#if that new weirdo guy puts a goddamn finger on her its over. LET HER BE HAPPY AND HAVE MORE YURI MOMENT WITH THE JOCK WOLFGIRL

[gashaconmagnum]

just caught up on geats today and holy shit.

[burnedbyshoto]

Usagi and Hito

Kinktober Day 31 ~ kink: seduction

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warning: cussing, smut

word count: 5,544

a/n: so this is a prequel to Attraction, you don’t have to read attraction to read this!!!! just know that reader and shouto are bitter rivals. sorry its... 8 days late BAHAHAHA. shit forgot to mention usagi means bunny and hito is short for hitokuchi which means bite (NO ITS NOT HITO AS IN MAN ALTHOUGH IT IS HILARIOUS IT WAS NOT INTENTIONAL)

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

There were too many fucking people in this house.

Shouto’s eyes scanned over the crowds of people that were all dressed up in various costumes and disguises. He shifted as a girl in a “sexy” Danny Devito costume fell into his chest, her delirious and drunken giggles were like nails on a chalkboard to him.

“Whoops, sorry there sexy dark vampire,” she purred as her fingers trailed down his torso.

Yes, Todoroki Shouto showed up to a college costume party wearing a vampire costume. Not being one that interested in college parties, or buying a costume to wear only once, he had a very interesting costume designed. He wore a long-sleeved white dress shirt, the first few buttons were undone teasing his toned chest for wandering eyes. The shirt was tucked into black slacks, the material fitted and tight, as this was his typical formal outfit. He even sported a black cape that Tokoyami happened to have in the back of his closet as well.

Due to the nature of the party, and the fact that Kaminari and Kirishima refused to let him leave the house just like… well… that, his make up was done too. Fake fangs were pressed to his canines, using some of Kirishima’s red hair dye, they had made the white half of his hair red. It was slicked back except for a few locks that fell into his vision. Mina had come over to cover his scar, she had also added a sullen and tired look to his eyebags, contouring his cheeks for the heightened vampire look. They had even given him black colored contacts to make him that much more mysterious. More secretive. Fake blood dripped on the sides of his mouth, and there were puncture wounds on his neck.

All in all, his last-second costume that was arranged from what was in their apartment went rather smoothly. If anything was a testament to that claim was the fact that there was always some new girl grabbing him during every passing song.

Shouto, who was forced to attend this college party on the promise that his friends would drop their teasing about his terribly hidden feelings for y/n, was ready to leave. With a firm grasp, Shouto pushed the girl off of him as he yelled at Midoriya that he was getting a drink.

Pushing his way through the thicket of people, Shouto found himself finally in the kitchen. His eyes looked over the bowls filled with jungle juice, straight up soju, or bottles of other types of alcohol. Was there no goddamn water at this party?

Sliding his fingers against his gelled back hair, Shouto sighed as he made eye contact with a girl dressed in a plain oversized white shirt that read “costume.”

Her face turned red as she was caught staring and her eyes turned back onto the bowls of drinks.

“I like your costume,” Shouto tells her, hoping that maybe he could be lucky and not have to be around weirdos this entire night. Honestly, why was Halloween such a transformative night? Why did people have to take on a whole other alter ego?

“Oh, uh, thanks?” She squeaks looking down at her costume. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’m sort of the bartender here.”

“I’m not sure if serving cups counts as bartending…” Shouto admits as he looks at the ladle in her hand. “I’m okay, I was wanting water.”

“Oh!” The girl waves her hands as she laughs. Shouto watches her curiously as she places the ladle down and motions for him to follow her. “I’ll show you where they are so that you don’t have to ask.”

Grateful to get some water in his body, Shouto followed after her.

She walked into a closet and Shouto raised an eyebrow as he followed in after her. He didn’t really need to know where it was, he would be fine after a single water bottle.

The closet door closed heavily behind him, and Shouto’s eyes widened as her body was suddenly pressed against his. Her mouth immediately over his own as she kissed him. Her lips were drenched with the taste of alcohol. Reacting immediately, Shouto pushed the girl off of him, “What the hell was that?!”

“I know you’re Todoroki Shouto, right?” Her mouth whined, and Shouto groaned as he rolled his eyes.

Of course, just another girl interested in his family name, in his physical appearance.

“No. I’m not.”

“I saw you walking in with Midoriya-kun you are, but you don’t know who I am…”

“I’m not Todoroki.” Shouto insists. He wants to get out of this fucking closet, but the closet is too tight for him to move without him hurting her.

“You’re so obsessed about that one girl, y/l/n… do you even know that I have had almost every class with the two of you, and yet… you have only ever focused on her?! The two of you hate each other too!”

“Please let me go.”

“Promise you’ll talk to me in class then! Stop arguing with y/l/n and pay attention to me!”

“I don’t know who you are.”

Shouto manages to get his hand onto the doorknob and he stumbles out of the closet. The girl stumbling after Shouto as he walked away.

That was it, Shouto was done.

He was going back to the dorm.

Shouto stormed pass Ice Princesses, devils, sexy cowgirls, and Sailor Moons.

This “holiday” was a fucking joke, and he was never wrong for hating it.

Shouto’s eyes scanned the crowds of people for Midoriya’s green hair, for Kirishima’s red hair, for the blond hair of Kaminar i— anyone he knew! He couldn’t find them. Taking one last sweep of the faces in the crowd, Shouto’s eyes flickered over a girl by the opposite wall.

Long white hair that fell to the small of her back, y/e/c eyes staring at him through a lacey mask that covered her eyes. Dark red lips paired the brightest smile Shouto had seen this entire night, her makeup looked done. His eyes swept up to see black bunny ears in her hair. Looking down and even though there were crowds of people, he noticed the iconic black playboy bunny outfit. It hugged her body, accentuating the curves of her waist, pressing against her breasts in a way that was only suitable during Halloween. Fishnet tights lined the curves of her legs, and high heels on her feet.

Shouto blinked as he watched her head tilt and quickly realized that he had been caught staring.

He, however, did not panic as he blinked again. There was a red cup in her hand, and Shouto watched as she handed it to a friend of hers as she began weaving through the crowd. Now, Shouto wanted to leave, he really did, but for some reason, he felt trapped where he stood as she drew nearer and nearer.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You had been enjoying this party so far. Despite the large crowd that came to what was supposed to be a small party, you and some of your other friends (who were surprisingly not your roommates) had found solace in a corner. Each of you had been waiting for the perfect guy to come around, and well, it was your turn. Most guys who approached you throughout the night were not people you wanted to ever try to get at. So you decided to play a little game.

Chicken.

You’d approach the first guy you caught staring at you who didn’t look away.

This redhead was the first to not look away the entire night. Most guys did return their gazes after the fact of being caught, but not this guy. So with a small “wish me luck!” you handed your untouched drink and walked over to this mystery man.

The sounds of hundreds of people talking, on top of the blaring music, by the time you approached this stranger you found yourself raising your voice to speak to him.

“I like your costume.” You said as you stepped close enough to him that your body ghosted against his own. “Where’d you get it?”

“My closet.”

Your eyes looked up at him, with a grin you nodded. “Yeah, I had this in my closet as well, ya know? Trying to not spend too much money.”

Your grin only widened as you watched the man roll his eyes as he too grinned. It was a good fucking look on him as your heart hammered the smallest of bits faster.

“Well, I have to admit it looks good.”

“Damn right you do!” You giggle as you press your hand against his chest. “Now, I don’t think I’ve met you before. Do I get a name?”

“You approached me, bunny,” He smirks at you, and your tongue swipes at your painted lips. “I think you owe me your name first.”

“I only approached you because you were giving me the bedroom eyes.” You tease as your finger pokes against his exposed chest. You stared at his face, there was something oddly familiar about him, but you couldn’t put your finger on it given the terrible lighting.

“Well, I guess you don’t get my name.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Too bad,” you pout, but it’s broken by the grin that overcomes your features again. Leaning in closely, you chuckle as you see him bending in closer so that your lips brush against his ear as you whisper. “I really wanted to have something to moan when I get you in bed tonight.”

You giggle as you watch him stiffen and you pull away. Your eyes glisten in your increasing joy at the fact that his eyes are swimming with emotions that looks like he wouldn’t deny you.

“You’re a bit cocky.” He tells you, and you shrug as your arms wrap around his neck. Your teeth tug at your bottom lip as you feel his arms wrap around your waist.

“You’re a bit into it.”

He laughs and you can feel his body moving against your own, it’s a pleasant sound to your ears, a sound you want to hear more. God, maybe if you actually got him to fuck you tonight your friends would leave you alone about their theory about you and Shouto needing to fuck for you to be less stressed.

“I actually was on my way out.” He informs you as your hips slowly begin dancing in time with the bass of the song. You feel his hands grip around your hips, his hands repositioning where you were and thus increased the friction.

“Is that so? Is there anything I can do to make you stay?” You wonder aloud, your face centimeters from his own.

“Well, there is one thing.” He mumbles into your ear, his hot breaths raising the skin where it hits.

“Mhm?” You whisper, your heart hammering.

“I really want water.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or scream, but the soft laughter that hits your ears causes you to smile.

“You’re an idiot.” You sigh as you pull away from him, “Come on! The water is outside. Have you never been to Nejire’s parties before? She thinks that having water in the house kills the party mood!”

Your hand was in his as you pull him outside.

“You’re not taking me into the closet in the kitchen are you?”

You look at him strangely, but only shake your head as you continue walking and sure enough, the water was out there.

You watched in the chill of the night as the man drank the water, your eyes training on his jaw and how it moved with every chug. The costume you had was hot but definitely not practical as your body trembled in coldness.

“You cold?” The man asks you, and you giggle shaking your head.

Being outside you could hear the low timbre of his voice, something that sounded so familiar but you couldn’t place your finger on it. Then again, you didn’t know anyone who was a complete redhead except for Kirishima!

“A true hoe never gets cold.” You say without thinking.

His quirked eyebrow sent you into a series of laughter as you tried waving off what you said.

“And here I thought what we had was special.” He sighs as he hands you his almost empty water bottle. “Want some water?”

“I can be a hoe and a prude,” You retort as you take the water bottle, you take a sip before returning it with a grateful smile. “Besides, Dracula, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be this eternal being who kidnaps virgins who don’t even get demon dick. Just their necks punctured.”

“Wow, that was prejudiced. Just because I’m a vampire doesn’t mean I’m Dracula.” He teases.

“Well, you’re no Edward Cullen.”

“Are those the only two vampires you know?”

“...maybe it is.”

“That was one more than me.”

You shake your head as you giggle, “Fine, I apologize, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you ready to go back inside?” You ask tilting your head back towards the party. “You owe me a dance.”

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to give you a dance.”

“I brought you to the water!”

“Fine.”

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Shouto’s never once thought in his life he would be in this situation.

Yuuei was not a party school, but it was still a university. Parties happened, but in his now third year enrolled in Yuuei, Shouto found himself at the biggest party ever thrown in campus history. But now there was a girl he didn’t know grinding into him as the music of the party drummed in his chest.

Her hands traveled up and down his chest, trailing against his exposed skin. Her hips made soft and wide movements against his crotch. It made no sense to Shouto, she should be off of the beat with how languid she was moving, but somehow — someway — she was in sync with the music and it was making his skin crawl in the best of ways.

Shouto stills against her dancing body as he feels her fingers graze his cheeks.

Eyes wide, he watches as with the pounding music she pulls him down.

He can’t hear her.

Not even a sound.

But he can read her lips clearly.

“Can I kiss you?” She mouths, and Shouto isn’t sure what’s louder right now.

His heart or the music.

But Todoroki Shouto was not a second-place type of man, he wasn’t one to let another choose for him. He pressed forward, his lips connecting with hers.

There was something insatiable about kissing her.

Her soft lips moving in tangent with his.

Her body pressing even closer to his as her arms wrapped around his neck.

Tilting heads, gasping breaths, dancing tongues.

Shouto’s fingers dug into her hips, her soft moan vibrating into his mouth.

Her body was soft, her taste was addicting, and she was making his head spin.

Fueled by lust and a raging need to get laid, Shouto found his hands lowering down further down her ass as she ground her crotch into his own.

But as quickly as he kissed her, she was off him.

Her eyes fluttering open, there was a confident and almost sadistic smirk on his face. Her fingers sat on his chest as she kept him at an arm's distance. As Shouto felt himself moving forward towards her, she was already three steps ahead.

Shouto stared at her as she slipped through the crowd, her head turning back around as she beckoned him with her eyes.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You watched over your shoulder as the mystery man followed you through the thickets of people. Planning well in advance, you slipped through people the man would need to push through. His body demanding, his eyes never leaving yours.

In the kitchen you paused by the sink, it was empty except for a girl who was passed out drunk by the sink. Your eyes fall lazily onto the man as he barges in, his pupils blown as he looks at you. You tilt your head to the side, your arms stretching onto the countertop as he walks over to you.

His steps are long and quick and he has you trapped between his body and the counter. Your head tilts to the side as his lips press against your neck.

His kisses are hot, overwhelming, and dizzying.

His plump lips are sinful against your flush skin. The fake fangs on his teeth only adding to the stimulation he gives you.

But this isn’t it.

You want to drive him crazy even more.

Your hand travels to his pants, palming him softly as you moan at the sensation of his mouth on you.

He’s sensitive and jumps at your touch, and in the two seconds he takes to recover, you’re already on the move.

You don’t walk that fast, but you manage to leave the kitchen before him. The party seems to move in slow motion as you move your way through crowds of people. Twirling around at points when the bass of the song pounds in your blood. Your eyes fall back behind you, and the red-head is still following you.

Climbing the stairs, your hands trail against the banister.

His hand touches yours, and suddenly you’re hyperaware of the fact that his three steps below you.

You don’t quicken your pace, however, choosing instead to stop and turn. Your face is level with his, his eyes concentrated on your lips.

“You planning on fucking me right now, vampire?” You drawl, your fingers pushing against his gelled hair.

“I might be… do I get to know your name?” He murmurs, his lips teasing against yours.

“I think I like you better without a name.” You sigh as your hands rest against the back of his neck.

“Really?”

You don’t answer him, choosing to instead kiss him passionately. Your lips give your answer as you take a step up the stairs backward. Your hand clenches the rail, and his right hand gives you balance as you two climb the stairs like that.

“It’s Halloween,” You whisper as you steer him towards the bedroom. “You can be anything you want to be that isn’t yourself, and you want us to be ourselves?”

Your back slams against the door as he has you pinned to the door. Your lips are denied his as his mouth trails down your neck,

“Call me, Usagi.” You purr as his tongue pressed against your neck.

“Cute,” He mumbled into your skin. Your eyes flutter as your hand grasps the doorknob finally, his dark eyes locking on yours. “Call me, Hito.”

The two of you pushed through the door and it slammed closed behind you. His lips are back over yours, and your hands immediately shoot towards the knot keeping his cape into place.

Hito groans softly as his fingers trace the corset lining to your costume. His hands are hot, the heat bleeding through the fabric as you feel your knees hit the mattress.

His lips are passionate against yours, your jaw drops and your mind spins from the intensity pouring into the kiss. Your gasps seem to stir him on as his hands grasp your ass without fear, your body melting into his grasp as he lifted you up. Your breathing is shaking, your feelings and nerves overload as you put in the same amount of intensive passion into the kiss.

“Fuck.” He mutters as your hands manage to undo his shirt. Your whines escape your mouth as you feel his rippling muscles underneath your fingers. His hands trail down your fishnets, the sensation of his hot fingers against the tights sent shivers down your spine as your hips grind against his. His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, begging for entrance. When you manage to once again roll your body against his increasing bulge, your mouth opens up as you let him in.

Tongues crash in the middle, they move together in a clumsy yet passionate dance. Neither one of you entirely placing dominance on the other. Moans escape your mouth as he presses your back against the mattress. Your fingers clenching into his hair, his hips grinding more intently into your heating core. Synchronized groans are exchanged in this maddening exchange, his body very receptive to the hair-pulling.

His hands trail down onto the swell of your breasts, they squeeze firmly around the flesh, and you arch into his hands. His tongue furthers into your mouth in your brief distraction, and he trails his tongue everywhere in your mouth. Your increasingly satisfied moans make him chuckle. You watch with heavy lids as he pulls away, his face deliriously close to your own as you pant.

From this distance, you can see that he’s wearing contacts, but the thought disappears as his mouth attaches onto your neck. The fake fangs press softly against your skin making you cry out. It’s the weirdest sensation, but it makes your hips buck up against his. Your body wanting more friction.

The fangs continue tracing against your skin, your vocal praises only seeming to stir him on. You wanted more though, you needed more.

“Oh shit!” You gasp as you feel the costume loosen around you, and you watch as he pulls the black fabric off of you. The cold air hits your body, and you feel on edge as his eyes rack your body.

You still have the bunny ears on, the cuffs on your wrists, the tights on your legs, and the black lacy undergarments you wore with the costume. Yet you feel as if you were bare by the way he looks at you. Huffing you push the white wig from your shoulders as you sit up, “Don’t just watch me!” You snap as you remove his shirt, and quickly unbuckle his pants.

“You’re a little bit desperate for someone who was giving me a hard time in the beginning.” Hito chuckles as he helps you remove his clothes.

Your nostrils flare as you don’t try to deny this fact, but as he now remains in just his boxers, your breathing nearly stops.

You really got fucking lucky…

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He teases you, and he captures your lips with his own again.

You gasp sharply at the feeling of his toned body pressing against your flush skin. Your hands sliding down his muscular back as were intoxicated with the way his body felt.

“I don’t need a picture of something that I can memorize.” You shudder as his fingers graze the pool of heat in your panties.

“You’re a bit of a brat, Usagi.”

“You’re the one not fucking me, Hito.”

You watch as he hums. His fingers trailing over the curves of your breast and into the valley between them. “So you just want my dick in you? Nothing else?” He asks you, his hands on your panties applying a greater pressure against your pooling heat.

“I can go get someone else.” You tease as your hips pathetically grind into his fingers. He watches as you shift to remove your bra, your breasts spilling free as you stare up at him. He chuckles as he pulls your tights off, and pushes the fabric of your panties to the side, his finger teasing your building heat.

“Such decisive words from a girl who looks ready to fuck herself with my fingers.” He mutters as he sinks two fingers into your unsuspecting heat.

The helpless and needy scream that pours from your mouth makes him laugh.

“Tell me, Usagi.” He says as his fingers slowly pump within you.

Slowly.

Teasingly.

“Do you want my dick in you?”

Your harsh pants keep you from speaking as Hito increases his speed. His fingers curling within your walls stretching you out in a mind-blowing way. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re vastly affected by his intruding fingers, your body violently trembling with his curled appendages.

“Yes, fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, oh my god Hito!” You shriek as your hips slam against his fingers with every crashing movement.

“Look at you, you don’t even need my cock in you!” He muses as his teeth come to bite against your exposed nipples. The neverending noises of approval expelling from your mouth silences at the new sensation. Your fingers gripping onto his hair in silent approval. “And you were going to try and find someone else.”

“P-Please fuck me!” You cry as you try squirming away from his fingers. Your hands desperately stretching out to remove his tented underwear. You watch gratefully as he slips it off, and his cock springs out.

A satisfied and slightly horrified moan escapes your mouth at the sight of him. His fingers removing from your sopping wet cunt as he licks you clean from his fingers. “Maybe I’ll have some dessert later,” He mumbles as he slowly fists himself. “Now lay back and legs out, Usagi.”

He accentuates every word, and you feel yourself heeding his command. Your hands quickly get rid of your panties as you watch him draw near your spread legs. The tip of his hard cock teasing your entrance.

“Fuck me, Hito.” You snap as he continues to only coat his cock with your juices.

He looks up at you, a smirk on his face as he shrugs.

“Okay.”

A shriek crashes through your mouth as he pushes his cock completely into your awaiting cunt without mercy. His girth stretching you out in an unimaginable way. Stretching you out in ways you were not prepared for. Your walls rippling as they attempt to relax and grow used to his size. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so fucking big!” You cry as your body trembles as Hito leans forward.

His own head is buried within your neck, his breathing trying to reign back in.

“What never had a big dick before.” Hito cockily rasps, but his words feel powerless as he is obviously affected by the tightness of you around him. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

You mewl as the painful throb in your pussy lulls and you writhe your hips against him, “N-Now fuck me right. Don’t fucking make me regret not looking for another guy.” You command as his eyes lock on yours.

There’s something strangely familiar between the two of you, it’s unsaid and you can’t place your finger onto it. But it makes this weirdly comforting.

Hito smirks, small and knowing, and rightfully so as he adheres to your demand. His hips position to a better angle and you can only watch behind clenched eyes as he begins slamming into you. Your hips move in time with his. Both of you desperate under your nearing orgasms and this heightened state of pleasure brought by the mystery of this all. Hito’s hands grip your waist. His grip will for sure leave bruised marks as he slams your body faster against his. He’s stretching you out with every move, and by god does he know how to use his cock. His hands shift as they drag out under your ass, clenching your supple flesh as this difference stretches you out in unimaginable ways.

His hips crashing into yours is uplifting, and your cries only fuel him on.

Your body feels as if it is turning into jelly as he shifts your two legs over his shoulders. His cock bottoming out into you making your back arch off the mattress as you wail out his name. Hito’s heated fingers press against your throbbing clit. You suppress a wail as he rubs harsh and delicate figure-eights onto your puffy nerve. Your pussy is clamping down on his hammering cock, not at all slowing him down, and yet he still grunts and increases his speed and strength.

Your noises of pleasure silences as his cock hits the back of your walls, your legs thrashing around as he drilled into you the same way.

Over and over.

Again and again.

Harder and harder.

His cock smashing against your walls until he tilts his angle and crashes down hard against your g-spot.

“HITO!!!” You scream as he continues pounding into your g-spot. His alias a prayer on your lips as he continues fucking your brains out.

You shoot up off the mattress, your screams muffled through a kiss as you wrap your arms around him. Even though your legs were on his shoulder, you held on. The angle allowing Hito to drive his cock against your g-spot over and over again. Your body bouncing with every single slam. His body is giving you exploding sensations, your tightness making Hito moan and curse.

“I needa – fuuuuck, baby do that again – I needa come!” You squeak as your body rocks against his own.

“Come for me, Usagi.” Hito sighs into your mouth. “Come around my cock.”

The built-up pleasure in your belly is profuse, it’s built up so fast, and your toes curl in electrifying pleasure. You can’t handle it anymore, the pleasure being too much.

Your orgasm slams through you, your vision nearly turning white as your jaw drops as your screams go silent. Hito’s mouth continues to move against yours, kissing sloppily against your teeth as he chases his own orgasm. His fangs digging into your bottom lip as his jaw slacks.

His hips continue slamming into you. They’re brutal as they slam over and over again. He’s chanting your name as your stimulated cunt continues clenching around his length. His pace is making you grow numb in his arms, although your hips still continue to desperately roll against his. His breathing is heavy and tense. Panting as he struggles to keep himself composed.

“Come inside me…” You whine into his ear, desperate to feel his hot seed within you.

His cock stretches you out in a new way as he presses your back onto the mattress again. The protruding veins on his cock creating insane friction against your walls. Hito fucks you mercilessly, his fingers clenching your ass as you come apart for him. Hito curses loudly as he finally loses himself within you. His hips drilling forward one last time as a heavy load shoots into your throbbing cunt.

Shaky breathing fills the air as he pulls out of you.

You whine at the lack of him within you, and your body relaxes as he falls beside you. You whimper as you feel your combine cum seeping from your clenching pussy.

“You were amazing.” Hito chuckles as he leans down next to you.

“You were too…” You whisper as you look at him.

You don’t remember how the night ended for the two of you, only that you let him fuck you three more times.

Bonus!

“You look like goddamn shit,” Todoroki states as he passes by you on his way to his assigned seat. You watch tiredly as he sits down, and you notice the grey beanie covering his weirdly two-colored hair.

“Great, I was hoping you’d say that.” You smile while taking a chug of the sweet, sweet coffee in your hands. “Unlike you, I had fun last night.”

“Were you scaring kids for money?” He deadpans. “Oh wait, you do that for free and normally, huh?”

You roll your eyes as you simply flip him off.

Your body was way too sore, and your mind was way too tired to handle this verbal war.

“I was up having sex.” You say with a tight smile. “Ya know? Sexual intercourse? In my case where a man and a woman come together to place the penis inside of the vagina? I’m assuming, of course, you’ve only been able to see those pictures from A and P… do you need legit pics?” You taunt.

Todoroki rolls his eyes as he lays out his notebook, “Haha. Besides, I had sex last night too, but I don’t look like shit like you.”

“Don’t worry Todoroki,” You sigh as the professor walks in. “Me looking like shit is a rare occurrence. You looking like shit? That’s an everyday thing, babe.”

Bonus bonus!

“I don’t think I can ever top my costume from last year.” You moan as you snuggle into Shouto’s chest. Your phone in your hands as you look at the never-published photos of your Halloween night. “What’s sexier than a playboy bunny? Literally nothing… OH EM GEE! Shouto, can I be you, but like a sexy female version?!”

Shouto, who had been reading a book, blinked as he looked down at you. “...it’s March… why are you thinking about Halloween costumes?”

“I got a five months ago on this day notification.” You laugh as you show him your costume. “I looked super hot, too bad you couldn’t have banged me that night.” You shift as you feel Shouto freeze underneath you. “You okay?”

“That… that was you?” He asks as he looks at the picture.

“Right?! I was so fucking hot.” You pout as you retract your phone.

“N-No!” Shouto shakes his head as he sits up, thus so do you. “You’re Usagi?!”

Your eyes stare intently into his eyes, and slowly you begin picturing your boyfriend with only red hair, his scar covered, and with dark eyes. “YOU’RE HITO?!”

[thomas-reynolds]

CAUGHT UP // 001

WHO: Griffin x Jamie x Thomas WHERE: The apartment. TW/NOTES: Nsfw. Griff and Tommy-boy come home early from the bar thanks to Griffin’s heavy drinking, and catch Jamie in the act with some dude. Things get heated and not in the fun way, and they end up a little worse for wear.

JAMIE ::

"My place doesn't work." Those four fateful words would normally leave Jamie shrugging and moving on to the next guy. It was a night out, after all, and he didn't have to take home the first hot guy he found. But this one was so hot. Taller than him, but just slightly. Bright blue eyes and a come and get me grin. Maybe it was more the attitude than the looks, and maybe James had downed one too many gold rushes. Maybe it was the fact that it was the beginning of summer, and hot was taking on multiple meanings here. James couldn't put his finger on what the hell it was that made him say these bolds words, but he heard himself saying them all the same. "Let's go back to my place." A husky whisper in the other guy's ear, and the two of them tumbled out of the club and into a cab.

Jamie lost his shirt at the front door, a solid thud echoing through the place as he was backed against it, and then a moan as his hookup- David? Daniel? kissed along his neck, his hands moving lower. "Don't leave a mark." He was already living dangerously. Odds were that Thomas and Griffin wouldn't randomly end up coming back home, but you could never be too careful. Now that he'd gotten that one stipulation out of the way, it was all too easy to let go and focus on the feelings. This would only ever happen once, and since he was already damned anyway, he might as well make the most of it.

More clothes were shed as they made their way to a bedroom. He didn't stop to shut the door, his hands too busy roaming Daryl's body to think of such a mundane detail. He didn't need to prepare himself much before he situated himself on top, sinking down onto the beautiful man's cock and thoroughly enjoying the view. He was close when everything went south. It was nice, having the place to himself, not needing to bother with being quiet. He was breathing hard by this point, choosing expletives that he wouldn't be caught dead saying in church instead of accidentally moaning the wrong name.

GRIFFIN ::

Getting kicked out of a bar was not new for Griffin Rollins, but getting kicked out just after nine o’clock was impressive. Or embarrassing, if he had any shame left, but he didn’t seem to, not with the way Thomas’ lecture was just rolling off his back. He could probably recite the speech back to him at this point - y’know, when he could string a sentence together without slurring. It probably meant something that the barkeep knew to call Thomas - his roommate, yes; his buddy, sure; but decidedly not a loved one, not his significant other - but that was the nice thing about being this hammered: Griffin could blissfully ignore all the flashing neon signs from the universe that he was, in fact, still a fuck-up.

That same universe was spinning by the time the men reached their front door, the dark-haired one making a valiant effort to retrieve his keys only for his hand to be impatiently batted away. As they stepped into their place, Griffin moaned out a curse - or, he thought he did, but it didn’t sound like himself. And it was coming from the wrong direction.

His eyes flashed over to Thomas’ face, trying to decipher what the fuck was going on, and he looked as far from happy as he had when he’d showed up at the bar, but now the daggers weren’t being directing at Griffin. The blonde was looking past him, and it took a carefully-executed turn to discover what he was looking at: a naked hottie riding a cock in Pearson’s bed. Griffin’s liquor-fogged mind took what felt like an eon to realize that was bad, for two reasons. 1) The naked hottie was not Thomas’ sister, and 2) The naked hottie was Pearson.

Griffin’s fingers immediately fisted in the front of Thomas’ shirt, partially in an attempt to keep him exactly where he was, and partially to keep himself upright. “Hey, hey, Tommy, hey -”

THOMAS ::

Getting the call shouldn’t have come as any sort of surprise. After all, Thomas took more phone calls regarding Griffin’s health and well-being than he’s sure Griffin’s own mother ever took. Picked him up from enough bars, enough gutters, even football practice when they were teens and his mom conveniently ‘forgot’ him at the school. Typically, Thomas wore the eternal baby-sitter badge like a medal of honor - used it to badger and annoy Griffin into some semblance of shame when he was even a modicum of sober. Now though, when Thomas himself had been getting his feet wet at the bar, a young brunette with too dark lipstick and overly straightened hair, but big enough breasts to be worth his effort practically hanging off of his arm - now it was annoying.

Even when it was more tolerable, Thomas didn’t let Griffin think otherwise anyway, but still. The point still stands, he thought, staring at the doors of a crusty old bar that screamed ‘burn your clothes when you leave here’ and definitely had enough bikers and hookers outside to make your grandmother faint on impact. Convincing the bouncer to not knock his friend’s head in was simple enough, it was actually the waitress whom Griffin palmed on the way out that seemed to cause the most trouble - and by the time they were on the way back to the apartment, drunken hands pulling at the collar of Thomas’ shirt (and stretching out the goddamned hole), Thomas had almost begun his ranting on auto pilot.

A little, “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that? Like a fucking gutter rat. What the fuck were you drinking anyway? You smell like fucking paint-thinner --” The words died on Thomas’ lips, cheeks, ears and chest heating in a way that would make him worry that he’s finally going six feet under (and maybe he is, if his blood pressure could go any higher), and it reminded him of the time he got incredibly crossfaded at Brittany Deering’s party back in 10th grade and blacked out in her bathtub for a few hours, barely avoiding being puked and pissed on by fellow students in the same position as him. It took him entirely too quickly, Thomas’ body moving on its own accord, Griffin’s hands pawing at him like a cheap stripper, and Pearson’s wide open door looked like a gateway to Heaven, or at the very least a convenience store with the automatic slider-doors jammed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thomas’ voice didn’t sound like his own, but he supposed that it was difficult to even hear properly with all of the blood rushing through his ears, “I will kill you.” The thump in his chest had nothing to do with the fact that his best friend was clearly cheating on his sister with some...some fruity weirdo with floppy hair and stupidly blue eyes, but he was bound and determined to ignore that little fact - ignore the voice that said just tell him already and instead, encouraged the one that said, he’s got a nice neck for strangling.

“This is what you do when we’re not here? Fool around with discount Matthew McConaughey?” It definitely wasn’t a snarl, if you asked Thomas, but the clenching fist at his side, the one not hanging onto Griffin’s half-dead body, promised something lethal.

JAMIE ::

“Fuuuuck-“ turned into “Oh, fuck” entirely too quickly for Jamie’s liking. He was off that dick quicker than he’d moved in a long time. Hastily looking over his shoulder and seeing Thomas’ face twisted in rage should have killed his hard on in an instant, but it didn’t. He’d blame that on how hot Damon was and how far along into their hookup they’d been. “Fuck off Thomas, you two were supposed to be out, anyway!” He stepped into his underwear quickly, pulling on a pair of pants hastily as well. “What the fuck?” Danny was dazed, understandably confused that all of the sudden their hookup for two was now a foursome. Then, “Is that your boyfriend?”

“No!” James replied immediately, forcing a look of disgust at the mere thought of it. Or at least, his best attempt. “You need to go.” There was no salvaging this hookup, unfortunately, and he was just glad that he’d managed to make it to his own room so sweatpants were readily available.  Damian had apparently gotten the point and was quickly getting redressed as well. Thomas was still mad, and honestly it was probably best to just let him be mad instead of trying to placate him. Trying that would only make it worse. Nah, he was gonna let the anger run its course and then let it go. But then it hit him, and all the color drained from his face. “You can’t tell her.” The thought of that happening made him want to throw up, and he moved a little closer, eyes wide and a little scared even as he tried to hide it. “It was nothing. Just blowing off some steam, and it doesn’t even count, you wouldn’t have known because you two were supposed to be out!” His gaze turned accusingly to Griffin for a second, and it didn’t take long to piece together what had happened. “And besides, Griffin is drunk, clearly we have bigger problems to worry about.” Yeah, pull focus. Dawson could sneak out while the two of them had a serious talk with Griffin about substance use. Jamie’s gaze flashed to Griffin again. He couldn’t decide which one of them to look at at this point. Griffin was most likely to take his side here, so he probably shouldn’t have just thrown him under the bus.

GRIFFIN :: 

Griffin managed a small, two-finger salute to Jamie’s date as he passed by, clothing in his arms - or maybe it looked like he was putting a gun to his own temple, which also seemed applicable. His eyes followed the stranger’s naked ass until it disappeared into the bathroom, just in time to detect his name tumbling into this shitshow. “‘m always drunk,” he shot back in what he genuinely believed to be a solid defense. “Dsn’t count.”

God, he just wanted to be on a horizontal surface, even if it was Jamie’s bed of iniquity, and he considered making a move toward it until his last brain cell insisted that his deadweight was likely the only thing keeping Thomas anchored in place. If he could just defuse this disaster of a situation, he knew the blonde would get him into his own bed. Or the couch. Or at least onto the kitchen floor with a towel for a blanket.

“Tommy, Tommy, TommyTommyTommy, listen ... listen t’ me ... your sisterdsn’t have a dick!” he offered, finally releasing the other man’s shirt in order to wave his hands in a messy what’re-ya-gonna-do gesture. By his incredibly flawed, alcoholic logic, if Pearson wanted to fuck a dude - and understandably so, dudes being as hot as they were - he couldn’t go to Thomas’ sister. No harm, no ... whatever.

THOMAS ::

Thomas steadily ignored his own feline-reminiscent hiss as Hunky Brewster walk-of-shame’d his way out of their apartment, passing it off as some sort of controlling his temper, or silently letting out a prayer to the God he didn’t believe in but heard enough about from Jamie. The heat turned to ice in the pit of his glorious, god-like abdomen after every single ‘Tommy’ that left his friend’s mouth, “Griff, shut your fucking mouth -- and you,” He practically spit, pulling both himself and Griffin closer to the blonde in the bedroom like a boat and a buoy toward the middle of a storm, “It’s not cheeeeeeating as long as you don’t get caaaaught.” Thomas mocked his friend as the storm seemed to settle inside of his own chest, thunder and lightning begging to be let out through some sort of violence.

“I’m going to kick your ass - and then, I’m going to call my sister, and she’s going to come over here and kick your ass, you stupid, useless moron.” The dark feelings seemed to bubble and burst all in one quick second, and if Thomas could have taken a breath and really looked at the situation for what it was, and the jealousy that seemed to eat at him, the conflict likely could have been avoided. But the thick stench of sweat and alcohol from Griffin, and the same aroma from Jamie’s room seemed to override any sort of consideration that Thomas could have provided. And with that, he dropped Griffin like a sack of fucking potatoes and darted for Jamie’s face, hissing when his hit landed. Thomas was too busy cradling his knuckles to know if he’d even hit his damned target, but the swelling would be worth it if he’d gotten to cause Jamie some sort of agony he’d have to live for the next few days too. Once the blind rage passed and Thomas was left shaking, clutching his wrist like grandmother’s prized fucking pearls, he finally bit words for Griffin instead, “I don’t care that my sister doesn’t have a goddamned dick - she’s - he spouts all of this holier-than-thou bullshit that he doesn’t even follow! He just committed sodomized, pre-marital sex! And he wasn’t even on top!”

The words felt hysterical, and the laughter that left Thomas wasn’t one filled with any sort of joy; it was hollow and empty, or maybe not empty, but only filled with envy and anger. He darted for Jamie again, hissing between his teeth.

JAMIE ::

James wasn’t sure when he realized that there wouldn’t be any coming back from this. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Thomas this pissed, and that was saying something. Hell, in the past, he’d helped talk Thomas down from being this pissed at someone else. Now the fury was totally directed at him, and he fought the instinct to move back as Thomas dragged himself and Griffin closer. He wasn’t a coward. “It’s not cheating if I don’t even know his name!” It was. It absolutely was, but he’d learned from the best how to navigate with a broken moral compass. This was quite literally a situation of how what someone didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He’d done this for years, from hurried hookups behind the bleachers to an empty dugout, sneaking out at midnight and meeting someone he’d used to go to Sunday school with. It was a sin, sure, but he wasn’t gay. He went to confession after every incidence, and he was forgiven. It was just that simple.

“Don’t,” he warned, his expression going from worried to murderous. “Tell her, Thomas, and I swear to God.” Might as well add taking the Lord’s name in vain. Today couldn’t possibly be any worse. In that moment, the bubble burst. It occurred to him briefly that Thomas could have set Griffin down nicely, but then it was too late as he felt pain exploding across his cheek. Thomas packed a pretty decent punch, even if he didn’t much look like it. For the moment, he resigned himself to it, didn’t hit back even though his fist balled up by his side and he wanted to. He’d stumbled back after the initial punch, but he regained his footing. And then Thomas was talking again, listing off all the big sins, sins that were meant to be kept in private, in the confessional booth, just him and the priest. That alone made him itch with rage, but he held back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he didn’t really want to hurt Thomas. But then he laughed and it all went to hell. He surged forward at the same time Thomas did, and they collided. “Fuck. You!” He threw the next punch, hoping to land a matching shiner, putting his full force behind it. He didn’t care anymore. “It doesn’t count as pre-marital,” he growled, “if it’s not a possibility to marry.” He still couldn’t make himself use the right pronoun.

GRIFFIN ::

Now, granted, he had been wanting to lie down, but hurtling to the hardwood without any warning hadn’t exactly been ideal. Griffin laid there, still more or less grateful to be off his feet, listening to an argument that probably would have seemed a fuckton more intense if it hadn’t sounded so underwater. He even missed the first punch, arm thrown over his eyes as he willed the room to knock it off with the spinning - but he did here the telltale sound of two bodies colliding, and forced himself up onto his elbows. And then onto his knees. And then onto his feet.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey -“ The man had exactly one word in his vocabulary at the moment, which he repeated as he stumbled over to a mound of limbs made up of his two best friends. He was already pushing it, with the walking, but the attempt to pull one of the guys off the other almost knocked him right back of his feet. He survived, though - until a rogue fist that may or may not have been meant for him caught him right in the gut. He reeled back, taking one, two, three steps towards the door before doubling-over and vomiting in the corner of Jamie’s room.

Well, it had been inevitable. At least now that part of the night was over. “HEY.” There he was. Still just as unsteady on his feet, but with renewed frustration, Griffin threw himself back into the mix.

THOMAS ::

"You probably wish you could! I'm pretty fantastic!" Thomas screamed over the man, attempting to shove Jamie, and petulantly ignoring Griffin until the guy practically took an arrow for him, projectile vomiting in the same space as them. "Nice fucking job - punching the fucking drunk. Want to talk to God about that too? You like things in your ass and you hit your best friend!" 

Griffin managed to get between them and Thomas couldn't help the muttered, "You fucking reek, dude-" that left him, his arm reaching out to swing wildly at Jamie over the other man's shoulder. How ridiculous, they must have looked, three grown men throwing punches and shouting expletives at one another in the middle of the night. If the neighbors banging on the wall were anything to go by, they probably agreed with him. 

"Don't touch me - don't you fucking," Thomas hissed as a spare slap managed to get him right in the nose, rust immediately dripping over the bottom portion of his face, "I'm going to tell her so fucking hard, you son of a bitch," He whined around the hand cupping his nose and mouth, practically shielding himself with Griffin's larger body. "I can't stand you two - I - it smells like shit in here," The babbling continued, even though he really couldn't smell anything with his nose full of blood clots.

JAMIE ::

“I was on top!” Jamie insisted, shoving back at Thomas. He really hadn’t intended to punch Griffin, but he was the one who’d ended up throwing himself in between the two of them. What did he think was going to happen. “I was aiming for you, asshole!” His blood was really boiling right now, and Jesus, how had this night managed to go so horribly wrong? It had started out hot and fun and devolved into, well, whatever this shit show was.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned as he heard Griffin lose his dinner in the corner of his room. Add that to the list of shit that he didn’t want to deal with. He’d be cleaning it up, of course, because Griffin clearly wasn’t in any state to, and he didn’t want his room to smell like puke while he waited for Griffin to sober up and handle it. The one last slap was admittedly satisfying, but he had to calm down. He had bigger problems on his hands. He had to convince Thomas not to tell her.

It occurred to him way too quickly what he had to do, the only way he was going to appeal to Thomas’ sense of reason. “Fine!” He shouted numbly. “Tell her. But who else do you think is going to be with her? We break up, she ends up an old fucking spinster for the rest of her life. Is that what you want for her? Huh?” He gave one more shove to prove his point. “You tell her, and you break her fucking heart. And for what? Because I’m getting a little on the side that she can’t give me? I’m the perfect boyfriend, Thomas. She won’t get better than me, and you know it.”

GRIFFIN ::

Somehow managing to dodge what could have been a really unfortunate elbow, Griffin was perfectly content with standing between his roommates now that things had boiled over and resolved into a simmer; still hot, still able to burn, but not quite as active. The shouting, he was pretty desensitized to. Between the three of them, someone was perpetually shouting at the other two, or two were shouting at each other, or two were shouting at one (he was usually the one, and he was usually inebriated). It was a special occasion when the trio were all shouting, though, which is normally what got the neighbors involved. Griffin reached over to land his fist on the wall three or four times, acknowledging their neighbor’s participation.

His back was turned to Thomas, who, though taller, was probably less of a real physical threat. As a result, he missed the bloody nose, but he did catch sight of Jamie’s split lip and the scarlet mark that was going to bloom into one hell of a bruise. “Better tell ‘er ya got mugged,” he suggested, finally throwing over a glance over his shoulder to survey the damage that was Thomas’ face. “Botha you. Ah, fuck, are you bleedinon my shirt?!”

Griffin was quiet for the rest of Jamie’s tirade, mostly because this was not his fight, but also because he was on both of their sides, so far as thinking the other was a royal fucking asshole. Kate was the closest thing he had to a sister, and he didn’t love the idea of her getting fucked over, but he would have been smart enough to not let an asshole like James anywhere near her to start with. And furthermore, he’d mean what he’d said, inarticulate as it may have been; monogamy was a societal construct, sexuality was a spectrum, and this was probably the best case scenario for both of them, really. Kate got to seriously level up in the boyfriend department, and Jamie got a doting woman on his arm for the sake of appearances.

“I think,” he opined on a big sigh, running a hand through his hair as though he was going to lay down some actual wisdom - but that wasn’t his brand. “I think that we should get nachos.”

THOMAS ::

Clicking his tongue, Thomas swished the copper around in his mouth, glaring daggers at his roommate. He probably looked like he'd been bobbing for apples in fake blood at this point, but it felt oddly satisfying to look a little deranged compared to his normal well-kempt state. "Should I let her be with a cheater and a liar anyway? Yeah, real fucking smart, asshole --" Even with Griffin's knocking effectively breaking the tension, the neighbors yelling back through the wall, there was something still boiling under the surface. 

Something volatile, something that went by the name Jade. 

"You don't need any nachos," He murmured, somewhat numb, yet manic. Auto-pilot had taken over, his palm running over his face, and Thomas wiped the mess on the back of Griffin's shirt. Eyes never leaving Jamie's, Thomas slowly slipped forward face impassive, blank. "One more thing," Oddly calm, Thomas reached out with a gentle, blood-smeared hand and laid the palm of it on Jamie's shoulder. He let the moment settle, let the silence take over for a moment, until it was bordering on confusing, before throwing himself forward and headbutting the man in turn, immediate pain blossoming behind his forehead, and spraying them both with his now-unclotted nose. "Bitch," he snarled under the waterfall of blood, before groaning and taking a hasty step back toward his drunken friend, ready to use him as a shield again if need be.

JAMIE ::

"Why, so you can throw 'em up in a different part of my room?" He usually had the decency to at least make it to a communal space, and yeah, James was still a little pissed that he needed to be taken home at all when the two of them had planned to be out and about for the night. It was a valiant effort, trying to get the two of them back on the same side so they could stop with the arguing, but deep down, Jamie knew this wasn't the kind of fight that Thomas would just get over. He'd fucked up, big time, and now instead of facing the music, he was doubling down. It had all seemed so innocent, harmless even, when it was just him and the flavor of the night. If what's his name that started with a D hadn't been so fucking hot, maybe this whole thing could have been avoided.

He ventured a glance at Thomas, partially hating himself for the fact that he'd messed up such a pretty face, but a small little part of himself was satisfied at the damage done. Served him right. How fucking hard would it have been to just turn around and go somewhere else for ten minutes? By that point, the hookup would have been kicked out, and they could all pretend that it had never happened. Jamie could have been blissfully ignorant, and honestly, that was one of the most underrated states a person could be in.

When Thomas put a hand on his shoulder, he tried to keep his expression neutral. As much as he hated to admit it, that hand on his shoulder had grounded him many times in the past, and its presence was all tied up with feelings of comfort and safety, feelings he definitely wasn't getting just now. Sure as shit, next came the sucker punch in the form of a headbutt, and the "Ow!" was almost equal parts pain and surprise. "Asshole!" he groaned, and he couldn't even get to him without Griff getting involved again. "Griffin, just get out of here. This is between me and him, and some of us can't take a hit." Unfortunately for him, all of the hits were starting to take a toll.

GRIFFIN ::

“Ahhrgh, God damn it,” he growled as he felt Thomas’ hand smear his bodily fluids down his back, rolling his shoulders in discomfort before yanking his shirt off, rolling it into a ball and tossing it out into the hall. At least the blonde’s shirt was just as fucked, he noticed, attention on the slightly taller man as he approached James. Good, fine, Thomas would say his final piece and then everyone could just - “Fuck!”

Before he could fully process the sudden movement and the accompanying spray of gore, Thomas has slipped behind him and he was staring down Jamie, the youngest of their dysfunctional little crew. “C’mon, Jay, jus-go lay down,” he muttered, intending to give a good-natured push to the kid’s chest, but still intoxicated enough to not know his own strength. The adrenaline he didn’t realize had been streaming through his system turned it into a fully aggressive shove, and Griffin felt the muscles in his shoulders tense as some part of him anticipated retaliation. Blue eyes flashed. “Go ta’ bed, Jamie.”

THOMAS ::

"Suck my dick, Pearson--" Dark pupils dilated at the shove, watching with intense interest. It wasn't often that Jamie and Griffin disagreed wholeheartedly, or at the very least enough to get into a physical altercation. Usually it was Thomas gravitating toward the violence, toward harsh words that stung and bit at insecurities - usually he was the flint and steel basking at either of his friends' heels.

Still, it ignited something in him, to see Griffin shove the younger man, even if unintentionally. While they all agreed to disagree at who really was whose best friend, Thomas liked to believe he was just as much of a fire as he was the glue keeping them together. "You shoved him, man," The words were weirdly tense, odd even to himself, in the quiet of the room. "You gonna take that?" Blue eyes flick to Jamie's.

JAMIE ::

For a second, he considered it. He wasn't going to just lay down, but getting himself to a different room, where they kept the cleaning supplies probably, and doing something else was probably the best way to handle this. But then he shoved him, hard, as if to make sure to drive his point home. "Seriously?" he demanded, his own gaze accusing.

"You're seriously gonna take his side? I woulda come to get you too, and then none of this would have happened." He shoved back, not knowing or caring if Thomas was close enough to catch him. "You go to bed. I have someone else's mess to clean up, as usual." The puke in the corner of the room wasn't going anywhere, after all.

GRIFFIN ::

As he stumbled back into Thomas, Griffin’s ego maintained that he never would have budged if he’d been sober. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t; really, how often was he truly sober, so there wouldn’t be exactly an opportunity to find out. If he’d been sober, he also probably wouldn’t have lunged for Jamie, taking him out at the waist and forcing him to collapse onto his own mattress. “Said, LAY DOWN,” he repeated, scrambling to straddle the man’s hips, and trying to grab at his wrists. “Enough!”

The word was paired with a death glare to Thomas, who may not have been pinned under him, but only because it was physically impossible for Griffin to sedate both of them at once. “You’re both douchebags!”

“I called you,” he muttered after a moment, still slap-fighting James for submission. “You were busy.” It was completely lost on the brunette, of course, that his current position wasn’t terribly different from the way they’d stumbled upon Jamie a few minutes before.

THOMAS ::

Despite the urge to cover his throbbing nose from any more of the crossfire, Thomas stood back from the other two men, eyes dark and irritable. Thomas was the reliable one - was the man you called when you needed someone to get you out of a mess, or pick you up at the bar on a Friday night at 9pm because you were so drunk you couldn't see straight. He was the ultimate provider, the best friend any guy could ask for. Clearly, Griffin appreciated that more than Jamie.

"Am I interrupting?" He blinked his eyelashes prettily, words mocking as they left his lips. His shirt was the only one left on, and it was...incredibly sticky at that point, if he was being honest. With a grimace, he plucked at the collar, hissing when his hand came away sore. He would be bruised and battered, and rough the following day - no amount of cover-up was going to suffice to hide the giant bowling ball of a bruise on his head, or the massive swelling of his nose. He'd talk like a fucking Lollipop Guild member for a week at this rate.

"I went to pick up this clown while you were out here blowing some guy." Thomas stuck his chin up, defiant despite the angry look sent to him by Griffin, who was oddly being the sensible one (not that Thomas would ever admit that. To anyone. Ever.)

JAMIE ::

James was honestly taken aback by Griffin's sudden lunge in his general direction. He was stupidly effective for being drunk, and Jamie wanted to be mad about it, but he was suddenly distracted by how Griffin was just on top of him like this. He blamed that on the surprise of it all as well. Griffin never would have gotten him into this position if James had seem him coming.

Ignoring the insult, he frowned when Griffin mentioned that he had called him. "Well, what the hell." He could have sworn he would have noticed a phone call from his best friend, but apparently hookup's dick game was too strong. Usually he was much more reliable than this. "Shut the fuck up, Thomas," he said, and the only reason that Griffin was still on top of him was because he didn't want to hurt him on accident. Again.

His face hurt and he wanted to either drink or take some ibuprofen or both and clean up the fucking mess that was still in the corner of his room. "Christ, get off me, Griffin." Why was he the one being restrained instead of Thomas? Thomas started this shit. He gave a considering expression before going for Griffin's ticklish spot instead, hoping the sudden distraction would give him some leeway to get out from under him and back toward his original target who couldn't keep his mouth shut to save his own damn life. "I didn't blow him, I was on fucking top!"

GRIFFIN ::

If he’d been able to read the other man’s thoughts, he probably would have chuckled, the low one that was particularly disarming when it was paired with his trademark sideways smirk. Sure, they’d blame it on the “surprise” and not the decade of running tackle drills before and after school, five days a week. Drunk as he was, muscle memory was a hell of a thing.

That, and puking up a stomach full of bourbon.

“Wash up, look like a fuckin’ horror movie,” Griffin ordered in Thomas’ general direction, not moving a muscle, not just yet. If the two of them were going to lunge at each other again, he could sit right there all night - or at least until the hazy, spinny kind of sleep that went along with being this sloshed came to claim him. “You, jus’ stop talking,” he muttered, quieter considering that James was only so far away from him. “Nobody cares ‘fya sucked a dick, Pearson.”

When he eventually slid from the younger man’s waist, Griffin moaned in relief at the feel of a mattress beneath him, bribing his body to move with the promise that if he stretched out just the slightest bit, he’d finally be able to close his eyes. “Why’s yer bed so nice?”

THOMAS :: 

A flash of something dark flickered over Thomas' face, his struggle with authority desperately trying to rear its head. With a calming breath, he tried to pull that little voice inside of his head that sounded like his dumb, quack sister that reminded him about breathing exercises and adrenaline. After counting to 10, Thomas gingerly pulled his collared shirt over his head, the polo wet with moisture and a stink of dried blood. Scrunching his nose, he dropped the offending garment into Jamie's hamper, on top of clothes probably covered in some dude's jizz. "Looks like you have a roommate tonight," He pointed out helpfully, making his way toward the bathroom.

He was back a quick moment later, having procured the small cleaning caddy from under the bathroom sink, including the hand-held spot cleaner. It was uncanny, how many times they'd had to clean up 90% alcohol-vomit, and Thomas hated that he'd grown so used to it after 15-odd years of knowing these morons. "Take your shoes off, you heathen," Thomas spit at Griffin without much effort behind it, focused instead on cleaning the puddle out of the corner of Jamie's room.

After scrubbing for a few odd minutes, and one glare in Griffin's direction later, Thomas picked himself back up, knees aching with the effort of the movement. He was getting old. He stored the cleaning products back in the cabinet and found himself leaning against the doorframe when he re-entered the room. "What food do you want, Griff?" Thomas asked, placated and quiet after the fall-out of so much drama. Getting his face bashed in was a reset button, apparently. Annoying, but effective. "I'm not dealing with the whininess when you're hung over tomorrow."

JAMIE ::

"He started it," James muttered in response when Griffin told him to stop talking. It was juvenile, but he couldn't help it. This whole thing could have been avoided about six ways to Sunday. If Griffin hadn't gotten drunk, if Thomas hadn't immediately started raging about it, if he hadn't brought someone home in the first place. It was pretty clear that they were all partially to blame for this shit show, but the petty side of him wanted to be the one that ended it.

He still had no idea if Thomas was going to tell Kate, but that seemed like a problem for future Jamie. For now, he just wanted to wallow in his failed hookup. He figured that since he hadn't even gotten the chance to get off from this one, there wasn't really a need to do any sort of confessional. Jamie scoffed at Griffin's next words. God cared if he sucked a dick, which also, he hadn't. "Don't tell anyone." These words were directed at both of them, quiet, yet deeply meaningful. He didn't know what he'd do if people found out. Hell, his two best friends had just found out, and he wasn't exactly sure what to do about it.

Jamie had no idea where Thomas was going when he headed out of his room, and a part of him wondered if he was going to make that phone call. Anxiety prickled all over his body, and he had to remind himself to breathe. A moment before he was going to get up and follow him, Thomas came back with the cleaning supplies. A begrudging "Thanks," rolled off his lips as he sat up in bed to address Thomas' next words. Rolling onto his knees, he took off one shoe and tossed it out into the hallway, landing with a thunk. The other came next, tossed in the same general direction. "PB&J?" he asked Griffin, knowing that it'd be best to go for something easier on the stomach.

GRIFFIN ::

This was how the world worked for Griffin Rollins, the way it had always worked. He did what he wanted to do, it made a fucking mess, he smiled and fumbled his way into some unintentional wit, and it all ended up being taken care of ... usually by one of the two bloodied men who were currently milling around the room, no doubt accomplishing just that. He didn’t open his eyes to check. That was the way he preferred it, really; if he never fully noticed just how much other people did to save his ass time after time, he never fully needed to thank them.

“Nachooooos,” he moaned at the mention of food, knowing full well he’d likely pass out before anything that required delivery would arrive at the apartment. As it was, he was already slipping in and out of consciousness. The bed smelled like sweat and Jamie’s shampoo, the sortakinda expensive stuff he got frustrated at Griffin borrowing when his own had run out. It still came from the drug store, but from the higher shelf; not the 3-in-1 body wash bullshit that Griffin smeared through his own hair.

“Go shower,” he mumbled to both and neither of them.

THOMAS ::

With narrowed eyes, Thomas turned to retreat into the kitchen, slapping together a few hastily made sandwiches (which were still entirely too neat, cut diagonally into two separate pieces) and brought them back to the bedroom, just in time for Griffin to begin bossing him around again. "What, this isn't doing anything for you?" Thomas pointed to the bloody mess on his face, chest, and arms.

Rolling his eyes, Thomas passed Jamie the plate, their hands brushing as he released the paper to him. Always something unbreakable, when Griffin was involved. Thomas would have loved to frequently use real plates and cups, but when a bumbling, drunk idiot was constantly falling around your apartment, it was better to have something that couldn't accidentally kill you. "If anyone needs a shower here, it's you. The landlady lives 5 miles away and I'm sure she can smell you from here."

Despite his deflections, Thomas really did need a shower. His blood had become caked and sticky on his skin, drying into flakes that made him want to scratch at his skin like a mangy dog. "Just...eat." With a tired sigh, Thomas ran a bruised hand through his hair, closing his eyes for just a moment. How did he always end up back here?

:: END ::

[mindfulwrathwrites]

Powered (Excerpt): Meet “Cute”

The first appearances of two of our main cast!

Words: 1,931 Warnings: Alcohol use, classism

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...

Lupe was having the luckiest bad day of their life, and if it didn't let up soon, they were going to collapse from the stress.

First, it had been the flooding—an event that easily could have killed a dozen people or more, but from which Lupe had escaped without getting so much as a toe in the water. Then it was getting trapped in the swanky office building, where they were sure to get caught and arrested, only to see on the news that the only thing stopping them from leaving was some weirdo up on the roof. And then, it was ARCOM's killer robot and its—handler?—which had almost shot Lupe dead on the spot but decided not to at the last second, instead chasing off after the weirdo in the mask and opening, however unintentionally, Lupe's escape.

So Lupe had hidden in the stairwell in case the Division showed up before the water cleared (they hadn't), and had taken the back-alleys and underpasses out of downtown in case the regular cops were looking for them (they weren't), and was now holed up in a booth at the back of the one Powered bar in Albuquerque, accompanied only by the tinnitus ringing in their ears, nursing a gin and tonic and supposing they ought to feel relieved.

They didn't.

An acrylic nail tapping on the table brought them back to the present. Their favorite bartender, Jess, was standing table-side, rainbow dreadlocks bright against dark skin.

"Starting to pick up in here, honey," she said. "You might wanna start thinking about heading out, before you lose all your elbow room."

"You can't just let me out the back again?" Lupe asked.

"I'd love to, except Cindy's working tonight, and she's been looking for an excuse to fire me."

"Is Cindy the racist one?"

"Take a wild guess."

Lupe winced. "Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Is it okay if I finish my drink first, or. . . ?"

"You got time. I'll get you a lemonade to go so we ain't just kicking you out. On the house."

"Are you sure? You don't have to."

She pressed a hand to her chest and sighed hugely. "If I don't, you might leave us a bad review."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to," they said.

"It's a joke, we're already drowning in bad reviews from normies. Zero stars, service was terrible and it was full of mutants, I felt sooooo threatened when everybody got mad at me for calling them slurs."

Lupe snorted. "Has that happened?"

"Weekly, honey, weekly."

"I'm sorry."

She grinned. "It's all good. They never stick around too long." She tapped her nail on the table again, and a breath of blue flame rolled up the back of her hand. "Lemme get you that lemonade before I forget."

Lupe gave her a lazy, two-finger salute as she moved off. They sucked down a few good gulps of their gin and tonic. Maybe Jess had gone a little heavy on the gin, or maybe it was just that Lupe hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours, but it was hitting them harder than usual. They checked their pockets for change and found about four dollars—and since they were getting kicked out before they could get another drink, maybe they'd go get a burger, instead. As they stuffed the cash back in their pocket, somebody pulled up to their booth.

"Mind if I join you?"

He was white, mousy, and freckly, with short-cropped brown hair and a midwestern accent. He was wearing thick-rimmed glasses, a green flannel over a band T-shirt, dark jeans washed a few too many times. He had a drink in each hand.

"I—I was actually just leaving, sorry, it's all yours," said Lupe, scooching outward.

The guy's face fell. "You were?"

"Yeah, it just—I just have to—" They cast around for Jess, but she was nowhere to be seen. They didn't need the free lemonade, anyway; they should get out of here while they could, before this poor guy put a foot in the wrong place and got electrocuted.

"I guess I have to drink both of these, now," he sighed, looking down at the two drinks. One was a beer. The other was clear and bubbly and had a slice of orange in it.

"Well," said Lupe. They fidgeted. "You weren't—you didn't—did you. . . ?"

He offered the cocktail to them. "It was supposed to be for you," he said hopefully.

Lupe fidgeted some more. The room wasn't too crowded yet, and one drink couldn't hurt, especially if it was free. Jess was up at the bar now, busy with a large group of young women that had just come in. Lupe gestured to the other side of the booth.

"I'll save you from the spare drink," they said. "Just be careful where you put your feet, I run at a pretty lethal voltage."

The guy stopped halfway to sitting down. He stared. Lupe shrugged.

"No wonder you're back here all by yourself," the guy said faintly.

"Yeah," said Lupe. "It's fine if you—"

The guy slid the rest of the way into the booth and pulled his feet up after him, sitting cross-legged. With one finger, he pushed the cocktail across to Lupe.

"It's a Tom Collins," he said. "You struck me as the ginny type."

"That—that's a nine-dollar drink," Lupe objected, torn between being flattered and gravely suspicious.

"Yeah," said the guy. He gestured to his own. "And this is a three-dollar beer, split the difference."

Lupe struggled for words. They looked from the cocktail to the guy and back again. They swirled the tiny straws around in case it stirred up any suspicious white powder, which it didn't.

"What did you say your name was?" Lupe asked the guy.

"Zach," he said. "He/him pronouns, if anybody's counting."

"Oh—oh," said Lupe. Something fluttered in their chest, a sigh of relief. "I'm Lupe. Um. They/them."

"Pleased to meet you," said Zach. "I'd shake your hand, but—"

"Yeah, don't—don't do that. So, you—so—you're . . . Powered? I mean, Watt's, it's sort of—it's not like they card you, and if that's too personal, obviously, you don't have to answer, I just. . . ."

"Barely," Zach said, amused but taking pity. "Just enough to make my normie friends nervous."

"Do you mind if I ask what it is?"

"Eh, sure. You showed me yours, I'll show you mine."

In the blink of an eye, he was gone—into thin air, without so much as a puff of smoke or a flash of light. Before Lupe had gotten done being surprised, though, he was back, scrunching his nose like he needed to sneeze.

"That's not barely," said Lupe, astounded.

"No, it doesn't work like you think it does. For example—cameras. It doesn't work on cameras, for some reason. I'm like a reverse-vampire or something. And it gives me migraines if I hold it for more than a minute or so."

"Ohhh, yeah, that—that's not great. I guess it's fun at parties?"

"It's the best at parties," Zach said viciously, grinning. "I hate parties. And now nobody can make me stay, because as soon as nobody's looking, I can literally disappear."

Lupe chuckled and had a sip of their cocktail. It was mild and delicious, like a carbonated gin-lemonade, and there was no hint of a salty Rohypnol aftertaste. Maybe, they thought, this guy really was just being nice.

"Silver linings?" they said. "I don't know, I haven't been to a party in . . . Christ, probably twenty years."

Zach sucked in a breath through his teeth, wincing. "Yeah, what with the voltage and everything, I guess that's probably a little fraught. Don't worry, you're not missing much. Parties suck."

"But bars don't?"

"So long as there's no parties going on in them."

Lupe stirred their drink, being careful not to touch the table. At the bar, Jess was entertaining the group of young women, lighting their drinks on fire with her fingers (to their great delight). Zach watched them, amused, his chin on his hand, his beer untouched.

"Um," said Lupe. "I um. Look, before, um . . . I appreciate the drink, and the—the company, but I just want to make it clear that I'm not really, um, interested in—in—not that you're not—but I'm, sort of, very asexual? So—"

Zach turned back to them, startled. "What? No, no, that's not what this is about. I'm straight."

"You're what?" said Lupe. Their face went hot. "Oh, no, of course, right, I just—"

"Not that you're not a good-looking guy—sorry, person. You're just not my type."

"No, yeah, same, but I just kind of . . . forgot about straight people. Hahah."

"You don't get out much, huh," said Zach, with that same amused-pity look from before.

"I'm homeless, I'm always out," said Lupe, and then realized that it was a top-tier idiot thing to say.

"Holy shit, seriously?" Zach said. "You don't look—okay, you kind of do look homeless, but I figured that was just a fashion choice."

"And you don't look like an ignorant dick, but here we are," Lupe retorted. Maybe they'd had a little too much to drink. Whatever. A remark like that deserved a little snappishness.

Zach winced. "Okay, I deserved that," he said. "But—man, that's rough. Do you need a place to stay, or something? I could put you up at a hotel for a couple of days, or—"

"Don't, just—don't," Lupe sighed, holding up a hand. "It doesn't work. Unless you can find a hotel that doesn't use keycards, it won't work. Just—forget I said anything."

"Are you sure?" Zach pressed. "You could stay at my place, if you needed to. Not forever, I'm kind of already maxed out on roommates, but for a while. Until you get—"

"Get my feet back underneath me?" Lupe filled in. "Sure, I just have to find a job where they don't require you to touch any computers, machines, or other people. Oh, and it has to be no-experience-required, too, and no high school diploma, and not need a physical address or an ID or a phone number, and and and. It won't happen. Trust me."

Zach stared at them, full-pity, looking like a lost puppy in the rain. Lupe shook their head and muttered in Spanish under their breath and looked someplace else. The pity was always the hardest to take.

"Well—do you want dinner, then?" Zach asked. "I could buy you dinner, at least."

"I don't want your goddamn charity," Lupe snapped. A bolt cracked off their wrist and earthed in the center of the table. Someone shrieked. Zach froze, whey-faced. The smell of burnt lacquer rose in a plume. Lupe ground their teeth and took deep breaths and waited for the whine in their ears to soften. Before it did, Jess sidled over.

"Hey, honey," she said. "Hate to butt in, but I think it's about time for you to be heading on out."

"Yeah," said Lupe. They abandoned the rest of their cocktail and got up, dizzy. "Sorry about the table."

"Don't worry about it. You ain't hardly the worst thing that's happened to a table in here."

They faked a smile, nodded to her, and headed for the door. Despite the crowd, a wide path opened for them. Every eye in the place watched as they went.

[welllpthisishappening]

Waiting for Puck Drop

The ice is new. The headlines haven’t been written yet. The skates are all a little sharper. Because it’s the start of the season and that means fresh slates and unbroken white boards and cheering from a variety of suites and seats and toasted drinks. It’s time to win again. 

Or: five season openers, three different teams and almost too much fluff. 

---

Word Count: Like just under 6K Rating: There’s kissing.  AN: Happy hockey season, everyone! This is the year, babe! It’s not, really, but I’ve got high hopes of a Wild Card berth and Chris Kreider hasn’t cut his hair yet, so things are looking up. This is, as advertised, fluff on fluff on fluff and it is my birthday, so I do what I want. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

“Is the window offending you personally, then?” Emma glanced over her shoulder. “You think you’re very funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m passably entertaining,” Killian grinned, leaning against the open doorway to their room and that really wasn’t fair. Partially because he was doing that ankle-crossing thing and partially because there were still drops of water falling down the side of his neck from the shower he’d presumably just taken and—

“Where are your pants?” Emma groaned. That was stupid. The whole thing whole thing was patently and absolutely stupid. And it hadn’t really been like that when she was pregnant with Matt. The leg thing. The thigh thing. The almost questionable awareness of every single shift of every single muscle whenever Killian took a step forward. She was a disaster. 

She hoped she didn’t embarrass herself during the game. 

David would never let her hear the end of it. 

And Killian’s grin very quickly turned into a smirk. She was going to roll her eyes into the back of her head. 

Maybe then she wouldn’t be so focused on how hard it was raining. 

On opening night. 

With all that blue carpet. 

The tents would be fine. The tents were always fine. It would be totally and completely fine and—

“Seriously, why are you not wearing pants?” 

Killian’s tongue shifted, brushing over the front of his teeth until the end of it settled in the corner of his lips and Emma hoped her face wasn’t as warm as it felt. That wasn’t fair either. She was vaguely hormonal. 

And it was raining. 

He couldn’t tease her while it was raining. 

On opening night. 

“Probably because I did just get out of the shower—” “—Well, that’s obvious. I just…” Emma gave a half-hearted shrug, digging the heel of her hand into the small of her back and that didn’t do much to help the ache there, but she hadn’t really expected it to either and it was only a matter of time before the nearly three-year-old at the other end of the hall started wreaking havoc. 

On opening night. 

Emma couldn’t remember the last time Matt had agreed to wear anything that wasn’t team merch. He’d slept in a jersey every night for the last week. 

“Oh, don’t do that,” Emma grumbled, Killian’s soft chuckle echoing between her ears when he crossed the room. He tugged her hand away from her shirt, a quick kiss to the bend of her knuckles, but then his knuckles were taking over and whatever noise she made was unlike anything she’d ever done before. 

In, like, her whole life. 

Her head dropped back, crashing into Killian’s collarbone with a soft thump. He laughed again, free hand coming around to circle her stomach and trail across the bottom of her shirt and he was doing it on purpose. 

She was positive. 

“Is this supposed to be a distraction?”

Killian hummed, nosing at the side of her neck. “Something like that. It’s not really raining that hard, you know.” “Practice that a few more times and then get back to me.” “You have planned for this. With several different caveats for a variety of weather problems. We’ve done it in the rain before.” “Have we?” He nipped at her skin. “You’re something of a menace, you know that?”

“I’m stressed out,” Emma corrected, and that wasn’t the right thing to say because he was an overprotective weirdo and there was so much yellow Gatorade in her office refrigerator. Every single person on the team had bought her yellow Gatorade. 

Daily. It was nice. 

Maybe she and Killian could hang out sans pants for a little while longer. 

“That’s kind of the last thing we should be aiming for,” Killian mumbled. “This is—” “—We should probably stop having kids in the middle of the season, is really what it is.” “Multiple kids, huh?” “Look who’s being a menace now,” Emma muttered, turning her back on the rain so she could sling her arms over Killian’s shoulders. That wasn’t particularly easy. She was dangerously close to unwieldy at this point. 

And turning around meant she could see his goddamn thighs again. 

“I know it’ll be fine,” Emma continued, “Mer’s been on rain watch for the last week and we knew this was going to happen. There are tents and plans and people will be pissed that they all can’t get under those same tents, but none of that will matter if you guys win.” “Winning was the plan.” Emma’s smile stretched across her face, some of the inexplicable nerves and frustration about semi-predictable weather patterns settling just a bit. “I know it was. Which is equally stupid and attractive and—” “—Is that a compliment?” “Your thighs are also exceptionally dumb.”

“Doesn’t sound like a compliment.” “It’s honestly worse with just the boxers on.” “We’ve got to set some ground rules for compliments, Swan.” Emma scoffed, but the smirk gained power as soon as Killian’s eyebrows arched as well and—there was a crash in the kitchen. That sounded suspiciously like a puck slamming into the wall. “There it is,” Emma muttered, forehead dropping back to Killian’s chest. 

He kissed her hair. 

“He’s been trying to imitate a very specific type of one-timer.” “That one-timer wouldn’t happen to belong to you, would it?” Emma asked knowingly.

“You keep making all these sweeping accusations, love,” Killian laughed, rolling his shoulder so she had to glance up and that was the most dumb. Peak dumb. As if she was the reason he wanted to win. And shoot one-timers. 

She hoped it never changed. 

She didn’t expect it to. 

“That’s not an answer,” Emma said. The puck slammed into the wall again. “If you don’t put pants on at some point I’m going to kiss you very hard.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She groaned again — or possibly just growled, it was getting difficult to tell — ignoring her back and the swell of her stomach and Killian’s smile was obvious as soon as Emma’s mouth caught his. His arm found its way back around her middle, fingers working their way under her shirt almost immediately and it was the same as it always was and entirely different  because it was a new season and another chance to win and that one-timer had led to several goals during the preseason. 

The blue carpet would be fine. 

Neither one of them pulled apart when they heard the footsteps. 

And Matt hardly slowed down — even when he slammed into the back of Killian’s thighs. He was already talking a mile-a-minute, the word goal shouted more than once in quick succession and that was probably for the best because he absolutely did not notice when Emma gasped. 

As soon as Killian’s teeth grazed her lower lip. 

She leaned back, not quite able to scowl — particularly when his eyes went that particular shade of blue. Or when he picked up their kid. Who was still wearing an oversized jersey. 

“What did we say about shooting at the wall, kid?” Killian asked. Matt scrunched his nose. “Huh, c’mon there was a whole discussion about this.” “Mattie,” Emma prodded, tugging on the back of his jersey. 

Her phone was ringing somewhere. 

“Don’t shoot at the wall,” Matt grumbled. 

“Well, at least some of it stuck,” Killian laughed. “So let’s try and do exactly that for at least the next few hours, ok?” More grumbling. Emma tugged her lips behind her teeth. 

And the carpet was, in fact, as fine as Emma only half expected it to be — a walkie talkie strapped to her hip and Matt sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Vankald and the team suite was packed by the time she got upstairs, a sea of blue and white and— “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom,” Matt chanted, sprinting forward and she barely ducked down quickly enough to prevent a disaster. 

“Mattie, Mattie, Mattie. Did you see Dad before?” He nodded enthusiastically, chin bumping with Emma’s shoulder in the process and her eyes darted towards a clearly entertained Henry. Wearing his own Jones jersey. “Nearly jumped off the bleachers, but—oh damn.” Emma didn’t bother to say anything about that, head snapping towards the ice and the nerves made a glorious return, flying up the back of her throat and settling on the tip of her tongue. Flying was an almost appropriate word. 

She held Matt a little tighter. He didn’t appreciate that. 

He was also trying to look at the ice. And the blue streak moving up it. 

Vancouver had dumped it into the zone — a poor attempt at a change that backfired almost immediately because Killian had split a pair of just-on-the-ice defenders. The puck landed on his stick almost as soon as he crossed the blue line and Emma wasn’t even sure if she was breathing anymore, eyes going wide and a little dry and she could dimly hear Roland screaming something. It did not sound like it was in English. 

Mary Margaret was absolutely jumping up and down. 

Emma couldn’t seem to move. 

One of the Canucks defenders did their best to catch up, but Killian’s eyes were already focused on the goal. He stuck his stick out, Killian’s left arm coming up to ward him off and that was stupid too because it was all lower-body strength and more thoughts about his thighs and—

“Technically, it wasn’t a one-timer,” Killian grinned, hours later and slumped in the corner of a booth in the restaurant with a sleeping Matt draped over his chest. 

Emma threw her whole head back when it laughed. “What are you talking about technically? That wasn’t even close to a one-timer.” “You act like you’re not impressed.” “Has anyone ever told you that you may have a future in this whole hockey-playing thing?” “Once or twice.” “And you’re very fast.” “Well, I’m trying to show off for this girl I know.”

“Girl, huh?” “I’ve got the biggest crush on her.” She blushed again. 

“Do we have to be here for this?” Will yelled, Roland’s head lolling on his shoulder. Killian’s eyebrows jumped. “Also, I’d like some credit for that pass.” “You moved the puck from behind the net,” Regina reasoned. “That’s the most basic thing a defender could do,” “Yeah, but I knew Cap was fast.” Killian didn’t stop staring at Emma — even when he clamored back to his feet, Matt clinging to his side and the whole thing was oddly and delightfully cyclical. “C’mon, love,” he muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

He blinked awake, senses returning slowly because it was the middle of the night and Killian desperately needed to sleep. 

Before the season started. 

Tomorrow. Today, maybe. He wasn’t really sure what time it was, actually. 

The noise got louder — a not-so-soft creak and the telltale sound of springs shifting and...he strained his ears. A cabinet opening. More than once. 

Killian sighed, doing his best to move as quietly as possible, but Emma still shifted as soon as he stood up and her hair was everywhere. It made his heart thud erratically in his chest, an emotion he couldn’t quite come to terms with because this was the end, but it was going to be good or better and it had to be both of those of those things and the cabinet opened again. 

Only to close just as quickly. 

“Are we being robbed?” Emma mumbled into her pillow. 

“Nah, I think there is a scavenger out there, though.” “You want me to go?”

“I’ll take care of it, Swan.” “You need to sleep. There’s games tomorrow.” “Only one that I’m aware of.” “God, you’re annoying.” He chuckled, bending to kiss her temple and that only got her to squirm again, burrowing further under blankets with one side of her mouth obviously tugged up. “That’s the sentiment I’m going for, obviously. Go back to sleep, love. I won’t be that long.”

Emma made another noise — low and content and it wasn’t really cold in the apartment, but Killian swore his whole soul got warmer at the sound, padding out of their bedroom and into the kitchen to find exactly what he expected. 

Peggy. Standing on the counter. With more than one cabinet open. 

“What do you think you’re doing out her, Margaret?” She didn’t startle — and Killian hadn’t expected her to, a mess of curly hair that fell over her shoulders and flew across her forehead when she snapped around. And he knew he shouldn’t smile when she scrunched her nose or huffed softly, but both moves were only a little ridiculous at whatever time it actually was. 

There was a bag of cookies in her hand. 

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing, huh? What’s that you’re holding onto, then?” “Cookies.” Killian blinked. More than once. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe he was dreaming. That would have made more sense. “And what are you planning on doing with the cookies in the middle of the night when you should be asleep?” “I’m not tired.” “That’s not an answer.” “I’m not though,” Peggy said, and he needed to do something besides blink. But there was a distinct hitch in her voice and a slight wobble to her left knee when she kept standing on top of the counter. “I—MD was looking at games today and I can help too!” Not a dream, then. 

And it only took him a few seconds to understand, Killian’s soul experiencing a slightly different wave of emotion while he crossed the linoleum floor in the kitchen. Peggy didn’t drop the cookies when he hauled her into his arms, burying her face and her hair into the side of his neck. Her legs curled around his middle. 

There weren’t any tears. No shaking limbs or quivering body. Nothing, really. Just a heavy silence that a kid shouldn’t have understood. 

Killian kind of wanted some cookies too now. 

“C’mere, let’s sit down,” he muttered, trying to keep his balance on the short journey back to the vaguely creaky couch. Peggy didn’t move her legs. 

That made it more difficult to sit down. 

And avoid crushing the cookies. 

“What if you just closed your eyes right here?” Peggy’s nose scrunch got more...scrunched. 

“Pegs,” Killian continued, “you’re not going to be able to scout if you’re tired, it’s—”

He took a deep breath, nosing at her cheek and kissing anywhere he could reach. It was selfish and a little greedy, but coming back for two extra seasons also felt a bit like that, had been lauded and applauded in equal measure on nearly every morning talk show in the greater Tri-State area. 

WFAN called him desperate. 

He might have been. He wanted his kids to see him win. 

He wanted his kids to win. And celebrate with cookies. Maybe at a more appropriate time.

Peggy tilted her head up — wide eyes and hair everywhere and there was some joke about a false start on the faceoff that only kind of made sense because Killian wasn’t sure what his pulse was doing, but it might have been racing and he was a pushover. 

She grinned. 

“We are going to watch one period,” Killian started, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on and he was only slightly hopeful that there were in fact still games saved there. “And then you are going back to sleep, you hear me?” Nothing. “Margaret, I am—” “—What game?” “I don’t know,” Killian mumbled. “Pick one.” She pulled the remote out of his hand, twisting against him and one of her knees must have been made of titanium. He gasped and groaned and the whole thing was kind of a mess, but in a way that was oddly charming and maybe not quite desperate. 

She picked a game from last March. 

Against Pittsburgh. 

“Here, at least move your legs,” Killian shifted, bringing Peggy with him and it was a little harder to do this when she wasn’t a baby, but there also wasn’t much room on the couch and only a few strands of her hair got close to his mouth when she pressed her cheek to his shirt.

He kissed the top of her head. 

“Why didn’t you shoot?” Killian hummed, not sure when his eyes had started to flutter closed. 

“You should have shot,” Peggy said, matter of factly. Her chin was digging into his chest. “You could have.” “Yeah?” Peggy nodded, fabric twisting under her and Killian wasn’t all that surprised to find that his not-quite five-year-old was almost painfully right. “Huh,” he muttered as the replay showed again. “You’re very smart you know that?” She nearly fell off the couch when she tried to grab the cookies. 

“No, no, no, it is—we agreed to one period of hockey and you falling back asleep, we are not doing the sugar rush right now” “But, Dad—” “—What part of that was confusing?” “They’re good, though.” “I’ve got no doubt that they’re excellent cookies, but you need to go back to sleep, Margaret, so unless you want to sleep through the game later—” “—I want to watch the game!” Her voice rose, only to have her lips clamp shut as soon as Killian narrowed his eyes. The Penguins had just scored. He hoped that wasn’t a sign. 

“You’re going to miss Rook check this guy,” Killian mumbled, not entirely parental, but it was a good hit and Peggy’s head snapped around so quickly he nearly got hair in his eyes. She’d started cheering under her breath. 

That have been more endearing than anything else that had happened yet, soft encouragements for a months-old-game and her hands bumped Killian’s side when they scored. Like she was fist pumping. 

And he had every intention of going back to bed. He did. But Killian hadn’t ever figured out what time it was or how, exactly, Peggy had managed to get on top of the counter, but then there was a quiet laugh and sunlight peeking through curtains and Emma smiled as soon as his eyes opened. Again. 

“Took a little longer than you expected, didn’t it?” “What time is it?” “Like eight o’clock.” “Ah, damn. That can’t be good for my back.” “Probably not,” Emma agreed, a flash in her eyes and her smile widened when she tugged on the back of Peggy’s shirt. “Babe, you’ve got to get up, so Dad can get ready, ok?” Peggy made a noise oddly similar to the one Emma had a few hours earlier — and maybe a little desperation wasn’t all that bad. Maybe it was good inspiration. “You’ve got to shoot later, Dad,” she muttered, still curled against Killian’s chest. 

He tightened his arms around her. 

“That sounds like a plan.”

“So, we’re going to be cool about this, right?” Emma narrowed her eyes, and orange was not a good color. For anyone. At anytime. Regina must have bought jerseys in bulk. 

They looked like a massive sun or something, wandering through Nationwide Arena with enough nervous energy that it was probably doing damage to the ozone. 

“I don’t think so,” Killian muttered, answering Will’s question. His eyes kept darting towards Robin — who didn’t appear to be breathing. Or blinking. “Is he—do you think he’s suddenly turned to stone or something?” “He’s moving,” Emma reasoned. “And still capable of hearing, as strange as that may sound,” Robin said. “Also people don’t just turn into stone, that’s impractical. You need to have, like, offended a god or something.” “I’m sorry, what?” Ruby cackled. Her phone was already out. She might not have ever put it away. “I think he’s suggesting that only ancient gods could turn someone into stone, which, first of all, that’s not correct, and second of all, if we’re going to get this existential, it should probably be on video because Scarlett’s Instagram could use a little spice and—”

“—Stop hacking into my social media accounts, Lucas,” Will cried, Belle’s shoulders shaking when she did her best not to laugh. 

It did not really work. 

And Regina couldn’t seem to stop wringing her fingers together. 

Henry sighed, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling of a rather large suite in Columbus. He took a few steps forward, tugging her hands apart and wrapping his own fingers around hers and Mary Margaret might have audibly aw’ed. 

Ariel definitely did, at least. 

“This is nerve-wracking,” she added. “How are we not better prepared for this? Just like—on principle or something?” “It means we’re old,” David reasoned. He’d already dropped back into one of the plush chairs behind them, grabbing what, at first glance, appeared to be a drink menu. “That’s a lot for anyone to cope with.” “Plus, orange is just—” “Yeah?” Regina asked archly, and Henry’s snicker was far too loud. 

Ariel didn’t say anything else. 

“So,” David drawled, “should we do shots or just straight champagne, you think?” “It’s your toast,” Emma pointed out.

“You want me to toast?” “Don’t be an idiot.” “You really have this fantastic way of complimenting people, love,” Killian chuckled, more than a few groans from fellow adults and their own kids when his lips landed just behind her ear. 

She shivered. 

It probably looked even more absurd in head to toe orange. 

“Maybe we should do shots,” Ruby muttered. Robin had started pacing again. And it wasn’t that they were unprepared per se for one of their kids to play professional hockey, but it did feel like some kind of monumental moment. 

Because Roland Locksley was making his NHL debut. 

Emma hummed. “That might not be a bad idea, honestly.” “I’m not drinking straight vodka though.” “Lucas, do you know what a shot is?” Will asked, tugging the menu out of David’s grip. “But seriously no vodka, I can’t—” “—Memories of Stanley Cups past, Scarlet?” Killian muttered. 

Belle rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s not playing fair and you know it.” “Can I have a shot?” Chris asked, twisting around Emma’s side and every adult in a twenty-foot radius shouted no in surround sound. His eyes widened. “It was just a question, that’s—” “—If we get vodka, you can have some of my cranberry juice,” Ruby reasoned. 

“Oh my God, Lucas, stop it,” Killian growled. She stuck her tongue out. “Seriously, we’re not doing shots of vodka,” Will yelled, and Emma wasn't surprised that the whole had dissolved into farce rather quickly. 

Someone was laughing on Ruby’s phone. It sounded suspiciously like Liam. 

“What about tequila,” Mary Margaret suggested. “That’s appropriately degenerate and—” “—Is that the mindset we’re going for?” Robin mumbled. 

“Did I not hear you bet with Scarlet how quickly you thought your kid was going to score in this arena where they actually set off a canon?” Something about stone, Emma was sure. 

And it was almost alarming how loud Regina’s laugh was. 

She threw her whole head back, far too much orange and LOCKSLEY plastered across her back, an arm around her middle and, eventually, tears in the corners of her eyes. 

They weren’t the last tears anyone in that suite would shed. 

“I will bet that both Rol and Killian flinch at the canon because Columbus’ top line really is good and will score early, but then Rol will score his first NHL goal, so we win,” she announced, laughter hanging from the edge of word. 

Emma glanced at Killian. 

He grinned. 

“How much you want to bet?” He lost twenty bucks. 

In the second period. When the Blue Jackets scored. 

They both flinched. 

And it took some time for the rest of the bet to play out — after the speech and they all had to order their own drinks, and regulation and there was so much open ice in overtime, quick shifts and a puck on Roland’s stick and someone mumbled oh shit as soon as the light went off. 

It was definitely Chris. 

Emma would deal with that later. After she came to terms with the goal. Because the goal was—well, oh shit, made sense. 

It was a quick give-and-go, Roland trailing behind a teammate and the puck had barely landed on his stick before his wrists were moving — Killian’s God, look at him handle sounding impossibly loud in Emma’s ears —and all three defenders converged on him. None of them came close to stopping him. 

Emma had no idea how he managed to get the puck up too, shooting just over the goalie’s left pad. And there was no cannon, just disgruntled noises of disappointed fans, but the cheering in that one, questionably large suite probably set a record. 

They toasted again. 

It felt appropriate.  

 “Dad, do you think I’m going to run away or something?” Killian made a noise in the back of his throat, not pulling his eyes away from the ice and his lungs hurt. All of him kind of ached, but that also felt far too melodramatic and he was excited. He was. He was also a nervous wreck. 

Chris rolled his shoulder, clearly trying to get rid of Killian’s vice-like grip. “I’m not moving, so I don’t—you keep trying to yank on my shirt.” Killian’s knuckles cracked when he let go. 

“Shit, sorry kid, that’s—oh, don’t tell your mom I said that.”

Chris laughed, lips quirking down in a far-too-serious expression for an eight-year-old, but that same eight-year-old probably knew more about the Boston University hockey team than anyone else in the entire world and— “He’s totally going to score.” “You think?” Killian asked. “Don’t you?” “I want him to score. It’d be cool if he did.” “Did you?” “Did I what?” “Score in your first game.” Killian resisted the urge to move his hand again. And not for the first time he realized that the kid in front of him had a slightly different childhood than the kid who would, eventually, get on the ice and very likely score. If only because he took forty-seven shots every game. 

Give or take. 

He was suddenly even more glad that Chris was there. 

“I didn’t actually,” Killian said, tugging on the back of Chris’ shirt and he only grumbled a little bit when they both collapsed into the nearest chair. “I got two penalties, tried to cross-check some kid from—” He clicked his tongue, trying to remember the name of the team. “The University of British Columbia.”

“Was that a real game?” “I’m pretty sure it was, yeah. The penalty minutes were very real at least.” “Doesn’t sound like a real team.” “And you sound like you’re going to offend an entire Canadian province,” Killian laughed, doing his best to redistribute some of Chris’ weight on his thighs. “I wasn’t worried you were going to run away,” he added. “That’s—I’m a little nervous, you know.” “Yeah, I know.” “Do you just?” Chris nodded, as if it were obvious and Killian supposed it kind of was. He could hear Emma Facetime’ing Roland on the other side of the suite. There wasn’t that much room — although Ruby had apparently done her best to get them the most amount of space, until Matt caught wind of the plan and put his foot down. 

Or some other cliche. 

He didn’t want an audience. He just wanted to play. His words. So it was only them, Emma decked out in head to toe red and Peggy with a pair of twenties painted on either one of her cheeks and Killian trying very hard not to dislocate Chris’ shoulder before puck drop. 

Of Matt’s first college game. 

“I probably should be doing a better job of hiding that, huh?” Killian quipped, but that only got Chris to twist his eyebrows in a far too familiar manner. 

“Why?” “Some big, important dad reason.” Chris’s head fell when he laughed, slinging his legs over the arm of the chair. 

“You’re not doing much to make me feel better, kid,” Killian chided. He rapped his knuckles against Chris’ back when he didn’t stop laughing, the sound ricocheting off walls and directly into the locker room at Wells Fargo Arena and Killian hadn’t even taken his phone out yet. 

He was sure there were several thousand text messages. 

“Matt was nervous too.” “Did he tell you that?” Chris made a noise somewhere between an agreement and the desperate desire not to give up his brother or post curfew phone calls. “I, uh—well I had some ideas.” “Ideas? About what?” “How he could score.”

He didn’t laugh. And he didn’t really want to laugh. Was far too stunned and admittedly a little overwhelmed and slightly thankful that Emma was still on the phone because Killian was only seventy-six percent confident that he wasn’t about to dissolve into tears.

“What’d you come up with?” Chris beamed. “Well, Matt’s super fast, right? And he takes all those shots, but I was looking up stuff about—that one defender who’s got a really weird name.” “I didn’t look up the roster.” “Ok, well,” Chris continued undeterred, “he’s got a weird name and he’s been on the team for a really long time, but he gets caught skating back a lot and I really think Matt should just skate by him.” “That’s it?” “What else do you want him to do?” “That’s a fair point,” Killian admitted. “How exactly did you find film for the Mount Royal University men’s hockey team?” “I asked Aunt Gina.” “Ah, of course.” “She called someone.” “Yuh huh.” “That guy’s got a really weird name, Dad. And he’s a bad defender.” “Which is worse, do you think?” “He doesn’t know how to skate,” Chris said, as if that was that and it kind of was. Because Chris hadn’t grown up on the road or with postseason schedules, but he’d still grown up on the ice and watched his brother take forty-seven shots per game. 

Give or take. “You’re right, Matt’s totally going to score,” Killian nodded. The force of Chris’ smile helped silence a few of the lingering nerves and still the metaphorical butterfly wings. And they didn’t lapse into quite-perfect silence, Emma’s voice reaching across the suite and Peggy’s fingers flew over the screen of her own phone, but a thought kept nagging at the back of Killian’s brain and— “Were you a little nervous too?” Chris swallowed. “No.”

“You want to try that again?” “Kind of?” “Kind of.” “Dad,” Chris groaned, slamming his forehead into Killian’s collarbone. He didn’t flinch. “I just—well, Matt was excited, but I—” “Oh.” Chris grit his teeth, another expression an eight-year-old shouldn’t have made because it was almost too obvious how much that same eight-year-old missed his older brother and believed, more than just about anyone, that his older brother was the greatest hockey player to ever step on any ice. 

Anywhere. 

Even against the Mount Royal University men’s hockey team. 

“I love you a lot, you know that?” Killian asked. 

Chris gagged. “Like—just a totally ridiculous Dad appropriate amount.” Chris stuck his tongue out. 

And that got Killian to laugh, twisting around his son so he could tighten his hold and pull him against his chest and that only ended with what felt like a questionable number of wayward knees, but then Chris was laughing too and Emma’s fingers carded through Killian’s hair. 

“What do you think, kid?” she asked. “Score on first shift or second?” “Second,” Chris answered, out of breath. “He’s way too nervous to score first shift.”

He was right. Figured. 

His phone kept dinging in his locker. 

Matt could hear it, soft pings of updates and promises that it would be fine, and he knew it would be fine, had done this plenty of times now, but something felt different and shifted somehow and the footsteps that moved into the locker room were a little surprising. 

Mom smiled at him. 

“Hey,” she muttered, a jersey on and Matt briefly wondered if anyone even stopped them anymore. There must have been security protocol they were breaking. “You ok?” “Do you think I’m not?” “Answering with a question is a tried and true Matthew David deflection technique.” “It’s kind of a wordy title.” “What are you nervous about?” Matt shrugged — not sure he actually had an answer that wasn’t entirely embarrassing, but he couldn’t seem to get away from his locker and his neck didn’t seem all that interested in participating with the rest of his body. His head drooped when Mom walked forward, hair brushing the front of her stomach and her soft laugh when her fingers scratched the back of his neck was nearly comforting. 

“You’re still just a good at winning faceoffs as ever, Mattie.” “That’s not really what I’m worried about.” “Yeah, I know.” And he knew she did. A lifetime behind the glass and watching games and faceoffs and how different it had been through the years. After. After moments and milestones and Cup wins and they were going to unfurl another banner, but the way his stomach kept twisting made it difficult to be excited for any of that. 

Because— “Are they down there yet?” Mom hummed. “Dad definitely cried.” “When? Just now?” “Nah, the very first time we brought you. Totally cried and could not even begin to cope with those oversized headphones and—” “—Well, they’re questionably adorable, that’s why.” “Exactly. So. Focus on that, huh? And winning the opening faceoff.” “Who’d you bet?” “The better question is who didn’t I bet?” Matt chuckled, a shuddering breath and slightly more-human internal organs. He was still having difficulty balancing on his skates. “That does suggest that people are betting against me, though, so...I’m not sure the pep talk really hit the mark.” “Your brother and sister bought half of the team store for your daughter.” “God.” “Rol keeps threatening to buy a stick.” “He’s not as funny as he thinks.” “And you don’t have to be nervous,” Mom added, a quick kiss to his cheek that didn’t really belong in a locker room. “Seriously, though, win the faceoff.” “I’ll see what I can do.” Matt’s skates didn’t skid when he got on the ice — the roar of the Garden in his ears and possibly timing up with his pulse, practice shots and eyes scanning the glass, looking for...his breath caught. And soared out of him at the same time. It was honestly impressive. 

They were right there, a few feet in front of him — a smile on Claire's face and impossibly large, bright blue headphones over Celine’s ears and both Peggy and Chris were holding identical, hand-written signs. “Win the faceoff, MD,” Peggy shouted. 

He rolled his eyes, skating close enough to the glass that his erratic breath fogged it and it took some balancing to shake his glove off. He rapped his knuckles and Celine didn’t quite squirm, but her eyes definitely moved his direction and Matt wasn’t sure what noise he made. 

“Hey, love,” he muttered, and eventually he would realize what he’d said. He hoped Dad never found out. That would have been too much. “We’re going to win, huh?” “At least the opening faceoff,” Chris grumbled. "What do you think, babe?” Matt asked, glancing at Claire. Her smile got bigger. 

“I think I win thirty-two bucks from Lizzie if you win every faceoff in the third period. So keep that in mind later, ok?” “I love you.” “Win the faceoffs in the third period and then we’ll talk.” Matt laughed, stick under his arm glove back on his hand and— He won the opening faceoff. 

And Claire got thirty-two bucks. 

[somenhlfics]

TITLE: Mini Heart Attack WORD COUNT: 1,321 PLAYER: David Pastrnak SUMMARY: You come home early from a study group and David sits you down to have A Talk.  NOTE: Hi guys!!!!! Before I get into it all I just gotta say some things because I dont want any confusion or whatever. Basically I’m really new to the nhl and players and all that, so my take of personalities is not the greatest on account of I dont really know anyone well enough yet. I’ve also never written anything before. This is probably all a mess but I’ve been thinking about this thing with David for like a few days and I just HAD to write it so!!! Lmao if it’s shit you can tell me on anon and we’ll forget this ever happened 👀

The idea of leaving study group early to go home and lay on the couch with David was such a great idea, until the reality sets in of dragging your overstuffed back from where you parked, two houses away, up to the front door. You all but kick it into the door, making a horrific cracking sound. There goes the surprise entry. 

You unlock the door and kick the book bag into it, which pushes the door wide open. Suddenly there's a thud and some rustling, and then there's David. He pushes your bag away from the door, allowing it to shut, and wraps you into his Classic Cuddle. You wrap your arms around of as much of him as you can before you just start clinging to his shirt for dear life, his weird swaying suddenly rocking your both into the wall. Neither of you put an arm out to brace for impact, mostly because you cant see and if you let go of his shirt you'll probably fall over.

David pulls back, smiling at you like he's waiting for you to give him something. You smile back, quickly rushing through your last conversation double checking you didn’t promise to stop off for anything. "We need to have a kitchen meeting," David says. "As friends." You laugh, a bit worried, but mostly relieved that you hadn't forgotten anything. You're about to question him on what the talk is going to be about, but notice he's going into the lounge room and not the kitchen. You grab the strap of your book bag and drag it into the lounge room behind him, attempting to fling it up onto the chair. It doesn’t work, of course, and your books fall out onto the floor. One book comes out with enough speed that when it hits the planter pot beside the chair the whole plant shakes and David looks at it concerned. God forbid you hurt James. The plant was yours coming into the relationship, the name came from David after you left him in charge of plant care while you went home for the weekend. All weekend you heard about the movie marathons, the pizza night, the gossiping with his friend James. You were pretty excited about this new friend, not as excited to be in your lounge room shaking 'hands' with James. On one hand you were realising you really were in love and on the other, you were realising David really needed more friends.  "What's up, my friend?" You ask David, hoping to this time get a hint. 'Friend Meetings' were something you two had started when David was going through some things with his friends. It was a way of removing the relationship from the conversation, taking the pressure off honest advice. He didn't want you to hug him and tell him it was all going to be ok, he wanted you to be honest and tell him he fucked up, badly, and that maybe some things cant be fixed. You walk through to the kitchen and he follows behind. You sit at the island bench in the middle of the kitchen and David leaves a chair between the two of you. David leans forward onto the counter and starts tapping his fingers.  "I couldn't stop thinking about someone today," David starts and suddenly your urge to start laughing stops. Maybe this is more serious than you though. Maybe you're about to be mad. "Long dark hair, weird laugh, this girl," he continues. You can't help but look down at yourself, your blonde hair skimming your shoulders. Maybe leaving study group early to lay on the couch with David was a horrible idea. "David," you say, pausing mainly because you really are speechless. There was no signs that David had been with anyone else. He'd been his usual self. Constantly had a hand on you, always trying to make out, trying to spend every second with you. Just last week he'd turned up to your study group with a pile of sports magazines. Though after ten minutes of him laughing at the moustaches he'd drawn on the British swimming team you'd convinced him this was a girls only study group. "I was thinking about her while you were out, thinking about running my fingers through her hair," he says. He's looking at you, but his face is blank. He doesn’t look sad, or sorry, or even upset. Maybe he's practised this a thousand times, now well rehearsed on the big confession.  You look down at your lap where you hands are frantically rubbing the fabric of your dress against your thumb nails.  "David," you say again, still with nothing else to say. You can’t bring yourself to look over at him again. "Then I was thinking about how beautiful she looked when she came home one day with her hair cut short," he says, and you can hear the change in his voice. You still refuse to look up at him, but now you're suspicious.  "Then all of a sudden I come home from a game away and this beautiful girl has blonde hair," he's laughing now, reaching out for you. Without a second thought you smack his arms away, his laugh filling the kitchen.  "I hate you, SO much," you say, trying to lean away from him as he stands up and drags your chair towards him. "I really just nearly had a heart attack David!"  He squishes you into his chest as he kisses the top of your head and you can feel him shaking with laughter he's trying to suppress.  "I was looking at pictures from when we met and you looked so beautiful and then I remembered when you cut your hair and you were like," he opens his mouth and flops his tongue out to the side, rolling his eyes around. "Oh god so beautiful, my beautiful girlfriend the model," he says, still acting like he didn’t just attempt to send you into cardiac arrest.  "David," you try to start, but he cuts you off with The Face. The Fish Face to be precise. It's his favourite thing to do to your face, besides fuck it. He cups your cheeks and squishes them together, your lips sticking out like fish lips. He gently kisses them before releasing your cheeks a bit, but keeping his hands on your face. "I love you, so much David, but you really test me." You're trying to sound tough but you know it's not working. Mostly it's The Fish Face that's ruining your attempt at a tough girl image.  "I love you too, obviously," he says, squishing your cheeks again and kissing your Fish Lips. The kiss is bit harder this time and you lean up into it, his hands releasing again.  You pull back, looking up at him. "You know what my next colour is going to be?" "Tell me," he says, squishing your cheeks again. "Goddamn grey if you keep doing this to me," you say, trying to scrunch your brow. Another attempt at a tough girl image foiled by The Fish Face.  "Silver is a fast colour," he kisses your lips gently before speaking again. "Think of how fast you might run!" he says, one more kiss after. You try to blow a raspberry but The Fish Face will only allow for a bit of dribble to bubble out of your mouth and start making its way down your chin. David, in true David form, licks it up and kisses you one last time before he's gone, laughing his way back into the lounge room. You slowly pull yourself off the chair and peak around into the lounge room, looking for your favourite weirdo.  He's flat on his back sprawled out on the couch, patting his chest and wiggling his eyebrows. Now this is what you came home early for. He spreads his legs to make room for you as you smile, mostly to yourself, because you really are in love. 

[builder051]

Hey so like, if you’re willing (or you’ve got the time or whatever) could you write a lil fic with Steve as the sickie ? It’s my literal weakness. I just wanna see something where he gets home and doesn’t even get the chance to say hello to bucky before he’s fainting or throwing up or something. Also ? fever nightmares/deliciousness are my jam . Anyways I hope your week is going well & I hope you’re taking care of yourself ! 💛

I’ve already written a fic that (mostly) contains all these elements.  It’s a concussion fic, so the deliriousness (deliciousness??) comes from head injury instead of fever, but I think this will fit the bill.  It’s kind of long, so skim the mission fic part at the beginning if you’re only interested in the sick.  I’m pasting it below for ya.

Thanks for the well wishes!  I’m still not doing fantastic, but I’m getting right along.

_____

I get knocked down…but I get up again…you’re never gonna keep me down…

Steve’s flat on his back, and the words echo blankly in his head.

What the fuck?

It’s so dusty.

And he’s so…tired?

I get knocked down…

There’s…is that a hole in the ceiling?  Dilapidated rafters and corrugated metal sheets are busted out of the way to allow a view of the blue sky and a shaft of warm sunlight to hit the floor.

A little unorthodox for a skylight.

“Cap?”

Steve’s almost sure he heard the sound with his ears, but he can’t be positive.

Why is he lying on his back?

Steve pushes over to his side, then uses his arms to hoist himself up to seated.  Immediately the world shifts around him, and his hand slips against the dusty concrete.  The floor seems to have become the wall, but he’s still stuck to it…

I get knocked down…

Why is that damn song stuck in his head?

Isn’t he supposed to be doing something?

“Cap?  Steve?”

Yep, definitely supposed to be doing something.

“Hey, what happened?”  Footsteps echo toward him.  Nat’s face materializes upside down over him.  “You ok?”

“Yeah, sure.”  Steve raises himself up to a sitting position again, and the floor-wall miraculously returns to its original position, though it leaves Steve with a wave of dizziness reverberating through his skull.  Which hurts.

“Did you get hit?”

“Must have.”  Steve’s voice sounds oddly echoey.

“Must have, as in, you’re not sure?” Nat asks, her eyebrows going up.

“It was a pretty hard hit,” Steve admits.  Or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing, as he still doesn’t remember it.  He picks himself up off the floor, automatically brushing dust from his deep blue suit and freshly polished shield.

“That’s what your helmet’s for, dumbass,” Nat teases him.  But her eyes flick from his face to his hairline, searching for a visible wound.

Steve doesn’t think there is one, but he runs his gloved hands over his head to be sure.

“Really, why’d you take off your helmet?” Nat asks.

Steve knows the answer to this.  He just can’t make it make any sense in his head because the context has evaporated.  “Better to talk to civilians without it.”

“Oh.  You found the hostages?”

Did he?  Steve glances around as quickly as he can, trying to get his bearings back without upsetting the precarious balance of his head on his shoulders.  The more he moves, the more it feels like a brass band it setting up shop in his skull.

The abandoned warehouse is starting to look more familiar now.  That busted-up sheet metal half-wall thing, that’s concealing the posts where the hostages are chained up.  Steve enunciates that to Nat as clearly as he can, then casually palpates the back of his head where it vaguely feels like he’s being smashed repeatedly with a hammer.

Now Nat’s saying something, and Steve’s missed the beginning of it.  “…when they’re coming back, but we need to move them now.”

“Huh?”

“Are you ok?” Nat asks, looking concerned again.

“Yeah,” Steve assures her.  “Just…still shaking it off.”  Although Steve’s sure that if he shakes anything, especially his head, he’s going to fall over.

“Ok, well, finish shaking and cover me.”  Nat draws a gun from the collection on her belt and starts across the warehouse.

Steve keeps pace with her jog, but clenches his teeth together as the motion jostles his stomach.  It’s as if wire-fine neurons have re-woven themselves to as to directly connect his head and abdomen.  One step equals one throb equals one swallowed wave of disgustingness.

The scruffy-looking group of coal miners chained up in the corner of the warehouse start whooping and cheering when they see Nat and Steve coming toward them.

“Shh, stop,” Nat commands them.  “They might hear you and come back.”

Steve’s just grateful it’s quieter again.  The sound had been wreaking havoc like drumbeats in his head.

“We saw you get slammed earlier, Cap,” one of the miners says with an Appalachian drawl.  “Didn’t know if we’d be lucky enough to see you come rescue us.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Steve says, trying to convince himself that his words are true.  “You’re all ok?  They haven’t hurt you?”

“Not yet,” the miner replies.  “Kept threatening that we’d be the fuel in their new clean energy rig, but, honestly, we’re used to hearing shit like that.”

“Well, they probably meant it,” Nat says, using a miniature pulsar beam on her wrist to start cutting through the chains around one man’s wrists.  “HYDRA’s no joke.  But what the hell they’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere…It is more like a tease than a threat.”

“Hey, this isn’t nowhere,” the miner pipes back up.  “We live here.”

“Yeah, she didn’t…” Steve has to blink hard to ground himself and regain his train of thought.  “…didn’t mean it.”

“You gonna help or stand there?” Nat barks in response.

“Oh.  Help,” Steve replies.  He uses the edge of his shield to bash the chains holding one the nearest miner’s feet to the thick concrete post.  The resulting clang is enough to make Steve want to curl up with his hands over his ears.

“Yikes.  Maybe I don’t want you to help,” Nat says, cringing herself at the loud noise.  “Just stand watch and see if the creeps in the gas masks come back… oh shit.”

Steve follows Nat’s gaze and immediately lifts his shield in front of his chest.  Two black-clad figures with bulky masks over their faces are sprinting for the cluster of hostages.  They don’t immediately look harmful, but with the threat of alien tech and something akin to nuclear power, no chances can be taken.

Nat’s drawing another gun out of its holster, one that shoots paralyzing beams instead of bullets.  “I’m on ‘em,” she says.  “Keep working on the hostages.”

“Roger,” Steve replies.

The gun fires loudly, and as the sound reverberates through Steve’s head, his vision blurs.  He takes out a good chunk of the concrete floor before he’s able to adjust the edge of his shield and bust through more of the chains.

The second gunshot sends Steve’s hands to his knees.  He struggles to hold onto clarity as he swallows his stomach back down into its proper place.

I get knocked down…

Why is that stupid song still hanging around?  He’s got much more important things to think about…like trying his damndest not to barf, and cutting chains, and covering Nat’s six…

“They didn’t unleash some weird bio-weapon on you, did they?”  Nat’s at his shoulder, poking him back to standing upright.

“Don’t think so.”

“That’s good,” Nat says, going back to lighting up chains with her mini pulsar.  “But you’re acting weird, you know?”

Steve shrugs.  Through the fuzz in his head, he’s starting to suspect what might be wrong.  He doesn’t want to think about it, though.  He’d die of embarrassment if he had to go to a head injury safety lecture for forgetting to put on his goddamn helmet.

“Ok, that’s it, freeing up the last of them.  Two operatives incapacitated, doesn’t look like there are any more,” Nat’s saying.

Steve’s confused at first.  Then it dawns on him that she’s talking into her comm, probably with Fury on the other end.  But Steve should be on the call too.  He feels for it with clumsy fingers, but the little piece of metal and plastic that should be poised on the edge of his ear canal is gone.  It probably fell out when he hit the ground earlier.

“Alright.  We’re headed out,” Nat says.  She turns toward the group of rescued miners and informs them that there’s a cadre of police cars outside the warehouse and a little ways down the hill. They should be safe now, and the regular police corps will take over from here, helping the miners and arresting the injured HYDRA agents.

“And we’re done.  We’re leaving,” she adds to Steve.  “Did you lose your comm, too?  God, you’re a mess today.”

“Yeah,” Steve says absently.  He tries to plug his brain back in against the throbbing backbeat.  “That was it?  Just those two guys?”

“Looks like it,” Nat says.  “But with the lack of tech and stuff in their hideout, I’m wondering if they were just some weirdo sympathizers instead of actual HYDRA operatives.”

“Hm.”  The glossy black Hummer that’d driven them out of DC and into Appalachia is waiting, burning fuel as it idles in a gravel driveway.  Steve opens the door and flops gratefully onto the richly cushioned backseat.  The air conditioning is blasting, and Steve positions his head so he’s in the direct path of the breeze.  It dries the sheen of sickly sweat on his forehead, making him feel better for all of one moment.

The drive from rural Virginia back to the DC Metro area is set to take a couple hours.  At first the prospect of lounging across the roomy backseat is appealing.  All Steve wants to do is rest.  But when the Hummer starts bumping down the hilly terrain toward the main road, Steve has to clamp his teeth together so his head doesn’t flop off and start rolling across the floor.

Nat’s tapping on an iPad, getting a head start on the mission report paperwork and playing Angry Birds.  At least, that’s what Steve thinks she’s playing.  The squawking sound effects seem somewhat familiar.  Waves of sleepiness compete with nausea washing over Steve’s head and chest.  He leans the side of his head against the cool glass of the window and lets his eyes drift shut.

“You alright?” Nat asks, jolting Steve back into painful awareness.

“Hm?  Yeah,” Steve says, trying to swallow the vertigo that’s loping from his forehead down to his lap.  “Just tired.”

“I didn’t think it was that strenuous.”  She’s talking about the mission.  “Did you not sleep last night or something?  Bucky keeping you up?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, still trying to work out the shift in topic and decode what Nat just said.

“Good stuff or bad stuff?”

“Huh?”

“Were you guys boning or dealing with nightmares?”

“What the— geez, Nat, I don’t talk about that stuff.”  How the hell did the conversation morph to include his sex life?  He’s not firing on all cylinders.  Something’s definitely wrong.

Steve’s had a concussion before.  All this, the severe headache, the mental fog, the tiredness, the strong urge to puke, is dreadfully familiar.  There’s nothing to be done except lie down and throw up and feel stupid while someone asks inane questions about the president and the date and things Steve still has trouble with even when he’s feeling fine.  He just wants to go home.

Steve does his best to stay awake for the duration of the drive.  The sound effects from Nat’s game and his own nausea do a good job of keeping him from drifting off, but the soft rumble of the Hummer’s engine is a difficult lullaby to resist.  By the time they’re rumbling past the shops and neighborhoods of Falls Church, Steve’s barely holding onto his consciousness and his stomach.

He wants more than anything to be home, and it would be just too much to drive by the townhouse and go on to SHIELD.  “Hey,” Steve says, swallowing down bile and raspiness.  “Can we…can you drop me off at my house?”

The agent driving the Hummer turns his head to look at Steve, obviously perplexed by the unconventional request.

“Why?  You have to debrief, see medical, finish up the mission paperwork,” Nat says.

“Yeah, I…I’ll come back in a little bit,” Steve forces out.  “It’s just…Buck’s got an appointment.  I forgot about it till now.  He wanted me to go with him…”  It’s a complete lie, but Steve’s desperate.

“You are so weird today,” Nat sighs, shaking her head.

The driver seems to take pity on him, though, and asks where to turn off.  Steve directs him to the complex of townhomes, then lets out an exhale of relief when the huge, thundering car pauses at the end of his driveway.

“Thanks,” Steve says.  “I’ll, uh, see you soon.”  He had told Nat he’d come back, right?  He doesn’t exactly remember…

“You better,” Nat replies.  Then, somewhat softer, “I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, ok,” Steve mumbles.  He grabs his shield and opens the car door, gripping it tightly as he steps onto the concrete of the driveway, which may or may not be moving under his boots.

Steve fumbles in his pocket for his keys and shakily unlocks the front door.  The Hummer is speeding away down the road, and Steve’s relieved it’s going.  His stomach is wedged so far up his throat he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it down for the next minute as he gets into the house.

Sweat beads up on what feels like every inch of his face and body.  Steve feels the knob turn in his hand, and he nearly walks into the flat of the grey painted door because he can’t get it open fast enough.

“Hey,” he hears Bucky call from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.

Steve’s on the point of replying, but when he opens his mouth, a gag and a rush of undigested stomach contents beat down the words.  He reaches for the wall and braces himself, doubled over, as he vomits all over the doormat.

“The fuck?”  Bucky’s footsteps pound around the corner and into the entryway, and he’s quickly at Steve’s shoulder, supporting his trembling form.  “What happened?”

“God, my head,” Steve exhales, trying to push his stomach back down to its normal location.  He fails miserably and his throat goes into contraction again.

“Ok,” Bucky soothes, sidestepping the puddle of sick and peeling Steve away from the wall.  “Do you wanna come into the bathroom, maybe?”

“No, I’m…I’m ok,” Steve breathes heavily and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he’s finished retching for the moment.

“Alright, well, at least come lie down,” Bucky says.  “Do you think you can handle the stairs?”

“Probably,” Steve says, trying to give off more confidence than he actually feels.

“Ok, come on.”  Bucky’s metal arm wraps securely around Steve’s waist, and they start slowly up the stairs.  Steve grips the railing tightly, and he feels the whole thing shaking with the tremor in his body.  Or maybe it’s just his unsteady brain playing tricks.

Once in the bedroom, Steve immediately flops onto the end of the bed, letting his body rest horizontally while his feet remain on the floor.

Bucky starts unlacing his boots, tugging gently and asking, “Alright.  What happened?  You were fine this morning.”

“I think I…got hit.  In the head,” Steve whispers, drawing his hands up over his face.

“What?  And medical released you, even though you’re barfing all over the place?”

Steve lets the words sink in.  “Sorry,” he rasps.  Then, “I…haven’t been yet.”

“Why?  You need medical attention.”  Bucky finishes removing Steve’s boots and starts looking for the zipper to release him from his suit.

“They’re not gonna do anything for a concussion…” Steve mutters, tossing his arm over his eyes to block out the light.  “Just need to…be sick for a couple hours.  I’ll be fine.”

“You’re concussed?” Bucky says, concern melding with surprise.

“I think so,” Steve replies.  He massages between his eyes, but it only succeeds in bringing the underlying current of nausea up to the surface.  “Buck, I’m gonna throw up again.”

“Hold on a sec,” Bucky says.  He sprints away into the ensuite and returns with the small trash can.  The world tips maddeningly as Steve heaves himself back to sitting and retches into the white plastic bin.

“God, I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes on a hitching breath.  He feels like a collection of parts strung together in the most illogical way.  The sweat dripping down his forehead makes his shoulder cramp, which brings an ache to his low back, and then forces another wave of stomach acid up his throat.

“It’s ok,” Bucky soothes, adjusting the trash can in Steve’s limp grip.  “But, are you sure you don’t want to go to medical?  I mean, I can take care of you and all, but…”  He trails off, patting Steve on the back.

“It’ll…heal itself up in a few hours.  I’ll be fine by tomorrow morning.”  He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Hey.”  Bucky softly swats Steve’s shoulder.  “Don’t do that.  I’ll get you something to clean up with.”

“Ok.”  Steve releases the trash can to the floor and watches it settle between his feet.

The washcloth is cool on his face and neck.  The breeze of the air conditioning bites into his clammy skin when Bucky helps him out of his suit.  The bed pillows are soft under his head, but there must be a rock or something right below them.  Perhaps it’s under the mattress, or pressing up through the foundation of the house…

“Hey, wake up for a second,” Bucky says.  He lightly massages Steve’s shoulder.  “How do you feel?”

“Nauseous.”

“Do you want to throw up, or try to answer some questions?”

“God.  Neither.”  Steve tries to turn onto his side, but his stomach threatens mutiny, and he stays stationary on his back.

“Let’s try for a couple questions,” Bucky encourages.  “Who’s the president of the United States?”

“Do you know who’s the president of the United States?” Steve hoarsely mumbles back.

“Yeah, I do, but I’m asking you,” Bucky laughs quietly.

“Uh…Truman.  I mean, Obama.  But, no, um…Donald…?”  Steve shuts his eyes and scrubs his palm over them.

“What year is it?”  Bucky asks.

The bed is a raft, floating on an angrily choppy ocean.  “I think…” Steve swallows thickly.  “I’d rather throw up.”

The next thing Steve knows, the phone is ringing.

“Hey, it’s Nat, do you want to talk to her for a sec?” Bucky’s asking him.

“No.”  Steve wants to go back to sleep.  Maybe take some Excedrin.  Or go to town on a bowl of peppermint ice cream.  His mouth tastes terrible.

“Naw, he’s ok.  Kind of sick and a little confused, but he’s already pulling himself back together.”

Steve blinks.  Or, at least he thinks he does.  The bedroom is much darker than it was, and the cool glow of moonlight sifts in through the curtained window.

Bucky’s lying on his stomach, his arm tucked around Steve’s chest and his chin resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder.  The strong scent of pine-sol hangs in the air.  “Hey,” he whispers when he sees Steve’s eyelids flutter.  “You were talking in your sleep a little bit.”

“Huh?”  Steve grunts.  “What about?”

“I get knocked down or something like that.”

“Oh.”  Steve can’t fight the smile that’s spreading across his face.  He presses his palm over his forehead, cooling the lingering headache and attempting to force his thoughts into an intelligible order.  “That song.  It’s been stuck in my head.”

“That’s funny,” Bucky chuckles.  “Only you’d be enough of a punk to get a concussion and start singing about it.”

“Shut up.”  Steve weakly shoves Bucky’s metal shoulder.

“You feel better?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies.  “Not completely great, but I don’t think my head’s going to fall off now.”

“Well, I guess that’s an improvement.”  Bucky laughs again.  “How’s your stomach?”

Steve considers for a moment.  The slightly seasick feeling that accompanies any bad headache remains pressing slightly into his temples.  But it’s such an upgrade from the gale force of sickly vertigo from earlier that it hardly rates.  “Pretty good, I think,” Steve says.  Then, “Sorry you had to clean up so much.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky says.  “I’m just relieved you’re back in your right mind.  You had me a little worried there.”

“I’m ok.”

“Yeah.  Good thing, too,” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head up from Steve’s shoulder.  “Now, you wanna come downstairs and get something to eat, or are you gonna demand bedside service?”

“Well, you’re pretty good at the whole bedside service thing, but then you’d leave me up here…”  Steve ruffles his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“I know you still don’t feel good,” Bucky says.  “You’re clingy.”

“Is that really a bad thing, though?”

“No,” Bucky smiles.  “Not at all.”

[the-roanoke-society]

Agent Succubus Origins

Coordinates Loading…

S.O.S signal Agent Whiskey code Roanoke…

“Whiskey?  What’s wrong?”  Ginger’s fingers flew across the keyboard.

“Get!---fucking---”

“Agent, your connection is breaking up I can’t access your feed.”

“I said we need Roanoke!  Are you fucking dumb and deaf?!  Roanoke!  They sent us into a fuckin’ den of bullshit that we aren’t qualified to handle!  I have a goddamn trainee with me, this was supposed to be a raid mission!”

“Understood.  Agent Seraphim and Lycan are on their way.” 

What was supposed to be a simple raid mission of an underground organization selling international intelligence and illegal/exotic goods had taken a nose dive.  Agent Whiskey and his trainee, Jason Bradshaw, who had taken the spot of Agent Tequila were now cornered in the dark compound and didn’t know if their fellow agents were alive or dead after the shit that had gone down.  The only upside being that the only suspect left and who was sending this demonic shit out to them was also trapped in the adjoining room.  The stand-off had lasted hours, both parties exhausted and just as there was a lull in the hell hounds and nightmarish visions the Roanoke agents finally made it in carrying supplies. 

“Sorry we’re late!  I had to bless all of this on the way here and you would not BELIEVE the way Phoenix flies that chopper when it was supposed to be his night off and he gets called in whooo, thought I was gonna die for sure, sweet lord.  But! I have some salt rounds and rope, wasn’t sure what to prepare for!”  Seraphim grinned at the two like they weren’t on the verge of a complete breakdown.

“Thank God y’all are here.  Fuckin’ get us outta here I cain’t-”  Tequila began but was cut off with Whiskey grabbing his shirt collar and giving him a solid punch to the jaw.   

“You gon’ let those fuckin’ weirdos come in here and do YOUR mission, boy?  Stop bein’ a pussy and get in there and fuckin’ take down whatever’s been causing us grief.  You were a rodeo clown, right?  Go get em” Whiskey shoved what Agent Seraphim had called Binding Rope into his hands.

With a shotgun loaded with blessed rock salt rounds the trainee pushed through the grimy door to come face to face with… a girl?  Dark clothing ripped and soiled from the confrontation that had taken place for the past 3 hours, buzzed hair giving off an intimidating vibe.  As she pointed a hand at him and opened her mouth to shout what he figured was another curse, he took the shot.  It caught her square in the chest, sending her to the floor with a strained gasp.  Tequila kicked her over and kneeled down to begin tying her hands together, but as soon as the witch felt her power decrease with the rope she hissed and jerked.

“Unless you want another buckshot of fucking rock salt in the back a your thighs you best stop fidgeting.”  Tequila panted, his knee pressed into the girls neck as she stared at him with wide eyes filled pure rage.

“Fuck you, hunter” She weezed, movements ceasing.

Hunter? “Ya, that’s what I thought.  Fucking witches, this was supposed to be my first goddamn mission, ya know?  And I get stuck rustlin’ a fuckin’ witch.”

He sat back on his heels to catch his breath and gave her ass a tired slap as if she were some fucking pig he had finally caught.  So, really when she was able to twist around and kick him in the face, he deserved it, but that didn’t stop his anger from boiling up again.

“Alright, I was gon’ just let ya walk on outta here with me with some dignity, but fuck that.”  The blood running down his chin from the broken nose dotted the white rope as he bent her legs back and looped the rest of the rope around her ankles, hog tying her.

Even with her chest wound the witch began a raw, ear splitting scream that shook him to his core, like a wild animal at its last few minutes of life.  The bandana from his pocket silenced that after he was finally able to get it around her head.  She had never felt more infuriated or humiliated in her entire life, this fucking cowboy was going to pay when she got out of this rope, she was going to ruin his fucking life.

“Now, I can either carry ya out… or you can keep on bein’ a fuckin’ bitch and I can drag ya.  So, which is, it gonna be sugar?”

 A few moments later Tequila emerged from the room with a witch thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes looking pretty smug despite the blood drying on his face and soaking into his shirt from her rock salt wound.  Whiskey bent down to get a good look at her and whistled.

“Oh, boy she is fuckin’ furious, ain’t she?  I can’t wait to see what Roanoke comes up with ta get rid of you.”

If being carried out of the compound wasn’t embarrassing enough now she found herself being paraded through an agency.  The one everyone referred to as Tequila and or Jason, was getting slaps on the back and congratulations on his first completed mission, usually followed by a comment about what a good “catch” she was.

“Boy, what the hell are you doin?  Put that girl down now.”

The rope was cut and replaced with rune inscribed cuffs as she stood in front of an older gentleman in a cowboy hat and a flawless woman that practically oozed power.  These guys were not hunters, something was going on here.  Monitors behind the two were filled with videos and information about her, including live feed of what had happened during his mission.  The woman spoke to her first.

“My name is Lilith.  You’re in Kentucky at the Statesman Head Quarters and Distillery, also home to the Roanoke Society, have you heard of us?”

She nodded slowly, “Roanoke stopped a pack of weres from getting executed last month in New York.  We couldn’t get there in time so we were thankful.”

“So, you know we aren’t here to hurt you?  Really I’m very impressed with how well your group covered up an underground Cryptid Protection facility by selling Russian secrets and pretending to be a Black Market.  However, I am even more impressed with you…”  She turned to the monitors now.

“Rae Clementine.  Clean record.  Good marks in school.  And these videos, well I must say it does take quite the sorcerer to perform Necromancy.  How did such a small town witch like you end up in a mess like this, hm?”

The witch had only been half listening because her eyes were glued to a corner of the screen where a video that she thought had been scrubbed from the internet was playing on a loop.  Rae, first year of college drenched in kerosene and tied to a tree outside of campus as a frat boy ex-boyfriend kneeled in front of her with a match in her face and his friends stood around watching.  There was no sound, but she could still hear the taunting laughter, feel the thick liquid dripping down her face and suffocating her as she screamed. 

“I wanted to make a difference, protect people no one else thinks of protecting.”

Lilith followed her eyes to the video just as the boy snuffed out the match and left her tied to the tree where she would remain for another five hours until a jogger found her, “It is a pity what men do to things they can’t control…Of course, for your illegal actions we would have to send you to prison, our Siberian location most likely, but Champ and I know potential when we see it.”

Champ gave her a grandfather like smile, “turns out Roanoke could use an agent with your skills.  We’d be happy to offer you a position instead of prison, you’d still need to go through the trainin’ a ‘course, but Lilith says you got a good heart and that’s all I need ta hear.”

“So, what’s it going to be poppet?”

Rae anticipated either a laugh or that they were joking, but as they stayed silent and waited for her to reply she finally realized it was real, this was a chance of a lifetime, a chance to actually make a difference and help the world.

“Yes.  Thank you, yes.  I’ll work off everything I may have caused damage to, I’ll uncurse all the agents I thought were hunters.  Oh shit I broke someone’s fucking nose I need to apologize-”

Needless to say several Statesman agents were none too pleased when they found out that the one who had cursed them all with nightmares and bedwetting was being made an agent.  Tequila in particular felt like he had been cheated out of a trophy for his first mission, but the warm smile and apology she gave sure did help to soothe it.

Two months later Roanoke inducted their newest member, Agent Succubus.  Specializing in gritty, old school Witchcraft with an emphasis on mind manipulation, great for interrogations was what Champ had said. 

Two weeks after that she was getting tied up by Tequila again, only this time it was mutual.   

[detroitbecomerain]

Love is not compatible - chapter 5

Y/N was born in a world without androids. When she was ten, Chloe, the first android was created. Is this why she is sympathetic to the android cause now? How will she handle hunting deviants with her partner Hank and the new android Connor sent by Cyberlife? Humans and androids aren’t meant to bond are they? They simply are not compatible.

“Y/L/N, Y/N. Age 26.  Born 5/23/2012 Detroit. Lived in a community home from the age of 15. At 18 joined the academy of policing. Currently the partner of lieutenant Hank Anderson. Female pronouns

Wattpad link

Y/N looked around the elevator uncomfortably. This thing was probably older than her. A health hazard waiting to happen. It didn't help that Connor was looking straight a head as if nothing was there. She nudged Hank. "What is he doing?" she asked. "Beats me. I've learnt not to question it." the elevator came to the floor they needed. Y/N and Hank stepped out while Connor remained inside. "Hey Connor!" Hank shouted back into the elevator. Connor blinked a few times and his LED which was previously yellow had returned to its usual blue. "You ran out of batteries or what?" "I'm sorry, I was making a report to Cyberlife." Connor apologised. "Did you have to be so creepy. You looked like a zombie." Y/N joked. Hank laughed. "I shall warn you in the future." Connor continued to stand in the elevator. "Well, do you plan on staying in the elevator?" Hank asked. "No!" Connor quickly defended. "I'm coming." Hank sighed and began to walk to the apartment. "So what do we know about this guy?" They hadn't been given an official case file or notes. Only what Connor had been sent digitally to his head. "Not much. Just that a neighbour reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody's supposed to be living here, but the neighbours said they saw a man hiding an LED under his cap." "Oh Christ. If we have to investigate every time someone hears a strange noise, were gonna need more cops." "Or a mystery machine." Y/N joked. "I do not follow." Connor said. "You could be Fred, Hank!" "What and you two be Shaggy and Scooby?" Hank began to joke too. Y/N looked between herself and Connor. "Who would be who?" "Oh he's Scooby. For sure." He smirked looking Connor up and down. "I do not understand. Who is 'scooby'?" Connor asked. "You know. A Cartoon dog who investigated crimes involving ghosts and stuff. Did they not put this vital information into your head?" Y/N was jokingly shocked. Connor stayed silent. "Fred is the lead investigator. Shaggy is at the wrong place at the right time and saves the day and scooby... hes not the smartest and kinda follows everyone around. Although he is a talking dog!" "But I am intelligent." Connor said looking offended. "Fine." Hank replied crossing his arms looking Connor in the eye. "You can be Velma." "Who's..." "Just knock on the Goddamned door Connor." Connor knocked on the door rather gently. There was no answer. He knocked again harder. "Any body home?" Conor asked politely. Hank gave him a look. "Open up! Detroit police!" There was a loud bang from inside the apartment. Hank pushed Connor back. "Stay behind us." "Got it." Both Hank and Y/N pulled their guns out as Connor moved back a few more steps. Hank kicked the door open and they entered. The place was filthy and the walls were falling apart. There was no electricity in the apartment meaning the only light was natural light making it slightly difficult to see due to the lack of windows. At the end of the corridor were two closed doors. The other doors in the corridor were open. Hank quickly checked one of the doors but it only lead to a bathroom. He stood in front of the other door. "Ready?" He asked. Y/N silently nodded. Gun ready if necessary. Hank hit the door open and pigeons flew out. Y/N screamed and ducked down. "What the Hell is this?" Hank shouted. "Exactly that. Hell!" Y/N shouted back. "Detective Y/L/N." Connor said. "What." She replied rather annoyed that the world existed right now. "Your gun is still loaded. As you are scared and you seem to have lost control of your arms the probability of it going off on its own has increased by three times." Y/N whimpered removing her hands from her head and put the safety back on her gun. "I fucking hate birds." She mumbled. Connor noted this was the first time she had sworn since meeting her. "So unpredictable. One moment you are walking peacefully down the sidewalk then bam! A bird is in your face. Ugh! Rats with wings!" "Shit they stink!" Hank shouted. He had managed to get further into the room. Y/N was still on the floor. "Looks like we came here for nothing! Our man is gone." "Does that mean we can go now?" Y/N asked. "We still have to investigate this goddamned place." Y/N slowly stood up realising that the birds were walking around on the floor. She might be safer from them if she stood up. "Well lets do this quick and try not to disturb them."

They began to look around. Y/N squeaking with fear every time a bird came near her. Which in this apartment was a lot. She sounded a lot like a vehicle reversing. Connor looked at a jacket on the floor. "R.T. probably initials." Connor commented. "He put his initials in his jacket? That's something your mom does when you're in first grade!" Hank scoffed. They looked on the walls around them in the bathroom and saw the phrase. 'RA9' Connor counted them all and noted that it was written 2471 times. Along side the RA9s were mazes drawn on the walls. Connor turned to the sink where he found a little blue circle. Y/N leant forward to get a closer look. "It's LED is in the sink!" Connor shouted so Hank could hear. "Wait, you guys can do that?" Y/N asked looking at Connors own LED. "If we don't want to be seen in public yes. However, it is against the law to remove any androids LED." "If I were deviant. I think I would remove my LED. Imagine how different it would feel for an android. People on the street would think you were just another person. You'd be treat like... an equal."

Software instability

Connor dipped his fingers into the blue blood on the sink and put them to his tongue. "Connor! Hank told you not to do that!" "I'm sorry. But it is a part of my mission to locate deviants. To do this I need to sample blood to know the model." "Fine. Okay. Just don't let Hank see you." Connor nodded before exiting the bathroom. He bent down in front of a bird cage on the floor. "For the number of birds I would expect more cages." Y/N commented trying to step over a bird in her way. Suddenly Connor stood up. And Y/N thought only birds were unpredictable and fly in your face. He walked over to the corner of the room where there was a particularly large hole in the celling. Suddenly a deviant jumped from the hole landing on top of Connor. "Connor!" Y/N shouted. Pigeons were flying everywhere at the commotion. "God Damn pigeons!" Hank shouted. Connor stood up and looked out of the door. "What are you waiting for?! Chase it!" and with that Connor was off. "Damn, he can run fast." Y/N commented. "If he had any sense. Away from you." Y/N glared at Hank before they began to walk in the direction the androids had gone. Hank and Y/N saw them jumping from building to building across barley and lavender fields. "Look Hank. They are starting to come back on themselves. Maybe we can cut them off?" Y/N suggested as she was pointing at the androids. Not as quickly the two ran trying to catch up in some way. They reached the rail of the agriculture building and saw Connor flawlessly land on the roof of a moving train. "Holy Shit!" Hank said. He was impressed. This guy was indestructible. They saw the two androids jump off the train and run further away from them. "How are we going to get to them now? We have no clue where they'll go now! We've lost them." Y/N said in despair. "That's where you're wrong rookie." Y/N looked at Hank. "What do you mean?" "If deviants have human emotions or whatever. They are going to act like humans. That weirdo cared for those pigeons, so it will try and come back to them. Just like a human would about something they cared about." Y/N looked around the roof. They couldn't come back from the train's direction so the only way he could come back for the pigeons would be through the field. "Hank he's gonna come from there." She pointed to the field. The stalks of the crop were so high. There was no way to pinpoint exactly where the android would come from. Suddenly he burst through the stalks catching them slightly off guard. "STOP RIGHT THERE!" Hank ordered pointing his gun at the android. Fearing for its life the android pushed Hank away from it and continued running. Hank tripped over the small ledge on the edge of the building and was about to fall off completely. "Hank!" Y/N shouted. She grabbed hold of his arm but couldn't lift him. Connor came from the field. "Connor! Please help! I cant pull him up!"

Software instability

Connor rushed over and effortlessly pulled Hank back up to safety. "Shit!" Hank cursed. "We had it!" "Its my fault." Connor said almost shamefully. "I should have been faster." "You would have caught it if it weren't for me." "Connor. You shouldn't be ashamed. You are a hero. You saved Hanks life!" "We know what it looks like, We'll find it." Hank began to walk away out of breath. "Hey Connor." Connor turned around. "Nothing." "If you wanted to get on his good side. I think you just did it."  

[minsquare-blog1]

Chapter 5

Crystaline

A knight in white armor ran up to the gate that was protecting the town..The town of Dun Fall. The knight looked so handsom. "Hey! open the goddamn gate!" He yelled. Another knight ran to the wall. "I told them to close it.." The knight in white armor gasped "Your killing so many people! There are dragons out there, Cogwynn!" The knight in white armor ran up the stairs to open the gate. A bunch of people ran in. He looked out the window. A big dragon stood there. He looked at the ground. A little kid stood looking at the dragon. He ran back down the gate. "Get off your lazy ass Cogwynn" He yelled as he ran past the other knight. He ran over to the little kid. He threw a sword at the dragon. "Come on little kid." He said as he grabbed the kid's arm. They ran in as the gate closed. He stopped running and told the guys to close the gate. He took the kid to the inn. "So what's your name, Kid?" He asked as he opened the door. "Ryland" He took the kid to the inn keep. "Hey man...Help this kid find his mum" The innkeep agreeded. The knight patted the kid on the head then left. He went to the castle of Dun fall. A king sat in the throne. "Ah son!" He said as he stood up. "Did you save those people? I heard cogwynn didn't" The knight nodded. "Yes sir.." He looked at the floor. The king walked over to the knight. "You'r soon to be wife will be here soon" The knight looked up at the king. "Tell her i'll be in my room" He walked past the king and up the stairs. He opened the door to a room. He sighed as he took off his armor. He even took off his shirt. Oh god..His body looked so hot. He was close to having a 4 pack.. The perfect man. Someoned knocked on his door. His maid. She opened it. "Sir Crystaline..I have your clothes.." He looked at her. "Thanks, Asada.." She smiled at him. She put his clothes on his bed. "Want me to take your armor..S..so i can clean it?" She looked over at it. His armor was right by his foot. He kicked it. "Sure" She walked over to grab it. "It..Will be clean by tomorrow.." She ran out of the room. He walked over to the window. Some woman and knights were walking into the castle. He quickly closed his window and ran to lock his door. Cogwynn knocked on his door. "Eyy Brother! She's here" The knight just blocked the door with his body. "I don't want to marry her.." He whispered.

I jerked up from my sleep. I looked at the clock. 9am. Early. I put my hand on my head. Was that just a dream about a knight? Why would i have a dream like that? I sighed. I got up and grabbed some clothes. I walked to the bathroom and took a shower. As i got out i looked at myself in the miror. I looked so skinny. The summer and spring hit me hard. My own boyfriend broke up with me. My best friend went missing and my other friend totally changed. Maybe i needed a change from this basic bitch middle part hair. I walked into the kitchen. I started looking for a knife. "Are you going to finally kill yourself?" My sister asked as she stood in the door way. "Maybe" I just kept looking. She walked over to me. "You know if you need.." I turned around to look at her. "I don't fucking need anyone! I'm going to be alone forever!"  I went back to looking for a knife. She backed away from me and left the room. Ah ha! i found one. I ran back to the bathroom. I closed the door. Right before i was about to cut my hair my sister knocked on the door. "If you are going to kill yourself please don't leave a mess" I sighed then cut my hair really short. Made some emo bangs too. I looked in my sister's makeup bag..I found some black eyeliner. I put that on. I ran out of the bathroom..Leaving the knife in the bathroom. My clothes i had on were white. I grabbed some black shorts and a black croptop. I ran down the stairs and out the door. I ran down the street. I saw him. My ex.. Noctus Flower.. I closed my eyes as i ran past him. I ran to joker's house. I knocked on the door. His little sister opened the door and told me he was in the back with his girlfriend..Leia.. I walked back there. I heard them talking..I quickly hid behind a car. "Pick me or her..Or i'm fucking leaving.." I heard her say. "I can't..She's my best friend.." I heard her sigh. "More then kol?" Joker gasped. "How dare you!" Leia walked onto the sidewalk. "Call me when you pick..Dick" Joker chased after her. He stopped when she left his drive way. He saw me hiding behind the cars. "Criss?" He said as he walked over by me. My phone started playing 30 seconds to mars..I quickly tried to turn it off but just gave up. "How much of that did you hear?" He asked as he sat by me. "A lot.." He sighed. I smiled at him. He jumped as he saw me smile. "Dear god..I haven't seen you smile since Noct left you" I cringed. "Please don't say his name.." He looked at the ground. "Sorry..Criss..But may i asked..What ever happened with you two?" Oh yeah..I never told him..I didn't tell anyone but Hope.."During our last day of school before this summer.." Joker laughed. "The summer of 2001?" I sighed. "No..Me and noct were talking..He said he was moving away.. He just told me i'm that kind of girl that needs to be spoiled and he can't do it.." Tears filled my eyes. "He hugged me till his mom came to pick him up. I saw him with a girl as i was walking here.." Joker hugged me. "It's okay criss..You still have me and Hope" That's right..Hope went missing..Right as summer started..The only person i had left was joker.."Hope is missing.." His eyes went wide. "What?" Okay how the hell did he not hear about it? Sigh.."It was all over the news..Hope Hikmri went missing.." He looked up at the sky. "Well fuck..What about Anthony?" That jack ass..Left our group for some bitch after he came back with a fucking robot arm. "Nah..He's busy with school.." A little lie..Whatever.. Joker stood up. "well let's go inside..It's fucking hot out here..Even hotter with you here" Heh..Right..Like im hot..No one wants me. I got up and playfully punched his arm. He grabbed my hand. and held it as we walked into his room. "Netflix and chill?" He asked as he turned on his tv. I knew what that meant..Sex..While a movie plays in the back. I mean i was still a virgin.. But i wasn't going to lose it to a guy who fucking had his girlfriend's name tattoed on his arm. So stupid. "Nah..We can just talk.." He looked at me and smiled. His mouth was still fucked up. He couldn't pay for it to get fixed. It didn't look as gross..But still it was creepy when he smiled. I sat on the floor on the foot of his bed. He sat on his bed. I looked up at him as he played with a baseball. "When did you change, Criss?" He asked. "This morning..I needed a change..." He laughed "I bet noct didn't even know it was you..Maybe you can get him back if you aren't yourself" I saw blood drip down from his mouth..Ew..How does leia even fuck him? Oh right she doesn't..She never has.."You know joker..We have one more year till we can move out and do whatever we want..And i have a whole life time to find someone.." He stopped throwing the baseball. "Yeah your right...But what if you have met your soul mate already?" I know who my soul mate was..And it was that knight..And i will find him. I know i will. One day.. "Maybe i'm your soul mate" HA! no.."Don't get your hopes up dude.." He looked away from me. "Why do you have to be so mean?" I mean i could blame it on something heheh.."You know..Monthly" He looked back at me. "Ew" You think that's ew when blood comes out of your face? Weirdo..I stood up. "I should go home.." He grabbed my hand and sat up on his bed. "No.." What do you mean no? I wanna dream about that knight some more.."I wanna show you something..There is a game place..Uhh what are those called?" Arcade? Uhh "Arcade?" He snapped his fingers "Yes! They are closing and you can take whatever game you want from it! It's just up town!" He got up. Sure..Take me there..Fuck me why don't you? We walked up town. Like 6 block from his house. The place looked like that arcade from tron. He tried opening the door. Something was blocking it. "Huh..." He kicked it. It didn't open. He kicked it again. I sighed. My phone rang. I looked down at it. "Hope <3" was the name on my phone. What? Hope? "H..Hello?" I didn't hear anything for about a second. "Hey Criss..Don't go in there..The devil is in there.." I heard another voice that sounded deeper then any one we knew. "You said a bad word Hope" The voice said "I'm sorry lord" Lord? God? "Hope..Where the hell are you?" Click. And he was gone. Joker finally kicked the door open. "Ahah! I got it!" He walked inside. It looked dark. "Tell me if you find a game you want to play" He walked away. I looked around. Sonic..Pac man..Final..Fantasy? I looked closer at it. Final fantasy 14. That was new..How could it be an arcade game? I looked to see if there was any money in it. 15$ to play. That's kinda a lot for a shitty arcade game. I had some money on me. I was about to put it in when i heard a voice behind me. "Criss..Don't do it.." It was Hope. I looked so happy when i saw him. Tears filled my eyes. "Where have you been?" I blinked and he was gone. Weird..I looked around for him. Nowhere..I sighed. I looked back at the game. I was about to pay for it then someone tapped my shoulder. "If its you hope...I swear to god.." I turned around. It was joker. "I'll pay for that" I let him put his money in it. "Pick a data base" It said on the screen. Let's see.. Primal..That one looked cool.. "Pick a server" Let's see.. Ultros..Marabro..Famfrit.. I picked famfrit..It looked like ifrit and if i know anything about final fantasy Ifrit will be good. I pressed the start button. I got pulled into the game. Not like i was playing it for real i got pulled in it. I was inside the game. "JOKERR HELP" i yelled as it pulled me in. He tried grabbing my hand but it was to late.

"Cogwynn! how could you kill those people?" The knight yelled. Cogwynn shrugged. "They were going to die anyway.." The knight slapped Cogwynn. "Boys!" The king yelled from the stairs. "Fate..Cogwynn..My sons." The king walked over to the two boys. "You both are 21..And both must marry someone to get this castle.." Cogwynn got away from the king's arms. "Dad..I'm gay" The king laughed. "I owe Fate 2,000 gil now" Fate pushed the king away. "Oh are you gay too?" Fate shook his head. "I just don't wanna marry a whore like Marina.." A girl in a blue dress walked down the stairs. "Ah Marina!" The king said as he walked over to her. He hugged her. Fate ran up the stairs. "Where are you going?" She asked as Fate ran past her. "Away from a dumb girl like you" He whispered. He went to his room. He sighed and sat on the bed. Screaming people could be heard outside. His maid ran up the stairs and into his room. "Master Fate.." He looked out the window. A dragon's eye could be seen looking in his window. "Stay Asada" He ran over to the window and broke it. "Ey You ugly fuck" He jumped out the window and attacked the dragon. Asada ran to the window and watched him.

I laid there in a patch of flowers. My head hurt. I looked up and saw a short man walk up to me. "Hey..You okay there?" I tried to get up..But i couldn't. "I'll take you to my friends..They are healers" He picked me up. For a small guy He could lift bruh.. He took me to a very old wooden house in the woods. "This place Is..Well our home" I shouldn't trust a guy like this. But i mean i could have been eaten by dogs or something.."Ah..Before you meet my kids.." Kids? This guy looked like he was 20. Maybe they were little kids.. "They are a bit..wild and weird.." Weird? Maybe they were little.. He opened the door. I looked inside. A bunch of people..Not kids were running around..I looked at him. "Kids! We have new meat" He yelled. They all ran to the living room. The house looked a bit bigger on the inside. He walked me over to the living room. We stood in the door way. He pointed to a guy who looked kinda like noctus. "That's jadr..My first son.." He looked up from a book he had just opened and waved.  "Daddy Tim?" A girl with pink hair asked as she raised her hand. "yes Nym?" The guy said. Hmm..So the leader's name is tim..K.. "I Think something is wrong with mal.." She looked at the biggest guy. He just stood there. zoning out. "Lemme finish showing our new child..Okay?" Tim said. Nym crossed her arms and looked away. "That's Nym..She's a bitch" he said. He pointed to Mal "That's Malliot.. He's our big tank" He laughed. He pointed to a girl with blue hair. "That's Nym's sister..Celis"  He pointed to a very short guy. "That's our second newest..Marix" Tim looked at me and smiled. "Whats your name?" Name? Uhhhh..."Criss miles.." Tim shook his head. "Nah nah..You need..A new name.." He started pacing around. "Valentine" A girl with silver hair said. Tim snapped his finger "Ah Yes! Thank you reiz!" He ran over to hug her. I heard a growl come from behind the couch. "Oh yes! Your dog..Ullr" Tim back away. Two people ran inside. "Timos!!" One of them yelled. "Sarus? Oliva? What is wrong?" Tim asked as he walked over to them. "There is a big attack on Dun fall!!" Olivia yelled. "Everyone get your gear.. We are grabbing dinner" Tim said. Everyone got up and ran off. "Ah Criss..I mean Valentine.." Tim looked around then threw a book at me. "It's a magic book..Use it well" Tim ran off and left me with Sarus and Olivia. They all ran back with awesome as fuck armor. "To Dun fall!!" Tim yelled. They all ran i followed them. I saw a bunch of knights fighing when we got there. Wait..Dun fall..Isn't that the town of that knight? I ran up to Reiz. "H..Hey?" She looked at me. "Hey..You haven't talked much..Sup?" I looked at the knights fighting. "Do you know of a knight.." I got cut off when a dragon ran up to us and blew fire. "Ah! Ullr!" Her dog ran to attack the dragon "Save it for later" Reiz yelled as she went to fight. I looked at the book Tim threw at me. How am i going to fight with this? I saw a big dragon. It was huge. I just stood there in fear. All of my new friends were knocked out by the other dragons. I just stood there and embraced death. I wanted it. Since Hope wasn't around anymore. Right before it stepped on me a bright flash of light killed it. I corvered my eyes. After the light went away i looked at the dead dragon..And the knight from my dream standing on it.  I just stared at him. I didn't know he would save me. He walked over to me. "You must be with the turks" He smiled. The turks? That must be my group's name. "Y..Yes" Tim and everyone ran over to me. "My time to go..We will meet again" The knight said before he ran off. "Valentine!" Tim yelled. Everyone cheered me on. "The knight of dun fall saved you! Now everyone will know you as 'The chick who the knight saved' for a few days" We walked back to the house in the woods. It was dark by the time we got back. Tim showed me my room. They had dinner. I didn't go. I just sat on my bed and wanted to thank that knight..And tell him about everything. I heard tim yell from the hall way. "Lights out everyone" I got up to turn off my light. It was super dark. Only the moonlight to guide me. I fell onto my bed. I wonder if he dreams about me..

Fate sat in his room. Asada trying to get glass out of his arm. "That was really nice of you to save that girl.." She said as she took glass and put it on a towel. "I think..I wanna be with her..indead of Marina.." Asada looked up from the glass on the towel. "Your father wants you to marry Marina tho..Not some..Pesant.." Fate sighed. "I feel like me and that girl..Whoever she was..Has something.." "Has something? Like a Std?" Fate glared at Asada. "S..Sorry" Asada said as she picked up the towel. She walked out of the room. He looked out the broken window. There was a knock on the door. Cogwynn walked in. "Hey..Dad wants you.." Fate looked over at his brother. "Tell him i'm not here.." Cogwynn sighed. He walked out of the room. Fate got up from his bed and walked over to the door to lock it. He sat back down on his bed. He looked out the window. Then he looked at his armor sitting on his desk. He quickly grabbed it and put it on. He packed some things then unlocked his door. He looked around the hallway of the castle. He ran down to the kitchen. He stole some food and put it in his bag. He ran back up to his room. "Now..Where do you think your going?" Marina asked as she stood in the door way. Fate stood in the broken window. "Away from you.." He jumped out. She ran over to it. She couldn't see him anywhere. She told everyone to look for him since she is going to marry him even if he didn't like it

I woke up the next morning around 9am. The clock was playing 8 bit music. Heh..This must be what it's like to be stuck in a video game. I got up and walked to the bathroom. Someone was in it. I knocked. I heard the shower and someone singing. I just walked into the kitchen. Jadr was cooking food. "Up early for your first night" He said without turning around to know if someone was there "A..Are you talking to me?" He put some eggs on a plate. Then looked at me. "You know i don't have to..I'm blind" How was he a healer then? I mean now that i look at his eyes i can tell he is blind..I sat at a table. "W..Were you born like that?" I asked. He put the plate right infront of me. "Before i started this shitty game..I wasn't..I had a son..And a wife..A nice life.." He looked down "Now it's all gone..If something happens here..Let's say you go blind..You'll be blind when this game ends..If you die here..You'll be dead in real life.." He looked up at me. "I'll never see my wife or my son again even if i stay alive here.." He got up from the chair. "Don't get yourself killed Criss.." I started eating my breakfast. His food..Was so good. Olivia and Sar came and sat down by me. "Ey Jadr!!" Olivia yelled. "Breakfast maaan" Jadr got 2 plates out and put some eggs on it. "Come get them oli.." He started making more eggs. Oli got up and got the plates. She whispered something to jadr and he stopped cooking. "Don't you dare say that again or i'll tell tim" He said as he pointed a wooden spoon at Olivia. "Tell Tim what?" Tim said as he walked in and sat by me. Jadr went back to cooking. "Uhh I broke another spoon" Olivia said as she sat down with sar. I looked at Tim. "I'll get Reiz to show you how to use the book..." Tim said before he took my plate and gave it to jadr. Later that day Reiz was trying to show me how to use the book. "You..You'll never learn.." She said as she sat by her dog under a tree. I looked around then sat by her. "I wanna know something Reiz.." She looked up at me. "Do you have dreams of the Knight..Fate?" She shrugged. "Nah i have dreams of my life back in the normal world..Jadr told you about this world right?" Yeah i guess he did.. I nodded. She patted her dog. "Ullr..Was my real life boyfriend..Till a whitch here turned him into a dog.." I wonder if she fucks it.. I started to laugh. "What the hell is wrong with you?" She yelled Oh i wasn't laughing in my head? She ran inside with her dog. i looked around. I saw a town near by. I walked to it. It was super busy. I heard a guy yelling near a tree. "WELL YOUR A FAG AND IM A FAGATOLI!" Weirdo.. i walked to a bench to sit down and watch the people. Marix ran over to me. "Tim has been looking for you..Where have you been?" Sigh can't i have just a little bit to myself? "I needed a break.." Marix grabbed my arm. "Come home quick! Jadr lit the whole house on fire!" He did what? Why? "No marix..We need to run.." He let go of my arm. "But..Why?" Uhh think of a reason criss..."We need a new life..The two of us.." What are you thinking criss? Oh i don't know maybe i could be with him.. "But..But Val.." Val? Is that my name? Oh right Reiz gave me that name.."Let's run away Marix little buddy" I grabbed his small hand. He just looked at me. "You have a map?" I asked him as i looked into his pure white eyes. The same as Jadr's. "Uhh no but we can get one from the bar.." Maybe i should ask him what happened to his eyes.. He showed me to the bar up on top of the main part of town. "What can i do for you?" The man at the desk asked. "M..May we have a map?" The guy looked under his desk then on a shelf. He walked away looking for a map. "What happened to your eyes?" I looked down at marix. "M..My eyes? Oh..I was born like this.. I can see life and death all at once.." Wait..Can he see when im going to die? Please say no "C..Can you see when i'm going to die?" The guy came back with a map. Marix took it and pointed to the town where we were. "We're in Lirma..The water city..Shall we just go to Scaith? Or Iddly?" I looked at the map. "What's that burnt spot?" I pointed to a part of the map that looked burnt. "Oh yeah that's scaith..A town owned by the king of Dun Fall..It burnt down last year..I forgot..Many people died.." Oh..Maybe we should go to Dun fall..Since that's where the knight is from.. "Let's go to dun fall.." I said. Marix looked at me and nodded. We started making our way to the big town. We killed some animals on our way. As we were walking we saw two people. We smiled and waved. They jumped us and knocked us out. Last thing i saw was marix being taken away.

Fate walked the city of Lirma. He looked around. I saw myself talking to marix. He just stood there watching us. We walked right past him. He didn't say anything. He just watched. He walked to go get food from one of the stores. They kicked him out of them all. They told him he ain't the royal prince..Since the would never go there.. He sat on the ground. Olivia walked up to him. "What's the holy knight of Dun Fall doing here?" He looked up at her. "Hey Oli..I ran away..I wanted to marry that girl i met..But i couldn't say anything" Oliva sat right by him. "Maybe it's not the right time.." He looked down at his lap. "Yeah.. i guess.." Oliva walked into the shop. She came out with food for Fate. "I can't let my boss starve.." He took the food from oliva. "Can..You take me back to Dun Fall?" "Can't you go by yourself?" He threw a chip at oliva. "No..Dragons..Muggers.." "You can fight those off.." He threw another chip at her. "Stop..Just take me there..I'll give you all the gil you want" She picked up one of the chips he threw at her. She threw it at him. "All i want is to be a higher rank..More pay" He nodded "Okay Oli..Have that" After he finished eating he picked up his bags. "Let's go" She grabbed her lance. "Yeah..Let's kick ass"

I woke up. I was tied to a chair. I looked around. It was totally dark. "Marix?" I whispered. I heard something to the right of me. "MArix? I whispered again. "Ey..Miles" I heard him say. I heard someone upstairs. "Who..Is that?" I whispered "Duno..She uhh did stuff to me" Stuff? Oh my god.."I'll get you out of here.." He whispered. I heard something drop. Like a knife. He got me untied. We looked for the stairs. We fell over a few things but finally found the stairs. He went up first to see if anyone was there. He told me no one was there. We ran out of the house and ran to dun fall. "My friends might still be here" he said as we walked into town. I looked around. It looked so cool. So big. We walked into the inn. I saw a small boy sitting on a chair all by himself. Marix went to go talk to the innkeep. I sat by the boy. "Hey.. what's your name?" He looked at me. "Ryland..I'm just waiting for my mum to come back..She went to fight a dragon" Huh..Weird..Maybe dragons are big hunts here or something. Marix came back over to me. "The prince went missing so the whole town is looking for him..They ain't got no room anywhere..But maybe my friend has room" He walked to the door. "Come on miles" I got up and walked over to him. I looked at that kid before i left. We walked out of town near a beach. A big house sat on the edge of the beach on a hill. Marix waved to a big tall guy with spikey black hair. "Ey Hey Blair Irie!" The guy was leaning on the side of the house. "You want money this time Haez?" Marix laughed and hugged him. "It's good to be back Blair" After that we were there for 2 weeks before another person as short as marix came over. We were sitting outside. It was a warm fall night. We had the fire pit lit. The person walked inside to talk to blair. It looked like a food truck. A short guy stood by the truck. I walked over to him. He smiled at me. He had white hair and white eyes. Just like marix. "Hey there girl" He said "Hey..What are you selling?" I looked at the truck. "Ah Cakes brings food here..My friend..Well i work for her..Name's Amesiel" He held out his hand. I looked at him then back at the truck. His friend came out and got food out of the truck and he helped. I went to sit by marix. "Strange one..Ain't he?" Marix said as he looked as Amesiel. After that night me and Amesiel spent everyday together. Marix went missing the next week. I didn't Like living with Blair and his friends. A bunch of fuck boys. I went to live with Amesiel. He had a beach house. We always hung out. His friend asked us to come to her house for christmas. Amesiel didn't want to go. But i went. I got there a bit early so i sat outside. Cakes always cooked food for everyone so she was inside. I hadn't had a dream of that knight in a few months. I just sat on a bench outside Cake's house. I saw someone with a hoodie sit on the other bench. I went to sit by them. "Hey..I'm uhh..." Fuck what was that name Reiz gave me? Valentine? "Valentine" I said. The person took off their hoodie. It was the knight..Fate. I gasped. "Oh i'm Fate..Wait haven't i met you before?" Uhh no..You haven't Does he have dreams of me? Oh dear god..I really hope they aren't those dreams where i did Amesiel.. "Maybe" Cakes walked out with a note pad. "Would ya'll like some food while i set up inside?" Fate looked at me then at Cakes. "Just..Some chicken and rice.." I hadn't eaten in a day..Since Amesiel didn't want me to get fat. "Same" I said. Cakes wrote it down. I looked in my pocket for gil. "I got this" Fate said as he handed her gil. "Don't worry about it.." He said as he smiled at me. Cakes came out with food a little bit later and told us we could come in. After that a bunch of people came. I lost Fate. I sat downstairs on a couch. Amesiel ran down the stairs. "I saw that!" He yelled. "You cheating on me with that..Fate Boy" Cheating? I'd..Oh I mean Fate was so much cuter then Amesiel. "I'd never" He ran outside. I ran into the bathroom to cry. I just sat there. Crying for a while. I heard a knock on the door. I got myself to stop. I opened the door. It was Fate. "Hey..I was about to walk home..You still live with that Blair guy?" He knew about blair? How? "How.." I sniffed. "How did you know i lived with him?" Fate laughed. "Blair is a knight of dun fall" Oh that's how.. "Have you been crying?" He looked at my red eyes. "M..Maybe" He hugged me. Oh hugs i like hugs. "I'll walk you home. He walked me to the door. Right before we left he said bye to cakes. And as he opened the door to the outside we saw it snowing. He gave me his jacket. We walked and talked and laughed. He was so cool. When we got to Blair's house he rolled up a snowball and threw it at blair's window. The big guy opened his window. He closed it then opened the front door. "Take care of her mate!" Fate yelled as he pushed me twards blair. I ran inside and waved bye to Fate. The next morning I woke up with Amesiel staring at me. I screamed. "Cheating on me again?" He asked. Blair ran into the room with a sword. "Get the fuck out Gourbon" Amesiel ran out. Blair sat right by me. "He's such a drama queen..And a whore.." He patted me then left the room. The next week was new years. I got up the guts to kill a trial..To see if i could really use the book Reiz gave me. I asked blair to find some friends. He got Fate to join us. And some other knights. We beat the dragons and everyone but Fate went to a new years party. Me and Fate sat by the fire pit at blair's house. We talked and laughed. We loved the same things. I never found a guy like him. Blair came back home since he forgot something. I grabbed my pet unicorn and rode it. Fate called his and rode it. We laughed and rode our unicorns. Blair joined us for a bit. Fate left after midnight. I went to my room. I packed my bags. I ran off to the main part of dun fall. I went to a inn. I paid the guy and lived at the inn for awhile. I wanted to be near Fate all the time now. A week later There was a big bug attacking the town of Iddyl. So i ran off to fight it. Fate was there. We tried to kill it together we didn't. Everyone left. Me and Fate went to Iddyl. It was a small town where the smart monsters lived with humans. We sat on the edge of town talking. "Sooo..Wanna come to my castle?" Oh fuck yeah! We walked to Dun fall. We went to his castle. We went to the ballroom and started dancing. We looked like total white trash. I started laughing so hard. The king walked in. "Who is this?" Fate looked at him. "My...Girlfriend" Girlfriend..GIRLFRIEND? The king looked at me then back at Fate. "We have to talk" Fate walked over to the king. They talked for a bit. I sat on the stage they had in the big ballroom. Fate walked over to me. "Valentine..You can live here for a bit" He smiled at me. I jumped off the stage and hugged him. He showed me my room. It was near his. After dinner that night me and Fate sat outside. I looked at him. "Can..I be your girlfriend?" He looked at me. "If you can give me a good reason to date you...Sure" A good reason? Ah shit.. "I'll give you till i go to sleep" He got up and walked inside. I sat there thinking for awhile.. I finally got up and walked to his room. I knocked. He opened it. "I don't have a good reason for you to be with me.." He laughed. "Just be with me then" I looked up at him. He hugged me.

The next week Fate took me and his maid to a beach near lirma. His maid Asada was cooking some dinner when Fate took me to the beach. We walked for a bit. "Stay here" He said as he ran back to the house. I sat down to watch the water hit my feet. He came back. "Sorry..Had to do something..Can you stand up Val?" I looked at him then slowly got up. He got on one knee. "I know we haven't known eachother that long..But please Val..Marry me" I smiled and almost cried I nodded and hugged him. "Also.." He said "Look behind you" I let go of him and turned around. I saw marix. I gasped. "You found him.." I whispered. I ran over to hug him. "Yeah he was living in that old burnt house.." I started crying. Marix was my best friend forever..After that night me and Fate got married on Valentine's day. We lived a nice time together for about 10 years. The game was shutting down. We went to a inn in dun Fall to live our last days together he told me where to find him in the real world..In Cali..It didn't seem so bad..But i lived in nyc..Right before the game went down he held me close and kissed me.

I woke up on the floor of that arcade. Joker poked me with a stick. "Hey wake up.." He said i looked up at him. "How..long was i in there?" He looked at his phone. "About 10 hours.." I jumped up "We gotta go to cali" I ran out of the arcade. "We just can't drop everything to go see him" Joker said as he chased after me. "yes we can" The next week me and joker took his truck to cali. I found Fate. We spent a whole week together. Before school started he moved out by me..

[builder051]

Hi! If you're still taking prompts, what about Steve getting a concussion on a mission that makes him really sick, but he manages to hide it until he gets home to Bucky?

Here you go!  I know, long wait, but hopefully it was worth it.  This is on the long side, about 3500 words.  When I write mission fics (which is not often), I feel the need to set up a decently plausible mission with plot and stuff…  So hopefully this works for you.

Somewhat-canon ‘verse.

___________________________________

I get knocked down…but I get up again…you’re never gonna keep me down…

Steve’s flat on his back, and the words echo blankly in his head.

What the fuck?

It’s so dusty.

And he’s so…tired?

I get knocked down…

There’s…is that a hole in the ceiling?  Dilapidated rafters and corrugated metal sheets are busted out of the way to allow a view of the blue sky and a shaft of warm sunlight to hit the floor.

A little unorthodox for a skylight.

“Cap?”

Steve’s almost sure he heard the sound with his ears, but he can’t be positive.

Why is he lying on his back?

Steve pushes over to his side, then uses his arms to hoist himself up to seated.  Immediately the world shifts around him, and his hand slips against the dusty concrete.  The floor seems to have become the wall, but he’s still stuck to it…

I get knocked down…

Why is that damn song stuck in his head?

Isn’t he supposed to be doing something?

“Cap?  Steve?”

Yep, definitely supposed to be doing something.

“Hey, what happened?”  Footsteps echo toward him.  Nat’s face materializes upside down over him.  “You ok?”

“Yeah, sure.”  Steve raises himself up to a sitting position again, and the floor-wall miraculously returns to its original position, though it leaves Steve with a wave of dizziness reverberating through his skull.  Which hurts.

“Did you get hit?”

“Must have.”  Steve’s voice sounds oddly echoey.

“Must have, as in, you’re not sure?” Nat asks, her eyebrows going up.

“It was a pretty hard hit,” Steve admits.  Or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing, as he still doesn’t remember it.  He picks himself up off the floor, automatically brushing dust from his deep blue suit and freshly polished shield.

“That’s what your helmet’s for, dumbass,” Nat teases him.  But her eyes flick from his face to his hairline, searching for a visible wound.

Steve doesn’t think there is one, but he runs his gloved hands over his head to be sure.

“Really, why’d you take off your helmet?” Nat asks.

Steve knows the answer to this.  He just can’t make it make any sense in his head because the context has evaporated.  “Better to talk to civilians without it.”

“Oh.  You found the hostages?”

Did he?  Steve glances around as quickly as he can, trying to get his bearings back without upsetting the precarious balance of his head on his shoulders.  The more he moves, the more it feels like a brass band it setting up shop in his skull.

The abandoned warehouse is starting to look more familiar now.  That busted-up sheet metal half-wall thing, that’s concealing the posts where the hostages are chained up.  Steve enunciates that to Nat as clearly as he can, then casually palpates the back of his head where it vaguely feels like he’s being smashed repeatedly with a hammer.

Now Nat’s saying something, and Steve’s missed the beginning of it.  “…when they’re coming back, but we need to move them now.”

“Huh?”

“Are you ok?” Nat asks, looking concerned again.

“Yeah,” Steve assures her.  “Just…still shaking it off.”  Although Steve’s sure that if he shakes anything, especially his head, he’s going to fall over.

“Ok, well, finish shaking and cover me.”  Nat draws a gun from the collection on her belt and starts across the warehouse.

Steve keeps pace with her jog, but clenches his teeth together as the motion jostles his stomach.  It’s as if wire-fine neurons have re-woven themselves to as to directly connect his head and abdomen.  One step equals one throb equals one swallowed wave of disgustingness.

The scruffy-looking group of coal miners chained up in the corner of the warehouse start whooping and cheering when they see Nat and Steve coming toward them.

“Shh, stop,” Nat commands them.  “They might hear you and come back.”

Steve’s just grateful it’s quieter again.  The sound had been wreaking havoc like drumbeats in his head.

“We saw you get slammed earlier, Cap,” one of the miners says with an Appalachian drawl.  “Didn’t know if we’d be lucky enough to see you come rescue us.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Steve says, trying to convince himself that his words are true.  “You’re all ok?  They haven’t hurt you?”

“Not yet,” the miner replies.  “Kept threatening that we’d be the fuel in their new clean energy rig, but, honestly, we’re used to hearing shit like that.”

“Well, they probably meant it,” Nat says, using a miniature pulsar beam on her wrist to start cutting through the chains around one man’s wrists.  “HYDRA’s no joke.  But what the hell they’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere…It is more like a tease than a threat.”

“Hey, this isn’t nowhere,” the miner pipes back up.  “We live here.”

“Yeah, she didn’t…” Steve has to blink hard to ground himself and regain his train of thought.  “…didn’t mean it.”

“You gonna help or stand there?” Nat barks in response.

“Oh.  Help,” Steve replies.  He uses the edge of his shield to bash the chains holding one the nearest miner’s feet to the thick concrete post.  The resulting clang is enough to make Steve want to curl up with his hands over his ears.

“Yikes.  Maybe I don’t want you to help,” Nat says, cringing herself at the loud noise.  “Just stand watch and see if the creeps in the gas masks come back… oh shit.”

Steve follows Nat’s gaze and immediately lifts his shield in front of his chest.  Two black-clad figures with bulky masks over their faces are sprinting for the cluster of hostages.  They don’t immediately look harmful, but with the threat of alien tech and something akin to nuclear power, no chances can be taken.

Nat’s drawing another gun out of its holster, one that shoots paralyzing beams instead of bullets.  “I’m on ‘em,” she says.  “Keep working on the hostages.”

“Roger,” Steve replies.

The gun fires loudly, and as the sound reverberates through Steve’s head, his vision blurs.  He takes out a good chunk of the concrete floor before he’s able to adjust the edge of his shield and bust through more of the chains.

The second gunshot sends Steve’s hands to his knees.  He struggles to hold onto clarity as he swallows his stomach back down into its proper place.

I get knocked down…

Why is that stupid song still hanging around?  He’s got much more important things to think about…like trying his damndest not to barf, and cutting chains, and covering Nat’s six…

“They didn’t unleash some weird bio-weapon on you, did they?”  Nat’s at his shoulder, poking him back to standing upright.

“Don’t think so.”

“That’s good,” Nat says, going back to lighting up chains with her mini pulsar.  “But you’re acting weird, you know?”

Steve shrugs.  Through the fuzz in his head, he’s starting to suspect what might be wrong.  He doesn’t want to think about it, though.  He’d die of embarrassment if he had to go to a head injury safety lecture for forgetting to put on his goddamn helmet.

“Ok, that’s it, freeing up the last of them.  Two operatives incapacitated, doesn’t look like there are any more,” Nat’s saying.

Steve’s confused at first.  Then it dawns on him that she’s talking into her comm, probably with Fury on the other end.  But Steve should be on the call too.  He feels for it with clumsy fingers, but the little piece of metal and plastic that should be poised on the edge of his ear canal is gone.  It probably fell out when he hit the ground earlier.

“Alright.  We’re headed out,” Nat says.  She turns toward the group of rescued miners and informs them that there’s a cadre of police cars outside the warehouse and a little ways down the hill. They should be safe now, and the regular police corps will take over from here, helping the miners and arresting the injured HYDRA agents.

“And we’re done.  We’re leaving,” she adds to Steve.  “Did you lose your comm, too?  God, you’re a mess today.”

“Yeah,” Steve says absently.  He tries to plug his brain back in against the throbbing backbeat.  “That was it?  Just those two guys?”

“Looks like it,” Nat says.  “But with the lack of tech and stuff in their hideout, I’m wondering if they were just some weirdo sympathizers instead of actual HYDRA operatives.”

“Hm.”  The glossy black Hummer that’d driven them out of DC and into Appalachia is waiting, burning fuel as it idles in a gravel driveway.  Steve opens the door and flops gratefully onto the richly cushioned backseat.  The air conditioning is blasting, and Steve positions his head so he’s in the direct path of the breeze.  It dries the sheen of sickly sweat on his forehead, making him feel better for all of one moment.

The drive from rural Virginia back to the DC Metro area is set to take a couple hours.  At first the prospect of lounging across the roomy backseat is appealing.  All Steve wants to do is rest.  But when the Hummer starts bumping down the hilly terrain toward the main road, Steve has to clamp his teeth together so his head doesn’t flop off and start rolling across the floor.

Nat’s tapping on an iPad, getting a head start on the mission report paperwork and playing Angry Birds.  At least, that’s what Steve thinks she’s playing.  The squawking sound effects seem somewhat familiar.  Waves of sleepiness compete with nausea washing over Steve’s head and chest.  He leans the side of his head against the cool glass of the window and lets his eyes drift shut.

“You alright?” Nat asks, jolting Steve back into painful awareness.

“Hm?  Yeah,” Steve says, trying to swallow the vertigo that’s loping from his forehead down to his lap.  “Just tired.”

“I didn’t think it was that strenuous.”  She’s talking about the mission.  “Did you not sleep last night or something?  Bucky keeping you up?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, still trying to work out the shift in topic and decode what Nat just said.

“Good stuff or bad stuff?”

“Huh?”

“Were you guys boning or dealing with nightmares?”

“What the— geez, Nat, I don’t talk about that stuff.”  How the hell did the conversation morph to include his sex life?  He’s not firing on all cylinders.  Something’s definitely wrong.

Steve’s had a concussion before.  All this, the severe headache, the mental fog, the tiredness, the strong urge to puke, is dreadfully familiar.  There’s nothing to be done except lie down and throw up and feel stupid while someone asks inane questions about the president and the date and things Steve still has trouble with even when he’s feeling fine.  He just wants to go home.

Steve does his best to stay awake for the duration of the drive.  The sound effects from Nat’s game and his own nausea do a good job of keeping him from drifting off, but the soft rumble of the Hummer’s engine is a difficult lullaby to resist.  By the time they’re rumbling past the shops and neighborhoods of Falls Church, Steve’s barely holding onto his consciousness and his stomach.

He wants more than anything to be home, and it would be just too much to drive by the townhouse and go on to SHIELD.  “Hey,” Steve says, swallowing down bile and raspiness.  “Can we…can you drop me off at my house?”

The agent driving the Hummer turns his head to look at Steve, obviously perplexed by the unconventional request.

“Why?  You have to debrief, see medical, finish up the mission paperwork,” Nat says.

“Yeah, I…I’ll come back in a little bit,” Steve forces out.  “It’s just…Buck’s got an appointment.  I forgot about it till now.  He wanted me to go with him…”  It’s a complete lie, but Steve’s desperate.

“You are so weird today,” Nat sighs, shaking her head.

The driver seems to take pity on him, though, and asks where to turn off.  Steve directs him to the complex of townhomes, then lets out an exhale of relief when the huge, thundering car pauses at the end of his driveway.

“Thanks,” Steve says.  “I’ll, uh, see you soon.”  He had told Nat he’d come back, right?  He doesn’t exactly remember…

“You better,” Nat replies.  Then, somewhat softer, “I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, ok,” Steve mumbles.  He grabs his shield and opens the car door, gripping it tightly as he steps onto the concrete of the driveway, which may or may not be moving under his boots.

Steve fumbles in his pocket for his keys and shakily unlocks the front door.  The Hummer is speeding away down the road, and Steve’s relieved it’s going.  His stomach is wedged so far up his throat he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it down for the next minute as he gets into the house.

Sweat beads up on what feels like every inch of his face and body.  Steve feels the knob turn in his hand, and he nearly walks into the flat of the grey painted door because he can’t get it open fast enough.

“Hey,” he hears Bucky call from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.

Steve’s on the point of replying, but when he opens his mouth, a gag and a rush of undigested stomach contents beat down the words.  He reaches for the wall and braces himself, doubled over, as he vomits all over the doormat.

“The fuck?”  Bucky’s footsteps pound around the corner and into the entryway, and he’s quickly at Steve’s shoulder, supporting his trembling form.  “What happened?”

“God, my head,” Steve exhales, trying to push his stomach back down to its normal location.  He fails miserably and his throat goes into contraction again.

“Ok,” Bucky soothes, sidestepping the puddle of sick and peeling Steve away from the wall.  “Do you wanna come into the bathroom, maybe?”

“No, I’m…I’m ok,” Steve breathes heavily and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he’s finished retching for the moment.

“Alright, well, at least come lie down,” Bucky says.  “Do you think you can handle the stairs?”

“Probably,” Steve says, trying to give off more confidence than he actually feels.

“Ok, come on.”  Bucky’s metal arm wraps securely around Steve’s waist, and they start slowly up the stairs.  Steve grips the railing tightly, and he feels the whole thing shaking with the tremor in his body.  Or maybe it’s just his unsteady brain playing tricks.

Once in the bedroom, Steve immediately flops onto the end of the bed, letting his body rest horizontally while his feet remain on the floor.

Bucky starts unlacing his boots, tugging gently and asking, “Alright.  What happened?  You were fine this morning.”

“I think I…got hit.  In the head,” Steve whispers, drawing his hands up over his face.

“What?  And medical released you, even though you’re barfing all over the place?”

Steve lets the words sink in.  “Sorry,” he rasps.  Then, “I…haven’t been yet.”

“Why?  You need medical attention.”  Bucky finishes removing Steve’s boots and starts looking for the zipper to release him from his suit.

“They’re not gonna do anything for a concussion…” Steve mutters, tossing his arm over his eyes to block out the light.  “Just need to…be sick for a couple hours.  I’ll be fine.”

“You’re concussed?” Bucky says, concern melding with surprise.

“I think so,” Steve replies.  He massages between his eyes, but it only succeeds in bringing the underlying current of nausea up to the surface.  “Buck, I’m gonna throw up again.”

“Hold on a sec,” Bucky says.  He sprints away into the ensuite and returns with the small trash can.  The world tips maddeningly as Steve heaves himself back to sitting and retches into the white plastic bin.

“God, I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes on a hitching breath.  He feels like a collection of parts strung together in the most illogical way.  The sweat dripping down his forehead makes his shoulder cramp, which brings an ache to his low back, and then forces another wave of stomach acid up his throat.

“It’s ok,” Bucky soothes, adjusting the trash can in Steve’s limp grip.  “But, are you sure you don’t want to go to medical?  I mean, I can take care of you and all, but…”  He trails off, patting Steve on the back.

“It’ll…heal itself up in a few hours.  I’ll be fine by tomorrow morning.”  He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Hey.”  Bucky softly swats Steve’s shoulder.  “Don’t do that.  I’ll get you something to clean up with.”

“Ok.”  Steve releases the trash can to the floor and watches it settle between his feet.

The washcloth is cool on his face and neck.  The breeze of the air conditioning bites into his clammy skin when Bucky helps him out of his suit.  The bed pillows are soft under his head, but there must be a rock or something right below them.  Perhaps it’s under the mattress, or pressing up through the foundation of the house…

“Hey, wake up for a second,” Bucky says.  He lightly massages Steve’s shoulder.  “How do you feel?”

“Nauseous.”

“Do you want to throw up, or try to answer some questions?”

“God.  Neither.”  Steve tries to turn onto his side, but his stomach threatens mutiny, and he stays stationary on his back.

“Let’s try for a couple questions,” Bucky encourages.  “Who’s the president of the United States?”

“Do you know who’s the president of the United States?” Steve hoarsely mumbles back.

“Yeah, I do, but I’m asking you,” Bucky laughs quietly.

“Uh…Truman.  I mean, Obama.  But, no, um…Donald…?”  Steve shuts his eyes and scrubs his palm over them.

“What year is it?”  Bucky asks.

The bed is a raft, floating on an angrily choppy ocean.  “I think…” Steve swallows thickly.  “I’d rather throw up.”

The next thing Steve knows, the phone is ringing.

“Hey, it’s Nat, do you want to talk to her for a sec?” Bucky’s asking him.

“No.”  Steve wants to go back to sleep.  Maybe take some Excedrin.  Or go to town on a bowl of peppermint ice cream.  His mouth tastes terrible.

“Naw, he’s ok.  Kind of sick and a little confused, but he’s already pulling himself back together.”

Steve blinks.  Or, at least he thinks he does.  The bedroom is much darker than it was, and the cool glow of moonlight sifts in through the curtained window.

Bucky’s lying on his stomach, his arm tucked around Steve’s chest and his chin resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder.  The strong scent of pine-sol hangs in the air.  “Hey,” he whispers when he sees Steve’s eyelids flutter.  “You were talking in your sleep a little bit.”

“Huh?”  Steve grunts.  “What about?”

“I get knocked down or something like that.”

“Oh.”  Steve can’t fight the smile that’s spreading across his face.  He presses his palm over his forehead, cooling the lingering headache and attempting to force his thoughts into an intelligible order.  “That song.  It’s been stuck in my head.”

“That’s funny,” Bucky chuckles.  “Only you’d be enough of a punk to get a concussion and start singing about it.”

“Shut up.”  Steve weakly shoves Bucky’s metal shoulder.

“You feel better?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies.  “Not completely great, but I don’t think my head’s going to fall off now.”

“Well, I guess that’s an improvement.”  Bucky laughs again.  “How’s your stomach?”

Steve considers for a moment.  The slightly seasick feeling that accompanies any bad headache remains pressing slightly into his temples.  But it’s such an upgrade from the gale force of sickly vertigo from earlier that it hardly rates.  “Pretty good, I think,” Steve says.  Then, “Sorry you had to clean up so much.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky says.  “I’m just relieved you’re back in your right mind.  You had me a little worried there.”

“I’m ok.”

“Yeah.  Good thing, too,” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head up from Steve’s shoulder.  “Now, you wanna come downstairs and get something to eat, or are you gonna demand bedside service?”

“Well, you’re pretty good at the whole bedside service thing, but then you’d leave me up here…”  Steve ruffles his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“I know you still don’t feel good,” Bucky says.  “You’re clingy.”

“Is that really a bad thing, though?”

“No,” Bucky smiles.  “Not at all.”