#this sounds so abject but it is in fact normal that i was not invite me for a trip to stay with an elderly family member

[unopenablebox]

fortunately they just left for a family vacation for the weekend so i have three days here alone to learn to shut up about my feelings about shutting up as well as about the topic itself

[amarantine-amirite]

One Last Time By Moonlight

I’m in the car with my schoolmates William and Hanna. I don’t normally hang out with them after school, nor do I go anywhere with Hanna when she's driving. Hanna’s wearing a princess costume, but it’s cold and snowy outside. “So what’s with the outfit?” I ask.

“It’s a long story," Hanna replies. She doesn’t engage me because she’s trying not to hit a patch of black ice and drive into the ditch, “I’m due to receive some big award.”

William shakes his head. “Hanna, you don’t. They never give those awards to fat girls.” He's not wrong, but Hanna is not really what you call fat. I think a better label for Hanna would be "skinny fat" rather than fat because she doesn't have a lot of muscle but has a lot of body fat.

“Then why would I have been invited to a gala reception?” she laughs. It sounds like someone struggling with a pilot light, “Come on. Think, people, think.”

It occurs to me that perhaps this gala reception isn’t real. If someone who gets picked on as much as Hanna does gets an award with a gala reception; chances are, it's a prank. I look at Hanna, take a deep breath, and ask, “What if it isn’t real?”

I can feel her eyebrows move like Volkswagens trying to parallel park. “What if what isn’t real?”

“It just occurred to me that the gala thing is more likely than not the setup to a cruel prank.”

“It’s real,” Hanna scoffs, “I know it is. I’m so excited that my heart’s racing, my right arm is numb, and hang on a second.” She rolls down the window, sticks her head outside, and vomits.

I chuckle a bit at first. It slowly occurs to me that what I just witnessed may be a medical emergency instead of a funny story. “Well," I giggle darkly, "that gala may end up being a fake, but the heart attack was real.”

William recoils. “Hanna's having a heart attack?” He seems more stunned than concerned. I get the sense that William would be useless in an emergency.

“Yes, everything she described screams heart attack.”

William's eyebrows dance in confusion. “Even throwing up?”

“Yep," I nodded, "throwing up is one of the symptoms of a heart attack."

William tells Hanna to pull over. Hanna gets out of the car and chases us out so she can lie across the back seats. “Shouldn't we call an ambulance?” I ask.

“Just get in the driver’s seat and get Hanna to the hospital, Louise,” William whines as he throws me the keys.

I swap places with Hanna and sit down in the driver's seat. I start the car and we get back on the road. "OK William, where's the nearest hospital?"

"I don't know," he says, "you're the one who's driving the car."

I clench my jaw and jerk my head in a semicircle. Lazy ass William, I mumble. I pull up my phone on Google the nearest hospital on my phone and use the GPS feature to navigate there.

I could see the sky get darker. The snowfall becomes thicker, like when corn starch turns into a non-Newtonian fluid. The road becomes devoid of cars. The usual markers of civilization vanish. The visibility worsens. I feel uncertain as to how much further I can keep driving. Reality feels altered beyond repair. It’s almost like I became disconnected from the rest of the world.

Some 45 minutes later, the GPS feature on my phone tells us we have reached our destination. I look out the window and see not a hospital, but a casino. “What the fuck?!”

By now, Hanna has gone pale. She breathes raggedly and sweats like she’s in a sauna. “Look, Louise, no offence, but you’re an idiot who can’t tell the difference between a hospital and a casino," she wheezes.

“That’s not true!” I clap back, “the map must be wrong. Besides, we can just turn around.” I go back to start the car, but it sputters. I look at the fuel meter. We’ve run out of gas.

We don't want to leave Hanna waiting in a cold car, so all three of us abandon the car and go into the Marriott across the street from the casino. I struggle to carry Hanna across the parking lot. She looks so slender, I never would have guessed that she weighs as much as she did. I guess that's what happens when you're skinny fat.

We enter the lobby of the hotel. William and I sit down in the chairs after I lay Hanna down on the sofa. "Why did you make me do this?" I snap at William.

“Do what?” he says, playing dumb.

“You made me try and drive Hanna to the hospital!”

"What choice did we have?" he replied.

"We could have called an ambulance and saved ourselves so much trouble." I look back at Hanna. All the color appeared to vanish from her skin. She only opens our eyes about halfway. She nearly falls off the couch, but she's alive. Barely conscious, but alive. It's enough to make me wonder how she didn't die. If you go 45 minutes out of your way to get a heart attack victim from their current location to the hospital, their chances of survival go bye-bye.

William utterly fails to understand this. He looks at me with puppy dog eyes and wrings his hands. “Look, if I could have called an ambulance for Hanna, I would have, but I couldn't.”

Inside, I could feel my internal organs shooting each other. The words if I could are so painful. They remind me of the abject refusal to solve a problem. If I hear anybody use the phrase if I could, I give them hell. Simple. “No,“ I said, “you could’ve avoided all this, and you chose not to!”

He continues to dissemble. “But it wasn’t my problem to solve,” he protests.

I don’t buy it for a minute. “Oh, it most certainly was.”

He nods obsequiously. I watch him as he walks down the hall slowly and softly. He turns the corner and disappears. The fire alarm rings out; people exist in a state of either tempered nuisance or subdued worry.

I stand outside by the side of the road in the snow. I see what looks like a ghost of a young boy watching me out the window of the building across the street. I get the gnawing sensation that this place isn’t meant for me.

He looks at me and points to the road. It means get out, you don't belong here. I head down the path; now I know that I am not supposed to be here.

It gets dark. The street lights come on. The path feels like it continues forever. I settle into the fact that this road may continue into infinity. Without warning, I fall through the ice and plunge into the frigid water.

The water doesn’t smell like a lake or river. It smells chlorinated, like somebody’s swimming pool. I force myself up to get a glimpse at the house. Their house looks like one you would see in a movie.

The lights come on. The inhabitants of the house wake up. I hear them sulk downstairs as they slog to the backyard. They will soon learn that someone fell in their pool. I bet they’re wishing they bought a pool cover.

@madeofbluez

[penninstitute]

Case #0140111

Statement of Ray Ashner regarding the most horrible performance he’d ever seen. Original statement given January 11th, 2014.

I am deaf, have been since I was young, and had it not been for the fact that I couldn’t hear, I would likely be dead and not currently writing down my tale of survival.

Let me just say first that it’s not bad, being completely deaf, but there are some things you miss out on when you can’t hear. People have told me the roar of the ocean is an awe-inspiring thing - but for me, it’s nothing. But still, I can live just fine without sound. I can read lips and use ASL, and I’m certainly not illiterate.

The town I live in is very nice - we are, or, were, a tightly knit community. Luckily for me, many people had picked up some ASL out of kindness for me, a gesture I will never forget, and carry with me in memory of all those innocent lives.

I’m getting sentimental. Sorry. Let me continue my sad tale.

Our town hall has two levels, the main floor and an upper one, which is more of a balcony. It looks over the stage in the hall, granting anyone up there a good view of the performances below. The local theatre group uses it for sound and lighting sometimes, but it goes unused largely. The only other person that goes up there is me: as a janitor, I have to regularly head up into the balcony to dust and sweep. Sometimes I like to sit up there and watch people dance below, unseen by everyone under me. It’s kind of fun being an unknown spectator.

What would’ve happened if I hadn’t decided to sit up there that night? Would it have lessened the knowledge of what I saw?

I don’t know.

It was late that evening, and I knew that there was going to be a performance later tonight. The band playing was called “Hamelin” - I’d never heard of it until now, and judging from the others, no one really knew them as well. But it’d been a dreary month and the mayor had invited this strange group to come and play, maybe liven things up. Standard stuff, yes?

My week was going quite nicely and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to treat myself to a look at this “Hamelin” band. I was very curious as to who they were. Maybe I couldn’t hear their music, but I could certainly watch them perform. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this situation at all.

There shouldn’t have been.

Night came, and the lower floor filled with people chatting and awaiting the band that had yet to turn up. I’d taken my usual spot up in the balcony, leaning over the railing eagerly. I found it kind of strange that the band hadn’t turned up yet - it’d been, what, over half an hour at that point? Usually bands showed up well before the audience did. Maybe I should’ve given more thought to this strange occurrence, but I kept trying to rationalize it, and so I didn’t think it was suspicious at all.

Then finally, someone showed up.

As I watched, a tall lean man strode into the hall. The crowd fell silent and parted to let him through. He got on stage and put down a guitar case he’d been carrying, unlocking it and pulling out a shiny looking instrument. I figured he was part of the band.

It was then I noticed he was the only member of the band that had shown up. Again, I didn’t think it was suspicious. Maybe the other members were late as well, I thought. Or maybe “Hamelin” wasn’t a band, but rather, a stage name. Clearly there were good reasons for him being the only performer.

The man situated himself on a stool and pulled a microphone close to him, adjusting the guitar on his knee. He had long, heavily textured hair, kind of like mine, with a short-sleeved dress shirt coloured in red and yellow stripes. His face was long and tired, his eyes haunted and dark.

Looking at his shirt, thinking of the band name, I was suddenly reminded of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin.” Had you ever heard that poem? In that poem, the Pied Piper plays a pipe that enchants the horde of rats infesting the town of Hamelin. Through his playing he drives the horde into the nearby river, to which they all promptly drown. His music brings the rats death.

I thought that reference was just a coincidence. It couldn’t have meant anything. I wasn’t shivering at all.

He was speaking, the musician, his mouth moving, probably thanking the crowd for their time. There were still people whispering to one another in the audience. Everybody was just staring rapt at this strange, strange pied-clad man.

Then the man hefted his guitar, picked a note, and began to play. Everything was normal, his lips were still, people were gently swaying to the tune - standard. Normal. Perfectly normal.

Until he began to sing.

God knows how lucky I was to be deaf in that moment, because as soon as the man started singing, everyone went mad.

It was pandemonium like you couldn’t imagine it. Everyone immediately turned to the person next to them and lunged at them, their jaws snapping and hands reaching to rip at skin and shred at flesh. Some people grabbed weapons - one woman grabbed a bottle, another took his fork - while others simply threw themselves upon another, nails digging into pink, writhing bodies. People kicked and howled and broke. Blood flew everywhere.

All the while, that man sang. He would throw his head back wildly, leaning forwards and backward with an erratic rhythm. His mouth opened and closed. His teeth - they kept showing, flashing like fangs and knives in the light. His lips curled back in a raptured snarl. His eyes fluttered as if drunk in some horrid version of ecstasy.

He sang. And by God, did he sing.

A man tore another’s ear off with a flick of his head. A woman thrust her hand into someone’s eye. Brothers turned against sisters and mothers slaughtered their sons.

I should’ve run. I should’ve known that this would happen. I should’ve cried. But I just watched in abject horror as the community I knew and loved - one that had given and cared like humans - indulged in violent carnage like slavering animals.

It kept going. Everyone wouldn’t stop. The man kept singing. He wouldn’t stop singing. I couldn’t do anything.

Finally, the last person in the audience stood standing, a woman by the name of Agnes Tucker. She stood alive, bloodied and bruised, panting at the man on stage as he crooned his deadly melody. And then she grabbed her throat and violently tore it out. Her legs, at last, gave away, and the crowd lay dead amidst blood and bone.

The musician stopped singing. Everything was very still.

Then the man looked up, and met my eyes with a smile. He said something, and in that moment I had never read anyone’s lips with more clarity than his.

“Encore?” He said.

Our town hasn’t been the same after that. The police ruled the event as a drunken brawl and didn’t blame me for the massacre. The few people that hadn’t gone to the hall held a massive memorial, which I made sure to attend.

Nobody in the town talks anymore. We aren’t the close community we once were. Neighbours don’t get together and happily chat about the latest events. The town hall is abandoned and unvisited by anyone at all. Whatever people you do encounter on the streets will glare at you, as if your survival is an insult to that bloody carnage. Believe me, I know; that’s how they treat me these days.

We were once a lively place. But ever since that day, the town has been very, very quiet. And somewhere out in the world that accursed man still plays his merry tune.

FOLLOW-UP NOTES

- Mr. Ashner did not agree to give us a follow-up statement on the matter, as he claimed there was nothing else worth mentioning. Supposedly the town has begun to recover, but after a massacre of that size… I don’t have high hopes for them, to be honest.

- It’s notable that Hamelin is the name of the town in the tale of the Pied Piper, though that could just be a thematic coincidence. The theme of music with an almost siren-like effect on people certainly fits the story. There is even a survivor of the piper’s “attack” on the town of Hamelin who was deaf and could not hear the piper’s music.

- The monster here knows how to stick to a theme, I’ll give it that. I wonder if the hunting department has any files on monsters such as this one.

[twitchesandstitches]

the monster lady, the puppet, and the cleavage guy

“Whup,” Tia mumbled. She rarely got embarrassed; the temptation was to say that she never did, but this wasn’t strictly true. She certainly didn’t have a typical understanding of shame, though; she saw nothing wrong with walking into public completely nude and smacking her sexual bits into people (or, if she was particularly lustful that day, slurping people up with them), or bending walls and doors out of her way so she could walk right into people’s houses and stare at people in their beds for hours at a time until they woke up so that she could complain about their poor taste in movies and the lackluster quality of the food they were giving their cats.

When she was in one of those moods, she could be counted on to either be extremely weird, or sexually driven to the point of being scary. Either way her presence promised to freak people out and probably break a few decency laws.

So it was a bit odd that she had her breasts jammed against a wall, and looked awkward about the whole thing.

Most of the space was filled up by her massive body anyway. It was a bit hard to appreciate, since most of her was robed in an immensely large t-shirt flowing down her abnormally curvaceous body like a tent set over several mountain ranges. Folds of fabric descending from massive hips half a dozen feet across, a suggestion of thighs broader than some people were tall, and standing directly below here, her shirt slung so far out from her body and under her breasts that she looked nude from there.

You’d only see her skin, shining wetly like star-studded latex, the gleam of greens and pinks just barely visible beneath the flesh.

But between her gigantic, couch-sized butt (pressing so thickly against the wall it had bunched up into overstuffed pancakes), her thick body filling out the sides of the tiny hallway, and her breasts smashing right into the wall and pinning a hapless bystander into her cleavage, she was filling up the room.

“Do not moves, ifs you can,” she said, her voice resonant, with a thick accent absolutely no one had ever been able to place. The little human between her boobs wiggled and sank deeper in, the boob-flesh rising above their shoulders. “Me said don’t! Because, I am very sexy and ifs you get too turned on, you’ll sink it! Maybe you’ll get ate by my boobs.”

The human, a heavily built and extremely muscular man with a boyish cast to his cute features, whimpered in abject terror, sweat and tears running down his face. This was hampered by a raging erection jutting deep into her depths, which she didn’t seem to be even slightly bothered by.

She gasped, genuinely upset. “Oh, don’t cry! You will be okays, small human! I promise!”

“P-please focus, ma’am,” he whimpered, massive shoulders bunching up and desperately trying to keep himself from sinking into her. But she felt so warm, and her body was so inviting... surely it wouldn’t be a bad thing to just relax into her... right...?

Tia, for absolutely no reason a reasonable person would be able to determine, chose to express the conflict of satisfying her constant need for stimulation and pleasure (and, perhaps more significantly, doing the same to literally everyone around her that seemed even slightly receptive) and her conscious desire to help everyone, and also her inability to move without breaking the entire room and possibly the whole building; all of this, she decided to communicate by whipping out a hand, her powers weaving some nearby fabrics out of the carpet...

Into what was clearly a sock puppet. Where she got the template for that (as her powers typically required) was anyone’s guess.

The man in her boobs blinked. “What the heck?”

Tia flapped the puppet and talked out the corner of her mouth, extremely inexpertly, in a goofy falsetto. “’Boy, Miss Tia, this is sure a predicament we’re in!’”

“What.”

“Oh, I KNOW!” Tia said in her normal voice. “I’m just too big and fantastic! I can’t get out! If I do, the whole building might break, because I’m much too strong right now!”

“I don’t...”

The puppet ‘said’, in the same goofy voice as before, “’How do you get inta these messes, Miss Tia!?”

“I don’t knows!” Tia said, in her normal voice.

“Why is the puppet talking in perfect Common and you’re not?” The man in her boobs said weakly.

“Because it’s funnier that way,” the puppet said.

“What he said,” Tia replied vaguely.

“...Do you have a plan?” He said, hopefully.

“Um. Wait until my body eats you, assume your form and walk out.”

“...Is there a plan that doesn’t involve eating me?”

“Technically it’s not so much eating you,” the puppet replied. “As taking advantage of the fact that your shape information has been catalogued.”

“What’s the difference? I’m still getting eaten!”

“It’s a technical detail.”

“Do you not have a plan that WON’T involve eating me?!”

“Don’t be such a big baby,” the puppet said, and Tia then gasped in horror, scandalized at such insensitivity to legitimate fears. “You’ll reform!”

“That is not being the point important!” Tia said firmly. “Yes?! You’re scared to get ate!”

“Yes!” The man said desperately.

“You don’t wants me to eat you!”

“No!”

“You don’t want to slide inside my big, comfy body where your spirit gets heals and happiness while your body is absorbed for a while!”

“Um. No!”

“You definitely don’t wants me to love you with every single inch of me, your body making me bigger and better, like sexy times a THOUSAND fold!”

“No...?”

“My sweet, lovey-dovey gut-bits holding onto you like big, squishy baby, making sweet and sappy loves to you as you is fused into me, body and soul! That sounds TERRIBLE, doesn’t it? Wait, does it?” Tia looked worried. “No one has said so. Am I doing mean things and no one wants to tell me?!”

“No, no! It sounds very nice!” The poor, conflicted man said.

She frowned, looking upset. “Then what so bad about going in my tummy? Is being part of me a BAD thing?”

“No! It’s just... a very intimate thing for our relationship at this point?”

“What relationship? We’s just met.”

“Yes, that’s my point there.”

They stared blankly into the ceiling.

The puppet ‘said’, “Have you considered just shrinking?”

The man said, aghast, “Do you mean you could do that all this time!?”

Tia’s expression was absolutely mortified.

“...Did you FORGET you could do that, this whole time!?”

“...No?” She said.

“She did, because she’s a dumbass with the memory of one of those strainers they use for noodles and stuff,” the puppet said.

Tia gasped and threw the puppet off her hand, so hard it smashed right through the wall. “You traitor!” She gasped, then. “What have I done!? I AM A MONSTER, I HURT MY PUPPET FRIEND!”

“OH CRUEL FATE,” The puppet said as it fell... or rather, Tia said through the corner of her mouth, trying to make it sound like someone falling a great distance. She made a bad crashing noise, and sobbed dramatically.

“You’re a very weird lady,” the man in her boobs said.

Tia beamed. “Aw, thank you!”

[elderxprice]

(#bom10daychallenge - day 1 - I’m fine. Let me see your face.) Kevin lingers in the aircraft, toying with the strap of Arnold’s backpack, until he is all but ushered out.

“Take care of yourself,” the attendant says, clasping her hands behind her back. Her name is Emily. Kevin knows, because she told him when he could not stop throwing up on the ascent. She had kneeled in the aisle beside him, soothingly rubbed his back, and told him everything would be just fine. He made her promise, and in doing so made her a liar.  

“Yeah,” Kevin says, offering her a tired smile. “Alright.”

He wishes things could have been different. If they had been, perhaps he would be coming home a hero and not an abject failure, earning piteous looks as he trudges through the airport.  Not that he can blame anyone. Kevin knows he looks disgraceful, because that is how he feels: exhausted and filthy and full of regret. Still, he walks with his shoulders squared and head held high. He has to be brave; it’s all he can do.

The airport is a myriad of joyful reunions and tear-filled goodbyes. Missionaries being hugged by their mothers; children being hugged by their parents; friends reunited after years and years apart. Their love is almost palpable, and Kevin finds himself wishing he could reach out and touch it, for just a moment, to remember what that feels like. It’s been so long since his parents have hugged him and said they were proud. One year and a handful of days. The memory is blurred at its edges, yet as he steps onto the escalator it all comes rushing back in a bouquet of abstract flowers.

His mother’s favorite perfume.

A sob escapes his throat at the realization that he’s home. He’s home, and his mother is here. She came for him. They all did.

“Kevin!” His sister runs to him, tears streaming down her cheeks regardless that she’s smiling. Kevin drops Arnold’s backpack and meets her halfway, hugging Debbie so tightly her feet lift from the ground. “I missed you, Kevin.”

“I missed you, more. The most.” It’s the truth, because she is the only one who wrote him. “Gosh, you’re heavy.”

She laughs, legs wrapping around his waist so Kevin cannot put her down. “I’m ten, now,” she says, proud of that fact. “I’m not so little, anymore.”

“Boy, I’ll say,” he says, leaning back so he can see her. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday.”

Debbie nods, but she grins as if she doesn’t care. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe his being here is enough; maybe it’s all that she wanted. The thought incites a genuine smile - his first in twenty-six hours.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his nose against his sister’s. “Let me say go say hi to everybody else, then we can hug again right after.”

The rest of his family, sans Jack, stand just a few feet away. They do not seem as excited to see him as Debbie had been, but his mother dabs at her eyes with a tissue and his father rests a hand on Kevin’s shoulder once they’re close enough to touch. It’s more than he could have hoped for. “It’s good to see you, son,” he says. Kevin isn’t sure he believes him. “Boys, isn’t it nice to see Kevin?”

At their father’s unsubtle encouragement, Ben and Sean move to hug him.

“You smell bad,” Sean says, pulling away with a scowl.

“He doesn’t smell that bad.” Ben hugs Kevin a second longer, as though to prove this point. “Just kind-of bad.”

Kevin sighs, ruffling Ben’s hair before turning towards his mother. She is still dabbing at her eyes as she motions for him to come closer. He’s really missed her. For all his father’s countless shortcomings, his mother far more than makes up for them. She loves him, Kevin knows. Even now.

“I’m real hungry,” he says, once her arms are wrapped around him. The cotton of her sweater is soft against the sunburn of his cheeks. “Mom.”

“Well, we’ll get you some food on the way home, how does that sound? There’s a lot to talk about, but it can wait until tomorrow. Can’t it, Michael?”

Kevin has never heard his mother refer to their father that way, before. It was always husband or honey or something equally nauseating, but never his name. It makes him a little bit nervous.

“We can’t go anywhere with him looking like this, Katherine.”  His father sweeps a hand towards Kevin, putting him on display. People are staring. Kevin feels his throat constrict; “McDonald’s is fine,” he interrupts, earning a pointed look from his father. “Just for tonight.”

“…Just for tonight,” his mother agrees. “Just this once.”

His siblings look excited. Sean thanks him for smelling bad.

*

They were never allowed to eat McDonald’s, because it isn’t real food or good food or anything Heavenly Father would want them to put into their bodies. The only time Kevin ever got to, was when he had his license and could go without anyone knowing. He brought his sister the day before he left for the Missionary Training Center. They had strawberry milkshakes and french fries and sat on the hood of his car at the airport watching all the planes take off. It was something special they shared; a secret between them she could keep once Kevin was gone.

Kevin orders three double cheeseburgers, two large fries and a diet Coke. The family’s entire order comes to over fifty dollars, and their father has a conniption as he pulls back onto the highway; and while that normally would have provoked an apology out of Kevin, it’s hard to care once a piping hot bag of actual food is placed upon his lap. And, see, Kevin knew he was hungry; he just didn’t realize how much, until the first, salty fry touches his lips. “Oh, gosh,” he says, in an almost obscene euphoria, before stuffing a handful into his mouth. His siblings watch in amusement, laughing at his pitiful display. Kevin is happy to entertain them, so long as it means he can eat.

His parents, however, are not so entertained. Kevin can see the disapproval in his father’s eyes as he casts the occasional glance in the rearview mirror and hear it in his mother’s voice as she scolds him about his lack of manners.

“I bet you ate this crap all the time in Africa,” Ben says, lifting his chin as though he isn’t enjoying it just as much. “Dad says you probably did all kinds of awful stuff once you shut out the Lord.”

“Yeah,” Sean agrees, licking ketchup from his fingers. “Like sin with girls.”

“Boys!” Mrs. Price reaches behind her to gently slap Sean’s knee. “We aren’t going to talk about Kevin’s mission,” she scolds. “We discussed this.”

Kevin supposes he ought to be glad they don’t want to talk about it, or else he’d be sat in an Olive Garden somewhere, feeling like he has to when Kevin really, really does not want to. He especially does not want to sit across from his parents and talk about Arnold, or the way he loves him, or how he did sin – a lot. Nor does he want to talk about the General; or Kimbay’s husband; or AIDS; or watching his friends die; or starve; or about any of the countless other horrible things he’s been witness to over the past year and a half. Kevin does not even want to think about it.

The guilt of that realization weighs heavy on him, and the food turns sour in his stomach. His father pulls over, so he can throw up outside.  

“Well, then,” his father frowns, rolling down the window once Kevin’s heaves have subsided. “Are you quite finished?”

Kevin wishes he was; but this is not going to go away, just because the food is out of his stomach. In fact, the guilt over having just wasted food on the side of the road sticks to his ribs and makes it hard to breathe.  

*

Immediately upon returning home, his parents send him upstairs to clean up.

There is a letter on his pillow from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  Kevin is not surprised by its presence, only by how it has already arrived. He told his parents he wanted to leave Uganda four days ago and has only been back for one hour. His parents must have personally picked it up. Kevin would not be surprised if his father helped write it.

Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Kevin stares at the letter for almost an hour. He knows the second he picks it up, this in-between will be over. Kevin will need to make a choice: to stay, or leave, the church.

It was easy to turn his back on this life in Uganda, because his parents weren’t there and his college wasn’t there and the reality he was living, is not the one he’s living now. His mother said she loved him; his sister hugged him; his dad put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. It made him happy. He wants to be happy. Kevin reaches for the letter.

“Dear Elder Price,” he frowns at the sound of that name. “The stake presidency is considering formal disciplinary action in your behalf, including the possibility of disfellowshipment or excommunication, because you are reported to have participated in conduct unbecoming a member of the church, namely apostacy. You are invited to attend this disciplinary council to give your response and, if you wish, to provide witnesses and other evidence in your behalf.”  

The council date is set for the day after tomorrow. Kevin wonders what evidence he can scrounge up in that time, before realizing he is evidence enough. Kevin is not an apostate. Priesthood holders have a responsibility to become like Christ and love as He loves and serve as He serves and Kevin did that. All the evidence he needs, he wears as scars and cuts and angry bruises. It would be inappropriate, perhaps, to open his shirt in front of the stake president, but Kevin will if that’s what it takes to prove what he did was in Heavenly Father’s example; and not because he wants to stay in the church, necessarily, but because he knows in his heart he did nothing wrong. None of them did, and for some reason, he needs the church to see that. He wants them to.

“Kevin?” Debbie lingers in his doorway, hair braided in a crown around her head.

“Hey, you.” Kevin tucks the letter beneath his pillow; “Let me get changed, then you can come in, alright?”

She closes the door, and Kevin stands from the bed. He stretches. Everything hurts, deep into his bones. If he was still in Uganda, Kevin is almost certain Arnold would rub his shoulders and his neck and his back, without even asking for a thing in return. Arnold is selfless. Kevin is not.  

Pulling open his dresser drawers, he notices there is not much left in them. One pair of temple garments, and a pair of sweats from high school with Provo down one leg, and Bulldogs down the other. It seems like his parents culled his room while he was gone, as though they were not expecting him to come home, or just weren’t going to let him.

Clothes on, Kevin opens the door for his sister, who is holding a blanket and pillows.  “Mom said I could stay in here tonight, if it’s okay with you?”

“You know it is,” he says, motioning for the blanket. She hands it over, watching as Kevin folds it once and sets it on Jack’s bed. “You can take mine. Mom say’s you’ve been sleeping in it, anyway.”  

Debbie almost looks embarrassed, like she wants to lie and deny it, but she is a good Mormon, Kevin remembers, which is probably why she doesn’t. Instead, she climbs onto Jack’s bed, curling up beside her brother.  

“What was Africa like?” she asks.

“Awful.” Kevin presses a finger to her nose, and Debbie smiles. “Wonderful.”

Debbie nods, as though she understands or can tell he does not want to get into it, beyond that. “Dad said you look sick,” she says, in a whisper. Kevin imagines she must have overheard this conversation. “You’re not, are you?”

“No way,” he says, offering her a tired smile. “Just tired. Dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Debbie’s eyes widen then, and Kevin presses a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell him I said that, though, okay? Promise?”

“Promise.”

A comfortable silence falls over them, then, and Kevin lets his eyes slip shut. It’s weird, being in this house, again. It’s warm and familiar. Same walls, same windows, same family he left behind.

The only thing different, is Kevin. And it must be more apparent in the daylight, he thinks, because his mother gasps when she sees him the next morning. She is standing by the kitchen window, exactly where Kevin left her over a year ago, holding the same chipped mug of orange juice.

“…Mom?”

“I’m fine,” she responds, almost automatically. Kevin wonders who’s been asking her. “Oh, Kevin,” she breathes, when she finally gathers herself. “You look absolutely dreadful. Come here, let me see your face”

“Gee. Thanks, mom.” He bites his tongue as she touches her hand to his forehead. She must think he’s sick, like Debbie said, but in a physical way. She couldn’t be more wrong, but Kevin doesn’t have the heart to tell her.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s true. I thought you said you were eating?”

“I was,” he admits, easing away from her worry. “Just - not a lot.”

“Clearly, Kevin!” She sighs, bringing a hand to her chest as she composes her thoughts. His mom looks older; more tired. “Thank God, Jack was called to Quebec.”

It is not just an expression when his mother says it. She means it, and Kevin finds he wants to mean it, too. Thank God, his brother is in Canada, and not some war-torn, impoverished, dangerous country. Thank God; thank God; thank God. He wonders if she thanked God when Kevin called to say he wanted to come home.

“Are you coming tomorrow?” Kevin asks, curious.

Mrs. Price shakes her head, turning back towards the window. “Your father’s bringing you,” she says, taking a sip of her juice. “He said it would be best if there weren’t any distractions.”  

“You’re not a distraction, you’re my mom,” he points out, crossing his arms. “I want you there.”

“And we wanted you to succeed on your mission, Kevin,” she says, setting down her mug. “I just don’t understand what happened.” Mrs. Price turns back around, motioning for Kevin to come closer. He does, stepping right into her open arms. She smells like lavender soap. “But I need to trust that the Lord knows what He’s doing with you, and that He can accomplish it for your eternal good even though I can’t even begin to understand how He can do it, after all that’s happened. The stuff your Mission President told us, Kevin! I very nearly passed out. Your father had to hold me up.”

Kevin sighs, but does not doubt it. His mother has passed out for less; like when Ben came home from school with Saturday detention for kissing a girl behind the gym, during lunch. He was sixteen.  

“It was one misstep, mom, and it wasn’t even mine. It was Elder Cunningham’s.” It feels weird placing sole blame on Arnold, like this, but Arnold isn’t here and Kevin is pretty sure he’d forgive him for it, anyway. “He thought he was doing the right thing, and you know what? He did, in the end. We really helped those people, mom. I really helped them.” Not enough, maybe, but the fact remains.  

“I don’t doubt you think that, Kevin, but you’ve always been arrogant. Now, why don’t you help me make breakfast. I’m too upset to manage it on my own.”

__

After, regardless of the food that’s waiting for him downstairs, Kevin takes his time washing up. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and traces a finger from his bruises to his scrapes to his cuts. His body has become a roadmap of hard work and dedication, of pain and suffering, and of triumph – slight as it was. There are deep discolorations beneath both of his eyes, and dirt beneath his fingernails. He cannot get them clean, no matter how hard he tries; though, he must admit he doesn’t try much.

His mother will be displeased, he thinks, but so what? She already is, as is his father, who will probably want to talk before tomorrow. Kevin doesn’t want to talk.

What he wants, is to take a shower – and not a hot one, like he thought he might. In Uganda, he used to dream of them, but the second the bathroom fills with steam, he feels guilty. So, he turns it to freezing, instead; gets in, gets out, and feels better. He shaves, brushes his teeth, and pulls on his clothes without garments. Out of habit, he reaches for his name tag. It’s Elder Cunningham’s. Arnold’s. His best friend’s. His – everything.

It ends up in his pocket, the corner digging into his thigh while he sits at the table and pokes at his food. It’s nine-thirty. Three-thirty in Kampala. Arnold is probably digging in the dirt, planting crops, or laughing too loud or too much or…

Kevin wonders if Arnold misses him.

He hopes so.  

[gaycrouton]

Pleeeeeaaaassssseeee!!!🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 May we get a continuation of Bumpy Ride?

Ask and you shall recieve! If you missed it the first time around, here’s a link! Part I

———————————————————————

Mulder hadn’t been this worked up in a vehicle since he was in high school. He knew with the utmost certainty that he was going to embarrass himself and was already silently writing an apology novel to Scully in his head. He was affected by her on a normal day basis, catching a whiff of her perfume or getting a glimpse of her upper thigh when she crossed her legs. This was too much, overwhelming in the most literal sense of the word.

He’d been so self-absorbed in containing his own response that he wasn’t fully registering hers until…

…she…oh my god.

There was no doubt in his mind what was happening on his lap right now, every quiver and tremble sent a message loud and clear.

Scully was having an orgasm from the stimulation of sitting on him.

This didn’t feel real. There was no way this could even be possible. Yet, he could feel it and he could see the way she was trying to hide her face and the way she was clutching onto her legs, as if she could will it away with a white knuckle grip.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, drawing her back onto him. Then she went rigid in a completely different sense. The shaking had subsided, but he could practically feel the fear creep into her body.

He was just about to ask if she was alright when her trembling hands reached out and unbuckled them, sliding off his lap and out of the van without another word. “She okay?” Frohike asked while they watched her run into the warehouse.

“Uh, yeah. I’m sure she just had to go to the restroom,” he lied, trying to catch a glimpse of her retreating form.

“This is the first time I ever thought Scully was similar to Julius Caesar,” Langley remarked off hand.

“Why do you say that?” Frohike asked.

“Because I’m pretty sure she just spent this car ride getting stabbed in the back repeatedly,” Langley laughed pointing at Mulder’s still painful erection.

The front row laughed while Mulder tried to hunch over and hide himself, and Byers just shook his head. “Hey, the fact she didn’t have to sit in a puddle blows my mind,” Frohike teased.

“Okay, okay, okay. Cheap shots,” Mulder defended. He was pretty sure Langley had another lame joke coming when they heard Scully calling from a few meters away.

“Hey! There’s a body in here!” she yelled, pointing behind her.

Wow. That was just so, painstakingly and irritatingly, them. Something monumental happens in their relationship and they’re cock blocked by an actual dead body.

Aside from Scully taking a long look at the front of his pants, which seemed to be calming down at a painfully slow rate, she seemed completely comfortable in pretending like that never happened.

She wouldn’t look him in the eye, and she was clearly avoiding him.

Every single time he started to make his way over to her, she’d all the sudden need to talk to a policeman or help the medical examiner look at the body or just generally replace herself on the other side of the room.

He was distracted from his mission to get a moment alone with her when he had to answer a few questions about why they were there to being with and who the three squirrly guys were. By the time he was done, he looked around and couldn’t find her.

“Has anyone seen Agent Scully?” he called out.

He received a few shaking head before someone said, “She rode back to Georgetown with another officer.”

Of course she did.

He couldn’t blame her. If he’d have come on her, like he was just a minute away from doing in the van, he’d probably have never been able to face her again. But this was Scully - the same Scully who prided herself on professionalism. He couldn’t even imagine the horror she felt at the fact she was brought to orgasm on his lap.

On the ride back, he came to the decision that if she wanted to pretend it never happened then he’d respect her wishes. That night, however, as he laid on his couch in his apartment, his thoughts kept going back to her; how she felt when she was that close to him, how she felt when she was trembling, how much he’d give his arm to have it happen again. He just felt guilty knowing that everytime he thought back fondly, she was no doubt thinking back with abject horror.

He had to go talk to her. He couldn’t just let her suffer and beat herself up. Those were the thoughts that permeated his mind as he slipped on his pants and grabbed his shoes. He just had to-

*knock* *knock* *knock*

-answer the door right now. He dropped his shoes on the ground and raced to the front door, swinging it open and revealing a haggard Dana Scully.

“Hi,” he greeted breathlessly.

“Mulder, I just came to apologize for earlier,” she rushed, barely waiting for the word to leave his mouth.

He gaped for something to say before stepping back and opening the door more, inviting her in, which thankfully she accepted. “W-what are you apologizing for?” he asked, shutting the door and leading them to the couch.

She plopped down on the couch before she narrowed her eyes at him and he felt her analyzing him in that way he usually found hot, but right now intimidated the holy hell out of him. “W-why do you think I’m sorry?” she asked slowly.

Mulder realized she was taking this as a possible out, that if he didn’t know what happened that she could truly bury it into oblivion. Part of him considered giving her this out and just pretending that he hadn’t felt her rock his world earlier. But, he was a man who lived for the truth.

“Oh, um. Are you talking about when you had an-”

He didn’t have a chance to finish he sentence before she hid her face in her hands. “Oh my god. This is so embarrassing. I shouldn’t have come-here, that is. Oh my god.”

“No, no, no, Scully,” he murmured, taking a step towards her.

“What did you feel?” she asked, lowering her hands and revealing her glassy eyes.

“W-what did I feel?” he stammered. She nodded as a response and he gulped nervously. “I just felt you um-tremble. I swear that’s it.”

Her face was red, but she was actually looking at him now, small steps. “I was just over stimulated,” she stated plainly in defence of an accusation he’d never said. “It was my body’s physiological response to-”

“Scully, trust me. You felt my body reacting to the same thing,” he offered. She didn’t respond and he started to feel self-conscious. “I mean…you felt it. Right?”

She let out a little half-chuckle and affirmed, “Yes, Mulder. I felt it.”

“I understand why you might be embarrassed. I am too-”

“But you didn’t come Mulder,” she interrupted. “You were able to hold it in! I came all over you like a horny teenager!”

He felt his soft cock stiffen at her words and it was just an attestment to what he was about to say. “Scully, I’ve had plenty of practice over the last couple years. Trust me, it wasn’t easy,” he laughed.

He saw her ears perk up before he could even register his mistake. “Last couple years?” she repeated softly.

Fuck. If he hadn’t said that, she would have just guessed he meant in his youth. He exhaled nervously and ran his hand over his neck anxiously. “Well,” another nervous laugh, “you know,” he stated lamely.

She wasn’t letting up and fixed him with an intense stare. “No, I don’t.”

This was it. Scully was going to leave him. There was no getting out of this, so he may as well be honest and hope her moment of accidental perversion will be forgotten amid his entire life of it. “Scully, you’re a very beautiful woman,” he stated as if that was answer enough.

She blushed, but both her eyebrows raised in that way that asked ‘and’ without her mouth even having to open. “Sometimes, I just react to you.”

“React to me?” Apparently Scully’s newest method of interrogation was simply repeating your own words back to you and making you feel like you’re speaking a foreign language and need to try again.

“I’m very attracted to you, Scully,” he admitted, watching her mouth part in surprise as she digested his words. “Not just physically, but, god,” he exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “Everything about you. I never planned on telling you this because I don’t want you to think for a second it’s your weird male co-worker lusting after you, which, maybe in part it is, but it’s more than that. Ugh,” he was rambling and admitting too much and she was just sitting there in shock, surely about to storm off and leave any given second.

“I have a feeling I’ve already put my foot far enough in my mouth, but if we’re being honest and if it’ll make you feel better about what happened earlier, here it is: I have gotten more erections from you over the years that I wouldn’t even be able to count. I couldn’t even count how many times I’ve gotten them this month.” He hoped she was so distracted that she didn’t realize it was only the sixth. “You don’t even have to be doing anything. I could just get so much as a whiff of your perfume and get hard. So yeah, I’ve had plenty of experience trying to reign myself in.”

Her entire face was red and he knew he was embarrassing her, but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself. “If you had been on top of me any longer, I promise you would have left with a wet spot on your back. It wasn’t just a sensory overload - it was a you overload.”

“I lied,” she whispered, biting her lip between her teeth and staring at him, surprisingly still on the couch and not halfway out of his apartment as expected.

“Lied about what?” He knew what a real female orgasm felt like and that was definitely it.

“It wasn’t just physiological,” she murmured, making his heart stop.

“What?” he asked slowly, not wanting to jump to conclusions out of hope.

“I…react to you similarly,” she admitted, quietly, fingering a frayed edge of his couch.

He felt a ringing in his ears, like all the blood had rushed to both the heads of his body and he felt dizzy. Surely she didn’t just admit what it sounded like. “W-what?”

“Mulder,” she whined in irritation.

“I’m sorry. I’m just-shocked,” he shrugged. He turned Scully on? He felt his crotch stirring at the mere thought of her thinking of him in that way.

“How?” she asked. “You’re a very attractive man, and we’re very close. It would only make sense that, um, we would be drawn to each other in that way,” she elaborated.

“I turn you on?” Mulder balked.

“Yes, Mulder. God. Do I have to spell it out for you? Yes. You arouse me. I came in the car because of you, not because of the situation,” she proclaimed, her face matching her hair.

And that was it. With those words his erection had turned from moderate to full-blown. It was painstakingly obvious and was tenting his pants painfully. He leaned in a bit in the hopes that it would slightly conceal it from him. “I feel like I’m dreaming,” he admitted shyly, laughing breathily.

She smiled at him sweetly before letting her gaze cast downwards. He gasped when she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him to lean against the back of the couch, letting his erection strain painfully for her to see in its full glory. “So,” she started, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s because of me?” she asked softly.

“Always,” he affirmed.

She looked at it unabashedly and then licked her lips, making his cock twitch noticeably, much to her apparent pleasure. He noticed her fidgeting a bit before she murmured something. “What was that?” he asked.

“Can I touch it?” she whispered, her eyes focusing on his to gauge his reaction.

She probably saw shock mixed with fervent desire. He wasn’t sure if he was alive or if she shot him earlier and he entered an alternate timeline, but, to be honest, he didn’t care. This was without a doubt one of the best moments of his life - just following “I’m Dana Scully. I’ve been assigned to work with you”, “the cancer’s in remission”, and “no, it didn’t.” His mouth felt incredibly dry, and he didn’t want to say anything that might fuck this up, so he just nodded.

He felt his breath hitch as she scooted closer to him, close enough that her knee was touching his leg. While she focused on the front of his pants, he focused on her face. He watched the way her eyelashes flitted against her cheeks and how her lip was raw from her teeth’s attention. She was beautiful, and the only thing that tore his gaze away from her was his eyes closing involuntarily when he felt her hand, ever so lightly graze across his lap.

He forced his eyes open and looked down to see her hand nervously resting on his upper thigh. Almost as if she was waiting for him to look, she slowly inched towards the bulge, extending her index finger out so she could slowly trace the outline of his penis inch by inch.

“Fuck,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, resisting the urge to buck up into her hand.

She licked her lips and extended her hand, palming him gently as she watched his face contort into pure ecstacy. “Oh my god.”

She kept doing that for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only two minutes, slowly stroking him with her thumb as her hand rubbed up and down his shaft. He was pulled back to reality by the sound of his pants unbuttoning as her fingers clasped his zipper. “M-may I?”

Another nod, followed by a gasp as she pivoted her body so that she was on her knees on the floor in between his legs, resting her elbows on his thighs. He couldn’t believe his eyes and if it wasn’t for his intense desire to see what she did next, he probably could have come from the sight alone. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear again before grabbing his belt and undoing it, using her full strength to whip it off and throw it to the side. The she resumed her position and went back to the zipper she’d grabbed before, only this time dragging it down slowly, the sound like a scream in the otherwise silent apartment.

She leaned a bit closer, close enough for her breasts to touch his thighs and he felt like he could faint from anticipation. She looked up at him and he hoped to god he didn’t look half as desperate as he felt in this moment. Luckily, whatever she saw must’ve been encouraging, because her dainty fingers hooked under the opening of his boxers and brought his erection out into the open air, right in front of her face.

She took him firmly in her hand, gauging how her fingers barely met around his girth as she rotated her wrist. She seemed fixated on how his foreskin shifted with each upward stroke and partially covered his head until it was tugged away by a down stroke. She continued playing with him like this until he was so erect, the foreskin was too taut to move.

Focusing on something new, she let her thumb collect some of the precum that had gathered at his tip and spread it around before bringing her fingers back to her lips and licking them clean. “Fuck, Scully,” he whimpered. That was, without a doubt, one of the hottest things he’d ever witnessed.

Her hand returned without pause, but she lifted herself higher on her knees, no longer sitting on her thighs just observing. She looked at him with dilated eyes as if to ask for permission again, then, without a doubt having received permission, she lowered her head, stuck her tongue out, and licked him from root to tip. He gasped and resisted the urge to let his head fall back. He had to see this.

Scully let her tongue circle around his tip before plunging his cock into her mouth without hesitation. He moaned loudly and his hips twitched. He felt her hum against him and he realized she was laughing at his eagerness. He didn’t know what she was doing, but fuck it felt good. The flat of her tongue was moving against him with every bob of her head as her hand cradled his scrotum.

This was Scully. Scully’s lips were wrapped around him right now. He was throat deep in his gorgeous, brilliant partner. He wanted to cry from happiness. She must’ve felt the telltale signs of his balls tightening, because she let her head up with an audible “pop” as she used her fingers to squeeze the base of his shaft, stopping his orgasm immediately.

Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes watery from giving the world’s best blowjob. She looked gorgeous. Instinctively, he grabbed her face and pulled her towards him as he leaned in, crashing their lips together in a passionate frenzy. He could taste himself on her as his tongue darted out to lap as her lip. He realized the ridiculousness of the fact she’d blown him before they’d even had their first, proper kiss, but they never did anything conventionally so why start now.

Her breathing was ragged against his cheek as he wrapped his arms around her and pushed her closer to him, mashing her breasts against his chest as he kneaded her ass. “Mmpph, Mulder,” she moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss.

“Scully, you feel so good,” he groaned, nuzzling her cheek.

“Wait, let me take off my clothes,” she panted. Immediately he let go, not wanting to stop her from that specific task and quickly worked on discarding his own crumpled attire.

“Oh my god,” he groaned as her perky breasts bounced on her chest from the force of her whipping her bra off over her head instead of taking the time to unclasp it. She was just as excited as him.

He was naked in time to watch as she slid her underwear down her legs, leaving her completely nude in front of him. His eyes must’ve been bulging out of his head because she giggled sweetly. “Scully, you’re breathtaking.”

“You’re pretty beautiful yourself,” she murmured, hiking one leg over each of his thighs, making his heart start beating erratically.

“Wait, Scully. Did you want me to reciprocate before-?” he asked. Each answer was honestly a win win for him, he just wanted to make sure she was comfortable.

“Thank you, Mulder, but-” she took his hand from her hip and guided it to the apex of her thighs, parting her auburn-covered folds and letting him feel her velvety, smooth warmth.

She was absolutely fucking soaking wet.

“Do you feel that Mulder? That’s what I’ve been trying to hide. You do that to me so often. I’m tired of waiting,” she whispered.

He moved his hand, swirling around her hardened clit which made her whole body twitch in response as she sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “Please,” she cried out.

Not wanting to torture either of them any longer, he lined up his head with her opening and watched as she sank down on top of him. They stayed like that for a moment and just stared at each other. “Wow,” she whispered, laughing lightly.

“You feel incredible,” he moaned, rocking slightly despite his attempts to sit still.

“Fuck,” she groaned, rocking her hips in response and encouraging him to buck back into her.

Her skin was lit by the dim glow of his shitty lamp, but god she looked like heaven and felt even better. She kept a steady pace on top of him as he leaned forward and captured a pert nipple in his mouth, making her squirm and pick up the pace. “Oh, Mulder,” she whimpered. Hearing his name said in that intonation in her voice was like audible sex.

He felt something shift by the side of his face and he turned to see it was her hand reaching down to - fuck.

She was touching herself. While riding him.

He watched in rapture as her middle and ring finger curved to circle her clit in purposeful strokes, making an erratic pattern of speed and pressure. He looked back to her face and watched as her brow furrowed in pleasure, her mouth open as she took staggered breaths. “H-harder,” she stammered.

Her wish was his command, so he wrapped his arms around her and effortlessly moved them so she was on her back as he picked up the pace from his position on top of her. He lowered himself a little bit so that with every thrust, her hand became trapped between his pubic bone and hers, grinding her fingers even harder against herself. “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes almost fluttering shut from the sensations, but she managed to keep them open. She wanted to see this as much as he did.

“Scully,” he praised, simply overcome with the pleasure of being inside her after years of dreaming about it. In response, she hiked her legs up so that her calves were resting against his sides, letting him plunge even deeper. “Fuck,” he groaned.

He picked up the pace and she gasped loudly, her brow furrowing once more as he felt her hand pick up the pace in between them. “That’s it, Mulder. Right there please don’t stop please don’tstop pleasedon’tstop” she demanded.

As if he could. He kept up, stroke for stroke, angling his hips to hit the spot that made her twitch against him. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled, noticing how her dainty gold chain was intermingling with drops of sweat gathering at the hollow of her throat.

“OhmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodMULDER,” she cried as her entire body trembled and quaked, much like it had earlier. Except this time he allowed himself to follow suit, crying her name as he buried himself inside her and let go, expanding and releasing in a white hot blaze.

He kept rocking against her, pushing her hips into the couch cushion as they rode out their orgasms. As her shaking subsided into small twitches, he littered her face with kisses and words of affirmation. Eventually, she regained her senses and started smiling lethargically, puckering her lips against his skin in response to every sentiment.

“Hey Scully,” he prompted in a whisper.

“Hmm?”

“I hope you never feel the need to apologize for coming again,” he teased

[letteredlettered]

i know the show shows us david's thoughts on patrick doing cabaret but can you talk about it anyway lol? "it" can be from when he first hears that patrick is thinking about auditioning to when the whole run of performances is over.... i love hearing your thoughts on stuff like this!

I was gonna say I didn’t have many thoughts on this, but then I wrote you a twenty-five point summation, so here is a cut.

1) I loved the difference between David being really mortified about Patrick wanting to do an open mic night, vs David kind of sniping at Moira for not being supportive of Patrick’s audition.

2) I feel like David’s reaction to the fact that Schitt’s Creek theater was even doing Cabaret was abject horror and they’ll ruin it

3) And then he hears Jocelyn Schitt is directing and thinks, they’ll ruin it ten times worse

4) And then he registers that he has this news because Patrick is talking about auditioning. David registers he’ll have to go to this fucking play and that Patrick is going to dance his horrible dancing and sing like a motherfucking rockstar but the production will be so bad that it’s all going to be miserable. Like even if the Jazzagals can sing, who will play Sally? Patrick is an obvious shoe-in for Cliff but ughhhhhhhhhh

5) And then David remembers that he is a supportive boyfriend who does supportive boyfriend things and a supportive boyfriend would be like, You nail that audition, honey!

6) So David says, “You nail that audition, honey!” but it accidentally sounds sarcastic and Patrick makes fun of him and then David accidentally says something about what an awful dancer Patrick is and Patrick is like, “Are we really going to compare dancing? Really?” Because David has danced for him before and David makes a snide comment about the thickness of Patrick’s thighs and Patrick makes a lustful comment about the length of David’s legs. And then they have sex.

7) There’s something really sweet and endearing about Patrick trying out for a play. Patrick is such a go-getter. He wants to be involved in the community and talk to people and try things. Like. It sounds like torture. But David wants Patrick to do all the things and succeed at all of them and sound content and happy and engaged with life here, even if it means David gets less of Patrick’s time. It means that Patrick is happy with life and happy with him and David really, really wants Patrick to be happy. Patrick is perfect when he’s happy and everything is awful when he’s upset.

8) Then Moira takes over the production and David feels a lot better about the whole thing.

9) Then David realizes Moira is in charge of the production and David feels a lot worse about the whole thing.

10) Then Patrick gets cast as the Emcee which David thinks is serious miscasting, but then he realizes his mother is a genius because Patrick is obviously the sexiest man in the entire village (he sometimes thinks of Schitt’s Creek as a medieval village; it’s a whole thing) and the Emcee should be the sexiest one.

11) David immediately starts planning Patrick’s makeup and costume.

12) Moira shows him thoughts/designs for costumes and invites David to help. David immediately starts scaling back all thoughts of Patrick’s costume to something Patrick would feel comfortable wearing, because none of David’s fantasies were appropriate and now that it’s a real thing all he wants is for Patrick to look cute and feel comfy. And also fit perfectly within the entire aesthetic of the show which he has designed from top to bottom in his mind and matches his mother’s almost perfectly.

13) David’s glad about Patrick getting to spend all this time with Mom because sometimes David gets the feeling Patrick doesn’t like his parents. Like Patrick thinks David’s parents mistreated him or something? Which is cute that his boyfriend is all defensive but Patrick just doesn’t really understand them. Like he understands them but doesn’t understand them.

14) David’s terrified about Patrick getting to spend all that time with Mom because Patrick doesn’t understand them.

15) Like what if Patrick gets annoyed and realizes David’s going to turn into Moira (David’s kind of afraid of turning into Moira) and then doesn’t want him any more? Because there is no man on earth who is as patient and faithful as Johnny Rose.

16) David makes a rule about how Patrick can’t talk about the play with him.

17) David immediately breaks this rule and continues to break it over and over.

18) Like the play isn’t his business. He isn’t even really interested. Just because he used to want to do costume and set design professionally, whatever, he doesn’t c--she cast Stevie as Sally, what the fuck was she thinking, can Stevie even sing?

19) Okay Stevie can sing. But Jewel doesn’t count. Get over your 90s singer songwriters, Stevie, he says, as he pops in more Mariah Carey. Mariah is different because she LASTED, Stevie. Unlike some Jewels we know.

20) Stevie contends the Jewel became a country artist, and she and Patrick bond over it, and David hates it when they do that.

21) David also loves it when they do that. He never consciously thinks about being glad that Patrick and Stevie are friends with each other, but nights getting drunk with the two of them are some of the best nights of his life, and he doesn’t realize it but it works because all three of them really, really like each other.

22) Sometimes Patrick gets chatty about how things are going with the play and at first David was super interested for drama and lulz and worry about Patrick Vs His Mother the 2019 showdown, but it is actually all sounding kind of normal so David is less interested. He loves to hear Patrick talk about it though, like how happy Patrick is and how interested he is in things and how there are characters David knows in his stories and sometimes David does in fact stop listening and curls up against him while Patrick is going on about something--frustrated about a dance move or excited about a line reading or what the fuck ever else Patrick gets excited about and it’s so, so nice, listening to Patrick talk and be excited and think David is listening.

23) We saw all the SECRET DANCE CHOREOGRAPHER stuff on the show but I will say that David’s worry about Patrick’s dancing ability has worn down into an amused resignation. Like Patrick is terrible and we all know that but he’ll try his little heart out and it will be fine; it will all be fine; even Alexis’s singing. Whatever happens David’s already decided he’ll pretend to enjoy it and probably will ACTUALLY enjoy it because it’s Patrick and it’s Stevie and it’s Mom and it’s Alexis and he’ll probably sit next to Dad and Dad will be proud, like Dad is always proud of Mom, no matter what she is doing, despite how far they have fallen. Dad never acts ashamed of Mom ever, and David is going to be a boyfriend like Dad.

24) The production is amazing and Patrick is hot and David doesn’t have to pretend. He does kinda wish he’d gotten Patrick to wear the sexy version of the costume, but fucking him in that makeup after the failed engagement announcement will have to do.

25) Much later David says something about Patrick’s dancing and Patrick teases him about it. So you liked it, Patrick goads, and David is annoyed and like, if you dance like you’re fucking me surrounded by gorgeous women of course I’m going to like it, and Patrick thinks this is so so so fucking funny. Like for days, he finds this funny, and David is very disgruntled.

[ninaahelvar]

The Stakeout (4/5)

Summary: In order to get all the information they can, the detective duo, Bakugou and Uraraka, must go on a stakeout. But close proximity may force some underlying feelings to come to the surface. Also known as “Bakugou had a really bad date and it gives him perspective”

AO3

A/N: please thank @doesitsaysassonmyuniform for all her hard work on this chapter. it wouldn’t be out without her. all the funny stuff was her. i will not take credit for her genius.

There was a heavy buzzing under his head, like a hive of angry bees had infested his pillow. He groaned, rolling over as his head throbbed. He’d drunk way too much last night.

Buzz buzz

Was it his alarm? What time was it anyway? It couldn’t have been that late in the day, not with how his room was barely lit when he’d managed to pry open his eyes. It was a small blessing - if he’d been late for work on top of everything else, he might just kill someone.

Buzz buzz

He didn’t hear his alarm, so it must be his phone. He had vague recollections of the night before, passing out on his bed before he could even get undressed. Had he put his phone on silent?

With another groan, he wrenched his head up out of the cradle of his arms, and fumbled for his phone.  He squinted in the morning light - it was low, but not enough to avoid hurting his eyes - and finally flipped his blankets in frustration. It flew out onto the floor with a thud and he stretched out to get it, his stomach rising into his throat as he moved.

Extremely hungover - noted.

By the time he picked up his phone, it had finally stopped buzzing, leaving a faint ringing in his ears at the sudden silence. Bakugou frowned as he turned on the screen, the blur of notifications clearing as his eyes focused.

Shitty Hair (9 Missed Calls)

Shitty Hair: Holy shit I can’t believe u did it!

Shitty Hair: (10 Messages)

Did what? Why was that fucking bastard calling him at - he checked the top of his phone - six in the morning anyway?  He unlocked his phone and opened his texting app, and was met with a wall of grey message bubbles.

Shitty Hair: Uraraka just txted me!!

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: Seriously dude pick up

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: if ur fkn asleep rn I stg

(missed call)

Shitty Hair:  I can’t believe u did it!

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: It better not be a joke or ill kill u

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: ok I don’t care if ur asleep ill make u answer

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: Dude she’s super freaked rn cause u wont respond

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: look im porud u finally did it but u cant send that and then go silent

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: *proud

Shitty Hair: HOLY SHIT I CANT BELIEVE U DID IT!

Bakugou was starting to have a bad feeling, one entirely outside of his hangover. It felt like something was squeezing his chest, and it was getting tighter and tighter the more he read. He looked at the icon, and winced at the little number telling him he had more unread messages.

From Uraraka.

Shit.

He clicked on the thread, and scrolled all the way up to his last message.

@ 1:37am

You: heyyyy want som fuk??

You: shit no i mean

You: ur hot

You: it pisses me off

You: we should fuck tho

You: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

No. No no no no no no. No! Fuck! No! The universe was fucking playing with him, right? This couldn’t be real. Fuck! It was, it was staring him in the fucking face! FUCK! He was going to explode his entire apartment.

Round Face: ...what?

Round Face: Bakugou wtf?

Round Face: Do you mean that??

Round Face: How drunk are you rn??

Round Face (2 missed calls)

Round Face: I’m gonna murder you

In the midst of Bakugou’s midlife - soon to be end of life - crisis, his phone started to ring, Kirishima’s face beaming as his name appeared. Bakugou immediately answered, pressing his phone to his ear as he hung his head between his legs.

“What did you do?” he asked, and Bakugou did the only thing he could think of.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“You fucking idiot,” Kirishima laughed and Bakugou threw himself backwards on his bed, hand pressed to his forehead.

“I WAS DRUNK! I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER!”

“Well lucky for you phones don’t exist and neither does she - oh wait.” Bakugou could hear that smug voice of his radiating through the fucking phone and he wanted to burn it in his hand.

“NOOOOOOOOO!” Bakugou whined, feeling completely beside himself - unaware of how ridiculous he was sounding. He was just having the worst day of his life, and it was showing.

“Hey, at least it’s out there now, right? She didn’t say no.”

“I wanna die. I’m jumping out the window.”

“You are the biggest drama queen I know,” Kirishima laughed, and Bakugou put his head between his legs, a sickening feeling rising in his throat and the overwhelming urge to projectile vomit across his apartment was becoming an almost welcoming idea.

“I will kill you later,” Bakugou groaned, shaking his hand through his hair, over and over again until he felt like he was at ease. He didn’t stop for a while.

“Oh, so you’re actually coming into work?” Kirishima sounded surprised, and it dawned on Bakugou...this day was going to be his last - he was deciding it before it was even over, his last day alive would be that day.

“I don’t fucking know, give me an hour to die first,” Bakugou said, knowing this would be the first time that he was late - and having no other excuse than being a fucking drunken moron.

Bakugou stumbled into work, his clothes a mess, hair barely done, and collar sticking up to hide his face. With every step, it felt like eyes were on him, watching his every move, and it made every hair on his body stand on end - he needed to fight something soon otherwise he’d go stir crazy.

Before interacting with anyone else, a bounding bubble of joy crashed alongside him, knocking him off balance. Bakugou stared back at his partner who smiled like a child - and his heart was racing like an idiot.

Her expression fell, clicking her tongue as she took him in. Why the fuck was he feeling so hot? He felt like he was a rising thermometer, about to burst at the fuckng end. He was a walking infomercial, some fucked up idiot that can’t keep it down.  

“Wow you look wrecked. Sleep well, Blasty?” she asked, a slight pout as she stepped closer to him.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“Not as wrecked as your face.” The two of them frowned at the words. Why did he speak at all? “Anyway, Case!”

FUCKKKKKKKK STOP TALKING!

If a villain could come in through the window and suplex him out of existence right now, he’d be grateful. So. Fucking. Grateful.

Now, Bakugou wasn’t a religious man. He didn’t believe in a higher power. That felt like a mistake - because God was punishing him for his abject atheism. This was a goddamn joke, and God was clearly laughing.

If he got down on his knees and started praying, would it stop?

Uraraka quirked an eyebrow at him, before answering. “Yeah, we had a new lead come in this morning and most teams are on it, you missed Aizawa’s speech.”  

Fuck.  Aizawa knew he was late.

Praying wouldn’t save him now.

Uraraka guided them both to their desks, rattling on about the case -  something about a guy getting into some dark shit with trafficking young kids. In the end, Bakugou found concentrating hard. He would normally listen and make sure to take notes when it came to figuring out who the guy was - but he just couldn’t stop watching her. He watched and wondered why the hell she wasn’t saying anything. Uraraka replied to the messages, she even called - and now it was radio silence.

Normally, Bakugou would yell about it - but it felt wrong to bring it up, it could embarrass them both, and although he didn’t embarrass easy, this was completely new for him. Embarrassment came easier with all that romantic shit. It was stupid and frustrating and Bakugou hated the fact that he fell for it all, after years of denying himself.

Bakugou wasn’t built for this shit, and it definitely showed.

As Uraraka went to talk to eye witnesses - a task that Bakugou was strictly not allowed to do anymore - he went to the kitchen, making himself a coffee and praying it woke him up enough to stop the nagging sensation in his heart and the throbbing in his head.

A whisper then came into his ear.

“Hey, want some fuck with that coffee?”

Bakugou spat out his coffee and it sprayed across the kitchen bench. Kirishima laughed behind him, moving away to grab a donut - the fucking prick.  Bakugou was meant to be safe here, away from her and this fucker had to come and ruin it.  

Bakugou coughed, thumping his chest before turning to glare at the other man. “Could you keep your fucking voice down, Shitty Hair?”

“I don’t know - can you look Uraraka in the eye?” Kirishima quirked his eyebrow and Bakugou stepped towards the pointy haired bastard.

“Want me to rip yours out?”

“Tetchy tetchy. Don’t lash out at me cause you’re not getting any.” Kirishima stuffed the donut into his grinning teeth, and Bakugou tried to burn holes into the fucker’s skull.

“Murder. Expect murder.”

Kirishima only laughed, waving at Bakugou as he went back to his desk. In the back of his mind, Bakugou could only think the asshole was talking about him - gossiping about Bakugou’s idiotic love life and how ridiculous this all was.

Bakugou wanted to fucking die.

The window looked so inviting, calling to him like a siren’s song.

As he sat in the kitchen, looking over notes on the case he hadn’t paid attention to, a loud blaring noise came over the speakers of the precinct. It was unusual for an alarm to go off - on rare occasions when fire alarm detected smoke (which may have been Bakugou - no on proved it was) or emergencies. With the chaos that was soon surrounding him, Bakugou guessed the latter.

“What the fuck is going on?” Bakugou asked as Kirishima ran back towards the equipment room.

“Genzo’s been spotted. We’ve gotta go,” he panted as he ran. He didn’t even stop.

Aizawa burst from his office, his scarf that was rarely off was primed at the ready. “He’s on the move! Everyone get going!” he demanded, stopping short of the door to look back at Bakugou, glaring. “That includes you, Bakugou!” he snapped, and Bakugou sighed, throwing aside his paperwork to head into the equipment room.

Kirishima handed him all his guards and gauntlets, the two rushing out as Uraraka was fixing her earpieces in, rolling her shoulders to prep herself. Bakugou smirked, watching as she worked her magic as she got ready for a fight. Regardless of how much of an ass he made of himself, he still couldn’t get over Uraraka being a goddamn badass at her job.

They got to the site of Genzo’s attack. He had completely wrecked a transport vehicle, exploded it like an atomic bomb and was causing a fucking disaster zone by the sheer amount of electric power around him.

“Any casualties?” Bakugou asked, tightening his gauntlets and making sure they were ready to go when he needed them.

“Two police officers that we know of,” Aizawa said, going over the short notes he was given by officers on the scene.

“Any officers we know?” Uraraka asked, her voice a little strained as she asked. Bakugou looked over to her.

“None,” Aizawa replied. Bakugou watched as Uraraka sighed. Deku. He knew who she was thinking of, and it made a spot in between his shoulder blades ache. He bound his fists and kept his attention on the chaos. This guy was burning every fuse within his view, drawing all of it to him and sending it back at people.

“Our main priority is to protect civilians, and keep him away from the generators. He probably saw he was close to the power plant - we have to keep him away and out of reach of that power. We have no idea what he’ll do with it.”

And with that, the teams were divided - one person on civilians, the other on containment. Both Uraraka and Bakugou knew their place without even a glance. Bakugou set off an explosion as Uraraka moved a group of worried people out of the way. She was great, when another eruption came through, she’s catch them in time and float them to safety - barely even registering that she’d activated her quirk.

When Bakugou set off an explosion that ripped up the entire road - something he knew he’d get in deep shit over later - he watched as the other agents got into position, preparing for their next move and knowing the reach of Bakugou’s quirk. The ground ripped up and threw Genzo around, knocking him against a building and an audible yell of pain rumbled through the area. It gave them time to evacuate. It’s all they needed right now.

Uraraka went to Bakugou’s side, panting a little as she pointed. “Group, ten o’clock. You got this?” she asking, pointing to the group of huddled people just across from Genzo. Bakugou scoffed at Uraraka’s words.

“Tch, who the fuck do you think I am?”

“Yeah, yeah, just wait for my signal,” she laughed, moving off, touching pieces of rubble that were easy to float. Bakugou smirked, watching as they floated skyward and eventually just guiding her hands on all the rubble she passed with her quirk activated. It wasn’t long before Uraraka found the stuck bystanders and pointed them to a safe route out of the danger zone. But Genzo was quicker than either of them had anticipated, rising from his injured state, rolling his shoulders with a tight grimace on his face.

Genzo roared, sapping the power from a nearby building, the electricity crackling over his skin and bared for a quick release. He wanted to inflict damage and make it count - Bakugou could see it in his eyes. Genzo looked for anything that was moving. The civilians. Uraraka saw it too, and she did something stupid.

She knew it too.

“Get back!” Uraraka called to the civilians, and Bakugou watched in horror as Genzo reacted first - her voice drawing too much attention. Her warning, was an attraction. The fucker moved quick - faster than any of them could have expected, and Bakugou redirected his explosions, trying to counter as best he could to the new position. He set off an explosion behind him, sending him to their location as fast as he could.

He wasn’t gonna make it.

“Uraraka, move!”

She turned her head, eyes widening and arms coming out to block far too late as the energy surge hit her full force. Uraraka was knocked so far back, she’s skidding across pavement like it’s slick. When she stops, she’s flinching, over and over again - her body reacting to the electric current running over her body.

He saw her hands come together, letting the meteor shower rain down, catching Genzo off guard and trying to evade the oncoming onslaught. He wasn’t expecting Bakugou though.

He was only a split second behind.

“DIE YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”  

Bakugou came bounding in, hands directed at the target and firing off two of the most explosive blasts he had ever mustered. It knocked Genzo to the ground, and Bakugou landed over him, his fits binding tight as he repeatedly punched - throwing him about as the bastard laughed. Once Bakugou finally cracked one of Genzo’s teeth, his face a bloody mess of what it once was - Bakugou regained his sense and tossed Genzo off to the side.

In the aftermath, there was silence - waiting for the next thing to fall or the next blast to knock over a bunch of people. But it was just simply silence. In the ash and smoke, Bakugou waded through it, leaving Genzo to whatever fate he had left him in, finding his partner curled  up and in pain.

Bakugou dropped to her side, hands fluttering around her useless as he took her in. This was bad. This was fucking bad. Her clothes were a disaster, the giant hole in her vest giving way to blistered and blackened skin. Some of it had fused to the fabric, and it made bile rise up in his throat just to see it.  He didn’t even know if he could touch her but one look at her glassy eyes made it impossible not to move.  

The ozone in the air made his skin stand on end - and that was the only reason - as he pulled her into his lap as gently as he could. “Hey Round face,” he lightly tapped her cheeks and she turned to look at him. Her brown eyes were so unfocused. “Stay with me, fucker.”

Her face was so pale and her mouth moved wordlessly for a moment before she was able to speak. “You called me Uraraka.”

His throat was tight. “Yeah well you’d kill me if I called you Round face in public, Round face.”

Her lips quirked ever so slightly, eyes looking somewhere over his shoulder. “You just did…ugly.”

“Yeah I guess I did.”

Kirishima landed heavily at their side, and his breath hitched when he saw her chest. “Dude..”

“Genzo?”

Kirishima shook himself. “Right. He’s out - you did a number on him. The police have got it covered. EMT’s should be here any second.”

Bakugou brushed some hair out of her face - it was just getting all tangled and sweaty anyway.  She didn’t even notice. “You with me Round Face?”

“Yeah - but- but my chest feels -” She tried to get up and he had to force her back down.

“Fuck don’t move okay - you’re gonna be fine.” He scanned the street, and couldn’t push down the relief as the familiar jackets of the EMT’s came into view. “Hey! We need some help over here!”

People ran over, moving Bakugou against his will. But in the end, when he watched Uraraka flinch in pain, he knew he wasn’t needed anymore. Regardless of how desperately he wanted to stay. They were fragile with her, placing her gently into the stretcher, and finally into the ambulance. Driving away, Bakugou felt his heart lurch.

Nakamura Genzo was captured easily, given more restraints and heavier security around him. They treated him for his injuries - third degree burns, his entire right side was a mess of broken ribs and bruises, and the left was a little less severe. Bakugou needed to work on his left hook apparently. Genzo had a punctured lung from one of his ribs, and his front teeth were busted, but it didn’t matter to Bakugou. He was taken in - he was completely taken care of. Bakugou just cared about one thing.

~*~*~

Hospitals were always a place of pain - mostly for Bakugou on certain missions, yet now it was different. The fluorescent lights were straining his eyes as he walked through the halls - the constant wailing and crying was enough to keep him away too. Yet, she was there. His partner was laid up in a hospital bed in whatever fucking condition Genzo left her in. Bakugou was told the room number and he walked to it with bound fists at his side.

Flowers were already placed in her room, cards lining the benches with well wishes. Uraraka was already propped up - though there had been a day between her injuries and his visit. The rest of the team had already gone to see her. Bakugou was questioned a fuck tonne in order to explain Genzo’s injuries. He didn’t have much else to say other than “what would you rather me do? Beat him within an inch of his life, or let him kill everyone in the area?”

After that, he was allowed home, where he stared at his phone waiting for an update.

Kirishima texted late saying Uraraka was asking after him.

Bakugou knew he had to go see her after that.

He hung back by the door as Uraraka stopped playing with her phone, smiling down to whoever was contacting her. She looked up and her smile dropped, like seeing him was more of a shock than a surprise. Bakugou’s jaw set tight and his heart felt like it was trapped in between two ribs - unable to beat without causing him pain.

“Bakugou, hey, I was wondering when you’d -”

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his chest a mess of emotions he would never allow himself to process.

Uraraka sighed, scratching lightly at her brow. “I know I was a little -”

“You were reckless and put yourself in danger for that shitty mission,” he snarled, moving to the foot of her bed. Her once soft expression turned to that of defiance, her brow crinkling in frustration.

“Hey! I’m not as fragile as you -”

“I don’t think you’re fragile, moron! You were putting your life in danger for nothing,” he said, hands gripped tight to the edge of her bed.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she spat back, folding her arms over her chest.

“What?” His brow knit, watching as she stared back at him, anger etched into her features.

“You’re being an asshole, saying you think I can take it, but then say I can’t because I’m weak. I can fucking take it!”

“I know you can fucking take it, but I can’t! Not like this!” The rage let slip the words that were held back - anger and frustration finally touching at the parts of himself he wanted to hide away. His hands bound together, tight fists by his side as his jaw set. If he couldn’t unbind his teeth, he wouldn’t need to answer her obvious question.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

There it was.

“Don’t do it again, idiot,” he replied, voice breaking and pushing himself off the bed, moving out of the hospital room and going home. He had the day off anyway.

It was just mistake after mistake.

Words said.

Actions not taken.

Secrets let slip.

Everything was a goddamn mistake.

With his head in his hands, Bakugou could feel regret gripping him, like a force that bound him to the feelings that made him scared of himself. She made him scared. No one could make him fear the unknown - pain, injuries, death - it was all he ever craved. But she went down, and everything came flooding over him, like a fucking tidalwave, saturating his being until he was as desperate as any other fucker on the planet.

It wasn’t Bakugou.

And it all made him scared. Of Uraraka. For Uraraka.

What did it all mean when everything else was a fucking mess? He hated that he couldn’t piece himself together, unravelling like a perfectly tied up coil coming apart by one tight pull.

Word went around that Uraraka was released from the hospital after two days, and given a week’s bed rest. She deserved more for all the work she did, but Bakugou knew she’d bounce back sooner or later.

Bakugou was midway through writing a report for Aizawa when a booming voice called out through the precinct. “Hey! Asshole!” The whole room turned, seeing Kirishima storming through. He wasn’t the type of dude that got pissed off easily, so it was a surprise. Then, he pointed directly at Bakugou. “Yeah you!”

“The fuck did you just call me?” Bakugou said, standing and standing face to face with the bastard.

“You haven’t gone to see Uraraka, I get to call you what I like!”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, stepping back from Kirishima and going back to his desk. “I don’t have to do shit all,” he replied, only for Kirishima to haul him back, fists in each other’s clothes - the two like gasoline and fire, ready to erupt at any moment.

“She’s fucking expecting you, so go!” Kirishima replied, his features hardening, expecting the fight.

“Who are you to demand -”

“I’m your best friend, so listen to me and go see Uraraka. Tonight!” he yelled. The precinct was silent, and Bakugou suddenly felt seen - that there was something telling everyone about he and Uraraka other than being partners. He didn’t want to be seen. Bakugou shoved Kirishima back, straightening out his clothes as he looked back at the spikey haired bastard.

“Fine! Fuck,” he swore, murmuring curses under his breath as he went back to his work, holding back on his anger.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t care about Uraraka. She’d had injuries worse than this. Fuck, Bakugou had stayed at her house while she had a broken leg and a few broken ribs before - cooking, cleaning, doing her laundry. This was different. She didn’t seem to need him like before.

Maybe he was just…

Scared wasn’t the right word.

He wasn’t ready.

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t ready for her to see him and maybe understand what he said.

But he did have to see her. Check in.

It was only right.

~*~*~

It was weird, holding a bag of things for her as he stood outside her door. It was a crumbly old apartment building with like no space other than the essentials. With most of Uraraka’s money going to her parents, Bakugou understood why she stayed there, but for once he’d wish she’d think about herself.

Huffing, he knocked on the door. It was harder than he anticipated, but it didn’t matter. With barely a second to straighten out his shoulders when Uraraka opened the door. He felt a lump in the back of his throat when he saw her. It had been four days since she left the hospital, and four days since they’d seen each other. She had a few tiny cuts and bruises on her arms and on her cheek, but other than that - she was just Uraraka.

She was in grey tracksuit pants and an oversized hoodie she’s gotten at their time with the agency. It was far too big, slipping off her shoulder as she took Bakugou in.

“Bakugou,” she said, voice a little shaken. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He gave a vague shrug. “Kirishima.”

“Oh, okay.” Uraraka cleared her throat before she opened the door a little wider. “Come in,” she said, gesturing for him to enter. He followed and went inside, handing her the bag as she walked past him.

“Here,” he grumbled, focusing his attention to the floor. She peered inside the bag before gasping.

“Mochi donuts?! Thank you,” she smiled, tucking hair behind her ear.

“It’s better than the nothing I was going to get you,” he replied.

“But Kirishima talked you into it?” Bakugou returned a vague ‘tch’ sound before he stood back in her hallway and Uraraka was wandering into her kitchen.

“How’s the burn?” he asked, clearing his throat as his arms folded over his chest. He wasn’t sure what the fuck to do with himself. He felt cornered, that the walls might swallow him and he may never be allowed to leave - in a constant state of waiting for her to ask about the texts and what happened at the hospital.

“It’s fine. I barely feel it. Recovery girl really helped the process along so I’m ready to get back to work.” There was a voice she put on - a raise in her chin as she acted tough. A show for him to not think any less of her. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Good. That’s good,” he said, clearing his throat again and pushing off from the wall. “I only came ‘cause shitty hair made me. I’m gonna leave,” he said, going towards the door, ready to open it.

“What did you mean in the hospital?” she asked, voice quiet compared to earlier. She was scared. His hand was at the handle, inches from turning the knob, but he turned, looking back at Uraraka as she fiddled with the ends of her hoodie.

“What?”

She raised her chin, fingers still at the ends of her sleeves, nervously pulling at them. “I’m not repeating myself.”

He huffed. “I didn’t mean -”

“I’m tired of your shit Bakugou!” She yelled, and he stared across at her in shock. When he didn’t reply, she continued. Uraraka almost charged him as she spoke, getting right into his space and not backing away for a second. “If you lie to me, I swear to god, I’m going to fling you out the window, now tell me!”

She stared at him, a rage that only Bakugou could bring out of her. And in the midst of it, the scared teenager that couldn’t get over a crush was hammering away and begging for his chance. In the end, the man won out, and acted in the only way he knew how to.

Bakugou wasn’t a guy of many words.

So he didn’t use them.

He surged forward.

He didn’t dare to touch her, only kissing her as swiftly as body could allow, towering over her and making her stagger backwards. She gripped into his shoulders, responding with the most beautiful lips he had ever tasted. Then, she pulled back, staring back - no anger, just confusion, written into her features.

“W-what? Does this -”

“Stop fucking talking, round face,” he growled back, forehead resting against hers. He tried to dive right back in, only managing to steal a small kiss before she pulled away. Bakugou froze, watching as a smile grew on her lips right before she stole another. He smirked, knowing the game she was playing.

She tempted and teased, pulling back the moment Bakugou was about to latch his lips to hers, to never part them for as long as his lust would hold out. Whatever she she was doing, she knew the exact way to have Bakugou fall for it - she was going to have Bakugou everyway she wanted him, and he fucking knew it. All the while, it wound him up, like he was a jack-in-the-box, and god, was he ready to spring out and surprise her.

In one swift guide of his arm, he pulled her in by her waist, snaring her lips with his own and kissing her as sharply as he needed. He wanted her, and he wanted her the moment he stepped foot into her apartment. Pressing her up against the wall, she let out a soft gasp against his mouth, but he wanted to surprise her - do everything that every ounce of lust within him wanted to do. Her sweats were still midway down her thigh but they weren’t off, which gave Bakugou every excuse. Turning Uraraka around, her hands pressed against the wall - he bent and took down the remaining parts of her pants, bending down and watching the way her body swayed with each move he made.

Bakugou couldn’t help himself, hand squeezing into her ass, the bounce and shake of it making everything in him rise - adrenaline and lust surging across him. He teeth scraped across one cheek before he bit into it a little harder. Uraraka mewled, hands clawing at the wall - hard enough for Bakugou to hear - and as Bakugou kissed at the spot he not-so-delicately bit into, her hands released, reaching behind her to gently stroke at his hair. She looked over her shoulder as Bakugou took her underwear down swiftly, he wasn’t going to waste any more fucking time.

Gripping in once more, he pushed his face in the crevasse of her cheeks, tongue stroking at her tender lips and immediately making Uraraka rise on her toes. She fell back down, pushing her hips into his face, and holy fuck did he enjoy it. Bakugou held onto her thighs, widening her stance as he lapped up all that she was feeling. Uraraka whined, panting as he kept his mouth on her entrance, delivering his tongue in just to hear her moaning gasps.

“Oh, Bak -” she whined, and his hand snaked from her thigh to taking his tongue’s place, fingers circling her folds before entering her slowly. He slowly rose to his feet, her hand slipping from his hair back to the wall, and he kissed up the back of her neck to have her shiver against him. “Baku -”

“Katsuki,” he whispered in her ear.

“Fuck, Katsuki!” she said, pushing her hips against his hand, forcing it directly into his hips. She may not have known she was doing so, but she rocked perfectly onto his crotch, his cock aching inside his jeans. “Right there, right there! Right there!” she cried, her voice soft and desperate. She spurred him on, fingers working overtime just to hear what it would sound like when she finally came.

Her hips pushed back hard against him, her panting becoming a little harder to control and Bakugou could feel her around his fingers - Uraraka was at the end of her tether. She reached behind herself once more, hand on his wrist as she breathed in heavy gasps. He didn’t know if she was trying to stop him, or was telling him to keep going - either way, she crashed against the wall, crying out a little moan and pushing her ass straight up against his hips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling the strain in his pants. “I’m not going to last if you keep pushing your ass into me,” he said into her ear. Uraraka looked over her shoulder, brushing hair from her face.

“I didn’t say you had to,” she said. Tempt and tease.

“Fuck,” he groaned, tugging on her arm to turn around, “you asked for it,” he warned her before bending down and picking her up into his arms.

Uraraka held onto his face, kissing him as he staggered around her cramped apartment. He fell into walls, struggled past the doorway, and had them falling into the bed. Uraraka giggled, kissing Bakugou before he rolled his hips against her, making her moan a little more. He just needed one more thing before he parted from her. He stood up from the bed, stripping himself of his shirt and kicking off his shoes. Uraraka took the cue and shrugged out of her hoodie and shirt, leaving her only in her bra. As Bakugou snapped off his belt and pushed his pants down, Uraraka unclasped her bra and tossed it aside.

Remembering where he’d seen them the last time - an awkward conversation was had when Bakugou was putting away laundry - he went to Uraraka’s dresser drawer, finding the condoms and tearing at the edge of one. He started to place it on when he saw Uraraka adjust herself slightly. Sitting up, Uraraka moved over to him, her hand gracing over down from his chest to his stomach, fingers tempting to down his length. He caught her wrist loosely, pushing it aside to her confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning over her, forehead pressed to her own.

“I wanted to make you feel good,” she said with a flutter of her eyelashes. Bakugou smirked.

“Nah, this is all about you, lie back down.” She did as she was told, crawling her way up the bed and waiting for him to follow after.

Bakugou wasted no time - he could have savoured the beauty of her in all her glory, gaze at her wonder, but he wanted to touch her more than anything. He crawled up the bed, sucking at her skin, nipping underneath her breast and sucking at the edge of her collarbone. All the while she hummed her approval, nipping into his shoulder briefly as they came face to face once more.

Moving his hand down between them, grazing against her most sensitive bundle of nerves, her body arching into his touch. He smirked, the briefest of touches could have her responding, he wondered what more could do for her. When he guided his length inside her, Uraraka’s hands went to his shoulders, pulling their bodies together.

There was only the sound of Uraraka’s panting in the room, but it couldn’t last - Bakugou knew himself too well, he wouldn’t be able to stay still for much longer. He moved his hips slow at first, gaining speed and arching into every thrust to get the best noises out of Uraraka. She obviously hated that she was getting louder and louder. But his ego sure as fuck loved it.

“Katsuki,” she mewled, nails clamped down into his back, raking up as his thrusts came in quicker succession. “Yes! Yes!” she cried, her hand on the back of his neck.

She pulled him down, kissing him roughly, and he enjoyed every fucking second of it. She bit into his bottom lip when she got excited. Bakugou couldn’t help himself, he rocked in harder, taking up the back of her knee. Uraraka arched her back, panting a little harder than even before.

In her movements, he was finally able to look at her without the overwhelming urge to take her. There were scars that littered her skin, some old, some new, following the curves of her waist and hips. Her breasts were round, much like the rest of her, and tempting as everything else - Bakugou kissed down her neck to take one of her nipples between teeth, just to have her push into him again. It worked to perfection, her breast rising beautifully into his mouth, and her hips bucking into his own when he gave a harder thrust. She was perfect to understand, to love and hold in a single moment.

“Ah!” Uraraka said suddenly, her body recoiling in a single beat. Bakugou’s eyes snapped to hers, watching her face contort in discomfort. He pulled away slightly, letting her body fall to where she needed, but never leaving the warm depths between her thighs. Uraraka sighed, laying back into the sheets and looking up at Bakugou with pinker cheeks than usual. He wanted to smile, but he with the sudden halt on everything, he wasn’t sure if the passion had fallen to its wake.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asked, hand ghosting over her side. Uraraka’s hand went to the side of Bakugou’s face, palm to his cheek and guiding him to look back at her.

“I’m fine,” she nodded, “just take it a little slower right now,” she said, a little nervous with a soft laugh to ease her discomfort of their eyes meeting.

“You sure?” he asked once more.

“Yeah,” she replied, Bakugou once again moving his hips, a slow roll to gauge her reaction. Uraraka’s head fell back into the pillow, hand tight in his bicep. “Yes, like that,” she approved, and he smirked.

Bakugou bent onto his elbows, arms snaking behind her back and propping her up into his arms. Uraraka squeaked, the sighing as she sunk down onto his length.

“What are you doing?” she asked, all the while, rocking herself back and forth. Bakugou grit his teeth, breathing out a moan into her chest before looking up at her with a satisfied grin.

“I can’t do all the work, round face,” he said. She leaned down, hands either side of his face, kissing him in a slow, deliberate manner - making them both savour it.

Everything was slow, Uraraka’s pace, soft strides to ease her into it - or perhaps it was the way he hissed everytime she moved, liking the way he sounded, much like he had done to her. Then, she gained confidence and speed, hips jerking in a quicker pace, before she just tried to gain satisfaction by any means possible. She was glorious.

He could feel her unwinding, with every move, and every bounce back onto his cock, he could feel her walls clamping down around him. Whenever she moved down upon him, he’d trust him, making her jump a little in his lap. Before either of them knew it, Uraraka cried out, clutching Bakugou to her chest, hands winding into his hair as she panted out moan after moan.

She sounded like a symphony - gorgeous at her ecstasy. Bakugou watched her move on top of him, her hands stroking through his hair as her eyes looked into his own. He’d never had sex like it - something that made him feel understood, that every movement, all the pace, it was perfect to know who they were between them. Bakugou never wanted to watch anyone else on top of his cock ever again, not unless they looked as beautiful as she did.

In a moment, between his utter wonder and the growing need to come completely undone, Uraraka pulled hard into Bakugou’s hair. He hissed and Uraraka moaned, arching into his new position wonderfully well and he wanted to just take everything he had left in him and please her to every extent he could.

Two could play at that game. He may not have been able to move as fast as he could have liked, but he knew she’d not protest to it. With his hand moving up her back, he took a fistful of her hair and pulled, her neck exposed to him, and fuck he felt hungry for it. His mouth descended upon it, sucking and kissing at her throat, feeling the vibrations of every moam against his tongue. He loved it, and Uraraka knew he enjoyed it too much - especially with every thrust he added to make her close to her next orgasm.

“No fair,” she hissed. Bakugou thrust into her again, and she moaned, pulling at his hair once more, but it was much lighter than it once had been.

“All’s fucking fair game,” he smirked, feeling Uraraka’s hand on his thigh. He thought she may need to lay back down when her finger suddenly bound into his leg, making him jerk upwards into her. She moaned, biting her lip and smiling down at him. “Fuck!” Bakugou groaned, looking back at her.

“All’s fucking fair game,” she repeated his words. Bakugou bit his lip, thrusting into her again, watching as she circled her hips down onto him again.

“If you weren’t injured, I’d -”

“You’d what?” she replied with a smirk, and between his heart bounding like a drum, and his head screaming, he knew he couldn’t stop himself.

“Fuck it,” Bakugou muttered, pushing his weight onto Uraraka’s and onto her back once more, thrusting in one long and hard motion. It wasn’t until after that he thought of his mistake - his lust getting the best of him. Uraraka’s hand went to his ass, gripping in hard with her nails enough to make him hiss. He looked at her face, lip between teeth and chest heaving for more.

“I’ll tell you if it hurts, just keep going,” she begged, forcing his hips closer. When he moved inside her again, she guided him in with a hard pull on his ass. It was harder than he would have, but she enjoyed it all the same - eyes closed and body calling to his like they were magnets that hated to be separated.

His mind told him to go slow, to make sure it all lasted how he needed it to - but he’d be damned if he didn’t chase the sound of her desperate moans to get his own satisfaction. Her next orgasm came over her quickly, her teeth went into his shoulder to suppress the sound, but it did little to help, other than to spur Bakugou on. Her legs went over his hips, heels at the base of his thigh and urging his ass forward with every move he made.

Intimacy was lost on Bakugou, he never liked how he felt being within it, but Uraraka made it all different somehow. When her hand snaked down his arm from his shoulder blade, her caught her wrist, holding it down onto the bed. And he found himself wanting. Like he’d never wanted something so badly in his life. His pressure on her slim wrist went slack, and his fingers slid into her palm, binding into the gaps of her fingers. Uraraka held on tight, their joined hands going over her head as Bakugou continued to stride within her.

She made sure they kissed every few seconds, whining until she could kiss him again, becoming louder and louder to get him to silence her with one of his bruising kisses. Uraraka was using him like a puppet, but he didn’t care - she was heaven to be inside, her body a wonderful combination of sweat and silk and his body was to blame for half of it.

“Oh god,” Uraraka cried, her free hand back in his hair, body moving against his again. He could feel her hardened nipples against his chest with every movement, and he wanted to put his mouth all over her body again. Taste every inch of her. Uraraka whined, hand on his cheek, nails piercing skin behind his ear and on his jaw. “I’m gonna -”

She didn’t even get to finish her sentence, her release rocking through her in waves that made her hips jerk over and over again until Bakugou was following her. He held tight to her hand, the other was gripping tight into her thigh - unable to bring himself to move as he could his release come and go.

“Fuck,” he panted into her chest, trying hard to let her go, but it was no use, he’d drown in her skin before he’d let her move an inch.

Eventually, he had to - lying beside her as she moved to be on his chest. She was practically asleep by the time he’d shifted into his spot next to her.

“You good?” he asked her.

“Hm?” she replied, “Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

Bakugou shifted, aiming to leave. “Do you need me to -”

“If you move, I’ll kill you,” she warned, hands tight on his body as she held him close.

“Fucking fine, round face,” he said, letting her rest back onto his chest. He smiled, his own exhaustion following hers.

~*~*~

When he woke up, there was hair in his mouth. He threw his head back, spitting it out with a scowl and wincing when it flopped wetly onto his neck. A heavy weight lay on his side, numbing his arm under the pressure. His eyes struggled to open fully, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hazlenut hair he was very much used to.

Uraraka.

Holy fucking shit.

Bakugou groaned and slowly pulled his arms back only to stop dead still when she shifted. He waited, tense and holding his breath until she settled back down, soft snores puffing out onto his arm.

He tried again, and after a very slow escape over the next several minutes, he was free. Slipping from the sheets he staggered into the bathroom, took one look in the mirror at his neck covered in hickies, his hair a fucking mess and cheeks flushed - and barely recognised himself. There was no way his eyes should look that bright, or lips that swollen.

He’d had sex with his partner.  

He splashed cold water on himself, and contemplated drowning himself in the sink. He could do this - it was just a moment of passion right? Happened all the time - or so he’d seen in all his mums shitty romcoms.  

He could still feel her breathe against his face, hear the way she’d whispered his name. Feel her nails down his chest and the soft whimpers of her release echoing in his ear.

How the fuck was he meant to work like this?  They were going to have to… to talk about this.

Holy fucking shit was right.  

~*~*~

Bakugou hated quiet, and even with the sound of his pacing footsteps, it was all too much. He had half a mind to wake Uraraka from her sleep, or possibly just sit in her room to hear the fucker snore. Instead, he waited until the pot of coffee had fully brewed and made himself a mug. The rest of it waited for Uraraka to crawl her ass out of bed. It had been nearly two hours since he left, and she was still sound asleep.

He always knew she was a heavy sleeper, but it was like trying to wake to goddamn dead. He had went through most of her things, trying to entertain himself before he had to leave for work, and no matter how much noise he unintentionally made - she stayed in bed. The light of morning was peeking through her curtains, drawing a veil over most of her apartment and casting a glow on Uraraka that was criminal. Gorgeous was not the right word to describe her.

On his way to the kitchen hours before, he picked up his trail of clothes, putting on some as he walked past Uraraka’s. He was unsure of what the fuck to do with hers - was he supposed to pick them up? They were partners and it had been a habit before, long nights and untidy people tend to amount of a clean up when nights were done. But this was different. A line was crossed. They were more than partners.

Regret was something that was new to Bakugou, but he knew this wasn’t it. He stood in her kitchen and came to the conclusion that this was not something he’d ever regret. As far as the sex went, it was fucking great. It might’ve been the best he’d ever had. Maybe it was because he knew her, understood what her reactions could be and learning all new things about someone that he cared for. He wanted her to feel as good as he did.

Yet, what else would come of this? Was there a relationship there? Was he even ready for something like that? It wasn’t like he had one before to gauge what the fuck this even meant. His personality and overall work ethic was a pretty hard thing to deal with for most people. Uraraka was one of the only people that knew him, and still stuck around after. There was a trust between them, a fit that neither of them expected.

What did she even want? Was this all just heat of the moment?

He was about two seconds from marching into her room and finally dragging her out of bed when his phone chimed.

Shitty Hair: U need to come into work. Boss wants to see u

Bakugou rolled his eyes, gripping tight to his phone as he contemplated his next step. He took the remnants of his coffee and poured it down the sink, washing the mug briefly before putting on the remainder of his clothes. When he fixed his jacket over his shoulders, he stopped and saw into Uraraka’s room. She was curled into her sheets peacefully, and Bakugou grit his teeth.

When Kirishima texted again, Bakugou didn’t have time.

He left her apartment and went straight into work.

They could talk later.

He just wasn’t ready yet.

[starkerparkerpony]

Hogwarts Au #3

Note- The previous parts to this are available on my blog under the tag #hogwarts au and if you would like to be on the tag list for future updates, do ask! Also please consider reblogging because the tags are crap right now...

When Peter started his second year he couldn't help but think about how different this year already was to his last one at Hogwarts. Last year this time Peter was a fish out of water, about to miss the train that would take him to a magical boarding school in Scotland. This year however he arrived at the platform in a car with Tony. May, Ben and Mrs. Stark were there too but as always, he was a little preoccupied by Tony.

They'd spent almost half the summer break together and still... Peter was preoccupied by Tony.

May and Ben couldn't quite believe just how rich the Stark's were, atleast not until they were invited to vacation with them in the Bahamas, an all expenses paid vacation in the Bahamas. It was a whole new world for them, but their nephew was a wizard now so new was to be expected and they went along with it.

Mr. Stark took a liking to Peter instantly, almost pointedly, as if he was rubbing Tony's face in it... but Tony very much didn't care because he had found a whole new father figure in Uncle Ben, the man was an electrician/mechanic after all and within two days of knowing each other, Ben was calling Tony 'son' and Tony claimed that once he mastered the Patronas charm, it would take the shape of Ben.

Aunt May and Mrs. Stark got along like a house on fire, laughing and shaking their heads at the men's antics, completely in control of every situation.

Uncle Ben and Mr. Stark got along like the aftermath of a house on fire, it was devastating and tragic. Mr. Stark valued humiliation and coldness as an important asset in disciplining children, his son specifically. Uncle Ben was a decent human being so he didn't do that.

Steve, Bucky, Stephen and Rhodey spent a huge chunk of the summer with them too even Wade & Bruce came along for a week.

The air was a little tense at times, not that the boys noticed, but Stephen's dad had heard some whispers about this Lord Voldemort character... and the grownups, even the magical ones, didn't fully understand the implications of what was about to happen.

Diagon Alley was even more a rush this time round, Peter was surrounded by friends this time round, it only made him even more desperate to get back to Hogwarts. He bought way too many books this time round too, his aunt and uncle bought him a brown barn owl so that he'd write home more, he promptly named her Karen. The boys spent and obnoxious amount of time pointing out gross pickled creatures to each other at the apothecary. And Peter got a surprising and rather too generous gift from Mr. Stark, a Nimbus Ultra. Peter was inclined to deny it because Tony didn't get one but when he was repeatedly elbowed in the ribs by the boy himself, he accepted all while Ben and May looked on, distinctly uncomfortable. They covered up for it as soon as they made out of the alley, Uncle Ben bought Tony a fully equipped toolbox from a hardware store and Tony's smile was so wide, it made Peter's heart warm.

And so here they were, Peter, Wade and Bruce ready for their second year at Hogwarts, Tony, Rhodey, Stephen, Bucky and Steve ready for their fourth.

Peter found that it was much the same as his last year, the easy and comfortable friendship he had with Tony and the rest of the boys, had only developed more. Peter and Tony were completely and utterly just smitten with one another, completely attached at the hip almost all the time yet still somehow completely unaware of the fact that all their feelings towards one another were completely and utterly mutual, but that was to be expected, they were just kids after all.

Peter was still completely in love with magic and all the endless possibilities & potential that it revealed to him, he was having the time of his life learning and growing with Tony and sometimes even Bruce.

When classes started up, they returned to their schedule of spending almost every moment outside of class, together.

Peter was going to take advantage of Mr. Stark's crude generosity by trying out for the quidditch team this year, he wanted Tony to join too because he was a fantastic flier but Tony passed because of his abject disinterest in sports, so once Peter was selected for the team, he chose to become an ever present spectator for both Peter and Rhodey, instead.

The political climate at Hogwarts was changing, it was starting to reflect the tension of the outside world and Peter and the rest of the American students were mostly detached from it until one day Peter was cornered by a few Slytherin Fifth years between classes, luckily Thor and Loki were passing by at the same time and essentially rescued him. It was a harsh wakeup call... that not everything was perfect.

When Tony got to know about the incident he had a minor freak out and essentially instructed Wade to be Peter's bodyguard. Wade happily agreed but Peter didn't think that the incident warranted such a dramatic reaction in the first place, it was just a couple of bullies... but he realized that this was probably a good chance to pick Wade's brain for Defense Against The Dark Arts, he was the best in that class. Peter and Bruce were the top of the year in every other subject but DADA was Wade's specialty, and Peter could use the improvement. Not to mention the fact that Stephen was getting increasingly worried about the whispers he heard in the shady corners of the Slytherin common room and Peter supposed that their was nothing wrong with taking some extra precautions.

Stephen and Bucky were trying to rally all the students at Hogwarts put politics aside and to stick together and look out for each other and , they had most of Gryffindor on their side but bigotry didn't recognize house alliances even though the boys did the best they could.

Between Classes and Quidditch and everything else, Peter realized that he was getting less one on one time with Tony... but the night's were at their disposal, the boys still spent the evenings together only to ultimately pass out in each other's beds but they had a routine now, they changed into their pajamas and had an alternating schedule to decide whose bed to sleep in, which depended on which project they were working on that night.

Peter was working on a modified tracking charm and Tony was on a defense kick lately so he was working on a modified sheilding charm.

Between Peter's new extra-curricular obligations as Ravenclaw's new seeker and the fact that Tony was just one year away from the O.W.Ls, the boys somehow found time to exchange Christmas gifts before they both headed home for the Christmas holidays.

Tony gave Peter a gold and copper signet ring with his modified sheild charm on it and Peter gave Tony the first snitch he ever caught, he had shrunk it to be locket sized and had the tracking charm on it.

The gifts were a couple of simple promises that two silly boys exchanged with each other as their world was rather rapidly changing around them... Tony would always try to keep Peter safe and Peter would do his best to find his way back to Tony.

"You'll write to me right?" Peter asked as they stepped onto the platform together, after bidding their friends good bye, their respective families waiting for them.

"Of course... I know things were a bit weird this semester but everything will go back to normal soon enough..." Tony was trying to sound reassuring but comfort that wasn't based on logic and facts didn't really suit him... but Peter appreciated the effort nonetheless.

This world was too new for him to long for a "normal" anyway, all he could really hope for... was that all those that he cared about, remained safe and sound.

Especially Tony.

Tag list- @sthefystarkersworld @brokenmasterpiece @mokutonprince @deliciousflapbanditfarm @w1nters-stark @thiccbannanaboi @thejollydwarf @still-mad-starker @starkinabox @aoifelaufeyson @problematicshipsiminto @slytherintimelordelfvampire @delicateavenuenacho

[stumbling-through-time]

And the Haunted Mansion

[ I was really really really hoping to get this one done before the Big Day tomorrow but as always these stories have minds of their own. Here is the first half for now ]

Prompt borrowed from @gale-of-the-nomads, slightly altered: “Okay so I was dared to go into this haunted house, and not only is it not haunted, a nice old lady and her really pretty granddaughter live here and they invited me over for dinner next week”

=====

“Oh my, is this really as fast as you can run? Lena, how embarrassing.”

Even with the rest of the world drowned out by the pounding of her heartbeat and the desperate drags of air into her lungs, the cruel disapproval of her mother somehow still manages to slice through clear as day. Shaking the self reprimand out of her head, Lena urges her tiny body to run faster yet.

For once this isn’t about proving her worth to the Luthors. No, this is much, much more important. Kara - the one constant in her world that is bright and good - Kara is in danger and she needs help. Come on. Faster!

***** *****

Little Lena Luthor tucked herself away, all-the-way away in the back of the playground. She had hoped that if she ignored the problem hard enough, it will get offended and ignore her right back. So she buried herself in her latest Sandbox Masterpiece – today’s episode will explore her vision for the future Lex Corp headquarters – perfecting every little detail so the building stands tall over Metropolis just like the Watchtower guards over Earth. But alas, the instant she had distracted herself enough to push all thoughts of the looming threat from her head, is the instant it appeared as if summoned.

“There you are Baby Luthor.”

Her looming threat, namely one Veronica Sinclair, approached, deliberately slow and menacing, casting a dark, ominous shadow over everything in her path.

“You had me wasting half of my recess looking everywhere for you. No matter for now, but we will get back to that later.” Just the sound of that deceptively sweet voice alone sucked all the warmth out of the surrounding air. “What are you going to do now that Big Brother Lexie got shipped off to boarding school? Who are you going to hide behind now?”

Be still, don’t react. Don’t ever let them see you weak. Lena hadn’t lived with the Luthors for long, but already some of their “teachings” have become a reflex, a protective coat of armor. Clenching her jaw to stop the quivering, Lena pulled herself up into her full height. She may only be a couple of feet tall now, but her defiant glare had quickly become a close mirror of Lillian Luthor’s, and even the scary Veronica Sinclair was forced to take a step back.

True to her form though, Veronica recovered in the blink of an eye, and with a renewed frightening gleam of glee in her eyes, she tsked, “Aww, don’t tell me you’re scared already. We haven’t even gotten started.”

Even though Lena only came up to the older girl’s chest, she made sure to hold eye contact, and compelled in her best cold, commanding voice, “Leave me alone.”

=

“Here you go now Muffins! Don’t even worry about it buddy, we’ll try again tomorrow! You’ll get the hang of it in no time!” Kara Danvers gently placed the baby bird back in its nest and gave it a little encouraging pat on the head before making her way back down the tree.

The thing about unlimited optimism like Kara’s is that one never needed to worry about the implications of realistic probabilities. So even though it’s already November and most of Muffin’s siblings, and the leaves themselves, have left the tree, Kara had no doubt in her mind that her favorite little hatchling would learn to fly before the real cold set in.

I said, leave me alone!

Kara’s ears perked up as if she had some sort of super hearing and picked out her best friend’s voice from all the way across the playground. She could instantly tell that something was wrong by the tone of Lena’s voice. Squinting off in that direction, she zeroed in on Veronica looming intimidatingly over poor Lena. Her mind went blank and she must have flown the rest of the way because the next thing she knew, Kara had wedged herself protectively between the school bully and her dear friend.

“Yeah! She said, leave her alone!” Kara said defiantly, chest puffed out and hands fisted at her waist - a rare display of confidence for the normally timid child – in fact, if she had a cape, it would surely be billowing heroically in the wind.

“Well, well, well. Looky what we have here. Another wannabe superhero. Tell me Kara, did Clark have to teach you how to stick your nose in other people’s business, or is that just a family trait?” Veronica taunted, not even remotely rattled by Kara’s sudden appearance.

“You should know, or did you already forget how my sister kicked your butt this summer?” Kara countered brazenly without even skipping a beat, surprising the entire playground but herself most of all. She had no idea where this fire in her came from, she just knew she would do anything to protect Lena.

That jab must have hit a nerve because Kara watched in slow motion as Veronica’s face paled and the cheshire smile on her face grew dangerously predatory.

Just as her survival instincts started blaring warning bells in the back of her mind, she was overtaken by the smell of flowers and sunshine, and the rest of the world faded away. Lena, who must have noticed the same warning signs, because Lena is so much smarter and more observant than she is, had placed a reassuring hand on her elbow and whispered close to her ear, “stronger together.”

They shared a quick look. Ok, maybe not quick, but a look of abject trust and unconditional support. Holding on to each other’s hands, they squared their shoulders and faced the dangers ahead together.

Back in real time, Veronica had opened her mouth, intended to spew more venom no doubt, but before she could do so, the school bell rung, signaling the end of recess and shattering the tension of the moment.

“Ha!” Veronica barked humorlessly, “Saved by the bell. Aren’t we a cliché? I’m not done with you two yet. Either, of you.” For extra emphasis she leveled her glare at each girl. “We finish this at the flagpole after the last bell, and you had better be there.”

“Count on it.” Kara spat out before Lena can stop her.

[continued in AO3 - link coming soon]

[flightofaqrow]

personal

qrow + Jackson Rosenthal ( @thehopefulones​ )

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“I thought it would be harder to find you.” the boy scrunched up his nose for a second and stepped closer to peer at Qrow through his glasses critically, “At least…I’m pretty sure it’s you.”

qrow’s hand moves right to his weapon hilt. he’d already seen illusion semblances using a child as bait. it usually worked better with younger, crying children, rather than those who apparently knew what they were talking about slightly beyond their years and dressed appropriately for independent travel, but…

he doesn’t shy from the kid’s gaze, rather meets it with just as much scrutiny. “so it’s like that is it?” his voice lowers to a rasp, “then who is it you’re lookin’ for, and more importantly, who’s doin’ the askin’?”

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“Whoa. Are you really a huntsman?”

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“a-yup. license and all. what makes you ask, kid?”

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Jackson pulled his hood a little tighter around his head in an excited gesture, his excitement almost overcoming his shyness. “I can just tell?” A vague answer. He tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, before he pointed at Harbinger and elaborated, “You don’t have that to hurt people.”

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kid if you only knew. qrow looks around for any sign of something like a parent, while trying to keep him entertained long enough.

“well, the idea is to protect people. according to most hunstman, anyway. although, i don’t recommend making a habit of approaching strangers carrying a weapon. even though i am a huntsman, not all of ‘em are the good kind.”

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Not a single one. Against all reason, this scrawny boy appeared to be completely on his own and entirely too confident about it. Jackson looked around as well, wondering what Qrow was searching for, until his words got his attention. “Oh, I know that. People can be as dangerous as Grimm and tree nuts,” he proclaimed. “I thought with how many more there are lately, it would be harder to find you.” The boy scrunched up his nose for a second and stepped closer to peer at Qrow through his glasses critically, “At least…I’m pretty sure it’s you.”

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speaking of such things, qrow’s hand moves right to his weapon hilt at that statement. he’d already seen illusion semblances using a child as bait. it usually worked better with younger, crying children, rather than those who apparently knew what they were talking about slightly beyond their years and dressed appropriately for independent travel, but…

well, his friends and allies also had a few weirdos on their side. he doesn’t shy from the boy’s gaze, rather meets it with just as much scrutiny. “so it’s like that is it?” his patient teacher-voice lowers to a rasp, “then who is it you’re lookin’ for, and more importantly, who’s doin’ the askin’?”

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Jackson didn’t see his guard rise up as much as he felt it and he understood, even if it frightened him a little. He hesitantly moved his hood down, showing a mop of jet black hair and a set of loppy rabbit ears. A faunus. “Right. Manners, um…my name is Jackson. I’m from Mistral, I’m– I’m trying to get into the Huntsman academy there, but I’m not old enough yet.” He was nervous. His heart was beating very quickly. Jackson took a deliberate, slow breath to calm himself down and he slowly took his pack off. “I think I’m supposed to help you.” the boy explained carefully, as he opened the top and reached inside to get his sketchbook. He could explain better with that.

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qrow drops only his stance, not his hands nor his guard. while the kid’s sudden fluff of ears looks entirely too soft to be dangerous, that meant exactly nothing in the reality of the world. explaining that he’s a wannabe huntsman has more of an effect, clicks a few more pieces together in a less threatening picture.

great. yet another child growing up too damn fast.

he watches the boy, lines of his expression shaping more into pointed curiosity. he appreciates ‘manners’ from the boy, but is selective in their use himself. he’ll save his own introduction once he knows what the hell is going on.  

attention moves from boy to sketchbook and back with an expectant pop of his brow.

“… help? …me? look, kid, can you get to the point?”

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“Sorry, sir.” Jackson flipped through the pages with shaky, chilled fingers until he found the sketch he was looking for. It was more made of charcoal scratches than anything else, but a contemplative look quickly revealed the image, thanks to the tiny spots of colors to point them out. The thing in his nightmares. He was little enough that it blurred at the details but not so little he could ever forget. The dreams came, bad memories until Jackson finally noticed something leading him out. The boy turned it around and showed Qrow the picture, looking at him with wide eyes, petrified at the reaction he was going to get. It was a blackened wraith like image almost that of a man, but there were only two definitive traits. Curling behind this demonic creature was a stinger tipped tail and an impossibly wide, evil grin that split the face nearly in twain. But behind him, perched among the shadows, a little black bird. Red eyes, halfway between taking off, emitting a silent raucous call. Jackson hesitantly pointed at the bird, “You.” Jackson clarified, “I know it doesn’t make sense. I-I don’t know how to make it make sense, I just draw what I see. Try to know what it means and follow it…I’m sorry. I know it sounds unbelievable.” Jackson lowered the sketchbook, before hugging it close to his chest and his gaze dropped back down to his feet. He felt like a freak.

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little by little qrow continues to relax, as little by little Jackson acts like a normal young boy. well, as normal cryptic-speech, lone-traveling, future huntsman, lop-eared bunny boys got. he’s seen enough students in his class and people around the world to expand his definition of normal, in any case. he lets go of Harbinger, looks away for only a moment as pages are shuffled, and when his gaze returns he suddenly regrets letting himself ever feel at-ease.

all at once his own worst nightmares are before him, too, if nightmare is even strong enough of a word. a surge of primal rage sweeps through him like a billow on hot coals sending gunsmoke swirling through a chimney. fists tighten at his sides, nails digging into palms, but they don’t lift to threaten, and any scowl on his face is directed not at the boy, but only the image of what had to be tyrian callows.

yet even for how all-consuming as suddenly coming face to face with his nemesis in the middle of dinner felt, there remains another surprise.

you

he says at the crow, and each of qrow’s hardened edges fall away to the abject terror of being all at once known.

sort of. maybe. the kid knows that this is all truth, but he doesn’t speak as if he fully understands. he’s glad when the sketchbook is pulled away, for gods know he’s one to get far too lost and fixated in his own thoughts, and something tangible to fixate on nearly has him catatonic. the image, however, will remain permanently stuck in his brain if only for how utterly appropriate the caricature really is.

crimson eyes like the drawing move once again to the boy, still wide, processing, but unassuming. he knows what it’s like to feel ostracized for merely being who you are, for being a bearer of bad news. it’s not Jackson’s fault.

qrow reaches up to run a hand through his hair, blinks a few times, finds all the breath that had been knocked out of him. he pinches the bridge of his nose and one more heavy sigh joins the pile of resignation in his life.

“you’re not crazy, kid. it makes sense. to me, anyway. my name…” he points at himself in mimic of a smaller finger pointing at the picture, and hopes its full reality can hide behind the illusion of symbolism for the time being, “it’s qrow.”

if ever he needed a drink, it’s in this moment, but he’ll settle for just having a sit down at the nearest table and realizing his head is already spinning on its own from the emotional roller coaster he just got off of. he motions at Jackson, “pull up a seat. …you said you ‘draw what you see.’ is this a… semblance thing?”

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Like the blaze of a house fire burning in his throat, Jackson was keenly aware of how this image pulled open something that was not even close to being healed. It overwhelmed him for a moment and Jackson followed his instincts and stepped back in case this wasn’t actually as safe of an endeavor like he originally thought. But it diffused not long after it started and where Jackson had previously been avoiding looking at him at all costs, he perked up and quickly hid a tired giggle behind his book. “Qrow? Really?” he asked, not mockingly but delighted. At the invitation, Jackson inched over to the offered chair, still recovering from the astonishment that the man just accepted his oddity and moved on to the important questions, although it made him curious too. “Yessir. Usually it’s in dreams but it’s not an exact science.” he answered, already relieved to rest his feet. He had never done so much walking in his whole life until recently. In fact, whatever Qrow asked him next was delayed to be understood. Fought as he might as he rested his arms on the tabletop, Jackson could not keep his head up. He slowly lowered his chin down onto them and blinked sleepily, feeling he had finally reached the end of something, accomplished a part of his goal and he could stop and breathe. “I don’t want him to hurt anybody else.” he mumbled. “Wanted to stop him before…I’m sorry I couldn’t.”

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well, qrow more or less constantly has a blazing house fire going on within him, so its containment has become something of a well-honed skill. the boy may have opened a window, cracked a door, but qrow can easily slam his barriers shut again once he gets his bearings.

Jackson earns the rolling of red eyes, even if he means no malice. yes, really. that’s what happens when someone’s name comes from their actual impression on people, and also a bunch of bandits. “don’t call me sir.” it’s a sign of age and of authority he really doesn’t want to have, “qrow is fine. mr. qrow, if your parents would have your hide or somethin’.” even that title has been lost since his teaching days.

qrow gets comfortable in his seat, but not nearly as comfortable as Jackson. he fears his last comment and questions are about all he’ll get to tonight, because exhaustion weights the air between them both. Just how far has he traveled? he stares down the person across the table, watches him fold in, settle, soften and let go of all the mystery. the last bit of huntsman aggression sighs away as qrow follows suit, feels sorry for the kid. prophetic dream semblances and just how Tyrian is involved in all this will have to wait. though it only takes a few guesses to figure out what usually trails in Tyrian’s wake.

“yeah, well you’re not alone in that, kid. an’ he’s nowhere near your personal responsibility.”

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“Sorry sir– I mean…Mister Qrow?” it felt odd. Felt like he was breaking some unspoken rule of respect. Jackson pouted over it for a moment, resolving to figure out if he had a last name later and to stick with Mister (blank) for the future. But he quieted quickly at the mention of parents. Oh, his mother would have his hide indeed but not for this reason. And there would be a lot of crying and questions and– His heart wouldn’t take thinking about that right now. Jackson shook it away from his mind, reminding himself that this was important and when it was all said and done, she would understand. And things would be better. All the lost sleep, loneliness, fear and wandering would be worth it some day, that he knew inside. He slowly dragged himself to sit upright again and looked at Qrow. At him, through him. His eyes a piercing blue that was a color like a cornflower but one sitting at the bottom of a pond that was deeper than it looked. Much deeper. “It’s as personal as it could ever be,” Jackson said, his words holding a definitive tone. His hand had reached into his coat and withdrawn something, a long steel cylinder. A dagger sheath, Mistralian for sure. Jackson stared at it for a while, his knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping it.

Don’t cry. I’m too big to cry over this now. He took a deep breath, finding he wasn’t able to just outright say it. So he tried the vague path. “I inherited this too soon because of him. But it’s not about revenge. It’s about doing the right thing. I think that’s something you understand, that’s– that’s why I had to be here.”

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he said it’s fine, yet he really wishes the ‘huntsman’ title came with a new honorific he could use. a bit more dangerous and grizzled, formal or informal as someone made it. he’s never been a proper mister of anything.

but the kid’s just trying to be a good one. and struggling to be that, or much of anything on this plane of existence, if his expression shone true. an unsettling stare follows up with even more unsettling words, no matter how expected.

qrow looks at the dagger, looks at Jackson, and down again. red eyes sink like falling embers holding a steadier burning rage than what heats the boy’s hands to a blinding white. but the only concern that fills his chest at the moment is the safety and well-being of the person in front of him, not a vendetta down the line.

“yeah,” he says low with no coating to his voice. it’s too late to pretend any innocence houses in the inn tonight. he pulls Clover’s pin off of the inside of his lapel, and sets it down on the table in front of where smaller hands hold that dagger, “that’s something i understand. …no one else, right? like i said, he’s hurt a lot of people, kid. there’s a whole line’a folks who want to make it right, so no more runnin’ around on your own, agreed?”

[lenorasaney-blog]

Eternal

Initially posted 11/17/2017

-----

The goblin looked up at the oozing burlap sack with the same casual look he would have given a sack of potatoes. Granted, behind that look was the abject horror at the sheer amount of coin he was going to have to count and document for himself, as well as how much of his vacation fund it was going to fill, the likes of which a simple sack of potatoes would have never succeeded in fulfilling. Pulling the thing off the counter, he held it open to peer inside, nodding slowly with approval. One severed head, human, male, long blonde hair, scraggly beard, and facial features to match. Just as the request had ordered.

Tossing it behind him he looked up at the true terror that filled the room. The decayed corpse, whose beady little yellow eyes had never ceased staring at him. Nor did they seem to blink. Instead they bored right into him. The creature they were attached too was easily his most undesired part of any particular contract. Not because her very body was as rich in decay as he was about to be in coin, but for the simple fact that her mouth still functioned.

Exceedingly well.

"So. Uh."

She peered down at him, expectantly. The rest of her face, eyes aside, was hidden by a hood and mask combo, both black, which went with the rest of her dirty leather armor. With a short nod of approval, he bent over, reaching under the counter to produce a large sack of coins, from which he began counting. Each click on the counter rang out with a beautiful sound, of weighted metal falling upon weighted metal.

The fact that her gaze never lingered from him was a source of unending disturbance. How anything in the world, be it man or murloc, could look upon such a sum and not care to check it was beyond him. Halfway through the count he had to pause and look up at her, letting out a long sigh, "Is there something else you were needing?"

Her bony shoulders lifted in a shrug, beady eyes shooting elsewhere for a moment, as though she had been found out in some ruse. Eventually she looked to him again, just as he had started clicking through the coins again, meticulously counting every single one of them, "What. Uh. What do you do with. With all of this stuff."

He blinked, peering up at her. For a moment he considered the question. What it pertained to. Was it the head? No, of course not. She knew exactly what became of the head. It was turned in to whomever had set up the contract, and he was paid in kind. Perhaps she meant the knick-knacks that lined the shelves of his shop, each of them covered in layers of dust. But that she knew the answer to as well. They were there in case tourists came in. To distract anyone who might not know that the place's main business was in matters of death. Which meant she had to be speaking of the coin itself.

Exchanging his focus from her to the coins and back again, he frowned, "Whaddya mean what do I do with it? I shove it in a vault and save it. Or I spend it. The stuff I get from this job is gonna be goin' ta my vacation fund, for instance. Got a pal who says he can get me tickets to Gallywix's palace on the cheap."

Nodding her head slowly, she shrugged again, "Oh. Yeah. I guess. Guess that makes sense." Each of the various fragments of her sentences came with its own sort of stilted delivery. Not an each of her speaking was consistent. At points she repeated herself, at others the sentence just seemed to pause. Sometimes a new idea would begin entirely.

"Well what the hell do you do with it then?" he said, suddenly crossing his arms, feigning offense. Not so low was he as to allow himself to potentially be insulted by a walking corpse. Granted, he had been insulted by worse than a walking corpse, but at the very least that individual he could and had divorced.

Once again her shoulders creaked up into a shrug, "I don't know. Stuff. Repairs. Travel. Stuff like that." A single finger came up to awkwardly dig into the counter, "Not. Not much else to. To really spend it on."

His arms were flung up into the air at the sound of that. Never in his life had he heard such nonsense, and in that moment he believed he would never hear anything sillier. Tapping the coins on the counter, he shook his head, "This stuff is for everything. Literally everything on this freakin' planet. And a couple of other planets. Or completely different realms of existence. And you're gonna tell me that you can't find anything to spend it on. If that's the case, what the hell am I even givin' it to you if it's just sittin' somewhere and gatherin' dust?"

He neglected to let loose the fact that he himself was sitting on a fair sum. Granted, it was stored away as a just in case. And as a means to brag to his relatives, as well as an opportunity to laugh in their faces when they requested money from him, but that was beside the point.

"I. I use it," she said, voice croaking the entire time. "Just. Don't have. A lot to. You. You know. Use it on."

Bringing his face into his palms, he turned around, and hopped down from his pile of stools. Wandering into the back room, he retrieved yet another one and added it to the pile. Once he was certain that the now towering structure was enough to hold him, he clambered up it, and tossed himself onto the counter itself. Staring the rotting woman right in the eye, he put his hands on his hips, "The hell's wrong."

Her eyes shot around for a moment, trying to focus on anything in the shop. She wouldn't find anything to focus on. He knew that, because she never did. And loathe as he was to have to have some sort of heartfelt conversation, it was best to get this out now. There was no way he could sell her services in good conscious knowing that something might be bothering her on the job. In bad conscious, certainly, but to sell something in bad conscious meant running the high risk that the entire deal would fall through in the chance she screwed something up because of it. Which would have meant a nasty relocation and change of identity, a process he wasn't going to go through yet again.

"It's. It's nothing Buzz. Just. Just asking is all. Nothing's wrong."

The goblin brought a hand to his face, pulling his eyelids down for a moment out of frustration. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, "Except there obviously is, 'cause you're giving me a funnier look than normal, so if you don't mind, let's just get it out now and be done with it."

When she shrugged again, he swore that the next time he did it he was going to slap her upside the head. Not that he would. But he certainly would fantasize about doing so. "I just. Uh. I've been thinking about stuff. Some stuff. And I don't. I guess. Don't really know why to keep doing. This."

His stomach churned at those words. The matter was worse than he thought. Not only was she having some strange thoughts in regards to money, she was thinking things that put his entire business in jeopardy. A vision of the long and arduous interview process that would be required to fill her position passed through his mind, and he shuddered.

Steadying himself, he sighed, "Ya do the work, ya get paid. I don't see where the confusion is here Saney. It's simple stuff. The hell's the problem with it now."

She turned her back to him, and inched away from him along the counter. For a minute he thought she was trying to simply scoot away from the conversation, but instead she just invited herself up onto the counter. With a little push she scooted herself into a sitting position on the counter and stared out the shop's front window.

"I just. Don't. Don't see why. I guess. Not. Not much reason to. It's," she paused again, twisting herself to look at where he tossed the burlap sack. "Doesn't mean much."

Buzz's eyebrows knitted together, "What, 'cause of him? It means something to the buyer. Means we get paid. And gettin' paid's gotta feel nice, right?"

"Sometimes. I guess." Her feet began to idly swing. "But. There'll. There'll be other buyers. And there'll be other guys. So. So I guess who cares."

"Is that what this is about?" he said through gritted teeth, trying not to raise his voice so much that it would wake his neighbors, "You're gettin' bored?" She shrugged again and he imagined plunging one of her daggers right between her eyes. Letting out yet another sigh, he allowed himself to resort to one of the worst alternatives he could think of. "Well okay, maybe you need a break or something. Take a vacation for a little while. Have some fun. Be just fine after I'm sure." A chill ran down his spine at just the offer of allowing vacation time, but now was not a time to make even the smallest error.

She shook her head, looking down at him, "And. And do. What am I supposed to do." His mouth dropped open at the question. Were someone to walk into the shop at that moment he was certain they could have heard his brain sizzling with how hard it was working to come up with a solution. "I just don't," she croaked, giving him more time to think, "Don't get what I'm supposed to do with. With a lot of this. Time."

His fingers curled as he imagined wrapping them around her throat. Though, now that he thought about it that would have achieved absolutely nothing. "Go to the beach," he hissed, "Book a nice night at an inn. Whatever."

"Can't. Can't really. Go to a beach," she said, letting out a short cough, "People. People don't like. Corpses. And water. Don't." She paused for a moment, staring at her feet, "Don't want to go to one that's. Just me. Either. Or an inn. Boring. Nothing. Nothing for me to. To do."

Hopping off the counter, he removed the top stool in his stack. Climbing back up he returned to counting coins. Anything to calm himself. This was a job for a therapist, not a broker. Trying to get back into his count, he only idly glanced up at her, "Ask some friends to go with you or something." Her silence at that forced him to stop once more and look at her, "You do have friends right?"

She stared down at him, "Do. Uh. I mean. You. I guess. If you count."

"Wow."

It was insensitive, and immediately he wished he hadn't said it. But it was too late to undo, and now the word hung in the air. So long did it hang there that he wondered if the conversation had ended full stop, but eventually she piped up again.

"I just. All the forsaken I run into are all. Too. Too into the. All the forsaken stuff. Tried hanging. Just. Just being around Silvermoon and. It's full of elves and they don't really. Really like corpses that much. So."

Quickly finishing his counting, before he could be distracted again, he inched the coins into a brown pouch, and offered it to her. She hopped off of the counter and stared at it, not reaching to take it from him.

"Let me just give you some advice," he said, holding the pouch out again, "Just take this, and find somethin' you wanna buy. Hell. Buy ya some friends. Or find somethin' you wanna save for, and save for it. Just use your imagination. If you want it, you can probably buy it. Focus on stuff like that, and honestly you don't have any time to think about all of this stuff."

Her head tilted at that, "You. You mean. I can. Can think of a lot of stuff I would want that. That I probably can't. Can't buy."

"Find the right person and set the right price, and I'd beg to differ," he said blandly, once again shoving the thing in her direction.

She rubbed the back of her neck, "I don't. I mean. Yeah. Okay."

Taking the pouch, she let it sit in her hands. He stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to leave. Eventually she began inching her way to the door, just as he hoped she would. The entire process was arduously long, for some reason. At points she stopped completely to stare back at him, before looking down at the sack of coins. Even after she had made it out the door and was standing in the street she paused, staring up at the shop's sign as though she might be lost. Just when he thought she might stand there forever, she tucked the pouch of gold away, and wandered off down the road.

[sopewriters]

In the Wrong | [M]

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Reader

Genre: Angst and sort of fluff; rated M because of overall sad themes and just a tiny bit of more mature stuff.

Word Count: 2.3K

Requested by Anonnie. I hope you like it :)

Sequel’s up: saudade.

“Friends with benefits?”

You stare uncertainly at the calm man in front of you, almost unable to believe the words that have just come out of your mouth.

“Yeah,” Yoongi shrugs, “Why not?”

The two of you are sitting across from each other at the back of a cozy café, with cheerful baristas and couples milling about. It doesn’t seem like an appropriate place for this conversation, really. Yoongi’s got his chin perched nonchalantly on the flat of his palm, stirring his Americano coolly, like he hasn’t just suggested that the two of you enter a casual relationship.

“Why not—” You sigh, chuckling to yourself incredulously, hands running through your hair in abject incredulity, “Yoongi, you can’t just say these kinds of things out of the blue and—”

“Do you have feelings for me?” The words cut straight through your sentence, making you gape uselessly before shaking your head, “There you go. Problem solved.”

“Yoongi!”

“Look, Y/N-ah.” He shakes his head, eyes flashing almost in disappointment, “I only suggested this because I thought it through. We haven’t known each other for long, and it’ll be normal, no strings attached.”

Something sinks in the pit of your stomach, and you bite your lip guiltily at the sheer dissatisfaction coloring his tone.

“But what if we get feelings?” You can’t help but voice the inevitable question as you loom at the edge of a bad decision; Yoongi’s eyes flash as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“That’ll never happen.”

“And you said yes?!” Your friend screeches in shock, “Are you freaking insane?!”

“What?” You shrug, sounding more confident than you feel, “He’s hot, I don’t have a boyfriend and it works out.”

“Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.” The sigh has your stomach tightening, “For your own sake.”

  The first time the two of you meet up, it’s not awkward.

You’ve been invited to only the biggest party of the year, which is why you’re currently standing to the side of the room, nursing a cup of carbonated liquid. You feel kind of childish, holding a bright red, plastic cup while everyone else is breaking out the drinks, but you don’t trust yourself around alcohol. It’s not worth the risk tonight.

“All by yourself?” You startle at the hand that’s laid gently on your shoulder, looking up to see none other than Min Yoongi raising an eyebrow at you with dark eyes. His black locks are styled up today, and a strange part of you wishes they were falling into his face again.

“Yeah,” You laugh nervously, hyperaware of the warmth of his hand against your skin, heat seeping through your clothes, “Everyone ditched me.”

“Not everyone.” His mouth twitches lightly as he settles himself against the wall too.

“Well,” You shrug, a bout of confidence coursing through you, “You’re not everyone.”

“Really now?” He shrugs lightly, lips stretching just a bit as he hovers closer to you, so that he’s almost pressed into you.

“R-Really.” The words stutter as they leave your mouth, as you gaze up at Yoongi’s dark eyes.

The warmth of his lips against yours is pleasant, but unsurprising, and you let him take control, exploring your mouth with practiced ease. It’s almost jarring how easily he does it, but it’s also easy to forget everything when you can taste the faint citric from the beer as he steals your breath away.

He’s pulling back, just as quickly, staring at your flushed cheeks with hungry eyes.

“There’s room upstairs.” Yoongi breathes into your ear, hand rubbing slow circles into your arm, “Want to look around?”

“Yes.” The word barely leaves your lips as you’re tugged lightly through the throng of people, clumsy in your steps.

There’s a weird stillness in the air when the two of you reach an empty room. There’s a headiness too, as he pushes you gently onto the bed, climbing over you and straddling your hips. The breath that escapes from your lips is harsh, breaking into the quiet, but Yoongi’s voice is soft, rough as his hands pull you apart, piece by piece.

There’s nothing overly romantic about it—Yoongi fishing out a pack of condoms and filling you, body and heart—but something in you thuds heavily against your chest when your hands meet his sweaty nape, when they drag desperately down his toned back.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Yoongi pants into your ear, and you shudder in response, like a perfectly ticking doll, “And fuck, you’re beautiful.”

  He’s still there, the next morning, which catches you by surprise.

“What?” He chuckles gruffly, sending the vibrations from it running up your bare arms, “I’m not a rude guy, Y/N.”

“Sure.” A giggle drags from your mouth as you prop yourself up, wincing at the soreness prevalent over your back and hips, “Uh…”

“Need help?” He asks, and the warmth of his arms as he picks you up easily makes you feel safe, “On it, princess.”

“Princess?” You ask, with a quirked eyebrow, and he shrugs.

“Yeah.”

  He treats you for breakfast, letting you drag him over to your favorite breakfast bar. The sight of pancakes drizzled with fresh maple syrup has your mouth watering, and it must show on your face, because Yoongi’s actually smiling at you, the same gummy smile that you’ve only seen once in your life.

Your heart skips a beat, so you shovel a bite of pancake into your mouth.

It doesn’t help.

  The cycle continues for four whole months. Four whole months of you succumbing to those devilish hands, that sinful mouth, those greedy words. Four whole months of waking up to Yoongi’s peaceful smile, his messy bangs and pliant limbs.

It’s both heaven and not.

There’s a certain care to how he’s been treating you lately. His hands are gentler when they grip at your arms, his mouth is softer when it’s on yours and his eyes have grown lighter, more tender. A satisfaction courses through you every time it happens, knowing that it’s probably because of you that he’s changed so much.

He’s started to let you into his studio too. More often than not, you find yourself perched on one of his beaten couches, transfixed on those slender fingers as they click rapidly on the mousepad. There’s something interesting about the way Yoongi works, something beautiful; it draws you in, like a helpless moth to a flame, and you can’t pull away.

You don’t want to.

“Is something the matter?” You break out of your trance when Yoongi finally takes his headphones off, shaking your head at him quickly.

A smile pulls at his lips, as he gestures you over, setting the headphones over your head, petting your hair lightly before he’s turning back to his computer, hand once again rapidly pressing into the mouse. You wait, heart hammering wildly in your chest and, once the music begins, your hands find his blindly. Surprisingly, he holds them, smiling at your awed expression as the comfortable bass drop sounds out, and he taps along to the rhythm on the insides of your wrists.

You want to focus on the music, but you end up focusing on Yoongi instead. And, when he asks you how it is, you smile, and say it’s beautiful.

  It doesn’t take long before the doubt begins to build up.

The way Yoongi treats you makes you feel special; it’s like you’re dating, except without the actual label. And, labels shouldn’t matter—you should be happy with what you have—but you can’t help it.

Min Yoongi’s Girlfriend has a nice ring to it, and it circulates around your brain. You grow ten times more aware of him, each minute detail sinking into your head like falling into hot wax. The slightest twitch of his lips, the tiniest crinkle of his eyes—everything is amplified for you. Everything seems too perfect.

And the fact that he lets you listen in on him, when he’s composing…there can be no other explanation. A slow smile stretches across your lips as you come to your glorifying conclusion: Min Yoongi likes you. Why else would he have suggested a friends with benefits relationship? He must have been shy.

It’s obvious that he won’t take the first step, so, really, it falls down to you. Your heart thumps loud against your chest at the knowledge.

You’ve got everything in your grasp.

  The both of you are back at your daily breakfast joint when you decide to make your move.

“Alright, kitten, one plate of pancakes with extra maple syrup, like you asked.” Yoongi sets the dish down with a flourish, grinning lightly at your bright expression, “You look like you’re going to get diabetes, soon enough.”

“Shush,” You say playfully, though your heart beats unwaveringly over your ears, “It’s high taste, okay?”

“Sure, babe.” The nickname sends a burst of exhilaration through you as you, take a deep breath.

“Yoongi, I need to ask you something.”

He pauses, midway through slicing into his hash browns, and looks quizzically at you through his thick lashes.

“So suddenly?” He looks genuinely surprised, before shrugging and nodding, “Alright, what is it?”

“Um, not now.” You decide to push it off, temporarily, “Outside, once we’re done.”

“Sure, kitten.” He acquiesces, and the knot in your stomach loosens just a bit.

  “So, what did you want to ask me?” Yoongi questions as he shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to warm them. There aren’t many people around, as the two of you slowly begin to walk back to the apartment, and you sigh heavily, before stopping entirely. He freezes too, mid-step, but turns around obligingly, looking at you with confused, dark eyes.

“Yoongi, do you like me?” The words spill out of your mouth, and something in his eyes changes; you rush on, trying to get the sentence out of you before you forget, “Because, I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now, and you don’t really treat me…well, like how it’d be expected.”

“It seems…” You look down bashfully, trying to hide your flushed cheeks, “It seems a lot like a relationship.”

You’ve imagined this moment countless times. Different scenes play your head every time, all with the same outcome. Yoongi would take your hand in his, with his huge, gummy smile; he’d brush a lock of your hair behind the shell of your ear, and kiss you lightly, meaningfully. There’d be no need for words, with your eyes spelling everything out.

You’re still twiddling your thumbs, waiting and waiting, and when you hear him shift, you can’t help but smile in anticipation of his answer.

“What?” The shock in Yoongi’s eyes threatens to make your smile grow larger, “Y/N, what are you saying here?”

“I think I like you.” You admit finally, wetting your lips in anxiety, “And I’ve thought about it for a long time, and the way you take care of me and everything really makes me feel good.”

This is it. This is the moment that’ll change your life. This is the moment where every single one of your dreams comes to life.

Unfortunately, reality is much more biting.

“And,” The icy voice makes your head snap up, and the sheer coldness in his eyes makes your heart stop, smile dropping slowly from your lips, “Because I treat you nicely, you think I like you?”

You’ve become mute, entirely unable to speak, as he laughs harshly into the air, expression still twisted into one of horrifying amusement. This…this isn’t…

“Are you really that easy?”

It’s like time slows down then, each word pushing the knife deeper and deeper into your chest. This isn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t what he’s supposed to say. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out—you don’t know what to say. You feel numb, unable to understand what’s happening…why this is happening to you, even after you’ve made sure about everything.

“Yoongi, I…” You gulp uneasily, stepping back lightly, “I don’t understand.”

“I was an idiot for thinking you could possibly last,” Yoongi growls angrily, with terrible eyes, “And yes, obviously, you don’t understand what ‘no strings attached’ means.”

“Just because,” The air grows heavier, and it’s getting harder to breathe “Just because I don’t treat you like a fuck toy, you think I want you now?”

“Yoongi, that’s—” You start to say, eyes wide, but he cuts you off clinically, flatly.

“Shut up. This was a waste of my time, Jesus fuck.”

There’s no stopping him as he brushes past you, shouldering hard into your softer body and making you stumble back. You stare unwaveringly into his back, hands trembling from where they’re curled into fists by your side. Your chest feels empty, and it’s like your soul is dead—you can’t move, and it’s only with the breeze that you realize you’ve got wet cheeks. It doesn’t matter though. No amount of crying can bring him back.

It doesn’t matter, but you can’t stop.

“But…” You speak softly into the emptiness, from the void of your heart, “I think I…I was starting to love you.”

The tears don’t stop: they just keep coming. And you can’t even brush them away, sinking to your knees as you think over what may have possibly been the worst mistake of your life. You remember thinking over it so carefully, so meticulously and just remembering the warmth of his smile has you heaving out dry sobs. You’re always right, but not this time.

This time, you’re wrong.

Written By: Admin Midnight

I’m eternally grateful to  @ssconce for her feedback!! This would’ve been trash otherwise, I’m not kidding :)

Thank you Midnight for bringing my nightmares to life with such a beautifully written masterpiece ;-;

Sangria~

If you want to know more about why Yoongi did what he did, here’s the next part!

[businesscasualprincess]

Once Upon the N Train

CS Modern AU, Based partially on actual events...

Words: 3,066 | Rating: Soft T (Adult themes, suggestive dialog) | Ao3: x

Dedicated to all the lovelies in the Writer’s Hub, without whose encouragement and humor, I probably would have abandoned this days ago. ♥♥

After a mad dash across the platform, Emma scooted her way onto the subway car just as the doors closed. It was nearly empty, the only other person was a man near the back leaning against the window with his eyes closed. He had the collar of his tan trench coat popped up, covering most of his face, but Emma could see the bottoms of his grey suit pants and his shiny black oxford shoes. He’d clearly been working late at one of the downtown offices, catching a nap on his ride home in the quiet lull between the evening rush hour and the last-call crowd. 

Emma took her seat as the train lurched forward, setting her shopping bag on the spot next to her and pulling out her tablet to choose something to read. As a responsible and successful adult who was choosing to continue her professional education, she should probably have opened up the reading for her Advanced Topics in Criminology class, but it was Friday night and she wasn’t that responsible. Instead she tapped the cover of a cheesy romance novel about a time-traveling Viking with too many kids, and shifted in her seat to get comfortable for the ride home. 

“So, is it a gift or for yourself?” the sudden sound of the man’s voice startled Emma.

 “Excuse me?”

 “In your AdultMart bag.” he continued, English accent adding an unexpected amount of class to his words, “It’s definitely too heavy to be a DVD which would obviously be a gift because no one actually buys their porn in a store anymore. It’s also not heavy enough to be one of the nice vibrators or a glass dildo, which would obviously be for yourself because they’re too personal and expensive to be a gift. So that leaves us with either a small vibrator or some sort of silly lingerie, both of which could be a gift or not a gift.”

 “Who the hell are you?” Emma turned around, facing the man who was now clearly awake. He’d arranged the collar of his coat to lie flat again, revealing an handsome jawline peppered with stubble that was clearly intentional and dark hair that was just long enough to start to curl at the base of his neck. In addition to the trench, he also wore a waistcoat that matched his pants, though it was without the jacket that would have made it a true suit. His navy blue button down shirt had the top 3 buttons undone and the untied ends of a silver necktie dangled out under the collar. Emma was momentarily taken aback by how undressed he looked for someone still wearing so many layers. “And how the hell could you tell what store this came from?”

 “You can call me Killian,” he moved from his seat to the one behind hers, extending a hand for a shake, “and I’d recognize that bag design anywhere, I see it daily.”

 “Buddy, you just admitted to visiting a sex store on a daily basis, you’ll forgive me if I don’t touch your hand…” Emma’s better judgement told her that she should be fairly disgusted at this point. Sure, almost everyone indulges in a little of this sort of fun now and then, hell, she’d been about to crack into a pretty explicit romance novel herself just a few minutes ago, but it was not normal to go starting conversations with perfect strangers about it on empty train cars. “Still though, there’s really nothing special about this bag, I don’t see how you can tell it apart from any other gray bag.”

 So much for better judgement. Something about him compelled her to turn in her seat and face him fully, a clear invitation to continue the conversation. Well, at least her friend Ruby would be pleased to see she was ‘pursuing social interaction’.

 “Nothing special? Do you not see how this bag could be useful? It’s nice and thick, with those slick sides that help with insertion, and the size of it is just perfect, not too big and not too small…” Killian had reached over the seat to stroke the plastic as he spoke, his smooth voice lowering as his face drifted closer to hers, “...plus the color matches perfectly.”

 “Wait… what?” Emma snapped out of the ridiculous mesmerization he’d somehow managed to lure her into… where the hell did he get off having eyes that blue anyway?? He chuckled as her confusion played perfectly into his flirtatious teasing.

 “Well the interior of my car is quite similar in shade to this particular hue and they make excellent trash bags because they’re tough and nothing sticks to them. My sister-in-law, Tink, works at the store and she nicks me a bag or two sometimes.” he smiled again, “Actually, I imagine she was the one who sold you whatever is in there. Though, truth be told, I can’t say that I’ve ever made the time to go into the shop, myself.”

 On second thought this was probably exactly the kind of ‘social interaction’ Ruby would want her to have. Killian was funny and well-spoken, probably not an axe-murderer if he was on good terms with that blonde pixie of a woman who’d rung her out at the shop...and it didn’t hurt that he was ridiculously HOT. She could do worse on a Friday night, right?

 She glanced to his left hand, checking for a ring before she took this any further, only to discover that he didn’t actually have a left hand. His prosthetic was clearly top of the line with motorized fingers that moved as he shifted his arm, but she imagined that it would make more sense for him to wear any wedding bands on the other hand. It was impossible to be sure though, and she couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject without getting way to personal.

 When Emma met his eyes again (seriously, though, they HAD to be contacts), she realized he’d caught her staring at his hand. His flirtatious demeanor became reserved and embarrassed almost immediately.

 “Ah… I suppose I’ll just leave you to your reading, then.” Killian scratched behind his ear as he glanced back to where he had been sitting before, “I apologize if I’ve bothered you, I only meant my teasing in good fun. I… I hope you have a nice evening.”

 As he stood to move back to his original seat, Emma found herself reaching out to catch his arm. More than just wanting to make sure he knew that he was misinterpreting the reason she’d been scrutinizing his hand, she truly didn’t want their conversation to end.

 It had been months since her breakup with Mulan, and though it had been easy as breakups go, Emma hadn’t been in any hurry to get back out into the dating world, even for a one-nighter (much to Ruby’s abject horror).

 “It’s a gift.” Emma answered his original question as she gently directed him back into the seat, “For my brother’s fiancée to give to her at her bachelorette party next week. Well, technically she was my best friend first, before she was his fiancée, which is why it’s not weird that I got her this.”

 Emma pulled the lingerie box out of the bag, turning it so Killian could see the photo of what was inside. It was a Snow White themed bra and panties set, complete with puffy sleeves and a short blue cape.

 “So I’m guessing your brother is a real Prince Charming type, then? Probably always trying to do the noble thing?” Killian seemed to regain some of his previous swagger, encouraged by her smile, “I think I know someone like that.”

 “Let me guess,” Emma teased with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, “It’s you?”

 “Actually, it’s my brother, Liam, but by all means, tell me more about how you see me as a knight in shining armor.” Killian waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He leaned forward in the seat, smoothly invading her personal space. Instead of pulling away, she leaned in closer as well, causing the smile on his face to grow 3 sizes, as his voice dropped to a whisper. “Though I’ll let you in on a little secret: I prefer to think of myself as a dashing rapscallion.”

 “Rapscallion, eh? And just what mischief makes you worthy of such a title?” Emma was definitely playing with fire. She tried her best to shove the lump of anxiety down out of her throat. She’d been burned before by silver-tongued, self-styled bad boys and normally tried to avoid them, but something about Killian just felt so genuine and trustworthy.

 So much for better judgement. Still it was just flirting on a subway ride and she hadn’t even given him her name. There was only 1 more stop before she would be getting off anyway, so what was the harm?

 “Well, you see, love” Killian smiled conspiratorially, “I might be plotting to steal a kiss from a princess.”

 “And just how did a ‘Dashing Rapscallion’ come to be acquainted with a princess? Is she anyone I’d know?” Emma felt a blush rising in her cheeks, fairly certain she knew where this was headed, and surprised to find herself eager for his answer.

 “Don’t you know, love?” Killian took her hand in his, gripping her fingers to turn them so the back of her hand was facing up. He ran his thumb gently along her knuckles before placing a feather-light touch of his lips between her index and middle fingers, allowing himself to linger just a moment, his breath ghosting along her surprisingly sensitized skin, before meeting her eyes again, “It’s you.”

 Emma Swan had never understood the term “Fuckstruck” before, and really, she still didn’t understand it, but that was no longer due to lack of experience, and everything to do with the fact that her brain refused to think at all. Who was this man?

 “30th AVENUE STATION”

 “Shit.” Emma’s voice was barely above a whisper, her hand still in Killian’s, as she blinked to try to clear her head “I… umm… this is my stop. I… I have to go.”

 Emma stood up and moved towards the nearest door, hitting the stop request signal as she went. Her mind was still floating in a sea of seduction, unable to process the incredible effect such a short subway ride had had on her.

 “Wait!!” Killian rushed over to her as the door was opening, extending his hand with a small card in it. “This is my cellphone number. I would be honored if you chose to contact me again.”

 The door closed between them and Emma watched as it continued down the track until she could no longer make out Killian’s face in the window.

 Emma walked down the steps from the raised train platform to the street, still in deep thought, and completely lost in the events of the last 20 minutes, until her stomach gurgled, reminding her that she needed to pick something up if she wanted to eat dinner.

 She’d only been living in the neighborhood for a few weeks, and she wasn't totally familiar with her local take out options yet, so she ducked into the bodega on the corner to pick up supplies for grilled cheese.

 There were too many cheese choices for the current state of her mind.

She called her roommate. Elsa would know what to do.

 “Emma? Is something wrong? Did you accidentally take the wrong train?”

 “I'm fine, I'm at that little store on the corner getting stuff for grilled cheese. Do I want American or gouda?”

 “Okay, now I know something is wrong. I've known you since you were 16 when Aunt Ingrid adopted you and David. You've never, in that entire time, willingly eaten anything but that gross American cheese in the plastic wrapper on your sandwich. Do you remember that time the NYU cafeteria used cheddar instead? You submitted a 300-word Op-Ed to the school newspaper.”

 “I just have someon-- things on my mind today. It's really not the crisis you seem to think it is. I'm just asking if maybe you might feel like changing things up a little bit.”

 “Mmhmm. You know you don’t need my permission to ‘change things up’, Emma. If you feel like you're ready to take a chance on a new… what euphemism are we using again? Cheese? Then I think you probably owe it to yourself to give gouda a chance.”

 “Thanks, Elsa. I'll be home soon.”

 “Anytime, sweetie.”

 Emma bought the gouda and created a new contact in her phone for Killian's number. She would text him later that night after she’d eaten.

 Walking the final block to her building found Emma with a smile stretched wide across her face, it was almost embarrassing. It was a very new feeling, she was not the sort of person who opened up easily. Years of being bounced around and practically forgotten in the foster system had left deep scars. Even though the unconditional love and sense of belonging she’d eventually found in Ingrid’s home had smoothed out a few of the rough edges, Emma still found it difficult to bond with other people. In fact, that had been a large part of why her relationship with Mulan had ended. They were both too reserved and each needed a more passionate and affectionate partner to draw them out of their comfort zones.

 It wasn’t like Killian had been the first such person she’d met, though. Most recently, Graham had had a keen sense of humor and plenty of affection for her, but she’d spent nearly an entire day with him in Central Park without sparking nearly half as much chemistry as she had in 20 minutes on the N train with Killian. Their new connection was something scary and real and Emma was more than a little worried that the longer she waited to text him, the more likely she would be to get cold feet.

 She pulled out her phone and began composing a message, so intent on hitting the right balance between witty and sincere that she barely even thanked the man who held the door for her as she entered her building behind him.

 “You know, princess, this is New York City. You might want to pay more attention to your surroundings than your phone. You never know when some ne'er do well cad might sneak up on you and take advantage.” it was him. He was there. Killian. Standing in the entry hall of her building. Lecturing her about making a tourist-level mistake.

 “What are you doing here?” she cringed internally at her own question. The man was actively opening one of the mailboxes with a key. He obviously was a resident in her building.

 “I could ask the same of you, love. Do you often go following strange men into their buildings when you’re deep in thought?” he was teasing her again.

 “Well…” Emma brought out her own key, showing it off before she opened the mailbox she shared with Elsa, trying to convey with raised eyebrows and a coy smirk that it was her building too. “You didn’t get off at 31st avenue though. I watched you as the train pulled away. What happened?”

 “Oh… that…” Killian scratched behind his ear, “Well when I saw you were also getting off at my stop, and I had just kissed your hand, and we we’re having a moment… I decided to ride to the next stop. I… I didn’t want you to feel like I was following you, I mean… I started off our conversation asking about what you’d bought in a sex shop. If I’d followed you off of the train too… you might have gotten a very wrong impression of my intent.”

 “You rode all the way up to Astoria? That’s an extra half mile of walking just because you didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable?” Emma was astounded that he would literally go out of his way to accommodate her feelings. Any other guy would have just gotten off the train with her and maybe doubled back a little until she was out of sight if they were feeling generous. This had been consideration above and beyond what most people would do for, essentially, a stranger.

 “Aye.”

 It wasn’t the kind of gesture she was used to, and with his confirmation, the feelings overwhelmed her, spurring her to action. Emma stepped into Killian’s space, taking both his real hand and his prosthetic in each of her own, lacing their fingers together as she leaned in to kiss him.

 She could tell he was unsure of her intent by the way he kept perfectly still, waiting for her lips to make first contact. Once she made it clear that she intended to kiss him for real, not just a chaste peck, his response was enthusiastic.

 Their arms entwined around each other gripping and tugging at collars and sleeves and anywhere else their fingers could gain purchase. Killian was the first to eagerly open his mouth, teasing Emma’s lips with his tongue as he tried to entice her to join him in a passionate exploration of each other’s mouths. They were playful in their competition for who would get the upper hand in leading the kiss, but still found they had to break apart for oxygen before there was a clear winner.

 The couple kept their faces close, foreheads touching, breath still mingling, as they came down from their high.

 “This is going to seem like a silly question, love, considering the, frankly, life-changing kiss we just shared,” Killian still hadn’t completely caught his breath as he chuckled through his question, “But do you think you’d mind telling me your name?”

 Emma couldn’t help her outburst of giggles. The whole situation was so ridiculous and out of order, that she felt like it wouldn’t be wrong to allow it to continue that way for a bit longer.

 “I don’t know, I am certainly warming up to being called Princess.” she said, pulling him to the stairs, “Why don’t you join me for a grilled cheese sandwich and see if you can wheedle my name out of my roommate?”

 “I can’t think of another way I’d rather spend the evening.” he grinned, following close behind.