#wrangling him and throwing him into a dryer

[st4rsh0t]

No idea what to draw atm, so have this speed paint of the first heavily rendered things I did with Turbo (I discovered this is quite literally the first serious one)

Sneezes

[oleander-teacup]

reminds me of working at culvers im gonna be fr. heres a story from hell for you.

management had a policy where we were not allowed to dry our dish towels in the on unit dryer for any reason because what if fires. the only thing we were allowed to dry were the aprons.

one night in late august ive just clocked in for my closing shift. im 16, a dual enrolled college student, i slept like actual dog shit the night before, and i know i have at least 10 hrs ahead of me so i am less than pleased.

the second i walk in, all hell has broken loose. the washing machine isnt draining. like at all. its full of filthy bleach water from the last load of dish towels and they are all SOPPING wet, but i am not allowed to put them in the dryer.

in a moment of OSHA violating split second ingenuity, a friend of mine and i manage to rig up drying lines in the back room in between the metal shelves with extension cords and start hanging dish towels on them.

it gets worse. just for the record.

we decide we simply wont wash more towels tonight and will start using paper towels when we run out of towels. we do not get this luxury.

you see, when you pile wet towels on top of each other for months on end and never take out the ones on the bottom to dry, they get... interesting. i say this to say that mushrooms had grown on the remaining dishtowels.

at this point i have only been here for two hours, i have been scooping filthy water out of the washing machine into a custard bucket with a kids size soda cup, and i have just found mushrooms. all over the towels. not food grade mushrooms. fungi. infestation. in. the. towels.

i start throwing away towels and once again enlist my friend who i will call N here to put the salvageable ones into the wash immediately, double the bleach. N is fucking amazing and does so but now i have even more towels i need to put out to dry and the others are very not dry yet because they came out of a drum of gross water.

N starts rolling out the carts we use to transport large food trays around the kitchens and we start hanging towels off the edges of THOSE. im a front of house member but at this point someone has taken over my register because im the only one with a strong enough stomach to grapple with shroommaggedon.

i hand wash several to get remaining slimy shroomy bits off them, and then hand the final batch off to N for washing.

the back room is a fucking wreck. the floors are sopping and the water is all pooling towards the drains on the ground, a trash bag has managed to burst because of the sheer weight of sopping wet towels being thrown in, and now in the midst of all of this i am told someone needs to clock out early because they are sick.

great.

i am soaked in water so i just put on the least dirty apron i can find in the back and come out to help front of house once again. i enlist another friend, D, who is on friers to fill up the garbage can that has suffered explosive raw meat damage to fill it with soapy water and tell him i will handle it from there. the second its full i manage to wrangle it outside to the giant grate out back and dump it out over it.

the ice machine has now stopped working. it is 9 PM. we have 2 hours until we close. D and i start shoveling out the ice machine so our manager can get into it to try and fix it and now we are dumping trash cans of ice down the grate out back. D is a full foot taller than me and decides to fill the entire back of house trash trolley with ice so we can get it all out in one go. we manage that around 10, and now drivethru is the only thing left open.

the final hour goes... surprisingly smooth, considering the day thus far, and i only get fish batter in my hair in the last 30 minutes as im doing dishes for closing.

and THAT was my worst day working at culvers.

being a manager sucks balls half the time but the cashier kids im in charge of trust me enough to dick around in front of me so ive been keeping a running list of the shit they say that makes me laugh randomly: -"guys, is it cheating if you play fortnite with your ex" [4 seperate others, immediately]: "YES" -"there must be like… infinite sentences" -"bro what bro what the fuck bro what's that mean bro why'd you say that bro what" <distraught response to a girl randomly greeting him with 'hey there big boy' in an old timey transatlantic news reporter accent

[arrowflier]

One of the Girls (Ficlet)

Daily Speedwrite #8.  The struggle is real today; I spent longer than I meant to at work and haven’t done a single productive thing since I got back.  But now I locked myself in my study with a gin and juice and my computer, so let’s see what happens before I need a refill.  

When Ian told Mickey that girls wouldn’t want to hear about their sex life, he had no idea just how wrong he was.

He had been on his way down to the laundry room of their new apartment complex when he ran into Jill and her friends, holding a pile of stained bedsheets and boxers discreetly wrapped in a plastic bag.  One of these days he’d convince Mickey that they needed a basket, but for now this would have to do.  

They were wandering down the hall just in front of him, and he assumed they were heading out since they weren’t holding anything of their own, but to his dismay they turned into the laundry room before he did.

“I’m telling you,” one of Jill’s friends was saying, “you have to spice things up a little!”

Another woman laughed.  “Have you even met Alan?” she asked.  “I don’t think he’s up for spicy, Kelly.”

Jill gave them both a soft whack on the arm as she made for one of the machines, glaring back at them when she bent down to open it.  “Shut up,” she groused.  “We’re doing just fine.”

Ian hovered in the doorway a moment before sliding through quietly, hoping to avoid notice by taking the machine closest to the entry.  He set his bag down and started to rustle through it, wincing inwardly at the not-so-discreet sound of the plastic.

Just as he pulled the first item free, he was spotted.

“Ian!” Jill greeted, a little too eagerly.  She shushed her friends, clearly glad to have a distraction, and leaned forward to rest her arms on the top of her machine.  “This is Kelly,” she introduced, pointing to the blonde that had tried to give her advice, “and this is Ricky.”

They both gave short waves, Kelly looking him up and down in a way that made the back of his neck go red. 

“What are you doing down here?” Jill asked, going back to pulling her clothes from the washer.  She passed a few wet items to Ricky, who bent to throw them into a dryer across the narrow room.  “I thought Mickey did the laundry.”

Ian choked on a sudden laugh, and then schooled his expression when he saw Jill’s eyes widen.  “Uh, yeah,” he said.  “But he keeps bringing back the wrong stuff, so...”

“Oh yeah,” Jill realized.  “Alan went on forever about that damn shirt, even though you returned it.”  She shrugged.  “Oh well.  I’m sure Mickey is happy to pass off some chores anyway.”

Ian felt his eyebrows rise.  Just how often was Mickey down here, anyway?

“So,” Kelly started, moving forward to crowd Ian against the wall.  “You got a roommate?  That’s cute.”  She flashed white teeth at him, and he moved sideways until he was stopped by the washer he had claimed.

“Something like that,” he replied cautiously.

“Kelly, back off,” Jill said with an inelegant snort.  “He’s married.”  When her friend just looked at her, she added, “to Mickey.”

Kelly pouted, but backed away.  “Too bad,” she said, then, “I guess now I know what the big deal is.”

Confused, Ian just turned back to his task, letting Jill wrangle her friends.  He just wanted to get the laundry done and get back upstairs to his husband, who was impatiently awaiting the clean sheets.  Someday they’d have to get a spare set.

But as he pulled them from the bag, a pair of underwear fell free onto the floor, and all hope of avoiding further conversation was lost.

“Whoa, what happened to those?” Ricky asked from across the room.

Ian looked down, expecting a few awkward stains or something, and instead found Mickey’s boxer briefs, torn clear apart at the side seam with frayed threads visible against the tiled floor.

“Um,” he said.  “Nothing?”  He moved his tongue in his mouth, paranoidly checking for fabric in his teeth and thanking any deity that would listen when he found none.

“That,” Kelly said with a raised brow, “is not nothing, my new gay friend.”

Even Jill seemed curious, and they all came closer.  Ian glanced toward the open door, but it was as good as a mile away with the three women standing in front of it.

“Tell us everything,” Ricky demanded.

---------

Almost an hour later, Mickey wandered down to the laundry room in one of Ian’s old hoodies and a pair of too-large boxers, wondering what the hell was taking him so long.  Did he not know how to use the fucking machines or something?  Mickey did their laundry all the time, it wasn’t that complicated.

He heard the raucous laughter from halfway down the hall, and sped up when he recognized Ian’s voice among it.

“Moral of the story, ladies,” his husband was saying, “don’t add hot sauce to your food before you--”

“Ian!” he yelped from the doorway, taking in the sight of the redhead leaning casually against a dryer, surrounded by women who appeared to be completely enraptured by his story.

Ian cut off, and they turned to look at him as one.  “Mickey!” they all cheered, and he finally noticed the empty bottle of wine balanced precariously on a pile of clean clothes in Jill’s laundry basket.

Ian looked away first, confused, and asked “Wait, how do you guys know Mickey?”  Jill gave him a look, and he added, “Not you, Jill, shut up.”

Oh good, so his lightweight of a spouse had been drinking too.  Mickey sighed.

Jill answered anyway.  “Mickey’s in here all the time, isn’t that right girls?”

Kelly and Ricky nodded enthusiastically.  “He has the best stories,” Kelly gushed.  “Talks about his husband all the time,” she added slyly, and Mickey wanted to deck her when a smug smile blossomed on Ian’s face.  

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted.  “Hate to disrupt this love fest, but grab the sheets and let’s go, Firecrotch.”

“That’s what he always calls you!” Ricky chortled.

“Ooh, doing sheets again already?” Kelly added.  “Talk about keeping things spicy.” She waggled her eyebrows, and Mickey knew his own eyebrow was twitching. 

“No, no,” Ian said, “we just talked about that, spicy is bad!”

Then they were off again, until Mickey dragged Ian up by the arm and steered him to the door.

“That’s enough, man,” he complained.  “Stop tellin’ everyone our business.”

“But you tell them our business, Mick,” Ian said plaintively.  “Why is okay for you to do it?”

“I do not,” Mickey denied, but he was immediately undermined by Jill calling out, “See you next week, Mickey!  Bring a new story!” as they walked away.

“Damn women,” he grumbled as he shoved Ian ahead.  “Can’t keep a fuckin’ secret to save their lives.”

“Aw, don’t worry Mick,” Ian said as he slowed, making Mickey run into his back so he could get an arm up and around his neck.  “I think it’s cute that you’re one of the girls.”

Mickey shrugged out of the awkward hold, only to get up next to Ian and wrap an arm around his waist instead.  “You’re one to talk, Gallagher,” he said.  “Getting white girl wasted on laundry day, Jesus.”

Ian stopped again, mouth a perfect O, and slapped Mickey in the chest.  “Mick, we forgot the sheets!”

Mickey groaned, then turned around to face the music again.  Of course they fucking did.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Movie Night, Pillow Fight [Version 2]

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC/BatFam - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Rating: PG-13/T (maybe pushing M? but there’s still nothing super explicit. this is just a lot dirtier than I usually write holy cannoli. Heavy kissing, a little bit of suggestive dialogue and narration, minor swearing?)

Original Idea: This (V1 follows this idea a lot more than this one, which I spun off of about halfway through and did my own thing)

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I didn’t think this would be as long as Version 1. I was wrong. This one is ~200 words longer, at 3,491. Version 1 here. They start the exact same but change about halfway through. I wrote both of these two over the course of 1 day by the way, and refuse to pick a favorite. @welovegroot @jason-redhood @jason-todd-squad

^^^^^

“No, Bruce,” Jason said sharply into his phone as he grabbed his motorcycle helmet. “I’ve already told you a hundred times: Tuesdays are my day off. Unless it’s a Court-of-Owls-attacking-All-Hands-On-Deck emergency, I’m not going on patrol. I’m allowed one night off per week. And I have plans. It’s weekly movie night with a friend of mine. We’ve been doing movie night since college and I refuse to disappoint her. You know why I chose Tuesdays? Because Gotham’s crime rate is lowest. You’ll be fine without me.” He hung up before Bruce could reply.

—

I opened the door. “You’re late,” I said.

“Yeah. I had to go to two different stores to find your popcorn because they were out at the first one,” Jason replied, letting himself in and dropping his motorcycle helmet on my couch. “Let me go change into my sweats.” He pulled his grey sweatpants out of his backpack, two microwave popcorn bags falling out.

I grabbed them. “Thanks Jay,” I said playfully.

He gave me a brief hug before stepping past me to my bathroom. “The things I do for you,” he teased with a sigh.

“Get out of those jeans. You know they aren’t allowed,” I retorted before going over to the microwave. My bathroom door shut loudly. I boosted myself onto the counter and watched the popcorn spin in the microwave.

By the time Jason emerged from the bathroom, only one bag was done. He leaned against the counter next to me, arms folded, and joined my staring.

“So what movie did you bring?” I asked. “You said in your text it was one of your favorites.”

He beamed at me. “Well, my friend, we are watching the very first ever made Frankenstein. From nineteen-thirty-one.” He fixed me with a stare as my shoulders slouched. “Don’t you start moaning in complaint. You put me through watching that awful musical last week—”

“Excuse you, Phantom of the Opera is also a classic.”

“It’s basic.”

“You’re basic.”

“Maybe so, but after going through that ordeal, you promised we could watch one of my favorites. I managed not to fall asleep last week, so it’s my turn.” He stuck his tongue out at me, then shook his head. “I really need to refine your taste in theatre. Remind me to convince Bruce to give me his season tickets to the real opera. He never uses them anyway. Doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

Given Bruce’s parents were shot after leaving the opera, I imagined there was some childhood trauma there. I didn’t bring it up with Jason. We didn’t talk about family besides passing comments on movie nights.

When the second bag of popcorn was finished popping and put in its own large bowl—I had quite the collection of popcorn bowls, usually given to me—we went to my room.

Ever since we’d graduated college—two years ago—we’d had movie night in my bed, rather than on the couch, like we’d done in my dorm. The bed was comfier and gave us more room to spread out. I can’t even remember who suggested it, but it was probably me one week when I was sick or something and we’d just stayed that way ever since.

I’d always hosted too. In college it was because my roommate was never there, and now Jason just liked the escape from his family. They didn’t know where I lived, so the one time he hosted and they interrupted by coming over, he and I agreed we’d just have it at my place. I liked his brothers and sister well enough, but they’d ruined that movie night. I doubted Wayne Manor movie nights ever involved any movies no one had seen before—because everyone talked and yelled at each other too much to actually pay attention to the movie.

Jason put the DVD in the player in my room. “Prepare to be wowed,” he said.

“I’m prepared, trust me,” I replied flatly.

—

“Heeey,” Jason’s voice said softly. “Wake up, doofus.”

I blinked my eyes open blearily. “Wha…?”

He started chuckling. “You fell asleep about halfway through.”

“Duh. It was boring. What did you expect for a casual movie fan from this century watching something from nineteen-thirty-one?”

“Well, all that means is that we get to rewatch it—from the beginning—next week!” Jason declared. I frowned. “Don’t you pout at me. Those have been the official movie night rules since our freshman year of college.”

“That’s not true,” I said, pulling out my phone. I dug deep into the Google Docs on my phone for Movie Night Rules from our freshman year of college. Six years was a long way to scroll through, but eventually I found it. I opened the doc and scanned the rules. “Oh, buzz off,” I muttered, poking Jason in the side.

“No poking!” He lurched away. Jason was selectively ticklish. Sometimes I would poke him in the side and he’d jump, other times he wouldn’t even notice I touched him. And he swapped between the two randomly.

“Why didn’t you wake me up like two minutes after I fell asleep?”

Jason pursed his lips, trying not to smile. “I thought about it. But you looked so cute—” He pinched my cheek and I was reminded of the fact that he had the personality traits of an eighty-year-old grandmother. “—with your hair all messy and your cheeks all squished that I just couldn’t.” He laughed as I batted his hand away from my face. I poked him again. “No poking!”

“Then don’t tease.”

“I have a right to tease you. Look at my shirt! You drooled all over it.”

I grabbed the hem of it and pulled it up. “Let me throw it in the wash, then.”

I expected him to smack my hand away and shove the shirt back down over his torso, but to my surprise, he helped me take it off. I’d seen him shirtless too many times to bother staring at his remarkably muscular torso. I just climbed out of my bed and went to the small closet out in the hall that held my tiny washer and dryer. I threw his shirt in the washer, dumped a bit of detergent in, and got it started before going back to my room.

“Take that off! You’ll stretch it out!” I snapped.

Jason struggled to get one of my—much smaller—T-shirts from college off. I scoffed and helped him yank it over his head before throwing one my pajama shirts at him. I wore my dad’s old T-shirts to sleep in, so it was even big on Jason. “You could have just asked for a replacement and I’d have handed you this.”

“That’s not as fun as surprising you,” he joked.

I rolled my eyes and perched back on the bed. “Fine. Next week, we rewatch Frankenstein. I won’t fall asleep. But you’re bringing snacks again.”

“Of course.”

“And don’t forget the popcorn.”

“Doofus, if I forgot the popcorn, you wouldn’t let me through the door.”

I snickered. “True enough.”

Jason leaned over to set his popcorn bowl on the bedside table closest to him. “Maybe next week we should try this on the couch. I always feel bad about getting popcorn on your sheets—and then you won’t be so comfortable that you fall asleep.”

I grabbed a pillow and whacked him in the chest. His expression turned affronted.

“Did you just initiate a pillow fight?” he demanded.

“No,” I retorted. “I got payback for you insulting me.” I whacked him again. “That was me initiating a pillow fight.” I started flinging the pillow at him again and again.

“Hey! Not fair!” Jason protested. “I’m unarmed!”

I ignored him and kept up my pillow smacking.

He laughed. “Well, if you’re going to play dirty, I will too.” He reached out as my pillow hit him again and he wrangled it from me. “A-ha! Look at that! Got your ammo. How does it feel, to be attacked by your own pillow?”

Jason started smacking me with it. I squealed and blocked him as best I could with my arms. We were both laughing as I tried to reach around him to the pillow he’d been using to brace his back against my headboard. He grabbed my wrist with one hand and hit me with the pillow using the other. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m not going easy on you just because you’re adorable.”

I laughed as he nearly hit me hard enough to knock me off the bed.

So, I switched tactics.

Getting inside his much longer reach was the hard part. Once I managed to duck around his arms and wrench my wrist free, I started tickling him. Tonight was a ticklish night. He squirmed away from me.

Jason yowled—and I hoped my neighbors weren’t home—in laughter. “Stop it—stop tickling!”

I didn’t. I ran my wiggling fingers up his sides and across his neck. He tried to catch my hands, but I was quick enough to evade him.

For a few moments anyway.

“No. No!” His protests didn’t work on me. “Oh you’re as bad as my brothers. Stop it—stop it.” His voice went firm, all traces of laughter gone. With one quick movement, the pillow we’d attacked each other with was discarded on the floor. He grabbed my ankles and pulled me so I was lying flat in the center of the bed.

Jason straddled my waist, trapping my lower legs with his ankles and pinning both my hands above my head on the mattress. He was breathing hard. We both were.

He smiled. “There. Not so feisty now, are you? Hands pinned above your head, lying beneath me all… helpless.” He chuckled and licked his lower lip, his smile turning both playful and wicked. “I could have… any kind of revenge I want.” He bent his elbows, lowering himself over me. My breathing grew shorter and blood roared in my ears. “I can have any…” He paused, eyes flicking from mine to where my necklace charm had fallen down one side and landed on the mattress. His eyes widened, as if he seemed to just barely realize how close we were. “This is…” His elbows straightened, pushing him higher above me. “I’m… sorry.” He started to gently pick his way off of me. “I’m gonna let you go now.”

He released his grip on my wrists. I rolled them and flexed my hands to get some feeling back into them.

He swung his leg to get off me and used it to step off the bed. “I should go,” he said breathlessly. “I’m so sorry. I’ll grab my T-shirt next week.” He strode to the door of my bedroom while I sat on the bed, dumbfounded, jaw hanging open.

As he opened the door, I bounded off the bed.

I caught him before he could reach for his stuff on my couch, grabbing his wrist. “What was that about?” I demanded. He refused to turn and look at me.

“Just… let it go,” he said, shaking his head. He tried to pull his wrist out of my hand, but I grabbed it with my other one to hold him in both.

“No! What the hell is going on with you?”

“Leave it alone,” he growled out.

“I can’t! What happened in there that made you shut down? What did I do wrong?”

He whirled. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s me!”

“Then tell me what it is!” I shouted.

Jason grabbed me by the shoulders, wrenching out of my grip so hard my fingers ached. He spun me around and pinned me by the shoulders against my front door. A muscle worked in his jaw as he clenched it before fixing me with a crystal blue stare. “It’s just… seeing you beneath me—all flushed pink and panting, your eyes hooded and staring up at me… seeing you like that… I just felt myself fall in love with you!”

If he hadn’t pinned me against the door I probably would have fallen over from shock. My mouth definitely fell open. “Jay… I…” I breathed.

Still holding my shoulders, he spun me around so I was away from the front door and moved to shove his jeans into his backpack.

Before he could, I threw reservation to the wind.

I grabbed his shoulders, forced him to turn and face me, moved my hands to the back of his head, and pulled him down to kiss me.

Our mouths crashed together hard enough to make my front teeth ache, but I didn’t care. My heart leapt into my throat and I almost melted as his arms circled my waist, pulling me closer, so our torsos were pressed against each other. My eyelids closed as I sighed. We were both breathing hard, air from our noses warm against each other’s skin. Holding my waist in both arms, he turned and pinned my back against the door again.

“Oh, God…” Jason breathed against my lips. He kissed me again and I moaned. He reached one hand up and tangled it in my hair. He could palm the back of my skull as though it were a basketball. His fingers were warm against my scalp.

When he pulled his lips away from me, I groaned quietly in complaint.

“We—we should not be doing this,” he whispered, shaking his head. The white streak at the front of his hairline flopped back and forth with the movement. I wanted to reach my fingers up and twist that streak between them. But I didn’t.

“Why not?” I replied, just as breathless.

“We’re friends. This isn’t us.”

“You just said that you just barely fell in love with me.”

“I did. But I’m not willing to ruin the good thing we’ve had going on here for six years.” He panted, shoulders heaving up and down, as he reached up and took my hands away from his face, gently dragging them by the wrists. “You’ve been the best friend I’ve been able to keep longer than a year or two. I can’t… I can’t just… this isn’t about what I want.”

“I’m the one who kissed you,” I pointed out. “What does that say about what I want?”

“It’s not just about wants,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Us being together is dangerous? To whom?”

“To you.”

“Why would it be dangerous for me?” I pushed.

He let me go and spun away from me. He looked like he wanted to shout and rage—maybe throw something—but he just clenched his fists and panted.

When he finally turned back to face me, he’d calmed down a little. “It’s dangerous… because… I… oh, Bruce is gonna kill me…” he whispered, shaking his head again. “Because I… am… the Red Hood.”

Two big confessions in one night. I felt a little dizzy and remembered to breathe.

“Red Hood. As in… the vigilante. And… the crime boss.”

“Vigilante, yes. Crime boss days are behind me. I was newly-back-from-the-dead and not in a stable mindset when I became a crime boss.” I decided not to ask about that. He huffed and sat on my coffee table, instead of the sofa, rubbing his temples. “And I wasn’t going to tell you about it, by the way. You’re the only normal friend I have right now. But it’s too dangerous for us to be together. If any of the rogues in this city knew I had someone I cared about as much as I care about—as much as I love you… you would not survive to the end of the year.”

I crossed from the front door to the sofa and sat on the sofa cushion closest to him, setting my hand on his knee. “Jay, I… I’m willing to risk it. To be with you. We just need to be careful—”

“I’m not willing to lose you. I would have been terrified before tonight if someone worse than me caught you. Knew you were just a friend. Now, though? Now, I don’t know what I’d do if you were captured, and that scares me even more. I saw you under me in that bedroom and I saw a future that was good—for the first time in the nine years since I was resurrected—but I can’t let that be my future. For your sake.”

I bit down on my tongue to keep from shouting. But I did tighten my grip on his knee hard and snap, “Get over yourself, Todd. You’re not the only one who gets to make this decision.”

“No, but apparently I’m the only one who can see things objectively enough to make the wise decision.”

It was my turn to want to throw something. “Jason. Peter. Todd. I don’t care about the danger. And I know you do. But do you know what it’d do to me, knowing that you love me and I feel the same, but you won’t let me be yours? Do you know what it would do to you? I know what it would do to me. It would eat me up inside day in and day out. I would sit here dying for you, waiting for you to come to your senses and carry me back into that bedroom to stay in there all night. But you never would. And I would just wait. I’d never date anyone else. If I tried, all I’d be doing was wishing they were you.

“You and I are cut from the same cloth. Some people are just born to sacrifice. To give up what they want—what they need—for the sake of other people. It’s the only choice we’re ever given, so it’s the choice we make over and over and over again. Sometimes people will split others into Givers and Takers. Those of us born to sacrifice are a step beyond even Givers. We’re the ones who give up everything for others. I’ve done it with my family my entire life. Everyone else always wanted so strongly that my only option was to give up my own. You’re the same, I see it every time I see you with your brothers.

“Jason, it’s time for us to Take. It’s time to let life give us something. This is the moment to be selfish. To put aside Batman and his zealous crusade for one damn moment and let yourself be happy.” I dug my fingernails into his knee through his sweats. “Be selfish for once, Jason.”

He finally looked up at me, eyes meeting mine. “I can’t,” he said.

I clamped my mouth shut and sighed loudly through them. “Yes, you can. If you’re waiting for my consent, you’ve more than got it. I’m telling you now to give yourself consent to want. To take. Get over this hold out that a double life has on you and—mmph!”

He cut me off by slamming his lips against mine, surging off the coffee table and straddling me on the sofa. I moaned and wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled me to one side, sitting on the sofa and guiding me to straddle himself. His hands were splayed over my shoulder blades. I twisted his white streak through my fingers. Our breath shuddered in and out of our lungs. I parted my lips slightly and ran the tip of my tongue over the seam of his lips.

They opened immediately and let me in. I sighed out my nose. “Please ruin our friendship,” I breathed into his lips. “This is so much better.”

He snickered out his nose, smiling. “Does your consent to let me want you include me carrying you back into that bedroom and neither of us leaving until dawn?” He nodded toward my room.

My body shivered. Not from cold. Excitement. Electricity.

“Definitely,” I said breathlessly.

His hands slid from my shoulder blades and down to my legs. He held them and stood up. I hooked my ankles around his back, locking my arms’ grip around his neck.

He carried me to my room, kicked the door shut, and laid me gently on the messed-up bedsheets and disarrayed pillows. On all fours above me, my legs around his waist, he kissed me. Gently, at first, but he quickly grew hungry. His hands worked their way under my shirt, callused palms scraping slightly against my skin.

“Still okay with this?” His voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“Oh yeah,” I breathed, unable to even speak loud enough to be heard from inches away.

He smiled. Wicked delight flickering on his face. “Well, get ready for me to call you mine. Because I am all yours.”

I smiled. “I’m yours, Jason.”

[paintedpeeta]

what headcanons haven’t we covered yet??? how about small things they add to their respective lists about each other a la “you never take sugar in your tea” and “I remember everything about you” ... what are small, unnoticed details about their love that make them smile? 🥺

ohhhh i love this one because domestic everlark >>> everything 🥺🥺🥺

first, we have to acknowledge not all of their little quirks make the other smile. sometimes these two are little bags of snark and sass. katniss leaves the butter dish out and it goes all melty. peeta mismatches socks when he’s folding laundry. katniss will eat an entire tray of biscuits meant for the bakery. peeta gives bear hugs in his sleep. glares and snappy remarks ensue.

BUT

(and it’s a big but)

these are all secretly things that makes the other just a little bit fonder. yes. they’re both pains in each other’s ass. but peeta knowing that katniss will never starve again, she can eat an entire tray of biscuits whenever it pleases her?? katniss getting to the woods and realising she has 2 entirely odd socks on - a wee reminder of peeta while she’s away for the day??? katniss never having to worry about where peeta is during the night because he has her in a bone crushing cuddle??? these two live for that stuff. but secretly.

and that’s the things they supposedly don’t like about each other. god these two are sickeningly sweet.

but there are obviously other little things that do openly make them 🥰 swooooon 🥰 over the other.

katniss comes home from hunting looking absolutely worse for wear, muddied with torn denim jeans and rosy cheeks and a wee pink nose from the cold but she always takes her boots off at the door so she doesn’t trail mud through their home. + her little smile to peeta when she’s heading up for a bath (already drawn for her, of course.) that makes his heart go 🥁🥁🥁

katniss fiddles with the end of her braid while she’s concentrating, usually noticed when working on the memory book with him. peeta is a goner. he’s melting.

when she’s sleepy and they’re lounging around doing whatever or doing absolutely nothing, she’ll put her head up on his shoulder. a soft flop. it’s just cosy for her but it makes him love her just a little bit more if that’s even possible.

puppy dog eyes. it should bother him that she uses it to get what she wants but she’s just too damn cute and really what’s ten more minutes reading her book in bed.

she also would absolutely form a little habit of beating his bath towels before he used them, it starts without even a word between them but she’ll warm it in the dryer or in front of a heater and quietly slip it into the bathroom while he’s bathing or showering. it’s such a sweet little habit. it’s got to be one of his favourites.

let’s be honest katniss is so smitten by peeta that she could write sonnets about his eyelashes I’d be here all day rhyming off things he does that she loves... but some contenders include...

he throws his head back when he laughs!! he’s just a big walking sunshine most of the time. but when he laughs, like reeeaally laughs, the way he probably only does in their home katniss is like 🥰😍😘 because that’s her boy and they’re home and together and happy and safe.

he always makes sure she has eaten in a day, and always asks if she’s hungry. even if she has room for just a little snack he will make it for her. her being full makes for a in love katniss and a peeta who’s so happy to make her satisfied.

he ties her shoelaces. and double knots them of course. she lacks the attention to detail that he has and so he always notice when her ties have come undone and makes sure that he’s the one to fix it.

also him just in general being kind really does it for katniss. yes he will get up extra early to wrangle haymitch’s geese back into their pen. yes he will give kids free cookies in the bakery. would he attempt to rescue a neighbors cat from a tree? probably yes! he just tries to be nice and she loves him for it. and she notices every single thing he does. could this be where she got the idea to make a list of good things in her head?? possibly.

[cake-writes]

Compromise (Part Seven)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Part Six / Master List / Spotify Playlist

After what felt like hours, you were the proud owner of a brand new Land Rover.

You didn’t really know the details, other than that the vehicle was in your name. Bucky may have paid for it in cash – or a bank transfer, but you didn’t know for sure because he signed most of the paperwork while you made sure Winnie didn’t get into any trouble in the play area. The only thing you signed was the title. He even offered to handle your insurance payments, because they would without a doubt skyrocket and you weren’t exactly confident that you’d be able to afford them.

It was a weird situation, and honestly, you weren’t sure how it made you feel. You were indebted to him, absolutely, but it made you feel… good, for some reason. Like he was taking care of you. Like he was taking care of Winnie.

Maybe because he was.

The ride back to the compound was short and sweet. Bucky streamed Winnie’s cartoon from his phone to the small built-in TV on the back of his seat, and she was absolutely delighted. Kept her busy while you tried to figure out what to say.

A simple ‘thank you’ didn’t seem like enough, but the smile he gave you in return made your heart pound. You turned up the radio to drown out the frenzied rhythm, but you could still hear it in your ears.

After you dropped him off, for the rest of the night all you thought about was him.

Eight o’clock came around and you realized that something was missing. Mr. Squiggles.

You’d been in such a rush – and such a state – to leave for the dealership this morning that you hadn’t double-checked Winnie’s belongings. You’d probably left some other things at Bucky’s, too, but her stuffed unicorn was the one thing she would absolutely have to have tonight. She’d throw a tantrum otherwise.

So you had no choice but to text him. Not that you minded.

You, 8:03pm Sorry, I think we left Mr. Squiggles at your place. Could you please have a look?

Bucky, 8:04pm On it.

A few seconds passed, and then he sent you a photo of it laying atop Winnie’s lavender sheets. Oh, it was a huge relief that it hadn’t gotten lost during the vehicle trade-in. That would have been a nightmare.

You, 8:05pm Thanks so much! We’ll be around shortly.

Bucky, 8:05pm Already out the door. See you soon.

You stared blankly at his text for a few moments.

Bucky was coming over.

He was coming over right now.

He was saving you the trouble of going back to the compound. It would have been a half-hour round trip, not to mention Winnie’s excitement at making another unexpected visit. The two of you had a very specific bedtime routine that you rarely deviated from, otherwise you knew she’d never get to sleep. This was about to be another one of those nights, but Bucky was really saving you a lot of hassle by making the trip himself.

You, 8:06pm Thank you! I’m getting Winnie ready for bed. Key’s under the mat if you want to let yourself in.

And with that, you set your phone down on the bathroom counter to focus on the task at hand.

“Winnie,” you called out, turning on the faucet to the tub. “Bathtime in five minutes.”

“Okay!” came her response from the living room – sweet, but begrudging. She never did like baths, but you found that giving her a five-minute warning helped a lot.

The tub filled quickly, with you checking every so often to make sure the temperature was alright. By the time you managed to corral her into the tub, more than five minutes had passed – not that you noticed. Lots of bubble bath and bath toys kept her entertained while you washed her hair and combed out all of the knots.

Your voices echoed off the tile as the two of you sang her bathtime song, to distract her from the pain of detangling her too-fine hair. You’d never understand how it got knotted so easily. Even with too much conditioner and plenty of detangling spray, it was still a chore to comb out her hair.

Then there was a sudden knock on the bathroom door, to which you jumped and bashed your head on one of the towel racks.

“Ow, Christ,” you swore, holding your aching head.

Bucky’s laughter was clear as day on the other side. “Sorry, doll. Guess you didn’t hear me come in.”

Winnie’s eyes lit up. “Is Daddy here?”

“Yes, Daddy’s here,” you began, but she hopped out of the tub to let him in and you changed your tune completely. “Winnie, honey, we’re not done with your bath—”

She fumbled with the doorknob for a moment before she yanked open the door.

Now, while you didn’t particularly want her trailing water all through the house, the bigger problem was that you were barely dressed. Just a flimsy tank top, no bra, and a pair of plain underwear. That was all. Bathtime got messy, and you didn’t like getting your clothes wet. You had a spare t-shirt and a pair of shorts sitting on the bathroom counter for when he arrived, but you hadn’t put them on yet; hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

Of course, Winnie wasn’t dressed, either, but she was his kid, for one, and for two, she was covered in suds anyway.

“Hi, princess,” he greeted gently, kneeling down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Look who missed you today!”

When he pulled Mr. Squiggles out from behind his back, Winnie squealed and accepted the stuffed animal from him – and then she took off down the hallway towards her room, naked as the day she was born. Bucky let out a snort of laughter and then, when he finally chanced a look at you, the expression that came over his face made your face flush.

It wasn’t like Bucky hadn’t seen all of it before, but the way his eyes trailed down your body made you feel like he hadn’t. He took in every inch of you, every dip and curve and that made you hotter under the collar than it should have.

After a moment or two, however, he finally seemed to come to his senses.

“Shit, sorry,” he stumbled over his words, quickly turning around to give you your privacy. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you reassured him as you pulled on the t-shirt, but your throat was impossibly dry. “Thanks for coming.”

Water dripped from the faucet in a staggered staccato, the only sound save for the rustling of your clothing and Winnie’s quiet giggles down the hallway.

“You… You shouldn’t keep your key under the mat. It’s not safe.”

You glanced up from tying the drawstring on your shorts to find that Bucky had shoved his hands into his pockets, and he was peering up at the ceiling, as if to make a point that he absolutely wasn’t looking. He hadn’t yet changed out of his clothes from today; that plain black t-shirt was still tight as hell, and damn if his ass didn’t look even better in those jeans now than it had earlier.

You swallowed hard, willing your voice not to waver. “Where should I keep it, then?”

“I’ll have a look outside when I go.”

Well, he would know best about this, wouldn’t he?

“Sure,” you said, pulling a towel from the rack. “Thanks. You can look now, I’m decent.”

You still weren’t wearing a bra, but the t-shirt mitigated that a bit. Putting a bra on was too much of a hassle and you were tired. You also had a bunch of other things to do before you went to bed – namely dry Winnie off (because she definitely wasn’t going to come back to the bathtub now), laundry, and lunches for tomorrow.

Bucky made it a point to keep his eyes above your collar this time, but he seemed more amused than anything, even if his cheeks were tinged pink.

“What?” you asked blankly.

“You’ve got bubbles in your hair,” he said with a grin, automatically reaching up to brush them away. He didn’t ask for permission, but he didn’t need it, either.

Your heart skipped a beat at his gentle touch, and that was when you noticed it – tension in the air, tension so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Your skin burned hot wherever he touched: the crown of your head, a stray lock of hair he tucked behind your ear, and finally on your cheek where his hand slowly, hesitantly came to rest against the side of your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.

Bucky spoke quietly, then, “I really appreciate you trusting me.”

He didn’t just mean with this, but with everything.

His eyes were soft and so, so blue that you just couldn’t handle it – so you shoved the towel at him, and that broke the spell. He immediately let you go in favour of catching it before it hit the ground.

“Do you want to put Winnie to bed?” was all you could manage with your brain short-circuiting.

“Yeah,” he stammered, “Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” you said again, quickly pushing past him to make your way to the kitchen. You could barely breathe, because whenever you inhaled all you could smell was him and he was absolutely intoxicating. “Let me know if you need me.”

Thankfully, he didn’t.

A little after nine o’clock, you finally finished just about everything that needed doing before the morning. Laundry was in the dryer, dishes were done, and lunches were packed – three of them, because you wanted to do something nice for Bucky as a thank you. A couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were nothing in comparison to a six-figure Land Rover, but you did what you could.

Slowly, you cracked open the door to Winnie’s bedroom. Bucky hadn’t yet come out, so you were expecting to find him still reading to her, but he wasn’t. No, he was fast asleep with your daughter curled up into his side. Somehow, he’d wrangled her into her favourite nightie, and a half-open book lay on his chest; he hadn’t gotten very far into it by the looks of it.

It was a comical sight, because Bucky was such a thick, muscular hulk of a man, so much that he took up the majority of Winnie’s big girl bed – baby pink sheets atop a simple twin mattress. It was also incredibly sweet, and you found yourself smiling a little.  

After taking a few quiet steps into the room, you got to the bed and carefully plucked the book from Bucky’s hand. It was another one of her favourites, which you closed and sat on the nightstand.

He’d always been a light sleeper, at least in the time you were together but right now he didn’t seem to be. Even when you pulled a spare blanket from the closet and lay it over him, he didn’t stir at all. You tucked in your little girl, too, and then leaned over her father to press a kiss the crown of her head.

That was what finally seemed to wake him.

His arm slowly slid around your waist, metal cold against the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up, which sent a shiver through you – and then you toppled into bed with him, half on top of him if you were honest with yourself but all you could think about was how good this felt. One of your legs was thrown over his thigh, and the other was wedged between him and the edge of the mattress, holding most of your weight.  

He wasn’t awake at all, you realized. He wouldn’t do this without permission.

“Bucky,” you whisper-shouted at him. “Bucky, wake up.”

But he didn’t. No, instead he grumbled something inaudible and buried his face in your neck. His hot breath fanned against your sensitive skin, to which you grit your teeth at the pleasant feeling.

God, this felt good. When was the last time you slept with someone? Both literally and figuratively. 

“Bucky,” you tried again, just a little louder and with your free hand you dug your fingers into his ribs. Corded muscle jumped beneath your fingertips, but he still didn’t budge.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to your fate – not that you minded, truth be told – and you fished your phone out of your pocket to make sure he wasn’t going to miss any early-morning missions if he slept here overnight. A quick text to Steve would hopefully do the job.

You, 9:11pm Does Bucky need to be anywhere in the morning?

A couple of minutes passed, during which you made yourself a little more comfortable. Bucky’s grip around your waist had loosened enough for you to shift to a less awkward position, but you still couldn’t get out entirely. He had you well and truly trapped – except, well, he didn’t. Not really. 

If you wanted to, you definitely could have woken him up. You could have bit him. Scratched him. Kissed him, even, if you had to. There were plenty of ways to wake him up, but you only made a couple of half-assed attempts.

Why?

Steve, 9:15pm Not that I know of.

You, 9:16pm Thanks!

Steve, 9:16pm Why?

With a yawn, you set your alarm and then dropped your phone down on the bedside table. Bucky could have the honours of explaining this to his best friend. Tomorrow was going to be a mess, but that was a problem for the morning. Not for tonight. Not when you were so tired of fighting.

Maybe you could be a little selfish. Winnie slept like a log, after all, and you always woke up before her.

This was harmless. 

Right?

Your heart was racing, as were your thoughts, but all you could think about was how good it felt to be in his arms again, how comfortable it was to rest your head on his chest, how nice it would be to fall asleep to his steady heartbeat.

And it was.

Interlude #2

[citrinekay]

Holden is irritable and sleep-deprived. Bill handles it like a champ and convinces Holden to take a nap only by offering to lay down with him.

I keep seeing that post going around about how 35 year old writers just want their two characters to lay in bed together and get the best night’s sleep of their lives. and honestly??? i’m not 35 yet but what a mood. I just really really want these overworked boys to get the rest they deserve! Thanks for the prompt 💕

The Friday after they return from a three week long stretch in Cape Cod battling sandy gravesites and wrangling high-strung socialites upset with their vacations being interrupted, Bill and Holden take the day off. Holden, who was against the suggestion, was out-voted by both Wendy and Bill who asserted that they both needed some rest before taking on the next case. 

Both of them had gotten very little sleep over the past few weeks with the Provincetown officials and a number of local high rollers breathing down their necks to put an end to the rapes and murders of three privileged teen girls. The trip ended in success, but Bill is not sure when he’ll ever get caught back up on his sleep. 

He sleeps in late, and wakes around ten to the buzz of his neighbor’s mower blasting by a few feet from his window. Rolling over with a groan, he wallows in irritation for the space of a minute before convincing himself to get up and not waste the day languishing in bed. 

He gets up, makes a quick breakfast, and starts a load of laundry before slouching down on the couch. The handful of chores are about all the energy he can muster with a bone-deep exhaustion still tugging at his limbs. He half-watches the midday baseball game projecting in sunny, over-saturated greens and blues all the way from Chicago before the timer on the washer jolts him awake again. 

While the laundry tumbles in the dryer, Bill takes himself to the kitchen to get a cup of water. His gaze glances off the telephone mounted on the wall before shifting to his watch. It’s edging closer to noon, and he can’t imagine Holden would have slept in so late. It must be safe to call now. 

The last thing he wants to do is disturb Holden’s rest. Holden always takes on the brunt of responsibility when it comes to their work, piling as much on his plate as he can possibly manage - and then some - mentally flogging himself if things don’t go according to plan. The last few days in Provincetown, he’d looked exhausted and threadbare, but hadn’t wanted to hear a word about stretching himself too thin. 

Bill picks up the telephone and dials. The phone rings several times, and Bill chews his lower lip nervously. 

Finally, Holden picks up with a strident “Hello?”

“Hey,” Bill says, frowning softly at Holden’s tone. “It’s me.”

“Oh, hi.”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, not all.” Holden says, “I was working.”

“Working? Holden, we’re supposed to be taking this day off to rest.” 

“No, you took it off the rest. I told you and Wendy I was fine.”

Bill clenches his jaw. Now that makes it sound like he’s slacking off for no good reason. He struggles not to match Holden’s brusque tone. 

“Fine.” He says, “Can I at least come over and keep you company?” 

“I guess so.” Holden says, sounding bewildered. “If you want to watch me work on this profile, be my guest.”

“Well, if you’re going to be like that then I guess I will come over, and you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Holden’s sigh rustles across the line. “Why? So we can just piss each other off?”

“No.” Bill says, not taking the bait. “I’ll bring beer.”

“Great.”

“Great. See you in a little bit.” 

They hang up, and Bill puts his hands on his hips while his gaze wanders around the quiet, sun-bathed kitchen. The back yard needs mowed. The weeds are trying to take back the patio space, but he figures he can push it off until tomorrow. Despite Holden’s cantankerous mood, he’d trade coaxing him into putting a pause on work and getting some much needed rest over riding the lawn mower under the baking sun any day. 

Bill pulls the laundry out of the dryer, and only takes out what he needs before leaving the rest in an unfolded pile. Throwing on khakis and a polo, he grabs the case of beer out of the fridge, and leaves the house. 

Once he reaches Holden’s apartment, he knocks on the door, and barely waits for Holden’s reply of “it’s open” before slipping inside. Bill frowns as he eases the door shut behind him. 

Holden has the curtains drawn over the bright, July sunshine, leaving the room in semi-darkness. His desk in the corner is piled with case files and legal pads, and the wall above it is decorated with a dozen crime scene photos held up by strips of white tape. The coffee table is it’s own mess of documents, police reports, and Post-It notes.

Holden emerges from the kitchen in a white t-shirt and blue flannel pajama pants. He’s carrying a cup of coffee in his hand as he makes his way back across the room to the desk. 

“Hey.” Bill says. 

“Hi.” Holden mutters, raising his eyebrows as if to ask whether Bill is pleased that he’d forced his way into this madness. “Excuse the mess. I have more room to spread out at work.” 

Bill ignores that pointed remark, and holds up the case of beer. “You want one?”

“Coffee first.” Holden says, taking a sip from his mug, and plopping down at the desk. 

“It’s past noon.”

“I know. I can tell time.”

Bill clenches his jaw. If they hadn’t just come off such a difficult case, Holden’s attitude might have warranted a stronger response. This conversation might have been going something like, “are you begging to get turned over my knee?” But this isn’t playing hard-to-get. Even in the shadows of the apartment, Bill can see the dark circles and glassy, bloodshot quality of Holden’s eyes. 

He puts the beer in the fridge, and wanders back out to the kitchen. 

“Looks like you’re really dug in.” He observes, scanning the documents on the coffee table. “How long have you been up?”

“A bit.” Holden says, not looking up from his legal pad. “I went for a run, and grabbed a bagel at that place down the street before starting on this.” 

Bill circles the coffee table, and edges closer to him. “Did you sleep okay?” 

Holden sighs, and sets his pen down firmly. “Bill, I said you could come over. I didn’t say you could badger me with questions and distract me from this profile I’m working on.”

“Fine. Then tell me what you have so far and maybe I can help you.”

Holden groans, running a hand over his face. “Bill, please. My head hurts.”

“Then give it a break for a damn second.” 

Holden slumps lower in his chair, a scowl forming on his face. 

“Here, stop looking at this for a minute.” Bill says, crouching down beside him, and swiveling the chair to face him. 

Holden tries not to meet his eyes as Bill slowly runs his hands up his thighs. As they reach his hips, he squirms, and draws in a deep, shaky breath. His knuckles press against his mouth, silencing the tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Bill asks, softly. 

Holden’s jaw clenches. He gives his head a slight shake. 

Bill sighs. Just what he’d been afraid of. When they’re working, Holden’s brain is always working at high velocity, and sometimes it’s a struggle to get it to slow down even once the case is over like some kind of doped up fight or flight response. 

“You have to stop working for a minute.” Bill says, as gently as he can. 

Holden turns his face away, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Look at me.” Bill says, giving his hips a squeeze. “Holden.”

Holden’s eyes glisten as he opens them, and tremulously meets Bill’s gaze. 

“You cannot work like this.” Bill says, “Look at this place - it looks like a madman lives here.” 

Holden lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah, it kind of does.”

“Come on. You need some rest.”

“I don’t think I can.” Holden says, “It’s pointless. I laid in bed for six hours last night trying to sleep, and I couldn’t get my mind to shut off. So I might as well work if that’s what my brain wants to do.”

Bill rises to his feet, and tugs persistently on Holden’s hand. “Come on.” 

“Bill, no. I think-”

“You’re not thinking.” Bill says, pulling him to his feet. “Not after being awake for over twenty-four damn hours. Come on, I’ll lay with you.”

Holden braces his hands against Bill’s chest, resisting for the space of a minute before nodding. “Okay. Fine. But if I’m still awake in an hour, I’m getting back up.”

“Deal.” 

Bill leads them down the hallway to Holden’s bedroom, leaving the lights off as they find their way to the sheets in the darkness. He urges Holden into the bed first, and climbs in beside him. Pulling the sheets over them, he settles down with his chest tucked against Holden’s back and his arm wrapped around his waist. 

After several minutes, Holden exhales a resigned sound. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Neither of them mention that they’d spent nearly every single day for the past weeks working closely on the case. It’s funny how Bill can miss Holden so much when they’re working, how they’re physically so close to one another, yet emotionally separated by the rigors of the case. It’s best not to let personal feelings overlap with professional ones. They have to stay focused on the work, but more than that, they have to keep the good things they have between them safe and sacred, untouched by the darkness they’re witnessing. 

Bill slides a hand up Holden’s back, and gently massages his shoulder. He can’t see Holden’s face in the darkness, but he can feel the way his limbs begin to deflate, tension melting from his body. He sighs softly, turning onto his stomach as Bill’s hand works its way across stiff muscles. 

“How’s that?” Bill murmurs, leaning in to kiss the back of Holden’s neck. 

“Mm.” Holden murmurs, sleepily. 

Bill smiles, but doesn’t say another word to interrupt the gradual decline from high-strung exhaustion to deep slumber. He eases his hand into a soothing, circular rubbing motion until he feels Holden go limp, his breath expelling in deep, heavy sighs. Sleeping at last. 

Bill sinks back against the pillows, and listens to him breathe and dream. It isn’t long before his own lingering exhaustion overcomes him. He falls asleep, satisfied with the thought that there’s no alarm set to wake them. They have the whole day to sleep if they like, to rest, and to not think of anything except the simple pleasure of lying next to each other. 

[lennonknowsmysins]

Could I possibly request a John or Paul fic where one of them finds their SO after a rough day with a tear streaked face and puffy eyes, so they go and either make a lovely lunch/dinner/breakfast or buys a bunch of flowers to arrange around the room or something to make them happy?

i used teddy boy paul for this and slipped in some big brother john because i’m a bit of a whore for that troupe tbh. except an epilouge to this because it didn’t end where i wanted it too but it was starting to get really long and i didn’t want to make you wait for it!!! thank you for the request!! i hope you like it!!

-

Everyday after school, you waited by the front stairs for your brother John to bring his car around and take you either home or to the library while he practiced with his band so that you didn’t have to be home alone if Mimi wasn’t there. Today was supposed to have a library day but when you got to the stairs, John wasn’t there. Now normally you didn’t mind having to wait a little bit but today had been exceptionally rainy and cold and you were in no mood to get dumped on. Unfortunately, an hour later, you were still waiting for John and the doors to the school had been locked. Sighing, you accepted the fact that your brother had forgotten about you. A rumbling in your stomach accepted the fact that he’d also forgotten to give you your lunch earlier.

Begrudgingly, you set off on foot to where you assumed you’d find John - Paul McCartney’s house, where him and the rest of the band liked to rehearse. You were sure that John won’t be happy about you showing up, he didn’t like having to share his friends or his baby sister. That’s why he always made you wait at the nearby library. “It’d just be awkward,” He’d defended, “we’re trying to play songs about adult stuff and m’ little sister’s just sitting there. I can’t play that shit in front of you.”

You were pretty sure that he really just didn’t want to come off as a babysitter, worried that it would break the bad boy vibes. But no matter how pissed John would be at you crashing in, you were sure that you were more upset at being left at the school in the rain without your lunch. Besides, it wasn’t like you were going to stay for long, you were just going to let him know that you were still alive, if he bothered to care, and try to wrangle some money out of him for food - if you were to try and say no in front of his mates, that’d just make him look like an ass. Then you’d be on your way. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t want an excuse to see Paul too.

You’d only met him a few times, but each time had turned your knees to jelly. He had big soft eyes and an even softer voice that made you swoon whenever you called you ‘love’. Boys didn’t normally call you pet names like that. Well, your brother did but didn’t count. Maybe he would stick up for you in front of John and invite you to stay and watch them rehearse. You would like that, you actually thought they sounded pretty good. Or at least Paul looked pretty good when he was playing. This was another reason that John didn’t like you being around his mates. He wasn’t about to let anyone, especially Paul, get into your pants. But the joke was on him, you were hardly as outgoing as he was when it came to people you liked. And you doubted that Paul would ever see you like that - after all, you were just John’s little sister. There wasn’t much promise in that.

The walk to Paul’s house was taking longer than you had anticipated. It was hard to see with the wind whipping your hair that wasn’t stuck against your face in your eyes and the rain had soaked through your flimsy jacket and your dress, pelting your skin. The violent shivers that rippled through you made it hard to concentrate on where you were going. Your school bag seemed to be tugging you downwards and you could have sworn that you heard it groan. All your papers must be soaked by now. The unpleasantness of the situation mixed with your hunger reminding you that your brother had really just forgotten about you brought tears to your eyes, only making seeing more difficult. You were wet, hungry, tired, and forgotten about.

Finally you reached Paul’s house, letting out a breath of relief when you saw John’s car parked out front as you trudged up to the front door and knocked. You felt nerves shoot through you when Paul answered, a grin on his lips.

“Oh hello - what’s happened?” Paul’s forever good-natured expression fell as he took in your red face which had been slapped by the weather, with your eyes puffy and teary, your makeup smeared every which way and your nose running for dear life. Not to mention you were soaked to the bone.

“H-hey Paul, is J-John here?” You asked, every word being agony as you were out of breath from the long walk and the constant shivering. Paul shook his head.

“’Fraid not, love.” He said with a frown, “You alright?”

His question made the tears well up again. Now you were wet, hungry, tired, forgotten about, missing your brother and standing in front of his handsome best friend looking like an absolute wreck. You let out a sob and looked at your feet, not bearing making eye contact with Paul. Paul, however, was not about to stand for this.

“Hey, hey, hey, come’ere,” He cooed, pulling you out of the rain and into a hug, “It’ll be okay, I’ve got ya, I’ve got ya.”

You let out a spew of mumbled apologies in his chest through your crying, clutching on to him like he was the only thing keeping you standing - which he basically was at this point. Paul had one arm holding you tightly and the other rubbing up and down your back, shushing into your sopping hair. You shuddered, struggling to catch your breath and he gave you a squeeze.

“Deep breath, love.” He reminded you, pulling away. You took a couple and he smiled a little, “Come in, you’re trembling.”

He led you into the living room then squeezed your shoulder, telling you to wait. He gave you a knowing smile before disappearing down a hallway. You stood there, hugging yourself as you sniffed. A few tears continued to escape down your cheeks but besides those, the cascade had ceased.

“John and George took me car to go see about a couple of guitars in Birkenhead. Said they might be able to book us a gig too.” Paul explained, reappearing with a towel. “You can wait here if you like, I know Johnny’s said that you don’t like being alone.”

You nodded, slightly embarrassed John had exposed your irrational fear to Paul (and you assumed George and Stu as well). Paul wiped up the tears, water, and makeup off your cheeks before wrapping the towel around your wet neck. You blushed when he smiled down at you, turning the corners of your own lips up a tad.

“There she is!” He said gently, catching your chin before you could look away from him, “You’re much lovelier to look at than John.”

It was all you could do to keep your breath from hitching. You’d heard that Paul could be a bit of flirt from girls at your school who knew him, but you’d never seen it in action, nor did you ever expect his charms to be used on you. Especially right after showing up soaking wet at his front door bawling. But you supposed he was right. You were the lovelier Lennon. A sad growl from your stomach interrupted the nice moment. Paul’s look of concern was back, crooking an eyebrow at you.

“John didn’t give me my lunch today and I didn’t have any money on me.” You said sheepishly, suddenly aware of how absurd you must seem to him right now. Paul chuckled, taking a step back.

“We don’t have a lot in the way of food, but I can make you some nice toast, yeah?” He offered. Not wanting to mooch to much off of him, you began to decline but your stomach wailed again.

“That would be wonderful, thanks Paul.” You grinned.

“You got it, darling.” As he turned to head into the kitchen, your face got a little redder, your stomach forgetting about its emptiness in its excited twisting and you couldn’t help the smile that began spreading across your face, although you attempted to hid it when Paul spun on his heel. “Oh, do you want to change your clothes? I’m afraid it’s me and me dad and brother, so we don’t have much in the way of girls clothes, I’ll bet I have sweatpants we can get to fit you and if you don’t mind the bagginess, I’ve got tons of shirts you can borrow and I can throw your stuff in the dryer so they’ll at least dry off a bit.”

“Okay.” You nodded, another batch of butterflies releasing themselves in you at the thought of wearing his clothes. ‘This is just a stupid crush’ you thought to yourself, ‘Stop getting caught up in it’

“C’mon, you can get changed in my room.”

This wasn’t the situation you pictured when you thought of being in a boy’s room for the first time. More boy, less water, pretty much the same amount of you undressing. It looked a lot like John’s room, but a little more organized. A desk sat in the corner, sheet music scattered all about, an Elvis poster hanging above it. Various concert posters had been tapped around the walls, among a Quarrymen one that you recognized as John’s artwork. Next to Paul’s bed was a picture of the band trying to look serious but George was clearly laughing at something - which was funny, George always came off a little scary to you. You continued looking around as you hiked up the sweatpants, tying the drawstring to a comfortable level before stepping out. Paul paused at the top of the stairs.

“I was just comin’ up to tell you that your toast is done,” He said blinking at the sight of you in his clothes. “And if you wanted any eggs with it, ya know, to complete the Breakfast for Dinner experience.”

“Some eggs would be delightful.” You smiled, “Thank you for the clothes by the way, I really appreciate not having to wait in soaking wet ones.”

“Well, I, uh, didn’t want you to catch a cold or nothing,” He said, trying to stay cool, “Your brother’d have a cow.”

He offered you his arm, leading you down the stairs to the kitchen. The presentation he’d set up for the simple plate of toast made you feel warm. Juice had been poured into a wine glass and a flower had been placed in a vase on the table. You looked up at Paul with what you were sure was a stupidly happy grin.

“You seemed like you were having a rough day.”

Then you were hugging Paul. Handsome Paul that you had a stupid crush on. Because he’d made you breakfast for dinner and lent you his clothes and let you into his house after you’d had to walk in the rain and comforted you without any hesitation and let your shitheaded brother borrow his car when John had a perfectly good one of own. “Thank you so much Paul. I know we don’t know each other very well but this really does mean a lot to me.”

“You know, love,” He began, pausing to kiss your head, “I think you’re my favorite Lennon.”

[sharonswritersblock]

Potty Mouth Lahote

Concept: Paul and reader have a three-year-old son who loves to repeat new words he’s never heard before.

          It was a normal Thursday afternoon when you decided to get some quick housework done while Paul was at Sam’s for the pack meeting. You had managed to wrangle your three-year-old down for his nap upstairs, wash the remaining dishes from this morning’s breakfast, and throw a load of laundry into the washer and dryer each. Just as you were busy moving some things around to thoroughly clean the floors your son comes bustling down the stairs. “Mommy mommy!” little Isaac comes running into the living room completely oblivious to the vacuum chord lying in the middle of the hardwood floor. “Ow Fuck!” he yelps as he goes flying over the chord and face plants to the ground. You quickly drop what you’re doing and pick your son off the floor just as your ears finally registered what has come out of your child’s mouth. “Isaac Nathaniel Lahote, WHAT just came out of your mouth?!” you exclaim shell-shocked. “Oh fuck mommy?” Isaac responds looking up with those innocent brown eyes. You were at a loss for words. It was obvious he had no idea what he said was inappropriate, but you also didn’t know where he picked that up from until you remembered whom you chose to procreate with…

“Paul Lahote wait til you get home” you muttered to yourself.  

            You explained to Isaac that the F word was not something that should ever be coming out of his mouth again until he was 45. Then you turned on his favorite Paw Patrol episode as you finished the rest of your work and waited for Paul to come home. About 30 minutes later you heard the lock on the front door click and Isaac yell “Daddy!” from where you were in the kitchen.  You counted Paul’s steps as he made it into the kitchen with Isaac in his arms hugging his neck for dear life. “Hello beautiful” Paul leaned down to peck your lips. “Ew daddy! Get a room!” Isaac exclaimed as he hid his face in Paul’s neck. Paul chuckled as he set your son down and he took off to go finish his favorite show. As Isaac walked out you placed both hands on your hips with your eyebrows raised to the Gods glaring at Paul.

 “I’ve been gone all day what could I have possibly done now?” Paul shrugged.

“Paul, we’ve talked about this before. Isaac is at that age where he’s like a sponge one wrong false move and he will soak it up and never let go. You have to be better about your language.” You scolded. Paul furrowed his brows, “What did he say?” You glanced out the door to see if Isaac was listening, but he was too busy being engrossed with the television. “Paul he said the…F word” You whispered like a secret your life depended on.

 Paul tried hard to hide the smile that was threatening to appear on his face. Alas, he couldn’t contain himself and let out a grunt like chuckle. You smacked his chest with the back of your hand, “It’s not funny Paul! I don’t want our son growing up to be some butt face miscreant!” At this Paul snorted. “Like his father” you deadpanned.

“Hey!” Paul looked genuinely offended but kept on “I have no idea where he would get that from! It wasn’t from me. I don’t even say the F word anymore, if I need to call one of the guys out I just call them a mother frogger I swear!” He insisted.  

 “Ugh Paul, then where would he get that from?” you pressed on. You guessed this would be one unsolved mystery for the books. Maybe Isaac picked it up from the T.V. or even from one of the guys without them realizing, but the question was which one?

            The next day Paul drove you and Isaac down to help Emily cook for the bonfire tonight. Some of the guys were in the living room playing video games as you three walked into the house. “Holy fucking shit dude you suck at this game!” Quil belted out just as Isaac ran up for his “turn” to play. You and Paul froze, looked at each other, and then zoned straight in on Quil and Isaac. Isaac looked up at you with big excited eyes “Holy shit mama!” he proudly exclaims. All of a sudden the room went silent. Everyone zoned in on you and Paul’s reaction. Paul decided to break the silence “Oh Quil buddy I think you should start running now.” Just as Quil is about to question Paul he takes a look at your furious eyes and bolts out the sliding door.

 “Quil you mother frogger get your butt back in here!” you storm outside after him.    

 A/N: How did I do for my first imagine? I’ve written before but this is the first for this blog. I’m rusty. Requests are open if anyone would like one or for feedback (: 

[rose-of-gabriel]

Rainy Day

There are days when you don’t want to talk. All you want to do is fuck your boyfriend seven ways to Sunday on the laundry room floor.

Light-hearted smut with feelings that I hope makes you happy. No fandom or anything, just smut. F/M, 1615 Words

By the time I make it up the driveway, my clothes are soaked through to my underwear. It’s one of those cliché bad days where the universe finds about a hundred different ways to say “fuck you!” I heave the garage door open and slip inside, kicking off my shoes before entering the laundry room. I stand there awhile, sopping wet and pissed at the world. Shilo’s watching TV – Game of Thrones, from the sound of it. I know he heard me come in. (I may have slammed the door a little harder than necessary) “Hey, Shi?” I call, peeling off my jacket and tossing it into the washing machine. The volume of the TV dies down a little and he calls back, “Yeah?” His voice is muffled like his mouth’s full of food. “Are you super attached to the TV right now?” I stress the word super because if he’s only moderately attached, I won’t feel as guilty about pulling him away from it. “It’s On Demand.” he says, turning it off altogether, “I can catch up later.” “Are you tired?” I stand on one foot and try to wrangle my sock off. “Uh, no.” “Are you opposed to physical exercise?” “Right now or in general?” I groan, “Now.” He opens the door to the laundry room, dimples puckering as he attempts to hold in a laugh. I don’t want to think about what I look like right now – ghostly pale with dark hair clinging to my face like seaweed. I don’t want him asking why I look so pissed. There are days when you don’t want to talk. All you want to do is fuck your boyfriend seven ways to Sunday on the laundry room floor. Shi closes the door a bit behind him so there’s just enough light left in the room for me to see that dumb smile still on his face. “So when you asked about physical activity, I thought you meant sex.” he looks me over again, “But now I’m thinking you want to bludgeon someone.” I feel the tension in my shoulders deflate. He’s not wrong. “Sex first.” I mutter. He laughs freely this time and takes a step closer. In our tiny laundry room, that puts him in kissing distance. As luck would have it, I am a teacup-sized human that fell in love with a tree, so I have to do a little run-and-jump number to reach his mouth. I feel him yelp against my lips as the momentum sends us backward into the door. He jerks back. The only thing visible now is the metal rim of his glasses. “Holy shit,” he sounds breathless, “you meant, like right now.” “Mhm,” my lips are on his again, hands fumbling with his glasses. They’re promptly deposited on the dryer and then my hands are free. I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling his bottom lip between my teeth. We’re breathing the same air. It’s hot and thick and I feel like I’m melting. His hands move down my sides at the same pace our mouths move against each other. They grip my hips and pull me flush against his body. I soak up his heat, shuddering because of how good it feels. Met with little resistance, I push my tongue into his mouth. Turns out I’d been right. His mouth had been full. From the taste of it: strawberry yogurt. Our tongues continue their game of tag while our hands get busy. I tug at his unruly curly hair and clench my fist into the fabric of his shirt. He responds with a satisfying moan that I devour like candy. His hands weave around to my ass and give it a squeeze, to which I respond with an un-arousing yip. With considerable effort, I tear my lips away. Shi chuckles. “Shut up.” I grumble and reach for the hem of his shirt. It’s a little damp now, what with his dry body pressed up against my not-dry one, but still slips over his head with ease. I toss it in the direction of the washing machine with no care where it ends up. My focus moves to his jaw, peppering kisses along the edge until I get to his ear. I bite his earlobe gently and run my fingers over his now bare chest. Shi’s hands end up on my breasts, and I know it’s because he was aiming for my shirt buttons and missed, but hell if I’m going to stop him. I hum in content and continue my trail of kisses down his neck, sucking right on the edge of his collar bone. Impatient, he grabs each side of my blouse and yanks. It comes flying open and I wiggle out of it immediately. If it’s ripped at all, I’ll kill him, but later. I swear he knows when my mind starts drifting, because as soon as I start thinking about sewing on new buttons, he grabs my hips and uses his whole body to push me up against the dryer. I slide my hands into his back pockets and his go straight for my bra. His fingers fumble at the back like he’s trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube, tugging on clasps that aren’t there. I pull his hands away. “Sports bra.” I say, pulling it over my head and tossing it into the unknown. He huffs like he’s been inconvenienced and I almost wish the light was on so he could see my glare. Before I can tell him he’s being a baby, his mouth is on one breast and his hand is on the other. Any coherent thought in my head fizzles into nonexistence. His fingers are roughed and calloused, complete contrast to my tender skin. His tongue darts over my nipple and I inhale sharply at the sensation. I brace my arms on the dryer, needing something to steady me because my mind is going a little fuzzy. I feel his dick against my knee, straining in the confines of his jeans. I move my leg up and down against it. He responds by taking my nipple between his teeth and pinching the other between his fingers. “Fuck,” I hiss, half elated and half annoyed. I will not be one-upped. All of a sudden, the pressure ceases and his lips are traveling down my stomach. I decide to go on the offensive, placing my hand flat against his chest and pushing as hard as I can. He makes some disgruntled noise as I hop off the dryer and push him back into the opposite wall. I kiss and bite at his chest (since that’s all I can reach) and fumble with his zipper. Just when I get it, his hands cup my face and he bends down, pulling my lips onto his. His thumbs run over my jaw and I let him turn my head ever so slightly to the side, allowing our tongues more access. With his jeans around his knees, I can feel his erection press against my naval. Grinning against his mouth, I slip my hand beneath his boxers. His whole body stiffens when I take him in my hand. To my surprise, he jerks back. “Your hands are really cold.” his voice is an octave higher than it should be. I blink for a second, not really processing, then groan and remove my hands. “Baby,” I mutter and return my lips to his chest. I feel his arms try something, but I grab him by the wrists and force them to his sides. The kisses travel down his chest and stomach, biting and sucking whenever I feel like it. When I reach the hem of his boxers, I let go of his hands and yank them down. The next few moments are interesting. I assume it’s right in front of my face, so I just lean forward with my lips parted. My nose ends up smushed against his hip bone. He laughs, “What are you doing?” I feel around with my hands, “Piss off, it’s dark.” Eventually I find his dick, moving my tongue along the shaft before taking his head in my mouth. Either my hands have warmed up or he’s stopped caring, because when I start stroking him, there’s no objection. I move back and forth, slowly at first, taking care to stop and run my tongue along his length. After a while his hand weaves around my neck and tugs on my hair. I take that as my cue to pick up the pace. As I suck, I move my tongue around his head, eliciting a moan. When he tells me he’s close, I almost pull back, then remember we don’t have any condoms in the laundry room. That’s needs to be amended. I keep going, hard and fast, until he cums in my mouth. When I pull away, I feel his muscles relax and hear his heavy breathing. I rise to my feet, slipping my arms around his middle. “Thanks, babe.” I say, planting a kiss in the center of his chest before flicking on the light. I hand him his glasses and he nearly trips, apparently forgetting that his pants are around his knees. “Anytime.” he says, trying to play it cool. He pulls his jeans back on while I throw mine into the washing machine. My boxers are damp and cling to my legs, but at least they’re not dripping. Shi tosses me a towel and I wrap it around my shoulders. He kisses my nose and slips into the kitchen. “You want some hot chocolate?” “Fuck yes.” I follow, already forgetting why I was mad in the first place.