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[dillonhede64]

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[britishassistant]

What happens if Yuu goes on vacation or needs to leave the city for business?

Would they just leave and not tell the villains? Leaving them to wonder where they went and potentially tear the city apart?

Would they tell them and risk the full time villains showing up? Or Vil/Kalim/Jamil/Riddle to show up for business purposes?

Who hopes to catch them in a bathing suit?

@mister-jedblack said: I wonder what if Yuu and Yuuken took a vacation to Yuu’s parents house and they didn’t told the NRC villains that they’ll be gone for two weeks. What’s their reaction about it.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon and mister-jedblack!

Yuu and Yuuken decide to use their saved up holiday to go back to Yuu’s parents’ place for the week of Yuu’s birthday so they can actually celebrate with some peace and quiet and puppies rather than Yuu just being getting kidnapped and being unable to celebrate altogether.

Only Uncle Divvy knows what they’re doing, and was the one who came up with the whole idea in the first place.

Amazingly, nothing happens on the journey out of the city, and they enjoy a quiet drive to the country with very little traffic, debating playfully about what music they should be listening to.

Waterboy breaks into Yuu’s apartment on the evening before their birthday to see that it’s empty. Yuu isn’t at any of the other locations Snake Charmer told him to check if Yuu wasn’t at the apartment either. Even Grim can’t tell Kalim where Yuu is, depite promising the monster cat the best tuna money can buy.

Kalim panics.

He calls Tsunotaro and begs him to give Yuu back if he’s taken them, because he and Jamil have a really cool scheme that they wanna show Yuu, but he can’t find them anywhere! Please, please Tsunotaro, give Yuu back? They’ll only keep them for like, an hour tops, he promises!

Malleus, who does not have Yuu, is very confused. And once he figures out what Waterboy is yammering about, very, very panicked.

Malleus orders Sebek to call those two Card Soldier minions Yuu is hanging around all the time and see if Royal Flush doesn’t have Yuu in his grip.

Ace and Deuce are very confused when Sebek texts each of them and orders them to call and put Yuu on the phone. Ace and Deuce both that Yuu isn’t there, shouldn’t Sebek just call their apartment if he wants to talk to them?

Sebek is not good at hiding the fact that Yuu may be missing.

Ace goes to scope out Yuu’s apartment while Deuce messages Jack and Epel, asking if Yuu is in the King or Poison Queen’s lair. When Royal Flush, Trey and Cater assemble for dinner and ask Deuce where Ace has gone, he’s not able to lie very well to his boss and seniors.

Now Royal Flush is calling Ace every 3.25 minutes and demanding status updates on the search for Yuu. Meanwhile, Jack and Epel have questioned their respective seniors and employers to ascertain that Yuu definitely isn’t in their lairs. Leona and Vil aren’t stupid though, and this line of questioning inspires both of them to send their lieutenants out to investigate.

Vil calls Tsunotaro just to make sure Yuu isn’t just out on another odd gargoyle sightseeing walk somewhere abandoned. Meanwhile, Leona calls Leviathan to see if the creepy octo bastard has tied up the reporter in his basement to feed to his eels or something, fully willing to lay siege if this is the case.

While all this is spiraling out of control, since Malleus doesn’t have Yuu, Kalim has called Jamil in a tizzy, clutching Grim who’s similarly freaked out, blabbering about how Yuu’s gone, no one knows where they are, what if they’ve been kidnapped, what if they’re gone forever, what do they do?!?

Jamil spends thirty minutes trying to calm Kalim and Grim and himself down, before making the executive decision to get into contact with the one supervillain who could possibly find the missing reporter in the shortest amount of time.

Snake Charmer calls Charon and asks him for the current location of Yuu’s cell phone.

Idia is immediately sus of the request, not quite buying the fact that Yuu is with Snake Charmer and worried that they’ve lost it. His hackles are only raised when he does use the tracking app he covertly installed and sees Yuu’s cell phone is somehow miles out into the country. He answers Snake Charmer’s question more out of confusion than anything else, only to be met with a dial tone as Jamil suddenly hangs up on him.

The final nail in the coffin is when Leviathan then calls him, worry in his voice barely covered by the smarm turned all the way up to demand the same thing Snake Charmer just asked him. He tells Ortho to fly out to these coordinates with his tablet to see wtf is going on.

Meanwhile, Jamil, Kalim and Grim have stolen one of the Asim company cars and are speeding out of the city. They end up driving by where Ace, Ruggie and Rook are caught in a standoff, with Rook recognizing the occupants of the car thanks to his keen eyesight. Rook immediately calls Vil and tells him he’s in pursuit of a car with this licence plate.

Ace and Ruggie refuse to let him leave peacefully and not lose the car unless they get to go with him, so the three of them end up piled on the back of a moped to give chase.

Vil cuts off Malleus’ rambling to order Epel to get in the Queen Machine and get going. Malleus, suspicions roused, commands Lilia, Sebek and Silver to follow the Pomefiore villains in the Dragon Mark ‘59 Copter that Lilia bought on a whim because he said it “looked perfectly evil!”

This vehicle is much more like a dune buggy with a propeller on top than an actual helicopter, so Malleus and Sebek are forced to crouch on either side of the “cockpit” while Silver drives and Lilia gleefully hangs upside down from the undercarriage and freaks out passersby below.

Ortho is understandably shocked when he sees them flying alongside him, Sebek screaming above the wind to ask if they’re going the right way.

Riddle receives Ace’s text that he’s en route out of the city following a car that might have Yuu inside, and rallies Trey, Cater and Deuce onto the first train out the city in that direction available. It’s awkwardly packed with tired workers at this time of night who do not appreciate Cater’s attempts to document the journey through selfies.

Meanwhile Leona and Jack are having a standoff with Azul and the Leech twins over the bus that Jack and Leona are trying to steal to follow Ruggie’s directions. Jade suggested that if they couldn’t get an answer out of Idia, that they hitch a ride with one of the seven other supervillains who are all rapidly leaving the city, and Leona and Jack were the poor saps generous allies they found!

The poor bus driver who is caught in the middle of this conflict is almost glad when Azul tosses him a wad of cash and Floyd throws him out the doors, Jade taking his place behind the wheel. According to Jack, they’re very behind everyone else on the trail of the wayward reporter, so Jade obligingly steps on it.

The bus smashes through a closed mall and several speed limits on it’s journey out of the city. On the plus side, they catch up to the Queen Machine, Jamil’s stolen car, and the overloaded moped in practically no time at all!

All of these methods arrive at roughly the same moment, though the Heartslaybul villains are forced to frantically push their way off the train and run the mile from the station to get there on time. Poor Trey is very winded.

Whatever nefarious place they expected Yuu to be held, this certainly wasn’t it. A modest, two-story house in the middle of a street full of other houses just like it (and very confused neighbors taking pictures of the menagerie of vehicles from their windows). Still, whatever upstart thought that he could kidnap their reporter out from underneath the noses of the seven most feared supervillains in the city has got another thing coming to him.

The mass of villains and henchmen march up the drive and knock on the door—

Only to be met with Divus Crewel answering it in decidely more casual clothes than he would ever be caught dead in at work, glaring down at them all with a very full glass of red wine in his hand, as more Dalmatians than it seems reasonable to own try to jump up and get out the door to greet the new people behind him.

“Uncle Divvy, who is it?” Yuu calls from inside.

“No one, Yuu.” Divus calls back, one arm pointing imperiously and eyes screaming ‘Go right now and don’t come back, or I swear to the Seven you’ll all be waking up with baboon livers’. “Just someone trying to sell something.”

He waits until all the supervillains have sheepishly shuffled down out of the driveway to firmly shut and lock the door in their faces. They’re not dumb enough to try and infiltrate another way, not if Crewel’s in that house and probably has it filled to hidden traps and defenses up to the gills.

Well, everyone but Grim isn’t dumb enough. He’s currently making his way into the utility room, where he will soon be surrounded by a dozen dogs that want to play with and chase this new cat-like thing! It’s only Yuuken’s intervention later that evening that prevents anyone from getting hurt.

The others are all trying to work out how they’re going to get back to the city. Idia is rapidly firing off questions to Malleus through his tablet about the manufacture of the vintage copter they arrived in. The moped’s out of gas, and the train station is closed, so Azul volunteers the bus for the Heartslaybul villains too. Leona and Jack put their foot down on Jade being behind the driver’s wheel on the way back though. Rook is delighted to be able to go back in the comfort of the Queen Machine!

“Hey Ja—Snake Charmer?” Kalim asks suddenly. “Was it just me or did you see birthday decorations for Yuu in there?”

Yuu sneezes inside the house, wondering what the sudden cold feeling down their spine is.

[novelconcepts]

fic: unexpected

a fill for @karatam’s prompt : “Five things Dani realizes she likes in bed (and one thing Jamie realizes she likes about being with Dani).”

It comes as little surprise to Dani Clayton, who has spent most of her life trying not to pay attention to the things her body craves, that time with Jamie has been unlocking some unexpected doors. It’s embarrassing, sometimes, but not in a way that feels too heavy to bear; the more time she spends with Jamie, the more time she spends feeling progressively better in her own skin, the more she’s bound to understand about what makes her tick. It’s kind of nice, actually. Kind of refreshing, finding situations where she doesn’t feel inclined to hold herself rigid, where she can let her guard down and just exhale. 

Still, there are some experiences which--until they sneak up on her--she absolutely does not see coming.

1

There is a rule in their house about cleanliness. Not because Jamie is a terrible mess, by any stretch of the imagination, but because a small space gets out of control fast. Especially given how much time Jamie spends with both hands buried in potting soil, Dani feels it’s important to set some ground rules. Things like “shoes stay on the plastic tray if you’ve been out gardening.” Things like “clothes caked in dirt go straight into the special hamper to get washed first.”

Things like “if you’re going to initiate anything requiring hands on bare skin, you scrub up first.”

Jamie takes it in stride, agrees wholeheartedly that this is the only safe and hygienic approach to life. She kicks off her boots, drops any mud-encrusted flannel in the proper receptacle, and works the grime out from under short nails without pressure. 

“I’d do this without the rule,” she tells Dani the first time after this conversation, eyebrows arched. “How filthy d’you think I am, anyway?”

Dani chooses not to dignify this with a response. It’s still early-days, all things considered, and Jamie poking her tongue through her teeth on a word like filthy sends her brain places that aren’t conducive to getting anything done.

Still, there are things that test her carefully-imposed boundaries. Not so much the gardening; gardening and Jamie are a singular entity, a packaged deal Dani was wholly aware of long before falling into the woman’s bed. She sees flowers and root webs and clods of dirt packed into pots and thinks, Yes. That’s Jamie. 

It’s the fixing she wasn’t prepared for.

There are things she is better at than Jamie around the house: remembering to pick up groceries, basic human chores like laundry and vacuuming and taking out the trash. And there are the things Jamie has an edge on: hot drinks, building furniture, and repairing just about anything that slips sideways. 

“Grew up without a lot to lean on,” she explains while Dani, feeling a little light-headed in a way she can’t fully explain, watches her replace a questionable light fixture. Her hands are nimble and steady, her eyes on the job at hand, but she’s smiling. “You pick up a lot of convenient tricks along the way, life like that.”

Dani, who grew up in a household marked by her mother having “a guy”--usually neighborhood men with bad facial hair who scrubbed her around the head and called her “little lady”--for just about every little hiccup, can only watch with fascination. Jamie, it seems, has a sixth sense for problems. By the end of their first year together, she’s fixed the bathroom sink, the AC unit, innumerable lightbulbs, and the vacuum cleaner. Never once batting an eye. Just a simple smile and a “give it here, then.”

Dani, for her part, tells herself she’s watching closely to learn. To pick up these convenient tricks Jamie mentions like they’re nothing. To be able to one day make similar repairs while Jamie is busy or out of the house.

She tells herself this, even as her skin grows warm and her mouth goes dry, because there is just something about watching Jamie work. Something she can’t put her finger on about the way Jamie tips her head musingly, inspecting every inch of the problem area like her attention belongs nowhere else. She moves methodically, deliberately, never frustrated, never slamming or swearing. Her hands squeeze and slide, her brow furrowed, and Dani...

Likes this. 

She keeps it to herself, careful not to distract Jamie from the task at hand, even as her own face flushes at the sight of Jamie working a screwdriver or sifting through a set of drill bits. It’s stupid, she thinks with a hot thread of embarrassment, that her legs are weakening at the mere image of Jamie on her back on the bathroom tile, knees bent, arms working to seal some hidden leak in the piping. 

“You want to try?” Jamie asks, head and shoulders in the cabinet below the sink. Dani clears her throat. 

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Jamie says absently, the muscles of her stomach flexing as she arches for that little extra strength to finish up. Dani leans her forehead against the wall, struggling to find some measure of calm before Jamie can extricate herself and catch sight of the look on her face. 

She manages to keep it quiet for months, this strange heat that springs up whenever Jamie’s hands are greasy and her face has that serious cast of inspecting a complicated problem. She might have kept it quiet for months longer--indefinitely, perhaps--if not for Colorado. 

Colorado is, like so many of their trips, a spur-of-the-moment decision. They rent a battered Jeep from a questionable agency, intent on seeing the Rockies as man was always intended: hopped up on a decent amount of bad gas station coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and each other. It’s a good day, cheery sun beaming down from a sky scattered with soft clouds. Dani has been having more and more of these kinds of days, and is starting to think maybe this is the new normal. Less fear. Less tension. Just her hand in Jamie’s as they bump over an endless road in the middle of--

“No,” Jamie says in a low, frustrated tone. Dani, who has been gazing distantly out the passenger window, snaps back to reality. 

“What’s going on?”

The Jeep is slowing. Jamie steers it toward the side of the road, which is to Dani’s eyes the most abandoned place on earth. 

“Something’s off,” Jamie groans. “Engine light came on.”

Engine light came on is one of those phrases Dani intellectually understands is in English, but it might as well not be. She’s grateful for how much Jamie enjoys driving; cars are something of a mystery to her, loud, rattling machines she’d prefer not to ever deal with on her own. 

She steps out onto the road now, arms hugged tight around her body, and watches Jamie pop the hood. The day is as warm as it is beautiful, and it isn’t long before sweat is trickling down the back of her neck. Jamie, in jeans and a flannel shirt, rolls the sleeves up past her elbows and grimaces. 

“Gonna be a minute, I think. But maybe...”

She’s muttering words Dani wouldn’t understand even if she thought Jamie was speaking to her and not a busted set of gears and pistons. Jamie, thankfully, seems to know what she’s talking about as she pushes the hair out of her eyes, ties a bandana around her head, and sets to work. 

She’ll fix it, Dani assures herself, rocking back and forth on her heels in the sunshine. Jamie fixes everything. 

And, in the meantime, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with the view. The horizon is endless, the land green and gorgeous and sprawling out as far as she can process. Dani could stand here for hours, head tilted back to take it all in, letting the clean air bathe her face. 

She could also, she notes, eyes sliding back to Jamie, watch this for hours. Jamie, up on her toes, an emergency set of tools open on the ground. Jamie, sweat beading on her upper lip and trickling down her temples. Jamie, pink-cheeked, the muscles of her forearms from years of groundswork standing out in sharp relief as she jams a wrench beneath the hood and twists.

It is...very hot out here, Dani thinks dazedly. She snaps her eyes away, searching the sky for birds, searching the world for anything that could be more interesting than the sight of Jamie with grease halfway up to her elbows, a dip of skin tantalizing between her shirt riding up and the waistband of her jeans. 

Dani swallows hard. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, currently stranded on the side of a road in Colorado. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, not in a situation that should be excruciatingly appealing. 

Jamie makes a low noise in her chest, pulling hard on the wrench. Something in Dani, already strung tight enough to make her pulse race, seems to snap. 

“Hey,” Jamie protests as the tool drops from her hand and clatters against the pavement. Dani has her around the wrist, dragging her with firm intent away from the open hood. “Hey, Poppins, I don’t think--”

Dani, unable to stop herself, catches her around the back of the neck and kisses her hard. Jamie’s protests go slack against her lips, her hands windmilling uselessly as she tries and fails to locate somewhere safe to place them. 

“I--Dani, what--”

“Can’t explain,” Dani says, muffled, mouth a bit occupied with trying to kiss Jamie stupid. “Just. Need this.”

“Right now?” Jamie asks, plainly bewildered--though, Dani notes, not exactly arguing. Her hands rest gently on Dani’s hips, as though the desire to hang on and the desire not to ruin Dani’s skirt are locked in fervent battle. 

“Right,” Dani groans, licking at the sweat running down the side of Jamie’s neck, “now.”

She fumbles them toward the backseat, pausing every couple of steps to push Jamie hard against the car. There’s something about it--something about the sun beating down, and her hand caught between the hard shell of the Jeep and the soft skin at Jamie’s back, and the way Jamie is making surprised breathy sounds against her ear. Something, most of all, about Jamie trying so hard not to get her dirty while being utterly unable to keep her hands to herself. 

“There’s a rule,” Jamie says, like she’s reciting a play she couldn’t possibly care less about. “Your rule.”

Dani, pulling the back door open and sliding along the gray leather, shakes her head. “House rule. Don't care.”

Jamie’s laughing, but there's something nervous about it, something like she sort of expects to get into trouble for this. “Poppins, you are...something else today.”

Dani pauses, leaning back on her elbows, watching with dark desire as Jamie climbs in after her. The door latches with a soft click, Jamie hovering on her knees over her in the small space. 

“Something okay?” Dani asks, her voice smaller than intended. Jamie grins. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

Dani grabs for her again, unable to pin down the roaring pleasure in her chest as Jamie’s smile lands against her skin. Her hands are wild, roaming creatures with their own agenda, sliding under Jamie’s collar, fisting around Jamie’s shirt. When Jamie kisses the hollow of her throat, she sighs, arches, liking the weight of Jamie between her bent knees. 

There is a rule about dirty hands, it’s true, and they both know it’s for a reason--which is why, eyes on Dani’s face the whole time, Jamie grasps her by the hips and lifts, shifts, eases Dani until her back is pressed against the window. Jamie hooks her fingers into the waistband of underwear already too ruined to be of use, sliding them down Dani’s thighs, shoving them restlessly into the back pocket of her own jeans. 

“Jesus,” she breathes against Dani’s skin, already soaked through with sweat and want. “This much from--”

“Watching,” Dani groans confirmation. One hand is gripping the back of the seat, her knuckles stark against the dark leather. Jamie makes a noise she thinks might be amusement, or utter helpless desire--maybe some mad combination of the two. 

“Didn’t know you had a thing for--”

“Jamie,” Dani interrupts, a sharp plea that snaps Jamie’s attention back where it belongs. They can talk about this later, Jamie teasing her for an unexpected mechanic kink, Dani hiding her face and laughing. Right now, she can focus on nothing but Jamie’s hands, creased with engine oil, gripping her thighs. Sliding smooth down to bracket her kneecaps, up to hold her hips steady. Jamie, mouthing at her slowly, trying to make it last, teasing her with soft flicks of her tongue and warm, soft kisses. 

“Jamie,” Dani repeats, her voice cracking, her free hand winding in Jamie’s hair and pulling. Jamie concedes, head bobbing gently between her legs, body coiled in a position that will probably feel fantastic tomorrow--but, if she cares, she certainly doesn’t show it. Her fingers dig into Dani’s skin, leaving dark stains behind, her mouth drawing Dani tighter by the second. 

Sex with Jamie has never been what Dani would call boring, but something about the sight of her here--eyes closed, breathing hard, fingers pushing Dani’s skirt up as she strains to keep from putting those hands directly between Dani’s legs--has an effect they’ve never quite managed before. Dani, biting hard into the back of her own hand as her hips jerk out of control. Jamie, making the most of the moment, kissing her clean with long, sweet strokes. 

“Jesus,” Jamie says again, sitting up and staring at her. “If I’d known--”

“You’d never have finished a repair around the house,” Dani points out, breathing hard, head lolling back against the glass with a light thump. 

“You’ve been feeling this at the house?” Jamie looks stunned. “Poppins, you’ve been wanting this for months, and you’ve just been letting me fix things instead of taking you to bed? Where the hell are your priorities?”

“Didn’t want to distract you,” Dani mumbles, the drowsy delight of a good orgasm wrapping comforting hands around her good sense. Jamie’s jaw hangs open.

“Poppins.”

“Mm?”

“Distract me. For the love of god. Distract me.”

2

Dani doesn’t go back to teaching. It’s not that she doesn’t love it, not that she doesn’t know she’d still be good at it; it’s more that the world is too unpredictable now. That she is too unpredictable now, unable to tell what tomorrow will look like inside her own head. She’s been feeling better, admittedly--Jamie has a way of making the ground stand still under their feet, of leading her by the hand into warmly-lit places where she feels less like there’s something following at her heels--but it’s not the same. Even before the Lady, before Bly, before fleeing to Europe in the first place, teaching had been heavier than school had prepared her for. So many kids, with so many expectations, so many needs one person couldn’t possibly fulfill. 

So, no--she doesn’t go back to teaching. Teaching feels like the old Dani in some terribly sad way she can’t define. The new Dani turns her attention toward a different kind of cultivation, toward learning how to make people happy with the art of living things. It’s a creative outlet she hadn’t realized she needs. It brings her closer to Jamie, gives her a better understanding of Jamie’s way of seeing the world. It’s different, but she does love it. 

It does not, for all of that, erase old habits. 

She doesn’t really realize she’s doing it, at first. Some things are just so naturally ingrained, so much a part of her daily experience, that she doesn’t think about what she’s saying. 

Until Jamie just stops and...looks at her. 

“What?” Self-consciousness, not a particularly new song, hums under the word. Jamie is gazing at her with head slightly cocked, lip between her teeth. 

“Nothing. Nothing, just...”

Dani reels back the last five minutes, searching for whatever might have put this truly unfamiliar look on Jamie’s face. It’s not teasing, exactly; not bothered, either. It’s...pleased?

Jamie had just passed her with a basket under her arm, laundry rescued from the dryer and folded before Dani had even realized they were ready. She had turned, watched Jamie amble by with a spring in her step that said I have done the thing, and the thing is good, and she had said...

“Oh.” She can actually feel the color draining from her face. “I just, uh. I mean. Habit.”

Jamie grins, still looking a little surprised, but not exactly upset. “No, no, it’s fine, Poppins. Got no argument with being a good girl now and then.”

She winks, throwing an exaggerated little swing into her walk as she makes off toward the bedroom, and Dani sags against the couch. Has she done this before? Has she been absently calling Jamie a good girl upon the completion of  little tasks this whole time, and only just realized?

It is a very particular kind of embarrassing, and Dani does not have the first idea what to do with it. 

“Have I been doing that?” she asks over dinner, picking awkwardly at her pasta and studiously not looking Jamie in the eye. Jamie, midway through pouring a glass of wine, pauses. 

“Doing what?”

“Calling--uh--I mean--”

“Praising me for my efforts about the house?” Jamie is too pleased about this, Dani has decided. Entirely too pleased for her own good. 

“Hey, I can take it back,” she mutters. Jamie snorts, setting a full glass beside Dani’s place and kissing the top of her head. 

“Uh uh. I’ve earned my gold stars, Poppins. Pry ‘em from my cold dead hands.”

Dani downs half the glass in a single swallow, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Jamie is really laughing now, the full-body laugh she reserves for poking fun at Dani with absolute affection. 

“Oh, don't be like that. It’s sweet. Can’t say anyone’s had nice words of the like for me much before you.”

Dani looks up to find Jamie leaning across the table, her expression heartbreakingly earnest. The tension melts slowly out of her body; she realizes she’s made a fist under the table, her thumb tucked into her fingers. Old habits, indeed. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about things like that,” Jamie says, her voice softening. Her hand slides under the table to close over Dani’s flexing fingers, like she knows what Dani was just doing, that Dani was just sliding back to anxieties she’s long tried to bury. “I take no offense at being called good at anything where you’re concerned, Dani. Trust me.”

She does, very much, but even so, she tries to keep a handle on it. Isn’t it condescending, she wonders, speaking to Jamie that way? Why on earth would Jamie appreciate a pat on the head, a gentle assertion of good work?

She gets it under control. Reminds herself she is not a teacher anymore, and Jamie is very appropriately an adult who doesn’t need to be confirmed in her choices at every turn. 

She gets it under control--until one night. One night, spent celebrating an exceptional year at the shop, with too much wine in her system and too many hours spent in a too-public setting to be allowed to touch Jamie properly. They’d sat at a table with a few well-meaning shopkeepers from down the street, and they’d laughed, and drank to hard work and good fortune, and all the while, she’d been watching Jamie out of the corner of her eye. Jamie, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair mussed from hands Dani understood as wanting to be on her body, sifting through her hair. Jamie, chain-smoking cigarettes Dani ached to take from her and place between her own lips, if only to taste Jamie. 

By the time they make it home, her hands are tingling, her body desperate. Jamie, watching her with the smug smile of a woman who knows Dani’s hand has been flexing between her own knees for two hours, makes a show of stretching. Her shirt pulls up from her belt, flashing a glimpse of stomach. 

“Bit tired,” she says. “What do you think, time for bed?”

Dani makes a powerfully undignified noise, and Jamie’s laughter rings bright in the otherwise-silent apartment. She catches Dani by the hand, eyes shining. 

“Honestly, Poppins, you are too damn easy.”

They fall into bed--into couch, really, the bed being far too many steps away--and the world shrinks to the polished buttons of Jamie’s shirt popping open under her tripping fingers, the material of Jamie’s slacks shoved awkwardly down her legs, the trace of Jamie’s tongue around her earlobe as she tries desperately to focus on intricate details like zippers. Jamie, bless and damn her, never seems this clumsy, even with all the wine in the world in her blood. 

“I like it,” Jamie breathes, grinning. “You only get clumsy when you’re desperate.”

She climbs over Dani, curling behind her to better get at the zip on her dress. Dani leans back, dizzy with the rush of Jamie pressed against her back, grinding her hips slowly as if to intentionally drive Dani up the wall. The dress peels away, and Dani hears herself swear. 

“Could you go any slower.”

“Could if I tried,” Jamie murmurs, nipping at her neck. “Why? Don’t like it?”

She splays a hand beneath Dani’s breasts, pressing in tight against her back, rocking against her with little sign of picking up the pace and putting those hands where they’re most wanted. Dani groans, lets her head fall back against Jamie’s shoulder. 

“You,” she says without thinking, “are being a bad girl tonight.”

Jamie freezes. Dani, head buzzing with the aggravation of Jamie playing her little game, Jamie’s fingers toying across her belly, doesn’t hear herself. Not at first. Not until Jamie says in a voice almost like a growl, “That so?”

Oh, Dani thinks. Oh no. I did it again. 

“Tell me, please,” Jamie goes on, hand slinking lower, “how I can get back into your good graces.”

It should be weird. It should be so uncomfortable, slamming the brakes on this whole evening--but Jamie’s hand is on a mission, Jamie’s hips rocking against her faster, and Dani finds she doesn’t care nearly as much as she should. 

“You--know--”

“Tell me anyway.” Jamie’s hand is circling, refusing to continue its descent, and Dani almost wants to laugh. This is insane. This is insane, and stupid, and if she doesn’t get Jamie to keep going, she might just kill her. 

She turns her head, finds Jamie looking at her with pupils blown and lips parted. She reaches back, grabs Jamie by the jaw. 

“Touch me,” she says, her voice firmer than it’s been in a long time. “Now.”

Jamie’s eyes roll back in her head, her fingers dipping between Dani’s legs with obedient speed. Dani sighs, moving to meet her strokes. 

“More,” she hears herself say in that same commanding voice, and Jamie shudders. “Harder.”

She’s never done this before; it’s never crossed her mind to tell Jamie what to do, how to touch her, what she needs. Jamie is intuitive, naturally taking the lead on nights like these, and she’s damn good at it--but this feels incredible in an entirely new way. Her hand slides down to join Jamie’s, curling around Jamie’s fingers as they slide in and out in a series of increasingly rough thrusts. She finds herself arching back, Jamie’s hips bucking as she strains for friction of her own, and when Jamie curls her fingers deep, she curls with her. 

“Fuck,” Jamie groans, shifting her hand out from between Dani’s legs and replacing it instantly between her own. Dani rolls, pushing her flat against the cushions, grabbing hold of Jamie’s wrist and stilling her fingers. 

“That,” she breathes, lips brushing Jamie’s softly enough to burn, “was very good work. Gold star.”

Jamie whimpers, letting her hand drop away so Dani can return the favor. It doesn’t take long at all; Jamie’s pretty far gone even before Dani brushes against her with a hand that no longer feels clumsy. 

“That,” Jamie says when they’ve collapsed in a sweat-slick mess of limbs, “was new. Teacher voice always just sort of on tap, huh?”

Dani resists the suddenly-overwhelming urge to hide her face. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“Don’t much care,” Jamie says, rather happily. “It works for me, as it turns out. I am gonna line these gold stars up on the fridge.”

3

There is something engrossing about being wanted, something Dani never really understood before Jamie. Being wanted before wasn’t exactly a positive sensation; men looking her up and down in malls and bars, eyes like brands on her skin, made her feel like crawling under a table. Women, on the rare occasion she crossed one who met her eyes, were somehow even worse--their smiles were thin, brittle reminders that Dani wasn’t Normal. That, if she ever were to jump from that ledge, these women wouldn’t be there to catch her. Their want was an ice bath, a horrible reminder that there was something wrong with her ability to be wanted. 

And, with Edmund, it was worst of all, because she wanted to want it. Wanted to want the way his eyes started following her out of rooms before they were even in their teens. Wanted to want the way his hands would reach for her as they grew older, as his body began sending signals that she was right, and hers developed an alarm bell that only ever screamed stop, please, go away. 

She should have listened to that alarm bell sooner, probably, but Edmund--for all the horrible suffocating sense of him draped over her life--was also a shield against the rest. With Edmund’s arm around her, she felt caged, but strange men let their eyes slide off her like rain. With Edmund kissing her cheek, she felt wrong, but strange men stopped trying to brush up against her skin. 

The line, however, she had to draw somewhere, and she drew it at marks. Eddie accepted her unwillingness to climb into his bed as classic “good girl” behavior; Danielle, he thought with ease of understanding, wanted to wait until they were married. Sure, fine, good. His mother would approve, and hers would leave them both un-defenestrated by their wedding day. Perfect for everyone.

Still, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to press his lips to her skin. Wanted to make sure she--and anyone else who chanced a look--knew he was always there, etched into her. 

She hated it. Hated the way he’d lean back after leaving a hickey hot on her neck, looking faux-apologetic and more than a little smug. Hated the way, no matter how many times she told him it wasn’t professional for an elementary school teacher to stroll in with love bites, he always seemed to “forget.”

She hated being marked. 

With Edmund.

With Jamie, it’s an entirely different story. 

“Shit,” Jamie sighs. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Dani, shirt slung over the back of a kitchen chair, shifts in Jamie’s lap. There’s something about being able to do this at their own leisure, about Sunday brunch fading into charred bacon and lost-chance waffles as she and Jamie sink into long slow kisses on the other side of the kitchen, that she thinks she’ll never be over. 

Jamie, looking more than a little irritated with herself, is now brushing soft fingertips across Dani’s collarbone. Even that much sends sharp little thrills up her spine. She tips her chin down, tries to see the spot Jamie is pressing against. 

“Left a mark?”

“Yeah.” Jamie sighs again. “Sorry, Poppins, I don’t know my own goddamn--”

Dani laughs. She really doesn’t, is the thing. Jamie, who couldn’t be more unlike Eddie if she tried, genuinely doesn’t ever mean to mark her skin. And it’s not like it happens often. She’s normally pretty good about self-control in ways Dani suspects have to do with a history of punishment and consequence following every action. 

Jamie is grounded. Jamie is restrained. 

Except when Jamie isn’t. And, lately, Jamie has been restrained with her less and less. 

It started the day she told Dani she was in love with her. A thing Jamie had been saying without words for a long time, Dani knew, but it was so good to hear the phrase fall from her lips anyway. So reassuring, to see the nerves in Jamie’s face, the way Jamie’s eyes shone with a desperate need to make Dani understand. 

That day, in the back room of the shop, Jamie had marked her for the first time. Heat still pools in her belly when she thinks of it, even now: how Jamie had shoved her up against the door, hands fevered, mouth a hot wet slide against her throat. Jamie’s touch had felt good; Jamie’s devotion, even better. And something about the sum of it--of being in the shop, where precautions had been taken, but they were still rather public, of Jamie’s nerves still holding the reins, of Jamie’s words still fluttering between them: pretty in love with you, it turns out--had both of them nearly high. By the time they broke apart, giggling and heaving for air, the deed was done. A single red mark, low on Dani’s neck, burning bright for anyone to see.

Jamie had touched it lightly, kissed it gently, face flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean--”

And, somehow, that had been the thing to do it. The thing that sent Dani’s arousal over the edge. Not just Jamie leaving the mark on her skin, but the apology in Jamie’s eyes as she realized. Jamie, never intending to force ownership. Jamie, never striving to show the world she owned Dani’s body. 

Every time since, she’s tried to explain it to Jamie, tried to bring clarity of word to the hot pulse of pleasure she feels. How there’s a wild delight to watching Jamie want her. How Jamie is, as the time passes, getting worse at pretending to be cool about it. 

It isn’t kind, exactly. Isn’t the nice, sweet, orderly thing to do about it. But all the same, Dani finds she’s having trouble not coaxing Jamie along when it’s clear she’s starting to lose control.

She’s taken to loitering in the bathroom while Jamie showers, for example. Most days, it’s innocent; Dani will post up on the counter with a book, or a cup of tea, and they’ll just make small talk through the thin curtain. Jamie will wash quickly, with no sign of needing assistance, and Dani will hand her a towel when the water shuts off. Perfectly fine. Perfectly civil. 

But there are days--usually when the shop has been particularly stressful, when customers have been needy and shipments have been delayed--when Jamie will gesture for her to follow under the spray. Days where Jamie’s nerves are so frazzled, her control over all the tiny little details of owning a business so slim, that she’ll invite Dani to join her. These days, with Jamie loving her under hot water, with Jamie whispering her name into the steam, Dani thinks it is good to be wanted. So good, to be the small bright spot of control in the world for Jamie, who likes understanding how things work, who likes being able to set things right. With her back against the shower wall, Jamie’s mouth sucking sharp hot bites into her shoulder as her fingers stroke and rub between her legs, Dani thinks there’s nothing better than giving Jamie that measure of control. 

She notices it other times, too--usually when the world is bigger than the two of them can stand. When a snowstorm blocks off the whole street, stranding them inside, and the power goes, and it’s just the two of them moving together under a stack of blankets to make their own warmth. When it’s Jamie, fearful of how long it will take to dig them out again, leaving sharp, nervous marks on her breasts only to be dragged back up by the hair to kiss her as her fingers work Dani to orgasm. 

Or when they make the mistake of turning on the news, signs of war and violence and politicians making unacceptable calls about the bodies of their constituents, and the only way to bring Jamie back from the brink of hopelessness is to coax her into shutting it all out. Pinned against the counter with her hands braced, with Jamie biting hard and kissing soft, Dani forgets for a long stretch of matching heartbeats that anyone else exists outside their walls. 

Sometimes, the mark is gone by morning. Sometimes, Jamie ruefully kisses the spot on her throat, the underside of her jaw, her breast, and says, “You really should yank on my hair or something to stop me.” 

Dani can't quite find the words to tell her how much she likes it. How the brief flare of delicious pain, soothed so soon after by Jamie’s tongue, the pad of Jamie’s thumb, Jamie’s soft embarrassment, grounds her in the strangest way. Not because it shows the world anything--she’s good at wearing sweaters that hide the spots nicely, to keep anyone from questioning her “roommate” in the aftermath--but because it shows that Jamie doesn’t need to keep her head when Dani’s around. That, sometimes, the act of giving Jamie full control over their bed and the way their bodies come together, feels as good as the first nervous time Jamie had said she loved her. 

Jamie shows her with every act, every day, that this is love. Jamie in these moments of unrestrained passion is showing her something else. That she’s safe with Dani. That she doesn’t need to hold anything apart from Dani anymore. 

And there is something else to it, as well. Something entirely different. Something about the rare occasion she rolls Jamie onto her back, holds her wrists to the mattress, gazes into Jamie’s eyes in search of permission. Jamie likes to give, in all ways that matter, but sometimes, Dani likes this, too: to give back more than she takes. To grant Jamie not just control, but release. 

On this kind of night, left hand pinning Jamie in place, right hand setting a brisk, rough pace between damp thighs, Dani lowers her mouth to Jamie’s throat. She kisses slow, tasting sweat and that undefined thing that is Jamie alone, and waits for Jamie to chase her hand. Waits for Jamie to writhe beneath her. Waits for the moment where the right twist, the right pressure, sends Jamie over the edge. Then, only then, does she bite down. 

Because Jamie is embarrassed by marking her, but she’s seen the way Jamie looks at the rare mark she receives in the mirror. The way the collar of her t-shirt will slip, revealing a maroon blemish on pale skin. The way Jamie’s eyes grow dark, her body leaning against the counter like she’s suddenly lost all the strength in her knees. 

She really does prefer giving Jamie control, giving Jamie the gift of building a safe space for them both to land. But every so often, it is beyond worth it, to see the look of surprised delight in Jamie’s face when she flips the script. 

4

There are things, though. Things she didn’t know, before Jamie. Things she’d never thought to glance at, before Jamie. 

“I don’t know about this,” she says. Jamie doesn’t look the least bit perturbed. 

“It’s only an idea, Poppins. Can absolutely veto it at any time.”

Dani frowns. “I don’t--I mean, what made you think--”

She’s going about this all wrong. Jamie shakes her head, some of that old shuttered guard dropping into her expression in a way Dani decidedly does not like. 

“I’ve embarrassed you,” Jamie says. “I’m sorry, Dani, I wasn’t trying to--”

“No, It’s just...won’t somebody notice?”

Two women walking into a shop like that. Two women looking around a shop like that, having conversations about what they’d like or like nothing to do with. Somebody is bound to overhear, Dani thinks. Bound to report it down the line, and what then?

They’re in San Francisco, and Dani knows that’s the main reason Jamie’s even talking about this. They’re in San Francisco, have just bought a brownie that, yes, makes her feel more inclined than usual to drop her guard. She’d thought maybe they’d partake of that brownie in the comfort of their hotel room, that she’d follow the buzzing of her body right into the bed with Jamie, and that would be their afternoon spoken for. It had seemed a good idea at the time. 

Jamie, evidently, has other ideas. 

Which is how Dani, with a bit of a body high and the grip of anxiety tight around her throat, finds herself gazing at a Californian sex shop. 

“We do not,” Jamie says, watching her carefully, “and I cannot stress this enough, Poppins, we do not have to go in.”

“There’s...stuff in there.” The brownie is certainly doing its work. Dani swallows hard, searching for words more befitting of the situation. “Toys and things.”

Jamie looks as though she's suddenly trying very hard not to laugh. She seems considerably less high thus far, less inclined to disappear into this sidewalk if only someone were to let go of her arm and allow her to lie down. 

“It’s the brave new frontier,” Jamie says, managing to keep her amusement tamped down in the face of Dani’s wide eyes. “We’re in the 90s now, Dani Clayton. The world is changing.”

“It is,” Dani repeats in a stage whisper that sounds very loud to her own ears, “a sex shop. In California.”

“Bit better stocked than one in England, I’d wager,” Jamie says through a smile that might yet dissolve into giggles. Dani squints at her, trying to stop the street from performing a gentle rotation around her. 

“Whose idea was this again?”

“The brownie,” Jamie says, “was yours, actually. Haven’t tried this, Jamie, that’s what you said. We’re on an adventure, Jamie. I thought a nice spot of grass would do the trick fine enough, but...”

Dani slaps at her shoulder, misses somehow, almost tips over. Jamie catches her around the middle, and there’s a flash--the briefest, there-and-gone flash--of that night. Of Jamie holding her up. Of watching the world spin for a very different reason. 

Life, she thinks with a stab of unease, is very short. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jamie repeats, a bit bewildered. She adjusts her grip, helping Dani find her feet again so she can let go. California is better than most anywhere else--at least this part of California--but it still isn’t good to give the universe an open shot. 

“We can...” She can’t say it. Isn’t quite that high. “We can--”

“Explore,” Jamie supplies. “See the sights. It’s an adventure, after all.”

And it does feel adventurous. There is a bravery in Dani Clayton she never seems able to predict--the things she’s capable of, the things she even finds she enjoys, tend to come out of left field and catch her unawares. Some of these things have a tendency to work out better than others. 

(Example: kissing Jamie. Truly the best snap decision she’s ever made. Inviting a ghost into her body? Maybe not so high on the list.)

But the sun is bright, and the buzz beneath her skin feels good, and there is no sign of ghosts in California. Just a surprisingly well-lit shop with a clerk who gives them a bored nod and a tiny hand gesture that says, Go on, couldn’t care less what you do, long as you’ve got cash. Dani smiles at him, too wide, and wonders if he’s like them. If he, too, has spent a lifetime unable to show off in the world. 

There isn’t much time to think about it, not with Jamie taking her by the sleeve and guiding her through neatly arranged aisles. There are costumes here that make Dani’s skin go white-hot to imagine trying to be serious wearing. There are items designed to vibrate, items designed to bind wrists, items designed for things she really feels better off not thinking about at all. 

“What d’you think?” Jamie asks at one shelf, eyebrows raised, and Dani thinks she’s joking. Probably joking. Must be joking. 

“Have you--I mean, I’d have no idea how to--”

“You could,” Jamie says in a low voice that sends a shiver down her spine. How Jamie can do this to her without even trying, even after years together, she can’t explain. Jamie isn’t even working at it now; her hands are tucked into her pockets, her head tilted pensively as she considers the array of options laid out before them. She’s barely even looking at Dani. 

“I could,” Dani repeats weakly, “what?”

“Try it out,” Jamie explains. “If you wanted. If you were interested. But that’s not really what I’m suggesting. See...I know how they work. I’ve, uh...I mean, if you’re interested in...that.”

Her voice trails off, her eyes darting to steal a brief glance at Dani’s face, and Dani’s not entirely sure what her face is even doing. Judging by the way Jamie licks her lips, she suspects it isn’t subtle. 

“Interested,” she says in a very small voice, gripping Jamie’s hand with convulsive force. “Yeah. Little bit.”

They don’t try it out in the hotel room; that is, Dani says once the brownie has worn off some, entirely too bold, even for an adventure. They make absolutely certain the package is tucked away in the bottom of the suitcase, as far as possible from prying eyes that never come to call. They don’t even talk about it again until they’re safely home. 

Dani’s suddenly so nervous, it’s like the first time. Like stumbling up to her room with Jamie pressed close behind, every touch the kind of electric she’d thought might take her out before she had a chance to get Jamie’s clothes off. She walks into their apartment, this place they’ve called home for almost four years, and she thinks, I have never been terrified here before. 

Jamie, seeming to sense her mood, sets the bag by the door and pulls her into an embrace. She kisses the side of her head. “Hey. We don’t have to. Can just put it in the closet for a rainy day.”

Dani senses the truth of this statement, that Jamie is perfectly fine pretending they never bought the thing at all. That Jamie would be perfectly fine sliding into bed with her like always, relying on skilled hands and searching tongue, loving Dani with everything she’s got as she has for years. Jamie would be okay with this. Jamie would never push. 

But life is short, and sometimes, a person can surprise herself. 

Jamie switches the lights off. Jamie almost never switches the lights off, not since the first time she ever told Dani she was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. Still, Dani is relieved. There is something reassuring about Jamie’s willingness to take her hands in the dark, about Jamie’s eagerness to please her binding tight to Jamie’s devotion to keeping her safe. 

“Slow,” she promises Dani, sliding into bed and cradling her face. She is still just Jamie, Dani recognizes, though anxiety is playing tricks on her heart rate. Just Jamie’s hands, soft on her cheeks, brushing her hair back. Just Jamie’s mouth, raining small, light kisses across her face. Waiting for her to decide how far this goes. 

And Dani would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous--if she said the brush of cloth harness around Jamie’s hips and the silicon between her legs wasn’t a surprise, even knowing what to expect. She would be lying, too, if she said it wasn’t a thrill. That Jamie is just laying alongside her in familiar sheets, thumb drawing soft arcs across her cheekbone, down the line of her jaw, tipping her head back so Jamie can kiss her neck. That Jamie is touching her like always, not pushing, not rushing, fingers playing along her skin like she’s the world’s most well-loved instrument. 

Jamie, breathing soft words into every kiss. Jamie, exhaling, “Lead the way, okay? Tell me. Anything you want.”

Dani finds her own hand sliding down, exploring the familiar curve of Jamie’s neck, fingering the chain that rests against her collarbones, drawing down, down, until she’s taking a handful of something not Jamie in the least. Testing its weight against her palm. Curling her fingers loosely. Jamie, though this object is not possessed of skin or nerve endings, sucks a breath in through her teeth anyway. Like Dani taking the time to explore is doing something maybe Jamie herself can’t even explain.

“Okay?” she says, breath warm on Dani’s skin, and Dani nods. She finds her body is searching Jamie’s out, pressing in close, and Jamie’s hand is covering hers. Even as she moves Dani gently to her back, even as her hips are coming to rest against Dani’s, her hand is there. A grounding force, as ever. Guiding in. 

Dani draws a hot breath, knees bent, and Jamie pauses. Moves only when Dani’s eyes open and she nods, one arm around Jamie’s neck, pulling her down to kiss her parted lips. 

“Slow,” she agrees, and Jamie makes a noise she likes more than anything else in the world as she shifts her hips, slides all the way in. The world is dark around them, made up of little more than the careful rock of Jamie’s body against hers, the instinctive way her own legs come up to pull Jamie deeper, the wonderfully small, uncontrolled noise she can hear herself making against Jamie’s shoulder. The method is foreign, but it’s still Jamie’s body behind each thrust, still Jamie’s rhythm making her whimper and clutch at Jamie’s neck. 

They move together, and it’s been four years, four years of learning every inch of how Jamie is capable of moving with her, but Dani finds this is something other. Something perfectly matched. Not better, not a completion she’s never found before--Jamie has never been lacking--but new, anyway. 

She hears her own hitching breaths, hears the fevered, reverent way Jamie says her name over and over, the bed knocking against the wall again and again. Jamie, true to her word, goes slow the whole way, until Dani is biting her own lip against a cry, until Dani is clenching and shuddering under her. 

“Good kind of adventure?” Jamie asks, having carefully extricated herself, stripped off the addition, curled up against Dani’s chest. Dani hums. 

“Thank you.”

Jamie raises her head. “For what?”

Dani mulls it over, her body spent, her mind already on its way to sleep. 

“For,” she says at last, nuzzling closer, “not getting sick of me. Not getting sick of walking with me through the parts I’m not...prepared for.”

She doesn’t say what she means--that, someday, the parts she isn’t prepared for won’t be trying a new toy in bed--and knows she doesn’t have to. Jamie signed on for the whole adventure the day she took Dani’s hand, kissed her knuckles, promised her company for good or for ill. 

There’s a promise like that, Dani thinks blearily as she sinks into sleep. For better or worse. People say that to the person they’re going to...

5

Living in America when you can’t share the love of your life with the world is, sometimes, a lot more frustrating than Dani would have given it credit for before finding Jamie. Back in her old life, walking around with Edmund’s hand possessively wrapped around her waist, she’d felt like no one should want to lean into PDA. It was embarrassing, she felt. Horribly awkward, having someone else’s arm around your shoulders as you tried to fall into step with their much longer legs, or trying to find the right produce at the grocery store with someone insisting you hold their hand. She’d thought it would be a relief, in its own horrible way, not to have that opportunity. 

And then Eddie was gone, and Jamie’s was the hand in the grocery store, the arm hesitating before reaching her shoulders. Now? Dani gets it. Dani gets it, and can’t have it, and it makes her crazy.

She thinks Jamie knows this. Knows Jamie, too, longs for a world where no one would look twice if they curled close together in a movie theater, or lay with Dani’s head pillowed in Jamie’s lap at the park. Jamie wants the constant contact at least as much as Dani does, because tactile environments are where Jamie shines. 

It is, before Jamie ever said the words aloud, how Dani knew for a fact Jamie loves her. 

It is, before Jamie ever admitted as much, how she knew for a fact Jamie has chosen this for good and for all. 

And it is, as time marches on and strangers remain staunchly bigoted, making her crazy not to be able to embrace. 

Jamie feels it, too, she knows, but Jamie has a very particular way of coping with her inability to just behave normally with Dani in social situations. A way that is, in its own way, also driving Dani crazy.

She just keeps getting more and more handsy. 

The thing is, she’s doing it in the most absent-minded way possible, like Dani has watched girls--straight girls, girls who are allowed to cuddle close to other women and touch their hair and play with their jewelry without anyone caring to judge--do her whole life. In ways Dani herself can’t imagine. Jamie will just sidle up behind her, hand brushing her shoulder and falling away again before anyone can question it. She’ll touch two fingers lightly to the soft inner stretch of Dani’s wrist to get her attention at dinner, and by the time Dani’s fully registered it, her hand is gone, flagging down a waiter.

At first, Dani thought she was doing it on purpose. A kind of game to keep them entertained in boring public situations. She’d thought it was another brand of adventure, of Jamie being comfortable in her skin so long, she feels capable of sneaking past strangers. 

Now, after weeks of increasing torment, she thinks Jamie is just doing this. Somehow toeing the line between what is dangerous and what is fraying at Dani’s sanity. 

“How are you doing that?” she asks when Jamie brushes the tips of her fingers just under Dani’s blouse, catching the strip of skin before her jeans begin, though they’ve got seven customers milling around the shop. Jamie looks confused.

“How am I doing what?”

“You’re--” Dani bites down on the words as old Mrs. Morgan, who comes in twice a month for arrangements to present to her daughter-in-law, shuffles up to the counter. Jamie smiles her best customer-service smile, as polished and somehow genuine as anything, and sets to work ringing her up. Dani, free for the moment, leans back with thumbs folded tight into her fists.  

“Sorry,” Jamie says a few minutes later, once more wearing that lightly-perplexed look she gets when Dani points out something of which she has not been conscious. “What’ve I been doing, now?”

“You’ve been...” Dani makes a concerted effort to lower her voice, which seems like a wise idea right until Jamie takes another step and bends her head to hear the next words. She’s right there, barely three inches away, and Dani’s never clenched her fists so hard to keep from grabbing at thin black suspenders. “Touching me. In public.”

“Have I?” Jamie looks genuinely startled. “More than is normal, you mean?”

Dani shakes her head, unable to stomach the difference between what is normal for them and what is normal for women who are not sleeping together. Not in love. Not sharing every inch of a life that deserves to have songs written about it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says. “Honestly, Dani, I didn’t mean--am I making you uncomfortable?”

You’re making me want you, Dani thinks helplessly, in places I absolutely cannot have you. Which is, in its own way, worse. 

“I’ll be more careful,” Jamie assures her, completely missing the point. She reaches as if to touch Dani’s elbow, catches herself, smiles wryly. “A lot more careful.”

Dani wants to tell her that isn't what she wants, isn’t what she’s ever wanted, that there’s only so much time in the world for careful--but that’s the fire talking, the one running through her blood each time Jamie looks up from repotting flowers and gives her a little once-over, a wink. The real world requires careful. The real world requires walking lightly, hands swinging a little apart. 

The real world requires, when Jamie leans over her to recover paper towel from a higher shelf, breasts pressing into Dani’s back, her to keep her goddamned head. 

It requires, when Jamie reaches around her for a drinking fountain in the park, bare skin of her arm pressed flush to Dani’s, her to keep her goddamned self-control in check. 

It requires, when Jamie laughs and bumps close in line at the airport, her fingers brushing the hair behind Dani’s ear to keep it out of her eyes, for Dani to keep her goddamned pulse from skittering into adrenaline overdrive. 

It’s been years, she reminds herself furiously as they settle in on the plane. They’re off to see Owen for the first time in ages, and it’ll be good to get away--there have been feelings she can’t collate inside her head, dreams in black and white she wakes from gasping. A little time away should help bring her back down. 

Back down from worrying over ghosts, anyway. 

Jamie’s wandering hands, on the other hand...

“Jamie,” she hisses, because airplane seats are really not spacious, and though they don’t have a seatmate on the aisle, there’s an elderly couple across the way with a perfect view of Jamie’s hand resting on her knee. Jamie looks down, jumps a little, tucks the offending hand under her own leg. 

“Shit. Don’t know what’s wrong with me...”

Nothing, Dani wants to say, is wrong with you. It’s them. They’re wrong for asking us to hide. They’re wrong for asking me to ever pretend, even for a second, that you’re not the most important person in my life. 

“It’s all right,” she whispers instead, like the pressure of Jamie’s palm sliding off her kneecap hasn’t left scorch marks. She closes her eyes, leans her head back. There’s a long flight ahead for someone already on fire. A long flight, and she thinks with truly feral madness, There’s a bathroom. Small. Cramped. But we could fit, maybe. I could get her in there, maybe. 

She lets the image unspool for a moment: Jamie propped against a tiny airplane sink, muffling filthy sounds against her arm, Dani on her knees before her. No. No, best put that away for now. Even if they weren’t caught, by some insane miracle, they’d just have a bigger problem afterward. A problem labeled we’ve proven we’re willing to test this. 

Dani isn’t, not really. Not if there’s a chance of blowing up their whole life. 

Still, it’s hard to scrub the idea away. Jamie is looking at her with some concern, and it’s fair: Dani’s aware her cheeks are pink, her breath coming in sharp hitches. She forces a smile.

“You all right?” Jamie asks quietly. “Don’t feel sick, do you?”

“Not sick,” Dani says. She presses her lips into a thin line, gaze flicking unintentionally from Jamie’s eyes to her mouth, and understanding breaks slowly across Jamie’s face. 

“Ah.” She looks so smug. Dani wishes that made her want Jamie any less. 

“Don’t tease,” she mutters. “Can’t help it.” She really can’t, either. Jamie’s been there, right there, touching her everywhere for such short bursts, but the shop has been crazy. They’ve been tired. There hasn’t been any real time together in far too long. 

Jamie looks at her, a long look that Dani thinks for a heart-stopping second will end in her simply saying, “Fuck it” and leaning in to kiss Dani on this plane. Can’t, she warns her silently. Can’t do that, Jamie, because if you start, I won’t be able to stop--

“Bit chilly,” Jamie says conversationally to someone over Dani’s head. She turns, catching sight of an airline stewardess just as Jamie adds, “Wouldn’t say no to a blanket, if there’s one handy.”

Oh, she’s made a joke, Dani thinks, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Heaven help me, she’s made a goddamn Owen pun, and they don’t even know. 

The blanket, when it arrives, is thick, made of a somewhat scratchy dark gray material. Jamie spreads it laboriously across her own lap first, then makes a show of looking at Dani. 

“You cold? Only, this is huge, and I’d feel terribly selfish hogging it the whole trip.”

Across the aisle, one of their elderly neighbors nods as though Jamie is the wisest, kindest person she’s ever seen in the wild. Jamie gives a returning nod, says blithely, “Ask for a blanket, flight’s always frigid once we get going.”

She’s pulling the blanket across Dani’s lap now, somehow making it look as though her hands are not sliding up Dani’s thigh in the process. Dani nearly bites her tongue trying not to respond. 

She does believe, with her whole heart, that Jamie did not mean to start this. That Jamie’s wandering hands in public are entirely a thing of habit built at home. Jamie is always touching her at the apartment, always squeezing her arm or stroking her cheek or kissing whatever part of her is within reach. It’s the most natural thing in the world. She certainly hasn’t been putting them at risk on purpose. 

But right now? Right now, on this plane, tucking the blanket carefully around Dani so there’s no way prying eyes can catch a glimpse of what’s going on beneath it?

Jamie is absolutely doing this on purpose. 

“Are you crazy?” she hisses, trying to look as though she isn’t seconds from flying out of her own skin. Jamie is smiling so calmly, so rationally, tucking her hands under the blanket.

“Nope. Just chilly, as I said. Aren't you?”

Dani thinks she’s never been warmer in her entire life, not with Jamie’s rebellious left hand dragging the skirt up over her knees. From an outside perspective, it’s impossible to see; Jamie looks perfectly calm. Even friendly, should anyone catch her eye. She smiles like she doesn’t have Dani’s skirt rucked nearly to her waist.

She smiles like her hand isn’t sliding down the curve of Dani’s thigh now, cresting against the front of cotton underwear. 

“Jamie,” Dani breathes. Jamie leans over on the pretense of trying to glance into the aisle for persons unknown. Her lips graze Dani’s ear. 

“Keep quiet. Just pretend you’re looking out the window.”

Looking out the window, Dani thinks wildly, right. Like nothing’s going on under the noses of their fellow passengers. Like nothing whatsoever is happening under this blessedly-thick blanket, Jamie’s left hand tracing shapes into the apex of her groin. Jamie, with the calmest goddamn smile she’s ever seen, saying, “This is going to be good for us, y’know. Haven’t been out to see the sights in ages. America’s really gotten under my skin...”

How, thinks Dani, fists clenched against her own thighs under the blanket, is she talking? How can she possibly be holding a perfectly sane, perfectly serene conversation with her fingers sliding up, pulling aside the elastic of Dani’s underwear, moving the material aside just enough to press against slick skin. Dani swallows hard enough to hurt. Her own fingers are leaving impressions against her legs, bruises she’d rather be digging into Jamie’s skin. 

“You’ll like it,” Jamie says in a placid, low voice, like her fingers aren’t currently tracing a spot particularly wet and warm. Like Dani’s hips aren’t twitching as she fights the urge to press into Jamie’s hand. Like she doesn’t know Dani’s nails are biting into her own thighs, dragging grooves that will burn later. 

“Jamie.”

“Mm?” Like she doesn’t know. She’s grinning a crooked, cheerful little grin that makes Dani want to kiss her blind. If only they weren’t on a plane, if only there weren’t so many damn people around, she’d be out of this seat and riding Jamie’s lap, paying her back for this, making her squirm--

“You,” Dani says through clenched teeth as Jamie teases with one finger, slowly sliding in and easing right back out again. “You are in so much trouble when we land.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, eyes shining. If anyone bothered to look at her properly, they’d see the hunger etched all over her face, even under the easy smile. “Yeah, reckon I am. But that’s hours off, yet, Poppins. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

Dani moves a hand to grip Jamie’s knee as hard as she can, exhaling through her nose to keep from whimpering as Jamie sets a slow, dangerous pace. 

This, she decides, will certainly be the thing to drive her insane. 

6

She's learned a lot about Dani over the years. A lot of wonderful, invigorating, sexy things about Dani--and a lot of simple ones, too. How much garlic Dani prefers in just about any dish. How good she is at decorating a house so it looks safer than anywhere in the world. How bad she is at pretending not to stare when Jamie walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a mis-buttoned flannel shirt. 

A good relationship, Jamie has determined--all too aware that this is the first and last truly good relationship of her life--is constant education. Learning what your person likes, and doesn’t like, and didn’t think they could ever tell you they liked until the moment arrived. Learning when to keep the lights on, when to hold them in the dark. Learning what moods beg a kiss, which ones require hands wiping away tears, and which ask only for silence. 

She’s been with Dani a long time. Hopes to be with her a lot longer. Decades, if she can trick the universe into granting them that long a reprieve. Years, if she can only steal that much. Any time with Dani is cherished. Any time with Dani is more than either of them expected. 

She’s been with Dani a long time, and there’s a lot she knows now. Where Dani’s ticklish in ways that will derail sex entirely by way of hysterical laughter; where she’s ticklish in less aggressive ways that will, in fact, enhance the experience when Jamie kisses those spots. She knows that Dani likes to relinquish control, because it makes her feel safe in Jamie’s hands, and that she sometimes likes to sneak control back when Jamie isn’t looking, because she likes the way Jamie forgets how to speak when she’s surprised. She knows the way Dani likes her neck kissed, the way Dani likes to be held through a particularly intense orgasm, the way Dani gets the right kind of embarrassed when something unexpectedly obscene comes out of her mouth at just the right moment. 

She knows a lot about Dani, every last detail precious, but she doesn’t know everything. Sometimes, Dani still surprises her.

Like the day she comes home with a sad little plant. 

She doesn’t recognize the look on Dani’s face, and a part of her--the part that’s been waking more and more as Dani jerks restlessly in her sleep, as she carefully averts her eyes from the bathroom mirror, as she gives that old tired not-quite-present smile Jamie remembers so well from their last week at Bly--worries. Dani is still full of surprises, but some of those surprises have teeth. Some, Jamie fears she’s not strong enough to lift from Dani’s shoulders. 

This time, though, the look is less hunted and more...quietly nervous. Jamie is distracted, failing miserably to secure dinner for what feels like the thousandth time in this kitchen, but something about the way Dani is hefting this plant cuts through her focus. 

Dani, rescuing plants off the side of the road. Be still her heart. 

Something about the way Dani glances at her as she takes over at the stove, something about the way Dani brushes past like she’s running on something electric, nearly ruins the surprise. Nearly. Except Jamie is distracted, and there's something green and not entirely lifeless to repair, and Jamie has always been up for getting to the heart of a problem. The roots, she sees without really needing to dig. The roots are...

“Dani,” she hears herself say. “Why’s there a...”

And then Dani is using words like best friend, love of my life, words so big and so wonderful Jamie wonders if she’s really awake right now. And there are other words, scary ones--don’t know how much time we have left--but Dani chases them quickly with the best words Jamie’s ever heard. Words like spend them with you. Words like we’ll know. Words like it’s enough for me, if it’s enough for you. 

Jamie can’t imagine this not being enough. 

She’s half-crying, kissing Dani, half-laughing, wholly effervescent. Dani’s hair is soft under hands that suddenly feel too small, too clumsy, holding on to something so fragile. Dani’s whispering I love you against her lips, and Jamie recognizes some fear in the way she’s pulling Jamie closer. Some fear, and a huge amount of relief, too. 

“Did you think I’d say no?” she teases when the tears dry up enough to let her speak again. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, shakes her head minutely. 

“I don’t think anyone knows what the answer will be. But...no. No, I didn’t.”

“Good,” Jamie says, trying to look like she’s not sniffling. “Think you know me better than that.”

“I know you better than anyone,” Dani says, so honestly, Jamie feels something crack from deep inside. She slides the ring onto her finger to distract from this feeling of being dunked under by some enormous wave, by feelings she truly once thought she’d never have the space for in her body. 

Dinner is decidedly not salvageable by this point, and Jamie finds she isn’t hungry, anyway. She leads Dani to the the couch, curls up close to her, eyes straying back to that sad little potted plant. 

“Tried to grow it, didn’t you?”

“No,” Dani says, with exactly the same inflection she once used at six in the morning in a greenhouse. Jamie laughs. 

There’s an energy between them tonight unlike anything Jamie’s ever felt before. It’s been hinted at over the years--in a bedroom at Bly, in a diner in the Midwest, in the middle of their shop--but never quite so clearly as in this moment. Dani, who has seemed less and less content lately, has an arm around her shoulders, her breath coming easier than it has in weeks. Jamie doesn’t like thinking about that, doesn’t like looking too closely at what might be pulling Dani back down that particular road.

This, she decides. Just this. Just today. The rest can wait. 

Dani has her hand in her lap, is fiddling with the ring like she can't quite believe she had the guts to actually give it to Jamie. Dani is always so much more surprised by her own courage than Jamie has ever been. It was always, she thinks, watching Dani idly twist the gold band back and forth, going to be Dani doing the proposing. Dani, whose relationship with marriage is so complicated. Dani, whose relationship with time is so complicated. 

There’s a lot in the relationship Dani leaves in Jamie’s hands. Repairs around the house, ideas of how the shop could run more smoothly, most nights in the bedroom. There’s a lot Dani doesn’t feel like she needs to grip in tense fists, a lot Dani has never felt the need to control. Jamie’s not sure control is the word she’d choose for herself, either, but there’s a certain natural leadership to her posture in the world. Maybe because, for a time, there was no one but Jamie herself calling the shots. Maybe because she’s used to making hard choices, unable to drop them on anyone else’s shoulders. 

It makes her feel an unexpected kind of strong, that Dani trusts her with so much. 

But this always felt important to leave to Dani. Jamie would have been all right if they never had this conversation; the way she sees it, not much would have changed. Dani is still her most important person, ring or no. She’ll be here as long as Dani will have her, even without vows or witnesses.

But for Dani to have done this--for Dani to have planned it out, kept it a secret when she is absolutely terrible at keeping secrets from Jamie (”I never know,” she says, making a horror into the sweetest thing in the world by virtue of pout alone, “how much time we have, why would I keep anything from you?”), dropped it smoothly on a sunny evening like this--is perfect. It’s small, and it’s private, and it’s the bravest thing in the world. 

“I love you,” Jamie says, because there is no amount of saying it that would feel like enough. Dani smiles until the corners of her eyes crinkle. 

There are things that have surprised her about Dani over the years, and things that may have surprised Dani even more--but the thing Jamie finds most surprising of all comes from this. From the way her whole body relaxes in Dani’s hands. From the way her eyes close and her breath shallows out when Dani’s nearby. She’s never been good at vulnerability, not with anyone, but the minute Dani entered her life, it’s like vulnerability became her life’s mission.

Never consciously. Never with intent. Just...organically, the way cells know to age, the way plants know to seek sunlight. Dani walked into her life with shoulders tight and more love in her heart than she seemed to know what to do with, and suddenly, Jamie wanted only to give. Her time, her affection, anything Dani needed. Anything Dani could ever want. 

It should be exhausting. It should take everything out of her. It should wring her out and leave nothing in its wake. 

Instead, it seems to make her stronger every day. It seems to make her more with everything she gives to Dani: her love, her hope, her reassurances. She gives, and Dani, who could so easily take, gives back, and Jamie thinks, It’s this. It’s the exchange. Not just the caring, but the being taken care of. 

“What’re you thinking?” Dani asks. Jamie winds their fingers together, brings their joined hands to her lips. 

“That I’m lucky. Incredibly, illogically lucky.”

“Should I have--” Dani hesitates. “I don’t know, done it sooner?”

Sand in an hourglass, Jamie thinks. In the end, it’s all sand in an hourglass, and no amount of rushing can change it. 

“It was perfect,” she says, leaning across Dani to kiss her lips. “Truly. Couldn’t ask for better.”

Dani looks like she may be considering pressing--there’s a particular crease she gets between the eyes when self-consciousness is at the wheel, and it breaks Jamie’s heart every time she sees it. Jamie pushes her back against the arm of the couch, dropping with her until they’re laying flush, cupping one hand under Dani’s jaw to kiss her properly. 

“Perfect,” she repeats, brushing her nose against Dani’s, sighing when Dani’s hands move reflexively to slide the strap of her overalls off her shoulder. 

There’s less verbal reassurance from there, considerably more work done via hands and sighs and lips. They’re laughing even as Jamie shifts too far to the left and rolls them both onto the very-solid floor in a half-dressed heap. Dani’s still laughing--half-wild with what Jamie reads as untempered relief--even as Jamie helps her wrestle out of her jacket, even as Jamie is sliding down her body, kissing her way back up again through the impossibly-deep slit in her dress. 

There are times with Dani that feel like the pair of them will burst into flame if they aren’t touching, if they aren’t setting a rhythm together in that very moment. There are times where it’s all hunger, all heat, where Jamie thinks the very act of loving Dani might set her ablaze. And then there are times like this: times where Dani watches her with half-lidded eyes, smiling even as Jamie is undressing her, even as Jamie is coaxing cloth aside and pulling Dani to her mouth. Smiling, sighing, shifting under Jamie like there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be. 

Times like this, tasting Dani, grasping blindly for her hand with eyes closed, are secretly Jamie’s favorite. Times like this, feeling Dani move beneath her, tracing Dani’s knuckles with the pad of her thumb, Dani’s voice the only song in the room, are the absolute ideal. It’s only here, in their home, knowing Dani would give anything to keep this safe, that Jamie thinks she’s her absolute best self. 

It’s here--curled on the floor with her back against Dani’s chest, Dani’s hand tossed lightly over her hip, both of them covered with a very badly crocheted blanket Dani picked out at a flea market--that she feels most real. 

“I want this,” Dani says sleepily, words muffled with her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder. “For as long as possible.”

“Sleeping naked on a hardwood floor?” Jamie shifts her face against her bent elbow, grinning. Dani’s arm slides tighter around her middle.

“Holding you. Anywhere.”

“Think that can be arranged,” Jamie says, voice unexpectedly thick with emotion. Dani nuzzles against her shoulder again.

“Promise?”

Something releases in her chest, the duality of Dani now--a Dani who is starting to get scared again, but still brave enough to ask Jamie to marry her--and Dani then--a Dani terrified already, but so brave in asking Jamie to stay--coalescing into one. She inhales, shuddering, pressing back into Dani’s arms as hard as she can. Dani squeezes like she understands, like she knows Jamie needs nothing like she needs to know Dani is the most solid thing in the room. 

This is the thing, Jamie thinks, that surprises her most. Not just being taken care of, but needing it from Dani. Needing to be held, needing to feel the weight of Dani’s body against her own. Needing to be reminded that for all her good humor, all her confidence, all the times Jamie can’t help putting Dani first--Dani’s doing the exact same thing. 

“I’m gonna marry you,” she hears herself say, turning in Dani’s grasp and pressing her face against Dani’s neck. “Someday. Minute it’s even remotely legal.”

Dani makes the most content noise she’s ever heard in her life. “One day at a time,” she says. To Jamie’s ears, it's the purest kind of vow. 

[deputystakes-a2]

ASHLEY GRAVES AS THE STRANGER.

EXT. MOTEL POOL — DAY.  there’s two men at the pool when you pull into the parking lot. one of them—tall and dark-haired, rests his arms atop the tile edge of the pool and stares at a man on a red lounge chair. they’re talking, even though the blonde one, on the lounge chair, holds a well-loved book in his hands. he’s covered, from head to toe, in bold, thick-lined tattoos, reminiscent of the american traditional. they cover his bare chest and legs, snaking past the black board shorts which remain bone-dry. then—laughter. the dark-haired man’s laughing and grinning and his friend, with the blonde hair and ink—is smiling. it makes him look less threatening—he’s all scar tissue and lean muscle, but the smile is human. you get the feeling that he doesn’t look like this often. the smile is foreign. and it fades from his lips when he notices you, sitting in your car in the parking lot. your windows are rolled up, and dark sunglasses rest atop the bridge of his nose, but you feel, without a doubt, his gaze burning a hole between your eyes. you look away.

inside of the motel breakfast bar, the next day, you find him again—this time, wearing all black. ink still peaks from beneath rolled up sleeves, and you can see his tattoos in greater detail this time—there are aces and crosses upon his knuckles, a church and the blessed mother herself. coffins and daggers and cards. bombs and beasts with their maws open. he’s carrying two cups of coffee to the table in the farthest corner, where the dark-haired man sits with his face in his hands. they’ve both got badges on their hips. you bring your food to your room.

INT. GAS STATION — NIGHT.  it’s past midnight when you pull into the gas station, lured by the flickering streetlamps and neon cigarette signs and the promise of caffeine. the clerk greets you, mechanical, when you enter, and you head to the back for the coffee machine and cheap french vanilla brew. the blonde stranger’s already there, pouring two cups from an unlabeled machine—the sticker’s come away with time. still, he fills each cup to the brim, leaving no room for cream or sugar. he presses on the lids and makes his quick journey to the register. it’s then that you see it, as he walks past you—bruised knuckles and a healed split on his lips, a scab on his eyebrow. the cashier makes no comment. neither should you.

INT. BOOKSTORE — DAY.  on an overcast sunday afternoon, you make the walk to the bookstore on the corner of the street. the walls are lined, from floor to ceiling, with every genre known to man. jam-packed. the cashier greets you when you walk in, before she turns her attention to the stranger setting a stack of books on the counter—with how warmly she regards him, it’s safe to say he’s a regular. the books on the counter are almost all westerns. they make conversation, but the cashier’s the one doing most of the talking—the stranger seems content to nod and hum, just enough to keep the conversation going. when he finally gets his change, he dumps it all in the tip jar, and grabs his bag off of the counter. ‘ you be safe, now, ’ the cashier speaks as she bids him farewell. the stranger makes no promises that he can’t keep.

INT. SUNNYSIDE DINER — NIGHT. it’s three a.m when the waitress greets you from behind the counter, asking you to sit wherever you’d like. you choose to sit at the bar—closest to the pots of coffee and heaping plates of food. at the other end of the bar sits the stranger, with his blonde hair still slicked back, his badge on his hip—mug of piping hot coffee in his hand. black. he doesn’t order any food. no, in the time it took for you to eat half of what was on your plate, he gotten two refills of coffee and some words of concern from the waitress. they’re in the middle of conversation when the deputy’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and he takes the call on the spot. his expression, once mildly amused, twists into something confused, then—angry. he leaves a pristine bill on the counter and hurries out the door, pulling out of the parking lot fast enough for his truck tires to screech and spray gravel behind him. behind the counter, the line cook mutters a little something that sounds like godspeed.

EXT. LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY — NIGHT. in the parking lot outside of the courthouse, you see him, leaned against the hood of a town car in a mostly vacant parking lot. the shadow he casts is long and imposing, but the glow of his cigarette is soft and warm against his features. with a puff of smoke, his face loses all clarity. there’s blood in his eyes.

INT. THE SLAYER LEGACY MUSEUM — DAY.  you enter the museum thirty minutes after it opens. it’s just about empty, and you’re alone with the attendant at the desk. you purchase your ticket, you make your small talk, and you enter the main hall of the legacy museum. it’s desolate, save for the staff who linger about, leaving you be as you read the plaques and take in the exhibits. they whisper among themselves, but it’s not about you. and then, as you carry on, down a hallway to the next set of displays, paying tribute to the key figures in the history of the slayer corps—you are no longer the only observer there. a blonde man in a leather jacket and faded denim jeans lingers by a glass case, fingers resting upon the polished wooden frame, staring into whatever laid entombed below. when the stranger turns to look at you, as you approach the next glass encasement with muffled steps, he’s got this awful look in his eyes—he was frowning, like a devil. he was young, but scarred, with scar tissue replacing what should’ve been a laughter line. tired eyes regard you before he turns away, tucking tattooed hands into jacket pockets. a few long moments later, you move to the section of the hall where the stranger once stood—and peer into the glass case he once rested his hand upon. inside, laid to rest on a bed of red velvet, was a rifle. and in the display before you was—art. journals, and stacks of letters, and messy graphite drawings of slayers.  hand-drawn diagrams of firearms and portraits of men laughing, of soldiers sleeping, of groups huddled together, posed, on their best behavior for the artist before them. and then—you read the plaque of the featured slayer. SERGEANT ASHLEY GRAVES, lays the title, written in stone, before the exhibit expands upon his story and feats in long blocks of text. he was terribly young in the photograph which depicted him—barely nineteen, with that scar on his face and a furrow in his brow. when he looked at you, he had that same pained look in his eyes. you never see him again.

[shining-red-diamond]

One Little Coyote

Words: 2k

Pairing:  Hyunjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, some angst

Rating: PG

Warnings: nightmare scene, some arguing, mentions of cigarettes and smoking

A/N; I’m super proud of how this turned out! I’m sorry if it seems rushed, but I thought this was a cute and interesting concept. Banner credits to @oobin​

If the morning sun wasn’t hot enough, then the afternoon sun certainly was. Heat waves could easily be seen rising up from the dark pavement the gray Subaru traveled on. Hyunjin carefully drove himself and Y/N across the desert, even though it was mostly barren despite the occasional car that passed them in the opposite direction. The two had been on the road since eight, and it was now nearing twelve-thirty as Y/N’s stomach began to rumble.

“Are you that hungry?” Hyunjin giggled.

“Hey, you’re the one who insisted on just having granola bars instead of eggs like I suggested,” Y/N shot back.

“I know, I should’ve set the alarm for earlier.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes behind his round, dark-lense sunglasses.

Y/N sighed. “No, I should’ve just grabbed an apple.”

“Baby, we’re almost to a gas station. We’ll stop there and grab a bite to eat.”

For whatever reason, the two seemed to be arguing about something with every other conversation they had since waking up that morning. Was it because one of them slept bad? Did Hyunjin get irritated at her for some reason? Or was Y/N just hangry? They hated fighting with each other, but they couldn’t seem to get along for the first leg of their journey. The heat could be a factor in both of them butting heads, but the air was on full blast.

Y/N stared down at her twiddling her thumbs as the song changed to an old AC/DC tune, and Hyunjin glanced over at her. He felt bad for using a sharp tone at her. For months, the two had been planning a road trip from the Grand Canyon to Las Vegas; but he felt terrible for being in such a crabby mood.

Taking her hand, he laced his fingers through hers and kissed the back of it.

“Why the sudden change in behavior?” she asked with a raised brow.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized as they pulled into the gas station.

“Can we talk about this later? I just want to get some food before my stomach starts speaking in tongues.”

Before Hyunjin could respond, Y/N was already out of the car and beelined for the restaurant in the convenience store.

The gas station had only three other vehicles parked there: a motorcycle on the side of the building, a beat up brown truck at a pump, and a dark minivan at another. Heat from the sun was beating down in the surrounding area, but Hyunjin was protected under some shade at the gas pump he paid at. A snake slithered by, but it didn’t bother him. A rugged looking man exited the building and pulled a brand new pack of cigarettes and lit one up before entering the truck and pulling out, but not before giving Hyunjin a nod of acknowledgement.

When the tank was filled, Hyunjin took his receipt, parked in another spot, and locked the car before meeting his girlfriend inside. Y/N was sitting in a gray booth with an order of two burgers and large fries with two large drinks. She hadn’t touched any of the food on the tray, which she always did when she paid for food if she were traveling with anyone. Hyunjin was about to open his mouth to protest how he should have been the one to purchase the food, but he was done arguing with the love of his life.

“This looks delicious, baby,” he smiled and kissed her head before sitting in the seat across from her.

“I made sure to not get pickles in yours,” she replied.

“You know me too well.”

Once Hyunjin tied his long hair back, he and Y/N began their lunch; and she was thankful they didn’t fight while they filled their bellies with a meal.

“Just think,” Hyunjin smiled slyly, “by tomorrow afternoon we’ll be entering Vegas. The desert and heat will be a distant memory as we feast on delicious food, swim in an indoor pool, and get cozy.”

Y/N chuckled at his attempt at being smooth with his words, which in turn caused him to laugh as well.

“We can’t forget seeing all of the cool shows and counting the slot machines in each casino,” she added. “But I’m happy to just be with you for a few days, even if we don’t get to party like millionaires.”

Hyunjin scoffed. “Who needs wealth when I’m already a rich man just having the most beautiful woman in the world with me?”

“You’re cheesy, dude; but I like cheese.”

“I know,” her boyfriend replied with a wink.

As soon as they finished their meal, the two were back on the road, the surrounding desert brightened more by the afternoon sun. For about two hours, the two drive in mostly silence. The only noises around them were the radio, which would go static in some areas, and the wind outside. A few animals passed by in the sand and among the vegetation, but it was mostly snakes and rabbits.

“Babe,” Hyunjin said after a while, “about me apologizing earlier, I didn’t sleep well last night and woke up this morning in a bad mood. I hate fighting with you, and I was trying to make it up to you.”

He couldn’t exactly look at her as he was driving, but he could see out of the corner of his eye she was half smiling as he spoke.

“I’m sorry, too,” she lightly sighed. “I shouldn’t have snapped back at you. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault. The bed at the motel was too uncomfortable.”

“Hopefully, the hotel bed is much better.”

“It’s Vegas! It has to be.”

A truce was formed during their own little comedy hour, and Hyunjin was happy he was able to make it all up with his girl. Like most couples, they had their arguments some days, but Hyunjin could never stay angry with Y/N, nor could she with him. The last thing either of them wanted to do was hurt the other person, and they both knew words were impactful. Only once had they insulted each other where it hurt the most that they wouldn’t speak to each other for a week until they both cooled off and talked it over.

“I wonder where the coyotes are,” Y/N spoke up as she looked out the window.

“They’re out there,” her boyfriend replied as he glanced around the sandy plains. “We won’t be going anywhere near them, but we’re approaching a bunch of rock formations and hills in a while.”

“Maybe we’ll hear them when we camp.”

“Maybe.”

“And that one little coyote howling at the moon,” Y/N sang with a giggle.

As if on cue, the radio song switched to the exact song. It was a genie wishing her song request.

“Fitting.”

-

The night air was too quiet for Y/N, except for the coyote’s howling at the full moon every couple of seconds. Moonlight illuminated the inside of the car, and she couldn’t fall back asleep anymore. The windows were still cracked open a little to allow air to circulate, but there was no wind blowing. Y/N hated how silent it was, and the coyote’s weren’t exactly singing lullabies to her. Sitting up, she looked over to where Hyunjin was, but he was gone. His blanket remained there, but the man himself had vanished.

Maybe he just had to go pee somewhere, she thought. However, the closest gas station was miles behind them. There was no way he would have walked that far just for a bathroom with a way to protect himself. The possibility of him just finding a small bush to do his business seemed logical, and since it was dark out, anyone who passed by probably wouldn’t see him.

Against her better judgement, Y/N decided to step out and see if her boyfriend was okay. Climbing over the seats, she reached one of the passenger doors and unlocked it. Once she stumbled out of the car, she shut the door and made her way to the back. The little fire pit used to cook their hot dogs was missing, and there was no sign that anyone had made a stop there. Nothing but dry mud and weeds. The air was also freezing, but Y/N didn’t want to go back to the car until her boyfriend was found.

“Hyunjin?” Y/N called in a whisper. No answer. She called for him across the other side of the main road, but still no reply.

“Babe, this isn’t funny!” she called as she turned around to see if he was messing with her.

To her horror, the Subaru was now gone. She didn’t hear the engine turn on, no tire tracks were left, nothing. It was as if it vanished into thin air. Turning back again, the road was gone too. What was going on?

Coyote howls grew louder, and Y/N was starting to panic. Small feet scampered by her, but not a humans’ footsteps. She pulled out her phone light and looked down. A row of jack rabbits were racing by her towards the rock formations, so she decided to follow them to try to find help. She took about six steps before a branch seemingly wrapped around her ankle and tripped her, cutting into the flesh.

“Don’t panic,” YN told herself. “It’s just a bush. You can get out of this.”

However, once she sat up, whatever was holding her had let go and disappeared. It left behind her ankle bleeding, but she had no means of treating it. She could still walk on it, so she kept going.

A few snakes, poisonous ones, slithered by, hissing at her as she walked. It was as if they were threatening her to turn back or else they’ll attack and sink their venomous fangs into her.

“As I rode my pony across the Western plain,” she sang sobbed, not realizing she had been crying. “We stopped and heard a sweet and sad refrain. It filled the sundown skies with a lonesome tune. It was one little coyote howling at the moon.”

RIght at that moment, howling broke the eerie silence from behind her. When Y/N turned around, two red glowing eyes were staring at her. It was a terrible, hungry look, and a deep throaty growl sent shivers down her back. Before she could even blink, teeth flashed in front of her as if the creature attempted to eat her face off.

Y/N screamed as she felt her life ending right there.

“Baby, wake up!” a familiar voice cried out.

Opening her eyes, Y/N realized she was back in the car but in a cold sweat. It was somewhat dark out, but the sky was just barely rising by the deep purple sky fading into pink.

“Jinnie!” Y/N sobbed as she pulled her boyfriend in for a hug.

“What happened?”

Once she caught her breath, she realized everything she had seen and experienced was all a nightmare.

“Bad dream?” Hyunjin guessed as dried her head with a blanket.

“Yeah,” she sighed. She explained everything in detail to him, even checking her ankle for the injury she had sustained. To her relief, there was no cut.

“I’m so sorry you had such an awful nightmare,” Hyunjin kissed her forehead. “I forget how you have bad nightmares one the first night of a camping trip.”

“I’ll be okay,” Y/N promised. “What time is it?”

Hyunjin looked through the suitcases for some fresh clothes. “6:30 in the morning. I was awake because I got too hot in here. It wasn’t long before you screamed awake.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. It was only a dream.”

After tying his hair up to keep himself cool, Hyunjin brought Y/N closer to him and cuddled her for a while. Whenever she had a bad dream, it always comforted her to be held or snuggled until she calmed down. His heartbeat was the main composer of her calming, and she loved how warm he felt when he embraced her.

In the distance, a coyote howled.

“He won’t hurt you, my love,” Hyunjin reassured as he held Y/N tighter. “It’s just one little coyote.”

-

@hongism​ @ethereal-eirene​ @ezralia-writes​

[cassiopeiassky]

Black Velvet

Alright everyone, it’s finally here.  I’ve been sort of salty about the lack of tall!reader fics for awhile now or maybe it’s just the ubiquitous short, petite, drowning in his sweatshirt descriptions that get under my skin but just couldn’t get a decent amount of inspiration to write one.  I have been known to throw in a mention of height randomly in my fics, but my usual workaround to avoid physical descriptions of the reader is to just write Bucky as like six and a half feet tall.  Hes a damn super soldier, he should be taller anyway he did not start out as short as Steve.  So one day I stumbled across this post by @invisibleanonymousmonsters​ and for some reason I can’t explain, an idea was finally unlocked in my brain later that same day.  (Inspired by a song?  Me?  No.  Never.)

It’s kind of all over the place, so buckle in.  It does take a sharp right into smutsville but also ends up flipping a u and landing in flufftown.  I don’t know.  I just write what the muse tells me to write.  

I would like to thank the incomparable @scottish-pepper​ for her amazing help and support while I wrote the thing - I couldn’t have done it without you, darlin.

Bucky x Tall!Reader

Modern day AU - think of a 40s prewar Bucky if he got a chance to grow up and lived in a small town 

Plot:  You have a terrible day of epic proportions but a beautiful stranger in a small town helps to make it better.

Warnings: Swearing (as per usual), smut, mentions of alcohol/drinking/bars, a brief mention of potentially disordered eating, mentions of a thunderstorm, and a very specific shitty family member.

Word count: 12K  Yep.  Knda got away from me

One last author’s note:   This fic includes some ASL dialogue; it is expressed in italics without quotation marks.  ASL is an incredibly beautiful and expressive language, and it’s in 3D!!  It also has its own grammar structure, rules, nuances, and regional differences, just like any other language, and it can be a challenge to fit it into a two-dimensional space.  Taking this into consideration, I’ve decided to write the dialogue with spoken English grammar because my ASL is really rusty and I don’t want to mess it up.

It’s hot.  Like 100 degrees in the shade with 95% humidity hot. The trees are wilted, flowers are drooping, and there isn’t so much as a glimmer of hope for a cloud in the sky to interrupt the sun’s torture of earth’s inhabitants.  The air is thick and still – there’s no movement at all – yet dangerously unsettled.  It’s the kind of weather that if you sneeze, you might cause a tornado in the next county over.  Of course your cousin would choose today of all days to get married.  And of course her mom pressured her into going black tie, increasing everyone’s suffering tenfold.

“I can’t believe I rented a room for this.  I can’t believe I spent $200 on a dress.  Why am I even here?  What did I expect?”  There’s no answer, but of course there wouldn’t be.  You’re alone in your car, driving back to a motel that you might not even stay the night in.  You’d rented a room because you figured you’d have a few drinks at the reception – you wanted to celebrate the bride, she’s one of your best friends – but at this point you might as well just make the hour drive back home.

About a block from the motel you notice a bar tucked behind a gas station.   According to the clock on the dash, it’s only 5:25.

Fuck it.  You deserve a goddamn drink after today.

You pull into the parking lot and are surprised by the number of cars, farm trucks, and motorcycles already parked.  There’s only one redneck limo, thank God – a pickup truck with a 10 inch lift kit and truck nuts hanging off the hitch, and in your experience driven only by incredibly insecure men – so that’s a good sign, right?  It must be a decent place with decent drinks if it’s this busy so early in the evening.  Maybe some of your day can be salvaged after all.

The hot, sticky air rushes in as soon as the car door is opened.  “Gross,” you mutter; the heat hits even harder after the air conditioning in your car.  Glancing over to the passenger seat, you see the hideous shoes your aunt Lydia pressed into your hands upon arriving at the wedding.  “You know what, Lydia?  Fuck you and fuck your ugly shoes.”  You put your heels back on just to spite her.

It’s a small-town watering hole, so of course all eyes are drawn to you when you enter.  And they stay on you as you find a seat at the bar – perhaps it’s because you’re a stranger, perhaps it’s because you’re overdressed.

But probably not.

The bartender approaches while drying his hands.  He’s got dirty blonde hair in a sloppy undercut, a wide, flat nose, and is wearing a concert tee shirt with the arms cut off to show off his full sleeve of tattoos.  

“Do you have blended drinks?”  He nods. “Strawberry daiquiri, please.”

“Sure thing.”

You pull out some cash, tipping generously because your drink is a pain in the ass to make, then look around while you wait.

The bar is cool but not cold, not brightly lit but also not uncomfortably dim, is bigger than it looks, and is even busier than the amount of vehicles in the parking lot would lead you to believe.  On one side there’s a jukebox next to a small stage with an empty but decently sized dance floor.  There are a few high tops, then a gaming area featuring pool tables, dart boards, and a few pinball machines.  On the other side of the bar you see a window with someone selling pull tabs, a station set up for calling bingo, a door to what’s probably the kitchen, and a popcorn machine filled with freshly popped popcorn.  Behind you and scattered generously throughout the building are tables, some with 4 seats and some with 6, and over half of them are occupied.

“Here you go, miss.” The bartender places your drink in front of you with a polite smile.  “Would you like a menu?  The full kitchen is open tonight.”

The thought is nauseating. “Mmmm…maybe later.”

“Too hot to eat?”  At your despondent nod, he grimaces and places a tall glass of ice water next to the daiquiri.  “Thought as much.  I’ll check back in a bit.”  You didn’t notice his name tag until now – his name is Clint, and according to the hand illustrations under his name, he’s fluent in ASL.

Unsure if he’s Deaf and fluent in lipreading or if he’s hearing, you both sign and murmur, “Thank you,” before bringing the drink to your lips.  It’s on the edge of being burned – just the way you like it.  Sipping on the sweet slush is pure bliss, cooling you down from the inside out as it tempers the heat of the rum.

You sign?  He doesn’t speak this time.  It’s not an uncommon reaction.

Yes.  I’m an interpreter.

His eyebrows rise in interest.  What made you go into that?

My high school offered it, and I ended up becoming really good friends with the teacher’s daughter, who is Deaf.  I made a lot of friends, got involved with the community and immersed in the culture, and I just loved it, so I figured, why not do this for a living?  My dreams of being a Triple Crown winning jockey went out the window by the end of 5th grade so…

He laughs, but not unkindly.  Yeah, I suppose you are a bit too tall for that.  But 5th grade?  Damn.   His face lights up, Hey, have you heard of PATH, International?  They’ve got a campus about half hour north of here.  If you like horses, it might be right up your alley.  

PATH International, or Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship, is an organization very close to your heart.  Yes! I volunteer there every Tuesday night.

The look of surprise on Clint’s face is priceless.  No shit? I’m there on Thursday nights!  You must be the other interpreter the kids are always talking about - they LOVE you!  And so do the horses.  You know, I was Ace’s favorite till you came along.  Now he won’t even look at me unless I bribe him with a treat.

You look again at his name tag, and the name clicks.  Wait, you’re Hawkeye!  The one that does the archery demos on horseback for the kids’ birthday parties.

He takes a theatrical bow. The one and only.

Clint “Hawkeye” Barton is nothing short of a legend at PATH.  Profoundly Deaf yet impossibly accurate with speechreading, he manages to blend both worlds perfectly.  He’s also a master archer both off and on horseback, which basically makes him a superhero in the kids’ eyes.  There are whispers that he travelled with a circus as a teenager, that he raises horses, and that he moonlights as a vigilante, but nothing has been verified and from what you’ve been told, he will neither confirm nor deny.  It’s very likely that there’s at least some truth to the horse raising rumor – Ace is technically his horse, he just loans the chestnut gelding to the program.  You’d been dying to meet Clint for a few years now but hadn’t been able to make it work.

It’s so good to finally meet you!

Likewise!  I’ve been meaning to swing by on a Tuesday to see who it is that stole my favorite horse’s heart, but I’m usually here.  His face lights up, Hey, I’ve got some ideas for a field trip for the older kids and adults but I need to team up with an ASL interpreter since I can’t technically work as a Deaf interpreter on my own off PATH’s campus.  You know, rules and shit.  You interested?

Absolutely!  Just let me know.   You dig a pen out of your purse and write your number and email address on a napkin. You know, I’m sorry, but I’m really not sorry about Ace.  He stole my heart, what can I say.

He’s a shameless flirt, but I never thought he’d actually prefer someone else over me.  But now that I’ve met you, I guess I can’t be too sore about it.  He seems to have good taste.  He takes the napkin with a grin and folds it up before putting it in his pocket, then looks to his left when a waitress waves for his attention and nods.  Duty calls.  Let me know if you need anything.

Well, that improved your day considerably.  

For a few minutes, anyway.

“That’s an awfully girly drink for a woman like you.”  A cloud of stale cigarette smoke with an obnoxious sounding man in the middle of it takes the seat next to yours.  

You don’t turn to face him; you don’t even acknowledge him.  If that’s his opening line, then you really, really don’t have the patience to interact with him today. This is the guy that owns the jacked-up truck. You can feel it in your bones.

Clint makes a face from behind the drink he’s making, notices your annoyance, and shakes his head. “Dude, she’s got more alcohol in her glass than you and your four buddies combined, so don’t knock her drink of choice.  She’s also clearly not interested, and way, way out of your league.  Go back to your pull tabs and leave the lady alone.”

You can feel the guy’s eyes on you, but Clint keeps glaring daggers at him and he eventually leaves. You can overhear him tell his buddies, “Thought she’d be an easy lay, but you know what?  Even I have standards.  How do you fuck someone that tall anyway?  I’d need scaffolding!”  They laugh, but you continue to hold your head up high.  It’s nothing you haven’t heard some version of before.  He’s not clever.

Ignore them.  They’re lonely, small little men.

I know.  Thank you.  His protective gesture is touching and completely unexpected.  This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often because most people assume you can handle yourself.  You can – but it’s nice to not always have to be on the defensive, and today you’re at your limit.

No worries.  You look like you had a rough day, I figured you didn’t need Chad making it worse.  Clint winks and turns back to his drinks.

Well, he’s not wrong, but the day can only get better from here, right?  Right.  You nod to yourself then sit back and enjoy your drink.  Clint stops by periodically to chat, but otherwise you’re left alone.

Eventually it’s time for a trip to the ladies’ room, and you do your best to ignore the stares and chuckles that inevitably follow you.  In your semi-formal black dress you certainly stand out in a bar filled with cut off shorts and tee shirts, but that’s not why they’re staring.

In your black satin and lace, modestly platformed stiletto heels – affectionately known as your ‘fuck me shoes’ – you’re well over six feet tall.  Are they uncomfortable?  God yes, but they’re also beautiful and totally worth it.

The bathrooms are at the back of the bar, past the dart boards and pool tables.  You’re almost there when you hear something ping off one of the pool table lamps and see it ricochet across the aisle and onto the top of the glass and wood cabinets housing the pool cues.  

“How – how the hell did you manage that, Rogers?”  A man with dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass heads in your direction.  “You were supposed to throw the chalk to me, not your imaginary friend standing thirteen feet behind me.”

“Sorry, Buck,” a blonde joins him, looking appropriately apologetic.  “My aim was a little off.”

“Ya think?”

You slow your pace to watch them.  The guy with the dark hair is gorgeous – well, they both are, to be fair – but the one…damn.  His maroon tee shirt is fitted enough to show off his beefy physique, and his jeans hug his thighs and ass like they were made for him.  He throws off an air of cocky confidence with just a hint of danger, lending a genuine feel to his bad boy image.  Should you…maybe?  No. No, you absolutely should not. You’re not in the right mindset to try to soothe a man’s threatened masculinity just for a bit of company.

He and the blonde reach for the wayward chalk, but it’s just out of their reach.  It’s amusing to watch them try to grab for it, but you take pity on them eventually.

Time for your good deed of the week.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.”  Stepping between the two, you reach up and effortlessly pluck the blue cube from its spot before dropping it into the dark-haired man’s hand with a smile.  “Here you go.”

Wide blue eyes look up into yours, but he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even smile.  He just stares.  Figures.

The blonde looks between you and his companion before clearing his throat.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

The unspoken rejection from the brunette stings.  Normally it wouldn’t get to you, but after today?  It does.  It really does.  So you swallow against the burning thickness in your throat and force back the tears with a fake smile.  “You’re welcome.”  A few more steps and you’re in the ladies’ room, which only serves to make matters worse when you step into an open stall.  As you turn around to lock the door, you can see your entire head in the mirror, poking out above the top.  A pair of women walk in and they giggle, so you quickly sit down.  There’s no point in taking it personally – it actually happens quite a bit in older buildings and you can fully admit that the sight is pretty funny – so you compose yourself and do what you came in to do.  You slouch when you stand in order to avoid accidentally looking into one of the neighboring stalls and go to the vanity to wash up.

Even the sink mocks you by making you bend almost in half to reach the water.

A woman with dark hair and bright red lips exits the far-right stall and joins you at the mirror.  “Oh wow, your shoes and dress are so pretty!”

“Thank you.”

“Did you come from the wedding at the ballroom?”

“Mmm hmm.”  You glance at her shorts and flowery sleeveless top and swallow your sigh – you feel like a fucking behemoth next to her.  “I think maybe I should have stopped by my motel room to change.”

“No, you look really nice!” She smiles up at you, “It’s really not unusual to have people dressed up in here on the weekends, you’re just earlier than we usually see it.  I’ll give you a tip, though, in case your feet start to hurt.  I know the place looks kinda crusty, but the owners take a lot of pride in it.  The floors are clean if you choose to go barefoot.”

Her unexpected kindness surprises you; you’re usually shunned by other women when you’re at a bar because all they see is your height, which they erroneously perceive to be an advantage in attracting men.  “Thank you. That’s really good to know.”  She turns to leave but you stop her when you notice something wrong with her shirt. “Hey, hon, you’re missing a button.”  The poor girl is busty, and she’s likely been flashing an unintentionally generous amount of cleavage for who knows how long.

She looks down and immediately sees the gap in her shirt.  “Well, shit.  I just bought this shirt.  No wonder some of the guys couldn’t look me in the eye.  Stupid boobs, always trying to pop out.  Why can’t they just make clothes that fit real people?”

“I feel ya,” you mutter as you start digging through your purse.  “Hold on, I’ve got something…here, try some of this.”

“Scotch tape?”  She looks confused as she takes it.

“Double sided tape.”

Her eyes get wide as she gazes up at you.  “You’re a genius.  And an angel. An angelic genius!”  She takes some and fixes her shirt, smiling brightly. Thank you so much!!”

Despite your incredibly shittastic day, you find yourself warming to her.  She’s nice.  “You’re welcome!  I didn’t want a bunch of creeps leering at you.  In a world of Chads, we women really need to stick together.”

“Oh, God, you met Chad?” She grimaces and shakes her head, “I’d like to apologize on behalf of the entire town.  He and his friends are not a good representation of the rest of us, I promise.  They don’t even live here, they were just permanently banned from the bar in the next town over and now they’re our problem, apparently.  But I promise, the rest of the people here are alright.”  She sticks out her hand, “I’m Peggy, by the way.”

You shake her calloused hand and give her your name.  “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. If you feel like some company, just come find me.  My friends and I will probably be here for a while, and you’re more than welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, I might just do that.”  You flash a smile, genuine this time, and go back to your seat at the bar.  What the hell, maybe you’ll take her up on her offer after you finish your drink.  

A minute passes, maybe two, before someone takes the barstool next to you.

It’s him.  The gorgeous brunette.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”  You want to roll your eyes at your reply. Smooth.  Real smooth.

“My uh, my friends pointed out that I was rude earlier, so I wanted to apologize.”

You turn to him quizzically, giving him your full attention.  Is this really the same guy that was playing pool?  The sexy one that projected ‘bad ass’?  “For what?”  

His cheeks grow pink and it throws you off guard.  “It’s not nice to stare.  My ma taught me better than that – she’d slap me into next week if she saw how I acted. I ain’t usually like that, I’ve just never seen, uh…”

Here it comes.  The ‘I’ve never seen such a tall woman’ comment that leaves you feeling like a roadside circus freak show.

“Well, you just got an amazing smile.”

Wait, what?  “Huh?”

“I’ve never seen such a pretty smile.”  He shrugs and studies the bar top.  “Your eyes looked sad, though.  I dunno. I guess I was tryin’ to figure you out.” He turns back to you with an almost obnoxiously handsome grin, “My name’s Bucky Barnes.  Can I make it up to you?  Buy you a drink?”  

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to gauge his intent.  He seems genuine enough – he’s either a brilliant actor or you seriously misjudged him, which, in your current cynical mindset, is entirely possible.

You look up to see Clint watching as he dries some glasses.  Maybe he has some insight.  Is this guy decent?  He’s gorgeous but does he have a personality?  

Clint snorts, glancing at Bucky then back to you.   Yeah. He’s a pretty good guy.  He’ll treat you right.

Bucky looks like he’s swallowing a smile when you turn back to him.  “Yeah, I guess you can make it up to me.”

“Really?”  He seems genuinely happy at the prospect.

“Sure.”

“Great!”  Apparently that’s all the invitation he needs to turn on the charm.  “So what’s a gorgeous girl like you doin’ in a dump like this?

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh.

“No,” he shakes his head sheepishly, “It’s not.  Guess I’m really off my game today.  I can usually flirt, I promise.”

A beer and another daiquiri appear on the counter.  “Thanks, man,” Bucky nods to Clint.  “Hey, you wanna grab a table?”  He nods his head to the side of the bar by the jukebox.  “It’s quieter there.  We can chat and I can show you that I ain’t, in fact, the dumbass I’ve made myself out to be.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Why not?  Even if you don’t know Clint enough to trust him, the kids that you work with do, and you trust their judgement.  So if Clint says that Bucky is decent, you’ll believe him.

***

It ends up being a good choice.  Bucky turns out to be more than decent – he’s really nice, funny, respectful, keeps his eyes where they belong, and doesn’t ask if you play basketball.

He asks the basic questions and learns that you live about an hour north of here, that you’re an interpreter, you love to read, write, and draw, and yes, you were at a wedding. Tired of talking about yourself, you take advantage of him pausing to drink his beer and flip the topic.

“So what do you do?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m a mission systems engineer with NASA.”

You blink at him.  “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“A mission systems engineer with NASA.  I know, I –“

“Do you have top secret clearance?”

He looks thoroughly confused.  “That’s your first question?”

“Do you?  Or would you have to kill me if you told me?  Have you been to space?  Does the government have a plan for if an asteroid comes our way, or would we have to do like the movie Armageddon and wing it with a bunch of oil rig operators?”

Bucky appears to be absolutely delighted at your string of questions.  “Well, yes, no, unfortunately no, and I can’t tell you that because has to do with national security.”

“Fascinating.”  You sit back, thoroughly intrigued by the man sitting across from you. “What the hell are you doing in a podunk town like this? Shouldn’t you be in Houston?  Or D.C.?”

“I live here.” He chuckles at your unimpressed stare. “Yeah, I know it’s a small town – we got a bar, three churches, a motel, a gas station, and a diner that closes by 7 pm every day.  Our biggest draw is the ballroom on the lake shore and the hunting grounds in the fall. It ain’t exactly the heart of modern technology.  But I grew up here, my family and friends are here, and I stick around to help out on their farm.  I fly into Headquarters a few times a year, but otherwise I work remotely.”

“So what do you do?”

“The general gist of it is that I lead a team that designs, develops, and deploys missions.”

“To space?”

“Well, I mean, I work for NASA…”

“What are you working on now?”  You can’t help peppering him with questions – this is so fucking cool.

His eyes sparkle.  “You got top secret clearance?”

“No.”

“Sorry.  Can’t tell you anything,” he shrugs with a smirk.

“I…yeah, I guess I kind of walked right into that.  Wow.  So you’re really freaking smart.”

“I hope so!”

“Do you like it?”

“Being smart?”

“Your job, dipshit.”

He laughs, freely and openly, and it’s an amazing sound.  “I love it.”

You can’t help but stare at him.  “Wow. That’s…that’s just really, really fucking incredible.”

Bucky gets quiet.  “It is really incredible.  Thank you for thinking so.”  He looks up, then back down as he starts peeling the label off his empty bottle of beer. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve told about my job that didn’t either tell me I don’t look smart enough to be a mission systems engineer or ask me how much money I make.”  He meets your eyes again.  “Or both.  I get that a lot, too.”

You certainly know how shitty it feels to get those kinds of unsolicited comments based solely on appearance.  It’s one thing to have an impression, but to just say those things out loud?  “Well, they suck.  And they’re truly shallow if they think intelligence has anything to do with how you look.  But hey, at least they show their true colors right away so you can save yourself some time.” You lean forward, chin in hand, “Okay, so I know you can’t tell me about your actual projects, but can you tell me about your job?  What are your responsibilities?  What does a mission systems engineer do?”

Bucky lights up like New York City and spends the next 40 minutes going into detail about what he does, and you hang on every word; it’s impossible not to, really.  His enthusiasm for what he does is so evident that even if the topic weren’t interesting, you’d still be entranced.  And you thought he was gorgeous before?  His animated passion makes him absolutely breathtaking.

You’ve both finished your drinks and, perhaps not so surprisingly, he switches to soda when you do. When unordered appetizers arrive with your new drinks, you both look over to Clint, who just winks and shrugs.

“Well I ain’t gonna complain.  Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”  Bucky shoves an entire ham and cheese ball into his mouth, but then has to hasashafahasa because it must have just come out of the fryer.  “Ish hot!  Rearry hot!”

Bursting into laugher, you slide your ice water to him before cautiously taking a bite of your buffalo wing. Considering how much fun you’ve had in the last hour, it isn’t all that surprising that your appetite has returned. “Me neither.”

The hours fly by as the conversation eventually turns to other topics, and you find yourself talking about things you wouldn’t expect considering you’ve just met.  Bucky seems so open and honest that it’s difficult not to reciprocate, and if one doesn’t go into detail about what the other asks, it’s only because there’s so much to cover.  

Bucky dips the last bit of pretzel into the beer cheese sauce and pops it into his mouth.  “So if you don’t mind me asking, what made those pretty eyes of yours so sad?”

You take a long sip of your Coke Zero as you debate your next move.  Deflect or come clean?  You surprise yourself when you blurt out, “My aunt, Lydia.”

“Your aunt?”

You squirm a bit at the uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability, but you keep going.  “Yeah.  It was her daughter that got married today.  Marie and I grew up together – Lydia is my mom’s only sister, so she was the one that took care of me when my mom had to work double shifts, which was a lot. She did the best she could, and she means well, she really does, but she’s just so caught up with appearances. My height is a, uh, a definite sore spot with her.”

“Really?  Why?  What does it matter?”

“I think it comes down to the appearance thing.  Tall women are generally seen as less feminine, even straight up masculine.  Lydia is tall, too – not quite as tall as me, but close.  She claims that she got her husband through making herself appear daintier.  She only wears flats and follows all the newest fad diets to make herself as small as she can because she feels that being a tall woman puts her at a distinct disadvantage.”  You shrug, “She was one of the primary examples I grew up with. And to be fair, it’s not like she’s completely wrong.  In my experience, guys tend to feel emasculated by me.  And it’s not just men that seem to see me through a distorted lens.  Even from a young age – I’m talking 4th grade – I’d hear teachers tell my mom that I seemed so much more mature than my peers, that I didn’t need as much support, emotional or academic, as everyone else.  I got additional responsibilities and higher expectations.  The thing is, I wasn’t more mature.  I was just tall, so I looked more mature.  Eventually it kind of came true, though.  Other than my mom, who was single and working 2 jobs to keep me housed and fed, I didn’t really have anyone that would protect me or support me.  I guess no one thought I needed it, so I just got used to doing it myself.”

Bucky shakes his head, and you can’t tell if his expression is one of pity, sadness, anger, or something else.  

“But Lydia made everything a hundred times worse than it needed to be.  I already knew I was outside the norm, I didn’t need the reminders. But every time I’d hit a growth spurt she would share some nasty comment on it, as if telling me that boys didn’t like tall girls would somehow stop my bones from stretching.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Mmm hmm.  Despite my mom’s efforts – and the fact that being tall is actually pretty awesome – Lydia’s words really got under my skin, and even now they undermine my confidence sometimes.”  You gesture to yourself and the bar, “Obviously.  I should be at my cousin’s wedding right now.  I don’t go to many family functions anymore, because of her.  It just…it puts my head in a bad place.  You know, they say it takes five to seven positive comments to balance out one negative comment?  The negative is in everything she says.  Everything.  I love my family to pieces, but I just can’t handle her.”

“What did she say to you today?”  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Bucky is getting pissed.  

“She met me at the door of the chapel with a pair of her ugly black penny loafers.  Said that she told the photographer that I wasn’t allowed in any family pictures unless I was wearing them, because she didn’t want my Amazonian ass towering over everyone else and ruining the aesthetic.”

“Your…your ‘Amazonian ass’?”

“Eh,” you shrug and wave your hand dismissively.  “It’s not the first time I’ve been called an Amazon and far from the worst thing people have said. I mean, people say it to be cruel, but Amazons were fearless warriors.  I just think of it as being put in the same class as Wonder Woman.  The part that hurt was that she was prepared to make sure I wasn’t in the pictures, that she thought she could just erase my existence, simply because I’m too tall for her liking.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “I might be overstepping here, but what a heartless bitch.  No one should ever try to erase you, what a fucking idiot.”

“She browbeat Marie into dyeing her hair blonde for the wedding.  Marie hates it, but did it for her mom’s approval.”  You release a deep sigh, “But that’s Lydia, and that’s why I took my Amazonian ass out of there the second the ceremony was over.”

“Hmmmm.”  He gazes at you.  “You know she’s a princess, right?  

“Huh?”

“Wonder Woman.  She’s a princess. You know…Amazon Princess…it actually kinda suits you.”

“Seriously?”

“Damn right I’m serious. You’re tall?  So what.  You’re fuckin’ royalty.  Own it, Princess.  Correct ‘em. Make ‘em say it.  Amazon Princess.”  

“What?”

“Yep.  Say it with me.  Amazon Princess.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, but there’s something undeniably sweet about the way he’s pressing the issue. It’s not good enough for him that it doesn’t bother you – he wants it to be seen as a term of empowerment and to let people know that’s how you see it.

The moment is interrupted when a booming voice comes through the sound system.  “Alright everybody, it’s ten o’clock!”  Someone stands on the stage, holding a mike and looking more than a little tipsy.  “You know what that means!”

The bar cheers, “Free jukebox!”

A line forms immediately, and the music starts.

“Wanna dance, Princess?”

“Really?  You’re going to call me ‘Princess’ now?”

He shrugs with darkening eyes and a suggestive smirk.  “If it’s okay with you.”

If he keeps looking at you the way he’s looking at you right now, he can call you whatever he damn well pleases.  But he doesn’t need to know that.  “Yeah,” you murmur.  His gaze is so intense that you have to look around the bar to break it and gather your thoughts.  You happen to see Peggy; she’s standing next to the blonde that had been playing pool with Bucky, so she must know him.  She catches your eye, sees who you’re with, and gives a thumbs up with a huge grin. Well, alright then.  You grin back and remember what she said.  “Let’s dance.”

Bucky stands, stopping when he sees you toeing off your heels.  “Woah, what’re you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes?”

He shakes his head, “Princess, you don’t need to do that.  I ain’t too fragile to dance with a woman taller than me.”

“I know,” and you do, “But I can’t dance in these.  And my feet hurt.”

When you stand, you’re almost eye to eye with Bucky; if he were barefoot as well, you would be.

People are still lined up at the jukebox, selecting their favorites.  It’s exactly the mix you would expect from a place like this – classic songs like Brown Eyed Girl, Summer of ’69, and Footloose with more modern tunes sprinkled in  – the kind of music that gets everyone up and dancing.

Bucky is a great dance partner, and you’re having an absolute blast.  You don’t think about your aunt, the wedding that you’re supposed to be at, or how you are, without a doubt, the tallest woman in the bar.  He laughs, showing off the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, obviously enjoying himself, too.  

The jukebox switches songs again, and on comes the relentless, even rhythm of Black Velvet.  For the first few measures, you just stare at each other.  It’s the first song to play that isn’t upbeat, and you don’t know what to do until he makes the first move and pulls you close – close enough to breathe each other in. He stares as Alannah Myles’ smokey voice drifts over the steady bass, then spins you so your back is to him.  

If Bucky’s a good dance partner for upbeat music, he’s even better when it’s slow like this, when every move counts.  He’s enough to handle you, and more than confident enough to do so.

Bucky stays behind you, mirroring you with his hands resting gently at your waist.  Your back is against his chest, but his hips keep their distance. Just to experiment, you press yours back and hear a guttural “fuck” before he intentionally shifts.

Bucky is absolutely nothing that you expected.  “You’re a gentleman.”

You can feel the dark chuckle rumbles through him. “I wouldn’t say that, Princess.”  He spins you around, pulling you close but not too close, and runs his thumb along your neck.  “I just ain’t in the habit of taking what ain’t mine.”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine.  Fuck. You like him.  One night stands aren’t usually your thing…but that’s not what this feels like.  He feels familiar.  Safe.  You like him, and he sure seems to like you. Your mind is already made up – you’ll take the chance and see what happens.  You hardly recognize your own voice when you ask, “Do you want me to be?”

“Thought I was makin’ it obvious.  Yes.”  He doesn’t hesitate and his eyes don’t leave yours.  “Are you offering?”  

You move your hand to the back of his neck and lightly scratch, watching with satisfaction as his pupils dilate even more than they were.  His lips part when you pull him closer, but he waits for you to close the kiss.

The second you do, his hands slide down to your lower hips before he tightens his grip.  He’s not timid; he kisses you as though you’re a well-known lover, deeply and intensely, without bothering with introductions.  

Bucky suddenly breaks the kiss, spinning you around again to pull your back against his chest.  This time, though, he allows his hips to rock into yours with the rhythm of the music, slow and steady and insatiable.  The way he moves makes it impossible not to think about fucking him; hell, you’re practically halfway there already.  His hands alternate holding you tightly to his body, maximizing contact, and running up and down your sides.  Your head falls back when his mouth finds your neck, and your legs go weak when his teeth nibble that spot beneath your ear.

You’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His voice is thick when his lips find your ear, “Wanna get out of here?”

You nod, taking his hand to lead him back to the table to collect your things.  “I’ve got a room at the motel a block away.”

“Good.”

When you take one last look around, you see Clint, still behind the bar, grinning at you like an absolute idiot.  Have fun!

“Oh my God,” you mutter under your breath, but you can’t completely hide the smile.

You step outside to find that the unbearable heat of the day has eased somewhat now that the sun has set. It’s still warm as the humid air kisses your skin, but with the breeze it’s sultry rather than oppressive.

You and Bucky look up at the same time – the stars are barely visible through the haze of clouds. There’s a thunderstorm rolling in on the western horizon.

Bucky walks you to your car, making sure you’re in safely before getting in his own truck and following you to the motel.  He jumps out of his vehicle and pushes you against the car the second you’re out of it, kissing you like it’s been days and not 2 minutes since his lips were last on yours.  

He doesn’t stop until the first few raindrops hit your skin.  Bucky looks up while you grab your purse and your aunt’s shoes out of the car, gathering them clumsily before locking the door.  It takes a minute for you to get your room key out of your purse, but you finally manage.

“Looks like the storm is already here.  Gonna be a good one if it got here that fast.”  He takes your hand, “Which room are you in?”

“Up the steps, furthest door on the left.”

Bucky leads you to the stairs as you both laugh while trying unsuccessfully to dodge the increasingly fat drops of rain.  He doesn’t let go of your hand until you need to unlock the door, and the second you hear the click of the lock, his lips are on yours again.  He pushes the door open and guides you through, closing the door behind him with a well-placed kick.  You drop your purse and the loafers, then step out of your heels as he toes his shoes off.  Still connected at the lips, he doesn’t see the things on the floor and trips over one of your stilettos.

“Oh shit!”  His eyes are huge, staring up into yours when he realizes he isn’t going to hit the floor because you’ve caught him by the arm. “Good catch, Princess.”  Both of you start laughing as he stands up straight, but the laughter dies out when his mouth find yours again.  Hungry hands roam your body while you reach beneath his shirt so your fingers can explore the taut muscles you just know are hiding beneath it.  Bucky grabs the collar behind his neck and pulls the shirt off altogether, and you are not disappointed.  “You like what you see, huh?”  

“Damn right I do.”  You’re breathless, pressing your lips against the salty skin of his collarbone.

“You sure know how to use that mouth of yours, don’t ya?”  He groans, then reaches down to grab the hem of your dress to lift it over your head before tossing it to the side.   “Goddamn, darlin.”  Bucky eyeballs you like a starving man at a feast before his mouth is back on yours, then moves his lips to the top of your breasts while he reaches around to unclasp your bra.  It joins your discarded dress as he pulls you close, groaning at the feel of your naked breasts pressed against his chest.  “I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve you walkin’ into that bar tonight,” he bites your neck and you can’t stop the light whimper, “but I ain’t gonna complain. I’m gonna make you feel so good, Princess, I promise.”

You believe him.  And you cannot wait.

The two of you somehow manage to take a couple of steps toward the bed.  “I’ve wanted to do this since you smiled at me after givin’ me that chalk.  Those eyes, that smile, that dress, those fuckin’ sexy shoes.”  His hands find your hips, hooking your panties with his thumbs to push them down so you can step out of them.  “When we started dancin’ all I could think about was what it would feel like havin’ your legs wrapped around me, I want you so damn bad.”

You unbutton his jeans and fumble with the zipper, then pull his jeans and boxer briefs down at the same time, freeing a fully hard cock that is nothing short of glorious.  “Then either figure out how to multitask or stop talking and fuck me already.”

Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

He kicks off his remaining garments before pushing you against the nearest vertical surface – which happens to be the middle of the window, where there’s a strip of metal supporting the two panes of glass.  You aren’t sitting on the ledge, just leaning against it to keep your balance.  It occurs to you that maybe you should close the curtains, but you’re too far gone to care enough to do anything about it.

“Don’t you worry, Princess. I can do both.”  His arm is looped around your waist to hold you steady while your upper back presses against the cold strip of metal.  You’ve got one arm hooked around his neck and the other steadying yourself on the edge of the windowsill.  Bucky reaches down, takes hold of your thigh and lifts it to his hip. He lets go of your waist just long enough to guide his cock to your entrance – and he can slide right in because you’re so damn wet – and fuck, the way he stretches you is delicious.

“Christ, you’re so damn fuckable,” he moans in your ear, sending shivers throughout your entire body. “So fucking perfect…don’t need a bed or a chair, I can fuck you anywhere I want.  I could just bend you over, wouldn’t even need a wall.”  Between his thrusts, which are as maddeningly steady and slow as his dancing, the cool metal of the windowpane at your upper back, the flickers of lightening, and the crashes of thunder, it’s almost sensory overload. He’s holding you so tightly that you can’t move your hips much, so you’re completely at his mercy.  And he knows it.

Each move he makes is a sin; the angle you’re at all but guarantees he’s stroking your clit with every move.  Delirious with the sensations flooding your brain, you can only babble nonsense.  

“What’s that, Princess? Use your words, darlin,” Bucky

“So…so good…I, huh…”

He chuckles darkly, “What was that?”

He’s not playing fair but you really don’t mind – his confidence with you is a rarity and is such a fucking turn on.  “More.”

“More?  You want me to fuck you harder?  Is that right?”  He waits for your nod before flashing a wicked grin lit by lightning, then adjusts his grip on your thigh.  “Anything you want, Princess, you get.”

His thrusts come harder and faster, multiplying your pleasure tenfold.  Then he shifts his hand on your thigh, changing the support from holding it up to pushing it back, opening you further and allowing him to go even deeper.

Oh, oh fuck…

Your entire body clenches with your orgasm, so tightly you can’t even breathe, and your mouth opens in a silent scream.

Bucky follows you just seconds later with a growl of your name against your neck and a few last ragged movements.

He releases your thigh as he gently pulls out, but he doesn’t take his arm from around your waist. You lift yourself onto the windowsill, pulling him between your legs as you hold each other close and catch your breath while the storm rages outside.  He keeps his face buried in your neck as you run your fingers up and down his back, calming you both.  The thunder rumbles violently while lightning dances in the sky, but it doesn’t worry you. You’ve always found comfort in the chaos of a storm.

Eventually your legs start to fall asleep, so you begin to move.  Bucky notices and hikes both of your thighs up to his hips before guiding your arms up around his neck.  “Hold on, Princess.”  He reaches down and lifts you, carrying you the 5 feet to the bed.  After laying you down, he begins kissing you again, then starts exploring your body.  “I love being cradled in your thighs like this, but there’s something else I wanna try,” he whispers as he starts crawling down.  “Now I can take my time with you.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’s going.  “Really? Um, maybe I should shower first?” You’re sweaty from the heat of the day and just had some really incredible sex, so there’s no doubt in your mind that things are less than fresh down there.

“If you want to.”  He keeps on his slow descent, kissing everything in his path, “But I’m happy with you just like this.  I want you, right now, as you are.”

“But don’t you –“

“No.  I don’t.”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he looks up from his destination.  “I don’t care.”  And then Bucky dives in, devouring your pussy like he’d devoured your mouth.  He’s got you writhing in moments, all worries gone. But he’s a goddamn tease now that the initial urgency has been satisfied, bringing you to the edge and then backing off again and again in a beautiful torture.

You can’t do dirty talk to save your life, but you’re about to start begging when he finally looks up, chin glistening before he wipes it away with the back of his hand.  “Fucking delicious.”  Between the sight of him, his voice, and the sensations you’re feeling, your brain just about short circuits.  Then his fingers start to circle your entrance, teasing you, making you want more before he slowly pushes two in and curls them to press against that spot, and fuck it can’t feel any better, but then somehow it does.  You pull a pillow over your face but he shifts, reaching up to yank it back off and throw it across the room.  “No way, Princess, I wanna hear what I do to you,” he rasps, watching you with hungry eyes and a feral grin.  You’re almost there…almost…and then he puts his mouth back on your clit and your universe implodes.

One orgasm blends into another and you allow him to push your limits until you can’t handle it anymore. “Stop,” you gasp, and he does immediately.  “I’m – it’s too much.  I…wow.” You’re so oversensitive at this point that if he breathes too hard, you might jump out of your skin.

Bucky crawls his way back up to you, dropping kisses on your hot skin as he goes.  “You’re incredible, you know that?  I love how your body responds to me, I fucking love it.”

He kisses you again, and despite your sensitivity, your hunger for him grows.  Sitting up, you pull him with you then push him down to the mattress.  “Fuck yes,” he whispers hoarsely when you straddle him and slide down, pausing to glide your pussy along his hardened cock, but then you slide down a little farther before spreading his legs so you can kneel between them.  

It’s impossible not to groan aloud when your hands find his thighs; thick, tight, and incredibly well formed, they look like they were sculpted by a generous god.  “I might have to ride one of these later.”

“Please –“  Bucky swallows hard and licks his lips as he watches you in the dim, sporadically flickering light, “Please do.”

One hand moves to palm his balls while you part your lips to take him in as far as you can, reveling in his heaviness on your tongue while using your hand to stroke the base of his cock. You give it a bit, waiting until he’s writhing beneath you before you pull off and redirect your attention.  His eyes grow wide when your fingers start moving down beneath his balls to his taint, pressing gently to find the very root of his cock which will then lead you to the spot you’re looking for.  Pressing firmly when you find it, you begin rubbing tight circles.

“What are you – oh.  Oh.  Oh, fuck, Princess, oh fuck!”

It’s ridiculously satisfying to see him reduced to the same whimpering, quivering puddle you were not so long ago.  You make him come once, twice, three times without ejaculating, just because you can.  

Bucky’s got his forearm resting over his eyes as he shakes his head, and you take advantage of his distraction to shift your body into position.  “Holy shit.” He’s breathless, shaking,  “I did not know I had a spot that could do that.  Fuck.  I – oh Christ…“

You slide onto his cock, smiling when his hands automatically reach to grip your hips – the biology and technique can be explained later.  Leaning over, you kiss him deeply then stretch your arms above him to grip the headboard.  Rocking your hips slowly, so slowly, you watch him watch you.

Bucky’s lips form words but nothing comes out except for sighs and soft moans as you become more and more intoxicated by his need for you.  His hands wander up and down, touching your breasts, hips, ass, and everything in between until he pulls you down for another kiss.  “Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you are?  You feel so good.  So fucking good.  Wanna make you feel good.  As good as you make me feel.”  Bucky kisses you again, sloppily, then wraps an arm tightly around you before flipping you both.

Now that you’re on the bottom and he’s back in control, he picks up the pace considerably.

You certainly aren’t about to complain.

His hands are grasping yours, holding them over your head, and your legs are locked around his hips as his thrusts eventually begin to lose their impeccable rhythm.  

Now neither of you are in control.

The pleasure has been steadily building, an inevitable tidal wave on the horizon.  Maybe it’s his confidence, maybe he’s naturally gifted, maybe it’s that his body seems to fit with yours just right.  Whatever it is, this is by far the best sex you’ve ever had, and despite already having multiple orgasms, your appetite for him seems to be insatiable because you’re greedy for the next one.

“Fuck, Princess, it feels so good having those legs wrapped around me,” he pants, “Goddamn, I can – I can feel you’re right there.  I ain’t gonna last much longer, come for me, darlin, give it to me now.  Oh Christ yes, that’s right, just – just like that.”

Your body obeys, giving him exactly what he wants.  The velvet sound of his voice, his incessant dirty talk, the way he smells and tastes – everything about him adds to your pleasure induced stupor.  The orgasm is so powerful that everything but Bucky goes black, and the only thing keeping you tethered to this world is the way he chants your name as he comes.

His body continues to cover yours as you wait for your racing pulse to slow.  He presses kisses to your neck, cheeks, lips, and eyelids, and finally your forehead before he gently lifts himself off to lay next to you. “C’mere,” he pulls you to him, and when you rest your head on his chest you can hear how fast his heart is still beating.

Thoroughly sated and soothed by the feel of his fingertips on your skin, it’s tempting to give in and fall asleep.  But not yet. Not if you want to sleep through the night.

Reluctantly, you rise. Maybe, if you’re really fast, maybe he’ll still be here when you get back.  It’s probably not the sane thing to do, but you really, really want him to stay the night.

“Where you going?”  Is that trepidation you hear in his voice?

You smile as you take in the sight of him lying in the bed, disheveled and clearly satisfied. “I need to shower.  And wash my face – I need to get my makeup off.  My eyes are getting itchy.”

“Can I join you?”  He laughs at your raised eyebrow, “No, Princess, not like that.  I’m gonna need some time to recover.”

“That’s good to know,” you smirk, “I was starting to wonder if you were a god wearing a mortal’s skin.”

Bucky blushes.  It’s adorable.  “Nah, no god here.  Just a man that’s never wanted a woman so bad before.  Still do,” he shrugs, “Just too worn out at the moment to do anything about it. You’re somethin’ special, I hope you know that.”

It’s your turn to feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you hold out your hand to help him up.  

The shower is tender and sweet, full of soft kisses and softer touches.  This man just keeps surprising you.

He’s toweling off his hair when his eyes meet yours in the vanity mirror.  “Is it okay if I stay?”

A slow smile spreads across your face – you couldn’t stop it if you tried.  “I’d like that.”  You slip into fresh panties and a tank top, turning to face him fully to admit, “I’d like that a lot.”  Bucky beams at you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips and heads to the bed. You finish up a few minutes later and crawl in, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.  There’s nothing to hide behind – no makeup, no cocktail dress, no drink.  It’s just you, and this is a state that very few people see you in; no one you’ve ever dated has seen you this vulnerable until months have gone by.  Some didn’t see you this way at all.  “Don’t look too close.  I’m very unglamorous and monochrome without makeup.”

Bucky’s blue eyes stare in yours.  “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”  His fingers trace your freshly moisturized skin.  “I think you’re beautiful.”

Outside, the thunderstorm has exhausted itself.  He pulls you close and breathes you in, and you both fall asleep to the sound of gentle rain.

***

When the sun peeks through the gap in the curtains at 6 am, you’re not even mad that you’re awake.  The sight of Bucky lying peacefully next to you is something you’re thoroughly enjoying.

“You’re staring.”  His voice, deep and gravelly, rumbles lightly into the silence as he opens his eyes.  “It’s because I’m decent and gorgeous with a personality, right?”

“What?”

Bucky smirks as he stretches and sits up.  “I should probably come clean.  The bartender from last night?  My parents took him and his sister in after their parents were killed in an accident. Clint and Carrie were lucky to survive – he lost his hearing and six months of memories and she was in the ICU for 3 weeks.  He and I have practically been brothers since grade school.”

It takes a minute, but you finally put the pieces together.  Oh.  Well, shit.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just really surprised to see you sign so I didn’t look away fast enough. I’m sorry.”

You sit up and slap him lightly on the shoulder.  “So, you knew what I asked him?

His smile broadens as he gives you puppy dog eyes.  Yes. Please don’t be mad.

You try not to smile back as you think about it but lose the battle and shrug.  “I’m not mad.  Maybe a little embarrassed, but we’ve known each other for what, 12 hours?  It’s not like you can tell me everything about you in that short amount of time.”  You give him some serious side eye, “Although you could have mentioned that when I told you what I do for a living.”

He studies your eyes like he’s trying to see into your soul.  “I told you a lot, though.”

“You did.  We both did.”  It surprises you, more than a little, that you aren’t horrified at how open and honest you’ve been with him.

Bucky reaches his hand up to cup your cheek and he pulls you in for a kiss.  “Good morning, beautiful.”  It seems like he doesn’t want to part, because he rests his forehead against yours.

Somehow your hand finds his neck, and you gently rub your thumb along his jawline.  “Good morning, Bucky.”

His stomach grumbles. Loudly.  “Wanna grab some breakfast, Princess?”

It makes you a stupid amount of happy that he’s not ready to leave you just yet.  “Yeah.  I just need a little bit to get ready.”

A half hour later, Bucky opens the passenger side door of his pickup.  “Your chariot, Princess.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking his offered hand and climbing in.  It’s an older truck, one with a bench seat, and it smells of hay, Bucky’s cologne, and sweat.  It’s not what you’d expected, but it suits him.

In this tiny little town nothing is open at this hour on a Sunday morning, so Bucky pulls his pickup onto the interstate to head to a fast food restaurant a few miles away.  You take the time to look around – the area is really pretty and reminds you of the drive to your grandparents’ house, all farmland and pastures.  Of course, you can’t help but stare at the horses whenever you pass them.  “Whoa.  They must breed Appaloosas.”

Bucky takes a quick glance out your window.  “Yeah, that’s the Carter farm.  They raise Appaloosas and alpacas.”  He’s quiet for a moment.  “You like horses?  Not everyone can randomly pick out that breed.”

“I love horses,” you murmur, smiling broadly when you spot a few foals among the herd.  You’re too busy looking at them to notice how he looks at you.

***

Breakfast is simple, just something picked up at a drive thru window, but that’s perfectly fine with you. Bucky doesn’t pull back onto the interstate though, he instead starts driving the winding country roads.  You don’t mind in the least; you simply sip your coffee, content to be exactly where you are.  Considering the hour, you aren’t even grumpy.  Stealing glance at the reason why, you hide your smile and take another sip.

Bucky’s fingers drum almost nervously against the wheel, then he seems to make a decision as he brakes sharply.  “Sorry, Princess,” he smiles sheepishly, “You up for a picnic?  I know a spot.”

His smile is infectious. “Yeah.”

He takes the left he stopped so quickly for, and then another left onto a dirt road, and a mile later he turns onto what looks like a seldom used service trail leading up to a fenced in pasture.  “Just a sec,” he pulls the truck to a stop, then gets out to open a gate.  Bucky quickly climbs back in, drives the truck through about 20 feet before turning in a tight circle to face the road, and closes the gate behind him before stepping up to your door.  “I got some blankets, do you want to sit in the truck bed with me?”

“Of course.”

He gets the blankets and spreads them out while you grab the food and coffees, handing them to him before you climb in after him.

“I would’ve helped you in, Princess.”

“Bucky.  I’m not five feet tall.  I can get into the back of a truck.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m fully aware of that.  But unlike the other shmucks you seem to have come across in your life, I ain’t gonna make you do something by yourself just because you can.  You deserve consideration and chivalry, too.”

What do you even say to that?  He’s the exact opposite of pretty much everything you’ve ever known.  It’s nice.

He sits down against a box that is attached to the back of the cab.  “C’mere.  You look cold.”  

It was hot when you’d packed your overnight bag so you’ve only got a tee shirt and shorts on, and luckily a hoodie that just happened to be in the backseat of your car.  “I am, a little,” you admit as you curl into his side, allowing him to cover your legs with another blanket that he’s pulled out.

He eats one handed, keeping an arm around you to keep you close and warm.

Everything smells clean and fresh now that the storm went through, and the morning air is chilly but fresh with the light breeze.  The radio plays softly, drifting through the open windows as you and Bucky eat and watch the fluffy white clouds drift by.  It’s the best picnic you’ve ever had, hands down.

“So where are we? It’s beautiful here.”

“My parents’ farm.”

You turn to stare at him. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yep.”

“Lucky.”

“I am.  Hey, I wanna introduce you to someone.”  He stands suddenly, not waiting for a reply.  You’re in the middle of a pasture, who the hell is there for you to meet?  Bucky brings his fingers to his lips and lets out the sort of piercing whistle that you’ve never managed to master.

And then…and then…

“Are you fucking serious.” Eyes wide, you bring yourself to a kneeling position as a steel grey Percheron comes galloping full speed towards the truck.  “Bucky!”

He turns toward you, face almost split in two by his grin.  The horse slows down, circling the truck and whickering before coming to a full stop right at the tailgate.  

“I’d like you to meet Sergeant.”  

“Oh my God, Bucky, he’s stunning,” you breathe, unable to help yourself as you slowly move forward to sit at the edge of the open tailgate.   Intelligent eyes take you in before a velvet muzzle finds your hand.  “Sorry buddy, I don’t have any treats for you.  But I do have ear scratches,” you murmur, firmly stroking the planes of his face before scratching behind his ears.  You giggle when he sighs, and again when he mouths gently at your hair.  

Bucky beams with pride as he pulls an apple out of the box you’d been leaning against, feeding it to Sergeant before sitting on the tailgate next to you.  “I’ve had him for 20 years.  I got him when he was just a colt.  Trained him myself.  He’s one of the reasons why I choose to work remotely – I just can’t imagine not getting to see him.”

“I don’t blame you at all, I don’t think I could’ve left this sweetheart either.”  Sergeant blows gently in your face, then nuzzles you hard enough to push you backwards.  “Oh my goodness, you are just a big baby, aren’t you, Sarge?  Oh, you like that?  That spot right there?”  You laugh lightly as the giant horse stretches his neck toward you, seeming to thoroughly enjoy how you scratch just beneath where his mane grows.

“He likes you.”  Sergeant looks over when Bucky speaks, but then turns back to you.

“Well, I like him.” Feeling eyes on you, you turn to Bucky. “What, are you jealous?” you tease.

“Yes.”  Bucky cradles your face in both his hands and begins kissing you.  Before you know it, you’re lying in the truck bed with him, making out like a couple of teenagers out past curfew.  Time slows even as it moves, and you’d swear the minutes stretched into a blissful forever as you lay in his embrace.  But the real world likes to force its way in, and the distant sound of a car’s horn brings you both back to your senses.

Sergeant is about 50 feet away, grazing peacefully as Bucky pulls out his phone to check the time.  “We, uh, we should get going.  I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands to myself, and my folks will be drivin’ by on their way to church in about 15 minutes.”

“Don’t feel like scarring them forever with the view of your naked ass?”  You sit up and start pulling up the blankets to fold them.

“Honestly?”  He shakes his head, “They’d probably cheer and then invite you over for dinner.”

Pausing your movements, you let that one sink in.  “…Oh. Well that would be just as awkward as the alternative.”

He shrugs.  “They’ve been dropping some not so subtle hints that they think I should settle down.  They’d be thrilled just to know I spent the night with you.”

You tilt your head a bit as you watch him.  “Don’t you date?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Really?  Why not?”

He shrugs again as you hand him the blankets, then he turns his back to you as he puts them in the box. “I dunno.  I guess I just hadn’t found anyone I wanted to actually spend time with.”  

“Huh.”

“What?”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he turns back around.  “That so weird?”

“No, I get it.  You definitely shouldn’t settle.  I guess…” he’s staring at you now, waiting for you to finish, “I guess I’m just a little surprised that someone hasn’t snatched you up yet.  Where I come from, you’re quite a catch.”

“You think so?  How’s that?”

Is he baiting you? Teasing you?  Genuinely curious?  It’s impossible to tell.  “I know so. You’re smart, kind, funny, and a stupid amount of gorgeous,” you pause to level a look at him, “but I suppose you already knew I thought the last part.”

Bucky barks out a laugh but at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

“You have an absolutely beautiful horse, which wins points with pretty much every person I know. Your parents took in a couple of kids when they needed a family, and you learned a new language so you could keep communicating with your friend.  You have every opportunity to move to another city, but you stay here to be close to those you care about.  And,” it’s dumb, really, how you’re suddenly too shy to meet his eyes, “You’re really good in bed.  Like, really really good.  You’re the whole damn package.”  When you finally look up, he’s staring at you again.  “There’s a perfectly real possibility that you’re a total asshole and that you’ve been acting this whole time – I’ve only known you for a day – but I haven’t seen any cracks.  I get the definite impression that I met the real Bucky, and he is one hell of a catch.”  

“Huh.”  He hops down and turns, holding out his hand to help you down.  Do you need to take it?  No, but you love that he offers anyway.  He doesn’t let go after he helps you out, instead choosing to hold your hand as he walks you to the passenger side.  Bucky only lets go because he has to, and once the gate is secured behind the truck, he takes your hand and holds it for the entire drive back to the motel.

***

Ever the gentleman, Bucky walks you back to your motel door.  

“Do you have to go?” The words are out before you can think too long on them.

He’s shaking his head before your entire sentence is out, “No.  Not if you don’t want me to.”

You don’t even care if you sound needy or clingy.  “Please stay.”

Just like you learned last night, Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

At least the drapes are closed this time.

***

A sharp rap at the door and an equally sharp call of your name interrupts your post-lovemaking bliss.  It’s your aunt.

“I don’t wanna,” you whine.

Bucky bristles, sensing your distress.  “That her?”

You nod before pulling a pillow over your head.  “I’m just going to pretend I’m still asleep.  Maybe she’ll go away.”

“Don’t worry Princess, I got you.”

You feel the bed shift and move the pillow.  “Bucky!”

He turns back to you, eyebrows raised, as another insistent knock echoes through the room.

“You’re naked!”  It comes out as a stage whisper, making you both snicker.

He flashes a shit eating grin.  “So?”

Is he really gonna…

With a dramatic huff, he stops to find his boxer briefs and quickly tugs them on.  Kind of.  They’re sitting awfully low.

First there’s the sound of the door swinging open, then Bucky’s voice, bored and borderline intimidating.  “Yeah?”

The following silence is deafening and you almost wish the room was set up so you could see your aunt’s face, but all you can see is the back half of Bucky’s sensational body leaning in the doorframe.

“Uh, hi?  I’m looking for my niece?  I thought this was her room?”

“You mean the tall, gorgeous drink of water?  About my height?  Killer smile? Was wearing, uh, let’s see, what was she wearing?  It’s been awhile and she ain’t wearin’ much of anything now.”

The blood rushes to your face, but you can’t even imagine how embarrassed Lydia is right now.  The thought is nothing short of glorious.    

“Uh,” he snaps his fingers a few times, feigning concentration, “Oh!  A black dress with the sexiest heels imaginable?  Sound about right?”

“Well, yes, but –“

“Yeah, she’s here.” His tone is still bored, but you think you can pick up on an edge of amusement.  Your aunt must be squirming by now, and it’s all you can do to not start cackling.

“I thought…well…the gift opening is in an hour.  I thought she was going to meet us for breakfast before –“

“She won’t be goin’ to the gift opening.  Or breakfast, but don’t you worry, ma’am.  I made sure she ate something.”

The not so subtle innuendo almost makes you choke on your own spit.

“You can’t – are you holding my niece hostage or something?”

He laughs darkly but yells out, “Princess, am I holding you hostage?”

Your own laugher, unable to be contained any longer, bursts out.  “Nope!” you call out, absolutely feeling as gleeful as you sound.

Lydia is practically apoplectic by now.  “But what about the gift opening?”

“She doesn’t. Want.  To go,” he growls, stooping down.  “And here, she doesn’t want your fucking ugly shoes, either.  Stop projecting your insecurities onto her – she’s perfect the way she is.”  Bucky closes the door – perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary – and you hear the sound of the lock sliding into place before he saunters back to the bed.

“Thank you for doing that, Buck.  I – holy shit, I cannot believe you answered the door like that.”  Your eyes are glued to how low his boxers are sitting – he’s showing more than just his happy trail.

“What?  Everything’s technically covered.”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Princess?”

“I – I’m not even sure how you managed it, but you basically turned your boxers into the dick version of a pasty.”

He grins, “Like I said. Everything’s technically covered.”  Bucky moves closer, crawling into the bed until he hovers above you. “But not for long,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to your neck.  “Now, the way I figure it, we got another two hours till checkout.”

“Mmmmm…” you’d rather not think of the time.  It’s necessary if you don’t want someone from housekeeping to accidentally walk in, but you don’t want this to end.

He kisses you deeply before pulling back, looking just a little hesitant.  “And then, if you want, we could continue this back at my place? If you’re not in a hurry to get home?”

He’s kept his lips to himself for a few seconds, so your head manages to clear enough to process what he just said.  “What? Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I get it if you have to get back.  But,” he shrugs awkwardly, his current vulnerability at stark odds with his usual confidence, “I like you.  I’d like to spend the day with you if you’re free.” He kisses your neck again and nibbles your ear.  “We can do more of this.  I like this, too.  A lot.” He pulls back to look you in the eye. “But we could also do some talkin’. Maybe you’d let me take you out to a nice dinner before you head home?”

A smile, broad and genuine, stretches across your face.  “I’d like that.  I’d really like that.”  Even if you never see Bucky again after today, you’re hungry for whatever time you can get with him.   He’s addictive and you’ve never in your life felt more satisfied and safe than you do right now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His borderline cocky confidence returns as his hands resume roaming the landscape of your body. “Good,” he mouths against your throat, and resumes his worship of you.  “It’s gonna be a good day, Princess.  A good fuckin’ day.”

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[buckyscrystalqueen]

Meant To Be: Part 1

Pairings: Machine Gun Kelly x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drug use, descriptions of an overdose

Word Count: 2876

A/N: Y’all can thank @wings-of-a-raven for this one....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘I wish that I loved you

Or that I cared

Or that I'd even give a damn if you were here

But you're gone so it's fuck you

I'm a player

I am everything that you wanted but you're scared’

Smoke curled in slow wisps in front of your face from the joint between your fingertips as you sat on the patio of your empty apartment and listened to that song on repeat. Each syllable cut you deep the first hundred times you listened to it but after a few hours, it barely phased you anymore. You knew you were only torturing yourself by listening to the song he wrote and dropped about your relationship, titled, ‘The Break Up’ but you couldn’t help yourself at the same time. A small, squeaked, cry from behind you made you turn around to look at the innocent and thankfully perfect two month old baby boy in his car seat, waiting with you for your Uber driver for your ride to the airport. You put out the last bit of the joint and left it for someone else to find and grab your cell phone from the rail of the screen.

“You ready to go, baby boy?” You cooed to your son as you shoved your phone in your back pocket and grabbed your diaper bag. “Ready to get the fuck out of this hell hole and far, far away from your shitty Daddy, hmm?” You received a small squeak in response as Gage  Michael Baker stirred in his sleep when you picked up his car seat. With one final glance around the bare apartment, you pulled up the handle of your carry on at the same moment your phone let you know your ride was there.

“You’re (Y/N), right?” A woman about your age asked as you headed down the stairs carefully. You nodded your head as she quickly stepped forward and took your bag from your hand. “Two stops? A house and the airport.”

“Just have to drop something off to an old friend.” You said as you set your diaper bag on the floorboard of the back seat and grabbed the seatbelt to strap Gage in.

“He’s beautiful.” The driver said as you got in the car behind her and put on your seatbelt. You couldn’t help but smirk at her.

“Grew him all by myself.” She pulled away from your old home with a giggle and started to tell you about her daughter and you took one last glance out the back window at the place you had lived in for the last ten years of your life. The home that you met him in… the home where your entire life changed countless amounts of times in different ways…

“Stop number one.” The woman said with a smile before you knew it as she pulled up in front of his house; a house you hadn’t been in in a long time. You grabbed a Ziplock bag filled with 10 dollars in nickels from your diaper bag and unbuckled the car seat.

“I’ll only be a minute.” You sighed as you got out of the car. You made sure to drop the blanket over the front of the seat so that he wouldn’t see his son, and weaved through the cars in the driveway toward the house. You heard the whispers start the second you walked through the door, but you forced yourself to keep your head held high despite the fact that you were absolutely mortified thanks to the stupid newest single he had wrote. You found him easily, surrounded by women and in the middle of a cloud of smoke, always the center of attention. You kept your steady pace and set the car seat down behind the couch as you ripped open the bag with your teeth. You dumped the entire contents on his head, which made him leap to his feet and yelp in pain.

“What the fuck!?” Colson roared as he turned around to look at you as you dropped the Ziplock and picked up the carseat.

“Pay back…” You said evenly as you searched his blue eyes and forced yourself to keep your heart and tears in check. “From the nickel thot.” You could see his stomach drop when he saw the car seat in your hand, but you turned and walked away before he could even come up with the words to say. You heard Dre, who had introduced you to the ‘great MGK’ in the first place, ‘ooo’ behind your back, but you didn’t turn around to look at him. Hell, he’d turned his back on you when you fucked up, too, so what was the point of pretending you were still friends, right?

“(Y/N)!” Colson shouted as you walked down the steps and headed down the driveway toward your Uber. “Hey, hold up! Wait, talk to me!” You shook your head as you slid into the back of the car and set the carseat down beside you.

“You can go to the airport now.” You said as you locked the back door with tears in your eyes. She looked back at you and then over at Kels as he pulled on the door handle and knocked on the window to get your attention.

“Are you sure? I mean he looks like he wants to talk…”

“I’m sure.” You said as you buckled the seatbelt for the carseat and looked up at her with a small, teary nod. “Please go. Please.” With a nod of her head, she put her car in drive and inched away from the curb while your ex started to knock harder and faster on the window to get your attention. Colson shouted your name louder, and took off at a run to get around to the other side, but your driver put her foot down on the gas and left him chasing after the car.

“You’re doing the right thing.” She said after a few moments as your phone started to vibrate in your back pocket. She glanced up at you as you hit ignore and turned your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ before dropping it in the diaper bag. “Leaving someone you care about if it’s for the best? It’s not easy…”

“Yea, he walked away from me exactly one year ago.” You said as you swiped at your tears and pulled the blanket off Gage’s car seat so you could see his cherub face that always made you smile. “He didn’t care then and he made damn sure I knew he still doesn’t care now. But I agree, it’s still not easy.”

——

You knew the second you pushed the plunger in, you had made a grave mistake. Your heavily tattooed arm fell to your side and you felt the all to familiar ‘crunch’ in your chest that heroin always gave you but it was too much. It was way to much. You took as deep of breath as you possibly could as your eyes landed on the counter in front of you but you weren’t really seeing it through your constricted pupils.

‘I fucked up.’ You thought for a half second as you tried to get more air, but it wasn’t working. Each breath burned in your chest. But for a few moments, you finally felt free- free of the bullshit, and the pain. Free of the fears and the voices that plagued your mind. Free of the hate and the drama that seemed to surround you every moment of the day… it was so peaceful.

As your breathing got more and more shallow, and your mind started to shut down, you realized you wanted to live in that moment forever. To die in that blanket of safety the heroin gave you but that wasn’t the plan…

“(Y/N)?” Your mom, Marie said for the third time, snapping you out of your own memory. “Are you obsessing about that song again?”

“No.” You sighed as you looked down at your son, who had long since fallen asleep on your chest after his meal. “Just… thinking.” She nodded her head slowly and sat down on the opposite end of the L-shaped couch so that her two dogs still had all the room they wanted between you. She put her feet up on the coffee table for a break from unpacking her groceries, and looked over at you with a sigh.

“Did you at least tell him?”

“He got the message.” You said as you picked up your cellphone and hit the side button to illuminate the screen. “Two hundred and thirteen texts and forty-nine missed calls since I left last night.” You nodded your head and turned off the screen again so that your phone went back into Do Not Disturb mode. “Yea, he got the message.”

“Serves him right.” She said with a single nod. “He’s a piece of bull poo.”

“Oh, such a potty mouth.” You teased as you brushed your fingertips down Gage’s back. Your mother, who was raised Catholic and never swore, rolled her eyes at you.

“Well, I’m glad you finally came home. You didn’t need to be out in California any longer than you already have been. It’s just so toxic…”

“Hence the reason I left California.” You interrupted before she could go on her ‘anti-California’ spiel yet again. “I came back home to you, covered in tattoos, recovering from a heroin addiction, and as a single mother that almost killed her son…”

“I’m gunna make dinner.” Marie said quickly as she jumped to her feet because she despised talking about your life on the west coast. “Spaghetti sounds good, right?”

“Sounds great, mama.” You placated with a nod as you got up to lay your son down in his pack and play so you could go out on the back porch and smoke a cigarette. “Sounds just great.”

——

“You should take her to court, man.” JP said as he sat across from Colson on the bus on their way to their first city for their latest tour. Kels barely shook his head as he slowly spun a large blunt between his fingers, while his friends continued to toss out ideas.

“It is your kid, yo.” Ace chimed in as he rolled a second blunt since Kels had been holding on to the one he rolled for the past ten minutes without even moving to pick up a lighter. “You got rights.”

“It’s kidnapping, bro. Simple as that.” Baze added as Dre walked out of the small bus bathroom.

“So what, you guys gunnin’ ta put his baby mama in jail?” He asked as he sat down beside the artist. “Shit’s fucked up.”

“She took off with his kid! And she’s a fucking gutter trash junkie. Kid’s better off without her…”

“Can y’all just shut the fuck up about it?” MGK asked as he stood up quickly and stepped around the already cluttered table. “Fuck, man. All you do is fuckin’ talk.” With an aggravated huff, he snatched his phone, his lighter, and his pack of cigarettes off the table and headed to the back of the bus for a little alone time. “Out.” He barked at Slim and the girl on his lap. He flopped down on the couch and unlocked the screen for what felt like the millionth time that day alone.

“Fucking crazy ass bitch.” He grumbled as he pulled up his Instagram and hit the search button at the bottom. His thumb danced across the screen to spell out your name as he finally lit the joint with his other hand. He clicked on your screen name, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything since he had long since unfollowed you and your personal page was private, but he was still able to see your profile photo.

There was no doubt in his mind that the little boy that was smiling at the camera beside you was his. He had the same bright blue eyes, same sharp jaw line, same slightly squared off face, and the same nose. Shit, he had your smile though, the same smile that Kels wished would stop haunting his dreams. No matter how many times he had said he was over you, he wasn’t. But he knew what being with you meant- the insanity and chaos. The fights and the fucking mind blowing make up sex. But he couldn’t get the sight of you on his bathroom floor out of his mind. And putting two and two together to realize that you were pregnant that night?

He exhaled sharply and sat up as he switched from Instagram to the one app you wouldn’t have thought to block him on. He had to wrack his brain for his account password and he took a deep breath when it finally loaded on his phone. He looked at your screen name for only a moment before clicking the call button to see if, after two weeks of ignoring his calls, texts, and emails, you would finally answer.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You snapped when you actually answered the call, looking half asleep but still gorgeous in a pitch black room. “Will you give it the fuck up already? Thought you didn’t fucking care…”

“He’s mine, ain’t he?” 

“Fuck’s it to ya anyways?” You barked as you sat up in bed. “You don’t care, remember? Wrote a whole fucking song about it and blasted it so the whole fucking world could hear how fucking crazy I am and how the only thing you fucking appreciated was my ability to fucking blow you.”

“(Y/N), that’s just…”

“That’s just what, Colson?” You interrupted with a shake of your head. “Just a song? Sorry, boo. You made your fucking bed and with some other fucking bitch in it, too. Didn’t even wait a fucking day…”

“I had a fucking tour.” He tried to counter as he shot forward on the couch in aggravation. “And I wasn’t with some bitch…”

“Bitch… bitches… it’s all the fucking same.” You huffed and shook your head. “So, I’m gunna hang up now because unlike you, I can never get high enough to deal with you…”

“Babe, wait.” He said quickly as he shifted in his seat, anxiously. “Stop, let’s just fucking talk about it…”

“I’m sick of this shit, Kels.” You sighed as you got out of bed. “I wanted to talk about it for six months. Six fucking months I called you and texted you and emailed you but you just called me crazy and dragged me through the fucking dirt. And you know what really fucking gets me?” He hummed as you turned on a small lamp wherever you were. “At the end of the day, you’re getting everything you wanted from that song because of it and you’re still bitchin’. No calls, no stories told about you, not even your name on your son’s birth certificate.” He choked on air as you maliciously flipped the camera around so he got to see his sleeping baby boy for the first and last time. “So good bye, Colson. Just let me go already because you will never see my little boy again.”

“Don’t!” He shouted before the video call ended. He scrambled to call back but by the time he hit the button, you had already blocked him on the video call app. “Fucking bitch!” He roared as he threw his phone against the bus wall, shattering it to pieces. His fist followed a half dozen times in rapid secession before he flopped back down on the couch, momentarily defeated.

“You good, dog?” Dre asked as Kels ran his hands through his hair.

“That fucking cunt, man.” He muttered with a shake of his head as he sat up and grabbed the joint he hadn’t realized he had dropped and forgotten on the floor. “Fuck her.” Dre sighed and stepped into the room with a small notebook in his hand.

“I know you don’t wanna fucking hear it.” He said as he flipped open to a page in the middle and held the notebook out toward his friend. “But look at the list, bro.” Kels glanced over at his friend as he took a long pull off the blunt before trading it for the notebook. “You’ve been lost without that bitch.” Without another word, Dre walked out of the back room as Colson’s eyes slowly slid down the list of his songs that were written about and for you in the last four years you had been off and on.

“Fuck…” He groaned as he fell back against the back of the couch; hating himself for loving you and hating that he still really cared about you. He hated that he dropped that song, and that he even wrote it in the first place in a Hennessy fueled rage. But most of all, he hated himself for pushing you away when you needed him the most when you had stayed by his side through so much worse than an overdose. “Yo, someone get me a fucking phone!” He yelled out as he got up from the back couch, determined to at least try to work shit out with you.

Part 2

[the-awkward-outlaw]

A New Adventure - Pt. 2

Proceeding Genesis

Warnings: none 

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

Getting Arthur to the doctor’s is no easy task. Walking back to your small home, he’s distracted by everything: the houses, the lawns, cars parked on the street. Everything is foreign to him. 

He keeps asking where the horses are and you explain horses and carriages have been replaced by automobiles and that people stopped using horses as a main mode of transportation back in the 1920s. 

Your dog Sage is in love with the cowboy. She keeps sniffing him and licking his hand as you walk home. He thinks she’s adorable and keeps patting her head. 

Arthur patiently waits in your yard while you put Sage in your house and grab your car keys and wallet. You try thinking about how to get him meds when he’s not insured or even licensed in modern forms. 

Getting Arthur into the car is almost a joke. He’s fascinated by your car (a small sedan) and can’t believe this little machine replaced horses and buggies. He’s even more surprised when you tell him it can go over 90 miles an hour. He states he can’t even fathom how fast that is. 

He finally sits down in the front leather passenger seat. You turn on the seat warmer out of habit and he finds it weird to have his back and butt being warmed by a chair rather than the other way around. 

You start playing a rather neutral playlist of some movie scores so as not to shock him too much. He can’t understand how your phone tells your car what kind of music to play. You tell him what little you know about Bluetooth and he scoffs. “Waves I cannot see,” he says, just like he does in the game with that Marco Dragic guy. You suppress a smile. 

He’s in awe when the car moves and how smooth of a ride it is. You try not to speed (you have a horrible habit of not sticking to the speed limit. Common problem in Utah), so that the speed won’t startle him or make him sick. He can’t understand why everyone moves so uniformly, but he also seems to see nothing but chaos in the way the other cars react to the traffic lights. 

He asks constant questions about everything he sees, and you debate how much to tell him about things before his brain simply can’t process anything. Shit, if he weren’t already sick, you wouldn’t even be doing this! But observing him at a red light, you see the paleness to his face, the redness in his eyes. He cannot wait anymore. 

Once you get to the instacare office, you’re relieved to see your cousin at the desk. She’s a nurse who works here and you’ve been close most of your lives. You pull her aside and tell her without spilling too many details that Arthur needs meds for active TB. She gives you a worried look when you mention he has no insurance, but says she might be able to pull a few strings to put the meds onto yours so the price will be cheaper. 

Finally, after talking with her for some time and filling out several forms in which you have to do a lot of guessing, the doc comes out and calls Arthur’s name. Everyone gives Arthur questioning looks, thanks to the fact he’s still in his rugged, dusty clothes. 

Arthur gives you a horrified look but you nod and send him on his way. (Author’s note: I know that in realistic situations, they’d give him a TB test that would take two days to develop into a readable outcome, but we’re going to skip that.) 

Some time passes and then Arthur comes out with a few slips of paper in his hand. He hands them to you, asking what they are. They’re prescriptions for some very heavy medications, including antibiotics. You finish the last bit of paperwork and thank your cousin again for helping put him on your insurance for this visit. 

You drive to the closest grocery store and tell Arthur to stay in the car while you go pick up his meds from the pharmacy. You also firmly tell him not to touch anything, afraid he might accidentally make it so the AC or heater nearly blasts you into space when you come back or he’ll adjust the seats or mirrors or something. He raises his hands to show he won’t touch anything. 

You feel kind of bad leaving him alone, but taking him into a grocery store right now with everything else would be a bad thing. Too much stimulation, you think. 

When you see how much the meds will cost, you thank God that your insurance provides a spending account to cover meds. You’re also relieved when you see one of the bags has an inhaler in it. The doc must have decided he wasn’t bad enough to need oxygen, not yet anyways. But you know from playing the game he will have a matter of weeks without these medications. 

You take Arthur home and then decide, against your better judgement, to let him inside. He promises over and over again that he won’t take advantage of your kindness. 

He’s in awe again when he sees the inside of your home. It’s definitely nothing fancy and has the essentials of a modern home, but you remind yourself the homes he’s used to: one room cabins with gas ovens and rickety furniture, sometimes with a loft for the occupants to sleep. 

You unpack his meds and figure out what his medication schedule needs to be. You pull out three different large pills and tell him to take them now. You also show him how to work the inhaler and tell him that whenever he feels short of breath or tightening in the chest to use it. You then demand he hand over his cigarettes, throwing them in your trash. He complains, but you tell him the health problems associated with them and how they’ll only make his condition worse. 

After he’s taken his meds, you show Arthur your spare bedroom. Your mother used to sleep here when she visited from her home down south, but now that she has her new boyfriend, you hardly see her. Not that you mind, she tends to be a nuisance. 

Arthur expresses his gratitude several times. You can see the lost sheep’s look in his eyes still and feel sorry for him. Maybe it would be better if you gave him his meds and sent him back to the cave and to West Elizabeth. 

When you suggest this, he automatically turns you down. He’s fascinated by your world and his gang has suffered so much trouble lately, his heart can’t bear what else might come. 

It takes a bit of convincing on his part, but you finally decide to let him stay for a few days until he figures out what he wants to do. He thanks you again and offers you a ring as payment. In the game, it must be worth about 8 dollars. Nowadays, probably much more, but you turn him down. 

You go out to the kitchen to begin cooking dinner after Arthur gets established in his room. He comes out to watch you and offers to help, but he’s so lost in your small kitchen, you tell him to just sit down at the table. 

He does and Sage automatically rests her head on his knee, begging for pets. Arthur seems to be in love already with your dog. Not a surprise, most people do with her. 

You cook a quick meal of some Kraft Mac for time’s sake since you do have to get up early and go to work. Arthur’s fascinated by the stove. He finds it strange that every house has an electric stove and oven. 

He finds the food you cook even more strange and makes a goofy face after the first bite. It’s obvious he’s not a fan but he graciously eats it without saying a word. 

After you clean up dinner, you’d normally go and watch a show before going to bed, but you decide that might not be the best thing to do with Arthur just yet. It’s obvious he’s tired from everything he’s seen today, plus he obviously doesn’t feel good. 

You decide to just read a book instead for the night. Arthur stays in your living room, investigating everything. He finds your movie shelf and pulls out a DVD. He opens it. “Is this what books are like these days?” 

“What?” you say, coming out of your room and holding a book in your hand. “No, Arthur, that’s a movie. I’ll, um, I’ll show you what a movie is tomorrow. Books still look like this.” You show him the one in your hand. 

He takes the book and studies the front cover of The Hunger Games. It’s one of your favorite series and you figure if Arthur wants to read it with you, he might be only semi-lost. He flips open to a random page and reads silently, then he closes it. 

“Well, at least that’s one thing that ain’t changed,” is all he says. 

You look a bit at his clothes, still rugged and dirty from his adventures. Unfortunately, you’ve no clothes for men except for your dad’s favorite shirt in your cedar chest. He used to wear it a lot before he passed away. You offer to throw his clothes in the washer and also offer him a bath.

He agrees, though you can tell he’s nervous about you seeing him in less than what he’s wearing. You have to reassure him time and time again that you’ve seen more naked people watching TV. 

You show him how to work the tub. He’s amazed by how hot water pours from the spout. 

He finally gives in and goes into the bathroom, handing you his clothes through the cracked door. 

You throw his clothes into the washer, but not after taking a slightly guilty sniff of his shirt. You won’t ever admit it to anyone, but you’ve always wondered what Arthur would smell like. Sure, maybe you harbor a cyber-crush on him, but again it’s not something you’d tell anyone. Especially not him. You smell his shirt and are surprised when it smells like pine and grass. 

You throw his clothes into the washer and set a timer on your phone to change it in about 40 minutes. 

When you pass the bathroom to go to your bedroom, you can hear Arthur’s deep voice humming a tune you’ve heard him sing when he’s riding his horse. It makes you smile. 

After he’s done bathing, he comes out wearing your bathrobe (which barely closes over his broad chest) and a towel wrapped around his waist. 

You have to avert your eyes from his chest, trying to hide the blush. He’s blushing too. 

He decides to wait in the spare room until his clothes are done. You tell him it’ll be about an hour and a half. 

When his clothes are finally finished, you hand them back to him. A few moments later, he opens the door, revealing himself in nothing but his union suit and pants. 

You announce you’re going to bed and so you go into your room with Sage. For good measure, you lock the door. You don’t know why you’re so paranoid about Arthur in your house. If he wanted to attack you, he’s had plenty of opportunities to do it. Still, you can’t help but feel a little safer knowing the door’s locked. 

It takes you awhile to fall asleep. You hear, through the thin walls of your home, the soft rumble of Arthur as he snores. You wonder what the next few days will bring. 

[pbandjesse]

I got sunburn!! Its on my back and shoulders and I cant reach it went enough to put aloe on it. James will help when he gets home but it hurts now so thats not fun. But today was an excellent day. Just so good. 

I slept alright enough last night. James said I slept on an angle. Not surprised. I am trying to find a hammock stand so I can sleep in that sometimes when I m home too. Sleeping at camp in it is just. To comfortable and now I dont want to sleep in the bed! I also just think our box spring in broken and I dont like it. Were trying to find a solution for that but I still want a hammock stand. Im on the hunt. 

James forgot to put gas in the car and I was kind of stressed out about that. But I also really didnt want to put gas in the car. Its been so long since I have done that. I have never done it with this car. And it had been years since I had done it with my old car. Like before grad school. So I just left for work and hoped for the best. I know that is not the best plan but thats what I did. 

I got to work on time though and I felt pretty good. I had a smoothie with me. I was in a good mood. I was determined to work on my stamina for walking today. So once the kids started coming I acted as a runner and took them to their groups. I was doing pretty well. Was to humid but it was all good. I was in a good mood. 

I went to the nurse though because I have some weird bumps on my finger. She thinks I touched poison ivy or something. So she put some medicine on it and gave me a bandaid. And off I went. 

I had a lot planned today for my "light day". I spent the whole morning doing prep for the rest of this week and some stuff for next week. I put together all the bead looms and I set up the pencil lines for the embroidery. It was a lot of work. Setting up the projects for next week went alright. But I ran into some issues because its print making and I had to make some choices about. What type they are doing. The littlest kids will be using stencils. The middle group will make stamps with sponges and styrofoam (which I cut out from the bottom of bowls because thats all I had). The next age will use leaves and such and print on wood. But its the oldest group Im unsure of. I could go wild and have them do copper prints. Or I could have them make lino cuts. Honestly there are lots of things I could have them do. Ill have to keep thinking. I have the older kids tomorrow though so maybe Ill just talk to them about it. 

The morning was great though. I had my lunch and tried to just focus on that. But I couldnt. I kept wandering back into the art shack and would start working on something else. But I had my lunch. Listened to my podcast. Chilled a little. 

But what I was most excited about was swimming!! 

CJ texted me that she would be over to me at 130 and she was just on time. I had just put sunscreen on. Apparently not enough but thats what I did. And off we went. 

We swam from a little after 130 until almost 4. It was great. We had the whole deep end to our selves for the first hour. And then the rest of the time we shared with the older kids and I had such a nice time. Just talking with CJ, hanging out. Swimming across the pool and back. Floating. I was so happy. I forgot my sunglasses at the art shed but I was having fun. The water was perfect. 

CJ had to run out and go help with some drums so she was gone for like 15 minutes. But she came back soon enough. It was just such a nice day. I am so glad it didnt rain. 

We got out of the water once the kids were gone. And we laid on the grass to try to dry off our bathing suits. We talked about friend groups, how were similar, camp, our backgrounds. Shes a lot of fun. I am really glad we have meshed so well. She thinks Im chaotic and funny and that is a fun thing to play off of. 

Once we were mostly dry we walked back towards the office. She had to go put gas in the camp bus. And encouraged me to try to put gas in my car even though I was scared. 

And she was right. But I was mostly just really sun tired. 

I got back to the art shed. Locked the doors and got changed. Somehow kicked a mason jar and had to clean up glass. I was very sleepy and my eyes hurt from the pool water. So once the glass was cleaned I went and laid in the hammock and tried to just. Rest my eyes. 

Fletcher, one of the younger counselors, came to borrow some of my cleaning supplies. He offered me eye drops but that didnt feel sanitary. But I appreciated him offering. 

A little after 430 I went down to the office to watch over pick up. Hung out with the youth workers and CJ. Sat with some kids. It was nice. I had a good time talking to some of the counselors. I dont get to talk to much. She didnt know that James was Charlotte's brother so that was fun to share. 

But it was time to go home. 

I got my stuff from the art shed and locked up. And headed to the car. Said goodbye some more people. Waved as I drove off. 

I did stop to get gas. It only sort of went wrong. I couldnt remeber my zip code because I am dumb. The machine was having trouble reading my card. I didnt know when to take out the pump. I didnt know if it would stop filling when it was full. I was very nervous and jumpy but I got $20 worth of gas and that was enough to mostly fill the tank. 

I wanted burger king for dinner but they didnt have the veggie burgers so I just got fries and went home. Well I stopped at CVS for eye drops and bought a squid plush because I am a whole child. 

When I got back here I saw Mr Will and thanked him for the gift. He's so kind. We talked for a little. But I was really happy to find that James left the AC on for me. 

I had my fries and played a little animal crossing. Then a long bath to try to help my skin. Now though I just want to close my eyes. I hope you all have had as nice a day as I did. And I hope you all have a good day tomorrow too!

[gothhabiba]

quick & dirty phone recording of a song based on this New York Times article, in response to Amanda Palmer's songwriting challenge. the ambulance went by as I was recording which is an interesting coincidence but I hope the person who needed it is okay. in considering the connexion of technology to things like convenience, exploitation, policing, insurrection, militarism (Amazon's projected "War Cloud"??), &c., I'm making reference to the lamplighters who maintained, in the face of some opposition, new gas lights in the 1820s (thought to be "highly advantageous to the police"); and keeping in mind the history of the Luddite rebellions against (capitalist use of) new machinery, including this incident of "spectators putting out the lights rendering Graham forced to use a candle to read the evidence" against two accused machine-breakers.

lyrics:

plays and subway cars lurch to a standstill we gather our wits up and methodize and fill

our hands with the power they say we can’t handle we vandals and Visigoths wielding our candles

‘til the generators should wake from their slumber as Broadway casts, acrobats all do a number

on the streets set to crumble beneath them with all of the weight of their great ancient feeling

like blind tightrope walkers who feel their way forward their bravado follows me up through the gutters

and I’ll trail them, listless until the lamplighters come by to help us trim the wicks on the lanterns

we keep in our pockets in case we should need them (though just now we haven’t provision to feed them)

we’ll sit here carousing by the light of their oil their conflict minerals, immortal coils

well, I call that progress I’ll drink if I need to I’ll pay you back later I promise, I’ve got you

and just for a minute we’re all trapeze artists affixed at the wrists in mid-air—I won’t drop you

a line after this train starts moving again but let’s just imagine that up until then

we all are one animal trapped in the dark lying restless in wait for that galvanic spark

that’ll crackle like static and lead us all forward but (gosh, how untoward) we’re secretly growing

ecstatic each moment that passes without it man, call me Romantic but, my God, there’s something

cathartic about it no, wait—hold that pose and watch the lights dimming as Times Square is shedding its

close your eyes tighter and throw wide the apertures keep your balance and wait for the shutters

to pass through your frame it’s the sign of the age but they’ll say “move off, miss” if this “isn’t the time,” then what is??

imagine this scene as the end of a war all the tech giants fallen to nothing at all

and we’ll fizzle like fireflies kept in a jar until the lamplighters show us where we are

and we’ll send with their vanguard— the courage we’ve found— a message to those of us still Underground

that you can’t keep outsourcing the cost of the industry poverty, misery missiles and GHGs

our creature comforts have shirked all their leashes things only get warmer with our AC units

do you call that progress? we’ll drink if we need to then gather our wits up and methodize and move

from 72nd to Madison Square tearing down all the Clouds still alive in the air

and direct our own traffic and man our own ambulances screaming down side-streets (imagine the ambiance!)

and trust in our stomachs for each one that dies a new hope is rising to bolster the line

but how long can we hold this? the grid they’re surveying is shutting down slowly— but the band is still playing

we’ll close the bolts on all of our doors when we get back home and the city is sure

to apologise for the inconvenience “dear, you know I don’t sleep but I rested my eyes for a minute”

[saima44]

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[deputystakes-a2]

ASHLEY GRAVES AS THE STRANGER.

EXT. A MOTEL POOL — DAY.   there’s two men at the pool when you pull into the parking lot.   one of them — tall and dark-haired, rests his arms atop the tile edge of the pool and stares at a man on a red lounge chair.   they’re talking, even though the blonde one, on the lounge chair, has a well-loved book in his hands.   he’s covered, from head to toe, in bold, thick-lined tattoos, reminiscent of the american traditional.   they cover his bare chest and legs, even past the black board shorts that remain bone-dry.   then — laughter.   the dark-haired man’s laughing and grinning and his friend, with the blonde hair and ink — is smiling.   it makes him look less threatening — he’s all scar tissue and lean muscle, but the smile is human.   you get the feeling that he doesn’t look like this often.   the smile is foreign.   and it fades from his lips when he notices you, sitting in your car in the parking lot.   your windows are rolled up, and dark sunglasses rest atop the bridge of his nose, but you feel, without a doubt, his gaze burning a hole between your eyes.   you look away. 

inside of the motel breakfast bar, the next day, you find him again — this time, wearing all black.   ink still peaks from beneath rolled up sleeves, and you can see his tattoos in greater detail this time — there are aces and crosses upon his knuckles, a church and the blessed mother herself.   coffins and daggers and cards.   bombs and beasts with their maws open.   he’s carrying two cups of coffee to the table in the farthest corner, where the dark-haired man sits with his face in his hands.   they’ve both got badges on their hips.   you bring your food to your room. 

 INT. GAS STATION — NIGHT.   it’s past midnight when you pull into the gas station, lured by the flickering streetlamps and neon cigarette signs and the promise of caffeine.   the clerk greets you, mechanical, when you enter, and you head to the back for the coffee machine and cheap french vanilla brew.   the blonde stranger’s already there, pouring two cups from an unlabeled machine — the sticker’s come away with time.   still, he fills each cup to the brim, leaving no room for cream or sugar.   he presses on the lids and makes his quick journey to the register.   it’s then that you see it, as he walks past you — bruised knuckles and a healed split on his lips, a scab on his eyebrow.   the cashier makes no comment.   neither should you. 

INT. BOOKSTORE — DAY.   on an overcast sunday afternoon, you make the walk to the bookstore on the corner of the street.   the walls are lined, from floor to ceiling, with every genre known to man.   jam-packed.   the cashier greets you when you walk in, before she turns her attention to the stranger setting a stack of books on the counter — with how warmly she regards him, it’s safe to say he’s a regular.   the books on the counter are almost all westerns — with the exception of a few titles by robert leckie.   they make conversation, but the cashier’s the one doing most of the talking — the stranger seems content to nod and hum, just enough to keep the conversation going.   when he finally gets his change, he dumps it all in the tip jar, and grabs his bag off of the counter.   ‘ you be safe, now, ’   the cashier speaks as she bids him farewell.   the stranger makes no promises that he can’t keep. 

INT. SUNNYSIDE DINER — NIGHT.   it’s three a.m when the waitress greets you from behind the counter, asking you to sit wherever you’d like.   you choose to sit at the bar — closest to the pots of coffee and heaping plates of food.   at the other end of the bar sits the stranger, with his blonde hair still slicked back, his badge on his hip — mug of piping hot coffee in his hand.   black.   he doesn’t order any food.   no, in the time it took for you to eat half of what was on your plate, he gotten two refills of coffee and some words of concern from the waitress.   they’re in the middle of conversation when the deputy’s phone vibrates in his pocket, and he takes the call on the spot.   his expression, once mildly amused, twists into something confused, then — angry.   he leaves a pristine bill on the counter and hurries out the door, pulling out of the parking lot fast enough for his truck tires to screech and spray gravel behind him.   behind the counter, the line cook mutters a little something that sounds like godspeed.

EXT. LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY — NIGHT.   in the parking lot outside of the courthouse, you see him, leaned against the hood of a town car in a mostly vacant parking lot.   the shadow he casts is long and imposing, but the glow of his cigarette is soft and warm against his features.   with a puff of smoke, his face loses all clarity.   there’s blood in his eyes. 

INT. THE SLAYER LEGACY MUSEUM — DAY.   you enter the museum thirty minutes after it opens.   it’s just about empty, and you’re alone with the attendant at the desk.   you purchase your ticket, you make your small talk, and you enter the main hall of the legacy museum.   it’s desolate, save for the staff who linger about, leaving you be as you read the plaques and take in the exhibits.   they whisper among themselves, but it’s not about you.   and then, as you carry on, down a hallway to the next set of displays, paying tribute to the key figures in the history of the slayer corps — you are no longer the only observer there.   a blonde man in a leather jacket and faded denim jeans lingers by a glass case, fingers resting upon the polished wooden frame, staring into whatever laid entombed below.   when the stranger turns to look at you, as you approach the next glass encasement with muffled steps, he’s got this awful look in his eyes — he was frowning, like a devil.   he was young, but scarred, with scar tissue replacing what should’ve been a laughter line.   tired eyes regard you before he turns away, tucking tattooed hands into jacket pockets.   a few long moments later, you move to the section of the hall where the stranger once stood — and peer into the glass case he once rested his hand upon.   inside, laid to rest on a bed of red velvet, was a rifle.   and in the display before you was — art.   journals, and stacks of letters, and messy graphite drawings of slayers.  hand-drawn diagrams of firearms and portraits of men laughing, of soldiers sleeping, of groups huddled together, posed, on their best behavior for the artist before them.   and then — you read the plaque of the featured slayer.   SERGEANT ASHLEY GRAVES,   lays the title, written in stone, before the exhibit expands upon his story and feats in long blocks of text.   he was terribly young in the photograph which depicted him — barely nineteen, with that scar on his face and a furrow in his brow.   when he looked at you, he had that same pained look in his eyes.   you never see him again.

[shannu44]

Home Appliances Services

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Air conditioner plays a major role in our life we get many more home appliances from the India we get many more home appliances products from the cool air as it converts from the gas to liquid and chemicals used to send heat from inside to heat outside it saves the energy level from the heat from inside to now air conditioner  are used in banks ,offices , and schools to reduce the heated air outside .if u get any problem please call to  Lloyd AC Customer Care Pune

     contact us ;9494157710

[munni44]

Home Appliances Services

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  An air conditioner removes the heat and keeps the environment cool. The air conditioner in the workplace is more useful to remove the stress and helps to complete the work in a limited time. It reduces the humidity and makes the air conditioner to blow cold and filtered air. The air conditioner will not create sweating which reduces the dehydration level. This gadget helps us to produce the coolness by reducing the heated air outside. It maintains the minimum temperature to provide us with cool air. If you get any issue in your air conditioner then just call to our service center Lloyd AC Service Center Pune

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  contact us ;9494157710

[hussjanine7-blog]

Professional Air Conditioner Cleaning

Professional Air Conditioner Cleaning

A.M. Magcawas Repairs and Services starts its operation on June 2017 with is owner Mr. Arvin Meraña Magcawas, a Refrigeration and air-conditioning technician TESDA NCII certified and also certified commercial and industrial electrician. He is a former maintenance staff and air-con technician at San Pablo Colleges Medical Center and a freelance service technician since high school, he also have regular customers like private and government establishment, public and private schools, laundry shop, computer shop, for their air-conditioning units and houses here at San Pablo and nearby cities and provinces like Batangas City, Quezon province, and even in Manila which servicing as freelance technician before he opens his own DTI accredited company as service provider, together with his wife Mary Justine Bolaños Magcawas. And now that we are accredited and certified by the Department of Trade and Industry and the local government, we are looking forward to increasing the numbers of our satisfied customers. We would like to take this opportunity to introduce our company as a service provider and give our customers good quality service and satisfaction. Our company offers the following services for electronics and appliances repairs, refrigeration and air-conditioning repairs for inverter or non-inverter, industrial or ordinary heavy duty dryers and washing machines, motor rewinding, ducting services, and maintenance, air-conditioning units general cleaning and preventive maintenance, electrical installation and troubleshooting. We are looking forward to being part of your good company as a service provider and be one of our satisfied customers. Thank you and God Bless. Vision The vision of A.M. Magcawas Repair and Services is a highly trained and efficient team of service technician and personnel, ready for anything that may occur and quick response to customer needs and concerns. Especially in terms of giving quality service on time. Our philosophy of provision of value adding solutions and their timely and cost-effective service. Mission At A.M. Magcawas repair and services, every person in our company is a team oriented with the expectation and need that they perform their duties to their fullest capacity and potential. Our objective and commitment to our customers is top of the line. The client satisfaction is our main focus, reached through innovative and cost-effective services. We encourage our team of safety and safe work practices. We are genuinely client focused and continually seeking improvements in our services. List of satisfied customers we currently support: San Pablo City Medical Center (SPCMC): 2011 - present Frontline Christian Academy: 2014 - present Frontline Business Solutions: 2017 - present Laguna State Polytechnic University San Pablo City Campus (LSPU): 2016 - present Rose Pharmacy (Batangas City, Lipa City, and Calamba branch): 2014 - present Kaleidoscope Learning Center: 2015 - present AMA Bank San Pablo City Branch: 2015 - present UCPB Bank Sto. Tomas Batangas Branch: 2014 - present UCPB San Pablo City Branch: 2014 - present Samuels Plate Resto Bar: 2016 - present Babas Restaurant: 2016 - present Villa Escudero Plantation Resorts: 2014 - present Jovita Agro Tiaong Quezon: 2015 - present Pacific Royal Basic Food INC. Candelaria Quezon: 2015 - present Superior Lending (Former Raon) San Pablo City: 2015 - present Havianas Ultimart San Pablo City: 2013 - present Nissan San Pablo City: 2017 - present Jardin De Julita Resort Tranca Bay Laguna: 2017 - present Air conditioning (frequently referred to as A/C, A/C, or air con) is the process of removing heat and wetness from the interior of an occupied area to improve the convenience of residents. Air conditioning can be used in both domestic and business environments. This process is most frequently utilized to attain a more comfy interior environment, typically for humans and other animals; nevertheless, air conditioning is likewise used to cool and dehumidify rooms filled with heat-producing electronic devices, such as computer servers, power amplifiers, and to show and keep some fragile items, such as artwork. Ac system often use a fan to disperse the conditioned air to an occupied area such as a building or a car to enhance thermal comfort and indoor air quality. Electric refrigerant-based AC systems range from small systems that can cool a small bedroom, which can be brought by a single grownup, to massive systems installed on the roof of workplace towers that can cool a whole building. The cooling is generally accomplished through a refrigeration cycle, however sometimes evaporation or complimentary cooling is used. Air-conditioning is the procedure utilized to create and maintain certain temperature, relative humidity and air purity conditions in indoor areas. This procedure is normally applied to maintain a level of individual convenience. It's likewise used in commercial applications to guarantee the correct operation of equipment or equipment that requires to operate in particular environmental conditions or alternatively to be able to carry out particular commercial procedures, such as welding, which produce significant quantities of heat that need to be gotten rid of in some manner. An air-conditioning system must work regardless of outdoors climatic conditions and involves control over four basic variables: air temperature, humidity, movement, and quality. Air conditioning is no longer considered the luxury that it when was, and there is now an increasing demand for applications varying through domestic, business, commercial, and transport and for specialized installations such as medical facilities, research study facilities, data centers, and tidy spaces. The engineering systems in contemporary buildings and installations make a considerable contribution to the total structure performance in terms of energy usage. Systems need to be increasingly advanced in their style, installation, operation, control, and maintenance at a time when there is increasing pressure for higher energy performance. How AC Work A/c unit utilize refrigeration to chill indoor air, benefiting from an exceptional physical law: When a liquid converts to a gas (in a procedure called phase conversion), it soaks up heat. Air conditioners exploit this function of stage conversion by forcing special chemical compounds to evaporate and condense over and over again in a closed system of coils. The substances involved are refrigerants that have properties allowing them to change at reasonably low temperatures. Air conditioners also contain fans that move warm interior air over these cold, refrigerant-filled coils. Central air conditioners have an entire system of ducts created to funnel air to and from these serpentine, air-chilling coils. When hot air flows over the cold, low-pressure evaporator coils, the refrigerant inside soaks up heat as it changes from a liquid to a gaseous state. To keep cooling efficiently, the air conditioning system needs to transform the refrigerant gas back to a liquid again. To do that, a compressor puts the gas under high pressure, a procedure that develops undesirable heat. All the extra heat produced by compressing the gas is then left to the outdoors with the help of the 2nd set of coils called condenser coils, and a 2nd fan. As the gas cools, it alters back to a liquid, and the procedure begins all over again. Think about it as an unlimited, elegant cycle: liquid refrigerant, stage conversion to a gas/ heat absorption, compression and stage shift back to a liquid again. It's easy to see that there are 2 unique things going on in an a/c. Refrigerant is chilling the indoor air, and the resulting gas is being continuously compressed and cooled for conversion back to a liquid once again. On the next page, we'll take a look at how the different parts of an air conditioner work to make all that possible. Various Types Of Aic Conditioners: Portable Or Mobile Air Conditioners Possibly the most familiar air conditioning unit to many consumers, these units do not need unique installing but do come with a flexible air pipe which is routed through a window or hole in the wall. Normally, the diameter of the air pipe has to do with 5 ″ and the pipelines are about 2-- 3 m long. The air conditioning unit discharges hot through this pipeline when in use. Because the compressor lies inside the unit rather than when it comes to split systems, in an external element, the mobile monoblock air conditioning system have the disadvantage of being quite loud and limited in capacity. On the other hand, they do not need installation and are nowadays relatively low-cost to purchase. Although there are numerous mobile air conditioning unit on the market, the large bulk are little systems either 9000 or 12000 btu, we just sell mobile units larger than 10000 btu, merely since for the huge majority of applications 9000 btu models are just too little. Floor Mounted Air Conditioners Floor installed monoblock air conditioning system are set up against the wall in the same way a storage heating system is and they are common of a comparable look and size to storage heating systems. These types of a/c normally have a heat pump center, thus supplying really affordable heating in colder months. These air conditioning unit generally have 2 air pipes which lead directly from the back of the unit, through the wall, where the ends are typically topped with small louvers Wall Mounted Air Conditioners Long times called high wall a/c unit, wall mounted monoblock air conditioning is a cool service to older structures where planning does not permit the installation of an external condenser system. The wall-mounted monoblock a/c connects high up on the wall and 2 air pipes are routed from the back directly through the wall. The disadvantage of these ac system is that they are a little bigger in-depth compared to the split wall-mounted system as the condenser is consisted of inside the wall install system. They typically include a heatpump so that air can be warmed in winter in addition to cooled in summer. Spot Coolers Area cooling can be offered by these big mobile monoblock air conditioners. They are heavily constructed, effective and created to be wheeled to ships, boats, and airplane to offer momentary cooling to the internal air. Spot coolers can likewise be used to offer cool air to industrial procedures. Unlike little portable air conditioning system, spot coolers are created to be found in the warm outside air and to offer cool air into locations that they themselves do not inhabit. The majority of have the capability to provide cold air through a variety of ducts to precisely where the air is needed. The snout pipes that are generally fitted to the front of these systems are rigid but adjustable, making it possible for the circulation of cold air to be directed to a pre-programmed spot. Window Air Conditioners Window ac system or window rattlers as they are described by the trade used to be the most extensive configuration of the air conditioners. They are practically standard in homes, houses, offices and cabins in Mediterranean nations and the Middle East. The basic ones can just chill the air, the more pricey have a heat pump mode and push-button control. The main disadvantages of window air-conditioners are increased noise and necessity of mounting into the window opening or more usually through a narrow wall. On the plus side, they are fairly priced and easy to fit. Window ac system are sometimes referred to as 'thro the wall air conditioning unit', although they typically can not be installed in a wall any thicker than 9 ″ due to the fact that then the additional depth of wall impinges and blocks the airflow from the side vents of the units on the outside. Several of our customers find it more affordable long-term to run and replace window a/c unit, to install and preserve split systems. An a/c can change the temperature, humidity or basic quality of the air. More particularly, an air conditioning unit makes your home cooler, by drawing heat out of the house and transferring that heat to the outdoors, then replacing the air inside your home with cooler air. Unlike with air conditioning unit, which work best when you keep the doors and windows closed, air coolers require to be put in a great air flow near an open window (where dry fresh air can be found in) and with an open door (for moist exhaust air to flow out). That makes good sense if you consider it: the water you're adding to the air flow is "soaking" up heat from the space, and if you constantly expel damp air while permitting dry air to enter in its location, you're continuously eliminating heat. Air coolers that work by direct evaporation (including water) can also be utilized as humidifiers however, in that case, the doors and windows do need to be kept closed to allow the humidity to increase.

Professional Air Conditioner Cleaning

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//you said crackships so pls do with hiromu

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor - Hiromu likes to leave his clothes AND Daryl laying on the floor wherever said clothes are almost like a calling card forgets to run the dish washer - Elizabeth because she’s easily distracted and has filled it up only to wander off on multiple occasions pumps gas for the car - Hiromu mainly because he’s always weirdly fascinated by the machinesdrives when they’re going somewhere - Elizabeth because she hates not having control over being able to leave a situation whenever she wantsrearranges the furniture - Elizabeth because she’ll have an existential crisis at 3 in the morning and Hiromu just wakes up confused but he rolls with it anywayfalls asleep with the TV on - Hiromu and Elizabeth is always trying to get him to come to bed when she does but at some point she throws a blanket over him and figures he’ll eventually wander backgets to use the bathroom first - Hiromu mainly because she sleeps til the early afternoon and he gets up before she does decides the temperature for the ac/heater - both of them decide to keep the house at a cool temperature for the sole purpose of cuddling in a giant blanket burrito sets up holiday decorations - Elizabeth for Halloween, Hiromu for Christmasleaves the lights on - Elizabeth because, again, easily distracteduses the bathroom with the door open - Hiromu despite Elizabeth’s protesting after walking into that invisible wall of funk one too many timesfixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber) - rock, paper, scissors for calling the plumber because neither of them are super handy