#other than the brief scare at the end I always thought this movie steered away from human death and was just full on appliance torture snuf

[bleaksqueak]

This song has lived in my head for decades at this point and it shows no sign of ever leaving.

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Darkest Secrets

Requested by @mcmorgan9794

Summary: Keeping this secret from Wanda has been hard, but you don't have a choice but to come clean when everything is brought to light.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,446

You’d always wanted to tell Wanda your deepest, darkest secret. You had been with her for well over a year, after all. A secret like the one you harboured wasn’t something that you should keep from someone you loved so dearly. But your secret was the ugliest part of yourself. It was something you hated, lurking deep within every inch of your body. It brewed in your blood and rested in your bones, uncontrolled at the best of times and unstoppable at the worst. It was a burden you’d never wanted to place upon the girl you loved.

Yet, keeping it from her hurt too. She’d look at you with those soft green eyes, spilling everything to you. Tears would stream down her cheeks as she’d tell you all about how much she hated the powers she’d been given. You’d hold her close and whisper soft words of comfort, wiping her tears away with the pad of your thumb, refusing to tell her you felt the same about your own. She would tell you everything. You wouldn’t tell her anything. You couldn’t tell her anything. She thought she was a monster. In reality, you were the monster. If she knew that, her heart would shatter.

Sometimes, these facts were all you could think about. It was the quiet moments. Wanda was away getting coffee with Natasha, Tony and Bruce were in the lab, Thor was on Asgard, and Clint was home with his family. You were left alone at the compound. You hardly ventured out of your own room. While silence screamed in the dark room, you tried to distract yourself with a book or a movie, but it didn’t last. Instead, the weight of your secret was crushing the oxygen out of your lungs. It always did. You longed to have Wanda back, to have her by your side and thread your fingers through hers. She didn’t know how agonizing solitude could be.

You curled up in your armchair, pulling your knees up to your chest and curling your arms around them. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing you could will the overwhelming thoughts out of your head. They were screaming at you. They were reminding you of the monster that lay dormant in your very soul, cackling as they pushed images of what you were capable of. Then you imagined Wanda. You could do her so much harm and she didn’t even know it. Were you putting her in danger every day you lay by her side? You swallowed as you tried to force back the tears.

The dark thoughts came next. They always did. You wondered how much better off the world would be without you. You wondered how much better off she would be without you. She loved you. Losing you would break her heart, but she’d be okay eventually. If you hurt her in the way only you knew you were capable of, you knew she would never be okay again. None of them would. The dam broke and tears spilled down your cheeks. Hurting Wanda Maximoff would kill you.

And as you were about to imagine all the ways you could take yourself and your monster out of this world, your phone rang.

You grabbed the phone off the table, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand. You took a steadying breath before you even dared look down at the screen. The first thing you noticed wasn’t the person who was calling, but the time. It hadn’t felt like it had been as long as it had since the other had left you alone in the compound. The darkness in your head could do that. You lost track of time often when you reached that place. An hour could pass, then two, and then six.

It was Natasha’s face that was flashing on your screen. Worry filled your gut. Was Wanda okay? She had to be okay. You forced a deep breath in, and then out. Her phone had probably died. The Sokovian was notorious for remembering to plug the charger into her phone, but forgetting to plug it into the wall on the other end. After reminding yourself of that a few times, you finally found the ability to slide the answer button and hold the phone up to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Thank god,” Natasha’s voice said. There was a loud screech in the background, the sound of metal grinding against metal. “Listen you need to get to the hospital.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Oxygen caught in your throat and you were barely able to let words squeeze past the lump that had formed. “The hospital?”

“The ambulance is almost there. She’s hurt bad. Don’t come anywhere near Midtown.”

You didn’t even bother to respond. In fact, you didn’t even bother to hang up the phone. You simply slammed it down on the table that you’d only just picked it up from, heading for the elevator. A million thoughts were racing through your head. There were so many emotions tugging at your heart that you could hardly decipher one from the next. Fear, anger, and worry were all fighting to take over every one of your senses. You couldn’t breathe. It was as if on autopilot that you made it to the garage and hotwired one of Tony’s cars.

Scenery was flashing by you, mere streaks outside the windows of the car. The pedal was on the floor beneath your foot. You flexed your fingers; knuckles having gone white with the force of your grip on the steering wheel. Your brain was showing you visuals of Wanda lying on the table, shining green eyes dulled in the absence of life. Head too wrapped up in the thoughts that ran through it, you didn’t realize you weren’t headed for the hospital at all. You were headed toward midtown, exactly where Natasha had told you not to go.

You’d never been an Avenger. You would never be an Avenger. Maybe it was selfish, refusing to help others when you had the ability to. People died and you might have been able to stop it. Your own powers scared you too much to allow you to. It was something you’d decided long ago. The lives of every civilian that you could have saved were worth it. You couldn’t unleash that sinister thing that lived inside you. Yet, here you were, rushing toward the fight like you were Tony Stark in his suit of armour, or Steve Rogers with a vibranium shield strapped to your back.

The car screeched as you slammed your foot down on the brake. The seatbelt dug so hard into your ribs that you weren’t sure a few hadn’t snapped beneath the pressure. The adrenaline pumping through your veins assured you wouldn’t feel it even if they did. You fought to keep your breathing under control as you stepped out of the car and took in the destruction around you. Someone here had hurt Wanda, and, honestly, you couldn’t find it in you to care which one it had been. You’d kill every single one.

Gravel and rubble crunched beneath your feet as you ventured further and further into the warzone that had broken out in Midtown New York. They looked human, whoever they were. They were armed to the teeth and attacking every moving thing in sight. None of them had noticed you yet. That was better for both of you, for the time being. You shut your eyes for a brief moment and listen to the sounds around you. Civilians were screaming and car alarms were blaring and explosions roared. Then there was running, and it stopped at your side.

“I told you not to come here. Wanda’s at the hospital.”

You opened your eyes. Natasha was at your side. Blood trickled down her temple, staining her pale skin. She flinched as she put weight on her left leg to move a little closer to you. Wanda might have been the woman you called your own, but the Avengers were your family. Seeing one of them hurting in the way Natasha was only stoked the fire that was beginning to burn hotter and hotter inside of you. Your gaze moved away from her and back to the oncoming forces. They were getting closer.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Tony’s cars have trackers. We got an alert the second you left the compound and another as you came here. Get to the hospital.”

But you’d already stopped listening. The incoming threat had gotten close enough to notice you now. Green eyes followed your gaze until she, too, noticed the men approaching the two of you. She raised her arm, the gun still clutched tight in her grip. You could tell by the bewildered expression on her face that she hadn’t at all been expecting you to stop her. Your hand grabbed her wrist, lowering her arm until it was back against her side. You suspected it was the crimson gleam in your eyes that was the only thing that was keeping her weapon lowered.

You turned back to her once more. Surprise was written across every feature on her face… no, it was fear. She was afraid. She should be scared of you. Your skin began to blacken as you began to fade into nothing. Her eyes were still able to find yours, glowing bright as ever. She flinched when you reached out, backing up as you reached for her hand in an attempt for a final goodbye. You bowed your head, wishing she’d let you feel the warmth of her skin beneath your hand one final time.

“I’m sorry, Natasha.”

Then you turned away from her. The last of your human form faded away. It was hard to make out any shape in the tall, dark shadow that you’d become. Haunting golden eyes cast to the men that were racing toward you. As if to match the scene, a dark cloud rolled in front of the sun. Its shadow cast down onto the city, the darkness concealing you even further and making your eyes glow seemingly brighter. They continued to approach. They didn’t know their mistake. You did. You were dangerous at any time. You were more dangerous now that they’d hurt the person you loved more than you had ever loved before.

You raised your arms into the sky, feet leaving the ground. When your feet had been touching the concrete below them, you’d already been towering over the oncoming men. Now, you looked down upon them. Guns raised to where you hovered in the sky. It was almost comical. One of them screamed, and suddenly they were all firing. Their bullets tore through you, yet they didn’t touch you. Your head tilted to the side ever so slightly as an unsettling grin appeared in your dark shadow, disrupted by the whiz of dozens of bullets flying through it.

“Knock knock,” you said. Even your voice was sinister, a deep rumble that felt like it emanated from every direction, or deep inside of any listener.

The laughter that burst from their chests was strange, at first. It seemed out of place in such a setting. Confusion flickered across each of their faces. Then they laughed harder, and harder. Guns fell to the ground and they howled with laughter, but it contrasted their eyes. There was no sparkle of amusement in even one. It was pure, unbridled fear that you could see shining in them. One by one they fell to their knees, clawing at their throats as they tried to stop. One had tears streaming down his cheeks as he covered his ears, trying to block out the sounds that were torn from his own throat.

They couldn’t get in their comms to tell their men to keep away.

The next group that came for you met the same fate. Soon they, too, were on the ground. You got some sort of sick satisfaction as you watched them fall, unable to control their bodies. You’d taken over, grabbing hold of their heads and their bodies. You’d grabbed onto their lungs and ripped laughter from their chests, absolutely uncontrollable. When they lost control of that, that was when the fear started to take over. Fear would grip at them; you could feel it emanating off them. It would only get worse. You’d watched men take their lives as they lost their minds.

There was a reason you never used your powers. You were afraid of them, sure. The reason you were afraid of them, however, wasn’t because of their strength. Their strength could have saved lives. It wasn’t even because you couldn’t control them. You were addicted to your own powers. You took pride in watching grown men reduced to tears, curled up on the ground, shaking like an abused puppy. Your sick satisfaction was what you feared.

Was this what it felt like to be an Avenger? Were you taking pride in watching the civilians able to run from the scene, or was your pride in the fact that they no longer feared the invading forces, but you instead? The men were rendered immobile as the New Yorkers ran far from the scene. There you were in the centre of it, arms outstretched eyes gleaming, and grin growing wider and ever more evil. Natasha was still hovering just outside of your reach. You could feel her. You turned to face her. You could tell by the look in her eyes that she no longer recognized you. She put her lips to her comm.

“Evacuate the area. Don’t come down this way. Clint, go check on Wanda.”

Wanda.

Your powers ceased. No one rose right away. It would take some time for them to recover. They were gasping for breath. Their arms were too preoccupied hugging themselves tight to bother even trying to wipe the tears that covered many of their faces. Some of them were even rocking back and forth as the effect wore off. You dropped to the ground, human form taking back over. Your eyes were back to normal as you looked to Natasha once more. Neither of you said anything, but you took off running.

*

You pulled your hood up further, gaze locked to your black running shoes. You couldn’t help but feel like every set of eyes was on you. That’s how it felt, you supposed, being wanted by every agency on the planet. With the ability to change your form, though, it was pretty easy to hide in plain sight. Your footsteps echoed on the hard floor beneath your feet as you kept forward. Anyone who saw you would know you were on a mission. You knew exactly where you were going.

She was sleeping when you arrived. The cuts on her body had been stitched and bandaged, and her broken arm had been cast. Sam’s signature was already present on the red material, accompanied by a bad drawing of a bird. You couldn’t help but smile a little to yourself at that. Hopefully, it had kept a smile on her face as her world fell into turmoil, something undoubtedly caused by you. That simple fact would always break your heart. You had to turn to the window to keep the tears at bay.

When you turned back to Wanda, her green eyes were on you. There was something in her eyes that you couldn’t quite read. Her head tilted to the side as she looked at you, in a form that would be unrecognizable. It wasn’t just hiding you from the authorities, but it was hiding you from her. It was protecting her from you. She didn’t need to know that it was you, the woman who had never for a single second deserved to love her or be loved by her. A small smile grew on her lips.

“You forget I can read minds, my love.”

Of course. Wanda had always promised you she’d never read your mind. She would never violate your privacy like that. Right now, though, standing in her hospital room, you hadn’t been you. Obviously, she’d found it appropriate to peek into the mind of the stranger who had been watching her sleep. You should have been mortified. You’d never wanted her to know that you were here. Instead, a large part of you was relieved.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she breathed out. “So, that was quite the secret.”

Even though you deserved it, it still felt like a knife to the heart when she said it aloud. You nodded slowly, cracking your knuckles nervously. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

You studied her face. Wanda really was a saint, with powers like the ones she had. She was kind, thoughtful, and respectful. You were sure if you’d had her powers right then, you’d be digging through her mind trying to find out what she was thinking. Her eyes weren’t showing you enough. They were calm, though, and it was keeping you calm. Your breathing was level and your head was steady on your shoulders, something you wouldn’t have had been able to say only five short minutes ago.

“Are you afraid?” You managed.

“No,” she assured instantly. “Confused. Why didn’t you tell me?”

You breathed out slowly. “I didn’t want to hurt you. My powers? They’ll hurt you.”

“Will you hurt me?”

“Never!” You insisted. “I… I only hurt them because they hurt you.”

She smiled. “Then I’m not afraid.”

She beckoned you. You padded slowly toward the bed, watching as she stared up at you with an amount of love and adoration that you didn't deserve. Wanda glanced at the door, making sure no one was there to see, and then took your hand in hers, tugging on it to get you to sit down next to her. Instant calm washed over you, drowning out any negative, scared thoughts that had been in your head for days previous. It was like her hand was a lifeline, keeping you anchored on the spot. In the last few days, you’d been anything but calm and present.

You’d been a wreck without her, not knowing if she’d hate you… if you even saw her again. You didn’t know if you’d be able to feel her touch again, to feel her hands on your cheeks or to feel her grab onto you and pull you into a searing kiss the way she did. But you had seen her again, and, somehow, she didn’t hate you. Now, it seemed now you could get oxygen flowing through your body again. Still, you were uncertain.

“And can you forgive me?” You asked, voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear it. “Can you ever love me again?”

Wanda took her free hand and put it on the underside of your chin, tilting your gaze up to hers. “I see nothing that has to be forgiven.” She brushed her thumb across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “I love you. I will never, ever stop loving you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise you,” she assured.

She leaned forward and then her lips were on yours. It took you a second to realize the salty taste was from the tears that were streaming down your cheeks, but it didn’t seem to be bothering the Sokovian. Both of your hands found hers and you held tight, as if afraid you’d never see her again if you dared to let go. She slipped one hand out of yours as she pulled back, using it to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry I kept it from you,” you muttered.

“I’m sorry you were so scared all alone.”

Your heart swelled. You really had found the perfect woman. “You’re really too good to me. You know that?”

Wanda laughed. “You deserve the world. You know that?”

With the way you tucked yourself against her in a hug, it was obvious she knew you felt the same of her. Her hand stroked your hair as you finally, for the first time ever, felt absolute ease and a sense of peace. Hiding that secret from Wanda had been the second hardest thing you’d ever done. The hardest had been coming clean with it. You snuggled a little closer to her, burying your head into the crook of her neck and mumbling against her skin.

“I’ll never hide anything from you again. I promise.”

Wanda pulled you away so she could look at you. “While we’re revealing secrets, I suppose I should tell you about the engagement ring in my jacket pocket.”

[eyoricka]

Fight - Pete Davidson

Requested: yes

Words: 2300

Trigger warnings: some curse words

Pete was not his regular self this past few days. The BPD was hitting hard probably because of stress. He was under pressure for his new special and his whole mental state was affected. You did everything you could to make him feel better, but it was tough. He booked more therapy sessions but on a short run it was not enough. You encouraged him to watch some movies he likes to relax, to express himself creatively and to do some exercises with you however it created more tension than everything. Small things were triggering some Pete’s negative reactions, it was very hard to keep up. You wanted to be there for him, showed that you cared. Sometimes it was just nearly impossible and that worried you. You were kind of used to those situations but this time it was a longer, rougher episode and it began to play with your own mental state.

You were in the kitchen baking some peanut butter brownie for the dessert when Pete entered in the room. He seemed tensed but smiled at you lazily. He approached you and kissed your temple while looking at what you were cooking. He frowned a bit but said nothing. You were surprised by this reaction, he usually loved this treat.

“You don’t like it anymore?”, you asked still taken aback. He rolled his eyes but remained silence which upset you. “You can use your words to answer, you know.”

“I am just wondering if you really know me and want the best for me” he replied growing annoyed.

“You what??!! Where does that come from?!!”

“You know I have Crohn and you know it can be worsened by nuts” he placed a huge emphasis on the you know. “But still you are baking this” he glanced at the brownie meanly, rose his hand towards it and for a second you thought he might throw it in the trash or on the floor. Instead, he put his hand on his face and sighed: “I really wondered why I still get home to be welcomed like that.”

Those words stung you, hard. You had taken of your time to bake this, it was just a small attention and you didn’t expect this reaction. You bit your lips refraining yourself to reply harshly, deep down believing that he didn’t think that, didn’t actually mean that.

“Well, I think you are stressed and angry and maybe you should go relax and we can discuss that later.” You kindly reply, putting a smile on your face.

“Now actually we should discuss that now, you are the one who says that when there is a problem, we have to discuss it, let’s do that.”

“Yeah, but when you are calm, ready to talk without your feelings interfering and risking saying things you don’t mean.”

“I am calm and ready to talk” he insisted visibly growing upset. You nodded and sighed frustratedly. There was no point arguing and you didn’t want to deal with him being angry for such a flutily, so you let him speak. You weren’t really listening carefully to what he was saying considering that he just needed to let some stuffs out because he was stressed. You were sure that he would apologize as soon as his crisis would be over so there was no point in taking to heartedly what he was saying. You didn’t want to ignore him, but it was easier that way, else you would probably be hurt by some words he pronounced without thinking. “Are you even listening to me?!!” he snapped at you while you were lost in your own thoughts. You winced trying to find a way to explain why you were not very into what he was saying without upsetting him even more.

“I…No I don’t really listen. But look Pete you are annoyed and half of the things you are saying, you will regret them later so…”

“You must be fucking kidding me!!! How can you know that I will regret them if you don’t even listen to them! You know what it proves, it proves that you don’t care about how I feel or why, that you don’t give a fuck about me!!”

“No, it is not like that!” you exclaimed trying to make your point.

“Stop trying to make yourself look like the nice guy while I am the bad one!!! Fuck… I can believe you, from all the people I thought I could trust you!”

“But you can” you pleaded.

“No!! Visibly I can’t but I should not be surprise you can’t even seem to remember or care about what I can eat or no so I guess listening to my feelings is too much to ask!!” You opened your mouth to reply to that but he continued: “Maybe if it is too much you should leave, you would probably be happier without me, without pretending you love me, care about me. And I would also be happier, I would finally find someone for me!!” he yelled certainly not even knowing what he was saying, the stress, the anger he was feeling for days were taking the best of him.

Even if you knew that, you still never expected such words. You were astonished to say the least. You couldn’t even answer to that, you were still processing those hurtful words. After few seconds at looking silently at each other, it hit you, what he just said, what he meant. It took every ounce of courage you had to not cry in front of him and simply nod, leave the room silently. You went to your share bedroom and grabbed a bag, put some clothes in it with your toiletry bag. You sent a quick text to a friend of yours asking her to sleep at her place for the night and she accepted without questioning you further. When you crossed the living room to leave the place, you saw that Pete was still standing there, looking at the window. He was back at you. “I will come back in few days to get back the rest of my stuff” you stated, and he didn’t turn around. You put everything in the car and drove to your friend’s place.

When Pete heard the sound of your car driving way, he realized. He realized what he had just say, what it implied, how badly he had screwed up. He wanted to run to you but it was too late, you were gone and he didn’t even know where, he haven’t even seen your face one last time. This broke him and tears streamed down his face. What an idiot. You were right. Of course it wasn’t the moment to talk, of course the anxiety he was feeling was taking the best of him, of course you had nothing to do with all of this. He had been so unfair to you, during all your relationship you had cared, you had listened to him, you had made your best to make him feel better, good, you always had been careful about his feeling, you had been supportive of his decisions and involved in everything he had tried to do. He never thanked you, not really and the only time you were not listening because you were sure that he was not thinking straight, he had been an asshole. He wanted to make it up, he needed to apologize, he wanted to fix things, but he ignored where to start. He was crushed by the idea that it was definitely over, that he would never see you smile at him, wear his shirt, cook for him, play video games with him, falling asleep in his arms while watching movies��� All those precious, treasured moments you shared would vanish and he would never be able to relive them.

He tried to recompose himself and called you, but he never reached anything else than your voicemail. The sole sound of your voice humming asking to leave a message was enough to make him sob again. He fell asleep that night crying while you did the same some miles away. Those few miles felt like the abyss between you, an abyss that none of you would be able to cross that night to join the other.

When you woke up the following morning, you had a lump in your throat, you felt sick. Your friends had made you a delicious breakfast to cheer you up and you smiled kindly at her. She didn’t pry in your intimacy last night, she did what she could to make you happier, gave you space and let you sleep while insisting that she was there in case you needed. You were so grateful to have her. As you were eating, you received a text from Pete, you were not sure if you wanted to open it or not, if you were brave enough to read it but you couldn’t avoid it. You would have to read it at some point so there was no need to put it to another moment. You were a bit shook by his words, expecting a breakup text, a date to pick up your remaining stuff. You couldn’t help but smile a bit at your screen: “I am so dumb, I am surely the dumbest dude in all New York, and I am sorry, I can’t apologize enough for my behavior. But please give me one last chance to talk to you, if you don’t want to see me after that I can understand but I want to apologize to you in person, you deserve it, you are amazing and that is the least I could do after all the hurt I caused.” You texted back a brief ok, thanked again your friend and drove back to your place. Your fingers were drumming nervously against the steering wheel.

To your surprise the front door wasn’t locked and then you remembered that you had left in such a rush that you hadn’t even taken the keys. As you took off your shoes, you heard Pete made his way to the entrance and you took a seconds or two to look at him. Judging by the enormous bag under in eyes you guessed he hadn’t had much sleep last night, his eyes were glossy giving you a clue on how he spent the night crying. He looked miserable and you presume that you looked the same. He approached you slowly like he was scared that you would reject him. When he realized that you were not angry at him but rather hurt, he internally felt like dying. He had always sworn to make you happy, laugh, to protect you and in the end, he was the precise reason you were pained. He rose his hand to help you to take your coat off and you noticed that his hand was shaking.

“I am that intimidating?” you humored him, and he smiled sadly at you. You then proceed to follow him in the living room, as you sat on the couch, he paced around the room. Your eyes followed him closely as he was moving, chewing on his lips, and playing with his sweatshirt. He eventually locked his eyes with yours and decided to sit down in the armchair in front of you.

“I am sorry, I fucked up immensely, I don’t even have words to tell you how sorry I am. What I did, what I told you, it was unspeakable, ignominious, and if you can’t forgive now or never, I would get it but sincerely I am sorry. I can even begin describe how much I feel like the worse for making you feel like this, to have accused you of things you never did. You always had been there for me, always, even in the harder moments, you had always tried to make me feel better when I am low, you spent hours listening to me and my struggles and the only thing I do is to tell you that you don’t do enough. Fuck, I am so stupid. I should have listened to you. I know apologize are not enough, I realize how badly I hurt you, how from the start I was an ass. You baked me something I like and because I am feeling bad, I take all my anger at you, this is fucked up I am sorry. My mental health is not an excuse for what I did to you, to treat you like this it was awful of me. I felt anxious and attacked at work, so I attack you and this behavior, my behavior it can not lead us anywhere except to our downfall. You don’t have to forgive, you don’t have to say anything, I would get it you know, I am just sorry.”

You brushed away a tear on your cheek, you felt like crying and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe because you were really hurt, or because this apology seemed so sincere or simply because you couldn’t stand to see him like this considering that he had realized how cruel he had been. You stood up and took his hands in yours, enjoying their warmth. You let him engulf you in his arms, intoxicated by his scent while he buried his head in the crook of your neck.

“What you said yesterday, it stung me hard, but I am willing to forgive you, Pete. But I don’t want to relive that again, not in few days, not in months, not in years. I want this to make us stronger, we can use this to advance, to be better, okay?” you whispered as you pressed your head against his chest. You felt him tighten his grip on you as he murmured back “okay”.

[writingtoforgetreality]

I Remember (Malcolm Bright x Reader)

Request: uM hi saw ur request post while i was scrolling through malcolm bright x reader tag lol so may i request an x reader w malcolm where reader's gil's niece or smth so she and mal know each other before he joined the team- and one day where mal was being a dumbass and reader was told to drive mal home and when she was securing his restraints he jokingly asked her to sing to him aNd she did sing and fell asleep on the bed by opposite mal aND he got a good amount of sleep like no night terrors and next day he accidentally slipped that reader ''slept'' w him and gils just like excuse me wtf?? Djkdkdlsjsjs idk i got this idea when i was staring at the ceiling at 4 am instead of doing my essays that were due in the morningxD sorry its p long. Thanks and have a good day/night (by @iwillboilyourteeth), [Prodigal Son-Masterlist]

Summary: Malcolm got hurt again. What a surprise. And, as always, you were right there to take care of him. Tonight, though, things took a turn. For the better or for the worse? Only the future would tell.

Words: 2,142

Warnings: language, love me some sarcasm, fluff, so much fluff, I love writing for Prodigal Son (keep the requests coming)

Song used: “I Remember” by Jason Manns

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

You were sitting in your apartment when your phone started ringing loudly, interrupting your movie marathon. Sighing exaggeratedly, you checked who decided to annoy you at this time. It was not too late but you liked your alone time a lot. Gil. Oh no. That could never be good.

“Uncle Gil. I hope whatever you’re about to tell me is more important than Harry Potter.” pausing the movie you were currently watching, you did not even give him enough time to greet you. A loud sigh could be heard over the phone. One, that made you laugh.

“(Y/N).” his voice was stern & you knew better than to mess with him. Yet, you could not help yourself.

“Yeah, that’s me. You called me, after all.” joking to ease the tension, your giggling was cut short by his next words.

“Malcolm is a dumbass.”

“What a revelation.”

“He’s hurt.” Gil stated. Throwing your head back in frustration, you knew he only called you if he knew it was not too bad. But bad enough to need your help. “I need you to come get him.” it was not even a question, more like an order. Immediately, you grabbed the stuff you needed & headed out of your apartment towards your car.

“Can I yell at him for being reckless?” opening the door, you got inside but before you started the engine, you waited for the call to end. Could not risk getting youself hurt. Malcolm was the stupid one, not you.

“I already did that but I’m sure he’ll appreciate to hear it again.”

“Good.”

“Drive safe.” Gil noted.

“See you in ten.” & with that you drove to the precinct where he would most likely wait for you.

Growing up, you spent a lot of time at Gil’s. Malcolm was there almost always, so you got to meet each other pretty early on. Deep down, you cared for him. More than you should care for a friend. And because of him being a profiler, you were sure he picked up on that as well. Malcolm was just nice enough to not comment on it. Besides, he would tell you that he was too broken anyway. The thing was that it never scared you away. It did the exact opposite, actually. It only made you want him more.

Did you ignore almost every speed limit? Possibly. Your knuckles were white because you had gripped the steering wheel so tightly. One of these days, you would kill Malcolm. He kept getting himself hurt & you were tired of being the one to drive him home afterwards. Of course, you knew Gil only called you because Malcolm trusted you enough but that did not change the fact that you were exhausted.

“What happened?” approaching Gil, your eyes looked around for a sign of Malcolm. “And where the hell is he?”

“Bathroom.” his finger pointed over. “He didn’t call backup & thought dealing with it alone would turn out fine.” Gil was, you could tell, almost as tired as you. Not only of Malcolm acting recklessly but also because of a long day at work.

“What a surprise.” your sarcasm got the best of you. But it helped you coping with your feelings sometimes. “Uncle Gil?” his head snapped up when you said his name.

“Yes?”

“Go home & get some sleep. I got it from here, promise.” your sweet smile was convincing enough & with a nod, he turned around & walked away.

“(Y/N)?” Malcolm noticed you when he walked out of the bathroom. His face was covered in bruised & by the way he was limping, you were sure that his entire body had to be sore. “Where’s Gil?”

“I sent him home.” shrugging as if it were nothing, you gave Malcolm a look. He knew what it meant but apparently, he wanted to play dumb.

“What?” his head tilted slightly & if it were not for his damn puppy eyes & for the fact that he was hurt, you would be the cause of his bruises. Not quite literally but still. Rolling your eyes at him, you crossed your arms over your chest.

“You’re stupid, I hope you know that.”

“I do, but we caught the killer, so it was worth it.” he casually stated.

“Is it really worth risking your life, Mal?” shaking your head shortly, you were not in the mood to discuss this any further. A simple gesture of your hand was enough to show him that you wanted to get going. “Come on, I’m gonna bring you home.”

“You’re mad.” Malcolm noted when the both of you walked outside back to your car. Sighing loudly, you stopped for a brief moment.

“Yes. I’m mad because I can’t even count how many times we’ve been in this exact situation anymore. And it sucks. Because every single time Gil calls me, I think he’ll tell me that you didn’t make it out like you always do.” Malcolm’s eyes widened when you explained how you were feeling. Your body brushing past his made him turn around & follow you without another word. It was silent between you two until you arrived inside Malcolm’s apartment.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” he spoke up, his voice much softer now. When you saw him struggling to pull off his coat, you walked over to him to help him out.

“You don’t owe me an apology, Mal.” your back faced him when you went to put his jacket away.

“I do. You always take care of me when shit like that happens. And I wanted you to know that I don’t take that for granted. If I were you, I would’ve stopped caring a long time ago.”

“You know as much as I do that this won’t ever happen.” & it was true. Malcolm could mess up over & over again. Could get himself hurt & all that. But you would always be here to catch him, no matter what.

“I don’t deserve you.” his eyes bore into yours & by the look he gave you, you knew he was not talking about you taking care of him when he was hurt. He was referring to you as a person. Basically, he wanted to make you understand that he was not worthy of your love. Which was bullshit to you.

“You deserve so much & it hurts that you don’t see it.” the conversation dropped for the time being. Navigating your way through his apartment, you looked for something he could wear to bed. Soon enough, you found something suitable & when you walked back into the room ,you found Malcolm already sitting on his bed, head hanging low. He stopped you when he noticed your hands grabbing the shirt he was wearing. Sending him a confused look, your eyebrows raised in question.

“I think I can handle it from here on.” taking the clothes from you, he went to strip himself out of his workwear. Surprisingly, he could not move his body enough to achieve anything.

“Yeah, I can see that. Come on, don’t act like that, Malcolm.” it was not the first time you had helped him undressing. As mentioned earlier, the two of you had been in this situation too many times to count.

It did not take long & he was wearing comfortable clothes. After asking if he needed anything else, you went straight to his restraints & helped strapping him in. It amazed Malcolm how you were not weirded out by the fact that he had to be held down in order to have at least a few hours of sleep.

“(Y/N)?” his voice was barely above a whisper but your humming let him know that you heard him. “Can you sing something for me?” it was meant to be a joke, he simply wanted to ease the tension between you guys. Thinking about it for a second, you came to the conclusion that it would not hurt to do that. Maybe it would help him fall asleep? Malcolm eyes widened when you actually started singing quietly. It was soothing & he closed his eyes to focus solely on your voice.

Hey you, when I saw you walk in there

And I couldn’t help but stare

At the way you move your hands

‘Cause it’s the little things you do that drive me crazy

And now, let’s forget about the crowd

And just concentrate on us

So that you can know what I want you to know

 I remember how it started

You had everything I wanted

I was helpless to resist

But I didn’t want to

 Only if you would hold me tight

As we talked all through the night

About those things you won’t tell no one else

I know that we’ve got long ways to go

But I want you to know

That I’ll be there till the end, so don’t you worry

 I remember how it started

You had everything I wanted

I was helpless to resist

But I didn’t want to

‘Cause I fell in love with you-ou-ou

 After you finished, Malcolm still had his eyes closed, he just laid there for a while, recalling the words of the song. He knew what you were trying to tell him but if he had to be honest, he was scared. If the two of you were to try something, he thought you would leave him the moment you realized his demons were too much for someone to handle. Malcolm did not hear you leave his apartment, neither did he feel a movement. Opening his eyes slowly, he found you sound asleep right next to him. Your peaceful form made him smile brightly. Contemplating if he should wake you up, he decided against it in the end. Deep down, he knew you would not judge him he if he had a night terror next to you. And if he were honest, having you with him made him incredibly calm. That night, he fell asleep almost immediately, without any nightmares invading his dreams. The reason for it was you. Only you.

Malcolm woke up early the next morning. Work called. Okay, maybe Gild had told him to take a few days off but everyone who knew Malcolm, knew that he did not listen to such orders. Or any orders, in general. You were still asleep when he loosened his restraints. He left you a note behind before leaving his apartment for work.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay at home?” Gil questioned the second Malcolm entered the office where the rest of the team was already up & working.

“You did but I’m fine.” Gil rolled his eyes at his words. Usually, whenever Malcolm insisted on being fine, he was everything but. Examining his face closer, Gil was shocked to see him so…well rested?

“Wait. How much did you sleep last night? You look unusually awake.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s because I slept with (Y/N) last night.” Malcolm spoke casually & went to examine the pictures that were displayed on the table in the middle of the room. Gil’s eyebrows raised at that. Dani only sent him a weird look & JT almost choked on his coffee at Malcolm’s confession. There were some things he did not want to know & his love life was one of it.

“Excuse me, what now?” Gil was the first one to press the topic further. Everyone knew how protective he could get when it came to you, his niece. When Malcolm turned around, he found three pairs of eyes looking sternly at him. Wait, what did he say? Realization washed over his face & he only now noticed how wrong his words sounded without any given context.

“No, wait…That came out wrong.” closing his eyes briefly, he prepared an explanation for his confused co-workers. “(Y/N) drove me home yesterday & she helped me with my restraints & all. She fell asleep & I didn’t wanna wake her up.” Malcolm’s hands gestured wildly, not wanting to give them the wrong impression of last night’s events. JT pretended to understand what he explained even though he had no idea & frankly, he did not care too much. Malcolm had lost Dani’s interest a while ago, she continued working on the next case. Only Gil was left. He gave Malcolm a knowing look, went over to him & patted him on the shoulder.

“You better take care of her, Bright. Or you have to deal with me.” his threatening smile creeped Malcolm out but he knew Gil was only trying to keep you safe. Maybe you were the right one for him. Last night was proof enough. It was scary to take that next step but on the other hand, he wanted to take that risk. He wanted to give it a try. For the both of you.

Published (04/20/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @octopus5555 (thanks for your support <3)

[simsadventures]

Teach Me

Summary: Bucky might have been a confident ladies-man before the war, but now, he is just a shy boy in a body made of steel. All he needs is a nudge, and a few directions as to how to make a woman scream his name again. And Bucky is a fast student.

Warnings: fluff, shy!Bucky, smut, like… so much smut (MUST BE 18+ TO READ THIS STORY)

Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader

Word Count: 2829

A/N: This is a story for @this-kitten-is-smitten​ ’s writing challenge, my song prompt being Strangers like Me from Tarzan. I used the whole idea of the song and a few sentences of it, those will be in italics. Also, it ws supposed to be a drabble challenge and here we are, so… ups? Obviously I’m unable to write short things.  #this-kitten-is-smitten-challenge

I know I incorporate a lot of books in my fics, and if it annoys some of you, please, let me know. It’s just… I’m and English Major and I have to read a shit-ton of books, and I’m trying to use it somewhere :D Here I used Native Son by Richard Wright xx

Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy it, and as always, tell me what you thought, feedback is gold :) xx

Bucky Barnes Masterlist __ Masterlist

Sitting in your room, trying to read Native Son to get your mind off of the last mission, which was all too close to comfort for you. Nobody got really hurt in Tokyo, just a few bruises here and there, but it was one of the more difficult missions, and so it stuck with you for a bit longer.

It also didn’t help that despite your relationship with Bucky was blooming, and everything seemed to have been going in the right direction, even after 5 months of a relationship, you two still hadn’t done it. Not that you were one of those people building a relationship on sex, not at all. But you were extremely attracted to Bucky, and you just wanted to explore things with him. Sooo many things.

But whenever you tried and talk about it with him, Bucky would always steer the conversation in another direction, suddenly being interested in what mission would come, or if you two would have dinner at this new Indian restaurant in the city. And after a few conversations like these, you just gave up on meek questions and letting him get away without actually answering you.

No, you would cut straight to the point, and you wouldn’t let him leave the room without actually talking things out. You would be ok if he told you he wasn’t ready for sex with you, you’d totally accept that. But you just needed to know where the two of you stood. If it had some kind of a future together, or if you two should just move on.

Bucky didn’t even know what awaited him. He came to your room, oblivious to the plan you had constructed in your mind, and he was just happy to spend some time with you. And when he came into the room, he still thought you two would have just a nice evening together. But oh boy, was he wrong.

You were in the middle of Superman vs Batman when you touched his biceps in a way he knew you weren’t just getting comfortable.

“Can I ask you something, Bucky? And this time, you will actually answer me?”

Even in the darkened room, you could see his Adam’s apple bob heavily, as if he was facing the worst kind of interrogation. You could feel him fidgeting under your fingers, his muscles tightening and loosening, as stress hit his body.

You didn’t want to make him feel that way. It wasn’t your intention, but you knew this was the only way to go about it.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but just, please. One small conversation and we’ll both know what’s going on,” you looked at him, expectation written all over your face, and even though Bucky really didn’t want to delve into this, he couldn’t avoid the topic forever.

“Alright,” he barely whispered, and a relief spread through your body.

You sat up straighter and paused the movie, making Bucky repeat your movements so that the two of you could sit opposite of each other.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it, and I’m gonna make it quick, Buck. I gotta know if you’re uncomfortable with the idea of sex as such, or if it’s me, or if-“

“It’s definitely not you, Y/N! I hate myself for making you feel that this had anything to do with you at all. No, baby! You’re perfect, just the way you are, and I’m a douche for not showing you. It’s just… This is something I’m not proud of, and that’s why I didn’t tell you anything.”

You nodded and took his right hand in both yours, squeezing it tightly and letting him know that it was a safe space, and he could tell you anything in the world. You two could get past it, you were sure of it.

He sighed and squeezed back, getting to the point.

“I’ve been with quite a few ladies back in a day, and just like any other man, I enjoyed it thoroughly. But ever since I was the Winter Soldier, I wasn’t with anyone, except few rare kisses or make-out sessions, and I’m just not sure if I got it anymore. I’m afraid I’d disappoint you, and I really don’t wanna do that. So I just chose to not do anything at all.”

He ended his little speech, staring at the blankets underneath you, not ready to see your expression.

But you wanted him to see it. You put two of your fingers underneath his chin, lifting it up gently so that your eyes could meet. And what he saw took his breath away.

There was no hate nor disappointment in your eyes, not at all. You were looking at him like he was someone important like you were in awe he was really sitting there in front of you, and the love you radiated made him feel dizzy.

“I could never be disappointed in you, love! Never! If anything, this makes me love you even more. I wanna explore with you, Bucky, I wanna show you so many things. Can you feel what I feel, right now?” You asked him, guiding his hand to your chest, where your heart was beating strongly.

“I wanna know, Y/N. Can you show me? Everything I’ve been missing, I wanna feel it all,” He whispered to your ear, biting your earlobe in the process. It made goosebumps erupt on your skin. You’ve been touch-deprived, and that was an understatement of the year.

“I will gladly be your guide, my love! But I think sex is like riding a bicycle, you can never really forget it. You just have to trust me.”

He didn’t give you an answer in words. Instead, he leaned in and captured your lips with his, revealing at the feeling of being so close to you. He kissed, just like that for a while, before he slipped his arm around your waist, squeezing your hip on the way.

It made you gasp into his mouth and gave him the perfect access to your mouth. You two made-out many times before, so he was fairly familiar with your mouth, and he knew his way around. There was still a certain amount of nerves from what was to come, but a determination was the more growing feeling in him. He wanted to make you feel good because you deserved it, for all those months he gave up on the intimacy between the two of you.

 The hand resting on your hip travelled north underneath your shirt, lifting it up as it went, and Bucky could feel your warm skin underneath his fingertips, making him shudder in anticipation.

He ended up right under your bra, caressing the silky material in his hand, letting the feeling of the soft material travel right to his groin. It didn’t take much for Bucky after such a long wait, and he could feel himself growing hard.

Whenever he’d got to this point with you, feeling his cock growing stiff, he would push you away and go to his own room, either breathing it out in a cold shower or just jack off to the idea of you writhing underneath him.

But to finally have you there, even if no clothes had been shed yet, it was already better than his imagination. And he suddenly wanted to do so much more with you.

He swiftly pulled the shirt over your head, his eyes roaming the newly freed skin, and anticipation grew inside him. But as soon as his confidence rose, it also subsided, remembering that he didn’t have any practice in 70 years.

But fortunately, you saw right through him, and the second his grip on you loosened, you took over. Not that you were a sex-goddess, but you weren’t scared of little touching, and the horniness and determination combined to create a deadly mix.

You also freed him of the confines of his shirt, letting your hands explore his skin. You started on his neck, caressing it from both sides before you slid further down to his collarbones, which you swiped with your thumbs. Meanwhile, your mouth sucked on his pulse-point, making it really difficult for Bucky to think about anything, let alone his nerves.

While you pinched his nipples between your fingers, you licked his collarbone, earning a shudder from Bucky. Your hands were then splayed on his stomach, scratching it lightly with your fingers only so hard that you left the pinkish lines behind your fingernails. You mouth worked each of his nipples, biting it ever so slightly and making circles with your tongue around them.

By the time you reached his waistband, Bucky was a panting mess with his fists clenching around the sheets.

But before you could pull his pants and boxer-briefs down, Bucky grabbed your hips and threw you back on the bed, laying you down and rushing to lay himself on top of you.

“My turn,” Bucky mumbled to your ear, and while his left hand was grabbing your hip and squeezing it, his right hand was fighting the clasp of your bra, trying to get the damn thing off of you. And though he might have been rusty, he managed to do it reasonably quickly. What you didn’t know at the moment was that he didn’t unclasp the pins, but he tore them with his fingers. He would buy you a new bra, hell, he’d buy you a full Victoria Secret store if he could do this with you for the rest of his life.

He threw the bra somewhere behind him, not really caring where it landed, before he latched onto your breasts, sucking and licking like a madman. While his mouth was working on your left nipple, his hand was kneading your right breasts.

You never had anyone playing with your tits so passionately nor for so long, and so when he finally ceased his actions, you were ready to come. Your thighs were rubbing against each other, trying to relieve you in some way.

Bucky’s attack continued as he travelled further south licking stripes along your abdomen, circling your navel, and licking a line along the ridge of your pants. Before you even knew what was happening, you were completely bare in front of Bucky. His strength never ceased to amaze you.

Bucky stopped moving, just watching your naked form, splayed on top of the white sheets like a goddess. He could swear he has never seen anything sexier than you, there.

His head got in the way again, telling him that he forgot how to pleasure a woman with both his fingers and his tongue, and so he was just sitting there, staring at your welcoming pussy, not trusting himself to move.

You sensed his hesitation and took the first step.

You lifted your own hand, and hill one played with your nipple, the other went straight for the target, spreading your lips and gathering the slick on your fingers before you touched your clit and moaned out loud.

Bucky felt like he was in a wet dream. The very likely love of his life was touching herself in from of him, putting a show specifically for him. You had your eyes closed, your fingers moving on muscle memory. It was when you slipped a finger inside you, and your back arched that Bucky was finally able to move.

“Every gesture, every move that she makes, makes me feel like never before”, Bucky thought for himself as he finally gathered enough courage to pleasure you himself. He slipped from his seating position to lay on his stomach between your legs, and without as much as a word, he dived in.

You released a loud moan, unable to contain yourself anymore. It was all too much. Just being close to Bucky would always make your blood run faster, but this? This was from another world. He was playing with you, you could tell.

He tried to discover which moves made you sigh, which made your tremble and which made you scream his name. He combined sucking, tongue and finger fucking with clit sucking, and in no time, you were squeezing your thighs around his head, chanting his name like a prayer when you reached your climax.

Bucky almost licked you dry, revealing at the sudden power he had, never wanting to give it up. He loved the idea of making you feel this good, because when he looked up, you look thoroughly fucked, with your hair all over the pillow, your cheeks flushed red, and your lips slightly parted, breathing heavily from the intensity of your orgasm.

And Bucky was no longer afraid. His cock was aching in his pants, and when he finally pulled down his pants, it sprang right up against his abdomen. Bucky couldn’t even remember when was the last time he was this hard.

You watched him with hooded eyes, and when you tried to sit up to reciprocate the pleasure, he pushed one of your shoulders back, letting you know he wanted to lay still.

“I’ve waited too long, doll. There will be enough time for you to suck me off like the good girl you are, maybe in the second round, but right now, I need to be inside you. This pussy is calling for me,” he growled the last part and guided his cock between your folds.

He bumped into your clit with the head of his cock several times, which already had you gasping again.

“Are you gonna be my god girl and take my cock in this tight pussy?”

You stared at Bucky, and you weren’t sure when did your sweet, shy boyfriend turned into a dirty talking sex master, but you weren’t the one to complain.

You just nodded your head, and stretched your arms, bringing Bucky down to kiss him with all you had. His tongue was licking inside your mouth like it was the most natural thing for him to do, and you never wanted to leave that bed. You saw before you a new horizon.

Still kissing you, Bucky guided his cock inside you, and thanks to your slicked pussy, he could slide right in.

You gasped, holding onto him for dear life, and from the pants and gasps, you could tell Bucky was doing the same. He stilled inside you, trying to let you get used to his girth, but you didn’t want to wait any longer.

You moved your hips upwards, rutting your pelvis against his, creating friction needed for your clit, and it made your pussy squeeze Bucky inside you.

He moaned like a wounded animal and bit your shoulder before he started thrusting into you with all he had. He delivered short but powerfully strokes, bottoming out every time, and you were 100% sure you’d feel him inside you for days to come.

You were both covered in sweat in a few minutes, but neither of you cared. The only thing that mattered at the moment was to make each other come. And when Bucky put his thumb against your bundle of nerves, putting pressure against it while still hitting your deepest spots, you opened your mouth in a silent cry, raking your fingers down Bucky’s back, squeezing his cock inside you as your climax took over your body.

Bucky hissed at both the sensation of slight pain caused by your nails and by the way your pussy was trying to milk him off everything he had to offer. It took only a few more stuttered thrusts before he pushed deep inside you and came with the sexiest groan you’ve ever heard.

You could feel the warmth spreading through your pussy as his seed painted your walls and leaked out of you, with Bucky’s cock still pushed deep inside of you.

You were both panting messes, trying to gather your thoughts and will your muscles to move one last time that night.

Bucky pulled away from you, which cause you to white from the lack of contact between the two of you, but he only rolled on his back, bringing you with him.

You could feel his cum still oozing out of you, but you couldn’t care less at that moment.

“We’re never getting out of this bed,” Bucky mumbled against your hair, and you had to giggle at his exclamation.

“What if we’re hungry, huh?” You asked with a smirk, feeling Bucky’s chest rumble with a deep laugh.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll feed you, alright.”

You swatted his chest playfully and kissed his now puffy lips.

“You’re an idiot!”

He pulled you impossibly close to his body and whispered, “Yeah, I am. But I’m your idiot, and that means something.”

That sure did mean something. You smiled and let the exhaustion of your body take over your mind as well, the idea of having this breathtaking sex all the time now lulling you to sleep.

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten​ @paradisiacalsparks​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @owlyannah​ @lassini​ @s-trawberryv-eins​ @reniescarlett​

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @lumar014​ @ptrs-prkrs​

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone​ @sasbb23​ @p8tn0lish​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @waiting4inspiration​ @caswinchester2000​ @mogaruke​ @justthatfangirloverthere​ @mushyjellybeans​ @livsheph​ @sebbbystaaan​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @itsunclebucky​

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me - Chapter 26

WARNINGS: mentions of PTSD, panic attacks, profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​

They haven’t spoken since they left the house; a rather brief and terse conversation about where Millie had left not only her shoes, but the noise cancellation headphones she likes to use on trips out of town. That was twenty minutes ago; halfway into their drive to Port Douglas and not one single word has been exchanged, nor even a sidelong glance. They’re both on edge; the aftereffects of the long and exhausting night before, Esme’s brief yet intense battle with a PTSD ‘flare up’, and now the raw and anxious nerves surrounding the visit with Tyler’s father.

The nightmare plays on a continuous loop in his mind; the old man’s booming voice and vicious words, his mother’s tearful begging and pleading that only cease when the beating begins, Austin’s appearance as a grown man and his refusal to lave Millie behind. It’s all there; every vision, every sound. Even the feel of his heart breaking deep within his chest and the scalding sting of tears as they rolled down his face. And the cravings linger, his brain and body desperate for those old vices. The only coping mechanism he’s ever known or practiced. It’s the familiarity of the old life that he misses; not the dirty work or the blood on his hands but the escape the job had provided him with. He’d constantly been on the go; jumping from place to place, relying only on his skills –and his confidence in them- to get him through each day. He hadn’t had time to think; too busy trying to keep himself and others alive.  Now it seems as if he has all the time in the world to think. To dwell.  And it’s slowly tearing him apart inside. He knows he should be grateful for what he’s been given; a second chance at life, a normal existence surrounded by people who love him and depend on him. And he IS. Yet at the same time, the past won't leave him alone. It had been his way of life for half of his years on earth, and both his brain and his body are struggling to let go.

Guilt. So much guilt. Over the fact he just can’t it go. That he can’t leave the past where it belongs and be content with a normal existence. He’s one of the lucky ones; he’d gotten out of the game relatively healthy and with most of his sanity still intact. He was able to find someone to have a family with; someone that not only understood the hardships and the horrors of the job, but didn’t judge him for the things he’d done or the mistakes he made or the number of broken and often dead bodies he left in his wake. Tons of mercs would give anything to be in his shoes, they’d kill –figuratively and some probably literally- to get even a taste of love and happiness and domesticity.   And yet he was taking it all for granted and practically pissing it away.

He casts a glance through the rear view mirror. Millie with her earphones on, her face intense and her eyes riveted on whatever game or movie she has playing on the tablet in her lap; her baby sister fast asleep in the car seat beside her.  She’d forgiven him quickly. He’d sat down next to her on the patio and had never said a word; giving her the time and the space to brood and to get over her temporary hate for him. And in a matter of minutes she’d been climbing up into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck and he in turn had been apologizing profusely for hurting her.   He’d never meant to pull her hair or yell at her afterwards; explaining that he had a lot of things on his mind and they were making him angry and anxious –and even sad- and that he never should have taken them out on her. And even though she’d held his face in her hands and kissed his cheeks and said “I still love you, daddy” in that little voice of hers, he had still felt like complete and utter shit for what he’d done.  

He looks over at his wife next; sitting with her elbow resting on the window ledge, her eyes closed with her palm pressed against the side of her face and two fingertips massaging her temple. The color has returned to face; she looks healthy again, vibrant. But her shoulders remain incredibly tense and her jaw tightly clenched.  

“It’s why you have a headache,” Tyler points out, and she glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “Your jaw. Clenching it like that. It’s why you feel like shit.”

He braces for it. A smart-ass comment or just a ‘fuck off, Tyler’, but neither come. Instead she gives a shaky smile and closes her eyes once more; thumb and forefinger moving up to rub at the bridge of her nose. But he notices her jaw relaxes and her shoulders drop slightly; it’s a good sign, he figures. She hasn’t told him where to go and how to get there and she’s finally starting to relax. So he takes it one step further, dropping a hand from the steering wheel and reaching across the middle console to lay it on her thigh. Feeling his own sense of relief when she doesn’t shoot him a dirty look or yank her leg away.  

“You look really nice,” he says, giving her a soft smile and squeezing her knees as he admires her simple cotton sundress. A light orange that reminds him of the tail end of the sunrise, with a neckline that sits off her shoulders and a hem that just skims the bottom of her knees.  It’s hard sometimes; finding just the right words, even when it comes to the simplest of comments or what should be the easiest of compliments. He knows what he wants to say but doesn’t always know how to get the thought across. Usually he’ll rely on body language and facial expressions; she’s always been on expert on reading them, right from the start.  That second morning in Dhaka when she’d told him that his eyes did all the talking for him.

Her eyes open once more and this time she turns her face towards him and gives a smile of her own. Then lays her hand on top of his own and pushes her fingers through his.  

“I didn’t mean it,” he says. “What happened with Millie. I didn’t mean to pull her hair. It was an accident. My mind completely wandered and...”

“You know what’s not what upset her, right?” Esme gently interjects. “It’s not that you pulled her hair. She knew you didn’t mean to do it. It’s that you yelled at her. You hurt her feelings. You scared her.”

“I didn’t mean to do THAT either.”

“What’s going on with you? First last night, now freaking out on Millie.”

“I had a nightmare. I’ve had nightmares before.”

“I’m not talking about the nightmare. I’m talking about other things. When we were...you know...” she peeks over her shoulder, making sure that Millie isn’t paying attention. She’s fallen asleep; her head resting on the side of her booster seat, hair falling over her face and those long, dark lashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks.  “You were rough,” Esme continues. “And I’m not talking about your usual rough. The rough that I like. I mean like hard core rough. It wasn’t you, Tyler. It was...I don’t know...scary.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Or if she even wants him to say anything. At first, he’d thought it was all part of the game she likes to play; how she gets when she’s egging him on to be aggressive and manhandle her. It wasn’t uncommon for there to be pain involved; hair pulling, choking, bite marks and bruises left behind. It hadn’t even occurred to him that her resistance and her fighting back were genuine; not until she’d started to cry, and he realized that not only were the tears real, but so was the fear in her eyes. Suddenly it wasn’t a game anymore and he felt sick. That he could ever cause that kind of reaction in her when he’d spent years doing everything in his power to protect her.

“I know we joked about this morning,” she says. “But that? Last night? That was not you. That wasn’t even Dhaka Tyler. I don’t know who that was.”

He swallows heavily. There’s bile sitting square in his throat and he’s not sure he wants to vomit or cry.  “I said I was sorry.” Tt sounds lame, even to his own ears.  

“I don’t want you to say you’re sorry. I want you tell me what’s going on. And don’t say nothing. Because it’s been building and building. For days. You’re like this wire that’s being pulled too tight and you’re ready to snap. Things were fine. Things were good. So good. Is it us? Is there was the real issues? You’re not happy and you don’t want there to be an ‘us’ anymore?”

“What?” He can’t help the incredulous laugh that escapes. Of all the fucking things she’d think, that is the most ridiculous. At least in his eyes. “Baby, you know that’s not it. That it’s not us. You and I are the only thing that’s NOT going to shit right now.”

“Then what is it?” she presses. “I know you, Tyler. Better than you know yourself most of the time. I know there’s more going on than you’re telling me. What is it?”

“It’s everything,” he admits. “Every single fucking thing. It’s Ovi and it’s Nik and it’s Millie’s birthday and it’s my father and it’s...everything.”

“Then tell Nik you’re not doing it. Call her and tell her you changed your mind. That she needs to find someone to train him. Because if it’s going to tear you apart like this...”

“I can’t. I can’t back out now. I bailed on her once. I can’t do it again.”

“Fuck Nik. You did what you had to do to keep your sanity and come home to your family. You CAN back out. And you need to know if you feel you can’t do it or if it’s only going to make things worse for you. Stop being so fucking stubborn and like yourself for once. Jesus Christ. Why do you do this? Why do you not care about what you’re going through?”

“I have to do it,” Tyler insists. “It’s Ovi, I can’t let him down. No matter how pissed off I am. No matter how much I want to fucking strangle him. If I don’t help and something happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself. And that’ll be a hundred times worse than what I’m going through right now.”

“I don’t want you doing this if it’s going to break you, if it’s only going to tear you apart from the inside out. I don’t want that happening to you. Because there’s six people that you need you, Tyler. Whether you think we do or not. I do not want this destroying you.”

“I just need to get through it,” he reasons. “I just need to bust his ass and hope it either breaks him and he gives up, or that I did a good enough job to keep him alive.”

“And if you have to go in and get what? What then?”

“Then I pray I don’t fuck up and I make it home.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” she mutters, then inhales deeply and exhales slowly, grip on his hand tightening. And minutes pass before she speaks again. “Do you miss it?” she asks, her eyes focused on the road ahead. “The job. Do you miss it? I want you to be honest with me. I want you tell me the truth even if it’s going to hurt. Even if you know I’m going to hate what I hear.”

“Esme...”

“Tyler,” her tone is firm. No nonsense. “Tell me the truth. Because lying about it will only make it worse. For both of us. Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes,” he admits.

“How often is sometimes?”

Sighing, he releases the hold on her hand and scratches at the back of his head. A nervous habit. “Lately? Every day.”

“Wow...” her eyes widen, and she nods slowly. “...I was not expecting THAT.”

He’s immediately on the defensive. “You wanted me to tell you. You told me to tell you the truth. So I am. You...”

“Every day, though? Every day for how long?”

“A couple weeks. Maybe more. A month at the most.”

She blinks in disbelief. “A month? A fucking month? Addie isn’t even a month old You’re telling me that I was still pregnant with her...trying to keep her inside of me so she’d stand a chance if she was born too early...and that entire time you were missing the job? While I’m trying to keep your daughter safe and alive, you were thinking about THAT? Are you fucking kidding me right now?!”

“I don’t want to fight,” he keeps his voice and calm and even, despite the fact he feels every remaining of control being chipped away. “You told me to tell you the truth and that’s what I’m doing.”

“I mean I expected you to miss it and a hard time giving it up. But a month? You’ve been away from it for half a goddamn year. So five months you were fine and now all of a sudden...”

“It’s just because of Ovi. If he’d never come to me with that shit....”

“That was a week ago. Not a month ago. What explains the three weeks before he said anything? Are you serious right now, Tyler? What the fuck?!”

“I don’t know what more you want me to say. Do you want me to say I’m sorry? That it makes me sick that I miss it? That I fucking hate myself for even thinking about it? Is that what you want to hear? That I feel like a shit human being because of it?”

“I want you to hear you say that you don’t want to go back to it!”

“I didn’t say that’s what I wanted. I said I missed it sometimes.”

“What is there to miss? Getting stabbed? Getting shot? Getting fucked over by guys like Mahajan? Killing people?”

“No,” he scowls. “I don’t miss that. What the fuck? Is that what you think of me? That that’s who I am? That I enjoy that shit?”

“Then what the hell is it? Because it didn’t end well, Tyler. It didn’t end well in New Zealand and it sure as hell didn’t end well in Dhaka. What is there to miss?”

He struggles to keep his composure.   “Esme, I don’t want to fight. Can we do this later? Can we not wait until we get home to talk about this? Can we just get this visit out of the goddamn way before talking about anything else? I just want to get to my dad’s, stay for a bit, and then leave. Then we can talk about whatever you want.”

“A month? A fucking month?”

“Esme...stop...please...I don’t want to fight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why didn’t...”

“I said I don’t want to fucking fight!”  He roars, and his foot slams down on the brake. Bringing the truck to an abrupt and violent halt in the middle of the backwoods country road; tires crunching on stones and gravel, sending plumes of dust and dirty swirling and dancing around them. His chest feels impossibly tight; his heart races and his lungs with every breathe he tries to draw in.  He’s dizzy, nauseous; sweat gathers across his forehead and at his temples and back of his neck. And he’s suddenly aware of how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel; knuckles turning white and cracking, wounds reopening.

*****

“Tyler...”

He’s vaguely aware of the hand on his bicep and the sound of her voice; urgent and concerned. It seems as if she’s far away; distorted and muffled, as if he’s underwater and can’t quite make out what she’s saying to him. And as the pressure in his chest builds, it becomes fight of flight. He chooses the latter; throwing the truck into park and reaching for his seat belt, fingers numb and hands trembling as he struggles with the release. Frustration sets in; profanities slipping from parched lips, hot, bitter tears streaming down his cheeks.

He feels as if he’s on auto-pilot, no longer in control of his actions. And the gravel cracks and pops under his feet as he finally escapes, fresh air feeling as if it’s scalding his already aching as he draws it in large, choking gulps. Wobbling slightly with each step he takes, hands on his hips as he repeatedly paces the length of the truck. The simple counting begins to settle him; one foot in front of the other, reciting the number of steps in his head. The same way he had almost seven years ago on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. When he’d first stepped onto its war zone and began that long and tedious journey to freedom. He’d been in agonizing pain; quickly losing blood, growing weaker with each inch, yet continuing to advance. Spurred on by what he had waiting for him once he finally made it.  

And then Saju’s dead body and the sniper and his useless right leg forcing him to drag himself to safety. A tearful Ovi at his side, begging him to get up.

Dhaka. Fuck. Fucking Dhaka. It makes the panic build again. Makes it all so seem real; like he’s right there again. Tasting his blood in his mouth and feeling that absence of strength and hope. But he hadn’t been ready to give up just yet. Because he had something...someone...to lose and was going to fight for them. And there’d been that glimmer of hope; when he’d gunned down those last two assailants and limped his way towards the finish line. But that little bastard Farhad had shot him from behind and...

Fuck Farhad. Fuck Dhaka. Fuck Amir and Gaspar.  

He forces all thought and memory of it out of his mind; closing his eyes as he leans back against the grill of the truck. Concentrating on better things...happier things. Getting married, experiencing the birth of his ‘rainbow baby’ and all the others that came after her. Reminding himself that he has people who love him. Unconditionally. That rely on him and depend on him and make him want to be a better man. He would have given up a long ago; had he NOT had them. If Esme hadn’t have been there when he woke up in the hospital nearly seven years ago.

His breathing has returned to normal and the dizziness and nausea nonexistent when he hears one of the doors open behind him. The sudden press of her shoulder against his is comforting; it grounds him. Brings him back to the here and now. She’s done this before; talked him down from many a ledge. And he has no idea why she sticks around and keeps giving him chance after chance, but he’s thankful she does.

“Hold your daughter, Tyler,” she says, as Addie lays along her arm. “Hold her and feel how real she is. Feel that she’s here. That YOU’RE here. Not wherever your brain is telling you you are.”

“I can’t. Not like this. What if I hurt her? What if I...”

“Take her,” Esme insists, and he relents, bringing that baby...HIS baby...up to his chest; one hand on the back of her head, a forearm under the bum. She’s so tiny...so light...so fragile.  So perfect and pure. And he places his nose against the side of her head; feeling her hair against his skin, taking in the soft scent that clings to her clothing and hair, feeling her warm and the beat of her heart against him.

“That’s your reason,” Esme tells him. “Your purpose. Why you have to keep fighting and not let this destroy you.”

The tears come again, a mixture of shame and guilt. That he can have so much but not even realize it or appreciate it. That he was even given these things in the first place. All the bed decisions, all the blood on his hands...

“I’m sorry.” he manages. “I am so fucking sorry.”

“For what?” Her hand is on his back, resting between his shoulders. He can’t bring himself to look at her; afraid of what he’ll see her eyes. Disgust. Disappointment. Regret. “What are you sorry for?” she asks.

“Everything. Everything fucking things. All the shit I’ve put you through. That I STILL keep putting you through. I fucking hate myself for it.”

“I know you do. And I don’t' want you to. You have no reason to hate yourself.”

“Dhaka.” He says simply.  

“Dhaka has nothing to do with this. I’ve told  you a million times that I don’t blame you for how things went. You did everything you could that day. For Ovi. For me. It was out of your control. There was nothing more you could have done. You don’t think I realize that?”

“On the bridge. You shouldn't have had to do what you did.”

“That’s not your fault either. I don’t blame you for what I had to do or what I saw. I don’t you responsible for that. And I sure as hell don’t hate you. What will it take to make you realize that? To stop all that guilt and all that blame and all that hate for yourself. What more do you need me to say? Because I’ll say it. Whatever you need to hear, I will tell you.”

“I don’t know,” Tyler admits. “I just don’t fucking know.”

“This has to stop. The way you shouldn’t try to deal with every goddamn thing on your own. Stop keeping shit inside and letting it eat you alive.”

“Why do even stay with me?” he asks. “When I’m such a fucking mess?”

“Because I love you. Because you’re my husband and my lover and my confidant and my best friend. Because you have a huge heart and you’re a good man that was forced to do terrible things.”

“But my brain...”

“Is troubled and beautiful and it’s going to be okay. You’re not only in this Tyler. Stop acting like you are. Let me help you. Let me love you. Please.”

Esme curls her arm around his waist and rests her head against his arm, and for several minutes never of them speak. And eventually the tears subside, and he takes a long, shaky breath and places his lips against the side of Addie’s head.  

“Are you okay?” she asks, and presses a series of light, feathery kisses to his shoulder.

“Yeah...I’m okay.”

“We should just go home. You can call your dad’s and tell them that something came up and reschedule. I don’t think...”

“I’m fine. I told Millie I’d do this for her.”

“You know,” Esme muses. “You’re going to have to eventually say no to her. She's going need to learn about disappointment at some point in time.”

“Not today though. Let’s just do this. For her. Okay?”

“Okay. Do you want me to drive or...”

“You are NOT driving my truck,”

She smirks. “I think you love your truck more than me some days.”

“There’s nothing I love more than you.”

She smiles at that, and he kisses her softly. “I’ve driven your truck before,” she reminds him.

“And I’ve had it every time. You know how long it takes me to reset everything? Mirrors? Seat? I get in and my knees are up by my ears.”

“I have little legs! I can’t help it. Just because you’re absurdly tall...”

“Have you ever considered I’m normal height and you’re absurdly short?”

“You’re not normal height,” she laughs.  “Not even close to it. You’re all legs and torso. And so are you kids. Well, except for this little nugget,” she smiles down at Addie. “This one is all me.”

“Poor kid.”

“Hey!” she objects and pinches his side. “That’s not nice!”

Tyler grins. “Can we still be friends?”

“Maybe. Depends how you make it up to me.”

“I’ll buy you tacos for lunch.”

“That’ll do,” she says, and stands on her tip toes to kiss him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nods.

“I just want you to be healthy, Tyler. That’s all I want. Because I love you and I worry about you and I don’t anything happening to you. You need to stop torturing yourself so much about Dhaka. I’ve never blamed you. Or hated you. What happened is not your fault. I need you to realize that.”

“I’ll try,” he promises. “I’ll try remembering that.”

“You saved my life. Not just there. In general. In every way a person CAN be saved. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you,” he says, and kisses her once more. “So much.”

“I love you too. Which is why I stay. Don’t ever ask me that again.”

“I won’t.”

She presses a kiss to his shoulder and rubs the middle of this back. “When you’re ready,” she says, and gives him a small smile before returning to the truck.

He wonders if he ever will be. Ready. If he’ll be able to truly let the past go.

[chloebeale]

H-O-CUS P-O-CUS

Prompt: “in the spirit of clue… Beca in the billiard room with a rope you get to fill in the blanks” requested by @chakram12 Rating: M? E?? Words: 5.2K. Summary: Some spooky season smut for our established yet not so secretive Bechloe. A/N: This definitely steered super far away from the rope aspect but I just kind of went with it, my bad!

(Recycling this gif because of reasons...)

READ IT BELOW OR ON AO3!

This was so not Beca. Halloween was fun, sure, but there was no need for the lengths the Bellas went to each October to outdo their last. This year, much to Beca’s disgruntlement, the theme they’re playing to is Clue.

(Outward disgruntlement, at least. She won’t admit it, but secretly she thinks the whole idea is actually pretty cool, thanks in large part to her girlfriend.

Secret girlfriend.)

Beca has always admired Chloe’s creative mind. Chloe finds ways each day to effortlessly impress her further, and her idea to turn the Bellas house into a real life haunted Clue board really is inspired. Of course, Beca would rather spend the evening cuddling up with the other girl and making out in the privacy of one of their rooms while she ignores a horror movie Chloe has insisted on them turning on to get into the Halloween spirit, but she finds herself standing alone in Chloe and Aubrey’s shared bedroom instead — or the Billiard room for tonight’s festivities — where Chloe has stationed her with her props and dead girl makeup, ready to scare those who enter.

What she’s supposed to do with a rope is anyone’s guess, and Beca first finds herself fashioning a poorly constructed noose, but decides against it when she sees how pathetic it looks. She hears shuffling outside of the door, but has given up hope of anyone coming to join her anytime soon. Everyone is pretty busy doing their own thing, setting up their own stations. Which leaves Beca bored and alone, her mind wondering against her will.

She’s holding a rope, and Chloe had looked incredibly sexy in her admittedly generic black cat costume when she’d seen her earlier. (She doesn’t remember a black cat being involved in Clue, but Chloe seemed happy with her costume, so Beca wasn’t going to stomp on that.) Plus, she’s only human, so naturally there are certain thoughts running through her mind.

Of course, Beca always finds Chloe sexy. Even more so since they begun officially calling one another girlfriends.

Secretly, at least.

The knock on the door is unexpected, though definitely not unwelcome, because honestly, Beca is bored. She’s grateful for the company, no matter how brief a visit it may be.

And as the door opens, Beca’s gaze landing on none other than the woman who has been occupying her mind all evening, she’s suddenly even more grateful.

“All ready in here?” Chloe asks, head popping around the door, before she pushes it open fully to let herself in. Beca doesn’t miss the way Chloe’s brow furrows, the way her forehead wrinkles and her hands ball into fists to rest lightly against her hips. “You haven’t done anything.”

It’s a statement more so than a question, and Beca responds with a halfhearted shrug of her shoulders, hand still clutching the rope.

“I don’t really know what you want me to do,” she admits, motioning to the prop, “I mean, what am I even supposed to do with this?” She doesn’t mean to sound so whiny, but she’s bored, she could think of countless other things that she could be doing right now (all involving Chloe, of course), and Beca can’t hide her disappointment at the fact that they’re... Well, not doing them.

“You’re not supposed to do anything with it,” Chloe chuckles, expression softening. She takes a stride forward, slender fingers stretching to touch the rope. “It’s the murder weapon. You’re just supposed to hold it.”

It’s Beca’s turn to look quizzical now, a dark brow raising in response. “Wouldn’t it be better to tie someone up or something?”

There’s a knowing look in Chloe’s blue eyes, the subtle hint of a smirk playing on her lips. Beca’s cheeks suddenly grow hot, pale skin coated with a deep blush, because she knows exactly what Chloe is thinking, exactly what it seems like she was implying.

“I had no idea you were into that,” Chloe teases, amusement filling her eyes, though they darken some, too, and Beca can’t really decipher the look. “If you want me to tie you up, I can tie you up.”

It’s clear that Chloe’s teasing still, even more so following the wink she sends Beca’s way, though that doesn’t stop a particular stream of thoughts flooding through Beca’s mind, and Chloe seems to quickly notice the expression on her face. As usual, it’s like she can read her thoughts, like she knows exactly what’s going on inside of her head, because as she looks at her, as she takes in Beca’s expression, Chloe’s auburn brows rise slightly, almost surprised, almost amused.

“Beca, I was kidding,” Chloe chuckles softly, oblivious to the fact that she has somehow managed to fill Beca’s thoughts with the mental image of being entirely at Chloe’s mercy. Until, at least, Beca finally speaks, and Chloe finds herself stopped in her tracks.

“If I let you do it... Tie me up, I mean. What would you do?”

At this point, Chloe doesn’t know whether she’s serious or not. Whether she’s asking a hypothetical question, or whether she actually means what she’s saying. Crystal blue eyes scan over pale features, auburn brows knitting slightly once more. There’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of Chloe’s lips, eyes filled with questioning and curiosity. She decides to test the waters, to proceed with confident caution, just to gauge Beca’s reaction.

“Well,” Chloe begins, finally taking the rope from her girlfriend. Beca falters only briefly before letting go, and instead just watches Chloe, takes in the knowing look that fills her eyes. Her own gaze drops to the rope momentarily, before Chloe’s ocean orbs are pulling her in all over again.

“First off, I’d need something to tie you to.” She doesn’t realize the way her eyes darken, the way her voice has quietened to more of a lustful husk. Beca does, though. She takes note of every change, every movement, and she finds that she’s drawn in completely.

“It wouldn’t be as fun if you could move away,” Chloe continues, taking a slow step closer, threading the prop through her fingers and letting it hang until the end of the rope is grazing along Beca’s arm. Beca looks down at it momentarily, before her focus is entirely on Chloe again. “If I’m going to tie you up, I’m going to be in total control.”

Chloe pauses, eyes slightly hooded as she takes in Beca’s expression, tries to read her reaction.

“And then what?” Beca asks, tongue flicking out to lick over the part in her now dry lips.

It’s almost unlike Beca to be so forward, Chloe thinks. But it’s not unwelcome, not in the slightest. They’re very different people when it comes to voicing their desires, though. Beca will play coy, she’ll let her body do the talking once she’s pressed up against her girlfriend. Chloe will read her not so subtle hints, like the way her legs part and her hips begin to grind ever so slightly, body silently begging for Chloe’s touch.

Whereas Chloe? If she wants something, she has no problem with saying so. And Beca often wonders how that must feel, how utterly freeing it must be to say exactly what’s on your mind without fear of judgment nor consequence. She’s thinking it right now, in fact, as she stands almost frozen in the thick, quiet air around them, heart beginning to race with the mental image Chloe is already painting so perfectly.

“Then,” Chloe says, volume a little lower, almost a little more secretive. She reaches out to slide the tips of her fingers along Beca’s wrist, until she’s slipping them between the gaps now formed between Beca’s fingers, hand rising to tug Beca’s gently up above her head. Beca barely notices that they’ve begun to move toward the wall, not until her back hits it softly.

“Then I’d tie your hands,” Chloe continues, almost at a whisper now, though her tone is still so strong and confident, so captivating. It’s as if the whole energy in the room has shifted, and where Chloe was just testing something out before, she’s allowing herself to really run with it now.

And even more so, Beca is allowing it, too.

Lids still hooded, Chloe ducks her head until she can press her full, parted lips to the underside of Beca’s jaw, Beca’s breath catching in her throat, though she tilts her face to the side, giving Chloe room to work.

“Then I’d take off your dress,” Chloe whispers, lips trailing along soft skin. Her words vibrate against it, cause a shiver right the way throughout Beca’s core. “And I’d taste you. Every single inch of you.” She has begun to kiss downward now, trailing a soft, warm path down Beca’s neck, light kisses peppered against her collar bone. “Until I had my tongue buried inside of you, my hands on your thighs while you trembled beneath me, hands still tied so that no matter how much you wanted to touch me, or even touch yourself, you couldn’t. It’d all be me.”

Beca doesn’t even think about her response, doesn’t really have the time to, because she’s so lost in the moment, so desperate to really feel Chloe, that the thought of waiting one moment longer seems almost physically painful.

“Lock the door,” Beca whispers, voice thick with total and utter lust. It surprises her — it surprises Chloe, too — and Chloe pulls back only briefly, darkened eyes scanning Beca’s expression, searching for hints of either apprehension or sincerity.

“Are you sure?” Chloe asks, still very much in the moment, still totally keeping that same energy, but it’s clear that she wants consent here. She doesn’t want to do anything that will make Beca uncomfortable.

Little does she know, the only discomfort Beca is experiencing is from the way the fabric of her panties becomes increasingly soaked with her own already desperate arousal, the way her body aches for Chloe’s expert touch.

How they’ve gotten here, how they’ve gone from Beca struggling to set up the room to this... Honestly, Beca doesn’t know. She’s also not complaining, though. She doesn’t complain as she stares up into Chloe’s eyes, nor when Chloe stretches around her to push the lock on the door following a small nod of Beca’s head. She doesn’t complain when Chloe reaches for her hand — the other still pinned up against the wall — and tugs her body closer, flush against her own. She lets her guide her backward toward the bed, doesn’t question how easily Chloe seems to be wrapping the rope around her wrists.

“Safe word,” Chloe mumbles against Beca’s collar bone, lips hot, kisses wet and deliberate.

Beca fumbles for a moment, tries to find her words.

“Safe word,” Chloe repeats, tone a little more forceful this time as she lowers Beca back onto the mattress.

“Uh,” Beca stutters, lost in her own desperate need for more of Chloe’s touch, “Hocus Pocus.”

Chloe pauses briefly, a brow arched upward as she hovers over the top of her girlfriend. “Hocus Pocus?” She repeats, tone somewhat amused.

“I don’t know,” Beca whines (which she realizes is probably not the sexiest thing... Then again, she has literally just used the words ‘hocus pocus’, so how can it really get any worse?) “I panicked, okay? And it’s Halloween!”

Fortunately, the moment has not been interrupted, not by Beca’s weird choice of safe word, nor by the way Chloe had looked at her with amusement.

“Hocus Pocus it is,” Chloe smirks, knees down on the mattress either side of Beca’s thighs.

It’s not like they really need a safe word; they’re hardly getting 50 Shades of Grey here, but Beca appreciates Chloe’s caution, is glad that even in this moment, even as she’s literally wrapping a rope around the bed frame to secure Beca’s hands tightly out of the way, she’s still showing her how much she cares. Honestly, Beca has never trusted anybody like this before, not until Chloe.

She has no time to question anything more, because before she knows it, Chloe’s lips are pressing against her own, and Beca’s eyes flutter quickly shut, all consumed by their desperate kiss.

“Can you move?” Chloe mumbles against her lips, rope now tied in place. Beca’s hands are secured above her head, and it’s clear she can’t break free — not that she wants to — as Chloe begins to trail her fingertips feather lightly down the soft skin of her arms, the sensation causing goosebumps to rise beneath their path.

“No,” Beca mumbles in return, head tilting back as Chloe begins to trail her lips downward again, hands beginning to explore. It doesn’t take long for her to slip her fingertips beneath the fabric of Beca’s ripped dress, knee moving to slot between Beca’s legs. They part much too easily, and pull a subtle but smug smirk from Chloe in response.

“Good. And you’re going to do exactly what I say, right?”

Chloe’s stare burns into her, the rasp of her voice causing a sharp ache between Beca’s legs, and honestly she doesn’t know how she doesn’t just come right there and then, given how incredibly sexy Chloe looks on top of her.

“You’re good at this,” Beca mumbles, breathing already a little shakier as she stares down at Chloe, watches the way she’s lowering down her body, dress moving upward inch by inch, until Chloe’s lips are pushing wet kisses to the soft skin of Beca’s exposed stomach. The feeling causes Beca to tense beneath her touch, body shivering slightly, and it’s impossible to take her eyes off of Chloe, impossible not to watch every single move she makes.

“Baby, I haven’t started yet,” Chloe whispers, breath hot against Beca’s skin.

It doesn’t take her long to do so, though. Doesn’t take her long to slip slender fingers under the fabric of Beca’s panties, pulling them with ease down her legs. Beca would be embarrassed by how wet she already is, if it wasn’t for that look of lust glistening in Chloe’s eyes, the look that tells her she has her exactly where she wants her.

“God, I can’t wait to taste you,” Chloe breathes, gaze drifting down Beca’s body, panties now tossed aside and out of the way.

Beca doesn’t know whether she’s supposed to do anything, because like Chloe had said, she clearly wants the control, and Beca is happy to give that to her, though it’s hard to stay still as Chloe slips her hands right the way up Beca’s inner thighs, parting her legs further with each movement. Her hips lift slightly, almost like she’s trying to move closer, trying to seek out that contact she so desperately craves.

“But I’m not gonna,” Chloe continues, shaking her head as she glances up into Beca’s eyes, “Not yet.”

She has to touch her, Beca thinks. If not with her tongue then with her fingers, because Beca is physically aching for her, she can feel the way her pussy drips with arousal, and can see the way Chloe both notices it and appreciates it, too.

It confuses her a little as Chloe sits upright, as she begins to edge her way closer with her knee still down on the bed, leg moving upward between Beca’s parted thighs.

“What are you do—”

Beca’s question is cut short by the way Chloe’s lips press harshly against her own, the way her leg inches upward until she’s pressing against her.

“I’m not doing anything,” Chloe whispers into the kiss, “But you’re going to.”

The way Chloe’s thigh pushes against her, the way Beca can feel the way Chloe’s skin slides against Beca’s arousal, it causes a soft whimper to fall from Beca’s lips, her hips instinctively moving to draw herself closer.

“Good girl,” Chloe whispers, pulling back so that her face is hovering just above Beca’s, “Just like that.”

They’d talked about kinks before, but Beca had claimed not to really have anything specific. Chloe has noticed over their time together, though, that Beca Mitchell has a very definite, very prominent praise kink, and the affectionate ‘good girl’ causes her breath to hitch, hips to begin to rock so that she’s moving against Chloe’s thigh, exactly the way she wants her to.

“Fuck,” Beca whispers, finally realizing what’s going on here. She’s basically fucking Chloe’s thigh, and the look in Chloe’s darkened eyes tells her how much she likes it.

Beca, of course, likes it even more.

It doesn’t take long for Chloe’s leg to begin to glisten, for Beca’s hips to move faster and her breathing to become quicker, until there are soft, quiet moans slipping out between each breath, and fuck, it really is the hottest thing Chloe has ever experienced.

It isn’t lost on either of them that the rope is kind of pointless, that it’s mostly just a prop, but that doesn’t matter. Beca finds that there’s something exciting about the fact that she can’t use her hands, no matter how desperately she’d like to, no matter how much she wants to slide her fingers into Chloe’s hair, trail them down her body.

Chloe is making this all about Beca, though, and it feels too good for her to feel selfish.

By now, Chloe’s breathing has quickened, too. Her chest moves a little faster, leg rocking to press more firmly against her girlfriend’s wet clit. She likes the view she has, the way she can see Beca’s expression. It twists and changes with fluttering lids and an open mouth, sounds sometimes falling, sometimes catching in her throat — Chloe can’t decide which is sexier.

“Stop,” she finally demands, pulling her leg back almost abruptly. Beca lets out a pained whine, hips pushing forward in a desperate attempt for more contact. She looks down to see the way Chloe’s thigh is slick with arousal, eyes almost popping right the way out of her head when she realizes that the wetness coating the very tops of Chloe’s thighs, where her short black dress has risen upward, is not from Beca. There’s just something about knowing that Chloe is so wet that she’s literally dripping through her underwear just because of the way Beca has moved, the way she’s looked and the way she’s sounded, that makes Beca throb, makes her ache for more.

“I want to taste you,” Chloe announces, lowering further down the bed. Her palms press to the underside of Beca’s thighs as she positions herself between them, lifting her legs to hang over her shoulders.

Who moans first as Chloe’s tongue presses hungrily to Beca’s swollen clit is a mystery; it’s clearly a total turn on for the both of them. Chloe’s verbal reaction causes vibrations along Beca’s sensitive clit, her tied hands balling into fists as Chloe begins to suck, teeth dragging lightly along the flesh.

“I want to touch you,” Beca finds herself begging, words broken by fast breathing and repetitive moaning. “Please, Chlo.”

Chloe doesn’t even respond, she simply flattens her tongue against Beca’s clit, licking right the way upwards until she’s lapping hungrily at swollen folds, chin glistening with Beca’s arousal.

It’s a good thing everyone’s busy with their Clue stations, because Beca is anything but quiet as Chloe does as she’d previously said she wanted to and buries her tongue deep into her center. She kind of gets the thigh thing now, because she can’t help her hip movements from continuing as they were before, to the point where she’s essentially fucking Chloe’s face. Chloe whimpers against her, thumb sliding over to begin rubbing tight circles against Beca’s wet, swollen clit.

Beca comes without warning. Her walls clench around Chloe’s stiffened tongue, hips writhing and body trembling as Chloe continues to push tight, fast circles against her clit.

It’s almost hard for Chloe to stop. No matter how many times they do this, no matter how many times she goes down on Beca Mitchell, tastes her the way she currently is, it never gets old. It never gets any less arousing, and she has to force herself not to reach down and get herself off as she slows her movements, tongue coaching Beca down gently from her high.

Beca’s body still moves, still trembles even as Chloe pulls back, even as she presses wet, sticky kisses to her body, making her way back up toward her lips. There are still soft moans falling from Beca’s mouth, and her teeth sink gently into Chloe’s bottom lip once they’re reconnected, able to taste herself on Chloe’s tongue.

“You have no idea how sexy you are, Beca Mitchell,” Chloe whispers as she pulls back from the kiss, though leans forward to peck at her lips a couple times. “How good you sound,” she continues between pecks, “How good you taste.”

“I do,” Beca nods, voice a little higher pitched, evidently still not quite down from her euphoric high just yet. “I can see how wet you are.” Her words are almost desperate as she continues, and they cause Chloe’s clit to throb, her walls to clench. “Let me fuck you. Please, baby. Untie me and let me fuck you.”

Like Beca’s praise kink, Chloe definitely has a thing for begging. It’s something Beca had picked up on quickly, and she notices the way Chloe’s teeth sink into her bottom lip, evidently unable to refuse.

“Are you using your Hocus Pocus right now?” Chloe teases, forcing herself to sit up so she can quickly work at the rope, freeing Beca’s hands from their hold.

“Exactly,” Beca responds, tone not even slightly playful. Because the way Chloe had been so desperate to touch her before, the way her hooded eyes had darkened and she’d clearly had a one track mind with the end goal of getting Beca off, the roles have now reversed, and Chloe isn’t sure she’s ever seen Beca looking the way she currently is. The way she’s staring at her with purpose as she moves her now free hands to press against Chloe’s shoulders and push her up, evidently ready to take charge.

And damn, Chloe notes as she watches her girlfriend, watches the way she drops her hands to begin tugging down Chloe’s soaked underwear, there really is nothing quite as sexy as in control Beca.

Chloe’s expression, the fact that she’s entirely turned on by Beca’s confidence, her attitude, it really must be obvious, because it seems to spur Beca on. It has her grasping at the fabric of Chloe’s dress as she tries to lay back, with Beca shaking her head, eyes staring deep into Chloe’s.

“No,” Beca states, words somewhat stammered at first, but the intention is there, “Now you’re going to do what I say.”

Holy shit, Chloe thinks, entire body clenching at the tone, at the way Beca demands her total and complete attention. And man, does she get it.

It’s unlike Chloe Beale to find herself speechless, it really is. But right now, she doesn’t have words. All she manages is a quiet whimper, the sound ringing like begging in Beca’s ears, and obediently nods her head.

Chloe had known the zipper right the way down the front of her dress would come in handy. She’d been right, she realizes, as Beca begins to tug it downward, revealing a matching black bra and panties set underneath.

(Had Chloe dressed accordingly in hopes that their night would end this way? Duh. She hadn’t expected it to happen this soon, though. But she’s also very much not complaining.)

Beca has her out of her dress in no time, and as much as Chloe wants to relinquish control, to let Beca take complete charge, she can’t help herself from reaching her arms up behind her back and pinching at the clasp of her bra, the straps immediately falling down her arms.

She tugs it right the way off quickly, and Beca doesn’t complain. She does, however, take a moment to gawk openly at the sight before her, to drink in her girlfriend’s now entirely naked body, and Chloe has never really felt vulnerable in this position before, always been pretty proud of everything that she is, but she can honestly say, as Beca’s gaze trains itself on her now, she definitely feels something close to that.

But because it’s Beca she’s doing this with, because it’s Beca’s eyes on her, all it does is turn her on more.

She’s glad that they’ve given up on the rope, because as Beca ducks her head to pepper kisses along the hill of Chloe’s breast, lips finally wrapping around her already hardened nipple, Chloe is sure she would go crazy without the use of her hands. She lets out a soft moan instantly, slender fingers winding their way into mousy curls, as Beca’s tongue flickers and teases at the stiffened bud.

Chloe is still kneeling, though her legs grow weaker with each passing second, her stomach tensing and her back beginning to arch just a little bit as Beca moves her mouth from one breast to the other, teeth gently grazing along hot skin.

But Chloe lowering her body down, apparently that’s not what Beca wants, as is made obvious by the way her hands reach around Chloe’s back, settling firmly on her ass to pull her upright, and Chloe whimpers again as she submits.

All Chloe can do is watch as Beca begins to trail kisses down her body, head tilting back slightly, though she’s adamant that she’s going to watch, that she wants to see just how incredible Beca Mitchell looks as her lips travel further downward, and she almost thinks she’s receiving this all wrong when Beca pulls away, lays back against the pillows to look up at her.

“Come here,” Beca breathes, fingers motioning her closer.

Chloe doesn’t question her, instead she just scoots over the way Beca is beckoning, until she’s straddling her thighs, the moisture between her legs trailing along Beca’s skin.

“I said come here,” Beca says, gaze lowering down Chloe’s body, though she pulls it back up again, to lock blue eyes with blue eyes.

“All the way?” Chloe questions, voice a little higher pitched.

All Beca does is nod, expression hungry and desperate, so Chloe does as she’s told, until her knees are down on the pillow either side of Beca’s face, with Beca lifting her head slightly until her lips finally wrap around Chloe’s all too sensitive clit.

“Jesus, Beca,” Chloe hisses, hips instinctively moving as Beca’s warm tongue flattens against her. Beca’s hands find their way to Chloe’s ass again, grip tightening, and Chloe needs something to hold onto, too.

(Thank God for the headboard.)

They haven’t done this before. Not that Chloe is against it — far from it, in fact — it’s just that she knows she’s a little more adventurous than Beca is, so she hasn’t wanted to do too much. But Beca has initiated this, and Chloe curses with pleasure as her hips rock and Beca’s tongue stiffens to bury inside of her, fingers squeezing against her skin.

Considering she was on the verge of finishing up just from seeing the way she made Beca come, it doesn’t take long for Chloe’s body to begin to tremble, for her knees to weaken and the sounds falling from her lips to change from soft whimpers to desperate, pleasured moans, breathing hard and fast as she grips down onto the headboard.

Beca has slipped two fingers inside of her by the time she feels her walls clenching, her pussy throbbing as she comes entirely undone. Her back arches and her head tips backward, with Chloe practically screaming in response. Beca gives her ass a warning squeeze, and Chloe tries to contain herself, tries to quieten down, but it’s hard when she’s literally riding Beca’s face, tongue lapping at her folds, until Chloe’s hip movements slow and it’s clear she can’t take anymore.

She kind of just wants to fall where she is, but that probably wouldn’t be the best idea, so Chloe forces herself back with the small amount of strength she has left as her body tingles with her orgasm, eventually to the point where she can straddle Beca’s hips once more.

The air around them is hot, room thick with the afterglow of delicious, spontaneous, mind-blowing sex, and Chloe’s heart is pounding hard inside of her chest as she tries to relax somehow, though that becomes much harder to do once she’s leaned forward to tug Beca upright with her, lips pressing harshly against hers.

“Holy fuck,” Chloe mutters into their kiss, pulling back but only to rest her forehead, glistening with sweat, against Beca’s. She can taste them both; taste Beca on her tongue still, and in turn taste herself on Beca’s lips. Chloe’s eyes close as she attempts to regulate her breathing, hips still rocking their way slowly through her high.

“Same,” Beca finally whispers, laugh gentle and breathy as she opens her eyes to stare up at Chloe Beale.

Even if she wanted to, Chloe couldn’t keep her hands to herself. Her arms rise to wrap around Beca’s neck, keeping their bodies pressed closely against one another’s, almost like she never wants to let go.

Neither does Beca, so that’s completely okay with her.

“You good?” Beca questions, a hint of (well deserved) smugness in her tone. There’s slight amusement in her eyes, maybe even a little bit of pride, and Chloe can’t help but giggle softly in response.

“Mm,” Chloe nods her head, lips pecking against Beca’s, “I’m good. I’m more than good.”

Finally, Chloe pulls back some, just to look at her girlfriend. Her arms remain wrapped around her, though they loosen some, until they hang casually in place around Beca’s neck.

“What are you thinking?” Beca asks, the way her chest rises and falls finally normalizing a little bit.

Chloe doesn’t know if she’s looking for praise — probably; Beca is the one with the particular liking for that, after all — but it’s still hard for her to think straight. She does offer her a knowing smile, though, eyes fluttering shut and body finally beginning to relax some.

“I’m thinking I never knew you’d get so worked up by a rope.”

“Please,” Beca teases, expression amused as she watches the girl on top of her, “You knew exactly what you were doing when you gave that to me.”

In hindsight, maybe she’s not wrong. Maybe Chloe really had imagined something similar to this going down (literally), but she won’t admit so. She also doesn’t deny it, though, and just smirks gently down at her girlfriend, the tips of her fingers now stroking gently along the back of Beca’s neck where they rest.

“So, uh,” Beca clears her throat almost awkwardly, “That’s not how I’m supposed to greet everyone that comes in here, right? It’s not, like, a Billiard Room rule?”

She’s clearly teasing, of course, and Chloe responds with a small chuckle, head shaking and eyes rolling affectionately. “You’re so annoying,” Chloe says, lips curving into a wider grin as Beca leans up to cut her off with a kiss.

“I’m saying Hocus Pocus for all of them right now,” Chloe continues, tip of her nose nudging gently against Beca’s. “You’re mine. Secretly or not.”

In reality, given their volume over the last little while, it’s unlikely they’re that well kept of a secret anymore.

But, honestly? Neither one of them minds.

[heyyy-hey-babyyy]

Nobody Stops For Strangers

Hey all! In honor of Spooky Scary month (I.e. Halloween) I wanted to do some Supernatural one-shots ala horror movie plots, and since I’m currently watching The Hitcher remake, first up is The Hitcher! 

But also, please note that I changed the plot a bit, because some of it would not make sense if the main character was Dean Winchester. Just saying...Also this isn't the whole movie, because I wanted to end with some fluff. Do you want a part II? Let me know! 

Summary: On the way to a hunt, Dean and Y/N run into a stranger on the side of the road. They learn the hard way why nobody stops for strangers. 

Spoilers for The Hitcher (2007) below

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: horror thematic elements, swearing, a little fluff at the end because I think it was needed... A little angst at the end as well

Word count: 2,160

It was pouring outside as the Impala roared down the deserted road. 

You were staring out the passenger side window into the blackness, watching the water slip down the fogged glass, as you thought about how long you guys had been driving for. Three, four hours? It was near impossible to see outside, but Dean insisted on driving further, not wanting to spend prime hunting hours in the car. Or that was his excuse at least.  

You guys were on your way to Houston on the scent of a pack of werewolves Sam dug up while researching. You offered to tag him out so that he could rest awhile and he gladly accepted— And you couldn’t help but notice the slight grin on Dean’s face when you offered to go with, and the bounce in his step when he packed up the Impala. You always had a mini crush on the hunter, but never thought the feelings would be reciprocated. Maybe he cared about you more than he let on?

The thought made you smile and you glanced to the left at the hunter as he hummed wordlessly to a song that was clearly in his own head, because the radio was off. His face was calm and he looked almost carefree. You studied his features silently, wanting to memorize how serene he looked in this moment. He stopped and saw you looking at him, even though you whipped your head back toward the window when he moved his head, embarrassed that he caught you.

“What?” He mused, keeping one eye on the road while looking at you questionably. “Do I have something on my face?” His eyes squinted at the corners in a confused expression and you couldn’t help but smile. 

“No. Nothing,” you smirked, shrugging at him and returning back to draw lines on the window in the fog.

“Those are gonna leave marks you know.” He said with a chuckle, raising his eyes at you in a faux-warning while laying one arm across the bench seat, tightening his grip on the steering wheel with his other. His hand brushed across your shoulder making you shiver, and you leaned closer to him. He watched you draw a tiny heart in the corner of the window, coloring it in slowly and carefully, just to spite him, winking at his upturned face. He held your gaze for a few more seconds and you saw a flash of light from the corner of your eye making you jump.

“Look out!” You cried, as Dean threw both hands back on the steering wheel, expertly avoiding the man standing in the rain in the middle of the road, the thumb on his right hand pointing South. The Impala’s breaks groaned and seized, the tires slipping on the wet cement, sending the car spinning in a circle before jerking to a stop. 

There was a brief moment where there was a blinding ringing in your head, but then the only sound you heard was the pounding of the rain on the window and your ragged breathing. Your head had bounced against the door frame when the car went into the turn and you could feel warm blood trickle down the side of your face and down your chin. The car had spun so you were face to face with the shadowed stranger who hadn’t moved, the headlights illuminating his finger, which continued to point South, and mouth turned up in an eery smile. 

“Y/N,” Dean said roughly, pulling your face toward him, so he could see the cut closer.

“Here,” he continued, shrugging out of his flannel shirt, and handing it to you. “Hold this to your head.” He reached behind the front seat to the floor and groaned when he didn’t find the first-aid kit he was looking for. 

“Dean, we have to make sure he’s okay.” You stated quietly, realizing suddenly how tired you felt, your eyelids beginning to droop. He shook his head roughly, looking back at you as you began to slump against the cool window, messing up your heart from earlier.

“You might have a concussion, sweetheart, we have to get out of here.” The Impala had stalled as it went into the turn and Dean pumped hard on the breaks, trying to get her started. The engine sputtered and moaned as he cranked on the key in the ignition.

“Come on, Baby,” he murmured to himself, keeping an eye on the stranger, who still hadn’t moved. 

“Come on!” Finally, the car roared to life and Dean swung the wheel pushing the car to head back South toward the nearest town. 

“We can’t just leave him, Dean.” You questioned as the Impala gained traction on the wet ground. 

“Someone else will stop.” He grunted, eyes forward and serious, focused on the mission in front of him. You shook your head. Nobody stops for strangers.

You glanced back as the car flew forward. The man raised one hand slowly toward the sky and moved it back and forth almost as if to say he would see us later.

The sight made you shiver, and Dean placed his arm around your shoulder, pulling you toward him. 

“Don’t fall asleep, okay?” You nodded as he watched you carefully, his hand worriedly moving firm circles in your back. 

“There’s a town up here about five miles and we’ll get you checked out.” He stated more to himself than anything. Your head had stopped bleeding, and you weren't as dizzy, as the gas station came into view ahead of the car. You always hated how gas stations looked at night, the bright lights reflecting across the wet parking lot. You shivered again and curled into Dean’s side, his arm tightening around your shoulders as he steered us toward the building. 

Dean put the Impala in park and switched on the overhead light, pulling your face toward him again. You groaned and pulled away from him, the light hurting your eyes. You squeezed them shut and huffed out a breath.  

“Stop.” He warned, pulling you gentler this time to look at the cut down the side of your head, and into your eyes. You passed all of his tests and he kissed you gently on the forehead, his lips lingering just a moment longer, before exiting the car to find some bandaids in the rundown gas station. You watched him walk through the front door and turn to the left, before disappearing behind the stacks of snack foods. You figured after all of the commotion, Dean would be too wired to sleep and that he would want to keep driving, so dragging yourself and his flannel into the back seat, you decided to lay there for the rest of the trip. It wasn't until you heard a door close, and two voices that you lifted your head silently from the back seat. 

“Look man,” Dean was saying, and you could see how tense he was from the way he was clenching his jaw, the muscles working hard to keep his features in check. You couldn't see the other man clearly, but he was staring forward and sitting comfortably in the front seat, like he had been there the whole time. He looked young, about Dean’s age, and he was dressed casually in a long jacket and collared shirt. 

“We would have stopped, but my friend was hurt. I needed to make sure that she was okay.” Dean trailed off, glancing back in the rearview mirror. 

“Then the least you could do is give me a ride to the motel?” The man asked, a note of curiosity in his voice. He sounded like a normal man and you weren’t sure how ‘at the ready’ you were supposed to be, but you knew that you didn't know this man, and you and Dean did leave him out in the rain after almost running him down. Dean seemed to feel the same way, never unclenching his jaw as the man waited calmly for his answer. 

“Look,” Dean began again, glancing back at me. 

Suddenly, the man jerked around, throwing his arms around the bench seat and grabbing you roughly by the wrists, yanking you toward him. He held you close, a muscled arm snaking around your neck making it hard to breath. You didn't have much time to react, but a stray tear drifted down your cheek as you gulped in air, panicked eyes searching Dean’s face. The man thumbed the tear silently, making you cringe back from his touch. Dean turned toward you and the man, his hands in the air. The man withdrew a large knife from his pocket and flicked it open, holding it casually to the tender skin below your eye. You yelped as he drew blood, and Dean growled angrily. 

“Enough!” He yelled, speaking directly to the mystery man. “Do. not. hurt her.” He finished through clenched teeth. You felt the knife dig a bit deeper, and tears streamed down your face. You realized you were scared, and that only helped fuel your anger and emotional response to the situation. 

“So,” the man started almost cheerfully, the tone of his voice high pitched and eager. 

“Being that we are at a bit of an impasse, perhaps we could all drive to the hotel and continue this conversation?” He finished his sentence with a “Hmm?” and pressed the knife further into your cheek bone, drawing a line of blood. You whimpered quietly, and Dean looked at you, weighing the options, before revving Baby to life and backing out of his parking space. 

The hotel was a few miles up the road and the stranger didn't speak the whole time, but continued to hold on to you aggressively. You were sure to having bruising around your neck, and the cut on your cheek continued to bleed, though he removed the knife from pressing down on it. Dean glanced at me quickly, and pushed his foot down on the accelerator speeding up. The man continued to look forward, not noticing how much speed we were gathering, when suddenly Dean slammed on the breaks and the man, with you held tightly in his arms, flew forward, his head hitting the dashboard with a crunch, you crumpling across the bench seat. 

Springing to action, you gripped the handle to the passenger side door with your other hand and yanked it open shoving the man out of the car, while the Impala screamed forward on the wet pavement. You saw the man bounce a few times across the ground before laying still. Dean glanced behind him, and slammed the car into reverse backing up, while drawing his gun. 

“Dean!” You screamed, hunched over the bench seat, as he rushed from the car toward where the man had landed roughly, leaving his door open wide. You lifted your head slowly, looking around for him anxiously, before Dean returned seconds later, anger lacing his voice. 

“Fucker’s gone.” He stated, staring forward, his hands gripping the steering wheel hard. You were finding it hard to breath as you sat back against the back seat, wiping angrily at tears and the blood on your face. Dean glanced at you before putting Baby in drive and rushing her forward away from where the man had disappeared. You fell asleep cuddling Dean’s flannel to you, sobs racking your body. 

A few hours later, Dean stopped at a motel about an hour from Houston, pulling the car into the parking lot. You had stopped crying, and fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of the strangers hands at your neck, but when you heard the engine die, you shot up out of the seat, and Dean was out of the car in a second, helping you out. He opened the motel room door, and ushered you in, his hand lightly on your back. You didn’t care what you were doing here, just laid yourself on the bed, curling into a ball. Dean muttered something about calling Sam and went outside, closing the door behind him with a click. 

In the silence, your mind drifted to the calm demeanor of the man as he held you roughly. You had fought countless monsters, and had never felt the fear you did in that moment, with a normal person attacking you for seemingly no reason. It was as if everything else in the world became meaningless in the hours after escaping the man. You and the Winchesters could kill as many monsters as you wanted, but what did it matter when the people you were trying to save slowly became the monsters? 

The thought brought on fresh tears and when Dean came back into the room, letting you know that Sam was on his way and we had a few hours to rest, you were sobbing uncontrollably, your face buried in the comforter. 

Dean crawled silently into the bed and pulled you into his arms, soothing you gently as you cried. 

Part II is up! 

[chilly-territory]

The Morpheus Classroom, prologue

The Morpheus Classroom by Mikami En

Prologue (volume 1, pages 10-18)

Kishimori Mizuho's phone chimed just as she opened the door to her family's apartment.

She put down the shopping bag she had with her on the mat in the entranceway and rummaged in the pocket of her school uniform. The caller was displayed as her father, Takaomi. Except at this time he still was supposed to be at work. Tilting her head a little in puzzlement, she answered, and the voice that she heard on the other end was that of a man she didn't know.

"Your father has been in a traffic accident," informed her dispassionately the man who introduced himself as a policeman.

It took her a while to finally grasp what the man was saying. Her father, working in sales, was on his was back to his company when he apparently took a dive from a bridge. At the moment, he was undergoing a surgery, and the policeman said he wanted her to come to the hospital as soon as possible.

Mizuho left the apartment and took a taxi. She tried calling her older brother, Naoto, but his cell seemed to be turned off. Now that she thought about it, he did say something about going to see a movie with his friends after school.

She sent him a text asking him to come to the hospital as soon as he read it instead.

It surprised her how calm she remained under the circumstances. Today, just like always, she saw her brother off together with her father, then went to her own school, took classes like a middle school student such as herself was supposed to, then shopped at a supermarket and came home. Nothing was out of ordinary.

And she couldn't have possibly imagined that something like this was waiting to happen. The reality of this had yet to sink in for her. She had this feeling that someone would pop up any minute now and announce it was all just a joke.

***

When she arrived at the hospital, her father was sleeping in a hospital room, his surgery safely over. It seemed he didn't suffer any life-threatening injuries, but a few of his bones were fractured and he hit his head a little.

"It's going to be okay. He's stable at the moment," the doctor said to her, taking the trouble to lower his line of sight in order to talk to a child like her. He probably intended to tell the particulars to her big brother instead of her. Seeing as the Kishimori household didn't have a mother.

The police detective who was the one to call her and inform of what had happened subjected her to a brief questioning. Apparently, the car her father was driving abruptly changed lanes when on the bridge, then, without decelerating, broke through the railings and took a fall. There were no other cars on the bridge at that moment, and the driver had an unobstructed view.

Didn't she notice anything out of ordinary about her father lately, the detective asked her several times. It seemed he thought what had caused the accident was either some mechanical failure in the car or Takaomi cutting the steering wheel to the side sharply.

"...My dad's been staying up late into the night recently," Mizuho recalled. She had a feeling that lately, whenever she woke up at night, she heard sounds coming from her father's room more often than not.

The detective who was taking notes raised his face. "What was your father doing?"

That she didn't know, she said as she shook her head. There was nothing more worthy of telling him, and having asked her to contact him if she remembered anything else, the detective took his leave.

Mizuho was left to wait for her brother in a dim sickroom with tightly shut curtains. Takaomi was breathing evenly as he slept on his bed. If you disregarded the cast and the bandages, he was the same composed father as always, with nothing out of ordinary about him.

She didn't remember how much time had passed.

Before she knew it, the hospital room was stained with the orange of the evening. Mizuho gave a little yawn, shielding her mouth with her hand. It appeared she'd spent quite a while sitting by the bed.

Her father still lay on the bed, not even stirring. It was so quiet in the room that it made her feel uneasy.

Just then, the phone in the pocket of her uniform chimed.

'...Oh, no.'

A reflex made her to hurriedly turn it off. The sound didn't seem to have disturbed her father's sleep, and Mizuho gave a sigh of relief.

This hospital ward only allowed using phones in the lobby in front of the elevator. Mizuho stood up, trying not to make a sound, opened the door and exited the room.

"Eh...?"

In the dimly lit corridor, there was not a soul.

She passed closed doors one after another as she headed for the lobby. But even in the lobby she found no one, only empty benches illuminated by the light of the setting sun streaming from the windows. The wall at the far end had two elevator doors, the numerical displays over both indicating that the elevator cages stopped at the lowest floor.

Somewhere what was probably the air conditioning system had started working, as the girl's ears picked up distant mechanical whirring. With the exception of it, there was no other sound whatsoever.

When she stood there all alone, it felt as though this place became wholly unfamiliar to her.

Suddenly, a certain thought crossed Mizuho's mind. Was she really in the hospital? To begin with, her father getting in an accident was already something out of ordinary that broke up the familiar routine of her everyday life. Sure, she knew that trusting your eyes is everything, but...

"...It's like I'm in a dream." The words spilled out of her mouth unchecked.

A shiver ran down her spine.

It's not like she was scared. It's just that somehow all of this lacked the sense of reality.

***

Abruptly, she'd come to her senses. She remembered what she came here to do. Turning her phone on, she pulled up the call history log and called back the last number. The person on the other end answered almost immediately.

'Is it true our old man got into an accident?' her brother Naoto asked without preamble. She could hear voices and footsteps around him. He probably was at some station.

"Yeah... He broke a few bones... but it seems he's going to be okay."

She accurately repeated what the doctor told her. But when she spoke the work 'okay', for some reason she suddenly felt a chill on the nape of her neck.

"Brother, where are you right now?" "The Iimi station... That aside, sorry I took so long to notice your text. I'll be there in 15 minutes, okay?"

Mizuho was surprised as how relieved that made her feel. It looked like she was more stressed out that she'd thought.

"Uhmmm... Should I buy something on my way there? Maybe something old man wants...?" Naoto then asked. "Not now... Dad's sleeping anyway." "Oh, I see. Then, maybe you need something, Mizuho?" "No... I don't need anything."

Mizuho almost burst out laughing. Really, what was he doing asking about her wishes in this situation? Of course, she knew he wasn't trying to mess with her or anything. Naoto was something of a scatterbrain, and he always said weird things when he was flustered. But still, even at a time like that, he did his best to pay attention to the needs of others, and she liked that about him.

"Gotcha. Anyway, I'm on my way." He hung up.

Feeling more relieved than before, Mizuho put away her phone. She had a hunch that if her older brother got here, abnormalities in her everyday life would be done and over with, limited to just this one out-of-ordinary day. And some time in the future, when she turned back to examine this day in hindsight, the odd sensation she was experiencing at the moment, wouldn't matter any, she was sure.

For a while, Mizuho simply stood in the hall. Her inaction was because she hesitated about what she should do - wait her brother here or go back to the hospital room. She wanted to be back by her father's side, but at the same time, she wanted to see her brother's face as soon as was humanly possible. Gazing at the elevator's floor indicator, Mizuho was deep in thought.

***

At first, she couldn't place her finger on what exactly it was that felt out of place to her. As previously, there was no one in the lobby. No matter how much she strained her ears, the only sound she could hear was the whirring of the air conditioner that she'd been hearing since the beginning. That strange low noise seemed to a little louder now...

"Ah!"

It wasn't a mechanical sound. It was a human voice. Somewhere in this ward someone was letting out muffled screams. In a hurry, she ran back along the corridor. When she halted in front of Takaomi's hospital room, she knew her worst premonition had come true. The voice was coming from behind the door. It was her father who was screaming.

'Dad!'

The moment she threw the door open, she got bathed in an intense red radiance which made her freeze regardless of her will.

"...Red."

Hearing that hoarse voice coming from the direction of the window, she cracked her eyes open.

A man with a cast and wrapped in bandages stood there with both his hands set on the window pane. The gauze affixed on the back of his head had slipped, revealing the wound with its rims stitched together with a black thread.

"Dad...?"

Mizuho was suddenly aware that the curtain covering the window was now gone. The red light that filled the room was being emitted by a red sun floating outside. At Takaomi's feet, there lay a discarded white cloth, not unlike shed skin. It appeared he had torn off the curtain that hang over the window when he got out of the bed.

"What's... wrong?" Mizuho's voice was trembling. Unknown terror was welling up from the depths of her being. "Y-you need to lie down..."

For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to set foot into the sickroom. She needed to call a doctor or a nurse. If she went in the opposite direction from the lobby she'd been at earlier, she should find the nurse station, she was positive.

Just as her focus shifted to the lobby, she heard her father's voice, "Red... eye." "Eh?" "Red eye."

That delirious-sounding voice carved itself sharply into Mizuho's eardrums. Without realizing it, she took a step back.

"Red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye, red eye..."

Suddenly, she understood what Takaomi was seeing. Beyond the window there sprawled a dusk-tinted residential district. Her father's eyes were trained on the sun sinking behind the roofs of the numerous houses there.

Dragging the cast along, Takaomi slowly changed the way he was facing. His empty and tired gaze pierced right through Mizuho to fix on something far away. Having witnessed her father turn into a different person so unlike himself, the girl couldn't quite bring herself to call out to him.

After a short silence, her father's quivering lips opened.

"Ayano..."

Mizuho's heart almost froze. It was the name of a girl living in their neighborhood since way back. Mizuho had no slightest idea why her father had felt the need to call that name now though. Why did it have to be not the name of a relative but that of a complete stranger? Maybe Mizuho'd just heard it wrong?

Just when she thought that, her father spoke again, "They... please... her..."

He started coughing, and the words stopped. Then, as if losing the support that propped him up, Takaomi collapsed, falling face first. The dull thud echoed through the sickroom, and after that, utter silence descended.

Mizuho's legs started shaking with minute tremors. She couldn't feel the floor beneath her feet. With a stiff gait, she approached her father and went down to her knees by his side as if collapsing. Takaomi's eyes were left wide-open, and she couldn't hear his breathing.

'...It can't be.'

Her big brother would be here soon. And when he would get here, what she had said about their father being 'okay', would have turned into a lie. She made a grab for the switch with the nurse call button on it dangling from the bed, pulling it closer and pushing the button with both hands.

Sensing some sort of presence, she looked over at the dead body of her father.

The red light of the setting sun shining into the hospital room had become unbelievably bright - as if daubed in fresh blood.

Without thinking, the girl shifted her eyes towards the view outside the window.

"Red... eye...?"

The sun casting the sinister light looked like a crimson eyeball.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Over-protective Avengers, with Rhodey in first line, are blocking Bucky when he want to stay alone with Tony. Ofc Tony isn't aware, and Bucky doesn''t know if he should kill them or be thankful that they care for Tony. Brownie points if Steve is in Rhodey's team.

How to get away with (murder) Tony - Chapter 1 of 2

“Ithought you had that briefing with General Whatshisname like…five minutes ago?”Tony squints at Rhodey from the other side of the dining table.

“Hecan wait,” the Iron Patriot shrugs, sending a meaningful look Bucky’s way.

IfBucky wasn’t so hungry, he would gladly give up his PB&J sandwiches andsmear them all over the Colonel’s smug face.

“Soyou can finish your breakfast? Wow, Rhodey, you’re going all kinds of rebellately. I’m proud,” Tony chuckles, completely unaware of what is reallyhappening here – as usual.

Atfirst, Bucky thought it was just a coincidence. He would come into the roomwith only Tony in it and within seconds someone else would materialize out ofthin air. He’d go down to the workshop for his scheduled arm maintenance andhalf of the team would already be there, even though they rarely venture downthere. He’d read a book instead of watching the movie the team’s picked up towatch and even two hours after the credits roll, Rhodes and Banner wouldn’t movean inch from their spot on the couch where the engineer fell asleep.

Itreally didn’t take a genius to figure out this particular pattern.

TheAvengers refuse to leave him alone with Tony Stark. Banner, Natasha andespecially Rhodes always keep hanging around whenever he could possibly end upalone with the engineer. Not that he necessarily wanted to be left alone withhim – or anyone, at first – but it’s been months since he’s wrestled controlover the Winter Soldier and had been officially declared an Avenger himself.

It’sclearly not enough to warrant him any alone time with Tony.

Dothey really think he would hurt the man?! Why would he? Tony’s been nothing butnice to him since the beginning. He’s helped him a lot throughout his recovery,not just with his arm that’s now more Stark-made than HYDRA, but in general.He’s been a good friend to him. The joking, the laughter, the nonsensicalscience babbling…everything Tony related makes Bucky feel all kinds of funnylately. Hell, even the Winter Soldier likes him. His normally imposing presencewithin his mind gets all…soft when Tony’s around.

AndBucky would love nothing more than to explore all that a little bit further…butfirst, he needs to figure out why is he on the Avengers’ Alone-with-Tony blacklistor he’s getting nowhere.

(read-more ahead) 

“Well,time to go to work,” Tony announces, refilling his coffee cup. “The new WidowBites are coming along nicely. I’m almost afraid to give them to Natasha…she’sscary enough as is.”

“Agreed,”he mumbles, earning a grin from Tony.

“Idon’t think you need to worry. Your arm versus the Widow Bites? My bet’s on thearm.”

Rhodeysnorts. “Widow Bites ain’t what he should be scared of,” he smirks, wigglinghis eyebrows at Bucky.

Yeah,the Widow Bites are nothing compared to Natasha’s savage combat techniques. Shestrikes hard and…aims low. Of all the Avengers – Hulk included – Bucky tries tosteer clear of her the most.

Tonyfrowns at his best friend. “Scared? What do you mean scared? He’s the WinterSoldier, he ain’t scared of nothing.”

Damn straight, the Winter Soldier agrees.He seldom emerges like this; ever since Bucky has control over him, he usuallystays silent, brooding deep within his mind. But he’s taken a certain interestin their current predicament.

“Surething,” Rhodey nods, careful not to sound toosarcastic. “I’ll be sure to tell Natasha how fearless he is.”

Sonof a b –

Just kill him, the Soldier suggests,almost sounding bored.

Buckyrolls his eyes and wonders if the Avengers maybe still have a point. Should heever lose it and snap into the Soldier, he would likely massacre them all –just to get five damn minutes alone with Tony.

We’ve been over this, Soldier. Killingpeople doesn’t solve problems.

It would solve this problem, the Soldier retorts and Bucky’s all out of arguments.

“Youbetter pray I don’t tell her about you stealing her knife from the gym locker,”Tony smirks this time and it’s enough to make Rhodeswiden his eyes.

GoTony.

“Youwouldn’t.”

“Hellyeah I would. Now, are you going to that briefing or what?” he asksimpatiently.

Rhodes glares at Tony first, then at Bucky and finally, he moves to leave.“Wanna share the elevator on the way down?”

SONOF A B –

“Liketwo teenage gossip girls? Of course,” he nods but pauses, glancing at Buckywith a strange look. He clears his throat and follows the Colonel out of thekitchen. “Later, Bucky,” he calls over his shoulder in a hurry and disappearsdown the hallway.

Kill them all, problem solved.

Hegroans, wishing it would be that simple. Not that he’d expect the Soldier tounderstand that killing someone’s friends won’t solve any problems at all. In away, Bucky’s glad – glad that Tony has someone looking out for him. All the time. Now if he could only jointhe protective squad instead of being the one they’re protecting Tony from.

Fine. Don’t kill them. Evade them.

Buckyraises a surprised eyebrow at the suggestion.As in…

Treat it like a mission. Evade theenemies. Get to the target.

Despitehimself, Bucky smiles. And if enemiessurround the target?

Play by your rules, not theirs. Usedistraction. Confuse them.

Right.Yeah! He can actually do that. So maybe the Soldier is on the road to recoveryhimself.

Or just kill them.

“Spoketoo soon,” he whispers, shaking his head, but a battle plan is already beingdrawn in his mind.

4AM is the perfect time. Nobody’s awake at this hour – nobody but Tony, whenhe’s in some kinda inventing frenzy. Bucky spent the past week carefullyobserving the team’s schedule and decided 4 AM is where it’s at. His chance tosneak into the workshop and –

“Ohhey, Bucks!”

Seriously?!

“Whatare you up to?” Steve asks, standing next to him by the elevator in his jogginggear. He never runs before five! What the…

You should have killed this one atleast. I told you.

It’sfine. It’s just Steve. Out of everyone else, Bucky believes Steve’s presencewas coincidental at best at all times. He’s going for a run. There’s no way he’sgoing to Tony-block him.

“Thearm’s bothering me. Thought Tony could take a look at it if he’s workin’.”

Idiot, the Soldier sighs in the background.When did the Soldier expand his vocabulary?

Stevesuddenly looks like a supersoldier caught in headlights. “Tony? In theworkshop? Now?” he blurts out.

“Uh…yeah?He’s been working all sorta hours lately…figured I could try goin’ down thereand - ”

“Yeah!I mean, that’s a great idea!” Steve smiles, but he still looks awkward. “I’lljoin in! He wanted some feedback on my suit upgrade, so might as well scratchthat off my to-do list before breakfast.”

Buckyjust blinks at his supposed best friend and numbly follows him into theelevator. Et tu, Steve?!

Saturdayevening is the perfect time. Bucky observed that after every mission, eachAvenger has their ritual. Clint makes himself an obscenely large bowl ofoatmeal and watches cartoons on Netflix. Steve stays on his floor and doodles.Natasha sharpens her knives. And so on. Tony spends his post-mission time onthe rooftop. Sometimes he lazily munches on various take-out foods, other timeshe just lays sprawled on the sun beds watching clouds or stars. Nobody evergoes there, especially if they were to disturb him. But Bucky is armed with apot of coffee, snacks and hopes it’s enough to grant him passage. Saturdayevening’s where it’s at, because they’ve just returned from a mission and –

“Poptarts! Sweet!” Clint exclaims, stealing the pack of sweets from him and rushingpast him on the staircase to the rooftop…where the rest of the Avengers alreadyare.

“Roofparty time!” Sam yells, excited, also sprinting past him. “There should be apool here, Tony!”

Theengineer, currently setting up an impromptu bar, sends him a glare. “I’ll getyou an inflatable kiddie pool, birdbrain junior, how about that?”

“Greatidea! We can pour Thor’s booze in there!”

Theparty only escalates from there and nobody leaves the roof until early morninghours. So Bucky just drowns in that kiddie pool.

TheShawarma place is the best place to meet Tony alone. Everybody hates it. ButTony is always in a mood for shawarma after he pulls an all-nighter or finishesa project. So the Shawarma place is definitely where – never mind.

“METALHAND BROTHER!” Thor clasps his shoulder, falling in step with him – no, morelike pushing him along. “I too had a sudden longing for the glorious meal thatis shawarma! ONWARDS! A-HAH! BROTHER OF IRON IS HERE AS WELL! SPECTACULAR!”Thor booms.

Withinminutes, the whole team is having a shawarma breakfast platter there.

TheTower’s server room is the most perfect place to meet Tony alone. Throughcareful observation, he is now certain that nobody even knows this place existsand even if they do, the number of DO NOT ENTER and DO NOT TOUCH signs all overthat place is a great deterrent to uninvited guests. That and the forcefieldprotected, bulletproof entrance you need a code to bypass. Or a metal hand. TheTower’s server room is w –

“Pst!The code is 666, if you wanna sneak in,” Clint whispers, head hanging from thevent above the door. He winks and his head ascends back into the vent, themetal grid clinking back to place.

Thisis impossible. Humanly impossible. So what if Thor can maybe kinda teleport,the others most definitely can’t and yet wherever he goes, someone is there.Doesn’t matter if he’s following Tony, or going where he is or could be. Evenif he goes somewhere Tony is most certainly not at, there’s someone else theretoo! It’s like the entire Tower is working against him!

Still don’t want to kill them?

Holdon…now there’s a wild thought.

Finally. Can I do it?

Nowonder the team keeps on materializing wherever he goes. If the Tower isworking against him, then…

I see. But…how do we kill him?

Buckygrins, making even the Soldier retreat in the face of his wrath.

TBC

[golddaggers]

pick me, choose me, love me

*requested

pairings: stiles stilinski x reader;

a/n: so, this was requested and I loved writing this. might have been way too inspired me. not that it matters. haha anyway, I hope you like this!

word count: 2,3k+

It is funny, now that I come to think about, how our perspectives of love change when we get old enough to understand the way life works. As kids, we often imagine that we’ll soon find “the one”, that we’ll both fall in love with each other right away and live happily ever after. Perhaps it’s because the novels, the movies… They only show the pretty side of it. They don’t tell you how much it hurts when we have a broken heart. How you feel so empty and hopeless. And how it takes almost forever to get over it. Above all, we are never expecting to be rejected.

I was never the naive kind of girl; maybe because I watched my parents splitting up at a tender age and their nonstop fighting. Probably why I used to think that love was a big fat lie; I couldn’t get myself to believe such thing existed, but then I met him. Stiles Stilinski. Also known as my neighbour. It happened a few months ago, when my mother broke the news we would be moving again. Due to her job, I lived in a whole bunch of cities throughout my childhood, so I was sort of used to it. Okay, back to the story. We made a quick trip to get some informations, my school application done and everything. It was a rather fun day. At the end, we went to our new house; it was the first time I saw him.

Stiles looked so cute that late afternoon; his hair was tousled, clothes wrinkled, it seemed obvious to me that he was worried about something. Then, as if he knew I was staring, his brown eyes glared at me, an eyebrow cocked, a puzzled trait scrunching his face. I waved shyly and he smiled at me, waving back. I never believed in love at first sight, or love at all, but I won't deny I felt nervous under that small gesture.

Days later, when I was already settled in, he swung by my place to introduce himself and offer a recently baked pie. A welcome treat. I remember I was so excited I even asked him to come inside, eat a slice with me. I was never this excited about someone previously. Stilinski quickly accepted my proposal, joining me at the small kitchen table. We talked like crazy that day; I found out he liked Star Wars just as much as I did and that he wasn't scared nor felt threatened by my witty remarks. Rather, he responded to them quite at the same level. I unconsciously knew I wanted him in my life; it was weird, sure, yet it appeared right to me.

More time passed.

In the meanwhile, the both of us became inseparable friends, always laughing, talking… We shared a strong connection. Like I had never had with anyone else before. Plus, Stiles was probably the only one who managed to get me out of my shell and for that I was incredibly thankful. Growing up with no siblings whilst travelling all the time, I never bonded with anyone, so I was very scared when he asked if I wanted to meet his friends as well. Nonetheless, it all faded away fastly. Scott and Liam were perfect gentlemen to me, squeezing me in tight hugs whenever we bumped into each other. The girls (Malia, Kira and Allison) also were happy for me to be joining their group. According to them, the gorgeous brown haired man had been through a lot and my presence had really lightened up his mood.

I recall being struck with a fuzzy feeling upon knowing that, because he had made me feel better about myself too. And, coming from a person who barely had relationships with other people, it was huge thing.

This being said, it wasn’t a surprise that we started dating a little while after. Stiles was so adorable asking me if he could take me on a real date that I wasn’t able to say no. I wouldn’t even if I could. Perhaps it was when I finally realised I didn’t see him as a big brother any longer; to be honest, I don’t know if I ever did.

However, as it must be obvious by now, there was one important detail Stiles failed to let me know: he had a girlfriend. Well, technically they weren’t together: about six months ago, Lydia Martin, it was the girlfriend’s name, travelled to another country in an exchange program and, or so Allison told me, she and the brown haired boy decided it was best if they broke things off while she was gone. Alli told me he was left utterly heartbroken, because Stilinski had been love with her ever since he was a little boy. She was, apparently, the love of his life.  

There is something about being in love with someone the novels never tell, one day they will break your heart. No matter how long it takes, someday it will happen. I just never thought it would hurt so much. To hear that Stiles loved someone that wasn’t me… It shattered my heart. I wanted him to love me, to be with me! Not some girl who ditched him. Nevertheless, this wasn’t my choice to make and I definitely didn’t want to be between such a complicated relationship, which was why I firmly told him that I was out of whatever we had. I couldn’t stand being the second one. Not when I knew the extension of his love towards her.

The honey eyed boy tried to argue, to say something, but I could see clearly that he wasn’t sure about who to pick. Thus I convinced myself I was right on ending everything. I stormed out of his place and we haven’t spoke in almost two weeks. The first couple of days Stiles tried calling, texting, yet, I was so stubborn that, despite the ache I was in, I refused to answer. Now, on the other hand, I appeared to have lost all my dignity, because I was standing outside his home, fingers toying with steering wheel.

Last night I stayed up late thinking about how I didn’t want be the kind of person who doesn’t fight for what they want. I loved him. More than I thought could love someone. And I knew he loved me too, even if it wasn’t as much as he loved Lydia. Nonetheless, I needed to try. I couldn’t live in the ‘what if’ section. It would drive me nuts.

Taking a deep breath, I finally gathered enough courage to walk out of my car and head to his home. The darkness made it easier to see the lights on in the living room, meaning that he was there indeed; once standing in front of his door, I gave two weak knocks, my hands getting sweaty with anticipation. While I waited, my mind wandered on how weird it was that I was no nervous around the person that used to make me feel at such ease previously.

“Dad, did you forget your keys again?” Stilinski mumbled in a semi laugh afore his traits got soaked in shock. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I-I came to talk, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He pulled away, opening a brief space for me to get inside. “Come in, please.”

I walked inside quietly, glaring at the carpeted ground as if it would help me feel less anxious. It didn't. My heart still pounded harshly against my ribcage and I could feel the sweat dripping down my back. This conversation clearly would be easy; I could sense the tension coming from him. I sort of understood, though, because the last time we talked, I was smooth or polite. Oh boy.

Stiles shut the door closed and we went to his living room together, in an overwhelming silence he didn’t bother to break. Once both of us were comfortably sat in the couch, at a considerable distance, I must say, I finally gathered enough courage to look at him. My ex-boyfriend hadn’t changed much, but, once you get to know someone so deeply as I knew him, you sort of notice the small details about their actions. For example, he was anxiously tugging at the hem of his shirt, leg shaking… The brown haired boy never learnt how to disguise his emotions. I smiled weakly at the thought.

“What do you want from me?” He finally questioned, eyes pierced on mine. “I honestly-”

“Shut up.” I blurted out, straightening out my position. “I’m going to talk now and I don’t want to be interrupted, are we clear?”

“Do I have another choice?”

“No.”

“Alright then. Be my guest.”

“So… I know I said I didn’t want to be in a complicated relationship and that I didn’t want to split you and your soulmate apart. Allison told me your whole story… I felt so bad, you know? To get in between that. But, shit, I can’t lie to myself. I can’t pretend that I don’t love you, because I do. So much. These days we spent apart only made me realise I don’t want to give you up. Not ever.” Taking a deep breath, I placed my palm on his knee, our eyes connected in an intense gaze. “So pick me, choose me, love me!”

“Y/N… I wish I could give you a solid answer, but I-I…”

“Look, Stiles, I don’t want to pressure you or anything, I came here just to let you know it isn’t over for me. What we had… I never had it with anyone before and I’m not willing to let it go without fighting.” The honey eyed man sighed and glared at me, resting his warm hand above mine. “Tell me you’ll think about it before deciding to get back with her.”

“God I have thought about it. Ever since the day I watched you leave, I have been going crazy about this; Pondering wether I should choose the one I loved my entire life or the one who helped me glue my pieces together and showed me you can love someone out the blue. I love you and her deeply, which is why I don’t know.”

“The question is: who do you love the most?”

Before I stood up, I leant in to plant a kiss on his cheek and, without giving him a chance to reply, I disappeared through his front door, more hopeful than I was when I parked outside.

A week had gone by since I last saw him. It was weird how much I was expecting to hear an answer; every time my phone buzzed, I hoped it was him calling or sending me a text. Yet, Stiles had not contacted me, which caused me to think that he probably chose her instead of me. Hell I cried. Every single night I hid my face against the pillows to muffle my sobs so my mother wouldn’t worry.

Being in love with him had ruined me in ways I couldn’t describe perfectly. Nonetheless, I also couldn’t stop my life out of it, therefore I decided to focus on school, which was why I was currently sitting in my living room’s couch with a laptop resting on my crossed legs. I had a literature essay due tomorrow but I hadn’t had any luck so far.

Sighing, I opted to go to the kitchen and make myself some coffee, it would perhaps help me to focus more. However, afore I could even get there, I heard the bell ringing, announcing the arrival of someone.

“Who is it?” I shouted, swiftly changing my course’s route.  “Huh?”

“It’s me, Y/N, Stiles.”

“Wait a minute, I'm coming!”

The mole speckled boy was standing in front of my door looking cute as ever: he had his hair all dishevelled, his clothes were a bit torn and his breathing was a bit ragged. If I didn’t know any better I’d say Stiles had run to my place.  

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Stilinski nodded. “I just needed to talk to you.”

“Okay.” A smirk pulled up my lips. “Come inside, I was about to make some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He smiled and, after I sealed the door, we went to kitchen, where I started prepping the bitter liquid I liked so much. Stiles simply stood close to me, supporting his elbow on the marble countertop. A couple minutes later, I handed him one white mug whilst sipping at mine, the bitterness comfortable on my tongue.

“What do own the honour of your presence?”

“I finally decided.” The boy whispered, his honey orbs liquid when they met mine. “I know the answer to your question.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah…” Placing the cup inside the sink, he caged me against it, hands cupping my cheeks. “It's you.”

Not giving a second thought on what I was about to do, I shortened the space between us and smashed my lips against his, absorbing the recent coffee taste impregnated on his mouth. Boy I had missed this. The way his pink lips pressed softly on mine or how his hands wandered to my hips, thumbs massaging the region. I missed him altogether.

Awhile later, we were forced to break the kiss for we still needed to breathe. Stiles glued our foreheads, his upturned nose poking mine slightly, eliciting a low giggle to fall from my lips.

“I'll always choose you, Y/N.”

“Don't make promises that are hard to keep, Mr. Stilinski.”

“No, but I mean it.” His palm went back up to my face, digits brushing the tender flesh. “I love you more than I had imagined I did. And I'm sorry it took so long for me to realise that.”

“Well, baby, I love you too.” Smiling, I pecked his lips again. “I’m glad you realised it in time.”

“Now can we make up for the time lost upstairs? Preferably in your bedroom? In your bed? Or the floor if you're into it. Or-”

“Stiles!” My eyes were widened as I laughed.

“What? Don't tell me you weren't thinking of it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

Grasping my wrist, he led me upstairs and, with each step we took, I couldn't help but feel whole again.

[joeys-piano]

Lucid Dream

Rating: General Characters: Yuuri and Viktor

If one were to ask Yuuri what was his favorite moment with Viktor, he wouldn’t know how to explain it. Not because he wanted to shy away from the cameras, or because he didn’t have an explanation. Yuuri’s favorite moment couldn’t be described with just words. It was an experience that held more weight as a memory than as a mere answer for the world to know. So if asked, Yuuri would simply say, “It’s personal” and carry on. But if say, Yuuri were to ask himself what his favorite moment with Viktor was, he’d cover his mouth with one hand, gaze affectionately to his right where his engagement ring glistened, and Yuuri would whisper: “It started like a dream…”

Four months prior in their cozy apartment in St. Petersburg, Yuuri shifted under the bedsheets to find that Viktor was no longer next to him. Yuuri’s fingers skimmed over a cold portion of blanket and tugged at the wrinkled bedcover. Despite the chill, Yuuri felt traces of Viktor’s warmth when he rose out of bed and slipped on his glasses. His eyes followed a blanket trail, how the sheet spilled from the mattress and onto the floor before pointing out the bedroom door. Yuuri shuffled quietly, careful to feel his way through the darkness and stepped over Makkachin before making it out into the quiet hallway leading to the living area.

Yuuri could only hear his hitched breath and the scratch of his nails along the walls before he heard the turn of a kitchen stool, and Yuuri flicked on the lights to find Viktor hunched over an empty mug with packets of sugar piled into a makeshift pyramid by his side. Viktor appeared to be sleeping, but he spun his stool when Yuuri approached from around the corner.

“Babe, are you--” Yuuri blinked when he met Viktor’s droopy, red eyes. Noticing Yuuri’s slight recoil, Viktor brushed his messy bangs until they covered his eyes and he turned his head away sadly. Yuuri pulled up a stool next to Viktor before he rested a hand over Viktor’s. “Can’t sleep?”

Viktor nodded. He brought his mug up to his lips, and all he gulped was air before setting the cup down.

“Do you want some tea? Hot chocolate?” Yuuri offered to take the mug, but Viktor was rather fond of it and kept it close when Yuuri’s fingers tried to touch it. “Do you want to drink something?”

Viktor shook his head and sniffled. He motioned for Yuuri to lean closer, and Viktor rested his head on his fiance’s shoulder. Yuuri slowly ran his fingers through Viktor’s hair, calming whatever worries or fears that threatened to spill from Viktor’s lips when he opened but closed them just as he sniffled again. Yuuri didn’t say much of anything else and simply sat in silence with his fiance. He waited for Viktor to speak on his own, and Viktor did when he picked up his mug again.

“I can’t sleep.” Viktor’s voice was hoarse as he traced his words down Yuuri’s arm with an absent finger.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Yuuri shifted in his stool just as Viktor snuggled closer to him.

“It’s…” Viktor mumbled some Russian underneath his breath before he remembered that Yuuri couldn’t understand him, but Yuuri told Viktor that he didn’t need to repeat himself. Viktor lifted his head and probably raised an eyebrow, but Yuuri couldn’t see it. Not with Viktor’s bangs in the way. Yuuri brushed them aside and murmured if he could kiss Viktor’s forehead. Viktor lowered his head and Yuuri gave his presents. One kiss to ease his fiance's mind, one kiss for a good sleep, and one more kiss because a smiled grew on Viktor’s lips with every gift.

Yuuri probably backed away a few inches before asking, “Do you feel a little better?”

“Can I have one more kiss for good luck?” A purr escaped from Viktor’s lips when Yuuri kissed him one more time, and he embraced Yuuri with tender arms. “I still can’t sleep,” Viktor whispered, but his voice sounded smoother and a bit fluttery as Viktor’s hands trailed down the spine of Yuuri’s back. Yuuri nudged Viktor’s side with his knuckles, rather gently with a chuckle to ease his fiance’s spirits.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yuuri coaxed Viktor to stand up so that they can walk back to the bedroom together, and the two stood up slowly and shuffled. Viktor clung to Yuuri’s arm, and Yuuri walked slowly so that Viktor could keep up. Sometimes, when Viktor was about to run into a wall or corner, Yuuri would gently steer him into the right direction. Other times, Viktor would walk into a wall or corner to remind himself that he was still awake before following Yuuri’s touch. When they made it to the bed, Viktor eased himself slowly and hid under the blanket after Yuuri slipped in. “Viktor?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to talk about why you can’t sleep?” Yuuri bit his bottom lip when Viktor shifted over and squeezed his pillow.

There was a brief moment of silence, and Yuuri wondered if Viktor had fallen asleep or had simply ignored him to feign it. “Let me close my eyes first, darling.”

Despite the darkness, Yuuri could watch Viktor’s eyelashes flutter slowly when his eyelids drooped. Quick before slowing down but even then, Viktor’s eyes didn’t stay closed for long before he opened them again and really tried to sleep. Yuuri scooted closer to Viktor so that he could feel some company.

“Viktor, what do you want to eat tomorrow?” It was as if Yuuri asked for the weather, but Viktor had known his fiance long enough to know that Yuuri liked to use coded-phrases when an individual didn’t want to speak about something out loud.

“Muffins with some cereal, and the usual coffee on the side.” Viktor could almost taste his breakfast before he transitioned to lunch and dinner. All three of his meals were rather simple, and Viktor wondered if Yuuri was able to figure out what he really meant by his answers. He rolled over and watched as Yuuri mumbled under his breath, formulating his words before meeting Viktor’s steady gaze.

“Are you worried for the future?”

“What makes you think that?” Viktor whispered, and his words hovered over the collective silence.

Yuuri rolled around under the sheets. Lost in his thoughts, but he worried about his answer. Because the reason was directly linked to him, even if Yuuri mumbled that it wasn't his fault. Because Viktor was making his comeback into the skating world and he was going to continue his coaching with Yuuri. Realistically, it was a reckless idea but Viktor had persuaded Yuuri before that he wouldn't be him if there wasn't a surprise tacked to it.

“Yuuri?” Viktor nudged his fiance with his elbow.

“Don't hold yourself back because of me.” Yuuri clenched his teeth. “Just be you and--”

Viktor cut him off with a tender embrace. He cuddled next to Yuuri, and Yuuri laid in silence. Unsure of what Viktor meant by the gesture, or if he should try speaking again.

“Yuuri, you don't have to worry about me.” Viktor’s voice was thick as sleep began to dull his senses. “I'm going to be okay.”

“You haven't skated competitively for a year.”

“But I skated with you,” Viktor yawned, laying his head near the crook of Yuuri’s shoulder. “I'm not scared about my future, but yours is a different story if you think I'm going to hold myself back.”

It was a tease, but it knitted knots inside Yuuri’s chest while he absently messed with Viktor’s hair. How could he not worry about Viktor? With the media, with fans and their opinions, and with new programs to choreograph and plan, it was simply too much for one man’s shoulders. Not to say that Yuuri wasn’t going to do his part for what he had to do, but...Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what to think. His thoughts buzzed around like flies, and Viktor moved around in his pseudo-sleep.

There weren’t any words to say, but Viktor traced his thoughts along Yuuri’s arm. Reassurances that things were going to be okay, that they could discuss more about this in the morning, and that right now...Yuuri needed him as much as Viktor needed Yuuri. It took a bit of coaxing before Yuuri could fall asleep comfortably.

Later that morning as Viktor sat by the kitchen counter, cup of coffee at his lips, he glanced up from his beverage when Yuuri shuffled in and opened the fridge for some yogurt. They were both tired--judging by Viktor’s third cup of coffee and the buzz in Yuuri’s mind when he ate his breakfast with a fork from the utensil drawer. Viktor voted that should take a break and enjoy the rest of the day with Netflix and classic movies with Makkachin.

“In the end, someday, will you hold my hand? Will you walk with me?” Viktor reached for Yuuri’s hand when they sat on the couch and watched as their DVD loaded across the television.

There was no hesitation on Yuuri’s part when his fingers curled around his fiance’s.

“Always.”

[lezliefaithwade]

Hitchhikers and Horror Movies

I was living in New York when one Sunday afternoon in late August a boyfriend suggested we go and see the newly remastered, Texas Chainsaw Massacre at a movie theatre on 42nd Street. It had recently been heralded as one of the most influential horror movies of all time, and as he was in the process of writing his own horror screenplay, it seemed only right to see what all the fuss was about.

It was a very hot day as we slipped into the darkened theatre. It smelled like wet pavement, stale popcorn and forgotten dreams. The floor was sticky from neglect. The whole interior reeked of resignation as though any minute the wrecking ball would tear through the ceiling and replace a bygone era with a GAP or a McDonalds.  There were probably no more than 20 of us oddballs sitting in the damp, musky building. I wondered what kind of person spends a Sunday afternoon watching slasher films? My boyfriend was a nice Jewish USC graduate currently studying playwrighting at Juilliard. He was the kind of guy who laughed easily and rarely lost his temper. I felt safe and at ease with him. A quick glance at the other patrons painted a somewhat different picture. It was obvious that I was the only female in an audience of men sitting alone waiting ominously for a slasher film to begin. I shifted uneasily in my seat.

“Did I mention I don’t really like horror movies?” I whispered to Bernie. “I scare easily.”

“No worries,” he said, “Just close your eyes over the gory bits.”

For anyone who has not seen The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, suffice it to say that the entire film is gory. It’s pretty implicit by the title words “chainsaw massacre”.

It’s been noted that the experience of watching a horror movie with someone from the opposite sex can become a catalyst for romantic bonding. Was that what Bernie had in mind that afternoon?

The lights dimmed, the movie began and within minutes I was on the floor with my head in the seat of the chair, mindless of whatever gross concoction I was kneeling upon. All I can tell you about plot is that some kids pick up a hitchhiker who cuts his hand with a switchblade. That was all I saw.

“I have to leave,” I said to Bernie. And being the great guy that he was, he escorted me out of the theatre and back into the real world. I breathed a sigh of relief, and spent the better part of the next week doing everything I could to forget what I had seen.

Horror movies and slasher films have always appealed to a broad audience. Consumers expect to be scared, disturbed, creeped out, disgusted, terrified. This is just the undesirable price one has to pay in anticipation of some other reward, such as the ultimate triumph over evil or the smug satisfaction of feeling safe while being afraid. Slasher films make strong commentaries on societal expectations. In other words, young women in particular are usually targeted by male antagonists with puritanical opinions on sexuality. That is, when any kind of motivation can even be found. The set-up goes something like this:

1. Some past event sets (the killer) upon a homicidal trajectory.

2. The killer targets a group of hedonistic youth.

3. Youths interact recreationally in an insular quotidian location.

4. The killer tracks the youths.

5. The antagonist kills some of the youths.

6. The remaining character(s) challenge(s) the killer.

7. The immediate threat posed by the killer is eliminated.

Bernie’s movie as I recall was titled Summer Stalk, or Hammer Slammer (something like that) and he had a passing relationship with the director Abel Ferrara who I recall meeting briefly and being unimpressed by at a party in New York. Bernie was a good writer, and it seemed entirely possible that he might actually sell this screenplay, so when school was finished we moved to Los Angeles.  Hollywood was a place so foreign to me and so at odds with my sensibilities that you may as well have dropped me onto the moon without a spacesuit and ordered me to survive. Even to this day my memories of L.A. are a compilation of avocado sandwiches, shark steaks, workout rooms, convertibles and endless conversations around film. I went from being a productive, enterprising intellectual young woman, to what can only be described as a “bimbo”. Glasses were replaced with contact lenses, hair was coiffed, clothes were fitted and shoes had a heel. Gone was the architecture, the history, the parks, the subway, convenient neighbourhoods with great second-hand book stores. Instead it had all been replaced by freeways, concrete, Stepford wives, alfalfa sprouts and sales pitches. I thought of going home, but I loved my boyfriend and wanted to be supportive. So, I sat on the sidelines in tightfitting Lycra and cheered him on.

On weekends, Bernie and I would drive to his father’s house in La Costa, Ca.  where I could swim, bike, catch a movie, or just go for a walk. The house was a welcome refuge from the hustle and bustle of tinsel town. It was large, (large by my standards) with great, comfortable furnishings and a spectacular view of the valley. Bernie’s family were wealthy. My family was not. This disparity in our lifestyles was, to my knowledge, the only thing we ever fought about. Things were easier for him than they were for me, and while I was certainly benefiting from orbiting in his world, I could never quite forget where I had come from and how difficult it was for me to obtain even the smallest of opportunities. As a brief example: at school in New York, before I met Bernie, I would resort to heating up tomato juice for dinner. Bernie’s family were the sort of people who own the tomato juice company.

So, it was on one dark and stormy night enroute to La Costa that a particular argument erupted over privilege.

“You have no idea what the real world lives like,” I shouted, nearly in tears. “I’m always one step from poverty and the only thing that separates me from the homeless man on the street is you.”

“So,” he shouted back, “Get a job!”

He knew this was impossible as I was an illegal alien.

By now the storm had become positively Spielberg like. Low hanging dark clouds, lightning, thunder and us in a small car wending our way to our destination. Windshield wipers on high we stewed for several minutes both of us in our own worlds thinking up clever rebuttals for the next wave of attack when I saw a hitchhiker on the side of the road. It’s important to note at this point in my story that I had NEVER picked up a hitchhiker in my life, nor did I advocate such a thing. But the weather, and the bedraggled look of the man somehow destroyed all my reason. Bernie saw him too.

“Should we give him a ride?” he asked, probably to show that he was still a generous and compassionate person in spite of his wealth.

“It’s pouring out,” I said, “I think we should.”

Bernie pulled over and the man ran to the car. Even before he climbed into the back seat we realized our lack of good sense, but once we were stopped it just seemed like bad manners to drive away.  

“Where you going?” Bernie asked turning to get a good look at our passenger.

“Where you heading?” he responded with a slight drawl.

“La Costa.” Bernie replied

“You can drop me off anywhere near the cut off.” The stranger said as he settled back in his seat.

From the mirror over my visor I had a really good look at the man who identified himself as Hank. He was lean and dirty with a long unkempt beard and equally unkempt hair.  His features were sharp and angular. Hank carried a large knapsack and frankly smelled a little. Had this been a Disney animation, he would have been drawn to represent an anthropomorphic rat.

“Where are you from?” I asked trying to be polite.

“Texas,” he replied.

It wasn’t my imagination. I could see Bernie’s knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel. Neither of us needed to say a thing. We were now the protagonists in a horror movie. It was that simple.  An unmarried couple headed for a week end of debauchery in a car with a stranger while a storm raged outside. We ticked off several of the essential criteria in the Horror movie genre and without saying a thing, we both immediately regretted our act of charity. Every moment in that car was leaden. As we sped our way through the dark I was counting the minutes and the miles thinking to myself, “We’re still alive. We’re still alive. We’re still alive.” I wondered what would happen if I insisted we make an exit to use a restroom? I imagined running for help while Bernie fought off an attack or perhaps I’d be able to fight off our assailant with a crowbar in the trunk. Hank was silent. Then, out of the blue he began to tell us about the corpse recently discovered at LAX. “They found it in pieces,” he volunteered, “The head, the arms, the torso in different places around the airport.”

Hank didn’t look like a guy who read the newspapers or listened to the news. He looked like someone who knew things first hand. “The hands were in a sink at the washroom.”

How does one respond to information like this? “Oh, how interesting,” seems inappropriate when what you really want to do is slam on the brakes and say, “Get the fuck out of this car.”

While writing his screenplay, Bernie had once mentioned to me that monsters like their victims to be afraid.  So, I muttered a half-hearted “Really?” hoping my nonplussed attitude would dampen his interest in killing us.  At this point Bernie was fixed, zombie like on getting us as quickly to the drop off point as possible. I glanced at the speedometer. We were over the speed limit on wet roads. Nothing about this adventure felt like it was going to end well. I could feel Hank staring at the back of my head. I slid down in my seat and wondered if a knife could penetrate the upholstery. The closer we got to the cut-off point, the more nervous I became. I reasoned that an assailant wouldn’t attack us while driving and risk being killed in a car accident. No. An assailant would kill us the moment we pulled over to let him out. He’d slash our throats, dump the bodies and take the car.

“What do you do for a living?” Hank asked

“I’m a writer,” Bernie said

“Oh yeah? What do you write?

“Horror movies.”

Hank seemed interested, “You don’t say?”

To be fair, it’s possible Hank wasn’t the least bit interested. He may have been as bored as toast and just eager to get out of the car. He may have interpreted our tension as residual anger from a lover’s spat, or thought we were good Samaritans with dull lives and little to say.

All I know is that when we saw the sign for the turn off, I blurted out, “I have to pee.” At least if Hank was going to kill us, it would be under bright neon lights and in clear view of a gas station attendant and several patrons.

Bernie pulled into the Mobil station and exclaimed a little too eagerly, “Here you go. End of the road.”

Hank opened his door, grabbed his belongings and piled out of the car. From the overhead lights I could see for the first time that he looked old. Here was a man for whom things did not come easily and I suddenly afforded myself a bit of pity.

“Thanks for the lift.” He said shaking Bernie’s hand.

“No problem.” He replied as we climbed back inside and locked the doors.  I realized that I hadn’t used the bathroom and was a little ashamed of myself.

As the car sped out of the station and back onto dark roads we exhaled a collective sigh of relief and laughed. “What were we thinking?” I asked “Oh my God. What was all that about a body at LAX?”

By the time we reached the house, I had convinced myself that I had over-reacted.

“Isn’t that how all horror movies work?” Bernie said “The protagonists are always being attacked the moment they let down their guard.” I admit, he had a point. How many times had I commented on how stupid the victims in horror movies behaved? I mean, what kind of idiot would pick up a hitchhiker on a dark and stormy night knowing full well the kind of risk they were taking?

We unlocked the front door of the house, and before locking it again, were sure to search the dark for bogeymen. There was no way Hank could have followed us, but still…

“Let’s get on dry clothes and watch a movie,” Bernie suggested, turning on as many lights as we could find.

“Sounds like a great idea,” I said, “Something funny, please.”

As we settled down with hot chocolate, safe and sound to watch Mel Brooks, I briefly thought about Hank out there in the dark making his way towards Mexico. I wondered what was in his knapsack and then let the thought slip from my mind as the storm continued to rage on outside.

[pattonsfam-ily]

scene

guuuuyyyysss! remember the other night when Virgil accidentally fell asleep at Coda’s house and panicked? well the lovely Hannah @stuckonswan and the lovely anon known as HBG wrote a scene of that together! well actually more like full oneshot! it’s beautiful and amazing and everything is canonically correct which is always good! but like always you only know what the boys tell you about these situations so technically these little stories don’t exist! just some cool behind the scenes stuff! enjoy! i know i did!

~

Warmm, in his sleep, Virgil shuffled closer to the man in the bed beside him, tucking his head into the crook of his neck and sighing contentedly.

Cozy, was all his brain could focus on as he began to come out of the deep, dreamless sleep he’d been in for the last hour or so.

The aroma of Logan’s cologne filled his lungs as he burrowed deeper into the jacket he’d worn out, seeking the comforting presence that the smell of paper and coffee always brought him.

Keeping his eyes shut, he contemplated the last two days. None of this made any sense to Virgil. Why, after a steady stream of bad, would something good appear? He didn’t understand but, he was happy. In the past 48 hours, he’d made out with an extremely attractive boy at a party, gotten his phone number, flirted with him over text, had 2 classic rom-com style beach dates complete with cheesy kisses and sand fights, and was now casually dating the boy, Coda, with the knowledge and consent of Logan and Roman, the loves of his life. Are you sure you aren’t in one of those bad movies Roman loves to watch so much? This is basically the plot line of every single Chick Flick he makes you watch… Roman… Love Ro.

Virgil blindly reached out for Roman, looking to grasp onto him as well and was met with empty sheets. Assuming Roman hadn’t made his way to bed yet, Virgil cuddled closer into Logan. The familiarity of coffee carried Virgil’s mind deeper into sleep, until he was met with another smell, one that wasn’t quite right. Pens? Ink? No… That’s not Logan… Logan always smelled like the books he keeps in his study, right? Maybe Logan had done some writing before bed. He always stayed up late working, especially after his minor crisis about finding a new career path.

“Looooo,” Virgil muttered, “no more working late. You need sleep…. ‘n cuddles.”

A low chuckle, “Alright, babe.” Virgil’s thoughts froze…. That wasn’t right. Logan didn’t sound like that. Neither did Roman, even their sleepy morning voices weren’t that deep. Babe? Virgil’s mind began to spin again as the pieces started to click together. This wasn’t their blanket, nor their bed. Everything was comfortable, but nothing felt… right.

As his mind continued to spin, he opened his eyes. Instead of seeing one of the shirts Logan always wore to bed, he saw a familiar college logo. Devin’s school? Why am I sleeping on Dev? That jerk always wakes me up. When did I lay on him, anyways? Wasn’t I with… ? Oh. Crap.

Virgil jolted awake, startling his companion. He sat up and pushed away from Coda as if he was on fire. He curled his knees up to his chest, tears welling up in his eyes as his fingers gripped onto his forearms, his neck, his face. His hearing faded out and he felt wrong. Broke the rules, getting in trouble, boys will be mad. He whimpered, sucking harsh breaths into his lungs as tears slowly trickled down his cheeks. Logan’s gonna be angry. Roman’s gonna hurt me. NO. His thoughts went haywire, all logic and reasoning exiting his head until only the negativity remained.

A voice slowly cut through the chaos of his mind. “Virgil! Virgil, Virge, Gilly, hey can you hear me, uhm, oh shit, I don’t know how to help you…. Uhm, focus on your breathing? Can you do that? Just… Uhm, follow me. In,” a brief pause, “and out,” another, “Come on, I know you can. Just focus on me. In… and out…” Wait, breathe? Breathe. I… breathe. Follow. In, out. His mind clung to the phrases he knew, reminding him of the things Logan always said, as his breathing began to return to normal and his world came back into focus.

He began naming things mentally, further bringing himself back to reality. Bedroom. Bed. Not mine. Posters. Superheroes. Coda’s room. Coda’s Bed. Coda. In front of him. Scared. Oh no. You scared him. He’s gonna, Ro’s gonna, Lo’s gonna. Why didn’t you listen? You broke… you didn’t… they’re gonna… too much… you’re too much. Always too much. too far. Can’t stop. Can’t follow. Broke the rules. stupid.

“Virgil?” his name, cautiously whispered, as if the person was scared he would break if they said the wrong thing. Virgil slowly blinked, bringing himself fully back to reality, to Coda’s room, at 3 in the morning.

“I…” he struggled to speak, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep here” He didn’t want to look at Coda, didn’t want to see the sad, desperate look in his eyes, of someone who wanted to help, but didn’t know how. Didn’t want to see the disappointment, the hurt at his confession.

“Okay V. Deep breaths. Are you okay?” A shaky, quick nod from Virgil convinced Coda to continue speaking, “I’m gonna take you home, alright? You’re going home right now… if that’s what you want.” Another nod, and they were on their way to the car. Virgil’s eyes never left his feet. He knew he was wrong. He’d made so many bad choices, all the good things would disappear.

Coda seemed to read his thoughts, “Everything’s going to be fine, Gil. It has to be.” He didn’t seem too confident either, but the affirming words brought some semblance of comfort to Virgil, even as the new nickname made the Bad Thoughts™ begin again.

Home. Logan. Roman. Angry. Bad. Virgil. Bad. Coda. Bad. Angry. Hurt. He stared out the car window, his mind still reeling as the streets around him became more familiar, dreading the moment he walked through the door. He went on the blog, answering the people he had come to call friends, attempting to calm his nerves, but nothing worked.

Coda drummed his fingers across the steering wheel, glancing back at Virgil every so often. He looked concerned and Virgil felt an ache in his chest. This boy, Coda was so nice to him and this is how he dealt with it. Shutting down and staying silent.

As his house grew closer, Virgil looked over once again. Coda’s face still showed so much concern, no matter how he tried to mask it. He’s worried about me?, Virgil questioned as the street lights washed Coda’s face in yellow light, allowing Virgil to gaze properly at his features. Neither of them dared to speak. Both hating the silence, neither willing to be the one to break it and start the hard conversation both knew should happen.

The car slowed to a stop in a familiar driveway and they looked at each other for the first time since Virgil awoke, less than an hour ago. Now or Never, Virgil reminded himself, What are you going to say?

“Do you want me to walk you to your door?” Coda finally whispered, more fear behind his voice than Virgil had heard before. Hidden questions inside the polite phrase. Is this it? Are we over? Do you want to face them alone? They were expecting the same ending to tonight Logan, or Roman was going to be at the door, maybe both, and they were going to be mad, telling Coda he couldn’t see Virgil any more, and their happiness would be gone, for good, their lives returning to 48 hours earlier, but, with a small hole where each other had started to burrow into the other’s mind and soul.

Virgil tried to speak, but he couldn’t trust his own voice, glancing at his feet again, sitting there, silent and unmoving. Making a decision, Coda got out of the driver’s seat and walked around, opening the passenger door, and standing beside it, waiting for Virgil to get out of the car. Slowly, he unbuckled and got out of the car, before collapsing into Coda’s chest, exhausted from his attack, the Thoughts convincing him it was all over, everything. Coda’s arms wrapped around Virgil, attempting to provide the comforting presence that put Virgil to sleep only hours earlier.

He took a moment to feel, attempting to calm himself, breathing Coda in for one last time that night. His arms brought some comfort, but like earlier, still didn’t feel quite right. Too soon the hug ended and Virgil was moved to arms length, Coda studying his face. “Virgil, do you want me to walk you to the door?” he asked again and Virgil nodded mutely.

Wanting Coda’s arm around his body, but unsure of the consequences, Virgil reached for Coda’s hand, letting him make the final move. Still good. Safer. Easier to let go if, when, they get mad. Their hands quickly intertwined, as Coda gently squeezed his hand, as if to say it’ll be alright. Falling into step with each other, they reached the door much faster than either wanted.

The house was dark, which meant they were asleep. Logan and Roman always left one light on if they were awake. The last time Roman tried to be dramatic and suddenly turn the lights on when Virgil walked through the door, Virgil fell into an attack, and refused to turn the lights off for days, even sleeping with a super-bright night light Logan had bought (and 3 more, but no one needed to know that). He turned to face Coda one last time, looking up at his eyes, hiding so much fear.

“They’re all asleep.” Virgil whispered, “The lights are off and they don’t wait around for me in the dark… anxiety thing, can’t handle it.” He paused again, wanting to say more, but unsure what to say, again. He watched Coda’s eyes flick from his own, to his lips, and back again.

“Can I…” Coda muttered in the near silence. He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Virgil barely nodded, and Coda noticed, moving closer.

Coda’s hands shifted to Virgil’s hips and pulled him in for one last kiss. The kiss was soft, almost sweet. He felt himself leaning into the kiss, eyes drifting closed, feeling the endearment rather than the heat they felt not 48 hours ago. Almost enough to keep him there and yet, Virgil missed his boys.

Slowly Virgil withdrew from the kiss, opening his eyes and fumbling for the keys buried in his, Logan’s, coat pocket. “Goodnight, Virgil.” Coda placed one last gentle kiss on Virgil’s cheek before turning and walking back to his car, starting it and watching as Virgil opened the door and stepped inside before backing out of the driveway.

Virgil turned away from the street and entered the house, closing the door softly behind him. Using his phone as a light, Virgil walked down the familiar halls, hearing Dev’s sleepy mumbling, and Pat’s slow breathing as he made his way back to his bedroom. Logan’s room, Roman’s room, your room, Our bed. Us. Creeping inside, he looked over at the bed.

Logan was curled in front of Roman, glasses sitting behind Roman on the nightstand. Roman had to help him fall asleep… because he was worried about you, idiot. His thoughts continued, as Logan moved and shifted to sit up, waking from his light, restless slumber, looking at Virgil.

“Virgil?” Logan mumbled, in the gravelly, husky tone Roman and Virgil only got to hear late at night.

“Hi Lo,” Virgil muttered, “go back to sleep. Let me change, and I’ll be right there.”

As Virgil turned around to grab a shirt and sweats, Logan glanced at the time on his phone, beginning to lay back down before sitting up and looking again, mildly shocked at the late hour.

“Are you just getting home?” Logan questioned, amazingly calm, as Virgil froze. An eyebrow arched up in Virgil's direction and he gulped.

“Yeah. I fell asleep…” Virgil mumbled, watching, hoping Logan wouldn’t put the pieces together in his half-awake state.

“Fell asleep? With Coda?” Again, the questions were calm, as if Logan was watching a movie.

“Mhm… in his bed…” the mumbled reply was so soft and quick that Logan barely heard Virgil’s response.

A sigh, and Logan’s arms opened, beckoning Virgil in for a hug. “Come here, baby.”

“Y-you’re not mad?” The question was louder than anything Virgil had spoken all night, filled with confusion, but hinting at hope.

“No, just a bit disappointed.” Logan replied and Virgil’s face dropped. “Come on, come to bed. We’ll talk in the morning. Just go back to sleep now.”

Slowly, Virgil made his way back to the bed and let himself fall into the space between Logan and Roman, as Logan’s arms wrapped around Virgil’s shoulders, pulling him closer as Logan kissed Virgil’s shoulder, then cheek. Roman unconsciously shifted closer, his arm falling across Virgil’s waist, burying his face into Virgil’s neck, both of them cuddling him close, each falling into a now-peaceful sleep.

As Virgil lay, wrapped in his boyfriends’ arms, he couldn’t stop the Thoughts™ in his head. He felt bad, guilty, wrong. Everything he did tonight was wrong. The last 48 hours were Wrong.

As his thoughts kept spinning, Virgil slowly drifted off, into a deep, but restless sleep, with the smell of coffee, flowers, and paper filling his lungs, his loving dreams of Logan and Roman interrupted, with peaceful moments, of the gentle boy he had kissed, only moments before.

[pepperminthotchocolate]

Voice Like An Echo: Chapter 3

Of all the things that had kept her awake last night, Naiya never expected the car ride home to be what drove her anxiety over the edge. She assumed it would’ve been leaving the shelter, or at least when she first saw the temporary cage that she was going to be transported in.

But she had been on this side of the Plexiglass before. It had been a few years ago when she was an East-Ender, but she should know what to expect.

The more she thought about it, though, the more it made sense. Now that the rushing around had finally stopped and the adoption preparations were done, she only had time to think, which was a dangerous area for her under normal circumstances. She knew her thoughts were going to be flying like this for a few more days at least.

Unlike her first adoption, now she had ties to where she had come from.  Before this, she was too young to build up any meaningful relationships before she was off to her new owners. She didn’t have the red-headed, self-proclaimed scourge of the West End looking out for her then. She didn’t have a routine established in the way that an eight year stay in the same place would. She’d lost her best friend, her home, and gained a new problem to deal with all in the same hour.

At least it was quiet. She had wedged herself into the farthest corner of the carrying container, as far as she could get from her new owner. They’d only left the shelter about fifteen minutes ago. She could hear the roar of the engine beneath her and the muffled, hypnotic sound of a human male’s voice droning on and on through the radio. She could catch snippets through the thick plastic every now and again; something about independence protests happening in another country.

She hadn’t taken her eyes off of the human since they had left together. He seemed alright now. Kind, even, as he had taken his time with moving her cage and asking if she was ready to go before he picked it up.

The problem was he was just so BIG. Of course all of the handlers at the shelter had been human, but to be honest she was used to the older, retired ladies who volunteered their time or younger college students on summer vacation. Certainly nothing like the thickset giant of a man that loomed before her. Even if the entire image – damn dad jeans and button up shirt and everything - was supposed to be non-threatening, she couldn’t get past his size.

In turn, David was at a loss for what to do. Her staring didn’t do anything to put him at ease. It seemed like every time he looked down at her, she would be staring right back up at him with wide, fear-filled eyes. He supposed that it was to be expected, given her history. At least she hadn’t tried to attack him or escape during transport. That being said, the quiet, still glance that she was giving him was almost worse. He wouldn’t be able to predict how she would react when they arrived home.

Whatever the answer, ignoring each other surely wasn’t it. He cleared his throat. “You really are the strong, silent type, huh?”

Tanaiya quickly turned her gaze away at the sudden address. Would it be rude not to answer him? Probably. She thought that he knew her history. At least, the shelter was SUPPOSED to disclose what had happened before the adoption. Who knew what really went on behind closed doors? Her eyes flickered back up to him for a brief moment before giving the smallest head shake she could possibly manage. She was worried he hadn’t seen it at all until he gave her a gentle smile.

David pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose and looked back up to the road. “We’ll be home soon. I know that you’re probably…worried or scared about having to go somewhere new with someone you don’t know.” He reassured her, his grip tightening a bit on the steering wheel. “I only moved to Greensboro a few months ago, and it was scary enough on my own.”

He glanced down again. Had she even blinked? She hadn’t moved, that was for sure. He tilted his head forward a bit as he drove, as if to emphasize his speech. “Point being…I know you’re going to be quiet for a while and that it’s going to be tough for you to acclimate. I’m going to do my best not to push your boundaries and give you space. Sound like a plan?”

The tiny girl sitting beside him gave another almost imperceivable nod before pulling the grey hood of her sweatshirt further over her head. She still warily peeked out at him with dark, glittering eyes. He smiled and gave the space on the seat next to her enclosure a reassuring pat before returning both hands to the wheel. He didn’t notice that Naiya had driven herself even deeper into the corner at the sudden movement.

In no time at all the car had pulled up to a small parking lot situated next to a lake. As the human came around the side of the car and opened her door, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the few trips she had taken with the shelter staff. She tried to keep herself steady as his hands scooped up her cage and brought it close to his chest.

At the Whitsett-Sedalia shelter, there were mandated bi-weekly excursions into the community for each group that were voted upon by each of the residents. For the West-End, these were mostly limited to local music festivals and trips to the cinema to see popular upcoming movies. There were times when she regretted not taking advantage of these guided trips, but she had found herself becoming detached from the thrill after so many years of residing there. There was never anything she wanted to do, and she would almost always opt to spend her time hanging out in the communal living space alone or with Libby.

Still, there was only so much she could see from beyond the glass door entrance of the shelter. As a matter of fact, she loved this time of year. As she gazed around, she breathed in the cool autumn air trickling in through the vents in her enclosure.

The two seemed to be walking some sort of dirt path leading to the towering apartment complexes. Gnarled, wooden bridges hanging over the water lead the way to an enclosed picnic area adorned with metal tables and benches and even a fire pit. The golden amber and burnt orange trees contrasted strikingly against the bright blue calm of the late-afternoon sky, all of which reflected in the mirror-like surface of the water.

The view was just enough to distract Naiya until she realized they were in front of a large glass door. The giant shifted her cage so that it was seated in the crook of his arm, and he waved a card in front of the scanner above the handle. A button somewhere within the mechanism clicked, and he pulled open the door.

She tried to focus on anything that would disperse the cloud of anxious thoughts in her head. The heavy clunk, clunk, clunk of his footsteps echoed in the enclosed space as they walked up the first flight of stairs and stopped at the door on the right. She could smell someone was cooking something behind one of the other doors, and bass-heavy music was trickling down the staircase from one of the rooms above them.

David shouldered the heavy wooden door open. He tried his best to keep the enclosure steady so as not to jostle his new guest, but she ended up with her hands planted against either side of the corner anyway. “Alright! Welcome home!” He announced, shifting the plastic bag on his wrist down to his elbow and pulling the enclosure into both of his hands. He peeked into the cage and found her looking…well, a little more than worse for the wear.

Naiya blinked hard, trying to center herself from within the little ball she had curled up in. Something about the view from all sides of the see-through cage, not to mention being able to see the massive hands easy cradling the entire room pressed up against the surface just underneath her feet, and vertigo from the sudden, rapid movement was making her sick. She didn’t know if she could do this.

“Huh. We can forgo the tour for now. Or at least, here...” The massive voice rumbled from behind her. Her head fell back against the plastic wall in response, and she closed her eyes as the enclosure was gently lowered to the floor. Or what she thought to be the floor. Her eyes fluttered open and she came face to face with the seat of a rustic-looking, umber colored pull-out sofa. The knotty floor beneath her was a stained dark brown, which turned out to not be the floor at all, but a round, expansive coffee table edged with wrought iron and studs.

She exhaled out slowly and got to her feet just as the human was coming around the other side of the table. He sat himself, thankfully, on the left cushion of the couch instead of directly behind where Tanaiya’s enclosure was. “This is the living room. You can see to the right there’s the patio. Nice little view of the lake out there.”

He pointed over her enclosure to the immense sliding glass door fixed in the side of the living room wall. Past the patio door was a set of two matching easy chairs in front of a cheery, white stone fireplace which housed a large flat-screen television above the mantel. To the left of that was a welcome sight; a walnut bookcase that stretched from the floor to the ceiling and was filled with books of every kind. Naiya smiled a bit at the familiarity, but then turned her attention back to the man.

David pointed down the hall separating the living room from a walled-off room. “Down this hallway are the bedrooms; my room, and my son Nick’s room when he’s here. I guess that’ll be your room for now, if you’re comfortable with that. We’ll have to make other arrangements when he comes.” He laughed a bit. “Or you can tell him to just sleep on the sofa bed out here, if you want to call the room now.”

She gave an uneasy smile, still reeling from the movement but also amused at the thought of her addressing anyone like that, let alone telling a human to find somewhere else to go. “First door on the left is the bathroom, and over here is the kitchen and dining room. We hardly ever use the dining room, though.” She could spot a large, square dining table the same color as the coffee table with a set of four, stark-white padded chairs surrounding it from behind the corner of the half wall.

Tanaiya nodded quietly, trying to remember where everything was. Overall, she would describe the space as polished and put together. The walls were a bit bare aside from the clock hanging in the living room and the painting along the side of the dining room. However, it wasn’t cold, and the patio doors offered a warm light to encompass the accompanying rooms.  

Nothing too fancy or overbearing, just a simple apartment for one. Or two, it would seem. She wondered where this son of his was, and whether or not she could just avoid him altogether. Both of them, preferably. She didn’t want to be rude or God forbid do anything to have her owner act irrationally, but she just needed some time to collect herself.

Her heart jumped into her throat as a sudden shadow came over her. “Guess I should’ve done this first, huh?” The giant behind her muttered, placing his palm over the top of the enclosure. Whoever designed these spaces for safe and easy transport certainly didn’t have the Tiny’s point of view in mind. She couldn’t escape from the image of a hand almost the size of the room bearing down on her, just a few inches from the top of her head.

David snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned. The tiny girl had immediately fallen to her knees and covered her head just at that simple movement. Was she crying? “Oh wait, easy. Calm down. Just trying to get you out of there.” This wasn’t what he’d wanted at all. To his relief, no, there were no tears, but she did turn her eyes sharply up to him as if her fate depended on his next actions.

Of course he’d have to be more delicate about his approach. Why he didn’t realize that with the silent car ride home, he had no idea. He ran a hand over his bearded face. “Tanaiya?” He asked quietly. He debated whether or not he should get down closer so as not to loom over her versus him being so close freaking her out more. By the time he had situated himself kneeling on the floor she was looking up at him again with those wide, soulful eyes. She had no reason to trust him, he knew that. That would be up to him to get started. “That was my fault. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you what I was doing. Can we try that again?”

Naiya’s adrenaline had spiked so hard she wasn’t sure what was real at the time. It was one of those moments where your actions play out in front of you and they involve you, but you aren’t present in your mind to experience them wholly. She was a ghost, watching her shaking hands and shifting feet, standing before a giant of a man who she could tell was trying his best, but dammit if he wasn’t intimidating.  

“We’re going to go nice and slow. I need to take the top of the container off. Ready?”  

She nodded slowly, casting her gaze onto the ground and trying to ignore the ominous shadow that overtook her. A popping sound above her head let her know that was done, and suddenly the barrier between them was gone. He smiled lightly. “See? Not so bad.”

Maybe from his angle. This was the first time she’d truly processed her new owner’s face. The lack of a wall between them really made the difference. His eyes were still as kind as they were through the plastic; deep brown and crinkling in the corners with a smile. Knowledgeable, with a certain depth hidden behind his thick-framed glasses. He was a wide and stoop-shouldered man, visibly tired from the bags under his eyes and the few straggling gray hairs in his unkempt beard and wild mess of curls tucked behind his ears.

And yet, still completely overpowering. It was difficult to see anyone outside of the shelter as a welcoming presence, let alone the person who had taken her from there. She followed his instructions as he gently tipped over the cage onto its side, and soon enough the space where the ceiling was had become the exit in front of her.

He settled back onto the couch, trying to give her some space. She still hadn’t moved. “You can come out, I’ll back off.” No response, although her eyes darted back and forth between him and the spot just outside of the enclosure. The realization dawned on him.

“Do you want to stay in there for a little while?” She looked up at him tentatively, but he could see relief in her eyes. He clapped his hands on his knees and slowly stood. “Take your time. You can come out whenever you’re ready.” He could barely make out the faint nod she gave him.

Poor little thing. David hadn’t wanted to leave her alone, but that was probably the thing she needed right now. She looked as if she were ready to bolt as soon as his back was turned. He couldn’t help but peek at her one last time as he moved over to the kitchen to get dinner started.

  August 17th,

My worst fears have been confirmed. The tolerance for Tiny relationships seems to only extend to what they can make up in profit. He’ll be leaving tomorrow, and the little one and I the next day. We don’t know where we’ll be going, or if there will be any hope of contacting one another again. What kind of monsters would allow a family to bloom before tearing it apart?

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Finally getting to the interesting part of the story! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2: http://pepperminthotchocolate.tumblr.com/post/163719760508/voice-like-an-echo-chapter-2

Chapter 4: http://pepperminthotchocolate.tumblr.com/post/166695955113/voice-like-an-echo-chapter-4