#taking over this corner of tumblr for the next five weeks

[howmanyholesinswisscheese]

loki season two: exists

lokius shippers:

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Seven

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

Javi P got a lot of attention last week, both his visit to the bakery and for the many Pickled Peña fics he starred in. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! It really means more than you probably reaslise! It's been a rough week and I feel lucky to have found a great community here and to have found so much fun and enjoyment in writing to keep my mind off things.

This week's Pedro boy is dedicated to my lovely friend @secretelephanttattoo who is not only an amazing writer, but also one of the best people I've meet on Tumblr. Love you ❤

Series Master List

Working in a bakery almost every day means you pick up on people’s habits, whether they come into the shop or not. You know the bookshop owner across the streets always arrives ten minutes late on Tuesdays. The bodega owner next to your bakery always picks up his dry cleaning on Fridays and the dry cleaning lady always throws out her trash on Thursday evening. And you know that the cute guy with a dimpled smile always walks past your shop at about eight forty-five every weekday morning. 

He hasn’t always walked past, it started just a few weeks ago, but now it’s routine. You’d first noticed him when he stumbled over something on the sidewalk, smacking his hand against your window to keep his balance, and making you jump. He’d given you an apologetic smile, that’s how you know he’s got a deep dimple on his left cheek. And a really, really, great smile. 

The next morning you noticed him again as he glanced in through the window and smiled, a quick wave as he hurried down the street. And the same thing the next morning and then it was a routine. Around eight forty-five, between customers, you’d keep glancing over at the window until you see him walk past in his well fitted business suit, always a tie flapping in the breeze. He has a routine with those too you notice; a blue tartan pattern on Mondays, slate gray on Tuesdays, navy blue with white dots on Wednesday and the then tartan one again on Thursdays before he ditches the ties on Fridays. You wouldn’t go as far as saying that seeing him is the highlight of your day, but when one day he doesn’t pass by, you notice. And when the rest of the week passes and he doesn’t show up at all, you feel a little bit sad, even though you never even spoke with him. 

Monday morning, eight thirty, and you’re working your way through the morning rush, serving coffee and selling croissants and cinnamon rolls, he suddenly appears again. But this time he’s in front of your counter, holding on to a credit card as he smiles down at you. 

“Hi,” he says, the dimple deep in his cheek, “I thought it was about time I stopped by and said hello properly.” 

“Hi,” you say, a little breathless, he’s even cuter, and handsome, up close, and you’re suddenly very aware of your shiny face, straggly hair and stained apron. 

“I’m Marcus, Marcus Pike,” he says, holding out his hand, “I’m the creepy guy who slams into your window and never comes inside.” 

“Hi Marcus,” you reply, taking his hand, hoping yours isn’t too sweaty and clammy, “I’m the creepy baker who stares at you every morning.” 

He laughs at that, a warm sound that makes your spine tingle as his eyes crinkle at the corners, a wide smile making another dimple pop on his cheek. 

“I guess we need to be less creepy then,” he chuckles, “maybe I can start by buying a coffee like a normal customer?” 

“That sounds like a good start,” you smile back at him, “what would you like?” 

“A cappuccino, please,” he glances up at the coffee menu behind you. 

“Coming right up, anything else?” You motion at the fresh croissants and pain au chocolat piled up on the counter and he looks at them with longing. 

“I would love too, really…but my job, we’ve got this fitness test thing in a few weeks and I’ve got to be in shape for that. That’s why I started walking to work, instead of taking the metro.” 

“Come back when the test is done then, if you pass, it’ll be on the house,” you wink at him over your shoulder as you start preparing his cappuccino. 

“Now there’s the motivation I need,” Marcus laughs, stepping back and glancing over the selection inside the display cases, “But you don’t have my favorite I think.” 

“No? What’s your favorite then?” you ask, “No, wait, don’t tell me, let me guess.” 

“Ok,” Marucs smiles as you hand him the cappuccino in a takeaway cup,” what’s my favorite?” 

You look him up and down, and he grins and takes a step back so that you can see all of him, holding out his arms and giving you a little spin. 

“Hmm…business suit, always a tie, well polished shoes and a job that requires fitness tests…” you hum, enjoying the chance he’s given you at properly taking him in. His suit stretches almost  tight over his broad shoulders, hugging his biceps, and when he holds out his arms, the shirt underneath hangs on for dear life. The suit jacket lifts up over his butt as he turns and you’re given the privilege of eyeing it for the first time. It’s just as cute as the rest of him and you have to mentally chastise yourself for ogling. 

“What’s your guess?” he smiles, coming to a stop in front of you again. 

“Carrot cake, but you wipe off the frosting to stay healthy,” you say and he manages to look both cute, amused and offended at the same time. 

“No way, I would never sacrifice the frosting!” he says, pretending to be insulted as he grins, “but nice try, I really like carrot cake, but it’s not my favorite.” 

“Hmm…maybe-”

“No,” he interrupts you with a wave of his hand, “you get only one guess per day, you can guess again tomorrow.” He gives you a warm smile and as he taps his credit card to pay for the coffee.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, keep guessing,” he says, stepping aside to let the man who’s just stepped into the shop approach the counter. With a final wave he disappears out through the door. 

The next morning he turns up again, as the morning rush dies down, and orders another cappuccino. 

“Canéles,” you say, pointing at him. “Fancy, French, just the thing a guy in a smart, well tailored suit would like.” 

Marcus grins and shakes his head, “I don’t even know what they are, but keep guessing!”

“Give me more clues then!” you protest as he takes a sip of the coffee you just handed him. 

“Hmm…I used to play bass in a band in college,” he says and you raise your eyebrows. He does not look like a bass player, or any kind of band member for that matter. 

“Special brownies?” you ask with a wink and Marcus almost spits out his coffee. 

“Definitely not,” he splutters, chuckling as he wipes his chin, “and you only get one guess per day.” 

“Says who?” you ask, but you already know the answer, Marcus’s grin tells you. 

“I do, my game, my rules,” he gives you a wink and heads for the door, “see you tomorrow!” 

Wednesday he comes in a little bit earlier and hands you a travel mug. 

“This looks brand new,” you say and he nods. 

“Decided I should save on the environment, and your takeaway mugs,” he smiles, leaning on the counter while you start preparing his coffee, “What’s your guess today then?” 

“Cinnabons,” you say, glancing over your shoulder, feeling butterflies erupt in your belly when his face splits into a wide grin. But he shakes his head and you give him a mock scowl. 

“You’re impossible to guess!” 

“Keep trying, gives me a reason to come in every morning,” he replies, “Not that I need a reason though,” he adds, a pink flush suddenly creeping up from beneath his shirt collar as he gives you an uncharacteristically shy smile. 

“I’ll keep trying if you promise to keep coming in,” you smile back at him, you can feel heat creeping up your own cheeks as you hand him his travel mug. And of course his fingers touch yours, just a light brush, but enough for both of you to glance down at your hands. You jump a little as his breath catches and when you look up at him again, his lips are parted and you see the tip of his tongue peak out, just for a split second, before he composes himself. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he smiles, “thanks for the coffee again.” 

Thursday he’s a little bit late, and he hurries through the door with his tie hanging around his neck, untied. 

“Sorry, I worked late last night and slept through my alarm this morning,” he huffs as he reaches the counter. 

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” you smile, “I only sell you your coffee,” you hand him the cappuccino you’ve already made him and he gives you a grateful look, “and let me fix your tie while you caffeinate yourself.” 

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” he sighs and takes a long sip of the coffee as you walk around the counter and stand in front of him. You look up at him, taking hold of each end of his tie, and you suddenly realize you’ve never been this close to him before. There’s always been a counter between the two of you. Now he’s standing barely a foot away and you can smell his aftershave, warm and woody, as you adjust the tie. 

“Over…under…over again…” you mumble to yourself, trying to remember what your dad taught you, “up through the neck and down…there, got it,” you say, gently tightening the tie up against the collar as Marcus lifts his chin up, “but you might want to adjust it.” 

“No, it feels perfect,” he says, giving you a warm smile, “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you smile back at him, tilting your head up a little to be able to meet his eyes now that he’s standing so close. You should really move back but he smells good and his eyes are so soft looking, the way he just smiles at you. 

“What’s your guess?” he asks, smoothing his hand down over his tie as you drop yours to the side. 

“What?” you mumble, slightly distracted by how his throat bobs just over the knot in the tie where your hands just where. 

“What’s your guess for my favorite baked thing?” Marcus says again and you blink, catching on. 

“Oh, of course! Uhmm…brownies? But real brownies, gooey in the middle and crunchy corners?” 

“Oh….that is definitely high up on my list, but not my absolute favorite, you’re getting close though,” he grins at you, putting down his coffee mug on the counter. 

“I’ve got to run, but….are you free tomorrow, after work?” he asks, his eyebrows knotting together as he waits for your answer. 

“Yeah, I’m free,” you say, you can’t stop the smile breaking out on your face at the question and he smiles back at you. 

“If you want, I’d really like to have dinner with you, maybe we can both drink something this time?” 

“That sounds nice, I’d like that, Marcus,” you reply, butterflies multiplying in your belly as he gently puts his hand on your arm, “and I’ll definitely figure out what your favorite is by then.” 

“It’s a date then,” he grins, “you supply my favorite and I’ll sort the rest, I’ll come by at closing, ok?” 

You nod and before you know it, he’s leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” 

Friday morning Marcus stops by and buys his, by now, regular coffee, “So what’s my favorite?” he asks with a cheeky grin and you stick your tongue out at him. 

“Not telling you,” you smirk at him, “I’ll serve it tonight, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it figured out now.”

“I can’t wait,” he chuckles, winking at you before he grabs his travel mug and hurries off to work. 

Your day drags on and your nerves tingle every time you glance up at the clock at the wall. When the shop quietens down after lunch you prepare what you hope is Marcus’s favorite dessert, putting it in the fridge for baking later. 

Just a few minutes before the clock hits closing time you hear the jingle of the doorbell and look up to see Marcus step through it. He’s changed out of his usual business suit and is wearing a leather jacket over a gray t-shirt and jeans, a bright smile as he gives you a wave. You ring up your final customer, bidding them a nice weekend as Marcus lingers to the side, and then you get a chance to say hello to him as you go to lock the door and flip the sign. 

“Hi Marcus,” you smile at him as he steps forward.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against your cheek, leaving the spot tingling and your skin warm. When he straightens up he smiles at you, his eyes soft and crinkling at the corners, “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a slightly unusual plan,” he says, pointing to the duffel bag he’s got hanging from his shoulder, “Dinner’s on me, but in your kitchen.” 

“You’re cooking for me?” you ask and he nods. 

“Seems only fair, you’re making dessert, so I do the rest….well…” he gives a little embarrassed shrug, “with a little bit of help from my favorite restaurant.” 

“Sounds like a nice plan,” you say, putting your hand on his arm and his smile brightens again, “come, let me show you the kitchen then.” 

You lead him past the counter and into the back room, the kitchen clean and ready for tomorrow, except the dessert for Marcus. “What do you need?” you ask, “Help yourself to anything.” 

“First of all, I need you to sit down,” he says with a smile, looking around the kitchen for a chair and spotting only the stool with wheels on, “Not many places to sit in here, huh?” 

“When would I have time to just sit around?,” you laugh, taking your apron off and throwing it in the dirty laundry basket in the back room, “I usually just sit on the counter.” You heave yourself up onto the large workbench as Marcus starts unpacking his duffel bag. He’s hung his jacket on the hook by the door and now he’s crouched down, digging through the content at his feet. The gray t-shirt hugs his shoulders, stretching tight over his back and riding up, exposing a strip of bare skin just above his jeans. It’s so far from the man in the well fitted business suits you’ve been seeing every morning for the past few weeks, a much more relaxed Marcus. 

“Do you wear the suits every day because your job requires you too?” you ask, taking the opportunity to stretch your tired back as you get settled on the counter, baking all day takes a toll on your body. 

“Yeah, I don’t mind them but I prefer the days when I don’t have to wear them,” he answers, standing up and placing a stack of boxes next to you on the counter. “No peeking,” he says in a stern voice, smirking at you and you hold up your hands. 

“I’m not touching anything,” you reply, “But I never asked what you work with?” 

“I work at the FBI, with art theft,” he says and you widen your eyes. 

“Don’t tell me you’re an FBI agent?”

“Yeah,” he furrows his brow as he looks over at you, “do you..is- is that a problem?” 

“No, no, not at all, I’ve just never met an FBI agent. It makes being a baker seem very tame is all.” 

“Maybe tame is good sometimes,” he chuckles and looks around the kitchen and his brow furrows again, “Hhmm…hang on, I’ll be right back,” he says, grabbing the bag and going out into the shop again, “No peeking!”. 

“What are you doing?” you call out to him as you hear tables and chairs being moved around. 

“Nothing, just setting things up, just wait there,” he calls back and a few minutes later he comes back to the kitchen. 

“Now, let’s get dinner ready,” he smiles, “Plates and a small saucepan?” 

You direct him to them and soon he’s arranging food on two smaller plates. 

“Miss,” he says, winking at you and holding out his arm, “Let me show you to your table.” 

“How nice, please lead the way,” you smile at him and slip off the counter, taking his arm. He brings you out into the café part of the bakery and leads you to one of the small round tables by the window. He’s put a white table cloth on it and set two candles in the middle, another few candles arranged around the shop. The sun is setting outside and in the dim light of the shop the candles spread a golden glow, giving it an atmosphere you’ve never seen before. 

“Marcus…this is lovely, I’ve never had my shop look so nice before,” you say, sitting down as he pulls out the chair for you, “It’s so…romantic,” you let it slip out without thinking but Marcus puffs up a little and beams down at you.  

“I’m glad you like it, I really like your shop,” he smiles, “and I really like the shop owner, I wanted to make it special for you.”  

“You might be my very favorite customer, Marcus,” you smile back up at him, your cheeks heating up and he grins. 

“First course is coming right up,” he says with a smile and disappears into the kitchen. 

“You should give food walking tours of the city,” you joke as Marcus smiles at you from across the table. “I’m so full but I still want to go and eat at all your favorite places right now.” 

“I’d take them here first,” he says, “and make sure everyone knows where the best bakery in town is, but…” he leans forwards and grins at you, “Speaking of baking, I want to know if you’ve guessed my favorite dessert yet.” 

You give him a soft laugh and mimic his movement, leaning forward to meet him across the table, “I think I might have, I just need to go and turn on the oven and then they’ll be ready in a few minutes. But I just realized, you never said what my reward would be for guessing correctly.” 

Marcus hums, tapping his long fingers on his chin as he looks at you, a mischievous smile making the corner of his mouth curl up. 

“I don’t think we agreed on anything, but if you go turn on the oven and I’ll come up with something good,” he says, his smile widening, making your skin heat up as his eyes seem to suggest something enticing. 

Thank god for your industrial oven, it turns on and heats up to the right temperature in no time. While you pull out the dessert plates and take the ice cream out to soften, it hums to life and pings. The dessert goes in and you set a timer and go back out to Marcus, sitting down at the table again. 

“It just needs a few minutes,” you tell him, “did you come up with a reward?” 

“Yeah, I did, but what if you guess wrong?” he asks, “I need a reward too.” 

“If I’m wrong…” you say, thinking out loud, “you tell me your favorite, and no matter what it is, I’ll make it for you.” 

“That’s a nice idea,” Marcus smiles, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, the t-shirt stretching tight over his biceps, you swear you can hear a seam ripping behind him, “but I like my idea better.” 

“What’s your idea then?” you ask, giving him a suspicious look, he’s got a very happy grin as he looks at you. 

“If you guess wrong, I can take you on a second date,” he says and you laugh, that’s probably the easiest reward he could’ve asked for and you see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he sees your laughter.

“Hardly a difficult reward, Marcus,” you smile at him and he gives you a warm smile back, “But what if I guess right, what’s my reward then?” 

“If you guess right, you get to take me on a second date,” he grins and you feel little happy bubbles in your chest as his soft eyes stay locked with yours, you can’t help but smile widely back at him. 

“Deal, Marcus,” you say, holding out your hand to him. He leans forward and takes it, his large hand enveloping yours, thick fingers gently closing around yours as you both shake on it. 

“I can smell chocolate,” he grins, glancing at the kitchen, “I think you’re on the right track.” 

“I know you, Marcus,” you laugh, “all serious business suits on the outside, but a wild child on the inside, bass player and all.” 

“Hardly the definition of a ‘wild child’,” Marcus chuckles, “now, if I’d been lead singer or lead guitar, then maybe.” 

“Well, the dessert is only a little bit of a wild child, the defining factor is that at its heart, it’s very romantic, just like you.” 

Marcus gives you a slightly embarrassed smile, “It’s that obvious, huh?” 

“That you’re a romantic? Of course, but I like it,” you smile softly back at him, turning off the timer that’s just gone off, “Moment of truth. Did I guess right or not?” 

“Doesn’t matter, I’m getting a second date either way,” he says, winking at you as you stand up and head to the kitchen. 

Pulling them out of the oven you quickly plate the dessert and scoop up the vanilla ice cream, finishing with a light dusting of cocoa. Your hip bumps open the door to the shop and Marcus watches you eagerly as you bring the plates over and set them down on the table. 

“If this is what I think it is, you’ve got yourself a second date,” he jokes and grins up at you. 

“That’s not helpful, Marcus,” you laugh, “either way, you’ve got yourself a second date.” 

“I know, that’s the beauty of this deal,” he chuckles, picking up his dessert spoon and looking at you expectantly, “Can I guess?” 

“Sure, go ahead,” you smile and he pokes the dessert lightly. 

“Chocolate fondant?” he asks, looking up at you, raising his eyebrows, before he digs the spoon in and cuts it open. The soft chocolate cake exterior gives way to a thick river of chocolate that pours out of the interior of the little cake. Marcus giggles and scoops up a bite of both cake and sauce and puts the spoon in his mouth, humming at the flavor and closing his eyes. You watch with pride as he tips his head back and moans, the spoon still in his mouth as he sucks it clean. 

“How did you know?” he asks, a bright smile on his face when he’s finally done with his first bite. 

You shrug and smile back at him, “You’re not a health freak, you didn’t recognise the more complicated French pastry, you like gooey brownies and you’re a romantic. Chocolate fondant seemed like the obvious choice. Decadent, sweet and just the right amount of fancy,” you grin at him. 

You take a spoonful from your own fondant and put it in your mouth, watching the chocolate flow out from the inside, just the right amount of undercooked to keep the inside flowing and warm. The chocolate flavor spreads across your tongue, paired with a hint of vanilla and salt, rich and warm and you let an involuntary moan escape. When you glance up you don’t miss the dark look Marcus gives you, his eyes fixed on your mouth as he takes another spoonful. 

“You really guessed right, I love chocolate fondant, but I’ve never had one this good before,” he says, humming around the big piece in his mouth. “How come you don’t have them in the shop? Actually, don’t have them in the shop, I’d buy them all every week.” 

You giggle at his blissed out face as he takes another big bite, dropping his head into the palm of his hand as he sucks the spoon clean, “It’s like hot chocolate, brownie and chocolate sauce all in one fluffy soft shell of cake.” 

“I’m glad I guessed right, seeing your happy face makes me happy,” you smile at him and the tips of his ears go a pink in the dim light as he clears his throat and chuckles. 

“Coming to your bakery makes me happy,” he smiles, scraping the last bit of fondant from the plate while he looks up at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and it’s your time to feel the heat rise in your face, his grin widens as he sees you shift awkwardly in your chair and glance at him with a smile.  

“Really, getting my morning coffee has become the highlight of my day,” Marcus says, “How sad isn’t that?” 

“Not sad, you coming into the bakery every morning has been the highlight of my day,” you say, finishing off the fondant and putting the spoon down while Marcus watches you with a smile. He suddenly pushes his chair back and stands up, holding his hand out to you. 

“Dance with me,” he says, the warmth of his hand spreading across your palm and down your arm as he pulls you to your feet. 

“There’s no music, Marcus,” you laugh but he just grins and spins you around before catching you in his arms, one around your waist, the other still holding on to your hand as you put your own hand on his shoulder. 

“Who cares about the music,” he says, gently swaying you back and forth while he gives you a soft smile, “it was just a clever ruse to get to hold you.” His hand on the small of your back is lightly stroking the fabric of your shirt and you’re very close to him, pressed up against his chest as he holds you near, moving slowly in a circle. You can smell his aftershave, mixed in with the dark chocolate of the dessert and without thinking, your hand slips into the soft looking curls at the back of his neck. Marcus tilts his head as your fingers play with the silky strands, letting go of your hand and moving it slowly to cup your face, his thumb stroking the soft skin on your cheek as he seems to inhale slightly and dip his head to yours.  

His lips are just as soft as you’ve imagined them, warm, gentle, as he parts them and tastes you. His steady hand holds you close, the curve of his strong nose brushing up against your cheek as he angles his head to better kiss you. You feel your fingers gripping his hair, willing him to press you even closer to him. All of his warm, solid body is pressed up against yours, his hand at the small of your back sliding up to hold you closer to him, your own hand gripping his shoulder, steadying yourself as you feel like melting into his touch.  

He’s still swaying the two of you gently, your lips moving slowly together, tasting the chocolate on each other's tongues. Heat is creeping through your body, wrapping around you, as you feel him tighten his hold on you, his breath skating over your lips as he exhales, a quiet groan leaving his throat. 

“You taste so sweet, even sweeter than the dessert,” he mumbles, his mouth close to yours, “I never want to stop kissing you.” 

You stand on your tiptoes to reach more of him, your hand around his neck, and part your lips for him, letting his tongue lick into your mouth with more fervor. He also tastes sweet and the way he pulls you closer as you steady yourself against his chest makes you moan under his increasingly heated kisses. He’s not swaying you anymore, instead he lets you melt into his body, his arm holding you up, as he bends his head, another groan slipping from him as he feels your tongue slip around his own. 

Marcus’s kisses make you forget the time, where you are, and not until he pulls away with a sigh, do you open your eyes and look up at him. His eyes are dark, filled with lust, and it’s mirrored in the way his body feels against yours, his arousal a clear presence between you. And you can feel your own fill your core with heat, a slow shiver as you touch upon the thought of having him even closer. 

Marcus keeps his eyes locked on you, his warm hand gently stroking your cheek as he seems to take a deep breath, composing himself. Your fingers are still toying with the impossibly soft curls at the back of his neck, letting them slip through your fingers, and you feel like you might drown in his dark brown eyes if he doesn’t release you soon. 

“Is it too soon to ask for a second date tomorrow?” he whispers, his eyes dropping down to your lips again, and then back to your eyes as you shake your head. 

“No, tomorrow sounds like a very good idea,” you mumble, slightly hazy from the way his hands never stop touching you, warming your body and sending shivers to your core. 

“Ok,” he mumbles back, “can I kiss you again?” 

“If you do, we might not get out of here tonight, Marcus,” you smile at him and he chuckles, nodding and pulling back a little. 

“You’re very right, maybe it’s best to save more kisses for tomorrow.” 

“I look forward to them though,” you say, letting your fingers slip from his hair and down over his shoulder, caressing his arm, his wrist, and finally his hand. He takes your hand then, enveloping it in his larger one,  and brings it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to it. 

“Tomorrow then,” he smiles. 

Part Eight

@harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers

[sebastianstanisahotmf]

Grinch

Tony Stark x reader

A/N I'm so sorry for being so unorganised I thought something like this would be easy but I realised that it takes a ridiculous amount of planning so next time when I do an event like this I'll plan it for a couple more weeks in advance, but at least I can learn from this mistake. The last few fics for my 100 followers celebration SHOULD be coming out over the next few days so thank you for your patience. Also, likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

THIS IS NOT AN 18+ FIC BUT I STILL FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MINORS READING MY FICS SO PLEASE DNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR.

Summary Tony is a bit of a Grinch and you plan to change it

DO NOT REPOST ONTO ANY OTHER APPS/WEBSITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.

Warnings Fluff

Christmas wasn’t Tony’s favourite time of year, if anything he hated it. It wasn’t hard to understand since he had spent many years alone as each day bled into another with the drink, drugs and women.

However, you were determined to get Tony into the Christmas spirit this year. The first step of your plan was to take him shopping for decorations.

“Come on Tony, stop being such a grinch, we're going shopping whether you like it or not,” you told him with your arms crossed.

“I can just get F.R.I.D.A.Y to order them for us,” he retorted with a pout on his face.

You walked over to him and kissed his pouty lips, “It will be fun babe, I promise,” you gave him the sweetest smile you could conjure.

“Fine, only because I love you,” he responded, kissing you again.

“And I love you too,” you grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out the door. 

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

“What do you think of these baubles?” you asked Tony.

“They look good, they’ll go with the tree,” he replied.

Tony wasn’t ready to admit it, but he had started getting into the Christmas spirit. He was starting to enjoy this shopping spree that he almost didn’t join you on.

“We’ll get these then,” you put them in the basket with a smile on your face.

You noticed Tony’s new interest in the decorations which was unexpected but made you happy.

“I think that’s it for this shop,” you walked over to the till and Tony emptied the basket.

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

Two hours of shopping later, you were back home with countless bags spread across the living room. 

“Please can you help me decorate?” you asked Tony.

You walked over to him and sat in his lap, “Pleeeease.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “You owe me,” he told you with a playful smirk.

You smiled and grabbed his hand. You took him over to the tree you put up in the corner of the living room and handed Tony a box of baubles.

“Put them anywhere you think it looks good,” you told him.

He raised his eyebrow, “really?”

“Yeah. I’m aware that I’m a perfectionist on everything else but I promise decorating the tree is supposed to be fun, not perfect.”

You both took baubles out of the box and put them on the branches. Around 40 minutes -and a lot of messing around- you were finished. 

“Oh shit,” you exclaimed.

“What?” Tony asked, concerned.

“We forgot to put the lights on the tree.”

Tony looked at the tree and then at the lights on the floor, “I could still get them on, I’ll just have to be careful,” With that, Tony picked up the string of lights and carefully put them around the tree.

Once he was finished, he pulled back to look at the tree but had knocked five baubles off in doing so.

“Shit!” he shouted which made you laugh, “It’s not funny,” he told you whilst trying to hold in his laugh.

“I think it looks amazing babe,” you said.

“Me too, but I’m tired. We can finish decorating tomorrow, ” Tony feinforced this with the fakest yawn you've ever seen.

“Seems like it,” you grabbed the other decorations and put them in a box ready for the next day. 

Then, Tony got onto the couch and started to flick through the channels on the tv before deciding to look through Netflix.

You walked over to Tony and smiled at his concentrated face.

He looked up at you and mentioned with a smirk on his face, “You owe me still.”

“What do I owe you Tones?” you didn’t know what answer to expect since Tony was so unpredictable.

“You owe me cuddles on the couch while we watch the Grinch,” he said, grabbing a blanket and shuffling back on the couch.

“One, you are the Grinch and two, that sounds fair,” you replied, smiling and getting onto the couch. Tony just rolled his eyes in response.

You shuffled back so Tony was spooning you and his chin was resting on your head. He threw the blanket over you and kissed your head. You both stayed like that until you fell asleep.

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Taglist:@nicoline1998enilocin, @hisredheadedgoddess28, @kandis-mom, @nekoannie-chan

[phantomskeep]

I just thought of something that happened to me during college and I completely forgot about it until just now. I have a crushing need to talk about, so into the voidspace of Tumblr it goes!

My like... third to last(??) semester of college I had to take this super-boring HR class. I was the only one in there not on a business degree track - I was just insane and thought it sounded cool (I also wanted to beat my personal record of taking over 20 hours in one semester.... ended up taking 26 my second-to-last so HA! TAKE THAT SCHOOL!). The first day of this class, I know probably one person in there. And this wasn't a small college, either. It only had about 10 degrees offered in total and a small enough population to comfortably fit everyone into 5 dorm buildings - all but one being only two stories tall with maybe 200 rooms each. So basically knowing no-one in that class? Was wild to me. I had never been in a single class that I didn't have at least one friend in since my freshman year.

So I tuck myself away at a table in a far corner and resign myself to either being social and making new friends, or suffering through a two hour lecture with no company. My anti-social ass decided on the latter.

But then... This dude walks in. As a Big Fan Of Many Things, I always typically try to read whatever is on people's shirts. It's the best way for me to clock "friend or foe". And this dude? Wayne Enterprises shirt. Okay, cool, another Batman fan. He sits at my claimed table with a shy little "hi" because my degree required me to wear this dumb Navy-regulated khaki uniform. Super intimidating on a five-foot-nothing transman, I'm sure. I say hello back, and just. Silently watch this dude. For the full two hours. Trying to figure him out.

Was he a Big Nerd like myself? He looked like one but I do my best to not judge. Was he one of those macho-dudes who liked comics just because of the shitty writing and solving issues with bodily pain? Was he just a fan from the games, or movies, or TV shows? All of my questions could have been answered if I asked.

But, no. That's too easy.

I spent the next five weeks trying to sus out what kind of fan he was. The dude's only fan shirt was the Wayne Enterprises one. The rest of them were plain Ts or button-downs. At one point I added a Jason Todd sticker to my laptop's collection - he didn't mention anything so, to me, that ticked the "maybe not a huge nerd" column. No further evidence had been gathered, though we had started chatting before and after lectures.

Then comes the fateful day. I'm out of uniform, walking to the only restaurant on campus (if it could even be called that. It was run by the same people who ran the cafeteria and was just as shitty). I'm in casual wear - sweats, sneakers, and a damning tank-top - because I had just finished being a gym rat. I'm almost to the shitty Chipotle's ripoff when I hear a familiar voice call my name. I turn around, "Gotham City Crime Alley Club" tank on full display. There he is - the dude from my HR class. This man looks so fucking excited, like someone just gave him a cute puppy and told him cancer's been cured. This man, this absolute menace I started calling a friend, looks me dead in the goddamn eyes and goes:

"Oh my god you like Batman we should totally bang."

And man, if that wasn't just the smoothest shit ever. If I hadn't been in a relationship at the time I absolutely would've, too. Ever since then my HR class was filled with the two of us talking shop about the various DC media. Didn't learn shit about why HR is, y'know, HR. But damn if I didn't learn some cool comic history from my little nerdy friend.

[standfucker]

short la squadra reader-insert

inspired by the one tumblr post that was like “Blood loss? No I know exactly where it is.”

New information about your mission arrives too late–you had already left hours ago. Risotto sends Prosciutto after you in the hopes he can intercept you before you reach the target.

Prosciutto pulls over at the location and scans the street, looking for signs of a scuffle.

It doesn’t take long.

He follows the corner and sure enough, you’re on the ground, tucked behind the dumpster. There’s an alarming amount of blood on your shirt and on the ground around you.

You’re still conscious, breathing shallowly. As soon as you recognize him, you shift and immediately groan at the pain that it causes. “Ah, fuck….”

“Don’t move,” he says, crouching down next to you.

“The target had a friend. A friend who was a Stand user. Is that what you came to tell me? I already found out.”

“Clearly,” he says, grabbing your wrist and feeling for your pulse. 

“Do you know what he called it?” You said. “Knife Party. I’ll give you one guess as to what it did.”

“Shut up,” he snaps, trying to count your pulse. It’s not looking promising. He’ll have to abandon chasing the target if you’re going to have any chance of surviving.

He wrenched your shirt up, ignoring your immediate protest, and counted five stab wounds in your abdomen. Frankly, it was impressive you were still conscious.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said decisively.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, even as you made no move to stand. 

Everyone in La Squadra had some kind of quirk, something weird or off about them–it came with the profession. People who killed for a living rarely came out of it stable. And your particularity, maybe even weakness, was that you coped with your lifestyle by being a control freak. It wasn’t unusual for a gangster, though yours ran deep, as he was currently witnessing.

“I can still fight,” you continue, “I’m just a bit dizzy.”

“That would be the blood loss,” Prosciutto explains, losing patience.

“It’s not blood loss. I know exactly where it is.” You weakly point to your soaked shirt, then the pools on the ground. “There and there. Everything is under control.”

“You are delusional,” he grumbles, then lifts you up, an arm under your legs and one under your back. The movement agitates sliced muscles and nerves, and you cry out.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and is immediately surprised at himself. He was never tender to anyone but Pesci. He rationalizes it away as him feeling sorry for you. You were in a bad way, that was all.

“Unhand me, ham man,” you groan, and it should piss him off, but he feels relieved, which he decides to address at a later date.

“If you can still bitch, I think you’re going to make it. But I’m going to hurry regardless. I won’t have time to be gentle, so you’ll have to endure it.”

True to his word, he hauls you into the back of his car quickly rather than gently, lamenting the fate of the upholstery, and speeds to the closest hospital Passione is affiliated with.

You survive the attack, maybe thanks to him, maybe thanks to your sheer stubbornness. You’re out of commission for a few months, but eventually return to living at the house. Even when you’re recovered enough to be a threat again, enough to do your job, Risotto keeps you off of combat assignments for a few weeks. 

Naturally, you bitch about it. Prosciutto finds it a sign of your returned health and is glad, and subsequently wonders if he should address that at some point.

Ever since the stabbing, you’re gentler toward Prosciutto. Your normally biting comments and short fuse with the other members doesn’t seem to extend to him anymore.

What he doesn’t know is you think about your near death experience a lot as you tried to process it. And at your lowest moment, as you had been dying, you could only remember how he held you as he ran to his car–tightly, securely. You were trying to come to terms with how goddamned safe you had felt in that moment.

You don’t talk about the stabbing outside of your debriefing for a solid few weeks. Then, one day, you approach Prosciutto when he’s smoking on the balcony.

“About a few months ago,” you say.

He takes a deep inhale from his cigarette, watching you.

“Well…”

You’re uncomfortable. It’s all over your face, and in the way you can’t maintain eye contact with him. It’s unlike you. You’re normally so guarded against anyone else.

“I never thanked you. So I wanted to do that.” You glance at him, and then away again. “Thanks for saving my hide.”

Something overcomes Prosciutto. A warm feeling. He keeps his face composed, but reaches out a hand and rests it on the curve of your face.

You stiffen. He keeps watching you, rubbing his thumb along your cheek.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he says. For a split second, you think you see the corners of his mouth twitch up. Then he puts out his cigarette and goes inside, leaving you shell-shocked on the balcony.

[fallen-in-dreams]

CHAPTER FIVE on AO3.

Chapters on Tumblr: One. Two. Three. Four.

Pairing: Gaara/Sakura.

Summary: Her descent into madness came after her friends were all dead and before she was sold off like livestock. To him. He knew a thing or two about madness. And there was peace to be found in the violence of that madness. Even if only for a time. Canon divergence AU.

Rated: Mature.

Chapter word count: 6,551.

Status: Ongoing.

Reminder: the tags/warnings are important.

Enjoy. :)

Warnings: dark themes. Arranged marriage (not what you think). Eventual smut (level and degree of that warning being necessary is subjective). Death. Suicide talk. Self-harm. PTSD – expect some well-known symptoms and some not well-known ones. Please don’t read if you’re triggered by psychological &/or emotional-related trauma and effects.

Notes: Hi. Sorry for the late update. I do still plan to post these chapters once a week. Last week I was busy then really sick. It was a whole thing. Thanks to everyone who is commenting, etc. I cannot describe how amazing it feels to know people are reading this. Also, the edit for this chapter took it from 4k words to 6k. Not sure why that's important. Just wanted to say.

Anyway. Enjoy. ^_^

Tumblr version:

.:.

I can fake a smile I can force a laugh I can dance and play the part If that's what you ask Give you all I am I can do it

-- Human, by Christina Perri

.:.

… Chapter Five: Something in the Air. ...

If there was one thing Sakura hated more than being underestimated, it was being pitied.

It was on his face. It was on theirs.

She had been minding her own business, content to not interact with the rabid wedding planners, just watching them as they fussed and argued. As they made plans and chose fabrics and discussed whether they’d have to import silk brocade or satin weaves. As they decided if it was even worth it to have the San San Kudo (the nuptial cups) made by hand, since their existing ones only incorporated Suna designs and culture, and it would be oh-so-rude not to include the Konoha traditions.

Why is he even here?

Sitting on a two-seater lounge, at the far corner of the room, she frowned at him as his eyes scanned the room before landing on hers.

Maybe the secretary of that obnoxious council member had said something to Gaara or maybe Sajō bragged to him about telling off the foreign, ignorant kunoichi. She had no idea why the redhead would suddenly turn up here of all places, if not for pity. So, he knew. He had to. It was insulting. If he cared enough to feel pity for her, he should be pushing to get her a volunteer position somewhere. It didn’t have to be the hospital. It could be almost anywhere. Somewhere that wasn’t this tedious day-to-day, forced to listen to bitter old women plan a wedding that wasn’t going to happen.

If she wasn’t allowed to take her frustration out on a training field, let alone other shinobi, the least they could do was leave her alone.

Sakura had noticed him first. Next was the Root shadow. She saw the masked freak’s hand twitch, like he was itching to grab his weapon and attack the Kazekage. Under that monkey mask, who knew how seriously he was debating it. Sakura kind of wanted him to try. It might put her in front of the council, but at least the shadow would be gone.

Then how would I get out of here?

She sighed as the atmosphere thickened and the rest of the room finally noticed Gaara standing in the open doorway. After a few moments of shock and awe, the older lady, Kanna, stepped forward to greet him. She bowed deeply. “Lord Kazekage. It is an honour.”

“Please,” he said, holding up a hand, his eyes still on Sakura. “Continue as you normally would. I am merely an observer.”

Kanna took that to heart and proceeded to ignore him, organising the rest of the group around herself once more. The other ladies, however, continued to steal glances at Gaara as he made his way over to Sakura.

She sat up straight. “Gaara.”

The redhead had insisted she call him by his given name during one of their dinner nights. While Kankuro chuckled like a little kid amused by his parents being dorks, Gaara and Sakura debated back and forth what to call each other. They eventually decided on just using their respective first names. The biddies in the room might look scandalised, but who cared what they thought?

“Sakura.”

And they also dropped all honorifics.

Matsuri was grinning at Sakura from across the room, as Yukata stood quietly and thoughtfully next to her. Gaara shifted his weight between his feet for a moment before sitting down next to her, maintaining as much of a respectable distance as he could in the small space the seating offered.

Ever the gentlemen. I wonder if those kinds of men come pre-installed, or if you have to kill a virgin for them to magically appear.

She forced her face into a mild grimace to keep from laughing at her ridiculous thought. Gaara shifted on the lounge to better face her.

I repeat: why is he even here?

He was looking at her like she was jigsaw puzzle. Or one-piece shy of one, maybe. She attempted to smile. His sudden presence during the planning and bickering somehow made it feel more real. Like it wasn’t actually a farce. Like it wasn’t a distant idea or New Year’s Resolution that nobody ever held to. Like it was real.

It’s not real.

Sakura shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Soooo….” She had no idea what to end that with and instead cleared her throat. “How much work does a wedding take?”

“I don’t know,” Gaara admitted, his eyes drifting over to the biddies. There was a sadness as his eyes lingered on Matsuri and Yukata.

Sakura nodded and watched the women in the room work. Like any girly child, she’d had her fantasy wedding planned out before she even came of age, so had some idea how the process worked. Given that she had little concept of money prior to becoming a kunoichi, she’d skipped right over the budget part.

The ideas, themes, and styles section (as Ino had called it) came next. A venue had to be decided upon – when she was a child, it was the park behind her parents’ apartment, and later it morphed into a weird, snow-covered winter land setting. Then Sakura would send out the invitations and people came from far and wide, because apparently, she was loved by so many faceless people. Her dreams were of a perfect day that her adult mind had realised would have cost a fucking fortune to achieve.

She grimaced at the wedding planners. I wonder how much money they’re going to spend on this monstrosity before they realise it’s all a waste.

“I don’t think we’re needed for this,” she said, after a few minutes of silence.

Gaara made a soft sound of agreement but didn’t look eager to get up and leave. Sakura glanced at him in her peripherals, biting the inside of her mouth and thinking. He looked to be paying attention to what the planners were doing, but at the same time, she got the impression his mind was elsewhere.

Why is he even here?

She felt her heart skip a beat and Sakura forced herself to breathe in deeply, sitting up straighter, and then let her breath out in one long exhalation. The air rippled around her. It never smelled of death. Which scared her more than the apparition itself. Its arrival had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end and she eyed it warily.

“He’s as crazy as you,” the mirage said, blurring slightly as it moved between the bickering ladies, lazily drifting toward the fake engaged couple. Its body moved like liquid fire. “Ask him.”

She narrowed her eyes at it. Are you a portent of things to come, or a wound I don’t remember?

The mirage just smiled knowingly, those broken gums and bloodied teeth taunting her. Sakura sighed and turned to face Gaara. He didn’t seem to notice at first, his attention drifting back to the planners.

Here goes nothing.

“Have you ever killed someone in cold blood? I mean after you stopped listening to Shukaku,” she added quickly. Her voice was low enough so that only Gaara could hear her.

His eyes widened at her for a second, clearly not having expected that kind of question from her. “No.”

Not since he stopped listening to Shukaku. Not for years. Interesting. Sakura held his gaze, steeling herself. “But you’ve ordered men and women to their deaths.”

Even though that wasn’t a question, he still nodded in reply. She bit her lip for a moment, thinking. What was she trying to accomplish? She glanced at the mirage. It was watching closely.

I have no idea.

Sakura turned away from him, a feeling of adrenaline overwhelming her sensibilities. “I once killed a man with the fibula from his left shin.”

Gaara glanced at her. He frowned. She could almost read his mind: how would that even work?

“He was trying to grab my butt,” she said, as though that explained things.

Gaara coughed once before covering his mouth to cough again. It was a strangled sound. A slight tinge of pink decorated his pale skin.

“And he stole my kunai,” she added. That was the important part.

She chuckled nervously when he didn’t respond. Well, this is awkward.

Sakura wasn’t sure how to fill the resulting silence, or if it even should be filled at all. Gaara clearly hadn’t come here to have a long, in-depth talk about things. Them. The wedding plans. What was really going to happen. Or even what had been planned for dinner. She’d had more loquacious conversations with muzzled assassination targets.

But gone were the days when she was satisfied with silence. When she wore her own muzzle.

She couldn’t help herself. The words just started tumbling out of her mouth. Sakura told Gaara about the time she castrated a man with a quick twist of her wrist and single swipe of her chakra scalpel. She talked about the time she hung a client upside down for an hour because he was short a few hundred ryō for her collection detail. Sakura remembered that mission fondly because there were no Root shadows in the immediate vicinity and she had taken her time with the man, if only to delay having to return to her ever-watchful comrades.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Gaara directly, so she wasn’t sure what he was doing, but in her peripherals, it was obvious he was paying attention. His head tilted toward her, his fists clenched and resting on his trousers, he was clearly listening. It ultimately didn’t matter.

Sakura stared at the wall, her eyes stinging from not blinking. “Then there was this aide of some Lord.”

Should I be telling him all this?

It wasn’t even any high-level stuff. These didn’t matter.

“I had a knife; you know like a proper chef’s knife.” She smiled at this memory. “Slid it right in between the fourth and fifth rib, slanting on an angle, to the left and,” she mimed the movement with her hands, “sliced him right through the left ventricle.”

Beside her, Gaara had stiffened. The logical part of her brain recognised that he was uncomfortable with this topic, but she kept going. There was a rush in letting it all out. She felt lighter as she described in detail how she’d been so close to death the last time she was on a mission but oh no, it didn’t compare to that time she was naked and enjoying the bathhouses in a quaint village at the base of the mountain ranges in the Land of Lightning when she was attacked by a three-man squad of Kumogakure Anbu.

That one had ended bloody.

“Men are such perverts,” she said, growling. “Let’s have a good time before we slice you open, he’d said.” Her voice rose a few octaves as she mimicked the Anbu leader who had immediately sexualised her. “So, after I killed the rest of his squad, I cut off his penis.” Gaara coughed softly, but she continued. “Served him right, the pig.”

Sakura took a deep breath in and then let it out in one go. Pins and needles attacked her skin, and she shook herself. That felt good. Great, even. But in the aftermath, shame was creeping its way back into her once again.

Gaara shifted uncomfortably next to her, much in the same way one did when they wanted to flee for their proverbial lives but were too polite to just up and go.

Why the fuck did I just say all that?

“I was…” He trailed off and she swallowed heavily. “I came here…” He sighed. “I don’t know why I came here.”

Suddenly she felt angry.

Feeling guilty for shoving this on me?

She almost sneered, forcing herself to calm down even as she frowned at him. The old Sakura would not be talking his ear off about this that and everything. She would be polite and respectful, and maybe engage in some sort of agreed upon topic of conversation, but it would be about abstract, mundane things. That wasn’t her anymore, anyway.

I’m not me, anymore.

She cleared her throat but couldn’t think of what to say to make it better.

Gaara shifted again. Then cocked his head to the side in that now-familiar way he did.

Must be Anbu.

Sakura watched on, feeling helpless, as whomever he was communicating with appeared for a few seconds before disappearing ominously. Gaara stood and stretched for a few moments before turning to face her. He looked lost for what to say. Like a sad little boy that had been lectured on the birds and the bees.

“I look forward to your presence tonight,” he said uncertainly and all she could do was nod her head in response before he left the building.

Oh god. Kami.

Her heart ached and she didn’t know why. Why had he come? What was he doing to her? Why did he leave?

Sakura felt like crying. She could feel the emotion bubbling up in her chest. There was no logical reason to feel this way. She couldn’t possibly be this attached to him, let alone anyone in Suna. That was ludicrous. Her brain knew better but there was a painful tugging on her heart that didn’t care about reason or logic.

They took him away.

For a moment, she almost thought she could tell him everything, and had certainly said more than he’d expected or wanted to hear. It felt good to unload on him, even if she realised, in hindsight, how fucked up she’d sounded. But they weren’t friends, not really, just acquaintances. Acquaintances that needed to keep their emotional distance from each other, lest her stupid inner romantic take it for something more.

Distantly, she noticed the wedding planners were watching her more closely. Matsuri and Yukata had pulled away from the other ladies and moved closer, stopping halfway, and looking uncertain.

Did they hear any of what I just told Gaara?

But it didn’t matter. She ignored it all, lost in her own thoughts.

Sakura had no idea why Gaara had come to this building, to this room, but she’d convinced herself that he’d come here because of her. That he clearly cared. She wasn’t nobody to him. And maybe it was that presumption that made her miss him once he left. She didn’t want to get attached. It would be an unhealthy and unwarranted intimacy. But she couldn’t help but want to reach out to him as he walked away, leaving her alone once again. Her heart ached to talk to him, to anyone, who would actually listen. Someone that she felt comfortable with. But she couldn’t. Sakura was fucked up, so any hint of kindness was liable to make her hold too tightly to someone.

She understood that.

Then go flirt with Matsuri and Yukata, she told her inner pessimist. See if you grow an attachment to them.

It would be an interesting distraction, but she couldn’t risk that one either.

Sakura closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. The familiar panic began to settle. It didn’t take as long as she’d thought it would. Between breaths she reminded herself how stupid she was being.

He didn’t come here for me. He was just checking on the wedding planners.

Yes. There was a question on his face the whole time. He was trying to figure something out. He hadn’t come to hear her woes.

It had nothing to do with me.

Yes, that was it. She needed to forget Gaara. She needed to forget how his absence made her feel. She could not afford to be so weak right now. Sakura had more important things to worry about. She’d been practising the hand signs Sai had taught her to make ink creatures, trying to figure out how she was even going to make the damn thing work without the artist’s tutelage. Not to mention she needed to organise her thoughts about the missions Danzou had been sending her on. Sure, they were all clearly suicide runs and dangerous and blah, blah, blah, but they were important somehow. She just knew it.

He’s up to something, the bastard.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Sakura opened her eyes and stared at her mirage.

“You should have left before you got here,” it said mockingly. “Now you’re just trapped, like a dumb arse.”

It was right. She let her gaze sweep over the room and accidentally caught Matsuri watching her from across the room (when had she moved back over there?), a look of uncertainty on her face. Yukata got her attention and the brunette looked away, but her eyes flickered back to the pinkette a few times before Sakura had had enough. She stood and strode out of the room.

She ignored the women calling her name. She ignored the shadow who was quick to catch on to what she was doing.

Sakura stormed out of the room, down the hallway, and out of the building. She sped up to a powerwalk, her vision blurry from unshed tears and barrelled down the busy road. There were no active chakra signatures in the vicinity other than her own and the closely following Root shadow.

That I can tell.

Images of being trapped in carts and tree trunks and under the weight of heavy, masculine muscle swept across her vision, making her flinch. The suffocating pain of not knowing which moment would be her last. The only constant was the throbbing pain that pressed down on her chest, spreading down her chest, her abdomen and further until it morphed into a searing agony. The only guarantee she had in life being that she would return to Konoha to have to do it all over again. Her head hurt just thinking about it.

And remembering it.

Chakra flared to her right and Sakura quickened her pace, leaving the Root shadow to fall behind her as she jumped to the rooftops. A stupid looking monkey hid an angry face. She could tell by the way he sped up again and attempted to cut her off two small buildings later. Was it because she’d stormed out of the Conference Building? Right. She was deviating from the script he’d memorised that Danzo gave him.

Her head hurt.

Sakura landed on a rooftop, pivoted, and then took off again in a different direction. He followed. It was a race. But before she knew it, he was cutting her off again. He wanted to drive her back toward that inane, tedious, annoying group of biddies. Well, she wasn’t having it.

Making a decision, she stopped suddenly and dropped to ground level. There was no-one nearby. A back alley. No witnesses.

It was narrow, with some wooden boxes and clay statues that she guessed were just for decoration. Or a part of Suna culture. What windows she could see were definitely closed. And locked. And likely were rarely ever opened at all anyway. The ground was relatively clean though, for a back street.

The Root landed about ten feet away from her, cracking his knuckles, no weapon drawn as he moved slowly toward her. Sakura tried to summon the fortitude she’d need to rip that mask off his face and gut him with it.

“Do it.”

The mirage was a shimmer of colour in her peripherals and raging like a caged, angry animal.

Sakura narrowed her eyes at the Root as he stopped suddenly, six feet away from her, his body now relaxed.

“Back you go, girly,” the Root said, his voice muffled behind his mask. “No Kazekage out here to protect you. To coddle you.”

She lifted her chin defiantly as he fingered the weapon pouch on his hip. It was likely a shuriken holster, given its size. Root members didn’t have a dress code so to speak, other than their masks and robes. But out of the village and on missions they had taken to looking more like traditional Anbu, minus the robes. There must have been a meeting or something, once Danzo took over, where they all agreed what kind of standard issue outfit was in style.

Despite herself, Sakura smiled at that.

“I’m not kidding, pinky,” he said, his voice betraying a lot of repressed anger. His mood swings were almost as bad as hers it seemed. “Get your useless arse back in that room.”

“No.”

“Bitch.”

Sakura wasn’t scared of the Root. But she needed something to stop him with. She needed to get past him. He was quick on his feet so she wasn’t sure who would make it back to the Kazekage mansion first. Being weaponless wasn’t helping this need.

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a kunoichi if you need a weapon to take this arsehole out.”

Ignore that, she told herself and glanced at the wooden boxes less than a foot from her. They looked breakable. She reached over and grabbed the lid from one, using her enhanced strength to break a piece off; jagged and painful looking.

“Pinky...”

Sakura turned back to face him. “Get out of my way.”

“Go back to the Conference Building.”

This wasn’t a negotiation.

Sakura held the broken wood up in front of her face, shifting into an attack position. The Root mirrored her movements but didn’t draw his weapon. Was he under orders to avoid fighting her? Or avoid doing this where they could get caught and hinder whatever his mission here really was, maybe? Or she just didn’t scare him enough. She had no clue.

“Kill him!”

Without another moment’s hesitation Sakura threw the wooden, makeshift kunai as hard as she could and the Root barely moved out of the way, grunting in a way that made her think he was surprised by the speed of the projectile. It imbedded into the wall behind him. Without thinking about it, she had added chakra to the piece of wood. Infusion wasn’t alien to her. She’d killed targets with chakra infused kunai before, so why not a random, broken piece of a lid? Even something as shoddy as this could become a deadly weapon in the hands of any ninja worth their salt.

The Root stared at her, his feet shifting along the ground as he braced himself for whatever she might throw at him next. Or for an attack of his own. Anything could be going through that twisted brain of his. They’re all twisted. Underneath that mask of his, she imagined he was studying her stance, looking for any sign that she would continue her aggression. Eyes narrowed. Lips pulled into a tight line of grim determination. Nose flaring.

Sakura lifted her chin further and tried to mirror this imagined expression. She grabbed another piece of shoddy wood. Still, he didn’t draw his own steel.

“Now! Do it now!”

Her mirage looked blood thirsty.

“Kill him!”

Her fingers itched to throttle him. To rip him apart and tear at his intestines. To imbed that infernal mask into his skull, over and over again. She almost tried. She almost lunged at him. She almost summoned chakra into a scalpel over her hands to slice him apart that way. It was unusual to use this medic technique in battle, but she had the required precision to pull it off.

Last time I checked.

She hadn’t used it in a while because it was frowned upon in the medical field. It was just supposed to be used in surgery. But hadn’t she already thrown her morality out of the window for Danzo long ago?

Sakura felt the urge to do all these things. But the part of her that was still sane knew it was a bad idea. Now was not the time or place to settle things with him. She hadn’t even created some ink creatures to scope out Suna’s perimeter yet. Her chest felt heavy and ached at the thought that she might have been unconsciously procrastinating on that. She needed a better plan than this. She needed to have more faith in herself. And patience. Sakura was angry at herself now, for lashing out with no long-term plan in mind.

The shadow would be expecting an attack from her now. She wouldn’t be able to take him by surprise again.

“Do it!”

Sakura forced herself not to groan audibly as she relaxed her stance. But she didn’t give the Root the time to take advantage of her as she slackened. Sakura turned and fled down the alleyway. And surprisingly, he let her go this time.

“Coward!”

She would do this properly another day.

If I’m even alive when that happens.

.:.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

Like a coward.

There was no Root shadow hovering about outside the Kazekage mansion as Sakura approached. She slowed to a stop right in front of the door and bent over, like she was was out of breath. The truth was so much worse. She slumped to the ground all the energy having left her body. There was no sign of any nearby chakra as she closed her eyes, sitting on the doorstep, just waiting out her newest panic attack. It was never-ending and she was sick and tired of feeling like this.

Like the last hundred times.

The urge to just up and run out of the village right now was strong. What were the guards going to do, chase after her? Abandon their posts to track down this wayward fool? It was such a stupid impulse, but she didn’t care. Not really. Well, a little. It might be fun to leave the Root in the lurch, but she had to be realistic – it would reflect badly on Gaara. Danzo could use it as an excuse to declare open war. It could…

Her running away could hurt people. And not just those who deserve it. She inhaled deeply, a strangled gasp. Sakura climbed to her feet shakily and grabbed the doorknob, intent on entering the Kazekage mansion, but paused. There was chakra nearby. She frowned as her senses tingled with the feel of it. No, it wasn’t nearby. It was distant. But it was pulsing. Anbu? A careless one.

She shook herself and entered the mansion. The home of the Kazekage clan never failed to impress her with its casual opulence. The study room just off the foyer was tempting; walls lined with books and comfy chairs poised in front of a mahogany table that would take several burly civilians to shift. Sakura ignored it, as she often did, and had a drink in the kitchen before making her way upstairs. It still felt so alien to be in here but there was a part of her that was comforted by it, nonetheless. The people who lived here existed in her memories from before Danzo. It was a warm feeling. Fuzzy. Reminding her of better days that, surprisingly, did not ultimately upset her. She held onto that.

Closing the door to her bedroom door, a now familiar distortion appeared in her peripherals. She glanced at the monstrosity before moving to the bed and throwing herself down onto the comforter. Staring at the ceiling, she weighed her options. Escaping in the manner she’d been thinking about had more cons than pros, but she needed something. Something that would make everything fit into place and solve all the problems that scenario had.

“Create a distraction.”

She stubbornly refused to look at the mirage as it paced the end of her bed, like a predator stalking its prey, just without the instinct and intelligence. And without the excuse of needing a full, hearty meal.

“Don’t take anything with you. Just leave. In the chaos, nobody will be able to prove you just ran away.”

Wouldn’t they, though? Her body would be missing from the dead. Her personal belongings having magically disappeared. Suspiciously. They wouldn’t know what really happened. She would be an unknown. Doubts would inevitably be raised as to not only her whereabouts but her true loyalties. And it wouldn’t end at her. There’d be no telling where the fingers would point next.

“Since when do you care what happens to this stupid village?”

Sakura sat up and stared at the mirage. It had stopped pacing and the look it was giving her was the most vitriol expression she’d ever seen. Danzo had never looked at her with that much hate. It both annoyed and unnerved her.

What the hell are you?

There were a number of possibilities but since it was none too forthcoming, she had only questions.

“I’m not going to leave Gaara or his siblings to clean up my mess.”

“Stop being a coward, bitch!”

Sakura glared, her irritation growing. “Fuck you.”

It smirked at her. “That’s a start.” It flickered out of existence.

If only that were the case.

She sighed, suddenly more tired than before. But oddly enough, she was also extremely motivated. She did care. She really did. That realisation made her giddy. But there was no harm in being prepared for the worst.

Sakura jumped off the bed and sat on her floor, bum tucked under her legs. She ran through the signs to create an ink creature, picturing Sai’s movements in her mind.

It still needs work.

And apparently, she had time. Sakura sighed deeply and ran through the signs again. Things were going to get interesting around here very soon.

No matter what I decide to do.

.:.

Staring out his office window, the fifth Kazekage could only frown.

The day had not gone according to plan. Gaara had heard from a reliable source, who’d heard it from someone who knew Councillor Sajō’s secretary, that Sakura had approached the man about being put to work somewhere. In truth, they should have employed Sakura somewhere, like the hospital, or even just as an assistant to an official, given her history. But it was the opinion of several members of the council that not only could she not be trusted not to steal village secrets, but also that the mere presence of her Root shadow proved it.

The lackey of the Hokage made everyone nervous.

Even Ebizō was erring on the side of caution, agreeing to limit Sakura’s movement in the village, even if he clearly didn’t like it. Gaara knew the old man had immeasurable respect for the former Hokage’s protégé due to the incident with his sister and her sudden death. He knew the man did not distrust her, so to speak, but it still rankled Gaara when he talked to Ebizō, and the old man dismissed the issue.

“We have our own, shared concerns to worry more about, young Kazekage.”

Like he would ever forget about their agreement, nor the last time an enemy made some noise inside the village. It was not unusual during Cold Wars for ninja to undermine another village within their own walls. Sometimes, he felt like Ebizō would have him focus solely on one thing at a time, unthinking of all other problems. As Kazekage, this was not feasible. And helping Sakura would not hinder their other efforts.

It was only after Gaara had left Ebizō and taken time to settle down that he realised there was another path. So, he decided to see what all the fuss was about and sit in on one of the wedding planning sessions. Much to his own detriment.

And I thought Kankuro was a glutton for oversharing.

The important thing was that Sakura was being underutilised and was clearly bored out of her mind. The tediousness of wedding planning was not something he’d imagine a woman would have a problem with, but clearly, she did.

Gaara spent the rest of the day thinking about ways to help her as he went about his duties. He could go over the council leader’s head and let her spend some time working in the hospital, even if just in a lowly position and dealing solely with civilians. She would appreciate that, and he found the idea of being on the receiving end of her genuine smile for his effort motivation enough to try.

So, he would look into it. But even if he did overrule the council members, Gaara would still have to find someone willing to accept Sakura’s assistance. It would not do to use his position as Kazekage on hospital staff or any-ranking officials, after all. He just needed to convince someone.

That could take a while.

But he would do his best to speed up the process. In the meantime, keeping a closer eye on her was also something he felt necessary. He could convince himself it was for the security of the village or his promise to Naruto, but really, he wanted to. This new Sakura scared him. And pained him to witness. But he wanted her to be okay, on his own accord.

Gaara sighed, cocking his head to the side when he sensed the sudden, incoming flare of familiar chakra.

The first Anbu (codenamed Butai) had nothing to report, having patrolled the outskirts of Suna and flitted between several of the outer-village chakra dragnets. All was clear, apparently. The masked man quickly rattled off a few observations he had on the stability of said traps and then vanished, once his Kazekage gave him permission to depart. The second Anbu lingered at the doorway, not one who had ever been so easy to divert.

Gaara waved him in, and the Anbu stepped into the room. “Report.”

The Anbu bowed. His code name was Bear, funnily enough, considering his personality. Apparently, he’d chosen it himself, which was unusual since code names were typically chosen by the team captain. It hinted to the rebellious nature he kept hidden within. The council had told Gaara not to pick him for the Anbu Black Ops, but he had decided the coalition could use some fresh perspectives. Bear also reminded the redhead of the passion he’d once admired from Konoha ninja.

“Lord Kazekage.” Bear handed over a scroll, that Gaara quickly opened and skimmed while the Anbu continued. “There is one troubling thing to report.” He hesitated, uncharacteristically. “The Root member tripped a sensory jutsu on the lower levels of the Kazekage Office Building.”

Colloquially referred to as the council building. He’s talking about the lowest level. The one with the Anbu Headquarters.

Gaara hated that place.

“I know.” He couldn’t decide if the Root was trying to goad them as a part of some kind of scare tactic or was just messing with their heads. Or if he was just bored. Nothing he’d done so far was interfering with the normal operations of the village so Gaara couldn’t drag him before the council, let alone have him quietly “disappeared” for it.

As much as I’d like to.

Bear continued. “It didn’t do any damage, but we don’t know what that Root is capable of. For all we know, he’s proficient in seals and sensory techniques.” He took a deep breath like he was preparing himself for a rant. “He can’t be trusted not to attack us next time. If it’s not too bold to suggest, we should take care of him now, while he is relatively contained.”

This Anbu did not know the delicate state of affairs surrounding that Root member and his master. Gaara couldn’t do what he was suggesting. Not yet. He just sighed and placed the scroll down on his desk.

After a moment, the irreverent Anbu began to shift uncomfortably. “Permission to speak freely, Lord Kazekage?”

Gaara knew what was coming but nodded his head anyway.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, sir, given your history with her village and friends.” Bear stood straight, like he was being put in a military line-up, chin held high. “But it is my opinion that Sakura Haruno should not be trusted either.”

At least he used her name. Many on the council still just call her “that Konoha kunoichi” or worse.

It was a logical inference, but it was wrong. Gaara did not personally know Sakura, though he’d gotten to know her better through their dinners. And her recent trauma dumping.

Has she always been so brazenly and inherently violent?

So much of the strange girl who’d been obsessed with the Uchiha seemed to have been stripped away. The façade she now put on was remarkably familiar to Gaara – it was one of survival and deliberate misdirection. A mask he’d had to don for years due to the detrimental effects of housing Shukaku.

But despite her obvious shortcoming, and questionable mental state, there was no way Naruto’s precious person would ever collaborate with someone as despicable as Danzo. He believed that wholeheartedly.

The scepticism must have registered on his face because Bear continued voicing his scepticism. “Root have sophisticated brainwashing techniques.”

Yes, they do, Gaara admitted silently. But sometimes it is more fun to torment an unwilling mind.

He had no idea what to do with either possibility.

Perhaps the council is right that I am remembering Konoha too fondly.

Sighing heavily, Gaara waved a dismissive hand at the Anbu. “Return to your duties.”

Bear nodded, formed a hand sign, and disappeared in a small puff of smoke.

The problem was that Bear was right. He really shouldn’t be so trusting of Sakura, even if she was supposed to be here to marry him. Even if that had actually been his intention from the beginning. The political landscape was too precarious for him to reasonably hold any expectations of loyalty of her. But try as he might, Gaara could not bring himself to distrust the broken woman. She did not want to be here, and that told him she was not complicit with whatever machinations Danzo had planned.

Beyond her trauma dumping, he had no idea what she’d been through and wasn’t eager to find out. It wasn’t for lack of caring, on his part. No. He cared. Perhaps a little too much, given the circumstances. It was merely a fear of what he would find. She was not the girl he used to know, but he still saw her that way. He wanted to keep the image of the silly girl who could break through any walls or defence with a single punch. The childish girl who had been smarter than his entire medical team and healed his brother of a poison that nobody else even understood.

The alternative was terrifying.

No. He wasn’t going to start presuming she was complicit with Danzo. He would remain on alert on the off chance he was wrong, but Gaara was willing to take a chance with Sakura Haruno. If this was a real marriage engagement, he would want to know everything about her, to be sure. But it wasn’t. All he could do was fend off the vultures, delay things as much as possible, and work harder and faster to settle all the problems facing him and his village. A war was coming, whether Sakura Haruno was to be trusted or not.

If I had more time to get to know her, things would be different.

And how much longer they both had left before this all blew up in their faces, he didn’t know.

.:.

[tenpointsav]

just like heaven

After asking your friend Dustin to help find interviews for the school yearbook, you get a note from the last person you'd expect.

a/n: this is my first one-shot here on Tumblr! I've been obsessed with Eddie for weeks now and really felt the need to get this out of my system.

c/w: eddie being damn cute, making out

w.c: 3k

"Dude we aren't going to make this deadline." 

You roll your eyes, slamming the stapler into the bulletin board outside of the gym. Ever since she became editor of the Hawkins High yearbook, your best friend has been stressing out non-stop.

"Hannah, chill out. We're going to get it finished. I just want to get these pages in and it'll be good to go." 

You look at the flyer neatly stapled up, surrounded by others advertising piano lessons, cheerleading tryouts for next year, and senior prom. 

Wanted: Volunteers for interviews and photos for a spread in the Hawkins High Class of '86 yearbook. Topic is "music and lyrics". 

Hannah fluffs her hair, using the reflection in the trophy case as a mirror. 

"Why do you think we even need a music spread? We have a whole damn section on the marching band!" 

You both start walking away as the bell rang. Students file out of classes, their chatter and laughter filling the air. You dodge and weave through groups of jocks in letterman jackets and the band kids hauling huge instrument cases. 

"You told me I could do the last two pages on whatever I wanted. Music is a universal unifier, something people can have in common no matter their age or location." 

Hannah snorts as you reach the locker you shared. Hers was on the bottom floor, beside the science classes and she hated having to walk that far. 

"Maybe you should go ask one of your freshman cult members for help finding someone," she says with a smirk as she passes you a math textbook. 

As if summoned, a head of curly hair covered by a ball cap appears at your shoulder. 

"Hello ladies. Why, Hannah, you are looking remarkably lovely today," Dustin Henderson says with a toothy grin as Hannah groans 

"Dustin, just the man I wanted to see!" you exclaim, slamming the locker door. "I have another quest for you." 

You love Dustin like a little brother, babysitting him when you were in middle school. Your moms work together and something about his persistence and attitude always makes you smile. Lately he has been helping you with the yearbook, riding his bike around town to gather donations and take pictures in between playing Dungeons and Dragons with the Hellfire Club. He always invites you, saying you'd have a good time, but you were just too busy trying to survive your senior year. 

Dustin follows you and Hannah down the long hall to your calculus class.

"Can you find some students to interview for the last pages? The topic is music. I need musicians, people with good albums, maybe some kids who work at the record store on 10th?" 

He holds his hand out as you stop by the door of the classroom. 

"My services don't come cheap, my lady." 

You dig into your backpack, pulling out a crumpled five dollar bill. You slap it into his waiting palm. 

"Whoa, what's this shit? You gave me ten bucks last time!" Dustin exclaims. 

You groan, digging around in your bag. Coming up empty you think of the one thing he'd want more. 

"I'll let you and your little posse borrow my Nintendo."

Dustin squints his eyes at you. You throw your head back in frustration. God, he could be obnoxious. 

"Fine, with Duck Hunt."

He smiles widely, pumping his fist in the air. 

"Yes! Deal. Don't worry, I know just where to go." 

Dustin scurries off down the hall, backpack jangling on his back. A couple of girls shout disgruntled "hey"s as he bumps into them, throwing apologies over his shoulder.

"I mean it, Henderson! Someone good! Don't screw it up!" you shout over the chatter as his back disappeared around the corner. 

Hannah sighs, linking her arm through yours as you go into class. You straighten the collar of your blue oversized sweater from where it slipped off your shoulder. Mrs. Lattimore was a bitch and you didn't need a dress code violation. 

"You really think he's gonna come through?" she asks, dropping her bag to the floor before sitting down.

You nod, blowing your wispy bangs from your forehead as you slide into the first open desk beside her. 

"Of course. Dustin Henderson can't resist a challenge. And God help anyone who tells him no." 

After calculus and study hall where you tried your hardest to memorize trigonometric equations for your next exam, you walk to your locker to put away your things. Pulling out your denim jacket, a piece of paper folded in a triangle falls to the floor. It has the distinctly scribbled handwriting of Dustin, nearly illegible and in red pen. 

Basement, after school. Come alone. 

You snort, folding the paper and sliding it into the pocket of your high waisted jeans. Why did this kid make everything sound like he was an undercover operative? 

Only one period passes between now and then. The final bell rings and students stream out of the classes to their cars and buses. You throw your notebook and some pens into your shoulder bag and take the quick trip down to the school's basement. 

The only sound down here is the humming of the school's air conditioning and the boilers. You'd only ever been down here once to get art supplies

It creeped you out so badly you nearly sprinted back up the stairs. The hairs on the back of your neck are already standing up.

Dark doorways and corners surround you as you enter the only open door with a light. It's dimly lit, a large table in the center with chairs scattered around it. You raise an eyebrow at the ridiculous looking seat in the middle, almost like a throne. 

A threadbare couch is pushed up against the wall with a stereo in the corner. Cassette tapes are stacked against the wall, almost tipping over. You can't help going over to flick through them. Metallica, Iron Maiden, AC/DC, Joan Jett…

You hear something and turn, knocking a stack of tapes to the floor with your bag. A shape sits up on the couch in the darkness, startling you. You let out a scream, eyes getting wide. The other person also screams, high pitched enough that you'd laugh if you weren't so freaked out. In the chaos you trip backwards over a chair, ankle twisting to the side painfully. Your limbs flail out to catch anything to break your fall. 

Before you can hit the floor completely, a hand flies out and grabs your forearm. The silver rings on the fingers dig slightly into your skin through your jacket. Wide brown eyes look down at you, nervously scanning you from head to toe. You gulp a little, mouth going dry as you stare wide eyed at Eddie Munson, leader of the Hellfire Club.

Never in a million years did you expect this. You'd known Eddie for a while, sitting near him in some classes that he usually failed. People called him a freak, making him out to be some spawn of Satan. To you, he seemed sweet. He was just trying to make it through another school year like the rest of you. Dustin worshipped the ground he walked on and you always appreciated someone at the school looking out for your pseudo-brother. 

His hair is messy, as always. You can smell smoke and something spicy on his clothes. It's actually kind of nice, you think. He's in a black Black Sabbath t-shirt. Your eyes glance at the bat tattoos on the fair skin of the arm that's still holding yours.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" he asks, a worried look creasing his face.

Something buzzes in your brain as you glance at his long eyelashes and plump lips. Has he always been this good looking? You'd never had a chance to really look at Eddie in class, always worried about what the teachers had to say instead. Not that many boys were even on your radar to begin with. 

"Um, yeah, I think so." 

You stand upright a little more before wincing as you put weight on your ankle. 

"Here, sit down. I think I have something…" Eddie guides you to the couch before chaotically looking around the room. You bite your lip to hide the smile forming there.

With a small cry of triumph, Eddie comes back holding a can of Coke that he pulls from a small fridge. 

"It's not much, but it's cold…can't really keep ice in that thing," he says, crouching down at your feet. 

"It's fine…thank you. I can be really clumsy sometimes," you murmur as he starts to untie your high top Converse. 

"Wow, you seemed so graceful looking at those tapes. Could've fooled me," he replies with a smirk. Your face heats up at the dimples in his cheeks. 

Eddie slides your shoe off gently. You study his face as he holds the cold can to your slightly swollen ankle. His eyebrows furrow as if he could make you feel better through sheer will alone. He glances at you through long eyelashes. The corner of his mouth turns up as he catches you staring. 

"So I'm guessing Henderson sent you down here?

Something about the yearbook?" Eddie asks. 

"Yeah. If he'd have told me it was you though–" you start

"You wouldn't have come?" Eddie asks, hurt flashing through his eyes briefly. 

"No, no," you reassure him. "I would've met you somewhere besides a creepy ass basement."

Eddie grins widely again as he stands up. He takes a seat on the end of the couch, pulling your leg into his lap. He props your foot up and rests the cold can on the top of your ankle. 

"He's always acting like it's a spy mission…" he says with a look of exasperation.

"Yes!" You exclaim with a laugh. "Every time! He takes shit too seriously." 

His brown eyes glitter as you smile. You meet his glance and feel warmth in your chest that spreads to your face. Seconds pass as the only sounds are breathing and the heavy thud of your heart in your ears. You almost forget why you're even here. With a rapid blink, you force yourself to look away, reaching to grab your notebook. 

"I'm guessing that means you agree to be in the yearbook?" 

Eddie hesitates, but nods. You feel his thumb dance across the top of your ankle at the hem of your jeans, so light you'd think it didn't even happen.

"What do you want to know?" 

An hour and a half later, you have enough for your spread and then some. You only intended on getting a few quotes, but Eddie is a fountain of musical knowledge. Everything from The Beatles to Blondie, you go back and forth sharing favorite songs and most disliked artists. A debate breaks out over Bowie versus Freddie Mercury that has you crying laughing. You've never seen anyone find so much joy in talking about a subject like Eddie Munson and music. 

Pretty soon, you don't even feel the pain in your ankle. Eddie is now in the middle of the couch, turned towards you with a long arm thrown across the back. Your knees are pulled close to your chest, arms wrapped around your legs. You threw your jacket on the table about twenty minutes in, too warm from the energetic conversation. 

Whenever you speak Eddie looks at you so intently that it almost makes you embarrassed. There's not a single word or phrase that he misses, completely going against any of your previous opinions on his maniacal behavior. Unlike other guys, he actually cares about what you have to say. It might just be an act, but Eddie doesn't seem like the type to string you along. 

You're writing down notes of albums Eddie's mentioned and musicians he likes when you notice him from the corner of your eye. He's a lot closer than before, eyes on the collar of your favorite sweater. You notice the cool air of the basement across your skin and move to pull it up. 

"No, wait," Eddie says quietly. "Is that…do you have a tattoo?"

"Yeah…I turned eighteen a few weeks ago so my dad took me. He has tons from the Navy, so I wanted one of my own. I don't usually show it off though." 

Eddie's eyes get a little darker, flickering down to your shoulder and back to your face. 

"Can I see?" 

You nod before turning your back completely to him. You let the soft fabric of your sweater fall, exposing the paler skin of your shoulder blade. Your tattoo, a small blue and black butterfly, appears. Eddie's gaze is burning into your back and you remind yourself to take deep breaths or you might pass out. 

His fingertips graze the outline of each wing, as featherlight as the touch on your ankle earlier. Goosebumps break out on your skin and you hear Eddie breathe in through his nose and out again. 

"Christ, you're so… he murmurs. 

There's a hitch in his voice and you feel his hand pull away. You turn back, looking over. He's fidgeting with his rings, looking down at the floor. You realize he's nervous. Maybe he wonders when you'll get up and run away, freaking out. Or maybe you'll laugh at him for seeming desperate. Your hand goes out and you brush a lock of wavy hair from his cheek. Eddie's eyes close as he inhales. 

The air in the room seems thicker, a crackling across your skin. You trail your fingers down the soft fabric of his shirt to his bicep. Your index finger traces the dark lines of one of his tattoos. You can feel the flexing of the muscle under your nail and smile when the goosebumps appear. Eddie's eyes open and he stares down at you, but you don't look up. You're afraid you'll lose your nerve. 

"That's a wyvern, right?" you ask. 

Eddie's eyebrows raise a little before he smirks. 

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

You rub a thumb across one of the wings. 

"You realize who I used to babysit right? Had to watch those little dorks play all the time."

He grins broadly as he leans forward into your grasp. You raise your head, hand still on his arm. Eddie's close enough for you to count the faint freckles on his cheek and the stubble on his upper lip. 

The tip of Eddie's nose is almost touching yours as his breath fans across your lips. A shiver runs down your spine as his hand comes back up, tracing the skin of your collarbone. You silently thank Hannah for making you buy this sweater. 

"You know Henderson said you were too good for me," Eddie murmurs.

You laugh softly and place your other hand on his knee. The rough denim is torn and his skin feels hot to the touch. 

"I'll be the judge of that, Munson." 

Eddie's fingers curl around the back of your neck as he pulls you in. The kiss is slow, his lips soft and warm against yours. He groans as your tongue teases the edge of his bottom lip. Your mouth opens against his, the heat from his tongue filling your mouth as it slides inside. 

Eddie's other hand comes to your waist and pulls you close until your knees are in his lap. You whimper and throw your arms around his neck, feeling him smile. The only sound is your lips against his and heavy breathing. The cold metal of his rings against the skin of your waist makes you shiver as Eddie's long fingers drift around your side. 

The kiss becomes more frenzied, your hips tilting up slightly as the warmth in your chest spreads lower. You pull on his full bottom lip with your teeth earning you a hair-raising growl. Eddie releases your swollen lips to dip into your neck, sucking and kissing at the soft skin of your throat. You moan and bury your hands in his hair as he grabs your waist tighter. Your knees spread and your back arches, looking for any relief for the throbbing that is achingly apparent between your legs. 

Eddie's tongue swipes up to your ear where he nips at your earlobe. You grab his hand from where it's clawing at the skin of your hips and pull it towards your center. Pressing kisses to Eddie's neck as he pants against your cheek, his fingers toy with the buttons of your jeans. 

Suddenly, a loud clamoring comes from outside the door and Eddie sits up quickly. You push off the cushions of the couch as you do the same, frantically adjusting your sweater. Appearing at the door are Dustin and Lucas Sinclair, holding notebooks. 

"Hey Eddie….and Eddie's….friend?" Lucas questions as his eyes narrow in confusion. "I thought we were gonna work on the campaign but we can…"

"Nope!" you shout, hopping up from the couch. "We're done. Yep, got all I need for the yearbook." 

You put too much weight on your sore ankle and mutter. You'd forgotten all about it. Dustin looks suspiciously from you to Eddie, taking in your flushed cheeks and Eddie's messier than usual hair. You shove your notebook and pen in your bag and throw it over your shoulder. 

Eddie rests his elbows on his knees, bringing a hand to his chin as he watches you. Your wild eyes and breathless voice are something he doesn't want to ever forget. You're not sure if you're about to combust from horniess from being mauled by Eddie Munson or embarrassment for being almost caught by his little followers. 

"Hey, wait," Eddie's teasing voice stops you before you can fly out the door. "I'm gonna want to see that yearbook page. Gotta make sure you don't misquote me or anything." 

You turn, meeting his broad smile and your heart flutters at the sight of those damn dimples. 

"Of course. I, uh, have a shift tomorrow at the Family Video, but we can meet after to…go over things. See you at 7?" 

Eddie leans back as a heated look flashes across his face. That throbbing is never going to go away now. 

"See you then, princess." 

like, comment, and reblog my friends!

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 14

“Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” | Flare | Water Inhalation | "Just hold on."

Pairing: Fili/Kili Rating: T Words: 2245

Fast Car (formerly Dead Batteries) AU (Tumblr / Ao3)

Takes place 1-2 months before "Too late, too late, your love gave me life."

--

Warnings: domestic abuse, physical violence, mild sexual content, slurs, homophobia

--

/ Kili / / I know you have your phone. / Missed Call from Fili @ 9:37pm Missed Call from Fili @ 9:38pm Missed Call from Fili @ 9:39pm / I just want to know that you’re okay. / / please call me back /

— 

Earlier

/ The bike’s working again. /  / !!! /  / Want to go for a ride ;) /  / On the bike / / Both? /

Kili grinned before replying.

/ Just the bike / / Tease / / 10 min / 

It was the first nice day in the valley. Jackets had been discarded in favor of bare arms that were warmed by the sun. The breeze still had a bite to it, but it was only February. It was forecast to last only a few days before the temperatures dipped low again and the clouds returned and everyone was taking advantage of it. The hum of lawn equipment filled the narrow streets of Kili’s neighborhood. Some girls next door were laying out in the sun in swimsuit tops. 

Kili managed to slip outside and down to the corner without being wrangled into doing lawn work by his father. The man needed a hobby. His obsession with landscaping was unhealthy. But Kili would much rather have his father paying attention to the bushes in the backyard than him. 

The rumble of the dirtbike announced Fili’s arrival before he even turned the corner.

“Show off!” Kili shouted with a grin.

Fili smirked.

He was shirtless. A flannel shirt was tied around his waist and tucked beneath his thighs. 

“Ready?”

Kili swung a leg over the back of the back. He accepted the helmet from Fili. “Where are we going?” 

Fili shrugged. “Where do you want to go”

“The reservoir?” Kili suggested, tucking his hair back beneath the helmet’s black nylon straps.

“Too many people.”

“Really?” Kili teased, sensing Fili’s intent.

“Yeah, really!” 

“Hmm.” Kili wrapped his arms around Fili’s waist, his hips now pressed tightly against Fili’s backside. Fili gripped one of Kili’s thighs and squeezed. Kili ducked his head, tilting too the side to avoid knocking their helmets together, and ran his nose over the bare skin of Fili’s upper back. “How about…” he gently bit down on Fili’s shoulder. Fili tipped his head to allow easier access. “That one place,” Kili suggested.

“That could work.”

Kili gave Fili a squeeze.

“You have to promise to go skinny dipping though.”

“What?! That water will be freezing! It’s ice cold even in July!”

Fili’s voice pitched low, “I’ll warm you up afterwards.”

The prospect of seeing Fili naked in full sunlight left Kili more than willing to do just about anything.

—

Kili was not really naked. He was still wearing a pair of plaid boxer shorts. Not that those were going to do a whole lot of concealing when he got out of the water.

“How long do I have to stay in for?” His teeth were already chattering.

“Five minutes!”

Kili scowled and dug his fingers into the river bed.

This river was one fed by the snow melt from higher elevations. In a few weeks it would be too dangerous to even consider setting foot in, but right now the water was only 1-2 feet deep at the deepest. But it was still icy. And Kili had lost the bet. He had said he did not think Fili could make it here in less than 40 minutes. They had made it 39. They had both timed it. 

So here Kili was; sitting in frigid water in his boxers. 

They had both conceded to the “underwear-stays-on-clause.” Sitting naked in a river was not how Kili wanted to see Fili naked for the first time. Not that it would really be the first time. They had both seen each other naked at various times before; usually when changing, but that was before. 

“Time?” Kili asked.

“Two minutes and 17 seconds��� 18… 19… Do you give up?”

“What happens if I do?”

“You have to let me copy your English paper.”

“No!” 

“Then you’ve still got over two minutes left,” Fili grinned. He sat down on the bank and dipped his bare feet in, but quickly yanked them out again with a shiver.

The stopwatch beeped loudly when it reached 5 minutes. Kili was out of the water before Fili could turn it off. Arms wrapped tightly around his chest he bounded from the water as quickly as he dared. It almost felt colder now than it did when he got in. “Fuck. We don’t have a towel,” Kili swore. He bounced on the balls of his feet in his efforts to warm up.

“I said I’d warm you back up.”

“I don’t think your shirt’s going to cut it, Fee.”

Fili slipped his hands around Kili’s hips. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You're going to get all wet, and then we’ll both be cold,” Kili protested weakly. His hair was already leaving wet spots on Fili’s t-shirt from where it was dripping. 

“Then we’re both cold,” Fili shrugged. 

Fili’s mouth was warm against Kili’s. Soon Kili forgot how cold he was because wherever their skin touched, Fili’s hands on his hips, Kili’s hands on Fili’s cheeks, his shoulders, where their thighs touched, he was warmed through. 

“You’re beautiful,” Kili said. He was looking up at Fili who was straddling Kili’s thighs. The sun behind Fili turned his wind mussed, and now hand mussed hair into a golden halo. Everything about Fili was warm and sunkissed. Kili ran a hand up Fili’s side.

“And you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Fili said playfully. 

Kili frowned earnestly, “I’m serious, Fee.”

Fili’s playful expression dropped away, “So am I.” His eyes seemed to flicker with intensity. 

Kili dropped his gaze and seemed to curl in on himself. He wanted to cross his arms, but could not bring himself to do so. 

“Kili.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it.”

—

It was cooler when they rode back into town. Fili was wearing his flannel. The open tails snapped sharply in the wind, but it was soft beneath Kili’s cheek as they took turns more slowly than required. Neither of them wanted the day to end. They would see each other tomorrow, but today was something that they wanted to hold on to. Tomorrow would not be the same. 

Fili stopped the bike in front of the low, single story brick ranch house. The neighborhood was full of more houses that fit the same mold. They all had large backyards, chain link fences, brick or stone facades. Some houses had basement windows peeking out from the foundation, but some did not. Kili’s house was one that lacked a basement, but it did have a two car garage. Half the garage was cleared for a car while the other half was filled with every item imaginable, from Kili’s bicycle, to holiday decorations, to things that really should be thrown out, but no one had the heart to. In that last category there were boxes of Kili’s mom’s clothes in the back corner. Kili knew they should be donated and he sometimes thought about finding one or two items to keep, like the horrible vest she wore for Christmas, or her nice top that she wore for birthday parties. But he never did. He only ever made it as far as the door into the garage from the kitchen. 

Everything was too still when Fili turned the bike off. The sound and vibration of the bike were so familiar that sometimes Kili still felt like he was on it even hours later. Kili rubbed his cheek on the yoke of Fili’s shirt.

“I like this shirt.”

Fili snorted.

“It’s soft.”

“I can let you steal it next time you’re over,” Fili chuckled.

“Borrow,” Kili corrected.

“Steal.”

Kili huffed and kissed the side of Fili’s neck. “Fine.”

“If you do that again I’ll let you keep it.”

Kili’s breath danced over Fili’s skin. “But I like it when you wear it.” Kili kissed Fili’s neck again, this time adding his tongue and licking the sweat-dampened skin. Kili grinned into Fili’s neck when he felt the shudder travel up Fili’s back. 

“And I like it when you wear my clothes.”

“You prefer it when my clothes are on the floor.”

“Absolutely,” Fili grinned. He took hold of Kili’s hand that was still wrapped around his waist and moved it lower so that Kili could feel Fili in his jeans.

Kili snorted. And gently closed his hand around Fili’s hardening dick. 

Fili exhaled in surprise. Kili normally shied away from too much physical contact when they were in full view of anyone who could see them. Hand holding, a quick kiss here or there, but he often shut down anything more salacious very quickly. 

“Kili…”

“Hmmm?” Kili pressed against Fili’s back and with this kiss he gently bit down where Fili’s neck joined his shoulder.

“Not that I’m not,” Fili paused to gather his thoughts, and continued a bit breathlessly, “Not that I’m not enjoying thi—”

Kili was yanked back and off the back of the bike by the collar of his shirt, it tore, to hang loosely around his neck. Fili was jerked sideways by Kili’s arms as he disappeared. Fili stumbled. Losing his balance, and the bike fell over. Slamming into Fili’s calf. A dark black bruise was already forming before Fili could move. He caught the handlebars to right the bike. “Wha—?”

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?” Kili’s dad roared. He had half dropped Kili, half flung him to the hard ground of the verge. 

“Dad, I—” Kili started, eyes wide, skin pale.

He was shouting, his face red, spit flying.  “Doing that… that… garbage where people can see you? What the hell is wrong with you? I should have done what Mike said,” he was advancing on Kili. 

Kili scrambled back, his hands slipping on the dry grass. “Please—”

His dad continued. He did not let Kili finish even a single word. “He said I should beat the faggot out of you. And keep doing it until it works.” His breath smelled of sour beer. He was unbuckling his belt to yank it free, to do just what he had said. 

Kili flinched back, eyes closed, arm thrown up to protect his head. 

Fili dropped the bike without a thought.

“No!” Fili pushed the larger man back. Placing himself between Kili and Dave. 

It took a moment for his eyes to focus on Fili. “You better get out of here, boy. Or I’ll do the same to you,” his voice was low in a snarl.

“I’d like to see you try!” Fili shot back, squaring his shoulders. 

Dave shoved Fili then, hands slamming into Fili’s chest. Fili exhaled hard, stumbled back, and nearly fell, tripping over Kili’s legs, and kicking up light brown dust from the ground.

“Fili!” Kili cried out. He scrambled to his feet.

“Is that the best you have, you old drunk?” Fili’s eyes were on fire. His fists clenched, and his voice full of an emotion that Kili had never heard before. 

Dave snarled and made to grab Fili. Kili jumped in between them. “Don’t!” His father roughly shoved Kili out of the way. There would be bruises later, but Kili did not even feel the contact. Dave had a fist full of Fili’s shirt, the one that Kili liked. Dave grunted when Fili did something that Kili could not see. But he did not let go. He drew back a fist…

“Stop!” Kili grabbed his dad’s arm and dragged him back with all of his weight and all of the power that he could muster. It was enough to drag Dave off balance. He fell heavily to the ground on his ass. This seemed to bring him back to himself, just a bit. 

“You,” he growled, pointing at Fili. “Get away from here before I call the cops.”

Fili’s cheeks were bright with emotion. “Do it!” He snapped. “I’d like to see what they have to say about this!”

Kili stepped between Fili and his father. “Fili, please,” he pleaded, grabbing for Fili’s hands. “Please just go?”

“I’m not leaving you here with that bastard!” Fili spit out. His eyes were still fixed on Dave.

“Please…” Kili pleaded. “I… I don’t… Just leave? Please?” His eyes were involuntarily filling with tears. He gently pushed Fili in the direction of the road. 

Fili switched his focus to Kili. “Kili, I don’t—”

“Please, just go?”

“What if he hurts you? Again?”

Now Kili recognized that emotion in Fili’s voice. It was fear. Kili felt sick. “I… I’ll be alright.”

Fili looked past Kili to where Dave had pulled his phone out. He scowled at Fili. 

“Okay…” Fili sounded uncertain. He squeezed Kili’s hand twice. Their signal. 

Dave started counting, “One… Two…”

“I’m going!” Fili shouted, glaring at Dave. He turned his attention back to Kili. “Call me later? Let me know you’re alright?”

Kili nodded.

“Or I’ll be the one calling the cops.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“I know.”

—

Later

/ Kili? / / Fili <3 Calling / / Call Declined /  / I’m okay. / / Why won’t you answer? / / I’m not in the mood to talk / / I just want to hear your voice… / / I’ve been worrying about you since I left. /  / i don’t know how much longer i can do this / / what does that mean? / / ? / / Kili? / / what does that mean? / Missed Call from Fili <3 @ 9:59pm Missed Call from Fili <3 @ 10:01pm Missed Call from Fili <3 @ 10:33pm Missed Call from Fili <3 @ 11:57pm

--

Taglist Everything: @silvermoon-scrolls Fili/Kili: @dubhlachen

[viceroywrites]

reunions and opportunities - chapter three

gary x fem!reader

both of you didn't get the ideal high school experience it would make sense that you both would be dreading the reunion.

little did you know how many doors would open after that.

ao3 version here - chapters on tumblr are slightly rewritten and restructured.

content warning: fic contains smut in later chapters. discussions of mental health including trauma and potential ptsd (aka gary is traumatized).

chapter 3

A few weeks had passed since your and Gary’s first meeting and the pace of life had changed drastically for the both of you since then. 

You had gotten comfortable in your position as Sheila’s right hand woman, joining her on meetings on Meteor Majeure, helping her with reconnaissance and compiling information about the Blue Morpho. Most of your days were spent with her while evenings were dedicated to meticulously going through surveillance tapes that Wide Wale handed off to you, noting every move each Venture family member made. 

Little did you know, your newly harbored crush was gallivanting around with the Blue Morpho, dressed up as Kano. Gary had been undergoing night after night of stressful encounters, accidentally taking out Harangeutan, barely avoiding being caught by Dr. Mrs the Monarch and almost losing his leader turned best friend to an explosion when they eliminated the Doom Factory. All the while, he’s been feeding you fake stories of what his days have been like, listing off mundane things like attending meetings, and working on projects with vague descriptions.

There was comfort in your late night talks and text exchanges - you quickly found out you had more in common than just a love of comics, geeking out with one another about the latest Game of Thrones episode or sending each other memes. Friendly banter had definitely morphed into playful flirting and you had even started sending each other selfies, both of you being extra careful to hide anything that would indicate your life in the Guild. 

Following the elimination of the Doom Factory, The Council of 13 was currently convening on Meteor Majeure to discuss narrowing their sights on Dr. Venture. Most of the time during these meetings, you stayed silent and took down notes for your husky voiced boss, still learning the ropes and getting used to working with other villains outside of Wide Wale. 

The task force chosen from the Council of 13 to tackle the Blue Morpho problem was officially dubbed the 5.5. Your eyebrows rose inquisitively at the name and Dr. Mrs. the Monarch simply sighed, “The point five account for Watch and Ward… they’re technically not Council members.” She gestured over to the two Guild Agents who were sitting at a kiddy table in the corner.

Quite confused since you normally sat next to Sheila during these meetings, you began heading over to the kiddy table, “I guess I’ll join them since I’m not either.” The dark haired villainess grabbed your hand, “You really don’t have to-“ You shook your head and offered a smile, “It’s alright, Councilwoman. It’s only fair to them.”

You took a seat next to Watch and Ward, quickly watching the scene turn from civility to chaos before you as the Council members argued back and forth with each other while Ward desperately tried to get their attention about having old Guild records. Nudging Watch who stayed silent throughout the debacle, you muttered, “Are they always like this?” Watch sighed, “More times than not… welcome to the Guild.”

Your expression changed from disbelief to disgust as Dr. Z began to detail his sexual acts he did with a disguised Blue Morpho. Your boss saw this and gave you a sympathetic look, pinching the bridge of her nose as she listened as well. As he wrapped up his spiel, you cleared your throat. All eyes snapped towards you.

“If I may… I’ve been doing some intelligence work with Dr. Mrs. the Monarch. Given the surveillance footage we received generously from Wide Wale, Venture’s reluctance to cooperate with the Guild, and now this new information about Blue Morpho’s linkage to Dr. Jonas Venture, Dr. Venture seems like the best candidate.” You opened up a folder you had, standing up and sliding the document over to Phantom Limb who perused it with an impressed look before passing it along to the other Council members.

“However, it still strikes me as strange how Dr. Venture can go from wimpy scientist by day to ruthless vigilante by night who can take out our rank 10 villains easily. I’ve ruled out any involvement of his bodyguard, Brock Samson, due to the fact that he has spent numerous nights with a tenant who lives in a property owned by Wide Wale during the nights the Blue Morpho has struck. Which proves the theory that Brock is disguised as Kano false.” You slid over another file, which contained surveillance tapes screenshots of Brock entering the condominium complex with time stamps.

“I’m not saying we rule out Dr. Venture… In fact, I want to keep even a closer eye on him, as the Blue Morpho seems to keep getting more and more dangerous every day. I mean for Christ’s sake, he took out an entire team of 10 super-villains in one big massive explosion. I just feel that we can’t completely ignore other suspects and only focus on Venture.” You looked around the room to see all of the Council members gaping at the evidence and back at you, aside from Dr. Mrs. the Monarch who had a proud look on her face, quite impressed.

She had only told you to focus on evidence that would point to Dr. Venture being the main culprit, but you did bring up some good points about not narrowing the search. 

“I must say, young woman… you’ve done an excellent job compiling all this information; Let’s adjourn the meeting for today. We shall meet again in the next couple of days to go over possible other suspects. [Your Name], I want you to tail Dr. Venture tomorrow. We must account for every single hour. Leave nothing untouched.” Dr. Z adjourned the meeting with his final remark and the rest of the council members dispersed. 

Phantom Limb lingered briefly before walking over to you. “I’m quite impressed, my dear. Maybe you could use that bright young mind under me once this whole mess is over with and the Guild is restored to its former glory.” You felt a protective hand on your shoulder, looking back to see your raven-haired boss. Her expression was less than pleased to see Phantom Limb trying to swoop in and take away her potential apprentice. “For now, she is under my training, Hamilton. Once she’s been shown the ropes, it is up to her to decide whom she wants to hench for... if she even wants to hench.” 

The purple clad villain smirked, “Now, now, Sheila, watch your temper.” His gaze turned to you, “Just keep in mind… you would be number two in my ranks. Under her and the Monarch, you’d be a measly… what… 22?” Dr. Mrs. the Monarch’s eyes narrowed and she grabbed your wrist, pulling you out with her.

“The nerve of that insufferable asshole…” The usually levelheaded woman cursed under her breath, removing her black gloves and twisting them in her hand. She had been a victim to Phantom Limb coaxing her and making empty promises of training her and claiming to make her his number two as Queen Etherea when he merely treated her like a prized object. It made her blood boil. He was trying to pull the same stunt on her own freaking apprentice. 

You gently touched her shoulder and grinned, “If you think you’re going lose me to that prick, you’re wrong, Councilwoman. I’ll take the rank of 22 over number two-ing with him any day.” You sighed a breath of relief as your boss chuckled softly and gave you a thankful smile. 

“I appreciate it, [Your Name]. You’ve been such a hard-worker but also a sweetheart. You’re probably the only one keeping me sane with this whole Blue Morpho mess.” She was suddenly cut off by her circular compact phone buzzing, “Hello? Oh, hi sweetie, how are you doing? The vestibule is completely finished? Oh that’s wonderful, I’ll be home soon. Love you too. Bye.” 

She closed the compact and looked towards you, “Duty calls. The life of being married to another villain, your work never stops even at home. Take the night off, we’ll discuss how we go about bugging the Venture building tomorrow.” Dr. Mrs. the Monarch gave you a quick hug, which surprised you, not used to receiving affection from her.

She chuckled at your expression, “Get used to it, sweetie. If you’re joining me and the Monarch, you’re basically a part of our family. Also call me Sheila from now, Dr. Mrs. the Monarch and Councilwoman is way too formal.” 

--

Gary sat alone in the Blue Morpho headquarters, reclining in the chair in front of the obsolete control panel. He covered his eyes, trying to take deep breaths to slow down his heartbeat.

In the realm of arching and villainy, henchmen were second-class citizens, disposable and replaceable. There was no such thing as therapy or mental health care; you were expected to wake up, execute orders from your leader, go through grueling combat, kill and not bat an eyelash, and sleep. Rinse and repeat, day after day.

However, this constant killing had been taking a toll on the henchman. Just when he had finally stopped having hallucinations of his only friend who had been dead for two years now, he was having nightmares and thoughts about killing Haranguetan and countless other villains.

Arching was essentially all one elaborate act; sharpening claws, making threats, reconnaissance work, and infiltration. Yeah, he knew he was a henchman and it was basically his job to take out enemies. But these weren’t just mindless henchmen or drones – these were top ranking villains. Gary knew how taboo it was to even kill your archenemy for heaven’s sake but to kill off those under the Guild was basically a one-way ticket to hell.

His face contorted in pain, his thoughts replaying how easily he snapped Haranguetan’s neck and watched him fall into that whale-sized pit. No matter how he tried to detach himself from those thoughts or distract himself, every single time the Monarch made him put on that Kano costume, it all came flooding back to him.

His phone rang loudly, causing Gary to flinch back and fall to the ground, scrambling backwards. He cursed to himself, breaking a sweat over a damn phone call. Ever since this whole Blue Morpho situation started, he felt like he had a walking target on his back, paranoid and hyper vigilant almost every single day. 

“Hello?” His groggy voice choked out over the phone, his heart still racing. 

“Hey, did I just wake you up from a nap, sleepy head?” You teased over the phone, back at your apartment, changing out of your Guild uniform.

Gary’s tense shoulders relaxed as he heard your soothing voice. The only thing that managed to keep him stable was talking to you and hearing your voice. You two had been so busy lately; when you had work, he was free but once you got off, he had to play dress-up with the Monarch and kill off some other villain. But you still made time for each other, calling and sending each other voice messages.

You two weren’t even together, he had to remind himself. But you two constantly checked up on each other, made each other laugh, nerded out about your shared interests. He was okay with not putting a label on it at this point; you made each other happy and he wanted to avoid the ‘hey-I’m-a-henchman’ conversation as long as he could.

“No, no… just caught me off guard. Don’t you still have a few hours left at work?” He chuckled softly, checking the time. “Boss let me go early surprisingly… Are you doing anything tonight?” You asked, slipping into an oversized t-shirt for now as you lay in bed. 

Gary contemplated for a bit. The Monarch was still plotting his next move and gave him the night off. He had to take advantage of this opportunity while he could, “No, want to explore the city together, m’lady?” He teased, using the nickname he gave you the night you met. You giggled and grinned, “I would love to. Should I pick you up?” 

He froze a bit, knowing the Monarch and Dr. Mrs. the Monarch would be home tonight. “Ummm, no, I can just take the train and meet you at Central Park. Sounds good?”

You blinked, wondering why he paused and sounded so tense, “Yeah, definitely. See you in an hour!” You hung up, grinning to yourself. 

You both needed a break from all this Blue Morpho nonsense and being in each other’s company was the best thing to distract you two.

[avastrasposts]

Pickled Interruptions - a Pickled Peña Production

Hello!

As you've probably seen, we've been gearing up for a writing challenge these past few weeks - Pickled Peña! A brain child of some of my lovely friends here on Tumblr. Anyone who joins in will be added to the Pickled Peña Master List over at @pickled-pena and I cannot wait to see what everyone comes up with based on the prompts that were randomly selected.

Below the cut is my contribution. I ended up using an OFC I created for another fandom but there's no need for prior information about her to read this fic. I just wanted to bring her out to play again because she's such a firecracker and would give Peña a challenge.

There are no warnings for this fic, it's just a bit of spicy fluff, mentions of pickles, sticky floors and Peña's half hard dick because...you know...

“Daniels! No fucking pickles in the vodka orange!” Eve snapped at the new bartender on her shift as she grabbed a pair of tongs and picked the sad, floating cucumber from the orange juice. 

“Who the hell even hired you?” she growled at him as he shrugged and slid the drink over to the disgruntled looking patron on the other side of the bar. 

Eve sighed and went back to serving her side of the bar, keeping an eye on him from the corner of her eye. It was New Year's Eve, the busiest night of the year in any decent club but instead of making drinks and getting big tips, she was now babysitting the dumbass newbie. The imbecile further down the bar had been hired just yesterday to cover for a skinny kid, Lenny, who’d suddenly called in and claimed he had a broken leg. 

And she could see why Daniels had been hired, the cluster of women surrounding his section of the bar made it very evident. The man was undeniably good looking, his broad shoulders and narrow hips emphasized by the uniform worn by all the bartenders at the club, tight fitting black slacks, a white shirt open at the neck, rolled up sleeves and a black vest. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t say she was tempted, but she pulled her eyes away from his butt as he bent down to pick up a tumbler he’d dropped. It was a very good butt, but she had a job to do, and she could see almost every woman, and some of the men, stare at it when he turned around to grab whiskey from the top shelf. 

“Daniels!” she yelled, making him jump and almost drop the five hundred dollar bottle of bourbon he’d just grabbed. “We do not put JD Gold Medal in a fucking Jack and Coke,” she hissed at him as she took the bottle from his hand, “get a fucking grip, regular JD is just fine.” 

“Yes, boss,” he replied, grabbing the right bottle this time, pouring a much too generous measure into the glass as Eve rolled her eyes. 

“Put this back on the shelf when you’re done,” she snapped, “Considering your name I really thought you’d know more about Jack Daniels, Jack Daniels,” she scoffed at him and went back to her section of the bar.  

Javier Peña seethed under his breath as he poured the Coke into the glass, trying to remember his bartending crash course from two days ago. Who’s stupid fucking idea had it been to give him the alias Jack-fucking-Daniels? This last minute undercover thing was dicey as fuck as it was, even if was just to be reconnaissance to figure out when the next drug shipment this club was a front for would come in. He just needed to get a look at the office in the back, but so far the bossy know-it-all they’d stuck him with at the bar had gone back there herself every time something was needed from storage. 

He glanced over at her, she was leaning over the counter, smiling at some clearly drunk blonde guy, the open buttons of her white shirt straining against her cleavage, giving the man a perfect view. And he was taking advantage of it, not even attempting to hide the way he was staring at her breasts. But judging by the generous tip he gave her when she passed him his drink, it had been worth it. And he had to give it to her, she had the looks to make all the men at the bar hang on to her every movement as she swiftly made their drinks. He had noticed that most of the men were on her side of the bar, and the women on his side. He didn’t mind, he just wished he was as fast as her when it came to making drinks. He fucking hated having to ask her for instructions, her barely contained eye rolls becoming more and more pronounced the further the night went. But she was right, he wouldn’t have fucking hired himself either, the only drink he knew was whiskey, neat. 

Javier had tried flirting with Eve, hoping to get some information from her while she showed him where everything was in the bar before opening on his first night the day before. 

“The ice is here, it usually needs to be refilled once a night if it’s busy. The big ice machine is next to the storage room out back,” she thumbed behind her to the door, “but I’ll handle that. You just keep the patrons happy for now.” 

“How about keeping you happy,” he smiled, wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, “I don’t mind carrying the heavy stuff for you, cariño.” 

“Yeah, thanks, I can handle myself,” she snorted, turning away from him and nudging the bar fridge with the toe of her shoe, “This is where we keep any garnishes for the cocktails, we’ll need to cut up some more during the night so keep an eye on how much we have left.” 

“So, you’ve been doing this long? You seem to know your way around a bar,” he asked as he leaned on the counter next to her, making sure he was down on her level as he smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of her copper red hair behind her ear. She swatted away his hand and he chuckled, “Feisty, jus-” 

“If you say what I think you're about to say about redheads and temper, just shut it,” she snapped at him, her eyes flashing, “I’ve heard every possible variation.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he grinned, holding up his hands in surrender as she turned on her heel and stalked off to the other side of the bar, grabbing the dish cloth and throwing it at him with a flick of her wrist. 

“You’re on dishwasher duty, don’t fuck up.” 

He caught it mid air before it hit his face, sauntering after her as she pulled up the hood of the dishwasher.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be less predictable in the future,” he grinned and changed his tact, giving her a softer smile this time, leaving some space between them, “I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads, never dated one though,” he said, tilting his head as she scowled. He was making sure to keep his eyes on her face and not let them drift down to where the shirt of her uniform opened up. 

“Good for you;” she replied, pulling out the tray of clean glasses and pointing to them, “They need to be dried or they’ll have water stains, get to it.” 

“Yes, boss.”

“And put them with the other clean glasses when you’re done,” she pulled down the hood again and started turning away but Javier put his hand out to stop her.

“Wait, I apologize, I was an ass, I didn’t mean to come on so strong,” he gently put his hand on her upper arm, careful to not grab her, just let it rest there as he gave her his most sincere look, “but if you get an evening off, I’d like to make it up to you and take you out, just for a drink or something.” 

He smiled at her again, keeping it soft and honest looking as he removed his hand from her arm, “I’m serious, you’re a beautiful woman and clearly a much better bartender than me, and I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll let me.” 

He kept his eyes on her as he stopped talking, reading her face for any tell tale signs of her softening but she wasn’t budging. 

“I don’t date bartenders,” she smirked, picking up an empty tray and leaving the bar area. 

“Make it your New Year’s resolution to try something new and date one?” he called after her with a grin as she began collecting dirty glasses

“Not dating bartenders is my New Year’s resolution,” she threw back at him over her shoulder. 

The first night at the bar had been a disaster and the second was shaping up to be even worse. The bar was quickly getting packed with people out to celebrate New Year’s Eve and it was all hands on deck. Eve cursed as she saw Daniels attempt a gin and tonic, adding far too much tonic as the guest protested. To adjust he poured more gin into the tall glass and made the G&T strong enough to knock out a bull. 

“Daniels!” Eve called, jerking her head in the direction of the back door, “We’re gonna need two new kegs of Stella, get ‘em for me. Patty, take over for Daniels, we’ll be faster without him.” 

Javier tried to look pissed off but in reality this was what he’d been hoping for. Handing the G&T to Patty, who gave him a dirty look, he left the bar and hurried towards the backdoor. If he moved quickly he’d get a few minutes to snoop around. 

The backdoor led to a large storage room, the kegs were stacked in a corner. But at the other end of the room was another door that led to a hallway, and at the end of that, the office. Javier knew this since they’d managed to pull the blueprint of the building from city hall, and now he quickly grabbed a keg and brought it back to the bar. 

“Gonna take a few minutes for the next one, I knocked some shit over, I need to clean it up,” he told Eve, shrugging as she rolled her eyes at him, handing a patron a bright cocktail. 

“Just hurry up, Daniels.” 

“Yes, boss.”

Javier turned and hurried back to the backdoor, closing it behind him and shutting out some of the loud music from the night club, the dull thud of the base reverberating through the walls. 

The office was locked but the cheap mechanism easily gave in and Javier slipped inside, scanning the room for any paperwork. He quickly got to work and flicked through a stack on the desk, moving on to opening the drawers when he found nothing. Next was a thick ledger on the bookshelf and bingo! Tucked between the pages were several shipping manifests, certain rows underlined. The next ship was due in three days. With a satisfied grunt Javier slapped his hand on the ledger. 

The door to the office swung open and Javier froze by the desk, staring at Eve who looked at him with annoyance written clearly across her face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snarled, her hand slipping behind her waist in a movement Javier knew far too well, his hands shot up immediately as she pulled a gun from the back of her pants. 

“Nothing, boss, I was just looking for the pay statements, I think Patty’s stealing my tip,” he bullshitted and he knew she hadn’t bought a word. 

“Bollocks, Peña, you’re fucking DEA and you’re messing up my case.” 

Javier felt his mouth fall open as she moved across the office, coming to stand next to him and looking at the shipping manifest. 

“How the fuck do you know?” he finally spat out as she ran her finger over the rows he’d just scanned. 

“Because I’m CIA, and you’re the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever met.” 

“That doesn’t explain it,” Javier replied, “How are you CIA? You’re a bartender!”

“I wasn’t always CIA,” Eve tapped one of the rows, “This one, that’s the one I’m after, and I’m guessing they’re bringing in drugs on it too? Since you’re here?” 

“Yeah, that’s one, the same one we’ve seen three times before. Just didn’t realize it’d be coming in this week.” 

Eve looked over at him and rolled her eyes, “If the DEA put a bit more effort into their cases you’d know that this ship comes in exactly every twenty-one days, always from one of three ports. But they rendezvous on international waters with a ship from Colombia and transfer over their goods. We’ve had our eyes on the girls they bring at the same time, usually about ten poor things dreaming of a better life, but it makes sense for them to bring in drugs the same way.” 

“But how do you know I’m DEA?” Javier asked again and Eve closed the ledger with a snap and put it back on the shelf. 

“Because Lenny ‘breaks his leg’ and you’re magically available two days before New Years, the busiest night of the entire year. Any bartender has been booked months ago. But you’re also the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever seen,” she shook her head, tucking her gun back in the back of her pants. “So I lifted your prints and did a run, Javier Peña, DEA. I like to know who I’m working with.” 

“Well, fuck…” he huffed, “let’s hope no one else is a thorough as you, CIA.” 

Eve gave him a crooked smile, “No one rarely is, Peña.” 

“So these guys traffic women too and that’s why you’re here?” he asked as Eve moved to open the office door and he followed behind her. 

“Yeah, my boss has been on them for months and got a tip off about this place a few weeks ago, I’ve been undercover here since.” The hallway was empty and they moved out, Javier carefully closed the door behind them, making sure it locked again. 

“You had me fooled,” he chuckled, “I thought you were in with them, that’s why I asked you out, to see if I could get you to spill.” 

“Sure that’s why you asked me out,” Eve smirked, “Had nothing to do with the fact that this ridiculous uniform shirt is open halfway to my belly button.”

“That may have been a deciding factor in choosing my mark,” Javier grinned as they started making their way back to the bar. Suddenly the music from the club increased in volume, the door of the storage room was thrown open and over the sound of the music, they heard heavy footsteps. 

“Shit,” Eve hissed, “we’re not supposed to be back here! Quick, in here!” She grabbed Javier’s arm and pulled him in through a door halfway down the hallway and quietly closed the door. The room was a small storage space, jars of cocktail garnishes mixed with cleaning agents stacked on the floor. The space was cramped and Eve found herself pressed up against Javier’s chest as he squeezed in and closed the door quietly behind them. 

“You’re on my foot,” he hissed, shifting, his hands on her hips to move her to the side. 

“Stand still, they’re coming,” she whispered back at him, grabbing on to his arms to keep her balance as her foot knocked against a jar on the floor. The footsteps echoed through the hallway and passed the door, as they held their breath. 

“Wait outside,” came a gruff voice that Eve recognised as Mason’s, the guy who ran the club and was, supposedly, second in command. 

“Yes, boss,” came the surly reply as the door to the office clicked open and shut. Eve tried to keep her breathing as quiet as possible as she and Javier listened to the shuffling boots of the henchman outside the office door, efficiently trapping them in the storage room. 

Javier was uncomfortably aware of how her soft breasts were pressed up against his chest, her hands on his arms to keep her steady. The top of her head was just by his cheek and with each inhale he could smell the light flowery scent of her shampoo. It reminded him of springtime back home and without meaning to, he inhaled deeply and held his breath, closing his eyes. He shifted his body weight, his hands on her hips sliding up every so slightly as the warm press of her body made his cock twitch. 

She shifted next to him, her hips brushing against what could only be his half hard length, hearing a low intake of breath from above as he adjusted his stance. Pressed up against him, her nose was right next to the soft looking skin of his neck, a smattering of freckles visible in the dim light. She could feel him inhaling softly above her and she did the same, catching his aftershave and fresh sweat from the long shift. She carefully tilted her head up, watching his lips part as his tongue came out to wet his plush bottom lip, before he slipped it back inside, meeting her eyes as he looked down at her. 

In the hallway the office door opened and closed again. 

“Alright, all under control for tonight, get Jones and head on over there an-” 

The crash of a glass jar interrupted the man’s orders as Eve cursed under her breath, somehow the stacked jars by their feet had toppled over and now the vinegar smell of pickle juice filled the storage room. 

“What the fuck is going on, check that room, Mendez!” 

Javier grabbed Eve’s face between his hands and pressed her against the wall, his lips on hers a split second before the door was yanked open. He groaned loudly into her mouth, rolling his hips into her soft belly and thanked her quick mind as she pulled him closer by his arms, whimpering against him.

“I don’t fucking pay you for fucking in the storage room!” Mason yelled and Javier yanked himself away from Eve as if they’d just been caught red handed. 

“S-sorry, boss,” Eve stuttered, smoothing down her shirt as Mason growled. 

“Clean this fucking mess up and get back to work, I’m docking both your pays for this. And for the pickles!” 

The door rattled as he slammed it shut, leaving the two of them in the dark again. Javier still had his hands on her face and she was holding on to his arms, exhaling slowly as the footsteps faded down the hallway. 

“Quick thinking, Peña,” she said, looking up at him in the dim light with a smile.

“I hope you won’t judge my kissing skills on that,” he grinned, “I had planned to give you a much nicer first kiss if you’d said yes to that date.” 

“You’re telling me that wasn’t your best work?” Eve asked, taking in the way his eyes dropped to her lips before finding her eyes again. Her hands were still on his biceps, the warmth from his body seeping into her palms as his muscles flexed and moved.  

“Not even close, honey,” his smirk was audacious as he leaned in again, bending down towards her lips, waiting for her to make the final move or pull away. He didn’t need to wait long, her grip on his arms tightened as she moved closer. Her lips were soft when she pressed them against his, parting slightly as he gave her a light kiss, capturing her bottom lip between his own, moving slowly. He felt her open her mouth for him, her tongue touching his lip and he pulled her closer, his fingers sliding into her hair, cupping the back of her head as he deepened the kiss and she responded with a moan. 

The small space reeked of pickle juice, it was sticky under her shoes, she could hear Peña’s shoes slosh in it as he pushed her up against the wall. But his big hand, cupping her head, his warm lips over her own, all conscious thought melted away. Even those about how he really was a DEA prick who couldn’t mix a drink to save his life. At the back of her mind, her conscience hissed at her; ‘unprofessional’. But a much larger part of her brain was drowning in the way his tongue licked into her mouth, and the way his hands felt holding her against him as the evidence of his own excitement grew between them. 

He groaned into her mouth, rolling his hips against her and she gasped for air, before pulling him closer. 

“Please, cariño, tell me you’ll let me take you on that date,” Javier mumbled against her as she kissed the corner of his mouth, moving her lips along his jaw, “I’m not about to fuck you in a storage cupboard, so I need to take you on that date.” 

Her teeth scraped across his neck and he hissed as she sucked a mark into the thin skin, his fingers digging into her hips as he sought out any friction he could get. 

“I don’t think we need a date, Peña,” she mumbled, letting him tilt her head back and reciprocate the mark she’d left on his neck. He pushed her shirt to the side and found the soft skin over her collarbone hidden just out of sight. Eve curled her fingers through his hair as his mouth made her gasp into the dim light of the small room. 

Javi pulled away and straightened up, his hand sliding down from her hip, grabbing the round shape of her ass, pulling her core closer and letting her feel how hard he was as he looked at her, his dark eyes half closed, breathing heavily. 

“Javi,” he muttered, bending down to her open mouth again, “it’s Javi.” 

“Javi,” she mumbled, “I don’t think we need a date, but…” she trailed off as his teeth closed over her bottom lip and gently sucked it in as she moaned into his mouth. He shifted his weight, lifting his shoe from the sticky floor and pressed his leg between her thighs, feeling the heat of her core through the thin fabric of their uniform pants. 

“Fuck, Javi,” she gasped, the pressure of his thick thigh rubbing just where she needed him the most, but with a groan she pulled away from him, putting her hands on his warm chest and pushed him back, “Fuck, don’t, we’re never getting out of here if you do that.” 

“What’s the rush?” he chuckled, “Are you really gonna finish the bartending shift now that we have the shipping info?” 

“If we don’t, we’ll raise suspicion, better to finish it and leave normally,” Eve replied, trying to catch her breath as his dark eyes continued to trail over her lips, down her neck and the shirt he’d pushed open. 

He inhaled slowly, thinking while he lifted his hand and ran the tips of his fingers down her cleavage, caressing the soft skin, finding the lacy edge of her bra, the same white shade as the shirt. 

“You’re right, we should finish the shift,” he sighed, reluctantly removing himself from her warm body, carefully stepping back across the wet floor, “I’ll clean up in here, you get back to the bar, they’re probably swamped.” 

Eve nodded as Javi opened the door, letting them both out into the empty hallway, his hands still on her waist, reluctant to let go of her, now that he’d had a taste. 

“There’s a mop in the other room, and some rubbish bags,” she said as he followed her back towards the club, feeling him caress her hips, cupping her ass as they walked, giving it a light squeeze that made her throw a smile back at him over her shoulder. 

“Be careful, don’t cut yourself on the glass.” 

“I won’t, I’ll see you out there.” 

Javi cursed the sticky pickle juice, and sloshed water over the floor to get it all up once he’d picked up the pieces of glass. He glanced down at his watch as he tossed the trash bag in the bin and opened the door to the nightclub again, it was getting close to midnight. 

The place was swamped, people packed in on the dance floor, pushed up against the bar, where he could see Eve holding up a shaker, the vigorous movements making her breasts shimmy under the white shirt. The movement wasn’t lost on the three men hanging on the bar, all three of them clearly transfixed by her cleavage as she prepared their drinks. Hot jealousy shot up Javi’s spine, making him take longer strides, stepping up behind her as she placed the shaker on the bar counter. He scowled at the three men, staring them down as they pulled their eyes from Eve and were faced with his furious face right behind her. 

“Patty, quit slacking,” Eve called out, glancing over her shoulder down the bar where the tired looking brunette was leaning against the till, arms crossed, waiting for the bar helper to cut up orange slices. 

“I’m waiting for the oranges,” she snapped back at her as Eve accepted the bills from the three men and deftly took another order for a round of complicated sounding cocktails. 

“So take another order while you wait, the line is a mile long, how did it-” 

“What the fuck, you stand there and accuse me, but where you all this time?” Patty’s voice cut through the music of the club like a shrill fog horn, “You two were gone fucking ages, while we had to fight off this crowd!” She gestured at the throng of people by the bar, some of the patrons watching her angry face with glee, spoiling for a good shouting match behind the bar. 

Eve bit back her retort, Patty was right, she and Javier had been gone much too long and she knew the rest of the bar staff noticed. 

“It was my fault,” Javier said behind her, “I knocked over a couple of jars of pickles, had to clean them up and that pickle juice is a bitch to get off the floor.” 

Patty growled and swiped the orange slices off the cutting board, nearly knocking it to the floor as she stomped over to her section again. 

Eve put the last few drinks on to the bar as champagne corks started popping and the music was turned down. Across the nightclub people started to cheer as the manager, and a few of the  waiters, began handing out flutes to the guests as midnight approached. There’s temporary reprieve at the bar as the guests turned towards the small stage in the corner where the manager stood, next to the big screen tv streaming live from Times Square. 

Javier found Eve’s hand out of sight from the rest of the staff and pulled her with him, around to the back of the bar. Guests were still milling around but they’re all focused on the screen as they started chanting, counting down from ten. 

“A kiss at midnight, cariño?” Javi asked, pulling her into his chest, hands landing on her waist and her cheek, sweeping away a damp curl from her forehead. 

She didn’t reply, instead she smiled at him and cupped her hand around the back of his head and pulled his mouth down to hers. Around them the crowd shouted but the noise fades as he parted his lips and let her tongue in. She tugged gently at his curls, angling her face to better reach him and he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her up on her tiptoes so that he could taste her properly. 

The crowd cheered, loud yells of ‘Happy New Year!” erupted as the ball dropped, but it faded into the background as she let a low moan escape into his mouth and he felt her tongue lick into him. The music kicked off again, people began to dance, clinking glasses, hugging and kissing, but Javier let his hand cup her cheek, stroking his thumb over her soft skin, her body warm pressed up against his. Neither of them paying attention to the man who’s just spotted them from across the club as Patty waved at him, pointing in their direction.  

“Alright, that’s fucking it,” Mason yelled as he grabbed Javier’s shoulder and yanked him away from Eve, “You’re both fucking fired, and you can kiss your pay checks for the night good bye.”

He raised his hands to shove them both in the direction of the staff changing rooms, but pulled up short as he saw the furious look on Javier’s face, Eve’s hand on his arm to hold him back. 

Mason settled on growling; “Get the fuck out of my club, you fucking slackers, go make out on someone else’s dime.” 

“Gladly,” Eve scoffed, her hand sliding down and grabbing Javi’s, tugging him along as he scowled at Mason. 

It didn’t take long before they were both outside the club, back in civilian clothes, their bartending uniforms left behind. 

“So, any plans for the rest of the night, querida?” Javier asked, sticking his hands in his leather jacket, fishing out a packet of smokes. 

“A bodega sandwich and falling asleep on the couch,” Eve replied, shaking her head as Javi offered her a cigarette. 

“I was thinking,” he said, taking a first drag, “you said your New Year's resolution was to not date bartenders?” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a smirk as she chuckled, realizing where he was going with this. 

“Yeah, no bartenders,” she smiled and he grinned back. 

“Well, it seems I’m no longer a bartender…” 

“Thank god, worst bartender ever, Javi.”

“So how about that date, cariño?” 

[xamaxenta]

im prolly abusing the ask feature sdjfkgh but Ace having Marco backstage for one of his shows to help him cause Ace was faring a little worse than usual that week and wanted Marco's help between photoshoots.

This is Marco's first time seeing Ace in action and no wonder he's always complaining about how tired and sore he is, Ace absolutely goes for it and the DP is in love with him. Marco feels so warm inside watching him because despite how miserable he may seem from an outsider's perspective, seeing Ace up there, he looks like he's having the time of his life and it's so wonderful to see him so happy.

After the shoot is over he can't find Ace. He's not too worried but he was thinking of treating Ace to coffee (completely platonic in his eyes, he just wants to congratulate Ace on a great session) and eventually he just grabs his bag and starts to head out and as he walks to the backdoor is about to walk out, he hears hushed hisses and whispers and immediately he knows it sounds off. He heads down the hallway closer to the noises and turns the corner and there's a producer with his hands on Ace's wrists and Ace is pushed against a wall and he's shaking and panicky and the producer and Marco are frozen staring at each other and Marco immediately and instantly Knows

You’re not abusing anything, the ask/submissions box is open for all, whether or not tumblr eats it or not is… another thing entirely

I love all of this, you genuinely saved me mentally anon, bc i wasnt bueno for the past hour or two but I read this like five times its embarrassing but it was a good distraction and grounded me emotionally so for that thank you sincerely

Super mushy uwuwing over the concept of Marco coming to one of Ace’s shoots, gets to see him with a full face of makeup not that he needs much in his personal opinion however he doesnt know much abt that to begin with so any amount done on Ace by a professional would look amazing anyway to him

And the way Marco knows Ace is probably hurting standing and cycling through all the poses the director wants from him, he does so with grace and confidence without a shred of discomfort, until the camera shutter stops clicking then he can pull a face when no one is looking and Marco can check on him 🥺

Going absolutely feral over the second part though, where Marco just wants to grab some coffee for them, someone tipped him off that Ace was soft for mochas and had decided to treat him to one but when he cant find Ace figures he can do so next time Ace comes for his check up in a few days time, maybe shoot a message to check on him if he doesnt see him on the way out

And then your scenario above and Ace isnt small or weak, Marco knows all about the rigorous training models of his weight category goes through, he lets Ace vent about it during their physio sessions (❤️) but with a leg injury weakened by several hours of standing and posing on it, hadnt done him many favours and the fucking producer had used that weakness against Ace to pin him, took advantage of his shock and bad leg to take the upper hand

And . I wanna know what you think happens next anon, i think it would be way better than whatever i could come up with right now bc head empty a little compromised aha

[crybabytoy59]

crybabytoy59

The lodge booking….

My drive to the lodge was full of butterflies I was finally to meet Mummy Jane !

On neutral ground & on her terms a full on weekend where I would be her babyslave punishment Toy…

I met her by chance online through my tumblr…. 

She held a need to be cruel as she got a Deep thrill from such treatment of a slave all be it a Babyslave ! 

So I had agreed to give up control to her & her hubby “slave”..

Where only she would decide my fate ..

This both excited me but also scared me this part strange as it sounds I craved with all my heart !  Why ?

As I knew it would bring Tears long held Deep tears… after all I was a crybaby 👼!!!

 The week up to my punishment weekend seemed to drag on and on …

But finally Friday arrived as I awake my heart beating faster Now as today was the day…

As instructed I shaved head to toe then gave myself a cleansing enema, not much came from me as I had a colonic’s treatment the day before !…

Putting on my pink fairy disposable over the white nappy cream had my Very excited as I stood up to pull on the heavy rubber pants they were pink with a white Dummy at the front & a white hand at the rear !

Next was the silk petticoat the short hemline showed off my rubber pants as it was very short !

Over this I put my vanilla clothes as instructed by Mummy Jane…

I then drank my first water bottle a 0.5ltr 

Then lifted the five left in the plastic pack…

These I was to consume on my trip south !

A tree hour trip later I pulled up…

Her car was already parked, this was it no turning back now…!!!

She opened the door in her black boots a white silk shirt with a black corset over it ! 

“Well in you get baby cakes….(as I passed she patted my rear !) Late I see don’t fret we will take care of that shortly little one ! 

An attitude adjustment will work wonders with you am sure ! 

Now into the back room !  …

As I went into the room the bed had the mattress removed so only the frame was exposed each corner had leather cuffs hanging from them there was a black leather towel over the bedside table with ropes, tape, cable ties with two black plastic bowls with a wet face cloth over each !!

In the middle of the room was the Punishment frame I had worked on for weeks for Mummy Jane ! Welding and constructing it had been fun & exciting !

A simple metal frame in an X with legs at each corner to hip hight, then welded loops every 4” along the base X 

Each corner had triangles welded into them to give strength….

But it was what came out of each “leg over a wheel stainless cable’s ran with an eyelet ..

In the Center of the base X was a winch ! 

Hidden under a small platform with an oval padded leather pedestal that was hight adjustable, this had a belt that could be pulled over the slave..

She spoke to me..

“Now Babyslave strip off & let’s get a look at what we have to play with Pain Toy !”

I stood before them both in my sodden swollen nappy ! My petticoat now standing more proud of the rubber pants…

“Have you wet your nappy Babyslave ?”

I nodded…

Mummy was instructing Slave to put on my ballet shin splint’s as she pulled my rubber pants off ! 

At this point I felt quite embarrassed as I could smell my one wetting !!

Mummy Jane then put on my leather gauntlet’s ! 

“Clever Baby now bend over the pedestal and spread eagle for us Baby ! 

I hobbled to the pedestal then bending over it spreading my legs & arms wide !

To a whirring as she pulled the cables to meet my ankles and gauntlets ! 

A second whirring and my limbs started to rise up taught till I whimpered !!…

“That’s a clever little baby not a Word not a single word Baby !

You can whimper, squeal, & cry out…

But Not A Single Word leaves that mouth …As it belongs to Mummy Jane !…

As madam she decides what comes out or go’s in Babyslave..”

Now Slave get Mistress Mummy the pail now ! 

She smacked his rear as he passed !!

“That’s yes Ma’am ! 

Or..Do you want to go in the Punishment Frame ?”..

( slave shook his head violently looking down at me in the knowledge of what his wife had In Store !!)

The bucket was set to my side as Mistress Mummy spoke…

“ Now Babyslave I want you to use your Goo’Goo & Ga’Ga’s….Mistress Mummy is going to gag you in a moment for this first Punishment ! but first look at Mummy! 

Clever girlie baby… 

Do you want a safeword or sign ? ( Goo’Goo) Clever Baby that pleases Mummy Jane Very much so make her proud !…

Open Wide !! No pain Toy… Fucking Wide !”

Mummy Jane lifted a pair of dirty pants from the pail, pushing them into my cheeks! As they pushed outwardly I started to tear up !!!

As Mummy Jane had been sending progress pictures of my “Gag Pants” for weeks ! 

Each morning she would wipe her strong morning pee then put them in a plastic container inside this container was a second smaller container with a raw fish in it !

This small tub under the wet pissypants had holes in !

This gave the pissypants a distinct aroma !!! 

That I could now taste ! 

Mummy Jane was soaking wet already A Deep lust to be Cruel in her own distinctive Way !!!!…

Pushing relentless on the wadding till his jaw was fully descended & the cheeks taught… Jane then  lifted the little Oval box with the fish putting it to the mouth oval, setting it so the holes were under the nostrils the smell was now evident ! 

Over this went  Vet wrap! .. Next she set a small rubber tube that had rounded rubber ends with small tubes from them, these were pushed Deep into each nostril causing it to flair out a  maximum !

From the side of each nostril the tubes went to in-front to point at his ear ! Mummy Jane then plugged in ear buds with a small tube that pushed into the nose tube !

This too was vet wrapped into place then she wound his head so only the Eyes were showing ! …

Every breath Babyslave now took she would hear air rushing from her own breathing whistling in her ear loudly !!

“Babyslave understand that Mummy Jane decides Everything now..Not You Crybaby !

I am going to be Very Cruel to you indeed, you are going to beg with those cute baby eyes for her to Stop but is she ?”

( a faint Goo’Goo could just be heard  !)

“Clever Baby that’s perfect Mummy loves quiet as she works..

Yes madam indeed she is Fucking not going to Stop until Mummy believes your tears to be genuine Collapse Crybaby Pain Toy !”

..Slave hand me the head harness please Now Slave !!…

[moralesispunk]

The Fire Between Us Chapter Five Update

Chapter Five: Burn Sneak peek (1.1k words)

[Series masterlist]

A/n: The full chapter will be posted at some point between tomorrow and Sunday! I’m truly sorry this chapter update has been all over the place between being unwell and work but it is sitting edited and ready to go in google docs I just haven’t had a chance to move it across and edit on Tumblr! I hope you can take this as an apology and it keeps you going till we find out what happens next... Love you lots xo

It was an entrance you had walked through thousands of times before - one that was hard to find unless you knew exactly what you were looking for; perfectly hidden against the desert landscape to keep the warriors it housed safe from the rest of the galaxy.

Now, as your feet dragged through the sand and slowed your pace so much that even Din - in his injured state - had to pull you along, you followed the same path you had walked more times than you could count. It was the same path you followed when you were coming back from a trip to the market or a week long bounty hunt; your legs taking you across the bare land towards the dip in the ground that led straight down to the dark tunnels of the Covert.

It was a familiar feeling of coming home every time you stepped over the threshold into the Covert, one that you usually welcomed with open arms, yet it was a feeling that was missing now as you inched closer and closer to the entrance.

In this moment you wanted nothing more than to run in the other direction, as far as you could from the Covert until your legs were aching and you had no memory of home or Din… or the unsaid vow you have now shared: by the end of tomorrow, no matter how much he hated the idea of it and no matter how guilty you felt, Din would most likely be your riddur and there was nothing either of you could do about it.

Thoughts of running away or finding a way to free Din from this obligation were swarming your mind until the very last second when the entrance came into view. There was someone resting by the entrance, a small body that you had to squint against the setting sun to see, and as you got closer the person became a small child - newly fitted to their armor - who perked up the second your three bodies appeared over the horizon.

They quickly pushed themselves up to stand, taking a moment to confirm that they weren’t imagining you, Din and Adrean coming home, before they ran back inside and their yells somehow made their way through the wind as they alerted the Covert to your arrival. 

There was no way you could turn and walk away now the whole Covert would be expecting your arrival, no matter how heavy the weight in the pit of your stomach grew.

There had barely been a word uttered between the three of you since you met Adrean this morning, the only words shared being when you or Adrean needed to fix the way Din’s weight rested over your shoulder or when you forced Din to rest and drink the last of your water. You stayed silent as your boots scuffed against the ramp that led down into the Covert and even when the quiet murmuring from the Hall met your ears as you rounded the last corner before you would be met with applause.

It was suddenly hard to breathe with the looming fate of Din being forced to take you as riddur just around the corner and you tried to stop walking any closer but Din pulled you along by his side.

“Din,” you gasped his name but he made no effort to acknowledge you, instead his arm weighing heavy on your shoulder as he pulled you into the hall along with him and Adrean.

The roar of applause was almost deafening, so loud that your head began to pound and your eyes squeezed shut. The cheers of your names were bouncing off of the walls and soon the crowd was parting down the middle to show a clear path to the Armorer who stood tall at the other end. As you welcomed the celebration, Din’s weight slipped from your shoulder and he tried to stand on his two feet to accept the praise along with you and Adrean.

With every helmet trained on you - or more likely Din - it became even harder to breathe and between the chants of welcome you found your lips parting as you whispered his name again.

“Din.”

If he heard you above the cheers and chants he showed no sign of it. 

Your eyes ran up his injured body from his leg that was limping with every other step to his fingers that were squeezed around his thumb so tight you could hear the leather wince under the pressure; from his side where the armor was broken all the way to his helmet that was hiding the face you now knew.

His sharp jaw, his dark facial hair and strong nose, his plump lips and his dark eyes that you had not seen the night before but had been a main presence in your dreams for years.

Even though he seemed to hide his physical pain well enough that no one was rushing to help, it was impossible to ignore the anger radiating off of him. His shoulders were held tight and his helmet was trained forward even as you desperately whispered his name again.

“Din, please.”

“Not. Now.” His helmet didn’t move as he answered you through gritted teeth and it caused your own to face back to the front.

As your bottom lip wobbled and your eyes glazed over with unshed tears you were thankful for the wall of beskar between you and the rest of the Covert.

Din somehow managed to march ahead and you fell in line with Adrean who reached for your hand, his fingers tangling with yours as he gave one strong squeeze.

“All will work out, Vod.”

You squeezed his hand back before dropping it, forcing your shoulders high as you sped up enough to catch up to Din and find yourself standing before the Armorer at the same time as him. You know what you did was wrong - one of the worst things that could have happened to Din - but he couldn’t refuse to speak to you ever again. 

You needed time alone with Din to explain yourself. You didn’t have the words this morning - you barely had the words now after repeating a speech over and over in your head the whole trek home - but he needed to know that you didn’t do this make him your riddur. You did this because the thought of doing nothing as he died in your arms was enough to make your stomach churn and heart drop; if you had held him as he took his final breath then you were certain Adrean would have found you in a similar fate the next morning.

//

End notes: Just want to say another big thank you for all your understanding in the delay between chapters and apologies again! I look forward to you all reading the rest of the chapter soon 

//

tags

@phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes  @queridopascal @sfr99 @rosiefridayrogersunday @tintinn16 @pilothusband @voteforpedro09  @dihra-vesa @frankiecatfish @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @transias @peoniarose @pjkimrn @fangirl-316 @niki-xie @potted–ivy @phandoz @janebby @athalien @xocalliexo @amneris21 @lavenderluna10 @lavenderluna10 @spacenerdpascal @mswarriorbabe80 @dumplinshee @jitterbugs927 @gracie7209 @lovesbiggerthanpride @lowlights @notabotiswear @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @bport76 @fangirl-316 @1andthesame @pedrostories @nyfeeer @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thereisaplaceintheheart @graciexmarvel @trickstersp8 @dreamiesunny @oogaboogasphincter @mstgsmy​ @morenoswife @nolanell​ @agingerindenial​ @hb8301​ @blub-senpai​ @darnitdraco​ @dragonsondragons​ @mysteriouslyfuzzypeach  @lovesbiggerthanpride​ @girlofchaos​ @dinsangelx @hallway5​ @stardust-galaxies​ @joelsflannel​ @nolanell​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @llilithmademedoit @quicksilvermad​ @kirsteng42​ @mandos-riduur-reading @dins-cyare @Magickfanatic @tortor-mcgee​ @torchbearerkyle​ @dheet​  @gallowsjoker​ @brunette-overalls​ @crescentnix @leithatnight​ @pascallllllll1​ @katiiiakat​ @awesomeloner​ @booksaremyyoga​ 

[nancypullen]

Thursday Night

The mister has gone out to take some night photos of possibly creepy places, so I’m at home watching Dateline.  I made big salads for dinner and then we ate coconut ice cream bars. Those two sentences sum up our Thursday night.  This is retirement, folks.  I actually spent a good fifteen minutes watching the sprinkler today.  A couple of weeks ago we raked up the three inch layer of small landscape rocks that the previous owners used for their fire pit.  It was right off of the patio, they hadn’t used any sort of weed cloth or barrier, and it was an awful, messy, weedy spot.  Once we got the rocks up, Mickey spread some dirt and grass seed and now we’re babying that little patch to make sure the grass grows.  That’s why I spent fifteen minutes watching the sprinkler today - that actually sounds better than I was watching grass grow. I’ve been foofing up my little spot on the porch.  It’s quickly becoming my favorite hangout.  It’s shaded, hidden from the street, and has views of all the gardens.  I found a cheap metal table that was sort of an ugly putty color, and painted it white and red.

I slapped a placemat on it and then added a little pot of lobelia.  

Presto change-o!

You know how much I love red gingham. If I can squeeze it in anywhere, I will. So I did.

That wreath may need a birdie on it or something.  I need a second pillow too.  Maybe a pale green with roses? 

Eh, maybe not.  I’ll dig around and see what I’ve got and go from there. Probably should have used red flowers in that pot, but lobelia is what I had. This is all subject to change but it’s a nice space for now. I love sitting out here in the morning, listening to the birds and contemplating the day. What’s that poem about birds singing despite the world being a wreck?  I can’t think of it, but I appreciate their songs in a world gone mad. We thought about driving over to Rehobeth Beach this week, it’s only about 45 minutes away and there’s a mile-long boardwalk where we could have lunch and check things out.  The days got away from us and tomorrow is supposed to be rainy, maybe next week.  We did snag tickets to see/hear David Sedaris at the BrowseAbout Bookstore there at the end of May.  That’ll be fun.  He’s always entertaining.   Aside from watching grass grow and painting anything that doesn’t run away from me, It’s just been cooking and cleaning. We did run a couple of errands earlier this week and made a pit stop at  the Ridgely Pharmacy lunch counter for a sandwich.  They have the best chicken salad in three counties. I finally worked my way through the delicious crabs our neighbor brought over.  I used the last bit for breakfast.  A toasted sandwich thin, a mound of crab, a little gouda and a generous sprinkle of Old Bay made my mouth very happy.

I don’t normally eat breakfast, but I’ll make an exception for crab.

I’m itching to get into my craft room and do something creative.  I’m overdue.  I’m hoping that tomorrow’s rain will give me the time at my desk that I’m craving.  I haven’t touched clay or even paper for over a month.  I get cranky when I don’t have that time. Mickey moved my cabinet into place for me and I put my Cricut on top which frees up loads more work space for me.  I mostly use the Cricut to cut out my dead people, and I need to commune with them soon.

It’s a perfect fit for the space and the storage is wonderful.   It’s calling to me. Pray for rain so I can play inside.

This blog post is a discombobulated bunch of nonsense.  No one wants to read this boring stuff.  I started this little corner of the web back in 2007.   Can you believe it?  It used to be a hoot.  I had great material - kids, animals, my job in the school system. My stint with Clinique was blog-worthy too. The many, many years where I was on my own while the mister traveled every week - I got up to all sorts of hijinks that were worth writing about on Tumblr.  Now we’re just a couple of old fogies who think it’s a big deal to stop for a chicken salad sandwich. Help.  I’m five months from turning 60 and I want my life to be funny again.  I’m staying busy making this house our own, but if I buy much more spray paint I’m sure I’ll be on some sort of DEA watchlist.  If we’d moved somewhere that I could go to water aerobics or craft fairs, I’d have made friends by now and had some adventures.  We’re almost at the one year anniversary of our move here and I’m still counting my once-a-week grocery haul as an outing. Help.  I have no girlfriends to talk to (I just offended the cats by saying that), no one to meet for lunch.  Where are the fun ladies of Denton?  There’s no jazzercise or Zumba classes, where am I supposed to meet my people?  The nicest person (and the most fun person) I’ve met so far is the program director for the Caroline County Arts Council.  She’s an absolute delight.  But she’s also very young and is busy with a young person’s life. I’m looking for someone with some mileage who knows how to talk about perennials and peri-menopause. Who am I kidding? Full blown menopause, I just liked the alliteration with perennials. So there you have it, I’m home alone and watching Dateline, missing my sweet friends, and thinking that I’d better go take a bubble bath and lose myself in a good book.  Tomorrow I hope I wake up to rain and spend my day creating some silliness.  Maybe even something worth sharing here! Until then, stay safe, stay well, and take good care. XOXO,

Nancy

[wanderingminds34]

The People & The Troupe Director

"Life mirrors opera, just as opera reflects life," Yun Jin often said. In the smallest of encounters, she tended to find inspiration for her performances. With these five counts, with these five scenes, would you care to watch the show?

A Yun Jin-centric story dedicated to my friend on co-op.

Available on ao3 and tumblr.

Chapter 1: Irreconcilable Lovers - Sisi

One was the woman longing on the docks,

hopeless that her wandering lover would flock.

Humming a joyous tune, Yun Jin strolled through Feiyun Slope. Along the concrete path, men and women alike formed a line to Mingxing Jewelry. Usually, she would greet Xingxi, but the poor lady was far too occupied to entertain any friends, so Yun Jin merely passed through.

Yesterday, she decided that the Yun-Han Opera Troupe would benefit from a break, so today was a holiday for all of its members. With their upcoming show set to take place later next week, everyone was working hard to prepare the stage and excel in their roles during rehearsal. Certainly some rest would leave them rejuvenated enough to put on their best performance. 

As she trekked down the lofty staircase, she encountered fans of the Troupe, common people that frequented their shows. When the Troupe first became popular, Yun Jin often received overbearing attention -- flowers on the streets, requests for autographs, even impromptu auditions for a chance to join her team. She was born into that lifestyle, though, so she could hide her stress from the constant idolization. Over time, the pressure simply…dissipated. 

“Ms. Yun Jin,” an older man called, “I’ll see you soon! My daughter is leaving work early for once. It’s going to be her first show!” 

“How delightful! This performance will not disappoint, I assure you.”

He beamed, bringing a smile to her face. “I look forward to it. Have a good day.”

“And you as well.” She nodded politely and continued her descent. 

At the docks, a refreshing aroma of salt water accompanied the disconcerting scent of fish and, more specifically, shrimp. Fortunately, no one chose to cook stir-fried shrimp this afternoon, otherwise she would have avoided the place entirely. However, with the reminder of her diet, Yun Jin stubbornly changed course to the other side of the harbor, where they were not selling food. 

But when she turned the corner, Yun Jin ran into someone, letting out a yelp when they knocked her off balance. An envelope dropped to the ground, and the other person, a young woman, exclaimed, “Hey! Watch where you’re going--” before pausing in recognition.

Yun Jin waved her hands to placate the woman. “My apologies. I should have been more careful.” She picked up the fallen envelope, seeing the name Chaoxi scrawled beautifully on the front. 

“Uh--no, no! It was my fault!” the unfamiliar lady stammered. 

Yun Jin extended her hand with the envelope. “Please do not worry. You are going to give this to someone special, right? It could’ve been ruined if it slipped between the wood planks.”

Gazing sadly at the item, the woman hesitated to reclaim it. “...What does it matter anyway? He’s never going to read it,” she murmured, reluctantly taking it. 

“What do you mean?” asked Yun Jin with a frown. 

The lady shook her head in a poor attempt to purge the negative thoughts. “Sorry for my rudeness, Ms. Yun Jin. I’m Sisi,” she introduced. “My boyfriend is a sailor, you see. He only returns every blue moon, but during those nights he’s ‘too tired’ to even talk to me.”

“Oh dear,” Yun Jin remarked, “Surely he will come back during this season? It is the perfect opportunity to spend more time with you.”

Clenching her fist and subsequently crumbling the letter, Sisi became even more riled up. “That would be the last thing he would do. Chaoxi’s probably running around with that other girl! Buying her gorgeous jewels, taking her to flower fields, telling her ‘I’ll never leave you…’” she trailed off, covering her face with both hands. 

Gently, Yun Jin rubbed her arm. She was clearly dealing with a heartbroken woman. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sisi. You deserve better than him. Why don’t you let him go?”

“I can’t…” she whispered, “How could I, when those warm memories still remain? He used to shower me with affection, his heart devoted to me alone. He picked those Qingxin and Purple Roses with his own two hands, and those Vajrada Amethyst stones that washed from the sea to the shores…They couldn’t have been meaningless.” 

“So what will you do?” Yun Jin inquired, anticipating the answer. 

“I suppose I’ll wait here, as I always do.”

Yun Jin curtsied. “Then I will bid you adieu, and I wish you the best on your endeavors.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Yun Jin.” Sisi returned to the railing, leaning over to gaze at the port full of ships. 

Yun Jin continued her walk, her polite smile dropping to a grimace when she left Sisi’s viewpoint. It was not her responsibility to impart her opinion on a stranger, especially one as clouded as Sisi. She knew the lovebird wouldn’t listen, but Yun Jin couldn’t suppress her pity as the sound of soft cries reached her ears.

Wretched lies fell from the man’s lips,

stringing the dame along with every nautical trip.

With his mind astray, his heart untrue,

he couldn’t come to terms with the girl he knew.

But she’d already seen through his charade,

she couldn’t give up, let her affection fade. 

So night after night she begged for more,

never to accept another future in store. 

[themomsandthecity]

At 32 Weeks Pregnant, She Went to the Hospital. 5 Days Later, She Woke Up Without a Uterus.

When Erica Freeman went to the hospital at 32 weeks pregnant, her son Maxwell in utero, she knew something was wrong. She'd already suffered two losses prior: one a stillbirth at 39 weeks with her son and a miscarriage at 18 weeks with her daughter. "I knew what labor felt like," Freeman tells POPSUGAR. But this wasn't it. "I arrived at the hospital, and within 15 minutes, they put me in the operating room to take the baby out [via C-section]," she says. The next thing she remembers is waking up, five days later. She'd later learn that five hours into her surgery, her husband was asked to make a tough call. Freeman was experiencing severe placenta abruption, a serious condition where the placenta detaches from the uterus and causes internal bleeding. "My son's father was called back with the ob-gyn, and she said, 'In order to save your wife's life, we need you to sign off to give her a hysterectomy,'" Freeman says. He signed off - and Freeman spent the next five days in a coma due to the blood loss. At one point, she had to be airlifted from the hospital in which she had the C-section in order to receive more blood. She'd go on to receive a total of nine blood transfusions. "I had to grapple with the fact that I wasn't even 30 yet and I wasn't gonna be able to physically have any more kids." She woke up disoriented from the traumatic childbirth, surgery, and intubation. When she saw her grandfather in the corner of the room, "I asked him where my son was and where was my cell phone," Freeman recalls. She would soon learn that not only had her uterus been removed, but her son was in the NICU at another hospital, fighting his own health battle. Maxwell had been deprived of oxygen in the womb, which resulted in brain damage and later a diagnosis of spastic quadriplegic cerebral palsy (the most severe form of spastic CP, affecting all four limbs, the trunk, and the face, per the Centers For Disease Control and Prevention). He spent almost a month in the NICU before Freeman could bring him home. Processing this and her recovery at the same time was difficult, to say the least. Image Source: Erica Freeman "I had to grapple with the fact that I wasn't even 30 yet and I wasn't gonna be able to physically have any more kids. But then I had this bundle of joy that I had been waiting for that was in the NICU fighting for his life," Freeman says. It was overwhelming to figure out what she should focus on - the baby in front of her, or that she'd never be able to give birth to another. Today, she calls Maxwell her rainbow baby, a term used to describe a child born after a previous loss or losses, often despite the odds. "He's the light of my world," she tells POPSUGAR, adding that while her biological fertility journey is over, "the possibility of growing my family other ways is still open." But that transition is "something I have to grieve," Freeman says. In doing so and in hoping to help others grieve a similar journey, Freeman created a platform, Sisters in Loss, along with a podcast of the same name. She's been able to foster a supportive community of Black women sharing their stories and processing their own experiences with infertility, pregnancy, and infant loss. "Being able to share these stories and give a platform for people to really shape their journey to becoming mothers and becoming parents allows us to normalize this conversation," Freeman says. It also helps to humanize some of the data around maternal health and infertility, she adds. "We know one in eight couples experience fertility, we know one in four people experience a loss, like we know these numbers. But it's good to actually put voices behind it." https://www.popsugar.com/family/infertility-childbirth-essay-49155374?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr