanted to be one with static, to be pointless for a moment, even when no one’s going to come looking for him at 3 a.m.

All the lights were down, spilling in the syncopations of the city and the tired wheeze of his heater, though he turned it off a minute ago because he’s saving up for this month's electric bill. His bones creaked from his neck, oily with sweat and Tiger Balm, but somehow, it felt like his spine splintered in half. He’s already fatigued from figuring his shit out and he’s not even in his forties yet.

Was it weird he couldn’t imagine what you’d look like at twenty? He’d been losing inspiration lately. He didn’t want to dump it on you, though sometimes, he hated thinking of you like that to the point he wished he choked on his beer and let it all fizzle away.

Manjiro called him out for moping. Shinichiro threw back that he’s a brat. His brother recognized your tone in him and the question withered inside his mouth. Benkei and Wakasa only shared a pensive glance after he recounted it at the bar. He's out of the loop between them and they didn't make him feel better for it unlike Takeomi, who slurred out that he wouldn't be so miserable if he just got over you, tactlessly well-intentioned and unafraid of speaking out his mind in all the ways asshole friends did to show they cared.

Benkei excused it as one of his drunken tirades again because they were aware how Takeomi had been spiraling from his life, and although Benkei was looking out for them, the reassurance was painfully needless. Shinichiro could see it in Wakasa's quiet, apologetic gaze.

They formed a gang. Had skipped school to smoke his first joint in the garage, swore that they had each other’s back since the hot blaze of their teenage years. So Shinichiro pondered how long Wakasa had eyes like that, or perhaps he just hadn't noticed them in awhile because he hadn't hung out with everyone as much when time became scarce and life kept getting in the way.

Then his hand clenched into a fist as he reached for his phone. The shape wasn't right and there's a coldness to the cell on his palm. Right, he lost his old one weeks ago. What's your number again? Didn't you change your email a year after you moved?

Regret twinged in his chest when Shinichiro couldn't greet you on your birthday today, reminiscing on waking to your message last August when you asked him what it felt like to finally be an adult, tagged after a found your soulmate yet?

He’s still sad and single. Instead of a retort, you responded back that it's okay when the both of you could just be sad and single together.

It sucked that he couldn't ask how you were though buried at the farthest place of his mind, he wondered if you'd even reply.

Shinichiro wanted to tell you that he fell in love again though the one who already got sick of his heartbreak was Izana.

He wasn’t sure how to confide about their sister having a crush with that attitude. He figured that out when she began to reinvent herself in small, subtle ways: a new hairstyle, a song she never liked or listened to before. There were the long, fawning looks, but they lingered more in the after-school daydreams, tucked like a lock of hair behind the ear for her earring to twinkle and catch someone’s eye.

Nothing’s working to her favor yet. He could tell from the way her fingers played with her hair a lot more nowadays because she'd rather braid her feelings than confess, whoever it was.

A symptom of unrequited love, or at least that’s what he assumed it was for needing to fill the hunger with the shy hope of tying wishes on a bamboo branch on Tanabata. Manjiro would rather drag Ken to the food booths than dress in a summer yukata with her and Shinichiro had to rummage his in the old closet.

It’s patterned with waves but his mother had described how the seigaiha looked more like dragon scales against a sea of stormy, black cotton. It’s the same one with two holes at the bottom hem; the one that riveted a woman with two moles under her lip, meeting in line of a takoyaki stall. Because Manjiro wanted a bit of everything, Shinichiro ordered the one with assorted flavors and she had hers with mozzarella. A greasy smear of it on the corner of her mouth made her smile more charming, remarking how endearing it was that he’d accompany his sister in a yukata.

Shinichiro offered to buy her a candied strawberry for making his brother pull a face once she drizzled a packet of hot sauce all over her food, though really, he’s stalling for time so he could talk to her some more.

Hoshiko took a sweet bite of his sincerity and told him that she’s got all night. They would surprise themselves for having a mutual friend from Gareji Yago. She loved his sense of humor. He blurted out that her laugh sounded like magic, which had his siblings stupidly reenacting the exchange over the dining table for a month.

They swapped numbers anyway. It’s almost like a call for destiny until it wasn’t.

Shinichiro supposed the retrospection might be worth passing along in his letters.

It'd been the only consistent thing between him and Izana when he wasn't allowed to visit and his sentence was further extended for misconduct. He had to ask Benkei the other day what his experience in juvie had been like, and with a dark somberness in his gaze, he never forgot how no one really came out of there being the same person.

Shinichiro would let Izana be who he wanted to be, but he was still his little brother.

There’s nothing in the world that could change that.

Shinichiro was eleven when his father asked him if he’d like to have another sibling.

It was one of those countless nights his father missed out on dinner, though Shinichiro would pull out his food from the fridge and reheat it for him in the microwave. Leftovers always made his mother sad.  

He didn't quite comprehend the implication of his father's words yet, and one day he’d grow to harbor the sorrow, unwantedness, and pained resentment he never had in him, bursting from his fists like all boys did. Conflict had never been forgiving to his mother, but she would end up loving Emma and his father, regardless.

Shinichiro would ask a similar question to Manjiro years later, and a vestige of their mother lifted up his lips, sticky with the red bean paste of his taiyaki. His heart found ease from the sweet acceptance of his smile.

“Yeah, I'll definitely love him.”

Once Izana was out of juvie, they rode to a harbor in Shinisogocho.

He liked the sea best; a kingdom of star-studded waves, city lights. The vastness enthralled him, a kind of true calling to potential.

Shinichiro believed Izana was capable of many things so he filled the boy with dreams that couldn’t be bound in the legacy of a house. Manjiro had birthright, but Izana would always have freedom.

Either way, his siblings were meant to flourish. They’re his pride. That’s all Shinichiro could ever ask for.

There’s so much salt in the air that he lit a cigarette, blowing smoke like the distant beacon of a lighthouse – a warning.

No one ever told him that nicotine shouldn’t be something he was supposed to crave – he didn’t mean to poison you the way he did – though he would to his brother back then and it spared him a few more years until he could flicker one by himself on the same harbor, the same shade of night. Someday, the Black Dragon embroidered on his back.

Manjiro graduated from elementary around the time Izana was released though he remained disinclined to ask anything about Manjiro succeeding him in the gang.

In the silence between them, Shinichiro mentioned their sister instead. “Emma’s doing well. She got into fortune telling pretty recently, can you believe that? I still don’t get what’s all the fuss about horoscopes.” Shinichiro chuckled but it wasn’t shared. His brother almost looked dazed, out of touch. Out of reach.

“Her cooking is way better than mine. Maybe, you should try it sometime . . .”

The murmur of waves, ashes dropping. Izana languished on a long drag of his cigarette.

“Come have dinner with us,” Shinichiro tried.

His plea was lost to Izana, a shiny bottle adrift in the ocean, as he let another second pass and told him no.

By the time midsummer ended, Izana had turned fourteen; jarringly, grown into his limbs, about his shoulder blade’s height now, grown impatient when he made the major life decision to run away from the orphanage, screw the system.

All the risk-taking only brought tremendous frustration on Shinichiro because Izana didn’t even consult him about it. Contended with him on his questionable choices. That he’s secure with his underground connections, that he already managed to get himself a contract to an apartment somewhere within the realm of Black Dragons territory, not too far from the motor shop so he could visit him. Why can’t you just see that I’m taking responsibility for myself when you won’t—

Shinichiro wasn’t sure what kind of face he was making that broke off the conversation there. The silence stagnated further, and Izana must’ve been more shattered over their argument than he was. It left them irreparable for a night.

The first to make amends was Shinichiro, laying down his pride to atone, truly atone, and perhaps, the act was disarming to Izana.

Shinichiro had never seen him so distressed, and Izana believed him when his big brother said that he’s just worried for him, addressing that he’s right because he should’ve done something sooner.

Yet they didn’t live under one roof.

The implicitness of their bond had become complicated with the self-awareness. They still drank their weight on soda while rock songs hovered over them for the nostalgia trip, the ballad of their routine in the late, sun-glazed afternoon. They even liked their curry the same way. Medium spicy, the kind of heat Manjiro wouldn't appreciate in his mouth. There’s an eyeroll to every joke that didn’t land, the sneaking upturn of lips, the silver lining.

Some of his customers greeted Izana when he entered the shop. They didn’t refer to him when they spoke to Shinichiro about his brother. Izana stopped styling his hair up like Shinichiro one day, and everyone would look out for the autumn moon swaying beneath his ears, the sharp, wicked wit.

Shinichiro would gladly tune-up his motorcycle for free, asking him how’s he been doing lately. Izana wouldn’t bring up school or Emma, though he would about the gang and his ambitions for it. Shinichiro nodded to his every word, as if they’re talking about music or their latest excursion. He reminisced of their stroll at Tsukuda Bridge months ago, the river underneath evening-black and murky like the waves in Manila Bay.

There’s always an urge to drown somewhere in those depths, secrets and more secrets.

For the longest time, Shinichiro lacked the awareness that people puzzled over him until you'd say so someday, and in his reflections, being seen by you felt as if he'd been transparent enough.

Though perhaps, it hadn't always been like that because in needing to be closer, Izana fiercely searched for something in Shinichiro, imploring in the way he only knew how, and then return every other day, looking harsher than last time, hurting more than last time. He blamed himself for it too – everything’s wrong ‘cause of me – and Shinichiro wished he didn’t punish himself for existing, gently dressing the wounds with words and antiseptic.

“You’re my little brother. Nothing about you is wrong to me.”     

Izana came to him with the storm on his back.

Shinichiro had never been scared of lightning but he was from the truth in Izana's eyes. He knew the question before it could be asked and he didn't deny it.

Retribution had never felt so fast and unrepentant by his fist. It's all what he's taught him and more, self-defense.

On the ground, his head throbbed and Shinichiro still had a full set of teeth, a rasp to remind him that blood-related or not, nothing will change between us, all right? Izana held back on his punch and Shinichiro wasn't pretending to be tough by staying still for another.

He's just resigned in all the ways guilt could cripple a man, seeing his little brother bleed for the wrong, wretched reasons. It's not your fault, he wanted to say, but to reach out meant ruining him and he couldn't bring him the happiness that could take him away from that hell.

There's a despondence on the bite of Izana’s voice, a wavering, anguished sound.

"I never want to see you again."

Shinichiro thought he saw you.

“What happened to you?”

“. . . I had a fight with my little brother.”

Sympathy made Akemi’s gaze softer when she brought him at her place to tend to his wounds at a tragic time.

Shinichiro wondered if sisters were just always like that. They would glare at you like you were a nuisance but would help you clean up after your mess anyway.

Emma never outgrew it. She did a lot of the housework nowadays and she knew exactly where to find the medical box, hauling it out from the bathroom cupboard under the sink with a sigh. She’s careful with the antiseptic because she knew how it stung and she didn’t understand why boys were the way they were, railing on how useless her brothers were. Can’t even cook their eggs how they want it made, or something like that.

Then he mulled over your sister, the way she swabbed the graze on his chin, and from this proximity, he traced out the part of her hair, her cheekbones, and then so clearly this time, her eyes in both shape and sentiment, how she looked more like you.

Sometimes, it’s staggering how he didn't know Akemi as much as he knew you.

He grew up trying to impress her by balancing himself atop the jungle gym, admiring her as an adult when she was hardly one herself who was just learning how to apply makeup to conceal the deeper insecurities at fifteen, to become more feminine to appeal to guys who weren’t worth all the emotional damage. She still wore mascara, the drugstore kind that clumped around her eyelashes, but he realized the mature lines under them suited her more.

His shoulders ached in understanding, about what it felt like to be heaped with all this responsibility you never asked for.   

Perhaps, there’s a special kinship they could seek out in each other but he felt really stupid for seeing her now.

“I was so busy with everything else that I can’t help but feel like I neglected their feelings, what’s really hurting inside . . .”

Akemi serenely watched her daughter from the window. Keiko was in her yellow raincoat and sneakers, splashing on puddles from her dash to the maid café with a friend, and Akemi reminisced of you and her, muddy with youth and growing pains. Yours was so quiet and violent that it almost scared her. Shinichiro remembered that part too, raw like the scabs on your knuckles; remembered the threats and slurs they called her just to get a rise out of you; remembered most of them where from rival gangs that went against Seisaku.

You told him that all you ever saw was red and he didn't stop you for lashing out to her defense. He even fought alongside you.

Though having witnessed that side of you, Akemi recounted that she wound up yelling that you were acting like your brother. Her regret settled deep in her womb and you felt a little farther from her ever since. It wasn't like the both of you never reconciled and you would even claim now that she was just a teenager at the time.

“Siblings fight for a lot of reasons,” she said, but she also hurt you. Sometimes, she feared she might not have the opportunity to know you anymore because of it. Her eyes wandered wistfully to the window again. “I miss the both of them . . .”

Then she sighed, looking back at him. “I hope it gets better with your little brother.”

Shinichiro didn’t know what to say but it throbbed where it should, burning on his throat with remorse. I hurt him.

Akemi poured his cup again as if to fill in the silence with consolation and a meek hope that it’s never too late to reach out.

"You're not a bad person, Shinichiro-kun."

He drank his tea, tasting of tears.

"I'm a terrible big brother."

Shinichiro said it a second time to himself.

The world was cleansed by the rain, but his memories never absolved him.

He went home late that time, and they would ask him why he's bleeding. He would tell them he's fine and it would be like that for days. Something always festered in his silence.

The moment Izana stopped coming back to the motor shop so did Seishu.

Perhaps, this was what it’s like to mourn for the living.

Learning to cope with the hollowness in him that haunted the spaces of his room, filled with their shadows that had grown farther in the Black Dragons. Most would say the gang changed for the worse, gradually being embroiled in all criminal dealings, drugs and blood money.  An elderly storekeeper was stabbed from the gang's aggressions. He died before he could reach the hospital and it was all over the headlines that morning.

It's enough to provoke Benkei to demand a reason for letting it happen, and while Wakasa had stood between them, he matched his partner more in his solemn, self-contained fury. There's a glimpse of the legendary gang leaders that divided Kanto in half in the confrontation. When it came to legacy, their outrage was justified for sacrificing it all for him. Takeomi watched them until he felt the need to intervene because Shinichiro wasn't as upset as he should.

This wasn't their generation anymore, and the successors after the eighth weren't any better when they carried the inherent spirit of vindictiveness.

One of Manjiro's friends would be a victim to this, and his little brother would ask him one day to put an end to it with Toman, dressed in black and gold as to honor what Shinichiro and his friends had striven to become a long time ago.

Black Dragons had always been meant to be led by his brothers.

Shinichiro contemplated if Izana could make a home from the ashes of another and Manjiro was there to pick at its bones. He just wished he could do more for Seishu, attempting to save a semblance of it in the scarcity. He understood what all of this meant to him and why he couldn't seem to visit when he was in a coma for two weeks. The motor shop was closed far longer and he was concerned if there's a place out there for him.

The last time Shinichiro had heard of him was when he was still struggling in physical therapy. Seishu was recently released from juvie by then, following a different tyrant in the Black Dragons. He wasn't alone in the gang, and Shinichiro supposed with his old friend beside him, they could figure something out of the madness. Perhaps, there was hope if they remained together.

In the midst of things, Shinichiro couldn't really do much, fearing to cause more damage than what's done and living through the rest of it than just staying dead. 

“Do Mikey and Emma know?” you asked, hauling him back to you.

“After the accident in the shop, I told them everything. Figured I should, knowing it could be my last . . . Emma first, then Manjiro.”

Because it'd taken him surgery and a span of years to tell her the truth about Izana.

“It's unfair.” Emma shed a tear that day, crumpling in distress that made him want to scoop her up like she’s four, cooing softly, no, there are no monsters under your bed and your mother didn’t hate you.

He was petrified as she still sat there, hands clutching the skirt of her school uniform like how Izana would onto impossibly good, hopeful things.

"But you're my big brother too," she said before wiping her face and walking out of the room.

Shinichiro would still apologize to her, even though Emma never really stopped visiting him in the hospital with either Manjiro or Grandpa around.

The only time she did by herself was when they had an actual conversation without Manjiro's presence quelling her into a sense of peace and with a hum, recounted that she didn't know how to react when he reached her a bowl of red rice for breakfast weeks ago.

She panicked and got her first period on the day prior so she mistook it as a disgusting joke. Manjiro didn't even snicker. Shinichiro had little understanding on the tradition, expecting she'd be more knowledgeable about it than him, as he regretfully explained this to her. He forgot himself again with the shadow of a slight stubble, lending him a sad, sleazy look. He looked older too, and Emma chuckled softly at the memory. Old enough to be her father . . .

Because apparently parents cooked red rice for their daughters once they hit puberty, attempted to know what napkin to buy for them even if it's the wrong brand, console them from breakouts when they started flaring up like a disease.

It's the sort of stuff Emma had heard from the girls in class complain about because they didn't realize what they had, what she coveted for herself. No one was ever prepared when she came into their lives. She had two mothers but the both of them couldn't stay like her father, whoever he was.

Shinichiro and Emma ended up sniffling their emotions after that.

“Do you want to see Izana?” Shinichiro asked, but he knew.

Emma carried a certain poignance in her gaze. Abandonment could only mature her in such way.

She couldn’t look at him for the answer. Her lip wobbled. “Does he still want to see me?”

"Did you reach out to him?" 

"I want to," Shinichiro said it as if it’d been unheard for a long time, and all he could do was stare passively at tall, decades-old towers within Marunouchi, the road ahead of him, and nothing. "But I’m not sure what’ll happen if I see him again. The last time was . . ."

He hesitated. Opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling exposed all over even when something locked tight in his throat.

The words wouldn’t come out like they should. He hadn’t spoken about this to anyone for two years, but the rift was almost nonexistent. Regret lingered like it’s just yesterday. He worked his jaw some more, and the ache pulsed where Izana hit him.

Shinichiro often dwelt of a different time when things didn't have to be so broken and he would make the right choices. His siblings never had to be separated and they could just be kids lounging around to watch show reruns on the TV than do homework, sharing a childhood of being ordered around and overfed with greasy kushiage by their grandfather. Maybe, they would measure the other's height against the doorframe with a Pilot marker. Shinichiro would have to scold them for vandalizing though he fondly wouldn't remove their scribbled names over the years until they could work with him in the shop or move out to come into their own. It couldn't be perfect because he couldn’t live up to what a parent could offer but he hoped it'd be enough for him provide them a home where they could laugh and love over the table, throw stupid tantrums, weep loud, grow and make mistakes.

But never like the ones he had committed.

"Izana wasn't a mistake." Shinichiro knew this in his heart. "Everything I did was . . . right?"

He waited for you to challenge him. Tell him where he's wrong and amend. There wasn't a time you hadn't because you loved him enough to tell him about himself so he called out your name and you inhaled, slow and pensive, as your hand reached up to fold a strand of hair behind your ear, the other still entwined with his.

“I feel bad for Izana. He doesn't deserve that,” you told him as your thumb traced his open, trembling palm. His ring on you was warm from your skin. “I feel bad for you too. For agonizing about this for so long.”

The inflections of your voice were pained and conflicted, admitting that to him. “Look, I don’t think I could speak for him. I don’t know him, not like you do. But what you did, keeping something important like that, wouldn’t it have hurt less if you just told him earlier?”

“I figured there was probably a right time to tell him, but then things got out of hand so suddenly,” and he hated it so much; how it brought back the memory of his mother on her deathbed, not knowing when things would get better, not knowing where to place all his despair and indignation to the world but in himself. “He’d been through so much, and I didn’t know what to do . . .”

“I wouldn’t know either.” You gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I know you’re just trying to help, Shin. You care about him. I used to proofread your letters, remember? You wrote to him like you grew up with him. I always thought it was sweet, the way you asked about his day and went on about yours, how you welcomed him in it. Emma would know.”

Shinichiro rubbed his eye. He already sounded congested when he spoke up, feeling even more pathetic.

“I kept her from him too.”

“Why did you?”

“It'd hurt her, if she knew her brothers wouldn’t get along.” Emma was too young to undergo through a lot with the changes and losses in her life. “If they fought . . .”

A pause, then a sigh rolled off your lips. “Wouldn’t have made a difference if she couldn’t see him anymore.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I feel like I should. I'm just," he trailed off, head hanging low because his frustration was spilling from his eyes and—

You gently pulled his chin to you. “You don’t have to, not with me,” you reminded him, catching tears before they fell with the pad of your thumb, "all right?"

Shinichiro nodded. There were wet blotches on your cuff sleeve for brushing it under his nose because none of you brought a handkerchief so you figured this would do. A bit of him stained you and you didn't mind.

You told him to breathe, and he realized what he'd been holding inside for awhile before letting it out.

"I . . . I didn't have the best relationship with my big brother either. Held a grudge for so long that I thought I'd die hating him, but it doesn't matter now. Being upset of your ghosts," you drifted for a moment with a murky emotion he couldn't name.

A bus stopped by; the passengers stepping out in worn, clear umbrellas. You couldn't see them, blinking vacantly, as you went on.

"You’re not a terrible big brother. You're not a perfect one either, but no one is, I think. You did get to know Izana. You were there for him before he even became a delinquent. You never owed him anything, weren't even blood-related. Sure, you're both complicated, maybe bonded over that and something more, and expected things that aren't aligning to what you want. It would've been better if you didn't keep so much of who is from him, but I'm not gonna beat you up to what already happened. I think you should just move on."

Shinichiro said your name, unsure if it's to protest or to process what you're saying.

"He won't see you, Shin," you reminded him. "It's the most closure you could get right now, unless he changes his mind."

He sighed, letting it sink. "You're right . . ."

"I know it's hard." Then you glanced back at him. There’s something poignant about your eyes. "You still love him, huh."

“Yeah,” was his answer. But . . .

“Your big brother,” Shinichiro started, “did he ever come back for you?”

“He can’t,” you fell back on his shoulder. “He died a year ago.”

Somehow, the two of you were in your house.

You told him it wasn't much of a home without your sister or her family.

Shinichiro contemplated how you would’ve lurked deeper into the emptiness for days had he not asked you to stay at his place.

Sleeves rolled up to your forearms, you ran him a hot bath. He threw back that you should go in first. You insisted that he should after hearing him sneeze awhile ago, despite his efforts to muffle it down his elbow.

The both of you remained stubborn and indecisive about it until you proposed that you join him in the tub instead.

Shinichiro had seen you nude before – perhaps not quite enough the first time – and it wasn't like the thought of your bare skin never crossed his mind. It's just that you're always covered-up, swaddled in layers that it's perplexing to him what it's like to look at you naked.

He remembered how you would cage yourself around your arms because you felt too sensitive out in the open. You didn’t like it when your nipples got hard, when the old scars jagged along your body as mementos of survival and belligerent adolescence. He still chanced on stealing a glance at your tattoo; dark and intricate, coiled around your leg like a tether. It's the part of you that remained unchanged.

He hoped for it. The desire was selfish and ruthless and all-consuming that it could be its own dragon.

You weren't one for bold statements though he couldn't help but contemplate how you carried it with you under your suit after all these years. Contemplated how the needle must've hurt, the social repercussions even more so, stung with blood and loyalty, though you were intrepid through and through.

Warmth bloomed in his chest. It wasn't the sweltering heat from the bathwater, but the realization rippling out of him the moment you dipped into the tub, both of your bare legs rubbing underneath, squeezed into a different brand of intimacy: curated perfectly for couples, couples who were at that awkward, fragile verge of discovering each other without breaking apart from their gazes.

"Can you come closer?" he asked. "You look faraway from the other side of the tub."

Then you came to him like a wave. Everything about you washed over him, sudden and all at once.

"You look like you're about to drown," you reasoned as if the closeness needed one, straddling your legs on his lap.

Shinichiro hooked a hand at the back of your knee, uncertain if he's cradling you to him or if you're lifting him up because he felt as if he's already flung himself from the bridge, six feet deep into rushing water, and you're diving down the river to go after him but somehow, nothing was agonizing when your hand brushed the hairs on his arm, then the vein stretched out like a branch on the bone of his wrist.

He mulled over how you could think that you'd only ever destroyed what you touched. His little finger nudged your knuckle a bit and you curled on him like you're making a promise to be careful with his heart.

You glanced at him under your dewy eyelashes, and when he asked if you hated him, you shook your head and leaned forward to embrace, your hair clinging like arteries on his damp chest, as you let him perch on your shoulder, his lips memorizing a freckle.

Shinichiro thought of the tattoo again, wondering if this was what it's like getting himself etched into your skin.

“How could you ask that, Shin?” you whispered back.

“I guess I’m just afraid.”

Despite his insistence to stay, you asked him to just wait for you in your bedroom, assuring him that it wouldn’t take long for you to collect his clothes from the dryer. He didn't turn on the lights and wearily dove into your covers, wet skin soaking through sheets, though he figured he smelled like you anyway as if that's enough to compensate for sprawling himself out naked and defenseless.

You found him like this later, clothes dumped on the dresser, towel discarded, as you climbed on top of him with the kind of languid grace that bordered to a sweet slowburn but he could tell that it's taking so much from you to not fuck him right there.

His hand was on your cheek, outstretched like he's still reaching for the moon, but it's just you and you're too considerate of him, placing a kiss on his palm. You didn't quite realize how much he felt like a beggar in that moment.

“I'll help you, if you let me.”

What he wanted to say was maybe, you should help yourself, then he'd laugh a little when the aggravation would chip away at you and he'd have to kiss it all better, or worse, didn’t matter which. He nodded. He needed you as your bodies met dripping, somewhere in the rain again, and your hair was akin to something like one and all the tangle of wild, disheveled emotions that hid the both of you from the world. 

"Your big sister wouldn't like you smoking in your room."

"You think I care about what she thinks with what I do in my room?"

"Yeah. A lot." Shinichiro peered at you from your pillow.

"That didn't stop us, though," you said after igniting your cigarette with his lighter.

His eyes watched the tendril of smoke lick up your jaw and the curve of your ear, studded with piercings. You forgot to remove them from the bath so he did it for you when he swept back your hair and you craned your head to him, sheets rustling below your bare waists in the shadow of early twilight.

He left the studs atop the dresser, losing relevance to him once he heard his name and you eclipsed everything, coaxing him to lie down on his back with a hand on his chest. Then a gentle stroke from his brow, a gentler coo, "are you feeling better?"  

Shinichiro closed his eyes and let himself drift from the pads of your fingers. The answer wasn't easy to read. He wanted you to ponder over him in circles. He's a lot needier when you granted him a reason to, but yes, he was feeling a bit better. Perhaps, you made him feel more that he'd draw your lips to him and suck the smoke inside your lungs to taint himself with the taste of your melancholia. Nicotine spared none of you from it.

"She's right, you know. Maybe you should stop smoking," he sighed out, a thread of smoke between breaths, his and yours.

"Stop talking about her," and the truth was he'd rather not talk about her at all, slipping his tongue in your mouth for a deeper conversation, one without words or pretense. Or the comfortable lies he’d tell himself to sleep and burn off with a cigarette in the morning.

The smolder of you turned him into a more honest man, even though his affections for you hadn't been a secret.

"I'll only stop when you do," you whispered.

Like that, you ended a conversation in the way you ended a fight.

You rendered him at a loss for words though he wasn't seeking to win and from a languorous stretch of movement, he reached you the ashtray himself. Then he smiled and remembered how it's so garish with the banana patterns on the dish that it stuck out in your room but you didn't mind purchasing it from the 100 Yen shop the other day, even though you didn't like to smoke here alone.

Something in the ashes would glow when extinguished; both of your fingers touching before you stole the ash tray from him and placed it somewhere on the floor, your outstretched arm shivering out goosebumps from the draft.

There's a small trickle from the windowsill puddling on the floor but you'd rather leave it like that than shut off everything again.

It's so quiet it hurts, so you had opened the window like a wound and the world wept.

A childhood framed in a window. The sole one you’d been gazing on for years, confessing that you didn’t really miss this room after you moved in and he wanted to ask you about it but faltered once your eyes fluttered shut, enjoying each other's presence in the cadence of the rain, awake.

It wasn’t a drowsy spell for you like how it was to him. Shinichiro had learned to adapt to the odd, irregular hours you slept, not quite meeting the other in time, even as it stood still the moment you overlapped him, a wave of warm, urging motion, and he was swimming in lazy endorphins as you spread out the comforter over the both of you, feet covered.

You didn't quite feel like a dream, achingly real and open like a door to this domicile that had been the size of your bodies.

Maybe you wouldn't believe him if he promised you that things would stay like this for the rest of your lives.

But he told you anyway, "I love you."

Exposition Corner:    

[1] Tanabata: a Japanese festival celebrated in the summertime as to commemorate the story of the two star-crossed lovers Orihime and Hikoboshi, who are only allowed to meet each other once a year as long as the skies are clear. A popular custom in Tanabata is writing wishes in a piece of colored paper (tanzaku) and hanging them on a bamboo branch.

[2] Segaiha: a wave pattern of layered concentric circles creating arches, symbolic of waves or water representing surges of good luck. It can also signify power and resilience. 

[3] Gareji Yago: this was actually the motor shop were Shinichiro worked at in the original timeline, and what I’m assuming before he got his shop (if Mikey’s accident didn’t happen). In here, I’m using this as the shop that’s owned by Yoneda, his boss/mentor I’ve referenced in the Bright Light series. 

[4] “[…] if Izana could make a home from the ashes of another and Manjiro was there to pick at its bones”: a reference to Kotsuage, a Japanese funeral ritual wherein family members gather around and pick up the bones of a deceased loved one together using special long chopsticks after the body is cremated. 

[5] “Because apparently parents cooked red rice for their daughters once they hit puberty […]”: to clarify, O-Sekihan, or red-colored rice cooked with Azuki beans, is usually prepared and eaten during auspicious occasions like New Year’s day or Coming-of-Age day. Regarding cooking red rice when a girl has her first period, it’s to celebrate puberty and there are some regions in Japan that still do it but serving sekihan isn’t as common for that as it is in festive celebrations.

In the context of the scene, please don’t think the red color of the rice is meant to represent period lol. It’s Emma misunderstanding it as a stupid joke and Shinichiro not being very good at explaining himself and being a bit misinformed (but he did what he did with well-meaning intentions!). 

[6] I love you: So Shinichiro actually said the unspeakable aishiteru [ 愛してる ], not to confuse it with daisuki [ 大好き ] which is more commonly used in confessing one's love (romantically) in Japanese. For my Non-Japanese speakers, this is just my tl;dr of these references [1] and [2] so I’ll try my best summarizing them!

Aishiteru does mean “I love you” but literally, it translates to “[I] am loving [you]”. 

“Loving” is written in the present continuous て-form as to emphasize the ongoing (ever-lasting) state of the feelings. It’s an expression to convey a serious and profound love that is only used in long-term relationships with a spouse and in rare, emotional occasions such as getting married or when someone is on their deathbed. It’s also hardly spoken to each other.

For cultural context, the Japanese are more reserved with their feelings. There are also many ways to express love but most of them are nonverbal. Conveying it isn’t usually spoken but rather acted on. The gist of it being the love for one another is mutually understood through actions and attentiveness without explicitly stating it.

Now with that said, I’ll leave how Shinichiro throwing the hard L-bomb at MC to everyone’s interpretation. (I’d actually love to read all of your thoughts on it if you’d like to share them with me! <3).

a/n: god, I really hope the way I write shinichiro's decisions and emotional trauma makes sense. no, nothing is resolved here. shin and izana (as well as inui) are still in non-speaking terms :’((((

part ten ❁ m.list ❁ part twelve 

[thestayathomedragon]

In which Luis indulges in his favorite past-time... playing with fire. :3

you and i were (fire...fire...) fireworks

“How do you do that?”

“Eh?” Luis looked up from the flame dancing back and forth between his fingers.

Leon had been watching him fiddle with his lighter for a little while now, pretty blue eyes alight, almost mesmerized by it. Luis might have showed off a little more than usual because of it. He might have done so because he liked the feeling of the other man’s eyes on him.

Though Luis started in the first place because he just needed something to do with his hands. He had always played with his lighter when he was bored, when he was thinking, when he was nervous… it kept his mind from spiraling out too far. It helped to feel smooth, warmed metal in his hands. It was something to remind him that he was here.

“That.” Leon said nodding toward Luis’s constantly moving fingers and the lighter jumping between them. The flame glowing faintly between them.

“Oh, this?” Luis gave him a slow, lazy smile from around the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. “It’s not too difficult, cariño. Not with a little practice. Wanna give it a go?” He said, flipping the cap on the lighter closed and offering it to the man sitting across for him.

Leon looked hesitant. Luis’s indolent smile became a sharper grin, energized by his growing excitement at the prospect.  

“Here…” Luis said, tucking the unlit cigarette, behind his ear before he maneuvered himself to sit next to the American. Both of their backs now to the same wall, shoulder to shoulder, highs touching. “Te enseñaré.”

Leon gave him a skeptical look, one pale eyebrow raised.  

Luis shook the lighter a little in the other’s direction, a hopeful smile on his face. “C’mon. It won’t bite… Well, as long as you’re careful.”

Leon sighed and took the lighter. “If you laugh at me, I’m gonna punch you.”

“Why would I do a thing like that?” Luis pouted. “Trial and error are the fun of learning. Especially, when you’re playing with fire, mi amigo.”

“Heh.” Leon gave him an amused smirk. “Okay then. Teach me, Obi-Wan…”

Luis snorted but began his instruction anyway.

“Now… hold it like this.” Luis said mimicking what he meant with his own fingers. “Treat it like your knife, get a feel for the weight of it.”

Leon tilted his head to look at him, eyes narrowed in question. It was as if he didn’t think Luis knew anything about knives or anything having to do with combat really. Luis had no idea why. Especially when what Luis did know had saved Leon’s pretty little ass more times than he was sure the agent would ever be willing to admit.

“Alright.” Leon nodded. “Show me how you did that thing with the thing with the… t-the thing. Y’know!” He was cute when he blushed.

“Oh, the thing!” Luis chuckled. “Sí, sí, por supuesto!”

They had probably spent more time than either of them realized working on the basics of lighter tricks, but it was nice to take their minds off what awaited them once they left the safety of these four walls. And of course, Leon was turning out to be a natural.

“You’ll have to teach me some tricks with that knife of yours one day, cariño.”

“Well, they’re not really tricks.” Leon said, eyes still on the lighter currently teetering between his fingers. “Damn. Almost…” The blond hissed when it fell the wrong way and burned his finger. He, of course, let it drop but Luis was fast enough to catch it before it hit the floor again. Poor thing was dinged up enough as it was but even after all these years it still served him well.

“…had… that.” When he looked back at Leon, the man was staring at him in surprise until he realized he was being watched. His expression turning sheepish around the burnt finger in his mouth. Luis was captivated by the way the other man’s full lips pursed around his lightly singed fingertip.

Leon looked younger like this, his features softened, eyes bright. Not that he didn’t look beautiful all the time. The man did have an impressive resting bitch face. But this was nice though unfortunately rarely seen. It was understandable considering their current circumstances, but Luis couldn’t help but wonder what the other man was like when he wasn’t on dangerous missions to save President’s daughters.

What was he like when no one’s life was on the line? Luis couldn’t help but think this was a precious glimpse of the man underneath the weight of this perilous responsibility.

Luis had always been a bit of a glutton when it came to his vices, and he already knew that he wanted as much of this Leon as he could get his greedy little hands on.

“They’re more of…uh… well they’re combat moves.” Leon said, still looking a bit boyish with his finger in his mouth.

“Can never have too many of those, cariño.” Luis said, offering him the lighter again, which Leon took, their fingertips brushing against each other.

Leon smiled at him, ducking his head a bit to hide the fact that his cheeks were still a bit pink, and his blue eyes were sparkling. He was having fun even if he would never admit it. “I could teach you some stuff. When we get out of here.” The blond sounded relaxed for the first time since they’d met, a hint of an interesting American accent coming through now. Luis wondered where in the States Leon was from. “Probably couldn’t hurt with all the trouble you get into.” The other man snickered.

“Me? Noooo.” Luis beamed, nudging the man with his shoulder playfully, almost causing Leon to drop his lighter again. “I am but a simple scientist. No trouble over here.”

“Hey, I almost got this! Cut it out!” Leon yelped. “No trouble huh? All trouble’s more like it.” He grimaced.

“My apologies, tesoro. Here. Let me see…” He took the lighter back intending to show Leon an easier way to maneuver it to hopefully not burn himself again.

Leon handed it over but instead of watching Luis’s hands his eyes were on the other man’s face. His blue eyes narrowed once again in question. “You know I know what you’re saying when you call me that… right?”

“No sé qué quieres decir.” Luis blinked at him, wide gray eyes growing wider, trying and failing to convey innocence.

“Oh, you know.” And was that a bashful little smile? Adorable. Who would have thought the deadly American secret agent could look so… sweet.

“Quieres que me detenga?”

Leon looked away and shrugged. “Me da igual.”

Luis chuckled, “Ah, el sabelotodo ¿Cuánto sabes?”

“Suficiente. Pensaste que me enviaron aquí sin estar preparado?” Leon grinned, looking very smug.

Luis threw his head back and cackled prompting Leon’s eyes to go wide and the other man to put his hand over the gleeful Spaniard’s mouth. “Shush! We’re supposed to be fucking hiding, asshole.”

Luis’s eyes were still crinkled in mirth. Not in the least embarrassed that he’d been found out. He started talking even from behind Leon’s hand, the words muffled until the agent rolled his eyes and removed it.

“Why didn’t you say anything, bastardo astuto?” Luis hissed, beyond amused by his companion.

Leon shrugged. “Wanted to see how far you’d take it if you thought I didn’t know what you were saying.” The bastard looked so smug—another good look on him. “So… ladies man, huh?”

Luis nodded. “Seguro! But I like to keep my options open. Especially, for beautiful American blonds. Mi debilidad!” Luis waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Leon snorted.

“Oh, you have done it now, Güero. I’m going to be shameless.”

“You weren’t shameless before?”

“You haven’t heard the half of it, querido.”

“Jesus Christ, Luis.”

“Oh, you love it! Why not say anything after all this time if you didn’t.”

“I told you! It’s because…”

“Eres mentirosa! Oh, you lie like a rug, Yanqui!”

“Would you keep it down, Serra! We’re supposed to be fucking hiding here.”

His delightful American accent was stronger when he was embarrassed. “Adorable.” Luis’s grin was feral. “Where in America are you from, Leon?”

Leon was taken aback by the question it seemed. “Why?”

“Porque voy a seguirte hasta allí y hacerte sonrojar así todos los días.”

“Oh… for… let’s go, Casanova. Looks like the break’s over thanks to your big mouth.” Leon groaned, hoisting himself up before offering a hand to the still delighted Spaniard.

“Te seguiría hasta los confines de la tierra, mi cielo!”

Luis yelped when Leon suddenly let his hand go, sending him back to the floor on his ass. “Mira cómo me enamoro de ti!”

“That’s it. I’m leaving you here!”

“Mi amor! Don’t be like that!”

Leon was still laughing though. That was something, right?

[shinyrhinestones]

Crash

Pairing: BAU x reader (platonic).

Warnings: Explosion, violence, mention of inappropriate relations with minors, typical Criminal minds stuff.

Genre: A tiny bit angst but it’s really not that bad.

Category: Blurb.

Summary: Things seem to almost go too wrong, when the place you were investigating with your team gets raided.

English isn’t my mother tongue, so there will probably be some mistakes.

You had been sitting in a black car, with Spencer, Emily and a woman hired by the state. You had told the woman to introduce you as: "Child victim interviewers"

Basically there was this ranch, where a cult could be found. They were religious, and had a strong belief to Christianity. Someone had made a phone call about being violated by the leader of the cult, whose name was Benjamin Cyrus.

In the phone call a supposedly 15 year old girl, talks about how this leader climbs into bed with her at night. Theres been other complaints about him having inappropriate relations with these young girls. But at the ranch this girl was totally against the accusations.

"Is it wrong for a wife to share a bed with her husband? I'm proud to carry his children" The young blue eyed blonde girl, named Jessica, questioned. It wasn't actually a question. The interview had been going steady until the men were all of a sudden armed, and mentioned a raid.

She was clearly admiring him, and worshipping this man. No way, she had made the phone call. The mother, however, seemed really worried and wanted this to stop. She made the phone call. She kept going between her daughter and her daughters 'husband'.

But a raid happened and the woman we came with, was shot.

Then the leader had scared everyone at the place, by telling them he just gave them posion after giving them wine. But that was fake news. It was a loyalty test. He had been analyzing peoples reactions, and made his accomplice write them down. Then somehow their leader found out about one of the ‘Child victim interviewers’ being an FBI Agent. He had pointed his gun at Spencer. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about” Spencer gulped and tried to remain calm. In an attempt to save Spencer, you spoke up. “It’s me..I’m the agent.” You hurried your words. Spencers head immediately whipped around, eyes wide and a quick heartbeat. “What?” He let out in surprise and worry. His voice was shaky and careful. Emily had quite the same reaction. Benjamin however was quick to grab a hold of your hair and drag you into a nearby room. You flinched at the sharp pain he caused, as he punched, hit and shoved.

Great, now you have a bruise and blood on your shirt. But the sharp pain was over and that was nice. However, it did hurt when you touched it. You werent able to see it, but outside of the room was a very worried and apolegetic Spencer Reid. Emily flinched along with Spencer whenever they could hear Bejamins actions as you let out a fra cries, trying to Jeep it calm. You didnt want the people on the outside to come in and mess things up.

As you three were inside, there was the rest of your team on the outside listening in on what was happening. You were tied to a bed upstairs, feeling useless as Emily and Spencer were being strategic and very good at their job downstairs. But then the mother of Jessica had hurried upstairs to help you out, assuming that Emily managed to convince her. She rushed in and hurried over to you. “They’re planning to blow the whole thing up! We dont have Mick time” and even though she had raised her voice a little, it was still surprisingly soft.

Now, you hurried down in the cellar where you almost just made it out, your heart beating fast and your legs almost becoming wobbly. You sqeauled out of surprise when you felt the ground shake and rumble beneath you. You flinched and closed your eyes as dust flew around everywhere. Your running came to a halt, when your ankle was stuck in between big blocks of fallen walls. And you were about to get yourself free when more walls collapsed nearby making it all way more challenging. Your body started to go heavy and weak, as the edges of the thick solid blocks put pressure on you. The feeling of sharp cement that almost cut into your skin, was extremly painful. You tried to get yourself free, but it was too hard. They were way heavier than you could manage, and now you were stuck in between all of the mess. You made a whining noise out of fear and frustration as you gave up on lifting and trying to twist the cold hard walls, your wrists starting to burn. You could smell the coal from the fire, and the cold fresh air. You groaned as you pushed your hair out of your face, and as you did that your hand made contact with your cheek. You flinched and exclaimed an ‘ow’ at the stinging feeling of a scratch on your face.

Emily, Hotch and all the others on the team stood outside hugging and sighing in relief at the feeling of getting out safe. But then when they took a look around, and let their eyes scan the burning building and the mess laying all around them, they all grew silent, so silent that if someone was to step on a branch it would seem incredibly loud. It felt as if their hearts dropped all the way down to their stomach, all feeling guilty and dissapointing. Like they all let you down.

And Hotch being your boss instantly felt as if he had failed his whole mission. How could he let it all go so wrong? Cold wind of the night hit against their faces as they started to wonder:

“Where’s Y/N?”

But right as their hearts quickened and their faint smiles started to fall, a troubled and familiar voice called out: “Help! I’m stuck, please help!”

They hurried towards the noise and sighed in relief as they could see you were doing quite alright. Even though you were stuck and had a dirty face, clothing and hands now, you were still breathing. And yes your body was most likely going to be really sore for some time, but hopefully that would go away again. They all sikres togethers to get the fallen walls out of your way, freeing your body. You were getting on your knees, about to stand up when your boss offered you a hand. You took his firm hand as he helped you up, instantly putting his other hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Hotch worried, and let some of his emotion show in his voice, and more in his dark coloured eyes. “I don’t know..it hurts..my ankle hurts” You were almost whining but the burning feeling wasnt pleasent at all. Hotch was more than relieved that you were still with them, and that he could get you some help now. The others on the team watched, and were about to hug you aswell, when Hotch guided you out of the mess, to get you some medical help.

———————————————————————

[missshezz]

Title: Omens

Rating: Teens and up (T for language)

Warnings: None apply

Word Count: 1100

Tags: Season 1, Winchesters x Reader, no romance, YOU is reader, Sam and Dean happen along to save reader, Original Supernatural monster, angst, drama, hunt of the week type story

Summary: You think Lady Luck is simply being a vindictive bitch when you experience a rush of bad luck until a freak encounter with Sam and Dean

If luck were a lady, well, she was a real bitch.

Why else would everything that happened that night, happen?

You tried to shrug it off initially.

Shit happened as your old man liked saying.

Plus, some things were just freak occurrences.

Microwaves go out.

Pipes bust.

Roofs leak.

Electronics die.

Cars break down.

All on the same day, though?

That was a bit much for even you to believe.

You rolled with the punches, though. Took it all in stride. Wasn’t like you had much choice really. Thought things would improve once you got to work.

Oh, boy were you wrong.

So, so terribly wrong.

Your key broke off in the padlock on your locker.

The ink ran out of your pen.

You dropped a tray of glasses.

One tray you could say oops.

Three?

No.

Luckily, your boss didn’t pitch the fit you expected he would.

“Shit happens, kid,” was all he said before he went back to his nightly poker game. “Cost to replace ‘em comes outta your paycheck.”

As if you could afford the deduction.

You ate it, though, because twenty bucks for a new set of glasses was far better than being unemployed and homeless.

Luckily, the bar was hopping that night. Playoffs and holidays always netted you extra dough. You picked up some serious change from a group of your regulars celebrating one of them retiring from their shit job at the steel mill and another becoming a first-time grandpa.

The tall, reed-thin man seated in one corner was the only other downside to your night.

You encountered a lot of weirdoes in your time at the bar but this guy took the cake.

He reminded you of Monsieur D'Arque from Beauty and the Beast.

Stringy black hair framed a pockmarked face with a scar zigzagging from the corner of thin lips to a pointy chin.

His eyes were what stuck with you the most.

They were an almost hypnotic shade of gold.

You shuddered whenever you passed his table.

You couldn’t refuse to serve him, though.

Not after you dropped ten more glasses, broke four bottles of beer, and sliced your finger open while cutting limes.

Closing time came and the bar emptied.

“How you getting home?” Darlene asked as you cleaned up. “Your brother giving you a ride?”

“Tommy left yesterday for school.”

“Forgot he left.” She grabbed a rag and started drying the glasses you washed. “I can ask Daria if we can drop you at your place.”

“That’s going out of your way.”

“Daria won’t mind.”

“Thanks,” you said. “But I’ll walk. I don’t live far.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

You finished up and exited the bar with Darlene a half hour later.

“You sure you don’t want me to ask Daria to drop you at your place?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, well, night then.”

“Night.”

You spot an old car as you cross the parking lot and figure somebody else encountered Lady Luck.

It was a nice looking car, too. Shiny black body, chrome grill, shiny aluminum wheels.

Someone clearly loved it.

Making it strange they’d leave it in a parking lot instead of getting it towed home.

You hoped it’d still be there when they returned for it in the morning.

And be in one piece.

A chill snaked its way down your back despite the night being unseasonably warm. You reach into your pocket for the can of mace you carried for any sort of situations and quickened your pace. A figure came around the corner just as you reached it. Your instincts shouted at you to run but your feet refused to obey.

The man stepped into the light and you recognized him as Monsieur D'Arque.

“Good evening, my dear.” Unease slithered through you as a bone-chilling grin crept over his face. “A pleasant evening for a stroll, is it not?”

If luck be a lady, than she was a royally vindictive bitch, you decided as you backed away.

There wasn’t anywhere to go, though.

All the businesses around you were closed for the night.

The closest police station was over a mile away.

Firehouse twice that.

Still, you had to try.

Lady Luck wasn’t going to win that easily, after all.

“Where do you think you are going, my dear?”

“Not where you’re goin’, fugly!”

The sharp report of a gun blasted by your ear. Your heart slammed against your ribcage and your breath wheezed out from between lips that felt like they were frozen together as a strange yellow ooze seeped outward from a small, black hole in the middle of Monsieur D'Arque’s forehead.

Shock, agony, and rage twisted his face into a gruesome mask. He took a step towards you, long, bony fingers outstretched, but you were pulled out of reach by a tall, shaggy-haired man you remembered arguing with another earlier that evening.

“You’re safe now,” he told you as Monsieur D'Arque exploded into a cloud of black dust. “He can’t hurt you.”

“What… what just happened?” you managed around the ball of ice lodged in your throat. “Who was he?”

“Doctor Daniel Luckhaven.”

“Luckhaven?” A frown creased your brow as you recalled seeing that name on a plaque at the local hospital. “He died in 1891.”

“He discovered a way to extend his life.”

“How?”

“By drinking the blood of people who have experienced a rush of bad luck.”

Not exactly the weirdest stuff you’ve heard living in this town.

You heard stranger shit whenever Milly Jenkins went off her meds or Lewis Carmichael tied one on.

Still, even you found yourself a bit weirded out by this.

“Shoulda taken that other chick up on her offer of a ride,” the man with the gun rasped as he joined you. “Wouldn’t have almost become Liquid Delight.”

“Dean,” the shaggy-haired one hissed.

“It’s the truth, Sammy.”

“Sam and Dean?” You looked first at the man sliding the gun he used into the waistband of his jeans before angling your head back to look at the one who pulled you to safety. “Are you related to John Winchester?”

“He’s our father.”

“That’s why you’re in town,” you said as the pieces all came together. “You’re hunters. Like him.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Should’ve guessed.” At Sam’s inquisitive look, you added, “I always have a run of bad luck right after your dad comes through town.”

“He was here?” Hope added flecks of gold to Dean’s green eyes. “When?”

“Yesterday.”

Which was right about the time your streak of bad luck started.

Luck wasn’t a lady, after all.

It was a bad omen.

Named John Winchester.