#that are a little more expensive than gas cars

[flashhwing]

sometimes I worry about how some of y’all react to any kind of technology. every site has an algorithm that’s how programming works. AI is a blanket term for a certain type of code, it’s not automatically evil. electric cars being made consumer available is a good thing even if the ceo of the first company to do so is a bit of a dick.

[babyleostuff]

passenger princess(es)

𝜗𝜚 fluff, established relationship 𝜗𝜚 idol!seungcheol x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 wc: 894

・ ❥ ・ there is nothing that could stop cheol from taking care of his passenger princess(es)

„hey baby, can you pass me the water bottle?” seungcheol let go of the wheel, so he could grab the bottle from you, not tearing his eyes from the road for a second. 

cheol was a great driver, excellent even in his humble opinion - he has never gotten a ticket in his life, and people told him on multiple occasions how safe they felt with him behind the wheel. he was also very much aware of how hot he looked driving, something he often used against you. with the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up (which accentuated his yummy biceps even more), the expensive watch around his wrist and, for dessert, his other hand resting on your thigh - you had no other way out than to totally thirst over your unfairly sexy boyfriend.

there were times when you found yourself staring at him with no shame, he was that hot. not that seungcheol cared, if he did he wouldn’t flex his biceps on purpose while grabbing the wheel. 

but while he was (obviously) very careful while driving, it seemed that his protective instincts kicked in on a higher level when you were sitting next to him. 

that’s why when you didn’t answer him, or gave him the bottle, he made sure to grab the wheel with both of his hands before throwing a glance at you. 

„my love, did you h-,” words stuck in his throat when he saw your closed eyes and your head resting against the window. cheol knew that sooner or later you would fall asleep anyway, no matter how hard you insisted on not sleeping. “i want to keep you company,” you pouted angrily, and grabbed the AUX, “don’t want you to feel lonely.” it was on the tip of cheol's tongue that there was no chance he would feel lonely, even if you were sleeping. not to mention your little white fluff ball in the backseat that always kept him company. 

„you see, told you mommy would fall asleep,” he laughed, looking at your precious baby in the rearview mirror. kkuma seemed to have the best time looking at the passing cars, barking at some of them, and wagging her tail at others. 

seungcheol sighed with a smile, as he grabbed your hand that was resting on your tummy. „ah, what am i going to do with you, my silly girls.” 

to be honest - he couldn't have been more content. you spent the whole day together on the beach, with kkuma running into the waves (she ended up looking like a wet mop), eating food from the seaside food stalls, walking along the shore, and finally ending the day with a swim together. days off were the best. 

suddenly, his daydream was cut short when he felt you shiver. cheol wouldn’t have been that worried (you sometimes got those shivers in your sleep, which he always found really cute), but you grabbed his hand tighter, as if you were searching for more body heat. he frowned as he ran his hand over your arm, feeling the goosebumps on your skin. 

„why didn’t you just tell me you were cold,” he muttered, half annoyed, and half worried. your hair was still wet, and your clothes damp after you put them over your swimsuit, so if the AC was too low you could get sick - something seungcheol wouldn’t let happen, even if it meant he’d have to fight the illness himself. 

fortunately, there was a gas station a few kilometers away.

he parked right next to a small field of grass so he could also let kkuma out for a moment, and opened the trunk in search of a blanket he could cover you with. cheol also found his sweater and decided that two layers wouldn’t hurt. 

to avoid any neck or back cramps, seungcheol gently repositioned you in your seat so as not to wake you up, but still let you sleep peacefully without straining any muscles. technically he could just turn the heating on, but he just let you freeze for the past god knows how many minutes - he had to bundle you up. „my pretty girl,” he stroked your cheek, leaning in to kiss your nose, before covering you with the sweater. 

„c-cheollie?” you suddenly mumbled, and raised your hand to rub your eyes. your boyfriend couldn’t help but laugh at your slightly confused expression.  

„i pulled over, baby,” he said softly. „you were sleeping and you were clearly freezing, which by the way, please let me know next time if you're cold, so i stopped to cover you up.” 

you looked at him with big, sleepy eyes like you were still trying to figure out which planet you were on - you were clearly still too tired to understand. „’s okay, go back to sleep.” 

some people were afraid of sleeping in cars, after all, there were so many situations that could lead to a catastrophe - what if the driver fell asleep or did not notice the approaching vehicle? 

but you were not scared at all, not in the slightest. if you had to pick one person on earth that made you feel the safest, you’d pick choi seungcheol without a hesitation. in a car or not - you knew he’d protect you no matter what. 

that's why, without thinking, you nodded and closed your eyes, falling back asleep.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot 

[kuromochimi]

baby I’m nothing like your broke ex

gojo satoru, nanami kento

Content warnings: mentions of past toxic relationships, not proof read

🔜 suguru geto, kamo choso, higuruma hiromi

Gojo Satoru

Satoru was rich. Like rich RICH. You first noticed this the moment you met him when you spilled coffee on his shirt then offered to buy him a new one instead. Instant regret when you realized that his shirt was worth more than your entire closet combined.

Being in a relationship with him was… well it was an adjustment. You lived a fairly simple life before you met him. It wasn’t a bad life. You still got to spend on your wants here and there but you had to budget such things much like any other common person had to. On the other hand, the word budget was non-existent to satoru especially when it came to you. He quite literally gave you everything. A few weeks into the relationship though, he had noticed how reluctant you were to accept his presents. You didn’t seem uncomfortable, just.. reluctant. He toned down a bit after this realization. But god he just couldn’t figure out why you were almost unwilling to accept anything at all from him, even food, even a ride home, even his hoodie which he already said you could keep. “Baby” he called to which you responded by looking his way. “Why do you never want to accept my presents?” He asked before he got up to approach you, immediately hugging you from the back as soon as you were within reach. “Hmm it’s not that I don’t want to.. it’s just.. you have to let me get used to these things first, okay?” satoru raised his brow “baby I know that shitty ex of yours can’t come close to how much I spoil you but was he that stingy?” at first satoru was only joking but your silence meant it was probably true. “So he was?” He asked as his chin was resting on your shoulder. “Come on satoru, he’s a thing of the past. He doesn’t matter anymore, ‘kay?” You tried your best to steer away from having to tell your boyfriend in detail but he’s right. Your ex was stingy as hell. It’s not like you ever asked for anything too much in fact, you don’t ever remember asking for anything at all. All the times he had to pick you up, he asked for gas money which seemed fair enough but it wasn’t just that. The man loved going on and extravagant dates but was never willing to fish out more than gas money. He adored receiving presents from you but could never be bothered to get you even the cheapest flowers. He used to say that he was just saving up to be able to give you the life you deserve but 8 years of having to sustain the luxurious lifestyle of a bum just made you snap hence, the break up. Satoru’s tightening embrace woke you from that little flashback. “Okay baby, I’ll make sure to spoil you but don’t hesitate to tell me if I go overboard hm? Love you” he gave you a kiss on the cheek and god, you felt so lucky to have found such a good man.

Nanami Kento

It quite literally took years of yearning for nanami to be finally able to date you. He was your junior in university and your junior at work as well. All that time, he had to witness you be head over heels for your then boyfriend, another one of his seniors. He thought the man might have put a spell on you because for the love of god, he could not see what kept you with the jerk for so long. Having observed your relationship from when he was a college freshman up to when he was a work colleague, your ex never even tried to mask how selfish he was with you. The man dawned expensive watches and drove a not so cheap car, he loved going to expensive places with his friends but with you? He wouldn’t hesitate to pass you the bill (like 85% of the time) whenever you went on dates, bought you nothing but cheap jewelry and quality reject flowers just because they were cheaper. Even worse, he also let you take the crowded train home everyday despite him driving to and from work everyday. He just couldn’t be bothered to pick you up because your workplace was “too far” and gas was expensive. If he really was struggling, it wouldn’t have been a problem but any person could see that he was more than capable of treating you better. He just didn’t want to.

Dating nanami was like a breath of fresh air. It’s not like you were materialistic in the first place but receiving pretty flowers and having someone make sure you’s comfortable and safe felt so heartwarming. On top of that, nanami didn’t make it feel like he was obligated to do any of that. He just genuinely wanted to care for you. It was all new to you that you even had to ask him to stop spoiling you too much, you felt bad accepting all that he was giving. “I know you don’t need them and I know you’re capable but let me do these things for you, hm?” Was what he’d always say and despite bot being able to voice it out to him yet, there is so much love in you knowing that it was possible to be treated this way. With so much care and love and concern.

[genderqueerdykes]

do people seriously not understand the reason why it's impossible for poor people to save money is because there is no end to our expenses- we don't get breaks, we are just playing hot potato with our bills and needs. we're doing our best to space them out as much as we can but we don't get enough money in the interim to bounce back and have all of our bills paid off. like is that what people fail to realize? we don't have extra resources to dip into. we general don't have family to aid us in these situations.

we don't get a break of having all of our bills paid off or easily being able to have that money set aside. no it's never ending, and they're always more than we can afford. they always pop up at the worst time, usually when you just had another big expense like something for your job, or a family emergency. sometimes people have to cut out things like phone or internet for a while in order to be able to afford their other expenses, which means they lose out on a lot of accessibility. sometimes people have to let their power, water or gas bills lapse as long as the company will let them before shutting them off because they literally cannot afford put any money towards those bills at all. paid the car insurance this month, that means we can't afford the phone bill next month, is a common example of poor folk having to juggle our bills.

overdraft becomes a huge problem because the bills come out whether or not we can afford them. overdraft literally exists to predate on poor people who can't keep themselves above the red, people who live paycheck to paycheck, people who are so poor they have to work under the table, multiple jobs, or beg. things spring up like needing to go to the pharmacy or the grocery store. we have so little money to begin with, that we may as well just throw it into that expense when we get the time because there's no reason in throwing $20 into savings when you've needed to go to the pharmacy for 2 weeks but you've been putting it off because you're trying to get enough money to survive off of to have extra to save...

but that day never comes.

i think that's what a lot of people don't realize. i hope this helps.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 11: It's Giving Kidnapping?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 10.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it) and because there is an unwanted sexual advance (not Soldier Boy) (it's more someone making the reader feel uncomfortable and the person talking to the reader, not so much touching, but it's still there and it's wrong), Violence, Swearing, Mentions of sex, Thoughts of Sex, Kidnapping, GASLIGHTING, Threatening, Denial, A whole lot of denial, Sexism, Creepiness, Manipulation, Talks about weed, Super manipulative trash man, And another Super Manipulative Trash Man but this time he's even more creepy, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Reader POV

"So where is it that we're going again?" You ask your brother Darren while looking absentmindedly out the passenger side window of his car watching the other people on the bridge.

The sun was shining, bathing the interior of the car in a warm light, the clouds puffy and the sky a beautiful blue that faded into the background behind the iconic New York Skyline as the buildings raised their hands to worship the beautiful day. It was the perfect day for you to grab a paper back and a cup of iced pineapple tea and make your way to Central Park, instead you were stuck in a car with your brother who was taking you God knows were.

"I told you it's a surprise." Darren replies, hitting the gas to cut off someone in the fast lane who honks at him, but Darren only flips them the bird and continues to speed down the bridge.

You had been in the car for over thirty minutes, a car that Darren said was a "loan" from his new BFF, the same person that he was ecstatic about you meeting.

The car was fancier than what you were used to, state of the art with butterscotch colored leather seats so supple and smooth that it felt like you were being hugged by the passenger side chair. The windows were made of thicker glass and you guessed that they must be bulletproof given how sturdy they looked, not to mention they were also darker than average so no one could see into the vehicle, but you could see out. The car was four doors and was made by a European company that you'd never heard of, but you were sure it was expensive. The car probably cost more than the entire inventory of "Please Don't Die" and the building the shop inhabited.

This is weird. You think to yourself, squeezing the leather seat in your hand.

Most of the "friends" your brother introduced you to were as down on their luck as Darren and just as eager to ask for a loan from anyone they could. You'd never met one that could afford a new car let alone a car that looked like it should be owned by the wealthiest man in New York City.

Your frown deepens as you try to figure out where the two of you are going and who it is Darren wants you to meet.

Truthfully, Darren was acting like you didn't hate surprises, you did. Every time your brother dropped by unannounced made you furious. You'd told him over and over again to call first, but no matter what you did each time he showed up without so much as a text.

You sigh audibly. "I just want to be prepared for wherever it is we're going."

"And I told you it's a surprise." His hands tighten on the wheel as if you're annoying him, before he glances over at you with a tight smile. "Come on sissy, it's like you don't even trust me."

The word "trust" makes you frown at him and drags you back to your apartment thirty minutes ago when Ben told you that you were stupid and "too trusting." You didn't understand why Ben got so mad at you going with Darren.

He's my brother, what did Ben think was going to happen? And why was he so angry?

You cross your arms over your chest and lean back into the plush seat.

Who did Ben think he was? He's not my dad! And I am not just some stupid little ditzy girl who needs a big strong man to protect me! I am a grown woman who has survived this long without someone like him butting into all of my business.

The more you sat there in the car, the more your frown deepens, and the more angry you became. You didn't understand why he treated you that way when you hadn't done anything to warrant his temper.

He's just a temperamental petulant child who thinks that he knows everything and that his opinion should be treated with the highest regard!

Usually, you would feel bad about what you had shouted at Ben about his old team and about his son, but not right now. You didn't understand why he was getting so angry and why he cared so much about what you were doing with your brother.

Does Ben really think that Darren would do anything to hurt me?

The whiplash that Ben kept putting you through where he seemed to care and then he didn't was getting old quick…

"Do whatever the fuck you want. It's not like I give a shit about her."

You wince as Ben's words ring in your ears making something stick in your chest. They had hurt more than you thought they would, maybe because you were starting to care about Ben and you thought that he was starting to care about you.

Because what other reason would he walk with you to work, pick you up, and bring you coffee sometimes? And why did he seem to be almost worried when Darren suggested that you meet his friend?

But he doesn't care about you. He's made that much perfectly clear.

You chew the inside of your cheek contemplating the conversation the two of you shared. Maybe I did say some things that were a little harsh, but Ben was being a total dick and he deserved what I said!

A flash of Ben and you tangled in one another this morning comes roaring back bringing a wave of heat flashing through you. Your cheeks flush and the wildflowers growing on the opposite side of the bridge outside of the car all flare bright pink in the sunlight when Darren drives the car past them.

You had been so close to kissing him, so close to letting yourself sink into his warmth and lose yourself in all he was. He was so strong and broad and warm in all the right ways, not to mention he looked really cute this morning with his eyes still a little hazy from sleep and his dark hair falling forward into his face, mused just slightly against the pillow. You could still feel his body laying on top of yours, but the weight wasn't oppressive, it was perfect, like a weighted blanket that made your anxiety fade away. The feeling of his powerful chest beneath the palms of your hands as you dragged them up to tangle his hair ghosts through your body.

Despite Ben's gruff exterior those few soft moments this morning you wished hadn't slipped through your fingertips, you wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel what it was like for him to kiss you softly as if he wished to savor you. The one you'd shared outside your apartment was hungry and frenzied, but you had a feeling deep down in your gut that the kiss Ben and you would have shared on the couch would have been different. The moment felt different too. The way he looked at you, the way he smiled when he noticed the apple tree flowering, and the way he held you close to him with care.

No. I am not going to think about any of that right now. He was a jerk for no reason and even if he wasn't Ben said he didn't care about me. Which is exactly what I've been trying to say since I first met him, he doesn't want to date me, he just wants to fuck me and move on.

When you'd walked out of your bedroom in a fresh outfit, Ben had already gone, and Jake had answered you back saying that it was okay for you to take the day off. Jake rarely said that it was a bad idea, he had said that he would "miss you" but instead of that filling you with warmth it did absolutely nothing. You figured that it was because of the fight Ben and you had. The anger, frustration, hurt, and rage was still currently swirling around your head and whenever it came to a peak you'd get a flash of how good it felt to wake up with Ben on top of you.

"How did you meet your friend?" You ask to keep your mind from wandering back to Ben.

"The usual."

"Usual, meaning?"

"Met him at Richie's poker game, we hit it off." Darren adjusts the radio and flips it to an 80's rock song that you can't remember the name of.

You sigh. "You owe him money don't you?"

"No I don't!" Darren clams up, his hands tightening on the wheel for a moment. "Well, just a little…"

Typical, just typical. Should have brought my damn checkbook.

"I thought you said that you didn't need money?" You pinch the bridge of your nose doing another mental calculation of how much you could give your brother.

"I don't, we worked something out." Darren answers vaguely, turning off of the expressway and onto a side street.

The buildings outside the window begin to be more and more spaced out, becoming more industrial. Each one you pass is fenced in and are quickly changing into giant warehouses and desolate streets. There aren't any other cars on the road with you and you hadn't seen another person in a few minutes.

"Well this looks… murdery." You frown at another empty warehouse with rusting sides and a roof that’s caved in.

Why are we all the way out here?

"It's not murdery, it's just eclectic. Don't be so judgmental." Darren rolls his eyes at you as he makes a left turn in front of a warehouse that is larger than the others, but in much better shape.

It's fenced with barbed wire swirling along the top of the chain links, but there's a man standing at the gate with a leather jacket, sunglasses, and a clip board, the first person you’d seen outside of the car since Darren got off the expressway. He gestures for Darren to roll down the window with the clipboard.

"Hey there Joe." Darren says smoothly, leaning his elbow on the window frame, the picture of ease.

"Darren." Joe states eyes falling on where you're sitting in the passenger seat. "That her?"

"Yeah this is my sister." Darren flashes the usual smile, the one you've seen him use countless times when he needs to schmooze someone or close a "deal."

"Hi." You say awkwardly, smiling at the man identified as Joe.

Something about this feels wrong. Why does he know who I am? I thought I was just meeting Darren's friend?

All Joe does is frown at you. "Doesn't look like a supe."

You turn to look at your brother surprised. Darren knew that it was something you didn't share with everyone, that it was something you only revealed when you had to.

Darren shrugs it off with a laugh. "She is, trust me."

"Hmm." Joe grunts. "And you're late. The boss doesn't like it when people are late."

"Sorry it was her fault. Told her to put on something nice and you know how women are." Darren is completely in his element, gesturing with his hands, and smoothing down any ruffled feathers.

But the whole situation makes you more uncertain.

Who was "the boss?" Is that Darren's friend? And why the fuck did he tell Joe that I was a supe?

You pull on the end of your long sleeved blouse nervously. Darren hadn’t let you leave the house before approving your outfit and finally when you'd walked out of your bedroom wearing a long sleeved green with white polka dot blouse and a pair of dark jeans and your converse he had said that you were "presentable" but then insisted that you leave your hair down.

It made you feel like you were about to go to a job interview. You didn't understand why Darren made you change so many times or why he cared what you wore to meet another one of his skeevy friends. They never seemed to dress up to meet you, so why should you dress up to meet them? Not to mention Darren wasn't wearing anything different than his usual outfit.

He was wearing his black army jacket over a pair of black ripped jeans and a Meatloaf t-shirt. He'd changed out the gauges in his ears for black pointed spikes and the two rings in Darren's right eyebrow were now bright blue. Darren runs his hand over his buzzed hair, giving you a flash of his onyx skull ring on his thumb.

"Yeah I get it, my old lady does the same thing." Joe eyes you appreciatively and winks. "Cleans up nice though."

"Thank you." You reply dryly.

Joe waves Darren through and as he does, you see a gun in a holster hanging against the left side of his chest under his leather jacket.

"Darren what is this? Why was he armed? And why the fuck did you tell him I was a supe?" You shout at your brother as soon as he rolls up the window.

"Oh well, my friend is kind of important and Joe is just some extra security." Darren pulls the car into a parking spot just outside of the building. He says it like you're overreacting, but you didn't think you were. This entire situation was suspicious. "I told him you were a supe because he's just trying to keep my friend safe. He asked an honest question and I didn't want to lie to him."

Bullshit. Darren doesn't give a fuck about lying to other people.

Sometimes you even wondered if Darren gave a fuck about lying to you. That thought was usually brushed away by the reassertion that Darren was your brother and you trusted what he said.

But everything about this situation made you feel odd. You didn’t understand why Darren had to bring you here to meet his friend or why his friend wanted to meet you in the first place or why his friend seemed to need so much security. You'd never had one of Darren's friends ask to meet you before, most of the time you just showed up to meet Darren and they were there scratching something in public that they shouldn't be.

"Come on Darren, you know how much I hate telling people that I'm a supe-"

"Relax. It's already done, let's just move on." He waves a hand, ignoring you.

"Please, tell me what I'm doing here. This is more than me just meeting your friend."

"Hey." He brings his hand down on yours where it rests on the middle console. "I know you're nervous, but I would never do anything to hurt you." Darren's blue eyes are wide with sincerity. "Do you really think I would?"

"Well-" You bite the inside of your cheek.

He's your brother. He wouldn’t hurt you. You say it to reassure yourself, but it doesn’t stick completely.

"Come on." Darren sighs it as if he's genuinely upset that you thought he would. "I'm your brother, I'm your only family and I love you sis. I just want to do what's best for you. And my friend is really nice and he keeps saying that he wants to meet you. Not to mention he's loaded and I know that you struggle with things like that and he said that he'd help you out."

"What?" You sputter in surprise. "Why would he do that? Why would you talk to him about me?

"Because he's a nice guy and I like to brag about how amazing you are to everyone I meet." Darren smiles. "Now come on I don't want to keep Eli waiting and we're already late."

"Eli?"

It was the first time that Darren had used his friend's name and somewhere at the back of your mind it rang a bell.

"My friend. You're gonna love him. Come on I don't want to keep him waiting." Darren repeats as he gets out of the car first, but you stay in it for a second absorbing the entire situation.

You had half a mind to text Butcher or Annie, something about the whole situation made alarm bells go off in your head, and as mean as Ben had been, you wondered if he was right, if this was something you should be worried about.

And weirder still a piece of you wished that Ben was here with you. You didn't know why, but you did.

Instead of calling or texting someone, you discretely unlock your phone and check that the tracking software Annie and you downloaded to keep tabs on one another when you moved into the city was on. No one else knew about it, in fact the app was disguised as a period tracker on your home screen so if someone were to take your phone all they would see is another general app and they'd immediately pass over it. 

You'd never had to use it before in an emergency situation. Annie and you both used it when you went on a date with someone you barely knew as an extra precaution in case the guy turned out to be a freak or a secret cannibal. The horror stories you saw on the internet made you worry about that and the last thing you wanted to do was go on a date with a guy who had a taste for human flesh or wanted to turn you into a skin suit.

You open the passenger side door of the car and step out into the sunshine, tucking your phone into your pocket back pocket while looking up at the building. It glints a dull gray in the morning light, but the general appearance of the building does little to make you feel better about the whole situation. Memories of all the other times you met Darren's friends came flitting back across your mind, all of which occurred at a fast-food restaurant or a random poker game or a bar. Not to mention you'd never had one of his friends specifically ask to meet you before and you'd never met one in the middle of nowhere at a warehouse that was fenced in and patrolled by armed guards.

Darren adjusts the collar of his jacket flipping it down before he looks back at you. "Come on."

"Darren I don't think-"

Darren looks up to the sky with a heavy sigh as if your apprehension is annoying him. "Sis come on." He walks closer to you. "That asshole, Ben, is in your head. Are you really going to trust some random guy you live with or me? Your own flesh and blood?"

"Well-"

"Have I ever put you in a dangerous position before?"

"No."

"Exactly. I care about you so much and I would never do anything to hurt you." He takes your hand, eyes soft in the morning light. "I love you. You're the only family I have left that matters. And I promise if anything in there makes you uncomfortable we can leave. Just say the word."

"Really?"

"Yes." Darren nods once. "Fuck, sissy I'm not taking you here against your will. If you don't want to go in we don’t have to, but you said that you would come with me and you never break your word. Not to mention it would make me happy."

He's my brother. He loves me. He would never hurt me. It's going to be okay.

You let out a soft breath and squeeze his hand. "Okay."

Darren leads you to the thick metal door and opens it for you so you can walk in first and as soon as you do, you stop mid-step. The inside of the warehouse is covered with tables, but they're not empty, each table holds more weed plants than you can fit inside your entire apartment. The room is so green that you have to squint for a moment for your eyes to adjust from all the brightness outside. There are large fluorescent lights hanging above each table trying to give the plants the sunlight they need, but the plants don’t look good.

The plants are wilting, dying, and some have a strange black substance that fans out over the leaves in a vein-like pattern, choking the green that remains. Dead plants in piles are stacked on the edges of the room, already succumbing to whatever the hell was wrong with them.

You'd never seen a plant have something like that before. Even the energy given off by the plants is not the usual one you feel when surrounded by so many, it feels wrong, sickly, almost oppressive. You've never felt something that felt so wrong from any of the plants that you had encountered in the past.

You walk up to one of the tables, examining the black veins that are creeping along the gentle bend of the leaves up from the stalks. "What happened?"

"No idea." Darren shrugs. An unlit cigarette is perched between his lips and he's searching through his jacket pockets for his lighter. The one he'd had for years that looked like a silver dragon. "Eli said that he came back from somewhere and he found them like this."

"Oh."

"Do you think you can fix them?"

"What?" You turn to look at him incredulously. "This is weed. This is illegal why the fuck would I fix this?"

"Come on. Don’t be so high and mighty." Darren groans. "They're plants. You've told me countless times that you hate it when plants suffer. Well all of these are suffering!"

"Not the same thing!"

"You're telling me if Newton's dad's cornfield was suffering you wouldn't wave a hand and work some of that plant lover shit to save it?"

"That cornfield is his family's livelihood this is-"

"It's Eli's livelihood. It's how he makes so much money!"

"Is this why you brought me here?" You shout crossing your arms over your chest. "To fix all of these?"

"No. I wanted you to meet my friend and he's waiting for us so we might as well fucking go." Darren grouses, turning to walk up a rickety staircase that leads to the second level of the warehouse.

But you don’t believe him, because why else would Darren bring you to a place with a plant related problem, not to mention why would Darren get so angry when you refused to.

Did he really think I was going to fix an entire warehouse full of weed plants? The last thing I'm gonna do is help Eli cultivate his crop.

You weren't surprised that Darren's friend wasn't as above board as everyone else. You knew that your brother tended to get involved with people who weren't as law abiding, not to mention your brother's moral compass didn't always point North when it came to other people, but you didn't think that he would involve you in something like this.

Occasionally the moral boundaries you had were pushed when it came to what you did for Butcher, but at least he respected you when you said no.

Darren continues to stomp up the stairs angrily, another reason why you believed that Darren was lying to you.

He knew that if he mentioned any of this I would never come with him.

He throws open the door at the top of the stairs not bothering to knock and you follow behind him, fuming.

The room just inside is not what you were expecting. The entire wall to the left is made entirely of glass giving whomever is inhabiting the room an amazing view of the water beyond, water that you didn't realize was so close when Darren pulled up to the building. There's a giant wooden antique desk at the back at the room with a large maroon leather desk chair sitting behind it and two smaller leather chairs in front of the desk. A few bookshelves line the non-windowed walls, but there's no one else in the room, just Darren and you.

Where's his friend?

Darren sighs and exhales a breath of smoke, before he turns to look at you with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry sis. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I know that you've always been more on the straight and narrow than me and I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"What?" You weren't expecting him to sound so sorry, if anything you thought that your brother would have started yelling at you all over again. Why is he apologizing.

"Yeah." He rubs a free hand over the top of his buzzed hair sheepishly. "I shouldn't have gotten so mad about it. Of course you don’t have to do anything you don't want to do."

"Thank you." You sigh. "And I'm sorry. I do hate to see plants suffer, but that out there is different than what I do regularly."

"I know. And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable" Darren grabs your hand with his free hand, before he looks around the room. "Guess Eli is also running a little late huh?" He smiles and it reassures you that you've been forgiven.

"Yeah. Weird that he's not here. Especially when Joe said he was waiting for us and-"

"Oh shit!" Darren interrupts you, lets go of your hand and smacks himself on the forehead. "I completely forgot."

"Forgot what?"

He's frantically patting down his pockets looking for something. "I was supposed to call Richie. I told him I would and I-" He continues to check his pockets, the cigarette still burning between his lips. Darren talks around it. "Can I borrow your phone real quick? I think I left mine in the car."

"But-"

"Please it'll take like, two seconds. I told him that I'd meet up with him later and I want to take you to lunch after this to make up for all that shit." Darren nods his head back towards the door where the tables of weed plants are.

"Oh you don’t have to take me to lunch Darren, I can-"

"No." Darren smiles. "I want to. It’s the least I can do, driving you all the way out here and making you meet Eli."

"Um-" You look around the empty office expecting Eli to materialize out of nowhere. "Sure. But please make it quick. I don’t want to be in here alone with this random dude."

"He's not a random dude, he's my friend. And he's a gentleman, definitely a better person that that dick you have at your apartment." Darren waves a hand before he takes your phone. "You'll be fine. And we can go wherever you want for lunch."

You frown at Darren's comment about Ben as he disappears out the door and leaves you in the large office.

Honestly you did think that Ben could be a dick at times, but there were other times when he was almost sweet, well, sort of at least.

Not before he left today.

You think about what you yelled at him, about him needing people, but just wanting to push them away. That you were sure about. You believed that Ben did need people, but he had so many trust issues about everything that had happened in the past that it made him suspicious and not want to admit it to himself. That and you figured if he believed he was such a "manly man" he thought that it was ridiculous and feminine to admit that he needed someone.

Which again, you thought was stupid because you'd always seen emotional maturity in a man as an attractive trait. You liked when men could be vulnerable around you, you liked when they were honest, and you liked when they had the confidence and security to break around you so you could help them. And you found yourself wanting to help Ben, even though you thought you shouldn't.

He's not a bad guy, he's just got a ton of trust issues, machoistic ideas, and an inability to open up to anyone.

You tap your fingertip against your bicep where they were crossed in front of your chest and make your way to one of the bookshelves to look at the books. Some were antiques, others were versions of classics that you had read when you were a child, but you were sure that each volume was worth more than the apartment building you lived in. Some of the spines were so faded that you could just barely make out the flecked golden lettering and others were in another language that you couldn't understand.

Honestly, you could see yourself sitting in the big maroon chair curled up with one of these books, reading through the book with a large cup of tea while looking out over the water and admiring the iconic New York Skyline across the bay. It was a nice office, but your mind began to drift back to the quiet moments Ben and you shared a few days ago when you curled up on the couch beside him and read through your current obsession while he sat with the paper on the other side. It was nice and you were surprised that the two of you could share such a quiet moment together without ripping each other's heads off.

Maybe I should call and apologize. You think to yourself while you stroke your fingertip down one of the spines. I shouldn’t have said those things about his team or his son. And yes maybe he shouted some things at me too, but maybe he also feels bad and he's just not man enough to tell me that he's sorry. Or maybe he doesn’t give a fuck and he couldn’t care less about me.

The words he snarled at your brother, vibrate through your head again.

"Do whatever the fuck you want. It's not like I give a shit about her…"

You hear someone come through the door and because you expect it to be Darren, you don’t turn to look at him.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting darling." The voice says in a warm and low rumble, the ends tilting in an accent that you can't place. But your entire body freezes, because you knew that voice.

You slowly turn to look at the man who just entered the room eyes widening.

"Ms. Worthington. It is so nice to see you again. How was the drive?" Elijah Black asks with a pleasant smile, one eyebrow raised at you. "Not too much traffic I hope."

Elijah Black looks almost exactly the same way he did at the fundraiser a few days ago and the use of the fake last name you used only reminds you that he hadn't forgotten meeting you. His greying black hair curls behind his ears in waves that have been slicked back over his head. More of his sun-kissed golden skin is revealed to you, showing tattoos that curl up his muscular arms and disappear into the rolled up sleeves of his navy dress shirt. The top two buttons are unbuttoned revealing more of his muscular chest and the dark ink that swirls up from his pecs and licks up onto his collar bones. He's wearing a gold chain to offset the dark swirls of the tattoos, but he still is built like a body-builder, bigger than Ben across, not taller, but taller than you.

Oh fuck. This is not good.

You reach for your phone in your back pocket, prepared to send an emergency text to Butcher and Annie, the one you should have sent before when you were outside, but talked yourself out of. But then you remember that Darren still has your phone and he's not back yet.

"Mr. Black. Funny seeing you here." You clear the fear from your voice, fighting the shudder of fear when you watch Elijah's eyes trace up your figure, clinging to places that make you wish that you hadn’t worn something so tight.

"Please call me Elijah." He purrs, taking another step forward into the room. The door is closed behind him and Darren is gone. "I was disappointed when you used a fake name the other night. I was hoping to get to know you better." Elijah almost looks a little hurt, before his lips twitch into a smirk. "Of course Soldier Boy also seemed to be opposed to the idea, but he's not here now is he?"

"He's outside actually, just give him a second."

"You’re a terrible liar." Elijah chuckles. "I'd hate to see you try to play poker."

"Well give me a chance and I'm sure I'll surprise you."

Elijah is blocking the only exit. The windows could be an option, but it would mean that you’d have to throw something at it or you'd have to throw him through the window. You were strong, but not strong enough to do something like that. Not to mention you had a feeling that Elijah was a supe. The way he carried himself with a careful confidence seemed dangerous.

"Oh I can’t wait to see just how many surprises you have." His eyes trace up and down your body again in a way that makes your throat tighten and a wave of revulsion prickle over your skin. Even though you're wearing a long sleeved shirt and pants, you feel naked under his gaze.

"Darren said that Soldier Boy and you had a fight." Elijah taps his fingers against the edge of the wooden desk. "I hope he didn't hurt you."

Why did Darren tell Elijah that we had a fight? And where the fuck did my brother go?

"That's none of your business-" You say taking a step back moving around the back of the desk, preparing to run the other way and make a break for the door.

Elijah shrugs.  "I like to know everything about the women I get involved with."

"We're not involved. I don’t know a fucking thing about you." You spit backing away.

This is bad. This is very bad.

There weren't any plants in the room and you didn’t have any seeds with you. The other option would be the plants out in the warehouse, but each time you tried to reach for them, all you could feel was the sickly energy they had, and honestly it was making you feel a little bit nauseous. You’d never encountered that before, usually plants made you feel stronger, but they were all so sick that it was overwhelming your senses. You wondered if Elijah planned that.

"Well let's change that. I'd love for you to get to know me better." Elijah continues to move forward through the room slowly. "It’s a pity that the two of you had a spat, especially because you seem to care so much about him and he seems to care about you, and especially  because what he said must have hurt you, but I suppose it's better for me."

Ben doesn’t care about me, but Elijah doesn’t have to know that. If he knows who Ben really is, then he knows how dangerous he is, and if Elijah thinks that Ben will come to get me, that might be everything I need to make him back off.

"Why is that?" You inch around the table with Elijah following after you.

He's still smiling as if he believes that he's won.

"Because he won't come to save you if he hates you. Darren told me that the things you said to him were quite cruel. And I guess none of your team will be coming either."

Darren heard what we yelled at each other and he just pretended not to. He knew that Ben and I had a fight. He knows that Ben is Soldier Boy. Why would Darren do this? He's my brother-

"Of course my team will come to get me. They're on their way right now. And if I were you I'd let me go now, before this becomes an even bigger problem than it is." The lie isn’t completely out of your mouth before Elijah starts to laugh at you.

"No. They're all in Boston, including Soldier Boy." Elijah's smirk grows like the cat who caught the canary. "A thing about those anonymous tips, none of them seem to be that helpful. But Butcher wanted to catch that electric buffoon so badly I thought I might as well give him a push, not in the right direction unfortunately. I was hoping that Solider Boy and you would catch him the other night. He's been causing some trouble for me. Someone like him is bad for business, especially when I'm expanding into auto-motives."

"Oh no. The drug business isn't working out for you? So sad." You snark eyes flicking to the window for a minute and wondering if you could grab a chair and throw it out before he stopped you.

Elijah looks delighted. "I see you've noticed the problem. A rival of mine broke in and poisoned them, and instead of throwing away that much product and wasting more money I thought of you."

"What about me?"

"Well, your brother mentioned something in a game about his sister being able to 'make plants grow.' Honestly, your brother has a problem keeping his mouth shut about lots of things, but I was intrigued. He didn't see the value of such a gift as I did. And when Darren accumulated such a large sum of debt after the game I offered a deal."

"And what deal is that?" You take another step back, not looking away from Elijah.

"You."

Your entire body goes cold. "He wouldn't do that. My brother wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn’t give me to you as fucking payment!"

Because that was what Elijah was suggesting, he was suggesting that Darren would use you to pay off his gambling debts. Darren had done some shitty things in the past, but this seemed to be too much for him.

He wouldn’t do that to me. I'm his sister not some stranger. Darren is a lot of things, but that is too cold to consider.

"Oh my darling." Elijah sighs and throws you a pitying look. "He did. Do you really think he had to call someone? That he left his phone in the car? He needed your phone so you wouldn't call Butcher." Elijah looks at you as if you're a kicked puppy in need of solace. "But don't worry. I always take care of my toys, especially ones that are as beautiful as you."

"If you touch me I'm going to-" You begin to snarl at him

"You've got spirit." He smiles continuing to move towards you as you back away towards the door. "It always makes it more fun. More of a challenge to break."

"Stay away from me."

"I can't wait for you to beg for me to touch you."

"I mean it." You leap backward to grab the doorhandle, but as you do Elijah lunges across the room, grabbing your right arm to pull you away from the door.

He's still holding on and you bring your foot up between his legs hoping to find something soft, but when you do Elijah only laughs and tightens his grip on your arm and you hear a high-pitched snap that vibrates through your body.

At first you don’t understand what the sound was, but a wave of pain surges up and you realize the high pitched snap was the sound of your right arm breaking. The nausea comes roaring back, but the pain is almost excruciating as you try to pull your now broken arm from his grasp.

"Don't worry." Elijah purrs again. "I'm going to take good care of you."

And it's the last thing you hear as everything goes dark.

Soldier Boy POV

4 Days Later…

Ben leaned back in the faded floral cloth armchair in the corner of the crowded motel room, his head thrown against the back of the chair, as he takes a hit from the blunt in between his thumb and forefinger.  The other people in the room continue to bicker and shout at one another pouring over a map and a laptop on the lone table pressed under the window in the corner of the room and it was ruining his buzz.

It had been four days since Ben had been shoved into the back of a car and taken to Boston, four days of listening to Butcher bitch and moan about why none of them could locate the electric supe, and four days since Ben had last seen you.

He exhales a cloud of smoke remembering the conversation the two of you had before he left. Honestly, he hadn’t meant to make you cry and he had no idea where any of what he shouted at you came from, but he was just so damn frustrated about the way your asshole brother was treating you and how damn trusting you were that he just exploded.

Everything he told you, he thought was obvious and something that you could see for yourself. And yet you stood there, eyes wide with tears, while he shouted those things at you and then you had the audacity to yell back at him.

He'd never met anyone so completely clueless and trusting before and it was infuriating. He hated that you let that asshole use you, hated how submissive you got whenever your brother brought up the fact that he was your only family, and Ben hated how you couldn’t see what was directly in front of your face.

All he'd wanted to do was tell you to be careful, and instead he insulted you. And then he'd had to listen to you cry to yourself quietly in your room like you also hadn't insulted him.

Why the fuck do I give a shit? She's just being damn hormonal and never wants to listen to anyone, but herself.

Ben's frown deepens when he remembers what you shouted back at him. He'd never allowed anyone to speak to him that way, then again no one had ever had the balls to and he respected that. Well, respected it, but wished you would fucking stop.

Worse still was that Ben didn't understand why he couldn't stop thinking about you. He'd never had that happen before, usually all it took to get a woman out of his mind was a quick fuck with whatever walked by, but that hadn't worked when he tried it last night.

He'd changed his location on tinder and gone out with a girl who looked nothing like you, and seemed to be the stupidest person Ben had ever met. This time he had bought her dinner, and Ben could feel himself zoning out while she talked about nothing at all. He thought of you while she talked, thought about how you always seemed to speak with purpose and how when you spoke about things they always seemed interesting and important. Not to mention he liked it when you talked because he wanted to learn more about you. You were so different than the women he'd met over the years and it was refreshing. Ben didn't like that he felt that way. He'd never been one for talking, he thought it was fucking boring, but for some reason talking to you was different.

The only time his date shut up was when Ben took her back to her apartment and yet on the walk home all Ben could think of is if you were okay. He didn't like that he had left you with your brother and he had been debating to tell Butcher to fuck off and follow Darren and you, but he hadn't wanted to after you said all that shit about his son and his old team.

Why the fuck do I give a shit what happens to her? All we do is live together. I'm not fucking her, I'm not-

He wasn't used to worrying about someone else, but he was worried about you and again Ben didn’t like it. He didn't like it so much that he almost walked back around the block to his previous date's apartment to see if she was ready to go for round three, but he didn't. Instead he went back to the motel room and tried to sleep, but he couldn't.

Over the past four days, each time Annie's phone rang or chirped he perked up hoping that it was you on the other line and every time it wasn't he seemed to sink further into the chair.

Ben puffed on the joint, but it wasn't as soothing as it had been in the past. The buzz wasn't taking the edge off the thoughts he had of you and it only pissed him off more.

Ben hadn't ever met anyone like you before. You were different and most of the time he never understood you, but he liked that about you. He liked that you were different than all the other women he had met in the past and he liked that you seemed to surprise him. He also thought that was why he liked talking to you, because he wanted to learn more about you so he could understand more.

Ben had never wanted to do that with anyone before, most of the time he just moved on, but not you. As much as he hated to admit it, it was making him want to spend more time around you, because you were interesting, odd, but interesting.

Especially because you kept refusing to sleep with him. It was a point of pride for him, being able to work whoever he wanted into bed with him, but not you. He had tried time and time again to get you to sleep with him using every trick in the book and yet, nothing.

Ben's mind flashes back to the other night at the party when you told him that you wouldn’t sleep with him was because you thought he "threw women away." It struck a nerve more than he thought it would when you said that to him. In fact, women had said similar things to him in the past, but he'd only laughed in their faces, but when you said it to him, it hit something deep inside that he thought he had locked away a long time ago. And weirder still Ben didn’t like it when you said that he wasn't "one for relationships" as if he couldn’t do it if he really tried.

I can do anything.

Ben downs the scotch in his other hand considering what you said and thinks of Countess. He thought that he'd loved her, he'd been in a relationship with her, an open one, but still it was something.

He remembered when you said that sex meant something to you and Ben had never met someone who felt that way before. Someone who thought that sex was special and should be shared with someone you loved. It was weird for him to consider that and Ben supposed that the only way he was ever going to have sex with you was if you fell in love with him or if he fell in love with you.

Yeah, like that'll fucking happen.

He rolled his eyes at the thought. He didn't think that he'd ever be able to fall in love with someone like you. Not with someone who infuriated him as much as you did and was so different than him in every way. Not when you made him angry and annoyed all the time because you refused to listen, talked back, and yelled at him.

The memory of you in his arms when he woke up four days ago surfaces and Ben swallows. He was going to kiss you, and you were going to let him, he knew it.

When he'd kissed you outside of your apartment the first night he came home with you, he'd only done it to make Mike leave you alone, but he hadn't expected to like it so much. And he'd wanted to kiss you badly when he woke up next to you. He thought you looked cute, your body soft against his, your hair flaring out over the pillow, your eyes wide, and your lips supple and welcoming. He'd wanted to trace his thumb over your lower lip, wanted to taste your lips again, and lose himself in everything you were.

I sound like a fucking pussy.

Ben sighed to himself again and closed his eyes, hoping to drown out his thoughts of you with the conversation Butcher and Annie were having over the laptop. MM was cleaning a gun and glaring at Ben while Kimiko and Frenchie were talking in rapid fire sign language that Ben couldn't understand and he wished you were there to translate or at least there to talk to him.

It's always so boring when she's not here.

Ben froze, thumb and middle finger pressed tightly on the blunt. He'd never done that before, never wanted a woman around to talk to, but that was what he meant. Even with Countess it was different. He wanted her around for a good fuck but they didn't talk about anything important and they certainly didn't sit around on the couch and watch his old films and he never sat with her while she read a book.

Ben's mind went back to the other day when you'd sat with him quietly on the other side of the couch, your gaze so focused on the pages of a book that you hadn't seen him watch you read. He noticed that when you did, you sometimes stopped breathing, like you'd forgotten that you needed to and whatever was in the book was more important than oxygen and that you sometimes formed the words with your lips as you did. Ben didn't know why he thought it was so interesting when you read, but he couldn’t look away. Sometimes during the day he'd have some free time from Butcher and he'd walk past the plant shop to see what you were doing and would see you sitting at the counter reading to yourself. He always thought about going inside, but you looked so peaceful that he didn’t want to interrupt you.

It was better than when he found you talking with that idiot Jake. Ben rolled his eyes to himself at the thought of your boss.

He definitely wants to fuck her. Ben sighs crossing his legs. And she wants him to. She shouldn't. She needs someone that'll actually be able to handle her. That guy's built like a fucking twig, not to mention he's not a supe.

Ben's jaw tightened with the thought of walking in on the two of you fucking in the apartment. You had made a rule about Ben not having any women there, but you'd never said anything about you bringing back someone. You hadn't yet and Ben hoped that you wouldn't bring Jake there anytime soon. His grip on the arm of the chair tightens to the point that he pierces through inside to the stuffing. Ben wasn't sure he'd be able to go into the apartment to listen to the two of you, let alone smell him all over you when you were done.

It was bad enough when you'd come back to the apartment smelling like the plant guy and Ben didn't want to experience what it was like after you'd had sex with him and have to smell him all over you. That also made him a little confused. Ben had fucked plenty of women who had significant others, women who threw themselves at him, and he hadn't cared about sharing. Not to mention Ben didn't get jealous, ever, whenever Countess had messed around with someone else at Herogasm Ben would watch, but with you… The sound of the arm of the chair breaking in his hand is audible when he thinks about someone else touching you, but no one else notices.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I care? She's infuriating! And she's always so damn angry with me all the time that I'm pretty sure she'd never let me kiss her ever again let alone touch-

"Hello?" Annie held her phone up to her ear interrupting Ben's train of thought. "Oh hey Jake what's-"

Ben perked up at the sound of Jake's name with a frown. He hoped again that while he was gone you wouldn't sleep with him.

"I'm worried, I haven't heard anything from her and she didn't come in for her shift this morning." Ben heard Jake say on the other side of the line referring to you.

His muscles tensed slightly. Ben hadn’t wanted to leave you there with your brother, something about the guy made him antsy. Ben had met men like him in the past, men who used things like family and love to manipulate people into caring about him. He knew that  Darren was your brother and you were just so kind and open that you would do whatever he asked without question. 

Darren knew that. He knew exactly what to say to her to get her to give in.

Ben wondered how much you’d let Darren get away with in the past and quietly made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let Darren get anything out of you ever again for as long as Ben was around.

"Do you think she's running late?" Annie asks diplomatically, but Ben doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows scrunch together and the worried look she throws Hughie who is sitting across the table looking up at her.

"Not three hours. I tried to text her and when she texted back the message was weird." Jake presses.

"What do you mean weird?"

"Well, she used a lot of emoji's and she never does that."

Ben watched Annie's smile pull down into a frown. "Huh. Here I'm going to try to call her and I'll call you back okay."

"Sure."

Annie hangs up the phone and scrolls her finger on the screen to find your number.

"Everything alright?" Hughie asks leaning back in his chair.

"I'm not sure." Annie puts the phone up to her ear again.

Ben can hear the ringing on the other side of the line and he finds himself leaning forward, waiting for you to answer.

"Come on. Pick up the phone." Annie whispers while tapping her foot on the ground.

When you don't she opens the text thread of messages the two of you have and texts you. When you moved to the city the two of you had come up with phrases and words that you used to warn each other of danger. Annie insisted on it. Two single women living in a big city meant that the two of you were targets even if you were supes and as capable as the two of you felt handling your own, it was a comfort to have someone else.

Annie: Hey babe! I'm thinking about dying my hair blue again. Thoughts?

She waited patiently staring at the screen. Ben couldn't help but watch her with interest, he didn't know what was going on, only that Annie seemed to be worried. Something that he had never seen her be.

You: Hey girl! I think you should go for it! You always rock it.

Ben hears Annie's sharp intake of breath and rises from his chair understanding that something is wrong.

"Fuck." Annie mutters.

In middle school as an act of rebellion, Annie had tried to dye her hair blue with a box of cheap hair dye the two of you bought at the pharmacy in town while Annie's mother was away. But when it was done, something had obviously gone wrong. The dye must have been old or maybe just too cheap to do any good because it had dyed Annie's hair a vomit colored green. And to make matters worse, Annie had a terrible allergic reaction. It was that day the two of you realized that she was allergic to the chemicals most hair dyes. Her entire head had swelled up and she had to go to the Emergency Room.

Not to mention when Annie's mother showed up she told Annie she "deserved it" for doing that to her hair. The only way the Doctors could help her was to wash her hair out with bleach and then when that didn't work they cut it all off.

Annie had to wear itchy wigs for months after.

The correct response you were supposed to have was:

"Fuck no. Do you want to shave your head again?"

"Butcher-" Annie says raising her eyes from her phone.

"Yeah?" He doesn't look up from the map in front of him, trying to find out where the supe is hiding.

"We have to go back." She touches his shoulder to get his attention.

"Why?" Butcher looks at her annoyed, and he was. He had devoted a lot of man power to finding this supe and a lot of his own personal time. The last thing he was going to do is to come up empty handed.

Annie says your name. "Is in trouble."

"What do you mean?" Ben asks.

"She didn't show up to work today and she never just skips." Annie explains. "And we have code messages we made and she answered wrong." She holds out her phone to show Butcher the text thread.

“Hair dye?” Butcher still doesn’t look convinced.

“She knows I’m allergic. And she didn’t show up to work today.”

“Maybe she slept in-“ Butcher didn't want to drive all the way back to NYC for no reason, not when he believed he was close to catching the electric supe.

“She loves that job. And yes maybe she runs late, but she’d never just vanish or not go into work without calling Jake.” Annie pulls her phone back and begins to swipe through.

“What are you doing?” Ben questions. By now he could feel something unfamiliar tightening in his chest, a weird feeling that he couldn't place.

“We share our locations with one another.” Annie replies typing something on her phone. “I just have to find the app and-“ She looks down at the screen for a moment before raising it so Butcher can see. “See look! Why would she be all the way in Brooklyn?” 

“Maybe that’s where her brother took her.” Ben grunts taking another puff from the joint in his fingers, hoping that it will relieve some of the weird tension he was feeling, but it doesn't.

Annie swivels her head around to glare at Ben so fast he gets whiplash. "Wait a minute. Darren's in town? Why didn't you say anything?"

“Yeah. Fucker spent the night four days ago.”

“And you left her with him alone?"

“He was going to take her to meet his friend-”

“For fucks sake Ben, why didn’t you just slather her in honey and tie her to an ant hill?" Annie shouts waving her hands dramatically at him.

Guess she doesn't like him either.

"Well-"

Annie isn't interested in what he has to say, instead she begins to type something on her phone and raises it one final time to her ear.

"Where the fuck is she?" Annie snarls into the phone and it doesn’t take Ben much time to figure out that she's called Darren.

"Who?" The voice of your brother fills the phone and Ben's hands clench together into fists at his sides.

Ben can tell he's lying from just one word and he feels rage begin to replace the odd feeling, licking up against the walls of his chest like an unquenchable fire.

"You know who you fucking leech." Annie spits.

"I don’t know. I took her back to her place after she met my friend. Think they hit it off." Darren sounds casual and Ben can almost imagine the sick smirk on his face.

"If you’re lying, I’m going to roast you alive like the pig you are."

"Oh baby the way you talk to me."

"Darren I’m serious."

"I don’t understand why you’re getting your panties in a wad Annie. She’s fine. I took her back to the plant shop four days ago after she met my friend, because she wanted to go to work. I haven’t heard from her since."

"Darren-" Annie begins to say, but Ben crosses the room so fast he didn't remember moving and snatches the phone from Annie.

"Listen to me you little shit." Ben growls into the phone. "If she's fucking hurt I am going to show you what it's like to be turned inside out."

"Whoa easy there Benny boy I don’t know who the fuck you think you are but-"

"For your sake I hope you're telling the truth, because if you're not there's going to be no where for you to hide from me and there's not going to be enough left of you to wipe up with a tissue." Ben hits the off button on the phone call and as he does he realizes that everyone in the room is staring at him with wide eyes, but he ignores it.

"Oi what the fuck was that mate?" Butcher says, but Ben ignores him.

"You can either give me the fucking keys to your car or I can take them from what's left of you." Ben snarls. "You get to pick."

Butcher eyes him for a minute, considering. "Come on yank, let's go."

A/N: And we have the reappearance of Elijah Black who is just as creepy as he was the first time. Maybe more? Wanted to throw in a little bit of Ben POV because it's a lot of fun to write and he's just so conflicted about everything, not to mention just as clueless as the reader when it comes to how he really feels.

As always thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are not required, but are always appreciated. Feedback is always welcome. If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series please let me know :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog

@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry @ladysparkles78

@spxideyver @zepskies @impala67stellawinchester

@reidtomewinchester @samanthadegaro @glossy01 @nikimisery

@tunnelvisionlove @incandxscents @winchester-stark @samahanta

[femboycatofmystery]

Hey folks let me anti-doomscroll you for a quick second:

Batteries and Solar have been getting cheap very quickly for a long time now and not only is it not stopping, but even at the rates it's at the economics of energy are shifting rapidly. The costs of decarbonizing all forms of electric power are now more down to infrastructure and planning than bulk cost. Compare and contrast to the turn of the century when Solar was so prohibitively expensive that saying we'd meet any meaningful fraction of our needs with photovoltaics would have gotten you laughed out of the room.

Meanwhile, although there are lots of complicated moving parts and a surprising amount of gross politics attached, gas cars are now less good in most ways than electric. Again, at the turn of the century this would have sounded laughable.

Many industries have specific needs that prevent direct conversion to electric, but hydrocarbon fuels are not intrinsically fossil fuels and can be made as a storage medium for solar. Hydrocarbon fuels made in this way are intrinsically carbon neutral. The technology is relatively young, but from a basic math perspective looks very doable.

Inflation actually has more to do with the above than it does with whatever it is the federal reserve does, and pulling down a supply of energy from the sky that requires less infrastructure to get (which is true because that's why it's cheaper now) directly helps.

The current "business as usual" scenarios with global warming are lower than they used to be, because the solar transition is just sort of happening because of economics without a lot of government help. All of the above lower the amount of friction and pushback we face when trying to get the government to do something.

By the way, the Inflation Reduction Act, passed by Joe Biden a couple years back, is explicitly designed to accelerate these trends.

As disastrous as the current projections for global warming are, it's important to keep two things in perspective: first, that they are exactly that, disasters, not the end-of-the-world kind but more sort of the hurricanes and floods kind, and second, while they certainly will get worse before they get better, they can and will get better. What we do now from a policy perspective has an outsize impact on how much flooding, droughts, and other weather-related costs we will face in the decades to come, but "human civilization ends" is not actually particularly likely. It is much more realistic to say "we could have a huge number of climate-related disasters or a moderately increased number, and every little bit of policy work helps move the needle".

We can and we will solve global warming, the question is not if but when, and how many lives can we save or improve by acting as soon as possible. Imagining this as an almost-certain death sentence for the future of humanity and nature is not merely unrealistic, but wildly counterproductive. It is paralyzing and enervating when what will do the most good is planning, policy, and communication.

Remember, despair is not a tool for positive change. Hope is the real language of revolution.

[99k4manii]

𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖣𝗂𝗅𝖿 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋！

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌：age gap! suggestive! Kid megumi! !NOT proof read. rushed part 2 will be wayy better i promise !!

Pt 1.

Toji noticed a big Utah moving van parking right infont of the house next door, it was rare to have new neighbors due to the houses being expensive and most avoided neighborhoods like this, the neighborhood wasnt particularly bad, there just werent much near by markets and stores which made it hard to go shopping often without spending alot gas money, the past year or so the house has been completely empty. He wondered who had moved in..

you just moved into this new neighborhood fresh out of the college dorms you were only 23 years old, and you had a lot going for you, so you were kind of excited especially since you seen the finest man next door, and ouuu he was sexyy.. let's not forget he was built real nice and good... you were all giggles till you seen a school bus stop right infront of his house a little raven-haired boy running on the porch right past him and headed into the house your face dropped. well that's what you get you thought you was gonna get a lil sum sum and he ended up having a kid a probably a wife! you dropped a box in the house and then you came back out to the truck sighing at all the heavy luggage you'd have to carry in.

Toji noticed you struggling to carry a heavy box into your home and he hopped off the porch and walked over to your part of the sidewalk ''ay, y'need some help with that?'' a smirk sneaking up on his lips seeing your cute reaction.. and boy were you pretty, the way your boobs sat perfectly in your little outfit and the darker part of your ass showed from the bottom of your little bodysuit, oh he was hooked..

''ahh thank you for your help!'' you clapped your hands together after placing the last box inside your house ''anytime pretty,'' you smiled at the nickname ''oh by the way my names [Y/n] !"he smirked at you. ''m'names toji.. and its no problem just lemme know if ya need anything alright?'' ''gotcha!'' you smiled watching him walk down and off the porch. you smiled to yourself ouuu he was just sooo finee

later that day you knocked on his door with some sweets you made for a thank you, and you seen the same little raven-haired boy from earlier ''hi sweetie is toji home?" he looked up at you with wide eyes ''woah your a real pretty lady..'' he said giving you the most adorable look ''awww thank you sweetie thats so sweet of you!'' you smiled at his adorable little face ''oh daddy's in the kitchen! ill go get him!'' "okay!'' you smiled at him watching his little legs daddle away and to come back with his father ''hey, doll what whatcha doing here? did ya need more help with ya’stuff?'' ''no, no! i just wanted to give you these'' you held out the sweets with a smile ''come in'' he held the door open guiding you to come in.

you and toji started talking and getting to know each other and you told him about how you were fresh out of nursing school and you found out hes divorced.. you feel bad that youre a bit happy about it but all that feeling bad came to nothing when you could tell toji was flirting, his and your flirting went on and on till about 3 weeks. One say he asked you wanted to go to a park with him and "megumi" of course you said yes because not only did you like toji but you loved his son he was so sweet and kind! to you not so much toji.. you guys made it to the park and toji was being really touchy and got little angry when he seen other men staring at you in your cute dress showing all of your nice curves in all honesty he’s no better than any other man when it came to you. While you and megumi had fun while not so much toji, he was to busy trying to make sure you guys seemed like a couple, he really didn’t want no one trying to hit on you..

At around 8, When you guys got home, while megumi was sleeping in the backseat you were about to get out the car but toji stopped you.. “toji what’s the matter-“ he grabbed your chin and cut you off giving you a deep kiss while sneaking a hand up your thigh along your dress, you put your arms around his neck and starting leaning into the kiss till you saw megumi moving alot in his sleep you broke the kiss, breathing heavily ''fuckk toji.. i didnt know you were such a freak~ megumi's right there ya know?" You laughed a little while he smirked leading his hand up and down your thigh ''he'll be fine, when the brats asleep he wont wake up for a couple hours'' you smiled and looked at him tilting your head ''lets atleast bring him to bed before we start then'' you said with a smile looking back at Megumi's cute chubby face..

this was actually so rushed its insane i was just putting stuff together atp.. (hopefully) part 2 will but much better !!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Slice Of Normal

Summary: The reader has just moved to Montana to live with her estranged father and out of a place where she no longer feels welcome. But it's been a long time since the pair have lived together and while Beau might think things can slip back to normal, it's not quite that easy...

Pairing: dad!Beau x daughter!reader

Word Count: 5,000ish

Warnings: language, family angst, divorce, mention of murder case

A/N: Here's a little Beau and daughter!reader for the first time!

_____

“Hey, kiddo,” said your dad as you tossed your backpack in the backseat. “How was school?”

“Fine,” you forced out, pilling into the front, glaring out the windshield. You felt his heated stare but he dropped it, pulling out of the line of cars at pick up and heading for home. He tapped his fingers against the wheel, words clearly on the tip of his tongue. But once again he didn’t say anything. 

Sometimes it was like living with a damn stranger.

Two years ago, life was normal. Your parents were married. Dad had a good job as a cop. Mom was doing her consulting. Every day you went home to two parents. You had the same friends you had your whole life. You got a starbucks with your mom every Saturday morning and you made homemade pizzas for dinner. You watched trash reality shows with your dad and you’d both get way too invested in the petty drama. It was all perfectly normal.

Until he went to work one day and it went to hell. Dad’s partner was killed and he blamed himself for not stopping it. He was…strange after that. He still asked about school and your day, still watched your shitty shows with you. But there was no joy in him. He felt guilty and dad wasn’t much of one for sharing his own feelings. You knew he’d get better with time. 

That’s when things got strange with mom too. She started to pick fights with him. She kept trying to force him to go to some expensive trauma therapist. All three of you knew he was hurting but she was the only one that said he was broken. You’d never forget the look on his face when she barked it at him in a fight. 

Watching one parent fall out of love with another in front of your own eyes was your own strange experience. You knew in that moment she’d left a mark on him, one that’d make him shutdown even more, hold even more feelings back from her. There’d be more fights. More snide comments. She’d get fed up and divorce him.

Four months after the shootout, she handed him the divorce papers and a flip switched in him. He started to fight back, the both of them bickering and arguing so much you found yourself storming downstairs and yelling at them both to act like adults. Dad moved out not long after that and within a month mom had a new boyfriend.

You stuck it out until last week before you knew you’d go crazy if you stayed in that house, your house, with her and that guy for one more second. 

Which meant moving halfway across the country to fucking Montana to live with a guy you hadn’t seen in person in six months.

“Mom’s marrying her boyfriend,” you said when he stopped at a red light. You didn’t look at him, sure he once again didn’t know what to say. “That’s why I wanted to move here. He doesn’t give two shits about me but he fakes it real good when she’s around.”

“Your mother should know-”

“She doesn’t listen to me when I try to talk and I’m sick of it. I know you know she’s like that,” you said, turning your head. He glanced down, gaze back on the road. “She’s a bitch.”

“Hey. Don’t talk about your mother like that.”

“Why not?” you scoffed. “She is one. You of all people know she is.”

“Mom is not a bitch,” he said, hitting the gas when the light turned, getting you off a busy street and heading for the outskirts of town. “Y/N, we raised you better than to call people names.”

“You’re defending her? You? She only drove you out of your own home, own family.” He gripped the wheel tighter, clenching his jaw. “Jesus christ. You still love her, don’t you. Why the hell would-”

“I am the reason…I moved out and I left. I refused to acknowledge the shit going on in my head and all mom tried to do was get me help. Do not blame her for-”

“Bullshit,” you scoffed. “I’d get out of her ass if I were you. Some other guy is fucking it now and she’s never taking you back.”

He pulled over fast, shaking his head at you. His green eyes narrowed, mouth opening just as his car radio crackled to life.

“Arlen,” he growled into the radio, frowning at you, a clear message to not say another word right now. 

“Chief we got reports of a murder-suicide at the Breckenridge Ranch. Jenny and Pop are taking lead but are requesting your presence,” said a woman’s voice on the other end. 

“I’ll be there in twenty.” He clipped the radio back in, taking a deep breath. “Y/N you are going to listen to me and I mean listen to me because I am about to have a very long night and we are not dropping this discussion. I don’t care for the way you speak and I do not like the way you talk about your mom. You don’t like her boyfriend, fiance, fine. But you’ll at least respect him. You don’t like you mother? Then at a minimum you will respect her. You do not call people bitch. You are grounded until further notice.”

“Wow,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m on your side and I’m the asshole. My old dad would have understood that but you? I don’t know who the fuck you are. Go ahead and ground me. I literally don’t care. You’re a fucking stranger.”

He was pissed. Very pissed. He turned back on the road and did a u-turn, heading back into town. You raised an eyebrow but he held up a finger. “No. You want to swear at me? Call me a stranger? Fine. I’m going to work. You’re a big enough girl to have a potty mouth then you don’t mind a little murder scene, hmm? You want to know what the fuck I do all day? Well now’s your chance to see, maybe I’ll be less of a damn stranger that way.”

You kept quiet, staring out the window for the next twenty minutes. You swallowed when he drove past a cruiser at the ranch entrance and yellow tape, driving silently down the dirt road. 

“Stay in the truck,” he said when he parked behind another cruiser outside a nearby barn. You bit the inside of your lip, hearing him shift around behind you. A few seconds later you had your backpack in your lap. “Do your homework.”

“I thought you wanted me to see dead bodies,” you mumbled, fisting one of the straps. His heavy sigh filled the space, a twinge of guilt in your gut.

“I never want that for you. We’ll get dinner out somewhere in a few hours. We need to talk. Not fight. Talk,” he said, pausing a beat before opening his door.

“Why didn’t you take me home?” you asked. He slid out, his shoulders sagging with his back to you.

“Because I’m scared you won’t be there when I get back.” He turned around, plucking his hat from the center console. You stared at him as he frowned. “I know you ran away from home two weeks ago, kid. We are not letting that happen again. Understand?”

You gave a small nod, the door closing loudly in the small space before you shut your eyes.

Maybe you should have just stayed in Texas.

Three Hours Later

You’d finished your homework awhile ago and were watching videos on your phone when you saw your dad approach the truck. He said something to a blonde cop lady and another guy, giving them a quick wave.

“Sorry it took so long,” he said, back in the truck, tossing his hat in the back.

“S’fine.” He was backed out and heading for the road quickly, rubbing his hand against his jaw. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah. Why?”

“You were at a murder scene…” you said, catching a quick twitch of his lip. “Do dead bodies not scare you?”

“Not really. Sometimes you see bad things but a vast majority of the time, murders are…” he bit his bottom lip, shaking his head. “There are scenes that are gruesome but most murders are not something out of a horror film, at least to me. You get desensitized to it somewhat. Even the bad ones, it doesn’t tend to bother me. They were a person and unfortunately they lost their life in a violent way. My job is to act on their behalf and get them the justice they deserve. They aren’t scary bodies. It’s a soul that’s gone that I can help is the way I look at it.”

He cleared his throat as he pulled back onto the road.

“But Helena is much safer than Houston. Not as many murders or any of that.” You hummed, glancing out the window. “Y/N, I know you’re upset with me right now but I want you to be careful. Something is…happening. I don’t know what it is but be careful. No going out at night alone. Keep the doors and windows locked all the time. Be smart, alright?”

“Ok,” you said quietly. “That wasn’t a murder-suicide, was it.”

“It was a very good attempt at making it look like one. If my officers weren’t as good at their jobs, they would have written it up as one instead of what it was. A double murder. My gut says it wasn’t random though which means it’s less likely anyone else winds up hurt.” 

“S’good,” you mumbled before the air went quiet. He only tapped the steering wheel, no rhythm to it. Tap tap. Tap tap. 

He had no problem talking about work since you’d moved in a week ago. God, the first day he’d talked too much, trying to fill the awkward silences. Maybe he’d been gone too long and this is what your relationship was now.

You closed your eyes, resting your head on the glass, wishing he’d never left in the first place. 

You jerked and flashed open your eyes when he shook your shoulder. The inside of the truck smelled like grease and the brown bag on the dash confirmed your suspicions. He nodded out the window and you turned, finding you were at a fairly deserted park. You left your backpack behind and crawled out, walking over to the nearest picnic table. A moment later he was sat across from you, pulling out a box of chicken nuggets, fries and two packets of sauce.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, taking the food from him as he took out a bigger box and more fries for himself.

“Well, I figured your McDonald’s go to hadn’t changed at least.” You shrugged, the two of you eating without saying another word. But it didn’t last, the food soon gone, the trash bundled up and tossed in a nearby can. 

Your dad sighed when he returned to his seat, resting his forearms against the faded wood top.

“Y/N. I…I left you and mom. If there’s anyone you should hate-”

“Why do you keep lying for her?” you interrupted. He swallowed thickly, breathing out a slow breath. “You left because she tossed you out. You didn’t leave because you wanted to.”

“...She had every right to.” You rolled your eyes, his hand raising. “Please. Just listen. Mom tried to get me help and I was the one that was an asshole about it. I blamed myself, I still do. She did what you’re supposed to for a partner. I pushed her away and us not being together anymore is because of me.”

You shook your head, a frown forming on his face. “I lived in that house too. I know you or at least I used to. I knew you were hurting and we couldn’t fix it. But I got that. It was something you had to go through, at your pace. You did the same thing when grandpa died. You got all quiet and pushed it down. And mom…she was a bitch back then too and tried to force you to get better faster all because she didn’t like having a grieving husband. You are supposed to help your partner, not hurt them more. Your problem has always been that you’re too in love with her to see that she hurts you. Just for one second imagine that was my husband that did that to me. Imagine he tried to force me into therapy less than a week after my best friend died because I was fucking sad and didn’t want to talk about it. Imagine my partner made me feel even worse and like I was the problem during one of the lowest moments of my life. Imagine that he was the one that made me feel like all of it was my fault when I was grieving. You’d tell me to leave his ass so I’m asking you to please, please stop defending her. I’m not a little kid anymore, dad.”

“No, you’re clearly not,” he said quietly, staring down at his lap. “I just don’t want you to hate your mother. Her heart was in the right place, even if that’s not how I process things.”

“I don’t hate her. I just don’t like her anymore. I told her so many times I didn’t like her boyfriend and she wouldn’t listen to me. You would have listened to me. S’why I ran away. I was trying to come here.” 

He pursed his lips and you waited, giving him time to respond the way he wanted to. 

“I wish…I wish mom and I had handled things differently. But what happened, happened. I would like to see you attempt to reconcile with your mom but I won’t force it.”

“Thank you,” you said, a quick nod coming from him.

“But…you are also a bit thick headed.” You frowned. “I know you are a teenager and dad isn’t the cool guy anymore but I reached out every single day and you definitely didn’t answer. I invited you to visit so many times and you never would. So cut your mom some slack because if you’re giving me that treatment, I can only imagine it’s the same for her.”

“Fine,” you grit out, trying to ignore how he may have had a point about why your relationship had soured. You sort of started ignoring him but you’d been busy and he needed space to work through his crap, hadn’t he?

“And for the record, it’s possible to still love someone but not want to be married to them ever again.” You stared at him, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t want to deal with an attitude all the time and you don’t want me to be a grump that hounds you every day. Can we try a clean slate? Pretend this afternoon didn’t happen?”

“Alright. We can try.”

The Next Day

You rubbed your jaw as you sat on the hard bench outside of the principal’s office. You had to hand it to Mara Hoyt. The little bitch knew how to throw a right hook. You guess that’s what happened when the star softball pitcher decided she hated your guts all because her boyfriend said hi to you on your first day.

On her own, you could have handled that. But this school was cliche central and the mean popular girl got all her mean popular friends to start bullying you after that. You were honestly surprised it took a whole eight days for things to get physical.

She was already in the office with her parents, crying the blues about how awful you were and bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Shit, you hadn’t even touched the girl yet you were the one the school resource officer threw a pair of cuffs on. 

The sharp skid of a rubber sole against linoleum made both you and the officer turn your heads, your dad staring at you both wide eyed.

“Todd, get those cuffs of her or so help me,” growled your dad, storming over. 

“Sir? What are you-”

“How many Arlen’s do you think there are in this town? That’s my daughter,” he grit out. Todd moved at lightning speed the second he had the keys out of his pocket, apologizing to his boss and not you. You had to fight to not roll your eyes. You had a feeling with the way your dad’s face looked murderous that wouldn’t go over well.

“Excuse me,” said the vice principal, coming out to the hall with a stern expression. “Why is she uncuffed? She attacked-”

“Sheriff Beau Arlen,” said your dad with a scary undertone in his voice, neglecting to offer his hand. “Y/N’s father and Chief of police over at the station. We don’t cuff seventeen year old girls unless they’ve committed a crime. Now, if after our discussion and I hear all the facts it turns out she did, I’ll cuff her myself and take her down for booking. Am I clear?”

The vice principal narrowed his eyes but said nothing, holding the door open. You trudged inside, your dad hot on your heels. You sat in the empty chair in front of the desk, Mara doing a good job of looking like a sobbing mess in the one nearby.

“Mr. Arlen?” the principal asked. He hummed, finding a spot along the wall and leaning against it with crossed arms, his eyes shooting to Mara. “I’m afraid we’ll have to suspend Y/N for attacking Mara for five days out of school.”

“And we’re pressing charges, even if you are the sheriff,” said a snotty woman. 

God were you working hard to not flip that whole family off. You were about to open your mouth and try to give your side of the story when you saw your dad’s face and his finger wag at you.

Uh oh. 

“Where do we want to begin? The way this school only got one students side of the story-”

“There are witnesses,” cut in the vice principal, your dad holding up a hand.

“Let me guess, Mara’s friends?” he shot back, clenching his jaw, returning his focus to the principal. “Now I know for a fact my daughter is getting bullied by this girl and her friends every single day since she started last week.”

You swallowed. You hadn’t told him that. How had he known?

He stepped forward, putting his hands on the back of your chair, leaning over it so you felt his chest against the top of your head.

“Do we want to start with the blatant bullying? Or perhaps with Mara?” he asked, turning his head to her, shooting her parents a glare. “You know, the one who actually did the attacking.”

“My daughter did no such thing,” snapped her dad. You felt your dad reach an arm around, gently grasping your forearm and holding it up.

“One girl has only defensive injuries. Bruises, nail marks. The other has scrapped knuckles, two broken fingernails and can’t look me in the eye. Guess which one is which,” growled your dad, his hand still gentle as he lowered your arm to your lap. Mara’s parents didn’t look like they were about to backdown though.

“There are witnesses. This is ridiculous. Mara acted in self-defense then,” said her mom. You glanced at the principal, his words caught in his throat and you couldn’t help but smile for a moment.

“Oh so now her story is changing?” poked your dad.

“No!” said her mom. “Your daughter said something so vile and threatening-”

“To her bully? Did Y/N say something like that to you Mara? Did she say something because her bully’s been so mean to her?”

“Don’t speak to our daughter!” shouted her dad. Mara glanced at you, as if you’d somehow help her. Meanwhile this was turning out to be the best day of your new school yet.

“I don’t hear her denying she was bullying Y/N? In fact, I don’t hear her saying anything. If it’s so abhorrent and you felt in so much danger, why don’t you tell us all what it was that made you act in self-defense, hm?” said your dad, his focus narrowed in on Mara. 

She was so fucked and she knew it. 

“I said don’t-”

“Alec,” interrupted the vice principal, his focus turned onto Mara as well. “Mara. Answer the question.”

But she couldn’t. She was floundering, face turning red under the interrogation. 

“Tell the truth and the Arlen family,” growled your dad, pointed straight back at her parents, “Will not press any charges.”

Mara contorted her face before throwing her hands up. “She called me insecure and said I should get help for that so I got mad and punched and kicked her.”

“And why did she call you that?” cut in your dad, laser focused on Mara. She closed her eyes, lowering her head. “Mara.”

“Because I’ve been bullying her because my boyfriend said hi to her and said we should get to know her because she’s new but I know he just wants to get in her pants so I told all my friends to keep her away from him no matter what.”

“I expect an apology,” he said. She looked up, eyes full of unshed tears. “Oh, not to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, barely looking at you.

“Thanks. I don’t accept it and that is perfectly within my rights,” you said. 

“Regardless, Mara you’re suspended for five days out of school. Y/N, you’re suspended for two. We have a zero tolerance policy on fighting,” said the principal.

“She didn’t fight,” said your dad, his voice stern. 

“It’s a rule,” said the principal.

“Fine,” said your dad, grabbing your bicep and pulling you to your feet. “Let’s go get lunch out, maybe catch a movie.”

You couldn’t hide the smile on your face as he led you out, his hand falling away when he looked over his shoulder. “Three more things. One, I fully expect punishments for the students that lied about what they saw. Two, I hear of anymore bullying happening at this school to any kid, I will make it my personal mission in life to get you fired and three? You people get your daughter in therapy sooner than later because that’s the sort of thing that gets her tossed in jail when she’s older.”

He tossed your backpack over his shoulder as he led you out to the hall, hand on your back leading you towards the front doors. You grinned as you stared, his face blank when he opened the door to fresh air.

“That was fucking awesome,” you said, jogging down the steps and over to the truck. “You went full cop mode and scared the shit of her! That was-”

“Are you okay?” he asked when you sat in the passenger seat. You tilted your head when he cupped your cheeks, running his thumb over the scuffed up skin on the left. “We need to clean that.”

He pushed up your short sleeves, finding more bruises, a few older ones, before trailing down to your nicked up arms.

“Y/N, I know you’re a good kid that doesn’t like to get in trouble but promise me something?” You nodded when he fixed your braid behind your ear. “Next time someone touches you without permission, you lay their ass out.”

“You told me I shouldn’t hit people.”

“Yeah, well the little bitch would have deserved it.” Your jaw dropped into a grin, his attempt at holding a blank face faltering, a smile creeping up. “Yeah, I know I said not to call people that but that kid’s a psycho waiting to happen. Promise me?”

“I promise,” you said, getting a kiss on the forehead. “How’d you know I didn’t start the fight?”

“I know you. I also know there would have been no fight because if you had thrown the first punch, that girl would be knocked out.” He stroked your cheek again and sighed. “No headache? Anything like that?”

“She punches like a pussy.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Too far?”

“Just a tad. Come on. Let’s go enjoy your suspension.”

Later That Evening

“Alec’s my second cousin, such a dickhead,” said one of dad’s officer’s, the blonde woman named Jenny you’d seen last night. “Mara’s always been awful.”

“Jenny,” chided your dad in his office, chowing down on some chinese takeout from behind his desk. You gave her a smile, eating from your carton as she set a file down in front of him. “Don’t be a bad influence.”

“If I were her, I would have decked the little shit,” said Jenny. Your dad rolled his eyes and read through the file, Jenny stealing a fortune cookie for herself. She leaned against his desk and offered you a smile. “So besides the school being crap thing and your dad dragging you to murder scenes, how do you like Montana so far?”

“Jenny,” he said again, glancing over the top of the file at her.

“It’s a lot less boring than I thought it’d be,” you said, offering her one of your egg rolls. 

“Thank you,” she said, popping it in her mouth, returning her attention to your dad. “Both vics had traces of a yellow substance in their air passages.”

“Rat poison?” you asked, both of them slowly turning their heads towards you. They stared blankly as you chewed. “It was in that new hunger games movie, they killed a guy with it.”

“Wow,” said Jenny as your dad closed his eyes. “That’s impressive.”

“I don’t even…” he sighed, rubbing his jaw as he flashed open his eyes. “So rat poison killed them. Why make it look like a murder suicide then? This person must have known we’d do autopsies.”

“Unless they didn’t,” you said, earning a glare from him. “Hey, people are dumb. You taught me that when I was like eight.”

“Y/N-”

“No, she has a point,” said Jenny, picking up her copy of the file and glancing through it. “Who is smart enough to use rat poison but dumb enough to not realize we’d find it and try to cover it up?”

“No one, that’s who,” said your dad. You bit into another eggroll and shrugged. He threw his hand back and groaned. “Fine. What’s your theory?”

“Well, a kid is dumb enough,” you said. “Maybe they watched that movie too.”

“Genius plan except that couple had no kids,” he said. You finished your bite and shrugged. “What?”

“Weren’t you the one that also told me people aren’t always what they seem and not to trust someone just because they were nice? They could have been whackjobs.”

Jenny cocked her head, glancing at your dad. “Kid has a point, Arlen. It was a large property. Entirely possible we missed something.”

“Fine. We’ll check it out first thing,” he said, nodding to you. “You might as well come along Ms. Detective, since you’re out ot school for a few days.”

“Good with me. As long as it’s not early. I don’t do early,” you said, a tiny smirk on his face that told you you’d be up at dawn.

The Next Afternoon

“What’s going to happen to him?” you asked as your dad drove you both home after a long morning. He was quiet for a beat. “Will he go to juvie?”

“Maybe. Maybe a hospital for people like him. Either way, it’s a better situation than he was in,” he said. He tapped the wheel, his lips pursed. “You know I don’t want you to be a cop right?”

“I know. It’s just…it’s easy to talk to you about your work,” you said. He nodded, turning off to the road just a minute drive from the house. 

“So can you rent this movie with the rat poison?” he asked. You stared, his eyes flickering over for just a moment. “I thought Katniss took out the capital. How can they have another movie?”

“It’s a prequel, about Snow.” 

“Whoa, Donald Sutherland Snow? They made a movie about that jackass?” 

“Well, she wrote another book and then they made it into a movie. It was really good cause you can see how he’s a complete narcissist and he goes from this actually mostly likable guy to the jackass in the other movies.”

“Okay, I definitely have to see this.” He pulled into the driveway, your gaze fixed on him when he turned the car off. “Unless you don’t want to watch it?”

“No I just…I miss when I’d make you watch the hunger games and you’d make me watch the dirty dozen and that was our thing.”

“Still our thing,” he said, brushing his thumb over the healing scrape on your cheek. “How’s that feeling today?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“I know, I know. I worry.” He opened the door and smiled as he popped out. “Alright little criminal. Go do that homework you ignored all day while I make us something to eat before our movie.”

“Really? Come on. I’m still suspended tomorrow. Can’t I do it over the weekend?” He looked up like he was thinking about it, a small smile crossing his face. “Thank you!”

“You’re helping me with dinner, missy.” You didn’t really mind that fact though. Making dinner together and watching a movie? That was normal for the two of you. 

A few hours later when you were bundled up under a blanket together on the couch and pressing start, you finally felt like it was a normal thursday night, no more tension or awkwardness in the air. And while murder investigations and school fights were certainly interesting, a little slice of normal again felt damn good.

_________

[loveandmurders]

If you’re taking requests, could you do a soulmate au with Bo and Vincent meeting their s/o for the first time? Thanks and have a good one!

Hello sweetie, thank you so much for this very cute request!

I wasn't too sure you wanted Bo and Vincent to share their s/o but it's what I did! I wrote two parts for this, but if people enjoy this AU, I might keep going.

Hope you'll enjoy <3

FINALLY FOUND YOU (Part I) - Bo Sinclair x female reader x Vincent Sinclair

Warnings: a little bit of angst, mentions of murders and malevolent intentions, mentions of sexual desires, mentions of Bo's chair, a few strong words

Vincent was at the kitchen table, sipping on his coffee as he was watching his wrist with a lot of attention. The little black spiral with two dots reminded him that he was supposed to have a soulmate, somewhere in this world, sharing this same mark with him. It reminded him that he most likely would never find them because of his way of life, and it was breaking his heart a little more than he would like to admit it. He even became a workaholic because it prevented him from thinking and being hurt by the thought that the choices he made to follow his mother’s work was actually destroying any happy future with his soulmate.

He looked up from his wrist when he saw Bo coming in, always a little bit ashamed to be caught staring at his mark. He should be stronger and better than dreaming of his soulmate. Because love really didn’t matter.

“Whatcha doin’?” Bo asked and Vincent shrugged. “Watchin’ the soulmate mark again?” he arched an eyebrow at his twin “Com’on Vinny, ‘m gonna believe ya’re a romantic.” Bo teased his brother who rolled his eye at him and left the room to get back into his basement. Vincent couldn’t stand talking about it, and Bo was only hiding his own hurt under teasing and jokes.

Bo sighed and rolled his sleeve to be able to have a look at his own mark. It was a circle with two dots on top of it. He sighed. Like his twin, he had no hope to ever find his soulmate, and sometimes, late at night, it was like a hole inside his chest, a missing piece that he would neve be able to find.

Sometimes he wondered if his brothers and himself didn’t make a mistake.

You were thinking the same thing as you were currently lost in the middle of nowhere with an unhappy car. Because of the Louisiana heat, your car engine was forcing you to have breaks from time to time or it was worryingly fuming a thick white smoke. You were currently out of your car, cursing yourself for not having borrowed a better one, but it would have been more expensive too. And you were cursing the universe for being where you were - a dusty road - with no connection. You couldn’t even call your parents to ask them to help you read a stupid old map that you had laid down on the hood. At the gas station you went by, they sold maps but you didn’t realise they were ten years old. You were supposed to go to Mexico for a little holiday by yourself. But instead you were there, not even certain anyone would come by to help you.

After a little while, you sat back inside the car. You leaned against the seat before looking down at your shoulder where your soulmate mark was. It was a spiral inside a circle with three dots around it. You often wondered where the person was. Your parents met so early in their youth, so you were getting a little bit desperate and impatient. 

You also were very curious because of all the things you heard about soulmates, and especially about your own mark. Your grandmother used to say, when she was still alive, that your mark was a special and complex one. You had three dots which meant you might have two soulmates. You did notice that it was rare to see more than two dots, and you often wondered if she was right about it.

But what was the point of having two soulmates if none of them were currently in your life? 

You sighed. This day would have been so much easier if you knew even just one of them. You could have called them at the gas station and they would have decided that it was too stupid of you to leave like that, and they would have found you and left for holidays with you. No actually, you would have left for holidays with them right away. And you wouldn’t be in this mess.

You could be so impulsive sometimes. You really needed someone to keep an eye on you. And if the universe thought you needed two people for this job, it might be right! But where were they then?

You shook your head, it wasn’t the right time to think about it right now. There was no one to help you and you needed to find the right path. You noticed that your car stopped fuming and you thought it might be a good moment to resume driving. You decided that it was like when you were lost in a forest, you needed to keep going straight in front of you to find a way out. It was what you did and it kind of worked because you arrived at the sign indicating the House of Wax Museum of Ambrose. You didn’t remember seeing anything about this city on the map but you thought it might be a good place to stop by. You hoped that someone could help you with the directions or your car or, even better, with both. 

Those past few weeks you had felt like you were running out of luck. You couldn’t even count the number of glasses and plates you clumsily let fall on the ground and broke. You couldn’t count either the number of times you accidentally hit the corner of a table, entered into a wall or a door. Your mother had told you it might be good news but you didn’t see why. Then she explained that there was this old wife tale about running out of luck before meeting your soulmate. Apparently the more bad luck happening to you before finally finding your soulmate, the more intense your bond would be with them. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that the universe had a twisted sense of humour if that was true.

You kept following the road, trying to see where you needed to turn to go into Ambrose. You were about to find the right intersection when your car decided it wasn’t going to go any further. At the instant, it stopped, you started to scream and you hit your wheel, hurting your hand in the process. You wanted to break something so you grabbed the map and destroyed it. You finally calmed down and leaned into your seat, closing your eyes. You looked down at the pieces of sheet absolutely everywhere and facepalmed. Alright, you needed to take a big breath and to walk to Ambrose. It was going to be alright.

You stepped out of the car, took the keys, just in case, and started to walk. The heat was getting quite unbearable and you couldn’t wait to ask someone for some water and to lie down under some shade. You weren’t feeling too well, a little bit nauseous too. You had no idea how much longer you would be able to keep going. 

You finally reached the town… and you collapsed. You had walked for quite a long time under the sun and your body just couldn’t take any more of it.

Bo was leaving the church so he saw you falling. He thought that it was his lucky day. 

It had been a couple of days no one came by, and you clearly didn’t look like someone who could resist them. Bo thought you were going to be such an easy job that he could even just hand you over to Vincent for him to put burning hot wax on you. It was a plan he would be happy to follow… Except if you were pretty enough to end on his special chair. 

He walked to you and realised you were already starting to get back to reality. Your head was hurting quite a lot though and you instinctively brought a hand to it. He looked at your face and body with a lot of attention like a predator gauging its prey. Damn, he had to admit you were going to be such a snack. Actually, he didn’t remember having desired someone that much before. To the point, he wasn’t even certain he wanted to share anything with Vincent. He would be very glad to keep you all to himself in his garage. His heart twitched a little bit at the thought of him hurting you though… But he was a dangerous man, it was in his nature. He couldn’t help it, right? 

You tried to ask for help as you were half aware of the shadow of a man looming over you, not realising that the man was eager to give you anything but help. You were too weak to understand, and your mouth too dry to beg. Bo was about to grab your arm when he saw your soulmate mark.

He wasn’t an expert but it looked familiar and new at the same time. He cursed under his breath and instead of pulling you down the road like a sack of potatoes, he gently lifted you up and carried you bridal style to his house. You fainted again as if your body calmed down in Bo’s presence. He wanted to ask Vincent what he thought about the mark.

As a family and conservative man, he grew up with the strong belief that two things couldn’t be messed with: God and soulmate marks. So he really didn’t want to do something stupid if you happened to be his soulmate… Or Vinny’s… Or both. Bo couldn’t really explain why he felt that way, but he recognised his circle and Vincent’s spiral on you. He thought he might be wrong though. If the man realised you weren’t their soulmate, boy, he would give you such an awful death for having given them false hopes like that.

Bo opened the house door with his back and put you down on the couch. He had a closer look at your soulmate mark. The three dots were putting him off a little because he only had two, like Vincent. The circle really seemed to be his, though. He thought that Vincent, with his artistic eye, would be better at telling if your soulmate mark was identical to theirs. Bo screamed Vincent’s name for his twin to come over. Bo wondered about something though; if you were both the men’s soulmate, how would they be able to share you? He shook his head, he was probably imagining things and you were just a random lost tourist who was soon going to be killed.

Vincent arrived soon after, a little bit surprised his brother was already back home and asking for him. He was even more surprised when he saw the most gorgeous darling on the couch. He sent a quizzical glance to Bo who gestured toward your shoulder. Vincent had a closer look and paused. He looked back at Bo.

“Ok, ‘s stupid, but… Looks like our soulmate marks” Bo explained before looking away. It was a sensitive subject when he couldn’t annoy his twin about it. Vincent looked back and his fingers gently traced your mark. It felt like electricity was running down his hand. It was a very obsessing and addicting feeling. He definitely wanted more, but Bo couldn’t stop himself from grabbing his twin’s wrist. He only realised what he did when Vincent turned back to him in curiosity.

“Shit, don’t know why I did that… Just don’t touch her, ok?” Bo grumbled and Vincent hummed.

Vincent went into the kitchen to grab a noteblock and a pen. He quickly reproduced his own mark on the paper. He silently asked Bo to show him his, which Bo did a little bit reluctantly. Vincent tried to overlap the two marks. He placed his spiral inside Bo’s circle and realised that one of the dots was placed in the same way for both of them, which did create three dots in total. He placed the paper next to your shoulder. Your mark and his little drawing were identical.

“Shit” Bo repeated and both the men sat down.

They stayed silent for a little while, watching you sleeping and thinking how gorgeous you were and how relieved they were to have finally found you. 

But something was bothering the two of them: how were they supposed to share you?

PART II

[atarathegreat]

Angry-Chiro Shinichiro Sano

Nestled down a dark, wide alleyway between two much larger buildings was SS Motors. A squat little mechanics shop where you could buy spark plugs, gas caps, and tools on the shelves, and in the back was the garage. The garage was a little smaller than the whole building, big enough to fit a car while still having enough room for the mechanic to shift how he needed.

Shinichiro Sano took tremendous pride in his little shop, even had dreams that it would be bigger and placed in a more accessible space in the city. Fixing things was his passion, ripping out the bad parts or, in his current case, gutting a whole bike frame, was also part of the fun. Normally.

"Mother-" The sounds of ricocheting tools echoed up to the shop where you were helping customers. Steel on concrete or bouncing off the other metal work tables made you cringe as you hurled excuses again and again at Shinichiro's expense.

"Our mechanic is currently indisposed." You were all kind smiles and soft words when people were asking for him. They would sigh and nod and leave names and numbers, all while hearing the temper tantrum from the back of the shop. It wasn't new and many of the patrons were ignoring it for the most part, but you still worried about Shinichiro and the temper you knew he was capable of having.

While the rest of the shoppers were busy, not that there were many in such a secluded shop, you snuck back to the garage and peeked in. Shinichiro was fixing the bike frame back on a stand, leaving you to assume that maybe he'd gotten pissed enough to kick it over. "Shini?" The sound of your voice was enough to make him take a deep breath and look over his shoulder. He looked tired, his dark eyes not even really looking at you, "It...the bike...bolts..." Shinichiro was so mad he could hardly form a coherent sentence as he waved both arms at the frame, and that was fine, you were used to piecing together the issues. "It's alright. Steady hands, remember? Take it slow." Another soft smile and a little wave as you returned back to the front counter.

Closing early was surely going to set Shinichiro off even more, if he ever came out of the garage, but you closed early despite that. It wasn't good for business if the manager slash mechanic slash owner was seen as an angry man who couldn't keep tools from becoming an airborne item. Wrenches weren't meant to be birds and bolts definitely weren't rain drops.

"Son of a bitch!"

You sat up in bed, rubbing quickly at your eyes as more clanging woke you from a short nap. It was dark and your eyes hadn't yet cleared enough for you to see the bright red lines on the alarm clock. Moonlight almost kept you from tripping over the pile of shoes, your stumble becoming a valuable reminder that you would, eventually, have to buy a shoe rack. Cold air hit you quickly as you stepped from the mini living quarter and you reached back in to grab a coat before heading back out to trudge through the shop and to the garage. It got colder the closer you got.

"Shinichiro?"

The man turned quickly, a glare set in his features, as if a sculptor had snuck in and using clay and water to fix his beautiful smile into a scowl. "It's freezing, darling, come inside." You crossed the coat over itself to pull it tighter in hopes to keep some semblance of warmth for your skin.

"Can't. This stupid fucking thing isn't working with me and now this bolt won't even line up correctly." He slammed a wrench to the ground, glaring at the gas tank he was trying to connect to the newly cleaned bike frame. "To top it off, the rust took me nearly all day to get off and I can't even track down the right kind of seat for it!" Shinichiro huffed, leaning back against the toolbox, "How am I supposed to fix this by my deadline?"

Tools and dirty rags covered the garage floor as you stepped around and over them and bigger parts, crouching next to him, "How about I hold the tank steady and you secure it, and then we go in so you can get a drink, eat dinner, then we'll go to bed?"

Shinichiro shook his head, wiping a rag at the frame as if he was doing something, though he knew he just wanted to look busy, "I set a deadline for myself, Y/n, I want, need, this damn thing to be on the streets come spring." He always reached the goals he set for himself, so you knew it would kill him for yet another deadline with this particular bike to be pushed back.

It already wasn't a promise that he would've found the frame in Puerto Rico, and then the airlines tried to run you both around in circles over the metal until you went in and dragged it out by yourself. And then all the parts up to this point had to be ordered and the deliveries were delayed due to the winter weather, further ruining Shinichiro's plans. He stayed up night after night just to get a little bit further along in the process, all while neglecting his bodies needs for food, water and sleep. Being cooped up in the cold, horribly lit garage wasn't good for him. He looked gaunt and exhausted.

A heavy sigh fell from his lips, getting trapped somewhere between the rusty trashed parts and pile of boxes filled with new parts that had yet to be used. "I can't let it sit for a long time, I'll never get back to it." His bones spoke loudly as he stood and stretched, each pop was another cry for rest.

"You'll return to it, Shini." A weight was lifted from his shoulders when you smiled like that, like you believed in every move he made and every decision he was set on. "You never leave anything unfinished, y'know." The warmth from your hands was stolen from you as you held the tank steady for him, "And you can always call on me if you need help. I can work more than a register."

He was sure you could absolutely do more than a register, but your hands weren't supposed to be covered in grease like his, or calloused like his. You were supposed to have clean hands, manicured hands, dainty hands. Yet you didn't seem to care about any of that. Not as you leaned over the de-rusted handlebars to hold the gas tank so Shinichiro could fix the washer and bolt where they belonged and tighten them.

[tokyo-terror]

GENERAL RELATIONSHIP HCS P.2 !

characters: los vaqueros + könig & horangi

alejandro vargas:

☆ very passionate about everything he does, which can make him come off as very aggressive. that being said he's a softie !!! 🙏 almost instantly when first talking to you he starts using the car scene voice when talking to you

☆ religiously tries to fold every piece of clothing in the military style, and gets upset when folding new things that won't fold properly. very strict about color mixing, so he just ends up taking any chore that has to do with laundry when he gets back from deployments

☆ takes any chance to talk about how proud he is of los vaqueros, and wants you to meet rudy when the relationship starts getting serious. has rudy drive you places when he cant, you end up paying for gas because you feel bad.

☆ big soccer fan (rudy caused this), piles soccer memorabilia onto shelves and cabinets. spends quite a bit of his time rearranging it with you, asking for opinions on if he should arrange it by years, rarity, etc. gets you jerseys :) (will not be pleased if you don't like the same soccer team as him)

rodolfo parra:

☆ definition of designated driver, nice clean car with constant familiar air fresheners that he routinely changes out. kicks alejandro out of shotgun every time he sees you, has pillows and blankets in the back for everytime you want to take a nap during a long drive

☆ certified wine drinker, has a soft spot for The White Mom (franzia sunset blush ‼️). occasionally allows himself more expensive wine if he's going out with you, will limit and pace himself throughout the night though so you can enjoy yourself

☆ not a spoon user, if he's able to grab it with a tortilla then he's doing it. accidentally burns many of them though because he leaves them on the stove too long while trying to watch you cook, he cannot cook all that well

☆ sprawler 100%, sleeps like a starfish and expects you to also sleep like a starfish or get off the bed (/hj </3). he accidentally kicked you off the bed once and wouldn't stop apologizing until a week later you elbowed him in the face while asleep, you guys keep count of the sleep fights you have (he lets you say you win)

könig:

☆ big boy, big heart 🫶 he's constantly worrying about if he's too much to handle with his anxiety. though he doesn't show it, he finds himself getting unnerved when at home without any distraction from it. ends up picking up many little hobbies with you to keep himself from spiraling

☆ uses his height to put things on the top shelves so you ask for help, denies it vehemently even though he despises certain things only you eat. only to find it on the very top cabinet, laughs when you attempt to get it before asking him

☆ long scalding showers, if his skin isn't bright red by the time he's done then he didn't shower properly (by his standards). runs naturally colder than most so he enjoys the warmth of the shower and the steam afterward. likes having you wash his hair even though it's impractical to bend himself in half for it, the hot water and fingers in his hair is bliss

☆ regularly gets prescribed muscle relaxers when he's on leave because he has muscle spasms, he usually waits till the very last second when the spasms turn from slightly painful to not being able to walk. self-medicates by you massaging the areas until they relax, complains that the medicine doesn't work as well as you do after.

kim "horangi" hong-jin:

☆ old habits die hard. he's the biggest spender out of all the boys, he's always coming home with new stuff outside of the grocery list when he convinces you to let him shop. only difference is that he can pay it now, and he finally has somebody to show the things he buys.

☆ finds anything tiger related very amusing, he ends up drawing little tigers on all loose papers. little comics of tigers with different patterns and masks are very common to find, and he will lightheartedly not be happy if you question who the tigers with little heart tails are supposed to be

☆ bad habit of leaving lights on when he leaves rooms, he always has to double check before you guys go out to see if he turned off all the lights. if he didn't then he always grabs a water bottle for you, if he remembered to turn them off then he walks back to the car patting himself on the back

☆ prefers handholding over kissing in the beginning, as he's scared that his scars will deter you away from him. as time goes on he becomes very affectionate with kissing your head or hands, though he tries to deny ever doing anything

[brokenpieces-72]

Risk

Navigation

Kyle came to pick you up. By now the two of you were buddies, with him treating you like a younger sibling. There are plenty of memes exchanged between the two of you, and you’ve tagged along with him on more than one occasion. He knows a lot about cars, and you’ve helped him work on a couple vehicles. Turns out he works at a small mechanic shop. Never overcharges people, or pulls fake expenses. Has a tendency to undercharge but sometimes gets something of equal value.

You get in the passenger seat and putting your bag in the backseat. You notice a few small things in the back. Kyle starts driving and you stretch in the seat.

“Seat belt.” He says and you put it on.

“Peach wine?” You ask. Kyle gives a half smile keeping his eyes on the road.

“She insisted on giving a whole case.” Kyle says. One of his customers was an older lady who made wine on the side. She couldn’t always cover the costs of her old run down vehicle getting repaired so Kyle settled for a bottle of her wine to cover the rest. “Gonna let Price try some and serve it at the pub.”

“Speaking of drinks, do the guys like ice tea with popping boba?” You ask.

“Don’t think so.”

“Woo!” You cheer. More for you! You sit back in your seat, watching out the window. The drive is a longer one than necessary. After some time, you notice a few landmarks out of place. You suspect someone is following you two, and Kyle is trying to get them to leave you both alone.

“Had a visitor.” You say, wanting to fill the quiet drive. “Milena Romanova.”

“The hell did she want?” Kyle says, checking his mirrors.

“Gave me an invitation to a gathering. Offered to show some of my work at open houses. Graves was there too but he got there before Milena.”

“He broke in?” Kyle asks. Graves sounded like a toxic ex.

“No, he has my spare key. He was there before I got there, I talked to Milena and then found out he was around.” You exclaim. It’s quiet in the car for a bit. The purring engine fills the silence as he mutters something checking behind him.

“I told him about the raid.” You say. If anyone would take it calmly, it was Kyle. The car feels even quieter, though. Telling Graves hadn’t been decided yet. Kyle is fidgeting a little with the wheel, staring forward. “I’m sor-“

“Don’t say sorry to me.” He says, and you can hear more in his voice. You've heard a similar tone when someone brought the wrong tires after they were late for their tire change. There’s a pause as he straightens in the seat and speeds up a little, making it through a yellow light before making a turn and then another. There’s a pause while you check the side mirror to see if anyone is still following. After a few minutes, you don’t recognize any of the vehicles that were behind you before the light.

“Price has issues with the police since Graves and what happened with Makarov. If he can avoid them he does, but right now, we need all the help we can get, and if Graves can give us the legal system we should be taking it.” Kyle says. He has a look of determination in his eyes. One you haven’t seen in him much, except for when you’d seen him go out with Price for “work” or defend someone in a fight. He glances at you while waiting at a red light.

“Graves tell you what to do?” He asks. You nod. Kyle nods as if he already knows the instructions himself. There’s another pause waiting for the light to turn green. He looks at you directly.

“Did you actually record the conversation?” Kyle asks.

“Yep.” You say smiling. “I don’t think she’s seen the work I did of her.”

Kyle is laughing as he steps on the gas, the light green now. “You should go to that gathering just to see the look on her face.”

“She’ll likely simmer down by then. Not sure if I want to go if Makarov is there.”

“He’s supposed to be there?” Kyle asks.

“Probably. I mean Milena came to my apartment and when she saw me, she tried to make the excuse that my unit was up for sale. I assume Makarov gave her my address. She even stood there waiting for me. Could've put it in my mailbox or slid it under the door. Clearly, they want me to know they can find me.”

“You don’t want to see him?” Kyle inquires, though the answer is fairly obvious. He doesn't blame you.

“I... I don't think I'm ready to face him yet. Not alone, with a crowd of people." You answer.

Kyle pulls into a parking spot not far from the safe house apartment. He carries the wine, while you haul your bag. You both walk in and find Laswell chatting with Price. You haven’t seen Laswell since meeting John Price for the first time. After putting your bag in your bedroom you come back out and make some tea. Kyle has the small crate on the kitchen counter and is getting a couple of glasses for Price and Laswell to try. You take your seat at the bar and notice a similar envelope to your own invitation.

“You got invited?” You wonder aloud. Laswell looks at you and then where you’re looking.

“You got one?” She asks. You hold it up and John’s expression changes with the lift of an eyebrow. Laswell’s eyes go to her laptop, where you see some stuff but you’re not sure what exactly it is. You don’t want to inquire either.

Kyle hands both Price and Laswell a glass of the wine. You look at Kyle and then look between the two others while they try the wine. Do you tell them about Graves? Kyle folds his arms, looks at the floor, and then back at you. He gives you a slight shrug as an answer. You can, but that “you can” is gonna be loaded.

“Graves told me to leave an anonymous tip about the raid.” You blurt out. Kyle looks away while Price and Laswell look at you. The two of them are old enough to be your parents but damn do they feel like it this moment. You look between trying to figure out whose face to settle on. You pick Laswell but she just shakes her head and returns to her laptop. Thanks, Laswell, now you’re stuck facing the giant bear that is Price. You look at him and his face says something but you don't know what it is. It’s like reading a book highlighted with a black sharpie.

“I can call him off, tell him not to.” You say, wanting to back out of the whole thing.

“Tell who?” Johnny asks coming out of the hall. When did he get here?

“Tell Graves not to be at the raid.” You blurt out again. Johnny was reaching for the fridge until he stopped and gave you the same expression as John. Seriously how did they do that? That is impressively coordinated. You try looking to Kyle, hoping he'll weigh in. Nope. Kyle is not even making eye contact with you just looking at the ground. There is tension and you hate it.

“I’ll tell him not to.” You say breaking eye contact with them and staring down at the counter top.

“Send the tip.” John says, biting back some annoyance. “At the very least Graves can keep the damage down and focus on Makarov’s men.”

You didn’t realize you were holding breath until Price finished talking. Johnny goes back to the fridge, letting the tension die out.

“This is home made?” Price asks Kyle who finally looks up from the floor as if he were never trying to hide from the conversation.

“Yeah.” Kyle says. You eye Soap while the two continue talking and he’s distracted. You both know the risks that could come, and the differing amount of trust you both have in Graves. Time would tell.

“If you’re going to that gathering, you probably shouldn’t go in ripped jeans and a hoodie.” Laswell comments the next day. She’d come back to the hideout fairly early. Thinking about it, you can’t recall her leaving, since you went to bed early. You woke up, got dressed and came out to find her remaking the pot of coffee.

“Not sure I want to go.” You reply checking to see what in the fridge was still edible. You find some left over chicken, but the stray could have that after feeding her kits. You find a protein bar, and settle, sitting up on the counter.

“Because of Makarov?” She asks. You shrug, but she’s right. You never met the man face to face but if he was enough to make everyone treat him like the plague you were hardly eager to shake his hand.

“Makarov is a smart man, he won’t do anything to you when you’re there.” She says.

“You don’t know that.” You counter, rubbing your arm. Laswell notices you tugging on your sleeve. She lets the coffee brew while standing in front of you. Laswell holds out her hand and you already know what she wants. You offer your wrist and pull the sleeve back showing the fairly nasty bruise. It is healing but hasn’t by much.

Kate looks up at you while you’re focused on the bruise. You’d been in gun fights before. Someone grabbing your wrist and squeezing until you bruised was an experience you had no interest in repeating. At least not like that. Nolan had found you again and grabbed at you. He tried dragging you to a car but your quick thinking to bite his wrist got him off. It left you with the taste of his blood in your mouth and an impression on your skin. You’d kept it to yourself though.

“What happened?” Kate asks. Her voice is calm, likely not the first time this has happened. She isn't demanding an answer. You tell her and she listens. No scolding or shaming you for not saying anything or not doing something more. You almost wish she would because at times you feel like a kid in this group. You expect her to say you did your best and it’s not your fault. Kate doesn’t though. Instead, she tugs the sleeve back down.

“Good work. You may not be able to get him arrested but he won’t forget the bite anytime soon.” She says. You smile, feeling a little proud of yourself.

“If you can do this, then I think you can handle Makarov. Especially since I’ll be there as with officer Alex.” Kate says.

“You think I should go?” You ask.

“You don’t have to, but if you want… it would give you a chance to see some very humorous reactions to your work,” Kate says taking a sip of newly poured coffee.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @tai-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666

[two-red-lungs]

I Can’t Hardly Stand It

BFF!Eddie/Fem!Reader NSFW

Summary: College guys, despite your best attempts, have been leaving you high and dry and desperate in the bedroom. Now, with you back in Hawkins for winter break? Let’s just say your six-foot-something best friend is looking like a real good way to relieve some of that long-standing sexual tension. 

That is, if you don’t ruin your friendship in the process. 

Word Count: 5.5k

How do you ask a friend to be more than a friend? To lift a foot and place it, however tentative and skittish over the well-established boundary? To enter into a realm of unknown, unfamiliar feelings that, in all likelihood, could destroy that friendship? Crumble it to dust? How the hell does one do that, exactly?

It was a question you had been turning over and over in your head for days, hoping that contemplating it enough would bring you a sudden enlightened answer. But nope. It was still the same agonizing question. You thought it, and in your mind you saw Eddie’s eyes. Big, brown, wet and wide. 

How do you ask your friend to fuck you?

When the idea first came to mind you discarded it like a deer stumbling away from a car on a highway. The thought was obscene. Way outta line. You and Eds… you went back years. Maybe a decade at this point. You and him in fifth grade, goofin’ it up out on the playground in the Indiana winter cold, play-fighting with sticks as swords. And now, him calling you once or twice a month: the connection long and expensive and only affordable if all you said was hi, how are you, that’s great, talk to you later. But NYU was your dream school. He knew that. He’d encouraged you to take the scholarship, to get the fuck out of the sleepy town that too often trapped people in little lives that went nowhere. 

And you did. You did it. Packed your shit and left, moved into a freshman dorm buzzing with excitement and academia and dirty laundry. It was fun. New York was big and loud and alive and full of cute boys to meet. Oh, meet them you did. Date after date, smiling faces, clumsy, heated kisses. 

That’s where the problem really was, see. 

You wanted it. The big sin. La petite mort. And without fucking fail, every single skinny-legged eighteen-nineteen-twenty year old you collapsed into bed with was baaaaad. Like, painfully, stupidly, unbelievably bad. Their breath stank or they sweat too much or they popped off like bottle rockets against your bare thigh after just a minute or two of naked squirming and sloppy makeouts. And that left you alone, buzzing with a deep, red hunger. Unfulfilled, day after day. Month after month. It made you realize you needed something more. Someone you could talk to, tell what to do, share information and words with without it feeling awkward or dictatorial or rude. Someone who wasn’t, by and large, a stranger. 

Your mind went to one person and now you just couldn’t fucking shake the idea. Kept seeing it in your head. Kept thinking what if.

The plane from JFK landed back in Indianapolis for winter break. Snow was high outside, brilliant diamond-white against cerulean sky, icicles trimming the roof over the pick-up zone in great crystal stalactites. Your breath was fog in the air. And, right on time, god bless him, the familiar brown-and-tan Chevy Nomad van came rolling up with tire chains that growled against the heavy ice. 

Your heart jumped directly from your chest into your mouth. Eddie rolled down the passenger window. 

“Lookin’ to hitchhike, hot stuff?” He was grinning ear-to-ear, brown eyes crinkling. Ever the comedian. When you muddled through the dirty snow and tugged on the locked handle a few times, that grin got bigger. “Gas, grass, or ass. Can’t let you ride for free.”

“You let me outta the cold right now, Munson, or I’ll have to resort to violence.”

“Oooh, scary. Fine. Get in here.”

 He’d driven three hours out to get you, through a small snowstorm and over miles of ice, and three hours back. Not a single complaint. Not a peep. No, instead, Eddie was all sunshine smiles and wicked, warm cackles, asking about your adventures in the city and pulling animated reactions. His rings winked in the cold winter light slanting through the van’s dirty windshield, and his hair was just slightly longer (and drier) than when you’d left four months ago. But he was the same old Eddie, really. Taller than you by a million miles. Soft, broad lips with a sprinkle of new-growing mustache. Bitten fingernails, long eyelashes. A voice like tire rubber and tobacco smoke, which he reeked of. 

Funny. It was easy to downplay how much you missed him when you were sequestered in the warrenous dorms at NYU. Now, with him a foot away, watching his veiny hands tap tap tap on the wheel to the rhythm of ‘Rattlehead’? There was heat in your bones. Lapping across your skin, over your cheeks when you glanced down at his narrow thighs, the way they flexed when he accelerated. You hadn’t considered the what if throughout the years of being friends with him. Now it wouldn’t leave your brain. Now that what if brought new thoughts. New need-soaked mental imagery. 

Christ, you were hopeless. A single thought about Eddie’s legs flitted through your mind and it brought that roaring wall of unfulfilled heat back with a vengeance. You needed a drink, or several. Or maybe a mallet to the head.

When the Hawkins town sign blew past on the frosted asphalt road to town and Eddie offered you a beer, you leapt at the chance. Especially when he’d enthused about his uncle already booking it to his shift at the plant by now. It wasn’t until you were stomping snow off your boots on his stoop in the late afternoon sun, walking into his shared trailer and getting hit by that unequivocally Eddie smell that you realized the error of your ways. Maybe, just maybe, hanging out alone with the guy you’d been sexually fixating on for weeks in the place you imagined him in the most at night, a hand between your thighs in the dark, wasn’t a good idea. 

Eddie popped the top off a heineken in the narrow kitchen and handed it to you. His fingers were icy from the winter chill, smooth against yours. You hid the way your hand jerked a bit by bringing the drink up to your mouth, not even bothering to set down your carry-on before taking a hefty pull. 

“Two more months and I can buy these babies on my own. Twenty-one, here I come.” He boasted warmly. His mane of hair shimmied and shook as he fought with the cap on his own bottle: it popped off, plinking against the cabinet before escaping to the linoleum ground, and he scurried after it. You got a long lecherous view of his broad, lithely muscled back under his tight Megadeth shirt before he stood up again, blowing hair away from his mouth. “Won’t even need to use the shitty fake ID ol’ Ricky had made for me.”

“It is pretty crappy.” You agreed. Your mouth was dry. God, you two were so alone right now.

“Yeah. I’m, like, genuinely surprised nobody’s called me on it yet.”

“Is Charles still manning the gas station? That guy’s ancient. He probably doesn’t have the energy to call the cops on you when you’re buying a six-pack.”

Eddie snickered and fuck, it was like liquid sunlight, all soft and good. Another thing you hadn’t realized you’d missed, its effects diminished over the phone. “That’s totally it. Hadn’t even crossed my mind.” He leaned on the counter and sipped his beer, looking down at you and tilting his head to the side. His hair followed like water. “Damn. I kinda missed you, Agatha Christie.”

You swallowed, hard. It was difficult to be under his gaze, now. Knowing the fantasies you’d had. Those brown eyes dredged up every sweaty, slick-fingered moment of imagination between your sheets. “You expect me to be surprised by that?” You replied with a plastered-on smile. “The six-hour commute and free beer kind of gave it away.”

He thunked a hand against his chest. “Foiled again. You see right through me. C’mon.” His beer bottle clinked on the fridge as he passed you, swaggering to him room like he was king of the world. “I got a new strain shipment and a ‘lil freebee along with it. You’re gonna dig it, for sure.” He turned around in his bedroom doorway with dramatic fury, a hand clutching each side. “Two words: Purple haze.”

“Lead the way, king ditchweed.”

“It’s not ditchweed!”

It wasn’t ditchweed. It was, in fact, a nice, smooth smoke. That’s what you elected to focus on, passing the blunt between you and Eddie on his bed, the window cracked just enough to circulate the air but not enough to turn his cramped, messy room into a freezer. 

He was leaned up against the headboard, all relaxed, that smile-crinkle under his eyes near-permanent. Eddie took the blunt from you and took a hit, exhaling through his nose: vapors curled up the sides of it and into his curtain of dark hair. 

You remembered your fantasy from a week ago, about the ball of that thick nose pressed hard against your clit while his broad, flat tongue punched deep into your— you cleared your throat and shifted around, working sensation back into your buzzing cross-faded limbs. 

Well, the sun's gone down, and you're uptown. And you're just out runnin' around: I can't hardly stand it, you're troublin' me! Lux Interior was whining, Elvis-esque, on the record lazily spinning on Eddie’s player. “Okay.” You conceded. “This is good.”

“The song, or the weed?” He brought up a sock-clad foot to deflect your attempt at hitting him, laughing. “What? New York mighta changed your taste in music. Mighta made you forget how good the Cramps were, and shit.”

“You know I was talking about the weed, dummy.” Soft, sentimental affection in your voice was as unmistakable as anything. You just couldn’t help it. Eddie smiled, pressing his lips together and looking away: your eyes drifted to the tendons in his long neck. Beautiful. You wondered how they’d feel under your tongue. 

“So. Tell me about the city boys.” He said after a few moments of comfortable silence. When you groaned and put your face in your hands he chortled. “Seriously! Are they cool? Do they do slam poetry? I bet they’ve got you just hooked, huh. Ridin’ the subway and shit.”

“We don’t have to talk about boys, Eds. I can’t imagine that’s entertaining for you.” 

The metalhead shrugged and took another drag. “Can you blame me for wanting to keep tabs on your bodice-ripping paperback escapades?” He cupped his face, mimicking a cherub. “That’s just how good of a friend I am.”

“Alright, alright! You ham.” You turned that what if over again in your mind. “It’s been. Weird. I’ve met a lot of guys, sure, but. I dunno. They’re not… great?”

“Define not-great. Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”

“How honest do you want me to be?”

“Uhh, mega-honest. Obviously.”

“Eddie, they’re shit in bed.”

Eddie exploded into a cacophony of coughs, thumping his chest and bending away from the headboard. Only when he was done, eyes watering, did he speak, giving a disbelieving shake of his head. “Wow, that was… honest.”

“Hey, you asked.” The ragged hem of your comfy travel shirt was looking really interesting right now. You chose to focus on it. “I’ve, uh. Been with a couple guys, now, and each time, they’re just…” You sucked on your teeth, trying to phrase it tactfully. “Selfish. Like I’m not even there. Like they don’t care at all about me. And I’m half the fucking equation in that— that goddamn horizontal tango, you know?”

“That sounds pretty frustrating.” Eddie, for once in his life, sounded serious. His voice was soft, like he cared. 

“Trust me, it is. I thought about calling it quits a couple of times, y’know? But I’m human! I got… wants. And needs, and stuff.” The silence after your words was deafening, and the record switched softly-playing tracks. The what if came back. And fuck it, you were a little high and a little tipsy and hey, if bringing this up ruined everything, you’d be on a plane to New York in a few days anyway. “You know how you used to, like… joke? When we were high? That it was just you and me, whining about being lonely, and we should just.” You struggled. “Help each other out. Let off steam.”

Eddie stared. And stared. His eyebrows lifted. For a moment you were worried he would be frozen for eternity. “Uh. Okay. I, hah.” A laugh of disbelief jumped out. He pinched his nose and shook his head. “Okay, uh. If I’m, uhh… misinterpreting this, feel free to, like, punch me. Just… full force. You, uh…” God, how many interjections could this man use? “You wanna. Have sex with me?”

“It’s so weird, I know.” Your words were a blurting, flushed, panicked tumble. You hadn’t really registered it until he said it out loud. “It’s so totally weird, and I shouldn’t have said anything, seriously, just forget it—”

“No, no.” He wetted his lips nervously, that pink tongue darting out. Eddie’s eyes were wide. “No, uh. It’s— I get it. We all, like. Get a little backed up sometimes, right? Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“God, you did not just say backed up—”

“You know what I mean!” He ran a hand down his pink-flushed face, hunched forward and cross-legged, close enough to touch. Close enough to feel his body heat. “Jesus. Jesus shitfuck.”

“Eds, let’s just pretend I didn’t say—”

“We could. We could do it.” He interjected. That tongue between his lips again, trapped, a little slice of wet, shining pink. “Um. I, uh. If it’s something you wanted to do.”

Your stupid betrayer heart was drumming double time, making your palms clammy and face red. “You don’t have to say yes because of me.”

“Hey. You’re a chick, and I’m a dude, and that’s like, basic biology 101 so… I wanna.” His gaze, skittish, like he was a timid fawn, met yours for a second and it was like steel against flintstone. It sent a zing up your spine. “It’d just be like… helpin’ each other out, and shit, right?”

“Yeah.” God, your mouth was dry. You hadn’t felt like this, shaking like a virgin, since you were sixteen. You’d laid yourself emotionally bare in front of him. Told him you needed to be touched. Loved. And he’d said yes. “Just helping.”

A beat of silence. Then another. Then another. Eddie leaned forward and then you were kissing.

It was a wet, searing thing. Like a current of electricity was passing between you, hot and bright and so, so unlike anything you’d felt at fucking NYU. He grunted against your mouth, leaning forward into you. Then there was a hand on your knee and god, fuck, fuck your life, that wasn’t supposed to feel good. That wasn’t supposed to feel like your skin was lighting up gold under his palm, and yet here you were. Illuminated by his touch like a celibate. 

“You gotta,” Eddie spoke in breaths, crowding you against the thin wall of the trailer, heat bleeding from his chest through his shirt, “tell me what you need, ‘kay? Promise?”

“More.” You replied immediately. You grabbed at him on instinct, getting a fistful of his shirt, tugging it up, up over his head: he moved with you immediately, pulling it off like it offended him, and oh. His nipples were dusky-dark pink, his pectorals small hills. The skullish demon head over his heart was staring you down. 

Eddie pressed a sloppy kiss with searing lips to your upper cheek, eyes centimeters from yours. Looking at you all gentle and needy. “Can I take your shirt off? Please, I wanna—” He swallowed and his adam’s apple bobbed. “Wanna see you.”

“Yeah.” Your voice trembled like an autumn leaf. “You can see me, Eds.”

His hands were so broad and firm. They rolled your shirt up over your head: Eddie hissed through his teeth. “God, fuck. Fuck me, man. Look at you.” That dark brown gaze was locked on your tits, the way your bra cupped them together. “Those New Yorkers have no idea what they’re missing, man.”

“Eddie.” You said softly. His gaze snapped back up to you, framed by dark curls of hair. “Touch me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can, uh. I can do that.” His lips parted as he touched you, hot palms traveling up your ribs, over your shoulders. He dipped his head, planting kiss to your collarbones: it was like you’d been shot, a slow, scalding heat spreading from that point. Eddie held one of your hips and slowly, ever so slowly, eased you onto your back. You knew he could see your jackrabbit heart racing in the veins on your neck, see the way your shallow breaths were so fucking fast. 

When you pawed between you two, sticking an arm against his burning-hot stomach to fumble with the fly of his jeans, he made a choked noise and grabbed your wrist. Eddie was breathing heavily against your face, holding himself over you with one arm braced by your head. “Wait, wait.” He took a deep breath. Hairs tickled your face. “Uh, just. Just wait.”

“I wanna touch to you too, Eds.”

He looked like the words falling from your lips were as good as head. “Jesus— not yet. Not— I don’t wanna end this too fast, and if you keep, haah—” another expletive when you pressed fingers blindly to his fly, down against his dick, “— doing that, that’s where we’re gonna end up.”

With a hum of frustration at being denied, you tilted your chin up in a demand for another kiss: he conceded without a fight, saliva-slick lips heady and addictive. You felt like you could kiss him forever, like this: the curtains drawn, early dusk darkening the room, his skin against yours sending frissons from your head to your toes. You pawed like an animal. Fingers clutching his back, feeling his shoulder blades move under his skin, his ribs expand and contract. 

When you brought a thigh out, knee bending to hook a leg around his narrow hips, he seemed to make up his mind. “Fuck, okay.” He broke the kiss again. “D’ya think— can I take your pants off?”

“Yeah. Yeah, god, Eddie, please.”

Like it was a goddamn race Eddie had your buttons undone and you were helping him shuffle your pants down and throwing them to the floor. He made another noise in the back of his throat and rested himself at your side, up on one elbow. Eddie put a hand on your sternum and slowly, agonizingly slowly, dragged it down. His face turned up to you every once in a while: checking in. Making sure you were still here with him. His fingers caught on the hem of your underwear for a second and you sucked in a breath, but he kept going. 

Feather-light pads landed on the lips of your pussy over your underwear. So light you could barely feel it. They traced up and down in slow, careful circles. Eddie looked almost hypnotized by the fact that he was even touching you: he watched his own hand like it was a magic show. 

“Tease.” You huffed out, bucking up slightly against his fingers. 

That crooked smile returned. “Nah.” He looked at you with affection. “Just tryin’ to make it good.” Those finger pads went up, up, up. Eddie tracked your expression, lips parting gently when your eyes bulged because oh, yep, that was your clit he’d caught for a second. He focused in on that little stiffening nub, snug under damp fabric, and the muscles in your stomach curled. “Ohhh, fuck. You like that, huh? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You barely eked it out. “Feels nice.”

“Bet nobody gave her any attention at your college, huh?” His words hit you like thunderbolts, and you swore you felt yourself clench around nothing. Eddie’s tongue was trapped between his teeth again. He thumbed your clit round and round in circles. 

“Eds.” Your voice was a warning, desperate though it was. “More, c’mon.”

“Tell me what you need.” Maybe with someone else the words would have come out commanding, domineering. But Eddie was looking down at you with those big wet eyes like you’d hung the moon, like he’d do anything to please you, lips parted all rosebud-soft. 

“Get inside me. Please. Just— your fingers, put them in, please.”

Still laid out long beside you, his fingers crept underneath the hem of your underwear, rasping against your trimmed bush as he slowly pulled the fabric down, down, down, till it pooled around your knees. “Fuck.” He said again, intelligently. “Fuck. Fuck. Can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” A finger ran down the parting line of your folds as he spoke and you jerked like a woman possessed. “Can’t believe you’re letting me touch you, god.”

His finger hooked at your soft, sopping, willing entrance. “Wait.” You blurted. His veiny hand froze. “Two. Two, uh, fingers, Eds.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay.” His voice shook. And then those long, calloused, beautiful fucking fingers were delving into your flesh, just thick enough for a little stretch, a little delicious addictive burn: if you weren’t so hyper turned-on by the sight you’d be embarrassed about how absolutely sopping you were. 

Your walls fluttered around his fingers and he looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. “So warm.” Was all he got out unevenly. There was no warning before he was slowly and rhythmically fucking you with his fingers, the slick squelch loud as thunder. The sight of his broad hand disappearing between your gently parted thighs was... addictive. You held his forearm tight as he fingered you, your grip moving with each slow thrust. 

This was fantasy. This was perfect fucking gratification. Sweating nearly-naked on his messy duvet, surrounded by his quintessential smell, Eddie inches away from you all laid out with a tent in his jeans so hard it looked like it hurt. This was just like your daydreams. Better, even.

You let your head fall to the side, where he was laid out all long next to you. It rested against his chest. You could feel the hum of his hummingbird heart behind the flesh and bone. “Eddie...” the word was a breathy sigh, but it earned him dropping his head over yours, pressing a wild, wet kiss to the crown of your head, leaving his mouth there. He groaned into your hair when you squirmed, thighs shifting, clenching around his fingers. 

“Shit— sorry, hold on, thing is fuckin— killin’ me, hurts so bad.” He muttered hoarsely, pulling fingers from your heat to fumble with his fly. His digits were too slick to get a grip on the zipper and oh man if that didn’t do something for you. You reached across your stomach without a second thought and pulled it open, and hello.

Eddie was so hard it looked like it ached. The head of this fat cock peeked out from the top of his briefs, so red it was nearly purple. It was shiny, smeared with drooling precum that slicked up the turtleneck skin around it. 

You thumbed the shaft over the fabric. Eddie sounded like he’d been socked in the gut. “Ohhhhkay.” He wheezed out. You crept upwards, dragging down his underwear and popping his bobbing cock out. It twitched, kissing his hair-dusted abdomen for a moment. God. You’d never wanted anything in your mouth so badly. You bet he tasted good: like salt and skin and Eddie.

The noises he made when you cupped him, running a loose grip up and down his shaft in lazy pumps, should have been illegal. They made the soft, wanton and slick heat between your legs feel like a bonfire, like an ancient calling demanding you do what humans had been doing for centuries before you. 

You wanted to swallow him to the base. Wanted to stay there for eternity, feeling him throb under your fingers and feeling his fingers in you. But poor Eds was on a timer. And you wanted as much as you could get. 

“Eds...” You trailed off, looking at him, how he held himself coiled-up tight while you touched his dick, like he was focusing so hard on not cumming. His wide eyes glittered in the low light. You kissed him again: quick and messy. “Can we...”

“Yeah.” His reply came out as a squeak and he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Please.” 

“We need a condom.” 

“Right.”

He was off the bed like a shot, shaking the mattress, flinging open bedside table drawers like a mob croney coming to collect debt money. He rifled through their contents with extreme (almost desperate) prejudice. The prize was found: a shiny gold-foil-wrapped Trojan. Seeing him stand at the foot of the bed, framed between your knees in front of you, dick twitching in the air and foil between his teeth? That was a sight that was going to be burned into your mind for the rest of your life. 

Eddie tore open the condom with his teeth and spat out the corner. He fumbled to roll it on with shaking hands. “Shit.” He hissed, the condom springing off several times. It was like someone had set him to vibrate. 

Your hand closed over his bigger one. Slowly, together, you got the condom on: shiny and off-white on his cock. 

He was still huffing like a racehorse. You couldn’t blame him: your body was alight, all active like you’d run a marathon. You didn’t know what it was: it was never like this with other guys. Little touches didn’t set you on fire. Gentle, caring fingers didn’t make you gush. 

With Eddie’s help you laid flat onto your back once more and eased your hips to the edge of the mattress. He stood between them, thighs pressed against mattress cover. His hands were warm on your thighs: kneading them, drifting up and down a few times while he looked down at you, his chest patchy with blush. 

“You sure?” He asked. There was anxiety in his voice. This wasn’t just being handsy. This was all the way. 

“Yeah. ‘M sure.” When he let his cock rest on your pelvis, hefty and scalding, you swallowed hard. “It’s you, Eds. I trust you.”

Eddie bit down on his lower lip, hard, and lined himself up with you. It was only when the head of his cock nudged your slick entrance and your pussy clenched rhythmically in reply, in excited hopefulness, that you realized how true that statement was. 

That’s why this was taking you apart. Not because it was sex. Or good sex. Because it was Eddie. 

He pushed into you slow with a hand clamped down on each thigh and it was like seeing god. The breach was fat and full, heat on heat, no resistance. You both made noises. He fit you like a goddamn glove. 

Eddie swore, over and over, when he got up to the hilt. His eyes clenched shut, face screwed up, steeling himself against the overwhelming pleasure. And for you, that was agony.

“Eds, c’mon, please, please move.” You weren’t above begging. 

“Fuuuuuck me, man.” He groaned out all high and breathless, and then he was clenching his teeth and snapping forward, hips bumping against you so hard it made the fucking bed sway. He fucked you like he was trying to keep you, like he was trying to make this the best you’d ever had: he even canted his hips up, hunting for that spot inside you that he’d read made girls go mad. 

“So good, so wet, god, so good,” Eddie rambled like a lunatic, a drop of drool falling free from his red lips. “So fucking warm, huh, aren’t you? Yeah you are. So nice and warm, warm on my dick, fuck, love how fucking soaked you are.”

You were in heaven. No, somewhere better. Somewhere where sex wasn’t a sin and you were getting your guts rearranged by your best friend, the guy who knew you the best, who saw you, the real you. “Eddieeeee.” You almost couldn’t get it out, breath punched out of you so deliciously with each thrust. “My clit, Eds, touch it.”

He brought a hand to it instantly, fingers sliding through the wet where his cock spread you open and dragging it up in rough, wild circles around your clit. You could see all his dark-eyed focus was on you: fucking you, filling you, giving it to you exactly how you had needed it for so long. Taking care of you. 

Fuck, that thought was gonna make you cum.  

“More, please,” You begged, “so close, Eds, so—”

“God, fuck me man, you— you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you cum, oh my god.” Eddie spoke like he couldn’t stop himself, all disjointed and panting over the pornographic slap of his balls on your ass. “Wanted to see it for so long, please, please, lemme see it, lemme see you—”

His begging, his disclosure, his desperation— you went careening off the edge into the abyss while he rubbed frantically at your clit, and you swore your eyes rolled up into the back of your skull.

There it was. The thing you’d been craving, bone-deep, for months. 

The perfect orgasm. 

Drifting back to earth, you had a body made of melted butter. A body made of summer sun and amber. Pure contentment radiated through every single immaculate cell. 

Eddie was still fucking you. Short, uneven thrusts, sweat beads rolling down his chest, long, wild hair sticking to his face. His brows were down in focus, lost in sensation. You lifted two shaking legs and wrapped them around his waist, locking him into your snug cunt. He looked up at you in hazy, pleasure-drunk shock, and then you squeezed down on him as hard as you could. 

“Fuck!” Was all he barked out, and then he was doubling over, staggering forward against your hips, pelvis stuttering. Gripping your thighs like lifelines. He thrust once, twice, three times more, and then Eddie— your exhausted, beanstalk-tall, wild-child Eddie— collapsed on top of you, heavy as all hell. The crown of his head was right under your nose, and you could feel his ribs against yours. 

He couldn’t see you right now. You let yourself smile fondly, satedly, into his hair. 

Together you breathed raggedly, radiating body heat. The clock in the kitchen, past the ajar door, continued to tick. The silence was no longer charged: it was honest, relaxed. Fulfilled. 

“You’re so heavy.” You said eventually. 

“Thanks. I’ve been working out.” Eddie’s voice was muffled in your tits. After a time, though, he raised his head. Propped himself up a bit on his elbows over you. Spat hair out of his mouth. “So, uh.” His lips opened and closed like a fish, awkward and unsure. “Was that, um. Good for you, or...?”

“Of course it was good, Eddie. Obviously! Don’t ask stupid questions.” You replied with mock seriousness: an age-old bit you’d always done with him. A sign that hey, no camaraderie lost, right?

He played along, looking mock wounded. “Well, I didn’t want to assume. It’s not like it went on for an hour, or ended with a squirt, or—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You laughed. He was staring at you in that fond way again. The guitar pick on his necklace tickled your clavicle. “I mean... we have the rest of the night, right?”

He looked stunned. He blinked a few times. “I mean— yeah, like, if that’s something you want to—”

“I want to.”

Another blink. The tongue made its reappearance. “Okay. We can... okay. Yeah.” The slow grin began its climb onto his broad face. “We can totally do that. All-nighter.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

The Munson landline was a little ragged, but it worked. “Yeah, mom, I can’t wait to see you too.” You said into the phone tucked between your ear and bare shoulder as you leaned against the kitchenette counter, hand in a bag of chips. You watched Eddie fight a box of waffles for their delicious cargo and pop four into the toaster. “The snow’s just real bad right now. You know how it is. I’ll get in tomorrow, I swear.”

Eddie slowly shook his head, hands on his hips, hitting the disapproving church-mom pose. He mouthed for shame and wagged a finger. You threw a chip at him. It plunked ineffectually off his bare chest. 

“Love your too, mom. Yeah, I’ll sleep warmly tonight. Bye.”

“Oh, you’ll be sleepin’ warm, alright.” 

“I knew you were gonna say that!”

“How could you possibly know what I was gonna say?”

The two of you returned to amicability, trading jabs and scoffs and sparkling smiles: but in your mind, somewhere in the far back, you held on to what he’d divulged in the heat and fervor of the moment. That he’d wanted to see you cum. Wanted to see it for ages. 

He’d thought about you. Like you’d thought about him. You tucked that away for later. Now, though? Now you were laughing your ass off while Eddie juggled burning-hot waffles with his bare hands before dumping them onto a plate and flapping his singed palms about like a bird. 

So. How do you ask your friend to fuck you? Turns out, sometimes, you just ask.

[hannahssimblr]

Mom clears her throat. “We’ve been discussing what’s next for you regarding your college expenses.”

And slowly, my blood drains. “Yeah?”

“And we think it’s best that we not contribute to your lifestyle any longer.”

“Um?”

“You’ve shown a total lack of responsibility.” Dad declares. “Not just this summer, but overall. You’re spoiled, ungrateful, and completely unable to manage yourself. We’ve decided that it’s best that you learn how to be an adult the hard way.”

“The hard way?” What does that include? Single parenthood?

“You’ll pay your own fees, your own rent, bills and all other expenses.”

“The idea,” Mom says, “Is that you’ll learn to budget, save and manage your own money, without relying on us to cover your costs all the time. It’s clear we’ve been enabling you for too long.”

“Enabling me?”

“Yes. You’ve become spoiled and ungrateful.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m more than grateful.”

She rolls her eyes. 

I scoff, “I’m grateful! Jesus! I’m grateful for the iPhone! Thank you, okay? I’ve always wanted one. I’m so happy. Now, do you want me to pay you back for that, too?”

“It’s a gift.”

“Ill advised,” Dad adds. “If we had received the gas bill earlier, we wouldn’t have bought it. You can be sure of that.”

“Well, nice. Wonderful. Thank you.”

Mom shakes her head. “Don’t be like that.”

“I said thank you.”

“Don’t take us for fools. You don’t mean it. That’s the thing, and after everything we’ve done for you. We’ve fed you, given you a bed, bought your clothes and your school books-”

“Do you want to be paid back for those, too? Am I in debt for being born? That was your choice, not mine!”

Her face goes dark red. “You think this was a choice for me?” 

“No! But it was your choice to have another, wasn’t it? And it was your choice to move me out of the home where I was happy.”

“You were happy because you were a child! Children don’t know any better.”

“No, I was happy because Maureen cared for me, and would never ask me to pay her back for the… the baby formula, and the diapers and the yarn she used to knit my little tiny fucking sweaters, would she?”

“That woman is not your mother!” She shrieks. “I am your mother.”

“Then act like it!” I scream back, and my voice tears at my throat. “For once in your life, please! Instead of throwing your money at me and buying these expensive gifts, as though the car or the phone is going to parent me instead, and then you get angry with me for being spoiled. Who spoiled me? Huh? Who? I don’t want any of this stuff. I never did.”

The piano lid slams shut, and I hear Ivy’s feet scurry up the stairs. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mom hisses. “There’s not a teenager in the country who wouldn’t want what you have.”

“You’re delusional if you think that.”

“I’m delusional?”

“Did you not hear me? Yeah, you are. And also-”

“Enough!” Dad bellows. “Aside from having no respect for your parents-”

“Respect?” I scoff. “Respect is earned, not-”

“I said aside from that-”

“You can’t just shout me down! You have to let me speak!”

“This is my house!” he roars with a ferocity that could make the windows shake in their frames. “I won’t be spoken to like this under my own roof. Neither I nor your mother, do you hear me?”

I shut my mouth. 

“You will go to Berlin, as you insisted, and you will earn your own money and pay your own bills, like everybody else has to do. This is nonnegotiable. Do you understand me?”

I swallow hard. “But how am I supposed to do that?”

“We’ve done you enough favours until now. You’ll get by on the earnings from the Volkswagen for a while, and after that, well, you can just figure it out.”

“You expect me to get a job in a country where they don’t speak my first language, with no history of work?”

Mom purses her lips. “It’s your fault you don’t have experience, not ours,” which is such an egregiously untrue statement to make that I would laugh if I didn’t know better. I don’t push the subject, or dare mention Ivy while she’s in the same house. Perhaps, if I was feeling braver, or stupider, I don’t know, I would mention that my only work experience is that of an au pair, a nanny, a childminder, but seeing as my father is still bursting with rage as steam rises rather theatrically from the integrated dishwasher next to him, it seems best to keep my mouth buttoned. 

“You know, this is what estranges people from their parents.” I say. Their expressions do not change.

“You’ll get over it.” Mom says simply, and after fixing her hair, she checks her little gold watch. “I have to get back to work, so I’m going to go.”

There’s more I could say. I could sneer as I asked her if Fergal was going to be there, if it’s really me that’s the problem in this household, or something else, something weird and rotten at the core of it, but I don’t. From a dining chair, she snatches her handbag, and marches into the hall, the click clack of her heeled shoes echoing all the way to the door. 

“Enjoy your phone,” she says before slamming it shut behind her.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[dragonblobz]

I haven't felt this inspired to write in actual YEARS. Is there anyone else here who likes Sunstreaker?

“This is gonna be GREAT. Vegas baby. Fucks sake.”

You spit the words like vitriol as you trudge along. The dry desert air seeming to suck the moisture from your mouth even as you curse.

You’ve always done everything right. You’ve always done what you’re told. Worked as hard as you could. Saved every penny. Hoping maybe to go back to college some day.

But then your world had crumbled around you. You got laid off. Diagnosed with diabetes. God but you miss those abominable soft sugar cookies with the icing you used to hate.

And you’re muttering this as you walk. Complaining simply because it makes you feel better. A bit of noise in the dry wind to keep you company as you trudge along the side of this seemingly endless desert highway.

You had a bit of a mental break. You can admit it. Life falls apart? Why not blow all of your carefully hoarded savings on a motorcycle for a solo trip to Vegas? Make a fortune?

“Blow the rest of my fuckn savings more like.” You mutter this before gagging and coughing up dusty phlegm.

You stop. Flex your shoulders. Reach into the bag slung over your shoulder to pull out your bottle of water and gaze at it longingly. Fiji brand. You remember seeing that big fat stupidly expensive bottle of water at the gas station miles ago. Thinking how stupid it was to pay almost 5 dollars for water. Buying it anyway because isn’t that the point? Throwing everything away? Living a little?

It's still completely sealed. And you’d gotten the big bottle. You watch droplets of condensation on the foggy bottle dribble down to moisten your fingers.

Better not. You’re thirsty but you’re certainly not dying. You tuck the bottle back into your bag and continue to walk. Cursing and continuing to mutter. Your fuckn EYEBALLS feel dry.

“Stupid fuckn Yamaha.” Another annoying dry cough.

The bike in question, Your shiny new, and by new of course you mean “gently” used, motorcycle is sitting on the side of the road miles behind you after refusing to start when you’d turned it off to step off the road to piss. You’d felt so FREE on it too……

“Fucking figures.” Why not? The rest of your life is shit after all.

You just keep trudging. It’s MILES to the next town. And nobody has driven past you. Hopefully if you just keep going, you’ll run into something…… SOMEWHERE…… by nightfall. You hadn’t bothered to study any of the landmarks or anything on g maps. Vegas or die trying you’d thought.

After a time, you just can’t mutter anymore. You’re just OVER it.

And that’s when you hear it……

A car engine. You’re no car person but you can still tell it’s a sports car. That whiny high pitched super horse power sound. The kind you can hear for miles before it actually reaches you. It’s coming from behind you. You’re on the highway shoulder.

You don’t bother to turn. Just keep trudging. Sticking your arm out with your thumb raised. Hitch hiking. Why not? It’s not like getting picked up by a stereotypical psycho is gonna be worse than anything else that’s happened to you in the past month. And you’re tired of walking. And the heat. Mostly the heat.

The car is going so fast that you stumble in the wind around it as it rips past you. It doesn’t  even slow down.  The screaming volume of it’s engine STILL making you jerk even tho you’re prepared for it. And you’re not even mad.

“I’m not a psycho I promise.” You whine. But you can’t blame them. You probably wouldn’t stop either.

The bright shocking yellow ass end of a tricked out Lamborghini grows distant along with the loud sound of it. There’s even a big engine jutting out.

“Famcyyyy.” You rasp. Asshole.

“Oh goddamnit.” You give up the ghost and crack open that Fiji.

Hours pass. The sun blasts down on you as it crosses it’s zenith. It’s windy but it’s almost WORSE because of it. Nobody else passes you.

When the wind dies away in the late afternoon, you audibly and verbally beg for its return. It feels like you’re in an actual oven.

“Fuckn christ….. Vegas or die I guess.” Another swig of the Fiji. You’re trying to conserve it. But half of it is gone. You have no idea if it’s possible to make out with water, but you intend to do just that the second you arrive at any human destination.

Suddenly, you hear it again. The growing unmistakable sound of a sports car. Coming towards you this time. You squint your dry ass eyeballs even as you jut your thumb out again.

It's shimmery and wavy and unreal at first. Like a mirage. But there’s no mistaking it. It’s a yellow Lamborghini.

“You gotta be fuckn kidding me……”

It’s the same Lamborghini too. There’s a big red weird symbol on its hood which you hadn’t seen the first time it’d passed you. But that big spoiler and that insane engine jutting out it’s ass end is unmistakable.

It's showing absolutely no sign of slowing. You know the dick head can see you. In their stupid air conditioned fancy ass interior.

“Hehe.”

You rotate your wrist. Flash the bastard a big fat throbbing bird as it blows past you. Middle finger standing proud.

“Fuk u. Hehe.”

Literally not even long enough for you to finish laughing at how stupid you are…… you hear the screaming of tires.

“Oh fuck…..”

Instinct takes over then. You burst into a run even as you hear the car’s engine roaring and more tire screaming. You know it’s turning around, and FAST, without looking.

“Shitshitshitshitshit.” Wheezing curses as you leave the road. You figure fancy pants isn’t gonna get out of their car to beat your ass if you make yourself inaccessible. It’s fuckn hot out here, after all.

You figure they’ve turned their car to just scare the shit out of you for flipping them off. And honestly it worked. You scramble up a hill then flop straight into a bramble of cactuses. Cacti?

“FACK!” It’s actually kinda funny. You’re laughing and gasping. Listening for the sound of the car driving off. Because of course it’s going to. Who’d drive their shiny ass Lambo off road?

This guy apparently……

“Oh….. FUCK…..” You can hear the spinning of sand and dust and the raging scream of a super tuned engine. You scramble out of the cactus blob and start running like the shit you are.

“FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK….”

You can hear the sand. The engine. It sounds like the car is struggling to go on. But it IS getting closer.

“SHITFUCKSHITFUCKSHITFUCKSHIT….”

It’s gonna hit you. You know it is. You see another ridge. Jump over it the split second that that car would have hit you.

Right. Into. Another. Cactus blob. You’ve got prickly pears in every fuckn hole.

“God McFUCK JUST RUN OVER ME ALREADY….”

You scramble free, spitting thorns, as you hear the roaring engine of the Lamborghini turning to clear the small ridge you’ve jumped over.

“FUCK THIS. JUST. FUCK IT.”

You turn. Spitting and screaming. Standing your ground. You’re just DONE. I mean it’s not like they’re actually going to KILL you right? Right???

The Lamborghini crests thru the sand towards you, the stuff flowing away from it like the waking waves of a ship. You scream and clench your fists and plant your feet. It’s a good fuckn day to die. You raise both fists and flip the fucker off as it comes.

It halts about 10 feet from you, engine purring like a glorious tigress. You’re just standing there like an idiot. Twin birds raised.

It’s a timeless moment. The Lambo purring as the dust settles around it. You gasping and flipping it off two fisted, suddenly glad it’s too dry for your body to be able to make piss for your pants.

Just that one moment, before it’s engine roars and it jerks forward. Stopping about three feet from you. You scream.

“FACKFACKFACK…”

Another roar. The bumper just slightly taps at your knees.

“FACKYOUFACKYOUFACKYOUFACKYOU…”

You start slapping it’s hood with both hands. Like some kind of idiot.

“FACK YOU!” slap “FACK YOUR MOM!” slap “FACK FACK!” slap slap

It stills then. Completely still. You hear the engine cut. The silence is deafening. You’re frozen too and wheezing. Out of breath.

There’s so much dust in the air. You cough and splutter and wheeze. Think about your stupid expensive Fiji for an innate moment. But the car is off and nothing is happening.

You just stand there. And stand. Breath slowing and calming. And the Lambo just sits in silence. The driver apparently happy to just watch you shit yourself. Dust settling.

You squint your eyes. Wanting to get a good look at the driver before you flip them off again. The windows are tinted so dark. You can’t see shit.

The silence continues for so long. Dust settled. Are they dead or something??

Without warning, the passenger door pops open. Super fancy. Gliding up and over the car. Like a wing.

You just stare. There is nothing but silence coming from that open door. Do they want you to get in??

You’re shaking, hating yourself for it. But you step around the car. Lean over to peer inside. The absolute FUCK if you’re getting into this psycho’s car. But you want to see who the hell just had the balls to scare the shit down your pant legs.

There is….. nothing….. no one…..

Suddenly you’re actually AFRAID.

There is no driver. That seat is absolutely empty. You’re not familiar with the interior layout of Lamborghinis, but that’s it. Two seats. A steering wheel. No keys. No key port. No gear shift.

“What the hell……”

“Fragger……. Get in already…..”

You jerk at the sound. It’s not coming from the speakers. You don’t care HOW good the sound system of a Lambo might be. It’s coming from the CAR.

It's a ghost car. Of course it is. You’re dehydrated and nuts and your life is coming apart at the seams. Why WOULDN’T you run into a ghost car?

“Christine???” Your voice is a pathetic little wheeze. That Stephen King story reverberating in your stupid dumb memory.

“What?? I WILL leave you, human. Get. In.”

You know what? Fuck it. You don’t want to walk anyway right? Your life is over anyway. And this is WAY cooler than a diabetic coma.

You slide in. The car is so low. The plush soft leather of the seats feels cool and inviting.

The door slowly glides down until you’re voluntarily trapped inside this ghost car. You feel around yourself for a seat belt. There is none.

“Stop touching me. Where were you heading?”

“Vegas.” It’s a dry croak from you.

You feel and hear the engine roaring to life. Surprisingly quiet here inside this car.

“I can’t believe you had the nerve to hit me.” Still not from the speakers. You don’t SEE any speakers. The entire CAR is speaking to you.

You don’t answer. Just sit there dumbly. Watching the scenery around you thru the Lambo’s tinted windows as the car trundles back to the highway and the desert becomes a blur around you as the engine roars.

You’ve never gone this fast in your entire life.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸. 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, toxic family dynamics, allusions to and depictions of mental/emotional/financial abuse, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 3.3k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: When your friend shares some exciting news, you fear this is yet again someone in your life who will move on and leave you behind. Joel reflects on how far he's come in life after running into an old family friend.

“Here’s a nice tip for you, sweetie,” Mrs. Baker chirped with a bright smile. You watched her wrinkly, dry finger scoot a shiny half dollar across the counter towards you. You fixed your expression into a million kilowatt smile of gratitude. “Oh, that’s so kind of you, Mrs. Baker, but we can’t accept tips.” You’d told her this every week for the past several months – every time she came into the grocery store where you worked.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she giggled with a conspiratorial wink. You felt rather certain of that, if your growing suspicions about the state of her memory and mental clarity was anything to go off of. The fact that she was still making these weekly trips by herself was enough to make you uneasy, and the fact that she was the one driving herself here presented an entirely new level of concern.

It was one of the few reasons you’d managed to compile when you were looking for ways to cheer yourself up over having nothing but your old cruiser bike for transportation. You were nowhere near what you needed in savings to even begin thinking about affording a car and all the expenses that came with it. All the progress you’d made previously had been wrenched from you when your dad had found the jar hidden in your closet. It had made him feel vindicated in his “random searches” he liked to conduct on everyone’s rooms. It gave him some sense of justification whenever something cropped up, no matter how rare it was.

But, hey, at least your door hadn’t been beat off its hinges like Calum’s had. And, hey, maybe by the time you can finally afford a car, insurance, gas money, license and registration fees ….. well, maybe you won’t have to worry about encountering Mrs. Baker on the road. You feel a little guilty the moment you think it and feel even more guilty as you shrug and take the half dollar from her. “Thanks, Mrs. Baker,” you say quietly.

You tuck the coin into your jean pocket that doesn’t have the hole at the bottom and finish loading her groceries into her cart. You laugh to yourself when she just starts walking off - you assume the direction of her car. You hope she can remember where she parked it. Your coworkers and boss Jeremy were never as patient with old, confused ladies offering you insulting bits of change in exchange for bagging up all their groceries just the way they like, loading them up into the cart, following them to their car, and offloading everything into their trunk. You always pointed out that it didn’t really take that much time away from your duties and probably made a big difference for someone like Mrs. Baker to have that sort of help. Jeremy would always roll his eyes and mutter something about “not my circus, not my monkeys.” You were just glad Mrs. Baker always came when it wasn’t very busy. 

The 17 minute bike ride to and from work was shaved down to a clean 14 with a bit of encouragement from the gloomy clouds rolling in behind you. It’d been a wetter than usual summer according to the weatherman, and it was expected to continue into the fall and maybe even winter. Combined with the fast approaching daylight savings, you’d be in for a wetter, darker commute. Bad news for someone who relied on a bike for transport, but you tried not to dwell on it. You’d just have to divert some of your secret savings and buy a heavier coat, one close to the color of the lightweight one you already had so hopefully your dad wouldn’t notice a new purchase and demand an explanation.

“Dad, I’m home!” you call out. No answer, but that was typical. After all, it wasn’t him who was required to announce every movement in the house. You walked into the kitchen to find him hunched over the table with the paper. You carefully place the six pack on the middle of the counter, casual and unassuming as though it hadn’t become a learned habit after too many times of you having to deal with him running out. His eyes drift up from his work and land on the offering.

“What’s that?” he asks as if he doesn’t already know. You aren’t sure what the trap is or what you’ve done wrong, but you also know there’s no other option than to find out what grievance you’ve committed.

“Just saw it on my way after clocking out,” you lie. You had to double back across the store to pick it out. “Couldn’t remember if there was still some in the garage or not,” you lie again. There was plenty in the garage, but “plenty” in your terms and “plenty” in your father’s terms didn’t always align. Better to play it safe than have to bike in the rain to replenish his stock.

He leans back in his chair now, having decided what exactly he’s going to take issue with. Because it’s always something. “You got a real talent for just throwin’ money away,” he sneers.

You steady yourself as you wash your hands at the sink. Slow movements. Nothing challenging in your response. He loved to lob these decentering comments at you, a sort of puzzle you weren’t really intended to be able to solve. The takeaway was always meant to be that “the obvious” was right there and shouldn’t have to be spelled out for you, but you were just too dense to figure it out. His statement was vague enough that it could be taken multiple ways, all of which inevitably pointed to some failure on your part. At least you always knew that was going to be factored into the answer somewhere.

Was he saying you weren’t good with money because you’d bought more beer when there was already some in the garage? Was he saying that spending money on full priced beer was like throwing your money away? Was he saying that spending money on something frivolous like alcohol was a waste in and of itself in the grand scheme of things? You decide to go with your first interpretation. It felt safest.

“I guess there’s some out there then? I couldn’t remember, sorry.” Accepting some of the imminent blame was sometimes enough to soften the edges of whatever was going to be launched at you. Sometimes it backfired and just added to the fire: you can already see how you deserve this censure, so at least you understand your shortcomings are why this conversation is having to happen in the first place.

“Ever heard of buying in bulk?” he huffs. As if he didn’t stock up every other week at the wholesale store regardless of if it was on sale or not. “Price per unit?”

“Oh, yeah,” you respond in feigned recognition of your so-called error. “Sorry, dad. I guess the 24 pack is just sort of hard to balance on the bike. I’m always nervous it’s going to fall off the handlebars when I get the bigger sizes.”

As if your difficulties getting to and from work were of any concern to him.

“So you acknowledge that you were paying the unspoken price of convenience,” he drawls. Ah, of course. The two birds one stone approach of insulting your efforts and inflating his authority as economic manager. The idea that you would pay a few more cents per unit to make things easier on yourself, to not have to worry about dropping and busting all the cans of beer because you couldn’t balance them. “At least you can admit it.”

He drifts forward again to his work, numbers and charts and graphs that you don’t understand and wouldn’t be explained to you even if you asked. The reprimand had been the short, simple kind. You quietly walk from the kitchen, place the beers in the garage fridge, and head down the hallway to your room. You lighten the load of your backpack and work shoes. The rain pelts gently against the window and is a full on staccato against the pane by the time you get out of your uniform and into your sweats. Getting ahead of the situation – making the call to get more beer without being asked or ordered to do so – had been worth it. You sigh and stare out the window. Thank goodness it was going to be a day where you’d played your cards well enough to come out mostly unscathed. Thank goodness today had been worth it.

The only upside to sweltering August days in the middle of Texas was that contracting jobs slowed a little bit. Sure, interior renovations were still in full swing, but it gave that tiniest bit of reprieve for all the decking, roofing, and sweat-dripping-off-your-balls-it-was-so-hot sort of work that he only ever scheduled for in the “cooler months.” It was the closest thing to downtime he had all year round, even though it was mostly spent on office housekeeping. Catching up on clients and completed jobs. Fostering those relationships so they’d sign Miller Contracting on for another project. Building enough good will and enough happy clients that word of mouth could not only sustain business but had helped it grow steadily over the past decade.

Joel hadn’t ever been much into religion except for Easter Sunday growing up when his mom would give him and Tommy so much chocolate they had barfed it all over the backyard more than once. Yet, he couldn’t help but think about how blessed he felt. He and his kid brother were doing well for themselves. He just wished his parents were around to see it. It would make him happy to show them all their love and hard work had eventually paid off. All those tumultuous teenage years of Tommy getting into all sorts of trouble and Joel winding up a young father without much of a plan on how to support his sudden family. They’d only been witness to the very beginning of their comeback kid storylines, and he’d kill for 5 minutes to show them he’d managed to make something of himself and made sure Tommy was okay, too.

The icy wall of air conditioning smacked Joel right in the face the moment the grocery store doors opened. As nice as it felt to be out of the heat, the jarring change of temperature was something he’d never gotten used to in all his years in the South. He made his way to the convenience section and nabbed a lemonade. He plucked another from the spring-loaded tray just before heading towards the checkout. He wasn’t sure what Jordan liked to drink since he never seemed to have anything except water to offer anybody. At least this way it wouldn’t be so obvious if Joel showed up with a lemonade for both of them.

The wall of heat smacks him in the face this time, along with the blaring sun. He squints and holds a hand to the sky to block some of the blinding rays. He hears the rattle of a cart coming his way and glances over. There’s that cute neighborhood girl he’d see every now and again if he was lucky. He doesn’t remember much about you from when he first moved in – other than that whole strange thing with your mom. He tries to remember your dad’s face in his mind’s eye. Something sort of stony and serious conjures into view. He wonders if he’s just imagining it wrong because your face is never like that. He must be thinking of someone else.

Regardless, he couldn’t remember any of your names. He used to be better at stuff like that. When you smiled at him, he returned it with one of his own and headed towards his car. Yeah, definitely couldn’t have been imagining your dad’s face correctly. No way the snobby frown of a man that came into his head was possibly related to you with your shy but deliberate smile. How on earth someone so insanely gorgeous could only find work at a grocery store was beyond Joel. He wonders if you were even aware of how much money you could probably rake in as a bartender around these parts.

“Is that Joel Miller?” a frail voice calls out.

Joel looks over to see none other than Mrs. Baker. “Well howdy there, Mrs. Baker,” he calls back. He walks over to her four door and wonders how on earth she’s still a licensed driver. She’d been friendly in the church with his mom especially, and even as a kid he was never too impressed with her driving skills. He dreads to think what they are now, multiple decades later.

“How are you, sweet boy?” she asks, all warm and bubbly. He grins back and shrugs.

“Just keepin’ busy. You know how it goes, Mrs. Baker.”

“Well that’s better than the alternative, I guess. Gotta pay the bills somehow.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Joel chuckles. He glances over to your retreating back as you push the noisy cart back into the store. “You got these folks so wrapped around your finger they deliver your groceries straight to your car, huh? You always were a charmer.”

Mrs. Baker joins him in a light giggle and taps his forearm. “Now now, Joel, I think we both know who the real charmer is between the two of us.”

“Hey, gotta pay the bills somehow,” he laughs in an echo of her words. Her smile widens at his teasing banter. “And, uh, your kitchen still workin’ good for ya?”

She nods and squeezes his hand. “Oh yes, it’s just as lovely as the day you finished it. You boys always do such good work.”

“Thank you, ma’am. M’glad to hear it.”

He edges around to open the door for her, partly to play his role as Southern Gentleman but mostly to get out of this conversation quicker so he wouldn’t be late for his next appointment with Jordan. She thanks him for his gesture and gives a little wave and brief goodbye as he heads to his work truck. If he made all the lights, he wouldn’t be late. 

“But there’s something else, and, I’ll be honest, it’s sort of a big deal.” Kenzie was practically vibrating in place. Her high energy was the fun, infectious kind more often than the grating, off-putting kind. You weren’t sure how she maintained such enthusiasm when all she ever seemed to have was good things to share. Wouldn’t you get tired being so happy and excited constantly? It sounded exhausting in a different sort of way, but maybe it was a good thing.

She had a perpetually sunny outlook thanks to her perpetually privileged life, but you didn’t want to rain on her parade by saying things like that. After all, who were you to take away from someone else’s joy? Not to mention she was probably the only actual friend you had these days after all your high school friends had gone off to college or took up actual jobs and move out and got roommates or got married.

Kenzie was just busy and self-centered enough to not really pry too much into your life. It was a dynamic that worked for both of you: her with a constant audience for all her triumphs and growing life experiences, and you with the comfort of never having to say much about yourself or your home life.

“Well are you gonna tell me or are you gonna make me guess?” you tease.

“Uh, definitely not gonna make you guess because you seriously aren’t even gonna believe this,” she whisper squeals.

You have no doubt whatever wonderful thing she’s about to share is very much believable. Good things happened to people like Kenzie. It was never much of a shock when another ray of sunshine came bursting through the clouds of her life. You only wish that some of that “luck” could rub off on our own life. You raise an expectant eyebrow when she doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, so–” she peeks over her shoulders from where you’re both knelt on the ground stocking canned goods “–I’m applying for this paid internship thing my professor recommended me for.”

Your brow scrunches. You thought paid internships were something that existed in the old days when you could still smoke on airplanes and down a vodka martini 5 months pregnant without anyone batting an eye.

“I know, I know, internships are sometimes blegh, but it’s like a legit office and nice company and everything” she explains, wholly misunderstanding your expression. “It’s not like those old offices off the Milton exit.”

You don’t even know what she’s talking about, but you take her word for it. “Oh okay, cool.”

“Yeah, so I’m basically, like, a shoe in for the job since my professor wrote my recommendation. It’s not a full-time thing yet since I still have another two semesters, but over winter break I should have some opportunities to have something more like a real job.” She cringes at her choice of wording. “Sorry, not that the grocery store isn’t a real–”

“–I know what you meant,” you interrupt. “Keep going.”

She shoots you a grateful smile and launches back into her tittering announcement. “So anyway, yeah, if this all goes alright then I basically already have a full-time job set up once I graduate. Can you believe that?”

Yes, you can believe that. “That’s so crazy!” You shake your head and give her a big grin. “I’m sure that has to feel amazing, Kenzie. That’s so awesome, seriously.”

She was a few months out from graduating with her degree in marketing. Or was it communications? You can never seem to remember, and you’re too far into the friendship to keep asking clarifying questions like that. Anyway, it didn’t matter much which one it was since she had pretty much already landed herself a “big girl job” with matching “big girl pay.” The ever present and nagging voice in your head reminds you that she is younger than you and already so much more successful than you’ll probably ever be.

“Hey, y’all both don’t need to be in canned goods. One of you go see what Erin needs help with, huh?” Jeremy scolds from the end of the aisle.

Kenzie rolls her eyes at you with her back to Jeremy. “Alright. You got it, Jeremy,” she replies in a chipper voice. He stomps off as she promises to text you later with the rest of the details. You give her a quick side hug from the ground and tell her again how great the news is.

You stew in it for the rest of your shift. It turns and spoils in your mind no matter how much you tell yourself you should be happy for her and not so focused on yourself all the time. By the time you make it home, it was impossible to ignore the reminders that this was yet another person in your life that you were bound to grieve once they moved on from their station in life and did better for themselves than what they had here. First your mom. Then your brother. Now one of the few people who you’d managed to befriend since graduating high school.

You were left behind. Again.

You were never going to make anything of yourself like everyone else seemed to do.

You were going to be stuck in this place for the rest of your life.

You do your best to control the hectic breaths that start squeezing your chest, but you’re well into a full blown panic attack before you can even pinpoint when it started.

This was going to be the rest of your life, and there was nothing you could do about it.