#THEY PUT LITTLE PLASTIC COVERINGS ON HIS GLASSES FRAMES AW

[todayisafridaynight]

Im going to throw up

bonus hand jumpscare:

[randynova]

♡𝓜𝔂 𝓦𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷♡

𝓖𝓾𝓷 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: 𝐴𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝐺𝑢𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝐺𝑜𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔(𝑠):𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡(𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝)! 𝐺𝑢𝑛

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“Why couldn’t this have waited until another day?” Gun muttered, unbuttoning his shirt, letting it slide off his taut frame, and neatly folding it, placing it onto the roof of his car. He was glad he hadn't put his jacket on, having left it in his passenger seat. “I can’t dirty my clothes again, [Name] will be mad if I get blood on it.” He rolled his broad shoulders until they released a satisfying crack, his thick muscles bulging as he stretched his arms across his scarred chest. Gun peered at a nearby store, the digital clock displaying in big white numbers, ‘7:45 PM’. He groaned, his lips curling into a scowl whilst his arms fell to his side. He didn’t have enough time to deal with this.

“Hmm, and it’s almost time for our date. Fuck.” Gun whispered to himself. He clenched his fists, narrowing his eyes at the man across from him. He removed his shades and revealed his dark gaze, placing his favorite accessory to his side as well. “I’ll make this quick, Goo. I have more important places to be.”

Goo laughed, grinning in his spot as he balanced a pole in his hands. He rolled his eyes, arching a brow at his partner. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Gun, maybe if you didn’t spend all your time by [Name]’s side, we could have dealt with this matter much earlier. That girl has you wrapped around her pretty little finger, huh?”

“Shut it,” Gun said, already racing towards the blonde and thrusting his fist, knuckles colliding with metal. Upon the cold sensation meeting his skin, he wanted to absolutely kill Goo and rip him to shreds. This would take longer than he wanted, wasting his already precious, short time. He backed off, having a considerable distance between the two, stretching his fingers a few times before clenching them again. He growled, spitting venomously,  “You just like picking fights.” 

“You did too. Before you met her, y’know,” Goo tutted, waving his finger in the air. He scoffed, voice low, “Who would’ve thought? Gun going soft for a girl. Psh, pathetic. Never thought I’d live to see the day...” The blonde trailed off, his face becoming stoic, his mind wandering. You truly had to be someone exceptional if you managed to have a guy like Gun to fall for you. He always wondered who you were, how you looked like, what you did, but Gun had kept you a secret from the world of crime. He hid almost every known trace abou you and tied every loose end that implicated you existed. No one knew who you were and no one could find you — unless Gun allowed them to. 

Goo found it so irritating how he was unable to know the girl who made such a notorious gangster go soft. 

He only met you once and that was by pure sheer luck; dropping by unexpectedly at one of Gun's apartments, only to be met with the sight of you. Seeing how Gun reacted, he knew you were supposed to be kept hush-hush. But boy, did he have a field day the next time he saw the man.

Goo had to meet you again. Or at least, know you more.

Only when Gun’s fist connected with Goo’s face did the man snap out of his thoughts, the impact of such force throwing him a few feet backwards. He dug his feet into the floor, a high-pitched screech coming from his shoes as the rubber burned against the pavement. With his sleeve, Goo wiped his cheek, seeing a speck of blood staining his clothes. Goo chuckled, standing up straight with a grin, “If I can remember right, you told me you got Eli Jang in trouble for basically the same thing. What was her name again? Heather?”

Goo blocked the upcoming attack, his pole raised and crossed above his face. He pushed Gun back with an effortless swing of the pole. He tilted his head and scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “How is [Name] any different from Heather? What does she have on you?”

Gun twisted his neck gently until he heard a crack, looking back at Goo as he hissed with venom, “Nothing.”

“Let me think, let me think….” Goo hummed, racking his mind for any possibility that someone like Gun would stay with a woman longer than one night. His face lit up and he broke out into a wide grin, pointing a finger at Gun. “Aha! You got the poor girl knocked up, right?! See, I always tell you to wear protection! Just couldn’t keep it in your pants, hm? Shaaame.” 

“Ugh, fuck no. I don’t want kids and neither does she. We made that clear at the beginning," Gun said with a sneer, annoyed beyond comprehension at Goo's antics. 

“Awe, I really thought she held something over you. How about this: I’ll stop fighting you if you tell me why you’re still with such a pretty girl like [Name]? Deal?" Goo offered, slinging the pole onto his shoulder. His eyes darkened as he spat maliciously, knowing each word would wind and rile Gun's emotions. "She deserves better than a perverted gangster, you both know that.”

Gun stayed silent, the corners of his lips tugging down into a frown. Goo’s last words struck a chord in him, sending a pang through his heart upon hearing an insecurity he’ll never admit to. Of course. Everyone told you to stay away from a man like Gun. People kept telling you you will only get hurt in the end, that a better man will come along and sweep you off your feet if you just waited, or you could always do better than him. But you never listened. You stayed by his side, even when the whole world looked down on you two. Even for months, he tried convincing himself he felt nothing for you, but after a while, he finally accepted that someone managed to tear down his walls and enter his hollow, cold heart — you. 

You were just a different kind of girl - no- a different kind of woman. A special woman he had the pleasure of meeting. One he wouldn’t dare let go of now that he has the privilege of calling you ‘mine’. And by any god out there, he won’t be a stupid fool to lose you.

Gun sighed. “I tell you and you’ll put this stupid fight behind us, right?”

Goo placed a hand over his chest, replying shortly, “You have my word.~”

“[Name] is just that special person you meet once in your life. One you know you can’t let go of because there isn’t another like her. Simple as that.”

“What?! Ugh, don’t be boring! Tell me more!”

“You asked why I  stayed with her and I told you.”

“Yeah, but I expected a story, not some sad attempt at an old man’s wise words.”

A low guttural sound rumbled in Gun’s throat, his eye twitching. “Maybe when I’m in a better mood I’ll tell you, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my woman.”

Goo groaned and tossed his pole to the side, rolling his eyes and grumbling, "Fiiine, but you owe me a story. "

"Whatever—damnit," Gun looked at the clock once again and his face contorted into one of pure irate. "I'm late."

'8:12 PM'

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

Your head rested on your hand, balancing a glass of wine between your fingers, twirling the cup as the liquid swished around. Your eyes were looking down on the glory of Gangdong, the shimmering, blinding lights of the city mesmerizing you. The city always looked beautiful at this time of night. You just wished you could enjoy it with the person you cherished. A sigh leaves your lips and you look away, eyes trailing to the other tables over the balcony. 

The lingering eyes of many strange men didn't faze you anymore, the two burly boys surrounding your table always making them avert their gaze as fast as it landed. A courtesy of your boyfriend, who was at least thirteen minutes late, who insisted on you needing to be guarded at all times. You knew if he were here, no one would dare to even breathe in your direction, let alone glance. 

The cool air pricked your skin and a shiver passed through your body, reminding you of where you were. For a man as smart as him, Gun tended to neglect keeping the season in mind when planning your dates. Nonetheless, you were happy he went out of his way to take you out on such a busy schedule. 

You jumped in your seat, snapping out of your thoughts. A jacket was wrapped around your frame, warmth immediately enveloping you as the fabric made contact with your bare skin. You looked up and smiled. 

Gun stood behind you, towering over your sitting form as he made sure you were nice and covered. His coat basically swallowed you whole. A small stuffed animal was tucked under his arm, it’s fluffy fur peeking out. He walked over to take his seat, pulling the chair out, and wasting no time to slip in. He waved to the guards and they nodded, beginning to clear the scene of people.

“Sorry I’m late, [Name],” Gun started, taking the stuffie out from underneath his arm and presenting it to you. Oh, how adorable. "I brought you a gift as an apology."

A small brown otter sat in his palms, barely taking up Gun's hands. It’s beady, plastic eyes looked straight at you, a little smile stitched onto its snout. A snort left you. The sight of such a well-dressed, intimidating man carrying such an adorable toy was  amusing. "Really now? Just a cute toy, Gun?"

Gun sighed and sat up a bit from his chair, leaning over the table, and cupping your face as he planted a gentle kiss on your cheek. As quick as it started, Gun's lips left and he was seated once again. You pout. "Don't give me that look, [Name]. We can do more at home if you want but not here."

"It's not wrong to be disappointed in no kiss on the mouth after not seeing your boyfriend for such a long time. Don't you think I deserve it?"

Gun smirked, placing his shades on the table and taking your hand, intertwining your fingers together. He gave a light squeeze and you didn't miss a beat as you squeezed his coarse hand back. The way you pursed your lips and looked at him with such glossy, innocent eyes made his heart swell. With such a pretty, cute face, it was hard to say no to you. "Hmm, maybe. But Olly told me you crossed paths with Hostel A." Gun spoke, slipping his hands from yours and picking up his dinnerware, quickly cutting the savory meat into pieces. He didn't hesitate to put a piece up to your mouth, a hand underneath so as to not have the juice leak. "I was told you nearly broke the Uncles' bones and Big Daddy himself."

Your face scrunched up and you scoffed, shaking your head. You placed the stuffed animal to the side, petting it. "Figured those assholes wouldn’t tell you everything. The ‘uncles’ wouldn’t leave me alone and I thought Olly was another one of those bastards,” you snap, sitting back in your seat with a scowl. “How was I supposed to know he was trying to help when he dresses like that? I thought he was trying to assault me for God’s sake!”

Gun placed down his fork on his plate and his face twisted into one of fury, eyes turning cold and rigid as all the warmth disappeared whilst his lips curled back into a nasty frown. You almost thought his infamous scowl was directed towards you, but you knew better. You dear boyfriend wouldn't dare lay a single finger on you if it didn't bring you pleasure. "They what?" 

You smiled softly, placing your hand over his as it clenched into a fist. With your small attempt at trying to soothe him by rubbing small circles, you spoke with a bit of hesitation, "Ah, yeah. They kept trying to get my number and wouldn't let me leave the booth I was in. I had no other choice than to use the training you taught me. Since I never met Olly, I really thought he was just another one of them and I reacted before thinking, making me attack him too."

Gun scoffed, shaking his head as he listened to your explanation with disbelief, every word fueling his rage of someone daring to hit on his woman. Every fiber in Gun's body screamed, wanting to feel their skin underneath his fists as he pounded them into oblivion. But the only thing stopping him was his date with you. For now, he'll put his anger aside to be with you and keep you happy. Who knows how long he'll be gone and when he'll see you again. The man has to make every second count. 

Yet, he couldn’t let this go unpunished.

"Fuck." Gun leans closer to you and sits on the edge of his chair. Placing his hand over yours, he slips his fingers to grasp your palm, and lifts your hand to his lips, pressing tender kisses against your knuckles. His thumb grazing softly across your fingers and his eyes flutter shut. You couldn't help but stare in awe, never quite seeing him like this.

So careful with you, so gentle, you were surprised he wasn't seething in his seat and threatening to break their heads open. Gun opens his eyes and looks up at you, shaking in his seat. “I promise I’ll have those fuckers begging on their knees for your forgiveness. They should know better than to treat a woman with such rudeness and disrespect. Shit, I’ll go right now. I’ll beat them till-”

Your sweet laugh reaches his ears, cutting him off from his little speech. You lean in and pull in his hand to your lips, pressing a tender peck to his coarse knuckles. Gun felt his heart race and skip a beat at the sight, shock crossing his features. You look up, looking at your boyfriend with mirthful eyes. “As much fun as that sounds, I'd rather you stay here. Please? I want to spend as much time with you before you go back to work.”

The man stayed silent for a few seconds, taking in your words. He looked away, clicking his tongue before he broke out into a small smile, a blush blooming across his cheeks and the tip of his ears burning a bright red. “Of course, [Name]. Though, you could’ve just said you like spending time with me.”

Giggling, you lower your hands and shake your head. “Gun, of course I like spending time with you. You’re my favorite person and I love you after all.” Your voice said those three words with such fondness, it’s as if the man was in a dream. 

If your words from before didn’t send Gun over the edge, your proclamation of love surely did now. He looked down, grinning like an idiot, showing a soft, bashful side he’s never revealed to anyone before. He swore his heart would jump out of his throat from how fast it was pounding against his ribcage. Gun grasped your hand tightly and sighed blissfully, Gently, he spoke, gazing at you with loving eyes, “I love you too.”

You smiled.

The tension in the air grew to be too much and both of you found it unbearable, wanting to do what both of you have been waiting for for weeks.

Both of you sat up and leaned over the table, closing the gap between you two as your lips interlocked, slipping together like if you were made for eachother. The kiss sparked and fed the fire both of you held in your hearts, burning brighter with every moment you spent at one another’s side. Gun couldn’t help but smile against your mouth.

As much as he hated being apart from you for so long, moments like these made the long hours worth it. If working so much meant he could provide for you, then he wouldn't mind doing it for the rest of his life if you had a roof over your head and a nice, warm meal at night.

Afterall, you were his woman.

And he loved you.

✦✦✦✦✦✦

©𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚊 || 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 || 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚝𝚌. 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 .

✦✦✦✦✦✦

[secondhand-trash]

Heart Knot

A/N: this is in honor of the whole 30 minutes in which I knew how to knit because I was bored at a school function and forced my friend who brought an unfinished scarf with her to teach me lmao

Description: You did not have much happy memories regarding both knitting and your past crushes, but the boy that had your heart now just so happened to be a great knitter. 

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x reader

Word count: 7827

Playlist:

Permanence//Bears In Trees

The Way You Look Tonight//Frank Sinatra

Hiding Tonight//Alex Turner

-

Kita Shinsuke’s first exposure to the art of knitting was through his grandmother, who taught her grandson the ways you could weave anything into something from doing each repetitive action properly and with care.

Something beautiful, something soft, something that could bring warmth to someone else on a harsh winter morning.

Winter in Hyogo could be rough, with inches and inches of snow blocking the road from down the mountains and into the towns. Kita Shinsuke spent his winter days away from school still waking up at the first ray of sunshine beaming through the paper window, his body glued down on the sweet comfort of his futon but still, he never overslept even as other kids his age would protest just for a few extra seconds in the warmth. 

By the time he was done with the daily chores, it would already be way into the afternoon and his tiny hands, soaked in water to wet the towels, would be shaking under the cold. Grandma Yumie always brought out the kotatsu in times like this. “It is a luxury,” she said with a chuckle as her grandson watched in awe at how the tiny round table in the living room had now been transformed into a warm cave, shielding the winter cold out with the blanket draping down the sides, “a reward for those who worked hard in the cold.”

The days he spent with his grandmother was some of his fondest memories, to the point where years later, even as he was old enough to have his own house with paper windows and a round table perfect for being turned into a kotatsu, he still insisted that there weren’t any feeling better than laying under the warm blankets after a hard day at work with the tv playing and a cup of warm tea in his hand.

When he was small, very small, with his fingers still a bit clumsy and not quite able to aim at the little loops held together by the yarn, Kita would sit there and watched as grandma Yumie brought out the baskets and baskets of colourful yarn, all sorts of sizes and patterns, and let him pick which one she should use that day. The afternoon news was playing in the background, and baby Kita had his palms holding on the warm mug of tea that was far more diluted and with way more honey drizzled into it than the one sitting in front of the older woman. His golden eyes all round and focused on the needles going in and out of the woolen piece that grew longer and longer with each flick of her wrist.

He could not figure out what had happened in the quiet hours where he just stared, not yet worked out the way each loop and thread came together in holding everything together, but all he knew was that the scarfs grandma gave him were always the softest and warmest, and comes in all the colours that lighted up the roads of Hyogo that were covered in white.

Kita learnt how to knit when he was old enough to remember the sequence at which the needle thread through the yarn. One hook under the open loop, the other holding it still, before pulling it out and putting the neat knot in place. He started with the thickest needle and the yarn that showed every knot and pattern clearly, before slowly moving to thinner threads and fancier ways of knitting. Now, winter afternoon at the Kita household consisted of grandmother and grandson sitting side by side around the kotatsu, the afternoon programs playing softly at the background as the sounds of yarns brushing against each thread filled the air.

There had never been a single cast out of place in whatever he made, whether it be a scarf or a pair of socks or a little hat for the puppy next doors. Because knitting was about patience, the knowing that you just had to keep repeating and repeating to make sure everything holds together, until you eventually had something good in your hands. It was feeling the tiny bumps under your finger once you had the finished product laid out in front of you, knowing that you put time and care into every single one of them.

Grandma Yumie complimented her grandson on everything he had ever made, smiling until her eyes were just two thin curves as she watched the boy who wasn’t so tiny anymore with his golden eyes fixed on the needle going in and out of each loop, the knitted fabric growing longer with each flick of his wrist.

-

You could not knit to save a life.

But you had tried, you really did. 

Once, when you were 12 and sitting in art class, your eyes beaming at the many balls of yarn your teacher had brought in.

“Today, we’re going to learn how to knit!” The teacher, with pins all over her apron and a book of stickers for the kids who did well poking out of its pocket, said as she placed the plastic box on the table, “By the end of class, you can all bring home something you made to give to your parents!”

You liked art class. It was fun being able to play around with crafts supplies under the disguise of early creativity development, and the things you brought home were always somewhere around the house.

You liked the way you could walk past something you had made and know that it was good enough to be put up, and liked the feeling of showing people the things you were proud of.

You picked out your colours carefully, imaging the way your father would have fitted a dark brown scarf into his work clothes or how mom could have used something in that lovely cream coloured yarn that was ignored by the other kids who went straight for the blues and yellows. You ended up with balls of grey in your arms as you made way back to your seat, thinking that it would go well with, well, everything.

You did not quite remember how you felt about the knitting process itself, all you knew was the excitement budding up in your chest as you just kept repeating and repeating, until the grey bundle of yarn got smaller and smaller.

You knew you could make something they would like, you just knew it.

The outcome of the hour and a half where you did nothing but fidget with yarn and needle was a subtly misformed scarf, a bit crooked at the edges because you forgot how to tie up the piece by the time it was long enough to be thrown around your shoulders and back. It wasn’t exactly the most intricate piece of knitwear, with small ends of the thick thread clumsily tugged back within the grids and some places missing a loop or two. 

But still, it held together nicely with the softest texture, and you were proud of yourself.

Your parents took the gift graciously when you presented it to them like you were handing them something of the uttermost value, complimenting you on your hard work and thought as they felt the piece in their hand. You made your father promised to wear it out the next day and he complied with a grin as he threw the scarf around his neck.

Now that you looked back on it, it was definitely not something a proper adult would prefer to be seen in in the public since it was rather... wonky, to put it lightly.

But you were small, and you did not have any idea that even though you tried what you thought was your best, sometimes your best was just not enough.

Oh, the way you froze when your father handed the pile of loose yarn to you that was all bundled up with a worried stare, your throat tight while you used all the might in you to suppress the urge to let the tears just fall.

You soon learned that loose ends and hasty stitches meant that even the slightest tug would make the whole thing crumble, and hours of your dedication was not a match to even the most accidental pull at the widened hole where you tried to hide all the mistakes you made.

You told yourself you were never knitting ever again at age 11, with your face buried in your pillow at the late nights when you didn’t have to fear letting anyone know that you were crying over a few balls of yarn.

At age 15, you had your first real, serious crush, the kind that made the pitch of your voice go higher unconsciously and the corner of your lips tug up just at a passing thought. Your crush was popular, the type of boys that spoke each word loud and clear like they had endless energy. You thought he was dazzlingly good-looking, even though he still had a bit of the awkwardness of being mid-puberty left in the soft arc of his brows and loop-sided grin. He was the captain of the football team, always the first to dash out the classroom with a dusty ball in his arms during break. You spent a good amount of your recesses just looking out of the window with your elbows propping you up against the frame, pretending to listen to whatever your friends were saying when you were looking at him instead.

Occasionally, he would look up from the field as he jogged backwards, and your heart always skipped a bit at the possibility that maybe his gaze had stopped at you for even just a second.

Holiday season rolled around the corner as you looked out one morning to see dots of white landing on the glass, each speckle of the snowflake clearly visible as it plastered on the window, the one you always pretend to not be looking too longingly out of while doing exactly just that. The nearer your last day of school before winter break was, the more you felt the knot twisting and turning in your stomach at the thought of whether you should try and disguise all that feeling into what could be as simple as a normal holiday greeting, between normal classmates.

It was at a passing that you overheard your crush telling the group of people who were crowding around his table during one lunch break that he thought it was attractive when people hand out handmade gifts, earning a round of high-pitched responses from those who were smiling a bit too widely for it to be natural around him, each one of them claiming that then they would try to make something for him.

You shifted in your seat, pretending that you were just napping on your desk casually instead of pitifully eavesdropping on a conversation you both wished you were part of and was absolutely detested by.

You had long decided that you could not even pretend that you were crafty by any means, but sadly, you were also young and very much so head-over-heels in love with a boy who just announced to everyone who was, like you, trying hard to impress him that he basically preferred people who make their own presents.

So that was how you found your way back to the knitting needle that you had not touched since 4 years ago, after how every single trashy article in every single teen magazine that you, at age 15, read an unhealthy amount of, told you that there was no better present to give that would portray the amount of thought and care you were willing to put into something like a garment that was hand knitted with only the receiver in thought.

It should be quite clear that the editors of those articles were just too lazy to come up with something new and picked the safest, most conventional option to put in there, but you were too desperate to find something you too could do that you didn’t care.

You left school each day in complete darkness now that the sun was long gone in the middle of the day as the end of the year approached, and spent the little free time you had to yourself at home struggling to knit. Your hands were a lot more in control compared to the last time you knitted, but the lack of guidance in every step of the way as you relearnt how to knit all from the very beginning.

It was cold, and your fingers were already hurting from the chill, but it did not stop you from staying up each night trying to get the piece done before it was finally the holidays.

You had spent hours looking for tutorials only, always battling between the knowledge that your skill was not enough to replicate a good half of the videos you had bookmarked and thinking that the easy ones were too basic for you to gift to someone. You settled on a neck warmer, something you could imagine the boy you so pined after wearing while running on the court. And as you held the finished piece up under the light, you were proud of yourself for actually carrying through.

There were no messy threads in the scarf this time, and you were sure this was something that could at least be of use to whoever got it.

The day when you were supposed to gather the courage to hand out the present came sooner than you were ready for. You came back to school early that day, knowing that your crush was usually having morning practice at the hour and no one else would be around. 

To your surprise, there was already another neatly wrapped box inside of his desk drawer by the time you got back. Its tag was hanging out of the tray rather deliberately, like a sly wink and a wave. Your chest tightened that someone was already one step ahead of you, but quickly fed yourself the narrative that it was actually better this way. This way, your gift would not stand out and seemed like it did not belong there. 

It was just a scarf, but the little paper bag that you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time decorating the night before felt so heavy in your hands as you stared blankly at it, the nerves settling in your stomach as your throat tightened at the last minute conflict.

The loud footsteps that neared broke you out of your trance, and you threw the gift bag into your drawer before pretending like you were doing something else. You cursed inwardly when you saw that it was the last person you wished to see at this moment, a rare sentiment given how your eyes usually search for him in a crowd.

The group of boys didn’t seem to pay you much mind as they huffed, laughing at something you did not catch on to as they threw their bags down. You masked the pounding of your chest with a violent stroke of your highlighter against the notebook that opened up hastily in front of you when you heard them going near the table you had been eyeing all morning.

“Huh? What is this?” 

You buried your nose in your book, but glanced at the few boys gathering around the desk from the corner of your eyes. 

Your heart wrenched when you heard one of the boys snorted, before shoving the box into your crush’s chest. “It’s for you.”

The sharp tear made your scalp tingle, but you fought back the urge to sit up straighter in reflex.

Couldn’t let them know you were listening, couldn’t let them know you cared.

“Ah... it’s a scarf,” even in your most delusional mind, there was no way you could ignore the slight hint of annoyance at his voice. 

“Hm, they said they made it themselves.”

The density of the air around you was a stark comparison to the boys’ howling and laughing that followed. The recipient of the gift only shoved the garment into the box roughly before plopping the lid back on.

“So?” one of his friends asked, snickering, “what are you going to do about it?”

The click of his tongue that followed twisted around your throat until all the blood rushed up to your face, burning and suffocating you. “Do you want it?”

“Hell no, why would I want a re-gift?” The other boy yelled with a holler, “why don’t you just keep it yourself  

“Well, I can’t wear it, can I? It’s gonna give them the wrong idea.” The nonchalant way he so easily brushed off the undoubted hours and hours of effort whoever made the gift must have dedicated to the present that was now pushed to the very back of his drawer felt foreign to you. A pang of bitterness welled up in your mouth, running your tongue dry as your mind go blank. 

“Besides, don’t you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is a bit too suffocating?”

The gift bag in your drawer remained to stay right where it was when other people started rushing into the room, when the class bell rang, when the same boy who you now realised wasn’t as nice as you thought he might be rushed out with the same smile he had on when he came in that morning. 

You shoved it into your bag first thing when you were getting ready to leave, hoping that no one would catch on.

You were surprisingly serene when you tore into hours and hours of effort until it was just a bundle of yarn on the floor.

You were age 15, swearing that you were never doing crushes ever again and finally decided with determination that knitting was just not for you

-

But life has its ways of making you think twice about every promise you had made to yourself.

First in the form of a snowfall you had not expected, and then with a boy who was always prepared for the cold.

Waking up early in the mornings just to tread yourself through the chilly streets sucked, but having to rush out because the initial “5 minutes more” you told yourself as you pulled the futon over your head once more turned into you having to rush out the door with your coat barely even worn properly in the matter of a flutter of your eyes. 

Your mouth was dry and your stomach empty from skipping past the breakfast that had already gone cold on the table by the time you passed it by. It wasn’t until you felt the pain tearing at your skin from the few bits of your body exposed to the specks of snow flowing down onto the back of your hand, so cold that it felt almost like a burn when the feeling settled, that you remembered the mittens you had also left at the side of your dresser. 

Great, just wonderful.

Winter in Hyogo was forgiving on some days, brutal and mocking on the others. The grey clouds were thick and gloomy as you dashed down the road, pulling the collar of your jacket up desperately to shield your face from the wind that you were up against face first, slicing down like blades before you finally made the last turn into the comforting walls of your school building. Your face felt numb of any senses even as you brought your palm up to try and give it some warmth, only to hiss into your hand when the frosted tips of your fingers brushed against your skin.

The bell rang almost right on cue as you stepped into the classroom, letting out a sigh and salvaging in the temporary supply of warmth from your own breath. Your lips were so dry and so chapped from the cold, even just darting your tongue out to swipe over the rough edges had it almost tearing at the thin skin. You winced at the pain, which did not serve you anything other than making the ache worse.

You sighed as you sunk down on your chair, finally able to let your limbs go slack at your sides after being so tense all the way through your walk. The sudden release of the tension you had been holding on you resulted in a broken inhale as you tried to calm the beating dee under the many layers you were wearing, feeling as if you were suffocated in your core with the heat trapped in and only within the center of your body.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to your side was a struggle as you shrugged off the stiff coat you were wearing. You were sure you looked nothing short of ridiculous as the puffer jacket hung loosely around your arms, your arms extended awkwardly to hold it from sliding off the ground. Your state of being was a stark contrast to the boy who was sitting next to you, his back all straight and proper. 

You did not really think much about Kita Shinsuke, even though he had been sitting next to you for almost half a year now. There was something distant about him, like he was in a whole world of his own while everyone else just circulated around. He was always polite, never slipped up, getting back earlier than most and arrived at each function punctually. Your image of him was that he was always paying attention in class while everyone else was drooling off, his voice loud but calm when he was suddenly called to read out whatever passage you were supposed to have read at home but obviously didn’t.

It was strange, you were almost distancing yourself from him despite physically being next to him at all times.

He just didn’t seem so real, didn’t feel very human to you.

“Are you alright?” Kita asked again, this time tilting his head a little seeing that you were looking ahead blankly instead of responding.

You snapped out of your trance, quickly yanking off your jacket to place it on your lap in what you hoped was a swift motion to save the embarrassment of acting like a socially numb idiot.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, shoving your hands under your coat to try and warm up the fingers you still couldn’t feel under the fleece, “thank you for asking.” You added, almost like a second thought as you grew more and more uneased by his seemingly doubtful gaze.

Kita’s eyes went to your hair that was still not yet tidied up from being tangled up by the wind, the dots of water on your coat that was no doubt left from the snow, and your hands that were now rubbing together again and again under the coat according to his guess.

His brows furrowed at the way you were folding yourself smaller and smaller, pulling the heavy jacket that was about to slip off your lap up against your body desperately.

There was a rush of shiver to your spine at the way he pursed his lips together, and you gulped as subtly as you could while trying to maintain the smile on your face. 

There was a speckle, a tiny bud of warmth setting off in your stomach when he turned around and slipped his hands into his jacket, hung neatly at the back of his chair unlike yours, and took out a small packet. It was a white fabric pocket but you could see the black powder inside from the thin fabric. 

You did not react when he held his hand out, slender fingers holding on the hand warmer mid-air as he waited for you to take it from him. You blinked at the boy who you had never really looked at properly until now, and felt a strange twist in your stomach at the notice that there was a slight flush on his face from the cold, dusting over his cheeks and leading your gaze to his eyes that were looking at you patiently.

He must have thought that you were so strange, you grimaced to yourself when the pang of guilt rushed to your face and burning to the tip of your ears at the remembrance that you had assumed him to be the strange one when you were being so disrespectful right now.

You held out both hands in front of him, looking like a child when he dropped the little bag in your hand. Nothing could stop the sigh from slipping out of your lips when you felt the heat it was emitting, landing on your fingertips like coal in the snow and seeping into your skin.

The warmth travelled from your skin down to your veins, running slowly and slowly until it settled down as a fuzzy tingle in your chest at the thought that it was so warm because he had been the one keeping it in his pocket, likely trapping the heat within his palms when he was holding the warmer himself.

“Thank you Kita kun...” you said appreciatively, swallowing the whine that was threatening to come out with the last note of your voice when you felt your senses slowly returning to you.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and your heart skipped a beat when he leaned his chin on his palm and gave you a tiny smile, “you should keep it, my hands don’t get cold that easily and I brought mittens.”

You did not speak to him again that day as class started and he, like the good student you never were, put his attention back to things that were more worthwhile. But you could not help but listen carefully for the first time ever when he was once again called to read out the lengthy piece of literature you didn’t study, and feeling a burst of exciting, nerve-wracking warmth budding in your chest.

-

At age 15, you promised yourself you were not doing crushes over dumb teenage boys again. At age 17, you realised that the pang in your chest when Kita Shinsuke replied to your greeting each morning (one that you tried hard to make it sound as casual as one could get, if you may add) with a smile was the same as that when you imagined your old crushed looking up from the ball court to lock gazes with you. 

But Kita was not a dumb teenage boy, he was nice and well-mannered and asked you if you were alright on a winter day. So you told yourself you did not exactly break your promise, even though there was a lingering fear at the knowing that there too was a time when you thought the boy who sneered at the carefully wrapped box on his desk was nice and beaming like the sun.

(You had, however, screamed into your pillow in frustration the day he told you they made him the captain of the volleyball team for the next year when you carefully suggested that he seemed happier than usual. “Captains,” you groaned into your make-shift punching bag, “why are they always captains?”)

Winter passed, and then it was spring. Spring was the time for a new start, but you were not excited about changes. You had been content with a simple “good morning” every day made possible by the convenience of your adjacent tables, but how were you supposed to conceal your yearning for a smile and a nonchalant word of care as nothing out of place if you had to go out your way just to even catch a glimpse at him?　

You had to force yourself, clamp your lips tight together to stop the pitiful squeal that was close to bursting out from the back of your throat when you saw the familiar kanji, the same one as the direction always pointing people forward and the brightest star hanging on the sky, at the “ki” column of the class list. 

Your third and last year and still in the same class, this was a sign, this had got to be a sign.

The anticipation was hard to conceal as you paced down the hallway until stopping at the sign of “3-7″ above the door. The embarrassment immediately followed the initial rush of glee at the boy who was, as expected already there. He was sitting at the first seat at the row leaning by the wall and even though your heart died a little at the conflict that you could not slack in class with the whoever it was standing in front of the blackboard so close to you, you still walked closer to the table right behind his with carefully controlled steps.

“Good morning Kita kun,” you said, still fumbling to find a balanced tone between letting him know you were happy to see him but not too much, glad that you were in the same class but not in a creepy way, hoping that he also searched for your name the way you looked for his but not holding out too much for it.

your throat tightened when he smiled back at you, “Good morning, (y/l/n) san.”

“You are early,” you blurted out, praying that it wasn’t too sudden.

“Yes, I had to stop by the club room to prepare for the upcoming tryouts before coming back.” He had turned around to face you completely, and you searched for everything your brain could come up with to keep the conversation going.

“Oh right, you are the captain now,” you cursed yourself for stating something so obvious in your brain, absolutely loathing air-headed your own voice sounded in your head. You breathed in, mastering your courage to appear confident and charming, “I hope it’s alright if I sit here behind you?”

You were smiling, but your knuckles were hurting from how hard you had to grip at the handle of your bag just to hold yourself back from fidgeting. The chair was already half pulled-out, and you crouched down just slightly as you waited for a response.

You knew you were the one who asked, but what if he said no?

But he didn’t, and not even the fear of appearing like a fool in front of the boy you so wanted to impress could stop you from grinning ear to ear when he laughed. You didn’t think you had heard Kita laugh before. It was an addicting sound, crisp like bells and like the pink petals that were falling off the trees all around campus. 

You knew at that moment you didn’t care if this crush was just as dumb as the last one, or that you might end up looking like a fool for going against what you had so sternly told yourself when you were 15.

Screw 15 year old you, they knew nothing.

“Of course.”

-

Then winter rolled by the corner, as an angry current sweeping the dried leaves off the road and the temperature dropping and dropping until you were taking out your heavy coat from the back of your closet again.

It was with great regret and exasperation that you found out, one year after starting to learn more about Kita Shinsuke, that he was brilliant and absolutely so passionate about knitting.

The way you had a whole storm brewing in your head over something as simple as getting back to your classroom after lunch break to see a very calm, serene Kita at his table, with a ball of yarn on his lap and two needles threading with each other in his hand, was an absolute joke. You had tried to form an interest in volleyball just to have more chances to talk to him, going as far as to sit through the hour long practices matches that Inarizaki always had with other schools at the far back corner of the gym just to have something to bring up in a passing the next day. But of all the things, of all the things this person who seemed to be good at everything liked, it has got to be the one thing that you associated with nothing but bad memories.

“What are you making?” you asked, holding back the screaming thoughts in your head as you slid down into your own seat and leaned forward.

The little glimmer of joy in his eyes was hard to miss, and you were not sure if you want to feel triumphant for finding a new excuse to talk to him or cry because you had not looked at a knitting needle in years.

“I’m knitting socks,” he said and held up the tunnel of knitted fabric dangling off his needles, “it’s almost Christmas, and I wanted to make something practical for my teammates.” 

“Hm?” You nodded, urging him to go on as if your own scalp was not frying from the recoil of what happened the last few times you wanted to make something practical for someone.

“This is for Akagi from class 6,” he immediately added, thinking about how you might not know who Akagi from class 6 was, “he had been complaining about having cold feet at morning practices lately.”

(You did, in fact, know who Akagi from class 6 was, but decided to let him give you the information instead of exposing how much attention you paid to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.)

Man, you had never wished you knew how to knit as much you do now.

“Can you teach me how to knit?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

You froze at the words that went straight through your brain to your mouth and vocalised in the quiet classroom. 

“There’s something I want to make,” you gulped, stumbling to force a smile onto your face, “for someone.”

Someone as in, well, him.

You had already braced yourself to chuckle it off when he said that he was busy, or just some sort of well-intended reasoning that would all point to the immediate  conclusion in your head that you were just overstepping boundaries as no one but another classmate who just happened to sit near him for the past year.

But the screaming in your head stopped, leaving your world in absolute silence when he placed the ball of yarn onto his table and pulled another ball out from his bag.

“Sure.”

-

You did not notice, which was strange because you were usually the first to overthink on each of his miniatures, that Kita Shinsuke nearly dropped the needles in his hand when you quickly, in the middle of your inner panicking, suggested that there was someone you wanted to knit for.

He wavered for a brief moment, wondering if he really wanted to teach you how to knit for someone else, before feeling a sour guilt that he was being a bad friend by hesitating to help you when you asked.

He wondered who it was that you wanted to make something for, he thought to himself as he handed you the spare pair of needles he had.

Must be someone important to you.

-

So every day until you eventually go on break for Christmas and the new years, you would go back to your classroom early during lunch period to learn how to knit from Kita Shinsuke, who was coincidentally who the eventually finished piece that you hope you would finish was meant for.

You went into this with no thought other than to suck up on your own impulsiveness and just milked what had become of it as much as you could, trying to fish the opportunity of spending extra time with him. You were not even sure if you would actually give him the finished piece if there would be any, you were not sure if you were prepared to go down the progress of determination turned hesitation turned eventual heartbreak that last time you had to muster up any courage just to gift something to another person.

Even though this was all an excuse for you to talk to Kita, there was no denying that the 3 years in which you avoided knitting only made your hands even clumsier than before. He was always patient, always stopping his hands with whatever sock or hat or glove he was making to take a look at what would hopefully become an intact piece of knitwork dangling off of your needles.

“Let me see.”

The soft hum from his nasal every time you called for his assistant was enough to have you weak, and you were so glad that he put all his focus on helping you because then he wouldn’t notice you staring at him rather shamelessly.

On days when the weather was good, it was as if his eyes were the winter sun, the same one that was spilling in through the windows and casting a soft halo around him, all while his brows contorted in concentration over your work.

It turned out that Kita Shinsuke was great at teaching, and while much slower than him, you eventually managed to sit in comfort silent with him in the tender winter afternoons of Hyogo and let the sounds of thread pulling filled the air. You were trying but he was a natural, even though he claimed that it was just a direct result from years, a decade of practicing.

In the time you had struggled to focus on one piece, you had seen Kita worked on a multitude of things you were sure you should not even attempt to make. There was a nice thick pair of gloves for Ojiro, the trusty spiker who was feeling bothered by his dry hands from cold water. Another pair of gloves but this time fingerless because, to quote Kita, Suna Rintarou probably wouldn’t wear anything that kept him away from his lovely touch screen. You saw woollen hats twice but in different colours, and he had explained that he thought of making something different for the ruckus twin boys but figured they would just get into yet another fight over who gets what.

Crush aside, you wished you had a slither of his skills.

“I think anyone can be good at knitting,” he said, handing you back the row of maroon casts you had asked him to check up on with an approving nod. His fingertips just barely brushed against yours as he let go of the needles, sending shivers up your forearm that you were so glad was covered by your cardigan.

You laughed, brushing your finger at the few spots that you struggled to get right on the pattern, “I doubt.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he said, pointing towards the casts that got neater and neater as you progressed visibly, “you are already getting better.”

You pursed your lips, toying with the unfinished hem.

You had learnt a long time ago that sometimes you tried your best, but the best was not always enough. Sometimes, the best would get you a huff and a complaint that your heart and soul was too heavy, too suffocating. Sometimes the more and more you put into something meant that you did not know where to put it anymore once you tore it apart after no longer having someone to give it too, but it was too much to shove back into the hole in your heart.

You wondered if your best or your “better” was enough this time.

“Kita kun.”

“Hm?” he hummed, like how he always did when you look up at him from your hands. But you did not look at him this time, twirling the loose end of the yarn in your index finger instead.

“Do you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is suffocating?”

Kita frowned at the sad smile that was on your lips. You were looking at what he assumed would be a scarf from the casting and the patterns, rubbing at the slightly crooked cable. Were you thinking of the person you want to give it to? Were you worried that they wouldn’t like it? He had made himself stop speculating who it was that made you get back early each day and struggle so clearly with something you didn’t seem to exactly enjoy just to make something thoughtful for them, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up that it was someone who made you worry over them finding you suffocating.

He wanted to tell you that anyone who thought so was not someone who deserved your time, but swallowed it down anyways.

“No,” he said, and you finally looked up at him, “I think it is rude to think that of someone who put effort into doing anything with me in mind.”

And there it was again, the same warmth that tingled until it was all you could feel. Like a hand warmer, like a simple hello in the mornings, like the winter sun that was shining on you.

Right.

You smiled, a genuine one this time.

Because Kita Shinsuke was not just some dumb crush, because he wasn’t like the boy who never really did look up to see you, because you were ok with breaking every single promise you had made to shield yourself off just for a chance with him.

He seemed confused at your sudden change of mood, but you only shook your head and picked up the knitting needles again.

“You’re right.”

-

To say that everyone was hyped for winter break was an understatement.

But you, you were just really nervous.

You greeted Kita when you came back in the morning as usual, feeling the nerve bundling up in your stomach already just from knowing that if this went badly, you could not bear it to pretend to still be his friend from then on. Classes did not pique your interest in the slightest, and the only time you even diverted your gaze upwards from the book you were staring at blankly was when Kita’s voice rang in the classroom, blocking the blackboard from your view as he stood up to answer some question you did not know the answer to.

He looked warm, you remarked to yourself as your eyes scanned through the grey vest he was wearing.

Did he make it himself? Maybe you should ask him for a tutorial later.

And then you remembered that it was the last day before break, and your knitting sessions with him was already over. Your scarf was finished, he even complimented you on it. (“I’m sure whoever got this will be very pleased,” he had said, and you were just praying to whatever entity you could think of that he would still think so when you give it to him) It wouldn’t make sense for you to go to him anymore, and it would be awkward for both of you if he knew that you were only learning how to knit to be around him.

Your hands were so cold, nearly in pain as you grip on the box that you had been hiding in your bag all day long. You backed out of giving it to him during lunch when no one else was around, deciding that you would rather not stare at his back for another few hours after basically exposing yourself. But the day was about to come to an end. The winter sun was always gone early, and the sky was lit up in shades of orange and red as students rushed home for the start of their break.

You sucked in a deep breath when you saw him packing up his things after the end-of-class bell rang.

“Kita kun?”

“Yes?”

All you could hear was the beating in your ears and the hilt of what was a steady rhythm when he turned to look at you. His voice still made you melt, and heat spread on your face like the fiery cloud hanging on the sky from the setting sun.

Warm, bright, beautiful.

“This is for you,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking as you looked into his eyes, the same ones that widened when he saw the box on your extended hands, “thank you for helping me all through last year.”

You had to remind yourself to breath as Kita took the wrapped present. “Can I open it?” he asked, his hand hovering above the ribbon.

You tried to maintain the smile on your face.

“Of course.”

Kita knew the scarf that was sitting inside the box, he could point out which cast was his doing and which ones you had asked him for help even with his eyes closed. He had wondered about what you had done with it, whether the person who got it was worth your heart and soul.

He had wished, with sincerity, that it would go well for you but there was also a selfish part of him that pondered, contemplated how it might go if he told you he would love to have that scarf.

You grimaced when he didn’t say a word, before slowly closing up the box. You had prepared yourself for this outcome, but part of you still felt a familiar sting in your chest.

Until you saw him digging into his own bag and pulling out a tiny bag. You were still dazed as he handed it to you, his fingers holding onto the handle and a smile on his face as he waited for you to take it. You reached out with both palms, before the weight of it settled in your hand.

It was a pair of gloves, soft and sturdy in your hands without a single stitch out of place. Your finger brushed against the intricate patterns at the center before stopping at the elastic hem. You could not help but slid it on, gasping in awe at how it fit perfectly.

Kita was smiling at you, and he was throwing the end of the scarf to his back when you looked up at him. The one he had worn that morning when he made way back to school under the cold was shoved into his bag and replaced by the less well-made one you had given him.

But he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Should we go?” He asked, holding his own gloved-hand out, “They are closing the school soon.”

You finally got to be mesmerised by him without having to shy away, and the way his eyes were full of you could only be matched to the sun that was setting outside, rays of what would be the last of its shine until tomorrow reflecting off the snow.

Beautiful, soft, and had your heart all warm and gooey.

“Let’s go.” You replied, grinning ear to ear, before taking his hand.

And it was so, so warm.

[shyvioletcat]

for striking matches au: "It looks like you have more fun with them than with me."

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Here’s a little bit of Firefighter fun for your day.

Striking Matches Masterlist

~~~~~

Rowan sat slumped on the couch, arms crossed across his chest as he waited for Aelin to finish getting ready. It had taken him minutes to get ready, with his dark jeans and button up white shirt, a pair of lensless glasses frames tucked into the chest pocket. They were going to a Halloween party at Aedion and Lysandra’s place, and very honestly, Rowan didn’t want to go.

He and Aelin had only been going out for just a little over a month and he had met her family and friends a few times, but they definitely weren’t his friends yet. He knew what would happen tonight once they got to the party, and he would be left with two choices. One, he could follow Aelin around the whole night as she lit up the room and thrived on all the social interactions. Or two, he’d sit in a corner with a beer and watch. Considering that he’d just come off a hard shift, Rowan was feeling more inclined to do the second. The subject of him staying behind had been broached but Aelin wasn’t having it. She said it would ruin their ‘matching’ costumes and added that her friends wanted to spend more time with him. So of course Rowan relented for her. Only her.

“Alright, ready,” Aelin sang as she appeared from her bedroom. She was wearing a long black coat and a pair of black boots, her golden hair in soft waves with the ends chalked a vibrant red.

“You’re wearing that?” Rowan asked, not bothering to get up yet.

Aelin grinned at him. “No, I”m wearing this.”

She opened her jacket to show him what was underneath, and Rowan felt his eyes go wide. Aelin had decided on their costumes, they were going to the party dressed as each other professions. Rowan’s costume had been all too easy to put together, all he had to buy was a pair of cheap glasses from the discount store and pop the lenses out. Aelin had bought the entirety of hers new, unless by some design of fate she had this firefighter costume lying around. But Rowan seriously doubted that.

His eyes started at the black boots she wore – and maybe he had seen those before – but her long legs were mostly bare except for a small pair of black shorts with a trim of red on the legs and a yellow belt. A strip of her stomach was bare as well, the shirt hugged her waist and upper torso, and zip ran up the middle instead of buttons, leaving it open in a deep V as it precariously contained her cleavage. It was all topped off with a pair of suspenders that she had her thumbs hooked under as she still grinned at him.

“So, what do you think? Reckon Lorcan would let me join the team?”

Rowan blinked once before he managed to look up her face. The neckline was proving more of a distraction the longer he looked.

“Do we have to go?” Rowan blurted and Aelin tipped her head back and laughed.

“We most certainly do.” Aelin did her jacket up and grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter as well as a plastic firefighter hat. “Come on, Mr Whitethorn. Let’s go have some fun.”

Rowan was about to tell her they could have fun here, probably better fun too, but he just sighed and closed the apartment door behind him.

Aelin left her coat in the car. Rowan had parked and within seconds Aelin had deserted the car only leaving a heap of black material behind. He was quick to follow and the elevator arrived just as he got there. 

“Look at this fancy apartment building with it’s elevator,” Aelin mused as she pushed the button and then lent on the railing. “You never answered my question. You think Lorcan would let me on the team?”

Rowan turned, seeing that teasing look written on every feature of her face. “Definitely not. But that has nothing to do with the costume.”

Aelin laughed again. “You haven’t even told me if you like my costume or not. You make a very sexy Teacher if I do say so myself.”

He moved, they were chest to chest and almost touching. Then Rowan gave her a lingering once over that made Aelin breath just a little faster. Leaning in he kissed her, and he felt her smiling against his lips before she fully committed to it. The only sound was the mechanisms of the elevator, then there was the definitive sound of a zipper being pulled.

Aelin let out a comical gasp. “Mr Whitethorn, keep your hands to yourself.” 

Rowan chuckled and kissed her again, quickly, and stepped away, hands raised. 

“I was wondering how long it would take you, that was damn near obscene,” Aelin laughed, readjusting her suspenders.

He hadn’t been pulling the down, he’d been pulling it up to try and give him a little more peace of mind when he walked into the party. It was a stupid, jealous thing to do, and he expected Aelin to rip into him for it. But he was mistaken, it was all a ploy from Aelin to get his attention it seemed. The elevator arrived at the right floor and she pulled his glasses from his pocket, slipping them onto his nose before grabbing his hand and leading them out. They walked down the hallway, arriving at a door with music pulsing behind it. Aelin didn’t bother knocking and walked in, almost running into the hostess herself. Lysandra was dressed as Red Riding Hood, a bright red cape over a short green dress.

“You made it!” She nearly yelled as she hugged Aelin, obviously already a little drunk. Then her green eyes landed on him. “Nice lipstick, Rowan.”

Confused, Rowan rubbed at his mouth, his fingers coming away red. He gave Aelin an accusing look but she just grinned and rubbed away what was left of the lipstick.

“You look great,” Lysandra said, then she pointed between them. “I get it. You’re dressed as each other. Clever.”

“Thank you,” Aelin said, tucking into Rowan’s side. “Where’s Aeds?”

Lysandra waved behind her. “Somewhere. You guys have fun, now!” 

She was gone through the crowd and Rowan held onto Aelin’s hand as she led them to the drinks. He spotted Elide and a few other familiar faces, but overall there were a lot of people hadn’t seen before. Aelin waved to people she recognised, saying hello here and there, but she never let go of him. She found him a stool in a corner, letting him sit while she leaned into his chest. Aedion eventually found them, as did Elide and Lysandra, the women begging Aelin to come dance but she declined. 

Rowan could tell that she wanted to, so he leant forward and kissed her cheek. “Go have fun love, I’m fine here.”

She turned to face him then said hopefully. “You could always come dance with me.”

“I don’t think so,” Rowan said, shaking his head. 

Aelin pouted at him but she didn’t push him. “I’ll be back soon I promise.”

True to her word Aelin came back after a few dances, Rowan’s eyes had been drinking her in the whole time and she made sure to send him flirty smiles as she did. That costume combined with the way she moved was nearly driving him insane. But soon after she arrived she was dragged off again for a game of beer pong with Aedion. As a team the two cousins were unstoppable and by the time she wandered back to Rowan again she was definitely a little tipsy. She threw her arms around his neck, leaning fully into him.

“Come dance with me, please?” Aelin begged. 

That smile was almost his undoing but then a voice he actually recognised sounded from behind her.

“There you are. Not surprised to see you hiding in a corner, Whitethorn.”

Looking up Rowan saw Fenrys and Aelin turned to face him as well. 

“You made it!” She exclaimed.

It was then that Rowan took in exactly what Fenrys was wearing… or not wearing. He had worn most of his work uniform, just about everything except his shirt. Even with the jacket over the top Rowan could tell that he’s taken care to oil up his bare chest beneath, only ever so slightly covered by his suspenders. He lent his elbow on Aelin’s shoulder, and looking at the two of them they were the ones that looked like they had come dressed to match.

Fenrys tilted his head. “Who are you supposed to be? Clark Kent?”

Rowan crossed his arms over his chest but it was Aelin who answered. “No he’s a teacher. You get it?”

“Oh, yep yep. I get it,” Fenrys said nodding. “You’ve swapped professions. And, might I just say Miss Galathynius, you make a fine firefighter.” 

Aelin shoved him. “Come on, I’ll get you a drink.”

Getting a drink turned into a few dances, followed by a game of magnetic darts and then at least three songs worth of awful karaoke. In between the activities Aelin and Fenrys wandered away from each other, but always seemed to find the other again. At one point Fenrys came over to drop off his jacket now that he was getting a little warm, Rowan had even rolled his sleeves up to his elbows for a little relief.

Rowan fixed his coworker with a look. “You know you’re not supposed to wear your uniform outside of work.”

Fenrys’ reply was a shrug and a grin.

“You look like a stripper,” Rowan added and Fenrys let out an incredulous laugh.

“We all gotta live a little sometimes,” Fenrys said before disappearing to Aelin’s side again.

Rowan felt himself getting more sullen by the second, watching how Aelin and Fenrys smiled and had fun together. It was moments like this that Rowan wished he was more… sociable. More willing to put himself out there in situations like this, but instead he was sitting in a dark corner by himself, with only Fenrys’ jacket for company. Aelin wandered back to him, her hands immediately going to his face to make her look at him.

“What is it?” She asked him.

“It’s nothing,” Rowan said and she tried to shake Aelin off but she kept hold of him and just lent in closer.

“What. Is. It.”

Rowan sighed. “It looks like you have more fun with him than with me.”

Aelin smirked. “And him meaning Fenrys.”

Rowan nodded.

That smirk turned into a coy smile and she slotted herself between his legs, his hands finding her waist. “Well maybe if you got off this stool and came out to play.”

Rowan started to frown but Aelin kept his attention. “Hey, I’m kidding. I get it. Funny thing is that I invited him so you would have someone to talk to. Maybe I should have invited Lorcan instead, except he’d never say yes to me.” Rowan managed a laugh at that. “And I definitely don’t have more fun with Fen, trust me.” Aelin added earnestly.

“It certainly looks like it,” Rowan grumbled.

Aelin slid that much closer, her mouth right by his ear. “Oh yeah? Well, would I ever let him…”

She whispered in his ear, so close the breath that accompanied her words tickled his skin, making him break out in goosebumps. They were words that described something obscene about sliding on fire poles, on his fire pole to be exact. When she pulled away Aelin’s smile was feline and Rowan felt his cheeks heat.

“Can we go now, please?” Rowan’s voice was nowhere near as smooth or confident as he wanted it to be.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Aelin said. Rowan stood and went to take his glasses off but Aelin stopped him, her hands running up his arms to where his sleeves were rolled up. “You’ll be leaving those on. All night, if you please, Mr Whitethorn.” 

~~~~~

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this silliness. 

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[thiswasinevitableid]

For the prompt fill, number 3 for Indruck seems pretty fitting!

Here you go! Prompt 3 was “sweet” , Indrid’s design is based on a barracuda and I went with SFW on this one.

“Duck, can you do me a favor when you lock up?” Leo dumps orange taffy into a glass jar. 

“Sure, what d’you need?”

“Got some locks for the garbage cans; put ‘em on after you set the alarm out back. Somethin’s been getting into our trash every damn night for the last week. It makes a god-awful mess and I’m worried we’re gonna get a fine for littering.”

Duck nods, turns his attention back to the flock of tourists approaching the window. The afternoon is swallowed up in a pit of sugar-sticky air and blasts of welcome cold from the freezer. There are worse places for a summer job than Tarkesian’s Sweets--he’s right by the water, can watch the wildlife on his lunch break, and Leo is low-maintenance boss--but after eight hours on his feet getting splashed with soda or burned on the popcorn machine, he’s ready to head home. The trash locks have other ideas.

It takes ten minutes of cursing and fumbling to get the first bin secured. He doesn’t even know how the damn things are getting overturned; they seem too heavy for a raccoon or seagull to knock to the ground. 

A tiny splash behind him, probably a fish jumping. 

Then a crooked, shiny pole slowly enters his periphery. In dim yellow of the streetlight, he can tell the end of it is curved. It pokes inelegantly at the wall, then the locked can, then the wall once again, and then Duck’s leg.

The hook pulls back, pauses, then pokes him again.

“The fuck?” He grabs it when it goes for another jab, pulls up only for his arms to be wrenched towards the water. Not to be outdone, he tugs harder. His opponent retaliates with enough force that he almost tumbles off the pier. He growls, braces his foot on the railing, and hauls the hook and its owner up onto worn wood with him. 

It’s a guy about his age, angular face framed by a mess of silver hair and pierced ears. Figures it’s some sort of artsy punk swimming around poking people in the leg. That explains why he’s shirtless too. 

It does not, however, explain why he has a tail. 

“Rude.” The guy sits up on his hands, silver and black tail flicking droplets of saltwater everywhere, “I don’t go around stopping you from eating.”

“Look man, I just wanted you to stop jabbin me and knockin the trash over.” Maybe if he doesn’t mention the tail it will go away. 

“How else am I supposed to get at those odd, pulpy tubs full of ‘cookies and cream’ or ‘bubblegum’?”

“The fuck--wait, you were tryin’ to get the ice cream containers out of the trash?”

“Yes? I also want more of the caramel apples” he pronounces the last word “applees” causing Duck to giggle in spite of himself. 

“Look, I have to piece words together from the signs on your store. And you obviously know what I meant or you would not be laughing, so do you have any in the cans or not?”

“Nope” Duck gets his laughter under control, “sold out of caramel apples today.” 

“Drat” the visitor starts scooting across the pier towards the unlocked trashcan, “I’ll see what else I can find.”

“Wait don’t fuckin knock that over, Leo’ll be pissed at me if he comes back to a mess, and I don’t feel like pickin up trash because you want a snack!”

“But I’m starving!” The merman, because at this point there’s no way he can deny that’s what’s been rooting through the garbage, whacks at Duck with his tail.

“I know for a damn fact there’s food down there.” He points at the bay. 

“Only if you can catch it, and only if it is not in another mer’s territory. Which much of this area is; I am new here, young, and thus have no claim to any patch of sea.”

“You ain’t got any family?” Something pings in his chest. It’s the part of his heart that made him pick out the runt of litter when his mom let him get a cat on his thirteenth birthday, that means he always splits his lunch with Juno because she’s running track and needs it more than he does, that makes him tear up when he thinks about everything a sapling has to survive to become a tree.

“Merfolk leave home at sixteen.” The merman shrugs.

Duck sighs, grabbing his keys, “If I bring you somethin to eat, will you leave the trash alone?”

“Yes.” 

He shuts off the alarm, grabs a cone and fills it with bright blue ice cream. The merman is back in the water when he returns, arms resting on the pier.

“Oooh, my favorite!” He takes the ice cream, biting huge chunks out of it as Duck re-arms the door. 

Crunch

“...The container is edible!!”

He sits next to the merman’s arms, “Guess you wouldn’t have had an ice cream cone before, huh.”

“No, but it is lovely. I wish humans threw these away more often.” He polishes off the treat, licks his fingers clean with moans Duck hears in his dreams later, and smiles, “thank you for the meal. Goodnight.” 

There’s a final flash of silvery tail, and then Duck’s alone in the breezy night air.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“That’s a sandwich, correct?”

“AHfuck” Duck knocks over his water bottle in surprise. He’s eating behind the candy store like usual and not expecting an aquatic dining companion. 

“Apologies. I have seen you eating here before and thought you may like some company.” He sets a sea urchin on the ground and proceeds to bang on it with a rock. 

“Found some lunch?”

“I followed some otters; I was mainly trying to draw them, but they led me to a kelp bed no one else was in.”

“...Wait how do you draw underwater?”

“Let me finish cracking this open and I will show you.”

Duck spends the rest of his lunch break on his belly, the merman showing him a sketchbook and enchanted pen that conjures whatever colors the illustrator envisions. The mer is genuinely excited to talk to him. He assumes the nuzzling is due to him smelling like cotton candy; he doesn’t mind, the mer’s skin is cool and he makes cute little noises whenever he touches Duck. 

Before the stands, Duck asks, “You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“Duck.” 

Indrid’s eyes flick to the nearby estuary.

“Yeah, like the bird. It’s a nickname.”

“I like it.” Indrid smiles, dives, and flaps his tail once in farewell.

------------------------------------------------------

“Cutting school again?” Indrid’s voice bubbles up by his feet. 

“Yep.” Duck watches the spring clouds roll by from his favorite spot on the beach. It’s secluded and far from town, meaning no one will give him shit for skipping class and nobody will see Indrid.

He worked at Leo’s until this past summer, only quitting at the start of his senior year of high school when Indrid pointed out that much of Kepler was surrounded by water and that, if Duck wanted to see him, he did not have to keep working at the candy store in order to do so. 

“Not that I mind the free food.” Indrid winks. 

“Just gonna bring you bulk ice cream from Safeway; no way am I missin out on that chirpin you do when you eat it.”

Duck slides the grocery bag towards the surf, “not like KCC is gonna rescind my offer. Ain’t a fuckin Ivy League or some shit.”

“And you will be happy there?”

“Yeah. They got a decent work-study program with the park, so I can still get a job as a ranger if I want to.”

“Oh. Good.” 

Indrid sounds sad, and Duck sits up on his elbows. His friend’s torso is fully on land, his tail fidgeting in the foam. 

“What’s up?

“I...Barclay told me his human is going to a school further inland, and I know there are many places you could got to learn. You...you did not choose to stay in Kepler because you feel the need to look after me, did you?”

“Course not.” Duck is sitting up now, aching to stroke Indrid’s hair, “I mean, I’m glad we’re still gonna be able to see each other, and I really hopin I can get a room near the beach so it’s easy to come talk. But this is the right choice for me; if I really want to, I can transfer to a different school in a few years, and I can learn a lot here without takin on a shit-ton of debt. Besides, ain’t like I think you’re helpless; I love bringin you stuff and rubbin your fin when it’s sore, but that’s because you’re my friend. Don’t think you’re helpless. I never have.”

“Not even when I was stealing trash?”

“Thought you were a fuckin nuisance, not helpless.” He playfully nudges his shoulder with his toes. 

Indrid turns his head and nips his calf, “How’s that for a nuisance?”

“Not much, felt kinda nice. Uh, I mean, uh, fuck, so, where’d that worry about my stayin come from?”

The mer crawls and wiggles until they’re shoulder to shoulder, “I think my future sight is finally developing; my fathers arrived around the time he turned eighteen, so it makes sense mine would arrive at a similar point. The trouble is, I am having a hard time telling the futures from my own imaginings and worries.”

“That fuckin sucks.”

“I’ll manage. All seers struggle at the beginning. I just wish I was quicker at learning whether certain timelines are really more likely or if they are just ones that I want to be likely.”

“Like what?”

Indrid glances at him, opens his mouth, then shuts it and faces the sea.

Duck smirks, “‘Drid, there somethin you wanna ask me?”

“No. Yes. Maybe? I, I just don’t want to pressure youOOOHhhh that’s not fair” he flops on his back with a groan as Duck scritches his upper tail, “you know I’ll do anything when you touch me like this.”

“Damn right I do. And what I want is for you to tell me the truth.”

Indrid whines, covers his face with his hands.

“Do it or I’ll stop.”

“Rude” Indrid lowers his hands enough that his red eyes peer over the top, “is that any way to treat a mer who wants to kiss you?”

Duck gives his answer by pouncing on his friend, pinning narrow shoulders into the sand as he devours his mouth in kisses. 

“You like that treatment better?”

“Goodness, yes.” Indrid pulls him back down, slipping his tongue between his lips and nibbling his neck when he finally stops to breathe. Then his hand flails sideways, grabbing the plastic bag and chucking it further up the beach.

“The, the tide is coming in and I, ah, foresee us working up quite the appetite.” He tugs Duck’s collar down with his teeth, nuzzling and licking across his skin with little hums of pleasure, “so I want to save those for afterwards. Who knows” he grins, “maybe we’ll need energy for round two as well.”

Duck cups his cheek, inhales the scent of the sea and the sight of his future, “I like the way you think, sweet thing.”

[avengenerd]

Clockwork

A/N: it’s ya girl, back at it again after OVER A YEAR of not posting a fic. I’ve been working really hard this year in getting back into writing, and I’d like to think I’ve improved since I last posted here. So, let me know what you think. Like, comment, REBLOG, I go feral for the last two. Also S/O to @writeyourmindaway​ whose custom line divider I used! Much love, in these oh so trying times. 

Summary: Bucky x Female!Reader (established relationship). Reader is a part of the team, and endowed with the skills of MacGyver and a science degree. She’s also been kidnapped, disarmed, and locked inside with a ticking bomb. It’s not great. 

Word count: 2296

Category: fluff, light angst and self-deprecation. We been there. No warnings. Enjoy!

You’ve got 10 minutes before the walls come caving in. Four red, white and blue wires snake around four identical corners joined by enough incendiary to turn you to ash. The door is locked from the outside and your previous attempts at breaking it open have proved both a waste of time and a bruising task.

At 8 minutes and 35 seconds, you’ve assessed the bomb’s components and begin to thoroughly scan the small bathroom. A wall radiator attached to brown metallic pipes, definitely gas fed, is beside the ceramic toilet bowl. It tells you that not only are they planning on wiping you out, but burying the entire building beneath flames and rubble. On the floor there’s cleaning bleach and a blue bottle of standard toilet cleaner. You grab one of them and put it on the sink. In the mirror-cabinet above, you find a small manicure pouch. Immediately, you pull out tweezers and a metallic file. There’s no trimming scissors so you take the nail clipper instead.

The impending explosion is the most immediate threat, so that’s where you begin. Using the tweezers you unscrew the plating, and pry open the metal casing with the nail file to expose wiring. Four wires, same sequence as the external, red—blue—white—blue. You snip the last blue wire with the nail clippers. The timer stops at 7 minutes and 1 second.

It’s not over yet. In 7 minutes and 1 second, the assholes who locked you inside with a bomb will be wondering why there weren’t any fireworks. Then, they’ll be back. You may be able to diffuse a bomb but your capabilities end at stopping an army of bullets.

There’s a knock on the door.

You stop breathing. Tilting your head toward the door, you listen closely and hear heavy pants. Inching back to the sink you pick up the bottle of bleach.

Another knock, this time followed by a tentative call.

“Y/N?”.

You put the bottle down. “Bucky?”

A sigh comes from the other side. “Fuckin’ hell. Next time you get kidnapped, try not to lose your comms.”

Tilting your head back, you let out a deep breath before moving closer to the door.  “I’ll try to remember that. Can you let me out now? There’s a bomb-“

“Shit.” A ruffling followed by a grunt comes from Bucky’s side. “Move away from the door.”

You immediately scurry to the sink, as three pops to the door’s hinges allow Bucky to enter the small room.

His dark hair is matted to his face, drenched in sweat. His thick blue vest holds a darker spot on his left side, not much bigger than the size of a fist. Blood, maybe. ‘His’, you wonder. ‘Or someone else’s’. He’s grinning at you, skin stretched at the corners of his mouth, a pleasant image despite the huge semi-automatic attached to his back. ‘Definitely someone else’s’.

You smile back at him. “You took your sweet time.”

He glances at the left wall hosting the disarmed bomb and quirks an eyebrow at you. You shrug your shoulders in response. “Couldn’t wait forever, babe.”

Bucky moves to respond, but is interrupted by distant shouts.  “New friends of yours?” he asks.

“Clearly,” you reply, nodding to the explosives. “Did you by chance bring some friends of your own? A small army, perhaps?”

“Not exactly. We knew you’d be somewhere in the area, but there’s about five industrial bases within a 10 mile radius.” He removes the gun from behind his back, reloading the magazine. “The team had to split up. Didn’t think you’d be kept here though.”

Which is exactly why he checked, he goes on to explain. When the others reported unoccupied spaces, he’d almost given up. Until Tony conveniently mentioned how odd it was for there to be a 3-storey colonial home in the middle of an industrial outlet.

You hum in acknowledgement, moving once more toward the sink. “My man, ever the hero.” You send a wink his way. You open the cabinet once more and pull out a bottle of clear liquid. “Buck, pass me the bleach.”

The thundering footsteps of armed idiots inch closer towards your position. Your 7 minutes are up.

He hands you the heavy container, and you immediately pour the clear liquid into it, screw the cap and hand it back to him. You move back to the bomb, detaching the C-4 explosives from the rest of the mechanism.

“Care to explain what it is you’re doing?” Bucky shifts to move closer to you, but you hold a hand up at him.

“Please don’t move. There’s some highly exothermic chemistry waiting to happen in that,” you point at the bottle in his hand, “and I’d rather it didn’t happen here.”  You grab the beige blocks of C-4 with their fuses still attached.

“Right. Usually I’d find this really hot but, we’re on a clock sugar.” The group of Hydra militants have entered the bottom floor, and you can hear commands being shouted.

“Then let’s dip. Hand me the bleach, you take this,” you say, piling the explosives into his unarmed hand. You take the bottle and finally exit the bathroom meant to be your final resting place. Gross. You leave those thoughts for later.

Short static buzzes come from Bucky’s ear, as he presses down on the hidden earpiece. “Yeah, I’ve got her……. There’s too many of ‘em right now for just the two of us….. think you can pick us up from the roof?” Another final buzz and Bucky looks to you and nods. “Whatever you’re planning on doing, do it now. Sam’s ETA is 2 minutes.

Your assailants have cleared out the first floor, and are making their way up the second. You estimate 30 seconds before they find your position.

You shake the bottle in your hands and immediately feel heavy waves of heat permeating through the plastic. “Then this should buy us some time.”

As you make your way down the corridor with Bucky scoping ahead, you uncover the bottle and let its contents run out in front of you, immediately backing away and covering your mouth. Toxic white fumes escape and a small, but dense fog settles ahead of the spill, growing as more liquid evaporates.

The pair of you run towards the window at the end of the hall. As you reach your destination, a smattering series of coughs and heaving erupts behind you.

“What the fuck is that?!”

“Shit! Cover your nose!”

“I think...I’m gonna…gonna…pass-” followed by a heavy thunk.

Bucky turns to you, bewildered and confused. “What was that?”

“Really crude chloroform. Very nasty stuff, concerningly easy to make.” He gives you an impressed smile, as if to say “not bad”, and proceeds to break through the window with his metal arm.

Clearing out the glass shards, he beckons you to go first. You climb onto the roof and he hands you the plastic bricks of C-4 before slinging himself up to join you.

“How long till Sam gets here?” you ask him, squinting as harsh winds blow into your face.

“Why don’t you look up, sweetheart,” a familiar voice announces. You glance towards the sky and see Sam hovering above you, a halo of sunlight framing his head. A very fitting image indeed.

“Y’all ready to bounce or what?” Grinning from ear to ear, he lowers down onto the roof and engulfs you in a hug. “Damn girl, you really had us scared for a minute.”

“Only a minute?” You scoff. “Might as well leave me here then.”  Smiling into his shoulder, you hug him back, happy to feel safe again.

“Please don’t. Let’s move before you don’t have an actual choice,” Bucky interjects, his eyebrows tensed but his light expression remaining.

“Right. Hope y’all don’t get air sick,” Sam grabs onto each of your hands, extending his wings.

“Wait!” You shout. Grabbing the explosives you ask, “Any of you guys got a match?”

You take the lighter Bucky provides you with and ignite it. You move towards the edge of the roof and burn the fuses of each brick of C-4, before throwing them into the broken window below.

Immediately you sprint towards the waiting men, and grab Sam’s hand. “Okay, go go go go go!”

Without any further delays, Sam takes off with a grunt, arms straining as he takes you three airborne. Not even 13 feet into the air do the explosions begin, the roof you previously stood on exploding in a fiery blaze. Almost immediately, the horde of enemies who had hunted you flee the house through the bottom floor. From your view, they looked like ants being fumigated from their burrow. How appropriate.

“They’re escaping!” You shout over the whipping wind, but Bucky hears you. He nods no, before pointing in the distance behind you.

Looking back, you see an ever distant figure breaking through the scene of blue sky with streaks of red and gold. On the ground, Steve’s shield knocks down a round of men in one swoop whilst Wanda’s red magic incapacitates another.

You look back at Bucky and grin.

“Man, I love you guys.”

“I brought you something.” Bucky’s low voice interrupts your star-gazing as he joins you on the balcony. You look back at him. Steam rises upward and into his face from your favourite mug (the bright pink one with a 2005 Barbie movie plastered on its side).

“Aw, you remembered,” you coo at him, grasping the mug between your palms. The hot air rises to your face and you sigh deeply. Your hands tremble a little. It’s been a long day.

“The colour’s hard to forget,” he grins. “How are you though?” Bucky stands beside you, so closely you can hear him breathing. You can feel his eyes on you, and decidedly ignore his question. You blow gently into the tea and take a sip.

The disgust on your face is evident.

Your boyfriend rushes to explain. “It’s Valerian root. It’s supposed to help relieve stress or somethin’…” he trails off. You’re crying. “Is it that bad? You don’t have to finish it or-,”

“No,” you turn to face him. He’s looking at you gently, calmly, like he already knows what you’re going to say.

You say it anyway. “I should be happy. We did what we were supposed to do, and nobody who wasn’t supposed to get hurt, didn’t. We got the bad guys, again.” You scrunch up your face, and briefly squeeze your eyes shut, feeling even more pathetic for crying. “And I got captured, again. Someone had to save me, again.” It stings. This is the second time it’s happened in this month and though it has little to do with your performance, it definitely feels that way.

“I didn’t get hurt, and I know I should be happy about that. Everything worked out in the end, but, god Bucky!” The tea sloshes out of the cup and onto both your feet. You pause to look down at the mess, then up at him, and you lose it.

Bucky quickly takes the mug and places it out of reach. Wrapping his arms around you, he holds you as you cry into his shoulder.

“I-I don’t even know why I’m losing it.” You feel palms gently moving across your back, and for some reason it makes you cry harder. “I-, we got out, we’re safe. I just-”

“Just because you left unmarked, doesn’t mean you left unaffected Y/N,” he speaks into your ear, hugging you tighter. “What happened to you could’ve happened to any one of us. No matter how much we plan, we don’t always know how our enemy is gonna react. You got out. More than once. That definitely counts for something.” He unwraps his arms from your body and steps back to look into your eyes.

Your crying has dwindled to tearing, but tracks (and a little bit of snot) remain.

He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “If it were me trapped in there, I probably woulda been barbecue.” You sniffle. “Smoked. Grilled. Roasted.” He continues and smiles at the breathy laugh you give in return.

“Toasted?” You continue, giving in to his jesting. He moves his hand from your face as you wipe the remnants of your tears away.

“Exactly. Not to mention you’ve probably terrified them for life. Chemical warfare and an incendiary attack in less than 5 minutes? I’d be pissin’ myself if I didn’t know you were on our side,” he teases, grinning as you shake your head.

“You should still be pissing yourself. Valerian’s got actinidine, Bucky. Fly pheromones. That tea was so gross,” and with that, Bucky knew he’d done his job, at least for tonight. He could give you tonight.

“Yeah yeah,” he grabs you again and pulls you into his embrace. You weren’t gone for long, he knows, but a gram of anxiety niggled at him regardless. His worry and consequent relief was well hidden for your sake. But you knew. You always knew.

Lightly pressing your palm to his cheek, you lean in to kiss him, feeling his lips on yours in a sweet and delicate reciprocity. The air tonight is cold. It should be prickly, but it softens between the both of you. You let him know you love him, and how much you appreciate him. You also kindly remind him that he shouldn’t rely on every Google suggestion.  

When you go inside, Bucky asks you about making chloroform, then gleefully interrupts you mid-explanation with another kiss. “You’re so hot when you science at me, babe.”

You fling a pillow at him and the night ends in love and laughter.

[bubmyg]

try three times - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: lawyer!au, established relationship, fluff, angst (with a happy ending!!), the introduction of seokjin’s character, nonchronological with my other lawyer!yoongi drabbles (linked on my masterlist!)

word count: 4,027

summary: yoongi doesn’t want to admit that seokjin knows what he’s doing or the one about three different weddings and where he proposes (kind of) while smelling like fish.

It’s easy to be in a room full of people and feel as though you’re the only one that doesn’t have their shit together. 

For example, the banquet hall was filled with twenty-somethings who had probably ate ramen out of peculiar objects more than they had with proper cutlery in the past six months, but you couldn’t tell it at first glance. The twenty-somethings tucked into tightly collared shirts and lace hemmed dresses mixed among actual adults, family and friends of the wedding party becoming one moving machine, sipping alcohol and munching on weirdly shaped cheese poked onto the end of toothpicks. 

Yoongi’s conscious didn’t have the heart to remind him that no one has a clue what the hell they’re doing, too overcome with the way he was clutching his champagne glass and trying to figure out an equation in his head for the amount of time spent at a friend’s wedding versus how many people you were supposed to interact with for it to be considered acceptable. 

This is Seungcheol’s fault, his conscious instead convinced him, eyes narrowing on the aforementioned groom as he gripped a tight hand with a brand new diamond band strapped on one finger around his bride’s waist. Of anyone in the room, the bride and groom seemed to have their shit together. Seungcheol was graduating a semester early. They’d just moved into an apartment together. His wife had recently gotten a full time position with her summer internship. 

Yoongi, on the other hand, had just switched his major, twice, only to end back up in what he originally started in. He would be a semester behind on credits because of it. He’d spent a strange three months in a fraternity. Law school entrance exam textbooks occupied every square inch of his desk. His shortlist of schools had only been narrowed to ten. He hadn’t touched his personal statement since high school. 

And then there was you, a year old addition in his life that seemed to fill in all the puzzle pieces of things he wasn’t. He glanced at your empty chair to remind himself that you’d disappeared twenty minutes ago to get more to drink and to grab him a slice of cake, only to be held up in three separate conversations. He’d made it to get more champagne in less than thirty seconds. 

He gulped at the sparkling liquid in his glass to feel it bubble in the pit of his stomach. 

A paper plate appeared in his peripheral, something white with pink and gold chevrons racing down the center of it, geometric patterns cut off by the slap of white cake resting on the center of it. There was a plastic fork curling out of the treat, fingers gripped on the end of it as the utensil tore off a sizable chunk and lifted into the air. 

“Mingyu cut the piece for me,” You muffled through the bite you plopped on your tongue, handing him back the fork to plop back into your chair, “Told him it was for you and he gave you a deluxe piece.” 

Yoongi hummed, absently replacing your grip on the fork. He drug one pointed prong through a small blotch of icing that had fallen away from the cake. “I’ll have to tell him thank you later…”

“I told Jihoon to mix up the playlist a little bit.” 

You were referencing the auburn headed audio engineer major who was hidden behind an array of open laptops and a giant headset at the front of the reception hall. Yoongi had a feeling he knew what you meant, but he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes anyway. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” You leaned forward in your chair, nudging Yoongi with a soft grin, “I wore closed toed shoes for a reason. Need some non-toe breaking slow dances with my man.”

“Nice try, but I don’t think you’re going to get Jihoon to leave his equipment all alone, especially not with a drunk Soonyoung lurking around—”

You giggled a little bit but there was a sizable amount of offense held in the downturn of your eyebrows as you caught the apex of Yoongi’s elbow and tugged. When he glanced at you, cheeks full of cake, you shook your head, “I meant you, nerd. I want to dance with you.”

Yoongi paused in the next bite of cake he was cutting, blinking at your intense gaze. Something inside him panicked even if his outside demeanor remained calm. The mix of emotions within him clearly rained confusion in you, especially when he cleared his throat and went to set his plate aside. 

“You know, I have to take that practice exam tomorrow morning. Jin is supposed to drive with me and I don’t want to, you know, hold him up or anything,” He averted his gaze the more hurt yours grew. He wrung his fingers together in his lap, uncrossing his legs to lean forward, still avoiding your eyes, “I was thinking we leave here in a second, if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” Yoongi heard it in your voice. He didn’t need to look up. After a moment, he saw you stand, dress fluttering past your knees in his peripheral, “Are you done with your cake?”

His eyes closed, knowing he couldn’t salvage your feelings by changing his mind, sucking it up, and asking you for a dance. Without a word, he nodded. 

You disappeared with the plate in hand just as the first slow song of the night began to play.

“You have to work,” He told the string of fairy lights currently suspended by a few stick on hooks. Deft fingers continued to fumble at the battery packs, turning the batteries inside a second time, forcing the lids shut, nail curling into the on and off switch. Nothing. 

Frustration made the battery pack, the heaviest part of the entire device, slip from his grasp, tumbling to the mountain of pillows pressed against your headboard and effectively yanking all his hard work with the lights from the wall. All that was left was a sad wooden shadow of your initials, nailed into the apartment walls. With no lights.

Yoongi had spent the greater part of the day decorating. The extensive list on your planner in the tiny kitchen said you wouldn’t be home until after dinner and he’d been determined to get something done. 

It’d only been a few weeks since you’d moved into your first place together, just a week since he’d started his first required internship of law school and just a day since your classes had returned. Thus, plastic coverings still sat taped to the television and the window of the microwave and the pull on the blinds. Unpacked boxes made a mountain where there was supposed to be a dining table, an item you didn’t have nor could you afford. 

But Yoongi could afford his day off to dig through the boxes to find all your favorite trinkets (picture frames, fairy lights, candles, the tiny porcelain cat you’d bought him as a joke) and arrange them accordingly. He’d finally set up the printer in the room you’d designated the office just to print off some of your favorite pictures together, losing a few nails along the process but managing to stuff the pictures into frames and scatter them along the walls. 

The pair of your initials next to each other had been his own touch, a quick trip into a craft store where he felt rather underwhelmed by the selection and overwhelmed by the price he’d covered with his debit card. He’d hung them above the bed, center on the wall and the headboard, the dark wood matching the navy pillows you’d stacked to give, as you’d said, some sense of put togetherness. 

A thought had entered his mind when he was shuffling through the options in the middle of the craft store. It would be so much easier if we shared initials. Just one giant M in the middle of the room…

He’d shied away from that thought when he finally located the curve of your surname. 

Yoongi mounted the bed with a wheeze from both his lungs and the worn mattress springs, effectively ruining the decorative pillow mountain as he dug for the string of fairy lights. A similar strung together list of curse words left his lips as he pried at the battery pack again, the flower shaped lights dancing against his short clad legs until there was a gentle knocking on the bedroom door and he dropped them again. 

“Bubs?” You took one step into the room before pausing, aweing around the space. There was a glint in your irises, one he could see from his compromising position, “What are you doing?”

“Can’t get your fairy lights to work,” Yoongi offered shyly, pink creeping to the back of his neck. “I think they’re the ones that were in your dorm, but—”

“If you used the batteries that were already in them, that’s why. They’re like three years old,” The mattress swayed as you clambered on to stand next to him, touching his hand where it had curled around his neck. You laced your fingers together, letting your arms dangle between each other as you again did a sweep of the room. “You did all this?”

An embarrassed sound of affirmation left Yoongi’s throat, watching you carefully. He nearly stumbled into the wall and his carefully hung lettering when you looped your arms around his neck, holding him tightly. 

“Thank you,” You murmured, kissing his throat. 

Yoongi was hesitant in the way he fit his arms around you, subconsciously leaning into your touch. 

Just as soft, he nodded, “I’m trying…”

No amount of wine seemed to moisten his tongue where it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

You were effortlessly gorgeous, as always, wrapped up in some emerald sequins number and a devastating smile that made his heart hurt worse than he could ever properly articulate. Yoongi’s cheeks hurt from introducing you, always coming with a shy yet wide smile when his classmate in question made some sort of playfully snide comment about how you were far too beautiful for him. 

At Seokjin’s wedding, it was a bit easier to feel less overwhelmed. Yoongi didn’t know everyone, but he knew a lot of people. Despite Seokjin’s career path not exactly diverging to where Yoongi’s seemed to be going, they were still classmates and thus still shared a lot of the same acquatences, professors, advisors, coworkers. He knew what he was doing for the foreseeable future. He’d recently passed the certification exam, marking him as someone who could now, legally, practice law. He had a job waiting and available for him, one while not exactly ideal would suffice to get his foot in the door and his rent paid for the next few months. 

Yoongi knew you’d be there, too, in his future. Even if his tongue dried every time he thought of how. 

Except he didn’t have to ponder the never ending question of rings and proposals and weddings while attending a wedding. He just had to figure out how to ask you to dance. He’d never forgiven himself for hurting your feelings at Seungcheol’s wedding. 

It was you that was trailing him the entire evening, him being the connection between most of the people at the reception and yourself. You were the stranger this time, not each of you mutually connected to the guests at the wedding. Yet, it didn’t stop you from becoming fast friends with Yoongi’s classmates and professional connections alike, dragging each of you into twenty minute long conversations about the state of nonprofit litigation and the staggering rate of black cats put down by animal shelters. 

Breaks between people gave Yoongi the opportunity to wet his tongue with a splash of sacchrine wine, poke his tongue around the tulip shape of his lips, and attempt to ask, no matter the music playing through the loud speakers overhead, only to be interrupted again. And again.

And again. 

Yoongi thought you were free by the time you’d nearly circled back around to your table where Taehyung and Namjooon were engaged in some sort of debate that involved the plastic knives from their baked chicken. He stopped you before you could sit, dragging crooked fingertips down the inside of your wrist to lace into your fingers and tug. 

The muscle felt heavy inside his mouth and he couldn’t bring himself to hold your eye contact as his heart hammered wildly inside his chest, reminding him suddenly of all the things. Nearly five years together. Two apartments together. Both of your names on the car lease. 

“Yoongi,” Your thumb swiped over his knuckles, immediately calming the roar of blood in his ears. A frown had slowly worked into the creases on either side of your lips, and you tugged back on his hand. “Is everything okay?”

He was a half second away from blurting out his impulse request, not caring about the nagging part of his subconscious that noted your open toed shoe choice for the evening when your grip was falling away from his. 

“Sorry, Yoongi!” Seokjin cheered as he spun a drunk circle in the opposite direction with you curled tightly in his embrace, “I have to steal a dance from your girlfriend.”

Yoongi watched as happiness easily overtook your features, clinging to Seokjin’s shoulders as you threw your head back at whatever rambles were leaving from his friend’s stupor. 

“Just wanted to know if you wanted to dance,” Yoongi murmured to himself, letting his arm fall limp to his side, “I hate myself for hurting your feelings every day that I can’t get my shit together and just—”

“Yoongi,” It was Namjoon saying his name, waving around his plastic knife. “You okay?”

Taehyung ignored the obvious discomfort on his friend’s features as he approached the table with dragging steps, still muttering to himself. 

“What do you think about sporks?”

“Where are you going?”

The droopy bucket hat in Yoongi’s grip crumpled more, keys still clinking together where they dangled from his free hand. He turned cheek to shoulder where you stood in the threshold with your arms crossed. 

“Fishing with Jin,” He lamented, “I told you that a week ago.”

“A week ago we didn’t have a closet full of laundry to do. Or a sink full of dishes to get done.”

You bristled at his involtunary check of his watch. “It’s only seven in the morning. We have all day to get those things done. I’ll help you when I get back…”

“I have to have our loan papers into the bank by tomorrow morning. Are we going to finish those too when you get back?”

“Yes,” Yoongi said simply, “There isn’t that much left to do on them.”

“For yours there isn’t. You’re the primary signee. I have virtually the entire packet left to complete,” After a second of staring angrily at him, you shook your head, “You know what, I’ll just do it all while you’re gone. Have fun.”

He knew you weren’t upset about a packet of questions you had to complete in order to approve you as a secondary individual on the loan for the house you two were planning on purchasing. You were upset about having to fill out an entirely different set of paperwork based on your relationship status. You’d voiced it tightly while handing him a second pen the night before when the ink in his had ran out. 

“This would be so much easier if we were married,” You’d tried to smile when his gaze flicked up to yours but he caught it anyway. He was hurting your feelings. Again. Not because of the paperwork. Because of what the paperwork implied. 

Because of the contents of the tiny velvet box that had been shoved into the front pouch of his laptop bag for the better part of six months, idle, without a finger to reside on. 

The shut of the door behind him was just as soft as his pained, “Bye…”

Yoongi, numbly, let the reel release, watching the reflection of the blue tinted line as it soared into the water, landing yards away from him with a soft plop. He set the reel in his hands, gently turning as he watched the end of the line where it disappeared into the lake create tiny ripples as it slowly came back toward where he stood on the shore. 

“How did you know?” Yoongi blurted suddenly. 

Seokjin didn’t miss a beat, “Well, generally, the fish is big enough that you can feel it tug back on the line. You have to set the hook so it doesn’t get off but don’t let it swallow it because that’s not good and—”

“No,” Yoongi stopped spinning the reel to drop his pole into the stick made stand he’d pushed into the mud on the bank. Both his fingers went to his face, dragging down on his cheeks. “How...how did you know when it was right to propose?”

“Ohh,” Seokjin stayed silent when he cast his pole again, clicking gentle as he turned the tiny device. “That’s what this is about. Has she said something?”

“No. She doesn’t have to. I can just tell.”

“Is marriage something you’ve talked about?”

“Yes.”

“Is it something you both want.”

“Yeah…”

“Do you love her?”

Yoongi’s hands fell away from his face and his features screwed up starting from his nose and ending at the part of his mouth where he, almost offended, affirmed, “More than anything else.”

“Then what’s stopping you? You could elope tonight, if you want,” Seokjin eyed Yoongi as he brought in an empty hook, letting it dangle from a second in mid air before tossing it back out into the water, “We’ll be your witnesses or whatever—”

“I’m scared.” Seokjin stopped talking upon Yoongi’s blunt statement, quietly turning away at his reel until Yoongi continued, floodgates now let loose, “I can’t hurt her feelings like I continue to, but what if it’s worse when we get married. There’s never been anyone else and there won’t be anyone else. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing because of it.”

“You’re a lovesick fool,” Seokjin confirmed, “Hey, your pole is jiggling and as much as your my friend and whatever, I’d rather not lose it, so—”

Yoongi begrudgingly picked up the pole where it was bouncing around in the makeshift twig holder, slow at first in turning at the handle but releazing whatever was on the other end was going to need more effort from him. He grunted into the next few turns, “I can’t even fish right.”

“You never could. You waste my bait everytime we go out,” Seokjin shrugged, “But you try. And I love you, in like, a brotherly way. That’s all I care about when I ask you to come along with me.”

“Is this your weird analogy to tell me that I won’t know until we try and that love is all that matters in the end?” Yoongi stumbled in trying to tug back on whatever the massive object was he was bringing in. 

“No,” Seokjin sat aside his pole, striding across the bank to slide the pole from Yoongi’s grasp. “I’m telling you to go propose to your soon to be wife while I get this moss off.”

“How do you know it’s moss and not a record breaking catfish?”

“It’s moss. Go.”

Yoongi found you curled up on the couch surrounded by half folded laundry, your eyes clearly lined in the slightest tints of pink and red, the loan application half open on the floor. He wasted no time, not wanting to hear your garbled inquiries as to whether he’d had fun or not because frankly, with how you were at the moment, he didn’t deserve to have had fun. 

“I’m not giving you this, yet.”

Your attempt at a friendly expression morphed into a confused squint. “What?”

He dug the box from his sweatpants pocket, flicking it open to show you a glimpse of the glittering jewelry inside. “I’m not giving you this, yet,” He repeated. He approached you, knocking aside a stack of his hoodies to kneel in front of you, hand engulfing your knees while the latter placed the ring box on your thigh, “but I’m going to. Soon.”

You laughed in spite of yourself, gentle at first and then bitter on the end, “I’m not upset because you haven’t proposed to me yet, Yoongi. I don’t like the implications of that.”

“I know I’m hurting your feelings. All the time,” He lifted a finger when you went to protest, “You don’t have to spare my feelings, of all things.”

“I try really, really hard for you. All the time. But that’s not a guilt trip, I know I need to do better. I’m trying right now, to give you a glimpse of what I should have done a long time ago.”

“I know that,” He let you interrupt him this time as the tiniest of tears lipped down the slope of your nose, “I’ve never doubted that. I just thought you’d changed your mind.”

Yoongi wanted you to vocalize your feelings, so he squeezed your knee and offered, “Changed my mind about what, love?”

“About us. Our future,” You shrugged, casting your gaze aside, “Not that marriage is the end all be all or that it’s just a title that helps with some tax information it’s just...”

“What you want for us,” Yoongi nodded, “It’s what I want too. I haven’t changed my mind.” 

“I didn’t really think you had it’s just...hard to not let myself think those things sometimes.”

“I’m sorry I ever made you doubt any sort of commitment I want to have in our relationship,” Yoongi leaned forward to chastely kiss away the droplets of tears clinging to the pouted round of your bottom lip. “I’m sorry I haven’t been trying hard enough for this, either.”

“I love you,” You cupped his cheeks, keeping his lips a fraction from yours. 

“I can’t wait to propose to you,” He countered.

“And I can’t wait to say yes.”

Yoongi didn’t hear the words the DJ was projecting through speakers stationed at all corners of the reception hall. He was too focused on the swirl of lights on the dance floor, ones that had dimmed into a glittery gold and ceased to move in the calculated circles they’d previously been completing. The back part of his mind wondered did we pick that color? Gold matches pink...and then he glanced at the baby pink bow tie clipped onto his collar, one he subconsciously straightened as the DJ continued to chatter on. 

He contemplated the color of the lights and the flavor of the cake icing and the extensive guest list in which half hadn’t RSVP’ed for the reception but now milled among everyone else and kept taking him away from you to chat. It was silent now, no one around him except others members of the wedding party around him, and he didn’t have to contemplate whether to seek someone out for conversation or search his subconscious for the name of your cousins’ significant other. He knew his next move, bending at the waist in front of the high backed chair you perched in and holding out a gentle palm for you even as the DJ continued to chatter over the soft applause of the guests. 

“Hey,” Yoongi murmured.

You smiled under the gold lights as they cast shadows down the contours of your features, “Hi.”

“I like your ring,” His fingers crooked when you placed your hand in his to fiddle at the diamond studded band. 

“I like your last name,” You squeezed his hand. 

Yoongi’s lips covered your fingers, gentle in pecking each one, spending extra time on the one where diamonds reflected in the gold. 

His voice muffled on the bend of your digits. “May I have this dance?”

You stood at that, gripping his fingers tightly. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[neerasrealm]

Breakfast and Thrift Stores

Part two to this story. Literally just Dad Tim and Toby doing some bonding idk what you want from me man

word count: 1954

Toby looked himself over in the bathroom mirror. His pale, thin frame was covered in thin, faded scars. Some were from as a kid, some were more recent. Some were given to him, some were self inflicted and others...the car crash. He gulped, his fingers tracing over scars where doctors had given him stitches, where he’d been cut open to remove shrapnel, where he was cut and hit. He sighed softly and dropped his hand, grabbing his shirt from where it sat on top of the toilet lid. He put it on, then slipped on his usual sweater. He stepped out of the bathroom and looked around. His eyes fell on the white door connecting his room to the one next door. Tim had told him he could come inside, spend the evening with them.

The three of them were...odd. Tim was nice. He was friendly, and understanding. Toby had answered his questions the best he could, telling Tim his age, where he came from, some of his disorders. Keyword being some. Tim hadn’t pried too much into the boy’s personal life, but somehow Toby felt like he somehow knew more than he let on. Still, he had made a vow to himself.

He would never, ever tell any of them about what he’d done. He refused to mention anything about his dad, or his mother and sister. And he definitely wasn’t going to talk about...the thing. If it was even real. Maybe he’d imagined the creature. He wasn’t sure but- it was nothing Tim needed to know about. 

Hesitantly, he walked over to the door. He held his fist up, hesitating on whether or not to knock. And then his arm jerked and slammed into the door, forcing him into knocking. Ah, thanks tourettes. 

‘’Come in.’’ he heard Brian call. Toby grabbed the doorknob, turning it and pulling it open. The other room was identical to his. The three of them were sitting on one of the two beds. Or rather, Tim and Jay were on the bed, and Brian was sitting on the floor in front of it, his back resting against it. Jay waved a bit in greeting.

‘’Hey Toby.’’ he chirped. Toby smiled a bit and raised a hand in greeting, waving a tiny bit.

‘’Uh- hey.’’ he greeted softly. He closed the door behind him and fiddled with his hands, unsure of where to go. Tim gestured to the other bed.

‘’Take a seat kid.’’ he said simply. Toby clicked his tongue, another tic, and shuffled over to the bed. He very carefully sat down on the edge of it and crossed his legs. He tilted his head at the three men. 

‘’So uh- why did you want me in here…?’’ he asked gently. Tim shrugged while Jay pulled a TV remote from- somewhere- and began flicking through channels on the small, cheap TV across the room.

‘’Just thought you’d get lonely.’’ he replied. Brian nodded.

‘’You’ve been travelling alone, right?’’ he asked. Toby nodded. ‘’For how long?’’

‘’I dunno...two weeks?’’ Toby shrugged. And then his head jerked abruptly to the side. Nobody seemed to notice it too much though, thankfully. 

‘’Well- now you have some company!’’ Jay looked at Toby and smiled. Tim pat him gently on the shoulder and smiled a bit. ‘’Not that we’re very exciting company to have- eheh- but it’s better than nothing, right?’’

‘’I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m the most exciting guy you’ll ever meet.’’ Brian replied. Tim rolled his eyes, though Brian didn’t see it. Toby laughed gently. He liked these guys...they were nice to him. Really nice. Nice enough to let him stay in their room till late into the night. The four of them really just talked, watched TV and exchanged stories until night. Toby fell asleep in his own room, feeling just a little bit more secure than he had in the days before. 

He was woken up the following morning by someone knocking on the door to his room. Toby groaned sleepily and dragged himself out of the bed, stumbling over to the door and opening it up. In front of the door stood Tim, dressed in a pale yellow bomber jacket and blue jeans. He looked up at Toby. ‘’Morning kid.’’

‘’Morning,’’ Toby murmured, rubbing sleep from his eye. ‘’Did you need something…?’’

‘’Yeah,’’ Tim replied. ‘’Can I come in?’’

‘’Sure, sure.’’ Toby stepped aside and watched Tim walk into the room. His shoulder jerked involuntarily and he closed the door. ‘’What is it…?’’

‘’I wanna know how much stuff you got. Spare clothes, food, stuff like that. If there’s anything you need, I wanna get it today, before we head out.’’ 

‘’Oh! Uh- okay well- hot’n’fresh!- all my stuff’s in here,’’ Toby walked over to his bed and grabbed the black gym bag sitting on the end of it. It contained everything he still had from home. He opened it and rummaged around. ‘’I got some spare clothes, my phone charger, hairbrush, a towel, uhh…’’ he frowned. There were a couple other things in the bag, including a pair of orange goggles, an old framed photo, and two sharp hatchets. Toby decided not to let Tim know about those. ‘’My wallet, though that’s mostly empty and- 50% off!- I think I might have some cereal bars??’’ he frowned and pulled out a bunch of plastic wrappers and two water bottles. One empty and one half empty. ‘’Aw man- must’ve ate em all…’’ 

‘’So you got basically nothing.’’ Tim said. Toby shrugged at him. ‘’I’ll take you downtown to the goodwill and get you some more clothes and some other stuff, okay? And we’ll take your stuff to the laundry. It’ll probably start stinking of sweat soon.’’

Toby shut himself up before he could tell Tim that he actually couldn’t physically sweat. He instead nodded. ‘’Oh uh- you sure…? I don’t wanna be a waste-’’ he paused for a second, his tongue clicking a few times. ‘’of money-’’

‘’You’re not.’’ Tim interrupted. He turned and headed for the door again. ‘’Get dressed, okay? We’ll get breakfast while we’re out.’’ he left the room before Toby could even protest, leaving the boy alone in the room. He rocked on his heels for a few moments before sighing and looking at his bag. 

Toby stepped out of his room with his bag slung over his shoulder. He looked at Tim, who was leaning against the wall beside the door, also holding a bag. Tim looked up at him and smiled a bit. ‘’Ready?’’

‘’Uh-huh.’’ Toby followed him down the hall and out of the hotel. As they reached the car he moved to open the backseat, only for Tim to call him.

‘’Kid, why don’t you ride up front?’’ 

Toby’s head snapped up. Up front...last time he’d been in the front of a car was- ‘’Mmm…’’ he hesitated. ‘’Sure…’’ Toby walked around to the side and sat in the passenger seat beside Tim. Sitting in the front, he could see everything in front of them. The road...oncoming cars...pedestrians...Toby swallowed his nerves. Thankfully for him, Tim didn’t drive fast. The car ride was calm, and not too long. Their first stop was the local laundromat. Toby followed Tim inside and to one of the machines in the back. He put money in two of them and gestured for Toby to take one while he loaded up the other. Toby felt a bit of relief at that. He definitely didn’t wanna risk Tim finding the hatchets in his bag, or anything else for that matter. 

With the laundry in the machine and an hour to kill, they left and walked down the street to the local goodwill. Toby stopped next to Tim and looked at him. The shorter man looked at the teen and gestured around. ‘’Pick out what you want, kid.’’ he said with a shrug. Oh. Okay- Toby actually felt a tiny bit of excitement. He hadn’t gotten to pick out new clothes in a long time. Timidly, he wandered over to the men’s section and began perusing the clothes. A lot of it was ugly trash, which Toby and Tim both quietly made fun of. Eventually, after making fun of a dozen or ugly sweaters and gingerly sifting through t-shirts of questionable cleanliness, Toby picked out an outfit. An faded navy hoodie that was a couple sizes too big on Toby but very comfy, a white button-down shirt with blue vines and flowers patterned over it that made Toby feel fancy, and denim jeans that had colourful paint splatters along the legs. Toby didn’t know if it was a fashion choice or if the pants previously belonged to an artist, but he loved them. 

‘’How do I look?’’ Toby asked excitedly as he stepped out of the dressing room. Tim looked at him for a moment, examining him up and down before he walked over. He reached up and tugged the collar of Toby’s shirt up over the collar of his hoodie. He stepped back and smiled. 

‘’Looks good.’’ he said with a nod. Toby beamed. ‘’I also got you this.’’ Tim presented four pairs of sunglasses. ‘’Figured I’d get some for all of us. Jay likes to complain about getting sun in his eyes.’’ 

Toby looked over all the sunglasses before grabbing a pair of cateye shaped glasses that had a single sparkly gem on each corner. He put them on and grinned at Tim. The shorter man broke into a smile, and then began laughing. ‘’Nice choice.’’ he chuckled. Toby shot him some finger guns and clicked his tongue. Tim shook his head, still grinning. ‘’Go take that stuff off so I can buy it.’’

Toby smiled to himself. ‘’Okayyy.’’ he said, wandering back into the changing room. After he had his regular clothes on, the two of them paid and left. They went back to the car, with twenty minutes still left to kill. 

‘’Any ideas for breakfast?’’ Tim asked as he backed the car out of the small parking lot. Toby frowned for a moment. 

‘’I haven’t had a breakfast burrito in like...two years.’’ Toby looked over at him. 

‘’Christ kid, who’s been starving you?’’ Tim asked jokingly. Toby laughed in the seat next to him. The two of them drove to a nearby taco bell and picked up breakfast for not only themselves but Jay and Brian too. The smell of hot, fresh burritos and cheese filled the car and made Toby bounce his legs, an excited tic of his. They picked up their laundry before heading back to the hotel. Tim was holding the bag of food. He would have given it to Toby but- well, one wrong tic and their perfectly good breakfast could probably hit the ground. Tim was not risking losing his breakfast. 

Tim and Toby walked into the hotel room where Jay and Brian were still fast asleep. Tim set down his bag of laundry, walked over to Brian’s bed, and flicked him on the forehead. Immediately, the sleeping man gave an agitated groan and swatted at him. Tim flinched away from Brian’s swats until he was still again, and gave him another flick. 

‘’Aghh!’’ Brian squirmed where he lay and opened his eyes, glaring up at Tim, who just smirked. ‘’Asshole.’’

‘’Dick.’’ was all Tim replied with before turning over to Jay’s bed. He leaned down and gently shook him awake. He smiled warmly at Jay as his eyes fluttered open. Brian glared at him. Jay sat up and rubbed at his eyes. ‘’Morning.’’ Tim murmured. He held up the bag of taco bell. ‘’We got you two breakfast. Toby’s choice.’’

Brian looked at Toby. ‘’...breakfast burritos?’’ he asked. Toby nodded. He smiled approvingly. ‘’Good choice.’’

[deputyrhiannonhale]

Nodus Tollens Chapter 4

Back, back, back again with a new chapter! Same TW apply; language, game canon violence, fear

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

tagging: @returnofthepd3 @ja-crispea @dieguzguz @shelliechen @deputyjessicaquinn @f0xyboxes @farcry-5fan @xbaebsae @veinereastath @ec-10 @tomexraider @sharky-broshaw @hopecountygazette

**

A notebook crashed against the door after William left the room, 15 year old Rhi was baring her teeth, something she would never do in front of her Step-Father, even though she desperately wanted to. Yet, after seeing what he could do to Deeter, she chickened out, not that she wanted to admit that out loud. She just let everyone think she was just mousy and quiet. She fell onto her bed and tried to fight back tears, she was so tired of that man telling her she is worthless and will never amount to anything in life.

After a few moments of silence, she heard her bedroom door open slightly, she turned her head quickly, assuming it was going to be William, but instead it was Deeter. He was leaning against her door frame, his lanky arms crossed over his chest and he was giving her his trademark lopsided grin.

“Seems you’ve had a visit from the asshole, huh?” He asked, before pushing himself off the frame and walking over to her bed as she sat up, sitting Indian style and hugging a pillow to her chest, and he flopped down on the bed next to her, propped up on his elbows.

“Unfortunately. How do you deal with him?” Rhi looked over her shoulder at him, and he shrugged, sitting up and bumping her shoulder with his own.

“After 16 years...you just get used to it.” Rhi gave him a pitiful look, here she was feeling sorry for herself, only having to deal with William for a couple of years, and poor Deeter has had to deal with this everyday for 16 years.

“I’m sorry, Deets.” He shrugged again, smiling, taking the pillow from her and playfully hitting her over the head with it before tossing it behind them.

“What’s say we go get some ice cream at the Creamery?” Deeter suggested after they both stopped laughing, and she gave him a confused look.

“We don’t have money though.” Rhi pointed out and Deeter chuckled, pulling out a handful of bills from his front pocket, spreading the bills out and fanning himself with them.

“We do if you steal it from the asshat.” Rhi got a mischievous grin on her face and they both launched off the bed and ran down the stairs and out of the house.

At the ice cream shop, Rhi skipped up to the counter, it was rare for them to get any kind of sweets anymore, so to say was excited wasn’t a strong enough word. The girl behind the counter didn’t look enthused to be at work, popping her gum annoyingly just waiting for the duo to order.

“I think I want four scoops, two chocolate and two peanut butter.” Rhi ordered, pointing at the flavors she wanted through the glass, causing Deeter to laugh loudly.

“You know what, make that two!” There was no way they were going to be able to eat all of that, and really they should have just shared the four scoops, but Deeter had stolen enough cash to pay for that and then some.

“Fuck…” Rhi groaned out, her stomach already beginning to hurt as she looked down at her unfinished frozen dessert that had long begun to melt in the cup. She slumped back against her chair, turning the ice cream into a soupy mush with the plastic spoon. “Yo, I think I’m gonna be sick, Deets.” She admitted, a low belch coming from her, and she quickly covered her mouth, and Deeter laughed at her, scooping up some of his own mush. He wiggled his black eyebrows at her, turning the spoon to face her and Rhi had only enough time to squeak before the cool mess slopped her on the cheek. 

Rhi’s face was shocked, but she quickly fell into fits of laughter, lobbing her own ice cream at Deeter, which caught him on his slender neck. Bombs of ice cream flew back and forth before the girl behind the counter exploded, her shouting caused Rhi and Deeter to stop what they were doing, and with comedic timing, a glob of ice cream fell from Deeter’s hair onto the floor. They both grabbed their things and ran cackling from the store.

*

Rhi’s eyes cracked open slowly, the warmth from having Deeter with her again still radiating within her, until cold reality sunk in and she had to remember where she even was. Sharky’s snoring coming from the cot beside her own grounded her to the moment. She rolled onto her back and looked at the cot next to her to see Sharky sleeping away without a care in the world. Rhi rubbed her eyes before staring at the ceiling as the last few days replayed in her brain.

The Peggies had Addie and Xander locked inside one of the side buildings a few nights before, several of them patrolling the vicinity. Rhi and Sharky had descended on them like a bat out of hell, it was lots of confusion and screaming, gunshots and blood. They had saved several people and even ran off the cult from several hot spots in the Henbane area. So the fact her brain gave her a happy dream to save her for even a few moments from the craziness that has become her life wasn’t surprising to her. 

Rhi touched her cheek and winced, she had gotten punched pretty good by one of the Peggies who had come into the Marina from a boat, the bruise itself was healing, turning that ugly yellow-green color but it was still tender to the touch. He had caught her off guard, but she quickly put him in his place with a roundhouse kick and then snapping his neck.

“You ok, Shorty?” Sharky asked, his voice still husky with sleep and Rhi jumped slightly, she had been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed he had stopped snoring. She cut her eyes over to him as he sat up, groaning slightly, the sheet falling off of his upper body to reveal he was just sleeping in his underwear, which caused Rhi to quickly look back towards the ceiling.

“Yeah, the cheek is just a little tender I guess.” Rhi admitted, with a small shrug of her shoulder, and Sharky stood from the makeshift bed to come stand next to her, bending at his waist to check out the bruising on her face. Rhi felt panic rise in her slightly from the fact that Sharky apparently has no shame and was just letting his dick be that close to her person. Of course, she was still a female and let her eyes wander to check everything out in what she hoped was a discrete look. She took note of several different small burn scars that marred parts of his chest.

“My eyes are up here, Dep.” Sharky quipped playfully and Rhi felt mortified that she had let herself get caught, and she proceeded to cover her face with both her hands while making a groaning noise. “I’m just fuckin’ with ya, ya can look all ya want to.” Rhi peeked at Sharky from behind her fingers, before he straightened and allowed her to sit up in the cot. The side of her hair she slept on was a tangled mess, and she tried brushing her fingers through it, as Sharky walked away, coming back with a cold can of root beer for Rhi.

“Hey thanks. That’s one of my favorite drinks.” She said, smiling as she cracked the top, and he nodded, sitting back on his own cot with, opening his own can of soda.

“I know, I noticed that the last few nights when we was havin’ dinner with aunt Addie.” Sharky confessed, before taking a long drink from the can. Rhi lowered her own and looked over at Sharky in almost a new light, also thankful to see that he had at least slipped his jeans back on. “Dep...who is Deets? I heard ya mumbling that name before I fell asleep last night.” Sharky sounded so innocent when he asked his question, keeping his eyes on his can and Rhi gave a quick, sad smile.

“He is...was my step-brother.” She corrected herself, sitting the can on the box close by the cot, before picking up her most prized possession, Deeter’s lighter, and she hesitantly reached across the space between them so Sharky could see the Zippo. She had it specially made for him, with his favorite band’s logo on the front. “He used this for everything.” She told Sharky as he looked at the Sex Pistols logo, rubbng his thumb over it. Rhi knew he was going to ask what happened, and she just wasn’t ready to tell him, Deeter was still hers, she wasn’t ready to share his story with anyone else. Sharky looked at her, his mouth open, but Addie burst into the small room, saving Rhi just in time.

“Hope y’all are decent!” Addie shouted, laughing, but quickly stopped and frowned when she noticed how serious the room felt, her eye catching the lighter in Sharky’s possession, and she nodded quickly. “Aw, here I was thinkin’ y’all might blow off some steam with each other.” She teased, walking over to the cots, pulling Rhi to her feet, and Sharky returned the lighter to her.

“Addie…” Rhi began, softly, slightly embarrassed that Addie would think she would just jump right into bed with Sharky, shooting him a sheepish look, to find he was chuckling.

“I haven’t put those sweet moves on her yet, auntie.” Sharky pointed out, pulling first his shirt then his hoodie over his head, and Addie snorted.

“What sweet moves is that?” Addie shot back and Rhi just looked between the two, confused how the conversation had been steered to Sharky trying to seduce her.

“Ok...well...I’m gonna get dressed, if you two don’t mind.” Rhi motioned at the fact she was still in some of Addie’s old sleepwear that was really too long for her short stature, and Addie chuckled.

“Ya mean ya aren’t gonna go busting ass in that?” She teased and Rhi blushed heavily, imagining herself running around in this night shirt that hung off one shoulder and she shook her head fervently.

“It’d be a good distraction, Dep.” Sharky joined in and Rhi growled slightly, marching towards them both, shoving them out the door.

“I can’t have you being distracted Charlemagne, I need you to have my back.” She retorted, before shutting the door forcefully, hating the fact that she got embarrassed so easily. She slammed her back against the door, covering her eyes with her hand again. She is usually so in control of her emotions, well, except her anger, and yet since she’s woken up this morning she has been a bumbling mess. Is it because she had such a pleasant dream, getting to see Deeter again, and it’s made her less guarded, or is she actually starting to feel comfortable in Sharky’s presence?

Rhi was asking herself these questions as she got dressed, finally deciding that maybe it was a little bit of both. Sharky had plenty of opportunities to abandon her on their journey here and he never did, so maybe she could trust him. She supposed that she shouldn’t hold something against him that happened so many years ago, considering it seems he has definitely let it go by how he was getting to know her, and trying his best to help her in any way he could. She sighed heavily, tossing her hair up in a messy ponytail and rolling her shoulder, loosening herself up as she walked out of the room.

“Hey, Addie,” Rhi began as she walked around the island, grabbing a banana off the banana hanger she was sure Xander had something to do with. “Have you heard any chatter about where my uncle may be? Dutch told me he was in this region, but didn’t give me much after that.” She explained as she plopped into a chair, peeling and eating the banana. Addie shrugged, appearing pensive for a moment.

“Sorry, honey, I’m afraid I haven’t. ‘Course, I have been watching Xander doin’ yoga this mornin’, so I may have been a little distracted.” Addie confided, leaning closer to Rhi, as if it were a secret, and Rhi tossed her head back in laughter.

“I mean, I suppose I can’t blame ya for that.” She whispered back as they both watched Xander drinking water at the sink, and Sharky made a ‘harrumph’ sound, adjusting his ball cap before folding his arms over his chest, causing Rhi and Addie to look at him, laughing again. “Aw, Sharky, don’t be jealous.” Rhi teased, pushing on his shoulder playfully, and he batted her hand away humorously.

“If I had my guesses,” Sharky finally interjected, once the batting each other's hands was finished. “I’d guess the jail. Although, I don’t really wanna go there.”

“Obviously.” Rhi stated in a deadpan voice, as she continued to tease him, and he shot her a sarcastic look, which caused both her and Addie to laugh. “OK, Sharkster, lead me to the jail then.” Rhi stated, winking at him, and standing to throw away the banana peel. “We’ll be back later I’m sure. I’ve just really gotta find Earl. Make sure he’s ok.” Addie nodded, standing and giving Rhi a big hug.

“You’re like a daughter to me, ya know that right, girl? So be safe.” Rhi felt a pressure in her chest, having not gotten much love from her mother after her father's death all those years ago, she really began to look up to Addie as a mother figure. She had helped Rhi more with growing as a person than Julia ever had.

“I will, I love ya, Addie.” Rhi choked out and Addie rubbed her back, before slightly pushing her towards the door.

“Go save the day, Kiddo. If ya need me and Tulip, don’t be afraid to give me a holler.”

~

“FUCK!” Rhi shouted, kicking the flat tire of the ATV, screaming more obscenities as Sharky just watched her. “That fucking Peggie shot out the tire!” She growled, her tiny frame visibly shaking with rage fueled tremors, and Sharky tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s ok, Dep, we can get it fixed.” He pointed out and Rhi looked at him, feeling some of her anger leaving her body at his voice of reason. Which in and of itself was terrifying that Sharky was being the voice of reason between the two of them, but she finally nodded.

“I know but fuck if this wasn’t bad timing.” She hissed out bitterly, allowing Sharky’s hand to stay rested on her shoulder. “Rhi...you can just call me Rhi. You don’t have to call me Dep all the time. We are friends now after all.” Rhi informed him, patting his hand on her shoulder, before she began walking in the direction they had been driving.

Rhi looked up at the sky, it was already muggy this early in the morning and she sighed loudly, hating feeling overheated, sure she would get burned in the unrelenting sun. Suddenly a field of whiteflowers caught her attention.

“Hey, what are those, they’re really pretty.” Rhi asked, steering off her trajectory to investigate.

“Rhi, don’t go in there!” Sharky yelled, breaking into running to try to intercept her, but he was too late. Rhi walked into the middle of the bliss flowers, and everything began to become distorted, her vision and even her hearing was playing tricks on her. The woman she now knows is Faith appeared before her, giving her a soft smile, and Rhi felt herself falling and could do nothing to stop it.

Rhi opened her eyes to find herself in an open field, it wasn’t where she had gone down, and her brain definitely felt foggy, she looked around, rubbing her eyes trying to clear them, but it did nothing. Finally Faith appeared before her again.

“Faith…?” Rhi asked almost hesitantly as Faith took her hand in both of her own. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I know all about you, Rhi Hale. You are so much like me...your family not loving you…leaving you to die. We will love you here, unconditionally. John will love you here unconditionally. You know you want to be with him...and us. You can be free...and you can be happy. Don’t you want to be happy for once?” The girl before her pulled Rhi along through the field, letting her go long enough to twirl around in the weeds and wildflowers, the animals even looking peaceful in this clouded dream.

“I...don’t know...I’m so...confused.” Rhi touched her head, as it was swimming under the influence of the Bliss, shaking her over and over, trying to make sense of everything.

“Here you do not have to prove your worth like you do with the others. Your worth will be given to you here, because all we want from you is to exist and be happy. The Father will protect us from all harm.” Faith took Rhi’s hand again, and they both took flight, Rhi feeling her stomach fall to her feet, her fear of heights causing her breathing to accelerate as she watched the ground getting farther and farther away until Faith dropped her on Joseph’s statue, on his Bible. She looked at the words, before looking back up to Faith, surprised to see Burke there with her. “Just take the leap of Faith. The path to Eden is clear to those who have faith.” The blonde girl promised flying back away from the statue, and Rhi could swear she could see angel wings on her.

“Burke...you don’t believe this shit, do ya?” Rhi asked the Marshal, as butterflies began to land on him. He turned to look at her, holding his hand out to Rhi, and she pulled back reflexively.

“Walk the path.” He said, turning to the edge of the book, holding his arms out to the sides, letting himself fall forward. Rhi rushed towards him, trying to stop him, but she stopped, looking over the edge at how high up she was, and she crouched, placing her hands on the cool concrete.

“This is just a dream...it’s gotta be. This is too fuckin’ trippy to not be a dream. Which means if I do fall, I’ll be ok. I’m sure this is just stress induced, or heat exhaustion.” Rhi was muttering to herself, squeezing her eyes shut tightly, getting on her knees and crawling closer to the edge until her hand met air, and she opened her eyes again and screamed, falling back onto her butt. “Get it together bitch, you can do this. It’s all just in my head anyway.” Rhi got shakily to her feet, inching towards the edge, looking at Faith one more time, before the blonde girl disappeared into a misty cloud of green. Rhi took in several deep breaths before she walked off the edge of the book, screaming as she watched the ground come closer and she flailed her arms for purchase that she would never find.

~~

Rhi groaned, her head was throbbing slightly, and she felt cool rock beneath her. Her eyes opened slowly, and she rolled over onto her back. She sat up, her eyes scanning the area, there were bodies all around her and she startled, scrambling backwards like a fleeing bug, her chest rising and falling rapidly in her panic, her back being met with the rock face behind her. Once she regained control of herself, she looked up to see she was in fact below Joseph’s giant eyesore of a statue. Had she really fallen, or was it all a dream? How else would she have gotten here otherwise? Rhi and Sharky had been miles away from this spot last she could remember. Then it was like a lightbulb flashed in her mind. Sharky! Where was Sharky?

“Sharky!” She called out on her radio in a desperate attempt to reach him, hoping someone would answer her at the very least, if not him.

“Dep! Where are ya? We been lookin’ everywhere for ya!” Rhi felt relief wash over her, and she stood at her full height, dusting off her backside and easily maneuvering around the bodies and the blood. “It’s like ya just fuckin’ disappeared in those flowers!”

“I’m at the bottom of Joseph's statue.” She informed him, looking at the giant painted starburst cross that was the Project’s logo, for lack of better terms.

“Ok, Shorty, just stay there, I’m comin’ to get ya.” Sharky promised, and Rhi nodded to herself, attaching the radio back to her belt, walking out of the shadows and into the sunlight. Based on it’s position, Rhi guessed it was about one in the afternoon, had she really been out of commission for that many hours? It had only felt like minutes to her.

She leaned against a tall rock, rubbing her temples before digging out her container of water, taking a long drink, and splashing some of it on her face. She was enjoying the feeling so much, she didn’t hear the Peggies sneaking up on her until it was too late.

One grabbed Rhi, pulling her away from the rock, wrapping her arms around Rhi from behind, and in a semi-automatic response, she hopped up slightly, and used the forward momentum to send the woman flying over her and onto the ground flat on her back. It knocked the wind out of her, but it didn’t stop the second cult member from grabbing Rhi and tying her up. Rhi was cursing and wriggling around trying to get herself free, when the Peggie stood over her and smiled, and not in a friendly way.

“John is going to be happy to see you.” With that, the butt of the rifle came down against the side of Rhi’s head and everything went black.

[thesleepiesthufflepuff]

I was too tired to work on a wip so here’s how I imagine many weekend mornings to be in the Malfoy-Potter household (ps you can also find this on my ao3) <3

Draco blinked into the pale morning light that wove its way through his eyelashes. As everything came into focus, he could suddenly make out a pale blue mop of hair standing in front of him. 

“Really, Ted? Awake already?” Draco whispered, smiling lazily.

“It’s breakfast time!” Teddy giggled as he clutched his worn stuffed bunny.

Draco stretched and then resumed his curled up position, pulling the blanket right under his chin. “Mm. Why don’t you go bug Daddy?”

Teddy stuck his lips out and squinted his hazel eyes. “But he’s sleeping.”

“Oh, and I wasn’t?” Draco joked, slowly sitting up to avoid the creaking of the bed frame. 

“Come on! Hurry!” Teddy urged. Draco watched as the four-year-old exited the bedroom and stomped down the hallway, pulling his pajama pants up.

He snorted to himself as he slipped out of bed. After pulling on a shirt and hoodie, he wandered down the hallway and into the kitchen. There he found Teddy lolling around on the living room carpet and playing tea party with his stuffed animals. 

“Are you getting your friends breakfast, Ted?” Draco asked as he put on the kettle. He leaned on the kitchen island, watching Teddy pour invisible tea into his friends’ cups.

“Mhm. But we need to make Daddy breakfast!” Teddy screamed, leaping up and waddling into the kitchen. 

Draco scooped him up into his arms and poked him on the nose. “Oh, we need to make Daddy breakfast? What about me, huh? Am I chopped liver?”

Teddy let out a combination of a scream and laugh as Draco lifted up his shirt and tickled his bare tummy. “Nooo! No tickle!”

“Alright, alright. Well, what do you want to make Daddy?” Draco asked, bringing Teddy to the cupboards in his arms. “I can offer you toast, cereal, porridge, scrambled eggs, or American pancakes. What’re you in the mood for?”

Teddy pointed to a plastic bag on the second shelf. “Pancakes!”

“Pancakes it is!” Draco said, setting Teddy back down on the ground. He grabbed the bag of pancake mix and set it on the counter, along with milk and eggs. After everything was set up, Draco pulled a stool to the counter for Teddy to stand on. 

“Wait! We need aprons! And, I think you might need that chef’s hat that Aunt Hermione bought you last Christmas. How does that sound?” Draco asked.

Teddy beamed. “Yes, please!”

Draco grabbed them both aprons of appropriate sizes and then stuck a stained, drooping chef’s hat onto Teddy’s head. As the hat went on, his hair turned bright purple.

“Okay, we need to open the bag -- wait, careful, Ted!” Draco shouted as Teddy ripped open the bag with great force. The dry ingredients mixture erupted into the air, covering everything nearby in a thin layer of flour. 

Draco sighed. “Right. I’ll get Daddy to clean this up. Now, time to pour in the wet ingredients! Let’s do the eggs first. Watch me, Teddy, and then you can do the next one. See how gently I’m moving my wrist? You go ahead now.”

Grinning, Teddy took the next egg and promptly smashed it onto the counter top. 

“It’s yellow!” he screamed, poking his finger into the yoke. As he continued to play with the broken egg, his hair morphed into a medium yellow.

“Merlin, Ted,” Draco said, letting out a small chuckle as he scooped the broken shell into his hands, dumped it in the trash, and then scourgified the counter.

“Can I crack the next one?” Teddy asked eagerly, clapping his sticky hands together. 

“Uh, why don’t I crack the next one, and then you can mix it,” Draco suggested. 

“Buzz kill,” Teddy mumbled.

Draco turned to him, mid-egg-cracking, and let out an unfiltered laugh. “And where exactly did you learn that phrase?” 

“Uncle Ron,” Teddy shrugged.

“Of course,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. 

Once finished cracking the eggs, Teddy mixed the mixture -- with a little help from Draco, of course. After the mixing was complete, Draco helped Teddy off of the stool.

“Alright. Why don’t you finish serving breakfast to your friends while I cook the pancakes?” Draco asked, and Teddy nodded enthusiastically, running to where his cluster of stuffed animals were strewn about. 

Draco heated a frying pan over the stove. He then ladling a pancake on one at a time. He was on the last one when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. He turned his head and was met with a sleepy, grinning Harry. His hair was askew as ever, and his glasses were slightly crooked. Draco couldn’t help but see the messy, unorganized boy he fell in love with all those years ago.

“Daddy! I made you breakfast!” Teddy screamed, leaping up into Harry’s arms. Harry spun Teddy around, planting a kiss on his cheek.

He let out a dramatic gasp. “You did? Did you do it all by yourself?”

Teddy giggled. “No, silly! Daddy helped me!”

“Daddy helped you? No way! I’m just going to say good morning to Daddy. I’ll be right back,” Harry said, setting Teddy back on the floor. 

Harry walked into the kitchen, coming up behind Draco, and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Good morning, my personal chef.”

Draco smiled softly as Harry kissed his neck. “Good morning to you, too.”

Harry let go so he could plant a proper peck on Draco’s lips. They both broke away with large smiles spread across their faces.

“So, uh, how’d the kitchen end up looking like this?” Harry chuckled, one arm around Draco’s waist as he looked around the flour and egg covered room.

“My sous-chef is pretty new. Go easy on him,” Draco joked, pulling Harry in for another opportune kiss.

“I love you an awful lot, you know,” Harry muttered against his lips.

“I love you more.”

[orangeoctopi7]

Champions

I know I already posted something for the last week of @stanuary but that was sort of a place-holder for this. I’ve been sick on-and-off for the last month or so, so I wasn’t sure if I’d finish this in time. I did get time to work on it the other day while I was at work.

This is a crossover with Atop the Fourth Wall’s Contest of Champions, but you don’t need any prior knowledge of AT4W to understand what’s happening. I’m just borrowing a concept, really. (Although I do want to do a second chapter where Stan interacts with those characters)

***

Stan was awoken in the middle of the night by one of Ford’s alarms going off. He groggily sat up as his brother jumped out of his own hammock and dashed to the controls, muttering curses under his breath the whole way.

“Wazzat?” Stan groaned.

“An extradimensional portal just opened up aboard the Stan'o'war! But my sensors aren’t picking up any foreign lifeforms. Whatever it was must also have access to time travel. It must have paused time, entered our dimension, done whatever it was trying to do, and then left before restoring the flow of time.”

“Y'sure your nerd gadgets aren’t just broken?” Stan asked, reaching sleepily for his glasses on the bedside cabinet. He felt around, but instead of the thin plastic frames, he felt a heavy sheet of parchment.

“Yes, I’m sure! Now keep a close eye out for anything out of place! Just because I don’t detect any lifeforms doesn’t mean they couldn’t have left a robot or a bug.”

“Uh, Ford? I think I found what they left.”

Stan finally put his glasses on and looked down at the parchment he’d found. It was the same size as a normal 8.5" by 11" printer paper, but the parchment felt much fancier, like something the Northwests would use for an invitation. Which was exactly what it was.

STANLEY PINES

YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO THE 1049th INTERDIMENSIONAL

CONTEST OF CHAMPIONS

SPEAK ALOUD YOUR ACCEPTANCE AND DETAILS WILL FOLLOW

CONGRATULATIONS, CHAMPION.

“What the…?” Stan muttered, turning the page over to look for more info, but it was blank. “Ford, are you tryin’ to pull some sorta prank? If so, I don’t get your humor at all.”

Ford silently read the invitation over his brother’s shoulder, before snatching it away. “This has to be counterfeit. I know you destroyed Bill, but that’s not… that doesn’t make you… does it?”

“Seriously, Ford, what is this?” Stan asked impatiently.

Ford took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts, before answering. “To put it in your terms, Stan, the Contest of Champions is like an interdimensional boxing tournament, only instead of just boxing, the Champions can choose any kind of contest they want.”

“Champions?”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, I bet this thing will do a much better job of explaining.” He held up the invitation like it was a phone and he was having a video-chat. “We’d like the Terms and Conditions, please.”

Nothing happened.

“Of course, I wasn’t invited.” Ford rolled his eyes and handed the paper back to Stan. “You have to ask it.”

Stan held the paper out like he’d seen Ford doing. “Uh… can you explain this whole thing to me?” He awkwardly addressed the invitation.

With nothing more than a bright flash of light, a figure in dark robes appeared. They looked like they might be human, but every part of them was covered, from their closed hood to their gloved hands.

“Sweet Moses!” Stan shouted in surprise, winding up to punch the intruder.

���Relax, it’s just a hologram recording.” Ford reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder.

“The interdimensional Contest of Champions is a tournament.” The hologram began, “Within every parallel reality, there are figures best suited to defend those realities. These individuals are referred to as Champions. The hosts for this contest, the Temlins, have elected to hold a tournament to judge their respective skills against one another. Participants are randomly selected across all realities and invitations are sent. You are under no obligation to join this great tournament, but should you enter, you will be granted the opportunity to test your abilities against other powerful individuals and make an attempt at a great prize. All battles are non-lethal and participation is voluntary. Should you remain victorious through all of your battles, you will be awarded this great prize. Defeat brings only as much dishonor as you allow yourself. If you have any further questions, you may ask now.”

“Wow, that’s quite the schpiel you got there.” Stan grunted. He turned to his brother. “So, let me get this straight. I can’t die, and I get to fight a buncha space dorks for some fancy prize? Sounds like a good time to me!”

“It’s a lot more complex than that.”

“What, you been in one of these things?”

“No, but I watched the coverage of one during my interdimensional travels. I should warn you, they take forever. Since it covers multiple dimensions and timelines, it can be really stretched out. I saw the beginning of the 1018th tournament while I was in the Bubble Dimension, by the time it finally finished, I was in the Flying Whale Dimension, six years later.”

“Well, do I haffta wait on their planet, or somethin’ or can I just go about life as normal?”

Ford shrugged.

“Between rounds, Champions are allowed to prepare as they see fit.” The hologram answered. “The Temlins are aware of the great temporal differences between participating dimensions. Champions are encouraged to continue their normal lives if at all possible while waiting for the next round.”

“Ok. And how do these battles work?”

“From what I remember, one of the contestants gets to choose the contest.”

“For each round, one of the two Champions is selected at random. They must set a battle that is fair to both parties, with a reasonable chance that either could win. The conditions of the battle must be agreed upon by both parties, and approved by the Temlins.”

“So, I just gotta bribe the right people, and make sure I get to pick the challenge. Dirty boxing, or, I dunno, a The Dutchess Approves trivia quiz.”

“Stanley, I’d advise against mentioning bribery in front of the recording device.” Ford scolded him. “And besides, the Temlins are all-powerful beings. I very much doubt you have anything that would interest them.”

“Well, what’ve I got to lose, right? I’ll give it a shot.”

“Stanley, wait, let’s think about this first! I don’t trust the Temlins. That much power, and they use it to host a tournament!? Why couldn’t they have done something about Bill, why couldn’t they use that power to stop injustice across the multiverse?”

Stan gasped in mock surprise. “What!? You don’t trust somebody? That’s never happened before! Whatever will I do with this new, vital information?”

“Stanley, I’m serious!”

“C'mon Ford, the man says it’s voluntary. If things get sketchy, I’ll quit! ‘Snot like I expect to win this thing. Think of it this way, I get to fight crazy space guys. You get to study whatever crazy space guys they send our way, and maybe if I get really lucky, I win some fancy sci-fi prize.”

Ford sighed. “I’ll admit, that does sound tempting.”

“Great, cuz I’m doin’ it!” Stan turned back to the hologram. “I, uh, speak aloud my acceptance, or however this works.”

“Welcome, Stanley Pines, to the Contest of Champions.”

“Great. So now what?”

“Preliminary round begins now.”

“Wait, what?”

“Your opponent is Ace Corgi, Attorney at Paw. Battlefield has been selected as Stanley Pines’”

“Ford, you said these things take forever!”

“Well I never saw anything about a preliminary round on the broadcast!”

Another brilliant flash filled the cabin. The hologram had disappeared, and in its place was a stout dog with pointy ears and a steel-gray coat. It looked just as surprised as they were. Ford’s alarms started again.

“Oh, are we starting now?” It asked in a deep voice that belied its small size.

“Aw, lookit the cute talking dog!” Stan cooed.

“That must be the Champion from the Corgi Dimension!”

“There’s a Corgi Dimension!?”

“Yes, but last I heard, the Champion of the Corgi Dimension was Atticus.”

“Oh, He retired just last year.” The small dog explained. “Now, which one of you humans is my opponent?”

Stan raised his hand.

“Thank you. Now have at thee!”

The dog lunged without warning, going straight for Stan’s knees.

“What the H!?” Stan shouted as he nearly toppled to the ground. His first instinct was to dropkick the animal, but he knew Mabel would never forgive him for doing such a thing to a cute dog, even if it was in self defense. Luckily, he knew a thing or two about dealing with rowdy dogs from his time pug trafficking. He grabbed it by the scruff of the neck, doing his best to avoid the snapping jaws, and forced the dog onto its back.

“A little help here?” He yelled to Ford as he struggled to keep the wiggling dog still.

The old scientist held his hands up. “I’m not allowed to interfere.”

The dog took advantage of Stan’s split attention and squirmed out of his grasp.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” Stan shouted as the corgi chased him up onto the deck.

“I’m not being a jerk, it’s the rules!” Ford called after him.

Stan at least had the presence of mind to grab his boots and his coat as he dashed for the stairs. Luckily, the steps slowed his stubby-legged pursuer down, and he was able to actually put them on.

“You cur! Your giant ledges won’t be enough to stop me!" 

"What the heck, I thought we had to both agree on the battle first!?”

“That’s what I thought too, but it seems the Temlins get to decide the battle for the preliminary round. I suppose it saves time.” The dog replied as it hopped up the last step.

What the heck am I supposed to do!? Stan wondered to himself. I’m not gonna punch a little dog!

He ran around the deck a couple of times, trying to tire the little guy out, but the dog had boundless energy, and it’s fur coat was obviously better at keeping the cold out than Stan’s cotton one. Finally, his eyes caught sight of the net he and Ford used to catch specimens for his brother’s research. Perfect!

Out-maneuvering a herding dog was a challenge, but in the end he managed. After all, corgis were bred to herd large groups of sheep, not one cunning old man. Once Stan grabbed the net, he tossed it over his opponent, tangling up its little legs almost instantly. The dog continued to squirm, attempting to wiggle its way out once again. When this proved futile, it started to gnaw on the cables of the net.

“Yeah, good luck, Bucko.” Stan chuckled. “That net’s meant for things way bigger and more magical than you.”

“Preliminary round has ended. The victor is Stanley Pines.” The hologram appeared again in a flash of light. “You are both Champions worthy of being in this great tournament. Now you must await your summoning for the first true round. Information and dossiers about the other participants will be made available to you soon, relative to your own universe’s timescale. Welcome, once again, to the Contest of Champions.”

With that, the hologram disappeared again.

“Good show, human!” The dog barked happily. “Will you please let me out now?”

“Oh, right.” Stan pulled the net away. “Not that it’s any of my business, but if I can beat you, ya might not last many rounds in this tournament.”

“Oh, this dog still has a few tricks. I don’t want to show all my best moves before we’ve even begun!”

“Good point. Hey, before ya go, would it be too much to ask for a picture? My niece would really love you.”

“But of course!”

“Hey Ford, get up here!” Stan called down the stairs to the cabin.

“I told you, I can’t help during the match!”

“It’s already over, genius! We’re takin’ a commemorative photo! Bring up the camera!”

[fortunatelyhauntedblackcherry]

Moonshine - A Beetlejuice Fanfiction 09

Warning: swearing (as always), BJ being horny, fire hazard.

The next day was monday, and every monday night since the girls moved together years ago was movienight. They prepared dinner together, bought a shitton of snacks, sat down on the floor in the living room and watched at least 2 movies. Most of the time they fell asleep during the third one.

So they were all in their kitchen, which had pretty peach-colored walls, a big window framed by curtains with various embroidered wildflowers on them, and olive green / beige french country-style kitchen furniture. Rei was making guacamole - which Sirius made quite a hard activity with all the jumping and whining for a piece of chips or basically anything delicious - while Sofía was talking about her business dinner from last night and Ari was sitting on the countertop, in the middle of the kitchen, eating Nutella out of a jar with a skull-shaped spoon. Minerva was laying beside her on her back, playing with a piece of breadcrust, getting occasional earscratchies.

- So I was like "No go amigo, I couldn't possibly share an exhibition with them" and my manager was like "why?" and I was like "because I'd have to be talkative and cute with them and man I couldn't" and he was like "but they are respected artists in the community" and I was like "yeah but they can't even use photoshop MICHAEL how could I work with people who are sooo past century"? - said Sofía, flipped her hair and took a sip out of her lemonade. - So yeah, he arranged the whole thing and now my coworkers for the next couple exhibitions will be not so known, but rising photographers instead of old people, isn't that awesome? - all of a sudden Minerva lifted her head up, pricked her ears and started to hiss in the entrance's direction.

Beetlejuice just arrived after his hunt for bugs in the winter garden. He was leaning against the entrance archway, and shaked his head in disappointment.

- I can't believe that you still hate me this much, you waste of fur. - the cat hissed harder. - What?!? Two can play this game, if you're not nice, I won't be either! - he pointed at Sirius, who let out one bark, then continued harassing Rei. - Look, even the dog got kinda used to me!

- I wonder what her problem is. - said Sofía while Ari pulled the kitty into her embrace.

- That's the point where you should tell them that "yeah she sees my demon buddy, yeah, we have a spectre, and I can hear him!" - said Beetlejuice in a girlish voice while he stepped closer to Ari. The girl stroked the slightly hissing Minerva, who was now laying on her lap. Ari licked her Nutella-covered spoon clean. Beetlejuice stopped in his movement and his jaw slightly dropped. He started to drool a bit. - Hooooly shit babes, it seems like you know how to turn my software into a hardware!

Ari blushed a bit and tried really hard not to giggle so she started to talk.

- ANYWAY... - that was way louder than she intended, so she cleared her throat - ...what did you do last night, Rei? - knowing exactly what happened to her poor sister (since after she got better, Beetlejuice told her everything), she was just curious if she would talk about the posession of her computer. Rei's ginger hair flew over her face as she turned to Ari and put the guacamole down to the countertop.

- Well you could say I was practicing poetry, since Robert Lewis Stevenson insisted that wine is bottled poetry, but to be honest after streaming I was just drinking and wondering what I wanted to be when I grew up... I'm sure it wasn't an anxiety ridden bitch disgusted by people with a wine problem, serving exactly those whom I disgusted by, but... - she put her hands up in the air - ...here I am! - she giggled as she turned to the fridge.

- So I suppose your "fans" were mean again? - asked Sof. Rei took some cheese out of the fridge, and scoffed while giving a piece to the very excited Sirius.

- Not mean, fuckin nasty. - she shut the fridge and rubbed the bridge of her nose under her glasses. - I mean, some of them spammed my IG DMs with requests of "please send me the bra you wore during today's stream, I saw the strap and I'm hooked", like... Ugh.

- Can't judge a man for wanting some lingerie from a pretty girl, that's my opinion. - said Beetlejuice while he hopped on the counter next to Rei.

- Jesus fuck people are weird... - commented Ari as she got off of the middle countertop. Minerva ran away to upstairs.

- Oh so that's the socially acceptable opinion now? Okay wait... - Beetlejuice cleared his throat and continued in a sarcastic manner, heavily gesturing while doing so. - OH YES PEOPLE ARE AWFUL UGH DISGUSTING EW HOW COULD SOMEONE ASK ANYTHING LIKE THAT EWEWEW. - his voice went back to normal as he looked at Ari, who just hugged Rei. - Was it good and totally believable? - Ari smiled and gave him a thumbs up behind her sister's back. - God I'm good! On the other hand, did I tell you that when I walked into Rei's room yesterday, I almost tripped on a bra? You could say... - he floated next to Ari's ear. The girl could feel his icy breath on her earlobe. - ...it was a booby trap. - Ari shut her eyes and bit her lower lip while smiling widely. - SERIOUSLY HOW ARE YOU NOT LAUGHING YOUR PRETTY ROUND ASS OFF, THAT WAS PHENOMENAL!!! - Ari let Rei go and went to one of the cupboards. Rei poured herself a glass of red wine.

- I don't even know why I'm getting upset by these kinds of shits anymore. I've been doing this job for years, I should be used to creeps. - she shrugged. - Eh, whatever, it felt nice to vent.

- And we're here to listen every time! - shouted Ari, head inside one of the lower cupboards, fistbumping the air. After some rummaging, she lifted her head out. - Hey guys, where did we put the ultimate bathbomb?

- What? - asked Sofía with a tilted head.

- The toaster. Obviously. - BJ slapped his knees as he started laughing.

- Gee, doll, that was good! Your humor is getting worse and worse under my influence and I'm living for it! - he scratched his head. - Wait, is that appropriate for me to say? Or should I say I'm dying for it? Since I'm dead? - he shrugged his shoulders. - I dunno both sound good.

After Sof got the machine out of one of the highest cupboards, Ari started making grilled cheese sandwiches. Beetlejuice floated right next to her and flashed a pretty evil, toothy grin. He wriggled his fingers while looking up at the ceiling lamp, which started to flicker. The girls quickly looked at each other but didn't say a thing. BJ giggled. Ari stuck the toaster's plug into the power outlet, which instantly made it sparkle. One of the sparkles fell on Ari's hand. She quickly got it away with a quiet "ouch", and looked at where Beetlejuice's very uproarious laugh came from. The angry face she made almost made the demon tear up.

- What? You thought I'd never mess with ya, doll? After seeing this face, I'll do it even more often, you angry little toddler you... - and with that, the lights flickered again.

- Am I hallucinating or did ya see that too? - asked Sofi, pointing at the lamp.

- Maybe it's just bad wiring... - said Rei, with a rather nervous chuckle. She didn't sound believable at all. - It's nothing to worry about...

- Oh so you think I'm nothing to worry about?! - said Beetlejuice with annoyement in his voice. - You underestimate me, little one. - he pointed at the chandelier in the living room and the lamp in the kitchen. They both started to shine and flicker in the same rhythm. The girls looked at each other.

- I'm pretty sure that's not bad wiring... I think... - one of the light bulbs in the living room shattered, stopping Ari for a moment. They all ducked as the light bulb in the kitchen exploded. - I THINK THIS HOUSE REALLY IS HAUNTED!!!

- THANK YOU! FINALLY! - shouted Beetlejuice, his eyes and his neon green hair glowing. - I'M FINALLY GETTING THE RECOGNITION I DESERVE!

- IT'S NOT, GHOSTS ARE NOT REAL! - shouted Rei, while trying to help Ari get hold of the angrily barking Sirius.

- It's scientifically proven that they are... - commented Sof.

- Shut up, I'm not superstitious like you two! I mean sure, weird things are happening in the house, like my PC acting strange, or the hairdryer sucking Sofi's hair in, but I'm sure there's a logical explanation!

Beetlejuice grinned like a maniac.

- Oh baby you really want logical explanation? You think there's any logic to ME? Then watch... This! - the demon cracked his fingers and chuckled as he looked at the plugged in toaster. Ari looked at the voice's direction and gasped when she saw what Beetlejuice was doing. The toaster's heating wires were glowing red hot, and an awful stench came from the machine. The smell of burning plastic.

- OH FUCKIN HELL!!!

- Who doesn't like a bit of electrical fire? - said Beetlejuice, laughing, looking at the infurious Sof. Ari quickly jumped up and started to go through the drawers quickly. Sof was quicker, she handed her the oven mittens, which Ari put her hands into and lifted the now flaming toaster.

- Okay... Now what? - Rei jumped up in panic too.

- What what?!?

- Where do I put it?!

- ARIADNÉ, YOU JUST LIFTED THIS FLAMING SHIT UP WITHOUT A PLAN?!?!?!?!

- I'M NOT A VERY BRIGHT WOMAN, OKAY?!?!?!? - Rei opened up the window and pulled the curtains back.

- THROW IT OUT!!! - Ari quickly threw the machine out of the window, into the birdbath that was under it. The flames started to fade and the girls let out a huge, relieved breath.

- Welp... I may sound like a hypocrite but... After this I think we're haunted. - Sofía and Ari both looked at Rei.

- You said, literally a minute ago, and I quote, that you are not superstitious like us two. - Rei threw her hands up in the air.

- I'm not superstitious! But I'm a... Umm a little bit stitious.

- Do you seriously think this is a right time for Office quotes? - asked Sof, with folded hands and an eyeroll.

- Hey this is how I cope! Toasters don't start spitting flames normally, man! That shit scared the living Hell out of me!

Ari bit her lower lip. A faint idea crossed her mind.

- Ummm... I think we should ask our presence what do they want. - the girls and Beetlejuice both looked at Ari with lifted eyebrows. - Sof, don't you have an Ouija board? We could ask them stuff and maybe help them out. So they won't cause trouble like this again. - Beetlejuice covered his smiling mouth with his hands.

- OHMYGOD BABES THAT'S A GREAT IDEA! I never tried playing with those things but...

- Okay let's do it. - stated Rei decidedly. - Sofía! Get your Ouija board. We're adjourning movienight. Let's ask this bitch what the everliving fuck is their problem!

[laurazepamwrites]

The chemicals between us ~ Ch.2

Darwin was a beautiful harbour city, sharing a tropical climate with the nearby south east Asia. Genji was thankful the monsoon season was over as he sat on a rooftop in an industrial area on the outskirts of the city, closely watching an abandoned warehouse. He stood up and stretched what muscles remained, he should head to the rendezvous point soon, but first he wanted to do a final sweep of the area. He silently jumped roof to roof stopping so often to scan for any movement. Talon were coming and that always meant bloodshed was to be had. Satisfied the area was for now clear he returned to the warehouse. The soft glow of a small fire through a broken window confirmed the two Junkers were still inside. Genji had his doubts on bringing them in but when Morrison was set on an idea hardly anyone could argue with him. Except for Reyes of course. Genji chuckled darkly to himself ‘And how well that turned out’ He thought. It was nearing ten in the evening when Genji saw the Orca come into view. It was invisible to normal eyes in stealth mode but with his cybernetic enhancements he could faintly make out the looming shape catching brief reflections of light and hear the low hum of its engines. It touched down on open land outside of the industrial estate, Genji was walking up to it as the door opened, slowly moving down to make gangway.

Morrison was the first to leave, wearing his mask as the Soldier 76 and carrying his Pulse rifle. He noticed Genji and greeted him, clasping his hand and giving it one firm shake.

‘Anything?’ He asked.

‘Nothing yet Commander’ Genji replied and then gestured over his shoulder ‘The objectives are in the warehouse over there, it's been long abandoned, no cctv or security droids but I've been watching Fawkes set up traps and explosive devices around the perimeter and at the entrances. No sightings of Talon, but that is not to say they are not close.’

Morrison gave a low hmm in reply, narrowing his eyes under the mask towards the standalone warehouse. He wondered if the Junkers knew they were being followed or if this was a common security measure wherever they ended up. Behind him McCree was walking down the gangway, immediately lighting a cigar. ‘Any chance of getting a coffee before we crack a few skulls?’ He asked to no one in particular. He took a drag. ‘Or a whiskey?’.

‘Aw you get no sleep Jesse? I slept like a log.’ Said Lena happily, adjusting the belts on her chronal accelerator. She winked at Genji, ‘It's good to see you.’

‘And you Lena.’

Winston was the last to leave the ship and greeted Genji warmly as Morrison turned towards his team and spoke; ‘Alright, this is how it's going to work. Myself, Tracer and McCree will position ourselves south of the warehouse, Genji I want you on that roof opposite on the northside. Winston you're backup. Remain with the Orca. Anything happens you can get to us quickly and likewise. If anything happens here I'll send Tracer to you. We keep vigil on that warehouse and wait for Talon to make their move.’

‘Make their move?’ asked McCree ‘Not just go in, grab them, get outta here?’

‘Do you think they’ll take to us charging up to them, physically forcing them into the ship and flying off into the night Jesse?’

‘Well, that's what you did to me’

Jack ignored him. ‘The last thing I need is fighting them and Talon. Let Talon go in first, let them set off whatever death traps that's been laid and then we go in and clean up.’

‘Erm, silly question but what if Talon kills them before we get in?’ Asked Tracer.

‘I think it's more likely Talon will be dead before we get there.’ Offered Genji. ‘This Roadhog is huge commander, I would not want to fight that beast’ ‘Hopefully we won't have to.’ Replied Jack. ‘Fawkes is a talker. I want to use that to my advantage.’ He took a definitive breath in and out. ‘C’mon, lets move out’.

The warehouse was large, desolate, cold and empty except for the large metal storage crates lining the floor. Their contents long removed, except for one crate filled with a new cargo hidden under a large plastic cover. A small oil puddle on the concrete nearby. Wind whistled through the smashed in windows gently swaying the long dead wire lighting. Over the years local youths had snuck in to partake in illegal activities and to graffiti the walls. Metal stairs led up to a platform, the end of which held the foreman's office. The office was bare inside apart from a desk, a metal filing cabinet - one of the draws taken out and put on the floor, a small fire burning steadily within - a small coffee table and a chair. Its occupant resting with his hands folded across his huge inked stomach. With each breath the chair creaked, threatening to break. A large rust spotted hook rested against one of the legs. The glass in the sinister black gas mask hid the owners eyes, the only indication that he was asleep was the loud rumbling snoring. A gust of wind blew through the broken window, rustling old files strewn across the office, but this did not disturb the sleeping giant.

Junkrat shot him a glare. He was used to Roadhogs snoring, what wound him up was how easily he fell asleep. He was feeling wired, lying on the hard floor resting his head on his living arm whilst he tossed a grenade shell up in the air and catching it with his prosthetic hand. His metal peg crossed over his living leg. The foot tapping incessantly. Frag launcher and a couple of mines within easy reach. He strained his ears to listen over the sound of his companion. He swore he heard something moving on the roof. For near two weeks he had been telling Hog they were being followed, and not by the authorities. This felt different. He was told he was being paranoid but Roadhog finally relented to leave themselves relatively open in hopes of confronting whoever was stalking them. Or to blow them up, either way. He wondered often to himself and outloud who was following him, maybe a bounty hunter? No, there was too many different faces and they tend to work alone. Was that stupid Suit some part of some Illuminati shit and they wanted revenge? No way had the Queen sent raiders out to bring them back in, Junkers don't do subtle..

He was distracted enough by his thoughts to misjudge his throw. Not catching the falling shell but knocking it so it bounced loudly across the floor awaking Roadhog from his slumber. Grumbling and cracking his neck he turned to his younger partner.

‘Would you get some fucking sleep already?’

‘Fuck off, someone's gotta keep a lookout. Your job really’.

He received what could have been a glare in return. He had to sometimes interpret the look he was getting.

Junkrat sighed, ‘Can’t fucking sleep can I?’

‘It's been three days Rat…’

Junkrat sat up, his bushy blonde eyebrows frowning. ‘I've been drinking coffee and had those pills from that skinhead in that bar, which made me feel better by the way until I started to-’

‘Paranoid.'

‘I'm not-!’

Roadhog pointed a large finger at him. ‘You’re paranoid and been on edge since we left Sydney, we’ve travelled for two weeks. After tonight we’re going back to the outback. I'm going back to my farm and If you piss me off anymore I'm going to-’

Both their heads whipped to the door as dull explosion sounded downstairs, signalling a trap going off. A second or so passed, they could hear sound of debris settling and muffled voices. Junkrat slowly turned to Roadhog who was making a point of not looking at him. Knowing damn well he had that shit eating grin on his face. He had no choice but to hear him however.

‘What did I FUCKING tell you mate?!’

            ----------------------------------------------------------------------

Genji had alerted them of the figures silently moving towards the warehouse, all heavily armed. They had safely crossed and cut the wire trap surrounding the perimeter and carefully dismantled the incendiary device on the entrance. Unfortunately for Talon this was a decoy, its disturbance triggering a bomb buried right under their feet. Jack had watched the scene play out from his vantage point. So far he counted eight Talon agents on the ground, not including the two now dead in a bloody heap. Three more were on the roof, grappling hooks being attached to belts to storm the windows.

‘Commander?’ Genji asked through Morrisons earpiece.

‘Deal with them. Quickly’.

Genji leapt from the roof towards the warehouse, moving with a stealth only a Shimada could know. His shurikens slit through the throat of two agents before the remaining one realized what was happening. The last thing he saw was the flash of green light and its reflection on the gleaming metal of Ryū ichimonji as it slashed through the air, cutting through armor, fabric, muscle and bone like paper. Morrison watched as one fell off the roof, landing with a sickening crunch. Dead. The ground troops had moved in setting off more traps, there was a shout of pain followed by another. Through the top window with the fire he saw a large shadow move. A large bang sounding like a shotgun followed by the distinctive sound of an assault rifle.

‘Advance now!’ Morrison ordered his team.

          --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roadhog dragged the desk with one hand to the middle of the room with ease and let it land on its side. He then grabbed the metal cabinet and wedged it against the door. It wouldn't hold but it would buy a couple of minutes. He then crouched as low as he could behind the desk, getting what little cover it would offer his huge frame.

‘Do I look smug Hog?’ Laughed Junkrat, grabbing his frag launcher. ‘Feeling pretty fucking smug right now.’

‘Get the fuck down!’ Yelled Roadhog, grabbing one of the straps across Junkrats chest and pulling him down behind the upturned desk just as the door violently banged against the metal cabinet. Immediately Roadhog fired his scrap gun, its wide shot smashing the window pane in the door and imbedding shards of metal deep into the wood.

‘Yep. Pretty smug.’

‘And shut the fuck up!’

Junkrat twisted to look over his shoulder and positioned the frag launcher. He fired two bombs through the window, laughing as he heard them explode. Maybe they hit home, maybe they didn't. It was still fun. He’d worry about the whys and whats once this was over. For now he was quite happy to ride the adrenalin wave.

‘We need to move I reckon mate.’

Roadhog grunted in reply. They had the advantage of bottlenecking the narrow stairs and doorway but they were trapped in here. His main concern was a smoke grenade or something more sinister being thrown in. If that happened he guessed he could always throw Rat out the window..it wouldn't be the worst thing to of happened to him. Roadhog left his cover and lined himself against the wall next to the door, trying to give himself a line of sight through the shattered panel. He moved forward slightly to chance a better view and received a barrage of bullets for doing so, turning his head just in time. A bullet grazing the tip of his pig mask.

‘Hog?’

‘M’fine.’ He huffed. ‘Got us trapped in.’

‘How many we talking ere?’ Junkrat asked, reloading.

‘Hmmm..ten? Give or take.’

Junkrat moved to a crouch from behind the desk, positioning the launcher on his shoulder. ‘Thats bloody rude is what that is.’

‘Wanna make it fair...?’

Junkrats golden eyes darkened and his grin took on a slight devilish turn. ‘Too fucking right I do!’ He fired every grenade the Launcher had through the door, shouting could be heard from the other side as there was a scramble to avoid the explosives now bouncing along the platform and down the stairs. In the chaos Roadhog kicked the cabinet out the way of the door and flung it open, immediately firing his scrap gun, it's unfortunate target now a bloody mess of metal, flesh and blood. A grenade had disposed of another judging from the mangled corpse. Roadhog walked forward towards the stairs, Junkrat close behind him. At the top of the stairs one of their assailants was screaming and writhing on the floor, clutching what was left of his leg. Junkrat smirked down at him. ‘Hurts like a bitch don't it cunt?’ as Roadhog stamped on his neck, shutting him up. Their attackers had fallen back and now positioned themselves behind the metal crates. Junkrat sent another volley of grenades for cover as he and Roadhog ran down the stairs and threw themselves behind a crate of their own as a shower of bullets passed over them. One of them ricocheted off the metal railing on the stairs and caught Junkrats prosthetic hand, shattering part of the casing. Junkrat gasped and dropped the launcher, holding his prosthetic with his living hand and quickly assessing the damage. He moved the metal digits, two of which weakly moved and twitched on their own accord. He tried holding the Launcher but it wouldn't hold steady in his grasp.

‘Fuck. FUCK! Fucking cunts!’

‘Least the hand is still there..’

‘No good when you can't grip a fucking thing though is it!?’ Junkrat snarled back through gritted teeth. The damaged synthetic nerve receptors sending pulsing waves of dull pain up his arm. He took a ragged deep breath, squeezing his upper arm to null the throbbing pain before straightening up and breathing out. ‘Sod it, it's fine!’

Roadhog looked at him. The same look on his face that he wore under his mask a hundred times before. He remained silent. Junkrat hated that look, hated how it made him feel. ‘Said i'm fucking fine Hog.’ He muttered, switching his weapon to his living hand. It felt strange and heavy in his living hand despite being able to use both. He turned to grin at Roadhog ‘See? All good. Now lets-!’

 Roadhogs hook struck out at force, passing his head by inches, it connected to its target, a flanking attacker, his fingers just shy of the trigger as the huge hook embedded deep in his flesh and pulled him forward with such strength he crashed into the hard concrete. The unfortunate target barely had time to gasp in pain before his head burst with the brute force of the scrap metal and gunpowder of Roadhogs gun. A second attacker quickly followed, aiming at Roadhog. He instantly pushed junkrat against the crate using his large frame to shield him. The bullets never hit however, despite hearing ammo firing. It sounded different to the gunfire they had already endured. Shouting accompanied the new sound. Their attacker yelled in surprise, twisting to aim at a new target, his head jerked violently and he landed dead on the ground.Then suddenly, in literally the blink of an eye, a woman was standing in front of Junkrat and Roadhog, holding dual pistols and wearing goggles with a strange glowing contraption strapped to her chest. She gave a cheeky grin toward the pair. ‘Hiya boys!’ she said in a friendly London accent. And just as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. The two junkers stared at the spot were the woman had stood. A second or so passed before Junkrat spoke; ‘Err…..Hog?’

‘I saw it.’ Roadhog replied, still staring at the space that was occupied seconds before.

‘Yeah but Hog..’

‘I saw it.’

‘What the fuck was that?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Am I high?’

No reply.

'Fucking ghost mate!'

Roadhog gave a low growl.

‘How would you fucking explain it then..?!’

Roadhog did not answer and let Junkrat continue his rambling, things were getting more complicated by the minute. He didn't know who these people were but he had soon realized that the bullets were meant for him. They wanted Junkrat and they wanted him alive. Now a third party were involved and he was getting really pissed off. He just wanted to go back to his quiet farm. More gunfire from yet another gun, more shouting. Roadhog signalled to Junkrat to follow him and both darted to the next crate, moving towards the large chopper and sidecar hidden at the end of the warehouse. They passed another dead body. Bullets had not killed him, his throat sliced open. A strange and bloody metal object embedded in the metal. Was that a throwing star? A loud explosion went off close by, another trap being detonated, Roadhog held Junkrat back until the debris had settled before pushing forward. They were so close now, just a few more yards..

..A flash of blinding light struck right in front of Roadhog, stunning him. He staggered backwards firing his Scrap gun blindly in front of him. He heard struggling and cursing behind him. Turning he watched at Junkrat fell against the crate, the Launcher now on the ground before it could fire. A man stood over him, wearing a visor and mask covering his face, his hair grey. He was pointing a large rifle at his partner and that was a fucking bad idea. Roadhog growled loudly raising his arm to aim at his new victim, he was so close to turning his targets head into a bloody puddle when something silver and neon green whooshed past him so fast he could not tell what it was, it took him a second to realize he had let go of his gun. A second more to realize a silver revolver was pointing at his head. Another second to realize blood was slowly dripping from his hand where something very sharp had sliced through leather and flesh. He side eyed the man pointing his gun at his head. He wore a cowboy hat, chewed an unlit cigar and wore an old dusty poncho. He noticed the prosthetic arm and the slack smug smile on his face which he instantly wished he could slam his fist into.

‘Y'all don't wanna make any sudden moves y’hear?’ He drawled in an American accent. A clang on the roof of the metal crate beside them made him glance up. Roadhog also looked at the sudden noise and was greeted with the sight of man adorned with silver armor, glowing green lights to suggest cybernetics, his face also obscured by a mask. He crouched over the scene, shurikens between his knuckles and leaning on a gleaming asian looking sword. Something whizzed past him and the woman from earlier appeared seemingly from thin air, also pointing pistols at both Junkers. They were well and truly surrounded. Roadhogs attention was now on Junkrat, who was breathing heavily, eyes locked and glaring at the man in the visor, his mouth twisted into a snarl. His eyes darted to his launcher which still held a full cartridge of grenades. Roadhog grunted, getting his attention. The last thing he needed was for Junkrat to panic and do something stupid and get them both killed. He slowly shook his head. Junkrat narrowed his eyes at him, weighing the decision to attack or surrender. Eventually he sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.

‘Arite ya cunts, make it quick.’

The cowboy chuckled. ‘Not here for that kid.’ He slowly moved the scrap gun away from Roadhog, pushing it across the floor with his foot as the woman did the same with the Frag launcher. Neither lowering their guns at the pair. The older man however did, leaning it across his shoulder. He gave Roadhog a glance over before turning his attention to Junkrat. ‘We’re not here to kill you, unless of course you give us reason to. We dealt with your stalkers, a sophisticated terrorist group named Talon. Know that name?’

Junkrat shrugged. ‘Know a lotta things mate, don't know you though. I ain't answering shit.’

‘Sounds pretty fair..’ Said McCree, looking at his comrade.

Morrison regarded Junkrat for a moment before speaking. ‘My name Is Jack Morrison...I am the former Commander of Overwatch. You know what that is. You’ve been followed by Talon for sometime and they want you alive. I want to know why.’

Junkrat peered at Morrison as he processed the information. Suddenly he barked out a laugh and put his hands on his hips. ‘Fucking getta load of this drongo, Hog!’ He grinned, jabbing a thumb towards Morrison. Swagger quickly returning despite guns being aimed at him.

He smirked at Morrison. ‘Overwatch long gone mate, went up in a bloody big bang as I heard. You the top guy? I call bullshit. Don't know who you are, don't know who those dead fuckers are. So unless your gonna pop a bullet in me and me mate we’re just gonna fuck off outta here. So you can take your Captain America shit, Your Billy the kid there, stupid hat by the way mate. Your Casper the friendly ghost and your Naruto, and fuck right off!’

McCree and Tracer glanced at Morrison, awaiting his response. McCree would have bet on Jack adding a black eye to the kids face. Instead Morrison sighed, weighed up his answer and addressed the Junker. ‘You survived their first strike, but what about the next one? Or the next. They sent cannon fodder this time, they underestimated you, and they certainly did not expect us. Each time they’ll send worse before they get what they want. And whatever it is I cant let them have. It's important enough that they’ll spend time and resources hunting you down. So you have a choice Fawkes, you give up whatever it is to us and you walk out of here back to that hell hole. Or you come with us until you do.’

Whilst Morrison spoke the grin had slowly disappeared from Junkrat's face, gradually turning dark and threatening. When he spoke it was lower, quieter and menacing. ‘I got nothing I’m gonna give to you or this Talon. You could be the same for all I know and like fuck am I going anywhere with you less its my dead body mate..’

A muscle twitched under Morrisons mask, not that Junkrat could see. He was quickly losing patience with this hotheaded, crude and smug Junker..

‘Now you listen you little sh...., If you gave a damn about-’

‘Commander!’ Winstons alarmed voice cutting through the comms. Morrison immediately replied.

‘What have you got?’

‘Talon Heavy assault incoming on your position.’

As if on cue a dull distance thud could be heard, slowly becoming louder. Morrison began to order his team, aiming his gun once again on Junkrat. ‘Genji, Tracer. Slow that thing up. Disable it if you can. Winston get here and cover us. We need a shield. And you two!’ He addressed the Junkers. ‘You help with this thing or take cover up there.’ He pointed over his shoulder toward the office. ‘Is that a choice you're willing to make?’

Junkrat and Roadhog looked at each other, seemingly to communicate silently. Eventually Roadhog gave a single nod of his head. The grin returned to Junkrat's face. ‘Right o mate. We can help blow up whatever needs blowing up.’ Morrison considered him a moment before making his mind up if this was a good idea. ‘Fine, get your weapons. McCree, get the high ground. You two, hold that choke point. If we can keep it outside the better. I don't want it throwing a crate at anyone.’

‘Yeah yeah and wadda you gonna do G.I Joe..?’

Morrison smirked under his mask. ‘I’m not letting you leave my sight.’

              ----------------------------------------------------------------------

The huge Juggernaut moved with purpose towards the warehouse, machine like in appearance but in fact the result of extensive genetic engineering. Its powerful exoskeleton, armour and stimulants making it a horrific killing machine. It carried two massive chainguns and had two large canisters on its back. Whatever trace of humanity it once had had gone due to extreme experimentation, it only knew one command now; to kill. It moved past the cut wire surrounding the perimeter, sighting the entrance to the warehouse, now a smouldering cavity thanks to one of Junkrats explosives. It took a step closer, dust unsettling under its heavy footfall, when suddenly a hail of bullets impacted against its heavy armor. It spun towards the direction of its target, and was struck once again from behind. Spinning to locate its adversary , it raised its twin chainguns and wildly began to fire in all directions. A sound or ricochet and its own bullets deflected right back toward it, hitting it hard and denting its armor, one bullet hitting a wire connecting from one of the canisters to a chaingun. Steam escaped the wire, dispersing into the cool night air. It caught a glimpse of one of its targets, a young woman rapidly firing twin pistols. She darted around him, like an annoying buzzing fly, firing at weak points in its exoskeleton. It timed her movements, letting her strike it and waited, it would take her a long time to breach its armor. Suddenly at the right moment it swung its huge arm out, striking home and colliding with its pest hard into her shoulder. The impact sent Tracer flying towards a huge truck parked up for the night, the collision certainly bound to crush her thin frame. Tracer flew through the air, her shoulder screaming in pain. She braced herself and suddenly she was thrown back, the truck moving further away, the pain disappearing in her shoulder with time flowing backwards all around her. She appeared once again close to the heavy assault, this time dropping to her knees as its huge arm swung over her head, emptying both pistols in the weakly armored point of its joints.

‘Oi big boy! Think you missed!’ Tracer laughed as she darted back to a safer distance. Genji landed softly beside her, ‘That was too close..’ He warned her. Tracer grinned back at him. ‘Dont tell dad!’ She disappeared once again, soon dancing rings around the Colossus, Genji joining in on her assault. If they could keep it distracted long enough Winston could help cover their escape. As if reading his thoughts the Heavy assault continued its march towards the warehouse and its target. It opened fire on on Genji and Tracer, forcing them to cease their attack and dodge the hail of bullets, when suddenly it propelled itself forward, twin rockets firing on its back.

It charged, hurtling towards the warehouse and passing through the cavity when suddenly something clamped hard on its leg. It lurched forward hard, and crashed heavily into the concrete. It raised its head, and was greeted with the sight of a crudely made concussion mine. It heard a giggle from above, a soft click, and the mine exploded in its face.   From a safe distance Junkrat surveyed the damage and the now motionless Heavy assault lying on the ground. He turned on his metal peg toward Morrison.

‘You're welcome.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Right so now that's done with, we’re off. Places to be, people to avoid. Good luck with fighting Cobra or whatever you call it..’

‘Ya wanna make sure that things dead Morrison..’ called McCree from his high point.

Junkrat scoffed ‘Yeah nah mate, cunt took a big spill and got a blast to the face. Pretty sure it-fucking christ!’

Morrison fired every round of his Pulse rifle into the heavy assault, bullets bouncing off its thick armour, slowly being chipped away. A canister on its back shattered open, fuel splashing in all directions. Just like McCree had warned the heavy assault began to move, the huge gun arms pushing itself up to stand. Morrison fired the Pulse rifles helix rockets, breaking the armor on one of its guns. The impact causing the fuel drenched across its exoskeleton to ignite. Armor breaching and ablaze, it roared, lifting both guns and opening fire. A dome of blue light suddenly surrounded it, absorbing the rapid fire of bullets. The Heavy assault had no chance to be confused for now it was suddenly wracked with electricity coursing through its massive body. Under great strain it fired what ammo it had left in all directions. The barrier broke, a huge form leapt over it and landed heavily on the crates nearby. Still stunned and with great strain it weakly lifted its arm in a last attempt to kill. The response it got was a huge rain of overbearing damage; Bullets, scrap metal, grenades, a mine, shurikens and electricity. Broken and mangled, It roared loudly as it fell to its knees, still aflame, blood and fuel dripping slowly off its body before finally collapsing to the ground. Morrisons team eyed the creature, the flames slowly smouldering. The last barely intact canister on its back cracked and black from heat and smoke. They waited for any sign of life which it did not give. Satisfied, Morrison turned to the Junkers and found them both staring at Winston. Morrison cleared his throat, realizing that a huge genetically modified Gorilla maybe a shock to some.

‘This is Winston, head of Science within Overwatch…’

‘Its a fucking monkey mate…’

Winston frowned at him and growled, ‘A Gorilla to be more accurate...’

‘Ah yeah right, it talks don't it? See Hog, I know they got up to some weird shit in Overwatch. Never thought i’d ever see the space monkey up close.’

Winston flared his nostrils and deeply growled, teeth baring. It should of been threatening but the young Junker just laughed and looked to his partner.

‘Hey that's what you do mate!’

Morrison stepped between them as McCree, Tracer and Genji joined them, purposely surrounding the Junkers.

Junkrat put his hands on his hips and gave them all a glance. Eyebrows raising and mouth smirking. Roadhog stood next to him, he fingered the chain attached to the huge hook at his side. The atmosphere becoming tense.

‘Yeah, we’ll be off now.’ Said Junkrat casually to Morrison.

‘Are you actually oblivious to the situation you're in or do you just enjoy being difficult?’

‘Yeah..? No...? Maybe..? See now you don't know where I'm coming from!’ Junkrat laughed.

McCree smirked, he found this amusing. It reminded him of when he was picked up all those years ago. He was a little shit to authority too. And unfortunately for Jack he reeked of it. He holstered his gun, looking at Jack who gave a nod of reluctant approval, He also holsted his weapon and the rest of his team followed suit. Junkrat and Roadhog continued to hold theirs, despite an empty Launcher and a Scrap gun with only one shot left. McCree finally lit the cigar in his mouth. Taking a long drag and exhaling.‘You’ll be safer with us kid.’

He received a laugh with contempt in return, ‘Don't know what the fuck that means mate, never had the pleasure of feeling it.’

McCree shrugged. ‘Sure, you're free to leave. But Talon will get to you, be it a week, a month...but they’ll get you. Your partner there will be killed. You, you’ll probably be tortured, I know some in Talon who enjoy that kinda thing..now I think you been approached before. Maybe they said they were someone different since you claim not to know Talon. I think maybe they asked you to join them. Maybe they say they need someone who can topple buildings with a push of a button…maybe they ask about something else, offer money for whatever it is you have or know..?’

Junkrat wasn't smiling anymore, he chewed the inside of his lip and regarded McCree with slight suspicion and said nothing, he let McCree continue.

‘...You got something they want. That's obvious. It's important enough that you have to be alive, otherwise, and believe me, you would be done dead weeks ago. Is also important enough that You just didn't give it to them in the first place which suggests to me it's dangerous too. I’ve met some o’ your Junkertown bounty hunters. Know you bragged loudly bout some treasure in that omnium corpse. Don't think you counted word of it getting out o’ that place though right? You come with us now and you won't have to worry about Talon or whatever they send your way, and you won't be harmed by us less you give us good reason to. From there we all decide what to do with what you got. We won't force it out of you.'

‘You’re at a disadvantage here Fawkes, I suggest you just come quietly.’ Interjected Morrison.

‘Dammit Jack!’ McCree cursed at him.

‘We need to move before Talon sends backup if they haven't already. Tracer, get the Orca ready for flight.’

Tracer looked hesitant but eventually followed orders, dashing away. Junkrat folded his arms across his chest and gave Jack a sneering grin, looking him up and down before saying; ‘Nah mate. Not going anywhere with you.’

Tensions rising again, Roadhog placed his hand on Junkrats shoulder, pushing him slightly behind him. He made to move towards Jack, the team reaching for their weapons when suddenly a spark burst from the felled Heavy assault laying a few feet away from them, all heads turned to it. The remaining canister burst once again into life. It fuelled the barely working rocket on its back and charged it forward, forcing it along the concrete floor as it crashed towards them at speed. Genji, the first in its path immediately jumped out the way. Not everyone had the benefit of his speed however, leaving Junkrat right in its path. Before he could even react a huge arm struck him hard across the chest causing him to land heavily against the crate behind him, the heavy assault a second from killing him. It instead crashed full into Roadhog, hurtling him backwards at such force it left a crater of their combined weight into the metal crate they struck. Its rocket still ignited and the force crushing Roadhog.

‘Hog!’ Junkrat screamed, dropping the launcher and rushing to his partner. With one huge hand and with all his strength Roadhog pushed back against the Heavy assault, trying to lessen the damage it was causing him. His other hand had somehow remained hold of his Scrapgun. He lifted it, pushing the two massive barrels against its face and firing his last shot point blank. Blood and metal burst in a violent shower, the creature now certainly dead. However the rocket still propelled forward, using the last of its fuel. Genji jumped onto its back, stabbing his sword downward straight into the canister, smashing it. Slowly the creature began to slack, finally slumping and stopping for good. With a low growl Roadhog pushed its lifeless body off of him and in turn slid to the ground, breathing very heavily, gas mask rattling with each labored breath.

‘Hog! Hog mate, you alright? Gonna be alright!’ Junkrat had caught up and was frantically checking him over. ‘Ok it's fine alright, its fine. Bit o’ bruising maybe, just take it easy yeah mate..’ His voice catching slightly. Jack raised his eyebrows, making note of Junkrats concern. Roadhog slowly placed a hand on Junkrats shoulder, meeting his worried eyes and pointing toward the back of the warehouse. Junkrats eyes lit up in understanding ‘ Yeah mate, yeah I’ll get it’. He rushed away as fast as his metal peg would allow him towards the chopper. He ripped off the plastic covering, his riptire the first thing to greet his eyes. He quickly and carefully detached it and opened the boot, amidst the supplies and extra grenades which he ignored he found what he was looking for; A canister of Hogdrogen. He hurried back, helping Roadhog attach it to his mask. He watched with worry knitted on his face as his partner breathed in the chemical concoction. His breathing became less labored, but he was still clearly in pain. Jack was kneeling beside them, detaching a biotic emitter from his belt and planting it on the ground. Its energy projecting a soft light of yellow healing aura. Jack stood back up and looked at Junkrat. ‘Biotic emitter.’ He informed him. ‘Will help your friend some but he could have more serious injuries. Won't fix a punctured lung or broken ribs..’

Junkrat looked at him darkly. ‘Yeah, and what's your fucking point?’

‘We have a doctor at our base. And better equipment then out here, we can help him. Unless of course you want to go to a hospital, get yourself arrested and separated.’ replied Jack, matter of factly.

 Junkrat cursed under his breath, he looked at Hog hoping for some help as to what to do, but he knew already he was now left with only one choice. He heard a sound of something large landing outside. Morrison turned to Winston. ‘Get the first aid point ready, Genji I want you to do a final sweep of the area. Make sure no back up has been sent.’ Winston and Genji both left to their respective tasks as Morrison and McCree watched the young Junker make his decision. Slowly Junkrat stood up, folding his arms and sighing heavily. ‘Alright fine, but you fucking promise me this doc of yours is real and gonna help Hog otherwise you’ll have another base exploding. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’ said Morrison. ‘We’ll take your weapons of course, the bike stays here.’

Roadhog cursed loudly and tried standing up, pointing a large finger toward Morrison. ‘That bike comes with me or we go nowhere!’

‘For fucks sake…’ Muttered Jack. ‘Fine, Fawkes. You and me will get the bike. Jesse, get Rutledge on the orca. We need to leave now.’

                  -------------------------------------------------------------

Roadhog sat on the more comfortable chairs for his size on the Orca, a safety belt hardly stretching to cover his massive stomach. He breathed in the healing fumes of a small biotic tank and was seemingly asleep. The huge chopper, Riptire and their weapons stored safely in the cargo hold with Genji guarding them. Junkrat fishing out a hooded sweatshirt from the boot as he surrendered his explosives belt. They had been airborne for twenty minutes, and had hours of flight ahead of them. Junkrat sat on the floor next to Roadhog, glancing at him on occasion. He had rolled out his small tool kit, and was delicately working on his prosthetic hand. He tested the two malfunctioning digits, they moved slowly, the cybernetic nerves still exposed but no longer causing pain. He’d need more advanced tools to repair the casing. McCree was sat close by, feet up on the table in front of him,he watched the young junker concentrate on his work.

‘Need help with that..?

‘Yeah what do you know about prosthetics..’ Junkrat looked up at McCree who had raised his own prosthetic arm with an amused look on his face.

‘Ahhh shit. Sorry mate.’

McCree shrugged, ‘No harm done..’ He nodded to Junkrats metal arm, ‘Make that yourself..?’

‘Mostly..leg too. Not got any of your fancy cybernetic docs in Junkertown mate.’

‘I ain't criticizing kid..I’m impressed. Must a been hard forging new limbs in that environment..takes a lotta skill’

‘Yeah well, needs must.’

‘I'm guessing you lost them young..?'

Junkrat paused for a second, then continued his work. Ignoring McCree.

‘Sorry, im pushing. Y’know..Our doctor at base? She's highly skilled in cybernetic surgery. Probably the best in the world.’

‘And what mate? Not interested in seeing no doc. Just want Hog looked at.’

McCree looked at him for a few seconds him before shrugging. ‘Alright, your call. Id advice you get some shut eye soon though. We got a few hours before we touch land again.'

Two hours into the flight, Morrison walked down the stairs from the cockpit eyeing the two Junkers. Roadhog may have been out cold, it was near impossible to tell with the mask, Junkrat was leaning against him. Both legs stretched out over 2 chairs, his hood was up, apparently sleeping. He stopped by McCree, both feet still on the table, his cowboy hat covering his face. He cursed as Morrison gave him a kick to his side.

‘Christ Jack, can't a man rest his eyes?’ He complained.

‘If we blew up mid air i’d blame you first..’ Jack replied.

‘Hell Jack, he aint gonna do nothing. You might wanna consider yourself lucky Rutledge got hurt. I don't think he’d do anything to jeopardize getting Angela to help him.’

‘I still think we should of restrained them.’

‘I still think that's a dumb idea.’

‘Hmm…’ Morrison did not want to argue that point so he changed the subject. ‘What you said Jesse? He seemed to listen, even though it was exactly what I had said to him.’

‘Was it now?’ McCree replied, smiling slightly. ‘Maybe I saw myself all those years ago being spoken to like I was in god damn school. It don’t work. Shame you had to butt in.’

‘We needed to leave before civilians arrived. In hindsight my interrupt was very beneficial’

‘That may be, but I dont think your approach with him is gonna work. Not if you want him to cooperate. He’s got a criminal career sticking it to guys like you.’

‘Is that why you seem to like him?’

‘Hell it's obvious he dont like you much.’ McCree replied, smirking. He tipped his hat back over his face and said no more. Morrison sighed, regarding the two criminal Junkers in his airship, hunted by Talon and enroute to his base. He momentarily wondered if he was making a mistake, but quickly dismissed it. He had made much worse mistakes for him to dwell on. He sat nearby, pulse rifle resting on his lap, mask still covering his face. He kept watch.

[dcnatural]

When The Lights Go Out

Word Count: 3045

Pairing: Sister!Reader x Dean

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis: Left by themselves, Y/N and Dean Winchester explore their motel and throw a "party" in the bathtub.

The moon illuminated the night sky, casting a pale glow that barely allowed you to see ahead. The wind blew the rain all around you, and you shivered in cold, despite being an unusually hot day. From time to time, a lighting crossed the black sky, a flash of light in the middle of the darkness.

You followed your brother (your older brother, as he liked to recall whenever you disagreed with him - it didn't matter that he was only 13 months older nor that you were way more mature than him, he would always use the fact as a reason to why you should listen to him) through the stairway leading to the balcony on the second level of the motel. Once more, your father had left you and your brothers to fend for yourselves as he went into yet another pointless hunt.

Dean basically dragged you along the balcony, until he came to a sudden stop, in front of a large window that belonged to the room in the corner of the "i" shaped motel. Letting go of your hand, he slid the window panels to the side, making an opening big enough for you to pass through.

"I'm not going in there", you stated, backing away from the wall.

"Come on, sis. It's not like we have anything better to do", Dean prompted, hoping to convince you to follow through with his newest stupid idea. It was partially true: the storm had caused a power outage, and you had been bored sitting on your shared bed watching Sam sleep soundly. That was why you had accepted Dean's invitation to explore the motel grounds.

You sighed. "It's illegal. We could get arrested for trespassing!", you said in a rather hushed tone. Even as you said that, you knew your worries were stupid: you were in the back part of the motel, with nothing but the moon and a vast field to serve as witness to your crimes.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Relax. Trust me on this one, I know you will like it", as he said that, he passed a leg through the window frame and then another, leaving you no time to protest further.

Not wanting to stay alone in the darkness, you followed him inside. You could barely see inside the room, but your brother grabbed a flashlight from his back pocket and swung it around, your curious eyes following the light to absorb every inch of the large room. Unlike the one you had been staying on the first floor - which was cramped and almost didn't fit the two beds you were sharing - this one was big enough to fit a king size bed, a round table with three chairs, a wardrobe and a TV unit complete with loudspeakers and DVD player. You gasped in awe, taking in the sight. It was far from luxurious, but it was a thousand times better than what you were used to.

Dean chuckled. "I knew you would like it. But you haven't seen the best part yet", he took your hand and pulled you towards a white door, which he opened, revealing the bathroom.

Your jaw dropped. There was a bathtub there! Long enough for you to lay in, and large enough to fit two people, if they squeezed tightly. Your eyes glowed, and you were filled with the desire of climbing inside and taking a long bath. You could imagine it: the hot water undoing the tension in your muscles and driving away the reminers of the cold rain that had soaked you to your bones. Preferentially, there would be aromatic candles, a good book for you to read and a glass of wine for you to drink...

"Wanna go in?", your brother asked, ripping you away from your daydream. 

You laughed bitterly. "We can't. Really Dean, let's go back before Sam wakes up."

"He sleeps like a rock and you know it. Just relax, sis. It seems your could really use that bath", he teased.

No. You couldn't. It was wrong. This wasn't your room and you shouldn't be here in the first place. But then again, who cared if a couple of teenagers broke into a hotel room? And it wasn't like anyone would come clean the room this late in the night. Besides, you deserved some fun.

"Alright. Alright. But we can't take too long", you gave in, unable to make up more excuses to why not.

Dean grinned like crazy. "As you wish, little sister."

You rolled your eyes. "You know I hate when you call me that", you complained, kicking your rain boots out of your feet and removing the wet socks.

Dean leaned into the tub and turned on the tap. Then he passed you the flashlight. "Try to find out which of these bottles is the one that makes bubbles."

You picked the small plastic tubes that rested in the cabinet above the sink and checked one by one, putting back the ones that didn't interest you. You were surprised with the amount of toiletries that the hotel offered, especially since you were just given some 2-in-1 shampoo and a cheap soap. Finally deciding for a rose scented body lotion and soap, you turned back to the bathtub, where your now naked brother laid. You yelped and jerked backwards automatically.

Dean smirked. "What's wrong, sis?"

"You are naked!", you yelped. 

"What did you expected? That I would climb in clothed?", he laughed at the idea.

You didn't know what you expected, but surely it wasn't seeing your brother naked. His body was well defined by years of fighting and exercising, and his skin was tanned by the constant exposure to the sun. You had been lucky to see him shirtless countless times before, but in the dim light, he was even more handsome. You shook those thoughts way, telling yourself that no matter how gorgeous he looked, he was still your brother.

You approached the tub, keeping your eyes away from him. Your hands shook and the small bottles escaped your hands, landing into the water with a splash. Your brother chuckled once more. You ignored him and leaned down to fish the tubes back, diving your hand into the warm water. Your long hair hang around your face, working as a shield that separated you and Dean. You grabbed the flasks and handed for your brother to open, carefully avoiding looking at anything under his neck.

"Ain't you coming in?", he inquired, watching with amusement as you stared into the white tiles of the bathroom floor.

You nodded and, with your back turned to him, proceeded to remove the old oversized t-shirt you used. You slipped out of your shorts and hesitated for a moment while you wondered whether or not you should remove your underwear. 

The flashlight, which you had left in the shelf near the sink, seemed like a spotlight illuminating your body as you undressed. Despite knowing it to be wrong, your brother couldn't help but stare as the soft curve of your ass was exposed for his greedy eyes. He waited, hoping you would turn around and he would be able to see everything he had always dreamed of. He had never seen you completely naked before, and he ached to do so. To see your rosy nipples, to hold your breasts in his hands, to caress the places that only your hands had touched before, to kiss the skin between your thighs. No, he couldn't, no matter how delicious you looked, you were still his sister.

Still not being able to look directly at him, you walked into the pool, and lowered your body until you were covered to waist length. The water had acquired a pale pink opaque color, and a few bubbles covered its surface. The damp panties sticked to your skin, and you took advantage of the cover that the water offered to remove them. You sat there, knees to your chest, facing Dean, whose legs were propped by your side. You hugged your legs tighter. 

Dean's head rested against a towel he had set upon the white china frame of the bathtub. His eyes were closed and there was the ghost of a smile on his lips. He seemed happy, which was a rare occurrence, since he usually was too busy worrying about everything and everyone to do something that he actually enjoyed. You resisted the urge to lean closer and kiss him in his pinkish mouth.

As if he could feel your gaze on him, he opened his eyes and shifted his position, rubbing his legs on your tights just for a moment, but that moment was enough to drag a moan out of the depths of your throat. You felt your cheeks redden, and hoped that the pale light helped mask your embarrassment.

"Somebody is enjoying themself, uh?", he asked, his voice dropping low enough to send a chill down your spine.

"I-- I have no idea of what you are talking about."

He nodded, not a bit convinced. Your eyes dropped to your lap, afraid that he could see right through you, to read all the dirty thoughts in your mind. "You know there is enough space for you to straighten your legs, right?"

"I’m confortable like this", you replied shyly.

"Alright, if you say so", he shrugged. He moved once more, but this time, as he raised his hips over the waterline, you caught sight of the tip of his hard cock. He smiled shyly, knowing what you had seen. "Just trying to find a good position." 

You felt a familiar warmth between your legs that you knew had nothing to do with the water. Unable to suppress the feeling, you squirmed in your seat, trying to get just a bit of friction. Your action didn't go unnoticed by your brother, but instead of disgust, his expression was filled with curiosity and desire.

"Liked what you saw?", he said teasingly.

You blushed even more than before. "N--no", you managed to stutter.

"Are you lying to me, sister?", he asked, smirking like the devil of course, he knew you were lying, he would see it all over your face. When you didn't respond, he buckled his hips upwards once more, flashing more of his length to you. You knew you should look away, but you couldn't. You had been dreaming of this exact moment for a long time, and now that it was happening, you didn't want it to end.

You let go of your knees, and crawled towards him, splashing water out of the tub as you did so. Your bare ass was exposed to the air as you moved, and he kept admiring the way it jiggled. "Dean?", you called, you voice barely more than a faint whisper.

"Yes?"

"Can I touch it?", you asked, batting your eyelashes. The odd light casted long shadows on your face and he thought it only made you more angelic. He groaned in agreement, and you sat on your heels, millimeters away from him. You slid a hand over his legs, tracing his muscles to the point where his legs joined together. There, you found the hardness of his cock, which was throbbing with need. You tangled your fingers in his pubes, desperate to touch him, but you took your time. Then you gently touched the base of his erection, wrapping your fingers around it. 

You began to pump in and out, moving your hand from the base to the head in a painfully slow way. You used your other hand to explore his balls, tracing your fingers around it, like a blind woman that had to use her other senses to construct an image of the world. You felt every vein, every inch of skin.

He moaned  in delight. "Faster", he whisper between heavy breaths. You giggled but kept at your own pace, exploring everything he had to offer. You could feel the pre-cum leaking from the tip.

Suddenly, he pushed you back, splashing more water on the floor. You fell on your ass and he quickly moved on top of you, holding you down by your shoulders, your head barely above the water. "I said faster", he hissed into your ear. You hummed.

"I'm sorry", you apologized, and then having an idea, you corrected yourself. "I meant, I am sorry, sir ."

He flashed a smile at the title. "Than show me how sorry you are, sister." Having said that, he let go of your shoulders and leaned back. You were fast to crawl back to your former position, and wrap your hands around his cock once more, but this time, you moved it with a faster pace.

Dean's hands moved to unhook the bra you still wore. As he pulled the garment off, he sighed in pleasure. Your tits were everything he could ever had hoped for. You continued to jerk him off, and he watched hypnotized as your boobs bounced with your fast movements. He moaned as you brought him near his peak. You felt it when he exploded in your hand, his juices mixing with the water. He panted heavily, like if he had just taken a long run.

"That was good. Really good", he managed to say after a while. You still sat there, looking at him with adoring eyes, taking in everything you could see and saving it for later. You almost couldn't believe what had just happened. You thought that any moment now you would wake up and discover it had all been a dirty and twisted dream.

"Well, I am happy--", but you didn't have time to finish your sentence, as he wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you closer, smashing his mouth into yours, in a crazy and hungry kiss. His tongue explored the inside of your mouth as his hands lowered on your back, grabbing your ass. You felt him get hard again against your leg. 

After a long time, he finally broke the kiss, but it was only to assault your neck, sucking and biting hard enough to leave marks. You threw your head back in pure ecstasy as you melted into his arms.

He let go of your ass, moving to pinch and twist your hard nipples, which only helped to make you wetter. You parted your legs, trying to straddle his tight to hump yourself off, but your position made it a difficult task, so you gave up and allowed him to have his way with you. You were so lost in a sea of pleasure that you didn't even protest when he lifted your body and then lowered your pussy into his cock. Only when you felt the sharp pang that you realized what he was doing: it felt like he would slip your body in two with his girth. Still, you didn't try to stop him when he began to move his hips, thrusting into you balls deep over and over. Somehow he managed to rub you just right, and your cunt clenched around him as stars sparkled your vision. It was the final boost he needed to cum again. He shot his seed straight into your hole, filling you up in a delicious way. When he let go of you, you collapsed into his chest, too tired to lift yourself out of him. Not that you wanted to do that anyway. He hugged you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling your smell: a mixture of sweat and roses.

"I love you, sis", he muttered, almost incomprehensible.

You were surprised at his words, they were the last thing you expected to hear. You had been thinking it was just a lusty fuck, but he shared your dark desires. Maybe you weren't so twisted for loving him, if he loved you back, then it must be a normal thing to feel. Or maybe the two of you were very fucked up, but either way, you were together and that was all that mattered in the moment.

"I love you too, Dean"

A loud thunder echoed outside and then the lights flicked on: the power had been restored and the neon sign outside the motel glowed brightly in the night, bringing the two of you back to reality. Like a spell that just had been broken, you separated from him and rose from the tub, his cum sliding off your pussy and running down your tights. Seemingly realizing what you two had just done, Dean also quickly left the water and you both fumbled through your clothes, in a hush to get dressed. Not bothering to empty the bathtub, you left the bathroom in a hurry and jumped out of the window, followed close by him. 

Still dizzy from the crazy sex you just had, you stumbled downstairs and opened the door to your room the quietest way you could. Not that it did you any good, Sam was already awake, laying on the bed face up. He jumped when he saw you and smiled in relief.

"There you are! I was beginning to think something had happened…", he frowned, noticing both of you were dripping wet. "What happened?"

"Er…. We went to get ice from the machine, but it's raining heavily and we got soaked", you lied. "I need to take a shower," you said running to the bathroom.

"Where's the ice?", your smaller brother inquired. He had always been the smart one in the family.

You closed the door and locked it. Outside, you heard Dean tell Sam that the machine was broken, and that he should go back to sleep. You turned on the shower and washed away the pearly white cream that sticked to your legs. You heard the door handle being turned, but the lock resisted and the person on the other side gave up. When you left the bathroom, wrapped in a white towel, the room was pitch black and Dean's loud snores echoed through the walls. You dressed in you pijamas and crawled into your bed, glad you had it all for yourself. You closed your eyes and ignored the burning question in your mind. You could wait until tomorrow to decide what to do next.

[spartanguard]

sick of love (1/3)

Summary: If Emma’s not careful, she just might bump into her soulmate. Physically. And while she might like the idea of what comes with that—an almost psychic connection whenever they make skin contact—she’d rather not deal with the awful withdrawal sickness that can come when they inevitably leave her; she’s got a son, so she doesn’t have time for that. So she keeps herself covered and thinks she’ll be okay. Until she meets Killian, who does the same thing. Will their barriers protect them, or just hurt them more?

CS Soulmates AU | Rated M | 5.8k | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | AO3

A/N: This story was inspired by a tumblr post imagining a different kind of soulmate AU; I got inspired and ran with the idea. (original post can be found here.) Thank you to the organizers of @cssns for putting on this great event again!! Also to @sherlockianwhovian for making the INCREDIBLE art that goes with this! (and to @optomisticgirl for looking it over!)

The train slipped into the station, coming to an easy stop at the platform where Emma waited. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass window as the door opened in front of her, and adjusted her hair accordingly, making sure her long blonde tresses hung over her shoulders and framed her face just so—but not so much that she was completely covered; she wasn’t Cousin Itt.

People began to stream out of the car, moving on either side of where Emma stood, not unlike water flowing around a rock in a river. She held her breath in an attempt to make herself smaller, in hopes that would make it harder for anyone to bump into her. There was a slight jostle to her leather-covered elbow, but thankfully, that was all. Soon, the last tourist had left the car, on their way to whatever pretentious bar was in this particular Boston neighborhood; Emma didn’t know and didn’t care, and was headed the opposite direction—her suburban apartment after a long day of fruitless work.

Emma shuffled onto the train and slumped into a seat, pulling her jacket just a bit tighter around her as she tried her best to melt into the hard molded plastic. The more she could hide or shrink, the better; the train was always packed this time of day, making it all too easy to get bumped or shoved into the next person, so the fact that she’d gotten a seat was perfect—even better, it was on the end, so there was only one seat next to her. Because if there was one thing Emma Swan hated, it was being touched.

Actually, that was a lie—she had loved it, once upon a time. But God, she’d been so naive.

The train quickly filled up. Emma tensed when someone sat next to her, but the suited businessman seemed more interested in his phone, and just as keen not to touch her. Even in a society that placed a high value on physical contact, there were still those who shied away from it, at least with strangers. Emma, though, did her best to keep away from everyone.

If her phone had more than 10% battery, she’d have her nose buried in it like half the other people on the train. Like her neighbor apparently knew, that was also a good way to ward off any unwanted contact. But given it’s mostly-dead status, and a desire to leave that little bit there in case Henry called, she’d have to content herself with people watching; hell, maybe she’d find the skip who’d gotten away from her earlier.

It was mostly people heading home from work, likely about to enjoy the balmy early summer evening on balconies or patios; if they threw a glance her way, they’d probably think the way she was dressed for late fall was insane—not many people wore turtlenecked sweaters, jeans, and knee-high boots in July, even in Boston. She’d gotten used to the self-imposed swelter by now, though.

But no one had eyes for her, thankfully, least of all the couple standing in front of her. They stood side by side, one hand each on the overhead rail and the other holding their partner’s. They had soft, happy grins on their faces and it almost looked as though they were having a conversation with just their eyes—and they most likely were. Because that was what happened when you found your soulmate.

She shivered involuntarily, despite the heat and her unseasonable dress. Gah, she hated that word: soulmate. Because, of course, the universe had picked that one perfect person for everyone. You didn’t have any choice in the matter; that’s just how it was. Great if you find them; sucks if you don’t—and even worse if you lose them.

As a kid, it had been a pipe dream for a touch-starved orphan like Emma had been. Everyone grew up knowing the stories: that when you found your soulmate, physical touch created an almost psychic connection with them. Thoughts, feelings, even dreams could be shared through skin, and it only got more intense the longer the relationship lasted.

And she thought she’d had that, once. Now? She’d sworn it off; there were more important things to worry about.

She blinked her eyes and looked away from the couple, lest she get too far down Memory Lane to turn back. She focused on the view of the city flying by outside the windows, the familiar landmarks telling her she was close to her stop. Each building was one tick in the countdown until she could get off and head home, where central AC, her son, and an ice cold beer were waiting.

Finally, the train slowed down and came to a creaking stop at her station. She waited a bit for more people to exit the car, including the annoyingly adorable couple (something she was all too familiar with in her own life), and headed back out into the temperate air.

And then she saw her skip, in the mass of people heading out of the station. Guess home would have to wait; good thing she saved her phone battery.

She took off at a sprint, waiting to shout the douchebag’s name until he had no time to react before she was on top of him, bringing him to the ground and pinning him there without an ounce of skin contact. If this asshole was her soulmate, she didn’t want to know.

(Or to know if anyone was anymore.)

A few hours later, she finally slumped into her apartment and sighed in the blessedly cold air. Then she sniffed; was that pizza?

“I ordered from Regina Pizzeria; hope you didn’t mind,” Henry shouted from the kitchen.

“Did you tip?” she asked, tugging on the zippers of her boots and stepping out of them.

“Of course; I’m not an animal.”

She snorted; he’d definitely inherited her sense of humor. “Good.” Her stomach was growling, but she needed to at least get out of her jacket before she did anything about it. It clung to her in an unpleasant manner as she peeled it off, the sleeves turning inside out as they clung to her clammy skin; she just hung it up that way, letting the sweaty lining air out.

Henry already had plates set out at their kitchen island-slash-dining table. “Thanks, kid,” she said as she walked past him to the fridge, pausing to ruffle his dark brown hair. “And sorry again.”

“It happens,” he said with a shrug. She winced at that, despite the chilled air blowing from the fridge as she grabbed her beer; she hated that he was so used to her inconsistent work hours, but was so proud of him for being self-reliant. She still wasn’t sure how she’d been blessed with such a fantastic kid, but that was why she did what she did—not just her job, but protecting herself. She couldn’t make sure Henry grew up safe and loved if she was too caught up in her own shit.

“Is your homework done?” she asked as she took a seat on what had become designated as her bar chair at the counter. 

“Yup,” he answered, opening the box; plain pepperoni—their favorite. 

“Show me after we eat.”

“I know,” he groaned, rolling his eyes a bit, and grabbed a slice. Every now and then, there were moments like that where Emma was reminded that her 11-year-old was growing up fast. But for the most part, he was still her little boy: smart, funny, and with the biggest heart she’d ever met. She wished his dad could see him.

Like they did every night, they talked about their days, but mostly Henry’s—she loved to hear about what he was learning and the things he did with his friends. No one had ever taken interest in her life, academic or otherwise, until she wound up with the Nolans, and she vowed a long time ago to make sure Henry always had an attentive parent. 

“Avery had to go home at lunch; he got sick. It was gross, like you could see his—“

“Ugh, no—not while I’m eating!” (Lest she forget, Henry was definitely an 11-year-old boy.)

Henry sighed but plowed on. “Anyways, they sent him home and said he probably had a stomach bug, but he thinks it’s something else. He thinks he has lovesickness.” 

Emma froze for a second, but not too long in case Henry noticed. He knew she had issues with soulmates and she tried her hardest not to pass them onto him. But lovesickness—that was something of a trigger word. 

See, that was the other side to having a soulmate: if you went too long without physical contact with them, you got sick. Not just heartsick or lonely—physically ill. After a few weeks without touching your supposed true love, you started to develop flu-like symptoms that progressively got worse—the point of near immobility—until either you came back in contact with them or cycled all the way through it, your body mended but your soul a bit bruised.

It wasn’t uncommon to see notices in the “missed connections” section of Craigslist for people experiencing symptoms after a rare brush with their intended. Morbidly, it was also typical for old couples to follow each other in death, not being able to survive through the lovesickness that accompanied the loss of their soulmate after decades together. 

She was pretty sure she’d been through it. Most people were confident in that distinction, but Emma still didn’t know, because lovesickness looked and felt an awful lot like morning sickness. 

For the upteenth time that day, Emma shook her head, trying to clear away the ghosts of the past. “He doesn’t have it; you guys are too young.” The one perk to this whole cosmic system was that it couldn’t happen until after puberty. 

“I dunno; he was pretty confident about it. Said he kissed Violet on the playground last week so he’s probably taken.”

Emma chuckled. “It doesn’t happen that fast. He’ll be fine. But maybe watch what you eat at school, okay?”

“Okay. Can I bring pizza tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

The rest of their nightly routine went per usual: Emma looking over his homework, forcing him to take a shower before she took one too, then watching an episode of Stranger Things before he went to bed. 

Maybe he was getting too old for it, but she still tucked him each night. “Love you, Mom,” he murmured, already half asleep. 

“Love you, too, kid,” she replied, placing a kiss on his forehead. Even if she shied away from that stuff herself, she never wanted Henry to miss out on those little endearments she never had. 

She took one last look at him before leaving his room. He was getting so big, and looking more and more like his dad every day; but when he was asleep, he still looked like the baby she’d once rocked in her arms. 

So that was why she protected herself. That was why she cut off physical contact as much as possible with anyone else. That was why she didn’t want to risk her heart like that again. Sure, she craved that kind of intimacy sometimes, but she’d made her peace that it a while ago. No lovers, no soulmates, just a few friends. Nothing that could potentially take her away from being the best mom Henry could have.

At least, that’s what she’d been telling herself for 11 years. She didn’t want to believe anything else, even though she was keenly aware of the heartbreak that lay under everything. 

She retired to her room and flopped down on her big, empty bed, falling asleep eventually. 

And if she dreamed that there was someone to share that bed with...well, she’d talk it up to her brain being weird. 

She didn’t do soulmates. 

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

“Seriously?”

“Oh, come on, Emma; it’ll be fine. You can play nice for one night.”

Emma sighed into the phone. Her sister-in-law, Snow—the living, breathing embodiment of peace, hope, and love—had a long track record of trying to surreptitiously shove eligible singletons Emma’s way. She was understanding about Emma’s avoidance of relationships and physical contact, and the need to put Henry first, but only to a point. By no means did she think that romantic love was the key to true happiness, but she herself had found her fairytale true love and its accompanying bliss; shouldn’t everyone experience that?

“Debatable.” And apparently, Emma would be subject to Snow’s fledgling matchmaking yet again at their weekly dinner. “What’s this guy’s deal?” 

“Oh, you know how David picks up strays.” They shared a giggle at that; it was true—not only did David work at an animal shelter, but he had a tendency to pick up wayward humans as well, Emma being a prime example. She was 15 when the Nolans legally adopted her. “But Killian is—well, he’s like you.”

Both Emma’s curiosity and hackles rose. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s not looking for a soulmate, either. So it’s not a setup or anything.”

“Uh-huh.” She’d heard that one before.

“It’s not!”

“Why do I feel like this is some sort of reverse psychology thing?”

There was a pause. “Was it really that obvious?”

Emma sighed again, chuckling slightly. “You know I know when you’re lying.”

“I know, I know. But you’re still coming, right?”

“Yes, of course.” One random guy wasn’t enough to put Emma off their tradition. Her only other option would be to sit at home by herself on a Friday while Henry was at a sleepover, and she wasn’t that lame, even if she was a 28-year-old single mother who hadn’t really socialized in over 11 years.

“Okay, good. See you and your wine in a few hours! Bye!”

Maybe someday, Emma would be able to soak up some of the effervescent optimism that her sister-in-law constantly bubbled. But today wasn’t that day.

Because now Emma had to pick a new outfit, and she was unusually annoyed. Given the muggy heat, she was going to let herself wear shorts and a tank top; David and Snow were the only people, outside of Henry, that Emma could let her guard down around, physically or otherwise. People only had one soulmate so there was no risk at contact there when David and Snow were each other’s, and even less so with David being her brother, even if not biologically; the universe may be a dick sometimes but at least it wasn’t gross.

But if someone else was going to be there, she’d have to wrap back up. These were the moments she wondered if it was worth it, keeping herself protected—if she died of heatstroke, it wouldn’t matter either way. And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have normal human interactions with people, and it might not be so bad to go on a date or two—some kind of adult activity. David and Snow were proof that it wasn’t all bad, even if it was sickly sweet sometimes; she had more than a few moments of jealousy ever since they met, way back in high school.

But then the past would rear its head and she’d remember why she put herself through this. No, she was better off without.

She sighed and sadly pulled off the cute sleeveless blouse she was wearing. She didn’t usually do wear something so girly and was kind of looking forward to it. Although...the red flowers in it did match her jacket...

Giving it a shot, she tugged on a long-sleeved shirt, then slipped the blouse back on. The layered look was still a thing, right? And the blue background on the blouse matched her jeggings. It worked. She paused a bit to admire her reflection, then started to head out, grabbing her jacket and the wine from the kitchen before slipping on her gloves and heading out.

The AC in her old yellow Bug was cranked all the way up as she made the 20-minute trip to her brother’s house, tucked away in one of the nicer, if small, neighborhoods. She pulled into the driveway of their little bungalow and immediately groaned when she saw the car already parked there: an unfamiliar old Chevy muscle car that screamed “douchebag”.

Her mind’s eye was already conjuring the image of some alpha male gym rat, or worse, some preppy rich kid who was a third cousin of the Kennedys and made sure you knew it. She started bracing herself for a less-than-enjoyable evening in the mad dash between her car and the front door, lest she melt before getting inside.

But there was no one in the front room when she let herself in. “Hello?” she called out, carefully making her way through the house; crap, what if this guy had killed them or something? Thank goodness Henry wasn’t here. She started glancing around for blunt objects to use as weapons, until she remembered she had a full bottle of wine in hand; it’d be a waste of booze, but it’d do the job.

“Out here!” came Snow’s voice through the door to the back yard. Emma relaxed a little, knowing they were alive, but still didn’t let her guard down; that wasn’t something she did easily. 

Although, looking back, maybe if she had relaxed a little, she wouldn’t have been so tense and focused on her family’s well-being that she skipped the last step down to the patio, making her lose her footing, drop the wine, and fall—into unfamiliar arms.

Her hair fell over her face in a curtain, both protecting her from and blinding her to whoever had caught her. But the jacket she could feel under her gloves wasn’t something David would wear this time of year, and those definitely weren’t her brother’s boots or skinny jeans.

“Woah there, lass—you alright?”

And that really wasn’t David’s English accent.

Instinctively, she let go of his (admittedly firm) biceps and fell backwards, definitely sticking her hand in the shattered glass of the bottle—she could feel it cut through her glove to her palm—but putting a good amount of distance between her and this Killian guy.

She hissed at the cut, and quickly brushed her hair aside with the other hand to inspect the damage. The glove was wrecked, but she couldn’t tell what of the red stuff on her hand was blood and what was wine.

Shade fell on her as David and Snow hovered, but the stranger was the only one who intervened. “Let me see,” he said, and rached for her forearm.

“It’s fine,” Emma tossed back, more out of habit than anything. It certainly stung, but her biggest worry was that she’d have an uncovered hand.

“Your hand is cut. Let me see,” the man demanded, his tone just commanding enough to jolt her. Who the hell did he think he was?

Before she could protest again, he grabbed her wrist and tugged it toward him—with another gloved hand. That was...unexpected. She finally dared to look at him, but all she could see was a mess of dark hair and a strong nose as he inspected her palm.

“It’s not that deep, thankfully,” he assessed, and even from this angle, she could see his thick brows furrowing in study. “But we should still clean it up.”

And then he looked up at her, and all her desire to tell this cocky asshole off was put on hold. Because she was staring into what were probably the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and that tender a gaze should not belong to someone she’d literally just fallen onto. He should be mad, shouldn’t he? Wasn’t that usually what happened? But, if she was reading this correctly, he was worried...about her?

Did she hit her head, too? What the hell was going on?

She just blinked and gaped at him, until David stepped in front of her to help pull her up. She didn’t shy away from his touch, or the hug he gave her once she was upright. “I’ll clean up the bottle; you let Killian take care of you.”

“Okay,” she mumbled back, and followed Killian back into the house. It wasn’t until they were in the upstairs bathroom that she came out of her fog—more specifically, when he was pouring rubbing alcohol on her cuts. “Ah—what the hell?”

“I tried to warn you,” he replied curtly, then lightly dabbed at the mess with a hand towel. She noticed that he hadn’t taken his own gloves off yet, despite somehow managing to get her trashed one off without her noticing.

“‘S okay,” she muttered. He was almost clinical as he cleaned the (mostly wine) mess from her hand and applied ointment, though it didn’t escape her notice that one hand was noticeably stiffer than the other.

“Alright, I’m gonna wrap it up, but I might need your help; this requires a bit more dexterity than this thing can offer,” he explained, holding up the stiff hand.

“It’s a fake?”

“Aye; a good one, but not perfect.” Part of her wanted to ask, but she swallowed down her untoward curiosity.

They passed the roll of gauze between the two of them until her palm was covered, but she gave him a surreptitious once-over while they worked: he too was dressed in an unseasonable black leather jacket, the jeans she’d noticed earlier, and a navy oxford shirt with the collar popped, buttoned to his neck.

“Aren’t you hot?” she asked as he secured the end of the bandage; it was a tight wrap, but not constricting, making her wonder where he learned first aid.

He just smirked, which cut a dimple into the gingery scruff that covered his sharp jaw. “Does that mean you find me attractive, love?” he tossed back as he cleaned up the tiny mess they’d made.

She huffed; maybe she was right about her first assessment of this guy—what kind of cocky jerk said that? (Even if it was true.) “Not what I said. It was a question; not a statement.”

He put the bandage wrapper in the trash and then gathered the soiled towel. “I’d explain it, but I think you already know the answer.” His eyes traveled down her body much like she’d just done to him, then intensely met her gaze, an expressive eyebrow arched almost in challenge.

Something about him made her squirm, but she couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way yet. Or if maybe she really was sweating to death in this outfit. 

He stepped toward her, and she sucked in a breath, instinctively moving away from him. “It’s alright,” he assured her, holding his hands up where she could see them as he continued toward the bathroom door. “Just going to toss this and head back outside.”

If the manner of dress weren’t enough, the fact that he was able to read her reaction definitely confirmed the fact: he was trying to avoid touch as much as possible, too.

“Yeah,” she answered, trying (and failing) to play it cool. “Uh, thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he said, with a slight bow of his head, then turned and headed out of sight.

She sighed once he left. What the hell had just happened? What kind of guy just cleans wounds for people he doesn’t know, especially one who apparently held the same no-touching policy? 

And why did she let him? She was no stranger to cleaning up her own injuries—at least, the ones that didn’t require a trip to the ER. She was a mom, for god’s sake; she was usually the one fixing boo-boos.

She took a deep breath and let it out, trying to shake some of these weird nerves off. Then actually shook—her head, hands, arms, whole body. It helped, but she still felt a bit off-tilt. And she didn’t even have any wine to help her deal with it. Fuck.

But she couldn’t hide in the half-bath forever, so she fixed her hair in the mirror and then headed back to the yard. Killian was already there, seated under the umbrella at the patio table nursing a beer. Dave was manning the grill while Snow picked up the bottle shards.

“Hey, let me help—” Emma tried to intervene, but Snow brushed her off. 

“It’s fine; I don’t want you to get cut again. Just grab a drink and have a seat.”

Even though she couldn’t see Snow’s face, Emma was pretty sure it had a self-satisfied smirk on it. They’d probably just reenacted some romance novel trope and she could see another one about to play out—and Snow knew it.

Emma grabbed a beer from the cooler by the grill, making sure to quickly tease Dave on his mediocre grilling skills, and then turned her attention to the table. The smart thing for her would be to sit opposite Killian, keeping the full table and umbrella pole between them. But that would force Snow and David to sit opposite as well, and it was kind of an unspoken rule that they never did that; it made it too hard for one to grab the other’s hand and mentally share some piece of gossip or inside joke.

So Emma took her seat next to Killian, but made sure the chair was a respectable distance away from his. It was a little awkward at first, because he seemed just as (not) interested in conversation as she was, but there was still a heaviness to the air that had nothing to do with the humidity.

“Um, thanks again,” she started, not knowing how else to break the unsteady silence.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing it off with another sip of his beer. Whatever softness she’d seen earlier was back in hiding; she couldn’t really judge him for it when that was her usual MO.

It got quiet again, until David started yelling and jumping away from the flames shooting up from the grill.

“Fuck!” “Bloody hell!” they shouted at the same time. 

David was fanning it with a potholder when Snow rushed to his side. “What the heck are you doing?” she chastised, then jumped forward and turned down the heat. “Are you trying to show off, you pyromaniac?”

The pair at the table snorted as Snow continued to lecture him about grill safety, even if they couldn’t hear half of it; the look on her face as she held tight to David’s forearm and stared him down said everything.

“Are they always like this?” Killian asked, his tone lighter than it had been a minute ago.

“Oh my god, always. And it’s been like this for 12 years.”

“Damn.”

Snow stormed off inside while David slunk back to the grill and pulled the steaks off of it.

“And they’re really soulmates?” Killian wondered, though she couldn’t tell if it was rhetorical or not.

“Yup,” was all she answered, and took another sip of beer.

Killian just hummed and stared at the condensation rings from his bottle on the glass-top table. There was something dark and faraway in his gaze; part of her knew it wasn’t her business, but a weird part of her wanted to cheer him up.

“Would you believe that those two are trying to set us up?” she said quietly and conspiratorially.

“Huh?” He looked up, blinking; it took a moment for his eyes to refocus on her. “Oh, aye; I had a suspicion.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be offended or relieved at his indifference. “Yeah, they tend to do that. So, you might wanna get used to it.”

He took another long sip. “David knows my feelings on that matter; I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

Emma snorted again. “Dude, I’m his sister. He knows exactly why I’m not interested in anything and that still hasn’t stopped them.”

“And why is that?”

“I—” She cut herself almost immediately, because she was just about to spill her life story to this guy who she’d met literally half an hour ago. She didn’t even like thinking about all that, let alone discussing it. So why was she so ready to spill all her beans? “I don’t really like talking about it,” she finally said, in a small voice.

“I know the feeling,” he answered, just as somberly. “Cheers to tragic backstories?” He extended his arm to her, bottle leaning forward in invitation to a toast.

“Cheers,” she said back, clinking the glasses together (but holding back a bit in case of another shatter). 

Typically, the idea of meeting someone with as much emotional baggage as she carried sounded exhausting; but with Killian, she couldn’t help but be curious. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to shun the idea of soulmates, but it was rare to go to the lengths that she and Killian were going to. She heard the tuts and saw the pitying stares from people as she went about her day, especially this time of year when it was so obvious. And she was usually good about not letting it get to her—all she had to do was see Henry’s face to remind her why she did it. She’d never met anyone else who did, though, and wondered a bit at what Killian’s reasons were.

But, as she reminded herself, she’d just met the guy; it was hardly appropriate to pry when she wasn’t about to reveal anything herself. Thankfully, Snow arrived at the table at that moment with a tray covered in food, and they dug into the meal, maintaining a casual level of chat the whole time. It turned out that David met Killian while he was out for a run; David was the crazy type to go out at dawn, so when he ran into someone else doing that, it took his notice and they bonded almost immediately. That wasn’t a rare thing in David’s life, but based on the bashful expression on Killian’s face, she could tell it was for him. 

After dinner had been cleared away and the pie brought out, Snow declared, “Oh, this was so nice. I’m so glad you were able to come, Killian.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, milady; thanks for the hospitality.”

“Oh, don't mention it,” she waved off. “I just wish he could have met Henry, too!”

“Who’s Henry?”

“My son,” Emma interjected. Who would probably also try to pull Killian into their family sphere; he was a lot like her brother in that regard. “He’s at a friend’s tonight, but this is our weekly tradition.”

“I’m not intruding, am I?” He seemed worried all of a sudden.

“No,” the other three were quick to assure him. “Besides,” Snow continued, “it seems like you're fitting right in. You two seemed to be getting on well,” she added with a wink.

“Too much, Snow,” David muttered beside her, focusing on clearing dishes.

“What? I’m just saying—”

Gently, David placed his hand over hers and found her gaze. It was pretty obvious again to imagine the private conversation they were having, but it still made Emma feel like she was invading their privacy, so she went back to picking at her pie crust. A glance at Killian saw him doing the same.

After a long awkward silence that the couple was completely unaware of, David removed his hand and started gathering plates. “Well, I mean what I said,” Snow continued, albeit a bit less forcefully. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

“I appreciate that,” he said softly, blushing a bit if she wasn’t mistaken—it was hard to tell in the shade of the umbrella if it was that, or just overheating. “I’ll be sure to bring better beer next time, too; is this really what you Yanks consider good ale?”

“I heard that!” David shouted from the open kitchen window.

“‘Yanks’?” Emma teased. “You sound like you just got off the boat from England.”

“I did,” he quickly replied. “In fact, it’s still docked in the harbour.”

“It’s been—what, a month?” Snow added.

“About that, yeah,” he confirmed. “And I still haven’t managed to find anything better than barley water to drink.” He glanced down at the label of his beer. “Sam Adams? Sounds like a ponce.”

“Mm, those are fighting words around here,” Emma threw back with a grin; she hardly even noticed how fast, or how easy it was, to slip into banter with him. “And I think we already know who won that war.”

“Yeah, but we got the good beer, so it’s probably a draw.”

It was kind of amazing how quickly they fell into casual conversation, especially when she usually hated insincere smalltalk. Killian was funny and charming, and despite the apparently short time they’d known each other, always had a ready quip for David. It was kind of adorable seeing the way his eyes sparkled and the fine lines next to them crinkled as he laughed.

Wait, what? Admitting he was attractive was one thing—not like anyone could argue against it—but...being endeared to him? That was a whole other level of nope she didn’t want to deal with.

But then he told another joke and that concern was put back on the backburner.

Eventually, the evening wrapped up, and Killian cited work as a reason for leaving early. She kind of felt bad—ever since she’d mentioned the weekly tradition thing, she could see an uneasiness in his eyes that told her he felt like he was trespassing; she knew it because it was how she felt in most of the actual family homes she’d been in growing up, and for a long while at the Nolans, even after the ink dried on the adoption forms. 

“I hope he didn’t feel like he had to leave,” Snow said, echoing Emma’s thoughts, while the two of them were doing the dishes—with no more threat lurking, Emma had removed her other glove and her jacket, finally feeling a bit cooler. “He’s still so new here, and I don’t think he’s had time to make many friends yet.”

Part of Emma wanted to protest on his behalf—she still remembered being so overwhelmed by the Nolans initial drive to introduce her to anyone and everyone; even to this day, she only maintained a few good friendships and only a handful of casual ones. If Killian was as skittish or uncomfortable in that regard as she was, he wouldn’t want to be paraded in front of half the city.

But she also knew how good it was to find that kind of connection and support with someone like she had with Snow; they were close even before the discovery of her and David’s soulmate status. Emma didn’t doubt he had friends back in England, but having someone stateside would no doubt make the transition easier; it definitely would have as a kid.

“Well, at least he’s got us,” she finally answered. 

Friends. She could totally do friends.

Right?

----------------------------------------------

thanks for reading! Hope you stick around for the next couple chapters!

tagging some peeps: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @killianmesmalls @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich​ @killian-whump​ @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis

[serahsanguine]

Vacation Series Pt. 2. Halloween Surprises Ch, 4

This is the second book in a two-part series

Book one. - pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

Book Two. - pt. 1, pt, 2, pt. 3, 

All chapters can be found Here on Ao3

This Chapter Rating; NC-17 NSFW

Tagging; @skullsmuldon @baronessblixen @today-in-fic

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

Chapter 4; Day Four - Vanity Fair

Mulder woke up and felt the cold sweat of Scully’s skin as he rolled her over slightly and nuzzled his nose into her strawberry smelling hair. Whispering reassurances over and over again tell her he loved her, that they were safe. She opened her eyes adjusting to the darkness she could tell she had been crying and she clung to Mulder’s body. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, care to tell me about it?”

“I will but not now, I'm going to grab a glass of water.”

“Ok,” he said simply not wanting to push the matter and make it worse.

“I’ll be quick I promise, the fires nearly out and the room is quite chilly” she leaned back over to him her finger gracefully touching his cheek “I’m ok I promise”

He smiled weakly and watched her wander to the bathroom. She switched the light on and grabbed the glass she kept by the sink and ran the water cold before filling it and taking a sip.  

It didn’t agree with her and everything she had eaten the day before all came up and into the toilet bowl. Mulder was up in a flash and by her side for support. His hand grabbing her hair to keep it out of her face and his other hand rubbing her back. He helped soothe her as best he good but he felt useless.

5 minutes passed and everything that was coming up was out and now all that was left was her dry heaving into the bowl. She sat on the cool tile floor and Mulder had grabbed a washcloth and ran it under cool water to apply to her head and neck. 

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked concerned.

“No, but I think that’s it for now,” she replied solemnly.

“What happened?"

“The bowling alleys hotdog disagreed with me,” she said trying to calm her breathing down and trying no to throw up her stomach acid. 

“You did say you didn’t think it tasted right,” he said in confirmation. 

She nodded and rung the washcloth out and ran it under the tap before replacing it to her skin. “That'll teach me to listen to your advice and eat junk food.”

“This is not my fault,” he said defensively and looked away at the floor.

She smiled and locked her fingers with his, he looked up into her face and smiled back and realized she was teasing him.

“Nice to see you're making jokes, are you ready to go back to bed?”

“Yes, I think so.” 

Scully stood up and went to walk out of the bedroom but Mulder scooped her up under the legs and carried her to bed. 

“I can walk you know,” she said laughing.

“I know but I felt chivalrous,” he replied smiling back down at her. 

He wrapped the blanket around her skin and she was asleep instantly, it was a little while before he fell back to sleep making sure she had everything from a sick bucket a fresh cup of water. He was worried for her and hoped she was up for tomorrow as he knew she was really looking forward to the vanity fair.

//

Both Mulder and Scully had been awake for several hours now dealing with some of the preparations for tomorrow's Halloween party. 

The Lone Gunman had gone way overboard on the pumpkins, buying 25 of them to be exact, all of them needed to be scooped and cleaned with the inside of the pumpkin put in a bowl to make pies for tomorrow.  Mulder and Scully were sat by the kitchen island, Scully’s hair was tied back in a low ponytail keeping the pumpkin from attaching itself to her hair. She was wearing a low cut vest top with a cardigan buttoned up, her jeans covered buy an apron, she was cleaning out her second pumpkin. Mulder was wearing black joggers and a grey tank top also cleaning out his second pumpkin. All of them agreed to do 5 pumpkins each and once cleaned they would get to do a different design on each one.

Mulder watched as Scully was finishing up, he just stared and watched for awhile he knew she was still feeling quite ill from yesterday but was putting on a brave face as they sat trying not to let on. But when you look deeper she was aglow her skin porcelain and freckled but her cheeks were red from the fire and warmth of the house. Loose curled hair framed her beautiful face her eyes downcast at the task at hand. Her nose is small and quaint, her lips pink luscious and kissable but they were covered by the tip of her tongue just darting out from between her lips. He smiled because she didn’t know she did this, and she only did it when she was concentrating he never brought it up in case it made her self conscious and she would stop. 

She looked up and caught him staring at her and instantly she blushed it didn’t matter whether they were in a relationship or not whenever he looked at her like that it sent her into little schoolgirl crush mode. 

They got through the rest of the pumpkins creating creepy ghosts, ghoulies, monsters and cats, even carving an X into the largest one they had between them. 

Mulder placed a tea light in his last pumpkin and held it up next to him, he had carved a face with a large smile into it.  

“Scully, You light me up,” he held up the lit pumpkin and then looked at her with a cheeky smile on his face.

She looked at him and smiled and then proceeded to laugh at his awful pun.

“How long have you been holding that one in?”

“Since we started. ”

“You’re incorrigible” she carried on laughing. She managed to calm herself down some minutes later and watched him as he scooped some of the ‘guts’ of the pumpkin into his hand.

“Don’t you dare Mulder.”

She watched as if in slow motion he pulled his hand back and threw the pumpkin insides at her. His evil smirk said everything she needed to know as she picked up some of her insides and threw it back at him. 

“Do you really want this to turn this into a food fight, Scully?

“You started it, Mister.”

They threw pumpkin back and forth until the whole kitchen was covered in orange blobs and seeds he had definitely achieved his goal of helping to cheer her up and not think about how awful she felt.  

“Thank you,” she said quietly. 

“Anytime, but we need to get this place cleaned up before the boys get home.”

She looked around at the room and sighed their little bit of fun had caused so much chaos. 

“Ok, I will get the mop and you get the broom.”

Mulder followed Scully to the cleaning closet, she grabbed the mop and he grabbed a Halloween broom. 

He looked at Scully, witches broom in hand “Stick with me.” 

She rolled her eyes and he watched her laugh as she walked back into the kitchen. He put the decorative item down and grabbed the real thing and proceeded to help her clean up the mess they had created. 

//

That Following Night.   

Scully was still under the weather and feeling sick but was miles better then she was feeling the night before. She was just putting the finishing touches on her outfit. She wore a red dress that came up just above her knees, black tights and red pumps. Her hair was down and curly around her face, her face with just a small touch of makeup. Her gold cross sitting firmly in the middle of her neck. 

She walked out of her bedroom and down the stairs finding Mulder staring at her from his seat in the living room. His face in awe of her beauty. 

“Mulder close your jaw, you’re catching flies.”

“I… ugh… Wow”

She blushed profusely. But quickly turned it around back on him. She raked her eyes down on his form, his Jean's were dark and acid washed and they curved his ass perfectly, she remembered the first time he wore them, his ass looked smackable. At least this time she could actually touch him. His attire above the waste consisted of a grey t-shirt paired with a black leather jacket. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself Mulder,” now it was Mulder's turn to blush. Scully slipped on her black trench coat and hooked her arm inside Mulders and they walked into town towards the vanity fair. 

10 minutes later they arrived, it was beautifully decorated, there were streamers full of ghosts and cobwebs everywhere complete with freaky looking spiders. Chinese lanterns with amazingly drawn mythical creatures hung from above and they had pumpkins of every variety placed all over. What really surprised them both is they even had characters from Mulder’s new favourite movie ‘A Nightmare Before Christmas’ with people dressed up as Oogie Boogie and Jack Skeleton, even children adorned costumes as Lock, Shock and Barrel. 

“Mulder, can we go over there first?”

Mulder followed Scully gaze as she pointed towards the shooting stall. He smiled. 

“Only if you think you can beat me, Scully.”

“Is that a challenge Mulder?” she said emphasized his name, he simply nodded in return “You’re on” and off they walked towards the shooting stand. 

The stands colours were bright orange and yellow, exactly what you would normally find at a funfair. But instead of shooting a family of plastic ducks you were shooting a family of pumpkins. 

“You being a hot shot can go first.”

“Thank you,” he was feeling cocky and she could tell she as she watched him line up with the plastic cork gun in hand he shot them hitting ten out of 13 targets.

“Not bad Mulder.”

“Your turn Scully but that is hard to beat.”

“We shall see,” she thought she walked to the stand picking up the loaded cork gun taking the right stance she aimed the gun and fired hitting every pumpkin and not missing one. 

“Wow Miss, that was brilliant” Scully beamed a full toothy grin at the stall, “Which large plush would you like?”

“That one please” she pointed at the rather large grey alien hanging from the ceiling. 

“Here you go, Miss.”

“Thank you,” she took the large plush toy from the elderly man, said her goodbyes and they left to find another attraction.  

They found the candy floss stall and Mulder ordered them both a cone each. 

“I have a sugar crush on you,” he said sweetly.

“Oh brother,” as she rolled her eyes and in search for a small bench to eat and talk away from the crowds. 

“Here you go, Mulder, this is for you,” she said handing him the grey plush toy.

“I.. Don’t know what to say, Scully. You didn’t have to give me this you won it fair and square.”

“I may have, but It's not that I had to give it to you it, I wanted too. Just say thank you, Scully, and give me a kiss. ”

“Thank you, Scully.”

He leaned forward brushing his lips against hers and the fireworks of passion ignited there, he pulled away but not before she pulled him back again, her tongue probing inside his mouth tasting cotton candy and mulled wine.

“Mmm, You taste good Mulder.”

He pulled away his cheeks red and a boyish grin upon his face. 

“How about the House of Horrors next?”

“Is that the one with all the mirrors?” he opened his mouth to reply but she carried on talking not letting him say a word. “Because if it is the answer is definitely no. We have been there and done that, never again.”

“Ok, so that’s out the picture, how about the haunted house?

“Really?” she raised her eyebrow in scepticism. 

“Yeah, come on Scully it will be fun.”

“Fine why not.”

They soon finished their cotton candy and went to the haunted house. Stepping inside to complete darkness, Mulder went first in protection. Scully laughed making a comment that plastic does not kill anyone. They walked the corridors as plastic mannequins decorated with fake blood jumped out of nowhere. Vampires, jumping spiders also popped up, Scully could not help but laugh as every time something made Mulder jump he screamed like a girl and then pretended to be all macho and act as if nothing happened. Finally, they got to the end and it was straight on the ghost train which was full of mostly the same stuff but with added fog, mist and neon lights. Scully took the opportunity to snuggle into Mulder's side while they went around the track. He was warm and smelled like Paco Rabanne and her Paris perfume, it was a gentle mix but one that certainly suits them both. 

Their evening at the funfair came to an end and it was time to go home. They took a small stroll along the beach watching the moon reflect on the calm ocean. They arrived home and noticed the Lone Gunman had kept the fire going in the living room for them so the house wasn't as brisk as the outside. They took off their coats and both wandered upstairs, Scully slipping her pumps off along the way and depositing the rest of her clothes in the bedroom, she slipped into her cotton full-length pyjamas before sliding in between the sheets. She watched as Mulder unclothed and found an old t-shirt to lay in bed with making sure to grab the book before getting comfortable. They would both forgo their nightly routine, they were much too tired.

With Mulder propped up with pillows behind his back and Scully laying on the side of his body with her face and head in his chest. He began to read. 

“On the brink of what was once known as ‘The River Hill’ at the east of Main Street in Williamston, there formerly stood an old hotel building. Owned and operated by the Edward Yellowy family in the early and middle 1800’s, the hotel was frequented by captain and sailors. From barges and ships while they were docked at the Roanoke River wharf just below ‘The River Hill.’

He looked down to find she was still awake her eyes were drooping but she was listening intently. 

“Incidentally, one of Edward Yellowlys' sons, Edward C. Yellowly, practised law in Greenville and was one of the principles in what was said to be among the last duels fought in North Carolina. The duel took place at the Virginia-North Carolina state line along the Dismal Swamp canal in October 1947, and Yellowly’s opponent, C.F. Harries, another Greenville lawyer, was killed in the encounter. 

“Returning to the old hotel, it had a handsome mahogany stairway and a large balcony covering the entire front. The front veranda was elevated so that the carriages could drive under it. It’s said that a misunderstanding developed between a honeymooning couple staying at the hotel and the young bride leapt off the balcony to her death it was the reason that the place developed a reputation for being ‘Haunted’.”

He stopped and listened to her calm breathing and soft snore he carried on reading to make sure she was completely asleep before putting the book down, that and he hated leaving a story not finished. 

“The hotel was finally abandoned, but an ancient piano was left in it. Some of the neighbourhood children in the old days would go into the abandoned structure and play the piano. There were also rumours that musical sounds could be heard in the building when no one was around. Some thought the music was played without human hands, and an examination would show that there was undisturbed dust on the keys of the piano. When this writer was a child, all children were afraid to go into this old hotel or even pass by the place when alone. It was widely known among the children as ‘The Haunted Hotel’.”

Mulder leaned over to his side of the bed and placed the book down softly, Scully was still asleep on his chest and he fell asleep along with her.