#oh well my hands are gonna be elbow deep in chemicals for like a week and a half anyway

[innalheid]

Today we got jumlscared by a health inspector (she was just coming in for a snack) so my boss poured, like, a cup of bleach into my already properly diluted sani bucket. and now my hands will smell like a pool all week.

[avintagekiss24]

one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber

→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader

→ word count: 7074

→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)

→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics​, gif by @evansensations​

There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.

“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”

“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”

“Well, you could try a little harder.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”

Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”

Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”

You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”

There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”

Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”

“Why would I get mad?”

“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”

“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”

“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”

You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.

Just wonderful.

She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”

“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”

He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”

He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”

“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”

“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”

“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”

“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”

You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.

Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.

“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”

Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”

You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”

Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.

Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.

One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.

Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.

You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.

There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.

A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.

“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.

“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.

His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”

“Smells good in here.”

Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”

Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.

He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”

He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”

You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”

He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”

He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced—  oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.

A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.

There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.

You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.

Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.

“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.

“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”

Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.

There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.

Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.

“You like watching me, huh?”

Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.

He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.

Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.

A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.

“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.

A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.

“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”

A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.

“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”

You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”

Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.

He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”

His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.

Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”

You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.

Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.

Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”

You shudder at the thought.

He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”

You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.

“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”

He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.

Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.

You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.

Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.

“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”

He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.

“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.

Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.

His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”

Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.

“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.

Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”

A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.

He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.

His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.

“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”

The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.

“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”

You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”

He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.

“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”

And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.

It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.

You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.

Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.

A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.

You 1:15am

You up?

Andy B. 1:17am

What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?

An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.

You 1:17am

I can’t sleep…

Andy B. 1:18am

Want me to help with that?

You won’t be getting much sleep tho…

You 1:18am

That’s what I’m hoping…

Andy B. 1:19am

LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open

You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.

Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.

The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.

You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.

The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”

You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.

“Well, come on. Come touch me.”

It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.

“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”

You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.

He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.

“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”

Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.

You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.

Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.

“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”

Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”

A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.

Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.

“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”

Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.

“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”

Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.

Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.

Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.

“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”

Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.

“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”

He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.

A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.

Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.

Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.

You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.

There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.

Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.

“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”

“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.

You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.

There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.

Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”

“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”

A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”

Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.

“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.

His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”

[a-lonely-tatertot]

Finding Home

First / Wattpad / ao3

A/n: Another one done another one done! A longer chapter than the last, and the wait was because a lot of stuff came up and i didn't have much motivation to post because i was concerned that no one really cared about this so um yeah sorry

words: 6065

Tw: mentions of injuries and blood if there's others please let me know

Chapter 7: One Hell Of an Exit

It had been three days since Dex told him Fitz left, three days since the pit in his stomach had started steadily growing. What hurt the most wasn’t Fitz actually leaving, it was the fact he told Dex instead of him. Some best friend, he thought.

Keefe sighed and sat on one of the cots in the Healing Center. Elwin’s office had become home after a year of working as his assistant. Days went by, mindless and boring; they rarely got kids. Tam and Linh’s class often had the most injuries, sending in at least a kid a day because some idiot decided to go against the rules. But they were gone now, and Alchemy instructors were finally being more careful, actually watching the kids when they had dangerous chemicals, but it left the Healing Center bare. Somedays, as he played yet another round of cards with Elwin, he wished that at least one kid would get hurt so he could do something. 

Elwin did his best trying to fill the silence, teaching him new things. But Keefe knew that worry that came off him in waves, that concern that never really left after his coma. It had gotten stronger after Fitz left, keeping a watchful eye on him. Searching for pain that was there but Keefe was just too good at hiding it. No matter how many times he told Keefe that he wasn’t Cassius, that he would always be there, the wall between Keefe’s emotions never came down. 

“We should go see the Celestial Festival,” Elwin said, startling Keefe. “It’s next week and we haven’t been out much. I do always love Orem’s lights.”

Keefe hummed in response.

“I think Biana plans on going; we talked about it the other day.” Oh. So that was Elwin’s plan. Make him talk to people again. What was the point of it? Pretend that half of their friends didn’t get the great idea to hightail it out of this hell hole to be normal people for once? To pretend that they actually knew what they were without a war to fight?

“I bet with a little persuasion you could get Dex and Marella to come,” Elwin continued. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Keefe whispered softly. Why did he agree? Keefe pretended he didn’t know, but deep down under things, he didn’t want to look at he knew he was lonely. That he missed his friends. So why not take advantage of the few who were left?

The festival lights were insane. He stood with Biana as the council stepped to the stage, her determination flew off her in waves and he marveled at how far she had come. The way she held herself, scars on full display, mouth set, she looked older than he was used to. But when she glanced at him, through the flashing lights, her eyes were playful and mysterious and Keefe almost let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t completely left and grown-up without him too. 

Dex and Marella stood at his left, Dex holding some sort of snack over Marella’s hands as she lit a small fire, letting out a whoop when it just barely toasted. Keefe grinned with them, surprised at how far the two had come with their own fears of Marella’s fire. Biana tapped his arm, gesturing to a patch of grass a little ways from them and to the blanket in her hands. From there they had the perfect view of the light show, grinning ear to ear as they appeared in the sky. None of them talked of who they wished was there, and none mentioned the last time they’d watched the lights. They avoided topics flawlessly that they knew brought too much pain and weaved their way through, making their uneventful lives seem important. Honestly, the only semi-put-together person on that blanket was Biana; unlike the rest, she always knew what she was meant for, there was a fight in her that wouldn’t settle for anything less than a better world.

The rest of them were basically just melting mallowmelt. 

Eventually, Biana had to leave, and the others ended up back at Elwin’s with a unanimous vote of we’ve-got nothing-better-to-do. They raided the kitchen and grabbed whatever snacks they could find before climbing the stairs to the roof. 

They laid there for who knows how long, staring at the stars in silence. “What do you think the others are doing?” Dex asked into the dark. 

Keefe sighed. He honestly didn’t want to know but spoke anyway. “Probably doing taxes.”

“What the fuck are taxes?” Marella asked, propping herself up on her elbow. 

Keefe chuckled, “Horrid, horrid things.” They lapsed into silence again, the only sound being the scattered animals roaming Spendor Plains. Keefe always thought the name was stupid, but he’d given up on trying to get Elwin to change it a long time ago. 

“I want to go,” Marella declared. Keefe glanced at her, but she was staring at the sky; Dex had the same puzzled expression on his face. Finally, she continued, “I’ve got nothing other than people who don’t want me here.” Her tone sounded defeated and honestly, he agreed.

“I’ll drink to that,” Dex laughed, half-heartedly raising his cup of Lushberry juice to the air in a mock toast. After his new power surfaced people stopped believing he could control it. They avoided him on the streets, they hated the fact that he worked with Elwin. It didn’t matter that he had won a war for them, the fact that his mother had started it and had turned him into something dangerous was enough. He glanced at Marella and Dex, knowing they were thinking the same.

A few minutes passed when, “Then let's go.” It was Dex this time, he had sat up, the others following suit. “They hate that we’re here. That we saved them. They hate that Sophie and Fitz left, their Golden Heroes. We’re the screw-ups that are still here. Hell, look at us. The son of a bad match, a pyrokinetic, and a fucking mystery.” Keefe grunted, he’d been called worse. “We might as well find somewhere to belong.”

Keefe clapped sarcastically but he could already feel the addicting buzz of adrenaline in his veins. “Well said, fellow outcast,” he laughed. “But if we do this we’re not leaving quietly like the others.”

Marella nodded a grin taking over her face as she stood. “Buckle up boys, we’ve got one hell of an exit to plan.”

 Around 1 am (Keefe thought it was one am, he didn’t actually know at that point), Elwin came out with a plate of snacks. Keefe didn’t have time to register what half of the things were when his attention was brought back to the sheet where he had sketched up the layout of a building—that Marella was marking exits on. Dex watched them, laying on his stomach with his chin resting on a pillow and messing with his device.

 At some point they had moved inside, spreading along the couches, their ideas scattered in a chaotic order. Keefe didn’t quite remember when Elwin said he was going to bed, too wrapped up in whatever the others were saying to him. He glanced at the clock; its ticking hands read 4 am. He smiled around the room, Marella sprawled dead to the world asleep on one couch, Dex on the other sitting in a curled ball messing with something that Keefe couldn’t see. Right then, as he sat with his back against the wall and eyes drifting, Keefe couldn’t think of anyone else he’d want to leave with.

  Keefe paced Elwin’s office like a mad man. He couldn’t sit still, not with the buzzing and churning in his gut. When Keefe would let out a heavy sigh Elwin would glance up smile lightly before going back to his work. 

“You know,” Elwin said softly, after Keefe’s fourth round of the Center, “I’m still not entirely sure what I’m going to do when you leave.” In surprise, Keefe looked up to find Elwin with watery eyes. Keefe halted and stared, shocked, to say the least. The realization of how much he meant to this man who had taken him in after everything he had done when his own father didn’t want him. He didn’t quite know what to say, he wasn’t used to this raw emotion that came off of Elwin in waves. Finally, Keefe’s face melted into a sad smile.

“You’ll be okay without me,” Keefe said, for once sincere. A beat of silence passed where Keefe could practically feel Elwin trying to think of something to say without crying. Without Keefe crying, cause Keefe really didn’t like crying. “Plus,” Keefe smiled to try and break the tension, “You and the other parents can have weekly get-togethers about how much you miss our annoying little faces!”

Elwin let out a harsh laugh, “Yeah I guess we can.” Suddenly Keefe found himself wrapped tightly in Elwin’s arms. It still took him a second to remind himself not to tense up, that it was Elwin’s way of saying “I love you.” He felt tears welling in his eyes from the thought that it was real, that he wouldn’t see Elwin for a long time. He buried his head in his father’s shoulder and fisted his hands in the back of Elwin’s shirt. 

“I’ll miss you,” Keefe said finally, willing his voice not to crack. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Elwin reassured. “We’ll be okay. You need this, and when you’re ready you’ll come back home.”

Reluctantly, Keefe pulled away, “What happened to me reassuring you?”

Elwin laughed, “We both know I’m much better at the reassuring.”

He smiled at that. Yeah, maybe he’d miss this place, but he had a whole world to rediscover. A rustle of paper coming from under the door jostled him out of his thoughts. It was from Dex, his cue to get moving. In small words it read:

“headed to the meetup point, all devices ready on schedule - TM" 

Keefe grinned and turned to Elwin, "That’s my cue! See you tonight, Dad.” He let the title slip out, Keefe had never called him that before except in his head. Before he could see Elwin’s reaction he turned and was out the door. 

Weaving his way through the deserted corridors, he found his way out of Foxfire to the courtyard, running to the leap master and hastily yelling out for Marella’s house.

He arrived to find Marella already waiting for him outside, duffles around her. “You ready?”

With a nod, they grabbed the bags and headed to the leap master, places to be. A minute passed and all three of them, Dex, Keefe, and Marella, found each other standing outside Biana’s office door. Getting in was the easy part, since Biana was gone the house was empty. 

“You ready?” this time Dex asked, Keefe was confused about why, after the night they’d had and the plan they’d put together, they’d think to back out. “After this, there’s no turning back,” Dex said, eyes drifting to Keefe and Marella.

Marella grinned, all teeth. “Come on boys, we hit the point of no return the minute we decided to leave.” Promptly, she stuck her lock picks in the hole and twisted them around until they all heard a faint click. It was Keefe’s turn to grin as Marella swung the door open and marched her way in. He followed, placing the duffles in the center of the room, Dex came after him and whistled at the flamboyant decor. 

The far wall was almost entirely glass, sun streaming in and lighting the entire room. A desk sat with trinkets and papers scattered. The wall where they entered was covered in bookcases. There was a small nook that wasn’t covered in poorly organized books. A dark wood frame surrounded a drawing that Keefe had given her; it was of the entire crew, a sort of sequel to the one he had given to Sophie all that time ago. They had been laying in her room after the twins left, a week before Fitz would too, and they had both confessed that they missed them. Sophie, Tam, Linh, how rarely the entire team would get together because they had no reason to. No war to fight, no reason they’d need to get together. Keefe thought that growing up fighting a war made them all forget how to have a simple friendship. 

Before falling asleep that night he decided to draw something to remind Biana of them. He would never forget the way Biana’s entire face lit up when he handed the painting to her. He softly smiled at the memory.

“I found the crystal!” Dex called from the other side of the room, half stuck in a drawer. “Marella, are you almost done?”

Marella, who had one foot on the seating part of the chair and the other on the back, was trying to balance on two legs of it with one circular disk in her mouth and the other in her hand, trying to place it on the ceiling. “Well I would be if Keefe would get his butt over here and actually do something!” she grunted. Tried to at least, her words came out muffled and confusing, but Keefe got the idea quick enough to grab the chair before she fell. 

“Oh my god,” Dex muttered. “I’m going to be the one making sure you two dumbasses don’t die, aren’t I?” In unison, Marella and Keefe grinned at him and he groaned. With one last little hop Marella got the device on the ceiling and planted the other on the bookshelf. Keefe placed one under Biana’s desk, and next to the door on the wall. It all hit them at the same moment as Keefe armed the last disk, and Dex drew out the letter they had written up on the roof. 

“I think I’ll miss her,” Dex said finally; Marella nodded. And finally, it felt like a bright neon sign, right in front of him, blinking bright and loud, and somehow all along he had missed it. The only reason the three of them had stayed was Biana. Keefe, who knew her as his little sister. Marella who she knew as a friend that no matter what was there. And Dex, as the person who stuck by his side when Sophie left him and waited to return the favor. Maybe it was poetry, maybe Keefe was connecting dots that weren’t supposed to connect but it made him want to laugh. 

“Yeah, me too, but we’ll see her before we leave,” Keefe reminded him a bit forcefully. If he were in that office any longer, he’d convince himself to stay. Marella took the note from him to read over again before leaving it. “Let’s go, we’ve got four more places to hit.”

Keefe didn’t wait for an answer and ended up making it to the leap master before the others. It took a few minutes, but finally, they were all there calling out for Foxfire.

It was dark, everyone had gone. Keefe didn’t quite understand how time zones worked with jumping from Biana’s house, which the sun was just then setting, and Foxfire where it was already dark with the moon high. Granted, he didn’t really try.

Foxfire, being much bigger than Biana’s office, forced them to split up. Dex took the top levels, Keefe took the middle, and Marella the ground floor. Keefe slung his bag of disks over his shoulder and made his way through the classrooms. It was slow work, finding good spots to put them in each room and through the hallways, with the bag which felt like it held a bunch of rocks.

The job went by in about an hour, even though it felt much much longer, and he finally made his way back down to the courtyard. “What took you so long?” Marella laughed as he came out rubbing his sore shoulder. “Don’t forget we’ve got more to do!”

“Yeah yeah,”  he grumbled. “You guys done here yet?”

Dex poked his head out from behind one of the trees and said, “I’ve got two more left.“

Keefe could tell that the ones in his hands were the only ones he had left from how his bag looked much lighter. "So we can mark Foxfire off the list, ey?” Marella asked.

“Only three more places to hit,” Keefe grinned.

Dex rolled his eyes, “That’s not counting the spots inside those places. It’s much more than you think.”

Keefe just laughed in response; they were so close. To being free, to running away, the thing Keefe was so good at. Running, and well, making one hell of a lasting impression. That was really their plan. 

It was a short time till they found themselves in Atlantis weaving their way through the back allies to find the shed they had left the next batch of devices at. Dex reminded them, yet again because “everything has to be perfect”, that Marella was taking the treasury building—which sounded entirely boring, which was why Keefe had opted out. Keefe would be taking the various transportation locations, and Dex the business district (also boring). Their rendezvous would be the monument of Linh, Sophie, and himself when they had saved Atlantis. Keefe remembered making some horrible joke about the monument when it was built, something about how they didn’t get his hair in all of its glory, but then, after seeing it again, all he could think of was how much he regretted that his stupid crush had gotten in the way of actually being able to get to talk with Linh. He wondered how many of the others he’d neglected ‘cause of it; he wanted to groan at how stupid he was.

“You good there, Goldie?” Marella asked.

“Why am I Goldie? You’ve got blonde hair too." 

"Okay, yeah, but my hair is more pale than gold. And plus I deserve something much cooler than ‘Goldie’." 

Keefe shook his head, "Okay, Braids.”

Marella, who had started to walk off, threw a smile over her shoulder. “Could use some work!”

“I didn’t have enough time!”

“Excuses! I expect something better when I come back!”

“Oh, so I’m getting graded?” Keefe shouted, but she was gone and he was left standing alone. Slinging his bag over his shoulder he headed to the nearest light leaper. There were about five of them across the city that only lead to other light leapers inside Atlantis. He had five devices, the smaller ones that would reach only the light leaper itself and the edges of surrounding buildings. 

In total it only took him about twenty minutes to leap to each spot, find a hidden location to hide the device, arm them, and then leap away. Marella and Dex had more to cover than him so he found himself sitting at the edge of the fountain, fiddling with the KMD, as they had ended up calling them. Dex arrived first, grinning and clearly riding an adrenaline high, with Marella in tow. “All set?” Dex asked.

Keefe stood. “Yup just as you planned, Techmaster.”

“Wait, why does he get a cool name?” Marella gasped.

“I like him more,” Keefe deadpanned. Dex smiled and did his best to look innocent (which he was really good at for some reason) and Marella rolled her eyes.

“Don’t just stand around; we’ve got places to be!” Dex called, already headed for the whirlpool.

With a chuckle, he and Marella followed. Mysterium was next, in Keefe’s opinion the most boring of their stops but the way that Dex’s face lit up when he spotted Slurps and Burps whirling and glittering in the distance made it worth it. Dex beamed with something like pride and it was infectious. Keefe shook his head slightly, at how easy it was for him to grin, at Dex’s face that was entirely dorky, and at Marella who smiled somewhat mischievously as she placed her devices. It was quick and easy work placing the devices while Dex dropped off the letter—almost identical to the one they had left Biana—at Slurps and Burps. They waited as Dex made his way back to them and practically ran when they could see him. There wasn’t as much time left as they had hoped; the sun was supposed to rise in about two hours, leaving them barely enough time to cover all of Eternalia. Keefe reached the leaper expecting the others to be on his tail when he turned around, but they weren’t. 

His eyes scanned fervently and finally found Marella and Dex standing off to the side, staring back at the Slurps and Burps. Keefe wanted to laugh at the scene if it wasn’t so serious. Marella, stoney, sarcastic, quick-witted Marella, had her arm over Dex’s shoulders like she was pulling him in for a hug. Keefe raised an eyebrow at her when their eyes locked over Dex’s shoulder and her face turned hard. Speak of this and I will kill you, was the message Keefe read loud and clear.

After what seemed like ages, the pair made it to the leap master seemingly still emotionally intact and Dex with a new determined look in his eyes. As Keefe called out for Eternalia he couldn’t help but feel a new rush of adrenaline crash over him.

Now to tackle Eternalia it relied on many moving parts. Part I, the councillors homes. Each of them had two disks, set to cover a larger distance, and needed to place one in between every two towers. Keefe, along with his two devices, also was in charge of the KMD, which was to be placed on Alina’s tower. When they were still scheming Alina’s tower was the obvious choice of who they’d want to annoy the most. Alina’s surprisingly wasn’t the hardest to find, of course, being the most glittery and the most bright even in the dark. Just as he placed it he saw three flashes in the distance, Marella’s signal, marking her to finish first. Once the device was placed Keefe sprinted to his last spot when- CRASH!

He sprawled on the ground, head aching and pain shooting up his arms. Fuck, he thought eloquently. Curses slipped from his mouth as he tried to stand. He managed to pull himself to his knees to determine just how screwed he was. He had rough spots on his palms that were bound to bruise, a huge scrape down his arm, a busted lip from the way he could taste copper in his mouth, and from how much his head ached, he had probably cut his head too. His legs were probably worse; luckily, he couldn’t actually see the extent of his injuries because of his pants (and from the pain he could feel he honestly didn’t want to see it). 

He was fine. This was fine. He would just push past the pain and get himself through downtown than he could figure it out. It was just a fall. A fucking painful fall, his brain supplied unhelpfully. He saw three green flashes in the distance and cursed again. Dex was gone too.

He needed to get moving, and he needed to get moving fast. Keefe grunted, took a few breathes, and managed to get his feet. It was a bit harder to leap with an injury but he managed, and after placing his last device, he found himself in downtown. 

Dex saw him first, delight turned to concern turned to worry until he was rushing to him. “Why are you bleeding? Why are you beat up? I leave you alone for five freaking seconds-" 

"What happened?” Marella came up behind him with more annoyance than concern on her face.

“Well, I was going to explain to Gears over here-”

“Gears? Really?”

“-but I don’t think he knows how to keep quiet,” Keefe finished. 

“Start talking, now." 

Keefe sighed, "I fell.”

Marella stared at him, “You fell, and did this?”

“It was a very mean rock!”

“Oh, my Ancients-” Marella breathed clearly trying not to laugh.

“You’re benched. we’ve only got a few more left anyway,” Dex said, still eyeing his injuries. Keefe honestly didn’t have it in him to argue. Though it didn’t stop him from snatching the other KMD from the bag next to him and securing it to the ground with only a few winces. 

He watch as Dex and Marella placed the last couple of devices. They were clearly talking about something urgent, and from the way, Dex kept on glancing his way, it was probably about Keefe, but he wasn’t close enough to hear and honestly, it was getting on his nerves. What was so important they couldn’t tell it to his face? Probably something you won't like, Keefe thought. He wasn’t always the best at taking bad news, though he didn’t think he was as bad as Fitzy used to be.

“We’re gonna have to jump back to your house before we can set everything off,” Marella stated. 

Keefe balked. “We don’t have time for that!”

She threw up her hands, “Well you went and got yourself hurt and we don’t exactly have another choice.”

“I am fine,” Keefe said, trying to hide the wince that came.

Dex rolled his eyes, “It’s a short pit stop, come on. We’re all done here; a few minutes won’t hurt the schedule.”

Keefe wanted to argue that it would hurt the schedule because the schedule was flawless and nothing mattered more than the schedule. Unfortunately, he knew that neither of them would actually listen to him. 

Admittedly, when it was all done, getting Keefe patched up with the cloth they found and cleaning off the blood took a lot less time than he initially thought. They had found Elwin’s stash of pain killer serums and as soon as Keefe took them he ordered them to get moving. “We’ve got places to be and things to set off!”

“Lead the way, dude,” Dex huffed. After the war, Forkle had ended up showing the rest of the Black Swan members where his office was—with a heavy, heavy swear to never show the council where it was. The best part about Forkle retiring: they could use the dusty office as a great spot to see pranks. That was probably not Forkle’s intent but who could really stop them?

Stepping into the weird round office (what had Sophie said it resembled? A hobbit hole? Keefe put that on the list as a first order of business to figure out when they got to the Forbidden Cities), it was like nothing had changed. TV’s still lined the wall, and the desk in the center had scattered papers from who knows how long ago. From his memory, Sophie was the last person here, she had watched right before she left, she spent almost a whole day just watching. In Keefe’s opinion, it was kind of creepy but it was probably something sentimental to her. It had been a year since then and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. 

They set to work, setting up, connecting cables, dusting (not something Keefe thought this would entail). Their list was made quick work of and soon they were all set up and staring at the screens. People moved like nothing was going to happen, they moved in a trance of things to do and places to be and not a care for the world around them. Keefe remembered a long time ago, Alden saying that elves loved their work, but as he watched people go they didn’t all seem to love it. Their lives were a dull continuous day after day after day with nothing to want and nothing different. Keefe grinned, oh how they would change that. They all held separate controllers, all for different things.

With a nod, Marella started to count down. “Three. Two. One.” She pressed her button and the disks went off. Pink goop (Keefe got the idea from bubble gum, something he had been a tad bit addicted to in his time away) covered everywhere. Luckily, the cameras were high enough that their view wasn’t blocked, because the view from above was amazing. People shouted and left their shops, watching as the mass overtook everywhere. No one was actually in danger, anyone stuck would be just a tad bit uncomfortable but still safe. Dex let out a breathless laugh, “It worked, oh my Ancients it worked!" 

Marella let out a whoop and he couldn’t help but be caught in the crashing wave of her joy. But they weren’t done yet; there was still more to do.

They waited in anxious excitement for the panic to die down before they could release Wave 2. Finally, it was time and Keefe pushed his remote to see glitter fill the air and Biana’s infamous quote light the sky. ”' Sparkles make everything better,’“ Keefe said as he watched the shimmering rain. "That they do, that they do.”

Dex giggled as he pushed his button, releasing the KMD. Keefe was fairly proud of his odd combination of their initials, but it worked well. Keefe’s pink faded into Marella’s orange into Dex’s green in a shimmering rain that morphed into “The Outsiders”, as Dex had called them the night before. 

Keefe swelled with pride, “Now that is something sixteen-year-old me would be hella proud of.”

Marella nodded, “We did something amazing here today, boys.”

“That we did." 

That afternoon, moments before sunset, Dex, Marella, Keefe, Biana, and Elwin stood on the hill behind Elwin’s house. No one knew what to say, no one knew where to start. Honestly, Keefe thought that the only thing keeping Elwin from crying was his silence.

"Really,” Biana spoke startling them all. “You had to use the 'Sparkles make everything better'?”

Marella barked out a laugh. “Hey, we knew it would get your attention,” Dex said.

Biana raised her eyebrow, “Oh, really? Because the giant blob of pink goop in my office and everywhere else wouldn’t?”

“Wellll- it was a fun addition,” Keefe said.

Biana smiled softly, “I’m going to miss you guys.” Keefe couldn’t stop himself anymore and he pulled her into a hug.

“We’ll be back. I promise.”

“You better be, asshole; I can’t fix everything on my own,” Biana whispered into his shoulder.

“And you don’t have to,” Keefe whispered back. If anything, he wanted her to know that before they left. She nodded slowly. 

Keefe felt Dex and Marella join the hug, and eventually so did Elwin and it felt so final that Keefe had to remind himself again and again that it wasn’t; that he’d be back. 

Finally, they pull away, everyone with teary eyes. “If any one of you gets hurt you are calling me immediately, got it?” Elwin stated, point his finger at them.

Dex snorted, “I don’t think it works like that.”

“I do not care, I am not letting anyone of you get hurt by that place,” Elwin said, almost glaring at them. “Are you kidding? The amount of work I’m going to have to go through, detoxing you after you’re exposed to all those-” he waved his hands excessively, “pollutions!”

“Yes sir,” Keefe said as he mock-soluted him.

“We should probably get going,” Marella elbowed him, checking her watch. “Bi? Watch my mom, will you?”

Biana smiled, “Of course.”

Dex gulped, “And watch the triplets for me? And Elwin, talk to my parents? They’ll be mad I didn’t tell them but I just couldn’t say goodbye to them.”

Elwin and Biana nodded. Keefe raised his leaping crystal, “I love you guys.” The beam opened up and before he could bite his tongue, “I love you, Dad.” He stepped through, not even looking to see Elwin’s response.

Marella and Dex met him on the other side, both giving him quizzical looks. “You really just called him Dad for the first time and then ran away for who knows how long?” Dex asked.

“Yup!”

“I thought that impulsive phase was over,” Marella said.

“I'm sorry what have the past two days been?" 

"We don’t talk about that." 

Keefe grinned, "Okay Techmaster, lead the way.” And they were off a clean slate, a fresh beginning.

They had rigged up a computer, a shitty web camera, and a stand duct-taped together in the middle of their small Sydney apartment. Dex stood behind, still messing with the settings as Keefe was trying to fix the crappy white sheet they had hung behind them. “I think it’s fine,” Marella chuckled.

  “Oh suree tell the guy who actually can speak to the tech how it works,” Dex said, rolling his eyes and pressing a few more buttons. Marella moved her fingers around her temple and mouthed, “Crazy” and Keefe found that he couldn’t stop himself from snorting. 

“You know I can see you right.”

“Yup!” Marella and Keefe said in unison, giving in to another round of giggles.

Dex shook his head, “Well, we’re all set up.” For a millisecond Keefe could tell just how nervous Marella was in the way that her eyes darted, trying to make sure everything was holding steady, how her hands silently snapped to some imaginary song. It came off her in waves, though her excitement accompanied it. 

“Okay, you guys ready?” Dex asked. 

Keefe nodded. “Okay, three,” Dex held up three fingers. Two. One. He pointed at them. 

The first round ended prematurely in a fit of giggles. The second with Marella staring blankly, the third with Keefe singing some random song he had heard on the radio because who knew what he was supposed to say? Certainly not him!

It took more tries than Keefe could count and well after the sun went down before they finally had an acceptable intro (they also managed to drag Dex into the actual camera view which was secretly Marella and Keefe’s main goal). 

It took only two days to edit on top of the jobs that they had managed to find. Eventually, they were all standing in front of the computer anxiously watching Dex press the upload button.

“You know,” Dex said, “it’s not going to make any difference with you standing right there.”

“We are witnessing history in the making; we cannot miss out on that!” Keefe yelled dramatically,  met with an exaggerated eye roll. 

It all seemed too simple to be called a beginning, just a click of a button, and they were alive somewhere among the firing code in this vast world.

They were all lounging on the couch when it came. The doorbell rang, and no one moved, except the cat. Dex was too wrapped in his current school project that had to do with writing something that was way above Keefe’s amount of brain cell. Curled on the couch, Marella had her headphones in, editing their newest video that had them trying to paint a posing Dex with their fingers. This ended into chaos which was a surprise to no one. Keefe grinned at the memory as he tried to lure out their new cat that had decide to bolt under the sofa the moment the bell rang. “Come here Marty Jr.,” Keefe cooed.

Marella pulled out one earbud, “Did we really have to name her Marty Jr.?”

“If I recall correctly you didn’t have a better idea at the time,” Keefe retorted.

“I did!” Dex called.

“For the last time, we are not naming her after some weird chemical!”

“Pneumonia is a perfectly reasonable name!”

“Wait,” Marella said, “isn’t that a lung disease?”

“I thought it was some poisonous gas thing?” Keefe said. 

Dex groaned, “Why must I be the only intelligent person here?”

“Look is someone going to get the door? It could be pizza,” Marella said. Keefe groaned and gave up trying to get the cat out from under the couch, going to answer the door. 

No one was outside on the balcony, no one was in the courtyard except for the neighbor's kids. But there was pizza on the ground, still in the box, and it smelt like heaven. On top of the box was an envelop. “Did either of you order a mysterious pizza and a suspicious-looking envelope?” Keefe called out, carrying the box into the house.

“No?” Dex said, his face twisted in confusion. 

“Well, looks like we got a surprise then.”

Marella came up behind him, Marty Jr. sitting comfortably in her arms, “What’s in the envelope?”

“Just a letter,” Keefe said. It was a letter, but when he unfolded it, it held a handwriting he would never mistake. Biana’s. “What the-” Keefe started but Marella snatched the paper out of his hands. 

“She wants to meet us,” Marella whispered. 

“Where?" 

"In some cabin in the US.”

Keefe groaned, “Crap, we don’t have that kinda money without it being sponsored.”

Dex grinned holding up the discarded envelope, “She already thought of that.” He pulled out three plane tickets. 

Keefe grinned, “Well, I guess we’re going to America.”

[missinghan]

young & beautiful ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : zombie apocalypse!au; punk! au

❖ word count : 13,1k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of alcohol & violence 

❖ summary : you’ve always thought your soulmate was an idiot to not be there sooner but eventually, everything connects when it started with Lee Felix holding your best friend at gunpoint. 

one.

Jisung puffs his cheeks out and stares at his own reflection on the glass table. The bartender quickly comes back, pushing a tequila sunrise towards his direction. The boy takes an awful amount of time to study how the yellow, almost orange liquid bleeds into a deep red effortlessly. 

He shakes his bang away furiously, calling out for the bartender. “Uhm, I just ordered a Coke. Not this.” 

“Have a drink kid, it’s on me.”

He pushes the glass away. “No thanks.” 

“What kind of adult doesn’t drink alcohol in desperate times?” 

“Then what kind of bartender doesn’t run for his life when ravenous freaks are lurking the streets?”

The bartender tips his head back and laughs wholeheartedly. “Listen, kid. It’s either beating the shit out of someone or getting wasted to keep the little amount of sanity left on your mind. So I’m staying here for them alcoholics. Business is running low, not taking any risks.” He wipes his hand onto his white apron, throwing him a playful wink. “Call me if you need anything.” 

Jisung beams innocently. “Do you have a pencil? And paper too?”

“Jisung you can’t be serious, where are you?”

Minutes later, he’s starting to regret the questionable-looking sketch of a squirrel on the piece of paper that the bartender gave him. Instead, he presses the tip of the pencil harder onto the surface until it snaps in half, leaving the sharp wooden edges sticking out. He can kill the bartender with this if he decides to spike his drink, Jisung figures. He hesitantly brings the rim of the glass to his lips and takes the smallest sip possible. The burning sensation goes down his throat in matters of seconds. His entire windpipe feels like it’s on fire. 

“Hey, I need some water..” He chokes out as someone enters the bar. 

The bartender averts his gaze onto the new customer. “Cool, what about you?”

The unfamiliar figure sits beside him, murmuring. “I’m not here for the drinks, but him.” 

The bartender looks confused. “A water it is then?”

Jisung’s head starts spinning slightly, dizziness bubbling up inside his chest. He hiccups with the pencil held between his fingers. Something’s wrong with this man. He needs to get out of here, now. “Sorry, I don’t feel too well. I think I’ll get back to—“ Just when he slips himself off the stool, two other men appear out of nowhere and block his way as the first one firmly holds him in place by his shoulders. Jisung immediately turns to the bartender, signaling him to run with his eyes. And the bartender does as he insists. 

One of the thugs growls gruffly, making Jisung drop the black duffle bag in his hand. “You’re gonna have to pay for what you did, boy.”

“Hi, I’m Jisung. Sup guys?” 

“Did you just say ‘Hi, I’m Jisung’?”

Jisung grimaces as you hiss into the earpiece, the sound screeching against his eardrums. In which, it doesn't really help to cool the situation down. He drops onto his knees when a guy kicks him in the shin, face scrunching up in pain. One of the guys surrounded him hides behind a face mask, whipping out a dagger concealed in his sleeve. With a cheerful voice, “There’s nothing to be all grabby and stabby about.” Jisung gulps. He’d be lying if he said that he’s not about to piss his pants. 

“Uhm, do you like the color red?” 

The one who’s holding him down snaps, pulling his collar backward. “Shut it, twig.” He elbows him at the back of his head, earning a low, painful grunt. 

Jisung asks, as light as a feather, he’s trying too hard to form a proper sentence at this point. “What about coding? Do you like coding? You guys look pretty smart, you must be into coding.”

“Jisung, the hell-- CODE RED, JEONGIN, CODE RED! JISUNG’S IN TROUBLE!” 

He sighs in relief when you finally understand, limbs growing wobbly. 

“Han, get the hell out of there! I swear--”

Your words get cut off when a goon peels the earpiece away harshly, examining the device with an amused smirk. “Look at this toy, it might be pretty expensive.” Then, he looks at his gang member and cocks a brow. “Why don’t we just take him with us? He’ll lead us right back to their hiding spot.” His team quickly nod their heads in agreement, staring down at the blond-haired boy with mischievous eyes. 

With his head dangled low, Jisung’s limbs are giving in but the grip on the pencil never once loosens. “Okay..” He slowly looks up and shoots them a look, chuckling darkly. “This is gonna be fun.” In a split second, the sharp end of the pencil goes straight into the goon’s stomach, making him stagger backward and groan aloud in agony. Although Jisung’s frame is quite small compared to what a standard fighter needs to be, he never fails to take advantage of that. If he’s smaller, he’s gonna be faster than them. 

He sweeps a leg across the ground, one of the men falls onto his head, easily slipping into a good sleep until the zombies come in and take care of his unconscious body. Jisung catches the earpiece when it falls out of the goon’s hand. “Thanks, I’m gonna need my toy back.” Before he can slip the device on again, an arm sweeps under his feet and he lands right onto his bottom. “Using fire against fire. Smartass.” He mutters and clumsily props himself up from facepalming himself onto a pool of fresh blood that’s slowly seeping through the tiled floor. 

The only conscious goon smirks down at him. “I don’t like coding. But I do like the color red.” When Jisung flutters his eyes upwards, he’s met with a shiny metal blade, inevitable to drive down, straight into his chest, right through his heart. He automatically squeezes his eyes shut as an attempt to brace himself for the contact. 

“Hey asshole,” His eyes shoot open at the more than familiar voice. 

two.

You’re so screwed. You’re all fucking screwed. 

You’re not screwed because you completely forgot that you have four finals in a row next week. You’re not screwed because you broke your mom’s favorite mug or accidentally had a scratch on your dad’s car. Heck, you wish they could beat you with a wooden spoon right now. If only they’re still alive. You’d have your parents put you in timeout and fail four subjects all at once just so that everything can be normal again. 

In movies, particularly ‘Zombieland’ or ‘The Walking Dead’, humans are being controlled by a virus that turns you into a walking corpse that feeds off humans’ flesh. But, we naturally do have plenty of brain disorders that can do just that. However, none of those things were contagious in the first place. Until Mad Cow Disease came along. Who would have thought? Cows are simply being part of the food chain then an entire square block, forty bedrooms, and nineteen bathrooms; everyone in your neighborhood went apeshit after the steak they had for dinner. 

It’s a miracle how you even managed to run away without being bit by your own parents, who are now brainless serial killers. The idea of eating someone’s organs doesn’t seem too far-fetched anymore when you know that you’re only one brain chemical away from turning to a psychotic cannibal. That’s not even the irony of the whole situation. Irony, is how ready your current generation is for the end of the world, but not exams. 

Hence, you’re gonna throw a birthday party for one of your best friends like nothing’s ever happened. Except for the fact that you’ll have to lure him out of the sanctuary while the others are working on the surprise. 

Now you’re sitting in an abandoned bar, attempting to cheer your friend up with a shot of whiskey. You’ve never really liked the idea of being inside a bar before. Drowning yourself in alcohol and letting the night snatch your consciousness away as you sway your body along with bad EDM, going deaf with laughter and music banging against your eardrums? Not ideal. But now, it’s all empty. The neon lights are hanging by a single cable, wallpapers chipping off with discolorations soaking through the wall. The once infamous bar where students used to get wasted every weekend is now dead. Both literally and metaphorically. You’re not complaining anyway. 

“Hey Jeongin,” you speak up lowly. “Have you ever hit a girl before?” You run your tongue over the cut right on your bottom lip, tasting the coppery blood in boredom. 

Jeongin stares blankly at the glass of whiskey that you just offered him, studying the yellowish component closely. “No? Why would I?” He looks up and almost freezes to death with the look that you’re throwing his way. He can’t tell whether you’re mad or not because you’re that type of person who doesn’t necessarily need to go all furious or mad to scare the shit out of someone. 

“No? Oh, don’t mind me,” you shake your head, low chuckles vibrating through your chest capacity. “I was just gonna ask you how it feels. You know, to kick someone in the gut or punch them in the face when you know they’re clearly not your size.” You sigh and prop your head onto your hand, eyes slightly heavy from the alcohol kick. It’s been a while since you’ve messed with these things. “Right, sorry. Not my point. My point is: stop being a big baby and get out there, talk it out with Jisung you little shit!”

The boy in front of you quickly looks away when you stare him dead in the eye. He swallows heavily, picking at the ripped part of his jeans. “I’m not gonna talk it out with him. That was stupid, irresponsible and reckless. He could have just let it be and not have his jaw broken. He was supposed to sneak in, get out, and act like nothing’s ever happened. Instead, he got caught at a bar, waved at them and even said ‘Hi, I’m Jisung’. He didn’t even get anything but got you in danger! Look at you! Minho would kill us if he saw you with a thousand arrow wounds like this!” He throws his hands upwards and cries out. “I swear to God, I’d never sign up to save his ass, ever, again. I swear—“

You clear your throat, wordlessly dropping a black duffel bag onto the counter with a loud thud. Jeongin’s mouth forms an ‘o’ as his hands automatically unzip the bag, revealing an awful amount of weapons: shotguns, rifles, knives, crowbars, etc. Heck, even some food. God, Jeongin can’t even remember the last time he’s had a proper meal. He subconsciously runs his hand along the matte-finished surface of a firearm, a retort lingering on the tip of his tongue. “Wow,” he utters. “He really— he got them.” 

“He did.” You cock a brow, leaning forward and zip the bag up again. “And tell you what, even if you’re not gonna be there when Jisung makes a bad decision again, I will. Because you know damn well that there’s nothing in this world that he wouldn’t hesitate to do as long as your little junkie ass is safe.”

“HEY, WE CAN TALK THIS OUT, CHILL—“

“I said hands up! DROP THE GUN!”

“Chan, DON’T DO IT!”

You and Jeongin quickly collect yourselves, scrambling out of the bar. When the door swings wide open, you’re met with Jisung on his knees, hands behind his head, his Benelli M4 abandoned by a water bottle near the entrance. Meanwhile, there are two other guys who seem like they’re talking amongst themselves as they hold your best friend at gunpoint. Your fingers hover over the pistol in your back pocket, mentally debating if you should engage or not. 

The more you’re lost into your own thoughts, the more you find yourself staring at the pink-haired boys standing beside the brunette one, who’s having a handgun, pointing right at Jisung. The freckled boy has you drawn into him like instant gravity because suddenly, it feels like the world stops spinning when he looks up and accidentally meets your eyes. That’s when you take a closer look at his features. Perfect dark eyebrows, bright beady eyes, and prominent Cupid’s bow. His freckles are what throw you off, making it possible to look away because they’re like embers of disintegrated supernovas, scattered across the universe for eternities. 

“Everyone calm down!” You snap out of it and break eye contact. As much as you’d love to stare at the freckled cutie all day, you’re gonna cut him in his sleep if he dares to put a finger on Jisung. “Lay off my friend. Now.” You declare and receive attention from the brunette as he tells you off with his eyes. 

The guy who you assume is called, Chan jerks his head towards Jisung. “Tell your friend that it’d be nice if he could give it back.” 

“Give what back?” You turn to Jisung. “Han, we’ve talked about this. We don’t steal from anyone, besides street gangs.” You tell him firmly, motioning for him to hand over whatever the fuck of a thing that those two strangers need because him getting killed for something as childish as a slice of cheesecake is gonna drive you nuts. 

Jisung opens up his left palm and shows you a silver wedding band, smiling awkwardly as you hold yourself back from decking him in the face. “Look, I was just looking around and I found this thing, and I got curious then they just came back and deadass threatened me with their guns!” He adds in. “I don’t know what’s the big deal with this ring anyway. Looks like someone bought it on eBay.” 

“Say that again, I dare you.” Chan tightens his grip on the gun and clicks in a bullet. As soon as you hear the bullet being locked in to the chamber, your hand automatically flies to your back pocket and pulls out your pistol. You directly aim at his head, finger trembling over the trigger when you switch off the safety catch. “Give-it-back,” Chan says through gritted teeth. 

“Jisung..” You warn him. 

Jisung protests. “Like hell I would.”

“I never miss, just throwing that out there,” Chan says indifferently

“I SAID PUT THE GUN DOWN.”

“ENOUGH!” Jeongin snaps, catching all of you off guard. “We are surrounded by mindless cannibals over here! We all went through it, we all were there when our family turned into those monsters, we all had those times where we had no place to go, no food to eat, no friends to be there for us. Don’t we have enough problems? For fuck’s sake look at us! Is pointing guns and yelling at each other gonna bring the good days back? So would you guys just stop it? We’re a bunch idiots trying to kill each other when the end is fucking near! Can’t we just be friends and play some dumbass games like ‘20 Questions’ like decent human beings while we’re driving them back to the safehouse ?” 

You stare at him in awe for a moment there, your muscles relaxing and giving up on the gun. Jeongin gives Chan a Look, chest heaving up and down in pure furiosity. Sometimes the idea of surviving does mess with your mind, forgetting that people are still people. They’re just like you. They’ve gone through some pretty bad shits too. 

Chan retrieves his weapon, sighing. “Sorry, we really mean no harm. It’s just that we need it back.” He scratches his neck sheepishly as two dimples are fully on display. He’s not so scary when he smiles after all. 

 “I’m gonna have to confiscate that for the time being.” You snatch the piece of jewelry from Jisung’s hand. “We’ll talk about this when you guys are back at our base.” 

“But—“

“Chan, let her. It’s fine.” The freckled boy interrupts him. 

You look at him and subconsciously smile. “Oh? I’m sorry, does this belong to you? Aren’t you scared that I’m gonna throw this pretty little thing away later?” 

He replies with mild interest. “I don’t think you’d wanna do that, you could have just kept it to yourself.” 

“No, Charming. It’s not my style.” You voice as you stare down at the ring, studying every little detail carefully. The silver band is exquisite with a sterling double knot, adding a unique touch to the elegant simplicity of the ring. You think you’re already falling in love, but are you really gonna tell him that? Most definitely not. “Yep, not my style. And I’ll throw it away someday, that’s for threatening my friend.” 

He makes a face and takes a few steps towards you. “I have a name.”

“Don’t care. ‘Charming’ suits you pretty well.” 

“It’s Felix. You’re welcome.” He grins, offering you a hand. You decide to take it, kind of taken aback when knowing that his hand is a lot smaller compared to the average guys’. “And I wouldn’t worry about that, you won’t be going home with it anyway. ‘Cause I’ll always find you, always.” He squeezes your hand a little bit too tight for your liking, making you flinch. 

Little did you know, behind his back, Felix’s counting down from one two three with his fingers, Chan watching him closely with his gun ready. 

Three. 

Two. 

One.

Jisung quickly notices and reaches out to you. “Y/N!” And one single shotgun rings through the area. 

three.

On the outskirts of the once stellar city, lies a warehouse in a not so stellar neighborhood. Dead leaves are falling onto the ground, scraping against the concrete surface, and sending chills down people’s spine. It’s like they’re not even trying to grow properly even when it’s not halfway through spring yet. The eerie atmosphere is just another reason for people to not wander around for too long, as if they’d have the gut to come there in the first place. But it’s still a zombie apocalypse, there are worse things that could happen either way. 

You’d be surprised at what people can do when they’re dangling off the fingertips of Death. 

People would never guess what’s hidden behind the crooked door. A living room fully equipped with an outdated couch and broken TV, a kitchen with everything but a fridge. Further into the safe house is a bedroom big enough for ten people to fit in, a storage room full of firearms and weapons. Last but not least, security cameras and monitors are set up all around the base, to be more secure. No zombies in this household. It took you and the guys forever to collect enough materials. The only thing that you’re constantly running low on is food. 

And turns out Jisung calling your name wasn't the last thing you’d heard. 

“Ugh, Minho, get me water,” You groan loudly before wagging your hand around like a madwoman. Once you feel the cool metal surface on the nightstand, you quickly check your own reflection. Needless to say, you’re horrified at what you saw. Absolutely terrifying, yes. Hair falling onto your face, tiny scratches scattered across your cheekbones as they leave an itchy sensation of your skin. Fortunately, the cut on your lips is already cleaned, and your bruises are starting to fade. But what sucks is the constant banging effect on your temple, an imminent pain that’s threatening to swallow you whole. 

Yeah, this is why you never drink. 

“Minho, water..” Your whimper grows smaller and smaller towards the end as your hand gives up on holding onto your phone. “Is this what whiskey does to the human body?” You smack your lips together as the bitter taste seeps through your taste buds more deeply, choking on the alcohol smell in your own throat. 

Minho takes long strides into the bedroom with a bowl of piping hot soup. “Whiskey contains almost no sugar, can reduce blood clots, decreases your chances of getting a heart attack, even a stroke, fights cancerous cells and..” He pauses before wiggling his eyebrows. “Helps you perform better in bed.” He chuckles when you bury your face under your blanket, cheeks tinted pink. He will never not get you with his less than appropriate comments. 

“You’re gross.” 

Minho smirks. “Low blow.” He cranes his neck tiredly, lips curling upwards into a small smile. “You’re quite lucky. Whoever was trying to kill you missed.” 

Your brows automatically knit together as you try to gather the small pieces of memories your brain can muster. Everything that happened yesterday seems too cloudy for you to comprehend, but you could never forget the moment Chan’s bullet missed you by a strand of hair, piercing straight into the plexiglass window right behind you to catch you off guard. Next thing you know, Felix kicked the back of your knees, having you land on buckling ankles. 

You tell Minho sternly. “If he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t have come back in one piece.” You hold in a breath, in disbelief of your own words. “He spared my life, believe it or not.” Chan let you go, but why would he? You did piss him and his friend off intentionally because you never know what you’re getting yourself into. 

Minho figures you might have hit your head somewhere, so he places your food on the nightstand and scoffs. “Eat up, you’re talking a shit ton for someone who almost died.”

“Where’s Han?” You gladly receive the bowl of soup with two hands, mouth watering slightly since you haven’t eaten since yesterday. 

As if on cue, you can hear Jisung shrieking from downstairs. “NO NO NO! DON’T SHOOT ME WITH MY OWN GUN!” 

You and Minho exchange a look before rushing outside, dashing towards the living room. “Oh, you gotta be shitting me.” The commotion inside has your jaw dropped to the floor. Again, Jisung is held at gunpoint for the fourth time of the week, you’re quite surprised that his head hasn’t been blown into bits yet. With the gun pressed against his temple, beside him is the freckled boy from yesterday. Felix, if you’re not mistaken. Chan’s here too, neither of them is looking too happy. If Hyunjin was here seeing two strangers try to threaten his best friend, he’d definitely go apeshit. 

“Woah woah, what’s the problem here?” Your brother, Woojin comes out from the kitchen with wide eyes and two glasses of water in his hands. “Lix, put the gun down.” He tells the younger boy firmly, but Felix doesn’t even move an inch.  

He cocks his head towards Jisung, a scowl adorning his soft features. “It wouldn’t have to be like this if your friend here didn’t steal my ring. Twice.” 

“Jisung, seriously?” You facepalm yourself. You can still vividly remember how Felix snatched the piece of jewelry away from your palm when your face smacked the ground. And now Jisung decided to take it back? Without your consent? You’re not taking a bullet for him, not this time. 

Jisung puts his hands up in defeat. “Okay okay, I have a confession.” He inhales. “I sold it.” Just when you thought things can’t possibly get any worse. 

“What?!” You and Felix exclaim simultaneously. 

Felix tongues the inside of his cheek in annoyance. “Come here, tell you what..” 

The moment Jisung takes a step towards him, Felix takes his hand in a little bit too abruptly. He twists it at a weird angle, making Jisung wince. “That, is for selling the ring.” He presses your friend harshly against the coffee table, the handle of the gun secured on the nape of his neck, and you grimace at the sight. But also, you’re low-key enjoying this. “And that, is for being a little shit. You’re coming with me tomorrow, no negotiation.” 

Felix soon lets go when your brother glares at him, smiling softly, warm brown eyes twinkling like a starry night. Jisung backs away almost immediately in caution when he offers to pull him upright and cowers behind Minho. You can tell that he’s terrified of the seemingly harmless freckled boy now. This is what he gets for never learning, he’s made a grave mistake to touch someone’s property in the middle of an apocalypse, where everyone’s more than ready to tear each other apart when they’re pissed about off about something as little as being hangry. “Huh, you’re not very into handshakes then. Don’t you want your gun back too?” He puts his hands into the pockets of his jeans, turning to meet Woojin’s eyes. 

“Alright, we’ll have to talk about this later.” Your brother merely sneers at Jisung. “I’ll reintroduce you guys. Y/N, my sister.” He motions towards you before averting his attention to the other two. “That’s Minho, find him if you’re injured or need someone to knock some solid logic into your head.” Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. “And the moron who, uh, robbed you is Jisung. He’s a really good guy, I swear. His hands are apparently faster than his brain.” 

Chan speaks up dryly. “So he’s a doctor, and a part-time therapist.” Minho nods satisfactorily. “And he’s an idiot.” Jisung just smiles awkwardly because he’s not planning on getting his ass kicked again. At least not for the time being. 

You interject, still drowning in confusion. “Wait, you know him?” 

“Yeah, he’s the son of our parents’ former business partners. You guys used to hang out as toddlers.” Woojin says. 

You widen your eyes. “What?” You can’t believe it. Felix is ridiculously attractive (you’d hate to admit that in front of him) so hanging out with a boy this cute, even not for long would still definitely leave you with some kind of impression. There’s no way this charming guy had witnessed those times where you’re still taking medicine by swallowing them down with chocolate pudding. You’d rather bury yourself alive at this point. 

“The Lees made that?” You gasp.

Woojin nods reluctantly. “They sure did.” 

Felix takes a few steps forward and looks down at you, decreasing the distance between your faces. His minty breath fans your face and leaves you flustered within seconds. “Long time no see, Princess. Told you I will always find you.” He throws you a wolfish wink, proceeding to walk past you to go upstairs with Chan following him after. 

“Hey! I still want my gun back!” Jisung yells after him. 

The pet name that rolled off his tongue effortlessly sends your heartbeat over the edge. It’s beating vigorously inside your rib cage, louder than when your parents were about to eat you alive, louder than when you were kicked to the curb by some random mobs, so loud that you’re afraid everyone’s gonna hear it. It’s only your second encounter and he’s already messing with your heart just by simply existing as he is. 

Jesus fucking Christ. Now, you’re really screwed. 

Because falling for someone during an apocalypse is just another fucked up version of every rom-com to ever exist. Or maybe a knocked-off version of Warm Bodies, except Felix isn’t a zombie.

Yet.

four.

You wake up today feeling quite at peace for once in a while since the zombies outbreak only to find out that Jisung is heading outside to search for medicine with Minho. Meaning, drum rolls, you’re having the honor to go with Prince Charming aka Lee Felix and retrieve his stupid ring. You’re far too mad at Woojin to even finish the can of tuna that he kindly offered. Instead, you decide to bolt outside as soon as possible before you accidentally murder your brother. 

“Get in Princess, we don’t have all day!” Felix calls out loudly as he repeatedly honks his car. Admittedly, you’re quite impressed that he managed to find a whole ass Jeep in the middle of this ghost town. 

You enter the car, almost gasping at how good of a condition that this car is still in. Whoever owned this vehicle previously, God bless them because they definitely did a great job at keeping it nice and clean. There are no questionable items lying on the floor or inside one of the cabinets, the AC is still working, the radio isn’t showing those creepy statics sounds that never fail to chill you to the bones. 

Felix perks a brow in amusement. “It’s mine, by the way, I did a great job at keeping it clean huh?” When you give him nothing but a scowl, he chuckles lightheartedly and starts the engine. “Buckle up, I don’t want you to suddenly fly out of the window or anything.”

“Oh, you’re pretty shit at driving then.” You comment flatly, making an effort to avoid his eyes. They keep drawing you in even at the slightest chance. You’re not falling into that downward spiral again, nope, never. But you can’t help but notice how he still looks good in a bomber jacket with a simple tee underneath, tucked neatly inside his ripped jeans. 

Upon your cold response, Felix’s smile remains still on his lips. “Said someone who can’t even drive.” He snickers somewhat sarcastically. Wow, do you miss bickering with Minho about his three spoiled cats. 

“Sure, hand over the keys unless you want us both to play tennis with Hitler in the afterlife.” You protest with as much sarcasm. God, it’s been two minutes into the ride and the amount of willpower you’re mustering right now to not grab him by the collar and yank his ass out of this car is actually terrifying. But doing that can potentially threaten your own life so indeed, you’re starting to wonder if that’s gonna be the wisest decision. “What’s the big deal with that ring anyway? Can’t you just break into some jewelry store and find another one that you like?”

Felix looks into the distance, his smile faltering. “My mom wanted me to give it to the girl that I’m willing to spend the rest of my life with. Even when things are fucked up, like right about… now..” He tells you sternly with a hint of sadness in his tone, his warm brown eyes are now cloudy. It’s hard to break through the wall that he’s trying to build, but you don’t think you both are close enough to talk about these things anyway. 

If anything, you should try to lighten up the mood. “Good luck with that. Because the only thing you’re gonna be willing to live with now is a gun and those packets of Tim Tam Slam.” 

He turns sideways to make eye contact with you for a split second before averting his gaze back on the road. So you actually pay attention to the little details. “Call it.” Felix smiles again, and somehow, you feel like a weight is being lifted off your chest. “And mind you, I have a fiancé. Well, more like ‘had’ but whatever, doesn’t matter, same thing.” 

You nearly choke on your own saliva, eyes as wide as a goldfish’s. “You have a what?!”

“Relax, haven’t you heard of an arranged marriage before?” He looks at you as if you’re some kind of alien species from outer space. “I was gonna give the ring to her but bummer, your friend just had to sell it.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you hold back a chuckle with a hand secured on your mouth. “Wow..” You manage to choke out between giggles. “You must be getting something impressive to be able to agree to marry a goody-two-shoes who owns more money than what she knows to do with.”

“Pardon?” Felix snorts involuntarily. “What does that suppose to mean? Are you insulting my marriage?”

‘Insulting’ is an understatement for an entire lecture that you’ve already planned out in your head that you’re about to give him a piece of but you don’t think he’s ready for that just yet. Instead, you counter softly. “Not quite, but for the most parts, yeah, I guess I am.” He tightens his grip on the steering wheel and proceeds to throw daggers towards your direction with his eyes every three seconds. “But let me ask you this. If you wanna give that ring to your fiancé so badly, then do you really love her? Or is everything just a contract so that you won’t put your parents’ company at risk?” 

A comfortable silence falls upon the both of you as Felix starts replaying your words over and over again in his mind. He’s never the type to go out and about, looking for love like it’s the only purpose of his life. He’s never dated anyone before. He used to believe that love always comes at the most unexpected moment for the longest time and he should be waiting, not searching. He didn’t think much about the arranged marriage either. She was a nice girl, but they’ve only talked twice, and nothing really clicked like how he imagined love would feel like. Felix knew, he knew deep down that it wouldn’t work out after all but he was just too much of a coward to admit it. But your words hit differently, imprinting him with a little something called ‘reality’. 

Everything’s kinda screwed right now, no one knows how much longer humanity can keep up with this whole survival situation. Living on the streets, and can never get a good night's sleep. Although it does sting a bit knowing that he might die alone on this planet, it definitely gives him another point of view to look at the relationship between him and his fiancé. He doesn’t even want to imagine living in the same house with her at this point. 

“Your mom wanted you to give it to someone special right?” You tell him softly, a hand brushing over his as an attempt to soothe the ache in his chest. “Then you gotta find them. It’s not over yet. But that doesn’t mean there’s much time left. You don’t have to keep running towards something that isn’t worth it in the first place anymore.” You pause for a moment, lips curling upwards. “Because if we cease to believe in love, why would we want to live?”

Felix bursts into laughter and brushes your hand off of him. “Ew! You stole that from a movie and it’s not even good. Jesus Y/N, get some counseling.”

“Don’t shit on my pop culture references like that you uncultured swine.” 

“Just don’t do that again.”

You roll your eyes at him. “One more word and I’ll burn you down with this Jeep.” And he just smirks at you because he knows for sure that you won’t have the heart to destroy such a good car when the world is literally falling apart. Because chances are, you hate your dad’s old grey Innovator that only pumps lukewarm air inside the vehicle. In which, isn’t the most ideal thing for an apocalypse. But Woojin loves that thing far too much to throw it away so you’ve never had the heart to tell him to. 

Felix calmly parks on a random sidewalk before taking the key and exits the car. “We’re here.” You follow him not long after, eyes squinted due to the brightness of the daylight. Even though you’re barely seeing anything, you can’t seem to recognize this neighborhood. And it doesn’t look very sketchy either, pretty mediocre to say the least. You can’t seem to remember if Woojin has taken you here or not. And you’re starting to wonder how many zombies are hiding behind those buildings, seeing your scent as a solution for their never-ending thirst. Who the hell did Jisung sell that ring to?

Felix narrows his eyes and spots something in the distance. “Y/N, are you seeing this?” You quickly stand beside him, and slowly, a slouched figure comes into view. “I’ll take care of that.” He places a hand on your shoulder when the figure picks up its pace, the muscles on your back tense up at his touch. “Trust me, I’m not gonna accidentally blow your head into bits.”

“Down!” 

You quickly duck and slide yourself across the concrete surface in time before Felix can swing the baseball bat straight into your face. The bat comes in contact with the zombie harshly enough to knock it backward, onto her bottom. You and Felix look at each other for a solid three seconds before approaching the zombie again, examining her more closely. Her once blond hair is now doused in nothing but blood, sticking to her face and neck. Both of her lips are completely distorted as if another zombie gave her the kiss of Death (quite literally) as a welcome ritual. Suddenly, she jolts up from her lying position, hands wagging in midair to grab onto something. 

You jump backward on instinct as Felix brings the baseball bat down again, and again, and again until you can’t even make out the horrendous features of the zombie anymore. He scrunches his nose at the smell of the poisoned blood and tosses the metal bat away. “Never hurts to double-tap, better not get blood on my white Jeep.” 

You blurt subconsciously. “Impressive, Charming.” Okay but in your defense, Felix just smacked the hell out of the zombie with a baseball bat, he basically saved your life. Although you’re fully capable of protecting yourself, that was pretty hot. 

He’s too busy fixing the sleeves of his shirt but his eyes immediately light up at your words. “Say that again?”

“In your freaking dreams, Lee.” 

Felix pulls you in and ruffles your hair, rocking you side to side happily. “Don’t be so uptight! Complimenting me once in a while wouldn’t kill anyone now, would it?” When he’s too immersed in annoying the shit out of you, something falls out of his pocket with a small ‘clang’. 

“Wait, you dropped something—“ You manage to wiggle out of his embrace and bend down to pick it up, and your mind just stops. “Felix…isn’t that your ring?”

five. 

“Jesus Christ!” Woojin almost yells when he sees a black-eyed Felix exiting the kitchen with an ice pack on his right hand, lips swollen with several cuts across his face. “What happened to you?”

You walk into the living room not long after, tiny scratches are scattered all over your pale knuckles, blood trickling down on your cheeks like you’ve been crying red. “Okay,” Woojin shakes his head, pushing himself up from the beige-colored couch. “What the fuck happened to the both of you?”

“I punched him in the face.” “She punched me in the face.” The both of you confess in sync, exchanging questionable looks before turning away from each other. 

“And why is there blood on your face again?” Woojin swears, if Felix dares to touch you, he will put his head on a chopping block, not to mention hurting you. 

You shrug back, grabbing a water bottle from the coffee table and chug on it generously. “It’s not mine.” Without turning your head, you hand the bottle over to Felix. The boy gladly receives it, downing the whole thing left in one go. “Anyway, some mobsters appeared out of nowhere and they wanted his stupid ring. I got my ass kicked for a goddamn piece of jewelry, twice.” You merely glare at Felix who’s applying pressure to the cool pack of ice against his bruised eye, wincing every once in a while. He does feel kinda guilty, believe it or not. Maybe lying wasn’t the best option to get you to hang out with him more. There’s no way you two could have died back there, but he would be more than ready to throw the ring away for the sake of your safety. 

But either way, Jisung’s gonna be dead meat to you after this. 

“You do realize that we just kissed indirectly right?” Felix laughs when you chuck the now empty water bottle at him, hissing in anger. He’s acting like such a Lee, irritating, and carefree most of the time. In which, makes you wanna kill him with your bare hands even more in these kinds of situations. “Come here, a princess shouldn’t have blood on her pretty face.” He manages to turn you around and face him as he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. When he leans down slightly to wipe the crimson stickiness away, your once tense muscles now relax, loosening themselves. 

Within this proximity, you’re able to take a closer look at his starry eyes with long lashes framing them perfectly, his cute button nose, his peachy lips and how his freckles are more beautiful than anything you’ve seen before. One of his hands holds your neck in place while the other is secured on your waist so it’s easier for him to get a better angle. Felix furrows his brows every now and then, being careful and gentle at the same time to get rid of the blood off your face completely. He did pull you into doing the dirty business after all. Might as well make up for it. 

You didn’t push him away because this feels...safe, and right. He makes you feel at ease after the longest time, it’s like nothing you’ve experienced before. Not even your brother can possess this sense of comfort in his presence. It almost makes you smile which is seemingly paradoxical because forty minutes ago, you were figuring out ways to hide a corpse since you couldn’t stand his nosy ass for much longer. 

“Ew, I’m getting out of here. I can’t bear seeing this.” Woojin makes a gagging noise before stumbling out of the living room with his cup of espresso, leaving you and Felix alone in the living room. A muffled silence occurs for the next thirty seconds. 

“There,” He clears his throat before pulling away. “Done.” 

You look away. “Thanks, you didn’t have to do that though.”

“Anything for my princess.”

You ignore his cheeky smile before rummaging through the wooden drawers. “Sit down.” You demand once you pull out a mini first aid kit, Minho always keeps those randomly around the house just in case. One can never be too careful after all. Felix does as you say, taking a seat on the couch. He watches you taking out a cotton swab with a bottle of sanitizing solution. “Lean in.” You command while dipping the cotton swab into the solution, his hand brushing over your thigh accidentally. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head as an attempt to hide the coral tint on your cheeks. “This is gonna hurt though…” You warn him, cotton swab hovering over one of the cuts on his cheeks. Felix nods obediently, clenching his fists and squeezes his eyes shut to brace himself for the burn. He can’t gush over how cute you look anymore since he’s secretly terrified of cleaning wounds. But who isn’t?

You smirk internally. “Okay, I’m gonna count down from three to one.”

“Three..” A single drop of cold sweat rolls down on his temple. 

“Two..” He holds his breath. But before he can react properly, you’re already pressing the cotton swab onto his wound, your other hand pinning his down firmly. “Felix quit moving already! How old are you for fuck’s sake?!” You laugh wholeheartedly, struggling to hold him in place while cleaning his opened cuts with the solution. 

Felix shrieks like a little child. “Ah! Ow! Y/N! Ah! Y/N! Y/N, I SWEAR TO GOD!” He succeeds in pulling away after a good three minutes, the burn from the alcohol feels like there’s fire coursing through his veins, burning a hole right through his skin. He’s not doing that ever again. “That hurt like a motherfucker.” Whimpering, his brows are knitted together in agony when you put a bandage over the wound. “You didn’t even finish counting, I hate you.”

 “There there you big baby.” Smiling at him, your hand gently caresses his calloused ones. It doesn’t take him long to realize how soft your hands are, and how cold they are compared to him too. So he decides to link your fingers together, hoping to give you some of his warmth. You completely freeze at his action and choose to look anywhere but his eyes, from the broken TV to the random magazines on the coffee table and his shiny pistol next to them. 

Felix brushes his thumb over the back of your hand and chuckles. “See, you do know how to smile. It’s not that hard to smile in front of me after all, is it?” He brings your knuckles to his lips and peppers small kisses over them lovingly. It makes his heart crack a little upon seeing them all scratched up, because of him. Little actions like this always make you feel fuzzy on the inside, especially when it comes from someone like Felix? You’re done for. 

“I didn’t see this. I’ve never seen this. I’m not seeing this. I will never see this again.” He pulls away shyly when Jisung starts teasing you both as he passes by the living room from upstairs. Oh right, weren’t you planning on decking his face for setting you on a ‘date’ with a guy you hardly know only after three solid days when he kicked your ass?

“HAN JISUNG GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!” 

six.

Falling for Lee Felix is scarier than getting infected with the Mad Cow Disease (or Mad Zombie Disease). It’s official. But knowing the basic bitch that you are, being loopy in love with him is quite inevitable. There’s no use fighting against fate anyway, still, you’re going to postpone it for as long as you can because you definitely don’t wanna get too attached during an apocalypse. 

Sadly, having Felix share a room with Chan right beside yours doesn’t exactly help you avoid him. He always roams the house half-naked at night like he’s trying to put his chiseled abs up for auction after every shower. One time he almost gave you a cardiac arrest when you found him rummaging through the fridge at two in the morning without a shirt on. There were some nights where you didn’t even get a wink of sleep because Chan and he were too busy jamming to music even though they know that the walls in this house are clearly paper-thin. However, you chose to let them slide for the sake of Jisung’s and Minho’s so-called ‘beauty sleep’ aka their spontaneous cuddle sessions throughout the day. That’s only an excuse to avoid him even more. 

Felix obviously knows what’s up, so he’s been acting extra annoying these days to get your attention. He keeps popping his head inside your room (which was initially a storage room but you insisted on having it since you didn’t want to share your questionable sleeping habits with any of the guys) and asks for random stuff that never seems to make sense. Like who needs a fucking stapler when the whole world is falling into a crisis? You still kept yourself together and didn’t throw hands at him because you’re not planning on giving him what he wanted. 

But what Felix wants? Felix gets. 

“Good morning Princess..” He half-whispers and half-singsongs after shutting the door of your room with his foot. “Thank fucking God.” He mentally bows to whatever gods up there that’s pushing their blood family feud aside to bless him for the day. You’re still fast asleep, snoring softly with your grey blanket wrapped around your body. 

He’s impressed by how you still manage to not wake up early every other day because there’s no curtain unlike his room so the sunlight can easily peer right through, casting a delicate light on your figure. Surprisingly, you don’t sleep like Chan, with his leg dangling off the edge of the bed and his blanket’s on the floor by the time the sun rises again. You sleep with four limbs curled inwards, hands grabbing two full fists of the grey fabric like a puppy. 

He also notices how you’re still keeping pictures of your childhood memories on one of the empty bookshelves. There’s one with you and Woojin standing in the middle of Time Square when you both came to the States. And there’s another one where you’re dressed up as Harley Quinn with Hyunjin as the Joker on your right, Jisung as Rick Flag to your left and your brother as Deadshot squatting on the ground for your senior year’s Halloween party. Although you’re more of a Marvel gal yourself. 

“Y/N...” Felix whispers softly as he sits down on your bed, careful not to wake you up. His original plan to have you chase him up and down the house is already going down the drain since he really doesn’t want to ruin a good night's sleep. Chan has done that to him one too many times and he sure knows the consequences. Heck, Chan might not even see him after this. 

Felix outstretches his hand carefully, caressing your cheekbone like you’re made of glass. He can’t help but act like a creep because you’re too cute for your own good when you’re sleeping. It’s kinda nice actually, to not have you yelling at him for not putting clothes on right after his shower or wrestling him to the floor whenever he headlocks you at the most random times. 

Suddenly, your eyes shoot open. The moment you see another human being’s presence in your own personal bubble, you automatically grab him by the neck before pinning him down onto the bed, locking his arms behind his back. “Ow! Ow! Dude, chill!” Felix cries out from underneath you, struggling to breathe properly when you’re practically crushing his lungs. Okay, he definitely did not see that coming. 

“My goodness, what are you doing here?!” You gasp in realization, pushing yourself off the bed. 

“Woojin- said-“ he chokes out between uneven breaths. “I could- come in- and wake you up.” 

You cross your arms and sigh. “Yeah, come in.” You say with expressive hands. “Not touching me without my consent.” 

He winces at the red marks across his wrists. “Since when can you fight someone like that?” Yeah, those aren’t going away anytime soon. 

“What part of ‘Zombie Apocalypse Self-Learn Defense Basics 101’ don’t you understand?” You yawn tiredly before running a hand through your bed head. “Anyway, what do you want?” 

Felix beams innocently, taking in the sight of your pajamas. “Your attention.” And you internally thank your brother for not doing laundry yesterday (water’s also running low), which means you had to borrow Minho’s PJs instead of wearing your Mickey Mouse sweatpants with the tank top from your old basketball team.  

You really don’t have time for this, you think. Coldly, “Why?” you fake a lifeless smile. 

“You’ve never spoken to me since the day when those mobsters beat the shit out of us.” He pouts like a sad kitten. “Look, I know that it’s my fault okay? I’m sorry. But I really just wanted to hang out with you. If you didn’t play hard to get, you would have saved us a trip to some sketchy neighborhood.” 

You stop him right there. “First of all, I did talk to you. Just a maximum of five words per day. And secondly, they didn’t beat the shit out of us, we made them run back to wherever they came from, crying for their mommy while soiling their pants.” 

“There!” He exclaims. “You said it yourself. Five words per day. Why? Am I that much of an asshole to hold a civil conversation with? Don’t tell me that you’re still holding grudges from the day we first met.” 

“So what if I hold grudges? Do you think holding my best friend at gunpoint is gonna make me wanna befriend you?”

“Okay, bad example—“

“Look, can we talk this out later? I need to go outside and look for some food. We’re running out of those premade, frozen chicken nuggets that my brother’s obsessed with. As always.” You push him aside and place your hand on the doorknob. But Felix catches your hand in time before you can twist it, yanking it back so that you’re facing him, dead in the eye. He’s not letting go of his chance again. “Let-me-go.” You deadpan but receive a frown from him as a reply. 

“No,” Felix looks like you just spit on him, his mocha eyes are now unreadable, almost hurt at why you’re acting so cold towards him. Some guys find it hot when girls have this kind of facade on, but this? This shit hurts him, tremendously. You might see him as a spoiled brat at day and party animal at night who just happens to be friends with your brother for all he knows. “I don’t trust your definition of ‘later’. Who knows? You might never let me into your life again after this conversation. I don’t like people shutting me out like this. Tell me, Y/N, do you really hate me that much? If so, I solemnly swear I will never talk to you again.”

Your prepared beforehand witty retort grows dead on the tip of your tongue. His eyes...they’re not lying. It makes your heart crack a bit upon seeing how sad they look right now. Perhaps you were being too harsh on him? Maybe you shouldn’t have judged him from the get-go? “You care about me, don’t you?” Felix reaches his hand upwards to tug a strand of hair behind your ear. He gently grabs your hand and places them on his cheekbone, where a scar is fading by time. “Remember this? You treated me. You do care, Y/N. You’re not stupid enough to think that I didn’t know right?”

You retrieve your hand and scoff. “Why would I care? Did I look like I cared? The only reasons I treated your wounds were because I could witness your pathetic state and I punched you in the face previously. Totally didn’t regret that but still, I wanted to make it up to you.” You say, desperately trying to wiggle your way out of this conversation because you’re not enjoying where this is going. 

He inches closer and closer until he’s a breath away from your lips. “Because when you were treating my wounds, you had that dumb look on your face whenever you’re focused.” And you finally exhale when he pulls away, backing out of your room with a smirk. “I’ll wait in the car, your Highness.” 

seven.

Going grocery shopping with Felix is rather stressful. Not because there are zombies spontaneously popping out of nowhere every five minutes, but because you quickly, quickly realize that this boy knows nothing about food other than stuffing his face until he can’t even pick himself up anymore. He can’t tell the difference between actually good meat and meat that’s been spoiled for several weeks. You literally can’t even fathom why because the foul smell would definitely give it away but unfortunately, he doesn’t even spare a second to suspect the sketchy hues of green and blue on the red surface. 

But hey, at least he can kick some zombies’ asses when you’re too busy deciding between salmon and tuna. You’d always end up getting both anyway because why not? Guess this is what you get for not having to pay for anything. Being stuck with an uneducated fool who’s never once experienced working in the kitchen. The area around here is somewhat isolated so the stores are still pretty stocked up with all of the essentials. Thank God they haven’t run out of Woojin’s favorite chicken nuggets. 

“Do you even know what this is?” You throw your hands up midair in disbelief, referring to the pile of grapefruits that are now half-way empty for no particular reason. 

Felix makes a thinking face, lips pursing. “I think it’s a flamingo.” 

“Lee Yongbok, you gotta be shitting me—“

He stops midway towards the frozen aisle. “Woah woah slow down bro, where did you get that name from?” His Korean name is as confidential as Chan’s secret drawers full of his guilty pleasure food. Not many people call him that because he secretly hates it and whoever takes that advantage to make fun of him deserves the cruelest of punishment. Felix frowns furiously at you before grabbing several packs of the chicken nuggets, fries, and some dumplings to throw them into the cart along with his Tim Tam Slam and your KitKat. “Chan told you right? He’s been on my ass all week since we moved in with you guys.”

You help him with stocking up canned food. “Why though? He seems like such a nice guy.” Okay except for the fact that he almost blew Jisung’s brain out. But you’re not gonna dwell on the past. “No worries though, everyone has probably known your Korean name by now.”

“This is not what I signed up for.”

You aggressively grab him by the neck to ruffle his hair, laughing at his misery. “Look at us, we’re already becoming so civil, I bet my brother is loving this.”

Felix tugs himself free from your grip to fix his hair and huffs. “Could be fate, you know?” He wiggles his brows, making you gag as you both make your way out of the store. 

“Right,” you roll your eyes. “And they say I’m the crazy one.”

“No! I’m serious!” He exclaims with two hands up in defense. “One thing leads to another. Are you seeing how far we’ve come?” He pauses for a bit when the two of you reach the car so that he can throw everything to the backseats. “Jisung impulsively stole my ring, which made us run into each other. I met you again because I just happen to be friends with your brother. And since you tried to avoid me so hard, I had an excuse to piss you off so that I’m making up to you right now. How is that not fate?” He ends his speech before entering the car, inserting his key to start the engine.

You jump into the passenger’s seat, scoffing. “Thanks for the pep talk, pretty sure fate’s doing all the work. Now, where are we going?”

“I’m hungry, and I’m craving something.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And I’m supposed to care because..?”

“Shut up and turn on some music.” He tosses you his phone. 

Felix’s playlist consists of a handful of Coldplay’s songs with some other upbeat, trendy ones. He knows enough lyrics to sing along to throughout the drive. You look out the window and loosen yourself up a bit. His voice is surprisingly soothing, a stark contrast to his usual deep talking voice which is kinda nice to listen to. Both of you never start talking because you’re already dozing off to Dreamland because he had the audacity to drag your ass out of bed at eight in the morning. Your head constantly knocks onto the cool glass window every two minutes or so, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering your slumber. 

It’s almost noon, and the sun’s probably the only thing that’s keeping Felix awake. He’s hungry, thirsty, sleepy and kind of stiff from occupying the driver’s seat for way too long. He didn’t get any sleep last night, busy thinking of ways to get your attention again. Luckily, he didn’t walk out of your room with a black eye this time. Felix mentally exhales when he pulls up, and his eyes are met with the giant purple and pink neon sign: “Fancy” aka Chan’s favorite place. He shuts the engine off before leaning over to wake you up. 

“Meow,” he flinches at the sound and immediately turns to you. You would never possibly make that, would you? “Meow,” there it is again. His eyes shift again to the backseats, squinting hard only to make out a yellow ball of fluff shuffling through the bags of groceries. “Oh my God Soonie, what the hell are you doing here?” He sighs in relief when the cat finally looks up at him, green eyes piercing through the dark. 

You stir in your slumber and eventually wake up upon hearing the commotion. “What happened?” A loud yawn escapes your lips when you rub your eyes tiredly. You turn around only to see Minho’s oldest cat pawing at the paper bags.  “Are you seeing Soonie in the backseats right now or am I just delusional?” 

“Well, that makes two of us. She probably sneaked out again, Minho’s gonna throw hands soon.” Felix scoops Soonie into his arms easily and opens the door. Then, he turns around to look at you. “Come on, I bet you’re hungry, my treat.” 

eight.

“Food,” Felix tells you when he shuts the door behind his back. He takes in the cool air of the diner and exhales deeply. God bless humanity for air conditioners. 

You nod back without looking at him. “Yeah, food.” And you let him drag you across the diner by the wrist. 

The diner is definitely not the place that needs to be booked months in advance. It’s not the kind with large mullioned windows, long embroidered curtains, velvet tables or delicate classical music in the background. It leans more towards the retro style with checkered floor, colorful and fun pieces of furniture, somewhere that makes you feel cozy too. You like it here. 

Felix outstretches his limbs and yawns, petting Soonie gently. The cat isn’t as impulsive as she is whenever Doongie or Dori is trying to steal her toy. Thank goodness. “Nayeon!” He smiles and waves at the brunette girl behind the counter. 

She quickly catches your eyes with her bunny-like smile, radiant skin, and pretty eyes. When she smiles, her cheeks are bunched up, eyes wrinkling into little crescent moons. The type of smile that will make anyone a little breathless. Then, you hear Felix mumbling that something smells really fucking good when he leans over the counter. You look around the diner once again, although it’s empty, there are still people working as if they don’t mind the given circumstances. These people are all high, they are all insane. They have to be.

Nayeon pulls out a pen along with her notepad, eyeing you with curiosity. “Hey kid, where’s Chan?” And you quickly break eye contact with her, pretending to have some kind of interest in the photo of her with other eight girls right beside the menu. They were on a tropical island, smiling and laughing with the ocean waves splashing against them. All of them are incredibly gorgeous, making you feel small in comparison.

“He’s elsewhere with Woojin today. I’ll take the usual,” Felix slides the smaller version of the menu across the counter, perking a brow for you to take a look at it. “Choose whatever you like.” 

You shrug. “Anything will do.” 

“Then two of what I already said then.” He nods towards the waitress, earning another warm smile. 

Nayeon taps her pen against her cheek, whispering. “Who’s that? Did you find someone?” She looks down at how his hand is holding onto yours and grins mischievously. Felix automatically drops your hand at her words, blushing furiously while looking down in slight embarrassment. “Ah, no need to explain, I’ve got you.” She places a hand on his shoulder and laughs before punching in your order. 

“It’s not—“

Nayeon puts her index finger over his mouth. “I’ve got you.” She’s never seen Felix hanging out with any girl other than his sisters before so she’s 90% sure that you’re not just any girl to be able to go to this specific diner with him. By the look of it, there’s gotta be something between you two. How you’re constantly staring into midair and anywhere else to avoid her eagle eyes, how Felix’s cheeks are redder than a tomato. Everything just speaks for itself. “Your orders will be right out.” She beams and walks back into the kitchen. You almost bury yourself alive hearing multiple females squealing and giggling in the distance. 

“Sorry about that,” he pushes himself away from the counter before smiling sheepishly. “They just get excited because—“

“Because you’re a coward who’s never been in a relationship before.” You finish his sentence with a smirk, snatching Soonie from his pocket and walk over to one of the round tables. 

Felix settles down on the opposite side of the table with a sigh. He shoots you a dirty look before pouting. “God, you’re so mean. Stop exposing my miserable, non-existent love life.” 

[1:35p.m.]

meanhoe | uhm hello Kardashians, I’m looking for my eldest daughter Soonie?

woobear | not the living room!

[1:36p.m.]

trashbin | not my room!

drama lama | not the backyard!

old man | not the kitchen either!

[1:37p.m.]

quokka | not the bar too!

meanhoe | tf are you doing at a bar?

quokka | retrieving my sanity…

[1:38p.m.]

meanhoe | you know that my whiskey is wayyy better right?

quokka |  DID I STUTTER?

meanhoe | swiped left.

[1:39p.m.] 

y/n | she was inside Felix’s Jeep for some reason, we’re at a diner rn, some place called ‘Fancy’?

old man | LEE FELIX YOU TRAITOR!!

old man | YOU BETTER BRING ME SOME WHEN YOU GET HOME.

[1:40p.m.]

meanhoe | bring her home safely, and I’ll make dinner.

meanhoe | if not, I will grab you both by the throat and tear you apart, piece by piece.

meanhoe | there will be no negotiation, no compromise, and no mercy.

You just grin at your phone before putting the device away and shudder slightly. That’s enough Internet for today, boys being boys. This is why you’re low-key terrified of cat lovers. “Well aren’t you busy,” Felix scoffs when he sees that you’re not having any interest in one of the proper conversations with him that rarely happens. “Too busy texting with some cute boy to talk to me instead?” He cocks his head sideways, mustering his best puppy eyes or in this case, kitten eyes because he looks just like ‘Puss in Boots’.

You pinch his nose cutely, making him back off in pain. “If you’re saying Minho aka the freaky dad cat is cute then yes, I am extremely occupied with him threatening my life for having his beloved daughter in my arms.” Then, you allow him to glare at you for as long as he likes while you’re too focused on admiring the view from the window. The sky is oddly blue today, not too cloudy, not too sunny, the air is not that stuffy either. Maybe on a good day, even a zombie apocalypse seems pretty normal. You can understand why these girls still want to run the diner during times like this, simply because they love their job. And they want to help those in need because it’s the least they can do, to give people a heartwarming meal. 

“Sorry,” Nayeon walks towards your table with a bowl of warm milk. “The food will be out in a minute, I just don’t want the little thing to starve and be all miserable while you guys are stuffing your faces.” She pets Soonie with the warmest smile and the kitten purrs into her touch, closing her eyes in satisfaction. 

Felix pulls her out of your arms and gently places her next to him on the cushioned surface. “Thanks, you didn’t have to do that though. Minho spoils her on a daily basis.”

Curiously, “When did this happen?” You frown before running your index finger over a small hole that just happens to be the size of a bullet, cautious enough to not accidentally cut your finger. 

“Oh, that,” The brunette waitress' expression mirrors yours, slightly confused and intrigued. “Huh, I wonder…”

And all of the colors drain on your face. “Duck,” you say breathlessly, breaths coming in short. 

“What?” Felix can barely hear his own voice. 

Nayeon suddenly looks alarmed. “Everyone get down!” She shouts at the top of her lungs, arms flailing like a madwoman. “GET DOWN! NOW!”

Just then, a bullet pierces right through the window, glass shattering into pieces as you see Nayeon clutching onto her own stomach, blood oozing from her fresh wound. You’re ready to yelp aloud when Felix pulls you down onto the ground with him, letting his body cover up your head and shards of glass cut his cheeks. The diner grows uncomfortably silent when no sound is made, but you still keep your eyes shut and your face buried in his chest. 

“Hey hey look at me,” Felix tells you, angling your jaw so that you can make eye contact with him although your eyes are quivering in fear. It’s not the first time you’ve heard a gunshot before but he’s never seen you so shaken up about it before. It hurts seeing you like this. “We’re gonna be okay—“

Before you can reply without tripping over your own words, something falls onto the tiled floor, rolling across the surface to reach the other side of the diner. You squint your eyes hard to make out the shape of the object. It was almost the size of an avocado, round-ish, and dark. No one seems to notice it at all until there’s an ear-piercing sound that keeps beeping, echoing throughout the entire diner. 

“Shit—“ You breathe out and hold onto Felix tightly, bracing yourself for the blow. 

That’s when the entire place explodes, destroying every single thing until there’s nothing left but the grey ashes that are following the wind to reach the burning sky above. 

Utterly demolished, you’d say.

nine.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Woojin says softly when he sits down next to you on your bed. He gives your hand a squeeze in reassurance, heartbroken at your state. You look as pale as a ghost, the bags under your eyes more evident than ever, and your lips chapped, starting to turn purple. You haven’t touched the food that Minho offered for the past few days, still refusing to talk to any of the guys. But he was relieved that you were saved from the pile of ruins by one of the workers there - Jihyo, he believes that’s her name. He wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened to you. 

“No,” you shake your head profusely. “Not now.”

“So the thought of losing him does scare the shit out of you?”

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“Then you’ve found your happy ending,” your brother ruffles your hair and stands up. “Yes, right in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.” He smiles at you one last time, “Anyway, you better find him then. Godspeed.” before closing the door with a small ‘click’. 

Meanwhile, you’re staring at the wooden floor blankly, starting to wonder how filthy rich the previous family living here was. By the look of it, they seemed to be pretty well off but were probably scared shitless when the disease spread like wildfire. With that, they took off running, leaving everything behind to preserve their precious lives. But who knows? They could be some random zombies out there, roaming the streets mindlessly by now. 

You space out a lot these days, thinking about random things, but mostly him. You keep on asking yourself where in the world is he, how is he holding up, but it’s all pointless since you don’t even know if he’s still… Anyway, but when you peer at the small mirror on your table, you can see a small glimmer of another presence inside your room. Sometimes you don’t realize how far you can go whenever you’re thinking hard about something. It gets to the point where you don’t even move when Minho or Hyunjin is yelling or screaming about some stupid things right in front of your eyes. 

You take another look, eyes growing wide. It’s a glimmer of a pink-haired boy. 

“Hey Princess, not gonna choke me to death for intruding your room this time?” Felix jokes before kneeling down in front of you. It takes you an entire two minutes to understand that he’s here. He’s really here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him in person that you’re starting to get emotional just by looking into his eyes. They’re still starry, warm and give you a sense of comfort whenever your gazes touch. “Hey, it’s all good now.” He wipes a single tear away from your face that you didn’t even take notice of. 

You choke out, debating on whether you should be bawling your eyes out because he’s safe and sound or kick his ass for worrying you. “You can’t just come back and say that! Do you know how scared I was?! Do you have any idea how many sleepless nights I’ve gone through? And now you’re just gonna come back from the Underworld to tell me that ‘It’s all good now’? Well then if you excuse me, I’m gonna go murder my friends and see if it w—“

Felix figures you still haven’t changed one bit. He knows that you’re a lover, not a fighter. Talking big on the outside but easily hurt on the inside. That’s one of the things that makes you who you are today, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. So he wordlessly leans in to capture your lips in his, swallowing every word, every nonsense, every nag that you’re gonna throw his way until you completely melt into his touch. The kiss makes your head a little fuzzy, and butterflies are tickling at the pit of your stomach. For someone who’s never been in a relationship before, Felix will definitely make you giddy all day with a kiss like this. It’s kind of innocent, kind of childish but unforgettable. 

The deeper the kiss gets, the more you think about your conversation with him the other day when he’s driving you to the diner. Fate might be a thing, but still a debatable topic. You’re not gonna say that you believe in fate because that’s a whole lot of commitment for someone who can’t even stay up to date with a short web drama. But maybe, just maybe, fate is doing its job just fine after all because you can’t ask for anyone else to be with you at the end of the world. You know that Felix’s not here just because the universe pities you (or him), or he will love you just for the hell of it either. Everything happens for a reason, but more importantly than ever, he’s not going anywhere this time. You didn’t ask, you’re sure of it by the look in his mocha eyes. 

Because like you’ve said before, his eyes never lie. They could never. 

You pull away before planting your hands on either side of his shoulders, chest heaving up and down due to shortness of breaths. “How did you...you know, make it?”

“I really thought that I was going to suffocate to my untimely death under the ruins of the diner but the girls found me later on when they were digging through everything. I was knocked out for a good week, some scratches here and there, but no one was hurt severely“ he stops himself before continuing when he sees your glossy eyes. “Nayeon is fine too. She didn’t lose that much blood, surprisingly.” 

You let silence fall upon the both of you for a second when a rush of relief runs down your spine. Then, your lips twitch slightly at what you’re going to say next. “Do you know why I treated your wounds that day? Do you know why I stared at the floor when your friend was teasing us? Do you know why I spent the past few days being all depressed and teary in bed?” You ask Felix with such determination that it makes him chuckle. 

“Easy,” he grins and caresses your cheekbone the exact same way he did a few days ago. “Because you fell for a spoiled rich kid who knows absolutely nothing about being in love. Just like how I did for you, a girl who’s best at killing the walking dead, not cooking, not cleaning, none of that shit. Weirdly enough, fate brought the two of us together again when we’re both lying on the borderline between life and death.” 

You roll your eyes at him and finally crack a smile. The smile that he adores the most. “Then what if fate does us apart? What if it doesn’t want us to end up with each other again? What if this isn’t a happy ending but a beginning to something much more terrifying?”

“In that case,” Felix leans in again, his breath fanning your cheeks. “I will always find you. And look for you, and run to you until I no longer have the strength to lift myself off the ground with my own feet.” He gently slips the silver ring that he treasures with his entire life onto your finger and places small kisses on your knuckles, looking as beautiful as ever. 

He’s right, and wrong at the same time. The idea of fate does have some kind of power over mundane mortals like you because you’ve been tied down to the idea of not being able to control your own life since you’re born. But on the other hand, sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hand to be able to get what you want in life. So seeing how determined Felix is to find you even if it means walking to the other side of the planet with his bare feet in spite of being such a naïveté who believes in things that are considered dumb, you know that he’s being serious. 

At the same time, you accept the fact that you didn’t find love, it found you because it’s got a little something to do with fate, destiny and what’s written in the stars. 

You tell him, voice hoarse. “You’ll find me and never let me go?”

“Not this lifetime, not even in another one.” He says with a smile, eyes crinkling. 

[fandomoneshots-imagines]

Watch (Tony Stark x Reader)

Summary: Tony likes to watch moments around him.

Warnings: voyeurism, exhibitionism, smut, cussing

Part three of the kink series! I got Tony done before Thor but hopefully later tonight I can get Thor posted!

Part One (Steve), Part Two (Natasha)

Tony liked to watch. He loved it in fact. The two of us have been together for five years and I learned after the first few months of dating how much he loved watching. He saw how men were flirting with me one night when we were all at a club celebrating Sam’s birthday. I would ignore the flirting at first but then Tony said he liked watching them flirt because I would still be coming back with him and didn’t mind if I flirted back. 

So I did. I would flirt back, dance, and occasionally kiss the men who flirted with me on nights out. I could feel Tony’s eyes on me the entire time. I loved having his eyes on me. 

Our relationship wasn’t a conventional relationship. For starters, he was 20 years my senior, working as a research scientist for Dr Banner. Secondly, about a week after he told me he liked watching me flirt with other guys, he told me he wanted to watch someone fuck me. Only stipulation? It could only be with someone he trusted and knew. One of the other Avengers. 

I instantly knew who I wanted that person to be. I did my best to hide my smirk.

“A very tiny, minuscule, like .00001% part of me has a feeling I’m going to regret this. But the larger part of me is very excited.” He chuckled and shook his head.

I didn’t tell him who I chose. But I did talk to the man the next morning, “So, it’s not a secret that Tony likes watching me flirt with other men.” I sat with the man.

“Right,” he leaned forward, elbows on knees.

“He wants to watch someone fuck me.” I grinned, “Only he wants it to be someone he knows and trusts. So obviously someone from the team.” 

The man before me looked surprised for a second before leaning back, a smirk growing on his face, “And he let you decide but you’re not telling him. And the only way you’d tell me is because you want to have Tony watch me fuck you. Right?” 

“Exactly,” I matched his smirk, “You in?”

“I get to fuck you? And probably piss off Tony in the process? Fuck yes I’m in.” He laughed.

“Good. Come over later tonight.” I stood up and winked. “Can’t wait.”

Tony was due to come back from a meeting any minute now. Our guest of the evening was already here, waiting in the bedroom, “Lucy, I’m home!” Tony yelled as he walked through the door in a horrible Ricky Ricardo accent. 

“In the kitchen!” I yelled. I was pouring the both of us a drink as he walked in, “How was your day?” I asked, handing him a highball glass of his favorite bourbon. 

“It was agonizingly slow and dull.” He groaned, taking a drink.

“Well, it’s about to get a little bit more fun.” I smirked and wrapped my arms around his neck. His arms instantly wrapped around my waist, pulling my body closer to his.

“Oh yeah?” He smirked,brushing his lips against mine, “Why is that?”

“We have a guest waiting for us.” I smirked, moving my hands to his hair. Tony’s eyes grew wide.

“Holy fuck, seriously?” From how close are body’s were I could feel Tony’s cock slowly start to harden.

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, leaning up brushing my lips up Tony’s neck before gently biting his earlobe, “And he’s very excited about this.”

He let out a groan and I took his hand leading him to our bedroom. I knew Tony was trying to guess who it was going to be. I paused right outside the door and turned to Tony, “Now, before I open this door, do you have any rules for either of us? He can hear you, obviously.”

“No rules, he just has to remember that you’re still mine after tonight.” Tony said and I gave him a hard kiss.

“All yours,” I smiled then turned back and slowly opened the door, biting my lip as I entered the room. 

“Dammit, somehow I knew it would be him.” Tony whined, taking notice of our guest.

Bucky Barnes sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, in nothing but his boxer briefs, his signature smirk etched on his face. I walked Tony over to the chair I usually sat in while reading before bed. I gently pushed him down in the chair before moving to stand between the bed and the chair. I slowly pulled my shirt over my head then undid my jeans. I turned around for both men, leaning over as I pushed them down.

I grinned to myself as I heard identical intakes of breaths. I stood back up and turned back to face the two men, who both had noticeable bulges. I could feel their eyes studying my body. I was wearing black lace lingerie, “Bucky, can you come help me take this off?” I asked but kept my eyes on Tony. I heard the bed creak and a second later felt one rough hand and one cool hand slowly moving up my hips.

My back was pressed against Bucky’s front and I felt soft lips on my shoulder as he moved his hands up, his fingers brushed the underside of my breasts. He leaned back slightly and unclasped the bra and let it fall down my arms. His hands came up and cupped my breasts, rolling the nipple that was in the left hand between his cool fingers, “How do his hands feel baby?” Tony asked, palming his cock.

My head dropped back against Bucky’s shoulder, giving him more access to my neck, “They feel so good Tony. I want to feel his fingers inside of me.” I moaned, reaching back to tug at the man’s hair. 

“You heard the girl Barnes.” Tony said. Bucky smirked against my neck and he slowly moved his hands down my body, kissing down my body as he went. He hooked two fingers in the lace pulling it down my thighs then stood back up and led me to the bed. Soft lips brushed against mine before Bucky sat down and turned me to face Tony. I was pulled into his lap with my legs spread open, his hard cock pressed against my ass.

The cool left hand played with my nipples while his right hand travelled up my thigh. I gasped as I felt his rough fingers made contact with my clit then move from my slit back up to my clit, “Is this for me baby? Are you this wet for me?”

“All for you Bucky. Please, I need your fingers.” I moaned softly, grinding my hips down on his cock, causing him to groan. The hand that was paying attention to my nipples moved to my hips, holding me still.

“Don’t move.” He gently bit my neck before slowly pushing his fingers deep into my pussy, making my head fall back on his shoulder once again. His fingers were thicker than Tony’s. “Fuck, your pussy is so thight. Does your old man not fuck you good enough?” 

I could practically hear the growl rising in Tony’s chest and smirked, “Every time we fuck I imagine it’s someone else.” I moaned as Bucky’s fingers slowly pumped in and out of my cunt, “I imagine it’s Steve, Thor, Sam, you..all just to make myself cum.” All three of us knew I was lying, that I was saying those words to mess with Tony.

“Ever imagine more than one of us?” Bucky nipped at my neck, making me whimper. His fingers slowly beginning to speed up.

“You, Sam, and Steve,” I whined as his fingers curled inside of him, hitting my g-spot. I had actually dreamed that once, before Tony and I got together. I peeled my eyes open watching Tony fist his cock, his jaw clenched tight. I had told Tony of this dream during a drunken game of 20 questions while we were in lock down in the lab one evening from a mishap involving several different chemicals. It wasn’t long after that when Tony made the first move.

“All three of us huh?” Bucky smirked against my neck, “Maybe your old man would like to watch that. What do you say Stark? You watch as the three of us take your girl?”

His words made my pussy clench around his fingers. I made eye contact with Tony who held a lazy grin on his face. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, aching to know his answer, “We’ll see.” Tony answered and Bucky’s fingers pounded deep into my pussy.

“I want you to cum on my fingers Y/N. I want you to cum thinking about the three of us using your holes. Steve fucking your ass, Sam fucking this tight cunt, and me fucking your throat.” My jaw dropped at the thought and my eyes rolled back as his fingers moved against my g-spot. 

“Fuuuccckkkk,” I moaned loudly, my walls clenched tight around the fingers, cumming so hard my legs began to shake. 

“Good girl,” Bucky cupped my cheek, turning my face up, and kissed me hard. I groaned against his lips and grabbed a fist full of hair before I was carefully pushed off his lap and guided down on my knees. 

“You’re doing so good Y/N.” Tony praised from his corner, “Show him how good your mouth his now baby.”

I looked up at Bucky between my eyelashes and smirked up at him, pulling down the briefs and making his cock spring free. I internally groaned at the gorgeous sight and wrapped my hand around him pumping his cock slowly before sucking his heavy balls into my mouth. The metal hand instantly flew to my hand and grabbed a fist full of hair. Bucky wasn’t as thick as Tony, although he was still quite thick,  but he was longer.

I released his balls from my mouth and sat up on my knees a little more, licking up the pre-cum from his slit then dropped my mouth all the way down his length burying my nose in his short pubic hair.

“Holy fuck!” Bucky swore and dropped back down on the bed, his hand leaving my hair.

“She doesn’t have a gag reflex.” I could hear the smirk in Tony’s voice. I slowly brought my mouth up, pressing my tongue along the underside of his cock as I came back up. I looked up at Bucky again, noticing now he was sitting up on his elbows. Once I made it to the head of his cock, I let drool run down his length, then brought my hand back up to pump his cock in a corkscrew motion.

His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth and his eyes were rolled back in his head. I dropped my mouth all the way down once more, holding myself there while I fondled his balls in my hand, “Holy fucking shit. If you do that again I’m gonna cum Y/N.” Bucky warned. I slowly brought my mouth off of his cock, moving my tongue around it as I came back up. “Tony I swear if you don’t want us to do the foursome at least let us use her perfect little mouth.” He begged making Tony chuckle. 

“Oh I’ll probably let you do both.” Tony shrugged, with his hand very slowly moving along his cock. “Now I want you to use her pussy. But she doesn’t like missionary.”

Bucky pushed me gently to the bed and quirked an eyebrow up at me. I gave him a little shrug, “It’s a little boring to me.” Bucky pulled me to the edge of the bed and lifted a leg over his shoulder. He gripped his cock rubbing it along my slit and teasing my clit, “Please fuck me already Bucky.” I whined, wiggling my hips closer to him. He held onto leg and thrusted hard into me, making my back arch back.

“Fuck, your cunt is so tight baby.” Bucky groaned, pounding his hips against mine. His cock hit my cervix wall, giving me a pleasurable pain. 

“How does his cock feel baby?” Tony asked, panting just a little bit. I looked over and his fist was pumping his cock harder.

“It feels so good Tony.” I moaned, moving my hips against Bucky’s. He pulled out and flipped me over on my stomach, lifting my hips up, and roughly pounding his hips against mine. My fists bunched up the sheets in my hands and a small scream went past my lips as a cool hand landed on my ass then squeezed it tightly.

“Fuck your ass is perfect.” He groaned, squeezing both cheeks in his hands, slamming his hips against mine.

“Bucky, I’m so close.” I whined pushing my ass back against him more. He lifted me up by my arms and walked me, still inside me, over to where we were standing right in front of Tony. He pushed me down into Tony’s lap. I took Tony’s cock in my hand and Bucky continued his abuse on my pussy.

“Put that pretty mouth around his cock. Let him cum in your mouth.” Bucy grunted, thrusting deeper in my pussy. I wrapped my lips around Tony’s cock pushing my head all the way down. Tony let out a loud moan and held onto my head thrusting his hips up. Bucky’s hips started stuttering against mine and I knew he was getting close. The walls of my pussy clenched tight around his cock and I brought my hand down rubbing my clit roughly.

“Cum on Bucky’s cock baby girl. Cum for us.” Tony groaned, releasing thick ropes of cum down my throat. I kept my mouth around Tony’s cock, swallowing all he had to give, and came hard around Bucky’s cock, which set off his own orgasm. He held himself deep inside my pussy as his cock twitched inside of me. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky groaned, slowly pulling out watching his cum drip out of me. I pulled myself off of Tony’s cock and straightened up.

“You’re free to go Barnes. I’ve got to clean my girl up.” Tony stood up, putting his cock back in his pants. The other man just nodded and quickly got dressed again as Tony carried me into our bathroom. He sat me on the counter while he started a bath and got undressed himself. Once the water was high enough he lowered me down and lowered himself behind me.

He slowly washed my body and I relaxed into his arms, “So about the foursome?” I grinned up at him.

“You’re insatiable, woman.”

________________

@sapphirescrolls @heyiamthatbitch​ @notyourtypicalrose

[bcbdrums]

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13577191/4/The-Little-Ones

A little Drakgo one-shot.  Trying to get back my creativity bug.

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

The Cure

Shego wore one of Drakken's blue t-shirts but had foregone pajama pants. She had the bedspread pulled up to her waist as she lay on her side in the massive round bed. She had played music earlier from the sound system Drakken had built into the headboard in an attempt to relax, but it ended up irritating her more than helping.

She set a hand over her stomach as it rolled and churned. The ill feeling was getting worse, and she had failed to find any activity or medication, chemical or homeopathic, that would help. She was sure the ginger only had a placebo effect, as she still had to run to the toilet with the risk of vomiting every time she tried to get out of bed.

She felt the almost imperceptible swell in her abdomen and wondered again if she was really feeling the baby growing, or if it was still too early and it was just in her mind. She could barely eat anymore, so she knew for sure any bump was definitely not her stomach digesting a meal.

Behind her she heard the door slide open, and a familiar too-quick step entered the room. She listened to the equally-familiar undoing of buttons and the tossing of faux-leather aside as Drakken removed his lab coat. And then she heard him kick off his shoes and start on his belt buckle. She frowned and lifted her eyes to the clock in the headboard. It was just short of noon.

A minute later she felt the mattress dip as Drakken crawled onto the bed and moved behind her. He gently pushed her hair away and kissed the back of her neck. Her brow rose. So that's why he was coming to bed at lunch time...

She took a deep breath. "No."

He hesitated for the briefest moment, but continued kissing her neck. His hand moved around her waist and slipped under hers where it lay over her abdomen.

She took another breath and sighed long before repeating, "No." Her tone was more insistent that time and he shifted nearer to her so he could move his face over hers and make eye-contact.

"Why not...?"

"Because I feel like I'm gonna throw up even when I'm not moving."

She peripherally saw his expression morph to concern and she turned her head to see him more clearly. Beneath the concern was a strong desire... She knew it well, and it hurt her to disappoint him. But she was too sick.

Drakken's brow furrowed. "You've...gotten me rather used to a routine, Shego."

Shego bit the inside of her cheek as she considered his words. She'd been almost forced to do the research and knew that libido increased in the first trimester of pregnancy. But her sex drive was insatiable. She frequently wondered if the intensity had to do with her unique biology, or if it was really just normal.

But Drakken was right; she had gotten them into a routine. He'd been a bit annoyed and tired for about the first week and a half of her predatory behavior toward him, but after that and after she explained what was going on, he rapidly got on board. And she realized suddenly that that was the first morning in weeks that they hadn't made love immediately upon waking.

She glanced at the clock again. It was eleven fifty-six, and they usually woke up a little before seven o'clock. That morning she had commandeered the bathroom to throw up several times and he'd gone straight to the lab. Considering the workout she was always giving him in the mornings—not to mention the occasional afternoons or evenings—she was impressed that he'd made it till almost noon.

"Sorry..." she said, and she meant it. His behavior made perfect sense. But she was so sick.

His hand left her abdomen to run slowly down her bare thigh, and he pressed himself against her to spoon her. His arousal was unmistakable.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes."

He looked dismayed. He slid his hand between her thighs. "What if I just—"

Shego grabbed his hand and removed it and then turned toward him and ignited her hand. He was startled and moved away from the green glow.

"Unless you want to be cleaning barf out of your bed, you'd better get over it and get used to not having a routine anymore."

He was distinctly startled by her behavior, but he backed away with his hands slightly raised in surrender. His expression morphed rapidly from afraid to sad to frustrated. Shego looked him over in his white t-shirt and blue-and-white striped boxers. He'd clearly not expected her to say no.

She let her glow go out and sighed. "If you want, maybe I can..." She trailed off and made a particular gesture with her hand.

He shook his head. "Not the same." He spun away from her and scooted off the bed.

"What are you doing?" she called as he headed toward the bathroom.

"Cold shower," he tossed over his shoulder with an irritated expression. Her eyes narrowed again when the bathroom door closed, and she carefully rolled over to see the door more clearly as she battled the morning sickness.

"Jerk..." she muttered to herself.

He had a serious problem if he couldn't go one day without sex. But to expect her to even attempt to be intimate while she felt like death was even worse. Drakken had always had a selfish streak, but that was a new kind of low.

She wondered what she could destroy to appropriately convey her annoyance, since yelling at him wasn't really an option; it would only make her feel sicker. Just breathing made the nausea worse.

She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. It was the only place that the churning of her stomach was slightly less.

When she heard the bathroom door open awhile later, she didn't even look as Drakken silently re-dressed and left the room.

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

"Shego?"

Shego woke from her very-light sleep at the sound of his voice. And then her face pinched in irritation. If he wasn't back to apologize, she was going to set his coat on fire...

"Are you...going to get up today? It's past dinner time."

Shego opened her eyes and peered at the clock. So it was. She felt...perhaps slightly less nauseous? She tried rolling over to face him...and had to swallow down bile as a result.

"No," she gasped when the burn in her throat subsided, giving up trying to look at him. As her stomach continued to turn, her annoyance with him built back into anger. It was his fault she was so sick anyway. He was the one who had gotten her pregnant despite her birth control pills, with his ridiculous fertility... Why was he so virile at his age anyway?

She realized he wasn't saying anything else, and when she turned her head he was already on his way out the door. She blinked in surprise, but then settled her head back on the pillow and frowned in satisfaction. Clearly he had learned his lesson. But if he thought he was touching her when he came to bed that night...

A few minutes passed as she contemplated making him leave the bed altogether. They hadn't slept apart even once since they found out she was pregnant, even though she still technically had her own room. Half of her stuff had been moved into his, and the rest was still in hers. And if she was mad or needed space, sometimes she would elect to sleep in her room. But it had been many, many weeks since she'd done that...

The door sliding open again caught her attention, and she held her breath as she made the effort to slowly roll over. She could threaten him with kicking him out at least, if he was thinking about—

Her train of thought ended abruptly as she stared at a loaded tray of food Drakken was carrying. She leaned up on her elbow to watch as he carefully set it down on the bed.

"Here. Take what you want, and I'll put the rest of it away," he said.

She stared at the tray with wide eyes. There were two kinds of ice cream, a red-orange colored smoothie, a huge tray of saltine crackers and cheese, a steaming cup of tea, a bowl of watermelon chunks, and two small ramekins with one containing a full zest of lemon and the other bruised mint leaves.

"What's this...?" Shego asked.

"The smoothie is watermelon and pineapple... The tea is lemon ginger. The ice creams are...lemon-ginger-coconut, and watermelon-orange sorbet."

Shego painfully sat all the way up. "...Did you make ice cream?"

"Well...you're feeling so much worse today, and I know you said the ginger isn't helping but...maybe you just need a little more. Oh, and the mint and lemon zest are just for...uh...is it called scent-therapy?"

"Aroma therapy..."

Shego looked up at Drakken's concerned face and then back to the tray.

"I guess...I'll have the ice cream?" she said.

He lifted the bowl of lemon ginger coconut with a raised brow, and she nodded. He passed her the bowl and spoon, and then after setting the mint and lemon zest on the headboard he picked up the tray and left the bedroom.

Shego stared at his back until he was gone, and then dipped her spoon into the ice cream and took a cautious bite. It wasn't too sweet, wasn't too tart, and wasn't too rich either. He must have altered the recipe in some way so it wouldn't be too heavy. And it was delicious... And swallowing it didn't upset her stomach.

In fact, after a few slow bites her stomach started to feel better. But her heart started to hurt as she felt a bit guilty. She'd been mad because he didn't get something she'd been offering sometimes multiple times a day... And his response to her refusal, which she'd initially thought selfish, was to pamper her.

It wasn't until she had finished the ice cream and set the bowl atop the headboard that she realized Drakken wasn't back yet. After a moment of thought she understood that the clean-up from all he had done and prepared was going to take awhile. He would probably clean the whole kitchen after making two ice creams and a smoothie... And had he even eaten anything?

She lay down on her side as her stomach turned again, though less fiercely, and waited. She wanted to thank him for all he had done, and apologize for getting upset before. The scent of lemon and mint above her head further helped calm her tortured stomach, and as she continued to wait she found herself drifting off to sleep again.

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

Shego started awake at the feel of the mattress sinking behind her. Her stomach rolled and she grimaced, but a feeling of peace began breaking through the sickness as Drakken's familiar weight settled behind her in the dark.

She was surprised a few moments later when she didn't feel his arms around her as was their normal, and she slowly turned over to face him.

"You're awake?" he asked softly.

"I slept on and off most of the day."

"Oh... Right."

She watched the slight furrowing of his brow as he looked at her. His lips parted as he took a breath to speak, and then he seemed to second-guess himself. The furrowing of his brow deepened and he closed his eyes.

"Good night, Shego," he said gently.

She stared at his face in the dark. He looked concerned... She rolled her eyes at herself. Had her mild threat that morning affected him so badly?

"Drakken..." she said softly. His eyes opened in cautious question. "Kiss me?"

The worry in his eyes began to fade, and when she opened her arms to him he closed the small distance between them on the bed and slowly drew her close. She nuzzled her way into a gentle kiss, and when his lips pressed back so familiarly and lovingly against hers she knew everything was fine. More-so when his hand softly rested against her abdomen.

"You're gonna owe me for these nine months..." she said against his lips as she continued to kiss him.

"All nine?" he asked. When she pulled back to look at him she saw he was half-teasing, as was she.

"Maybe less... If you keep bringing me homemade ice cream in bed."

"Done," he agreed, and kissed her.

His hand gently rubbed her stomach, and she continued kissing him softly until his responses became tired and few. She rested her hand on the side of his head and stroked his hair until his breathing evened and he began slipping into sleep. She leaned closer to his ear to whisper.

"I hope I'll feel up to getting back into a routine soon..."

She watched as the corners of his mouth turned up, and his arm settled heavily around her. Closing her eyes, she rested her face against his and hummed in happiness.

[rough-and-whump]

Rough is a Whumpee

So, yeah, this might end up being a series, ha ha! I tend to hurt myself a lot and this might be a fun thing for me.

Please keep in mind: I might “whumpify” some of my experiences to make it more interesting in a whump context.

I’m not sure if this might be a trigger for anyone, but obvs don’t read this too much if you don’t like the idea of “whump” type things happening to real people. 

Again, I do this for fun, and I’m as clumsy as a three-legged camel walking blindfolded and backwards on a snow-capped mountain.

Some context:

I do karate. Been practicing for about 9 years. I started as an adult and am one of the longer standing members of my club right now. Most of my peers in the front line have been practicing for 20+ years.

I have chosen to do this to myself, because it’s part of what I view as “my journey” as a martial artist. Plus also, I mean, my injuries in karate have never been that serious - I’m partially lucky, but mostly smart about how I fight and who I fight, lol!

I totally have a lot of times when I get hurt. Most times, it’s not bad - it’s just low-level stuff that bothers me during the day. But when I describe it, it definitely does sound bad - I find it’s okay, like, I can still function; but lots of folks I talk to about my injuries look at me like I’m stupid. But, frankly, I can’t afford to just stay home whenever I feel a bit uncomfortable. XD

The incident:

Canada Day Parade with my karate club. It’s been rainy and wet. We know that this makes boards harder to break, but we (me and my student) still wanted to do it. 

Boards seem fine, our test breaks two days before the Parade went well.

Parade time. First three breaks for me go fine. But there’s definitely more hurt in these boards than the ones we broke last year. Still decide to go ahead.

Break four, last of the parade. In front of a group of small kids, namely girls. It’s my student and my fave corner for breaks since the crowd is usually really amped up. 

It’s been raining now for the last twenty minutes - our boards are soaked. We know this, but we still go for it because we’re idiots.

I set up for an elbow break. I’ve done two of these and a front punch break all fine up to now. So I figure, okay, I can do this. Just all the power.

Fire it up, annnnnd... first one - bounce. Don’t swear, try again. Full power. Bounce.

I switch to a hammer fist break and get through it, but ooowwwwwww.

The consequence:

I have some righteous bruising on my elbow and hand from my two good elbow breaks, the front punch and the hammer fist. I don’t bruise easily and I have an olive/tan skin tone, so bruises don’t generally show through. But these are a niiiiice deep purple, ha ha!

Aaaaaand I have a separated AC joint in my right shoulder.

The whump, mental side:

The doubt of whether or not the injury is actually as bad as it is.

Don’t want to seem “weak”, so I often brush off pain that requires frequent and often medication.

Also don’t want to make a big deal if this really isn’t so bad. It isn’t a full on dislocation, it’s fixable, so it can’t be that bad.

Buuuut, legit it hurts. I refuse to take a bunch of painkillers because I don't like how they make me feel. I'm trying to make do using weed and rest.

Part of why I'm purposefully avoiding strong pain killers is also because when I've done that in the past, I've also ended up trying to "push through" my injury and it makes my recovery longer.

Extending on the point above: I’m purposefully choosing to feel more pain so that I know when to kinda pull back from what I’m doing. This said, I still feel it. So I’m spending the day with increased tension in my neck (manifesting headaches to boot) and a bit of mind fog from just having to devote some of my mind to ignoring the pain.

Details on the painkiller thing: I’m choosing not to use Robax, Motrin, or Tylenol much because I legit had a problem with them a few years back. I never developed any actual bad liver or kidney problems, but I was taking about a bottle of Robax Platinum every week for three weeks at one point. That’s a lot of Robax. And that was a recent blip. Before I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety and Clinical Depression, I turned to Robax and alcohol to manage my symptoms of panic and feelings of worthlessness. It really did a number on me. There were a lot of factors pushing me into that corner. Honestly, I wish I had access to weed at that time, because it would have helped me so much to have alternative, healthier, and less harmful pain relief and anxiety help. 

When I first stopped taking Robax and chose to just deal with the pain as best I could, it took me about a month to realize that I was feeling better and better and better. I didn’t know why - I thought hey maybe it was just weather or something. But after some more reflection and a bit of experimentation, I found that it was actually the chemical painkillers that made me feel that way.

Legit I was addicted to painkillers. I went from liking the relief I got from two Robax at a time to needing to take four at a time to get a sort of “high” feeling - I could put on “robax glasses” that made it easier to deal with my abusive boss, the blatant illegal activity happening at work, and the toxic work environment and shit pay.

The whump, physical stuff (aka the good stuff):

I can’t lift my right arm over my head, combined with being a creature of habit and right handed, it’s lead to a lot of “fuck, ow!” moments when reaching up for some stationary at the office or when reaching for something in the cabinets in the kitchen.

Sharp pains occasionally - not often - kind of radiates up and down in severity. I can’t find a trigger for it yet, if there is one. It could just be pain ‘cause it’s a busted shoulder. 

Pains tend to be:

“heat” at the shoulder itself

“radiating” lines of tension and sharp pulling pains up across the collarbone towards the base of the neck, up the side of the neck, into the right side of my head (somehow?! when I went to get accupuncture, that point was suuuuper effective/painful), and down towards the meeting point of all the lat muscles in the mid back.

The neck pain is the worst, it sends shooting pains up the right side of my head, and definitely puts me “on edge”.

Typing is a fresh horror. I work an office job in tech and do a lot of typing in my day, so I had to figure out with our office wellness dude (who is such a darling and so sweet, and legit he and I schedule “meetings” that end up just us chatting about our weekend adventures) how to set up my station so I keep my arm internally rotated.

Side note: legit, this separated shoulder thing is a much bigger deal than I think I want it to be. I’m scared of it, really. I don’t want to lose the full function of my right arm - I need to fight with it, plus I need to still be able to “Simba raise” my cat into the air on sunny mornings.

He was telling me I should look into getting a sling so it’s supported while I’m just sitting/not using it. I’m ok without one at work cause I can set up my station so my elbow is supported and I can keep my arm internally rotated. But like, this guy doesn’t make a big deal out of nothing - if he’s advising me to get a sling, I really should consider it... he’s a trained kinesiologist and former physiotherapist, like, he knows what he’s talking about. XD

Headache onset by 11:25 AM. Shit, I wish I took my CBD oil to work. 

It’s definitely a constant presence in my mind - it makes working harder to a degree because a part of my mind is just always firing. But at the same time, work is also better because I have a reason to kind of fully invest myself mentally into work - the pain also sort of drives it. But it’s exhausting and unsustainable. 

Fictional Whump Thoughts From This:

Again, this is me dramatizing my thoughts. I don’t actually think exactly like this - there are parts that are true, but most of it is just me using my experience as a whump jumping point.

“Ah! Fuck... Dammit.” (in response to trying to do a movement drill on Saturday but realizing even just pulling back my left arm with power makes my right shoulder hurt)

“No no, I’m good, it’s okay. It’s just that it hurts a bit and I can’t lift heavy things, but I can still do a lot - it’s okay.”

“Hey, uh, could, um, could I get help out to the car with this?” (sheepishly asked at the grocery store for four measly bags - I ended up just carrying the light stuff on the right side and taking forever because it took too long and I was too embarrassed to wait for help. I’m otherwise able, so I shouldn’t use resources, right?)

“Oh, no, it’s fine - it’s a small price to pay, really. I felt super badass.” (Truth, but some people don’t get it)

[This is less fictional more real, but let’s say it’s dramatized a bit]: I’m really glad this happened to me and not one of my students. I’ve trained for this. And I signed up to do the board breaking knowing it would be harder, more risky and I would certainly be injured. If nothing else, I anticipated bloodied knuckles (I still have the scars from last year’s parade). This would have seriously injured a younger, less experienced student of mine - and would have had lasting mental consequences. Especially done in a public setting like a parade. A lot of people think the boards we break are fake or styrofoam. McDojos might do that, but my club has a history of hard, traditional-style training. Our boards are half inch pine. They’re easier to break, but they still hurt.

“fuck, this is hard without painkillers... this without painkillers or weed?... ugh, my day is gonna be way harder than it should be.”

[In response to my boyfriend’s question of ‘what can I do to make it better?’]: “Naw, I’m good, it’s just me complaining. Don’t mind me, it’s fine. Just complaining about it makes it easier to deal with the pain.”

There’s a definite sense of irritation that I can’t do my usual activities to reduce tension in my neck. I can’t shake my head quickly, my neck mobility is limited, I’m getting tension pains in my left trap now, great.

When I’m in consistent, low-level pain, I often forget to breathe. When deep breathing pulls on the muscles in the shoulder due to how all the torso muscles connect, it makes it even worse.

Okay, legit tho, I’m starting to feel bummed out. So I’mma go throw myself into work.

Again, this is something I did to myself. A lot of my online friends don’t get why I’m so dedicated to this. But I’ve noticed martial artists all react to my injuries with the same reaction I have - sympathetic, but ultimately we’re a bunch of testosterone-ridden fools who like to brag about battle scars. And then ask for heat packs or back rubs ‘cause we’re bunches of teddy bears when we’re not fighting each other.

Anyways, legit this could probably turn into a series for me. I tend to be the whumpee or the caretaker in a lot of scenarios. 

Is this something y’all are good with? Would you prefer this be formatted differently? Anything else you want to know? Otherwise I’mma keep doin’ it just like this.

[brattywriters-anonymous]

House Party 3

Erik's POV

Ibiza, Spain

Agroturismo Atzaró, Ibiza

Transcript from Inga: Parker sent over the assignment. Target: Eliaz Cruz Age: Thirty-two. Contract: Open Compensation: ten million our intelligence told us he'll be at Club O Beach Ibiza in the third bungalow on the right end. Got it 

"It's almost 8, maybe we should head out before he gets too fucked up and leaves." Mirah was putting on her skirt, "How do I look?" I almost dropped my nine millimeter on the floor. This girl looks good, damn if we had the time, I'd..

"Hey! Earth to Stevens!" "Oh, you look good. So you bringing a knife to this gun fight?" She nodded as she stashed the blade in her bikini top. "I'm old school like that." I laugh at her, "So... This is it for you?" She pointed around my figure I held my hands out, "What? What's wrong with what I got on?" She scoffed and giggled, "Its not much is what's wrong!" "It's a pool party! What am I supposed to wear?" "At least throw on a shirt, nigga! How are you supposed to conceal your piece?" I found a compression tee I packed for my morning runs and put it on, "Better?" She took a deep sigh, "Better."

--

Mirah's POV

We left our villa to walk over to the McLaren 570GT that Inga rented us for the week."I'm driving!" I rushed over to the drivers side of the sports car. He trailed me over to the same side and shook his head, "No. You're not." I whined. "C'mon! You drove all day! And on our last mission! And on the way here! And whe--" "Okay! Okay! Damn girl! You whine too damn much!" He tossed me the key. "Yay!" I grinned and unlocked the doors.

I pressed the start button and Inga's voice blared through the speakers, "Hey team!" We vastly interjected, "We are not a team!" she chuckled, "I know! I just like saying it to get you two roweled up. Anywho, Club O Beach is about thirty-two minutes away. I sent the route to the GPS. Erik, please mind the speed limits! We can't afford anymore tickets on your license." "Actually, Inga, I am driving to our destination tonight!" She gasped, "Oh! Okay! Well, Mirah. Safe travels, buckle up, and I hope you have a safe mission." "Thank you!" As I traveled through the PM-804, we chose to travel in silence. "So....."

"Soooo..." Erik mirrored my attempt of breaking the ice."Can we talk about something? Thirty minutes is a long time to not speak." "I mean If you want to. I guess." "I do. So, tell me about you Stevens." "There's not much to tell." I sucked my teeth, "Why are you being so short with me? I'm sure we're gonna be doing more jobs together so you might as well let that shit go." I felt his eyes burning through my profile. "What you wanna know, MiMi?" "How old are you?" "Thirty-Three." "Okay. I'm Thirty. Where you from?" "A little bit of everywhere." "Everywhere like where?" He sighed hard, "I was born and raised in Oakland, Went to the Navy. I was stationed mostly in Korea until I joined the SEALS. Then I was in D.C. for three years. After I discharged, I went to Massachusetts for school. Spent six years there. After school I spent time in Harlem." "Damn, so you really from--" "A little bit of everywhere." "So which place felt like home?" I blinked in his direction, he shook his head, "None of em." "Oh..kay. Well, I'm from Miami. Born and raised. I moved to LA when I was nineteen, spent some time in film school. I wanted to become a director and screenwriter. Then I had to go back home to handle family shit." "Family shit, huh? What's that?" So he's gonna start posing questions now? Cute. "My momma lost her job and cost of living in Miami ain't no bitch. She was raised on what I like to call, Miami girl mentality." "What's the Miami girl mentality?" "Find a man with a bag. Keep that man with a bag. Boss up, and if he not keeping you, get with the next man..with a bag." 

"Tuh. Alright. What that got to do witchu MiMi?" "She kept tryna convince me to start stripping, escorting, or at least bar tending. I told her I just wanted to make films. She kept saying that's not where the money is right now, and we need money at the moment. So, I bar tended at a strip club for a year. Gave my momma half of my checks plus most of my tips for rent and she was always complaining that it wasn't enough. One night, a guy came in. He knew I was struggling and offered to help me. Under one condition." "You had to--" "Train. Sloan threw me full force into the assassin life. Gun ranges, cutlery training, chemicals, mercenary combat..all of it." "So, where's your mom now?" "I completed my first mission five years ago. I took my first commission and bought her a loft right on Ocean Drive. Paid the bills up a couple years and told her to leave me alone. She was hindering my growth. My goals. I had to separate myself. For that and the fact of my job could take away any family or loved ones I cared about at any given moment." He took my left hand. "I get it." "So what about you? You got any family?" "Yeah. My moms and pops died when I was young, I got cousins and an aunt though. They don't live in the states." "So is that why none of the places you lived back there feel like home?" He nods, "Yeah. My home is where they are." "Where is that?" We looked at each other for a moment.

Turn right on to S Rafe Joan Castello/PMV 812-2

I followed the GPS' directions. "So, where did you go to school?" "MIT." He shrugged it off like it was nothing. "Daaaammmn. You fine and you smart?" He laughed, "You think I'm fine, cutie?" Damn. I said that out loud. "Uhh.. I mean...You are attractive." I removed my hand from his to rub the back of my neck in nervousness. "Thanks. You not too bad yourself." I blush at his mediocre compliment. "So what you study?" "Business Administration. Then I went back for my Doctorate." "So, you're actually Dr. Stevens?" "Yup." "You get your Doctorate in business?" "Nah. Engeneering." Damn..he really is smart. "That's cool. So why don't you use your degrees?" "Who says I don't?" I clutched my pearls, "Ah! Ahkay! So we're multifaceted, are we?" I glared over at him, he sunk down in his seat and grinned, "We are." "That's wassup. This assassin life can be draining." "So you still film?" "Meh. Here and there. When I'm feeling it. You married? Got any little Eriks running around?" "Huh? Hell no! No wife. No lil nigglets. You got a man? Lil nigglets?" I burst out in laughter, "No. I am not married nor courted. And I do not have any little pokemon running around." He nudged me a little, "As fine as you are, why?" "I haven't been looking honestly. I never thought anybody would understand what I do or why I do it." 

"Why do you you kill, Miss Mirah?" "Dr. Stevens, I only do kills that are for the greater good. I'm not out here killing children, nor men or women that don't deserve it. The money is more than good. Which helps me gather my filming and writing equipment, pay for my expensive ass place, and my mom's." "That's plausible. I've been killing since I was fifteen. My first kill was strictly self defense. I was helping a woman, a man was beating on her in an ally back in Oakland. I was walking to my group home when I heard her scream for help. He was trying to...rape her. I saw the gun in his hand and I went for it. We were wrestling over it and I elbowed him in the gut. He dropped it and before I knew it I had it in my hand and PAA! I see his face all the time. Even during some of my other kills. I didn't kill again after that until I enlisted. All the countries I visited after, I had to kill to protect my brothers and sisters on the line with me. After that, I joined in a mercenary faction. We killed for the money. Every body I caught during that time was purely for the money. It didn't matter to me who was right, who was wrong. That's when I met Sloan. We were in the same faction. We never ran around in the same subgroups but after I left that life behind, he became my first associate." "So that's how you know each other.." "Mhm." "So why do you kill now?" He took a pregnant pause, which made me look back over at him, then he answered, "I kill now because it's necessary. Every hit now has either planned to take us or our client down. I can't have either if I want a steady cash flow rolling in. But after this one, I'm taking some time out. Spend some needed time with my family." I smiled, "That's great." "So, what you gon do witcho ten?" "Uhh.. I'm gonna buy my loft. Probably travel. Write and film more. I could finish a project just in time for the Sundance deadline." "Cool. Cool."

Continue on Es Novells, your destination will be straight ahead in 2.1 Kilometers

"If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?" Erik completely threw me off with that question. But I already knew the answer, "Africa. I don't know which country, but I've always wanted to go back where my ancestors came from." As I put the car in park, I looked back in his direction and he was already looking at me. "What?" "Nothing. I just don't hear many people say that answer." "Wouldn't you want to?" "Actually, that's--"

"Okay, love birds, it's showtime!" Inga's voice paraded through the speakers again.

--

Erik's POV

The pool's blue and purple lighting set the entire club area's mood, the up tempo Spanish music filled the space. And so did the crowd. It was so many tourists and party goers. Mirah and I both turned on our communicators, Sloan decided that he would take the lead, associating on this mission. I was incredibly reluctant to do it, but Mirah says she trusts him with her life. I agreed to disagree. "Alright Mirah, Erik. The less attention placed on yourselves, the better. Enjoy the festivities for a while. When Mr. Cruz gets back to his bungalow, I'll let you know."I held my hand out to her, "You do dance, right?" She looked at it and walked out to the dance floor, still mean. I trailed her as she began swaying to the beat. That sheer shit she got on was doing her ass all the justice I needed to see. I moved along with her, grabbed her hand, she spun around. I looked down at her face, she was taking in her surroundings. I almost forgot the mission. This is the second mission she's thrown me off of. I knew this partner thing was gonna be distracting. I looked over to my right to see our target and our intelligence, a blonde named Arin. She was his plus one for the night and she's been entertaining him with all of the drinks and drugs he could handle."Hola! You guys look so cute! You here on vacation?" a woman, probably in her early twenties, was standing to our side. I skewed my head. I don't talk to anyone I don't know. I definitely don't talk to anyone I don't know, outside the country. Mirah stepped between us, "Yeah. We are. We're--" "Newlyweds. On our honeymoon." I interjected, wrapping my arms around MiMi. "Ahh! Well, congratulations! We should toast to that!" She motioned for a waiter, he brought us champagne. "Salud!" The woman said as she gulped down her drink, looking directly at us. We followed suit, looking at each other. "I'm Teresa by the way!" Mirah took her hand as they danced together. "Mr. Stevens! No need to be a prude! She's just a girl trying to party!" Sloan's British accent came through my communicator, "You checked her out?" "Yes. Teresa Mendez, twenty two years old, exchange student from Madrid. She's a regular at the club. There's nothing to be alarmed about." I just danced alone while peeping the scene, looking for our target. He was in the pool with Arin. Her and I locked eyes for a couple seconds and she said something to Eliaz while pointing at the bungalow. I quickly stepped between the two women, "Honey! I need to borrow you for a moment!" Mirah rolled her eyes and told Teresa she'll be back. "What's up?" I turned her around and held her close to me, her head peaking above my shoulder so she could see what I was witnessing. "He's about to make his way over to the spot. Arin is gonna leave him alone, we slide in and close the curtains." She nodded, leaned back and looked me in the eyes. She looked focused, she looked ready. "Alright gang, he is going to his section! Get ready to close in." I took MiMi's hand and lead her to our destination. She pulled down my shirt, my gun was showing. I peered over my shoulder and grinned, "Now who's tryna look at who's booty?" She laughed and tapped my backside, "I never said I don't look!" I stopped, turned around and pulled MiMi really close to me, "Alright we're gonna act like a drunk couple and stumble into the bungalow. Got it?" She gave a slight nod, "Got it."

--

Mirah's POV

Erik cupped my ass and I immediately felt the heat radiating between us. I wrapped my arms around him and leaned in to seal the deal. Once our lips touched, I let a moan slip out. Damn, his lips are really soft. I pulled away from him with a puzzled look on my face, not because I didn't know what we were doing, it was because I didn't know if we were acting or not. He grinned at me and closed our gap again. This kiss was more aggressive than the last as he walked backwards. I was trailing his movements until we fell into place. I grabbed his face and added tongue, he grinned against my lips and placed a slap on my left cheek. Which made me open my eyes to realize I needed to close the curtains. I grabbed both strings holding the two cloths open.

"What the hell are you two doing?" We heard a thick Spanish accent. We slowly broke our kiss, I stared at Erik, down at my bikini top then back at him as I reached behind him. He got the clue, he cupped my breast then reached beneath it to grab my concealed blade. "You two need to leave. NOW." 

Eliaz stood up with is phone in is hand. I pulled out Erik's nine millimeter and aimed it right at his head, "I don't think that's such a good idea, Eliaz!" "Nah. I don't either. I suggest you give that to me and take a seat."

"QUICKLY! THERE'S AN UNIDENTIFIED BOGEY. HE IS RUSHING TOWARD THE BUNGALOW...FOUR SECONDS!" Erik handed me the silencer, I quickly screwed it on and cocked the gun back. Erik looked over at Eliaz, put his finger over his lip, signaling for our target to remain quiet."THERE'S ANOTHER RUSHING TO THE OPPOSITE SIDE. BE PREPARED TO TAKE THEM OUT.", Sloan warned. I reached into my clutch to give Erik my emergency .22. He grabbed it and the first bogey swept the curtain back. I pulled him in and shot him close range in his heart. He fell. Erik caught the one on the right, we heard guests screaming and scrambling. We looked at each other, pointed our weapons at Eliaz, shot him five times. I shot two, Erik, three. We booked it out of the club and blended in with the terrorized party-goers.

--

[a5bloodyinspired]

Peter//Left Alone

Click here to read part 2!

Word Count:2400

**********

"Well, they look like they're having fun, don't they?" Ned asked from the seat to my left as I gazed over at Peter and Liz, chin resting in my hand propped on the cafeteria table.

I let out a small, "mhm," as I watched Peter drape his arm gently over Liz's shoulders, his eyes crinkling as he laughed at something. After crushing on Liz for years, Peter had finally gathered up the courage to ask her out, and to his surprise, she had agreed. Two months later, they were both happily dating. Everyone could see how happy they were, constantly together and showering each other in love. As his friend, I just had to be happy for him, right?

Wrong.

"Come on," Ned pleaded, sliding into the seat across from me, blocking my view of the happy couple. "You've got to tell him how you feel. The boy's clueless! He'll never figure it out on his own!"

"Maybe it's better that way. That'd be a fun conversation, don't you think?" I raised an eyebrow at him sarcastically."'Hey, Peter! You know how you've finally started dating the girl you've been crushing on since middle school? The one with the "flawless eyes", the "perfect personality", and the "unexplainable ability to make you happy"? Yeah, you should dump her for me, your dorky best friend who's not that great, and been too much of a coward to tell you she's been crushing on you since elementary school!' How about I don't!"

Ned scoffed at me. "Seriously, (Y/N). Tell him. Any guy would be unbelievably lucky to have you. He just doesn't see it yet."

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to take a rain check. Sorry!" I quickly stood up, snatching my tray from the table and walking to throw away my trash, sneaking a glance back over at Peter.

The two of them had their foreheads pressed together, whispering things to each other in between kisses. I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I turned back to the trash can, trying to ignore the deep ache in my chest as Ned jogged to catch up with me.

Knowing the conversation from before was over, he refrained from pressing the matter any further. He looked up at me, giving a sympathetic grimace as he tossed his arm over my shoulder and led me out of the cafeteria. He walked me to my chemistry class at a slow, leisurely pace, seeing as we had left lunch early and had a bit of time to kill.

"Hey, just so you know," Ned stopped in front of the door to the classroom. "You're way cooler than Liz."

"Oh, please, Ned. You don't have to-"

"No, really, (Y/N). You're way funnier, way smarter, and way prettier. Peter's just too blind to see it."

"Thanks, Ned." He squeezed me lightly with the arm that was over my shoulders. By that time, a few students were making their way into the classroom.

"Alright, well, I gotta go, but go kick come chemical butt, okay?" Ned joked.

I laughed at him. "Will do. See you later!"

I walked into the classroom, setting my bag down at my usual seat. I took out a piece of scrap paper and doodled on it while I waited for my classmates to arrived and for the class to start.

Soon enough, Peter walked through the door, a slight bounce in his step as he plopped down in his seat next to me. At the beginning of the year, the idea of sitting at the same table and being right next to Peter every chemistry class had been exciting and something I looked forward to each week. Now, it was just a constant reminder of his relationship with Liz and my loneliness. Even though it was the only class I had with him that Liz wasn't in, somehow she always managed to pop up in conversation.

"(Y/N)! Do you want to know what Liz and I are doing this weekend!" Peter leaned toward me, bouncing in his seat as he stared at me intently.

"I'm assuming it doesn't matter and you're going to tell me either way?" I didn't bother to lift my eyes from my paper.

"We're gonna go see a movie together! This weekend!" he exclaimed, ignoring my comment.

"Ah, there it is!"

"Isn't it great?"

"But haven't you done that before?" I looked over at him, resting my head in my hand as I leaned on the desk. "I mean, you two have gone to see tons of movies together."

"Yeah, but this one is a romance movie! That's gotta mean something more, right?"

Thankfully, the teacher called from the front of the class to start the lesson, saving me from the conversation that was only making the ache in my chest more severe.

I kept glancing at the clock, counting the minutes as they crept closer to the end of the day. As the class was coming to a close the teacher started talking about the project we would be working on for next week. A collective groan escaped the class as she handed out the worksheet for some experiment we were meant to work on.

"Now, this is a partner project, so table-mates will be responsible for completing this together," she spoke, returning to the front of the class. "I don't have anything else, so you are all dismissed."

I felt a poke in my side, and I glanced over to find Peter jabbing me lightly with his elbow. "You and me, eh?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. "Want to come over after school and we can go ahead and get started on it?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "It's you and I. And sure, I'll meet you at your locker as soon as class is over."

"Sounds good," he smiles lightly gathering his things.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and began walking out of the room to my next class. "Later, Parker."

**********

Ned and I were working our way through the crowd of high school students in a hurry to leave for the day. I was explaining that I was going to Peter and Aunt May's apartment to work on the chemistry assignment that afternoon when I spotted Peter at his locker, only he wasn't alone.

Of course, he wasn't.

He and Liz stood, bodies pressed together as they gazed into each other's eyes, smiling while they had some meaningless conversation. Her arms were draped around his neck while his hands rested firmly on her hips.

The deep ache from earlier in the day returned, along with a nauseating feeling to accompany it.

I cleared my throat as Ned and I stood in front of them, clearly neither of them noticing us there while they were in their own little world. They both quickly looked over at us in surprise.

A smile spread across Liz's face and she let her arms fall to her sides, Peter releasing his hold on her hips. "Ned! (Y/N)! How are you guys? I haven't seen you in a while!"

It's not that Liz was a jerk about the whole thing. As much as I wanted to hate her guts, she was just as oblivious as Peter was. She was a genuinely kind person, but she had taken the spot I had wanted to fill for years.

And it wasn't even just that. Peter and Liz were one of those sickeningly sweet couples. Like the ones that would poke each other's noses while they argued over who loved the other more. Like the "in-your-face" kind of cute couples.

I just kept quiet as Ned, Peter, and Liz made light conversation, staring at my feet.

"Hey, are you okay?" Liz's voice broke me from my thoughts as I glanced up at her, finding her and both the boys staring at me.

"Yeah, I'm-I'm fine," I offered a half-hearted smile and nod.

"Well, I guess I should probably get going. I have a ton of homework to get done tonight," Ned said. We all said our goodbyes and he walked off down the hall, leaving me alone with Peter and Liz.

"We should probably go, too. (Y/N) and I have a chemistry project to work on." Peter said, turning to Liz and pressing a kiss to her lips, causing me to glance away.

They started muttering "I love you's" back and forth until I finally interjected.

"I'm just gonna wait out front," I muttered, spinning on my heel and walking out the school doors.

Peter jogged down the stairs to my side to catch up with me as I walked away from the school and headed toward the busy streets of New York.

"Hey, wait up," Peter said as he slowed to a walking pace by my side. "You want to run by Delmar's before we head home? We haven't gone together in a while."

Well, there's a first, I thought. He actually noticed for once.

Going to Delmar's had been a regular event for Peter and I before he had started dating Liz. the less we hung out, the less we went, and I hadn't even been to the little sandwich shop in several weeks.

Before I knew it, we were walking in the front door of Peter's apartment, sandwiches in hand, tossing our backpacks on the kitchen table.

"Aunt May shouldn't be home for a couple hours," Peter explained, taking a bite of his sandwich.

We had just read over the worksheet, gathering the items necessary to perform the experiment that the worksheet detailed when Peter's phone began ringing from his backpack. He pulled it off of the table, onto the floor next to him as he dug through it, zipping and unzipping almost every pocket, unable to find his phone anywhere.

I leaned over, reaching my hand into a side pocket, gripping the phone as I pulled it out and handed it to him. He took it, but not before I glanced at the screen, reading the caller ID.

❤️Lizzie❤️

The screen showed a selfie of Peter kissing her cheek.

"Sorry, I gotta take this," Peter said, jumping up from his place on the floor and walking into another room as he answered the phone.

I waited ever so patiently where I was. I had enough time to finish my sandwich, leaving me to wait for him while I sat on the couch upside down, feet in the air, head dangling over the edge of the seat.

I caught part of his conversation about 40 minutes into the call. "No, babe, I can't I have to work on this project with (Y/N)." He paused, laughing softly at something she had said. "You know I'd always rather be with you."

My heart sank at that statement as I sat up, unable to hear anything else that he said to her. I fought back the tears, unwilling to explain the reason for them once Peter finally returned.

"Okay, I should probably go," I heard him say as he walked into the living room where I sat alone.

"Well, I'm not gonna hang up. You're gonna have to," he remarked.

"Not gonna happen." He giggled. "You hang up first."

Fed up with it, I stood and walked over to him.

"You do it! Come on, Li-"

I snatched the phone from his hand, pulling it in front of me and pressing the red button on the screen, ending the call.

"There," I said, tossing the phone on the couch. "Now neither of you have to do it." I gave him a sarcastic smile, turning to walk back into the kitchen so we could get on with the assignment.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?"

"Never better."

"No, no, something's up."

"Really, Peter, I'm fin-"

"Don't even. What's with you recently? You haven't been yourself and you've seemed really irritable and on edge."

My blood began to boil at his words. "No, I haven't."

"Yeah... yeah, you have. For the last couple months or so. Really ever since..." He paused for a moment and he frowned. "Ever since Liz and I got together..."

"Whatever Peter, you're being ridiculous, " I stated, desperate for this conversation to be over.

"Is that what this is about? Me and Liz? Or Liz and I , whatever."

"Seriously, just drop it."

"Do you have a problem with her?"

"No, I don't have a problem with her. Will you just let it go?"

"Or is it that we're dating?"

"No Peter, really, I don't have a problem with her," I stared at him, the anger finally spilling over. "It's you I have a problem with."

"M-Me?"

"Yeah, you." I jabbed a finger at him. "It's not your girlfriend, it's the fact that you've left Ned and I in the dust while you run off with the 'girl of your dreams'." I mocked him, putting air quotes around the phrase. "When was the last time you sat with either of us at lunch or even spoke to either of us at school outside of classes? You haven't even come to movie night in over a month, Peter! When was the last time-"

"What, so you can't be happy for me now that I'm finally dating Liz? Is that really what this is all about? That's why you've been so angry and distant? I finally have this and you can't be happy for me?" He was getting angrier and angrier with each word, and so was I. "I've had a crush on her for two years, (Y/N)! Two years!! And now-"

"TWO YEARS, PARKER?!" I finally broke, screaming at him. "WELL, I'VE HAD A CRUSH ON YOU FOR FIVE YEARS, BUT THAT HASN'T REALLY MATTERED, HAS IT?!"

Silence was what followed, only disturbed by my heavy breaths as I calmed down, watching Peter's face fall in realization.

He stuttered over his words. "(Y/N), I-"

"Don't." I cut him off walking over to pick up my backpack and my papers from the floor. "I'll do what I can at home, and maybe we can finish it during free period tomorrow."

Peter, at a loss for words, didn't say anything as I walked out the door. The tears rolled down my cheeks as I walked down the stairs, passing a confused Aunt May on the way down.

After I kept walking when she asked me what was wrong, she continued on her way up the stairs, hoping to find answers with her nephew in the apartment.

What she found was Peter, still stunned, standing in the middle of the kitchen, with tears in his eyes.

"Peter, what..."

"Aunt May," he sniffled softly. "I messed up."

[illumynare]

Red vs Blue Fic: we are a woven thread, find the strand

Summary: Wash wakes up from a coma to find out that all of his friends are dead. Months later, he finds a lost cat in the rain, and starts to live.

Parings: Wash/CT, Yorkalina.

Warnings: Canon-typical language, borderline suicidal thoughts, alcohol abuse, aftermath of canonical character death. THERE’S A HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE.

Notes: Also available on AO3!

My entry for the RvB Reverse Big Bang at @rvbficwars! I was so, so excited to work with @blazonix; please go here to see (and kudo/reblog!) their amazing art for this story.

Story/chapter titles are from "The Breaking Light" by Vienna Teng, which was also my entire writing soundtrack for this project.

1. feel the hollow dream slip away

Every time Wash wakes up, he hopes it was all a dream.

He hopes that Connie will be tucked against his side, new pillow creases pressed into her cheek. That York will be leaning over him, calling, "Hey, Sleeping Beauty" (which usually means that he's written something on Wash's face). That Maine and Carolina will be dragging him out of bed for an early morning run. That North and South will be squabbling in the kitchen, the rich scent of Dakota family buttermilk pancakes wafting through the air.

Wash lies very still with his eyes closed, and he hopes.

But it's never real.

He's always alone.

Eventually, he gets up. Makes coffee. Sits at the little IKEA table and watches the traffic on the street below.

Wonders why he's still here, when everyone else is dead.

#

Sometimes he wakes up after having the dream, and that's worse.

In the dream, he's all alone in a vast wilderness—no, it’s an entire world without color. Gray sky, gray mountains. Gray dust and rocks beneath his feet. He's wearing some kind of heavy armor—he sees gray gloves on his hands—and he's walking, marching, endlessly onwards.

He doesn't know where he's going. He doesn't know why. But ahead of him flutters the only piece of color in the world: a brilliant, glowing blue butterfly. He knows he has to follow it.

Wash has had the dream, off and on, for all his life. But when he was in the coma? For all those six years, he was marching through that gray world, until his legs shook with exhaustion and sweat itched inside his suit. But he couldn't rest, because he knew that somebody was waiting for him. If he followed the blue butterfly long enough, he knew he would find his way home.

Then he woke up, and everyone who had been home to him was dead.

#

Sometimes, his therapist asks if he can remember the accident. Wash always says no.

That's not exactly true.

Here's what he remembers: a bright, bright blue October sky, the cold wind scraping his face raw and making his nose run. He loved it, he's always loved days like that.

He remembers York tagging along to the lab with them, even though he didn't have an internship with Church Industries and really shouldn’t have been allowed past security. South punched his shoulder and said that dumb jocks didn't belong with the cool kids, and York grinned at her and said, "Aw, c'mon. I am the cool kids."

He remembers that Connie had just washed her hair, and it smelled like lavender.

And he remembers the moment it all went wrong, when Carolina suddenly stopped laughing at York as she bent over the instruments. He remembers the soft sound of Connie drawing a quick breath—

And he remembers something after that, but it's just a blur of noise and flashing lights, billowing white smoke and burning, burning, burning.

Sometimes, very late at night, he thinks he can remember a heavy weight pressing down on him, and the nightmare smell of human flesh dissolving under chemicals: Maine, saving his life by taking most of the blast.

His therapist tells him that he needs to come to terms with the memories. Wash just wants to forget.

#

He's grateful for one thing, when he wakes up in the hospital: his nurses don't lie to him. They tell tell him the truth, straight-up.

(Sunny-side up, his brain adds, still loopy on pain medication.)

There was an accident. You've been in a coma for six years. Three of your friends died. All of them were injured.

(Uh-oh, spaghetti-o.)

Wash listens, and even through the haze of drugs, he remembers the fucking day before when Connie told him that she was worried about procedures in the lab. She thought thinks weren't quite right, and he brushed her off—

He thinks, I'm gonna make them pay.

But the next moment, the nurse tells him: A lawsuit found Church Industries criminally liable. Your medical care is being paid for by the settlement.

And that's that.

Wash does research later, when his head is clear. He finds out that Leonard Church committed suicide after losing his company. Dr. Price, the lab supervisor, was banned from ever working in the industry again; he's reduced to living off the meager sales of his tell-all book.

There's no revenge left for Wash to take.

And without that . . . there's no reason for him to be here.

#

They tell him about Connie. She survived the accident. She came to visit him in the hospital, they tell him. First every day and then every week and then every month—she was a professional journalist by then, traveling across the world to cover disasters and atrocities and injustices.

Then there was a car-bomb.

Wash finds the news story and the obituary. He reads them, hunching over and hugging himself. He can’t stop remembering that last, soft breath he heard her draw.

They tell him that York and Carolina survived too, but they haven’t come to visit him in years.

Wash doesn’t try to find them. He doesn’t want to know if they’re dead or they just forgot him.

It doesn’t really matter. Either way, he’s alone now.

#

The money from the settlement gets him a small apartment and a therapist. Wash goes to IKEA and gets a mattress, a table, a chair, a box of silverware, and three mugs. Then he stops. When his therapist prods him, he lies and says that last weekend he got posters and an orchid.

(Connie had an orchid she’d kept since she was fifteen, and it still bloomed purple flowers every year. When Wash was working up his nerve to ask her out, he got an orchid of his own. He thought he could talk to her about it, but it died in the first week.)

He does the exercises that they gave him in the hospital. He talks about his feelings with his therapist. Once a week, he gets a latte at Starbucks and fills out a single job application.

The rest of the time, he sits at his table. Lies on his mattress. Wishes he could stop.

Sometimes he has the dream again, and he wakes up furious. It’s so fucking unfair, that every time he has this dream, he believes he’s got somewhere to go. He believes there’s a reason to keep walking.

Then he wakes up and remembers it isn’t true.

The beautiful, shining blue of that butterfly—it’s just a lie.

One morning Wash wakes up from the dream, and he’s so furious that he throws his mug of coffee at the wall. The sharp crack as it shatters is like a slap to the face; as he stares at the dent and the coffee dripping down the wall, he feels like he’s suddenly waking up.

He’s done his exercises every day. He’s filled out job applications, he’s talked to the therapist. He’s done every fucking thing they told him to do, pretending to keep living, and for what?

Fuck them. Fuck everything.

His arms and legs are suddenly jangling with unfamiliar energy, and he knows what he’s going to do. He walks out of his apartment and down the street to the corner mart. He gets a bottle of whipped-cream flavored vodka, and he starts drinking it as he marches back to his apartment.

#

Halfway through the bottle, he remembers the last time he got really drunk. It was a star-watching party that York had organized, mostly in an attempt to make up with Carolina after one of their fights. But it was a good enough excuse for them all to sit out drinking under the stars, and while York tried and failed to set up the telescope, Wash and Connie snuggled together on a beach towel.

They were both pretty drunk. Connie was telling Wash why she believed in reincarnation, something about quantum entanglement and multiple timelines. Wash couldn’t follow it, his brain too fuzzy from beer and the scent of Connie’s hair.

What he did understand, what he would remember forever after, was this:

“I think there’s a reason we found each other,” she said, twisting to look up at him. “You. Me. All of us. It’s not a coincidence.”

And Wash nodded, because he believed her.

Childhood sucked. High school sucked. College felt like he was starting over, a new person. Suddenly he had friends and a future, and he was so happy, so very happy. When Connie started dating him—when Carolina nodded and said, “Well done,” for the first time—when he qualified for the internship along with the rest of them—

Looking down into Connie’s eyes now, listening to South cackle like a hyena in the distance, he thought it was worth it, all the misery of the earlier years was worth it. Just to find them.

Wash remembers that night as he drinks the vodka, and for the first time since he woke up, he cries.

Because if finding them was the reason for him to be born here, what the fuck is he supposed to do now?

#

Wash's face is covered in sweat as he leans over the toilet, elbows braced against the seat, panting for breath. His mouth and his nose are burning with the sour taste of bile, but he knows there's more to come up—

A hand presses against his shoulder. A deep voice: "Breathe."

"Seriously, rookie?" The second voice is lighter, drawling. "You thought you could out-drink Maine?"

—and it feels like a memory, but he knows it never happened, because the voices are kind of like York and Maine but they're also not, and Wash gives up thinking as he convulses again, more of the vodka leaving his system.

#

When he finally falls asleep, he doesn’t dream about the gray world for once, but starlight in Connie’s eyes.

2. listen to the breathing sea

The next day, Wash’s phone alarm goes off at 11:35. He cringes at the noise and tries to remember why it’s happening.

His 12:00 therapy appointment. The alarm was for him to leave the house, not wake up.

Shit.

Wash crawls out of bed and does his best to ignore the way the room feels like it’s very slightly spinning. He fell asleep in his clothes, so he’s able to just pull on his shoes and stumble out the door into the rain.

He misses the bus by thirty seconds. Wash stares at it trundling away, exhaust puffing white in the cold air. Rain trickles down the back of his neck and patters against his shoulders—he forgot to grab his jacket. He thinks about the not-covered-by-insurance fee for missing an appointment, thinks about his therapist hounding him for answers about why he missed the appointment, and he says, “Well, fuck.”

A shrill meow answers him.

Wash looks up.

In the tree next to the bus stop, on a low branch barely above the level of Wash’s head, there’s a cat crouched into a miserable loaf of damp fur. It’s small, scrawny, but not a kitten. Maybe a year old? It’s got bright blue eyes, and a cream coat with chocolate-tipped face and paws—definitely Siamese, maybe even pure-bred.

The cat meows again. The sound cuts through Wash’s head like a knife, but he smiles anyway. Even if he couldn’t see it, he’d know the breed from that ear-piercing yowl.

“Hey, little guy,” he says. “How’d you get up there?”

It doesn’t seem too high for the cat to the jump—up or down—but it’s not moving from its perch. Maybe it’s scared of the rain. It certainly looks scared, crouched on the branch with its ears back.

“Hey,” Wash says again, and reaches for the cat.

The meow turns into a growl.

Wash stills, his hands just inches away from the cat. “C’mon,” he says softly. “It’s okay, little guy.”

The growl continues, low and steady. Wash waits a couple minutes, but the cat doesn’t seem to be getting any more trusting, and his arms are getting really tired.

He seizes the cat firmly with both hands. It yowls, but doesn’t fight him as he pulls it out of the tree, and as soon as he holds it to his chest, it snuggles against him, purring loudly.

Poor thing just wanted out of the rain.

Wash runs the short distance back to his apartment building. The cat purrs in his arms as he carries it inside and up the stairs, but as soon as the door to his apartment swings shut behind them—

It’s like the cat turns into a living, whirling blender blade. Claws go in all directions and Wash would swear the thing’s spine curves like a pretzel before it bursts of his arms, lands on the floor, and dashes straight into the bathroom.

Wash looks at the scratches on his hands, already starting to bleed. Feels the sting of another scratch on his cheek.

“You fucker,” he says, but he’s hardly angry. There’s this warm feeling in his chest, like he hasn’t felt since he woke up from the coma, and the pain of the scratches makes him feel like he’s finally, actually awake.

He doesn’t have any band-aids or Neosporin. He has to go out to the corner store. When he gets back, he checks—the cat is sitting in his bathtub, glaring up at him. It hisses when it sees him.

“Good boy,” Wash mutters, and goes to tend his wounds.

He’s already making a list in his head. Cat food. Water dish. A litter box. Then maybe a trip to the vet.

He realizes that he’s humming to himself.

And Wash knows this could be someone’s pet, the vet could find a microchip, but even if it doesn’t last forever—he has a cat.

Right now, he’s not alone.

#

The vet tells him that the cat is male, healthy, probably about a year old, and not microchipped.

Wash names him Epsilon.

It’s a funny, pretentious name, and it feels right for a cat who alternates between hiding in corners and hissing, balancing on top of the shower curtain rod to stare at Wash while he’s naked, and draping himself over Wash’s face while he’s trying to sleep.

By the end of the first week, Wash has bled five more times, but he doesn’t care. Because Epsilon talks to him—all day, endlessly, demanding attention just as often as he rejects it.

There’s no more sleeping in till noon, not with Epsilon yowling in his ear and pawing at his face. There’s no more staying inside all day either, because Wash is continually realizing that he needs new things for Epsilon: a litter box scoop. A feather toy. A scratching-post. A cat tree. A bag of catnip.

The catnip sends Epsilon careening off the walls for several minutes. Then he staggers over to Wash and collapses in his lap, purring loudly.

The next morning, Epsilon shoves Wash’s two remaining mugs off the counter, shattering them. Wash groans, and heads back to IKEA. He gets the mugs, and a few cushions—cats like those, don’t they?—and then throws in a few posters, and a plastic orchid that won’t poison Epsilon if he chews on it.

When he gets back to the apartment, Epsilon yowls and trills and winds about his legs, nearly tripping him.

It hits Wash that this is the longest he’s ever been out of the apartment, that Epsilon missed him, and it knocks the wind out of him. He sits down with a thump, and Epsilon climbs into his lap, purring loudly.

Wash rubs the soft fur at the base of Epsilon’s ears, and he tries really hard not to cry.

#

There are still bad days. When Wash wakes up, feeds Epsilon, and then goes right back to bed.

Sometimes, on the bad days, Epsilon cuddles up on Wash’s chest, purring and kneading. Sometimes he dashes around the apartment, yowling and bouncing off the walls. Sometimes he vanishes, and Wash lies morbidly still thinking, He left you he left you just like everyone leaves you, until finally the misery and paranoia are too much. He gets up and hunts through the apartment until he finds Epsilon hiding under the sink or in a pile of laundry.

(One time he finds Epsilon in the dryer, and after pulling him out Wash sits down and panics for nearly twenty minutes. Because he’s heard stories about cats getting killed in dryers, and if Epsilon—if Wash loses one more thing—)

And there are bad weeks, when Wash spends day after day in bed. When he can’t get up the energy to clean the litterbox for three, four—one time even five days, until Epsilon pees on his bed in protest.

Wash knows what cats do, when they can smell a spot where they’ve peed before. He decides it’s easier just to get a new mattress. And when he’s back at IKEA . . . somehow, buying an actual bedframe to go with the mattress doesn’t seem like that much trouble. He gets a nightstand too, because he’s started reading in bed while Epsilon purrs between his feet.

It takes him an entire afternoon to put the bedframe and the nightstand together. But it’s worth it when he flops into  bed that night, and a moment later Epsilon jumps onto the mattress beside him with a burbling trill.

(Epsilon loves hiding under the bed, and also launching himself off the nightstand, knocking it over in the process. Wash curses at him and smiles at him and manages to sleep at night.)

Not everything is okay. Wash still has the dream sometimes, and when he wakes up, his chest is tight with longing and grief and frustration at how fucking unfair the world is.

There’s a day where the emptiness and the unfairness is too much. Wash wakes from the dream, and he ignores Epsilon’s yowling, leaves the apartment and walks right back to the corner store, buys another bottle of whipped-cream vodka and does his best to drink himself senseless.

Epsilon doesn’t comfort Wash when he’s vomiting into the toilet again. He sits two feet away, washing his paw. When Wash is done vomiting he just—lays his head down on the tile and stares at Epsilon.

Generously proud, Epsilon accepts his wordless praise.

And in the morning, Wash has a reason to fight through the headache, get up, and live.

3. feel the ground beneath sweep and sway

It’s Saturday. Wash is sitting in a Starbucks, trying to stay awake as he fills out his fifth job application of the day. He’s started caring a lot more about getting a job ever since it occurred to him that someday Epsilon was probably going to have vet bills. So he’s trying to work hard at the job search, but he didn’t really sleep the night before. First he had nightmares, then Epsilon threw up in three different parts of the apartment. Now he can barely keep awake, despite the coffee.

"Holy shit."

Wash’s eyes snap open, because he knows that voice, he—

—can only think, Holy shit.

Because standing in front of him with a venti caramel frappuccino is York.

He’s older, with scruff on his perfect chin, and an ugly scar cutting across a fucked-up left eye—and why does that seem familiar?—but there's no way Wash could ever fail to recognize the star football player who was North's best friend and Carolina's on-and-off boyfriend.

"Are you—you really are Wash, right?" York laughs a little, scratches at the back of his neck. "I'm not crazy?"

"Yeah," says Wash after a moment. "I mean. It's me."

"Holy shit," York says again. "Lina is not going to believe this. They said you'd never wake up."

Wash's mouth goes dry. "Lina?" he asks.

York is already dragging him out of his seat. “C’mon, you gotta meet her, you can have dinner with us.”

#

York is a high school math teacher. Carolina is married to him and pregnant with their first kid.

Wash isn't sure which part of that he finds more unbelievable.

But Carolina's also running some kind of world-changing software start-up out of her home office, and that part makes sense. Wash is pretty sure that this is actually happening, that he’s not about to wake up to Epsilon licking his face.

It’s still weird, finding out that they’re living only a couple miles from his apartment. That while Wash was unconscious in a hospital bed, they were getting married, renting a house, adopting a pit bull named Delta.

(York and Delta clearly adore each other—Delta climbs on York’s lap as soon as he sits down on the couch, and York scratches Delta’s ears with a gentle expression on his face that Wash has never seen before. Carolina smiles at them, and that’s new as well, the open affection on her face.)

They’re both doing okay. And Wash is glad of that, he is—he keeps thinking, they were dead, even though he never knew that, just worried—but looking at the life they’ve built together, Wash suddenly feels even more like a ghost. Even more broken.

“So what have you been doing?” Carolina asks as they sit down together with cartons of Chinese food—York ordered out, explaining that the kitchen hadn’t recovered from his last attempt at cooking and Carolina was too busy these days.

“I, uh.” Wash pauses. Suddenly the pride he took in the plastic orchid and the nightstand seems pathetic. “I have a cat.”

“Probably still recovering, right?” says York. “Physical therapy is a bitch.”

“Yeah,” says Wash, poking at his orange chicken. He keeps wanting to stare at York’s scar, but whenever he looks at it, there’s a weird, staticky feeling in his head.

Delta whines, and York slips him a piece of chicken.

“So,” says Wash, “last time I saw you two, you were covered in chemical burns.”

The words come out sharper than he intended, but next to his own shitty apartment, this house looks like a postcard. When the soft smile washes off Carolina’s face, Wash feels a smidge of satisfaction.

“Aww, it wasn’t that bad,” York says brightly. “I still have one eye.”

“We were both in the hospital for more than a month,” says Carolina, her voice low, awkward.

“Coulda come to visit,” Wash mutters.

“Dude, you were in a coma,” says York. “I mean, I know I talk a lot, but I like it when people at least say, ‘Shut up, York.’”

Wash knows that’s his cue, that’s he’s supposed to elbow him and say, Shut up, York, and they’ll all laugh just they way they did in college. But he’s six years older and a world more broken, and he can’t play along anymore.

“You fucking left me,” he bursts out, fingers clenching on his chopstick. “I woke up and Connie was dead, everyone was dead, you left me there to rot—”

sterile white walls and Article 12, restraints and pills and how does that make you feel, Agent Washington?

It’s like static screaming through his brain, and it only lasts a moment but it leaves Wash shaky and dizzy, and then he realizes that he’s cracked his chopstick.

That’s not a real memory. He was never locked up like that. He’s not crazy, he’s not—

totally, completely sane

—and then Carolina puts a hand on his shoulder. Wash startles, but manages to meet her eyes.

“Wash,” she says slowly, awkwardly. “I’m sorry. The doctors said you would never wake up. I couldn’t . . .”

“We’d kinda buried all our other friends,” says York. His voice is still light, but there’s a brittleness to his smile now.

You had each other, Wash wants to say. You weren’t alone.

But there are lines in their faces that weren’t there six years ago, when they were all kids in college together.

For the first time, Wash tries to imagine the aftermath: three friends dead, another in a coma. Federal investigators dragging all the dirty secrets of Church Industries into the light. Leonard Church’s suicide. And then—when they’d started to think the disasters were finally over—the car bomb that killed Connie.

Delta huffs and whines for another treat.

“Yeah,” Wash mutters, all the anger draining out of him, the same way it did when he woke up and found there was no revenge for him to get. “Yeah, okay.”

#

The evening gets better. York is just as funny as he used to be, and twenty percent less of an asshole, and Wash enjoys listening to his stories about the high school where he teaches and the crazy ex-army P.E. teacher named Tex. Carolina is quieter, just like always, but she lights up describing the company she’s starting, and Wash is hit all over again by the feeling he had when he met her: This woman is going to change the world.

He still feels reluctant to talk about his life, but he shows them pictures of Epsilon. York gets out a couple beers. They’re finally able to laugh together.

Eventually, York is rolling on the floor with Delta, while Wash and Carolina sit together on the couch, both of them resting their feet on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry,” Carolina says quietly without looking at him, “about the Director.”

“What?” says Wash.

It takes him a moment to realize what she’s talking about, because outside the gleaming laboratories of Church Industries, she never called him the Director. She always said my dad, or sometimes my stupid dad when they’d just had a fight.

“He said the lab was following safety protocols,” Carolina goes on, still watching York and Delta. “I believed him. I shouldn’t have.”

Wash thinks about how she has no visible scars, but she was in the hospital for a month like York; he remembers how proud he was when she said that she’d recommended him for the internship.

How thankful they all were, once upon a time, to Leonard Church.

“I’m not mad about that,” he says. “We all trusted him.”

Carolina sighs. “Except Connie.”

“Yeah,” says Wash, and the grief is just as fresh and sharp as when he woke up and heard she was dead. “Except Connie.”

4. leave the battlefield, leave her hand

Finding York and Carolina should make things better. After all, Wash isn’t alone now. Once a week he has dinner with them, and every day he knows that there’s someone else out there who was in the lab when everything went wrong. His therapist is delighted when he tells her.

Instead, things get worse.

Wash starts having the dream almost every night. But it’s different now. The anger and the sadness that used to come when he woke up are now bleeding backwards into the dream. He trudges through the colorless landscape without hope, and the blue butterfly fluttering before him feels like a mockery.

He’s never getting anywhere. He’s never going home.

One night, in the dream, Wash stops walking. He sits down, a horrible grief aching in his chest.

Beneath him, the colorless rocks tremble slightly as Wash draws his pistol. He looks down the barrel. He sets his finger on the trigger—

And he wakes up sweating and shaking.

Just a dream, he tells himself. It was just a dream.

But it felt real. And not just then in the dream, but even now, when he’s awake. He feels like he nearly died. Like if he had pulled that trigger, it would have torn his mind apart.

(It feels familiar. Like he was killed inside his dreams before, even though Wash can’t remember ever having a dream like that.)

One day he’s filling out a job application, and when it asks for place and date of birth, Wash automatically writes Leonis Minor, 5/1/2519. It takes him a minute to realize the mistake, and then his heart starts pound. Because that year is impossible, but it still feels right, more natural than 1992 even though he knows that���s the year he was born.

In Santa Monica, not Leonis Minor.

That night, as Epsilon kneads into his stomach, Wash keeps thinking the words glassed in 2537. He doesn’t know what they mean.

They don’t mean anything. He knows that.

He’s not crazy.

#

He’s going crazy.

Wash tries not to think it, but he’s getting worse and worse. Sometimes he tells himself, At least I’m not dreaming this stuff, but then his mind crackles with the memory of dreaming someone else’s childhood, of waking up alone and thrashing in restraints.

Once in a while, he remembers waking up and warm hands grabbing him, a voice telling him his name, that he’s okay—

The loneliness that follows remembering that is like a punch to the gut, and Epsilon purring in his arms doesn’t help.

He knows that he should tell his therapist about this, but every time he considers it, he gets that horrifying half-memory of restraints and needles—and then he lies, and his therapist frowns and makes notes on his lack of progress.

Wash does his best to keep going. He has dinner with York and Carolina, he fills out job applications, he talks to his therapist about everything else. He can usually keep it together when there are other people around, but when he’s alone—

He never knows what will set it off, is the problem. He’s chopping zucchini, trying to cook a real dinner for the first time, and he remembers catching a knife out of the air and smugly demanding, You think you’re the only one that’s good with knives? He’s watching a dumb movie about alien invasion, and he has to bolt to the bathroom and vomit because he suddenly remembers the smell of human flesh charred by a plasma rifle.

He sees a YouTube ad with a family singing “Happy Birthday” and he spends the next hour on the edge of tears, and he’s not even sure why.

Finally, one night Wash wakes up at 3 A.M. and can’t go back to sleep. He wanders into the kitchen, thinking of the pop-tarts he bought the day before, and—

Three days after they reach the base and Wash is trying to sneak out in the middle of the night, because they can’t really mean to keep him on their team, not after what he did. He’d rather go before he’s thrown out. But when he tries to slip out through the kitchen, they’re waiting for him.

“Oh! Church! You’re not supposed to be here until we light the candles! THIS IS A SURPRISE. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.”

Wash stares at the six pop-tarts stacked on top of each other and the two sad, half-melted candles. He can’t understand what’s happening, why they’re doing this.

“. . . you call that a cake?”

“Dude, don’t tell me Freelancers are too good for pop-tarts.”

—then the memory’s gone, nothing left but a vague sense of candles and sugar.

It’s gone, but it’s still right there, just below the surface of his mind. Wash sinks to the floor and slumps back against the cupboard. It feels like his mind is breaking and bleeding and there are two lives scraping together in his head, and why is it like this? Why is it always like this?

A voice echoes in his mind—memory is the key—but his memories are a jumbled mess that’s getting worse every day.

Wash leans his head back against the cupboard door and groans.

Beside him, Epsilon meows. Automatically, Wash reaches over to scratch his cheek. The soft, warm touch anchors him a little.

Okay, he thinks. My brain is fucked.

The thought is familiar. Suddenly he feels a little less afraid.

“Okay,” he says again, this time out loud. “I can do this,” and Epsilon purrs in reply.

#

So he remembers a life that isn’t his, that he couldn’t have lived, in a time and place that never existed. That’s completely crazy. But Wash feels like he’s had this problem before. He knows what to do.

If your mind’s in pieces, you sort them out.

Wash gets a journal and writes down everything he remembers. Often there isn’t much he can put into words—just feelings and vague images. But he writes whatever he can, in neat little bullet-point lists, and then he makes himself go through the items, one by one.

It’s less overwhelming that way. He can look at a single line and think, I never got yelled at by a drill sergeant. Because I was never in the army. That memory isn’t real.

Then he can close the journal and put it away in his nightstand.

He can’t pry the memories out of his head. But once they’re on the page—once he’s faced them piecemeal and told himself that each fragment is false—they’re not so overwhelming. He can remember who he is.

Every night in his dreams, Wash follows the butterfly. Sometimes he’s sad or angry—sometimes he yells at the butterfly for putting him through this fucking pointless death march—but he keeps going.

He keeps going.

#

Wash thinks about visiting Connie’s grave, but it’s halfway across the country. Instead, he goes back to their old college. Finds the worn cement bench where they sat on their first date.

It’s early August, between the end of summer session and the start of regular classes, so the campus is quiet. Wash leans back and closes his eyes. The soft, warm breeze strokes through his hair like fingertips. It’s so easy to imagine Connie sitting next to him, smiling the way he remembers.

It’s so easy to imagine her alive, not dead.

Maybe it’s more true, to think of her that way.

All this time, Wash has been thinking that he lost her in the accident. And he did. But Connie survived that day in the lab. She testified against Leonard Church in court and then she outlived him. She graduated, she became a journalist, she had a life.

Wash feels a stirring of that strange double memory, but this time it’s just the thought, More than she got last time.

And he decides that maybe he can believe in quantum entanglement and reincarnation, just a little. Because he wants to believe this life was her second chance. That it wasn’t just a senseless tragedy; that it was something good for her as well.

Maybe they’ll get a third chance together, somewhere in the multiverse, someday.

He’s okay with that.

5. brother, you will return

In the end, what changes his life is two cans of refried beans.

Wash gets them because on his bad days, microwaving a frozen dinner and boiling water for instant ramen both seem like too much work, but he can still get himself to make and eat a cold burrito.

He’s carrying two bags of groceries into his apartment, and he’s not worried about shutting the door behind him because Epsilon never tries to get out. But then the two cans of beans—perilously balanced at the top of their bags—fall out and hit the floor with a clatter.

Epsilon is off like a shot.

Epsilon is always bolting when he hears a loud noise, often shredding Wash’s arms if he happens to be holding him, so it takes Wash a moment to realize that this time is different. That Epsilon ran out.

A moment is all it takes.

Wash drops the bags and bolts after him, but he’s too late. He sees Epsilon’s tail whisking around the corner towards the stairs, and then he’s gone.

It’s okay, Wash tells himself as he hurtles down the stairs. He can’t open the door. He won’t get out.

But when he gets to the bottom, the front door is propped open as a group of movers carry in furniture for a new tenant.

And Epsilon is nowhere to be seen.

For one second, Wash previews hell. He imagines himself running out into the street. Roaming the neighborhood, calling for Epsilon. Putting up posters. Checking the pound. Never seeing his asshole cat again.

He can’t do it. He can’t lose a member of his family again.

Then—

“TUCKER! TUCKER, LOOK, IT IS CHURCH!”

—Wash realizes that he can’t see Epsilon because Epsilon is currently smothered in the arms of the one of the movers. But he sees the tip of Epsilon’s tail flick from under the man’s elbow.

“Hey,” he says, starting forward, “that’s my cat.”

“Oh,” Caboose says, turning around to look at him. “Hello, Wash. Church is my friend too.”

And Wash freezes, because how does Caboose know his name?

How does he know that this huge man with curly hair and wide dark eyes is named Caboose, that he has seventeen sisters and was born on the moon and is surprisingly good at repairing machines?

It’s just one of the crazy half-memories, Wash tells himself. It’s not real. Nobody lives on the moon. Nobody has ever stuck candles in a stack of pop-tarts before singing happy birthday to him.

“Caboose, what the fuck are you— oh holy shit.”

Another one of the movers has come down the stairs, and Wash sees the dreadlocks and the teal polo shirt embroidered with the moving company’s logo, and he knows this man.

“Wash came back,” says Caboose. There’s a loud meow from his arms. “And he brought Church with him!”

“I called him Epsilon,” Wash says numbly.

Tucker grins. “Heh, of course you did.”

Wash can feel things shifting, realigning in his brain, and he doesn’t dare move his head an inch because he thinks he thinks he’s about to understand, and he doesn’t want to lose it again, not this time.

Not moving his head means staring straight at Tucker, though.

His name is Lavernius Tucker and he was born in Detroit and I would trust him with my life and I DON’T EVEN KNOW HIM.

“So . . .” Tucker tilts his head slightly. “Are you crazy in this life? ’Cause that would really suck.”

“No,” says Wash, aware his voice has pitched higher than usual. “I’m not—I don’t—”

“Do you remember us?” asks Tucker, more gently.

This can’t be real. Wash can’t be standing in the foyer of his apartment building, having a conversation with complete strangers about whether he remembers them from a past life.

“It’s okay,” says Caboose. “Tucker didn’t remember me at all until he got blown up. Stupid Tucker.”

“I still can’t believe you actually saved me from an IED,” Tucker grumbles.

They were in the army, Wash realizes. Iraq, or maybe Afghanistan.

Bro, I went through Basic ages ago.

What is the UNSC motto?

“Private Tucker,” he says, and the words feel strange and awkward in his mouth but also completely inevitable.

“Dude, I made Corporal before I got out. And you’re a civilian, so you can’t tell me what to do.” Tucker pauses. “Please don’t tell me you’re some kind of deadly black ops secret agent.”

Wash stares at him.

“Oh shit, you are.”

And Wash laughs. “No,” he says. “I’m—I was a biochem major and then I spent six years in a coma.”

“Wow,” says Tucker. “That sucks.”

It’s exactly the same thing that he said the first time that Wash had told him about Freelancer.

“Why the fuck are you so intense all the time?”

“An AI killed itself inside my brain and all my friends are dead.”

“Wow, that sucks.”

“I think Wash needs a hug,” Caboose announces, dragging his mind back to the present. A moment later, Epsilon yowls as he’s dropped to the floor, and then Caboose’s arms are closed around Wash, his chin is pressing into Wash’s hair.

For a moment, Wash is rigid. It’s literally years since he was touched this much, and he doesn’t know Caboose at all—

But he does know him. He does, and Wash is relaxing into the embrace even before he realizes it.

“Yeah, okay,” Tucker agrees, closing the distance between them, and then he’s hugging Wash as well. “Seriously, dude,” he says. “Don’t ever make us wait like that again.”

Wash closes his eyes. There’s a lump in his throat. He can feel Epsilon weaving in and out through their legs, meowing for attention.

“I won’t,” he says.

He knows, suddenly and completely, that he’s never going to have that dream again. Because of quantum entanglement. Because his team is alive and here and holding him.

Because he’s home.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

monster dog

summary: Fox Mulder and his unlikely rivalry with a Pomeranian.

part of my series of fics i’m writing as i rewatch the x files. spoilers for the list, 2shy, the walk, and nisei/731. dedicated to banjo, my Pomeranian mix, whose life i plagiarized for this fic. 

They’ve taken to sharing cars everywhere when they go on cases - rental cars, driving to locations too close to fly to, driving to the airport. Mulder picks Scully up in the morning, on the way to the airport to head to the prison in Florida. He brings her a bagel in a white paper bag and uses his key to let himself in, because if he knows Scully, she won’t be ready for another ten minutes and their flight isn’t for another hour. They’re used to this, they’ve been doing this since last May, since his father and Melissa. But he’s caught off guard this time.

Usually, he calls out when he lets himself in so he doesn’t startle her. But he’s startled by the snarling and yapping from inside. Mulder shoves the door open, irrationally fearing some kind of werewolf for a split second. He finds, instead, a tiny ball of orange fur dancing around the floor and barking fiercely at him, white teeth exposed under grimy pink gums.

“Mulder, is that you?” Scully shouts from somewhere deep in the apartment.

Mulder suddenly realizes that this isn’t some kind of werewolf (although he’s not sure it’s not dangerous; it did eat a human after all, dead or not). It’s that Pomeranian thing she adopted after the psychic case. “Yeah, it’s me,” he calls. “Scully, I don’t think your dog likes me very much.”

Scully appears out of the bedroom, already dressed, hair wet around her cheeks. “Queequeg, hush!” she scolds in a tone Mulder’s heard all too many times. It takes him a second to realize that she is addressing the dog, who quiets, huffs, and jumps up onto the couch. “Sorry about that,” she says to Mulder, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m trying to keep him from barking every time someone comes in, but considering the apartment’s habit of getting broke into, I think it could be helpful.”

Well. It’s hard to argue with that, but it didn’t make the sound any less annoying. Most alarm systems are quiet unless there’s a burglar. “He’s very yippy,” says Mulder.

Affection fills her voice, the type he’s only ever heard towards kids they run into on cases: “Yes, he is.” Scully scratches Queequeg on the head. “Fifteen minutes, I swear. I just need to dry my hair.” She starts into the bedroom and Queequeg scrambles off the couch and follows her across the floorboards, right on her heels, toenails clicking on the floorboards. (Another annoying sound.)

Raising an eyebrow, Mulder sits on the couch, flipping on the TV. There’s nothing good on at eight in the morning, of course. And next on Bizarrely Domestic Scenes With My Partner, he thinks wryly.

The tea kettle whistles shrilly, and Scully yells, “Can you get that please?” He abandons the TV and pours two cups, automatically fixing Scully’s the way she likes it, before heading into the bedroom. Queequeg lies in front of the bathroom door, nose on his paws, and he glares at Mulder suspiciously when he knocks on the door. Scully sticks her head out and grabs the mug, thanking him.

“Your dog seems to be stalking you,” he says, pointing at him.

“He’s very clingy. I suspect it has to do with the loss of his last owner.”

“Didn’t that dog eat his last owner?” Mulder looks down at the fuzzball.

She makes a face. “I’ve got to finish up in here, Mulder.” The door closes. Queequeg whimpers and paws the crack in the door.

“He could be staking out his next prey, Scully!” he calls through the door. The hair dryer switches on, effectively quieting any further conversation.

Mulder figures as long as he’s going to be sporadically showing up at Scully’s apartment that he should make peace with the beast. He kneels and reaches out to pet him. Queequeg growls fiercely as soon as his fingers get close. Well, okay then. He sits on the edge of Scully’s bed and drinks his tea.

Scully exits the bathroom a few minutes later, automatically brushing her hair. Queequeg follows her across the room. “So what’s your theory?” she says, reaching for her cross on the bedside table.

He crosses his ankles. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“You mean you’re buying into the reincarnation story?” Her fingers scrabble at the nape of her neck, fastening the gold chain.

“Scully, do you know me at all?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just seems a little farfetched, that’s all.”

“We’ve seen cases of reincarnation before, you know. Remember that little girl, Michelle, who was taking out the people responsible for that cop’s death?”

“There was never any substantial proof of that.”

“Yes, there was, Scully, you saw…”

The doorbell rings and the dog goes into a barking frenzy, charging the door. Mulder jumps. “That’s the dog sitter. Queequeg, hush!” Scully shouts, going after him and scooping him up.

“You’re leaving that monster dog with someone else? Scully, how could you do this to that poor sitter?” He trails after them into the living room.

Scully tucks the dog under her arm, shoots him a glare and a, “You shut up,” before opening the door to reveal a girl with braids. “Hi, Ms. Scully,” she says meekly.

“Hi, Molly. Thanks for doing this. You have a crate at your house, right?”

“Absolutely. Hi, sweetie!” she coos to the dog. His tail wags wildly from under Scully’s elbow. (Of course the dog likes the sitter better than him.)

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll keep you updated.” Scully passes the dog to Molly before retrieving a bag by the door.

“It’ll be fine, Ms. Scully.” The girl’s eyes travel past her to Mulder. “Is this Mr. Scully?”

Mulder chokes on his tea. Scully looks like she’s about five seconds away from uproarious laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. “No, Molly, this is my partner. He’ll be working on the case with me.”

“Oh!” The girl’s cheeks pink. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine.” Scully hands her the bag. “I’ll call you before I pick him up, alright?”

“That’s fine. Come out, cutie,” Molly says to the dog, toting him off down the hall and avoiding both of their eyes. Scully burst into quiet giggles as she closes the door.

Mulder goes for her suitcase in the corner. “Well,” he says primly, “is my wife ready for a romantic vacation in Florida?”

She jabs him in the side. “Shut up and come on or we’ll miss our flight.”

He opens the door for her. “You know, that monster dog would be like our child…”

Scully smirks. “Lucky us. I’m clearly the favorite parent.”

—

The case in Florida is closed, they pick up Queequeg from Molly’s on the way home from the library, and he paces restlessly along the backseat the whole way home. Mulder discovers it’s covered in orange hairs when he gets back to his apartment.

The next case is in Cleveland, a fat-sucking monster named Incanto who leaves Scully with a major headache from bashing her head into the mirror. The woman who was his intended victim leaves him in the hospital. The ambulances takes Incanto and his victim, Ellen, to the hospital, and Scully gets checked out at the scene and assured she doesn’t have a concussion. Mulder drives her back to the hotel and waits in her room while she takes a shower.

“The hospital called,” he tells her when she comes out of the bedroom, wet hair and white robe. “Incanto pulled through surgery. They think he’s going to be fine, he’s already awake and in excellent condition, they said; he might have some kind of healing abilities on top of his normal mutations.”

“I can’t say I’m especially happy,” Scully murmurs, sitting on the bed. She ignores his healing abilities theory. “All those women…” She pops two ibuprofens. “And Ellen?”

“She’s fine, too. They’ve never seen this condition before, but they’re treating her for chemical burns like you advised. Her friend is at the hospital with her.”

“Thank god.” Scully shifts onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows.

“You feeling okay?”

She nods, eyes slipping closed. “Just hurts, but I’ll be fine. Paramedic said I could sleep.”

Mulder touches her forehead gently. “Listen, local law enforcement has noticed some similar crimes around the country. They want me to stay and check it out. Incanto should be ready to interrogate in a week or so, we’d like to pin him down for as many murders as possible. I think you should go on and fly back.”

She opens one eye to look at him. “I’m fine, Mulder, really. It’s just a headache.”

“Yeah, but you should get some rest. And we don’t really need you here to look into cold cases.”

“Sure you do. Who else is gonna explain the autopsy reports?”

He chuckles quietly. “There is that.”

Scully groans a little, massaging her temples. “Tell you what. I’ll fly back tomorrow, meet with Skinner. Maybe see what research I can find on… things like Incanto in DC. Then I’ll head back up to help you out.”

“Sounds good. But try to take it easy, okay?” He stands, mattress shifting with the loss of his weight.

“Mulder, I’m fine,” she says, frustrated.

“I know.” He places his hand on the top of her head for a moment; his palm spans her entire scalp. “Call me if you need anything.”

Scully flies back to DC the next morning and calls two days later to ask if their hotel is pet-friendly. “Um… sure,” Mulder says, halfway nervous. “Why?”

“Molly’s busy, my mom’s in San Diego with my brother, and I can’t find anyone else last minute.”

“Scully,” he says. “Are you telling me that the monster dog will be joining us in Cleveland?”

“I don’t have a choice, I can’t leave him alone,” says Scully.

Which is how a yappy Pomeranian ends up sharing the thin hotel wall with Mulder. They spend the last few days before Incanto can be discharged at the police station going over recent missing women cases, Scully momentarily leaving to go let the dog out. It’s depressing, confronting that many cases. Mulder drives to some of the closest ones to interview the families, which only strengthens his hate for this creature. In the end, they find forty seven cases that fit Incanto’s MO. All of whom Incanto claim. The fucking bastard.

They spend one more night at the hotel before heading home. Mulder goes to Scully’s room to watch TV. He sits in the chair by the window, typing up the end of his report. Scully lies on the bed, Queequeg curled up at the end.

“I just can’t get past it, Mulder,” Scully says finally.

“This case?”

“The violence against women, all those innocent women who were just looking for companionship… I don’t know. It’s terrible.”

He’s quiet for a minute before saying, “Does he remind you of Pfaster?”

Her eyes shut in a weary way that makes him immediately regret it. “Maybe a little. It’s the same concept, you know… pure evil. Even in the sense of survival… like Tooms… it doesn’t make it any less evil. I guess it just seems different because he preyed on their emotions, too.” She covers her face with her arm. “I talked to Ellen, you know. She’s extremely embarrassed. I felt terrible for her.”

“I understand,” Mulder says. “It’s a terrible thing to go through.”

At the end of the bed, Queequeg lifts his fluffy head. He gets to his feet and pads up to curl on top of her chest. He licks the underside of her chin. She smiles, lowering her hand to his back. It’s a sweet picture. Mulder smiles a little. Maybe that little monster isn’t so bad after all.

Far away, sirens wail. Queequeg lifts his head in curiousity, throws his head back, and howls. Little black nose pointed at the ceiling, he makes an almost inhuman wailing sound. Mulder winces. Scully bursts into giggles under the sirens and howls, scratching his little back. “Hey, Scully, how do you shut this thing up?” Mulder shouts over the noise.

Somewhere else in the hotel, a bigger dog starts to howl. Scully laughs harder, covering her mouth with her hand. Mulder covers his ears. More dogs take up the song; someone pounds on their wall and shouts for them to shut the hell up. Scully closes her hand around Queequeg’s muzzle as the sirens and howls subside. “You hush,” she tells the dog affectionately, setting him down on her lap as she sits up. He wags his tail wildly, pawing at her arms and whimpering.

“I think that thing really loves you, Scully,” Mulder points out.

“I know you do, Mulder,” Scully says, focusing on petting Queequeg.

“Hey!”

“I’m kidding.” She offers him a small, coy smile. “I do think I needed that, though. I feel a little better now.”

“If all you needed was a howling dog all these years, I should’ve taken you on a werewolf case sooner.”

She rolls her eyes.

—

They don’t bother flying for the case at the VA hospital in Fort Maryland. They take shifts driving instead, Scully taking the second shift. “Queequeg is not going to be happy,” she says, fiddling with the radio.

“Are you really going to let that mutt dictate your life?” Mulder says lightly, rummaging through the takeout menus he’s stashed in the glove compartment.

“No, I’m letting you.”

He turns to her in concern and she smiles a little to show she’s kidding, eyes on the road. “I sense some hostility there, Scully.”

“Buy me some dinner and I’ll back off.”

He buys her dinner. They take it back to her place where Queequeg wriggles with excitement in his cage, yapping in a way that Mulder’s never heard before. (He hypothesizes that it’s delight.) As soon as Scully lets the thing out of the cage, he dances excitedly around her feet, little paws scrabbling at her pants legs. “Hey, buddy,” Scully says affectionately, scratching his head. “Mulder, will you hand me the leash?”

Mulder hands her the leash. “Hey, flesh-eating monster,” he says to Queequeg. The beast ignores him, whining and jumping on Scully’s legs. “TV trays?” he addresses Scully.

“You know what I like,” she says dryly. “We’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

They’re back in twenty. By then, Mulder’s hunger has gotten the better of him and he’s already halfway through his share of the takeout. “Mulder!” Scully protests when she catches him.

“Relax, I put yours in the microwave,” he says. “You can heat it up.”

“My hero.” She makes a face at him as she hangs Queequeg’s leash by the door and heads into the kitchen. The dog has spotted him eating on the couch. He’s at Mulder’s side in about five seconds flat, rocking back on his haunches, front paws in the air, and is giving him a pitiful, pleading look.

“Scully, your dog is staring at me,” Mulder calls, not taking his eyes off of the animal.

“He does that.” The keypad beeps under Scully’s hand. “You’re pathetic, Queequeg,” she calls without looking back at them. The dog whimpers plaintively, not taking his eyes off Mulder. Great, he’s locked in a staring contest with a Pomeranian.

They eat their takeout and flip through channels on the TV. Queequeg doesn’t leave Mulder’s side as they eat, continuing to shoot the pitiful looks. At one point, an actual tear trickles out of his eye. “Scully, the dog is crying,” says Mulder, astonished.

“He does that, too. You shouldn’t have any trouble resisting, though, since you clearly don’t like him.” Scully takes her plate to the sink to rinse it.

The dog makes no move to follow. He’s barely moved from his position since he came in, occasionally going on all fours only to go back to his upright position, his ears cocked, eyes pleading. Mulder sighs, grabs a piece of cold chicken from his plate and drops it on the floor. Queequeg eagerly gobbles it up.

“Broke you, huh,” Scully deadpans, leaning against the fridge and crossing her arms.

“Yeah,” Mulder says. It seems like an opportune time to scratch Queequeg on the head, so he does. “Gets that from you, the little bastard. Knows exactly how to break me.”

Scully grins, shakes her head. “Just wait.”

“What do you…” He looks back to the dog, who’s resumed his position from earlier, almost eagerly.

“You know what they say,” says Scully. “Feed an animal once, they’ll always come back for more.”

“I take it back,” he says. “This dog is clearly nothing like you. He’s pure, spiteful evil.” Queequeg whimpers adorably. Mulder ignores him.

—

Mulder jumps onto a train, gets hit over the head and is found in Iowa, and walks away with a concussion and several cuts and bruises. Scully gets the call and takes him home from the hospital. She’s told to monitor his sleeping schedule, to wake him up every hour, so she takes him home and makes up a bed on the couch. Mulder half-dozes, the TV flickering in the background. He’s in pain, but his mind is fixed solely on the train car, what happened after he was knocked unconscious. They’ll need to investigate, but Scully refuses to discuss it until he heals more.

Scully wakes him up at nine and he falls back asleep until 9:58. Scully pads out of her room a minute later, Queequeg right on her heels. Of course the damn thing sleeps with her. “I’m awake,” he mumbles, reaching up to rub his forehead and wincing when his fingers find the sore spot.

“How do you feel?” Scully sits by his side on the couch, checking his eyes with a penlight, pushing his hair back. Queequeg hops up by his feet.

“Fine. Hurts.” He closes his eyes. “Frustrated.”

“Stop thinking about that damn train car,” Scully says sternly. “You need to rest right now, recover. Be concerned with that.”

“Whatever you say, doc.” The pounding is steady behind his eyes and he remembers suddenly that - sans concussion - Scully was in a similar position a few months ago. He taps her side in the flickering dark of the room. “Hey, Scully, we have a penchant for head injuries, don’t we?”

“It would seem that way.” She smooths his hair again before standing.“I’ll be right back, I’m going to go get you some water.”

The sound of water running echoes underneath the TV. Mulder suddenly realizes by the tiny paws on his legs that Queequeg didn’t follow Scully. The beast seems to be sniffing his stomach, cautiously. He steps onto it, and Mulder grunts in protest - he’s still sore from jumping onto the fucking train. The dog ignores him, coming up to curl on his chest.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Scully says when she returns. “I never expected you two to form a truce.”

The damn thing is already asleep, snoring with his nose on his paws. “Want me to move him?” she asks.

“No,” Mulder mutters. “Might as well make a truce with this thing if I have a chance.”

Scully grins. “Good idea. Besides, he’s driving me crazy, he always manages to crawl under the covers.” She pats Queequeg on the head before heading into the bedroom, calling, “See you in an hour.”

Queequeg snores, a heavy weight on Mulder’s chest. The sound is raspy and annoying. “I still don’t like you,” Mulder tells the dog seriously before going to sleep.

[hamilficsfordays]

Seeking Open-Minded Individuals (Lin/Vanessa)

Prompt: What’s a prompt? I don’t know her. (I will get to your prompts soon I swear. I’m very sorry for the delay)

Author’s Note: Have you ever come up with an idea and thought, “God, I’m going to hell for this?” I have.

Cover your eyes, kids. It’s gonna get weird.

Also yes I know she graduated from MIT in 2004 but let’s pretend it’s modern day okay

Thanks to @god-damn-it-miranda for giving notes as always and @eventuallyfall for your EXTENSIVE help and knowledge on the subject. Come on ladies, now let’s get information.

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda/Vanessa Nadal

Summary: Recent MIT grad Vanessa is quickly running out of ways to pay off her crippling student loan debt before starting her career in chemical engineering and turns to high-end escorting to make money and fast.

Rating: T for now, but the next few chapters are going to get pretty explicit.

Warnings: Obviously discussing illegal activity and planning said illegal activity and planning to PROFIT from said illegal activity and god Vanessa if you ever find this, I’m so sorry.

Words: 2096

Tags:

@huffleheyguys (who still isn’t sick of being tagged in everything)

Askbox / Masterlist / What I Write

Seeking beautiful, outgoing ladies ages 19-35 years old. Come be a part of a great team! Make money every day! Female owned and operated. Photo shoot, screening, booking, travel, and transportation provided. Catering to the best clientele, only hiring the best candidates. If you are seeking an exclusive opportunity, reply with your:

Age

Availability

Two face photos

Three Full body photos (no nudes)

Phone Number

You will be contacted within 24 hours.

Vanessa read the ad over several times. She opened a blank email and carefully typed out a response, including the requested information and photos. There was a moment of hesitation before she sent it, a brief consideration of how her life would change. Only brief, however, as she hit send anyway.

Within hours, she received a text asking her to meet at an address the following night. Statistically, there was a decent chance she could be kidnapped, murdered or both, but with thousands of dollars in student loan debt to her name, she figured it was worth the risk.

She arrived at the address that night, a well furnished, clean apartment where a young woman greeted her and asked her to have a seat on the couch in the living room.

“Can I get you anything, Vanessa?”

“What? Oh,” she was caught off-guard glancing around the room, surprised at how nice it was. “No I’m fine, thank you.”

“You seem nervous.” The slightly older blonde pointed out. “Take a deep breath.”

“Y-yeah sorry.” she blushed.

“You’re in a safe place.” she sat beside the younger woman. “My name is Rachel, I’m the co-owner here at Bliss. Do you have any photo ID on you? Just to make sure you’re over eighteen.”

Vanessa reached into her purse for her wallet, pulling it out and showing her state ID to Rachel.

“Great. Should I tell you about us or would you maybe prefer telling me more about yourself first?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure there’s much to say.”

“Well, if you’re comfortable you could start by telling me what brought you here.”

“I um…” Vanessa straightened out the hem on her skirt slightly, “I graduated from MIT last year and I’m kind of struggling to pay off my student loans. I’m sure there are less unorthodox ways to do so but I figured this would be, I don’t know, faster?”

Rachel smiled. “Okay, that’s good. You’re not alone. We’ve had a few other girls come work for us to pay off their student loans. Some of them leave once they’re done and some stay longer. It’s completely up to you.”

“That’s my only goal. I don’t think I’ll stick around after that.”

She nodded, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay. Well to tell you a little more about us, we’ve been in business for about fifteen years now and we’re entirely female owned and operated. All of our clientele are high-end, usually politicians, foreign ambassadors, celebrities, wealthy wall street types and the like. Every one of them is vetted and put through a background check before you meet them to ensure your safety. The agency determines your rates and does take fifty percent of your profits—”

“Fifty percent?” Vanessa interrupted. “How am I supposed to make any money?”

“Our clients pay significant amounts to spend time with attractive young women. Most of our girls take home a few thousand dollars a night after giving us out percentage. That’s why we usually allow you to make your own schedule.”

She couldn’t seem to form a response. That was a lot more than she expected. It almost sounded too good to be true.

“We arrange to have photos taken of you beforehand for advertisement to our clientele, we also offer transportation to and from outcall bookings and purchase hotel rooms for incall bookings. All you have to worry about is keeping your clients happy. Easy enough, right?”

“I um,” she paused. “I guess.”

“You still seem nervous.” Rachel pointed out. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you started on something easy.”

***

Only a week later, V found herself wearing an extremely tight white dress in the middle of a crowded formal event. Something easy as Rachel had called it. It was a political fundraiser where she was undoubtedly one of many escorts seeking potential clientele.

Even in a crowded room she stood alone, lost as to how to proceed. She wasn’t sure what to do or where to start, or who to start with.

“Camilla?”

Vanessa heard the name but paid no attention to it.

“Camilla,” a female voice called out again, grabbing Vanessa’s hand this time.

“What?”

The woman, young and dressed in a similarly tight red dress, leaned in to whisper in her ear: “Your alias, girl.”

“Oh, Oh.” Her cheeks turned red. “Right, I’m Camilla. Sorry.”

The other girl chuckled.

“Don’t apologize. I’m Ashley,” she winked, indicating that it was not her real name. “Your boobs are fantastic, are they real?”

It wasn’t exactly the compliment she expected to receive, but still, she accepted it. “Uh, yes. they’re real.”

“Cute.” Ashley cupped one of V’s boobs briefly for good measure. Vanessa wasn’t sure how to react.

“Oh, I work for Bliss!” Ashley had suddenly realized she’d given no proper introduction. “Rachel sent a bunch of us tonight. She told me to keep an eye on you, she thought you might look nervous.”

“Do I?”

“You look terrified.” she confirmed.

“Shit,” Vanessa nervously ran a hand through her hair. “I need a drink.”

“Hold off on that. Someone else will get one for you.” She started scanning the room, looking for potential suitors. “We just need to find out who that is.”

“How do I do that?”

Ashley smiled, taking Vanessa’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you figure that out. Maybe we could even pair up.”

Though she was afraid to admit it, V couldn’t help but think that the two of them pairing up would decrease the amount she took home. Ashley clearly sensed this and spoke up.

“Oh girl, it’s fine. They pay per hour, per girl. You won’t lose out on anything.”

***

Twenty minutes had gone by before she and Ashley were making small talk with… a governor? A state senator? She wasn’t entirely sure. Admittedly she wasn’t paying too much attention and let Ashley do most of the talking.

“And do you two ladies work together?”

“We certainly do.” Ashley offered a sly smile, elbowing Vanessa to remind her to participate.

“Y-yes we do.” she chimed in, winking. “I mean if you think you can handle that.”

The state senator—or possibly congressional lobbyist, she still wasn’t sure—chuckled. “Well, I certainly think I can try.”

He was definitely much older, probably in his fifties or sixties. He was white, on the shorter side, and had a very unsettling smile. She felt no attraction to him at all, but she didn’t expect to either. That wasn’t exactly the point.

“Why don’t you two lovely ladies stay here and I’ll bring you both a drink?” He smiled again, sending shivers down Vanessa’s spine.

Once Ashley assured him they would stay put, he was gone.

“I don’t want to tell you how to do your job—” she started once they were out of earshot. “But you’re not exactly keeping his interest right now. If I’m going to work with you, you have to hold up your end.”

“I know, I know.” she cursed. “I’m kind of freaking out. I think I just need to take a breath.”

“Go get some air.” Ashley insisted, nudging her in the direction of the doors. “We’ll come find you in a few minutes.”

Vanessa trusted her enough to take her advice and headed toward the front door. It was a crowded space, causing her to squeeze past dozens of people just to get out of the large room.

Just as she reached the door, someone bumped into her with a drink in their hand and managed to spill a large amount of it near the lower hem of her dress.

“Oh, I’m sorry—” she glanced down, seeing the bright red wine stain. “Oh, dammit.”

He noticed the stain as well and was immediately apologetic. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

She brushed at it half-heartedly, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Her dress was on loan from one of the girls at the agency, something she probably wouldn’t be able to return anymore.  “Just what I needed right now.”

“Can I help?” the man offered.

Vanessa met his eyes for the first time. He was young, probably not much older than she was, with warm eyes and a friendly demeanor. His hair was short, parted and styled enough to make him look wealthy. He physically seemed to fit in with the crowd of important men in the room, but something about him was slightly different. Vanessa couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

“I’m pretty sure it’s ruined.”

“Sure, but it doesn’t have to look that way.” He gently took her hand, slowly pulling her toward the door. “Come on, I can help.”

***

There were a few others out in the hallway, though it was empty in comparison. When the stranger kneeled in front of her, she instinctively stepped back, leaning against the wall.

To her surprise, the stranger pulled out a handful of safety pins. He tucked the hem of her dress up so the stain was no longer visible and carefully started to pin it in place so that the stain couldn’t be seen.

“Do you always carry safety pins around?”

He chuckled. “Of course. You never know when someone might tear your clothes off.”

It wasn’t the answer she expected, and it must’ve shown.

“Don’t over think it.” he assured her.

Her dress was still low enough to cover everything, though she was sure that moving excessively would reveal her lace panties underneath. As he placed the last few pins, she could see the wine stain was no longer visible and thanked him for his help. When he was finished, he stood up and smiled at her.

“You look really nervous.”

“I’m trying to work on that.” she confessed, only turning a shade redder.

“Try not to drink to ease your nerves,” he advised. “It won’t work as well as you think it will. When the time comes, you don’t want to risk being drunk. It will only make things worse.”

It made sense, she figured. Solid advice that she definitely needed at that moment. Still, she was confused as to how he’d know to say that. Or how he’d even know it in the first place.

“What do you mean by When the time comes?” she questioned, letting her curiosity get the best of her.

"When the safety pins hit the floor." he quipped, still leaving her confused.

She started to ask again when an older man approached the two of them.

“Lin-Manual?” he called out, getting Lin’s attention.

Vanessa had never met Lin, but even she was sure that the older man had horribly butchered the pronunciation of his name.

“Duty calls,” he whispered to Vanessa before offering a “Good luck.” out loud.

She watched Lin walk away, mesmerized by him. She’d never met someone so confident in what they did, and as willing to help when she desperately needed it. Especially in a business like this.

At least that’s what she assumed he was doing—he didn’t exactly lay it out directly.

“There she is!”

The familiar sound of Ashley’s voice pulled Vanessa from her thoughts. She was at their suitor’s side, who seemed plenty eager to have found her.

“I thought we’d lost you.” He greeted her with an oddly wet kiss on the cheek. “That skirt is just getting shorter by the minute, isn’t it?”

“We better get upstairs then,” Ashley insisted. “Michael here has a suite upstairs waiting for us.”

“Oh,” she faked a smile. “Well, then I guess we better head up there.”

[theoddcatlady]

The Legion Studies, Part Seven

December 8, 198X

No sign of Father Carter or Scotty, and now there was a dead body on our hands with no trace of who the murderer could be.

I was planning on bailing when the blizzard calmed down. Money or not, this wasn’t worth it. Whether it was the Devil or someone whose inner psychosis had caused them to snap under the pressure, lives were in serious danger.

I talked my plans over with Dr. Leon and Lois over lunch.

“I’m onboard.” Lois stabbed her fork into her meatloaf. “And then I’m telling the police that Dr. Lewis let a pedophile have ‘alone time’ with his kids.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Dr. Leon began, but when Lois and I glared at him, he changed his course, “but I’ll do the same. Not to mention one of them’s still missing. Poor Scotty. He was such a happy kid. God knows what’s happened to him.”

The lights flickered and I reached for my cross, clutching it tightly. Lois shuddered. “Don’t. Don’t even start. I bet it was Father Carter who killed the inmate.”

I thought about Father Carter compared to Ollie. “Maybe? I always figured Ollie was stronger.”

Lois shrugged. “Desperate asshole is a desperate asshole.”

That I couldn’t argue with.

Dr. Leon sighed and pushed away his half eaten plate. “Not hungry anymore. We’ll find Father Carter and Scotty soon though. There’s not that many places they can hide out here,” He said.

The only thing to take comfort in, yet three days in and we still couldn’t find them. A puzzle no one had an answer for.

December 9, 198X

This was the last day.

Hugo was interviewing Chloe this time, looking tenser than a stretched rubber band. Chloe sat across the table, her hands folded in with each other as she smiled sweetly.

“Hello Mr. Hugo! Is it really snowing outside? Can we go play together?” She asked.

Hugo chuckled as he twiddled his pencil between his fingers. “I don’t think so, Harus. We’re staying in here until you decide to piss off back to hell,” He said.

Chloe’s jaw dropped and shock exploded across her face. “How did you-“

“What? Did you expect me to forget you?” Hugo leaned in and smirked. “I remember all the friends Emmet loved to bring in, and I remember your foul mouth. You’re a bit of a bitch.” He leaned back and cocked his head. “Now. Are you gonna leave the little girl alone?”

Chloe’s expression twisted into something dark before she turned to the window, right where I was sitting. “No. Chloe needed me. She let me in! Your power won’t move me.”

“You wanna bet?”

Hugo took off one of his necklaces and swung it around his finger. Lois looked up from where she was monitoring Chloe’s brain activity. “What are you doing?” She asked suspiciously.

“Exorcism, love.” Hugo started walking around Chloe, whose small face had gone pale. “This wasn’t the deal, that little kids would have a demon marching around their heads.”

“This hasn’t been approved by Dr. Lewis-“

Hugo’s snort cut Lois off. “I really don’t give a shit about a man who knows dick on how to parent. I’m not letting this demon stay inside Chloe any longer than it has to be. You want to make this easy, Harus?”

Chloe spat on Hugo’s shoes.

Then the room went dark.

I heard Lois scream and Hugo shout something before I was knocked to the floor. Terror filled my chest when I felt a pair of familiar hands wrap around my throat. Not again. This could not be happening again.

This time I could still breathe, but I couldn’t get up. I was paralyzed. Then I heard a voice.

“… you start to believe in that cross now?”

The distorted voice laughed, a sound like radio static.

“One moment, one moment too late, Barbie.”

A finger stroked down my face, attached to an arm I still couldn’t see.

“You look just like your mother.”

The emergency red lights clicked on and whatever had me pinned was gone. I heard the others in the room gasping and hacking, I stumbled to my feet to see at least two of the others were passed out, the others trying to force breath in through bruised throats.

I gripped the cross before I ran to the interview room. It was like a tornado had been through there. The table was knocked over, the monitoring equipment smashed and smoking. Hugo was laying across the ground. Lois was slumped over her chair, groaning quietly. Chloe was nowhere to be seen. I went to Lois first and shook her awake.

Lois’ eyes flicked open before she gasped. “Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! Chloe!” She looked around wildly. “Holy shit, the kid threw the table- Hugo!?”

Hugo groaned before raising a hand.

“I think we’re fucked.”

Chloe had vanished the same way Scotty and Father Carter had. The only thing the power was running was the heat. There was no lights.

Hugo and I were together, everyone was ordered to remain inside their rooms until the power came back on. No one wanted to be alone. Especially me.

We sat on my bed, back to back for several quiet minutes. Maybe an hour. I’m not sure. I broke the silence.

“My mother was possessed when I was ten years old.”

Hugo tensed. “… I thought you didn’t believe in all of that,” He said, turning his head back.

I laughed. “I don’t know any more Hugo. I don’t know.”

The most terrifying to me, up to this day, is the unknown. Why things happened. Everything had an explanation that could be defined by chemicals in the brain, how you were raised, your genetics. Everything could be explained by that.

“My mom always called me Barbie. No one else did,” I shifted until I was leaning against the wall, so I could see Hugo’s reactions, “it was our thing. I was her Barbie. She was… a very thoughtful woman. You would’ve liked her I think.”

“I’m terrible at being thoughtful. So probably not.”

I elbowed Hugo gently. “Knock it off. I’m being serious.”

Hugo raised both his hands. “I’ll behave! So… what happened?” He asked.

I sighed.

“… I’m not sure how it happened. It wasn’t an overnight change. It was over the span of a few weeks, I think. She stopped going to work after her brother died. She spent all her time in the room. She never wanted to talk to me. She started complaining of hearing things in the walls. Things I never heard. She hated to be close to me. I was a child who loved hugs. Mom always encouraged that. But when I went in for a hug one day, she… she pushed me. I hit the back of my head on the counter. My dad came home to me crying and my mom sobbing, telling me sorry and that it wasn’t her that did that.”

Hugo rested a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me more.”

“I feel like I do.” No one knew these things except for a therapist. “My mom was diagnosed as a schizophrenic. She got worse. Began talking to someone. Someone no one could see.”

I started to pick at a hangnail I’d gotten a few days prior. “Dad just told me he was like mom’s imaginary friend. I’m surprised he didn’t leave her. Dad took care of her for the last part of her life. Until she beat him up, flung him across the room and just… ran off screaming. I was in the room when it happened, I just… wanted to show my parents my A+ on my math test.”

Hugo didn’t say anything. I pulled loose the hangnail and a little blood welled up. “She threw herself in front of a truck, according to dad… I’m not sure if that’s the truth. I always wanted to explain what happened to her. And now I wish I hadn’t.”  

It was only a second of silence before Hugo pulled me into a hug. I hugged him back so tightly I thought I’d break his ribs.

We stayed like that until the subjects from B-2 escaped.

It was almost midnight. We’d almost fallen asleep when the door slid open and a man slipped in. I screamed and threw my flashlight at the figure.

The light illuminated his face briefly before it konked him over the head. The man shouted and nearly toppled over, but I recognized his voice.

“… Ernie?”

Hugo stood up and picked back up the flashlight, flashing it on Ernie’s face. His face was covered in swollen bruises. I got up. “Ernie? Why are you out-“

“Everyone’s out. Everyone’s out now. Rex is dead!”

Ernie’s bottom lip quivered. He looked near tears. I hushed him and had him sit down, he looked like he’d been beaten half to hell. After he caught his breath he opened up about what happened.

“Everyone was on lock down. Dr. Lewis was questioning us about Chloe, if any of us had seen her. Then I heard Rex scream, and everything went to hell. Doors all opened up, everyone got out. It was like… It was like everyone in the room just went crazy! Everyone started attacking each other, and, hell I almost got caught up in it until I realized what I was doing. I just got the hell out of there but not… not before…”

Ernie’s eyes welled up with tears. “… Poor Rex,” He whispered.

Hugo gulped, but I took a deep breath. Stay calm. Stay calm. “What happened to Rex?”

“… I found his body in his room. Gutted and hanging from the ceiling.”

My heart dropped.

“Wasn’t recent either. His body was all bloated and dried out, he’d been like that for days but I, I knew that kid! I knew it was him screaming!”

Ernie shook his head. “Everyone kept on fighting and I ran. We gotta hide. Can we bar the door?”

Hugo stood. “We have to get out of here. Now.” He went into my wardrobe and grabbed my coat, flinging it at me.

I caught it but shook my head. “Hugo, none of us know how to fly a plane-“

“I do.”

Ernie blinked hard as if to clear his vision. “I know how to fly a plane, just haven’t done it in a few years. I’d never fly in the weather like we have right now, but… do we have a choice?”

Hugo answered for me.

“We don’t. Let’s try to find the pilot, but if we can’t, Ernie you better remember quick.”

[prodigal-sunlight]

Definitely Totally Married; Ch. 1

Chapter One

Reaper76 slow-burn shipfic, rated PG. (Some chapters may be rated PG-13; I don’t know yet. Any such chapters will be clearly marked.) Lots of mutual pining. Takes place during the Omnic Crisis. 

When a small group of terrorist fans the fires of the Omnic Crisis, Overwatch sends Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison undercover to put a stop to it. Going undercover as a married couple isn’t exactly Jack’s first choice, but as the two friends work on the mission together, their love story starts becoming less and less of a show. Falling in love wasn’t in the mission plan.

“Stop grinning like that Morrison, you’re unnerving me,” Gabriel said, snorting as he gave Jack a light shove. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Jack snorted, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” After a death glare from Gabriel, he started to laugh. “Fine, fine. Ana, Reinhardt and I were talking earlier. Apparently there’s an underground terrorist unit that’s been supplying weapons to the enemy omnics. From the sound of things, you and I are might get to have a bit of fun with this one.”

“Fun?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow, grabbing the door to the conference room. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not really sure, but anything’s better than patrol, right?” Jack said, pushing the door open.

Torbjorn, Ana, and Reinhardt were already seated around the table, reading over a series of screens, each displaying a variety of news reports covering the omnic crisis. Reinhardt lifted his head with a grin, resting one hand on the helmet at his side. “Ah, friends! Glad you decided to finally show up!” Ana leaned back in her chair, leafing through a series of papers printed in thick, black ink. “Take a seat. We need to start discussing our next move.”

Gabriel and Jack sat in the two empty chairs next to each other, trading a quick glance between just them.

“So,” Gabriel asked, folding his arms. “This is about the terrorist unit then? What’s the deal with that?”

“After a bit of weapon tracing, I’ve figured out their general location,” Torbjorn announced, leaning forward in his chair. “They’re using sheet metal from an abandoned factory down in a small town in Idaho, and shipping out from a private hangar less than ten miles away. From what I can tell, their base of operations is undercover somewhere in a quiet neighborhood called Littlevale.”

Gabriel snorted. “Sounds charming.”

“We don’t want to spook them into relocating, so we were discussing the possibility of an undercover ops mission to shut them down,” Ana explained, sliding two manila envelopes across the table. “This is my official proposal that the two of you cover the mission while Torbjorn, Reinhardt and I continue to lead the charge against some of our more frontal threats.”

Gabriel and Jack high–fived, sharing a grin. “I think it goes without saying that we vote in favor,” Jack said, grabbing his own envelope, already digging through the papers inside. Sure special ops was more Gabe’s specialty than his, but he’d kill for a change of pace right about now.

Ana nodded. “Torbjorn? Reinhardt? What are your thoughts?”

“Sounds excellent! Best of luck to you both, my friends!” Reinhardt said eagerly.

Torbjorn nodded. “Aye.

Ana smiled, folding her arms on the table. “It’s unanimous then. The two of you will spend two weeks undercover in ‘Littlevale’. I’ve already taken the liberty of contacting the seller of a home there, as well as preparing cover identities for you both. Everything we know so far is in those files. Remember, as far as anyone there will know, you are Gabe and Jonathan Smith.”

Jack flipped through the pages of the mission file absently. “Why do we have the same last name? Are we supposed to be brothers or something?”

Ana raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. Who’d believe that? You two are married, of course.”

“Cool,” Gabriel said, absently paging through his own files.

“Wait, what?” sputtered Jack, his neck burning as color began to rise in his cheeks. “Why are we married? Who’s going to believe that?”

Torbjorn laughed into his hand, elbowing Reinhardt. “Hah! Can you believe that? Tell them what you told me.”

Reinhardt shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “When I first met you two, I thought you were married. You must admit, you two are rather convincing as a couple!”

Jack dropped his face into his hands, as if he could hide how red his face had turned. “Gabe, can you believe this? We’ve been betrayed! Tricked!”

“Calm down, Jack,” Gabriel said bemusedly, pouring himself a mug of coffee. “I’m not going to screw you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Rolling his eyes, Jack folded his arms. “You’re all ridiculous. What, do we have children too? No, you know what, you wanted us to be married, so now we’re gonna adopt some gay kids.”

“Shut up, Jack,” Ana said, smirking. “You already voted for this mission. Now, you’re going to want to pack.” She paused, regaining her serious composure. “On that note, Torbjorn, can you show Gabriel how to work the transmission codec? If these terrorists send any messages in or out of their base, we need to know.”

As they spoke, Jack leaned back in his chair, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Sure, he and Gabriel flirted sometimes, but it was always as a joke. They’d been friends for so long, it would just be weird if something happened now, right? Well, there was that one time at the SEP when they had to share a bed. It had been pretty nice, actually. Gabe had such soft skin. And he smelled like coffee grounds, and discharged pulse munitions. They had just laid there in the dark, listening to each other breath. So close.

“Hey.” Jack blinked, sitting up as Gabriel cuffed him lightly across the arm. “It’s just a cover. You don’t have to make that face.”

“Face?” Jack said, stifling a smirk. “I wasn’t making a face.”

Gabriel grinned, raising an eyebrow. “No? Not this one?” He stuck out his tongue, dragging down his eyelids with an exaggerated look of exasperation.

“Shut up,” snorted Jack, pushing Gabriel away. “That’s it, I’m divorcing you. We’re getting divorced.”

Gabriel grinned, leaning in close. Really close. Jack paused, trying not to stare. “I guess I’m just too badass for you.”

“Nice try, ‘My Chemical Romance,’ but I’ve seen the little doodles of skulls you draw on your arm with pink highlighter,” Jack teased.

“That was one time,” Gabriel protested, folding his arms moodily. “If you don’t stop bringing it up, I’ll rip off your arm, Morrison.”

Jack laughed. “Funny, you told me that the last ten times.” It felt so good. Right. Constantly teasing each other, bickering over stupid things, always having each other’s back. This was the way things were meant to be. This was perfect.

He picked up the mission papers, skipping ahead to the info on their new identities as Jonathan and Gabe Smith. Couldn’t have chosen a more generic last name, huh? Married four years, just returned from a yearlong work trip in D.C, and looking to settle down for a quiet family life.

Jack glanced up as Gabriel walked away, starting to talk with Torbjorn at the door. He found himself smiling, though he wasn’t really sure why.

Never mind this, he had a mission. Undercover or not, he wanted to make sure they would be armed and ready. Maybe he’d talk to Mercy, see if she could upgrade his biotic field, just in case things went south. Standing, he tucked the mission file under his arm. He paused a second, biting back a grin. As he passed through the door, he firmly smacked Gabe across the butt. “See you in Littlevale, babe.”

                                                .    .     .    .    .

“Can you believe this? We’ve got the tech and know how to fabricate completely new civilian identities on a whim, infiltrate the most high security organizations, fight an entire army of super strong, super angry omnics—but SOMEHOW it didn’t occur to anyone that this wallpaper is damn ugly?”

“Oh come on Gabe,” Jack said, leaning his suitcase up against a wall. “You’d probably decorate this room like a poster for some edgy teenage band, or a thirteenth century torture dungeon.”

Gabriel folded his arms, huffing. “You’ve got no taste Jack Morrison. I bet you think that floral print couch just looks great, huh? It looks and smells like crusty old mustard!”

“Calm down, it’s only for two weeks. Plus, we’re only using the house to station the surveillance equipment, it’s not like we’re going to actually grow old together here,” Jack snorted, pulling the living room curtains shut.

“Damn right we aren’t,” Gabriel grumbled. “If you were actually expecting me to live here, I’d divorce your ass in a heartbeat.”

“Not if I divorce you first,” Jack said, throwing one of the onion green pillows at Gabriel’s head.

Gabriel stumbled in shock, giving Jack an exaggerated look of furious betrayal. He lunged forward to grab a pillowy weapon of his own when—

Ding–dong!

The two shared a cautious glance. After a moment, Jack walked over to the door, opening it up. “Um, hello?”

Outside stood a tall, square–shouldered man with curly red hair. He wore a casual sweater vest, carried a small sleeping baby girl, and held a wicker basket under one arm. When the door opened, he split into a wide, white smile. “You must be the new neighbor! It’s really just great to meet you. My name is Andrew Miles. I live in the house next door with the wraparound porch.” He held out the basket, filled to the brim with fresh fruit, and neatly tied down with a red ribbon. “I figured I’d swing by and bring you a little house–warming gift. I grow the fruit in my own backyard, so it’s fresh off the tree. It’s really just my way of welcoming you to the neighborhood!”

Jack quickly smiled, shaking Andrew’s hand as he accepted the huge basket. “I’m, ah, Jonathan Smith. But you can call me Jack.”

Andrew laughed, bouncing the little baby lightly. “It’s really just great to meet you Jack!” he said, smiling. “So, besides being incredible handsome, what do you do for a living?”

Jack blinked. “Excuse me. What?”

“I asked what you do for a living,” Andrew said brightly, brushing a curl out of his eyes. “I coach the kids’ soccer team. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it’s really just fun seeing the kids so excited, you know? You?”

What did he do for a living? He knew it was in the identities they’d planned and the legal papers, but suddenly he couldn’t make himself think.

A warm, strong hand grabbed his shoulder tightly. “My Jackie here is a real estate agent,” Gabriel cut in, leaning in close. “I’m Gabe Smith, his husband. Nice to meet you.”

“Well Gabe, you really just won the lottery, didn’t you?” Andrew chuckled, offering Jack a wink. “I was just welcoming Jack to the neighborhood.”

“Great. Fantastic,” Gabriel said.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, falling over everything like a thick sheet of snow. Finally managing to grab a hold of his senses, Jack coughed, cutting in quickly. “It’s been nice meeting you, Andrew. Thank you for the fruit basket.”

“The pleasure has been mine, Jack. Hey, there’s a neighborhood barbecue tonight. Would you like to come? You can bring your husband, if you want,” Andrew said.

“We need to unpack,” Gabriel said quickly.

“We’d love to come,” argued Jack, elbowing Gabriel. “Thank you for inviting us, we’ll be sure to come.”

The door was barely closed when he turn to Gabriel, glaring. “Come on Gabe, what was that about? You were being weird!”

“What was that about? I was keeping you alive, you idiot! We don’t know who could be involved in this terrorist group, and now you just want to go partying around to some stranger’s barbecue?”

Jack groaned. “I’m not partying around! I’m trying to find opportunities for us to investigate, Gabe! Plus, it’s not like anyone would shoot me to death right there in plain sight of the entire cul-de-sac!”

“But he was hitting—“

“So what if he was hitting on me! He’s kind of cute, okay? Maybe I liked it! And just because he was flirting doesn’t mean my guard was down. I can protect myself just fine!”

Gabriel let out a frustrated yell, dropping down on the couch. “Look, I don’t care if redheads are your kink, Jack! As far as anyone in this neighborhood is supposed to know, you and I are happily married. We have a cover to keep up! You can’t just—“

“Alright, alright! I’ll try and avoid it next time.” There was a long pause, and Jack sighed, slumping down on the couch next to him. He sat close to Gabriel, nudging him lightly. “It’s not my fault I look the way I do.”

“You’re right,” Gabriel said, sinking into the couch cushion with a small smile. “No one would be so ugly and disgusting if they could help it.”

Jack smiled at the joke, grabbing Gabriel’s hand. The touch was like a spark, and they both fell suddenly silent, not meeting eyes. For a moment, he wasn’t sure whether or not to regret it. No, it was fine. He was doing this to let Gabriel know he cared, because that’s what friends did. Just… friends. “I’m not going to promise I’ll be safe. You know neither of us can.”

Gabriel leaned in close. Jack’s breath caught. He was warm. He smelled like coffee grounds and pulse munitions. He was so, so incredibly close. “I know. But you’ll at least try to be careful, right?

Nodding slightly, Jack worked up the courage to lean in as well. This was nothing special, he reminded himself. They’d held each other before, been this close to each other before. Still, he couldn’t help but feel that this moment was special somehow. “Only if you are too.”

[segadores-y-soldados]

Um hello everyone??

??????

I hit another follower milestone and like???

HI

How are there so many of you here??

Thank you to everyone for your support!  I hope ya’ll are enjoying the stuff I put on this blog!

So for new and old followers here’s some stuff about me and a mini writing showcase:

Tumblr username: Segadores-y-soldados AO3 username: clickclickBANG Twitter: https://twitter.com/SegadorYSoldado (I am very new at the bird website, please send help) Semi-personal info: transdude from California, please use he/him for me Semi-relevant skills: slowly improving my Spanish - feel free to correct my nonsense (also, 00halle, I saw your comment - I’ve been meaning to respond!  Thank you again for the offer, I super appreciate it and will be coming to you with some questions when I get a chance)

Content: All Overwatch stuff, lots of Reaper76 shippy stuff - be sure to look at my About page to find my other ships I’ll reblog 

Things I’m most well-known for: My essays (tagged as “my essays”) including references on Reaper, Soldier, and Ana; little dialogue scenarios (tagged as “dumb stuff”), usually involving Reaper/Gabriel and Soldier/Jack in some way; doing research on lore and locational stuff in Overwatch; writing fics about Gabriel and Jack being ridiculous smartasses who are in love (and oftentimes the poor people who have to witness their shenanigans).

Little writing showcase:

SEP: Sunsets (written for the amazing Vapewraith!)

They’re in one of the halls of the SEP facility - tucked away into a deep mountainside “somewhere out west,” the building is hard angles and brutal concrete and cut-steel, as soft as titanium and as gentle as the injections they get every morning and evening.  Yet even here, in “wherever’s-range,” there is still beauty: the massive windows, normally just cold, crystalline glass, are open to the sunset, bleeding colors across the land and sky, dripping into the hallway with the vibrancy of oil paints.  Reds smoke into bright, endless pinks, golds melt into bold, sunshine yellows, oranges shift into liquid amber, and at the edges of the atmosphere, velvet purples sigh into silky blues, tinting the more vivid colors and steeped clouds with the dusk of night and the emerging stars.

It’s a sight neither Gabriel nor Jack will ever get tired of -

No matter how exhausted they are.

“The doctors will see you shortly -” the SEP instructor starts to say, reappearing at the far end of the hallway, before he looks up from the papers on his clipboard and scowls at the group of crumbling supersoldiers, snapping, “Is that what you call ‘lining up?’”

“Maybe if y’all didn’t work us so damn hard,” Number: 141 growls, his voice climbing into a hoarse yell, “We’d still have the energy to fucking stand!”

There are shouts of agreement and calls of “Yeah that!” and quiet mumbles of assent.  Gabriel huffs to himself, sliding himself onto the concrete barrier and trying his hardest not to wince as his muscles settle into a sitting position.  He’s used to hard work and even harder workouts, but today had been…brutal.  3 am running through the facility and into the mountains and back, to 10 am sparring and boxing and hand-to-hand combat, to 1 pm “simulation training” where they ran teams in rubber-bullet fire-fights, to 4 pm regulated work outs of push ups and squats and curls, to now - 8 pm - where they fall to their pieces in concrete hallways, waiting for doctors to take their biodata and continue churning them into statistics for the U.S. government before jamming more needles in their arms and sending them to brutal, uncomfortable cots in the dorms.

Jack slides himself up next to Gabriel, sighing just loud enough for his best friend to hear, “Today…was pretty bad.”

“Would’ve been easier on you if you hadn’t burned yourself out on those push ups,” Gabriel grunts back, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a pant pocket.  He taps one out, muttering with some confusion, “Why were you doing all those one-armed push ups?”

Old Habits (aka “the big fic”) - Rating: T - Action/Adventure for R76:

“PULL BACK,” Reaper’s shouting at the three goons who got blasted the fuck back with a concussive rocket, “ASSHOLES, THOSE ARE HELIX MARK VI, IF THEY FIRE A REAL ROCKET YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD.”

Louis is, remarkably, the only one who stays on his feet, although now that they’re all wearing their visors it’s getting difficult to tell who’s who.  The other two roll backwards, flipping over a few times before slamming into the cliff wall behind them.  Reaper could fucking push both of them off the ledge and into the depths of the canyon with how annoyed he is at them, but that’s not important right now.

Three of the Helix fliers pop up from behind the rock ledge, hovering just a bit above the ground - low enough to get shelter again, but just high enough to give them a subtle height and maneuverability advantage over the Talon and Deadlock ground units.  He hears Widowmaker and Henri fire off a few more rounds, but distant screams are the only reward for that - they’re aiming at the U.S. military soldiers who are stupidly rappelling down from the stable parts of the train still up on the tracks and making themselves easy targets.

“Widowmaker, Helix units, on the ground, below you!” Reaper growls out over the comms before he fucking dematerializes -

- and reforms himself directly behind the three Helix fliers.

God, that hurt like a FUCK.

He punches one of them in the back to make up for it.

FUCK THAT FUCKING HURT TOO

WHY DIDN’T HE JUST FUCKING SHOOT THEM LIKE A REGULAR ASSHOLE

(More under the cut)

76 + 127: How We Were Made - Rating: E - Reaper76 SEP fic

Jack stands by one of the dull, concrete walls and bends himself over before slowly reverse-walking his legs up the side.  The rush of blood to his already throbbing head just makes it feel worse, but the weird mix of exhaustion and energy courses through him and he -

He cannot tell if he wants to fight something

Or fuck something.

...Probably both.

That was the other thing: the fucking raging mix of hormones and chemicals - both natural and artificial - had only cranked individual personalities, energies, attentions, aggressions, and desires to the fucking max.  It had been apparent from the day of orientation that all 150 of them were between 18 and 25 years old - all physically fit, largely martially-oriented people from a multitude of military programs across the country.  Jack and Gabriel had been the top two picks from West Point, but Jack had recognized a handful of the others as being from the academy - like three upperclassmen and ten lowerclassmen and two from their own group - Adrien and Sarah.

So yeah

Of course both fighting and fucking had started occurring within the first week.

Pinche mierda, there had been packets of lube and condoms in their supply chests in their bunk rooms from the very first day onwards.  The program directors had certainly known what to expect from a bunch of high-energy, high-intensity young adults.

Jack sighs again, not sure if he loves or hates the pressure in his head and neck, before pushing his arms up off his elbows and onto his hands.

Upside-down push-ups suck.

Gabriel’s wide, smug, fucking charming grin flashes into his head.

Sharpshooter: Hit Me Like A Drum - Rating: T - McHanzo meeting fic

Jesse flicks his eyes from the apparent quiver back to the man’s amazing face and his dark eyes and immediately knows two things:

1 - This man is absolutely the most handsome person Jesse has ever had the blessed fortune of meeting.

2 - He does not understand a word coming out of the man’s mouth.

“...Pardon?” Jesse asks absently, blinking awkwardly. The...archer (?) tilts his head a little and scowls a bit - oh jackrabbit turds, I pissed him right off - before saying in flawless English, “It is your turn.”

Oh. Jesse thinks lamely. English.

“Oh uh, thanks, partner,” Jesse says awkwardly, glancing back towards the counter where one of the chefs is waiting with an expression of stern politeness that is fading into increasing annoyance. Jesse makes eye contact with the chef and she gives him a small handwave of “hurry up, tourist, I don’t have all day.”

“Uh…” Jesse glances back sheepishly at the man behind me, giving him an embarrassed smile, “You wouldn’t happen to know which one is the spicy pork ramen, would you?”

The man’s scowl fades for a quick second before returning, and he says with startlingly serious focus, “Oh. You can’t read it.”

“Uh…no, sorry ‘bout that, darlin’,” Jesse apologizes without thinking and the man raises an eyebrow, asking, “‘Darling?’”

OH FUCK ME AND MY DUMB ASS

Why, yes, please do, the wiseass side of Jesse cracks in his head and he fucking flounders over the barrage of shame and embarrassment and attraction.

“Oh, damn, shit, sorry - oh cheese on a cracker, I shouldn’t be swearing, oh god you’re gonna think I was never taught manners - shoot, sugar, I’m so sorry, it’s a bad habit I got from my pa and - Shit, I just did it again - sorry, it’s been a long trip here and, oh Lord, I just swore again, this is so embarrassing -”

A startled look of wonder blossoms on the man’s face and if Jesse wasn’t so fucking flustered, he would love to try and mentally catalogue how the man looks so open and surprised. Jesse is in the middle of tripping over his words when the unthinkable happens.

A miracle occurs.

The man gives a surprisingly broad and genuinely happy grin and starts to laugh.

[cantstopthesignal2005]

The Party

           Beverly Sutton was an hour late getting to her co-worker, Maria’s, party. Beverly had always detested tardiness in others, herself being punctual to a fault, occasionally arriving several hours early to any obligation she had. Her husband, Norman, kept her in a fretful wait, assuring he’d only be a few more minutes getting to their house. As he was wont to do, and as Beverly expected, Norman eventually requested to meet her at the party, as work would be going long. With a dismay locked in her chest, Beverly gingerly rapped her rawboned knuckles against the green, steel door. Maria answered the door with a glance, assessing her, surprised to see Beverly holding only a bag, not the hand of her husband, whom she assured Maria, would be joining them shortly. Maria ushered Beverly inside, accepting her profuse apologies. “It’s fine,” she said.    There was a hasty tour, where Maria showed her kitchen, the sink immaculately cleaned, smelling faintly of a harsh chemical; Beverly felt an ease course through her, knowing that Maria also had to apply her elbow grease and sweat to display the facade of an idyllic home.  The floors were linoleum, imitation hardwood. The powder blue walls were festooned with paper streamers and ribbons, several errant balloons floating around the otherwise empty space in the house.  This Must Be The Place had been playing from the stereo, a song Beverly knew well from her youth, surprised to hear Maria, twenty years her junior, playing it.   “I love this song, Mama.”   “Oh, it’s on shuffle.”   “Oh. Well, it’s a good song.”   “Thank you. I like that you call me Mama, by the way. It makes me feel sorta . . . special, I guess?”   “Oh, yeah. It’s a Puerto Rican thing, we called everyone Mama and Papa when we were growing up. I don’t do it as much anymore, people thought it was so strange.”   “Well, I like it. Mama.”   “Thank you. Oh! Before I forget!” Beverly dug into the red bag and produced the gifts she purchased for Maria’s Christmas celebration: Pet Sounds by The Beach Boys, a collection of black-and-white films, and a box of Belgian chocolates.   “Oh!” Maria gasped, remarkably feigning surprise. “Oh, I love them already. I don’t know these, but me and my honey love the old movies. Thanks so much.”    “Of course.”    “Oh, let���s meet you with some of my friends!”      Moving into the living room, a discolored joint passed between Maria’s peers, their eyes dripping and glazed over as they reclined on the beige sectional couch, ashing their joint on a thin, leaf-shaped ashtray. The men had scruffy beards and low-dripping eyelids, the women wearing makeup to conceal the dark circles beneath their eyes. Beverly recalled wistfully the blind ambition of youth, subsisting on junk food and menthol cigarettes, throwing one’s self into their work, waking up to beat the sun, as coffee and stamina coalesced to burn a hole through a concave stomach. Beverly deduced shortly that the hour or so that they would stay at this gathering would likely be the only respite they’d have this month. A young, black woman named Clarissa (as told by her nameplate earrings) was sitting upright, zealously bemoaning the incompetent lovers of her past. “. . .  telling me that he’s the only person that needs to cum. I said ‘bitch, how the fuck?’ He gon’ tell me if I cum, nothing happens. He cums, I could get pregnant.”  “He did not!” a blonde, Hispanic woman said, her voice strained from the smoke she held in her lungs.  “I told him he better kick rocks.”  “I don’t think all that is necessary, C,” a young man muttered, rolling his eyes. Clarissa shifted her glance towards him, from which he averted his eyes, frightened.  “How the fuck you arrive at that conclusion, Shaun?”    “I’m just saying, not all men are like that, and maybe if you told him why he was wrong. . .”  “I didn’t say All Men, hop out your feelings, buddy. Secondly, it ain’t my motherfucking job title to tell men how they’re fucking up. I’m 24, life’s too short to catch a weak dick.” The tirade elicited laughter and approval from the group. As they returned to normalcy, the dead stares turned over to Beverly, who’d been meekly standing, gripping her wrist.  “Well, hey guys, this is my friend from work, Beverly,” Maria began, presenting her. “She works the cafeteria at Silverman’s, my other job. She’s very sweet.”  “I knew I knew your face!” Clarissa said, snapping her fingers in step with her synapses. “Yeah! You’re the lady that brought in the pastries on Valentine’s Day.”   “That’s me,” she timidly admitted, her voice barely rising over a whisper. While Beverly felt proud of herself for taking the daunting plunge and engaging with others, she couldn’t shake the thought that she was a relic to them, presented to the young blood like a county fair prize pig.   “Those eclairs? Ma’am, those come in handy on a rough day, I don’t mind telling you. I was having period cramps, hurting like . . .”   “No one needs to know that . . .” Shaun muttered.   “You better grow the fuck up, Shaun. Acting like a bitch not gonna menstruate. I did, your sister did, your mom did, and if you get a girlfriend, she’s going to. Deal with the shit. PMS is not the motherfucking boogeyman.” Clarissa turned back to Beverly and Maria, smiling. “I never got to thank you for the sweets, that really helped. Nice to meet you.”   “Nice to meet you, too, mama.”   Maria hastily ran through the rest of the attendees. “This is Clarissa, she’s very outspoken, but that’s why we love her. This over here is Owen, who’s pretty intense. . .”  “Intense?” he pondered aloud, crestfallen to be pinned with the adjective.  “You are,” Shaun concurred, cracking a superior smirk.  “This is Shaun, who’s five seconds from leaving my house if he doesn’t learn how to act. And this tall glass of water next to him with the unkempt hair and fuckboy attire is my boo thing, Woody. Woody’s such a sweetheart, he’s into movies, you’ll love him.”  “Hello, Beverly,” he greeted her with a limp wave of his hand, his chin dug deep into his chest.  “Hello, Woody,” she replied, nodding gently.  “Do you . . . partake?”  “Drugs don’t like me,” she explained, nervously laughing. “So nice to meet you all, though. You’re all so . . . so handsome and pretty.”   “A drink?” Maria asked.   “Uh . . . rum?”   “Cuba libre?”   “Sounds great, mama.” Beverly made her way to the edge of the sectional, her back maintaining an impressive rigidity. She looked at Clarissa and smiled. “Clarissa, right?”   “Yes, that’s right.”  “Your hair smells so nice. Is that . . . that’s coconut oil?”   “Mmhmm,” she confirmed, a wide grin spreading on her face. “Your skin is so clear . . .”  “I just use moisturizer, really,” she said. “I learned it from this one movie set I’d worked on when I was younger and there was this gay man—”  “Mrs. Bev!” Maria exclaimed, bringing over a small mason jar filled with rum and Coke, the liquor kissing the fill line. “You never said you were an actress!”   “Oh, I’m not. I wasn’t.  Not really . . .”  “Modesty never gets anyone anywhere,” Clarissa said, admonishing Beverly’s humility with a point of her finger.  “Oh, it was a little thriller, really cheap b-movie. I was dating the guy who lit the movie at the time . . .” she looked to see the room captivated by her story, and realized she was holding court. She spoke up, “His name was Jeremy Wooderson. He was a film guy.  It was the director, Pavel’s, first movie. It’s an old movie called Melody’s Mirror—"  “Were you the lead?” Maria asked.   “Uh, no, no I wasn’t. I played a young woman named Alma. I was the very dim, promiscuous roommate to the lead, Melody. And Melody was sort of losing her grip on reality. She kept having these violent, horrific visions. My big scene was, I was clawing at the walls of the apartment with these . . . sort of talons, you might call them? And blood begins pouring from my mouth.”   “And it’s called what?” Clarissa asked.     “Melody’s Mirror.” She snapped her finger and tapped the temple of her forehead. “Oh, but all this to say, the makeup artist, this gay man named Noah, was very hip, very cool. Very . . . debonair, is the word.  And he was eighty pounds if he was an ounce. A very sweet man, but terribly addicted. And you know, when I would go out for the night, I would always ask, ‘Noah, can you make me up to get my girls jealous?’ And the looks he gave me . . . I wish he was still around.”   “He passed?” Maria asked   “Yes, yes,” she replied, gravely. “He overdosed on heroin in the back of this very drab club that had to shut down for a week after. It was on the news. Local news, but still. A very big deal in the community.”   “That’s horrible, Ms. Bev.”   “Drugs are . . . you know, the heavy stuff. . .  I’ve always seen it turn on someone.” The mood of the room dipped significantly, no one certain of how to proceed after the ultimately grim anecdote they’d just heard. Maria clasped her hands, eyes lighting up.    “Oh, you know, Ms. Bev actually got us this very cool vinyl. Pet Sounds. We should give it a spin,” she said, leaping from the couch, grabbing the record from the counter.    “You like The Beach Boys?” Shaun asked.    “Oh. . . yeah, yeah, I do. They’re not my favorite group, but it’s quite a good band. I just remember hearing Maria discuss the . . .  discuss them, at work.”   The needle dropped and hit the record, and with a few pops, the music began. An influx of guests eventually made their way in, congesting the area, disconcerting Beverly. The dialogue and overlapping conversations were frighteningly cacophonous, grinding on her nerves. To quell the discomfort, she sequestered herself to the row of liquor bottles and began swigging back generous splashes of rum, her hands regaining their steadiness. She remained in her corner, anonymously occupying her space away from everyone as she became conscious of this scenario’s reality: no one expected her to come, Maria only asked her out of an intrinsic charity. Now she was a burden, a cautionary tale of listlessness, hampering on people trying to enjoy the splendor of their youth. She was the lunch lady at the cafeteria, and she should have graciously declined the invite. She hadn’t, and now, she was struggling to appear sober and steady, the flux of overwhelming thoughts slowly halting.     As she began to slip away, there came a knock at the door. Maria stumbled over to answer it, swinging it open with more force, Beverly concluded, than she meant to.  “Hello?” she asked.   “Hi, Maria?” a familiar voice replied.   “Yes? Can I . . . can I help you?”   “My wife should be here. Beverly?”   “Oh! You’re Mrs. Bev’s honey! Yeah, come in, she’s over here. . .” Norman walked through the door, his salt and pepper hair was disheveled, flopping around his narrow face. He sidled up to his wife, kissing her hollowing cheek. He handed the bottle of wine over to Maria whose eyes became hungry and wide, her jaw slowly falling. “Oh! Oh gosh! For us?”   “Mother taught me it was impolite to arrive at a house empty handed.”   “Nice mother!” she giggled. “Would you mind us . . .  popping this open now? We’re all . . .  festive.”  “Be my guest. I’ll be yours,” he smiled, which prompted a polite chuckle from Maria. Beverly remembered why she fell so desperately for him.  He was briefly once again the preternaturally charming young man that wooed her so many years ago. The pearlescent row of teeth flashing a perfect smile, a wry, self-deprecating wit he presented to everyone, winning over an entire room in the space of a minute. His tweed jacket, and yellow dress shirt intimated that he was likely in a clerical or academic profession. Shaun approached him, a lit blunt in his mouth, the stench pungent, hanging thick in the air.     “Excuse me,” he said, his eyes low. “You’re Norman Sutton, right?”   “Yes, that’s right.”   “My dad had all your books. Steel & Lace, Mutiny, Julia’s Ills. I read Bastards when I was in high school, for a project.”   “Don’t say that,” he said, affecting a smirk. “Making me feel old.”   “You burn a heavy shadow,” he said, adopting a serious tone. “I hope you know that. There’s something you said, I don’t know if you remember, but you said on the Prague book tour. ‘Humility will get you nowhere except pushed back to the footnotes of history.’ That stuck with me.”   “I said that? That’s quite arrogant. Oh boy.” Owen walked over to them, a beer in hand, his gait staggering from inebriation.  He feigned an interest in talking with Shaun, though his gaze never fully departed from his literary icon.   “Hey, man, over at work today, we had this one kid on his last day and he was doing stock.”   “Okay?” Shaun rolled his eyes, annoyed at his contrived excuse to meet Norman had been.   “And he just like, took all the candy, loaded it in his car, and dipped out.”   “Wild stuff.” The conversation abruptly ended, though Owen remained transfixed by the giant to his side. Without the braves to speak, Owen simply looked at him. “Hi,” Norman finally said, unable to bear the empty gaze. “Nice to meet you, I’m Norman.”   “Norman . . . not Norman . . .  Sutton?” Owen asked, aloof to how transparent he appeared.     “The very same,” he sighed, his voice notably distressed from the recognition. “What’s your name, young man?”   “Owen. Owen Gallatty.”   “Nice to meet you. I’m here with the missus, to be frank. We don’t get out much, I’ll be going over to her now. I might join you later, enjoy your night, gentlemen.” Norman sidled over to Beverly, his brow furrowed, his grin widening; in this light, Beverly thought, he looked more like a lothario than the temperamental academic she’d known for the better part of three decades.  The beguiling spells Norman could cast on others, Beverly had become intimately familiar with over the years, and kept to herself the knowledge that they never were as effective as in the prime of his youth, when he was all vinegar and potential. He inched closer, his face becoming interrogative. Theatrically, he inhaled through his nostrils and rolled his eyes. “You’ve been drinking?”   “In fact, I have,” she replied, stepping back.   “I think a bit much, don’t you?” he rhetorically snapped.   “I think enough, don’t you?” she insouciantly retorted, crossing her arms limply. His reserved and malcontent nature had begun to wear her into a torpor, where she was reticent to express the slightest joy for fear of castigation. The thought that he might come unstuck and bash her brains in with the nearest blunt object had remained in her mind for, she had noted in her leather-bound journal, the past ten years. Her eyes went low, her face became sunken, and what little vigor she gleaned from the party had drifted away.   “We’re leaving, they know my work, rumors could get out. This is quite fucking embarrassing.”   “Leave if you want to,” she venomously replied.   “I’ll leave you here,” he threatened.   “I believe we’re saying the same things.”   “We’re discussing this tomorrow when I return home from work.”   “Great, I’ll squeeze you in between vacuuming and dishes.”   “I’ll sleep in the study, tonight. I don’t feel like sharing a bed with you, for some reason. Make certain someone can walk you to the nearest bus stop, I’d hate to hear you fell into a gutter somewhere.”  Norman, with a reserved gait, walked out indignantly, careful not to draw attention to himself. Beverly forced a smile as she walked over to the group, hoping to bottle some joy from the conversations. Clarissa and Maria craned their heads up from the conversation they held with their boyfriends and hurried over to her, somewhat alarmed. Unbeknownst to Beverly, her veneer of happiness was completely unconvincing as there had been a thin glaze of tears had welling up in her eyes, a few drops trickling down her numb face.    “Mrs. Bev,” Maria whispered, taking her into the master bedroom, Clarissa closing the door behind them.  Beverly was transfixed by the chocolate sheets, the red, satin pillows, the nightstand with a stack of books towering high. “Mrs. Bev, what is going on?”    “Nothing, honey. Nothing, I’m just . . .  just here to . . .  to have fun with you gals.”    “Mrs. Bev, you’re crying.”    “Oh, am I? Oh, no.” Her shoulders sank and tears fell as she choked out a few cathartic sobs. Clarissa rubbed Beverly’s back as her poisonous stoicism collapsed. “I’m so sorry, mama. I didn’t mean to . . . you know . . . not on your night.”   “You’re fine, you’re fine. Don’t apologize, please. Mrs. Bev, what is going on?”   “It’s just . . . he’s always . . . he’s always making me feel like I’m less than. Or that I’m embarrassing. He’s always stopped just short of calling me a bitch, but god, I can feel it. I can that he hates me, and I . . . I tolerated him because of all the great times, and I’m thinking, maybe those times can come back, and maybe it can be like it was. But it won’t. It won’t. He’s just going to keep asking for more and more.”   “Mrs. Bev, you can’t let him do that to you. You cannot let him distract you like that. I did that before, and it killed me. Like, it took me years to unlearn those patterns. Where you’re trying to please him, where he’s making you feel like it’s not enough.”    “That’s real,” Clarissa said, nodding her head. “If he’s not gonna treat you with the proper respect and care, what the fuck you doing with him? Waiting for it to get better? That won’t happen, and you know it won’t. Deep down, you do. I would say get it all together, before you have to deal with something a lot worse. It only gets worse, ma’am.” Beverly felt the venom leave her bloodstream as she was consoled by the young women who held her and warmed her with empathy. As they made a return to the living room, the enthusiasm had dwindled, many departing, until the living room only hosted Woody and Maria’s roommate, Carol, who informed everyone she had work in the morning.  Woody and Maria had been speaking in hushed tones as Beverly volunteered to clean the house. Woody eventually groaned and lifted himself from the couch.  “Ma’am, did you need a ride home?” he asked as he saw Beverly with a garbage bag full of Styrofoam cups and plates.   “No, not at all,” she said, looking at her watch. “Last bus home comes in fifteen.”   “I can take you to the bus stop, Mrs. Bev,” Maria offered.   “Sure, girlie. I appreciate you letting me come over . . . Woody? It was very nice to meet you, thank you so much for having me.” They walked to Maria’s red sedan and drove up the block, Beverly muttering, cursing herself all the way.

 “Mrs. Bev, are you going to be okay?”  “Huh? Me? I’m . . . you know . . . steady as a rock.  I’m not gonna be one of those old ladies, you know, half in the bag, spilling everything to everyone.  That’s not. . . not who I am. I’ll see you at work, girlie.”      “I’ll see you at work, Mrs. Bev.”   Beverly steeled herself for the blistering, cool air. Hunched over, she began shuddering from the cold. She knew now that all she could do was wait. And she did.