#you come back hours later with some sandwiches you got from a soup kitchen that you hope they'll eat

[deadhearthotline]

tw: light gore + animal death under the cut

little thing i did for fun. i remember it either being implied in the fic or reading it in an ask or the comments on ao3 about Leo being the first to really gain sentience/human intelligence out of all the brothers + finding food for the gang when they were little. anyways i was thinking about that and this scenario got stuck in my head for the past few days + would not leave so i drew it.

(this also incorporates my personal hc that the old lair wasn't the first place they settled + spent the first couple years bouncing around trying to find a suitable home. that's why they're in a warehouse)

Rotten Reflections by @nicoforlifetrue

[asinfullangel]

This is more of a soft, sweet, fluffy idea/prompt/thing.

How about a pred whose bf suffers from chronic migraines/headaches so he noms them down whenever they flair up.

Like the his partner comes home one day miserable because he forgot his migraine meds and the weather changing triggered one. So the pred notices the rough state his bf is in and gives him his meds, treats him to a nice and long hot shower, and then swallows him down so the bf can rest in his soft warm belly for a few hours.

May or may not have been inspired by the migraine I'm currently suffering through. Anyways, use it if you want. I'm sure it would be great because you're an amazing writer.

This day was not quite a sunny day, mostly glooming over the city and Person A was on their way home after another day of work that also didn’t go so smoothly. Things not going as planned, coworkers being lazier today so A had to pick up their slack, the boss coming in a few times to complain about them taking up other people's workload and that they won’t get paid more for doing more work so do what you are assigned to do. Today was not their day and the start of a migraine was surely beginning to bug their mind as they drove back home… and of course when the clouds are dark enough that it would most likely rain, it surely did so and made the drive back home longer and traffic sprung up shortly after, such also made the migraine worse. And A’s situation got worse when they found out that they didn’t bring their meds and spanked the pain a little more just because of the stress, so music was their plan B and it helped ease it to an extent.

Arriving back to the house A just walked in, kinda dropped off their parsley wet stuff (didn’t expect it to rain so ya know) and walked right past B who was cooking dinner in the kitchen, walked into their bedroom and popped on the bed head first. B noticed the signs soon enough when they left to check on A, it was clear that they were having a headache and needed “the treatment” that only their lover knows how to give. So their intended dinner was packed away into containers then into the fridge for a later day, B cooked up something more simple just for them then brought it over to the bed onto a tray. B gently woke up A and sat them up, presenting them a small bowl of soup (already cooled just a little I may add) and a sandwich that they enjoy having it with along with A’s meds that they found in the bathroom. B helps A take their meds and offers them some water to wash the medicine down with before they begin eating, B gently rubbing A’s head as they eat. A ate what they could before kissing B for dinner, but B wasn’t done just yet.

Soon A was brought into the bathroom while holding A’s arm, undressed and stepped into the preheated shower. They two kissed before A took their time washing up and simply enjoyed the feeling while B washed up the dishes and prepared themself for A when they were finished… The migraine was in a sense washed away with the water as the pills B took started to settle in, almost feeling a comforting bliss as they stood, listening to the water raining above their head and distant thunder echoing outside. Upon stepping out and drying off they found their rob freshly washed and with a note saying, “Come to the bedroom so I could have dinner as well,” or something along those lines. A walked back to the bedroom to find B in just pj shorts, smiling as their eyes met one another before B came over to kiss their lips. “You look much better now baby. So, could I enjoy myself some dinner tonight as well?” A blushing before shaking their head yes, B once again kissing them with joy before carrying them over to bed and laying A down. B knew how A liked it and so they moved their kissing lips down to B’s legs, planting more kisses along their calves before their lips expanded open and gently slid in B’s soles onto their tongue. They both moan (A from how it felt and B because of their taste), their tongue slowly slathering these tasty soles before they were moved in deep and the calves were next up.

B from the edge of the bed slowly move their way off the bed, crawling up & onto the bed as more of A funneled into their mouth. A can feel all of their legs encased in the warm and almost massaging throat muscles while B slipped one hand under A’s back, lifting them off the bed as B did some with their other hand. A can feel how they were sliding down B’s throat and soon enough took off their open robes before they were chest deep inside. B’s hands travel up behind A’s neck as their chest slips back those soft lips and their neck follows suit. A saying, “I love you, B,” then the light of their bedroom fades as A sinks into B’s mouth, their arms following close behind and B gotta taste the last of A, swallowing their soft and smooth hands. B holding himself up by his arms, enjoying the blissful feeling of A finally fully inside his gut, moaning as they adjust around to a comfortable position before B lay themself down on their side.

B get to enjoy the fullness and weight of their lover and A gets to relax back with the warm embrace of B’s gut, drifting off to sleep by the beat of B’s heart beat.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

blood & wine | chapter two of six

I had only just finished the babka, the kugel, and the matzo soup when my phone rang, and he had called me to tell me that he had landed at the airport and he was on his way home for the time being. That gave me time to work on his birthday cake, and I knew I had a metallic dome in the kitchen to hide it once he came about.

A nice decadent devil's food cake for his day coming up there, complete with all the chocolate frosting and the cherries on top. A devil's food cake for my little devil on his special day.

The whole apartment smelled of cinnamon, pasta, chicken soup, and chocolate once I was done with it all, and that point, I myself was feeling rather famished. I put the dome over his birthday cake and tucked it into the very back of the fridge lest he take a peek in there that night.

No sooner had I made myself a little pastrami sandwich when a knock on the door caught my attention. With my free hand, I ran my fingers through my hair, and I hurried my way up to the front door. I swallowed down the final bites of the sandwich and licked my fingers, and then I flung the door open.

He was starting to grow out his bangs a little bit, but they hugged his face and his brow now, and he had dyed his gray streak some time ago: the dye was beginning to wear off and that little sliver of gray at the top of his head was starting to make a comeback. He wore a little black leather jacket that fit him rather snugly over his little red T-shirt: I saw he had lost a little weight over the last month as his shirt was just short of laying flat on his belly. But he had gained a little shape to his hips and his legs, though, and I couldn't help but let my eyes wander on him and the way his jeans fit him.

“Quite a surprise to see you here,” I told him, still with my mouth full.

“What, for right now or later on for my birthday?” he retorted, and I nearly choked from laughing. I finally swallowed and set a hand on his shoulder.

“You tell me,” I said, and then I gestured for him to come on in. He sniffed the air once the door was closed behind him.

“Do I smell kugel?” he asked me.

“As a matter of fact, you do!” I declared. “I made kugel and babka for Rosh Hashanah.”

He closed his eyes and rested a hand on his chest. He then opened his eyes part of the way as if he was preparing to seduce me.

“My grandma made me babka before I left, so... I shall see what you've got for me.” His voice was low and quiet, as if he whispered a secret to me. Alex never took his jacket off as he strode into the kitchen with me: I had taken the babka out of the oven and let it rest on the counter for almost an hour, but I knew it was getting close to readiness. He stood there before the cooling rack with his hands on the edge of the counter, and he leaned forward for a whiff of the top, a braided loaf of phyllo dough with marbling from the chocolate and the kiss of cinnamon and sugar.

“Mmm... smells like home,” he declared in a near whisper.

“So what do you do for Yom Kippur?” I asked him.

“It’s a Day of Atonement,” he replied in a normal voice. “We basically fast and repent all day, and this includes breaking up some cheap bread and tossing it into a nearby river. My grandparents always go to synagogue without fail, and sometimes my parents do, too, but growing up, I remember we’d worship and repent at home.”

“Interesting,” I remarked, and yet I could hardly take my eyes off of him and the way that he fawned over the babka on the counter before him as if he was looking at a chest of gold and all manner of treasure. “There are apples and honey in the fridge, too.” He flashed a knowing glance over at me.

“You know the tradition well, Eric,” he told me with a wink.

The next thing I knew, I was serving him a plate of apple slices with a little dish of wild honey straight out of the pantry. I sat down next to him right as he leaned back against the couch cushion and rested his hands on either side of his hips.

“I see you’ve lost some weight,” I remarked.

“About sixteen pounds,” he told me. “Considering I gained about twenty-five.” He rested a hand on his belly, now soft and nearly flat. “It’s a little weird, too, because my grandma made a lot of food for me and my grandpa.” Very slowly, he rubbed his hand over his belly, and then he raised his fingers and lightly raked the tips across the fabric of his shirt. I knew I was going to have difficulty in eating the apples, especially when he had learned how to worm his way into my mind, even after being away from here for more than a month. I was more than certain that I would have my work cut out for me once I served him his birthday cake in the coming days.

Alex reached for an apple slice, and he dipped one edge of it into the honey. He held one hand underneath it to catch anything extraneous, and all the while, he locked eyes with me. He took a bite of the apple and never looked away from me.

“Will you have enough room for the kugel and the babka?” I asked him, and I felt my throat close up. I could feel that familiar burgeoning feeling right between my legs. This boy was going to make a man out of me yet again: I could feel it in my bones all over me. I took a bite of apple myself, which was made all the more delicious and decadent with the wild honey.

“I think I might,” he told me once he swallowed the bite. “I ain’t turning down babka, either, especially not the chocolate one.” He stuck the rest of the apple slice into his mouth, and he turned away from me right then.

This was new to me.

Perhaps while his grandparents were out of the room, he picked up a few tips and tricks on his end by the power of his own hand. I needed to give him the ace up my own sleeve from thence forth.

He downed the rest of his apple and then rubbed his hands together.

“How 'bout that kugel?” he asked me with a sly smirk on his face.

“Would you like some?” I offered him.

“Oh, ho, you know it.” Alex leaned back against the couch cushion and rested his arm across the top, and he crossed one leg over his knee. It was there I could see his tummy; I was going to fill that little tummy with everything he could ever wish for.

I strode into the kitchen to fetch the kugel and the babka, the latter of which had cooled off a great deal from before, but I could feel the warmth as it radiated off the bottom of the pan. There was a part of me that wanted to waltz back into that room, complete with a bit of a sashay to entice him. Then again, I had enticed him enough already, and I was about to reel him in like the venom of a scurvy little black widow.

I sat back down and served him a little kugel on his plate: the babka awaited us in the dead center of the coffee table. All the while, he told me about his grandparents back east.

“I love New York and New England, that whole area,” he was saying. “My whole family has their roots there, so I just figure it's a place I need to go.”

“You're leaving?” I begged to him.

“Well, not right now,” he promised me with a shake of his head and a little smile on his face. “I have to make a whole entire plan and things like that. It's just this feeling that I have, this... persistent feeling. This longing, dare I say.”

“It's funny because—sometimes I have that feeling as well,” I told him as I shoveled in a few bites of pasta. “That feeling that... there should be more to life than what we've got right now. The question is what exactly.”

“That's my exact feeling,” he said, and I noticed he ate up the kugel at a slow pace. Perhaps to help him keep the weight off?

We chatted for a bit longer, and then at one point, I watched him rest his plate on his lap with one or two more bites of pasta left behind.

“What's the matter?” I asked him, and I resisted the urge to tease him a little bit all the while.

“I don't know if I can eat the babka,” he confessed to me, and he let out a low whistle. He had only eaten two plates of kugel, and there was plenty left over in the pan in the kitchen. Then again, he had those apples and honey prior to then, and those on their own had filled me up a bit as well as wet my whistle. But then again, it was Rosh Hashanah: we both needed a sweet beginning to the new year, even though I wasn't Jewish. He and I could both use the proverbial sweetness.

I watched him carefully as he picked up that pasta in one fell swoop and slipped it into his mouth with his eyes closed. There was something so delicate about his side profile, and especially when he was indulging in homemade food. I could only imagine what he looked like at his grandparents' house, eating that homemade food over there among other things. He swallowed and let his tongue fall out of his mouth like that of a dog.

“So good,” he breathed out, and he gave his hair a little shake with the flick of his head. I topped mine off, and then we both leaned back on the couch for a second.

“I hope it wasn't too heavy on the cinnamon,” I confessed to him.

“You were perfect with it,” he said with a shake of his head and a licking of his lips. I could see it in his eyes. He either wanted the babka or me, but I needed to know which was which once it came down to it.

I needed a knife for the babka as well.

I made my way to the kitchen for one, and I had the strangest thought nestled in the back of my mind. This weird little temptation that told me to go further with it all. Indeed, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the full feeling within me was waning away fast. It waned away fast, and I knew for a fact that I could make myself as well as him eat more than we had initially known before.

I brought the long knife back into the living room with me, only to find that Alex was once again taking in the aroma of the babka before him. I returned to my spot on the couch next to him, and I prepared us both with slices of babka, in all its richness and warmth still intact. The spirals inside dripped with that chocolate glaze, and we were both greeted with the aroma of cinnamon. I then turned to him, and I reached over to his plate for a piece of his babka.

“May I feed you?” I offered him with a fork full up towards his mouth.

“Would you like to feed me?” he retorted back to me. I licked my lips at that.

“I'll feed you if you feed me,” I offered him again. “The couple of pigs we were.”

“We?” He raised his eyebrows at me.

“We.”

He showed me his tongue, and then he parted his lips as if he wanted the bite. I slipped the fork into his mouth, and he closed his eyes. He took the bite and leaned back against the couch cushion. I had awoken something in him once again.

He then opened his eyes and looked over at me, and then he swallowed the bite.

“This could use a little wine,” he told me in a low voice.

“You're not old enough to drink yet,” I pointed out.

“I don't care,” he quipped with a shake of his head. “We need wine.”

I pursed my lips. “I don't think I have any wine,” I said. He leaned closer to me with a hooded look to his eyes.

“I believe you do,” he whispered to me, and he stuck his fork into my slice of babka, and he brought it up to my mouth.

“Eat up, big boy,” he breathed to me. Just like him, I opened my mouth and took the bite, except I took it with my eyes open. Indeed, the chocolate was molten as it dripped down my throat, and the cinnamon caressed me down like a series of a feathers.

“That's gorgeous,” he whispered to me.

“Not as gorgeous as you,” I quipped back to him. I fed him another bite, and he did the same with me. We fed each other babka until our last bites: he stuck the tines of his fork into my own, the last bite overall, and he leaned up against my body all the while.

“What're you doing?” I asked him.

“You tell me.” His body was warm and intoxicating: I had made him something so decadent and lovely for the Jewish New Year, and now he was returning the favor. He brought his chest to mine as he held the fork before my mouth.

“Have a bite,” he breathed to me.

I took the bite, and then I moved my plate over to the arm of the couch so he could have more room. While I was chewing it, he brought his lips to the side of my neck: a little cinnamon kiss.

I leaned back against the couch cushion as he gently nibbled on my skin. I swallowed and parted my lips to let out a low moan from the feeling. He was getting me good, and we were going at it raw as well.

Unless I got him first.

I let my fingers wriggle down into his jeans, and it was right then I realized he had unbuttoned them while I was in the kitchen: the hem of his shirt had protected him from my point of view. The leather of his jacket as well as the warm skin on his belly rubbed against my forearm: he may have lost weight but he still blew up when he ate too much. I was about to reach his dick, hidden away in his underwear when I felt his long lanky fingers on my forearm.

“And just what do you think you're doing?” he whispered right into my ear. “What you want me to do,” I groaned back at him.

I then rolled him off the couch, past the coffee table and onto the floor. He lay on his back with his hair spread over his face.

I tugged down his jeans and revealed him to me: he was just shy of a full erection.

He may have paid me with a cinnamon and chocolate kiss, but I was about to give him the ultimate dose of both. I licked my lips and held my hair back with one hand, and I brought my mouth down to him. Cinnamon, chocolate, and a bit of salt and cream was just what I had asked for.

I moved my head down all the way towards his body so the tip touched the back of my tongue: no way I was going to do a full deep throat after everything we had eaten, but I did go in deep.

He clasped onto the leg of the coffee table with one hand, and he clutched at himself with his other hand. He whimpered and gasped at the feeling; I could feel him growing harder inside of my mouth, especially when I came ever so close to the deep throat.

His wish was my command, and my wish was his command.

His dick was sopping wet by the time I lifted my head and gazed right into his stunned face.

“How 'bout that for a welcome home?” I asked him with a lick of my lips and a sly grin to him.

“You think you can get a second dessert?” he sputtered to me with a clearing of his throat.

“I know I can,” I quipped back to him, but then he reached for me. He pushed me back onto the floor behind me with only one hand. He hung right over at me, complete with a hooded look to his eyes and his black curls dangled down onto the side of my face. He showed me his tongue again, and then he ran his fingers through the hair on the side of his head to show me his ear and the side of his neck. The right lapel of his leather jacket had been brushed back onto the angle of his shoulder, which only made him all the more handsome to me.

“Will you be back for Halloween?” I whispered into him.

“Absolutely,” he whispered back to me. He rested his elbow on the floor next to me, and the full round shape of his belly emerged out from under his shirt. His jeans still remained down his legs which in turn showed me the shape of his hip, and the leather of his jacket hugged the rest of his upper body as if it was made for him. It was so weird to think that he wouldn't be able to eat for the holy day.

“So you’re going to fast,” I muttered to him.

“Yup. In fact, I’m glad you’ve—filled me up for today and even more come Sunday.” He closed his eyes and nudged more of his hair back from the side of his head: his long black hair cascaded all around his head and neck like the windswept tendrils from a tree. “I’m going to need it for that day. A little extra poundage will keep me fed from dawn to dusk.”

“Let me join you,” I begged him, to which he raised his eyebrows at that.

“You want to join me in fasting? But you're not Jewish, though, Eric.”

“Yeah, but... I want to feel closer to you, though,” I pointed out. “And I wanted to know what comes next.”

He paused for a second, and then he showed me a little smile at that. He lowered his head towards my own once again, that time for a kiss on the side of my face and a lick of the rim of my ear.

“You feed me so well,” he whispered to me, to which he nearly breathed the words. “I should make you something for being so sweet to me.”

“What would you make me?” I asked him.

“I don’t really want to give it away,” he confessed to me with a little kiss on the side of my neck.

“You know… you look really sexy in leather, Alex,” I confessed to him.

“You think so?” He cracked me that little lopsided smile, that little smirk that indicated as though he was up to no good.

“What're you thinking about?” I asked him.

“Thinking about making you something for Halloween,” he replied.

“Like what?”

“I'll leave that as a little surprise for you,” he retorted. “A little trick up the ol' sleeve, dare I say.” He flashed me a wink and kissed the tip of my nose. No sooner did he do that when he moved his hand down inside my jeans to fondle me. And it was right then I remembered that we had neglected to have matzo soup.

We could have it for the next day. Besides, we could get each other off in one fell swoop, and no one would ever have to know, either.

We both were incredible forces of nature, and we were going to have enough babka for the night before Yom Kippur for certain.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi  🌸 Patreon

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Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me. 

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it. 

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost. 

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl? 

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me���like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own. 

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

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[one-sad-human]

•Worth It• Duff Mckagan

Pairing: Velvet Revolver era! Duff Mckagan x Younger! Reader

Requested? Nope!

Theme: Little bit of everything/???

Warnings: Language, panic attacks, anxiety references, drug references

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Fic 2 of 2! This is the longest fic yet! Took a different approach to writing this one, hopefully it payed off. Let me know if you guys liked it or if I wasted my time with this one lol.

     You had met Duff in a coffee shop in LA. It was crowded and you were lucky enough to snag a chair before the lunch rush. Duff wasn't, and asked you if he could sit at your table.

     You grew up with Guns n Roses, bought his solo album the day it came out when you were just 15, and now listened to Velvet Revolver faithfully. To see your idol, your celebrity crush stand right in front of you holding a cup of coffee and a scone sent you for a loop.

     "Of course," you had said, starry eyed. You were only hoping he was as kind as the interviews made him out to be. Maybe have a conversation with you and be polite for a while before leaving and never seeing each you again. That would be good enough.

     It didn't end with a coffee, it had just begun. He asked for your number, and you stared at him for a moment thinking you had imagined it. That was until he tilted his head a little and looked at you with a nervous expression. He backtracked and you immediately stopped him.

     "No! I mean— yes! Yes, you can absolutely have my number." You scrambled for a pen and paper and ended up scratching your number on a receipt from the record store. You shook so hard you could barely get the numbers down.

     Out of all the record store receipts you've stuffed into your bag, the one you gave Duff Mckagan had to be the one for when you bought Velvet Revolver's 'Contraband.' He didn't say anything, just smiled and promised to call.

     You honestly didn't think he would've. You played it off as just him trying to be nice. It didn't stop you from answering every call you got for the next three days, however, even if you recognized the number as the tax collector you'd normally never answer.

     But then he called.

     "I tried calling sooner, but I kept calling the wrong number. You don't have the most eligible handwriting," he had told you. You laughed but really, you were in shock.

     You set up a date at the fancy restaurant downtown that always intimidated you. You didn't say anything though, even though you knew you wouldn't want any of the overpriced food and you'd end up eating something you couldn't pronounce and was two portions too small. Maybe even hit up a fast food joint afterwards.

     When the day finally came, you couldn't even figure out what to wear. You couldn't tell if you looked underdressed or like you were trying too hard. Did the clothes even fit the right way? What would Duff think? Would he even care?

     All questions were answered when you left your house. Duff was leaning against his slick car parked in your driveway, a button up that was barely buttoned and dress pants with boots. He stared at you and you wanted a hole in the ground to shallow you up until he smiles.

     "You look gorgeous," he said. You blushed and grinned, thanking him before saying that he looked great too. He drove you to the restaurant and on the way, you talked about music.

     You shared some of your favorites, he adored how well rounded you were. You liked pretty much everything from punk rock to the mellowest of mellow. Duff mentioned some of his favorites, some you made sure to remember the names of so you can check them out.

     When the ride was over and you finally got to the restaurant, your previous fears came back. Duff reassured you looked better than 90% of the people there and you knew it wasn't true but it made you feel better anyway.

     Your eyes widened to the size of saucers when you saw the prices of the food. You knew it'd be pricey but you thought there'd be more options that stayed within two digit numbers.

     Duff saw your panicked expression and said not to worry, he'd pay. It didn't settle your nerves enough and when the waiter came, you ordered the cheapest and simplest thing you could find.

     "Chicken noodle soup?" He teased. You shyly looked down and shrugged. "This isn't your scene, is it?"

     "Not exactly, no."

     "Want me to be completely honest with you?" You nodded. "It's not mine either."

     That's all it took for you and Duff to scramble sheepishly out of the restaurant. You both shared a laugh in the car and went to Burger King. It was much more your speed and, as you'd find out that night, Duff's too. You suppose all the money he's had since such a young age didn't completely change his ways. He was like a kid trapped in a 40 year old man's body.

     You'd thought at first the age gap would feel strange, after all, you were 15 years younger than him. But after that night, it was barely noticeable. Funny looks from strangers every once in a while was nothing.

     By the second date, Duff was already aware fancy spots weren't your forte. He told you it was a surprise and to wear something cozy, as LA nights got chilly.

     He packed a picnic basket and drove you out to the most beautiful flower field you had ever seen at sunset. It was secluded and high up, giving a perfect view of the city skyline. After gawking and taking in the sights for a few moments, you regained your ability to speak.

     "It's gorgeous. Pretty far from the city, did you take me here to kill me?" You joked. He laughed and rolled his eyes. His lighthearted laugh sent sparks straight to your heart, and you decided that it was your favorite sound.

     You unfolded the blanket Duff brought and you both sat down. You ate the sandwiches and sliced fruit Duff packed and talked. You talked about everything, from your family to fears and insecurities.

You told him how you suffer from nightmares. Flashbacks from your broken childhood coming back to bite you in your sleep. Duff shared how he's suffered from panic attacks since he was a teenager. You felt you knew each other for years.

Neither of you felt weird for sharing and neither made the other insecure. You were completely open and honest with each other. It was strange, you've never connected to quickly and effortlessly with someone before. Sure, you've had men in your life, but never had you clicked with someone so fast, never had you fit with someone so perfectly.

Hours passed and it felt like minutes. Only did you realize how late and how exhausted you were when you saw most of the city buildings light have gone off for the night. The city that didn't sleep was dark.

"I should get you home," Duff said to you.

"Will you stay the night?" You felt a little silly for asking. Were things going too fast? Would he even want to stay over?

He agreed, and that's how your first night together went. You both stayed up even later and had more lighthearted conversations, unlike the ones that partook at the field. Like how one of Duff's first jobs was at a bakery and could bake a mean cake and how you can't cook to save your life.

You ended up waking up without remembering falling asleep. You're head was placed comfortably on Duff's lap while his head was lolled back against the couch cushion. He looked so serene and peaceful you couldn't help but smile at the sight.

You made toast and somewhat successfully cooked some eggs and bacon. It might have been the first breakfast in years that didn't end with the smoke alarm going off.

Duff eventually wandered into the kitchen and you both ate. By the time he left, another date was already set up. He was like a drug an you were already hooked.

Months later and the addiction still wasn't kicked. You didn't want to, and Duff didn't seem to want you to quit either. You both soaked each other up like the sun on a warm day.

You had almost weekly dates and you stayed over each other's houses almost every other day. Duff did have his kids some days, though, so some days dates were cut short or Grace and Mae slept over his house and you wouldn't see each other.

You were always understanding, his kids came first and you'd never blame or get upset about it. It's something Duff admires about you, your never ending understanding and empathy for him.

One of those days where Duff stayed over at your house started normal. He cooked dinner and you washed the dishes, and then you put on an old Ramones concert you had on DVD.

You were laying on his chest, his fingers running through your hair when all of a sudden, he tensed up. He quickly stood and excused himself to the bathroom. You frowned but before you could think much of it, you heard a loud bang and something clatter to the ground.

You jumped up and rushed to the bathroom. You swung open the door because you were perfectly aware the lock hasn't worked since you moved in.

Duff was sitting on the floor, a pill bottle laying on its side not far from him. You quickly spot the name of the medication and identified it as your anti-anxiety pills. You shoved them aside and sat next to Duff.

He was sweating bullets and his skin felt cold and clammy, his breaths were labored and heartbeat was loud and pounding erratically. You coax him gently to take deep breaths, holding onto his hand tightly and talking quietly.

"I'm sorry, they come on randomly sometimes," he apologized after he'd called down, but you quickly shushed him. You reminded him of just how many nightmares he'd comforted you for and he stops feeling so bad about it.

     It was always a true partnership with Duff. Never had you felt you gave or took too much, it was always equal. Always a two way street, with everything.

That wasn't the last panic attack you had to help him come down from. Later down the line you've gotten better at calming him down and learning his triggers, even though sometimes they really do come on suddenly without reason.

A year into the relationship was when you met Grace and Mae. They were young and didn't completely understand why their parents weren't together anymore, so it took them a while to warm up to you. Luckily, they eventually came around.

Duff and Susan met up regularly to discuss their kids and co-parent properly. And while you had all the reason to be jealous of your boyfriend with his ex wife, you never did. You had complete confidence in him, he was honest and loyal and you doubted he'd ever hurt you purposely.

That's why it destroyed you when he left you. Tears were shed from both parties as he gave his reasons for breaking up with you. His insecurities he tried his best to bury had come to light and nothing could change his mind.

You thought you were completely honest with each other, but you suppose his doubt in his relationship with you was the one thing he kept secret. He had somehow convinced himself you'd be better without him, between the constant touring and the baggage that came with him and his kids, he finally buckled under the weight and stress.

You had tried to convince him that he was worth it, but if Duff is one thing it's stubborn. The best relationship you'd ever have and the best year of your life went down the drain within the matter of one conversation.

You were down in the dumps for days. You barely left your bed and didn't ever leave your house. You were in a depression and couldn't get out. A few of your friends eventually found out what had happened and broke into your house and shoved you into the shower before taking you to your favorite Chinese restaurant.

You felt like a disaster. Your hair was ratted despite the shower and you refused to put real clothes on, instead wearing sweatpants and a shirt Duff had left behind. You were a mess.

The hole in the wall restaurant was never busy but always had the best food. You were almost happy your friends dragged you out of your home until you saw Duff sitting at a table, eating egg rolls and lo mein.

You've came here together all the time. The high sodium in the food always made him sick to his stomach and you'd always end up giving him nausea remedies and tea. He never changed his order though.

You locked eyes with him for a while. Dark bags were under his eyes and he looked more pale than usual. He looked as terrible as you felt. You weren't sure if you were spitefully glad he felt awful or if the despair on his face just made your heart break further.

When you couldn't take his intense jade stare anymore, you looked up at the menu. The next time you looked back he was gone, you weren't sure if he was really there at all or if you were finally losing your mind for good.

     Another week crawled by. You got better enough to continue working. You had to pick up extra time for calling out for a few days after the breakup. You wouldn't say things were going well, but you weren't crying in bed every day all day anymore.

     You had constant dreams about him. Some were nice, ones where he didn't leave and you were together, holding each other tightly. Most were nightmares, flashbacks of when he left. You didn't have him to comfort you anymore when you woke up soaked in sweat and tears, and that might've been the worst.

     Another week went by, and you were starting to get back into the swing of things. You still thought about him, even silly little things reminded you of him. Like when you would catch a sniff of freshly baked sweets like he'd bake you or certain songs playing on the radio. It also didn't help that you ran into people wearing Guns n Roses shirts on the daily.

     You also refused to get rid of anything he'd left behind. Tee shirts, guitar picks he left from when he'd play for you, or CDs from bands he introduced you to. Reminders of what you lost were scattered around your home but you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

     Suddenly, it's been a month. You weren't over him, but you had a feeling you'd never be completely. He was something special, you can't forget things as special as your relationship with Duff.

     His items still weren't thrown out or returned, instead all packed in a box sitting in your closet. But you'd be lying if you said you would never reach into the box to grab a shirt to sleep in or a CD to listen to when you needed a reminder of the good times. You were making progress though.

     You decided to leave your house one evening. You were feeling especially terrible and wanted to take a walk to clear your head. You went to the coffee shop you had first met Duff in. Maybe it was a mistake to go and get a flood of memories but you couldn't stop yourself.

     You sat in a seat near the window and people watched, taking occasional sips of your drink. It was quiet except from the talk of the workers and the hum of the overhead speakers.

     There was a sudden squeak of a chair of hardwood floors and it broke you out of your daze. You snapped your gaze up to meet the very familiar green eyes you've been trying to forget.

     "Can we talk?" He asked, and you couldn't say 'no.' Duff sat across from you and started off by apologizing.

     He said he wanted to talk to you sooner, but was too afraid you wouldn't want anything to do with him. You rolled your eyes at that, if only he knew just how much you missed him.

     He then started from the beginning and explained why he made the decision to leave you. As it turns out, it was mostly because of stress. His bandmate Scott was having problems with drugs and the flashbacks from his GnR days frightened him. He was worried he would end up relapsing and he didn't want to drag you down with him.

     Combine that with all the troubles that came with dating a single father, and he couldn't take it anymore. He felt too guilty.

     It all seemed like ridiculous reasons to you. Even if he had made the mistake of falling off the wagon, you still would've stuck with him. And you didn't mind his kids at all, after nearly a year of knowing them and you were very close to them.

     "I love you, Duff. I wouldn't have left you over that, I'd help you through anything. And I love Grace and Mae, too," you told him.

     "I know, but I didn't want you to have to deal with all that baggage." You frowned at that. You reached your hand across the table and grasped his, squeezing it tenderly.

     "You're worth it."

     After that day, you and Duff started seeing each other again. It wasn't the same as before, but maybe even better.

     You were more transparent with each other. If one had a worry or problem, you'd go to the other. You talked everything through with him and he did the same. Even if it seemed insignificant, talking everything through never failed to make it better.

    You were happier and healthier than ever before. Sure, there were a roadblock or two, but they only made the relationship even stronger, and you wouldn't have changed a thing about it.

[ikeromantic]

First Day

This is an Ikemen Sengoku coffee shop AU. Approx 1700 words. Nobunaga, the owner of Azuchi Cafe, hires a girl to work in his coffee shop alongside his other oddball employees.

Pastry Chef and little rain cloud: Ieyasu Tokugawa

Head Chef and irredeemable flirt: Masamune Date

Dining Room Manager and rule-master: Hideyoshi Toyotomi

Barista and most popular kid in your class: Ranmaru Mori

Barista and coffee disaster: Mitsunari Ishida

Accountant and walking bad-boy vibe: Mitsuhide Akechi

I have never written a coffee shop AU and I have no idea what I'm doing.

Nobunaga unlocked the back door at 3am. It was so early most people would still call it night, but he enjoyed the peace and quiet at this hour. As if he were the sole living human in a world of stray cats and blinking traffic lights.

He flipped on the lights and began morning prep. As the owner of Azuchi Cafe, he didn’t need to be the shop opener, but he was the kind of man who’d never ask his employees to do something he wouldn’t do himself. This meant he often worked from opening until close, cleaning the kitchen at 10pm. It was something he was proud of, even if it was exhausting some days.

Ieyasu arrived a few minutes later, along with the morning shipment. Fresh fruit, cream, some new coffee bean varieties, and other items he stocked daily. The blond was quiet as he helped unload. Not a morning person, not by a longshot.

Once the crates were inside, Ieyasu made a beeline for the espresso machine and had two cups on the counter before Nobunaga completed his inventory check.

The blond downed both cups and then got started in the kitchen. He was too smart for a cafe job - easily one of the best bakers Nobunaga had ever met. And this cafe was blessed with two, though the other man was a polar opposite of the silent, serious Ieyasu Tokugawa.

As if thinking of him summoned him, the back door swung open and in swaggered Masamune. “Good morning!” His voice was loud and vibrant, as always. He never needed caffeine to feel awake - Masamune was naturally caffeinated.

“D’you have to be so loud?” Ieyasu glared.

“Do you have to be such a grouch?” Masamune raised his one eyebrow. His other eye was covered with a pirate-style eyepatch. The look wasn’t just for effect. He’d lost his left eye to a childhood illness, but that hadn’t dampened his spirit or enthusiasm.

Ieyasu held up a dough covered middle finger in response and went back to making croissants.

Masamune put a hand to his heart. “Such cruelty.”

“Stop bickering and start cooking.” Nobunaga tried to sound stern but couldn’t help the little smile on his lips.

The two of them did, though the grumbling and sniping never really stopped.

While Ieyasu handled bakery items, Masamune was in charge of the grill. Hot sandwiches, soups, and whatever else he decided to put on the menu. Nobunaga had given up trying to restrain him. The man was a genius cook, and whatever he made sold, so it made sense to give him his head.

Akechi showed up next. Mitsuhide was an accountant by trade, with a law degree besides. He didn’t technically work at the shop, but he did the books and didn’t charge much for the work. Nobunaga wasn’t sure why he spent so much time at the cafe, but he’d become a fixture. Showing up before opening to do Azuchi’s books and then sitting in the dining area, working on his laptop for hours.

“Anything I should know about,” Nobunaga called, before Mitsuhide disappeared into the cafe office.

“If there was, I’d tell you. Probably.” Mitsuhide gave him his trademark smile, sly like a fox.

“It’s that probably that worries me.” Nobunaga frowned. He didn’t actually believe Mitsuhide would sabotage him. Not after so many years as a client. But with that man, you never quite knew where you stood.

Akechi shrugged. “I can’t think of a reason not to - but you never know.” He disappeared into the office, and soon the only sound from that room was the clacking of a keyboard.

The sky to the east was beginning to lighten, the stars fading from view. It would be time to open soon. As if on cue, Mitsunari showed up with Ranmaru in tow. They were the baristas, taking orders, making coffee, and serving the sit-down diners.

“Isn’t it a beautiful morning?” Mitsunari said this to Ieyasu’s back as he passed him.

The blond snorted. “It looks like every morning. Literally, exactly the same.”

“And every morning is beautiful.” Mitsunari Ishida smiled. “I am so lucky to work with such wonderful people. It will be a great day. I can feel it.”

Ranmaru laughed. “Absolutely. Just ignore old grumble-pants here. We are going to have an awesome day.”

“I am not old,” Ieyasu snapped.

“You are compared to me!” Ranmaru was the youngest in the crew, and he liked to remind the others about it.

“That’s enough. Get up to the front and prep the display. Both of you.” Nobunaga pointed toward the front counter.

Ranmaru gave him a pouty look, but did as he was told. Despite his penchant for causing trouble in the kitchen, he was great with customers, and pretty reliable.

Mitsunari didn’t seem to realize he’d been in the middle of the bickering. He just smiled and followed Ranmaru to the front.

That one, Nobunaga thought, was dangerous. At first impression, Mitsunari Ishida seemed like an airhead. Cheerful to the point of being vapid, and clumsy as well. But he could take orders faster than anyone else, remember which customer had which preference, and quote the menu without a glance at the board on the wall. He was great, so long as you didn’t ask him to pour the coffee.

At opening, Hideyoshi finally sidled in. He was the dining room manager, in charge of the servers, and everything on the front end. Nobunaga trusted him implicitly. Most cafe owners had to worry about theft and inattention from their cash-handling employees, but not him. Not with Hideyoshi Toyotomi at the counter. That man was a veritable saint, if sometimes a little melodramatic about his service.

“I know you told me I didn’t need to be here until 10, since you open. But I couldn’t let you handle everything alone.” Hideyoshi’s version of ‘good morning’ as he tied his apron on.

Nobunaga sighed. “You are my closing manager, Hideyoshi. You’re going to be stuck here until 10 or 11 tonight . . . and you realize, I do have employees here, helping, right?”

Toyotomi nodded. “Sure, sure. But extra hands always help with morning rush, right?”

“Right. And that’s why I have a new hire coming in at 8.” Nobunaga sighed.

“A new hire?” Mitsunari’s violet gaze lit up. “Will I get to train them?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ieyasu grumbled. “We want them to make coffee, not learn how to dump the pot on the floor.”

“Stop being so mean,” Ranmaru sniped back, defending Mitsunari.

“Hey, hey! The new employee isn’t gonna get trained by any of you. Clearly, the boss is going to put them with me. To pass on my culinary genius.” Masamune’s one eye sparkled.

“No, no, and absolutely not,” Nobunaga said, raising his voice. “Hideyoshi and I are going to train them. If the lot of you don’t terrify them into quitting on their first day.”

And that was the end of that discussion. It was 5am and the door opened. The steady stream of customers kept everyone busy for the next few hours. Lattes and cappuccinos, americanos and macchiatos, and decaf for those in denial. The flow began to slack as 8am approached. Most people were at work now, coffee in hand.

Clean-up started in the kitchen, and Hideyoshi began on the dining room.

The glass front door opened at 8am sharp. The new hire walked in. This wasn’t Nobunaga’s first time meeting her, but he still felt a twang in his chest as she smiled brightly at no one in particular.

“I hope I’m not late!”

Hideyoshi eyed her up and down, nodding to himself. Flat shoes, cute but practical. Hair pulled back sensibly - stylish, but not overdone. Professional clothes, fitted and comfortable. He hadn’t been part of the interview but he was feeling pretty positive about this candidate. He gave Nobunaga a nod.

“No, you’re right on time,” Mitsunari replied, leaning on the counter. His angelic smile was fixed on her.

The impact was obvious. One did not face the pure, focused joy of Mitsunari and not feel it. She blinked for a moment, stunned, her cheeks flushing. “Oh. Well that’s good, right?”

“Sure is,” Ranmaru said, coming around the side of the bakery display. He wiped his hands on his apron and held one out to her. “Welcome to Azuchi!”

“Hey, that’s my line,” Nobunaga grumbled.

“Yeah, but I’m cuter when I say it.” Ranmaru’s cheek reply got a chuckle from Masamune.

The one-eyed chef came out from the kitchen to observe. He wasn’t looking for whatever qualities Hideyoshi had, but what he saw made him grin. “Well, lass, I’d say welcome again but that’d make me look like an idiot. How ‘bout I help you put on an apron and show you around the place?”

“Again, my line,” Nobunaga said tiredly.

Ieyasu poked his head out from the back and sighed heavily. “Great. Another fluff head to train. Look, when you get bored listening to these idiots, come find me in the kitchen. I’ll try to teach you to bake. I’m sure you can manage a simple recipe. Probably.”

The girl looked unsure how to respond. She finally shrugged. “Yeah, ok! I’m here to work, so whatever you want to teach me, I want to learn.”

“You’d be better off learning how to keep the books,” said an amused voice behind Ieyasu.

The girl’s eyes darted up as Mitsuhide came out from the back. “Not that I’m hiring. I don’t do internships either,” he continued. He stepped out from behind the counter and closed in on her like a stalking cat. His golden eyes slid down from her face, over her chest and hips, down her legs, and back up, slow as syrup. “Though I can think of some reasons to make an exception.” He handed her a business card. “For when you tire of this service job.”

“Ah, thanks?” She glanced at the card and by the time she looked up again he was gone.

“Everyone, get back to work. I’m handling the new hire. You’ll all get a chance to train with her. I want her to work swing, so she’ll need to know a little of everything.” Nobunaga clapped once.

The workers all got back to it, though not without plenty of backward glances.

Hideyoshi handed the girl an apron. “Good luck!”

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember Prompt # 20: Doctor Visit/Checkup

Title: The Best Medicine

Fandom: N/A

Based on this post by me. (Sick doctor)

A physician leaves work miserably sick. His RN girlfriend takes care of him.

(Author’s Note: This breaks the rule I set of less than 2k words but I wrote it before I decided to do this challenge and thought it worked well here. I just needed a sick doctor having PE performed on them ok 😅)

Due to the fact that it was 6:30 AM and she was still more asleep than awake, it took her a while to realize the man she was dating was standing behind her as she waited in line for coffee. However, in her defense, she had never seen him in this coffee line at this time of day before (and she herself was here at this time every day).

It wasn't until she heard a familiar, sniffly yawning noise that she turned and caught his eye. 

"Shane? What are you doing here? You're usually sleeping right now." She didn't go to greet him right away, mainly because she didn't want to lose her place in line, and only two people stood between her and caffeination.

He too looked startled, though happy to see her. "Molly, hey," he said. There was a squeaky rasp to his voice and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. "Had an early meeting that got cancelled at the last minute. Since I was already awake, figured I'd come into the office early and clear out my inboxes."

"Gotcha. Well cool, that means I get to treat you to coffee for once. You find a place to sit and I'll get the drinks."

He shot her a grateful look and stepped out of line.

Molly ordered, received, and paid for the coffees quickly, tipping generously, before going to join Shane. He kissed her on the cheek as he took his cup, and they shared a warm smile as they made their way to a little sitting area, sharing a bench against the wall.

"Kathy's coffee is the best in the hospital. You'll love this."

"So you've told me many times. I'm glad I finally get to try it. What did you get me?"

"A surprise. You'll like it, trust me."

"Cheers, then." With another smile, they tapped their cups together before taking long pulls of their beverages.

"This is delicious," he said after a moment. "Best I've ever had from here. Thanks, babe."

"My pleasure." They sat for a bit in companionable silence, sipping their drinks. However, Molly couldn't help but cast sidelong glances at her partner with increasing frequency. Now that she was next to him, she saw he looked quite unwell. He was pale and shivery, with a flush over his cheeks and ears, and looking overall rundown and uncomfortable, a far cry from his usual easy smile and warm, steady demeanor.

"Is everything ok, doc? You really don't look good."

"You're saying I look ugly today?" he countered teasingly, dodging the question. 

She nudged him playfully. "You're just as handsome as ever. I'm saying you look sick. Are you feeling ok?"

He shrugged. "Think I'm just tired. Not used to being up so early. My head and throat are kinda sore I guess."

"Just tired, huh?" She reached out and placed her palm to his forehead, then his flushed cheeks, and finally his neck, where she could feel the swollen lymph nodes she had already seen. She clicked her tongue scoldingly.

"That's a fever, Doctor Mitchell, and a high one at that. Why in the world did you come to work today?"

"No kidding, really?" Shane leaned back against the wall, rubbing his neck and looking sheepish. "I can't even remember the last time I had a fever. Had to have been before medical school. Guess I forgot what it feels like."

"Hmm. Well regardless, you need to go home. You can't risk infecting your patients and staff."

"Yeah, of course. I'll go now."

When he stood, she did as well, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Feel better. Get lots of rest and fluids."

"I know the drill," he rasped, smiling a little. "I am a physician."

"Sometimes I have my doubts, mister 'doesn't know what a fever feels like.' Sports medicine doesn't deal with the flu much." She kissed his shoulder fondly.

"Yeah, yeah." He pulled away, running his thumb over her jawline. "Thanks again for the coffee. I'll see you later. Text me when you have time. I'm sure I'll be bored out of my mind."

"Will do."

She watched him go wistfully, wishing she was going with him.

Naturally he wasn't far from her thoughts for the rest of the day. The hospital OB-GYN clinic was as busy as ever, and the hustle and bustle kept Molly, an RN, quite distracted, but every moment of downtime found her wondering how Shane was doing.

She texted him a few times as he requested. The first time he replied right away, saying he had made it home safely and was relaxing on the couch. The second time he replied a few hours later, saying how tired he was and how he really was starting to feel unwell, but he was doing fine. The third time he never replied.

Her plans for the weekend had been solidified in her mind as soon as she felt how feverish he was. She practically ran out the door as soon as she clocked out. Her first stop was her house to change clothes, shower, and gather some supplies. Her second stop was Shane's favorite soup and sandwich place for two quarts of soup and two sandwiches to go. From there, she headed to Shane's condo across town.

She hadn't informed him she was coming because she had wanted it to be a bit of a surprise. Initially her plan was to leave the soup and sandwich on the stoop and ring the bell, then duck out of sight until the last minute. However, her plan changed when she caught a glimpse of him through the front door.

He was fast asleep, sprawled out on his stomach on the couch. Bundled under two blankets and snoring with his mouth open, surrounded by a nest of used tissues and dishes, he was the picture of illness.

She didn't have the heart to wake him by knocking, so instead she used her copy of his house key to let herself in quietly, being careful not to let the cold air in with her. He didn't stir even after she shut and re-locked the door. After removing her coat, she deposited the items she had brought in the kitchen, then returned to his side. Perching on the edge of the couch, she ran her hand over his face and through his hair to wake him.

He stirred weakly, mumbling and snuffling as he opened his eyes. His face lit up upon seeing her, and he quickly sat up, leaning all of his sleepy, overly-warm weight against her for a tight hug.

"Molly, you're here! I'mb so habby to see you," he croaked earnestly.

She hugged him back just as tightly. "Of course I'm here. When you stopped replying to my texts, I knew I had to come check on you. You look so sick, poor guy, and you're so stuffed up. Are you surviving?"

He shrugged, pulling away. "I guess. I'mb doi'g ok. So achy and tired. Just been sleebi'g all day." He licked his cracked lips and tried to swallow, which resulted in a grimace. "Budt you should go, babe. I don'dt wandt you to catch this. It's ndasty."

As if to prove his point, he turned away from her to cough productively into his elbow, thick and chesty. He followed it up with a honking nose blow that was far less productive. She watched this display sympathetically.

"I'm not leaving you all alone and sick like this. And anyway, if I do get sick, I think I know a doctor who could take care of me." She bumped her shoulder against his. He smiled wanly. "Now, have you taken any medicine recently?"

He sheepishly averted his eyes. "Umb… ndo. I… don'dt really have anythi'g to take."

"Ugh, Shane. Don't tell me you're one of those 'it only treats the symptoms' purists."

"Ndo, it's ndot thad. Like I told you, I just haven't been sigck in years. I've never thought to buy cold mbedicine."

"You're such a guy," she sighed. "Even if you are a doctor. You at least got your flu shot right?"

"Yeah. Budt they're already sayi'g it's probably ndot goi'g to be very effective this year."

"Of course they are." She sighed again. "However, I had a hunch this would happen, so I came prepared." She quickly retrieved a bag from the kitchen which rattled with medications, sitting down beside him again. She selected the ones she wanted and shook them into his hand, watching closely as he swallowed them.

"You're acti'g like you don'dt trust mbe to take care of mbyself," he teased, taking several gulps of water to chase the pills. 

"That's not necessarily true. I just want to do everything possible to help you feel better."

He had to cough harshly again before he could answer, hard enough to redden his face. "I love thad you wandt to take care of mbe. Budt you should really go. I'mb so contagious right ndow, and I don'dt wandt to try to stay away from you."

"Then don't. I came here to be close to you. I don't care if I get sick. It's the weekend anyway. I'm here for you and only you. Besides, you were probably contagious yesterday too, and we still made out. So it doesn't matter anyway."

"You're too good to mbe," he mumbled, finally succumbing and leaning his full weight against her, closing his eyes as he wrapped his arms loosely around her. "Budt I still don'dt approve. You're staying AMA, just so we're clear."

"Call me a rebel, then," she murmured, stroking his sweaty hair.

He sneezed suddenly, only once, but wet and laborious, catching it in his elbow. She quickly pulled a tissue from the nearby box. He took it gratefully, blowing his stopped nose as best he could before resting against her again. He sighed deeply as she resumed her petting.

"You're lugcky the desire to be taken care of when sigck is a deebply ingrained biological traidt," he continued to mumble, sounding sleepier by the second.

"I am, huh? Well you're talking an awful lot for someone who has no voice."

She felt him smile against her, but he did fall silent for a while, aside from his sniffling and soft coughing. She thought he was going back to sleep when he spoke up again.

"You know whad would mbake mbe feel even better thad mbedicine? Sumb soubp."

"Hmm, well it just so happens you have a girlfriend who thinks of everything." She gently shifted him off of her, going back to the kitchen and returning with a quart of soup and a sandwich.

"Sal's chigcken rice?" he rasped, his eyes lighting up hungrily as he sat up straighter. 

"Naturally. We've been together almost two years. I know what you like when you're not feeling good."

"You're a lifesaver," he groaned, taking the proffered food and digging in right away.

"I'm glad you have an appetite anyway. I won't ever forget last year's stomach flu incident."

 "Ugh, don'dt rembind mbe," he said with a shudder. "Bud other than thad one time, I'll always have an abbetite for this soubp. This is all I've wanted all day." He wolfed down the food with unexpected vigor.

"Well then you're lucky I think of everything, like I said. And to think you wanted to kick me out."

"I ndever *wanted* you kigck you oud. I'm just goi'g to hade mbyself whed you ged sigck," he mumbled, swallowing a mouthful.

"Maybe I won't get sick, did you think of that? And like I've been saying--" She leaned in to kiss him fully on the mouth, long and hard, until he pulled away gasping. "--I don't care. As long as you promise to take care of me if I do, I won't complain about a few days off. So stop worrying."

"Ugh, take it easy babe," he moaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "This fever has mby blood flow all mbessed ub. You can'dt be usi'g your lips on mbe like thad."

"Don't worry, I'm not planning to seduce you today. Unless you instigate it of course." She gave him a wicked look and he flushed. 

"You're something else, Mol," he muttered, unable to hide a smile.

"Just eat your 'soob'." 

He did what he was told while she tidied up his sick bed area. When he was almost done, she fetched another bag from the kitchen and began rummaging through it. He eyed the items she pulled out suspiciously.

"How much crabp did you bri'g? And whad are you doi'g ndow?"

"Something I've always wanted to do. And something I think will make you smile."

"I feel like I've been smili'g since you godt here."

It was Molly's turn to flush and smile. "Something that might make you laugh, then."

She sat close beside him on the couch with her stethoscope around her neck, placing a little tablet of paper and a pen in front of her on the table. 

"Constitution:" she both said this out loud and wrote it on the paper. "Well-nourished. Unwell appearing today. Complains of malaise and myalgia. Lymphatics:" 

She had been neatly writing everything down as she spoke. After the last word, she reached out to gently palate the visibly swollen lymph nodes in his neck. He moaned softly as she massaged them, the moan turning into a cough.

"Cervical lymphadenopathy noted. Lymph nodes tender to palpation." She wrote this down as well.

"Whad are you doi'g, Mol?"

"You get to be a doctor all the time. Today you're definitely the patient, so I'm taking my turn being the doctor and doing a physical exam on you. We need to make a diagnosis after all."

"Ah, of course. Mby apologies, please continue," he said with a little laugh, wiping his nose with a tissue.

"Thank you. Open your mouth please." Inserting a thermometer under his tongue, she also took his pulse with her watch as the thermometer calibrated. 

"Resting heart rate is elevated at 86 bpm. Temperature is abnormal at 101.8 degrees Fahrenheit."

"I could've told you thad. I just toogk my tembp before you godt here."

"I find that hard to believe since you were sleeping when I got here. Now shh. Actually say 'ah'." She situated a tongue depressor in his mouth, peering in. "Throat erythematous and inflamed," she said and wrote. "Now lean forward a bit if you would."

He did as he was told, looking slightly put-upon and she slid the diaphragm of her stethoscope under his worn university tee shirt, placing it on his back as she listened to him breathe for a moment. "Minor ronchi noted. No crackles or rales. Minimal concern for pneumonia at this time."

"Well thad's a relief," he said, sniffling wetly.

"Shh, I still need to listen to your heart," she said, sliding the diaphragm of the stethoscope around to his chest. 

"Terrible beside manner. I'm leavi'g a ndegative review."

She gave him her sternest "doctor" look. He merely smiled impishly. She sighed, biting back a smile of her own, and listened again.

"Normal rhythm. L-1, L-2 heard."

Setting aside the instruments, she slid her hands under his shirt, feeling gently.

"Skin is overly warm or feverish. Abdomen is soft, non-tender and non-distended."

"You didn't have to go under mby shirt, you know. Abdominal exam cad be done over clothi'g," he said, smirking.

"I was being… thorough," she said with a wink.

He chuckled hoarsely. "Someone's godt the hots for their patiendt. Thad's trouble," he murmured, stifling a yawn as he pulled his blanket closer around himself with a shiver. 

"Neurologic: grossly normal. Tremors noted due to chills. Psychiatric: patient is oriented to person, place, time. Behavior normal, but appears lethargic, fatigued and sleepy."

After writing down these final notes, she cuddled up beside him on the couch, wrapping him in her arms and pulling him close as he started shivering in earnest. He nestled against her wearily.

"How did I do?" she murmured. "Did I make you laugh a little at least?"

"Very thorough and efficiendt," he mumbled sleepily, coughing. "And yes you did. Whad's your diagnosis and treadtment plan, doctor?"

"At best a severe case of rhinovirus. I'm more inclined to think influenza due to the fever, but we'll continue to monitor. No active intervention needed at this time. Bed rest at home, OTC medication as needed and adequate hydration recommended." At this she handed him his water bottle. He drank several big gulps before handing it back to her and snuggling in again.

"If that's what the doctor orders," he sniffled, closing his eyes. 

She held him for a while, since that seemed to be all he wanted, just rubbing his back and stroking his hair. However, they were forced to move when Shane pulled away to break into one of his barking, painful coughing fits. He tried to settle again after the fact, making a face. 

"I don't feel good, Mol," he mumbled pathetically. "This sugcks."

"I know, doc. But I'm doing everything I can to help you feel better. I didn't realize your fever was so high though," she murmured. "And that was after you took medicine. But you seemed just fine yesterday. You don't do anything by halves, do you?"

"Thad's one of the reasons you have the hots for mbe, you know id is," he croaked.

"The only thing with the hots around here is that fever. You're sweltering."

"Sorry," he mumbled, yet made no effort to move off of her. Instead he sneezed wetly into his elbow.

"Update, you're sweltering *and* gross," she said conversationally. Yet she made no effort to move away from him either, kissing his forehead instead. He yawned as she did. "And sleepy."

"Thingk I'm just sigck," he muttered.

"Yeah, let's go with that. Do you want to go back to sleep right now?"

"Ndo. Ndot while you're here. I'm too sigck to sleeb anyway."

"There's no such thing as being too sick to sleep. But if you don't want to sleep right now, I have one more present for you." 

"You've already given mbe too mbuch."

"There's no such thing as that either." She carefully shifted out from under him again and attempted to head to the kitchen once more. Before she could take more than a step though, he caught her hand and made her turn around. Seeing his imploring look, she stepped back into the V of his legs. He wrapped his arms fully around her, burying his hot face in her abdomen. 

"Thangk you mbuch for the soubp and mbedicine, baby. You really are a lifesaver. I just wanted to tell you thad."

She nuzzled her face into his messy hair. "Anything to help you feel better. I can tell you're still miserable though."

"Nodt miserable with you here." 

"Just sick."

"Mhm," he mumbled, sleepily as ever. She let him hold her for another moment or two before speaking again.

"Seriously though, I have something else I want to give you. It'll just take a second to grab."

"Fine," he sighed. As he pulled away, she saw a hazy, pre-sneeze look cross his face. Sure enough, as she trotted to the kitchen, behind her she heard him emit a pair of messy, rough sneezes.

"That soup really got your nose going, huh?" she asked as she reentered the living room.

"Guess so," he sniffled, blowing his nose thickly. "Thad's the poindt though, right?"

"Indeed it is." She moved to the entertainment center and quickly plugged her laptop into the TV.

"Now whad are you doi'g?"

"Maybe you should stop asking questions and just wait and see."

"You know I hade surprises."

"That's not true at all in my experience, so I'm calling your bluff on that one. But you won't have to wait long for this one either way."

After a few setting changes to allow the laptop display to be projected on the TV, Molly popped a disk into the drive and started it up.

"Are we watchi'g somethi'g?"

"You and your questions." She tossed a thick DVD case into his lap. He picked it up, his eyes widening happily.

"The original Jurassic Park trilogy? Holy crabp, this is awesome!"

"I'm glad you approve," she laughed, stepping into his arms again. "It was going to be your Christmas present, but I figured a sick day at home is an even better occasion."

"This is perfect, love. You're ambazing," he mumbled, squeezing her tightly.

"Anything for my best guy." She nuzzled his hair again fondly. "Anything to help you sleep."

"I don'dt wandt to sleeb while you're here though. I don'dt wandt to mbiss out on seei'g you."

"Well then you're in luck, because I'm planning on staying here all weekend. So I'll be here when you fall asleep and when you wake up. No time wasted at all."

A grin split his face. "You'd do thad for mbe?"

"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise. Doctors need to be looked after too, especially by their nurse girlfriends. So you stretch out and get comfortable and leave the rest to me."

"You're cooler than anadomy and dinosaurs combined, you know thad?"

Molly giggled happily. "I don't know if I'll ever come back from such high praise. You better quit while you're ahead, Dr. Mitchell."

"Only if you promise to make mbe coffee in the morni'g. Your good coffee."

"Sounds like a plan," she said with a grin and another kiss.

[fruitcoops]

Hii, i love your work! Can I request an angst fic with prompts 38, 31 and 78. Like Logan and Leo get into a big fight and Logan says something bad (like I hate u and something like that) and Leo just leaves and maybe goes to Remus and Sirius. And then they make up idk, just a happy ending.

Thanksss❤️❤️🥺

Hello! I really enjoyed writing this ask because I haven’t written a lot of relationship-related angst yet, and I’m pretty happy with it. Credit for Sweater Weather goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for arguing in relationships

Prompt 31: “He’s not answering his phone.”

Prompt 38: “Don’t talk like that.”

Prompt 78: “What did you just say?”

It started with a book.

It wasn’t a particularly special book—on the contrary, it was a beat-up copy of A Tale of Two Cities that Leo had received as a birthday present years ago. He didn’t even like the book that much, but it was a rainy day and he hadn’t slept and he wanted something familiar to daydream through.

There was a heavy, irritated sigh from the kitchen. Leo glanced up at Finn, who was folding laundry, and frowned. “Lo, you okay?” Finn asked.

“Fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“It’s just—it’s fine.”

Finn set a pair of socks down and ducked into the kitchen; Leo turned back to his book, but kept both ears pricked. “What’s wrong?” Finn’s voice was soft and concerned.

“I don’t know, I’m just upset,” Logan answered. Dishes clanked in the sink and Leo winced, silently hoping none of them would be chipped. “Just finish the laundry and we can go to bed.”

Something in his tone rubbed Leo the wrong way and he stood, joining Finn in the doorway. “Hey, don’t talk to him like that.”

“Like what?” Logan set a fork down with more force than strictly necessary.

“You’re being snappy and I don’t like it. Finn doesn’t, either.”

Finn turned to look at him reproachfully. “What’s your deal?”

“Well, I was kind of looking forward to a quiet evening where we could hang out and read, but I guess that’s not going to happen.”

Logan huffed. “Maybe if you pulled your weight around here we could have a quiet evening.”

“Excuse me?”

“Finn and I have been cleaning for the last hour while you read your stupid book—”

“Leave me out of this!”

“—and I’m getting tired of cleaning up after you.”

Leo’s eyebrows rose and he huffed out a laugh, hardly believing his ears. “I’m sorry, who’s the one that leaves wet towels on the floor every fucking time he showers? Oh, but pardon me for taking an hour and a half to read after not sleeping because somebody was kicking me last night.”

“Both of you, cut it out,” Finn tried, holding his hands out to placate them. Blood thundered in Leo’s ears—he had no idea why his temper was flaring so suddenly, but he wasn’t going to back off and let Logan win. “Logan, I can finish the dishes. Leo, take a deep breath.”

“You’re taking his side now?” Leo asked incredulously. “You always take his side.”

“I’m not taking sides, I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is going on with you two!”

“What do mean, he always takes my side?” Logan crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, quiet rage twisting his face.

“That’s what you do.” The words were coming out of him in a torrent—unstoppable and furious. “You two tag-team every time we get in a fight and suddenly I’m outnumbered.”

“Wha—tag team?” Finn shook his head in disbelief. “Leo, what the fuck are you talking about? I love you, Logan loves you, and you love us.”

If Leo hadn’t been so angry, he probably would have missed Logan muttering under his breath. Instead, he rounded on him, his fists clenching and unclenching. “What did you just say?” Logan glared and kept his mouth shut. “Logan, what did you just say?”

“Nothing you’ll care about,” he said coldly.

Leo shook his head and grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter. “Fuck off, Logan. Just fuck off.”

The slamming of the door behind him was not nearly satisfying enough to quell his nausea and the pounding in his head. He got in the car and turned off the radio with a hard jab to the CD port; the opening notes of one of Logan’s favorite songs from the road trip playlist made Leo’s eyes sting as he pulled out of the garage and headed down the road.

“What did I just do?” he asked the empty car. “Jesus, Leo, you just stormed out with no plan and left two angry boyfriends behind, and now you have nowhere to go and nothing to do and nobody to go home to—”

He pulled over, parked the car, and burst into tears. Leo hadn’t cried like that since his first night in Gryffindor, so far away from home and too afraid of waking Logan up with his sobs to do more than silently weep into his pillow. Logan had definitely heard anyway, because when he woke up the next morning there was a hot cup of coffee next to the door.

“I fucked up.” The steering wheel made his forehead itch. “I fucked up so bad, oh my god.”

You need to go somewhere, the reasonable voice in his head that sounded quite a bit like his dad chided. If you go back and apologize, they’ll take you back.

I can’t. It’s too soon and I’m still upset.

Then think. Who else cares enough to let you stay?

Leo sniffled and wiped at his tears with the sleeve of his sweater. No, not his sweater—Finn’s. It took him another five minutes to pull himself together enough to turn on his blinker and head out onto the road again, following the familiar path without even needing to check his phone. The December air made the dried tears on his cheeks extra cold as he walked up the driveway with his hands stuffed in his pockets, shivering in the cold. This was nothing like home.

He heard the doorbell ring through the house and stepped back a bit to admire the holiday lights in a rainbow of colors. They sparkled, a beacon against the night that made his heart clench. The door swung open a few moments later. “Hey, Leo, what’s…going on?” Remus trailed off.

“Hey,” he sniffled. “Uh, can I come in?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Remus moved to the side so he could enter and he slipped his shoes off in silence, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t absolutely lose it right on the welcome mat. “Are you okay? Sorry, bad question. What happened?”

“We got in a fight,” Leo said miserably, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Logan and I. Finn got dragged into it and really it was my fault and I just kinda left.”

“Okay. Do you want a hug?”

He nodded without a word and Remus wrapped him tightly in his arms. He rubbed soothing circles on his back—Leo felt more tears slide down his face as he melted into the warm touch. “I’m sorry for not letting you know I’d be here.”

“Don’t worry about it, we’re always glad to see you. Can we move into the kitchen for a sec so you can drink some water?”

“Once a PT, always a PT,” Leo joked halfheartedly as he pulled away and scrubbed at his eyes. “Ugh.”

The kitchen was cheerful and simple, with dark red walls and white cupboards. He sat down at the island and put his chin on his forearms as Remus got him a glass of water and dampened some paper towels. “I don’t know where I put the tissues, sorry.”

“Thanks, Loops,” he said, wiping his face.

“Re, was someone at the door?” Sirius came around the corner and stopped in his tracks. “Hey, Leo.”

“Hey.”

He glanced at Remus, then set his empty bowl on the counter and leaned against the fridge. “What’s up?”

“Logan and I got in a fight.”

“With each other?”

“No, with the mailman,” he snapped, instantly regretting it. His lower lip wobbled; this was just how the fight had begun in the first place. “Sorry. Yeah, with each other. And Finn.”

“Where are they?”

“At h—home.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I left.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Remus asked carefully, sitting down next to him.

Leo’s shoulders slumped and he rested his temple on Remus’ shoulder. “It was so stupid.”

“Don’t talk like that, it was clearly important.”

“I was reading for an hour instead of helping them clean up because I was so fucking tired, and Logan was frustrated that I wasn’t helping. Finn tried to calm us both down, but I accused him of taking sides and then Logan mumbled something and wouldn’t tell me what he said.” It all blubbered out on a fresh wave of emotion and Remus handed him the paper towel again.

“That doesn’t sound stupid,” Sirius said in the gentlest voice Leo had ever heard him use.

“Really?”

“Really. It sounds like you let some things build up for too long, like a volcano.”

Leo sniffled. “You sound like my dad.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I think so.” He straightened up again and took a long sip of water. “God, I feel awful.”

Remus squeezed his shoulder. “I’m not surprised. Have you eaten recently?”

“We were going to have dinner when Lo finished with the dishes. So, no.”

“You want a sandwich?”

“Yes, please.” To Leo’s surprise, Sirius pulled a block of cheese out of the fridge and bread out of the cupboard. “You cook?”

He and Remus made identical ‘ehhh’ noises. “Un peu,” Sirius laughed. “I burn soup, but grilled cheese is easy.”

“How the fuck do you burn soup?”

“You want to know the worst part?” He looked over his shoulder briefly. “It was canned soup.”

“What?”

“Mhm. I turned the heat on high because I thought it would cook faster.”

Leo’s tide of emotions molded into total confusion. “Why would you do that? The instructions are on the can.”

“Strangely enough, that’s what I told him,” Remus said wryly. “And still it’s happened twice.”

“You are so mean to me,” Sirius sighed as he turned the stove on. “I make you grilled cheese sandwiches and this is the thanks I get?”

“Sorry, love.”

“How do you do that?” Leo asked.

Remus turned back to him. “Do what?”

“Have this…” He gestured vaguely. “Perfect, amazing relationship. How?”

Sirius snorted and returned to his place by the fridge. “It’s not perfect.”

“But you’re so happy all the time.”

“Aren’t you?” Remus asked. “When you’re with your boys, aren’t you happy?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately. “They’re the best thing in the world.”

“Do you have a perfect relationship?”

“Uh, no.”

“There’s your answer.” Remus spread his hands. “Fights happen. Sometimes you can’t stand to even be in the same room as your person, or your people. Sometimes it feels like everything they do drives you crazy. But that doesn’t mean you stop loving them, and they don’t stop loving you.”

“The fight wasn’t about me reading,” Leo said quietly. Understanding was beginning to settle in. “And it wasn’t about Logan leaving towels all over or me not pulling my weight. I think we both just had bad days. Is that normal?”

“I hope so,” Sirius said. “Three months after we moved in together, Remus slept on the couch for a week because he hated the way I left toothpaste on the sink.”

“I wasn’t even angry about the toothpaste.” Remus got up to refill Leo’s water glass. “I was scared we were moving too fast and that everything would fall apart.”

“I was—I am—scared,” Leo confessed. “There’s just so much happening all the time. Finn and Logan…they’re my center point. My anchor.”

Sirius slid a perfect grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate and handed it to him. “Then you should tell them that.”

Just as he took his first bite, the doorbell rang. Remus frowned. “We’re popular tonight.”

After checking his phone quickly, Sirius wandered down the hall, and in his absence a large black dog came out of the living room to set her head on Leo’s thigh. “Hey, Hattie.” He scratched her behind the ears and tore off a piece of his sandwich to give her.

“Oh. Hello.” Sirius sounded surprised.

“Hey, Cap.”

Leo froze and Remus’ eyes widened. “Have you heard from Leo?” Finn asked. “He’s not answering his phone.”

“Because of the fight,” Sirius said.

Remus dropped his face into his hands. “Tact,” he muttered. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” Leo could picture Finn’s face in his head, uneasy and worried. “So he’s talked to you?”

“He’s been in our kitchen for the last half hour.”

“What?” Logan’s voice cracked. “He’s—can we come in?”

“No shoes in the house.” There was a moment of rustling, then a staccato pattern of footsteps in the hall before Logan and Finn appeared in the entrance.

“Mon dieu.” Logan nearly collapsed against the doorframe when he saw Leo; his eyes were red-rimmed and he seemed to be a bit of a wreck. “I’m so sorry, Peanut.”

“We’ll be upstairs if you need anything,” Remus said, slipping out of the room with a final glance to Leo.

“My phone was off, sorry,” he said quietly, feeding Hattie another bit of bread. The pressurized fury from before was completely gone—he only felt regretful now, and utterly exhausted. “I’m also sorry for yelling. And accusing you. And for dragging you into it, Finn. Oh, and for leaving.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Logan took two tentative steps closer and Leo stood up, holding his arms out. Relief crashed over his face and he nearly tackled him in a hug. “I took out my bad day on you and as soon as you were gone I regretted it. Merde, Leo, I’m sorry.”

Extra warmth cocooned them both as Finn joined the hug. “I love you both so much,” Leo mumbled into Logan’s hair.

Logan snuggled closer. “I love you, too.”

“Me, three.”

They all laughed weakly at that, stepping back and sitting down at the island. Leo bit the inside of his lip. “So…things were said.”

“Things were said,” Logan agreed. “I didn’t mean what I said about cleaning up after you.”

“I know. I didn’t mean what I said about tag-teaming.” He winced at the memory. “That was flat-out mean and uncalled for. And Finn…” Finn looked up from petting Hattie. “I used you as leverage and that was horrible.”

“Same here,” Logan said guiltily.

“Yeah, let’s not do that again, okay?” Finn looked between them and raised his eyebrows as they both nodded. “I don’t take sides when I’m choosing between my boyfriends.”

“Leo…” Logan started and trailed off.

“Yeah, Lo?”

He struggled for the words for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Do you—do you want to know what I said in the kitchen?”

In the kitchen…Leo wracked his brain and tried to remember. They had been arguing, and then Logan muttered something he couldn’t hear. He was tempted to say yes. “No, I’m good.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “We were both upset. Whatever it is, I don’t think you meant it, so it doesn’t matter now. We’ve fought enough tonight.”

“Should we head home, then?” Finn suggested, taking both their hands. “I’m pretty tired and hungry.”

“You could ask Cap to make you a grilled cheese,” Leo joked. “They’re damn good.”

“Cap can cook?” they chorused incredulously.

[acnelli]

Coming Home

This is my little story for the HPRomione Discord Popcorn. @remedial-potions gave me the prompt “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine!” and I originally wanted to write some HBP angst, but then changed my mind and wrote this.

Up next is @dot-adsty and I give you the prompt “Flying higher than ever before”.

I also opened my Ask Box and accept prompts from this Prompt List.

Prompt: “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine!”

Ron comes home from a long Auror mission, and Hermione’s plans for the night don’t quite go as she imagined.

You can also read this story on AO3 and FFN.

*** *** *** ***

She had it all planned out.

Every little detail, every single thing Hermione needed to buy or prepare for tonight had been neatly written down in handy list form, categorized and sorted.

Around noon it actually looked like everything would be ready when Ron would come home from his Auror mission this late afternoon. Behind half of the points on said list, Hermione had added a green checkmark. The sight of her lists, especially when some of her tasks on it had been checked off already, always had something oddly satisfying.

To have enough time to prepare everything, she left work early today, stopping by the grocery store on her way back home to buy the last of the ingredients she needed for the roast she planned to make for dinner.

Cooking wasn’t really Hermione’s forte. When Ron was home and didn’t have to work ridiculous hours, the flat was always filled with the scent of some delicious meal or another, and on weekends they often enjoyed a cake or some cookies fresh out of the oven. In the last two months, she sure did cook for herself every now and then but she got to admit that these meals mostly consisted of pasta and sandwiches.

When she planned this day she first considered going with take-away, which she was sure, Ron would’ve been more than fine with. But then she quickly dismissed the idea, figuring that following the instructions of Mrs Weasley’s cookbook couldn’t be that hard. It might not win a contest but she was sure to manage something eatable, at least.

Before she went into the kitchen to start preparing the roast, Hermione observed their living room, mentally going through her list again.

On their couch table Hermione had set up the brand new chess set she bought last week while shopping with her mother. Hermione had discovered the set in the display window of a small, cosy shop she would’ve completely missed it if weren’t for the unusually bright colours catching her attention when she walked by. As soon as she had seen the chess set, she made her way inside the shop right away because it practically screamed Ron Weasley. While not exactly the same bright colour of the Chudley Cannons, the usually white squares and wooden game pieces were painted orange. If she wouldn’t have purchased it from a Muggle, it could’ve been easily merchandise of Ron’s favourite Quidditch team.

Hermione walked over to the couch table and placed two tickets for the next Chudley Cannons game this upcoming weekend onto the chessboard. A smile split her face when she thought about his reaction later. Over the past six months the Cannons actually showed some kind of potential to not end up at the bottom of the league at the end of the season, resulting in the tickets to have gotten a little harder to come by. At least, for top games and derbies.

She knew it was probably a little over the top, considering they had been separated for much longer than eight weeks over the last years, but the constant worry and the almost non-existent possibility to talk or write to him during these missions, increased her excitement for Ron to come home ten-fold.

Yes, Hermione definitely felt slightly ridiculous when she placed a giant red bow around the TV and put the fancy Muggle beer into the fridge, but Ron’s absence caused a restlessness she had to overcome somehow. It also didn’t help that the few letters she got from him made Ron sound mentally and physically exhausted. Even though she knew next to nothing about this mission, she could tell it affected him more than usual.

That’s why today was all about distracting Ron from work, and what would hopefully be the start of a long, stress-free weekend.

But, of course, it would have just been too perfect if anything went according to plan. Because one hour before Ron was due to arrive at home, everything started to blow up in Hermione’s face. Literally and figuratively.

While she tried to research a way how to fix overcooked meat, Hermione cursed herself numerous times for not doing a test run first. Hermione had plans for everything but when it came to cooking she was obviously rubbish.

I should have just ordered Pizza. Ron loves Pizza.

Giving up on the meat’s consistency she quickly decided that spices and a good sauce could somehow safe this. Just as she was about to add all kinds of spices, she heard the fireplace roaring to life.

Ron was here. And he was early.

Forgetting all about the roast, she bolted out of the kitchen and into the living room, almost tripping over one of the loosened bindings of Ron’s ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron she borrowed. And there he stood, shaking the floo powder out of his hair and off the Auror uniform.

When he looked up at her she didn’t waste another second and jumped into his arms. Something between a sob and a laugh escaped her when Ron hugged her close and she felt him kiss the top of her head.

Pulling back, Hermione took Ron’s face between her hands and tugged him down for a kiss. She waited far too long for this.

When they finally broke apart to come up for air again, Ron softly kissed her forehead. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Hermione said, “And I have a surprise for you!”

“So, you cooking isn’t the surprise?” Ron grinned at her.

“Oh, shut up!”

“Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner?” Ron asked as he shrugged out of his cloak.

“You do. And please take your time.”

*** *** *** ***

Ron couldn’t decide if he was more amused or felt more sorry for Hermione as the 3-course-dinner turned into a small disaster.

With the soup, it had been rather easy. It was incredibly salty and he probably dehydrated this very second, but with a good amount of bread and large swigs from his beer, he was able to pretend he liked it quite easily.

But then Hermione served the main course. As soon as Ron took the first bite he wanted to spit it out right away. It was absolutely inedible and he wondered how he could pretend to eat something which wasn’t tasting like the sole of his trainers.

Very slowly he reached for his beer, figuring it would be easier if he swallowed the bite without chewing. Just as he was about to take a swig, Hermione gave up all pretence.

“Oh my God, this is a complete disaster,” she whined, spitting the piece of meat into a hand towel, “Ron, you can give up the act now.”

As he too spit the overcooked shoe sole out of his mouth, he couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping him, and reached for Hermione’s hand.

“Not all is lost,” he reasoned, a little bit surprised about her being so upset about this dinner. Hermione’s attempts to cook or bake usually made for a lot of entertainment for both of them. “There’s still dessert, isn’t it?”

“Yes, right! Dessert!” She jumped up from her seat and ran into the kitchen with a hopeful glint in her eyes.

“NO,” Ron heard Hermione cry from the kitchen and he immediately jumped up to join her, “No, Pig! No, no, no, no, no!”

As Ron got into the kitchen he saw Pig sitting in a bowl full of what looked like vanilla cream, happily hooting at Hermione who appeared to be on the verge of tears now. Of course, Pig chose this very moment to finish his bath in their pudding as he flew out of the bowl with wildly flapping wings, coating both Hermione and Ron with a good amount of vanilla cream; Hermione’s hair getting the worst of it.

Ron slowly lifted a finger and swiped some cream from his cheek, licking it off as he was wearing a thoughtful look. “That is pretty good, actually.”

“Oh, stop it!” Hermione let out a resigned sigh. “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine! You have some terrible weeks behind you, and then you come home to your girlfriend serving you food that makes you probably crave the tasteless snacks they feed you with on these missions. I should’ve just-“

“Oi!” Ron interrupted her, not quite being able to hide his amusement. “Stop the rambling, barmy woman.” He took her face in his hands and leaned down, so he was at eye level with her. “All I wanted for today was finally seeing you again, Hermione. You never before got upset about bollocking up some cooking. What’s the matter?”

“I- I just wanted to distract you from this mission and make this evening somewhat special, and by now, Pig most likely decorated the whole living room with our pudding.”

Ron simply kissed her. His hands went from her cheeks inside her curly hair, changing their angle a bit to deepen the kiss. As Hermione let her hands wander from his chest back to his shoulders blades and down to the hem of his shirt, Ron decided to make it very clear to Hermione that everything he really needed to feel better, was her. This mission forced Ron to see things he’ll have nightmares about forever, and the only reason he was able to power through all of it, was the prospect of coming home to Hermione. To her touch, to her kisses, to her ramblings about work, to the simple comfort of just having her beside him.

With one swift motion, he swooped her up in his arms. “For such a smart woman, you can be very daft sometimes, love,” Ron said as he walked out of the kitchen.

“I know,” Hermione sighed as she took advantage of her position in Ron’s arms, and left open kisses along the side of his neck and his throat.

Without bothering to clean up the mess in the kitchen and living room, Ron walked them straight to the bedroom, leaving behind a merrily hooting Pigwidgeon who hopped and danced on top of Ron’s new chessboard, coating it with the only eatable dish Hermione produced today.

[thiswasinevitableid]

63. sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “[person] is [attractive] enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard

Danbrey, sfw, please!

Here you go!

It’s the rabbit that draws her eye; it’s not everyday a bunny the size of a Beagle stops outside the window of Amnesty House. She follows the leash from the harness to the hand holding it, and spots a much bigger issue.

“Miss?” She steps onto the porch, “could you not take my flowers.”

“Yeeeeep!” The other woman drops the pocket knife she’s using to saw off the stems of tulips and irises, scrambling to her feet and tearing her fishnets in the process, “shit, um, I’m sorry, didn’t think you’d notice, I’ve done it before and you never, um, nevermind.” She pulls the rabbit back from the fence, “anyway, I really needed this, they’re really pretty and I think she’d like them-”

“Ohhhhh, I get it” Dani crosses her arms, “in that case, I’ll come with you. I want to see the person who’s cute enough to warrant multiple flower thefts.”

“Um, or! You could not do that and I could promise to never do this again?”

“Nope, my mind’s made up.” She slips on her Birkenstocks and heads down the front stairs. Jake and Moira are both home, so she’s not too worried about locking up.

“Fine. Let me just-” The woman scoops the rabbit up and sprints away. Dani could just let her go, but those were her heirloom irises, damn it, and she wants to make sure the person who gets them knows just how valuable they are. So off she goes, soles slapping the pavement as they head towards the lakeside.

She won’t be surprised if the recipient is hot; god knows the thief is. The freckles and red-streaked hair is just the icing on the combat-boot, denim-vested femme cake.

Growing up in this neighborhood means she never loses sight of her target, even when she’s cutting through alleys and taking sharp turns. Then the woman goes straight through a wall of junipers and Dani is not interested in getting that scratched up by plants today. This is one of the borders of the park, so all she needs to do is find the front entrance to relocate her very distinct thief.

Ten minutes of hunting later, she spots a red and black pompadour on the other side of a low, stone wall. She’s cross-legged on the grass, which the rabbit is happily munching by her side.

“Okay, seriously, does the person you’re seeing know those...are...aw fuck.”

The other woman turns from the gravestone she’s sitting by to look at her, “Yeah. This is kinda why I didn’t want you to come with me. I mean, it was a hella weird thing to do anyway, but” she sweeps her arm at the cemetery, “this is super not a date.”

“I’m so sorry.” Dani sits on the opposite side of the rabbit, “That never even occurred to me. I…” she sneaks a glance at the dates; the death was only three years ago, “I’m sorry for your loss, too.”

Silence settles between them; she feels like she should say something else, that it’d be rude to just shrug and walk away, but she has no clue what words are even appropriate here. The rabbit stretches its neck, bonking it’s nose into her hand. She pets it, smiling when it nestles closer.

“Mom really liked bulbs.” The thief says softly, “when I was little we’d always go for walks in the spring just so we could see the first ones popping out of the ground. She liked ones that were unique, so when I saw the orange and black ones in your garden all I could think was how happy they’d make her. How she woulda stopped to look at them whenever she walked past. I know it’s silly but I, um, this felt like the closest I could get to giving her that.”

The breeze carries dried iris petals from the headstone into the park beyond the wall.

“You could have just asked. There’s no way I would have said no if you told me what they were for.”

“It felt too weird. Everything feels weird these days.” She sighs, reaching out to rub dust from the stone, “I thought I was ready to come back, but it’s like the whole town is haunted.”

The fresh flowers wobble, then land on the grass. Dani grabs them and puts them back, the rabbit honking indignantly when she does.

“At least Dr. Harris Bonkers is having a nice time.” The other woman rubs the rabbit’s ears, “isn’t that right, buddy?”

“What’s he a doctor of?”

A small, beautiful smile, “Psychology. He worked hard for his PhD.”

“I bet.” She gives the doctor a final rub on the nose, “I’ll, uh, I should give you two some time alone.” Dani stands, brown eyes watching her the whole time.

“Thanks for the flowers.”

She smiles, “You’re welcome.���

--------------------------------------------------------------

Moira’s expecting a package, so Dani doesn’t even look up when the older woman answers the front door.

“Um, hi. I, um, I was hoping to get some flowers? The blonde who lives here said I should ask this time. I’m Aubrey? Wait, I don’t think I told her that.”

“Which blonde?”

“The cute one?”

“....I meant the boy or the girl.” Moira replies, amused, just as Dani reaches the door.

Aubrey waves, “Hi again. Could I take a few Irises?”

“Sure. Oh, wait, let me get you the pruning shears; the knife isn’t great for cuttings.”

“Dani! Could I get a hand really quick?” From the accompanying clanks, Barclay needs said hand urgently.

“Coming! Here, you can just leave them on the steps when you’re done.”

One hour and a narrowly avoided soup disaster later, she’s herding the others to the table when there’s another knock on the door.

“I, um, I stuck these in my bag without thinking.” Aubrey holds out the shears. In the porchlight, her eyes are red-rimmed and there’s a slight smear in the black lipstick on her upper lip.

“It happens. Jake, my roommate, once went a whole day with six boxes of poptarts in his bag because he got distracted while unloading groceries. Uh, if you’re not busy we’re just about to have dinner. Seems only polite to invite my biggest admirer.”

Aubrey raises her eyebrows.

“My, uh, the biggest admirer of my gardening?” Her cheeks are hot, but her flustered tone seems to relax Aubrey.

“Sure. I just have to make sure I get home in time to feed Dr. Harris Bonkers.” She grins and steps into the house.

It’s common for Amnesty residents to bring home friends (or strangers), so when Barclay spots Aubrey he simply ducks back into the kitchen for an extra set of cutlery and a bonus bowl. As always happens when Barclay cooks, everyone is too busy stuffing their faces for the first ten minutes of dinner to say much.

“So, Aubrey” Mama sips her tea, “what brings you to town?”

“I grew up here but, um, I left a few years ago to try and kickstart my career.”

“What do you do?”

Literal sparks fly from her guest’s fingertips as she wiggles them, “magic.”

“Whoah, sweet!” Jake leans forward, “do you do stunts?”

“Nah” Aubrey’s smile is brightening under the excitement, “I do sleight of hand, card tricks, that kind of thing. I like the classics. Lots of other people do too, but I hit a spell where no one was interested in booking me, so I came back here to regroup.”

“Smart thinkin’. Pretty much everyone here knows that tryin to make ends meet on the road can lead to serious trouble.”

“Or grand theft auto.” Dani smirks at Barclay.

“That was an accident!”

“Wait, what?” Aubrey laughs, the room feeling ten times brighter when she does, “how does that even happen?”

Barclay recounts the story, blushing all the while, then points out that at least he never got stuck halfway up an off-limits slope because he was daydreaming, and to which Jake responds that that’s not even in his top ten wipeouts, dude.

Aubrey hangs around, helping Dani with the dishes while they chat about childhood pets (Dani had a frog that required her to drop food on his head in order for him to notice it). When she finally re-laces her boots, her new friend is smiling constantly and Dani never wants to look at anything else.

“Hey, uh, tonight was really fun. Do you want to come by on Friday? I’m, uh, I’m cooking, so it won’t be as good as what Barclay made, but I’d love for you to try my breakfast salad. Oh, and my muffin. Muffins.”

“I’d love to. And don’t sell yourself short, flowergirl” Aubrey winks, shooting finger guns her way, “I bet your dinner is gonna rule.”

----------------------------------------------------

“What do you think? Too much?” Aubrey turns from the mirror. Dr. Harris Bonkers wiggles his nose.

“You’re right, the heels are too much. Gotta leave some plausible deniability. And be able to run away if this goes bad.” She tosses the black heels back into the closet and squeezes into the tiny bathroom to start on her make-up. It has to be perfect, or as perfect as she can get it in the mirror that’s inexplicably high up on the wall.

Yeesh, is getting ready to impress a cute girl really the thing making her consider moving back in with dad? It would be easier to find the right clothes if she had a space to hang them up in, instead of stacked boxes to dig through. But walking the streets where mom used to hold her hand, eating at the places they’d go for breakfast, all those vortexes of memories are hard enough to free herself from on their own. Sitting in the chair she used to, expecting to see her at the table or in the yard, those things would be too much.

It’s been easier since she found Amnesty. Since she found Dani. It’s hard to be stuck in the shadows of the past when there’s a beautiful ray of sunshine sitting next to you. She has dinner there most days now, practices her new routine while Dani updates the inventory for her online plant store.

Relatedly, Aubrey now has several rabbit-safe houseplants that Dani always offers to come check on. Aubrey’s actually pretty good with plants, but she’s not about to miss out on an evening sandwiched next to Dani on her futon and the ghost of jasmine perfume winding around her when she sleeps.

Amnesty is lit only by the string lights on the porch and the glow from the kitchen when Aubrey bounds up the stairs.

“Dani?”

“Oh, hey, you’re early.” Dani leans in the doorway of the kitchen and Aubrey’s brain sounds like a cartoon, nothing but “boiiings” and “wowzas” for a good ten seconds.

Dani’s hair is out of it’s usual messy bun, and instead of her overalls or patched jeans, she’s in a short, heather green tank-top dress. Getting on her knees to kiss the vine tattoos weaving up her legs would be too forward, but boy does she want to.

“Took an earlier bus just to be safe. Man, it’s so weird to be here when it’s this quiet.”

“No kidding; I can’t remember the last time I was the only one here.” Dani shoos her through the kitchen and out into the back garden. The little white table usually piled with tools is cleared of everything but a green tablecloth and two wine glasses. That’s another point in the “yes, this is a date” category. The first was that Dani was careful to emphasize that everyone would be gone for the night for camping, work, or ill-advised urban skate stunts.

“Sit your cute butt down, I’ll be right back with dinner.”

That’s the first butt-based compliment she’s gotten, so score one for this red skirt. When Dani comes back, Aubrey can’t help but bounce in her seat; her crush is carrying a board covered in fruit and bread, and she absolutely sees a fondue pot on the counter inside.

“Since Cheesy Heat closed, I thought I could recreate it for us. Kinda. Barclay said he thinks they used a super fancy cheese that’s hard to get here.”

“That’s probably why they went out of business. Dang, why so many fondue pots?”

“Barclay keeps getting them for Christmas.” She sets the chocolate one down next to the cheese, and when she tugs on her dress before sitting down Aubrey’s mouth waters from more than just the meal.

The stars come out as they take turns making a mess of the table cloth, but the longer she sits here, happier than she’s been in years, the more Aubrey knows she can’t put the question off.

“Why the fancy dinner tonight?”

Dani dabs her mouth with her napkin, “I, uh, I, Cheesy Heat was my go-to, uh” her voice drops to a whisper, “date place.”

“Ohthankgod.” Aubrey flops back in her chair, “this is a date.”

“Did you think it wasn’t?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t wanna, like, assume.”

“Fireblossom” Dani stands, making a little half circle to reach her, “the first time we met you were stealing from me assuming I wouldn’t notice.”

“To be fair, getting caught in petty theft is less terrifying than making an ass out of yourself in front of a hot girl.” She grins as Dani straddles her lap.

“...okay you’re right, I’d hate to embarrass myself in front of you. Again.”

“A girl who can run me down in sandals is pretty hot.”

“Pfft” Dani giggles, hides her face in Aubrey’s shoulder, “not as hot as a girl who can sprint while carrying a twelve pound rabbit.”

“Seventeen.” Aubrey kisses her cheek, whispers teasingly, “you shoulda told me this was a date, I could’ve brought flowers.”

“You can bring me some next time.” Dani sits up, smiling at her.

“Sweet, I know somewhere I can get them for free.” She bounces her eyebrows, making the vision of perfection in her lap laugh.

“Nope, this time it’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

Dani cups her cheeks and dives down for a kiss, Aubrey clinging to her dress and sighing as she slips her tongue between her lips.

“Few of those” Dani murmurs, brushing their noses together.

“I’m happy to pay them.”

[n1ght5h4d3-24]

A Semi-Apple Pie Life (Chapter 5)

A/N: 8 months later and I’m back! Who missed this story? Well here’s a new chapter and it’s lengthy. 12 DAYS UNTIL SEASON 2 DROPS!!! 

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Winchester!OC 

Summary

[Previous Chapter]

Warning: Foul langauge

Skylar woke up early the next morning, her internal clock still set on just getting four hours of sleep. She didn't see Samandriel anywhere in the room and figured he was still out. She knew he'd show up eventually, he was her best friend. The young huntress pulled herself out of bed and her sock cladded feet carried her to the window in her motel room. She pulled the blinds open to see that it was still a bit dark out but, the sun was starting to rise which was starting to change the color of the sky. Instead of watching the sunrise from the window, Skylar decided to step out of the room and leaned against the railing that was across from her room.

Her amber eyes watched as the sky went from a midnight blue to red-orange as the sun came up. It was a pretty sight, especially with it reflecting off the water. But, it was early and she was supposed to be living a normal life so she reentered her room, closed the door behind her and laid back down on the bed. It took a few minutes until she fell back asleep. Hours later, a blaring siren caused Skylar to jolt awake. She was alert immediately, getting up from the bed and looking out the window as she had left the blind open that faced outward to motel parking lot. The young huntress could see trees bending in the wind, at the same time she heard the familiar sound of angel wings coming from behind her.

"Skylar!" Samandriel called her name in a worried tone.

She turned around, looking at the angel in confusion.

"Samandriel? What's wrong?" she asked him.

He walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her and drew her into his chest.

"Have to get you out of here now!" he says before teleporting her out of the motel.

They reappeared back at the bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, in Skylar's room. Samandriel let go of the girl then, taking a step back from her.

"What's the matter Samandriel? Why did you bring me back to the bunker?" the youngest Winchester asked him.

"There was hurricane approaching Kildare Island, it won't be safe to return there until tomorrow. That motel wasn't a safe place to be when the hurricane hits." he explains.

Skylar nods in understanding.

"Alright, we'll spend the day here in the bunker and then return to the motel in the morning." she tells him.

The two of them spent the rest of the day in the bunker together, luckily it seemed like the brothers were out on a hunt so they were able to roam around the bunker without having to explain why they were there. For the rest of the day, they hung out in Dean's Man Cave, watching Netflix on the plasma screen and Sky snacked on junk food. When nighttime rolled around, the youngest Winchester vacated the Man Cave in favor of heading into the kitchen to make herself something for dinner. Samandriel walked in behind her, keeping an eye on her as she cooked. She made herself a grilled cheese sandwich as well as heating up a can of tomato soup. Once her dinner was ready, she ate it and the angel joined her at the table. The angel watched as the young huntress dipped one half of her grilled cheese sandwich into the bowl of tomato soup before eating it. Samandriel never got to experience tasting food as an angel he could only taste the molecules. Skylar finished up her food and stuck her dishes in the sink before heading for her room, ready for bed after a lazy day. Dressed in her pajamas, she laid down in bed and eventually fell asleep.

The next afternoon, the brunette with blonde highlights found herself back in her motel room. She and Samandriel were getting ready to move the mattress outside when they heard voices outside, knocking on the door of the room next to them.

"Housekeeping!" Skylar heard one of the voices say in a high-pitched voice.

She giggled slightly at the ridiculous tone before moving to the window to peek out the blinds. She saw two familiar boys that she had seen at the Wreck the other day that were standing outside the room next door before they entered the room.

"Uh, a little help?" Samandriel spoke up, holding one end of the mattress.

Skylar turned away from the window and picked up the other side of the mattress to carry it outside. They set it up against the railing so it could dry out and the huntress took a moment to look at the door to the next room, she could hear the boys moving around the room before hearing frantic voices from below. She walked to the end of upper floor to see Kie and a friend of hers climbing off a boat before racing to stand under a window. She looked around to figure out what was causing them to panic and spotted a pair of police officers coming up the stairs. Putting two and two together, figuring the boys were up to no good in the neighboring room and that the cops were headed to the same room. She needed to buy a few seconds while Kie and her friend did what they could to alert the boys in the room.

"Want a free mattress?" she overheard one cop asked.

She noticed it was a male and female duo.

"How about a free lamp?" the guy asked his partner.

"Good day officers." the young huntress greeted the two.

"G'day," the female officer greeted the girl.

The male just nodded his head in a greeting.

"Checking in on the residents of the motel?" Skylar asked them as they walked by her.

The male froze and his partner stopped beside him. The male cop turned around to face the youngest Winchester.

"Umm…yes, that is exactly what we're doing. How are you?" he asks her.

Skylar observed the man, he was lying straight through his teeth. They weren't here to check on whoever was staying at the motel, they were visiting for something else. But she knows it best not to say anything about it.

"I'm good. Glad the hurricane didn't do too much severe damage around here." she says.

The officers nodded their heads and carried on their way. Skylar watched as the they approached the room next door and she could only hope the boys inside had been warned. She ran towards the end of the outer hallway and could see Kie and her other friend back on the boat. She heard something clatter on the ground before watching as Kie's friend that was on the boat with her spin around and started a conversation with Kie. Skylar figured that one of the cops were looking out the window in that moment and they were trying to seem non-suspicious. She then leaned over the railing just a bit and looked around to see if she could spot what fell to the ground when she turned her head to the left, she saw the two boys that had gone into the room were now standing on a slanted roof piece outside the window. The blond with hazel eyes locked eyes with her amber ones and he gave her a cocky smirk. She rolled her eyes at his behavior before she was pulled backwards. Samandriel had pulled her back into their room just before the cops came out of the room next door. She watched as the two cops walked by her room, the male holding a duffel bag.

"That, was close. Thanks Samandriel." Skylar said to the angel.

"Of course. You are supposed to be keeping a low profile while you're here." he reminds her.

"Right, and being on some dirty cops' police radar wouldn't exactly be laying low." Skylar says.

Samandriel nodded in his head in agreement, "Exactly."

He thought for a moment, "Wait, dirty cops?" he asks, confused.

"A corrupted cop who part takes in illegal activities or abuses their authority. Those cops walked out with a duffel bag and something tells me there's more going on then collecting someone's belongings." she tells him.

The youngest Winchester then poked her head out of the room and looked around before stepping out of the room. She makes her way to the room next door and tries the handle, surprised to discover that the door was unlocked. She opened the door and walked into the room. Samandriel trailed in behind her and watched as she looked around the room. The brunette with blonde highlights haired female searched the room for any clues. Her amber eyes fell on a black safe that lied within a cabinet, which had been left open. She approached the safe and squatted down to get a better look at it.

"Wait! Don't touch it." Samandriel spoke up from the doorway.

Skylar turned her head to look at her best friend, "Don't worry, I'm not going to touch it." she assures him.

She pulls out a pair of latex hand gloves from her back pocket that she had shoved in there and put them on before opening the safe and taking a peek inside of it.

"I knew it, there is something more going on here." she says as she looks at what's inside the safe.

She then pulls out her pocket flashlight and shone the light inside, scanning the safe. She hummed thoughtfully as she looks around the safe before turning the light off and putting her flashlight away. She carefully closed the safe door before standing up and peeled the gloves off. She walks out of the motel room and Samandriel follows her back into their room.

"Just as I suspected. Those cops are dirty. There was a nine and a half by twelve and a half envelope missing out of the safe, as well as a gun and three small stacks of money. I'm assuming that one of the two boys took the gun and a stack of money while the cops indulged themselves in a stack of money each and removed the envelope due to whatever was inside it." she tells the angel.

The brunet looked at her in surprise, "How'd you know that?" he wonders.

"Whoever was staying in that room didn't touch what they had placed in the safe, after the original placing. Dust collected overtime as the safe hadn't been opened. So there was an outline of where the envelope had been sitting and there was a clean area surrounded by lots of dust as if something had been lying there which prevented dust to getting in that area. I also remember hearing a clattering sound when we were moving the mattress out of the room, I know what the sound of a falling hand gun sounds like as I've had my own gun get thrown out of my hand on hunts. Plus, I counted the money and that's how I know three stacks of it were gone too." Skylar informs him.

Samandriel nodded his head in understanding, her reasoning made sense to him. He heard a loud rumbling sound then, turning his attention back to his friend.

"Did you eat breakfast?" He inquires.

The youngest Winchester smiles sheepishly before shaking her head.

"Skylar Winchester! You humans need to be eating at least 3 meals a day." Samandriel tells her.

"I know, I know. I just forgot to have breakfast today, was busy doing something else."

He sighs, "Come on then. Let's get you some food."

Skylar nodded her head and the two of them left the motel. They headed to the Wreck and the youngest Winchester took notice that Kiara wasn't in. She order food and ate once it was brought to her table. Samandriel took to people watching while Skylar ate, he noticed that there seemed to be differences with the people and how they acted. When Skylar had finished eating and paid along with tipping, the two of them decided to take a walk around the island, exploring.

"Huh, the island seems to be split by class." Skylar observed.

"What do you mean?" Samandriel asked in confusion.

"Well, the motel we're staying at. It was run down but, still in decent condition. These houses around here are in better condition than the motel was. I noticed the change awhile back." she tells him.

Samandriel nodded his head in understanding.

The two continued their exploration until night fell. As they made their way back to their motel, Skylar could hear voices coming from a nearby beach. She changed her direction and headed for the beach instead, Samandriel followed behind her. When they got to the beach, Skylar was surprised to see so many people gathered in one place.

"Hey, Skylar!" a voice called out.

The girl looked around for who called her name. She didn't have to look hard as Kiara walked right up to her.

"Oh, hey Kie." the brunette with blonde highlights greeted.

"I'm glad you're here. Would you like a drink?" Kiara asks.

"I uh...sure, why not." Skylar said.

Kiara took Skylar's hand and pulled her further onto the beach. The two girls stopped in front of a keg and Kiara filled up a red Solo cup for the girl before handing it off to her. Skylar took a look inside the cup before downing all of it contents. She couldn't help but, make a face at the alcohol burning her throat.

"First time drinking?" Kiara wondered.

Skylar nodded her head, "Yeah."

Kiara takes the cup from her and fills it up again before giving it back to her. Skylar drinks it all and then Kiara takes her hand again.

"Come on, let's party."

Skylar followed Kiara's lead and enjoyed the party with her, drinking more as the night progressed. At some point, the girls calmed down and just spoke with one another. Their attention was drawn to loud voices near the ocean. A fight broke out between two boys and they made their way to the front of the group.

"Guys? Guys!" Kiara called out.

There was nothing they could do, having to be witnessess to the brawl. Around them, the others were chanting for the two boys to fight.

"Stop! John B!" Kiara called out again, pleading for her friend to stop.

The fight was taken into the water as the boys attacked one another and one boy began to hold the other boys head in the water.

"Topper! Topper, stop! No!" Another girl cried out.

"No!" a boy standing beside Kiara shouted.

Skylar felt helpless as she was frozen by the scene playing out in front of her. The boy then turned to Kiara.

"He's drowning him." he tells her.

"I know." she responded.

"Topper!" the same girl from before shouted.

Then a blond boy intervined and put a gun to the back of Topper's head. Topper froze when he realized what it was.

"Yeah, you know what that is. Your move broski." the boy said.

"Come on. Chill, dude!" someone shouted.

"JJ!" the girl cried out.

"Chill!" the boy that had been standing beside Kiara shouted.

"JJ! Stop!" Kiara shouted.

"JJ! Put the gun down." a female voice said.

"Did you say something, Princess?" JJ asked her, gun still pressed against the back of Topper's head.

"We're good. We're good." Topper tells him, putting his hands up. "Alright? Come on, man!"

JJ shoved Topper down into the water and turned around.

"Kie! Can you check your psycho friend, please?" the same girl from before said to Kiara.

When JJ pulled the gun out, Skylar had reached for the back waistband of her jeans as she had her own gun stashed there. Samandriel came up beside her, guarding her.

"Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!" JJ shouted pointing the gun into the air and fired two rounds.

"Are you crazy?! You idiot!" a boy shouts at JJ. "Why would you do that?!"

"It's not worth it!" Kiara shouted.

"I was saving his life!" JJ shouted back, shoving the one boy back.

"Stupid! You're gonna jeopardize everything!" the boy shouted.

Skylar took notice of John B. passing out in the ocean. She makes her way over to him and Samandriel follows behind her. He kneels down beside John B. and holds his hand over him before Skylar stops him.

"Don't. You'll expose yourself. These kids don't know anything about what's out there." she whispered to him.

Samandriel nodded his head and put his hand down. Kiara and the two boys came up behind the two of them.

"We're going to take him home," Kiara tells her.

"Let me help you guys." Skylar says.

"No its okay. This is our mess."

"I want to help."

Kiara looked to the two boys with her and they gave her shrugs.

"Okay, you can help."

The five of them picked up John B. out of the water and they brought him to a beat up mini van.

"Place him inside and then we can take it from there." Kiara tells Skylar.

The girl nodded her head and got the van's side door opened before helping the trio get John B. inside. The five of them set him down carefully before Kiara, JJ and the other boy turned to Skylar and her friend.

"Thank you for this. I'm sorry my idiot friends ruined our night." Kiara tells Skylar.

"They didn't ruin the night. It was pretty interesting for my first party." Skylar said.

"Well, I hope we get to see you more often." JJ flirted.

Kiara elbowed him in the side and Skylar laughed.

"You guys are definitely an interesting bunch.

"Sky, we better be getting back." Samandriel tells her.

"I apologize but, my friend has a point. We'll see y'all around." Skylar tells them.

Kiara, JJ and the other boy gave her a nod before giving waves. Skylar and Samandriel gave the trio waves of their own before turning around and heading back to their motel. They returned to their room and Skylar retired for the night.

The next morning, Skylar woke up with a pounding headache and the sunlight shining into the motel room wasn't helping. Samandriel approached her bedside, checking on her wellbeing.

"Ugh, I don't know how Dean drinks all the time. My head is killing me." she groans.

"That's because your brother started drinking when he was around your age and is now an alcoholic. He also drinks every so often during the day and not all at once like you just did last night. Unless he goes to a bar." Samandriel tells her.

"Never again, I feel like shit."

Samandriel places two fingers against Skylar's forehead and his eyes became a blueish-silvery color as his grace ran through the youngest Winchester's body. She let out a sigh of relief as his grace healed her. When he was done, Samandriel took his fingers off her forehead and he looked down at her.

"Mmm...much better. Thank you Samandriel." she tells him.

"You're welcome." he responds.

Skylar then hummed thoughtfully, "I would like to check up on John B. That fight was pretty rough last night and he was nearly drowned."

"That sounds like a good idea." Samandriel agrees.

She nods and then climbs out of bed to get ready for the day. Samandriel stepped out to give her privacy to change. Once she was ready, Skylar joined the angel outside. The two headed out, and Skylar decided they should head to the Wreck first to ask Kiara where John B. lived. The two journied to the place and entered the diner when they arrived. Skylar looked around for Kiara and found her behind the counter.

"Hey Kie, good morning." she greets the girl.

"Oh, hey Skylar. Morning to you as well. What can I do for you?" Kiara wonders.

"I was wondering if you would mind telling me where John B. lives. I just want to check up on him after last night."

"That'd actually be great. Pope and I haven't had the chance to check on him because we both have to work this morning and JJ is most likely still out cold at his home."

Kiara gave Skylar directions to John B's house and the girl gave her farewells before leaving, Samandriel following out behind her. The two of them began the walk to John B's house. When they eventually arrived, they could hear voices inside.

"You're skimmin' above the surface, John B. Now down here is foster car, juvie. Pretty big drop for a smart kid like you. Up here is you and your little friends doing whatever you want. Outer Banks...or foster care on the mainland." a female voice said.

Skylar started patting herself before finding what she was looking for and walked up to John B's house. Samandriel hung back.

"John B? You home?" she asked, knocking on the screen door.

Inside she could see John B. and a police officer, both who turned their heads to see who was there. John B. had a look of confusion on his face and the police officer seemed a little irritated. Skylar opens the screen door and steps into the house.

"Ma'am, is there a problem?" she asks the officer.

"Who are you?" the officer asked instead.

"Agent Wilson with NOV-8," Skylar tells her before pulling out her badge to show the officer.

"NOV-8? Never heard of it and you look a little young to be an agent." the officer said.

"We're an elite international organization of women operatives from all over the world. They keep an eye on exceptionally, intelligent females, like myself, and hire them once they believe they are ready no matter the age." Skylar explained, putting her badge away.

"Now, is there a problem here?" she repeats her question.

"Just questioning John B. here and letting him know that he will have to go into foster care as he isn't old enough to be on his own." the officer tells her.

"I'm sorry but, that can't happen. John B. here is my charge. NOV-8 is an only a female organization but, we send our agents out into the field every now and again to work with our counterparts that we have on radar. John B. happens to be one of those men." Skylar explained.

"I see..." the officer says.

She then turns back to John B. "Are you sure you didn't come across a wreck yesterday?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure." John B. answers.

"It's better if you didn't, understand? I'm gonna look the other way, as long as you stay out of the marsh." the officer tells him.

She moves past John B. and Skylar to walk out the door.

"I got dogs livin' better than this, John B. You might wanna think about cleaning up." she remarks before walking out of John B.'s house.

Said boy turns to look at Skylar when the officer was gone.

"Agent Wilson?" he asked in confusion.

"What? Oh, no. My name is Skylar Winchester. That was just an elaborate lie I came up with. It's kinda what I do..." the brunette with blonde highlights explained.

"Wow. That was a really impressive lie. I actually believed you." John B. tells her.

Skylar shrugged, "Like I said, it's kind of what I do. Now, are you alright? I actually came here to check up on you after last night."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. I'm good. Not the first brawl I've gotten into." he says.

She steps closer to him, and carefully raises her hands to place them on his cheeks. John B. allows her to do so and watches her.

"That black eye doesn't look so good." she notes.

"I don't know, I think it makes me look tuff." John B. comments.

"John B! You inside?" a voice called from outside.

Skylar quickly pulled her hands away from John B's face and stepped back from the curly haired boy. The blond boy entered the home, minutes later.

"Oh, hey Skylar. I wasn't expecting to see you here." JJ says.

"Hey JJ," she gives him a smile. "I was just checking up on your friend here after last night."

"It is not the first brawl we've ever gotten into. Pogues vs Kooks is a daily occurance." JJ explains.

"John B. was just telling me." she says.

"Well, I better be getting going." she mentions.

"No!" both boys exclaimed.

"You can stay here, we don't mind." John B. tells her.

"Hey wait a minute, where's your shadow?" JJ wonders.

"My friend Alfie? He's around." she says.

"Oh, alright. Kiara and Pope should be here soon." JJ tells her.

The trio hung around John B's house, the boys getting to know Skylar until Pope and Kiara showed up. Everyone moved outside to hang out on the porch.

"I almost wanted to call this whole thing off. Peterkin told me that she'd help me with DCS if we stayed out of the marsh but then, Skylar here showed up and told such a believable lie that even Peterkin believed her and left me alone." John B. tells the others.

"Woah, how did you pull that off?" JJ wonders.

"It's just something I do. You just need to believe in the lie you're telling and tell it with confidence." Skylar tells him.

"Would you mind demonstrating?" he asks.

The others turned to her, curious and she shrugs.

"Sure, I guess. Umm...my name is Skylar Winchester, I'm a huntress but, not the kind you usually think of. I hunt the monsters that are out there, the monsters you only read about in books. My friend Alfie is actually named Samandriel and he's an angel. I'm also friend's with the king of Hell."

The Pogues shared looks with each other before looking back at her.

"Wow, you're right John B. I actually believed her." JJ says.

"That's a very impressive lie." Pope comments.

"What do you do that requires you to lie elaboratly?" Kiara inquires.

Skylar only gave them a smile, one that told them that she had secrets that she intended to keep hidden.

"John B, listen to me. I have a plan." JJ says, changing the subject.

"You've got the key to Cameron's big boat, right?"

"No," John B tries to dismiss the blond's idea.

"There's scuba gear. We borrow that and go down to the wreck this afternoon, that will save you for certain. You don't see rich kids in foster care." JJ says.

John B looked at his friend blankly before sighing.

"Alright, fine. I'll meet you guys once I've got the equipment." he says.

Everyone parts ways and Skylar reunites with Samandriel and the two of them head down to the beach.

"So, tell me about your new friends." Samandriel says as he walks alongside Skylar.

"They're not my friends, Samandriel. I just saved John B. from being taken into foster care and his friends are grateful."

"But, didn't they just invite you to hang out with them?"

"I mean...I guess."

"Then they'll be your friends soon enough, as long as you give them a chance."

Skylar sighs, "I'll try my best. But it won't be easy. They clearly don't know what's out there."

"Maybe so but, you aren't supposed to be a huntress here. You're supposed to be a normal teen girl."

"Samandriel, I can't just stop being a huntress. It's a part of me. But, you're right. Sam and Dean sent me away so I can try to be normal while they deal with Amara..."

Before Samandriel could say anything more, JJ approached the duo.

"Hey Skylar. John B's got the gear. We're meeting at the dock and I'm here to bring you there."

"Right, okay. Oh, JJ this is my friend Alfie." Skylar introduces the blond to the brunet standing beside her.

"Nice to meet you, man. You coming with?" JJ wonders.

"No, no. I have my own things to do." Samandriel tells him.

"Alright well, you ready?" JJ asks, turning to look at Skylar.

The girl looks at Samandriel, who gave her a subtle nod, before she looked back at JJ.

"Yeah, lead the way."

The duo walk away from the beach, heading in the direction of John B's house.

"So what brings you to the Outer Banks?" JJ wonders.

"Vacation." Skylar answered.

"Ah, so you're a Touron then."

"I uh...I guess so."

"So is it just you and your friend then?"

"Yeah, yeah it is. My brothers...they're busy with some family business and sent me here with my best friend to relax."

"I see. And are the two of you...?"

"What? Oh! No, no. We're just friends, really good friends. And no, to answer your next question, there's no one back home either. It's just me and my brothers. It's been that way since I was eleven."

When the last sentence came out of her mouth, Skylar had a flashback to when her mother had been possessed by a Leviathan who had attempted to kill her before Dean sliced her head clean off with his machete.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"It's alright. You didn't know and I've had time to grieve."

An awkward silence fell over the two of them until JJ cleared his throat.

"Um...the dock is right down there. C'mon."

He heads down and Skylar follows after him. The others were there, on the boat, waiting on them. When the duo boarded the HMS Pogue, John B. drove the boat out into the marsh. When they got to where, Skylar assumed the sunken boat was, John B. parked the boat and dropped the anchor while Kie starts to check the oxygen levels of the tanks that John B. had stolen.

"This is empty. You took empty tanks?" she questioned.

"I-" John B. takes a seat beside her.

Kie checks another tank, "Okay, this one's a quarter full. It's enough for one of us."

"Love it when a plan comes together," Pope comments.

"Does anybody know how to dive?" Kie asks.

The boys looks at each other.

"Anybody?"

"It's kind of a Kook sport." JJ says.

"I...read about it." Pope says quietly.

"Great, Pope's read about it. So someone's gonna die." Kie says.

"Look, y-you put the thingie in your mouth and breathe. How hard can it be?" JJ wonders.

"If you come up too fast, nitrogen gets in your bloods and you get the bends." Pope informs him.

"The bends?" JJ asked in confusion. "Like bend over?" he bends forward slightly.

"The bends will kill you." Pope tells him.

"Right." JJ says, pretending he knew that.

"I can...I can dive." John B. pipes up.

"You can dive. I'm cool with that." JJ agrees.

"Since when can you dive?" Kie asks him.

"I'll do it. It's fine." John B. assures her.

"Let me do some calculations real quick." Pope tells him.

He reaches for the pencil and paper on the dashboard of the boat.

"That boat's about 30 feet down."

"Okay," John B said, listening to his friend.

"So, it'll take about 25 minutes at that depth."

"Twenty-five," John B repeats.

“Which means you need to make your safety stop at about...ten feet. All right? For two minutes.” Pope tells him. 

“Yeah, yeah. Ten feet, two minutes. Got it.” John B agrees. 

Kiara suddenly jumps into the water after taking her shirt off. 

“What was that all about?” Pope asks. 

“I don’t know but, I liked it. A lot.” JJ answers. 

Skylar rolls her eyes, typical teenage boy behavior. 

“Uh so...” John B says. 

“Yeah. Uh, when you...uh, when you’re down there, you look for the cargo hold. You stick this thing inside and twist and pull, okay?” JJ says, handing an odd shaped key to his friend. 

“Stick in, twist, pull.” John B repeats. 

“Yeah. My dad moved weight back in the day.” JJ says. 

John B starts to gear up. 

“Hey! I tied my T-shirt to the anchor chain about ten feet down. It’s where you need to do your safety stop.” Kie calls out. 

“Cool,” John B says. 

“Keep an eye on this,” Pope says, pointing at the oxygen meter. “You need to make sure you have enough air to decompress.” 

“Okay, how much do I need?” John B asks. 

“Unclear. Breathe as little as possible.” 

“Zen. Think Zen, you know.” JJ tells him. 

“Yeah, got it.” 

Kiara climbs back onto the boat. 

“Hey, if we get caught in the marsh, we’re basically screwed so...better get a move on.” Pope says. 

“Copy that.” 

Kie approaches John B and places a kiss on his cheek. He stares at her for a moment, clearly surprised by her action. 

“Diver down?” 

“Diver down.” 

John B pulls the scuba mask over his face before getting into the water. The squad watches as John B swims down. They watch his descend until a siren whoops being them. Pope looks over. 

“Shit, JJ.” 

JJ turns around, “Guys that’s the police.” 

“Oh you gotta be kidding me.” 

Skylar looks between the police boat and the spot where John B had gone down before she kicked her shoes off and jumped into the water. JJ, Pope and Kie look over when they heard the splash but, then looked back at the police boat. 

“Yep, that’s the police.” JJ comments. 

“Just act frickin’ normal.” Kie tells the boys. 

As the trio on the boat deal with the officers, Skylar swims down to John B. She notices him searching the boat, so she helps him. He notices her before continuing his search. It wasn’t long until he found the cargo hold. He inserts the key, twist and pulls, removing the lid. Skylar swims closer to him and helps him pull out a backpack that was inside the cargo hold. Then the duo makes their way to the anchor line and start to head back up. They both stop at Kie’s tied T-shirt and when John B looks up, he notices another boat beside his own. So they wait for the boat to leave. Then they see someone’s silhouette just above the water and they’re still waiting. By the time the other boat finally leaves, John B had run out of air. 

“He’s definitely out of air.” Pope says. 

“And so is Skylar. She jumped in without an oxygen tank and has been down there the whole time.” Kie adds. 

Suddenly, both John B and Skylar’s heads break through the surface.

“There they are!” JJ exclaims. 

“Oh God! Jesus Christ! Don’t scare us like that!” Pope says.

“How’d it go down there?” JJ wonders. 

John B makes an okay sign with his hand before he swims around to the back of the boat, Skylar following behind him. JJ heads to the back of the boat as well. 

“Did you find anything?” he asks. 

“Did I find anything?” John B repeated before lifting the backpack above the water. 

“Yeah, there we go! That’s my boy!” JJ cheered, taking the bag from his friend. 

“Y’all okay?” Kie asks. 

“Yeah, I ran out of air.” John B answered. 

“Doing alright,” Skylar responded. 

“You scared the shit out of me.” Kie tells them. 

“Yeah, the cops were up here, but uh...took care of ‘em.” Pope tells John B. 

John B and Skylar climb up onto the boat. 

“My bad,” John B apologizes. 

“You’re all good.” Pope tells him. 

“Yeah, you kinda missed the show, brother.” JJ says. 

Kiara looks over her shoulder, as John B takes off the oxygen tank, and notices something. 

“Hey, guys? Guys, bogey, two o’clock.” she states. 

“What?” JJ asked. 

Everyone else turns around and looks at the approaching boat. 

“Do you recognize that boat?” Pope asks. 

“I’ve never seen it.” Kie says. “What are they doing back here? The marsh is closed.” 

“Let’s not stick around and find out.” JJ says. 

“JJ, get the bowline.” John B tells his friend.

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

He moves to the front of the boat and gets to work on pulling up the anchor. 

“Should we wait on ‘em?” Pope wonders. 

“No, we’re not.” John B tells him. 

“Are you joking?” Kie asks. 

“Go get the stern. Go!” John B. tells Pope. 

“JJ, hurry up.” Kie tells the blond. 

Skylar kept her eyes on the boat, an unsettling feeling blooming in her gut.

“Guys, don’t wait for me. Go.” JJ says, still pulling up the anchor. 

“Pull out the stern.” Pope says. 

JJ moved a bit further back into the boat after the anchor was up. John B. started up the boat and began to drive. 

“I don’t like this.” he comments. 

“Are they coming for us?” Pope wonders. 

“Maybe they’re out fishing.” John B. suggests.

“Go, go, go, go!” JJ says when he notices the boat still heading in their direction. 

“Go into the marsh,” Pope directs. 

“Let’s go!” Kie says. 

“I’m going,” John B. steers the boat into another part of the marsh. 

“Act natural. Act natural.” Pope tells the others. 

Skylar and Kiara noticed that the mystery boat was following behind them. They share a look before Kiara turns to the boys. 

“Hey guys, they’re following us.” she alerts them. 

“Oh, this can’t be good.” Pope comments. 

“Shit,” John B. mutters under his breath. 

“Dude, you gotta go faster.” JJ tells his friend. 

“I’m going!” 

“Gun it!” 

It became a boat chase, John B. attempted to get away from the strangers but, they continued to pursue the Pogues. John B. would turn around a bend and the other boat would turn not too far behind. Skylar’s eyes went wide as she saw one of the guys pick up a rifle and aimed it in their direction. The man missed but, the Pogues ducked down when they heard the gunshot. 

“What the...” Pope said. 

“Holy shit!” Kiara exclaimed. 

“John B, get down.” JJ tells his friend. 

John B. does his best to continue to steer the boat while crouched down to avoid being shot at. Another shot goes off and luckily misses the teens again. 

“Oh my God, we’re going to die.” Pope cried. 

Skylar stands up and pulls out her handgun from out of the back waistband of her jeans. She takes aim before firing a shot back. 

“What the-” JJ looks up to see the girl standing upright. 

“Keep driving, John B.” Skylar tells the curly haired brunet. 

She fires off another shot just as another one goes off from the guy. She takes the hit in her left side.

“Oh my God!” Kie exclaimed. 

“What? What is it?” John B. asks, looking over his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about it, keep driving.” Skylar tells him, not faltering as blood poured from her side. 

Kie gets up, “Shit! Pope, move.” 

She moves past him, heading for the front of the boat. She gathers up a net when another gunshot goes off. 

“Get down, Kie!” John B. tells her. 

Skylar fires back but, missed, hearing the bullet clang against the hull of the other boat. Kie walked to the back of the boat and tosses the net into the water and everyone watches as the other boat runs straight over the net before coming to a stop as the net most likely got tied in the rudder of the boat. Another gunshot goes off but, the teens made it away safely. 

“Oh my God! Whoo!” JJ cheered. 

“Whew!” Kie sighed in relief. 

Skylar lowers her arm before she stumbles back, which John B. notices. 

“Boo-yeah! Pogue God, man!” JJ exclaims. 

“Skylar, are you alright?” John B. asks the girl. 

She turns around and offers him a reassuring smile before she collapses to the boat floor. 

“Oh my God!” Kiara exclaimed. 

She makes her way over to the other girl and opens up the girl’s flannel shirt before lifting up the shirt underneath. The first thing she notices is a large scar that ran down from the center of Skylar’s chest to her right hip, she takes note that the scar resembled a claw mark...a very large claw mark. Then she notices the bullet wound on Skylar’s left side. 

“She’s been hit and is bleeding out.” Kiara informed the boys. 

She places her hands on the girl’s wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. John B. steered the boat back to his dock. When they reached the dock, John B. and JJ tied the boat up before JJ and Pope picked up the unconscious girl and carried her up onto the dock before gently setting her down. Kiara resumed applying pressure to the wound. 

“What do we do?” Kie asks. 

“I...I don’t know.” John B. stuttered. 

“We don’t have what we need to patch her up.” Pope says. 

JJ thinks for a moment before getting an idea. 

“Alfie? Alfie!” he calls out, hoping that the girl’s friend was nearby by chance. 

The Pogues heard a strange noise before turning around, jumping back in surprise at the sudden appearance of Alfie. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“We...we were being shot at and she took a hit while defending us.” Kiara explained. 

Alfie waks over to Skylar’s unconscious form before crouching beside her. He places a hand over the wound once Kiara moved her hands out of the way. The Pogues watched as some kind of light seemed to emit from Alfie’s hand before watching as the wound heals itself. 

“What in the...” Pope mutters. 

When the gunshot wound was healed, Alfie moved his hand away from the girl and Skylar woke up moments later. 

“Sky! Are you alright?” Kie asks in concern. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m alright. Not the first time I’ve been shot.” she tells her. 

“What just happened?” Pope wonders. 

Skylar looks at Samandriel before looking at the Pogues. 

“So, what’s in the bag?” she asks, changing the subject. 

The Pogues all look at each other before John B. grabs the discarded bag and starts to go through it. 

“What do you think it is?” Kiara wonders. 

“Gotta be money, right?” John B. says, rifling through the wet bag. 

“That or a couple of keys with street value to the low-to-mid-mils!” JJ says cheerily. 

“Can we please just open the bag?” Pope asks in exasperation. 

“Wow, Pope. That’s a rare outburst of emotion.” John B. says. 

“You guys are literally killing me with anticipation.” Pope tells him. 

John B. continues to rifle through the bag before pulling out a smaller bag. He opens it up and pulls out a metal, cylinder canister. Skylar gets up with the help of Samandriel and makes her way over to the others, watching in anticipation. John B. opens the canister and turns it over. Out slides a compass into his hand. 

“Oh wow. Yup. That’s about right. Good job, everybody. We found a compass.” Pope says. 

JJ takes of his hat and Skylar notices John B’s intense gaze on the compass. JJ turns back, looking at his friend. 

“Dude, what? It’s not worth anything.” He tells his friend. 

“This was my father’s.” John B. shares. 

Kie, Pope and JJ all share a look with each other while Skylar looks at Samandriel. Something told her that something big was about to happen with this group and she had a feeling that she was about to be dragged into it with them. This semi-apple pie life of hers was about to get interesting and she planned on looking after her new friends, and try to keep, what just happened, out of the minds of the Pogues. 

[Next Chapter]

Taglist: 

@obx-spn-twd-tw

@kissmefree​

@danielle-yeah​

[y-so-hungry]

Comfier - Part 2/3

Starved

Hey everyone, here’s the second part! Hope you all enjoy, let me know what you think!

Over an hour later, Pirate still hadn’t moved from her position on Jace’s belly. His stomach was really losing it now, grumbling and growling constantly, enough that Pirate flicked her tail in annoyance every once in a while. 

“You sure you don’t want to move?” he asked her, knowing he wouldn’t get a response. “You know, my tummy would be a lot comfier with some food in it. Comfier for both of us. You get a softer pillow and I get rid of this bellyache. What do you say?”

She didn’t move or indicate she’d even heard him say anything. 

“C’moooon, I could have some soup, how bout that? Make my belly all warm for you, that’ll be way better than this cold, empty belly, right?” he said. 

Pirate still didn’t move, and Jace let his head fall back in defeat. 

He really did want some soup. Sandwiches and pasta and all that stuff is nice, but soup has that way of really filling you up, sort of getting into the pinched crevices of your stomach that solid foods couldn’t really do the same way. 

He wasn’t sure how much actual fact or logic was in that notion, but he was too hungry to care much. 

Though it seems thinking about food wasn’t the best idea, because his belly gave a starved groan so loud it seemed to vibrate his ribcage, and surely Pirate could feel it in her paws. She raised her head and glared at him. 

“Don’t give me that look, this is your fault,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m telling you, fuller tummies are way comfier. Lot less noisy too. You and I could get a real nice nap out of this if you’d let me get up for a little while.”

Pirate stared at him for another moment, and then put her head down and went right back to sleep. 

Great. I’m gonna starve to death only twenty feet from a fully stocked refrigerator, Jace thought. Should’ve given in and gone to that Taco Bell on the way home. But just as he thought all hope was lost and was wondering if Pirate would keep sleeping on his stomach even during his funeral, Jace’s best friend Safer walked out of their room, eyes glued to a book in their hands.

“Safer! Oh my god I’m so happy you’re here, listen, Pirate won’t get off of me and I’ve barely eaten all day and I’m kinda going crazy here, so can you--Safe?” 

Safer just kept walking, never looking up from their book, and instinctively making their way to the kitchen. They somehow didn't run into any chairs or table corners as they went and opened up a cupboard, but they didn’t answer him. 

Aw dammit, they don’t have their hearing aids in. Of course they don’t, they never wear them at home, Jace thought. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, the shift in his weight causing his stomach to twinge hungrily again, and pulled out a small laser pointer. Originally he and Safer had bought it as a toy for Pirate, but she’s a bit too old to play much, and since Safer never wears their hearing aids at home, Jace keeps it in his pocket for an entirely different purpose. 

Jace pressed the button and angled the tiny red light at Safer, carefully moving it until it was shining right on the pages of their book. 

“AGH!” Safer cried, dropping their book in surprise before looking around wildly. When their eyes finally fell on Jace they gave him a questioning look. 

“I didn’t know you were home!” they signed, their fingers quick with surprise as they picked up their book again and walked over to him. “When did you get here? This whole time I thought you were working late today, I was just about to get started on making you some dinner.”

Jace's stomach groaned loudly at the mention of dinner. Apparently that was the last straw for Pirate, and she stood up and jumped off the couch, winding between Safer’s ankles. Jace glared at her for a moment before answering. 

“I got home over an hour ago,” he said, switching to ASL. 

“Really? Why didn’t you come tell me? I would’ve made you some dinner, you look exhausted,” Safer said, giving him a sympathetic look. Jace smiled tiredly up at them before answering. 

“I was going to make some myself, but somebody--” he paused to stare pointedly at Pirate, who only gazed innocently back up at him, “--wanted to use my tummy as a pillow and didn’t move until just now.”

Safer glanced down at Pirate and rolled their eyes. 

“Silly kitty. Well, do you want some dinner?” they asked. Jace nodded vigorously before he answered. 

“Yes! I’m starving, I barely ate anything all day, my tummy has been rumbling for hours,” Jace said, his face pulled into a pout. Safer’s eyes widened in surprise and they looked at Jace’s belly, which was still growling miserably despite the fact that Safer couldn’t hear it. 

“It has?” they said, and Jace nodded. 

“It’s pretty loud actually. Pirate got mad at me about it,” he signed with a small laugh. 

“It is?” Safer said, and Jace nodded again. Safer suddenly came over and placed their hand over Jace’s stomach, just in time for it to give a thundering snarl. Safer’s eyebrows jumped up in shock as the vibrations from Jace’s middle shook their hand, and they immediately began to rub Jace’s aching belly gently. 

Jace made a small noise of happiness, leaning into his friend’s gentle touch and letting his eyes slip shut. 

“Does it hurt?” Safer said, speaking out loud this time so their hands were free to rub Jace’s stomach. Jace’s eyes flicked open to see Safer looking a little concerned, maybe even sad, and while they were looking at his mouth to read what he would say, they carefully avoided his eyes. 

“I… a little, but not badly, Safe. I’m alright,” he said, speaking out loud as well. But rather than make Safer feel better, it only seemed to make them look more sad. 

“It’s just--I-I know how you don’t like being hungry for too long, after everything that happened when you were younger, a-and I feel bad I didn’t make you something--”

“Hey,” Jace said, putting a hand on their arm. They finally met his eyes for a moment, and he gave them a warm smile. “It’s alright. You don’t need to worry about that, and you don’t need to make dinner for me, I’m honestly okay making it myself. And I promise, I’ll tell you if it ever gets bad enough that I start to freak out. But I’m good right now, just a bit hungry.”

Jace’s stomach groaned again, in part spurred on by Safer’s gentle rubbing, and both of them looked down at his abdomen. 

“Ok, maybe more than a bit,” Jace said, switching back to sign. They both laughed, then Jace finally stood up and they headed to the kitchen to make him his long-awaited dinner. 

[jessbakescakes]

random prompt: donna’s niece/nephew has to stay with her for some reason and josh drops by her apartment randomly so they all end up spending the day together :) thanks!

This took me an age and a half, but here it is. Let’s call this sometime post-snowballs, pre-finale Season 4 Josh/Donna. Also, it got ridiculously long and I have no idea why, but... yay?

Josh tries to be productive on his first Sunday off in recent memory. He gets a few things done around the house, and then he finds himself feeling bored. That feeling is rare; he hasn’t been this bored since he was recovering from his injuries after Rosslyn. There’s no shortage of things to do in the office, but Leo has banned him (and Donna) from the property for the day after a 38-hour shift. Soon the feelings of boredom propel him out of his apartment, and he finds himself standing outside of Donna’s place about fifteen minutes later without a plan. There’s a part of him that wonders if she’d even want to hang out with him on her day off, but all the other people he would invite are at work. 

So, Josh knocks at the door. 

They could always go to the movies; Donna’s been mentioning a new movie she’s been wanting to see. The thought of the two of them sitting in the back of a darkened movie theater while she gets invested in some sappy chick flick isn’t exactly his idea of fun, though, so his mind wanders to other possibilities. 

The plan is almost formulated in his head when she opens the door, but it all goes out the window when he notices a little girl run toward the door and wrap herself around Donna’s legs. “I can’t come into work today,” Donna insists.

“Hi, Josh, it’s so great to see you,” Josh says in his sarcastic ‘imitating Donna’ tone.

She sighs. “Hi, Josh. You shouldn’t be going into work, either.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask you to come in today. Who’s this?” he asks, glancing back and forth between Donna and the little girl, who looks like a miniature version of Donna, but with brown hair instead of blonde.

“This is my niece, Caitlin.”

“Francesca’s daughter?” Josh confirms, ensuring that his memory of Donna’s conversations about her nieces and nephews was correct. He vaguely remembers Donna telling him something about a political argument that her sister Francesca got into with another parent while she was chaperoning a trip for Caitlin’s kindergarten class a few weeks ago.

Donna nods. “She had a last-minute meeting with a client she’s trying to land for the D.C. branch of her company. So Caitlin and I get to spend the day together. Caitlin, this is my friend Josh.”

Caitlin gives Josh a toothless grin and a giggle. “Hi.”

“Hey, Caitlin,” Josh says to Caitlin, giving her a wave. He turns his attention to Donna. “I was thinking about how I owed you a new shirt after the coffee catastrophe. Figured I’d come by and ask if you’d like to collect on that today. But...”

“Well, you can help me babysit, and we’ll call it even,” she says, motioning for Josh to come into her apartment.

“Your sister won’t mind?” Josh asks, crossing the threshold and taking off his coat.

“She’s met you,” Donna reasons. “You work for the President of the United States. I think you’ll pass muster. And besides, I’m here for when you inevitably screw up.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he sighs. 

He looks toward Caitlin, who has abandoned Donna in favor of what she’s working on at the coffee table. There are art supplies everywhere; markers are scattered across the table (and a few have rolled onto the floor), a pair of child-sized safety scissors sits on the corner next to some tape, and tubes of glittery glue in several different colors are gathered in a pile in the middle. “What’s your favorite color, Josh?” she calls, without lifting her gaze from her project.

“Uh… blue, I guess,” Josh answers, approaching the couch and taking a seat.

Caitlin reaches for a blue sheet of construction paper and begins to cut an unrecognizable shape into it. She pauses after a moment, then lifts the paper and wraps it around Josh’s wrist, attempting to ensure that the piece she has cut is big enough. “I’m making a superhero bracelet,” she declares, making a face when she realizes it’s too big. “You can shoot stuff out of it and get the bad guys.”

Josh glances toward Donna, suddenly conveniently busy in the kitchen, and then back at Caitlin. “Sounds… interesting.”

He’s never been bad with kids. In fact, kids seem to like him, as a general rule. He’s just never been entirely sure what to do to replicate that experience from one kid to the next. This is Donna’s niece, so there’s a little extra pressure to seem impressive and interesting.

Donna is a natural with kids, at least from Josh’s perspective. Working in the White House doesn’t really give them a lot of opportunities to spend time with kids, of course, but the few times he’s seen her interact with them, it seems to come easily to her. They’re drawn to her in an inexplicable way.

Caitlin returns to her work. “This can be your bracelet. I made Aunt Donna a crown. Wait! Do you want a crown or a bracelet? Boys can wear crowns, too. They can be princes.”

“I’ll take the bracelet,” Josh says, motioning to the mangled piece of paper she has in her hands. “Did you say you made Aunt Donna a crown?”

He says the last part loud enough for Donna to hear in the kitchen, so Donna looks up at him and shrugs. “I’m a princess, apparently.”

“Don’t you think you should be wearing it?” Josh teases.

“It’s drying,” Donna says, motioning behind her to the counter, where she’s placed a crown made of pink construction paper covered in glitter.

Josh darts into the kitchen and gingerly lifts the crown, poking at various spots with his index finger. “Hmm, seems dry to me. What do you think, Caitlin, should she wear it?”

“Yeah!” Caitlin agrees enthusiastically. 

“You want to come in here and put it on her?” Josh offers, holding out the crown.

Caitlin shakes her head. “You do it.”

Donna slides a finished grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate and turns around. “Don’t you dare squish it on my head,” she warns under her breath, her arms crossed. “If you get any glitter in my hair…”

“Donnatella, this isn’t my first coronation,” Josh huffs.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling at him. “Where was your last one, Burger King?” 

“Medieval Times, actually,” he says, gently securing the crown on Donna’s head. “There.”

Donna reaches up and pats her head. “He didn’t give me a bump in my hair, did he?” she asks, turning around to allow Caitlin to check.

“Nope,” Caitlin confirms, approaching Josh with his superhero bracelet and about a dozen long pieces of Scotch tape. She attaches it to his wrist and steps back to admire her handiwork. “Now you both have something!”

“We certainly do. Come wash your hands and we can have some lunch,” Donna instructs.

Caitlin, Josh, and Donna chat over grilled cheese and tomato soup. When they finish, Donna clears the table while Caitlin pulls Josh into the living room to clean up the crafting supplies. Caitlin is entertaining to talk to, as far as six-year-olds go. Of course, she’s not about to debate the intricacies of domestic policy with him, but she asks questions about the President - she seems primarily interested in the idea of him being funny. Caitlin also wants to know if the President has a dog (she seems disappointed when Josh tells her he doesn’t) and if he intends to get a dog (she seems even more disappointed when she hears this answer). 

Soon there’s a lull in the conversation. Caitlin seems to be focused and hard at work, slowly gathering the art supplies to clean up. 

“Your Aunt Donna told me that you went to the aquarium a couple of weeks ago,” Josh says tentatively, unsure of what topics are interesting for six-year-olds, but making an effort anyway. 

“I got to pet a stingray. You do it like this,” Caitlin explains, holding up her index and middle fingers together and sweeping them in the air.

“Oh, yeah? That must have been cool. What did it feel like?”

“He was kinda slimy. But there was an otter that was swimming up near the spot where I was standing at the otter place,” Caitlin says, shoving some markers into their box. “I love otters.”

“Oh, really? Otters are nice. What do you like about otters?”

“Otters… the otters hold hands while they’re sleeping so they don’t float away,” Caitlin explains as she clears the last of the paper off of the table. “Then they would be sad and all by themselves.”

“That’s smart of them,” Josh answers. “Don’t want them to be lonely.”

Josh discovers that Caitlin knows a lot about otters. She explains that she checked out several books from the library about otters after her trip to the aquarium, and has done some extensive internet research. By the time the living room is clean, Josh has been informed that otters have the thickest fur of all mammals in the animal kingdom, and baby otters are not able to swim on their own. 

Caitlin is about to explain the ins and outs of keeping a baby otter safe and secure while its mother goes out hunting when Donna enters the living room with a bowl of water in one hand and a Ziploc bag in the other. “What are we up to in here?”

“Otter discourse,” Josh says, stacking the newly collected art supplies in a pile. 

“They hold hands,” Donna says with a knowing nod, as though she’s heard this piece of trivia before. “Okay, Caitlin, you wanted to look through my stash of tattoos, right?”

Caitlin nods and takes the bag from Donna’s hand. She dumps out the bag and looks through the temporary tattoos that Donna has acquired. There are flowers, hearts, butterflies, and various animals and characters to choose from. Caitlin flips over each tattoo, grouping them by color as she deliberates. 

Josh looks to Donna. “Does this sort of freakish organizational skill run in the family?”

Donna pokes him in the arm and Josh yelps, rubbing the spot as Donna moves to expedite the process by flipping over the tattoos. 

Caitlin finally selects several different tattoos, sliding one in front of Donna and another in front of Josh. “Those are for you,” she says.

Josh shoots Donna a look, but Donna rolls up her sleeves. “Where should I put mine? On my hand, or on my arm?”

“Hmm,” Caitlin says. “Your hand.”

“Do you need help with yours?” Donna asks. 

Caitlin nods. “The last time Mommy and I did these, mine got all messed up ‘cause I pulled it off too fast.”

“Oh, well we can’t have that,” Donna insists, dipping a washcloth in the bowl of water. “Josh, start thinking about where you want your tattoo.”

“I think he should do it right here,” Caitlin says, tapping the inside of her forearm.

“You think so?” Donna asks. 

“You have to do it on this arm though,” Caitlin says, grabbing Josh’s left hand. “That one has your superhero bracelet.”

Josh sighs. “Do I get a say in this at all?”

“No,” Donna insists, turning his arm over so his palm is facing upward. She grabs his left hand in hers and pushes up the sleeve of his sweater with her right hand.

“You’re holding his hand. Kind of like the otters,” Caitlin points out.

Josh is certain that what Donna was doing was entirely platonic, operating on instinct under the watchful eyes of an observant kindergartener. But he wonders if she can feel his pulse hammering the same way it did outside her apartment in the snow a few weeks prior. 

“Well, we wouldn’t want him to float away, would we?” Donna teases before letting his hand go and removing the plastic cover of a purple butterfly tattoo.

Caitlin approaches them and supervises as Donna applies the temporary tattoo, impatiently waiting for the reveal. Donna is about halfway through peeling the paper backing away when Francesca walks in the door. 

“Mommy!” Caitlin shouts, launching herself at Francesca.

“Looks like I’m interrupting the makeover portion of the afternoon,” Francesca says. “Hey, Josh, it’s good to see you.”

“Hey, Francesca,” he says. “It’s good to see you too. I didn’t know you were coming to D.C. this weekend, or I’d have given Donna a chance to spend some time with you.”

Francesca waves her hand. “It wasn’t planned. I had a thing come up, and I was going to leave both the kids with Chris, but Caitlin heard me mention D.C. and all bets were off when she remembered that’s where Aunt Donna lived.”

“I made Josh a superhero bracelet,” Caitlin says. “And Aunt Donna has a crown.”

“I see that,” Francesca smiles. “Why don’t you and I head back to the hotel for a little bit? I’ll take you swimming at the hotel pool before dinner if you want.”

Caitlin darts across the apartment, gathering all of the things she brought over earlier in the day. “Can Josh eat dinner with us?”

Francesca grabs Caitlin’s pink backpack that’s sitting by the door and turns to Josh. “You’re welcome to join us, I was taking Donna out to dinner as a thank you for spending some time with Caitlin while I was in that meeting.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll let the three of you spend some time together,” he says.

“Next time,” Francesca says. “Caitlin, what do you say to Aunt Donna and Josh?”

“Thank you!” she says, nearly knocking Donna over with a hug and climbing onto the couch to give Josh a hug with equal enthusiasm.

“Thank you again. Both of you. Six-thirty?” Francesca asks Donna.

Donna nods. “Perfect. You don’t have to run off, though, I don’t mind --”

“No, no, I know,” Francesca interrupts. “It’s totally fine. We’ll see you at dinner.”

Francesca helps Caitlin get her coat on and Donna sees them out. As Donna says goodbye and Caitlin and Francesca leave the apartment, Josh can hear Caitlin chatting to her mom.

“Aunt Donna was holding Josh’s hand, like the otters.”

Donna shuts the door and turns to look at Josh. Her cheeks turn pink and her eyes dart to the floor. “She really likes otters.”

“I gathered that.”

“Probably should have warned you about that.”

Josh laughs. “You could have warned me that I’d be peeling pieces of tape off my arms, too, but you just threw me to the wolves.”

“Hey, now. You survived!”

His forearm is still stretched out as the temporary tattoo dries and becomes less sticky and more prickly-feeling. “I also wasn’t exactly planning on getting a tattoo today. Or… probably ever.”

“Not a tattoo guy, huh?”

“Why, are you a tattoo girl?” Josh pushes his sleeve down over his forearm.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Donna says, a hint of teasing in her voice. 

Josh stands up from the couch. “Want me to, uh…” he gestures around the living room, not sure where to dive in to help clean up.

“I think I can manage,” Donna says. “Thanks for today. Caitlin had fun.”

“Yeah. It’s no problem. Just remember that next time when Aunt Donna isn’t the favorite anymore and she goes on and on about how great Josh was,” Josh teases.

Donna crosses her arms and lets out a laugh. “Like that would ever happen.”

“You underestimated me before,” Josh points out. “You’ll see how popular I am when Caitlin asks you about me at dinner tonight.”

“And you think if she did, I would actually tell you about it?” 

“I know when you’re lying, Donna. Your mouth does this weird thing.”

“A weird thing?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but I know it when I see it,” Josh insists, putting on his coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Donna says, opening the front door for him.

Josh stands there for a moment before he leaves, looking at Donna. The pink crown is still on her head, and her shirt has spots of pink glitter on it, presumably from aiding in the decoration of the aforementioned crown. For the briefest of moments, he wonders if this can’t be their future - if it can’t be their kid who tapes a superhero bracelet around his wrist with too many pieces of tape or insists on giving him a butterfly tattoo.

He pushes the thought out of his mind until later in the shower when he attempts to scrub the tattoo off his arm. He’s had more moments like this since he took a cab to throw snowballs at her window -- or more accurately, ever since Commander Wonderful and his thirteen buttons showed up. The images, oddly domestic compared to most of his fantasies, play on a loop in his brain.

He knows he can’t indulge them, can’t enjoy these fantasies. She’s his assistant; he’s her boss. They’re friends, and that’s all they can be for another four years. Of course, that’s assuming that some gomer doesn’t sweep her off her feet and give her what Josh can’t, at least not yet. But he doesn’t know how to stop them, and they’re coming with more frequency than the nightmares he’s grown accustomed to having.

The idea that she could have all this with someone else is more terrifying than the nightmares.

[invisibleraven]

Another romantic gesture prompt: Peterpatterlina + Falling asleep on your lover's shoulder?

Julie startled awake at her desk, eyes bleary as she took in the time and swore. Rushing about the room, she gathered up all her necessities, quickly changing, deciding that a shower just wasn't in the cards today, at least not until later, if she didn't pass out first. She ran down the stairs, almost barreling into Reggie as she did.

"Whoa there little darlin', where's the fire?" He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to where her brow was wrinkled, and she giggled before panic washed over her once more.

"Slept in, have an exam in like an hour, and I just need to go before I'm late and fail this class and then have to delay graduation for like a year and..."

Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around her, breathing in deeply and slowly. "Jules, you need to calm down." Luke guided her breathing to slow, Reggie embracing her from the front until she was a little less manic.

"We can drive you to school, no worries. Now come have at least a slice of toast and some tea, you will not thank yourself going to an exam hungry," Reggie said. Luke let them both go and was already rushing to the kitchen to prepare them food. Julie tried to protest, but she was helpless against her partners patented puppy dog eyes.

And she did feel better after scarfing down two slices of avocado toast and a mug of tea. Even if the clock ticking down made her nibble on her bottom lip until it was sore. Luke came over, releasing it and kissed it gently, soothing the ache.

"Hey, you got this. Come on, we'll get you to school, and if you want we can pick you up, or we can be here waiting for you when you get back. Okay?"

Julie nodded, grabbing her things once more and found two strong pairs of arms embracing her before hurrying out the door. She was fairly certain they would escort her right to her classroom if they could. They got her to school in record time, beeping the horn, shouting their love and wishes of luck as they drove away. Julie felt warmed from the inside out, knowing her goobers would always be there for her. She could pass this class, she knew the material inside and out by now. She totally got this.

A few hours later, exhausted and drained, Julie stumbled home, dropping her things in the porch and let out a weak call to let the boys know she was back.

"Hey boss, we could have come got you," Luke said, taking her things to put in the right spot.

Julie waved him off. "Needed the walk to clear my head. The exam was brutal, and the fresh air did me some good. I'm sure I did fine, because oof I do not wanna write that test again."

Reggie popped out from the kitchen, taking in Julie's haggard appearance. "Yeah, well you're done now. Time to relax. I'll whip us up some snacks, put on a good movie, and you can chill until grades come out next week, sound good?"

"Heavenly."

Soon enough, all donned in comfy clothes, Julie sat back and enjoyed a sandwich and some soup with the loves of her life, a generic rom com playing on the screen that neither of them would admit to loving whole-heartedly. It was one of Julie's favourite's too, but now full of good food and surrounded by a warm embrace, Julie found herself drifting.

"Oooh, Julie, it's your favourite part!" Luke exclaimed, only to look over and see her fast asleep on Reggie's shoulder. The other man was looking down on her with a fond expression, and Luke felt his heart swell with love for these two. He grabbed the remote, lowering the volume, and tossed a fuzzy blanket over the three of them, snuggling into Julie. A nap didn't sound too bad right about now.

Reggie shook his head as Luke started to snore a short time later, and it was a good thing he didn't mind being used as a human pillow. He just pulled the blanket tighter over the three of them, and let himself relax into the couch cushions, soon joining them in slumber.

The nap was just what Julie needed, waking up much more refreshed, all cuddled into her boys. And if they ensured she spent the next week as pampered, relaxed and satisfied in as many ways as they could to keep her minds off grades coming out, well she wasn't going to complain about that.

She passed her class with flying colours anyways, jumping up and down screaming when the results came out, Luke and Reggie doing the same right along with her, exclaiming that they told her she had got this. And they were right, she totally did.

[marvelslut16]

Grilled cheese and cashmere sweaters

Prompt number: 5 “Unacceptable, try again.”

Fandom: Knives Out

Paring: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Rating: T

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Swearing. Asshole Ransom, obviously. Alludes to sexy times- nothing explicit. 

A/N:  It’s my first time writing for him, so thoughts? Also, no spoilers since this takes place prior to the movie/the events in the movie never take place au.

The moment you met Ransom Drysdale you couldn’t stand him, he was a pompous rich bitch that got everything handed to him on a silver platter. But you had to put up with him since you’re his grandfather’s assistant. Working under Harlan Thrombey is your golden ticket into the publishing world, so you weren’t going to let his extremely attractive, asshole of a grandson ruin that for you. 

The first time the two of you spoke was when Harlon was letting Ransom stay at the house, while the younger man’s house was getting new windows. A big feat apparently since he has floor to ceiling windows. That doesn’t surprise you, he’s got money, he’s full of himself, and he wants to show off; the windows make perfect sense. Fran had to take the day off so you decided to make Harlon a simple lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup, while Marta sits and talks with him. 

Feeling generous you make another sandwich for Ransom, ladling another bowl of soup as well, you take the modest meal over to him. You set it on the table in front of him, he’s snacking on some airplane cookies while he flips through a playboy magazine- real classy. He scoffs at the food you set in front of him, barely sarong it a single glance. 

“Unacceptable, try again,” Ransom deadpans, turning his magazine sideways to enjoy the centerfold. You hear Harlon and Marta talk as they walk down the hall and closer to the kitchen so he can eat. “I prefer sourdough bread, not white,” Ransom lazily pokes at the sandwich, face contouring in disgust. “And I only eat Pule cheese.”

“Just to make your image look better I’m sure,” you sneer without thinking of the consequences of Harlon being within hearing distance of you. “No cheese is so good that it has to be worth six hundred dollars a pound. I decided to be nice and make you a grilled cheese, take or leave it. But I’m not making your entitled ass anything else.”

“Eat shit,” he sneers, finally looking up at you with his baby blues, leaning across the table.

“Eat your own shit Hugh,” you rest your forearms on the table, leaning closer to him as well. You two are so close you can feel his hot breath on you, and you can see the dark stubble of his five o’clock shadow starting to come in. 

In the kitchen Marta glances at Harlon worried that he’ll fire you for the way you treated his grandson. But all he does is smile, no one has stood up to Ransom before, not any one that could actually make him shut up. His fond, proud, smile, turns into a knowing grin as Ransom’s eyes sweep over your figure. You’ve piqued his grandson’s interest. 

After hundreds of horrendous innuendos and failed pickup lines, you finally agreed to go out with Ransom. Just so he would shut up, not because you were actually attracted to him or anything. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The date was nothing special, no fancy restaurants to show off his wealth. Instead he ordered from the fanciest restaurant and you ate at his house. Him hiding you on the first date should have been an immediate red flag, but you forgot everything but his name when you fell into his bed after dinner. The next morning you woke up in a white knit cashmere sweater of his, it’s still your favorite to this day months later. Ransom isn't romantic, he was already out of the bed and came back from a morning run by the time you woke up. 

 But months later now, you’re getting sick of his lack of romanticism and his wandering eye. You knew going into this what a handful Ransom was, but a dumb part of you thought he’d change when you started dating. But he didn’t. Eight months in and your relationship is still hidden, with the exception of Harlon and Marta. Luckily Harlon only caught you two swapping spit, while poor Marta witnessed Ransom’s hands up your skirt one day. 

The relationship is almost all physical, not that you’re complaining too much since he’s built like a God and knows how to please a woman. But it irritates you that he won’t go out in public with you unless it’s for something he has to go to for Harlon, you know he has a strained relationship, at best, with his parents, but you wish he would tell them. Valentine's day came and went and all you got was his package wrapped in a bow, while you had spent hours and an entire paycheck to buy him the perfect sweater to add to his collection. 

By month six you were spending most nights in his bed, but he still hadn’t asked you to move in with him. He hadn’t shown a clear sign that he actually wanted to be with you. On the rare occasion you both had to go somewhere with Harlon you could find Ransom flirting it up with multiple gorgeous women. On this particular occasion he let it go far enough that the woman kissed him. 

The next day at work you're surprised when you bump into Ransom in the kitchen at lunch time. He looks a little flustered working the stove, a greasy butter stain on his blue sweater, you smile lightly seeing the overconfident man struggling with such a simple task. He gives you a wolfish grin when he notices you in the doorway, plating up his failed attempt at a grilled cheese. One side burned black while the other is nowhere near a golden brown yet. 

“The bed was cold last night,” Ransom slides the plate to you as he continues to speak. “And my sweater was empty.”

He’s holding up your favorite cashmere sweater for you to grab and wear now. It’s not a vocal apology and he’s not screaming his affections for you to the world. But for Ransom it's a big deal. The sandwich is his apology, and the sweater marks his claim on you even if it’s in front of people that already know. And for now, that’s enough.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​ @mrs-malfoy-always​

[platypanthewriter]

The Devil Looks After His Own Ch2

Part 1:  Little Steve Harrington is so lonely he tries summoning a demon with a ritual advertised on TV--but luckily, it doesn't work, and a buff, non-human nanny hired by his mom shows up minutes later.  Years later, they're best friends, and Steve still doesn't know the truth.  For @magniloquent-raven​!

The other thing that Billy did that no other grown-ups Steve knew had ever done was have sex in bathrooms.  He wasn’t sure for a while—because Billy always made sure Steve was fine, settled with his pancakes at IHOP, or in the play area at Fred Meyer—but Billy would leave for about twenty minutes, and come back sweaty and grinning, and kind of tired.  

Steve snuck after him, once, and saw someone holding Billy’s wrists against the wall of the bathroom and kissing him, sliding his hand down to unbutton Billy’s jeans and pull his penis out, and Steve had stared through his fingers just long enough to see Billy grinning into the kisses, and shifting his hips.  

Steve’d run back to his pancakes, his heart pounding.  

He realized, thinking about it as he drew designs in the syrup with his fork, that Billy was that thing he’d heard yelled when somebody kissed boys—a slut—and he wondered whether it mattered.  Billy did everything he was supposed to do, and he was nice, and stuck around with Steve in the shoe section while Steve tried on every single pair, and then when Steve didn’t want any of them, Billy took him to three more stores.  

It couldn’t be a bad thing, Steve thought, biting his lips, not if Billy was one.

When the guy who’d been kissing Billy walked out—he had gray speckled feathered wings, so Steve was pretty sure it was him, even from the back—Steve ducked his head down over his pancakes.  By the time Billy wandered back, still grinning, to slump in the booth, Steve’s jaw had firmed.  Billy had looked happy, and he was okay, Steve was pretty sure.  Probably.  Even if it was the kind of thing that made parents yell like they did when they were scared. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his cheeks reddening again, keeping his eyes on his eggs.  Billy sat up and faced him, flattening his hands on the table.  

“What,” he asked, levelly.

“Are you okay,” Steve mumbled stubbornly, hunching his shoulders.  “Y-you looked—okay.  H-happy.”

“...you followed me,” Billy whispered, his fingers clenching into fists.  “Shit.  Uh, darn. ...it.”  

“I won’t tell,” Steve said, shrugging awkwardly, and wishing he hadn’t been worried enough to see where Billy was going, because now he was more worried.  “If—if you’re okay.”

“...I’m fine,” Billy said, which was what he’d said when Steve’s dad had threatened to fire him, and Steve wasn’t sure he believed it.  

He forced himself to look up at Billy, surveying his just-washed face, and how pale he’d gotten since Steve opened his dumb mouth.  “I’m not mad,” he said, which was weird to say to a grownup, but Billy looked like he might want to know.  

“Just disappointed?” Billy asked, laughing, and grimacing.

“No,” Steve said quickly.  “I-I’m not.”  He’d been thinking about Tommy’s elder sister, and how she’d gotten in big trouble when their parents found condoms in her room—and how he and Tommy had hidden at the top of the stairs, listening to Tommy’s parents yell.  “Um are you u-using condoms,” he asked as fast as he could, and Billy choked on the water he was sipping, coughing and thumping himself in the chest.  

“Kid,” he spluttered, and Steve made a face at him.

“Are you?” he hissed.  “You have to be safe.  I love you.”

Billy stared at him for a long second, until Steve started feeling embarrassed, even though it was just what he said every night, as Billy put him to bed.  “...love you too, brat,” he finally muttered back, leaning his face in his arms on the table with a deep sigh.  “I’m...fine.”

“I don’t believe you,” Steve said, his cheeks heating further, because he’d found Billy that very morning trying to fill a sandwich with chunky soup.  “We should—we should talk to—to my mom, or a teacher.  So—so you can be safe—”

“Oh my god,” Billy mumbled, folding his arms over his head.  His ears were very red.  “I can’t catch anything from a human, okay, I’m not gonna get syphilis.”

Steve had no idea what that was, but it didn’t make him any less worried.  He took a bite of egg as the server came over and asked how his breakfast was, and he nodded to her, smiling, even though he was so worried the egg tasted like nothing.  “Wh-what about saying no,” he whispered to Billy, as soon as she was gone.  “You, um, you can say no to—to uh, things, right?”

“I can and I do, kiddo,” Billy laughed, sliding his hand over to link their pinkies, his face still hidden in his other arm.  “I’m okay, Stevie, I swear.  You made sure I could say no, remember?”

“You’re still bad at it,” Steve said, because usually Billy scooped him up and put him in the bath, or in bed, even if Steve was laughing and yelling ‘Nope!  No!  You jerk, I’m still eating!’, but sometimes Steve would forget, and tell Billy to do something, and Billy would take a deep breath and hold very still until Steve remembered.

“Sure, with you,” Billy said, raising his head enough to grin lazily at Steve, and Steve couldn’t help smiling back.

“We should talk to—to somebody,” he said, stubbornly.  “A—a real grownup.”

“I’m real,” Billy huffed.

“Somebody older,” Steve hissed, and Billy made a face.  

“I’m older than your dad,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“But you—you’re not human,” Steve reminded him.  “You—you’re like a teenager.  You said.”

“Nooo, come on, kiddo, lemme alone,” Billy groaned.  “I’m old enough.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes and grabbed Billy’s phone, and typed s-a-f-e into the search bar, and then braced himself, and tapped s-e-x.  He hunched his shoulders, his face burning, and hit search.  He found a lot of...things, and squeaked in a kind of dying way through his hand.

Billy snatched the phone back, looked at it, and said “Oh my god.  Stevie.  Stop.  I will research it myself, and I—I will be careful.  Okay?” 

Steve buried his hot face in his hands, nodding, and trying to suppress horrified giggles.  He kinda wanted to turtle into his jacket, or crawl away under the tables, but he just pulled his knees up on the seat, and tried not to whine like a tea kettle.  

Billy grimaced, scrolling through his phone, and Steve realized—while his ears probably smoked with the imagery he’d seen about things in butts—that Billy’s shoulders were up, and he had his arms crossed in front of himself too.

“Sorry,” Steve wheezed, through his fingers.  “Y-you aren’t—you aren’t gross!  Sorry!  I just—I just love you and—I have to keep you safe—”

“I have to keep you safe,” Billy told him, grinning, and shaking his head.  “I’m more grown up than you, fetus.”  His cheeks were pink, and Steve scowled at him, then kicked at his knees under the table.

“You’re bad at some things!” he hissed, as Billy yelped, swinging his legs away.  “I have to help, I have to help you—”

Billy shushed him, laughing, and then opened his mouth, and closed it, as Steve sipped at his hot chocolate.  Billy waved at it, and suddenly it was hot again like it had just come from the kitchen, and had rainbow sprinkles, and Steve sighed, wanting to—hug him, or something, and feeling the same annoying worry he always felt when he wasn’t doing enough.  He knew Billy’d stay, he told himself, as long as he could.  

As long as Steve could keep him wanting to.

“Finish your pancakes,” Billy told him, grinning.  “Gonna take you to the park.”

Steve liked the park okay, mostly because it was where they went when somebody was happy with him, but it was also worrying, because it was where they went when his parents wanted him to shut up and go play.  He was pretty sure this time was both, but when they got out to the parking lot, Billy grabbed him and spun him around so his legs swung around in the air, and hugged him the whole way to the car, and when they got there, he didn’t send Steve off to play while Billy talked on his phone, so it was Good Park Reasons.

“You’re not...mad,” Steve asked, cautiously, and Billy laughed, squeezing him tighter.

“Nah,” he said.  “You?”

“Naaaah,” Steve giggled back, drawing out the syllable.  

 There was a pattern to Billy being a slut, Steve noticed, because if it was Billy, it couldn’t be a bad word.  They’d be out, and somebody would see Billy, or Billy’d see them, and Steve would see them staring at each other.  “I’m going to go listen to storytime,” he’d announce, or “Look, there’s a play area here, I’m gonna go ride the bouncy horse.”

“Me too,” Billy said once, cheerfully, grinning at him, and Steve shook his head.  

“They don’t allow grownups on the bouncy horse,” he said slowly, wishing he didn’t have to tell Billy sad things when he was grinning, but Billy just laughed, hugged Steve’s head—messing up his hair—and walked off.

 When Steve had to start first grade, he clung to Billy the night before, and Billy carried him around for two hours, making him giggle as they made popcorn and watched cartoons on Netflix, and then pulled a big wrapped present out of nowhere.  It was a new LEGO set, one Steve had never even heard of, a dragon that could transform into a pirate ship.  

“Is it that weird?” Billy asked, grimacing at it, while Steve stared, and Steve threw his arms around Billy’s neck, shaking his head.  

“I don’t want to go to school.  I want to stay home with you,” Steve said into Billy’s shoulder, and sighed.  

“Maybe I should put it away, then,” Billy said, raising his eyebrows.  “I was saving it for when you had to go back to school, but if you don’t want it—”

“I want it!” Steve yelped, scrambling back out of Billy’s lap to huddle around it.  “I want it, I want it!”

“Okay,” Billy told him, ruffling his hair.  “We probably won’t finish it tonight, but once you make a ton of friends, I’ll need something super cool to get you to hang out with me, right?”

“No,” Steve told him, laughing.  “You’re my best friend.”

Billy laughed, but he didn’t look convinced, so when he got the fruit snacks out after dinner, Steve gave him all the blue ones—they tasted best—and the trucks, which were biggest.

“Ah,” said Billy, biting his lips together.  “They’re very...warm,” because they’d gotten a little sticky as Steve waited for him to finish the dishes, but he crouched and pulled Steve into a tight hug.  

 Steve fell asleep curled up against Billy’s shoulder, and woke up in his bed, with his mom shaking him awake.  

“I told Billy we don’t need him during the school year,” she said, frowning at her phone.  “During the day, anyway.  He’ll still come by and feed you, and put you to bed.”

She wandered off, and Steve wondered, clutching his blankets, whether anyone would make him breakfast.  He climbed out of his bed feeling kind of...bad, like he’d had a nightmare, and might cry.  He sniffled, and rubbed his face, and stayed in his pajamas until after breakfast, trying not to think about his usual mornings, with Billy pretending he was an out-of-control backhoe and scooping him out of bed, or Billy humming at the stove as he made Steve eggs and toast.  

Steve’s eyes leaked a little, and he stomped to the bathroom and blew his nose, feeling like a big baby for missing Billy so much.  He got himself cereal, and remembered shopping for it—Billy’d slowly taken over all the things Steve’s mom and dad used to do, like buying him new school clothes, and taking him to the doctor—and Billy had let him pick out things his mom never would have, weird fruits they didn’t know how to eat, and once, because Steve had liked it, a set of footie pajamas with rainbows and unicorns that was definitely for girls.  

He’d warned Steve, once they were back in the car, that sometimes people were mean to boys who wore unicorns, and Steve had held up his middle fingers, the way he was allowed to do when their downstairs neighbor called Billy mean names.

“You tell ‘em, tiger,” Billy had said, laughing.  

 The day school started, Steve hugged himself in the soft unicorn pajamas, and pulled the hood over his head.  He tried to stop crying so he could go finish breakfast, but he kept thinking of awful things, like what if Billy didn’t come on weekends anymore, and it was just Steve all alone in the house, and what if nobody bought food at all, and what if Billy was taking care of some new kid he liked better.  His mom found him bawling on the toilet, and groaned.

“You have to go to school even if you cry,” she said flatly, and Steve nodded, sniffling.  

“C-can I call Billy,” he whispered, his voice sounding kind of funny, like he was sick.

She rolled her eyes, sighing, but handed him her phone, and he fiddled with it until she yanked it back, clicked around, and handed it back, ringing.

“Yes ma’am?” came Billy’s voice, and Steve stood up.

“BILLY!” he yelled, and Billy laughed.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, “—did you need something?  You know I’ll see you after school, right?”

“I miss you,” Steve told him, with another sniffle, and Billy started making all these shushing, calming noises, like the time Steve had fallen down the outside stairs of the apartment building, and Billy’d been more freaked out than Steve was.  

Steve giggled, wetly.  “Um,” he asked, clearing his throat, “—are—are you with a...different kid?”

“No!” Billy laughed.  “No way, short stuff, I’m just at the laundromat, okay?”

“If you get a different kid,” Steve said, stubbornly, around the hard lump in his throat, “—they have to let you say no.  They have to tell you you can say no, you have to—”

“I’m okay, Stevie,” Billy said, sounding a little teary himself.  “I’m gonna see you today, and we’re both okay, okay?  We’re gonna both be fine.  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I wouldn’t be there this morning, I didn’t know either, okay?”

“...okay,” Steve mumbled, glaring up at his mom, who was inspecting the edges of her false nails.

“I’ll talk to you later, all right, my man?” Billy asked, and Steve nodded, swallowing.

“Later,” he managed.

“So dramatic,” his mom said, grabbing her phone back, and hanging up.  

 Steve waited for the school bus with four older kids who kept screaming and pretending to shove each other into traffic.  He rubbed his nails up and down his backpack straps, making a wsht wsht wsht noise, and worried about Billy.  It was hot already in the sun, and he squinted watching for the bus.

The teachers met them by the bus, and they did a roll call, different loud voices yelling out their names.  Right after Steve’s name was called was Billy Hargrove, by the same teacher, and that was Billy’s name, his whole name that Steve’s parents used.  Steve spun, huge-eyed, to see a kid run up, his age, but definitely Billy, and Steve threw both arms around him, trying not to cry.  

“Is this okay?” Billy asked, stiff and nervous, and Steve squeezed him tighter, feeling how small he was, Steve’s size or even littler, but still with his pretty hair, and his earring.  

“You two are friends, huh?  That’s nice,” the teacher told them, smiling, and Steve nodded at her.  

“He’s my Billy,” he said, unable to stop smiling, or let go of Billy.  Billy looked kind of startled, and proud of himself, the way he did when he cooked something right the first time, or found the boy’s shoe section.

“Are you gonna come all the time?!” Steve whispered, and Billy shrugged, raising his eyebrows.  

“Maaaaybe,” he whispered back, but he was smiling as huge and goofily as Steve, and Steve missed paying attention to half the first day of class, he was so excited.  Once he got Billy alone, at recess, around the side of the gym, he hugged him again, and Billy laughed.

“Are you a genie,” Steve asked, half serious, and Billy stilled again.

“...what d’you mean,” he asked, cautiously, and Steve laughed.  

“You keep giving me wishes,” he said.  “You gave me a best friend.  And I’m not lonesome at school.  And the LEGO dragon,” he told Billy, holding both his hands.  “That’s three wishes.”

Billy was watching him uncertainly, and Steve was happy, not mad, so he leaned in and kissed the end of Billy’s nose.  Billy squirmed away, laughing.

“That’s not all, though,” Steve told him, grabbing his hands again.  “You got me Honey Nut Cheerios yesterday.  I know we were out of them, Billy.  You got my mom the job she wanted...I think,” he said, because he’d had suspicions, but Billy grimaced guiltily, and then he was sure.  

“I got a best friend out of it too,” he muttered, glaring at Steve.  Steve grinned at him, and Billy sighed.  “Don’t worry, you’re not gonna run out of wishes, I’m not the guy from Aladdin.”

“You’re a genie?” Steve whispered, bouncing a little on his toes, and leaning in too close, probably, his weight squishing Billy’s shoulder blades against the cement wall of the gym, but then he remembered that Billy was bad at saying no.  He stepped back.  “Um, do you—do you need help?”

“I’m okay,” Billy said, laughing again.  As a kid, his cheeks were kind of pink and round, and Steve clenched his fists so he wouldn’t get grabby.  

“Could—could people make you do things?” Steve asked, biting his lip.

“You could,” Billy said, smiling, and turning even pinker.  “But you don’t.”

“I won’t,” Steve nodded.  “Is there—is there something people could—could someone steal you,” he asked, his voice cracking as the horrible thought occurred to him, and Billy shook his head, laughing.  

“It’s not exactly like that, there’s no lamp, or anything,” he said, glancing at Steve, and then frowning at the ground.  “I-I’m not exactly a genie.  I’m—I’m just yours, as long as you want me.”

“Oh,” Steve said, in a small voice, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky, and also feeling like this was an even bigger responsibility than a puppy.  “Um.”  

“Or you can send me away,” Billy said, smiling, a little.  “If you get bored.”

“I wouldn’t ever,” Steve said, pulling him into a hug again, and sighing into his smaller, softer shoulder.  “Um, unless—unless you want me to.”

Billy shook his head, hugging Steve back.  

 He knew even less about first grade than Steve did, which was kind of weird, but fun, because Steve got to show him how to sharpen pencils, and clean the whiteboard, and Billy listened to books like he had no idea what was gonna happen, even books Steve had heard over and over before.  

“Your new friend’s kinda dumb,” Tommy Hagen said, glaring at Billy, and Steve scowled.

“He’s smart!  And he’s pretty, and he’s nice,” Steve hissed, and stomped away, and Tommy knocked into him every chance he got after that, spilling Steve’s paint and his glitter and his cheerios, but the teacher was a fairy, and she waved everything tidy, hovering about three inches off the floor in annoyance.

“Read me the next one,” Billy whispered, when Steve went to find out what he was doing by the bookshelf.

“...you can read, though,” Steve said, and Billy nodded, sitting next to him, and leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder.  

“I was up early,” he mumbled, and Steve put an arm around him, and read him the story.  

 He turned back into himself—the Billy Steve was used to—after school, and Steve watched him, fascinated.  

“What do you really look like?” he asked, and Billy shot him a frown, clenching his hands around the steering wheel.

“Uh, what does that...mean,” he asked, and Steve watched him, wondering if Billy’s shoulders hunched up when he was nervous because that’s what humans did, and Billy was copying, or whether that was what genies did, too.  

“I just wondered,” Steve said, shrugging, and he looked away, trying to look uninterested.  “You don’t have to tell me.  Uh, recess is uh, fun, huh?  Um, I like the tire swing.  We should, uh, we should...make a snack.  At home.  Later.”

Billy laughed.  “You’re such a good kid,” he said, grinning over, and Steve’s whole face reddened.  

He nearly swallowed his tongue.  “I—I’m normal,” he said, and Billy reached over and ruffled his hair.  

“I dunno, kiddo, you seem pretty great to me.”  Steve groaned, hiding his bewildered grin in his arms, and Billy was quiet for a long second, before saying “...it’s not like here, where I’m from.  I can’t...be like I am there.”

“Oh,” said Steve, nodding a lot, because he had no idea what that meant.  

“This is how I look here,” Billy said, smiling over.  “There’s no big secret.”

“Ohhhh,” Steve said, nodding again, kind of disappointed, but considering the genie from Aladdin—the only genie he knew of.  “It’s probably easier, having feet,” he offered, and Billy snickered.  

“Yeah, yeah, it is.”

The real thing Steve wanted to ask seemed kind of...big, bigger than whether Billy was secretly blue.  “Um,” he said, frowning down at his hands.

“...what’s up, bud?” Billy asked, raising his eyebrows, and Steve made a face.

“Uh, where did you...go?  When my mom said you had to leave.  Do you…”

“I told you, I took everything to the laundromat,” Billy said quickly, and Steve shook his head.  

“No, I mean...where do you...live,” he whispered.  “I thought...I thought you lived at my house.  You never left before.” 

“I’m okay, I’m fine,” Billy said quickly, and Steve bit his lips together, kind of hating his mom.  “I just, y’know.  I don’t sleep, exactly, I found a cafe—”

“That won’t work,” Steve said, feeling the weight of Billy being his, and setting his jaw.  “I’ll...I’ll tell her I need you to make breakfast.  I’ll make a big mess of the kitchen—”

“Don’t worry about me, kiddo,” Billy said, laughing.  “It’s not like she made me go home.”

“It’d be nice if you did have a lamp,” Steve sighed.  “With little stuff in it, you know, like Polly Pocket.  You could go in there when you wanted to.”  Billy started laughing, cackling so hard he pulled over and folded his arms on the steering wheel, and when he looked over, finally, Steve stuck his tongue out.  “It’s not that funny,” he huffed.

Billy beamed at him, and ruffled his hair again, roughly, like he was trying to mess Steve’s hair up, and wiped his eyes.  “You know what I can do,” he said, softly, leaning close, and Steve leaned towards him.  The vinyl of his seat creaked.

“Why are we whispering?” he asked.

“I can change size,” Billy told him, grinning.  “You want to build me somewhere to live, Stevie?  With your LEGOs?”

“Ohhhh,” Steve gasped, staring at him.  “Let’s go home right now,” he whispered back.  “Do—do you want a castle?  Or a—a death star,” he whispered through his fingers, his voice squeaking.  “A ship?!”

“We can look at all the options,” Billy said seriously, and Steve stomped his feet on the floor of the car like drum beats, he was so excited.  

 He had homework when they got home, writing about his summer, and he groaned.  

“You can do that while I fix dinner,” Billy said, like it didn’t even matter that Billy could be the right size to open the doors in Steve’s LEGO haunted mansion.  It was hard to focus on his math worksheet for that and a lot of other reasons, like Steve got addition, it made sense, he didn’t need to think to remember what 2+3 was, and also Billy was cooking, and that was hard to ignore.  

He was making mashed potatoes, and Steve was girding himself to eat them, watching Billy frown around the kitchen and then shove the potatoes in the blender, click it to make it go, and listen to it struggle.  Billy turned it off again and glanced worriedly back at Steve, who pretended to be working very hard on his worksheet.

The fridge door opened, and Steve tried to watch surreptitiously—and sure enough, Billy had figured out that the blender needed liquid, and he was pouring Steve’s dad’s kombucha-cola into the blender with the potatoes.  

Steve tried not to grimace, but then Billy sniffed it, made a face, and pushed two pickles into the mess, and he couldn’t help asking “Um, what do you eat?”

“What,” Billy hissed, turning to hide the blender from Steve with his body.  “I eat—food.  You’ve seen me!”

“You, uh, I think maybe you didn’t used to,” said Steve, watching the greyish-greenish color the mashed potatoes were turning with fascination.  “So, um…”

“I’m not hurting anybody,” Billy said, hunching his shoulders like Steve might think maybe he did, and Steve scoffed, turning to a worksheet page on using ‘a’ or ‘an’ in sentences, which was even worse.

“I know you aren’t,” he told Billy, rolling his eyes, and Billy laughed, relaxing a little.  “What d’you eat, though?”

“...I don’t…” Billy trailed off, grimacing.  “I don’t eat like you do.”

“Oh,” Steve nodded, watching his face hopefully, and then frowning at the worksheet.  “Are you like a tree?”

“...sort...of,” Billy muttered, rubbing his face, and Steve realized Billy was turning red.  “When I...make people...happy, it’s like...sun.  For a...tree.  In a...way.”

“You make me happy all the time,” Steve told him, and Billy made a face, turning redder, and Steve let himself look away from the worksheet, trying to remember whether ‘y’ was a vowel.  He watched the wet, brownish-greeny-grey potatoes whirling soupily around in the blender.  “I mean, except for sometimes when you won’t look up recipes online.”

“They’re impossible to fuck up,” Billy moaned, grabbing his phone, and frantically typing.  “I can’t mess up mashed potatoes, Billy, nobody can mess up mashed potatoes—”

“Whoever said that didn’t know you’re not human,” Steve told him, “—because that’s, uh.”  

Billy switched the blender off, sighing heavily as he stared at the slow bubbles rising through the muck.  “...cereal?” he offered, defeatedly.

“Cereal is good,” Steve said, guessing that ‘an’ was correct and writing it in, and Billy groaned.

“How about I have Mr. Johnstone remember you when he’s taking his cookies out of the oven, and bring you some?” Billy asked, and Steve brightened.  

“How come you can’t make me want to do my homework,” he huffed, and Billy paused, frowning over at him.  

“Is that what you...want?” he asked.  

“....no,” Steve said, because Billy’s eyes were smoking, a little, for the first time in months, and also it did sound kind of weird.  “...have you...ever?”

“Ever what,” Billy said, staring at him, and starting to pour Steve’s milk on the counter, instead of into a bowl.

“Billy!  Bowl!” Steve yelped, pointing, and Billy grabbed a bowl, fumbled it, and then dropped it, so it smashed all over the kitchen floor.  

“Fuck,” he hissed, waving his hand, and the glass pieces all flew up to be a bowl again.  Billy leaned back against the counter, his shoulders slumped, rubbing his face.

“...wow,” Steve whispered, because Billy rarely did anything obvious, it was always ‘Oh, no, Steve, you didn’t leave your new baseball cap at the zoo, I have it right here,’ or ‘Of course your dad will come out for dinner with you, kiddo,’ and then the wi-fi failed, and he did.  “I just mean, um.”

“What,” Billy sighed.

“When I had the flu, did, uh, did you...make me sleep?” Steve asked, because he’d wondered about that one, waking up to his parent’s panicked faces in the hospital.  “Until I felt better?”

“You told me to,” Billy said, watching his face.  “You said.”

“...only if I asked,” Steve said, nodding slowly, and Billy nodded a couple times, faster.

“Only if you tell me to,” Billy nodded.  “Mr. Johnstone always means to bring you cookies anyway, I’m just reminding him, is all—”

“How come you don’t use it to do the laundry, and...things,” Steve asked, since Billy was answering, and Billy laughed.  

“I could,” he said, shrugging.  “You need to know how to do it too, though, right?  This way, we can do it together.”  

“...did my mom…” Steve began, remembering the long-ago commercial, and making a face as he imagined Billy ordered to pour something over his own head.  “...does my mom...have your...lamp?  Is that...is that why you have to listen to me?”  Billy opened his mouth, frowning, and Steve shook his head.  “I-I know you said it’s not a lamp, but—”

“...I don’t have to do what your mom says,” Billy told him, cocking his head.  

“...just me?” Steve asked, and Billy leaned back against the cupboards, crossing his arms.

“...yeeeah,” he said, warily, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief, nodding, and kicking his feet under his chair as he thought.

“Do…” he began, and trailed off, and Billy came over and sat down at the table, raising his eyebrows.  

“Spit it out, kiddo.”

“...my magical people encyclopedia,” Steve started, then paused, trying to figure out how to continue.  “...it, uh, it says to...it says not to..ask for things.”

“What did you want to ask for, Stevie?” Billy asked, with a long, contented sigh, folding his arms behind his head as he leaned back in his chair.  He sat his feet on the chair next to Steve, grinning.

“No, no, I don’t—I don’t...want anything,” Steve said, and Billy sat his boots on the ground again.  

“What’s wrong, buddy,” he asked, sitting up to reach across, and squeeze Steve’s hands.  Billy’s hands were twice as big as Steve’s, and Steve always felt safe, when Billy held him, but he shut his eyes.  “It—it says if you ask for things, there’s always a...price.  It says—not money, but—it—it can go wrong, I might—forget someone, or they might...forget me, uh,” Steve paused, swallowing, as Billy’s hands on his went still.  “Somebody wished for their dead son back, and he came back but he wasn’t alive, or...or she wished for treasure, but then she got arrested for stealing it…”

Billy smiled, a little, but not like anything was funny.  “...oh,” he said, finally.

“It—the book said not to just...wish for things, if you didn’t know how you were...paying,” Steve mumbled.

“I’m not a monkey’s paw,” Billy growled, “—or a like, a fae lord, I’m not tricking you out of things you want, I’m not going to steal your memories, or your name, or anything—”

“Tommy doesn’t wanna be my friend anymore,” Steve said, his voice wobbling a little, because he hadn’t had a lot of people who really liked him, until Billy.

“Tommy’s a little shithead,” Billy muttered, but Steve talked over him.

“...if I have to...pay something to be friends with you,” Steve said, thinking about how his parents barely knew he was there, and whether they ever had, or whether he only remembered them that way, “—is—is that—”

“Shit, no,” Billy breathed, shoving away from the table and stomping over to lean against the sink again.  “I didn’t—fuck, there’s nothing I can say, is there, I could have done anything, you can’t believe me—”

Steve blinked wide eyes at the words Billy was using, glancing up the hallway in case his mom or dad came around the corner.  “Ssssh,” he whispered.  “Sshh, I believe you!  Don’t say the f-word, you’ll get in trouble!”

“Who cares, right,” Billy hissed.  “I can just make them forget it, right?!”  He looked really upset, Steve registered, kind of relieved, even though he’d known Billy was his friend, really.  Billy looked like he might cry, and Steve got up from the table, and went over to hug him around the waist.  

Even if Billy had taken his friendship with Tommy in trade for wishes, or something worse, Steve thought, it’d probably be worth it.  “...I didn’t mean…” he sighed.  “I know you wouldn’t...on purpose.”

“What’s that mean, on purpose,” Billy asked, disentangling himself from Steve’s hug, but just to pick him up.  Steve hugged him again, around the neck, and messed Billy’s hair up the way Billy always did Steve’s.  Billy laughed softly.

“...you’d make sure I wanted to pay for the wish.  You wouldn’t do anything that made me sad on purpose,” Steve said, sighing.  “I know you wouldn’t.”

“...sad, no,” Billy told him, squeezing him harder.  “Mad, maybe.  You aren’t paying for wishes, kiddo.  If you want Honey Grahams because I’m a shitty cook and I ruined lunch, I’m not going to steal your memories.”

“You wouldn’t take away somebody liking me,” Steve whispered, and Billy rocked him a little, sighing.

“Nope.”

“Mom and Dad never liked me, it wasn’t you,” Steve mumbled, and Billy froze.  “You didn’t take that.”

“Oh, jesus, kidlet,” he said softly.  “Of course they...do,” he said unconvincingly.

“They don’t,” Steve sighed.  “But you do.”

“Yeah,” Billy told him, swaying Steve a little, and rubbing his back.  “You’re my favorite.”

“Favorite what?” Steve asked, giggling, and Billy hrrrm’d.

“Favorite everything,” he whispered, lifting Steve way high up so he could put his hands on the ceiling, and swinging him around while Steve laughed.

Next Chapter!