#so billy gets a jacket and they have to huddle together for warmth

[marvelatthetwilight]

No longer lost in Forks

The follow up piece to my first imagine “Lost in Forks”.

I feel so much pressure putting out a part 2, I hope you aren’t disappointed! Clearly on a roll though with my second post this weekend!

Paul’s POV

I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I get my phone out of my pocket and open up a message to Jared.

- I can’t do this. I can’t have her hating me. I can hold out. Tell her another time.

- Bro. STOP IT. She’s going to keep going off into the woods looking for whatever it is she’s looking for unless you tell her. This isn’t for you, it’s for her! Also Kim says stop being an idiot, she wants a new friend so hurry up.

I roll my eyes and put my phone back in my pocket. I’m ready, I’m ready. I can do this. Just then, the door to the restaurant opened, and Y/N’s beautiful scent filled my entire being. I CAN do this. I wave to her and smile, she smiles her beautiful smile, face radiating beauty and happiness, and she starts making her way towards me.

“Hi Y/N”. I say awkwardly, reaching my hand out to shake. What the hell am I doing? She stares at my hand, before batting it away and reaching forward for a hug, then kisses me on the cheek.

“Hi Paul. Oh you smell good! What you been up to today?”

I blush. What is this girl doing to me?

“Just hanging out with Jared and the guys at the beach...we are having a bonfire later, if you want to come? We can head over after we’ve eaten?” Her eyes widen, and she smiles that beautiful smile again.

“I would LOVE to!”

~~~

3rd person POV

As each hour passes, Y/N and Paul move closer together. They talk about school, and friends, and life. Y/N feels Paul’s warmth from his arm draped behind her. She scoots closer, and rests her head on his shoulder. She looks up and laughs. Her breath tickles his neck as she whispers, “I think they want us to leave”.

Paul looks at her dreamily, oblivious to the time they had spent together and just happy to be in the company of his imprint. Ignoring the news he needed to share with her, ignoring that she was unaware of what she truly meant to him, ignoring the fact that he was the beast she had been searching for, the eyes in the shadows.

He looks around, seeing the three wait staff standing to the side, whispering and looking at their booth. He looks at his watch.

“Woah, is that the time? We better get going or we will miss the bonfire, we CAN’T miss the bonfire” Paul calls over their server and asks for the bill.

“Quick, grab your coat, I’ll drive us”. Y/N looks confused glancing up at Paul as he grabs his jacket and quickly puts it on, he suddenly seems really on edge. Why is he suddenly so stressed? I thought this was going well. She thought to herself.

Paul holds out his hand, Y/N doesn’t hesitate in taking it, as she says thank you to the host as they leave the restaurant. Paul immediately feels calmer at her touch as she follows him to his truck, jumping in as he holds open her door, closing it carefully behind her.

~~~

Y/N’s POV

Paul doesn’t say anything as we drive into La Push, but I can see him glance at me when he thinks I’m not looking.

“Are you ok?” I ask, noticing his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“Erm yes, just...this bonfire is really important, it’s...well...it explains a lot about my tribe, and...I think you are important to me....and well, it’s...important that you know this, erm....know this about me.” He glances at me, then looks back to the road.

I blush at his words, you are important to me. I don’t know what it is about Paul, but I feel drawn to him, in the short amount of time we’ve known each other, and he was important to me too. We text all the time, he phones me every day to chat, and if I look at my phone and don’t see a message from him I feel disappointed. He’s important to me too, I realise.

We pull up alongside another truck as he turns to face me.

“I’m important to you?” I ask, blushing slightly.

“Of course!” He looks shocked that I even need to ask, and he glances at my lips, then back up to me eyes. “You are the most important person in the world to me” his voice drops to a whisper, the feeling of his breath sends shivers up my spine.

He leans in closer, waiting for me to close the gap.

When our lips meet, it’s like one of those cheesy moments from movies. Adrenaline pumping through my body, sparks, shivers down my spine and my heart thumping loudly in my chest. It was brief, but the soft feeling of his lips lingered on mine as he pulled away, hand still cupping my face as he stared into my eyes.

“Wow” I breathed.

Paul smirks, the cocky Paul I’ve been told so much about appears briefly, before he remembers what he is meant to be doing and suddenly looks stressed again. He briefly kisses my lips again before opening his car door and walking around to mine.

“So at this bonfire...I just need you to listen. You’ll probably have lots of questions. But just listen. I promise I will answer them all afterwards.” He holds out his hand and I take it, walking with him towards the bonfire on the beach ahead of us.

~~~

3rd person POV

Billy Black had just finished the story he had told many times before, as everyone began sneaking looks to where Y/N was sat next to Paul.

Her face was scrunched in confusion, processing the story she had just heard. Processing the information she had just learnt.

Paul stands up and offers her his hand. He gestures towards an empty patch of the beach, that borders the tree line of the forest. “Let’s go for a walk” he suggests as Y/N takes his hand and stands up, offering a smile to Paul’s friends as they walk away.

“So he’s finally doing it?” Embry asks Jared as they watch the pair walk away.

“She hasn’t known him that long remember” Sam states as he warily looks at his fiancée Emily.

Embry and Jared share a look before laughing. “It just feels like it because he’s been following her for so long!” Jared snorts before Embry adds “you mean stalking!” Before they both fall to the sand, rolling around with laughter.

“He was protecting her you idiot! You know it hasn’t been safe for her to be involved until now, stop being mean about your pack brother” Kim flicks Jared’s head before turning to Sam and Emily.

“It’ll be fine Sam, don’t worry”

Sam hums in response before turning his attention back to the bonfire in front of him.

~~~

“So...wolves? That’s a pretty cool legend to have. The most interesting story I have in my family is a random great great uncle who got attacked by a bear. They never found his body, so they think the bear ate him.” Y/N laughs as she looks up at Paul, her expression changing quickly as she sees how serious he looks.

“What if I were to tell you that it wasn’t just a legend. That...it was true?” He looked at her hopefully. The imprints the pack had met so far had all taken the news differently, and he wasn’t sure what Y/N’s reaction would be.

“True?” She furrows her brows as she glances between Paul and the ground. “What do you mean true? Like there are people in your tribe who turn into wolves?” She laughs briefly before looking up at Paul. His eyes are fixed on hers. She can see his hopeful look again, a look willing her to think again. “True...? As in...you turn into a wolf?”

Paul nods briefly, pulling her into the tree line so they can’t be seen. “I need you to know that I would never do anything to harm you, no matter my...form.” With that last word he walks away from her towards a collection of trees huddled closely together, giving him some coverage. Y/N stands where he left her, looking towards the trees where she last saw Paul when a small growl reaches her ears, along with breaking and ripping noises she can’t quite place.

Suddenly an enormous grey wolf walks out slowly from behind the trees, and Y/N is frozen to the spot in fear.

~~~

Y/N’s POV

I willed myself to move. Desperately pleaded with my legs to run. But I couldn’t.

The wolf walked slowly towards me, eyes fixed on mine when I was suddenly hit with a familiar feeling.

Walking home from a friend’s house at night and glancing towards the tree line, feeling a set of eyes watching.

Walking on one of many, many ‘guided’ hikes in search of that same feeling, then suddenly recognising that those eyes had been watching the whole time.

Looking out a window at night, knowing that those same eyes were out there again.

It was him. Realisation dawns over me. I always felt such familiarity with Paul, now it was becoming to become clear why. It was him.

“It was you” I finally said out loud. The wolf in front of me whined slightly, before nodding his head. He slowly moved towards me again until he was standing just inches away. I reached out my hand to stroke his soft fur, then leaned my head against him and sighed a contented sigh. A sigh that was the recognition that I no longer needed to go searching for those eyes that made me feel safe, they were right there, I knew who they were, what they meant.

“It was you.”

A/N: I’m not sure how I feel about this one. I still feel like there’s potentially more to say, but please let me know what you think.

Taglist

@volturidoll13 @clearwater-hoe @like-rain-or-confetti @teampaul @fatiguing-thoughts @wallwriterstuff @moviequeen51 @awesomebooklover17 @cncogirl18

[the-purity-pen]

The Fall of Snow

Pairing: Frank Castle x GN!Reader

Prompt: Day 6 - Snowflakes from this list

Word Count: 1,371

Rating: G

Warnings: allusions to canon character death, heavy drinking, angst

A/N: Frank had to make a comeback. I am just so soft for this big New York man. This takes place after Season 2 canonically so yes Billy boy is gone and Frank is feeling a bit of remorse (Idc what Frank felt at the end of Season 2. My soft boy has remorse for killing his best friend okay). 

The second snowfall of the season was descending upon the city, softening the sounds that normally echoing brightly. The quietest time of it all was at night. When normally the streets would be bustling with cars and lights and sounds, it was quieter - almost eerily so.

But it was the best feeling for you to take your walks then. You made sure to bundle yourself in a nice winter coat with your boots and jeans. You donned a scarf wrapped around your neck comfortably and a knit hat under which you tried to tuck your hair so that it wouldn’t get wind whipped.

Your goal for your walk was to reward yourself with a beer at whichever bar in the downtown area would be open, hang out for a bit to enjoy it and the warmth of the building then make your walk back home.

Your feet crunched the snow under the weight of your boots as you rounded the familiar corner to walk along the street. There were a few people here and there huddling together and sharing lighters to have a smoke. Your eyes took in the way the falling snow glistening under the glow of the streetlights and you let out a slow breath before crossing the street to the open bar across the street.

There were only a few patrons inside the building but when you unraveled yourself a bit and made your way to the bar, you noticed a man wearing a black hoodie that you instantly recognized. “Frank?” you asked tentatively, just to be sure.

When he turned, beer glass in hand, his face lit up but only slightly at the sight of you. He breathed out your name as if in a sigh of relief before placing his glass down and stumbling over to you.

“Whoa there big guy,” you warned playfully as he came over and slumped his body against yours in a sloppy hug. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and his face buried into the side of your face. 

“Yuh smell good,” he mumbled before you were pulling back to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Frank, how long ya been here?” you questioned, noting the very pungent smell of alcohol on his breath. Your eyes took a quick glance around the bar and noticed the date on the sports game. You felt your entire body sigh when you realized what day it was.

Frank stumbled back and shook his head. “Nuh uh,” he mumbled before turning to get back over to his seat at the bar. His hand grasped at the glass and it was as you moved closer that you noticed the bruising on the back of his knuckles. “You ain’t gonna get like that on meh,” he slurred before taking a long sip of the amber liquid in the glass.

“Frank…” you started quietly as you took the seat next to him and started stripping off your scarf more and your jacket, draping it all over the back of the stool. You turned back and asked the bartender for the same as what Frank was having. It was Billy’s drink of choice and you knew why Frank had chosen it. It was the one day a year that Frank would drink the whiskey.

Frank pursed his lips before chewing on the lower one. “What brings ya here?” he asked quietly before letting his eyes drift up, trying to avoid your gaze now that you realized what was going on. 

“Just enjoying the snow. The quiet of the city,” you told him truthfully as the bartender brought over your drink.

“Add it to mine Buck,” Frank muttered, motioning to you and your drink. Your mouth contorted slightly before turning to Frank and offering a small thanks before taking your first sip. The slow burn as the whiskey went down your throat was familiar and immediately made your chest tighten with missing Billy.

You knew why Frank had to do it but it didn’t make it any easier to miss your old military buddy. And it looked like you had missed Frank too. A big city of New York and your job as a consultant that flew all over the country meant you didn’t have a lot of opportunity to see Frank.

Frank nodded slowly and finally turned his head to look at you and that’s when you saw just how red his eyes were. You tried hard to keep your composure but seeing Frank look so broken was hard. One corner of your mouth offered a smirk as the bartender dropped off another glass for Frank. You held up your glass to him. “To Billy,” you said softly.

“Billy,” Frank repeated quietly before you both took your long swigs of the drink. Frank let his glass come to rest on the bar and you took the liberty of resting your hand on his arm. He moved his other hand to come to cover yours, patting it a few times before just resting it there, his thumb moving gently across your knuckles.

A few hours later and you had been done drinking and were sobering up and when you moved to get up to leave, Frank reached out and stopped you by grabbing your hand gently. “You want some company for the walk?” 

You looked at him and gave him a warm smile before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great,” you answered, knowing that him asking was more for himself than for you. He stood up, a bit less stumbly than he had been when you first arrived. He helped you with your jacket then closed out his tab. You waited for him to finish before the two of you left the bar. Once in the cold air, you felt your body almost immediately sober up.

“Fuck. That’ll sober you right up huh. Shit it’s cold,” Frank muttered, his shoulders rising up trying to get his jacket to cover his ear. You looked at him and unwrapped your scarf to hand it to him as the pair of you started walking in the direction of your apartment building.

Frank shook his head. “I insist,” you told him and stopped him from walking so you could stand in front of him and wrap the scarf around his neck. You tucked it in just right on the sides so it was inside his hoodie and jacket. His eyes never left your face, watching as you concentrated to get the scarf so he could comfortably walk you the rest of the way home.

Your hands lingered on the scarf when your gaze caught his. You saw the way his eyes flickered to your lips and back up and you felt your heart squeeze in your chest. “Thanks,” Frank finally said to break the silence that had overtaken you both. You snapped your shoulders back with a deep breath in, flashing a smile at Frank.

You moved to the side and the two of you walked back to your apartment and as you reached the top step to the front door, you looked to Frank. “You gonna be okay?” you ask.

“Maybe,” he said with a small shrug of his shoulders, remembering the scarf and removing it to hand it back to you. He held it out and as your hand grabbed it and tried to take it from him, he held onto it tighter and pulled you closer to him.

He leaned forward and gently placed his forehead against yours, a move that you knew meant he was comfortable with you. You smiled and closed your eyes, leaning into the touch, your eyes closing for a moment. “It’s okay Frank,” you remind him gently as you had all those years ago when the first of Billy’s birthdays had passed since the day Frank had shot him.

When he didn’t answer, you pulled back and saw the single tear streak down his face. “Do you wanna come in?” you asked as your gloved hand came to cup his cheek gently. He nodded and tried to twitch his face to hide what he was really feeling. But you knew. You always knew because Frank had been the one to save your life all those years ago.

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

Perm Tags: @creativekat​ @sxtansqueen​

[daisylincs]

Can you do 61 + 74 for staticquake? Please and thank you. 😊

No, thank you, this is a great prompt. 61 = Huddling for Warmth, and 74 = Love Confession. So this is what I've got:

Daisy and Lincoln are best friends who grew up together (he was the boy next door, and she was everything but shy, so yeah, best friends.) 

Now, Daisy has been really unlucky in love so far. For some reason, none of her boyfriends have lasted longer than a few months. 

But her current boyfriend, Grant, is different. She has a good feeling about this. 

Of course, because the universe is ginormously unfair, as soon as she thinks that she finds him cheating on her. 

After breaking up with him, Daisy goes for a long walk on her own to figure out her head. 

Her family's fine with it, because they know Daisy can handle herself. When a snowstorm starts to blow in and she's still not back, though, then they start to worry. 

They try to call her, but the storm is interfering with the signal and they can't get through. And depending on how far Daisy has walked, she might not even know about the storm yet!! 

Lincoln, knowing Daisy the best, offers to go find her and bring her back. Coulson and May don't like it, but the alternative is their daughter getting stuck in a snowstorm, so they let him go.

 Lincoln hurries through the forest (yeah they have a forest, for drama) to the quiet clearing where he knows Daisy goes when she wants to figure stuff out. 

And sure enough, she's there. He quickly explains about the snowstorm, and Daisy is shocked because she couldn't see it coming at all through the thick forest. 

They start heading back as fast as they can, but less than halfway home, they're hit by the first winds of the snowstorm. 

This is a real problem. They won't be able to get home in time, and they really really don't want to get caught in the snowstorm. 

Luckily, Daisy remembers the tiny little fishing cabin by the lake. It's not much - just a store for old fishing tackle and boating gear - but it's shelter.

 They make it there just in time, and barricade themselves in just as the snowstorm hits. 

OK, so they've solved the worst problem. But that doesn't mean they're out of danger - the little fishing cabin was not built to house humans, and while it will definitely shelter them from the fury of the storm, it won't do much to stop them from freezing to death. 

Time to take stock of the situation. They have several broken inflatables, half a sail from some rich person's summer yacht, and a whole lot of fishing rods. Oh, and Lincoln's snow jacket. 

After some deliberation, they come up with a solution: stretch the inflatables over the fishing rods in a tent kind of thing, and use the sail and the snow jacket as blankets to huddle under. Survival is more important than embarrassment. If they're awkward about snuggling up, they're just going to have to suck it up. 

It's definitely awkward, but hey, it's better than dying. And, you know, if she has to be stuck cuddled up to someone for the next few hours, Lincoln is a lot better than, say, Billy Koenig. 

This brings up a problem Daisy never expected, though. It's kind of hard not to notice how fit her best friend is when she's literally lying on top of him. 

Lincoln is having much the same kind of thoughts. But there's literally nothing either of them can do about it. 

So for lack of anything better to do, they try and go to sleep. Hopefully the storm will be over when they wake up. 

But just before they drift off, Daisy murmurs a drowsy thank-you to Lincoln for coming to find her. This wouldn't be a problem, except that she adds a sleepy "love you" onto the end. 

Lincoln freezes up completely. Did she just… Did he hear wrong??? 

Somehow, he manages to answer "love you too, Dais, we're best friends." 

But his mind can't let go of the way she murmured it against his skin, soft and sleepy and affectionate. And he can't help but think, what if she didn't mean it just as friends??? 

Don't be ridiculous, he tells himself firmly. She just broke up with Ward. And he tries his best to get to sleep. 

Daisy, meanwhile, has frozen up, too. What the hell did she just say?? And why the hell did she say it?? 

And for some reason, when Lincoln says "love you" back, her heart skips a beat and she finds herself totally breathless. 

Then he adds "we're best friends" and her heart plummets. 

Again, what the hell??? 

It's then that she realises why none of her relationships have worked out. It's because she was always comparing the guy to Lincoln without even realising she was doing it. And the guy was always falling short. 

Holy shit, Daisy realises. I'm in love with Lincoln!

And he… loves me like a friend. 

She must have shifted weirdly, because Lincoln asks, "hey, Dais, you okay?" 

And it's stupid, but she feels her heart flutter a little at his words. If he's not sleeping, maybe he's thinking about the love thing, too? 

Stop being stupid, she tells herself. "Fine," she says aloud. "Just peachy."

 She immediately wants to hit herself, because if Lincoln didn't realise something was wrong before, now he has to know. Just peachy, really? 

Lincoln shifts a little underneath her, and his voice is gentle as he asks, "is it Ward?" 

And Daisy doesn't know if she wants to laugh or cry. She hadn't even spared a thought for Ward since they came in here! That was just the thing about Lincoln - when she was with him, he was the only thing she could focus on. (Which, she now realised, dryly, was probably why her boyfriends tended to leave after a while.) 

She must have been quiet for too long, because Lincoln asks, "Daisy?" 

And she can't help it. She kisses him. 

For a moment, he kisses her back, then pulls away sharply. "What the hell was that?" 

Daisy's whole body is tingling, and she feels totally breathless, which is ridiculous, honestly. It wasn't even that long a kiss! 

"I know you don't feel the same way," she says, and it hurts her to say but she will say it, dammit. "But I love you. And not like a friend." 

Lincoln, for his part, is totally, 100% SHOCKED. The first thing his stupid mouth can say is "but what about Ward?" 

"Ward doesn't matter!" Daisy says. "I thought I could love him, and all the others, but I can't and it's all your fault." 

"Wait, what???" 

"It's all your fault," she repeats, "because you've always been there in my life, showing me exactly what my perfect guy would look like. Nobody else could ever measure up." 

Lincoln is literally the definition of shocked right now. He never ever expected something like this, because of course he's had a crush on Daisy since forever. 

And, hang on a second. She thinks he doesn't love her back??? 

"You ever wonder why I never really dated anyone?" he says in lieu of a proper reply. "It's because of you. If I messed up your chances of being with another guy, well then you've ruined me for any other girls." 

Daisy can just stare at him for a second. Then she kisses him again, and this time he doesn't pull away at all. 

Eventually they stop kissing to agree that their first time should probably not be on the floor of the tiny, dilapidated little fishing cabin in the middle of a snowstorm. Even so, they both fall asleep with the hugest grins on their faces (and their arms wrapped tightly around each other.) 

The next day, when the storm has eased up, they make their way home and arrive reasonably intact. 

After the first round of hugs and "oh my God we're so glad you're back safe, we were so worried!" May takes one look at the two of them and is just like "well it's about time." 

Daisy and Lincoln can't even argue, because, well, it really is. 

I basically wrote a fic, lol. I would say sorry, but… I'm not! Hope you liked it anyway :D

[stanbillyhargrove]

Closer

Based off the song Closer by the Chainsmokers

"Hey, you know, I was fine before you. Perfectly fine," Billy slurred, voice catching on his message. "I'm fine without you. Have been, will be. Don't need you anyway."

Billy had been drunk for a week after Steph left. Packed up her bags and said she was leaving, leaving Hawkins behind, leaving him behind, for something better, bigger, brighter. More fitting to her wild personality, somewhere nobody knew her. She'd offered once for Billy to come with her, once, but he couldn't. Not yet, he'd said, begged her to wait for him, pleaded for a little more time. He still wanted to go back to California, had to go back. But she couldn't, wouldn't wait for him, had to go right away, in the dead of night when nobody would realize. Billy had left drunk messages on her cell all week, some angry, some pleading but all slurring, tripping over his words.

Drunk calls turned into drunk texts. I miss you, I can't believe you left without me. I hate you and I don't know how you could do that to me, like I meant nothing. Did I mean nothing? Did we mean nothing?

"Why'd you come into my life anyway? Just to fuck me up some more? Cause it didn't work, I'm fine. I'm always fine, peachy fucking keen."

Drunk texts became less frequent, became depressed middle of the night texts and even those dwindled. Those became weekly and then monthly check ins. Steph only answered occasionally, when the depression and the loneliness was threatening to eat her alive. She'd answer you're drunk and go to sleep. Didn't give him too much, only told him she lived in New York now, had met some people. Never called him, never answered when he tried to call.

"Hey, how's your car? That thing always was a piece of shit, hope it's not giving you too much trouble."

And it's been four years now and the texts are only on special occasions. Happy birthday, I still think about you and Happy Halloween, I know that was your favorite, do you remember being huddled up on the couch watching horror movies all night? God, I miss you and I'm thinking about coming out to New York, if you want to get together.

"I'm coming to New York, gunna drive across the country again. Don't know if I'll actually run into you or not, but uh.. hit me up."

Steph worked in a hotel bar now, one of hundreds in the city, didn't think Billy would have any luck finding her if he came. She didn't answer him, hoped her silence would steer him away. Hoped that his image of her wouldn't fade by seeing that nothing had gone her way since leaving. She'd been homeless for a while, jumping couch to couch of coworkers until finding an ad for a roommate. Her car had died after a year out here, left her stranded on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Oh how she wished she had Billy with her then, with his knowledge of vehicles and his protective nature. Instead, she'd hunkered down in the backseat, doors locked and waited until the sun came up to call for help.

After two years she had a second hand Range Rover that she hadn't been able to afford, had scraped by for weeks, getting rides to and from work with coworkers and living off instant ramen to put together just enough cash. Steph had kept a mattress one of her roommates had left behind, traded it with the one she'd found online, at least it was a bit more comfortable.

Steph strode into work with a withering sigh, adjusting her too small skirt and too low shirt. Everything here was too much. Too small, too big, too grabby, too lonely. She missed her friends, real friends, not one night friends. With raised eyebrows and a twisted stomach she took stock of the man sitting alone in the corner of the bar. Remembered a boy that she had left behind, a boy who called her drunk at two in the morning to yell about how much he hated her. He had grown up a lot since then, dirty blonde hair shorter now, cut close to his face. Golden muscles popped, strained against his skin like it was too tight. There was a softness though, like he had finally come to peace with his life, had accepted and moved beyond his past, healed. His face was relaxed, easy as he sipped on a coffee. Eyes no longer burning with rage.

"Billy," she whispered, soft and unbelieving.

He turned, blue eyes bright against the dim light of the bar, "Princess," his breath hitched in his throat.

Billy moved to stand up, was stopped by Steph's raised hand.

"I can't, not while I'm working."

Those bright blue eyes flicked down to the table, sad, "right," a beat of silence before he looked back up at her, "you look good, as good as the day we met, Steph. A little different but still my Steph."

She placed a small hand on his shoulder, felt the muscles jump when she gave it a squeeze, "you look good too, Billy. Really good. I'm off at ten. If you want to catch up after."

Billy's face cracked with a smile, "I can wait."

--

"How have you been?"

"Fuck, Steph. I've..well I've been okay," he sighed, "moved. Got the fuck away from Neil."

She smiled at him, took a drag off her cigarette, "that's really good, Billy. Where'd you run off to?"

"I floated for a while, drove across the country. Ended in California."

Steph nodded, "knew it. You were always going back."

There was a moment of silence while they puffed their cigarettes.

"I forget why I left you. I was insane, stupid, too eager to leave. I should have waited."

"It wasn't stupid, Princess. I think we needed it, needed to grow a little."

"I broke your heart," her eyes got dewy as she chewed her lip.

"Yeah, you did," he smirked, "but that's okay. It was good for me, figured out who I am, what I want outta life."

"Oh yeah? And who are you?" Steph dropped the butt of her cigarette and stepped closer to him, "what do you want?"

Billy smirked, tongue darting out to wet his lips and ducked his head down, close, so close to hers, "I want you."

--

Billy was close, so fucking close to Steph's face, had captured her between his warm chest and the back seat of her Rover. And it's been years, four fucking years since she's felt heat like what rolled off his body and they're together, in the back of her stupid expensive Rover. The stupid expensive Rover that she had to get because she left Billy behind and her old car had left her stranded and she'd spent the night wishing, wishing that she could have him with her and now here he was. He had crossed the fucking country to look in every bar, wishing to catch a glimpse of her. And he was different now, an easy calm had taken over where he used to feel nothing but rage and he had more tattoos, had collected them as he crossed the country. He could map out his journey with his skin, the journey it took to find himself so that he could could turn around to find her.

And Steph was different too, was comfortable and resigned in her loneliness. Had a tattoo on her shoulder, orange poppies for California and tiny blue forget me nots. Because even though she had left Billy behind she had never forgotten him, would never forget him even though sometimes she wished she could. Wished that she could forget the way those bright blue eyes shone in the dark, the way they looked framed by thick dark lashes. But she was lonely and grown up now and had realized she would never forget the warmth that radiated off his skin like he had captured the sun in his veins.

"God, I fucking missed you," Billy groaned into her neck.

Steph fisted her hand in his hair, pulled him as close as she could, not close enough, "I missed you, Billy, fuck, I missed you."

Her eyes were dewy again with tears threatening to spill and her breath hitched in her chest as she tried not to sob. Billy leaned back to look at her, his blue eyes just as misty as hers.

"Steph, Princess.."

Her tears fell down her cheeks, "I n-never stopped..thinking about you. I figured you would hate me after I left and thought it was best if I let you move on. Then I was scared, so fucking scared to reach out to you...I'm sorry I was so stupid."

Billy pulled her with him as he rolled to lay across the back seat, letting Steph clutch his jacket as she sobbed. His hand trailed through her hair, a few tears spilling down his cheeks as well. So they held each other, clutched each other desperately like they could stop themselves from falling apart if the just held on hard enough.

"Sshh, Baby, it's okay," he cooed, "it's okay, I don't hate you. I was just angry, I could never hate you."

Steph's sobs racked her body, making her begin to hyperventilate. Cause she left with nothing but her shitty car and it was the biggest mistake of her life that she wore on her shoulder.

"Steph, please, you need to calm down," Billy pulled her into him with all his might, wrapped his legs around her too just so he could squeeze tighter.

--

"Billy," Steph cried.

They had made it back to her shitty apartment after she calmed down, Billy in his old Camaro that he loved so much and her leading the way in her Rover. Had torn each others clothes off in a fit of desperation once they had barely made it in the door.

Billy groaned into her neck, slowly pumping his hips into her as they rode out their orgasms. With a content sigh he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down to bury his nose in her hair. Steph hummed, a small smile on her face as she breathed in the scent of sweat, cologne and cigarettes before reality came crashing down on her.

"When do you go back?" She whispered into his shoulder.

Billy sighed again, long and withering this time, "in a couple days."

Steph felt tears prick her eyes again and her throat started closing up while she untangled herself from Billy and sat up on the edge of the bed. Billy sat up behind her and laid his face on her shoulder.

"Talk to me, Princess," he whispered, pressing light kisses on her skin.

"Billy, fuck, this was a mistake."

"What was?"

"Us. This. We're just going to be apart again.."

He was quiet for a moment, "well what if we weren't?"

"What?"

"I don't want to be left behind again, Steph. If you want to stay here and you ask me to move here with you I will. Or you could come back to California with me. Just pack up our vehicles and we could leave."

Steph sniffed and looked at him with hopeful eyes, "are you sure?"

"Steph, I know you got all my messages. I never stopped thinking about you for four fucking years," he ran his hand across the tattoo on her shoulder, "I know you were thinking about me too."

A small smile stretched across her face, "y'know, I fucking hate New York."

[calif0rnia-lovers]

request: things that make Frank Castle fall in love with you

a/n: I have not watched season 2 of The Punisher yet. I’m currently rewatching Daredevil. In all honesty, I don’t know what this update is but I hope you all like it. Haven’t posted Frank in a while

1. Your smile. Shit, Frank knows that's such a cliche response when asked, "what's your favorite thing about her?" but it's the first thing that comes to his mind. Every time. It was the first thing he'd seen that night your paths had crossed. His exhaustion had lowered his alertness. Pair that to your focus on your phone and rambling roommate. It is no surprise the two of you accidentally bump into each other while passing on the tiny sidewalk. You'd smiled at him despite the late hour of the evening, and the hesitant tug against your arm by your roommate who didn't think it was the smartest thing to smile at a man randomly walking the streets of Hell's Kitchen in the middle of the night. It was the first thing he saw each morning when you were able to convince him to stay the night. It was the smile that made his heart skip a beat the first moment he met you, and each moment he saw it from then on.

2. The fact that you're not afraid to tell him what's on your mind. Not many people have the guts to tell Frank Castle off. The sheer size, look, and reputation of the man is enough to make even the strongest men hold their tongue. The first night you were forced to stitch him up was the first time he'd got sight of that side of you, and he's loved and respected it ever since. "Who the hell do you think you are, Frank?" You'd asked, as you concentrated on stitching his wound. "The Punisher? Keep believing that crap if you want. Just know I'll kick your ass worse than The Punisher can if you show up like this again. Do you know how much blood you’ve lost in my kitchen? How are you freaking human?"

3. Your fingers in Frank's hair lips warm and soft against his shoulder as his body trembles against yours. The sweet words you whisper against his skin as he tries to convince himself the images he'd just witnessed in his dreams are just that. Dreams. The soft and calm nature of your heart seems to work magic. It'll knock him out, somehow overpowering the urgency to stay awake. Because without your body to keep him grounded, Frank will stay up all night trying to beat and correct the moments that he'd been helpless to fix in his nightmares. It'll lull him back to a dreamless sleep allowing him to catch up on the much-needed sleep.

4. The way you kiss him. The kisses that press against his imperfections when you're reunited, and you're both finally able to breathe normally. How they can mask any pain, he feels as they brush against his healing wounds. The way they can resonate deeper than the surface of his skin. Seeping into his bloodstream, coursing through the valves of his heart until his entire body and mind are free of everything but thoughts of you how they can make him feel, if only for a few moments, that he's got a second chance at living a normal a life. A life where your kisses aren't meant to ease his pain or come as attempts to make him stay, but are enough to convince him that he'll never lose you entirely.

5. The night you showed up at his house, a bag of groceries in one hand a blue staffy in the other. Before you started dating, getting groceries for Frank was a habit. He swore he didn't need your help, and you swore his diet was complete shit. "You can't live off coffee and diner food, Frank." He quickly learned it was best to accept the groceries and the meals you cooked for him. So the night you were on your way to drop off the groceries, you found you weren't alone. Halfway to his house, you realized you were being followed. By the time you'd reached Frank's apartment, you'd already renamed the stray dog. "I can't have dog's at my building." You'd explained as Frank accepted the bag of groceries. "So...I was thinking...he could stay here with you? I'll come by every day, obviously...If not, please just keep him for the night? I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow to get his shots."

6. Mornings when you're both in the kitchen. Frank's chest pressed against your back, his face buried against the warmth of your neck when he makes it nearly impossible for you to function. His weight is shuffling behind yours in almost perfect unison as you attempt to cook breakfast and finish your cup of coffee all the while trying to scold Frank from wrinkling your clothes.

7. That night you'd finally seen him after nearly a week of silence. Things had gotten bad, memories of his past and his path crossing with Billy's sent him down a spiral you thought allowed The Punisher to take what remained of Frank. You were working late when you'd gotten the call from Claire. He was knocked out from the drugs pumping in his system and exhaustion. She'd given Frank enough to tranquilize a horse, but she'd cuffed his hand to the bed for good measure. When he'd awaken, Frank found you asleep and curled against him. Despite Claire's good intentions, Frank knew he had no trouble getting out of the cuff. He could be out of the hospital in a few minutes once he let his body become used to the grogginess of the drugs. However, he didn't get up when he heard the "please stay" you'd whispered unconsciously when you felt your body stir against his.

8. How you never can agree on your first date. Granted, Frank never officially called it a date when he asked you out that night. The time of the hour might have always had something to do with you not making the connection. He'd showed up at your apartment, the phone call that had ended thirty minutes before letting him know you were having trouble sleeping. You'd huddled against him in the booth at the back of the 24 hour Waffle House. The building was surprisingly packed, an array of customers making it so that you had to sit close to hear him speak. The two of you lost track of time as you talked over endless rounds of coffee and food. The closeness of your body and the lightness of your laughter leaves Frank uncharacteristically flustered. When you doze off against his shoulder in the back of the cab on the ride home, he realizes he finds himself paying for the taxi to take two more trips past your apartment.

9. Watching you work. There are moments when Frank found himself forgetting what normal looked like for most people. He sits in silence watching your brow furrow as you concentrate on your computer screen. How your teeth tug at your bottom when you find yourself doubting the words you've put together. He finds the way your mind works to be fascinating. He always jokes that you’re the brains and he’s the brawn. 

10. How the sound of your voice awakens his apartment. When it's breathless, struggling to recover from the hunger of his body that always seems insatiable when tangled with yours. When it's breathless in a different light. This time it's a light breathless giggle that he's still surprised he's able to pull from you with his jokes. When it's loud and slightly off-key as you sing in the shower, keeping the latest top 40 stuck in his head once you're gone. When it's quiet barely audible when the two of you stay up talking to late hours in the morning.

11. That time you convinced Frank to accompany you, Matt and Foggy to a Met's game. Foggy had scored tickets in the nosebleeds. Frank was anxious about the crowd, refusing to let you go to the bathroom alone. He thought it was ridiculous to pay $8 for a hotdog. He also didn't wear the jersey, or the giant orange foam finger, Foggy got him but Frank did wear the hat you shoved on his head upon the arrival to the field. He'd slipped a bracelet onto your wrist during the ninth inning in an attempt to cheer you up from the terrible score. It was a rainbow of clashing colors. The tiny flower and heart beads were strung together on a piece of elastic string, the prize from the box of Cracker Jacks Foggy had tossed to Frank from his third run to the concessions. He'd expected you to throw the bracelet away after returning home. However, he saw you a few days later, and you still had it around your wrist.

12. Thunder. It's the first thing Frank remembers when he thinks of your first kiss. You both were caught in the rain. Frank, being the gentleman he is, offering to walk you home once catching a cab proved to be impossible. It seems everyone clearing out of Josie's had the same idea. You knew there was no point in running or attempting to use your jacket as a shield. Your hair was ruined, your dress soaked through in a matter of seconds. This didn't, however, seem to occur to Frank. He takes off his jacket, lifting it over your head to keep you protected from the rain. You don't have the heart to tell him that the thoughtful gesture is useless. Instead, you stay close to him, allowing him to accompany you home. Frank will keep you close, double checking before you cross each street. “People seem to turn into idiots when driving in the rain,” he’d mumbled once he masterfully saved you from being splashed by a car speeding past. It's when you're patiently waiting for a light to change that you surprise Frank by closing the distance between the two of you. With both of his hands occupied with holding up the makeshift umbrella, he's not sure what to initially do. The kiss only lasts a few seconds. Long enough for the light to turn from yellow to red, but it is enough to set his heart racing. He remembers how warm your fingertips felt against his chilled skin, a wave of heat following their path as they brushed against his neck when you pulled him closer. How he could feel a smile form against your lips as he lets his lips return the kiss.

13. The way you shift forward, weight moving to your toes, to kiss him for a second time when you're not ready for him to leave.

14. How you make him feel like he's capable of love again.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira (11)

CHAPTER 11: A Walk in Dahlia

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: just know this was supposed to happen.

Warnings: You might not like where this is seemingly heading

Word count: This week has been overwhelming. My grandmother passed away this Monday. She went away peacefully. Home feels different now.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

It's a warm kiss.

The touch of the first rays of sun entering the bedroom, that is. Your exposed neck is an open field for those golden specks of radiating waves to dance on, washing away the crispness of last night's frost.

Last night.

And with one tiny intrusion of that snakeling of thought, your mind is travelling to last night, travelling through the frames of bits and pieces- the new stranger, the dance, the conversation with Stark, the little girl, the uninvited opinions, harsh words in the dark, Loki.

Loki.

Your eyes go wide open to search for him when images of last night's anxiety-ridden figure of your boss rile up your mind. And just as you open them, you see his face right next to yours.

It takes a couple of moments and a virtual nag to the accelerated heartbeat to realise you fell asleep on the settee next to the bed last night when you'd thought of sitting next to him in case he had another attack. In your experience, there was always a good chance for such a thing to happen when you were at your most vulnerable. Last night, it was Loki in your presence, at the edge of the cliff.

His head rests in the over fluffed pillow, almost covering half of his face from where you look. The fine lines he usually carries with him on his forehead are gone. A spectrum of serenity shrouds him now, his face glowing in the secondary sunlight while his breaths are easy. His lips barely open, the softest of pink colour enticing you to keep looking at them as your mind wanders off behind the lines that should not be crossed, your conscience trying to find out what it would be like to have your lips- when they are not crusty- cross path with his.

Loki stirs to make your heart come right into your mouth. But he is still deep in slumber, leaving you free to breathe once again.

My imagination will be the death of me some day, you wonder before quietly trying to creep out of the blanket over you.

Wait.

I didn't have a blanket last night?

And with the realisation that comes to pass with this, you feel your cheeks and neck burn, giving your wild mind a free pass to run down the hall screaming at the thought of Loki taking care of you.

Relax, you try to shout into the hall, it's just a freaking blanket!

But your mind is as lush as you have given it the freedom to be. And once the freedom has been given, it is next to impossible to ever get it back.

Cursing, you get up, trying not to look at that serene face- and failing- as you make your way outside, bumping into the door frame twice.

.

It is getting harder to breathe as Loki tries to make his way through the thickness of this dark forest surrounding him. No matter how fast he runs, the sound of footsteps does not recede, forcing him to keep going till he hits a clearing.

"What are you looking at, boy," the familiar one-eyed figure barks at him, "there is nothing for you here. No one can save you now."

Something inside Loki breaks again and starts walking away when he hears his mother call out to him.

"Loki, my son," she begs but never steps towards him, standing right next to her husband.

Loki blinks at her, his eyes begging more than anything. The eerie footsteps sound again, forcing him to leave with more questions, his weary body being dragged away by a weary soul. It feels like hours before he hears voices in that maze of a forest. And just as he lands in the nearest clearing, the footsteps following him stop. There are no more sounds except for his heavy breathing and the cracking of fire torches kept by the edges of the clearing.

"He's alone," a voice comes from a figure standing near his left, a face he cannot make out, "he can't run anywhere for any kind of help."

No matter how hard Loki tries to focus on the faces that are gathered there, he cannot recognise a single one of them.

"Exploit it," announces another figure.

His feet drag him away from the edge towards the centre of the clearing where a group stands huddled together to witness something.

"It will be easy to break away the threads."

This voice, he recalls. It is the voice of the man he met yesterday.

And with surety, he looks at the face, to watch his eyes land on the features of Billy Russo looking right at him with red threads intertwined between his fingers.

"He did not work that hard on them, you see," Billy points out directly to Loki, who watches the man give one strong jerk to his hands to move apart, watching the threads break in a flash.

"It will be easy to undo the knots," Billy continues.

But Loki is no longer looking at him. His flaring green eyes are stuck on the wooden casket that lies right in the middle of the clearing- the wood adorned with carvings of every type of flower there is.

"It's not that hard," Billy is just white noise now that Loki is stepping towards the casket with measured steps, "just taking away one thread. Just like you did a few years ago?"

The top is glass, reflecting in the single ray of sunlight that has struggled to find its way till that very surface.

"A thread for a thread," Billy whispers in the blurred background when Loki stands by the casket.

"A head... for a head," the whisper changes from the voice of Billy to a more ominous presence; the voice that is the root of his nightmares.

.

There is a gasp for much-needed air as Loki's eyes open with seas of shock and horror, his limbs move him to sit up and find him in bed. In a chalet. In a resort. There is no bizarre forest, neither any unsettling groups surrounding him. Just a sweet sound of birds from outside the door that has a small painted window bringing in multiple soft hues of the risen sun. The breaths are steady now. So is the mind. Loki moves his fingers through his hair, taking them all back before pausing to look beside him at the empty unkempt settee.

Kira.

"Kira?" He calls out for her, hoping she's in the kitchenette. Or the shower. But there is no answer.

He gets up, walks to the bathroom door, knocks on it before entering. No one. The basin still has droplets of water lining up in no periodic fashion, telling him she woke up just a while ago.

She better have gone to get me breakfast.

His face washed and his mouth brushed, he looks in the mirror and feels a cold current go down his spine when the face of Billy Russo flashes in front of him in the mirror. Loki knows not much of this man. And he does not like not knowing about people. Without a second thought, he walks out into the bedroom, grabs the blue jacket lying on the drawer next to his set of keys and walks out of the chalet, shutting the door behind him.

.

"It's a Ladybug!"

The cackles of a child fill the fresh and crisp morning with warmth.

Loki has finally spotted you in the greenery of the land that goes as far as the eyes can see, sitting down on the grass with a little girl he had seen last night. What was her name again? Hiyori, he recalls. Adachi Hiyori. Daughter of Adachi Eiichiro and Adachi Megumi.

He sighs, wondering what bug bit the woman named Kira to be playing with the daughter of the most influential family in Japan like a five-year-old.

"It tickles!" you chortle, watching the child laugh at the possibility of an adult wriggling on the touch of a ladybug to her neck.

"Hiyori!" her mother calls out from the nearest building with a pleasant smile, "come let's have breakfast!"

You get up and help the little one, getting rid of the bits of grass sticking to her PJs as she helps you get rid of yours, making your giggle once again.

"Would you and your partner like to join us for breakfast?"

Loki doesn't even lie to himself when he admits he is surprised that the lady of House Adachi actually considered that question before speaking it out loud.

"Of course," he smiles back, watching you pick Hiyori to help her get over the little cemented footstep before coming to stand near Loki. It is only when she is leading the way does he realise that he did not realise the 'partner' thing sooner.

"'Morning," you greet Loki with a smile. "Ohayo Gozaimas, Megumi-san," you greet Megumi with a bow, making her eyes light up.

"Ohayo, Kira-san," Megumi reciprocates, showing her perfect-teeth smile for the first time. "Come join us for breakfast!"

"Ah! There you are!"

The smile that had been hovering on Loki's lips vanishes as he blinks and looks ahead to watch Tony sauntering towards you and your company with Pepper and Rhodey.

"Adachi!" He announces. "Tony," Megumi greets back with a smile before hugging Rhodey and Pepper.

"Look at us," Tony points both his hands at himself as he addresses everyone, "ready to run the world in our PJs! Right, Hiyori?"

"Kira found me a ladybug, uncle Tony!" Hiyori responds with a jump as she takes your hand in hers, making you feel like a chosen one for this precious child.

"Wow!" Tony acknowledges with a gasp fit to make a child feel pride in sharing their latest adventure. "Come on, then. Let's eat before we catch some more bugs. Nice jacket by the way."

You look at the blue jacket Tony is pointing at, the one Loki wears, and that smile on your face gets the company of your furrowed brows to go with them on the road to confusion. "That's my jacket," you mutter a little too loud before looking up towards Loki, who- it seemed- is having the same revelation as you.

"Whose jacket?" Tony asks, his brows reaching the heavens for an answer from Loki, while Pepper and Rhodey drag him inside.

.

"I almost didn't recognise you because of your Pikachu PJs."

There is a ringing going down your entire body when you turn around and face the man who was bold enough to ask you to dance with him in front of a crowd of elites.

"Mr Russo," you try to clear your still sleepy throat, "h-hi."

"Please, call me Billy," he pleads with his dark eyes and a tender smile.

"Yeah, I thought for a change I'd try sleeping in these than those really comfortable gowns," you blurt out, your heart running a race, heating your skin wherever it could. Billy's laugh doesn't help.

"I'm..." you point to the table where Tony's family along with the Adachis and Loki sit. He gives the table one look before making way for you.

Loki watches you coming towards the table, a hint of worry followed by relief as you sit down next to him. He clearly doesn't appreciate what follows.

"I never in my dreams could have imagined to meet the business tycoon themselves," Billy declares as he sits down the corner next to you, making Tony's chest rise a little with pride and flattery. "Miss Potts, I am a fan," Billy continues, leaving Tony high and dry, and Loki- for once- happy to have witnessed this first hand.

"Aren't you the same Billy Russo who runs a private military corporation?" Pepper doesn't even acknowledge the flattery, getting straight to the man's business, making you laugh on the inside as you eat your sandwich- something that does not go unnoticed by Loki.

"Indeed, I am," he nods, "Anvil Corp has been my dream for quite some time."

"A private band of armed men who charge the government and the rich quite the amount to do their dirty work for them. I don't think inspiration is what you feel when you look at me, Russo."

That man only smiles. "Trust me, Miss Potts. You do. I have yet to see any other human make such a mark along with a huge dent in the images of those greedy corporations who exploit the ones in need. My company works in a similar manner, if not the same. We take from the rich and provide the ones in need."

Billy goes on about his work, never winning Pepper over, though she appreciates the effort he's putting in while Tony is busy showing Hiyori how to make a smiley face with her pancakes. You, on the other hand, are playing with the dosa on your plate, making little twirly flowers around your finger from the crispy salted crepe while unconsciously trying to move your neck sideways and wincing when it aches.

"What's wrong?"

Loki's whisper makes you turn to face him. And much to your (positive) surprise, you haven't realised until now how close you two are sitting next to each other to have his scintillating eyes look right through you. It takes you more than a moment, really, to come back to your senses from that ocean harbouring a dark pit filled with countless mysteries right at the centre.

"Nothing," you finally find it in you to speak, tucking your hair behind your ear, trying to keep your trembling fingers busy. But you can sense his unsatisfied gaze from the corner of your eyes, forcing you to eat whatever's on your plate, having to eat without the hunger rather than ask him if he was feeling okay today.

"-but all was not unfruitful," you catch the last bit of Billy and Pepper's conversation. "I got to meet Kira."

If your insides could scream, the glass wall behind you would definitely be in ruins by now.The knowing stares from your hosts doesn't help you pulsating veins either.

"I'm getting some juice. Would anyone like some juice? No? Okay." Without so much as another word, you pick up your plate, dump the little bits left in the trash can and place it in the cart before taking a glass of orange juice and walking out of the club.

.

"Hey, you sure I can come over?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Sure your boss won't mind?"

"He invited you to his house. I am pretty sure he won't mind."

"Okay, cool. Leave a spare key for me, will ya?"

"Sure! See ya."

Placing your phone on the desk and grasping your thumping neck, you walk upstairs with Loki's dry cleaned suit for the night.

A light knock on the door and you twist the knob. "Sir? Your suit."

No answer.

You let the door open and hear the shower running, making it easier to walk inside without holding your breath. "I'm keeping your suit on the bed," you announce, making sure he knows you are in his room.

"Thanks," comes his reply as the bathroom door opens behind you, making you jump and turn and watch Loki enter the space in a towel wrapped around his waist. That's it. Nothing more.

You know it is rude to look at the bare surface still decorated with water while the vapours visibly rise from the hot skin. You know it is rude to try to read those old scars running across his chest. You know it is rude to stare further down just because you don't want to stare at the very visible sculpture of perfectly created God in front of you. But still, you do, before finding your scattered brain snorting in the vanilla and Japanese wild spices rising in the hot air around you.

You turn around, your neck and ears not being able to take the heat anymore.

"Before you go," Loki interrupts your hasty steps, "your assistant sent some of your mails on my address. Go through them and do whatever you want to do with them." That is all he says before taking his suit inside the bathroom, closing the door halfway and leaving the room to you.

Loki's laptop sits open on the bed. You reach for it and sit down on the soft mattress, keeping the device in your lap and facing away from the bathroom door.

It's Nina.

That woman has been mailing everything to Loki's address instead of yours. The files on Anvil Corp, Eiichiro and Megumi. Even the latest reports that are supposed to be run through you before reaching Loki. What has this woman been doing? To answer your question, you find few of the latest mails. You open the oldest of them and have to immediately find the back button and the will to rinse your memory of the nude picture of her that you just saw.

"Oh God," escapes you as you question your eyes. And that laptop.

Maybe it was someone else. Yes, it was definitely someone else.

You hesitate but open the mail above that, finding an apology for the last mail sent to your boss, addressed as 'it was meant for someone else.' You automatically give her the benefit of doubt until you see that mail addressed to Loki. Along with the rest.

Blimp!

Another mail arrives. From Nina. You open it and see another picture where she has left nothing to the imagination, forcing your hands to use too much brute force to shut the lid.

"Anything import-"

"They were not for me," you declare hastily, getting up from where you sit when you turn around to face- a fully clothed- him. Loki doesn't understand.

"They're...they're private messages," you try to make him understand without wanting to look him in the eye, "...for you."

It doesn't take much for Loki to understand when he registers in the change in colour on your face and your legs continuously shifted your weight between them.

"Delete them."

That's it. That's all he says as he closes the top buttons of his shirt in front of the mirror.

You stand there partially dumbfounded at the authoritative energy he radiates. How many times has he been sent nudes before? And you answer your own question as your mind mentally stretches its hands to point at the human magnet standing in front of you. The messages are deleted without much thought then.

"I would suggest that you have a word with her. If she's a good employee I won't see any reason why she shouldn't keep working," Loki assures, letting the silk of the black-tie slide across his collar, "of course, provided she does not make such errors in her judgment again."

The struggle is real. Loki's struggle with that tie. The soft fabric has been gliding much more than required whenever he wants to set the ends right. The smaller end has been sitting in his fingers waiting to be put to use till it starts bugging your patience.

"Here, let me," you take a step towards him, ignoring the rise in his single brow as you try to take the black fabric from his hands.

"I'm sure I can handle a tie on my own," he suggests.

"Yeah, well the event starts in ten minutes and with the amount of patience you have, it'll be a miracle if we reach in another hour."

You have no idea where this unknown flair of audacity has risen from inside you. Maybe it's the heat of embarrassment reaching your functioning brain- or whatever's left of it- or maybe it's the idea of just shutting him up for once. Maybe it's something else entirely. Loki just stands there watching your fingers gently shrugging his away and taking charge. The fabric is tugged lightly before the smaller side is made the centre of gravity and the ritual is started.

"What is it."

"What?"

"Something has been bothering you since morning, Kira."

"Whaat? No."

"..."

"..."

"Kira."

You tsk and wrap the fabric. "Alright. Fine. Yes, something's been bothering me. You. You've been bothering me since morning. No. Now you've invited this. So now you'll listen. I know you won't talk about it with me. But whatever happened yesterday isn't something you just ignore. I won't. They will be at the event today as well. If it were me, I wouldn't like to stand within twenty feet of their presence. You're not me. So I won't even suggest that."

You do not look up for a generous amount of time, fearing some verbal spat to start from those ferocious, inflicted green eyes. But when you do, you see a smile.

"Is that concern for me I hear?"

You sexy son of a bitch.

That smirk nearly kills you by the lack of oxygen in your brain. But lucky for you, you don't use that organ much.

"That's the concern for my job you hear. If you don't take care of yourself, you'll deteriorate your health. And if you do that there's a good chance you'll die sooner. And that would leave me jobless. And I can't let go of a job that I've got after too much effort."

It kills your heart- in a good way- to hear him chuckle at your words. "You won't get rid of me that easily," he states. "Oh, I know," you acknowledge with a scrunched nose, tightening the knot a little too much. "But that doesn't mean I won't fight anyone who tries to."

Loki doesn't even have to work. The mental image of you trying to punch his brother in the face delights his insides beyond measure. "I would pay to see that happen," he chortles.

"Of course, you will," you confirm, "I'll take twelve per cent more than my current pay."

The chuckles and tease lighten the air surrounding the two of you.

This? This feels nice. Warmth engulfing the otherwise slowly-turning-cold world around you.

Eyes meet to acknowledge the humour and goodwill. But as they keep gazing at each other in tender tones of a harp being struck under the sea, a new emotion tries to resurface from those very waters, stilling all the torrents around you. It's soft. It's gentle. It's curious of its reflection in eyes watching it for it wants to know more than anything if something like itself can grow in the other.

"Hey, Kira! I'm home!"

Neither of you seems to notice Loki's hands wrapped around yours till Darcy's voice breaks you both out of the enchantment of your making. Throats are cleared, stray stands are tucked behind the ears, knots are checked and necks rubbed to dissipate the heat that seems to have risen- too much- in the last five minutes.

"That's-"

"Darcy. Yes, I told her she could stay here. The resort won't let her use Dr Foster's chalet till she arrives."

Loki nods and you make your way out of the room before turning back.

"Here," you take a leaf of medicine out of your pocket, "keep it."

Loki shifts his gaze between you and the medicine.

"It's an SOS. In case...you know," you mention, your hand still out. Loki is about to say something. "Please," you beg softly but with just the right about of weight for him to know you won't back down any time soon.

The medicine goes into his jacket pocket.

"Thank you."

"Hey, Kira! Is your wicked boss ho-ooooh! Hey Loki!"

"Darcy," Loki greets the familiar face that leans on the door frame and pulls you towards her to hide her from any incoming verbal and eye-daggers, "ruthless as always, I see."

"Yeah," she tilts her head to rest on your shoulder, "kinda a trademarked thing. Tsk."

.

If anyone knows how to throw a gala, it is Tony Stark. The open lounge of the club has been redone in the theme of the future; and unlike the usual bland black and white advertisement, his designers have used every colour in one way or another to make it look more Stark-worthy. The bar seems to attract quite a crowd, sending them with vibrant drinks to the open area for the exposition magnificently done for their eyes, mind and intellectual taste. Technology, fashion, food, lifestyle- nothing has been left out of the menu by the companies this year, making you groan on the inside at the probable amount of potential homework in front of you.

"Fantastic, right?"

You mind jumps at the voice but you freeze where you stand watching the solar-powered tablets and laptops with an astonishing twenty-four hours of battery life. You want to say something to Billy- who cleans nicely like it is a habit- but your mind is just stuck at the breakfast incident.

Hey, Loki looks fine too, your inner voice argues, finer, in fact. Like it was his birthright to be this effortlessly beautiful.

If only you could eye roll at yourself.

"I'm sorry," he is already starting to talk, keeping his drink down next to yours, forcing your gut to cross it's metaphorical arms at him, "I didn't mean to put you in a tight spot in the morning. I swear."

"I-It's fine," you manage to speak without a hiss.

"I meant it in a respectful way, Kira. I truly did. It's hard to come by kind people in this dog-eats-dog world."

You nearly nod in agreement until you don't, furrowing your brows at him. "I can count all the good people I've met and I think I would fall short of fingers if I start," you debate, "I'm sure you just need to look for them."

Russo's eyes seem to be stuck on you and they only disappear when he brings forth this wide smile of his. "Wow! You are one lucky woman then."

You chuckle. "Yeah, I guess I am."

He takes a sip of his bourbon while you try to busy yourself in your glass of Mojito. His eyes are stuck on every moment your body makes- the shift of your weight from one leg to another, the swirl of your fingertips over the rim of the glass, the flurry of your eyes looking for someone in the crowd, the switching on and off of your phone screen.

"If I may be so bold," Billy addresses you, his eyes travelling from your fingers to your lips and then your eyes, "I have to say it must have taken a lot of courage to sign up as Mr Odinson's assistant."

Your fingers pause the delicate dance on the rim. "If sending my resume to Sun Corp is considered bold, then yes. Very much so."

Billy chuckles. "Right. I meant signing to play the right hand to the quite infamous man worldwide. His reputation does come with some grey and some...red."

The statement pricks you a little. "Says the man who was made to bathe in red."

The hanging jaw followed by a scoff delights you for taking the man by his metaphorical collar and showing him a mirror. "Touché," comes the reply. "You really are something else."

"I'm just an assistant who knows her worth."

"Would you like to go out for a coffee with me tomorrow? Not as Loki's assistant. As Kira."

Your eyes betray the rhythm of your heart and look at his. The soft sparkle in them along with the changed colour in Billy's cheeks is a site you never thought you would witness- for the cause being you. While your heart is trying to climb up to this new height that you never knew existed, your mind is digging into the rocky soul trying to find out where exactly did you fuck up to have someone as significant as Billy Russo ask you out.

"Mr Russo-"

"Okay, seriously though, you need to stop calling me that. It's like you're addressing my father."

You bite your lips to prevent the chuckle from coming out. "Okay...William," you mention, stressing his name.

The man raises his brows at the way you address him, wetting his lips with his tongue, looking at you- more likely at your lips- as if he would devour you whole if he could, striking something inside your gut.

"So...yes to the coffee?"

You breathe and bite your lower lip again.

"Take your time," he assures you, signalling a waiter carrying champagne glasses to come your way, "because I would love it if you came because you wanted to. I would like to spend my last day here with the best company I could possibly get in this lifetime."

Handing you a glass of the bubbling drink, he takes your hand and moves a step closer to you, his spiced up cologne flaring up your nostrils. The kiss on your hand sparks a dangerous flare inside you- for those dark eyes from whom no light escapes, do not leave yours.

A few feet apart stands Solaris- aka Nakia- watching the two of you as Billy reluctantly lets his lips part from your skin, parting away for her to see Loki's intense gaze searing through the man. The green in his eyes seventeen shades darker, the untouched drink in his hand being nursed a bit too harsh, the conversation Heimdall is trying to make with him falling on deaf ears. The daggers flying till now are stopped only when those smaragdines shift to find what lies in your eyes.

Questions- the need to answer the curiosity in those eyes glittering in the lights surrounding her.

Confusion- the reflection of the unknown on her face as she watched Billy walk away from her.

Overwhelming emotions- the conscious deep breath before the entire champagne is gulped down, leaving no room for sober logic.

Loki can see you twisting your ring in your finger, trying to wipe something off your forehead before you go still. He wants to walk up to you to make sure you're alright but Heimdall's next few words bring him out of a trance into the much more risqué reality.

.

It's more of escaping a twister to walk into a whirlpool when you are standing face to face with Thor Odinson in the gathering of thousands of business tycoons.

I never could trust my luck.

"Mr Odinson," you blandly greet the blond before stepping to walk away.

"You work with my brother," Thor makes a statement rather than a question, making you stop and face him, look directly into his eyes to just get this over with tonight.

"I do. I'm his assistant."

"Do you know who he is?" The man is nearly towering over you, being poised with his voice but his stature clearly trying to dominate you.

"Owner of Sun Corp."

"I'm not talking about that and you know it, Miss..."

You don't answer, forcing him to huff and continue.

"You must be careful about who you are working with. Loki is not a man to be trusted this easily."

"Is there anything of relevance you wanted to talk to me about, Mr Odinson?"

Thor contains his surprise quite well.

"You think you have him all figured out, woman, but you'll only be burning your hands in the fire that blazes because you gave air to the embers."

You put down your empty glass on the table beside you before taking one patient breath. "The entire world seems to have an opinion about my boss, Mr Odinson. Especially since your family disowned him because of the incident all those years ago. And yet people work with him. Yet people who work with him seem to hold him in the highest regard, ready to do whatever he says. I could define it as some sort of cult but for that, my boss needs to have a following and not friends and colleagues. Or family. Unlike your father."

Thor stands there frozen for that moment, the rage inside him mixing with the absurdity of your guts to stand up to him and talk ill of his father, while you pick up your clutch and straighten your back.

"People change Mr Odinson. They make choices that sometimes others can't fathom. Those choices are not always out of ill intentions. They're often made out of the need to survive. Or worse- to not end your life out of self-loathing. It's just a shame that only those who have gone through something familiar invest more time to understand that."

Wishing him a good night, you walked away, leaving Thor, son of Odin, heir to the Conglomerate of Asgard, wondering about your words along with the sincerity in your eyes concealing a pain of their own.

.

The walk back to the chalet is a tedious one. You choose to get out of the club and down the path less travelled- mostly because you do not want people to see the outcome of the standoff you just had. But the regret of leaving your work is gnawing the dutiful soul on the inside. I just need a breather, you try to sound convincing when you find yourself sniffling softly, I'll be back soon.

The clack of your heels is the only sound in the barely lit path going through the gardens surrounding the lake, the little streets named after flowers. It helps a little when somewhere out there in the darkness an owl hoots to give you company through the starry night.

One, two, three... you begin counting, easing your breaths, making them deeper. It helps a little. So does opening and closing your fists, letting the nails dig into your palms before letting them loose. Bit by bit the tension gathered in your shoulders eases. That is, until a foreign sound in the dark catches your senses.

Your flight response lights up, forcing you to grab on to your clutch tighter than humanly possible and increase your pace towards the chalet. But it goes in vain when you come at the crossroads of the streets not knowing whether to go down Dahlia or to turn towards Marigold.

"Girls like you shouldn't walk home alone."

The voice makes you jump where you stand, turning around to watch the face of a stranger come out and stand right in front of you under the sole lamp barely lighting the space.

You turn towards Marigold only to find him obstructing your path again. "At least let me escort you home, darling," the stranger purrs right next to your ear, making you flinch and walk back into something hard colliding with your back while the shade on that filth of a man's face turns paler than before.

You do not want to look what- or who- stands behind you. Your body really does not want to undergo the rush from the night you were attacked in the street. You are just not prepared for anything like that anymore. But the whiff of a familiar cologne brings this unspoken comfort that takes you by the shoulder to turn around and watch the pair of familiar smaragdines boring into the soul of that man.

No words are exchanged. No cry comes out for help- or surrender. The man visibly sweats before tripping on his on foot and walking away, leaving you and Loki under the lamp post- you shaking and him incredibly still.

You turn towards Loki and watch as his eyes are still following the silhouette of that man walking away as quickly as possible. "I was...I was jus-"

Cold fingers are wrapping around your palm, striking your warm skin with goosebumps till they have made sure your fingers are secured in them.

"Our chalet's this way," Loki softly declares as he starts walking down Dahlia, and you with him, right by his side.

You don't notice it till now how much you have calmed down, the rigidness in your body gone as you're letting him lead the way. Even though his hand is cold, it is making you feel all hues present in the spectrum of warmth.

Making you feel safe.

The amenity in this darkness is a long lost hug from that comforter that would guard you against the monsters of the night. And your insides are begging you to dissolve yourself in them.

And that when it hits you from all sides.

You like Loki.

That's it.

You like him. You are walking towards loving him. And if you're daring enough, you are walking towards the irrevocable feeling of doing everything in your power to protect him. If need be, even from himself. It is a bittersweet feeling- a blessed revelation and a dreadful epiphany. Something you want to look forward to but at the same time do not have the courage to face.

"The keys?"

Loki's voice breaks you out of your overwhelming trance to find yourself standing outside the chalet with your fingers still locked into his.

"Y-yes," you mutter before frantically looking for them in your clutch and opening the door.

"Oh," you are reminded of something as soon as Loki turns to walk upstairs, "Darcy is staying upstairs in the other room."

Loki looks at you with a hint of confusion. "Okay?" He continues to look at you for the declaration of that news till both of you can hear her moans along with encouraging cries of another woman from upstairs.

"Why don't you use that room?" You mention, pointing to the one downstairs that was supposed to be yours, "I'll get your stuff."

"What about you?"

"I'll...sleep on the couch. It's comf-"

"Nonsense, you're sleeping in there."

"Oh, no it's alright. You should take the be-"

"Kira, you have been popping your neck all day. Clearly, you need the bed more than m-"

"Alright fine. Both of us are sleeping on the bed! That's it!"

More than Loki, you astonish yourself at your own boldness. Loki sighing, uncomfortably shifting his weight on his legs before walking inside the room does not make the astoundment any better. You take a step before stopping- not really knowing whether to follow him in there or not- contemplating for a few seconds before leaving everything to the wind and walking in.

Loki changes in the room while you take the washroom, trying to kill time in there before you know it is okay to step out. It's a relief to see two comforters lying at the edge, allowing you to pull one up and get inside them before the embarrassment of having Loki see you in a tank top and shorts course through you.

You force yourself to focus at the soft orange light lighting up the garden outside your chalet while skipping through the painted glass screen. But that doesn't last much longer once you feel the bed dip behind you, letting your default reflexes bring the comforter closer to your chin.

Neither of you realises how the other is trying to lay as still as possible, keeping the breaths measured, ears sharp for any movement. It is torturous for both to pass even ten minutes like this in each other's presence.

"You didn't have to do that to Thor," Loki's voice breaks the unbearable silence, "defending me like that."

Silence.

"You do not know half the things I have done."

"I am sure neither does your brother."

Loki already has his mouth open to argue when your words actually hit him and stop him right there.

"And I wasn't trying to defend you," you conclude, raising more questions inside Loki.

What could you possibly have gone through to feel empathy for what the world sees me as- the adopted son who got infected by madness and tried to destroy his so-called father's empire?

“Don’t overthink it. I had my reasons. They might not be big but they’re relevant to me.”

Thoughtful silence once again.

"Good night, Kira," he whispers from the other side, that question still lingering in his head.

You, on the other side, have typed 'Tomorrow. 12 pm. The coffee shop by the lakeside.' Your chest hurts when you press send, convincing yourself it is better this way, closing your phone and looking back up at the light coming through the window.

"Good night, sir."

[fangorling]

Peaches Part Three- Circuit

Part three is here!

As always, feedback is always welcome.

I had been showing Bucky and teaching him about the basics of texting and emojis. He had decided early on that the lady dancing in the red dress was his favorite. Said something about it reminding him of an easier time, his expression so thoughtful and soft, but never elaborated more than that.

Our food had been eaten, pie and all, the plates moved and long forgotten. Eventually vanishing from the table without my noticing.

We moved on from texting and emojis much earlier in the night and moved on to GIF's and how they worked and were commonly used. This resulted in us having a GIF war. Sending them back and forth trying to get the other to laugh harder than the other.

I hated to admit that he was easily the winner. He was so funny in such a quiet way.

I'd never been so determined to get someone to laugh. Bucky seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. When he laughed, it seemed to lift and lessen the load slightly. Plus watching his eyes shine with such carefree joy was another intoxicating matter.

My cheeks had started to hurt from all of our laughter. I hadn't realized how snuggled up we'd gotten throughout our time sitting together, until Olivia came over to break the news of her leaving for the night. My side was completely smashed against Bucky's, his arm thrown over the back of the booth behind me and we both huddled together with our phones clutched between us in our laps.

"Alright you two giggle worms, I'm out of here for the night."

I looked across Bucky at her to see a broad grin. I couldn't help the shy smirk that covered my face and the hint of a blush on my cheeks. I broke out of my embarrassment long enough to give her a quizzical look, "Already?" I turned my gaze back over to Bucky to see his eyes widen at the time displayed on his phone.

"It's after ten." He pursed his lips before surprised eyes met mine, "I'm so sorry I've kept you so late doll, especially with the day you've had." He gave me an apologetic smile while pocketing his phone.

We both made our way out of the booth and I started shrugging off Bucky's jacket, feeling the stiffness that had settled into my muscles. I glanced around the diner to see it was empty besides the three of us in the main dining area and the cook cleaning something in the back. Smiling as I gave his jacket it back to him.

"Liv!" I called out as she was about to leave through the backdoors of the kitchen, "We haven't paid our bills yet." I immediately started fumbling through my bag to find my wallet, when Olivia's twinkling laugh halted my search, my gaze lifting to meet hers.

"Baby, he paid for your meals

forever

ago." Her eyes met Bucky's, filled with humor before they both turned their gaze to me. Bucky gave me a halfhearted apologetic shrug, while Liv gaves me a wink and blew us both a kiss goodbye.

"See you next week, and please try and take it easy." She gave me a stern glare before turning and walking out of the doors into the kitchen.

My eyes met Bucky's as we walked to the door, I shouted a final goodbye and thank you to Teddy, the cook, before walking through the door Bucky, yet again, held open for me. I immediately turned to block Bucky's path with my arms folded. Trying, and I'm sure failing, to look intimidating.

"That's two meals in a row, Mr. Bucky." I gave him the best false scowl I was able to muster before continuing, "It was my turn to pay, especially with how I acted last week." My senses finally took notice of the rain that was still currently falling, creating dark speckles on my sweater.

I met his amused gaze as he studied me, "I owe you for teaching me about modern technology." He stepped closer to me lifting and wrapping his jacket around my shoulders as he spoke. I whispered a thank you as I held the gap of fabric closed, welcoming the warmth and smell that was now known as Bucky.

"No more apologizing for last week either, deal?" He questioned as his grasp lingered on my arms before lightly sliding down and dropping, sending tingles through my body.

I let my eyes wander all that was Bucky, bright eyes and raised waiting brows with a hidden smile at the corner of his lips. Dark chestnut hair that had somehow ended up getting pulled away from his face as we ate, he said something about cutting it soon since it was starting to drive him crazy, broad shoulders and pure muscle. Not in a beef head, gym rat kind of way. But well-kept healthy way. I could only hope he thought I was just thinking of the agreement and not shamelessly checking him out. That'd be quite embarrassing.

My eyes met his again, expression unchanged as he waited. I jokingly rolled my eyes, "Fine, deal." I extending my hand for him to shake.

A broad smile split his face, wrinkling the corner of his eyes as he grasped my hand, his swallowing mine. Giving it a single shake before releasing me again.

"How are you getting home doll?" Bucky's concerned gaze met mine before he searched the surrounding area around us.

"I only live about a mile or so East of here, I could use the exercise." I gave him a small sweep of my hand to show it wasn't a big deal. With a small smile, I started shrugging off his jacket, my heart ached at the loss of heat, and if I was honest with myself the familiarity of Bucky.

He quickly halted my actions with outstretched hands stopping his jacket from leaving my frame completely, accompanied by a look of disapproval. "I don't need that back, I'm not cold." He quickly readjusted the jacket before meeting my eyes with a look of nervous hesitation.

"Can I give you a ride? I don't like thinking about you walking around this time of night, especially after everything that's happened today." Bucky's shy gaze kept focused on the ground, his right hand coming to rest at the nape of his neck.

"Honestly, that would be amazing." I gave him a bright smile before pointing a finger at him, "You just have to promise not to kill me and throw my corpse in an alleyway."

Bucky's jaw dropped and had an expression of pure shock and worry filling his face. His mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"It's a joke, relax!" I giggled and gave his upper arm a gentle pat.

A small embarrassed smile broke out on his face before he shook his head at me, pulling out a pair of keys causing a black Audi to flash its lights before purring to life.

My eyes widened at the vehicle, "Bucky my clothes are still damp, I don't want to get your car all dirty." I watched as Bucky opened the passenger door, waiting for me to enter.

I took a step away from the car. Like me just being near the expensive thing was catastrophic. He met my gaze with a quizzical smile before leaving the door open and walking towards me."There is no way you're going to do any harm to that car," He nodded his head in the direction of the thing in question. "Plus, if it makes you feel any better," he looked down at the keys in his hand before meeting my concerned eyes. "That's my," He hesitated for a moment as if searching for the right word, "Friends car. He lets me drive it when I can't ride my bike. The guy can be a complete ass at times, so if the car gets even a little dirty, it's well deserved."

I looked behind him at the car again before pursing my lips, he motioned his body towards the car, silently asking me to hop in, with a playful grin that only widened as I made my way towards the open door.

I gave Bucky a quiet thank you as I settled my body into the seat. He had his right hand on the top corner of the door, holding it in place as I got more comfortable. He quickly checked over me to make sure I was okay before gently closing the door for me. Giving me a small smile.

As I waited for Bucky to make his way around to the driver's side door, my ears picked up the soft and pained voice of Billie Holiday singing about some trees and fruit playing through the speakers in a low volume.

Bucky quickly opened his door and settled beside me, turning down the music while he closed the door before bringing his focus onto me.

"Alright, where to doll?" He asked as he watched me pull his jacket closer, he quickly moved to the temperature dial, turning it on full heat and the vents on full blast. "Sorry, I don't get cold too easily. This should heat up fast though."

I let out a stunned giggle as I looked at the pristine interior of the car. Confused blue eyes met my own, "Who the hell is this friend that lets you borrow a car that's worth more than my annual salary? Can he be my friend too?" I asked in a joking tone.

Bucky let out a laugh that was joined with an eye roll, "You can have him. He's a pain in my ass." He quickly lost the smile that had been on his face and pursed his lips, a thoughtful expression on his face. He blinked a few times, rapidly, before he put the car in reverse. "You said East, right?" He looked over at me in question before looking in the rearview mirror, backing out slowly.

"Yeah, you just turn left at the second light." I glanced over at him while starting to buckle my seatbelt, noticing he had yet to do the same. "Aren't you going to put on your seatbelt?" I asked, giving him a look of concern. "It's the law ya know." I said, humor evident in my voice.

He looked over at me with a sheepish look and shy smile, before reaching to pull at the seatbelt. "I keep forgetting these things exist."

I let out a chuckle before turning my gaze out the windshield. I watched as the rain slowly dropped and decorated the glass, creating mini constellations before vanishing with the swipe of the wipers.

As we approached the second light, I gave Bucky some directions and watched as he glanced over his shoulder to switch lanes to turn, slowly coming to a stop as the light was red.

"Thank you by the way." Bucky turned his head towards me, a look of confusion displayed on his face. Brows scrunched and lips pursed at my comment, left hand resting on the steering wheel and the right holding the gearshift between us, waiting on me to elaborate.

I gestured towards the dashboard, "For the ride." Bucky turned from me to face the road, accelerating as the light changed green.

He looked back towards me as he got the car settled on the new road, meeting my eyes, his lips slightly upturned at the corners. "Course doll. It's the least I could do." He gave me a full grin before turning his attention back to the road. "I couldn't consider myself a gentleman if I left a sweet dame like yourself to get herself home in weather like this, at this time of night." I smiled down at my hands at his comment and use of vocabulary, murmuring a soft thanks to him.

"In another three lights ahead." I squinted my eyes in thought, "I believe the streets called Monroe Way or something like that, you'll turn left again." I reached in my bag as I finished talking to search for my keys and planner that had all my notes for the new puppy page that I needed to start for Rachael to get a jump start on trying to find forever homes for the new litter of puppies.

"This is farther than a mile." Bucky scolded me and looked at me from the corner of his eye.

I glanced up at Bucky while fumbling through my bag, "I may have fibbed slightly. I felt bad and knew you'd worry." I let out a quiet laugh before I realized I was missing a very large and very important notebook, "Dammit, no!" I sighed heavily, dropping my shoulders in defeat.

"Everything okay over there?" Bucky asked, quickly glancing at me from the road.

I fumbled through my bag one last time before settling with the fact that I was an idiot who forgot the one thing that mattered most in my day to day life. "I think I left my planner at work." I brought a hand to my head gently massaging at the self-served irritation, before bringing my head back to rest against the seat. I closed eyes and let a slow breath out to try and calm my agitation.

That book contained everything about all the animals, what picture the staff decided on posting, dates of what to get done and how.

Literally everything.

I had hoped I could try and stay home tomorrow to just lay in bed and work from my laptop, but now I'd need to go in just because I was an absolute idiot and forgot the one thing I depended on the most. Tomorrow was going to be hell.

"Do you want me to stop by the shelter before I drop you at your house?" He looked towards me, meeting my eyes and caught my hesitation, "I don't mind."

He held my gaze before continuing, "Cross my heart." He gave me a coy smile before looking back at the road.

A small smile broke out on my face before I started directing him towards the shelter.

As Bucky pulled into the lot and found a place to park, I looked around at the night staff's cars. I hoped I could avoid them and the questions that were bound to arise due to me showing up with a guy, late at night.

I quickly searched through my bag to grab the keys to the shelter. As I went to reach for the handle to open the door, the door started opening. At first, I thought the car was so fancy that it opened itself, but that theory was quickly squashed as I caught Bucky's gaze, him holding the door awaiting my exit.

My shocked and wide eyes met his as he finished pulling open my door. "I didn't even hear you get out of the car." I turned my head to check his empty seat, "How did you get over to my side so quickly, Mr. Stealth?" I let out a small chuckle as I scooted and stretched out of my seat. Watching as he closed the door after me, "Thank you for getting my door, but I could have gotten it." I gave him a small grin while starting to head in the direction of the main doors before restarting the constant reoccurring struggle that is finding keys in a messy bag.

"I know you can get a door, I was just raised to get it for you out of respect." I looked up at him as I finally found the metal jerks that were the hide and seek champions in my bag. He gave me a shy smile before glancing ahead of us and checking the surrounding area, a habit I was sure he had gotten from being overseas.

"Well then thank you, kind sir." I gave him a small, joking curtsy before moving to unlock the doors, pulling them open quickly and holding it open for Bucky so we could get out of the light sprinkle of rain. He gave me a small laugh as I swept my hand in front of me in an "after you" gesture.

After he was in, he turned to face me, awaiting my guidance, stuffing both hands in the pockets of his jeans. I watched as he examined our main lobby area.

It wasn't much, white tile floors that resembled a hospital but made for an easy clean up that usually came with the messes of different animals. Walls a light almost white grey. We didn't have much furniture, just a small black plastic rollie chair for people to sit while filling out paperwork when adopting a lucky little lad or lass at our adoption desk in the back corner and an all-white half-circle giant desk in the center of the room that we used to greet and assist anyone that entered.

I went to ask him if he was okay with coming to the back offices with me but was stopped by a confused shout of my name.

I turned my body towards the sound to be met by Amber making her way towards us from down the hall, near our kitten room.

"What are you doing here? Rachael said you weren't going to be coming in for a couple days because of something coming up?" Amber was one of our younger staff members who doubled as a caretaker and vet tech. She could be a model if she wanted to, with her long auburn hair, that still was stunning even in the ponytail she was sporting, porcelain skin with a splatter of freckles across her nose and the most beautiful honey-toned brown eyes I'd ever seen. Her features were flooded with concern as she approached.

"I forgot my planner." I explained and her eyes immediately lit up with humor and she let out an airy laugh.

"You came all the way back here for your bible, I should have known." She laughed before she took notice of Bucky quietly standing behind me, her eyes squinting in what appeared to be recognition.

I took a step back so both could feel included within the conversation before Bucky spoke up, "Wait, I thought you left a planner?" Bucky looked over at me waiting for an answer, while Amber not so subtly checked him out before raising a brow at me.

"It's a nickname the staff here gave it. She follows that think and studies it more than most Christians follow the book of God." She extended her hand to Bucky, "I'm Amber, by the way, I work with the night time staff. You are?" Bucky took her hand in his, shaking it gently before dropping it and meeting her questioning stare.

"Bucky." He softly spoke, pocketing his hands again.

I watched as Amber's eyes widened in shock, looking between Bucky and me a few times before speaking up.

"I knew it! As in Barnes? The Winter Soldier, Captain America's 'best pal'?" I watched as he flinched at the title of Winter Soldier, taking a step back before his panicked gaze met mine. His body becoming tense and uncomfortable.

He watched me waiting for a reaction before speaking, "Uh, yeah that one." His eyes studied me for a moment before his ashamed gaze met the floor.

"Sorry, Amber but I'm kind of in a hurry, so we got to go. I'll Talk to you Sunday." I met Ambers still bulging eyes, her mouth struggling to find words to respond.

I gently took hold of the crook of Bucky's arm meeting his eyes with a warm comforting smile before dragging him away from her and to the safe haven of my secluded office.

As we made it into the hallway that leads to all the separate offices of the main team representatives, I quickly flipped on the lights for the closed off open space before running my gaze over Bucky to make sure he was alright.

I watched as he still struggled to maintain his nerves. Posture still tense and his left hand opened and closed rapidly, which I assumed was a nervous tick.

I tried lightening the mood and calm my nerves at the fact that I've been hanging out with a war hero from the 40's and current hero that works alongside the Avengers, mainly my home slice Hawkeye. But finally understanding his behavior and way of speaking.

"So, by old fashioned, you just meant you were actually born in the 1920s. Meaning you're just old." I chuckled and bumped my shoulder with his as we made our way to the final door in the hallway.

I watched as he studied and dissected my expression before deciding we were both okay, he let out a quiet huff before he chuckled. He relaxed his posture slightly, "1917 actually, which makes your statement worse since I'm older." He met my eyes, raising his eyebrows in mock shock. Before he gave me a bashful smile.

"Oh, my bad, I'm not much into history. The only reason I know anything about Captain America is because of the avengers and I only know his face, not his backstory." I grimaced at Bucky, "I'm more of a Hawkeye fan to be honest."  I quietly mumbled as I pulled open my office door. I was surprised when he let out an actual belly laugh.

I flipped on my lights and was immediately overcome with embarrassment at how filthy my desk and floor were. Papers stung all over, none of the fake wood could be seen underneath the chaos that was my flyers and spreadsheets. Not to mention the dog toys and bones littering all over my floor for when I bring my dog in with me or bring in one of the dogs from the adoption floor so they can get some interaction while I was in the office, or to just have a break from the chaos that could come with the adoption section.

"Sorry about the mess," I said as I made my way around some of the plush squeaky toys, "This past week has been," I paused looking for a word that fully encompassed the struggle it had been, but came up empty and let out a quiet huff, "it's just been a week." I shook my head as I moved some of the stacks of paper around on my desk in search of the well-worn back spiral notebook that was used as my planner.

I let out a celebratory shriek as my hands wrapped around my planner, bringing it to my chest much like a toddler would do with a teddy bear they had lost.

A deep chuckle broke me out of my little victory. I looked over at Bucky, still standing in the doorway. I met his bright eyes that were filled with humor and his lips accompanied by a small smile. His body was back to being as relaxed as before running into Amber.

His gaze moved back down to the floor as he gently kicked one of the many bones lying there, "What's made this week so hard?" His eyes glanced up, pools of blue showing nothing but concern.

"Well, the good, hard, thing is the litter of puppies that were born here the other day. Eight of em. Cute as hell, but resources and finances are already tight. The other not so great challenge, that has helped with my scatterbrain, is our location for Adoption Days dropped out. They double-booked and the other booking offered more than we could, so now I only have a couple of weeks to find a new pet-friendly location." I quickly tucked my planner into my bag so I wouldn't risk losing it again while meeting Bucky back at the doorway. "So, there is a massive time crunch and I refuse to cancel. Adoption Days is when we adopt out most of our animals here."

Before I was able to place my bag back on my shoulder, I quickly shimmied out of Bucky's jacket. "Thank you for letting me use this, sorry it's probably still damp." I winced as I placed it into Bucky's hand and reached for one of the spare jackets I kept on the rack behind my door in case of an emergency.

A tender expression covered his face as he met my gaze, "I think I'll survive." He let out a deep chuckle before continuing, a look of embarrassment taking over, "I know you're probably completely exhausted but, could I maybe meet those puppies before we head out?" He glanced away from my face and down at the floor, a hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck.

A warm smile lit up my face, "Of course. I could give you a full-blown tour too, give you some VIP treatment since it's only you and some staff." I went to loop my arm through his but abruptly stopped. He had let me grab his arm before, but I didn't want to cross any lines.

My knowledge with the best friend of the local and historical hero, Captain America, was extremely limited. What I did know was that Bucky had been through way more than any service member should ever have to go through. He was used as a war machine of Hydra, had the world against him and was having to cope with the crimes he didn't have any choice in committing. Granted that blame should fall on the organization that made him do it and had just recently rejoined society. There was a dumb back and forth debate about if he should be allowed freedom and trusted among the people. Just the everyday political bull.

Bucky silently watched my internal debate before an amused half-smile met his lips, he slowly offered out his arm, answering a question I hadn't asked, "Don't get shy on me now that you know who I am doll." His eyes were pleading, "Lead the way."

I grinned widely at him as I gently placed my had on his awaiting arm. "Get ready for the circuit to heartache and be prepared for cuteness overload. If you happen to see anyone that you want to adopt, I won't be upset in the slightest." I joked as I gave his arm a small pat.

Bucky let out a deep and free laugh as I guided him out the door and down the hallway back to the main lobby.

[moonstruckbucky]

Let It Snow

Request:  Going ice skating with Billy (he never ice skated bc he's from Cali) and then getting warm in bed together 😏

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: This is equal parts filth and equal parts smut. Because I couldn’t choose so why not both? Penetration (wrap it before you tap it), oral (m receiving), fingering.

Rating: 18+ (seriously guys, don’t get me deleted. Keep your underage eyes away)

Notes: Gonna thank my girl @hopperhargrove for requesting this amazing prompt because, damn I’m dying. 

Billy hated the winter, hated just about anything that had to do with cold weather. He was from California for fuck’s sake, where everything was warmth and sunshine. Fall in Hawkins was cold enough, and then November hit, and he thought that was cold.

Then the fucking snow came.

Billy was never one for hats and gloves and all that cold-weather jazz, but goddammit if he didn’t at least shove a pair of gloves on his hands when he went out to warm up his Camaro. The poor engine took longer than normal to start, unused to the bitter cold of Hawkins, and for a second, he worried his girl wouldn’t start.

But the roaring engine turned over and he grudgingly drove to your house to take you to school. You were standing on the sidewalk, looking adorable all bundled up in a scarf, hat, and mittens, and Billy thought maybe winter wasn’t so bad. Your nose was bright red from the cold, and you smiled brightly at him as you shuffled into the warm car.

“What’s with the long face?” you asked, pulling your mittens off to press your hands to the heaters. You sighed in relief as the blood rushed back into your fingers.

“It’s fucking cold,” Billy grumbled, banging a quick u-turn to head towards school.

“It’s December,” you giggled.

“It still sucks.”

“Grinch,” you teased. His eyes glanced over at you briefly, a smirk tilting up one corner of his mouth.

“Damn straight, Rudolph.”

Gasping in mock offense, you covered your cold nose, spurring Billy to chuckle and reach over for your hand. You hummed at the warmth radiating from his skin, sinking further into the seat.

“So I was thinking,” you started, your fingers idly playing with the rings on Billy’s.

“Uh oh,” he interjected with a grin. You flicked the back of his hand with a pout. “Kidding.”

“Anyways, I was thinking we’d do something fun this weekend.”

“Don’t we always do something fun?” he questioned with a lecherous grin. Blushing, you tapped his hand on the top of your thigh.

“Not that kind of fun, you pervert. I thought we could go ice skating.” Billy grimaced and his mouth opened, no doubt to say no. “Come on, B. It’s supposed to snow at the end of the week, and the lake’s frozen over. It looks so pretty after the snow’s fallen! Please, B.”

There was only one situation in which you’d willingly beg, and Billy seemed to take this into consideration as he single-handedly spun the wheel into a parking spot at the school. He threw it in park and sat back in his seat, twisting his hand in your grip to lace your fingers together.

Your expression was hopeful, eyes wide like a kid waiting to be told she could open a Christmas present early, bottom lip caged between your teeth in bubbly anticipation. Even though ice skating was definitely not his thing, how could he possibly say no to that face?

“Fine, we can go,” he relented. He couldn’t stop the small smile from curving up his mouth as you celebrated with a squeal in the passenger seat. He turned into your touch when you leaned across the console to kiss his cheek, his skin warm under your lips.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you whispered lowly, teasing him just a little by swiping your tongue along the shell of his ear. Grinning when he shuddered, his exhale a rattle in his throat, you sat back and popped open your door. As Billy watched you for a moment, taking in the way your hips swayed as you walked, he wondered just what the hell he got himself into.

“Christ, I can’t do this,” Billy muttered, fingers gripping tightly to a low-hanging branch. How the hell did he let you convince him to go ice skating? He cursed as his skate moved along the ice, nearly dumping him on his ass, but he held his balance.

“Come on, B!” you cheered from a few feet away, gliding elegantly along the ice. The two of you weren’t the only ones with the idea to go skating today.

Despite the sun shining, the lake was completely frozen over like you predicted, a few families deciding to not waste the good weather indoors. They skated around the far end of the lake, away from you and Billy, who was still struggling to stand, much less skate.

With a giggle you skated over to him and held out your hands. “Come on, take my hands. I’ll hold you up.”

Billy held tighter to the branch. “I don’t want to fall on you.”

“You won’t, I promise. That’s it, let go of the branch. Good.” Billy’s hands were warm where they gripped tightly to yours. He was bent at the waist, arms stretched comically out in front of him, as he fought to maintain his balance.

Slowly, you skated backwards, tugging him along behind you. “You gotta stand up straight, babe. You’ve got no balance.”

He looked at you as if you’d just sprouted another head. “Are you crazy? I’ll fall!”

“You won’t fall, you big baby. Now come on, straighten up.”

Billy ended up falling a total of three times, and after the third time he decided he’d had enough. He tossed your skates into his trunk after you’d changed back into your shoes and cranked the heat, pressing his frozen fingers to the vents.

“Such a baby,” you giggled, huddling into your jacket and scarf. “But you did well for a first timer.”

Billy pulled the car into the driveway, relieved when you noted that your parents were away. He had you all to himself, and his frigid bones needed warming up. He pressed himself against you as you fumbled to unlock the door, the kisses he laid on the back of your neck wet, warm, and full of intent.

“Billy,” you giggled, “let me open this.”

“But I’m cold, baby,” he whined with an exaggerated roll of his hips into your backside. It made you bite your lip against a whimper, fingers hurrying to twist the key in the lock.

You barely made it inside and down the hall to your bedroom before Billy was kissing you, all heat and need. He pressed your body into your bedroom door, cold hands diving under your sweater in search of warmth.

You squeaked. “Jesus, B, you’re freezing.”

“I know. Better warm me up, princess.”

With a wicked grin you got to work unbuttoning his shirt, hands dancing over his shoulders as they were bared to you, and you leaned forward to pepper wet kisses down his jaw and to his neck. Your teeth found the dip in his collarbone, and they teased gently at the skin, drawing blood to the surface.

His throat rumbled in a growl as his hands yanked your sweater over your head, leaving you in a pretty lace bra he wanted to take off with his teeth. Another time, as his mind was pulled elsewhere when your hands made quick work of his jeans.

You knelt as you tugged them down his thighs, followed soon by his boxers. He stepped out of both and kicked them away, leaving him naked in all his golden, surfer-boy glory. His cock was at attention, curved up against his stomach, the head red, swollen, and leaking. It made your mouth water, and you ghosted your hands up his thighs, through the short, coarse hairs that covered them. Bracing one hand on his hip, the other teased at his balls, pulling a ragged hiss from between his teeth. Smirking, you let the one hand play as you leaned forward and licked a stripe up the underside of his shaft, along the thick vein that pulsed with need.

He was hot and heavy on your tongue as your mouth enveloped him, lips stretching wide to accommodate his girth. He honest-to-goodness whined as you took him further, your tongue pillowing him and stroking along that vein, until he hit the back of your throat. You swallowed around him, and his hands dive into your hair, fingers twisting and tugging at the strands as you suck greedily on his cock.

It would never not be a turn-on to have Billy Hargrove turn to putty in your hands. Right now was no different, as his hips began to thrust into your mouth and your eyes watered each time the tip of him touched the back of your throat. The noises he was making were slowly tearing apart your self-control, shredding any chance of this being slow and gentle. Each grunt, each whine of your name had your thighs clenching together and your own moans vibrating against the shaft of his dick.

He moaned, “N-Not like this. Need to be inside you.”

Releasing him with a wet pop, you barely had a minute to relax your jaw before he hauled you up against his body, lightly shining in sweat, and kissed you deeply. Like a flower to the sun, you opened up to him, his tongue sliding in and licking into your mouth. He groaned at the heady taste of himself on your tongue and his hands shucked your jeans. Hands under your thighs, he lifted you easily, allowing you to wrap your legs around his trim waist as he laid you back on your bed. 

You sighed at the softness of the pillow under your head, at the change in Billy’s kiss from hard and needy to slow and sensual. His hands roved your body, unclasping your bra to throw it elsewhere, thumbs teasing your nipples into hard peaks. You shifted your hips, gasping against his mouth when his hardness brushed against your clothed and dripping center.

He groaned into your mouth, pulling away just enough that his lips ghosted yours as he spoke. “God, you’re so wet for me, baby.”

To prove his point further, he dropped a hand down between you, dipping into your panties to cup your sex. His middle finger drifted along your slit, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you. You whined as he teased at your opening, dipping a finger in but never giving you what you needed.

“Billy,” you gasped, arching up as his head ducked to lave at a nipple, teeth lightly scraping. Your cunt clenched, you felt yourself gushing against Billy’s hand as his ministrations brought you closer and closer to your end.

He hummed. “Wonder if I can get you off just like this.”

You dropped your head back, moaning long and low as Billy finally sunk a finger into you, timing the upward curl of his fingers with the lapping of his tongue against your nipple. He swapped to the other one, giving it just as much attention as the others, and drove a second finger inside you. It was damn near maddening, keeping you on the edge of your pleasure. Your hips canted off the bed, needy moans tearing from your throat, as you chased your release.

Billy’s thumb at your clit was your undoing, and it sent you spiraling into a maelstrom of white-hot pleasure, curling your toes and making your vision go white. Your cunt clenched down on Billy’s fingers as they continued to stroke you, easing you through your orgasm. As your trembling began to subside, your chest heaving, Billy pulled his fingers from you, shining in your pleasure. Your mouth went dry as he brought them to his lips, tongue tangling around them to wipe them clean.

His blue eyes were blown black, as he stripped your panties away, dropping them off the side of the bed. Reaching over, he pulled a condom from your drawer and made quick work of rolling it on. Your legs opened wide as he settled between them, the head of his cock dipping between your folds. Your hands found his shoulders as he kissed you deep, and with one smooth roll of his hips he sank into you, groaning at the soft, velvet heat that enveloped him.

His rhythm was deep but slow, his thighs spread wide, knees bracing against the mattress as he pumped his hips. He slid a hand under your ass, angling your hips just right that had you tossing your head back with a gasp. Nails digging red crescent moons into his flesh, you lifted your hips to meet him, leaning up to kiss him deeply. He let his free hand tangle with yours, pinning it to the pillow beside your head as he snapped his hips, head dropping into the crook of your neck as ecstacy vowed to claim you both.

“Billy,” it trailed off on a moan, “’m close, baby.”

He grunted his reply, a deep, “Me too,” and then his pace picked up. The obscene sounds of his thighs meeting your ass, the wet sound of his body meeting yours, filled the silence in the bedroom. Billy pulled his hand out from under you, reaching between you to twirl circles around your clit. Body spasming, your orgasm took you over, curving your back and causing your nails to draw blood in his back. Electricity shot through your veins, sparking every nerve ending. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, and Billy laid kisses across your throat, collarbone, and chest, until he let go with a feral growl into your skin.

He spilled into the condom, hips stuttering as his eyes squeezed shut. Leaning back, he laid his forehead against yours and rolled, keeping your bodies together. He hitched one of your legs over his hip and drew circles on your thigh as the two of you fought for breath.

“Might have to make you go ice skating more often,” you said breathlessly, tucking your head under his chin. His chest heaved beneath your hand as you laid it there, fingertips toying with the medallion around his neck.

He chuckled quietly but didn’t answer verbally. Instead, he pressed a lingering kiss to your sweaty forehead, arm winding around your shoulders to pull you closer. As he felt you drift off to sleep, sufficiently exhausted, Billy laid awake with his eyes closed, relishing in the warmth you provided not only his body but his heart as well.

Billy Hargrove Tag List: @casaharrington / @moirasimagines / @billyhardgrove / @dacremontgomerylover / @dacresgirl / @hotstuffhargrove / @thatonecurlygirl / @delicatelyherdreams / @hargrove-mayfield / @swirlyoreo / @sheseiler

Permanent Tag List: @so-not-hotmess / @hotstuffhargrove / @moirasimagines / @baebee35 / @deathbyarabbit / @disagreetoagree / @cherryblcssm / @alex–awesome–22 / @sophiealiice / @yknott81 / @cassiopeia-barrow / @tearsforhan / @ ssstutteringbbbill / @hargrovehoe / @thephantomofthe-internet

[my-little-dumpster-fire]

Let it Burn. 7/?

Catch Up Here

The floor was cold where you sat under the drafty window at the end of the hall and paused the nervous drumming of your fingers against the speckled linoleum to remind yourself to call Mitch in maintenance so he could check that out. There were plenty of the usual sounds to distract you, nurses chatting away in the break room two doors away while tea bubbles on the petite stovetop, the squeaky wheel of a bed being pushed by that one orderly who hummed along to the Huey Lewis song in his head everywhere he went, the distinct grumbling of Dr. Shaughnessy who had yet to accept that his status as a resident meant that the opinions he held over his med schedule would remain just opinions, and yet it was the nearly imperceptible ticking of your watch that held your attention captive. Your phone call that morning replayed in your head, along with the letter from earlier in the week though neither kept your mind occupied for very long. It was ten to one and with every quiet tick from your wrist you found yourself less and less sure of your lunch plans, until finally the marching of expensive leather shoes pulled your lips up and away from their worried frown.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

You said to the approaching figure as you scrambled to your feet, abandoning a paper coffee cup on the floor where you’d been seated and stepping forward. You couldn’t always count on him to accept your invitations, but if he said he’d be somewhere, he would be and you could always count on him to be punctual. Lieutenant Russo, you’d sung out teasingly the day you caught him sitting at your usual table fifteen minutes early.

Billy licked his lips, eyes glancing over everything but yours, taking in your surroundings as his ever vigilant nature demanded. “I wasn’t going to.” At least he’s honest.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t,” you added and Billy nodded solemnly, looking through you to the door you’d been perched in front of.

He looked good. He always looked good, but today Billy was more polished that usual. His shirt was starchy and white. His pants had a perfectly ironed pleat that made his legs look even longer, if that were possible. His hair was slicked back expertly and he smelled too good to be standing with you in the harshly lit hallway with stale air and obscure landscapes hung on the walls. Billy can fit in anywhere, but not here. He’d probably love to hear that.

“You look good, Russo. Really good,” you smiled and tilted your head, placing yourself in his line of sight. Billy licked his teeth and rolled his eyes, grin barely concealed behind his pout.

“I always look good,” he corrected you as he stepped closer, really looking at you for the first time since entering the home.

There he is. You laughed and reached out to squeeze his arm. “Yeah, you’re going to give a girl a complex someday.”

Part of you wondered if Billy had gotten dressed up just for this or if he was coming straight from a meeting or if he had somewhere important to be after eating with you. He looked too good, and given your conversation that morning, you couldn’t figure out why.

He didn’t reach out to you after the night you ran into Carla and you didn’t blame him at all. After two days of radio silence, you called and much to your surprise, Billy answered. I’m sorry, you’d offered weakly, but genuinely. I’m so so sorry, Billy. He remained on the line, but quietly so. You could practically hear your own heart pounding in your ears, waiting for any sign that you hadn’t ruined whatever was blossoming between you two. But you confessed to bringing Carla to work with you, let him know that she could stay, just not for much longer. He didn’t comment, but he did accept your invitation to lunch, surprising you further by offering to pick you up. And here he was. True to his word.

You crossed your arms as you watched him clench and unclench his jaw over and over, slight pout to his lips as he thought. “You don’t have to go in, Billy...” you reminded him and it seemed that your voice pulled him from his thoughts as his surprised expression landed on you. “But if you do go...I’ll be right there with you.”

Billy licked his lips again and nodded before stepping closer to you, wordlessly popping one elbow away from his body and allowing you slip a hand around his arm. He wasn’t clinging to you or leaning on you, that wasn’t Billy’s style, but he allowed you to hold on to him after the hell you’d accidentally brought into his life and the gesture was not lost on you. You’d hold whatever part of Billy he offered to you, elbow, hand, heart if he’d ever allow it. This was enough for today.

Billy stepped into his mother’s room with you on his arm, both hands shoved deep into his pockets. His face was set into such a cold and menacing stare, you felt the tension in the room as clearly as you felt the fabric of his suit jacket under your fingers. Releasing him from your touch, you caught him lean forward, not chasing, but maybe missing you, before standing at attention and glaring back at the bed.

You moved to squat next to Carla’s head. You tried to rouse her and were met with a familiar glare. A few days of rest, fluids, and real food had done her a world of good. You could see the shadows of a woman who was once so beautiful, who would have been irresistible in her youth. Billy was proof of that. The black hairs were fading into gray with her years, but the black eyes were every bit the source of her son’s. Was the emptiness in them circumstantial or genetic?

“Carla,” you said gently, but she turned away from you, focusing on the dark and looming figure at the foot of her bed.

“You,” she whispered without any explanation.

“Leave us,” Billy said through grit teeth and you looked between them. Three decades of separation yet you couldn’t deny there was a conversation already passing between them that you were not invited to join. You looked up, but Billy was not looking at you. “Get out.” His voice was cold and when you moved past him obediently, he pivoted away, granting you plenty of space to exit without coming near him.

Any expectations you held for the day drifted away in a cloud of steam, extinguished in two words, after you stepped too close to the fire. Some fatal mixture of love and naivety drew you to Billy Russo like a moth to flame, but this particular flame had no desire to be admired from that close. Still, as you busied your hands with actual work to give Billy some semblance of privacy, some shroud of peace in which to process the chaotic return of a woman you knew toward whom he harbored nothing but ill will, your thoughts drifted selfishly to that night.

Almost all night, some part of Billy Russo had been touching you. It was nearly imperceptible at first, his knee met yours as he straddled a bar stool in a wide v, but you both took turns inching closer, ducking your head to hear him more clearly while Billy reached around you to pull your stool toward his, letting his long arm linger as he caged you in safely between him and the bar, until your denim clad thighs were pressed together. The warmth was undeniable, but neither of you apologized or pulled away from the accidental touch. It wasn’t purely accidental, evidenced as the touches continued, following the conversation across the bar to a dart board and a high top table with only one seat to spare. Billy threw the shiny metal tips with disturbing accuracy, but it didn’t keep you from playing with him, teasing gently as he stalked back to the seat you shared. His hands gripped the back rungs of the chair, dragging you roughly toward him with a smirk so threatening that your heart pounded wildly in your chest, as he stood between your knees. The dark wood of the stool was the only thing separating your bodies and even still it was only barely. One subtle shift and your zippers would become intimately acquainted. Billy’s arms flexed as he tightened his grip behind you, forearms resting against your rib cage while yours were draped casually on the seat back. You let your fingers fall, stroking the soft skin under his dark watch band, not the flashy silver timepiece he wore for the benefit of anyone whose hand he shook, but the black digital watch that looked like he’d brought it back from war with him.

Billy Russo never overlooked a detail and as he leaned over you, teasing back, laughing against your hair, offering to teach how to properly throw a dart though the match was abandoned for this new game between you, you couldn’t overlook the details either. From the stray hairs that fell over his brow as his face hovered over yours to the softness of the sweater he wore, to the chunky black watch, and down his long legs to the sturdy black boots he wore, all the details pointed to one thing. Billy was comfortable. And he was comfortable around you. With you. In that bar, on that night, with his lips so close to yours that he stole the very air you were meant to breathe, if your lungs hadn’t been paralyzed by the proximity. He wore a smile that served no purpose, charmed no investor or suitor. It was a smile just for you and for the hundredth time since meeting your soulmate, you shook your head in disbelief. He was yours and you were his. On some level that neither of you understood fully, that neither of you acknowledged in the light of day, but that neither of you could deny in the closeness. “Let’s get out of here,” he’d whispered, hands falling from the slats to your waist as if he’d planned on taking you with him. And that was it. The last sips of beers that had lost their chill when forgotten were taken all at once, the darts still huddled around the bullseye where he left them, Billy led you out of the bar with a hand sliding around from the small of your back to your hip then back again. He led you, gentle smirk on his lips that broke when you spun away from him until you were both laughing and you were leaning against his chest with his arm holding you close, completely unaware that twenty yards away a hard working man was taking a moment to piss while a woman in borrowed clothes pocketed a pack of cigarettes she couldn’t afford.

Again the sounds of your workplace were drowned out, but not by the ominous ticking of your watch. It was a scream, a shriek more like, and the pounding of tennis shoes through the halls. They’re headed toward- shit. You sprinted to join the commotion, running toward the fire not away as would be instinct for most, and ignored the exasperated shouts of Mr. Mulotti after you dropped his aching leg.

You skid to a stop as Billy stepped out of Carla’s room and swore at the empty wall across from him. His fist was clenched tight making his pale hand a near deathly white matching the bared teeth that stood out from a fatal scowl. The wall was a perfect target, broad and bare and asking for knuckles to break through the thin drywall, but Billy wasn’t brute force. You had no doubt in his abilities to quiet a man with his bare hands, but Billy’s anger wasn’t explosive like other men. He was a slow burn, a subtle sneer, and calculated measures. Once upon a time, there lived a scrappy fighter in the black top yard of a group home, going after his adversaries with flying fists and violent swings of the stick ball bat, but the man standing before you had the means to protect himself now. His willingness to get hands dirty, now coupled with the wisdom of choosing his moments carefully made Billy even more dangerous. You watched him straighten his back, set his shoulders, and roll his neck with a small sickening pops, wishing he’d just let a fist fly into the wall and calm your nerves.

“Billy...”

He turned at the sound of his name, the look on his face reflecting the shock you felt. Your voice sounded small and apologetic, not its usual tone and the instant sinking of your shoulders confirmed that he heard your sincerity.

“Oh Billy,” you sighed as your feet carried you toward him and his to you, until you met in the middle. His face, the one marred with fury only moments ago, was back over yours. Perfect with that slight pout he wore whilst thinking hard, save for a new addition. Two bright red lines, one about half the length of its twin, running down his neck. Their beginning obscured by dark facial hair, their end leaving delicate drops against an otherwise pristine white dress shirt. It was disturbing. The first thought that ran through your mind wasn’t a question about what happened, nor concern for Billy’s well being. You knew instantly who’s fingernails left the jagged lines and you knew that Billy had already suffered more at those hands that a scratch was simply that. The inescapable thought was how good Billy looked with blood on his shirt. It felt like those nights at the bar, like peeking behind the curtain. This was your soulmate. A bloodstain distracting from the polish. Billy wasn’t meant to sparkle and shine. Billy soaked into your heart and life as quickly and easily as the thick red spot bled into the fabric of his shirt.

You took his hand in yours and led him to your bland break room, gesturing wordlessly to the plastic sofa as you produced a thick red box from one of the cupboards. He sat quietly, watching you with the recent intensity you’d found comfort in, knowing his eyes were following you. Placing one knee on the cushion between his legs, you steadied yourself with one foot still on the floor. Billy responded instantly, leaning back into the sofa, exposing his neck while you rifled through the first aid kit, pulling out gloves and alcohol and a small patch of gauze. You worked quickly and tried to ignore Billy’s hand on the back of your thigh, not really grabbing or holding, just touching, feeling. Satisfied with the freshly cleaned wound, you peeled off your gloves, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other traced the pink lines up his neck. You felt Billy shiver beneath you and pulled away, moving your fingertips up his jaw as he straightened his neck to look at you face to face.

“I’m proud of you,” you said quietly, using both hands to fix his hair. Strands hand fallen out of place in the fuss and you knew if it wasn’t bothering him now it would soon. Tucking the thick locks back into place so they joined the expertly slicked back majority, you paused, noticing his black eyes were closed. You’d done it before, but as you moved your face closer nerves gripped your stomach in a vice. It’s not wrong. Billy’s eyes opened again just as your lips connected with the skin of his brow. He was warm and his whole body relaxed under you, strong hand moving up, not so subtly, from the back of your thigh to your waist. Long fingers wrapped around the fabric of your scrub top and tightened when you pulled away from him. “I mean it,” you whispered. Wrapping one arm around the back of his head, you raked your fingers through his hair one last time, the way he would to set it in place. Going into the room at all would have been difficult for anyone. Staying as long as he did, impressive. Not killing her for going after his perfect face, the only good thing she left for him, as he’d once called it, well that was strength of a new caliber.

Billy’s lips parted as if about to speak, when one of the nurses, Katie, appeared in the doorway, somewhat out of breath.

“We had to restrain her, but she’s- well, if you want to come back in-“

“That’s enough for today,” Billy said quickly, both of you moving in unison to peel away from each other. Before you could leave the room, you were halted, pulled back until you were face to face again with Billy, whose hands had found the hem of your scrubs again, pinky brushing against the white long sleeve under it. “I-“ he licked his lips and looked down. “I didn’t want do this.”

“I know, Billy. I’m so sorry, I-“

“Thank you,” he said with a resolution that told you the conversation was over, so you nodded. He cleared his throat and sucked in his lips as he looked around the room before eventually his eyes settled on you once more. “I’m starving,” he said simply and you smiled. “Let’s go.”

@something-tofightfor @littlemermaidprobz @actuallyazriel @cerezahowl @iaintnofurry

[ficdirectory]

Disuphere Universe miniseries: When I Was 8: Pearl

Thursday, July 4, 1991

Pearl can’t wait to get out of the car.  Driving around all day with Mom was boring.  And she’s already read all of the Babysitter’s Club books she brought with her.  They’re easy.  But they’re fun.  Plus, if they have summer reading lists for like numbers of books you read?  This will definitely put Pearl way ahead.

Mom parks.  It’s been a quiet ride except for the moment Pearl tried to compliment her singing voice.  Annie Lennox had been playing on the radio.  Mom was singing along.  Pearl was in awe:

“You have such a good singing voice,” she’d said.

“No, I don’t,” Mom responded, serious.

“Seriously, you do.  You could be on the radio.  You could be famous like Madonna.  That’s who Stef likes.  You know, Madonna, the singer?” Pearl had pressed.

“Yes, I know!”  Mom snapped.  “Just because you live under a rock doesn’t mean all of us do.  Leave Stefanie alone when we get there.  She doesn’t want an 8 year old tagging along after her.”

So, Pearl lugs her 16 books, her backpack, her notebooks and all of her pens inside the tiny cabin next door to Frank and Sharon Cooper.  Sharon’s fun.  Frank is crabby.  But Stef?  Pearl would like to be her.

“Don’t forget your overnight bag!” Mom snaps.  “I’m not gonna carry it.”

Pearl sighs.  She goes and finds the neon yellow bag with the neon pink trim.  It’s got all the faces of every single New Kid on the Block.  She hadn’t known about them or really cared about them until Mom got her a tape of theirs last month for her birthday.  She loves Cover Girl the most.  But she’s trying to get more into Madonna.

She listened to Mom’s Madonna tape when she wasn’t home.  Memorized all the lyrics to Like a Prayer.  But Pearl’s not as great a singer as Mom.  Or Madonna.  Pearl stops unpacking to look out the window.  Stef’s out there looking bored, hand on her hip, talking to her dad.  Stef has her hair styled the same way as Madonna.  Blonde curls to her chin.  With bangs.

Stef is 19.  Pearl would kill to be 19.  Okay, she wouldn’t really kill.  But she’d definitely be willing to get in some trouble if there was like, a Zoltar machine and she could make a wish to be big.

Pearl tries to remember what Mom said about not bugging Stef.  She rereads Mary Anne Saves the Day because that’s the best Mary Anne book.  By the time Jenny Prezzioso starts to not seem like herself, Mom yells to Pearl.

“Pearl, you are not going to sit inside  and read all weekend.  Go outside!”

“Okay!” Pearl says, jumping up off the couch and out the door.  She tries to walk like she’s cool, like Stef.  But instead, she looks like she has ants in her pants, because who knows how to walk cool when they’re eight?

She finds Stef on the step of the cabin.  Leaning back.  She’s got sunglasses on.  Pearl should go get hers.  Oh, they’re on her head.  She puts them down onto her face.  Hopes Stef won’t notice the Snoopys on them.  

“Hey,” Pearl says, leaning one elbow on the railing and yelping.  

“Hey.  That’s hot,” Stef warns.

“I know.  I mean, I didn’t know.  I just found out.  So…  I like your Madonna hair.”

“Ha!  Pearl likes my Madonna hair, Mother!”  Stef calls through the screen door.

“Pearl, please don’t encourage my daughter to look like a rockstar…” Sharon says, but she’s not mad about it.  She offers Pearl a beater to lick.  It has Cool Whip on it.  

“Thank you,” Pearl says.

“Hey, what about me?” Stef asks.

Sharon gives her the other beater, and walks back inside.

“So…” Stef says.  (Even the way she licks a beater is cool.  Pearl will never be this cool.)  “No Barbies?”

“Mom wouldn’t let me take them.  Too many accessories.” Pearl frowns.  She thought about sneaking her Mary baby Barbie doll with somehow.  But then she was pretty sure Mary would miss Katie.  And Theodore and Billy.  Her sister and brothers.  So Pearl left them at home all together.

“So…” Pearl leans back on her elbows, imitating Stef.  “No boyfriends?”

“There is this one guy...Mike?  But he barely knows I’m alive,” Stef breathes, disgusted.

“Ugh, I know.  Boy germs,” Pearl wrinkles her nose.

Stef blinks.  “Right.  What am I talking to you about boys for?  Aren’t you going into third grade or something?”

“Fifth,” Pearl says, proud.  “They kept letting me skip.”

“Wow,” Stef manages.  “I mean...wow…  If I was as smart as you, I wouldn’t be working at a corner store and babysitting, that’s for sure.”

“But that’s so cool!” Pearl gushes.  “I bet you have a lot of money saved up.”

“Not as much as you think…” Stef remarks.  “This takes work.”

“What?” Pearl asks.

Stef gestures to her face.

“Oh!  You mean your makeup!  My mom wears makeup.  I can’t yet…”

“Yeah?  Well, consider yourself lucky…” Stef mutters.

“Why?” Pearl asks.  “I can’t wait to be 19.  You can stay up as late as you want!  Have your own money.  Not have to listen to your mom.”

“Whoa there, little missy,” Sharon says, through the screen door.  “Just because Stefanie is 19 does not mean she doesn’t have to listen to me.”  She’s smiling, but Pearl still apologizes.

“I’m sorry,” she ducks her head.

“Come with me,” Stef invites, nodding to Pearl.

Pearl jumps to her feet.  They go down to the lake.  Pearl usually stays away from here, but with Stef she doesn’t feel so nervous.  They find Mom, smoking a cigarette.

“Got an extra?” Stef asks, and Mom taps out one and gives it to her.

Pearl’s mouth falls open.

“Don’t you get any ideas,” Mom warns Pearl.  

“I’m not.  Smoking’s bad for you,” she says.

“You could always go see if my mom needs help in the kitchen,” Stef remarks.

Dejected, Pearl walks away.  She can’t believe her role model smokes cigarettes!  She’s going to die like eight years earlier now.  That thought makes tears spring to Pearl’s eyes.  She had already cried all of her tears over the idea of Mom dying eight years earlier and now she has to deal with the idea that Stef is gonna die, too?

She sits on the steps alone, this time.  Tears drop off her face and onto her legs.  Her Never Going to Be Madonna Legs.

“What’s shakin’, bacon?” Frank asks, sitting beside her on the steps.

Pearl pushes her glasses up on her nose.  “What?”

“What’s all this?  What are the--uh--tears for?”

“They wash your eyes,” Pearl explains.  Maybe they didn’t learn science when Frank was a kid.

“No, I mean…  What’s upsetting you?” Frank asks, flustered.

“Human mortality,” Pearl tells Frank seriously.

“Damn,” Frank swears.  “Well, why don’t you help me at the grill?  Handling meat always makes me feel better…” he grunts, getting to his feet.

Pearl squints behind her sunglasses, cocking her head.  “Why?”

“Couldn’t say.”  But he extends a hand her way.  She follows.

She spends the next few hours forgetting all about Stef and Mom smoking by the lake.  She puts cheese on burgers.  Even though Frank said she might get to handle some meat to make her feel better, he seems to think better of it when she’s actually standing there.  She doesn’t mind being on cheese duty.  She loves cheese.  Thinks about eating it all.  The only thing that stops her is the idea that Mom might find out and Pearl might be in trouble.

That night, they eat the burgers and hot dogs Pearl helped with.  There’s strawberry fluff that Mom made.  And a cake that Sharon made.  And raw veggies and brown beans and chips.  Pearl eats a ton.  Wondering if she’ll ever gain any weight or always look like a beanpole.

That night, they all get in Frank’s boat.  Pearl shivers in her tee shirt and shorts.

“I’m cold,” she whispers to Mom.  

“Well, you should’ve grabbed a jacket like I told you,” she says, whispering back.

Except Mom never told her to grab a jacket.  

Pearl sits on one of the seats, huddled up as Mom rolls her eyes and laughs.  “Pearl, it’s not that cold.  It’s the 4th of July.”

But she feels something get draped over her shoulders.  Stef’s jean jacket.  “Here,” she says.  It smells like smoke and Christian Dior’s Poison perfume.  Like grapes times infinity.  Uniquely Stef.  

Pearl cuddles in the jacket.  “Thank you.”

Now that she’s warmer, Pearl watches the sky, ready for when it explodes with color.  Fireworks are so radical.  It’s even better when Stef puts an arm around Pearl’s shoulders.

“I still have to listen to my mom,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” Pearl reassures.  “So do I.”

Stef kind of laughs.  “I wanted to stay home this year, but Dad wouldn’t hear it.  Mom either, so here I am…”

“It’s okay.  We can hang out together,” Pearl reassures.

“Does your mom need a babysitter?” Stef asks as the sky explodes with the grand finale.  

She’s so happy.  Then the sky goes dark again.  Then, Stef’s question really sinks in.

Pearl deflates.  Mom doesn’t have extra money for anything.  And Pearl left her saved allowance at home in the tiny cardboard box with the money slot.  She has about $30 saved.  Including birthday money.

“We can’t pay you,” Pearl says serious.

“What?” Mom budges into the conversation.  “Pearl, don’t talk about money, honey, it’s rude.”

“She asked.” Pearl protests.

“I did,” Stef nods as they drive back to shore.  “Wanted to know if you could use a sitter.”

“You know, I really could.” Mom answers.

Pearl keeps her mouth shut and listens.  It’s not like Mom ever watches her anyway.  But Pearl’s not going to do anything to ruin the chance to get to hang out with Stef more...even if it is to get money for watching her.

For the next two days, there’s a note on the table when Pearl wakes up that says to go next door and Stef will watch her.  But at home, Pearl’s not allowed to go anywhere when her mom isn’t home.  She hangs out inside, making sure her bed is made and she is dressed and has eaten breakfast before peeking out the window at the cabin next door.  She won’t go over until she sees one of them go outside.

It takes two hours for Pearl to see Stef go outside with her book.  Then Pearl runs out to meet her.  “Hi!”

“Hey.  Thought you were gonna be here at like 8:00.  That’s what your mom said.”

“Oh.  I didn’t wanna wake anybody up.” Pearl admits.

“So, did you like the fireworks?” Stef asks.

“Yeah,” Pearl smiles.  Just saying it makes Pearl remember the warmth of Stef’s jacket and the arm around her.  The grape gum explosion smell and smoke all mixed together with the fabric.

“Do you think I can still get paid for those two hours even though you weren’t here?” Stef asks.

“I won’t tell,” Pearl promises.

For a while, it’s fun.  Stef reads aloud to her.  Stef drives them to the Taco Bell and they have lunch.  But after lunch, Stef goes back inside her cabin.  Pearl follows.  They’re showing Beverly Hills, 90210 all day.  Stef looks like this is where she wants to be.

After a while, Sharon comes in and nods to Pearl.  Pearl gets up and goes with her to one of the bedrooms.  In it, she finds an old Barbie case.  With Barbies from the ‘70’s inside.  Pearl plays by herself, giving them names, and stories.  

(They’re not the same as her Barbies at home, but at least they’re Barbies.)

All the rest of that day and all the next she plays with Stef’s old Barbies. She sees Mom at dinner time every day.  And on Saturday, it’s time to go.

Pearl watches Mom give Stef a bunch of money.  Pearl feels funny inside.  Knowing she really only watched her for two hours.  But Pearl promised not to say anything...so she just doesn’t.

“So, did you have fun?” Mom asks, bright.

“Sure.  Did you?” Pearl asks.

“I really did,” Mom says back.

Pearl settles in with her books again, and thinks, as long as Mom’s happy.  

If Mom’s happy, everybody’s happy.  

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 17 Part 1

So. What’s everyone else been up to?

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 17

Saturday

Armageddon dawned, with minimal fuss, in the village of Tadfield, England. Things wouldn’t properly kick off for a few hours still, so there was time for a lie-in.

Warlock Young, son of Deirdre and Arthur Young, was in his bedroom. He sat, bleary-eyed, in the morning light coming through the window. He normally refused to achieve consciousness before noon on Saturdays, but he had woken up early[1] thanks to the piping voices of other children in the street, so he had dragged himself up to glare at them.

Warlock was not Warlock’s actual name. It was certainly not what his parents called him. They called him young man - pun not intended. Mr. Young had never intended a pun in his life.

Tadfield had been, at one point, a wonderful place for a child to grow up, but that was before Warlock’s time. In the late aughts, a dual carriageway had barrelled into town like a runaway lawnmower through an outdoor chess garden. It had bisected the bucolic village, taking out the village green and the historic church. The shell-shocked remains now huddled for warmth by the side of the road. Motorists usually mistook them for a rest stop junction.

Warlock didn’t care about any of this. The only effect it had on him was that his dad wouldn’t stop banging on about air quality, of which he took daily measurements with a little metre thing that clipped onto the fridge.

Warlock hated Tadfield. Warlock hated most things. He especially hated the kids who had woken him up, ambling by outside his bedroom window. They were chattering, like always. A girl in a stripy top with red wellington boots, a boy covered in dirt, and a small bespectacled boy who looked like dirt wouldn’t dare to come anywhere near him.

They were in his class, and they thought they were a gang. Not a proper gang like the ones that smoked and threw bricks at each other. A stupid kid gang. Except, after they all sat through that earnest school assembly about knife crime, they started lowering their voices whenever they mentioned the word gang. Which was stupid, because no-one in their right mind would have thought of them as a real gang to begin with. All they did was hang out and eat ice cream and pretend to play with swords and cloaks and lightsabers. It was dumb, and Warlock did not want to be friends with them.

They were probably heading to the local park. If you could call it a park. It had nothing in it like grass or trees or equipment that wasn’t broken. Warlock’s mum always told him not to go there in case there were needles lying around. He rolled his eyes whenever she said that. He wouldn’t go there anyway, because Warlock didn’t like to go outside.

The girl stopped by the Youngs’ front garden wall to retie her ponytail. Warlock ducked to the side of the window in case she looked up and saw him.

“Come on, Pepper,” the boy with the grimy face said. What was he always so cheerful about?

She followed the other two past Warlock’s window and out of sight. Warlock watched them go with narrowed eyes.

He went downstairs. Maybe he’d visit the park. For unrelated reasons.

His mum had the news on. The newsreader was saying something boring Warlock didn’t listen to. His mum looked worried, though.

His dad was sticking his head through the kitchen window. “Funny weather outside, Deirdre,” he called back in.

Where else would the weather be? Warlock had the most embarrassing dad in the world. Although the light outside was a bit weird. He had paid little attention before, but the sky out of his window had been full of strange, metallic-coloured clouds.

Warlock snuck his faux leather jacket from the coat hook on his way out of the front. His mum called out something to him, but he shut the front door before he could take in what it was.

The wind tore into him like a knife. He almost forgot about the park and fled back indoors. Then he thought of the three kids and Pepper’s red wellington boots and glared. He shrugged into his jacket, wrapped his arms around his torso and stomped up the road, teeth chattering.

Everything looked a weird colour. He’d been right about the sky. There was a sort of swirling pattern on the ground, too, from the clouds.

Maybe Greasy would know what was up with the weather. He watched nature documentaries sometimes. Greasy Johnson was Warlock’s sort of friend. They bonded over liking to sit in their rooms looking up stuff on the internet that their parents wouldn’t approve of and hating all the other kids in their class. Greasy had prize-winning tropical fish. When he first went over to Greasy’s house for tea, aged six, Warlock almost made fun of the tropical fish, but decided not to, as even back then Greasy was already four times Warlock’s size and could definitely put him in a headlock. Warlock was glad now that he hadn’t said anything, because he thought the fish were pretty cool.

Warlock was called Warlock because he’d once played a warlock in the game he and Greasy had made up together that was not Dungeons and Dragons, it was way cooler, although it did feature heavily both dungeons and dragons. Warlock felt a bit bad that they hadn’t come up with a cool nickname for Greasy that would actually stick. Greasy had been Greasy since nursery, and there was no shifting it now.

The three kids in the park - the Them - and Greasy were kind-of rivals, which was another reason Warlock was happy to agree they were rubbish. Greasy, technically, started it by being, technically, a bully. Warlock didn’t hold this against him. He didn’t bully Warlock, and Warlock would probably turn to bullying himself if it didn’t require him to interact with other children.

He had arrived. The wind moaned in his face. He hoped it wasn’t messing his hair up too badly. He was growing it long, but he suspected some of it was already sticking up weirdly. He self-consciously tried to pat it flat.

The three Them were sitting in the broken cage thing. All children’s playgrounds had one of these. A climbing frame shaped like an egg, part-buried in the ground. It looked like a cage with a little door in the front. The Them were huddled inside it, faces screwed up against the cold. Warlock felt satisfaction at the knowledge that someone else was concluding they would have been better off staying home.

He skulked round the edge of the park. He kept the three Them in the corner of his eye.

Pepper looked over her shoulder when he wandered round the back of the egg-cage-thing. His heartbeat picked up for a second. She frowned, suspicious, and turned back.

Warlock casually, in a series of loops and doubling-back, sauntered towards the cage.

He stepped onto a rung one step off the ground and gripped with his hands near the top. Slightly elevated, he looked down on the backs of the heads of the Them.

Pepper and the boy with the dirty face glared up at him. The small boy glanced up, turned red and looked away.

“What?” said Pepper.

Warlock gave a shrug. “Nothing.”

He might have practised the careworn shrug and the bored ‘nothing’ in his bedroom mirror a few times. Ennui was a difficult thing to convey.

Pepper narrowed her eyes. Warlock tried not to be nervous. Pepper talked a lot in class about feminism and anti-war stuff and someone called Maya Angelou. Warlock didn’t take all of it in, but it was pretty impressive -

No. Scary -

Wait. Uh.

“What are you looking at, stupid?”

Oh no. He didn’t say that, did he?

No. Pepper just said it to him. Warlock blinked a few times, trying his hardest not to blush. This was spinning out of control. He was going to have to insult someone.

“Your dungarees make you look like Pippi Longstocking,” he sneered.

Pepper stared at him with contempt. Warlock cringed. That had been deeply, wincingly unfortunate.

“Who’s Pippin Longbottom?” the grimy kid asked.

“I think she’s Swedish?” the un-grimy kid said.

Pepper rolled her eyes. “She’s a literary heroine, and she’s got super strength and she can fly. So that’s not actually much of an insult. Not that I’ve read those books.” She turned slightly red herself. “It was on TV once. It was ok. My little sister liked it.”

The sneer in her voice hit home. This was going terribly. All the practicing Warlock did in front of the mirror wasn’t helping at all.

He rallied. “Well. Did you know you’re not a real gang?”

“’Course. Real gangs aren’t allowed. Because of the knives,” the small boy said, promptly.

Pepper gave Warlock a weary sort of look. “Why don’t you hang out with Greasy Johnson? Speaking of a gang. If you can call two people a gang.”

“I don’t just hang out with Greasy all the time. I know lots of people.” Warlock was aware this was largely a lie.

Pepper crossed her arms. “Oh yeah? What are our names?”

The other two looked up.

Warlock almost rolled his eyes. Of course he knew their names. They were in his class. He just enjoyed thinking of them as nameless because they were annoying.

He pointed at the two boys. “Billy-bob. Red Leicester.” He pointed at Pepper and grinned. “And Pippin Galadriel Moonchild -”

She was almost upon him before he could get to the end. He sprinted towards the gate and made it three steps before a whirlwind of eleven-year-old fury tackled him from behind and brought him crashing to the ground.

Warlock coughed and squirmed under Pepper’s knees wedged into his back. He hoped he wasn’t lying on any needles.

“Say that again -”

Warlock tried to throw her off and came up comically short. Pepper punched him in the back of the shoulder. He tried not to cry.

Pepper sat back up. He could hear the grim smile in her voice.

“Oh, look. Super strength, and I can fly.”

Something splatted on the ground nearby. Warlock hardly noticed.

The polite voice of the dirt-repellent boy drifted to them across the playground. “Er. Pepper?”

A couple more splats sounded. Pepper didn’t comment on them, so nor did Warlock.

“You’re ruining my jacket,” he said.

“Say sorry, then. Maybe I’ll let you up.”

Splat. Splat.

“Oh, wow, that’s weird,” the dirt-attracting boy said.

Pepper’s weight on top of Warlock suddenly went slack. Warlock still couldn’t push her off, but it was as if she’d got distracted from trying to wrestle him down. He wriggled for all he was worth. Eventually he got lucky, or she lost interest, and he tipped her off and scrambled up again, nursing a scraped elbow.

Warlock took in the slimy things lying all around the playground. They were piling up, everywhere. More of them were falling, landing in squishy heaps.

The other three stared into the sky, agog. Warlock joined them.

It was raining fish…

~*~

A fish landed on Crowley’s head as he rounded a corner on Regent’s Park. He tossed it aside. Nothing that disgusting would normally dare land on him, which confirmed the fish rain was the doing of the Antichrist, as if that had been in any doubt.

The cultural attaché’s residence came into view. Crowley felt like he hadn’t been back there in decades, while also feeling like he was slinking back into work in the same clothes after a dirty weekend. Which was about accurate, come to think of it.

The sky flickered and churned overhead. He was getting a bit sick of the Hollywood special effects. That’s what happened when you let Americans raise the Antichrist. He reached the gates. He looked round upon hearing the sounds of a motorbike and a woman screaming.

A pink scooter flew down the street. Two humans were upon it, both wearing day-glo cycle helmets. Both of their mouths were stretched in rictus gurns of terror. Only one of them was actually screaming. The man(?) at the back appeared so disturbed, despite the contortions his face was making, that his throat produced no noise. The woman driving was giving it a full-throated yell. Despite being eight feet off the ground and zooming towards Crowley at seventy miles per hour, the scooter was otherwise studiously obeying the laws of traffic. That was Crowley’s first clue that Aziraphale was involved. He looked closer at the woman and saw something he recognised in her.

The scooter slowed in mid-air and touched down with a degree of consideration for its passengers.

The man stayed where he was, clutching his heart and also a giant, lethal, trumpety-looking thing. The woman looked green.

She looked up, and something shifted in her face. In a familiar, beloved voice, she said, “Crowley!”

She unhooked the day-glo helmet and clambered off the scooter. She tripped towards him, moving as if slightly uncertain how to walk in heels.

Crowley sauntered to meet her in the middle.[2] “Hi, Aziraphale. Nice dress. Suits you.”

The woman Aziraphale had possessed had red hair, even though it was clearly from a bottle. Crowley decided to feel like he’d been given a compliment.

Concern gripped him. If Aziraphale had had to possess a human, that meant -

“Angel, where’s your gem?”

Aziraphale’s unhappiness shone out of a stranger’s face. “In Heaven, I’m afraid.”

Crowley hissed in a breath. His mind supplied him with images of Aziraphale’s gem passing through Gabriel’s large, indifferent hands. Being thrown in a vault or bubbled.

“They had hellfire. They were going to use it on me.”

Crowley swore. There had been a few times in his long life when reality had thrown him a curve-ball even worse than whatever he had already been thinking.

“They wouldn’t melt your gem?”

“Michael was interrogating me before I escaped. I imagine she already has.”

Crowley stared at the small, middle-aged woman in jewel tones and bold makeup, staring up at him with Aziraphale’s expression. He tried to process that this was the form the love of his life was stuck in, potentially forever.

A different person bubbled up and overlaid Aziraphale. She coughed.

“Don’t mean to disturb you gents when you’re having a catch-up, but if you don’t mind, can I just help the Sergeant down off the scooter?”

Crowley looked at the man with the big trumpet. He was clinging to the back of the moped like a seasickness victim too scared to disembark down the plank. When the woman threatened to help him, he glowered and inched sideways off the scooter until he was almost at a ninety-degree angle to the ground. He staggered off in a series of hops, hefted the trumpet, and barked:

“Ay, Mister Crowley. It’s been a while. Ay didnae know you were involved in this Antichrist job. Glad tae be of service.” He gave a nasty cough. “P’rhaps we can sort out payment later? The lads… ye ken how it is…”

Crowley stared blankly. It had been years since he’d spoken to his contact in the Witchfinder Army, but his mind supplied an angry, nicotine-coloured Scotsman. The years had already been unkind to him when they’d last met, and they appeared to have ganged up on him a few more times since then.

“Oh, yeah… hi there.” His eyes drifted to the trumpet. Its purpose still eluded him.

“Sergeant Shadwell is providing us with ammunition,” Aziraphale volunteered. “As you can see, he is armed.”

“Oh.” Crowley’s face cleared. He was still a bit lost, but the trumpet being a weapon of some kind made a bit of sense. It was smart of Aziraphale to think to bring it. Satan knew they were under-equipped. Crowley had tried to sneak a hellhound out with him, but almost lost an arm.

“And I’m Madame Tracy. Medium,” the woman said, brightly.

Shadwell gave a cough that sounded like “Hoor of Babylon”.

All right, then. This was the team Crowley was facing down the apocalypse with. He gave a grim nod.

“Er. Madame Tracy, was it?”

“Yes, dearie?”

This was going to be awkward. Crowley tried not to show it. “Sorry to ask, but - permission to hug Aziraphale?”

Her eyes went huge. She giggled and blushed.

“All right, just this once. You two!”

Her face shifted, and Aziraphale moved back to the surface. There was still a trace of the blush on his face.

He stepped into Crowley’s arms and buried his face in his jacket. Crowley held the smaller, perfumed, colourful frame that contained Aziraphale. Behind him, Shadwell’s glower grew more pronounced.

This wasn’t permanent. The angels could do whatever they wanted to Aziraphale’s gem. Today, either everything ended, or everything would be saved, the two of them included.

“Right then,” he said with grim determination. “Let’s go speak to the boy who controls reality.”

---

[1] 11:42.

[2] Moving as if uncertain how to walk, full stop.

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